Captain Silas sat at the mess hall table, stacking gold coins into neat little towers.
Boz had done well at the Black Market. The Refined Mana Cores had sold for a fortune—enough to repair the engine, restock the food, and pay the crew a hefty bonus. The mood on the ship was lighter than it had been in months. Sailors were drinking ale, laughing, and counting their shares.
Zain walked in, followed by Vera. The laughter died down as the crew saw the look on their faces.
Zain didn't sit. He walked up to the Captain's table and placed the heavy iron token—the red skull of the Syndicate—on top of Silas's pile of gold.
Clink.
Silas stopped counting. He looked at the token, then up at Zain. His red mechanical eye whirred, zooming in on the skull symbol.
"You have a death wish, boy?" Silas asked quietly. "That's an invite to the Crimson Spire. Where did you get it?"
"The Witch of Dust," Zain said. "She told me what lives in my arm. And she told me there's a piece of it being sold at that auction tomorrow night."
"Good for the buyer," Silas grunted, sweeping the token off the table. "But we're leaving at dawn. The engine is prepped. We're heading for the Outer Rim before the Temple tracks us here."
"We can't leave," Zain said. His voice didn't shake this time. "I need that shard."
Silas stood up slowly. The room went silent. He towered over Zain, the smell of tobacco and oil radiating from him.
"You need?" Silas laughed, a harsh, metallic sound. "This isn't a democracy, Stowaway. I run this ship. I decide what we need. And right now, we need to not be executed by the Syndicate for crashing their party."
"If I don't get the shard," Zain said, looking Silas in the eye, "the thing in my arm will eventually eat my mind. I'll turn into a Void-Ghoul. And when that happens, I'll eat your crew before you can put a bullet in me."
The crew shifted uneasily. Boz gripped his tankard tighter.
"Dramatic," Nox commented in Zain's head. "But accurate."
"Is that a threat?" Silas's hand drifted to the pistol on his belt.
"It's a warning," Zain said. "But there's an upside. If I get the shard, I can control the power better. I won't just be a 'garbage eater' who cleans engines. I'll be a weapon. A weapon you can use to take down Class-A wrecks. Or fight Inquisitors."
Silas paused. He looked at Zain's arm. He remembered the beetle. He remembered the Inquisitor's armor turning to dust.
"The Syndicate Auction..." Silas mused, rubbing his metal chin. "They don't just sell artifacts. They sell exotic mana-batteries. Rare engine parts."
"And gold," Vera added, stepping forward. "Lots of it. The buyers bring cash."
Silas looked at Vera. "You're siding with the rat?"
"I'm siding with the math," Vera shrugged. "We have money, but we're still flying a rust bucket. If we pull this off... we could upgrade the ship to Frigate-Class specs."
Silas stared at the iron token on the floor.
"We can't buy it," Silas said. "We have gold, but not Syndicate gold. That shard will go for millions."
"We don't buy it," Zain said. "We create chaos. And in the chaos... we take it."
Silas picked up the token. He flipped it in his metal fingers.
"A Heist," Silas grinned. It was a terrifying expression. "I haven't pulled a heist in Black-Harbor since I had two eyes."
He slammed the token onto the table.
"Torque! Keep the engines hot! Boz, get the heavy munitions! If we're going to rob the Crimson Syndicate, we're going to do it loud!"
The Crimson Spire was the tallest building in Black-Harbor. It was a twisted needle of black metal and red glass that pierced the smog, overlooking the entire city.
At the base of the tower, luxury air-carriages were dropping off guests.
Vampire Lords in velvet suits stepped out of coffins carried by thralls. Goblin Trade-Princes waddled in, dripping with jewels. Masked mercenaries stood guard, their weapons glowing with enchantments.
Zain and Vera watched from the shadows of a gargoyle statue across the street.
They weren't wearing their rags. Silas had spent a few coins to get them "suitable" attire from a fence.
Zain wore a stiff, high-collared black coat with silver buttons, hiding his seal. A half-mask covered the upper part of his face. Vera wore a dark crimson dress that looked elegant but was slit high enough to allow her to run—and draw the daggers strapped to her thighs.
"You look uncomfortable," Vera whispered.
"This collar itches," Zain muttered, pulling at the fabric. "And I feel like everyone is staring at me."
"They will be soon," Vera said. "Remember the plan?"
"Phase One: Get inside," Zain recited. "Phase Two: Locate the Vault. Phase Three: Boz blows the power grid."
"And Phase Four?"
"Run like hell," Zain finished.
"Let's go."
They stepped out of the shadows and walked up the red carpet.
A massive Orc bouncer in a tuxedo blocked their path. He held a clipboard.
"Invitation," the Orc grunted.
Zain handed over the iron token.
The Orc inspected it. He looked at the skull symbol, then at Zain.
"Madam Kora's token," the Orc rumbled. "She hasn't sent a guest in years."
He handed it back. He stepped aside.
"Don't cause trouble inside. The floor is spelled to detect aggressive mana. You draw a weapon, the golems will crush you."
"We're just here to shop," Vera smiled sweetly.
They walked through the massive double doors.
The inside of the Spire was breathtaking.
The main hall was a cavernous atrium made of red glass. Chandeliers made of glowing mana-crystals hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, bloody light over the room.
Hundreds of guests mingled, holding crystal flutes of nectar. Waiters—charmed constructs made of brass—glided through the crowd with trays.
In the center of the room was a raised stage where the auction would take place. Behind it was a heavy blast door: The Vault.
"Keep your head down," Vera whispered, linking her arm with Zain's to blend in. "We need to get closer to the stage."
Zain nodded, but his attention was elsewhere.
The seal on his arm was burning.
"It is here," Nox hissed. "I can feel it. It is singing to me."
Where? Zain thought.
"Behind the blast door. But... I feel something else too."
Zain scanned the crowd.
Near the front row, a group of figures stood apart from the rest. They wore grey robes with deep hoods. They weren't drinking. They weren't talking. They stood perfectly still, like statues.
On the back of their robes was a symbol embroidered in silver thread: A Hand Eclipsing a Sun.
"The Eclipsed Hand," Zain whispered. "Kora was right. They're here."
"Cultists?" Vera tensed. "Great. As if the Syndicate wasn't enough."
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the stage.
A tall, slender man with pale blue skin and four arms stepped into the light. He wore a suit of white silk. This was The Auctioneer.
"Welcome, distinguished guests, to the Crimson Night!" his voice boomed, amplified by magic. "Tonight, we offer you treasures from the deepest voids and the highest peaks!"
The crowd applauded politely.
"Let us skip the pleasantries," the Auctioneer smiled with too many teeth. "We begin with Lot Number One. Recovered from the ruins of the Sunken Temple..."
He gestured with two of his arms. The blast door groaned open slightly. Two ogres wheeled out a cart covered in a cloth.
"Zain," Vera whispered. "Look at the cultists."
Zain looked.
The grey-robed figures weren't looking at the stage. They were looking at the exits. They were reaching under their robes.
"They aren't here to bid," Zain realized, his stomach dropping.
"They are here to purge," Nox growled.
"Get ready," Zain told Vera, his hand going to the hilt of the dagger hidden under his coat. "The chaos is starting early."
"And Boz hasn't blown the power yet!" Vera hissed.
"Then we improvise."
The Auctioneer whipped the cloth off the cart.
"Lot Number One: The Eye of the Kraken!"
A massive, preserved eyeball floated in a jar.
"Do I hear five thousand coins?"
One of the grey-robed cultists stepped forward. He didn't raise a paddle. He raised a hand.
"We bid..." the cultist's voice was like scratching glass. "...Death."
The cultist clenched his fist.
BOOM.
The glass jar on the stage exploded. The Kraken Eye burst, releasing a cloud of toxic purple gas.
The Auctioneer screamed as the gas melted his face.
Panic erupted.
"Now!" Zain yelled.
He didn't run for the exit. He ran toward the blast door.