Noah didn't linger inside that furnace. It was a hellhole, and he had no intention of becoming part of the scenery.
The moment the waste was dumped, he turned.
The tunnel was the same cold, uncaring metal, but the walk back felt different. It was a reprieve. A brief, stolen breath of air. The only problem was the lack of silence.
"There's something wrong with the Rocking Hammer, Noah. I saw Sir in charge there, you know."
Joey was talking without end. It usually took two people to have a conversation, but Joey was an overachiever. He could provide both parts if necessary.
Noah looked at him, idly considering various ways to silence the boy. Sealing his mouth shut would do the trick, but if the fatso even so much as swung his arm…
Noah shook his head.
Forget it. Enduring was the only thing he was actually good at.
He was almost at the end of the never-ending tunnel when his stomach dropped.
A figure in a blue uniform leaned against the frame. A black alloy baton hung at his hip, its twin pointed ends catching the light. To Noah's eyes, those ends looked hungry.
The guard looked casual, one boot hooked over the other, as if he owned the very air Noah was trying to breathe. He wasn't blocking the exit—just positioned so that Noah would have to brush past him. It wasn't as easy as it looked.
'Curse it. Of course he's here,' he grimaced as the general, Rog's, eyes flicked to Joey first.
"You," he said, jerking his chin. "Clear off."
Faced with that scarred visage, Joey didn't argue. He lowered his head and pulled the cart away, the rattling of wheels sounding like a frantic retreat.
The general waited until the noise faded into nothingness. Then, he turned his gaze to Noah. A small, thin smile touched his lips. It was the kind of smile a spider might give a fly.
"So," he said, pushing off the wall and stepping into Noah's personal space. "Anything?"
'What a twisted bastard.' If there was anyone who Noah considered worse than himself, then it would be him.
He shook his head, his voice refusing to come out.
"Speak up," the man snapped. The mask of casual indifference shattered, revealing the jagged edge beneath.
"N—no. Nothing yet," Noah stammered.
"Damn it."
The guard clicked his tongue, the sound as sharp as a whip. He looked away, then back again, slower this time. His gaze crawled over Noah's face like a loathsome insect.
"You aren't hiding things from me, are you, kid?"
Noah's back became soaked in cold sweat. His mind lagged, paralyzed by the intensity of the stare. Before he could find an answer, the general stepped closer.
A heavy hand landed on Noah's shoulder.
"Listen to me, kid. I'm the only one who can help you here."
The grip tightened. Bone groaned against bone. Noah suppressed a wince, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped, panicked bird.
"You know what happens to people who defy me, right?"
"Yes, sir," Noah hissed through gritted teeth. His vision was beginning to blur at the edges. "I'll tell you... the moment I find anything about Matthew."
He was already terrifying, but then he leaned in, his frown deepening. He was looking at Noah's face as though searching for something, or perhaps just enjoying the scent of fear—but then, the world outside exploded.
Shouts erupted as a commotion occurred.
The pressure on Noah's shoulder vanished as the general, Rog, let go. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, the man gestured for Noah to move.
Noah didn't wait and certainly didn't look back.
'Someday, I'll watch you die like a dog, you bastard,' he forced his legs to move, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder.
But the moment he stepped into the open air, the adrenaline vanished, leaving him hollow.
A mountain of twisted, cursed alloy met his eyes. It was a towering contraption of jagged blackened steel and frayed cables that looked less like a tool of industry and more like an instrument of torture designed by a madman.
Usually, the rocking hammer hummed with bone-deep thuds. Now, it was dead silent. Hundreds of workers were stationed at every corner of the room, anchored to the floor like ants trying to restrain a titan.
Noah stared at the machine, a cold dread pooling in his gut, as he pulled his gear off.
He wasn't sure what that rocking hammer was classified as, but it wasn't the issue. The heavy cables supporting it were the problem, trembling with a ghostly whistle that made his skin crawl.
A heavy hand slammed into his back, nearly sending his eyes popping out of their sockets.
"Move, move! If that thing comes down, forget your pay this week!"
The foreman sauntered past, a twisted smirk playing on his lips. Other than barking orders and looking well-fed, the man was doing absolutely nothing.
Cursing the fixed-salary bastard under his breath, Noah approached the line. He hesitated at the sight of the cable held by twenty or so men. They were fighting for their lives, instead of pulling the cables, trying to force the gear to click one more inch to clear the jam.
Noah stepped up to the rope. The hemp was oily and hot, smelling of old sweat and collective despair. As his hands closed around it, the vibration of the stalled machine traveled through the cord and directly into his marrow.
He took a breath, planted his feet, and leaned back.
"Pull!" someone screamed.
The world narrowed down to the rough texture of the rope and the agonizing, metallic shriek of the gears overhead. The foreman's words echoed in his mind. What sat beneath the hammer was worth more than all of their lives combined.
As for Noah's own life? It didn't even measure up to a week's pay.
So—
Noah pulled.
Every ounce of strength he possessed went into the rope. His boots skidded across the grime-slick floor. His arms burned. His vision tunneled until there was nothing left but the strain.
'Just one more inch, you heavy piece of shit—'
Suddenly, there was a sound like a crack of thunder.
Several cables snapped free, angry and violent. But instead of charging at the alloy they had been freed from, they lunged at the weak ants below.
One of them was still clenched in Noah's hands.
But he didn't focus on it. He stood hunched, eyes unfocused, as the skin on his palms knit itself back together with a sickeningly efficient speed.
[LP: 80]
As the damage was undone, the cable recoiled toward him, snapping through the air like a viper.
There was no time to react. The man ahead had already let go, diving aside and leaving Noah alone with the whip of steel.
He tried to do the same—but his feet weren't planted.
No,
The cable snapped back.
The impact was violent. A high pitched, discordant shriek that ended in the ugly pop of his shoulder being torn from its place.
Then, he was flying.
Noah slammed into a solid metal strut with a sickening crunch. The impact traveled through his teeth and settled deep in his brain.
The world turned white.
He hit the floor, gasping—but no air came. His left arm hung at a grotesque angle, blood already soaking through his rags, hot and slick against his skin.
But the worst part wasn't the pain.
It was the heat.
Deep inside his chest, something stirred. His life surged, already clawing at his broken body to mend what was ruined.
Around him, the line moved on. The men who had been pulling the cable were already grabbing the next one as the rocking hammer forced its way down instead of up.
Noah stared at the flickering air, his vision blurred by a haze of red.
[LP: 70]
The number shuddered, dropping again as bone slid back into place and torn flesh sealed itself shut. It was a miracle.
Which was to say, it was a total disaster.
He was being saved, and the process was dragging him closer to his grave with every heartbeat.
'Stop it. Stop fixing me, you damn curse!' He tried to scream, but there was no energy left in him.
Somewhere beyond his fading vision, the Rocking Hammer groaned. The mountain of steel was coming down to claim its price. Noah closed his eyes, waiting for the finality of the impact.
But it never came.
Instead, a silence fell over the chamber—a silence so heavy it felt overbearing.
Noah forced his eyes open.
Beneath the impossible weight of the blackened alloy stood a figure. He didn't look like he was fighting for his life. He simply stood there, one hand raised to hold back the mountain of steel as if it were nothing more than a bothersome fly.
Noah felt a surge of pure, vitriolic resentment.
'What a scam,' he thought, as the darkness finally claimed him.
'What an absolute scam.'