The smoke did not clear so early.
A silhouette moved inside it, slow and deliberate, boots grinding lightly against fractured metal.
The figure stepped forward as if the burst had been nothing more than an opening curtain.
He emerged from the haze with theatrical patience.
Black hair, neatly swept back but touched with silver at the edges, framed a face that looked neither young nor old. His features were refined, almost sculpted, carrying the handsomeness of a man in his prime.
Yet his sharp amused eyes seemed disturbingly ancient, which could belong to someone who had watched empires collapse and called it an inconvenience.
He wore light armor that seemed centuries out of time.
The armor was not bulky; it was elegant. Old craftsmanship carried with pride rather than nostalgia.
He brushed dust off one shoulder and smiled, warm and charmingly.
"Ah," he said, voice smooth yet textured, youthful in tone but aged in weight. "You four are probably the disciplined operatives they told me about. I do enjoy professionals."
Henry narrowed his eyes.
The stranger placed one hand over his chest in a courteous half-bow.
"Allow me to remove the suspense before someone does something regrettable." His grin widened slightly. "My name is... Tubal Cain."
He gestured lightly to the smoke curling behind him.
"I am not an intruder like you. I am a Summon, a manifestation casted by my wielder's will and Runic contract."
His gaze sharpened, playful but calculating. "Think of me as a… temporary guest from someone else's imagination."
The dust continued to swirl around him like obedient mist.
"I possess autonomy, personality and a rather excellent sense of humor. I also possess combat authority." He tilted his head. "Which of those you will experience first depends entirely on your manners."
Tubal Cain smiled brighter.
"Well then," he said cheerfully, "shall we begin the introductions properly?"
Henry did not take his eyes off the man in old armor.
His voice came out, barely above a whisper. "The mastermind even prepared a Summon…"
Cagaro stiffened. Blyke's fingers subtly adjusted near his sigil.
Henry continued quietly, "Summons are not constructs. They are part of high-order spells. They are distant mythical or legendary beings—names buried in folklore, sealed in ancient myths and legend. By sharing part of your Runic Flow, you can create a contract and bring them in life under your words."
Arcee's gaze sharpened.
"To bring one into this world," Henry said, "the caster forms a binding contract and feeds it Runic Flow continuously. The Summon borrows existence, power and shape. But the cost is constant. If the Flow breaks, the Summon collapses."
Cagaro swallowed. "So the mastermind is being sustained right now?"
"Yes." Blyke answered softly. "Which means he is nearby, lending a significant amount of Runic Flow."
Henry's jaw tightened. "And not a small amount. Maintaining something like that requires control and reserves. The mastermind did not just anticipate us. He invested in stopping us."
Tubal Cain stood calmly through the thinning smoke, smiling as if he already knew they were whispering.
Henry exhaled slowly. "This was sent to intercept us."
Tubal Cain's eyes drifted past Henry and Blyke.
They settled on Cagaro.
"You!"
Tubal Cain called adjusting the leather strap beneath his shoulder plate. "You look like someone who is bookworm. Tell me… have you ever heard of me?"
Cagaro blinked, caught off guard by the casual tone. The smoke had thinned enough to reveal the fine engravings along Tubal Cain's armor.
"I used to read a lot," Cagaro replied carefully. "Old books, novels, occult fiction..." He hesitated. "There was one… 'An Unwitting Antichrist'."
Tubal Cain's smile deepened, softer now.
"You were in it, I guess." Cagaro continued. "Not as a hero or not exactly a villain either. More like… a craftsman standing behind catastrophe who just wanted to do something good for the world but unintentionally things went wrong."
For a moment, the Summon's posture changed.
"Ah," Tubal Cain exhaled, almost fondly. "That dramatized interpretation." His tone carried a warmth of an artisan amused by how legends distort labor into myth. "They do enjoy exaggerating my role in things I merely… refined."
He rested a hand near his hip, where no visible weapon hung, yet the air around it felt edged.
"It is comforting" he admitted, voice mellowing, "to know that someone still reads in this era. That my name is not entirely buried under dust and misunderstanding."
His gaze returned to Cagaro with something almost grandfatherly.
"You have good taste in literature."
Henry's instincts screamed. His eyes shifted toward the far end of the corridor.
"Things are going bad." Henry muttered under his breath.
Tubal Cain tilted his head slightly, listening as well. His expression did not change but something sharpened behind his eyes.
"It seems" he said gently, "our conversation may require… movement."
Henry stepped forward.
"They are using him to stall us." he whispered. "Now the guards are closing in."
The first guard had not even fully rounded the corner when Tubal Cain moved. A sword appeared in his hand. He kept it in hand for a moment.
It simply existed made of a slender bronze blade etched with unnatural flow. He stepped on once. The blade flashed.
The sword vanished the instant it completed its arc.
Another blade replaced it, this one broader, iron-dark, curved like an ancient falchion.
Tubal Cain pivoted smoothly, striking upward. The weapon disappeared mid-motion, dissolving into dust-like particles of light.
Every attack birthed a different sword.
Each weapon materialized only for a single decisive strike before fading as though it had never belonged to this world.
"Manifestation cycling…" Blyke muttered, already moving.
He rushed forward, twin knives flashed into his grip. His footwork was sharp, disciplined, cutting through the narrowing corridor. He aimed not for brute force but for interruption closing their distance exploiting openings between summoned strikes.
Tubal Cain smiled as Blyke approached.
A thin, needle-like estoc formed in his hand.
Blyke slashed furiously.
Tubal Cain sidestepped with deceptive ease, faster than his composed demeanor suggested. The estoc flicked outward, forcing Blyke to twist mid-step. The blade vanished before Blyke's counter could connect.
Another sword appeared, this one jagged, almost ceremonial.
Tubal Cain attacked from an angle that felt rehearsed centuries ago.
Blyke parried with both knives, sparks scattering across the corridor walls. He was definitely the most skilled among here.
Gunfire erupted down the corridor.
Muzzle flashes tore through the lingering smoke as guards flooded the far end, bullets ricocheting off metal walls.
Arcee dragged Cagaro behind an overturned utility cart while Henry slid beside a fractured support column.
"Crossfire's closing." Arcee said sharply, calculating angles in seconds. "If we stay pinned, we are cooked soon."
Henry peeked once, then ducked back as rounds sparked inches from his head. "Break the summon or lay out the caster. Those are the only options."
Cagaro's pulse pounded in his ears. The corridor had become chaos.
Tubal Cain.
He stepped lightly between bullets as if walking through rainfall.
"At a young age." Tubal Cain said conversationally, voice carrying cleanly over the gunfire, "I forged tools before I forged legends. Strength or size was never the point for me. History will call me a villain, because it is easier than admitting they misused a gift from heaven!"
A sword formed, swung down, then vanished. Another... gone...
Then something heavier materialized in his hand. An iron hammer.
Tubal Cain swung it downward with controlled precision. Blyke crossed both knives instinctively, bracing to deflect.
The impact detonated on the spot.
The knives stood against the hammer's mass. Blyke's arms buckled. The force overwhelmed his guard. The hammer struck the floor and ground shattered.
Concrete split outward in a violent crater, dust and fragments exploding upward. Shockwaves rattled the corridor walls.
The hammer disappeared after a second.
Blyke slid back, boots grinding against debris, forearms trembling from the impact. He inhaled sharply then lunged again.
This time he did not meet strength with strength.
He feinted left, dropped low, used the fractured crater edge as elevation and pivoted mid-motion.
One knife slashed toward Tubal Cain's wrist at the exact moment the Summon began manifesting another weapon.
Tubal Cain's eyes sharpened, impressed.
"Clever boy." he murmured. Tubal Cain dodged moving his hand away.