Blake pressed his body to the ground as the echoes of destruction faded into the distance. His ears rang, but he didn’t waste a second. With a grunt, he rolled onto his side, then onto his stomach, pushing off with his palms to gain momentum. He was up and moving before the dust fully settled.His boots dug into the loose debris as he propelled himself away from his firing position. Every muscle burned with exhaustion, yet he forced himself to keep moving. He weaved through twisted metal and shattered plating, keeping low and erratic. The Northern wall was in shambles behind him—exactly where anyone looking for retaliation would focus.

A haphazard structure caught his eye: a tilted slab of reinforced hull leaning against a cluster of warped beams. It formed a narrow crevice just large enough for him to slip into. Blake dropped to a crouch and squeezed through, sliding on his side until he was concealed within the shadows.

He crouched there, chest heaving, trying to quiet his breathing while gripping the edge of his rifle for stability. Dust clung to his sweat-soaked skin as he scanned his surroundings, forcing himself to slow down and assess. This wasn’t the time to think about victories or losses—just survival and the next move.

A sharp rock dug into Blake's hip as he shifted position in his makeshift hiding spot, but he ignored the discomfort. His breathing began to settle, though sweat still trickled down his neck despite the relative shade.

"Kitt," he subvocalized, keeping his physical voice silent. "Recap what we've picked up quest-wise since I put out feelers on Aureon's feed. I want to make sure I'm not going to forget anything."

"Of course," Kitt replied through their link. Her presence felt warm and focused in his mind. "A lot to keep track of after all. You've attracted quite a bit of attention. The Aeonic factions seem... intrigued by your potential."

"Intrigued by YOUR potential, maybe," Blake allowed himself a small grimace. "But still, that's good news. Break it down for me."

"Of course, of course. It's not like you have an interface you can check at any time to—"

"Please," he cut her off. "I don't want to clutter up my HUD. Just talk to me, Kitt."

"I understand. You can't get enough of me. It makes sense. Well, first up is our friend from the Wild Hunt." Kitt's tone carried a hint of amusement. "Herne's people are quite impressed with the way you were hunting down Rax's patrols. They want to see you take down specific high-value targets within Rax's organization quietly—like a hunter. Less random violence, more precision elimination."

"Surgical strikes," Blake mused, adjusting his grip on his weapon. "That tracks. What else—didn't Odin, err, Woden, throw us some BS intel gig?"

"Wōden's Eyes has some... interesting requests." Kitt's hesitation was noticeable. "They're looking for deep intelligence work. Infiltration, manipulation, and gathering compromising information on key players. The kind of stuff that gives you leverage for the long game."

Blake's jaw tightened slightly. "Right. Politics. Ah, well, I understand the tactical value. Continue."

"The Scales of Ma'at is perhaps the most straightforward," Kitt said. "They want Rax's defeat to be public and unambiguous. A clear demonstration that his perversion of justice has consequences. Think less assassination, more... public execution."

"Making an example," Blake translated, remembering similar tactics from his military days. "Send a message beyond just removing the immediate threat. Not sure I love it. Don't know that I hate it either."

"Exactly." Kitt paused briefly before continuing. "Kālī's Maw is... well, they're basically asking for complete systematic destruction. They want to see the entire power structure of the clan torn down to its foundations. Total chaos allowing for something entirely new to emerge from the ashes."

Blake shifted slightly, easing pressure off his cramping leg while maintaining his concealed position. "Yeah, I remember that one, pretty straightforward." He frowned slightly. "There was another, right? Someone I didn't recognize."

"Yes, Valentis the Arbiter. He's a relatively new Aeon, only two millennia old." Kitt's presence seemed to sharpen with focused curiosity. "His people submitted a quest fairly different from the others. They're not interested in just removing Rax or destabilizing the current system. They want to see the establishment of actual governance—structured authority based on merit rather than just strength. They're the only ones explicitly trying to reward you for filling the power vacuum, not just causing it."

"An idealist," Blake murmured. "Now that is interesting." He absently traced a finger along Verdict's grip while thinking. "What exactly are they looking for?"

"The quest parameters suggest they want to see the implementation of actual institutional framework. Leadership councils, standardized laws, formal dispute resolution processes—real civilization-building stuff." Kitt's tone carried a note of approval. "They're offering significant rewards for establishing sustainable power structures that don't rely on individual strength or personal loyalty."

"So we've got some competing interests here," Blake said, chewing on the problem as potential approaches began to take shape in his mind. "Herne wants precision elimination of threats. Wōden wants intel and leverage. Ma'at wants public justice. Kālī wants total destruction of the current system." He paused, the weight of each demand turning over in his thoughts. "And Valentis... Valentis wants us to build something that actually lasts."

"Correct," Kitt confirmed. "Though I should note that these quests aren't necessarily mutually exclusive. There could be ways to satisfy multiple objectives simultaneously."

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Blake nodded slowly, his mind already mapping out potential scenarios. "The public removal of Rax's key supporters could satisfy both Herne and Ma'at. The chaos that follows could align with Kālī's interests while creating space for new structures that would please Valentis." He frowned slightly. "Wōden's intelligence gathering could help identify the right targets and leverage points to make it all work."

"Thinking of trying to thread that needle?" Kitt asked, curiosity evident in her tone.

"Maybe," Blake replied, shifting slightly to ease the pressure on his cramping muscles. "But first we need to survive the immediate situation." He peered through another gap in the debris, checking for movement. "One problem at a time."

"Speaking of immediate problems," Kitt's tone sharpened with sudden focus. "I'm picking up approaching signatures. Mara's got a nice mesh network going with some covert drones. We've got three... no, four contacts moving in a search pattern. About sixty meters out and closing."

Blake's body tensed, instincts engaging as he processed the situation. He'd need to move soon—either to engage or evade. But for now, he remained perfectly still in his hiding spot, mind racing as he considered how to best approach not just the immediate threat, but the larger game he'd suddenly found himself playing.

Blake crouched lower, the weight of Verdict resting comfortably in his hands. His gaze flicked between the approaching patrol signatures on his HUD and the narrow gap in the debris that served as his current cover. The tension in his muscles had nothing to do with fear; it was the restless kind that came from ideas bubbling up, demanding action.

"Kitt," he whispered, keeping his voice low and steady. "How tough is Verdict? Like, structurally?"

The pause before her response was short but loaded with suspicion. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I’ve been too tame," he replied, his tone deliberate as he stared at the distant movement of shadows through a gap in the wreckage. "I haven’t been thinking outside the box enough. I’m not normal anymore—you and Eland have made that very clear." He adjusted his grip on Verdict, its cool surface humming faintly under his fingers. "So maybe I should let myself experiment a bit."

"That doesn’t answer anything, Blake," Kitt shot back, her voice sharp with curiosity but tinged with caution.

"Hold on," Blake murmured, smirking slightly as he shifted his weight to ease the cramp forming in his leg. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned into the connection they shared—a deeper bond forged through their symbiosis. Memories stirred, vivid and alive, as he deliberately brought them forward.

It wasn’t just images he shared with her—it was motion, rhythm, intent. The dimly lit halls of a dystopian world where precision and efficiency ruled combat. The controlled chaos of close-quarters gunfights in neon-drenched settings where every move flowed like choreography. A sense of seamless movement and devastating impact layered over instinctive understanding.

The transfer was instantaneous, a flash of shared awareness rippling between them like a struck chord. Kitt's response came after only a heartbeat of silence.

"Oh," she said simply, her tone carrying something close to amused disbelief. "Well... Battlewright should give you the flexibility to make that work, yeah." A thoughtful pause followed before she added, "I can reinforce Verdict’s casing for you as well."

"Groovy," Blake murmured under his breath, a grin spreading across his face as he opened his eyes and rose slightly to peek out from his hiding spot.

The patrol signatures on his HUD shifted closer, but Blake felt no urgency to move just yet. Instead, he let himself savor the idea forming in his mind—one built on precision and creativity rather than brute force alone. He flexed his fingers around Verdict’s grip, anticipation thrumming through him like an electric current.

----------------------------------------

Blake waited until the first patrol member passed his hiding spot, then exploded into motion. He rolled from cover, Verdict sweeping up in a smooth arc that caught the man's jaw with the gun's reinforced frame. As the guard stumbled backward, Blake pivoted, driving his knee into the man's solar plexus before using the momentum to spin away from incoming fire.

Two quick shots dropped the second guard before he could adjust his aim. Blake kept moving, each step purposeful as he closed the distance to the third patrol member. The guard's rifle swept toward him. Too slow. Blake's muscles responded with trained precision, each motion flowing into the next like water. No thought required. His body knew exactly what to do. Two sharp cracks split the air. Both rounds went wide. Then Blake was close enough to strike.

He slapped the guard's gun aside with his left hand while bringing Verdict up in a tight arc. The barrel pressed against the man's chest as Blake squeezed the trigger. In the same motion, Blake grabbed the falling body and used it as a shield against the fourth guard's desperate spray of light.

Did that guy have a laser pistol?

The corpse jerked with multiple impacts as Blake calculated angles and trajectories. He released his human shield and dove into a roll, coming up on one knee. His first shot caught the final guard in the leg. As the man stumbled, Blake rose in one smooth motion, stepping inside the guard's reach. He trapped the falling weapon with his left arm while bringing Verdict's reinforced frame down in a precise strike to the base of the skull.

The guard crumpled, lifeless and limp. Blake flowed seamlessly into a defensive crouch, his instincts sharp, his eyes sweeping for any sign of danger. His breaths stayed measured, his pulse steady.

"Clear," Kitt informed him. Blake stood, methodical and unhurried. He fired two more rounds into each of the fallen men—clean, precise shots—ensuring no hidden cybernetics or cultivation tricks would bring them back to their feet.

"Yeah, that worked well enough," Blake said, giving Verdict a once-over to check for damage. "And it lets me keep the knife in reserve or off-hand it."

"Speaking of," Kitt said, "we should name this style you're developing. The gun-fu meets special forces thing you've got going."

"No." Blake shook his head. "We're not naming fighting styles. That's ridiculous."

"Come on, all the best cultivators name their techniques. It's tradition."

"Not happening."

"Fine. I'll workshop some ideas myself." Kitt's tone carried that specific smugness that meant trouble. "I'm good at naming things."

"Please don't."

"Too late," she chirped. "I'm on it. Oh! And that guy had a laser pistol. Make sure to grab that."

Blake sighed but didn't argue. He had to keep Kitt fed, after all.