Blake crouched behind a twisted slab of hull plating, watching faint power fluctuations dance across his HUD. Each pulse traced ghostly patterns through the infrastructure, highlighting weaknesses and irregularities in the compound's southern perimeter. His fingers drummed once against Verdict's grip as he studied the maintenance hatch tucked beneath years of industrial buildup.

"There," Kitt whispered in his mind. "See how the power grid stutters near that access point? Old maintenance tunnel. Matches the schematics Mara provided."

Blake triggered [Warden's Insight], and something strange happened. The world warped around Blake like a funhouse mirror, sending his guts into nauseating somersaults. Before panic could sink its claws into him, Kitt's familiar presence steadied his mind. Their bond hummed with shared understanding—no verbal communication necessary. She'd latched onto his ability somehow, and goddamn, this was nothing like how the ability normally looked.

Instead of just his usual enhanced senses, Kitt's consciousness melded with his own, transforming the boring metal wall into something out of a sci-fi fever dream. The maintenance hatch lit up like Times Square on New Year's, a spiderweb of glowing circuits and power lines painted across his vision. Each connection point pulsed with its own unique energy signature, turning the whole thing into a private lightshow that only he could see.

Blake found himself mesmerized by Kitt's alien perspective of the world around them. If this was how she saw things all the time…

"Fascinating how they've cobbled this together," Kitt murmured in his mind. "The alarm system is primitive, but the core components are military grade. Give it to the Skaeldrin, they know what they were doing, even with salvaged parts."

[Unfettered Stride] carried Blake across the exposed ground with fluid grace. He pressed Verdict against the hatch's control panel, feeling Kitt's presence surge through the weapon and into the circuitry. Just like they had practiced.

"Allow me," Kitt whispered, and Blake felt the subtle vibration as she interfaced with the security system. The alarm's lights flickered once, then died. "I remain a creature of many talents."

The hatch swung open with a faint hydraulic hiss. Blake slipped inside, descending into the maintenance tunnel where oil-stained walls pressed close on either side. The confined space amplified every sound—his measured breathing, the soft scrape of his boots, the distant echo of combat from the northern wall.

The tunnel narrowed, forcing Blake to his hands and knees. The close confines sent his mind spinning through quest parameters and factional interests. Wōden's Eyes wanted leverage—the kind that came from secrets and compromising intelligence. And Valentis... their interest in stable governance might benefit from understanding how Rax maintained control. Knowledge was power, after all, and power properly wielded could build something lasting.

"Getting some interesting packet structures," Kitt mused as they crawled forward. "Lots of encryption, but the patterns suggest centralized control. A primary data nexus coordinating everything."

Blake paused at an intersection, scanning both branches with [Warden's Insight] before choosing his path. "Makes sense," he whispered. "Rax wouldn't trust his underlings with too much autonomy. If everything has to pass through a central server… Yeah, that's an optimal target. Woden's faction might get what they want there too."

"If we can reach it? Absolutely," Kitt agreed. "Though getting there... Nevermind."

"What?" Blake enquired as he moved forward in a ducking lope.

"I was going to say it'd be hard with all the guards and soldiers, but you haven't had any trouble with any of them yet. Maybe we'll get lucky."

The tunnel gradually widened until Blake could stand again, though he remained hunched beneath pipes and cables. The air grew thicker with machine oil and ozone, signs of active industrial systems nearby. Ahead, gaps in the tunnel's deteriorating walls offered glimpses of the compound's inner workings.

Blake stepped into a labyrinth of catwalks and scaffolding, the space above swallowed by shadows and a tangle of swaying cables. A gentle pull deep in his core signaled to him that Kitt wanted to pour mana into [Warden’s Insight]. Blake allowed it without question, a quiet but noticeable drain on his energy reserves. His HUD flickered briefly before stabilizing, the overlay recalibrating as 2% of his mana was spent reconstructing the likely movements of nearby patrols.

He couldn’t help but marvel at the ability. It had said it could "reconstruct events," but this was the first time Blake had seen that aspect in action. By reading the faintest traces left behind—scuffs in the grime along the walkways, subtle shifts in air currents, lingering traces of heat—it painted a near-perfect picture of paths and timings. The projected routes were fewer than he’d expected, the bulk of the compound’s defenders evidently drawn toward the chaos raging at the perimeter.

Through the jungle of machinery and flickering shadows, Blake zeroed in on his target. The cluster of terminals and communication arrays pulsed with activity, their displays rhythmically flashing as they channeled a torrent of data.

The overlay from Kitt painted a clear picture in his mind—this was it, the central server. Every scrap of information in Rax's network flowed through these machines like blood through a beating heart. The core of their entire operation, right there for the taking.

Blake moved like a ghost through the industrial sector, each step placed with deliberate care as he wove between patrol routes. The data nexus drew closer, its screens casting sickly light across rusted railings. One final obstacle remained—a lone guard stationed before the terminals, sweeping the area with half-hearted attention born of routine.

Blake studied the guard's movements from shadow, considering options that didn't exist. The man's position made stealth impossible. Any attempt at distraction would draw more attention than they could afford. Which left...

Blake's jaw tightened as he drew his knife. The guard had to die. Not out of malice or cruelty—just cold necessity. It was a familiar kind of calculus. And it was fucked. That was war.

He struck without hesitation once the decision was made. Three steps carried him from concealment to contact. His left hand locked the guard's jaw shut while his right drove the blade up beneath the ribs, angled carefully to pierce the heart. A quick twist ensured the wound would be fatal.

Blake lowered the body carefully, mindful of noise. His hands lingered for a moment after laying the guard down, face set in hard lines as he processed the mechanical brutality of what he'd just done. Then he stood, sheathing his knife as he turned toward the waiting terminals. Time to see what secrets Rax's network held.

Blake eased forward toward the humming terminals, taking in the cramped space with measured glances. Surveillance feeds cast an eerie glow across the operator's face as the man leaned closer to one screen, frowning at the chaos unfolding near the breached wall. His fingers danced across controls, adjusting security drone patterns with practiced efficiency.

The operator never sensed Blake's approach. A swift strike to the base of the skull, and the man slumped forward without a sound. Blake caught him before he could hit the console, laying the body aside with mechanical precision. No time for reflection—the screens demanded attention.

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He pulled his datapad free, connecting it to the nearest port. His HUD blazed with incoming data streams as Kitt began sifting through the network's guts.

"Interesting," Kitt whispered through their link. "Rax's been busy. Very busy."

Blake's eyes narrowed as information cascaded across his vision. Trade agreements, resource allocation tables, force deployment orders—each document adding pieces to a larger puzzle. The picture emerging wasn't just about maintaining territory. This was expansion. Conquest.

"Look at these resource demands," Blake murmured, scanning a manifest detailing shipments extracted from smaller clans. "He's bleeding them dry."

"Tributary states," Kitt confirmed. "Though some are getting restless. There's a lot of encrypted chatter about revised terms, missed quotas. Seems Rax's protection isn't worth what it used to be."

Blake navigated deeper into the system, following threads of data that painted an increasingly ambitious picture. Detailed maps stretched far beyond the local junkfields, marking settlements Blake had never heard of. Each target came with extensive tactical analysis—approach vectors, defensive capabilities, estimated resistance levels.

"This isn't opportunistic raiding," Blake said, his jaw tightening. "He's planning a war."

"With backing," Kitt added. Images flashed across Blake's HUD—fragmentary communications bearing signatures Blake was starting to recognize. "Kālī's Maw features heavily in these exchanges. Lots of emphasis on unleashing chaos, spreading destruction. But there's something else..."

Blake caught it too—scattered references to glory and conquest that carried a different flavor. Then he found battle plans with notes about the goals of a new Aeonic faction: The War Host of Ares. Once he figured out how to look, their influence threaded through dozens of strategic assessments and battle plans. Rax was playing a dangerous game, trying to please multiple patrons while pursuing his own ambitions.

"We really need to have that talk after this is over. How the hell do these Aeons match up with Earth mythology? Herne, Ares, Kālī..."

"I'd be delighted to explain the intricacies of the cosmic noosphere," Kitt replied, her tone brightening. "The way information bleeds through dimensional barriers into even isolated worlds is fascinating. Just say the word when you're ready for a proper lecture on metaphysical data transfer."

Blake grunted, recognizing Kitt's wasn't wrong about his shoot-first-philosophize-later approach to life. But damn, he didn't need a doctorate to get the job done most days. Still, something else was nagging at him.

"Why are these factions offering contradictory quests to both sides?" he asked, frowning at the data. "Ma'at wants public justice through me, but their name shows up in Rax's communications too."

"That's actually straightforward," Kitt said. "Different groups within each faction are placing opposing bets during the early, less consequential phases of scenarios. Think of it as hedging their positions. Once things progress toward a decisive outcome, they'll consolidate behind whoever proves most worthy of their support. For now, they can safely play all sides to see how events unfold."

"Politics," Blake spat the word like it was poison. Just more proof that whether you were dealing with petty bureaucrats or cosmic entities pulling strings from on high, it was always the same garbage—fat cats playing their games while regular folks bled out in the mud. Didn't matter if you were on Earth or some alien rock on the far side of the galaxy. That part never changed.

"So Rax is acting as their instrument," Blake muttered, "but he's trying to build something for himself. Using their support to grab enough power that they can't easily replace him."

Kitt's presence in Blake's mind shifted, her tone grim. "Blake... there's something else here. Another patron."

"Alright, show me."

Data streamed across his HUD—personnel files, medical records, and what looked like research protocols. Each document bore the same small signature in the header: The Stitchworks.

Blake's stomach turned as he processed what he was seeing. "He's selling out his own men?"

"Not just selling," Kitt clarified, her voice tight with disgust. "He's offering them as test subjects. Malrik the Grafter's faction specializes in experimental augmentations—unstable grafts, prototype cybernetics. The kind of modifications that tend to kill their users. Or worse."

Blake's jaw clenched as he scanned the documents. The clinical language couldn't mask the horror beneath. Test groups, survival rates, detailed documentation of "catastrophic failures."

"How many?"

"At least thirty already transferred. Another hundred marked for future processing. Rax gets enhanced soldiers in return—the ones who survive the procedures. Plus resources, territory rights..." Kitt paused as footsteps echoed through the maintenance tunnel. "We've got company. Multiple contacts, moving fast."

Blake turned toward the sound of approaching boots, his hand moving to pick Verdict up off the console. He hesitated for only a moment before Kitt silenty assured him she was done. He pulled Verdict away from the computers, just barely catching sights of the hair-like tendrils of "Chimera stuff" that she had been using to enter the network hardware.

Heavy footfalls and the clatter of gear grew louder, accompanied by the electric whine of charged weapons. No time to hide.

Blake pressed his back against the cold metal wall, mind racing through angles and distances as boots thundered closer from both sides. The confined space would work against him - unless he made it work for him. His fingers tightened on Verdict's grip as he activated [Warden's Insight], the world sharpening into crystalline focus.

Five hostiles approached from the west corridor, another five from the east. Their footsteps painted a tactical picture in his mind - staggered formation, weapons ready. Professional. But professionals still had to obey the laws of physics.

The moment the first figure to the west appeared, Blake unloaded three shots into them. He wasn't shy about using Kitt's "warp ammo" either—he needed to thin numbers more than he needed to conserve resources.

The first burst of return fire sparked off metal inches from his head. Blake was already moving, [Unfettered Stride] carrying him in a fluid roll beneath the stream of bullets. He came up in a crouch, Verdict singing as he put two rounds through the lead attacker's chest.

The remaining guards opened fire, forcing Blake to dance through the confined space. Each movement flowed into the next as he closed distance - a sideways slide beneath automatic fire, a vertical sprint up the wall to avoid a grenade, a spinning leap that carried him over a guard's head.

Blake landed behind the western group, Verdict's barrel already pressed against the nearest guard's spine. The shot dropped him instantly. Without pausing, Blake grabbed the falling body and used it as a shield, pivoting to face the others.

Two guards tried to flank him. Blake released the body and surged forward, weaving between their lines of fire. Verdict's grip cracked against one guard's temple as Blake spun past him. The other guard's weapon clicked empty - Blake was on him before he could reload, driving an elbow into his throat before finishing him with a point-blank shot.

The fifth western guard backpedaled, spraying wild automatic fire. Blake flowed around the bullets like water, each dodge bringing him closer until Verdict's barrel pressed against the man's forehead. A single shot echoed through the corridor.

As the body fell, Blake turned to face east, Verdict held ready. Through the settling gun smoke, four more guards stared back at him, weapons trained on his position.

"Blake, I think we've finally encountered Rax's elites…" Kitt's mental voice trailed off as she recognized Blake realizing the same thing. At least two of the men at his feet weren't nearly as dead as he might have hoped. They were groaning, and some even tried to shift into sitting positions.

"Stand down, outsider. You have one chance," the lead element of the four-man squad pinning Blake down said. The rifle he had aimed at Blake's chest looked more well-produced and well-maintained than any weapon he'd seen on Rax's men so far.

This was starting to look like a Fight Blake didn't want to take head-on.