The corridor leading to Rax's bunker sat exactly where Kitt had said it would be. Blake paused at the threshold, noting how the welded series of starship fuselages created an uncomfortably long approach. Old instincts and hard lessons screamed warnings—everything about the space felt engineered for defense.
"This hallway," Blake muttered, "is a killbox." New scars marked the metal walls where someone had covered old viewports and access panels, removing potential cover. The floor showed signs of recent cleaning, lacking even the usual scatter of scrap metal and debris that littered most corridors. Twenty yards of empty space stretched between him and the bunker's entrance.
"Yeah," Kitt's tone held a note of dark amusement. "Pretty obvious trap. But an impressive one—the engineering work is actually quite elegant. The whole thing can be sealed and..."
"Did I buy you enough time?" Blake interrupted, not particularly interested in the technical details if they wouldn't end up mattering.
"Barely," Kitt murmured in response. "But yes, I got everything we need."
Blake nodded, eyes still fixed on the hallway ahead. "So we're set here?" he asked quietly.
"Oh." Kitt's amusement returned. "You'll be fine. Trust me."
"Good. If things are ready on your end, get to work. I saw Korrn out there on the front. He'll appreciate our help."
Blake smiled and stepped forward. His boots rang against the metal deck with deliberate force—no point trying to be stealthy now. The door behind him slammed shut with a pneumatic hiss, locking mechanisms engaging with a series of metallic clicks. Blake didn't bother looking back.
A faint whirr of servos drew his attention upward. Four panels in the ceiling slid aside, revealing sleek defensive turrets. They descended on hydraulic arms, weapon barrels tracking his position with mechanical precision. Two covered the entrance he'd just passed through, while the other pair maintained a bead on his current position.
"Intruder." Rax's voice boomed from a speaker mounted near the bunker door. The man's tone dripped with smug satisfaction. "I must admit, you've provided an entertaining diversion. But this is where your little infiltration ends."
Blake continued walking, pace unhurried. The turrets adjusted to track his movement, servos whining as they maintained their aim.
"No clever last words?" Rax taunted. "No desperate pleas or declarations of defiance? I'm almost disappointed. Still, your corpse will serve as an excellent warning to the next fool who tries to breach my sanctum."
Blake's stride never faltered. Ten yards to the bunker door.
"Very well then. If you insist on dying in silence..." A note of frustration crept into Rax's voice, his careful showmanship cracking slightly at Blake's apparent lack of concern.
The turrets' targeting lasers painted crimson dots across Blake's chest. Still, he walked. Five yards remained.
"Last chance, intruder. On your knees, or—"
"Kitt?" Blake interrupted quietly, not breaking stride. "Would you mind?"
On cue, the turrets' targeting lasers turned off, and the barrels of the weapons spun up and away from him. Blake reached the bunker door just as Rax's voice dissolved into incoherent cursing.
"After you," Kitt said cheerfully as the door's locking mechanisms disengaged.
"Do you have eyes inside?" Blake asked as he stepped to the side of the door. He found himself slightly annoyed Kitt didn't actually have a physical form as of yet to help him perform a safe open-and-clear.
"Unfortunately Rax seems to value his privacy, no cameras." Kitt responded.
Blake considered what information he had, weighed the odds that Rax had anyone in the bunker with him that Blake would regret hurting. He decided it was unlikely. His mana levels felt stable, but the next few minutes might be taxing, so he pulled up the hard data: 26% remaining.
It would have to do.
"Kitt," he thought. "Can we fire off a [Singularity Shot] without completely draining my reserves? A smaller one?"
"Absolutely," she responded immediately. "Between the weapon's secondary core and the mana you've got personally, we can fire off one at partial strength that will only use up another 11% of your total mana."
Blake signalled to her to prepare the weapon, and reached for the handle of the bunker door. He pulled the door open, keeping it between himself and the room's interior, half expecting to hear the discharge of weaponry. There was nothing but the sound of Rax cursing coming through the open portal. As switly as he could, Blake spun around the bulk of the door and leveled Verdict at the center of the room.
The room beyond matched what he'd expect from someone like Rax—a hodgepodge of salvaged tech arranged to create an impression of power and control. Holographic displays covered the walls, showing security feeds and tactical overlays of the battle raging outside. The air hummed with the sound of power systems and environmental controls.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
But Blake immediately focused on the two figures at the room's center. Rax stood behind a curved command console, his chrome-plated cybernetic arm reflecting the displays' glow. The arm was new—bigger, more ornate, with strange purple energy crackling along its length. His stance projected calculated calm, but Blake caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his organic hand kept straying toward the console's controls.
The enforcer was something else entirely. The Skaeldrin warrior towered over his boss by nearly a foot, bulging with augmented muscle barely contained by scarred armor. Purple light leaked from seams in his plating, pulsing in time with a low subsonic hum that Blake felt more than heard. But it was the man's eyes that held Blake's attention—wide and feral, pupils blown so wide the irises were barely visible rings of color.
Hopefully the brute wouldn't be a problem. Blake pulled the trigger.
The singularity shot burst from Verdict's barrel with a whisper instead of its usual thunderous roar. The projectile crossed the room in an instant, warping the air around it. Where a full-power shot would have torn the room apart, this one merely pulled at the edges of reality like stretched fabric.
The impact point erupted in a wash of that strange not-light that painted the room violet and black. Debris, holographic displays, and loose equipment spiraled toward the center of the miniature gravity well. The crushing force crumpled metal and shattered screens, drawing everything into a sphere of compressed matter centered around Rax.
Blake didn't wait for the explosion. He threw himself back out of the way of the open doorway, counting on the sturdy metal of doorway to help resist the blast wave of the attack.
There was a cracking noise, like a pile of ceramic plates shattering, and dust and debris plumed out of the doorway like the eruption of a sideways volcano.
When the dust settled, Blake returned to the doorway. Most of the room's contents lay in ruins. Shattered displays sparked fitfully, and the remains of the command console were scattered across the floor in twisted chunks.
But Rax and his enforcer still stood, encased in a dome of holographic energy. Hexagonal patterns rippled across its surface like oil on water. Through the translucent barrier, Blake spotted the missing section in Rax's cybernetic arm—a clean two-inch gap in the bicep that leaked sparks and violet light.
"Emergency shielding," Kitt observed clinically. "Built into the arm's systems. Looks like it was a one-off, but it worked. Clever."
Blake checked his mana reserves: 15% remaining, exactly as Kitt had calculated. The shield wouldn't hold forever. He stepped into the ruined bunker, Verdict trained steadily on Rax's head, waiting for the barrier to fail.
"Last chance to walk away from this," Blake said quietly, addressing the enforcer. "I don't need to kill you, too."
The massive Skaeldrin's only response was a rumbling growl, lips peeling back to reveal sharpened teeth in a predatory grin. The purple glow from his augments intensified, casting strange shadows across his features.
Blake's cataloged other details—the way the enforcer's augmented musculature strained against his flesh, the somewhat unnatural angle of his joints, the network of bruised veins visible beneath his skin. This was definitely Malrik's work, and a lot of it.
[Warden's Insight] activated almost unconsciously, painting the scene in layers of data. The ability highlighted a bevy of new structural weak points, optimal firing lines, and potential environmental hazards. But it also revealed something else—threads of sickly violet energy that writhed between Rax and his enforcer like ethereal puppet strings.
Mental cultivator, Blake remembered Eland's theory. Uses his abilities to control others. The evidence was right there in the corrupted mana that bound the enforcer's will to Rax's commands. Whatever was left of the man's original personality was buried beneath layers of artificial aggression and enforced loyalty.
Blake sighed. He'd seen this kind of thing before, though usually through chemical means rather than magic. Warlords using drugs and conditioning to create disposable shock troops. It never ended well for anyone involved.
"Impressive, isn't he?" Rax's voice dripped with false warmth. "One of my more successful experiments. The integration rate was nearly perfect, and the behavioral modifications took beautifully. He'll tear you apart on my command, you know. But it doesn't have to end that way."
"Join me instead," Rax said, spreading his hands in a gesture of apparent magnanimity. "Someone with your skills, your potential—we could do great things together. Help me bring order to this wasteland. There's so much more I could teach you about power, about true control."
Blake felt something then—an oily sensation trying to slither into his thoughts. Whispers of temptation that weren't quite his own. Promises of power and purpose that felt hollow even as they tried to sink hooks into his mind.
The Roadwarden's essence flared in response, a surge of righteous anger that burned away the intrusion like morning sun burning off fog. The Class's reaction felt personal somehow, as if it recognized the violation for what it was and took offense at the very attempt.
Well, that's interesting, Blake thought, filing the information away for later study. He had a growing list of questions about his Class, about the System itself, about… Everything, really. But those were problems for later, after he'd dealt with the immediate threat.
"Kitt," Blake called out, voice carrying clearly through the bunker. "Seal the doors, please."
Blake kept Verdict trained steadily on Rax, watching the man's composure crack. The shield wouldn't last much longer—already hairline fractures spread across its surface like spiderwebs.
"Who are you?" Rax demanded, his earlier smugness evaporating. "Who sent you? Did the War Host turn on me?"
Blake remained silent, letting the weight of his presence do the talking. The enforcer hadn't moved, still grinning that unnatural grin, but Blake noted the slight tremors running through the massive figure's augmented frame.
"Answer me!" Rax's voice rose, cracking slightly. His cybernetic arm sparked and whined as he gestured wildly. "Did Malrik decide to cut me out? Are you working with The Scales? Who has the resources to—"
The shield flickered, and Rax flinched. His organic hand scrambled across the remains of his console, searching for controls that no longer existed.
"This is my territory," Rax snarled, desperation bleeding through his words. "I built this. I control this. Why are you even here!?"
Blake considered the question. He thought about Mara's determination, about Korrn's quiet strength, about all the people trying to build something meaningful in this wasteland. He thought about bullies and warlords who used fear to control others, who crushed hope under the guise of order.
Some things never changed, no matter where you went. As a fresh recruit, Blake had been too naive to understand that. But here? Now? With the strength of the Roadwarden burning in his veins? Maybe they could.
Blake shrugged.
"De Oppresso Liber, asshole."