Kwandezi stood over the corpses of the Void-borne, the scent of burning rubber and blood mingling in the black, acrid air. The smoke and dust were so thick they blotted out the midday sun, creating a perpetual twilight over the ruined city.
"We have a problem," Akanni stated, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He pointed to the collapsing structure he'd used for a choke point. "That wall won't hold the pack for long. The Void-borne are drawn to panic and heat. The collapse of the Veil-Shield Generators means they're not just crossing the barrier—they're spawning inside the city. They've sensed the core's death."
Aisha, having successfully guided the terrified family into the sealed subway entrance, returned, her face grim. "The civilians are safe, but the subway is a death trap. Too many bottlenecks. We need a secure zone, a Firebreak."
"We need leverage," Kwandezi corrected, his smoky eyes scanning the devastation. His battle IQ was fully engaged, processing the chaos into cold, actionable data. "Zaire's death—the destruction of the Citadel—was a political vacuum. Akanni's broadcast just turned that vacuum into a civil war starting in T-minus ten hours. We have the data chip and the locket; that's the proof."
He pointed toward the nearest cluster of burning high-rises, a mile away. "We need high ground. We need visibility. We need a place that can be defended by three people against an army of monsters and an army of men."
Akanni squinted through the haze, his Scion-senses searching the rubble. "The Federal Reserve Skytower. It was built before the Veil, a pure-steel fortress. Its substructure is too deep for the Citadel's collapse to touch. The rooftop comms array is fried, but the central vault is hardened against everything short of orbital bombardment."
"That's where we go," Kwandezi decided. "It's a ten-block run through a warzone."
"We won't make it," Aisha countered, tapping the shattered screen of her suit's interface. "I'm picking up multiple energy signatures converging. They aren't Void-borne. They're military. Two squads of Ironclad Vanguards, heavily armored. They're responding to Akanni's broadcast, and they're moving on the Citadel crater—likely looking for survivors to claim authority."
"They're coming for the throne," Akanni growled.
"They're coming for us," Kwandezi said, a cold edge entering his voice. "Ironclads are the lowest-tier VDC. They won't ask questions. They'll just follow the last order they were given: neutralize threats to the VDC."
Kwandezi didn't reach for his swords. He reached for the ground.
"Akanni, you created the chokepoint," he said. "Help me perfect it."
Akanni looked at him, confused. "Boy, I told you, I'm spent. I can't lift another ton of rock."
"You won't lift it," Kwandezi replied. "You'll feel it. Tell me the weak spots. I'll do the heavy lifting."
Akanni put his hand on the ground, closing his eyes, forcing his residual Geokinesis to reach through the fractured earth. "Two meters under the asphalt... a primary water main. Cracked, but holding. And four meters down... a gas line. Older than the Veil."
Kwandezi nodded, his purple eyes fixed on the street. He slammed his foot down. He was not using a blast; he was using the fine-tuned, surgical precision of the Ultimate Transmutation.
He transmuted the water in the cracked main into superheated steam, instantly generating a massive pocket of high-pressure vapor under the street. Simultaneously, he transmuted a small, localized section of the gas line into pure, volatile plasma, creating a perfect, controlled ignition point.
The street didn't explode with a massive boom. It ruptured with a violent, roaring jet of flame.
A colossal, fifty-foot column of fire erupted from the asphalt, creating a raging curtain of heat between them and the direction of the converging Ironclads. It was a perfect, impassable Firebreak.
"It'll hold them," Kwandezi stated, turning his back on the inferno. "The Ironclads are too heavily armored to cross that heat. We have thirty minutes before they find a detour."
Aisha stared at the pillar of fire, then at Kwandezi. He hadn't just created an obstacle; he had created a temporary tactical wall, using the city's infrastructure as his weapon. He was adapting to chaos with terrifying speed.
"We move now," Kwandezi commanded, leading them away from the Firebreak.
🏃 Race to the Fortress
The run to the Federal Reserve Skytower was a brutal, adrenaline-fueled blur. The city was a maze of downed power lines, burning wrecks, and screaming sirens. They moved along the cracked rooftops, keeping high and fast, avoiding the panicked crowds and the encroaching Void-borne packs.
Aisha, the expert tracker, took the lead, using her knowledge of the VDC network to anticipate where patrols and monsters would converge. Akanni, though weak, used his strength to bridge gaps and clear debris, his presence a grim reminder of the VDC's former power.
Kwandezi was the silent guardian at the rear. He didn't engage anything that wasn't a direct threat, saving his limited power. When a low-flying Hazer—a flying, acid-spitting Void-borne—swooped down, he simply raised his hand and transmuted the internal fluids of the creature into inert silica dust. The monster instantly dissolved mid-air, raining sand onto the street below.
As they approached the Skytower, the devastation intensified. A full company of VDC Ironclad Vanguards were already there, but they weren't securing the tower. They were fighting for their lives against a massive, coordinated assault by the Void-borne.
Dozens of Gorgers and Stalkers had pinned the Vanguards against the base of the Skytower. The Ironclads, bulky and slow, were dying. Their sonic rifles and kinetic cannons were useless against the sheer, overwhelming numbers of the monsters.
"It's a slaughter," Aisha whispered. "They're not coordinating. Their comms are down, they're fighting individually."
"We can't get in through that mess," Akanni said, grabbing the collar of a screaming, running civilian and pulling him toward a collapsed subway entrance.
Kwandezi's eyes fixed on the Skytower itself. It was a sheer, flawless tower of ancient, unpainted steel.
"The main entrance is a deathtrap," Kwandezi stated. "But the tower itself is our entrance."
He pointed to a massive, steel cooling pipe running up the side of the skyscraper, forty stories high.
"A drainpipe?" Aisha asked, incredulous.
"No," Kwandezi corrected. "A ladder. Akanni, you're the anchor. Get us up there. Aisha, cover the civilians."
Kwandezi pressed his palm against the pipe. With a surge of controlled power, he transmuted the molecular structure of the steel along the pipe's surface, converting a perfect, vertical strip into super-dense, textured grip points—like climbing spikes running up the wall.
He turned to Akanni. "We climb. Now."
Akanni looked up the sheer wall, then at the massacre below. He had no energy left for a fight, but he had enough for a climb. "Don't let go, boy."
Kwandezi climbed first, using his light frame and incredible upper-body strength. Akanni followed, his weight challenging the integrity of the transmutation, but holding firm.
Aisha remained below, providing covering fire as they ascended, guiding the remaining civilians away from the collapsing Vanguard company.
They climbed against the backdrop of the collapsing city, the sounds of battle and death fading below them. By the time they reached the roof, they were seventy stories above the chaos.
They emerged onto the wide, circular helipad. The air was cleaner up here, and the view was devastating. The whole city was burning.
Kwandezi stood at the edge, a new, cold resolve hardening his expression. He was looking at the wreckage not with the eyes of a refugee, but with the eyes of a field marshal.
"The war has begun," he said, turning to his team. "First, we secure the vault. Then, we use this fortress to rebuild the VDC."