The Yang-Mercury incident was a whirlwind of activity, both for Cinder's faction and for Arthur.
Cinder, despite the setback, pressed forward with her plans.
Her frustration with Mercury's botched performance quickly morphed into a steely resolve.
If the public wouldn't be swayed by a single, dramatic incident, then she would simply unleash a larger, more undeniable spectacle of chaos.
Her focus shifted to the CCT Network, the very backbone of global communication and military coordination. Watts, her co-conspirator, assured her that his programs were foolproof, designed to cripple the system and plunge the world into technological darkness.
"The Atlesian Knights will be our instruments of fear,"
Cinder declared to Emerald and Roman Torchwick, her voice devoid of any lingering doubt.
"Watts's virus will turn them against the public, creating widespread panic. The Grimm will follow the despair like moths to a flame."
Roman, ever the opportunist, smirked.
"Sounds like fun, Cinder. Just tell me when to start looting."
Emerald, however, remained troubled. The strange malfunction during the match still bothered her. It felt too precise, too subtle to be accidental.
She had seen Mercury train, seen his absolute mastery over his semblance and his ability to sell an illusion.
For him to fail so spectacularly, so uncharacteristically, indicated interference.
But who? And how? These questions gnawed at her, but she kept them to herself, knowing Cinder would tolerate no dissent or perceived weakness.
What none of them knew, what Cinder and Watts in particular were blissfully unaware of, was the true nature of Arthur's earlier intervention.
It wasn't just a physical manipulation of kinetic energy; it was a subtle, magical firewall that Arthur had woven into the fabric of the CCT Network.
Watts's programs, brilliant as they were in their design, were based on technological principles.
They were lines of code, algorithms, digital commands. Arthur, anticipating Cinder's move, had begun to subtly infuse the network with mana, creating a layered defense that was entirely alien to Watts's understanding of technology.
This wasn't a conventional firewall, easily detected or bypassed by a skilled hacker. It was a resonance firewall, designed to detect and disrupt specific energetic signatures associated with hostile code.
When Watts's virus, with its distinct digital fingerprint, attempted to infiltrate the network, it wouldn't be blocked by a conventional security measure.
Instead, Arthur's mana-infused defenses would subtly redirect its flow, corrupt its commands, and essentially make it unintelligible to the systems it was supposed to control.
It was like trying to speak a highly complex alien language to a computer that only understood binary.
The commands would be received, but they would make no sense, leading to unpredictable, nonsensical outcomes rather than the precise, destructive ones Watts intended.
Arthur, back in his hidden lab, was meticulously monitoring the flow of data across the CCT Network.
He had spent time, mapping its intricate pathways, understanding its vulnerabilities, and, more importantly, understanding the energetic signatures of various digital processes.
He had learned to "hear" the network, to perceive the subtle hum of data packets, the rhythmic pulse of communication lines.
And within that hum, he had woven his own silent symphony, a counter-melody designed to disrupt Cinder's destructive crescendo.
He adjusted a series of glowing crystals on his workbench, each one resonating with a faint, almost inaudible hum.
"Watts thinks he's dealing with circuit boards and programming languages,"
Arthur mused, a faint smile touching his lips.
"He has no idea he's about to encounter the very essence of reality itself."
His understanding of mana, its ability to influence and reshape, was growing with each passing day.
He wasn't just observing; he was actively experimenting, pushing the boundaries of what was possible.
The intervention with Mercury was a small test; the CCT Network was a far larger, more complex canvas for his abilities.
When Watts finally initiated the attack on the CCT Network, he was met with immediate, baffling resistance.
His screens, usually a chaotic but predictable display of cascading code and system overrides, began to flicker erratically.
Commands he issued returned strange, garbled error messages. The Atlesian Knights, instead of receiving their destructive orders, began to behave erratically.
Some froze mid-step, others began to walk in circles, and a few even began to harmlessly bump into each other, their optical sensors glowing with confusion.
"What is happening?!"
Watts roared, slamming his fist on the console.
He was a master of technology, a prodigy in digital warfare. This was unprecedented.
His programs, meticulously crafted and rigorously tested, were failing in ways he couldn't comprehend.
It wasn't a firewall that blocked him; it was as if his code was being… ignored.
Or worse, misinterpreted.
Cinder, watching from a distance, grew impatient.
"Watts! Report! Are the Knights activated?"
Watts, his face pale with a mix of anger and bewilderment, stammered,
"They're… they're acting strangely, Cinder. The programs aren't taking hold. It's like… like there's a ghost in the machine! My code is being rejected!"
Cinder's eyes narrowed.
"Rejected? By what? A digital anomaly?"
She had no understanding of magic beyond the Maiden powers.
The concept of an arcane defense against a technological attack was entirely beyond her comprehension.
She believed in the tangible, the explainable, the scientifically quantifiable. This was neither.
Meanwhile, across the city, the tournament grounds, usually bathed in the glow of holographic advertisements and digital displays, began to experience glitches.
Screens flickered, sound systems crackled, and the massive projection of the current match would occasionally pixelate and freeze.
The CCT Network, instead of collapsing into a silent, dead zone, was becoming a chaotic, unpredictable mess.
News reports, meant to be broadcast live, were interrupted by static or played segments out of order.
Communication between various security forces became fragmented, their signals cutting in and out.
Arthur watched the chaos unfold with a quiet sense of satisfaction. It wasn't the total collapse Cinder desired, but it was a different, arguably more insidious form of chaos.
The public wasn't unified in terror; they were confused, frustrated, and increasingly distrustful of the very technology they relied upon.
The Atlesian Knights, instead of becoming instruments of terror, were objects of bemusement, their erratic movements more comical than threatening.
The widespread panic Cinder wanted was being replaced by widespread annoyance and disorientation.
"A magician's touch,"
Arthur murmured, adjusting a dial on his console that tracked the mana flow through the CCT.
"Your machines speak logic. My magic speaks… whimsy. And whimsy, it seems, can be a most effective defense."
Watts, oblivious to the magical counter-attack, continued to furiously type, desperately trying to understand and bypass the invisible barrier.
He ran diagnostics, re-uploaded programs, even tried a complete system reset, all to no avail.
His technological prowess was useless against a force he couldn't even perceive, let alone measure. The more he tried to force his code through, the more distorted and nonsensical it became.
Cinder, growing increasingly furious, finally stormed into Watts's control room.
"Explain yourself, Watts! This is not the chaos I desired! The Grimm are not responding as they should! They need fear, not… not a glorified technical glitch!"
Watts, sweat beading on his forehead, threw his hands up in exasperation.
"I don't know, Cinder! It's unprecedented! There's something in the network, something that's corrupting my code before it even reaches its target! It's like a… a black box! I can't penetrate it, I can't even identify it!"
Arthur's work wasn't about outright destruction, but about subversion.
He wasn't trying to destroy Watts's virus; he was subtly altering its function, making it self-defeating.
The Atlesian Knights were still being activated, but their programming was so scrambled that they were harmless.
The communication network was still active, but it was so unreliable that it was effectively useless for coordinated efforts.
This created a different kind of vulnerability, a slow, creeping disarray that was far harder to pinpoint and counter than a simple, direct attack.
The festival continued, but its festive atmosphere was rapidly eroding.
The glitches, the unreliable communications, the oddly dancing Atlesian Knights – it all contributed to a pervasive sense of unease.
The audience, instead of focusing on the matches, was now constantly checking their scrolls, trying to get updates, only to be met with flickering screens and garbled messages.
The public discourse wasn't about Yang's supposed brutality anymore; it was about the mysterious failures of technology and the growing feeling that something was deeply wrong with the world.
As night fell, Cinder's frustration reached a boiling point. The Grimm, while still present, weren't converging with the overwhelming force she had predicted.
Their attraction to human despair was being muted by the sheer confusion and fragmented nature of the fear.
They were drawn to collective, unified panic, not isolated pockets of technical frustration.
Her grand plan for a devastating, public display of power was unraveling, piece by agonizing piece.
Arthur, meanwhile, allowed himself a moment of quiet triumph. He had successfully weathered another storm.
The CCT Network, instead of becoming Cinder's weapon, had become a chaotic, self-disrupting mess.
Watts, the supposed technological genius, was left scratching his head, utterly baffled by a force he couldn't comprehend.
This was the beauty of magic,
Arthur realized: its ability to defy logic, to operate on principles beyond the reach of conventional science.
He looked at the schematics for Penny, her design growing more complex, more integrated with his understanding of mana.
"Every little victory," he whispered, "is a piece of hope for the future. And a growing headache for Cinder."
He knew the real battle was yet to come, the direct confrontation.
But he was building his arsenal, not with weapons of war, but with the subtle, unseen forces of magic, and the quiet, calculated precision of an architect planning his masterpiece.
He was no longer just watching a setup; he was meticulously dismantling it, brick by invisible brick.
...
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