The footsteps grew louder, echoing unnervingly in the confined space outside the substation's rusted door. Rhys exchanged a grim look with Boulder. There was no easy escape route from this chamber; the only way out was the way the gang was approaching. They were cornered.
"How many?" Boulder asked, his voice a low growl as he hefted his pry bar.
Rhys focused his Echo Sense, pushing past the interference of the decaying metal walls. "Six, maybe seven. Moving cautiously now. They know something is here, or was. Spreading out." He could feel their murky Aether signatures probing the entrances to nearby collapsed rooms and tunnels.
Panic flickered, cold and sharp, but Rhys forced it down, channeling the fear into cold calculation. Direct confrontation was still suicide. But surrender? Unthinkable. They would lose everything – their supplies, the shard, the slate, possibly their lives. Defense. Delay. Create an opportunity to escape. That was the only viable strategy.
"The door," Rhys said quickly, gesturing towards the warped metal slab Boulder had jammed shut. "Can we reinforce it more?"
Boulder examined the frame, shaking his head slightly. "Rusted through. Heavy impact will buckle it or rip it from the hinges. Won't hold long."
"Then we don't let them get a clean hit," Rhys decided. His mind raced, assessing their limited resources and his own fledgling, inefficient abilities. The substation chamber was small, maybe ten paces across, cluttered with defunct machinery bolted to the floor – potential cover. A single flickering emergency light fixture cast long, dancing shadows.
"Boulder, position yourself behind that main console," Rhys directed, pointing to a large, heavy metal cabinet near the back wall. "It's solid, good cover. Use the pry bar to discourage them if they breach the door, but don't expose yourself."
Boulder nodded, moving silently into position, melting into the shadows behind the console.
Rhys took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic hammering in his chest. He needed his Aether, what little he had regained, and he needed focus. He moved near the door, flattening himself against the wall beside it, ensuring he was out of the immediate line of fire if it burst inwards.
He could hear them now, right outside. Muffled voices, the scrape of boots on concrete.
"This one's jammed," a rough voice muttered – Grok, the leader from the junction encounter.
"Smells fresher in there," another voice added. Weasel? "Like someone's been breathin' regular."
"Right," Grok growled. "No tricks. On three. Ram it. One… two… THREE!"
A heavy thud reverberated through the metal door, shaking dust from the ceiling. The door bulged inwards, hinges groaning in protest, but held.
"Again!"
Rhys closed his eyes, drawing on his Aether. He didn't have the power for a forceful attack, but maybe… distraction? Disorientation? He focused on the spark technique, pouring more energy into it than before, aiming not for precision, but for brightness and noise.
CRACK!
A second, heavier impact slammed into the door. It buckled further, a jagged tear appearing near the frame. Just as the third impact was about to land, Rhys thrust his hand forward, channeling his Aether.
POP-FIZZ!
A shower of brilliant white and orange sparks erupted just outside the tear in the door, accompanied by a sharp crackling sound. It wasn't powerful, but in the oppressive darkness of the tunnel, the sudden flash and noise were startling.
"Gah! What the—?" Shouts of surprise and confusion from outside. The ramming blow faltered.
Rhys didn't wait. While they were momentarily blinded and confused, he switched tactics. Air manipulation. He gathered another precious reserve of Aether, visualizing a sudden, sharp gust blowing outwards through the tear in the door, carrying dust and grit.
WHOOSH!
A blast of air puffed out, swirling debris into the faces of those nearest the door. More cursing and sputtering came from the tunnel.
"Sorcery!" Weasel shrieked. "I told you this place was cursed!"
"Shut up, Weasel! It's tricks!" Grok roared, but his voice held a new note of uncertainty. "Just break it down! Ignore the light shows!"
The ramming resumed, heavier now, fueled by anger and fear. The tear widened. Rhys knew his tricks wouldn't hold them for long, and his Aether was draining fast. He needed something more substantial.
Water Attunement. His near-disaster had shown its potential dangers, but also its power. Could he use it offensively? Not to freeze, but perhaps… slickness?
He drew upon the memory of Water Attunement, focusing on the feeling of dampness, of condensation. He projected a thread of Aether towards the floor just inside the doorway, visualizing the ambient moisture in the air coalescing, drawn by his will, forming a thin, treacherously slick film on the grimy concrete. It was incredibly difficult, requiring fine control he barely possessed, and the effect felt weak, uncertain.
CRASH!
With a final, brutal impact, the door ripped partly from its hinges, screeching inwards, leaving a gap wide enough for a man to squeeze through. A figure, silhouetted against the tunnel light, lunged forward.
Rhys held his breath, watching. The thug took one step inside, boot hitting the spot Rhys had targeted. His foot slid out from under him as if hitting ice. With a surprised yell, he windmilled his arms and crashed heavily to the floor, his weapon clattering away.
Before the others could react, Boulder moved. Not attacking directly, but using the environment. With a powerful heave, he shoved a smaller, detached piece of machinery near his console. It slid across the floor with a screech, slamming into the fallen thug and pinning his leg. The man howled in pain.
Chaos erupted outside the doorway. Grok bellowed orders, trying to push his hesitant men forward. Another thug peered cautiously through the gap.
Rhys, emboldened by the small success but feeling his Aether reserves plummeting dangerously low, risked another Weaving. He focused his Water Attunement again, this time on the air itself, trying to create a sudden, dense pocket of mist right in the doorway.
A swirling grey vapor condensed rapidly, obscuring the view into the chamber for a few crucial seconds.
"Enough!" Grok roared, shoving his way forward. He clearly wasn't falling for illusions. He raised a heavy pipe wrench, preparing to charge.
Rhys knew he was almost spent. One last gamble. He remembered the subtle resonance of the Deep Iron Kaelen had taken, its grounding property. He looked at the heavy metal console Boulder hid behind. Could he… subtly enhance its inertia? Make it harder to move, harder to damage? He pushed the dregs of his Aether towards it, focusing on the concept of weight, of stability.
Grok charged into the mist, swinging the wrench wildly towards the console where he assumed someone was hiding. The wrench struck the heavy metal cabinet with a deafening clang. But instead of denting or staggering, the console seemed to vibrate slightly, absorbing the impact with unnatural solidity. Grok staggered back, his arm numb from the reverberation, staring at the impassive metal in disbelief.
That moment of stunned surprise was all Boulder needed. He surged from behind the console, not attacking Grok directly, but swinging his pry bar in a low, powerful arc, smashing it into Grok's knee. A sickening crunch echoed in the chamber. Grok screamed, collapsing to the ground, clutching his shattered kneecap.
Seeing their leader downed, the remaining thugs hesitated, fear overcoming greed. Weasel, true to his name, was the first to turn and flee back down the tunnel. The others quickly followed, dragging the whimpering thug with the pinned leg, leaving Grok writhing on the floor.
Boulder stood panting, pry bar ready, watching them retreat. Rhys sagged against the wall, utterly drained, his head spinning, Aether Pool almost completely dry. The substation was silent again, save for Grok's agonized moans. They had defended their temporary sanctuary, but the cost was high, and the victory felt terrifyingly fragile.