We collapsed onto the dusty floor of the Undercroft, the chaotic blue light of the vortex vanishing behind us. We were back in the Oracle's cavernous server farm. We were safe. But we were not whole.
Anya cried out, a sharp gasp of pain. I scrambled over to her side. Her leg, from the knee down, was a flickering, unstable mass of red static. The data corruption from the Cleanser's touch was not a wound that could heal. It was a permanent flaw in her very code, a scar left by the system's defenses.
[STATUS: DATA CORRUPTION (SEVERE). MOVEMENT DISABLED.]
"My leg," she grunted, trying to push herself up. But the corrupted limb had no strength. It was a useless appendage of glitching light.
A wave of guilt, so powerful it felt like a physical blow, washed over me. This was my fault. My quest, my plan, my risk. She had put herself between me and the Cleanser to save me, and this was the price.
"Anya, I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice thick with shame. "I never should have—"
"Stop," she cut me off, her voice sharp and fierce, even through the pain. She looked me straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering. "You got us out alive, Leo. You completed the mission. That's all that matters. This..." she gestured to her ruined leg, "...this is just the cost of doing business down here. No one gets out clean. Now help me up."
Her pragmatism was a shield, but I could see the fear behind it. I helped her lean against one of the cold server racks. Her strength was humbling. She was a true survivor. But her injury created a new, personal stake for me. I would not let her stay like this. I had to find a way to fix this.
The Oracle, who had been watching us silently from her campfire, hobbled over. She peered at Anya's leg, her hidden eyes seeming to analyze the corrupted data.
"A nasty wound," the old woman rasped. "Normal Med-Syringes won't patch this. This isn't a flesh wound. It's a tear in the tapestry of her code. The system's anti-virus has flagged these data packets for deletion. They can't be healed. They must be replaced."
Anya paled. "Replaced?"
"Patience, child," the Oracle said. She turned her gaze to me. "You upheld your end of the bargain, Marked Man. You brought me the data stream I required. And so, I will uphold mine."
She held out her trembling, cybernetic hand. The glowing blue map fragment materialized in her palm. "This is yours," she said, handing it to me. "The first piece of the puzzle. The location of the next server you must access."
I took it. [Exile's Path: Fragment Alpha] appeared in my inventory.
"It is more than just a map," the Oracle continued, a sly look on her face. "Caden was a genius, but he was also a saboteur. He hid more than just coordinates in his research. He hid weapons. This fragment also contains a small, single-use 'glitch' program. A Trojan Horse you can deploy."
A new item appeared in my inventory, linked to the map fragment. [GHOST IN THE MACHINE (SINGLE USE)]. The description was simple: Temporarily become invisible to all system-based targeting (turrets, automated defenses) for 30 seconds. It was a powerful tool. An ace up my sleeve for the next infiltration mission.
I looked at the fragment, then at the Oracle. "What about Anya?" I asked, my voice tight. "You said her code needed to be replaced. Can you do it?"
The Oracle nodded slowly. "I can patch her code. I can write new data to replace the corrupted strands. But I need the right materials. Clean, system-level hardware. Rare components. You can only find them in one place: decommissioned 'Cleaner' maintenance drones."
She was giving us a new quest. A side quest. A way to heal Anya.
My mind was reeling. A new mission, a new tool, a path forward. But there was still the matter of the new, permanent status effect on my HUD. The blood-red words that felt like a brand.
"The Anathema," I said. "What is it?"
The Oracle's expression became grim. The faint light from the campfire cast deep shadows on her wrinkled face. "You didn't just attack a server, boy," she said, her voice low and serious. "You did something far worse. You used Caden's corrupted fragment as a weapon. You injected the raw, chaotic code of the Undercroft directly into a clean, stable system. You have scarred it. The System is not just a set of rules. It is a living entity, in its own way. And it now sees you as a virus. A cancer to be eliminated."
The weight of her words settled on me. "What does that mean for me?"
"It means your game just got harder," she replied. "The System will now actively work against you. It will be subtle at first. A weapon might jam at a critical moment. A piece of cover you're hiding behind might suddenly de-rez. You will find that 'bad luck' follows you wherever you go."
Her voice dropped even lower. "And it will send its hunters. The chance of you encountering System Anomalies like Cleansers during your matches has now permanently increased. The System itself is now your enemy, and it will use its full power to try and remove you. You are no longer just playing the game, Marked Man. You are now fighting the game itself."
The news was terrifying. A new, invisible enemy that could strike at any time. But it did not break me. It did the opposite. It hardened my resolve. The System was no longer an impartial god of this world. It was a conscious warden. And I was going to tear down its prison.
I looked at Anya's glitching leg. I looked at the map fragment in my inventory. My goals were now crystal clear. Find the components to heal Anya. And continue on the Exile's Path. No matter the cost.
As I was steeling myself for the trials ahead, a familiar, grating sound echoed from the darkness at the edge of the cavern. The clicking of a metal staff on concrete.
Glitch, the cybernetic scavenger king, hobbled out of the shadows. He must have seen the blue vortex open and came to investigate. His red optic eyes scanned the scene: Anya's corrupted leg, the Oracle by our side, and the new, tense energy radiating from me.
"Well, look at you," he rasped, his mechanical voice dripping with suspicion. "You made a deal with the old witch and lived to tell the tale. Impressive."
He took another step closer, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to sense the change in me, the new Anathema status I wore like a shroud.
"But you've brought back a stink with you," he hissed. "The stink of the System's anger. That's very bad for business."
His tone was no longer mocking or curious. It was hostile.
"The Undercroft has rules, runaway," Glitch said, his voice a low threat. "Rule number one: don't bring the Warden's eye down here."
He raised his sparking staff. From the shadows behind him, several other heavily augmented figures emerged. Exiles. His crew. They were armed with crude, makeshift weapons, and their own glowing cybernetic eyes were all fixed on me.
Glitch was not happy. He had given me a map. And I had brought back a war.