metallic groan… drip… shuffle… distant crash…
The tunnels were narrower here, walls slick with condensation and shadows that moved like they had their own agenda. Crates stacked haphazardly created false corridors, hiding the paths smugglers used to ferry goods between Carrow's and Krain's factions.
soft rumble… clink… whispering echo…
From my vantage above, I watched both parties thread through the maze, unaware of the other's presence. Each step echoed against the metal floor, every footfall vibrating through my fingertips. Patterns emerged: timing, hesitation, distracted glances. All predictable, all manipulable.
dust puff… scrape… subtle hum…
I traced my hand along a support beam, feeling the tension in the steel. With a precise shift, a nudge here, a loosened crate there, I planted the seeds for chaos. One misstep, one additional weight, and the tunnel would punish them for their arrogance.
faint clatter… distant thud… whisper…
Carrow's boots clanged against the uneven flooring, confident, deliberate. Krain's men moved more cautiously, aware that something wasn't right, but unable to pinpoint what. Their micro-reactions were textbook eyes darting, hands brushing against crates, murmured warnings swallowed by the tunnel.
metallic groan… crack… shuffle…
The first beam shifted. A low rumble answered, and dust trickled from the ceiling. I pressed myself flat against the wall, cataloging the reactions: Krain's men froze, Carrow kept moving, shrugging off instinctual hesitation. One faction blamed the other without ever realizing the architect of the collapse was watching.
soft scrape… muffled thud… hum…
A crate toppled, narrowly missing a man's foot, sending him scrambling into another. The chain reaction began quietly at first, then grew. I counted every micro-falter: the stumble, the curse, the involuntary glance upward toward shadows that held no one. Patterns confirmed. Chaos unfolding exactly as planned.
rumble… clatter… muffled shout…
From my hiding place, I allowed a slow, almost imperceptible smirk. The factions were blind to each other, blind to me, blind to the truth of the Veins themselves. I had set the stage. I was merely the observer letting the first sparks ignite.
soft hiss… low thrum… fading clatter…
I retreated, hands pressed to the cold wall, noting every vibration, every startled glance, every misdirected accusation. The tunnel wasn't destroyed not yet but the seeds of mistrust and panic were planted. Let them blame each other. Let them scramble for dominance. The Veins would watch, and I would exploit.
whisper… echo… soft rumble…
"Perfect," I muttered under my breath. "Let them fight their own fire."
And somewhere beneath it all, the tunnels trembled, waiting. Patient. Hungry. Ready.