The corridors stank of smoke and scorched steel, every wall a reminder that chaos had a price. I moved through the shadows, eyes scanning, mind cataloging. Survivors huddled in pockets of ruin, each twitch, each whispered command a story.
Flicker… groan…
Krain roared from a makeshift barricade, slamming a chair into the wall. Desperation painted him bolder than his fury. I noted his patterns the way he overcommitted, the way fear sharpened his violence. Subtlety, apparently, was a concept he had never heard of.
Clink… scuffle…
Carrow drifted along the edges, whispering promises and alliances to anyone who would listen. Teeth gritted, eyes calculating. Fragile alliances, brittle like glass ready to cut whoever dared lean too hard. I smiled faintly. "Carrow's alliances: fragile as glass, twice as sharp."
Drip… hiss…
Lyric lingered in the shadows, murmuring philosophy to corpses that couldn't respond. His words floated through the smoke, absurdly poetic, useless unless someone cared enough to listen. "Excellent bedside reading for corpses," I muttered under my breath.
Rattle… creak…
I circled, invisible, cataloging. Every twitch, every misstep, every whispered command was data. If I played this right, they'd dance to my tune before realizing they were being led. The chaos wasn't a hazard it was an opportunity.
Soft clatter… hum…
I tilted my head at the scene. Krain's brute force, Carrow's manipulations, Lyric's philosophy they were predictable. All of them. And predictable is delicious. I could already see the fractures forming, waiting for the slightest push.
Pop… scrape…
A shadow of a smirk tugged at my lips. "Power grabs are messy. I almost admire the effort." The thought lingered like smoke, bitter, sharp, and entirely mine.
I stepped forward, careful, silent, observing the dance of ambition and fear. A broken empire is still an empire. Maybe easier to steal.