The tunnels shook with the clash of bodies and metal. Sparks flew as blades met, echoing through the scorched corridors. Smoke curled around the debris, carrying the acrid scent of burned wires and scorched flesh. Two forces tore through what remained of the Syndicate's hold, Krain's men on one side, Lyric's on the other, each convinced they were in control.
Clang… hiss… distant rumble…
I slipped through the shadows, unseen, a ghost observing the chaos. Every movement, every shout, every stumble was cataloged, predicted, manipulated. They fought like animals too predictable, too delicious. I could almost hear the city smirk along with me.
Soft scrape… faint metallic echo…
Lyric had taken the bait. My false intel had set him on a collision course with Krain, and now the results played out perfectly. Men screamed, weapons clattered, and the ground trembled as one side faltered, only to be shoved forward by the panic of the other. I stayed to the edges, tracing lines in my mind, moving my invisible pawns through the blood and smoke.
Click… distant drip…
A grunt, a cry, a door slammed shut I let it all wash over me. Each misstep, each overreach, a perfect note in the symphony I conducted. Carrow's absence, Krain's temper, Lyric's philosophy they all danced exactly where I wanted. I couldn't help a dry laugh. "Ah yes, two armies tearing each other apart. Very civilized."
Soft hiss… clatter of falling debris…
I crouched behind a cracked wall, eyes following a group of Lyric's men charging blindly into a trap I'd arranged. The look of confusion and betrayal on their faces was almost artful. Strategy was optional. Chaos mandatory. And in the center of it all, I remained untouched, untangled, savoring the spectacle.
Rumble… soft echo of collapsing stone…
From the corner of my eye, Krain faltered, a hand trembling as he surveyed the losses around him. I nudged fate just slightly nothing too obvious, nothing too clean and watched him spiral. Every moment was a calculation, every reaction fuel for the next move. By the time the dust settled, Lyric's men would think they'd won, Krain's survivors would lick their wounds, and the real victory mine would already be in motion.
Click… faint hum…
I straightened, brushing ash from my hands, stepping over the remnants of the last skirmish. Smoke wrapped the corridors like a blanket, hiding the bodies, hiding the failures, hiding the truth. Power had shifted, quietly, perfectly. And I was standing in the middle of it, a smirk tugging at my lips.
"Strategy: optional. Chaos: mandatory," I muttered under my breath, voice low, sardonic, a reminder to anyone or nothing that even in a ruined city, someone still called the shots.