The Core reacted instantly. Systems groaned under strain, metal shivered, lights flickered violently. Alarms didn't scream they wailed silently in the pulse of the machinery, warning the city that the rules had just been rewritten.
Rumble… sparks crackling… distant metallic shriek…
I had expected resistance, calculated traps, even the Architect's calm omnipresence. But this… this was a flood. Corridors buckled, panels slid and jammed, the hum of the Veins rising into a roar that pressed against my ribs. Every step forward was a negotiation with gravity and steel.
I darted through narrow passageways, coat slick with condensation, boots slipping on wet metal. Sparks sizzled from severed conduits, tiny arcs of light slicing the darkness. The Core's pulse had become a heartbeat I could feel in my skull, every rhythm reminding me that this wasn't just a fight against people it was against inevitability itself.
Click-click… hiss… grinding metal…
The loyalists I'd thought neutralized Krain, Carrow, Lyric reacted as predicted: chaos amplified by desperation. Krain crashed through a door I'd rigged, eyes wide with fury, only to slam into Lyric's improvised barricade. Carrow appeared in a side corridor, weapons drawn, scanning for control panels, her panic betraying the precision she usually wore like armor.
I sidestepped, letting them collapse into each other like dominoes. Each step I took, each lever I pulled, each misdirection I set in motion was a calculation, a rehearsal, a dance choreographed in my head while the world fell apart.
Drip… hiss… low rumble…
I could hear the faint echoes of the Architect's voice in my head, calm, deliberate, almost teasing: "You've proven useful… but can you survive?"
I snorted. "Survive? Cute. Let's see who actually finishes the game first."
A chute I'd marked weeks ago collapsed just as I'd predicted, burying half a squad of loyalists under twisted metal. I climbed over the rubble, heart hammering, lungs tasting of ozone and fear. The collapse wasn't just physical. It was a test of instinct, of cunning, of who could think faster than chaos itself.
Drip… groan… hiss…
And then I saw it: a control console, sparking, nearly dead. One hand hovered over it, indecision flickering, the other tightening on a pipe for balance. The choice was mine: stabilize some systems and save myself or let the collapse accelerate, letting the city burn in a controlled implosion. The Architect's gamble had become mine.
I exhaled, dry laughter slipping past my lips. "Stability is boring," I muttered. "Destruction is fun. Let's see if they notice."
I flipped the switches, rerouted power, sent corridors collapsing in patterns that guaranteed maximum confusion for the remaining loyalists but left me with paths open enough to survive. It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever is. But it was me. My chaos. My rules.
The city screamed around me, metal grinding and sparks flying, but I moved through it, a shadow laughing at inevitability. The Core itself had become my playground, my trap, my warzone.
And I? I was alive, breathing, grinning in the ruins.
"Nice try, Architect," I whispered, voice low and dry, echoing against steel walls. "But pawns don't break boards. Players do."