The first explosion tore through the night like the wrath of a betrayed god.
Flames erupted from the marble steps of the Senate Hall, licking the sky crimson. Leon barely ducked behind a shattered carriage as shards of stone and burning parchment rained down. The banners of the Golden Crown—symbols of the ruling council—burned into ash before his eyes.
The revolution had begun.
"Move!" Kira shouted, vaulting over debris with her rifle strapped to her back. Her face was streaked with soot, her eyes alive with something between fury and faith. "The Syndicate's inner guard will be swarming the upper ring in minutes!"
Leon rose, clutching the twin daggers that had earned him his infamy—the same blades that had slit the throats of men far richer and crueler than he'd ever been. The air trembled with chaos: the clang of steel, the screams of mercenaries, the rhythmic thunder of marching boots from every direction.
The Senate, once the heart of political power, now stood as a fortress under siege—a stage for judgment, drenched in the firelight of rebellion.
Inside the Hall, the senators screamed as their private guards scrambled to secure the doors. Dozens of gold-masked soldiers formed defensive lines behind overturned benches. But the Syndicate's shadow operatives had already infiltrated through the lower chambers.
Leon kicked down a side gate with a crash and entered with a dozen Blood Market fighters at his back. Smoke curled through the corridors; blood already slicked the tiles.
One of his men stumbled—an arrow lodged in his neck. Another fell with a gurgling cry as crossbows fired from the balconies.
"Ceiling! Third column!" Leon barked. Two grenades arced upward, exploding with thunder that shook the chandeliers loose. Glass rained down. A masked sniper screamed as fire engulfed the rafters.
They advanced. Room by room. Door by door. Every inch cost blood.
Meanwhile, in the upper chambers, Chancellor Varrin stood watching the carnage through a shattered window. His robes were spattered with soot, but his eyes were calm—coldly so.
"So the rats finally bite," he murmured. "But they forget—this city is ours to burn, not theirs."
Behind him, the Syndicate's elite commander, known only as The Warden, adjusted his black gloves. "Orders?"
Varrin smiled thinly. "Seal the north gate. Release the hounds."
Moments later, a deep rumble echoed through the tunnels beneath the Senate. Iron cages slammed open, and the Syndicate's engineered beasts—half-human, half-machine—roared into the firestorm above.
Leon didn't hesitate when he heard the sound. "Mechanical beasts," he growled. "They're unleashing the vault experiments!"
Kira swore under her breath. "They're mad—those things kill indiscriminately!"
"That's the point," Leon replied, tightening his grip on his daggers. "They'd rather drown in blood than lose control."
The first creature burst from the shadows—a towering hulk of rusted armor and sinew, eyes glowing like molten coals. Its claws shredded through walls, scattering sparks like fireworks.
Leon ducked, rolled, and slashed upward, his blade finding a gap beneath its chest plate. The creature roared, slammed him into a pillar, and tried to crush him beneath its weight.
Kira's rifle cracked once—twice—and both shots struck the monster's neck joints. It staggered, hissing steam, before collapsing in a heap.
Leon spat blood and stood, voice hoarse but steady. "Forward. We take the chamber before dawn."
The Senate's central rotunda loomed ahead—vast, circular, a monument to greed. Gold murals glinted even in the flickering flames. At its center, the great council table lay overturned, strewn with coins and spilled wine.
Varrin stood there, calm amid chaos, surrounded by Syndicate guards.
Leon stepped into the light. The two men's eyes met—rebel and ruler, predator and tyrant.
"Leon Vance," Varrin said, his tone almost courteous. "The city's ghost returns."
"I'm not a ghost," Leon replied. "Just the debt you tried to bury."
"Then come collect," Varrin said, raising a pistol in one hand and a ceremonial blade in the other.
The guards lunged. Steel clashed. Leon spun into the melee, his movements a blur of precision and fury. His daggers danced across throats and armor seams. Kira's rifle sang from the balcony above, taking down enemies in bursts of crimson.
But Varrin was no coward. He fought with the desperation of a cornered king—fast, brutal, and cunning. Every blow was aimed to kill, every feint meant to draw Leon into overreach.
At last, their blades locked, faces inches apart.
"You can't win," Varrin hissed. "The Syndicate doesn't die with me."
Leon pushed back with all his strength, the daggers crossing the pistol's barrel. "Then I'll start with you."
He drove his knee into Varrin's chest, spun, and plunged one dagger straight through his opponent's heart.
The Chancellor staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. "You… fool… you've doomed us all…"
He fell among his coins, his lifeblood spilling over the gold.
Silence hung for a moment. Then—an explosion from below. The foundation groaned.
Kira's voice came through the comm bead. "Leon! The Senate's collapsing! There's a chain reaction in the vaults!"
Leon looked around—the pillars cracked, the floor split. Flames surged upward as the ceiling began to cave.
"Pull everyone out!" he shouted. "Now!"
He sprinted toward the main hall, dragging a wounded comrade with him. The air was molten, thick with smoke and ash. A massive column collapsed just behind him, showering sparks across the marble floor.
Outside, dawn was breaking—a pale, blood-streaked light cutting through the smoke.
Leon emerged onto the Senate steps, coughing, covered in ash and blood. Behind him, the once-mighty fortress of power crumbled into ruin.
Kira met him halfway, eyes wide. "It's over."
Leon shook his head slowly. "No. It's just beginning."
He turned toward the distant skyline, where Syndicate banners still fluttered over the city's highest towers.
The war for the Capital had only just entered its next phase—and this time, there would be no neutral ground left.