The pipe smelled of dead lightning.
Kael crawled first. The vent was narrow, coated in a slick, black residue that burned his skin. Behind him, Horg and six Iron-Walkers moved in silence, their armor wrapped in damp cloth to muffle the sound.
"Heat signature ahead," Kael whispered, tapping his comms earpiece—a scavenged piece of tech Voss would have appreciated.
"It's a Ward-Gate," Horg replied, his voice a static crackle. "Standard Spire perimeter. Any movement triggers an alarm."
They reached a grate. Through the slats, Kael could see the glowing blue lattice of a magical barrier. It hummed with contained energy.
"Physically unbreakable," Horg whispered. "We need a key."
"I am the key," Kael said.
He reached through the grate. He pressed his Obsidian palm against the blue light.
Hunger.
The arm didn't just break the magic; it ate it. The veins on Kael's arm flared red as the blue energy was sucked into him. The barrier didn't shatter. It flickered, dimmed, and then simply... ceased to exist.
The hum died.
"Void's teeth," Horg muttered. "That's useful."
Kael kicked the grate open. He dropped into the maintenance corridor below. He landed silently, the Obsidian arm pulsing with the digested energy. He felt strong. Too strong.
The Iron-Walkers dropped behind him, weapons raised.
They were in the belly of the beast. The refinery was massive—a cathedral of pipes and boilers.
Steam hissed from pressure valves. Workers—indentured laborers from the Ashlands—trudged along catwalks, supervised by Spire guards.
"Target is the storage vault," Kael signaled. "Sector 4. Stay in the shadows."
They moved like oil. The Iron-Walkers were veterans. They knew how to walk without rhythm, how to blend into the steam.
They reached the door to the vault. Two guards stood watch. They wore the heavy plate of the Regulars.
Kael looked at Horg. He held up two fingers.
Horg nodded. He drew a combat knife.
Kael moved left. Horg moved right.
They struck at the same time. Kael grabbed his guard from behind, clamping his hand over the man's mouth. He didn't use the Void-arm. He used the knife in his other hand. Clean. Quiet.
Horg dropped his target a second later.
"Clear," Horg whispered, dragging the body into the shadows.
Kael hacked the keypad. The heavy steel door hissed open.
Inside, row upon row of glowing blue cylinders lined the walls. Ether-cells. Enough fuel to power a city. Or an army.
"Load up," Kael ordered. "We fill the bags. Then we rig the rest to blow."