The shorter thug didn't wait for a second warning.
He pulled the trigger of his scrap-shot, the weapon barking with a jagged, uneven roar. Metal shards and spent casing fragments sprayed across the tunnel, sparking against the damp concrete.
Kael didn't even think. He moved.
The 'sensory lag' that had plagued him during the Scrapper fight was gone, replaced by a cold, hyper-focused adrenaline. He dove to the left, his 'Needle-Threader' traits firing reflexively, sewing his own center of gravity to the floor to keep him low and fast.
[CAUTION: STAMINA DEPLETION DETECTED]
[Current Reserves: 24%.]
He was inside the taller thug's guard before the man could swing his rusted pipe. Kael slammed his right fist—the one anchored with obsidian thorns—into the man's chest.
The sound was sickening. It wasn't the dull thud of a punch. It was the sharp, splintering crack of bone and the wet tear of industrial-spec fabric. The 'Thorn Knuckles' didn't just hit; they pierced, the obsidian spurs driving through the thug's scavenged breastplate like it was made of dry paper.
The man let out a wet, wheezing sound, his eyes going wide as he was lifted off his feet by the sheer momentum of the blow. The obsidian thorns caught on a rib, the structural recoil jarring Kael's own arm up to the shoulder.
[WARNING: RECOIL OVERFLOW]
[Osteo-Anchoring at 82% Integrity.]
[Recommendation: Avoid sustained blunt impact without skeletal reinforcement.]
Kael yanked his hand back, the obsidian spurs pulling free with a gruesome, sucking sound. The thug collapsed, his chest a ruin of crimson and obsidian shards. He didn't move again.
The shorter thug stared at his fallen partner, then at Kael. His scrap-shot was jammed, a thin plume of black smoke rising from the breach. "You... you're not an Inert. You're a monster."
"I'm a survivor," Kael said, his voice flat. He stepped over the dying man, his right hand pulsing with a dull, throbbing heat. The Orchard in his mind was screaming, but not for safety. It was reaching toward the fallen thug, its phantom roots twitching in the mental soil.
Harvest him, the hunger whispered.
Kael reached down, his fingers brushing the man's blood-soaked jacket.
[HARVEST FAILED]
[Target Classification: Pure Human (Non-Mutated).]
[Essence Yield: 0.2 Units (Negligible).]
[Note: Killing non-mutated humans provides no significant Essence for Orchard growth.]
The realization hit Kael harder than the recoil had. There was no reward for this. No progression. Just a dead man in a puddle of filth and a hollow ache in his own marrow.
"Go," Kael said, looking at the surviving thug. "Tell Jax. Tell him the 'Blank' is gone. Tell him I'm growing."
The thug didn't need a second invitation. He scrambled backward, his boots slipping in the oily mud of the tunnel floor. He turned and bolted into the dark, his frantic breathing echoing like a dying engine.
"Kael," Elara's voice was soft, but it cut through the adrenaline.
He stood up, his hand still dripping with the man's blood. The obsidian thorns retracted slightly, sinking back into the bone until only the tips were visible. His pulse was a frantic, irregular rhythm in his ears.
"You shouldn't have let him go," she said, walking over to the fallen body. She didn't look at the face; she went straight for the man's pockets, pulling out a small, amber-filled vial—Essence overflow meant for a scout team. "He'll bring Jax. He'll bring a hundred of them."
"Let him," Kael said, wiping his hand on his trousers. The 'starvation' was returning, the Orchard's hunger only sharpened by the brief, high-octane surge of the fight. "The more of them they send, the more Essence we have to harvest."
Elara looked up at him, the dying violet light reflecting in her dark eyes. For the first time, she didn't look like a clinical observer. She looked like she was seeing something for the first time.
"You're learning," she whispered.
"I'm starving," Kael replied, already moving toward the dark tunnel that led deeper into the Sprawl. "Let's move. We have a thousand units to find, and the sun is going down."