"Come closer."
That voice cutting through the cold wasn't just noise — it rewrote reality itself. Vance didn't even have a chance to resist. Survival instincts? Gone. The pull was so weirdly sweet, so overpowering, his body skipped right past logic. He started moving, drawn toward that fractured vault. Well, his boot tried to hesitate for half a second — understandable, since he'd practically traded fifteen years of his life just to rebuild it — but he couldn't fight it. That violet light pouring from the crack felt like a sun, like warmth he'd been missing forever.
His mind, completely sedated by the alien hum, whispered a careless excuse: Just one peek. Just a glance at the truth.
Then, agony struck. It wasn't gentle. It was as if someone jabbed a live wire straight into his brainstem, ice-cold and merciless. That was Axiom — the lynx didn't nudge, it stabbed. Electricity pulsed through their Parasitic Tether, and Vance felt a bolt of pain behind his eyes.
He snapped out of it, gasping. The hallucination burned away, and the brutal monochrome of the Sub-Stratum came rushing back. He stumbled, smacking into the sharp wall, desperate to breathe. Every inch of him screamed, "Get out."
Climb! Axiom's mind was screaming. Nothing logical, not this time — just pure, frantic panic.
Below, Commander Prescott shook off the violet trance. Prescott, after centuries of madness and decay, fought back against the psychic assault. The giant, fossilized horror unleashed a furious telepathic cry, enough to shake dust from the huge pillars.
"The Vanguard... does not kneel!" He didn't chase Vance. He gripped his rusted greatsword, clockwork chest spinning crazily, and charged straight for the cracked vault door.
"Up," Vance muttered, fingers clawing at the frozen rock. There were no stairs. No path. Just a steep fissure, climbing into absolute darkness.
Axiom took the lead. The lynx didn't climb like a normal creature. It flowed — claws sparking, carving handholds as it launched upwards, silent and quick.
Vance, though, was stuck with the hard way. He groped blindly for something solid, found a jagged edge, pulled himself off the metal floor, set his rebuilt foot on a tiny ledge, and prayed. Don't look down. He couldn't afford vertigo, not now. He moved, desperate, following the faint sparks from Axiom's claws.
The stone shredded his fingers. Within a few minutes, they were bleeding, streaks of copper smeared across ice. His lungs screamed for air — sharp and painful, like swallowing glass.
Every muscle rebelled. You're human, his body reminded him. You're not built for this.
But the Tether dragged him upward. Axiom would stop every so often, stuck to the vertical wall like some giant, night-dark spider, waiting, golden eyes watching, almost taunting: If you fall, I won't catch you. I'll let the Tether snap, then fend for myself.
CRASH.
A shockwave slammed into the cavern wall below. Vance froze, pressed flat against cold stone, cheek mashed hard into rock as the whole cliff trembled. Shale rained down, bouncing off his coat.
He risked a glance back. They were fifty feet up. Below, the cavern was flooded with blinding violet light — the pillars' golden glow gone. The vault door was gone, blown in from inside.
Arthur Prescott hovered, ten feet above the ruined floor. A nine-foot monster made from fossil and metal, swinging his sword in the air — except it was tangled in a web of violet shadows, spilling out of the vault in streams.
"Hold the line!" Prescott's voice thundered telepathically, now tinged with real fear. "Hold the—"
The shadows didn't attack. They wrapped around his rusted arm.
Then they twisted.
The sound? Armor and ancient bone snapping — loud and brutal, like a cannon going off in a closet.
Prescott's arm, sword fused to it, ripped free. Blood — thick, dark, corrupted — sprayed everywhere, turning to steam on the cold metal.
The monstrosity, who'd survived centuries of torment, got tossed aside like junk, smashing through a pillar, crumpling in the debris.
Vance's heart hammered. Fear crawled up his spine. This thing in the vault wasn't just powerful. It was effortlessly supreme.
"Keep moving," Vance whispered, voice cracking. He grabbed another hold, bloody fingers working overtime to drag himself higher.
Below, the entity stepped out of the vault. Its voice rang up the cliff, melodic and terrifying — feminine, but inhuman.
"You are loud, metal-man," it hummed.
He couldn't see her face. The violet light was too bright. But the entity's shadow on the cavern floor was tall, unnervingly human… except it had six wings.
"Such a loud, broken toy," she whispered, crystal clear. "Let me fix your clock."
Prescott's last roar shook the air as he charged back, but Vance didn't wait to see what happened. He hauled himself over a sharp edge, slipped, then finally collapsed on a narrow ledge.
He lay flat in a tiny shaft carved through the rock. Maybe three feet wide, pitch black, stinking of old water. But solid, and safe.
Axiom had already squeezed in, electric aura dimmed, fur pressed to the ceiling. The beast was panting, hiding their energy, ready to disappear.
Vance buried his face in his arms, shaking. Adrenaline still burned in his veins, and every muscle throbbed from the climb.
Down below, fighting stopped. No more heavy footsteps from Prescott. The golden light, once so bright, snuffed out.
All that remained was the soft hum of violet energy.
Vance lay still, trying to calm his breathing. They'd done it. Broke line of sight. Hid their gears. Escaped the graveyard.
Then the violet glow below started to fade, retreating into the vault.
And that voice came again. It wasn't echoing this time. It whispered right into Vance's ear, so close he felt the breath.
"Run fast, little thief. I will find my missing gear soon enough."
Vance's eyes snapped open. Pitch-black around him, blood freezing in his veins. The clockwork scar on his chest throbbed i
n sync with a fresh burn on his neck.
He hadn't just escaped. He'd been marked.