CHAPTER 1167: MELABLANC (1).

A pause. Then Steve’s tone darkened. "We overheat it. Force it to absorb more power than it can stabilize. You’ll need to channel every node’s residual energy back into the core. Problem is—someone’s got to stay inside to keep the channels open."

Cain didn’t hesitate. "I’ll do it."

Roselle’s voice cut in sharply. "The hell you will."

"Cain," Hunter growled. "We finish the fight together or not at all."

Cain clenched his jaw. He could hear the storm intensifying above them, the Tower’s form distorting like a living wound in the sky. "You don’t understand. If we all stay, it’ll kill everyone within five kilometers."

Silence.

Then Roselle said quietly, "Then you better come back, or I’ll kill you myself."

Cain almost laughed, but it came out as a cough. "Deal."

He broke into a sprint, boots hammering against cracked metal as he climbed toward the Tower’s base. Ruby limped back into view, one wing dragging, eyes fierce. She crouched low, letting him mount once more.

The ascent was brutal. Winds clawed at them, shards of burning debris slicing the air. Every few seconds, another blast from the Tower’s defense grid lit up the clouds.

By the time Cain reached the crown again, the core was pulsing violently, tendrils of white flame spilling into the air like leaking blood.

He drove {Eidwyrm} into the heart of it.

The Tower screamed—not in sound, but in vibration. The metal around him twisted, fracturing in waves. Golden light surged through the veins of the structure, colliding with the white flame at its center.

Steve’s voice was distant now, breaking apart in static. "Stabilizing channels... forty percent... keep it steady..."

Cain gritted his teeth, forcing his will into the flow. The energy raged through him, burning his veins raw, every nerve screaming. The world blurred into gold and white, heat and pressure and noise.

The Tower began to crack.

Across the ruins, Roselle and Hunter watched as fissures of light spread from its base upward. The clouds themselves were tearing apart, replaced by a column of fire that reached into the heavens.

"Steve," Roselle shouted, "is he still in there?!"

Static. Then, faintly—"Yes. And if this keeps up, he won’t be for long."

Hunter stared up, jaw tight. "Then we move."

He and Roselle sprinted toward the collapsing bridge as the Tower’s limbs began to fall, crushing entire districts below.

Up above, Cain’s grip faltered. His vision was gone—only the light remained, endless and consuming.

And somewhere deep in that light, something vast stirred.

A voice, distorted but unmistakable, whispered:

"We are not so different, you and I."

Cain snarled. "You’re just a machine."

"And you are just data wearing flesh."

The light exploded.

The remnants of the storm still hung over the city like smoke from an old wound. Cain and his group moved through what had once been a council district—now reduced to broken pillars, glass, and the hum of abandoned tech still running without purpose.

Roselle led them, eyes scanning every shattered archway and half-collapsed bridge. Her coat was torn, her weapon drawn low but ready. Behind her, Steve carried a portable scanner, the display blinking erratically.

Susan walked last, her boots crunching over scorched ground. She’d wrapped her arm in a strip of black cloth that had once been part of a flag. The way she looked at the horizon said she didn’t believe in symbols anymore.

Hunter walked beside Cain, silent. The two had barely spoken since the fall of the Grid, but the tension wasn’t born of distrust—it was exhaustion, the kind that sinks into bone and memory.

A voice broke the quiet.

"Movement ahead," Steve said, pointing toward the narrow street lined with old council banners. "Thermal signatures—human. At least five."

Roselle raised her rifle. "Scavengers?"

"Maybe," Cain said, his hand falling to his blade. "Or something hungrier."

The wind carried the faint clatter of metal. Then—a flicker. A figure stepped out of the ruins. The man’s armor was council-issue, but scorched black, his insignia burned away. His face was half-covered by a cracked visor.

"Cain," Roselle murmured. "That’s a retrieval unit."

"Correction," Steve muttered, checking the scanner again. "That was a retrieval unit. Now it’s patched with third-gen cyberware. Someone’s been experimenting."

The soldier’s head twitched, and his voice came through like static.

"Directive—recover—lost asset."

Then more figures emerged. Six, eight, ten—each one a husk of the council’s failed machine soldiers, still running on dead orders. Their eyes glowed faintly blue, unfocused yet intent.

"Perfect," Susan said under her breath. "They’re ghosts with guns."

Hunter moved forward, eyes narrowing. "We take them down fast. They’re connected to a signal. The longer they live, the closer we get to company."

Cain unsheathed his blade, its edge catching the dim light. "Then we end it before that happens."

The first shot came before he finished speaking. A burst of plasma hit the wall beside him, sending shrapnel across the narrow road. Cain ducked behind the wreckage, motioning for the others to spread out.

Roselle went high, scaling the crumbling frame of a nearby building. Susan took cover by a fallen statue, her rifle kicking with each shot. Hunter moved like water between cover, his knife flashing in close-quarters bursts that left sparks and blood.

Cain charged. His sword cleaved through the first soldier cleanly, but it didn’t stop moving—the machine twitched, cables writhing like veins before finally collapsing. Another lunged from behind. Cain pivoted, driving his blade upward through its chest.

"Two down!" he called out.

"Four to go!" Steve shouted back, hurling an EMP grenade down the street. It pulsed blue—then the nearest three soldiers froze mid-motion, lights flickering before dying.

For a heartbeat, everything went still. Then the last one spoke. Its voice was warped but clear:

"Cain Solas—classified. Retrieval priority: Omega."

The group froze. Cain’s grip tightened.

"Who gave that order?"

No answer. The soldier raised its weapon, targeting only him.

Cain didn’t wait. He rushed forward, closing the gap in seconds. The clash of blade and rifle echoed through the ruins—metal grinding, sparks scattering. The soldier was fast, unnaturally coordinated. Every movement was mirrored, predicted.

Then Cain feinted, ducked under a swing, and drove his sword through the machine’s chest. The blow tore through the reactor core, releasing a burst of static and light. The soldier went limp, collapsing into the mud.