The city screamed, and I moved through it like a shadow the chaos forgot to notice. Smoke coiled from fractured streets, fire licking at the edges of abandoned vehicles and shattered barricades. Sirens competed with shouting, metal groaned under strain, and glass shattered in sharp punctuation marks.
Clang… thud… distant wail…
From above, I traced the factions' movements, a map of impulses, hesitation, and aggression. Carrow's men pushed forward, overconfident, predictable. Krain's operatives moved like jittery predators, scanning for threats they couldn't name. Civilians fled, scattering like marbles across cracked pavement. Every step, every glance, every instinct became a thread I could tug at, if I chose.
Hum… rattle… pop…
I ghosted through the rubble-strewn alleyways, boots silent over wet cobblestones, eyes catching every small advantage. A fallen lamppost became cover; a toppled cart, a shield. The Veins below trembled in response to the chaos above, their hum thrumming through the city's bones.
Soft metallic scrape… distant roar…
Explosions rocked a nearby block, but I didn't flinch. Not yet. The patterns were clear: who reacted too slowly, who moved too predictably, who ignored the subtle tremors under their feet. Knowledge was control, and control was survival.
Clatter… hiss… muffled scream…
I paused atop a crumbling balcony, surveying the firestorm. Smoke painted the city in a palette of orange and ash. Shadows moved in the flickering light, not all humans. I noted weak positions, blind corners, and pathways no one would expect me to take. The rebellion was alive, uncontrolled, but even in chaos, there were patterns.
Rattle… hum… cracking timber…
A child darted across a scorched street, too small to notice the dying walls around them. I caught their panic, cataloged it, then let them slip into the veil of smoke. Predictable fear perfectly indexed. Survival wasn't my goal yet; observation was. The first real strikes hadn't begun, but I could feel the city preparing, waiting for someone to light the spark.
Soft thump… hiss… distant metallic groan…
I exhaled, letting the acrid smoke fill my lungs. Above the roar of collapse and fire, above the chaos, I whispered to the Veins themselves:
"Perfect mess. Almost… entertaining."