The thought was a clear and lethal: I could end him.
Power sang in my veins, a roaring tide after a long drought. My CultivatedBody hummed, every sense sharpened to a razor's edge. I could see the micro-expressions on Corvus's face, hear the tense shift of Slade's weight. Ten paces. I could cross them before Slade's axe was even free. I could crush Corvus's windpipe and watch the light in those calculating eyes die.
But then I saw it. The aftermath. Not the act, but the consequence.
Slade would fight. He'd die, but he'd fight. And the ravens… they wouldn't just be witnesses. They were a network. A single, final command could be sent in Corvus's dying moment. A command to eliminate the loose end. To eliminate her.
The thought was a bucket of ice water. This wasn't a solution. It was a suicide pact for me and Lily. A king's death creates a power vacuum, and the first thing any new regime does is purge the old king's favorite weapons. I'd be signing my own death warrant and hers in a single, violent gesture.
So I moved. But not toward Corvus.
In a blur of qi-enhanced motion, I pivoted. I crossed the space to the left, toward the massive, glowing map of the city. The intricate web of lights representing Corvus's dominion.
"NO!" Slade's roar was swallowed by the shriek of tearing metal and shattering crystal, drawing the chains of his axe.
My hand, fingers hardened into a spearhead of focused force, didn't strike a person. It struck the heart of Corvus's power: the icon on the map representing the raven watching Lily's apartment.
The screen erupted in a shower of sparks and dying light. The specific, pulsing glow of her street winked into nothingness. The alarm that blared through the warehouse was a pathetic, electronic whimper compared to the silence I left in my wake.
I stood amidst the sparking wreckage of the multi-million-scrip command center, the smell of voided magic thick in the air, the heat of the discharge washing over my face. I turned my head slowly, my gaze finding Corvus. My expression wasn't one of rage. It was a terrifying, glacial calm.
"There's going to be a change of terms, Corvus," I said, my voice cutting through the din. "You don't get to hold the leash. You don't get to point the lock."
Corvus stared at the ruined map. For the first time, his mask of omniscient calm was gone. He wasn't frightened; he was recalculating. His asset had just developed a will of its own.
"You can threaten a city. You can threaten me," I continued, stepping over the shattered console. "But you will remove her from the board. Completely. You will make The Black Ledger forget she ever existed. Or the next thing I shatter won't be a map. It will be your operation. Piece by piece, from the inside, while I'm 'working' for you."
A long, silent moment hung in the air, broken only by the frantic clicking of the disturbed ravens. Then, Corvus began to laugh. It was a soft, genuine sound of dark appreciation.
"A counter-offer," he said, his smile widening. "Bold. You're not a tool; you're a partner with a price. I can respect that." He gestured to the destroyed map. "Very well. The girl becomes a non-entity, scrubbed from all records. But the price of her anonymity is your absolute, unquestionable performance."
He turned to Slade whose weapon was half drawn and gaze locked on me. "Your first target is a logistics hub, 'The Silo.' It's a test. Succeed, and I will know my investment is sound." He didn't need to voice the consequence of failure.
He then nodded to a raven perched nearby. It cocked its head, then flew to a seemingly solid section of wall, tapping its beak in a complex rhythm. A hidden panel slid back, revealing a small, dark space holding a single, ornate iron key. The bird retrieved it and dropped it into Corvus's waiting palm.
"A tool should be properly maintained," Corvus said, tossing the key to a stony-faced Slade. "Outfit him. From the Vault."
Slade led me in tense silence to a far corner of the warehouse, stopping before a door of seamless, polished black stone. He inserted the key. Runes glowed blue along its frame, and it slid open with a hiss of equalizing pressure.
This was no common armory. This was The Vault.
The air was cool and still. Weapons and gear were displayed on obsidian stands under individual lights, like artifacts in a museum of violence. It was a curated collection of death.
"Take what you need," Slade grunted, his arms crossed, watching me like a hawk.
I moved through the aisles, my fingers trailing over cool metal and enchanted cloth. It was a walk through the ghost of my own past. I ignored the gaudy, rune-blazing swords and ornate staves. My eyes found what I was looking for in a quieter section.
First, the clothing. I stripped off the cheap, bloodstained tunic I'd been captured in and pulled on the garments that seems to be waiting for my arrival.
The trousers and Tunic were dark grey, made of a silent, flexible material that felt like spider-silk but was as tough as boiled leather.
The Longcoat. The centerpiece. It was a deep charcoal grey, with a high collar that could be turned up to shield the lower half of my face. The material was a masterwork, woven with subtle defensive enchantments. It felt weightless but I knew it could disperse kinetic force and turn a blade's edge. Slipping it on was like greeting a ghost. It felt... familiar. Right. A uniform I'd sworn I'd never wear again.
The Boots were supple, black, and silent, with soles that seemed to grip the stone floor without a sound.
Then, the weapons. Each choice was a deliberate step back into the abyss. The Wrist Rig. A sleek, black bracer for my right forearm. I pressed a hidden catch, and a length of near-invisible monofilamentwire extruded, humming with latent energy. I retracted it.
The Bandolier. A harness of black leather that crossed my chest. I slid a dozen perfectly weighted, matte-black throwingspikes into their sheaths. Their familiar, cold weight was a comfort and a curse.
The Shortsword. The final piece. I lifted it from its stand. The blade was a dull, non-reflective grey, unadorned and brutally practical. It was perfectly balanced, a tool for killing, not for show. I slid it into the simple scabbard at my hip. The weight was an anchor, tethering me to the man I had been.
I turned to face Slade, fully armed. I was no longer just Corvus's prisoner. I was the Penance, re-forged.
He gave me a slow, appraising look, his disdain now mixed with a sliver of wary respect. "The Silo awaits, Penance."
───────────────────────────────
The transport was a silent, windowless skiff that flew low over the city. Within minutes, we were there. The Silo wasn't a hidden facility. It was a fortress, all stark permacrete and glowing mana-fences, a statement of Director Zero's power.
"This is a show of force," Slade said, stating the obvious. "They need to see you. And see what happens."
"Then they'll see," I replied, my voice flat.
I didn't wait for a plan. I dropped from the skiff while it was still moving, my coat flaring around me as I landed silently in the shadow of the outer wall. This wasn't a stealth mission. This was a lethal demonstration.
I walked right up to the main gate. Two guards shouted a challenge. I didn't break stride. My hands flicked outward. Two throwing spikes found their throats with twin thuds. They crumpled.
Alarms blared. The main gate began to grind shut. I was through the gap before it closed, moving into the central yard. A squad of four enforcers in light armor rushed me, staves crackling with lightning.
I flowed through them. The monofilament wire whispered, and the first man fell. I ducked under a wild swing, came up inside the second's guard, and drove the heel of my palm into his chest. The crack of his sternum was louder than the alarms. I broke the third man's knee with a side kick and used his falling body as a shield against the fourth's lightning blast, before putting a spike through the shooter's eye.
It was brutal, efficient, and terrifying. I was a whirlwind, and they were straw men.
I reached the central control tower. The reinforced door was sealed. I placed my palm against the metal, focused my qi into a single, high-frequency point, and pushed. The metal around my hand glowed white-hot, then dissolved inward with a shriek, leaving a molten, man-sized hole.
Inside, the foreman was frantically trying to gather data crystals. He looked up, his face a mask of pure, undiluted terror.
He was a man who had just realized his death had walked through the wall.