The descent into Sector 3 was a controlled violation of every natural and institutional law of the Citadel. Kaelen moved through the blast-scarred service tunnels, his body an engine of pure, deliberate focus. The air here was heavy with the lingering psychic residue of the battle—a thick, volatile scent of fear and burnt malice.
He was deep within the containment perimeter, an area theoretically sealed off and crawling with Adept Corps patrols. But Kaelen's Scar of Command—the assimilated authority of the dead officer—served as a flawless psychic camouflage. He was not sneaking; he was performing an unscheduled, highly classified inspection. No low-level patrol would dare challenge a Sovereign who moved with such chilling, unquestionable certainty.
He reached the epicenter of the Incursion: a massive, collapsed transit hub that had been the Soul-Harvester's staging ground. The creature had been bound beneath tons of rubble and solidified plasma, trapped by the combined efforts of the Adept Corps.
The silence here was different from the silence in the high archives; it was a profound, waiting quiet, broken only by the sharp, intermittent drip, drip, drip of residual caustic fluids.
Kaelen knelt beside a massive, overturned ventilation fan, pulling out his Trench Knife and his improvised Suppressor Net—thin copper wire coated in psychic dampening paste. He began to work with meticulous, surgical precision.
He focused his Echoing Shadow. The Aspect no longer demanded he feel fear; it demanded he feel Resentment—the deep, quiet rage at the Citadel's betrayal. The energy surged through him, no longer chaotic, but channeled, allowing him to perceive the hidden psychic landscape.
The Soul-Harvester's Core Fragment lay buried deep, radiating a dull, painful thrum of absolute finality. It was a dense, physical piece of malice, and the perfect ingredient for a Perfect Infusion.
Rhys is close.
Kaelen felt the familiar, crushing weight of the Iron Will Aspect bearing down on the sector. Rhys was in the outer ring, systematically sweeping the area, waiting for any psychic flicker that didn't conform to the routine. She was waiting for him.
He had to work under the threat of her Certainty
Kaelen pressed the Suppressor Net against the cold stone beside the rubble pile. The paste immediately began to emit a low, electrical hum, creating a small, localized area of psychic blindness. This was the only way to perform the extraction without giving Rhys a psychic beacon to follow.
He then began to move the rubble—not with physical strength, which was limited, but with his Sequence Two: Subtle Fragmenter power. He pulled small, solidified Shadow Fragments from the surrounding darkness and used them as invisible, high-density wedges, slowly and silently shifting the massive blocks of concrete. The work was exhausting, demanding every ounce of his focused will.
Finally, he saw it.
Nestled within the broken wreckage, still faintly pulsing, was the Core Fragment. It looked deceptively small—a jagged shard of obsidian-black material, crystalline and utterly cold, radiating an intense, agonizing spiritual energy that made his teeth ache. It was concentrated psychic horror.
He reached for it.
The instant his gloved fingers made contact, the Fragment screamed—a silent, shattering psychic burst that bypassed his defenses and went straight to the Eternal Dread fragment sealed within him.
The reaction was catastrophic. The sealed Dread fragment, dormant since his arrival, suddenly pulsed back, answering the call of the Soul-Harvester's pain. Kaelen's body locked up. He was caught between two immense, clashing psychic forces.
He heard Rhys's voice, now close, loud, and metallic, cutting through the pain. "Anomaly detected! Sector 3-A, coordinates confirmed. Uncontrolled Echo—Resentment Sequence. Execute removal!"
Kaelen knew the Suppressor Net had failed. The raw psychic explosion between the Core Fragment and the sealed Dread had bypassed his camouflage entirely. Rhys was closing fast.
He fought the paralysis, forcing his focus not on the pain, but on the single, overriding goal: Survival is necessary for Elara.
He ripped his hand away from the Core Fragment, the physical pain a blessed distraction from the spiritual agony. He had only managed to break off a small, sliver-sized piece—but it was enough.
He jammed the sliver directly into the vein on his arm, a desperate, uncontrolled Infusion that bypassed all ritual and safety.
The resulting surge of power was agonizing, instantaneous, and terrifyingly effective. The raw malice of the Harvester's Core Fragment slammed into his Echoing Shadow Aspect, not merely fueling it, but forcefully leveling it up.
His vision exploded with a new clarity. The surrounding area, previously a dense mass of psychic noise, now resolved into an organized, terrifying grid of power levels, psychic tethers, and energy flows. He saw Rhys's Iron Will approaching—a dense, moving sphere of absolute Certainty—and the two Adept Corps patrols closing behind her.
He was Sequence Three.
Sequence Three: The Commander of Fear.
He needed to move. He threw his final, concentrated burst of Resentment not at Rhys, but at the remnants of the Suppressor Net. The net, overloaded with his energy, exploded, throwing up a localized screen of dense psychic noise that briefly blinded Rhys's Aspect.
Kaelen launched himself out of the rubble, moving with the terrifying speed of his new Sequence. He was no longer running away from Rhys; he was running through her perimeter.
He fled the containment zone, leaving behind the powerful Rhys, who was momentarily disoriented and furious. Kaelen did not feel fear or resentment; he felt a profound, exhilarating coldness. He had the fuel. He had the strength.
The Ascent was complete. He was no longer a weak scavenger fighting for rations, but a Sequence Three Sovereign, ready to execute the ultimate act of betrayal and self-sacrifice. The final phase of the Citadel war was set in motion.