Chapter 1114: Digging through the Mountain.
The city above reeled like a drunk stripped of balance. Towers blinked out one by one, each blackout a tooth kicked from its jaw. For a long moment the skyline was not a crown of light but a jagged silhouette. People poured from their homes, leaning out from broken balconies, shouting across alleys as if words might anchor them. Vehicles stalled in their tracks. Drones spiraled down like burnt moths.
In the spire’s corridor, the air tasted of melted insulation. Cain stood with his blade lowered but not sheathed. The silence after the Grid’s collapse felt dangerous, like the absence of thunder after lightning. It left the city poised on the edge of something feral.
Roselle pressed her back to the wall, pistol still angled upward. "They’ll recover," she said flatly. "They always do. The Grid isn’t the only spine this city has."
"Recovery doesn’t matter," Cain answered. "They know it can be broken. That’s enough."
Steve crouched among the gutted servers, tools in both hands, expression twisted. "Enough for what? To make them scared? Scared doesn’t topple corporations. Scared just makes them crueler."
Hunter, pale in the dim glow of emergency strips, cut in before Cain could reply. "Fear is leverage. People shift when fear outweighs loyalty. The Daelmonts aren’t invincible anymore, and everyone with a grudge just felt the tremor."
Susan spat, the sound harsh in the hush. "And the innocents who just lost their water rations? Or power to keep their food cold? You want to gamble their lives to fuel your grudge?"
The shaft was a tomb of shadows now, each rung slick with grease. Roselle went first, quick but precise, her breath measured. Cain followed, listening not to her steps but to the echoes below: boots, shouts, the faint metallic grind of cutting tools. Pursuit was steady, disciplined, hungry.
They broke into a side vent halfway down. Steve hacked the grate free, and one by one they slipped through into a narrow duct that smelled of iron and old rain. Cain pulled the cover back into place with a grunt, sealing darkness between them and their hunters.
The duct sloped downward until it spilled them into a forgotten maintenance level. Pools of stagnant water shivered with the vibration of the city’s machinery. A bank of shattered windows opened onto the outer night, where the skyline still flickered between darkness and emergency flare. The world outside looked unstitched.
Roselle scanned the shadows. "We need to vanish before they re-thread patrols."
Hunter’s laugh was brittle. "Vanish? The city’s screaming. Every rat will be hunted until the Daelmonts can name someone. If we leave a trail—"
Susan cut him off. "So don’t leave one."
Cain looked out through the broken glass. Far below, the streets writhed. Protest and panic often looked the same, but this was louder than panic. The city had been given a taste of chaos that didn’t come from their rulers. He could feel the pressure building, like a storm swelling at sea. "We don’t hide," he said. "We move while their hands are too busy closing fists."
Steve frowned, hunched over his salvaged datapad. "Move where? We gutted the Grid’s hub. That’s their core. Next step isn’t sabotage—it’s fire in their house."
"Exactly," Roselle muttered.
Hunter stiffened. "You mean strike the council directly. Do you have any idea what kind of war that invites?"
Cain turned from the window. "War’s already here. The only choice left is whether we fight it standing or on our knees."
Susan limped closer, one hand pressed to her side. Her eyes glimmered with both exhaustion and conviction. "Then we take the spire roads. They’ll be choked with soldiers, but also with civilians. Cover enough to slip us through."
Roselle’s mouth curved into something cruel. "Civilians as cover. You’ve grown pragmatic, Susan."
"Don’t confuse pragmatism with lack of care," she snapped. "The Daelmonts already gamble with their lives. I’d rather gamble for them."
Cain raised a hand to silence them. The hunters’ voices were gone, swallowed by the
The streets swallowed them fast. Smoke clung low, mixed with the sharp stink of ozone and burned circuitry. Civilians surged around them, some cheering at the blackout, others terrified, clutching children, searching for order in a place where order had always been imposed. Cain pushed through the chaos without hesitation, and the others followed in his wake.
A figure broke from the throng and staggered into their path. A man in torn work-clothes, face streaked with ash, grabbed Cain’s arm. "Was it you?" His voice cracked, but his grip was iron. "Did you do this?"
Cain didn’t answer. The man’s eyes darted to the others—Roselle’s pistol, Steve’s tools, Hunter’s clenched fists, Susan’s bloodied stance. He released Cain’s arm slowly, awe replacing fear. "Then don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop."
The man vanished back into the crowd before Cain could respond. The words lingered, though—sharp as any blade. They weren’t whispers anymore. They were sparks.
Steve muttered, almost to himself, "This is how uprisings start. With people willing to believe strangers can pull down gods."
"Then let them believe," Roselle said. "Belief is a weapon we can use."
Hunter shook his head, his jaw tight. "Belief burns. It doesn’t build."
Cain ignored them both. Every step carried them closer to the council’s heart, where towers still glowed defiantly through the blackout, as if daring the city to rise. He felt the weight of choice pressing down heavier than his blade. They had cut the Grid—but that was only the first wound. Now came the killing strike, or retreat into shadows.
No shadows left, he thought. Not anymore.
A siren wailed in the distance, one of the old models not linked to the Grid. Its cry rose and fell like the city itself was howling. The crowd surged, some scattering, others rallying behind the sound. The balance teetered, fragile as glass.
Cain glanced at his companions, faces drawn but resolute. "We don’t wait for them to rebuild their chains. We move now. Straight to the council."
Roselle smiled with cold satisfaction. Susan’s eyes hardened with reluctant fire. Steve swallowed his fear and adjusted his grip on the datapad. Hunter only closed his eyes, as though bracing for a storm he couldn’t stop.
Cain turned toward the glowing towers and stepped forward.
The crowd parted before them. Not in fear—this time in something closer to recognition. Whispers rose like a tide: names they didn’t yet know, legends not yet written.
The city was ready to bleed. Cain intended to guide the knife.