Kai's fingers dug into Lucent's arm hard enough to bruise, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts that fogged the cold underground air. His pupils were dilated black with terror, the whites visible all around like a spooked animal's. A thin trail of blood seeped from where Nex's steel talons had grazed his cheekbone, cutting through that perfect Spire complexion.
"Please," Kai begged, voice cracking like cheap glass under pressure. His lips trembled around the words. "I'll triple it. Triple whatever I promised. Just—just get me out of here alive."
Lucent studied the kid's face—the sweat beading along his hairline, the way his throat worked as he swallowed convulsively. The stench of fear rolled off him in waves, sour and metallic. Behind them, Nex's laughter echoed off the rusted shipping containers, the rhythmic hiss-click of his hydraulic leg counting down the seconds.
"Five times," Lucent said flatly.
Kai didn't hesitate. His head bobbed in frantic agreement before the words even fully left Lucent's mouth. "Done."
A sharp pain lanced through Lucent's skull as his migraine pulsed in agreement, but the white-hot knives behind his eyes had dulled to a bearable throb. Good enough. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the old glyph-burns pull tight across his knuckles as he flexed his fingers. The cracked screen of his Conduit glowed faintly in the gloom, the battery icon flashing a weak 28%—enough for maybe three, four decent casts if he pushed it.
The air in the underground junkyard hung thick with the stench of rotting metal and plastic, the dim bioluminescent fungi casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to twitch at the edges of vision. No Aethernet nodes down here, no corporate scans or Reclamation sweeps. Just the raw, unfiltered dark where spells could run wild without consequences.
Nex stepped forward, his steel talons scraping against the concrete with a sound like bones being dragged across stone. The scars pulling at the corner of his mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. "Are you finally giving up the kid, Argyr?" His prosthetic leg whined as he shifted his weight, the hydraulic pistons contracting with a wet, meaty sound. "Or you just here to watch the show?"
Lucent didn't answer. His fingers brushed the cracked screen of his Conduit, tracing the familiar grooves where the casing had been welded back together one too many times. The device hummed faintly in response, the Aether circuits flickering like a dying pulse.
Nex struck first.
His talons lashed out in a brutal arc, the integrated Conduit flaring to life as a Kinetic Surge glyph ignited mid-swing. The air rippled visibly, a shockwave tearing toward Lucent with brutal efficiency, scattering loose bolts and rusted metal shards in its wake.
Lucent sidestepped at the last second, his boots skidding across the greasy concrete as his own Conduit flared to life. His fingers moved in sharp, practiced gestures—not the smooth corporate-approved strokes, but the instinctive, efficient motions of someone who'd learned glyphwork in back alleys and Pit fights. The Deflection Matrix formed just in time, its edges frayed and unstable, the blue-white energy sputtering like a dying lightbulb as it absorbed the impact.
"Cute," Nex sneered, already moving. His next attack wasn't a glyph—it was pure, brutal physicality, his talons carving through the air as he lunged with the grace of someone who'd spent too many nights in underground fight rings.
Lucent barely ducked in time. The claws grazed his shoulder, slicing through fabric and skin with surgical precision. Warm blood trickled down his arm, the pain sharp and immediate. No time to think.
He retaliated with a Static Lash, rank 3, the spell unfurling from his Conduit like a whip of crackling violet energy. It caught Nex across the chest, searing through his shirt and leaving angry red welts in its wake—but the bastard just laughed, shaking off the hit like it was nothing.
"Is that all you've got?" Nex spat, his Conduit flaring again. This time, the glyph that formed was darker, heavier—a Gravity Anchor, rank 4, its edges pulsing with unstable energy.
Lucent's boots suddenly weighed a ton.
Shit.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his Conduit to respond through the mounting pressure. Thirty percent charge. He could burn half of that on a counter, or—
A scream cut through to his attention.
Kai scrambled backward as one of Nex's crew—a hulking brute with elongated limb augments—lunged for him. The kid's polished boots slipped in the grime, sending him crashing onto his back, his hands coming up in a pathetic attempt to shield himself.
Lucent's fingers twitched with the memory of rawcasting's burn. He'd learned a few tricks before nearly frying his nervous system—like how to pull Aether not just from his Conduit, but from the charged air itself. The underground's thick atmosphere crackled with it, that sweet spot between desperation and decay where reality ran thin.
He exhaled sharply and did the stupidest possible thing—he fed the Gravity Anchor more power.
Not from his dying Conduit.
But from the space between breaths.
The glyph flared violent purple, its edges spiderwebbing with cracks as it drank in the ambient Aether. For half a heartbeat, Nex's triumphant grin held—until the spell buckled under its own weight. The backlash hit Lucent like a sledgehammer to the sternum, cracking a rib, but it sent Nex flying backward into a mountain of scrap metal. The impact rang through the junkyard like a gong, scattering rats and sending a rusted metal parts crashing down in a shower of sparks.
Lucent spat blood. But it was worth it.
The three seconds of stunned silence were all he needed.
He turned, Conduit raised, and cast the dirtiest, cheapest spell in his arsenal—a Sensory Dazzle, rank 2. Not enough to blind, but enough to make Nex's crew recoil as their optics glitched, their augmented eyes flickering with static as the spell short-circuited their implants.
Nex was already rising, his prosthetic hissing like an angry serpent. "You little—"
Lucent didn't let him finish.
He closed the distance and slammed his Conduit directly into Nex's throat.
The device sparked violently, discharging the last dregs of its battery in a Point-Blank Surge. Nex's body convulsed, every muscle locking as electricity arced through him, his augmented jaw clenching so hard something cracked. The stench of burning flesh and fried circuits filled the air.
For one suspended second, the junkyard was utterly silent.
Then Nex collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
His crew froze, the reality of the situation dawning on them as their leader twitched on the ground, smoke curling from his collar.
Lucent didn't wait to see if they'd rally. He grabbed Kai by the scruff of his ruined jacket and hauled him upright. "Run."
Behind them, Nex's roar of fury echoed through the tunnels, his voice raw with promises of vengeance. But for now—they were alive.
And Lucent had a payday to collect.
***
The underbelly of the Junkyard swallowed them whole as they fled, the narrow pathways between mountains of scrap twisting like the veins of some dying beast.
Lucent moved with the practiced ease of a man who'd spent years navigating these corpse-strewn alleys, his boots finding purchase on rusted catwalks that groaned under their weight.
Kai stumbled behind him, his polished shoes slipping on patches of iridescent sludge that shimmered like oil under the flickering biolights.
Every breath burned in Lucent's chest, his cracked rib sending sharp jolts of pain through his side with each hurried step. The air hung thick with the stench of rotting metal and chemical runoff, so potent it coated the tongue.
Above them, the skeletal remains of mag-lev tracks formed a rugged canopy, their broken spans dripping condensation that sizzled where it struck exposed wiring.
"Left," Lucent barked, shoving Kai into a narrow gap between two gutted server towers. The kid's shoulder clipped a protruding pipe, sending a hollow metallic ring echoing through the darkness.
Somewhere behind them, the distant shouts of Nex's crew bounced off the corroded walls, their voices warped by the labyrinthine passages.
Kai clutched at Lucent's sleeve, his fingers trembling. "How much—how much further?" His voice was raw, each word punctuated by a gasp for air.
Lucent didn't answer. He was too busy counting the turns in his head—past the corpse of that half-melted industrial smelter, through the graveyard of shattered drone husks, then down the access shaft near the old coolant pipes. The clinic was close, but the Junkyard had a way of stretching distances when it suited its whims.
A gunshot rang out, the report unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. The bullet sparked off a nearby conduit, sending a shower of embers cascading over their heads. Lucent didn't need to look back to know the woman with the rotor-saw rifle was gaining ground—he could hear the telltale whine of her weapon's Aether chamber charging for another shot.
He yanked Kai into the shadow of a collapsed walkway, their backs pressed against the pockmarked metal. The kid's breath came in short, panicked bursts, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked black in the dim light. Lucent pressed a finger to his own lips, then pointed upward.
The walkway above them creaked under heavy footsteps.
"Check the smelter," a voice growled—too close, maybe ten meters away. The stench of synth-lube and stale stims drifted down, mixing with the Junkyard's ever-present rot.
Lucent waited until the footsteps faded before moving again. He led Kai through a maze of leaning scrap metal, their path illuminated only by the occasional flickering biolight or the eerie glow of disturbed Glowmite nests. The insects burst underfoot as they ran, their luminous innards painting glowing streaks across the rusted flooring.
A sudden vibration thrummed through the ground beneath them—the distant groan of stressed metal giving way. Lucent didn't need to guess what had caused it; the explosion he'd triggered would keep collapsing sectors for hours.
"Here," he muttered, stopping before a gaping maw in the Junkyard's flesh—an access shaft lined with corroded ladder. The ladder descended into darkness, the bottom lost to shadow.
Kai balked. "You can't be serious."
Lucent didn't have time for arguments. He grabbed the kid's wrist and stepped off the edge.
The descent was a nightmare of peeling metal and rust that flaked away under their grip. Halfway down, one of the ladder snapped under Kai's weight, sending him plummeting the last few meters with a yelp. He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a pained wheeze.
Lucent dropped down beside him, his boots splashing in something that reeked of solvents and decay. The tunnel here was narrow, the walls pressing in close enough to brush their shoulders. Somewhere in the darkness, water dripped with metronomic precision, the sound echoing like a heartbeat.
"Move," Lucent ordered, shoving Kai forward.
The kid's steps were unsteady now, his breathing ragged. Blood from his split lip had dried in a dark streak down his chin, and his jacket was torn at the shoulder where Nex's talons had grazed him. But he didn't complain—just kept putting one foot in front of the other, his eyes fixed on the faint green glow at the tunnel's end.
The glow grew brighter as they neared, resolving into a flickering neon sign—a caduceus missing one snake, its remaining serpent coiled around a rusted scalpel. Beneath it, a reinforced door stood slightly ajar, the scent of antiseptic and burnt ozone leaking through the gap.
Lucent didn't knock. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, half-dragging Kai inside.
The clinic's interior was a patchwork of scavenged med-tech and jury-rigged instruments. Surgical lamps hung from the ceiling, their harsh light reflecting off trays of sterilized instruments. Along the walls, cabinets full of medicine, their glow casting long shadows.
A shadow detached itself from the far wall, the floor creaking under its weight.
"Oh… a face I haven't seen in a while," rumbled Doc Rena, her augmented eyes glow with blue as they focused on Lucent's injuries. The medic stood a full head shorter than either of them, her stained lab coat too baggy for her size. One mechanical hand flexed with a sound like grinding gears, the fingers tipped with surgical precision tools.
Lucent shoved Kai forward. "Patch him first."
Rena didn't move. Her gaze flicked to Lucent's side, where blood darkened his shirt. "Nex's work?"
"What gave it away?" Lucent rasped.
The medic snorted, then turned to yank a curtain aside, revealing an empty cot. "Sit," she ordered Kai. "Before you pass out and make more work for me."
As Kai collapsed onto the chair, Lucent leaned against the wall, suddenly aware of how heavy his limbs felt. The clinic's air was cooler here, cleaner—a small mercy after the Junkyard's oppressive heat. But the relief was temporary.
Because in the Junkyard, nothing came free. And Rena always collected her debts.
Lucent's fingers traced the edge of a rusted surgical tray as Rena worked, the metal cold beneath his calloused skin. The clinic smelled of old blood and stronger solvents, the sharp sting of alcohol barely masking the deeper, earthier scent of decay that clung to the walls. This place was a tomb—not just for bodies, but for an entire way of thinking.
Before the Aether Incident, hospitals had been temples of steel and glass, their halls filled with the hum of machines and the brisk footsteps of white-coated priests. Surgeons with steady hands had carved miracles from flesh, their skills honed over decades of study. Medicine and scalpels had been extensions of their will, each incision a calculated act of salvation.
Then the world rewrote itself.
When the Aether flooded reality, the corporations were quick to declare surgery obsolete. Why cut when a rank-7 regeneration glyph could rebuild tissue in seconds? Why risk infection when a Myriad-approved health app could purge pathogens with a thought? The old ways were buried under glossy advertisements and corporate promises—another relic of a primitive past.
But the Junkyard remembered.
Rena's clinic stood as one of the last outposts of that forgotten knowledge. The walls were lined with pre-Aether texts—real paper, real ink—their pages yellowed and brittle.
Diagrams of anatomy shared space with hand-scribbled notes in the margins, the frantic jottings of someone trying to preserve what the world had discarded.
Glass cabinets held rows of instruments that would make a Spire doctor recoil: bone drills with manual cranks, rib spreaders that looked like medieval torture devices, suturing needles curved like fishing hooks.
Kai's breath came in short, panicked bursts as Rena threaded a needle through his wounds. The kid's fingers clutched at the edges of the examination table, his knuckles white. Lucent could see the disbelief in his eyes—the sheer incomprehension that someone would choose to stitch flesh when a glyph could seal the wound in an instant.
"This is—" Kai hissed as the needle bit deeper. "Barbaric."
Rena didn't pause. Her mechanical fingers moved with the precision of a watchmaker, the gears in her augmetic wrist whirring softly. "A Rank-7 regeneration requires a licensed Conduit," she said, her voice flat. "Or a corporate bank account." She tugged the suture tight. "You have neither."
The truth of it hung in the air like the scent of old blood.
Lucent knew the cost of those high-tier healing spells—not just in credits, but in freedom. Every licensed regeneration glyph came with Myriad's tracking protocols, their usage logged and monitored. The corporations owned the magic, and they owned the bodies it healed.
But a scalpel? A needle and thread?
Those answered to no one.
Rena tied off the suture with a practiced twist of her wrist. The thread was old—pre-Aether nylon, scavenged from some long-dead hospital's stores. It would hold. It always held.
Lucent's gaze drifted to the far wall, where a faded poster hung slightly crooked. "Clean Hands Save Lives," it declared in blocky, antiquated letters. Beneath it, a diagram showed the proper technique for scrubbing in—twenty seconds of lathering, nails brushed, wrists included. The paper was stained with age, the edges curled and brittle.
He remembered the first time he'd seen a rank-7 regeneration glyph in action. A Pit fighter with a gut wound, his sponsor paying top credit for a corporate mage to cast the spell. The man's flesh had knit itself back together in seconds, the skin flawless, unmarked.
Two days later, he'd collapsed mid-fight, his organs liquefied by the spell's delayed backlash. The corporation called it user error.
Rena's stitches never unraveled.
Kai touched his newly closed wound, his fingers trembling. The pain was fresh, raw—nothing like the sterile numbness of glyph-healing. His eyes found Lucent's, and for the first time, there was no Spire-born arrogance in them. Just dawning understanding.
Rena set down her tools. "Your tab's overdue, Lucent."
The past always came due.
Lucent's cracked lips twisted into a humorless smile as he raised his hand, one calloused finger pointing directly at Kai. The motion sent a fresh spike of pain through his cracked rib, but he didn't let it show.
"Him," Lucent said, his voice rough as rusted metal. "He's paying."
Kai's head snapped up so fast the suture in his lip pulled taut, drawing a thin bead of blood. His eyes—still wide with the lingering shock of pain—darted between Lucent and Rena, his Spire-bred sense of entitlement warring with raw panic.
"What—no, I never agreed to—"
Rena's mechanical fingers closed around Kai's wrist before he could finish, the servos in her augmetic hand whirring softly as she took his pulse. Her gaze raked over him with clinical precision.
"Spire brat," she mused, her thumb pressing into the soft skin beneath his palm. "Good veins. No track marks. Decent muscle tone under all that privilege." She released him with a dismissive flick. "He'll do."
Kai yanked his arm back, his breath coming too fast. "I'm not—you can't just—"
"Five times your original offer," Lucent cut in, leaning against the wall with deliberate casualness. "That was the deal. Clinic fees included."
The color drained from Kai's face. He looked down at the tray of surgical instruments beside him—the bloodstained gauze, the gleaming scalpel Rena had just set down—and something in his expression shifted. The reality of the Junkyard's economy was settling in, brutal and unyielding.
Rena wiped her hands on a rag that had seen too many stains. "I don't take credit chips," she said, tossing the cloth into a biohazard bin that had probably been repurposed a dozen times over. "And your Spire accounts are worthless here."
Lucent watched as Kai's throat worked, the kid's fingers gripping the edge of the examination table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He could practically see the calculations running behind those frightened eyes—the dawning realization that down here, his name meant nothing. His family's influence stopped at the Junkyard's edge.
"What do you want?" Kai finally whispered.
Rena smiled. It wasn't a kind expression.
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a slender case, the hinges creaking as she opened it to reveal a row of glass vials, each filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid that pulsed faintly in the clinic's dim light.
"Glow," she said simply.
Kai recoiled. "That's—that's illegal."
"So's trespassing in my clinic without payment," Rena countered, snapping the case shut. "Your choice, either get me the materials or pay with your blood."
Lucent didn't move. Didn't interfere. Let the kid learn the hard way—no one got patched up in the Junkyard without leaving something behind.
Kai's gaze flicked to the door, then back to the vials. His breathing hitched.
"How much is a pint?" he asked hoarsely.
Rena's laughter was the sound of grinding gears.