A crack ran through the cryo-pod's shell, glass-like shards scattered under Sterling's step. Electricity snapped along the dented plates of the Vanguard descendant's suit, stitching breaks closed with jagged pulses. Not waiting, Vance pressed his thick soled boots hard into the smooth steel beneath him. Radiation soaked deep during the pyramid descent now held his frame together - bone packed tight like forged ore. What remained of his rebuilt right foot carried weight without ache. Iron did not bend, neither did what grew in place of marrow.
Movement exploded before Vance could blink. A rush so sharp it felt less like fighting and more like watching death dance close. His arms reacted - carbon blade rising not by choice but memory. Force crashed into him, rattling bone, flooding nerves - but the rebuilt tissue held, tight and stubborn. Threads of electric scar under skin glowed low now, not screaming as they had through yesterday's ruin.
Out of nowhere, Axiom lunged, aiming low at the teen's leg. Just like that, the clone moved his hand - light as breath - and something heavy crushed the lynx mid-leap. Stone groaned under the impact, holding the creature fast. Power surged through the air, yet the walls swallowed it without a sound.
"Your density has shifted, little thief," the melodic, feminine voice echoed directly into Vance's mind, completely bypassing the acoustics of the room. "You swallowed the radiation of my assembly line. You believe this makes you a god, but it only makes you a heavier meal."
Vance adjusted his hold on the weapon, each breath slow and even. Behind his neck, the frozen mark burned with a cold so sharp it felt like stillness itself pressing against his spine. That chill tried to lock up his core, but he pushed warmth through his muscles from somewhere deep inside. Talking would change nothing - he had to move before the air gave out, which it already almost had.
A sudden twist in the air made the vault shudder before Sterling finished his move. Instead of cracking clean, the thick metal near the broken entrance crumbled like old paper left too long in rain. A flash - bright as sun on fresh gold - tore through the opening. That force peeled off the forward section of the round chamber as if tearing pages from a book. Dust, orange and fine, hung where solid steel had been just seconds earlier.
A figure emerged through the storm of wreckage - Commander Arthur Prescott. Power crackled around him, thick and warped from swallowing countless clone lives. His armor, clean white edged with gold, shone like a signal in the black void. That rebuilt golden eye snapped toward the people trapped inside the chamber without delay. Vance's fingers closed harder around his blade. He expected the old terror to strike fast, obliterating the host body in a fight over time itself.
A hush fell as the tall leader stood still. Down came Arthur's thick weapon, its edge meeting the metal floor with a dull clang. Then, without rushing, the man who began it all sank onto one knee. His gaze dipped low, aimed at the young face watching him with purple eyes.
A hum filled the air as Arthur spoke, his voice steady and deep within the Sub-Stratum, nothing like the chaos he once carried. Prepared, the ship waited - his words held no trace of old delusions. In full agreement, the Vanguard stood by their promise, firm and unchanged. One by one, those who built it all were vanishing now. My queen - he turned toward her - the time has come
Something cracked inside Vance then. Not power, not victory - truth. The Syndicate? A story passed down through centuries, nothing more. Vanguard wasn't guarding people from the Fracture's chaos. They bowed to it. Worshipped the thing sleeping beneath reality. Their real job: guard a bloodline, wait for the right body to grow strong enough. Sterling Prescott wasn't chosen by chance. Grew up designed for one purpose - to hold what comes next. What happened in the Abyssal Stratum - the pain, the loss - wasn't random cruelty. Part of a ritual older than nations. Making space so she could finally rise.
Suddenly, Sterling grinned, facing away from Vance toward the man on one knee. It was that smug certainty - just a heartbeat too slow - that made escape possible.
Instead of hitting the unfocused deity, Vance yanked Elian sideways, propelling the shaking teenager through the broken archway. He dashed straight at the wrecked cryo-pod's live wires and open circuits. With a hard thrust, he jammed his blade - made of dense carbon steel - into the Cartel's main coolant hub. Safety locks snapped offline the moment metal met core junction.
A sudden blast sent a thick fog of liquid nitrogen swirling through the space. Cold ripped through the chamber without warning, freezing breath mid-air while breaking the force that pinned Axiom in place. Down crashed the shadow-lynx - then it was moving, racing toward the doorway. Out came the creature, vanishing into dim corridors.
Into the swirling mist Vance ran, chasing the creature without pause. The escape from death had opened another kind of horror, wider and colder. Fog bit at his skin while light burned behind his eyes - golden symbols crashing down in his vision like falling glass. Each flicker changed the rules, redrawing what it meant to stay alive. Reality twisted, sharp and sudden.
[Protocol Shift: Primary timeline corrupted by Cult infiltration.]
[New Objective: Breach the Harvester Core before the Queen commands the armada.]
[Timer: 15 Minutes.]