Meanwhile, different from Isabelle and the others who were about to have their first battle, Damien and Hephestus had already had theirs

CRASH.

The wreckage of the Mag-Lev train burned with a sickly, magical fire. Smoke billowed up into the high ceiling of the Transport Cavern, obscuring the blinking red emergency lights.

"Go! Keep climbing! Don't look down!"

Hephaestus stood at the base of the ventilation shaft, ushering the last of the prisoners onto the maintenance ladder. His face was streaked with soot, his apron torn, but his voice carried the weight of command.

"Prince!" The boy, Thorn, hesitated on the ladder, looking back. "Aren't you coming?"

"I have to finish this," Hephaestus said, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "Go. Tell the world what happened here."

He slammed the maintenance grate shut and fused it with a quick pulse of mana from his wrench.

HISS-SEAL.

The civilians were safe. They would climb the updraft to the surface.

"That leaves us," Damien said, stepping out of the shadows of the train wreckage. He wiped a smudge of oil from his cheek.

He looked around the massive cavern. It was empty.

The Cultists they had fought earlier had fled when the train derailed. The Cyborgs lay broken on the platform.

"It's quiet," Damien noted, his eyes narrowing. "Too quiet. The alarm is blaring, but no reinforcements are coming through the main blast doors."

"That doesn't make sense," Hephaestus muttered, adjusting his goggles. "Warden Krog wouldn't just let us walk away. Unless..."

The Prince froze. He looked at the shadows dancing in the smoke.

"Unless he deployed a Hunter."

SHING.

A sound of tearing metal echoed right next to Damien's ear.

Damien reacted on pure instinct. He threw his body backward, activating Shadow Step.

SPLAT.

A deep gash appeared in the floor where he had been standing a millisecond ago. Sparks flew.

But there was no one there.

"Invisible!" Damien shouted, raising his sword. "Isabelle and the others aren't here to help, this time its only us!"

"It's a Void Stalker!" Hephaestus screamed, backing up against the wrecked engine. "It's an assassin construct! It uses phase-shift technology to exist between dimensions! You can't hit it if it's not fully here!"

WHOOSH.

The air shimmered behind Hephaestus. A translucent, mantis-like blade materialized from thin air, swinging for the Prince's neck.

"Get down!" Damien lunged.

He didn't try to block the blade; he tackled Hephaestus. They rolled across the platform just as the blade sliced through the thick iron plating of the train engine like it was butter.

They scrambled to their feet, back-to-back.

"I can't see it," Damien grit his teeth. His Shadow Sense was useless; the enemy wasn't casting a shadow because it wasn't physically present in this dimension. "And if I can't see it, I can't kill it."

"Phase-shift..." Hephaestus muttered, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his multi-tool. "It tracks mana signatures. It locks onto the heat of your core."

"Can you fix it?"

"I can't fix it," Hephaestus snapped, twisting a dial on his own goggles. "But I can fix you."

The Prince grabbed Damien's face.

"Hold still!"

Hephaestus jammed his multi-tool against the side of Damien's head. He wasn't attacking; he was hacking. He channelled his mana into a localized Artificer Spell.

"Ocular Overwrite: Spectral Frequency!"

ZAP.

Damien felt a sharp sting in his eyes, followed by a rush of mana flooding his optic nerves.

The world shifted. The smoke vanished. The burning train turned into a wireframe of heat signatures.

And there, standing ten meters away, was a distortion.

It looked like a glitch in reality, a tall, lanky mechanical skeleton made of glass and smoke, crouched on top of a crate. Its mana core pulsed with a cold, pale blue light.

[Void Stalker - Prototype Unit]

"I see it," Damien grinned. The world looked like a blueprint, and the enemy was glowing bright red against the blue background.

The Stalker screeched a sound like grinding glass and leaped.

It moved fast, phasing through the wreckage.

"It's coming left!" Hephaestus shouted, though Damien didn't need the warning anymore.

Damien waited. He held his sword low.

The Stalker lunged, its phase-blade aiming for Damien's heart.

"You can hide in the void," Damien whispered, his Dual-Core flaring.

"But you can't hide from a King."

"Golden Dragon Art: Solar Flare."

Using a combination of his fire ability and golden dragon aura, Damien attacked

He didn't randomly swing. Instead, he released a burst of pure, blinding, burning Golden Aura from his body.

The intense light and heat disrupted the delicate phase-shift magic.

ZZZRT!

The Stalker flickered. For a second, it was forced back into the physical realm, its glass armor becoming solid.

That was all Damien needed.

"Shadow Art: Sever."

He swung his sword in a brutal upward arc.

CRUNCH.

The blade bit into the solid metal of the Stalker's midsection. The machine shrieked as it was cut in half. The upper torso flew spinning into the air, while the legs collapsed.

Damien spun and drove his sword into the Stalker's head as it hit the ground.

The blue light in its eyes died.

"Target neutralized," Damien exhaled, the spectral vision fading as Hephaestus's spell wore off.

Hephaestus slumped against a crate, wiping grease and sweat from his forehead. "That... that was a Prototype. Thrain must be emptying the labs."

"He probably know's that we're here!"

"Good," Damien said, kicking the scrap metal. "That means he's scared."

He looked across the cavern.

The path was clear. At the far end, behind a curtain of falling lava, was a massive, ornate door marked with the crest of the Twin Hammers.

The Royal Vault.

"Is that it?" Damien asked.

"That's it," Hephaestus stood up, clutching his wrench. "The Sword is inside. And if Brokk is right... it's the only thing that can stop the Warden."

Damien checked his status.

[Mana: 70%. Aura: 75%.]

"Then let's go get your father's legacy."

They walked toward the lava-fall.

….......

[Meanwhile - The Cell Block]

[The Butcher's Playground]

Brokk, Leona, Lyra, and Isabelle stood at the entrance to the next sector.

The floor was sticky with drying blood. The air was thick with the smell of rusted iron and antiseptic.

Hanging from the ceiling were cages filled with bones.

"The Torture Wing," Brokk spat, his grip tightening on his rifle. "The Warden's favorite playground."

A heavy, wet footstep echoed from the darkness ahead.

THUMP. SQUELCH.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

It was enormous, easily eight feet tall. It wore a butcher's apron made of stitched leather (or perhaps skin). Its face was hidden behind a welding mask.

But its hands...

Its hands had been replaced by massive, spinning buzz-saws that whirred with a menacing, high-pitched hum.

The Butcher.

"Visitors..." The Butcher wheezed, its voice wet and gurgling. "More... parts."

Leona stepped forward. She smashed her steam-gauntlets together.

HISSS.

"I call dibs," Leona growled, her Berserk Aura flaring red. "I've been wanting to punch something ugly all day."

Brokk nodded. "He's all yours, lass. We'll secure the exit."

Leona roared and charged.

The Butcher raised his saws.

The brawl began.

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