MasukThe sub-basement of the Sterling Tower was not designed for human habitation. It was a labyrinth of steam pipes, reinforced concrete pillars, and the hum of massive HVAC units. But below that—below the "official" blueprints—lay the domain of the Rat King.
Jack stepped out of the freight elevator into the humid, cloying air of Sub-Level 5. The smell hit him instantly: a mix of rust, old water, and... fresh pastries?"Grog!" Jack called out, his voice echoing in the gloom."Shhh!" A massive shape detached itself from the shadows. Grog, the leader of the subterranean mutant community, loomed over Jack. He was seven feet of lumpy muscle and scarred skin, wearing a patchwork vest made of discarded neon signs and high-visibility jackets. In his massive, calloused hand, he held a delicate cream puff."The yeast is rising, Alpha Jack," Grog whispered, gesturing with the pastry. "Loud noises make the dough sad.""We have bigger problems than sad dough, GrThe Sterling Tower was dying. It was a scream of steel and glass, a slow-motion avalanche that began deep in the earth where Jack Sterling had unleashed entropy.In the subterranean cavern of the cistern, chaos was absolute. The ceiling was fracturing, huge chunks of reinforced concrete splashing into the foul water. Dust and pulverized rock filled the air, turning the beams of the emergency lights into solid bars of haze.Jack stumbled backward, his left arm hanging limp, the black runes now dull and grey, exhausted. He had poured everything into that strike—not to kill Valerius, but to break the world around him."You fool!" Valerius roared. The King of the Council stood amidst the falling debris, unmoving. A chunk of masonry the size of a refrigerator crashed down towards his head. He didn't dodge. He simply punched upward. His fist met the stone, and the stone exploded into dust.This was the power of the Progenitor Bones. Valerius wasn't just s
The confrontation in the lobby was not a clash of swords, but a collision of atmospheres.Valerius stood six foot six, a tower of muscle wrapped in Italian silk. His presence was physical—a weight that pressed down on the lungs. The "Absolute Field" Cain had warned about was real. Jack felt it instantly. His knees felt weak. His heart rate slowed, not from calm, but from suppression. His blood felt thick, sluggish.This was the power of the Progenitor Bones. Evolution's way of saying kneel."So," Valerius said, walking slowly toward the center of the room, his shoes crunching on broken glass. "The prodigal son returns. You look tired, Jack. And... smaller.""I've been busy," Jack said, forcing himself to stand straight. He kept his left hand in his pocket, gripping the detonator. "Cleaning up your mess in the Arctic.""My mess?" Valerius chuckled. "That was a science experiment. This..." He gestured to the ruined lobby, the burning c
The elevator ride down from the 88th floor was a descent into a metallic, groaning purgatory. Jack Sterling stood alone in the mirrored box, checking the magazine of his revolver. Six silver rounds. Enough for six problems, or one very big one.But as the digital counter ticked past the 70th floor, Jack's earpiece crackled."Jack, stop!" It was Catherine's voice, frantic and distorted by static. "Don't go to the lobby yet. We have a situation in the Penthouse. A secondary breach.""I thought we cleared the assassin," Jack said, his thumb hovering over the emergency stop button. "The cow sat on him. Case closed.""Not that assassin. Another one. And this one isn't alone. Jack, the Ouroboros Compass... when Hailey dropped it, the spatial rift didn't just bring a cow in. It left a door open."Jack slammed the stop button. The elevator jerked to a halt between the 65th and 64th floors. "Explain. Fast.""The rift de
The elevator ride to the 80th floor felt like an ascent into hell, not away from it. The lights flickered rhythmically, marking the dying heartbeat of the building's generator.Jack knelt beside Marcus, applying pressure to the wound in his shoulder. The big man was breathing, but shallowly. His skin, briefly a miracle of living silver, was now grey and clammy."Hold on," Jack whispered. "Don't you dare die on me."The doors pinged open. The Medical Suite.Elena was waiting. She didn't scream when she saw the blood. She went into matriarch mode. " stretcher! Now!" she ordered the two remaining guards. They rushed forward, lifting Marcus's massive frame onto the gurney."The bleeding won't stop," Jack said, his hands slick with his best friend's blood. "He lost too much. And the axe... it might have been poisoned.""We have synthesized wolfsbane antidote," Elena said, cutting Marcus's shirt open. "Go, Jack. You can't help him here. You have a war to lead
The air inside the Sterling Tower Grand Lobby tasted of marble dust and cordite. Once, this expansive hall had been a cathedral of capitalism—three stories high, floored with Italian travertine, centered around a cascading waterfall sculpture that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime.Now, it was a kill box.Marcus "The Mountain" stood behind a barricade constructed from overturned mahogany reception desks and sandbags dragged up from the maintenance closet. His breathing was heavy, rattling in his chest like a diesel engine idling in winter. He checked the ammunition counter on his heavy assault rifle: 120 rounds. Not enough."Status on the elevators?" Marcus barked into his headset."They're locked down," Ben Carter’s voice crackled, tense and tinny. "I've sealed the shafts from the 10th floor down. But Marcus... the sensors are gone. I can't see what's happening in the lobby anymore. You're blind.""I'm not blind," Marcus grunted, p
The war for the Sterling Empire shifted from the roar of crumbling stone to the silent, deadly hum of cooling fans.The Executive War Room smelled of ozone, wet carpet, and drying blood. Catherine was heavily sedated on the couch, her injured arm elevated, guarded by Elena. Marcus was patrolling the shattered skylight, shotgun ready.But the battlefield was now the semi-circular desk where Ben Carter sat.Usually, Ben was the comic relief—the man who complained about coffee quality while hacking the Pentagon. Not tonight. Tonight, his face was a mask of terrifying focus. He had three monitors set up, the glow reflecting in his glasses like binary war paint. He was typing so fast the sound was a continuous, rattling drone, like a machine gun with infinite ammo."It's a cascade failure," Ben muttered, his eyes darting between screens. "They didn't just freeze the personal accounts. They hit the shell companies, the offshore trusts, the liquidity pools... Jesu







