Chapter 5: The Bloodbath

  Dozens of simultaneous explosions synchronically activated, followed by agonizing, and panicked screams.

  I barely had time to react before an Enforcer beside me screamed as his COG suddenly erupted in a flash of mana and metal.

  He dropped to the ground. His entire arm was torn away, shredded by his own device. His side was pierced by the exploding pieces while he was bleeding heavily.

  A spray of blood hit my shoulder, and something hot and jagged sliced my left arm. I stumbled backward and dropped the box with the Chrono Quill.

  I gritted my teeth, clutching at the wound – not deep, but bleeding.

  My eyes immediately darted toward Trent, heart beating fast with worry.

  He got hit harder – a metallic shrapnel was jagged inside his right arm.

  “Fuck!” He screamed in pain as he attempted to remove it.

  “Wait!” I stopped him. “It would only make things worse.”

  Meanwhile, all around us, Ironwatch Enforcers and bodyguards dropped to the floor. All of them missing an arm. Some hit the ground instantly. Others remained upright, shrieking, half-aware, half-dying.

  People screamed, rushing toward the exit.

  But no one could escape.

  With a sudden mechanical clang, the great doors of the Divine slammed shut, refusing to be opened again. The windows followed as well, closed immediately by descending iron shutters.

  But the real horror was what happened next.

  One by one, the mechanical valets – harmless just a moment ago – jerked to a stop.

  Their heads twitched. Their postures changed. Suddenly, it looked like liquid darkness was pouring out from inside them.

  And then they moved again.

  The first to die was Dalton Rose.

  The valet beside him smashed a silver tray on his skull. It continued striking him. Once. Twice. Again. And again. Until only a bloody pulp remained from The Head’s head.

  With eyes glowing red, the other valets lunged into the crowd, wielding the trays they carried like weapons. With their inhuman strength, every strike landed with sickening finality – bloody, deadly, unstoppable.

  One of them jumped straight toward us, mechanical arms whirring as its frame twisted.

  I pushed Trent to one side and rolled away to the other, scrambling on all fours as it followed, smashing through chairs, tables, and exhibits.

  Valdemar had overridden them – took control of the Divine and the mechanical servants inside it.

  But how did Libra finally reach Skyhaven after failing for years? And how was Valdemar able to control the valets without being present in the room? The COGs had a limited working range…

  My COG was too underleveled to even attempt a counter-override, nor did I have any mana crystals to fight back, so I knew I’d have to rely on my own body.

  Around me, people screamed – blood spraying, limbs flying, decapitated by their once waiters. But some of them fought back – taking mana crystals from the Enforcers’ dead bodies and destroying their mechanical attackers.

  I grabbed the nearest thing I could find: a long metal rod, part of an exhibit that hadn’t been torn apart by the explosions.

  Suddenly, a champagne bottle shattered against the valet’s head, drawing its attention away from me. I looked past it and saw Trent, holding his bleeding arm, grinning nervously.

  Using the small window he’d opened for me, I drove the rod upward with both hands, aiming for the narrow joint between the valet’s lower frame and torso – where the cogwork spine was exposed. If I hit it right – and if the rod didn’t snap – it might just jam the mechanism.

  The rod slid in, right between the two rotating cogs. There was a screech of metal against metal as it lodged deep inside, and I stumbled backward to safety.

  The valet jerked violently as the jammed rod tore through the rotation cycle. One of the pistons burst, steam hissed, the lights in its glass eye flickered. And then, with a last, stuttering twitch, it collapsed motionlessly.

  I immediately rushed toward Trent.

  Around us, the chaos was winding down.

  A small group of fighters took the lead – two men. Oligarchs – I could tell by their attires. One engulfed his blade in fire, loading an Ignis into his COG, and sliced through the valet automatons like a hot knife through butter. The other moved behind him, firing icy blasts at them – each strike locking the machines in place before he shattered them into pieces with his sword.

  After the imminent danger was over, the survivors were gathered together.

  While the two men rushed upstairs to help the second and third floors, a silver-haired woman with a bloodied velvet coat – another oligarch – took charge. She helped the wounded, calmed the panicked, ordered to collect any mana crystals the dead – or dying – Enforcers had.

  Trent and I were left alone. Even without speaking to us, it was clear she didn’t trust us with anything. Nor had she – or anyone else – offered any help with our injuries.

  She turned toward the Divine’s doors, focused on her COG – trying to override the lockdown. From her reactions it was clear the doors weren’t yielding. When she attempted to melt them down with an Ignis, it didn’t work either.

  “Damn it. Too much Aetheris.” She muttered loud enough for us to hear.

  Minutes later, the fighters returned with more survivors – injured inventors, unconscious guests – including children, terrified staff, and even Alice.

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  My mind raced at what just happened – what was happening – as my gaze darted around the entire floor. It was filled with dead bodies, torn limbs, and blood – lots of it.

  I brought Trent into a death trap.

  The oligarch with the flaming sword – now folded back and attached to his belt – approached me and Trent suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

  He was tall. Late forties, most likely. His short hair streaked with strands of gray. His coat – what remained of it – was soaked in blood, but the man himself seemed strong, a handgun holstered to his right hip.

  “Let me check on your injuries.” He said politely.

  I was wary of him. Of them all, really.

  And he noticed.

  The man lifted a roll of bandages and gestured toward the shrapnel in Trent’s arm. “You’re wounded. Let me help.”

  Trent blinked, momentarily stunned. I think the last thing we expected was help from the “nobility”.

  He caught our hesitation. His expression tightened, but he simply stepped forward, opening the bandages.

  “I’m Casten Vorrick, Head of the Vorrick family – House Security,” he said simply, then sighed heavily, muttering almost to himself, “and I assume…Head of Solvane, now that Dalton is…gone.”

  I swallowed hard, still cautious. “Viktor Halegrim.”

  “Trent Jones.”

  He nodded once, and began wrapping my arm with steady, professional movements.

  Around us, the other survivors stirred at the sound of our names.

  One woman, her dress torn and soaked in blood, muttered loud enough to hear. “Oh, the Orlinth scums. Of course they survived…”

  Another man groaned from where he sat, clutching his arm. “Why are we harboring these low-born rats? They’re probably in it with Valdemar!”

  My fists clenched at being linked with Libra twice in one day, but before I could snap back, Trent did.

  “You want to say it to my face, assholes?!”

  Casten’s voice cut through the air.

  “Enough!” He snapped, without looking up from his work. “Valdemar represents himself. Not the Foundry. Not Orlinth. And certainly not these two boys.”

  Silence fell. Even the most bitter of the survivors shrunk under his authority.

  The woman oligarch was the only one unbothered by his word or tone.

  “How did this happen, Casten?” She snapped, her tone almost accusing. “How had that scum made it here?!”

  Casten sighed. “I don’t know, Caldra…”

  Hearing this from the person who was entrusted with the security of Solvane did little to reassure anyone.

  Before the woman could speak again, as if right on cue, the phonotubes groaned.

  A second later, Valdemar’s voice slithered back into the room, calm as before.

  “To those of you who survived…congratulations.”

  Everyone froze.

  “You’ve proven yourself to be quite…adaptable. I expected no less from Solvane’s elite.” Valdemar paused, then continued. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to leave.”

  This damn voice – so confident. So arrogant. Ruthless.

  “The Divine belongs to me now.” Valdemar continued. “Every machine. Every floor. And yes, that also includes floors twelve and thirteen.”

  “What’s on those floors?” One of the survivors whispered.

  I wondered the same. The Divine was so tall, I had no idea how many floors it even had.

  Valdemar responded almost instantly, as if listening the entire time.

  “The Ironwatch’s precious secret projects.” The Leader of Libra said simply, before elaborating. “Combat models. Experimental automatons. Designed for war. But not against me, or Libra.”

  Then, a pause.

  “They’re coming for you now. My cleanup crew.”

  A quiet, nervous murmur ran through the group.

  War? What was Valdemar talking about?

  “So, the rumors were true…” Trent whispered, his eyes wide.

  “What rumors?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  He shook his head. “I heard about it from Derrick. His brother said something about a shipment of automaton parts they had sent to Skyhaven weekly, instead of the usually already assembled ones. I couldn’t understand it back then since Skyhaven doesn’t produce anything, but now…this make sense.”

  “You’re bluffing!” Someone snapped at Valdemar before I could ask anything further. “What war? Solvane’s the only city on the planet. Everyone knows the rest of the world is an uninhabitable wasteland.”

  An unmistakable laugh escaped the phonotubes. “Well, that’s what they want you to think. Isn’t that right, Casten?”

  Heads turned.

  The room grew tenser by the second. I could feel the shift in the air – the weight of doubt.

  Judging by the oligarchs’ faces – Casten’s especially – it wasn’t news to them.

  Before doubt could grow into panic, Casten snapped everyone back to reality.

  “We have no time for this.” He barked. “It was not my decision to keep this a secret, and you all deserve to learn the truth. But now is not the time. We don’t know how long until those things come down here – and those will be nothing like these relatively harmless valets.”

  “My, my,” Valdemar’s voice oozed through the phonotubes again. “Are we blaming the late Dalton Rose, Mr. Vorrick? How shameless…”

  “Shut up, scum!” Casten snapped.

  The other man oligarch – the one who used the Cryora mana crystal to freeze the valets – they called him Ainsworth, stepped forward. “What’s the plan, Casten?”

  Everyone turned to him with expecting eyes now. Even I did. I needed a plan to save Trent.

  Casten exhaled. “There’s a manual override on Floor 7.” He said. “It’s not run on magitek – old tech. If we get there, we can unlock the tower.”

  “Why does a lockdown option even exists in the Divine to begin with?” Another survivor asked, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

  A fair question, but they ignored him.

  “It’s worth a shot.” Ainsworth replied. “Though I assume we’ll be met with resistance.”

  “We must split.” Caldra spoke. “Anyone who can fight should stack on mana crystals and head to Floor 7. The rest - children and wounded - will stay behind with me. I'll protect them.”

  Casten nodded. “Agreed.”

  “The plot thickens.” Valdemar’s chuckled through the phonotubes.

  Then, suddenly, a small mechanical Eye Sentry flew into the floor. A polished brass orb with a twitching lens and fins for stabilization – a known automaton used by the Ironwatch.

  It hovered at a distance, scanning us.

  “Is he…watching us?” Someone whispered.

  “Yes, I see you. That’s how I hear you too.” Valdemar said. “And I’ll continue to do so as you progress upward.”

  Not a second later, Casten unholstered his handgun and shot the sentry, blowing it up with just two led bullets.

  But a second Eye quickly entered the floor.

  “Don’t bother.” Valdemar continued, still poised. “You take one down, another will arrive in its place. It’s of the outmost necessity that I watch every step of your journey up.”

  “What’s the point of this?” Casten snapped again. “You’ve proved your point. You can reach us! You’ve killed seven of us! Why target innocents? Why continue with this charade?!”

  There was silence as everyone processed his words, realizing seven of the oligarchic families just lost their leaders.

  Valdemar didn’t grace Casten with an answer. “Just get to Floor 7.”

  Then, the phonotubes cracked and the transmission ended.

  Casten looked around the group before gesturing toward Ainsworth. “Ainsworth and I will lead a group to Floor 7. Anyone who can move, fight, and their COG’s intact – come with us. We’ll provide you with the mana crystals.” Then, he gestured toward Caldra. “The rest, stay here with Caldra. You should be safer here.”

  People began to sort themselves, many refusing to join Casten despite looking healthy.

  Meanwhile, Casten finished treating Trent’s arm, bandaging it but leaving the shrapnel inside to avoid causing heavier bleeding – he didn’t have the tools and medicine to treat it fully.

  “No way I’m staying behind.” Trent muttered as I told him he should stay.

  “Dude,” I said, pointing at the piece of metal protruding from his arm, “you’re just going to bleed to death if you keep moving with this inside. Sit this one out.”

  He shook his head. “No way I’m trusting these snobs to run the show. If push comes to shove, they will sacrifice both of us to save their asses, and you know it!”

  I nodded slowly. “I know. That’s why I’ll go.”

  Trent’s eyes widened. “What?”

  I nodded again.

  Trent was right. I didn’t trust Casten, or any other Skyhavener here for that matter, to not just abandon everyone who stays down here.

  In this place, I can only bet on myself.

  I raised my hand for Casten Vorrick to see.

  He approached us and gave me a nod, before handing me a small dark-blue sack with mana crystals – the ones Ironwatch Enforcers always carried.

  “Four reds. One purple. We leave in five.” He said before walking away.

  I could hear people behind me saying something that sounded like “Giving mana crystals to an Orlinth rat is just asking for trouble.”

  I didn’t acknowledge it. Not worth the effort. Definitely not now.

  Trent was about to start a fight, but his injury stopped him.

  “For fucks sake…” he muttered silently, clearly in pain.

  “Don’t worry.” I said, trying to reassure him. “We’ll be back in no time. I’ll make sure they don’t abandon us ‘Orlinth Rats’.”

  Trent laughed weakly. Then, we exchanged a fist bump.

  I took a deep breath.

  I wasn’t a fighter. But I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for death to take us.