Chương 106: 105: Parallels

The false Twin Chambers lay in ruins. Smoke curled from shattered machinery. Empty clone husks littered the floor like discarded dolls, while the acrid scent of burnt Apis circuitry lingered in the air. Alaric Vale surveyed the devastation with the mild disappointment of a man reading an imperfect report. His grey eyes swept across the chamber, noting the clean cuts and meticulous destruction.

"Send a report to Engineering," he said evenly.

"The entire section will be rebuilt tomorrow morning." Four Steppers stood behind him. Without another word, they split into pairs. Two remained with Alaric. The other two headed for the disturbance in Reception. The hall was a massacre. Bodies covered the floor. Some twitched weakly. Others had withered into skin stretched over bone. A handful remained standing only because their bodies hadn't yet realised they should fall. The pair advanced carefully, visors recording everything.

"What happened here?" one muttered.

"A girl," came a weary voice. Shamira Bekele stood amid the wreckage, rubbing her eyes. Her hand trembled, though her professional tone never faltered.

"Blue hair. A cornflower dress. Gold glasses. She asked about a wolf, spoke a word I didn't recognise, and everyone fell asleep. Afterwards..." She gestured toward the bodies.

"She pulled blue lights out of them and stored them in her satchel."

"What was inside the satchel?" one Stepper asked. Shamira frowned.

"I don't know. Something... heavy. Wrong. It felt alive." The Steppers stepped aside, lowering their voices.

"A Nonagon," one whispered.

"It has to be."

"She was carrying one?"

"The description matches perfectly. Only Enforcers are meant to know those exist. If she's seen it, she's a liability." The other's jaw tightened.

"Other factions would kill for that information. If word gets out—""It won't." Her voice turned cold.

"She's a receptionist. She approves and denies resurrection requests while we're the ones bleeding in the field. Three of my squadmates stayed dead because she decided they weren't worth the cost." She looked back at Shamira.

"I say we kill the bitch." The man hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Both Steppers turned back toward Shamira, weapons already raised.

"Wait…" Shamira said, freezing.

"On what grounds?"

"None," the woman replied flatly.

"We just don't like you, whore." Shamira's eyes widened.

"Excuse me." Rhizome stepped into the room as though she had always been there. Her crimson dress swayed softly, violet flowers embroidered across the fabric catching the light. Bronze skin glowed beneath the fluorescents as honey-coloured eyes settled on the pair with gentle curiosity.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was warm, almost maternal.

"Stand down," the man ordered.

"This doesn't concern you."

"I believe it does. You're about to kill a friend of mine." The woman's visor scanned rapidly.

"Enhanced... but weak. Maybe an off-duty Stepper. The curves don't match." Rhizome smiled faintly.

"I'm not a Stepper."

"Then what are you?"

"None of your business." The woman squeezed the trigger. CRACK. The bullet crossed the room. Rhizome moved first. One effortless step carried her across the hall before impact. The Steppers adjusted instantly. Their rounds travelled far beyond hypersonic speeds, yet no Stepper could move anywhere near Mach fifty without a suit. Her foot struck the shooter. BOOM. He disappeared into a distant wall, armour folding around him as he collapsed in a heap of twisted limbs and sparking metal.

The remaining woman's eyes widened. Their suits dispersed anything below continental force. That kick had ignored it completely. How? Rhizome's hand closed around her helmet. The visor erupted with errors. Prediction algorithms failed. Teleportation refused to engage. Rhizome's fingers completely covered the visor, blinding every optical and X-ray system at once. Before the Stepper could react, Rhizome hurled her across the room. She smashed through a reinforced metal table. It folded like paper.

The woman slid to the floor, groaning as her cracked visor hissed. Half-asleep onlookers gasped. Shamira could only stare. Rhizome stood in the centre of the hall, dress immaculate, calmly smoothing a wrinkle from her sleeve.

"Astaga..." she murmured.

"That was rude." The doors opened. Alaric Vale entered.... The room fell silent. His dark hair was immaculate, his uniform flawless. Grey eyes swept across the shattered furniture, the fallen Steppers, and the drained bodies in a single glance.

"What is happening here?" The two Steppers behind him hurried to their injured comrades. The woman Rhizome had thrown struggled upright, pointing an accusing finger.

"That woman," she hissed.

"She attacked us. We were only doing our jobs." Alaric looked at Rhizome.

"I see." He approached without haste. Rhizome's posture changed instantly. Her spine straightened, her hands fell still, and something old stirred behind her eyes.

"Rhizome." It wasn't a question. Her head bowed at once.

"C-Captain."

"Why were you fighting my Steppers?"

"I... I was protecting a friend. They were going to..."

"I don't care." The words struck like a blade. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Alaric turned to one of his Steppers.

"Shoot the receptionist." The rifle rose. Shamira went pale.

"Wait," Rhizome pleaded.

"Shoot her." CRACK. Shamira collapsed. Rhizome froze. Without even glancing at the body, Alaric surveyed the ruined hall, the drained victims, and the survivors still struggling to breathe.

"Dispose of the rest," he said with quiet indifference.

"They're replaceable." He turned to the two Steppers helping their fallen comrades.

"This entire section is to be redesigned and repaired. First thing tomorrow. The False-Twin Chambers are also a priority. Apis repairs are not automatic on floors such as these. Most of the residents are still human. They would suffer poisoning. Only minute quantities of Apis are permitted here."

"Yes, Captain." Rhizome hadn't moved. She stood perfectly still, her gaze fixed on Shamira's crumpled body. Her breathing was shallow. Her hands trembled. Alaric looked at her.

"Kneel." She obeyed instantly.

"If you ever repeat what you did today," he said quietly, "you will be severely punished."

"I understand, Captain." Her eyes remained lowered, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

"Don't make me inform the Commander." Rhizome's composure shattered. Even the surrounding Steppers exchanged uneasy glances.

"No..." she begged, throwing herself forward.

"Please... anything but that. Don't tell him. I'm begging you. I'll behave. I promise." Tears spilled freely as her body shook, both hands clutching desperately at Alaric's leg. Without a word, he pulled himself free and walked away. The Steppers looked at Rhizome one last time before silently following him into the corridor. The door closed behind them.... Silence settled over the room. Rhizome remained kneeling, listening as their footsteps faded into the distance.

Only when she could no longer hear them did her shoulders sag. A long, shuddering breath escaped her. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, sniffed once, and sat there for another quiet moment, gathering herself. Finally, she whispered,"Shamira."

"I'm here." The voice came from behind her. Shamira stepped out from behind the overturned reception desk where she had been hiding. Her face was pale, her hands still trembling, but she was alive. The bullet had struck empty air. Nothing more than a spore-induced hallucination. Rhizome let out a quiet breath and rose to her feet.

"You were inside them," Shamira whispered.

"The Steppers... Alaric... you made them see it."

"Ya." Rhizome sounded exhausted.

"While you were talking to them, my spores were already inside their bodies, slowly shaping their senses. They saw what I wished them to see. They heard what I wished them to hear." She smiled faintly.

"I almost didn't come back... but I could still feel my spores inside you. I knew you were alive." Shamira looked down at her own hands.

"You knew... because of the spores?" Rhizome nodded.

"They're part of me once they take root." She glanced toward the closed door.

"They were already inside the Steppers the moment they entered the hall. While they were deciding whether to kill you, the spores were quietly working."

"Working how?"

"They don't attack." Rhizome shook her head.

"They integrate. They become part of whatever they inhabit, then gently persuade it to change." She held up a finger.

"Their Apis cores began producing less efficient output. Only a little. Enough that the loss rippled through everything else. Their dispersal systems weakened. Their predictive software slowed. Even their teleportation became unstable."

"They never noticed?"

"They couldn't." A weary smile crossed her face.

"Nothing was being damaged. My spores weren't destroying anything. They simply convinced each system to perform... a little worse than before." Shamira blinked.

"So when you hit that Stepper..."

"She was already far weaker than she believed." Rhizome looked almost embarrassed.

"I'm strong... but not that strong." She glanced down at her own hands.

"My body alone tops out around a national-level disaster. I couldn't overwhelm continental dispersal systems through brute force." Her honey-coloured eyes drifted toward the ruined table.

"So I don't."

"I weaken things until they defeat themselves." She reached for Shamira's hand.

"They believe you're dead. They believe I submitted. That's how they'll remember today." Shamira's voice quivered.

"I was so scared... when they pointed the gun..."

"Shh." Rhizome drew her into a gentle embrace.

"It's over."

"For now." She pulled back, honey-coloured eyes meeting Shamira's.

"That nest will fall before this day ends," she said quietly.

"I felt an enormous surge of energy from below. It didn't belong to this world. Like something that should never have existed. It's going to tear this place apart."

"The girl with the satchel?"

"Ya." A heavy silence lingered.

"Then what do we do?" Rhizome tightened her grip on Shamira's hand.

"We run. We find somewhere safe. And we wait." Her gaze wandered across the ruined reception hall.

"I've been running for a long time, Shami. I'm tired of running alone." Shamira's expression tightened.

"What happens when they realise you tricked them?" The Spore Mother's smile faded.

"Then I'll keep running... and pray the girl who feels like a dream is enough to break what they've built. Because if she isn't... none of us will be safe. Not anywhere in this universe." Her eyes drifted toward the pod chambers.

"You promised me a safe place, Shami. What if the only way to find it... is to burn down everything we know first?" Shamira slowly shook her head.

"You're talking about destroying an entire society."

"No." Rhizome's voice remained gentle.

"Only one nest. One faction. A single tree in a vast forest. The Syndicate will grow again. It always does. It is the forest itself. But for one brief moment... the forest will burn." She squeezed Shamira's hand.

"And in that moment... people like us can slip through the cracks."

"We can find our clearing." Softly glowing spores swirled around them before dissolving into the air. When the last mote faded...... both women were gone. Only the aftermath remained. — The ruined chamber settled into uneasy silence. A heartbeat later, heavy boots thundered through the corridor. An Operative rounded the corner first, followed by nearly a dozen Steppers in immaculate combat armour. Rail rifles, gravity lances, carbines and breaching cannons snapped into firing positions by pure instinct.

They saw her. Hooves. Antlers. The impossible spear. Every weapon lowered. One Stepper's face drained of colour beneath his visor.

"…It's Korhess."

"The First Antler…" another whispered. The Operative's visor swept over her.

"Retreat." The squad immediately began backing away. One woman didn't. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Built like a powerlifter.

"She abandoned the Syndicate," she snarled.

"She's a traitor. There are thirteen of us. She's only one Abomin-" BOOM. A fist-sized hole erupted through her chest. Armour burst outward as blood sprayed across the marble. She looked down in disbelief. She could see clean through herself, like the centre of a doughnut. The strike had pierced both dispersal plating and flesh alike, a casual tap from Korhess powerful enough to split a planet. Korhess hadn't moved. Not even an inch. One of the older Steppers slowly closed his eyes.

"…A strike she placed in the past." Silence followed.

"…You should've left your predictive software running." The wounded woman swayed. One teammate hurried forward and reached beneath her shoulder to drag her away. She slapped his arm aside.

"Don't… touch me." He stumbled back. The suit hissed as amber stimulants flooded directly into her bloodstream, overriding agony and forcing dying nerves to obey for a few precious seconds longer, long enough to escape… or land one final blow. She tore off her cracked helmet. One eyebrow was pierced with dull steel. A scar crossed her face. Crooked teeth gleamed red with blood. Brown eyes burned with stubborn fury beneath a sharp black mohawk. She spat onto the marble.

"…I'm not finished." Her trembling fingers produced a compact gravity mine. Butter instinctively tensed. Korhess merely sighed, her ears lowering.

"… Alas… the branches bear only sorrow." She had already seen the future. A gentle wave of her hand. The Stepper blurred away, anticipating the attack would appear where she had stood. She was wrong. Korhess had already seen the evasion. Green-gold fire blossomed around the woman the instant she completed her new position. There was no scream. The flames consumed everything at once: armour, Apis core, weapon, flesh, even the gravity mine before it could arm itself. When the fire faded… … only drifting ash remained.

The remaining Steppers stared in silence. No one reached for a weapon. One finally muttered, "… Did anyone tell Okindra the false Twin Chambers were destroyed?" Another shook his head.

"She isn't coming back." A third sighed.

"That was reckless."

"She was always reckless," someone answered quietly.

"Always trying to prove something… always chasing Operative rank." The squad resumed its retreat. The Operative looked back only once.

"Predictions exist for a reason." His gaze settled briefly upon the tiny pile of ash.

"Our probability of defeating an experiment on Korhess's level was zero."... Butter stared, dumbfounded, her rage fading for a moment.

"… Oh my." Even she noticed they hadn't acknowledged either Thornburgh or herself. Every eye had fixed solely on Korhess. She was the one they feared. Most of them had never seen the experiments before their transformations. Aside from Warpfluff and Ankou, nearly every experiment in this faction had been confined to a secure floor under the Commander's direct authority, leaving the facility only for missions. All they saw was a tall man sitting on the floor while Butter and Korhess stood nearby. They assumed…

whatever. They didn't know it was the wolf. If they did, none of them dared mention it. She wasn't in the right state of mind to berate Korhess for killing her, either. Korhess knew these people far better than she did. If she had ended a life without the slightest hesitation, there was a reason. Feet wandered aimlessly through the ruined chamber, pausing to inspect a cracked pebble before becoming fascinated by a loose feather drifting through the air.

It tilted its tiny head, blinked one eye after the other, then resumed its slow, absent-minded swaying. It never paid attention to the battle. It never needed to. Its authority was absurdity itself. Reality quietly conspired around Feet, engineering impossible coincidences until every meaningless action, a curious glance, a lazy stretch, a distracted dance step, became the precise answer to whatever threatened it. Physics didn't bend for Feet. It politely stepped aside. Butter turned to Thornburgh.

Her voice was low. Cold. The voice of someone who had been broken and still found the strength to ask.

"You think the Commander will release your family if you kill me? If you kill enough of us? If you bring enough heads to his table?" Thornburgh's jaw tightened. Blood welled where his claws bit into his palms, steaming as it struck the fractured stone.

"It is the only trail left to me." Butter's expression never changed.

"You possess instantaneous speed. Truly infinite speed. You could stand in the Commander's chamber before his next heartbeat. You could tear out the throat of the man who stole your daughter. The man who holds your family. The man who turned you into this." Her eyes never left his.

"So why haven't you? Why did you wait so long?" Silence. Something broke behind his eyes. His breathing faltered. His broad shoulders folded inward, and when he spoke again, the predator was gone. Only the father remained.

"You ask a rabbit," he said quietly, "why it does not hunt the wolf." His gaze drifted somewhere far away.

"You have mistaken me for the apex." A bitter laugh escaped him.

"I am merely one more hound in his kennel. You do not know the Commander." Fear entered his voice. Real fear.

"The forests whisper that lions rule because they have never seen the hunter." His fingers curled.

"He has slain titans. Every Abomination could descend upon him together... and they would perish wondering why they had ever believed themselves predators." He looked toward the distant ceiling.

"Talon stand leagues above Operatives... and he stands beyond Talon still." Another silence settled over the chamber.

"I have hunted monsters. I have become one. And before that man..." His voice cracked.

"…I remember what it feels like to be prey." Butter watched him quietly. She no longer saw the beast. She saw a husband promised his family. A father chained by hope. A hunter so thoroughly broken that he'd forgotten the greatest predator had always worn a human face. She glanced past him. Feet had somehow become engrossed in watching a droplet of water crawl down a broken pillar.

"We'll see about that," Butter murmured.