Chapter 16: The Tower’s Pulse

The neon skyline of Old Detroit blazed against the night, Apex Tower piercing the rift-scarred sky like a shard of glass and steel. Elias Voss drove the truck through the city's heart, weaving past drones and flickering signs, the coordinates from Carver—a top-floor rift seam—etched into his mind. His gray eyes stayed locked on the road, unblinking, the scar over his eyebrow sharp in the dashboard's glow. The machete rested beside him, runes glowing faintly blue through crusted blood, while the SIG Sauer hung reloaded at his hip, its weight a cold certainty. His tactical gear was torn, blood dried on his shoulder and back, but he moved steady, unyielding—fatigue was a ghost he'd banished.

Mira Kade sat beside him, her magic flaring violet in her palms as she flexed her bruised hands, the warehouse fight still a raw edge in her stance. Her torn jacket hung loose, her smirk faint but sharp as she eyed the tower's glow. "Top floor," she muttered, voice low, tracing the building's silhouette. "Carver's little throne room." Elias grunted, a rare sound, shifting gears as the truck jolted over cracked asphalt. "Queen's there," he rasped, voice flat. "We end it." Mira's smirk widened, leaning back. "Big talk for a guy bleeding out."

The truck slowed near the tower's base, a fortress of polished marble and armed guards under a canopy of rift scars pulsing overhead. Elias parked in an alley a block away, killing the engine, the silence thick with the hum of drones and the distant wail of sirens. He stepped out, machete in hand, runes flaring as he scanned the perimeter—four guards at the entrance, rifles ready, drones circling high. Mira followed, boots crunching gravel, her magic dim but restless. "Subtle's out," she whispered, nodding at the guards. Elias's voice was low, final. "They die. We climb."

He moved, a shadow against the neon, coat left behind to keep his stride light. The first guard turned, rifle swinging—Elias's shot from the SIG Sauer, thwip, punched through his visor, muffled by the suppressor. The body crumpled, and the second reached for his radio—Mira's violet arc lashed out, searing his chest, smoke curling as he dropped. The third fired, bullets chewing the asphalt—Elias rolled, machete slashing his legs, runes blazing as blood sprayed, silencing him with a shot to the skull. The fourth bolted, shouting, but Mira's whip snapped his neck, dropping him mid-step.

The lobby doors loomed—glass, reinforced, locked tight. Elias smashed the panel with the machete's hilt, sparks flying, and Mira's magic fried the circuits—doors slid open, alarms blaring. Inside, the air hummed with rift energy, marble floors reflecting neon, guards converging from side halls. Elias moved, machete low, gray eyes piercing the chaos—two rushed him, rifles barking—he ducked, slashing one's gut, then fired—thwip—through the other's throat. Mira's violet bolts lit the room, frying a third, her magic shielding her from a stray shot.

The elevator bank gleamed ahead—Elias hit the call button, machete up as more guards stormed in, drones buzzing from above. Mira's net trapped two, snapping bones, while Elias's shots dropped the rest—precise, silent, blood pooling fast. The elevator dinged, doors sliding open—he stepped in, Mira at his side, her magic flaring as she punched the top-floor button. "Going up," she quipped, breathless. He grunted, reloading the SIG Sauer, gray eyes on the numbers climbing—47, 48, 49.

The doors opened to a hall of glass offices, the air thick with rift energy, a low roar vibrating the walls. Elias moved, machete ready, runes blazing—Carver's suite loomed at the end, its door cracked, purple light spilling out. Guards flanked it—four, in Apex tactical gear, rifles up. Elias fired—two shots, two kills, heads snapping back—while Mira's violet whip lashed the third, breaking his spine. The fourth swung at Elias, rifle butt aimed—he parried with the machete, slashing his chest, blood spraying as he fell.

The suite's door burst open—Dr. Leon Carver stumbled out, glasses askew, a rift-charged pistol in hand, his leg bandaged from the warehouse. "Voss!" he snarled, firing—a wave of rift energy staggered Elias, runes flickering, but he braced, gray eyes narrowing. Mira's Violet bolt hit Carver's arm, scorching it—he dropped the gun, cursing, and Elias lunged, machete pinning his shoulder to the wall—blood gushed, Carver screaming as the blade sank deep.

"Seam," Elias growled, voice ice, twisting the machete. Carver gasped, eyes wild. "Top—roof—rift gate—she's… breaking through!" Elias yanked the blade free, Carver slumping, unconscious, blood pooling. Mira smirked, faint. "Chatty when he's bleeding." The roar grew louder, shaking the glass, and Elias moved—stairs to the roof loomed, rift energy crackling up the shaft. He climbed, machete up, Mira behind, her magic flaring brighter.

The roof was a chaos of rift scars converging—a rune-etched platform pulsed at the center, its core a massive rift shard, glowing purple, tendrils lashing from a tear in the air. Apex techs scrambled, rift-tech sparking, but the Wraith Queen's form shimmered above—pale, veined with black, eyes blazing, her laugh cutting the wind. "Freedom's dawn," she purred, voice shattering glass below, raising a hand—rift energy surged, hurling a tech off the edge, his scream swallowed by the city.

Elias charged, machete slashing—runes blazed, cutting air as she vanished, reappearing behind him—claws raked his arm, blood spraying, but he spun, firing—shots passed through her, useless. Mira's Violet net lashed out, tangling her—rift energy clashed, staggering the Queen, her shriek shaking the platform. "End it!" Mira shouted, magic shielding her from tendrils lashing out—Elias lunged for the shard, machete slashing its mount—runes flared, cracking it, rift energy convulsing.

The Queen roared, claws slashing—Elias ducked, slashing her leg—black blood sprayed, and she recoiled, vanishing into the tear. The shard shattered, the tear snapping shut, tendrils fading, the platform's hum dying. The roof fell silent, rain washing the blood from Elias's hands, his breath steady despite the pain. Mira slumped, magic gone, wiping blood from her nose. "Gone again," she rasped, smirk faint. Elias sheathed the machete, gray eyes on the sky—rift scars dulled, but the hum lingered, a whisper in his skull.

The city sprawled below, neon flickering, drones converging—Apex's reckoning coming fast. Elias moved to the stairs, gray eyes piercing the dark. "Not gone," he rasped, voice flat. "Waiting." Mira followed, her smirk steady. "Guess we're her hobby now." The tower trembled, rift energy faint but alive, and Elias's resolve burned—a quiet, unyielding thing. The Wraith Queen was rift-bound, but unbound, and he'd hunt her through every scar.