Chapter 06: Layer 09

Jonas and Arthur pressed on through the deepest recesses of Scrapra. Layer 9 was infamous for its dangers: unstable terrain, collapsed sections, beasts mutated by toxic waste, and most importantly, forgotten by the surface.

It was also one of the few areas where the Dissonnant scanners struggled to pick up vital signs due to constant magnetic interference. A metallic maze under a cascade of interference waves.

The walls here were unnervingly warm, as if the buried ship's core still pulsed faintly with residual life. Hanging cables dangled from the ceiling like vines. Occasionally, sparks erupted unexpectedly from a fractured panel or a broken capacitor.

- « Be careful, Arthur," Jonas murmured. "One wrong step and we'll end up crushed under a hull plate."

Arthur, despite his exhaustion, kept his senses sharp. Ever since his awakening, a part of him seemed attuned to his surroundings. He still didn't fully understand it… but more than once, his instincts had prompted him to slow down before reaching danger, or to stop mere inches from a collapsing ledge.

Ahead, a collapsed passage blocked their way.

Jonas swore under his breath.

- « Damn… we'll have to take the maintenance rails. Longer, riskier."

Arthur nodded. They didn't have another option.

They slipped into a side conduit, crawling at times, scaling half-melted propulsion structures. The chaos on the surface still echoed faintly down here, like a distant storm ringing steel bells.

Scrapra Surface — Central Sector

A new ship emerged through the cloud layer with a low, resonant rumble. It didn't resemble the heavy troop transports. Sleeker, faster. An elite fighter, its sharp design adorned with dissident symbols engraved directly into the hull.

It descended slowly onto a now-empty platform, the local inhabitants having been rounded up in the central plaza. The ship touched down with a sinister quiet, as if it dared not disturb the tense atmosphere already gripping the area.

The rear ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics.

A black figure emerged.

Tall, slender, draped in a long, intricately patterned coat. Its face was obscured by a smooth, featureless helmet—no visible eyes, no mouth, just a single thin vertical line of light down the center. Each step on the metal surface echoed with a deliberate, almost ritualistic precision.

The soldiers already on the ground stepped aside instinctively. Some lowered their heads. Others briefly dropped to one knee. This was no soldier. No commander. It was something far worse.

An Abjurer of the Dissonnant Order.

Those who had heard of them feared them more than death. They were the echoes of the old shadow hunters, the corrupted heirs of the Élan. Mystical enforcers capable of probing thoughts, breaking wills, and tearing truths straight from the soul itself.

The Abjurer stopped in front of a dissident officer, who quickly bowed.

- « Report," the mask-filtered voice demanded. Deep, resonant, disembodied.

- « Master… we've secured the area. The inhabitants have been gathered. Several squads are searching the districts. So far, no findings."

The Abjurer turned away without a word. He moved among the soaked, exhausted civilians, some injured, others in shock. All avoided his gaze, even though his eyes could not be seen.

He stopped abruptly in front of an old man a one-eyed scrap dealer named Kerym, known to everyone on Scrapra.

The Abjurer inclined his head slightly.

- « You were here when it happened."

Kerym swallowed hard.

- « I… I didn't see anything."

The Abjurer didn't answer immediately. He raised a gloved hand toward the man's head. A faint violet glow pulsed around his fingers.

Kerym began to whimper.

His eyes rolled back. His legs trembled. He almost collapsed to his knees under the invisible pressure. The Abjurer was delving into his mind, sifting through his memories, filtering his emotions, forcing images to the surface.

- « You're not the one lying," he stated coldly. "Your mind is just too simple. Too… broken. Useless."

He slowly lowered his hand. Kerym fell to the ground, gasping, his eyes wide with terror.

- « Wait… please… I can help… I can…"

But the Abjurer had already drawn his blade.

It appeared in an instant a long filament of pure energy, translucent black, like a fractured, moving mirror. It hummed softly, emitting a sound almost organic, a murmur just beyond the threshold of hearing.

Without a hint of emotion, without the slightest hesitation, the Abjurer struck.

A single stroke. Precise. Clean.

Kerym's head rolled across the ground, his eyes still wide open. The crowd recoiled in stunned silence. Some gasped. A woman stifled a scream. A child began to cry.

The Abjurer slowly sheathed his blade.

The Abjurer halted, black boots planted firmly in the rust-streaked mud of the square. Around him, an eerie silence reigned, broken only by the distant rumble of fighters overhead and the crackling of military loudspeakers. The wind whipped at his cloak, though he seemed to pay it no mind.

He closed his eyes.

And the Élan surged through him.

He didn't control it. Not truly. The Dissonnants had forgotten the symbiosis, the subtle connection, the delicate nuances. Instead, they bent this ancient force to their will, twisting it with domination, aggression, and pain. Yet even so, he could feel… something. Distant, yet resonant. Unmistakable.

The Awakening.

Slowly, he lifted his head, as though catching a glimpse of a star through the thick black fog.

- « He's still here…"

He turned to one of his kneeling soldiers nearby.

- « Send a message to all system cells. Secondary planets must be sealed off immediately. No traffic. No departures. No signals."

The soldier nodded, carrying out the order without a word.

The Abjurer turned back toward the crowd, his mask catching a faint gleam from a bolt of lightning that tore across the sky.

- « He cannot escape anymore."

- « Continue the search. He's here. I can still feel him… a burn in the fabric of the Élan."

Level 9—Bypass Conduits

Jonas and Arthur pressed onward through a narrow, ancient propulsion conduit, their flashlights illuminating walls streaked with scorch marks and cables dangling like serpents.

Arthur was breathing hard. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat, his pack weighing heavily on his shoulders, tension burning inside him.

-« Are we almost there?" he gasped

- « Almost," Jonas replied, his voice rough. "If the hangar access tunnel hasn't collapsed… we should be able to reach one of the maintenance platforms. There's an old ship there. Not sure if it'll fly. But it's our only shot."

A deep, resonant noise echoed above them. Not an explosion this timesomething more mechanical, more rhythmic.

- « Patrols?" Arthur whispered.

- « No…" Jonas stopped. He listened closely. He knew this sound. That heavy, measured rhythm, amplified by steel plates.

- « Soldiers coming down. They're searching the levels. They're looking for us."

Arthur swallowed hard. "They know it's me."

Jonas turned to him, gripping his collar gently but firmly. "Listen to me, Arthur. You are not guilty for what you are. You didn't choose this. And you don't belong to them. No matter what happens, we stay ahead of them. If we have to run, we run. But we never give them what they're after. Never."

Arthur nodded slowly. In the darkness, his father's words were the only light that still held firm.

They moved quickly, crawling, stepping over wreckage, slipping along greasy walls, bumping into obstacles in their haste. Several times, explosions from the upper level shook the environment, sending debris raining down around them. A beam crashed just inches from Arthur, nearly crushing him.

- « Shit!" Jonas shouted, yanking him back. "Stay close to me!"

They passed through one warped airlock, then another, until they reached a large, cracked chamber, half-collapsed, with orange light seeping through the torn steel ceiling.

Jonas came to a sudden stop, panting heavily. "We're here."

Arthur looked up. In the shadows, among the debris… a ship.

Not large. A kind of outpost transport, its hull battered and tagged with graffiti, covered in patchwork repairs and jury-rigged cables. But it was intact. And maybe just maybe still functional.

- « You really think it'll fly?" Arthur asked, skeptical.

Jonas gave a faint smile.

- "No. But you're going to help me give it a shot."

Arthur hurried toward the ship as Jonas rifled through control consoles in an adjacent chamber. The cockpit was coated in dust and dried oil, but the main circuits looked undamaged. A few faint lights began to flicker on.

- « I can reactivate the startup core, but it's temperamental. It'll take time."

- « We don't have time," Jonas said.

They both knew it.

And above, the Inquisitor's commands were being transmitted in all directions.

The noose was tightening.