The chaos behind him faded into distant echoes, but Sol felt the weight of it pressing against his back. The explosion had rocked the district, setting the entire sector ablaze with sirens, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not yet.
His feet carried him through the dimly lit alleyways, each step heavier than the last. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, and the deep ache in his ribs reminded him of how close he had come to losing. He didn't have the luxury of staying in one place. DreamCorp's response would be swift, and the city was now a hornet's nest stirred into chaos.
The air reeked of burnt metal and smoke, the remnants of his work still hanging in the atmosphere. He let out a slow breath, pulling his hood over his head. The illusion he wove over himself was simple—his features blurred, his presence reduced to something easily ignored. Even with his mind weary from the fight, small tricks like this were second nature.
He had to disappear.
---
Above the city, the night sky was drowned out by flashing lights and sirens. DreamCorp's forces were swarming the area, lockdowns already being put in place. Civilians who had ventured too close were either being questioned or sent scurrying back into their homes. For them, this was just another reason to stay out of the underworld's affairs.
A private security force had been dispatched, sweeping through the ruins of the DreamCorp facility. The commanding officer, a grizzled man in sleek combat gear, stepped through the wreckage with a grim expression. His visor displayed a readout of the damage—systems fried, data wiped, structural collapse. A catastrophe.
He turned to one of his subordinates. "Survivors?"
"All are alive, some injured due to the shockwave and debris, but no casualties. The warning ahead of time gave them enough of a chance to evacuate—almost like he didn't want to cause a massacre."
The officer exhaled sharply. "And the mercenary?"
The soldier hesitated. "Dead, sir. No bodycam footage, but from the wounds… it wasn't an explosion. Something got through his armor."
The officer's jaw tightened. He had expected injuries, but to lose him? No, that wasn't what happened. Everyone had made it out alive—injured, sure, but breathing. That meant their target wasn't just some rogue trickster. He had planned it this way. A deliberate move, a statement without unnecessary bloodshed.
He turned back toward the smoldering ruin. "Find him. I don't care what it takes."
---
Sol finally reached one of his safe spots, an abandoned apartment complex nestled in the heart of the lower districts. He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. The moment the latch clicked, his legs nearly gave out beneath him.
With a groan, he collapsed onto the tattered couch, exhaling shakily. His hand drifted to his ribs—definitely bruised, maybe cracked. He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling, letting exhaustion settle into his bones.
With a slow inhale, he raised a trembling hand, summoning a cluster of **healing spores** from his palm. The faintly glowing pollen drifted around him, settling over his injuries like a warm, living mist. As they sank into his skin, a soothing sensation spread through his aching muscles, easing the bruising, numbing the worst of the pain. His swollen wrist tingled as the spores worked their way into the inflamed tissue, reducing the swelling bit by bit. The sharp burn from the plasma knife dulled, though it still throbbed beneath the surface, healing slower than the rest. The dull throb in his ribs lessened, his breathing steadied, but exhaustion still clung to him.
It wasn't perfect—he would still need rest—but at least he wouldn't be moving like a corpse come morning.
I should've handled that better.
The mercenary had been a problem. If more of those were coming, he needed to adjust. Stronger illusions, faster movement—his time affinity had helped, but it wasn't enough.
A chirp from his communicator broke his thoughts.
He fished it out of his pocket, barely glancing at the encrypted message that had just arrived.
[Are you still alive?]
Sol smirked despite himself. Only one person sent messages like that. He tapped a reply.
[Obviously.]
Seconds later, another message popped up.
[Where are you?]
Sol hesitated. He didn't trust Lira, not really. But they were both running from DreamCorp, and that was the only reason they were still communicating. For now, their interests aligned. She was his best source of updates on DreamCorp's movements, and that was all that mattered.
[Busy. Tell me something useful.]
A few beats of silence. Then—
[DreamCorp has offered you a deal.]
[DreamCorp is escalating. You pissed them off bad. They're pulling in more outside help. Not just mercs. Specialized teams.]
Sol frowned. A deal?* That was unexpected. DreamCorp didn't negotiate unless they saw value in someone, which meant they were either desperate or trying to set him up.
[What kind of deal?]
Another pause. Then—
[Details are vague, but they want you to stop your attacks. They're offering 'protection' and resources. Probably a setup.]
Sol snorted. Of course it was. He highly doubted they suddenly had his best interests at heart.
Still… interesting.
He set the thought aside for now, returning his focus to the bigger picture.
[How soon?]
[Some are already on the way. You might have a day, maybe two before things get worse. Whatever you're planning, finish it fast.]
He sighed, tossing the communicator onto the table. The situation was accelerating faster than he liked. He had already drawn too much attention, but this wasn't something he could back out of now.
DreamCorp wanted him? Fine.
But he wasn't about to make it easy for them.
---
Elsewhere, in the upper levels of the city, a different kind of conversation was taking place. A sleek office, dimly lit by neon blue panels, housed several figures standing around a massive display table. A holographic map of the district flickered, highlighting areas of impact.
A woman in a tailored suit, her presence commanding, tapped a finger against the table. "This is unacceptable."
Across from her, an older man, face hardened with experience, exhaled. "It's already in motion. We have teams deploying. We'll find him."
She narrowed her eyes. "That's what you said last time. And yet, here we are."
A third figure, leaning lazily against the wall, chuckled. "If he's smart enough to get this far, do you really think sending more muscle is going to work?"
The woman turned sharply. "Do you have a better suggestion?"
A smirk. "Make him an offer."
Silence fell over the room.
The older man scoffed. "He's a liability."
"He's a problem," the smirking figure corrected. "But problems can be turned into assets. The question is—does he hate us more than he values survival?"
The woman considered this, fingers tapping lightly on the table. Then, finally, she nodded. "Fine. Send the teams. But also send a message."
She looked toward the smirking figure. "Find out what he wants."
The man grinned. "Now that… I can do."
---