Obtaining an override code for entry into the central hub had been child's play. Whatever had caused the lockdown hadn't extended to the digital realm, and as such had not triggered the myriad defenses within. All Alarion had to do was get Alex to the right console, and the emulated man had done the rest.

Getting the door open had been easy.

Getting Alarion to walk through it had not.

<It is safe. I promise,> Alex urged with some frustration as Alarion stared dubiously ahead.

The stairwell before them was lit in a dim purple. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. Overhead fixtures had bathed emulation in blue light, with a swath of other colors from various equipment racks. No, what gave Alarion pause was the vibrant, glowing white of signs attached to the walls and the corresponding glow that emanated from his clothing the moment he'd gotten close.

<It is just a blacklight,> Alex tried again, though when that word brought a frown to Alarion's face, he quickly corrected his choice of language. <It… your language doesn't have a word for it. Very-Purple would be close. We used them in Frame-only areas. Just don't stare at the bulbs and try not to spend too long inside.>

Alarion remained unconvinced, judging by the tentative way he extended an arm into the ultraviolet light. The arm wearing Alex's wristband, of course. Just in case.

<Are you done?>

<Mm,> came Alarion's prompt response. The light hadn't burned him; it hadn't frozen him or caused his skin to slough away. There were no notifications from the System. Probably safe. There were small spots of light on Alarion's skin. When the young man withdrew his hand to inspect them under traditional light, each was a speck of dirt or blood, an imperfection on his hand that had gone unnoticed.

His hands didn't look clean, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Neat," Alex said, <Isn't it?"

Alarion gave the band on his wrist a quizzical look. Then he repeated the unfamiliar word as he advanced into the dimly lit stairwell. "Neat."

The stairs took them up at least three stories in a slowly curving path that ended along one wall of a pyramid-shaped room. The top of the spire, Alarion guessed, judging by what he'd seen from its exterior. It was smaller than he would have expected, small enough that he could comfortably see from one side to another, even in the dim light. Then again, small was relative, as even such a diminutive chamber was several times larger than any building Alarion had ever seen before he arrived in the hidden city.

The room's floor sloped down in a ring of stairs only a few feet past the entrance, mirroring the city's design in a way that felt intentional. Several servers chirped and whirred away in four small blocks toward the corners of the sunken floor, while a concave fortress of screens, projectors, and consoles that served as the nerve center dominated the center of the room.

Notably, that central hub was empty. Though the room was not.

<Above you,> Alex whispered.

The machine was watching them from the catwalks overhead, its eyes glowing a vivid green in the near darkness.

Even if Alarion had not been forewarned, he would have recognized this one as different. Dangerous. For one thing, it did not float. It stood upon two split feet that reminded him of a fiend's talons. Or Elena's heels. For another, it had eyes, not the solitary visor of its peers, but two distinct orbs that tracked him as he made his way up the rattling, grated stairwells that led toward the catwalks.

It carried a weapon, an oversized mace that put Alarion's greatsword to shame. As tall as the machine and nearly as wide, the hexagonal hunk of metal was widest at its base, with several spurs running down the length of each protruding edge. At its tip, it was still wider than his head, with six sharpened spikes allowing the wielder the choice to thrust as well as smash.

Most curiously, it wore a scarf. A wide band of crimson fabric wrapped twice around its black stone neck. The cloth positively shimmered in the dark lights, marking the machine out as readily as the white of Alarion's vest. It was not hiding. Not in its domain.

"Iik Ko No," said the machine the moment Alarion had reached its level.

<He wants you to->

<I understood,> Alarion said as he stopped in his tracks. <That part, at least.>

Despite the identical word choice, Alarion instantly knew that this one was not Soulless. There was body language and a slight shift of posture as Alarion complied.

"To nial, ver Ashadi?" The Duke inquired.

<He wants to know if->

<Again. I got that. I think.> Alarion frowned but did not break eye contact with the Steelborn opposite him. <Tell him I am not with the others. Can you let him know you are here? It might calm him down.>

In response, a glimmering projection of Alex's head and shoulders shimmered into existence, first at an odd angle, then properly as Alarion adjusted the position of his wrist. "To lira, ver Ashadi tai granven."

Judging by the slight lean forward in its otherwise impeccable military posture, the Duke seemed intrigued. It made a new inquiry. Then another. Alex met each with a flurry of explanations.

<He wants to know why you are here.>

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<Then tell him,> Alarion said. <We are Vitrians trapped here on a training exercise. We cannot leave so long as the spire remains locked down.>

Alex turned slightly in his virtual form, more for effect than necessity. <Are you sure that is wise?>

<I am not sure,> Alarion replied honestly. < Do you think it is a good idea to lie to him?>

<Probably not. Though you left out the revenant.> When Alarion answered with a glare, Alex's holographic avatar merely shrugged. <I'll try.>

He turned his attention back to the Duke and uttered a long explanation. When Alex finished, the Duke remained silent. Unmoving. The moment dragged on just long enough for Alarion to wonder if something had gone wrong with the Steelborn. Then it answered in a booming voice. "Iik ko no. Lias loe nia ta karavasti. Verisal tei la ver, Kol Daua."

<What did he say?>

<A warning, I think. Some of the language is… odd. Even more archaic than yours.> Alex explained.

<Warning me about what?>

Alex shook his head. <He isn't warning you. He is warning me. 'Go no further. Your bearer may be deceiving you. The one who harbin…. no, It Who Is The Harbinger wears many skins.>

<The revenant?> Alarion asked.

<I don't think so,> Alex answered, before he quickly started speaking in his own language once again. There was a brief back and forth, and Alarion could not help but notice how the Steelborn's grip tightened around its weapon. <He won't let you disable the security. He can't trust you.>

<Tell him that we will die if he doesn't allow it.> Alarion pressed.

Alex conveyed the message, and the machine's response was quick. Only two words. "To koe."

<Then die.>

<Yeah. I got that one too.>

Alarion's greatsword grew to full size in a heartbeat, and the young man felt a slight twinge of satisfaction at the surprised flicker of the Steelborn's eyes. It hadn't been expecting that.

<You don't have to fight,> Alex implored hopelessly. He didn't believe his own words. The Steelborn might have let Alarion leave, but that was just a different sort of death. Rather than press the issue, Alex disappeared back into the band on Alarion's wrist. A few seconds later, it flashed insistently until the young man double-tapped it.

<Five minutes,> Alex reminded him in a tone that seemed to scream 'if you live that long'.

Student and Steelborn stared down one another across the short catwalk. The stairs were behind Alarion, another catwalk to his left, leading further into the tangle of overhanging maintenance ledges that took up the top portion of the pyramid. Not a lot of area to maneuver. Would that be to his benefit? Or his opponent? How sturdy were the platforms, and how dangerous would a fall be to something like the Steelborn?

Which one of them would make the first move?

The crack of gunfire rang through the air as Alarion threw himself to the side, his sword clattering to the catwalk behind him. Three more shots followed in quick succession, the closest tearing a neat hole through one of Alarion's pant legs as it just narrowly missed its target. Alarion had never used a firearm, but he'd seen them used here and there for hunting during his younger years—revolvers and repeating rifles mostly.

This weapon was nothing like those. They'd been small and lean, meant for close quarters or precision hunting. This was closer to an arm-mounted cannon, an underslung blackstone barrel that had emerged just below the elbow joint. Its projectiles were powerful, sending roof tiles clattering to the floor below and ricocheting off where they hit metal.

Shot after shot chased Alarion as he sprinted down the catwalk, one step ahead of the Steelborn's tracking. But not for long. A single misstep was all it took, a few inches of delay that allowed one shot to graze Alarion's shoulder and trigger an immediate damage notification—the first of what would soon be many.

Bssht

Alarion's reality flickered as he reappeared half the room away, clutching his greatsword as the Steelborn glanced around in sudden surprise.

The fight might have ended there without the stone soldier's incredible reflexes. It spun on a dime and slammed its foot down hard, catching the flat of Alarion's blade before he could get much momentum, pinning it back down to the catwalk floor as the machine hefted its weapon and swung.

Alarion's sword shrank before the overhand swing and stepped in, delivering a sharp one-two combination to the Steelborn's jaw. With no face for an expression, it couldn't look surprised, but Alarion felt the Duke's shock as human fists struck with the impact of solid steel thanks to Alarion's [Ring of the Durable Fist].

It only hurt his hands a little.

Two more punches landed, shards of blackstone flaking off the Steelborn's face. The blows cracked the faceplate and left a tear streak pattern below its left eye, but the machine barely seemed to notice as it struck back with a shoulder check to open some distance between them. The cannon barked again, and this time Alarion caught the projectiles on the shield produced by his [Blackstone Bracer], the rounds shattering on impact.

The barrel clicked empty as the Steelborn glared daggers, its hand wrapping around the shortened hilt of its mace. The Steelborn lifted the weapon as if it were made of feathers, flourishing it into a side-held posture as the two faced off again, their tricks now out in the open. At least, some of them.

The Duke straightened, its shoulders rolling back, its body rising as if taking a deep breath. Then it flexed, and eight diamond-shaped metal shards shot off its back, as though expelled by the exertion. But these tiny shards did not fall harmlessly to the ground. They hovered, stacking up in two rows of four on either side of the Duke.

And with a wave of his hand, they attacked.

<All Range Attack!> Alex warned. As if that meant anything to the young warrior.

The attack was unlike anything Alarion had ever experienced. He had fought a variety of opponents, but nothing that had ever attacked in such an all-controlling fashion. There had always been some direction to dodge, some attack to block, some way to keep the enemy from taking his back. These things were too fast, too agile. They swarmed around him, coming in at odd angles, sometimes three or four at a time. He could not defend himself everywhere at once, and even if he could, the others were already waiting in the wings, ready for the next wave.

The only saving grace was that the attacks were non-lethal. They could cut him with their razor-sharp edges as they zipped past, but his Awakened body stymied the worst of the damage. The wounds were superficial, none a telling blow against him, but second by second, the superficial wounds were adding up to real damage.

With no defense presenting itself, Alarion went on the offense.

He threw himself at the Steelborn, blade clashing against mace in a tremendous clamor. The Steelborn was strong, but Alarion still had a slight edge in strength, an edge that he abused to force the Duke's weapon out of alignment long enough to land a swift kick that sent the Steelborn sprawling.

It came up in a roll just in time for Alarion to catch it in the gut with the tip of his blade. The young man drove forward, separating the top half from the bottom.

Then the razors were on him again, with a renewed ferocity. They attacked all from one direction now, striking repeatedly at Alarion's face, driving him back and aiming for his vitals. In terms of dealing damage, the strikes were wholly ineffective, stealing only a handful of his HP. As a defensive tactic, they were exceptional, forcing Alarion to choose between the killing blow and losing his eyes.

Then abruptly, they stopped. The blades scattered, taking an arcing path back to their host, rejoining the Duke just as it rejoined its lower body with its upper half.

He could almost taste the smug satisfaction radiating off the Steelborn. The self-assured belief that he may have lost the exchange, but he'd won the battle.

Alarion didn't consider himself petty, but he felt a certain satisfaction as he drank a health potion.

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