The world shattered sideways.

A gold-edged rift cleaved through the air above the Burrow's lowest level, spitting three bodies into the chamber with violent, unceremonious force.

Max hit the ground first – boots skidding across the metal floor, his shoulder slamming into a steel brace that groaned under the impact. He rolled, came up to a crouch, hand already glowing, eyes scanning—

"Liz," he breathed.

Victor landed next, less gracefully. He crashed into a half-collapsed control panel, sparks bursting around him. He groaned, blood smearing his chin. "Goddamn—"

He didn't finish. His eyes locked on the containment pod at the room's centre. "Is that her?"

A third figure emerged last.

Mammon didn't crash.

He arrived.

Feet touched down with a soft chime, like coin dropped onto velvet. His robe unfurled behind him in slow motion, catching the low emergency lights like silk made from bullion. No impact. No disruption. Just placement – as if the room had been waiting for him to fill it.

The rift behind them sealed with a muted click, like a ledger snapping shut.

Max staggered to his feet, already moving toward the containment pod.

It stood untouched at the chamber's heart – a translucent shell laced with humming glyphs. Pale red light flickered within, suspended like breath in winter air.

And inside—

Liz.

Unmoving. Cocooned in stasis. Her aura barely visible through the distortion field.

"Liz..." Max whispered, his fingers brushing the outer shell. The barrier pulsed faintly in response, recognizing his presence. The glyphs flared for a second. The heartbeat of the pod aligned with his.

Victor approached slowly, limping but upright. His eyes swept the chamber, noting the broken consoles, the frayed wiring, the residual smoke. "What is this place?"

"A vault," Mammon said softly.

Both men turned.

Mammon stood near the far wall, hands clasped lightly behind his back, eyes half-lidded as if in prayer or profit.

"A vault of failure. Of investment gone rogue. This is where they stored the girl. The fragment. The loss."

His eyes glinted.

"Until now."

Max stepped protectively in front of the pod.

Mammon didn't react. He simply began walking – a slow, measured circle around the chamber, feet whispering over the floor. Every movement was fluid. Intentional. Like he was inspecting a rare coin under glass.

Victor cracked his knuckles. "You want her?"

Mammon's smile was faint. "I want what was promised. What was left unaccounted for. And what you've all stolen without collateral."

He looked to the pod.

Then to Max.

Then to the door.

"They're coming," he said, voice low.

And outside the chamber – footsteps echoed down the steel corridors. Four sets. Fast.

Max didn't look away from Mammon. He stepped closer to Liz's pod. Closer still.

Mammon only smiled.

And waited.

…………………

The doors hissed open on bent hinges, revealing a corridor lit by emergency strips and shadow. Smoke still clung to the air like a fading memory. Blood smeared the walls in handprints and arcs. Something had tried to escape here – and something else had tried to stop it.

Chloe stepped through first, Tensō drawn in its short-sword form. She walked like a phantom now – half-solid, eyes sharp, the faint grey shimmer of post-Mirror residue clinging to her shoulders like war paint. Behind her came Dan, one hand held tight against his ribs, the other supporting a stumbling Alyssa.

Dr. Adisa brought up the rear.

She limped badly, the pain in her leg worsening with every step. Her arm was still splinted from the Mirror's shrapnel burst, and blood stained the edge of her coat, drying to black.

But it wasn't the injuries that slowed her.

It was what she felt.

The pressure ahead. The weight in the air. Like the soulfield itself had begun to curve inward – not crackling with demonic energy, but tightening like a noose made of ledgers and judgment.

She knew that weight.

She'd felt it once before. At a distance. When Grimm whispered that he was still alive.

Her footsteps slowed.

Chloe's voice cut through the haze. "They're just ahead. Max is here. So is Victor."

Dan nodded, eyes steeled. He glanced at Alyssa, who winced but didn't complain. "Stick behind me. If it's another one of them, I'll hold the front."

"Cute," Alyssa rasped, coughing. "Try not to die in the first ten seconds."

Chloe didn't laugh.

She felt it too.

A presence. Just beyond the next vault door. Not rage. Not chaos.

Bright and of unfathomable weight. Immense. Sinister.

They reached the final threshold – a blast door still half-open, one hinge bent like it had been punched by a god. Through the gap: light. Movement.

A man in gold. Of gold.

Alyssa inhaled sharply. "Wha… What is that?"

Dr. Adisa stopped walking.

Just outside the threshold.

Her breath caught. Her hands trembled. She had seen demons. Been surrounded by possession and psychic trauma. But this? This wasn't possession.

This was precision.

Her instincts screamed: This is a transaction. And you're the debt.

She looked once at Chloe, Dan, and Alyssa stepping through. Looked once at the sliver of the pod visible beyond. Her eyes lingered on the shape inside – a girl barely glowing.

Then she turned.

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Slow. Careful. Unnoticed.

She pressed her back to the corridor wall and slipped into a maintenance shaft left ajar from The Mirror breach. Every step away from that room felt like treason. But every breath taken outside it felt like survival.

"I'm not meant for this," she whispered.

And she vanished into the Burrow's ruins.

…………………

Dan stepped through first, Chloe and Alyssa just behind. The room was hot – unnaturally so but there was no fire. Only a stifling, suffocating weight that made his heart beat slower, as if the air had been appraised and priced before being allowed into his lungs.

The first thing he saw was Liz's containment pod, cracked but intact, flickering with red light like a heartbeat trapped behind glass.

The second thing he saw—

Was him.

The man stood calmly in the centre of the chaos, surrounded by ruin. Max was to one side, crouched low with fire coiled at his spine. Victor loomed nearby, half-shifted, clawed and bristling. But neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Because the figure between them was not a demon in the traditional sense.

He was… exact.

Dressed in a robe of pristine white, hemmed with coin-etched thread, his skin was stretched and ancient – parchment-like, as if he had been written before he had been born. His face was smooth, expressionless, but too symmetrical – handsome in the way a statue might be. His eyes were molten gold, and wherever his bare feet touched the floor, the tile turned to radiant, glittering bullion.

He carried no weapon.

But everything about him was final.

Chloe's breath caught in her throat. She reached for Tensō instinctively. Alyssa stopped walking altogether, eyes wide with something between fascination and primal disgust.

Dan narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell is that?"

Mammon turned to them.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His eyes passed over Chloe first. A shimmer of static passed through her soulfield – a twitch in her residual energy. He studied her like one might study a coin at auction. Not for flaws. But for value.

Then Alyssa.

Then Dan.

The silence stretched.

Then he spoke – low, smooth, and resonant. "More of them."

Max pushed himself upright, jaw tight. "Don't."

Mammon ignored him. His voice was calm. Inescapable.

"No contracts. No circles. No pacts." He stepped forward – one footfall, and the tile beneath him bloomed into gold like a sunspot. "And yet… gifts given. Power awakened. Debts incurred."

Alyssa donned her war gauntlets. "What are you talking about?"

Mammon's head tilted slightly, like she was a number on the wrong side of a decimal.

"You are anomalies," he said. "Like the girl in the pod. Like the one with the claws. Like the man with the chain. Your strength was not earned. It was granted."

He looked at Max now. Not in anger. But in judgment.

"And that," Mammon said, "is theft."

Dan stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "We didn't ask for anything. Max saved our lives."

"That is not the defence you think it is," Mammon replied, almost kindly. "Even charity is a debt, when the system is mine."

Chloe's fingers tightened around her weapon. "You don't get to decide what we owe."

Mammon didn't blink. "I already have."

He raised one thin hand. Didn't extend it. Just held it aloft – palm open. The air around it shimmered faintly, like heat off a coin. Across the room, the temperature dropped. Not physically. Spiritually.

The floor beneath Alyssa's boots began to pale.

A golden hue curled at the edges of her shadow.

Max growled. "Don't touch them."

Mammon finally looked at him fully.

"I'm not touching anyone," he said. "I'm collecting."

He let the hand fall.

Dan stepped in front of the girls, a golden glow rising from his skin – his soul's light pushing back the creeping haze.

Mammon watched it happen. Not with anger. But with interest. "Ah. Resistance. Expensive. But not impossible."

He glanced at Liz's pod. Then at Chloe. Then at Dan. Then back to Max.

"I don't care how you did it. Or why. But the system is broken. The market has been disrupted. And now…"

He spread both arms, the white robes unfurling slightly.

"I've come to collect."

…………………

Silence clung to the air like frost.

Mammon's final words hung in the chamber, heavy with implication and weight: I've come to collect.

Max didn't move at first.

But the fire inside him did.

A ripple of golden light coiled from his shoulders, not from fear but fury held on a leash. His feet scraped the soulsteel floor as he took a slow step forward, placing himself directly between Mammon and Liz's pod.

"No," Max said. The word wasn't loud, but it burned.

Mammon didn't step back. He merely studied him, lips slightly parted in a look that might have once resembled amusement. "No," he echoed. "A powerful word for someone whose contract is null. You are fire without ownership. Chain without clause. Your defiance is as temporary as your life."

Max tightened his grip on the soul-chain coiled around his arm. "Maybe," he said. "But I'm still standing. You're the one hiding behind words like valuation and debt like they mean something."

"They do," Mammon said gently. "They are the meaning. Everything has value, Max. Even defiance. Especially defiance." His eyes flicked to Victor. "Especially when it infects others."

Victor bared his teeth. "You want me? Try it."

"I don't want you," Mammon replied. "I own you. You killed one of my enforcers. Kimaris's ledger was quite explicit. Your debt was sealed in blood."

Victor growled, taking a step forward.

Max threw out an arm, halting him. His eyes didn't leave Mammon's. "Don't. That's what he wants. He wants us to lash out. To owe him more."

Dan, still glowing faintly gold, turned toward Max. "So, what do we do?"

"We hold the line," Max muttered. "Until we figure out how to fight him without playing his game."

Mammon exhaled slowly. His fingers brushed the air, and where they moved, the room dimmed – just slightly. The gold beneath his feet spread, creeping in quiet veins toward the others.

"I'm not here for a war," Mammon said. "I don't fight. I evaluate. I purchase. I claim." He looked again at Liz, still motionless in her pod. "And this asset is worth more than you could ever repay."

Max's jaw clenched.

"No one owns her."

Mammon's head tilted. "Everything is owned. Even you. You just haven't accepted the terms yet."

Another step forward. The gold veins crawled faster now.

"Get back," Max hissed to the others.

Behind him, Chloe stepped forward instead, defiant. "You touch her and I swear—"

Mammon turned his eyes on her. "Ah. The phasewalker. You're newer to the table. Still unstable. But promising." His eyes shimmered, reflecting her face in miniature. "Would you like to see your price? I can name it."

Chloe flinched – just slightly. Then her blade dropped into her hand. "Try me."

"Every action has a cost," Mammon murmured. "And you're already in the red."

The room pulsed – one perfect, synchronized beat of pressure. Not physical. Metaphysical. A pulse across the soulfield like a banking system adjusting its rates. Somewhere, one of the containment lights shattered.

Max had enough.

"Then maybe it's time someone declared bankruptcy," he said – and stepped forward.

The chain lit with golden fire.

Mammon didn't flinch.

But his smile dimmed.

Just a fraction.

…………………

The golden veins had nearly reached the pod.

They slithered out from Mammon across the cracked tiles like liquid investment, gilding the world without heat or sound. Every inch of progress felt like a verdict – quiet, creeping, irreversible. Behind Max, Dan and Chloe flanked the corners of the chamber, tense and braced. Alyssa stood still beside them, her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes locked on the advancing figure.

Dr. Adisa was gone.

Smart, Max thought grimly. She'd seen what was coming and vanished without a word. Not cowardice – just intelligence. This was no longer in her pay grade.

Victor exhaled beside him. "You feel that?"

Max nodded once. "It's not power. It's pressure."

Victor scowled. "Feels overwhelming."

Mammon stepped closer.

Slow.

Measured.

Where his white robe drifted, the world devalued. Every touch of its hem transformed metal to gold – soulsteel, copper, tile, it made no difference. He walked not as a king, but as an economy – untouchable, ancient, beyond argument.

He stopped before the containment pod.

The one holding Liz.

Max stepped in, blocking the path. "She's not yours."

Mammon tilted his head. Not insulted. Just... inconvenienced.

"She's unowned," he said, as if stating a simple fact of market law. "A vessel containing refined chaos. Recursive soul-harmony. Inheritance stabilized without tether. She represents a value structure untapped by any system." His gaze swept to the others. "She is beyond precedent."

"She's my daughter."

"She's unsecured."

He raised one parchment-thin finger – aged, ivory-nailed – and extended it toward the pod. Not fast. Not violent. Simply inevitable.

Max lunged.

But Mammon was already there.

A single fingertip brushed the containment glass.

And the pod reacted.

A flare of red light burst outward from within – an involuntary defence, like a scream made from memory. The glyphs along the pod's seal flared hot white, then dimmed again – flickering erratically.

Inside, Liz stirred – her fingers twitching, lips parting slightly. The soul-aura around her spine flickered once, like the ignition of a long-dormant engine. A pulse of defiance echoed through the chamber.

Mammon exhaled softly. His smile returned – not indulgent, but satisfied.

"She has metabolized Aamon. Fully."

His eyes narrowed.

"She is worth more than all of you combined."

"Except you of course Max. I have very special plans for you. Will you both be my twin treasures."

Behind Max, Chloe stepped forward, her blade drawn, half-shifted. "You're not getting her," she said.

Mammon regarded her. "You'll try to stop me."

He said it without contempt. Without fear.

Just calculation.

"I will collect what is owed. If not through her, then through you."

Max's chain ignited – soulfire licked the edge of the links.

Max lashed out.

The chain cracked through the air like judgment – glowing with golden soulfire, edged in Aamon's heat. It should've hit like a truck.

Mammon caught it. Two fingers – no effort.

The chain locked mid-strike, suspended like a frozen whip of light. Then it began to change. Gold crawled across the links, gilding it strand by strand until the weapon shimmered with false value. For a heartbeat, it looked magnificent. Then the soulfire rebelled.

Heat surged backward through the enchantment, and the gilded chain melted in Mammon's grip – dripping onto the floor like slag bleeding from a dying forge.

Max stared, jaw tight.

That chain had been Ferron's gift. Soulforged. Etched with runes that had taken days to engrave.

Now it was gone.

Bought. Broken. Burned.

He let the last of it fall from his hand. "Fine," he muttered. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way." His fists clenched.

The fire inside him growled. And Max stepped forward.

Mammon's voice dropped.

"Enough."

The golden veins erupted from the ground beneath him – spears of wealth, jagged and sudden, lancing toward Max and the others like investment gone weaponized.

The battle had begun.

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