The air itself seemed to crystallize into something brittle and dangerous, as if reality had been stretched so thin that the slightest vibration might shatter it completely. Vance's greatsword remained pressed against Fin. The blade thrummed erratically, and everyone could feel the violence poised on a razor's edge, waiting for the smallest excuse to explode into lethal action.

Lightning continued to arc across Fin's body in chaotic patterns that made the air smell of burnt copper. The electrical discharge illuminated faces frozen in various states of shock, fear, and dawning horror at how quickly their tenuous alliance had degraded into potential fratricide.

"What the hell is going on?" Daryl demanded, his voice cutting through the tension. His hand hadn't left his knife's handle, and his body had shifted into a combat stance so subtle it might have been unconscious. "Someone explain."

Vance's voice emerged as a low rumble, each word carefully measured and heavy with barely controlled rage. "Our porter here, the one we trusted, the one we fought beside, decided it was appropriate to threaten Triana. Told her directly that if it came down to choosing between her life and his own, he'd leave her to die without hesitation." The blade pressed fractionally harder against Fin's back. "That's what's happening."

Harbour's void-like eyes snapped to Fin with laser focus, her expression unreadable but carrying an intensity that made her seem even more dangerous than usual. "Is that true? Did you actually say that to her?"

Fin didn't attempt to deny the accusation or soften his earlier words with diplomatic backtracking. His voice remained flat and emotionless, carrying the same cold tactical assessment that had characterized his confrontation with Triana. "Every word. And I meant it. But that's not the immediate problem here." The lightning intensified, crawling across his shoulders like living serpents made of pure energy. "The immediate problem is that Vance needs to remove that sword. Right now. This is not a negotiation."

Vance didn't move the blade even a millimeter. "Not until we have some guarantees about…"

"Enough!" Onrio's voice cracked like a whip, surprising everyone with its sudden authority. The thin mage who usually deferred to others stepped forward. "We have maybe twenty-five minutes before the final wave hits, and we're standing here having a goddamn debate about trust and loyalty?" His hands shook as he gestured at the distant tree line where shadows were already beginning to gather. "The dungeon doesn't care about our drama! Focus on survival now, settle grievances later!"

"He's right," Daryl said, and the fact that he was agreeing with Onrio rather than escalating seemed to shake everyone out of their rigid positions. "Look, I'm not thrilled about Porter Boy's bedside manner either, but let's examine the actual facts here. We've survived two waves that should have killed us multiple times over. Why? Because Fin wasn't just carrying our loot, he was fighting like a monster with a personal vendetta against the entire beast population." He fixed Vance with a hard stare. "He wasn't even supposed to be in combat. We hired him to haul gear and stay safe. Instead, he's probably responsible for sixty percent of our kills."

The tension ratcheted even higher somehow, the air so thick with potential violence that it felt like trying to breathe through wet cloth. Vance's jaw clenched, muscles in his sword arm twitching as he clearly wrestled with competing impulses, the desire to defend Triana's honor warring against the cold logic of their tactical situation.

Then Fin moved.

His hand, which had been hanging relaxed at his side, suddenly erupted with the void-like shimmer of his Unmaking concept. The effect was dramatic, reality itself seemed to recoil from his palm, space bending away from the concentrated destructive potential he'd channeled into his flesh. He whirled with speed that made the motion blur, his concept-wrapped hand closing around Vance's greatsword.

The sword shattered. Not broke, not cracked, shattered. The blade dissolved into fragments that ranged from fist-sized chunks to glittering dust, the molecular bonds holding the weapon together simply ceasing to exist where Fin's Unmaking concept made contact. The destruction propagated up the length of the weapon in a cascade of erasure, stopping only when Fin released his grip.

Vance stood frozen, staring at the jagged remnant of what had been his weapon, his face cycling through shock, disbelief, and slowly mounting horror.

Fin's voice, when he spoke, carried the kind of cold finality usually associated with judicial sentences and execution orders. "I told you to put that away. That was my last warning." Lightning still crawled across his body, but now it pulsed in time with his words, emphasizing each syllable with crackling menace. "I don't care about this dungeon anymore. I don't care about the loot, the experience, or whatever other incentives you're all chasing. I refuse, absolutely refuse, to work with someone who would attack or threaten an ally who was simply speaking an uncomfortable truth."

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He looked around at each of them in turn, his gaze holding no anger, no heat, just ice-cold assessment. "I don't know why you're all so willing to risk your lives for her. Honestly? It doesn't even matter to me anymore. What matters is that you…" he pointed at Vance with the hand still shimmering with Unmaking energy, "just pulled a blade on someone who has been nothing but helpful since joining this cursed dive."

His lightning armor flared brighter, casting harsh shadows across the battlefield. "I'm not doing another scenario with any of you. That's final."

Harbour stepped forward with the desperate urgency of someone watching their plans collapse in real-time. "No, we need to push further. We can't stop on just the second scenario. The rewards won't be enough to…"

"Tough shit," Fin interrupted, his voice cutting through her protest like a guillotine blade. "The last few people I put my trust in have failed me in spectacular fashion. People I thought I could rely on, every single one proved that trust was a mistake." He gestured at Vance with contempt so thick it was almost tangible. "And now he's on that list. Consider me done with this particular brand of foolishness."

Vance's face had gone from shock to a dark red that suggested rising fury overwhelming his initial surprise. His hands clenched into fists, and when he spoke, his voice carried a threatening edge. "What exactly are you going to do if we don't agree to leave the dungeon? We all need to consent to activate the exit. We can force you to continue whether you like it or not."

The response was instantaneous and overwhelming.

Fin's Lightning Armament blazed to full power, the sleek armor reforming around his body in an eyeblink. But more impressive, and infinitely more terrifying, were the five railguns that materialized directly in front of each team member. The weapons were constructs of pure concentrated plasma and magnetized particles. Crackling energy gathered at the end of each barrel, the air around them distorting from the sheer power being channeled into what were essentially handheld artillery pieces.

"Don't. Threaten. Me." Each word dropped into the silence like stones into still water, the ripples spreading outward in waves of escalating menace.

Everyone froze. Even Vance, despite his considerable size and strength, seemed to shrink slightly under the implicit promise of overwhelming violence.

"STOP!" Triana's voice cut through the tension like a thunderclap, commanding enough to draw every eye to where she stood. She was still pale, still clearly suffering from whatever was wrong with her core, but she'd somehow found the strength to stand straight and project authority. "Everyone just stop this madness right now!"

She took a shaky breath, one hand pressed against her chest, but her voice remained steady as she continued. "I am grateful, genuinely grateful to all of you for fighting to help me. For risking your lives in pursuit of a cure for my damaged core. But we cannot force someone to continue a dungeon when they've completely lost faith in the team." Her gaze swept across her companions, lingering on Vance with particular intensity. "After we clear this final wave, we leave. No arguments, no debates. We'll regroup, reassess, and try again another time with better preparation and without... this." She gestured vaguely at the weapons still hovering in the air.

Triana turned to face Fin directly, her expression carrying something that might have been an apology or might have been resignation. "Please. Cancel your skill. I'm ordering the team to stand down."

Fin studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind the crackling energy of his lightning helm. Then, with deliberate slowness, the railguns dissolved back into ambient mana, their component energies dispersing harmlessly into the dungeon's atmosphere. But his Lightning Armament remained active, the sleek armor still covering his body like a second skin of controlled violence.

Harbour opened her mouth, clearly preparing to make one more attempt at persuading him to commit to pushing deeper into the dungeon. "Fin, if you would just listen…"

She never finished the sentence. Fin pulled a throwing knife from his dimensional storage and hurled it at the wall with enough force that it embedded itself six inches deep into ancient stone. Then he activated Quantum Leap, and reality folded around him as he teleported to the knife's location. He didn't look back, didn't acknowledge anyone's attempts to call after him.

Instead, he simply walked along the battlement toward the quieter northeastern section of Crie, away from the blood and the bodies and the people who had proven once again that trust was a commodity in dangerously short supply.

He found a section of wall that overlooked a small plaza where civilian housing had been evacuated hours ago. The area was empty, quiet, peaceful in the way that only truly abandoned places could be. Fin sat cross-legged on the cold stone, his lightning armor finally dissipating as he closed his eyes and sank into meditation.

He focused on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of his core's rotation, on the way ambient mana flowed through channels that had been carved by pain and transformation.

Twenty minutes passed in what felt like both an eternity and an eyeblink. The meditation brought clarity if not comfort, acceptance if not peace. He felt his reserves replenish fully as Convergent Inevitability continued its passive work, drawing power from the dungeon's abundant mana with mechanical efficiency.

Then his Electromagnetic Synchronization pinged with a warning that made his eyes snap open and his entire body go rigid with alarm.

A single signature. Mid Tier Four. Not approaching from outside the walls where it should have been, not gathering with whatever horde was preparing to assault them.

Appearing directly in the middle of the city. Right where the civilians had taken shelter.

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