The central den of the Iron-Groves was a cathedral built of rusted girders and stagnant poison. At its center, the Mercury Hydra uncoiled like a nightmare of moving liquid; its three heads hammered against the floor with a rhythmic, bone-shaking force that made the very air vibrate. Captain Varkas stood in the center of that silver storm, a battered titan whose white-gold aura was now little more than a frantic, stuttering film. The beast's toxic breath had done what no blade could; it had begun to dissolve the conceptual density of his Justiciar-rank protection, turning his radiant shield into a grey, corrosive slush.

Vane crouched on the high walkway, his boots silent on the vibrating metal. He watched the scene with eyes that felt like cold glass. He could see the way Varkas's shoulders slumped with every breath, the way the Captain's movements had become heavy and desperate. Varkas was no longer fighting for the Empire; he was fighting the realization that the world did not care about his pedigree. Beside Vane, Valerica was a silhouette of violet and gold, her palms pressed against the railing as she fought to keep the Event Horizon from collapsing under the atmospheric pressure of the den.

"Now," Vane whispered.

Valerica did not nod; she simply acted. She slammed her hand against the railing, her Celestial Heart flaring with a violent, crushing intensity. In the pit below, a sphere of absolute darkness manifested around Varkas's lead foot. The iron floor beneath the Captain didn't just break; it folded, the metal groaning as it was sucked into a localized point of infinite mass. Varkas's roar was cut short as his knee buckled, his momentum betrayed by the sudden, localized surge of gravity that anchored him to the spot.

Vane did not hesitate. He stepped off the ledge, falling through the mercury-laden air like a stone. He initiated the Argent Horizon in mid-air, his body beginning a controlled, predatory spin that converted his downward velocity into rotational energy. He used Spiral Circulation to force his mana through his marrow, creating a high-frequency vibration that made the air around his spear scream.

He hit the silver sludge of the floor ten feet from the Captain. He didn't skid. He used the frictionless mana sleeve of his combat art to transition into a forward lunge.

Varkas saw him. Even pinned by gravity and battered by the Hydra, the Justiciar's instincts remained lethal. He did not reach for a weapon. He curled his gauntleted hand into a fist and threw a backhand strike that carried the weight of a falling mountain. The air in the path of the punch ignited, the friction turning the mercury vapor into a localized explosion of heat.

Vane did not retreat. He did not try to dodge. He utilized Internal Pulse at a frequency that made his teeth ache. He focused on the vibration of Varkas's strike, the specific resonance of the Captain's Rank 5 power. As the massive fist closed the distance, Vane adjusted his own skeletal vibration to match it.

The collision was a sickening, hollow thud. Vane's feet buried themselves in the mud, and the shockwave of the impact cleared the fog in a twenty-foot radius. His ribs groaned; the silver mana dampeners inside his chest fractured under the strain. But he did not break. He had matched the frequency, turning a lethal blow into a survivable displacement.

"Rat!" Varkas gasped, his face a mask of blackened skin and silver blood. He tried to pull his pinned leg free, his white-gold aura flaring one last time in a desperate attempt to incinerate Vane where he stood. "You are nothing! A mistake of the gutters!"

Vane looked into the Captain's eyes. He didn't see a giant. He saw a man who was terrified because the rules had stopped working for him. Vane stepped into the range of the Captain's breath, his spear held in a tight, two-handed grip. He activated the Silver Fang.

The matte, silent silver liquid coated the star-metal tip. Vane thrust the spear forward with the entirety of his Rank 4 strength.

The star-metal did not encounter resistance. It did not matter that Varkas's muscles were as dense as steel or that his bones were reinforced by Justiciar-level mana. The SS-Rank Authority utilized the law of Absolute Severance. It rejected the existence of Varkas's armor. It rejected the density of his chest. The spear-tip passed through the Captain's sternum with the ease of a finger through a candle flame.

The blade exited through Varkas's back and anchored itself three inches into the stone floor.

The world went silent. The Mercury Hydra's heads remained suspended in the air, the beast sensing the sudden, absolute end of the threat. Varkas froze. The white-gold light in his eyes flickered, then turned to a dull, ash-grey smoke. He looked down at the spear-shaft protruding from his chest, his fingers twitching as they tried to grasp the wood.

"The sky..." Varkas whispered. A thick, dark mixture of blood and mercury bubbled in his throat. "It was... supposed to be mine."

Vane did not pull the spear back immediately. He leaned in, his face inches from the dying man's visor. "The sky doesn't belong to anyone, Captain. It just looks down."

Vane wrenched the spear free with a wet, heavy sound. Varkas's body hit the mercury-slicked mud with a dull splash. The white-gold aura vanished entirely, leaving behind only a broken man in expensive, melted armor.

The 8th kill was recorded in the silence of the den.

Vane stood over the body, his breath coming in shallow, painful hitches. His left arm was numb, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He looked up toward the high rafters, where the mercury fog was already beginning to settle back into the room. Somewhere in that darkness, Captain Kaelen was watching. The Seer was still alive, and unlike Varkas, Kaelen would not be baited into a brawl.

"Valerica," Vane said, his voice a low rasp.

Valerica dropped from the walkway, landing beside him. She looked at Varkas's corpse, then at Vane's shattered armor. She reached out to steady him, her hand warm through his oil-stained leathers. "He's gone. But Kaelen isn't going to wait for us to recover."

"I know," Vane replied. He gripped his spear, using it as a crutch to keep himself upright. "Kaelen won't fight the Hydra. He's going to wait for the fog to clear. He's going to wait for the moment my mana-channels finally bleed out."

Vane looked at Mara, who was huddled near the exit, her eyes wide with a terror that hadn't faded. He had killed the mountain. Now he had to kill the ghost.

"We move to the Steam Core," Vane said. "If he wants to watch us, we'll give him something worth looking at."

He turned away from the body of the first Justiciar. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a man who had finally balanced a single line in a very long ledger.

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