The schematic rustled in Oksana’s grip, a cruel joke of fate laid bare. Temporal artillery—chronal siege pieces designed to erase even the memory of a rescue attempt. “Suicide?” Oksana’s tone stayed flat, stripped of the tremor Grigori expected. She narrowed her focus to the schematic’s crude circles. “No. Inefficient. They’d need time to charge, wouldn’t they? And those things look clunky, exposed.” She tapped a point near the reinforced main gates. “We hit them before they can even *think* about firing.” Grigori recoiled as if slapped. “Vrobel, are you insane? The gates are a meter of reinforced steel, enchanted with anti-magic wards! They’ll vaporize us! This isn’t about brute force, it’s about—” “It’s about getting in, extracting them, and leaving,” Oksana interrupted, striding toward the iron hauler idling in the cavernous tunnel. Dragomir stood at the helm, shoveling coal until the belly vents pulsed orange. “Those batteries…” Grigori faltered as Oksana swung herself into the co-pilot’s bench. The freezing raincloud, a persistent annoyance, condensed on her brow, but she ignored it, grabbing the massive lever for the ram mechanism. “They’re a threat *if* they fire,” she stated, her gaze fixed on the heavy portal at the tunnel’s end. “If we’re fast enough, they’re just expensive scrap metal. Dragomir, full steam ahead. Don’t stop for anything. Grigori, if you’re coming, get in, or get flattened.” Grigori hesitated for only a fraction of a second, his face a complex mask of terror and reluctant admiration. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he vaulted into the back compartment, his own staff held tight. Flagstones shook as Dragomir threw the throttle forward. The boiler shrieked, pistons driving heavy steel down the tunnel. The air shrieked as it tore through the last stone wall, blasting into the pre-dawn gloom of the Zamek garrison yard. The world erupted. Alarms blared, red signal flares arced into the sky, and hundreds of royal guards, previously arrayed in neat, intimidating formations, scattered like startled pigeons. But it was the execution platform that drew Oksana’s gaze. Crown Prince Casimir, resplendent in gilded plate, stood beside a shuddering, scaly fledgling, a notch-bladed knife poised against its throat. Half-buried in the packed mud around the scaffold sat the temporal mortars, their faceted crystal barrels humming with nascent resonance. “Faster, Dragomir!” Oksana yelled above the machine's roar. The great ram, a spiked behemoth of forged steel, impacted the main gates with a deafening, metallic shriek. Reinforced iron groans, wards splintering into raw sparks as the ancient portals sheared off their mounts and collapsed inward. The vehicle surged through the wreckage, bearing down on the platform. The chronal mounts glowed purple directly in its path. There was no time to think, only to act. The first mount shattered under the vehicle's iron tracks, showering the yard in pulverized crystal and warped casing. Then the second, third, and fourth, crushed into scrap before their charges could crest. Mud spattered wide with each collision. Casimir bared his teeth in absolute fury. “YOU! INSOLENT WRETCH!” he shrieked, abandoning the young beast to its panicked parent. His gauntlets flared with solar radiance, releasing a searing white bolt that hissed through the fog toward Oksana’s skull. Before Oksana could even register the impossible speed of the attack, a blur of grey and gold shot past her. Grigori threw himself from the running board, lunging between Oksana and the prince's arc. The strike slammed his sternum like a dropped anvil. He folded mid-air and hit the cobblestones limp. “GRIGORI!” Oksana screamed, a sound ripped from deep within her usually guarded core. But there was no time for grief. Dragomir hauled the handbrake back, locking the tracks beside the wooden scaffold with a screech. With a violent kick, he shattered the beast’s cage, freeing not only his terrified youngling but a dozen other misbegotten creatures. They poured out in a frenzy of talons, fangs, and feral panic, overrunning the royal guards still disoriented by the gate's collapse. Oksana, her face a mask of cold fury, didn’t hesitate. She dropped from the cab, her heavy antique wire-crimpers gripped tight. Casimir, momentarily stunned by Grigori’s defiance, was distracted, his gaze still fixed on the prone transmigrator. It was all the opening she needed. She moved with the focused precision of a predator, ignoring the chaos. Casimir’s magic, while powerful, was still *channeled*. She dove beneath a panicked guard, closing the distance to the fuming prince. Before he could react, she reached his side, the silver pliers a flash of cold light. With a savage, tearing motion, she plunged the tool into the intricate joints of his armor, where the arcane conduits pulsed with stolen power. She clamped down and wrenched. Brass frayed, lines sputtered, and with a clean snap, the primary manifold tore loose. Then the secondary. Then the tertiary. Casimir bellowed, not with pain, but with utter disbelief as his divine power sputtered, then died. The blazing light around him vanished, leaving him suddenly vulnerable, a mere man in ornate metal. He stumbled, his legs giving out, collapsing to his knees in the dirt, staring at the ripped wires of his armor with a horror that eclipsed even his rage. The young beast, now safe, darted past him to its parent, who stood over the fallen Grigori, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Oksana stood over the humiliated prince, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had done it. They had done it. A brief, fierce flicker of triumph ignited in her chest. Then, a violent vibration started in her coat pocket. The antique snuff box, containing the imprisoned Overseer, began to throb, growing hotter, shaking with impossible force. With a deafening *BOOM*, the lead-lined box exploded, shattering into a thousand pieces. From the swirling dust and light, a monstrously enlarged form coalesced. The Overseer, no longer a mere monocled eyeball, but a titanic, cyclopean entity, its single red eye blazing with cosmic wrath, filled the pre-dawn sky. Its voice, a booming crescendo of pure, unadulterated fury, echoed through the courtyard, shaking the very foundations of the Zamek garrison. [ERROR. PLOT DEVIATION AT 99.87%. UNACCEPTABLE. SOUL DELETION INITIATED. COMMENCING REALITY RECONFIGURATION. ALL NARRATIVE PARTICLES WILL BE RECYCLED.] Around them, the world began to fracture. The cobblestones beneath Oksana’s boots dissolved into shimmering static. The stone walls of the Zamek garrison rippled, then vanished, replaced by a swirling void. Guards, chimeras, and Dragomir himself fragmented into jittering geometric dust. The Overseer was not deleting *her* soul. It was deleting the entire world.

Gatecrasher