The name, Velza, was a shard of ice in Xiraza’s gut. The distorted voice had been a digital shroud, but that fraction of a second, that familiar lilt, resonated with a thousand shared memories, a thousand whispered confidences. It was undeniably Velza. Velza, her closest apothecary broker, the engineer of her treatments, had orchestrated the horror dissolving the tiles.
“The comms are jammed,” Khyren said, wrenching the terminal hatch open. “She locked down the sector and routed that transmission through the master line. No one outside hears us.” He eyed the foaming floor plates. “That rot eats reinforced plating. We need neutralizer fluid before the sub-levels dissolve.”
Xiraza’s mind, despite the shock, raced. Velza maintained the primary stock of bio-neutralizers and combat counter-agents in the fortress. Inaction meant breathing caustic fumes. Xiraza forced her jaw tight against the shock. “Velza’s clinic wing. It’s adjacent to the arena ring, and she holds the antidote lockers.”
Khyren’s gaze sharpened, assessing her. “You think she’ll just hand them over?”
“She won’t have a choice,” Xiraza asserted, the lie tasting like ash. She wouldn’t just ask. She would investigate. She would expose. “Let’s move.”
They sprinted through the maintenance corridor as sulfurous fumes billowed behind them. Klaxons wailed red overhead, signaling a Level-Four containment breach. Chitter perched on Xiraza's shoulder plates, six legs digging into the composite seams, bristling with sparks.
The dispensary wing was quiet and spotless. No frantic activity, no rushed preparations for a biohazard. Velza herself stood by a gleaming diagnostic console, a datapad clutched in her hand, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, her expression serene, almost bored, as if awaiting a routine patient.
“Xiraza! Khyren! What in the Void happened?” Velza’s voice was warm, laced with practiced concern, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical tone from the comms. “The sector triggered full quarantine. Are you hurt? That corrosive slime eats flesh. I heard the sirens.”
“We’re fine for now,” Xiraza said, her voice betraying none of the fury coiling in her gut. She focused on keeping her movements fluid, casual, as she scanned the room. “We need a high-grade suppressant, Velza. The arena floor is dissolving. If it breaches the lower levels, the entire power grid could be compromised.”
Velza nodded, her brow furrowed with what appeared to be genuine worry. “Of course. Sit on the examination bench. Let me prep an intravenous counter-agent.” She drew a canister from the rack with practiced ease. “A quick stabilization dose before the aerosol burns take hold.”
As Velza turned to a gleaming dispenser, Xiraza’s eyes darted to the datapad still clutched in her friend’s hand, now resting on the console’s edge. The screen flickered, displaying a holographic schematic of energy signatures. A specific frequency graph pulsed at the top, glowing a distinct cerulean. It was the exact frequency they had isolated in the arena, the fingerprint of the synthetic Rift-Goliath core. Velza had forgotten to clear her screen. Or perhaps, she no longer cared.
The blue line matched the frequency signature from the ruined arena beasts down to the decimal. Velza had grown them. Xiraza reached for the sling of her carbine.
Velza pivoted, an injector concealed against her palm. Before Xiraza could unholster the weapon, Velza slammed the steel needle straight through the seam of her arm harness into the muscle.
“Just a paralytic cocktail, darling,” Velza murmured, the warm facade peeling away into a flat sneer. “To keep you compliant.”
Xiraza felt the paralytic spread, a creeping numbness blossoming from her shoulder, racing down her arm, seizing her muscles. Her fingers spasmed, unable to grip the carbine. A desperate cry caught in her throat, refusing to emerge. Her knees gave way, dropping her onto the examination bench. Chitter chirped frantically, a desperate, buzzing plea, but even its small body seemed to slow, affected by the sudden physiological shift.
Khyren, who had been guarding the door, whirled around, his pulse-rifle snapping up, but Velza merely smiled, a predatory baring of teeth. “Step back, Khyren,” Velza said, stepping behind the bench.
Velza leaned in close to Xiraza, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper, every word a poisoned dart. “Did you really think I’d just let you come back? The ‘Apex Hunter,’ the ‘white moonlight,’ overshadowing everyone, always. You had everything, Xiraza. The fame, the adoration, the guild, even Jorik. While I was just… your helpful little medical broker. Your shadow.” Her grip on Xiraza’s chin tightened, forcing her to meet Velza’s gaze. “I engineered the outbreaks. Every single one. The Rift-Goliaths, the Scourge-Rot. All of it. They were never about destroying the cities. They were about destroying *you*. About proving that even the legendary Xiraza Vex couldn’t control everything, couldn’t save everyone. Not when her best friend was pulling the strings.”
Velza lifted a surgical blade from an instrument tray. She tested the edge against a gloved thumb. “Subject zero survived the hound,” Velza murmured. “She won't survive this room. The records will show the acid breached the ward and dissolved the guild's fallen star beyond recognition.”
She raised the blade. Xiraza willed her fingers to move, but her nervous system remained severed from her intent. Then the heavy ward doors ruptured under a concussive blast, pelting the cabinets with shrapnel.
Khyren Zhal stood framed in the wreckage, his pulse-rifle leveled, smoking faintly from where it had blown the locks clean off. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes burning with an inferno that promised retribution. “Velza!” he roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the bay.
Velza flinched back from the shockwave, then recovered with a cold smirk. She dropped a small, spherical device at her feet. A smoke grenade. Thick, acrid plumes of grey smoke erupted instantly, obscuring her from view. Before Khyren could fire, before Xiraza could even register what was happening, the familiar, chilling voice of the central AI blared over the comms, no longer distorted, but clear, resounding through the entire facility:
“FORTRESS-WIDE LOCKDOWN INITIATED. ALL EXTERNAL AND INTERNAL BULKHEADS SEALED. UNIDENTIFIED PERSONNEL DETECTED. IMMEDIATE THREAT PROTOCOL ENGAGED.”
Heavy blast doors slammed shut, echoing through the smoke-filled bay, trapping Khyren and the paralyzed Xiraza within the confines of Velza’s deadly game.