“Well, well, Vazha Makashvili. The Warden pays high bounty for unregistered anomalies.” The words, thick with malice and the sickly-sweet scent of whatever concoction powered Temur, were a physical blow. Vazha didn’t pause, didn't argue. His mind, usually a chaotic knot of sarcasm and fear, snapped into sharp, terrifying clarity. This wasn’t a tavern brawl. This was an execution. “Iago! Run!” Vazha yelled, already moving. He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back. The ancient passage, carved from dark, unyielding rock, was his only sanctuary. He sprinted deeper into the excavated labyrinth beneath his hovel, the rhythmic thud of Temur’s enhanced boots echoing behind him, closing the distance. He skidded around a corner, the rough stone scraping his palm, and slapped the wall. “Replicate this,” he muttered, focusing not on a copy of the rock, but on its fundamental weakness. The skill, usually used to refine a statue, felt different, coarser. A tremor ran through the stone. [Skill Activated: Structural Duplication] [Target: Stone Support] [Effect: Imminent Collapse] A groaning shriek ripped through the air as the support beam he'd just touched buckled, then shattered. A cascade of loose stones and dust rained down, blocking the narrow passage behind him. Temur’s roar of frustration, muffled but still potent, followed the cascade. “Not bad, old man!” Iago’s voice, surprisingly close, came from above. Vazha glanced up to see the former street performer nimbly scaling a series of crumbling shelves on the cavern wall, a wide, fearful grin plastered across his face. “But they’re fast! Too fast!” Iago was right. Even as the debris settled, Temur and his henchmen were already clawing their way over it, their glowing eyes piercing the gloom. Vazha knew the block was temporary. He needed more time, more space. “This way!” Vazha called, diving into a side corridor, one he’d recently expanded to access a new vein of luminescent fungi. It twisted sharply, an ideal choke point. He pressed his hand against the uneven floor, his mind racing. He visualized the stone, its molecular structure, then twisted it, stretched it, *copied* it. [Skill Activated: Terrain Manipulation] [Target: Subterranean Pathway] [Effect: Duplicate Path Created – Divergence Point] The ground rumbled. To Vazha’s left, an identical fissure shimmered into existence. It was a flawless facsimile, a phantom path. A desperate gamble. “Split up!” Temur bellowed, his voice grating. “Two of you, take the left! The rest with me!” Footfalls echoed down both paths for a moment, then only one set continued to chase Vazha. He grinned, a cold, humorless expression. Two fewer to worry about, for now. He continued deeper, the air growing colder, heavier. This was the oldest section of the ruin, where the glyphs of the ancient Artificer pulsed with faint, forgotten power. He could feel it, a hum beneath his feet. He reached a wide, echoing chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. A natural arena. He whirled, gripping a loose stone from the floor. He focused, visualizing the ‘overwrite’ protocol the Artificer had discovered. It wasn’t about copying the stone, but about copying *control*. He hurled the stone with all his meager strength towards the incoming pursuit. [Skill Activated: Resonant Weaving] [Target: Stone Projectile] [Embedded Command: Inertia Lock – Localized Effect] The stone, instead of flying, stopped mid-air, shimmering with a faint, pale blue light. It hung there, an impossible anchor. The first henchman, a hulking figure with a chipped cleaver, charged through the entryway, only to collide with the invisible barrier. He bounced back, disoriented, his glowing eyes blinking. “What in the blazes?!” he snarled, trying to push past the unseen force. He was pinned, held fast by the localized field of utter stillness. Vazha smirked. Not a weapon, but a cage. “This way, you dolts!” Temur’s voice ripped through the silence. He burst into the chamber, ignoring his snared crony, his gaze fixed on Vazha. “You think a few tricks will save you? I’ll rip you to shreds myself!” Temur lunged, his spiked club whistling through the air. Vazha threw himself to the side, rolling clumsily. The club smashed against the stone wall where he’d been, sending a shower of sparks and fragments. Vazha scrambled to his feet, eyes darting, searching for another opportunity. Then, a flash of red. Iago. The nimble youth dropped from a high ledge, landing directly behind Temur, a length of thin, reinforced cord in his hands. He moved like a blur, wrapping it around Temur’s legs before the brute could react. Temur stumbled, roaring in fury, but didn’t fall. His enhanced strength made the cord little more than an inconvenience, but it bought Vazha precious seconds. “Now, Vazha!” Iago yelled, dodging a wild backhand from Temur that would have pulped him. Vazha understood. He sprinted towards Temur, not directly, but towards the ground *beneath* Temur's feet. He slapped his palm against the rough rock, closing his eyes, focusing every ounce of his will. The Artificer’s memory crystal pulsed in his mind, the glyphs swirling, forming the complex matrix for the ‘overwrite’ cipher. This wasn’t about replicating the *stone*. It was about replicating *immobility*. [Skill Activated: Resonant Weaving] [Target: Subterranean Rock Formation] [Embedded Command: Inertia Lock – Area Effect] Intense pressure radiated from Vazha’s palm. The very air solidified. Temur, mid-swing, felt his feet root to the ground. The strange green light in his eyes flickered, then dimmed slightly as he struggled, muscles straining against an unseen, immovable force. His club, frozen in an arc, hummed with impotent energy. He remained rooted, utterly, irrevocably still, from the ankles down. Vazha stood panting, his hand still pressed to the rock, his body trembling with the exertion. His head throbbed, a dull ache behind his eyes, but a triumphant, manic grin spread across his face. Temur, the hulking brute who’d mocked him, humiliated him, was a statue. A monument to his own hubris. “What… what is this?” Temur snarled, his voice guttural, laced with disbelief and dawning terror. He tried to move, to twist, but only the upper half of his body had any freedom. His legs were stone. Vazha slowly lifted his hand. He looked down at Temur, the man’s face contorted in a mask of impotent rage. “It’s called ‘not being useless,’ you overgrown bully,” Vazha said, his voice quiet, almost conversational, yet ringing with an authority Temur had never heard from him. “And it means you don’t get to walk away from this.” He felt a faint vibration, then a new set of footsteps, light and precise, entering the chamber from the main corridor. Not Temur’s cronies, these were too organized, too numerous. A figure stepped into the pale light, her silhouette instantly recognizable. Elene Dadiani. Behind her, a dozen of her warriors fanned out, their weapons drawn, their faces grim. Elene’s gaze swept over the scene: the stalled henchman, the frozen Temur, Vazha standing over him, triumphant and ragged. Her expression was utterly unreadable.