Chaos Core

Before the enemy could regain his balance, Asrel was already upon him.

The man's eyes widened behind his visor. Panic overtook reason as he triggered his Blessing again, trying to escape the lethal pressure bearing down on him. His figure shimmered, dissolving into nothing. When he reappeared, he was still within striking distance. Just meters away.

Waiting for him was a charged bolt of seething Chaos.

Asrel's palm released.

Boom.

The explosion rocked the field, kicking up a cloud of smoke and ash. Shrapnel and raw force tore through the surrounding terrain. The air sizzled with the aftershock, a deep thrum echoing for several seconds.

Dust drifted, slowly revealing the charred husk lying crumpled on the blackened ground.

Asrel exhaled slowly. His expression was calm, but his gaze remained fixed on the corpse.

"When mages battle," he murmured, his voice low, "the one who controls the field controls the fight."

He remembered those words well. A common saying in the arcane duels of the old era. In his time, teleportation magic was not rare among the upper echelons. Advanced mages used it not only to evade but to outmaneuver, reposition, strike from blind angles. Yet with every spell came a rhythm, a pattern and a weakness. There were always counters.

Though the magic had been lost to him, the memories had not. The instincts, honed through countless battles, remained sharper than ever.

He stepped closer to the fallen Blessed.

Faint tendrils of Chaos flickered from his fingertips, coiling like smoke around his hand. Asrel extended it and plunged it into the dead man's chest, past fractured armor and scorched cloth, into the shattered cavity where the Flux core once pulsed .

The Chaos energy surged forth. It spread like ink in water, flooding the corpse's inner workings. Asrel devoured the remnant core, burned away the residual flux, dismantled its essence, and siphoned every useful particle.

And then something... different.

His breath caught.

A new sensation rode the current of energy returning to him. A fragment of something deeper. It wasn't just power. It was memory, instinct or echoes of will.

A piece of the man's soul.

He staggered slightly as his Chaos Core twisted within him. The essence of the slain Blessed was being imprinted and encoded.

Knowledge flooded Asrel's mind in a rush of violent clarity. Not words or thoughts, but sensations. Muscle memory, a silent understanding of how to teleport, when, and why. As if he'd been doing it his whole life.

A faint mark shimmered within his consciousness. It etched itself into his soul like molten iron pressed into flesh.

A Soul Mark.

"...It can do that too?" he muttered, half to himself. This, this is like soul magic. One of the rarest and dangerous kind. A power he had never once wielded in his former life.

He stood still for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the process settle. But the battlefield hadn't waited. Gunfire still echoed from further down the slope.

He turned toward it, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

It was time to test what he had learned.

From the north slope, half a dozen Rogues emerged from cover. They had seen the explosion and who stood afterward.

"Guzz is dead." One of them declared.

The Rogues opened fire.

Bolts of Flux energy screamed toward Asrel. The air shimmered as they passed, the heat trailing arcs of unstable plasma that shattered rocks. Asrel moved before the first bolt reached him, his Chaos-enhanced reflexes igniting like a coiled spring.

He vanished.

In a blink, Asrel reappeared ten meters behind the advancing Rogues. It wasn't perfect. There was a disorienting pull, like gravity trying to reassert itself after a brief lapse. But the sensation was already fading.

He raised one hand.

A bolt of Flux materialized in his palm, compressed and hummed.

With an effortless gesture, Asrel flung the bolt.

Mid-air, it shimmered then vanished

It reappeared behind the group, right in their blind spot, just as the frontmost Rogue shouted, "Behind!"

Booom.

The explosion consumed them in an arc of bluish flame and pulsing shockwaves. Three were torn apart instantly. One flew back, armor scorched and limbs twitching. The remaining two scrambled to recover, shouting to unseen comrades further out.

Asrel didn't let them regroup. His Chaos aura pulsed again. With a thought, he flickered, then reappearing in front of the downed Rogue just as the man tried to raise his rifle.

A crimson blade of energy formed in Asrel's grip.

One strike ended it.

The other Rogue screamed and turned to flee, but Asrel was already there, moving faster than the man's fear could carry him. A charged bolt slammed into the Rogue's back and detonated, sending his corpse tumbling lifeless through the dirt.

Asrel stood alone once more.

In the distance, more gunfire echoed. Unit 6's remaining forces were trying to retreat, falling back toward a ridge where visibility was poor.

They wouldn't make it far, not with him on the field.

Asrel reached out with his senses. The battlefield stretched in chaotic lines, fires burning in overturned haulers, bodies strewn across rocky terrain, sparks of energy clinging to fractured ground. But amidst it all, he could feel the life signatures. Ten, maybe twelve figures, moving in panic.

"Let's finish this," Asrel muttered, and vanished once more.

Asrel flickered back into existence atop a shattered ledge that overlooked the ridge. Below him, Unit 6 scrambled to regroup, their cohesion had shattered the moment they received word of Guzz's death.

They were planning an escape.

"Spread out and run!" one of them shouted. The voice cracked with fear.

But before any of them could move, Asrel descended.

He didn't teleport this time. He dropped like a stone, his feet slammed into the earth just behind the rear-most member of Unit 6. The man spun, rifle raised, but Asrel was already moving. His blade flashed crimson, slicing through the weapon, and the man behind it, in a single fluid arc.

The rest of the squad turned.

"Surprised?" Asrel said, his voice calm and almost cold.

There was no mistaking it. The way he moved. The aura bleeding off him like smoke. The flickering afterimage of teleportation. This was Guzz's power.

"How…?" one of them stammered, taking a step back.

They didn't get the chance to finish the thought. Spikes of Chaos energy erupted from the ground beneath them, Asrel's will made manifest, lancing upward in jagged spears that pierced through armor and flesh alike. Screams filled the air, then were drowned out by the hum of draining cores.

One by one, the traitors fell.

No sympathy. No compromise. These were not comrades. They had chosen to betray, they had made their decision.

He made sure they paid for it.

Within minutes, Unit 6 was gone, reduced to lifeless bodies and drained cores.

Asrel crouched beside the last body, his hand glowing as Chaos tendrils withdrew from the corpse and slithered back into his palm.

The field was quiet now, save for the crackle of flames and the distant echo of skirmishes being wrapped up by the rest of the defenders. Asrel rose and looked back toward the ridge. His eyes scanned for more threats but sensed none. The battle, at last, was ending.

He turned and began walking back, his steps steady.

Smoke still clung to the landscape as Asrel descended from the ridge, walking through a field of death. Charred remains of enemy lay twisted in the dirt, craters scorched into the earth from flux bombardments and detonations.

As he approached the battered transport vehicle, Rook looked up from where he was kneeling beside a wounded Warden. Dirt streaked his mask, and blood soaked the sleeve of his jacket, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Asrel," he said, standing with a wince. "You're alive."

Asrel nodded. "It's over. Unit 6 is gone."

Rook's jaw tensed, but he didn't speak right away. He simply turned to glance at the devastation around them. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

Kick and Lira emerged from the wrecked side of the vehicle, helping lift one of the severely wounded into a makeshift stretcher. Brenn was adjusting the weapon mount, and Nessa crouched beside Dietrich, whose condition looked dire, his armor shattered, side torn open, barely conscious.

"We've only got one vehicle left," Rook said, eyes scanning the carnage.

"We'll make do," Asrel said. "Load the wounded and prioritize survivors."

The survivors moved quickly. Wardens and Unit 12 operatives who could still walk helped lift the injured into the vehicle. Dietrich was one of the first loaded in.

The ones with only minor injuries took positions on the roof and rear platform. Every inch of space mattered.

Asrel climbed to the top of the vehicle, crouching low beside the rotating turret where Brenn manned the controls.

"Brenn," Asrel called. "Keep your eyes sharp."

"You too," the man replied. "I don't want another surprise out here."

Below, Kick started the engine. The surviving vehicle roared to life, struggling under the weight of its load. As it rolled forward, Nessa remained inside, tending to the wounded with what little medical gear remained. Lira sat cross-legged near the rear hatch, her rifle still in hand, eyes sharp and alert.

Rook climbed into the passenger seat beside Kick and looked up at Asrel.

"Don't worry about the Abhorrents," Asrel said to them. "I'll take care of anything that tries to reach us."

The vehicle began its slow, rumbling journey back to the Outpost. They followed the same route they had taken to the mine, only now it was a trail of blood and ruin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They didn't stop once.

Anything that moved in the dark was cut down before it could approach. Asrel's senses were heightened from the battle. His new Blessing let him attack threats from a distance. Abhorrents that prowled the path were blasted apart by bolts of Chaos or vaporized by flux charges.

Nothing reached them.

By the time the Outpost gates came into view, the sky was turning a deep gray. Morning approached, sluggish and uncertain, like even the sun hesitated to touch the bloodshed that had taken place.

A red flare went up from the vehicle, and the outpost's outer turrets swiveled to track it. Friendly ID beacons activated. A moment later, the gates began to open.

Only one vehicle returned. One vehicle out of an entire convoy.

Inside the Outpost, chaos erupted. Soldiers and medics rushed to meet them, shock etched across their faces as they saw how few had returned.

Stretcher after stretcher was pulled out. Some wounded were unconscious.

The survivors who could still walk, including Asrel, were quickly separated and led into decontamination chambers. Harsh mist scrubbed residual miasma from their bodies before they were permitted further entry. Once cleared, they were brought to the main briefing hall, where Lieutenant Sera waited for them.

She didn't speak right away as she looked them over. Her eyes landed on the blood and dust on their gear, the hollow expressions on their faces.

"…What happened?" she finally asked.

Rook spoke first. "We were betrayed. Unit 6 worked with a group of Rogues. They planned the ambush, probably since the mine was first discovered."

Sera's eyes narrowed. "You're sure?"

"I saw them with my own eyes," Asrel said. "I killed them."

A pause, and then she turned on her heel.

"I'll report to Captain Owen immediately."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the command center, the weight of their words sank quickly.

Captain Owen, seated behind his desk, glared at the mission logs and casualty reports. His scarred knuckles tapped rhythmically on the edge of the terminal.

"They dared to infiltrate now," he muttered. "Right under our nose."

He looked to Sera. "Initiate a full internal investigation. I want every connection Unit 6 had traced. Personnel, communications, equipment requests, tear it all apart. There may be more."

"Yes, sir."

"Also," he continued, "what's the status of the mine?"

Sera gave a brief nod. "The full details have been sent to the Sanctuary. If the report is confirmed, they'll send a fleet to establish a base and secure the mithril reserves."

"Mithril," Owen muttered. "That alone is a strategic jackpot."

"And what of the enemy's affiliation?" he asked.

"No survivors," Sera said. "None left alive to interrogate."

A silence followed.

"Who eliminated them?"

"…Asrel," she answered. "The new Blessed who registered last week."

"The Grade B applicant?"

"Apparently, his performance exceeded expectations. According to multiple witnesses, including Rook and the other survivors, he turned the battle on its head."

Owen leaned back, folding his arms. "Just keep him under surveillance."

Sera nodded. "Understood."