Chaos Core

Back in Unit 12's quarters, the team finally sat in silence.

Kick leaned against the wall, a ration pack unopened in his hands. Lira sat on a bench, arms crossed, her eyes unfocused. Nessa had taken a corner for herself, leaning against the metal with closed eyes and a deep, slow breath. Brenn, finally alone, just kept muttering under his breath.

Rook looked at them all.

"We're not taking any missions for the meantime," he said. "We rest and recover. Then we move forward."

Nobody objected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Asrel stood in his own quarters, eyes locked on his reflection.

He was still in his armor, scuffed and torn. The black plating shimmered faintly under the light. His eyes, once a dull blue, now held threads of unnatural silver and crimson through the iris.

He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled.

Then he closed his eyes and let his thoughts spiral back, back to the battlefield, to the power he had absorbed, and to the moments that followed. That teleportation ability now resided within him.

He had felt it during the absorption. The knowledge. The experience. Guzz's instincts. His tricks. His tells. It had all been transferred, stored like echoes.

Three distinct traits of the Chaos were now clear:

Devour: the Chaos Core could absorb the energy of others, drawing strength from the defeated.

Corruption: it could alter objects and tools, enhancing or reshaping them to accomodate the power of Chaos.

Extraction: a technique that draws out and embeds Soul Marks, claiming the Blessing as his own.

"I've only scratched the surface," he murmured.

He didn't know what the Chaos Core truly was. Whether it was a gift, a curse, or a remnant of something older than he imagined. But he knew one thing, he have to master it.

A knock came at his door.

"Asrel," Rook's voice called softly. "Get some sleep. You've earned it."

Asrel nodded, even though no one could see.

"Yeah," he said.

He lay down after a moment, closing his eyes. But sleep didn't come easily. The battlefield echoed in his mind, every moment stitched with violence and revelation. Still, exhaustion finally pulled him under.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning, the atmosphere at the Outpost had shifted. Gone was the eerie stillness of post-battle silence. In its place, the clamor of industry and military presence filled the air.

Down the main road, a long convoy of armored transport carriers rolled in. The vehicles bore the insignia of the Sanctuary, their hulls glistening under the rising sun. The lead transport came to a slow halt, releasing bursts of pressurized air as the doors hissed open. From within emerged an elite company of soldiers with pristine uniforms, rifles sleek and polished, faces sharp with discipline.

They moved in unison, a well-drilled machine of war. Behind them followed a stream of engineers, techs, and support personnel, all dressed in gray-blue work suits, their equipment clanking as they unloaded crates and machinery. Tower cranes, mobile drills, surveillance drones, and prefabricated command towers were assembled with surgical efficiency.

In total, a force of one hundred soldiers and one hundred fifty engineers and support staff had arrived. They wasted no time. Sections of the Outpost were already being cordoned off to act as temporary command and logistics centers. Tents and bunkers filled with supplies mushroomed into place as soldiers stood guard, watching for movement beyond the walls.

This was the initial deployment, a forward contingent sent to stabilize and secure the area surrounding the newly discovered mithril vein. More were coming, full-scale colonization and militarization were inevitable now that the mine had been confirmed.

Asrel walked out into the courtyard, sipping from a canteen of mineral water. He observed the operations quietly. Everything about their precision reminded him of military mage deployments from his past life. How battlefields were occupied by victors, and this had not changed even if the tools and energy systems had.

From the mess hall behind him, the clatter of trays and utensils and the low hum of morning conversations reached his ears. He returned to the dining area, where Unit 12 had gathered around a metal bench. They had food, rations, soup, synthetic meat, and freshly brewed stimulants. Kick was halfway through his bowl when he leaned forward.

"I heard Captain Jenna is the one leading it," he said in a hushed, intrigued tone.

Brenn, across from him, raised an eyebrow. "So the Eye of Truth is here."

"The Eye of Truth?" Asrel asked, looking up from his tray.

Brenn nodded, taking a sip of black stim-tea before explaining. "She's a young and rising figure in the Sanctuary's elite forces. Got her nickname because of her Blessing."

Kick joined in. "They say she can see into the past. Moments, scenes, conversations, like echoes left behind."

"Which makes her really useful during interrogations," Brenn added. "A lie doesn't stand a chance. Hence the title."

Asrel mulled over the idea as he chewed on a protein bar. 'Another Blessed... And one with such a specific ability. I better stay out of her radar.'

The rest of the meal passed without fanfare, though conversation occasionally shifted to speculation about the reinforcements. Who else might arrive? Would this mean longer missions, or a possible reassignment?

After he finished his breakfast, Asrel went out to explore the Outpost.

Morning mist clung to the outer walls of Outpost Verge. Pale sunlight filtered through the clouded sky, casting a silver sheen over the steel structures and paved walkways.

Asrel wandered through it all, hands in his pockets, senses half-focused on the world and half turned inward.

The walls surrounding Verge stood nearly twenty meters tall, reinforced with layered alloy plating and guarded by turrets. Despite being a military base first, the outpost functioned like a frontier town. Vendors lined the main plaza, their stalls adorned with blinking holosigns advertising anything from field rations to mechanical upgrades.

Civilian families walked past in clusters, wives and children of stationed soldiers, merchants from the inner Sanctuaries, and even a few robed researchers from the Academy Corps.

A group of mercenaries passed him, boasting colorful gear far less standardized than the official uniforms. They talked loudly, exchanging stories about mutated beasts in the eastern ravines and debating job offers from Sanctuary agents.

So this is the world now, Asrel mused. A battlefield dressed in market stalls and canned smiles.

He found himself stopping in front of a store lined with weaponry.

The sign above it read:

"Aegis Arms & Supply, Sanctuary Certified."

The display windows shimmered with light-enhanced images, sleek rifles on rotating stands, blade sets suspended midair by magnetic fields, and a mannequin dressed in a customized combat suit.

Intrigued, Asrel stepped inside. A soft chime rang above the door.

"Welcome, esteemed customer," the cashier greeted, a well-dressed man in his forties with a mechanical eye that flickered when it focused on Asrel.

"I'm just browsing," Asrel replied, his gaze already sweeping the walls.

Weapons lined the store in organized racks, rows of flux-rifles, close-combat blades forged from reinforced alloys, and projectile launchers with modular designs. It was a clean, almost sterile shop, where everything felt expensive and well-maintained.

He paused at a wall rack featuring lightweight swords.

The description projected in midair detailed their conductivity ratings for Flux and charge sustainability.

"These are crafted from Sky-iron alloy and mithril threads," the attendant explained as he approached. "Sanctuary-approved. Optimized for speed-type combatants."

Asrel nodded, but he was more interested in the section beyond—the suits and accessories.

Toward the back wall, he found racks of combat overalls. These weren't the bulky field suits issued to soldiers. They were sleeker, almost elegant in design, with sharp seams and faint threads of glowing circuitry woven across the limbs.

One particular set caught his eye.

It was obsidian black, trimmed with deep silver, and hung on a reinforced mannequin. The fabric looked paper-thin but emitted a subtle hum of energy.

"This model," the attendant said, stepping beside him, "is among our best. Imported directly from Sanctuary Forge Labs. Built for maneuverability, low-friction response time, and maximum Miasma resistance."

"It doesn't look durable," Asrel commented.

"That's where modular plating comes in. Chest guards, limb reinforcements, and enhanced joints can be added based on personal configuration. It's all about adaptability now."

"How much?"

"Fifteen hundred crys," the man said with a polite smile.

Asrel whistled low. "That's steep."

"Quality comes at a price."

Asrel walked past the suits, toward the display cases. Among holsters, and flux-chargers, a smaller section of compact weapons caught his attention.

Throwing knives.

They came in sets of three, displayed in foam-lined cases. Each blade was roughly eight inches long, curved ever so slightly, with serrated tips and black grips. One set in particular bore a silver-blue edge, a mithril alloy reinforced with carbon threading.

"These are made for precision," the attendant said. "Weighted for balance. Best in close-quarters or silent takedown operations."

Asrel picked one up, feeling its weight.

Solid. Smooth. Easy to throw.

But more than that, it felt right. His Chaos Core stirred as if reacting to the weapon. If I can corrupt this... I might be able to guide it midair. Like a limb.

"How much for this set?"

"Two hundred crys each. Six hundred total."

Asrel thought for a moment. He'd been paid eight hundred crys for the last mission, a hazard bonus given the casualties. He still had enough left, and the knives felt... essential.

"I'll take them."

"Excellent choice."

After payment, the knives were carefully wrapped in a magnetic holster set. Asrel secured them on the back of his waist under his cloak. He left the shop shortly after, stepping back into the daylight, feeling slightly lighter in coin but better equipped.

He exhaled slowly and looked toward the sky.

On the horizon, black dots floated in, Sanctuary airships no doubt bringing more reinforcements and surveyors to secure the mines.

Moments later, three large airships pierced through the drifting clouds, casting long shadows over the landing platforms. Each vessel bore the crest of the Sanctuary, sleek, silver hulls etched with glowing blue lines that pulsed like veins, resonating with stored Flux.

Docking clamps extended and hissed as the vessels touched down with a thunderous thud. Troops began disembarking in neat formation, boots striking metal in perfect sync.

Among the arriving personnel was Captain Jenna, her long coat billowing slightly in the wind as she stepped off the ramp. Her presence was immediately noticed. Soldiers straightened their backs. Engineers paused mid-task. Even the guards at the landing perimeter shifted in acknowledgment.

Behind her came the rest of the reinforcements, another hundred troops, along with crates of Flux batteries, ammunition, rations, field kits, and reinforced outpost components. The supplies were quickly distributed by the logistics crew, who moved with trained urgency. The engineers, already embedded in the site, began coordinating expansions for the upcoming mining zone defenses and refining outpost infrastructure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Asrel stopped by a small local eatery on one of the inner streets, a modest structure with a curved metal awning and outdoor seats that overlooked the training grounds in the distance. The scent of sizzling meat and peppered rice filled the air as he sat alone, finishing his plate in quiet thought.

After the meal, he wandered deeper into the outpost, tracing new paths he hadn't explored before, past barracks and storage zones. The sheer scale of activity was more apparent now than ever.

It was already late in the afternoon when Asrel returned. The sky had mellowed to a soft amber hue, clouds casting faint shadows across the landscape. Lamps on the pathways were starting to flicker on, casting warm halos across the gravel paths. 

"Hey, welcome back," Kick said as Asrel stepped in.

"Asrel," Brenn nodded. "Went out exploring?"

Asrel gave a small shrug. "Yeah. Needed a bit of air."

He looked around. Someone was missing.

"Where's Rook?" he asked, scanning the room. "Haven't seen him since morning."

Brenn, who was sharpening one of his knives with short, efficient strokes, answered without pausing. "Probably training inside a Flux chamber."

"I see." Asrel leaned back slightly against the wall, arms folded.

"I might check it out," Asrel said after a moment.