“Come on. Turn his way slowly, or I’ll shoot you both,” Falco ordered, tilting his head toward them.

  Aristarchus looked toward the voice and subtly signaled Lorien to comply.

  Meanwhile, Lorien’s thoughts were disrupted by a sudden surge of mind-breaking echoes. Until then, the fragments had only grown stronger, almost as if anticipating what was about to happen.

  As they turned, the Syndicate’s subleader stroked his chin. “To think such a troublesome figure would turn out to be a frail teenager. Still, I understand now how you managed to get Mr. Jor’Sen’s interest.”

  Unable to act, Lorien realized that his only remaining option was to talk.

  “Listen… I never intended to cause problems for the Syndicate.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” Falco curled his lips into a thin smile as he stepped closer. “Two of my men are lying unconscious outside. The rest are in a shootout with the surface authorities. I trust you’re intelligent enough to calculate our present and future losses.”

  He advanced carefully, never lowering his weapon. With every step, the chance of escape diminished.

  “Still, if the rumors about you are true, perhaps you can compensate for it. All you have to do is tell me how you got those scrawny hands on so much gold.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Lorien replied, scanning the surroundings for any opportunity.

  Falco’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Try me.”

  Aristarchus, barely able to stand, collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest. Lorien moved to help him, but Falco stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on him.

  “Come on, kid. Don’t make me wait.”

  Lorien glanced at Aristarchus, then back at the man aiming the weapon.

  “I stole it,” he admitted, speaking half-truths. “It was inside a metal box. I took it after a robbery.”

  “That’s bold, coming from someone of your likes,” Falco replied. He extended his free hand, gesturing for the box.

  Lorien moved slowly, knowing whatever he did had to happen now.

  Closing his eyes, he envisioned the bullet about to be fired. He could not alter the projectile directly, but he targeted the air within the gun’s chamber, transmuting it into fluorine.

  At the sudden flare of white sparks, Falco fired. The weapon exploded in his hand, its mechanisms compromised.

  Fragments burst from the barrel—one grazing just below Lorien’s right ear, drawing a thin line of blood down his shoulder.

  “You stupid animal!” Falco roared.

  By then, Lorien had begun to understand the arbitrary limits of transmutation. Certain objects resisted his influence entirely, appearing as dark voids within his perception. At first, he believed distance was the cause—distant objects blending into conceptual darkness. Yet he also encountered resistance near living bodies, and the objects surrounding them, as if people themselves generated blind spots in his power.

  He could not transform the weapon directly, but manipulating the air within and around it had proven enough.

  Disarmed, Falco lunged at Lorien, aiming to seize the artifact that emitted the white lightning. His strike was intercepted by Aristarchus.

  Though barely upright, the scrap seller threw himself at the subleader. For a moment, his size and strength gave him the advantage. But Falco was an experienced fighter. He quickly identified Aristarchus’s weakness and drove his foot into the joint between the man’s missing leg and its prosthesis.

  Aristarchus stumbled and crashed into a stack of nearby crates.

  Lorien attempted to summon the Vault’s power again to render Falco unconscious—but nothing came. The energy was depleted.

  Helpless, he watched as Falco pinned Aristarchus to the ground and pummeled his already battered face.

  In desperation, Lorien hurled the brass cube at Falco’s head. The impact landed heavily, causing a brief stagger.

  But it was not enough. Falco rose from Aristarchus’s limp form and turned his attention to the boy.

  Lorien tried to defend himself with his mechanical arm, but Falco was relentless. A series of kicks sent him sprawling. Before he could recover, Falco seized him by the throat and lifted him off the ground, choking him.

  Lorien struggled, but he was already spent. Tears streamed down his face as he thought of everything he had hoped to accomplish—and everyone he had failed.

  Then, just as his vision began to fade, something unexpected occurred.

  A crimson glow illuminated his face. His eyes reflected the red flicker that had manifested around Falco’s arm—the very arm choking him.

  Lorien had done nothing. Yet violent sparks now surged around the man’s limb.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Confused, Falco dropped him and clutched his own arm, trying to dispel the unknown force.

  “You! Stop this! Stop it, or I’ll—”

  He never finished the threat.

  Agonizing pain overtook him as his arm began to change. The flesh dried and darkened, turning brittle and earthen brown. Gravity pulled it downward. It shattered upon impact with the floor like clay.

  What remained was a clean severance—exposed bone, torn muscle, and flowing blood.

  Lorien stared in horror as the man’s arm disintegrated before him. Falco convulsed, blood spilling uncontrollably onto the warehouse floor.

  The image burned into the boy’s vision.

  For the first time in his life, Lorien felt a terror deeper than the danger before him—fear not only of what was happening, but of himself.

  A few minutes past midnight, Larissa and Moses remained in the dining hall, loading cold rounds into their weapons.

  “What do you have there?” Larissa asked, sliding ammunition into her magazine. “A Colt M1911?”

  “The only one I trust,” Moses replied, locking the magazine into place. “And that is supposed to be…?”

  “A Beretta M9,” she answered coolly, finishing her preparations.

  “It looks practical, Captain.”

  “Not quite as classy as yours, Private.”

  Once they had finished arming themselves, Moses raised the obvious concern.

  “How do we even find Lorien? He could be anywhere in the city.”

  Larissa remained as sharp as ever. “We look for the place with the most chaos.”

  Moses nodded without question.

  Just as they were about to leave, Larissa turned—and froze. An unmistakable grin stretched across the face of a two-horned shadow blocking her path.

  “So you truly intend to break our accord, Larissa Heeler,” the shadow remarked.

  She did not waver. Instead, Moses stepped forward to confront the tall figure.

  “You must be Laplace. So you’re real!” he exclaimed. “Please—you’re the only one who can help me return to my time.”

  Laplace regarded him with indifference.

  “Is that what you told him?” he asked Larissa. “Didn’t I make it clear that returning is impossible? That the only path is the one ahead?”

  “I believe we both know that anything can be possible,” she replied evenly.

  The shadow grinned at her cunning answer.

  “Not by my hand. And that possibility is precisely what you risk if you break our agreement and go after the boy. Are you truly willing to trade it away?”

  Her sharp hazel eyes shifted before meeting the hollow abyss of his gaze.

  “I did my part. After I found him, I raised him from a distance, just as you instructed—never telling him where he came from, who he truly was, or what you wanted him to become.” Bitterness edged her voice. “But I am still his mother. I will not stand by and watch him struggle alone—not anymore.”

  With that, Larissa walked straight through Laplace’s ghostly form and headed for the exit.

  “Is that so?” the shadow called after her. “What of your long-awaited family reunion? It is very close to happening indeed. Perhaps you are willing to sacrifice Thomas for the boy now?”

  She bit down hard on her lip, but her answer did not change.

  “He wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same.”

  Seeing the shadow offered no assistance, Moses followed her out.

  Left alone, Laplace continued to smile.

  I’m sorry, Larissa. Not even you can halt what has already been set in motion. Even your defiance was foreseen long ago.

  Blood pooled across the concrete floor, dark crimson reflecting in Lorien’s silver eyes. Falco twitched violently, screaming as he reached for what remained of his arm. Adrenaline kept him conscious only briefly before the agony finally dragged him into unconsciousness.

  Lorien’s eyes remained wide, tears blurring his vision. The world spun around him, yet the echoes in his mind grew clearer—connecting at last to a voice both distant and near.

  The Nebuchadnezzar’s Vault, lying on the floor, slowly became stained by spreading blood.

  Is he… dead?

  He did not understand what had just happened. The red lightning had manifested without warning, inflicting devastation he could never have imagined.

  A tall, dark figure loomed over him.

  “You once believed the power to change the world was evil—that it was cursed,” Laplace said coldly, surveying the scene with detached solemnity. “Transmutation itself is not evil. But you were correct about the curse.”

  Lorien could barely process his words.

  “It may be called an adverse effect—or anti-causality. Even divine power demands a price.”

  Laplace continued calmly.

  “When you alter the world at will, you fracture the chain of causality. To mend those fractures, the universe permits meaningful randomness to emerge. Sometimes it manifests near you. Other times, far beyond your awareness. In this case, the adverse effect appears to have favored you.” His gaze lingered on Falco’s severed limb.

  Lorien looked up with trembling eyes.

  “You’re saying… this my fault? But this never happened before…”

  Laplace offered a faint, ill-timed smile. “The first transgressions often go unpunished. Now, do not rush to blame me. You could have stopped using transmutation at any time. It was only under abuse that anti-causality chose to reveal itself finally.”

  For the first time, Lorien fully sensed the demonic undertone beneath Laplace’s composure. Regret washed over him.

  He collapsed to the floor between the unconscious bodies of Aristarchus and Falco.

  Yet responsibility forced him to move. Crawling toward Aristarchus, he searched desperately for a pulse. It was faint—but present. The man was alive.

  The problem remained: how to escape. Lorien had neither strength nor will left.

  “Laplace… help me. Please.”

  The tall figure tilted his head.

  “I’ll give you anything you want!” Lorien cried.

  “Anything?” Laplace’s form expanded, becoming grotesque and malignant. “Would you truly give anything?”

  The intensity of his presence felt suffocating. Lorien hesitated—then nodded.

  “I’ll do anything.”

  In an instant, Laplace shrank back to his slender shape.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot assist you now. If I intervene, I will be unable to offer help when it is truly required.”

  The answer drained the last of Lorien’s resolve. He reached weakly toward the Vault—but his hand fell short.

  A dark leather glove picked it up instead.

  Syndicate leader Jor’Sen stood there, his black boots stained with his subordinate’s blood. He examined the bloodied cube carefully.

  His eyes then traced the wound, the dried mud on the floor still resembling half an arm and hand. The golden watch remained intact among the debris.

  For the first time in his life, Jor’Sen stood before something he could not logically explain.

  A slow, satisfied smile formed.

  “Fascinating…”