The rain came again—cold, angry, and unrelenting. It fell in sheets over the ruined district, washing the blood from shattered stone and fractured metal. Cain stood beneath it, unmoving, his blade half-buried in the cracked earth. Every breath came out as mist, every heartbeat slow and deliberate. The night stank of ozone and gunpowder.

Around him, the remnants of the assault team gathered. Roselle leaned against a collapsed wall, one arm slung limp across her chest. Susan crouched beside Steve, patching a burn along his shoulder with the last of their medical gel. Hunter paced the edge of the rubble field, eyes sweeping the horizon as if the smoke might form into something solid—something coming for them.

"They won't stop," Hunter said finally. His voice was low, rough. "The Daelmonts still control the docks. If they reroute the convoys before dawn, everything we took here means nothing."

Cain's answer came after a long silence. "Then we hit the docks before dawn."

Susan looked up, weary eyes hardening. "We don't even have a route, Cain. Half the streets are flooded with gas, and the other half are crawling with sentries. We barely made it out of the Grid alive."

"Barely's still breathing," Roselle said flatly.

Steve gave a short, bitter laugh. "That's the spirit."

But Cain was already moving, dragging {Eidwyrm} free from the earth. The blade's edge was dulled from overuse, but the glow that ran along its runes pulsed faintly—alive. "We've spent months waiting for openings. The moment we hesitate, the Daelmonts fill the gap with another lie. If the docks fall, they lose their supply chain. No weapons, no reinforcements, no control."

"And no way out for us either," Hunter added.

Cain met his eyes. "We stopped running the second we destroyed the Grid."

The team fell silent again, the only sound the rain splattering against the warped metal around them. Somewhere in the distance, the low whine of an engine echoed—a gunship, slow and searching. The group ducked lower beneath the broken overhang.

Steve worked quickly, drawing a schematic across the damp ground with the edge of a bullet casing. "Two paths," he muttered. "We can go through the industrial stretch here—fast but loud. Or we slip through the storm drains under the old rail system. It's slower, but stealthier."

Roselle glanced toward Cain. "Your call."

Cain studied the crude map. The choice was obvious. "Storm drains. If we're fast, we'll reach the docks before sunrise."

Hunter wiped rain from his face. "If we're slow, we drown or get gassed before we even see the docks."

"Then we won't be slow."

Roselle straightened, checked her sidearm, and nodded once. "Guess we're taking the sewers again. Great."

As they began to move, Cain's thoughts turned inward—back to the sight of the burning towers, the moment the Grid went silent, the scream that wasn't a scream but a system dying. It should have felt like victory. It didn't. It felt like the calm before something worse.

They descended through a jagged stairwell into darkness, boots echoing off wet concrete. The air grew thicker, staler. The faint glow of Steve's wristlight cast their shadows long against the walls. The stench of oil and rot filled the tunnels.

"Smells like home," Susan muttered.

Hunter shot her a look. "What kind of home did you grow up in?"

"The kind that didn't care if you came back from school alive," she said, loading a fresh mag.

Cain ignored the exchange. His focus narrowed to the rhythmic drip of water and the faint vibrations beneath his boots—the pulse of distant machinery. The Daelmonts' network was still alive somewhere, humming under the city like a heartbeat.

Then a sound broke through the hum. Metal striking metal. Echoing footsteps that weren't theirs.

Cain froze, raising a fist. The group stopped instantly.

Roselle crouched, eyes narrowing. "Movement ahead."

Steve dimmed his light. The darkness swallowed them whole.

A shadow emerged from the tunnel mouth ahead—tall, armored, the faint red glow of a visor cutting through the black. Then another. And another.

Hunter whispered, "Enforcers. They're sweeping the tunnels."

Cain's voice came low and sharp. "We can't let them call it in. Take them quiet."

Before the last word left his mouth, Roselle was already moving—silent as a wraith, her blade flashing once through the rain-misted dark. The first enforcer dropped, throat opened cleanly. Hunter lunged next, a short burst from his suppressed rifle tearing through another's visor.

The third enforcer turned, weapon raised—but Cain was already there. He moved with the weight of something inevitable, bringing {Eidwyrm} up in a single brutal arc. The blade struck the man's chest, shattering the armor and sending him crashing into the wall.

Silence followed—brief, suffocating silence. Then Cain exhaled. "Move the bodies. We don't have long."

They dragged the corpses into a drainage pit, then pressed on, deeper into the labyrinth. The deeper they went, the more the walls seemed to vibrate. Somewhere ahead, the muffled rumble of engines grew louder.

"The docks," Steve murmured. "We're close."

Cain gave a single nod. "Ready yourselves."

As they rounded the final bend, light bled into the tunnel—orange and sharp. Through the grate above, the team could see the docks stretching out before them. Cargo ships. Fuel lines. Armored convoys being loaded beneath the watch of towering sentry mechs.

Roselle's voice was almost a whisper. "All that firepower…"

Cain looked out across the sprawling scene. His jaw tightened. "Then we give them a reason to use it."

Above, lightning flashed—sudden and blinding. The storm was back, crackling over the city like an omen.

Cain gripped his blade tighter, his voice barely audible over the thunder.

"This is where we finish what we started."

And then, as the rain came harder, the team climbed from the tunnel and stepped once more into the war.

The first explosion hit seconds later—an ammo crate igniting under Steve's detonator. Fire leapt skyward, silhouetting the figures scrambling for cover. Cain surged forward through the chaos, blade flashing in arcs of steel and lightning. The others followed without hesitation, their movements synchronized, efficient, merciless. The war for the docks had begun.