Luck Stat Broken: Rise of the Khan-Chapter 57 - 53: The Trojan Bloom

The biometric telemetry for Asset Vane didn’t just flatline. The corporate System actively deleted his ID from the active roster, treating the Platinum-tier specialist like a corrupted file.

​Commander Kaelen stood perfectly still in the center of his Mobile Command Unit. The air conditioning hummed, circulating air that smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone.

​On the holographic table in front of him, floating in crisp, high-definition blue light, was the delayed feed from a P.A.C.I.F.I.C. recon drone sweeping the 101 Highway.

​The targets were already gone.

​The multi-ton repulsor-transport was upside down. The heavy reinforced doors were blown off their hinges. Vane’s tactical armor was crushed, his chest cavity caved in by a massive blunt-force strike. Kross was slumped inside the hull, his neck bent at a mathematically impossible angle.

​There was absolutely zero thermal trace of the prisoners.

​Kaelen gripped the edge of the polished table. His knuckles turned bone-white. He didn’t yell. Yelling was an emotional response, and P.A.C.I.F.I.C. commanders who showed emotion during a quarterly extraction review didn’t survive the Audit.

​"Three," Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the projection of the empty, rain-slicked highway. "That is three suppression teams. Gone."

​He stared at the names flashing in red on his console: VANE and KROSS. They weren’t his men. They were Director Vance’s personal assets. The absolute best of the best. Kaelen knew their files; their defining trait was extreme versatility. They could flex into any combat role or infiltration scenario without prior intel.

​Vance had deployed them because P.A.C.I.F.I.C. was operating completely blind. If Vance knew who these anomalies were or where they were hiding underground, he would have just sent bunker-busters. Instead, he sent his most adaptable spies.

​And now they were dead in the mud.

​"Commander."

​Kaelen flinched. He turned to see his adjutant standing in the doorway of the MCU, holding a datapad. The junior officer looked terrified.

​"Director Vance is on the secure line, sir," the adjutant said quietly.

​Kaelen swallowed hard, tasting bile. This was it. The court-martial. He was going to be reclassified as organic salvage and sent to the bio-reactors.

​He tapped his earpiece, forcing his spine straight. "Director Vance. Sir, I can explain the telemetry loss. The targets—"

​"Save your breath, Kaelen," Vance’s voice cut through the earpiece. It wasn’t angry. It was smooth, cultured, and utterly devoid of empathy. "The Board has already seen the drone feed. They were quite vocal about wanting you processed for scrap by the end of the hour."

​Kaelen squeezed his eyes shut. "Sir, I just need clearance for a broader sweep—"

​"I am the only reason you are still wearing that uniform," Vance interrupted, his tone dripping with a calculated, cold disappointment. "The Board looks at your sector and sees a liability. I see a commander who simply needs a firmer hand. I expended considerable political capital to shield you from a court-martial today. Do you understand what that means?"

​"Yes, Director," Kaelen choked out, sweat beading on his forehead. "I owe you."

​"Have your Heavy Breach Team fueled and waiting in their transports," Vance ordered, completely ignoring Kaelen’s gratitude. "A localized signal will broadcast shortly. I will let you know when and where to attack. You will go there and collect the meat. Am I understood?"

​"Yes, Director. I will be on standby."

​The line clicked dead. Vance explained absolutely nothing else.

​Kaelen stood in the sterile air of his MCU, his chest tight with a volatile mix of relief and deep, gnawing fear. He was off the chopping block, but he was now completely at Vance’s mercy.

*****

​Deep underground, the adrenaline finally crashed.

​Will’s Warlord mask shattered. He dropped to his knees, his vision swimming as the System flooded his HUD with crimson warnings.

​[Status Alert: Severe Mana Exhaustion]

[Warning: Structural Nerve Damage Detected in Appendages.]

​Allison emerged from the deeper tunnels, wiping engine grease from her hands. She took one look at the blood covering Maddie, Don’s pale face, and Will’s charred, hanging hands. She didn’t ask a single question.

​"Triage baths," Allison commanded, moving immediately to Don’s side to take his weight from Kael. "Now."

​She led them into a newly carved chamber off the main hall. Sunk into the smooth obsidian floor were four rectangular vats, filled to the brim with glowing, viscous sapphire liquid. The ambient mana radiating from the Level 92 Leviathan water was so dense it made the air hard to breathe.

​"I carved one for each of you," Allison said, stripping Don’s tactical vest to lower him into the first vat. "Get in. The density will act like a stasis field while it knits your cells."

​Will looked at the three remaining baths. Maddie was swaying on her feet. Elias’s cybernetic eye was leaking fluid.

​Then he looked at Mara. The scavenger had collapsed against the cold stone wall. Her skin was a translucent, sickly grey. The ambient mana pressure of the Stronghold was crushing her atrophied, Level 3 lungs. She was suffocating on the air itself.

​"Take my spot," Will rasped, nodding toward the closest bath. He looked at Kael. "Get her in."

​Idiot. Khan’s voice didn’t just echo; it struck the inside of Will’s skull like a warhammer.

​Will gritted his teeth, hiding his broken hands in his pockets. A leader eats last, Khan. I take care of my people. She’s dying.

​A leader survives so his people do not burn! Khan snarled, his presence pacing like a caged tiger. Look at your hands. You cannot hold a bow. Your mana core is dust. If there is a trap inside this vault, who fights? The Vanguard? The Builder? No. The Warlord fights. And right now, you cannot even run.

​Will ignored him. He gestured awkwardly with his elbow. "Get her in the water, Kael. It’ll stabilize her core temperature." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

​You are not a martyr, Khan hissed, cold and vicious. You are the anchor. If you fall, this empire dies with you. Submerge yourself.

​"Will, you burned out your core," Allison warned, pausing as she submerged Don into the gel. "Your hands—"

​"I can wait," Will said stubbornly, cutting her off. "She can’t."

​Kael wept, whispering a continuous stream of thanks as he helped Mara out of her heavy, acid-soaked coat. He eased her into the thick, glowing sapphire gel.

​The Leviathan water enveloped her.

​Mara’s posture went entirely rigid. Her spine snapped straight, her head tilting back against the rim of the obsidian tub.

​Will pushed himself off the wall.

​Mara turned her head, staring blankly at the ceiling. The whites of her eyes flashed an oily, iridescent black.

​Elias’s scan had been flawless. But he hadn’t scanned for Signature Masking. P.A.C.I.F.I.C. hadn’t sent soldiers into the Forge; they had used the survivors’ pathetic, under-leveled stats as camouflage. They had bet entirely on the Faction’s mercy to bypass the vault doors.

​And Will had just submerged the host in a vat of pure, high-octane fuel.

​Deep inside Mara’s bloodstream, the dormant corporate plague-code hijacked the healing properties of the water, initiating an aggressive, exponential bloom.

​Mara gasped, her eyes returning to normal. She offered a weak, watery smile to Will. "Thank you. It feels... very warm."

​Will let out a slow breath, trying to dismiss the flash of her eyes as a trick of the light.

****

​Director Vance tapped the silver comms-link in his ear, terminating the connection with Commander Kaelen.

​He didn’t spare a second thought for the sweating, panicked middle-manager. Kaelen was a blunt instrument. Blunt instruments didn’t need to understand the physics of the swing; they only needed to know where to strike.

​Vance stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting the collar of a perfectly tailored, midnight-blue tuxedo. The air in his private dressing room didn’t smell of acid rain, sterile medical ozone, or rotting monster flesh. It smelled of aged scotch, genuine pre-collapse cedarwood, and the faint, expensive citrus notes of his cologne.

​A deep, localized vibration hummed through the soles of his polished dress shoes. The crystal tumbler on his vanity trembled, the scotch rippling slightly.

​A soft, polite knock sounded at the heavy mahogany door.

​"Enter," Vance said, perfectly aligning his silk bow tie.

​An aide stepped into the room in a crisp white uniform, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered. "Director Vance. The Board requested I inform you that the deep-crust docking ring is secure. The Lilith-class borers have locked in."

​Vance picked up the tumbler, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid. "All of the delegations?"

​"Yes, sir. The executive board from the Neo-Tokyo vault, the aristocrats from London-Eden, and the sovereign investors from New Dubai. The transit through the mantle was seamless. The Grand Ballroom is currently at capacity." The aide hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Sir, I should also report... the telemetry for Platinum Assets Vane and Kross just officially terminated."

​Vance set his empty glass down. "I am aware."

​He gestured casually with his left hand. A discreet, gold-trimmed System interface materialized beside his mirror. It wasn’t tracking monster kills, XP, or survival stats. It was a live corporate ticker.

​A red notification flashed in the corner: [Platinum Assets 04 & 09: Status Deceased. Write-off value: 4.2 Million Credits.]

​Vance didn’t even blink. He swiped the notification away, dismissing the deaths of his two best specialists into a digital trash bin. He focused instead on the main screen. He watched the Global Depopulation Index tick upward by a fraction of a percent, perfectly mirrored by a rising, bright green arrow on the Western Sector Ambient Mana-Yield charts.

​"Asset loss is a standard cost of acquisition," Vance murmured, straightening his cuffs. "The surface populations are finally thinning out, and the ambient mana is pooling exactly where we need it. The Trojan code just secured us an untapped, subterranean reservoir."

​"The Board will be very pleased with the quarterly projections, sir," the aide replied smoothly. "The masquerade is ready to begin at your leisure."

​"Excellent," Vance said, turning toward the door. "Let our guests enjoy the music. We have a great deal of newly acquired real estate to celebrate tonight."