The metallic keen of the derelict spire was the only sound Rheon Vale heard, even as Gamma 9 and Gamma 10 frantically descended the hole Lyra had torn in the floor. Rheon ignored their comms chatter. His mind was engaged in a more vital, more silent conversation.
Hunt your enemy, or hunt your ally.
He stood still for one full minute, letting the terrifying weight of Lyra's information settle. She had not only escaped him; she had shattered the operational parameters of his entire existence. If Morn intended to usurp control of the Nosferis to become a sentient, nanite-enhanced vampire king, then Rheon was a disposable tool, an obstacle to be eliminated.
His absolute discipline, the trait the Federation prized, was now his greatest weapon.
"Gamma units," Rheon finally cut into the comms, his voice low and utterly steady. "Subject has utilised the subterranean networks. We cannot pursue without specialised vehicles. Secure the perimeter. Log the current events as a successful stabilisation and subsequent temporary escape due to structural compromise. Do not mention the Bloodlink's psychological breach."
"Understood, Commander," Gamma 9 replied, too relieved by the clear orders to question the deliberate obfuscation.
Rheon descended the spire, his focus already shifting from the physical hunt to the internal and deadly investigation. He needed proof—irrefutable evidence of the Cognitive Merge protocol.
Back in the command centre, Rheon moved with chilling efficiency. The room, once a comfort of order, now felt like the sterile cage Lyra had described.
He bypassed the standard security protocols, routing his access through his confidential Omega Rank Military Audit credentials—a secret privilege granted only to the Federation's top three enforcers to police the scientists.
He isolated Dr Seraph Morn's protected project logs. The files were encrypted with multiple layers of bio lock and behavioural modelling, but they were no match for Rheon's authorisation and cold, focused mind.
He skipped past the data on Lyra's initial capture, past the details of the Crimson Bio Fluid, and searched for the key phrase: Phase IV: Cognitive Protocol.
The files loaded slowly, each line of code feeling like a fresh wound on Rheon's loyalty. The protocol was horrifyingly clear: The ultimate goal was not integration of the Aether Fragment with Lyra's consciousness, but the preparation of Lyra's nanite-reinforced vampiric brain for a Donor Recipient Neural Upload.
The Donor: Dr Seraph Morn.
The Recipient: Project Nosferis, designated Lyra Kain.
The documents detailed a complex process in which Morn's entire consciousness, memories, and ambitions would be digitally mapped and then uploaded into Lyra's newly enhanced brain, effectively overwriting her and binding the Aether Fragment to his superior intellect.
Lyra had been right. She was not a project; she was a host body being prepared for a monster's ascension. And Rheon had been sent to recapture the only woman who knew the truth.
Rheon felt a cold, calculated fury settle over him. It was not the passionate, hot anger of a betrayed lover, but the cynical, absolute rage of a soldier whose code had been systematically violated. He had served under the absolute certainty of order and justice. Morn had poisoned the well.
He copied the entire Cognitive Protocol file onto a highly restricted, encrypted data shard—a contingency device meant for terminal situations.
The door hissed open, announcing the arrival of General Korr Vance.
Vance stepped in, his expression one of paternal disappointment. "I heard your report, Commander. 'Structural compromise.' You sound fatigued. You let the asset escape too easily, Vale."
Rheon turned, his gaze utterly steady, devoid of expression. "With respect, General, the asset's regeneration and speed were superior to the armour's reflex systems. I prevented her from exiting the sub levels entirely. I have isolated her location to the subterranean network beneath the Sprawl."
He raised his psychological shields, relying on years of military discipline to project absolute loyalty. He saw the flicker of suspicion in Vance's eyes, the military leader gauging his enforcer's commitment.
"The important thing is the asset is contained to our grid," Vance said, stepping close, his voice low and dangerous. "Do not fail on the next sweep, Commander. And understand this: the success of the Nosferis project is non-negotiable. Anyone who threatens it—Morn, Lyra, or even a top Commander—will be deemed a terminal threat."
Vance's implication was terrifyingly clear: he didn't care about Morn's potential treason, only the success of the resulting weapon. If Morn failed, Vance would kill him. If Rheon failed, Vance would kill him.
"I understand, General," Rheon replied, his voice a flat, dead monotone. "The success of the Federation is paramount."
Vance clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture that felt like a burial. "Good. Now, I'm putting Morn under temporary supervision. And you, Commander, will lead the deep sweep retrieval team. You know the asset's tactics better than anyone. Get her back, Vale. Alive."
"I will retrieve the target," Rheon promised, his tone ringing with a sincerity that was entirely treasonous.
Rheon watched Vance leave. He felt the cold weight of the data shard in the hidden pocket of his armour. He had the proof. He had the truth. And now he had a new mission.
He was no longer hunting Lyra Kain for the Federation. He was hunting her for survival.
He sat down at his console, retuning his armour's sensors. He accessed the wide band communication grid and transmitted his orders to Gamma 9 and Gamma 10—fake coordinates and a containment protocol that would send them on a wild goose chase.
He then pulled up the live feed of the Aether Trace data from the last quadrant. Lyra's unique, combined signature—vampiric energy mixed with the Federation's nanotech—was still faintly active in the deep undercity.
Rheon began stripping the heavy Vanguard Armour. He left the bulk of the power chassis, trading protection for speed and stealth. He kept only the essential internal filtration systems, the wrist-mounted comms, the suppression pistol, and a smaller, energy-bladed combat knife.
He was no longer a soldier on duty; he was a hunter going rogue.
"Initiate Black Protocol," Rheon commanded the console. The room lights dimmed to emergency levels. "Log all further actions under personal, untraceable military identifier: Ascendant Alpha 1."
He looked down at the data shard nestled in his palm. Lyra Kain was the key. She was the weapon Morn wanted, the monster Vance would deploy, and the only person who could help Rheon expose the deep rot at the core of the Federation.
He had to find her. He had to convince her. And he had to survive long enough to turn the Nosferis weapon back on its creators.
Rheon Vale, the perfect, disciplined soldier, stepped out of the command centre and into the shadows of the Aeternum Sprawl, now a treasonous seeker of a dark-eyed vampire Queen.
The pursuit was now a pact with the devil.
And the General never saw him leave.