After dealing with Ranger, the rest of the path was, quite literally, smooth sailing for Asher.
He noticed cameras tucked into the hidden corners of the ceiling as he walked, but didn't bother with them. If anyone was watching, then they'd either seen his fight with Ranger—or seen that he was the one who walked away from it unscathed.
That alone would send the message.
Instead, Asher turned his attention to Penny, opening a comm link through his HUD. It took a second to connect. On the other end, he was met with the sharp sounds of combat—clashing metal, the high-pitched hum of hard-light projectiles firing in steady bursts.
"Penny, what's your status?"
There was a short pause before her voice came through, tight with focus.
"I've encountered one of the Huntsmen my father warned us about, they're- Hold on!" The hallway around Asher gave a subtle tremor as a distant explosion rumbled through the audio channel.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she responded quickly, though the chaotic noise in the background said otherwise.
"But they're stronger than I anticipated."
Asher came to a stop as he asked, "Do you need backup? I can loop around and help." He was being honest. If Penny was in real danger, he'd abandon the lead on the White Fang's Branch Leader. At most it would mean delaying Mori's quest, nothing that couldn't be made up for.
But Penny's voice came back with steady confidence, despite the mayhem around her.
"No, I've got this. You focus on the leader—I'll handle things here."
Asher paused for a second, then gave a sharp nod as he said, "Alright. I'll check in again soon, just in case."
"Got it," she confirmed before the comm link went silent.
With that, Asher kept moving. He could still feel the occasional tremor—the muffled echoes of Penny's fight rumbling through the walls—but he didn't let them pull his focus. Before long, he reached the far end of the subbasement's second level, where the two branching hallways finally reconnected.
Just ahead stood the doorway to the generator room. According to intel, it had been repurposed into a makeshift control center.
Still no sign of any more White Fang operatives… Either they are all tied up with Penny, or they retreated here—bunkered down for a last stand.
And he was right.
Behind the reinforced door, Sinn and the remaining White Fang members on this floor had gathered. The room's desks and chairs had been flipped over, forming a crude barricade. Even some of the equipment—monitors, cables, console panels—had been torn from their stations and repurposed as cover.
Every operable weapon was set up, locked, and loaded for a final stand.
Only about twenty of them remained. In a matter of hours, the entire Atlas branch of the White Fang had been whittled down to a couple dozen.
Silence gripped the control room like a vice.
Every little sound stood out—the scrape of gunmetal against desks, the collective rhythm of tense breathing, the slow drip of sweat running down brows. They could hear the low hum of the generator through the adjacent wall, steady and impersonal, but no voices broke the stillness.
No one spoke. Because nothing else needed to be said.
This was it.
Through the remaining monitors still connected to the camera system, everyone watched as Asher approached the door—a rogue element that seemed both human and machine. Even through the reinforced walls, they could hear the heavy thud of his exosuit with every step.
He came to a halt just outside. Rather than immediately try to force the door open, he turned toward the camera feeding their view, as if he knew exactly where they were watching from.
In a single, fluid motion, he pulled something from beneath his coat. It was hard to make out the details, but it resembled some kind of compact device.
The moment he activated it, a pulse rippled outward. It wasn't just the cameras that went offline—everything powered down at once. The control room's security systems, surveillance feeds, overhead lighting, the blaring alarms, even the generator in the next room—all fell silent.
Darkness flooded in, broken only by the dull red glow of the emergency backup lights. They couldn't see what was happening beyond the door to the control room anymore.
"What happened to the power?" Sinn asked, his voice low. Not because he was calm—but because something about speaking too loudly felt wrong, like it might trigger something worse.
A nearby technician—one of the few White Fang members who managed the control room's systems—spoke up cautiously.
"We're not sure. It looks like some kind of EMP or signal jammer... maybe both."
Sinn's brow furrowed.
"We added electromagnetic shielding to this room. That was supposed to prevent this exact thing. So why is everything down?"
"We- We don't know, sir," another member replied, voice tense and unsure.
Sinn clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but there was no time to investigate. Not with the enemy standing just outside their door.
Then they heard it—a sharp bang against the metal door in front of them, where every weapon was aimed. The sound echoed harshly off the stone walls, shaking them to their core.
A second bang followed almost immediately, this time making the door visibly tremble. The lock, bolted tight and drilled deep into the wall, vibrated with the impact, and the wall itself cracked faintly.
Another, louder bang came next, denting the door slightly and widening the cracks in the stone.
Breathing grew heavier, more labored, as everyone double-checked their weapons—waiting.
Then, the final strike came.
The lock shattered, and the metal door swung open with a heavy groan. As it moved, the remaining White Fang members opened fire instantly. Pulses from hard-light assault rifles ripped through the air, mixed with the staccato of regular gunfire.
The doorway and the surrounding wall came under a relentless barrage. Bullets and hard-light projectiles peppered the surface, chipping away chunks of stone. Dust began to fill the air, thickening as it settled over the entrance—but still, the firing didn't stop.
Part of it was the necessity—they couldn't afford to let up. Another part was raw fear of what might come if they did.
But their ammunition was limited.
As magazines ran low, Sinn raised his hand sharply and called out, "Cease fire! Cease fire!"
He had to tap several of the closest members on the shoulder before his command cut through the chaos. When it did, they didn't hesitate.
Those wielding hard-light rifles kept their sights locked on the dusty doorway, but everyone else scrambled to reload as fast as they could.
"Come on… come on! Shit!" One of the White Fang crouched behind a barricade near the door muttered, fumbling with his pistol. His nerves betrayed him as his fingers slipped while trying to reload.
When he finally managed to reload, the White Fang operative let out a shaky sigh of relief.
His eyes flicked back up toward the dust-shrouded doorway—just in time to see a figure burst through it. The air seemed to ripple around Asher's form, a blur of movement too fast for the human eye to fully follow. In a blink, he was on the White Fang member who had just rearmed.
Before the man could process what was happening, a hand clamped around his head. A sharp, sickening snap followed. His neck broke cleanly. His body slumped to the floor a second later, limp and lifeless, as Asher plucked the pistol from his hand.
Before anyone could properly register what was happening—before they could even shout—six shots rang out in rapid succession. Each one found its mark, striking between the eyes of White Fang soldiers. The ones wielding hard-light weapons were prioritized, shot down before they could react.
"Contact!" Someone finally screamed, voice cracking with panic as the bodies hit the floor.
"Get down!" Another barked, grabbing Sinn by the arm and pulling him behind cover just as the rest of the room erupted.
Gunfire roared through the control room. Hard-light pulses and bullets lit up the dust-choked air once again. The sound bounced off every surface, mixing with shouted orders, panicked screams, and the echoing chaos of battle.
Sinn sat on the floor, shielding his ears as the firefight overwhelmed his senses. He couldn't tell what was happening—who was alive, who was dead—but then he saw the very person who had pulled him to safety fall backward violently.
Their skull struck the floor with a sickening thud, blood splashing across the floor as a bullet hole was revealed clean through their forehead.
The fighting didn't let up. Seconds stretched out like minutes, and for a moment it felt like the barrage would never end.
Then… silence.
A final burst of shots rang out—and then, nothing.
Sinn stayed frozen, ears ringing. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hands and listened to the stillness. Cautiously, he shifted to one knee and peeked over the barricade that had kept him alive.
That's when he saw it—the aftermath.
Every White Fang member who had been in the control room now lay motionless on the floor. Their bodies were twisted in final acts of resistance, weapons still clutched in hand, expressions frozen in a grim mix of defiance and desperation. They had fought to the very end.
And standing in the center of it all was the armored figure Sinn had seen again and again on the monitors—now here, in person.
The glow from the figure's helmet eyes cut through the settling dust. The dark, dulled alloy plating of the suit caught the light just enough. Surrounded by death, it was a suffocating sight.
"Branch Leader of Atlas's White Fang, I assume?" The figure asked.
The voice was unmistakably Asher's—calm, almost conversational. He moved, but not toward Sinn. Instead, he turned to the warped metal door he'd broken through. The frame had been twisted by gunfire and brute force, but with one powerful motion, Asher slammed it shut, bending it enough to wedge it closed.
The question lingered in the silence.
Sinn swallowed hard, his throat dry, his pulse loud in his ears. He hesitated before answering, gaze flicking across the carnage around him.
"...That's right."
"Good." Asher turned and walked toward the center of the room, stepping over debris and bodies without pause. He reached down, grabbed a mostly intact chair that had been part of the barricade, and set it upright. Then, with a small motion of his hand, he gestured for Sinn to sit.
There was a pause.
Sinn's mind raced. For a moment, he considered running, maybe even trying to fight—but the thought died as quickly as it formed. He looked again at the lifeless figures on the floor. These were soldiers. Many of them had been hardened, experienced fighters. And even Ranger, a near-graduate-level Huntsman, hadn't stood a chance.
Whatever this thing in front of him was it wasn't something he could beat.
So, he moved. Slowly. Carefully. He stepped over the fallen with what dignity he could manage and sat in the chair, keeping his posture straight, his expression defiant.
If nothing else, he could face death with his chin held high.
And just as he sat, the room flickered. The emergency lighting dimmed as power returned.
Overhead bulbs buzzed to life, monitors blinked back on, and control systems began rebooting one by one—casting the aftermath in stark, clinical light.
"So... who are you?" Sinn demanded, voice stiff with defiance.
"You didn't kill me like the others, so what do you want? Information? I'm not telling you a damn thing." As he spoke, Asher remained silent, appearing more focused on his surroundings than on Sinn.
He moved methodically, grabbing a table that, like the chair, had survived the firefight with minimal damage. He dragged it over and set it up about a meter or two away from where Sinn sat.
Only once everything was positioned did Asher finally acknowledge him.
Without a word, he reached up and unlocked the front of his helmet. With a soft click and a quiet hiss of pressure release, the faceplate came loose. He pulled it free, revealing his face beneath.
Sinn's eyes widened. He blinked in disbelief.
"You... You're just a kid." But the moment of surprise shifted quickly into something else, recognition. Sinn squinted, leaning forward slightly as realization struck.
"Wait… wait a second. I know you. You're the one who killed Silver during the hijacking... Asher Frostvale!"
"Silver? So that was his name? Technically, the fall killed him. But I suppose the media credited it all to me." He spoke with eerie calm. Not relaxed. Not even cold, exactly. Just deliberate. Controlled. Like someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and exactly why.
That calm, paired with his youth and the pile of bodies behind him, sent a chill through Sinn's entire body. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Why was someone like this working with the military? How did he get a suit like that? Who trained him? But none of the questions made it to his lips.
He didn't even trust his voice not to shake.
Asher removed the rest of his helmet, placing both it and the detached faceplate on the table beside him. He exhaled a short, quiet breath—something between a sigh and a reset—then locked eyes with Sinn.
"Were you the one who gave the order for the hijacking?" He asked flatly.
Sinn's gaze hardened.
"Like I said, I'm not telling you anything. If this is about revenge, then you're wasting your time." He leaned back in the chair, jaw tight.
"Just kill me already."
Asher's expression remained unreadable as he extended one hand, and almost instantly, a razor-thin wire snapped into existence between his fingers. There was no flourish, no use of his hard-light hologram trick—he showed no need to conceal anything from the man before him.
Sinn's brow furrowed in confusion.
Where did that wire come from? Is it some kind of semblance?
Asher offered no explanation. Instead, he stepped forward and began binding Sinn to the chair. The moment Sinn realized what was happening, he struggled, but his resistance was futile. The exosuit that cloaked Asher could exert tons upon tons of force, far beyond anything Sinn could counteract.
In mere minutes, his wrists and ankles were wrapped tightly with the wire—woven so expertly that any attempt to break free would only cause the wire to slice deeper into his skin.
"Stop struggling," Asher said calmly, leaning against the table he had just set up.
"If you keep this up, you'll cut into a blood vessel before you manage to get free."
After saying that, Asher's voice then lowered, addressing someone else entirely. Sinn, still wincing at the sharp stings around his limbs, blinked in confusion.
"So does he count?" Asher asked.
Sinn opened his mouth to ask who Asher meant, but before he could finish, the armored figure simply continued, ignoring him.
"I know you're watching. If you're going to keep appearing whenever you please, then be useful for once and answer me."
The irritation in Asher's voice was subtle but unmistakable.
"Who are you talking to-" Sinn started again, but a sudden sound cut him off: the unmistakable voice of a child echoed out from the room's speakers.
"You know, Asher, you're not supposed to address a spectator who's enjoying the show. It really breaks immersion," Mori's voice echoed with childlike amusement, seemingly broadcast from every corner of the control room—despite the fact that half the speakers were broken or unplugged.
Asher didn't flinch. He didn't need to see a visual to know who it was.
"Mori," he said flatly.
"Just answer the question," Asher continued, eyes flicking briefly to a functioning speaker, "then you can go back to enjoying yourself."
"Ugh, you're no fun," Mori sighed theatrically.
"Anyway, if you must know—yes, he counts as one of them. Honestly, I'm a little surprised how fast you've gotten here. You're really speeding through this one." Time wasn't frozen, not this time.
Sinn glanced around with a furrowed brow, trying to follow the conversation.
"Who is that? Who's talking?" He asked, clearly unsettled.
"Shush now, the adults are talking," Mori interrupted sweetly.
Sinn's mouth kept moving as he tried to protest, but no sound came out. His throat moved, his breath vibrated through his vocal cords, but not a single audible word escaped him. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened.
Asher didn't acknowledge it. He just kept his focus on Mori's voice.
"Anyway," Mori continued brightly, "as I was saying, you did all this faster than I thought you would. It was really exciting to watch—so exciting, in fact, that I was thinking of giving you a little bonus early."
Asher's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh relax, it's nothing bad," Mori replied with mock innocence.
"I just thought—after you're done with him—I'd give you a peek at your rewards. A little preview of what you're earning from all this effort. Isn't that generous of me? Letting you see your options before you even unlock them?"
Asher stared at a wall for a beat too long. His expression hadn't changed much, but the doubt was there. His tone didn't hide it either.
"And the catch?"
Mori giggled.
"There isn't one. Not every decision I make has to be some multi-layered, soul-altering narrative twist, you know. Sometimes I just want to be nice." Asher didn't buy it, but he didn't push either. A flicker of resignation passed through his gaze.
"Fine," he muttered.
"You can go back to being invisible now."
Over the speaker, Mori let out a theatrical tsk-tsk, his tone turning playfully wounded.
"Tch, you call me when you want something, and then immediately send me away? I swear, there's no love in this relationship," he huffed. His voice faded with a whimsical pout in his tone, slowly dissipating like static on a dying channel.
And then—silence.
The moment the last trace of Mori's voice vanished, Sinn suddenly gasped.
"W- What... what was that? Why couldn't I speak?! Who are you people!?"
Asher didn't answer right away. He simply glanced at Sinn, then stood fully upright again and turned toward the table. Without gesture or sound, a series of objects began to materialize one by one—tools summoned directly from his Nexus Space.
Some were tiny—needles, pins, wires of varying lengths and thicknesses. Others were more sinister in design: clamps, sharp-pointed instruments, and devices whose purpose clearly wasn't mechanical. None of them looked like they belonged in a medical kit. All of them looked like they were meant to hurt.
Asher picked up one of the finer tools and turned it in his fingers, holding it up to the light for inspection. As it glinted, and without turning all the way around, he tilted his head slightly toward Sinn, just enough that one eye could glance back at him.
"You don't have to worry about that," he said calmly.
Then, after a pause, he added, "Though if you want to make this easier on yourself... try not to hold back your voice too much. As childish as he seems, Mori's a sadist." Asher placed the tool back down carefully, his gaze unmoving as he selected the next one.
"He likes to hear people scream."