ELARION : The Echo Breaker

CHAPTER 6: Black Arteries

"Back up, Niko," Ganda ordered quietly, eyes never leaving the wild crowd in front of them.

"Back up where?" hissed the merchant in panic, pulling the reins of his terrified donkey. "There's a patrol behind us, crazy people in front. If we stay here, my cart will be looted in five minutes!"

The riot broke in the form of shattered bottles. In the middle of that narrow Sector 4 street, two large miners were trying to kill each other. One swung a broken liquor bottle, the other gripped a rusty iron pipe. The cheers of the spectators were deafening, mixed with the hiss of factory steam that never slept.

CRASH!

A wooden crate was thrown from the makeshift boxing ring, slamming hard into Niko’s front wheel.

"Hey!" Niko shouted on reflex, his merchant instinct overriding his common sense. "That’s imitation mahogany! Expensive!"

The shout froze the air.

One of the fighters, a bald man with a slave number tattooed on his neck, stopped beating his opponent. He turned his head slowly. His eyes were red, blood vessels burst from a mix of industrial alcohol and rage. The iron pipe in his hand dripped thick blood.

"Expensive?" the man growled, his voice like grating iron. He spat onto the muddy asphalt. "You leech merchant? Coming in here with good goods while we eat coal dust?"

The man forgot his battered opponent. He walked toward Niko’s cart. His steps were heavy, dragging a lame left leg. His eyes fell on Ganda, who sat silently atop the pile of carpets.

Ganda didn’t move, his right hand covered in cloth, his left hand relaxed on his knee.

"And you..." The man pointed at Ganda with the tip of his pipe. "You’re too good to get down and help your master, huh? You Statue."

Ganda didn’t answer. Amidst the noise of Sector 4, he heard the sound inside the man’s body.

Gurgle... Gurgle... Gurgle...

Fluid in the right lung. Short breath. An irregular heartbeat, fueled by adrenaline and cheap poison. This man’s structure was broken before he even lifted his weapon.

"Answer me, Mute!" The man was offended by Ganda’s blank stare. He raised his iron pipe high. "I’ll crack your head so you can talk!"

The iron pipe swung down with murderous intent. Niko screamed, covering his eyes.

Ganda didn’t flinch. Without rising from his seat, he simply raised his numb right hand, using the wrapped Dao as a shield.

CLANG!

The sound of heavy, dull metal collision rang out. The thug’s iron pipe slammed into Ganda’s wrapped sword. The vibration was incredibly violent. To a normal person, that impact would have cracked the forearm bone.

But Ganda didn’t budge. His face was flat. The Nerve Oil worked perfectly. He felt the physical pressure, but no pain. His nerves were silent.

Conversely, the thug yelled in shock. His iron pipe bent from hitting something far denser. The vibration of the impact traveled back up his arm, making his fingers tingle intensely.

"Wh... What’s in that cloth?!" stammered the thug, taking a step back while clutching his trembling hand.

Ganda looked at the bundle in his hand. Heavy. He could feel the residual vibration of the impact traveling through his bones.

Ganda remembered when he had a high fever at seven years old. His mother would press her cheek to Ganda’s chest, then hum a low note from her throat. That warm vibration traveled into his ribs, calming his racing heart, telling his body to rest.

That was the language of his People: a song that knitted life.

But today, the vibration in his hand felt cold and sharp. This hand had forgotten how to knit. This hand only remembered how to tear.

Before, vibration saved him. Now, vibration was his weapon.

"Your turn," Ganda murmured.

He didn't stand up. He simply rotated his waist, utilizing the heavy momentum of the sword. With a sweeping motion, he swung the cloth-wrapped bundle toward the thug’s ribs.

Not a slash. A bash.

THUD!

The sound was like a sack of cement falling from the second floor. The Dao was blunt and wrapped, but its weight was enough to crush the fighting spirit. The thug was thrown sideways, crashing into a pile of empty crates. He groaned, clutching his ribs, his breath gone instantly. He passed out.

Silence.

Ganda placed the sword back on his lap. Calm. The crowd of workers fell silent, eyes wide at the bent iron pipe and the big man felled by a single casual swing.

"Anyone want... more used pots?" asked Ganda hoarsely, his eyes staring blankly at the crowd.

The crowd dispersed faster than rats spotting a cat.

One hour later.

They were hiding in an old bankrupt textile warehouse on the outskirts of Sector 4. It smelled musty, but at least it was quiet.

"We’re safe here," said Niko, closing the rusty sliding door. He lit an oil lantern with trembling hands. "Crazy... that hit... you didn’t even look at his legs."

Ganda didn’t answer. He sat in a dark corner, unwrapping his Dao. The rusty blade absorbed the lantern light, looking old and hungry.

Then, his ears caught something.

Not the sound of held breath. But the sound of... tick... tick... tick...

Small metal clinking. Like clockwork needles, or small tools rubbing together inside a pocket. And a very quiet murmuring, almost like a rapid mathematical chant.

"...forty-five degree angle... bone compression... vector is strange..."

"Niko," called Ganda softly. "Up above."

Niko looked up in surprise.

On the roof support beam, someone was hanging upside down like a bat in the wrong costume, holding their body with a worn leather rope while scribbling in a small notebook.

"Whoa!" Niko stepped back, almost dropping his lantern.

The figure gasped, startled at being discovered. Balance wavered. Tried to grab the wooden beam but missed.

Thud!

The fall. Not a smooth superhero landing, but an embarrassing butt-landing onto a pile of dusty gunny sacks.

"Ouch! Dammit, my pencil broke..."

The figure sat up, blowing her messy bangs out of her face in annoyance. It was a girl. Small. Probably drowning in her own clothes.

She wore large goggles on her forehead, and a leather mechanic’s apron full of pockets, making her look like a mining dwarf.

Clink... clank...

The sound came from her waist, wrenches, screwdrivers, magnifying lenses, and small tubes hanging like charms.

She patted the dust from her apron, then turned to Ganda.

"You..."

The girl pushed her goggles down over her eyes, then walked closer with quick, impatient steps, like a scientist discovering a living experiment.

"Stop," said Ganda coldly.

The girl ignored the threat. She was already standing right in front of Ganda. The smell of engine oil, metal, and a faint scent of cheap lavender soap wafted from her.

"That iron pipe impact," the girl chattered rapidly, her voice slightly nasal with excitement. "Pipe mass roughly 3 kilograms. Full swing. Your radius bone should have had hairline fractures from the vibration. But you... you absorbed the vibration. The vector died at your elbow. How?"

As she spoke, she pushed her goggles back up to her forehead because they fogged up. And that was where her "weapon" was revealed.

Under the layer of coal dust on her cheeks and grease stains on her sharp nose, the girl's face was actually... delicate. A face too clean for a place this rotten, only covered in soot.

But her eyes were the most arresting feature. Large, round, and a very light copper-brown color. Those eyes shone with near-manic intelligence, blinking rapidly under curled lashes.

There was a strange and attractive contrast between the dirty face, baggy workshop clothes, and eyes too clear for this filth.

Without permission, driven by pure scientific curiosity, a small calloused hand snatched Ganda’s right wrist.

Ganda tensed. His killing instinct flared. But he held back. This girl had no killing intent. She had the intent... to research.

"Cold," whispered the girl, eyes wide with amazement. Her ink-stained fingers felt the muscles of Ganda’s numb arm.

"Your muscles aren't tense. Nerves dead? No, this is artificial. Chemical? You’re blocking pain signals locally?"

She looked up, meeting Ganda’s eyes with an innocent gaze unaware of danger. Her grease-smudged nose wrinkled in thought.

"You are an extraordinary specimen. You... you are a walking structural anomaly!"

"Let go," hissed Ganda. His voice low, threatening.

The girl flinched, as if just realizing she was holding the hand of a killer, not a lathe machine.

"Oh!"

Her face turned bright red beneath the oil grime. She pulled her hand back quickly, then pretended to be busy adjusting the wrench on her waist out of embarrassment.

"Sorry. Sorry. I... sometimes I forget social protocols," she mumbled quickly, not daring to meet Ganda’s eyes again. "I’m Elara. Former Structural Engineer of Sector 7. Junior Architect... who got fired."

Niko lowered his knife, staring confused at this strange creature. "Engineer? You look like a crazy mechanic who just crawled out of a sewer."

"And you look like a merchant who will die robbed in 24 hours because you’re too noisy," Elara shot back sharply without turning, lips pouting slightly.

Her focus returned to Ganda. She took a breath, trying to look professional even though her ears were still red.

"I need to get into the Central Tower Core. There’s a vibration anomaly there I have to record. But the sensors there... sensitive. Normal footsteps will trigger pressure alarms."

She pointed at Ganda’s feet with the tip of her screwdriver.

"But you... I noticed you walk without 'weight'. You don't stomp your heels. You flow. I need that data. I need you to take me inside."

Ganda stared at the girl. Nerdy. Obsessive. Awkward. Her large eyes and explosive enthusiasm were... disturbing. It was a type of energy Ganda wasn't used to dealing with.

"What’s in it for us?" asked Ganda flatly, trying to ignore the fact that this girl was looking at him like he was the world’s most interesting math puzzle.

"I’m the Architect who built half the ventilation shafts in this place," said Elara, chin lifting slightly with pride. "I know which pipes can be climbed, and which ones will melt your skin off. Without me, you’re just blind rats in a hot maze."

Elara extended a hand black with oil and ink. Her fingers still trembled slightly with excitement.

"I’ll be your map. You be my protector... and my research subject. Deal?"

Ganda looked at the small hand. This was a dangerous ally, not because she was strong, but because she was too smart and too weird to predict. But Ganda needed a way in.

Ganda didn't shake the hand. He just lowered his sword.

"Don't touch my hand again without permission," Ganda said, tone final.

Elara pulled her hand back, but she wasn't offended. She grinned widely, a smile revealing slightly crooked rabbit teeth, making her look even further from dangerous.

"Noted! Subject aggressive toward physical touch. Fascinating..." she muttered while hurriedly scribbling in her small notebook.

Elara stepped back, sat cross-legged in front of a pile of crates, instantly busy unrolling crumpled blueprints and starting to mutter crazy calculations again, as if Ganda and Niko were no longer there.

Ganda leaned against the wall. He looked at his numb hand, then glanced briefly at the strange girl who was serious with her papers.

Crazy mechanic, he thought. But at least, she knows the way.