The Kinetic Emperor: Reborn in a World of Iron

Chapter 12

In his previous life, before he became the God of War, he had been a soldier in the mud. He remembered the smell of the trenches. He remembered the feeling of gear that was held together by nothing but string and prayer.

The Academy was a lie. It was a shiny, chrome mask. This—the Sump—was the truth of the world. It was raw. It was violent. It was real.

"I hate this place," Ren muttered. He was holding his sleeve over his nose. "I feel like the rust is getting into my blood. I need a shower. I need a real meal. I need to get back to the Upper Levels."

"You want to go back to the place that throws people into chutes?" Silas asked.

Ren didn't answer. He just walked faster, his sneakers splashing through a puddle of iridescent oil.

They reached a market square. It was a chaotic mess of stalls made from old shipping containers. Sellers yelled out prices for "Fresh Air Canisters," "Recycled Protein Strips," and "Grade-C Battery Cells."

A tall man with a face covered in tattoos stepped into their path. He wore a coat made of woven electrical wires. His teeth were filed into sharp points.

"Fresh meat," the man rumbled. He looked at Silas’s clean Academy uniform. "You’re a long way from the sky, little bird. You look expensive."

Ren froze. He started to reach for his credits, his hands shaking. "We... we don't want any trouble. We're just passing through."

The man laughed. He reached out a hand—a hand with two mechanical fingers that sparked with electricity. "Trouble is the only thing that’s free down here, kid. Give me the hoodie. And the boots."

Silas stepped in front of Ren.

He didn't draw the Viper-Blade. Not yet. He simply looked the man in the eyes.

"The boots are dirty," Silas said. His voice was calm, almost bored. "And the hoodie is cheap. You don't want them."

The man’s smile faded. "You talking back to me, Dreg?"

"I am giving you a tactical assessment," Silas said. He took a step closer, entering the man's personal space. He could smell the ozone from the man's fingers. "If you try to take them, I will have to break your fingers. If I break your fingers, you cannot work. If you cannot work, you starve. Is a pair of used boots worth your life?"

The man hesitated. He looked at Silas’s eyes. He didn't see the fear he usually saw in Academy runaways. He saw a cold, absolute stillness. It was the look of someone who had seen thousands of men die and was perfectly comfortable adding one more to the count.

The man backed away, his sparking fingers twitching. "Whatever. You're probably diseased anyway. Move on."

Ren let out a breath he had been holding for a minute. "How do you do that? You didn't even hit him!"

"War is 90% psychology, Ren," Silas said, continuing his walk. "If you show a predator that the cost of the kill is higher than the value of the meat, he will find an easier target."

They reached the edge of the market. Ahead of them lay "The Warrens"—a dense maze of tunnels carved into the very foundations of the planet. This was where the black market lived. This was where the "Invisible People" ran their empires.

Ren stopped at a large, rusted ventilation shaft. Above it, a red light blinked in a rhythmic pattern.

"This is it," Ren said. His voice was different now. The panic had faded, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion. "This is as far as I go."

Silas turned to look at him. "The Warrens are just ahead. You know the way better than I do."

Ren shook his head. He looked at his hands, which were stained with grey dust. "I can't do it, Kian. Or Silas. Whoever you are. I’m not a soldier. I’m a Runner. I survive by staying in the middle. I’m the guy who knows everyone and belongs to no one."

He looked up at the "Roof" of the Sump, toward the distant white dot of the Academy.

"Down here... it's too real," Ren whispered. "I thought I wanted to see the truth. I thought I wanted to be a rebel. But I'm just a kid who likes warm showers and Nutri-Sludge. I don't belong here. And I definitely don't belong next to you."

"You think I'm dangerous," Silas stated.

"I think you're a thunderstorm," Ren said. "And I don't want to get hit by the lightning. You're going to start a war, aren't you? You didn't just come down here to hide. You came here to build something."

Silas didn't deny it. He looked toward the Warrens. "I am going to reclaim what was stolen."

Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing data-chip. He held it out to Silas.

"This is a localized map-chip," Ren said. "I stole it from the Logistics Office months ago. It has the layout of the Warrens, the hidden tunnels, and the locations of the three major gangs: The Gear-Heads, The Chem-Slingers, and The Iron-Saints. It also has the code for the maintenance lift back to Sector D. If... if you ever decide to come back."

Silas took the chip. It felt warm in his palm. "Why give me this? You said you wanted to stay in the middle."

Ren shrugged. A small, sad smile touched his face. "Because for ten seconds in that locker room, you made Jace look like the trash. And for twenty seconds in the Ring, you made the whole Academy go quiet. I’ve lived my whole life being invisible. Watching you... it was like watching a star explode. It was terrifying, but I couldn't look away."

Ren stepped back toward the ventilation shaft. "Don't die, Silas. If you die, I lose the ten credits I bet on you."

"I have no intention of dying," Silas said. "Not until the work is done."