A synthesized voice blared through the ArchTek complex.
"Alert: Unauthorized access detected at Altar Console Terminal Fifteen.
Deploying S.C.U. M–NK."
Somewhere deep within the facility, a hatch hissed open. From it, codename Monk emerged—dragged out by a mechanical conveyor as if birthed by the machine itself.
Robotic arms moved with clinical precision, loading his compartments with a full suite of Enchanter-Class cartridges.
Monk stretched—slow, deliberate movements syncing with internal calibrations. Then, without warning, a cartridge ejected from his spine.
He was gone.
A blur of motion and precision.
As he tore through the corridor, each tight corner triggered another cartridge to launch from his calves, halting his momentum mid-sprint and slingshotting him in a new direction. He didn't slow down—he never had to.
Within seven seconds, Monk reached the Altar Console.
Unlike standard models, he wore no visor. Instead, an array of cameras encircled his head—offering full 360-degree vision at all times.
He didn't stop.
Fueled by unrelenting speed, Monk drew back a clenched fist, its surface glowing red-hot from a freshly deployed ignition spell.
He struck.
The sound that followed wasn't from contact—but from velocity.
A sonic boom cracked through the laboratory as his fist shattered the air itself.
But the figure at the console was untouched.
By the time Monk's fist had passed through, the target had already dissolved—vanishing like mist in a breeze.
"Clever little cockroach," Monk muttered.
Without turning, he shot backwward—just ahead of the blast triggered beneath the illusion spell. The explosion lit the room in a brief flash before fading into silence.
Three metallic clinks followed. Two cartridges hit the floor from Monk. One from the intruder.
She struck fast.
Lightning laced around her arm as she lunged—aiming to catch him off guard—but Monk slipped to the side effortlessly. He had no blind spots.
She landed in a roll, sliding into a low stance. Now they stood, facing off. A silent stalemate crackling with tension.
"Interesting," Monk said. "An archaic Phantom-Class trying to nip at ArchTek's heels. I hope whoever holds the end of your leash understands what they've walked you into.Come quietly. ArchTek may show leniency."
There was a particular kind of arrogance D-Mo couldn't stand about this S.C.U.
Not only did he have a voice—which was rare enough—but he had the worst personality OS to match. She had to admit, part of her was jealous.
She stole a glance at the console. The data transfer sat at 30%, climbing fast—but not fast enough to justify holding back against an Enchanter-Class.
Luckily, the console was built to withstand heavy spell damage. Her cast didn't affect the download.
"Not much for words, are you, cockroach?" Monk taunted, cracking his neck with a shrug. "Fine. We'll rip the logs right out of that shiny skull and figure out exactly where you came from."
He lunged—fast as a bullet.
But D-Mo's visor was more advanced than his full-spectrum system. She could see the trajectories before he even fully committed. Her movements were minimal, precise—enough for his strikes to do nothing more than graze air.
But Monk wasn't predictable.
The first punch was just a feint—designed to bait D-Mo into dodging the wrong way. As she shifted right, reading the attack, he was already moving. A maneuver cartridge fired mid-motion, and he curved around behind her like a shadow.
She saw it all. Her visor tracked every frame.
But it didn't matter.
Her body was still committed to the dodge—locked in the momentum.
The second punch landed squarely, sending her hurtling into the wall. The impact cracked the concrete in the shape of her body, spiderwebs of damage tracing outward like veins.
Static bloomed across her HUD. The entire right side of her vision went dark.
Before she could recover, the next blow crashed into her chest—driving her deeper into the wall, shattering it entirely as she was launched through to the other side.
A faint trail of blue source fluid marked the distance between the breach in the wall and where D-Mo had crashed.
Her visor flashed, hard. Had she ever bled before?
Her limbs were sluggish—unresponsive, stuttering between commands. Systems failing. Warnings screamed across her HUD in a dozen error codes.
With what little strength she had, she reached behind and slammed a cartridge into her spine.
The one she'd taken from Orion. The one he warned her never to use.
If it killed her? So be it.
Better that than letting ArchTek tear through the data in her skull.
From the cloud of dust, Monk emerged—calm, methodical, not a scratch on him.
"Well then," he said, smug as ever. "Looks like we're finally ready to talk."
Monk seized D-Mo by the head with one hand. With the other, he dragged a cable from his side and plugged it into one of her ports. The connection clicked.
Then he dropped her. Hard. She hit the floor with a hollow thud—metal on metal.
He opened a comm line, voice cool and casual.
"HQ, transmitting a technical log from an intruder S.C.U. Can you run an ID?"
"Copy that, M-NK. Scanning now."
Monk rolled his neck with a soft crack and stretched his arms overhead. Something inside him—whatever blend of flesh and firmware that passed for muscle—seemed to enjoy the motion.
"Monk!" the voice from HQ snapped, thick with panic. "Cast all cartridges! Now! Destroy it! That's not a standard Phantom Class—!"
But Monk already knew.
For the first time in his existence, he wasn't fast enough.
She was on him—faster than any Enchanter-Class unit, faster than his cameras could process. No time to block. No time to dodge.
Only the final, fractured warning still echoing in his communicator:
"That's the prototype of Project Wa—"
SPELL CONTAINMENT UNIT
M-NK
SIGNAL LOST