The damaged Ascension Spire kept climbing. Twisted metal and glowing code lines scarred its sides, but it rose anyway, punching higher into the fractured sky. Below, the three-front war had settled into something uglier. Raphael's forces held the outer districts.
Lara's loyalists dug in around the Spire's base. Atlas and the rebels fought in the middle, stealing supplies and breaking supply lines wherever they could.
Then the Listener got hungry.
It started small. A squad of Raphael's generals froze mid-order. One blinked, dropped his rifle, and started reciting bad poetry about a lost love named "the crimson dawn."
Another cultist in Lara's ranks suddenly pulled his coat collar up, lit a cigarette he didn't have, and growled about "this dirty town owing him answers." Mask Events.
The Listener was borrowing faces and shoving new roles into people like it was swapping clothes.
Atlas hated it immediately.
