The morning sun was a brutal reminder that the world hadn't stopped spinning just because Devin Trangdar had spent the entire night chained to a wall in a subterranean cellar.
Devin walked through the sprawling wrought-iron gates of the United Educational Institute. Every single step was an agonizing chore. His ribs were deeply bruised, his wrists were rubbed raw from the iron cuffs, and his pale skin was littered with dark, blossoming contusions from Lotjed's heavy wooden baton.
But his mind was completely silent.
For the first time since he had awakened in this stolen, venom-laced vessel, the dark, roaring demands of the Cyprian sleeper agent were quiet. The biological monster hadn't been cured, but it had been beaten into submission. Devin held the leash tightly in his mental grip. When a group of lower-tier Phrill students rushed past him on the cobblestones, the venom didn't violently flare. Devin just kept walking.
He didn't head toward the grand academic halls for Professor Vane's lecture. He completely bypassed the Venom Research Department.
Instead, Devin let the sharp, industrial scent of cracked ozone and heavy grease guide his boots. He headed straight for the Mechanics Department.
Zain Ricky's dream from the night before still burned hot in Devin's mind. Karin was failing her practical evaluations. If her engine didn't turn over today, she would lose her lab access. And more importantly, Devin knew he needed a legitimate reason to be seen in the public eye, interacting with students, to solidify his cover for Dr. Langstrum.
He stepped onto the massive, open-air balcony overlooking the primary garage bays.
The noise was deafening. It was a grounded, chaotic symphony of clanking steel, hissing steam pressure, and the heavy revving of early combustion engines. In this world, the Holy Gene granted natural, terrifying aptitudes, but the rest of humanity relied on raw, grueling engineering. They didn't cast fireballs; they built massive, rune-etched machines of war and transport to survive the brutal North.
Devin scanned the crowded floor below. He quickly spotted the faded, grease-stained tank top and the messy hair.
Karin was standing over a heavy, partially dismantled Frazer cycle in Bay 4. But she wasn't alone.
Standing directly across from her, leaning casually against a heavy iron toolbox, was Ferran Mortipia. The top Frazer of the academy looked entirely in his element, holding a brass wrench and pointing it critically at Karin's exposed engine block.
Devin descended the metal stairs, his footsteps completely masked by the industrial roar of the department. As he approached Bay 4, their voices grew clear over the din.
"Your compression ratio is a joke, Karin," Ferran said, his tone dripping with that signature, arrogant Mortipian confidence. "You're feeding too much raw fuel into the primary rune chamber. If you fire the ignition right now, you're not going to get horsepower. You're going to blow the manifold straight through the ceiling."
Karin didn't even look up from the engine. She violently cranked a bolt down with a heavy spanner.
"If you touch my wrench, Mortipia, I will physically remove your fingers," Karin shot back, her amber eyes narrowed in pure frustration. "The fuel mixture is fine. The anomaly-laced ignition coil is just stalling."
"It's stalling because you're flooding it," Ferran sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if dealing with a stubborn child. "Look, I know you're trying to reinvent the wheel here, but standard Frazer mechanics exist for a reason. Let me recalibrate the exhaust valve before the professor gets here."
"I don't need a spoiled prince to build my cycle for me," she snapped, wiping a streak of black grease across her forehead. "I need you to step out of my bay."
Devin stopped a few feet away, leaning quietly against a concrete support pillar.
Seeing Ferran up close, bickering just like he used to back in the Trangdar courtyards, sent a sharp, painful ache straight through Devin's chest. It took immense willpower to keep Zain's sociopathic mask securely in place.
Devin's dark eyes drifted from his former best friend down to the heavy Frazer cycle Karin was working on. He scanned the complex network of brass pipes, thick rubber coolant lines, and glowing ignition runes. Devin didn't have Karin's mechanical genius, nor did he have Ferran's racing intuition.
But Devin was an assassin. And assassins knew exactly what sabotage looked like.
His eyes locked onto a thick, braided rubber hose tucked discreetly beneath the primary fuel injector. It was the main coolant line. To the untrained eye, it looked perfectly fine, hidden in the shadows of the chassis. But with Zain's venom-heightened vision, Devin saw the truth.
The underside of the hose wasn't worn from heavy use. It had been sliced. It was a perfectly clean, razor-sharp incision that went almost entirely through the thick rubber, leaving only a millimeter of material holding the pressurized liquid back.
The moment Karin fired the ignition, the engine heat and pressure would instantly rupture that line. Highly volatile coolant would spray directly onto the sparking, raw fuel injectors. Ferran was wrong. She wouldn't just blow the manifold. She would detonate the entire bay, and anyone standing within ten feet of the blast radius would be incinerated.
Karin threw her spanner onto the metal workbench. "Fine. It's done," she huffed, wiping her hands on a dirty rag. She reached forward, her fingers wrapping around the heavy brass ignition lever. "Stand back, Mortipia. I'm firing it up."
"Karin, wait—" Ferran started, holding his hand out.
"Don't pull the lever."
Devin's raspy, dead-eyed voice cut sharply through the noise of the bay.
Both Karin and Ferran flinched, their heads snapping toward the concrete pillar.
Ferran's dark eyes narrowed instantly. He sized Devin up with a look of pure, aristocratic disdain. "Who the hell are you?" Ferran demanded, stepping protectively between the barista and the heavy cycle. "This is a restricted Stark bay."
Karin blinked in sheer surprise, dropping her hand from the ignition lever. "Zain? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Professor Vane's lecture."
Devin pushed off the concrete pillar and walked slowly into the bay. He completely ignored Ferran's imposing presence, keeping his dark eyes locked entirely on the engine block.
"I skipped it," Devin replied flatly. He stopped right beside Ferran, entirely unfazed by the Frazer's aggressive posture. "Step aside, Mortipia."
Ferran let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea who you're talking to, peasant?"
"Ferran, stop," Karin interjected, stepping around the cycle. She looked at Devin, her amber eyes searching his bruised, battered face. "Zain, what happened to you? You look like you got dragged behind a carriage."
"I fell," Devin lied smoothly. He reached out and grabbed the thick, braided coolant line beneath the fuel injector.
"Hey! Don't touch that!" Ferran barked, reaching out to grab Devin's wrist.
The second Ferran's fingers brushed Zain's woven jacket, Devin reacted. He didn't use the Cyprian venom to shatter the prince's jaw like he had with Aiden. Instead, he used pure, ingrained Trangdar royal martial arts.
Devin smoothly trapped Ferran's wrist, pivoted his hips, and applied a sharp, painful lock to the Mortipian prince's elbow, forcing Ferran to bend awkwardly forward with a sharp hiss of pain.
"I told you to step aside," Devin whispered coldly into Ferran's ear.
He released the lock immediately, shoving Ferran back a few feet.
Ferran stumbled, catching his balance against the workbench. He stared at the quiet barista with wide, entirely shocked eyes. He rubbed his aching elbow, realizing instantly that the fluid, devastatingly precise martial art he had just been subjected to was not the clumsy brawling of a Reignn slum rat. It was elite, military-grade close-quarters combat.
"Zain, what is wrong with you?" Karin shouted, genuinely alarmed by the sudden violence.
Devin didn't answer. He ripped the braided coolant line completely free from its brass housing and tossed it onto the workbench between them.
"Look at the underside of the hose," Devin commanded.
Karin frowned, her anger momentarily derailed by his absolute certainty. She picked up the thick rubber hose, turning it over in her grease-stained hands. Ferran stepped closer, his animosity replaced by sharp, competitive curiosity.
Karin's breath hitched. She traced the perfectly clean, razor-sharp slice with her thumb.
"This... this wasn't engine wear," Karin whispered, the color draining rapidly from her face. She looked up at the massive engine block, then back down at the hose. "If I had pulled the ignition lever..."
"The line would have ruptured," Ferran finished, his voice dropping to a low, horrified murmur. The Mortipian prince looked at the engine, quickly doing the brutal mechanical math in his head. "The coolant would have hit the exposed ignition sparks. It wouldn't have just stalled. The entire fuel tank would have cooked off. You would have been burned alive."
The deafening noise of the Mechanics Department seemed to fade entirely away, leaving a heavy, terrifying silence in Bay 4.
Karin dropped the severed hose onto the table as if it were a venomous snake. Her hands began to tremble.
Ferran turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Devin with a newfound, heavy scrutiny.
"Who did this?" Ferran demanded, his voice hardening into the authoritative tone of a future emperor. "Who would actively try to murder a student over a practical evaluation?"
"That is exactly what we are going to find out," Devin replied, his raspy voice entirely devoid of fear.
Devin looked around the sprawling garage. Someone in this department was actively trying to sabotage Northern mechanical advancements. Someone was trying to kill the girl Zain Ricky loved.
If Dr. Langstrum and Count Sapien wanted to play a shadowy game of infiltration and sabotage inside the UEI, Devin was more than happy to oblige them. The Cyprian venom was firmly on a leash, and the Prince of Trangdar was finally ready to hunt.