Blake exhaled sharply as he faced the buckled catwalk. The metal walkway twisted at a forty-five-degree angle where the corridor had partially collapsed, leaving a jagged chasm beneath it. A normal man would've needed climbing gear.

[Unfettered Stride] thrummed through his muscles. He reached out, felt the mana respond—it wasn't as fluid as usual, not without Kitt's silent assistance, but Blake was doing his damndest to pick up the slack. The energy pooled around his boots, allowing them to find purchase on the near-vertical surface. [Telekinesis] kept his hands rooted to the guardrail even as gravity tried to pull him away.

He smiled as he walked onward, the twisting catwalk turning him nearly completely upside down. He stayed put. But he had to think about it now—calculate the angles, how long the adhesion would last before the mana expenditure burned too much. All of that information was available to him, of course, [Unfettered Stride] provided information to him that [Warden's Insight] was able to expand on, but parsing all of the information… He was still getting used to dealing with the load alone.

With Kitt you were running along walls and bouncing off the ceiling. Now you're smiling about just being able to walk.

He shoved the intrusive thought aside, but the smile dropped off his face just the same. He didn't like it, but the thought was valid. Things were different for the time being, and he had no margin for error.

Coming to a large gap in the walkway, he paused to calculate his next move. He pushed off, leveraging his Strength to propel himself upward in a controlled arc. The catwalk groaned under his weight as he landed, but held. [Unfettered Stride] let him stick the landing. A clean maneuver. Not as fluid as it would've been with Kitt fine-tuning his trajectory mid-motion, but still precise. Still his.

See? I can do this.

Silence. He had laughed when Kitt had told him to practice not talking to himself. He wasn't laughing now.

Ahead, the maintenance tunnel branched into three arteries, their schematics overlapping in his HUD—structural integrity markers, warning icons that mapped onto flickering power relays, even faint faint splotches of color indicating where corrupted biomass crawling was likely present in the vents. Raw data. No prioritization, no instinctive highlighting of critical threats. Just information.

The data streamed in, a firehose of inputs. Every stress point in the metal, every fluctuation in the air currents, the faintest whisper of movement in the vents, the subtle shift in gravitational pull from the Leviathan's immense mass—it all hit him at once. It was too much.

How did Kitt make it look so easy?

He remembered their training sessions, her presence a silent, steady hand on the tiller, guiding his awareness, filtering the noise. She'd shown him how to build the mental architecture, the frameworks for processing. He'd built them. He'd practiced. He wasn't trying to defy the laws of physics to navigate the hallway now, so it was time to . This was the test. This was where he applied the lessons without the teacher present.

Mana surged. Not a gentle current, but a deliberate flood, fueling the engine of his Mind. He felt the shift, the familiar expansion of his mental acuity and senses. He visualized his cultivation in action, a core of liquid mercury, slick and reflective, pulsing at the center of his consciousness. That was his Adaptability, the perfect expression of his [Quicksilver Mind]. Tendrils of that liquid metal lashed out, grasping, pulling at the threads of data from his senses, from his abilities. This was Awareness—reaching, gathering, bringing it all in. Other tendrils pushed, deflecting the irrelevant, the redundant, the static. That was Alacrity—sorting, prioritizing, making sense of the chaos.

The sheer volume should have buried him. It had, all those weeks ago, when they first started these exercises. But that was before he had developed his [Quicksilver Mind]. It wasn't a struggle against the current anymore. It was a dance. He sorted methodically, pulling the threads he needed, pushing away the rest. A path formed in his mind's eye, overlaid onto the visual data from his HUD. Not just a physical path, but a sequence of actions, of movements, calculated for efficiency, for minimal exposure, for speed.

Blake moved through the corridor, his consciousness stretched wide, the liquid mercury of his [Quicksilver Mind] flowing around and through every sensory input. He had a clear goal, a reference point against which to judge the relevance of anything that entered his mind: reach the network node, stabilize the connection, give the Leviathan's consciousness a foothold against the Outsider's invasion.

The tunnel contracted around him, walls pressing closer with each step. The air thickened, heavy with the sharp bite of ozone and the metallic tang of overloaded circuits. He could taste copper on his tongue, feel the static charge building in the recycled atmosphere.

He hit a T-junction. Schematics overlaid on his vision highlighted the right branch: the shortest route to his goal.

Shorter, but maybe not safer.

A faint scrape, like a nail dragging against steel. The air in the right-hand passage felt a degree warmer as well. Not much, but enough. there was the faint, almost imperceptible vibrations in the deck plates. There was something waiting for him that way. Probably several somethings. Blake didn't need that kind of company.

The left fork wound deeper into service ways. Longer. But quiet. His senses probed down that way, found nothing but stale air and silence. A simple choice, but not one he would have made if his senses were any less heightened. He turned left and slipped away as quietly as he could, hoping the enemies lying in wait wouldn't hear him and follow.

He moved deeper into the passage, his boots finding purchase on the metal grating. The path stretched ahead, empty of obstacles or immediate threats. His heightened awareness pulled at him—every surface texture, every shift in air pressure, every distant vibration demanding analysis. The effort wore at him like a constant weight. Not instinct yet. Still conscious will forcing his senses to reach beyond normal limits.

Access panels lined the walls, their latches sealed and marked with faded service symbols. The temporal echoes from the mess hall lingered in his memory—fragments of terror, crew members running through corridors just like this one. Had they fled down here when the Outsider took hold? Had they died in these tunnels, trapped between the ship's failing systems and something far worse hunting them in the dark?

The questions followed him deeper into the maze of service ways.

Blake shifted his focus inward, searching for something to anchor his thoughts. Mana use had dropped to a manageable trickle, and the data streaming in from Stride and Insight no longer pressed against the limits of what he could handle. The corridor's calm shouldn't have made that much difference—he was still processing the same flood of sensory input.

He reflected on what had changed when he began moving with purpose. Kitt never missed a chance to point out that he only absorbed lessons when fists were flying or rounds cracked past his head. Maybe she was right. Maybe analysis for its own sake just burned him out, while action gave him room to breathe. Whatever the cause, he didn't question the reprieve.

Maybe he was some mission-oriented adrenaline junkie. That was fine, really. It helped keep him alive.

In the end, he decided, all that mattered was that he heard scrabbling and felt the new vibrations in the metal around him. Instinct, supernaturally enhanced, made Blake look up and to his left. There it was: a maintenance hatch. Too small for Blake to fit through, but evidently not too small for something else.

The corroded metal shrieked, stress fractures spiderwebbing through the hatch's cover plate. Blake caught the warning groan of material about to give way just before the hatch blew apart in a spray of twisted steel and sparks. Two more hatches tore free, one ahead and one behind, metal plates peeling like dead skin. Blake pivoted sharply, weighing his options. He lowered his stance, eyes narrowing as creatures emerged—skeletal limbs snapping, mandibles clicking in a rhythm like a warning drum.

The first one dropped from the ceiling directly ahead, its translucent flesh writhing with parasitic tendrils. Blake mentally tagged it as Alpha. The creature hit the deck plates hard enough to dent them, caustic saliva already eating through the metal. A second tore itself free from the wall hatch to his left, further back down the corridor. That one would be Beta. Its vibrating forelimbs emitting an eerie harmonic that set his teeth on edge. To his right, blocking the way forward, was Gamma, a blur of chitin and bile now rushing towards him.

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Shit. Okay.

Blake's mind crystallized the moment into a perfect snapshot. Alpha—eight feet away, mandibles spread wide, ready to lunge. Beta—twelve feet back, forelimbs vibrating in that harmonic that would disorient him if he let it. Gamma—closest, already mid-leap, claws extended toward his throat.

At one point, Blake would have said that in moments like this he didn't think—he just moved. But now, with his Quicksilver Mind burning brightly, he appreciated how much thought he actually did put into such snap decisions. How many snap judgments were being made while his mind ordered his body to avoid danger.

Time seemed to slow as [Quicksilver Mind] made a snapshot of everything he could observe. He hardly considered his passive [Aura of Detection] most of the time, but in this instance, he could appreciate the added clarity it offered him. Everything within 5m felt real as life, while the corridor beyond was more like a photograph.

He examined the situation: at the speed things were happening, momentum was likely enough to determine where his enemies were going to be, and a quick look at the joints of those scythed arms made it clear how he'd be attacked.

Here, risking his life, was where the purpose of his Cultivator's Mind was made manifest. Where once he had been limited to subconscious thought, to instinct, now he was aware. Blake didn't act on instinct. By the time he started moving, he knew exactly what he was doing.

[Unfettered Stride] kicked in as Alpha lunged, its serrated forelimb whistling through the air where his head had been a fraction of a second before. He pivoted mid-step, boots gripping the wall as he sprinted laterally just long enough to avoid Beta's sweeping strike.

Alpha's strike severed an overhead coolant conduit. Superheated steam geysered into the corridor, swallowing the bioflesh in a scalding fog. Blake blinked burning condensation from his eyes—just in time to see Beta coming at him through the haze.

Fine. Let's see how they liked getting thrown around.

He lashed out with [Telekinesis]—raw kinetic shove. Beta's carapace cracked against the bulkhead hard enough to splinter plating. Gamma didn't wait for an opening; it scuttled low, vibrating limbs carving trenches in the deck as it swept for Blake's knees. He pivoted, Verdict already clearing its holster. The pulse round caught Gamma mid-lunge, fracturing its forward leg joint with a wet pop. It barely slowed down.

Blake backpedaled, firing twice more into Gamma's thorax—pulse rounds cratering chitin but failing to stop the thing entirely. The corridor was too narrow for proper evasion, steam still boiling from the ruined conduit above. Alpha would recover soon. Beta was already shaking off its impact with the wall.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Alright then. If they wanted close quarters? He'd give them close quarters.

Fang slid into his grip as Beta charged again—this time with Alpha dropping from above in a pincer move. Gamma limped forward, ichor dripping from its shattered leg. Three directions at once. No room to maneuver properly.

Blake grinned.

"Come on," he muttered, shifting stance as mana surged through his channels. "Let's dance."

Beta's forelimbs shrieked through metal as it tore into the corridor wall, exposing pulsing bio-circuitry beneath. The ship's corrupted nervous system glowed a sickly green, veins of infection spreading through what should have been sterile conduits. The other monstrosities froze mid-attack, antennae twitching toward the exposed systems like hounds catching a scent.

Blake didn't wait to see what came next. He rolled under Gamma's lunge, instinctively thrusting Fang upward into the creature's underbelly as it passed over him. The blade bit deep, then snagged. Boots kicking up sparks as he slid across buckled plating, his shoulder connected with a support strut—pain flared, but the impact jarred Fang loose from where it had gotten wedged in Gamma's carapace. He caught the blade midair just as Alpha dropped from the ceiling again.

This time Blake was ready.

[Warden's Insight] painted trajectories across his vision in mercury-bright lines. He saw Alpha's descent before the creatures committed—knew exactly where those hooked legs would plant. Verdict barked once. The pulse round punched through Alpha's gaping mouthparts just as it landed, detonating inside its thoracic cavity with a wet crunch.

The explosion of chitin and ichor should've been satisfying. Instead, Blake watched in grim fascination as amber spores erupted from Alpha's corpse, swirling through the steam-filled corridor before shifting to an urgent crimson. It felt like a warning, some kind of beacon, especially as the ship itself seemed to react almost immediately.

The walls answered first.

Metal groaned as the corridor contracted like a giant fist closing. Blake barely yanked his arm back before a ceiling panel slammed down where his hand had been—deliberate, mechanical murder. The creatures scattered as floor plates buckled upward in sequenced eruption, turning the passage into a deadly maze of shifting obstacles.

Beta abandoned its attack on the exposed circuitry to scuttle up the collapsing wall, ultrasonic limbs carving handholds in failing metal. Gamma took the opposite approach—charging straight through the chaos toward Blake with single-minded fury.

Blake fired twice more into Gamma's ruined leg joint until it finally gave way, sending the creature sprawling across shuddering deck plates. He didn't celebrate—just pivoted to put his back against what remained of stable wall plating as Beta launched itself from above.

Fang met it midair, [Phantom Edge] flaring to life.

The supernaturally reinforced blade parted chitin like rice paper, shearing through Beta in one brutal arc. Ichor sprayed across Blake's face as the twitching halves of Beta's body hit the ground... only for both halves to keep moving, claws still scrabbling toward him with mindless hunger.

"Persistent bastard," Blake spat, wiping gore from his eyes—then had to throw himself sideways as another ceiling panel collapsed where he'd stood.

The collapsing corridor stalked him. Bio-luminescent veins throbbed along the breaches Beta had carved in the walls, casting sickly color across the increasingly damaged walls. Gamma dragged itself forward on shattered limbs, mandibles clicking hungrily as crimson spores swirled around it like some perverse halo. Behind it, the walls kept closing in—deliberate, inexorable. Like a damned digestive tract.

Blake exhaled through clenched teeth and raised Verdict again.

It was time to make an exit.

Blake watched Gamma's ruined form scuttle backward, ichor-slick claws slipping on warped deck plates. The creature moved toward its ruptured hatch—too slow, too damaged. Good.

He reached out with [Telekinesis]—to pull. Gamma's chitinous legs skittered against the metal as invisible force wrenched it into the open. Just as a groaning ceiling panel sheared loose from its mounts.

Four hundred pounds of reinforced alloy dropped like a hammer.

Gamma had time for one wet shriek before the panel flattened it into paste. Ichor geysered through cracks in the metal, steaming where it hit exposed wiring. The corridor trembled, more debris raining down. Blake didn't smile. Waste disposal. Necessity.

A shrill buzzing tore his attention left. Beta's upper half had dragged itself into a ventilation shaft, mandibles gnashing at the rim as the corridor crushed inward. Metal screamed as bulkheads twisted like taffy, sealing the vent halfway through Beta's thorax. Its hindquarters exploded in a spray of acid and larvae, further weakening structural supports.

The entire passageway was coming down.

[Warden's Insight] painted trajectories in mercury-bright streaks—falling debris, collapsing walls, the single viable path forward blocked by a throbbing membrane of fused biomass. No time for finesse. Blake ripped up a section of floor plating with [Telekinesis], holding it overhead as he charged through the maelstrom.

Shrapnel pinged off his makeshift shield. Something sharp tore through his calf. He could still run, so he ignored it.

Twenty feet to the organic barrier. Fifteen. The plating buckled under another impact. Ten—

He dumped the shield and pivoted, right arm snapping up. [Kinetic Detonation] shaped like a breaching charge—focused, brutal. The shockwave vaporized three square yards of corrupted flesh, punching a tunnel through pulsating meat.

Blake dove headfirst into the opening just as the corridor collapsed behind him in a roar of shearing metal. Rolling to his feet, he came up in a defensive crouch—blood dripping from fresh wounds, ears ringing from the detonation.

Alone again. Breathing hard.

No creatures. No pursuit. Just the Leviathan's dying groans and the steady drip of his own blood on deck plating.

He exhaled through his teeth and rose to his feet. As the adrenaline began to fade, he started to register the throbbing in his skull. His [Quicksilver Mind] wasn't free. More than just the mana cost, it drained his mental energy as well. For the moment, he allowed it to settle back into its passive state.

One more fight survived.

Survived.

Technically, he had won, but it didn't feel that way. As he was now he could run roughshod over any battlefield on Earth, but that wasn't going to cut it for long. Not here.

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