Arcane: Bond Beyond Death

Bael leaned against the rusted railing of the control room, his gaze scanning the factory floor below.

This wasn't just another factory. It was a fortress. The maze of pipes, conveyor belts, and ventilation shafts crisscrossed the vast interior like veins in a living organism

He turned his attention to the overseer's logs left behind. Production schedules, supply routes, and shift changes—Everything.

Bael's gaze drifted to the security measures. Armed guards patrolled the upper walkways, their presence a constant reminder of the factory's importance to Silco's operation.

Each guard carried a firearm and wore lightweight armor.

Then there were the automated defenses. Turrets were mounted at key choke points, their barrels sweeping the factory floor in slow, deliberate arcs.

The real jackpot, however, was the vault-like storage room near the factory's rear. Heavy steel doors with intricate locking mechanisms protected the unprocessed Shimmer, the primitive form of Shimmer fresh out of the laboratory.

After an hour of silent observation, Bael decided it was time to move. The shift change had just occurred, and the guards were distracted, chatting idly by the entrance.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps. Another guard approached, carrying a clipboard. "Status report?" the guard asked, his voice gruff.

"Everything's secure," one of the guards by the door replied. "No incidents."

"Good. Boss doesn't want any screw-ups this time. You know what happened to the last crew that got sloppy."

Bael didn't need to hear the rest. He slipped away silently, retreating to the safety of the upper levels. He'd seen enough for tonight.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured, tucking the notebook into his jacket.

Just as he was about to check-in for today, we remembered that this is no happy fairy tail and nothing goes as fucking expected.

Bael returned to the control room, his steps light and deliberate, but something felt... off. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a sensation he had learned not to ignore.

He quickly checked the overseer's logs again, flipping through the worn pages. Production schedules, supply deliveries, everything was there...

...except, the night's current report.

"Odd," Bael muttered under his breath, slipping the notebook back into his jacket.

Bael glanced at the console in front of him. The security cameras showed nothing unusual—rows of exhausted miners, stoic guards, and the endless churn of the machines.

But the angle of the cameras conveniently left blind spots near the storage vault and the ventilation ducts. Someone who knew this place well could use those blind spots.

He scanned the floor below, his sharp eyes darting over every detail. And then he saw it—just for a fraction of a second. A shadow moving where no shadow should be.

Carefully, he adjusted the console's controls, activating a manual override on the nearest turret. The turret whirred softly, its barrel shifting toward the shadow's last known position.

Suddenly, the factory's lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then, the entire room plunged into darkness.

"System failure?" one of the guards shouted.

"Keep your posts!" another barked.

The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoed again, this time closer. Bael spun around, his mechanical arm clenching reflexively.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice low but firm.

No answer.

The lights flickered back on, but something had changed. The console in front of him was no longer responsive, the screens showing only static. Whoever had infiltrated the factory wasn't here for the Shimmer—they were here for control.

Bael gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He needed to act fast. Grabbing a loose panel from the console, he began rerouting the power manually.

The factory's alarms suddenly blared, deafening and urgent. The guards below scrambled into action, barking orders at each other.

"Intruder alert! Lock down the vault!"

Bael's stomach sank. Whoever was here had forced his hand. What was originally a simple recognition mission turned into a heist.

Bael skidded to a stop at the edge of the catwalk as the realization struck him—this was no ordinary infiltrator. The movements, the precision, the calculated sabotage, targeting a Shimmer factory while wearing masks...

The Firelights.

Down below, the guards scrambled to secure the area around the vault, but the damage was done. Several vats of Shimmer had been compromised, spilling their toxic contents across the factory floor. The miners—those poor, brainwashed children—stood frozen in confusion as the guards barked at them to clear out.

Bael knew he had to act fast. He bolted back toward the control room, his mind racing. If the Firelights had breached the vault, all of this would have been for nothing.

A voice crackled through the factory's intercom system. It was distorted but unmistakably young.

"To those who work here—you don't have to be slaves to this poison. Leave now, and we won't harm you. But if you stay, you stand with them."

The workers below hesitated, their eyes darting between the guards and the exits. The guards raised their weapons, shouting at the miners to stay in line, but the Firelights' message had planted a seed of doubt.

Bael grit his teeth, knowing this was part of their strategy. Divide the workers, confuse the guards, and dismantle the operation from within.

He grabbed the console's comms system and patched into the guard frequency. "This is Overseer Victor. Focus on securing the upper levels. They're targeting the vault and the ventilation systems. Do not engage unless necessary—contain them first."

The guards responded with a chorus of affirmations, but Bael knew it was a losing battle.

And then, he saw it—a flash of green light directly below him. One of the Firelights, most probably their leader, had broken away from the group and was coming bis way, to the control center.

The door to the control room burst open, and Bael found himself face-to-face with the masked figure. His eyes, visible through the mask, locked onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Bael," the figure said, their voice calm but firm. "You don't belong here."

Bael tilted his head, "How the fuck do you know my name."

The Firelight didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hand, revealing a small, spherical device—the same type that had breached the entrance security.

Bael lunged forward, grabbing the Firelight's wrist before they could activate the device. The two grappled, the Firelight's agility matching Bael's brute strength. The device clattered to the floor, rolling dangerously close to the console.

"You have no idea what you're playing with," the Firelight hissed.

Bael smirked. "Neither do you."

With a burst of strength, he shoved the Firelight back, sending him crashing into the console. Sparks flew as the impact shorted out several systems, plunging parts of the factory back into darkness.

But the Firelight wasn't done. He recovered quickly, his movements fluid and deliberate. Bael barely had time to react as he lunged toward him again, this time aiming for his mechanical arm.

"You're wasting your time," Bael said, deflecting his strike.

"Am I?" the Firelight shot back, his tone laced with defiance.

And then, Bael saw it—a glint of green light in the corner of his eye. Another Firelight, perched on a nearby catwalk, was aiming something directly at the vats below.

A crossbow.

"Shit," Bael muttered.

Before he could react, the Firelight fired. The bolt hit its mark, igniting one of the compromised vats in a burst of green flame. The explosion shook the factory, sending workers and guards alike scrambling for cover.

The Firelight in front of Bael took advantage of the chaos, slipping past him and disappearing into the shadows.

Bael cursed under his breath.

Bael now had 3 options, help the evacuation of the orphans, or stick to the objectif, or take on the firelight.

The third option wasn't a choice, he still didn't upgrade his mechanical arm so there was no way he could win against all firelights combined.

Bael saw the orphans running in all direction, crying and scared. He really wanted to help, he really wanted to save them.

A loud explosion occurred as the chaos continued.

This was nontime to get sentimental. The firelights jinxed his infiltration, this was all for nothing.

The best he could do right now to somewhat salvage the mission was collecting some Shimmer directly from the source. Not the processed one he uses for fuel to his arm but the primitive one, in the vault.

Bael went running to the main vault of the Factory.

Thanks to his disguise he managed to go past all the security before arriving to the main vault, unguarded, thanks to chaos caused by the hijackers.

Bael's eyes widened as he stepped into the vault. Shelves upon shelves of primitive Shimmer bottles lined the walls, their faint purple glow lighting up the room in an almost ethereal hue.

Each bottle was pristine, its liquid swirling hypnotically. These weren't just valuable—they were priceless. One bottle alone could yield enough refined Shimmer to keep the entire undercity supplied for months.

He moved carefully, the weight of what he'd just stumbled upon pressing down on him. This wasn't just a factory—it was a treasure trove. But before he could marvel further, he froze.

"Bael."

The voice was calm but recognizable, the same person from earlier.

The Firelight leader stepped forward, his movements deliberate. "You asked me earlier how i knew your name... Well, you've made a name for yourself, whether you meant to or not."

Bael smirked, though his stance remained guarded. "Funny. I could say the same about you. Except I don't make it a habit to blow up factories full of orphans."

The Firelight leader tilted his head slightly. "And yet, here you are, breaking into a vault to steal the same poison that destroys those orphans' lives. Tell me, Bael, how are you any different from the chem-barons?"

Bael's jaw tightened, his smirk fading. "I'm not here to justify myself to you. I've got my reasons."

"Reasons that involve this," the leader gestured to the shelves of Shimmer. "You think this is power? A tool? It's a disease—a cancer that infects everything it touches."

"And yet you're here too," Bael shot back. "What's your angle? Destroy it all and pat yourself on the back for saving Zaun? Newsflash: Zaun doesn't need saving. It needs balance."

The leader chuckled dryly. "Balance? Is that what you think you're bringing? Or is it just chaos with a prettier name?"

Bael didn't respond, his eyes flicking to the nearest shelf. He needed a plan—and fast. The Firelight leader wasn't just here to talk, and Bael could feel the tension in the air building.

"Look," Bael said, raising his hands slightly. "I didn't come here to fight you. This is bigger than whatever moral crusade you're on. Let me take what I need, and I'll be out of your way."

The leader stepped closer, his voice lowering. "You think I'd let you walk out of here with even a single drop of this poison? You're deluded."

Bael's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Guess we're doing this the hard way, then."

The Firelight leader didn't answer. Instead, he lunged, his movements quick and precise. Bael barely had time to react, raising his mechanical arm to block the first strike. The clash of metal and force echoed through the vault as the fight began in earnest, surrounded by the very substance that had drawn them both here.