The trees were still. Quiet. Not even a bird dared make noise as Raven crouched behind a jagged wall of boulders, one hand outstretched toward the glistening waters of Lake Tiorati. The moment her fingers touched the icy surface, the stillness shattered—not with sound, but with movement.
Water began vanishing.
It didn't drain, didn't flow, didn't evaporate. It simply ceased to exist, sucked invisibly into her Sanctuary space. The lake rippled once, and then the surface collapsed inward as the entire body of water began pulling away from the earth like it had been unplugged. Fish flopped and thrashed midair before being pulled into the void. Plants vanished. Silt and mud followed.
Ten minutes. That's all it took.
From the hilltop homes surrounding the lake, screams echoed. A man across the water pointed. Someone else was filming with their phone, holding it up and shouting something incoherent. Another person ran down their dock, confused and waving their arms like it would stop the lake from disappearing in front of them.
Raven didn't flinch.
She watched the last water vanish and the lakebed collapse into a crater of frozen mud, broken tree roots, and half-sunken docks.
"Shit," she muttered, turning. "I better get the fuck out of here."
She didn't need to run, but she did anyway—slipping between trees, boots pounding frozen dirt, coat catching in thorn branches. She dove into the driver's seat of the Ironhowl X4 and slammed the door shut. Seconds later, the SUV roared to life, gravel spitting out behind the tires as she took off down the narrow mountain road, disappearing from the scene like she had never been there at all.
As she cleared the ridge, a mental projection lit up in the center of her vision.
[System Notification: Lake successfully absorbed.]
[Freshwater Reservoir Module online. Infinite purification and aquaculture cycle initiated. Capacity: unlimited freshwater organisms. Status: stable.]
[Saltwater Reservoir also active and synchronized.]
Raven exhaled sharply, the adrenaline still burning in her veins.
"I just stole an entire lake and got away with it," she said, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Now that's power."
She leaned back in the seat, hand resting lightly on the wheel. For a few moments, she let herself enjoy it. But then the hunger returned—not for food, but for infrastructure. Now she had two infinite water systems. All that was missing was the fish.
Time to fix that.
She tapped her phone, already knowing where she was headed. Clearstream Aquatics, a sad excuse for a hatchery about two hours northeast, just outside Albany. She'd been there once. In her past life. The place was always barely clinging to legality—rusty tanks, algae-slick walkways, and a twitchy, stammering little weasel of a man who ran it like he was guarding state secrets.
Neil Greaves.
Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Neil was balding even in his thirties, had the voice of a kicked dog and the eyes of a rat. In public, he played the awkward loser who couldn't make eye contact with a woman. But behind closed doors, back when she'd been a prisoner of the Red Blood Raiders, Neil had laughed when others tortured her. Had held her down and did unspeakable things to her many times. But in the end, he begged her for mercy when things turned against him, just like she planed in her past life before she escaped the Red Blood Raiders.
Now she was back. And this time, she wasn't tied to a radiator.
Her hand slipped into her coat and retrieved a compact Beretta—black and smooth, fitted with an Omni Silencer from the system. She rested it on her lap as she drove, her eyes never leaving the road.
"He's going to sell me every fish in that hatchery for pennies," she said quietly. "And then I'm going to come back tonight and put him down like the diseased animal he is."
There was no rage in her tone. No trembling fury. Just cold certainty.
COVID and the government had already done half her job for her. Neil's hatchery had been hit hard by regulation bans and environmental limits. No more state contracts. No more DNR licenses. The man was teetering on bankruptcy, swimming in debt, and desperate for any chance to crawl his way back up. She would give him one. And then take it away.
Perfect.
She felt a slow, cold satisfaction settle in her gut. This was justice—her kind. No speeches. No trials. Just reminders. Reminders that in this new world, she decides who needs to die. And Neil is the first name on the list.
"This time," she said, her voice low, "I'm the one doing the buying... and the killing."
The road stretched ahead, empty and silent. Her fingers flicked off the heater as she watched the sun dip toward the trees. The Ironhowl's tires rolled over cracked asphalt as mile markers blurred past the windows.
No music. No sound. No mercy.
Only vengeance.
And the fish that was a priority for her as well, hell she will just call it a side treat.
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