The silence between Cain and the wolf stretched taut, like wire drawn across a cliff's edge.
Neither moved nor blinked, the tension wasn't born from hatred, but from the weight of knowing that any misstep could collapse the uneasy truce.
Cain's grip stayed firm on his pistol, but his fingers had stilled.
He was calculating, waiting — but so was the wolf.
They both understood the stakes. No words were exchanged, because in that moment, none were needed for now.
Then thunderous thud of the golemite's approach shattered the stillness.
Its footsteps grew heavier, and faster — each one was hammering echo's through the dense jungle, the vibrations crawling up through the roots and into Cain's boots.
Then, just as its amalgamation was about to reach them, the wolf moved.
With a clean motion, he hurled a spell canister toward a narrow crack within the golemite's hulking form.
The canister detonated, releasing a superheating spell — it was caught the golemite cleanly in the joint of its front leg.
It staggered, unsure, as the flow of energy to that limb faltered.
The metal hissed and curled, and the behemoth paused as it faceplanted on the pavement.
Amid the chaos, Cain moved with precision.
He fired in measured bursts, his pistols dancing in both hands — Flash Beams.
The golemite's sensors were disoriented under the assault, its attempt to stand up faltered just long enough for the wolf to close in, blades flashing as the canine attempted to target the sensing crystals.
The two of them moved like parts of a temporary machine — friction between them replaced by necessity.
Cain didn't waste the moment.
He flicked open his terminal with a swipe of his thumb, projecting a three-dimensional holographic ID in the air beside him.
The cube spun slowly, it was a three dimensional quick response code, each line inscribed with pulse-verified authentication marks.
It wasn't just an identity — it was a key to Fracturion's networked contract system.
He turned the image toward the wolf without speaking.
Contracts could be scribed in seconds, but only if both parties shared an energy alignment — harmonious intent, and verified not by trust but by resonance.
When synced, the system sealed it — a digital oath etched in responsibility and technology, enforced not just by word, but by design.
While Cain ducked low as the golemite's claw tore a trench through the earth near him, the wolf slid beneath its towering frame, striking at the knee with a spiraling sweep, redirecting the creature's balance rather than confronting its mass.
Cain made his stance clear — this wasn't some revenge plot between him and the wolf.
The world wasn't shaped by overpowered heroes or ovebearing men, but by those who held the voice of the masses and amassed fortunes no single being should ever mathematically possess.
"I cannot shoulder this trade alone, the item goes to a middleman."
The holographic contract hovered beside him, flickering with embedded encryption.
"Sliabh'Verdan City, The Syndicate handles it. Shouldering the handling fee wouldn't burn through your pockets now, would they?"
Even with their infamous fees, none questioned the Syndicate's neutrality or reach.
They had offices in every major zone, and more importantly, they respected confidentiality to the letter.
Other human factions the same clout, but Cain didn't know their inner workings.
The wolf deflected another crushing blow with the flat of his greave, his body pivoting mid-air as the golemite's alloy blade skidded across his armored side.
Sparks erupted, teeth rattled, but he landed low and stable, only a shallow gash tearing through the plating.
Cain's pistols flared again — not with wild gunfire, but with calculated bursts that fractured the creature's attention.
The wolf nodded, eyes tracking Cain's projectile's arc, as he repositioned behind the metal creature — he resonated his primal ki for the contract to form.
"Sliabh'Verdan works."
It wasn't just a name. It was a Third Tier Siegefort City — a designation few dared mock.
If any faction spilled blood without cause there, human retaliation would be swift and absolute.
For beastmen, it was sacred ground by practicality, not tradition.
A shared hub of commerce and neutrality, where humans, demons, and beastkin could coexist — not because they liked one another, but because no one wanted to risk what would happen if they didn't.
And beyond the politics, it was close — two hundred clicks from their turf.
The final terms hung between them in the air, not spoken but understood.
Cain and the wolf had reached a mutual threshold — neither allies, but not adversaries for now.
The agreement had been transferred through coded pathways, it business, in its truest form — brief, calculated, and secured.
With a slow breath, the wolf reached into his tattered cloak and pulled free a radiant shardling core — bright, unrefined, still humming with ambient resonance.
The core caught the golemite's attention instantly.
The steel giant shuddered from its partial damage but turned, tracking the light like a moth drawn to flame.
It followed the wolf without resistance, its priorities overridden by the lure of pure energy.
"Lad, bless be by thee ancestor of the devouring wolf in the sea of stars."
"May the spirit of my fellow man bless you with fortune."
Cain stood silently, feeling the weight of his own bag shift as he adjusted it.
His own Vaultbox's detection dampeners started doing their job as it weakened the energy signature of multiple cores inside.
"Power of branded goods, I guess."
As he slipped away, he chose not to run full tilt.
Instead, he kept low, gliding across uneven terrain with smooth, practiced strides.
Trees loomed overhead, their canopies thick and webbed with vines that felt more like limbs than flora.
He didn't want to climb — not tonight.
There were creatures that claimed the upper dark, beasts that didn't roar but simply waited.
The high branches of Fracturion were not for the weary.
He needed shelter, not elevation.
As Cain kept his eyes peeled for a while, he spotted a cliff wall illuminated by scattered reflections — using his scope, he saw that it were artificial neon light.
A dazzling, almost surreal sight in this twisted wilderness.
'No one would light up such a conspicuous place at night if they didn't have the capital.'
Cain didn't hesitate.
He dashed toward it, mind calculating his route in sharp bursts.
He had a tent, but survival wasn't some fantasy dream of open skies and roasting meat on a pit.
This wasn't the mythologized peace of the information age.
"I wish I'd lived in the digital era. Legends said kids my age used to spend their days playing on tablets, chatting with friends like it was nothing... Absolute lies. Who'd believe peace like that ever existed?"
While Cain doubted the unrecorded stories from his old man.
The crouching night of Fracturion approaches.
If it came down to it, Cain would rather share a blanket with a rival than sleep alone in the dark.