They sprinted down the southeast corridor, a claustrophobic tunnel of decaying metal and dripping acid. Eli's boots splashed through pools of corrupted runoff, each step sending jolts of pain through his injured leg. Behind them, the scouts' clicking intensified, taking on a frustrated, almost enraged tone.

  The walls themselves seemed to writhe with malevolent awareness, trying to follow their escape.

  Marco's pre-planted energy nodes, salvaged and reprogrammed, flickered to life in their wake. Each one pulsed with a carefully calibrated imitation of Eli's energy signature, creating a web of false trails, a digital labyrinth designed to confuse and disorient.

  "They're not buying it," Eli gasped, his lungs burning, the clicks growing closer, the binding spell a vise around his wrists. "They're too fast!"

  ?Correction: They are dividing their forces,? Marco replied, his tone unwavering. ?Primary objective achieved. Maintain current vector for 47 meters. Prepare for Protocol Sink.?

  Eli's injured leg screamed in protest as they rounded another corner. The corridor ahead ended abruptly in a sheer drop – an old maintenance shaft that plunged into darkness. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Protocol Sink? That's what we're calling this?"

  ?Humor assessment: poorly timed. Jump trajectory calculated. Now, Eli!?

  Eli launched himself into empty space, Starling clutched tight against his chest. The maintenance shaft swallowed him whole, darkness rushing up to meet him. His stomach lurched as gravity took hold, the binding spell constricting painfully around his throat in response to his spike of fear.

  ?Impact trajectory optimizing,? Marco's voice cut through the howling air. ?Redirect 20 degrees west. Brace Starling against the wall... now.?

  Eli twisted, ramming Starling's shaft against the corroded shaft wall. Sparks erupted as Ironbark met ancient metal, slowing his descent. The river-stone core flickered erratically, casting wild, dancing shadows that revealed fleeting glimpses of their surroundings.

  Rusted maintenance rails, broken pipes snaking through the darkness, and writhing masses of black corruption that seemed to recoil from the core's light, as if burned by its presence.

  Above, the scouts' clicking echoed down the shaft, distorted and fragmented by the distance and the false energy signatures. They were confused, their pursuit momentarily broken.

  ?Alert: Terminal velocity approaching,? Marco's voice was calm, but the words sent a jolt of adrenaline through Eli. ?Prepare for emergency deceleration. This will… cause significant discomfort.?

  "Doesn't it always?" Eli muttered, the words tight with pain and a hint of grim humor. The binding spell was a searing brand around his wrists, the sync spiking to 65%. He could feel the corrupted threads burrowing deeper, seeking purchase in his strained muscles, a dark counterpoint to the golden light.

  ?Initiating emergency deceleration protocols in 3… 2…?

  A maintenance platform, a skeletal grid of rusted metal, materialized out of the darkness below, rushing up with terrifying speed. Marco's calculations – angles, trajectories, structural integrity – flashed across Eli's vision, a dizzying array of data that boiled down to one brutal truth: survival was a long shot.

  ?Channel remaining energy reserves through Starling. Now! Execute Form 1: Comet's Trail, inverted application!?

  There was no time for thought, only trust. Eli obeyed, channeling the last dregs of his power, pushing it through the binding spell and into Starling. The damaged core screamed, a high-pitched whine that resonated with the pain in his own body and vibrated violently in his hand.

  He brought the staff down in a desperate arc, creating a cushion of compressed, volatile energy beneath him, a prayer against the impending impact.

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  The collision was brutal. The entire shaft shuddered as the platform met the cushion of energy. Pain exploded through Eli's injured leg, a white-hot agony that threatened to overwhelm him. He rolled, trying to disperse the momentum, feeling bones grind and muscles tear.

  Starling's river-stone core gave one final, weak pulse, then went dark, its light extinguished.

  Eli lay sprawled on the platform, gasping for breath, each inhale a searing knife in his ribs. The binding spell pulsed erratically, now at 78% sync, the golden threads burning like fire against his skin.

  The black corruption had spread further, tracing intricate, venomous patterns up his arms, like dark vines seeking to strangle the light.

  ?Damage assessment initiated,? Marco's voice, usually a steady presence, flickered slightly, mirroring the extinguished light of Starling. ?Multiple contusions. Possible hairline fracture in left tibia. Binding spell corruption approaching critical threshold. Recommend immediate stasis and…?

  Eli pushed himself to his knees, ignoring the searing pain that shot up his leg. He used Starling as a makeshift crutch, the Ironbark surprisingly steady despite the damage to its core.

  The river-stone was almost completely dark, its once-brilliant blue glow reduced to a faint, intermittent flicker, like a dying ember. Fracture lines spread across its surface, a delicate, deadly tracery.

  "Starling…" he whispered, the word a mixture of concern and regret.

  ?Core integrity critically compromised,? Marco confirmed, his usual detachment failing to mask a subtle… hesitation? ?Power output reduced to 27%. Further combat applications are… out of the question.?

  Above them, the clicking had changed. No longer the chaotic frenzy of confused pursuit, it had taken on a chillingly deliberate rhythm, a complex pattern of clicks and whirs that suggested communication, coordination… learning.

  The shaft walls shuddered, and a new sound emerged, a low, guttural click-code that resonated deep within Eli's bones. The binding spell tightened reflexively around his throat, and the corrupted threads pulsed in response, as if recognizing a familiar, yet terrifying, language.

  Marco's hologram flickered violently. ?Alert: Scout evolutionary patterns exceeding projected parameters by a significant margin. Phase-shift intervals now exhibit randomized variables. Previous tactical calculations are… obsolete.?

  "They're learning," Eli whispered, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows that danced across the shaft walls, reflections of a threat he could no longer predict. "Adapting to us."

  ?Adaptation rate exceeding baseline projections by 47%,? Marco confirmed, a hint of… something akin to concern… in his synthesized voice. ?Tactical recalibration is paramount. We must—?

  He cut off abruptly as a new wave of clicking echoed from the depths of the shaft. This sound was different – deeper, more resonant, carrying a weight of power that the scout's clicks lacked. Something else was down there. Something bigger. Something… worse.

  ?Immediate relocation is mandatory,? Marco announced, his hologram dimming slightly, as if conserving energy. ?Your current condition precludes further engagement. Southeast maintenance tunnels offer the optimal probability of concealment. However…? He paused, the silence stretching, heavy with unspoken implications. ?…the probability of reaching the primary objective – the designated power node – has decreased to 18.4%.?

  Eli gripped Starling tighter, feeling the weakened pulse of its core against his palm. They'd survived, but at a cost. The river-stone's decay, the rising corruption in his veins, the scouts' rapid evolution – everything was escalating faster than they'd anticipated.

  "We adapt too," he said firmly, though his voice was rough with exhaustion. "Find a new way. Like you said, Marco – sometimes statistical improbability proves tactically advantageous."

  ?Your optimism remains... statistically puzzling,? Marco replied, but there was something almost like warmth in his synthesized tone. ?And yet...?

  The clicking from below grew louder. Closer. "Move," Marco urged, his hologram flickering as new calculations streamed across the L.I.S.T. interface. ?Southeast maintenance tunnel: 43 meters. Multiple structural weaknesses detected. We can use them.?

  Eli limped forward, each step sending jolts of pain through his injured leg. The binding spell's golden threads pulsed in sync with his labored breathing, while the corruption in his veins spread further, turning the skin around each blackened line hypersensitive to the cold, stale air.

  The maintenance tunnel was a cramped warren of twisted metal and exposed pipes, many leaking caustic fluids that ate away at the ancient floor. Starling's weakened core barely illuminated their path, its blue light stuttering like a dying heartbeat.

  ?Alert: Pursuit patterns shifting,? Marco warned. ?They're attempting to map our vulnerabilities. Using your injuries to predict movement limitations.?

  "Wonderful," Eli muttered, ducking under a low-hanging pipe. "Any other good news?"

  ?Analyzing structural integrity,? Marco continued, ignoring the sarcasm. ?That support beam – seventeen degrees to your left. Its collapse would trigger a cascading structural failure. Potentially seal this section.?

  Eli studied the beam through the L.I.S.T.'s tactical overlay. "And how exactly am I supposed to break that? Starling can barely—"

  ?You won't need to,? Marco interrupted. ?The scouts' acid will do it for us. We simply need to... encourage proper target selection.?

  A grim smile touched Eli's lips. "Make them do the work for us?"

  ?Precisely. Though timing will be... statistically challenging.?