The Glass Citadel of the Anatheum Institute rose from Avalon's academic district like a monument to ordered thought amidst chaotic inspiration. Translucent crystalline panels shifted hues with the angle of sunlight—or perhaps with cosmic alignments invisible to ordinary eyes. No two visitors ever described its colors the same way.

  Byron had read the briefing three times during the hurried transport across the city. The Anatheum stood at one of Avalon's seven major convergence points—places where the boundaries between dimensions grew naturally thin. If Metcom's plan involved disrupting these points, the Institute would be a primary target.

  He studied the building's elegant geometry as their transport descended toward the landing pad. "Evacuation status?"

  "Partial," Warren replied, scrolling through updates on his pad. "Essential research staff remained behind to secure sensitive materials and experiments. Approximately forty-two personnel still inside."

  "Including Director Elys," Clare added, sliding her hand along her rifle's barrel one final time. "He insists on monitoring the dimensional fluctuations personally."

  The transport touched down with a gentle bump. Through the viewport, Byron could see figures in the distinctive blue robes of the Institute's security forces establishing a perimeter around the building. They moved with efficiency born of drills and protocols, but their frequent glances skyward betrayed their unease.

  For good reason. The sky above Avalon had begun to change.

  It wasn't anything dramatic enough to cause general panic—not yet. Just subtle wrongness that tugged at the edges of perception. Colors that shifted too quickly in the cloud patterns. Stars faintly visible despite the daylight. The sensation that the space between objects contained more distance than it should.

  "Zark'thul's orders were explicit," Byron reminded his squad as they prepared to disembark. "We secure the Anatheum's dimensional research and defend the convergence point until their specialists can implement countermeasures."

  "And if Argent Shield shows up?" Geneve asked, twirling a knife between her fingers, the metal catching light as it spun.

  "We handle them," Byron said simply.

  "Dibs on the first one," she replied with a tight smile.

  The transport's doors slid open, and they stepped onto the landing pad. A woman in formal academic robes approached, her silver hair caught in the artificial breeze from their vessel's engines.

  "Professor Maia Wynn," she introduced herself crisply, not bothering with pleasantries. "Director Elys is expecting you. Our dimensional sensors detected the first anomalies seventeen minutes ago, and they're intensifying on a logarithmic scale."

  "Any sign of hostile activity?" Byron asked as they followed her toward the main entrance.

  "Not yet, but our security systems registered attempts to breach our digital perimeter eight minutes ago," she replied, leading them through doors that shifted from opaque to transparent as they approached. "Someone's trying very hard to access our dimensional stabilization protocols."

  Inside, the Anatheum's grand atrium soared upward through all seven levels of the structure. Like the exterior, the interior walls consisted of crystalline panels that subtly changed coloration. Today, they pulsed with deeper hues than normal—purples and blues dominating where gold and silver usually prevailed.

  "The building itself is responding to the dimensional instability," Professor Wynn explained, noting their observation. "The crystalline structure is artificially grown from materials harvested from multiple realms. It serves as an early warning system of sorts."

  Warren studied the patterns with evident fascination. "Fascinating engineering. The harmonic resonance would create a self-reinforcing—"

  "Later," Byron interrupted gently. "Focus."

  They entered a high-speed elevator that deposited them at the top level of the Institute. Director Gathren Elys awaited them in what appeared to be the main research hub—a circular chamber ringed with monitoring equipment and staffed by researchers working with urgency.

  The director was tall even for an elf, with silver-white hair pulled back in a complex braid. His eyes held the depth that came only from centuries of observation, yet remained sharp with present focus.

  "Squad One," he acknowledged without preamble. "Your employer's timing is fortuitous. We detected the pattern thirty minutes before the first physical manifestations appeared."

  He gestured toward the central holographic display, which showed a three-dimensional map of Avalon. Seven points glowed on the map, connected by lines of energy that pulsed in unsettling rhythm.

  "The convergence points," Byron recognized. "They're being activated simultaneously."

  "Indeed. Someone has placed devices at each location—devices that are actively thinning the dimensional barriers. The pattern is specific, deliberate." Director Elys manipulated the display, expanding one section. "This is our location. The Anatheum contains technology designed to study and stabilize dimensional anomalies. If it falls, the entire eastern quadrant of Avalon could experience catastrophic dimensional collapse."

  "What exactly are we defending?" Byron asked.

  The director led them to a secured door at the rear of the research hub. It opened to reveal a smaller chamber housing a single device—a pyramidal structure composed of interlocking crystal and metal components that hummed with barely contained energy.

  "The Harmonic Anchor," Director Elys explained. "One of seven original stabilization points established during Avalon's founding. Each convergence point contains a similar apparatus, though they differ in design. Together, they maintain the delicate balance that allows Avalon to exist as a nexus between realms."

  Clare studied the device with a professional eye. "And Metcom wants to compromise it?"

  "Not compromise—control," the director corrected. "Their Pinpoint Rift devices aren't designed to destroy the Anchors but to override them. They're attempting to reshape Avalon's dimensional properties according to their specifications."

  "Creating selective gateways they can monopolize," Warren theorized.

  "That was likely their original intention," Director Elys agreed. "But our readings suggest something has changed. The pattern they've created doesn't match any known dimensional engineering paradigm. It's as if..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's as if the technology has been corrupted to serve a different purpose entirely."

  A researcher rushed into the chamber, her expression taut with urgency. "Director, we've detected a security breach at the western entrance. Multiple hostiles with advanced technology."

  "Argent Shield," Byron concluded. "They're here."

  The director turned to Professor Wynn. "Begin protocol seven. Transfer all essential research to secure storage and prepare emergency stabilization measures."

  "Yes, Director," she acknowledged, already moving toward the main research hub.

  Director Elys faced Byron, his ancient eyes reflecting a gravity few humans could comprehend. "Your squad must hold them back long enough for our specialists to strengthen the Anchor. If they reach this chamber and disable our defenses, the consequences would extend far beyond corporate profit margins."

  "Understood. We'll secure the building." Byron turned to his team. "Warren, coordinate with their security systems. I want full surveillance and control of all access points. Clare, find your perch and provide overwatch. Geneve, with me—we'll establish a forward defensive position. Lyssa, set up a medical station here and prepare dimensional stabilization compounds."

  As the squad dispersed to their assignments, Byron activated his comm link to the Tower. "Sir, we've reached the Anatheum. Argent Shield forces are attempting to breach the western entrance. The Institute houses one of Avalon's original dimensional Anchors—critical infrastructure that must be protected."

  "Their arrival was anticipated," Zark'thul replied, his voice unnaturally calm despite the crisis. "The Anchors were always their primary targets. The Pinpoint Rifts merely prepare the way by weakening the dimensional fabric sufficiently for the Anchors to be manipulated."

  "Manipulated for what purpose?"

  A brief pause, then: "Director Elys possesses a theory remarkably close to the truth. The Synergy Project has been corrupted—or perhaps was always intended—to serve as a summoning array."

  "For Nai'hum," Byron concluded, recalling their earlier conversation.

  "A fragment thereof. Defend the Anchor at all costs, Byron. I am coordinating with Squad Two and will arrive at the Grand Terminus when all pieces are in position."

  The communication ended, leaving Byron with questions he had no time to contemplate. He joined Geneve at a barricade established near the main elevators, where Institute security personnel had taken defensive positions.

  "Warren reports twelve hostiles at the western entrance, with more approaching," Geneve informed him. "They're using some kind of dimensional disruption tech to bypass the outer security measures."

  "Sophisticated for a corporate security force," Byron noted.

  Geneve checked her weapons with quick, fluid movements honed through countless drills. "This stopped being about corporate security a while ago."

  "Fair point."

  The lights throughout the Institute dimmed momentarily, then returned with a subtle blue tinge. Through the windows, they could see the sky above Avalon darkening unnaturally, as if night were falling hours too early.

  Warren's voice came through their comms. "They've breached the first security layer. Estimated three minutes until they reach the primary elevator shafts."

  "Acknowledged," Byron replied. "Clare, status?"

  "In position," the sniper confirmed. "I've established lines of sight on all major approaches. The crystalline walls are problematic—variable transparency affects targeting."

  "Adjust as needed. Priority targets are any hostiles carrying specialized equipment."

  A tremor ran through the building—not like an earthquake, but as if reality itself had shuddered. The crystalline panels surrounding them pulsed with deep violet light, then settled back to their blue hue.

  "What was that?" Geneve asked, steadying herself against the barricade.

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  "Dimensional shock wave," one of the Institute's security personnel explained, his expression grim beneath his helmet. "One of the other convergence points must have been compromised."

  Byron's comm activated again, this time with Lyssa's voice. "Byron, Professor Wynn says they're detecting massive dimensional disturbances at the Liminal District junction. The Pinpoint Rift there may have fully activated."

  Another tremor, stronger this time. The air throughout the Institute briefly shimmered, and for a moment, Byron saw ghostly overlays—alternative versions of the same space, occupied by different configurations and different beings. Then reality snapped back into place, leaving an aftertaste of wrongness.

  "Institute personnel, fall back to secondary positions," Byron ordered. "Maintain communications discipline and report any dimensional anomalies immediately."

  The Institute's security team nodded acknowledgment and withdrew to their designated fallback points, leaving Squad One to hold the primary defense line. They were professionals, but this situation exceeded standard security threats. Better to have them guard the researchers directly while Tower Agents handled the front line.

  "Here they come," Clare reported through the comm. "Elevator two is ascending rapidly."

  Byron readied his shield as Geneve took position beside him, knives drawn. The elevator indicator showed the car rising swiftly toward their floor.

  "Remember," he told her quietly, "we need at least one for questioning."

  "I'll aim for the legs," she promised with a dangerous smile.

  The elevator chimed with incongruous pleasantness as it reached their floor. The doors slid open to reveal four figures in tactical gear bearing the distinctive red stripe of Argent Shield. They moved with military coordination, weapons raised—but these weren't standard firearms. The devices they carried hummed with an unsettling resonance, their barrels shifting between solid and semi-transparent states.

  "Void tech," Byron murmured, recognizing the dimensional distortion pattern from their previous encounter.

  The lead operative spotted them and barked an order. The team spread out in practiced formation, taking cover behind structural columns as they prepared to advance.

  "Anatheum Institute is under Tower protection," Byron called out, his voice steady and authoritative. "Stand down and withdraw."

  The leader's response was a burst of energy from his weapon. The shot struck the barricade, warping the material into something that briefly stopped being solid before resoldering into a twisted configuration. Not destruction—transformation.

  "So much for diplomacy," Geneve muttered.

  Clare's rifle cracked from her elevated position, the shot striking one operative's weapon with deadly accuracy. The device sputtered and died, void energy discharging in a harmless shower of sparks.

  The battle erupted in earnest. Byron advanced with his shield, deflecting energy blasts that would have warped the very matter of his body had they connected. Geneve flowed around him like quicksilver, exploiting the openings his advance created. Her knives found vulnerable points in their opponents' armor—not killing blows, but disabling strikes that severed connections to power sources and mobility systems.

  Warren coordinated from his position at the Institute's security hub, manipulating environment controls to their advantage. Lights flashed to blind at crucial moments; ventilation systems redirected to obscure sightlines with pressurized vapor.

  Two operatives fell to Clare's rifle, their weapons disabled and their armor's power systems compromised. A third engaged Geneve directly, deploying a vibro-blade that hummed with the same disturbing dimensional properties as their ranged weapons.

  Byron focused on the leader, recognizing that neutralizing the command structure would disrupt their coordination. The operative was skilled, maintaining distance while directing his team with hand signals. He carried what appeared to be a more advanced version of the void weapon—its housing more streamlined, its effects more controlled.

  Another dimensional tremor shook the building, stronger than before. The crystalline panels around them flared with intense light, momentarily blinding everyone in the corridor. When vision returned, reality had... shifted.

  The corridor remained structurally identical, but details had changed. The barricade's composition was different—stone instead of metal. The color scheme had altered to deep greens where blues had been. Most disconcertingly, faint phantom figures moved through the space—translucent researchers and security personnel going about business in what appeared to be an alternate version of the same location.

  "Dimensional bleed-through," Warren reported, his voice tight with scientific fascination despite the circumstances. "The barriers between parallel versions of Avalon are thinning."

  The Argent Shield operatives seemed momentarily disoriented by the change, giving Squad One the opening they needed. Byron charged the leader, his shield connecting with enough force to stagger the man backward. Geneve appeared behind the operative in a blur of movement, her knife finding the power pack at the small of his back. The void weapon died with a discordant whine.

  Within moments, the remaining hostiles had been neutralized—disabled rather than killed, as per standard Tower protocols for intelligence-gathering.

  "Secure them," Byron ordered as the phantom images around them gradually faded, reality reasserting its primacy. "Warren, status report."

  "Second team breaching the eastern entrance," Warren replied. "Institute security is engaging, but they're outmatched."

  "Clare, reposition to cover the eastern approach. Geneve and I will bring the prisoners to the research hub for questioning, then reinforce that position."

  As they bound the unconscious operatives, Byron examined their equipment more closely. The void weapons were even more advanced than those they'd encountered at the warehouse—more refined, more focused in their dimensional manipulation capabilities.

  "These aren't mass-produced," he noted, carefully detaching a power cell for later analysis. "Each one's been individually calibrated."

  "Expensive toys for a corporate hit squad," Geneve agreed.

  They brought the squad leader—still unconscious but securely restrained—to the research hub, where Director Elys and his team worked frantically to reinforce the Harmonic Anchor. The device now pulsed with intense energy, responding to the dimensional disturbances rippling through Avalon.

  Professor Wynn approached them, her expression grave. "Three more convergence points have reported Pinpoint Rift activations. The Grand Terminus is showing the most severe effects—some kind of structure is forming there, drawing power from the other points."

  "A focusing array," Director Elys added without looking up from his work. "They're channeling the dimensional disruption toward a central location."

  Byron studied the holographic display, which now showed energy flowing from six points toward the seventh—the Grand Terminus. "Can you stabilize your Anchor?"

  "We're trying," the director replied. "But we're fighting against an unprecedented level of dimensional interference. The mathematics are... challenging."

  The Argent Shield leader stirred, consciousness returning. His eyes focused slowly, then widened as he recognized his situation.

  "You're making a terrible mistake," he said, voice rough from exertion. "This isn't about corporate politics anymore. What's coming can't be stopped—only guided."

  "What's coming?" Byron demanded.

  The man smiled thinly. "Liberation. This realm has existed as a lie for too long. A convergence point trapping souls in false lives, preventing them from finding their true destinations. The Fragment will correct this imbalance."

  "Nai'hum," Byron said. "You're cultists. Harvesters of Amrit."

  A flicker of surprise crossed the man's face. "You know more than you should. But not enough to understand. Avalon was never meant to exist as it does—a patchwork of realities forcing incompatible existences to coexist. The Fragment will unravel this mistake."

  "And Metcom? Argent Shield? Where do they fit in your cosmic correction?"

  The man's laugh held no humor. "Vessels and tools, nothing more. Chandler thought she was reshaping Avalon's business landscape. She never realized she was being prepared as the Fragment's anchor in this reality."

  Another tremor shook the Institute, violent enough to throw standing researchers off balance. The crystalline panels blazed with scarlet light, and the phantom images returned—stronger, more substantial. Some of the ghostly researchers seemed to notice them this time, looking up in confusion as if suddenly aware of the cross-dimensional bleed-through.

  "The barriers are collapsing," Director Elys announced, his ancient voice tight with controlled urgency. "All seven Pinpoint Rifts have achieved synchronization. The dimensional field is becoming unstable throughout Avalon."

  Byron's comm link activated. Zark'thul's voice emerged with unusual intensity.

  "Squad One, hold your position. The Anatheum's Anchor must remain operational. Squad Two has secured three of the Pinpoint Rifts, but the others have progressed too far for direct intervention. I am proceeding to the Grand Terminus. The final convergence happens there."

  "Understood, sir. What should we expect?"

  A pause, then: "Reality becoming...negotiable. Trust your REDLINE conditioning—it will help you distinguish between valid perceptions and dimensional bleed-through."

  The link went silent. Byron turned to find Warren studying the prisoner with analytical curiosity.

  "He mentioned souls trapped in false lives," Warren noted. "That aligns with what we know of the Resurgents' beliefs, but not typical corporate motivation."

  "Because corporate profit was never the true goal," Director Elys interjected, joining their conversation while his researchers continued their work on the Anchor. "I've suspected for some time that Avalon's nature is more complex than most realize."

  "Meaning?" Byron prompted.

  The director's ancient eyes held knowledge that seemed to transcend academic learning. "Avalon exists as both a physical city and a metaphysical waypoint. The souls of beings from countless realms converge here—not as spectral shades, but as living beings carrying the weight of forgotten lives and histories."

  "You're saying everyone in Avalon is... dead?" Geneve asked incredulously.

  "Not dead. Transformed. Continuing. The boundaries between life and afterlife blur here." Director Elys gestured toward the windows, where the sky had darkened to an unnatural void. "That's what makes this attack so dangerous. If the dimensional fabric collapses completely, it doesn't just destroy a city—it unravels the continuation of countless existences."

  A deafening crack split the air, and through the windows, they saw a column of darkness erupt from the direction of the Grand Terminus. It rose into the sky like an inverted spire, widening as it reached higher. Where it touched the clouds, they disintegrated into nothingness.

  "The breach has begun," Director Elys whispered.

  Another tremor rocked the building, the crystalline panels flaring with such intensity that they cracked in several places. Reality flickered around them, alternating between different versions of the same space. Researchers phased in and out of visibility, some appearing in different positions or wearing different clothing.

  "The Anchor is destabilizing!" Professor Wynn called out, rushing back to the apparatus.

  "Defensive positions," Byron ordered his squad. "Whatever happens at the Grand Terminus, our priority remains protecting this location."

  Warren's voice came through the comm. "Byron, more hostiles approaching. At least twenty, heavily armed. And there's something else—dimensional readings indicate a localized breach forming in the Institute's central atrium."

  Byron moved to the window overlooking the atrium below. What he saw sent ice through his veins. The air at the center of the space had begun to fold inward, reality puckering around a growing void. Unlike the dimensional bleed-through they'd witnessed earlier, this wasn't an alternate version of the same location—it was something else entirely intruding into their reality.

  Through the widening aperture, Byron caught glimpses of a landscape that defied comprehension—structures that seemed to fold in on themselves in geometrically impossible ways, illuminated by light that cast no shadows.

  "The Void Reaches," he realized. "They're creating a secondary breach here."

  "Not possible," Director Elys insisted, joining him at the window. "The Anchor should prevent any direct incursion, even if compromised."

  "Tell that to whatever's coming through," Geneve said, pointing to a shape beginning to emerge from the rift.

  In the atrium below, Institute security personnel scrambled to establish a perimeter around the breach, but they backed away as something pushed against the boundary between dimensions. A limb—if such a terribly wrong appendage could be called that—reached through the opening. It glistened with a substance that wasn't quite fluid, its surface constantly reshaping itself as it tested the air of Avalon.

  Byron activated his comm link to the Tower with grim determination. "Sir, we have a situation at the Anatheum. A secondary breach is forming in the central atrium. Something's coming through."

  Zark'thul's response was immediate, his voice carrying an edge Byron had never heard before. "Do not engage directly. Hold the perimeter and protect the Anchor at all costs. I will send reinforcements."

  As the link closed, Byron turned to his squad. The strange appendage had been joined by another, both now probing the edges of the breach as if testing the dimensional barrier's strength.

  "Whatever happens," he told them quietly, "we hold this position. For the Tower. For Avalon."

  Warren nodded grimly. "For all those souls that might never find their way without this place."

  Clare checked her rifle with methodical focus. "Just another day at the office."

  "Speak for yourself," Geneve quipped, though her knives were already in hand. "I was promised a corporate security job, not cosmic horror."

  Lyssa finished preparing a series of specialized compounds designed to stabilize dimensional anomalies. "At least it's never boring."

  Beyond the windows, the darkness above the Grand Terminus had expanded, consuming a growing section of the sky. Whatever confrontation was occurring there would determine Avalon's fate—but their duty remained here, protecting one critical point in a city-wide battle for reality itself.

  The thing in the atrium pulled itself further through the breach, its form defying comprehension as it twisted between dimensions. Institute security opened fire, their weapons seemingly ineffective against a being partly existing in another reality.

  Byron checked his shield's energy reserves one final time. "Get ready."