Chapter 6: The Knight-Commander's Scorn

Chapter 6: The Knight-Commander's Scorn

The med-bay in the Lexmordant headquarters was as sterile and impersonal as the rest of the building. Chase sat on the edge of a diagnostic slab, his bare torso crisscrossed with the faint, glowing lines of a healing charm Kael had nervously applied. The deep gashes on his chest had sealed, but the phantom pain remained, a dull ache that was nothing compared to the throbbing in his head. The psychic residue of the creature’s whispers clung to him like a shroud. Killer. You ran. You left her.

His left arm lay strapped to a diagnostic cradle. A small, hovering drone was painstakingly repairing the Lex System, its tiny manipulator arms weaving threads of silver light over the sections that had shorted out. The system had been designed as a shackle, and he had shattered it. Now they were patiently reforging the chains.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Elara stood there, her tactical gear immaculate, her expression unreadable. Not a single hair was out of place on her head, a stark contrast to Chase’s own disheveled state.

"The debriefing is in ten minutes," she said, her voice clipped. "Commander Sir Kay of the New Camelot Knights is presiding."

Chase grunted, swinging his legs off the slab. "Does he always show up when one of Mordred's new toys gets a scratch?"

"He shows up when one of Mordred's new toys blows a ten-meter crater in a protected historical zone," she corrected, her cold eyes flicking to the damaged brand on his arm. "He's not happy. Neither am I. Get dressed."

She slid a fresh uniform onto the slab and departed, the door hissing shut behind her. The uniform was identical to the one that had been torn to shreds. Replaceable. That’s what he was.

A short time later, he stood before the entrance to the Command Conclave. This room was different. It belonged to the Knights, not the Lexmordant. Polished chrome and cold, blue-white light replaced the muted stone and grey of Mordred's territory. In the center of the circular room was a large, holographic table, currently displaying a three-dimensional, rotating schematic of the crater he had created.

Three figures stood around it. Mordred was a calm island of shadow in his dark suit. Elara stood at rigid attention, the perfect soldier. And then there was the third man.

Sir Kay was exactly as his reputation suggested: a mountain of disciplined fury. Broad-shouldered and encased in the formal, high-tech uniform of a Knight-Commander, he looked less like a man and more like a siege engine. His military haircut was severe, his face was a permanent scowl carved from granite, and his right eye glowed with the faint, unnerving blue light of a high-grade cybernetic replacement. That eye fixed on Chase the moment he entered, and it felt like being pinned by a sniper's laser.

Desire: Chase didn't expect understanding, but he wanted the facts on the table. He wanted them to know this wasn't just him losing his temper. The creature had been a scalpel, not a club, and it had cut straight to the core of him. He needed to make them see the nature of the threat was psychological.

Obstacle: Sir Kay had already reached his verdict. The holographic crater rotating between them was the only evidence he cared to acknowledge.

"Operative Ambrose," Kay's voice was a low growl, like grinding stone. "I have read Commander Elara's preliminary report. 'Extensive collateral damage.' 'Willful violation of power-output regulations.' 'Systemic control failure.' It reads less like a mission report and more like the after-action summary of a bomb detonation."

"The creature was neutralized," Chase said, his voice level, refusing to be intimidated.

Kay’s cybernetic eye whirred softly as it scanned him. "At the cost of half a city block and the structural integrity of a priceless historical perimeter. Your 'neutralization' was the equivalent of using a tactical nuke to kill a spider."

"It wasn't just a spider," Chase shot back, his hands clenching into fists. "It got inside my head. It used…" He stopped himself, unwilling to expose the raw wound of his past to this man’s callous scrutiny. "It used psychological warfare. My reaction was a direct result of its attack vector."

"Excuses," Kay scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. The holographic crater zoomed in, showing the fused, glassy earth at its epicenter. "Discipline is maintaining control regardless of the 'attack vector.' You possess the raw power of a natural disaster, Ambrose, and the self-control of a petulant child. You are a liability."

The words struck a nerve, too close to the whispers, too close to his own self-loathing. "With all due respect, Commander, you weren't there. You don't know what we were facing."

"I know that I am looking at the result of unchecked power," Kay thundered, slamming a heavy fist on the edge of the table, making the hologram flicker. "The same unchecked power Mordred seems so fond of collecting. He brings a stray dog into our city, and now he's surprised it's digging holes in the yard."

The insult was aimed as much at Mordred as it was at Chase. The political tension in the room thickened, becoming a palpable force.

Mordred, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "The dog successfully protected the flock from a wolf, Sir Kay. A wolf whose existence your own patrols have consistently failed to even acknowledge. Perhaps you should be more concerned with the state of your fences than the holes in my yard."

Kay turned his glare on Mordred, his organic eye filled with contempt. "This 'rot' of yours is nothing more than magical residue. Echoes. It's your obsession with the past that gives them form. You see phantoms in every shadow because you, yourself, are a relic who refuses to fade away."

"And you build your towers of glass and steel so high you can no longer see the rot festering at their foundations," Mordred countered smoothly.

This was the heart of it. A battle of ideologies, and Chase was the bloody, contested ground. He was a piece on their board, his trauma and his power just assets to be argued over. The anger that had been simmering inside him began to boil.

Action: "Enough," Chase said, his voice cutting through the political maneuvering. Both commanders turned to look at him, surprised by his interruption. "This thing wasn't an echo. It spoke. It knew things. It targeted me specifically. It fed on my… instability. This isn't just random magic. It's intelligent. And it's learning."

Result: Sir Kay was unmoved. "Your instability is the issue, Ambrose, not its alleged intelligence. You are the common denominator in this equation of chaos." He straightened up, his voice dropping into the cold, official tone of command. "Effective immediately, Operative Ambrose is confined to the Lexmordant spire. He is to be considered on probationary status. His access to the city is revoked. Any further field deployment will require my direct, personal authorization. His Lex System will be upgraded with a priority failsafe—my failsafe. If you lose control again, I will be the one to switch you off. Permanently."

The threat was naked, brutal, and final. It was a declaration of war. He was no longer just a recruit; he was a prisoner, with the Knight-Commander himself holding the key to his cage.

Turning Point: Mordred stepped forward, placing himself subtly between Chase and the Knight-Commander. "Sir Kay, your concern for the city's safety is, as always, admirable. And your precautions are noted." His tone was placating, but his eyes held a glint of steel. "However, Ambrose is an operative of the Lexmordant. His discipline, his training, and his deployment remain under my jurisdiction. He is my asset to manage. And I assure you, he will be managed."

He claimed Chase like a piece of property, not defending his actions but asserting his ownership. The message was clear: This weapon is mine, not yours.

Ending: Kay held Mordred's gaze for a long moment, the animosity between them crackling like ozone. Finally, he gave a curt, dismissive nod. He turned his cybernetic eye back to Chase, the blue light narrowing.

"The last time a mage of your caliber went unchecked in this city, it cost us the entire Western Spire," Kay said, his voice a low, chilling whisper. "Men who can't control their power leave nothing but ash and ruins behind them. We have enough ruins here already."

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his heavy boots echoing on the chrome floor.

The word hung in the air. Ash.

It lanced through Chase, a cold spike of memory that was more painful than the creature's claws. He saw a small shoe. He smelled the burning. Kay didn't know. He couldn't possibly know. But with that single, venomous word, he had transformed from a political obstacle into something far more personal. He had become a reflection of Chase's own unforgivable sin, and in doing so, had made himself an enemy.