The crackle of dying electricity faded into the mournful whistle of the wind. Where the Adjuster had stood, there was now only a starburst-shaped scorch mark on the tarred roof, a faint pillar of ozone-scented smoke rising from it like a departing soul. The rooftop, which seconds before had been a chaotic lightning storm, was now deathly still.
Leo sagged, his legs giving out from under him. He landed hard on one knee, the world a swimming, grey vortex. The mana cost for [Deep Clean] was not just a depletion; it was a physical agony, a deep, hollow ache that felt like a vital organ had been scooped out. Every muscle screamed.
"Leo!"
Sarah's voice cut through the fog. He felt her hands on his shoulders, steadying him, preventing him from collapsing completely. The rest of the small group—Ben, Rick, Maria—stared, their faces a mixture of stark terror and slack-jawed awe. They weren't looking at the scorch mark; they were looking at him. At the man who had called down the lightning.
"Is he… is it over?" Rick stammered, his voice trembling as he clutched the sleeping form of Lily tighter.
Leo forced himself to nod, his head feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. "I think so."
He glanced at his internal System log, expecting a triumphant cascade of notifications. A flood of XP for taking down such a high-level threat. A unique loot drop. Anything.
The log was blank.
There was no record of the kill. No experience points. The System, which had meticulously recorded the death of every Skitterer and Goblin, acted as if the entire confrontation had never happened.
The implication was colder than any winter wind. The Adjuster wasn't a monster. It wasn't part of the Grand Archive's menagerie. It was something else, an entity from an entirely different rulebook, and its destruction granted no reward. It was just… gone. A janitor cleaning up a mess that was never supposed to be there in the first place, with no one to sign his work order.
"Leo… the child," Sarah whispered, her voice filled with a sudden urgency.
He followed her gaze. On Rick's shoulder, Lily stirred. A small groan escaped her lips. Her brow, which had been tight with unseen terrors, relaxed. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open.
The whole group held their breath. Lily's eyes weren't cloudy or unfocused. They were clear. She blinked a few times, taking in the circle of strange, worried faces and the backdrop of a burning city skyline. She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She simply looked at Rick and asked, in a small, steady voice, "Is the bad man gone now?"
Sarah knelt beside her, a relieved sob catching in her throat. "Yes, sweetie. He's gone. It's all over."
"Okay," Lily said with the simple acceptance of a child. "I'm sleepy." She snuggled her head into the crook of Rick's shoulder and drifted back into a peaceful, natural sleep.
Leo felt a warmth spread through his hollowed-out core that had nothing to do with mana or the System. His Deep Clean hadn't just sterilized the roof; it seemed to have scrubbed the lingering psychic stain of the Night-Stalker from the girl's mind, resetting her to a baseline of simple, tired innocence. He had done it. He had truly, finally cleaned the mess.
The moment of peace was shattered by a deep, groaning tremor that ran through the entire rooftop. It wasn't an explosion from below. It was the building itself, sighing in resignation. A long, spiderweb crack shot across the helipad, passing just inches from Leo's knee.
"The structural supports!" Ben shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at the ruined stump of the West Wing. "His last attack—the liquidation protocol—it started a chain reaction! The whole load-bearing structure for this section is compromised! This roof isn't going to be here for much longer!"
They were standing on a concrete island that was actively sinking into the sky. The stairwell was gone. The West Wing was a pit. They had won the battle only to be trapped at the sight of their own victory's fallout.
It was then that Maria, her eyes scanning the horizon, yelled, "Contact! To the east!"
Leo forced his aching body to turn, following her pointed finger. It was a vehicle. A bulky, matte-gray cargo VTOL, flying low and fast over the burning skyscrapers. It wasn't civilian. It wasn't military as he understood it. Its engines glowed with a faint but distinct blue energy, a sure sign of System-integrated technology. And emblazoned on its side was a stark-white logo: a stylized phoenix rising from the center of a cog.
It was heading directly for them. For the helipad.
As the aircraft began its landing approach, kicking up wind and soot, a notification, the first since the fight, finally bloomed in Leo's vision. It wasn't one of victory. It was a warning.
[Proximity Alert: An Organized Faction has entered your operational theater.]
[Designation: The Phoenix Initiative (Guild - Reclamation & Research).]
[Disposition: Neutral… Evaluating.]