In the dimly lit chambers of the Syndicate, the Messenger knelt before a tall, imposing figure draped in deep violet robes. Her hood shrouded much of her face in shadow, save for a glimpse of piercing green eyes that held an unsettling calm. Callista, one of the Syndicate's core leaders, studied the Messenger with a cool, calculating gaze, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the carved arm of her stone throne.The Messenger, ever loyal and unwavering, looked up, his face a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. "Our plans are progressing, Callista. The finals of the Bender League will soon begin. Stronghold and Mira face each other."Callista's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Ah, Stronghold. The cradle of energy manipulation. How fitting." Her voice was silk and steel, laced with a hint of malice. "Today marks a turning point, Messenger. The tournament is only the beginning. If the foundations are laid correctly, our influence will spread across all eight cities."The Messenger inclined his head, his expression fierce with resolve. "And you believe today will bring that influence?""Not believe—know," she replied smoothly, her gaze turning distant, as if she could already see their ambitions unfolding. "By the time the sun sets, the strength of our opposition will have fractured. Stronghold's secrets are bound to surface, and when they do... well, let's just say that each of the cities will soon fall in line. You are to lay down the foundations precisely. No deviations."The Messenger bowed deeply, his voice a solemn vow. "Consider it done, Callista.""Good." Callista's eyes glinted with an edge of excitement. "The time has come to plant our roots within Stronghold. And let's not forget... we must retrieve what remains in Veilstead. Our plans cannot reach their full potential without the knowledge contained there. Ensure everything is in place."With a curt nod, the Messenger vanished, leaving Callista alone in the shadows. She leaned back, her thoughts drifting to the cities she planned to subdue. Stronghold would only be the beginning.In the fortified depths of Stronghold's high-security prison, a grim silence hung in the air. Steel-reinforced walls, energy-dampening barriers, and vigilant guards surrounded the cell where Rage, the infamous mercenary, was held. His defeat had left bruises on his pride more than on his body, but his mind was sharper than ever, each second plotting his escape.Hours ticked by, and the guards' shifts came and went with military precision. Rage sat on the cold metal bed, his fists clenched, his eyes focused. He'd learned patience, after all, and tonight would be his chance.A faint hum echoed down the corridor, almost imperceptible to the guards but acutely felt by Rage. The Nexus energy dampeners, usually stable, wavered momentarily, like a glitch in their system. Rage's eyes sharpened, his instincts kicking in. He sensed something shifting, an unseen presence threading through the energy.Suddenly, the dampening field surrounding his cell flickered, the lights dimming. The guards noticed, one reaching for his communicator, but the line crackled with static, then silence."Hey, what's going on?" one guard muttered, tapping his earpiece. The other guard exchanged a look of unease.Before they could investigate further, a dark mist began to seep through the small window at the top of Rage's cell door, condensing until it formed a thin, shadowed figure. Its form stabilized, revealing the Messenger, his face hidden beneath a dark cloak."Rage," he whispered, his voice carrying a dangerous promise. "The time has come for you to fulfill your purpose."Rage's lips twisted into a wicked grin. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," he growled, standing up. "What's the plan?"The Messenger extended a gloved hand, and in an instant, a surge of energy pulsed between them. Rage's restraints snapped open, falling to the ground with a metallic clatter."We have business in Mira," the Messenger said smoothly, his gaze unwavering. "It's time you make yourself useful."As Rage took a step forward, a guard shouted, raising his weapon. But before he could fire, the Messenger flicked his wrist, and a wave of darkness engulfed the guard, silencing him instantly. The other guard stumbled backward, his hand trembling as he fumbled for the emergency alarm.Rage took the opportunity to charge, swinging a brutal punch at the guard and sending him crashing against the wall. "Well, looks like I'm free again," he sneered, his eyes flashing with a mixture of relief and renewed purpose.The Messenger gestured down the corridor. "Leave a trail if you like, but waste no time. We're leaving."With a gleeful smirk, Rage barreled down the hallway, taking out guards with swift, ruthless precision. His pent-up fury poured out with every strike, every shattered barrier, until finally, the last of the security forces lay unconscious or incapacitated behind him.The Messenger paused just outside the prison entrance, waiting as Rage stepped into the open air, his chest heaving. "You've wasted enough time here," the Messenger said, his voice a quiet command. "Our enemies are waiting for us.""Lead the way," Rage replied, his tone brimming with dark satisfaction.As they disappeared into the night, an alarm finally blared within the empty prison. But by then, the Syndicate's plans had already taken a deadly step forward.