Symbiote Sovereign

Chapter 9: Calculated Severance

"You call this acceptable behavior?"

Sector Warden Meyer slammed his fist onto the metallic desk. The sound echoed in the sterile office.

"Robbing your fellow initiates? Forty-seven complaints in one hour! The Academy Disciplinary Committee is breathing down my neck!"

Vane stood before the desk, hands clasped behind his back. He looked less like a scolded child and more like an auditor reviewing a failed ledger.

"It wasn't robbery," Vane corrected calmly. "It was 'Unscheduled Combat Simulation'."

Meyer blinked, his respirator clicking. "What?"

"Citadel Regulation 74, Section B," Vane cited, his voice monotonous. "'Initiates are encouraged to compete for resources. As long as no permanent physiological damage is inflicted and no lethal force is used, resource reallocation is considered valid combat training.'"

Vane gestured to his data-pad.

"I scanned every student before engagement. I applied precise strikes to non-vital areas. No broken bones. No internal bleeding. Just pain and compliance. I followed the rules to the letter."

Meyer stared at him. The vein on his forehead throbbed. He knew the rule. Everyone knew the rule. But it was an unwritten agreement that C-Grade trash didn't exploit it against the elite.

"You are twisting the law," Meyer growled.

"I am applying it," Vane said. "You cut my funding. You forced me into a survival scenario. I adapted. Isn't that what the Bio-Arcanist program is all about? 'Adapt or Die'?"

The Warden's wife, sitting in the corner, finally spoke. Her voice was syrupy sweet, masking the venom.

"Vane, darling, you're making this difficult. We're family. We didn't cut your funding to hurt you; we did it to... motivate you."

She slid a holographic document across the desk.

"Sign this. It's a 'Rehabilitation Contract'. We'll restore your allowance, double it even. All you have to do is stop this gate blockade and join Zane's squad as a... support member."

Vane glanced at the contract. It was a trap. A legal binding that would make him a permanent subordinate to his brother, forcing him to transfer 80% of his Ether earnings to the "Team Leader."

"Support member," Vane repeated. "You mean a meat shield. An Ether battery for your precious Golden Child."

"It's a generous offer for a C-Grade," the Aunt’s smile hardened. "Without us, you are nothing. You have no resources. You have no backing."

"I have the Gate," Vane said.

He turned around, walking towards the exit.

"And as long as those idiots keep trying to pass through it, I have all the funding I need."

"If you walk out that door," Meyer threatened, "you are on your own. No medical coverage. No legal protection. If someone kills you in the arena, we won't claim the body."

Vane stopped. He didn't look back.

"Good," he said. "That saves me the trouble of paying for your funerals."

The door hissed shut.

Meyer sat back, stunned. "That... that thing. Is it really our nephew?"

The Aunt stared at the closed door, her eyes cold. "No. That is something else entirely."