The Extra's Rise - Chapter 972
972: Binding Notice 972: Binding Notice The first letters wrote themselves across the air, clean and severe.
No one breathed.
THIS IS A BINDING TOWER.
IT HOLDS THE DEMON LORD OF LUST.
IF YOU DO NOT CONQUER IT WITHIN SIX MONTHS, THE PRISON OPENS ON EARTH. The words hung in the center of the room, stark and absolute.
Below them, the countdown started, the numbers ticking backward from 182 days with a clock that wasn’t ours.
The silence in the war room was heavier than any shout.
Rachel went pale, then a flush of anger crossed her face, and then both were replaced by a mask of cold professionalism.
She kept her eyes on the text as if she could stare it into behaving.
“Trace the route,” Cecilia said, her voice cutting through the stillness.
She was already pulling up a packet map of the Empire’s secure networks.
“Antique path,” Rachel answered, her fingers flying across her slate.
“Three dead nodes only the old houses keep alive for sentiment.
A signature gate.
Then it uses a slit in the palace net I did not know existed.” Adeline’s mouth tightened.
“We will patch the slit later.
Content first.” Charlotte pressed her thumb to the brass rim of the array.
“Resonance,” she said.
The floor hummed, and the reinforced windows answered.
Far away, the tower pulsed in response: ten quick, sharp beats, a long breath, then ten again.
My heart tried to match its rhythm.
I told it no.
“Lust,” Luna said, her voice steady and sure.
“The frequency matches the old sites of her cults.” “Six months is a leash,” Quinn said from behind his mother, his red eyes narrowed.
“It wants us living in its shadow long enough to make tired mistakes.” “Then we will write laws that can survive tired people,” Cecilia declared, her pen already moving.
“Chairs.
Tea.
Clean air.
We make sure the payrolls are on time.
We will bore the city on purpose until this is done.” Everett tapped an old, leather-bound diagram he’d brought from the Springshaper archives.
“Binding towers listen, and they invite,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of history.
“If you let them set the language of the fight, you lose.
If you set the language early, you get odds.” “Plain before brave,” I said, and the brass of the array seemed to agree.
Selene Kagu’s holo tilted its head.
“Second Hero,” she said, her voice cool and clinical, “if the inner seam of the tower is language waiting for a signature, who signs for us?” “I do,” I said.
It was that simple.
“Within the scope this table defines.
And only after we’ve stripped every trick out of the sentence.” Alastor Creighton’s holo leaned forward, his calm gaze on Rachel, then on me.
“Second Hero,” he said, and the title was a promise, “you have our family’s lines if you need them.” As if summoned, Rachel’s slate buzzed softly-a private ping this time.
She glanced at it, blinked, and a long, slow breath escaped her lips.
“My mother,” she said, her voice tight.
She read the six words aloud: “‘We will explain.
Work first.'” She didn’t look at me for approval.
She didn’t need to.
She put the anger on a shelf and got back to work.
Eva pointed to a fresh curl of script as Charlotte layered new translations over the tower’s image.
“That set reverses consent language,” Eva said, her academic focus absolute.
“Any ‘I agree’ will be eaten by the tower and returned as a command.
We need a public education campaign, without causing a panic.
We teach people to ‘say less.'” “Poster copy,” Cecilia said, already writing.
“‘Say Less, Live More.’ Boring font.
Friendly colors.” Lucifer’s holo smirked.
“Marketable.” “Effective,” Reika corrected, her voice deadpan. Marcus Viserion, the Duke of Ironwood, cracked his knuckles, the sound like rocks grinding together.
“We’re really going to stare at a tower for half a year?” “We will plan for six months and end it sooner,” Adeline said, her voice never rising.
“We do not sprint a marathon only to die at mile two.” The plan began to form, a living thing built by two dozen of the most competent minds on the planet.
Arden Windward secured the sky lanes, banning all sightseeing drones and media choppers .
Valen Ashbluff promised a working lexicon of the tower’s hostile grammar, only for Charlotte to cut him off with a crisp, “I’ll have it by lunch.” Seraphina planned to subtly drop the temperature along the tower’s approach lanes, making “go home” feel like common sense .
Reika laid out a grid of cordons, medical hubs, and school evacuation “drills”.
Rachel had four Redeemer teams on standby, their lanterns sealed until they were needed to cleanse the ground beneath the tower’s shadow.
Quinn met my eyes, a silent promise passing between us.
“I’m at your back until the ground stops being ground,” he said.
“If you step onto glass, we learn how to step differently.” The Creighton crest pulsed again on the main display.
A second block of text appeared, neat and clinical as a surgeon’s report.
ENTRY MUST OCCUR AT THE BASE.
OUTER SHELL IS A DISTRACTION.
INNER ACCESS IS CONTRACTUAL.
DO NOT SIGN.
DO NOT STATE YOUR FULL NAME.
DO NOT AGREE TO ANY SENTENCE THAT BEGINS WITH ‘I WANT.’ Rachel’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of pride and steel in her expression.
“That’s my mother’s hand,” she said.
“Sharp.
Useful.
Rude.” “Send her a fruit basket later,” Cecilia said without looking up.
“I’ll send her a bill,” Rachel muttered, but the hard edge in her voice had eased. “Scope of authority,” I asked Adeline aloud, because rooms like this move smoother when the stamp is spoken for all to hear.
“You have it,” she said simply.
“Within this plan.
The Second Hero sets the first sentences in the field.
We keep the city steady.” “Understood.” Luna leaned her shoulder into mine, a small, sun-warm pressure.
“The first line you write when you see the seam,” she said, her voice for me alone.
“Make it small.
Not brave.
True.” “Yes,” I said.
Adeline stood.
Everyone else followed, the holos straightening in their projected chairs.
“Second Hero,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, her voice steady as the foundation of the palace itself, “you have the respect of this table and the weight of the Empire.
We will build six months of calm if that is what it takes.
We will end this sooner if we can.
We will not let the world be written by Lust.” Around the ring, the voices joined hers, a chorus of resolve.
“Second Hero,” Alastor said.
“Second Hero,” from Lucifer, amused but sincere.
“Second Hero,” Marcus, solid.
“Second Hero,” Quinn, his red eyes steady.
“We stand behind you.” I nodded once.
Respect in place.
Work clear.
“Then we write,” I said. Outside, the tower pulsed its thin, patient note.
The countdown on the display rolled over to 181 days, 23 hours, and 59 minutes, and kept going, as polite and as final as a knife.