A sudden burst of freezing vapor surged forward, tearing through what remained of the broken vault in a rush of blinding cold. This thick, icy mist acted like a storm trapped in one spot, blocking sight just long enough - those pale eyes and her ancient officer could see nothing. That brief stretch of time, no more than three heartbeats, gave Vance space to act.
Metal groaned under Vance's steps, each one a deep thud across the smooth floor. Not pain now - the radiation fused into him turned struggle into something sharp, sudden, alive. That rebuilt foot? Hard as forged steel, never slipping, never breaking. Up ahead, Elian stumbled, dragged forward by the neck of his grimy suit, breath fogging in the cold air. Beside them, Axiom moved like shadow given shape, silent and wrapped in black.
Fires burst across the lower levels, lighting up the chaos from below.
Out near the broken prison, something woke up - the Queen's surge hit the Harvester spire like a shockwave. From high shafts, machines with too many arms spilled down in thick streams. Each thudding pulse from Arthur Prescott's age-field hammered the air, while invisible booms from Harvester tech cracked through silence just as hard.
Beneath the blackened frame of a fallen sentinel, Vance dropped low. He yanked Elian after him, their shoulders hitting rusted metal. Smoke curled from twisted joints nearby. The air tasted sharp, like burnt wires and old rain.
Light from the Astral Engine burned gold inside Vance's eyes, shaking with each pulse. Not caring about the battle just fifty yards off. Noise and fire tore through that distance. His vision stayed locked on the script. Words alive without needing breath. The fight raged like a thing forgotten. Stillness sat heavy in his skull despite the chaos. Thunder cracked beyond the ridge. He saw only glowing lines folding into themselves. A hum climbed up from beneath the ground. Nearby screams felt distant. The code did not blink.
New Objective Enter the Harvester Core
[Timer: 13:42.]
"Vanguard," Elian choked out, his voice barely a whisper over the deafening explosions. The boy clutched his knees to his chest, his worldview entirely fractured. "The protectors of the Citadel. The heroes of the outer sectors. They were breeding us... they were just keeping the bloodline pure for that thing."
"The Syndicate was never a shield, Elian. It was a farm," Vance stated, his voice flat and devoid of any comforting illusions. He checked the edge of his carbon-steel combat knife, wiping a thin layer of frost from the blade. "And harvest season just ended. If we don't sever the pyramid's command core before the timer hits zero, Sterling will use the Harvester network to synchronize with the clone army. Millions will die before the sun comes up."
A sudden burn like ice carved into Vance's neck, sharp and deep. This mark woke up, signaling she had noticed the escape. Her eyes, fierce and purple, cut across the smoke-filled space, searching. What belonged to her was missing - she felt it in the silence between breaths.
Down below wasn't an option anymore, yet the scale of what they had to do weighed heavy. High overhead, far past reach, sat the Harvester Core - wedged inside the strange angles of a pyramid turned upside down, hovering above the city like a threat. Around them, the smooth shells of Cartel pods stuck into the ground showed only one purpose: dropping in, never climbing out.
A sudden stillness followed Axiom's move. Up near the rim of shelter, the shadow-lynx eased forward, each thick paw meeting cold steel without sound. Skyward went its broad skull, then came a deep pulse - soft, thrumming - from within, carried along the line of the Parasitic Tether.
Facing the same direction, Vance moved his eyes where the creature looked.
A thick beam of dull crimson cut downward, following the ragged tunnel punched deep by falling pods. This wasn't just a line for soldiers. From the pyramid above, cold calculation pulled upward - hauling broken, rust-eaten remains of fallen machines, dragging them home to be melted fast.
Firmly locked in place, the tactical geometry held steady as Vance gave the order to move out on the scrap run.
Out there - Elian stood frozen, breath caught tight. A searing red column roared skyward, hurling massive shards of dark metal like they weighed nothing. His voice cracked when he finally spoke: that kind of drop? One mistake means falling forever
"If we stay, we age into fossilized dust," Vance countered ruthlessly.
A silence fell before he moved. The teen stood frozen, caught between options, but Vance acted without pause. From the wreckage of their fallen pod, he pulled thick webbing - salvaged gear, toughened by stress. Around Elian's middle went the strap, tight and firm. A click followed - the carabiner biting into his own belt, fixed like an anchor.
Axiom," Vance sent along the shared thought-channel. Hold fast by pulling metal tight across the outside shell
Flying forward without warning, the shadow-lynx hit the hulk of a broken machine right when the red beam started scanning its frame. Not stopping once, it poured out thick streams of blackened energy into the wreck, dragging every loose bit of steel into tight alignment. Locked by force, the pile held firm against the pull.
Fleeing the glare of crimson, Vance yanked Elian forward. Down he crashed onto the corroded shell of the fallen hulk. A blade slammed through pitted metal, wedging tight where gears once turned.
A sudden snap yanked the line taut. The cable jerked forward, biting into motion.
Upward snapped gravity without warning. A hulking slab of foreign metal tore free from the cave ground, rocketing toward the shadowed borehole so fast Vance couldn't breathe. Crushed hard onto the corroded frame, he felt every bone compress under crushing force. From beside him came Elian's shout - gone in an instant beneath the howl of air rushing past during their skybound plunge. His body pulled like deadweight on the strap linking them tight.
Open, Vance pried his eyelids apart, vision swimming under that washed-out crimson glow. Past him, ragged slices of rock tore by - then vanished, replaced by seamless panels of matte black metal swallowing every hint of light. Not stopping at the clone chambers, they climbed further inward, into shapes that bent reason. The structure itself seemed built to unsettle.
[Timer: 08:14.]
Out of nowhere, the beam cut off, hurling broken pieces of the fallen sentinel onto a wide platform high above the ground.
Out came the blade just as the hull rang with metal screaming against metal. Heavy groans followed when the broken machine frame careened across the floor, slamming sideways into a thick wall structure. Muscles tightened under Vance's skin, handling impact like packed stone. Free now, Elian dropped clear as straps snapped apart mid-motion. On unsteady legs he rose - just in time to see Axiom shake loose confusion, towering again despite the chaos.
They had breached the Harvester Core.
A chill ran down the spine at first sight - not rows of tidy machines humming behind glass. Instead, towering shapes of dark metal rose like forbidden architecture under a throbbing red light. This light came from a huge structure standing dead center, flickering as if breathing. Sharp odors clung to everything: electric burn, old wiring, something metallic left too long near fire.
Yet the Harvester system held no power over the pyramid.
A single Obsidian Cartle command terminal stood still at the foot of the tall central spire. Around it lay scattered bundles of cut optical cables, their ends flickering with loose sparks from the pyramid's core system.
Floating between sleep and focus, Julian Thorne lounged in a leather seat hauled up from below, its tall back shaped like old authority. His suit - midnight blue, stitched to precision - looked untouched by motion or time. This teen, swimming in wealth, had jacked private bio-valves straight into the Harvester's bones, nerves clipped behind one ear. Without pause, he poured stolen Cartel code, dense and scrambled, deep into the pyramid's thinking.
Spinning the chair bit by bit, Julian tapped his fingers once on the armrest. His dark glasses - circular, exact - tilted slightly as he turned. A smile formed, smooth but empty, aimed at Vance like a note left unopened.
"You are precisely eight minutes and twelve seconds late, Mr. Kensington," Julian stated, his smooth voice echoing across the alien cathedral. "The Vanguard cult is currently uploading a god into my newly acquired fleet. I require a massive, localized chronological detonation to sever the pyramid's transmission array, and you, my frien
d, are the only bomb I have left."