"You're going to lead from the front?" Konos' voice was flat, almost incredulous, as he eyed Fornos across the command deck.
"Yes," Fornos replied without hesitation. His hand was steady, but his eyes were sharp with weight. "No one in our force has ever seen a Relict from this close. We can't risk panic, not on our first contact."
Konos narrowed his eyes. "And what about you? You haven't seen one up-close either."
"I have an idea," Fornos said, not breaking stride as he reached into his coat.
"You better," Konos grunted. "Just don't die, kid. I'm too old to look for another job."
Fornos gave a small nod of acknowledgment, then turned and walked out of the command hub. As he stepped onto the cold steel of the forward gantry, he reached into a sealed compartment on his belt and pulled out a small injector filled with black fluid.
With a quick motion, he jabbed it into his forearm.
His veins darkened for a brief moment beneath the skin.
Nullmancy Serum—Codename: Blackroot. A stabilizer against mana shock. It wouldn't make him stronger, but it would help him think while everything around him broke.
The air was thick with dust and anticipation. The ravine groaned with the creak of golem frames and the distant mutter of artillery warm-ups. Every sound—every footstep, every metal hinge—was too loud. Fornos stood at the edge of a sheer overlook, where the ground dipped violently into the Viscus Fault like a cleaved battlefield waiting to be claimed.
Down below, their formation moved into place.
Konos and Peter oversaw the Artillery Lines from high on the western ridge. Massive barrel-mounted launchers bristled behind them, loaded with bunker-busting charges and long-flame warheads. Spotters adjusted lenses, whispered into voice tubes, and waited for the signal.
On the eastern ridges above the fault line, Martin's Spider Convoys clambered with inhuman grace, their multi-limbed bodies trailing cables, ammo crates, and scaffolding for temporary depots. Overhead, suspended across cliff hooks and rigging anchors, Wraith's Architect golems built lookout posts and forward platforms, their arms multi-jointed like cranes, flicking sparks and solder with every adjustment.
Closer to the floor of the Fault, the Midfield moved like a heartbeat. Roa and Park stood near the second ridgeline, surrounded by relay codices and signal flags. Park, silent as ever, moved without a word, adjusting knobs and flag-posts with eerie precision. Roa barked short, clipped orders into the comm-tubes, calling coordinates, filtering orders from Fornos and translating field movement into signal pulses.
Then came the Frontline—the tip of the spear.
Kindling II, Fornos' heavy puncher, loomed like a siege tower among cavalry. Its thickset armor steamed with heat from the still-warm power core inside, venting pressure through its forearm pistons. Spike-drivers gleamed beneath its reinforced fists. To its right, Thornjaw II, Mark's swift marauder, danced restlessly. Slender, almost skeletal compared to Kindling, it shifted weight like a prowling wolf, its blade-arm retracted and vibrating with latent energy.
Beside them marched Mary and Ross, pilots of the twin Aegis Units—hulking bastions of plated armor and oversized Mega-Cleavers strapped to their backs. Their steps left divots in the stone, and wherever they went, lesser infantry cleared away like dust before a storm.
The formation was tight. It had to be.
Fornos exhaled as a signal flare arced into the sky.
And the world changed.
From the far edge of the canyon, the stone cracked. Not crumbled—cracked, like the world itself was splitting open.
The sound came first, deep and concussive. A heartbeat made of shifting mountains.
Then Uru-Maul appeared.
The Relict towered into view like a god-shaped calamity, its basalt plates shimmering with quartz-glass filaments, veins glowing like magma trapped under obsidian. Its four legs struck the canyon floor with mountain-shaking rhythm, and with each step, the ravine bowed. The very bones of the earth seemed to sag under its weight.
Its triple-hinged jaws opened once—wide enough to swallow a fortress.
Several soldiers screamed.
"Signal the artillery!" Fornos snapped, voice cutting through the panic.
The flare team moved, flags swinging. A heartbeat later, six heavy shells screamed overhead and detonated against Uru-Maul's shoulder and left flank.
The impact did not wound it—but it staggered. Slowed.
Fornos seized the moment.
"Go!" he ordered.
Kindling II surged forward like a boulder launched by divine slingshot. Its legs compressed, pistons firing, and it slammed headlong into Uru-Maul's snout. The crash echoed through the ravine. Dust flew. Plates cracked.
"Mary! Ross!" Fornos called out. "Damn, they're stunned!"
Thornjaw II launched next. Mark didn't speak. He didn't need to. His golem leapt from a forward platform, blade snapping out mid-air, carving into the Relict's right facial ridge.
The behemoth's head turned violently.
It roared.
The sound wasn't just noise. It was pressure—a physical force that cracked the stone beneath their feet and sent a tremor through the ranks. Fornos staggered. Cliff faces shuddered. One of Wraith's outposts almost tipped before stabilizers locked.
Uru-Maul lunged, jaws unhinging like some primordial trap.
But Thornjaw II danced out of the way.
Kindling II retaliated—its forearm spikes slammed into the exposed jaw hinge. Obsidian cracked. Steam hissed. The beast snarled and twisted.
"Mary! Ross! Do your damn job or I will revoke the anti-s*x command!" Fornos barked.
That did it.
The twin Aegis units moved like twin juggernauts—their Mega-Cleavers now drawn. Each cleaver was as long as a cart, enchanted and weighted to carve through metal like silk.
"Target the joints!" Fornos shouted.
Together, Mary and Ross struck the front legs—one cleaver embedded, the other glanced. It was enough.
Uru-Maul's steps faltered. Its front weight sagged.
"Now!" Fornos yelled.
The cleavers struck again, and the left foreleg cracked—sinew split, black ichor gushed like a geyser. The beast roared again, weaker this time. Uncertain.
Then it fell.
Not completely, not in collapse—but the front legs buckled.
And Uru-Maul, titan of the Viscus Fault, was brought to its knees.