Chapter 16 #2
A massive, mutated Vanguard hybrid crashed onto the concrete mere feet away, its elongated claws scraping against the stone.
Caelan did not look at it.
"Vanguard!" Caelan roared over the shrieking core.
Xyrielle blurred backward.
She abandoned the edge of the precipice. She planted her fused right leg directly between Caelan and the advancing hybrid.
Her dark-silver blades moved in a frantic, blinding defensive arc, deflecting a heavy kinetic strike from the monster.
"Siege engine!" Caelan commanded.
He projected his absolute will into the golden tether.
Kragga Iron-Maw disengaged from the front line.
The four-ton construct stomped backward. It stood over Caelan’s kneeling form. It used its massive, armored Thall back as a physical barricade, shielding the architect from the swarm.
The remaining three colossal Gorger arms swept the perimeter, crushing any hybrid that attempted to flank them.
The Warlord had his immovable object.
He had his shield.
Now he had to defuse the sun.
Caelan reached into his shredded trench coat with his right iron arm.
He pulled out the heavy, velvet-lined pouch he had salvaged from the burning rucksack before he threw it.
He opened it.
He pulled out the pristine glass vial.
The Spire spinal fluid.
It pulsed with a steady, uncorrupted golden glow, completely dwarfed by the blinding, furious Light of the detonating core in front of him.
He placed the vial on the concrete.
He unhooked the heavy Cartel alchemical syringe from his belt.
He did not possess sterile alchemical silk. He did not possess Vanguard surgical tools.
He had a rusted syringe and a venomous scythe.
The high-pitched whine of the core reached a staggering, bone-vibrating crescendo. The golden Light began to violently stutter, shifting through the visible spectrum into a terrifying, pure white.
The physical housing of the biological node was cracking.
Microscopic fissures appeared on the surface of the core.
Ten seconds.
Caelan grabbed the heavy alchemical syringe with his iron claws.
He drove the thick steel needle into the rubber stopper of the glass vial. He pulled the heavy plunger back, drawing the glowing, highly saturated Aether-fluid into the cylinder.
He pulled the needle free.
He looked at his left arm.
The [Venomous Chitin Graft] .
The biological toll of the apex neurotoxin had completely ravaged his cardiovascular system. His veins were a map of sickly, pale green poison.
If he attempted to interface his necrotic, corrupted mind directly with the self-destructing holy core, the Spire Light would violently reject him. It would treat him as an abyssal infection and instantly vaporize his brain.
He had to buffer the connection.
He had to flood his own neural pathways with pure Spire Aether to trick the god-tier engine into accepting his command prompt.
He raised the heavy syringe.
He aimed the thick steel needle directly at the junction of his left shoulder, right where the dead human meat met the horrific black chitin.
He did not hesitate.
Caelan drove the needle deep into his own flesh.
He plunged the steel directly into his primary arterial vein.
He slammed the heavy plunger down.
The pure, unadulterated Spire spinal fluid was injected forcefully into his highly corrupted, venom-filled bloodstream.
The biological reaction was instantaneous and apocalyptic.
The holy Light collided violently with the caustic green apex neurotoxin.
It was a war of absolute opposites fought inside his own veins.
Caelan screamed.
It was a raw, tearing sound that ripped his vocal cords.
His back arched violently. He collapsed backward onto the concrete.
The pain transcended physical understanding. It felt like someone had poured boiling lead directly into his heart, while simultaneously flash-freezing his brain.
His pale skin violently illuminated.
Glowing golden lines traced up his neck, warring with the sickly green veins bulging against his jaw.
His silver eyes rolled completely back in his head, exposing pure white sclera that actively glowed in the dark.
The syringe clattered uselessly onto the stone.
He was drowning in holy fire.
He forced his mind to remain conscious. He forced his iron will to clamp down over the agonizing, seizing spasms of his human meat.
He engaged his Necropathic Interface .
He did not project a thread of dark, necrotic control.
He projected the stolen, burning Spire Light he had just injected into his own soul.
He pushed his consciousness out of his skull.
He slammed his mind directly into the blinding, white-hot, cracking surface of the detonating mythic core.
The connection locked.
The physical world vanished entirely.
The shrieks of the Corrupted Vanguard, the heavy, bone-crushing impacts of Kragga Iron-Maw , the freezing black rain. It all ceased to exist.
Caelan Cross was standing inside the engine.
It was a realm of pure, geometric holy Light.
It was an endless, blindingly bright cathedral of raw kinetic energy. The walls were composed of mathematical equations moving at the speed of light.
But the cathedral was collapsing.
Massive, jagged cracks of pure black void were tearing through the pristine white architecture. The thermal pressure was building toward a catastrophic, localized singularity.
Standing in the center of the collapsing temple was a figure.
She wore pristine, flawless white plate armor. Her helmet was off, revealing a face of absolute, unyielding Spire perfection. Her eyes burned with a pure, fanatic golden fire.
Isolde The Unbroken .
It was the encoded consciousness of the Valkyrie General, tethered to the physical core.
She was holding a massive, glowing golden broadsword. She was driving the blade directly into the floor of the temple, intentionally shattering the foundations to trigger the explosion.
She looked up.
She saw Caelan standing in the collapsing Light.
She did not see a Corrupted Vanguard. She did not see an abyssal leviathan.
She saw a pale boy wearing a shredded trench coat, his body half-metal, half-monster, bleeding golden light from his eyes.
"Heretic," the Valkyrie's voice echoed with the force of a thunderclap.
She ripped the heavy golden broadsword from the floor.
She pointed the blade directly at Caelan’s chest.
"You bring the rot into the sanctuary. You will burn with the rest of the deep crust."
She did not wait for his justification.
She charged.
She moved with flawless, blinding kinetic speed. She crossed the collapsing cathedral in a microsecond, bringing the massive golden blade down in a devastating, terminal arc designed to completely erase his consciousness.
Caelan did not calculate a dodge.
He did not have his venomous scythe. He did not have his iron arm.
He only had his Warlord’s mind.
He stood perfectly still in the blinding Light.
He raised his right hand.
He caught the descending blade of the god.