Chapter 117: Seeds of war

The morning after the vow ceremony dawned heavy, the sky over the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse a pale wash of gray. A tense quiet settled over the Rootsite, broken only by the occasional murmur of civilians waking to their new life and the distant creak of Verdant biomass stretching its roots deeper into the ruined city. Clayton stood alone at the northern perimeter of his domain, overlooking a stretch of shattered freeway now swallowed by thick vines. The air was different today; taut, restless, carrying a faint metallic tang that made his instincts prickle. Hive-Sigh pulsed in the back of his mind, every insect and subordinate Behemorph feeding him fragments of motion and sound. Nothing approached the Rootsite yet... but something lingered at the edges. Watching. "Something’s wrong," Clayton murmured to himself. He could not pinpoint what. But he could feel it. ... Korrath’s Mechanosite. Miles away, deep in the Verdant City of New Chicago, Korrath loomed in his Nexus chamber, a cathedral of biomechanical roots and molten steel. The Verdant Lord’s body was a fusion of flesh and machine, chrome tendrils weaving through his obsidian armor. His eyes burned crimson as he stared into a projection of Atlanta; a green dominion glowing brightly against the wasteland. Before, it was the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse. But now, it was Atlanta. It was no longer forgotten. With a new Verdant Lord rising in the expanse, laying claim to the ruined city, settling his Rootsite there, a big statement to the rest of the world, potential once again became a thing for the once forgotten city. From Korrath’s POV though... Seven days. Seven days since his biomechanical avatar was shattered. Since the Forgotten City had slipped from his grasp. To Verdant Lords, territory was more than land. It was status, influence, survival. Losing to Clayton, an Initiate Ember upstart who dared ascend to Luminous Seed at his expense was humiliation branded into his very Nexus signature. But Korrath wasn’t reckless. Having failed once, he learned from his mistakes. He wouldn’t repeat his mistake by invading again. No, the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse was now defended by a newly born Verdant Lord with a fortified Rootsite and a growing enclave. So Korrath chose patience... but only barely. "Let him come," he growled, his voice echoing through the Nexus chamber like grinding gears. "Drag him out. Make him believe he’s the hunter... while I prepare his grave". Around him, biomechanical constructs stirred. Insectile drones and armored sentinels marched in silent formation. Verdant Apostates, human forms twisted by Genesis filaments and steel grafts knelt before their master. Korrath raised a clawed hand. "Send the Ironshades," he commanded. "Stage attacks on his civilians. Leave wreckage he cannot ignore". "The fool’s nature will do the rest". A shadowy biomechanical scout bowed and vanished into the steel-veined corridors. Korrath turned back to the Atlanta projection, a feral grin splitting his face. "You won your enclave, Clayton Hunt," he sneered. "Now I’ll make you abandon it". ... And then... the first strike. Clayton sensed it before anyone else. A ripple of malice brushed through his Hive-Sight, his Territorial Sentience thrumming with unease, a foreign presence slinking through the overgrown outskirts of his dominion. The creatures weren’t Behemorphs; they moved too precisely, too controlled. Insects fed him flickering images; skeletal figures clad in biomechanical armor, their forms shifting to blend with the ruined environment. Ironshades, Korrath’s assassins, bred for sabotage and fear. Within moments, a distant scream split the quiet morning. Instinct before thought... Clayton’s body blurred, roots erupting beneath his feet as he bounded toward the sound like a hurricane. Torren and Kaelin, already sensing trouble reacted next, seamlessly falling into step beside him. Veyra and Soren followed close, weapons ready. It wasn’t a practiced reaction. It was the instinctive reaction of a team, a unit that went through so much and survived so much together through the course of a grueling 60 day trek to the Scorchpaths Outskirts. When they reached the western edge of the Rootsite, smoke curled from a half-built shelter. Civilians scattered in panic as two Ironshades stalked through the debris, their bladed arms dripping with molten ichor. Mara lay pinned beneath a collapsed support beam, Kael dragging her clear while Mira shielded them with vines barely strong enough to hold. Clayton’s vision narrowed. "You picked the wrong soil," he growled. He didn’t bother with orders. Verdant fury erupted from his body, roots lashing through the earth, seizing one Ironshade mid-step and slamming it into a crumbling wall. The second leapt high, blades gleaming; only for Veyra’s bow to sing. WHOOSH! A bone arrow split into ten mid-flight, each one piercing vital joints, pinning the assassin against a rusted signpost. The construct shrieked, its synthetic voice glitching before silence claimed it. Torren’s Pyreaxe roared to life as he cleaved the first Ironshade in two, molten sparks raining down on the mossy ground. DING! ~----~ [Ironshade Saboteurs Eliminated!] [Genesis Embers Gained: 12] ~----~ Clayton crouched by Mara, lifting the beam effortlessly. She coughed, tears streaking her soot-covered face. "You’re safe now," Clayton said, voice steady but eyes burning. "But this was no random attack". Torren spat to the side, glaring at the mechanic wreckage. "Korrath". Clayton nodded grimly. "He’s trying to draw me out". For some time now, the primal rage that he felt towards the Verdant Lord of New Chicago for leaving his other half so injured lessened as he learned more about the 3rd Genesis trial, including his budding desire to challenge it. And yet, now, after this attack... Clayton’s eyes darkened. ... Night fell tense and quiet. Around the Rootsite’s firepit, Clayton and his companions gathered. The civilians stayed close, fear palpable but tempered by trust in their Verdant Lord. Kaelin broke the silence first, tossing a blade into the dirt. "Ironshades don’t travel alone. We’ll see more before week’s end". "Which means," Torren rumbled, "Korrath wants war without leaving his throne. He’s counting on you losing patience, marching to New Chicago so he can crush you on his turf". Torren rubbed his chin in thought. Clayton stared into the fire, watching embers swirl. "He’s right about one thing," he said quiet. "I do want revenge. But not like this". Veyra adjusted her bow, sharp eyes flicking toward him. "So what’s the plan? Let him keep poking us until we bleed?’ Clayton shook his head, conviction in his eyes. "No. We bleed on my terms. Every Ironshade he sends, we’ll crush". "Every scout, every saboteur, they won’t return. He wants me to abandon this enclave, to charge headfirst into his trap. I won’t give him that satisfaction". He smiled, his grin gaining a threatening edge. "I’m not a fool," he muttered. Torren grinned faintly. "Patience isn’t exactly your strong suit". "It is now," Clayton said, voice iron-hard. "Korrath wants me angry. Instead, I’ll make him desperate. I’ll grow this Rootsite until my dominion pushed his borders, until his territory suffocates under mine. And when he’s choking in fear... then we’ll strike". ... In the days that followed, Clayton poured himself into strengthening the Rootsite. Living walls expanded outward, roots weaving into barricades laced with thorned spikes. Watchtowers of hardened biomass rose overnight, each one patrolled by Thorn Hounds and Emberwings from his Aphid Network. Training fields blossomed in the city ruins as Torren drilled civilians and Awakened alike. Under Lorn’s guidance, Kael and Mira learned to cultivate healing flora, while Trist’s danger-sense evolved into a full perimeter detection grid. Veyra and Kaelin formed a silent, deadly scouting pair, tracking Ironshade incursions before they reached the enclave. Soren honed his Emberblade until it cleaved steel like cloth. Every evening, Clayton beneath the Heartroot tree, its emerald glow spreading further into the city. System notifications pulsed constantly. DING! ~----~ [Territorial Expansion Achieved] [Domain Influence Increased: +12%] [Aphid Network Capacity Expanded: 150 Behemorphs] ~----~ The Rootsite no longer felt like a fragile refuge. It felt like the early bones of a fortress, a living city. But Korrath did not relent. Ironshades struck repeatedly; always in small numbers, always targeting civilians or supply lines as he engaged in a psychological battle with Clayton. His biomechanical drones buzzed at night, dropping taunting messages scrawled in twisted steel. "Come to New Chicago. Face me, coward". At first, Clayton’s fury threatened to boil over but he soon learned to ignore it. His hands itched to summon Regalia still, to storm Korrath’s metal throne and end it. But each time, he stopped himself. Instead, he responded with silence, crushing every incursion with brutal efficiency, letting Korrath’s agents vanish into roots and fire. Torren noticed the restraint one evening, watching Clayton oversee defenses. "He’s trying to get into your head," Torren said, leaning on his Pyreaxe. Clayton’s gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. "He already is. But I’ve learned something since Echoterra..." He tightened his grip on a thorned tendril. "Rage is a weapon best left sheathed until you know exactly where to stab". He looked at Torren, and smiled. "That’s how I survived some of the worst threats that Echoterra threw at me. Precise usage of rage and of course, spite". He grinned.