Chapter 124: Retaliation protocol

Kaelin activated the camo spores Clayton had gifted him. A warm pulse of Verdant magic swept across them like mist, and in an instant, their forms dissolved into shimmers of distortion. The spores fed off their Genesis Embers but in return granted unparalleled concealment. Kaelin led the way in. One step at a time, they advanced, crossing dead concrete, passing fallen towers half-swallowed by metal vines. Every sound, every flicker of movement made their hearts pound harder. Jeren whispered, "I can feel it... the signal web. It’s everywhere here. Like we’re walking through invisible tripwires". "Then don’t touch anything," Kaelin murmured. They reached the base, but just as Kaelin was about to take the next step... Tap! Mira’s hand shout out, stopping Kaelin mid step. "Wait... right above". She gestured above them. There, a surveillance drone hovered silently, invisible until her instinct flared. They ducked just in time as its spotlight passed inches above their heads. Time slowed. Then... Kaelin moved. Up the side of the Spire, he and Jeren climbed with silent grace, embedded hooks and boots gripping the structure’s ribbed supports. Mira watched below, tracking patrol routes with breathless tension. Finally, they reached the junction node. Jeren got to work. Kaelin watched from the shadows, tense, eyes flitting constantly, heartbeat roaring in his ears. This was not his first time doing a sabotage mission like this, he was a scout after all, but still, the tension and adrenaline felt raw every single time. The red glow of the Spire bathed them both in a hellish light. Jeren’s fingers danced. "Almost there... just a few more..." Click! The light stuttered. Kaelin tensed. "Now," Jeren whispered. They dropped. Seconds later, the Spire’s red light flickered... and died. A silent tremor echoed through the land. Signal disrupted... Spire Delta offline. Kaelin’s lips curled into a grin. Stage One had begun. ... The Nexus Spire’s collapse rippled through the wasteland like a silent earthquake. Kaelin’s sabotage was flawless; no alarms, no firefight, no smoking crater to mark their work. Yet across the length of Korrath’s eastern network, signal threads snapped, drone relays flickered into static, and monitoring grids for half a sector went blind in an instant. It was like cutting a nerve in a predator’s spine. Clayton stood atop the Rootsite’s outer canopy when Kaelin’s signal came through. The Ashveil assassin’s voice was calm and matter of fact. "Delta’s down. No trail. Coming home". Clayton couldn’t help the grin that crept up his face as his fingers curled around Regalia’s shaft. ’Good,’ he thought. The first artery was severed. But his satisfaction was tempered. He knew Korrath well enough now to expect a response; not a panicked one, but calculated, and laced with spite. ... Deep in the biomechanical heart of New Chicago, Korrath reclined upon his throne of living alloy and pulsing plant-metal. Around him, a dozen Construct overseers hovered in silent attendance, their crimson eyes casting angular glows on the chamber walls. Data streams flooded the air in holographic lines, flickering where Spire Delta’s feed had once flowed uninterrupted. Korrath’s fingers flexed lazily, and the living circuitry beneath his palm shifted, opening a projection of the damaged network. His expression was unreadable, but the corners of his mouth curved just slightly; too slight to be joy, too restrained to be fury. The sound of metal sinew tightening ran through the chamber as his chief sub commander, a seven-limbed biomech named Serrak, stepped forward. "Delta Spire is offline. We are tracking no escape vectors... no thermal signatures... nothing. Whoever did this is still buried in the sector, or..." "...or they’ve already gone beyond your reach," Korrath finished for him, voice smooth and deliberate. He leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing. "And you think this surprises me?" Serrak hesitated. "...It’s the first direct strike since..." "Since they killed my projection in the Rootsite," Korrath said, his tone flattening into something colder. "And what have I told you about that incident, Serrak?" "That it was... within expectations". "Exactly," Korrath rose from his throne in a slow, deliberate motion. His frame was taller than any human’s, his shoulders layered in segmented vine-metal plates that writhed faintly with internal energy. "I didn’t send that projection to win. I sent it to measure". "And now," he continued, pacing toward the central warboard, "our young Verdant Lord has given me what I was waiting for". He gestured, and the warboard reshaped into the topographical display of the Rootsite’s known location in the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse, its surrounding growth patterns, and recent Genesis surge data. "He’s angry," Korrath said. "He’s not the kind to let something go unanswered. And now," he smiled faintly, "he thinks he’s winning". Serrak tilted his head. "You want him to come to you". "I want him to need to come to me". Korrath’s voice dropped to a low, predatory murmur. "If I strike back directly now, I give him the battle on his terms’ defensive, consolidated, where his Aspect thrives". "But if I make him believe that his retaliation is working... if I sting him in just the right way... he’ll step into my territory to finish me". He grinned, then turned sharply toward his command network. "Retaliation Protocol Theta-Seven". The Constructs froze for a moment, processing the command before dispersing in coordinated formations. Serrak’s metallic tendrils twitched. "Theta-Seven... targeted civilian attrition?" Korrath’s eyes gleamed. "Yes. But carefully. Not a siege, just enough pressure to make him believe he’s failing to protect the people flocking to him. Just enough to make him abandon patience". He extended one long-fingered hand, and a projection of the Rootsite’s outer territories bloomed in red. "Burn the outer grazing zones. Intercept migration caravans. Make him bleed time, not just strength. And leave trails... ones he can follow". Serrak bowed his head. "As you command". Korrath returned to his throne, leaning back with a languid satisfaction. "Come to me, Verdant Lord," he murmured. "Come into the machine’s belly. And then... I will close my jaws". ... Rootsite – Clayton’s Hall. By the time Kaelin returned from the mission, a new arrival had reached the Rootsite gates. A caravan of twenty three civilians, more than triple the number of the last wave stood at the perimeter, guarded by two weary-looking mercenaries with dented steel helms and improvised spears. Their clothes were tattered, their faces streaked with grime and desperation. Clayton met them personally. The leader, a wiry man with sunburnt skin and sharp, darting eyes, stepped forward. "Verdant Lord," he said, voice hoarse. "We’ve been running since Sector Ridge collapsed. Construct patrols hit our camp three nights in a row. We lost half our people". Clayton’s jaw tightened. "Sector Ridge was northwest... too close to the Spire Zones". The man nodded grimly. "They’re burning the grazing grounds, poisoning wells, and it’s not just us. They’re hunting anyone who moves". Clayton glanced past him at the group. Children clung to mothers, old men leaned on sticks wrapped with rags, and a handful of able-bodied adults carried salvaged crates of food and water. "You’re safe here," Clayton said at last. "We’ll get you inside". Clayton called a council meeting. An hour later, the war council gathered again in the spire hall. Kaelin had barely set down his gear before Clayton brought the new intelligence to the table. He outlined what the caravan leader had said, then stabbed a root-carved pointer into the map. "This isn’t random. Korrath’s not trying to take the Rootsite right now, he’s targeting civilians on the move. That’s both practical and psychological". Torren leaned forward. "Cutting off new population growth. And sending a message... ’You can’t protect them’". Veyra’s jaw clenched. "He’s trying to make us reactive". Lorn folded her arms. "So what do we do? Guard caravans? Post outposts?" "That’s exactly what he wants," Clayton said. "To stretch us think until we’re forced into his zone to stop it". Kaelin raised an eyebrow. "So what’s your plan?" Clayton stared at the glowing red markers for a long moment before speaking. "We do go into his territory, but not like he expects". His eyes turned dark, gleaming ominously. Torren’s brow furrowed. "Explain". "We’re going to take the fight into his machine zone," Clayton said, "but on our terms. He wants me to bring the main force. I won’t". "Instead, I’ll send strike teams; fast, surgical, and unpredictable teams while the Rootsite strengthens its walls and increases its civilian intake". Veyra smirked. "So we bleed him while he thinks he’s baiting us". Clayton nodded. "Exactly. And we’ll make sure his bait rots in his own hands". ... Far from the Rootsite, Korrath’s Theta-Seven squads moved with mechanical precision, rapidly moving through terrain to fulfill their mission. Construct riders swept across burned fields, drone swarms dove at refugee columns. In the north, a grazing meadow was set alight, smoke coiling into the hazy sky. And in every attack, the enemy left something behind; a clear trail, just barely concealed, leading deeper into the mechanical warrens. They wanted Clayton to follow. And Clayton... intended to make them regret every inch.