Chapter 125: Into the machine’s shadow

The Rootsite’s canopy glowed faintly under the deepening dusk, a living citadel bristling with fresh growth. The newly arrived civilians had been fed, bathed, and given sleeping quarters carved into verdant alcoves. Still, the air in the council hall was taut. Clayton leaned over the war map, tracing three red vectors through the outer sectors. "These are the bait trails Korrath left us," he said, his voice low. "All of them lead deeper toward the machine warrens, but none directly to New Chicago. He’s keeping the real heart of his operations out of easy reach". Torren closed his arms. "Then why follow at all?" "Because we need to send a message back," Clayton replied. "If we let his raids stand without a response, the civilians coming here will think the Rootsite can’t protect them. Worse, he’ll think we’re on the back foot". Kaelin’s smirk was razor-thin. "So we go in... but we don’t take the bait all the way". Clayton nodded. "We hit the fringes of his war machine. Fast strikes, no prolonged fights. And every move we make will be from a direction that he’s not anticipating". The plan was finalized; it was built on misdirection. Team One comprised Kaelin, Veyra, and two Ashveil-trained scouts from the enclave. Their role was to sweep ahead along the northwestern bait trail, take out the relay drones, and plant false movement signals to confuse Korrath’s Construct pursuit algorithms. Team Two comprised Torren and Soren. This was a brutal shock unit whose sole purpose for now was to hit a key resource silo in the western approach, crippling Construct resupply to the Theta-Seven squads. Clayton’s role was simple, yet the most dangerous. He was to move indecently between teams using Hive-Sight relays, reinforcing only when needed, and directing strikes through the Aphid Network. His humanoid form would handle the mission, while his Verdant Lord body held the Rootsite’s core secure. Lorn remained behind, coordinating the Rootsite’s defensive growth patterns and ensuring the civilians stayed safe. She also served as the command relay for Clayton’s dual form; an anchor between the two halves of his presence. It was time... and the march began. Clayton’s boots crunched over the ashen ground beyond the Rootsite’s living borders. His humanoid form moved with the practiced grace of a predator, avoiding unnecessary noise. Regalia was in its spear form, its vine-engraved halt cool in his grip. Hive-Sight ghosted over his vision; insects crawling over wrecked streetlamps, broken rooftops, and the metallic vines strangling the old roadways. Through their compound eyes, he saw the Theta-Seven squads moving miles ahead, sleek Construct forms patrolling burnt grasslands, their movements efficient but not hurried. He didn’t engage yet. Instead, he directed Kaelin’s team to cut off the north relay before the Constructs could receive fresh commands. Kaelin was in his element. Cloaked in Ashveil, his silhouette melted into the cracked pavement and creeping shadow. Veyra trailed just behind, her new bow held low, arrows notched but string loose. The relay tower loomed ahead, a skeletal structure of plantmetal lattice and humming energy coils, guarded by a single Construct watch-spider. Its eight alloy legs clicked faintly as it scanned the horizon. Kaelin didn’t hesitate. WHOOSH! A shadow flicker, a flash of steel, and the watch-spider’s head clattered to the ground. The tower’s hum died as Veyra’s arrow slammed into the main coil, releasing a shower of sparks. "North relay down," Kaelin’s voice crackled in Clayton’s mind through the Hive-link. ... On the western flank, Torren’s Pyreaxe blazed against the darkness. The resupply silo was a monolithic growth of fused metal and vine, its bulk rising from the cracked earth like a tumor. Construct carriers were moving crates of nutrient biomass into its depths when the first strike came. BAM! Torren cleaved through the lead carrier in a single, flaming arc. Soren followed, Emberblade carving molten scars into the silo’s plating. The Constructs reacted in perfect formation; a deadly, synchronized swarm, but Torren’s pyro-roots erupted from the ground, binding their legs in burning coils. Within minutes, the silo’s outer layers were aflame, smoke rising like a black banner. It was during the withdrawal that the bait truly revealed itself. Through Hive-Sight, Clayton caught the shimmer of a larger Construct force moving in from the east; more than a dozen biomechs, each mounted on four-legged machine beasts. Their formation was arrowhead tight, aimed directly at Torren’s retreat vector. Clayton moved. BZZZ! Roots burst from the ground ahead of the enemy, tangling legs and snapping mounts n mid-stride. Regalia’s spearpoint flared as he vaulted into their midst, each thrust precise, shattering cores and rupturing conduits. Kaelin’s team struck from the shadows moments later, arrows exploding in controlled bursts to scatter the survivors. Within two minutes, the force was broken, the survivors fleeing back toward the deeper warrens. ... Korrath’s POV... In New Chicago, Korrath leaned forward on his throne as data-feeds streamed in through his network. The outer spire zones were reporting losses; relays down, resource silos destroyed, patrol squads wiped out. His crimson eyes narrowed, but there was no anger in them, only calculation. "He’s striking the fringes," Korrath murmured. "Refusing to chase too deep". Serrak tilted his head. "That means he suspects the bait". "It means," Korrath said, lips curling faintly, "that he’s disciplined. Which makes breaking him even more satisfying". He waved a hand over the projection. "Let him have his small victories. For each strike he makes, I’ll adjust the trap. We’ll see how long his discipline lasts when the pressure mounts". ... By dawn, the strike teams had pulled back into Rootsite’s borders. The civilians greeted them with quiet awe; not with cheers, but with the steady, grateful nods of people who understood that survival was a long game. Clayton didn’t call the council immediately. Instead, he walked the perimeter, watching the Rootsite’s living walls expand, feeling the heartbeat of his domain in the whisper of roots under his boots. The game had begun in earnest. Korrath was still trying to pull him into the machine’s belly. And Clayton... intended to make the machine choke before he ever stepped inside. ... Korrath’s POV... The war feeds shifted, their flickering projections painting the throne hall in pulses of cold green and red. Korrath’s long, biomechanical fingers tapped against the armrest in measured rhythm. "Civilian morale is an organ," he said to Serrak without looking at him. "You don’t crush it outright. In war, you tighten it, inch by inch, until it collapses under its own starvation". Serrak inclined his head. "And you believe Clayton values them enough for that to work?" "Clayton’s domain is young," Korrath said, his gaze sharpening. "Rootsites thrive on growth. Choke that growth, and the Verdant Lord will be forced to act, prematurely". His voice dripped with predatory patience. "Every leader with a conscience can be broken. You simply attack the living weight they carry". He gestured to a tactical sphere floating in the air. It shifted, displaying a ring of sectors encircling the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse. "Deploy the siphon units here... here... and here," Korrath instructed, each point stabbing toward key terrain. "Cut off the groundwater flows. Salt the fringe soils with corrosive nanospore clouds. Make the carrion-beasts restless and hungry, then drive them toward the refugee trails". Serrak’s jaw clicked faintly. "If we push that hard, we’ll draw more attention from other Lords". Korrath smiled; cold, unblinking. "Then let them watch. Let them think I’m simply toying with a seedling Verdant Lord. It will make his destruction all the sweeter". "After all, who doesn’t like a good show?" ... Two days after the strikes, Rootsite scouts began returning with reports Clayton didn’t like. Kaelin was the first through the council doors, his Ashveil cloak heavy with dust. "West perimeter rivers are... gone," he said bluntly. "Water flow’s been diverted underground. I don’t know how deep". Minutes later, Lorn stepped in from the opposite corridor. Her face was pale, hands still streaked with healing residue. "We’ve got a spike in carrion beast aggression along the southern trails. They’re hitting refugee groups before they reach out border. I’ve had three civilians brought in mauled in the past hour". Clayton’s jaw tightened. He could feel the pattern already, it was too coordinated to be chance. ’That damned bastard!’ He cursed. By nightfall, reports came from Veyra’s scouts: they found fungal blight in the outlying field, turning the soil sour. Entire plots of edible moss and Verdant-grown rootstock were withering overnight. "We’ll have food shortages in two weeks if it spreads," Veyra warned, unstringing her bow with a sharp motion. "Three if we ration hard". Soren was leaning against the wall, silent, but his gaze was locked on the map. Finally, he spoke. "This wasn’t a random harassment. He’s trying to push us into a corner". Clayton said nothing for a moment. His eyes traced the red-marked choke points on the map, the same ones Korrath’s siphone units now occupied. He didn’t need Hive-Sight to understand this was a layered trap. This was pressure meant to erode his choice to act on his terms. His eyes narrowed coldly.