Chapter 42: Thorns in the shadows

Chapter 42: Thorns in the shadowsBack in the Aether Core Reactor District. Clayton hadn’t moved far. The overpass gave him a vantage point, its crumbled edges cloaked in shadow. His Rootlash Dominion hummed beneath the surface, roots threading through the soil, mapping vibrations. The city wasn’t just alive, it was scheming. And that figure on the tower? No Behemorph moved like that, he was sure of it. Too precise, too patient. He closed his eyes, letting his Dual Consciousness slip sideways. Miles away, his Verdant Lord form stirred in its moss-bone temple. Its green-lit eyes scanned the clearing, sensing nothing but feral roots and distant Behemorph roars. No immediate threats. Good. He’d need that titan soon, but not yet. Distance drained him, and he wasn’t ready to test Verdant Reign’s full reach. DING! ~----~ [Soul State: Germinal Bloom – Progress: 4%] [System Notification!] [Hostile intent detected. Soul Pressure increasing.] ~----~ His eyes snapped open. The air thickened, not with Ember density but with intent. Multiple sources, converging. Fast. He gripped the Regalia, its spear form pulsing in sync with his Heartseed Core. His lips curled into a grim smirk. "Alright, you sneaky bastards," he muttered. "You wanna dance? Let’s dance". After 4 days of interacting with just mindless Behemorphs, scared of the present, scared of his future, finally, humans again, and Clayton was beginning to recover his vocabulary. He never wanted to admit it but at some point, he was almost scared that he would develop mouth odor from not being able to talk for a long time. After all, he could not exactly talk to Behemorphs, right? Not to talk of his mental health. These people, he didn’t know who they were, but he’d learned one thing in the Scorchpath which was further solidified in Echoterra; trust no one, strike first, talk later. The roots beneath him coiled tighter, ready to spring into action. The Forgotten Atlanta Expanse was about to get a lot bloodier. ... Clayton didn’t wait for trouble to find him. Trouble had a scope, a cloak, and a bad habit of vanishing into the ruins. He’d learned in the Scorchpath Outskirts that if you let a threat pick the battlefield, you’re already half-dead. At least, Ivar the Boneless believed it, and it worked for him. ’Always try to choose your battlefield’. So he moved first. The Aether Core Reactor District was a maze of melted concrete and fossilized roots, perfect for an ambush. Clayton crouched low behind a collapsed tram, its rusted frame draped in moss that pulsed faintly under his Sovereign Bloom. His Mycoglyph gauntlet thrummed, syncing with the Regalia of the Verdant Warden in its spear form, thorns coiling along its shaft like a living threat. The soul pressure he’d sensed, multiple sources closing in; they vibrated through the ground, carried by feral roots that answered his call. They weren’t Behemorphs. Too coordinated. Too human. "Alright, you tech-scavenging bastards," he muttered, a grim smirk tugging at his lips. "Let’s see how you like a welcome party". He closed his eyes, letting his Dual Consciousness skim the edges of his Verdant Lord form, miles away in its moss-bone temple. It stirred, green light flickering in its chest, but he pulled back. Not yet. Distance drained him, and he needed every ounce of focus for this. The Genesis Threshold warning from the Charhound Tyrant fight still lingered in his mind; push too hard, and Aspect Strain could burn him out. Instead of overdriving foolishly, he’d play smart like he always did. Well, mostly. His roots mapped the vibrations. Five signatures, moving in a tight formation, maybe 200 meters out. They were cutting through a shattered plaza, their steps heavy with gear; metal clanking, faint hums of plasma. Clayton’s smirk faded. This wasn’t a scouting party, this was a kill squad. ’So decisive huh?’ ’Good thing I’m a decisive type too’. He shifted, slipping into the shadow of a toppled reactor pylon. The ground beneath him was rich with Genesis matter, cracked asphalt laced with dormant vines. Perfect. He pressed his palm to the earth, feeling the pulse of the Expanse. Rootlash Dominion hummed, ready to reshape the battlefield. Then... DING! ~----~ [Soul Pressure Analysis: Hostile Intent Confirmed] [Signatures Detected: 5] [Genesis Rank Estimate: Initiate Ember (4), Luminous Seed (1)] [Danger level: HIGH] ~----~ ’Luminous Seed?’ Clayton thought as his eyes narrowed. For a brief moment, he hesitated. But he quickly shrugged it off. "One of you’s a big shot. Good. I was getting bored". He muttered, the gears in his brain already moving. He didn’t wait for them to close the gap. With a thought, he triggered Thorncall. The ground shuddered as spiked vines erupted in a 20-meter arc, not to attack but to herd. They snaked through the plaza, cutting off the squad’s left flank, forcing them toward a choked alley lined with fused bone and steel. Clayton vaulted onto a rusted girder, his spear ready, eyes scanning for movement. The Ironblood Remnants appeared like ghosts from the ash. Four soldiers in patched exosuits, their armor cobbled from pre-Protocol tech, glinted with plasma lances and EMP pulsers. The fifth leading them was different; taller, leaner, his suit sleek with black alloy, a faint glow pulsing from a chest-mounted core. Luminous Seed. The Leader. Clayton marked him instantly. "Omicron Cell, fan out!" The leader barked, voice distorted through a helmet’s vox. "Target’s close. Suppressors hot, lances charged". Clayon’s smirk returned. "Suppressors? Cute". He’d faced worse in Echoterra; hiveminds, spore colonies, things that ate thoughts, he went through a literal boot camp of death in that hell. These tech-junkies didn’t scare him. But they weren’t Behemorphs either. Humans fought dirty, he’d learned that in the Scorchpath, and he expected it. He moved, fast and silent, dropping into a crater lined with Genesis roots. His Rootlash Dominion stirred the earth, vines coiling beneath the alley’s surface, ready to strike. The squad advanced, oblivious, their scanners pinging uselessly against the Expanse’s ambient Ember density. Clayton waited, counting their steps. Patience was a weapon, and he was a master. Life as a monster plant taught him patience. The first soldier, a squat man with a plasma lance stepped into the alley. In response, Clayton’s hand twitched. ’Thorncall’. Vines exploded upward, thorned and vicious, wrapping the soldier’s legs and yanking him into the ground. He screamed, his lance firing wildly, scorching a nearby wall. The squad spun, weapons raised, but Clayton was already moving. He vaulted from the crater, Regalia shifting mid-air into its bow form. ~----~ [Soulbound Weapon – Dual-Form Activated!] [Bow Mode – Ambush Intent Confirmed] ~----~ He loosed two bone arrows, each laced with chloroplasmic venom. S~eaʀᴄh the Novelƒire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The first punched through a soldier’s shoulder, pinning him to a steel beam. The second grazed the leader’s helmet, sparking against the alloy. The squad scattered, their EMP pulsers humming to life, sending static ripples that made Clayton’s roots twitch. "Genesis signature!" A soldier shouted. "Ten meters, northeast!" The leader’s voice cut through. "Flush it out! Suppressors, now!" Clayton ducked as a pulse of anti-Genesis energy swept the alley, his vines shriveling where it hit. Pain lanced through his Heartseed Core as soon as that energy touched him; it was awful, like a knife twisting in his chest. ’Damn... f*ck, f*ck it!’ If Clayton still had some shred of hesitation before, after that burst of pain, it all disappeared, evaporated and replaced by cold logic and brutal killing intent. Those things, Genesis Suppressors. They weren’t just fighting him, they were fighting the Expanse itself. Smart. Dangerous. "Alright, you want to play hardball?" he growled, his humor darkening. "Let’s see how you like my backyard". He slammed his palm to the ground, channeling Rootlash Dominion. The alley erupted into chaos; roots bursting from walls, thorns spearing from the earth, turning the narrow space into a kill zone. The squad fired blindly, plasma lances carving through vines, but Clayton was a shadow, weaving through the chaos. He loosed another arrow, catching a soldier’s leg, roots blooming from the wound to bind him. The leader, though, was fast. Too fast. He dodged a vine strike, his core glowing brighter, and raised a sleek rifle. HUM! After a brief but violent hum from the rifle, a beam of white-hot plasma grazed Clayton’s arm, searing his bark armor. He hissed, rolling behind a concrete slab. DING! ~----~ [Genesis Threshold: 85%] [Aspect Strain: Moderate] [System Note: Anti-Genesis suppression detected. Rootlash efficiency reduced by 20%.] ~----~ Clayton cursed.