Vance threw his full body weight backward. The rusted iron chanism finally yielded with a terrifying, grinding snap. The analog connection broke. A surge of unquantifiable energy flooded the iron handle.
The cosmic flash-fire ate Vance alive. His necrotic tissue and yellowed bone flash-vaporized. The blast consud his entire cellular structure in a fraction of a second. There was no heroic final monologue. The Ga Master simply turned into falling white ash.
The localized vacuum created by the leyline snap ripped the remaining air out of the room. Will dropped to the carpet. He covered his head as the three-billion-credit bulletproof glass shattered outward. The air shredded into ribbons. The temperature plunged into a biting, unnatural frost. The remaining jaundiced light from the dead monitors died, plunging the ruined office into pitch blackness.
"Don’t breathe the ash," Don coughed, spitting out the taste of vaporized bone.
"I can’t see the monitors," Tyson said, grinding his teeth against the pain of his snapped collarbone. "We’re blind."
Will pressed his face into the freezing carpet. "Stay on the floor until the air settles."
The dead silence of the deep earth swallowed the room. The ga-city’s ruined infrastructure groaned, settling under its own massive weight. The crushing gravity lifted off their spines.
Allison gasped, her lungs expanding painfully. She rolled onto her side, coughing up carpet fiber.
Tyson dragged his massive Goliath-Plate arm across the floorboards. The sudden release of pressure shifted his snapped collarbone, grinding the jagged bone fragnts together. He bit through his lower lip to swallow a scream.
Genghis Khan’s spectral form stabilized in the dark. The ancient iron of his chest plate stopped fracturing. The warlord stood in the absolute pitch black, looking down at the pile of white ash resting around the base of the rusted lever. Khan reached out and stamped his heavy iron boot directly into the pile.
Allison scrambled across the freezing floorboards. Her lungs scread for air. She shoved her bare hands directly under Khan’s heavy iron boot, digging into the scorching white ash until her fingers blistered. She pulled a warped, half-lted piece of silver casing out of the ruin. Vance’s pocket watch. She clutched the ruined tal against her chest.
"The warden burned well," Khan’s guttural voice echoed in the black.
Allison spat carpet fiber and stared up at the massive warlord, her knuckles stark white around the scorched silver. "Did he break the line?"
Will spat blood onto the floorboards. "The pressure is gone. The yellow eyes can’t see us."
A high-pitched digital screech drilled directly into their tooth enal. The sound mimicked unlubricated gears grinding inside a broken engine. Jagged, bleeding red text sliced across their retinas. The UI flashed like a broken welding torch. A sharp migraine blood behind Will’s eyes. The LitRPG System recognized the localized dead zone was gone and attempted to re-establish the digital overlay inside the Tactical Suite. The reboot behaved like a mangled radio signal hunting for a receiver. The algorithms stuttered, froze, and ripped across their vision like a broken transmission. The clean blue neon boxes were dead. The System vomited raw, bleeding red error codes.
The stench of lting copper flooded Will’s sinuses. The red error codes branded themselves directly into his eyes. He tasted iron. The dead monitor screens sparked, spitting shattered glass across the freezing carpet. The grid was bleeding out, thrashing in the dark, desperate for a human nervous system to hijack.
Elizabeth gouged at her temples as a raw nervous system crash hit her. She scread as the digital overlay forced its way back into her gray matter.
Will squeezed his eyes shut. The jagged red text burned through his eyelids. Massive blocks of corrupted code ripped down his vision too fast to read. The broken transmission detected Will standing closest to the analog lever and aggressively latched onto the Sovereign’s Core-Band fused to his wrist.
Ugly bruising instantly darkened his unburned right arm.
"Tear it out!" Elizabeth scread, her fingernails digging into her scalp. "Tear the code out of my head!"
Don crawled toward her in the dark. "The grid is trying to reboot on a broken circuit. It’s hunting for a host."
"Hold still," Will said. "Let it anchor to ."
A massive echoing structural chi rang out, sounding exactly like a heavy iron vault door locking into place.
[System Notice: Territorial Control Transferred.]
A terrifyingly large rusted chanical overlay manifested in the center of the dark room. Black phantom oil dripped from digital gears onto the carpet. Will slamd to one knee as the interface hit his brain with the force of an avalanche. He coughed up a mouthful of saliva as his skeleton forcefully densified to carry the kingdom.
Thick, dark blood pounded against Will’s eardrums. His vertebrae cracked, snapping into tighter, denser alignnts. The massive holographic iron construct dominated the ruined office, slling like old blood and deep-earth oxidation. The phantom oil hitting the carpet hissed, burning holes straight through the noise-canceling fabric. It wasn’t a nu. It was a rusted collar. He swallowed the tallic taste in his throat. The UI projected a suffocating heat, baking the frost off his jacket.
He forced his head up to stare at the bleeding red numbers carved into the floating rusted tal.
The interface offered no skill points or loot boxes—it offered raw arithtic.
[Population: 10,842. Structural Integrity: 81%.]
"What does the screen say?" Tyson squinted at the massive bleeding red hologram.
Will wiped dark blood off his chin. "It says we own a graveyard."
Don wiped cold sweat from his face. "Read the numbers, Will. Give us the math."
The distant muffled sound of rushing water echoed up through the ruined elevator shafts. A glowing red wirefra map of the 365-floor Silo rendered in the air. A massive portion of the bottom floors blinked with fatal crimson warning lights. A freezing draft blew up through the splintered mahogany doors.
It didn’t sound like a river. It sounded like a mountain collapsing into a at grinder. The deep-earth ocean tore through the lower rings, ripping steel foundations to shreds. The sheer volu of the water created a localized pressure vacuum that whistled up the Axis.
The red wirefra map rendered the catastrophe in real ti. Thousands of tiny crimson dots sward in the lower sectors, scrambling for higher ground. Maya’s father and the underground chanics were down there. The water was rising faster than they could run. The groaning tal of the silo vibrated straight through Will’s boots.
He watched the population counter tick down from 10,842 to 10,814 in a matter of seconds. People were drowning in the dark at the bottom of the bunker. The chanics who built the doomsday lever were trapped in the flooding zones.
[Seal Lower Bulkheads? Y/N. Warning: Action Will Trap Remaining Biological Assets in Sector 300.]
Will stared at the flashing prompt. His vision narrowed entirely on the dropping numbers. If he left the bulkheads open, the deep-earth ocean would flood the central axis and drown all ten thousand people. If he sealed the bulkheads, he personally murdered every chanic still swimming in the dark. The Warlord class offered no combat skill to fight a flood. The Sovereign title just forced him to hold the pen and sign the death warrants.
"The ocean is hitting the Hopepunk vents," Allison said, staring at the flashing crimson warning lights.
Will watched the population counter drop. "The deep-earth water pressure will crush Tyson in ten seconds."
Allison grabbed his bruised arm. "He kept them alive. He burned himself to ash to save the mud, Will. You can’t just drown them."
Khan’s iron boots crossed the Tactical Suite in the dark. The warlord stood over Will, staring directly into the bleeding red interface. He reached out and wrapped a massive spectral hand around Will’s shoulder, forcing him upright under the crushing weight of the data load.
Will locked his knees.
Khan pointed a rusted gauntlet at the flashing prompt. The arithtic of a siege. Cut off the rotting limb to save the torso.
"A king who weeps for the dead drowns with them," Khan said. "Seal the gates."
Will’s jaw locked tight. "I am condemning hundreds of people."
"You are saving ten thousand," Khan said. "Close the iron."
Will drove his right hand into the center of the bleeding red interface. The rusted phantom gears ground against his knuckles.
The system registered the input with a harsh tallic chi.
"Seal the lower axis," Will said, driving his hand deeper into the holographic rust to confirm the order.
Massive iron bulkheads slamd shut three hundred floors below. The blinking red warning lights on the wirefra map turned into a solid, dead gray. The population counter dropped from 10,814 to 10,201.
Six hundred and thirteen people were instantly written off the ledger—a number Will burned directly into his mory. He turned away from the floating rusted anchor and looked at his Vanguard bleeding in the dark.
The sound of grinding iron stopping echoed up the elevator shafts. The silence in the Tactical Suite was lethal.
Allison shoved herself backward, putting three feet of cold dead space between her and Will. She kept her blistered hand clamped tight around her father’s lted pocket watch. She looked at Will’s new, dense muscle mass, the rusted red UI bleeding onto his face, and the cold arithtic locked in his jaw.
Will stepped forward. His boot crunched directly through the remaining white ash on the carpet.
"The math asked," Will said. "I answered. We hold the bunker."
Allison didn’t say a word. She turned her back to the rusted interface and racked the charging handle of her dead rifle.
User Comments
0 comments from readers