Chapter 50: War in the cradle
The sunken chamber in the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse was a crucible of chaos, Mycoglyphs flaring like dying stars as the Verdant Apostate’s Echoes of Ruin clashed with the Ironblood Remnants’ plasma fire.
Clayton knelt by the root cluster, blood dripping from his nose, Heartseed Core screaming under Aspect Strain.
His humanoid form was a wreck; plasma burns torn open, psyche fractured by the Apostate’s despair, the insidious whispers that tore at his sanity. But his Verdant Lord form, incomplete yet towering, shielded him with bark and thorns, its green-fire chest pulsing with a fraction of its Echoterra might.
It was the only reason why he was still alive.
’And here I was thinking I would be safe after escaping Echoterra,’ he thought, his eyes narrowed as dark thoughts filled his head.
’F*ck the Echoterra!’
’F*ck the Genesis Protocols!’
’F*ck the world!’
The Rootsite was at 80%, Verdant Reign anchoring his soul to the Earthcore Signal, but survival was all he could manage in this three-way slaughter.
"Everybody wants a piece of me," he coughed, dark humor raw. "Three hundred thirty years, and I’m still the belle of the ball".
Pain lanced through his whole body. It was pure torture, but what better ingredient other than spite to deal with pain than humor?