Forty-eight Essence. It burned in the Bastion's reserves like a stolen sun, a violent, tainted energy that the System had forcibly calmed into a usable form. It was power taken directly from the enemy's veins. It was also a declaration of war that could not be ignored.
Isaac stood before the Core, the new Essence a heavy weight in his mind. He had two immediate paths: reinvest in military expansion, or fortify his fragile gains. The Convergence would respond. The question was how.
The Barracks, now Level 1, offered its new queue. The Scout and Grenadier had proven their worth in a single operation. He needed more. But he also needed walls. The Bastion's outer fortifications were still a mess of fused wreckage. The postern gate was his only link to the world, a critical vulnerability.
"System, display fortification schematics available at current Bastion Integrity and Leyline Synergy."
A menu unfolded. Most options were greyed out, requiring higher synergy or the Engineering Bay facility, which was itself locked behind multiple prerequisites. But one basic option glowed:
Fortification: Automated Sentry Turret (Ballistic).
· Cost: 25 Essence, 15 Salvage (S/M), 3 Crystals.
· Function: Single-barrel, essence-fed rotary cannon. 180-degree firing arc. Linked to Bastion sensor net. Effective against light/medium infantry.
· Deployment: Requires a fortified emplacement (existing battlements sufficient).
A turret. A static defender. It couldn't move, couldn't patrol. But it could turn a choke point like the postern gate into a meat grinder. It would also consume his entire windfall of salvage and a chunk of his new Essence.
He ran the calculation. He had the Essence. The salvage… he had the high-grade components left from the graveyard, about 8 units' worth after the upgrade. He was 7 short. The Crystals he had from refining.
He could wait for the salvage drone to bring more volatile crystals, refine them, slowly build the stockpile. Or he could go back down. Sub-Level 1 was sealed, but the schematic showed other access points, including one from the lower levels of the Manufactorum itself—a maintenance shaft. It would be tighter, darker, and likely just as infested.
He needed the salvage now. Before the giant's fist came down.
"S-001," he called. The Scout unit snapped to attention, its cloaking field deactivating with a faint shimmer. "Survey the lower Manufactorum sector. Find the maintenance access to Sub-Level 1. Map the immediate vicinity. Do not engage. Maximum stealth."
The Scout nodded, its expressionless face somehow conveying focus. It moved silently toward the Manufactorum's rear chambers, a ghost in the industrial gloom.
While it scouted, Isaac turned to production. "Barracks, produce two additional Militia." He needed the baseline numbers more than ever. The cost was trivial now. "Manufactorum, begin fabrication of one Automated Sentry Turret. Allocate available resources, hold for final salvage."
The Manufactorum whirred, beginning work on the turret's internal mechanisms—the rotating assembly, the essence-converter, the targeting logic core. It could build everything but the heavy armor housing and the barrel, which required the bulk raw salvage.
Forty minutes later, S-001 returned, its sensor log uploading directly to Isaac's interface. The maintenance shaft was there, behind a heavy grate in the lowest pump-room. The shaft descended twenty meters into a narrow, steam-filled corridor. The Scout had ventured fifty meters in. The corridor was clear of life signs, but littered with debris and patches of the same fuzzy black mold. It ended at a heavy, pressure-sealed door marked "Geothermal Tap – Primary Access." The door was slightly ajar, warped by heat and time. Beyond, the Scout's sensors had detected immense thermal readings and… movement. Large, slow, heat-blurred movement.
The geothermal tap wasn't dead. It was active, and compromised. A Gloom entity was there, likely feeding on the raw planetary energy. A Thermal Amalgam, perhaps. Or something worse.
But between the access door and the shaft were several collapsed storage alcoves. The Scout's ground-penetrating radar suggested intact containers behind the rubble. Salvage.
It was another calculated risk. Go in, grab what they could from the alcoves, avoid the tap chamber, and get out.
Isaac assembled his team. Fireteam Bravo: M-001, M-004, M-005, M-013. He would lead them himself, bringing G-001, the Grenadier. The Grenadier's area-denial capability could be crucial in a tight space, and its launcher might be effective against a heat-based creature. S-001 would again take point.
"We are on a scavenging run, not a cleansing," he told them in the pump-room, the humid air reeking of ozone and rust. "In, grab the marked salvage, out. If we encounter hostiles, we disengage immediately unless trapped. Priority is the salvage. Understood?"
A chorus of acknowledgments. S-001 melted into the shadows of the maintenance shaft. They followed, descending into the earth's heated breath.
The lower corridor was a claustrophobic hell. Pipes hissed overhead, leaking steam that reduced visibility to ten meters. The black mold grew in thick, pulsating carpets, forcing them to walk single-file along the one clear path. The air was thick, hot, and hard to breathe, the spore-count warnings blinking insistently in Isaac's vision.
S-001 led them to the first collapsed alcove. It was indeed a storage niche, its metal shutter half-crushed. Inside, they found not ingots, but Machine Parts: articulated actuator arms, bundles of high-tensile cabling, and three pristine Power Regulator Units. High-value advanced salvage.
They stuffed them into Pioneer Packs. M-005's pack was already full when they reached the second alcove. This one was more damaged, but within the wreckage of a workbench were two sealed cases of Tool-grade Alloy Rods—dense, refined metal, perfect for structural components.
They were loading the last rod when the ground vibrated. Not a seismic spike, but a deep, rhythmic thump… thump… THUMP, like a massive heartbeat coming from the direction of the geothermal tap access door. A wave of superheated air, carrying the scent of sulfur and something sweetly rotten, washed down the corridor.
The door down the hall groaned, metal scraping on stone.
"Forget the rest! Back to the shaft, now!" Isaac hissed.
They turned, moving as quickly as the narrow, steam-shrouded path allowed. S-001 was already at the shaft, covering their retreat.
Then, from a side-vent Isaac hadn't even noticed, a gout of superheated steam erupted. Not an attack, but a natural vent, triggered by the footfalls or the distant creature's movement. It filled the corridor between the team and the shaft with a scalding, blinding cloud.
M-013, at the rear, stumbled back with a sizzle as its arm was seared. They were cut off, visibility near zero.
From behind them, the scraping at the tap door grew louder. The door was being pushed open.
"G-001! Smoke the corridor! Now!" Isaac yelled over the hiss of steam.
The Grenadier didn't hesitate. It raised its launcher and fired a canister down the hall, not toward the tap, but into the center of the steam cloud. The canister burst, not with explosion, but with a billowing cloud of thick, grey Obscurant Smoke, designed to block thermal and optical sensors.
The steam and smoke mixed into an impenetrable wall. But it worked both ways.
"Follow the wall! Hand on the shoulder in front! Go!"
They formed a chain, stumbling forward through the blinding, hot murk. Isaac could feel the heat of the creature now, a furnace-blast radiating down the corridor. A shape, huge and glowing a dull orange, appeared in the swirling mist at the far end—a massive, slug-like form of cooled magma and living stone, with a maw that dripped molten rock. A Magma Drudge.
It saw them, or sensed their heat. It bellowed, a sound of cracking stone, and began to surge forward, its bulk shaking the corridor.
"G-001! Incendiary round, down its throat! Fire and forget!"
The Grenadier loaded a different canister, aimed at the ceiling above the advancing Drudge, and fired. The round stuck to the stone and detonated, showering the creature in clinging, essence-fed thermite gel. The Drudge shrieked as its own heat ignited the gel into a white-hot inferno. It writhed, momentarily blinded and enraged, buying seconds.
They reached the shaft. S-001 was already climbing. M-004 shoved M-013 up first. Isaac went next. G-001 fired one more smoke canister into the corridor entrance for good measure, then followed.
They erupted into the pump-room, smoke and the stink of burnt plastic and ozone trailing them. Isaac didn't give the order to seal the shaft; he did it himself, heaving the heavy grate back into place and slamming a locking bolt home.
THUD.
Something massive hit the other side of the grate.The metal groaned but held.
THUD.
Again.A crack appeared in the stone lintel.
"Fall back to the Core Chamber!Now!"
They ran. The banging followed them, growing fainter but no less terrifying. They had awakened something deep and angry.
Back in the light of the Core, they dumped their haul. The machine parts, the cables, the regulator units, the alloy rods. The System tallied it.
Advanced Salvage Acquired: +22 Units.
Salvage (Stone/Metal) Acquired: +8 Units.
Thirty units of combined salvage. More than enough for the turret.
Isaac didn't celebrate. He looked at the Manufactorum, where the half-built turret waited. He looked at the map, where the Convergence still pulsed, and now, deep below, a new, fiery icon blinked—Sub-Level 1: Geothermal Tap – Major Hostile Detected.
He had his salvage. He had the giant's attention above, and now he had its fiery cousin stirring below.
The Bastion was no longer a besieged fortress. It was the meat in a very angry sandwich. He had gotten what he needed to build a better toothpick.
"Manufactorum," he said, his voice weary but resolved. "Complete the Sentry Turret. Deploy it to the battlements overlooking the postern gate approach."
The giant had roared. Isaac would answer it with the cold, whirring click of an automated gun.