CHAPTER 2
THE SERPENT THAT TOUCHED THE SUN
The giant boars held an unrelenting gallop for almost half an hour, tearing through the vegetation until the air completely lost its taste of iron and the purplish haze of Necrovapor was left behind.
Gradually, the trees around them grew denser, humming with a subtle, clean energy. The New Moon Grove was still safe.
Bituca let out a low whistle and the three beasts slowed, stopping in a clearing hidden by curtains of bioluminescent vines.
With a fiery snort, the boars began to dissolve into spiritual embers and ash that vanished into the moss.
"Solid ground! Thank Tykka¹" — Aluara slid off her mount before it disappeared completely, landing lightly. She brushed off her boots and straightened her skirt before looking at Pyros, who had collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily.
The paladin's golden armor was dull, stained with black soot where the Rust Stalker's blow had landed. From a gap in the metal near his ribs, a thin trickle of blood was seeping out.
"Hey, tin-can, don't go dying in our garden after all the trouble it took to get you out of there" — Aluara rushed over, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands, still gloved, moved with a rogue's precision.
With nimble fingers, she started loosening one of the side buckles on the golden breastplate.
"Let me see that... and damn, is this real gold? What an insane alloy... does this pauldron come off easy?"
"Aluara!" — Bituca bellowed, stomping over with heavy steps. He slammed the butt of his shotgun into the ground and crossed his arms, grumpy. "The guy is bleeding out and you're already trying to strip him for parts to sell?"
"I'm helping! And appraising the merchandise at the same time. It's called time optimization, Bituca" — she shot back with a grin, though her amber eyes showed genuine worry as she wiped the blood from the armor with a clean cloth she pulled from her pouch.
"Leave... the pieces... where they are" — Pyros's voice came out muffled from inside the serpent-head helm. With visible effort, he brought his hands to the base of the helmet and removed it with a heavy metallic clang.
The face revealed was striking, with sharp features and warm, sun-bronzed skin now pale with pain. His eyes had a warm glow, like distant bonfires. He inhaled the pure air of the grove, exhaling one last gaseous puff of Necrovapor he had breathed in.
"Thank you for the rescue, protectors" — Pyros said, his voice serious and unwavering even while wounded. He looked at the wound on his ribs, which was beginning to faintly sizzle under a golden, healing glow, born of his paladin energy. "But the Rust Stalker will not stop. He is the scout of the Great Archivist. The fact that he crossed the border means the Factory is expanding its limits. And they came for this."
Pyros reached for a reinforced pouch on his belt, untouched by the battle. He opened it carefully, revealing a different kind of metallic gleam...
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While the healing warmth and pure air of the New Moon Grove embraced the protectors, the reality just a few kilometers away was made of rust, grinding gears, and the suffocating stench of burnt oil.
This time, our lens pulls away from Aluara and Bituca to peer into the bowels of the enemy's industrial fortress.
The heavy, mechanical footsteps of the Rust Stalker echoed across the cast-iron catwalks of the Great Forge. Around him, hundreds of zombie slaves operated colossal machinery, driving pistons that spat gray soot against the vaulted ceiling. The place was perpetually lit by the sickly glow of purple Necrovapor pipes that crossed the walls like veins in a metal monster.
The Stalker advanced to the central chamber, where the smoke was so dense it almost concealed the massive silhouette waiting for him.
Before him, with his back turned, studying a gigantic, gear-driven holographic tactical map of Arton, stood the General of the Great Archivist.
The General was a terrifying presence: a war automaton nearly ten feet tall, whose black plate armor and bronze rivets seemed to absorb what little light there was. A torn leather cloak, heavy with grease, hung from his false shoulders.
The Rust Stalker knelt, the metal of his joints screeching. The tubes on his back released a loud gust of Necrovapor in a sign of submission.
"THE... TARGET... ESCAPED, GENERAL" — the Stalker's distorted voice echoed through the hall. "INTERFERENCE... FROM THE NATIVES. A CAIPORA... AND A KURAPI. FOREST MAGIC AND ELECTRICITY."
The General didn't turn around right away. He raised one of his hands — a four-fingered hydraulic claw with jagged digits — and twisted a valve on his own chest, letting out a sharp hiss as his power core stabilized. When he finally turned, the three optical sensors on his iron face flared an icy, scarlet red.
"Biological interference..." — the General's voice was a deep, metallic vibration, perfectly calculated, devoid of any human emotion. "The New Moon Grove is an anomaly that delays the Factory's progress. The organic matter of that forest must be processed and converted into fuel."
He took a step forward, the pistons in his legs snapping sharply.
"Pyros carries the Cosmic Ignition Core. The Great Archivist requires that piece to stabilize the main boiler and expand the Soul Rust across the entire realm. If the golden paladin has allied himself with the savages of the grove, they have only delayed the inevitable."
The General extended his iron claw toward the Stalker, releasing a small spark of dark Necrovapor that reactivated the red-matter plates on the black knight's armor, mending the damage caused by Bituca's blunderbuss.
"Take the Timber-Rippers. Mobilize the heavy Necrovapor infantry. If the forest resists... burn its soul until nothing is left but ash and rust. I want the paladin and I want the Core. Rip that grove in half."
"IT... SHALL... BE DONE... GENERAL" — the Rust Stalker rose to his feet, his dark-energy eyes burning with renewed hunger for destruction.
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Back in the fleeting safety of the hidden clearing, the bioluminescent light of the vines reflected off the object Pyros retrieved with extreme care from his reinforced pouch.
It wasn't gold, nor common bronze.
The Cosmic Ignition Core was a fist-sized sphere made of an unknown silvery metal that seemed to hold trapped stardust. Tiny, intricate gears and orbital rings spun around the core without any string or spring moving them, floating in perfect magnetism. At the center of the sphere, a pure flame of steady, celestial blue pulsed like the heart of a newborn star.
Aluara stepped forward, her goggles forgotten on her forehead as her amber eyes widened with pure technical and magical fascination. The coils on her leather gloves gave a soft crackle, almost whispering in response to the artifact's pure energy.
"By the gods..." — the Caipora murmured, extending her gloved fingers but stopping inches from the silver glow. "I've never seen mechanics this refined. This wasn't made in any Dwarven forge or in the REALM. This energy is... clean. It's the opposite of that soot."
"It's the last hope of containing that industrial monstrosity's expansion" — Pyros explained, slowly closing the pouch and returning the clearing to its original mystical half-light. "The Great Archivist needs this Core to feed the main boiler of his megafactory. If he gets his hands on this cosmic fire, the Soul Rust will no longer be a slow infection; it will spread across the skies of ---- like a Necrovapor storm, choking entire kingdoms in a matter of days."
Bituca let out a heavy sigh, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. He glanced sideways at the forest around them, his feet nervously shuffling the moss.
"So that black tin-can abomination that almost cut us in half came after this" — said the Kurapi, his voice lower and more serious, without the grumpiness from before. "Who the hell was that monster, paladin? He said your name. He knew you."
Pyros lowered his eyes, the weight of an old guilt shaping the lines of his bronzed face. He stroked the serpent-head helm resting beside him, staring into its empty slits.
"His true name is Kirion" — Pyros revealed, and the name seemed to turn bitter in his mouth. "Before he became the Rust Stalker, he was an honored paladin of our order. A brother-in-arms. We swore to protect the borders of the world against corruption and heresy. Kirion had the purest heart and the most relentless blade I have ever seen."
"What happened to him?" — Aluara asked softly, sitting down on a nearby root, hugging her knees covered in striped stockings. "How does someone like that become... that?"
"Arrogance and despair" — Pyros sighed. "Years ago, our unit was surrounded by the first hordes of Necrovapor zombies on the industrial frontier. We were losing. Kirion, in his blind quest to save our men and prove his faith was unshakable, tried to purify a concentrated source of Necrovapor using sheer willpower. He thought his soul was too strong to rust."
The Boitatá paladin paused, the fiery glow in his eyes flickering for a moment.
"He was wrong. The infection started subtly, like a metallic taste in the mouth, exactly as the legends say. Instead of seeking a cure or isolating himself, Kirion hid the symptoms. He believed it was a divine trial. When the rust reached his heart, the Great Archivist whispered into his mind. He promised him a 'perfect order,' a world without the weakness of flesh and without the pain of doubt. Kirion yielded willingly. He let them pierce his spine with bronze tubes to pump Necrovapor directly into his soul, trading his faith for dark magic."
"He traded his own blood for grease and Necrovapor..." — Bituca spat on the ground, disgust mixed with a hint of pity. "A warrior who sells himself to the Factory is worse than a common zombie. He knows exactly what he's doing."
"Yes" — Pyros nodded, pushing himself up with difficulty, the wound on his ribs finally sealed by sacred heat, though the golden breastplate remained damaged. "Kirion died. What remains there is the Rust Stalker, an extension of the Archivist's cruel will. And now that he knows the Core is here, he will bring the Factory's army into the New Moon Grove."
Aluara sprang to her feet in an agile leap, the buckles on her boots jingling. She adjusted the goggles on her forehead and looked at Bituca, then at Pyros, a roguish, defiant smile returning to her lips.
"Well... if the Tin General and his rusty buddy want a war in our backyard, we better start making the rules."
Aluara cracked her gloved knuckles, a small blue spark jumping between the coils and lighting up her confident grin.
"Before we turn the grove into a junkyard of gears, we need to make a strategic stop" — said the Caipora, adjusting the strap of her corset with a wink at Pyros. "I know just the guy to give us the edge we need. His name is Elias."
"Elias? That weird human who lives in the iron carcass?" — Bituca grumbled immediately, cleaning the barrel of his runic shotgun with an irritated snap. "That man smells like grease and castor oil, kid. What does he have that's useful besides a pile of junk?"
"He's an inventor, Bituca! A Builder, actually" — Aluara corrected, enthusiastically defending her friend. She started walking toward a trail hidden by broad leaves, the tail of her skirt swaying behind her. "Elias can build practically anything from scratch with a handful of scrap. And best of all: there isn't a single explosion, fallen leaf, or turning gear in this grove, or for kilometers around, that he doesn't know about. If the Archivist's army is on the march, Elias already has his sensors tracking it."
Pyros picked up his serpent helm, tucking it under his arm as his golden armor still radiated a soft heat, though worn by the Necrovapor.
"An inventor who knows the terrain and monitors enemy movements is a valuable asset" — the Boitatá paladin pondered, his deep, serious voice accepting the rogue's suggestion. "If the Factory is mobilizing, we need eyes on the horizon. Take us to this Elias, Aluara."
"This way! Just try not to step on his spring traps along the way" — Aluara laughed, lightly vaulting over a fallen log in her buckled boots, leading the two warriors deeper into the heart of the New Moon Grove, toward the Builder's mysterious refuge.
¹Tykka - Goddess of luck and trickery