Echoterra: Rise of the Verdant King-Chapter 46: Ashes and roots

Silence. Cold, unforgiving silence.

The alley in the Aether Core Reactor District was a graveyard of ash and ruin. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Collapsed concrete buried the Voidstar Crucible’s remnants, its red veins dimmed, null wave spent. Roots; black green, thorned, still pulsing with faint Genesis fury jutted from the rubble like the bones of a slain god.

The air reeked of scorched metal, blood, and something primal, older than the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse itself.

Rhea slumped against a cracked wall, her patched exosuit sparking, one arm limp from shattered bones.

Her visor was fogged, breath ragged, eyes fixed on Joren’s body, roots blooming from his chest like a grotesque monument. The third soldier lay nearby, torn apart by Clayton’s Spine Bloom, venom-sap pooling beneath him.

She’d seen death, too much, in the Ironblood’s endless war against the green. But this was different. They’d walked into a slaughterhouse thinking they hunted a weed. They’d been wrong.

Commander Drayce stood rigid, his black allow suit cracked, visor split to reveal a single gray eye, bloodshot and unblinking.

His chest core flickered, its scavenged Genesis energy drained by the Voidstar Crucible’s double pulse. The Null Crown blade hung loose in his grip, its runes dark, stained with Clayton’s chloroplasmic sap.

Drayce’s breath was steady, but his silence screamed louder than Rhea’s pain.

They’d underestimated the Verdant Lord.

Clayton Hunt wasn’t just Genesis-touched, he was a relic, a king of roots who’d torn through their squad like they were nothing.

"We... we had him," Rhea rasped, voice cracking through her vox. "Joren hesitated. If he’d fired..."

"Enough," Drayce snapped, his voice sharp but hollow.

He sheathed the blade, fingers trembling; not from fear, but obsession. "He’s no Behemorph. He’s worse. A Warden-Class Host, like the Sigma-4 Archive warned. We should’ve brought the Null Lance".

Rhea’s head snapped up, grief twisting into anger. "Joren’s dead. Torv’s dead. And you’re talking archives? We need to rethink this, Drayce. He’s not just a rootspawn, he thinks. He planned this".

Drayce’s eye narrowed, but he didn’t argue.

Rhea’s words echoed the Ironblood’s unspoken dissent; their zeal to burn the green was absolute, but the cost was mounting.

They rejected Aspects, fearing mutation into Behemorphs, grafting tech and suppressors to stay human. But Clayton’s power mocked their purity, his roots defying their Voidstar Crucible.

Drayce’s core, a scavenged Furnace Core fragment was proof they weren’t untouched by Genesis, a hypocrisy Rhea swallowed but Joren had questioned. That doubt had killed him.

"We return to Bastion-7," Drayce said, turning toward the west. "Vrenna needs to know. This isn’t a hunt anymore. It’s a purge".

Rhea pushed off the wall, wincing, and followed.

The Expanse watched, its roots whispering, as if mourning, or mocking their retreat.

...

Bastion-7, Three Hours Later.

The hollowed skyscraper buzzed with tension. Plasma forges glowed, casting shadows across scavenged servers and turret racks.

Commander Vrenna stood at the steel table, her mechanical arm whirring, eyes like flint as Drayce and Rhea reported. Torv, the lieutenant, loomed nearby, his anti-Genesis grafts glinting. While Sylas, the tech-scribe tapped furiously at a holo-terminal, pulling Genesis Archive data.

"He collapsed the terrain," Drayce said, his cracked visor removed, revealing a scarred face, grey eyes burning.

"Verdant Lord form, fully active. Roots ignored the Voidstar Crucible. He killed Joren and Marek, broke Rhea’s arm. Escaped underground".

Vrenna’s arm clicked, fist tightening. "You had five. Omicron was our best cell".

Rhea’s voice was low, bitter. "He’s not human. Not anymore. He planned the ambush, used the Expanse like a weapon. Joren... he froze. Thought we could take him alive".

Sylas paused, goggles reflecting the holo-feed. "A Warden-Class Host matches Sigma-4’s logs. Verdant Lords anchor Genesis fields. Killing him could destabilize the Expanse, or worse, wake something bigger".

Torv grunted. "Burn him. Burn it all. We’ve got the Null Lance, don’t we?"

Vrenna’s eyes flicked to Drayce. "You saw his power. Can we contain it?"

Drayce’s jaw tightened. "He’s wounded, core strained, but he’s adapting. We need more; three cells, EMP drones, the Null Lance".

"He’s not just a threat. He’s a signal. The Protocols are waking up".

Vrenna nodded, cold resolve settling. "Mobilize Cells Delta and Epsilon. Ready the Null Lance. We hunt at dawn".

"This time," she looked straight at Drayce. "No mistakes".

The room fell silent, but Rhea’s gaze lingered on Joren’s empty gear rack.

The Ironblood’s zeal held them together, but cracks were forming. Clayton Hunt had done more than survive, he’d shaken their faith.

...

Meanwhile, Moss-Choked Crater, Eastern Expanse.

Clayton lay sprawled in the crater, blood pooling beneath him, his humanoid form a wreck.

Plasma burns scarred his thigh and shoulder, bark-armor flaked to dust. His Heartseed Core flickered, Genesis Embers drained, Aspect Strain leaving him hollow.

The Verdant Lord form had saved him, but at a cost.

His chest heaved, each breath a knife, but his lips curled into a bloody smirk.

"Three hundred thirty years," he coughed, voice raw with dark humor. "And I’m still dodging punks with fancy knives. Some legend, huh?"

The Expanse answered, roots coiling around him, gentle, like mourners.

His Sovereign Bloom stirred, regenerating his wounds slowly, too slowly. He needed Genesis Embers, a Rootsite, something to anchor his power.

He realized that after clashing with the Ironblood Remnants.

For the first time since returning home to a changed Earth, he found purpose.

The Ironblood wouldn’t stop. Drayce’s gray eyes, that Null Crown blade, they’d hunt him to the ends of the earth.

The Verdant Armistice Network’s message burned in his mind. "Seek the Pulse Beneath. The Earthcore Calls". He muttered, still entranced.

That message, it was a whisper, a pull, deep in the Expanse’s roots.

He didn’t know what it meant, but it was a lifeline. A Rootsite, maybe, where he could rebuild, grow, become the king he’d been in Echoterra.

He pushed to his knees, Regalia of the Verdant Warden pulsing faintly in his grip. The Expanse was alive, its roots whispering secrets, urging him east. Toward the signal. Toward survival.

"They want a war?" he muttered, spitting blood.

"I’ll give ’em a jungle".