Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode-Chapter 466: In The Forge

After the meeting, Clyde didn’t linger. He walked straight through the stone corridors of the Fortress. The tension of the council chamber still clung to his cloak like smoke but he didn’t carry it in his shoulders. He didn’t really thought about it too much. After all, Methion was there. He surely able to handle that.

Outside, the air was cooler. Crisper. It helped with his mood actually.

He made his way down a sloped path lined with anvils, molten channels, and char-marked walls until he reached the familiar forge near the westhern quarter.

Hammer was there as always. Because this place also his home.

The smith sat on a wide bench beside the forge building, his apron stained with soot, his massive forearms resting atop his knees.

A broad worn wooden cup sat in his grip. Filled with something dark and undoubtedly alcoholic. He took a long drink. His face half-lit by the forge’s fading glow.

He didn’t look up when Clyde approached. He didn’t have to.

"So," Hammer said after a lazy swig, "How bad you pissed off the High Council?"

Clyde blinked, then gave a dry laugh as he sat beside him on the bench.

"I caused a few of them to almost attack me," he admitted, letting the words fall like stone on steel.

Hammer chuckled, a low rumble that shook his belly and echoed off the walls.

"Knew it," he said with amused pride. "Didn’t even have to ask."

Clyde glanced sideways at him, smirking faintly. "Yeah, well. Wasn’t part of the plan. But not something unexpected.

"What did you say this time?" Hammer asked, lifting the cup again but watching Clyde from over its rim.

Clyde leaned back, elbows resting on the bench behind him.

"I told them we’d need to shelter the Celestials’ followers that was left behind when their gods die."

Hammer stopped mid-sip.

He lowered the cup slowly, staring at Clyde with one brow raised.

"You... don’t tell me," Hammer said slowly. "You’re the one who—"

"Killed them?" Clyde interrupted, voice flat. "Yeah."

Hammer stared a moment longer. Then burst into another chuckle. This one shorter, more disbelieving. He always suspected that Clyde will be capable of something like that.

"I saw the recordings. Thought you were just holding your own against two of them back then. Now you’re telling me you actually ablen to kill them?" He shook his head. "That’s... shocking."

Clyde shrugged, eyes scanning the forge’s open front, watching smoke drift upward into the evening sky.

"Yeah. I’m a little shocked too." He said it without irony, like someone still adjusting to the weight of what they’d done.

Hammer took another drink, this time slower.

"You really are famous now," he muttered, then glanced over at Clyde. "You sure this Fortress is ready for the kind of enemies that fame brings?"

Clyde’s eyes hardened, but his voice stayed calm. "Doesn’t matter. Ready or not, they’re coming for me. And don’t worry. I will not let them come closer."

Hammer didn’t argue. He just leaned back, letting the quiet settle again, and passed the cup toward Clyde.

Clyde took it without a word, drank deep.

The taste burned. But its quite good after a moment.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. The forge crackled quietly in the background.

Clyde didn’t say anything else, and Hammer didn’t need to fill the air. There was comfort in the quiet. In the understanding between two of them.

Then they heard light footsteps approached.

Clyde didn’t look. He already knew who it was.

"I figured you’d be here," Maethion said as he stepped into view. "Not many places you go after blowing up the council room."

Clyde chuckled under his breath. "You say that like I made a habit of it."

Maethion just gave a tired smile and turned to Hammer.

"We need the room," he said simply.

Hammer let out a low grunt but nodded. "Of course you do."

He pushed himself up from the bench with a grunt and moved toward the back of the forge.

Hidden behind racks of old blades and shelves of rusted gear, he reached for a wall panel and pressed his thick fingers into a small groove.

A mechanism clicked and a section of the stone wall rumbled open, revealing a narrow stairway descending into shadow.

"Let’s go," Maethion said, already moving.

Clyde followed him down. Hammer came last, pulling the panel closed behind them.

The room was small, built into the bedrock. Its reinforced and warded. A round table stood in the center, surrounded by heavy chairs that hadn’t been used in years. Many of Hammer’s creation that he wanted keep secret were stored here.

They took their seats.

Maethion leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him, eyes sharp.

"I need you to explain," he said. "All the thing that you think you wanma share."

Clyde raised a brow. "You’ll have to be more specific."

Maethion’s gaze didn’t waver. "The Celestial killings. Was it really you?"

Clyde didn’t flinch. "Yes."

Maethion closed his eyes for a long moment, sighing as if he’d hoped — foolishly — for a different answer. Silence hung in the air.

Then he nodded, just once.

"I figured," he said quietly. "It felt like your kind of chaos."

Hammer said nothing, just crossed his arms and leaned against the far wall.

After a moment, Maethion straightened.

"The Council has agreed," he said. "We’ll expand the Fortress. We’ll prepare to house the followers you spoke of."

Clyde’s lips curved into a small smile that shows gratitude.

"Good," he said. "That means I don’t have to come back and punch another arm off."

"Please don’t," Maethion muttered dryly.

Clyde stood, brushing soot from his coat. "Then I’ll head out. There are people waiting. I think I will be back soon."

But as he turned to go, Maethion raised a hand.

"Wait," he said. "Stay a little longer. We need to talk."

Clyde paused, glancing back. "About what?"

"About you," Maethion said, eyes narrowed with something deeper. "And what the hell you’ve become."

"That’s something I can’t tell you," Clyde said, his voice low but firm, the kind that didn’t invite debate.

Maethion leaned forward slightly. "I’m not asking for the whole truth. I just need a picture. I know almost everything that’s been whispered about in the higher realms and what you did. What you unleashed."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "It sounds too terrifying to be real, Clyde. They say you’ve spread the Corruption into every domain and realm like wildfire."

Maethion paused, gaze hard. "I need to know. Will you ever bring that... here?"

Clyde looked at him, eyes shadowed but steady.

"No," he said. "I won’t bring it here. I can’t tell you too much. Because if I did, it’d change you." He let that hang. "Just trust me. This Fortress will be safe and sdcure. I swear that to you."

Maethion stared at him for a long time, as if searching for cracks in stone.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Alright," he said quietly. "I trust you."

He leaned back, the tension in his shoulders easing, but not disappearing.

"But you’ll have to deal with the ones who come asking and want to know about your power. I can’t hold them back anymore."

Clyde gave a faint, tired smile. "I expected that. Don’t worry about them. If they come knocking, I’ll be the one who answers."

Hammer grunted approvingly from the wall, arms still crossed. "Good. Saves me the trouble of cleaning up their bodies."

The three of them shared a brief look. Not humorous or solemn, but something in between. Something forged in understanding.

Then Clyde rose. "Alright. That’s enough of the cryptic basement talk. Let’s get back before someone starts thinking we’re plotting a coup."

Maethion stood as well, brushing off his robes. "We’re not?"

Clyde smirked. "Not today."

Hammer moved to the wall panel, pressing the mechanism again. The stone groaned open, and a shaft forge-light spilled down into the room.

Together, they ascended. Back into the warmth of the flames.

---

Meanwhile, in a high tower wrapped in white, Morvius sat alone in his office. Shadows clung to the corners of the room despite the flickering chandelier above.

A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, curling white smoke up toward the cracked ceiling.

On his polished desk sat a long bottle of translucent violet wine. Not from the mortal world, but pressed from the higher realms.

He poured himself another glass with a heavy hand. The past few days had gnawed at him. He was never one for paranoia, but even the most composed minds fray under this kind of pressure. The alcohol helped him slightly with that.

Then came the knock.

"Enter," Morvius said without looking up.

His secretary stepped in, posture crisp, face serious. She closed the door behind her and walking up to the desk without a word until she stood before him.

Morvius glanced up from his wine, his voice flat. "You got any news?"

"I do," she said, folding her arms. "Something strange, director."

He sat straighter. The wineglass paused halfway to his lips. "From where?"

"Agatha," she replied.

Morvius narrowed his eyes. He sighed, set the glass down, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Keep digging. Quietly. If Agatha’s hiding something... I want to know what it is before she knows we do."

---

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