Chaos Core

'But if my body is already engraved with Chaos, how can my Flux Core reach the Engraved Stage?'

He leaned back against the bunk wall, thoughts spiraling.

'Engraving is physical, muscle, bone, nerves. But those are already claimed. Chaos got there first. If I try to engrave Flux now... would it clash? Be erased? Corrupted?'

His heart gave an anxious thrum. He remembered what Brenn said, that the next stage would fuse the core's energy with the user's body itself. But what if there was no room left?

He glanced toward his chest, where the Chaos Core rested. It pulsed slowly, almost like it was aware of his dilemma.

'What's the point of a second Core if it can't grow alongside the first? Did I make a mistake trying to form both?'

He clenched his teeth.

He had no answer.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"I can't think of anything right now... I'll just keep working at it and see how it goes."

There was no immediate solution. But progress didn't always require certainty, just movement.

He stripped off his training gear and lay down on the small cot in the Diver's barracks, arms crossed behind his head, eyes tracing the seams in the metal ceiling.

Sleep took him slowly, his thoughts drifting into silence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time the sun crested over the horizon, the deployment site at Gate 3 buzzed with activity. Personnel moved with practiced discipline.

Everyone assigned to the mission had already gathered, final checks underway, gear rechecked, weapons holstered.

The convoy was comprised of four primary vehicles:

Two mid-sized, all-terrain assault transports, one each for Field Unit 6 and Field Unit 12, complete with reinforced hulls, turret mounts, and modular cargo holds for weeks of supplies.

Two heavy-duty haulers trailing behind, converted freight carriers built to accommodate the Warden detachment and a group of ten licensed Miners, their equipment securely sealed within reinforced capsules.

The team leaders convened for a quick tactical review. The mission's designated supervisor was none other than Dietrich, the Warden leader, a stern, broad-shouldered man whose voice seemed to reverberate even through helmet comms.

"We keep close to each other. No straying from the planned route," he said. "If anything strange shows up on our scanners, we stop and check it. Unit 6 leads. Unit 12 watches the back."

Once the meeting concluded and the final checks were cleared, the squads dispersed to their respective vehicles.

Rook climbed aboard and relayed the last update.

"Unit 6 will lead the convoy. We'll bring up the rear. Once we breach the Dead Zone perimeter, be combat-ready, we're likely to encounter movement before noon. Departure in ten."

Helmets were fastened. Visors clicked into place. The soft hiss of internal filtration systems activated as oxygen seals engaged.

Kick took the driver's seat.

Brenn manned the turret above, one foot already hooked onto the ladder as he climbed into the open hatch.

Asrel settled into one of the reinforced passenger seats, fastening the multi-lock harness across his chest. The helmet still felt tight around his jaw, the interior humming faintly as it synced with his breath rate.

The transport lurched forward moments later as Unit 6's vehicle took the lead, its turret slowly rotating in active scan mode. The two haulers followed, and then Unit 12's vehicle pulled out, tires crunching against the reinforced road plates leading into the Dead Zone's veil.

Asrel inspected the vehicle with quiet curiosity. Back when magic was at its peak, enchanted vehicles had begun to emerge, but they were rare, used mostly for display or luxury. For real travel between cities, people relied on Teleportation Gates.

Now, the world had changed. This machine ran on Flux.

He studied the mechanisms closely, noting how the energy pulsed through the core systems. Curious, he turned to Kick.

"Where does it get its power?"

Kick tapped the side panel. "Flux battery. Stores refined Flux in a sealed container and feeds it straight to the engine and systems."

"Could someone power it directly?"

"In theory, yeah," Kick said with a short laugh. "But it'd drain you dry in seconds."

The convoy pressed forward, engines humming steadily as the landscape grew harsher. Before long, movement stirred in the distance, twisted figures emerging from the haze.

Abhorrents.

They came in scattered clusters at first, crawling and limping out from the broken terrain. But these were weak, mindless husks that barely reacted until they sensed life.

The vehicles' turrets opened fire. Streams of concentrated Flux cut through the air, tearing down the front lines of the approaching creatures. Most were obliterated before they could even get close.

Asrel leaned closer to the narrow viewing slit, watching the bodies collapse in heaps of distorted flesh. "I fought some of those before," he said. "What are they exactly?"

"Low-level Abhorrents," Rook answered, his voice flat behind the helmet speaker. "Fleshspawns. Mindless piles of muscle and hate. The Eidolarchs made them, test subjects left too long in the Miasma. They're drawn to movement, sound, heat… anything living."

"They're like weapons?"

"They're more like tools," Brenn cut in. "The Eidolarchs don't fight directly. The Miasma's toxic to them too. So they throw these things at us, let the monsters wear us down before they make their next move."

Asrel frowned. "Why are they invading?"

"Still unclear," Rook replied. "They showed up near the end of the Era of Sunder. Tore through weak points in space and haven't stopped since. We've confirmed at least a few fallen Sanctuaries have been turned into their strongholds."

Before Asrel could ask more, the intercom flared to life with static.

"Mob incoming from the north. Large group, prepare for engagement."

Brakes hissed. The convoy ground to a halt.

The back doors swung open and boots hit the ground. Unit 6 disembarked with practiced speed, while the Wardens positioned themselves along makeshift cover.

Rook's voice cut through the team channel. "We've got a mix. Mostly Fleshspawns. A few Brutes and Howlers among them. Take position and suppress them before they reach us."

Asrel followed the others, rifle in hand. He took cover beside a chunk of collapsed road and peered ahead.

He saw them then, fifty or more figures barreling across the cracked terrain.

Some were squat and muscular, pounding forward with reckless momentum. Others loped on four limbs, fast and jittery.

'Those big ones must be Brutes,' Asrel thought, narrowing his eyes. 'And the fast ones… Howlers.'

Shots rang out.

The battle had begun.

The first sign was a tremor in the ground, subtle but steady. Then came the blur of shadows racing across the horizon. The Howlers emerged at full sprint, their muscular, low-slung forms weaving like predatory wraiths across the terrain. Their limbs struck the cracked earth with unnatural grace, leaping over debris with fluid momentum.

As they closed in, the entire front line tensed.

Then the Howlers opened their jaws.

A piercing, shrill howl split the air, layered in harmonic distortion. The sound pulsed with a resonance that vibrated through armor and bone alike.

"Agh...damn it!" one of the Divers cursed, staggering. Several soldiers clutched their helmets as if trying to hold their minds together. Knees buckled. Breathing wavered. The effect wasn't lethal, but it was paralyzing, enough to open gaps in the line.

The Howlers lunged.

While others reeled from the sonic shock, Asrel kept moving. He steadied his rifle, sighted one of the approaching beasts, and fired a burst.

The glowing rounds struck center mass, but the Howler barely flinched. Its thick hide absorbed the shots.

Asrel shifted stance and slung the rifle over his shoulder, drawing his Flux blade in one clean motion. The blade shimmered faintly.

The Howler leapt at him, claws extended, its fangs eager for blood. Asrel dropped low, pivoted to the left, and slashed upward. The blade tore a long, diagonal gash through the beast's ribs. It twisted midair, shrieking in pain.

Asrel didn't wait.

He reversed his grip and drove the sword straight through the monster's skull as it landed, pinning it into the dirt. A final convulsion passed through the body before it collapsed, twitching.

"Brenn!" Asrel shouted, sprinting to his teammate's side.

Brenn was holding a defensive posture, shield raised, protecting Nessa, who was still recovering from the sonic blast. Two Howlers pressed against him, snarling and snapping with feral persistence.

Asrel came from behind. Channeling pure Flux into his blade, the edges lit like molten metal. He swung with force, his arc splitting the nearest Howler from shoulder to hip. A wet crack echoed across the battlefield.

Freed from one threat, Brenn roared and bashed the second Howler with his shield, knocking it off balance. His sword followed in a heavy horizontal cut that cleaved into its neck. A second blow finished it.

"Appreciated," Brenn huffed. Nessa nodded in silent thanks, already raising her rifle.

But the relief was brief.

The thundering of heavier footsteps signaled the Brutes.

The Brutes towered above the other Abhorrents, their mass twice that of a human, rippling with unstable musculature. Their footsteps crushed ground underfoot. One of them bellowed, a guttural, warped sound that sent shockwaves through the dust.

Dietrich, clad in reinforced Warden armor, met the first Brute head-on. A tight formation of Wardens spread around him, shields interlocked, energy projectors humming with defensive Flux. The Brute swung wildly, smashing into the formation. Sparks and pulses of Flux lit up the contact point.

To the flank, Rook faced another Brute. Asrel dropped to one knee, rifle raised, picking off the Fleshspawns that threatened to close in from the sides. Kick dashed in to support Rook, drawing the Brute's attention long enough for Rook to land a deep slash along its thigh.

Then Asrel noticed a problem.

A Brute was barreling toward one of the mining haulers, completely unprotected.

"Lira, keep up fire support for Rook and Kick!" he called over comms. "I'll intercept the one going for the hauler!"

"Copy that!" she replied without hesitation.

Asrel sprinted, dust kicking behind his heels. The Brute raised both fists above its head, ready to crush the transport below.

He arrived just in time and hurriedly constructed a barrier.

A rippling dome of dark energy shimmered into existence between the hauler and the Brute's strike. The creature's fists collided with the barrier, and a reactive pulse surged back through its arms, forcing it to recoil as its own momentum turned against it.

Snarling in pain and confusion, it staggered.

Asrel seized the moment.

He raised both hands, summoning three bolts of churning chaos. The energy crackled violently.

With a sharp motion, he launched them in sequence.

The first bolt struck the Brute's chest, breaking through its flesh and forcing it back. The second hit its shoulder, spinning the monster sideways. The third bolt slammed into its open mouth, detonating from within.

The Brute dropped to its knees, then fell forward, twitching once before going still.

Asrel exhaled sharply, lowering his arms.

The final howl faded into silence, and the battlefield stilled.

Smoldering Fleshspawn husks littered the perimeter, their forms melting into foul sludge under the filtered sunlight. Brute corpses slumped like toppled statues, their weight cracking the dry earth beneath them. The air still shimmered faintly with residual Flux and the acrid scent of scorched miasma-tainted flesh.

One by one, the combatants lowered their weapons. The Warden squads began sweeping the area, dragging bodies into piles and scanning for latent energy traces.

Dietrich barked orders into his comms, voice as steady as ever. "Warden units, check vitals. Tend to the wounded. Begin damage assessment. We move once clear."

The damage, thankfully, was manageable.

A few Wardens bore slashes across their armor or limped slightly from minor impact injuries. Medics moved in with stabilizing agents and minor Flux infusions. One of the haulers had taken a glancing hit from a Brute's debris-splitting swing, but the armor plating held. A dent, nothing more.

Rook, standing beside the smoking turret of their vehicle, scanned the field before turning back toward his team.

"Asrel, Brenn, status?" he asked through the squad channel.

"We're good," Brenn replied, wiping blood from his blade. "Nessa's stable. Lira's catching her breath, but no injuries."

"Kick?" Rook asked without turning.

"I'm still prettier than a Brute," Kick called from inside the vehicle, voice dry with exhaustion. "No wounds. Maybe just emotionally scarred."

With diagnostics complete and all teams accounted for, Dietrich gave the order over the main commline.

"Convoy, prepare to move. Path is secure. Maintain previous formation."

Rook turned to his squad. "Back in formation."

Everyone climbed back aboard, checking rifles and adjusting their helmets. The engines hummed to life, and the caravan began rolling once more through the dead horizon, smoke fading behind them as they resumed their slow crawl.