CHAPTERSIX
The Lure of Gold
The victory over the storm-beasts cemented Belial's presence among the people of Edin.For the indigenes, he was both terror and guardian, a man whose fire could burn mountains yet who had turned that fire against their enemies. For the Shamites, he was vindication, proof that their survival was no accident.
But beneath the celebration, Belial's mind churned. The priest had granted them space to remain. The people whispered with awe. Yet none of that mattered if they failed their mission.
Gold. It was why they had crossed galaxies. It was why thousands had died in the void. It was why Akromos still clung to hope.
Belial stared at the map glowing across the command table in his tent. The readings were clear: vast veins of gold lay in the green zone to the south; a region where the soil seethed with heat, the rivers boiled, and storms churned perpetually.
The priest had called it cursed land. The Shamru's fragment, before it perished with the Krausnaut, had warned of instability. But Belial could not ignore it.
"Without gold," he muttered to himself, "we are nothing but exiles."
The First Expedition
At dawn, Belial summoned his generals. Thirty had dwindled to twenty-seven through disaster and disease, but their loyalty was iron.
He pointed to the southern zone. "Here lies our purpose. We march tomorrow with miners and equipment. I want samples tested and veins mapped before the week ends."
One general, Saren, youngest of the thirty, hesitated. "Commander, the heat there… it destroys equipment. Our armor may hold, but the workers..."
"Then we will find a way," Belial cut him off. "If Akromos' skies fall while we cower in safety, then all this was for nothing. I will not let the blood of sixty thousand be wasted."
Saren bowed his head, but unease lingered in his eyes.
Into the Green Zone
The expedition departed with two hundred workers, armored soldiers, and half a dozen landers loaded with mining tools. Udu insisted on joining, claiming he must witness what the strangers sought. Belial allowed it, though he sensed the priest had sent him as a watchful eye.
As they entered the green zone, the air thickened with heat. Steam hissed from fissures. The ground trembled beneath their boots. Strange plants glowed with inner fire, their roots burrowed into molten soil.
The workers set up drills. The machines hummed, biting into the earth. At first, the gold came easily; rich, glittering veins that spilled dust like sunlight made solid. Belial's chest tightened with triumph.
But then the ground shuddered.
The Land Resists
The fissures widened. Rivers of molten stone gushed forth. From the boiling swamps rose creatures unlike any they had seen; scaled titans with jaws of fire, their eyes burning with molten light.
The workers screamed. Soldiers opened fire, plasma bolts tearing through the beasts' hides. One fell, but two more surged forward, crushing men beneath their weight.
"Hold formation!" Belial roared, blade of searing energy flaring in his hand. He leapt into the fray, striking a beast's neck, severing its head in a blast of smoke and fire.
But the land itself turned against them. Storms erupted overhead, lightning tearing across the sky. The drills jammed, their circuits fried by heat. Crates of gold dust toppled, scattering like glitter across scorched soil.
It was as if the world rejected them, resisting every wound they carved into its flesh.
Udu's Warning
Amid the chaos, Udu shouted over the din. "I told you! The land bleeds when you cut her! This is her fury!"
Belial grabbed him by the arm, dragging him clear of a collapsing fissure. "Your land does not bleed, Udu. It resists. And resistance can be broken."
Udu's eyes blazed with anger. "Break her, and she will break you. You do not understand. This world is not a corpse to be plundered. She is alive."
Belial released him roughly. "Alive or dead, she will yield."
Retreat and Losses
After hours of battle, the Shamites withdrew, dragging survivors and shattered equipment back toward Edin. Over fifty workers lay dead, along with two generals. Beasts of fire prowled the ruins of their camp, roaring victory.
Belial marched at the rear, fury boiling in his chest. His first mining attempt had ended in blood and ash. His people had seen not triumph but failure.
That night, in the camp, whispers spread. Some said the land itself was cursed. Others muttered that the priest had been right, the gold was poison.
Belial silenced them with a single command: "None speak of failure. This is the cost of survival. And we will pay it again if we must."
But even as he spoke, he felt the weight of doubt pressing heavier.
The Priest's Rebuke
When news reached the settlement, the high priest summoned Belial. His face was carved with sorrow.
"You see now," he said through Udu. "The land resists. She rejects your machines. She rejects your hunger."
Belial's voice was ice. "The land resists because she fears us. But fear bends. Fear yields. I will not stop."
The priest leaned close, his old eyes fierce. "Then you are no guest. You are plague."
The First Blood
Days later, a mining convoy set out again, smaller but determined. This time, they never reached the green zone.
Indigenous hunters ambushed them in the forest, their spears tipped with stone hardened by strange alchemy. They struck swift, targeting workers. Cries filled the air.
Shamite soldiers retaliated. Plasma fire tore through trees, igniting the woods. Hunters fell screaming, their bodies charred. But they did not break. They fought with ferocity born of desperation, refusing to yield their land.
By the time Belial arrived with reinforcements, dozens were dead on both sides. Workers lay in pools of blood. Hunters' bodies littered the forest floor.
It was the first true battle between Shamite and native. And it would not be the last.
The Aftermath
Smoke drifted over the charred woods. The surviving hunters retreated, carrying their dead. The surviving workers trembled, eyes wide with terror.
Belial stood among the bodies, his blade dripping. His generals awaited his word.
At last, he said, "So be it. If they would meet us with blood, then blood it shall be. But remember this, we are not conquerors. We are survivors. Every strike we make is for Akromos. For life itself."
But in his heart, he felt the shift. The line between survival and conquest blurred.
That night, Belial stood alone on the cliffs of Edin. The inland sea shimmered with moonlight. The stars above seemed colder than ever.
He thought of Akhan, of the promise he had made. He thought of the Spirit Head's warning. And he thought of Udu, who had looked at him not with fear but with sorrow.
Belial clenched his fists. The soil of Edin was rich, but it was stained now with blood, Shamite and native alike.
And he knew this was only the beginning.