The world above still burned in Rex's memory.
The howling of the Spinebreakers. The reek of oil and blood. The metallic taste of his own exhaustion. Nyra had dragged him through that tunnel for what felt like forever, and when the darkness finally gave way to faint orange light, it wasn't hope that greeted him—just more ruin.
They emerged into an undercity cavern, a sprawling metallic graveyard lit by flickering lamps and rust-glow furnaces. It was massive—so large that the echoes of hammer strikes and machine roars built into a rhythm. Makeshift walkways of old ship hulls and broken train cars crisscrossed above deep pits where molten scrap shimmered. This place smelled of fire, sweat, and old steel.
"The Spill Zones," Nyra said, helping him steady himself on uneven footing. "Welcome to the only place in the Undersprawls where rats and rebels can share a drink."
"Comforting," Rex muttered, scanning the horizon.
Clusters of figures moved through the haze—men and women dressed in patchwork armor, faces hidden behind welding masks or cloth filters. Each bore some kind of augment: glowing eyes, mechanical limbs, or energy-threaded tattoos that pulsed faintly under their skin.
At the center of the compound loomed a structure made from welded airship plating and collapsed freight towers. Two steel banners fluttered before it, marked with a crude insignia—a rusted gear with a crown driven through its center.
"Home sweet home," Nyra said, trying to sound casual but wincing as she stretched her bruised shoulder. "Boss'll want to see you right away."
"Boss?" Rex grunted. "And who exactly decided I needed to be dragged here?"
"That'd be Garron, me" came a new voice.
A tall figure stepped from the shadows near the entrance. His body was half-machine, half-man; cybernetic plating wrapped his chest, while his organic arm was tattooed in rust-colored bands that seemed to pulse faintly. One eye glowed faint green, the other was an old human one—sharp and watchful.
Rex didn't like how quickly Garron closed the distance. The man had the gait of someone used to command, and the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier.
"So this is the boy that caused that mess in Sector E-92," Garron said with a faint grin. "You've got the Spinebreakers eating dirt and the Inquisitor's watchers sniffing fumes. Quite the debut."
Rex frowned. "And you know all that because…?"
"Because," came a smooth, low voice behind him, "I told him."
Rex turned.
A woman in dark synth-leather leaned against one of the scrap pillars, arms folded. Her hair was ink-black, falling just below her chin, and her eyes were strange—one violet, the other a dull silver that seemed to reflect things that weren't even there.
"This is Selene," Garron said. "Our systems analyst. She reads things others can't. Let's just say she's the reason I knew you'd survived that little ambush."
Selene smiled faintly. "You've got a very noisy signature, Rex. Two active cores—one system shell, one devourer overlay. That's not something the streetborn are supposed to have."
Rex's pulse jumped. "You—how do you—"
"Relax." She held up a hand. "I didn't dig too deep. Just surface-level analysis. But your relic fragment? That's something else entirely. Forgotten Throne, wasn't it?"
Rex clenched his fists. "You scanned my system without permission?"
"Consider it a precaution," Garron said, voice steady. "We don't let strangers into the Den without knowing what they're carrying. You'd do the same."
Rex wanted to protest—but the logic was solid. In a place like this, trusting a stranger was suicide.
He sighed, tension easing just slightly. "Fine. Then you already know I didn't come here looking for trouble. I just needed a place to lay low."
Garron gave a short chuckle. "You don't strike me as someone who gets to choose when trouble comes knocking. Still, you helped one of mine out there,"—he nodded toward Nyra—"and that counts for something."
Nyra's grin was faint but proud. "Told you he wasn't just another street rat."
"I'm not sure what I did counts as help. She had it all under control."
Selene walked closer, studying Rex like a scientist watching a new experiment. "The devourer protocol inside you… it's not just parasitic. It's adaptive. That relic of yours must have bonded with the core in ways I haven't seen before. If you learn to control it, you could forge systems instead of just using them."
"Forge systems?" Rex repeated.
"Think of it as creating new functionalities out of consumed data," Selene explained. "You devour, you assimilate, and if you survive the process—you evolve."
Rex looked between them. "That's not something I ever asked for."
"Maybe not," Garron said, his mechanical arm flexing with a faint hum, "but in a world like this, you don't always get to choose your blessings. Sometimes the curse that kills others becomes your ticket upward."
He turned and gestured for them to follow. "Come. You'll want to see what we're building."
---
They entered the heart of the Den, a colossal forge chamber powered by what looked like a hybrid reactor. Sparks rained from the ceiling as engineers worked on massive weapon frames and exo-armors. The air vibrated with heat and energy.
Garron led them to a balcony overlooking the forge floor.
"Everything you see here runs on Arcane-Tech fusion," he said proudly. "Ancient magic cores married to machine logic. The Hounds outlawed this kind of tech decades ago, said it disrupted their control systems. We say screw that."
Rex's eyes widened. "So that's what this place is—a black forge."
"The biggest one in the Spill Zones," Nyra said. "And probably the only reason the Hounds haven't purged this whole sector already."
Garron turned to Rex. "You've got potential. With your system and a relic like that, you could help us stabilize our cores—maybe even craft a working Arcane Reactor. Do that, and you'll have every faction in the Undersprawls begging for your alliance."
Rex hesitated. The offer was tempting—too tempting. But he'd learned long ago that anything that sounded this good usually came with shackles attached.
"What's the catch?" he asked quietly.
Garron's smile didn't fade. "No catch. Just reality. You're in our territory now, and the Hounds are sweeping the lower rings. You can stay, work, train—and help us keep this forge alive. Or you can walk out there alone, and let them track that pretty relic signal of yours right to your skull."
Selene's gaze softened just slightly. "He's not lying. The relic's energy signature is huge. If you don't shield it, they'll find you within a day."
Rex exhaled slowly. "So you're saying I'm already marked."
Nyra nodded grimly. "Pretty much."
He closed his system interface again, thinking of the new subskill he'd unlocked—the Drawing Room. He could almost see the faint diagrams forming behind his eyes: schematics of blades, guns, machines half-remembered from Earth history. If he played this right, maybe he could use this Arcane forge to build something—something that would tip the balance back in his favor.
"Alright," he said at last. "I'll stay. But I work my way, not yours."
Garron's smirk widened. "That's the spirit. We're not tyrants here, Rex. Just survivors."
He clapped a heavy hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Welcome to the Rust Rats."
---
Hours passed.
Rex found himself seated in a small metal dorm chamber overlooking the lower forges. He stared at the glowing interface on his wrist, replaying the system's earlier message.
---
> [System Notice]
New subskill unlocked: Drawing Room
Blueprint stages available:
• Stone Age
• Bronze Age (Locked)
• Iron Age (Locked)
• Arcane Tech Age (Locked)
---
He'd only skimmed the data, but it was mind-blowing. The Drawing Room could simulate theoretical designs—let him build from imagination as long as he had enough mana and materials.
In theory, he could craft anything: an Arcane blade, a mana-driven railgun, even hybrid exo-shells like Garron's. But there was a warning beneath the list:
> "Unstable schematics risk system collapse."
"Figures," he muttered. "No such thing as free power."
Nyra's voice came through the comm link by the door. "Hey, newbie. Boss says rest up. Tomorrow, Selene'll show you how to sync your relic energy to our forge network."
Rex smirked. "Great. Can't wait to be dissected by your tech witch."
"You mean analyzed," Nyra said, half-laughing. "She only dissects people who lie to her."
"Comforting," he muttered again.
When the comm cut off, Rex lay back and stared at the ceiling—rust, pipes, flickering light. Somehow, despite the chaos, a part of him felt alive again. Maybe it was the forge, the noise, the danger—maybe he just wasn't meant to stop moving.
Outside, thunder rumbled through the tunnels. But it wasn't thunder.
Selene stood on the observation deck above the forge, her silver eye flickering as faint signals crossed her vision. Garron approached quietly.
"The Hounds?" he asked.
She nodded. "They've already crossed into the lower ring. Heat signatures match three squads, maybe more. They're sweeping fast."
"Then it's begun," Garron murmured. "They're not just hunting him—they're after the Forge itself."
Selene's gaze turned toward Rex's room, her voice distant. "Then let's hope the boy learns fast. Because the storm coming for us... isn't something he can keep run from."