The return to Station Zero felt less like a retreat and more like a victory lap, though a quiet one.
The stolen transport vehicle rumbled through the final blast doors of the metro station, its engine sputtering on the last drops of fuel. As the doors sealed behind them, cutting off the distant wail of sirens from Sector 5, a collective sigh seemed to ripple through the vehicle.
Varian kicked the rear door open and stepped onto the platform. The air here was cool, filtered by the fungal gardens, and smelled of home—ozone, roasted meat, and damp earth.
"Sovereign on deck!" a sentry shouted from the ticket booth barricade.
The station came alive.
Dregs in green roach-shell armor rushed to the vehicle. Lady Venom glided down the escalator, her serpent tail leaving a trail in the dust. Iron-Jaw stepped out of the command office, checking a datapad.
"You're late," Venom noted, though her eyes scanned Varian for injuries with genuine concern. "And you brought... guests."
Varian reached into the transport and hauled out The Architect. The old man was blinking rapidly, overwhelmed by the bioluminescent lights of the station. He clutched a piece of chalk he had stolen from the prison walls like a holy relic.
"This is Dr. Thorne," Varian announced. "He's going to fix our weapon problem."
Scrap-Jack stomped over in his hydraulic suit. He looked at the frail, naked old man covered in mathematical tattoos.
"Him?" Scrap-Jack scoffed. "He looks like he's going to fix a sandwich, maybe. If he doesn't forget how to chew."
The Architect looked at Scrap-Jack. He looked at the hydraulic servos of the mech-suit. He sneered.
"Hydraulic pressure at 4000 PSI," The Architect muttered. "Inefficient. You're losing 12% power to thermal bleed in the knee joints. And your welding on the intake manifold is sloppy. A child could do better with a glue gun."
Scrap-Jack's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
The Architect ignored him and wandered toward the Abyssal Knight's sarcophagus in the center of the platform. He ran his hands over the lead-lined box.
"You trapped it," The Architect whispered, pressing his ear to the metal. "Good. It's dreaming. Dreams are where the variables stabilize."
Varian turned to Iron-Jaw.
"Set him up in the East Wing maintenance bay. Give him whatever he wants. Tools, materials, food. Just keep him away from the explosives."
"And the reactor," Iron-Jaw added. "He looks like the type to overclock it just to see the color of the explosion."
The Workshop of Madness
Two days later, the East Wing had been transformed.
Scrap-Jack's "Forge" was organized, loud, and industrial. The Architect's "Lab" was a chaotic nightmare of brilliance.
Varian walked in. The walls were covered in scribbles—equations written in charcoal, chalk, and what looked suspiciously like ketchup. Piles of disassembled Union rifles lay on the floor next to jars of glowing beast organs.
The Architect was hunched over a workbench, wearing a lab coat that was three sizes too big. He was working on the Sun-Piercer.
"Don't touch!" The Architect snapped without turning around. "The harmonic stabilizer is sensitive to humidity. Your breath is too moist."
Varian stopped. "Is it ready?"
The Architect spun around, holding up a small, intricate cylinder made of brass and crystal. It looked like the chamber of a revolver, but instead of bullets, it held slots for gems.
"You call this a spear," The Architect said, gesturing to the black shaft on the table. "I call it a Variable Conductor. The Solar Core inside you provides the base energy—Heat. But heat is boring. Heat is just kinetic energy vibrating atoms."
He slotted the brass cylinder onto the shaft of the spear, just below the blade. It clicked into place with a satisfying magnetic thud.
"I added a Catalyst Chamber," The Architect explained, his eyes manic. "It sits between your hand and the blade. When you channel the Solar Core, the energy passes through this chamber first."
He picked up a red crystal from the table. The Magma-Turtle Heart Varian had saved.
"Insert a catalyst," The Architect shoved the red stone into the chamber. "And the energy changes flavor."
"Flavor?"
"Watch."
Varian picked up the spear. He felt the difference immediately. The weapon felt... hungry.
He channeled a tiny amount of energy.
WHOOSH.
The blade didn't just glow white. It erupted in actual fire. Magma dripped from the tip, sizzling on the concrete floor.
[Weapon Upgrade: Elemental Infusion.][Slot 1: Magma Core (Active).][Effect: Fluid Fire. Stickiness + Burning.]
"Magma is heavy," The Architect lectured. "Good for melting armor. Good for siege warfare."
He snatched the Magma Heart out (using tongs) and replaced it with a blue crystal—a Frost-Core Varian had looted from the Hunter-Killers.
Varian channeled again.
CRACKLE.
The blade turned a pale, ghostly blue. The air around it froze instantly, forming jagged icicles on the cross-guard.
[Slot 1: Cryo Core (Active).][Effect: Flash Freeze. Shattering.]
"Cold makes metal brittle," The Architect grinned. "Hit a mech with this, and it shatters like glass."
Varian spun the spear. Fire. Ice. He could switch tactics in seconds, provided he had the cores.
"It's a masterpiece," Varian admitted.
"It's a prototype," The Architect corrected, waving a hand dismissively. "The spear is easy. The Armor... that is the puzzle."
He pointed to the corner of the lab.
There, sitting on a stand, was a piece of the Abyssal Knight's cape—a scrap of shadow-cloth that had torn off during the escape.
It wasn't dissolving. It was writhing.
"Why did you build the Xenoliths?" Varian asked, leaning the spear against the wall.
The mood in the room shifted. The manic energy faded from the Architect's face, replaced by a hollow, haunted look.
He sat on his stool, rubbing his tattooed arms.
"I didn't build them to conquer the world, boy. I built them to save it."
The Truth of the Blood
The Architect pulled up a holographic chart on his workbench. It showed a double helix—human DNA.
"The Church preaches that humanity is 'Pure' and mutants are 'Corrupt'," The Architect said. "They lie. They lie because they are terrified."
He tapped the hologram. The DNA strand began to unravel at the ends.
"This is the genome of a 'Pure' human from the Upper Shells. Notice the degradation in the telomeres? The lack of adaptive plasticity?"
Varian frowned. "It looks... fraying."
"It's rotting," The Architect whispered. "The Pure bloodlines are stagnant. Three hundred years of inbreeding and sterile environments have made them weak. Their immune systems are failing. Their connection to the World Soul is severed. In fifty years, the Nobles won't be able to reproduce naturally. They are an evolutionary dead end."
He swiped the hologram. A new strand appeared. Messy, chaotic, but vibrant.
"This is you. A Mutant. A Dreg."
The DNA strand was shifting, repairing itself, adapting.
"The toxins in the lower sectors forced you to evolve. You aren't 'Corrupt'. You are the Next Step. You can bond with Symbiotes because your biology is flexible. The Nobles? If they touch a Symbiote now, they die. Their bodies reject it."
Varian stared at the chart.
"So the Purge..."
"The Purge isn't about religion," The Architect spat. "It's about Envy. The Church knows the Dregs are the future. And they would rather burn the world down than let the 'unclean' inherit it."
He looked at Varian.
"That is why I made Onyx. That is why I made the Abyssal Knight. They are the tools for the new humanity. Tools to fight the beasts, yes... but also tools to fight the Angels."
Varian looked at the black tattoo on his arm.
"The Angels," Varian said, remembering the vision. "Biomechanical horrors."
"The Church's answer to evolution," The Architect nodded grimly. "If they can't evolve biologically, they will evolve mechanically. They are replacing their flesh with steel and faith. They are becoming machines."
A heavy silence hung in the lab.
The war wasn't just about territory or resources. It was a war of extinction. Flesh vs. Steel. Mutant vs. Pure.
Beep-Beep.
Varian's comms unit chirped.
"Boss," Rix's voice broke the tension. "You need to see this. Message from Train-Grandma."
The Invitation
Varian walked to the Command Center. The inner circle was gathered around the main screen.
Mama Ferro appeared on the feed. She looked stressed. Behind her, the interior of her train was shaking.
"Sovereign," Ferro rasped. "I hope you enjoyed the guns. Because you're going to need them."
"What's happening, Ferro?"
"The Union is moving. Fast. After you embarrassed them at the Gilded Gear, they locked down the entire Rust-Jungle. But they didn't cancel the Grand Tournament."
She held up a digital flyer.
[THE GRAND FINALE][Event: The Awakening.][Time: Tonight.]
"They moved the timeline up," Ferro said. "Dr. Valerius is desperate. He lost the Abyssal Knight, so he's activating the backup."
"Backup?" Gorgon asked.
"There were two sarcophagi found in that tomb," Ferro said. "You stole the Knight. But the other one... the Union calls it the Crimson Paladin."
An image flashed on the screen.
It was a suit of armor similar to the Abyssal Knight, but bulkier. And instead of black shadow, it glowed with a violent, unstable red light.
[Subject: The Crimson Paladin.][Rank: Emperor (High-Tier).][Status: Unstable / Berserk.]
"Valerius is going to awaken it tonight in the Coliseum," Ferro warned. "He's going to bond it to his Bio-Titan. If that thing wakes up... it won't just kill gladiators. It will rampage. It will tear through the Rust-Jungle and come straight down for the Core."
"Why the Core?" Varian asked.
"Because," The Architect spoke from the doorway, holding a wrench. "The Crimson Paladin hates the Abyssal Knight. They are brothers. And brothers always fight for the crown."
Varian looked at the screen.
The Crimson Paladin. A walking nuclear bomb of rage.
"If Valerius bonds that armor to a Titan," Varian said, "he creates a god that obeys him."
"We can't let that happen," Lady Venom hissed. "We have to stop the ritual."
"We don't just stop it," Varian said, his hand resting on the pommel of the upgraded Sun-Piercer. "We hijack it."
He looked at his team.
"The Union has the Armor. But we have the Key."
He turned to Iron-Jaw.
"Mobilize the Legion. We aren't sneaking in this time. We're taking the train."
"The train?" Iron-Jaw blinked. "The metro lines to the Coliseum are collapsed."
"Then we make a new line," Varian pointed to the massive boring machine they had scavenged from the Tunnel-Wurm fight.
"We dig a hole straight up into the arena floor. And we bring the war to them."