Kieran stood at the entrance of the Undercroft arena, looking down at the mud pit where he had crushed the Scavenger King.
The crowd of Scrap-Thralls—the skeletons animated by wires—was still there. They stood in silence, rusty pipes in hand, waiting. They were simple code. Logic: Follow Strongest. Kieran had killed the strongest; therefore, Kieran was the King.
"They are weak," Kieran noted, scanning them with his violet eye. "Level 5s. Level 8s. Trash mobs."
"They are cannon fodder," Spam corrected. "But even cannon fodder has mass. You wanted an army? There are fifty of them."
Kieran walked into the center of the pit, Vanguard lumbering behind him like a heavy metal shadow. The Thralls knelt as he approached.
"I can't drag fifty skeletons through the ventilation shafts," Kieran said. "And if we march into the Rust Sprawl in a big group, the Lady's artillery will wipe us out in seconds."
He looked at his massive Piston Arm. Then he looked at his internal storage.
[Capacity: 180/200 Bytes.]
"Spam," Kieran asked, an idea forming in the cold logic of his mind. "When I deconstruct something, it turns into data, right?"
"Correct."
"And data can be stored."
"Correct. But usually, you burn it as fuel."
Kieran turned to the nearest kneeling Thrall. He reached out with his left hand—the delicate, black metal hand.
"What if I don't burn it?" Kieran whispered. "What if I just... Save it?"
He grabbed the Thrall's skull.
[Target: Scrap-Thrall.] [Size: 10 Bytes.] [Command: COMPRESS.]
He didn't rip the code apart this time. He folded it.
The violet light flared. The Thrall didn't die; it warped. Its physical body swirled into a vortex of purple pixels, spiraling into Kieran's hand.
It vanished.
Kieran felt a sharp, stinging sensation on his left forearm, just above the metal plating. He looked down.
A new tattoo had appeared on his skin. It was a glowing violet symbol—a stylized skull. It wasn't ink; it was living code etched into his flesh.
[Storage Updated.] [File: Thrall_01.zip stored.] [Capacity: 170/200 Bytes.]
Kieran grinned. The violet circuits on his face pulsed with excitement.
"I am a walking fortress," he whispered.
He turned to the rest of the army. He spread his arms.
"Come to me."
The Thralls surged forward. They didn't attack; they submitted. One by one, Kieran touched them. One by one, they dissolved into light and etched themselves onto his body.
His arms, his chest, his neck—they became covered in glowing violet runes. He looked terrifying. A pale, scarred cyborg covered in the souls of the damned.
Finally, he turned to Vanguard.
The massive, patchwork General stared down at him.
"You too," Kieran said. "You're too big to sneak."
Vanguard bowed. "Your will."
Kieran placed his hand on Vanguard's chest plate. This one was heavy.
[Target: Vanguard (General Class).] [Size: 80 Bytes.] [Command: COMPRESS.]
The massive warrior dissolved.
A burning pain seared Kieran's back. He arched his spine, the titanium rod grinding. When the light faded, a massive, intricate tattoo of a greatsword-wielding demon covered his entire back, glowing with a deep, menacing pulse.
[Capacity: 10/200 Bytes remaining.]
"I'm full," Kieran breathed, feeling the weight of the army inside his blood. It made him feel heavy, powerful, and dangerous.
"Let's go hunting."
***
Kieran left the Undercroft. He bypassed the white Developer Corridor—he knew the Firewall was blocking him there. instead, he took the Old Service Tunnels.
He climbed for hours. His Piston Arm punched handholds into the vertical shafts.
Finally, the air changed. The smell of rot faded, replaced by the smell of sulfur, burning coal, and heavy industry.
He pulled himself up onto a rusted catwalk.
He was in the Rust Sprawl.
It was a nightmare city. Massive factories churned out black smoke. Rivers of molten slag flowed like lava. And everywhere, machines were stripping down dead things to build new things.
"Territory of the Lady of Rust," Spam whispered, dimming his light to zero. "Be careful. Her eyes are everywhere."
Kieran crept along the catwalk. He felt invincible. He had an army in his skin. He had the Piston Arm. He was ready to conquer.
He saw a fortress in the distance—a massive processing plant guarded by searchlights.
"That's the target," Kieran said. "We take the fortress. We take the Key."
He stood up, preparing to jump down and summon his army.
"Wait!" Spam hissed. "Look closer. Zoom in."
Kieran activated [Scavenger's Eye]. He zoomed in on the fortress gates.
He froze.
Guarding the gate wasn't a patrol. It was a Legion.
There were hundreds of them. Rust-Knights—hulking figures in full plate armor, wielding chainsaws. Furnace-Golems spewing fire. And atop the walls, Sniper-Drones with laser sights scanning the perimeter.
And standing in front of the gate was a Centurion. A machine twice the size of Vanguard, mounted on tank treads, with a cannon for an arm.
[Entity: Rust Centurion.] [Level: 35.] [Status: Elite.]
Kieran looked at his stats.
[Integrity: 65%.] [Army: 1 General, 40 Trash Mobs.]
He did the math.
If he jumped down there and summoned his army, the Centurion would fire one shell. The explosion would kill all 40 Thralls instantly. Vanguard might survive ten seconds. Kieran would survive five.
He wasn't a King. He was a bug about to splatter on a windshield.
Kieran slowly crouched back down into the shadows. The arrogance of the Undercroft evaporated.
"I can't fight that," Kieran whispered. "Not yet."
"Correct," Spam said. "That is a battalion. You are a nuisance. If you engage, you will be deleted."
Kieran gritted his teeth. He hated being weak. He hated hiding.
"I need stronger files," Kieran muttered. "The Thralls are useless against armor. Vanguard needs backup."
He looked away from the fortress. He looked at the outskirts of the Sprawl. Small patrols. Supply convoys.
"We don't siege the castle," Kieran decided, his eyes glowing cold. "We hunt the patrols. We steal their data. We upgrade Vanguard until he can snap that Centurion in half."
He moved silently along the catwalks, stalking the shadows.
Ten minutes later, he found them.
A small patrol. Three Scrappers—fast, four-legged cyborgs with blades for limbs—and one Furnace-Mage.
They were walking down a narrow alley, checking for rats.
Kieran stood on the roof above them. He smiled. It was a cruel, beautiful smile.
He didn't jump down. He simply extended his hand over the edge.
"Unzip."
The tattoo on his back burned.
FLASH.
Violet light poured from Kieran's skin, cascading down into the alley like a waterfall of digital ink.
The light hit the ground and solidified.
Vanguard materialized from thin air, right behind the Mage. He didn't make a sound. He was already swinging his greatsword.
SHING.
The Mage was cut in half before he even knew he was under attack.
The three Scrappers spun around, screeching.
Kieran jumped down, his Piston Arm primed.
KA-CHUNK.
He landed on the first Scrapper, crushing it flat under 300 pounds of hydraulic steel.
The other two Scrappers lunged at Vanguard. The General didn't block; he took the hits on his new armor, grabbed one Scrapper by the neck, and slammed it into the wall.
It was over in six seconds.
Kieran stood amidst the wreckage. He placed his hand on the dead Scrapper.
[Deconstruct.] [Material Acquired: Vibro-Blade.]
He turned to Vanguard.
"Hold still," Kieran said, his Decompiler hand glowing. "I'm giving you a new sword."
He looked up at the massive fortress in the distance.
"We're going to grind," Kieran whispered. "And when I'm done, I won't just have an army. I'll have a Legion."