The next 48 hours were a blur of industrial panic.
The road from the Onyx Hall became a black river of coal. Warlord Gorak didn't sleep. He personally hauled a cart meant for an ox, his massive muscles straining as he ran down the mountain. Behind him, forty Shell-Kin trudged, their shells piled high with anthracite.
"Faster!" Gorak roared at the convoy. "The cold death comes! Move!"
In Bastion, the landscape was being torn apart. The Treants dug a massive moat around the city. The Mud-Skippers mixed clay and straw, building tall, crude smokestacks spaced evenly along the trench. The Lizardmen, terrified of the rot, worked harder than anyone. They used their strength to pile the coal into the trenches, packing it tight.
[ CONSTRUCTION: THERMAL PERIMETER ]
[ PROGRESS: 80% ]
Red watched the map. The Green Cloud was close. It was eating the forest two miles south. The trees there were turning grey and dissolving into slush.
