Beneath Australia, in a darkness so complete that light itself seemed to die upon entering, something stirred.
The nest stretched for miles in every direction—a vast network of tunnels and chambers carved into the ancient bedrock, walls pulsing with corruption energy that had been growing, spreading, festering for longer than human civilization had existed on this continent. The air here was thick with power, with malice, with the slow and patient hunger of something that had waited millennia and could wait millennia more.
But waiting was no longer necessary.
The Master sat at the heart of it all.
"Sat" was perhaps the wrong word. The Master existed at the heart of it all, a presence that filled the central chamber without having a form that could be properly described. Shadows moved where shadows shouldn't. Eyes opened and closed in patterns that suggested geometries the human mind wasn't meant to process. A voice spoke without sound, thoughts transmitted directly into the minds of those fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to be present.
THE BOY'S ATTACK WAS... INTERESTING.
The thought rippled through the chamber, and the figures lurking in the shadows flinched. All of them. Even the ones who had long since abandoned fear as a useless emotion.
When the Master found something interesting, it rarely ended well for anyone involved.
In the center of the chamber, corruption energy swirled. Coalesced. Took shape.
A man appeared.
The same man Edge had destroyed in the crater. The lab coat was pristine again. The corruption marks were fresh and vibrant. The too-wide grin was firmly in place, though now it was tinged with something that might have been embarrassment.
"Master," the man said, dropping to one knee. "I apologize for my failure. The intruders were more capable than I—"
SILENCE, JENKINS.
The newly reformed Jenkins shut his mouth with an audible click.
YOUR FAILURE IS NOTED. YOUR DEATH WAS... INCONVENIENT. The Master's attention shifted, vast and terrible, focusing on Jenkins with an intensity that made the man's corruption marks flare painfully. HOWEVER, YOU SERVED YOUR PURPOSE. THE NETWORK CONTINUES TO SPREAD. THE ENERGY CONTINUES TO FLOW. YOUR TEMPORARY CESSATION OF EXISTENCE WAS MERELY THAT—TEMPORARY.
"Thank you, Master. Your generosity is—"
"Generous?" A new voice cut through the darkness, sharp with contempt. "Is that what we're calling it now? Generous?"
A figure stepped forward from the shadows. A woman, tall and skeletal, her body more corruption than flesh. Where Jenkins had maintained a mostly human appearance, she had embraced the transformation. Her arms ended in blades. Her legs bent backward at the knee. Her face was a mask of chitin and malice, with too many eyes and not enough humanity.
The Brood Mother.
"Jenkins," she hissed, her voice like insects crawling through dead leaves. "You absolute fool. You revealed yourself to the Cleaners. Told them about the Master. Told them about the awakening. And now they know. They KNOW."
"They would have found out eventually! The network is too large to hide! And besides, what does it matter? They're just Cleaners. Humans with borrowed power, playing at being heroes. They can't stop what's coming!"
"They don't need to stop it." Another figure emerged, this one massive, humanoid but wrong in ways that were hard to articulate. Muscles rippled beneath skin that was too tight, corruption marks forming patterns that looked almost like military insignia. "They just need to delay it. Buy time. Call for reinforcements. And thanks to your little monologue, they know exactly what they're delaying."
The General. Former Australian Special Forces, before the corruption took him. Still a soldier, in his own twisted way. Still thinking in terms of tactics and strategies and acceptable losses.
Jenkins sneered at him. "And what would you have done differently? Killed them silently? Hidden the evidence? They were already in the crater! They'd already seen the network!"
"I would have killed them before they saw anything. Quick. Clean. Professional." The General cracked his neck, the sound like breaking stones. "Instead, you gave them information. Motivation. Purpose. You turned a random encounter into a crusade."
ENOUGH.
The Master's thought silenced them all.
YOUR BICKERING IS... TIRESOME. The shadows shifted, and for just a moment, something vast and terrible was visible in the darkness—a shape that defied description, that existed in more dimensions than three, that looked at the assembled corrupted with something that might have been amusement if amusement could be measured in apocalypses. THE CLEANERS ARE AWARE OF OUR EXISTENCE. THIS IS NOT IDEAL. BUT IT IS NOT CATASTROPHIC.
"Master," the Brood Mother said carefully, "with respect—if they report back to their organization, if they call for reinforcements—"
THEY WILL NOT.
"How can you be certain?"
BECAUSE I HAVE ALREADY TAKEN STEPS. The Master's presence shifted, focusing on the Brood Mother with an intensity that made even her flinch. YOU WILL FIND THE CLEANERS. YOU WILL BRING THEM TO ME—ALIVE, IF POSSIBLE. THEY ARE... INTERESTING. ESPECIALLY THE ONE WITH THE BEAT. HIS ENERGY SIGNATURE IS UNLIKE ANYTHING I HAVE ENCOUNTERED IN CENTURIES.
"And if they resist?"
THEN BRING ME WHAT REMAINS. I CAN WORK WITH PIECES.
The Brood Mother bowed her head, her many eyes closing in deference. "As you command, Master. My children will find them. They cannot hide from us—not here, not in our territory."
SEE THAT THEY DON'T.
The Brood Mother turned and skittered toward one of the tunnel exits, her bladed limbs clicking against the stone floor. As she moved, she began to change—growing larger, more insectoid, her form shifting to match the role she was about to play.
Hunt. Find. Capture.
These were simple commands. She would obey them perfectly.
The General watched her go, then turned back to the Master.
"And what would you have me do?"
THE SPIDER QUEEN IN SYDNEY. SHE HAS BEEN... RESTLESS. HER COLONY GROWS TOO QUICKLY, SPREADS TOO FAR. SHE FORGETS HER PLACE IN THE NETWORK.
"You want me to remind her?"
I WANT YOU TO ENSURE HER CONTINUED LOYALTY. THE SPIDER COLONIES ARE ESSENTIAL TO OUR INFRASTRUCTURE. THEY SPREAD THE CORRUPTION FASTER THAN ANY OTHER METHOD. BUT THEY MUST REMAIN UNDER CONTROL. The Master's attention shifted again, becoming almost contemplative. THE CLEANERS DESTROYED ONE OF HER OFFSPRING COLONIES TODAY. SHE WILL BE ANGRY. ANGRY QUEENS MAKE POOR DECISIONS. SEE THAT SHE DOES NOT.
The General nodded, his massive form already turning toward a different tunnel. "And if the Cleaners have already reached Sydney? If they've already engaged her forces?"
THEN DEAL WITH THEM. BUT DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE ONE WITH THE BEAT. For the first time, something that might have been emotion entered the Master's thoughts—anticipation, perhaps, or hunger. HE DESTROYED JENKINS WITH MUSIC. WITH RHYTHM. WITH A POWER THAT HAS NOT BEEN SEEN IN THIS WORLD FOR A VERY LONG TIME.
"I thought the Beat was just a Cleaner ability. A rare one, but still—"
THE BEAT IS NOT A CLEANER ABILITY. IT IS NOT AN AWAKENING. IT IS NOT EVEN, STRICTLY SPEAKING, HUMAN. The shadows churned, and for a moment, the Master's presence seemed to expand, filling the entire chamber. THE BEAT IS THE RHYTHM OF EXISTENCE ITSELF. THE PULSE THAT UNDERLIES ALL REALITY. THOSE WHO CAN HEAR IT, TRULY HEAR IT, ARE CAPABLE OF THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE YOUR CORRUPTED POWERS LOOK LIKE PARLOR TRICKS.
The General said nothing. He had learned long ago that when the Master was in a contemplative mood, it was best to simply listen.
I HAVE NOT ENCOUNTERED A TRUE BEAT USER IN OVER EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS. THE LAST ONE... DELAYED MY AWAKENING BY CENTURIES. The shadows contracted, becoming more focused, more intense. I WILL NOT BE DELAYED AGAIN. IF THIS BOY TRULY POSSESSES THE BEAT, HE MUST BE CAPTURED. STUDIED. UNDERSTOOD. AND THEN... CONSUMED.
"You want to eat him?"
I WANT TO ABSORB HIS POWER. ADD IT TO MY OWN. WHEN I FINALLY WAKE, WHEN I FINALLY RISE, I WILL DO SO WITH THE BEAT AS PART OF MY ESSENCE. The Master's thoughts turned hungry, eager. IMAGINE IT, GENERAL. THE CORRUPTION, SPREADING IN PERFECT RHYTHM. REALITY ITSELF DANCING TO MY TUNE. IT WOULD BE... BEAUTIFUL.
The General shuddered despite himself. He had seen many terrible things in his corrupted existence. But the Master's dreams—the Master's ambitions—were on a scale that even he struggled to comprehend.
"I'll keep the Sydney Queen in line," he said. "And if I encounter the Cleaners, I'll capture them if possible, kill them if necessary."
DO NOT KILL THE BEAT USER. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS. The Master's thoughts carried a weight that brooked no argument. DAMAGE HIM IF YOU MUST. BREAK HIS TEAM. DESTROY EVERYTHING HE CARES ABOUT. BUT BRING HIM TO ME ALIVE.
"Understood."
The General left, his heavy footsteps echoing through the tunnels until they faded into silence.
Only Jenkins remained.
The researcher stood awkwardly in the center of the chamber, uncertain whether he was dismissed or if the Master had further use for him. Being killed and reformed was disorienting—his memories of the crater, of the fight, of the Cleaner's guitar destroying him, were fuzzy around the edges, like a dream half-remembered.
YOU ARE WONDERING WHY I BROUGHT YOU BACK.
It wasn't a question. The Master knew everything that happened in his domain, everything thought by his servants.
"Yes, Master. I assumed... I assumed my failure warranted permanent termination."
UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, IT WOULD HAVE. YOU REVEALED CRITICAL INFORMATION. YOU ALLOWED YOURSELF TO BE DESTROYED BY A SINGLE CLEANER. YOUR PERFORMANCE WAS, BY ANY METRIC, DISAPPOINTING.
Jenkins winced. The Master's disappointment was a physical sensation, a weight pressing down on his corrupted soul.
BUT YOU SERVED A PURPOSE. THE BOY NEEDED TO LEARN THAT WE EXIST. HE NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS FACING. The shadows churned with something that might have been amusement. FEAR IS A POWERFUL MOTIVATOR. BUT SO IS PURPOSE. BY GIVING HIM AN ENEMY TO FIGHT, I HAVE GIVEN HIM A REASON TO STAY. TO GROW STRONGER. TO DEVELOP HIS POWERS.
"You... you want him to get stronger?"
I WANT HIM TO REACH HIS FULL POTENTIAL. AND THEN I WANT TO TAKE THAT POTENTIAL FOR MYSELF. The Master's presence shifted, becoming almost conversational. DO YOU KNOW what happens when you consume a half-grown fruit, Jenkins? It is unsatisfying. Incomplete. The flavor is muted, the nutrition limited. But if you wait—if you allow the fruit to ripen, to reach its peak—the reward is infinitely greater.
"So the Cleaners... they're just here to ripen the fruit?"
THE OTHERS ARE IRRELEVANT. THE BROOD MOTHER WILL CAPTURE THEM, AND I WILL ADD THEIR ENERGY TO the network. But the boy... the boy is special. The Master's thoughts turned hungry again. I haven't felt anticipation like this in centuries. The last Beat user nearly destroyed me. This one... this one I will destroy first. I will consume everything he is, everything he could become, and I will use his power to finally, FINALLY wake up.
Jenkins nodded slowly. "What would you have me do in the meantime, Master?"
REBUILD YOUR RESEARCH STATION. CONTINUE THE WORK. THE NETWORK MUST KEEP SPREADING, THE ENERGY MUST KEEP FLOWING. A pause. AND JENKINS?
"Yes, Master?"
IF YOU ENCOUNTER THE BOY AGAIN... RUN. YOU ARE USEFUL, BUT YOU ARE NOT IRREPLACEABLE. I WOULD RATHER NOT WASTE THE ENERGY REFORMING YOU A SECOND TIME.
Jenkins bowed deeply. "Understood, Master. I will not fail you again."
He backed away, then turned and hurried toward the tunnels, eager to put distance between himself and the Master's overwhelming presence.
Alone in the darkness, the Master contemplated.
The Cleaners were a nuisance. An annoyance. But also, potentially, an opportunity. The boy's power was remarkable—even through Jenkins' memories, the Master could feel the echo of that music, that rhythm, that Beat that had torn his servant apart.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
It was exactly what the Master needed.
For millennia, the Master had slept beneath this continent, waiting, growing, feeding on the ambient corruption that seeped up from the earth's core. The world above had changed countless times—ice ages and warm periods, the rise and fall of species, the arrival of humans and their strange, chaotic energy.
The Master had watched it all with the patience of a thing that measured time in geological epochs.
But patience had its limits.
The awakening was close now. Closer than it had been in centuries. The network spread across the continent, feeding energy back to the Master's sleeping form. The corrupted colonies multiplied, each one a node in the vast web of power that would soon reach critical mass.
And when it did...
When the Master finally woke...
The world would learn what true corruption looked like.
SOON, the Master thought, the word echoing through the darkness, through the tunnels, through the very bedrock of the continent. VERY SOON.
Above, in the corrupted wasteland of Australia, the red sky pulsed with anticipation.
The Master turned its attention outward, extending its consciousness through the network, through the countless corrupted creatures that served as its eyes and ears.
It found the Cleaners easily enough. They were camped at an Australian Cleaner outpost, one of the few remaining bastions of human resistance in the corrupted zone. The boy was there, sleeping fitfully, his aura flickering with the distinctive energy of the Beat even in unconsciousness.
Interesting. He didn't seem fully aware of his power. Didn't seem to understand what he was, what he could become.
That was good. Raw potential was easier to consume than developed skill.
The girl with the guns was nearby, keeping watch despite her obvious exhaustion. Her awakening was powerful but straightforward—weapon transformation, energy projection, nothing the Master hadn't seen before. Useful as a battery, perhaps.
The large one was training even now, in the middle of the night, pushing his thermal abilities to their limits. His energy signature was intense, almost overwhelming. He would make an excellent addition to the network.
And then there was the dog.
The Master's attention lingered on the dog in the bowler hat.
Something about the creature was... wrong. Not corrupted, obviously. But not entirely natural, either. Its awakening was subtle, layered, more complex than it appeared on the surface.
CURIOUS, the Master thought. VERY CURIOUS.
It filed the observation away for later consideration. The dog might be significant. Or it might be nothing. Either way, it would be dealt with when the time came.
For now, the Master had other concerns.
BROOD MOTHER.
Miles away, in a tunnel leading toward the surface, the Brood Mother paused.
Yes, Master?
THE CLEANERS ARE AT OUTPOST 7. THEY HAVE BEEN JOINED BY AUSTRALIAN FORCES—APPROXIMATELY FORTY ADDITIONAL COMBATANTS. THIS COMPLICATES YOUR MISSION.
I have many children, Master. Forty humans is nothing.
PERHAPS. BUT DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THEM. THE AUSTRALIANS HAVE BEEN FIGHTING CORRUPTION FOR A DECADE. THEY ARE... EXPERIENCED.
I will be cautious. But I will succeed.
SEE THAT YOU DO.
The Master withdrew its attention, letting the Brood Mother continue her hunt.
GENERAL.
In a different tunnel, heading toward Sydney, the General stopped.
Yes, Master?
THE SPIDER QUEEN IS AWARE OF YOUR APPROACH. SHE IS... AGITATED. PROCEED CAREFULLY.
Understood. Should I be concerned about her loyalty?
NOT HER LOYALTY. HER AMBITION. The Master's thoughts carried a note of something that might have been irritation. SHE HAS GROWN POWERFUL. MORE POWERFUL THAN I INTENDED. SHE MAY BELIEVE HERSELF CAPABLE OF INDEPENDENCE.
You want me to remind her of her place?
I WANT YOU TO ASSESS HER. IF SHE REMAINS USEFUL, ENSURE HER CONTINUED COOPERATION. IF SHE HAS BECOME A LIABILITY...
Understood.
The General resumed his march, his massive form casting shadows that seemed to move independently of the light.
The Master settled back into its contemplation, its consciousness spread across the continent like a vast and terrible web.
The pieces were moving. The game was underway.
And at the center of it all, sleeping in an Australian outpost, unaware of the attention focused on him, was a boy who could hear the rhythm of existence itself.
SOON, the Master thought again. VERY, VERY SOON.
The darkness churned.
The corruption spread.
And beneath Australia, something ancient began—slowly, impossibly slowly—to wake up.
TO BE CONTINUED...
END OF CHAPTER 5
NEXT: Edge and his team prepare to move deeper into the corrupted zone. The Brood Mother closes in. The General reaches Sydney. And somewhere, somehow, Edge begins to realize that his guitar can do much more than he ever imagined.
The Australian Cleansing Arc continues.
Nobody is ready for what comes next.