Chapter 22: The Forge’s Reach

Milo stood before the tower's console, the green hologram casting sharp shadows across his blood-streaked face. The forge's hum vibrated through the ground, stronger now, a living thing tied to the Spire and this relay point. The map pulsed, its lines stretching into the gray unknown, and the voice from the console lingered in his ears—Awaiting directive. He didn't know what he was commanding, not fully, but he'd figure it out. He had to.

The wind carried a distant rumble—not the ash's whisper, but engines. The Overseers were close, their two-hour window shrinking fast. Milo's side throbbed, his vision blurring at the edges, but he shoved the pain down. Asha's blade at his hip felt heavier, her echo louder. Keep moving. He'd move, alright—and take them with him.

He slammed his palm onto the console. "Forge—defend this position. Now."

The screen flared, the spirals spinning as the voice crackled back. "Directive accepted. Perimeter established." The ground shuddered, a deep groan rising from below. Milo stumbled back as the ash around the tower swirled, kicked up by something unseen. Then it came—a pulse of blue light, faint at first, rippling out from the tower's base. The air crackled, and the debris ringing the structure shifted, metal panels snapping together like a puzzle.

A barrier rose, jagged and uneven, forged from the ruins themselves. It stretched ten feet high, encircling the tower in a rough ring, its surface shimmering with the same blue as the Spire's entity. Milo stared, breathless. The forge wasn't just a weapon—it could build. Asha's will, bending the world.

The rumble grew louder, and headlights pierced the ash to the west—rigs, three of them, their treads chewing the ground. Drones buzzed ahead, red eyes glinting as they swept toward the tower. Milo ducked behind the console, gripping the blade. "Come on, Asha," he muttered. "Show me what you've got."

The barrier pulsed, and a turret emerged from its crest—sleek, unlike the crude ones in the chamber, its barrel glowing blue. It swiveled, tracking the drones, and fired. A beam lanced out, silent and precise, vaporizing the first drone in a burst of sparks. The second veered, but the turret adjusted, cutting it down before it could fire.

The rigs slowed, their engines growling as Overseers spilled out—ten, maybe twelve, armored and armed. A voice boomed from the lead rig, amplified and cold. "Surrender the relay, Runner. The Spires lost. You've got nowhere to go."

Milo smirked, blood trickling from his lip. "Lost? Tell that to her." He tapped the console again. "Forge—hit them."

The ground split beneath the rigs, fissures snaking out as blue light erupted. Two turrets rose this time, one on each side of the barrier, their beams slicing through the ash. The Overseers scattered, but the light found them—three went down in seconds, armor melting into slag. The lead rig fired back, a missile streaking toward the tower, but the barrier flared, absorbing the blast in a shower of sparks.

Milo laughed, ragged and wild. "That's it, Asha!" The forge was hers, alright—her fire, her fight. But the strain hit him hard—his knees buckled, the pain in his side roaring back. The console flickered, the voice cutting through. "Power at thirty percent. Directive sustained. Awaiting further command."

Thirty percent. The forge wasn't infinite—not yet. The rigs regrouped, their remaining soldiers digging in, and a new drone swarm emerged from the haze—six, maybe more. Milo gritted his teeth, pulling himself up. He needed more—more power, more time.

The map on the hologram caught his eye. The line north pulsed brighter, a faint dot glowing at its end. Another relay? A power source? He didn't know, but it was a chance. He pressed the screen, voice steady. "Link to the northern point. Boost the forge."

The console whirred, the map shifting as the voice replied. "Link initiating. The connection is unstable. Relay required." The barrier flickered, the turrets slowing as the Overseers advanced, their shots pounding the shield.

Milo cursed, scanning the horizon. North was a gamble—miles through ash, with Overseers on his tail and his body breaking down. But staying meant dying here, and he'd promised her he'd keep moving.

He grabbed the console's edge, tearing a panel free—a portable screen, still tied to the map. "Hold them off," he told the forge, hoping Asha heard. The barrier pulsed again, turrets firing, buying him seconds.

With the screen tucked under his arm and her blade in hand, he bolted north, into the gray, the forge's hum fading behind him as the Overseers closed in.