Chapter 7: Hammer and Stone
Roen Kast crouched behind the dais, fingers digging into a jagged chunk of stone, his chest heaving like he'd run a mile with a busted lung. The Crack Void Hub trembled beneath him, blue light pulsing through the cracks, walls groaning as it fought to evolve—eleven hours and forty minutes left, if it didn't collapse first. The platform was a battlefield now, mist swirling thick around the edges where Liya danced with death, her longsword clashing against Kast enforcers climbing the slope. Five of them were up, blades flashing, pushing her back step by step, while that damn mech-unit stomped closer—200 meters, the system said, and gaining fast.
"Kid, you gonna throw that rock or just hug it?" Liya yelled, parrying a thrust with a grunt. Her wild hair flew as she ducked a swing, slashing back to nick a soldier's arm. Blood sprayed, but he didn't go down—just pressed harder, forcing her toward the dais. She laughed, sharp and ragged, like this was still a game, but her boots were slipping on dust and blood.
"Working on it!" Roen snapped, hefting the stone—big as his head, heavy enough to make his arms scream. His side burned where the last fight had cut him, blood crusted under his rags, but he shoved the pain down. Architect brain on overdrive—200 meters was nothing, a minute tops if that mech was as fast as it sounded. The slope was their lifeline, a choke point, but it was clogging bad. Five up, four more climbing, and that metal monster ready to smash through whatever they had left. He needed a win, something to tip this mess in his favor.
The tower jolted, a crack splitting wider near the edge, and Roen stumbled, catching himself on the dais. The system chimed, cold and smug:
System Notification: Crack Void Hub Evolution Progress: 11 hours, 40 minutes, 33 seconds. Detection Aura update—mech-unit at 180 meters, enforcers at slope base: 4 remaining.
"Eighteen meters closer in a blink," Roen muttered, teeth gritted. "Fantastic." His eyes darted to the slope—Liya was holding, barely, her blade a blur as she fended off three at once. The other two circled toward him, swords up, hawk crests glinting on their armor. Kast family didn't mess around—trained killers, not the sloppy grunts he'd hoped for. He'd dropped eight already, but these were tougher, meaner.
"Kid, now'd be good!" Liya shouted, shoving a soldier back with her shoulder. Her blade caught another's wrist, blood spurting, but a third swung low, grazing her leg. She hissed, staggering, and Roen's gut twisted—she was tough, but she wasn't invincible.
"Hold 'em!" he yelled, hauling the stone up. His arms burned, muscles screaming, but he didn't care—had to move. He ran for the slope, dodging a thrust from one of his two, and heaved the rock with everything he had. It sailed, clumsy but fast, and smashed into the soldier on Liya's left—crunch, right in the chest. The guy crumpled, sliding down the slope, knocking a climber off with him. Two birds, one stone, and Roen felt a jolt of something hot and fierce—damn, that worked.
"Hell yeah!" he roared, a grin splitting his face. His architect days flashed—rigging a crane to drop a load of gravel on a rival's truck, same rush now, only bloodier. Liya laughed, wild and loud, seizing the gap to stab another soldier through the gut. He went down gurgling, and she kicked the last one off, his scream fading into the mist.
"Three for me, kid!" she crowed, spinning to face him. "You're catching—" She froze, swatting her arm. "Something moved—bug! Get it!" Her sword dipped, panic flashing as she hopped, all that killer instinct gone in a second.
Roen groaned, ducking a swing from his first soldier. "It's sweat, you lunatic—focus!" He parried with his bent sword—clang, the blade wobbled—and shoved back, buying space. Liya huffed, shaking her arm, then charged his second guy, tackling him with a yell. They tumbled, her blade finding his throat, and she popped up, grinning like she hadn't just lost her mind over nothing.
"Four!" she said, brushing blood off her face. "Keep up, kid!" Roen snorted, swinging at his last soldier—a sloppy hit, but it caught the guy's arm, slowing him. He shoved, hard, and the soldier teetered, falling with a crunch below.
"Five," Roen rasped, panting, the rush still buzzing in his veins. Nine down total—three left on the slope, scrambling up with swords drawn. He'd lost count of who'd killed what, but it didn't matter—they were thinning the herd, and it felt good, like nailing a blueprint under a deadline. His side screamed, blood dripping fresh now, but he ignored it. No time for pain.
The platform shook hard, dust raining, and a roar cut through—deep, grinding, metal on metal. The mech-unit burst from the mist, 150 meters out, stomping fast. Eight feet tall, broad as a truck, its hammer-arms glowing red-hot, steam hissing from joints. Roen's grin faded, replaced by a cold knot in his chest. "That's… not good," he said, voice tight.
Liya whistled, low and slow. "Big bastard's got some punch. Five swings, kid—I'll take it down!" She sounded half-crazy, half-serious, stepping toward the slope like she meant it.
"Don't be stupid!" Roen grabbed her arm, yanking her back. "We can't fight that thing—it'll smash us flat!" His architect brain spun—the mech wasn't climbing yet, just pacing the base, its hammers pounding the ground, cracking rock. The slope was steep, narrow—too tight for it, maybe, but those arms could reach up, or worse, pull the whole damn platform down.
The three soldiers hit the top, fanning out, swords up. Roen cursed, shoving Liya toward one. "Grunts first—keep 'em off me!" She nodded, charging with a yell, blade clashing. Roen ducked a swing from his, parrying with a screech—his sword bent worse, nearly snapping. He swung back, wild, catching the guy's leg, and kicked him hard—off the edge, gone.
Liya's two pressed her, one slashing high, the other low. She blocked the high, took a nick on the thigh from the low, and roared, slashing back. Her blade bit deep into the low guy's chest—he dropped, dead—and she spun, elbowing the last one's face. He staggered, and she shoved him off, panting hard. "Six!" she gasped, grinning through the blood trickling down her leg.
Roen didn't answer—the mech was 100 meters out, hammers swinging, stomping closer. The platform jolted again, a crack splitting wider under his feet, and he stumbled, catching himself. The system chimed:
System Notification: Mech-unit at 90 meters—structural threat detected. Evolution surge intensifying—Stage 1 completion revised: 11 hours, 39 minutes, 14 seconds.
"Ninety meters," Roen muttered, wiping sweat off his face. "And this thing's falling apart—great." The tower's glow flared, walls shuddering, but it was still just a shell—no defenses, no help. He glanced at the slope—empty now, bodies piled below, but the mech was pacing, its red hammers glowing brighter. It stopped, 80 meters, and raised an arm—slow, deliberate.
"Kid, move!" Liya yelled, diving toward him. The hammer slammed down, missing the platform by inches, smashing the slope's base. Rock exploded, dust blasting up, and the whole damn island shook—harder than before. Roen hit the ground, coughing, ears ringing, the crack under him widening. The mech pulled back, gearing for another swing, and he knew—they weren't holding this line much longer.
"Plan B!" he shouted, scrambling up. "Slope's toast—use the rubble, slow it down!" He grabbed another stone, smaller this time, and chucked it at the mech—pathetic, but it clanged off its chest, sparking. Liya laughed, wild and desperate, grabbing her own rock and hurling it—hers hit an arm, bouncing off with a screech.
"Take that, you metal prick!" she yelled, limping toward the edge. The mech roared, hammer swinging again, and they dove—rock shattered where they'd stood, the platform tilting. Roen's heart pounded, but that rush was back—fighting, surviving, clawing a win from this chaos. They weren't dead yet, and that was something.
The mech stomped closer—70 meters, red eyes glowing through the dust. Roen grinned, grim and fierce. "Keep swinging," he muttered. "We've got eleven hours—you don't."