Chapter 8: Cracks and Hammers

Roen Kast sprawled on the crumbling platform, coughing dust and blood, his bent sword clattering beside him. The Crack Void Hub loomed over him, walls shuddering and glowing blue—eleven hours and thirty-nine minutes until it evolved, if it didn't bury them first. The mech-unit stood 70 meters out, a hulking nightmare of metal and glowing red hammers, pounding the slope's base into rubble. Each hit shook the island like a jackhammer on a fault line, cracks spiderwebbing under Roen's boots. Liya crouched nearby, panting hard, her longsword dripping with soldier blood, her wild grin replaced by a grimace as she clutched her slashed thigh.

"Kid, this thing's a bastard," she rasped, tossing a rock that bounced uselessly off the mech's chest. "Five swings, my ass—gonna need fifty!" She laughed, rough and half-choked, but her eyes were sharp, flicking between the mech and the slope—now a jagged mess of busted stone where twelve Kast enforcers had climbed and died.

"Yeah, well, we're fresh out of miracles," Roen muttered, hauling himself up. His side screamed where the last fight had cut him, blood soaking his rags, but he shoved it down—pain was just noise now. The platform tilted, a chunk breaking off the edge and tumbling into the mist below. The system chimed, cold as ever:

System Notification: Mech-unit at 65 meters—structural integrity critical. Crack Void Hub Evolution Progress: 11 hours, 38 minutes, 47 seconds. Hostiles neutralized: 12 enforcers. Warning: Immediate action required.

"Critical," Roen said, spitting dust. "No shit." His architect brain raced—the slope was gone, a landslide of rubble blocking the mech's climb for now, but those hammers weren't slowing. It roared again, a grinding bellow that rattled his teeth, and swung—smashing the debris, sending rocks flying. One clipped his shoulder, a hot jolt of pain, and he staggered, cursing.

"Kid, move!" Liya yelled, diving toward him. She tackled him out of the way as another swing cracked the platform's rim, stone exploding where he'd stood. They hit the ground hard, rolling, her elbow jabbing his ribs. "You're slow as hell—gonna get us both smashed!" She sprang up, limping but grinning, like this was still some twisted game.

"Thanks," Roen grunted, scrambling to his feet. "But we're screwed if that thing gets up here." The mech stomped closer—60 meters, red eyes glowing through the dust, hammers swinging like wrecking balls. The platform was twenty feet wide, shrinking fast as cracks widened—ten feet to the dais now, maybe less. The tower walls were taller, glowing brighter, but shaking worse, dust raining like a bad omen.

Liya hefted her sword, wincing as she shifted weight off her leg. "Got a plan, brain-boy? 'Cause I'm about to charge it—bugs or no bugs." She squared her shoulders, all bravado, but her grip trembled—blood loss or fear, Roen couldn't tell.

"Charging's suicide," he said, scanning the mess. His architect instincts kicked in—structure, leverage, weak points. The mech was heavy, slow on the climb, but unstoppable once it hit flat ground. The slope was trashed, but the rubble pile was loose, unstable—could he use that? Back on Earth, he'd once rigged a scaffold to collapse under a rival's gear—petty, sure, but it worked. Same deal here, just with higher stakes and a lot more blood.

"Rubble," he said, grabbing his bent sword. "Slow it down—make it trip." He pointed at the pile—jagged rocks, busted armor, soldier bodies tangled in it. "We push what's left, clog its path. Buy time 'til this damn tower does something."

Liya raised an eyebrow, then grinned, wild and sharp. "Crazy little shit—I'm in!" She limped to the edge, grabbing a loose stone and chucking it—clang, off the mech's arm. "Hey, hammer-head! Come get some!" The mech roared, stomping faster—50 meters now, closing hard.

Roen ran to the pile, shoving rocks with his shoulder, ignoring the fire in his side. "Help me, bug lady—move it!" She joined him, grunting as she pushed, her strength flagging but stubborn as hell. They shoved—stones, armor, a busted shield—everything they could grab, rolling it down the slope's remains. It wasn't much, a pitiful barricade, but it piled up, loose and messy.

The mech hit 40 meters, hammers swinging, and smashed the first rock—crunch, dust flying. But its foot caught, a tangle of soldier gear snagging its gears, and it stumbled, lurching forward. Roen's heart jumped—it worked. "Keep going!" he yelled, grabbing a bigger stone, heaving it down. Liya followed, tossing a helmet that bounced off its chest—pathetic, but it added to the chaos.

"Take that, you oversized tin can!" she shouted, laughing through a wince. The mech roared, righting itself, but its next step slipped—rubble shifted, and it sank knee-deep, gears grinding loud. Roen grinned, a fierce, ragged thing—his trap wasn't pretty, but it was holding. The platform shook again, a crack splitting under his feet, and he stumbled, catching the dais.

"Kid, it's pissed!" Liya said, backing up as the mech swung—hammer slamming the rubble, clearing a path. It stomped free—30 meters now, close enough to see rivets on its faceless head. Roen's grin faded—that thing wasn't stopping, just slowing, and their junk pile wouldn't last.

The system chimed: Mech-unit at 25 meters—structural collapse imminent. The tower jolted hard, walls tilting, and a pulse of blue light flared—blinding, hot, washing over them. Roen shielded his eyes, Liya cursing beside him. The platform steadied, cracks sealing fast, and the walls shot up—twenty feet, solid stone, glowing bright. A low hum buzzed, and the dais spat a burst of energy—straight at the mech.

It hit like a freight train—crackling blue, slamming the mech's chest. The thing staggered, gears screeching, red glow flickering. Roen gaped, then laughed, a raw, triumphant sound. "Hell yeah—tower's fighting back!" The system updated:

System Notification: Evolution surge triggered defensive response—Energy Pulse activated. Mech-unit damaged: 40% integrity loss. Evolution Progress: 11 hours, 37 minutes, 02 seconds.

"Forty percent?" Liya said, limping over, grinning wide. "That's my kind of toy—give it another zap, kid!" The mech roared, hammers swinging wild, but it was slower—lurching, one arm sparking. Roen's chest buzzed—this was it, his win, carved out of blood and stone. The tower wasn't done, but it'd pulled through, and they were still standing.

"Finish it," he muttered, grabbing another rock. "Slope's gone—hit it from here!" He chucked it—clang, off the mech's head—and Liya followed, her throw wild but loud, smashing its shoulder. The mech stumbled—20 meters, then 15—hammers dragging, gears grinding louder. It swung, weak, missing the platform, and Roen saw his shot.

"Liya, push!" he yelled, charging the edge. She joined him, grunting as they shoved a final pile—rocks, debris, a busted sword—everything left. It rolled, slamming the mech's legs, and it sank again, knee-deep, roaring as sparks flew. Roen grabbed his bent sword, leapt, and drove it into a sparking joint—metal screeched, snapping, and the mech's arm dropped, useless.

"Gotcha!" he roared, rolling back as it flailed. Liya laughed, wild and fierce, and kicked a rock—crunch, into its chest. The mech shuddered, red glow fading, and collapsed—gears grinding to a stop, a heap of twisted metal at the platform's base.

Silence hit, heavy and sweet, broken only by their gasps and the tower's hum. Roen slumped, sword clattering, a grin splitting his face. "We did it," he rasped, blood and dust caking his hands. Liya sank beside him, laughing through a wince, her leg a mess but her spirit unbroken.

"Damn right, kid," she said, slapping his shoulder. "Seven for me—mech counts double. You're what, six?" She grinned, smug as hell, and Roen snorted, too tired to argue.

"Call it even," he said, staring at the wreck below. The platform held—cracked, tilted, but theirs. The tower pulsed, walls solid now, a fortress taking shape. He'd fought for it—bled for it—and won. Whatever the Kast family threw next, he'd be ready.

The system chimed: Warning: Additional threats detected—700 meters, approaching. Roen's grin faltered, but he just laughed, dry and hard. "Bring it," he muttered. "I've got a castle to build."