Chapter 4:Beneath Iron Skies

The rain in Gravemarch never stopped.

Gray. Heavy. Industrial.

It wasn't the kind of rain that refreshed—it corroded. The kind that left skin itchy and metal rusted within hours. Mike pulled his coat tighter, stepping off the rickety magtrain platform that creaked like it hadn't seen maintenance in years.

"Welcome to Gravemarch, sir," droned the automated rail voice, distorted and crackling from an overhead speaker.

A beggar coughed beneath the speaker's base. His face was covered in a ragged mask. His eyes—sunken, defeated.

Gravemarch had once been a thriving industrial sector, back when Veridion Prime's underbelly mattered. Now, it was the forgotten ribcage of the city—its bones picked clean by time, by poverty, by silence.

Mike walked briskly, passing shattered shop windows, flickering signs, and the skeletal remains of buildings no one had the budget or care to tear down.

"These coordinates can't be right…" he muttered, looking at the chipped screen of the relic tracker. The device twitched in his palm, lights blinking erratically. "Why would the chip lead here?"

He didn't expect an answer.

But he got one.

A whisper—soft, ancient, and just beneath the threshold of understanding.

"Home."

Mike froze.

The Descent

The tracker pulled him farther into Gravemarch's belly—through a forgotten alley littered with rusted drones and scavenged mech parts, down a set of crumbling stone stairs behind what once might've been a reactor station.

He reached a reinforced hatch with a faded insignia on it—three hollow eyes surrounding a spiral flame.

"CPOA never reported this."

With a grunt, Mike forced the door open. Dust exploded into his face, thick with age and the scent of mold and blood.

Inside was darkness—but not empty darkness. This place watched him.

He descended further into what looked like an old cult shrine buried in a maintenance bunker. The walls were covered in strange glyphs, pulsing faintly as if reacting to his presence.

At the center stood a blackened altar. Broken bones circled it. Dried blood still painted the stone.

The whispers grew louder.

"He returns. The Flamebearer. The Link."

Mike's hand shook. He reached for the altar.

And the pain hit.

Visions

His knees slammed into the cold metal floor.

Flashes.

Fire.

Screams.

Symbols etched in flame.

A woman—her voice strong, her eyes filled with sorrow—"Michael, you must never remember."

Then a battlefield. Sky torn apart. Creatures swarming, hive-born and hungry.

And at the center of it all…

Himself. Younger. Stronger. Eyes glowing orange.

He saw his hand, engulfed in light, driving a blade of fire into the heart of a monstrous being that screamed across space and thought.

And then—darkness.

Back at CPOA – Red Alert

"We've lost his comms," Eleanor said, slamming her fist on the console.

Lucas leaned over the monitor. "His last ping was from Gravemarch. But that area's not even on our official patrol grid."

Eleanor's brow furrowed. "He went off mission. Again."

"This isn't like him. Not without reason."

"He had that relic chip, remember? From the Castle. If he found something... we need to move."

Lucas nodded. "Prep a transport. We go in."

The Hive Host

Back in the shrine, Mike stumbled to his feet.

His breathing was ragged. The whispering stopped.

For a moment, he was alone.

Then—

From the darkness, it came.

Tall. Thin. Pale gray skin. Its body shimmered like liquid static, as if its form wasn't truly solid. Eyes—three of them—glowed dim red across its face in a triangle pattern.

It hissed.

Mike drew his gun and fired.

Crack. Crack.

The host staggered but didn't fall. It screeched—horrific, insectoid—and lunged.

Mike rolled, barely avoiding the talons that shattered stone. He fired again, aiming for the head.

The host twitched and screeched but didn't die. Its flesh morphed—healed. The Hive had evolved.

"You are not ready," the thing said, its voice layered like a choir of whispers.

"What do you want from me?!"

"Not want. Wait. Watch. You are waking. You will burn. You will bind. You will lead."

Suddenly, it stopped.

The creature looked upward… as if hearing something else. Then it melted—literally dissolved—into a puddle of black fluid that hissed and vanished into the floor.

Silence returned.

Later – Mike's Eyes Open

Mike stood, shaking.

He stared at the symbols on the altar.

They pulsed again.

He whispered: "What am I?"

And the glyphs answered.

"The Last Flamebearer. Blood of the Forgotten Line."