The heavy blast door groaned as Brokk forced it open, the gears grinding against years of rust and neglect.
Inside, the air was stale and cold. It wasn’t a cell; it was a vault.
Thrain hadn’t destroyed the tools of the Guild Masters. He was too greedy for that. He had locked them away like trophies, displayed on racks under the harsh light of mana lamps.
"My shield..."
General Thorgar, a dwarf who looked like a mountain carved from granite, stumbled forward. He was emaciated, his skin grey from months of starvation in the dark cells, supported by Isabelle’s shoulder.
But as his eyes landed on the massive slab of tal in the center of the room, his strength seed to return.
It was a Tower Shield tall enough to cover two n. It wasn’t made of iron or steel. It was forged from Adamantite, the hardest tal in the earth, and etched with the crest of the Ironclan: A hamr striking an anvil.
[The Bulwark of the Mountain]
Thorgar reached out with a trembling hand. The mont his fingers brushed the cold tal, a low, resonant hum filled the room.
VOOOM.
The shield recognized its master.
"I thought I would never hold you again," Thorgar whispered, his voice cracking.
"Stop getting sentintal, you old rock," Brokk grunted, though his own chanical eye was whirring softly.
He walked to a glass case on the right. Inside floated a staff made of white-wood, tipped with a floating, rotating rune-cube.
[The Scribe’s Logic]
"Mistress Kida," Brokk smashed the glass with the butt of his rifle. "Wake up."
Kida, the Rune Scribe, leaned against the doorfra. She looked frail, her intricate braids matted and ssy. But her eyes were sharp.
She walked over and took the staff.
ZAP.
Blue lightning arced from the tip, illuminating the dark room. The runes on her robes, which had been dormant and dull, suddenly flared to life, glowing with azure power.
"The calibration is off," Kida muttered, her fingers dancing over the rotating cube. "Thrain’s technicians must have tried to reverse-engineer it. Amateurs."
"Can you use it?" Leona asked, watching the display of mana with awe.
"I can use it to rewrite the security protocols of this entire prison," Kida said, a cruel smile touching her lips. "Give five minutes."
"We don’t have five minutes," Master Orin interrupted from the doorway.
He was holding the heavy Magitech Cannon Brokk had given him earlier, peering down the hallway they had just co from.
"Do you hear that?"
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
It wasn’t aregular heartbeat. It was the sound of synchronized, heavy marching. Hundreds of boots hitting the tal floor in perfect unison.
The floor plates vibrated. Dust fell from the ceiling.
"The Iron Legion," Lyra hissed, nocking a Phantom Arrow. "They’re here."
Brokk racked the slide of his rifle.
"Thrain’s toy soldiers. Cyborgs made from the corpses of our brothers."
He looked at Thorgar, Kida, and Orin.
"Well? You have your weapons. Are you going to stand there and mourn the dead, or are you going to avenge them?"
Thorgar grabbed the handle of his massive shield. He didn’t lift it; he hefted it. The muscles in his back bulged, snapping the tattered remains of his prison shirt.
He turned around. The grey, defeated look was gone from his eyes. In its place was the fire of a General who had held the line against dragons.
"Brokk," Thorgar rumbled, his voice deepening like an earthquake. "Do you have any mana-stimulants?"
"Top shelf," Brokk tossed him a red vial. "Adrenaline and liquid mana. It’ll hurt like hell tomorrow."
"Good."
Thorgar crushed the vial in his teeth and swallowed the glass and liquid together.
ROAR!
A golden aura exploded from his body. His skin flushed with color. He slamd the bottom of his shield onto the floor.
CLANG!
"Ironclan!" Thorgar shouted, his voice amplified by the mana. "FORM UP!"
It wasn’t just a request. It was an order.
A grandmasters will to defy the norm.
Behind him, the dozen other prisoners they had freed, smiths, soldiers, engineers, they all straightened their spines. They grabbed whatever weapons were in the armory: hamrs, axes, prototype rifles.
They weren’t prisoners anymore. They were the Old Guard.
"To the bridge!" Thorgar commanded. "We hold the line for the Prince!"
............
[The Bridge of Tears]
The group charged out of the Torture Wing and onto the main suspension bridge that connected the High-Security Sector to the central hub.
And there, waiting for them, was the enemy.
The far side of the bridge was a wall of black steel.
Two hundred Iron Legionnaires. They stood seven feet tall, completely encased in steam-powered armor. Their faces were hidden behind faceless iron masks with glowing red eye-slits.
They held massive riot shields and mana-pikes crackling with electricity.
"Target Identified," the Legion Commander’s chanical voice bood. "Prisoners. Terminate."
"FIRE!"
The front rank of the Legion knelt. The rank behind them raised mana-rifles.
PEW-PEW-PEW!
A volley of blue mana bolts, dense enough to punch through stone, rained down on the bridge.
"Behind !" Thorgar roared.
He didn’t stop. He charged.
He planted his massive shield in front of him and ran straight into the hail of gunfire.
PING! PING! CLANG!
The mana bullets struck the Adamantite shield and ricocheted harmlessly. Thorgar was a moving fortress.
"Isabelle! Now!" Lyra shouted.
"Gravity... FIELD!"
Isabelle clapped her hands. A purple do appeared over the Legion’s formation.
CRUNCH.
The Legionnaires buckled. Their heavy steam-armor, usually an advantage, beca a cage as gravity increased five-fold. The tal groaned.
"Orin! Light them up!" Brokk yelled.
Master Orin stepped out from behind Thorgar’s shield. He leveled his heavy triple-barreled cannon.
"Eat this, you scrap-heap bastards!"
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!
The cannon roared. High-explosive mana shells arced over the bridge and slamd into the clustered Legionnaires.
BOOM! BOOM!
tal limbs flew. The perfect formation was shattered.
"Charge!" Leona scread, leaping over Thorgar’s head.
She landed in the middle of the chaotic Legion lines. Her Berserk Aura flared red. She punched a Legionnaire so hard his chest plate caved in and exited through his back.
"For the young master!" Leona laughed, spinning and decapitating another with a backhand.
Mistress Kida stood at the back, waving her staff. She wasn’t attacking the soldiers; she was attacking the bridge itself.
"Rune of Stabilization... Invert!"
The runes glowing on the enemy’s side of the bridge turned red.
SNAP.
The support cables on the far end snapped. The bridge tilted violently.
The Legionnaires, already heavy and under gravity pressure, lost their footing. Dozens of them slid off the edge, falling screaming into the magma vents hundreds of ters below.
"We have the montum!" Brokk shouted, firing his rifle with one hand. "Push them back! To the Central Junction!"
They were a whirlwind of destruction. A tank, a berserker, a sniper, a demon, and an army of angry smiths.
But just as they reached the end of the bridge, a siren wailed.
"Warning. Warden Krog engaging. Threat Level: Extre."
The blast doors at the end of the bridge didn’t open. They lted.
A beam of purple Void Energy punched through the thick steel door like it was wet paper.
And stepping through the molten hole was a nightmare.
Warden Krog.
He ignored the Legionnaires. He ignored the riot.
He looked directly at Brokk.
"Grandmaster," Krog gurgled, his spider-legs clicking on the tal floor. "You are... late for your execution."
He raised his arm-cannon. The Void Core in his chest pulsed.
"Get down!" Thorgar scread, raising his shield.
VWWOOOM!
A massive beam of void energy engulfed the bridge.
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