The air in the heart of the harvesting factory was a physical assault. It was thick with the coppery scent of recycled despair and the greasy, mechanical smell of oil and ozone. The constant, low-frequency hum of the machinery vibrated deep in their bones, a sound that promised endless, grinding torment. Luna, flanked by Alexander and Scarlett, moved through cavernous spaces where the very walls seemed to be made of fused, weeping faces, their silent screams etched into the architecture.
They had navigated this nightmare for what felt like hours, following a faint, familiar psychic signature—a beacon of Luna knowledge that had led them deep into the beast's belly. Now, they stood in a vast control chamber, a nexus where dozens of the pulsing, dark energy cords converged into a central core that glowed with a sickly, greenish-black light.
And there, standing before the core as if she belonged there, was Elena.
