The jungle didn't just smell of burning wood; it smelled of burning sugar. The sap of the giant trees, superheated by Imperial napalm, was caramelizing as it died, creating a sickeningly sweet scent that masked the odor of charred flesh.
Julian and Lyra crouched behind the thick, buttressed roots of a mega-fern, looking out at the skirmish line.
Fifty yards ahead, the jungle ended. Beyond that line was the Dead Zone. The Incinerator Corps had cleared a swath of land a hundred yards wide, paving it with rapid-set grey polymer.
On the grey road, three Pyro-Walkers stood like iron demons. They were twelve feet tall, painted hazard-red, with fuel tanks strapped to their backs. Their arms were flamethrowers that spewed continuous streams of blue fire into the tree line.
"Burn it all!" an amplified voice boomed from the lead walker. "Clear the vector for the Chimera trucks!"
But the jungle was fighting back.
From the canopy above, green flashes of light rained down.
"Plasma?" Lyra whispered, tracking the shots with her scope. "No... look closer."
Julian squinted. The projectiles weren't energy bolts. They were globes of glowing sap.
One of the globes hit the leg of a Pyro-Walker. It didn't explode. It burst, coating the metal joint in a neon-green slime.
HISS.
The slime was highly corrosive. The metal smoked and bubbled. The Walker stumbled as its knee joint seized up.
"Acid," Julian realized. "Bio-chemical warfare."
From the undergrowth, figures emerged. They moved with unnatural speed, leaping from branch to branch.
They were humanoid, but barely. Their skin was bark-brown, covered in patches of living moss. Their limbs were reinforced with carbon-fiber exoskeletons woven directly into their flesh. They wielded weapons that looked like rifles grown from wood and brass.
The Root-Kin.
"They're attacking the tanks," Julian noted. "Smart. They know they can't pierce the armor, so they're trying to melt the seals."
But the Empire had numbers. And fire.
A squad of heavy infantry—Incinerators—moved up to support the Walkers. They unleashed a wall of flame, catching two of the Root-Kin in mid-air. The fighters screamed as they fell, their mossy camouflage turning into tinder.
"They're getting slaughtered," Lyra said, gripping her pistol. "Fire beats grass."
One of the Pyro-Walkers turned its main cannon toward a cluster of roots where a dozen Root-Kin were pinned down. The pilot revved the ignition.
"Target cluster identified," the mech announced. "Purging."
"Julian," Lyra warned.
"I see it."
Julian stood up. He raised his left arm, aiming the heavy, coil-wrapped Resonance Gauntlet.
He didn't scream. He didn't brace himself against the recoil of raw power. He calmly adjusted the dial on the wrist.
Focus: Kinetic. Output: 80%.
The copper coils along his forearm lit up with a smooth, ascending hum. The crystal lens in his palm glowed bright blue.
"Hey, ugly!" Julian shouted.
The Pyro-Walker pilot turned the mech's head. "Contact. Unknown combatant."
Julian opened his palm.
THWUMP.
There was no flash of fire. Just a distortion in the air—a ripple of pure sound moving at Mach 1.
The Sonic Lance hit the Pyro-Walker directly in its glass cockpit canopy.
CRACK-SHATTER.
The reinforced glass didn't just break; it turned to dust. The pilot inside was hit by the residual shockwave. He slumped over the controls, unconscious (or worse), his helmet shattered.
The mech listed to the side, its flamethrower firing harmlessly into the sky.
"What was that?" Lyra asked, staring at the smoking gauntlet.
"Compressed air and a C-sharp," Julian said, venting the heat from the silver tube. "Let's move."
The Skirmish
Julian and Lyra broke from cover, charging into the flank of the Imperial line.
"Flankers!" an Incinerator shouted, turning his fuel tank toward them.
Lyra was faster. She fired two shots—not at the soldier, but at the igniter pilot-light on the tip of his weapon.
PING. PING.
The pilot light shattered. The soldier pulled the trigger, spraying fuel, but it didn't light. He stood there, doused in his own napalm, confused.
"Don't light a match," Lyra quipped, kicking him in the chest and knocking him into the mud.
Julian advanced on the second Pyro-Walker. The mech swiveled, aiming its cannon.
Julian raised the gauntlet again.
Focus: Dissonance.
He fired a pulse at the ground beneath the mech's feet.
The sonic blast hit the rapid-set polymer pavement. The concrete shattered instantly, turning into quicksand. The heavy mech sank to its knees, trapped in the broken road.
"Now!" Julian shouted to the trees. "Finish it!"
The Root-Kin didn't hesitate. Seeing the metal giant trapped, four of them dropped from the canopy. They landed on the mech's back. They jammed their wooden rifles into the intake vents and fired their acid-globes.
SIZZLE-POP.
The mech's engine melted from the inside out. It collapsed, smoking ruin.
The remaining Imperial troops, seeing their heavy support destroyed, panicked.
"Retreat!" the squad leader screamed. "Fall back to the convoy!"
They fled down the grey road, disappearing into the smoke.
The Standoff
Silence returned to the jungle, broken only by the crackle of dying fires and the groans of the wounded.
Julian lowered his gauntlet. It was hot to the touch. The lead lining had protected his arm, but the crystal in his palm was pulsing rapidly.
"Clear," Lyra said, scanning the perimeter.
Suddenly, the jungle moved.
A dozen Root-Kin dropped from the trees, surrounding them. Their weapons—dripping with green acid—were aimed at Julian and Lyra.
"Hold fire!" Julian raised his hands slowly. "We helped you."
A figure stepped forward.
She was tall, her skin a deep, photosynthetic green. One of her arms was natural; the other was a prosthetic made of polished mahogany and copper wiring, ending in sharp, articulate wooden claws. She wore armor made from the carapace of a giant beetle.
Commander Vara.
Vara looked at the destroyed mechs. Then she looked at Julian's gauntlet. Her eyes were solid black, no whites, no irises.
"You speak with the voice of the storm," Vara said. Her voice sounded like dry leaves rustling. "But you wear the metal of the enemy."
"We are not Empire," Julian said. "We came from the North. We came to wake the Sleeper."
The Root-Kin murmured amongst themselves.
"The Sleeper?" Vara hissed, stepping closer. She raised her wooden claw to Julian's throat. "The Sleeper brings the Growth. The Growth brings the Pain. Why would you wake it?"
"To save it," Julian said, not flinching. "The Empire is coming to burn it. And they're bringing something worse than fire."
Vara paused. She sniffed the air near Julian.
"You smell of ozone," she whispered. "And ancient ice."
She lowered her claw.
"And you carry the Ring of the Builder." She pointed to the Black-Iron ring.
"My father's ring," Julian said.
Vara signaled her troops. They lowered their weapons, though they didn't relax.
"I am Vara. Leaf-Blade of the Titan's Garden," she introduced herself. "You fight well for a soft-skin. But if you wish to see the Verdant Walker... you must survive the trials of the path."
"We've survived worse," Lyra said, holstering her gun.
"Have you?" Vara smiled, revealing teeth that looked like thorns. "The Empire burns the edge of the forest. But deep inside... the forest burns you."
She turned and began walking back into the dense jungle.
"Follow. Before the Chimera trucks return."
Julian looked at Lyra.
"Friendly people," Lyra muttered.
"They're alive," Julian said, checking the charge on his gauntlet. "That's enough for now."
They followed the Root-Kin into the shadows, leaving the burning road behind.
Later - The Deep Canopy
As they walked, the jungle changed. The trees became impossibly large, their roots forming bridges over rivers of glowing green sludge.
"This isn't natural," Skid whispered over the comms (she had stayed on the ship but was monitoring their audio). "The radiation levels are off the charts. But it's life-radiation. Bio-Aether."
Julian walked beside Vara.
"Your people," Julian asked. "You aren't human anymore."
"We were," Vara said, touching a patch of moss growing on her cheek. "My grandfather was a logger. When the Titan first stirred fifty years ago, the Growth Wave hit us. It didn't kill us. It... integrated us."
She looked at her wooden arm.
"The Empire calls us mutants. We call ourselves the Gardeners. We protect the Titan because we are the Titan. Its blood flows in our sap."
"Then you know where the entrance is," Julian said.
"There is no entrance," Vara stopped. They had reached a cliff edge.
Below them lay a massive crater, miles wide, filled with a glowing green lake. And in the center of the lake rose a colossal tree—larger than any mountain. Its bark was white ceramic. Its leaves were solar panels.
Titan 06: The Verdant Walker.
It wasn't buried. It had grown into the landscape.
"The Titan isn't a machine in a hole," Vara whispered reverently. "It is the World-Tree. To wake it... you must climb to the Crown."
She pointed to the top of the tree, piercing the clouds.
"But the Crown is guarded. Not by soldiers. But by the Parasites."
Julian looked at the massive structure. He felt the hum of the Titan. It was wild, chaotic, and overgrown.
"Then we climb," Julian said.