4317 opened his eyes to amber.
Not the soft, translucent gemstone, but a dense, dark, living amber. It formed the walls, the floor, the impossibly high, vaulted ceiling. Every surface was a complex mosaic of hexagonal cells, each a handspan wide, their edges sharply defined. Within each cell, a faint, rhythmic bioluminescence pulsed – deep golds, bruised purples, sickly greens – casting shifting, geometric patterns across the vast chamber. The air was thick, warm, and cloyingly sweet, smelling of fermented nectar, and something unnervingly metallic.
He was lying on his side on a gently sloping plane of this amber. Something pressed against his back. Straps, thick and fibrous like braided roots, bit into his shoulders and chest, binding something heavy and unyielding to him. He craned his neck.
A Casket.
It was a rectangular box, roughly the length of a man, crafted entirely of pristine crystal glass. Its surface was flawless, cold to the touch, even through the humid air. And within it, 3952's body lay perfectly preserved, untouched by the macabre. A faint, almost imperceptible smile lingered at the corner of his mouth as if he was lost in a deep sleep. Yet the sight sent a jolt of icy dread through 4317. This felt heavier than he could carry.
ZZZZZT-CLICK!
The sound sliced through the hive's low hum, sharp and alien. A shadow darted overhead, swift and angular.
4317 froze.
A drone. Or rather, a grotesque echo of one.
It hovered a dozen feet above, wings a vibrating blur that sliced the thick air with a sound like a thousand tiny, angry scalpels. Its body was a nightmare fusion: a core of dark, chitinous metal, segmented like an insect, yet bearing a distorted, horrifyingly familiar visage molded onto its front. Jax's face.
The overseer's features were stretched, flattened, and rendered in cold, synthetic material. The eyes were multifaceted lenses, gleaming with a cold, green internal light. Below the grimacing jaw, a needle-like stinger, dripping viscous black fluid, twitched.
It wasn't looking at him. Its multi-faceted gaze was fixed, with single-minded intensity, on the crystal casket strapped to his back.
< TRIAL OF STRENGTH: WORLDROOT DIFFICULTY >
OBJECTIVE:
» ACQUIRE GRAVEKEEPER'S HAMMER
» PROTECT SOUL CASKET (INTEGRITY: 100%)
The message burned into his vision, stark and undeniable.
ZZZZZT-CLICK!
Another drone zipped past, then another. They emerged from the depths of the hexagonal maze above, circling like vultures made of scrap metal and nightmares, each bearing the same warped Jax-face. Their movements were jerky, predatory, and focused solely on the casket. They ignored 4317 entirely, as if he were merely part of the furniture holding their target.
Panic tried to rise. He crushed it.
Think. Think..
I need to observe and find the damn hammer.
Scanning the hive chamber, his eyes caught it: a ledge high on the opposite wall, perhaps forty feet away.
There you are.
Embedded vertically in the amber, its head resting on the ledge, stood the hammer.
The head was massive, forged from obsidian so dark it swallowed light, veined with molten gold that pulsed like a heartbeat. The haft was petrified wood, gnarled and ancient, etched with spiraling patterns that seemed to shift faintly in the chamber's glow. It radiated a grounded, immovable power.
ZZZZZT-CLICK!
THUD!
4317 flinched as a drone slammed its stinger against the casket glass, mere inches from his head. The crystal didn't break, but a tiny, almost invisible spiderweb crack appeared where the point impacted. The system flickered:
» Casket Integrity: 99%
The Jax-faced drone hovered for a second, lenses fixed on the point of impact, then zipped back to join the circling swarm. They were testing. Probing. He needed to stop them before they destroyed the casket.
4317 turned on his heel, dodging another stinger. Yet the casket took a hit. He moved faster towards the hammer, as his resolve hardened. He shifted his weight, the straps digging in, and pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. The casket was heavy, a constant drag, but he had to bear it.
..
The air thrummed with the jagged, metallic buzz of the drones. The casket's weight was immense, a constant, grinding pull on his shoulders and spine, the root-fiber straps biting deep. The amber floor, slick with condensation, threatened to betray his footing with every movement.
He moved low, trying to minimize his profile and the casket's exposure, heading diagonally towards the raised platform where the hammer stood embedded. The drones ignored his movement; they locked solely on the crystal coffin strapped to his back. They continued their predatory dance, swooping, testing, retreating.
ZZZZZT-CLICK!
A drone arrowed down from his left, stinger aimed precisely at the center of the casket's back panel. 4317 pivoted hard, muscles screaming under the awkward burden. He threw his body sideways, interposing his own torso between the stinger and the glass.
THWACK!
The impact wasn't bone-shattering, but it was vicious. The needle-like tip slammed into his upper left arm, punching through his thin tunic. It felt like being stabbed with a red-hot nail. He grunted, stumbling, but didn't fall. Warm blood bloomed around the puncture, soaking the fabric.
The drone recoiled, its attack thwarted, and zipped back upwards. The casket remained untouched.
ZZZZZT-CLICK! ZZZZZT-CLICK!
Two more came, converging from different angles. One high, aiming for the top edge of the casket near his head; one low, targeting the base. He couldn't block both. He dropped to one knee, twisting violently. The high drone's stinger whistled past his ear. The low drone's strike he took full on his right thigh.
This one grazed, tearing through fabric and skin along the outside of his thigh. A line of fire opened up, bleeding freely.
He checked at the corner of his vision.
» Casket Integrity: 99%
He pushed himself back up, the wounds stinging fiercely, blood trickling down his arm and leg. Each step felt heavier than the past one. The drones were relentless, their attacks constant now, a staccato rhythm of buzzing dives and sharp impacts. He became a desperate, weaving shield:
A lunge forward took a stinger meant for the casket's side on his shoulder blade – a bruising impact that knocked the breath from him and left a deep ache.
A duck and roll saved the casket's front glass but scraped his back raw against the rough amber floor as he shielded it with his body.
A desperate kick aimed at a drone threatening the lower corner only connected with air, but made it veer off, its stinger scoring a shallow groove across his calf instead of the crystal.
Sweat stung his eyes, mingling with the blood from superficial cuts on his face earned when he'd rolled. His breath came in ragged gasps. The real injuries accumulated: the deep puncture in his arm throbbed, the gash on his thigh burned, his shoulder ached, and his back felt scraped and bruised. Each drone strike he intercepted was a sharp, localized agony. Yet, they were mundane to him. Pain like this was routine.
But the times he was a fraction too slow, or blocked poorly…
CRACK-TINK!
A drone, cunningly attacking from his blind spot while he fended off another, struck the upper corner of the casket's glass lid. The sound was horrifyingly loud – the brittle chime of fracturing crystal. A visible spiderweb crack, several inches long, bloomed across the pristine surface.
» Casket Integrity: 95%
Fuck. Hurry.
The drone responsible hovered for a second, its Jax-face seeming almost triumphant in the pulsing light, before rejoining the swarm. That sight, the visible damage to 3952's preserved form, ignited a cold fury deep in him. Protecting himself was secondary.
He redoubled his efforts, movements becoming more frantic, more sacrificial. Focusing solely on intercepting every attack aimed at the glass, using himself as the shield.
Almost there.
He took a stinger scrape across his ribs, another puncture high on his right arm, a glancing blow to his hip that would leave a massive bruise. Pain blossomed across his body, sharp and stinging, but he kept moving, a battered shield advancing step by agonizing step towards the obsidian hammer.
Finally, after what felt like hours of brutal, buzzing combat, he reached the base of the platform. The Gravekeeper's Hammer towered above him, embedded deep in the amber wall. The drones, sensing the proximity of their target, intensified their assault. Stingers rained down, forcing him to huddle, back pressed against the amber slope, the casket protected beneath him like a turtle's shell. He took two more hits on his back – heavy, bruising impacts that drove the air from his lungs – but the glass remained untouched.
Gasping, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds, pains echoing like discordant bells in his nerves, 4317 looked up at the hammer.
It won't be easy. Pulling it out. But I am here.
He reached out for the haft, and a jolt of power shook him. It instantly vaporized all the wounds, healing him. The hammer felt lighter in his hands, and it thrummed in his hand, feeling alive.
< OBJECTIVE UPDATE >
» DESTROY THE COLLAR OF CONTROL or SURVIVE 1 hr KEEPING THE SOUL CASKET INTEGRITY OVER 20%
» SOUL CASKET INTEGRITY: 93%
How the hell am I supposed to know an hour—
A timer flickered at the corner of his vision:
< Time Remaining: 0 hr 59 min >
With renewed vigor flowing into 4317, he swung at another diving drone. The head of the hammer met the drone with an audible crack, sending it crashing against the wall. And at the same time, his vision spun, as if someone had slammed a hammer right in his face.