The static-filled image of Jaxon's face vanished, leaving the command center in a heavy, echoing silence. The hope of rescue was a distant, flickering candle. The reality was the four-day storm they now had to survive. Draven looked at the tactical display. Voss's army was already at work, the grim, skeletal frames of trebuchets rising from their siege camp. They were shifting from a direct assault to a war of attrition, a battle of brute force against his failing power grid.
Four days. Ninety-six hours. Draven's mind, a cold engine of logic, immediately broke the impossible problem down into a series of smaller, manageable tasks. It was a race, not just against Voss, but against time and their own dwindling resources.
"Kara," he said, his voice a sharp, focused instrument. "Give me a full diagnostic on the fabricator. I need to know its capabilities, its power consumption, and its material requirements. I'm going to try and reverse-engineer the fallen golems."
"What about the shield?" she asked, her own face pale with exhaustion.
"Divert all non-essential power to it," he commanded. "Hydroponics, internal lighting, everything. We go on emergency rations. The shield is priority one. Kael's recovery is priority two. Rebuilding our front line is priority three."
The first day was a blur of desperate, focused engineering. While Kara tended to Kael, applying healing salves and feeding him nutrient-rich rations from the synthesizer, Draven was locked in the fabrication unit. He worked with a feverish intensity, the shattered torso of a golem his only guide. He wasn't a mechanic like Jaxon, but he was a master of systems. He broke down the golem's structure, analyzing its power matrix, its crystalline muscle fibers, its runic command core.
By the end of the first day, he had a breakthrough. He couldn't build a new golem—the technology was too complex, the required materials too rare. But he had isolated the schematics for their core repair systems.
[New Schematic Unlocked: Enclave Repair Drone]
[Function: Small, automated construct capable of repairing damaged Golem Sentries.]
[Material Cost: 15 Iron, 5 Crystal Shards, 10 Energy Units]
It wasn't the army he wanted, but it was a start. He initiated the first production run, the fabricator humming to life, a sound of fragile, desperate hope in the besieged fortress.
The second day began with the thunderous crash of the first trebuchet stone against their shield. The impact was a jarring, physical blow that shook the entire outpost. The lights flickered, and a new series of alarms shrieked through the command center.
[Warning: Shield Integrity at 65%]
[Warning: Power grid fluctuation detected.]
The bombardment was relentless. Every few minutes, another massive boulder slammed into their shield, each impact a hammer blow against their dwindling power reserves. They were being systematically pounded into submission.
Draven, however, had a new weapon of his own. The first batch of Repair Drones was complete. They were small, beetle-like constructs with multiple, spider-like legs and a series of delicate, high-energy tools. He deployed them immediately, and the tiny machines swarmed over the remaining ten golem sentries, their tools glowing as they began to patch the cracks and reinforce the damaged stone.
But repair was not enough. He needed to strike back. He looked at the schematics again, his mind making a daring, logical leap.
"Kara," he called, his voice tight. "The drones. Can we modify their programming? Turn their repair tools into cutting torches?"
The second half of the day was another frantic session of hacking and engineering. As the world shook around them, they worked together, a perfect synergy of his strategic vision and her technical skill. They created a new, aggressive subroutine.
That night, under the cover of the bombardment, Draven unleashed his new creations. A swarm of twenty modified drones, now re-designated as Scarab Sentinels, crawled over the outpost walls and through the energy shield, their forms too small to be detected. They were an army of silent, mechanical termites, and their target was the wooden frames of Voss's trebuchets.
The third day was a testament to the power of asymmetrical warfare. The bombardment continued, but it was weaker now. [Shield Integrity at 45%]. Then, in the middle of a reload, one of Voss's massive siege engines groaned, shuddered, and collapsed into a pile of splintered wood. The Scarabs had done their work.
A roar of fury and confusion erupted from Voss's camp. He sent a wave of beasts at the walls, a probing attack to test their defenses. Draven met them with his ten fully repaired golem sentries and his own summons. Kael, his wound now healed, was a silver whirlwind of righteous fury, his rage at being injured channeled into a brutal, efficient defense. They held the line.
The fourth day was the longest day of Draven's life. The shield was flickering, its integrity now below thirty percent. Their power reserves were in the red. Voss, sensing their weakness, his face a mask of pure, demonic rage on the scanner's display, gathered his entire remaining force for one final, all-out assault on the main gate.
Draven and Kara stood on the parapet, their own armor now reinforced with the last of their Drake Hide. Kael stood between them, his growl a low, steady promise of violence. The ten golem sentries, battered but functional, stood ready. Below, an army of hundreds screamed for their blood.
"It's been an honor," Kara said, her voice quiet, her hand finding his.
"It's not over yet," he replied, squeezing her hand.
The horn blew from Voss's camp. The final charge began. The ground shook with the thunder of thousands of feet. Draven braced himself, his axe in hand, ready to sell his life for every inch of their fortress.
And then, a new sound cut through the roar of the army. A sound from behind them, from the west. The high, piercing shriek of a war horn. Their war horn.
On the scanner, a new set of signals appeared, a wave of green, allied icons moving at high speed. Jaxon, on the back of a massive, summoned war-beast, was leading the charge, the rest of their faction at his back.
The cavalry had arrived.