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Chapter 29 - Vertical Warfare

"Get above me!" Anasuya shouted, her voice a clipped, professional command. She wedged herself against the ladder, finding the best firing position she could in the roaring wind, and unleashed a volley from her kinetic rifle.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The heavy slugs hammered against the lead Purifier's armor. Sparks flew, but the chrome-black plate was incredibly resilient, the shots ricocheting harmlessly into the depths of the shaft. The Purifier didn't even flinch.

It returned fire.

VEEP. VEEP. VEEP.

Its pulse rifle fired not plasma bolts, but tightly contained needles of searing light that moved with almost no travel time. They were weapons designed for precision in a high-velocity environment. One of the shots slammed into the ladder rung right next to Kalpit's head, instantly vaporizing the metal with a silent fizz.

He scrambled upwards, Anasuya laying down a stream of suppressive fire that served only to annoy their pursuers.

"Their armor is too thick!" she yelled, her rifle's reports swallowed by the wind. "And their aim is perfect!"

They were fish in a barrel. Or, more accurately, spiders on a string. Kalpit looked up. The next major platform, a wide circular catwalk, was just meters away. It offered cover, a place to make a stand.

He hauled himself over the edge, turning to help Anasuya. Below, the Purifiers were closing the distance with terrifying speed, their grappling lines reeling them upwards.

"They're not just trying to kill us," Kalpit said, his mind racing, seeing the cold, tactical logic of their approach. "They're herding us. Upwards. Into a bigger trap."

"Then we'll have to disappoint them," Anasuya grunted, taking a knee at the edge of the platform and swapping a new power cell into her rifle. "Give me an idea, glitch. Fast."

Kalpit's eyes scanned their new environment. This was not a simple corridor. They were inside a massive atmospheric processing chamber, a jungle of colossal condenser coils that hummed with immense cold, colossal filtration fans that turned with a slow, groaning rhythm, and a web of pipes carrying every imaginable fluid and gas. The air here was freezing, thick with condensation that hung in the air like a fog.

His Muladhara-sight flickered to life. The entire structure was a web of stress and flow. And the colossal fan blade, a hundred-meter-long slab of durasteel, turning slowly just above them… its primary axle bearing was under immense, cyclical strain. A critical point of failure.

A new memory from Parashurama's mental infusion surfaced: not a grand battle, but a piece of sabotage. A chariot's axle pin replaced with one of hardened clay. It held just long enough for the chariot to reach top speed, and then... catastrophic failure.

The plan was a single, perfect note of devastating sabotage.

"The fan!" Kalpit yelled to Anasuya, pointing upwards. "Shoot the axle! Don't try to destroy it, just hit it! Draw their fire up there!"

Anasuya didn't question the insane order. She trusted the glitch's logic now. She aimed her rifle upwards and fired a single, powerful shot at the colossal fan's rotating axle joint. The bullet sparked harmlessly off the reinforced casing, a tiny, insignificant gesture.

But it achieved its purpose.

The Purifiers, emerging onto the platform below, saw her aiming upwards, at what was clearly a critical piece of machinery. Their programming registered a primary threat: sabotage.

"Hostiles are attempting to destabilize primary atmospheric fan A-7!" the lead Purifier's synthesized voice announced. "Priority target shifted. Neutralize the threat."

Two of the Purifiers immediately aimed their pulse rifles at the axle, firing a concentrated volley to destroy the target their enemies were seemingly focused on. It was a logical, predictable, tactical response.

And it was the fatal mistake Kalpit was counting on.

The combined force of their hyper-advanced pulse rifles did what Anasuya's single slug could not. The reinforced axle casing, already under immense strain, was instantly vaporized. The hundred-meter blade of the colossal fan, now unmoored at its fulcrum, tore loose.

SCREEEEEEEECH—KRA-KOOM!

The sound was apocalyptic. The immense fan blade, weighing thousands of tons, didn't just fall. It was flung outwards by its own centrifugal force, a scythe of durasteel the size of a skyscraper, sweeping through the entire chamber.

"Down!" Kalpit screamed, tackling Anasuya, pulling them both flat against the catwalk.

The Purifiers, their mission momentarily forgotten, looked up in digital confusion as their tactical world was consumed by a sweeping shadow. They had no time to even process their error.

The blade scythed through them, their advanced armor offering no more resistance than paper. It then slammed into the catwalk they had been standing on, and the catwalks above and below them, shearing through the spire's internal structure in a wave of total, indiscriminate destruction.

CRUUUNCH. SHRAAANG. BOOOOM.

The entire chamber groaned, protesting the catastrophic damage. Pipes ruptured, spewing super-heated steam and coolant fluids. Alarms, even louder and more frantic, blared.

Kalpit and Anasuya were safe, the blade having passed just a few meters over their heads. They looked up to see a scene of utter chaos. The way down was a tangled ruin of twisted metal. The way up was now a gaping, direct hole leading to the level above.

They had survived. And they had just ripped a mortal wound in the spire.

<"What... by all the cycles... did you just do?!">> Atri's voice was a squeak of pure, horrified disbelief. <"You've just caused a Level One structural cascade! The entire spire's stability is compromised! Do you have any idea—">>

"We're alive, Atri," Kalpit cut him off, his voice grim as he looked up through the new, jagged hole. "Get us to an exit."

<"...Right. Of course.">> Atri recalibrated, his mind shifting from system architect to escape artist. <"The... damage... has opened a direct path to sublevel 152. It's an arboretum. A terraforming research bay. Completely automated. Security will be minimal. They'll be focused on the structural damage below. Go up. The exterior access platform should be on the far side. Go!">>

The climb was easier now, through the wreckage. They hauled themselves through the hole in the ceiling and emerged into a different world.

The cold, mechanical chaos of the processor chamber was gone. They were in a massive, enclosed biodome. A humid, bio-luminescent jungle under a glass ceiling that showed the churning grey storm clouds outside. The air smelled of damp earth, exotic flowers, and rich chlorophyll. Automated sprinkler systems hissed, casting a fine mist over everything. Strange, genetically engineered birds with glowing feathers flitted through the canopy.

It was a perfect, artificial paradise. A pocket-sized SamsaraNet, built of matter instead of code. A beautiful, tranquil lie in the heart of the howling storm.

"A garden," Anasuya whispered, her weapon held low, her senses overwhelmed by the sudden, profound peace. "In a place like this."

They started to move through the lush foliage, the sounds of the spire's alarms feeling a world away. Their tense, combat-ready posture began to relax in the face of the overwhelming serenity. The place was an antechamber to heaven.

Kalpit, however, felt a deep, chilling wrongness. He reached out with his Anahata, feeling for the Prana of the life around him. He felt the strong, healthy pulse of the plants, the quick, vibrant sparks of the birds. But there was something else.

An undercurrent. A discordant note in the symphony of life. A single, powerful Prana signature that did not belong. It was ancient, patient, and utterly, terrifyingly cold.

It felt like a coiled snake, waiting in the heart of paradise.

Suddenly, from the branches of a massive, willow-like tree, a figure dropped to the path in front of them, landing as silently as a falling leaf.

It was not a guard. It was not a machine.

It was an old man, thin and wiry, with skin like stretched leather and a long, wispy white beard. He wore the simple, hand-spun robes of a hermit, and his eyes... his eyes were the most ancient things Kalpit had ever seen, holding a deep, unsettling amusement.

He was holding a simple wooden staff in one hand, and a bow carved from a single piece of black, gnarled wood in the other.

Anasuya instantly raised her rifle. "Identify yourself!"

The old man chuckled, a dry, rasping sound like rustling leaves.

"Names are for the transient," the hermit said, his voice quiet yet carrying through the entire biodome. "I am but a humble gardener. The last gardener, one might say." He looked Kalpit directly in the eye, and the younger man felt a jolt of recognition. Not for the man, but for his aura. His power signature.

It was a Prana he had felt before, through the memories Parashurama had shown him. A signature of an ancient being who was supposed to be a myth. A keeper of cosmic knowledge.

"But in another life, a very, very long time ago," the old man continued, a sharp, predatory smile gracing his lips, "you might have called me Markandeya."

His eyes glowed with a faint, chilling light. "Welcome to my garden, little Avatar. I have been expecting you."

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