The all-terrain vehicle, an antique piece of military hardware, rattled violently over the ruptured, desolate highways leading out of Valmorah City. Curse Blonde drove, the wind whipping past her face, smelling of coastal salt and burnt ozone from the Crownlight's final collapse. Beside her, Valis monitored the antiquated comms equipment, listening for any external traffic.
The landscape of Demise Country was a testament to King Alderon's slow, psychological suffocation. Outside the city limits, houses and small settlements stood silent and perfectly intact, frozen in time. They hadn't been destroyed; they had simply been abandoned by the vanished.
"The silence out here is different," Curse noted, gripping the wheel. "It's not oppressive; it's mournful. It's the sound of a country that simply stopped breathing."
Valis pulled the data crystal—containing the Vanishment Registry and the damning Foreign Trade Records—from his temporary shield and secured it to the comms panel. "We need to cover fifty kilometers fast. The port radio tower is our only clean uplink. If the Northern Coalition had scout ships on the perimeter, they felt the shield fail an hour ago. They'll be sending patrols now."
They drove for another hour without incident, the true black sky above them a constant, terrifying beacon. The nation that had hidden itself for five years was now exposed and vulnerable.
As they crested a ridge overlooking the sprawling, empty coastal plains, Valis's face tightened. "Curse, slow down. I'm picking up high-frequency chatter. Military grade, coded, and rapidly closing in on the coast."
He adjusted the frequency, and the raw, clipped speech of a foreign military broadcast filled the cabin—cold, efficient, and utterly invasive.
"It's the Northern Coalition," Valis confirmed grimly. "They deployed immediately. Three scout-class Ether ships, moving fast. Their objective is to secure the source of the Shield collapse and, critically, the Citadel. They are not coming for dialogue; they are coming for conquest."
"We won't make it to the port first," Curse calculated, slamming her foot down on the accelerator. "The port tower is too visible. They will intercept us or destroy the beacon before we can transmit the data. We need a secondary broadcast point."
She scanned the dilapidated coastal landscape. The land here was flat, scarred by old, pre-Crownlight wars. Her eyes fell on a towering, defunct structure about ten kilometers inland: an abandoned Ether-Mining Derrick.
"The Derrick," Curse decided. "It's metal, high, and was used to pump Ether from the ground before Alderon perfected the soul-binding. It will have residual energy and enough height for a burst broadcast. It's our only chance to get ahead of the Coalition."
Valis quickly rerouted their GPS, sending them careening off the main road onto a rough, crumbling service track. The race was on.
🛰️ The Derrick Ascent
The Ether-Mining Derrick loomed like a grotesque skeleton against the newly risen sun. It was a massive, skeletal tower of rust-red iron, its machinery fused by years of disuse and residual Ether corruption.
They brought the vehicle to a jarring stop at the base. The Coalition ships were still minutes away, but they were closing fast.
"We need to get the antenna up to the top platform," Curse said, grabbing the portable Ether-Link pack. "Valis, you handle the power source. We need to channel every remaining ounce of raw Ether from this structure into a single pulse. It has to be powerful enough to punch through their jamming."
The ascent was brutal. The old access ladder was unstable, slick with rust and flaking Ether decay. They climbed in silence, straining against gravity and the clock.
As they reached the central maintenance platform—a dizzying hundred meters above the ground—Valis secured the uplink terminal.
"The residual energy is weak," Valis panted, connecting a jumper cable to a massive, defunct power coil. "It won't power a sustained signal, only a twenty-second burst. That's all the time we have to transmit the Registry and the Foreign Trade Records."
Curse began the process of attaching the modified broadcast antenna to the derrick's highest railing. She looked up and saw them—three sleek, low-flying military Ether ships, gliding silently over the distant ridge toward the coast.
"They're here," Curse stated, her voice tight. "Valis, prepare the data. I'll get this link secured."
She finished the antenna connection, the wind nearly tearing her off the narrow platform. As she turned back to the terminal, the lead Coalition ship broke formation, its nose dipping aggressively.
"They've spotted the derrick," Valis announced. "They're locking on. They think we're trying to reactivate Alderon's system."
The ship fired a warning shot—a massive, emerald-green Ether bolt. The bolt struck the ground fifty meters from the derrick's base, exploding with a deafening CRACK that shook the entire structure. Shrapnel and rock rained down around them.
"They're going to destroy the tower!" Valis yelled, slamming his hand down on the terminal. "The data is queued! Curse, give me covering fire!"
Curse didn't hesitate. She grabbed her Ether Rifle and aimed at the incoming ship. Her refined Ether rounds were designed for targeted disruption, not shield penetration, but she had to buy Valis the seconds he needed.
She fired a sustained burst, aiming at the ship's exposed maneuvering thrusters. The ship's shields deflected the rounds, but the disruption was enough to force the pilot to swerve and momentarily pause their attack run.
"Transmitting!" Valis shouted. The terminal's screen flashed violently, indicating the massive data packet containing the Vanishment Registry and the Foreign Trade Records was being launched into the global network.
The process was agonizingly slow. The Coalition ship, recovering from the initial disruption, locked back on. This time, it didn't fire a warning shot.
A second, larger emerald-green bolt lanced through the air, aimed directly at the center of the derrick.
"Hit the deck!" Valis screamed.
The blast was catastrophic. It struck the main support beam twenty meters below their platform. The tower groaned, the air filled with the screech of tortured metal, and the entire structure began to lean.
Curse felt the platform jerk violently beneath her. Valis was thrown against the terminal.
"Data packet sent! It's out!" Valis coughed, struggling to his feet.
"Then we go!" Curse grabbed Valis, looking down at the ground—a hundred-meter drop into certain death.
The Coalition ships, satisfied that the threat was neutralized, began to peel away, turning their attention back toward the primary target: the now-exposed Citadel.
Curse looked at the collapsing structure, then back at the retreating ships. They had won the broadcast, but they were trapped.
"Our mission is complete, Commander," Curse said, pulling the silver dagger from her belt. "The truth is out. Now, we fight for our lives."
With a desperate, chaotic heave, she drove the silver dagger into the iron strut of the platform and prepared for the dizzying descent, knowing that the data they had just sent would invite not aid, but the full, predatory attention of the entire outside world.