Screeching metal echoed through the narrow canyon, a sound so violent it made the fillings in Apollo’s teeth ache. Rust-colored plates ground together as the ancient Colossus dragged itself from the rock face, shedding centuries of compressed dirt and stone. "Move!" Lyra screamed, throwing herself behind a jagged outcrop of black obsidian. Giant gears groaned within the machine's chest, venting a cloud of stale, pressurized air that smelled of ancient rust and ozone. Blue light flickered behind its heavy visor, slowly brightening from a dull spark to a blinding, cold glare. "It's a Hecaton Guard," Lyra yelled, her voice straining over the mechanical roar. "Old-world defense tech, predating the Celestial Empire by at least three millennia!" Sweeping its massive, iron-plated arm, the machine demolished a stone pillar as if it were made of dry clay. Apollo dove to the left, his vampiric reflexes kicking in just in time to avoid the shower of razor-sharp stone fragments. Cold hunger gnawed at his core, a dark, pulsing demand to feed, to drain, to survive. This wasn't a living creature, though; there was no blood to steal from this mountain of ancient iron. Another iron fist slammed into the earth, creating a miniature crater exactly where Apollo had been standing a second prior. Rocks rained down, pelted against his leather armor like shrapnel, bruising his skin beneath the fabric. Lyra raised her scavenged rifle, firing a stream of bright plasma bolts directly at the machine's primary optic. "My kinetic barriers won't hold against this!" she warned, her voice cracking as a stray shockwave knocked her off balance. Heavy physical ordinance was the Hecaton's specialty, throwing solid metal projectiles that ignored modern energy shielding. Apollo scrambled to his feet, his chest burning as he took a deep, ragged breath. Pain flared in his ribs, a sharp reminder of his narrow escape from the previous drone attack. Fighting his instinct to flee, he sprinted toward the machine, trying to find an opening in its iron joints. He couldn't let Lyra die here, and he couldn't let himself be left alone again in this desolate wasteland. Slowly, the Hecaton Guard pivoted, its targeting systems tracking his high-speed movement with terrifying precision. Massive iron barrels slid out from its shoulders, clicking into place with a series of heavy metallic thuds. Iron spikes, each the size of a short spear, launched from its shoulders in a deadly, crushing volley. Desperation took hold of Apollo as the projectiles tore through the air, leaving no room for escape. Reaching into his side satchel, his fingers brushed against the smooth, cold surface of the stolen artifact. Golden light exploded from the bag, blindingly bright, pouring through the fabric like liquid sunshine. It was a sensation of pure, untamed heat, a violent contrast to the cold, dark hunger of his vampiric blood. Veins in his forearms pulsed with brilliant gold, the energy rushing up his spine and erupting from his outstretched palms. Shimmering energy formed a massive, solid dome of golden light, locking into place just inches from his face. Iron spikes slammed into the barrier, detonating with the force of high-explosive artillery shells. Shockwaves rattled Apollo's teeth, but the golden shield held, absorbing the tremendous physical impact without a single crack. Apollo screamed, the raw power tearing through his nervous system, threatening to burn him from the inside out. Power, pure and divine, filled him with a wild, terrifying rush of adrenaline. Fear of this monstrous, unknown origin clawed at his mind, urging him to drop the artifact and run. Yet the sheer thrill of holding such absolute, unquestionable power made his heart hammer with dangerous excitement. With a final, desperate grunt, Apollo pushed his hands forward, channeling the remaining golden energy outward. Golden force swept across the cavern floor, a shockwave of light that slammed into the Hecaton Guard like a tidal wave. Metal screamed as the machine's heavy armor buckled, its massive legs snapping under the sudden, immense pressure. Sparks showered the stone floor as the ancient automaton collapsed, its blue visor flickering wildly before finally going dark. Silence fell over the canyon, heavy and thick, broken only by the sound of falling pebbles. Apollo collapsed to his knees, his hands trembling violently as the golden light receded into his skin. Gasping for breath, he stared at his palms, which were still tingling with the residual heat of the divine energy. "What was that?" Lyra asked, slowly stepping out from her cover, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. Lyra knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his shoulders as if afraid he might combust. "I don't know," Apollo whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "But it felt... incredible." Suddenly, his wrist-com burst to life, a high-pitched squeal of static cutting through the damp air. Static whined and hissed, a chaotic frequency that made both of them flinch and cover their ears. "Apollo... do you... copy?" a voice rasped through the speaker, weak, broken, but unmistakably familiar. Marcus's voice, heavy with pain and exhaustion, filtered through the interference, sending a chill down Apollo's spine. Cold sweat broke out on Apollo's forehead as he stared at the small screen, his fingers shaking as he pressed the receiver. "Marcus!" Apollo yelled into the mic. "Marcus, is that you? Where are you?" "Listen to me, boy," Marcus coughed, a wet, rattling sound that made Apollo's chest tighten. "Where are you? We can come get you!" Apollo demanded, his voice rising in panic. "No time... they have me in the lower facility..." Marcus gasped, his words fading into a sea of static. "They are starting... the ritual..." "What ritual?" Lyra pressed, leaning in close to the small speaker. "Celestial ritual... to consume the core... you have to... stop them... before..." Static swallowed the transmission entirely, leaving only a low, mocking hum that echoed through the silent canyon. Apollo stared at the dead receiver, the weight of his mentor's warning crashing down on him like a physical blow.

Chapter 9: Glimmers of a Shield