“Well, Zaydun?” Master Tarak’s voice cut through the drone of dying servos, pulling Zaydun’s focus from the molten heat anchored between his shoulder blades. The old curator’s lids narrowed, devoid of their usual sleepy indulgence. “Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps, the Scrapper-beast got your spine?”
Zaydun straightened, wincing as the fresh ceramite ground against his vertebrae. He flashed his most disarming, utterly fake smile. “Master Tarak! What a surprise! Just… admiring the local fauna, you know. A bit hands-on. Always wondered what these critters were made of.” He gestured vaguely at the mangled beast carcass, then at his own glowing back. “Looks like I found out.”
Tarak’s smile was thin, knowing. “Indeed. A rather… intimate interaction. And one not typically part of the ‘Librarian (Tier F)’ curriculum, I believe.” He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on Zaydun’s pulsing spine. “Tell me, Zaydun, how does one go from cataloging ancient data-slates to tearing apart a Grade Alpha Scrapper-beast with one’s bare hands?”
“Oh, just good, old-fashioned elbow grease, Master,” Zaydun lied smoothly, trying to remember if ‘elbow grease’ was a real term or something he’d made up. “And a sudden urge to, uh, tidy up. This place was getting a bit messy, wasn’t it?” He gestured around the shattered chamber, a masterpiece of understatement.
Tarak chuckled, a dry, rustling sound like turning brittle data-leaves. “A tidy-up, you say. Fascinating. Most Awakened youths, when faced with a beast breach, run screaming for the Enforcer-Guard. You, on the other hand, appear to have… integrated it.” He circled Zaydun slowly, his eyes calculating. “Such a unique talent, particularly for one relegated to baseline indexing. One might even say… invaluable.”
Zaydun’s internal greed meter spiked. “Invaluable, you say? Well, I do aim to please. Always looking for opportunities to contribute. For a fair, competitive rate, of course.”
Tarak stopped, facing him. “A rate, naturally. But first, sanctuary. The Upper Spires will not be pleased about your… unconventional defense of the Archives. The Enforcer-Guard will be here soon to ‘clean up’ your mess, and likely, you along with it. However, I believe your newfound ‘tidying’ ability could be… nurtured. Here, in the depths of the Archives.”
Zaydun felt a cold prickle. Being ‘cleaned up’ by the Enforcer-Guard usually meant a one-way trip to the Reclamation Vats. “Sanctuary? And ‘nurtured’ how, exactly?”
“A special curriculum,” Tarak said, his voice soft but firm. “One tailored to your… unique metabolic quirks. There are many more broken sectors down here, Zaydun. Occasions, if you will, to truly test the limits of your potential. Think of it as an apprenticeship. With, of course, a generous stipend for services rendered.”
A stipend! Zaydun’s eyes gleamed. He was banished, scorned, and now, mysteriously, in possession of a System that craved scrap metal and a mentor offering to *pay* him to get more. This was the universe telling him to double down. “Deal, Master Tarak. I’m your man. Or, uh, your librarian.”
Tarak’s smile widened, showing surprisingly strong, white teeth for an old man. “Excellent. Follow me.”
He led Zaydun deeper into the lower vaults, past rows of ancient data-stacks, down a spiraling ramp that cut into bedrock. The air grew cooler, infused with the scent of ozone and synthetic lubricants. They stopped before a reinforced durasteel door, humming with contained energy. Etched above it were the words: ‘Section Rho – Combat Grid-Zones. Restricted Access.’
“This is where we test your threshold, Zaydun,” Tarak announced, his palm resting on a biometric scanner. The door hissed open, revealing a cavernous chamber. Holographic projectors hummed across the ceiling, casting shimmering grid lines onto the polished floor.
“Impressive,” Zaydun muttered, eyeing the empty space. “So, when do I get to fight something? A Level 1 spar drone? Maybe a stray data-moth?”
Tarak’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, something a little more substantial, I think. We need to assess your baseline. Activate Grid-Zone 7. Threat profile: Level 4. Simulated Dread-Hounds. Three units. Copper-alloy grade.”
Zaydun choked. “Copper grade? Master Tarak, I’m an archivist! My combat rating is ‘pathetic to the point of comedy’! I barely survived one Scrapper-beast that was already half-dead!”
“Exactly,” Tarak said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Now, get in.” He gave Zaydun a gentle push. “Your stipend depends on it.”
Swearing under his breath, Zaydun stumbled into the grid-zone. The door hissed shut behind him. The air shimmered, solidifying. Three hulking, four-legged machines materialized, their optical sensors glowing a menacing ruby. Their bodies were sleek, armored in dull cupric sheets, their talons extended. Dread-Hounds.
[Warning: Threat Level Exceeds User Capabilities. Suggestion: Initiate Evasive Maneuvers. Run, tiny meat-sack.]
“Shut up,” Zaydun hissed at the holographic interface. The first Dread-Hound lunged, a snarling blur of dull alloy and whining servo-motors. Zaydun dodged clumsily, the beast’s claws tearing a furrow in the grid-floor where his head had been moments before. He scrambled back, the beast’s synthetic snarl echoing in the chamber.
[Error: Evasion Suboptimal. Suggestion: Engage structural analysis. Where’s the shiny stuff, user?]
He focused, adrenaline surging. He could feel the alloy plates, their density, their lattice structure, humming with stored kinetic charge. The beast closed in, its jaws snapping. Zaydun saw an opening, a flicker of weakness at the hound’s leg joint, exposed as it pivoted. He lunged, not to attack, but to *bite*. He clamped his teeth down on the calf plating, an acrid chemical tang flooding his tongue.
[Assimilation initiated. Target: Dread-Hound (Bronze-Tier). Component: Chassis Plating. Analyzing. Assimilating.]
A sharp discharge cracked through his jaw, stinging down his neck. The composite rim softened, melting directly across his cheekbones. A heavy reddish patina spread from his jawline, hardening over his skin. The Dread-Hound shrieked, a shrill pneumatic whine, and thrashed, knocking Zaydun away.
[Assimilation complete. New Trait Unlocked: Bronze-Plated Jaw. Durability: +12%. Chewing Power: Substantial. Suggestion: Repeat for full body coverage. Shiny, shiny!]
His jaw throbbed, solid as a cast-iron skillet. The other two hounds circled, optical sensors tracking his pulse. The math was simple: chew or get pulped. Greed kicked past his panic. He wasn’t just brawling; he was feeding.
Suddenly, the observation deck above the grid-zone blazed with light. Inaya slammed through the seal, her crest pinned over an officer's tunic, dark braids snapping over her shoulders.
“Master Tarak!” Inaya’s voice, sharp and precise, cut through the hum of the grid-zone. “What is the meaning of this? Why is *he* here? And in a combat grid? You know my family’s honor demands he be expelled, banished to the Outer Rims, not coddled in your personal training grounds!”
Tarak, perched calmly on a observation chair, merely smiled, steepled his fingers. “Ah, Inaya. Perfect timing. Come, observe. Zaydun is merely undergoing a rather… unique remedial course.”
Inaya scoffed, her gaze dropping to the grid-zone. Her eyes narrowed in disgust as she saw Zaydun, now with a faint bronze tint to his jaw, wrestling with a Dread-Hound. “Remedial? He’s worthless! He belongs in a data-stack, not a combat simulation!”
The crackle of her voice sparked straight into Zaydun’s pride. He didn't yell; he bared his heavy copper-clad teeth. He dodged a claw swipe from one hound, spun, and with a burst of shocking, unexpected strength, grabbed the second Dread-Hound by its neck and leg. He torqued his hips, the fused ceramite along his spine locking into an unyielding fulcrum, and slammed the four-hundred-pound quadruped overhead, caving its chassis against the deck. Its optical sensors flickered, then died.
[Dread-Hound (Bronze-Tier) incapacitated. Core exposure detected. Suggestion: Ingest. Assimilation opportunity!]
Before Inaya could snap out another insult, Zaydun shoved both hands into the torn chassis, shredding internal conduits. He dragged out the humming cupric reactor and smashed it flat against his bare forearms.
[Assimilation initiated. Target: Dread-Hound (Bronze-Tier). Component: Power Core. Analyzing. Assimilating.]
Inaya went rigid against the observation glass as the reactor melted into slag, seeping directly through his pores. His muscles ballooned, bone density cracking upward as ribbed copper sleeves locked over his ulnae. Striated metal casings bound tight around his wrists, hissing as excess steam bled off his knuckles.
[Assimilation complete. New Trait Unlocked: Bronze-Piston Arms. Strength: +25%. Striking Power: Significant. Congratulations, user. You’re slightly less squishy.]
Zaydun stood over the wreckage, his copper-sleeved forearms venting faint trails of smoke beneath the ceiling projectors. He locked onto Inaya's frozen stare through the partition and grinned.
“Sorry, ex-fiancée,” he said, his voice ringing with a deep acoustic reverb, “I only date girls who can bench-press a troop carrier.”