The amber dome pulsed, vibrating the structural iron of the mega-bunker. Tariq’s face, grimy and grease-stained, projected across every display panel, a target reticle burning on his forehead. Farrah crouched beside him in the narrow duct, watching the screens. [DIVINE WAGER: TARGET DESIGNATED. VOID-WIELDER: TARIQ MORAD.] [PURGE PROTOCOL: ELIMINATE THE ANOMALY.] “Well, isn’t that just fantastic,” Tariq muttered, pushing himself back from the grate. “Now I’m famous. And not even for a decent sleep-in.” He squinted at the glowing reticle on his own face, visible on a nearby holographic display. “Do you think it comes with a sponsorship deal?” Farrah ignored him, scanning the stepped tiers below. The hydroponic tiers, engineered crops floating in aerated nutrient flumes, offered zero cover. “Move. Now.” Her fingers snapped shut on empty air at her hip; the previous shockwave had sent her spear tumbling into the foliage below. Boots clattered over sheet metal above them. “Ghalib Sector! Fan out! Purge the heretic!” “Ah, the local fan club,” Tariq sighed, rubbing his temples. “Always so enthusiastic.” He reached down, testing the vent cover. It groaned, but held. “Look, I get the urgency. But a guy needs his beauty rest. And these vents are surprisingly comfy.” Farrah bared her teeth. “They’ll flood the shaft with thermite. And without my weapon, I have no reach.” Tariq sighed. “Fine. Can't have you whining.” He ripped the grille free with a screech of shearing screws, exposing a thirty-foot drop into the planters. Seizing her shoulder, he dropped them both over the edge. They hit a catwalk above rows of phosphorescent flora, synthetic fertilizer stinging Tariq's nostrils. The duct overhead blew apart in a shower of sparks. The guildmaster from the lower barracks stepped through the breach, framed by auric plating and milky, pupilless eyes. A dozen mind-scraped regulars fanned out behind him along the catwalk, carbines and broadswords leveled. “Anomaly,” the guildmaster droned, his larynx vibrating with an unnatural synthetic harmony. “A blight against our wager.” He raised a gauntlet carved with radiant glyphs. “You will be purified.” Farrah shifted into a brawler’s stance, bare knuckles raised. “Back off, meat-puppet.” The leader flicked his wrist. A crescent of hard amber light hissed through the air. Farrah ducked; the edge sheared locks from her scalp and sliced a coolant line behind her into hissing steam. A second, wider arc coalesced above his fingers, aimed at her collarbone. Before the slash flew, a beam of kinetic force spiked downward into the lower planter, accompanied by a sharp crack. Farrah's spear rose into the air, caught in the leader's telekinetic grip. With a snap of his fingers, the obsidian point and reinforced alloy shaft fractured into shards, scattering into the dirt. Farrah sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers trembling against her thighs. “Crude metal,” the guildmaster sneered. “Worthless against divine favor.” Tariq stepped past Farrah, his slouch vanishing. His jaw set flat. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “She spent three weeks polishing that shaft.” The puppet sneered. “And what will you do, mechanic?” Tariq opened his palm toward the soil. Black frost crawled outward, rotting the engineered mulch into foul sludge. A wet, rhythmic clicking vibrated through the metal grating. From the rancid loam, the severed root bundles, and the drain pipes beneath their boots, dead matter began to churn. Swarms of dead centipedes the size of forearm bones boiled out of the drains, followed by skeletal trench-rats bound together by black miasma. Bloated sewer beetles and necrotic possums scrambled up the catwalk mesh in an unbroken wave, clacking hollow mandibles. The guildmaster’s smirk died. The enthralled fighters behind him lowered their carbines, targeting systems confused by thousands of biological heat signatures registering at zero degrees. “Pests,” Tariq murmured. “Bunker maintenance never cleans the culverts properly.” The tide crashed over the line of armored retainers. Screams choked off as necrotic carapaces swarmed legs, chests, and visors, pulling men down onto the grating. Glyphs flared and detonated, but the mass extinguished every burst of divine fire under sheer volume of rotting meat. In ten seconds, only stripped gear and dissolving ash remained on the metal walkway. The guildmaster backed away, raising trembling hands to conjure another disc of fire, but the dead vermin ringed his boots. Tariq flicked his wrist. A jet-black spike punched through the leader's forehead, right where the projected reticle sat. The man went limp, hitting the catwalk with a dull thud as the divine luster drained from his skin. [DIVINE WAGER: ASCENDED PLAYER DEFEATED. ESSENCE RECLAIMED.] [DIVINE WAGER: BONUS REWARD INITIATED – SHADOW AURA IMPROVEMENT.] A tear in space popped beside Tariq. Vazgarok the Annihilator materialized, his towering abyssal bulk squeezed into a ruffled white lace apron. He held a silver tray balanced on clawed obsidian fingertips, steam rising from a bone-china pot. “Earl Grey, master,” Vazgarok rumbled, pouring amber liquid into a cup without spilling a drop over the carnage. He bowed stiffly and offered the second cup to Farrah, who stared between the horned behemoth and the puddle of ash at her feet. “Tea time,” Tariq said, taking a sip, a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked at Farrah, her expression a mix of shock and reluctant awe. “See? Problem solved. Now, about that nap…” Fabric rustled behind a three-story nutrient tank. Jalil strolled onto the ledge, smoothing the lapels of his immaculate silk robes while offering a slow, measured applause. “Pest control as an offensive doctrine. Resourceful, Morad.” “Did you just pop out of a plant pot?” Farrah demanded, recovering her voice. “Where were you when we were being hunted?” Jalil spread his hands. “Surveying the perimeter. That ceiling barrier is an anchor tethered to the divine emissary’s throne. Formidable, but vulnerable to interference.” Tariq raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And you just happen to have a convenient ‘unbreaking’ solution?” Jalil stepped over a dead beetle. “I can collapse the dome from the terminal hub, provided someone inserts a bypass key inside the primary sanctum. Right where the entity sits.” He offered a venomous smile. “A frontal assault against the celestial boss that just tried to glass you. Fail, and you become divine fuel.” Tariq took a measured sip of tea, the cup rattling slightly against the saucer. To dismantle the lockdown, he would have to march directly into the high command center, face the creature that commanded the purge, and risk his own soul. It wasn't an escape plan; it was suicide.

Guild Fodder