The sunken chamber in the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse was a crucible of chaos, Mycoglyphs flaring like the eyes of a waking god.
Clayton Hunt knelt by the root cluster, his humanoid form bloodied, Heartseed Core teetering on collapse as the Verdant Apostate's Echoes of Ruin surged; a spectral wave of psychic despair, her ghostly tendrils screaming with betrayed oaths.
The Ironblood Remnants, led by Commander Drayce, fired plasma lances, their Null Lance charging to burn both Clayton and the Apostate.
Torn in between both, Clayton felt like he was not just losing himself physically, but mentally too. His sanity was being pushed to the brink.
Survival was a marathon away.
And yet, spite kept him going.
His Verdant Lord form, incomplete but radiant, shielded him with thorned vines, Core Maw snapping at spectral threads, but his Genesis Threshold was a heartbeat from shattering.
"Everybody wants a piece of me," Clayton rasped, blood staining his smirk, dark humor defiant.
