Day 1, Rootsite Chamber, Forgotten Atlanta Expanse.
Clayton lay cradled by sentient roots in the sunken chamber, the Mycoglyphs' eerie glow bathing his scarred body.
His Heartseed Core pulsed weakly, plasma burns and psychic wounds from the Verdant Apostate's Echoes of Ruin and the Ironblood's Null Lance screaming with every breath.
The Rootsite, 100 square kilometers of thorn and ash was his, anchored by the Earthcore Nexus, but the cost had been brutal.
His 32 Initiate Ember Behemorph minions patrolled via Aphid Network, their Hive-Sight flashing: Thorn Hounds prowling, Howl Shriekers stalking the terrain, Ash Sprites flickering, Spore Drifters cloaking.
They were his eyes, his claws, but too few to secure a territory teeming with threats.
"Three hundred thirty years," he muttered, blood crusting his lips, dark humor sharp. "And I'm still napping in a death trap".
