Chapter 57: Chapter 57: The First Tremor

The sound of the rift tearing did not resemble the simple cracking of stone. Instead, it was the sound of space-time itself being forcibly shredded by invisible, titanic hands. The air within The Deep Steam Vents underwent a violent, unnatural shift; the sweltering geothermal heat was suddenly sucked into the void, replaced by a soul-chilling, freezing draft that made the moisture in the air crystallize into frost on the pipes. A thick, oily black fog began to hemorrhage from the Void Breach, which had now expanded to a jagged three-meter diameter, casting a terrifying silhouette against the bruised purple glow of the dimension beyond.

GRAAAAAAAWR!

The roar did not originate from an organic vocal cord. It was a frequency of pure distortion, a jagged wave of sound that made Dayat’s ears ring with a deafening, metallic whine. From within the flickering violet maw, dozens of small yet muscular creatures began to scramble out. They were Dretches—pallid, gray-skinned monstrosities with flesh that looked like a corpse soaked in vinegar for a century. Their tiny, lidless red eyes twitched in hunger, and their mouths dripped with a yellowish, corrosive bile that hissed as it touched the basalt floor. Behind them, smaller Imps with tattered leathery wings began to circle the ceiling, their shrill, high-pitched laughter echoing as they gathered spheres of black, entropic fire in their clawed hands.

“Fall back! Everyone, fall back!” Lunethra’s voice cut through the chaos. She slammed the base of her staff into the floor, creating a Barrier of Light—a shimmering dome of silver-gold energy that acted as a sanctuary for the paralyzed Dwarf Elders. “Elder Balthor! This is no longer a mere prophecy! This is an active invasion!”

Elder Balthor trembled, but his fear was eclipsed by a fanatical light in his blind eyes. “The Sky-Light… she must be protected! The Messenger of the Maiden cannot fall into the hands of the Abyss!”

Dayat ignored the Elder’s ramblings. His eyes were locked on Dola. She was still on her knees, staring down at her synthetic hand, which was now blackened and smoking from the Void’s corrosive touch. She looked fragile, a rare state for a Bio-Synthetic unit that usually held the answer to every problem.

“Dola! Wake up! Don’t let those whispers win!” Dayat lunged forward, his boots skidding on the frost-covered stone as he grabbed her shoulders.

Dola looked up. At the corner of her electric-blue eyes, a clear, shimmering liquid began to form. It wasn’t oil, and it wasn’t industrial coolant. They were artificial tears, a physical manifestation of an emotional system being pushed to its absolute limit.

“Subject Dayat… system detecting critical logic failure,” Dola’s voice was a fractured melody, interrupted by static glitches. “Why… why do you address me as ’Wife’? Technically, I am a support unit… a tool for your survival…”

“Because you’re not a machine to me, you idiot! Now get up, or we’re both going to die in this hole!” Dayat barked, his hands gripping her with a strength born of desperation.

At the sight of Dayat in danger, something buried deep within Dola’s core—a protocol dormant for ten thousand years—suddenly pulsed with the power of a dying sun.

[WARNING: ’The Maiden of Steel’ Protocol: ACTIVE.]

[SYNCHRONIZATION: 5%.]

[LIMITING OUTPUT: PREVENTING BIOLOGICAL VESSEL COLLAPSE.]

Dola’s eyes, previously dim, suddenly erupted with an intensity that was blinding. The sapphire glow didn’t just flicker; it projected outward like twin lasers. Her internal temperature surged so rapidly that the frost on the surrounding stone boiled into steam instantly.

“Threat detected. Commencing elimination procedure,” Dola spoke. Her voice had transformed into a terrifying layer of her soft digital tone and a deep, booming goddess-like authority.

A Dretch leaped toward Dayat, its obsidian claws aimed directly at his jugular. Dayat didn’t have time to manifest a new weapon. His hand instinctively reached for the handle of the Diamond-Core Industrial Drill (Hilti DD 250) that was still anchored to the stone nearby.

“Taste Earth’s construction logic, you freak!”

Dayat pulled the trigger. The heavy-duty motor roared to life, the synthetic diamond bit spinning at a staggering 1000 RPM. When the Dretch’s skull met the bit, there was no resistance. The industrial diamond, designed to chew through the hardest granite on Earth, obliterated the demon’s head like a heavy-duty blender through rotted fruit. Black blood and fragments of demonic bone sprayed across Dayat’s face, but he didn’t stop.

He swung the heavy drill like a motorized mace, shattering the shoulder of another Dretch into a fine powder. But they were being swarmed. The Imps on the ceiling were beginning their dive.

I need long-range stopping power! Dayat screamed in his mind. He closed his eyes for a micro-second, pulling the memory of the weapon that had saved him in Bakasa. He visualized the weight of the receiver, the kick of the gas-piston system, and the tactile click of the fire selector.

[MANIFESTATION: HK416 ASSAULT RIFLE – 5.56x45mm NATO.]

In a flash of brilliant purple-gold particles, the tactical rifle materialized in his left hand. Without hesitation, Dayat leveled the muzzle at the swarm of Imps above.

RATATATATATAT!

The sound of the gunfire in the enclosed stone corridor was deafening, sounding like a series of rhythmic cannon blasts. The Full Metal Jacket rounds exited the barrel at 900 meters per second. In the world of Aethera, pure kinetic velocity of this scale was an anomaly. The bullets tore through the Imps’ wings and chests before they could release their fireballs, their small, broken bodies thudding onto the stone floor like discarded meat.

However, in the corner of the corridor, a shadow moved with malicious intent. Galdur, the Minister of Tradition, emerged from behind a cluster of ruptured steam pipes. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. He clutched a heavy forging hammer etched with destructive runes. He didn’t aim for the demons; he aimed his weapon at Dayat, intending to use the chaos to erase the “Anomaly” once and for all.

“Die, you lowly filth!” Galdur screamed.

But before Galdur could swing his hammer, a massive tremor shook the entire sector. The ceiling above him, weakened by the Void earthquake, gave way. A massive stone pillar weighing several tons plummeted toward the floor.

BRAAAAAAK!

Galdur had no time to dodge. The pillar crushed the lower half of his body, pinning his legs against the basalt with a sound of snapping bone that was sickeningly clear. Galdur let out a shriek of agony that was swallowed by the demonic roars.

“Help me! Human! Save me!” Galdur wailed, his face turning a ghostly white as three Dretches began to crawl toward him, drawn by the scent of fresh Dwarven blood.

Dayat turned his head for a brief moment. His eyes met Galdur’s—eyes filled with pathetic, sniveling terror. Dayat remembered how this man had tried to frame him, how he had sabotaged his lathe, and how he had locked the doors to let him rot.

Dayat lowered his rifle slightly. He did not fire at the demons closing in on the Minister.

“I’m not a hero, Galdur. And I haven’t forgotten the bill you owe me,” Dayat said coldly. He turned his back, ignoring Galdur’s hysterical screams as the demons’ claws began to tear through his ornate armor. Dayat had a higher priority: Dola.

Dola was moving like a blur of blue light. With her Maiden synchronization at 5%, her physical capabilities had reached an illogical level. She wasn’t using a gun. Her synthetic skin-covered hands moved with surgical precision, thrusting through demonic hearts or snapping necks with a single, effortless jerk.

But with every kill, her system issued a screaming OVERHEAT warning. Her internal temperature hit 85°C and continued to climb. The strangest part, however, was her expression. Dola was still crying. The tears flowed continuously, evaporating against her own heated skin and creating a fine mist of steam around her.

“Dayat… temperature… too high…” Dola whispered amidst the fray. She slammed a Dretch into the wall with enough force to liquefy its organs, but her steps were becoming erratic. “Motor efficiency dropping… these tears… are interfering with visual sensors…”

“Don’t push it, Dol! Stop!” Dayat sprinted toward her, gunning down a demon that tried to flank her.

Suddenly, from the direction of the main tunnel, the thunderous blast of a Dwarven war-horn echoed through the vents. It was a deep, resonant sound that carried the weight of the mountain.

VUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

“Hold your positions! Earth-Shielders, Turtle Formation!”

Kancil and Durn appeared at the vanguard, leading a platoon of Dwarves in heavy plate armor that glowed with a golden enchantment. In their center stood Master Ironbeard, the King of Terragard, wielding a gargantuan warhammer wreathed in magma-lightning.

“Human! You’re still breathing, I see!” Ironbeard roared. He swung his hammer into the floor, creating a seismic shockwave that sent a dozen demons flying. “Kancil and the apprentice reported the demonic gate. It seems I’m too late to see your industrial drill in action!”

The Earth-Shielders closed ranks, forming an impenetrable wall of steel around Dayat, Dola, and the Elders. They were the elite of the elite. With their massive axes, they began to clear the remaining Dretches with terrifying efficiency.

Dayat caught Dola as her legs finally gave way. Her skin was searingly hot, nearly burning his palms through his gloves.

“Dol? Dola!”

Dola looked at Dayat, her eyes slowly fading back to their normal sapphire blue. The Maiden mode had disengaged. She leaned her head against his chest, her remaining tears soaking into his jacket.

“Data… archived. You… really did save me,” Dola whispered before her system entered Emergency Hibernation to cool her core.

Master Ironbeard approached, staring at Galdur, who was now unconscious—or perhaps dead—beneath the pillar in a gruesome state. The King then turned his gaze to the HK416 in Dayat’s hand with a look of intense scrutiny and respect.

“This gate must be sealed permanently, Human. But today, you have proven that your logic is more real than the faith of these old men,” Ironbeard said, clapping Dayat’s shoulder with a heavy iron gauntlet. “Take your wife to the coolant tanks in my workshop. The political fallout… I will handle that.”

Dayat nodded weakly. He hoisted Dola onto his shoulders, stepping over the piles of demonic corpses and shattered stone toward the flickering light at the end of the tunnel. The first tremor had passed, but he knew this was merely the prelude to the real storm.

The Workshop Sanctuary

Dayat carried Dola through the corridors, feeling the residual heat radiating from her chassis. Kancil ran beside him, his eyes alert as he gripped a vibrating dagger.

“Bang Dayat! Why was Kak Dola crying back there?” Kancil asked, his breath coming in short gasps.

Dayat didn’t answer immediately. He looked back at Master Ironbeard, who was already issuing orders to build a steam-barricade around the Void Breach.

“She’s just… learning how to be human, Kancil,” Dayat replied softly.

Durn, the Dwarf apprentice, followed with a face full of awe and lingering terror. “Lord Dayat, the weapon you used… the explosions… the sound… that wasn’t normal fire magic. It was a controlled blast. How can a small piece of iron fly that fast?”

Dayat glanced at Durn. “That’s called Physics, kid. If we survive this, I’ll teach you how to forge a projectile that can punch through dragon-scale without saying a single word of a chant.”

Durn’s eyes lit up. Despite the threat to his city, his Dwarven inventor’s instinct was stronger than his fear.

Meanwhile, Lunethra approached Elder Balthor, who was still trembling. “You saw it, didn’t you? She wept. The Messenger of the Maiden you worship as ’Iron Logic’ just displayed human emotion. If that gate opens fully, she is not just the key to salvation—she is their primary target.”

Balthor nodded slowly, his blind eyes staring in the direction Dayat and Dola had gone. “The prophecy is shifting. She is no longer the envoy of the Fallen Machine. That human… Hidayat… he has rewritten her circuits’ destiny.”

Dayat reached the main workshop. He immediately laid Dola into a Coolant Tank usually used for quenching forged steel. He filled the tank with pure water and mana-ice crystals.

“Temperature stable at 42°C… dropping,” Dayat muttered, monitoring the small holographic display projected from Dola’s wrist. He sat on the floor beside the tank, his HK416 resting across his lap, a lone sentinel guarding a goddess of gears.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep