The southern border of Sector 9 faced the endless, toxic expanse known as the Deep Wastesâa barren desert of rusted iron mountains and radioactive dust storms where the failed experiments of the Federation were dumped to rot.
Standing at the edge of the massive iron gate, Jax and a squad of heavily armed militia stood their ground, their modified kinetic rifles trained on the three massive, heavily armored scrap-haulers parked in the neon mist outside the perimeter.
The haulers weren't sleek like Federation tech. They were jagged, welded monsters covered in spikes, bone trophies from waste beasts, and painted with crude, glowing purple runes that matched Asherâs own demonic sigils.
Asher walked out of the gate, Lucy and Ren flanking him. The toxic air of the wastes, which would cause a normal humanâs lungs to bleed within minutes, didn't even register to his Level 6 Cyber-Demon physiology.
From the lead vehicle, a towering figure stepped down.
The creature was over two and a half meters tall, its body a grotesque but powerful fusion of flesh and rusted industrial machinery. One of its arms was a massive hydraulic claw, and its face was covered by a crude iron mask with three glowing optical lenses.
"I am Chief Garm of the Iron-Blood Tribe," the creature roared, its voice sounding like two grinding tectonic plates. It looked at Asher, its optical lenses zooming in on the massive black horns and the blue fusion light pulsing beneath Asher's chest carapace.
Garm suddenly dropped to one knee, slamming his massive hydraulic claw into the radioactive dirt.
"The rumors in the wind were true," Garm boomed. "The Abyss Altar has spoken. A True Sovereign has broken the steel cage of the city. The Iron-Blood Tribe offers our loyalty to the Cyber-Demon Vanguard."
The militia fighters gasped, looking at each other in disbelief. The mutated tribes of the wastes were infamous for their feral cruelty, having slaughtered dozens of Federation resource expeditions over the years. Now, they were kneeling.
"What is the meaning of this tribute, Garm?" Asher asked coldly, his hands resting easily at his sides, though his system was already analyzing the mutantâs stats.
"We bring gifts for the war to come, Sovereign," Garm said, gesturing to the back of the scrap-haulers. The tarps were pulled back, revealing crates of rare, unrefined Abyssal Dark-Iron Ore andâmore importantlyâthree intact, black-market Military Mech-Cores.
"But we also bring a warning," Garmâs middle lens flared red. "The Federation high command on the orbital platform The Olympus-9 has already mobilized. They have bypassed the regional sector governors. They have hired the Specter Corporate Mercenary Group to purge Sector 9. They aren't coming to retake the city, Sovereign... they are coming to turn the entire district into a crater."
Asherâs crimson eyes flashed with a cold, predatory light. "Let them try. Nora, take the cores and the ore. Jax, integrate Garmâs vanguard into our defensive line. Lucy, we rewrite the defense plan. We aren't going to wait for them to land at the plaza."
Asher looked up at the grey, toxic clouds, his gaze piercing through the smog toward the stars. "Weâre going to intercept them in the sky."