Chapter 145: Before the roar
This was not the first time that the Rootsite faced a Verdant Warden rank Behemorph, but the psychological impact was the same every time.
Afterall, despite the fact that the Nexus already indicated that there were Behemorphs beyond Verdant Warden rank out there inside the world of the Genesis Trials, they were yet to enter Earth with their profane powers.
So, Verdant Warden remained the peak of Behemorph terror.
They may have repelled some and even killed some since joining the Rootsite army, but facing a Verdant Warden rank Behemorph was never going to be an easy endeavor, hence the tension in the wall.
The south wall trembled under another distant step.
The Thorn Crown Behemoth hadn’t reached the Rootsite yet, but its shadow stretched across the horizon like a storm front. The roars were closer now, each one rattling windows and shaking the moss-lamps.
In the upper hall of the Verdant Spire, Clayton stood with his commanders.
Torren, Veyra, Kaelin, Soren, Harrick, Lorn, and Mirra; the Rootsite’s best. The eight who would decide if tonight ended in triumph or ruin.
The map of moss glowed between them, pulsing where the Behemorph’s path approached as the impending danger ticked like a ticking time bomb in their head.
They were the brain and fist behind the Rootsite army. They had responsibility; the life and death of the Rootsite warriors was on them and so they had to be meticulous for every large scale deployment.
Clayton’s willingness to fight Korrath without dragging the bulk of his army along showed how much he valued them.
Clayton looked around the circle. "This is our first major test as a city. We’ve fought Verdant Wardens before, but nothing like this".
"This is not a raid, neither is it a skirmish. This is a strong Verdant Warden." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it pressed into every chest. "If we survive this, we prove Atlanta and New Chicago are not prey. If we fail..."
He let the silence speak. No one needed the rest.
"Torren," Clayton called, turning first to his Sporelink. "You lead the wall charge. If the Behemoth reaches the gates, you are the first line. Pyreaxe, thorns, whatever it takes, you keep its eyes on you."
Torren grinned like he had been waiting for this moment all his life. "Good. I was starting to worry I’d be left guarding chickens."
Clayton ignored the joke. "Don’t overextend," he warned.
"If it locks onto you and pins you down, even you won’t walk away. Harrick covers your flanks. He will buy you room to swing."
Harrick nodded, grip tightening on his spear. "Understood. My wall is yours."
"Veyra," Clayton continued, "you are the point of our arrow. You keep its head down. If it tries to focus on the walls, you blind it. If it tries to aim those spines, you cripple them before they fire. Every arrow counts."
Veyra’s gaze was sharp, her new Artifact bow slung across her shoulder. "I’ve already marked the joints where the bark is weakest. I’ll clip it every time."
"Good," Clayton said.
He turned to the scouts, his eyes focused on Kaelin. "You’re shadows. If the Behemorph breaches, we can’t meet it head-on in the streets. You cut tendons. You lead it away. You bleed it piece by piece."
Kaelin smirked. "So... suicide runs, but prettier."
Clayton’s eyes didn’t blink. "No suicides. You break lines and live to break more. Understood?"
"Understood," Kaelin nodded. "But don’t expect me to look heroic while I do it, spies are never heroic".
Clayton just smiled.
"Soren," he said, shifting focus. "You keep the line steady. No panic. If the wall bends, you straighten it. If the Behemorph breaks through, you regroup fighters in the inner streets. You’re our second spine."
Soren’s face was stone, but there was fire behind his eyes. "The line won’t break. Not while I breathe."
Clayton accepted the promise.
"Lorn, Mirra." He looked at the two healers. "You’re the heart. You’ll run stations near the bunkers, not on the walls. I want every fighter who drops to be dragged to you alive. No delays, no waste."
"We’ll keep them breathing," Mirra said firmly.
"And I’ll keep their spirits steady," Lorn added. "Fear will creep in tonight, but I’ll root it out."
Clayton gave her a single grateful nod.
Then he turned to the group as a whole. "The civilians are sealed. Food and water will hold for weeks if needed. Bridges are grown, and bunkers are deep. They’ll be safe if we keep the Behemorph above."
Kaelin tilted his head. "And if it burrows?"
Clayton shook his head. "It won’t. Thorn Crown types don’t burrow. They smash, and they crush. Their gift is brute dominance."
Torren’s grin widened. "Sounds like me."
"Not even close," Clayton said.
The table chuckled softly. The humor was brittle, but it was a release.
Clayton placed his hand on the moss map. Roots stirred, showing lines of movement.
"Here’s the plan," he said. "We draw it to the south wall. Wardens hate challenges. If we roar, it roars back. We don’t wait for it to wander the city, we bait it to the wall and hold there."
"Once it’s locked on," Clayton continued, "Veyra keeps its eyes blind. Kaelin cuts where it can’t see. Torren and Harrick keep it busy up close. Soren locks the fighters in place. I..." He paused, voice low. "...I take its crown when the moment comes."
Silence stretched. They all knew what that meant.
The crown of a Verdant Warden wasn’t just bone. It was power, condensed Genesis Embers woven into living spines. To strike at it was to invite death. But if they could break it, the Behemorph’s body would collapse.
"Break the crown, break the beast," Torren said finally.
"Exactly," Clayton answered, then he asked. "Any questions?"
Veyra spoke first. "What if it ignores the bait? What if it goes for the east wall, or the Spire directly?"
Clayton traced another root-line. "Kaelin leads two squads of Initiates east. If the Behemoth shifts, you buy us time to rotate. But it won’t," he smiled. "Wardens love a direct challenge."
Soren frowned. "And if it does something we don’t expect?"
"Then we adapt," Clayton said simply. His eyes swept the circle. "You’ve all fought with me long enough. You know how I move. Follow the flow, not the words."
That earned nods from them.
For a moment, Clayton let silence fill the room. He studied each face again; Torren’s fire, Veyra’s precision, Kaelin’s sly calm, Soren’s discipline, Harrick’s strength, Lorn’s patience, and Mirra’s quiet resolve.
He felt the weight. Not just of their lives, but of everyone sealed in the bunkers below. A thousand souls now lived because of the Rootsite. A thousand souls who trusted him to stand.
"Two months ago, this place was rubble," Clayton said quietly. "Now it’s a city. Not perfect, not finished, but ours".
"If this Behemorph wants to test us, we answer. Tonight, the Rootsite proves it’s more than survival. Tonight, we show we can fight."
The words weren’t a shout. They didn’t need to be. They sank into every chest like seed into soil.
Torren slammed his fist into the table. "Let’s make it bleed."
The meeting broke. Orders spread down the walls like wildfire.
Archers strung bows and lined the parapets. Green Wardens sharpened spears and carried barrels of thorn-oil to pour if the Behemorph pressed too close.
Kaelin vanished into the streets, placing shadow marks, preparing escape routes. Soren drilled the fighters one last time, barking steady orders until the line moved like one creature.
Lorn and Mirra stocked their stations with roots and paste, moving calmly, their presence soothing the younger Initiates.
Veyra climbed to the highest tower, testing her new bow with silent draws. Each arrow she notched hummed like a live wire.
Torren sat on the wall edge, Pyreaxe resting across his knees, eyes locked on the horizon where dust clouds already swirled.
And Clayton... Clayton walked the Rootsite.
He touched the walls. He spoke to the guards. He laid his hand on the ironwood tree in the courtyard and felt the heartbeat of his domain.
He reminded himself that this wasn’t Echoterra. This wasn’t exile. This was home, and he would not let it burn.
Night fell slow and heavy. The lamps of the Rootsite glowed green against the darkness. From below came the muffled sound of children whispering in bunkers, parents telling stories to keep fear away.
From above came the creak of bows, the clink of armor, the quiet breathing of men and women waiting.
And in the distance... the roar.
It shook the air like thunder. The Behemorph was close now, too close to stall.
Clayton climbed to the south wall.
Torren rose beside him, while Veyra’s silhouette was sharp against the tower-light. Kaelin materialized at the parapet like smoke. Harrick stood with his spear braced, and Soren’s line held firm.
Clayton lifted his chin. "Positions. Hold till my mark."
The Rootsite exhaled as one.
The Behemorph was coming, and the Rootsite would write its first true battle-song.