The Nexus dimmed to a low, pulsing hum.
The mech stood motionless before him — complete in form, yet hollow in purpose. Its armor gleamed with the deep metallic blue of twilight, faint streams of cerulean light crawling under its surface like veins under translucent skin. It breathed in slow, mechanical rhythm, the heat of its inner workings fogging the cold air.
Erevos loomed before him, towering like a cathedral of cobalt steel.
The mech's silhouette was all power and elegance — a reflection of Karl's intent and struggle. Its armor rippled faintly, reacting to the residual Vythra pulsing through the Nexus. Blue veins of light moved beneath its surface, tracing the patterns of living circuitry.
Karl stood at its base, gazing upward. For the first time, the sight of it didn't fill him with pride. It filled him with unease.
Karl circled it once more. Every line of its frame felt familiar now, every angle and seam imprinted on his mind like a scar.
And yet, he knew — this thing was not finished.
Without a cockpit, Erevos was nothing more than a corpse of steel.
He had built the body, the limbs, even the head — but every part of Erevos still felt empty, like a statue missing its soul. It stood in silence, obedient and lifeless, waiting for him to finish the one thing he'd been putting off: its heart.
He whispered to himself, "Time to give you a heart… a place where we become one."
The moment he said it, something inside him trembled — not fear, but the weight of responsibility.
He was no longer just an engineer. He was a sculptor working on the edge of life and death.
The words carried into the stillness like a vow.
He stepped up to the torso section — the solid, reinforced cavity between the core stabilizers. Nanite plating interlocked like muscle fibers, layered precisely to shield the Engine Soul's pulse within. The idea of cutting into it made Karl's chest tighten.
One wrong incision, and he could collapse the entire internal framework.
But there was no other way.
Karl activated the projection nodes embedded in his palms. A geometric field of light bloomed in front of him, outlining Erevos's torso in fine cerulean wireframes.
He expanded the model with a gesture, rotating it until the chest plating hovered at eye level.
The first touch came softly. His right hand brushed against the mech's chestplate — smooth and warm, as if alive. The metal hummed faintly under his palm. It responded to him, recognizing its creator. The faint glow of its energy veins brightened in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Karl hesitated.
He whispered, "I hope you're ready for this."
Karl placed his palm flat against the cold surface. The metal thrummed faintly, recognizing him. He felt its pulse — his pulse — echo through the material. He closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and began to project the blueprint overlay from his mind.
Light bloomed before him — floating diagrams in admiral blue and cerulean lines, showing where each layer could be separated without destabilizing the frame's spine.
He extended his right arm. The nanites obeyed, wrapping his hand and forearm until they formed a cutting edge — a sculptor's blade made of his own technology and will.
Karl whispered, "Sorry, big guy. I need to open you up."
He drove the blade into the chest plating.
The sound wasn't metallic — it was alive.
A resonant hum burst through the forge, like the deep groan of something ancient being disturbed. Shards of blue light cracked from the incision, scattering into the air like sparks caught in water.
Each cut was careful, deliberate. He carved slow, curved lines across the armor, peeling back layers one at a time. The nanites retracted with resistance, almost unwilling to separate.
As he worked, faint vibrations rippled through the frame — a reflex reaction, as though Erevos was flinching under a surgeon's touch. Karl gritted his teeth, pressing harder to keep the cut steady.
"Easy… easy… I'm not hurting you," he murmured, though part of him wasn't sure.
The deeper he cut, the brighter the glow became. Beneath the plating lay the energy lattice — the lattice that connected the Engine Soul to the spinal core. Its light was a rich, liquid blue, shimmering like molten glass.
Karl stopped. He stared, momentarily entranced. It was beautiful — an accidental revelation of what life looked like inside a machine.
But awe was a distraction he couldn't afford.
He adjusted his stance and began widening the cavity — shaping the chamber where he would eventually build the cockpit. Each pass of his nanite blade drew beads of sweat down his temple. The precision it demanded was absolute; even a micron too deep could cut through the internal Vythra channel and cause a cascade rupture.
His breath grew louder in his ears. Every motion was followed by a whisper of recalibration from the Nexus itself, checking, measuring, waiting.
Finally, after what felt like hours of grinding focus, he stepped back. The plating had been pulled open like ribs parting to reveal the heart beneath. A hollow space now stretched inside the mech's torso — circular, layered, and faintly glowing from the still-active energy conduits running through its edges.
Karl deactivated his blade. The nanites flowed back into his skin.
He stood there for a long moment, watching the open cavity breathe with faint pulses of light.
Then he exhaled — a trembling, exhausted sound.
"There," he said softly. "You've got room for me now."
The forge responded with a low vibration that rippled under his feet — a hum that sounded almost approving.
Karl brushed away the last flakes of molten nanite residue clinging to the frame, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear. He wasn't just shaping metal anymore; he was altering something that was alive because of him.
He leaned forward, whispering almost reverently, "Hang on, Erevos. The next part's going to hurt a little."
The Nexus lights dimmed, as if bracing for what would come next.