The pistol was cold and heavy, its weight both alien and profoundly comforting. It was a tool, not a symbol—a problem-solver. The lingering pain in his forearm and the fading adrenaline tremble in his hands were problems. The remaining swarmlings, now milling uncertainly under the stark blue-white light, were a more immediate one.
Isaac kept the weapon raised, the targeting reticule dancing between the three nearest creatures. They seemed confused, repelled by the new illumination. Their formless, liquid-dark bodies rippled, as if trying to retreat back into the comforting shadows that were now being pushed back by the Bastion's awakening lights.
He didn't fire. The pistol was an unknown. How many shots? Did it overheat? The System gave no readout. Conserve resources. Assess.
Primary Objective: Secure the Central Hall.
The hall. The place with the big, dead crystal. It was the heart. He needed to get back down.
The swarmlings blocked his path to the spiral stairs. He took a slow step sideways along the parapet. They shied away from the movement, clustering together. He saw it then—their behavior wasn't just animalistic fear. It was a tactical withdrawal. They were maintaining a perimeter. They're waiting for something. Reinforcements? A larger predator?
The thought spurred him to action. He couldn't stay here.
He raised the pistol and aimed not at the cluster, but at the stone floor a few feet in front of them. He fired.
CRACK-HISS. The blue-white bolt struck the ancient flagstone, not with an explosion, but with a violent vaporization of material. A small crater erupted, spraying chips of superheated stone in a stinging cone. The swarmlings shrieked, a sound like tearing metal, and scrambled back.
Isaac moved. He didn't run; a controlled, backward walk, pistol sweeping the space before him. He reached the top of the spiral stairs. Glancing down, he saw the steps were clear. He descended, the glow from above illuminating his way, his shadow a long, twisted thing on the curved wall.
The grand hall was transformed. The ghostly green moss-light was gone, replaced by a clinical, bright radiance emanating from sconces shaped like stylized suns. The air still smelled of age and decay, but the oppressive, wet-rot stench was receding, pushed out by a faint, clean scent of ozone and static.
The massive dark crystal in the center was no longer completely inert. Deep within its fractured heart, a single, persistent point of violet light pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm, mirroring his own heartbeat. It was tiny, a star in a dead galaxy, but it was power.
Bastion Core Integrity: 5.3%. Essence Reserves: 3/100.
Three Essence. From the cores he hadn't had time to collect. They were being automatically harvested, drawn to the activated core.
He approached the crystal, his boots echoing in the vast silence. Up close, it was taller than he was, its surface cool and smooth where it wasn't shattered. The System interface automatically shifted, overlaying the crystal with a simple schematic.
Bastion Core Alpha. Status: Critically Damaged. Functions Available: Basic Illumination, Localized Atmosphere Scrubbers, Proximity Alert (50m Radius).
Facilities Linked: 0.
Commander Authorization Required for Full Integration. Place hand on core.
Isaac stared at the prompt. Authorization. He was the authorization. The last, desperate recruit in a dead army. He placed his palm flat against the cool crystal, near the pulsing violet light.
A jolt, not of electricity, but of pure, cold information, shot up his arm. Visions, fragmented and dizzying, flooded his mind's eye:
Legions in gleaming silver armor, not marching, but materializing from light within vast, clean chambers.
Ships that were fortresses, sailing not on water, but on beams of energy across the green-mooned sky.
A scream—a reality-rending tear—as the sky itself bled darkness. The silver legions turning, their formations impeccable, to face a wave of formless shadow that consumed light, sound, and hope.
The fall. The lights going out, one by one. The last command echoing in the dark: "Preserve the Core. Find a Commander. Rebuild."
The visions vanished as quickly as they came, leaving a phantom ache behind his eyes and a cold certainty in his gut. This was not an accident. He was not a random castaway. He had been selected. Fished from the stream of his own world by a dead system's last automated protocol. The thought was less comforting than terrifying.
Commander Travis, Isaac. Authorization Confirmed. Bastion Military System – Full Interface Online.
The blue interface stabilized, the glitches smoothing out. New panels unfolded in his vision. It was less a game menu and more like the master control schematic for a city, or a warship. Most sections were greyed out, labelled \[OFFLINE\] or \[REQUIRES ESSENCE & REPAIRS\].
He focused on what was available.
>> FACILITIES STATUS:
· Core Chamber: ONLINE (Minimal Power)
· Barracks (Level 0): Ruined. \[Repair Cost: 10 Essence, 5 Units of Salvaged Stone/Metal\]
· Manufactorum (Level 0): Ruined. \[Repair Cost: 25 Essence, 15 Units of Salvaged Stone/Metal, 5 Units of Conductive Crystal\]
· Logistics Depot (Level 0): Ruined. \[Repair Cost: 15 Essence, 10 Units of Salvaged Stone/Metal\]
>> RESOURCE INVENTORY:
· Essence: 4/100
· Salvage (Stone/Metal): 0
· Salvage (Advanced): 0
· Salvage (Organic): 0
>> PERSONNEL:
· Commander: 1 (Status: Light Injury, Minor Toxin Load. Treatment Recommended.)
· Combat Units: 0
· Support Units: 0
A logistics nightmare. He had no supply, no labor, a damaged headquarters, and confirmed hostiles in the area. His thesis on Malta felt absurdly quaint.
First principle: Secure the immediate vicinity. The Core Chamber was now lit and had "atmosphere scrubbers," whatever that meant. It was his stronghold. He needed to lock the doors.
He turned from the core. The hall had two main entrances: a giant, sealed portcullis of twisted metal that led outside (according to a flickering schematic label), and a smaller, reinforced archway that led deeper into the Bastion's interior—to the ruined barracks, manufactorum, and who knew what else.
The portcullis was a lost cause. He moved to the interior archway. The doors were immense slabs of iron-bound oak, scorched and splintered but still hanging on their hinges. A large, simple timber bar lay on the floor nearby—the locking mechanism. It would stop a casual push, but not a determined assault.
He needed to barricade. He began dragging the nearest debris—a collapsed section of a stone bench, pieces of shattered armor racks—towards the archway, building a low, makeshift wall behind the doors. It was slow, exhausting work. His wounded arm burned, and the strange, tingling toxin from the swarmling's claw made his fingers feel numb.
After what felt like an hour, he had a passable barrier. It wouldn't hold against a ram, but it would funnel anything trying to get in through a narrow gap, a perfect kill zone for his pistol.
As he slumped against the cold crystal core to rest, a new, gentle chime sounded.
Environmental Stability Achieved in Core Chamber. Minor Injury & Toxin Detected on Commander. Initiating Basic Medical Protocol.
From the base of the crystal, a tendril of the same violet light that pulsed within it extended, snaking through the air like intelligent mist. Before Isaac could react, it touched the torn cloth and congealing blood on his forearm.
A sensation of intense cold, followed by a deep, cellular itch, spread from the wound. He watched, jaw tight, as the inflamed, black-veined edges of the claw mark seemed to un-rot. The skin pulled itself together, not with a scar, but seamlessly, leaving only pink, new flesh and a faint smudge of dried blood. The numbness in his hand receded.
Treatment Complete. Toxin Purged. Dermal Layer Restored. Essence Cost: 1 Unit.
Essence Reserves: 3/100.
It had cost him a third of his meager treasury. But a functional arm was worth more than three shots from an unknown pistol. The calculus was clear.
He ate a spare protein bar from his hoodie pocket, sipped water from his small bottle. Rationing began now. The System offered no solution for food or water. Another problem for the list.
His eyes kept drifting to the \[Repair Barracks - 10 Essence\] prompt. Troops. He needed manpower. Even a single, stupid automated soldier would double his effectiveness, provide a watch while he slept, another set of hands to drag rubble.
But he needed seven more Essence. And salvage.
He looked at the skeletons littering the hall. Their armor was useless rust. But the bones? The System's "Salvage" category was vague. Could he use them? The thought was grim, but the situation was grimmer.
He walked to the nearest skeleton, one that looked like it had been a guard, holding a corroded spear. He touched the rusted helmet.
Material Analysis: Ferrous Composite. Degradation: 97%. Salvage Value: Negligible.
Nothing. He tried the spear shaft—petrified wood, dust. Nothing.
Frustration bubbled up. He kicked a small piece of rubble from a collapsed pillar. A chunk of grey stone the size of his fist skittered across the floor.
Material Analysis: Granite. Structural Integrity: Fair. Salvage Value: 1 Unit (Stone/Metal).
Isaac froze. He looked at the scattered rubble, the broken benches, the fallen stones from the ceiling. The hall wasn't just a tomb. It was a quarry.
A slow, grim smile touched his lips for the first time since he'd arrived. He had a resource. He had an objective. He had a pistol and two working arms.
He stood, rolling his newly healed shoulder. The Core pulsed its steady, violet rhythm behind him.
"Alright," Isaac said to the silent, lit hall. "First, we clean house. Then, we hire some help."
He picked up the chunk of granite, and the System dutifully noted it.
Salvage (Stone/Metal): 1.
The number was infinitesimal against the needs of the Bastion. But it was a start. It was logistics. And logistics, Isaac Travis knew, was the true art of war.
He began to gather stones.