The aftermath of the Spire's destruction was a symphony of dissonance. From the Bastion walls, the Convergence was a kicked anthill of frantic, disorganized motion. Gloomspawn milled in confusion, their predatory coordination shattered with the loss of their central command node. The energy signature, once a dense, throbbing red, now flickered erratically, bleeding corrupted power into the atmosphere.
But Isaac's eyes weren't on the chaos. They were fixed on the glittering prize within it. The scan overlay highlighted deposits of Gloom-Forged Alloy and Stabilized Corruption Crystals amidst the wreckage—materials born of the enemy's own perverted industry, now rendered inert and harvestable by the violent purification of the explosion.
"Sergeant, analysis. Can we process those materials?"
The unit's eyes flickered. "Affirmative. The detonation's energy surge has neutralized the active Gloom contagion in the structural materials. They retain unique physical properties—high energy conductivity, exceptional hardness—but are now chemically stable. The Manufactorum's refineries can break them down into Advanced Salvage at an estimated 40% mass-to-mass conversion rate."
Forty percent. It was wasteful, but it was a motherlode. The wreckage represented potentially hundreds of units of raw material. Enough to build a dozen Javelins, to finally upgrade the Barracks again, to fabricate a squad of Grenadiers.
But the Convergence was still a hornet's nest. Walking in to mine it would be suicide.
"They're leaderless, not brain-dead," Isaac murmured, thinking aloud. "They'll regroup. Either a new command creature will emerge from the core, or they'll devolve into feral packs. Either way, that wreckage won't stay uncontested for long."
"We have a window of opportunity," the Sergeant stated. "Estimated duration of disorganization: 6 to 18 hours. After that, probability of a coordinated defense of the ruins rises exponentially."
Six hours. To organize a mining expedition into the heart of enemy territory.
It was a logistical problem. He needed secure transport, protection, and speed. He had the Salvage Drone, SD-001, but it was slow, designed for the safe Nexus run. He needed something faster, more defensible, something that could carry a meaningful load.
His mind went to the graveyard cache. The Portable Field Generator was gone, but the schematics for its core were in the System. A generator produced a barrier. What if he inverted the principle? Instead of a dome of defense, he created a focused forward barrier—a mobile, wedge-shaped shield projected from a vehicle? A push-plow made of energy to clear a path.
And a vehicle… the Bastion had no vehicles. But it had the Machine Parts from below. It had actuator arms, regulator units, treads from broken machinery. He had a Grenadier unit with a heavy frame. He didn't need a tank. He needed an Armored Recovery Vehicle, improvised from scrap and guts.
"New design project," he said, his voice gaining speed. "Designate: 'Mule' Utility Transport. Base: Retrofit a Grenadier unit's chassis. Remove grenade launcher systems. Reinforce skeletal structure. Add reinforced cargo bed and mounting points. Integrate a scaled-down, unidirectional barrier projector from the Field Generator schematics—forward arc only. Power requirement: high, but sustainable for short durations via portable Essence cells."
The Sergeant processed, the new Command Subroutine weaving together the disparate schematics. It was a hack, a brutalist kludge of technology. The hologram that formed was ugly: a Grenadier unit, its upper body now a blocky cargo frame, its arms reconfigured into loader-clamps, a dish-like projector mounted on its chest. It walked on two legs, not treads, but they were reinforced like pilons.
Design: 'Mule' Utility Transport (Grenadier Retrofit). Cost: 1 Grenadier Unit, 8 Advanced Salvage, 12 Essence.
He would have to sacrifice G-001, his only Grenadier. But one Grenadier for the potential to harvest fifty or a hundred Advanced Salvage was a trade any logistician would take.
"Do it," Isaac ordered. "Retrofit G-001. Manufacture two additional standard Grenadiers to replace its combat function." He was spending Essence he didn't quite have, betting on the coming haul.
While the Bastion's industry worked, transforming his heavy weapons specialist into a pack mule, Isaac planned the operation. It would be a lightning raid.
Team:
· Mule (G-001 Retrofit): Transport and barrier.
· Escort: Sergeant (M-001), M-002 (Spotter), M-005, M-013.
· Overwatch/Security: S-001 (Scout), Isaac with Longstrike from the Firebase Spearpoint position.
· Support: The damaged but functional sentry turret would provide covering fire for the initial exit and return.
The mission was simple: the Mule, shielded by its forward barrier, would push through any light resistance straight to the wreckage. The escort would fan out, protect its flanks. The Mule would use its clamps to load the largest, richest chunks of alloy and crystal. Once its bed was full—a estimated five-minute operation—they would retreat along the same path, the barrier now protecting their rear.
They moved out as the Manufactorum finished the retrofit. The Mule was a bizarre sight, a hulking, top-heavy silhouette. It moved with a heavier gait, the whine of its projector a new sound on the plain.
The journey to the edge of the Convergence ruin was tense. A few stray Stalkers, acting on feral instinct, attacked. The Mule's forward barrier flared to life—a shimmering, semi-opaque wedge of blue energy two meters wide. The Stalkers' spines and claws deflected off it with sharp pings. The escort units behind the barrier fired precise carbine bursts, dropping the creatures.
They reached the wreckage. It was a landscape of alien carnage. Shattered crystal formations gleamed with internal light. Strange, metallic-strand bones of the spire lay twisted and half-melted. The air crackled with residual energy.
"Sergeant, direct the Mule. Prioritize the crystalline clusters and the densest alloy struts."
The Mule's clamps whirred. It began to harvest, breaking off man-sized chunks of material and stacking them in its bed with careful, mechanical efficiency. The escort formed a perimeter, their carbines sweeping the chaotic terrain. S-001, cloaked on a nearby rise, reported no large, organized movements. Only scattered, confused creatures.
The Mule's bed filled, its posture sinking slightly under the weight. Cargo: 85% Capacity.
Then, S-001's warning came, a tight burst over the comms. "Movement. Convergence core. Large bio-signature emerging. Not disorganized. Purposeful."
A new icon, larger and hotter than the Behemoths, pulsed on the edge of Isaac's scope from his overwatch position. It was pushing its way out of the damaged heart of the Convergence. A Reclaimer Beast. A Tier-3. Its purpose was not attack, but salvage. To reclaim the lost energy and materials for the hive. And it was coming straight for his team.
"Abort! Mule, full barrier, retreat vector now! Escort, cover its rear!"
The team reacted. The Mule turned, its barrier now facing the direction of the emerging threat. It began a slow, heavy jog back toward the Bastion, its cargo clanking. The escort fell in behind it, firing backward at smaller creatures drawn by the Reclaimer's approach.
The Reclaimer was a horror of utility. It moved on six piston-like legs, its front a massive, grinding maw of rotating crystal teeth, designed to pulverize and ingest wreckage. It saw the Mule, loaded with its wreckage, and accelerated with shocking speed for its size.
They wouldn't make it. The Mule was too slow.
"Sergeant! Order the Mule to dump its cargo! Now!"
The Sergeant didn't question. The Mule obeyed. It released its clamps. A cascade of priceless alloy and crystal crashed to the vitrified earth in its wake, forming a glittering, obstructive trail.
The Reclaimer Beast hesitated. Its primary drive was to reclaim. The scattered treasure was a powerful distraction. It slowed, its maw dipping to scoop up the nearest chunks.
It bought them thirty seconds.
The team ran, the Mule now unburdened and faster. They reached the covering fire arc of the sentry turret. The turret's BRRRRZT ripped out, not at the distant Reclaimer, but at the smaller creatures harrying their heels, clearing a path.
They stumbled back through the Bastion's secondary entrance—a reinforced sewer grate they'd cleared as a fallback. Isaac, from his perch, took one final shot with the Longstrike. ZOT. The round sparked off the Reclaimer's grinding maw, doing no damage but making it flinch, buying one more second.
The grate slammed shut. They were in. Safe.
In the dim light of the lower corridor, the Mule stood, its barrier projector smoking slightly, its cargo bed empty. The escort units bore new scratches and dents.
They had brought back nothing.
But Isaac was looking at the tactical replay, at the Reclaimer Beast now methodically cleaning up the scattered treasure. He wasn't seeing failure.
"Sergeant," he said, a cold, hard smile touching his lips. "We have identified a new resource node. And we have identified its guardian. We didn't mine the quarry today."
He turned to the empty-handed Mule.
"We just conducted the most valuable reconnaissance of the war. We learned how to bait it."