Novels by Magetooo

The Foundry District was the embodiment of a mechanical hell created by human greed. Here, deep within the lowest layers of Onyxspire's vertical structure, the air was no longer a gas fit for organic lungs. The atmosphere was thick with coal dust, microscopic iron shards, and sulfur vapor that burned the eyes red. The ceiling of the district was the underside of the upper sectors, a gigantic steel plate that constantly leaked black lubricant oil, creating an endless drizzle that smelled of rust. THUD! THUD! THUD! The pounding roar of massive steam compressors echoed every three seconds, shaking the foundations of the ground and the bone marrow of everyone standing upon it. Along the narrow streets flooded with black sludge, smelting furnaces the size of five-story buildings spewed streams of molten orange steel, illuminating the hollow faces of thousands of forced laborers. They moved like zombies, their bodies skeletal and their coughing relentless. Most wore cheap st

The thick stench of kerosene mixed with the ammonia vapor leaking from cracked waste pipes stabbed into Clive Collins's nose the moment he stepped out of Mina's hideout. The air in The Gutter felt as dense as soot. Above him, the massive pipe network of Onyxspire creaked and trembled like the intestines of a starving mechanical beast, occasionally dripping yellow-green acidic fluid that hissed violently whenever it struck the piles of scrap metal below. Clive pulled the hood of his tattered cloak lower over his face. His right hand gripped the handle of Kael's massive axe hidden beneath the folds of cloth. Meanwhile, his left arm, Lycus, began twitching restlessly beneath the wrapping of dirty rags. The tiny eye on the back of his hand blinked rapidly, sending waves of biological panic straight into Clive's brain. [Warning: Low-Frequency Energy Scanners Approaching.] [Source Distance: 150 Meters. Target Count: 4 Individuals.] [WREN: Clive, those cloth wrappings are

Clive Collins regained consciousness through a dull ache. Not the sharp, nerve-ripping agony of the synchronization at the bottom of the ravine, but the kind of pain that felt as if his body had been crushed beneath a steam train, then left to freeze in a pile of snow. He tried to open his eyes. His vision blurred with the silhouettes of rusted pipes stretching across a low ceiling. The smell here was foul, a mix of burnt machine oil, damp metal, and soup cooked from whatever scraps people could find. “Cough!” Clive choked. His chest felt tight. As he tried to move, he realized he was lying on a bed made from stacked cardboard and patched cloth arranged carefully enough to feel soft. [Status: Conscious.] [Physical Condition: Stable (Minimal). External wounds have been sealed by Lycus secretion.] [WREN: You were unconscious for eighteen hours, Clive. Statistics indicate that if you had woken up two hours later, your internal organs would have begun diges

The purple neon glow of Onyxspire offered no warmth. It was merely the color of poisonous gas forced to shine so it could illuminate humanity’s greed beneath the earth. Clive Collins stood at the edge of the waste trench surrounding the outer walls of the lower city. The air smelled different here than it did in Shadowfell. In the forest, the scent had been organic death. Here, it was mechanical death, oil vapor, rust, and the sweat of millions crushed together in desperation. Before him towered the Black Iron Gate, the only official entrance into the outer districts of Onyxspire. The gate was guarded by mercenaries from the Iron-Lung syndicate, men with artificial lungs that hissed every time they breathed, carrying high-pressure steam rifles. “My legs... feel so damn heavy...” Clive whispered. His legs felt like dried wood ready to snap apart at any moment. [Warning: Leg Muscle Degradation Has Reached 15%.] [WREN: Clive, your remaining kinetic energy is nearly de

Clive Collins’ footsteps slammed against the muddy ground in an uneven rhythm. Behind him, the barking of Hound-Seekers, the Radiant Guard’s mechanical tracking hounds, shattered the silence of the Shadowfell Wilds. The sound was sharp, like metal grinding against stone, a clear sign that his pursuers were only a few hundred meters behind him. “WREN... my heart... feels like it’s gonna explode,” Clive muttered. His lungs felt packed with burning sand. Every breath tore through him with scorching pain. [Warning: Stamina Levels Below 5%.] [Physical Condition: Tissue Hypoxia and Acute Lactic Acidosis.] [WREN: Clive, if you stop now, statistics indicate a 100% chance of becoming a decorative specimen in Lumeria. Run faster. At your two o’clock, thirty meters ahead, there is an Elder-Gloom root system large enough to conceal your heat signature.] “Easy... for you... to say!” Clive stumbled over a protruding root and crashed face-first into foul-smelling mud. His

The flames consuming the remains of Kael’s body slowly dwindled, leaving behind black ash that danced in the wind at the bottom of the ravine. Clive Collins stood motionless before it. His gaunt face was streaked with drying blood that had already begun turning dark, creating horrifying patterns beneath the dim light of Shadowfell. His left arm, the monster that had become part of his anatomy, pulsed softly. The small eye on the back of his hand blinked, as if savoring the warmth of the fire that had just erased the last proof of Clive’s humanity. “Satisfied, huh?” Clive whispered to his own arm. His voice cracked, sounding more like a growl than human speech. [Analyzing Subject Psychological Condition...] [Status: Acute Trauma, Emotional Instability, and Neural Exhaustion.] [WREN: Clive, if you wish to remain alive long enough to achieve the revenge you were muttering about earlier, it is recommended that you stop this unproductive internal monologue. Your u