EXILE COG: OMEGA PROTOCOL

Chapter 3: Naming the Terror: High Sorcerer Valerius

"Watch out, Your Highness! Don't step on that moss with your right foot unless you want a chemical bath," Zenith whispered. His raspy, metallic voice echoed softly in the narrow, damp corridor.

Prince Elara’s steps halted instantly, suspended above a puddle that reflected the dull green light from Zenith’s sensor. The water was thick, oily, and emitted a vapor that stung human throats. Behind them, Marcus snorted roughly, his hand still gripping the hilt of his now-useless sword. The veteran’s leather boots were submerged in the sewage sludge up to his ankles, creating a sickening , squelching, sound every time he moved.

"This is an insult to royal dignity, Zenith," Marcus snarled, his voice hoarse with suppressed rage. "We are crawling through the filth of commoners while the palace burns! You should have provided a more dignified route."

Zenith rotated his head one hundred eighty degrees backward, making a sharp mechanical , click, . His yellow lens blinked sardonically. "Oops, my bad, esteemed Head Guard. I forgot to pack a red carpet in my junk sack. If you want dignity, feel free to head back up. At best, your head will be displayed on the city gate within ten minutes. Damn, you have high standards for a man being hunted by death squads."

"Watch your mouth, Robot!" Marcus snapped.

"Enough, Marcus," Elara cut in softly. The teenager regulated his ragged breathing, trying to suppress the nausea caused by the stench of human waste mixed with Magitek industrial effluent. He gripped the slick sewer wall for balance, no longer caring about the black stains ruining his silk robes. "Zenith is right. Down here, we are just three rats trying to survive. Dignity won't deflect dark magic."

They continued walking through the giant network of pipes that resembled the city’s iron intestines. The sound of dripping water falling from the cracked concrete ceiling sounded like a clock counting down their lives. Zenith led the way, his rusted arm occasionally bumping against a hissing gas pipe. Within his core, a quieter war was taking place.

, System Status: Core Temperature rising. 85 degrees Celsius.,

His internal Warlord persona, Omega, was conducting silent, relentless scans. Zenith’s seemingly dim eyes were actually catching traces of mana residue in the air, calculating sound reflection angles to detect pursuers, and compiling a three-dimensional map of routes not even present in official royal archives. Omega demanded pure efficiency; it wanted to snap the neck of anyone who hindered their escape speed.

However, his Exile persona resisted. Zenith deliberately emitted strange sounds from his joints and cracked crude jokes to mask the vibrations of his bloodthirsty war machine. He didn't want Elara to see that brutal warlord side again.

"Speaking of which, Prince," Zenith said, forcing his voice to sound cheerful and annoying, "this sewer smell is actually quite similar to the palace chef's cooking on his day off, right? Except this sewer doesn't ask for a tip."

Elara didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "You always have a way of making things weirder, Zenith."

"It's a natural talent, Miss, er, Your Highness. If it wasn't weird, it wouldn't be quality junk," Zenith replied. He stopped at a junction of four large channels. The sewage water beneath their feet flowed rapidly toward the central filtration machine. "Alright, hold up a second. I need to cool my circuits. Feels like I have an iron stuck in my chest."

Zenith leaned against a moss-covered concrete pillar, the cooling fan on his back whirring loudly, emitting white steam. He looked at Elara, who was now sitting on a dry pipe, his face pale in the dim light.

"Who are they, Prince?" Zenith asked suddenly, his voice slightly lower. "I mean, the attackers. That wasn't just a bored gang of bandits. That shadow construct ... that was heavy-duty magic."

Elara looked down, wringing his dirty hands. "It's the Vesperus clan. Dark Magitek Sorcerers who were supposed to have been extinct a hundred years ago."

Marcus stepped forward, his face looking darker in the shadows. "They are led by High Sorcerer Valerius. He planned all of this. He knew about Her Majesty the Empress's health and used the chaos to strike."

Hearing the name, Zenith's internal system crackled. A memory fragment locked behind forbidden protocols tried to surface. , Valerius. Vesperus Clan. Blood Oath.,

"Valerius, huh?" Zenith muttered. He tried to laugh, but the sound came out like metal being sawed. "A nice name for a guy whose hobby is sending ghosts to kill children. What does he want? The throne? Or just a collection of gold crowns?"

"He wants the throne, that much is certain," Elara replied with a maturity remarkable for his age. He looked at Zenith with sharp eyes, as if he could see through the robot's rusted armor. "But more than that, he wants the Forbidden Oath. He believes that by completely eliminating the royal bloodline, he can break the ancient seal and seize control of the Legacy Core. He wants to use Dark Magitek to rebuild this kingdom according to his insane vision."

"And for that, he needs your blood," Zenith stated.

"Yes," Elara whispered. "As long as I breathe, the Oath still binds the throne. If I die, the seal will shatter, and all the dark powers my ancestors imprisoned will spill into this world. Valerius isn't just hunting a prince; he's hunting the key to the apocalypse."

Marcus clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "We must reach Stonehearth immediately. The Dwarves there possess defensive technology that Valerius's magic cannot easily penetrate. It is the only place safe enough."

Zenith fell silent. In his brain, his Warlord persona was calculating the probability of success. , Probability of survival via ground route: 12.4%. Probability of survival via Stonehearth Mountains: 8.9%. Risk of Oath contamination on the Prince: Increasing.,

The heat in Zenith's Core intensified. He could feel Elara's emotional distress beginning to creep into his damaged empathy system. For the first time in the hundreds of years since his exile, Zenith felt ... disturbed. Not disturbed because of physical damage, but disturbed because there was something he wanted to protect besides his own pile of junk.

, “Damn, my empathy system must be short-circuiting,”, Zenith thought. , “Is a piece of junk robot like me actually starting to feel sorry for a human kid?”,

"Zenith? Are you alright?" Elara stood and approached, his small hand touching Zenith's rough chest plate. "Your voice just sounded like a grinding machine being forced to turn."

"Oh, this? I'm fine, Your Highness. Just residual trauma from the rising price of oil," Zenith replied quickly, reverting to his clown persona. He patted Elara's hand with his blunt metal finger. "Come on, let's move again. If we stay here too long, I might grow mushrooms, and then my price will drop at the flea market."

They started moving again, following the channel as it narrowed and sloped upward. Zenith could feel the change in air temperature; the city's stench began to fade, replaced by the scent of wet earth and cold minerals. They were approaching the outskirts of Magitek City, heading toward a secret exit route connected to the mountain roots.

Elara no longer whined or complained about his chafed feet. He continued to provide details about the Vesperus troop formations he had seen at the palace, strategic information that Omega immediately processed to build counter-tactics. The child's resilience impressed Zenith. This Prince wasn't just a burden; he was a moral compass starting to influence Zenith's nihilistic circuits.

"Wait," Zenith whispered, raising his left hand.

The sound of regular footsteps came from above them, just beyond the concrete ceiling. The heavy thud of metal, like the march of armored units.

"They are right above us," Marcus whispered, his hand trembling on the sword hilt. "Valerius must have spread his constructs throughout the district perimeter."

"Don't panic, Uncle. As long as they don't have mechanical noses to smell this sewer stench, we're safe," Zenith said, even though his combat sensors were already prepping emergency projectile launch protocols.

He quickened his pace, guiding them through an old drainage pipe nearly blocked by piles of plastic waste and rust. At the end of the pipe, a pale beam of moonlight was visible. Zenith slammed the iron grate blocking the exit with a single powerful kick, enough to bend ten centimeters of steel.

, SCREEECH!,

They emerged onto a hidden cliff overlooking the towering Stonehearth Mountains, shrouded in eternal snow and magical mist. Behind them, the lights of Magitek City flickered, looking like a sea of fire raging under Valerius's dominion.

Zenith stood at the edge of the cliff, letting the cold mountain wind sweep the remaining sewer stench from his body. He turned to Elara and Marcus with a cynical grin permanently etched onto his metal face.

"Well, welcome to the outside, you sewer-scented nobles," Zenith said, pointing toward the sharp mountain peaks. "Looks like we're taking a field trip to the land of short, shouty engineers. Brace your ears, because I hear the dwarves there are louder than a broken steam engine."

However, Zenith's words caught in his throat. In the distance, a giant shadow shaped like a raptor, made of black smoke, glided through the sky, its eyes emitting a purple beam that swept the forest floor below them.

"Shadow seeker," Elara hissed, his face once again filled with horror. "Valerius has unleashed them."

The creature's eye suddenly stopped sweeping the forest and locked directly onto the cliff where they stood. An ear-splitting magical shriek tore through the night silence, sending their location signal directly to the Vesperus command center.

"Damn, looks like that bird has a crush on your ripped robe, Prince," Zenith muttered, his joints crackling as he prepared to run faster than he ever imagined.

The rumbling sound of numerous footsteps began to echo from the forest below them, and purple magical portals started opening at various points on the mountainside. Valerius was no longer merely searching; he had found his target.

"Run," Zenith commanded, his voice now completely cold, devoid of any trace of the Exile. "Now!"

Just as they turned to flee, the ground beneath their feet exploded from a strike of purple lightning, separating Zenith from Elara and Marcus. From behind the blast smoke, a tall, robed shadow figure wearing a raven mask stepped out, holding a staff that radiated dense dark energy.

"Found you," the figure said, his voice sounding like a thousand whispers of death. Zenith stood between the blast and his prince, his eyes beginning to emit an uncontrolled, blood-red light. Their escape had just turned into open war.