I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE GRAVEYARD

The Shattered Shield

Colonel Darius Ironheart's private armory lay hidden beneath the military district of Solis, more a machine shop than a ceremonial hall. Iron plates lined the walls, steam pipes snaked overhead, and machinery filled the air with the scent of burning metal and oil.

To Darius, it was perfect.

He had no interest in paintings or lavish furniture meant to impress nobles. His world revolved around weapons and armor—tools of survival.

"Bring the secondary bracing plates," Darius commanded, his voice cutting through the mechanical hum.

He stood at the center of a massive hydraulic rig, arms slightly raised. Six mechanical cranes surrounded him, each holding a piece of his Titan-Class Vanguard Armor. Traditionally made from reinforced imperial steel, tonight's modifications were different.

His chief artificer approached with a torch, visibly uneasy.

"Colonel, the silver content is too high."

Darius turned his head. "What did you say?"

"Too much sanctified silver will make the frame brittle. A heavy impact could crack the entire structure."

"I'm not preparing for a siege hammer."

The artificer swallowed. "Then what are you preparing for?"

"Exodus Thorne."

The name changed the atmosphere.

Darius glanced at his scarred forearm. "Marcus Nightshade didn't fall to a blade. His life was drained through his own telepathic link. Conventional armor won't stop that."

He gestured toward the breastplate.

"The silver isn't for strength. It conducts sanctified energy."

The artificer frowned. "And if Exodus touches you?"

"He'll burn."

The cranes lowered the immense silver-alloy breastplate with a resounding clang. One by one, the locking mechanisms clicked into place.

Most men would have buckled beneath its weight, but Darius barely noticed. Years of training under the Iron-Core Doctrine had transformed his body, making his muscles and bones dense enough to withstand impacts that would cripple ordinary soldiers.

His title, the Shield of the Nine, suited him.

"Sir!" crackled a voice from the communication system.

As the final collar locked around his neck, Darius answered, "Go ahead."

"The tracker hounds in the aqueduct grid have gone silent."

Darius's eyes narrowed. "All of them?"

"Yes, Colonel. No attack was reported. Their signals simply vanished. And Sector Four's temperature has plummeted."

Darius went still.

"He's in the pipes."

The artificer looked puzzled. "Colonel?"

"Helmet. Now."

The artificer scrambled forward and lowered the heavy, horned helmet over Darius's head. The visor's visual crystals flickered to life, casting an amber grid across his vision. With a hiss, the pneumatic seals engaged.

Darius reached for the World-Breaker, a rocket-powered war hammer resting against a nearby stand. Its explosive cores could shatter reinforced walls.

"Everyone out," he ordered.

The artificers hesitated.

"But, Colonel—"

"Seal the doors."

One of them stepped forward. "Sir, if Exodus is here, you shouldn't face him alone."

Darius turned toward him.

"If you stay, you'll only get in my way."

He slammed the hammer against the floor.

The impact shook the armory.

"Out!"

The workers scrambled toward the elevator. Moments later, the blast doors sealed, leaving Darius alone.

He stood among the machinery, listening to the rhythmic clanking around him. His breathing remained steady.

Not yet.

Darius had always believed in fortifications, armor, and preparation. Everything had a vulnerability. Everything could be calculated.

But Exodus Thorne was challenging that belief.

"I know you're here," Darius called, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Lyra may have created backdoor codes, but not for this place."

He hefted the World-Breaker.

"This is my fortress."

Silence followed.

"If you're coming for me, you'll have to get through the armor first."

The furnace flames suddenly vanished.

Darius froze.

Darkness swallowed the room as his visor flashed warnings. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Liquid metal solidified inside the machines, while frost spread across the floor.

Darius watched black ice creep toward his boots.

The iron walls groaned.

A crane overhead cracked, sending a rivet skidding across the floor.

Darius tightened his grip.

Then he saw movement.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Exodus Thorne.

His black clothing seemed untouched by the cold, a faint green glow burning beneath the fabric. The runes on his broadsword glowed with an eerie light.

Three spectral ash-hounds stood beside him, their bodies wrapped in smoke and shadow, green eyes fixed on Darius.

Darius raised the World-Breaker.

"So," he said.

Exodus stopped.

"Impressive armor."

Darius smirked. "You sound disappointed."

"No." Exodus slowly drew his sword. "I expected something tougher."

The emerald runes flared.

Darius's armor hummed in response.

"You think your tricks will work on me?"

Exodus tilted his head.

"I don't think."

His eyes burned brighter.

"I know."

Darius tightened his grip on the hammer.

"Then let's find out."

The World-Breaker's explosive cores roared to life.

Darius charged.

The floor cracked beneath his armored weight.

One ash-hound leaped toward him.

Darius swung.

BOOM!

The hammer struck the creature and sent it crashing into the wall.

The remaining hounds lunged.

Exodus moved with them.

For the first time, Darius felt something he hadn't expected.

Not fear.

Uncertainty.

His calculations were failing. Exodus was too fast. The hounds were too unpredictable. And despite the armor's protection, the cold was beginning to seep through.

Darius raised the World-Breaker again.

Across the frozen armory, Exodus lifted his sword.

They moved at the same moment.

The armory erupted into chaos.