ONYXSPIRE: THE DESCENT OF CLIVE COLLINS

Chapter 09. The Gate of Rejection

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 depleted. Statistics indicate that if you fail to obtain protein intake within twenty minutes, you will become permanent sidewalk decoration. Use the remains of your cloak to cover your left arm. Drawing attention right now is equivalent to suicide.]

Clive tore apart the ragged remains of his cloak and crudely wrapped them around Lycus, the black arm that continued pulsing with hunger. The limb felt hot, as if it wanted to rip through the cloth and attack anyone nearby.

"Give... Clive... Fresh... Meat..."

“Shut up, you damn monster,” Clive growled softly.

He stepped toward the line in front of the gate. Dozens of people waited there, scavengers pushing carts filled with scrap metal, refugees from border wars, and sinners fleeing from Lumeria. Every one of them looked hollow, with sunken eyes and gray skin from lack of sunlight.

“Entry permits!” shouted a guard wearing a gas mask that covered his entire face. “One silver coin for citizens, five silver for newcomers, or one liter of fresh blood for the medical reserve bank!”

Clive searched his pocket. He still had Benedict’s gold coins, but pulling out gold in a place like this would be the same as painting a target on his forehead.

“I... I have a porter permit,” Clive said when his turn arrived. His voice was hoarse, nearly drowned out by the roar of the gate’s steam engines.

The guard looked him up and down. His gaze stopped at Clive’s left arm wrapped in thick cloth. “A Lumerian porter permit? Heh. Kid, Lumeria just sent out a memo. Any porter leaving the Northern Gate without escort is considered either a traitor or a plague carrier. Which one are you?”

Clive swallowed hard. His heartbeat accelerated, triggering a reaction from Lycus.

"Can... We... Kill... This... One...?"

“No,” Clive barked internally. He stared into the guard’s eyes. “I’m not a traitor. I just want to get back to my family.”

“Too much talking. Where’s the coin?”

Clive pulled out a single silver coin, the last change left from his old journey. The guard took it, spinning it between his metal fingers before spitting onto the ground.

“Lumerian silver? Around here it’s worth half. You need another one, or you can head back to the forest and become Gloom-Wolf food.”

“But that’s all I have!” Panic crept into Clive’s voice. Behind him, people in line started shoving.

“Move it, trash kid! Stop blocking the damn line!” shouted a huge man behind him.

The guard laughed, the mechanical distortion from his mask making it even more irritating. “Hear that? Move aside. Unless you’ve got something valuable for a bribe. Like... whatever you’re hiding under that cloth.”

The guard reached toward Clive’s left arm.

[WREN: Threat Detected. Target attempting contact with Host Lycus. Initializing automatic self-defense protocol in 3... 2...]

“DON’T!” Clive jerked backward violently. “Don’t touch my arm!”

That aggressive reaction caused the surrounding guards to immediately raise their steam rifles toward him. The atmosphere at the gate turned deadly in an instant. Refugees scattered in panic, afraid of being caught in stray fire.

“Oh ho, looks like we’ve got a tough guy here,” the guard sergeant stepped forward, spinning an electrified mace in one hand. “Take the cloth off, or I’ll punch a hole through your stomach.”

Clive clenched his right fist. His left arm was already trembling violently, ready to burst free and slaughter everyone around him. If he fought here, the entire militia of Onyxspire would hunt him before he even reached the slums.

“WREN... another option!” Clive shouted in his mind.

[WREN: Calculating alternate route... Waste disposal pipe located beneath the Sector-9 suspension bridge. Distance: 200 meters west. Risk: High-level corrosive waste exposure. However, probability of capture reduced by 85%.]

“Damn it...”

Clive did not wait for the sergeant to approach. He suddenly turned and sprinted toward the edge of the suspension bridge.

“Hey! Stop!” Bang! Bang!

Steam bullets slammed into the ground beside his feet, leaving smoking holes behind. Clive kept running, ignoring the agony in his legs as the muscles began tearing apart. He vaulted over the bridge railing and plunged toward the gigantic pipes attached to the crater wall.

“HE’S INSANE! THE KID’S KILLING HIMSELF!” a guard shouted from above.

Clive was not committing suicide.

[Activating: Claw Anchor.]

His left arm tore through the cloth wrappings, black claws bursting outward and slamming into the iron pipe wall with a deafening Skreeeee! Sparks exploded as Clive slid downward several meters before finally stopping in front of a vent spewing poisonous green vapor.

“Cough! Cough!” Clive hacked violently as the gas entered his lungs.

[WREN: Filtering air. Consuming 2% energy for emergency respiratory function. Enter the pipe, Clive. Before they look down.]

Clive crawled into the waste pipe. Inside, it was pitch black, cold, and slick with organic slime of unknown origin. He crawled through the darkness guided only by the faint violet glow of Lycus, which now functioned like a tiny torch.

The journey through the pipe felt endless. The sound of flowing waste beneath him resembled the whispers of thousands of dead souls. Mutated rats with glowing red eyes occasionally crossed his path, but they immediately fled in terror the moment they sensed the predatory aura of Lycus.

"Hungry... Clive... So... Hungry..."

“Just wait... a little longer...” Clive felt his consciousness starting to blur. Hallucinations crept into his vision. He saw Kael standing ahead of him, blood pouring from his severed neck.

Suddenly, the pipe ended at a rusted iron grate. Clive shoved it with his black arm, and the bars shattered like dry crackers. He crawled out and collapsed onto a pile of foul-smelling mechanical garbage.

He was inside a district with no ceiling except massive waste pipes overhead.

"The Gutter."

The final dumping ground for both humans and machines.

Clive’s vision blurred. He saw a little girl nearby digging through piles of scrap. Her hair was messy, and her face was stained with oil. In one hand she carried a tiny flashlight with a dim beam.

“W-who...?” Clive tried to speak, but only black blood spilled from his mouth.

The girl turned toward him. She did not run in fear at the sight of Clive’s horrifying black arm. Instead, she cautiously stepped closer, her large eyes filled with curiosity and deep sadness. She did not speak. She only communicated with quick hand gestures.

Mina? No. But she reminded Clive of his little sister.

[Status: Critical.]

[Neural Integration: 26%.]

[WREN: Loss of consciousness in 3... 2... 1...]

Clive Collins collapsed unconscious in the middle of Onyxspire’s garbage heaps.

In this new world of his, the Porter had finally reached rock bottom.

And in this filthiest of places, whatever remained of his humanity was about to be tested once more by an unexpected act of kindness.