Chapter Nine: The Battle Beneath
The Green Sanctum pulsed like a living heart. Roots coiled through the cavern walls, glowing softly, as though sensing the danger creeping closer.
Helena Cross stood before Billy, her gray coat torn, her stance calm but coiled for war.
Across from them, Maskborn emerged from the shadows—half-man, half-machine, his metal mask alive with shifting blue veins of energy. The sound of his steps echoed like thunder.
"You've hidden long enough, boy," Maskborn's voice purred, metallic and smooth. "The world above may not know what you are, but I do."
Helena's voice cut through the darkness. "You don't belong here, Draven."
Maskborn tilted his head, amused. "You remember my name. I'm touched."
Billy's heartbeat drummed in his ears. "You… you were human once?"
Maskborn turned his burning gaze toward him. "Once. Until humanity disappointed me." He raised a gloved hand, and the air around him shimmered with cold light. "The earth refused to evolve—so I decided to force it."
Helena stepped forward. "By destroying it?"
He smiled beneath the mask. "By perfecting it."
The blue lines across his armor pulsed, and a wave of energy rippled outward. The roots around them shriveled instantly, blackening to ash. The chamber moaned—alive and in pain.
Billy staggered back, clutching his head as whispers screamed inside his mind.
"Corruption… corrosion… metal that feeds on life…"
Helena drew two slim rods from her sleeves; they extended into crackling blades of white-green energy. "Billy, stay behind me."
Maskborn laughed. "Still pretending to be a guardian, Helena? You and your little sanctum couldn't protect the world then, and you won't now."
She lunged first—swift, precise, deadly. The clash was blinding. Her blades met his metal fists with sparks that lit the chamber. Each strike echoed through the caverns, each impact releasing a burst of light and dust.
Billy watched, frozen between awe and fear. Helena moved like a storm, every motion a dance of purpose. But Maskborn was relentless, his body absorbing her blows, adapting, learning. Every punch grew faster, every counter more brutal.
"You're fighting progress itself," he hissed, slamming her into a wall of roots. "You can't stop evolution."
Helena's lip bled. "If evolution means extinction, I'll stop it every time."
She spun, slashing his chestplate—sparks flew, and for a second, Billy saw flesh beneath the metal. Draven's face—pale, haunted, human.
"Billy!" Helena shouted. "You have to listen to the Sanctum. It's trying to help you!"
He turned wildly, confusion clawing through his thoughts. "I don't know how!"
"You do," she shouted again. "You've always known!"
The earth began to tremble. The veins in the cavern glowed brighter. The voice—the same deep, ancient voice that had first spoken to him under the tree—rose again, clearer this time.
"Child of root and ruin… awaken."
The floor cracked open, and Billy was thrown to his knees as green energy surged through him. His eyes burned with light; his skin shimmered with faint markings that looked like living bark.
Maskborn turned, astonished. "Impossible…"
The roots shot upward like living serpents, wrapping around Maskborn's legs and arms, trying to hold him. He roared, energy flaring, breaking them apart—but more replaced them, endless and hungry.
Billy stood, every nerve on fire. His voice wasn't just his anymore—it echoed with the forest itself.
"You said you wanted to evolve, Draven? Then face nature's evolution."
He thrust his hand forward. A wall of vines and stone erupted from the floor, smashing into Maskborn and sending him crashing through the chamber wall.
The explosion shook the Sanctum.
Helena rushed to Billy, her eyes wide. "That power—you have to control it or it'll consume you!"
Billy's voice trembled. "It's not listening—it's angry!"
The roots pulsed violently, spreading too fast, growing sharp. The chamber groaned as tendrils punched through ceilings, tearing into the old tunnels above.
Helena grabbed his shoulders. "Billy, focus! You're not the power—you're the bridge. Breathe with it, not against it!"
He tried. His chest heaved, light flickering from his eyes. Slowly, the violent tremors eased—until a single word echoed from the broken wall.
"Impressive… but not enough."
Maskborn stepped out of the rubble, half his armor melted, the mask cracked open to reveal a sliver of his real face—a single, terrified human eye.
And behind him, machines began to rise. Small, spider-like drones crawled from his back, scuttling across the walls. Their eyes glowed blue.
Helena's expression darkened. "Bio-machines. You merged them with yourself?"
Maskborn's laugh was hollow. "Perfection requires sacrifice."
The drones leapt. Helena sliced through two, but another attached to her arm, sending a surge of energy that made her scream. Billy lunged forward, roots slicing through the swarm, crushing them like tin.
Helena fell to one knee, breathing hard. "He's… adapting too fast."
Maskborn spread his arms. "That's the point."
He charged again, striking Helena down. She fell, rolling, barely dodging his next blow. Billy's rage boiled over. The ground exploded beneath him, hurling Maskborn into the ceiling.
Billy's voice deepened, echoing through the roots.
"You wanted the earth's power—here it is!"
He slammed his hands into the ground. Massive branches burst upward, smashing through the cavern and driving Maskborn higher, pinning him against the stone.
Maskborn screamed, struggling. His armor cracked, electricity sparking across his limbs.
Then the blue veins on his mask flared, and a pulse of raw energy detonated outward. The roots burned away, the chamber shaking violently.
Helena grabbed Billy, dragging him behind a fallen column as the explosion roared through the Sanctum.
When it finally settled, smoke filled the air.
From within it, Maskborn staggered forward—burned, panting, his mask half-shattered, revealing more of the face beneath. Draven's eyes—human, but glowing faintly blue—locked onto Billy's.
"You think this ends here? You don't even know what you are. The tree didn't choose you—it cursed you."
Billy's breathing was ragged. "You're lying."
Draven's voice softened, almost pitying. "A gift from dying roots isn't a blessing. It's a burden. You'll learn that soon."
He pressed a device on his wrist, and before either of them could move, he vanished in a flash of blue light—teleporting out, leaving only scorched roots and silence.
The chamber sagged, roots wilting, green light fading.
Billy turned to Helena, shaken. "He escaped."
She nodded weakly. "Let him. He's not done yet. But neither are you."
He looked down at his hands—still glowing faintly, still trembling. "He said I was cursed…"
Helena's gaze was steady. "Every power has its price. But you decide what it costs you."
Billy sank to the ground, exhausted. "I don't know if I can handle this."
Helena crouched beside him. "You don't have to handle it alone. There's more to this world than what you've seen. People who've touched the unnatural. People like me."
He looked up. "People who can help me?"
"People who can teach you," she said quietly. "But we'll need to move. Maskborn will come back—stronger."
Billy glanced around the dying chamber, the faint heartbeat of the Sanctum fading. "Can we save this place?"
Helena placed her hand on one of the roots. A faint green spark returned. "Maybe. If we can save you first."
She rose, pulling him up. "Come on. There's someone you need to meet."
Billy frowned. "Who?"
Helena's eyes glinted. "Someone who once worked for Draven. Someone who knows what he built before he became Maskborn."
Billy hesitated. "And you trust them?"
"I don't," she admitted. "But they're the only chance we have."
The faint hum of machinery echoed from above—the city waking up, oblivious to the war that had just started beneath its feet.
Billy looked up through the cracks in the ceiling, where daylight filtered through dust and roots.
"If the world finds out about me…" he murmured.
Helena finished the thought quietly. "Then the world will have to choose which side it stands on."
As they disappeared deeper into the tunnels, a small ember of light glowed from the shattered stones behind them. The Sanctum wasn't dead—just sleeping. And somewhere far above, in the ruins of his hidden lab, Maskborn stared into a mirror, touching the cracks on his mask.
For a fleeting moment, he looked almost human. Then the mask healed itself, sealing the last of his flesh beneath cold metal.
"If the boy is nature's heir," he whispered, "then I'll become its extinction."
The blue light flared once more, painting the walls in cold fire.