The first breath Kael took inside the First Floor of the Tower of Babel tasted of old blood and burnt motor oil.
They were not inside a building. The "interior" of the Tower was a pocket world, a compressed dimension that defied Euclidean geometry. The sky wasn't blue or violet; it was a tectonic plate of greyish metal suspended miles above, blocking out any natural light. The only illumination came from patches of bioluminescent fungi growing amidst the scrap metal and the glowing eyes of things that lurked in the shadows.
Kael and Elena walked along an elevated walkway, a grid of rusted steel that groaned under the 180 kilograms of The Black Iron Tyrant and Kael's own increased density. Below them, about thirty meters down, stretched the "Rust Jungle": a labyrinth of twisted I-beams, compacted cars, and biomechanical vegetation where vines were made of copper wire and thorns were rusted nails.
"Watch your step," Elena warned, pointing to a section of the grate that looked corroded by acid. "If you fall down there, you'll be shredded before you hit the ground."
Kael looked into the abyss. He saw movement among the metal shadows. Arachnid shapes. Skittering sounds.
"This place is a resource paradise," Kael said, his violet eyes scanning the environment with analytical coldness. "Everything here is either refined metal or dense biomass."
"It's a tetanus nightmare," Elena corrected, wrinkling her nose.
A human scream, sharp and desperate, shattered their technical observation.
It came from further ahead, where the narrow walkway widened into a distribution platform—a sort of metallic plaza suspended in the air.
Kael stopped. He tilted his head, listening.
"Gunshots," he analyzed. "9mm caliber. And screams of panic. At least five different voices."
"Survivors from the stampede," Elena said, tensing up. "They must have entered right after us."
"Or right before, and we caught up because they are dying."
Elena looked at Kael. She knew exactly what he was thinking: Is it worth the energy expenditure?
"Kael," she said, her tone carrying a warning. "We can't just let them die if we can help. They are humans. Potential allies. Or at the very least, sources of information about what lies ahead."
Kael weighed the options. Saving them gave him no direct biomass (unless he ate them, which Elena would draw the line at). But letting them die wasted potential "cannon fodder" for future traps. And in a Raid setting, numbers—even weak numbers—had tactical value.
"We'll take a look," Kael conceded. "But I promise no intervention unless it benefits us."
They moved quickly. Despite his size and the gigantic weapon on his shoulder, Kael moved with a terrifying fluidity, his steps dampened by precise muscle control. Elena was a shadow at his side.
They reached the edge of the platform. The scene was chaotic.
A group of six people was cornered against a stack of rusted shipping containers. It was a motley crew: two men in riot gear (likely ex-police or Blue Shield guards), a woman in a dirty white medical coat, a teenager gripping a baseball bat with white knuckles, and two terrified civilians armed only with kitchen knives.
They were surrounded.
Their attackers weren't mindless Vectors. They were Scrap Stalkers.
They looked like wolves, but the size of small horses. Their skin wasn't skin; it was an amalgam of wires, exposed red muscle tissue, and metal plates riveted directly into the flesh. Their jaws were hydraulic bear traps.
There were eight of them. And they were working as a team.
"Hold the line!" shouted one of the cops, firing his pistol.
BANG, BANG.
The bullets ricocheted off the metallic skull of one of the wolves, sparking but doing no real damage. The beast didn't even flinch.
"I'm not hurting them!" the man screamed, panic rising in his voice. "They're armored!"
One of the wolves leaped. It didn't attack the man with the gun. It attacked the weakest link. It lunged at one of the unarmed civilians, an older man with glasses who was cowering near the edge.
It was brutal. The hydraulic jaw clamped onto the man's leg. There was a wet, metallic CRUNCH. The man howled as the beast dragged him away from the group, shaking him like a ragdoll to dismember him.
"Dad!" the teenager with the bat screamed, trying to break formation to help.
"No, Lucas!" the doctor grabbed his arm, holding him back. "If you go out there, they kill you too!"
Elena looked at Kael. Her hand was already on the hilt of her sword.
"Kael. Those things are fast, but they don't have much mass. You can break their armor. I can sever their cables."
Kael watched as the old man was torn apart a few meters from the group. It was an inefficient death. Messy. Wasted resources.
"Eight hostiles," Kael calculated. "Estimated Level: 6 or 7. Biomass rich in minerals."
He sighed, lowering The Black Iron Tyrant from his shoulder. The metal resonated against the floor with a deep thrum.
"Fine. Let's make some friends."
Kael didn't run. He simply jumped from the upper walkway, falling five meters down to the battle platform.
He landed like a meteor.
BOOM!
The impact shook the entire suspended platform. The wolves turned, startled. The survivors screamed, thinking it was another monster joining the feast.
Kael rose slowly from his landing crouch. The rust dust settled around him. His violet eyes glowed in the darkness.
A Stalker, the closest one, snarled at him. It was a sound of grinding gears and wet meat. It leaped for Kael's throat.
Kael didn't dodge.
"Batter up."
He rotated his hips and swung the Greatsword.
It wasn't a cut. It was a freight train collision. The flat blade of the sword struck the wolf in mid-air.
The biomechanical beast wasn't just knocked back; it was disintegrated. The force of the impact (Strength 8.5 + Weapon Weight + Inertia) shattered its internal structure. The wolf was launched to the right, converted into a ball of twisted metal and flesh, taking out two other wolves like bowling pins.
Strike.
Silence fell on the platform.
Elena landed softly behind Kael, her rapier already glowing with blue light.
"Formation!" Kael ordered the survivors, his voice resonating with unnatural authority. "If you want to live, stop screaming and cover my back!"
The five remaining survivors (the old man had stopped screaming) looked at this grey giant with a mix of awe and terror. But the survival instinct won out.
"Do what he says!" the doctor shouted. "Rally on the giant!"
The five remaining Stalkers, seeing that their easy prey now had an Alpha protector, changed tactics. They split up. Three went for Kael, two tried to flank to get to the weaklings.
"Yours, Elena," Kael said, pointing to the flankers.
"Got it. [Flash Step]."
Elena became a blur. Her sword, precise as a laser scalpel, sought the joints in the wolves' armor. A slash to the leg hydraulics. A thrust into the sensor eye.
Meanwhile, Kael was a wall.
A wolf bit his left forearm. Metal teeth shrieked against his [Iron Skin] and [Reinforced Bone Density]. Kael didn't even wince. He simply looked at the wolf hanging from his arm.
"Bad choice."
He dropped the Greatsword (which stood upright, embedded in the floor by its own weight), grabbed the wolf by the neck with his free hand, and squeezed.
His fingers sank into flesh and metal alike.
CRUNCH.
He ripped the wolf's head off with a brutal tug, wires and arteries dangling.
He retrieved his sword and cleaved the next wolf in half vertically.
In less than a minute, the platform was littered with smoking scrap and corpses.
Kael stood in the center of the carnage, breathing calmly. Elena wiped her sword with a rag, watching the perimeter.
The survivors emerged from behind the containers. They were trembling.
The doctor, a woman in her forties with blonde hair stained with grease, was the first to approach. Her hands were stained with someone else's blood, but her gaze was steady.
"Thank you," she said, looking Kael in the eye (or trying to, as he towered over her). "We were dead. Those things... bullets didn't do anything."
Kael looked at her. He scanned her status.
[Human: Sarah.]
[Class: Field Medic (Level 2).]
[Status: Fatigue. Acute Stress.]
Useful, Kael thought. Healers are rare.
"Don't get confused," Kael said coldly. "I didn't save you out of charity. I saved you because you were making too much noise and attracting the entire floor to my path."
The surviving cop, a robust man named Marco, stepped forward. He carried a dented riot shield.
"Whatever the reason, you saved us, pal. I'm Marco. This is Lucas," he pointed to the kid with the bat, who was crying silently, looking at where his father had been dragged. "And these are Javi and Bea."
Kael ignored the introductions. He walked toward one of the biomechanical wolf corpses.
"If you want to stay alive," Kael said, kneeling to begin his harvest, "you have two options. Go back to the entrance and pray the path is clear. Or follow us."
"Follow you?" Sarah asked. "Where are you going?"
"Up," Elena said, sheathing her sword. "We're clearing Floor 1."
A murmur went through the group.
"Clearing it?" Marco looked at Kael's massive sword and then at the remains of the wolves. "Just the two of you?"
"Better alone than in bad company," Kael said, placing his hand on the dead wolf.
Harvest.
The survivors gasped as they saw the tendrils of red flesh extend from Kael's hand and consume the wolf. The metal rusted and fell away; the biological matter was absorbed.
"What the hell is that?!" Javi, one of the civilians, screamed, backing away. "He's a monster! He's one of them!"
Kael stood up. He had recovered some energy, and his skin glowed faintly. He turned to Javi.
"I'm the monster that just stopped you from becoming dog food," Kael said. "If you have a problem with my methods, the exit is that way."
Javi shut his mouth, swallowing hard.
"We're staying," Sarah said decisively. "My class is Medic. I can heal minor wounds and treat poisons. Marco is a Tank, he has a [Provoke] skill. Lucas... Lucas is fast."
"My dad..." Lucas sobbed, gripping the bat. "I want to kill those things. I want to kill them all."
Kael looked at the boy. He saw the hate in his eyes. Pure, unrefined hate. It was good fuel.
"Hate doesn't kill, kid," Kael said, stepping closer to Lucas. The teenager had to look way up. "Strength kills. If you come with us, I won't protect you. You'll be bait, you'll be cargo, or you'll be useful. You decide."
Lucas wiped his tears with a dirty sleeve. He nodded.
"I'll be useful."
"Good," Kael turned to Elena. "We have a caravan. You take the rear. Marco, you take point with me. Sarah, center."
"And who made you leader?" Marco asked, though without much conviction.
Kael lifted The Black Iron Tyrant with one hand and rested it on his shoulder. The gesture was answer enough.
"No one," Kael said. "But I have the big sword."
They began to walk into the darkness of the Rust Jungle.
But the Tower did not forgive.
They had barely advanced five hundred meters when Sarah screamed.
"Wait! Javi!"
Kael turned. Javi, the man who had called him a monster, was on his knees, clutching his arm.
"I... one of the wolves scratched me earlier," Javi gasped. His skin was pale and sweaty.
Kael approached. He moved Javi's hand to see the wound. It was three deep scratches. But the blood wasn't red.
It was orange. And it smelled of rust.
The veins around the wound were turning black and metallic. The skin was hardening, turning into plates of corroded iron.
[Analysis: Nano-Rust Infection.]
[Status: Terminal. Metamorphosis imminent.]
[Subject will convert into a "Scrap Zombie" in less than 5 minutes.]
"Heal him!" Marco shouted at Sarah. "Use your skill!"
Sarah placed her hands over the wound. A green light glowed.
"[Minor Heal]."
The wound closed slightly, but the black veins kept advancing, racing up Javi's shoulder toward his neck.
"It's not working..." Sarah whispered, terrified. "The mana isn't stopping the infection. It's biological and mechanical at the same time."
Javi began to convulse. His jaw unhinged with a metallic click. His eyes rolled back, turning white.
"Kill me..." Javi gurgled, spitting black oil. "Please... I don't want to be one of them..."
The group froze. Marco lowered his shield, unable to strike his companion. Lucas backed away. Elena looked at Kael with sadness.
It was the group's first real loss. The moment hope crashed into reality.
Kael looked at Javi. He didn't feel pity. He felt the need to solve a problem. If Javi transformed here, in the middle of the formation, he would hurt Sarah or Lucas.
"Sorry, Javi," Kael said.
There was no ceremony. Kael pulled his chef's knife from his boot—the Greatsword was too messy for this—and with a quick, surgical movement, drove it into Javi's heart.
The man stopped convulsing. He died as a human.
The group screamed. Bea vomited. Marco grabbed Kael by the collar of his shirt.
"We could have saved him!" Marco shouted. "You didn't even give him time!"
Kael didn't remove Marco's hand. He simply looked at him with those cold, violet eyes.
"He was dead the moment he was touched, Marco. He was going to turn in ten seconds and kill you or the doctor." Kael removed Marco's hand with a strength that made the cop wince in pain. "There are no miracles here. Only hard choices. Get used to it."
Kael knelt over Javi's corpse.
"What are you doing?" Elena asked, knowing the answer.
"We're not letting him go to waste," Kael said. "The rust virus in his blood... if I assimilate it before it degrades, maybe my body can develop antibodies. Or a resistance."
"My God..." Sarah whispered.
Kael placed his hand on the dead man.
Harvest.
[Consuming Infected Human.]
[Analyzing pathogen: Nano-Rust.]
[Adaptive Immune System activated.]
[New Resistance Acquired: {Corrosion Resistance (Minor)}.]
[You are now 20% less susceptible to metal-based infections.]
Kael stood up. He felt stronger. More prepared.
He looked at the group, who stared at him with a mix of hatred and absolute need. They hated him for what he had just done, but they knew that without him, they would be next.
"The mourning period is over," Kael said, wiping his knife. "We move."
He turned and continued walking into the darkness of the Tower. Elena cast an apologetic look at Marco and followed Kael. One by one, the others, dragging their grief and fear, followed him.
Kael didn't smile, but he noted the dynamic. He wasn't their friend. He was their shepherd. And he knew that most of them wouldn't make it to the end. But their deaths, and their lives, would serve to get him to the top.
And at the top, perhaps, he would stop having to make these choices. Or perhaps, simply, he would stop caring about them.