The massive form of The Hand carved a path of stunned silence through The Vein. The monstrous, five-fingered siege machine, was an impossible sight. Every Beast, Splicer, and Neurojackie lining the neon-lit thoroughfares scrambled for cover, recognizing the signature horror of CENO's own abandoned terror weaponry.
Just for added effect I recalled the Sex Pistol from my satchel ring.
Atop the Hand's colossal knuckle, I stood gripping the massive siege weapon, my figure outlined by the ambient glow of the Sex Pistol. Marla and Koba rode shotgun, their fully restored, utterly silent obedience broadcasting a message of absolute, terrifying control.
The Hand stopped at the precipice of the Bone Dunes Arena. This was no ordinary stadium; it was a vast, open pit carved from fused, calcified beast remains—the most neutral, yet most lethal, gathering point in Level 1.
The arena was already full, the ground teeming with the Beast Syndicates. They weren't here for a fight; they were here for an answer, drawn by the news of CENO's fall.
The factions gathered, the leaders were arranged on the high, tiered ledges, their collective presence a low, dangerous hum of suppressed aggression:
The Scarlet Maw: Led by the towering, muscled form of Agony, a she-beast whose flesh was a tapestry of scars and whose massive, triple-jointed claws were stained with fresh blood. Agony's followers were pure, savage melee beast fighters, eager for confrontation.
The Shadow Fangs: Commanded by the calculating, obsidian-armored psycho bat bonded Vespa Nox. She was a tall bat-woman with spiked arms and an interesting pair of horns above her head over her asymmetric face. Vespa was a real looker and had her share of beast fanboys.
Then there was the Amphibian Clan: Represented by the powerful, aqueous duo of Rima, the Tentacle Queen, and her lieutenant, Reef maw. Rima was a magnificent, fluid figure, her body shimmering with iridescent scales, commanding a thick nest of whip-like tentacles from her back that dripped with paralytic venom. Reef maw, was a compact spring of razor sharp coral encrusted armor, she was swift and her coral armor was jagged, which gave her a huge advantage as a grappler.
Silence fell, heavy and absolute. All eyes—mutant, cybernetic, and biological—were fixed on the Hand. They saw a monster who had just crushed their surface overlords and who's owner now just rolled up with some sort of god-weapon into their domain.
I raised the Sex Pistol, letting its latent power radiate across the arena.
"Listen, Beasts of The Vein," I spoke loud and clear, but my words were laced with psychic energy, my voice amplified, cutting through the silence like a physical blade. "I dealt a blow to the surface masters. They're gone. But in less than 58 hours, something far worse arrives."
I paused, allowing the weight of the moment to settle.
"I need your armies. I need your tunnels. The Lunar Cry is coming. And I have the only weapon that can stop it."
The declaration hung in the air: The Lunar Cry is coming. And I have the only weapon that can stop it. The silence in the Bone Dunes Arena was so profound that the faint, rhythmic thrum of the Sex Pistol felt like a heartbeat.
The first to move was not the savage Agony, but the calculating leader of the Shadow Fangs.
Vespa Nox, the psycho bat bonded bat-woman, unfolded her dark, segmented wings just enough to cast a longer, predatory shadow. She was indeed a striking figure, tall, with wicked spiked arms, asymmetric features, and an impressive pair of horns crowning her head—a beast whose lethal elegance commanded fervent loyalty. Her crimson eyes narrowed, focusing not on the Sex Pistol, but on the two figures standing in cold stillness beside me.
Her voice, when she spoke, was a cold, high-frequency sonic rasp—the sound of sharp obsidian grating against bone.
"A newcomer rolls in, parades the corpse of CENO's tower, and two bonded slaves and dares declare herself savior!" Vespa Nox sneered, her tone laced with deep, political skepticism. "The surface has always feared the dark, but it never saved us. Before we march our armies out of the sanctuary we built, we require two things, ''Herja.'"
She gestured with a clawed hand toward the collapsed CENO Tower footage still flickering on a massive arena screen.
"First: Proof. The Lunar Cry is a fever dream CENO used to justify its terror. Show us what makes this 'cry' any different from their usual lies. We need undeniable, real-time proof that we are not simply trading one tyrant for another's convenient apocalypse."
Vespa Nox's gaze then snapped to the figures of Marla and Koba.
"Second: Allegiance. Those two—Marla and Koba—they were CENO's feild agents here in the Vein. If you command them, you share their sin. You claim to lead us against a great threat, but you surround yourself with controlled puppets of the old order. Prove your intent, not just your power. Release them, or confess that you are nothing more than CENO's violent replacement."
The collective murmur of the assembled clans exploded, focusing on the fate of the two subdued former enforcers. Vespa Nox had cornered me—forcing me to choose between keeping my new assets, my absolute control, "keeping Marla and Koba enslaved" or and gaining the trust necessary to form a unified army, by releasing them, and the devastating power they contained.
The air thickened, the collective tension of the assembled Beast Syndicates hanging on my next word. Vespa Nox had issued an ultimatum—proof of the threat and release of the assets—a perfect political maneuver to expose my vulnerability.
I felt the immense power of the Sex Pistol at my side, the unwavering obedience of Marla and Koba flanking me, and the growing, terrifying ambition of the Bonekin Engine flowing through my mind.
I didn't release them.
I laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound that echoed across the Bone Dunes Arena.
"Release them?" I projected, the amplified scorn in my voice striking every corner of the vast pit. I glanced at Marla, whose vipers looked at me with eyes that burned with hatred but whose posture remained rigidly subservient. "You mistake me for a politician, Vespa Nox. These two assets are more powerful serving my will than they ever were serving CENO's lies. They are mine. And they stay mine."
I slammed the base of the Control Rod against the Hand's armor, the resulting gong silencing the arena completely.
"As for proof," I continued, channeling my thoughts to Felicity, who I knew was monitoring from the Gutter Nest, "I already gave it to the surface world's most chaotic messenger. It's now viral. But you beasts of the abyss are slow."
I mentally transmitted the raw satellite feed of the Lunar Cry directly to the holographic projection system of the Bone Dunes Arena—a massive image replacing the faded CENO logos: the black Lunar Ribbon, and the endless, rushing swarm of Lunar Beasts.
The collective gasp from the arena was palpable. Fear, stark and undeniable, replaced skepticism.
"There is your proof," I growled, pointing the Control Rod at the swirling nightmare on the screen. "And you have less than 58 hours to reconcile it with your pathetic territorial disputes."
I then looked directly at Vespa Nox, my voice dropping to a dangerous, dismissive register. "You demanded I prove my intent. I have. You demanded allegiance. I offer you none."
I flexed my tiger-striped arm. "You think my plan—the Sex Pistol, my evolving abilities, and the power of the two assets you demanded I surrender—is insufficient to win this war? Then you miss out."
"I don't need your savage armies, your cramped tunnels, or your petty politics to beat the Lunar Cry. Your survival is now contingent only upon my success."
I spun the Hand around. I didn't wait for a response from Agony, Rima, or Vespa Nox. I had issued my declaration of war and my declaration of superiority. The Hand punched a new tunnel into the rock face directly opposite the arena, the colossal machine carrying me, Marla, and Koba away, leaving the assembled clans in terrified, stunned silence to debate the impossible choice I had just forced upon them.