The Mid-Spires were a symphony of high-pressure brass and colonial arrogance.
Unlike the suffocating rot of the Slums or the biological sludge of the Hepatic-Basin, the Mid-Spires roared with the sound of "Steam-Turbines." Massive, gold-plated pipes—the "Aorta-Conduits"—ran along the ceilings, carrying superheated vapor to the luxury districts above. Here, the air was dry, scorching, and smelled of scorched ozone and expensive grease.
***Karys*** moved along the maintenance catwalks of the "Great Steam-Highway," a vertical transit shaft that spanned three sectors.
*Systemic Integration Percentage: 19.5%.*
The Synapse-Silk was doing its job, but the physical strain was becoming undeniable. Every time his heart beat, he felt a sharp, stabbing pressure in his *left ventricle*. His human heart—a fragile organ of muscle and valves—was trying to push "Siderite-Ichor" through a body that was becoming increasingly metallic and dense. The blood was too heavy. The pump was failing.
"Faster, boy," Vrax hissed from behind a steam-vent. She had discarded her surgical robe for a sleek, "Skin-Tight" pressure suit that masked her biometric signature. "The 'Pressure-Sensors' on this level are calibrated to detect any unauthorized mass over eighty kilograms. With that arm, you're tripping every alarm in the sector."
"My chest..." ***Karys*** rasped, leaning against a brass railing. The metal sizzled against his palm, but he didn't feel the burn. He only felt the rhythmic, agonizing hammer in his ribs.
"I told you," Vrax said, her blue pupils scanning the pressure gauges. "Your heart is a liability. You're trying to run a Pre-Collapse engine on a Scrubber's battery. If we don't reach the 'Valve-Governor's' estate and secure a 'Heart-Engine,' your aorta will burst before the next shift-change."
Suddenly, the catwalk beneath them vibrated.
From the shadows of the upper highway, a "Steam-Crawler" descended. It was a multi-legged transport vehicle, looking like a massive, brass scarab. It didn't carry passengers; it carried "Automated Sentinel-Spheres."
"Cover!" Vrax ducked into a drainage pipe.
***Karys*** didn't have the luxury of stealth. The Nidus-Claw was pulsing with a violent, rhythmic light—a "Bio-Magnetic" flare that the Sentinel-Spheres locked onto instantly.
Three spheres detached from the Crawler, their steam-jets hissing as they stabilized in mid-air. Their "Optical-Lenses" turned red.
"Target identified. Unregistered Graft detected. Commencing Incineration."
The spheres didn't fire spikes. They opened their frontal plates, revealing "Thermite-Injectors."
*Neural Link: Overclocking.*
The Synapse-Silk flared behind ***Karys***'s eyes. He saw the world slow down as his brain synchronized with the Nidus. He saw the internal ignition sequence of the first sphere—the spark, the chemical mix, the build-up of pressure.
He lunged.
He didn't use the thermal blade he'd stolen; it was too bulky for the narrow catwalk. Instead, he flexed his right forearm. The Nidus-threads inside his skin didn't just stay sub-dermal. They erupted through his pores like black, metallic needles, forming a "Shrapnel-Shield" around his arm.
The first jet of thermite hit the shield.
The heat was intense—over 2,000 degrees. ***Karys***'s skin bubbled and charred, the smell of burning meat filling the narrow shaft. But beneath the char, the Siderite-Marrow absorbed the thermal energy. The Nidus didn't just endure the heat; it *fed* on it.
"Conversion: 12% Thermal-to-Marrow," a voice that wasn't a voice echoed in his mind.
***Karys*** slammed his hand into the first sphere. His Nidus-Claw didn't just crush the metal; it tunneled into the sphere's "Core-Reactor." He ripped the miniature steam-engine out of the machine's chassis.
The sphere exploded in a shower of brass and boiling water.
The other two spheres adjusted their tactics, circling him to fire from opposite sides. ***Karys*** felt his heart skip a beat. A cold, numbing sensation spread down his left arm.
*Warning: Cardiac Failure Imminent.*
"Not... yet..." ***Karys*** growled.
He grabbed the brass railing of the catwalk. The Nidus-threads snaked into the metal, fusing his nervous system with the Steam-Highway's infrastructure. He reached for the "High-Pressure" line running parallel to the walk.
He didn't rip the pipe. He opened his "Pores-Ports."
The Nidus acted as a biological pressure-valve. It sucked the superheated steam directly into ***Karys***'s lymphatic system. It was madness—a suicidal gamble. The steam should have cooked his organs from the inside out.
Instead, the Synapse-Silk acted as a thermal regulator, shunting the heat into the Siderite-Lattice of his bones.
***Karys*** let out a scream of pure, molten agony.
He swung his arm in a wide arc. A lash of compressed steam and Nidus-filaments shot out, striking the remaining two spheres. The force was enough to shear them in half, sending the burning wreckage tumbling into the dark abyss of the lower sectors.
***Karys*** fell to his knees, his body glowing a dull, cherry-red. His tunic had been incinerated, leaving him bare-chested. The "Nidus-Spider" pattern on his ribs was now etched in deep, black scars.
Vrax crawled out of the pipe, her eyes wide. "You're insane. You just used a Class-4 Steam-Line as an adrenaline shot."
"Did it... work?" ***Karys*** whispered, his breath coming out as literal steam.
"For now," Vrax said, reaching out to touch the blackened skin of his chest. "But look."
She pointed to his heart. Through the thin, scorched skin of his chest, the heart was visible. It was swollen, bruised, and beating with a frantic, irregular rhythm. It looked like it was about to explode.
"The 'Valve-Governor's' estate is just above this shaft," Vrax said, her voice urgent. "He keeps a 'Mark-III Heart-Engine' in his private collection—a clockwork masterpiece made of 'Living-Gold' and 'Ichor-Pumps.' We get that, or you die on this catwalk."
***Karys*** stood up, his legs trembling. The Nidus was quiet now, exhausted by the thermal conversion. He felt empty. Hollow. The "Metabolic Debt" had returned with a vengeance, and his own body was the only currency left.
"Let's go," ***Karys*** said.
He looked at the thermal blade he had dropped. He picked it up, the obsidian handle feeling cold against his charred palm.
"The Governor... does he have guards?"
Vrax let out a short, dry laugh. "He has 'The Gilded.' Men who have traded their souls for golden armor and pressurized blood. They don't feel pain, Karys. And they don't miss."
***Karys*** started to climb the vertical service ladder, his Nidus-Claw leaving deep indentations in the brass rungs.
"Good," ***Karys*** said, his violet eyes flashing in the dark. "I'm tired of eating dregs. I want to see what 'Gold-Marrow' tastes like."
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