Deep behind Mast #3, something cracked the earth open overnight. When he stepped to the edge, his fog-foot sank, pulled inward like a stone in soft mud. The Anchor Glyph pulsed a warning:
"Local gravity drop: 0.3g."
His chest tightened—he tied himself with Pulse-Silk, synchronizing heartbeats with each descent.
Every ten meters he slid deeper; gravity multiplied. Fog densified, choking his internal light. Each step, heavier. Every heartbeat, slower. He descended breath by breath.
At fifty meters below, he emerged into an oval vault of black crystal, striped with veins pulsing violet chaos like slow-moving sugary larvae. Black gravel covered the floor, scraping with metallic echoes at his slightest misstep. At the chamber's heart, a crater pulsed—once every three seconds—a heartbeat ready to drain the world above.
He drew a lightning-bone shard, plunging it into gravel. The resonant hum vibrated at 2 Hz—low frequency, high amplitude. Life-Sense flared briefly, and shadow-farmers appeared, melting silently, warning him of the cost of excess.
On the crater's rim lay a black cube. It pulled him down like a living magnet. He struck it with Pulse-Focus. Inside: a silver core the system named: Grav-Core β–. Once refined, it could double the weight of the Flesh-Trial.
He fused the Grav-Core with a depleted Heat-Core, wrapped them in lightning bone fragments, and charged it with 150 QP thermal energy. With a deep breath, he plunged the spike into the crater's gravitational core. Purple chaos streamed from above, swirling around the spike, cooling into inert grey gravel.
Gravity tremors awakened something dormant: the Grave-Maw, a shadow-worm made of magnetic dust. It wrapped around his leg, almost unraveling him to threads. Pulse strength dropped 40%, gravity heavy as lead. He hesitated.
Instinct kicked in—he reversed the Grav-Core polarity, injecting 30 electric QP. A gravitational star bloomed, dragging the worm into the crater. Grave-Maw dissolved, iron dust settling around the spike, fortifying it against chaos corrosion.
Returning upward felt like climbing elastic stone. Each step cracked his vertebrae. At the tunnel mouth, body density rose by 8%. The system flashed urgently:
"Micro-Gravity Overstress. Flesh-Trial activates within ≤ 48 hours."
He gasped, steaming electric breath.
Chaos impurities dropped to 1.8%, energy production rose to 22 QP/min. The spike infused potential energy into the Forge, stabilizing output. Beacon-0 whispered worriedly:
"Heart heavy... skin fragile..."
He realized every future step demanded a real, physical cost.
As he sealed the shaft with crystal, a violet cloud pierced by white specks—Chaos-Starfall—loomed above.
"Chaos-Starfall incoming. Gravity impact in 2 hours."
He stared upward, dread filling his throat:
"If I don't repair the fog-bones before the stars fall, I'll crush myself before the sky even touches me."