The sun hung low in the afternoon sky , bleeding copper light through the grove’s canopy. Long shadows stretched across the root mats, turning the coils of PolybioFiber into glowing ropes that seemed almost alive. Ethanm grunted as he heaved another steel plate from the hauler bed, the weight dragging at his shoulders even with the servos whining in his suit.

  He’d taken these panels from the hauler, where he had stacked them in the crates alongside the last of the iron ingots. Forged quick and ugly, but flat enough, tough enough, and ready for whatever recipe he had needed. They weren’t elegant: each one carried sharp edges and scorched corners, marks of the low quality production of the level 1 forge, but they’d serve.

  Ethan let the panel drop with a metallic clang near the grove’s edge. Dust puffed up, glowing faintly where spores clung to it. A pile formed before him, almost a dozen plates ready to be used.

  He flexed his hands inside his gloves, his wrists aching from the effort. The Deforrestor groaned behind him as another tree leaned and toppled, showering the grove in drifting strands.

  Fang’s lens swept in a slow arc across the haze, its red glow catching on spores like embers in fog. The new turret hummed beside it, staked into the root mat with its barrel already aimed at the spore field. The sight of the steel watching the bright, tainted afternoon brought Ethan a flicker of reassurance.

  CelestOS broke the silence with her usual brightness.

  CelestOS: Advisory. Carrying capacity exceeded safe ergonomic standards. In simpler terms: your spine isn't covered by warranty.

  “Is anything even covered by warranty?” Ethan said.

  CeslestOS: Me.

  He crouched, dragging the panel into place with a grunt, then levered it upright against a pair of exposed roots. Once he had the foundation in place, the Celesticraft would do the heavy lifting. The steel gleamed faintly, catching the last of the sunlight, and for a moment it looked like a mirror. His reflection was warped and grim, streaked with sweat.

  The line stretched out in his mind’s eye. Grove to camp, a narrow corridor of steel, just wide enough to shield a conveyor from spores and stingers. It was neither clean nor efficient, but maybe, just maybe, survivable.

  He leaned the axe against the plate and marked a trench line in the dirt with his boot. Two panels at a time. Drop it, brace it, lock it in, repeat. And if the swarm came back before he finished, he’d just have to fight and build at the same time.

  CelestOS: Advisory. Current pace projects a ninety-three percent chance of incomplete fortification before nightfall.

  Ethan huffed through his teeth. “So what else is new?”

  CelestOS said nothing more, letting the probability hang in the air like a challenge.

  He stepped back to the hauler, hauling another stack of panels from the crate. The servos whined again, heat blooming across his shoulders. He could feel the afternoon leaning toward evening, the air cooling, the haze beyond the grove shifting like something restless. He wanted the first plates in place before the sun got anywhere near the horizon.

  The clang echoed again as he dropped it beside the first, dirt scattering. He braced them both, squaring the edges until they stood almost flush. Welding would lock them, but even leaning upright, the panels gave him a glimpse of what the tunnel could be: a narrow steel throat cutting through the worst of Veslaya.

  Behind him, the Deforrestor whined, spooling out another hundred meters of fiber. The pile was growing faster than he could move. He ground his teeth, forcing himself back to the panels. First segment. Just finish the first segment.

  CelestOS: Advisory. Material backlog is outpacing installation rate. At this trajectory, you will suffocate beneath success.

  “Shut up,” Ethan said, dragging the next plate into place. He keyed the CelestiCraft and a green grid shimmered to life, snapping across the metal like a phantom frame. The panel locked with a resonant thrum, the grid fading as the seam fused clean.

  The first segment stood crooked but solid, enough to hold. Ethan straightened, breath ragged in his helmet, and glanced toward the haze. The spores drifted thicker now, glowing faintly as clouds slid across the sun and dulled the light.

  He had a few hours before sunset, even less if the storm thickened.

  He planted the axe against the ground and stared down the line toward camp, his jaw set. “Alright. Let’s see if this coffin can carry me home.”

  The Celesticraft’s hiss still rang in Ethan’s ears when the buzzing started.

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  At first, it was low, like a wasp caught in a jar, easy to ignore under the hum of the Deforrestor chewing through another trunk. But the note deepened, thickened, until the ground seemed to vibrate with it.

  “Not now,” he said. He yanked the Celesticraft free from its storage crate, grabbing the axe from where it leaned against the plate.

  The swarm broke cover all at once. Sporequitos, a dozen at least, their wings thrumming like chainsaws. They came straight for the grove, their eyes glowing faintly in the muddied storm.

  Thinking quickly, Ethan’s grabbed his turrets and placed them at the front of his tunnel. The new turret lit up first, spitting fire into the haze. One of the creatures burst apart in midair, another spiraled down trailing ichor. It’s seemed like the protection offered by the tunnel prevented their lenses from being covered by the storm. Fang’s lens flared, catching targets one after another.

  The first Sporequito hit a second later. Its stinger speared into the plate with a screech of metal-on-metal, gouging a deep groove. Ethan flinched, axe raised, but the panel held. The bug withdrew and slammed again, leaving another scar before a turret bolt caught it clean through the thorax. It folded, smoking, into the dirt.

  Two more swept over the top, wings rattling the plates like a drum. Ethan ducked low, feeling the vibration hammer through his helmet. As a stinger punched down between the seams, he swung the axe upward in reflex, catching the tip and shearing it clean off. Resin sprayed across the steel in glowing droplets.

  CelestOS: Observation. Using the Celesticraft appears to have attracted additional parasites. Simply put: your productivity is creating brand awareness.

  “Yeah, well, tell them I’m not selling,” Ethan snapped, kicking the severed stinger aside.

  The swarm pressed harder, hammering the grove from both sides. Fang raked the haze with a sweeping burst, turrets pounding, but the numbers didn’t thin fast enough.

  The air filled with claws and shrieks, proboscises stabbing wherever they found purchase. One creature latched onto the top of the plate wall and dragged its body across, scraping deep grooves in the steel as though trying to peel it open.

  Ethan shoved the second panel against the first, bracing them with his back while he swung the welder torch in his free hand. Sparks snapped, the seam locking with a hiss. The bug above shrieked, its stinger probing through the gap until Fang scored it with a bolt and it dropped twitching to the dirt.

  “Two down,” Ethan said, his breath ragged. “Four hundred more to go.”

  CelestOS: Correction. Current swarm count: sixteen. Adjust your expectations downward.

  Another stinger punched against the plate, this one angling lower. It pierced deep enough to punch through the dirt at Ethan’s boots. He kicked it off, swinging the axe in a wide arc. The blade bit into chitin with a crunch, and the Sporequito reeled away, ichor spraying across the plate in glowing arcs.

  The smell was acrid, sour even through the filters. His throat burned, his chest heaving. Sweat stung his eyes as he wrestled another panel into place.

  The turret fired again, its bullets dancing through the bugs. Fang’s lens swiveled hard, tracking targets with jittery precision. Shots stitched through the haze, catching three at once, their wings exploding into shreds that fluttered like ash.

  For a heartbeat, the swarm faltered. Ethan slammed the third plate upright, using the lull to anchor it against the first two. He sparked the welder again, the heat blinding even in the dimmed storm light, sparks painting the grove in orange flashes.

  Claws raked across the outside. Stingers slammed into the seams. Every impact rattled his teeth, but the plates held.

  CelestOS: Advisory. Improvised infrastructure integrity: 77 percent. Congratulations. You've invented a very thin, long distance bunker.

  “Small’s all I need,” Ethan growled. He braced the last panel in reach. With a flourish of green light, the pieces of Metal quickly joined together. The first long tunnel segment stood: ugly and crooked, but standing. He estimated he needed another 5 segments and he’d be through

  The swarm circled, shrieking, then dove again.

  Ethan lifted the axe, his jaw tight. “Come on, then.” The tunnel wasn’t done, but it was in a solid place.

  The plates rattled under the next impact. Ethan pressed his shoulder into the steel, holding it steady as another stinger scraped across the outside with a nails-on-glass shriek. The whole wall shook, sparks raining down as the turret cut the attacker away.

  His pulse hammered in his ears. He needed more panels up, and fast. One crooked wall wasn’t a tunnel: it was a coffin waiting to tip over.

  He sprinted back to the hauler, his boots slipping on the spore laden dirt, and dragged another stack out of the crates. The weight nearly pulled him sideways, his suit and arms whining in protest. He staggered to the line, dropped the stack, and tried to create the next segment, but he was too slow.

  Two Sporequitos dove low, their wings vibrating like saw blades. He swung the axe one-handed, clipping one across the wing joint, but the second slammed into the half-raised panel.

  The plate pitched sideways and crashed to the dirt with a deafening clang. Ethan stumbled, rolled, and came up swinging, splitting the bug’s stinger off at the base. Resin sprayed across his visor in glowing arcs.

  “Damn it!” he spat, shoving the panel back into place. Sweat poured under his helmet, fogging the seal. He barely managed to brace it before Fang lit up the haze, turret bursts hammering another cluster out of the sky.

  CelestOS chimed in, chipper as ever.

  CelestOS: Observation. Time-to-placement ratio indicates a five thousandhour project timeline. In short: congratulations, you've begun a career in American construction.

  “Not helpful!” Ethan crafted the segment, sparks stuttering as he dragged the Celesticraft behind him. The joint held and his arms burned with fatigue.

  The swarm pressed harder. More shadows darted through the haze, their wings buzzing so loud the panels vibrated with the sound. Stingers jabbed the seams, probed for gaps. The new turret spat fire, Fang whined through another overheated burst, but for every bug that fell, more replaced it.

  Ethan’s lungs burned. His arms shook. He slammed the axe haft against the dirt in frustration. “There’s just to many of them.

  Another stinger scraped through, grazing his shoulder plate. The impact rattled him down to the bone. He swung back on instinct, his axe biting through the proboscis with a shower of resin. The bug shrieked and reeled, only to be clipped midair by Fang after the turret found the bug with its reticle, which gave him an idea.