The air inside the access pipe was thick with the smell of stale rust, stagnant water, and something older – ozone and the faint, acrid tang of decayed lubricants. Darkness pressed in, absolute and suffocating, broken only by the narrow beam of McNamara's flashlight cutting through the gloom. The pipe, easily ten feet in diameter but choked in places by collapsed debris and slick mineral deposits, sloped steeply downwards. Ethan moved carefully, his boots scraping on the corroded metal floor, every step sending jolts of pain through his battered body. His core stability hovered at a precarious 45%, a guttering candle flame after the violent expenditure against the Drakes. The Star-Eclipse containment felt thinner at 68%, the corruption a cold, watchful presence coiled deep within, sated but restless after its forced unleashing. The dark veins on his forearm were dormant now, but the numbness had been replaced by a deep, bone-deep chill that seemed to leech warmth from his very marrow.
Alert: Environmental Hazard - Residual Industrial Toxins Detected.
Alert: Bio-Contaminant (Warren Sickness) - Dormant but Integrated. Symbiotic Link to Star-Eclipse: Active.
Chekov followed close behind, his tablet's dim glow illuminating his anxious face. He scanned constantly, muttering readings. "Radiation levels... elevated but stable. Ambient energy... chaotic, spiking near structural weaknesses. Residual signatures... cold fusion decay? Pre-Collapse tech? Fascinating and terrifying!" He flinched as the beam caught the skeletal remains of a large rodent fused grotesquely into a patch of crystallized sludge. "Bozhe moi... Foundry runoff is not health food."
McNamara led with grim determination, his prism pendant occasionally pulsing faintly, casting shifting patterns on the pipe walls. "Foundry was sealed for a reason," he rasped, his voice echoing slightly. "They dug deep. Hit something... or woke something. Security logs were purged, but rumors spoke of containment breaches. Things that didn't belong to this reality." He kicked a corroded valve wheel aside. "Whatever happened, it left scars. On the place. And on the people sent to clean it up." He gestured towards the debris littering the pipe – not just rubble, but scattered tools, shredded protective suits, and the occasional, unnervingly clean human bone.
The descent felt endless. The air grew colder, drier, the scent of decay giving way to a sterile, metallic sharpness that stung the nostrils. The pipe walls transitioned from rusted iron to reinforced composites, then to a strange, dark alloy etched with geometric patterns that seemed to absorb the flashlight beam rather than reflect it. The symbols were similar to those on the Foundry blast door – angular, purposeful, radiating an aura of contained power and deep cold.
Finally, the pipe leveled out, ending abruptly at a massive, circular bulkhead door. Unlike the blast door Ethan had seen earlier, this one was partially open, jammed ajar by a pile of collapsed machinery and petrified organic matter that looked disturbingly like fossilized tentacles. Cold air, smelling of ozone and something vaguely electrical, whispered through the gap.
McNamara paused, his hand resting on the cold metal of the door. "Threshold," he murmured. "Place where the world got thin." He shone his light through the gap. Beyond lay not a cavern, but a vast, artificial space – the Foundry.
It was a cathedral of dead industry. Towering, skeletal assembly frames loomed in the darkness, draped in thick shrouds of dust and crystalline cobwebs. Conveyor belts, frozen mid-motion, snaked between silent machines whose purposes were obscured by time and decay. The floor was a maze of gutted control panels, severed power conduits spitting occasional sparks, and pools of stagnant, iridescent coolant. High above, shattered luminescent panels dotted a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. The air hummed with a low, subsonic thrum – the ghost of immense power now dormant, but not entirely dead.
Energy Signature: Residual Cold Fusion/Zero-Point Tap. Status: Dormant (Critical Failure State).
Ambient Radiation: High (Contained by Alloy Shielding - Partial Degradation Detected).
Structural Integrity: Compromised (Multiple Breaches Detected).
Chekov gasped, his scanner chirping frantically. "Energy readings... off the charts residual! But... chaotic! Fractured! Like a shattered star engine! And... life signs? No... not life... echoes? Residual psychic imprints? Trauma signatures?" He pointed his tablet towards the shadows between the silent machines. "Something bad happened here. Very bad. Very... loud."
Ethan stepped through the gap, his senses assaulted by the scale and the silence. His core pulsed uneasily, resonating faintly with the dormant power saturating the air. The Star-Eclipse stirred, a ripple of cold interest. Power, it whispered. Old power. Broken power. Useful power.
McNamara moved cautiously, his flashlight beam sweeping the cavernous space. "Main foundry floor. Fusion forges over there." He pointed towards massive, dark pits surrounded by heat-scorched metal. "Assembly lines for... something. Never fully disclosed. High-grade alloys. Energy weapons components. Maybe worse." He kicked a dust-covered object – a segmented metal limb ending in razor-sharp manipulators. "Automated defense? Or assembly drones?"
They ventured deeper, the oppressive silence broken only by the crunch of debris underfoot and the drip of condensation. Chekov's scanner suddenly shrieked. He jumped, pointing towards a section of wall partially hidden behind a collapsed gantry. "Massive energy spike! Localized! Behind that wall! Not residual! Active!"
McNamara raised his pistol. Ethan tensed, his depleted core flaring weakly, readying for a fight. They approached cautiously. The wall wasn't solid; it was lined with massive, cylindrical pods, each easily ten feet tall and made of the same dark, non-reflective alloy as the door. Most were dark, their surfaces scarred and pitted. But one, near the center, pulsed with a faint, internal light. A sickly, familiar greenish-purple light.
Ethan froze. The light... it resonated with the Star-Eclipse within him. A cold, hungry echo.
**> Energy Signature Identified: Spatial Destabilization/Containment Field.
Classification: Celestial Chamber Containment Pod (Mark IV).
Status: Active (Containment Field: Critical Failure Imminent).
Contained Entity: Unknown. Energy Signature: Star-Eclipse Variant (Corrupted).**
McNamara hissed. "Chamber tech. High-security containment. What the hell is one doing here? And why is it failing?" He moved closer, examining the pod's surface. Symbols glowed faintly – Chamber purity glyphs, but distorted, flickering erratically. "Containment field is degrading. Something inside... it's fighting. Resonating with..." His gaze snapped to Ethan. "...with you."
Ethan felt it too. A pull. A cold, insistent tug from the Star-Eclipse within him towards the failing pod. The corruption recognized its kin. Or its prey.
Chekov scanned frantically. "Contained entity... bio-signature unstable! Morphic field fluctuating! Energy output spiking erratically! It's... it's trying to breach! The field won't hold! Minutes! Maybe less!"
Before they could react, a guttural, grinding shriek echoed from deeper within the Foundry, followed by the sound of heavy, metallic footsteps crunching on debris. Multiple pairs. Getting closer.
McNamara cursed. "Automated defense! Woken by the pod's distress signal! Or our presence!" He looked at the failing pod, then at Ethan, his face grim. "We got incoming. And that pod's about to pop. Choices, kid. Run... or see what nightmare the Chamber buried down here."
Ethan stared at the pulsing pod. The Star-Eclipse within him surged, not with fear, but with a cold, predatory anticipation. The entity inside... it was like him. Broken. Contained. Hungry. Power called to power. Corruption recognized corruption. Running meant leaving a potential weapon – or a devastating threat – for whatever approached. Or for the Knights, if they ever found this place.
He met McNamara's gaze, his own eyes reflecting the pod's sickly light. "We crack it open," he stated, his voice flat, cold. "Before whatever's coming gets here. Or before the Knights find it."
McNamara stared at him for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Chekov! Find the manual release! Or the weakest point in that field! Chen... brace yourself. Whatever's inside... it's been in the dark a long time. And it ain't gonna be happy."
As the heavy, metallic footsteps drew nearer, echoing through the dead Foundry, Ethan stepped towards the failing containment pod, the Stardust Shard cold in his pocket, the Star-Eclipse roaring its approval in the depths of his soul. He wasn't just seeking refuge anymore. He was hunting for weapons in the graveyard of forgotten horrors. The hunter embraced the dark.