Chapter 152: Ripples of the world
When a Verdant Warden rank Behemorph falls, the world takes notice.
Afterall, Verdant Warden rank Behemorphs were still the symbol of the tyranny of the Genesis Protocols.
Despite the growing influence and power of Verdant Cities and Verdant Lords around the world, Verdant Warden rank Behemorphs were still a menace that were feared by humans.
They were the pinnacle of what the Genesis Protocols had to offer. Afterall, it was not very often that you get to see a Behemorph above the Verdant Warden rank, and it was even rarer to see a human live to tell the tale.
Since the Genesis Protocols took over the world over 3 centuries ago, the saturation of Genesis Energy on earth rose every year.
At first when it started, it was just Initiate Ember Behemorphs scattered across the world. But with time, as Awakened warriors began walking the Earth and as the Genesis Ember density increased, so did the power of Behemorphs.
From just Initiate Ember Behemorphs, Luminous Seed rank Behemorphs also started walking the Earth.
It was a big hurdle for humanity but adaptable like always, humanity adapted. More humans became Initiate Ember Awakened, and the first Luminous Seed Awakeneds were born.
When it seemed like humanity was finally about to stem the tide of Behemorph invasion and push back against the monsters, it happened again.
The first Verdant Warden Rank Behemorph appeared.
And once again, humans were pushed to the very bottom of the food chain again as they fought hard to survive.
Like the first two times though, humanity survived. They didn’t go extinct as the very first Verdant Warden rank Awakened warriors of humanity gave back after completing the horrific objectives of trial III.
That made the number of Verdant Warden Rank Behemorphs in the planet to rise even more.
And this led to the scientific theory... scientists believe that the stronger humans get, the stronger the Behemorphs that’ll invade from Echoterra, and this cycle will continue until humans get to the final rank.
There were only two ever records of a Prime Synchron rank Behemorph, and on both occasions, it was a natural disaster.
Humanity lost 2 Verdant cities to the rampage of the Behemorphs.
Since then, no other Prime Synchron rank Behemorph had been since, and hence why Verdant Warden rank Behemorphs were still seen as the benchmark.
This was why the death of the Thorn Crown Verdant Warden rank Behemorph outside Atlanta was not just another battle in a ruined city, and was a message carved into the bones of the Genesis Protocols themselves.
It was a message that Clayton’s Rootsite could stand on its own in the brutal crucible of this apocalypse.
Verdant Wardens were not ordinary foes. They were walking sieges, beasts meant to cull the reckless and terrify the survivors.
And yet one had fallen.
Not to a Verdant City army, not to a coalition of Awakened mercenaries, but to a single Rootsite led by a man the world had once dismissed as a wild seed with more stubbornness than sense.
Rumors spread faster than any scout.
Traders whispered it at border camps. Refugees carried it on broken tongues across ravaged highways, and the story twisted and changed in each telling, but the truth stayed intact... the wild Verdant Lord of Atlanta had slain a Warden.
Clayton’s legend continued spreading across the enclaves of humanity.
...
Inside the halls of Verdant Citadel Arvoreal, a council of Awakened sat beneath banners of green silk and iron leaves. They were old names, cautious names of lords and ladies who had ruled safe behind walls of prosperity.
One councilor spat into the brazier. "He was lucky, it was just a Thorn Crown caught unawares. Do not mistake fortune for strength."
Another leaned forward, knuckles white.
"Luck does not kill a Warden, strategy does. Coordination does. Tell me, when was the last time any of us heard of a Rootsite of all things slaying a creature of that level?"
"Verdant Cities are required to fight them!"
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
A woman draped in vines and gold bracelets frowned. "If the Wild Verdant Lord grows unchecked, what then? What happens when Atlanta stops being his Rootsite and starts being his throne?"
The chamber fell silent.
Some scoffed, others weighed the thought heavily.
They remembered Korrath, the Verdant Lord of New Chicago, who had ruled with iron and machine.
If he could fall, then perhaps the world’s balance of power was shifting. And in that shift, a seedling named Clayton Hunt was becoming more than just a name.
...
Far from verdant halls, in the furnace-lit depths of an Ironblood forge-citadel, commanders sat at a steel table scarred with maps and burn marks.
A hammer slammed onto the table, sparks flying. "Do you not see what this means?" one growled. "A Verdant Warden falls, and not by our Null Scions, not by our blades, but by a root-born savage".
"If he grows stronger, he will tear down our forges with his vines."
Another commander, face half-wrapped in brass, sneered. "Then we prepare more Null Scions. He is a man, he bleeds like any other."
But a third, older with eyes clouded white spoke quieter. "Null suppression have failed before, do not underestimate a Verdant Lord who has survived Echoterra itself."
The table went still.
The commanders did not admit it aloud, but unease born from their uncertainty clung to the air like smoke.
Before the meeting ended, orders were given: double the construction of Null Scion Generators, extend suppression patrols into the eastern corridors, and above all... watch Atlanta.
...
In the rotting halls of an Apostate enclave, worshippers chanted under walls covered in creeping vines. Their voices echoed with madness and faith.
"The Wild King from Below."
"The seed that defied the machine."
"The traitor who rejects the Green."
Some spat Clayton’s name as blasphemy. To them, he was a thief who wielded the Genesis’ gifts while scorning its truth.
Others trembled and knelt. To them, his survival was prophecy, a sign that the Protocols were not finished with humanity. The Apostates split further that night, arguments turning to violence in the tunnels.
One whispered, "If he claims Atlanta and New Chicago both, then perhaps he is the one the Old Order waits for."
The words spread like wildfire, seeding both fear and devotion.
...
Beyond the great powers, smaller enclaves and nomadic clans heard the whispers too.
In a ruined library turned camp, a grandmother told children by firelight.
"The Wild Verdant Lord stood against beasts greater than towers. He did not bend, he did not flee, he cut them down and made the ground safe again."
The children’s eyes shone.
To them, Atlanta was no longer just a ruin, it was hope.
A clan elder at a caravan council spoke to her people.
"The world shifts. We cannot stay rootless forever. If this Rootsite can stand against Korrath and Warden Behemorphs, perhaps it is where we stake our last gamble. Perhaps Atlanta is where we live, or where we die."
And so caravans turned their wheels toward the south, following rumors like stars.
...
The whispers reached Atlanta in fragments.
Traders brought scraps of news, and refugees carried longer stories. Scouts returned with overheard speeches from distant factions.
By the end of the week, the Rootsite knew one thing... the world knew their name.
Some Awakened grinned. They felt taller when they walked the lanes, as if victory had carved pride into their spines.
"We’re not just a Rootsite anymore," one said. "We’re a banner. The world fears us now."
Others shook their heads in worry. "If the world knows," a mother whispered as she clutched her child, "then the world will come. And it will not come in peace."
The debates ran through the streets, through the markets, through the bunkers. Hope and fear twined together like two vines choking the same stone.
Clayton listened to all of it.
He did not silence the proud, nor did he dismiss the fearful. Instead, when asked, he gave the same answer every time:
"Good. Let them come. The more they watch, the more they’ll show themselves."
It was not bravado, it was strategy. If enemies came curious, they would reveal their weapons. If allies came cautious, they would reveal their price. And all of it was knowledge Clayton could use.
That night, Clayton stood in the high garden beneath the scarred ironwood tree. The Spire pulsed beneath his feet, a steady heartbeat of the Rootsite.
But beneath that, deeper and sharper, he felt something else, the Genesis Protocol’s whisper.
It was louder now.
Not words, not yet. Just pressure. A pull at the edge of his mind, like the tide before a storm.
Trial III was not far.
He laid his palm against the bark, eyes narrowing at the stars above.
"Let them whisper," he muttered. "Let them doubt, let them fear. When the Trial calls, I’ll give them something to remember."
The night wind stirred the leaves. The Spire thrummed in agreement.
And far away, unseen, the Genesis Protocol turned another page.