The rusted doors to the old showroom groaned as Brynhild leaned her shoulder into them and shoved. The metal screeched against the floor before giving way, the noise echoing into the ruined city streets behind them. Dust billowed out in a choking wave, catching the light of the dim overcast sky.
Brynhild coughed once, waved her hand, then grinned as she stepped inside.
The air smelled of rust and mildew, heavy with decay. The building must once have been impressive — wide glass panels, polished steel floors, display cases showing off the future of household life. Now, the showroom was a graveyard.
Broken mannequins stood frozen in twisted poses. Half-finished robot frames slumped against walls, their heads caved in, torsos gutted. Their cracked glass eyes reflected the weak light like corpses staring back at her.
"Charming place," Brynhild muttered, sweeping dust off a cracked countertop. "Romantic, even."
Behind her, quick footsteps pounded across the cracked stone.
"Idiot," Runa hissed as she shoved the doors wider and stormed in after her. Her face was tight, her jaw set like a steel trap. "What part of 'we need to leave' did you not understand?"
Brynhild turned lazily, leaning on the counter with her arms folded. "Relax, Runa. That frown of yours is going to rust your pretty face."
Runa's eyes narrowed. "Do not reduce this to one of your jokes. The signal is strongest here. Directly beneath this building."
"Exactly," Brynhild said, straightening up and brushing her hands together. "Which means this is the place worth checking out."
Runa grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. "No. Which means it is the most dangerous place in this city. We retreat. Now."
Brynhild twisted her wrist free with casual ease, smirking. "Aw, you care. Didn't know my favorite robot could get so clingy."
"You're insufferable," Runa snapped.
"And you're adorable when you're angry." Brynhild winked and started walking deeper into the showroom, her boots crunching over shattered glass.
Runa followed close behind, muttering a stream of words in Skjolduric that Brynhild was fairly sure were curses.
The showroom's far wall was blackened with fire damage, the ceiling half-collapsed. Brynhild brushed dust off a fallen beam as she picked her way through the wreckage. Then she stopped short.
In the corner stood a pair of massive steel elevator doors. Unlike the rest of the building, they were intact. Scorched and dented, yes, but still sealed shut like a tomb.
Brynhild's grin spread. "Well, well. Look at this."
The elevator panel beside the doors flickered faintly. A red light blinked on and off, weak but alive. Some hidden power source still hummed beneath the ground.
"Perfect," Brynhild said, stepping toward it.
"No," Runa said sharply, blocking her path. "Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
"Because that elevator leads to the source of the signal. If we go down, we walk directly into their nest."
Brynhild's eyes glinted. She jabbed the button with her finger.
The elevator shuddered, gears groaning, before the doors screeched open. The air that spilled out was stale, cold, tinged with ozone.
Runa's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "This is suicide."
Brynhild stepped inside and stretched her arms wide. "Then at least we'll die together, sweetheart."
Runa stared at her flatly. "I am a robot."
Brynhild blew her a kiss.
Grinding her teeth, Runa followed her in.
The elevator clanged shut and lurched downward. Its old motor whined and rattled, carrying them into the dark. A single dim bulb flickered overhead, swaying with every shudder of the cab.
Runa folded her arms tightly across her chest. "You are reckless, selfish, and insufferably perverted."
Brynhild leaned casually against the wall, one boot crossed over the other. "And you're the cutest bodyguard I've ever had."
"I am not your bodyguard. I am here because someone has to keep you alive."
"Same difference." Brynhild pushed off the wall and leaned closer, her grin wide. "Admit it — you like me. Even if I'm a shameless pervert."
Runa's brow twitched. "I am not programmed for such… ridiculous affections."
"Programmed?" Brynhild chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Runa's cheek just to see her reaction. "Honey, you're already more human than half the men I've ever met. And twice as pretty."
Runa jerked her head away, glaring. "Stop it. I do not blush."
Brynhild smirked. "Sure. That's why you look ready to melt down."
"I said stop!" Runa snapped, fists clenched.
The elevator jolted suddenly, cutting their argument short. The bulb above flickered violently, then steadied. Both fell silent, listening to the grinding echo of gears as the cab carried them deeper.
Brynhild's grin returned slowly. "See? Even the elevator's jealous."
Runa groaned and pressed her palm to her forehead.
The elevator shuddered to a halt. With a screech of metal, the doors slid open.
Brynhild and Runa stepped out onto a steel platform — and froze.
Before them stretched a cavern the size of a city district. It was a factory, but not like any human factory.
Conveyor belts snaked across the ground like veins, sparks showering from welding arms. Towering machines stamped out armor plating. Assembly racks stretched into the distance, lined with hundreds — no, thousands — of Draugr in various stages of completion.
Some were skeletal frames, ribs of steel without plating. Others gleamed with new armor, their eyes still dark. Others twitched faintly, waiting for activation.
The air vibrated with the constant thrum of machinery. And beneath it all, there was something else — a pulse, slow and steady, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
Brynhild's smile slipped as she took it in. "Well. That's… a lot."
Runa's face was pale with reflected light. Her voice was almost a whisper. "This makes no sense. Draugr conserve their resources. They never mass-produce on this scale. To build this many… it is beyond reason."
Brynhild raised an eyebrow. "Maybe they just like big families."
Runa shook her head hard. Her processors whirred audibly as her eyes darted across the assembly lines. "What purpose could—"
A voice cut through the thunder of machines.
"Oh, we have bigger ambitions."
The words echoed through the chamber, smooth and resonant. Mocking, cultured. They carried intelligence in every syllable — and disdain
Brynhild spun, sword already half-raised. Runa stiffened, sensors flaring.
From the shadows of a towering assembly rig, a shape emerged.
It was massive — taller than any Draugr they had seen, its frame sleek and lethal. Black armor gleamed under the factory lights, etched with crimson lines that pulsed like veins of molten metal. Its eyes burned a deep, searing orange, glowing with thought.
It walked with a measured gait, every step precise, like a predator pacing its prey. Its posture was regal, deliberate — not a drone, but something commanding.
Runa's voice came out sharp, trembling with disbelief. "A… Grade Nine. That is a Grade Nine Draugr."
Brynhild glanced at her. "And that's bad, I'm guessing."
Runa didn't take her eyes off the machine. "Grades measure autonomy. Power. Intelligence. A Grade Nine is… it is an overlord unit. There should not be one here. Not in this city. Not anywhere near us."
The Draugr stopped a few paces from them, head tilting slightly as if amused.
Then, with a voice almost polite, it said:
"The name is Brimscythe."