The ground didn't just shake. It rippled.
Marcus lay flat in the mulch, his face pressed into the wet decay of leaves. Above him, the sky was blocked out by steel.
The Harvester was colossal.
Its underbelly was a maze of hydraulic pistons and grinding gears. A massive rotary saw, twenty feet wide, hung from the chassis. It spun with a terrifying, low-frequency hum that vibrated Marcus's ribs.
WHIRRR-CRUNCH.
The saw descended. It bit into a pine tree thick as a barrel. Wood exploded into dust.
"Move," Marcus mouthed.
He crawled forward on his elbows.
The mud was warm here. The machine radiated heat like a furnace.
Galen crawled behind him, dragging his medical pouch. Lucilla followed, sobbing silently, clutching the back of Galen's tunic.
Narcissus brought up the rear.
The giant was a problem. The mud Marcus had smeared over the Fusion Core was drying fast in the machine's heat. Cracks appeared in the clay. Blue light bled through.
A piston slammed down three feet from Marcus's head. Mud sprayed into his eyes.
He didn't blink. He watched the pattern.
Step. Grind. Step. Grind.
The machine was rhythmic. It was industrial. It didn't care about the ants beneath its feet.
They reached the center of the shadow.
HISS.
A hatch opened on the Harvester's belly.
Marcus froze.
A metal pod dropped from the hatch. It hung on a cable, swinging five feet above the ground.
It wasn't a camera. It was a turret.
A Needle Drone. Anti-pest control. Designed to shoot wolves, deer, or scavengers interfering with the harvest.
Its sensor swept the ground. A thin red laser grid scanned the mulch.
It passed over Marcus. The mud hid his heat.
It passed over Lucilla.
It stopped on Galen.
The physician had looked up. His face was pale, clean of mud in patches where sweat had washed it away.
The laser locked onto his forehead.
The turret barrel spun. Whirrr.
"Galen, down!" Marcus hissed.
Galen froze. He stared at the red dot between his eyes. The fear paralyzed him.
The drone charged. A high-pitched whine.
Marcus scrambled. He was ten feet away. Too far to tackle Galen.
He gripped the Vibro-Knife.
He didn't throw it. He pushed off the ground, launching himself into a slide.
The mud was slick as oil. He skated across the forest floor.
The drone fired.
ZIP.
A needle of superheated tungsten hit the dirt an inch from Galen's ear.
Marcus slid beneath the hanging turret.
He slashed upward.
The Vibro-Blade hummed. It met the steel cable holding the drone.
SNIKT.
No resistance. The cable parted.
The drone fell. It hit the mud with a heavy thud.
It wasn't dead. Its gyro spun wildly. The turret tried to traverse, aiming blindly.
Marcus rolled on top of it.
He drove the knife down. Through the casing. Through the battery. Through the processor.
CRUNCH-FIZZ.
Sparks showered his face. The drone seized and died.
Marcus lay on the smoking wreckage, panting.
Above them, the Harvester groaned. The massive saw blade lifted. The machine took a step forward.
It hadn't noticed. To the Titan, the drone loss was just a minor error code. A blown fuse.
"Go," Marcus whispered. "While it moves."
They scrambled out from the underbelly.
They cleared the tree line just as the Harvester crushed the spot where they had been lying.
They reached the foothills.
Here, the forest died completely.
The "Dead Zone."
It was a strip of land leading up to the limestone cliffs of the Apennines. The acid rain had pooled here, turning the valley into a steaming bog of gray sludge.
There were no trees. Just stumps that looked like melted candles.
"The fumes," Galen coughed, covering his mouth with his tunic. "It burns the lungs."
"Hold your breath," Marcus said. "The entrance is there."
He pointed.
Half a mile up the slope, a dark archway was cut into the cliff face.
The Etruscan Mine.
"Run," Marcus ordered.
They sprinted through the sludge. The acid mist stung their eyes. Their boots sank into the chemical mud.
Narcissus took the lead. He held the stone slab over his head again, shielding the group from the worst of the drizzle.
They reached the incline. The ground became rocky, firmer.
They scrambled up the scree slope, gasping for clean air.
They reached the archway.
Marcus stopped.
"Wait."
It wasn't an open tunnel.
The entrance was blocked.
Carts, timber, and piles of rusted Roman armor formed a wall across the mouth of the mine. It was a barricade.
And it was decorated.
Heads.
Dozens of them. Mounted on sharpened stakes driven into the barricade. Some were fresh. Some were skulls.
They weren't Scourge units. They were people. Refugees.
Painted across the stones in jagged red ochre were words:
PLENUS. (FULL).
NON INTRARE. (DO NOT ENTER).
"Humans," Lucilla whispered. "Survivors."
"They aren't friendly," Galen noted, looking at the heads.
"They're scared," Marcus said. He stepped forward.
THWIP.
An arrow struck the stone ground at his feet.
Marcus looked up.
At the top of the barricade, shadowy figures moved behind the timber. Bows were drawn.
"Back!" a voice screamed. It was ragged, hysterical. "Go back to the fire!"
"We are not machines!" Galen shouted, raising his hands. "We are citizens! We have wounded!"
"We are full!" the voice shrieked. "No more water! No more air! Die outside!"
Another arrow flew. This one aimed at Lucilla.
CLACK.
Narcissus moved faster than a man of his size should. He swung the stone slab down, catching the arrow on the limestone face.
He lowered the slab. His blue eye glowed in the gloom. He growled, a low, mechanical rumble that vibrated the stones.
"They shoot at Caesar," Narcissus said. "I will pull the wall down."
He stepped forward. The servo in his arm whined.
"Wait," Marcus said.
He put a hand on the giant's arm.
He looked at the barricade. He saw the fear. He saw the desperation. These were rats trapped in a hole, biting at anything that tried to get in.
Marcus reached into his belt. He pulled out the Comms Chip he had looted from the Liquidator.
He slotted it into the hilt of the Vibro-Knife, jury-rigging a connection to the power cell.
He tapped the chip.
Static.
"Can you amplify?" Marcus asked.
"Loudspeaker mode," Lucilla nodded. "It will project."
Marcus held the knife hilt like a microphone.
"Citizens of Rome!"
His voice boomed. It echoed off the canyon walls, distorted and metallic, amplified to a deafening volume.
The archers on the barricade flinched. They covered their ears.
"I am not a refugee," Marcus projected. "I am Marcus Aurelius Commodus. Your Emperor."
Silence from the wall.
"You think you are safe in that hole?" Marcus continued, his voice rolling like thunder. "The rain is acid. The machines are eating the forest. The door you built will not hold them."
He stepped closer. The acid rain sizzled on his ceramic chest plate.
"I have killed the Hunters. I have walked through the fire. Open the gate, and I will show you how to survive."
A pause.
"He lies!" the voice on the wall shouted. "The Emperor died in the palace! Shoot him!"
Bows creaked.
"Iron Dog," Marcus said softly. "Show them."
Narcissus dropped the stone slab.
BOOM.
He stood to his full height. He ripped the muddy bandage from his chest.
The Fusion Core flared.
Blinding blue light flooded the canyon. It lit up the barricade like a lightning strike.
Narcissus raised his fist. He punched the solid rock wall of the cliff.
CRACK.
Stone splintered. Dust rained down.
"Kneel!" Narcissus roared.
His voice didn't need a microphone. It was the roar of a monster.
The archers dropped their bows. They stared at the glowing blue god standing in the mist.
The barricade shifted.
Heavy timbers were pulled aside. A gap opened.
A man stepped out. He wore the tattered uniform of a Centurion, his face caked in soot. He looked at Narcissus, then at Marcus.
He dropped to his knees in the mud.
"Caesar..." he wept. "We thought... we thought the gods had left us."
"The gods are dead," Marcus said, walking past him. "I'm what's left."
He signaled his team.
"Get inside. Before the rain eats us."
They moved through the gap in the barricade.
The air inside the tunnel was cool and stale. Torches flickered on the walls.
Dozens of faces stared at them from the shadows. Men, women, children. Filthy, starving, huddled in the dark.
Marcus walked through the crowd. He didn't offer comfort. He offered strength.
"Seal the gate," Marcus ordered the Centurion.
"Yes, dominus."
As the heavy timbers slammed shut, blocking out the gray light of the Dead Zone, a sound came from deep within the earth.
From the black tunnels stretching miles under the mountains.
ROAAAAAR.
It wasn't a machine. It wasn't human.
It was guttural. Primal.
The refugees flinched. They looked terrified.
"What is that?" Galen whispered.
The Centurion looked at the floor.
"We didn't block the gate to keep you out, Caesar," the soldier whispered. "We blocked it to keep them in."
Marcus looked into the deep dark.
He fingered the hilt of his Vibro-Knife.
"Good," Marcus said. "I was getting bored of robots."