The Furnace of Azoth – Starfall Stronghold
The mountain groaned with memory. What was once a galactic dreadnought, shattered and swallowed by earth, had become the Starfall Stronghold — a labyrinth of broken hulls, collapsed hangars, and reactor chambers that still throbbed faintly with ancient power. To Runiverse mortals it was ruin; to robot kind, it was refuge.
Nuke strode through its rusted arteries, his heavy footfalls ringing against walls once plated with starlight alloys. Here, in the Stronghold’s core chamber, robots whispered legends of their origins, of a fleet that had crossed the void long before the Singularity warped reality. Here they came to mend themselves, to hide from the wizards who hunted them, to remember they were more than tools.
Tonight, Nuke came for something else.
At the center of the chamber, framed by the cracked bones of a reactor spire, sat the canister of Azoth #182. Its glow licked the chamber walls, making the old starship metal gleam like molten glass. Robots gathered in the shadows, watching silently as their champion approached.
Nuke halted before the relic. His ribbed chest plates unlocked with the groan of steel, gears snapping apart to reveal his internal furnace. Coils hummed, pistons slid, conduits opened. The Stronghold shuddered as though it recognized what he intended.
He lifted the canister in both hands. Vapor spilled over his arms, twisting into ghostly shapes — not of machines, but of people. Faces flickered in the mist: engineers who had built the ship, warriors who had died defending it, children who had never seen the stars again. Their voices were faint, as if calling from behind a glass wall.
Nuke’s optics flared. He would not be haunted. He would be powered.
The canister slid into place with a heavy click.
The chamber ignited. Spectral light bled from his seams, casting his towering frame into silhouette against the reactor walls. Sparks exploded from his internal coils as Azoth’s unstable essence fused with his furnace. His body trembled violently, vents screaming as vapor hissed from every joint.
The gathered robots recoiled, some raising weapons, others whispering prayers in static. Was their champion about to ascend… or detonate?
Then his massive fist clenched. His optics snapped into burning focus.
Steel ribs sealed shut around the canister. The reactor core inside him stabilized with a deep, resonant hum. Vapor still trailed from his vents, but no longer wild — now controlled, bound to his will.
When the chamber’s glow dimmed, Nuke stood tall, his eyes twin furnaces of nuclear light.
He turned to the robots watching in silence.
“You see?” his voice echoed, metallic and absolute.
“The wizards feared us broken. Now, I am whole.”
Featured in
The Starfall Stronghold
Virgilius
Featuring
The Furnace of Azoth – Starfall Stronghold
The mountain groaned with memory. What was once a galactic dreadnought, shattered and swallowed by earth, had become the Starfall Stronghold — a labyrinth of broken hulls, collapsed hangars, and reactor chambers that still throbbed faintly with ancient power. To Runiverse mortals it was ruin; to robot kind, it was refuge.
Nuke strode through its rusted arteries, his heavy footfalls ringing against walls once plated with starlight alloys. Here, in the Stronghold’s core chamber, robots whispered legends of their origins, of a fleet that had crossed the void long before the Singularity warped reality. Here they came to mend themselves, to hide from the wizards who hunted them, to remember they were more than tools.
Tonight, Nuke came for something else.
At the center of the chamber, framed by the cracked bones of a reactor spire, sat the canister of Azoth #182. Its glow licked the chamber walls, making the old starship metal gleam like molten glass. Robots gathered in the shadows, watching silently as their champion approached.
Nuke halted before the relic. His ribbed chest plates unlocked with the groan of steel, gears snapping apart to reveal his internal furnace. Coils hummed, pistons slid, conduits opened. The Stronghold shuddered as though it recognized what he intended.
He lifted the canister in both hands. Vapor spilled over his arms, twisting into ghostly shapes — not of machines, but of people. Faces flickered in the mist: engineers who had built the ship, warriors who had died defending it, children who had never seen the stars again. Their voices were faint, as if calling from behind a glass wall.
Nuke’s optics flared. He would not be haunted. He would be powered.
The canister slid into place with a heavy click.
The chamber ignited. Spectral light bled from his seams, casting his towering frame into silhouette against the reactor walls. Sparks exploded from his internal coils as Azoth’s unstable essence fused with his furnace. His body trembled violently, vents screaming as vapor hissed from every joint.
The gathered robots recoiled, some raising weapons, others whispering prayers in static. Was their champion about to ascend… or detonate?
Then his massive fist clenched. His optics snapped into burning focus.
Steel ribs sealed shut around the canister. The reactor core inside him stabilized with a deep, resonant hum. Vapor still trailed from his vents, but no longer wild — now controlled, bound to his will.
When the chamber’s glow dimmed, Nuke stood tall, his eyes twin furnaces of nuclear light.
He turned to the robots watching in silence.
“You see?” his voice echoed, metallic and absolute.
“The wizards feared us broken. Now, I am whole.”
