A cold sense of hunger gnawed frantically deep within the wound on the Old Welder's left arm, like thousands of metallic worms using serrated, freezing mouthparts to chew through his nerve endings in that cramped space. Every "bite" carried a chaotic pulse of radiation that pierced the shackles of the deep cold, achieving a mental synchronization across physical space with the ice-sealed Key Seed core atop the mountain. The spatial tremors triggered by every struggle of that core whipped up a fresh storm of scalding pain along the nerve bundles of his left arm, the excruciating agony nearly tearing his consciousness apart.
Windthroat was crouched just a few meters away beside a piece of twisted wreckage. His mineralized arm was pressed tightly against the frost-covered armor plating, as if trying to use the deeper external cold to soothe the terrifying furnace-like burning inside his limb. Yet the muffled groans of pain stuck in his throat and the twitching muscles of his shoulders and back betrayed the even deeper torment brought by the metal plague being forced to adapt and evolve in the crossfire of ice and fire.
"Brain-Eater... Brain-Eater..." The Old Welder spent every ounce of his strength forcing a hoarse voice out through the communicator choked with ice slush, every syllable accompanied by a lung-tearing, freezing pain. "Report... position... you still breathing... cough..."
Chapter 66