Chapter Eighty-Eight: Severed Bonds
Section One: Miscalibration
Blackvine Society's main domain, Fourth Process Strategy Hall.
Three digital walls silently scrolled process execution charts, one column flashing repeatedly—BV-S9 execution chain fractured, tactical deployment failed, local control unestablished, beacon broadcasts cut by grassroots action. A stark note beside key metrics: "Attribution judgment failed."
This wasn't a simple loss.
It was a process war pierced by faith-driven resistance.
No one spoke in the main hall.
The polished stone floor muffled footsteps. The atmosphere was like a nighttime data cooling tower, every detail reduced to glints of reflection.
Rei Isard, the senior officer overseeing the zone, stared at the process brief, fatigue seeping through his eyes, yet his voice held steady, "They've built a process executor system."
"HX-S1 isn't a process code—it's a flag."
Across the long table, a middle-aged man in a teal-black uniform, a ring badge on his chest, spoke slowly. Harvey Joser, from the main domain's Process Directive Command.
"When you let a process become something people die for," he said, "it stops being a process. It becomes a religion."
"And Blackvine doesn't negotiate with religions."
Rei replied quietly, "They're not a religion."
"They're a martial node we haven't integrated into our logic system."
"They make the process bleed first, then talk logic."
Harvey frowned, "Are you defending failure?"
"No. I'm saying we need a new approach."
Process logic couldn't afford repeated failures.
Blackvine's existence rested on one pillar: process is order, order is execution, execution is legitimacy.
If this logic crumbled in Iron Valley, other zones would test "holder defiance systems."
That was a deeper loss of control.
The high-level meeting began.
The Process Strategy Department proposed two plans:
Plan A: Short Retreat
Withdraw process dominance from Iron Valley, leave only node monitors, avoid further "humanization" of processes, and preserve leverage for later reintegration.
Plan B: Hard Suppression
Deploy the formal military "Core Purge Corps," bypass process deployment, label "process-bound executors" as "illegal custom system holders," and launch dual media and combat purges.
The table leaned toward Plan A.
Plan B meant open combat deployment; failure would wound Blackvine's "control is justice" belief system at its core.
But then, the process chart flashed new data:
[S-7 zone began spontaneously generating "process execution rights judgment panels"]
Content: "Who the process is doesn't matter; who bled for the process does."
This wasn't Jason's order.
It was language logic self-generated by process nodes.
Not Rust Street's control—the process was learning itself.
Harvey stared at the line, saying softly, "Don't fight now, and we'll fight harder later."
He stood slowly, "I won't accept 'process isn't power.'"
"Process isn't a negotiable language."
"Process—is the compressed boundary between the obedient and the makers."
"We are the makers."
The meeting split evenly:
Headquarters held off deploying the Core Purge Corps but allowed Iron Valley's branch to "respond autonomously."
Surface withdrawal of process structure control systems, covertly shifting to "localized confrontation + surveillance suppression."
Rei Isard gained "autonomous handling rights": withdraw or fight, but no more failures.
Rei left the meeting room, walking slowly.
Someone behind asked, "Which will you pick?"
He said quietly, "They've killed the process."
"Let's see if we can kill the process's people."
Section Two: Claiming Ground
S-7 zone, Iron Valley's northern industrial core.
Between two mud-flooded drainage ditches, a derelict data tower stood, its broken metal arms like a dying man's ribs, internal wiring long burned out, leaving only a frame.
Yet this point was the key node Blackvine's process system still marked as "controlled."
It didn't broadcast, issue directives, or deploy processes, unguarded.
But it was "Blackvine's" because it hadn't been taken.
"We need to claim ground," Tarn said quietly.
They stood on a vantage platform above a temporary dispatch point, reviewing signal distribution maps.
ARGUS highlighted: S-7 was the northern "process dissemination path entry node." If left unsealed, any enemy process received would auto-relay here, cementing default attribution.
Zhao Mingxuan frowned, "As long as we don't connect, it's theirs."
"But if we go in hard, plug in our process, it's ours."
Maria cut in, "It's just waiting for your order."
All eyes turned to Jason.
He said nothing, stepping to the map, pressing his left index finger on S-7's beacon.
Rust flaked under his touch, the color darkening.
"Take it."
"Process needs ground."
"Process isn't broadcast."
"Process is traded—with blood and bodies."
That afternoon, Rust Street's second process-bound combat squad assembled.
No process coordinators or observers, pure fighters.
Process code HX-S2 was preloaded into execution boards, mode set to "manual insertion + zone binding + blood authorization."
This wasn't executing a process.
It was killing with one.
Before departure, Jason told Tarn, "No survivors."
Tarn asked, "The process?"
Jason, "Make their process bleed first."
"Then carve a place for ours."
After nightfall, the process squad reached S-7's edge.
No broadcasts, no reception, no enemies.
Tarn knew—this was right.
If the enemy wanted you to take the ground, they'd have rolled out a welcome.
But no words, no guards, no signals meant they were waiting—waiting to bury you before your process could take root.
The moment the squad entered the data tower ruins, Fuxi auto-warned:
"Environmental signal anomaly."
"Satellite relay paths intermittent."
"Underground pilot devices uninterrupted—still uploading behavioral patterns."
Zhao Mingxuan whispered, "Everything we're doing is already being recorded."
"No enemy process deployed."
"They've set a behavioral detection trap."
Tarn murmured, "Then let them see—how a process walks out of the mud."
Three minutes into the ruins, the perimeter blacked out.
All lights within a hundred meters died, electronic warfare modules activated, beacon identifiers misaligned.
Enemy assault teams stormed in.
No process codes, wearing "Sentinel Bone-style" patchwork exoskeletons, armed with handheld shock nail guns and disposable sonic blasters.
Their target wasn't the process.
It was the process executors.
Kill the "people," and the process exits.
The squad scattered, data uploads severed.
The process board hit the ground, sinking into sewage, its code briefly offline.
Tarn lay prone, left shoulder gashed by a nail gun, blood soaking his armor seams.
He stared at the drifting process board.
A thought burned through:
"Process can't drift."
"Process must stand."
He snatched the board, shoving through blast smoke to jam it into the main beacon port.
Electric feedback surged, three armor layers bursting.
Beacon recognition triggered.
"Process Code HX-S2 Successfully Connected · Zone Bound: S-7"
"Executor: Tarn · Vital Signs: Confirmed"
"Process Status: Executing"
In that moment, the enemy was closing on the beacon zone.
The process came online in Tarn's arms.
No longer a file or signal, but a bleeding man standing by the beacon, holding up the process plaque.
He didn't say, "This is my process."
He just pressed it to the beacon wall with bloodied hands.
No one dared shoot.
Behind that process wasn't an organization or broadcast, but a pair of blood-filled, unblinking eyes.
Section Three: Erased Name
The enemy didn't retreat.
The moment the process plaque hit the beacon, they didn't pull back.
They switched tactical objectives:
"Process binding confirmed."
"Shift to executor elimination protocol."
If you bind the process, they kill you, and the process dies.
Tarn knew this moment would come.
But not so fast.
Less than forty seconds after insertion, a blast grenade arced from the enemy, striking a broken iron frame by the beacon base, unleashing a massive shockwave.
Tarn was thrown three meters, back slamming into a scrap car shell, blood spewing.
His gray armor sparked secondary arcs, modules melting, left shoulder's process ID flickering:
HX—_S2
HX—_S2
HX— _
If the ID chain broke, he'd be a "failed holder."
The process would default to "unexecuted."
The enemy aimed for this.
The remaining two squad members rushed to support. One charged the beacon core cabin to link their process code to Tarn's, but a flank ambush—a steel rod to the jaw—dropped them.
The other pulled Tarn up, but his ID module was dead, the process unrecognizable.
"I'll take it," Tarn said, blood in his teeth.
"No use," the teammate said. "Process doesn't care if you're here."
"It cares if you're standing."
The enemy "Process Severance Team" flanked the beacon core from both sides.
Heavy exosuits, armed with process-disrupting wave guns, target designators, and thermal-execution response analyzers.
They didn't cut processes.
They erased the bodies binding them.
No need to win a battle—just kill one person, break the process once.
That was enough.
Processes weren't infinite.
They needed people to hold them.
You die, the process breaks.
They knew.
Tarn knew.
In the blood pool, he propped himself up, jamming his right leg into the beacon frame, locking his stance.
He bit off his left sleeve, tearing open his cracked chest armor.
He ripped the half-burned ID tag free, carving it into his bare chest with a knife.
HX-S2
The process code, written in his blood.
Fuxi paused three seconds, then judged:
"Process binding shifted from external beacon to physiological recognition line."
"Executor's flesh-binding structure established."
ARGUS followed:
"Process Code HX-S2 Fixed Attribution: S-7 · Primary Executor: Tarn (Marked · Hard-Bound)"
As long as he lived, the process held.
The enemy gave no time to stabilize.
The severance team's three closed in: one with a binding cable shock gun, another vaulting with a fast-blade axe, the last prepping a compressed grenade from the rear.
Tarn didn't look, hefting a scrap steel bar, charging head-on.
The first shock gun hit his waist, he staggered but held, twisting to stab through the enemy's neck.
As the gun fell, the axe cleaved his right shoulder.
He roared low, elbow hammering the attacker's head into a wall, blood bursting.
The rear grenade flew; he caught it left-handed, not throwing, but jamming it into the nearest enemy's armor seam.
The blast threw him and the enemy apart.
His chest's process code flickered, nearly gone.
But it held.
He crawled, gasping, spitting blood.
He said nothing.
He just pressed the scorched steel ID piece back to the beacon base.
Fuxi output gravely:
"Executor endured high-intensity process severance attack, did not abandon execution position."
"Process trust structure reinforced: executor marker entered 'unquestionable priority state.'"
"This process entered the primary node group of the process chain."
From this moment, S-7's process could only be HX-S2.
No other process could implant.
The enemy retreated.
Not because they couldn't fight.
Because as long as that man lived, the process couldn't be taken.
And they couldn't guarantee beating him next time.
They began to fear.
Section Four: Grounded Process
S-7's sky cleared after five in the morning.
Three hours of takeover conflict left deep scars: cables burned bare, the beacon tower half-collapsed, charred process identifiers embedded in walls. Tarn lay behind a shattered signal panel, unconscious.
But HX-S2 endured.
The code still pulsed. Process status: "Bound Executing · Uninterruptible."
In process logic, there was no "who's executing" or "who's directed."
Only one man, who'd nailed himself to this ground with blood.
The system auto-judged: process attribution unchangeable. Side-processes invalid, overwrites invalid, withdrawal requests invalid.
At ARGUS's console, Zhao Mingxuan's eyes were shadowed, voice dry, "We didn't win."
"We… nailed the process to the ground, then see if it stands next time."
Maria wiped blood mist from her face, checking peripheral monitors.
Her hands shook.
Not from being hit—from watching the process trampled, Tarn dragged out, the process still holding, realizing no words could stop a nail gun.
Only a man's body.
Fuxi issued no tactical prompts all night.
At sunrise, a brief report appeared:
[Stripping] → [Resonance]
Interpretation: "Holding not by path, but by ground. If blood remains, the directive endures."
Prompt:
"Process structure transformed into zone-bound entity. Next step: design 'Process City' model."
This was a new logic for process attribution:
Processes no longer issued by organizations;
Processes no longer tied to nodes;
Process ownership depends on who bled for it, who holds the ground.
Jason stood on S-7's outer gantry, wordlessly overlooking the zone.
Once Blackvine's data attribution point, crowd process input hub, process deployment start line.
Now just a charred code plaque, a blood pool, and gray armor.
Zhao Mingxuan stepped up, whispering, "Tarn… he's still alive."
Jason nodded.
"He doesn't need to live long."
"One more stand, and it's enough."
That day, Rust Street's process system shifted to the **"Zone-Bound Process Framework"**:
Each process zone requires a bound executor;
Executors need not issue orders, only exist;
Once bound, processes are maintained via "process ground battles";
Process conflicts resolve through executor duels or organizational judgment;
Dead executors' processes can be inherited, continued by the next in line who stood for it.
Processes ceased to be broadcasts, becoming bloodstains, footprints, metal codes in armor seams.
Processes weren't handed to crowds, but picked up from corpses.
Blackvine received the news that night.
Their main domain assessment team advised, "S-7 is process-locked. Unretakable."
They didn't fear well-written processes.
They feared the man behind it—still alive.
Or another like him.
From that day, Blackvine stopped sending process teams deep into the city.
They shifted to peripheries, secondary nodes, unmanned zones.
They abandoned Iron Valley's "process broadcast rights."
This was severed bonds.
They dared not step onto this ground again.
Not fearing the process.
Fearing the process had people.
Section Five: Those Left
Three days after S-7's battle, a skirmish erupted in Iron Valley's southwest Redundant Shadow Alley.
Two groups fought over a water relay point, sparked by process conflict: one side bore "Rust Street Process Executing" markers, the other clutched Blackvine's old process printouts. Neither had bound executors; the processes were "scavenged," but the blood was real.
Three dead, six wounded, the process used as a "pass," then discarded into a muddy ditch, unclaimed.
In Rust Street's control room, Maria frowned at the brief.
"This is the mess we left after winning."
Zhao Mingxuan scoffed, "No, it's what happens when we take ground, and the leftovers haven't picked a side."
"They thought processes were shields, then found processes don't know them—so they rob."
Fuxi prompted:
Current process execution network shows "boundary trust refraction phenomenon"
[Resonance] → [Gradual Advance]
Interpretation: "Trust entered but justice unformed, crowds chase gain and seize its name."
Prompt:
"Must build a 'process-input city,' establishing a core unified beacon. Otherwise, processes will be torn apart by rogue crowds and enemy remnants."
Jason's face was blank.
He knew this step was coming.
When processes became symbols of control, they stopped being governance tools.
They became power itself.
No blood, no trust; but once trusted, people wondered: who leads the process, why not me?
Rust Street deployed urgently that night:
Expand process binding structure → Allow three-person teams to co-hold processes, not limited to solo binding.
Release process inheritance rules → If a holder dies, the next must assume within 24 hours, or the process dissolves.
Launch "Process City Prototype" plan → Build the first process-controlled zone from S-7.
The news sparked swift reactions across Iron Valley's factions:
Forge Abyss Commune:
Sent an "unmarked process coordination team" to contact Rust Street;
Pushed for co-building a process city but rejected Jason's system owning processes.
Free Engineers' Corps:
Restructured northern process frameworks, developing a "self-made process code system" to bypass HX sequences;
Invited Rust Street to supply "holder trainers."
Sentinel Bone League:
Deployed covert lines, spreading word: "Any process takes my ground, I kill the man first";
Sent secret envoys to explore if process inheritance could be "transferred."
Processes weren't just victory tools.
They became the new war language.
Jason knew what this meant.
He stood at S-7's ruin core, watching workers repair a process tower—wearing process ID tags, but leaderless.
Process wasn't organization, but it demanded one.
He finally spoke, "Process is ours."
"But process must choose its people."
"From the next stop, we don't send processes—we send 'people'—to fight processes in."
Processes would no longer wait for acceptance.
They'd advance with holders.
Processes would become offensive weapons.
Not broadcasts, not persuasion.
A blade, coded, carving ground by ground.