The chainsaw sword's teeth carved through flesh with industrial efficiency.
The shoulder joint separated, humeral head pulling free from the scapula's socket in a spray of synovial fluid. Muscle tissue parted like wet paper. Blood vessels, severed cleanly rather than torn, began pumping arterial blood with pressure that painted everything nearby in vivid crimson.
The arm fell away, tumbling through air, still wearing its silver dress sleeve and that golden ring pulsing with purple energy.
Blood erupted in sheets, coating the Stormtroopers' black ceramite in glistening red. Nolan's armor took the worst of it, positioned directly in the arterial spray's path, his chest plate and helmet dripping with warm wetness that steamed slightly in the cool air.
Titania's eyes, already rolling back from Nolan's attck, went fully white. Her mouth opened in a scream that started strong but collapsed into a wail of pure agony, the kind of sound that bypassed conscious thought and came straight from the hindbrain's pain centers. The sound was primal, animal, completely divorced from the confident woman who'd been standing there moments before.
Then consciousness fled entirely. Her body went limp, held upright only by Big Bane's continuing grip on her remaining arm.
The purple energy sphere that had been expanding to envelop her entire form stuttered, its parameters suddenly confused by missing mass. The teleportation matrix, designed to transport a complete human body, struggled to recalculate. The sphere contracted rapidly, shrinking down to wrap only around the severed arm still falling through space.
The limb disappeared with a soft pop of displaced air, violet light collapsing inward on itself and vanishing. Gone to wherever the teleportation system's anchor point existed, carrying the golden ring and its emergency extraction protocols with it.
Big Bane, suddenly supporting Titania's full weight with only one restraint point, lost his balance. His massive armored form tilted, servos whining protest as his center of gravity shifted beyond compensation range. He went down hard, ceramite shoulder crashing into the already shattered marble floor and creating new craters, new patterns of destruction across the ballroom's ruined surface.
"Stasis protocols!" Nolan's voice cracked through the comm-net, chainsaw sword still extended, blood dripping from its spinning teeth. "Stop the bleeding immediately! We need her alive!"
The Bane brothers responded with practiced coordination born from weeks of brutal training. They dropped to their knees on either side of Titania's unconscious form, their armored hands moving with surprising delicacy despite the bulk. Little Bane produced a combat tourniquet from his armor's medical storage, the device designed for catastrophic limb trauma. He wrapped it around the stump of Titania's shoulder, cranking the mechanism tight, compressing blood vessels with pressure that would have been agonizing if she'd been conscious.
Big Bane applied coagulant gel directly to the wound, the medical compound reacting with exposed tissue to create rapid clotting. The blood flow slowed from arterial spray to oozing seepage, then stopped entirely as the gel hardened into a temporary seal.
"Package secured," Big Bane reported, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Target stabilized for transport. Ready for extraction."
"Move." Nolan's order was simple and absolute.
The Bane brothers lifted Titania between them, each supporting her with one arm while keeping their other hand free for weapons. Her body hung limp, head lolling, blood still dripping from the stump despite the medical interventions. They turned toward the nearest exit, moving carefully to avoid jostling their cargo too severely.
Nolan swept the ballroom with his helmet's enhanced optics, cataloging the scene. Hundreds of civilians, frozen in various states of terror and shock. Bodyguards, those still alive, huddled around their principals or standing with hands raised in surrender. The smell of blood and explosives and fear-sweat hanging thick enough to taste even through environmental filters.
His chainsaw sword was still active, teeth spinning, gore splattering off them in a fine mist. He began lowering it, preparing to disengage and follow his team's withdrawal.
Movement in his peripheral vision. A figure stepping forward from the crowd despite multiple bodyguards attempting physical restraint.
An old man, military bearing evident despite advanced age. Grey hair, nearly white, cut to regulation length. Dark green uniform with enough medals and insignia to identify him as high-ranking, probably a general. His face was flushed red, veins standing out on his temples, eyes wide with fury that had overcome self-preservation instincts.
He planted himself directly in Nolan's path, arms spread wide, making himself an obstacle that couldn't be ignored. The gesture was simultaneously brave and foolish, defiant in the face of overwhelming force.
Countless tactical flashlight beams converged on the confrontation, creating a pool of harsh illumination that cast stark shadows.
The general's voice emerged as a roar, decades of command presence channeled into raw sound. "You outsiders! You high-handed bastards with your advanced weapons! You think you can violate our sovereignty at will? Slaughter our people without consequence?" Spittle flew from his lips, his entire body trembling with rage. "You bomb our allies' embassies, you treat us like primitives to be managed and controlled!"
His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with pressure. "We will not forget this blood debt! Even if I must die here, I will—"
Nolan's hand rose without warning.
The ceramite-sheathed palm, still slick with Titania's blood, descended toward the general's head with the weight of tons of powered armor behind it. The motion was sudden, brutal, carrying clear lethal intent.
Screams erupted from the surrounding crowd. Bodyguards lurched forward too late to intervene. Several guests turned away, unable to watch what they assumed would be horrific violence.
The hand continued its descent, gathering speed, unstoppable momentum.
Then, at the last possible moment, it slowed.
The ceramite palm settled gently on the general's shoulder, finding the star-marked epaulette there, and patted it twice with controlled force. Firm, but carefully calibrated not to injure. Almost... respectful.
Silence crashed down like a physical presence. Every eye in the ballroom locked on the tableau: massive black armor, old general, blood-soaked hand resting on a uniformed shoulder.
Nolan's voice emerged from his helmet's speakers, filtered but carrying clearly through the sudden quiet. "Among everyone present, you demonstrate the most courage. The most genuine commitment to your duties as a soldier." The tone was measured, almost gentle. "Therefore, I will not harm you."
He paused, letting that statement settle. "However, if you genuinely believe that Leviathan's Zodiac representatives are generous, kind individuals worth cooperating with, then I offer advice. For your country's sake, for your people's protection, you should retire immediately. Find someone less naive to lead."
The words reverberated through the ballroom, bouncing off marble walls, settling into the consciousness of everyone present who understood their language.
Under the continued illumination of dozens of flashlight beams, something shifted in how the crowd perceived the black metal giant. The simple act of mercy, unexpected and therefore more powerful, recontextualized everything. The monster became... something else. Not benevolent, but not mindlessly destructive either. Purposeful. Discriminating.
For some guests, particularly those who'd opposed Leviathan's growing influence in their nation's affairs, the equation flipped entirely. The armored invader transformed from threat to potential ally, someone willing to do what their own government couldn't or wouldn't.
Nolan retracted his hand, the ceramite pulling away from the general's shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint on the dark green fabric. He straightened to his full height and walked forward, stepping past the old man whose legs trembled visibly now that adrenaline was fading.
His destination was Gao Qi's impact crater.
The Executioner knelt on one knee, his posture suggesting he'd tried to rise and failed. Harsh breathing echoed through his helmet's external speakers, each inhalation labored and painful. The auxiliary armor's chest plate bore a massive dent, a fist-sized depression driven so deep that internal structure was visible through cracks in the living metal. The necrodermis flowed sluggishly around the damage, attempting to repair but struggling against trauma this severe.
"Sorry, Chief." Gao Qi's voice came through the comm-net, tight with pain and embarrassment. "I'm an embarrassment to the unit."
Nolan reached him, extending one hand to help pull the injured soldier upright. "Even I couldn't take that punch without the Terminator armor. You're fortunate to be breathing." His tone carried no recrimination, just factual assessment. "Let's evacuate. We can debrief once we're secure."
With Nolan's assistance, Gao Qi managed to stand. Together they began moving toward the extraction point, armor servos compensating for Gao Qi's compromised mobility.
Osprey materialized from the darkness, his sniper rifle cradled professionally, having provided overwatch throughout the engagement without firing a single shot. His presence had been enough, the threat of precision fire from unknown location keeping potential reinforcements cautious.
The three converged on the forest where the Valkyrie waited, joining the Bane brothers who'd already loaded their unconscious cargo into the cabin.
Behind them, across the manor grounds, sirens wailed in the distance. The characteristic Doppler shift announced approaching vehicles, Serbian military response finally arriving. Headlights created a line of illumination along the horizon, an impressive show of force that would find only aftermath and questions.
The Valkyrie's vector engines spun up, their roar washing over the forest and scattering dead leaves in swirling patterns. David's precise piloting brought the aircraft to hovering altitude, then accelerating climb. The adaptive camouflage engaged, rendering them invisible against the night sky.
By the time the Serbian armor reached the manor's gates, the attackers had vanished like ghosts.
Inside the cabin, the vector engines' hum provided constant background noise, a vibration felt through the deck plating more than heard.
Nolan and Big Bane worked together on Titania's unconscious form with the detached efficiency of field medics. They removed joints methodically, dislocating shoulders and hips, hyperextending knees and elbows until the limbs could only move within severely limited ranges. Not permanent damage, nothing that wouldn't heal, but sufficient to prevent sudden violent movement if she woke unexpectedly.
The restraints weren't subtle. Heavy-duty plastek bindings rated for superhuman strength, wrapped multiple times around wrists and ankles, secured to structural mounting points throughout the cabin. Redundant systems, backup restraints, contingency measures. Taking no chances with someone who'd demonstrated the ability to punch through power armor.
Little Bane, showing surprising thoughtfulness, found a canvas tarp in the emergency supplies and draped it over Titania's exposed body. The gesture was pragmatic rather than modest—maintaining body temperature prevented shock complications—but carried implications of basic decency that said something about the soldier beneath the armor.
Nolan turned away from the secured prisoner, his attention shifting to where Craig knelt beside Gao Qi. The medic had removed sections of the damaged chest plate, exposing the underlayer and allowing access for diagnostic instruments.
"Gum, assessment." Nolan's voice carried command authority that expected complete honesty.
Craig didn't look up from his work, fingers moving across Gao Qi's torso with practiced care. "Six ribs fractured in radial pattern, boss. Impact energy distributed through the armor prevented worse damage, but the initial force was substantial." He pressed gently against Gao Qi's side, watching for reactions. "Bone fragments haven't punctured organs. No internal bleeding detected. Breathing is compromised but functional."
His hands continued their examination, checking for secondary injuries. "Between his enhanced physiology and standard treatment, full recovery in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. All Souls Resurrection potion would accelerate that to twenty-four hours if we want him combat-ready sooner."
Nolan nodded slowly, processing the information. Six broken ribs. Gao Qi had taken a punch that would have killed an unenhanced human outright, that would have liquefied organs and stopped hearts. The auxiliary armor had distributed enough force to prevent death but not injury. The line between success and catastrophic failure was razor-thin.
He straightened, removing his helmet, allowing sweat-soaked hair to meet cooler cabin air. His cyan eyes swept across the assembled team, making individual contact with each soldier.
"Mission assessment." His voice dropped to a more conversational register, the tone of a teacher conducting after-action review rather than a commander delivering judgment. "Overall execution was successful. Target secured, team extracted, operational timeline maintained. Everyone performed to standard."
He pointed at Big Bane with his helmet. "Particularly you. Your improvisational restraint technique prevented target escape. Quick thinking under pressure, adapting to unexpected threat capabilities. Exemplary performance."
Big Bane's posture shifted slightly, the subtle straightening that suggested pride despite his stoic exterior.
Nolan turned to Gao Qi, who sat with Craig's hands still pressed against his ribs. "Your injury doesn't reflect failure. Understand that clearly. I couldn't have taken that hit without my Terminator armor. The fact that you're alive and conscious demonstrates the auxiliary armor's effectiveness and your own resilience."
Gao Qi's breath caught slightly, the words clearly hitting harder than the punch had.
"However," and Nolan's tone hardened, "this engagement highlights critical vulnerabilities in our operational doctrine. As we face increasingly sophisticated opposition, as hostile organizations deploy their own superhuman assets and advanced technology, our current capture and restraint protocols prove inadequate."
He began pacing, armor servos singing softly with each step. "We relied on brute force and luck to secure the target. That methodology doesn't scale. We require dedicated equipment for neutralizing superhuman threats. Specialized restraints rated beyond human limits. Tranquilizer compounds effective against enhanced physiology. Capture protocols that don't depend on physical wrestling matches."
The pacing stopped. He faced them fully, cyan eyes bright with intensity. "Continuous improvement. Constant adaptation. Learning from every engagement, refining tactics, upgrading equipment. These are the only reliable paths to sustained victory against enemies who will also improve, who will also adapt."
His voice rose slightly, carrying command presence that demanded response. "Storm Troopers! Do you understand?"
"Understood, leader!" Five voices answered in unison, the words sharp and clear, carrying absolute conviction.
Outside the Valkyrie, stars wheeled overhead as they flew south, carrying their prize and their lessons back to the frozen island where both would be thoroughly examined.