The briefing room dimmed as the screen flickered to life.
A city appeared—coastal, dense, alive with movement.
Cape Town.
Eastern Trade District.
Lights traced a path through the streets before zooming into a reinforced structure embedded between commercial blocks.
"A research facility operating under private security," the handler began, his voice steady, clinical. "Their primary asset…"
The image shifted.
A cylindrical chamber appeared, layered in shielding, cables feeding into its core like veins.
"…is the Helios Core Reactor."
He paused, letting the weight of it settle.
"Unlike conventional reactors, the Helios Core does not rely on sustained fuel consumption. It generates energy through a stabilized micro-fusion loop—self-sustaining once activated. Minimal input. Maximum output."
Another screen appeared—power output charts spiking beyond standard limits.
"With the right modifications, it can power entire underground facilities indefinitely… or overload systems beyond safe thresholds."
Silence.
Seven white masks stared forward.
The display shifted again—now a full layout of the building.
Entrances.
Corridors. Guard routes.
A path lit up in red.
"You will insert through the upper maintenance access," the handler continued. "Tarma will neutralize external surveillance. From there, you proceed along this route—minimal exposure, minimal engagement."
The path twisted downward.
"Your objective is located in a secured underground chamber. Retrieval only."
A pause.
"Thirty guards will be on duty."
No reaction.
"Do not kill them."
That… lingered.
"Non-lethal force only. This operation is a control test. You are to complete the mission without triggering the alarm."
Another pause.
"Under no circumstances… must the alarm be triggered."
A new set of figures appeared on the screen.
Four units.
"Support will be provided by four Heralds. They will assist in transport and carry the Helios Core once secured."
The doors at the back of the room opened.
Four figures stepped in—black suits, white armbands cutting across their arms like marks of rank.
They stood behind the Saints.
The Savior stepped forward.
"You have operated from superiority," he said calmly. "Speed. Strength. Precision. This time… you will operate under restriction."
His gaze moved across all seven.
"Let us see if perfection remains… when control is required."
A brief pause.
"Proceed."
Armory
The armory was quiet except for the sound of metal locking into place.
White combat suits—clean, seamless, fitted to perfection.
Hidden compartments clicked open and shut:
Compact blades, suppressed firearms , micro-tools, restraint wires.
Nothing excessive just tools that get the job done efficiently.
Behind them, the Heralds equipped themselves—black suits absorbing light, marked only by the white bands on their arms.
A contrast.
Command and execution.
The hangar doors opened.
Cold air rushed in.
The helicopter waited—dark, silent, ready.
The Saints boarded first then the Heralds followed.
No words were exchanged as the rotors began to spin.
Above, from the observation deck, the Savior watched as the aircraft lifted into the night.
Observation Deck
A man stepped beside him, hesitant.
"Sir… why didn't you inform them of the consequences of triggering the alarm?"
The Savior didn't look away from the ascending aircraft.
"They have always operated from control," he said.
"From superiority."
Finally, he spoke again:
"I want to see how they perform… when that is taken from them."
The scientist frowned slightly. "They should still be stronger."
A small pause.
The Savior's voice was quiet now.
"I will believe that… when I see it."
Drop point
The helicopter hovered just above the rooftop.
Wind howled across the concrete as the side door slid open.
One after another, the seven figures dropped.
Their boots touched the surface without a sound.
No hesitation.
No pause.
The helicopter pulled away immediately, vanishing into the night sky.
Silence reclaimed the rooftop.
Tarma moved first.
Her form blurred—skin shifting, bending light, dissolving into the darkness. Within seconds, she was no longer visible, only a faint distortion against the night.
A surveillance camera rotated.
Paused.
Then stopped.
Dead.
Another followed.
Then another.
One by one, the rooftop went blind.
The team advanced.
A maintenance hatch sat near the edge of the roof.
Locked.
Deborah stepped forward.
No wasted movement.
Her hand pressed against the metal—
A controlled application of force.
A soft internal snap.
Not broken.
Disengaged.
She lifted the hatch open.
The darkness below welcomed them.
They dropped in.
The corridor was narrow.
Dimly lit.
Footsteps echoed from the far end.
Two guards.
They turned the corner—
And never had the chance to react.
Jezebel moved like a strike of lightning. A precise hit to the throat—calculated force. The first guard collapsed instantly.
The second barely registered what happened.
A shadow crossed his vision—
Then nothing.
He dropped.
Unconscious before he hit the ground.
They advanced deeper into the facility.
Movements synchronized.
Measured.
Perfect.
Esther covered the rear, rifle steady, tracking movement through walls before it happened.
Rebecca took point in darker sections, her vision cutting through low light effortlessly.
Seila remained central—silent, controlled.
The Heralds followed close behind.
A guard stepped into view too soon.
His eyes widened.
Recognition.
His hand moved—
Seila exhaled.
A low, controlled sonic pulse rippled through the air. The guard froze mid-motion.
His body locked, then it collapsed making no sound.
The lower levels approached, security increased. Meaning more guards, tighter formations, and very little room for error.
One of them reached for a wall panel.
Too fast.
Deborah intercepted.
Her hand caught his wrist mid-motion.
The force applied was too much.
A faint crack sound rang from his wrist.
The guard went limp as he was knocked out before he could scream or process the pain.
She released him immediately, showing no reaction.
They continued moving.
The bunker door stood ahead.
Sealed.
Reinforced.
A Herald moved forward, deploying a compact hacking unit. Thin cables extended, connecting to the system.
Code streamed across the interface.
Fast.
Precise.
Inside—
Movement shifted, guards repositioning.
Something was wrong.
The system hadn't been triggered, but suspicion had.
"Faster," one of the Heralds muttered.
The device pulsed beeping then it was unlocked. The door opened.
Inside, the chamber was cold.
Controlled.
At the center—
The Helios Core Reactor.
Encased in reinforced housing, faint energy pulsing from within.
Two guards stood watch.
They reacted instantly— but not near fast enough.
Tarma appeared behind one. He dropped without a sound. The second raised his weapon—
A suppressed shot rang out.
His arm snapped back.
Weapon fell then he followed. Unconscious.
The Heralds moved in. Tools deployed.
Locks disengaged.
The Core was secured within a reinforced carrying unit. It was heavy but not something this group couldn't handle.
Then— they heard footsteps coming from above. It got closer and faster.
Time was gone. They moved.
Back through the corridors.
Faster now, with less precision but more urgency.
Voices echoed, orders shouted.
Search patterns forming.
A guard turned the corner—
Too close.
Too sudden.
Jezebel reacted.
A thin stream shot forward and It struck him.
Burned through fabric. Through skin.
The guard screamed. Loud.
Everything stopped for half a second.
Then— Shouting, running.
The building came alive.
They didn't wait. They ran.
Fast.
Up the access route then through the hatch, getting back onto the roof.
The helicopter returned just as they emerged.
The Heralds loaded the Core first.
The Saints followed. The door slammed shut.
The helicopter began to lift—
Then—
Impact.
A violent explosion tore through the rotor.
Metal screamed.
The aircraft lurched sideways, balance failing instantly.
Warning alarms blared.
Smoke filled the cabin.
"Out."
No panic. Just a simple command.
The door was forced open mid-failure.
One by one, they jumped.
The Heralds pushed the Core out first before following.
The helicopter spun out of control—
Then crashed beyond the structure in a distant burst of flame.
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Different this time.
They weren't alone anymore as they saw six figures standing ahead.
Black suits.
Still.
Waiting.
Not guards.
Not soldiers.
Something else.
The Saints didn't move.
Didn't speak.
They looked at Hana. She gave a single nod.
They moved.
The distance closed instantly.
Speed met speed.Force met force.
Deborah struck first.
A direct, overwhelming blow—
Blocked.
Clean.
The impact cracked the ground beneath both of them.
For the first time— Resistance.
Equal.
Jezebel attacked from the flank—
Her opponent didn't dodge.
Didn't retreat.
They moved through the attack.
A glancing hit burned across their arm—
No reaction.
A counterstrike sent her sliding back across the rooftop.
Esther fired very precise and calculated.
Impossible to miss—
The bullets were avoided.
Not by chance but by awareness.
Rebecca engaged next—
Fluid movement, controlled breathing—
Her opponent matched her rhythm exactly.
Step for step.
Motion for motion.
Tarma disappeared. Gone from sight—
A second later— She reappeared mid-air.
Thrown.She hit the ground hard, sliding before recovering instantly.
Seila opened her mouth— A sonic wave erupted—
The air distorted— But it didn't end the fight.
It slowed them. Only slightly.
For the first time— The Saints were not overwhelming. They were matched.
At the rear— The Heralds moved.
Fast and disciplined. They lifted the Core again.
"Move." They didn't get far.
One of the black-suited figures broke away from the fight.
It landed in front of them. Blocking their path. The Heralds froze for half a second.
Then adjusted. They set the Core down.
Two stepped forward and attacked with no hesitation.
The clash was immediate. Sharper but
More desperate.
Unlike the Saints—
They weren't equal in strength or prowess to these individuals.
But they didn't fall back they had numbers on their side.
Behind them—The Core sat guarded by the tow other heralds..
At the center of the battlefield—
Hana stepped forward.
Everything around her slowed.
Not physically— But in awareness. She could feel it. no fear, no hesitation. Just focus.
Her opponent stood directly ahead.
Still just waiting.
For the first time— Something wasn't under their control. And the night— It was no longer theirs. They failed they weren't undetected.
Hana crouched, muscles coiled, ready to strike.
A sharp crackle buzzed in her coms.
"Fall back. Leave the reactor."
The voice was calm, commanding. The Savior.
Hana froze for a heartbeat, then spun to her team.
"Fall back! Leave it!" she shouted, her words carrying over their coms.
The others hesitated for a fraction of a second before understanding.
Small spheres dropped from their belts and hands.
They hit the ground and rolled, hissing.
Smoke erupted.
Thick. Choking. Blinding.
Shadows twisted in the haze.
When the smoke cleared, the Saints and Heralds were gone.
The reactor sat untouched. Vulnerable. Alone.
The figure who had led the unknown force—strong, deliberate, precise—stepped forward.
He paused. Scanned the area.
"Retreat," he said into his comms.
The voice relayed orders sharply, final.
Then he spoke again, almost to himself, though clearly over the comms:
"Return to base. Bring the reactor."
The wind carried the sound of the distant chopper crashing, the echoes of the failed attempt fading.
Silence settled over the compound, broken only by the hum of the reactor, waiting.