A burst tore through the tight shell of Vanguard plating, yet sent nothing sharp flying. Instead, six wide wings - made of restless darkness - flared open inside the hollow chamber, pressing down like breath caught mid-chest.
Frost bloomed where the mark burned low on Vance's neck, sharp cold biting through bone. A jagged stab of ice seemed to pierce straight into his spine, locking his throat mid-breath. Down he went, weight crashing onto one leg. That rebuilt foot - knotted with old pain - buckled under him, fire surging up from the core of it. Years ripped away by Axiom settled into his joints like dust in old stone. Each step now carried the groan of hollowed bone, weakened long before its time. The ground seemed heavier beneath him, as if gravity pulled sharper since the fusion. What remained of strength flickered with every movement, thin as candlelight in wind.
Not backing down stood Kaelen, leader of the Silver Coin mercenaries, face to face with the legend now real. A raw shout tore from the old fighter, his hand slamming the switch that sent the chainsword howling into life. Straight ahead he surged, aimed at the floating creature sprouting six glowing wings. Beside him moved the last pair of soldiers, shouldering their crackling energy rifles, pouring thick bolts of sapphire fire onto the smooth gray floor.
Out of nowhere, glowing streaks hit the figure's purple outline - then gone, just like that. Not bouncing off. Not bursting apart. Instead, the blazing gas slipped into the flickering dark of her wings, crumbling fast into dull ash, soft as dead air. Nothing burned beneath. Floor stayed clean.
A soft laugh, light and musical, cut through the thunder of gunfire - unhurried, almost curious. It belonged to a woman, floating above the chaos like something forgotten.
A sudden jerk rippled through one massive wing. Upside down now, the soldier on the far side had no time to react. Only he felt gravity twist like a switch flipping backward. Skyward he went, voice tearing through the space just before impact - metal groaned as body met roof. Stuck among iron bones seventy feet above ground, his back broke piece by piece against unyielding frame. His weapon dropped free, landing with hollow echoes where boots once stood.
Kaelen sent the motorized blade cutting sideways toward the figure's white neck. Not quite touching, the whirling metal froze - one thin millimeter away. Something unseen held it fast, draining every ounce of motion from the thick steel edge. A high scream rose from the machine as smoke curled out, trapped against force it could not beat.
Out of breath, Vance realized this chance wouldn't come again. Inside his head, nothing mapped out how to battle something divine. Pain shot through him as he pushed himself up, muscles protesting against the rigid wires stitched into his arm - each twitch ripping fresh wounds. Then, without warning, he drove a desperate signal through the Parasitic Tether straight into Axiom's thoughts. Under the wild spray of gunfire, the shadow-lynx moved close to the ground, vanishing into the pulsing glow of red alarms. Faint traces of black lightning still crackled across its pelt - weak now, drained after mending broken bones too fast.
Fleeing without a second thought, Silas broke into a sprint - his calm shattered like glass. Toward the waiting dropship he raced, breath ragged, hands clawing at empty air. The ramp stood open, humming faintly under the ship's idle whine. Survival alone lit his path, sharp and narrow. Behind him, Vance vanished from mind entirely.
Each move closer to the transport ship meant fighting his own body breaking down. Not walking - dragging - the right leg forward, held together by whatever the parasite had stitched inside. Every shift sent cracks of pain up his spine, like stone splitting under pressure. Breathing hurt, each breath thick with smoke and something bitter, like burnt wires. His mouth filled with the stale tang of blood, copper-heavy and sour. The ground seemed to tilt each time he lifted a foot, balance fraying at the edges. Inside, muscles clenched against collapse, refusing to give way just yet.
Out of the growing turmoil, Vance saw it all - Kaelen's last breath slipping away. A being with six wings stretched out a hand, its slender, light-colored fingers barely touching the thick armor across the old soldier's chest.
A hundred years crashed into Kaelen's frame in an instant. Brittle decay swallowed the thick slate-colored armor within a breath. Before his legs could buckle, muscle and bone had already dusted away - pale, lifeless ash spreading. Down fell the long chain-blade, striking ground just as rust devoured it, leaving only dull orange grit behind.
Down went Vance on his good leg, hauling upward through the clatter of steel slats as Silas drove a crimson palm hard against the cabin's crash switch.
A sudden jolt twisted through the ship like a punch to the gut. Down went Vance, hitting the metal floor hard, hands pressed tight against his chest. Underneath skin and bone, that gold mechanism hammered fast - something out there was pulling at it. The door slammed closed behind him, sound thick and final, shutting away everything left burning in the hangar. Red light flickered on, dull and low, turning walls into shadows.
Hard it turned, that transport. Tore free from the facility, climbing fast into cold, purple-black sky above the Fracture. Sky like a wound.
Out of breath, Silas sank into the pilot's seat while the thrusters droned below. The floor trembled under Axium's steps, each one measured yet restless. That lynx-shaped shadow crackled beside him, jittery, ungrounded, fighting the tilt of the climb like it might slip any second.
Slumping into the armored seat, Vance clicked the thick harness over his shoulders. His shaky hands, caked in grime, touched the cold ridges along his throat. Heavy fatigue tugged at him, lids sinking like wet stone. Out of the black-site they'd made it, taking a loaded Syndicate shuttle in their wake. Crushing doom now behind them, only the deep pulse of engines humming through metal bones remained.
Loosening the strap just a bit, he shifted closer to peer through the thick, narrow window. Below stretched the fractured land - wild, stunning, deeply unsettling. Peaks of dark glass tore through forests painted blood red. Far off, storms gathered that shouldn't exist, twisting gravity so water climbed skyward like smoke. This place wanted nothing to do with people, still they clawed at it without pause.
"Get us out of this sector," Vance called out, his voice a hollow, exhausted rasp over the engine noise. "Set a course for the outer borders. We need to find a dead zone where that brand can't broadcast a clear signal."
Silas stayed quiet at first. Then came the sharp rattle of fingers on glass - the Cartel agent jabbing at the flight panel like it might obey faster. Shaking spread through his arms, leaving streaks of red behind each swipe over glowing map lines.
Vance pushed off the bulkhead seat, voice tight. Get us out now, he'd said, again. Pain shot through his foot, sharp as a nail driven deep. Each step dragged him forward, leaning on the wall like it owed him something. The cockpit waited, just past the shudder of engines holding breath.
His voice broke. "I am trying," Silas said quietly, caught in a new wave of fear unlike anything before. The console edge took the force of his closed hand. Lines of red text raced across the main screen. His eyes stayed fixed on them, wide, unblinking.
Fumbling toward the front, Vance peered around the agent's back. Not one lever responded - frozen solid beneath layers of coded restraints. Where it sat, the control column refused every tug from Silas, motionless like something buried too deep to wake.
"The ship's internal network is encrypted," Silas explained, his professional detachment entirely shattered. "When the Argent Cartel laid siege to the hangar, they didn't just breach the doors. They hijacked the local airspace network. Every dropship in that bay was slaved to a remote command signal."
Staring at the screen, Vance saw a lone green mark cut upward through sullen clouds. It wasn't leading to shelter or some quiet outpost below. That steady signal ended instead on something huge - built tough, floating high above everything.
"We aren't flying," Silas continued, stepping back from the useless controls. "We are being recalled. The autopilot is taking us directly into the docking bay of an Argent Cartel Dreadnought."
Hiss by hiss, Axiom shivered in the dark belly of the ship, knowing the snare was tightening.
Vance stared at his chest. There, the Astral Engine's golden gear flickered - dim, worn thin from fights that left it gasping. Surviving a deep cave didn't help much. Neither did facing a Tier-5 ghost. Or escaping a Vanguard sweep. Even waking a time-god hadn't prepared him for this. His route now pointed straight toward the deadliest mercenaries alive. No tools. No backup. Just motion.
When the dropship broke through the high clouds, the massive shadow of the Cartel Dreadnought filled the sky. Underneath it hung like a weapon made of silence. Vance felt the mark on his neck burn again, sharp and freezing. Not gone. Never gone. Just patient. It had guided them here - not chased - led. Now the city below stretched wide, packed
with people who didn't know they were part of its trap.