Their silent travel was finally broken by Kean.
"You know," he said, flipping the coin high and catching it again, "if we die on that station, I want it on record that I totally called dibs on Dr. Ilena's coat."
Gilbert didn't look away from the display. "What does a coat have to do with anything?"
Anastasia didn't glance up from her gauntlet. "Assuming you survive long enough to wear it."
William gave the faintest snort. "It'll probably graft to your skin and rewrite your DNA."
"Better than getting eaten by a Stygian noble with six eyes and a superiority complex," Kean replied, flipping the coin again. It glinted once in the low light, then disappeared into his palm. "Besides… it looked warm. Might even have hidden pockets."
Chen Mei opened her eyes. "Focus, Kean."
He raised both hands in mock surrender, then glanced over at Gilbert. "Captain? You got anything inspirational to say before we go full suicide spear?"
Gilbert didn't move for a long moment.
Then, without turning, he said, "Check your armor seals. The airlock's first. Anyone with a breach dies before we even hit the station."
Kean whistled under his breath, but his hands went to his neck seam without complaint. The rest of the squad moved in tandem, finalizing checks.
Beep.
Exiting warp in 10… 9… 5… 3… 2… 1.
The streaking lines outside snapped back into the familiar tapestry of stars.
Before they could register the view, the dropship shuddered—energy shields flaring to life as a series of distant explosions rippled across the hull.
A blaring proximity alert flashed red across their HUDs.
Then Luca's voice cut through the comms, calm but urgent:
"Alert: We are one hour from Ashenspire 2396. Docking is no longer viable. A Styx fleet has engaged, pinning the previous battalions. Our fleet will reinforce and join the assault.
White Horns—you are to break away mid-engagement. Use the chaos to infiltrate the station. Secure a landing zone for the rest of AlphaRomero."
The channel cut. Silence returned—brief, sharp, electric.
Gilbert switched the monitor feed to an exterior view. Two massive fleets clashed in the void, trading fire in a ballet of destruction. Blinding energy cannons lanced across the darkness, while depleted uranium slugs tore through hulls via oversized coilguns. Point-defense lasers stitched across the black, vaporizing drones and intercepting missiles mid-flight.
Some ships cracked apart under the pressure—entire battlecruisers torn in two, their flaming interiors exposed to the void. Superheated debris drifted across the battlespace: shredded armor plating, spinning gun turrets, and the occasional limp form of a power-armored knight, tumbling like discarded dolls. A distant Stygian frigate burst from within, its shield collapsing moments before a railgun round cleaved it in half.
Inside the bride of Luca Vos's ship, they started receiving battlefield reports from the fighting fleet.
"Radiation spike in sector C-19," someone called from comms. "That was the Vermillion Lance—she's gone."
"Debris density rising on the starboard flank," said Colonel Kryel, eyes darting across his console. "Recommend shifting orbit; we'll lose stabilizers if we clip another battleship core."
"Confirmed. Rerouting thrust vectors—engines hot," replied the helm officer, fingers flying.
"Reporting Colonel, battalion AlphaRomero joining the battle line," said Luca Vos as he led his fleet to fire at their enemies.
Gilbert leaned in as one of the Dragon Legion cruisers passed directly in front of the camera—its hull scorched, shields flickering, secondary cannons still firing. The vessel barely held together, but its forward batteries remained locked on target, answering with relentless volleys.
Dragon Legion ships loomed in angular formations—sleek, purposeful, but heavy-set with thick armor belts. In contrast, the Stygian vessels were smoother, more rounded, flowing like molten glass beneath their pulsing energy shields. Where the Legion relied on brute force and impact, the Stygians danced on the edge of physics—deflecting, absorbing, redirecting.
Above them, far beyond the range of traditional weapons, the true monsters fought. Dread Marines tore through the vacuum in skirmish lines, clashing with the Baron Household—Stygian nobles cloaked in shimmering energy auras. Their blows fractured space, each clash rippling like a thunderclap. Several strikes registered energy readings higher than a destroyer's secondary battery.
Gilbert said nothing. He just stared, fists clenched, as the storm of war raged outside.
So this is what real war looks like…
Not the drills. Not the simulations. Not the rehearsed deployments or practical classes near the citadel. This was chaos—measured in megatons and lives lost by the second.
He watched as another Legion cruiser took a direct hit to its midsection, a chain reaction igniting from within. The ship twisted, then bloomed outward in a silent explosion, scattering molten debris across the void. Somewhere aboard that wreck had been a crew—maybe hundreds. Maybe someone like him. No armor or shield could save you if you were in the wrong place at the wrong second.
His stomach twisted. "Am I ready for this?"
He had trained. Passed every test. Endured serum injections that left others broken or dead. He was one of the few who'd survived the 2.0 batch. That was supposed to mean something. But out there… even upgraded bones and reflexes looked meaningless compared to the sheer violence unfolding in real time.
A flash caught his eye—one of the Baron Household warriors descending through the combat zone, sheathed in shimmering light. They didn't move like people. They moved like calamities. One swing of the noble's glaive-like weapon tore apart a Dragon Legion dropship in a single arc. The explosion barely staggered them.
Gilbert's throat tightened.
"We're not the apex predators anymore. Knights make no difference here."
He did not say it aloud. Not with so many people putting their lives on the line.
But deep down, the thought burrowed in.
"If I want to survive this war… if I want to protect the others… I have to become something more.
Something like them."
At the last line, he looked up at the dread marine who followed the noble down driving him away from the fleet.
The AlphaRomero fleet joined in pushing the battle in favor of the dragon legion sinking several Stygian interceptors. Using this chance the White Horn company broke away passing through the gap in the Stygian blockade making a beeline for the hub energy shields open to the max as they block concentrated attacks from the Stygian fleet.
"Beep all knights to hands boarding in 30 minutes" came Major Cade's announcement.
Their corvette rocked as they made a rough docking with the station. Gilbert exited the ship with his squad firing any Styx that he saw with the other squads around, as they aimed to clear the landing bay. After the last knight exited the corvette it took off allowing another corvette to dock adding more knights. When the entire company had boarded the fleet took off rejoining the other battalions in attacking the Stygian fleet. Major Cade stood at the front his iconic horns standing making him stand out from the rest his pistol tore through Styx he advanced with his loyal squad members around.
The AlphaRomero fleet entered the fray with brutal precision, its arrival tipping the battle in favor of the Dragon Legion. Sleek cruisers and heavy gunships surged forward, unleashing a storm of firepower that tore through several Styx interceptors in rapid succession.
Seizing the opportunity, White Horn Company broke formation, piercing the newly formed gap in the Styx blockade. The Ivory Sentinel led the charge—energy shields flared to maximum, crackling under the strain as concentrated fire from the Stygian fleet rained down.
Beep. All Knights to arms. Boarding in 30 minutes," Major Cade's voice echoed across the internal comms, calm but commanding.
The corvette rocked violently as it made a rough docking with the outer ring of the orbital hub. Gilbert surged forward with his squad, weapons primed, eyes scanning. The bay doors opened to chaos—blaster fire lighting the shadows, screams muffled by helmet comms. Without hesitation, they disembarked, opening fire on the first Styx that appeared.
Rounds tore through alien flesh and synthetic plating. Gilbert moved with disciplined urgency, clearing angles with Kean on point and William flanking left. All around them, other squads poured out from their corvette, transforming the landing bay into a brutal kill zone.
The moment the last Knight exited, their corvette disengaged, pulling away under a screen of covering fire. Another ship locked in a second later, delivering reinforcements. One by one, the fleet dropped squads into the station, then peeled off to rejoin the ongoing space battle, bolstering the frontline with fresh batteries.
At the front of the advance stood Major Cade himself—an unmistakable figure, his horned helm rising above the fray like a war banner. His sidearm barked precise death, each shot punching through Styx armor with terrifying ease. Around him, his loyal squad cut a path forward, moving like a single organism bred for war.
Gilbert barely had time to catch his breath. The station groaned around them, metal straining under the chaos of battle. Somewhere deeper inside, the resistance would only grow fiercer—the heart of the Styx infestation still pulsing.
"Our mission is to move through the commercial district," said their platoon leader, Edward, his voice steady over comms. "We'll cut across the habitation ring and push into the industrial zone. Eliminate any Stygian forces on the way, and locate Dr. Vos. He's priority one."
The squad moved out in formation, flanking the rest of the platoon as they advanced through the shattered remains of the station's outer decks. Craters marked the walls, and flickering signs above sealed storefronts gave the place an eerie, abandoned-market feel—until the next ambush came.
They supported scattered Knight units still holding ground, linking up where they could. From the exhausted survivors, they pieced together the situation: the Stygian had overrun nearly the entire hub. Only the central command center remained untouched—barely.
It was under siege, locked in a desperate defense led by none other than the heir to the Baron Household. The pressure was mounting. If the command center fell, the entire station would be lost—and with it, all the data stored by the mainframe.
The squad pushed deeper covering the platoon's left front, past collapsed vendor stalls and shattered glass corridors that once held advertisements now burned away by energy fire. Neon signage flickered overhead, casting warped shadows against soot-streaked walls. Though their helmets filtered smells it was as if they could smell the ozone and scorched flesh that lingered in the air.
"Movement, second floor—left balcony," hissed Kean, his pistol snapping upward.
A shape twitched into view—tall, guant, skin mottled with gray and black streaks, as if corrosion had crept beneath the surface. A servant-class stygian.
"Think we can take this one," William asked spinning his spear as he took a step forward shield raised.
Then came the shriek.