Chapter 4 – Ashes of the Reavers
(~2,000 words, gritty detail on combat, conquest, and empire expansion)
The tank thundered over the dunes, each jolt sending a shiver through Shawn's spine. In the turret cradle, he kept one hand on the main cannon's targeting grip and the other on the Red Alert display, tracking their progress in cold blue lines.
Alpha Squad followed in the Ore Truck, their blank clone faces hidden behind salvaged Reaver helmets. The morning sun cast their shadows across the sand—one armored vehicle and a freight hauler packed with soldiers and empty cargo bins. By nightfall, he intended to bring those bins back brimming with resources.
He keyed the internal comms.
"Alpha, report."
"All systems green," came the reply, perfectly synchronized voices. "Weapons ready."
He smiled grimly.
"Good. When we breach their walls, show no mercy."
Hours later, the first Reaver outpost came into view—a cluster of angular steel shacks welded around the remains of an ancient cargo freighter half-buried in the sand. Spiked barricades ringed the compound, festooned with ragged banners marked by a crude red skull. A tall antenna flickered with static.
Shawn shifted the tank into low gear and rolled behind a dune. He raised the periscope and studied the fortifications.
Two Reaver guards idled near the main gate, their rifles slung casually. A heavy turret pivoted on an automated track. No patrols in the back—overconfidence.
"Alpha, disembark. Flank north," he ordered. "Wait for my signal."
The Ore Truck's ramp clanged down. Nine clones fanned out in perfect formation, sprinting low across the sand. They vanished behind a ridge.
Shawn laid his hand on the console. A surge of chakra filled his chest, blending seamlessly with the Red Alert interface.
"Wood Style…"
Roots writhed from the tank's hull, sinking into the earth.
"Great Forest Spear."
Massive spears of dark ironwood erupted under the Reaver turret. The emplacement bucked once, then split apart with a shriek of tearing metal.
Alarms howled inside the base.
"Now," Shawn whispered.
The tank surged forward, treads chewing deep furrows.
Reavers boiled out of the shacks—scavenged rifles and plasma carbines blazing. Shots pinged harmlessly off the tank's frontal armor.
Shawn squeezed the trigger.
BOOM.
The cannon discharged, a slab of explosive shell tearing through the main gate in a fireball. Screaming raiders scattered into the sand.
Alpha Squad rose from the north ridge, weapons already firing disciplined volleys. Three Reavers fell, skulls ruptured by precise shots.
Shawn switched to the coaxial machine gun, raking the entrance. Another handful of enemies crumpled.
"Push in!" he roared over comms.
The clones sprinted behind the tank as it breached the compound, laying down overlapping fire.
Inside the walls, chaos reigned. Reavers fought desperately, but their resistance was uncoordinated, sloppy. Half their shots went wild.
Shawn climbed halfway out of the hatch, Sharingan blazing. Every motion of the raiders slowed—telegraphed and easy to predict. He felt almost serene.
A Reaver lunged from the right, plasma blade raised. Shawn formed the seals instinctively:
"Wood Style: Piercing Branch!"
A sharpened root shot from the sand, impaling the attacker through the chest. He fell twitching, weapon clattering beside him.
Shawn swung the machine gun left, mowing down two more.
Alpha Squad breached the central freighter, securing the cargo hold.
"Clear!"
Shawn leapt down from the tank, boots landing in blood-slick sand. He strode to the hold's threshold, breathing hard. Inside, crates lay stacked to the ceiling—marked with salvage codes.
"Scan it," he ordered.
A clone deployed a Red Alert drone. The projection flickered:
[Inventory: 480 units alloy, 160 units electronics, 30 units advanced circuitry.]
A rush of triumph flooded his chest. Enough to build another War Factory or fortify his walls twice over.
He turned as the last Reaver—a scrawny woman with a scarred face—crawled out from under debris. She raised a trembling plasma pistol.
Shawn's Sharingan met her eyes.
"You can run," he said evenly, "or you can die."
She hesitated.
Alpha Squad raised their rifles.
The woman dropped her gun and bolted through the smashed gate.
"Let her go," Shawn said.
The clones obeyed.
They worked quickly. The Ore Truck reversed into the cargo hold. Hydraulic arms loaded crate after crate. Outside, the tank's cannon swiveled watchfully over the dunes.
Within the hour, the base was stripped bare—every battery cell, every scrap of alloy.
Shawn climbed back onto the tank, feeling the engine rumble through his boots.
"Alpha, mount up."
"Acknowledged."
The clones filed aboard.
He spared one last look at the smoldering compound. Smoke rose in oily plumes—black banners proclaiming his victory to any who cared to see.
This was how empires were forged: one ruin at a time.
That night
They returned to the oasis under the light of a hard white moon.
As the gates sealed behind them, Venom's transmission crackled to life again.
Her face appeared, wreathed in shadows.
"Impressive," she purred. "You slaughter well."
Shawn sat on the tank's hull, wiping blood from his cheek.
"You were watching."
"Of course." The black mask rippled over her lips. "I am always watching."
He forced himself to meet her gaze.
"You still haven't told me what you want."
Her green eyes glowed.
"I want to bond. To merge. To taste what it feels like to be…you."
Shawn didn't flinch.
"Not yet."
Venom's smile widened.
"You will. When you are ready, I will be waiting."
The feed cut out.
Shawn slid to the ground, exhaustion finally crashing in.
He looked back at the War Factory and the Terraform Node—his first footholds on this hostile world.
Tomorrow, he would build more tanks. He would train more clone soldiers. He would lay the foundations of a citadel that could rival any in the stars.
But tonight, he allowed himself to feel the cost—the lives taken, the weight of ambition pressing on his shoulders.
He flexed his hands, chakra humming just beneath his skin, and thought:
I will not stop. No matter who stands against me.
END OF CHAPTER 4