In the days following the Hold's breach, every nation tuned in — not just to the headlines, but to the silence behind them. A prison built to hold the worst of the enhanced had been cracked wide open. G.H.O.S.T.'s elite had faced the unthinkable — and lost. Marsa, the name long sealed in war memorials and whispered nightmares, was no longer a relic of the past.
She was out.
And so were others.
Governments across the globe responded in kind.
Not with unity. With fear.
By the time the Council convened, the world was already watching.
Geneva's skies turned grey with drone surveillance. Protesters flooded the perimeter of the Citadel — some holding signs with the G.H.O.S.T. emblem crossed out, others pleading for protection.
Not one leader spoke on record.
Not one dared.
In Brazil, the energy grid shorted for seventeen minutes.
In Kenya, the sky cracked with unnatural auroras.
In Tokyo, whisper-feeds of Marsa's Return trended beneath sixteen layers of algorithmic suppression.
And in the center of it all — the Citadel pulsed like a heart under siege.
Protests started in whispers.
By the time the sun touched the dome of the Citadel, a wave of civilians had flooded the square outside. Some carried signs: Who Watches the Watchers? Others wore red — the color Marsa once used in her campaigns for peace and then in tyranny.
Children sat on the shoulders of parents who couldn't decide if they were mourning or warning.
Drone cameras hovered.
Snipers tracked them from rooftops.
The world had trusted G.H.O.S.T. to bury its monsters.
Now?
No one knew who the monsters were anymore.And just like that, the name began to rise. Not whispered in warning. Not spoken in mourning.
Marsa.
Emergency meetings began. Closed-door sessions. Defense budgets shifting like fault lines under pressure. Every outlet, every whisper, every drone feed flickered with questions:
Who are the Vaknar? What do they want? And where will they strike next?
Somewhere in North America sat a woman in a pressed suit sat rigid at a news desk, her makeup flawless but her hands trembling just off camera.
Behind her, a glowing graphic looped endlessly — a blurred security still, flames distorting the image beyond recognition. The red emergency banner at the bottom of the screen scrolled with the same line in three languages.
UNCONFIRMED BREACH AT G.H.O.S.T. MAX-LEVEL PRISON — HOLD STATUS: UNKNOWN.
"...no confirmation yet," she repeated, this time slower. "We repeat: no confirmation from G.H.O.S.T. or their esteemed World Council regarding the alleged breach at The Hold. We advise all citizens to remain calm. Emergency protocols are not active at this time."
But the slight quiver in her voice made the denial feel like a lie.
Thousands of miles east — across the night horizon — a windswept military outpost in Ethiopia...
The walls of the compound shook. Radios screeched with overlapping signals, desperate voices trying to climb over one another. A security feed flickered to life on a cracked screen — static, flames, motion.
Then a voice broke through.
Panicked and breathing hard.
"...a figure emerging from the containment wing... flames not natural... guards incinerated on contact... request global support—"
The radio cut again — this time, not from static.
But from screaming.
The scream was lost to those in a bullet train heading to Shibuya – Tokyo, Japan
It was late.
The train car rocked gently as it surged through the tunnel.
Holograms danced across the surfaces of augmented lenses.
Sleepy office workers scrolled past headlines like it was just another night.
But one girl stood alone near the center aisle — maybe seventeen, maybe younger —
clutching an old tablet like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.
She wasn't part of the rhythm.
She didn't sway with the train or blink with the lights.
She just stared — frozen — at her screen.
The glow reflected in her face:
flickering red and white
as the security loop replayed again...
and again.
A blurred figure, walking through flame.
Unreal.
She opened her mouth — as if to call for someone — but only a small breath came out.
Then — a hand touched her arm.
Her mother's.
"Yuna," the woman said gently, "it's okay. That's just a deepfake. People post anything now."
Yuna didn't answer.
Her knuckles were white around the tablet.
Her father leaned forward from the adjacent seat, brow furrowed.
"Yuna," he said softly, "it's all tricks. AI filters. You know how people are."
"She looked real," Yuna whispered. "And she looked angry."
The train hissed toward its next stop.
Her mother pulled her closer, brushing back her hair.
"Don't talk about her here," she said. "Not out loud."
Yuna looked between them, eyes wide, uncertain.
"But who was she?"
Neither parent answered.
Then — in a voice barely above a breath —
her father leaned in to his wife, his voice shadowed by memory.
"She was what came after we were ignorant."
Yuna's mother pulled her tighter. "No one's gonna hurt our sweet baby," she whispered. "We're okay."
But even she didn't sound convinced.
And outside the window —
as the train surged toward the city skyline —
a massive news banner crackled to life on the overhead screen:
"Who can we trust now?"
✦ ✦ ✦
G.H.O.S.T. Citadel, War Room – 48 hours after the Hold breach
The silence inside the Citadel's War Room felt heavier than the windstorm groaning against the glass dome above. Thick with tension. Expectation. Unspoken grief.
The room was circular, tiered, designed for rapid response but now dimmed to low light — as if even the walls were bracing for what came next.
At the center stood the tactical table, its black obsidian surface etched with the G.H.O.S.T. emblem — a sword wreathed in flame, pointing skyward.
Today, that emblem was obscured by projections.
Blazing red pulses stretched across the globe — digital scars where incursions had begun. Leaders targeted. Systems disrupted. Lines of safety crossed without warning.
Grim stood at the head of the table. Silent. Watching.
He hadn't put on his eye-patch yet. His left eye glowed faintly — not human, not exactly. Whatever he'd been through before crashing back into their world, it had left marks deeper than anyone could see.
To his right sat Atlas.
No longer standing as Director. Just a soldier again — a brother in arms.
His coat was unfastened, the red mark of Tyranos visible on the collarbone. He looked tired. Not defeated. But stretched thin.
Across from them, Councilor Klaus Borin leaned forward, knuckles white against the tabletop.
Klaus broke the silence.
"The footage was leaked. On purpose."
The words settled like ash.
Toya glanced toward Xavier, brow raised. "By who?"
Xavier's fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair. Quiet, distracted. "Shane," he said. "It was him."
That made the room shift.
"You're sure?" asked Atlas.
Xavier nodded, eyes still flicking through the holographic feed hovering above his wrist.
"Backtraced the data burst. Encrypted under three spoofed VPNs, one of them using an old Shadow Elite route key. It was buried inside a corrupted livestream of an esports tournament... broadcast in real-time during the breach."
Sparrow gave a low whistle. "Subtle."
Hunter grunted. "Shane was always good with espionage. Guess now he's got a nack for hacking too."
Klaus looked tired. "The leak spread in under six minutes. Half the world thinks it's AI trickery. The other half..." He sighed. "They're preparing for war."
Toya frowned. "And G.H.O.S.T.?"
"We've already lost the narrative," Xavier said. "There are civilian theories claiming Marsa was a prisoner of war. That we kept her locked up rather than ending her for our own purposes. Others thinking up conspiracies that we just released her."
"And some," Sparrow added, his voice quieter now, "think she never died at all."
Grim finally spoke, voice rough.
"They believe they've inherited the future. Marsa was the symbol. Shane was the spark. But the rest—"
He tapped the console in front of him.
A holographic web unfolded — names, faces, movements. Shane. Rita Solomon. Anitta Von Ross. Ulysses Pride. Harrison Maner. All codenamed and color-coded red.
At the center of the web was a single blank outline.
VAKNAR KNIGHT — No image. No intel. Just a red silhouette pulsing with infernal heat.
"This is the one you fought in the lower levels," Grim said, glancing toward Xavier. "The Knight. We don't know what it is. But it's not human anymore."
Xavier stayed quiet.
He stood behind the seated operatives, jaw tense, hands clasped behind his back. His armor was still scuffed from The Hold — he hadn't bothered repairing the shoulder plate.
Toya was beside him. So was Kane. Sparrow stood farther back, adjusting the straps of his quiver. Frost wasn't present — still running post-breach diagnostics with the AI.
A forested region lit up across the table — northern Yukon. Snow-drenched. Remote. A grainy security feed flickered to life in the center of the room.
"This was pulled from a silent alarm pinged by our northern sat-net," he said. "Xypher Corp lab. Supposedly abandoned. Last known movement: four armed unknowns. Enhanced."
He paused, then added:
"And one of them matched Anitta Von Ross's signature."
The hologram zoomed in.
Anitta's image sharpened — captured in a brief surveillance flicker between trees. The red overlay pulsed over her figure.
She looked like a specter of war brought back to life.
Tall. Braided dreadlocks streaked with ember-red. Her bronze skin contrasted with the deep matte black of her armor — scarred, reinforced, redesigned for speed and force. Her jawline was still sharp as ever, lips tight, expression unreadable. A single crimson pauldron rested on one shoulder — the same one she wore during the final Nullier deployment.
Even through the distortion, her eyes glowed — not with fire, but with focus.
Cold. Exact. Watching.
Xavier looked up sharply.
"That's not possible," he said. "I heard she died in the Nullier Breach attempt years ago."
Toya's expression tightened, eyes flicking to the pulsing red hologram of LION — Anitta's old codename.
"She vanished," Grim corrected. "During the final Nullier push. We recovered her weapons, her tracker, half her armor. But not her."
Klaus frowned. "I was told the upper Council declared her K.I.A."
"They did," Atlas said, his voice calm but firm. "We all believed it. Hell, I placed her name on the Remembrance Wall myself."
Hunter stepped forward from the shadows of the chamber, folding his arms across his chest.
"Anitta Von Ross wasn't just a field agent," he said. "She was the backbone of our west division during the war. Tactical genius. Took on Marsa's firestorm troops alone and walked out without a scratch. You didn't give her orders. You followed her rhythm."
Sparrow nodded solemnly. "She was the Lion."
"And now," Grim said, gesturing to the footage freeze-frame — a blurred silhouette moving between trees — "her unique energy pattern has reappeared at a Xypher site in Yukon territory."
Atlas's jaw twitched.
"We ran the scan through three filters," he said. "Muscle signature, footstep density, thermal arc. It's her."
Klaus leaned forward. "And the others?"
Grim zoomed in on the red-coded display.
• Shane – Infernal augmentation, war criminal, former Elite.
• Rita Solomon – Tiger. Energy channeling, martial artist. Thought dead after the Pyrenees Offensive.
• Ulysses Pride – Chicken. Heat transfer specialist. Escaped custody three years ago, presumed dormant.
• Harrison Maner – Falcon. Ballistic expert. Discharged under dishonorable conditions. No confirmed sightings since the war.
All marked ACTIVE in bold crimson.
And then...
• VAKNAR KNIGHT – Unknown.
Red silhouette. Masked. No name. No past. A walking inferno laced with prophecy.
Grim's gaze lingered there.
"They're organized. Trained. Coordinated. And they believe they're finishing what Marsa started."
Hunter raised a brow and muttered just loud enough for the room to hear:
"Yeah, well... looks like Colonel Extra-Crispy's back on the menu."
Toya snorted.
Klaus gave him a sharp look, but didn't interrupt.
Sparrow leaned over to Xavier. "What's wrong with him?"
Xavier didn't answer. He was still staring at the VAKNAR KNIGHT outline — the same silhouette that had nearly ripped his chest open at The Hold.
Grim locked eyes with Xavier across the table.
"You're taking the lead on this op. You and your team. The moment you touch down, full containment protocols. Alive if possible. Kill if necessary."
Xavier's voice was steady. "Copy that."
"And one more thing," Grim added.
Everyone turned.
"The Knight is still out there. If he shows up—"
"We finish what we started," Xavier cut in. Then, almost to himself: "For Toya. For all of us."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Atlas spoke, his voice low. The kind of quiet that only came before thunder.
"Get moving. The world's watching now. Let's show them why they trusted us in the first place."
The lights shifted.
The briefing ended.
And outside the Citadel, protestors screamed louder than ever — unaware of just how much darker the night was about to get.
✦ ✦ ✦
The ship hummed softly, idle but ready, its engines cycling heat through cooling coils in faint bursts of white vapor. Only two agents waited beneath the open ramp — their silhouettes still against the floodlights.
Toya leaned with her back against the cruiser's hull, one claw gauntlet already secured, the other still hanging loosely by her side. Her braid was tied back tight, but a few strands clung to her cheek from the sweat she hadn't bothered to wipe.
Xavier stood a few feet away, helmet clipped to his belt, armor still scuffed from the breach. His dreadlocks were pulled back, skin still smudged with ash along one cheekbone. The tech around his collar flickered — sensors trying to stabilize his neural feedback loop, but he hadn't bothered resetting it.
They hadn't spoken since the War room.
Now, alone, with only the hangar fans whispering through silence — Toya finally broke it.
"You good?"
Xavier looked at her. Nodded, once. "Yeah. You?"
"No."
The honesty landed heavier than he expected.
She stepped closer, claws tapping softly on the metal floor as she crossed to him.
"Back at The Hold... I lost it."
"You didn't," he said without hesitation.
She looked at him, jaw tight.
"I tore through walls, Xavier. Almost hit Kane when he got too close. I couldn't hear anything but rage. Couldn't see anything but Shane. That's not control. That's bloodlust."
"And it saved our lives," he said.
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
She hesitated. Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed sharp.
"What happens when the rage doesn't stop? What happens if next time it's not Shane I'm tearing into?"
Xavier held her gaze with a smirk creeping at the edge of his lips.
"Then I'll stop you."
"You think you could?"
He took a step closer.
"No. But I'd try."
She let out a dry breath — part laugh, part disbelief. But her hand relaxed on her gauntlet. Slowly.
"You're an idiot."
"That's what I think you like about me."
Toya shook her head, eyes narrowed — but she was smiling now, just barely.
"Back there, you ran at the Knight like it owed you money."
"It did. It almost killed me. Twice."
"And yet here you are. Making jokes. Looking like you just got smacked crazy."
"Yeah, well," Xavier said, glancing down at the still-dented plating across his collarbone, "pain builds character."
"So does trauma."
"I can totally agree with that."
They both went quiet again — not awkward, not tense. Just quiet.
Then Toya asked it. Soft, almost too soft for him to hear.
"You scared?"
Xavier looked away, jaw tense.
"I was scared," he said. "Just not for me."
Toya watched him a second longer. Then stepped closer.
"You've changed."
"That supposed to be a compliment?"
"Depends. You gonna give me one as well rookie?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, softly:
"I don't know. But I'm not dying before I figure out what's really going on. With the Knight. With my father. With all of it."
Toya nodded slowly.
"You're not dying at all," she said. "Not while I'm on your squad."
She nodded, almost like she understood more than she wanted to.
"You're Xavier Bridger," she said. "Maven. The guy who runs toward death recklessly and selfless against all odds."
The words hung there — heavier than either of them expected.
Xavier turned fully toward her now. The low lights from the cruiser reflected in his visor, still half-raised. His face was bare beneath it — sharp features, dark skin, dreadlocks pulled back in a way that framed his eyes. Focused. Tired. Determined.
"You ever think," he said slowly, "that maybe... we don't get a life outside of this?"
Toya tilted her head. "Outside of G.H.O.S.T.?"
"Yeah. Outside of the armor. The ops. The mission."
"Why?" she asked. "You planning on quitting so fast?"
He shook his head. "No. Just wondering if anyone ever comes out of this... still whole."
Toya's voice was almost a whisper now.
"Maybe we don't. But we still get to choose who we break with."
Then—
The ramp behind them hissed open.
Hunter stepped out, adjusting the strap on his blade sheath. His sharp profile caught the light just long enough to show the grin already forming.
"You two done flirting, or should I give the you two another minute?"
Toya rolled her eyes. Xavier looked away frowning.
"We're good," he said.
"Speak for yourself," Toya muttered. But she didn't move away.
And didn't stop smiling.
✦ ✦ ✦
The Yukon perimeter was nothing like the world thought it was.
From space, it looked like dead heat and buried tech — a barren stretch of earth, scorched by sand and scorched again by war. But under the surface?
Xypher Corp had built a second skin.
The facility didn't shimmer, it breathed. Layered in environmental cloaking, light-bending mesh, and fractured topography that made it invisible to anything but the right algorithm.
And G.H.O.S.T. had the right algorithm.
Or at least, Xavier had made sure they did.
He led the descent, reflective cloaked armor flexing with the drop. His HUD shifted in real-time, flickering red outlines across the surface — weak points in the camo netting, thermal echoes, structure seams.
Behind him, Toya followed in a low glide, claws already primed. Kane and Hunter flanked wide. Sparrow touched down last, already nocking a sonic arrow to muffle any entry breach.
They crouched on a dune just 200 meters from the façade, wind slicing between them.
"Surface scanner showing four levels," Xavier whispered. "Security net's mostly dormant. Either they didn't expect us, or they're hoping we come in blind."
Hunter scoffed. "It's a lab run by a rogue enhancement corp. What do you think?"
Xavier didn't answer.
Not out of doubt — but because he was already pulling up the feed Malcolm had sent. The internal schematics were fragmented. Only 60% of the blueprint made it through. And even that looked... wrong.
Like someone had retrofitted the interior — changed its shape post-design.
Toya leaned in close enough for her shoulder to press against his.
"Feel off to you?"
He nodded once.
"Everything about this place screams bait."
"Good," Kane muttered. "I'm tired of running defense."
Sparrow shifted beside them. "Would be nice if one of these runs didn't involve some faceless nightmare with glowing eyes trying to rip my throat out."
"Focus," Xavier said, glancing up.
He lifted a hand — flat, cutting the air.
Then pointed forward.
✦ ✦ ✦
The breach came quiet.
Xavier threaded a probe into the wall's seam, let the adaptive mesh read the lock, and burned through the override. It hissed open with a whisper of cold vapor.
No alarms.
Just silence.
He stepped through first — armor auto-adjusting to the narrow interior corridor. Dim lights flickered down the hall in a sickly green hue. The floor beneath them pulsed faintly, like a living thing in stasis.
Toya crouched beside him, claws retracted but fingers twitching.
"This doesn't feel like a lab."
"No," Xavier agreed. "Feels like a mausoleum."
They moved as one unit — Ghost Formation Delta.
Hunter and Kane on rear guard. Sparrow in the rafters above. Xavier and Toya up front, sweeping point.
As they reached the second level, the air got colder.
Not by degrees. But intention.
A pressure slid along Xavier's neck — like something watching.
Then—
A shape flickered on the wall-mounted monitor ahead.
He froze.
"Hold."
Everyone stopped.
The monitor crackled — lines of corrupted text, then—
A face.
Or a fragment of one.
A woman, laughing. Static. Then fire. Then darkness.
Sparrow hissed through the comms. "That was Marsa. Tell me I'm not crazy."
"You're not," Toya said.
But Xavier was already moving. Toward the console.
He plugged in his uplink, fingers racing across the keys.
Lines of code scrolled like falling rain. The systems fought him — encryptions rebuilding faster than he could break them.
Then—
A folder opened. Labeled only:
"V_KN.R_SERUM"
His eyes widened.
"Guys," he said. "We've got the files."
"Copy and extract now," Grim's voice snapped through the uplink. "We'll decode on our end. Do not stay on-site."
But the lights in the hall flickered again.
This time, not just from interference.
It was movement.
A shift in air.
And then came the voice.
Not from the comms.
From the room itself.
"You're too late."
They weren't supposed to find anyone alive down here.
Definitely not her.
But there she was.
A shape stepped from the far corridor like it had peeled straight out of a dream.
Anitta Von Ross.
For a second, the team all instantly readied themselves. They were in disbelief — as if the heat signature wasn't real, like maybe the haze was playing tricks. But Xavier's HUD ran the scan three times. Bone density. Gait. Microscarring. All green.
It was her.
She wore an old G.H.O.S.T. field jacket — deep Grey, singed at the sleeves, insignia faded with time. Her posture hadn't changed. Neither had that sharp jawline or the cut of her stare, like she could break down even glass just with it.
"Tell me I'm hallucinating," Toya whispered beside him.
"Nope," Kane muttered. "That's her."
Hunter didn't sheath his blade. "Could be a clone."
Anitta didn't flinch. "You're not wrong to ask."
Her voice still sounded like it belonged on a command deck. Calm. Decisive. The kind that got people moving.
"Why are you here?" Xavier asked, not lowering his stance.
"I came to warn you," she said.
"From what?"
She looked past them, toward the melted wall where they'd entered. "From what's about to walk through that hole you made."
The team exchanged a look.
"No offense," Sparrow said, aiming an arrow half-heartedly, "but that sounds like exactly the thing a traitor says before people get killed."
"I'm not your enemy," she said.
Hunter stepped forward. "Then prove it. Talk fast."
Anitta's eyes — a little duller than memory — softened, just barely. "You think I betrayed G.H.O.S.T.," she said. "I didn't. I was buried. Moved. Hidden. The Nullifier mission was a diversion. They kept me under long-range lock—"
She stopped. The air shifted.
Xavier turned.
And the temperature dropped by ten degrees in one second.
Then—
The far corridor exploded inward.
Not with fire.
With air pressure.
The Vaknar Knight stepped through the smoke.
Twice as tall as a man. Armor like obsidian glass cracked with heat. The mask was faceless. The blade it dragged along the floor screamed against the metal with every step.
Toya raised her claws.
Hunter moved into position.
But Anitta?
She backed into the wall.
"This is where you run," she said softly.
"What about you?" Xavier asked.
She glanced at him — and smiled. Not a full one. Just enough to say: Don't worry. You'll see me again.
And then she was gone.
Gone into the dark like she was never there.
The Knight raised its blade — and charged.
Here's the thing about standing in front of something that once tried to crush your lungs like a soda can:
You don't forget it.
The Vaknar Knight wasn't just some enemy out of a shadow-op file. It was the thing. The one that haunted Xavier's nightmares in high-def. The one that had nearly caved his chest in at The Hold.
And now it was back.
Charging.
Straight at him.
"Cover me!" Xavier shouted, legs already moving.
The hallway became a blur of motion. Wind off the Knight's blade howled like a storm in a steel corridor. Xavier didn't need a scanner to know this hit would kill anyone standing still.
So he didn't.
His armor adapted — split-second neural feedback — forming a dual-blade configuration as he launched himself into a slide under the first swing.
Metal screeched overhead.
His heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. But he didn't slow.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, you walking furnace—"
The Knight pivoted too fast for something that heavy.
Xavier twisted mid-slide, slashing at the underside of its leg plating. Sparks burst — but no blood. No flesh.
Just heat.
Too much heat.
He kicked back hard, armor whining in protest, landing in a crouch ten feet away.
"Direct attacks won't pierce it!" he called out.
Toya didn't wait for clarification. She was already in motion — claws glowing with heat-resistant coating, dancing around the Knight's left flank. A feint. Quick draw. She cut high, then low.
No fear in her steps.
Just rage. Controlled, barely. Xavier could feel it in the way her attacks got sharper, meaner.
The Bloodlust was still there.
She hadn't talked about it since the hangar.
But it was there.
The Knight knocked her back with a blast of force — she landed hard, but rolled, back on her feet before Kane even shouted her name.
Kane jumped in next — swinging a shoulder like a human wrecking ball. His armor glowed as the kinetic charge built up— Boom! —right into the Knight's side.
It staggered.
But not for long.
Above them, Sparrow fired three arrows in rapid succession — two for distraction, one for the payload.
The sonic burst popped the Knight's audio sensors. It roared, distorted and loud enough to shake the walls.
Hunter dropped in right after, twin blades drawn, slashing at the seams.
"We've got ten seconds of destabilization!" Xavier shouted. "Hit the chest plate! Now!"
He dashed back in — this time from the front.
The Knight met him halfway, blade swinging again.
This time, Xavier jumped.
Used the wall.
One step. Two. A flip — his blades locking forward in mid-air as he drove down with all the force he had.
The twin tips hit dead center.
Crack!
The armor split slightly — just slightly — enough to bleed smoke.
The Knight screamed.
Real pain.
Xavier felt it in his bones.
It flung him off — hard. He crashed against the far wall, armor flaring red on impact.
"Status!" Grim's voice cut in over comms.
Xavier coughed. "Knight is wounded. Repeat — it feels pain. That means we can kill it."
Hunter dodged a retaliating swipe, ducked low, and threw a blade into the exposed seam.
"Then let's take it apart."
But the Knight didn't stay wounded.
It shook — violently — and that pulsing red heat around its chest began to surge.
"Guys," Sparrow said from the rafters, voice tightening. "It's charging something."
"Fall back," Xavier ordered. "Now."
Before they could scatter, the shadows behind the Knight cracked—
And Anitta Von Ross came sprinting out of the dark, rifle folded to her back, augmented arm glowing with built-in charge, slamming full force into the Knight's side.
The impact knocked it sideways — enough to stall the surge.
"You're late!" Toya yelled through gritted teeth.
Anitta didn't answer. She was already in motion, twisting with practiced precision, plunging a shock-spear into the Knight's lower flank as sparks flew.
The Knight roared, flinging her off — but she twisted mid-air, landed on one knee, and fired an overcharged pulse round from her gauntlet. It didn't pierce, but it stunned the thing just long enough.
Xavier caught up beside her.
"I thought you ditched us."
She didn't look at him. "How else would I prove myself then."
Xavier simply grunted in agreement.
The floor vibrated as the Knight surged back upright.
Anitta fell back into formation, shoulder-to-shoulder with Xavier, Toya, Kane, and Hunter.
This time, they weren't fighting alone.
And when the Knight charged again?
They met it together.
But it was already too late.
The Knight dropped its blade.
Lifted both arms.
And unleashed a shockwave.
Red light exploded through the corridor.
And unleashed a shockwave.
A red light — no, a furnace — exploded outward, a pressure wave so intense it bent the metal around them like paper.
Toya was closest.
She took the brunt of it.
Her claws shattered on impact. She slammed into the far wall like a ragdoll — and didn't move.
"KANE—!"
Xavier didn't finish. Kane was already moving, his massive frame pivoting mid-stride to cover Toya. The impact struck his back like a meteor — armor pushed to the limit and cracked, flesh burned — but he held his ground.
Sparrow's sniper perch disintegrated.
The ceiling gave way immediately.
He fell with a grunt, slamming into a control panel that sparked violently beneath him.
Hunter reached — tried to pull Xavier behind a brace column—but was also thrown back by the shockwave.
A world-ending, chest-collapsing, soul-ripping impact that tore through Xavier's armor and knocked the breath from his lungs.
His HUD shorted.
His vision blurred.
He hit the floor, gasping. Reaching. Thinking of Toya. Of the seal. Of the voice in the dark.
Everything burned.
And then —
darkness.