The sky burned. Orange streaks tore across the black, a jagged wound above the ruins. Towers crumbled in the distance, their metal spines groaning as they collapsed into a sea of rubble. Artillery rumbled somewhere far off, hollow and relentless, but closer to the ruins, silence ruled.

Cassie crouched behind the twisted frame of a transport truck, her rifle pressed tightly against her chest. Her armor—black, jagged, and scorched—had gaping holes where strikes had pierced the outer plating. She scanned the wreckage with piercing crimson eyes, calculating distances, routes, and chances of survival.

The rifle in her hands was dangerously hot, its barrel hissing with heat. Another firefight, and it wouldn't last. She adjusted her grip, ignoring the way her gloves stuck to the weapon’s casing.

“Grey Heron, sound off,” she whispered.

“Clear,” Evelyn replied from the shadows. Her voice, once sharp with humor, now frayed. She was pressed tight against a jagged column, her braids streaked with grime and blood. Her dark eyes darted, searching for threats only she could see.

Cassie gave her a glance, but said nothing. Evelyn wasn’t wrong to jump at shadows.

She turned her attention to her wrist console, its dim holographic map displaying a sea of red spreading through the city. The squad’s position was a fragile island at the edge of the storm, the final line before reinforcements arrived. If they arrived.

Cassie didn’t waste time questioning the plan. Plans were for people like Robin. She was here to follow orders. Keep Grey Heron alive.

Her name wasn’t Cassie—not really. Her serial number was C45513, etched on her dog tags. Robin, her human commander, had started calling her Cassie after her first deployment. A joke. A kindness. A lie.

Names didn’t make her human. She wasn’t.

She was a newt, one of the thousands engineered to fight in humanity’s endless wars. Vat-grown, cybernetically enhanced, built for battle. Faster, stronger, disposable. It didn’t matter what they called her. She existed to kill or be killed, and she understood that better than anyone.

Commander Robin had told her once, “People die if they are killed. The only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed.” The words lingered in her mind, cutting deeper than any blade.

Preparedness wasn’t the problem—she had been born ready to die. But what did it mean to kill with that awareness? To understand the weight of a life taken and the cost of your own?

It didn’t make her hesitate. Hesitation got you killed. But sometimes, in the quiet moments between battles, she wondered if the ones who made her were ever ready to be killed themselves.

The war wasn’t her war. It belonged to the humans who had created her, fought first with desperation and then with their own sins. The precursors had returned, claiming Earth as their rightful home. The machinas they unleashed were horrors—grotesque hybrids of organic tissue and mechanical brilliance.

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The humans had adapted in the only way they could. They built newts to fight their battles. They dissected precursor tech to gain an edge. It hadn’t been enough to win, but it was enough to last.

“East,” Andrew’s voice broke through the stillness. “Movement. Machina. Overlord class.”

Cassie turned sharply, her rifle following the arc of her gaze. An Overlord class? Here?

The Overlord class was a beast of a machine— a terrifying blend of raw power and sinister design. At least there was only one. For now. Another Overlord, or god forbid a Calamity class, would be the end of them.

Their day couldn’t possibly get worse… Could it?

Andrew stood against the jagged skyline, his hulking frame dwarfing the debris around him. His helmet was gone, exposing a weathered face streaked with sweat and ash. His gray hair stuck to his forehead, and his blue eyes were sharp and steady, even now.

Cassie trusted his instincts. He didn’t overreact.

“Regroup,” she ordered. “Fallback point one.”

The squad moved as one, darting through the ruins like hunted animals. Cassie’s wrist console beeped, a red marker flashing on the map. A massive energy signature was closing in.

Then it appeared.

The machina prowled through the haze, its massive wolf-like frame shifting with unnatural precision. Its three heads moved in eerie synchronization: one scanning ahead, another swiveling to track movement, and the third tilting slightly, its ears twitching toward Evelyn’s breathing.

It wasn’t just big. It was wrong.

“Eyes up!” Cassie hissed. “Target the legs. Slow it down.”

Evelyn fired first. Plasma rounds hammered the machina’s legs, sparks ricocheting off its armored limbs. The beast paused, its glowing red eyes narrowing as it recalibrated.

Then it moved.

The machina lunged, its claws tearing through the rubble Evelyn had used for cover. She dove out of the way, rolling into a pile of debris as the beast smashed through the column, sending fragments flying.

Andrew was already firing, his rifle barking sharp, steady bursts. The shots dented the armor but didn’t slow the beast. He didn’t stop.

“Keep going!” Andrew roared, hefting a grenade launcher. “I’ll hold it here.”

Cassie whipped around. “Andrew, don’t!”

“A man oughta do what he thinks is best.” He ignored her, his focus absolute. The grenade fired, striking the machina’s shoulder. The explosion rocked the street, sending flames and debris skyward.

The machina staggered. One leg buckled, and its heads snapped back as if in pain. Sparks rained from its joints, and its movements stuttered.

Andrew grinned. A hard, fleeting victory.

Then the machina surged forward, faster than anything its size should have been without showing no signs of its earlier injuries. Its heads struck as one, jaws closing with brutal precision.

Andrew’s comm went silent.

Cassie’s chest tightened, but she didn’t let herself freeze. “Move!” she barked, grabbing Evelyn by the arm and dragging her into motion.

They ran. The machina’s growls followed, low and guttural, vibrating through the rubble.

Then the air changed.

The battlefield fell unnaturally silent. Fires dimmed, their embers dying as if smothered by an invisible hand. Dust and debris froze in midair. Even the distant artillery ceased, leaving nothing but a heavy, oppressive stillness.

Cassie turned, her senses screaming.

A figure stepped through the haze.

He moved with impossible calm, a man draped in black. His silver hair gleamed like starlight, untouched by the filth of the battlefield. His presence was a weight in the air, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

The machina stilled, its massive frame lowering until it knelt like a loyal hound.

“You fought well,” the man said, his voice smooth and resonant. He lifted a hand, and Cassie’s wrist console flickered before going dark. “But you must know when to stop.”

The name came unbidden.

Haides. Haides of the Blast Furnace.

The Unseen Thunder. King of Storms. The eldest of the Seven Great Precursor Lords.

She raised her rifle, but her hands trembled.

“You already know who I am,” he said, his faint smile laced with amusement.

This wasn’t a battle. It was a reckoning.