"One... two... three…"
Peter whispered under his breath, his grip on the handgun firm but his fingers trembling ever so slightly. His eyes scanned the battlefield ahead, skimming over mud, smoke, and blood.
"Now!"
Immediately, Peter bolted from cover, leading the remaining Resistance soldiers to the tank’s left side. The group moved like shadows, hunched low, footsteps muffled against the debris-littered ground.
Oliver handed Peter his AK-47 mid-run.
“Take it!”
He muttered, quickly pivoting to a dead enemy. The others scrambled to loot the bodies, ripping rifles from lifeless hands and yanking ammunition belts off limp torsos.
Peter’s breath was ragged as he rummaged through a dead soldier’s gear, his fingers fumbling over the grenades strapped to the corpse’s chest. He yanked two grenades free, their pins jingling faintly.
A flicker of light caught his eye.
It was faint but sharp—a glint reflecting off polished metal.
The hairs on Peter’s neck stood on end. His mind screamed before his body could react.
“Snake! Get down!”
He lunged toward Oliver, shoving him to the ground just as the gunshot shattered the air.
The first bullet tore into Peter’s side, ripping through flesh and bone. His body jolted violently as if struck by a hammer.
The second round hit higher, crashing into his ribcage. Blood spurted from his mouth, painting the air with red mist.
“Peter!”
Oliver yelled.
The enemy soldier, hidden among the tall grass, kept firing. The assault rifle’s muzzle flashed with each shot, spitting death in rapid bursts. Peter staggered backward. His body was a canvas for the bullets.
The gunshot reverberated across the battlefield. The soldiers firing relentlessly at the Architect hesitated, their eyes darting toward the tank.
“Why isn’t the tank moving?!”
One of them yelled, his voice strained with both anger and desperation.
“And why the hell isn’t it shooting?!”
Another snapped, his hands trembling from the constant recoil.
Their frustration festered, feeding into the tension of the moment.
Inside the tank, the gunner gritted his teeth, the sharp pain in his chest making every breath a challenge.
Blood seeped through his uniform, but he ignored it, his focus locked on the APFSDS round lying on the floor.
"Come on."
He muttered to himself, forcing his legs into motion. He braced against the tight confines of the tank, using sheer determination to hoist the heavy round back into the breechloader.
His hands slipped on the bloodied casing, but he wouldn’t let go.
The round slid into place.
With a grunt of effort, the gunner climbed back into his seat, his vision swimming. The turret’s controls felt heavier than ever as he adjusted them, the faint hum of machinery filling the cabin.
Through the sight, the Architect loomed—calm, impenetrable, and terrifying.
As the crosshair locked onto her chest, he slammed his finger onto the trigger.
The APFSDS round tore through the barrel with an explosion of flame and smoke.
Outside, the high-velocity projectile screamed toward its target.
The round collided with the Architect’s shimmering shield, the impact sending shockwaves rippling outward. The hardened shale casing of the round bent slightly on contact, deflecting its trajectory just enough to avoid a clean hit.
But the shield wasn’t invincible.
The first layer splintered like glass, the fragments disintegrating into shards of glowing blue energy.
The APFSDS round continued its assault, its sharp nose smashing into the second layer with unstoppable force. The translucent barrier flared a searing orange, its once-fluid surface turning concave as it struggled to absorb the impact.
The Architect didn’t flinch. Her gaze remained fixed on the tank, her axe gripped tightly in her hand.
Inside, the gunner let out a strained laugh, blood dripping from his lips.
“I’ve got you now.”
He whispered, adjusting his aim for another shot.
But the second shield hadn’t given way. It pulsated, holding firm, although cracks began to spiderweb across its surface.
Peter’s gaze was fixed on the sky, his wide eyes reflecting the chaos above as the world around him seemed to blur.
The soldier in the tall grass had emptied 40 rounds into his body.
Pain surged through his body, but his mind fought to stay focused. His legs buckled unevenly—his right knee hitting the dirt while his left leg stubbornly refused to collapse.
His trembling arms barely managed to lift the blood-slicked AK-47. The weight of the rifle felt unbearable, but he locked his sights on the reloading soldier ahead.
Through his blurred vision, he lined up the iron sights and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle roared.
The 7.62mm rounds ripped through the enemy’s helmet, and the soldier crumpled to the ground, his rifle slipping from his grasp.
Peter’s grip loosened as the AK-47 clicked empty. His arms fell to his sides, the weapon dangling from his hand. Blood poured from his mouth, staining his uniform. His breathing grew ragged, uneven, and desperate.
He collapsed to his side.
His body hit the ground with a thud, motionless as blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the earth.
"Peter!"
Joshua shouted, rushing forward. He knelt beside Peter’s lifeless body, his fingers trembling as he checked for a pulse.
His hands came away stained with warm blood.
"Shit...!"
Joshua muttered, his voice choked with rage and grief.
"All the bullets—they’re lodged in his ribs and muscles! Damn it!"
Joshua reached for the AK-47.
Just as his fingers grasped the receiver, a distant crack split the air.
In an instant, his head jerked backward, a burst of blood erupting as the sniper's DMR round punched through his skull.
His lifeless body crumpled beside Peter, the rifle falling from his hands.
“Sniper! Fall back!”
Oliver shouted, grabbing Ezra’s arm as the sharp report of the sniper’s rifle echoed again.
The trio scrambled for cover, Franklin pulling Ezra along as he stumbled over the uneven ground.
Their breaths were frantic, Ezra barely breathed, suffocating as another shot rang out, barely missing them.
Oliver darted a glance to his right, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the marksman lying prone in the tall grass.
The enemy’s rifle was trained on him, its barrel gleaming under the faint sunlight.
As their eyes locked, the marksman squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
Oliver immediately ducked back behind the tank’s side skirt, the bullet ricocheted off the mudguard. The force of the impact sent shrapnel spraying against Oliver’s arm, stinging like fire.
“Damn it!”
He hissed, clutching his stinging forearm as he pressed his back against the tank, breathing hard.
The marksman paused, perhaps recalibrating or scanning for a clearer shot.
Oliver didn’t wait. He tilted his rifle upward, his heart pounding, and swung the barrel toward the marksman’s last position.
With no time to aim carefully, he squeezed the trigger and let the magazine unload.
The rifle barked violently, the recoil jarring his shoulder as the bullets sprayed into the tall grass.
Muzzle flashes lit up the chaotic scene, and Oliver gritted his teeth, willing at least one of those rounds to find its mark.
Suddenly, the marksman’s helmet snapped back. A single round punched through, and his body jerked before collapsing into the grass.
Oliver’s ears were ringing from the gunfire. He peeked out, and saw that the sniper had been killed.
He slumped back against the tank, panting heavily.
“Shit!”
A voice shouted behind him.
Oliver turned his head to see Rocky kneeling over his medic—the man who had dragged him away from the rooftop snipers.
"Medic's down!"
Rocky shouted, his voice raw with desperation. His hands hovered over the medic's body, unsure whether to grab his gear or move to cover.
Oliver glanced over his shoulder, reloading his rifle with trembling hands.
His breath came in ragged gasps as Ezra and Franklin stealthily moved to flank the enemies who were still focused on the Architect.
From behind, the two Resistance fighters opened fire, their rifles cracking like whips in the chaotic battlefield.
The first enemy soldier crumpled to the ground, riddled with bullets, but the others reacted quickly, their body vests absorbing most of the incoming rounds.
“Damn it! They're too well-armored!”
Ezra shouted, frustration mingling with urgency.
One of the enemy soldiers turned and took aim at Ezra, but Franklin caught him with a perfectly placed burst to the exposed neck, dropping him.
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Before they could press the advantage, the rest of the enemy squad sprinted toward the other side of the tank, using its bulk as cover.
Franklin moved to reload, his hands fumbling with a new magazine. In that moment, Rocky emerged from the chaos like a phantom, grabbing Franklin from behind in a brutal headlock.
“No!”
Ezra shouted, turning his rifle toward them, but he couldn’t get a clear shot.
Rocky plunged his combat knife into Franklin’s chest, twisting and dragging the blade upward into his throat. Franklin’s gasping cries were muffled as blood spurted from his wounds.
Oliver reacted on instinct, leveling his rifle and firing a single, desperate shot.
The round punched through Rocky’s skull, snapping his head back and ending him instantly.
Both bodies collapsed in a heap, Franklin's life slipping away in a pool of blood, his wide eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Ezra and Oliver froze for a moment, their breaths heavy, before Oliver broke the silence.
“It’s just us now.”
He muttered, his voice shaky.
Ezra grabbed the magazine Oliver offered, yanking it from his trembling hand and shoving it into his pocket. The two locked eyes.
Without wasting another second, they sprinted to the other side of the tank.
Oliver fired in controlled bursts, forcing the enemy soldiers into cover, while Ezra moved past him, laying down suppressive fire to push the enemies to the other side.
They managed to kill 2 more men, but one bullet tore through the air and crashed into Oliver's abdomen. And it came out of his back and flew past Ezra.
Oliver groaned as he staggered, blood spilling from his abdomen, each step faltering under the hail of enemy fire.
The bullets tore through the air, pinging off the tank’s hull and kicking up dirt.
Ezra turned just in time to see Oliver collapse, clutching his stomach, his rifle slipping from his grip.
“Oliver!”
Ezra’s voice yelled as he dashed toward his fallen comrade. Suddenly, a bullet landed on his shoulder.
He slammed his back against the back of the tank, his breath ragged.
Oliver, lying prone, extended a bloodied hand toward Ezra.
“I can still fight…”
He gasped, his words weak and trembling.
Ezra reached out, his fingers just inches from Oliver’s.
“Come on, I’ve got you! Just a little—”
The sharp crack of a rifle interrupted him.
Ezra froze, his hand hovering mid-air as Oliver’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed the grass as his comrade's body went limp.
Time seemed to slow as Ezra’s mind struggled to process the sight—Oliver’s lifeless eyes staring back, his outstretched hand now unmoving.
“No!”
Ezra’s voice tore through the chaos, raw with anguish.
His eyes shot to the enemy who fired the fatal shot. The man emerged from the haze, his hulking figure silhouetted against the rising smoke. His hoodie clung to his massive frame, the muzzle of his rifle still glowing faintly from the shot.
Ezra’s rage boiled over, his trembling hands gripping his rifle. His knuckles turned white as he raised it, aiming squarely at the hooded killer.
“You son of a—”
Before he could finish, a sharp impact struck his abdomen. Ezra stumbled back, a searing pain ripping through him as more bullets followed, tearing through his side like hot knives.
His rifle clattered to the ground as he collapsed against the tank’s side, his vision swimming. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed against the wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding.
Ezra gritted his teeth, his vision narrowing to a tunnel focused solely on his target. Ignoring the pain, he reached for his rifle, but his strength was waning.
The killer raised his weapon again, pointing it directly at Ezra’s chest.
Adrenaline surged through Ezra as he fumbled for his sidearm, his bloodied hand trembling. He didn’t wait—he pulled the trigger, the pistol’s sharp crack cutting through the air.
The hooded man staggered as the bullet struck his shoulder, but it wasn’t enough.
Ezra coughed, blood spraying his lips. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing for a way out, but his body was betraying him, each second pushing him closer to unconsciousness.
The hooded man stepped forward, his rifle aimed for the final shot.
Immediately, Ezra slumped himself against the back of the tank, blood pouring from his mouth as he clung to life.
The bullets that were supposed to kill him struck the side skirt of the tank and bounced off.
“He’s crippled, Alduin!” the cloaked soldier’s companion exclaimed.
“Rush! Now!”
Alduin growled, leading the charge with a raised rifle.
As the two stepped out of cover, a sharp crack split the air. The soldier behind Alduin jerked violently, a bullet punching clean through his back.
Alduin whipped around, eyes narrowing as he spotted Stan running toward the tank. Stan’s pistol was already raised, its barrel gleaming in the dim light.
Click.
It was empty. Immediately, Stan pulled the magazine out and reached for a new one.
“You son of a—”
Before Alduin could say “Bitch”, his curse was drowned out by the deafening roar of the tank’s cannon.
The gunner had seen Stan.
The HEAT shell screamed toward him, slamming into the ground with a thunderous explosion.
The force sent Stan’s body hurtling skyward, limbs flailing like a broken puppet before he crashed into the dirt, motionless.
Alduin gritted his teeth, adrenaline surging.
“Push forward!”
He barked at his ally.
Suddenly, motion flickered in their peripheral vision—a blur too fast to follow. Alduin barely had time to register the sound of rapid footsteps before Fransisco emerged from the haze, moving like a predator.
Alduin turned, raising his weapon, but it was already too late. Fransisco’s hand shot forward, releasing two sleek drones that zipped through the air like hornets.
The first drone locked onto Alduin’s ally, its tiny jet engines whining as it adjusted its trajectory.
The soldier spun, his finger squeezing the trigger in desperation. Bullets sprayed wildly, carving through the air, but none hit the drone.
The soldier saw the drone veer toward him, its mechanical whine rising in pitch. His instincts screamed at him to move. He dove to the side, hitting the ground hard as the drone missed its target by inches.
Boom!
The explosion tore through the dirt, the blast wave catching his legs and throwing him like a ragdoll. He hit the ground hard at the wrong angle of his feet. Immediately, his leg and his ankle disconnect.
“Ah, fuck! My legs!”
He bellowed, his voice ragged with pain.
Before the chaos settled, the second drone was already on its way. This one locked onto Alduin. It's engines whined as it closed in.
Alduin didn’t flinch. He raised his HK-417 in one fluid motion, his sharp eyes tracking the drone’s erratic flight path. He fired a single shot, his aim steady despite the tension in the air.
The round tore into the drone, shattering its frame mid-air.
The flaming wreckage spiraled toward the tank behind them, slamming into the ERA panels. The reactive armor exploded in a violent burst, the shockwave tossing the drone’s remains skyward like a comet.
Alduin ignored the fiery debris, his focus narrowing on Fransisco. He raised his rifle again, and pulled the trigger.
Fransisco saw the muzzle flash before he heard the shot. He darted to the side, every movement was careful but agile, his boots skidding against the dirt as he dove into the lower ground.
The soldier who had been knocked down by the explosion gritted his teeth, his shaking hands raising his rifle. Blood streaked his face, but his aim was locked onto Fransisco.
As Fransisco hopped into cover, one bullet struck true, slamming into Fransisco’s tibia.
A jolt of white-hot pain shot through his leg as he stumbled, his body folding mid-stride. He hit the ground hard, dust kicking up around him.
But he didn’t stop. Even as agony clawed at him, Fransisco rolled to the side, dragging himself behind a jagged rock just as another burst of gunfire ripped through the air.
The bullets slammed into the stone, sending shards of rock flying.
Fransisco pressed his back against the cover, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he assessed the situation.
Blood pooled around his injured leg, soaking into the ground, but his mind stayed sharp.
Alduin turned sharply, his piercing gaze locking onto Ezra—but it was too late.
Ezra hurtled toward him like a bullet, his knife catching the faint gleam of moonlight. A savage roar ripped from his throat as the blade sliced through the air toward its mark.
Alduin reacted instinctively, raising his rifle just in time. The knife screeched against the metal body of the gun, sparks flying.
He lashed out with a brutal kick, slamming his boot into Ezra’s injured abdomen.
The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Ezra’s body, tearing a scream from his lips. His fingers loosened, and the knife clattered to the ground.
Ezra staggered back, clutching his stomach, his breath ragged. But his eyes never left Alduin. Gritting his teeth, he dropped low, his hand scrabbling through the dirt. With a swift motion, he hurled a handful of sharp pebbles and dust straight at Alduin’s face.
Alduin didn't flinch thanks to his visor. But the pebbles indeed obscured his vision, despite only for seconds.
Ezra didn’t wait for an opening; he reached into his vest, his fingers finding the cold metal of a flashbang.
Pulling the pin, he bolted forward, his steps swift and reckless.
“One.”
He growled under his breath, his boots pounding the ground.
Alduin’s vision cleared just enough to catch the movement. He leveled his HK 417, the muzzle tracking Ezra’s approach.
“Two… three.”
Ezra counted, closing the distance. He zigzagged, dodging left and right as the barrel followed him.
“Four.”
His voice rasped as Alduin squeezed the trigger. Ezra dropped into a slide, the rifle’s gunshot deafening as bullets carved through the air above him.
“Five!”
Ezra roared, tossing the flashbang upward in a high arc.
Alduin’s eyes widened.
He twisted to track the grenade as it sailed through the air, its metallic shell glinting like a falling star.
“Six.”
Ezra threw his hands over his eyes just as the flashbang detonated.
The world erupted in a blinding burst of white light, a thunderous crack splitting the night.
Alduin staggered back, a guttural scream escaping his throat as his hands clawed at his face.
He immediately squeezed the trigger, firing his rifle uncontrollably, bullets shredding into the sky, the recoil jerking the weapon violently until the chamber clicked empty.
Ezra surged forward, scooping up the knife he had dropped.
He closed the gap in two quick strides, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
With a fierce cry, he drove the blade into Alduin’s abdomen.
The knife sank deep, and Alduin’s breath hitched, a strangled grunt of pain escaping his lips.
His grip on the rifle slackened, the weapon slipping from his fingers and thudding to the ground.
Ezra didn’t hesitate.
He twisted the knife viciously before yanking it free, blood sprayed out.
Adrenaline intoxicated Ezra. He immediately threw his full weight into Alduin, tackling him to the ground. They hit the dirt hard, a tangle of limbs and raw fury.
Alduin swung a wild punch, his knuckles grazing Ezra’s jaw. Ezra retaliated with a sharp elbow strike to Alduin’s temple.
With desperate gasps for air, they grappled against each other, their hands clawing and gripping in a brutal battle for dominance.
Alduin surged forward, his strength momentarily overwhelming as he locked Ezra into a crushing chokehold.
Ezra’s vision darkened, his body buckling under the pressure. But a spark of defiance lit his gaze.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he drove his elbow into Alduin’s ribs, loosening the hold just enough. With a feral roar, he twisted free and slammed his knee into Alduin’s wounded abdomen.
Alduin’s pained cry echoed across the battlefield, but he didn’t falter. Blood smeared across his face, his eyes wild with rage. Ezra's knife in his hand gleamed as he thrust it downward, aiming for Ezra’s heart.
Ezra’s instincts screamed. He caught Alduin’s wrist just in time, the blade hovering inches from his chest.
Their muscles strained, both men locked in a deadly stalemate. Sweat and blood slicked their grips, their breaths mingling in ragged bursts.
Then the unmistakable whir of rotors tore through the night, growing louder with every passing second.
Both men froze, their heads snapping upward as a Westland Lynx helicopter roared into view at full speed, its searchlight slicing through the darkness.
The ground vibrated beneath them, the downdraft kicking up a storm of dust and debris.
Their breaths hitching in unison as the thunderous roar of rotors filled the air.
“Hold on!!!”
The pilot’s voice crackled through the comms, raw with adrenaline.
Sweat dripped down his face as he yanked the joystick upward, nearly slamming it into his chest. His trembling hands gripped the controls like a lifeline while his boots slammed against the right rudder pedal, locking it into place. The Westland Lynx spun violently, its body twisting in a cyclone of raw power.
“Woo-hoo!!!!!!”
Carina’s screams were swallowed by the deafening roar. Her hair whipped wildly in the cabin as she braced herself against the crushing G-force. The world outside the windows blurred into streaks of chaos, but the pilot’s focus was razor-sharp.
With a deft flick of the pilot’s wrist, the Lynx performed a death-defying kickflip, its engines roaring like an untamed beast.
The helicopter completed a full vertical 180-degree rotation, its sleek frame defying gravity.
As the rotors stabilized, the pilot slammed the joystick forward and to the right, his thumb pressing down hard on the trigger.
The hardpoints released their deadly payload in unison.
Four BGM-71 TOW anti-tank guided missiles streaked toward their target, leaving trails of white-hot fury in their wake.
The first missile struck dead accurately, detonating on impact. The explosive reactive armor (ERA) on the tank’s surface erupted, shrapnel tearing through the surrounding air.
Before the dust could settle, the second missile slammed above the side skirt, tearing through the tank’s reinforced plating as if it were paper.
Inside the tank, the crew’s screams were drowned out by the deafening roar of destruction.
Flames surged through the cabin, consuming everything in their path.
Superheated air filled the compartments, cooking the driver and gunner alive. Their shadows were etched briefly against the inferno before being obliterated in a storm of metal and fire.
The third and fourth missiles hit in rapid succession.
The tank’s ammunition stores ignited, triggering a chain reaction.
The explosion ripped the turret clean off its chassis, sending it hurtling skyward like a flaming comet.
Secondary detonations followed as the other munitions cooked off, launching deadly projectiles in every direction.
The night lit up as missiles spiraled through the air, exploding mid-flight like a macabre fireworks display.
Ezra and Alduin barely had time to react. The shockwave hit them like a freight train, throwing them off their feet. They scrambled desperately, leaping away from the tank just as the turret rocketed past, a flaming blur in their periphery.
The ground shook with relentless force as debris rained down around them. Ezra’s ears rang, the high-pitched whine drowning out the chaos, his face coated in grime and sweat.
He turned to face the carnage. The tank’s smoldering remnants lay scattered across the battlefield, a monument to utter annihilation.
Flames licked hungrily at the twisted metal, while smoke spiraled into the night sky like a signal to the gods of war. The acrid stench of burning fuel and flesh hung heavy in the air, choking the life out of the surroundings.
And yet, amidst the destruction, there was an eerie, surreal beauty. The spiraling embers, the flickering firelight, and the echo of the turret’s ascent.
Ezra’s chest tightened, not from fear, but from the raw, overwhelming power of what he had just witnessed.
Carina didn’t hesitate.
The helicopter door swung open, and she leapt out, her boots slamming into the dirt as she sprinted toward Ezra.
He sprawled on the dirt, still alive but dying. With every ounce of strength, she grabbed him by the collar and began dragging him to safety, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Above them, the other soldier aboard the Lynx yanked the .50 cal machine gun into position. With a guttural shout, he unleashed hell.
The massive rounds ripped through the air, slamming into the Architect’s shimmering shield like a relentless storm.
Sparks flew, but the barrier held strong, mocking their efforts with its unyielding defiance.
The Architect didn’t flinch, her dark silhouette standing ominously behind the barrier.
The bullets ricocheted harmlessly, the roar of the gunfire drowned out by the hum of her impenetrable shield.
Fransisco emerged from cover, his face set with grim determination.
Immediately, he hurled his drones forward.
The first drone struck the shield, sending a pulse of energy rippling across its surface. The once-blue glow shifted to yellow. The second drone hit moments later, turning the shield a fiery orange. The third crashed into it with explosive force, the barrier flickering to a volatile red.
The final drone screamed through the air, detonating on impact.
The explosion was deafening, a blinding flash engulfing the Architect, summed up with her own shield explosion.
When the smoke cleared, her shield was gone, its remains dissipating into the ether.
“Now!”
Maxwell’s voice boomed. His Barrett M82 raised with precision. He took aim while walking forward, then pulled the trigger. The massive rifle’s muzzle flashing as round after round slammed into the Architect. Each shot rocked her frame, forcing her to stagger under the onslaught.
The gunner above doubled down, the .50 cal roaring.
Rounds tore through the air, raining destruction upon the now-exposed Architect. Every impact sent shards of her garments flying, the once-imposing figure beginning to falter under the relentless assault.
The machine gunner above roared as he held the trigger down, the barrel turning red from overheating.
The combined firepower of the team overwhelmed her, forcing her to her knees.
“Hare Leap.”
She muttered while under barrage. Her voice was eerily calm.
Without warning, she propelled herself forward, an unrelenting force sprinting toward the helicopter.
Her movements were almost inhuman, each step closing the distance with terrifying speed.
“Mishka! Climb! Climb!”
The gunner’s voice cracked with panic as he unleashed another barrage of bullets, desperate to stop her.
But she was relentless, weaving through the hail of gunfire with unnatural precision, her poleaxe was held like a reaper’s scythe.
Mishka’s hands fumbled on the controls, his fingers trembling as he yanked the joystick back. The helicopter groaned, its rotors straining against gravity. The craft began to lift, but the Architect approached faster.
The Architect leapt, her bloodied form a blur as she closed the final gap.
With one devastating swing, her poleaxe cleaved through the tail boom. Sparks erupted as metal groaned, the severed section spiraling away like a dying bird.
The helicopter lurched violently, spinning out of control. Mishka’s breath caught in his throat as alarms blared, the cockpit’s red lights casting an ominous glow.
“Hold on!”
He roared, gripping the controls desperately.
But gravity was unforgiving. The craft tilted, its body succumbing to the chaos.
The gunner was thrown against the wall, his cries drowned by the deafening roar of the failing engine.
“Brace!”
Mishka shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.
The ground rushed up to meet them.
The helicopter slammed into the earth.
The propellers shattered, jagged pieces of metal scattering like shrapnel. The fuel tank ruptured, igniting in an explosive burst of flames that engulfed the wreckage.
The air filled with the acrid stench of burning metal and fuel.
Mishka coughed, his lungs searing as smoke poured into the cockpit.
The machine gunner lay crumpled amidst the twisted debris, unmoving.
Carina’s arms trembled as she hauled Ezra’s limp body toward the shattered remains of the school building.
Behind them, the inferno raged, its flames licking at the heavens like the breath of an unholy beast.
Ezra’s heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open. Through the pain, he glimpsed the chaos behind him.
The world had become a sea of fire.
The helicopter was nothing more than a charred skeleton, the tank a smoldering husk.
The silhouettes of Alduin and the pilot emerged briefly from the blaze, staggering to their feet before darting off in opposite directions, swallowed by the shadows.
And the Architect? Gone. No trace of her amidst the carnage, as if she had evaporated into the flames, leaving only dread in her wake.
“Stay with me, Ezra.” Carina urged, her voice cracking as she tightened her grip on him. His head lolled against her shoulder, his breath shallow and uneven.
The roaring blaze painted the night sky in hues of orange and red, but for Ezra, the colors began to fade. The firelight dimmed, replaced by an encroaching darkness that crept in from the edges of his vision.
But the weight of exhaustion and injury was too much. The night sky stretched above him, vast and unyielding, as the stars blinked out one by one. The world blurred, its edges softening as darkness enveloped him.
The last thing he saw was Carina’s determined expression, framed by the flickering glow of the inferno. And then, nothing. The darkness swallowed him whole, silent and complete.