Catherine did not like the situation one bit.
Blasting sand infiltrated every crevice, servos kept malfunctioning, and even the bearings ground with audible friction. But what she liked even less was the encroaching firestorms—despite the thermal control systems running at full capacity, every armored soldier was drenched in sweat. Yet without those firestorms, the parasite density would multiply, and the number of integrated appendages breaching the force-field would increase dramatically. As she shouted for the heavy weapons team to cover the assault squad's explosive rifles and chainswords, she also led the charge, hacking furiously at any threat.
"When the hell will that thing be ready?!" Catherine yelled, slicing through a parasite tendril wrapped around a soldier's armplate and following up with a round from her rifle to obliterate it. "Can't you go any faster?!"
"I don't have the Lord's mastery of the arcane—I need time!" Zero of the Honor Guard lay prone, carving arcane symbols into the sand with his combat knife. This was a direct order from the Lord: replicate a spell purely from memory. It wasn't an impossible task. Magic was part of Zero's curriculum, and this assignment was well within his training range. After some time, his eyes lit up as he stabbed his knife into the sand and began chanting the incantation Solomon had once used at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Though less fluent, the words began to take shape.
"I did it!"
"Sisters!" Catherine cried out, waving her chainsword at the newly teleported combat squad inside the force-field. "Open fire! Draw your blades! We need every bit of strength! Our lives are not our own—we are the Lord's warriors! We will die for him! This is his trial for us—fight in his name!"
Without a word, the new squad joined the fray. Fighting to the death for the Lord had always been the Sisterhood's creed. Zero kept working, his speed increasing as he successfully summoned two more combat squads. But the spell failed on the third attempt. He immediately relayed this to Catherine.
"Gamma Squad, got it. Contact them after the storm passes," she said calmly. "Skip them and move on to the others. Sisters, tighten formation—do not let the enemy interrupt Zero!"
The raging firestorms continued to scour the dunes around them. Columns of searing orange flame carved into the sand with terrifying speed, turning the surrounding terrain into molten glass. The Sisterhood stood atop massive alien stone sculptures left by a long-dead civilization. As the fire stripped away centuries of dust, the artistry was revealed—but no one had the time to appreciate it. Earth-born warriors fought for their lives atop the remains of another world's dead.
Solomon sliced through an incoming appendage with his sword, flame and lightning surging up the tendril and into the storm, obliterating the parasites like someone sweeping away garbage. Just two cantrip-level spells in his hands unleashed devastating power. The Hive kept luring him deeper into the storm, and Solomon followed. The Sisterhood's duty was to eliminate the Hive's extensions. His duty was to destroy the Hive's core.
When he finally reached the storm's center, the black-robed humanoid was already waiting.
Solomon was certain he was far enough—fifty kilometers or more—from any Sisterhood squad. Only here could he execute his plan. "You're not a normal Inhuman, child," said the robed figure. Even without speaking, its voice carried endless malice, and Solomon could hear the hunger and greed in its very soul. "I don't know why they sent you, but you're definitely special. It would be a shame if you died here. Care to hear my plan?"
Even as it spoke, disgusting tendrils continued to lunge at Solomon. He answered with fire and steel, obliterating Hive's extensions. Whenever the parasite swarms tried to overwhelm him, his flame shield flared up and incinerated the tiny horrors.
"No time," Solomon replied coldly. He needed to draw the Hive's full attention, force it to focus all its efforts on him. Back at the command squad, Catherine noticed the firestorms calming. The sandstorm itself began to shift course, drawn toward Solomon. Through the dark winds, she caught glimmers of fire flashing from her Lord's sword. He twisted his wrist, and orange fire sparked above the ringed gauntlet. The planet's coordinates weren't fully mapped yet—but he could still do something.
He could make himself the anchor.
"At your command, my Lord!" Tita responded, issuing orders to the firepower team below the command platform. Meanwhile, far away on Earth, the Punisher-class Helicarrier was surrounded by several portals sparking with orange fire. On the other side: the upper atmosphere of a distant world. Torrents of air rushed through. Tita gave the gunners the order to open fire and deployed a strategic weapon through the gate.
"I really do like your power, child," Hive said, raising its head. Under the black hood, its deformed eyes flickered with interest at the sparks. "It's strong—simple, but potent. You might be the strongest Inhuman I've ever seen. Aside from me, of course."
"But I don't need you."
Hive chuckled, twitching tendrils snaking from the shadows under its hood. "A lot of people say that."
Solomon clenched his fist, golden light forming a shield around him.
Before Hive could comment on the unknown energy signature, a barrage of streaking light screamed down from the heavens. Missiles bearing the insignia of the Immortal City plunged from outer space, exploding in midair and ripping apart the storm of parasites and sand. Then silence. The roaring wind vanished. One missile—blindingly bright—swelled into a glowing orb. The hydrogen bomb detonated, unleashing temperatures of hundreds of millions of degrees Celsius in the upper atmosphere. Like a god's hand, it pulverized the gloom and brought light back to the world.
Hive, searching its consumed memories for context, found a name for what it was witnessing.
"This is a hydrogen bomb, you tentacled savage," Solomon said softly. "Did you think I was talking to you out of curiosity? I'd pay any price to kill you."
Inside their helmets, sensors worked overtime to shield the wearers from the blinding light. But just like the armor's cooling systems, the optical processors soon gave up—fried. Servos and power packs emitted smoke as they overheated. The stench of burning electronics was soon swept away by a wave of searing air. All sound vanished. The world pressed pause. A tidal wave of steel-vaporizing heat and bone-shattering shockwaves tore across the terrain, flipping clouds like boiling cream into the stratosphere.
The archmage dropped to one knee, barely holding up his shield. His suit's air circulation system blasted hot, foul-smelling air. He was deaf, blind, parched, dehydrated—but he clung to consciousness. At some point, a bronze shield bearing the Medusa's face appeared in his hand. He couldn't see. He only felt his armor glowing red, nearly molten, firelight dancing across his body. He smelled his own flesh burning. Blood and hydraulic fluid seeped from his armor's seams, carbonizing along the plates until everything—the coating, the metal—turned to ash in the wind.
He had no idea how much time had passed. He only knew one thing:
He was dying.
(End of Chapter)
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