Chapter 7: The Final Gauntlet
The squad had almost reached the edge of the ruined city. The crumbled towers and shattered streets behind them seemed to watch in eerie silence. The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on their shoulders.
Suddenly, movement flashed on the outskirts—a group of at least thirty Ny-X1 stepping out of the ruins, their eyes glinting with hostility.
Elara immediately took charge, her voice cutting through the tension. "Stay tight. Follow my lead."
Izan fell into position without hesitation, precise and focused. "Cover the sides. Don't let them flank us."
The group tightened their formation, weapons ready. Zion crouched beside Xena, eyes scanning for weaknesses, while Rhys and Miya moved together near the center, instinctively covering each other's angles.
Their brief exchanges were simple—a shared glance here, a quick nod there—but nothing drawn-out or obvious. A moment came when Rhys adjusted his stance, and Miya instinctively mirrored him. Small, quiet gestures that spoke only to them.
The Ny-X1 charged, a tide of snarls and claws.
Elara's orders were sharp and relentless. "Push forward. No openings."
Izan's calculated shots broke up enemy ranks, his calm under pressure steadying the team.
As they pressed through the swarm, the rain briefly returned, slicking surfaces and making footing uncertain. Yet the squad kept moving, their synchronicity born from training more than words.
When the last of the Ny-X1 fell back, panting and scattered, Elara exhaled sharply. "Good. Almost out."
Xena said nothing but allowed a brief glance toward the exit.
In silence, the team regrouped, each lost in their own thoughts, the unspoken tension between members buried beneath the weight of survival.