Xavier Bridger gripped the gyro-stick until his knuckles turned white. His jet screamed across the clouds, the Atlantic/ ocean far below shimmering under the night sky. The hydroplane carrying his father — billionaire Malcolm Bridger, now the most wanted man on Earth — cut through the air in formation with three escort craft. It should have been a safe route to HQ. Nothing about this felt safe.
Five attempts in less than twelve hours. Five times someone had tried to snatch his father out of a moving convoy or a fortified vehicle. And now? The sixth attempt was already here.
Red alarms blared in his cockpit. "Frack." Xavier yanked the stick hard left. The jet rattled as tracer fire screamed past his wing.
Four Lockheed-Martin fighter jets locked into formation on the hydroplane. Their wings bristled with oversized turrets, far too heavy for anything on the open market. These weren't freelancers. This was organized.
"Not today."
He dropped the jet into a barrel roll, the ion turret unfolding from his undercarriage. Plasma streaks cut across the night, slamming into the enemy formation. They broke rank instantly, returning fire in waves of red-hot lead.
Then Xavier saw it.
A figure fell from the sky. Their armored body hurtled through the air, flames and smoke whipping around them. Rust patched the plating, the right arm gleamed too bright — a replacement, prosthetic, jagged with machinery.
The intruder wasn't coming for him. They were heading straight for the hydroplane carrying his father.
"I said not today!"
He yanked the ejection lever. His cockpit exploded upward, the auto-system switching the jet to autonomous fire cover. Xavier's thrusters flared, hurling him through the hail of bullets. His obsidian blade slid free from its back-port with a metallic hiss. He hit the intruder mid-air, the two of them colliding like meteors.
The clash smashed them both onto the wing of a fighter jet. Metal screeched under their weight. Sparks spat as the enemy's serrated gauntlet locked against Xavier's blade.
They slammed their helmeted head forward, cracking against his visor. Xavier reeled but caught himself, shoving electricity through his fingertips. Lightning crawled along his arm — 700 volts, enough to melt through steel. He drove his hand into the assailant's chestplate.
The figure convulsed violently, shrieking in pain. The stench of burned circuits filled the air. They shoved Xavier off with desperate strength, forcing him to activate his thrusters and skim back up onto the fighter's hull.
This time, when Xavier landed, the enemy was on their knees. Clawed hands dug into their helmet, ripping it free with a furious roar.
The man beneath was scarred almost beyond recognition. Ginger hair matted with sweat and blood. A deep gash carved across his face from temple to jaw, exposing raw tissue. His features might once have been striking, but fury and mutilation had twisted them.
"Frack. Frack. Frack. FRACKKK!" He hurled the ruined helmet at Xavier with enough force to dent the steel of his armor.
Xavier caught it instinctively, skidding slightly backwards. Amid the burn marks and melted paint, one thing still remained. On the noseplate — faint yellow, almost gone — the outline of a chicken's beak.
Realization flickered. "You were a G.H.O.S.T..."
The man's twisted smile confirmed it.
"I was supposed to be the best fighter of that wretched organization," he spat, voice ragged. "Top of the charts. Fearless. Untouchable. And what do I get? Cast aside. Burned. Left to rot. Now here I am, back on Earth, running errand work. That's my legacy?" His scarred jaw twitched. "Frack that."
Xavier tightened his grip on the blade. "You're a Vaknar."
"Correct, bucko." The man rose shakily, his prosthetic arm sparking but still functional. "And when we're done, you and all your ghost friends will be relics. Forgotten. While we—" he spread his arms to the sky — "awaken."
Xavier's teeth clenched. "What do you want with Malcolm Bridger?"
The man chuckled darkly. "What do you think? His money? No, no, no. His mind. He's touched the Void's edge. He's studied its properties. Your precious scientist's research has reached our mistress... our savior."
Xavier froze. His HUD flickered warnings he ignored. His father. The Void. The Vaknar were playing at a larger game than he thought.
"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath.
The scarred soldier leaned forward, voice low and venomous. "Bridger's intellect is our key. And once our mistress has it, even your precious Atlas won't be able to stop us."
The fighter jet beneath them shuddered, fire erupting from its wing. Both combatants steadied themselves as the craft plummeted toward the sea.
Xavier's eyes hardened. "You're not taking him."
He lunged.
The wind screamed as Maven and the scarred Vaknar operative crashed across the jet's fuselage, sparks flaring where metal met blade.
The Vaknar soldier's prosthetic arm clamped around Maven's throat, servos grinding as he tightened the grip. "You think you can protect him?" he snarled, his scar twisting with rage. "Your G.H.O.S.T.'s can't even protect themselves. The Void will return, and your billionaire is just the key."
Maven's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. The word father burned in his throat once again, but he buried it deep.
Instead, he raised his hand, electricity crawling across his gauntlet in jagged blue arcs. He slammed it against the prosthetic joint, and the shock ripped through the soldier's armor. The Vaknar howled, spasming, and Maven wrenched himself free, stumbling across the fuselage as it tilted under them.
The jet buckled, flames belching from its side.
"You don't get it," the Vaknar spat, staggering to his feet, metal dragging against metal. His research is already hers. Your world just hasn't caught up yet."
Maven's gut twisted — her. Their mistress. Another piece of the puzzle he didn't have.
He lifted his obsidian blade. "Then you're not leaving here to tell anyone else."
They clashed again, steel on steel, their duel lit by fire and lightning. Maven's thrusters sputtered as he lunged forward, blade carving across the prosthetic arm. Sparks burst, the metal shattering. The soldier roared, headbutting him with raw fury. Blood sprayed inside Maven's visor, blinding one eye.
"You are all destined to die!" the Vaknar bellowed.
Maven gritted his teeth, voice like thunder. "The dead don't get a vote in that."
He grabbed the soldier's chestplate and unleashed his full charge. The volts tore through the man's body, frying circuits, burning flesh. His scream was swallowed by the explosion as the jet beneath them finally ruptured, fire devouring the sky.
The shockwave hurled them into the storm. Maven's thrusters kicked in at the last possible second, stabilizing him. Below, the soldier's body spun helplessly toward the ocean, flames trailing before the sea claimed him.
Maven hovered there a moment, armor sparking, chest heaving. His HUD blinked warnings. His throat still ached from the grip, his vision blurred from blood.
He spat onto the wind, voice hoarse.
"I hope your watching this hell unleashing Grim."
He angled upward, engines roaring, and shot back toward the hydroplane where Malcolm and the escort waited.
The fight was over. But the war was only beginning.
The hydroplane's bay door cracked open just long enough for Maven to drop inside, his armor sparking and smoking as he disengaged the thrusters. He hit the deck with a grunt, one knee braced, obsidian blade still humming with residual charge.
The agents inside aimed their rifles instinctively. "Identify!" one shouted.
Maven tore off his helmet, steam venting from the seals. His eyes burned red from smoke and blood, locs plastered to his forehead. "Maven. Stand down."
The rifles lowered, but the unease lingered. They had all seen the fight on their monitors — how close the assailant had come to breaching the plane, how Maven nearly fell with him into the sea.
"Agent Maven," the squad leader said, trying to steady his voice. "We had orders to hold formation. That was... above protocol."
"Protocol doesn't mean a thing when they're boarding your hull," Maven snapped back. His tone softened, but only slightly. "We keep Bridger breathing, or this entire world is gonna suffer because of us."
From the rear of the cabin, Malcolm Bridger stirred. The billionaire was strapped into a reinforced chair, jacket torn, eyes wide with barely disguised panic. His gaze lingered on Maven with a strange mix of relief and suspicion.
"You..." Malcolm said slowly, voice dry from fear. "This is twice you've saved me, are you sure your not the ones they're trying to go after?"
Xavier's chest tightened. His answer was sharp, clipped. "we're the ones keeping you alive."
Malcolm leaned forward against his restraints, studying him like a man searching for familiarity in a stranger's face. For a second, it looked as if he might press further — ask why Maven's eyes looked so much like his own reflection in old photographs. But the tension of the room and the weight of armed agents silenced him.
Instead, Malcolm whispered: "They won't stop. Whoever sent those men... they'll keep coming."
Maven cleaned the blood from his face with a torn piece of gauze, eyes locked out the viewport at the blackened trail of fire still drifting down toward the ocean. "Then let them. I'll put every last one of them in the sea."
The squad leader cleared his throat. "HQ wants us back on direct course. They're scrambling more escorts. Whatever that thing was you just fought... it wasn't alone."
Maven slid his blade back into its sheath, jaw tight.
"They never are."
He dropped into the seat across from Malcolm, helmet still smoking in his hands, and for the first time since the alarms began, the cabin fell quiet — just the hum of engines and the distant thunder of the storm.
.....
The docking clamps slammed into place with a metallic groan. The hydroplane rattled, agents instinctively raising their weapons until the hatch hissed open.
Hunter stepped through first, armor still streaked with rain, the G.H.O.S.T. insignia gleaming on his chest. His grin was unmistakable — the grin Xavier knew too well. Oliver followed in silence, and Ravager — Toya — brought up the rear, her scar catching the light, her eyes already scanning the room.
Xavier pulled off his battered helmet, steam venting from the seals. "You couldn't have shown up five minutes earlier?"
Hunter clapped him on the shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him sideways. "What, and rob you of your big hero moment? You're welcome."
Xavier rolled his eyes. "Still hate you."
Hunter smirked. "Love you too, little bro."
Malcolm Bridger shifted in his restraints at the rear of the bay, watching the exchange with thinly veiled impatience. His voice was even, cold. "Are we done with the comedy act? Or do I get to hear what happens next?"
Hunter's grin faded. He approached Malcolm, clasping his hand firmly. "How are you holding up, sir?"
Malcolm's answer came clipped, deliberate. "Tired. Aggravated. But not surprised. These attacks aren't random. They're fallout from the Void."
"You think we didn't already know that?" Hunter asked.
Malcolm's gaze was steady. "No, I think you came here to tell me anyway."
Before Hunter could respond, Toya cut in, her voice sharp as glass. "Whatever attitude you got right now, Bridger, save it. You're coming to the Hold. Don't waste our patience."
The air between them tightened, Malcolm's stare locked on hers until Xavier cut through, voice clipped.
"Enough. Show us what HQ sent."
Hunter tapped the console on his arm. A hologram bloomed above them, harsh blue light painting the bay. Footage rolled: cities burning, G.H.O.S.T. units falling, Xavier's older self rallying the last of the survivors.
Xavier froze, chest twisting. His mother. His failures. His future self — masked, hollow-eyed. And when Ravager's name was spoken in the recording, his lowered eyes flicked toward Toya.
Hunter stifled a laugh and got a sharp elbow to the ribs for it.
"Freeze it," Xavier snapped.
The image locked, showing his older self beside a stranger cloaked in shadow. Xavier pointed.
"Who is that?"
Hunter's voice dropped. "We don't know. No intel, no records. But his power signature... it matches the Dark Lady's."
"No." Xavier's reply was instant, sharp. "That's suicide. Just breathing near her was death."
Hunter dismissed the hologram with a flick. "Then whoever he is, he's worse than anything we've faced. We'll find answers at the Hold."
He turned for the cockpit. "Sparrow, eyes on the scanners. I'll update HQ."
Toya called after him. "And the gateway coordinates?"
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, grin flashing again. "Relax. I've got it. You just enjoy some quiet time with my brooding little brother." Then he vanished through the hatch.
The silence he left behind was heavier than before. Malcolm's eyes stayed on Xavier, unreadable. Toya leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded.
"I need air," Xavier muttered. He climbed out onto the hydroplane's roof.
The horizon stretched in fire and stormlight, the sea below black as obsidian. He stared into it, trying to breathe past the weight of everything pressing down — his father, his future self, his failures.
"Hey."
Toya's voice cut through the night air as she hauled herself onto the hull. The rain hit her braid tips, running down the scar at her jaw.
Xavier muttered, not looking at her, "Hey."
She smirked, leaning against the steel. "So I wasn't the only one who caught the family circus back there. You and Malcolm—looked like sparks ready to turn into fire. What's the deal? Daddy issues with a billionaire price tag?"
Xavier's jaw flexed. He didn't look at her. "The bigger question is how you and I end up together in that future."
Her smirk curved sharper, amused but dangerous. "Bold. Still a no."
Finally, Xavier turned, eyes low under the HUD's faint glow. His voice came out rougher. "Yeah. I wish it was."
The air between them pulled tight, heavier than the storm. She stepped closer, hand pressing into his shoulder—not soft, but steady, like she was daring him to shrug it off.
"Whatever nightmare that was," she said, her voice pitched low, "we stop it. Together."
His gaze flicked to her hand, then back to her face.
She let out a dry chuckle, no real humor in it.
"What's funny?"
"Dating you might be the only way I get past that fortress you built around yourself."
"It's there for a reason."
"Being?"
"It's how I protect the people I love."
Her laugh came sharp, cutting. "That's rich. You really think you've cornered the market on loss? On love?" She leaned in, close enough that he could feel her breath. "I had a little brother. He was everything. Parents gone. Family scattered. Everyone hating us for what we were. He kept me alive, until I couldn't keep him. Until Grim found me. He taught me how to stop hiding."
Her eyes burned into him, scar catching the jet's light. "You're not the only one bleeding under the armor. The difference is—I don't pretend mine makes me untouchable."
Xavier's throat tightened. He grunted low, jaw hard.
She raised her hands, backing off half a step, but her stare never left him. "Fine. Stay in the shadows, play ghost. But don't kid yourself. One day, those demons you're hoarding are gonna crawl up and rip you apart. Nothing stays buried. Not forever. Time doesn't heal shit—it just delays the cut."
Before he could answer, Hunter's voice cut through the comms.
"Get back inside. We're at the Hold."
They dropped down together.
The fog cleared — and the fortress emerged. A vast hexagon of steel and spellcraft, rising from the ocean's depths. Half prison. Half sanctuary.
But tonight?
It burned. Crimson fire raged impossibly beneath the sea, alive with foul energy. Blood clouded the black waters like ink.
Hunter's grin was gone now. His face was set, cold.
"The Vaknar are here."