The fog clung thick to the sea, a shifting wall of gray that swallowed sound and light alike. The hydroplane cut through it with engines humming low, the hum occasionally broken by a violent cough of thunder somewhere in the storm above. Inside the bay, no one spoke. The silence was heavier than armor.
Xavier Bridger sat with his back pressed against the bulkhead, helmet loose in his lap. His knuckles were still raw from the fight, sparks of phantom pain flickering where the Vaknar soldier's gauntlet had crushed against his throat. His vision blurred every few seconds, not from exhaustion alone but from the adrenaline comedown, the way a body shakes after it realizes it's survived what it shouldn't have.
Across from him, Malcolm Bridger sat chained into the reinforced chair, suit jacket torn at the shoulder, streaks of blood dried along his collar. His expression was unreadable. Not fear — though it was there, buried somewhere — but something colder. Suspicion. Calculation. Xavier had grown up watching men like Malcolm on screens, heads of empires and dynasties, always evaluating, always searching for the angle. He never thought he'd see that same look trained on him.
Hunter had filled the silence earlier with easy chatter, the kind only he could manage after near-death. A grin here, a jab there. Xavier had even managed to return one or two. But the storm outside had a way of choking humor down to the bone. The closer they came to the Hold, the fortress rising unseen beneath the waves, the more it felt like the walls themselves were waiting to close in.
Then the fog began to glow.
It wasn't sunlight — too red, too sharp. The glow came from below, bleeding upward through the gray, until the whole mist seemed alive with crimson veins. The sea roiled, black water catching fire from underneath, and the hydroplane shuddered like it wanted to turn away.
Hunter was the first to stand. His grin was gone now, jaw set tight as he moved to the viewport. "Gods," he muttered. "It's already burning."
Xavier pushed to his feet, muscles protesting. He moved beside him, peering through the glass.
The Hold emerged.
A hexagon of steel and spellcraft, its walls rose straight from the abyss, each surface layered with glowing wards that pulsed against the sea. It should have looked indomitable, a fortress no tide or fleet could break. But tonight it was a wound. Crimson fire curled along its edges, eating at wards like acid, spilling plumes of smoke that billowed impossibly underwater. The ocean itself boiled red around it.
Malcolm spoke, voice cutting through the hum. "So this is your stronghold." His tone dripped with something between disdain and fear. "Doesn't look very strong."
Hunter turned, his voice sharper than usual. "That fortress has held against fleets that could level cities. If it's falling now, it's because something is very wrong."
Toya leaned forward from where she stood against the bulkhead, arms folded. Her scar caught the crimson light as she watched the fortress with a hawk's focus. "Vaknar," she said flatly. "No one else could corrupt the wards like that."
Xavier's stomach twisted. He remembered the scarred soldier's words on the jet, the way he spat about their mistress, about the Void. This was bigger than one rogue operative. This was invasion.
The comm crackled. Sparrow's voice came through from the cockpit. "Docking clamps ready. Brace for turbulence."
The hydroplane shuddered as mechanical arms rose from the burning sea, catching the craft in their grip. Metal screamed against metal as the plane was dragged toward the docking bay, the wards sparking against its hull. Xavier gripped the straps by the doorway, muscles tensed as the whole world seemed to lurch sideways.
For a moment, it felt like the fortress might reject them — like they'd be torn apart before even setting foot inside. Then, with a final groan, the clamps locked. The hydroplane steadied. The bay door began to hiss open.
Smoke rolled in first, acrid and hot. The stench of burning wards and blood. Then the sounds — alarms blaring somewhere deeper, the distant echo of boots and steel.
Hunter pulled his rifle free, the easy grin completely gone now. "Alright, ghosts," he said, voice carrying a weight it rarely did. "Masks on. We go in hard, we go in fast, we don't stop until we know what's breached."
Toya cracked her neck, the sound sharp as a blade. "Finally."
Xavier slid his helmet back on, seals locking with a hiss. The HUD flared, warning systems still screaming from the earlier fight. He silenced them with a thought. No time for repairs. No time for second guesses.
The bay ramp dropped.
And hell greeted them.
The Hydroplane shuddered as it pierced the surface, plunging into the heavy gray waters surrounding the Hold. Xavier's boots hit the slippery steel deck first, followed by Hunter, Oliver, and Toya. The world exploded into motion the instant their feet touched the ground—smoke and the metallic tang of gunfire filling the air. The Hold was alive with chaos: the Vaknar were everywhere, their inhuman strides shaking the ground, their eyes glowing faintly with that cold, predatory light.
Hunter's visor flickered with readings as he sprinted, his guns ready. "They've upgraded," he muttered, scanning the advancing enemies. "Armor, speed, coordination... this isn't the same as last time."
Xavier's hands adjusted his blades midair, gyro-thrusters pushing him past a burst of energy from a Vaknar's palm. Sparks danced across the metal floor as he landed in a crouch. "Keep moving. Keep them from cornering the prisoners." His voice was calm, but inside, his mind calculated angles, trajectories, and escape routes. Every second mattered.
The first Vaknar fell with a thud as Hunter's handgun roared. The bullet tore through reinforced plating, sending sparks into the air. But behind them, more were advancing—dozens, perhaps hundreds, moving with terrifying coordination. Toya ducked behind a steel pillar, arrows nocked and firing in rapid succession. Each projectile found its mark, but the enemies kept coming, like a tide that refused to break.
The group pressed forward, clearing hallways and rooms, but with each passing step, the Hold revealed new horrors. Explosions rattled the walls, ceilings groaned under structural stress, and somewhere deep below, the distant hum of a new wave forming.
Xavier's eyes caught a figure ahead—a Vaknar unlike the others. Bigger, almost ceremonial, and moving differently. He hadn't noticed them yet, but Xavier felt it: a presence that shifted the battlefield's energy. A shadow lingering at the edge of chaos. Not yet a threat, but an omen.
"Keep your eyes open," Xavier warned, glancing at his team. "Something else is here."
The Vaknar pushed back as the agents fought through, but the tension coiled tighter with every step. The ground shook beneath their boots; a distant alarm clanged through the Hold. Each wave of Vaknar seemed smarter, more adaptive.
And then—just as they cleared a corner and took a breath—the air itself seemed to chill. The fight froze, almost imperceptibly. The group sensed it, even if their minds couldn't yet identify what had changed.
Something... was coming.
The Hold's hallways echoed with the staccato rhythm of gunfire and the metallic thuds of Vaknar bodies hitting steel. Sparks from electrical damage bounced along walls, reflecting in Xavier's visor as he vaulted over a fallen enemy, spinning midair to land on his feet.
Hunter was a few meters ahead, reloading as he ducked behind a support beam, firing precise rounds that cut down incoming Vaknar with surgical efficiency. "They're adapting," he shouted, voice tight but controlled. "Every time we down one, another shifts tactics. It's like they're learning."
Toya's arrows whistled through the air, pinning limbs and weapons, forcing Vaknar to stumble. "Then we'll just have to force the adaptation," she replied, her movements fluid, almost mechanical. She nocked a second arrow before the first had even landed.
Xavier gritted his teeth, sensing the flow of the battlefield. Each footstep, each projectile, each swing of a blade was part of a deadly rhythm. "Hunter, split left with me. Toya, cover our six. Oliver, keep them at bay!" His commands were short, urgent, precise.
The Vaknar however didn't respond like normal soldiers. They weren't screaming; they didn't hesitate. They moved with a terrifying grace, bodies bending and twisting unnaturally, responding to threats before they were fully made. A pulse of blue energy erupted near Xavier's side—he rolled, letting it hit the wall instead of him, sparks embedding themselves in the metal.
Through the chaos, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. Taller than the others, broader, but moving with a fluidity that no Vaknar had. Xavier's instincts screamed: something is coming. Something... worse.
The group pressed forward, clearing hallways, dragging themselves through collapsing corridors, and forcing Vaknar back with a combination of firepower and acrobatics. Every second, the sense of dread grew.
Hunter moved ahead like a predator, ducking behind structural supports, reloading and firing with surgical accuracy.
They pressed on, clearing hallways, dragging themselves through collapsing corridors, forcing Vaknar back with acrobatics, blades, and gunfire. Every step, every swing, every shot kept them alive—and the sense of dread grew heavier.
From deep below, a crash reverberated. This wasn't Vaknar—it was deliberate, heavy, deliberate. The floor seemed to hum, metal vibrating underfoot. Xavier glanced at Hunter. "You feel that?"
Hunter's visor flickered. "Yeah... it's not them. It's something else."
Toya's hand went instinctively to her bowstring, claws flexed. "It's coming this way."
The shadows at the end of the corridor deepened. Vaknar paused, instinctively deferring. The humming grew, vibrating through steel and bone alike. Sparks erupted along the walls as conduits shorted. And then it appeared—massive, armored, deliberate, each step measured.
Xavier's jaw tightened, voice low. "Brace yourselves."
The figure advanced slowly, each motion precise, deadly, commanding. The other Vaknar shifted, uncertain, almost reverent. White armor gleamed faintly; the chest plate bore a spear emblem glowing with a faint, ominous light.
Toya paused, observing, claws ready. "Whatever that is... it's leading them."
Xavier's grip tightened. His eyes never left the figure. The Knight was deliberate, the room bending subtly to its presence. Even the chaos around them—the sparks, the crashing steel, the flying bodies—seemed to pause in recognition.
Xavier and Toya exchanged a fleeting glance. No words—only understanding. The battle had just escalated, and the worst was yet to come.
The Knight's first strike shredded the air, a high-pitched whistle of metal against metal as his spear cleaved a support beam mere inches from Xavier's helmet. Sparks erupted like miniature fireworks, some scorching the visor, smoke curling into the stifling corridor. Xavier twisted midair, blades flashing, deflecting the tip, feeling the reverberation rattle his teeth beneath the helmet. Pain lanced through his arms, but he stayed upright, landing on the balls of his feet, ready.
The Knight advanced again, each step deliberate, armor scraping softly against the broken steel floor. Sparks from ruptured energy conduits danced around him like fireflies, but there was no hesitation in his movement. Xavier mirrored the Knight, blades spinning defensively, muscles coiled, every instinct screaming.
A Vaknar soldier charged from the side—Xavier deflected the thrusting energy weapon with one blade, spinning to slam the other into the attacker's chest. Toya leapt, claws extended, cutting the Vaknar in half midair. Blood and sparks collided, filling the corridor with a metallic fog. She landed beside Xavier, muscles trembling from exertion, breath controlled but ragged. Her eyes met his briefly, green fire reflecting in his visor. A wordless understanding passed between them: we move as one, or we die separately.
The Knight lunged again, spear spinning in a tight, lethal arc. Xavier ducked, blade scraping along the shaft, sparks licking his helmet. Pain shot down his arms, but he forced his body forward, rolling into a low sweep. The Knight pivoted, striking downward with terrifying speed. Xavier barely caught the tip of the spear with both blades, metal screaming, sending a vibration through his shoulders.
Toya moved instinctively, raking claws along the Knight's forearm, leaving deep gouges in the white armor. The Knight twisted midair, slashing his spear, narrowly grazing her side. She hissed but didn't break rhythm, launching herself forward to intercept the next incoming strike aimed at Xavier.
The Knight's blows came faster, almost blinding in speed. Each parry sent shocks through Xavier's arms, each counterstrike met by precision and strength. The corridor was a blur—sparks raining down, walls splintered, blood and metal mingling in a chaotic symphony of violence.
Xavier felt his chest tighten. He was supposed to be the wall—the unbreakable line. And yet, every strike, every feint, every counter from the Knight forced him to adapt, to think, to move beyond pure strength. Toya's presence beside him wasn't just support—it was a tether, a shared rhythm. Each time she struck, he adjusted instinctively; each time he moved, she anticipated. They became a single unit in the eye of chaos.
The Knight struck again, spear spinning upward like a blade of lightning. Xavier jumped back, rolling midair, letting the tip glance off his shoulder, sparks igniting his visor. He landed in a crouch, blades ready, body burning with effort. The Knight's eyes—hidden behind a reflective visor—locked onto him. There was something almost sentient in that gaze, an intelligence that calculated, anticipated, and judged.
Toya hissed, claws scraping along the floor to redirect an incoming Vaknar strike. "He's reading you. Every move you make... he knows before you do. You have to break the pattern," she breathed, voice low, almost a growl.
Xavier's chest tightened—not from fear, but from the weight of responsibility, the need to protect, to survive. He shifted stance, feinted left, swung right, spinning one blade to intercept a strike while the other jabbed toward the Knight's side. Sparks flew, metal screamed, and the Knight twisted, blocking with the spear, pivoting to regain control.
Blood ran down Xavier's visor, streaking the yellow tint with red. Pain shot through his ribs, side, arms—but he ignored it. Toya leapt across the battlefield, claws raking the Knight's armor, her movements a deadly counterpoint to his own. Every strike she landed gave Xavier a fraction of space, an opening, a chance to push back.
The Knight lunged, spear aimed at Xavier's chest. Xavier rolled under, feeling the air whip above him, catching the tip with his blade and sending a shower of sparks down the corridor. He twisted, kicking the Knight's shin, slamming a shoulder into the enemy—but the Knight barely staggered. Every strike was met with equal force, every feint anticipated.
Toya landed beside him again, claws raised, breathing heavy but controlled. Their gazes met, and for the first time in the chaos, Xavier felt a flicker—something dangerous, magnetic, unspoken. Not love. Not yet. But a connection, forged in blood and battle.
The Knight stepped back, assessing them both, spear raised, aura radiating authority. The Vaknar around him froze, as if sensing his command. Every step the Knight took was precise, deliberate, a predator in the deadliest hunt Xavier had ever faced.
Xavier and Toya moved in unison, a lethal ballet of blades and claws. Sparks, blood, metal screamed around them. Each strike from the Knight was met, deflected, parried—but every counter pushed them closer to exhaustion. Their breathing was shallow, hearts hammering, muscles screaming. Yet the rhythm persisted. The dance of survival continued.
The Knight's spear swept again, faster, a blur of white and silver. Xavier deflected with one blade, slicing through a Vaknar's neck in the same motion, blood spraying across the walls. Toya followed immediately, slashing through another attacker, then pivoting to intercept the Knight's next strike.
Every fiber of Xavier's being was stretched to the limit. Pain, fatigue, and adrenaline mingled into a single focus: survive. Protect. Move. Strike. Repeat. The Knight pressed, relentless, testing, probing, punishing mistakes.
And somewhere beneath the chaos, a thread of connection between Xavier and Toya pulsed—a silent acknowledgment of reliance, trust, and unspoken understanding. Each strike, each dodge, each lunge was a conversation. No words. Just lethal, perfect timing.
The Knight raised his spear again, stopping just short of Xavier's chest. Sparks flew as the blades met, metal screaming. Toya crouched beside him, claws at the ready. Time seemed to stretch, the corridor frozen in anticipation.
Then, unstoppable, the Knight advanced again. Xavier braced, blades raised. Toya's claws flashed in tandem. Every instinct screamed: this fight will not end quickly.
And the battle roared on.
Sparks flew from ruptured conduits as the Knight pressed forward. Xavier and Toya moved as one, blades and claws flashing, a deadly rhythm honed under fire. Behind them, Hunter crouched atop a fallen beam, rifle braced, eyes scanning. Each Vaknar soldier attempting to flank them was met with precise fire. Bolts of electricity from Hunter's specialized rounds tore through armor plating, sending soldiers sprawling.
"Xavier! Left corridor!" Hunter shouted, taking down two advancing Vaknar with a single, controlled volley.
"Got it!" Xavier yelled, spinning on his heel, deflecting the Knight's spear as Toya dove low, her claws slicing through the metal shin of an advancing Vaknar. The creature howled, staggering back just as Oliver slid in, twin pistols blazing. Shots ricocheted off the walls, striking the armor of incoming soldiers, forcing them to retreat.
The corridor was a storm of motion. Sparks, blood, and energy blasts filled the air. Xavier's visor flickered with readouts as he pivoted to parry another strike from the Knight, only to catch a glimpse of Toya mid-spin, her claws glinting, slicing a Vaknar in half behind him.
"Focus on him, Toya!" Xavier shouted.
"I know!" she hissed, landing just beside him. Their movements intertwined instinctively—two lethal predators in sync, instinctively trusting one another despite the chaos. The Knight swung again, the spear a blur, forcing Xavier to spin, deflecting each strike with every ounce of strength. Sparks ignited the floor, some embedding in his armor, heat prickling against his skin.
Hunter fired again, taking out two Vaknar attempting to circle the duo. Oliver darted forward, intercepting a third, sliding across the floor to knock him off balance before blasting him backward. "We've got your six, Xavier!" Oliver shouted over the roar of battle.
The Knight's strikes intensified. Xavier's blades ached, arms trembling, sweat stinging his eyes beneath the helmet. Toya's claws left deep gashes in the Knight's armor, but each strike seemed to fuel his focus rather than weaken him. The corridor rang with the shriek of metal, the hiss of energy, and the roar of exertion.
"Keep them off us!" Xavier yelled, pivoting to strike at the Knight's exposed shoulder. Toya lunged simultaneously, claws scraping across the Knight's chest plate. Sparks erupted. The Knight staggered, just barely, and then pivoted, spear spinning, cutting through the air like a scythe. Xavier rolled, kicked a Vaknar aside, and slammed his shoulder into the Knight—but the Knight recovered instantly, spearing the air where Xavier had been.
Hunter shouted again, taking out another Vaknar who had attempted a surprise flank. "They keep coming! There's no end!"
"They're buying us time!" Xavier yelled back, chest tight, muscles burning. "Keep them off us!"
Oliver fired again, knocking a Vaknar soldier backward into a wall. He ducked under a swipe from a second, rolling and blasting him with a precise shot. "No one gets past us!" he growled, adrenaline pumping.
The Knight pressed closer, spear raised, aura commanding. Xavier felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down, every muscle screaming, every nerve alert. Sparks, blood, metal—the battlefield was a living thing, a chorus of violence—but the Knight was the storm at its eye.
Toya lunged again, claws raking the Knight's armor. Pain flared as a glancing strike tore across her arm, but she didn't falter. Her gaze met Xavier's briefly, green eyes sharp, defiant, challenging him silently: we survive together, or not at all.
Xavier rolled, catching a thrust of the Knight's spear with both blades, the vibration sending shocks through his arms. He lunged, slicing through a Vaknar soldier attempting to disrupt their formation. Toya pivoted, spinning into another attacker, claws raking through reinforced plating.
"Hold them back! Don't let them get closer!" Xavier shouted, voice hoarse.
Hunter fired again, taking out three Vaknar in a row. Oliver crouched beside him, emptying another magazine into the charging enemies. For a moment, their coordinated defense formed a moving barrier, a lethal wall of precision against the onslaught.
The Knight's strikes came faster, forcing Xavier to pivot, roll, parry, and counter. Toya was a blur of claws and motion, moving with lethal grace beside him, their silent communication flawless. The Knight tested them relentlessly, each strike a question, each counter an answer—but he was relentless, unstoppable, precise.
A Vaknar soldier lunged at Xavier's back. Toya's claws flashed, slicing him in half midair before he could reach Xavier. Sparks from the Knight's spear ignited nearby debris, showering the corridor in fire. The heat pressed against their armor, stinging exposed skin.
Xavier spun, blade meeting spear. Sparks erupted. Pain flared down his arms, but he gritted his teeth, forcing a counterstrike. Toya twisted in tandem, claws raking another Vaknar who had attempted to flank them. Hunter and Oliver continued to hold the rest at bay, every shot, every strike keeping the corridor alive, chaotic, dangerous.
Time stretched. Each second was measured in adrenaline, each breath a battle. Every strike, every parry, every coordinated move with Toya was a thread holding them together against the storm of the Knight's assault.
And somewhere beneath it all, in the chaos and carnage, the faintest pulse of connection flared between Xavier and Toya—a silent acknowledgment that they were both lethal, both survivors, and both relying on one another.
The Knight raised his spear, stopping just short of Xavier's chest. Sparks flew, metal screamed, blood spattered the walls. Toya crouched beside him, claws ready.
Xavier's visor reflected the Knight's, blood streaking across the yellow tint. Time seemed to freeze. Every sense screamed danger. Every instinct screamed fight.
Then, unstoppable, the Knight lunged once more. Xavier braced, blades raised. Toya's claws glinted beside him. Hunter and Oliver covered the flanks, taking down any Vaknar foolish enough to approach.
The hallway became a slaughterhouse of sparks, blood, and metal as Hunter and Oliver maintained a deadly perimeter, keeping the tide of Vaknar at bay. Each shot, each calculated movement, forced the remaining soldiers to funnel into narrower paths, buying precious seconds.
"Push them back!" Hunter barked, firing into a cluster of charging enemies. The corridor trembled with the impact of armor plating and falling bodies.
Oliver rolled beneath a swipe, blasting another Vaknar in the head. "We've got a wall forming!" he shouted.
But in the center of the chaos, the Knight's focus never wavered. Every strike at Xavier drove him closer and closer toward the massive airlock that led to the bridge. Sparks rained from severed conduits, metal groaning, walls shaking as the pair fought their way forward.
Xavier parried, blocked, and countered, each movement precise but exhausting. Pain radiated down his side, armor dented, visor cracked, but he refused to yield. Beside him, the Knight moved like a predator—fluid, deliberate, unstoppable.
"Xavier!" Toya hissed, claws flashing as she intercepted a Vaknar about to flank him. She slashed with lethal precision, blood and metal spraying, forcing the enemy back.
"Go! Go now!" Xavier shouted, spinning to push the Knight ahead. The Knight's next strike caught the wall beside Xavier, a shower of sparks exploding as the momentum carried both of them forward.
Hunter and Oliver continued to hold the corridor. "Keep pushing them!" Hunter yelled. "We can't let them break through!"
Every step drove Xavier closer to the bridge entrance, the sound of the Hold's metal groaning under the chaos. The Knight pressed relentlessly, spear cutting through the air with lethal intent, forcing Xavier to retreat inch by inch.
Finally, with a coordinated shove, the Knight and Xavier stumbled through the reinforced doors leading to the bridge platform. Behind them, Toya, Hunter, and Oliver fired, screaming, keeping the remaining Vaknar at bay, holding the line.
The bridge opened before them: an expanse of steel over the churning depths below, smoke curling from fractured machinery. The air shimmered with heat and tension, charged with anticipation. Xavier staggered to regain footing, armor dented, visor cracked, every muscle screaming.
The Knight advanced, spear gleaming, white armor reflecting the flickering lights. Xavier drew both blades, stance solid but tense, aware this was the point of no retreat.
And then the air ignited. Purple flames erupted from the Knight, roaring outward, licking the steel around them, engulfing the bridge entrance. The energy was alive, oppressive, each wave threatening to throw Xavier off his feet. Sparks ignited in the heat, shadows dancing across his cracked visor.
Xavier's heart pounded—not just from the flames, but from the knowledge that he and the Knight were now alone. Behind him, the distant gunfire of Hunter, Toya, and Oliver reminded him they had bought these seconds, but the bridge now belonged entirely to him and the Knight.
Claws glinted at his side as he adjusted his grip, every movement measured. This wasn't just survival anymore—it was a crucible. Sparks, fire, and purple light danced across the metal as Xavier prepared for the fight that could end everything.
And somewhere beneath the chaos, the faintest pulse of connection—the rhythm of battle, the sharp instinctive understanding of lethal synchronicity—flickered in the shadows between the warrior and the killer before him.
The Knight stepped forward. Purple flames licked higher. Xavier's visor reflected the blaze. The storm had arrived.
The bridge groaned under the weight of the battle, steel screaming under the pressure of combat. Smoke coiled around them, thick and choking, carrying the scent of burning circuits and scorched armor. Xavier's muscles trembled, adrenaline surging through his veins, blades drawn.
The Knight stood at the far end, an unmovable force. Every step reverberated through the metal underfoot, each movement deliberate, terrifying. Purple light pulsed faintly beneath his armor, reflecting in the smoke like fire dancing in water.
"Ah, so it is you who Shane wants then," the Knight said, voice calm, venomous, mocking.
Xavier's fingers clenched around his gun. "You know who I am?"
The Knight's visor glinted. "I know you, yes."
Xavier fired, energy slamming into the Knight's chest plate. Sparks danced, but the Knight barely flinched. He advanced, a mountain of white armor, spear tracing arcs that cleaved the air. Xavier tried again, increasing the weapon's power. The Knight's massive hand shot out, seizing Xavier's trigger. A white-hot burn flared along his palm, pain exploding through his arm and chest.
"You can't just shoot me, you know," the Knight said. "They've seen you, Xavier."
"Yes... everyone knows you," Xavier growled through gritted teeth, every muscle coiled.
"They think you're a hero."
"I'm not," Xavier hissed, swallowing the metallic taste of blood.
The Knight lunged. Xavier rolled, barely avoiding a spear strike that shattered the floor beside him. He scrambled for his blades, only for the Knight to send them skidding across the steel. Pain lanced through his ribs from the repeated hits.
He swung, desperate, every motion fueled by raw survival. The Knight caught his blade effortlessly, twisting it out of his grasp. A massive punch slammed into Xavier's chest, knocking the air from his lungs. Another kick sent him sprawling. The bridge trembled with the force of each blow.
"You're losing," the Knight said, calm and lethal. "Accept it."
Xavier's hands shook. Blood streaked the visor. Vision swimming, limbs trembling, he lunged again, spinning, striking—but each move was met with superior force. The Knight was a storm, relentless, merciless.
Xavier tried to duck a spear strike, but the Knight twisted mid-air, shoving him into the railing. Pain lanced through his side as metal groaned beneath the impact. He rolled, teeth gritted, and slashed—but the Knight caught the blade mid-motion, crushing it against his armored gauntlet.
The Knight stepped closer. Energy radiated from him, twisting the air with heat and force. Purple light began to glow beneath the visor, flickering like lightning trapped in armor.
Xavier stumbled back, trying to maintain footing, arms trembling, blood dripping onto the steel floor. Every strike he threw was anticipated. Every dodge he made was countered. He was being toyed with, beaten, pushed to the absolute edge of endurance.
Then the Knight's purple eyes flared. Energy surged violently outward, snapping around the bridge like a living storm. Xavier tried to dodge, but the force hit him squarely, hurling him across the bridge, chest burning, ribs shattered from the impact. He slammed into the far railing, sparks flying, the bridge quivering beneath them.
He crawled, every breath agony, arms shaking as he reached for a fallen blade. The Knight advanced, each step a drumbeat of impending death. Another wave of purple flames erupted, tearing across the bridge. Xavier was lifted into the air, spinning, muscles straining, body screaming.
Pain lanced through every nerve. He slammed into the far wall, armor dented, visor cracked, vision swimming with fire and blood. He clawed himself upright, but the Knight's energy smashed against him again, relentless. Every instinct screamed fight or die, but Xavier could feel his strength failing, every movement heavier than the last.
He lunged, flailing, desperate, and connected a strike—but the Knight caught his arm mid-swing. Another punch to the face, a kick to the chest, and Xavier collapsed. Limbs numb, ribs burning, head swimming in pain. The purple flames curled, eddies of energy consuming everything around the Knight.
Xavier's breath came in ragged gasps. The Knight loomed over him, a mountain of lethal intent. "You can't beat me," he said. "This ends now."
Xavier, shaking, battered, barely conscious, tried to rise. His hand brushed the floor, trembling as he grasped a fragment of steel. Sparks flew as the Knight surged forward, and then—purple fire erupted in a towering wave. It smashed into Xavier, lifting him, throwing him across the bridge. Pain lanced through every bone.
He landed hard, body skidding across steel, chest seared, vision white-hot. The Knight's next surge of purple energy rolled over him like a tsunami, relentless, crushing, unyielding. Xavier clawed for footing, hands shaking, body screaming in agony. But he could barely move, barely breathe, as the Knight advanced.
And then, the final wave hit. The purple fire consumed him. Xavier's body slammed into the far wall. Darkness threatened at the edges of his mind. Limbs refused to respond. Blood, sparks, and smoke coiled around him.
Heat from the Knight's purple flames licked at the steel, making the air shimmer and hiss. Xavier's chest heaved, ribs screaming, vision swimming from the force of the last wave.
"Xavier!" Hunter's voice cut through the roar, and suddenly he was there, sliding across the bridge with guns blazing. Energy rounds tore through the smoke, cutting streaks of light—but the Knight barely flinched, swiping them aside with a single, deliberate arc of his spear.
Toya leapt into the fray, claws gleaming. She landed beside Xavier, slashing at any Vaknar that dared approach, raking sparks and metal, pushing back foes to create a tenuous shield around him. Her movements were lethal, fluid—but even she couldn't touch the Knight.
"Get him out of here!" Hunter shouted, firing again, rolling to cover Xavier's staggered form.
Oliver vaulted from the railing, energy shield flaring as he slammed into the nearest Vaknar, shoving them back. He reached for Xavier's side, bracing him. "Come on! We've got you!"
Xavier's fingers twitched, barely gripping his blade, blood streaking down his visor. He wanted to fight, to push back, but the Knight loomed closer, an immovable mountain of white armor radiating authority, control, and death. The purple light under the Knight's visor flared, rippling outward like a tide.
Toya spun, claws flashing, tearing through another Vaknar that slipped past Hunter. "We can't hold him forever! Move, now!"
Hunter grabbed Xavier's arm, straining as he tried to drag him toward the edge of the bridge. Sparks erupted from the Knight's spear as it slammed into the floor mere inches from Xavier's head, sending a shockwave that rattled the steel beneath them. Xavier's body slammed against Hunter's chest, pain exploding anew.
Oliver shouted, "The bridge can't take another hit like that!" He slashed at a Vaknar trying to flank them, then looked up—the Knight's purple flames were building, energy twisting like a storm about to break.
The Knight's eyes blazed, the aura expanding, filling the bridge with heat and light. Every step he took shook the metal, reverberating through Xavier's bones. He raised a hand, and an invisible force slammed Hunter and Oliver backward as they tried to shield Xavier.
Xavier's breath hitched. Pain, heat, adrenaline—he was on the edge, every nerve screaming. Toya slammed herself into a Vaknar attacking from the flank, sending it sliding off the bridge, before turning to grip Xavier's shoulders. "Stay with us! Don't... you can't leave now!"
But the Knight moved like a living avalanche, every strike deliberate, every motion unstoppable. His spear cut through the air, cleaving empty space mere inches from their faces, forcing them to dodge, slide, and leap. Not one of their strikes landed. Not one.
Not one of their strikes landed. Not one.
Hunter slammed into Xavier, bracing him against the Knight's relentless advance. The sheer force of the Knight's presence pressed down on them like a physical weight, bending the metal bridge beneath their feet. Oliver leapt from the railing, shield raised, smashing a Vaknar flanking them, but even together, they could barely keep the Knight at bay.
Toya's claws slashed, tearing through Vaknar armor, sparks flying in every direction. She slammed her shoulder into a charging enemy to protect Xavier, muscles straining, jaw clenched, eyes burning with a feral determination. "We're not losing you!" she growled, but Xavier could barely nod in response. His breath was ragged, each inhale a battle, his body screaming with pain from the Knight's strikes.
The Knight moved like a force of nature—each motion precise, every step deliberate. His spear cut arcs through the air, raking the bridge, slamming Hunter and Oliver aside. The vibrations rattled Xavier's ribs, and waves of purple energy seared across the metal, throwing them all back with lethal force.
Xavier tried to rise, tried to engage—but the Knight's presence crushed every ounce of strength he had. Every step forward was agony. Every parry burned through him. He was barely holding himself together, a wall cracked and bleeding, fighting on sheer instinct.
Toya launched herself at a Vaknar, claws ripping clean through armor, before pivoting to brace against the Knight's energy wave, digging her claws into the steel to resist the blast. Hunter gritted his teeth, pressing Xavier against his chest, trying to shield him from the shockwaves that pulsed across the bridge. Oliver scrambled, striking and shielding, but even combined, they were a tenuous defense—a human barrier against something inhuman.
Purple flames began to coil and grow, radiating from the Knight, each pulse forcing Xavier to the floor, his body trembling, his visor cracked and streaked with blood. He could barely move, barely breathe. His friends threw themselves into the path of the Knight's attacks, each moment buying him a sliver of time—but it wasn't enough.
Toya hissed, claws flashing, muscles screaming. "Hold him, dammit! Keep him alive!" Her voice was fierce, raw, but Xavier barely registered it. Pain clouded his mind; the Knight's aura pressed in, an unstoppable storm.
A massive surge of purple energy erupted from the Knight, slamming across the bridge. Hunter grunted, arms trembling as he caught Xavier just in time, holding him against his chest while Oliver and Toya tried to shield them from the radiating flames. Sparks and shards of metal flew like shrapnel, each pulse pushing Xavier closer to the edge.
Xavier's body screamed in agony. Every nerve burned. Every muscle quivered. He could not speak, could barely lift a hand. His life had become a desperate tether, held by his friends' strength and determination. They could protect him—but they could not stop the Knight.
Then, as the Knight raised his hands once more, waves of purple flame rippling outward, Xavier's vision blurred. The bridge shuddered violently beneath the assault. Hunter, Toya, and Oliver pressed themselves to shield him, screaming wordless cries of fury and desperation.
The Knight's massive figure glowed, eyes flickering with malevolent light, and then—suddenly—he vanished. The purple flames dissipated, curling into smoke and darkness. The Knight was gone, leaving behind only scorched steel, shattered defenses, and a bridge littered with bodies, debris, and the ragged breathing of those still standing.
Hunter groaned, hoisting Xavier onto his back, blood soaking through the armor. "Maven! Stay with me!" His voice cracked as he ran for the ship, shoving through wreckage and falling sparks.
Toya knelt beside them, hands on Xavier's shoulders, shaking him gently. "Please... wake up..." Her claws dug into the metal floor as her eyes, fierce even in fear, searched his face.
Oliver and Hunter flanked them, clearing debris, supporting their friend as the bridge groaned from the lingering energy. The monitor on Xavier's suit dimmed slowly, his chest rising shallowly beneath it.
Damn it.
Toya crouched beside Xavier, trembling hands moving toward his cracked visor. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, almost revealing the bloodied face beneath. "Please... just wake up," she whispered, voice breaking.
"No..." Oliver said firmly, putting a shoulder on her, steadying her shaking frame.
From the chaos behind them, Malcolm barreled past the G.H.O.S.T. pilots who were struggling to maintain control of the bridge, shouting orders as he went.
"No, Maven..." Hunter murmured, his voice thick with fear and fury, eyes scanning his friend's battered body.
Toya wiped the visor clean, tears streaming down her face, her claws digging into the metal floor to keep her grounded.
Hunter didn't waste another second. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Xavier onto his back, every movement a battle against his own panic. "Maven, dammit, please..." he cried, sprinting toward the ship as debris and scorched fragments of the Knight's energy smoldered around them.
Oliver and Toya followed, flanking him as they dodged sparks and the last dying waves of purple flames. The bridge groaned, metal twisted under the strain, but Hunter kept moving, carrying Xavier through the smoke and darkness toward the ship. He heaved, running full tilt toward the ship, shouting at the pilots to call for medics.
The remnants of the Knight's purple fire dissipated into nothingness, leaving behind silence, scorched steel, and the aching sense that the fight was far from over. Yet in that moment, Xavier's body—limp, broken, nearly lifeless—was the only thing that mattered.
Every heartbeat, every ragged breath of his friends was a promise: they would not let him go.
Hunter stumbled through the wreckage, Xavier draped across his shoulders, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Sparks rained from fractured ceilings, and smoke stung eyes and lungs. The once-imposing corridors of the Hold were now jagged ruins—metal twisted, walls scorched, floors fractured.
The team moved as one, clearing the last pockets of Vaknar resistance. G.H.O.S.T. soldiers stationed within the prison fought valiantly, bodies flanking the survivors, cutting down the remaining Vaknar with precision strikes before falling themselves or being forced back by collapsing debris. Bodies littered the halls—Vaknar soldiers toppled, armor shattered, blood pooled across the steel floors. Any remaining enemies had been crushed under the relentless assault of the team and the remaining operatives, but the Hold itself was collapsing around them.
Oliver vaulted over a fallen support beam, checking the paths ahead for hazards, while Toya slashed aside remnants of the structure that blocked the way. Operatives dragged wounded comrades out of harm's way, their own armor scorched, limbs bleeding, but their discipline held them moving forward. The corridors groaned and buckled under the lingering damage, every step a risk of being swallowed by falling steel or molten wires.
Hunter pushed forward, adrenaline driving him, muscles burning under the weight of Xavier. Toya darted beside them, claws raking away obstacles, leaving a narrow path clear. Oliver scanned behind, ensuring no remaining Vaknar stirred from the wreckage, the bodies of enemies and fallen operatives strewn across the halls like a grim testament.
The docking bay emerged ahead, barely intact. The hydroplane waited, engines thrumming against the chaos. The team sprinted across the shattered walkway, dodging smoke, sparks, and jagged metal, every second counting against the crumbling Hold.
They surged aboard. The hatch slammed shut behind them as the Hold groaned and gave way, fire and smoke billowing from every broken corner. The Vaknar were gone, defeated, but the prison itself was a shattered shell, a battlefield frozen in ruin.
Xavier lay slumped, his body battered and unresponsive, as the hydroplane lifted into the sky, leaving the destroyed Hold behind, the chaos of the battle echoing in every scarred corridor, every twisted beam, every fallen Vaknar, and every brave operative who had fought—and fallen—within its walls.
The purple flames had vanished into darkness, leaving only silence, smoke, and the bitter taste of survival.