The war had entered its sixth year when humanity stopped waiting to be saved.
The Spire still stood at the center of the quarantine zone — a towering mass of alien architecture that pulsed like a living heart. Every failed assault had only made it stronger. Every delay had allowed it to grow.
So command divided the mission into three.
Night Reaper would carve the path.Iron Vortex would hold the perimeter.And Black Horizon would end it.
Above the ruined district, a military helicopter cut through the night sky, its rotors slicing the darkness into heavy waves of sound. Below, the city remained lifeless — streets cracked open, buildings hollowed by years of bombardment.
Inside the aircraft, four figures sat in silence.
Black Horizon.
Armor sealed. Visors dim. Tactical displays projected faint blue lines across their helmets. No one wasted movement. One checked the magnetic clamps on the antimatter payload secured to his back. Another adjusted the power regulator on a modified plasma rifle. A third ran a silent diagnostic on the squad's neural sync.
At the center sat their captain, unmoving, gloved hands resting over reinforced plating.
They were not here to fight a war.
They were here to end it.
The helicopter slowed.
Altitude dropped.
The pilot held position above a narrow alley barely wide enough for a vehicle to pass through. The gang below was drowned in darkness — wet pavement reflecting distant red warning lights from the direction of the Spire.
The side door slid open.
Cold air flooded in.
The captain rose first.
Three sharp knocks against the metal frame — the signal.
Then he stepped into nothing.
One by one, Black Horizon followed.
Their descent was controlled, boots absorbing impact as they hit the alley floor with synchronized precision. No stumble. No wasted motion. Just shadows landing among deeper shadows.
Weapons raised.
The helicopter pulled away, leaving only the echo of fading rotors.
For a brief second, the city was silent again.
Then the captain turned toward the distant silhouette piercing the sky.
The Spire.
That was why they had been deployed.That was why Night Reaper was already moving ahead.That was why Iron Vortex was locking down the outer district.
Black Horizon advanced through the narrow gang, boots splashing lightly against rain-soaked concrete. One by one, they checked their armor seals, weapon charge levels, biometric readouts.
Green.
Green.
Green.
Mission objective: Infiltrate the Spire.Plant the payload.Detonate the heart.
The alley swallowed them whole as they disappeared deeper into the dark.
And somewhere in the distance, the Spire pulsed — slow, deliberate, alive.