Chapter 53
All firearms of the year 2900 in the hands of those units died instantly, the displays in their helmets went dark, their communication devices shut down, and for several precious seconds they were blind, they were deaf, they were powerless before the pair of young fugitives they had just considered easy prey.
Behind the dry bushes that grew along the edge of the stone road, Nirma and Arya lay flat against the ground, their bodies pressed close to the earth, their breaths restrained, their hearts pounding as they watched the horrific scene before them.
From the hiding place they had chosen seconds before the first missile struck, they witnessed how the illusion they had created with the projection device worked flawlessly, deceiving the attackers, deceiving the Temporal Cross-Police, making them believe that the two fugitives were still inside the carriage that continued rolling without touching the ground.
Nirma felt cold sweat trickle down her back, felt every muscle in her body tense like a bowstring ready to be released, yet her eyes remained fixed on the black flying vessel hovering in the distance, on the reactor along its exterior that glowed with a faint blue light, on the single weak point they could exploit if they dared to take the greatest risk of their lives.
"Nirma, listen," Arya whispered in a voice barely louder than a breath of wind, his mouth close to her ear, his eyes still scanning the movements of the units descending from the vessel.
"What you're proposing is insane. Completely insane.
Shooting their external reactor, blowing it up, trapping them so they can't jump through the flow of time for a while—that's not merely risky, it's suicide if we fail."
He drew a slow breath, trying to steady himself, yet the tremor in his voice could not be concealed.
"You must aim precisely, Nirma.
Right at the point that serves as the foundation for that vessel to move freely from year to year.
Miss by a single millimeter, and we will not only fail, but also give them reason to annihilate this entire area without mercy."
Nirma did not answer, only nodded faintly, her eyes still locked on the vessel, on its reactor, on the tiny point she would have to destroy if they wished to survive.
And when the carriage that had continued rolling without touching the ground finally stopped, when it slammed into the earth with a resounding crash that echoed across the area, when the units of the Temporal Cross-Police began approaching it with heightened caution, Arya exhaled deeply.
He turned and looked at Nirma sharply, and in his eyes there was something that rarely appeared.
Fear.
Not for himself, but for Nirma, for his companion, for the only person in this world he truly trusted.
"Agreed," he finally whispered, his voice nearly breaking.
"But on one condition, Nirma.
You must move far away before I give any instruction.
Do not wait for me, do not look back, do not care about what happens to me.
Whatever happens to me later, you must finish this mission.
You must shoot that external reactor.
You must blow it up.
Make sure they are trapped in a certain era, so they cannot escape and return with even more terrifying force."
He reached for Nirma's hand, held it tightly for a moment, then let it go.
"Promise me, Nirma. Promise that you will finish this, no matter what happens."
Back to the present, where silence had turned into a roaring hell in every direction.
Arya leapt from behind the bushes with movements so fast, so agile, so impossible for an ordinary human, and in his hand he already held a launcher grenade from the year 3100 that emitted a faint red glow across its surface.
He hurled it toward the cluster of Temporal Cross-Police units still stunned by the electromagnetic blast seconds earlier, and the grenade exploded with a deafening roar, spewing blazing shards of energy in all directions, injuring half a dozen units before they could react.
Arya did not remain in one position; he kept moving, running, jumping, rolling, shifting positions every second, making it difficult for the units to target him, while grenade after grenade launched from his hands that never seemed to run out of ammunition.
Occasionally he ducked low, avoiding return fire that began pouring from units who had recovered from their shock—bursts of blue energy beams that, if striking a human body, would vaporize it without a trace.
And when those shots began approaching Arya's blind spots, when he could no longer rely solely on speed and agility to evade them, shield screens began to appear around him.
Five layers of transparent shields radiating golden light, a masterpiece of modern weaponry from the year 2600, protected every angle that might become a target of enemy fire.
The blue energy beams struck the shields and ricocheted back, some hitting the units who had fired them, sending them sprawling with charred bodies.
Arya continued bombarding without pause, grenade after grenade streaking from his hands, creating explosions that shook the ground, forcing the units to retreat, to seek cover, to remain bewildered in the face of an enemy far stronger than they had ever anticipated.
Amid the gunfire and explosions, Arya managed to glance toward Nirma, and in his eyes was a single message: now, Nirma, now you move.
Nirma did not wait for a second command.
The moment she saw Arya begin his relentless bombardment, the moment she saw every unit of the Temporal Cross-Police focused on the single point where Arya moved and fired, she shot out from her hiding place at a speed entirely inhuman.
Her feet struck the ground firmly, darting through debris and lingering smoke, drawing closer and closer to the hovering vessel with its glowing external reactor.
A unit suddenly emerged from behind the wreckage of the carriage, saw Nirma, raised his weapon to fire—but before his finger could pull the trigger, Nirma was already in front of him.
Her hand, gripping a thin gleaming blade, moved in one perfect arc, severing the bond between the unit's head and neck in a single swift motion almost too fast to see.
The body collapsed heavily to the ground, the head separated several inches from it, and Nirma kept running without looking back, without slowing, without the slightest hint of guilt in her cold eyes.
She advanced steadily, closer and closer to the vessel, while behind her Arya continued bombarding, continued creating chaos, continued serving as the perfect bait for their mad plan.
At first, not many noticed.
Nirma's actions—slaughtering the soldiers of the Temporal Cross-Police one by one from behind, severing head from neck with swift and precise movements that never failed—unfolded in a silence filled only by the sound of gunfire and explosions from Arya's direction.
The units were too busy firing at Arya's wildly shifting position, too focused on the primary target who kept bombarding them with grenades from the year 3100, too convinced that there was no other threat besides the madwoman who ran and fired before them.
One by one they fell, their bodies hitting the ground with sounds nearly drowned out by the chaos of battle, and Nirma continued moving forward—closer, closer, ever closer—to the point where the flying vessel hovered with its glowing external reactor.
To be continued…