At the false Emperor's palace, near the main gate, the last gold-armored soldier finally collapsed.
For the first time in hours, a brief silence settled over the entrance.
Ezekyle Abaddon stood amid mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.
The tip of his power sword rested against the ground as he drew several heavy breaths.
His white power armor was splattered with blood.
Some of it was his own.
Most of it belonged to his enemies.
A satisfied smile spread across his hard, battle-worn face.
"FUCK YEAH!"
He roared over the communications channel.
"NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL A BATTLE!"
But Garviel Loken, standing beside him, paid him no attention.
Loken's eyes remained fixed on the depths of the palace.
On the direction where that enormous fireball had erupted earlier.
Without saying a word, he started walking.
His white power armor moved through pools of blood, each footstep producing a faint, wet sound.
His pace was fast.
Almost as though he were chasing something.
Abaddon watched him go, his brows drawing together.
"LOKEN!"
He shouted after him.
But Loken didn't turn around.
Abaddon sighed, then raised a hand and waved toward the warriors of the First Company behind him.
"Follow him."
"Let's see how that bastard Sejanus is doing."
"Seriously, you stubborn idiot. You never agree with me on anything, but you'd better not be dead!"
"Otherwise, Father's going to be furious..."
Hundreds of white-armored warriors followed Loken deeper into the palace.
Loken's pace continued to quicken.
So did his heartbeat.
He couldn't explain why.
But a terrible feeling of unease was growing inside him.
Sejanus.
Please.
You have to be alive.
He silently repeated his brother's name.
His footsteps grew faster.
And when he finally passed through the layers of shattered buildings and reached the center of the explosion...
He stopped.
Before him lay a scene of absolute devastation.
Broken pillars stood at crooked angles.
The remains of shattered walls were covered in blackened scorch marks.
The ground was littered with rubble, blast craters, and the scars of countless explosions.
The air reeked of burned flesh, blood, and molten metal.
Loken slowly surveyed the ruins.
And then...
He saw it.
There, in the middle of the wreckage, among the piles of shattered stone...
A ruined suit of white power armor lay motionless.
Loken's pupils contracted violently.
His entire body went rigid.
For a long moment, he couldn't move.
Then, slowly, he began walking toward the armor.
Every step felt impossibly heavy.
Every step felt like walking barefoot across the edge of a blade.
When he finally reached it, he lowered himself into a crouch.
The armor was almost beyond recognition.
Its breastplate was completely deformed, covered in cracks and scorch marks.
Half of the shoulder guard had shattered, leaving the inside exposed and empty.
The helmet was missing.
Only a few broken fragments lay nearby.
Loken slowly reached out.
His fingers brushed across the breastplate, tracing the deep cracks in its surface.
The wolf-head insignia was warped and blackened, but he could still recognize it.
The Fourth Company's markings on the shoulder guard were unmistakable.
A low growl escaped Loken's throat.
It sounded nothing like a human voice.
It was the sound of a wolf that had just lost one of its own.
His hand moved toward the power sword lying beside the armor.
He picked it up.
The blade was long and elegant.
The hilt carried the engraved wolf-head insignia of the Luna Wolves.
Blood covered the weapon, and several cracks ran along the blade.
He knew this sword.
It belonged to Sejanus.
It was his brother's favorite weapon.
The sword he carried everywhere.
Sejanus had once joked that as long as his sword remained with him, he would remain alive.
And when the sword was destroyed, so would he be.
But now...
The sword was here.
And Sejanus was nowhere to be found.
Which meant...
Loken closed his eyes.
His fist slowly tightened.
When he opened his eyes again, only one emotion remained.
Cold, merciless killing intent.
He turned toward the approaching warriors of the First Company.
His voice was hoarse.
But the icy calm behind it was enough to send chills down anyone's spine.
"Surround the palace."
"Leave no one alive."
Abaddon stood behind him.
He looked at the ruined armor.
Then at Loken's deathly pale face.
His throat moved slightly.
He wanted to say something.
But in the end, no words came.
He merely nodded.
Then he raised a hand and gestured toward the warriors behind him.
Hundreds of white-armored figures surged deeper into the palace.
--
Meanwhile, hidden within the shadows of those very ruins, a silver-gray Rhino armored personnel carrier was slowly emerging from a concealed passage on the eastern side of the palace.
Inside the troop compartment, Lone Wolf leaned against the armored wall.
He gazed through the small observation window at the distant fires gradually disappearing behind them.
His eyes settled on a familiar white-armored figure.
Garviel Loken.
Captain of the Luna Wolves' Tenth Company.
A future hero of the Loyalists.
Right now, Loken stood among the ruins, holding that shattered power sword in his hands.
Staring toward the place where he believed Sejanus had died.
Lone Wolf's burned lips moved slightly.
His voice was so quiet that only he could hear it.
"Loken..."
"I'm sorry."
"In the end, your Tenth Company will still have to endure the pain of betrayal."
"But this is the only way to keep him alive."
"The only way to make sure he can..."
"Play his true role on Davin."
He drew his gaze away from the window and lowered his head.
Sejanus lay unconscious beside him.
His brow was slightly furrowed, as though he were trapped in an unpleasant dream.
Lone Wolf reached out and gently rested a hand on his shoulder.
It was a small gesture.
But behind it lay a promise.
"Brother Sejanus..."
"Come with us."
"When we're finally ready..."
"On Davin..."
"You'll be reunited with your brothers..."
"The Luna Wolves."
--
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