The battle truly did not last long.
This base, like the one before it, had been built to function, not to endure. Against us, it never stood a chance.
By the time the last abomination fell, the moon's surface was littered with dissolving remains and frozen scars left behind by lightning, shadow, wind, and runes. The silence that followed felt almost abrupt, as if the place itself had not expected its own end to arrive so quickly.
Lyrate stood a short distance away, her hand still pressed against the chest of the final phantom. The creature's form flickered weakly, its visor cracked, deathmist leaking in unstable pulses.
When she finally stepped back, the phantom collapsed inward, its structure folding into itself before dispersing completely.
She exhaled softly and turned toward me.
"It resisted more than the previous one," she said. "But I got what we needed."
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "Coordinates?"
