The corridor was a tilting, shuddering nightmare. With Eliane clinging to her back, Jannali ran, her boots skidding on the increasingly slanted deck. The entire world was the sound of screaming timbers and the cataclysmic booms from outside as two forces of nature tried to unmake each other. A massive beam, shaken loose from the ceiling, crashed down in front of them, sending splinters flying.
"Blimey! How the hell are we supposed to get off this floating deathtrap?" Jannali yelled, veering sharply to avoid the obstacle.
Atlas, a step ahead, didn't look back. "Relax." With a fluid motion, he produced a small transponder snail from a pouch on his harness. The snail wore a miniature, grumpy expression. "Noodle Neck gave me this before we left."
Jannali's eyes widened as she leapt over a groaning crack in the floorboards. "It's like the clever little sod knew this would happen!"
Atlas shrugged, the gesture effortless even as the ship lurched violently to port. "Our plans don't always work out."
"You're just now telling me this?" she snapped, ducking as a shower of dust and debris rained from above.
"Would it have changed anything?" he grunted, shouldering a heavy door open that led to a wider, slightly more stable hallway.
Jannali scowled. "I've got no idea, since we didn't bloody talk about it!"
Atlas ignored her, speaking into the snail. "Noodle Neck. We got what we came for. We need a ride."
Galit's voice, tinny but calm, came through immediately. "Copy that. What about the others?"
The ship jolted sideways again, a sound like a mountain breaking apart echoing through the hull. Atlas braced himself against the wall. "They're busy at the moment. Assume they can find their own way back."
"Understood. Triangulating your location," Galit replied, the sound of frantic typing audible in the background. "Turn left at the next intersection. Go to the end of the hall. I'll be under the window."
"See you in a minute," Atlas said, and the snail's eyes drooped shut. He pointed. "There."
They sprinted to the end of the hall, where a large, reinforced porthole looked out onto a scene of utter chaos. The sea was a jagged plain of ice, but it was heaving and cracking under the strain of the battle. And there, bobbing precariously in a churning channel of water between ice floes, was their submarine.
Jannali cursed, her grip tightening on Eliane's legs. "Are you insane? It's a thirty-foot drop onto a target that's dancing the bloody jig!"
Atlas chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "This will be fun." He looked at Eliane, who was peering over Jannali's shoulder, her face pale. "What do you say, kid? Want to stay here, or take your chances with us?"
Eliane looked back down the shuddering, dangerous hallway they'd just fled, then at the wild, frozen freedom below. She took a deep breath. "Let's go!"
Atlas smirked, looking at Jannali. "Want me to take her?"
Jannali glanced back at Eliane, who gave a brave, determined nod. "Right. Don't drop her," Jannali said, carefully transferring the girl onto Atlas's broad back. Eliane wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
"Hold on tight," Atlas said. Then, without another word, he took two running steps and launched himself through the shattered porthole.
Eliane's scream trailed after them, a high-pitched ribbon of terror that stretched all the way down. Atlas landed on the sub's hull with a heavy THUD that resonated through the metal, his knees bending to absorb the impact. He looked over his shoulder at Eliane, who was panting, her eyes wide with a mixture of overwhelming fear and exhilaration.
"See?" he grunted. "You lived."
Eliane, catching her breath, managed a shaky but genuine smile. "That was... something."
Atlas looked up at Jannali, still in the window. "Your turn. You need me to—"
Before he could finish, Jannali was already falling through the air, not with a scream, but with a focused, determined silence. She hit the curved hull, but her footing slipped on the spray-slicked metal. She started to slide towards the churning, icy water.
Atlas's arm shot out, his clawed hand clamping around her wrist like a vice, stopping her fall instantly. He hauled her up beside him.
"Thanks," she breathed, her heart hammering.
Thwip! Thwip! Bullets suddenly pinged off the hull around them. They looked up to see Marines leaning out of the broken window, taking potshots.
"We better get inside!" Atlas barked.
"No argument here!" Jannali yelled back.
The submarine's hatch hissed open. Galit's head popped out, his expression utterly deadpan. "If you're quite done with the acrobatics, perhaps you'd like to come in before we're all shot or frozen?"
They tumbled inside, Eliane first, then Jannali, with Atlas sliding in last and slamming the hatch shut. The relative silence of the sub was jarring. They rushed to strap into the available seats as Galit, already back at his console, began piloting.
Jannali stared at the main viewport, which showed a labyrinth of towering ice spikes and heaving floes. "There's ice everywhere! How were you even—"
"Basic math," Galit interrupted, his fingers flying across the controls. A holographic projection of the immediate area shimmered above his panel, showing a complex but clear path he was navigating through the treacherous ice. "Calculating drift, buoyancy, and the probable trajectory of falling idiots."
Atlas rolled his eyes as he fastened his harness. Eliane, safely strapped in beside Jannali, let out a small, nervous giggle that was half relief, half disbelief. The submarine angled downward, slipping beneath the chaotic surface and leaving the storm of the battle behind, a silent predator escaping into the deep.
*****
The sky above Haven-07 was a canvas of madness. Between the bruised, green-streaked clouds, the CUA's grey Sentinel Frames darted like angry hornets, their beam rifles painting fleeting lines of light against the colossal forms of the Typhon. The air thrummed with the deep-throated roar of thrusters, the shriek of tearing metal, and the deafening, alien bellows of the creatures. The sea frothed around the platform's massive legs, churned by the struggle.
Slicing through this chaos came a new kind of predator. These were not the uniform, military-grade Sentinels. These machines were patchwork masterpieces of scavenged might, each one a defiant declaration of individuality against CUA conformity. Leading the pack was Caden 'The Ghost' Arashi's Frame, the Storm Dancer. It was leaner and more angular than the blocky Sentinels, its armor a mosaic of welded-on plates in shades of rust-red, charcoal, and dull bronze. Its head was a stylized, almost skull-like visor with a single crimson optic, and its movements were a fluid, predatory dance. On one shoulder, a Jolly Roger—a grinning skull with a lightning bolt through it—was painted in chipped, faded colors.
Flying wingman was Evander of the Crimson's machine, the Scarlet Marauder. It was broader, more heavily modified, with one arm ending in a massive, hydraulic claw ripped from a mining rig and the other sporting a rapid-fire railgun that hummed with stolen power. Its armor was a garish, defiant scarlet, scuffed and battle-scarred, with crude tally marks etched into the paint.
"Ghost to Reapers, sound off!" Caden's voice was calm, almost bored, over the comms channel filled with the panic of CUA transmissions.
"Reaper Two, locked on your tail, boss!" Evander's voice boomed, full of bravado.
"Reaper Three, in position."
"Reaper Four, ready."
"Objective is simple," Caden stated, his Storm Dancer effortlessly weaving around a wild swing from a Ripper's tentacle that smashed a communication tower into scrap. "Grab the prisoners and the alien tech. The Typhons are not our problem. In fact, they're the ideal distraction. Do not engage unless you have no other choice."
"But Ghost," Reaper Three protested, "if we hit the Behemoth's weak spot, we could—"
"It's not worth the risk or the ammunition," Caden cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The CUA has their own resources to handle their pest problem. We're here for a pickup. Nothing more." As they closed in, incoming cannon fire from the platform's defensive batteries streaked past them. Caden didn't even flinch, his Frame juking and rolling with an instinctual grace that earned him his callsign. Evander's Scarlet Marauder took a more direct approach, using its bulk to shield the others, deflecting shots off its thick shoulder plating.
Josiah Manos, his Sentinel locked in a desperate shoving match with a Ripper, saw them on his tactical display. His voice, strained through gritted teeth, burst over the general comms channel. "Unidentified Frames! This is CUA airspace! Identify yourselves and prepare to be fired upon!"
Caden's voice came back, smooth as oil and just as slippery. "Don't mind us, Sentinel. We won't be long. Just came by to pick something up. Pay us no attention." The Storm Dancer executed a lazy, mocking barrel roll around a piece of falling debris.
Josiah's jaw flexed so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. "You think you can just—" His retort was cut short as a thick, barbed tentacle from the Class III Behemoth whipped out of the smoke and wrapped around his Sentinel's torso. The metal groaned in protest, and warning lights flooded his cockpit. "Damn it!" he cursed, his weapons arm pinned.
Seeing their opening, the two JFF Frames dove. They landed on the shuddering deck with a heavy, jarring impact that was worlds apart from the precise, thruster-cushioned landings of the CUA pilots. The Storm Dancer landed in a crouch, while the Scarlet Marauder slammed down like a falling anvil.
Caden's voice was now all business, snapping over his private team channel. "Reaper Two and Three, we have the location of the primary tech. It's in the portside bay. Get it and get out. Now!"
"What about you and Evander?" a pilot called 'Reaper Two' asked, his Frame—a modified rust-bucket with oversized thrusters—hovering nearby.
"Follow the plan!" Caden's cool veneer cracked for a second with impatience. "We will be fine! Now go!"
The two other JFF Frames didn't hesitate. They boosted away, skimming low over the deck towards the side of the platform where the submarine was docked. As they went, they unleashed a volley of focused plasma charges at the hull, blowing a series of jagged, smoldering holes into the platform's side to access the lab directly.
Josiah, finally burning his thrusters at maximum to tear the tentacle loose, roared over the comms, his voice raw with fury. "You will pay for this, you JFF scavengers! This is an act of war!"
Evander, who had just jumped down from his cockpit, keyed his own mic. His laugh was a rich, booming sound that cut through the din of battle. "Maybe," he said, checking the charge on his heavy pistol. "But not today."
With that, Caden and Evander hit the deck running. They didn't move like soldiers in a formation; they moved like partners in a heist, weaving through the chaos of fighting soldiers and panicked crew, their goal clear: the detention block. The cavalry had arrived, but they were not there to save anyone. They were there to claim a prize.
Inside the detention block, the sudden freedom was a silent, electric current. The six prisoners moved as one, a temporary alliance forged in shared desperation. Ember giggled, hopping from foot to foot. "Ooh, it's boom time!"
The lone guard, finally regaining his footing, fumbled for his sidearm. But before he could raise it, the tattoos on Souta's forearm—a coiled serpent—seemed to ripple and flow. A tendril of pure, liquid shadow shot from his skin, solidifying in mid-air into an ink-black snake that wrapped around the guard's wrist. It didn't bite, but constricted, forcing a cry of pain and surprise from the man as the weapon clattered to the floor. The snake dissolved back into Souta's skin as quickly as it had appeared.
"The door, Ember," Kuro said, his voice a quiet command.
Ember skipped to the reinforced hatch, placing both hands on the metal. After a three-second count, the surface under her palms glowed a fierce cherry red. There was a muffled thump, and the door blew inward.
The corridor shuddered around Aurélie's team as another explosion, this one far larger, rocked the platform. A gout of flame and smoke belched from a junction ahead, and the screams of rushing soldiers were drowned out by the shriek of overstressed metal. Aurélie never faltered, a streak of silver and black leading them through the inferno. The pull of Anathema was a physical cord tied to her soul, a cold, sharp yearning in the pit of her stomach that guided her turns.
Behind them, Souta moved with a liquid grace, his trench coat flowing. Two more guards rounded a corner, but a flick of his wrist sent a pair of ink-snakes shooting across the ceiling, dropping onto the soldiers' helmets and dissolving into a thick, blinding liquid that forced them to stumble back, clawing at their faces. "A minor inconvenience," Souta murmured, not even breaking stride.
Ember giggled, pausing to place a hand on a sparking control panel. "A present for the next guys!" she chirped. Three seconds later, the panel exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging the next section of corridor into darkness lit only by emergency strips. "See? Party favors!"
"Fascinating," Charlie breathed, though whether he was referring to Souta's abilities or the structural integrity of the burning hallway was unclear. "The application of particulate-based obscurants in close-quarters combat is—"
"Like, can the lecture, Charlie!" Bianca yelled, ducking as a piece of ceiling clattered down. "This whole place is gonna be underwater or in space or whatever in like, five minutes!"
Suddenly, Aurélie skidded to a halt before a blast door marked `ARMORY - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY`. "It's here," she said, her voice tight with anticipation.
"Great," Kuro said smoothly, his eyes scanning the heavy door. "And how do you propose we—"
Before he could finish, Ember was already there, humming a nursery rhyme as she pressed both hands against the reinforced metal. It began to glow instantly, the heat washing over them. But just as the glow reached its peak, the distinct, thunderous footfalls of something massive echoed from a parallel corridor, followed by the familiar, predatory screech of a Ripper. It had broken through the outer defenses and was inside the platform.
On the main deck, Caden and Evander sprinted through the chaos. They moved like predators, using falling debris and panicked CUA personnel as cover. A squad of soldiers tried to block their path to a central elevator shaft.
"Don't have time for this," Caden said, his voice cool. He didn't even draw his pistol. Instead, he and Evander moved in perfect sync, a whirlwind of disarming strikes and crippling blows. Caden was a ghost, his movements almost too fast to follow, flowing around attacks and using the soldiers' own momentum against them. Evander was a battering ram, his punches landing with the sound of cracking armor, each throw sending a man flying into a console or a wall. In seconds, the squad was down.
They reached the elevator just as the doors pinged open, revealing a terrified technician. Evander grabbed the man by his collar and gently but firmly set him aside. "Borrowing this," he said with a wink. They ducked inside, Caden jamming the controls to send it descending toward the detention level.
Over the roar of battle, Josiah Manos's voice crackled again on the open channel, strained and furious. "Arashi! I have your signature! You think you can just waltz in during a Cataclysm-level event?"
"Waltzing implies a lack of purpose, Sentinel," Caden replied, checking his weapon as the elevator descended. "We're here on business. And your little pest problem is keeping your big guns very, very busy."
"You're scavenging on the brink of annihilation!" Josiah roared, the sound of his beam saber sizzling through Typhon flesh underscoring his words.
"Best time for it," Evander chuckled. "Prices are low, and everyone's distracted."
Back at the armory door, the metal was now white-hot. Ember giggled with glee. "Ready or not!"
But Aurélie's attention was ripped away, her head snapping towards the end of the corridor. The screeching was closer. Much closer. A long, segmented leg, ending in a scythe-like claw, slammed around the corner, digging deep grooves into the floor. The single, molten-amber eye of the Ripper peered at them, its crystalline teeth grinding.
"Ember, now!" Kuro commanded, his polite facade gone, replaced by the sharp tone of the Black Cat Pirate captain.
The door exploded inward with a concussive BOOM, the force knocking everyone back a step. Through the smoke, racks of CUA rifles and sidearms were visible. But Aurélie's eyes were locked on a simple locker at the far end. She could feel it. A low, angry hum that resonated in her bones.
The Ripper, attracted by the noise, forced its bulk into the corridor, its maw opening wide.
Souta stepped forward, his face a mask of concentration. The tattoos on his arms and torso swirled violently, and a massive ink-panther, larger than any of his previous creations, coalesced in the hallway. It let out a silent roar and launched itself at the Typhon's head, buying them precious seconds.
"Go!" Souta grunted, the effort of maintaining the large construct evident on his face.
Aurélie didn't need telling twice. She surged into the armory, the others pouring in after her. Bianca immediately started grabbing tools from a bench, stuffing them into her overalls. "Like, salvage rights!" she yelled.
Aurélie reached the locker. She didn't need a key. Placing her hand on the lock, she focused a whisper of Haki. The mechanism shattered from the inside. The door swung open.
There, lying on a shelf, was Anathema. The black blade hummed in vibration, emergency light of the armory, a faint crimson glow pulsing along its edge like a sleeping heartbeat. As Aurélie's fingers closed around the hilt, a wave of cold certainty washed over her. The sword's curse was a familiar comfort now, a partner in the chaos.
She turned, the blade held ready, her steel-gray eyes sharp as shards of ice. The path was no longer just about escape. It was about cutting their way through whatever stood in their way—be it man, machine, or monster.
The sound of Caden and Evander's elevator arriving at their level echoed down the hall, mingling with the screech of the Ripper and the silent snarl of Souta's ink-beast. The two converging teams were now seconds away from a collision, trapped in a crumbling fortress besieged by nightmares. The game was indeed on fire, and the next move would require every ounce of their cunning and strength.
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