"Stop this madness at once!" Kilop shouted, stepping in front of the fallen.
His voice echoed across the blood-soaked crater, shaky but firm. "Why are you doing this? Are you not a beast yourself? We're brothers. Sisters. We come from the same root, the same god!"
Piolet laughed—loud and cruel. A twisted sound that didn't feel natural.
"Kikiki! Look at you—begging." He clutched his stomach and bent forward, mocking. "Now that your 'Prime Ten' are burnt meat, you're trying to pull the 'we are one' card? What a pathetic joke." His eyes gleamed like two shards of metal under neon lights coming front the spaceship above.
Without missing a beat, he turned to his mercenaries and barked, "Shoot them all. Everyone. I want this done in five minutes."
The order was like throwing fire into a powder barrel.
The mercs opened fire.
Plasma rounds, laser bolts, scatter shots—lit up the crater like fireworks. But this was no celebration. This was a slaughter.
They didn't aim.
