"Don't move," Beth said, her voice low and sharp. None of them did. The Queen stood like a statue, crowned in her own grotesque throne. Drones hovered around her like vultures, still and waiting—for surrender or slaughter, no one knew. Beth's pistol stayed raised. Ryvak was barely standing. Thorne's blade wavered, blood trailing down his side. Asher's fingers clenched his bone-weapon, slick with sweat—or was it the weapon sweating too? Then the Queen's voice came—not from her mouth, but from everywhere. "You do not have to die. Open the gates to Fortress Vireon. Let us in. You will be spared. Serve, and humanity survives." That word—serve—echoed. Asher glanced at the others. Thorne remained stone-faced. Beth's jaw flexed. Ryvak swayed like he'd fall any second. Asher? He didn't serve. Not her. Not the Empire. Not even these people. He fought for one reason: to survive. And yet something in his spine, in the Void Stone, twisted tighter—not fear. Clarity. He looked up. "I'd rather die," he muttered.
That was all it took. She struck—no claws, no scream. Just pressure. Mental, raw, and consuming. Asher's knees buckled. The Queen's mind entered his own, pressing like a thousand pounds behind his eyes. The Void Stone flared—heat ripping through his spine, blinding pain lighting every nerve. He bit down hard, tasted blood, and still she pushed. But something cracked. Not him. Her. He fell—mentally, spiritually—through time, into a vision not his own. A wasteland of dust, dusk, and death. Sky burning, ground covered in carnivorous grass. And there—something enormous. A Tier Five beast. Ancient. Indifferent. The Queen was running. Terrified. Running north. Sunlight burned her. And beneath her ribs—left side. Her weakness. Asher surfaced from the vision, gasping. "Ryvak!" No answer. Ryvak was down. Thorne still stood, barely. Beth's gun smoked. "She's weak!" Asher shouted. "Under the left arm! There!" Thorne looked at him, nodded, and charged. No words. Just action.
The Queen turned too slow. Her claw slashed down. Thorne dodged and drove his blade deep—straight into the exposed core. But her other claw caught him. He staggered, armor cracked, blood following. Still, he didn't stop. The Queen's shriek was deafening. Her drones collapsed like puppets with cut strings. Beth was beside Ryvak in seconds. The Hive itself wailed—then fell silent. The Queen collapsed, body convulsing once, then deflating like a lung gone flat. Thorne was still standing—then slumped. Beth reached him first. "He's breathing. Barely." Asher dropped to his knees. "Can you stop it?" "Not here." Ryvak stirred behind them. "Are we dead?" "No," Beth said. "Close," Asher added. They sat in silence. Thorne's blood pooled beneath him. The Hive, once alive, had gone still. No sound. No movement. Beth touched Thorne's shoulder. "We need to move. If we can carry him." "No," Thorne rasped.
They froze. "I'm not going to make it," he whispered. Beth's throat caught. His chest was wrecked—too much damage. "Take the shard. Get back to command." "We're not leaving you," Beth said. Her voice was steel. Asher clenched his jaw. "I didn't want to be like you." Thorne's mouth twitched. "Yeah. Probably." Beth said nothing. Just stared at the blood. "We should've had a plan," Asher muttered. "Doesn't matter," Thorne wheezed. "You lived. That's what matters." Then his eyes fluttered. And closed. Beth lowered her head. Asher stayed still. He wanted to scream. Blame someone. But to do that, he'd have to look at Beth. So he didn't. The Queen was dead. The Hive was still. But so was Thorne. And something in Asher. Something sharp. Something human. It died too. The silence dragged. Until Asher finally asked, "Now what?"