Fireballs rolled through the forest, trees toppling in showers of splinters. Roger dove aside as a massive tree crashed toward him, rolling clear just in time as shards ripped through the air. Through the smoke and chaos, Ian lunged, grappling Varnyx and hurling him directly into the next wave of bombing.
The explosion swallowed them both in flame. Optimus grabbed Roger, shoving him toward the portal's core.
He slammed the timer into place. "Run! It's gonna blow!"
More blasts ripped through the clearing as Varnyx staggered forward, armor cracked and molten.
His voice was a low, venomous snarl, "My master… will come… and destroy you all!"
Ian and Blade broke into a sprint, vaulting over debris, the portal behind them glowing brighter and brighter—until it detonated in a titanic explosion, ripping the sky apart.
The house groaned and splintered under the weight of the 8-foot demon's hunt.
Walls crumbled, furniture was hurled aside like paper, and the thing's heavy footsteps echoed through the wooden floor. Billix crouched low in the kitchen, eyes darting to the old stove. With trembling hands, he twisted the gas knobs to full. A faint hiss filled the air. The demon stepped into the kitchen, its face hidden under the hood of its long, tattered robe.
It spotted him instantly and began walking forward in that slow, deliberate, unnerving way that made Billix's blood run cold.
Billix bolted, diving into a bedroom and sliding under the bed. The demon entered moments later, scanning the room. For a heartbeat, it was silent—until massive hands gripped the bedframe and, with a roar, lifted it like a toy.
Billix slid out the other side just in time, sprinting for the hallway. The gas was thick now, a toxic haze that stung his eyes. Without slowing, he yanked a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the kitchen. He was halfway to the treeline when the house detonated in a fiery blast, the shockwave nearly throwing him to the ground.
The robed demon was gone—reduced to burning ash. Billix barely had a second to breathe before he saw them, a convoy of demons, emerging from the woods, weapons already raised. The first volley of gunfire ripped through the trees, forcing him to dive behind a tree trunk for cover. He returned fire, dropping two, but more were circling around.
A sharp, searing pain tore through his leg—he'd been hit. He turned to see a demon behind him swinging its rifle like a club. The stock smashed into his face, sending him sprawling. Blood in his mouth, vision blurring, Billix forced himself up. He lunged forward, grabbing the demon by the arm and flipping it into the dirt with a brutal takedown.
Grabbing the fallen demon's rocket launcher, he swung it toward the others, firing into the oncoming wave. The blast tore through the front line, but his body was giving out. He collapsed, breath ragged, as the swarm closed in, and then, like a thunderclap, Ian's team arrived.
Gunfire tore through the clearing, demons dropping one after another. Roger dashed to Billix's side, hauling him up.
Roger, "It's alright—we won the fight."
Ian pointed toward the evac ship. "Get him to the medics."
Billix was rushed aboard as the rest of the army regrouped. Within the hour, the Galactic Empire forces pulled out, the portal destroyed, the enemy scattered. The planet faded away beneath the transport ship.
The next morning at STF HQ, Roger woke up sore, his body still aching from the chaos of the mission. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the stiffness out of his shoulders, already thinking about breakfast. That's when Blade stepped into the barracks.
Blade, "Roger, press and media want to interview you."
Roger froze mid-yawn. Roger, "…Me?!"
Blade smirked. "Yeah. Guess you made more headlines than you thought."
The Interview Within the hour, Roger was in front of a mirror, hastily brushing his hair, trying to look less like he'd just rolled out of bed. Blade led him down a series of polished corridors until they stepped into the media room—a massive, brightly lit space already humming with energy. Hundreds of reporters filled the space, cameras flashing.
At the center was a stand crammed with twenty microphones, each bearing a different news network logo. Roger swallowed hard.
Roger, quietly, "Oh… this is worse than the battle."
Ian appeared beside him, giving him a steady pat on the shoulder.
Ian, "You'll be fine. I'm here. Just speak the truth—and don't let them twist it."
The questions came like rapid fire, "What was it like facing Varnyx?"
"Were you scared during the fight?"
"How did it feel to fight alongside The Greats?"
"Do you think the STF made the right call in saving Devus?"
Roger answered carefully, leaning on Ian's occasional cues, trying not to get trapped by the reporters' bait. Every word felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
When the flashing lights finally faded and the crowd dispersed, the two stepped outside into the quieter hall.
Roger, "Did I… answer okay?"
Ian, "Yeah. Just remember—choose your words like you choose your targets."
Ian left Roger in the common area and headed upstairs. His office door was already open. Inside, Blade and Optimus stood at the table, a holographic display flickering between them.
The projection showed… a blinding, golden anomaly in space. Ian closed the door behind him.
Ian, "Is that it?" Optimus nodded, arms crossed.
Optimus, "We're calling it The Light. It's been showing up on long-range scans for weeks, always just out of reach, always moving."
Blade added quietly, "The weird thing? Every time it appears, demon activity spikes. It's like they're… following it."
Ian stepped closer, staring into the shifting, luminous shape.
Ian, "…Or it's leading them."