Lieutenant Grace and her squad of 120 Marines found themselves stepping into a corridor lit by phosphorescent veins. The next moment it shifted: they were back at the corridor's start. Again and again.
Grace realized with dawning horror: They were trapped in a loop of never-moving corridors, time folding back upon itself—a conceptual prison.
Marines screamed, hallucinated flickers of freedom, collapsed to their knees. Their combat HUDs flickered "TIME PARADOX DETECTED."
Grace, voice trembling but resolute:
"Tactic: Temporal Anchor"
She activated the conceptual program. Time froze around them—anchors in reality. The loop broke. With gritted teeth, they sprinted past the threshold... stepping into an even darker hall.
⸻
Another Squad—Under Seige Without End
Captain Perez and a 50-man team found themselves besieged in a vast chamber. Velvety darkness pressed in from all sides as shadow-drones poured in numberless waves. Their bullets struck nothing but shadows.
Their comms were ghost-static. Their flash bang grenades detonated with no effect.
Captain Perez gripped his plasma carbine, vision tunneling under pressure. Calm but thunderous:
"Conceptual Tactic: Mind Mirror."
He invoked the projection of their deepest fear—the drones shattered it, committing suicide upon contact with the fear itself. The squad escaped into a shaft, battered but alive.
⸻
A Lone Sniper, Haunted by Visions
Corporal Yi, a rookie sharpshooter, found himself isolated in a dome of fractured glass and endless reflections—a maze of countless images of himself, each crying, pleading, or screaming betrayal. It was a Conceptual Hall of Mirrors, built to destroy identity.
Yi raised his pulse rifle, voice cracking through the visor radio:
"Conceptual Tactic: Self-Truth."
He locked his identity into the AI, creating a self-certifying image that shattered all illusions. The reflections cracked and dissolved. He collapsed sobbing, seeing himself whole again—then sprinted forward, rejoining battle.
⸻
A Captain's Squad—Fighting at the Edge of Existence
Captain Arnaut's squad (200 men) landed in what looked like a crumbling cityscape—yet shadows of themselves and past victories fell like rain, overlaid in silence. Their own voices called from nowhere, shouting warnings, replaying failures. A battlefield of memory and conceptual echoes.
Arnaut bellowed:
"Conceptual Tactic: Echo Shield."
He wrapped the squad in a shield that filtered only present sound and vision. Past wounds, voices, fears—all were muted to silence. The squad wept at the clarity—and marched forward.
⸻
Reaper's Trail
Reaper himself—the scariest thought—vanished into a pitch-black void. For hours, only his POV: walls of shadow, corridors shifting like living nightmares, and at the end... the echo of his own blade's hum, taunting him.
But Reaper never spoke. He invoked "Master of Shadows." He rebuilt himself from zero—the void itself fled at his presence—and in time, he reappeared at the squad's flank, body shimmering, soul intact.
⸻
Pulling It Together
After two hours of scattered agony and tactical brilliance, these fragmented groups began trickling back. One by one—some wounded, some broken in spirit, others deeply changed—they rejoined among the 3.5 billion forging forward.
But between the horror and healing, one truth remained:
No concept is safe in the Queen's realm—unless you fight it at her level.
And the soldiers—some with their captains, some still lost—were among those who would. Because time is short, pain is real, and the Queen grows stronger waiting for them.
-
After sixty-six minutes of nonstop ascent, the UNE finally breached the crown of the hive.
The chamber opened into a vast abyss. It wasn't just a room—it was a domain, large enough to hold a planet, its walls pulsing with alien glyphs, rivers of glowing ichor running upward into the void. At its center stood a throne carved of bone and alloy, stretching into the heavens.
It was empty.
The Wolves slowed, rifles raised. Billions of boots echoed in unison. The captains barked, voices sharp across the comms:
"Careful! Helmets sealed! Watch every angle!"
"The Queen's domain is her weapon—she could be anywhere!"
The silence pressed in. No HUD signals. No heartbeat pings. Nothing.
Then—
⸻
The First Strike
The walls screamed.
A shadow tore across the chamber like lightning, and before anyone could react, an entire wave of UNE Marines—millions strong—were erased in a single stroke.
One moment they were standing. The next, they were ash and silence, their armor and bodies collapsing into nothing.
Screams ripped across the comms. Captains roared orders.
"CONTACT! CONTACT! FIRE AT WILL!!"
The Queen appeared—no, manifested—rising from the ichor itself. Her form towered above them, shifting between flesh, alloy, and shadow. A faceless crown of blades adorned her head, her body a storm of wings and claws that bent space with every twitch.
⸻
The Futile Barrage
Billions fired at once.
Quantum plasma bolts screamed across the throne chamber, FTL+ salvos lighting the void in endless streaks. Tanks unleashed volleys, mechs fired kinetic cannons, Juggernauts hurled explosives. The chamber shook as trillions of rounds poured into her form.
But nothing worked.
The bullets bent around her like water. Plasma melted before touching her. Explosions detonated harmlessly against her silhouette. She didn't even flinch.
The Queen's voice rippled into their skulls, deeper than sound, sharper than thought.
"Children of man. You dare climb my throne? You will drown in recursion."
⸻
The Wolves React
Woo fired into the storm, his rifle screaming hot—but the bolts dissolved midair. His chest tightened in horror. "It's not working—nothing's working!"
Jerome yelled, "She's eating our fire like it's NOTHING!"
Min-seo's voice cracked. "Oh God..."
John spat, "Then what the hell are we supposed to do?!"
Hunter reloaded calmly, visor burning. "Stay sharp, kids. This ain't the kind of enemy you drop with bullets."
Hudson's voice was flat, ice-cold. "Captains will hold her. We survive."
Carla growled, steady and iron-willed. "And we wait for the opening. There's always an opening."
But above them, millions more were erased in another single sweep.
The Queen was not just fighting.
She was demonstrating.
-
The throne chamber was a storm of death.
Captains unleashed tactic after tactic—shields, locks, splits, flames, reversals. Each flared bright like miracles, but the Queen shredded them with a wave of her hand. Timelines cracked. Cause and effect folded. Men screamed as their very existence rewound, then erased.
"Conceptual tactics are useless!"
"Nothing holds her!"
Millions fell in minutes. The Wolves watched, horror flooding their visors, as even legendary captains—heroes whose names carried across galaxies—were struck down like insects.
The Queen loomed, her crown of blades shimmering as she absorbed another wave of fire. Her voice bled into their minds:
"Erase me? You cannot erase recursion. I am every strike, every attempt, every death. I am the memory of your failure."
⸻
The Realization
Carla clenched her rifle. "She's right—every tactic just loops back. Nothing sticks."
Hudson's voice was grim. "Only one thing does."
Hunter grinned with no humor. "Existence Erasure."
Min-seo whispered, "But... she has a counter for that, doesn't she?"
Jerome's voice cracked, "Then how do we even—"
Woo cut in, his fists trembling, "We distract her. We dismantle her. Piece by piece, until she can't counter."
Carla snapped her visor toward him. "...And how do you dismantle a god?"
Woo's voice shook, but his eyes burned. "...With all of us."
⸻
The Plan
Captains roared orders through the comms, linking what remained of the army.
"All units! The Queen can counter Existence Erasure directly! To land it, we must pull her apart!"
"Dismantle her form—her throne, her armor, her shields—distract her with fire and motion!"
"Set the trap! Clear the chamber!"
Monarch's voice thundered across every helmet, his calm now like judgment itself:
"All units evacuate the throne chamber perimeter. Pull back squads. Only elites remain as bait. We must collapse this room onto her form and lock her long enough to fire Existence Erasure. MOVE!"
⸻
The soldier's Role
Hunter barked at the Wolves, "You heard Monarch! We're not here to kill her—we're here to buy time!"
Hudson chambered his rifle. "She won't let billions walk out without blood."
Carla's voice cut sharp. "Then we bleed for them. We hold her eyes on us."
Woo's heart raced. His stomach dropped. This wasn't a battle anymore. This was a suicide distraction.
He whispered under his breath, "Lord, if I die here... take me. But please—let the others live."
The Queen stirred, her faceless crown tilting toward the Wolves' section of the formation, as if she had heard him.
Her wings flared.
The chamber shook.
The trap had to be set—
or humanity's last stand would end here.
-
The order was given. Evacuate. Clear the chamber. Set the trap.
Billions surged toward the exits, Juggernauts shielding retreating squads, mechs stomping forward as living walls. The Wolves sprinted with them, rifles blazing to keep the swarms at bay.
But the Queen would not let them go.
She spread her arms, wings unfolding into storms of black light. Reality screamed.
In one strike—one impossible wave—an entire billion Marines were erased.
No bodies. No screams. Just gone.
The Wolves stumbled, their helmets screaming MASS CASUALTIES DETECTED. Woo's chest locked up. Min-seo cried out, "A BILLION—GONE—"
Carla snarled, dragging them forward. "Don't stop! MOVE!"
⸻
The Captains' Stand
While billions fled, millions of captains stayed behind.
They knew what they were signing for. They became the bait.
Conceptual tactics flared across the throne chamber like suns:
—Captains splitting timelines.
—Others freezing attacks for fractions of a second.
—Some burning their own lives to shield the retreat.
Every tactic was shredded, every miracle countered. But still, they bought time.
And then—
⸻
The Veteran's Strike
Through the chaos, one man stepped forward.
Captain Varrek, age forty-seven. Who's one of the Rank 5's elite whose name had long been whispered in UNE ranks, though few had ever seen him fight. He pulled off his helmet, his scarred face calm, eyes burning with steel.
He exhaled once. And ran.
The chamber shook as he broke past FTL+. His speed blurred, cracking the walls with sonic booms. He ran faster—FTL++—a living comet streaking across the throne chamber.
The Queen turned, tilting her faceless crown.
Varrek vanished. Then appeared in front of her.
CRACK!
His boot slammed into her chest with a force that split the chamber walls. The Queen stumbled—stumbled—her form rippling, her wings flickering as ichor sprayed into the void.
For the first time... she had been hurt.
⸻
But Not Enough
The Soldiers froze, their helmets recording every detail. Woo whispered, "He... he did it—he actually hurt her."
Jerome's voice cracked. "Then we can win, right?"
Hudson's voice was cold. "...Not yet."
The Queen rose slowly, her body knitting itself back together, her crown tilting toward Varrek. She was smiling—though she had no face.
"Faster. Strike again. Break yourself for me."
Varrek stood tall, blood running down his arms, his breathing ragged.
"Not for you," he spat. "For humanity."
He tightened his fists, ready to run again—even knowing one man could not win.
The captains roared, raising their weapons, buying every second they could.
The trap wasn't ready. The evacuation wasn't finished.
And the Queen was just getting started.
———————————————
To be continued...