For three days, the Terran frontlines burned without pause. Hivebugs hurled themselves against human defenses in wave after wave, claws and mandibles shattering against steel and concrete. Carbine X rifles spat endless fire, turrets whirred until their barrels glowed red, and the newly integrated Shatterstorms pounded the ground into ichor-soaked craters.
The battlefield reeked of acid blood and charred resin. Screams and orders blended into a constant roar that never ceased, not even in the short lulls between volleys. Soldiers bled and fought without sleep, their eyes hollow, their hands raw from reloading until skin tore and blistered. Yet they held—driven forward by instinct, by training, and by the desperate refusal to die.
By the fourth day, silence fell.
No screeches in the distance. No tremors beneath the earth. No winged drones blotting the skies. The outpost's perimeter sensors reported nothing but wind and dust.
"Too quiet," muttered Stone Varga, his massive frame hunched over a sandbag wall. His voice was gravel, worn thin by days without rest. "Bugs don't quit. Not like this."
By the fifth day, the silence remained. By the sixth. The seventh.
Exhaustion twisted into something else: hope. Infantry lounged near the walls, polishing weapons at half-speed, talking louder than they should. Medics took longer breaks between rounds, laughter creeping into conversations they hadn't dared to have in months. Even the heavies leaned back against their armor plates, muttering crude jokes about finally seeing home again.
"We must've broken their back," said a corporal, tossing a stone across the trench. "Three days of slaughter and now… nothing. We've won."
"About damn time," another agreed, tugging off his helmet to gulp stale air. "Maybe the Renegade's toys scared them off for good."
A ripple of tired laughter followed.
At first Sirius said nothing. He sat at the comms post, Carbine X propped against his knee, fingers tightening and loosening on the grip. The grin that so often lit his face was absent, replaced with a restless tension. His eyes flicked over the glowing displays, mind turning over and over like a grinding gear. ARI's calm voice pulsed in his thoughts, overlaying tactical readouts across his inner vision.
> "Observation: anomaly detected. Hivebug swarm behavior patterns do not correlate with full retreat. Probability of mass regrouping event: 87%."
Sirius exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tight. "Yeah. I feel it too."
The quiet stretched until it was unbearable. Every soldier wanted to believe it was peace, but the unease sat heavy in their chests.
On the tenth day, the earth itself began to rumble.
At first, the soldiers laughed nervously, calling it thunder. But the vibrations grew deeper, shaking dust from bunkers, rattling ammo crates, making water ripple in canteens. Boots slid on trembling ground. Weapons clinked together in their racks.
Then came the smoke—dark plumes rising on the horizon, jagged and violent like volcanic eruptions. The wind carried it fast, acrid and choking, filling the sky with unnatural clouds.
Scouts shouted from the ridgelines, voices ragged with panic. "Burrows! Burrows opening across the valley!"
Shade, posted high on overwatch, adjusted his scope. His voice cut sharply across the comms, each word cold as steel. "Contact—massive swarm incoming. Normal bugs by the thousands. Tanks… at least a hundred. And something else—variants. Big ones."
The laughter died instantly. Helmets snapped back on. Fingers clenched rifles until knuckles turned white.
Sirius rose to his feet. The comms room seemed smaller suddenly, every gaze pulling toward him. He didn't hesitate. His voice cut across the channels like a blade.
"All units, ready yourselves!"
The command post froze. For weeks, many had thought of him as the eccentric genius, the boy laughing at wires and blueprints, the Renegade who stayed behind the lines. But now his tone carried with it the weight of command, deep and steady, and no one dared question it.
He keyed into every open channel.
"Infantry—double-check mags, form staggered firing lines. Medics—get your kits prepped, stock up on stretchers, and if you've got no patients right now, you're running ammo to the lines. Heavies—you're the first volley. Drop every Tank you can in the opening minute. After reload, rotate back so assault squads can push forward.
FAWS—get every auto-turret online and synced with our fire grid. Now."
He paused, long enough only to let the weight of his words settle. His heart thundered, but his voice was calm, strong, unshakable.
"Someone get word to High Command. Report swarm density, confirm variants. Let them know the front is about to burn again."
A chorus of affirmatives roared back. Soldiers scrambled, the haze of false hope burning away in the fire of urgency.
Shade's voice returned, quieter now, almost reverent. "You heard him. Thousands. And they're closing fast."
The horizon cracked open. The ground split wide. The swarm spilled forward—an ocean of skittering black bodies, claws clattering like rainfall on steel. Tanks lumbered in the rear, titanic shells gleaming like rolling fortresses. Strange, twisted shapes lumbered among them: Hivebugs no one had ever seen before, their limbs bristling with spines, mandibles sparking like live wires.
Even hardened veterans faltered. A young recruit vomited into the dirt before shoving his helmet back on, trembling. A medic dropped her satchel, fumbling to collect scattered bandages with shaking hands. One heavy whispered a prayer to gods long silent.
For a moment, silence stretched across the Terran line, heavy, suffocating. The storm was coming, and everyone felt it.
Then Sirius' voice roared across the comms.
"We have the tools of war! We've done this before—time and again! We have the training, the weapons, the grit! We will survive this!"
His words cracked like thunder, slicing through the dread. Soldiers froze—not in fear this time, but in focus.
"We've got Carbine X! We've got Shatterstorms! We've got turrets—and we've got each other!" His voice climbed, raw and fierce. "The bugs don't scare us. They bleed the same as before. Hold the line and show them humanity doesn't break!"
The silence broke into a roar.
From every trench, every barricade, every foxhole, soldiers bellowed as one:
"YEAH!"
Boots slammed into dirt. Rifles clacked as magazines slammed home. Shatterstorms spun to life, barrels glowing faintly with ready heat. Turrets unfolded, swiveling to lock onto the swarm.
Bear's mech knelt at the front, cannons charging with a deep, thrumming hum. His voice boomed over external speakers, rough and eager. "Renegade, you give the word—we make them pay!"
Stone Varga slammed a fist into his chestplate, rallying his squad with a snarl. "You heard Blake! First volley's ours! Let's tear them apart!"
Even medics shouted with them, hauling stretchers into place with renewed strength. Whisper Kade crossed herself quickly before tightening her straps and sprinting for the triage station. Sparks shoved fresh mags into waiting hands, her grin sharp despite the tension. Shade sighted down his rifle, eyes cold, steady, unshakable.
Across the entire outpost, Sirius' orders became reality. Soldiers who had slouched days ago now bristled with purpose. Fear had not vanished, but it had been forged into something sharper: defiance.
Sirius stood at the comms, sweat streaking through grime, lips curling into a feral grin. His voice carried the fire none could see, fierce and undeniable.
"Then let's give them hell."
The swarm howled.
The Terrans roared back.
And the storm broke.