The laughter didn't die quickly. It spread in waves, uneven and broken, tumbling through exhaustion and blood-soaked dirt. Soldiers laughed with cracked lips and bandaged arms. Medics shook their heads while stitching wounds, grinning despite the gore on their gloves. Even Stone's roaring laugh boomed over the trenches like artillery fire, while Bear's mech let out mechanical alarms as he pounded his controls in hysterics.
And Sirius Blake, leaning on his Carbine X like it was the only thing holding him upright, grinned faintly at the chaos. To him, the words he'd spoken hadn't been a joke. Not really. They were truth. His weapons—his "babies"—were the reason they'd survived.
But to the Terran lines, the phrase became something more. A spark in the ash. A war-cry twisted into humor. A reminder that even staring death in the face, even with a Hive Queen screaming into their skulls, they could still laugh.
"Let my babies kill you, bug!" one infantryman shouted, raising his rifle overhead. Others echoed it, half-choking on their own laughter. Within minutes, battered voices turned it into a chant.
"LET MY BABIES KILL YOU, BUG!"
The sound rolled down the trenches, spreading to every squad, every medic, every heavy weapon still standing. Mech pilots shouted it over open comms. Whisper, stitching a soldier's leg with trembling hands, muttered it like a prayer under her breath. Shade, perched on a shattered ridge, whispered it with a smirk as he reloaded his rifle.
And when the chant reached Bear's cockpit, he barked through his speakers, voice rumbling with pride. "Renegade Blake! You crazy bastard!"
Sirius' grin grew wider, but his shoulders slumped. He could barely hold himself up, barely keep his vision clear. ARI's voice flickered softly in his mind, not broken this time, but weary.
"Operator. Confirmation: morale stabilized. Survival probability improved by twenty-eight percent due to psychological uplift."
Sirius chuckled, coughing through blood on his lips. "Guess even jokes have stats, huh?"
"Affirmative. Observation: your words carry… influence."
"Don't start sounding like Loras on me," Sirius muttered.
But deep down, he knew ARI was right.
The Hive Queen fragment lay broken, but not gone. Its psychic interference had collapsed, leaving silence and smoke. Thousands of Hivebug corpses carpeted the battlefield, ichor turning the soil into black tar. The stench of burnt flesh and gunpowder clung to the air, thicker than fog.
And yet… the Terrans had held.
Hours later, while soldiers dug in and medics worked without rest, the surviving units gathered in the largest trench. Commanders shouted roll calls. Casualties were tallied. Whisper's voice rasped over the din, confirming the wounded were stable. Bear's mech crouched in silence, cooling steam hissing through ruptured vents.
Sirius sat on a broken ammo crate, helmet off, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood. He wiped his face with a rag, smearing grime instead of cleaning it. Stone dropped beside him with a grunt, slamming his autocannon into the dirt like a flag.
"You're insane," Stone said flatly, though his lips twitched. "But gods help me… I'm glad you're on our side."
Bear's mech let out a mechanical groan as the cockpit opened. The massive pilot climbed down, armor dented, face streaked with grease. He clapped Sirius on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked him sideways. "Renegade. If I live to a hundred, I'll never forget that line."
Sirius winced, but he chuckled. "Didn't know it'd stick."
"Oh, it stuck," Stone muttered. "Too damn much."
Shade approached quietly, rifle slung over his back, expression as unreadable as ever. He stopped in front of Sirius, studied him for a long moment, then smirked faintly. "Idiot."
Whisper passed by, arms full of bloodied bandages. She didn't stop, but she leaned down just enough to mutter, "Never scare me like that again."
Sirius blinked, then grinned tiredly. "No promises."
Later that night, as soldiers collapsed into uneasy rest, the words still lingered. Whispered around fires. Scribbled as graffiti on mech plating. Murmured as a joke between exhausted medics.
Renegade Blake's line had become part of the battlefield.
But it wasn't just the trenches listening.
Back in Terran High Command, the feed of Sirius' final words had spread like wildfire. Generals replayed it in silence. Analysts scribbled notes. Colonels smirked despite themselves.
"He's reckless," one general said, arms crossed.
"He's effective," another countered. "Did you see the numbers? Casualties reduced by nearly half compared to projections."
"He's dangerous," a third muttered.
"Dangerous is what we need," the second replied coldly. "We've been surviving thirty years. Now it's time to fight back."
Chief Engineer Loras stood in the briefing chamber, silent as the officers debated. Finally, he spoke. "Gentlemen. You can argue what to call him. Genius, lunatic, miracle worker. But on that battlefield, every soldier heard him. And they lived because of him. Renegade Blake isn't just a technician anymore. He's a weapon."
The room fell quiet. Even the generals, stone-faced and stubborn, could not deny it.
"Then we use him," one finally said. "And we follow his lead."
Word spread fast. Within days, soldiers across multiple sectors heard the story. Some thought it rumor. Others swore it was truth. But it didn't matter. The legend had taken root.
Renegade Blake—madman, genius, laughing storm—was no longer just a name whispered in barracks. He was a banner.
In the following week, Sirius trained beside his friends, his lean body hardened from months of drills. The Optic Helmets he'd designed now gleamed on infantry, synced with ammo counters and thermal displays. The Shatterstorm roared in heavy squads' hands. Carbine X rifles sang across the front.
The tools of war—the "babies" Sirius had built—were no longer blueprints in a workshop. They were the backbone of Terran survival.
And as Sirius watched from the trenches, Carbine X cradled in his arms, he allowed himself a small, tired grin.
ARI's voice whispered softly in his mind. "Operator. You are becoming more than inventor. More than soldier. You are… leader."
Sirius chuckled under his breath. "Leader, huh? Don't let Stone hear that. He'll never let me live it down."
But even as he joked, his eyes hardened on the horizon. The Hive Queen fragment was dead, but not the Hive. The war was far from over. The swarm would come again, stronger, smarter, deadlier.
And when it did, Sirius Blake—the Renegade—would be waiting.