The battlefield refused to settle.
Smoke still clung to the broken ground, drifting lazily through the air as if the land itself was struggling to breathe.
Craters scarred the surface. Shattered metal and scorched stone lay scattered like the remains of something that had once been whole.
Tema moved first.
She sprinted forward, boots striking the ground with sharp precision, telekinetic energy gathering around her like an invisible storm.
With a swift motion of her hand, she released a concentrated blast of force straight at Drayke.
The air screamed.
Drayke twisted aside at the last possible moment.
The blast tore past him and slammed into the terrain behind, carving a deep trench into the earth.
He staggered as he landed.
His vision blurred.
His breathing came out uneven, ragged.
He could feel it now—his body wasn't just injured, it was failing. Muscles felt hollow, bones heavy.
Every movement demanded more effort than the last, as if his own strength was being eaten away from the inside.
He was degenerating too fast.
Drayke straightened slowly, forcing himself to stay upright as his eyes scanned the battlefield.
Many heroes were down—broken, unconscious, barely clinging to life.
A few still stood, wounded but refusing to fall.
Tema was among them.
Still moving and dangerous.
Drayke clenched his jaw.
He made a decision.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he hurled a small dagger toward Tema—not with hope, but distraction.
Tema didn't even slow down.
The blade froze mid-air, crushed instantly by telekinetic pressure before dropping uselessly to the ground.
Her gaze sharpened, already reading his intent.
Drayke didn't wait.
He slammed his palm against space itself, forcing energy outward.
Reality split open, folding into a dark, unstable portal behind him.
Escape.
"We will fight someday el—"
Something latched onto his arm.
Drayke gasped and looked down.
A metallic gauntlet—sleek, unfamiliar, glowing faintly red—had clamped itself around his forearm.
Cables tightened. Locks snapped shut.
"…Not again," Drayke muttered, dread sinking into his chest.
The gauntlet pulled.
Hard.
Drayke struggled, trying to tear it off as the portal flickered violently beside him.
He slammed his arm against the ground, cursed, twisted—nothing worked.
"Let me help you, poor boy"
Tema didn't hesitate.
Telekinetic force surged.
With a brutal motion, she ripped his right arm clean away.
Drayke screamed.
Pain exploded through him, white-hot and overwhelming. Blood sprayed across the ground as his severed limb was hurled aside like discarded scrap.
The portal destabilized, collapsing inward with a sharp, violent snap.
Gone.
Drayke collapsed to his knees.
His breaths came fast and shallow, chest heaving.
Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the fractured planet.
The world spun.
For the first time since the battle began, Drayke understood something clearly.
He should have worked hard.
"…Finally," he rasped, voice barely audible. "The hard work paid off… huh."
A shadow passed over him.
From above, a sleek spacecraft descended through the smoke, engines humming softly as it hovered just above the battlefield.
A hatch opened, and Chitki dropped down with mechanical assistance from her suit, landing lightly despite the chaos around her.
She looked focused and serious.
Without wasting time, Chitki reached into a compartment and tossed a small, red, shimmering box onto Drayke's chest.
It was smooth, no larger than a clenched fist, glowing faintly with internal light.
"Have a taste of your own medicine," she said casually. "Ruby Box."
The box activated instantly.
Crimson light spilled outward, wrapping around Drayke's body like liquid energy.
He barely had time to react before the light snapped inward—compressing, folding, sealing.
In the next moment, Drayke was gone.
The box remained.
Same size. Glowing much brightly than before.
Chitki bent down, picked it up, and faintly smiled.
"Gotcha."
Behind her, Tema exhaled slowly, the strain of the battle finally catching up.
She straightened, blood streaked across her suit, and immediately shifted focus to the fallen heroes scattered across the field.
"Move fast," she said.
With precise telekinetic control, Tema began lifting the injured—carefully, gently—guiding them toward the hovering spacecraft.
One by one, bodies were pulled from the ground and carried inside.
When she reached Tuka, her expression tightened.
He was barely conscious, skin pale, breathing shallow. Blood loss had drained him dangerously close to the edge.
Tema didn't hesitate.
She lifted him first.
Inside the ship, medical systems activated automatically, stabilizing the wounded as they were brought aboard.
Chitki rejoined her, suit whirring softly as she assisted—reinforced limbs supporting broken bodies, systems scanning vitals in real time.
For all her usual chaos, she moved with surprising precision.
As they worked, Tema glanced sideways.
"That suit clutch wasn't bad," she said.
"Looks like you're learning a few things from me."
Chitki scoffed lightly.
"Or maybe," she replied, "I was just born gifted!."
Tema allowed herself the smallest smile.
"Can't believe I lead a bunch of delulu's"
Once the last injured hero was secured, Chitki initiated a full-area scan.
Holographic grids swept across the battlefield, searching for residual energy signatures, hidden threats, or signs of pursuit.
Nothing.
"All clear," Chitki said. "No traces left."
Tema nodded. "Good."
The spacecraft engines intensified, lifting them higher as the ruined land of Marsh shrank below.
Smoke, fire, and silence were all that remained behind.
As the ship turned toward Earth, the weight of the battle finally settled in.
One of the hardest fights was over.
But its echoes would follow them home.