The canyon lay in ruins behind them, carved by fire and sealed in blood. The crater that once held the titan now smoldered, black steam rising in slow coils. The Warmachines limped forward, their boots cracking molten debris as they pushed toward the evac point. Armor was scorched, blades dulled, visors cracked—but none faltered.
Maverick led the way, plasma hammer hanging from one hand, its core still glowing like a dying star. Around him moved the others—Valkar bloodied but unbent, Fitus and Riven guarding the flanks, Candren still scanning with his cannon humming low. And Mitus, breathing hard but walking tall, his blades sheathed at his back.
They crested a ridge near the extraction zone—where the skies opened just enough for the evac ship's shadow to sweep the ground ahead of it. The platform below awaited, battered but intact.
Mitus exhaled, helmet off, sweat cutting lines through the dust on his face.
"We made it," he whispered.
"No," Maverick growled, his voice sharp and low. "We didn't."
The ground trembled.
A sound like a heartbeat—but wrong—thudded in the stone beneath their boots. A slow pulse that grew louder. Faster. Rhythmic. And then it became a roar. Not a voice. Not a beast. But the united scream of something beyond reason.
One.
Hundred.
Thousand.
They came from every fissure, every hill, every shattered valley. A swarm of obsidian and fire, stretching to the horizon like a tidal wave of death. Creatures formed from dust, ash, and hate—beasts born of Vornex Prime and Armatus' blood-fueled will.
Riven took a step back. "This… this is not a patrol."
Candren's cannon locked into place. "This is an extermination."
Valkar snarled, stepping forward to stand beside Maverick. "Then we don't run."
Fitus slammed a new magazine into his rifle. "Let them come."
Maverick stood at the front, eyes scanning the inferno on the horizon.
"They were never coming for this world," he said.
"They came for us."
The swarm charged.
⸻
The world exploded in motion.
Flames roared across the field as Candren unleashed hell from his shock cannon, reducing swaths of beasts to molten shrapnel. Riven fired dual volleys into the flanks, carving trenches of fire through the tide.
Mitus darted into the storm like a possessed godling, slicing limbs and skulls in blinding arcs, a blur of rage and fire.
Valkar barreled into the fray with both fists, smashing beast after beast into pieces—teeth, horns, and burning blood flying in every direction.
Fitus anchored the rear, providing suppressive fire with brutal precision, gunning down anything that tried to flank.
And Maverick—
He moved through them like a black hole.
Shockwave gauntlets exploded in wide pulses, sending dozens of beasts flying like broken statues. His hammer cracked skulls and craters alike. Every step crushed another enemy. Every roar of his armor was the funeral bell of a legion.
They fought for minutes that felt like hours.
And still they came.
Still.
They.
Came.
Mitus was the first to stagger. A beast landed a blow against his side—his armor cracked. Another swiped from behind, claws catching his backplate.
He dropped to one knee.
"Mitus!" Valkar turned—but was blocked by a trio of charging monsters.
Mitus stood again, only to see a massive brute, twice the size of the others, leaping toward him from above. He raised his arms—but knew it wouldn't be enough.
Time slowed.
The shadow fell.
And then—
Maverick was there.
He tackled the brute mid-air, both of them crashing to the ground in a burst of shattered rock. He drove his gauntlet through its skull and flung its corpse like a comet into the swarm.
He turned, standing over Mitus.
"You don't fall," Maverick said, voice like an ancient drum.
Mitus, wide-eyed and heaving, nodded wordlessly and rose again.
⸻
The evac ship roared overhead, lowering like a blade from heaven.
"Get to the platform!" Candren called. "Now!"
They pulled back together, slashing, stomping, breaking everything in their path. Valkar hoisted Fitus by the collar after a wound slowed him. Riven dragged Mitus up the ramp. Candren fired his last charge into the mass of enemies below.
And Maverick?
Maverick turned mid-leap, still outside the ship, and fired one final blast from his plasma hammer—igniting the sky in molten light.
He landed on the ramp.
The ship sealed shut.
Silence fell.
Only the thunder of the horde pounding on the mountain below remained.
⸻
Inside, the Warmachines stood—panting, bleeding, smoke curling off their armor.
No one spoke.
Until Fitus looked at Maverick and said quietly, "…I didn't know you were that strong."
Valkar nodded. "I did."
Mitus, coughing, smiled faintly. "Glad you were."
Maverick didn't respond.
But the look in his eyes was something new.
Not pride.
Not relief.
Something closer to kinship.
To belonging.
The ship ascended.
Earth waited.
And far below, in the crater of the fallen titan, a single ember on Riven's boot flared bright.
Armatus had seen.
And the war had only just begun.
___________________________________
The interior of the evac ship thrummed with low vibrations as it pulled away from the fractured planet. Dust still clung to the ridges of their armor. Blood—some their own, some unknown—had dried in the creases of their joints. No one spoke.
Not at first.
The six Warmachines sat in silence, weapons holstered, shoulders heavy, their breathing slow and rhythmic in the dark red glow of the cabin lights.
Mitus lay on a padded med-bench, armor scorched, his chestplate cracked from where the colossal beast had slammed him into stone. His eyes were open but dazed, flicking from one face to another, silently counting his brothers.
Riven sat closest, one leg bouncing with residual adrenaline. "That was more than a mission," he finally muttered. "That was… something else."
Fitus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We've all seen hell. I thought we knew what it looked like. But that…" He looked at the floor. "That was a glimpse of something worse."
Valkar didn't speak. He merely stared at his gauntlet, clenching and unclenching it slowly. The cracks on his shoulder armor were still glowing faint orange.
Candren finally looked toward Maverick. "That beast. The titan. You broke it with one strike. I've seen you do miracles, brother, but that—" He stopped himself. "You hid that strength from us."
Maverick's voice came low, but it filled the chamber.
"I didn't hide it."
He looked up, meeting each of their eyes.
"I was saving it."
The others looked to each other, a silence of mutual respect building in their posture. Not awe. Not fear. But something deeper. Brotherhood forged in fire.
Mitus groaned, trying to sit up.
Fitus rushed to his side. "Easy. You took a hit no one should've survived."
"I'm good," Mitus rasped, coughing. "I'm built like a Warmachine, remember?"
"You're built like a prototype," Riven smirked. "One that forgot his armor's on backward."
Mitus laughed once—then winced as his chest tightened. But the warmth in the laughter lingered.
A Bringer approached from the rear of the ship, his cloak whispering against the steel floor. The figure carried a black case, opening it to reveal syringes, bone regenerators, and repair foam.
"I'll tend to the younger one," the Bringer said, voice mechanical but gentle.
"No," Mitus said, his voice stronger now. "Let me heal on my own. I want to feel it. Earn it."
The Bringer hesitated, then slowly stepped back.
Maverick gave a faint nod of approval.
Valkar, for the first time, broke his silence. "It wasn't just a beast. That thing was bred for one purpose: to test us. And we passed."
Candren shook his head. "Barely. If we'd been any slower…"
Maverick cut in. "But we weren't."
That silenced them all.
Riven leaned his head back against the wall, breathing deeply. "I'll say it. This team… us together? We're something else. For once, I don't feel like we're just surviving. I feel like we're winning."
A beat passed.
Then Valkar said, "Then we make sure we keep winning."
⸻
At the rear of the cabin, near the weapons racks, something shifted.
A soft ember flickered—no brighter than a matchhead—nestled into the cracks of Riven's left boot.
It pulsed faintly, no bigger than a splinter.
And then it vanished.
Absorbed.
Unnoticed.
⸻
Mitus drifted into a light sleep, his breathing steady. One arm crossed over his chest, the other loosely curled at his side.
The ship continued toward Earth, engines burning silently through the void.
Maverick sat in stillness.
The others were quiet.
And somewhere, far beyond the black, a god of vengeance stirred.