Liam wiped blood from his nose, the shard's faint pulse a dull ache in his hand. Commander Rykov loomed over him, his visor reflecting the dim violet glow of the battlefield.
"That shard's a beacon," Rykov said, voice cold. "They'll be back—faster. Stronger."
Mara groaned, smirking weakly as she rubbed her bruised ribs and pushed herself up from the cracked earth. Elise stood beside her, jagged metal weapon discarded, eyes scanning the horizon.
The warlord Voidborn's corpse lay in a shattered heap, its violet runes extinguished. The rift was gone—its collapse leaving a scar of scorched earth—but the air still hummed with charged silence. In the distance, Voidborn eyes glimmered brighter—gathering like a storm on the horizon.
Rykov turned to his crew, barking, "Set up a perimeter—those things won't wait long!" His exosuit whirred as his team deployed energy barriers. The fragile blue glow spread across the Wastes, a temporary shield against the encroaching dark.
