The battlefield was hell.
The air reeked of scorched metal and ionized smoke. Energy rounds tore through shattered barricades, lighting the debris-strewn hillside in chaotic pulses. The Dezune soldiers advanced in fluid formation, exo-suits hissing with every calculated step. Five of them carried rifles that roared with blinding streaks of hyper-velocity plasma, while the other five closed in with humming high-frequency blades, slicing through cover and flesh with terrifying ease.
Aera's breath was ragged. She ducked beneath a crumbling support beam, narrowly avoiding a beam that scorched the air inches above her head. She barked into her comms. "Echo, flank left! Vanguard, keep those riflemen pinned!"
Beside her, Elian moved like a ghost, his armor smeared with dirt and soot. He gave a silent nod and dashed ahead, leading a maneuver that split the Dezune formation. Flashbangs burst like silent flowers—brilliant, disorienting. The soldiers of Kael's bastion rallied behind him.
Aera pulled herself up, pressing against a piece of concrete wall riddled with shrapnel holes. Her chest heaved. She wasn't a genius tactician like Elian. She wasn't a super soldier. But she was something else.
She stood.
And then she shouted.
"Don't let them walk over you! This is our ground! Our people are watching—we fight so they don't have to!"
Her voice sliced through the chaos like a blade. Soldiers who were faltering found their second wind. The wounded crawled back to cover, reloading, returning fire. She didn't need perfect planning—she had will.
She dashed to a downed trooper, pulling him up with both arms. "On your feet, soldier! I'll cover!"
He grunted. "You're crazy."
"Maybe," Aera replied, firing blindly toward a shadow darting through smoke. "But I'm not dead."
The battle turned into a brutal grind. Elian set traps—trip mines and improvised EMP bursts that slowed down the advance of the blade-wielders. One of the Dezune riflemen fell to a collapsing support beam, detonated by a precise blast.
Still, the Dezune troops were relentless.
Aera skidded into a pile of broken rebar, her arm slick with blood—her own or someone else's, she didn't know. She looked up to see one of the blade soldiers charging toward her. Fast. Too fast.
Her hands scrambled for her sidearm.
Then a shot rang out. Clean. Icy.
The blade soldier fell mid-sprint, a hole burned through his helmet.
A drone hovered briefly overhead. Sleek. Silent. Kael's mark glowed on its shell.
Aera exhaled in relief.
Kael's voice entered her earpiece. "Reinforcements landing. Thirty seconds. Keep them distracted."
She coughed, laughed once, and grabbed her rifle again. "Gladly."
When Kael's reinforcements arrived, the tide shifted like a crashing wave.
Automated turrets deployed first, laying suppressive fire that pinned the remaining Dezune riflemen. Kael's second unit, clad in matte gray armor and precision-focused, moved with ruthless efficiency. The Empire troops began to fall back.
Aera leaned against the rubble, watching the Dezune retreat with clenched fists. Her heart pounded with fury and satisfaction.
They had survived.
And more than that—they had fought back.
Elian knelt beside her, checking her wounds. "We need more than survival next time."
Aera nodded. "Then we lead better."
She didn't say it aloud, but something had sparked in her that day. Not just defiance.
Conviction.
The Empire wouldn't stop.
But neither would they.