Chapter 2: Still, Move Forward!

"Do you ever just, you know, get the feeling that something's missing?"

Nia stopped chewing mid-bite, the flimsy bacon dangling against her chin. Rex usually spent so much time chowing down at breakfast that he never bothered to talk, much less ask random, vague questions. "Whaddya mean?"

"I-I dunno exactly. I just sometimes get the feeling that something's missing."

"Oh, you mean the rest of the planet? In case you haven't noticed, most of our continent is missing. And half the world's gone."

Rex twirled his spoon in his porridge. "I keep having this dream. There's this...this girl."

Nia bristled, hoping Rex didn't notice the reaction. He did.

"Not like a real girl," Rex said hurriedly, which proved more confusing than helpful. "She's like some sorta...I dunno, an angel, maybe? She's not human. But in the dream, she keeps asking me to help her find Elysium."

She couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of her belly. "Metal head, that's just your subconscious processing your mission today. Don't put any stock in it."

"But I had this dream before I even heard about the ship! I swear!" Rex protested. He lowered his voice. "You know that old story Corrine used to tell me? About Hades, the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, and all that stuff?"

"That's a myth, Rex. Somebody made that guff up."

"But what if it isn't? What if there's more out there? Whenever I have that dream, I get this feeling that there's more to life than this. And that there should be other people living this life with us. And that somehow, if we could find them, we'd find a way to make everything okay again. There's just gotta be something better than this."

Nia shook her head. Such naive ramblings were part of Rex's charm—even in a crummy life like this, he found ways to hope for something better. No one thought that way anymore. Sure, his dreams were probably the byproduct of survival guilt and the stress of his task. But that just made him more likable.

The sweet, sometimes-oblivious, lovable little dork.

Figures that he would contemplate metaphysical questions today, though. It wasn't an entirely new question, either. Occasionally he'd get that look in his eye that showed he was dreaming about some vague, blissful "beyond." She herself tried not to dwell on those thoughts too much. After all, the ideas of "Where am I going?" and "Where did I come from?" never quite sat right for people like her. The only thing worse than not knowing one's origins was to know them and feel somehow inadequate or unwanted because of it—and coming from the Conduit Project lab did exactly that. However, it made sense that Rex was thinking so deeply today. With the mission looming, it was remarkable that he even wanted breakfast.

The dreams, the mission—he needed to stop dwelling on it all.

"Don't worry about that guff, Rex. We've got plenty of things to pay attention to right here. Now eat your damn porridge. Can't have you collapsing on the job out there today."

"Not so loud! No one else can know. I wasn't even supposed to tell you."

"Relax, your secret's safe, blabbermouth."

"Oh, there's the others," Rex commented, noticing their companions headed for their table. "Please, if they say anything, pretend not to know."

"Yeah, yeah."

In a matter of seconds, they found themselves surrounded by their friends. Had Nia not known any better, she wouldn't have suspected that they had been tasked with a deadly mission for the day. Zeke, Lora, and Mòrag all hid their emotions well. Rex, however, didn't. His face looked as though he felt guilty that they had to protect him. He couldn't make eye contact with them. Someone needed to get his mind off it. And as always, the job fell to her. Teasing Zeke usually did the trick…

"Oi, Mòrag!" Nia piped up. "What's that red mark on your neck?"

The older soldier nearly snorted, choking down a gulp of black coffee. Her face turned as bright as the mark in question. "M-mosquito bite."

Zeke plopped his breakfast tray in the spot next to Mòrag's. "Hey chaps!" he said cheerfully.

"Hey, mosquito," Nia shot back.

Lora snorted, nearly spraying orange juice out her nose.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rex asked, clearly confused. "I thought you called him Shellhead."

"Idiot. Figure it out yourself."

Rex glanced back and forth between Nia, Mòrag, and then Zeke, and Lora, the latter trying her best to bury her own amusement over her roommate's plight. Not even the couple's cherry-red faces could clue Rex in, though. Which meant her sarcastic quip had worked—now Rex was too busy trying to figure out the joke to contemplate the darker side of the day. Once the initial laughter and embarrassment wore off, the group settled into nervous chatter between bites. Rex joined in, apparently already feeling better.

Rex, you better come out of this mess alive, she thought.

She herself had never cared much about living and dying (did the results of experiments even have the right to care about such things?). Snuffing it didn't perturb her. But the thought of Rex dying—that she cared about. He was so young, so hopeful. Sure, he was naive at times, but the world needed more of his childish, optimistic innocence. And maybe he was right about the whole idea of there being some "better place" out there. Maybe Rex was the only one who thought that way because he was the only one left purehearted enough to look for it.

No, Rex couldn't die. Not today. Not ever.

"I'm still not convinced that we shouldn't send her," Hugo pointed out.

Addam frowned. An hour before dispatching the team was not the time to be having this argument over again. He'd made up his mind.

"She's entirely too volatile. Her abilities are powerful, sure, but she doesn't have full control of them. It's too much of a risk."

"She could be the difference between life and death for the team."

"And there's an equal chance she could be the death of them."

Hugo persisted, his arms tucked behind his back in that stubborn resolve that only an Ardanach could manage. Come to think of it, Mòrag frequently did the same thing. "You can't expect her to learn how to control her abilities if she never uses them."

"She doesn't even understand her own abilities. And if they became common knowledge, we'd have absolute chaos on our hands. And heaven forbid she accidentally hurt someone! The people would riot. The Special Force would lose all its authority. What little order we have here would crumble."

"I still think it's a risk worth taking. Our survival rides on this mission's success, does it not?"

Addam shook his head in resignation. Hugo had that much right, but Addam wished his fellow leader would drop it. This argument was just another manifestation of their differing military philosophies. Addam himself favored more conservative tactics—the primary reason he'd been voted to have the final call when he and his military peer disagreed. It just seemed best, at times like these, to preserve life and property as much as he could. Not that Hugo didn't care for such things. Quite the opposite, really. But Hugo tended to take full advantage of the resources they had at their disposal. He was not risk-averse. And he came by that tendency honestly; his nation-state—when it existed, of course—jumped at opportunities, risks be damned. Torna, however, preserved its proud traditions as much as possible. When things like national identities fell away in the Calamity, those worldviews still permeated their decisions.

Which left them here, arguing about the wildcard in their ranks.

She insisted she could control her abilities. And Addam wished he could believe her. But there was that one incident with her adoptive "father" and "sister." It happened right after the Calamity—something about the energy anomalies after the crash seemed to throw her so-called talents into a state of unpredictability. Since then, Addam had forbidden her from using them. Lowering the age threshold for the Force was just their way of keeping her on a short leash. Harsh, but necessary. She'd complied with her orders, too—although Addam suspected it was more for fear of repeating her worst mistake than real obedience.

The look on her face when they'd discovered her after the incident...the memory made him shudder to this day.

"The team stays the way it is," Addam insisted. "Speaking of which, they'll be here any minute. Please go and see that their transport is prepared."

"Consider it done," Hugo replied.

But Addam could still read the unspoken critique in his eyes: You'd best hope this decision doesn't come back to haunt you. He left without another word.

Addam sighed. This wasn't their first disagreement, and it probably wouldn't be their last. How their friendship survived their vastly different leadership philosophies, he didn't know. But as Zeke, Rex, Mòrag, and Lora trailed into the command center for their final briefing, Addam wondered if perhaps, in some other lifetime, he and Hugo might have enjoyed a friendship without the stress of different leadership styles.

"The Swords and Shots of Shining Justice, reporting for duty, sir!" Zeke shouted first. All three of his teammates rolled their eyes.

"That's a rather flashy name, don't you think?" Lora asked pointedly. "It's tacky."

"Oi, don't bash it unless you've got a better suggestion."

"I'm not sure why we need to name our squad? It's a covert mission, after all."

"For radio communications, of course!" Zeke continued, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "So when we report in, Addam and Hugo know who we are."

"It should be succinct, then," Mòrag added. Zeke looked hurt that she'd taken her roommate's side of the argument.

Addam interrupted. "Aegis Squad."

The guys on the squad gasped in unison.

"Sounds cool. Godlike, like Ares himself is gonna come down and punch those Guldo to death," Zeke commented.

"Athena. Not Ares," corrected Mòrag. "Wisdom, not war, hothead."

"The name is only fitting," the lieutenant general replied, nipping the mythology discussion in the bud. "If you succeed in this mission, then you four will be defending humanity from the brink of extinction. I pray you will live up to the name. Now let's get to work, shall we?"

The squad name was nothing more than a formality, really. But if they ever did need to radio into base, they'd have to be quick. At the very least, the command center would need to know immediately if the mission succeeded or failed. And so Addam divvied up the last of the equipment the soldiers would need, radios included.

"Here, Rex. Let me help you with that," Lora volunteered, noticing that the youngest team member struggled with his radio.

The young soldier gave a weak smile and passed his earpiece over. No one could blame him for struggling with the tech. Who wouldn't feel nervous at a time like this?

Mòrag watched from across the room, grateful that Lora had a way with kids. The auburn-haired woman was already managing to help the young salvager calm down. Mòrag herself would have taken hours to find the right words to soothe him—if she found them at all. She took a deep breath and proceeded to don her own equipment, trying not to think about the fact that this might be the last time she did so. A mic and earpiece of her own, and backup batteries to slip into one of the many pockets on her shorts. A cargo jacket over her base layer—a specially crafted, form-fitting shirt infused with something like kevlar but thinner and more supple. Most soldiers had more basic protective gear; hers had been given to her by her father, designed to suit her agile-yet-up-close-and-personal fighting style.

Hopefully I can make him proud today. And Niall.

She pushed the thought away. It would do no good to tear up now. Dying wouldn't be so bad. It was the thought of letting everyone down that scared her. All of humanity needed them to succeed. As overdramatic as Addam made it sound, the world truly was crumbling beneath their feet. Maybe it was idealistic to hope that the Elysium could save them, but they had to try.

No one else spoke as they finished the last preparations—not even Addam and Zeke. Then came the final instructions. Mòrag recognized all the words; she'd memorized them at yesterday's meeting. But the lieutenant general rehearsed them one last time. Better over-prepared than underprepared.

By the time Addam finished the explanation, Hugo reentered the room. His expression looked even grimmer than usual.

"The transport's ready," he said quietly. "It's time to go."

Then he saluted—right fist over left chest, clenched in determination. Dedication to give one's heart. The small squad of four returned the gesture, each secretly hoping they wouldn't have to make good on that vow and yet unable to ignore that looming possibility. And without another word, they turned to board their transport. Zeke, Lora, and Rex all exited quickly. Mòrag moved to follow, but a hand clapped around her wrist.

She stopped short. "Hugo?"

His blue eyes met hers, and she felt that familiar stab of pain in her chest all over again. Why did he have to look so much like Niall? And why did he want to talk now, of all times? Deep down, she knew why; it felt wrong, somehow, for one of them to die with this pointless icy relationship between them. Niall wouldn't have wanted his death to drive them apart. Better to say their goodbyes on a peaceful note. And yet, it seemed like too little, too late.

"I-I'll see you later," she said hurriedly. She didn't want to have this conversation now—certainly not with Addam watching. And not when she ought to be steeling herself for the fight ahead.

"Niall looked up to you. He admired you so much," Hugo whispered. "I hope you know that."

She gave a terse nod in response. What was she possibly supposed to say to that? She pulled her wrist from his grip, torn between the urge to smack him for mentioning him at a time like this and the desire to pull him into a hug. Tensions aside, they were still family. She took a step back.

"I need to go."

"Be safe out there, sister."

For a moment, she wondered if it was Hugo's voice or Niall's saying those words. Sister—not by blood, but by choice. Still family. She swallowed hard, muttered a vague promise that she would do her best, and left the command center for the last time. When she slammed the door behind her, a great weight settled in the bottom of her stomach. But whether it was guilt over not saying more or fear for the pending mission, she couldn't tell.

She climbed into the utility vehicle's front passenger seat, ignoring Zeke's questioning glance. The click of her seatbelt had an air of finality to it.

"Everyone ready?" Zeke asked.

Lora fiddled with the talisman that hung alongside her dog tags. "Let's get to it," she replied.

The SUV roared to life as Zeke floored it. Maybe in another life, he would have won the nickname "Thunderbolt" for being the fastest racecar driver, not the fastest fighter on the Force. Maybe in another life, they wouldn't be recklessly charging towards Elysium, half-blind to the dangers along the way. But life didn't work that way.

Or did it?

As they traveled, they verbally rehearsed the field tactics for the mission, reviewing the contingencies and double-checking that Rex really did remember the color codes for his signal flares. Once he was onboard the Elysium, it would be hard for him to communicate via radio—the noise of the engines would overpower his voice easily. The flares made for decent communication devices in a pinch. Bright neon blue meant he'd commenced repairs on the ship. A red flare designated a Guldo attack inside the engine room. Yellow meant he needed assistance with the repair but wasn't in any danger. And green meant the ship was repaired and it was time to "get the hell out of there," as Zeke put it.

"And the white one means...that I've been overrun completely and can't fight anymore," Rex mumbled. His fingers quivered along the cap of that last flare cartridge.

"You won't have to use that one," Lora said reassuringly. "Now zip those up safely in your pouch, okay?"

If everything went well, it would be a simple in-and-out operation. They would drive their utility vehicle to Ontos Street and park there. That was as deep into Guldo territory as they risked going by car; for some reason, automobiles—or any kind of man-made craft, really—seemed to irritate the Guldo. At Ontos Street, they'd gather their supplies and continue on foot, avoiding conflict whenever they could. After that, they'd rely on Mòrag's strategies.

Inevitably, a block away from Ontos, their plans got derailed. Almost completely.

The car careened over a speedbump. If not for their seatbelts, their heads might have brushed against the roof.

"Ow-ow! Tora's wing!"

Zeke braked, and they came to a screeching halt. Everyone in the car turned to look at the trunk where their supplies lay. But now that they looked more closely, they realized that two of the sacks looked suspiciously lumpy. And one leaked...feathers?

Rex's mouth hung open. "Guldo's foot! Tora, what are you doing here?"

The Nopon wriggled out of the sack he'd stowed away in, shedding even more feathers with every movement. His uniform bunched up around his stomach in a mass of wrinkled fabric and body armor. One little boot nearly dangled off his toes, as if he'd been in the middle of tying the shoe when he'd been forced to hide. His flame cannon hung over his shoulder.

"Tora come to protect friend Rex-Rex! Fireballs will be big help on mission."

"You cheeky, brave, upstart, selfless, stupid little furball!" Zeke exclaimed, muttering a few other choice words under his breath before continuing. "What possessed you to do that? We're walking into the belly of the beast here."

"It not Tora's idea! Tora just following orders of mean—"

The Nopon clapped a wing over his mouth. Everyone else eyed the other cargo sacks suspiciously.

"Nia. Get out here," Mòrag ordered.

An annoyed hiss echoed from the sack in question, followed by colorful curses until the Gormotti got her head free.

"Who in the bloodiest hell let Shellhead drive?" she demanded. She kicked the last remnant of the sack off the toe of her boot. "You drive like a lunatic, you moron. I think you broke my arse!"

The girl's ears slicked back as she rubbed her sore rump. Contrary to her words, she moved well enough. No real damage had been done.

"What are you guys doing here?" Rex asked again.

Nia's cheeks turned the subtlest shade of pink. "I um, I mean, we didn't want you to get hurt. So we found the truck they were using for the mission and hid in it. So we could help protect you."

"You two weren't even supposed to know about this mission," Lora said. Her voice held the tiniest hint of a lecture while still sounding kind—a tone only she could manage. Nia and Tora stared at the floor beneath them, duly scolded. Rex looked bashful, too.

Zeke shifted into reverse. "We'll get you as far as Alvis street," he volunteered. "Can you find your way back to base from there?"

"No! You have to take us with you!" Nia protested.

"It's too dangerous. I'm not taking a bunch of kids down there. Addam never cleared you for this mission."

"But we—"

"Zeke, there's no time to take them back to base," Addam interrupted, his voice scratchy and broken over the distant radio waves. But through the interference, they could hear his resigned frustration loud and clear. "The sixth platoon's serving as a decoy, remember? Their skirmish in Sector Nine is drawing some of the Guldo out of the area. If you take Tora and Nia back, we'll lose that window of opportunity. I...I don't like it, but they'll have to stay with you."

"But your strategies—can we make it work with six?" Zeke asked Mòrag. "Guarding Rex is going to be hard enough as it is."

"...We'll send them onto the ship with him," Mòrag suggested. "As long as we maintain the chokepoints like we've planned, it should still work."

The Thunderbolt sighed loudly and put the vehicle back in gear. "Fine," he growled. "But you kids gotta follow every single order the three of us adults give you, ya hear? No buts, no excuses. We clear?"

All three younger soldiers nodded hurriedly, fear lining their eyes. Zeke's anger must have made the gravity of the situation sink in for them. Not that Zeke never lost his temper—he frequently spouted off colorful language when a fight went poorly. But that was always directed at enemies, not comrades. For his frustration to be pointed at them meant that their usual jokester felt truly nervous. And that knowledge would frighten anyone.

"Crystal clear," Rex choked out.

Their transport lurched back into motion again. As they traveled the remaining block, Mòrag updated their formation to accommodate their unexpected comrades. Lora and Mòrag in front. Rex several paces behind them, with Nia and Tora positioned on either side of him. Zeke taking up the rear. A simple setup, but it would best protect Rex from harm.

The rest of the journey was over even before she finished her explanation. They tumbled out of the car, weapons drawn. As soon as Nia and Tora were added into their radio frequency, the group set out.

"There's fewer Guldo than the last time I was here," Lora commented, winding her plasma whip into a loop she could sling out in a moment's notice.

"That's good. Squadron Six's decoy is working. Let's hope our luck holds."

"Let's move out, then."

For a long time, all they heard was the sound of their own footsteps, the rustle of their clothing, and a cold breeze slipping between the skeletal remains of Morytha's skyscrapers. They almost would have preferred some noise; this eerie silence made them shiver. These streets—how long had it been since they echoed with the hustle and bustle of normal life? Rex, Nia, and Tora were too young to remember it. But the others could recall the days when cars littered these streets, when the greatest worry was missing the bus, not that a Guldo would jump out from an alleyway. And the lights and music and spectacle! Without the glow of streetlights and LED billboards, the streets felt dark, even in broad daylight.

Zeke vividly recalled all the high society parties he'd attended at the capitol. How he'd hated the unnecessary spectacle of those events. Most of them were just stupid opportunities for the politicians to show off their wealth, or for some, their latest girlfriend. His father—a governor back when such titles mattered—said they were crucial opportunities to "network." Whatever that meant, especially since his own father favored isolationist policies in the actual political arena. In reality, the parties had been an excuse for the upper echelon to gorge themselves on rich cuisine, get wasted, and suck up to the people in charge. As much as he'd hated the parties, he'd give anything to attend one today, for the noise more than anything else. Because this silence made him want to hurl.

Zeke practically crashed into Rex before he realized that the rest of the group had stopped in the middle of the alleyway. That didn't seem right; they still had three or four blocks to go. Then he saw it: four Zalidor Guldo. Apparently the decoy only helped so much. The creatures stood still as statues, blocking their path. He hated it when they stayed so motionless; it made him wonder if he got too close, he might turn into a statue, too.

"Do we go around?" Nia whispered.

Mòrag shook her head. "We don't have time. And this route is the least overrun with hostiles. We go through. Tora, Zeke, Nia. Guns at the ready. Cover Lora and me from behind. We'll handle the close combat. Rex, stay out of the fray as much as possible."

"But I can—"

"Trust us," Lora interjected. "We'll keep you safe. You save your energy for fixing the ship."

"G-got it."

"Zeke, you take the first shot. We'll go on your signal."

He took a deep breath and willed his muscles not to tremble as he lifted his gun. On an ordinary day, he'd make some witty comment about taking aim with the "eye of shining justice," but today he would let his bullets speak for him. And each one would be deadly. A quick glance at Mòrag only solidified that resolve; he'd give anything to enjoy her warmth again. Those sweet whispers couldn't become the mumblings of a doomed man. One night couldn't be all they had.

Every Special Force recruit knew one thing: You've got to burn these monsters up. Or smash the crystals in their chests. Otherwise, they'll keep on coming. How many soldiers had died just to learn that vital information? But even accomplishing that much took some doing. One bullet to the chest wouldn't take one down—just weaken it. Unless, of course, he got lucky and found an already fractured spot. But that much seemed unlikely; the creatures healed too quickly, as if something inside them knew how to regenerate on the spot.

"Zeke?"

Ah, yes. The others waited on his signal. He located his target: the glass-like blue surface, pale and vibrant all at once. Then he inhaled. Squeezed the trigger.

And with a single shot, all hell broke loose.

The sound ripped the Guldo from their reverie—did Guldo even think?—and the creatures lumbered forward. Zeke's bullet hit home. One Guldo quivered, as if the strike merely tickled him. Tora followed it up with a flame shell. A second monster caught fire, enveloped in the orange haze. Then came Nia's shots, and the street echoed with the percussive noise of gunpowder and bullets on rock.

Lora and Mòrag lunged towards the first monster, relying on their teammates to keep the others at bay. That was always the problem with these damn things; in isolation, they could team up and take a Guldo down faster than it could heal. But with four at once, doing enough damage to one proved nearly impossible. Not even the alleyway played to their advantage. The buildings stood far enough apart to allow them plenty of room to move around. Too much room.

Rex watched it all from a safe distance, feeling useless. For a moment, it felt like he watched one of his own nightmares—he needed to rush forward and help, but his body stayed glued to the spot. He knew they ought to trust his teammates to handle it on their own. He was the mechanic here, not the fighter. And they managed pretty well. Zeke shot with the precision of a sniper, as if the "superpowers" of his left eye weren't a dramatic exaggeration. Any ordinary soldier would have stopped firing long ago for fear of accidentally catching his allies in the crossfire. Zeke didn't have to. Meanwhile, Nia and Tora dashed in and out of the circle of Guldo, with Nia firing her pistols at point blank and Tora washing them over in flames, always doing enough damage to reduce the Guldo's health but never enough to draw their aggression.

And Lora and Mòrag—what a sight that was. The two fought back to back, moving as seamlessly and as synchronized as dancers. Lora's plasma whip shot forward, lassoing a Guldo's arms in a vice grip. Mòrag's dual blades followed instantly. A bluish ichor gleamed on the pavement, pooling around the severed limbs. The Guldo made a guttural screeching noise and tried to retreat so it could heal—two fist-like lumps already hissed at the ends of each stub. But the two women lunged in unison, their weapons dashing as if whip and swords had become one. Another whip lasso and another slice, and the Guldo's legs crumpled from underneath it. A few more strikes, and the crystal on the center of its chest crumbled into dust.

But as soon as the Guldo's number dropped to three, the other enemies seemed to realize that they would have to coordinate their movements, copying the soldiers' strategy. With a mighty heave, one Guldo forced Nia and Tora to jump back several paces. A second lunged between the women, forcing them apart. It pressed Mòrag's defenses. The third raised an arm and knocked her from her feet.

Rex saw her cry out before he heard her voice—and Zeke's cry of alarm, too. The dream-like state seemed to snap, and he found he could move again. Everything became a blur. His feet moved on their own. His sword unsheathed itself; the carbon-alloy blade flashed before his eyes, slicing wildly. A shout echoed from his own throat. It didn't sound like his own voice. It seemed shrill, childish, frightened, desperate.

Nobody was going to get hurt protecting him. Not again, damn it. Not like Mum.

He shot out the anchor mechanism on his arm. Even in the heat of the moment, the idea struck him as odd. The tool was designed to help him pull junk out of hard-to-reach places. It wasn't meant to handle this kind of weight. And yet, as he sent the anchor careening towards the Guldo's core crystal—for some reason, that seemed an apt name for it—he decided it was worth trying. Even if he couldn't damage the crystal itself, the pulleys inside might still throw the beast off-balance, buying Mòrag time to get back on her feet.

And it did. The Guldo wobbled just as Mòrag was pulling herself back onto all fours (the blow had knocked her prone on the asphalt). In the same moment, Tora came bouncing back into range, flame cannon blazing. The heat surged, and the toppled Guldo seemed to melt into a puddle of molten rock.

Taking down the two remaining ones proved much safer, but it was still tedious work. Only substantial blows won them any progress. It seemed unfair; in an ordinary fight, the myriad scratches and knicks and lashes and divots dealt by the bullets and whiplashes and sword-strikes ought to have weakened a man a hundred times over. But the Guldo's small injuries healed quickly. The members of the Aegis squad quickly realized that they would have to deal a rapid chain of substantial blows to make any lasting damage.

After what felt like an eternity, Lora finally smashed the last Guldo's crystal. With a heavy sigh, she snapped blood off her plasma whip. Nia ran up to Mòrag, gauze in hand. At least the little stowaway medic remembered to bring her supplies along.

"It's just a scrape," Mòrag protested. "You needn't make a fuss about it. A mere flesh wound."

"Yeah, a flesh wound on your damn head," Nia shot back, studying Mòrag's pupils for anything out of the ordinary. "You're lucky you don't have a concussion. Even tiny scrapes on the head bleed a lot. Now shut up and let me work. I should have some clotting gel in here somewhere."

The Gormotti rifled through her bag and found the supplies in question. The gel made quick work of the bleeding on Mòrag's forehead, forming a second skin in seconds. It would hold until she could get full medical attention. Meanwhile, Lora took it upon herself to lecture Rex—rather kindly—for jumping into the fray. The boy nodded sheepishly; he did have to admit that even that much exertion and adrenaline had left his muscles shaking. Tora cleaned out the vents on his flame cannon, muttering something about "fixing drive furnace someday." Zeke patrolled the perimeter, watching for hostiles. No one said much.

Especially not what they were all thinking: if every fight lasted that long, they'd die of exhaustion before they even reached the Elysium.

But in the time it took Nia to finish checking everyone over for scrapes and bruises—she was an excellent field medic despite her age—Mòrag adjusted their plan.

"Lora, do you have your climbing gear with you?"

The redhead nodded. "Just the basics, but yeah. What do you have in mind?"

"Climb up. Scout the safest path for us. We can't run into all these Guldo—not until we make it to the ship. We need to save our energy."

"But if I'm up there, it'll ruin the formation," Lora pointed out. "You'll be more exposed."

"We can manage. I'll switch to hand-to-hand combat for a while," Zeke offered.

"Oof. Somebody's quick to volunteer. Like the idea of fighting back to back with Mòrag, eh, Shellhead?"

"Can it, you! One more sarcastic remark at my expense and I'll tell Rex about that time you—"

"AAAAARGH! You swore you'd never say a thing. Damn it, arsehole! Bite off your own tongue, will you?"

"Tell me what?" Rex asked.

"Shut up, Rex."

"Let's get back to the business at hand, shall we?"

In a matter of minutes, Lora climbed up the remnants of a toppled skyscraper, spotted the nearest Guldo, and directed her teammates along the safest path through radio. Despite Lora's fears, this new strategy helped them avoid most combat; when they couldn't avoid a fight, Lora was able to redirect them to the route with the fewest enemies. And with a ratio of five-against-one, they made much quicker work of the monsters they did encounter.

Lora had seen the Elysium before, but when they finally rounded the corner to its location, her heart still fluttered a bit. Somehow, the ship itself never took much damage. It lay, mostly unscathed, wedged between two skyscrapers. The material comprising the hull must have been much stronger than the stonework of the buildings. The rugged metal gleamed, as sturdy as the day she first saw it. Any untrained eye would wonder why the ship wasn't flyable in its current state. But its engine required "TLC," as Rex called it. If left untended for months—as it had been—it would cease functioning until proper repairs were completed. But even in its unflyable state, the Elysium stood as an awesome feat of human ingenuity, tenacity, and engineering.

Now they just had to reach it. She took a few moments to briefly count the Guldo between her companions and the ship. She swallowed hard; it wasn't an encouraging number. Somehow it seemed impossible for that many Guldo to occupy the half city block between them and the Elysium. And yet here they were.

Lora took a deep breath, fastened an anchor into the building she'd perched on, and rappelled down to join her companions.

"How's it look up there?" Mòrag asked.

She shook her head. "The decoy helped, but it didn't draw out many from this area. We've got our work cut out for us."

"So do we proceed with the plan, then?" Rex piped up, his voice squeaking slightly.

The three adults in the group conferred for several minutes, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Then they turned to their younger companions. Rex wished he could copy the resolve on their faces. Maybe if he could mimic the expression, the knot in his stomach might loosen.

"Okay, you three. You promised to do exactly as you're told out here. Ready to make good on that promise?"

"Tora not like way Zeke say that." The Nopon gulped.

"W-we'll do as you say," Rex added.

Zeke pulled a grenade from his pocket. "I'm going to clear the way to the ship."

"But that'll wake up every damn Guldo around!" Nia protested.

"Calm down," Mòrag replied, pulling out her dual blades once more. "We're sticking to the plan. One grenade should clear you enough of a path to get onboard the ship."

"And then the Guldo he wakes up will swarm it. We'll have a monster infestation!"

"The three of us will follow right behind you. We'll stand on the gangplank and hold the line like a chokepoint. That way, no Guldo will get through."

Rex studied the vast alley of enemies and went pale. Even if Mòrag, Zeke, and Lora were all at peak fighting strength, they'd struggled to fight such a force. But there had to be at least a hundred Guldo. Victory might take an army, not just a trio of soldiers, even with the terrain on their side. And then he finally understood why the pack of ship parts on his back suddenly felt so heavy: he'd be in a race against time while repairing the engine. The longer he took, the more people would die protecting him.

Lora gave him a reassuring look. "Don't worry, Rex. This was always the plan. Well, actually, we'd planned on having Zeke protect you while Mòrag and I defended the gangplank. But with Nia and Tora here, he can stay and help us."

He swallowed hard. Could one fighter really make that much of a difference?

"The inside of the ship should be clear of Guldo," Mòrag explained. "The halls aren't big enough for them to maneuver well. At least, the big ones can't. You might encounter a few of the young, but keep your eyes out. Nia. Tora. Keep him safe."

"Got it."

"Rex-Rex get out without single scratch!"

Mòrag looked at Rex. "Rex, under no circumstances are you to turn back and help us. Get the ship fixed. That's an order. Do you understand me?"

Rex shuddered under her unflinching gaze. To be ordered not to help his friends when they were in trouble… "I understand," he murmured at last.

"...Just, well. Try to repair the ship fast, all right?" Mòrag added quietly. "We're counting on you."

"Got it.

"Master Strategist! Requesting permission to blow them all to smithereens!" Zeke grinned. But the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Mòrag shook her head at his antics. But then she nodded. "Show them no mercy. Everyone else, get ready to run."

Rex jammed his fingers in his ears the moment Zeke pulled the pin out of the grenade. One long lob, and it was gone.

Hell broke out all over again. Even though he protected his ears, his hearing rang, tinny and abrasive. The air hung thick with ash and rubble. The grenade seemed to have vaporized several Guldo at once. Maybe that explained the smell of sulphur and...something like a run-over skunk? No, he couldn't think about smells now. He had to reach the ship. Nia and Tora bounded a few feet ahead of him. Not much longer until they'd be inside the vessel, safe. But in his peripheral vision, he spotted the sea of Guldo unharmed by the grenade. They rose like a sickening tide, lurching towards their small group faster than should have been possible. Since when could the brutes move that fast? He willed his feet to move faster. He didn't like his chances if he had to take a Guldo on alone.

The stone-like creatures shot closer. Rex heard the clash of steel behind him. His stomach sank to his toes. His friends were already fighting. If they got caught up in combat, the Guldo would surround them. Then they'd never reach the Elysium.

Nia must have read his panic. "Stay focused, metalhead! Trust them!"

Instinct tore him into a duck as a Guldo arm rocketed towards his neck. He took one mighty heave with his blade and pushed forward, not bothering to see if he'd slowed the brute down at all. They'd have to trust their teammates to mop up the mess they left behind. If they weren't fast enough…No, he couldn't think about that. All that mattered now was running. Curse his short little legs.

He shifted his weight to his toes, lowered his head, and sprinted. After what felt like an eternity, the asphalt beneath his feet gave way to textured metal. The dim light of the street got even dimmer, the only light bouncing from the end of Tora's flame cannon. His hand shot to his safety glasses. His fingers fumbled. They finally found the button for the headlamp. A single press of the button, and a pale but wide column of light cast shadows along the ship's entrance. That made him feel a little better—maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could ignore the sounds of battle just outside the door. Then this would be no different than a scavenging run. He explored dark abandoned ships, factories, and buildings all the time. This didn't have to feel different.

"Rex! Which way?"

Addam had poured over maps of the Elysium with him. He knew where the engine room was like he knew his own knuckles. But in that moment, his mind blanked. What did that map look like? Shit. His brain felt foggy; he could only visualize the white outline of the blueprint, not the details of the schematics.

Most ships had the engine room down the hall and to the left, then down two or three flights of stairs. Right?

"Rex-Rex! Must hurry!"

It did no good to stand here. Down the hall and to the left would have to work. He shouted those instructions to Nia and Tora. The deeper they went into the ship, the more sure he felt of that assessment. The twists and turns all came rushing back to him, as if he'd built the ship himself. Or at the very least, he couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow belonged here.

Another two explosions echoed from outside the ship. Dust rained from the ceiling above them. Zeke must have thrown more grenades. Rex swallowed hard and forced himself not to think about how desperate the Thunderbolt was to resort to throwing explosives in relatively close quarters.

A third blast.

At last, his headlamp showed him what he wanted to see: the engine room.

"Gosh, we are so lucky there aren't any Guldo down here," Nia sighed. "You got this, Rex."

Rex pulled the blue neon flare and the flare gun from his pouch and handed it to the Gormotti. Then he leapt into action, pulling tools from his belt the moment he saw the problem. His heart pounded like a ticking clock. He had to hurry. Mòrag. Lora. Zeke. Everyone back at the base. They were all depending on him.

Meanwhile, Nia found a window. Then she screwed the neon canister into the flare gun, plugged one ear, and shot. For a passing moment, the blue smoke looked like the tail of a comet. Hopefully comets were good omens to humans. She never could sort out their superstitions.

When the last of the smoke had trailed away, she returned to Rex's side to offer moral support. Tora bounced around the engine room, flame cannon in hand as he patrolled the entrance. Rex chattered to himself as he worked, muttering something about "delta vessels" and "search monitors" going all rusted. Whatever that meant. Then he murmured about the faulty wiring.

"These cables got cut somehow," he said. "I should be able to reconnect them."

Nia got a good look at the cables in question from the headlamp. Something about it all looked...wrong. Sure, she was no electrician, but her instincts flared.

"Rex, don't do that or you could—"

Her warning went unheeded. His hands brought the wires together.

Crackling. Sizzling. Flickering lights as electricity surged through the vessel. The acrid, putrid smell of burning flesh. A cry of pain cut short. And worst of all, the stiff, hyper-stimulated convulsions of his body. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. For a long, dreadful moment, everything was a blur. Somehow, she managed to pull him away from the wires without hurting herself. But by then, his entire frame had gone rigid. A touch to his wrist made her body go numb.

A few levels up, on the gangplank to the Elysium, Zeke saw it first: a white signal flare, tearing a searing bright wound in the evening sky.

And his heart sank.

A/N: I know. This was an unkind cliffhanger. BUT PLEASE STICK WITH ME! There's an important reveal later that really changes the course of things. And I'll try my hardest not to take three weeks to write it. Honest. This one took longer because I ended up completely rewriting a section. Ah well.

Fun fact, for anyone who's interested: I wrote most of this chapter while listening to Burn Point and Volturnus, two albums by Audiomachine. They have really cool trailer-type music that I find nice to write to, especially during intense battle scenes. All free, so check them out if you're interested.

I don't know what made me decide to name these chapters after song titles, but I'm enjoying it. Can anyone guess what I'll call the last chapter?

There's one or two chapters more, depending on how long the next two scenes end up being. (Remember that cute moment when I briefly entertained making this a massive one-shot? Yeah. That was a stupid idea). 'Til next time!