[Oliver's PoV]

  Orton’s voice still echoed in the command chamber, its finality reverberating through the walls.

  “Fail to meet the deadline,” the transmission had declared, “and we will begin bombardment of every city of Aquarius.”

  Then the broadcast cut, leaving only silence and the ticking of the countdown.

  [05:59]

  For several heartbeats, no one moved. The officers and soldiers in the command center stared at the holographic display as if unable to process what they had heard. They knew this moment would come, that they would finally have to enter a full-scale battle and that the risks to the planet would increase. Yet, when confronted, they held their breath.

  Oliver slammed his fist against the console, snapping them out of their paralysis. His voice rang like a whip. “Leviathans! Get them online and ready for immediate departure!”

  The chamber burst into motion. Officers jolted awake from their shock, scrambling to their stations. Fingers flew across keys, systems roared to life, and an alert began to pulse through the base.

  “Get the population ready. Inform every outpost and every shelter. Move!” Oliver barked.

  “Yes, sir!” the Hermes shouted back, their voices strained as they fought against consoles, forcing transmission relays to reach every corner of Aquarius.

  Oliver turned sharply, his gaze locking on Thalos. The android stood at the edge of the room, his posture relaxed, almost languid, as though the threat was nothing more than an inconvenience.

  “Sorry,” Oliver said, his voice low but urgent. “You just got back, but I need you.”

  Thalos tilted his head, scratching at the side of his metallic temple with a motion meant to mimic human weariness. His artificial eyes glowed faintly. “Damn it,” he muttered, dragging his feet forward like a sulking soldier. “What do you want me to do?”

  Oliver’s stare hardened. “We wait for the countdown to end, but I want the mechas prepped for launch. Fighters won’t be enough this time. I intend to bring that monster out of orbit. If they’re going to use their full power, then we’ll drive them out of this system once and for all.”

  Thalos blinked, servos humming softly as he processed the order. “Already? Don’t we need more time? More training for the pilots? More data on their ships?”

  “Of course we do,” Oliver admitted, his tone grim. “But we don’t have time. If we hesitate, the cities burn. I won’t let that happen.”

  The android let out a soundless sigh, his mechanical chest rising and falling in a gesture meant to echo human exasperation. He cracked his fingers, though the only sound was the whir of servomotors shifting into place. “Fine. I know the drill. Assemble a strike team, get them ready.”

  Oliver shook his head. “Not any team. No common pilots. Only Rangers. I want you launched first. If we hit them hard and fast, we might catch them off guard.”

  Thalos froze for a moment, then gave a slow shake of his head. “Launched? You’re serious?” His voice carried the flat tone of a machine, but carefully tried to mimic annoyance. “I hate being fired out.”

  Thalos rolled his shoulders, the plates of his frame shifting with a metallic rasp. He even mimicked the act of taking a deep breath, though no air filled his lungs. “Fine. I’ll put a team together. We’ll be ready.”

  The countdown ticked on.

  [05:12]

  --

  [00:01]

  “Everyone ready?” Oliver’s voice carried through the comms of his Leviathan.

  Static crackled before Thalos replied, his tone resolute. “All systems green. Squad M1 launching in sixty seconds.”

  “Godspeed,” Oliver answered quietly. He knew what he was asking of them. Some, perhaps many, would not return. Yet every pilot, every Ranger, understood why they were there. They knew what was at stake.

  Outside his cockpit, engineers clambered across the armored frame of his war machine, their hands moving with precision as they sealed the Leviathan shut. Oliver gave them a short nod.

  “Leviathan Typhon. Initiating supply commands,” he spoke into the comms.

  The machine came alive around him, a cathedral of steel and power. His display lit with cascading system checks.

  [Fueling initiated]

  [Weapon systems priming]

  [Shield capacitors: FULL]

  [Core systems: STABLE]

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  [Integrity check: PASSED]

  The cockpit thrummed as the Leviathan’s engines pulsed awake.

  “Typhon online,” he announced. “Launch readiness in twenty minutes.”

  [00:00]

  The final seconds of the planetary broadcast was shown on one of his monitors. The countdown ended.

  “Squad M1, deploying now,” Thalos’s voice cut in, sharp and commanding.

  Oliver’s secondary screen flickered to life, showing the external feeds. The launch sequence had begun. M1 would buy the time needed for the Leviathans to rise.

  Then it hit him. A sudden jolt deep within his chest. The Purple Crystal embedded within his Gauntlet resisted his control. Oliver’s focus faltered, his vision blurring as the thing inside him strained against its leash.

  'Bastard', he cursed silently, forcing the surge back down, teeth clenched. He couldn’t afford weakness now. He dragged his gaze back to the monitors.

  The feed zoomed across the cityscape. The roof of the headquarters was alive with motion, vast artillery platforms rising. Twenty massive cannons moved in unison, their barrels groaning as they locked skyward. Their target, Dawn, loomed like a predator in orbit.

  “Cannons in position,” Hermes-1 reported.

  “Payloads loaded and stable,” Hermes-2 confirmed.

  “Firing sequence initiated!” Hermes-3 shouted.

  The air trembled.

  One by one, the colossal guns roared to life. Smoke spilled from their barrels as the ground itself shook beneath the underground city. The shockwaves of each discharge rattled walls and ceilings, sending dust cascading everywhere.

  Twenty cannons. Twenty thunderclaps.

  The tactical feed shifted, flickering through a cascade of angles. From recon drones, orbital cameras, even satellite relays. Each angle capturing the ascent of the colossal metal capsules. One after another, twenty streaks of steel ripped through the skies of Aquarius. The armored shells glowed red-hot as they clawed against the atmosphere.

  For a moment, they resembled nothing more than massive missiles, their hulls encircled in fire as the air tore at them. But then the images followed them higher, past the thinning clouds, past the final shreds of blue, until the capsules broke free into the cold silence of space.

  The void swallowed them. The blazing red faded into the black of the heavens. There looming like a fortress among the stars, the Dawn awaited. Its shields shimmered, a translucent veil of energy rippling across its vast surface like liquid light.

  “Targets approaching,” Hermes-1 reported, his voice tight with anticipation.

  “Preparing release sequence,” Hermes-2 confirmed.

  “M1, initiate attack,” Hermes-3 commanded.

  A faint hiss leaked from the thin seams that circled each capsule, a spectral white gas spilling into the void. The lines glowed, pulsed. Then split apart in a series of controlled detonations.

  The capsules peeled away like the shells of falling meteors, bursting open to reveal their payload.

  From the debris emerged twenty Mecha. Titans of steel and fire. Their thrusters ignited in unison, spewing plumes of blue flame from their backs as they accelerated like predators.

  For an instant, they looked like angels of war, bursting free of their coffins. Then they angled their weapons forward, engines screaming as they hurtled toward the Dawn.

  “M1 closing in on target,” Thalos’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and commanding. His tone carried no hesitation.

  “Squadron, prepare for engagement. Primary weapons only. You have twenty minutes—” His voice hardened. “And you do not have my permission to die before then.”

  “Yessir!” came the sharp, static-laced replies from every pilot in the squadron.

  “Engines at eighty percent,” Thalos ordered over the comms, his tone clipped but calm. “Keep a margin in reserve—we’ll need it to catch them off guard.”

  The mecha squad surged forward, closing in on the Dawn’s shimmering barrier. The flagship’s shields flared violently as the first impacts struck. Against missiles or artillery, the defenses would have held. But the mechas forced their way through with sheer momentum, thrusters burning white-hot, metal groaning as they pressed against resistance.

  And then, like spears piercing a veil, the first of them broke through.

  “M1-01, across the shield! Engaging hostiles!”

  The pilot’s voice rang out as the mecha’s arms raised with its rifle. Brilliant lances of energy and streams of kinetic rounds streaked into the void. The first enemy fighters, scrambling in disorganized formations, were caught mid-flight.

  The void erupted in chaos.

  Lasers cut jagged lines through blackness, rounds flashing like meteors against the stars. Fighters twisted and rolled, trying desperately to scatter the incoming mechas, but the difference was like heaven and earth.

  A single burst from an M1 shredded a fighter’s cockpit. Another tore through an enemy wing, sending it spiraling into the Dawn’s shield, where it vaporized in a flash of light. Within seconds, the first wave of fighters was reduced to burning wreckage.

  On Oliver’s monitor, the battlefield bloomed into a storm of debris. But the victory was fleeting.

  “Radar detecting signatures,” Hermes-1 reported, his voice taut.

  “Multiple contacts inbound,” Hermes-2 added grimly. “Mechas. A lot of them.”

  Thalos’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and unflinching. “Brace yourselves. We’ve got over two hundred enemy mechas closing on our position.”

  There was a pause, then the crackle of a pilot’s voice, tight with dread. “Fuck…”

  Oliver’s stomach coiled as his eyes locked on the data feed. Two hundred. Against twenty. And worse—he could see it, even at this range. The Republic’s machines weren’t outdated. These weren’t third-generation frames like the M1s. No, these were fourth-generation mechas. Enhanced with technology that would match or surpass his own.

  Even with the M1’s modifications, the numbers were merciless. Ten to one.

  On the comms, Thalos’s voice remained steady, though beneath it was a weight Oliver could feel pressing against his chest. “Command, M1 requesting permission to push engines to maximum output.”

  Hermes-1 hesitated. “M1-Leader, are you certain? We’re barely at the opening stage of this battle. If you burn too hot now—”

  Oliver cut him off, his voice low but resolute. His eyes lingered on the screen, on those twenty blue-flamed allies streaking through the void, about to be swallowed by an ocean of enemies.

  “Permission granted,” Oliver announced.