Green threads ripped through the wine-dark cosmic seas. Neutron bombs, laz scythe shots, point defense systems—Jonathon’s underlings were desperate in their collective efforts; a wounded wild boar backed to the wall.

  Lawrence and allies came down on the Imperium’s defenses.

  This was the third wave Lawrence found himself in. Casualties in their hundreds amounted to nothing, both sides alike. And even so, not one assault achieved its goal of securing a route to Jonathan's Super Star Dreadnought flagship; The Sounion. Its name prominent on his visual feed. Its dark, foreboding presence in the background dominated only by the wreckage of the fallen who fought for and against his diabolical tyranny. The Farragaig colony system ever closer with its ocean of solar panels.

  There was no end to the cut cries in his headset. Whole blood lines cut short, futures snatched away. Every passing moment the losses mounted on both sides.

  Were it up to Lawrence, he would’ve barked to his allies to stay back—he would take them all on himself. But he was still only one man, not a Neo sapiens like Victoria was. And they all had a mission to carry out—they couldn’t retreat, and the enemy couldn’t surrender.

  The 13th MAV was spread out in adjacent sectors of this asteroid belt, each member led the way for the columns of Shinra teams. Slowly but surely they were out of the woods—but the localized hell that awaited them once they broke out into the cosmic void left Lawrence with a sense of uneasiness.

  The Imperium has both the ball and the bat. Even if Lawrence and allies pushed them out of this celestial mess, there was the primary objective of taking out the Sounion. The Star Monitors behind them held back, advanced slowly for the opportunity for the Sounion’s Rutherford Field generators to be disabled before they could pummel it. And only then would the route to Zeta be a cakewalk—or so Lawrence hoped.

  There were more Tacoma than Lawrence had shots in his laz repeater’s energy capsule.

  The energy capsule indicator blinked empty, but the Tacoma swarmed him all the same.

  “Give a guy a breather, won’t ya?” Lawrence said. No time to reload it—he poised it and javelined it. Vulcan shots ruptured the sides of it.

  The gun exploded over a heavy MT gun emplacement. Their position bloomed violently for only a second; only a bowl-shaped depression remained.

  Heat signatures whined out of control—he was getting targeted by warheads. He aggressively barrel-rolled sideways to another position. A thud—he landed on the back of a destroyed Shinra and used it as a cushion to land the side of an asteroid. His former position was occupied by two Shinra.

  “No—get away from there!” Lawrence barked into his mouthpiece.

  The duo took out a few of the panzerfault salvo, they lowered their guard too early—one had gotten through and claimed their lives.

  No time to mourn, no time for regrets.

  Lawrence hurled himself forward.

  He yanked the controllers down; he stood up tall, his feet dug into his cockpit stirrups. The g-forces assaulted him just as viciously as the Imperium did. He was sure any moment now he was going to pass out from the excess.

  He slammed the joysticks forward as his world spun wildly; chair protested aggressively. The stabilizer could only do so much to stop his head from being rattled with relentless force.

  His K?mpfer’s feet planted squarely on an unsuspecting Tacoma’s head. The fool peeked out from behind a destroyed piece of hull.

  Lawrence swiftly activated his naginata’s long thin photon blade, then impaled the enemy.

  Threads of plasma whizzed past him, but Lawrence didn’t waver.

  He reached down to grab the Tacoma with his left hand and shielded himself—they plastered his sentinel doll, but not one touched Lawrence’s K?mpfer.

  After the volley was spent, Lawrence discarded the disabled Tacoma.

  Lawrence launched himself off the hull just as the enemy MT exploded. The thought came too late to fling it at an enemy position.

  Never shaken, Lawrence pressed on, friendlies not far behind.

  He rammed into two Tacoma—sliced off the head of one. Within the same motion, he smeared the cockpit with plasma of the other.

  He kicked himself away as both were engulfed in death. With swift orientation, he landed on the remains of a Star Monitor propped up like a barrier.

  The shield up—his cockpit shook violently from incoming fire. He reached for the backpack dispenser and yanked out a strip of the mines.

  He hurled them overhead.

  His vulcans belched doom. The shield remained up, pelted by debris. Nothing remained of his foes.

  The remaining enemy, equally undeterred until now, broke from their makeshift dug-ins. They attempted to retreat back to another defense line.

  But there was no defense line to speak of. Like naked mole rats on the vast canyons of Chizan, they were slaughtered with ease.

  Two K?mpfers sped overhead, another one below him.

  “Third time’s the charm,” Lawrence muttered. He pressed on, no time for respite now.

  He accelerated faster into the fray, now an ever-expanding confusion of open-space melee, the retreating Tacoma cut down by friendly barrages from the Sounion, whose hull now was an all-encompassing canvas across Lawrence’s paneling.

  The little regard they had for friendly fire disgusted Lawrence to his core.

  Lawrence held his shield up in an attempt to keep his profile as small as possible. Out in the open now, and nearly a javelin’s throw away from touching down on Sounion, Lawrence and friends were just as much naked mole rats as the Tacomas were, whittled down and overwhelmed entirely.

  Lady Luck graced him, and Lawrence made it through the plasma point defenses. Others weren't so lucky. He searched frantically for other members of the 13th MAV but he didn't see their call-signs anymore, but he confided in himself they survived and fought for their lives somewhere outside this dense blanket of Tominosky particles and thick artillery fire.

  He jerked and tossed as he raced along its exterior; the occasional bunker-sized turrets sliced through with naginata, and the spare use of mine clusters. The more damage he did now, the more likely his comrades could break through.

  There was never any end to the laz threads that darted around him like light strobes; his aggressive spins and cartwheels through the webs of carnage would’ve made any ordinary man black out from the insane g-forces.

  Sweat muddled his vision, and he coughed blood as the strain of g-forces threatened to squeeze his body like a pack of ketchup. But he couldn’t afford to slow down—not now. Each breath put enormous strain on him.

  And then, at a crucial moment—he saw the Red Blitz; its rouge figure stood perched atop one such turret. The Red Blitz had one arm outstretched. He waded into the fray and whose very presence spurred the Tacoma columns on to mass counterattack.

  Lawrence found himself reinvigorated. He presented himself squarely on one such turret. His determination burned with vengeance.

  The Red Blitz’s monoeye flicked to him.

  Lawrence charged, naginata at the ready—the Blitz took shots at him but it wasn’t to close distance but the contrary.

  “Trying to get away?” Lawrence sneered. “Not on my watch!” It was uncharacteristic of the ace killer. Was he being led into a trap? Well, let it come!

  Lawrence deflected the shots masterfully, flashes dominated his vision as the shots became stray.

  The ace killer raced away for the upper bridge of the Sounion. Lawrence never let up, his pursuit largely gone unnoticed by the Tacoma preoccupied with their staunch yet forlorn hope to keep the slaughter at bay. None could afford to shrink from battle now. And so Lawrence let them have their laborious, bloody busywork between small fry.

  And the Shinra teams?

  They flowed in thanks to Lawrence’s efforts. The troops themselves had no fear, no dread of the massed Tacoma firepower and breakneck charges over the Sounion. Both sides were spurred on in their assault, dedicated to the bloody busywork. They advanced this far over the mountains of their dead—the noose was all but tightened around the Sounion now, the stepping stone—the launch pad onto Zeta hung in the balance. There was no time for cowardice now.

  But not all Tacomas avoided Lawrence—innumerable backed their champion full strength—and Lawrence found himself swarmed by them in three-dimensional space. Dread filled him as they formed a tough ring around him, brave and bristled with their photon swords and glistening laz barrels.

  A flash, a sudden hurl.

  It was a K?mpfer; a familiar name fizzled on his radar. Kaz speared one such Tacoma in front—shots at the others.

  They neutralized a side turret pillbox attached to the massive Sounion tower. It was here they took a moment’s pause.

  They hugged the wall with their shields up. Lawrence reached out to shoot a cable at Kaz’s left pauldron. It was risky… but the coast was clear for now.

  “Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t we?” Kaz said.

  “I could’ve handled myself,” Lawrence answered. But then: “Frank’s not with you?”

  “I…”

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  “You left Frank on his own?” Lawrence tried to quell his anger.

  “He wandered off,” Kaz said.

  “Where is he?” Lawrence demanded.

  “We got separated,” Kaz said coolly, “and now I’m here. Listen, he’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Wandered off or separated, which is it Kaz?”

  “Mengde!” Kaz hissed. “He’s adept.”

  “Adept?” The word escaped his curled lips. “Thirty-six simulations and two active sorties is adept to you in this hell-hole? God almighty, Kaz…!”

  “Listen! He got his first kill back there.”

  “I can’t believe you,” Lawrence said. He struggled to get his helmet off and threw it aside. His hand trembled as he ran a hand through soaked hair. Kaz abandoned Frank…

  “Frank’s alive—I, he’s… I see his status on my overlay,” Kaz cleared his throat and studied his monitors briefly. “He’s in good company with Trachenberg.”

  “That’s completely beside the point, you of all people should’ve never let him out of your sight!”

  “Lawrence, get a goddamn grip will you?! We’ll regroup with them later, c’mon we can’t stay here long. We need to take out those Rutherford generators so they can make quick work of this devil.”

  Lawrence noticed Kaz had a shotgun slung over his K?mpfer’s shoulder. Lawrence shifted to have his free hand outstretched as Kaz tossed it at him. He told Lawrence: “Another thing, don’t go picking up Schwarzenberger’s habits, Mengde!”

  Lawrence retracted the cable and added under his breath: “Stuff it.”

  Alarms blared all across his systems; they were being targeted. It was time to move. They climbed higher, their movements shadowed by plasma energy rounds which were absorbed by the Rutherford Field.

  They accelerated faster; on occasion they neutralized pop-out turrets along their path. The more they cleared, the more they were eventually joined by contingents of Shinra MAVs.

  The barrels of laz guns glittered, threads darted through the void, the clash of photon swords like a starry night in the wine-dark cosmic battlefield…

  They killed, skewered, all in the name of retribution for Benny—ample as it was.

  But the Red Blitz avoided their wrath, nowhere to be found. “Was I wrong about the Blitz?” Lawrence murmured to himself. They climbed further up, the battle crept up behind them like a rising flood. The enemy’s resistance weakened. They reeled from the rage of Lawrence and Kaz.

  They reached the top and Lawrence slammed home the accelerator. He sprang into the air and landed on the surface; Kaz hot on his heels, his laz gun knew no rest.

  Two massive spheres dominated the top of the Sounion’s tower; the Rutherford Field protecting the Super Dreadnought from long-range plasma and neutron munitions.

  The two made a break for it. The point defense battlements proved no match for both men, they eliminated all turrets in their path. Trenches of Tacoma were emptied out, thanks in part to the depleted uranium from Lawrence’s shotgun.

  Lawrence felt uneasy. Had they really been able to get here with less than fierce opposition? Where was the Red Blitz? The uneasiness expanded in his gut. It was perchance they simply blazed through the thick of it, neutralized all the opposition Jonathon and the Blitz offered up there. There were still swathes of Tacoma tied up with the Shinra assaults down below and all around them. But there was no time to dwell on the matter.

  Both men leap-frogged onto each level and reached the bottom of the generators. Their sheer size dwarfed the two K?mpfers.

  Lawrence uncurled what remained of his mine belt and stuck them to the shields—it was more than enough to blast them to smithereens… the Star Monitors would finish the job once it was down. Kaz did the same.

  “We’ll each blow the generators,” Lawrence said. Kaz agreed.

  Kaz gave him the all-clear when he was done—Shinras that made it through provided cover fire to the best of their abilities. Kaz signaled to the others and all raced down.

  They turned in time to see Tacoma teams frantically race to disarm the bombs—but their fates were sealed. Lawrence held up his shield, he bent the K?mpfer’s legs to fit them in the shield profile as debris slammed into it and knocked him over.

  He activated emergency thrusters to keep his orientation from spiraling.

  “Let’s scram,” Kaz uttered. Lawrence joined him as he circled under the belly of the massive beast; the wine-dark cosmic sea flooded a bright blue with the threads of laz guns from their allied fleet squadrons. Sounion capsized; it was a very slow, cinematic movement, a maddeningly slow descent onto Zeta.

  But even as Sounion fell, the melee never faltered. The fighters worked away in the grim shocks of war, even as the tip of the Super Dreadnought sank like a spear onto the rocky asteroid surface of Zeta—a long, eternal cosmic glow as more and more of it became consumed by an ever-expanding daisy chain of explosions. An endless supply of debris filled their surroundings at violent velocities.

  Lawrence juggled between the shower of the aftermath, as well as the intense heckling by the Tacoma survivors as they retreated for other Dreadnoughts as well as Zeta.

  But Lawrence remained unsettled, and fear bubbled within him. His head racked by a strange, unknown presence. His heart ached, stomach cramped. His hands shook violently. But it wasn’t because of the Sounion, much less the brave rearguard busyworks of the enemy—what was it?

  He sensed this before—and now Lawrence knew; he experienced this before at Side Sidon. The fear bubbled within him. A foul sensation clung to his skin.

  Lawrence knew this pressure: it felt similar to the pressure Victoria exerted on him whenever she probed him with her Neo sapiens abilities… but this? It was a far greater level of discomfort. It was far more intrusive than even Victoria’s, that much he was sure. This was so, so much more. If Victoria’s probes of him was like a snake, he likened this as a great python, it curled his mind. This dark, foreboding presence wasn’t Victoria. He glanced at Sounion—and he saw it.

  He jolted in his seat, pressed a button overhead to focus zoom. It was a slow-moving, pulsating globe that emerged from the underbelly of Sounion's hangar… no, Lawrence was wrong. It wasn't small—it got faster, and bigger.

  And for a moment, Lawrence realized his horror of not shooting its hangar bay when he had the chance. Was this now the culmination of his mistake? Has he singlehandedly doomed them all? The thought paralyzed just as much as this snaking feel did.

  “Get out of here, Kaz,” Lawrence said. “Now!”

  “What?”

  But Lawrence was frozen. He couldn’t budge. His limbs were stiff. His chest was volcanic; it burned with unease.

  His allies were in the midst of stabilizing their descent onto Zeta. This thing zipped everywhere; it left behind a glowing lane of destruction. The enemy’s endless volleys lessened… or so Lawrence thought.

  He felt like he shrank in his seat; his world became bigger. Grips on the joysticks tightened. His breathing stopped. Beads of sweat raced down his face rapidly.

  “What the hell is that thing?” The heightened horror in Kaz’s voice.

  Like a comet, it barreled towards allied positions—straight for Lawrence’s quadrant. Hundreds, endless scores of Tacoma MAVs joined it. And he knew that frame of such a monster anywhere. It was too distinct not to recognize its titanic clam-like shape… it couldn’t be anything else … it was the Mobile Gear Walpurgis. The very same one he and Victoria took out at Side Sidon.

  “But it can’t be…” Lawrence muttered. Color drained from his face. “But… but we… we…” He saw for himself how it went down at Sidon; he personally kicked it into Ben Nevis’s gravity well—he had a first-row seat to it burning up in its atmosphere. And yet…?

  The Imperium barrage renewed—his radar screamed, blotted red everywhere with enemy signatures.

  And Lawrence, stunned immeasurably beyond words, braced his shield. Kaz, still by his side, did the same.

  Like the manifestation of a violent tsunami, the Walpurgis washed over their quadrant with surreal destruction; vicious artillery reduced every living soul to nothingness. Star Monitors which moved into where Sounion was, were cracked open as easily as eggs, and fiery explosions emerged from within each. There was no stopping this cascading daisy-chain of unparalleled destruction.

  Lawrence's K?mpfer was sent on a sharp downward spiral. He fought to stay conscious.

  The seat stabilizer lost balance. Lawrence was thrown to the top of his dome cockpit—he held on for dear life at the top of his seat as the interior shook with such unbelievable force he never even thought conceivable. The paneling cameras went dark. Alarms whined.

  Lawrence fought against the strong g-forces to glimpse in time the genuine horror on Kaz's face, and the realization hit him like a piano and an anvil. His pupils shrank; his mouth formed an O—and then static.

  Then, an unimaginable force flung Lawrence forward—he slammed into the wall, arms raised just in time to brace impact.

  Lawrence was knocked out.

  He finally came back to his senses.

  He heard the distant whine of his helmet’s earpiece. It was faint, but he could make out the pleas of several comrades. Something banged on his cockpit door.

  Slowly, weakly, Lawrence struggled to reach for his helmet. And when he finally did, he rose to his chair and pressed a button to open it.

  The panorama feed was restored. He saw himself flanked by K?mpfers; one of the pilots, Luke, rushed in and hugged him.

  “Lieutenant…” Luke choked, tearfully. “You’re… you’re alive! My god…”

  Lawrence, still left stunned by the ordeal, couldn’t bring himself to speak. He didn’t see Kaz’s signature among them, or Victoria’s.

  “Where’s the vice commander?” Lawrence said, faintly.

  No one answered.

  “Where’s Vick?” Lawrence uttered, and he struggled to stay upright. “I don’t even see Kiki or Frank…”

  Luke shook his head.

  Lawrence grabbed his shoulders. His teeth clenched.

  Luke answered: “Kaz… Jasmin was…” He stammered to find the rest. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Out with it,” Lawrence screamed. He shook him violently like a rag doll.

  Boris was behind Luke and got between the two. Boris’s roaring voice froze Lawrence: “Let up, will you?!! He . . . Kaz was . . .” A deep breath followed: ”He was killed…”

  “You’re lying,” Lawrence uttered. He shook his head repeatedly. “Kaz couldn’t die so easily, he was just by my side, he was… he…”

  “I saw it with my own eyes—we all did,” Luke said. Lawrence looked up at him now, he was hunched over, hands over his closed visor. “I’m… we’re just glad you’re alive, boss.”

  “Sonuvabitch got him!” Boris seethed. He slammed the wall. To say he fumed was an understatement. “If only I was there, boss, I could’ve…” He bared his teeth, “I could’ve saved him!”

  Lawrence felt this world irrational, robbed of reason. Kaz, dead? He just couldn’t come to terms with it. He was a better pilot than even he was, that’s something Lawrence won’t deny. But dead? He was in full denial. But he looked upon the two, their grief all too apparent.

  “I’ve had enough of your jokes, both of you!” Lawrence said with a snarl. “Where the hell is he? The moment I get my hands on the bastard, I’m giving him a piece of my mind for abandoning Frank.”

  Boris looked away in shame: he shook his head. Lawrence wanted in that very moment to take his anger, his sorrow out on Luke, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

  Any minute now, he wanted Kaz’s video feed to pop on, to give him last-minute insurance and surprise them all… but it never came.

  Lawrence's gaze shifted to the side. The Walpurgis's rampage was over for now. The madman made way for Zeta.

  “What about the other three?” Lawrence asked calmly.

  Neither said anything.

  Lawrence smiled wryly. “More bad news they’re dead?”

  "We don't know," Boris answered. He locked eyes with Lawrence. "Gonna take it out on the cowboy here? I'll clock you."

  He released Luke.

  Yet, even so, the quadrants around Zeta lit up with the symphony of orange and white bloom of pure carnage.

  “Look, boss!” Luke pointed behind Lawrence.

  Boris brushed past Lawrence to zero in on it from the armrest panel for a better view.

  Hot on the Walpurgis’s tail was one Mobile Trooper with its fiery burnished armor which made it all the more majestic against Fasnakyle and her sun. The two disappeared behind Zeta in a zigzag of laz shots that from Lawrence’s point of view resembled a never ending barrage of shooting stars.

  His gaze lowered to his lap. His knees buckled.

  Kaz was dead.

  How could Kaz die? Why did he, Lawrence, have to live?

  Lawrence flipped his visor—but Luke slammed it shut, the hatch was still open.

  “Reckon we head back to the Yilan?” Boris asked. He drifted back and knelt with the two.

  Lawrence rose slowly and told them, "No, we're going to regroup with the others, we have to—I won't let Victoria fight this alone. I won't abandon her… or Frank and Friederika."

  “Boss…” Luke said. Lawrence raised a hand to silence his objection.

  “We’re going to storm Zeta,” Lawrence said. He studied the tactical overlay of Zeta briefly—“We’re going to support the effort at Utah Beach. Friederika and Frank are bound to be there,” he slapped Luke on the shoulder. “Get outta here boy! Let’s get a move on! You too Boris.”

  Luke obeyed and left the cockpit for his K?mpfer.

  But Boris stayed behind. Again, the two had their share of locking eyes with one another.

  “Save your preaching for later,” Lawrence said. He gestured towards the hatch.

  “They could be dead,” Boris said. “We shouldn’t exert ourselves anymore than—“

  “Vic’s out there, have you gotten a good look at her?” Lawrence countered. “Do you think I could sleep soundly in a pod while she’s fighting that monster? Could you sleep at night knowing the kid and Kiki are somewhere out there fighting just as hard?”

  Boris hesitated to speak any further. “I’ll make contact with the carryall,” he said and left.

  The hatch closed, and Lawrence sank onto his seat.

  Lawrence looked with grave remorse at the group photo of the MT teams. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to, but he felt an overwhelming obligation to. He looked Kaz square in the eyes and told himself he wasn’t going to let any more die.

  He wasn’t going to let the death of either men be in vain. He was going to choke Jonathan and the Red Blitz to death with his own two hands.

  For all the death, for all the pain and torment Jonathan made them endure—he vowed with all his heart he wouldn’t let Kaz and Benny down. He was going to save his team and the ever reckless Victoria, little rookie Frank, and Friederika.

  He won’t let Point Farragaig fall, much less stand by and let the people of Fasnakyle suffer the same fates as Ben Nevis. He wasn’t about to let grief rob him blind. No, he had a duty to fulfill as the overall commander of the 13th MAV. No more will anyone on his team die. Not on his watch—not so long as he breathed, he won’t let this tragedy persist any longer!