[Oliver’s PoV]

  Each impact from the two Rangers shook the earth. The ground split beneath their feet, cracks webbing outward across the ruined plaza.

  But the battle wasn’t theirs alone.

  Around the base of the tower, chaos reigned. Mercenaries and soldiers clashed in a storm of gunfire and Energy blasts.

  “Should we go around them?” one of the Hoplites shouted, his voice barely audible over the battle

  Oliver’s gaze didn’t waver from the center of the chaos. The two figures still dominated the field.

  The Green Ranger moved with brutal precision, his attacks deliberate and unrelenting. Every blow he landed carved deep craters into the earth, sending shockwaves that toppled nearby soldiers. The Black Ranger countered with speed and ferocity, his armor flickering with dark Energy that seemed to devour light itself.

  The Hoplite beside Oliver pointed toward the Green Ranger. “Sir… isn’t that Khan?”

  “Yes,” Oliver answered, his voice low.

  “We don’t have time,” He muttered, turning away from the battle. His senses screamed that something worse was coming.

  He spun on his heel, scanning the horizon.

  “Prepare yourselves!” he shouted, echoing across the battlefield.

  The command cut through the chaos. Some soldiers paused mid-fight, glancing toward him. Others turned their weapons instinctively toward the direction he faced. A few ignored him entirely, too consumed by their enemies.

  Then, from the darkness beyond the plaza, came the sound.

  At first, it was faint. Then it deepened, growing louder, heavier, closer. The noise reverberated through the air, through the walls, through their bones.

  The sound grew into a groan, followed by a sharp, thunderous crack. The unmistakable noise of something massive striking the ground. The impact sent a ripple through the earth, knocking soldiers off their feet and silencing them for a heartbeat.

  Then Oliver saw it.

  A shadow moved against the blackened skyline, vast and formless at first. Then the shape began to take form. Limbs, thick as spires; a torso, armored in what looked like stone and metal fused together; a head, crowned with jagged protrusions.

  It was colossal.

  Whatever it was, there was no running anymore. It was too close.

  The first thing to breach the veil of darkness was its legs. Two enormous limbs that slammed into the ground with the weight of falling meteors. They were far too long, far too angular, covered in cracked plates of chitin.

  Each step it took left deep fissures in the earth, the ground splitting under the sheer pressure.

  From the cracks in its armor, black ooze leaked in slow, steady rivulets. The liquid flowed, thick and heavy, and wherever it touched the ground, dark veins sprouted outward like living roots. They spread fast, crawling across the dark earth, branching into thin lines.

  The veins searched, reaching, probing, as if hunting for something alive to devour. Some curled back toward the creature itself, climbing up its limbs and disappearing into the cracks of its exoskeleton.

  Then, the rest of its body emerged.

  The creature’s form filled the horizon. It stood on multiple legs, each one bending at unnatural angles, forming a spindly, skeletal frame like that of some ancient arachnid carved from bone and metal.

  Its torso was a grotesque fusion of biology and decay, a mass of warped plating and pale flesh.

  At its core, where a chest or abdomen might have been, the black ooze churned and swelled in bloated sacs that pulsed like diseased hearts. They throbbed in uneven rhythm, each beat sending ripples through the slime, releasing faint hissings of gas and the stench of rot.

  Then, slowly, the creature lowered its head.

  Its face, or what seemed to be one, was grotesque. A gaping mouth stretched across its front, filled with jagged, serrated fangs that clacked and scraped against one another. The mandibles moved erratically, twitching open and shut.

  Above that mouth, two deep cavities stared out into the ruined city. They weren’t eyes, not truly, but hollow sockets glowing faintly with an amber light. From those pits, thin streams of black ooze dripped down its face.

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  The creature didn’t move as one being; it moved in two rhythms. The first was heavy, halting, the ponderous moves of a dying monster. Its vast frame trembled with every step, as if the body itself resisted the command to live. The second rhythm was unnatural, the silent tug of the parasite that controlled it.

  Thick cords of black slime coiled through the cracks in its armor, tensing muscles, pulling joints, forcing motion where death should have stilled it long ago. The two wills fought inside it, and the parasite was winning.

  Then came the smell.

  It hit like a wall: thick, greasy, metallic—the stench of oxidized blood, of rot.

  The truth was undeniable now.

  The parasite itself was walking. It was wearing the corpse of a titan like a suit of armor, dragging it out of the abyss in search of something new to claim.

  Oliver’s stomach turned. His fingers twitched near his Energy Pistol, but he already knew the answer.

  “Are we… are we fighting that?” one of the Hoplites asked, his voice trembling through the comms.

  “No chance,” Oliver said immediately, his tone sharp, final.

  He didn’t even need to think about it. 'Not here. Not now.'

  'Maybe,' he thought, 'if I use the Green Armor…' The thought flickered through his mind, brief but bitter. 'But with others here? It’s suicide.'

  Before he could issue the retreat order, a new voice cut through the chaos.

  “Inside! Move!”

  The call came from the mercenaries near the front lines. They didn’t hesitate.

  Khan was among them, barking orders to his troops. The mercenaries surged forward, seizing the moment of distraction to break formation and sprint toward the tower’s entrance, a massive archway of black metal and fractured stone.

  “Don’t stop! Get inside!” Oliver shouted.

  The order came sharp and clear, spreading across the battlefield like wildfire. For a moment, factions dissolved into instinct. Survival.

  Khan was the first to move; he sprinted toward the massive gate. Behind him, the figure in the Black Armor hesitated. Whoever they were, they weren’t as eager to flee.

  The mercenaries followed next, a disorganized rush of bodies and weapons, their boots pounding against the cracked earth as they scrambled toward safety.

  But before the Lot soldiers or Oliver’s Hoplites could follow, the tower’s doors slammed shut with a thunderous clang.

  “We have to get in!” someone shouted.

  “Blow it open!” another barked.

  “Step back. I’ll shoot!”

  The Lot soldiers argued, weapons raised, their voices overlapping in frustration. Sparks flew as one of them fired an Energy charge against the sealed door, but the Energy dissipated harmlessly across its surface. Whatever the tower was made of, it wasn’t ordinary metal.

  While they argued, the ground shook again.

  The creature was getting closer.

  Its shadow fell across the field, blotting out what little light remained.

  A moment later, black ooze shot forward.

  It came in thick, viscous streams, arcing through the air and splattering across the ranks of those still outside. The first to be hit screamed as the ooze clung to their armor, dissolving it like acid. The slime writhed, alive, splitting into smaller, twitching forms.

  “They’re multiplying!” someone yelled.

  Oliver turned sharply toward the voice.

  The Black Ranger stood a few meters away, the gold-lined armor catching the flicker of nearby flames. The voice that came through was calm, precise, and unmistakably familiar.

  “They’ll breed faster than we can kill them,” the Black Ranger said.

  Oliver’s stomach tightened. He knew that voice. He’d only heard it a few times before, but there was no mistaking it.

  “Mordred.”

  The ground trembled again, the creature’s roar rising to a deafening pitch

  “We buy time,” Oliver commanded. “Form a line! Keep it back!”

  He drew his Laser Pistol, knowing full well it wouldn’t be enough to kill something of this scale. But right now, killing wasn’t the goal. Survival was.

  If they could slow the creature, if they could hold it long enough, then they could think of another plan.

  [First Floor Initiated]

  [Gate Re-Opening]

  The mechanical voice echoed across the battlefield.

  The massive gate of the tower, which had remained sealed for agonizing seconds, began to rise. Slowly. Painfully.

  Oliver turned toward it. “Good. That’s our window, gentlemen. We just need to hold a little longer.”

  “Yes, sir!” the Hoplites responded in unison.

  The battlefield was a blur of fire and movement. The colossal arachnid creature pressed forward, its many limbs gouging deep trenches into the earth with each step. Every shot the Hoplites fired struck its armor, spraying sparks and bursts of molten chitin, but the damage was minimal. The creature didn’t bleed; it simply slowed, paused, then advanced again, as if the pain meant nothing.

  Still, the barrage was enough to delay it, if only barely.

  “We can slip under!” one of the soldiers shouted.

  Oliver turned in time to see the first of the Lot troops sprint toward the rising gate. The gap was narrow, but wide enough for a man in armor to slide through. The soldier dove beneath it, rolling to his feet on the other side.

  “Let's move!” Oliver barked.

  He raised his weapon again, firing another volley into the advancing beast.

  “Get ready!” he shouted to the Hoplites. “On three, we move!”

  “Three… two—”

  “Rangers!”

  The shout came from one of the Hoplites. His voice was sharp, urgent.

  Oliver’s head snapped toward him. “What is it?”

  The soldier pointed toward the eastern side of the plaza.

  And there, through the smoke and haze, figures emerged.

  Four of them.

  Yellow. Blue. Pink. And Red.

  The sight froze Oliver in place.

  The Red Ranger was unmistakable.

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