[Oliver’s PoV]

  “Wait!”

  The command tore from Oliver’s throat before he even realized he’d spoken.

  The battlefield froze for a heartbeat. The Hoplites, already mid-sprint toward the tower’s gate, halted at once.

  'I can’t leave her behind,' Oliver thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. 'She’s a princess. I can't let her be harmed.'

  That was the justification he told himself, the logic he clung to. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t reason driving him. It was something else. Something far less rational.

  The Hoplites didn’t question him. They didn’t have to.

  “We’ll buy you time, sir,” one of them said, his voice steady despite the chaos.

  “I’m sorry,” Oliver muttered, his throat tight. He knew what he was asking of them. To stay behind, to fight something that couldn’t be fought.

  Another Hoplite turned his helmet toward him. “Don’t be, sir. We know what we signed up for.”

  Oliver’s jaw clenched. His teeth ground together until he tasted blood. “Then let’s move.”

  [Prometheus]

  The word ignited his armor like a spark to fuel.

  Flames burst from his forearms, wrapping his gauntlets in golden fire that rippled and hissed in the air. The ground beneath his boots sizzled with every step as he advanced, his Hoplites at his sides.

  Behind them, the tower’s gate continued to rise, the grinding of metal drowned out by the monstrous roar of the arachnid creature. Its massive limbs crashed against the ground, sending tremors through the earth.

  “Keep going! Don’t stop moving!” Mordred’s voice cut through the noise, commanding his troops. The Black Ranger stood near the entrance, his golden-trimmed armor glinting in the firelight as he directed the soldiers to move inside.

  But it wasn’t just Oliver who was heading for the plaza.

  “Sorry, President,” came a voice from behind him. “But I can’t go in yet.”

  Something streaked past Oliver. A blur of bronze light, so fast it left a trail of heat in the air. The shockwave of its passage nearly knocked him off balance.

  He looked up just in time to see the Bronze Ranger slam into one of the creature’s colossal legs.

  The impact was like a thunderclap.

  The ground split beneath the force, the sound echoing through the entire plaza. The Bronze Ranger’s hands dug into the creature’s armor, fingers piercing the chitinous plates as if they were nothing more than brittle glass. Cracks spidered outward from the point of impact.

  The creature screamed, a sound that rattled the air, a shriek of metal and flesh twisting together. Black ooze poured from the cracks, cascading down the limb. The slime writhed as it fell, desperately trying to climb back up and dislodge the attacker clinging to its leg.

  But the Bronze Ranger didn’t let go.

  He pulled, muscles and armor straining. The creature’s leg buckled slightly under the pressure, its body shifting as it tried to regain balance.

  “Alan!” Mordred screamed. “Damn it. Hold the line! We’re not going in without him!”

  Oliver turned his head toward the sound, his visor locking onto the Bronze Ranger.

  'Alan,' Oliver thought, recognizing the friend. 'Not as powerful as Silver or Gold, but strong enough to buy us time.'

  He clenched his jaw. “While he’s holding that thing, we clear the plaza! Don’t let the slimes trap anyone near the tower!”

  He didn’t wait for acknowledgment.

  Oliver launched himself forward, landing in the middle of the plaza with enough force to crack the blackened stone beneath his boots. The heat from the Prometheus flames still burned along his arms.

  The scene was hell.

  The slimes, the parasitic black masses that had spilled from the creature’s body, covered nearly every surface. They slithered between the broken tiles, oozed down the sides of the tower, and pooled in the cracks of the ground like living tar. Each one moved with purpose, drawn toward the living.

  A jet of golden flame burst from his arms as he dove into the swarm. The air filled with the sound of sizzling flesh and the acrid stench of burning oil.

  “Keep moving! Don’t let them surround you!” he shouted through the comms.

  The Hoplites followed his lead, forming a tight formation around the plaza. They struck in unison. Each hit sent shockwaves of heat, incinerating the parasites that dared to move too close. The slimes screamed a high, wet hiss that echoed through the plaza as they writhed in agony.

  But there were too many.

  Every time one burned away, another crawled from the creature’s wounds, dripping down its legs like blood. The plaza was a sea of black and gold, a clash of light and corruption.

  Oliver moved through it like a blade.

  He ducked beneath a tendril of slime that lashed out toward him, spinning and driving his flaming fist into its core. The impact sent a burst of molten fragments scattering across the stone. He didn’t stop to watch it die; he was already moving, already striking the next one.

  The Hoplites worked in perfect rhythm, covering his flanks. The heat from their combined assault turned the air into a shimmering haze.

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  But not everyone was keeping pace.

  At the edges of the plaza, soldiers from the Lot forces were struggling. Some had been caught by the slimes, their armor sizzling as the black ooze ate through the metal. Others clawed at their suits, tearing off pieces of gear in a desperate attempt to escape as the parasites crawled up their limbs.

  Oliver caught a glimpse of one man falling, his screams cut short as the slime enveloped his faceplate. There was no time to help him.

  “Focus on the center! Push them back toward the streets!” Oliver commanded, his voice hard and unyielding.

  The Hoplites obeyed, tightening their formation. The Prometheus flames grew hotter, their golden arcs cutting through the darkness.

  From the tower’s entrance, Mordred’s soldiers watched in stunned silence.

  “What are they doing?” one of them muttered, eyes wide behind his visor.

  Another soldier answered, awe creeping into his tone. “Their attacks, it’s working.”

  Realization spread quickly among the ranks.

  They had been fighting blindly, wasting Energy weapons against creatures that absorbed their shots like fuel.

  Oliver saw the shift almost immediately. The soldiers began adapting, rerouting their weapons, overcharging their rifles, anything to replicate the burning force the Hoplites wielded.

  Each kick from the Hoplites sent waves of the black slimes flying backward, splattering against the cracked pavement and walls of the ruined plaza. But for every parasite crushed, burned, or torn apart, two more seemed to crawl forward. It was an ocean of darkness that refused to die.

  Across the plaza, the Rangers were cutting their way through the swarm. The Red Ranger led the charge, her blood blade slicing through the parasites with terrifying precision.

  “We’re almost there!” one of the Rangers shouted, her voice fierce and determined.

  The sound carried across the battlefield, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. The soldiers heard it, and for a fleeting moment, their hearts lifted.

  But hope was short-lived.

  A deep, grinding noise cut through the roar of battle. Metal groaned and clanged as the massive gate began to close.

  “Someone got inside!” a Lot soldier shouted in panic.

  “Those bastards!” another cursed.

  The cries spread quickly through the ranks, confusion threatening to undo their fragile coordination.

  And then, above the noise, a commanding voice rose.

  “The door will open again! Stay focused!”

  It was Mordred.

  Though he stood far from the heart of the battle, his presence was unmistakable. The gold-lined Black Armor shimmered faintly in the gloom, and with each move of his hands, the shadows around him began to shift.

  The ground trembled.

  [Shadow Spike]

  His voice carried, deep and resonant, vibrating through the air like thunder.

  The shadows obeyed.

  They peeled away from the ground, twisting and writhing like serpents before converging around him. The air shimmered with raw Energy as the darkness condensed into a single point before his hands. With a sudden downward motion, Mordred slammed his palms toward the ground.

  The shadows moved.

  They didn’t fly. They traveled, crawling across the ground like liquid night, vanishing beneath the surface as they streaked toward the colossal arachnid creature.

  The floor beneath the beast erupted.

  A massive spear of shadow burst upward, its form jagged and black. The spike impaled the creature from below, driving through its abdomen with a sound like tearing metal.

  For a moment, the battlefield fell silent.

  Then came the scream.

  A gout of black ooze spewed from the wound, splattering across the plaza like blood. The liquid hissed and bubbled where it landed, eating through the stone, releasing bursts of smoke and the stench of rot.

  But the creature did not die.

  It didn’t even flinch.

  The shadow spear quivered, still lodged deep in its body, but the monster kept moving. The ooze that leaked from its body twisted into thick cords, pulling at the wound, knitting it closed even as the creature advanced.

  Mordred clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. “You son of a bitch!” he roared, his voice echoing across the plaza.

  “Heat!”

  The shout came from the approaching Rangers, their voices cutting through the chaos. “Heat and light are their weakness! One alone isn’t enough!”

  The Red Ranger’s voice carried across the battlefield for every soldier still standing to hear.

  Mordred's tone dripped with sarcasm. “Great. My specialty, then.”

  The irony was bitter. His Boon was shadow control, and in this fight, it was useless.

  Oliver didn’t respond. He didn’t even look in their direction. His focus was locked entirely on the battlefield.

  The last of the Rangers had made it through the swarm and was close to the tower. For a moment, Oliver allowed himself to believe the worst was over.

  “We’re pulling back. Regroup near the gate,” he ordered.

  The Hoplites obeyed instantly, falling into formation as they began to retreat in measured steps. Their movements were precise, disciplined, each one covering the others as they ceded ground.

  Behind them, the mechanical voice of the tower echoed once more.

  [First Floor Initiated]

  [Gate Re-Opening]

  The sound of grinding metal followed, as the massive doors began to rise again.

  “The gate’s opening!” one of the soldiers shouted.

  “Move! Get inside! We don’t know how long it’ll stay open!”

  Oliver wanted to repeat the order, to tell his men to run. But they were the ones holding the line. If they broke formation too soon, the parasites would pour through and overwhelm the retreat.

  “Sir! Someone’s still out there!” a Hoplite called out, his voice tight.

  Oliver didn’t need to ask who. He could see it.

  Alan.

  The Bronze Ranger was still locked in combat with the creature. The ooze covered him in thick layers, spreading like a living infection. Each movement seemed slower, heavier, as if the parasite was trying to claim him piece by piece.

  “Get him back here!” Oliver barked, turning toward Mordred.

  The Black Ranger didn’t move immediately. His stance was rigid, his body language radiating irritation at being given orders. But even Mordred couldn’t ignore the situation.

  “Alan! Fall back! We’re heading inside!” Mordred shouted, his voice amplified through his helm.

  “Go first!” Alan called back, his tone strained, his breathing uneven. “I’ll— I’ll be right behind you!”

  “No chance, General. That’s an order!” Mordred’s voice hardened, the authority in it undeniable.

  Oliver could guess what was happening. He could see it in the way Alan moved, or rather, the way he didn’t. The parasites were everywhere, swarming over his legs, his chest, his arms. Even a Unique Ranger Armor couldn’t hold out forever under that kind of pressure.

  Alan was trapped.

  Oliver’s mind raced. 'I’m in the Blue Armor. If I reveal anything more, she’ll recognize me.'

  He glanced toward the Red Ranger, close to the gate. He couldn’t risk it. Not now.

  But Alan would die if he didn’t act.

  Oliver took a deep breath. The decision was made before he even realized it.

  “Clear back. Now.”

  The Hoplites didn’t question him. They didn’t need to.

  They saw the Energy gathering in his hands. The ground trembled beneath him, the air crackling with raw power.

  “Back! Everyone back!” Mordred’s voice rang out almost simultaneously. His soldiers, too, could feel it. The surge of Energy made it even difficult to breathe.

  Even the parasites seemed to hesitate, their writhing forms pausing as if sensing what was about to come.

  [Prometheus Splash]

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