[Oliver’s PoV]

  The air inside the command hall of the Red Citadel was electric.

  Even through the layers of armor, uniform, and holograms, Oliver could feel it. The tension, the weight of what was about to happen. It hung over the room.

  Every face told part of the story.

  Some were pale. Others stood rigid. Even the most disciplined soldiers revealed their fear in tiny ways: a restless hand, a breath held too long.

  Oliver’s calm voice filled the chamber. “This is our last offensive."

  Around him, the officers and soldiers of the Aquarius Command listened in silence.

  "This isn't just another battle. This is our endgame."

  Every connected outpost, every ship, every agent tied to Aquarius was watching in real time.

  The holographic feeds flickered with the faces of commanders stationed across the system. Some aboard warships, others on planets, all waiting for his command.

  Beyond them, thousands more waited aboard the Citadel itself—the soldiers, the engineers, the pilots—all tuned into this moment.

  Oliver drew a slow breath, steadying his thoughts before he spoke again.

  “For those who survive,” he said, “you will be free from this curse."

  He looked out over the gathered officers.

  “For those who fall, know this. Your sacrifice will be the foundation of the future."

  He tried to sound reassuring, but his voice betrayed the lie. There was no hiding the truth. Many wouldn’t be coming back.

  “Three days ago, Chicago fell to the Ork's."

  Oliver’s voice echoed through the command chamber.

  Before him, the air shimmered with images. Recordings, transmissions, and satellite feeds revealed the city’s destruction.

  Skyscrapers collapsed under the impact of Ork drop pods. Streets burned. Human soldiers dragged through the rubble, their armor and bodies torn apart.

  The silence in the chamber was absolute.

  “We don’t know their numbers,” Oliver continued, his tone grim. “Or what weapons they’ve brought with them. Intelligence suggests they may have deployed Titans, along with Orks of every class and caste."

  He tapped a control on his wrist console, and the hologram shifted. It showed a series of still frames captured by combat drones and field agents.

  “But we’ve confirmed one thing."

  The image zoomed in on a figure, an Ork twice the height of a man. It was wearing a twisted replica of Ranger Armor.

  “They’ve begun using Ranger Armor,” Oliver said. “Modified for their physiology. We don’t yet know how they got it or how it runs, but the consequences are obvious."

  Across the room, the Numbers scribbled notes on their gauntlets. They looked tense, eyes flicking between the screens and one another.

  Oliver, however, had already decided how best to use them.

  “Inside the city, we have two main objectives."

  The holographic map shifted again, displaying a top-down view of Chicago, now a warzone. Red markers indicated Ork positions. Blue represented what little remained of human resistance.

  “The first,” Oliver said, “is to capture Adrian Meridius."

  As Oliver mentioned, their target, a new footage, appeared. The drone showed Orks hauling a bloodied man with broken armor through the streets.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “Adrian is currently held hostage by the Orks,” Oliver continued. “He’s our key to finding the Emperor.”

  He paused, letting the weight of the statement settle.

  “Right now,” he said, “we know the Emperor has at least fifty official safehouses scattered across the planet. Most likely twice as many unofficial ones. Adrian is the only person who might know which one he’s using.”

  A murmur spread through the room. One of the officers, a young lieutenant from the intelligence division, raised his hand.

  “Sir, have we received any updates from our spies within Imperial territory?”

  Oliver shook his head. “Nothing. Even after all this time, none of our agents has gotten close enough to confirm his location. The Imperial Guard’s security is tighter than ever.”

  He turned to face the officer.

  “To infiltrate that circle, you’d have to be one of them, one of the orphans they take into the Guard as children. Those are the only people the Emperor trusts.”

  The room fell silent again.

  The truth of it was bitter. Everyone knew it. The Emperor didn’t just earn the Guard’s loyalty, he drilled obedience into them. Programmed from youth to live and die for him.

  “And finally,” Oliver said, “our second goal… is the Ork Empress.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, the room seemed to tighten.

  Every officer, every soldier, every operative in the command chamber froze as the holographic display showed her.

  The projection flickered changing to a grainy footage. It showed the Empress, in her orange armor, striding through the ruins of Chicago.

  Even in the distorted image, her presence radiated savegery.

  Gasps rippled through the room. Someone cursed under their breath. The tension was palpable, the kind of silence that only comes when every person present realizes the scale of what’s asked of them.

  A soldier near the back found his voice first, his tone uncertain. “Sir… why do we need to engage her? Wouldn’t it be better to focus on the Emperor?”

  Oliver turned toward him. “,According to our sensors,” he said, gesturing toward the hologram, “the Empress is carrying two Unique Crystals. One orange. One silver.”

  The murmurs started immediately. Even the Numbers exchanged uneasy glances.

  Oliver stepped back and reached for a metallic case resting beside the command table. He placed it in the center of the room. The faint hum of Energy emanating from within made the lights flicker.

  With a quiet hiss, the locks disengaged. The case opened.

  Inside was the weapon.

  A lance, forged from bronze-colored alloy. Its design was sleek but lethal. The blade was narrow, almost like a harpoon, but what drew everyone’s attention were the three circular slots embedded along its core.

  Two of them glowed. One with the deep, metallic sheen of bronze, the other with the radiant brilliance of gold.

  The third was empty.

  Yet, even incomplete, the Energy radiating from the lance was overwhelming. So raw, so dense, that several of the soldiers instinctively stepped back.

  One of them gagged, clutching his stomach. Another stumbled to a knee. A third soldier turned pale and vomited onto the floor.

  The Styx was a weapon for gods. To be held by gods. To kill gods

  Oliver watched as the realization dawned on the room. Fear. Awe. Understanding.

  Without a word, he pressed his palm to the case.

  With a sharp clack, the locks sealed again, and the oppressive Energy faded.

  “This is the weapon developed by the Daedalus Division.” He gestured toward the lance.

  “It’s designed to kill even a Sovereign. But its Bronze Crystal body is strong, but unstable. It can’t handle the Energy created by itself and the other Crystals embedded.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

  “That means its use will be once. One strike. One chance. It must be against the Human Sovereign. We can’t waste it before it’s complete.”

  The officers around him exchanged uneasy glances.

  One of them finally spoke. “Then… our next target is the Silver Crystal. The one carried by the Ork Empress.”

  “Exactly.” Oliver nodded.

  He turned toward the Numbers.

  “One, Two, and Three,” he said, his tone shifting into command. “You’re heading to the hangar.”

  “Sir—” One started, his voice strained, but Oliver cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I know. You’ve been ready for this for a long time. But there’s a new project down there. The engineers will need you as their fail-safe. If the Orks realize we’re preparing to exit the Grand Game, they’ll destroy everything in their way. You’ll make sure they don’t succeed.”

  Even through their masks, Oliver could see the hesitation in their posture. They wanted to be on the front lines, not guarding.

  But they didn’t argue.

  “Yes, sir,” One finally said, his voice clipped and formal.

  Oliver gave a single nod before turning to the next group.

  “Four, Five, and Six. Each of you will command a battalion. Your mission is diversionary. You’ll strike secondary Ork positions, cities still under their control. Draw their attention away from Chicago. Prevent reinforcements from reaching the Empress.”

  Six tilted his head. “Do you think the Empress will call for reinforcements? She seems too proud for that.”

  “She won’t. But her generals might. Pride won't stop them from trying to save themselves.”

  Oliver looked over his team. They stood ready, waiting for his final command, every one of them aware that they might not return.

  “If there are no further questions, begin preparations. Operation Omega is in motion.”

  https://discord.gg/dnPYbzN974.

  https://www.patreon.com/c/GCLopes.