[Oliver’s PoV]

  [Prometheus Splash]

  The words echoed in Oliver’s mind like a commandment.

  Prometheus. One of the first techniques every older Ranger learned, yet it was one of the most dangerous to master.

  It was simple in concept, almost elegant in its versatility. A single principle that could be shaped a thousand different ways.

  In its most straightforward form, it’s a punch charged with Energy.

  At a medium-to-higher level, it can accelerate its users' movement.

  But at its most complex and dangerous stage, a ranger can use it to speed up their mind, squeezing more out of the few seconds they have.

  But between those three tiers lay infinite worlds of risk. Untold variations, each more volatile than the last.

  Most Rangers never dared to explore them. The cost was too high. The human body wasn’t meant to channel that much raw Energy. A misstep could tear muscle from bone, rupture veins, or burn out every nerve in the body in an instant.

  But Oliver didn’t have the luxury of time.

  He hadn’t spent decades training like the Sovereigns or the Great House heirs. He’d had months. Months to learn what others had spent lifetimes perfecting. When faced with the impossible, he did what only someone desperate enough would do: he experimented.

  He had learned to break the rules.

  And now, with the monstrous arachnid towering over the plaza and the cries of his soldiers echoing in his ears, Oliver didn’t need precision. He didn’t need elegance.

  He needed reach.

  The Prometheus Strike was too focused, too narrow. Its power hit like a comet but left him crippled by the recoil. The sheer force of it could shatter his own bones if he wasn’t careful.

  But the Prometheus Splash; that was different.

  It was chaos made useful.

  It spread his power outward, dividing the force across a wider field. It wasn’t about breaking one target; it was about burning everything.

  Oliver spread his arms wide.

  The air around him rippled as Energy began to gather, drawn from every part of his body and his crystal. The flames of Prometheus weren’t fire in the physical sense. They were raw, condensed Energy, vibrating at frequencies that bent the light itself. Blue and gold sparks danced around his armor, swirling faster and faster until his entire form shimmered like a star on the verge of collapse.

  His gauntlets glowed white-hot, the armor’s metal creaking under the strain. The HUD inside his visor flooded with warnings, temperature spikes, pressure overloads, neural synchronization breach. He ignored them all.

  He could feel it—the Energy building, coiling tighter and tighter, begging to be unleashed.

  When he reached the threshold, the critical point where control and destruction became indistinguishable, Oliver slammed his hands together.

  The impact was deafening.

  When the Energy reached its critical limit, the air around Oliver seemed to bend under the strain. Every molecule vibrated, the hum of raw power rising to a pitch that made the ground itself shudder.

  He brought his arms together in one swift motion, palms colliding with a sound like thunder.

  The impact forced the two massive reservoirs of Energy in his hands to compress into one another, merging into a single point of unbearable density. The light between his palms flared white-hot, brighter than the fires of the battlefield, brighter than the sun. The air hissed and warped, the pressure spiking so sharply that the dust and debris around him lifted from the ground, caught in the pull of the Energy field.

  Then, with a sharp exhale, Oliver released it.

  The compressed Energy exploded outward, escaping through the gaps between his fingers in a stream of blinding blue-white light. It shot forward, racing toward the center of the plaza like a comet, its path cutting through the air so fast that no one could truly follow its trajectory.

  For an instant, there was silence.

  Then the world erupted.

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  The Energy sphere detonated the moment its containment collapsed, the raw force expanding outward in a brilliant explosion of light and heat.

  Oliver turned his head away, his visor darkening automatically to shield his eyes, but the brilliance still burned behind his lids. The ground trembled beneath his boots, a low, rolling quake that spread through the ruins.

  For a single, blinding second, the plaza became a sun.

  The slimes never even had the chance to scream. The moment the light and heat touched them, they evaporated, their forms disintegrating into vapor and ash. The air filled with the hiss of steam and the faint, acrid scent of charred residue as the parasites were erased from existence.

  When the light finally began to fade, Oliver looked up.

  The arachnid creature still stood.

  Its size had saved it from total annihilation, but the explosion had scarred it. Several of its massive legs were scorched. The black slime that had coated its lower body had been purged, burned away in patches that still smoldered with residual Energy.

  He could see it; the ooze retreating, slithering upward to the creature’s higher limbs, as if fleeing from the searing light.

  Oliver lowered his arms slowly, his body trembling with exhaustion. His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. The Prometheus Splash didn’t break his body as the Strike did, but it demanded something greater, his energy reserves.

  “Governor.”

  One of the Hoplites was already at Oliver’s side, his armored hand gripping the commander’s shoulder as he stumbled.

  “I’m fine,” Oliver said, forcing steadiness into his voice. The word came out rough, his breath shallow. “Just… tired.”

  The Hoplite didn’t look convinced. Another soldier rushed in from the other side, slipping under Oliver’s arm to help support his weight.

  “We’re clear to move in, sir. The gate’s open.”

  Oliver’s visor flickered, his vision still blurred from the aftershock of the [Prometheus Splash].

  Through the haze, he saw Alan.

  The Bronze Ranger was pulling himself free from the last of the black slime clinging to his armor.

  Even the black ooze that were still alive and could have held him back could no longer do so. The Bronze Ranger had already activated his boon and increased the gravity around himself. The parasites were forced down hard against the ground, unable to reach him.

  With a sudden kick, Alan launched himself upward. The air cracked around him, a sonic boom splitting the silence as he soared across the battlefield. He landed in front of the gate, the impact shaking the ground beneath him.

  For a moment, he stood there, his armor scorched and dented but unbroken.

  Then he turned toward Oliver.

  “Thank you, Atlas,” Alan said, his voice steady through the comms. “That’s twice now. I’ll remember it.”

  Oliver didn’t answer. He simply nodded once, too drained to form the words.

  Alan lingered for a second longer, his visor tilted slightly as if studying him. Even through the faceplate, Oliver could feel the Bronze Ranger’s curiosity. Yet, Alan turned away without another word and moved toward the gate.

  “Move, damn it! Everyone inside!” Mordred’s voice roared.

  The soldiers didn’t hesitate. They ran for the gate before it could close again.

  With the Hoplites at his side, Oliver followed.

  The interior of the tower was vast, impossibly vast.

  From the outside, it had looked immense, an architectural marvel rising from the ruins of a dead world. Inside, however, it was something else entirely. The space stretched far beyond what physics should have allowed, a hexagonal chamber so large that its far walls faded into shadow.

  The only light came from the Rangers’ armor and the glow of wall fixtures embedded in the smooth, metallic surfaces.

  Oliver narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the far end of the chamber. The further he looked, the more the space seemed to expand, as though the tower’s interior wasn’t bound by the same rules as the world outside.

  'It looked smaller from the outside,' he thought, the realization sending a chill down his spine.

  One by one, the survivors poured in.

  Soldiers. Rangers. Nobles.

  They stumbled through the entrance, breathless and bloodied. The chamber filled with the sound of armor scraping, weapons clattering, and the ragged breathing of people who had narrowly escaped death.

  “How do we close this damn gate?”

  The question came from a Lot soldier near the entrance. He ran his hands along the wall, slapping at smooth metal panels as if one might suddenly reveal a control.

  “There’s got to be a switch, a console, something!” another shouted, moving to help.

  Soon, others joined in, spreading out along the edges of the hexagon, their search growing more frantic with each passing second. The open gate still yawned behind them, and beyond it was the black ooze, the towering spider.

  Oliver was steadying his breathing when Mordred approached.

  He stopped a few paces away from Oliver and the others, his helmet tilting slightly as if choosing his words with care.

  “Has anyone managed to contact their fleets? Or anything off-world?” Mordred asked.

  Katherine stepped forward. “No. My main ship crashed during descent. We’ve been trying to reach Headquarters ever since. Nothing gets through.”

  Mordred exhaled heavily. “A perfect trap,” he muttered, his tone bitter.

  Oliver frowned. The word trap lingered in his mind, pulling his thoughts toward the one name that hadn’t yet been spoken.

  “Khan,” he said, his voice low. “Was this his doing?”

  Mordred’s head turned slightly, his expression unreadable behind the visor. “If it was, he’s caught in it too.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed.

  “He crashed here as well,” Mordred explained.

  Oliver’s thoughts churned. 'So it wasn’t a plan. It was by chance.'

  Before he could speak, the silence of the chamber broke.

  A mechanical voice filled the air.

  [Welcome]

  [Planetary Defense System is offline]

  [Initializing First Floor]

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