The stench of cheap liquor clung to Vylaas like a second skin as he stumbled into the Colossus. His boots scuffed against the steel floor, the sound grating in the confined space. He fumbled with the harness, fingers numb and clumsy, before finally collapsing into the pilot’s seat. His head lolled back, eyes already half-lidded as he reached for the reserve he kept tucked into his coat.

  Chimera was already interfacing with the war machine, her presence threading through its systems like smoke. She didn’t wait for him to give the order—she hadn’t needed to in years. The Colossus powered up, its low hum vibrating through the metal frame. Monitors flickered to life, their glow casting harsh shadows across the cockpit.

  "Ready for deployment," she said over the speaker, her voice flat and calm.

  Vylaas grunted in response, his hand tightening around the leather-wrapped flask. He took a long pull, the liquor burning its way down his throat. His eyes fluttered shut, and within moments, his breathing evened out.

  Chimera watched him for a moment, her systems processing the data from his vitals—decreasing heart rate, shallow respiration, the faint tremors in his extremities. But she didn’t comment. She never did.

  The hangar doors rumbled open, revealing the dim glow of dawn breaking over the battlefield. The Colossus lurched forward, its massive weight settling onto the transport tracks. The tow vehicles descended, their engines whining as they latched onto the war machine and lifted it into the air.

  The battlefield stretched out below, a patchwork of smoke and craters. Explosions lit up the horizon, their flashes reflected in the Colossus’s cameras. The comms crackled with orders, voices sharp and urgent. Chimera acknowledged them without hesitation, her focus locked on the tactical display.

  Enemy positions appeared as red markers, clustered around a series of fortified bunkers. She adjusted the Colossus’s trajectory, guiding it into position. The rotary cannons spun up, their barrels gleaming in the early light.

  She didn’t need Vylaas for this.

  The first salvo tore through the enemy lines, the Thunderstrike cannons roaring with a relentless rhythm. Bodies flew apart, their heat signatures vanishing from the sensors. Chimera moved the Colossus forward, her systems processing every threat with clinical precision.

  Plasma projectors fired, their beams cutting through steel and stone. Missiles arced through the sky, their explosions shaking the ground. The Colossus was a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding.

  Vylaas, mercifully, slept through it all.

  He didn’t stir as the war machine marched across the battlefield, its weapons painting the landscape in fire and blood. His breathing remained steady, his body limp in the harness. Chimera kept an eye on his vitals, but her focus stayed on the mission.

  An hour passed. The comms crackled with a new order.

  "Titan K-17, move to rendezvous point Gamma-12. Relay with other A-T units upon arrival."

  Chimera acknowledged the command, adjusting the Colossus’s course. The tow vehicles shifted their trajectory, carrying the war machine toward the designated coordinates.

  The battlefield grew quieter as they moved away from the front lines, the explosions fading into the distance. The tactical display showed fewer red markers, the enemy presence thinning out.

  Then the comms went dead.

  The sudden silence was jarring. Chimera ran a diagnostic, checking for system malfunctions. Everything appeared functional, but the comms remained silent. A moment later, the Colossus’s systems came under attack.

  Electronic interference rippled through the sensors, distorting the tactical display. Network alerts flared across the monitors, warning of unauthorized access attempts. Chimera’s systems locked down, her presence hardening against the intrusion.

  The cockpit lights flickered, and the hum of the Colossus’s power core stuttered.

  Vylaas stirred, his eyes snapping open. He sat up slowly, his movements sluggish but deliberate. His gaze landed on the monitors, taking in the chaotic storm of alerts.

  Chimera expected him to panic, to demand answers. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his expression grim.

  "So," he said, his voice rough and more than a little slurred, but otherwise steady. "It must finally be time."

  Vylaas pulled an auto-injector from his vest pocket, his fingers still unsteady. The metal caught the dim light as he pressed it against his neck and clicked the trigger. The flush hit his system like a bucket of ice water.

  There you go, Medea whispered at him softly. Come back to us.

  He watched his vitals as they spiked on his HUD—heart rate jumping, blood pressure rising, adrenaline flooding his system. The cocktail burned through the alcohol in his blood with brutal efficiency.

  "That's going to hurt later," Vylaas muttered, tossing the empty injector aside. His eyes cleared, pupils contracting to pinpoints as the drugs took hold. The tremor in his hands steadied.

  The monitors still flashed with intrusion warnings, but now he could focus on them properly. His mouth tasted like copper and chemicals.

  "Status report," he said, his words crisp and precise where they'd been slurred moments ago.

  Vylaas settled deeper into the pilot's seat while the combat stims burned through his veins. Chimera's voice washed over him through the comms, each word precise and business-like as she outlined their electronic defenses. The secondary screen lit his face in pulses of blue, hostile signals weaving through their own encrypted transmissions like sharks through murky water.

  “Enemy hackers have breached secondary nodes,” Chimera reported. “They’re targeting our navigation systems and backup channels. Multiple vectors, three confirmed origin points.”

  Vylaas listened without surprise. His contacts had warned him that the ambush would come sooner than expected. Still, the rapid pace of the assault caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed as he digested the flood of information.

  “Keep working on our defenses,” he said. His voice held a quiet command that left no room for second-guessing. Chimera had systems designed for these moments. Vylaas trusted her to untangle the web of hostile codes and ensure the ship remained on course.

  The display shifted as Chimera isolated pockets of interference. She pinpointed weak spots and initiated countermeasures. Vylaas felt a calm determination settling over him. He moved from the main console to the co-pilot station, where he knew he'd be able to access the backup analog comms. He found the data-slate, dusty from disuse, tucked behind the monitor that displayed the primary comms.

  The slate was hard-wired in—not networked to any of the primary systems, and only running the software required to operate the antiquated radio equipment that served as the fallback system in the event of situations like this. He set the transmitter to cycle through frequencies on a repeat broadcast. There should be no reason his attackers would miss the broadcast.

  He cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. His message was short, stripped of preamble or sentiment, despite being meant for someone he once trusted with his life. That was a lifetime ago, and it had been years now since they had last had a real conversation. But it was time for that to change. He knew who at least one of his betrayers was with a certainty that ran bone-deep.

  “Kaelen, before the end, we should speak.”

  Kaelen felt the Gladius breathe.

  The twenty-meter war machine didn't actually inhale—its systems required no oxygen—but the neural interface translated the Titan's sensor inputs into sensations his body could interpret. Power surged through primary and secondary reactors, coolant cycled through weapon systems, and servo-motors primed in legs and arms. To Kaelen, it felt like the deep, steady breathing of a predator preparing to hunt.

  "Sync status?" he asked, voice echoing in the cramped command pod.

  The interface translated his words into system queries, flashing the results directly into his visual cortex. Neural sync at 94%. Primary systems nominal. Weapons hot. Gladius combat-ready.

  "Good," he murmured. Unlike the bulky Colossus his brother piloted, the Gladius-class Titan was built for speed and precision—a scalpel rather than a hammer. Its sleek, obsidian frame stood half the height of the Colossus, with articulated limbs and reinforced jump jets that allowed for tactical mobility impossible in larger models.

  The neural cradle cradled Kaelen's body, countless filaments connecting to the ports embedded in his spine and skull. His physical form remained in the pod, but his consciousness extended throughout the machine. He flexed the Titan's fingers, feeling the articulation of each joint as if they were his own.

  Perfect integration, he thought, satisfaction flowing through him. Unlike pilots who merely operated their machines, Kaelen became the Gladius.

  "Squad status," he transmitted, reaching out to the twelve Assault Troopers assigned to him. They were all of a medium build, none more than 10 meters in height, and formed a loose phalanx around his Gladius. Their vital signs appeared in his peripheral vision—heartbeats steady, breathing regulated, combat stimulants at optimal levels. These weren't ordinary soldiers but Valerius's handpicked killers, the best the Empire had to offer.

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  "Green across the board, sir," came the response from squad leader Commander Sayend. "Ready for deployment."

  Kaelen activated external sensors, scanning the pre-dawn landscape. The ridge provided excellent cover, with a direct line of sight to the valley below where the Colossus was slowly lumbering into view, its massive frame silhouetted against the first pale hints of sunrise.

  "All units, final briefing," Kaelen announced, his voice carrying simultaneously to the squad and the command staff monitoring from Command HQ. "Target confirmation: K-17 Colossus-class Titan, designation 'Bastion.' Intelligence reports indicate the legitimate pilot, Prince Vylaas Orestes, was killed in action four days ago during the Araxis Offensive."

  The lie flowed smoothly from his lips. They'd crafted it carefully over the past weeks, seeding reports throughout intelligence channels, creating a digital trail of evidence pointing to Vylaas's death during a separate engagement. The corpse of a resistance fighter with similar biometrics had been conveniently "identified" as the prince.

  "Our mission," Kaelen continued, "is to neutralize the compromised war machine and identify the resistance operative who has commandeered it. High Command believes they're using the Colossus's combat record to legitimize their presence while gathering intelligence on Imperial operations."

  Commander Sayend's voice cut in, precisely on cue. "Rules of engagement, sir?"

  "Extreme prejudice," Kaelen replied coldly. "The target has access to classified Imperial weapons systems and has demonstrated willingness to use them against our forces. All measures authorized."

  He zoomed the optical sensors on the Colossus. It would come into range soon, and a precisely calibrated collection of electronic attacks would see the AT stopped dead—systems powered down except for basic life support.

  "Sir," Sayend prodded, "regarding the pilot's identity..."

  "Intelligence is sometimes wrong," Kaelen acknowledged, following the script they'd prepared. "If by some miracle my brother survived and is indeed piloting that machine, we are to extract him immediately. However, all evidence suggests we're dealing with a highly sophisticated infiltration. Approach with caution and verify identity before extraction."

  A ripple of acknowledgment passed through the squad. The scenario they'd outlined was plausible enough—Imperial Titans had been targeted by resistance forces before, though rarely successfully captured. The idea that someone might be impersonating the prince would justify any force they used.

  And when we recover only Vylaas's body, Kaelen thought grimly, it will be tragedy, not treason.

  The mission had been Valerius's suggestion, but Kaelen had embraced it without hesitation. For years, he'd watched his brother's subtle subversion, the quiet ways Vylaas undermined Imperial expansion while maintaining his fa?ade of drunken incompetence. The intelligence was undeniable—refugee camps evacuated just before Imperial strikes, resistance cells forewarned of planned operations, supply chains disrupted by seemingly random malfunctions.

  Vylaas had become too effective, too dangerous to their plans. With the king's health failing and the succession in question, they could no longer afford the risk he represented.

  He checked the Colossus’ position. It was time.

  "Target entering operational perimeter," Kaelen announced, pushing away the unwelcome thoughts. "Initiate Phase One. Janney, you are weapons-free with the eSuite. Bring those systems down. Everyone else: maintain radio silence until my signal."

  Minutes passed, but before too long the K-17 came to a shuddering halt.

  "Electronic warfare suite has successfully compromised K-17's external communications, weapons platforms, and movement systems." Came Specialist Janney's report. "Life support remains functional per mission parameters. Pilot is essentially sealed in a very large metal coffin."

  Kaelen watched the Colossus through the Gladius's targeting systems. The massive war machine stood frozen mid-stride, its imposing silhouette stark against the dawn sky. No movement, no energy signatures beyond basic power distribution.

  "Good work," he said. "Maintain suppression and continue monitoring for countermeasures."

  He turned his attention to the squad's tactical display. Twelve green markers formed a loose perimeter around the stationary Colossus, positioned according to his earlier instructions—close enough for rapid response, far enough to avoid being caught in a potential self-destruct sequence.

  "Squad, maintain relative position and establish full perimeter coverage," he ordered. "I'm moving to visual confirmation of target status."

  Commander Sayend's acknowledgment was immediate. "Understood, sir. Squad is in position and awaiting your command."

  Kaelen reached inward, toward the familiar heat that had become second nature in the years since his awakening to the Spiritflame. He found the emotion he needed—cold determination, the focused edge of purpose—and ignited it. The sensation of burning filled his chest, spreading outward through his limbs, through the neural interface, and into the Gladius itself.

  The spiritflame responded to his will, bouncing between aetheric arrays that magnified its power and wrapping around the Titan's frame in translucent sheets of violet energy. Light bent around the construct, warping visual perception of the Gladius until it faded from view entirely.

  [Spiritflame: Ghost Veil] detected, the ship's systems confirmed. Estimated remaining duration: 4:32

  The stealth field wouldn't hold for long—maintaining it consumed spiritflame rapidly—but it would be enough. Kaelen directed the Gladius forward in a controlled advance, each step carefully measured to minimize sound. Despite the machine's considerable mass, it moved with surprising grace, the product of both advanced engineering and Kaelen's years of experience.

  He approached the Colossus from its blind spot, circling toward the emergency access hatch located at the rear of the command module. If Vylaas was indeed inside, he would be there, in the neural cradle that served as both cockpit and life support system.

  "Sir, we're detecting an outgoing transmission from the Colossus."

  Kaelen froze. "I thought you locked down all communications."

  "All standard channels are suppressed," Janney confirmed, confusion evident in her voice. "It's an analog radio wave transmission. Extremely basic, it's not even encrypted. My best guess is an emergency unit separate from the rest of the AT's power grid."

  Clever, Kaelen thought, a reluctant flicker of admiration surfacing despite himself. Of course, Vylaas or one of his associates would have contingencies and would have studied enough engineering to implement obsolete technology as a backup.

  "Can you intercept it?" he asked.

  "Already intercepted and suppressed, sir," Janney replied. "It won't reach anyone outside the immediate area. Patching through now."

  Static crackled briefly in Kaelen's neural interface before resolving into a voice he knew as well as his own—though rougher than he remembered, worn by years and experience.

  "Kaelen," Vylaas said, the single word heavy with meaning. "Before the end, we should speak."

  The message was brief, direct, and achingly familiar. Despite everything—the years of suspicion, the mounting evidence, the careful planning of this very mission—Kaelen felt something twist inside him at the sound of his brother's voice. Memories surfaced unbidden: Vylaas showing him a wounded bird in the palace gardens, Vylaas struggling through training with that damned collar around his throat, Vylaas standing alone at their mother's funeral while Kaelen remained by their father's side.

  "Sir, all external communications are... experiencing technical difficulties," Janney said, interrupting his reverie. "We're effectively isolated."

  "Good," Kaelen said. "Commander Sayend, maintain perimeter security. No one approaches until I give the order. Is that clear?"

  The Ghost Veil shimmered around the Gladius as Kaelen deactivated it, allowing the Titan to materialize fully in view of the Colossus's remaining active sensors. He positioned his machine directly before the larger war construct, face to face—or as close to it as their differing heights would allow.

  "Crystal clear, sir," Sayend's voice carried the practiced neutrality of a veteran officer. The commander understood exactly what was happening—Kaelen was crafting a moment that wouldn't exist in any official record. Perfect deniability for whatever ugly business might follow.

  Minutes crawled by, each second a weight on Vylaas's chest as Chimera battled the electronic assault on the Colossus's systems. Alerts still flashed across the displays, but his focus remained fixed on the main viewport, where nothing moved across the barren landscape.

  "Chimera, status report." His voice sounded steadier than he felt.

  "Communications remain jammed. I've isolated our core functions from the attack, but we're essentially blind beyond five hundred meters."

  Vylaas nodded, his fingers tapping against the console. "And the message?"

  "Sent. Whether it was received..." Chimera trailed off.

  The air outside the viewport rippled suddenly, like heat rising from desert sand. Then the ripple expanded, forming patterns too precise to be natural. The interference on their sensors spiked.

  "Magic signature detected," Chimera announced. "Pattern analysis suggests—"

  "Spiritflame," Vylaas finished. "Kaelen's here."

  The veil parted like water, revealing another Titan. Unlike the bulky, utilitarian design of the Colossus, this machine moved with predatory grace. Its armor gleamed obsidian in the morning light, accented with crimson markings that seemed to pulse with inner fire.

  Gladius. His brother's war machine. Sleeker than the Colossus, built for speed and precision rather than raw power.

  "Well," Vylaas muttered, "he always did have a flair for the dramatic."

  He rose hesitantly from his seat, knowing what he should do, but unsure if he was up to the task.

  "Chimera," he said, his voice shaky. "If I don't make it back in, do your best to save yourself. Get away from Kaelen if you can, but cooperate if you can't. Don't suffer on my account."

  "Vylaas, I—" she started, but Vylaas continued speaking.

  "Medea, speak with Chimera. It's possible they'll be able to reclaim her from the Titan, so don't spill everything, but she deserves to know the broad strokes of what's going on."

  Of course, dear, she responded, concern and affection evident in her tone. I'll still be with you if you need me, but I'll read my darling 'older sister' in.

  Nodding, Vylaas made his way through the cramped interior of the Titan, climbing down ladders and squeezing through maintenance corridors until he reached one of the emergency escape hatches. The door hissed open, and he stepped onto the small maintenance platform that extended from the Colossus' waist.

  Movement caught his eye. Across the expanse, a figure emerged from the Gladius, climbing with practiced ease down the Titan's arm to stand on its outstretched hand.

  Kaelen.

  Even at this distance, Vylaas recognized his brother's posture—straight-backed, head held high, every inch the warrior prince. Sunlight glinted off the cybernetics that had replaced much of Kaelen's left side, the end result of a path he had started walking after that failed ritual so many years ago.

  The brothers stood motionless, each on their respective perches, separated by open air and years of diverging paths.

  Vylaas spoke first, using mana to ensure his voice reached Kaelen. It was a common trick, popular with public speakers and battlefield commanders alike.

  "So, dear brother, how long have you known you would be the one to kill me?"