Chapter 38: The Dragon Descents

  Several system hours ago—aboard The Reckoning, orbiting the Verdant Vale.

  Drakon stood at the command deck, arms crossed behind his back, golden eyes locked onto the holographic display of the planet below. The Verdant Vale. A world shrouded in myth, rich in untapped resources, and now—a war zone.

  The orders had been clear. Duke Dragan himself had summoned Drakon to the war table, the weight of his command unmistakable. House Draconis had unfinished business in the Vale. The system was an open door—primitive, unguarded. The Vale had yet to establish proper stardocks, much less planetary defense systems. It was a backwater world, unaware of how vulnerable it truly was to forces far beyond its understanding.

  "Your brother is there," the Duke had said, his tone carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "He fancies himself clever, withholding what is already ours, as if I would not see through his little ambitions. You will remind him of his place. And while you’re at it, secure the Starforge. If he resists, then he is of no further use to House Draconis."

  The meaning had been clear.

  Drakon was to clean up Lyrius’ mess.

  He had no illusions about what that meant. His uncle had never cared for Lyrius, not truly. If he proved a liability, if he was weak, then he was expendable.

  Drakon had said nothing. But he had already made his choice.

  Now, as the Verdant Vale turned beneath them, The Reckoning’s stealth field held firm, masking its approach. The moon-sized dreadnought hung like a silent predator, its weapon systems primed, its AI running constant tactical analysis on the battle unfolding below.

  Drakon had watched the reports with growing unease.

  Lyrius was holding his own against the local forces—until something changed.

  Soldraknirr had been unstoppable.

  Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

  Drakon’s fingers tightened into a fist as he watched the battle unfold in real time. Lyrius’ dragon-mech, a masterpiece of House Draconis' might, was now failing against something the data couldn’t explain. A mech unlike any in recorded history—an anomaly.

  Then came the distress beacon.

  And the life signs.

  Drakon barely had time to process the truth before his brother’s vitals plummeted.

  "Helm. Take us in."

  The bridge crew hesitated. "My lord, are you certain? We risk exposure to—"

  "Do it."

  The Reckoning shifted, its engines roaring to life, it approached closer to the world below.

  Drakon’s expression was unreadable as he watched the sensors lock onto his brother’s position.

  He had failed to protect him before.

  He would not fail him now.

  Present Time – Vellmont, Southern Gate

  Hell fell from the heavens.

  The sky above Vellmont blazed as orbital lances tore through the atmosphere, descending with the force of judgment itself. The first impact landed in the heart of the city, a pillar of white-hot devastation that vaporized stone, steel, and flesh alike. Shockwaves rippled outward, flattening structures, sending bodies hurtling like ragdolls.

  The southern gate—Vellmont’s last line of defense—was no exception.

  Lord Mayor Magnus Thalgrin had fought until the very last. His once-proud armor, the colors of his house now charred and bloodstained, shimmered in the firelight as he turned toward the incoming blast. There was no time to run. No time to shield himself. He braced, teeth gritted in defiance—

  The impact obliterated him.

  Stone walls cracked like brittle bone, collapsing onto the panicked soldiers and civilians below. Screams filled the air, only to be drowned out by the deafening roar of another strike. Bodies were incinerated in an instant. Entire sections of the city ceased to exist. The streets ran red, steaming in the unnatural heat.

  And yet, amidst the ruin, they fought.

  Anya Blackstark and her squad were among the last standing.

  "Get them to cover!" Anya bellowed, her Direhound-Mech barely holding together, its once-formidable plating scarred and crumbling. She saw a mother clutching her child, stumbling through the wreckage. A boy dragging his unconscious father. Soldiers, broken and burned, refusing to abandon their home. She wouldn’t let them die.

  "MOVE! NOW!"

  She barely had time to react before the next strike hit.

  A firestorm engulfed the western sector, and with it—

  Jerik.

  His voice cut off mid-command, his Direhound vanishing in the explosion, torn apart by the sheer force of the blast. Shrapnel rained down in his wake, his charred mech's remnants scattered like ashes.

  "FUCK!" Anya screamed, spinning toward the others. "We need to—"

  Another blast.

  This time, Brenn.

  His heavy artillery mech had been shielding a cluster of survivors, its massive frame absorbing the brunt of the blast. But the next strike was direct—piercing through his armor, igniting his munitions in a cataclysmic detonation.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The last thing Anya saw of him was his face on the holo—his usual smirk replaced by something almost peaceful.

  "Delete my browsing history," Brenn muttered, his usual cocky smirk barely hiding the pain in his voice. "Or at least... make it look respectable."" was all he said before the flames took him.

  Nissa screamed, her petite frame trembling as she desperately tried to push through the debris. "NO! NO, YOU BASTARDS!" Her mech, faster than the others, had dodged most of the devastation—but her luck finally ran out.

  A massive section of the wall, the very fortification she had fought to protect, crumbled and crashed onto her Direhound, slamming into its back and crushing its servos. The sheer weight of the debris was staggering—enough to cripple even the strongest frames. Alarms blared in her cockpit as her mech struggled, legs twitching but refusing to respond. The servos whined in protest as she tried to break free, but the rear cockpit has deformed slightly in all the weight of the debris.

  "I— I can't get out!" Her voice crackled over the comms, panic creeping in.

  Brody rushed in, his mech skidding to a halt in front of hers. Without hesitation, he disengaged the lock on his rear-mounted cockpit, the hatch hissing open as he leaped out, boots hitting the ground hard. He scrambled over to Nissa’s mech, climbing up the ruined plating to reach her.

  "Hold on, Nissa! I'm getting you out of there!" His voice was desperate, his hands working fast to pry open the rear compartment where she was trapped.

  "Brody, you idiot! Get back in your mech!" Anya shouted, her voice laced with desperation.

  He ignored her. He cast a simple physical fortification spell, reinforcing his grip, then grabbed a jackhammer, wedging it into the deformed frame of the cockpit. With a grunt of effort, he levered it open, metal groaning in protest as he pried it apart., reaching for Nissa, his face twisted with determination.

  Then the targeting alarms blared.

  Nissa's eyes widened in horror. She knew. She knew.

  "No, Brody. Don't. Not like this."

  He gave her a lopsided grin, forcing a laugh. "Come on, Shortstack. When have I ever listened to orders?"

  The sky burned.

  Nissa did the only thing she could. She lunged forward, grabbing Brody by the vest, and threw him backward toward his mech just as the blast struck.

  Her Direhound took the brunt of it. The cockpit ruptured, the energy melting through metal and flesh in an instant.

  Brody crashed into the metal walls which was his direhound's leg as the force of the shockwave slammed the hatch closed behind him. His fingers instinctively locked onto the controls, vision blurred by the haze of smoke and fire.

  He looked up—

  Nissa was smiling at him.

  Relief. For a moment, Brody thought she was gone. "Hold on, Nissa! I'm getting you out of there!"

  "Brody, you idiot! Get back in your mech!" Anya shouted, her voice laced with desperation.

  He ignored her. He pried open Nissa's cockpit, reaching for her, his face twisted with determination. Then the targeting alarms blared.

  Nissa's eyes widened in horror. She knew. She knew.

  "No, Brody. Don't. Not like this."

  He gave her a lopsided grin, forcing a laugh. "Come on, Shortstack. When have I ever listened to orders?"

  The sky burned.

  Nissa did the only thing she could. She lunged forward, grabbing Brody by the vest, and yanked him back inside just as the blast struck.

  Her Direhound took the brunt of it. The cockpit ruptured, the energy melting through metal and flesh in an instant.

  Brody hit the metal wall which was his direhound's leg as the shockwave threw him clear. He fell backward and looked up— Nissa's smile greeting him.

  He exhaled a sigh of relief. For a moment, Brody thought she was gone.

  "I thought all guys were trash… before I met you, Brody."

  Brody chuckled, but it wasn’t as smooth as usual—his voice wavered, cracking at the edges. "Don't go confessing your love to me now, you know—" He hesitated, just for a moment, as if realizing this might be the last time he’d ever tease her. The bravado flickered, replaced by something quieter. Something real. But before he could say more, Nissa coughed, a spray of dark crimson splattering against his face.

  His heart stopped.

  She gave him a small, tired smile. "You dummy... I kept telling myself it was nothing. That it didn’t mean anything. That you didn’t mean anything. Just something fun. Just something temporary. But I was lying to myself, wasn’t I?"

  Her breath hitched, pain flashing across her face. "You were always looking at her. And I... I convinced myself that made it easier. But it didn't."

  Brody’s smile faltered, just for a second.

  Nissa exhaled, a weak chuckle escaping her lips. "Guess it doesn’t matter now, huh?"

  She reached out, fingers brushing against his. "You were more than that, Brody. You were the closest thing I had to a family. If I'm reborn...."

  Her back was severely burned, shrapnel lining her body like jagged thorns, her breaths shallow, each one taking more effort than the last.

  The light in her eyes dimmed.

  And then she was gone.

  Brody’s hands shook as he tried to reach for her, tried to do something, anything—but he knew it was too late. He had always been the one to fix things, to patch up broken systems, to jury-rig hope out of scrap. But here, in this moment, there was nothing left to fix. Nothing left to save. Only the unbearable weight of helplessness crushing him as Nissa’s last breath faded into the wind.

  A choked sob escaped him, raw, broken. He staggered to his feet, fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood. The next strike was coming. He saw it.

  "Anya!" His voice cracked over the comms. "Get the hell out of here!"

  She was running toward him. "Brody, no! Get to cover!

  He turned toward her, smiling through the pain, through the loss.

  With a final, determined breath, Brody laid Nissa's remains gently on the pavement. He went back inside his mech, the cockpit hatch hissing shut on top of him. He barely had time to react before the targeting alarms blared again, screaming warnings of an imminent strike. He didn’t hesitate.

  He threw his mech over her Direhound, shielding it with his own mech just as the final blast came.

  And then—

  Anya screamed as the heatwave slammed into her, sending her mech skidding across the ruined battlefield.

  Brody's voice crackled through the comms, strained but steady. "Hey, Cap'... looks like this is it for me." A weak chuckle followed, laced with pain. "Guess I finally found something I can't fix."

  Anya clenched her fists, her breath ragged. "Shut up, Brody! You're getting out of this!"

  Brody's cockpit was a wreck of shattered screens and flickering holo-displays. Sparks rained from exposed wiring, casting a dying glow over the cramped space.

  He was smiling in the holo-feed—strong, unshaken—but concealed from the camera angle of the holo, a jagged piece of debris had pierced deep into his left side, the metal shard slick with his own blood. Every breath sent agony pulsing through his ribs, but he held firm, refusing to let the pain show.

  His fingers trembled slightly as he kept them poised over the controls, his mech still locked in place over Anya's Direhound. The alarms screamed in warning—another strike was coming. He knew it.

  And still, he smiled.

  He exhaled softly. "Nah, Anya. You know better than that." A pause. "You were always the tough one. The one who kept us together. Just... don't let this break you, alright?"

  The targeting alarms screamed again. Brody’s mech shuddered as another blast struck, the metal groaning under the strain.

  He forced a smirk, though his breaths were shallow now. "I fancied you, yeah? Not that you’d ever notice, not when you were gooning over that handsome fucker of a Lord Governor."

  Brody exhaled shakily, his voice quieter now. "I used her, Anya... Nissa. She was there, and I couldn’t have you, so I told myself it didn’t mean anything. And she told herself the same thing." He gave a weak, bitter chuckle. "But it did. It always did."

  His breath hitched, pain lacing through his words. "I should've been better. Should’ve told her what she meant to me. That she wasn't just some stand-in for something I could never have. That she—" His voice cracked, and he coughed, blood splattering against his control panel. "She deserved better than me."

  Another pause. His next words were almost a whisper. "Maybe next time... if there is a next time, I can make it right. Make it worth a damn."

  The targeting alarms screamed. His grip tightened.

  "But hey... you’re gonna make it. That’s an order, Cap'."

  The static swallowed the last of his voice.

  Then—silence."

  Smoke filled her lungs. Blood dripped from her forehead.

  She forced her eyes open—

  And saw nothing.

  Her squad was gone.

  Everyone was gone.

  Her hands trembled as she gripped the controls. "You motherfuckers..." she choked out, voice ragged, barely above a whisper. "You took everything."

  Overhead, The Reckoning loomed, its cannons still glowing, calculating its next target.