Chapter 10

  The world spun as they fell.

  Jaxon clenched his teeth, the hot wind tearing at his jumpsuit, howling past his ears. The dull orange haze of Megiddo blurred below—the jagged ridges and endless dunes rushing up to meet them.

  The planet below was a wasteland, an endless sea of jagged ridges, scorched dunes, and lifeless rock formations. There was no vegetation, no water—just heat and death.

  Above him, the dropship was already vanishing , its engines burning white-hot as it left.

  The others were close—Holt, Guthrie, Dain, and Sera—each plummeting through the open sky like embers scattered by the wind.

  The data pod, now strapped to his wrist, vibrated through the rushing wind. Jaxon forced himself to focus. A small map flickered to life on the pod, the trajectory of their descent marked in red. Their drop zone was close. Too close.

  The ground was coming up fast.

  Then—impact.

  Jaxon hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum as a cloud of sand exploded around him. His breath was knocked from his lungs, and for a moment, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. He groaned, spitting out a mouthful of grit.

  A few feet away, Holt groaned, pushing himself onto his elbows.

  “I’d rather burn in Hel than do that again,” he wheezed, coughing up red sand.

  Jaxon forced himself upright, scanning the area.

  Dain had landed a few meters away, already on his feet, checking his rifle with the same calm efficiency he always had. Sera groaned nearby, still lying on the desert floor, winded but intact.

  Guthrie was the last to land—and he landed badly. They had all landed badly, but his was worse. His body slammed into the sand, his legs buckling as he tumbled down a small dune.

  Jaxon was at his side in an instant.

  “Guthrie! You alive?”

  The boy groaned, rolling onto his back, his face twisted in pain. “I—I think I might’ve broken something. Hr?lfokk, that’s not good.”

  Jaxon checked him quickly. No blood. No obvious fractures. Just a rough landing.

  “You’re fine, Guthrie,” he said, gripping the boy’s arm and pulling him upright.

  Guthrie winced, muttering something in his dialect.

  It was a low, guttural string of words, spoken through clenched teeth. His accent, usually faint, was thick with pain.

  Jaxon frowned. “What?”

  Guthrie let out a shaky breath, still holding his side. “Nothing.”

  Dain approached, rifle slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning his data pod.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “We need to move. Now.” His voice was as flat as ever. “The extraction point is fifty kilometers northeast. It’s not impossible, but the terrain is unforgiving.”

  Jaxon’s gut twisted. Fifty kilometers. That was a hel of a long way to go on foot, especially with no supplies beyond what they carried.

  He was about to ask how they were supposed to make that trek when—

  A deep, guttural sound rumbled through the dunes.

  Or rather, it was more like a vibration.

  Faint.

  But growing.

  Jaxon’s grip on his rifle, still strapped to his shoulder, tightened. “Did you hear that?”

  Holt, now beside Jaxon and Guthrie, nodded slowly.

  “Yeah… I really don’t like that I heard that.”

  The sand shifted.

  Then—something burst from beneath them.

  A massive, chitinous body erupted from the sand.

  A gaping jaw—lined with rows of jagged teeth—snapped shut where Guthrie had been sitting just a moment ago.

  A worm.

  Almost three meters long.

  Its segmented body glistened under the hazy light, covered in dusty white chitin plates. Its eyeless head swung toward them, mandibles clicking as if it could taste the air.

  Guthrie screamed.

  Jaxon moved on instinct. He grabbed Guthrie by the strap of his survival kit and yanked him backward just as the worm lunged again, its maw slamming into the sand where he had been.

  Dain was the first to react—on the offensive.

  He raised his rifle and fired.

  The shot rang through the dunes, a sharp crack against the howling wind.

  The cylindrical bullet struck the worm’s plated hide—but barely penetrated.

  The worm shrieked, its body writhing—then it lunged again.

  Jaxon raised his rifle, heart hammering.

  Just pull the trigger.

  But his hands refused to move.

  He had steeled himself after his parents’ death. He had seen his own mother die. Was he a coward?

  He wasn’t able to do anything then.

  And he still couldn’t do anything now.

  “Jaxon, shoot!”

  That was Holt’s voice—and it was enough to snap him back.

  Jaxon fired.

  The recoil slammed into his shoulder. The shot hit the worm’s mouth, where the plating was thinner.

  It let out a shrill, unnatural screech.

  It wasn’t dead.

  Nor was it hurt.

  But it was angry.

  Dain had already reloaded.

  His shot was more controlled, more precise—almost like an expert marksman.

  This time, it stuck deeper.

  The worm convulsed, thrashing wildly—

  Then, just as suddenly as it came—

  It vanished beneath the sand.

  The silence that followed felt heavier than the desert itself.

  Jaxon’s breaths came fast, his hands still gripping his rifle, fingers locked stiff around the trigger.

  Then Guthrie broke the silence.

  He was still on the ground, chest rising and falling in quick, panicked gasps. His fingers dug into the sand like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid.

  His voice cracked with fear.

  “W-what… what was that?”

  Dain answered, his voice calm. “A desert wyrm.”

  They all stared at Dain, expecting an explanation.

  He continued, “They can sense the movement in the sands.It Must have noticed us when we dropped.”

  Jaxon sighed. “How do you know that?”

  Dain didn’t answer. He just crouched, running his hand through the sand where the worm had disappeared. His eyes flicked to the horizon.

  “The sand’s still shifting.”

  Jaxon followed his gaze.

  In the distance, faint ripples moved through the dunes—slow, methodical—like something was circling beneath the surface.

  Holt cursed. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Sera, who had been eerily silent since landing, finally spoke up.

  “Running might not help.” His voice was quiet but steady. “If they can hunt by sending movement, we’re better off being careful about where we step.”

  Jaxon clenched his jaw.

  He didn’t like the idea of standing still and waiting to be picked off.

  He glanced down at his data pod. The extraction point was still fifty kilometers .

  That was quite the distance to cover with monsters beneath their feet.

  “We move slow,” Jaxon decided. “Find higher ground. Figure out how to avoid these things.”

  Dain was already moving. “There were rock formations a few clicks north when we dropped. If we make it there, we might have a chance.”

  “Better than getting eaten,” Holt muttered.

  Jaxon offered a hand to Guthrie, who took it with a shaky grip. He was still rattled.

  “Come on,” Jaxon said. “Let’s go before it comes back.”

  They moved cautiously, stepping lightly, spreading their weight over the sand instead of stomping through it.

  Jaxon tried not to think about how the dunes felt alive beneath his boots.