Chapter 4: The Enemy Within

  The woman tilted her head, almost as if she was considering his words. Her expression remained too calm, too collected.

  “Not anymore.”

  In that instant, everything clicked. The situation wasn’t about supplies. This wasn’t just another mission. This was the beginning of something far worse.

  John’s pulse spiked, the dread sinking deep into his gut. The soldiers, the machine, the woman—this wasn’t about survival anymore. It was about control. And right now, *Xyrexia* was making it clear they wanted more than Fortis Isle. They wanted them.

  Without warning, the world exploded.

  The *Xyrexia* soldiers moved into position with terrifying precision. They didn’t hesitate. There was no waiting for orders—just a mechanical, deadly advance. John’s eyes locked onto the woman. She didn’t move. She just stood there, almost casually, as though the outcome was already decided.

  John didn’t give her another second. He grabbed Clara’s arm and yanked her toward cover.

  “Move, now!” he barked.

  They sprinted for a ruined building, adrenaline flooding John’s veins. The soldiers weren’t far behind, but John wasn’t going to give them the luxury of an easy shot. He fired a quick burst, hitting one of the soldiers in the chest, but the armor absorbed it like nothing. The *Xyrexia* soldiers didn’t even flinch.

  Clara was already on her feet, firing back, but the soldiers kept advancing.

  John didn’t waste time. He knew they weren’t getting out of this with a couple of lucky shots. They needed to break the pattern. They needed *chaos*.

  “Clara, left!” he shouted, pulling her with him as they veered off the path, diving behind a stack of broken concrete.

  A loud mechanical *whirr* echoed in the distance, the sound of the machine drawing closer. John’s heart pounded in his chest, the thud of the machine’s massive form vibrating the ground beneath them. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

  “We don’t have time for this,” John muttered, taking a breath as he peered around the corner of the debris. The *Xyrexia* soldiers were closing in. The machine was almost here.

  “Stay low,” he instructed Clara. But it wasn’t just about staying out of sight. They were running out of room to maneuver.

  The machine’s silhouette appeared from behind the ruins, towering and monstrous. Its red eyes scanned the area, glowing like a pair of predatory beacons.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  John’s mind snapped into action. No time for thinking. He took another shot at a soldier—this time, the bullet hit square in the head, but the soldier didn’t fall. The armor was too strong.

  *Fuck.*

  “Clara!” John barked, pulling her toward another alleyway, knowing they were out of time.

  The machine’s engine whined, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble with every step it took. It wasn’t just a machine. It was a goddamn war machine, built to cut through anything standing in its way.

  They ran. They didn’t have a choice. Every corner they turned seemed to bring them face to face with *Xyrexia*’s forces, moving in perfect formation, too fast, too precise. John couldn’t think. They couldn’t hide anymore.

  They reached an old building that had partially collapsed, and John shoved Clara behind it. They were both breathing heavily, but there was no time to catch their breath. The *Xyrexia* soldiers were getting closer. He could see them moving, their rifles raised, their eyes glowing in the dusk like predators zeroing in on their prey.

  “We don’t stop,” John said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “We fight.”

  Clara glanced at him, her jaw tight, but she nodded. She wasn’t scared. She was pissed. They both were.

  Without hesitation, John fired, his shots ringing out. The soldier closest to them went down. The others barely flinched. The bullets bounced off their armor like they were nothing more than rain.

  John gritted his teeth. The soldiers weren’t the problem. The goddamn machine was.

  “Clara, cover me!” John shouted, darting toward the wrecked building as the soldiers opened fire.

  She didn’t hesitate. Clara fired back with deadly precision, keeping their attackers pinned down as John sprinted for the entrance. He dove behind a rusted car, its frame providing some cover. The machine’s massive form loomed just ahead, its energy cannon charging up, glowing brighter with every passing second.

  John’s rifle was empty. He didn’t hesitate—he pulled his sidearm, the weight of it familiar in his hand. But it wasn’t enough. Not against *that* thing.

  “Clara!” John shouted, diving to the side as the blast from the machine’s cannon ripped through the air. The ground shook as the energy blast hit a nearby building, sending debris flying.

  “Shit!” Clara screamed as she ducked behind the car, just as another blast of energy shot past them.

  John turned to her, his voice sharp with determination. “We don’t die here. We fight.”

  The machine was moving now, slowly advancing, but there was no room to escape. No time left. The soldiers were closing in.

  John felt the rush of adrenaline again—raw, primal, undeniable. They were fighting *this* now. They weren’t going to run. They were going to take their shot.

  “Clara, get ready,” John said. His voice was calm—too calm.

  The machine’s cannon began to charge again.

  But this time, John wasn’t waiting for it to fire.

  He took off, charging toward the machine, his pistol raised. As he neared, the machine turned toward him, its cannon firing, but John dove to the side, narrowly missing the blast. He fired his sidearm—one, two, three shots—hitting the machine’s torso. It staggered but didn’t fall.

  Clara was right behind him, covering his back, firing at the soldiers as they advanced. The machine wasn’t stopping, but neither were they.

  John slammed into the machine’s side, his shoulder hitting it with the force of a freight train. It barely budged, but the sudden motion threw it off-balance. Clara was there, firing at the weak points John had targeted, hoping to do something—anything—that would slow it down.

  But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  John gritted his teeth, his chest heaving as the machine righted itself, its cold red eyes glaring down at him. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

  “This is our fight now,” he muttered.