The battlefield exploded.

  A blinding burst of light tore through the haze, followed by the deafening roar of the flak battery opening fire. The survivors had finally acted, and their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. High-explosive rounds streaked through the air, slamming into the Beast with concussive force. The creature reared back, its tendrils flailing wildly as the barrage tore into its massive form.

  Servius shielded his eyes with one arm, the intense heat and light washing over him as the flak rounds detonated in rapid succession. Black ichor sprayed from the Beast’s wounds, the oily liquid evaporating into mist as the explosive force ripped through its body. The creature let out a guttural roar, the sound vibrating through the ground as it staggered under the relentless assault.

  Servius didn’t waste the opportunity. Ignoring the pain radiating through his shoulder, he pushed himself to his feet and darted toward the nearest cover. The jagged outcropping offered little protection, but it was enough to give him a moment to catch his breath. His green eyes flicked toward the Beast, narrowing as he watched it writhe under the onslaught.

  The flak battery’s firepower was immense, each round punching through the Beast’s shifting form with devastating precision. Tendrils were severed, ichor poured freely, and the creature’s flickering lights dimmed with each successive impact. For the first time, the Beast looked... mortal. Wounded. Beatable.

  The Beast’s roars reverberated across the battlefield, each guttural bellow laced with a mix of fury and pain. Its tendrils, once fluid and unrelenting, now moved with a sluggish desperation, curling and snapping erratically as if seeking to shield its wounds from the onslaught. Black ichor seeped from the jagged gashes torn into its massive form, pooling on the fractured ground before hissing into vapor.

  Servius clung to the cover of the jagged outcropping, his chest heaving as he took stock of the situation. His green eyes darted toward the Beast, narrowing as he studied its faltering movements. The flak battery continued to fire in precise intervals, each high-explosive round slamming into the creature’s body and forcing it further back, but even in its wounded state, the Beast refused to relent. It was still dangerous. Still alive.

  He turned his gaze to the ground near him, scanning for the gleam of his knife. His claws tightened into fists as he failed to spot it among the molten debris and shadowed terrain. The knife was gone, likely flung too far into the chaos. The realization gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

  The Beast roared again, louder this time, the flickering lights on its void-like face blazing with renewed intensity. Servius’s ears flicked back as the sound pierced the air, rattling his bones and sending fissures sprawling further outward across the battlefield. The creature surged forward, its massive form writhing as it lashed out with its remaining tendrils, shattering a distant outcropping with terrifying ease.

  Servius’s instincts screamed at him to move, to act, to do something before the Beast regained its footing entirely. His gaze flicked toward the glowing fissures at his feet, their molten light casting eerie shadows across the battlefield. Then, he saw it—his knife, gleaming faintly in the warped light, half-buried in the cracked ground a few meters away.

  “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, his tail flicking sharply as he bolted toward it.

  The Beast’s tendrils slammed into the ground behind him, sending shards of molten rock flying through the air. Servius dove forward, his claws scraping against the heated ground as he reached out for the hilt of the blade. His fingers closed around it just as another tendril struck dangerously close, the shockwave throwing him forward and sending his armor scraping against jagged stone.

  Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, Servius rolled to his feet, gripping the knife tightly in one hand. The weapon’s weight was familiar and steady, a lifeline in the chaos. His slightly glowing eyes locked onto the Beast, narrowing with a predator’s focus. It was still distracted by the flak battery’s fire, its movements erratic as it tried to fend off the barrage of explosive rounds.

  This was his chance.

  Servius sprinted toward the creature, weaving through the shifting terrain as its tendrils flailed around him. Each step brought him closer to its towering form, the heat radiating from its massive body pressing against him like a wall. The knife in his hand gleamed faintly, its blade catching the molten light as he closed the distance.

  The flak battery fired again, the rounds slamming into the Beast’s side and forcing it to stagger. Servius used the opening, darting beneath its writhing tendrils and toward the largest wound torn into its torso. Black ichor poured freely from the gash, the oily liquid hissing and steaming as it hit the ground. The creature roared, its void-like face twisting violently as it tried to track his movements.

  He leapt onto a jagged piece of debris jutting from the ground, using it as a springboard to launch himself toward the Beast’s torso. His claws dug into its iridescent flesh as he climbed, the ichor burning against his armor but failing to stop him. The Beast writhed, its tendrils lashing out in an attempt to dislodge him, but Servius moved with calculated precision, his every step deliberate as he ascended toward its flickering face.

  The knife in his hand pulsed faintly, a vibration that traveled through his arm and into his chest. He didn’t need to question the sensation—he knew what it meant. The Nexus’s threads still lingered within him, faint but undeniable, and he could feel them stirring in response to the Beast. He gritted his teeth, his green eyes blazing with determination as he reached the edge of the wound.

  “This is for every step you made me run,” he growled through clenched teeth, raising the knife high.

  The Beast’s void-like face twisted toward him, its flickering lights blazing with what could only be described as recognition—or perhaps fear. Servius didn’t hesitate. He drove the blade into the wound with all his strength, the tip sinking deep into the creature’s flesh as a surge of energy coursed through his body.

  The threads responded.

  Servius felt the shift immediately, a faint tug deep within his soul as the Warp’s energy flooded into the knife. The blade glowed faintly, its engraved surface shimmering with an unnatural light as the power channeled through it. The Beast let out a guttural scream, its massive body convulsing violently as the energy spread through its form, tearing through its tendrils and ripping apart its core.

  Servius’s claws dug into the Beast’s flesh as he held on, his mind racing as he felt the cost of his actions. Something deep inside him shifted, a fragment of himself slipping away into the threads that bound him to the Nexus. It was small, barely noticeable in the moment, but it left a hollow ache in its wake—a reminder that every action had its price.

  The Beast’s convulsions grew weaker, its roars fading into a low, guttural hum as its massive form began to collapse. The tendrils dissolved into mist, the flickering lights on its face dimming until they were little more than faint embers. Servius pulled the knife free, ichor spraying from the wound as he leapt to the ground below.

  The creature’s body twisted one final time, its massive bulk crashing to the ground with a thunderous impact that sent tremors rippling through the battlefield. The fissures beneath it flared brightly, spilling molten light into the air before dimming once more.

  Servius landed hard, his knees buckling as he hit the ground. His chest heaved as he pushed himself to his feet, his green eyes fixed on the Beast’s fallen form. The battlefield was eerily silent now, the oppressive hum of the creature’s presence finally gone.

  He exhaled slowly, the knife in his hand still pulsing faintly with residual energy. The hollow ache in his chest remained, a quiet reminder of what he’d given up to end the fight.

  “It’s done,” he muttered, his voice low and steady as he turned toward the distant silhouette of the survivors’ ship.

  The battle was over. But the cost of victory lingered.

  The battlefield was silent, save for the faint crackle of molten fissures and the distant hum of the Warp. Servius stood still for a moment, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like an iron mantle. His armor was scorched, his fur matted with sweat and streaked with the oily residue of the Beast’s ichor. Every breath felt labored, his lungs burning as if the very air had turned to ash.

  He looked back at the creature’s fallen form, the massive, shattered carcass lying motionless amidst the wreckage. Its tendrils, once so animated and deadly, had dissolved into wisps of iridescent mist that faded into the haze. The faint embers that had once flickered in its void-like face were now completely extinguished. Whatever life—or unlife—had animated the Beast was gone.

  Servius’s grip on the knife tightened. The blade still pulsed faintly, its surface shimmering with a faint glow that seemed to echo the hollow ache in his chest. He stared at it for a moment, his green eyes narrowing as he turned the weapon over in his hand. The threads of the Nexus were woven into him now, more deeply than before, and every time he called on their power, the price became clearer.

  How much more will it take before there’s nothing left?

  He sheathed the knife with a sharp motion, banishing the thought as best he could. There was no time for introspection, not here. Not now.

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  The ship’s silhouette loomed in the distance, its jagged, rusting hull standing out against the warped horizon. The flak battery had gone silent, its work done, and faint figures were moving along the barricades, their forms blurred by the shimmering heat. The survivors. They’d done their part, and he’d done his. Now came the next step.

  Servius adjusted the strap of his rifle—an automatic motion, almost habitual—before making his way toward the barricade. Each step felt heavier than the last, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him as the adrenaline of the fight drained from his system. The fissures beneath his boots pulsed faintly, the molten light casting eerie shadows across his path, but the oppressive presence of the Beast was gone. For now, at least.

  As he neared the ship’s perimeter, the survivors began to emerge from their cover. They moved cautiously, their weapons raised and their eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of movement. The scarred woman was the first to step forward, her shotgun held loosely at her side. Her sharp gaze fixed on Servius, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Then, she lowered the weapon and let out a sharp, barking laugh. “You’re alive,” she said, her voice rough but tinged with something that might have been relief. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “Neither did I,” Servius replied dryly, his voice low and rasping. He stopped a few paces away, his green eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her flinch slightly. “The flak battery did its job. You kept your end of the bargain.”

  The scarred woman nodded, her expression hardening. “And you kept yours. That thing... is it dead?”

  Servius glanced over his shoulder at the fallen Beast, its massive form already beginning to sink into the fractured ground, the fissures swallowing its remains like a dying star collapsing in on itself. He turned back to her, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “It’s dead enough.”

  She didn’t press the issue. Instead, she gestured for the others to stand down. The tension in the air eased slightly as the survivors lowered their weapons, though their wary gazes lingered on the battlefield, as if expecting the Beast to rise again at any moment.

  Jaren was among them, their face pale and streaked with grime as they approached Servius. Their lasgun hung loosely at their side, and their expression was a mix of awe and disbelief. “You actually did it,” they said, their voice barely above a whisper. “You killed it.”

  “Not alone,” Servius replied, his tone curt. He gestured toward the flak battery in the distance, its barrels still glowing faintly with residual heat. “That bought me the opening I needed. Without it, we’d all be dead.”

  Jaren nodded, swallowing hard as they glanced toward the remains of the Beast. “Still... I’ve never seen anything like that. The way you moved, the way you fought... and that knife...”

  “Don’t ask about the knife,” Servius interrupted, his tone sharp enough to make Jaren flinch. He softened slightly when he saw their expression, but his eyes remained hard. “It’s done. That’s all that matters.”

  The scarred woman stepped forward again, crossing her arms as she studied him. “You’re a hell of a fighter,” she said, her tone neutral but laced with a hint of respect. “We’ve lost a lot of people trying to hold this position. If you hadn’t shown up when you did...” She trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the distant horizon.

  Servius shrugged, the motion causing a sharp twinge in his injured shoulder. “Right place, wrong time,” he muttered. “That’s all.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she gestured toward the ship. “Come on. You look like hell, and we’ve got a medic patching up whoever’s still breathing. You’ll want to get that shoulder looked at.”

  Servius hesitated for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the group of survivors. They were a ragged bunch—tired, wounded, and stretched thin—but there was a determination in their movements that he recognized. These people had fought hard to survive, just like he had. And like him, they were still standing. For now.

  He nodded finally, his tail flicking once behind him as he followed the scarred woman toward the ship. The survivors parted to let him pass, their wary gazes lingering on him as he moved through their ranks. Whispers followed in his wake, fragments of conversation that he ignored.

  As they reached the ship’s shadow, Servius glanced up at the massive, rusted hull. The ship was ancient, its once-sleek design now marred by jagged scars and hastily patched sections. Makeshift fortifications bristled along its perimeter, and the faint glow of jury-rigged lights spilled from the open bay doors.

  The scarred woman stopped at the base of the ramp, turning to face him. “Welcome to the Bastion,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of dry humor. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

  Servius’s green eyes swept over the ship’s exterior, his expression unreadable. “Better than nothing,” he said simply.

  She smirked. “That’s the spirit.” Then, gesturing for him to follow, she led him up the ramp and into the heart of the survivors’ sanctuary.

  The Bastion wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

  The interior of the Bastion was just as scarred and weathered as its exterior. Twisted corridors lined with rusting bulkheads branched off in chaotic patterns, illuminated by flickering strips of salvaged lighting that cast long, uneven shadows. The faint hum of improvised generators reverberated through the ship, accompanied by the muffled voices of survivors and the distant clatter of tools striking metal. It was a place held together by sheer will and desperation, a stark reminder of how much had been lost.

  Servius moved cautiously, his steps clicking softly against the grated floor as he followed the scarred woman deeper into the ship. She led with purpose, her boots clanging against the metal as she weaved through the winding corridors. The tension in the air was palpable, every glance from the survivors they passed weighted with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. He was an outsider here, and they weren’t shy about making that clear.

  The woman stopped abruptly at a junction, her hand gripping a railing for balance as she turned to face him. “Med bay’s just down that corridor,” she said, jerking her chin toward a faintly lit passage on the right. “Not much of a ‘bay,’ mind you. More like a storage room we threw some cots in, but it’s where our medic works.” Her gaze flicked briefly to his injured shoulder. “You should let him take a look at that.”

  “I’ll live,” Servius replied curtly, though the dull ache in his arm betrayed his words. He rolled his shoulder slightly, suppressing a wince as the motion sent a sharp twinge of pain up his neck. “What about the rest of your people? Are they ready for what’s out there?”

  The woman’s scarred features hardened. “Ready? No. But we don’t have the luxury of waiting until we are. The Beast might be dead, but it’s never just one thing out here. There’s always something waiting to take its place.”

  Servius gave a slow nod, his green eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “Fair enough.”

  She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You saved a lot of lives out there,” she said finally, her tone carrying a faint note of reluctance. “Most of us thought you’d run or get yourself killed trying to take that thing on alone. But you didn’t.” She hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to the knife at his side before returning to his face. “You don’t fight like someone who’s just trying to survive. What’s your angle?”

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply behind him, the motion quick and defensive. “I didn’t have one,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I was simply trying to stop it from tearing through everything in its path.”

  Her eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she gestured toward the corridor ahead. “The central hub’s through here. That’s where we keep what’s left of our command structure. If you’re looking for answers—or a reason to stick around—that’s the place to start.”

  “Noted,” Servius said, his tone neutral. He didn’t wait for her to continue. With a flick of his tail, he strode past her and into the corridor, his eyes scanning the faintly glowing path ahead.

  The central hub was a cavernous space, once likely the ship’s main cargo hold. Now, it had been converted into a crude operations center. Tables and crates had been repurposed into workstations, scattered with maps, dataslates, and hastily scrawled notes. A series of mismatched vox-casters hummed quietly against one wall, their blinking lights casting faint shadows across the room. Survivors milled about in small groups, their voices low and tense as they exchanged information and prepared for whatever came next.

  Servius stepped into the room, his presence drawing a few glances from the gathered survivors. Some muttered quietly among themselves, their eyes flicking between him and the scarred woman who had followed him inside. She raised a hand, silencing their whispers with a sharp motion.

  “This is him,” she said simply, her voice carrying enough authority to make everyone stop what they were doing. “The one who took down the Beast.”

  The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Servius, their expressions ranging from awe to suspicion. He met their gazes evenly, his sharp green eyes scanning the crowd without hesitation. He didn’t expect gratitude, and he certainly didn’t expect trust. He’d seen enough battlefields to know that alliances forged in desperation were fragile at best.

  One of the survivors—a broad-shouldered man with a missing eye and a patchwork flak vest—stepped forward. His voice was rough, like gravel scraping over steel. “You fought that thing?” he asked, his tone skeptical. “And you’re still standing?”

  Servius tilted his head slightly, his tail flicking once behind him. “It wasn’t exactly a fair fight,” he said dryly, his claws brushing against the hilt of his knife. “The flak battery helped.”

  The man grunted, his one good eye narrowing as he studied Servius. “Even so. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” He turned toward the scarred woman. “What do we know about him?”

  “Not much,” she admitted, her arms crossing over her chest. “He showed up with Jaren, said the Beast was chasing him. Could’ve been leading it straight to us, for all we know.”

  Servius’s ears flicked back, the accusation sharpening his gaze. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have stayed to fight,” he said, his voice low but edged with steel. “You’d have been the distraction, not the support.”

  The room tensed at his words, the atmosphere thick with unease. The broad-shouldered man studied Servius for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Fair enough,” he said, though his tone remained guarded. “But you’ll understand if we keep an eye on you.”

  “Do what you have to,” Servius replied, his voice steady. He glanced around the room, his green eyes taking in the crude maps and makeshift workstations. “If you’ve been out here this long, you’ve got a way of surviving. That means supplies, weapons, maybe even a plan. If you’re smart, you’ll use whatever you’ve got to get off this battlefield before something worse shows up.”

  The scarred woman raised an eyebrow. “And you? What are you planning to do?”

  Servius hesitated, his claws flexing absently at his sides as he considered her question. He didn’t have an answer—not yet. But he knew one thing for certain: the Nexus had left its mark on him, and the Warp wasn’t done with him. Not by a long shot.

  “For now?” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. “I’m staying alive. Same as the rest of you.”

  https://youtu.be/EaHcON5cFN4?si=-pDQR7aXvmftOXFM