The valley narrowed as Servius and the survivor pressed onward, the jagged terrain closing in around them like the maw of some ancient predator. The shifting shadows of the battlefield grew deeper here, warped by the fissures that pulsed with molten light. Every breath was heavy with the acrid tang of sulfur, and every step felt like it carried them closer to the edge of some unseen abyss.

  Servius’s sharp ears flicked back at the faint rumble that followed them, low and rhythmic, like a drumbeat at the edge of perception. The Beast was no longer just a presence in the distance—it was moving, gaining ground, and the ground itself seemed to quake faintly under its invisible weight.

  “Stay close,” Servius muttered, his green eyes scanning the shattered terrain ahead.

  The survivor—who had hastily introduced themselves as Corporal Jaren—kept pace behind him, their lasgun clutched tightly in both hands. Their breaths came in uneven bursts, the strain of days of running etched into every ragged exhale. “I thought... you said... this thing was stalking you,” Jaren panted. “Why’s it suddenly picking up speed?”

  “It’s tired of waiting,” Servius said bluntly. His voice was calm, but his muscles were tense, coiled like springs ready to snap. “It knows we’re trying to get away, and it’s not going to let us.”

  Jaren glanced over their shoulder, their bloodshot eyes wide with fear. The air seemed to hum with tension, a vibrating pressure that grew stronger with every step they took. “How big is this thing?”

  “Big enough,” Servius replied curtly. He gestured for Jaren to keep moving, his own steps quickening as he led them up a slope of broken ground. The wrecked ship was still far in the distance, its silhouette barely visible through the haze of the battlefield. They weren’t going to make it—not before the Beast caught up.

  A deep, guttural growl rippled through the air, louder now, more distinct. It came from behind them, reverberating off the jagged rocks and sending a shiver up Servius’s spine. He stopped abruptly, his tail flicking sharply behind him as he turned to face the source of the sound.

  Jaren froze as well, their lasgun trembling in their grip. “What the hell was that?”

  “Stay behind me,” Servius ordered, his voice cold and firm. He unslung his rifle, the weapon’s weight familiar and steady in his hands as he scanned the terrain behind them. The growl came again, this time closer, accompanied by the sound of something heavy shifting through the rubble.

  Behind them, the hum had grown louder—deeper, more resonant, a sound that seemed to vibrate in Servius’s very bones. He didn’t need to look back to know what was coming. He could feel it in the way the ground subtly quaked, the way the colors in the sky bled into one another, drawn toward the presence that stalked them.

  “Keep moving,” Servius said sharply, his voice low but firm.

  Jaren glanced over their shoulder, their pale face glistening with sweat. “It’s... it’s close, isn’t it?”

  Servius’s green eyes scanned the terrain ahead, narrowing as he spotted a series of jagged outcroppings just beyond the next ridge. They could use the rocky terrain to break line of sight, maybe slow the thing down long enough to put some distance between themselves and the predator. “Closer than I’d like,” he muttered.

  Far behind Servius and Jaren, the chaotic landscape of the battlefield twisted and groaned under the weight of the Beast’s approach. A patrol of three figures—twisted remnants of once-proud warriors—moved cautiously through the jagged terrain. Their makeshift armor was cobbled together from scavenged plates and adorned with crude symbols of allegiance to the Chaos Gods. Their weapons, though battered, were serviceable: a chainaxe hummed faintly in one’s hands, a plasma gun sparked ominously in another’s, and the leader carried a jagged power sword that crackled with unstable energy.

  They hadn’t seen it yet.

  The Beast slid forward like a shadow stretching across the ground, its massive, rippling form barely distinguishable from the distorted horizon. The iridescent tendrils trailing from its hunched back undulated lazily, as though tasting the air, their faint glow barely visible beneath the warped light of the sky. Its hollow, void-like face tilted slightly, its flickering, ringed lights narrowing in on the patrol. The hum emanating from its body deepened, a low, subsonic vibration that rattled the fissures underfoot.

  The lead warrior stopped, his gauntleted hand raising sharply as he scanned the area. “Do you hear that?” he rasped, his voice distorted by the ancient vox-grille of his helmet.

  The others froze, their weapons raised instinctively. “What is it?” one of them hissed, his gaze darting toward the jagged terrain ahead. “I don’t see anything.”

  The leader didn’t answer immediately. His head tilted slightly, the faint hum growing louder, pressing against his ears like the rumble of a distant landslide. The shadows ahead seemed to thicken unnaturally, the air itself warping as the ground beneath their feet trembled faintly.

  “It’s close,” the leader growled, gripping his power sword tightly. “Eyes sharp. Whatever it is—”

  The Beast moved.

  It struck without warning, its immense form coalescing from the shadows in a burst of liquid motion. One of the patrol’s warriors barely had time to scream before a tendril lashed out, piercing clean through his chest. He convulsed violently as the iridescent appendage lifted him off the ground, his body spasming for a brief moment before disintegrating into a cloud of ash that was swept away on the wind.

  The plasma gunner fired instinctively, a bolt of searing energy streaking through the air and striking the Beast’s side. The creature shuddered, its form rippling as the plasma scorched a blackened wound into its surface. But the injury was fleeting; the Beast’s body seemed to drink in the energy, the wound knitting itself closed in seconds.

  “Fall back!” the leader barked, his voice sharp with panic as he slashed at an incoming tendril with his power sword. The blade connected, cutting through the appendage in a spray of black ichor that hissed and steamed as it hit the ground. But the severed tendril simply dissolved, and two more lashed out in its place, forcing the leader to leap back to avoid being impaled.

  The last soldier revved his chainaxe, charging at the Beast with a guttural roar. He swung the weapon in a wide arc, the teeth of the axe screeching as they bit into the creature’s void-like form. For a moment, it seemed as though he might do some damage—but then the Beast turned its hollow face toward him.

  The air around the soldier seemed to collapse inward, the hum from the Beast intensifying into a deafening roar that wasn’t sound but pressure, crushing and suffocating. The soldier’s body crumpled like a tin can, his armor imploding as his form was pulled into the void-like maw of the Beast. Within seconds, he was gone, leaving nothing behind but a faint shimmer in the air where he’d stood.

  The leader, now alone, staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “What... what are you?” he spat, his voice trembling as he raised his power sword in a defensive stance.

  The Beast didn’t answer. It didn’t need to.

  It surged forward, its tendrils converging on the leader in a blur of iridescent light. He swung his sword desperately, the blade carving through two of the appendages, but there were too many. One wrapped around his arm, the jagged edges of the tendril cutting through his armor like paper. Another coiled around his neck, lifting him off the ground as he struggled and thrashed.

  The last thing the leader saw was the flickering lights of the Beast’s hollow face, burning into his mind like a brand. And then he, too, was gone—his body unraveling into ash, his weapon falling to the ground with a hollow clang.

  The battlefield was silent once more.

  The Beast lingered for a moment, its tendrils curling and uncurling as though savoring the aftermath of its hunt. Then its void-like face turned, tilting slightly as though sniffing the air.

  It had sensed something.

  Far in the distance, faint threads of resonance lingered in the air—the faint, fleeting traces left behind by the Nexus and the one who had emerged from it.

  Servius.

  The Beast began to move again, its massive form gliding across the battlefield with a predator’s patience. It didn’t leave tracks, but the ground shuddered faintly in its wake, fissures dimming and shadows deepening as it passed. The hunt wasn’t over.

  It was just beginning.

  Servius and Jaren pushed onward through the narrowing valley, the fractured terrain forcing them into single file. The oppressive weight of the battlefield seemed to press down even harder now, the warped sky above bleeding with sluggish streaks of deep purples and sickly yellows. Every breath felt heavier, every step slower, as if the air itself was conspiring against them.

  Jaren stumbled, catching themselves on a jagged rock. “This thing—” they wheezed, their lasgun trembling in their hands, “—it’s not just stalking us anymore, is it?”

  “Sharp observation, Corporal,” Servius replied, his tone clipped but calm. He glanced back, his green eyes narrowing as he scanned the fissures behind them. The Beast was still distant, but its presence was palpable—a constant, growing pressure at the edge of his senses. The faint tremors beneath their feet had grown more frequent, like the drumbeat of an approaching warband. “Keep your head on straight. Panic will just get you killed faster.”

  Jaren nodded weakly, their face pale beneath the grime that streaked their features. They kept their eyes forward, their boots crunching over shards of glass-like stone as they followed Servius’s lead. “You’ve faced things like this before?”

  “Not exactly like this,” Servius admitted. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he climbed over a crumbled slab of rock. “But I’ve faced enough to know that hesitation gets you killed.” He paused at the top of the ridge, crouching low as he scanned the terrain ahead. His sharp eyes caught sight of another series of jagged outcroppings, their uneven surfaces forming a natural choke point further ahead.

  A plan began to form in his mind, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily against it. He didn’t like their odds—whatever this thing was, it wasn’t something they could outrun forever. If it came to a fight, he’d have to make every shot count.

  Servius’s hand drifted toward his belt, brushing against the hilt of his knife before moving to his ammunition pouches. He did a quick count in his head: seventeen sniper rounds, four magazines of twenty bolts for his pistols, plus the six bolts currently loaded into each pistol. Two grenades—one frag, one krak. Enough to hold off a patrol or a few smaller daemons. Against something like the Beast, though... he wasn’t sure it would be enough.

  His green eyes flicked toward Jaren, who was still clutching their lasgun like a lifeline. “How many charges you got left in that thing?”

  Jaren hesitated, glancing down at the power cell nestled in their weapon. “Not many,” they admitted. “Enough for a few bursts, maybe.”

  “Figures,” Servius muttered, his claws flexing as he adjusted the rifle slung across his back. “Then we don’t waste a single shot. Got it?”

  Jaren nodded, their expression grim. “Got it.”

  Servius gestured for them to follow and began descending the ridge. The ground here was uneven, fractured into jagged slabs that shifted underfoot. The air seemed to hum faintly, a low vibration that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  The jagged landscape sloped downward into a basin littered with shattered armor plates, broken weapons, and skeletal remains half-buried in the warped earth. Servius and Jaren moved carefully, keeping low to avoid drawing attention to themselves. The oppressive hum of the Beast had grown quieter again, though not far enough for comfort. Its presence lingered like the faint pressure of a storm building on the horizon.

  “Down here,” Servius hissed, motioning for Jaren to follow as he ducked behind a ridge of twisted metal. The remnants of a long-destroyed transport vehicle jutted from the ground, its rusted frame offering some semblance of cover. Jaren scrambled to keep up, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he clutched his lasgun like a lifeline.

  “Where is it?” Jaren whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint crackle of fissures around them.

  Servius didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept the landscape ahead, his body crouched low as he used the scope of his rifle to scan the distance. The terrain ahead was littered with ruined structures and molten fissures, but his attention zeroed in on a group of figures moving through the haze.

  It was another patrol.

  Servius focused his scope, the magnification bringing the distant group into sharper view. This one was larger than the first—six figures in total, their armor mismatched and corroded, bearing the same crude sigils of allegiance to Chaos. Their movements were wary, weapons raised as they stalked through the battlefield.

  “They don’t know it’s coming,” Servius muttered, half to himself.

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  Jaren peeked around the edge of their cover, his eyes widening as he spotted the patrol. “What are they doing out here? Do they know about the thing?”

  Servius shook his head. “Doubt it. Or if they do, they think they can handle it.”

  The tension in the air grew thicker, the hum returning as a faint vibration that prickled Servius’s skin. He adjusted the rifle in his hands, his claws flexing absently against the grip. The Beast was close—he could feel it.

  And then he saw it.

  Far beyond the patrol, the landscape began to distort, the horizon bending unnaturally as the Beast’s massive form coalesced from the haze. Its iridescent tendrils trailed behind it like liquid shadows, their faint glow barely visible against the warped sky. The patrol hadn’t noticed it yet, their attention focused on the terrain ahead, but Servius could see the way the fissures dimmed in its wake, the ground trembling faintly as it moved.

  “Get down,” Servius hissed, pushing Jaren lower behind the ridge as he flattened himself against the ground.

  “What—” Jaren started, but the look Servius shot him silenced whatever question was forming. Jaren swallowed hard and pressed himself against the dirt, his knuckles white as he gripped his lasgun.

  The patrol stopped, their leader—a towering figure with a jagged power maul—raising a hand to signal the others. They were alert now, their movements cautious as they scanned their surroundings. One of them—a smaller, wiry figure wielding a flamer—turned in the direction of the Beast, his head tilting as though he could hear something the others couldn’t.

  And then the Beast struck.

  It surged forward with unnatural speed, its massive form distorting the air around it as it closed the distance in an instant. The flamer-wielder barely had time to scream before a tendril pierced through his torso, lifting him off the ground like a doll. The others reacted immediately, opening fire with a barrage of lasbolts and crude projectiles that tore into the Beast’s form.

  For a moment, it seemed as though their attack was working. The Beast recoiled slightly, its tendrils writhing as the impacts sent ripples through its body. But then it began to shift, its void-like face tilting toward the patrol. The hum in the air deepened, a crushing vibration that rattled the bones in Servius’s chest even from a distance.

  The leader charged, his power maul crackling with unstable energy as he brought it down on one of the Beast’s tendrils. The weapon connected with a burst of light, severing the appendage in a spray of black ichor. But the severed tendril simply dissolved into the air, and two more lashed out to take its place.

  The ground beneath the patrol fractured violently, fissures spreading like spiderwebs as the Beast’s presence seemed to warp the very fabric of the battlefield. Another tendril lashed out, coiling around the leader’s arm and yanking him off his feet. He roared in defiance, swinging his maul wildly, but the Beast’s grip tightened, the jagged edges of its appendage slicing through his armor like paper.

  One by one, the patrol fell. The flamer-wielder’s body disintegrated into ash as the tendril that impaled him dragged his form into the Beast’s core. Another soldier, firing wildly with an auto-pistol, was caught in a crushing tendril that squeezed until his armor buckled, his body collapsing inward with a sickening crunch. The last to fall was the leader, his power maul slipping from his grip as the Beast’s void-like face loomed over him, its flickering lights burning into his skull.

  Servius watched it all, his green eyes narrowing as he fought to keep his breathing steady. Jaren was trembling beside him, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

  “What... what the hell is that thing?” Jaren whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant hum.

  “A problem,” Servius muttered, his tone clipped. He lowered his rifle, his sharp gaze fixed on the Beast as it began to shift again, its attention turning toward something unseen.

  Toward them.

  “We need to move,” Servius said sharply, grabbing Jaren by the shoulder and pulling him to his feet. “Now.”

  “But it—”

  “No arguments,” Servius snapped. “Run.”

  The two of them took off, skirting the edge of the ridge as they made their way toward the distant wreckage. The hum behind them grew louder with every step, the Beast’s presence pressing against their backs like a physical weight. Servius didn’t look back—he didn’t need to. He could feel it, closing in with every passing second.

  The wreckage of the ship loomed in the distance, a hulking mass of jagged metal and shadow, partially swallowed by the shifting mists of the Warp. Its silhouette cut an uneven line against the horizon, jagged towers and broken spires jutting upward like the bones of some ancient leviathan. Jaren’s breath hitched when they saw it, a faint, desperate hope glimmering in their bloodshot eyes.

  “There it is,” they whispered, their voice barely audible over the distant rumble of the Beast’s pursuit. “We’re close.”

  Servius said nothing. His keen eyes scanned the terrain ahead, noting the deepening fissures and the erratic movements of the shadows. The ground here felt unsteady, as though the battlefield itself was writhing beneath their feet. The closer they came to the ship, the more the environment seemed to shift—not just physically, but in its weight, its presence. It was as if the air itself knew what was coming.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Servius said finally, his voice low and clipped. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he adjusted his grip on his rifle. “The closer we get, the more likely it is that thing’ll make its move.”

  Jaren nodded, their grip tightening on their lasgun. “You think the ship’s... safe?” they asked, their tone betraying their uncertainty.

  Servius glanced at the wreckage again, his sharp gaze tracing the faint glow of lights flickering within the broken hull. Movement was visible now—small figures darting along the jagged edges of the ship’s exterior. Survivors. They were fortifying the structure, reinforcing makeshift barricades and hauling scavenged weapons into position. It was a good sign, but it wasn’t enough to ease the knot in his gut.

  “Safe?” he repeated, a faint scoff escaping him. “Not a word I’d use here. Safer than out here, maybe. But if that thing reaches them...” He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

  Jaren swallowed hard, their steps quickening as they began to descend a slope toward the ship. “We’ve got to warn them,” they said, more to themselves than to Servius. “They’ll need time to prepare.”

  Servius’s ears flicked back, his attention shifting to the terrain behind them. The rumble had grown louder, deeper, the vibrations faintly rattling the shards of debris beneath their feet. He tightened his grip on his rifle, his green eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

  And then he saw it.

  Far in the distance, cresting a jagged ridge, the Beast’s shadowed form began to coalesce from the Warp’s mist. It was larger than it had appeared before, its hunched frame rippling with unnatural energy. The iridescent tendrils trailing from its back writhed like living things, their faint glow casting eerie patterns against the fractured ground. Its void-like face tilted toward them, the flickering lights that ringed its hollow features narrowing as though focusing in on its prey.

  “It’s here,” Servius said grimly, his voice cutting through Jaren’s frantic muttering. He lowered himself slightly, his claws flexing as he scanned the area for cover. “Move. Now.”

  Jaren’s head snapped around, their eyes widening as they caught sight of the creature. “Emperor protect us,” they breathed, their voice trembling.

  “Don’t wait for a miracle,” Servius snapped, pushing them forward. “Keep moving.”

  They broke into a run, the ground beneath them shifting treacherously as they scrambled toward the ship. The rumble of the Beast’s pursuit grew louder, the air vibrating with its presence. Servius glanced back only once, his sharp gaze narrowing as he noted the speed with which the creature was closing the distance. It wasn’t rushing—it didn’t need to. Each massive step it took warped the terrain around it, fissures widening and shadows lengthening in its wake.

  Ahead of them, the path leveled out briefly before rising again into a slope that led directly to the ship’s outer perimeter. The survivors stationed there were visible now, their forms moving with frantic urgency as they reinforced their defenses. One of them spotted Servius and Jaren approaching and raised a hand to signal the others. A faint shout carried across the distance, though the words were lost in the cacophony of the battlefield.

  “We’re almost there!” Jaren called out, their voice tinged with both relief and panic. “We can make it!”

  Servius didn’t respond. His focus was on the Beast, on the way its tendrils writhed and lashed out at the landscape as it moved. He could feel its attention bearing down on them, a weight that pressed against his chest like an iron hand. It wasn’t just chasing them—it was hunting them, savoring the inevitability of its catch.

  A sudden scream tore through the air, drawing both Servius and Jaren’s attention. Far to their left, another group of survivors was scrambling toward the ship, their ragged forms barely visible through the haze. The Beast shifted its attention toward them, its massive frame twisting as it veered off course. Servius’s ears flattened as he watched the creature lash out with one of its glowing tendrils, impaling a straggler and lifting them into the air.

  The survivor’s screams were short-lived. Their body disintegrated into a cloud of ash, scattered by the winds of the Warp.

  Jaren stumbled, their breath hitching as they watched the scene unfold. “We have to help them!” they shouted, turning toward the other group.

  “No,” Servius barked, grabbing Jaren’s arm and pulling them back. His grip was firm, his green eyes blazing with intensity. “We can’t save them. If we stop now, we’re next.”

  Jaren hesitated, their expression torn between defiance and terror. But the sound of another scream—followed by the sickening hum of the Beast’s tendrils—seemed to sap the fight from them. They nodded reluctantly, their steps faltering as they turned back toward the ship.

  Servius’s gaze lingered on the other group for a moment longer, his jaw tightening as he watched the Beast tear through them with methodical precision. The creature’s movements were slow but deliberate, each strike devastatingly efficient. It wasn’t chasing prey—it was eliminating obstacles, clearing the path to its true target.

  “Damn thing’s herding us,” Servius muttered under his breath, his tail flicking sharply behind him. He pushed Jaren ahead, his sharp gaze fixed on the ship’s perimeter. “Keep moving. We’re running out of time.”

  They pressed on, the distance between them and the ship growing shorter with every step. But so did the Beast.

  The ground leveled out as Servius and Jaren neared the ship’s perimeter. The jagged wreckage loomed above them now, its sheer size more imposing up close. Massive shards of twisted metal jutted into the air like spears, while smaller sections of the hull lay scattered across the terrain, half-buried in the shifting Warp mist. Makeshift fortifications had been erected around the outer edge—barricades of scavenged debris, reinforced with slabs of plasteel and jagged iron plates. The survivors manning the defenses scrambled to respond as Servius and Jaren approached.

  “Open the line!” someone shouted, their voice cutting through the heavy air. “We’ve got runners coming in!”

  The barricades shifted as two armed figures moved to allow a narrow gap for Servius and Jaren to slip through. Jaren stumbled in first, gasping for breath as they collapsed against the nearest wall. Servius followed, his rifle held at the ready, his glowing eyes scanning the perimeter even as the defenses closed behind him.

  The survivors inside the perimeter were a ragged group—human soldiers, a few mutants, and even a hulking ogryn, all battered and bloodied from what had clearly been a long fight for survival. Some were armed with lasguns or autoguns, others with scavenged melee weapons, and a few bore nothing more than sharpened shards of metal. They stared at Servius and Jaren with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, their movements tense and wary.

  “Where’s the rest of your group?” one of the defenders asked, their voice sharp and distrustful.

  “They’re gone,” Jaren said hoarsely, their chest heaving as they struggled to catch their breath. “It’s... it’s coming.”

  A ripple of unease passed through the defenders. One of them, a scarred woman with a shotgun slung across her back, stepped forward, her gaze narrowing as she studied Servius. “What’s coming?”

  Servius didn’t answer immediately. His ears flicked as the faint, guttural hum in the distance grew louder, vibrating through the cracked ground beneath his boots. He turned toward the gap in the barricade, his tail lashing behind him as he stared out at the valley they had just crossed.

  “It’s big,” he said finally, his voice calm but weighted with grim certainty. “And it’s not stopping.”

  Another figure, a wiry man armed with a laspistol and a rusted machete, cursed under his breath. “What the hell does that mean? What kind of thing are we talking about?”

  “It means you don’t have time to ask questions,” Servius snapped, his sharp tone cutting through the rising panic. He turned back to the defenders, his green eyes blazing. “Get your people ready. Whatever you’ve got—guns, grenades, spears, rocks—get it all in position. If we don’t slow this thing down, you’re all dead.”

  The scarred woman hesitated for only a moment before barking orders to the others. “You heard him! Move it! Everyone to the barricades!” The survivors scattered, rushing to man their positions and haul what little ammunition and weaponry they had to the front line.

  Jaren, still leaning against the wall, looked at Servius with wide, desperate eyes. “We can’t hold this thing off,” they said, their voice trembling. “You’ve seen what it can do.”

  Servius nodded grimly. “I’ve seen enough. But running won’t save us.” He paused, his gaze shifting toward the distant ridge where the Beast’s shadowed form was beginning to crest. “If it gets too close to the ship, none of you stand a chance.”

  Jaren shook their head, their expression one of disbelief. “What are you saying? We just got here. You can’t—”

  “I can,” Servius interrupted, his voice firm. He turned to face Jaren fully, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “I’ll hold it off. Buy you some time to get everyone ready.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with finality. Jaren’s eyes widened, their lasgun lowering slightly as they stared at him. “You’re serious,” they said, barely above a whisper. “You’ll die out there.”

  “Maybe,” Servius said, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. He adjusted the strap of his rifle—this time without hesitation—before turning back toward the barricade. “But if I don’t, all of you die in here. I’d rather take my chances out there.”

  Jaren took a step forward, their voice rising in desperation. “There has to be another way—”

  “There isn’t,” Servius snapped, his sharp eyes locking onto Jaren’s. The raw intensity in his gaze silenced them instantly. “This thing’s been chasing me since I left the Nexus. It wants me. Not you, not them. Me. If I stay, it’ll come right through these barricades and tear everyone apart.”

  Jaren swallowed hard, their hands tightening around their lasgun. “But you can’t kill it. You said yourself it’s too strong.”

  Servius’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smirk. “I don’t need to kill it,” he said. “I just need to make it think I can.”

  The scarred woman from earlier approached, her shotgun in hand. “We’ve got a couple of heavy stubbers left,” she said, her tone brisk. “And the ship’s got one working flak battery, but it’s in rough shape. You hold that thing off, and we’ll give you as much fire support as we can.”

  Servius nodded curtly. “Good. Use it to keep its attention split. The more it has to deal with, the better.”

  The woman hesitated, her scarred face tightening as she studied him. “You sure about this?” she asked quietly. “Once you go out there...”

  “I’m sure,” Servius said, cutting her off. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and unsheathed his knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Just make sure you’re ready when it comes.”

  She nodded, her jaw tightening as she turned to join the others at the barricades. Servius glanced back at Jaren one last time, his expression unreadable.

  “Stay alive,” he said simply, his tone softer now. Then he turned and stepped through the gap in the barricade, his silhouette framed against the flickering haze of the battlefield beyond.