A scream ripped out of Alyssa Veyr before her eyes were even open.

  She bolted upright in the dark, drenched in sweat, breath ragged, the echo of her own voice still bouncing off the cold concrete of the dormitory bunker. It wasn’t just a scream, but something rawer, closer to a roar. Her hand trembled over her chest as if she could hold her heart still, could drag herself back fully into her body. For an instant she was trapped between dream and memory, neither fully here nor there.

  Bran’s body torn in half.

  Fire falling from the sky like rain.

  A faceless Rhupenshron towering above her, its mouth sewn shut, smiling.

  And always behind it all, the sound of metal shrieking, mechs breaking, voices dying.

  She gasped in air through her teeth and forced herself to focus on the low, steady hum of the generator outside. Her fingers brushed the weighted jacket hanging beside the bed. She slipped it on, movements tight and automatic.

  War didn’t wait for sleep. Not anymore.

  Two brutal years had passed since the Iron Legion scouts departed. Urbanatra hadn’t known peace since. Every morning, squads rotated to the walls. Every night, fewer came back than had left. The Rhupenshron had grown sharper, their attacks no longer mindless but probing, tactical. Mutants led now. The common breeds were used as fodder. Something guided them.

  The city’s old strategies had stopped working.

  Even Bluehawk, their best, bled every week. No deaths yet, but scars. Wounds. Close calls.

  Alyssa sat with her back against the cool metal wall, letting the dream leak out of her bones. The details were already slipping away, leaving only the taste of smoke, the sound of screams, the sense that someone red and broken had once stood beside her.

  Slowly she rose, tightening the straps of her twin grapplers, wrapping her wrists snug. Her blades gleamed by the wall in the faint pre-dawn light. She fastened her cropped alloy breastplate, its tempered surface light but firm. The clink of metal was soft in the bunker, the only sound as she locked it into place. She slid reinforced cuffs over her forearms, each housing a grapnel launcher now so much a part of her body that she no longer thought of them as weapons. The belt came next, blades secured into their sheaths, spare charges clipped to the magnetic clamps.

  Navy cloth pants, stretched and durable. Black shoes, worn and scuffed from two years of battle, slipped on easily. A tug of her gloves, and she was ready.

  The squad was already gathering in the mess.

  The hall was heavy with the smell of boiled roots and iron, the brazier’s orange glow barely cutting through the gloom. Shadows stretched across stone walls as armored figures settled around the long table.

  Bran gnawed through a slab of meat at the far end, his broad shoulders hunched, scarred brow pulled taut. He gave Alyssa a glance, nothing more, his chipped blade resting at his side.

  Ketta sat against the wall, posture flawless, eyes in constant motion. She traced the coil of her launcher with restless fingers, every move sharp and considered.

  Across from her, Harlen sharpened a shard of metal, the rasp of whetstone steady and unbroken. His mind was elsewhere, no doubt reading the battlefield even here.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Sira remained half in shadow, face hidden beneath her helm’s brim, hands still, weapon resting lightly against her wrist. She had the presence of a ghost, silent and waiting.

  Sophie, grinning as always, bumped Alyssa’s shoulder as she passed. “Bad dream again?” she teased lightly.

  Tane lounged with a dagger dancing between his fingers, flame-colored hair catching the brazier light. Daelen Virell sat apart, pale and expressionless, gaze fixed on something invisible. Ethan Brask held his prayer token, knuckles white around the worn beastbone charm.

  Then the door burst open. A scout, breathless, shouted, “Message from the Watch. Bluehawk to briefing. East trench, number forty-seven. No details, only movement.”

  Ketta rose at once. Bran followed with a grunt, hefting his blade. Sophie tightened her boots, eager. Sira slipped from the room without a sound. Harlen moved with measured precision.

  Alyssa brushed her fingers over her blades, took one last look at them all. Bluehawk, now sharper than Ashguard had ever been. The city’s best. Its last hope.

  “Let’s move,” she said.

  They surged out together.

  The morning air stung as they cut through the mist beyond Urbanatra’s walls. Mud and craters stretched before them, scarred earth blackened by years of war. The trench gaped wide, a raw wound dug deep across the ground, the Watch crouched at its edge, eyes searching the haze.

  “What’s the situation?” Ketta asked.

  “Nothing yet,” the lead scout answered hoarsely. “But they’re close. We can hear them.”

  Sophie smirked. “Then let’s bring them on.”

  The air shifted colder. The temperature always dropped when the Rhupenshron drew near. Shapes broke the horizon.

  First, a dog-type brute, claws scraping, armored hide shimmering, red eyes aglow. Then an insectoid bird dived overhead, wings buzzing with a mechanical screech. A massive bear-form thundered forward, spines ridging its back. Behind them, a tentacle beast slithered, coils as thick as trees.

  Bran flexed his hands around his blade. “That’s today’s hunt?”

  “Focus the small ones first,” Ketta ordered.

  “I’ll take the flyer,” Sophie called. “Cover me?”

  Alyssa nodded, grapnels firing as she launched herself skyward, blades flashing. Sophie’s smoke bombs burst in black clouds as she leapt after, vanishing into the haze.

  Sira became a whisper between rooftops, stalking the insectoid. Bran met the bear head-on, his blade ringing as it clashed against the monster’s armored bulk. Ketta struck from its blind side, quick as lightning. Harlen moved with cold precision, reading every shift of the battle before it came.

  Alyssa cut down the tentacle beast, severing limbs one by one, until its thrashing slowed. Then a lizard-type brute broke from the rubble. She soared with her grapnels, landed on its back, and drove both blades into the soft seam of its scales.

  Blue blood spilled. The beast roared, then collapsed.

  “Get the last one!” Ketta shouted.

  The worm broke through the earth, mouth yawning wide. Alyssa shot forward before thought could catch her. One blade plunged deep into its throat, the other into its gut. The creature spasmed, shuddered, then died in silence.

  Bran’s shadow fell across her as he approached. He gave her a nod. “Well done.”

  Ketta offered a rare smile. “Clean kill.”

  Sophie landed beside them, grinning despite her exhaustion. “You two always trying to outdo me. But we all held our own.”

  Alyssa’s small smile faded quickly. There was no triumph, only stillness, only the weight of survival.

  “The city still stands,” Harlen said. “That is what matters.”

  Alyssa did not argue, though something hollow gnawed inside her. Survival, yes. But for how long?

  That evening, she walked Urbanatra’s stone streets, the air cool, braziers flickering, markets still open. Life persisted, somehow. Sophie joined her from an alley.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Sophie asked.

  Alyssa shook her head.

  “Sometimes I wonder if we’re even making a dent,” Sophie said quietly. “We fight, and they just keep coming.”

  Alyssa’s gaze drifted to the towering walls. Once they had seemed eternal. Now they were reminders of what pressed against them.

  “We don’t get to win,” she said softly. “We just survive.”

  Sophie gave a sad smile. “Survival, then.”

  They walked on in silence beneath the stars.

  The alarm shrieked before dawn. Not the usual call for a patrol. Something worse.

  Alyssa jolted from sleep, already strapping into her harness as she stumbled to the mess. The squad was there, silent, all armored, all grim.

  Commander Dorn entered, his presence sharp as steel.

  “We’ve got a breach,” he said. “Not a standard wave. Something’s changed. New types, targeting the wall itself.”

  The room went colder still.