Death and Dominion:

  Lieutenant Elneny watched in silence as Thalia slipped into the tomb’s entrance. The darkness swallowed her completely, leaving only a void where she had stood. Their orders were clear: wait for her and be ready to escort her the moment she returned. Yet tension rippled through the convoy. Every soldier felt it—Thalia’s presence unsettled them. She wasn’t one of them. She was tolerated only because command insisted she must be.

  Elneny couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. He scanned the formation, noting the restless energy beneath armored plates. Only three Next-Gens had been assigned to this mission, one for each armored vehicle positioned in a triangular perimeter around the tomb. Each car held a shooter, primed to fire at a moment’s notice. They were trained to stay sharp, but their unease carried something older, something that reminded Elneny of his father’s stories.

  His father had been a warrior—a defender in the Siege of the Gates of Hell, a hero of the Silver City. He had survived horrors beyond imagining, only to fall to a Vampyre in a single moment of inattention. A thousand years later, the wound still lived in Elneny’s memory.

  Minutes dragged. Cassandra, the soldier who had argued with Thalia earlier, grew increasingly agitated. “We should leave,” she muttered. “Let her find her own way back. She’s not one of us.”

  Elneny shot her a warning look. “Orders are to wait. Set the perimeter. Get the shooters ready.”

  She scowled but obeyed. Soon thirty soldiers surrounded the entrance, weapons trained on the shadows. Silence thickened, broken only by the hum of machinery.

  After an hour, Cassandra returned, visor lifted, eyes tight with unease. “Sir… she should be back.”

  Elneny checked his watch. She was right.

  “Orders are to wait,” he said again, though doubt crept into his voice. “Stay patient.”

  Cassandra looked at him, fear flickering beneath her defiance. “This wasn’t supposed to take this long, Lieutenant. It’ll be dark soon, and with another hour’s journey back… we’ll be gone longer than planned.”

  “Worried you’ll miss dinner?” Elneny tried, though the joke fell flat.

  She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I have a date tonight. Not all of us live at the base with nothing better to do.”

  He forced a smile, but unease gnawed at him. “If she’s not back in half an hour, I’ll send a team in. Fair?”

  Cassandra lowered her visor with a grim nod. “Fair.” She returned to her post, leaving Elneny alone with the creeping realization that he wasn’t just concerned—he was afraid.

  The shadows around the tomb deepened, pulsing with something ancient. A chill swept through the formation, and the silence thickened into something oppressive. Elneny’s gaze kept drifting to the entrance, hoping to see Thalia emerge, but the darkness held her fast.

  Then a low, almost imperceptible rumble echoed from within. Elneny stiffened, hand drifting toward his weapon. Cassandra turned, her face pale beneath the visor. The soldiers felt it too—every body tensed, ready.

  But the attack came from above.

  A flicker of movement streaked across the sky. The sun’s harsh glare blinded him, scattering sharp rays that made the shapes impossible to track. Another shadow darted past his right. Cassandra noticed his reaction and started toward him, tension etched across her features.

  Before either could speak, his radio crackled violently.

  “All units, the facility is under attack—I repeat, the Facility is under attack. Request immediate emergen—” The transmission cut off.

  Elneny froze. The other two Next-Gens stared back at him, shock mirrored in their eyes. The base was under siege.

  “Team One, Team Two, return to transport! Team Three, with me—move!”

  The soldiers sprinted for the vehicles. They were almost there when the sky tore open, and an orb of fire plummeted toward them like a falling star.

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  A thunderous explosion ripped through the ground, the shockwave slamming into the soldiers with bone?shaking force. The transport vanished in an instant, reduced to a twisted, flaming carcass. Fire billowed outward in a violent bloom, consuming the soldiers caught in its radius. The air filled with the acrid stench of burning fuel and flesh, undercut by the metallic tang of blood.

  Shrapnel tore through the formation like a swarm of razors. Screams erupted—some raw with agony, others choked with terror—as metal fragments ripped through armor, flesh, and bone. Those not killed outright writhed on the sand, clutching at ruined limbs, their cries drowned beneath the roar of flames.

  Chaos swallowed everything.

  Elneny barely registered the charred remains of his comrades. His mind locked onto the truth he already knew: Angels. He didn’t need to look up to feel them. Their presence pressed down like a divine weight, suffocating and absolute.

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  A chilling, almost playful laughter drifted from above—unnervingly human, like a child toying with something broken. Elneny’s pulse hammered as he lifted his gaze.

  Gabriel and Azrael hovered above the carnage, their mirrored armor gleaming in the sun. Behind them floated five lesser angels, wings unfurled in radiant arcs, eyes burning with holy malice. Their very presence froze the air.

  “Return fire!” Elneny shouted, voice cracking with desperation.

  He fired. Divine steel rounds screamed through the air, only to ping uselessly off the angels’ armor. The archangels twisted effortlessly, moving with a dancer’s grace, wings slicing through the sky faster than human eyes could track.

  Around him, soldiers scrambled for cover that didn’t exist. Gunfire erupted in a frantic storm, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off divine plating. The turret roared, spitting fire into the heavens, but the angels drifted through the barrage untouched.

  The battlefield had become their stage—and the soldiers were already dead.

  Elneny’s mind raced, clawing for any solution. They couldn’t win out here—not with Angels circling above, not with the heavens themselves turned against them. His gaze snapped to the tomb, its dark entrance gaping like a wound in the earth. Inside, the Angels’ aerial advantage would vanish. The walls might offer cover, a chance to regroup. Staying in the open meant certain death.

  “Cassandra!” he shouted over the chaos.

  She was still there, rifle raised, tracking the Angels with sharp, disciplined movements. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she held her ground.

  “Get everyone inside! Now!”

  She didn’t hesitate. Her voice cut through the screams and gunfire as she dragged soldiers toward the tomb. Smoke and burning bodies choked the air. Men cried out—some in agony, others in terror—as the battlefield dissolved into fire and ruin. Elneny’s chest tightened. His soldiers, his friends, were being torn apart before his eyes.

  But there was no time to mourn.

  Team One’s survivors were still pulling the wounded from the wreckage. Some were burned beyond recognition, twitching in the dirt. Others clung to life, reaching out with trembling hands. Elneny spotted Justine, Team One’s leader, desperately trying to smother the flames consuming a soldier’s legs. Horror twisted her features, but she refused to abandon him.

  Then a shadow fell across her—silent, predatory.

  Elneny knew what it was before he saw it. An Angel descended with eerie grace, spear gleaming like distilled judgment. His heart lurched.

  “Justine!”

  His scream tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

  But it was already too late.

  The Angel’s spear shot forward in a blur of divine light. In a single, merciless motion, it punched through Justine’s back, sinking into her flesh with sickening ease. Her body went rigid, her mouth open in a scream that never formed. Blood spilled from her lips as the Angel twisted the weapon, driving it deeper and pinning her to the wounded soldier beneath her. They hung together for a heartbeat—two lives skewered like trophies—before the Angel ripped the spear free, spraying the ground with blood and torn flesh.

  Elneny’s heart clenched. The pain of losing her was a blade in his chest, but he forced it down. Survival came first. Vengeance could wait.

  Cassandra stood near the entrance, shouting orders, pulling soldiers into the tomb. The Angel’s gaze snapped to her. He raised his spear again, arm coiling with lethal intent.

  “Cassandra!” Elneny roared, but the warning vanished in the chaos.

  He braced for the scream, for the thud of metal through bone.

  Silence fell—brief, unnatural.

  When he opened his eyes, Cassandra was gone from the Angel’s line of fire. Instead, the Angel himself was pinned to the tomb wall, his own spear jutting from his chest.

  Elneny stared, stunned.

  Thalia stood at the entrance.

  Her left arm was still extended from the throw—or the shove—that had hurled Cassandra into safety. But it was Thalia’s appearance that froze him. Her skin had turned ashen, veins dark beneath the surface. Her eyes burned a furious, unnatural red. She looked ancient. Awakened. Terrifying.

  Her hiss tore across the battlefield, sharp as ice. The lesser angels halted mid?air, their arrogance evaporating. One gasped. Another drifted back in fear.

  For the first time, the Angels hesitated.

  The surviving soldiers edged toward the tomb entrance, step by trembling step. The wounded and fallen would have to wait. Survival was the only priority now, yet none dared fully turn their backs on the nightmare unfolding behind them.

  Thalia advanced across the scorched, blood?soaked ground, her gaze locked on the two Archangels hovering above. Only when she drew close did Gabriel and Azrael descend, keeping a cautious distance. Their eyes flicked to her sword—fear, unmistakable and raw, flickering beneath their divine arrogance.

  “You’ve got some nerve being here,” Thalia snarled, her voice a rasp that scraped across Elneny’s spine. He flinched, instinct screaming at him to run, but he held his ground. Thalia wasn’t finished.

  Azrael’s eyes narrowed, thunder gathering overhead. “And you’ve got some balls to stand alone against two Archangels.”

  Thalia’s red eyes gleamed. “I’ve got something that can kill you. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  Gabriel smirked. “That sword? Michael told us all about it. We know its tricks.” Even so, both Archangels faltered mid?air, the sword’s magic tugging at their strength.

  “Then you’re even more foolish for coming unarmed,” she shot back. “Or just desperate.”

  Gabriel’s mocking laughter cracked through the air. With a snap of his fingers, the four lesser angels surged forward. Their terror wasn’t of Thalia—it was of Gabriel. They obeyed blindly, desperate to avoid his wrath.

  It didn’t save them.

  Thalia moved like a serpent, her body a blur of impossible grace. Two angels dove at her, wings slicing the air, but she bent backward, their strikes missing by inches. One reached for her sword—too slow.

  Her blade flashed.

  Steel parted flesh and bone with a clean, brutal sound. The angel’s body split in two, celestial blood spraying in a silver arc. The halves hit the ground, wings twitching once before falling still.

  Thalia didn’t pause. The battle was only beginning.

  With a fluid pirouette, she spun on her heel, her sword carving a lethal arc through the air. Two angels collided in their frantic rush to reach her, their timing disastrous. The impact sent them spiraling, wings flailing as they struggled to regain control.

  Too late.

  Thalia’s blade swept cleanly through both their necks. For a heartbeat, their severed heads seemed to float, suspended in the smoky air, before dropping to the ground. Their bodies followed with a heavy, sickening thud.

  The fourth angel tried to retreat.

  Thalia was faster.

  She seized him, spun him around, planted her boot between his wings, and pulled. The feathered limbs tore free with a wet, ripping sound. The angel screamed—briefly—before silver fire erupted from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. His divine form blackened and collapsed into a charred husk.

  The fight was over before it had truly begun.

  Four angels—once radiant, revered beings—now lay butchered at her feet, their celestial purity drowned in blood and ruin.

  Elneny stood frozen, staring at Thalia. Her blade dripped with divine ichor, her stance unshaken. The speed, the precision, the brutality—he had never seen anything like it. She wasn’t just powerful. She was something beyond that. Something unstoppable. The air around her pulsed with a quiet, terrifying energy.

  Her voice cracked through the silence. “Was that your big plan?”

  Gabriel and Azrael didn’t answer. They stood motionless, irritation flickering beneath something far rarer—caution. They were waiting. For what, Elneny couldn’t guess.

  A cold wind swept past him.

  A guttural screech echoed from the darkness, scraping against his nerves. Thalia’s head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing.

  A figure materialized from the shadows—fast, precise, lethal.

  Dalareyes.

  In a blink, he was upon her. His black Demornium blade drove straight through her chest, the impact so brutal the world seemed to stop.

  Time slowed.

  Elneny watched, helpless, as the cursed metal sank deep. Thalia’s body jerked, her red eyes widening in shock and pain. For the first time, her defiance faltered—replaced by something almost human.

  Vulnerability.

  Thalia’s grip faltered. Her hand trembled around the hilt as the Demornium blade drained her strength. The cursed metal was made for this—designed to cripple beings far stronger than mortals. Her skin dulled to a lifeless gray, the energy that once crackled around her dimming like a dying star.

  Dalareyes leaned in close, his breath cold against her ear. His grin was a razor’s edge. “You may be powerful,” he whispered, voice thick with contempt, “but even you have limits.”

  Thalia’s breath hitched. The blade twisted deeper, its dark magic suffocating her from the inside out. Elneny felt the air thicken, felt the oppressive heat radiating from the cursed metal as it drained her essence. Thalia staggered, her body trembling under the assault, each shallow breath weaker than the last.

  She tried to snarl, but the sound came out as a broken rasp. Her knees buckled. The warrior who had just carved through four angels with impossible ease now collapsed under the weight of a single strike. Her strength slipped away like sand through her fingers, and with it, the fragile hope that she could stand against the forces closing in around her.

  Thalia fell to the ground, her sword clattering beside her.

  Dalareyes straightened, watching her with cold satisfaction. The Archangels didn’t move. Gabriel’s smirk returned, slow and poisonous. Azrael’s eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation.

  Elneny’s heart hammered. He had seen Thalia unstoppable, terrifying, divine in her fury. But now she knelt in the dirt, breath shallow, her power bleeding out around the Demornium blade still lodged in her chest.

  For the first time since the battle began, she looked mortal.

  And that terrified him more than the Angels ever had.