Guren’s scream tore through the ruined street.
His body convulsed as the micromachines surged, black veins crawling violently across his neck and jaw. His skin hardened in patches, flesh giving way to dull, iron-gray plates that pushed through like growths forced from beneath the skin. He collapsed forward, crashing onto the asphalt, fingers clawing at his own skull.
“Stop—!” he screamed. “Stop, stop, stop—!”
His voice fractured, half-human, half something else, echoing against the shattered buildings.
Kael took a step forward instinctively. Then another.
“Move,” he snapped, panic flooding his voice.
Varik appeared in front of him like a wall.
A single hand pressed against Kael’s chest—firm, immovable. Varik’s presence was cold, absolute. His eyes never left Guren.
“Stand down,” Varik said quietly.
Kael struggled against him. “That’s my captain!”
Varik did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
Behind them, the rest of Guren’s platoon stood frozen, Nyra with her hand over her mouth, Tavian pale and shaking, Jax gripping his rifle so hard his knuckles went white. Rhys stared in horror, unable to look away, unable to breathe. Loran’s lips trembled, disbelief etched into his face.
Their captain—their Guren—was on the ground, breaking apart.
Then Sera spoke.
“Where did that tough guy act go now, loser?”
Her voice cut through the chaos—soft, almost teasing.
Everyone turned.
Sera dragged herself closer, black fluid spilling from her like living shadow. The micromachines obeyed her final command, stretching outward, wrapping gently—almost tenderly—around Guren’s shoulders and pulling him toward her.
She sat down heavily on the ruined street and cradled him, his head resting weakly in her lap.
Guren’s hands still clutched at his skull, his breath ragged, but the screaming had softened into broken whimpers.
“You’ve always acted so tough,” Sera murmured, brushing ash and blood from his hair with trembling fingers. “Like nothing could ever touch you.”
Her black veins pulsed brighter, spreading across her face, down her arms, swallowing her whole.
“But deep down,” she said quietly, leaning closer, “only your sister knows who you truly are.”
Varik stepped closer, sword sliding free of its sheath with a sharp, final sound.
Sera didn’t look at him.
Her gaze never left Guren.
With the last of her strength, she reached outward. The black fluid obeyed, snaking across the street toward something half-buried in rubble—a faint red glow pulsing weakly beneath ash and debris.
Her fingers closed around it.
A red crystal.
Magitium.
Nyra’s voice broke the stunned silence. “Is that… magitium?”
Sera didn’t answer.
The black fluid surged, crushing the crystal in her grasp. It shattered with a dry, brittle crack, breaking down into fine red dust that shimmered faintly in the air.
Rhys’s voice cracked through the moment. “What are you doing?!”
Sera tilted Guren’s head gently, her hand supporting his jaw. With a trembling motion, she guided the red dust to his lips, forcing him to swallow.
For a heartbeat—
Nothing.
Then Guren’s body stilled.
The black micromachines recoiled, as if burned. Veins withdrew, dissolving into nothing. The iron plates along his skin fractured and peeled away, crumbling into inert fragments that scattered across the ground.
Flesh returned.
Human.
Guren gasped—one deep, desperate breath—then another. His chest rose and fell violently as the voices faded, the pressure in his skull loosening its grip.
Slowly… painfully… his eyes opened.
Rhys stared, mouth open in shock.
Loran whispered, barely audible, “No way…”
Around them, UF soldiers stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
Guren was alive.
And himself.
Sera smiled faintly.
The black veins surged one final time, overtaking her completely. Her body trembled as the micromachines claimed what remained.
She cupped Guren’s face, her hand warm—human—for just a moment longer.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely there, “spare this idiot.”
Then she was gone.
Her body collapsed inward, dissolving into countless fragments of microscopic, razor-sharp black metal that scattered across the street like ash in the wind.
Silence fell.
Guren lay there, breathing, staring up at the empty sky where his sister had been.
Alive.
Because she chose to disappear.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Guren stirred.
He rolled onto his back with a slow, deliberate motion, as if testing whether the world would allow him to exist in it again. His breath came out rough, a deep cough tearing from his chest. He brought a hand to his mouth, spitting dark residue onto the broken pavement, then sucked in a breath that burned but belonged to him.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
He blinked.
Sat up.
The entire squad flinched.
Mara’s rifle dipped. Tavian took an unconscious step back. Loran’s eyes were wide, fixed on Guren as if afraid he might vanish again. Irik, leaning against rubble, stared in silence, jaw slack.
Guren looked at them, brow furrowing faintly.
“Y’all look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he rasped.
No one answered.
The ash continued to fall, soft and soundless.
Varik was the one who broke the silence. His sword was still in his hand, but it lowered by a fraction. His eyes—usually sharp, calculating—were wide with something dangerously close to disbelief.
“…Looks like you’re back to yourself,” Varik said at last.
Guren didn’t reply.
He turned.
Slowly.
His gaze fell to the ground behind him—to the scattered fragments of black metal, so small they almost blended with the dust and ash. Microscopic remnants. All that remained of Sera.
He stared at them for a long time.
Then he pushed himself up.
He stood, straightening to his full height despite the tremor in his legs. As if out of habit—muscle memory older than the war—he placed his hands behind his back. The familiar posture. The captain’s stance.
When he spoke, his voice was low. Steady. But it carried weight.
“Even through all those voices…” he said quietly, “…I still heard you clearly.”
His throat tightened. He swallowed.
“And that alone proves how much you had in your grasp, Sera.”
The wind shifted, scattering the ash, brushing over the fragments at his feet.
“You always acted like you were in control,” he went on, eyes never leaving the ground. “Bossing me around. Calling me an idiot. Like I needed constant supervision.”
A faint, broken breath escaped him. Almost a laugh. Almost.
“Truth is… you were the only one who ever saw through the act.”
His shoulders tensed.
“You carried things no one should’ve had to carry. Voices. Lives. Decisions that never should’ve been yours.” His jaw clenched. “And you still found a way to save someone else.”
Silence swallowed his words.
He didn’t say he would miss her.
He didn’t have to.
Something broke.
It wasn’t loud. There was no sob, no sound at all. Just a subtle tremor in his chest, a stillness that felt heavier than any scream.
Rhys noticed first.
From where he stood, he saw it—tiny droplets darkening the ash at Guren’s feet. One. Then another.
Tears.
Guren didn’t wipe them away. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe any differently.
Rhys took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Hey… Guren.”
No response.
Guren stood there, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on what was left of his sister—silent, unmoving, grieving in a way that no battlefield could ever prepare him for.
And for the first time, the captain didn’t command the moment.
He endured it.
Silence stretched—heavy, uncomfortable, almost cruel.
Ash whispered across the street. Somewhere far away, metal groaned as ruined structures settled into themselves.
Rhys swallowed.
“Guren…” he said hesitantly. “Are you… crying?”
The words hung there—fragile, dangerous.
Guren didn’t turn around.
“Can’t you be less annoying,” he said quietly, voice rough around the edges, “idiot?”
Rhys froze. The snap in Guren’s voice hit harder than any shout. His fists clenched at his sides, anger flashing across his face before he could stop it.
Irik moved before Rhys could say anything.
He limped forward, each step uneven, one hand gripping his injured arm where the muscle had been torn and hastily sealed. He stopped beside Rhys, staring ahead—not at Guren, not at Sera’s remains, but at nothing in particular.
“Yeah,” Irik said softly. “First time we’re seeing the captain cry too.”
There was no mockery in his voice. Just fact. Just disbelief.
Guren’s shoulders tightened.
“…Dammit,” he muttered, low and strained, “it hurts even more than when I left you eighteen years ago.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Vera, silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was calm, almost gentle—but it cut deep.
“Must hurt,” she said, “to see someone die twice. Especially if it’s your sister… and you cared about her.”
Guren didn’t respond.
Then Varik moved.
Boots crunched against rubble as he walked forward, passing Guren without so much as a glance. He stopped near the scattered black fragments—what remained of Sera—then deliberately kicked aside debris, his motion casual. Dismissive.
Mocking.
Guren’s jaw clenched hard.
Varik paused.
Something caught his eye.
He crouched and reached down with his sword, nudging aside shattered concrete. The blade struck something solid. Crystalline.
Varik froze.
Slowly, he pried it free.
A red crystal—magitium.
But not like the others.
This one was carved.
A symbol etched into its surface—the same mark that had burned faintly in Sera’s right eye. And inside the crystal, suspended unnaturally, was a black sphere. Perfect. Absolute. So dark it seemed to swallow the firelight around it.
Varik straightened, eyes wide.
“…Interesting,” he murmured.
Guren’s fingers twitched behind his back. Rage flared—but he forced it down, his teeth grinding as he stayed silent.
Kael stepped up beside him.
“What the hell is that?” Guren asked finally, voice tight, controlled by sheer effort.
Varik turned the crystal slightly in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “Looks like regular magitium… except it has something inside it.”
Kael’s expression darkened. “We should analyze it.”
Varik nodded once. “Agreed.”
Then he turned back toward Guren, studying him closely.
“Have you pulled yourself together?”
Guren exhaled sharply, embarrassed despite himself. “I’m just a human,” he said. “Give me a moment.”
Kael didn’t relent.
“Your infection.”
The words snapped Guren’s attention back instantly.
His eyes widened.
He looked down at his hands—really looked. No black veins. No metallic sheen. Just scarred skin. Human skin.
“…What?” he whispered.
Kael spoke carefully now. “Sera fed you crushed magitium dust. And it worked. On you.”
Guren’s breath caught.
His teeth ground together, fury and realization crashing into one another. He lifted his head slowly and fixed Varik with a hard stare.
“Spill it, Colonel,” Guren said, voice low and shaking with restrained anger. “You knew about this. Didn’t you?”
Varik said nothing.
“There’s a way to reverse the black plague,” Guren continued, each word heavier than the last. “Isn’t there?”
Varik turned away.
His gaze drifted over Ironford—its ruins, its corpses, its ash-covered streets.
He didn’t answer.
And that silence was colder than any confirmation.
Silence stretched—heavy, uncomfortable, almost cruel.
Ash whispered across the street. Somewhere far away, metal groaned as ruined structures settled into themselves.
Rhys swallowed.
“Guren…” he said hesitantly. “Are you… crying?”
The words hung there—fragile, dangerous.
Guren didn’t turn around.
“Can’t you be less annoying,” he said quietly, voice rough around the edges, “idiot?”
Rhys froze. The snap in Guren’s voice hit harder than any shout. His fists clenched at his sides, anger flashing across his face before he could stop it.
Irik moved before Rhys could say anything.
He limped forward, each step uneven, one hand gripping his injured arm where the muscle had been torn and hastily sealed. He stopped beside Rhys, staring ahead—not at Guren, not at Sera’s remains, but at nothing in particular.
“Yeah,” Irik said softly. “First time we’re seeing the captain cry too.”
There was no mockery in his voice. Just fact. Just disbelief.
Guren’s shoulders tightened.
“…Dammit,” he muttered, low and strained, “it hurts even more than when I left you eighteen years ago.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Vera, silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was calm, almost gentle—but it cut deep.
“Must hurt,” she said, “to see someone die twice. Especially if it’s your sister… and you cared about her.”
Guren didn’t respond.
Then Varik moved.
Boots crunched against rubble as he walked forward, passing Guren without so much as a glance. He stopped near the scattered black fragments—what remained of Sera—then deliberately kicked aside debris, his motion casual. Dismissive.
Mocking.
Guren’s jaw clenched hard.
Varik paused.
Something caught his eye.
He crouched and reached down with his sword, nudging aside shattered concrete. The blade struck something solid. Crystalline.
Varik froze.
Slowly, he pried it free.
A red crystal—magitium.
But not like the others.
This one was carved.
A symbol etched into its surface—the same mark that had burned faintly in Sera’s right eye. And inside the crystal, suspended unnaturally, was a black sphere. Perfect. Absolute. So dark it seemed to swallow the firelight around it.
Varik straightened, eyes wide.
“…Interesting,” he murmured.
Guren’s fingers twitched behind his back. Rage flared—but he forced it down, his teeth grinding as he stayed silent.
Kael stepped up beside him.
“What the hell is that?” Guren asked finally, voice tight, controlled by sheer effort.
Varik turned the crystal slightly in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “Looks like regular magitium… except it has something inside it.”
Kael’s expression darkened. “We should analyze it.”
Varik nodded once. “Agreed.”
Then he turned back toward Guren, studying him closely.
“Have you pulled yourself together?”
Guren exhaled sharply, embarrassed despite himself. “I’m just a human,” he said. “Give me a moment.”
Kael didn’t relent.
“Your infection.”
The words snapped Guren’s attention back instantly.
His eyes widened.
He looked down at his hands—really looked. No black veins. No metallic sheen. Just scarred skin. Human skin.
“…What?” he whispered.
Kael spoke carefully now. “Sera fed you crushed magitium dust. And it worked. On you.”
Guren’s breath caught.
His teeth ground together, fury and realization crashing into one another. He lifted his head slowly and fixed Varik with a hard stare.
“Spill it, Colonel,” Guren said, voice low and shaking with restrained anger. “You knew about this. Didn’t you?”
Varik said nothing.
“There’s a way to reverse the black plague,” Guren continued, each word heavier than the last. “Isn’t there?”
Varik turned away.
His gaze drifted over Ironford—its ruins, its corpses, its ash-covered streets.
He didn’t answer.
And that silence was colder than any confirmation.
Note from me:
End of first Volume
Stay tuned for Volume 2 : Beyond the Wasteland
