The crimson soil of Dead Omen Star lay scarred and silent, its surface churned into a grotesque mosaic of ichor and shattered carapaces. Hours of relentless combat had cleansed the surrounding kilometers of Starbugs, their swarms reduced to glistening heaps under the violet-tinged sky. The air, thick with the stench of burnt flesh and molten metal, hung heavy, a miasma that stung the lungs even through mech filters. The Empire's team, led by Bai Sha Roning, had carved a fragile dominion in this alien hell, their mechs standing like sentinels amid the carnage, their hulls streaked with the dark blood of their foes.
Xino, his long knife still dripping with viscous fluid, directed a cadre of cadets across the battlefield, their steps deliberate as they scoured the wreckage for the remains of high-grade Starbugs. With practiced efficiency, they threaded the glistening corpses onto reinforced cables, dragging them back to the safe zone like hunters returning with trophies. The cables groaned under the weight, the bugs' segmented limbs twitching faintly, as if clinging to some vestige of life. Cen Yuehuai, her mech's engines humming softly, caught sight of the grim procession and tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Planning to grind these into the soil like the rest?" she asked, her voice crackling through the comms, laced with a mix of jest and intrigue.
Xino paused, his golden lion spirit form fading into a shimmer of light as he turned to face her. His mech's visor reflected the eerie glow of the sky, his tone calm but edged with purpose. "No. These are our spoils—high-grade materials. They'll count toward our points." His gaze flicked to her mech, noting a jagged scar across its rear wing. "Your wing's scratched. Not calling a tech to fix it?"
Cen Yuehuai blinked, her hands instinctively checking her mech's diagnostics. "What? Really? I didn't even feel it."
Nearby, a cluster of mech technicians worked feverishly, their tools sparking as they repaired damaged units for the single soldiers. Ying Chen, his face smudged with grease, glanced up from his work, his hands never pausing as he welded a panel. "Minor issue," he called, his voice steady. "Two minutes, and I'll have it sorted. Hang tight."
The swarm had left only a superficial mark on Cen Yuehuai's mech, a testament to her skill and luck. Others were not so fortunate. The first wave of Starbugs had battered several cadets' mechs, their armor cracked and systems flickering. Such damage typically signaled severe pilot injury—broken bones, internal bleeding—requiring immediate extraction and treatment. But Dead Omen Star was no ordinary battlefield. Its toxic atmosphere and relentless storms made human exposure lethal; pilots couldn't leave their mechs without risking death. For the wounded, survival depended on their mech's life-support systems holding until rescue arrived.
Ying Chen moved with clinical precision, assessing each damaged mech. His role was grim but vital: determine which cadets could no longer fight and prioritize repairs to their life-support systems, ensuring they endured until evacuation. He had already processed eight wounded, adding their names to the rescue list. As he approached another, toolbox in hand, the pilot's mech jerked, its arm rising with painful effort. "I—I can still move," the cadet stammered, his voice trembling through the comms. "Look, my mech's not as bad as theirs. I can stay!"
Ying Chen's eyes scanned the mech's diagnostics, his expression unyielding. "I can repair it," he said, his tone measured. "But your mech's alarms are screaming. Your shoulder's dislocated, maybe worse. You can't explain why a simple arm lift is this hard."
The cadet's mech shuddered, its movements sluggish, betraying the pain its pilot fought to conceal. In Ying Chen's domain, there was no room for compromise. The cadet sighed, a sound heavy with defeat. "Fine. But going out like this? It's… pathetic. If I'm done, at least strip my mech for parts. Let me contribute something."
Ying Chen glanced at the team's resource logs. "We're well-stocked. No need to cannibalize."
Cen Yuehuai, overhearing, interjected, her voice soft but firm. "He just wants his mech to keep fighting, even if he can't. Let him leave something behind."
Ying Chen paused, his fingers tightening around his wrench. "Alright," he said, his tone relenting. He set to work, deftly removing the mech's facial plate—a curved sheet of reinforced alloy. Without it, the mech's inner workings lay exposed, wires and circuits glinting like the innards of a flayed beast. Its functions remained intact, but its appearance was grotesque, a machine stripped of dignity.
Cen Yuehuai's brow furrowed. "Why the faceplate?"
Ying Chen held the metal aloft, its concave shape catching the light. "I can use it to heat materials," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "I need a crucible."
The cadet, his mech now faceless, let out a strangled sound, a mix of disbelief and resignation. Cen Yuehuai coughed, masking a laugh. "Well, it's… practical, at least."
She turned away, unable to meet the cadet's gaze, and Ying Chen moved to her mech, his tools humming as he smoothed the scratch on her wing. Cen Yuehuai opened her light-brain, tuning into the command channel where Bai Sha, Xino, and Jiya exchanged terse updates. On Dead Omen Star, Xino and Jiya had shed their usual reticence, their frontline experience pouring forth like a torrent. They shared tactics honed against Starbug swarms—flanking maneuvers, thermal baiting, core targeting—offering their knowledge not just to Bai Sha but to every mainline cadet. Listening was one thing; applying it in the chaos of battle was another. For now, Xino and Jiya were Bai Sha's anchors, their expertise bolstering her command.
Cen Yuehuai's thoughts crystallized into two truths: first, the military pedigree of Xino and Jiya set them apart, their instincts forged in blood and fire. Second, she, too, had a role to play. As Ying Chen finished her repairs, her mech gleaming anew, she stood, her resolve hardening. "Where's that guy who couldn't lift his arm?" she asked. "I'll check on him. Might just be a dislocation."
Ying Chen's eyes narrowed. "You're going to help him? Leaving your cockpit here is risky."
"This is a safe zone," Cen Yuehuai countered, glancing at the calm, windless expanse. "The air's stable for now. I've got my suit and mental barriers. I'll be fine."
True to her word, she acted swiftly. After a quick negotiation with the cadet, she popped her cockpit, leapt out, and sprinted across the crimson soil, her protective suit glinting under the violet sky. She vaulted into the cadet's cockpit, her movements a blur of precision. A minute later, a sharp cry echoed from within—pain, relief, or both. Cen Yuehuai emerged, agile as a cat, and climbed back into her mech, sealing the hatch with a hiss. "Fixed," she said, her voice brimming with confidence. "He's good to fight. Repair his mech."
Ying Chen approached, inspecting the cadet's mech. Its arms, once limp, now moved fluidly, the dislocation corrected. He set to work, his tools sparking as he restored the mech's armor. Fifteen minutes later, the cadet bounded over, his voice thick with gratitude as he thanked them. Ying Chen said nothing, but as he passed Cen Yuehuai, he muttered, "I really wanted that crucible." His tone carried a rare note of petulance.
Cen Yuehuai cleared her throat, a flush of embarrassment creeping in. "Well, maybe we'll run into the Federation team soon. You'll get your pot, I promise."
Meanwhile, the Federation's safe zone was a stark contrast, its atmosphere tinged with unease. Their mechs, arranged in a defensive ring, gleamed under the same cursed sky, but their progress was strangely subdued. Venturing west from their landing site, they encountered only scattered low-grade Starbugs, their forms sluggish and easily dispatched. No swarms, no chaos—just an eerie quiet broken by the howl of wind, a spectral wail that tore through the night like a banshee's cry.
"Is the instructor messing with us?" a cadet muttered, his voice edged with frustration. "They said Dead Omen was crawling with bugs."
"Maybe it's not swarm season," another offered, though his tone lacked conviction.
"That's obvious," a third snapped. "If it was swarm season, they wouldn't send us here."
Confusion hung over the team like a fog. The landscape was a desolate expanse of craters, their jagged rims framing gray, sunken basins. The emptiness was oppressive, the wind's high-pitched shrieks grating on their nerves. Under the dim starlight, the cadets felt exposed, their hearts as cold as their armored suits. Were they truly here just to wander this forsaken wasteland?
"I think it's like last time," a cadet whispered, his voice low. "The bugs are probably chasing the Empire team."
It made sense. Starbugs, drawn to mental energy, found the Empire's cadets—whose mental prowess outstripped the Federation's—a more enticing target. The theory was a bitter pill, but it explained the disparity.
"Enough," Zhou Ying's voice cut through the command channel, cool and authoritative. "Stay sharp. Keep moving and watch the wind speed."
Pre-mission briefings had ruled out meteor showers, leaving storms as the primary threat. The team descended into a crater, their mechs' sensors sweeping the terrain. Suddenly, a shout rang out from the left flank. Before anyone could react, a geyser of sand erupted from the ground, hurling a cadet skyward. Dust and wind blinded the nearby squad, their weapons raised but useless. A sickening crack split the air—metal snapping like bone.
As the sand settled, a monstrous silhouette emerged: a Starbug, its flattened, manta-like body gliding through the soil. Its skeletal frame, draped in translucent skin, pulsed with blue spots along its underbelly, flickering with each chew of its jagged maw. The sound—crunch, crunch—sent a chill through the team. Realization hit like a blow: it was devouring the cadet's mech.
Fury surged. Bullets tore through the bug's hide, punching holes that oozed dark ichor. It screeched, dropping its prey, and dove back into the sand, charging the team like a tidal wave. Cadets scattered, some knocked sprawling by the impact. Jingyi, weaving through the chaos, tracked the bug's path, her eyes locked on the ripples in the soil. She drew her light-sword, its blade humming with energy, and leapt, driving it into the creature's spine. With a twist of her wrists, she carved a gaping wound, nearly severing its backbone. Blood sprayed, and the bug stilled, its death throes shaking the ground.
Zhou Ying barked orders, rallying the team to reform ranks and pull the wounded into the center. The attacked cadet was a ruin—his mech shattered, his suit pierced, his abdomen a bloody gash where flesh and fabric fused. They administered a clotting agent and dragged him into a technician's cockpit for warmth. Zhou Ying triggered the emergency beacon.
"How long for rescue?" a cadet asked, voice tight.
"Ten minutes," came the reply.
"He won't last that long!"
Arguments flared, guilt and fear igniting tempers. Zhou Ying recognized the wounded cadet's squadmates, their self-reproach palpable. The scent of blood spread, and a new sound emerged—faint rustling beneath the soil, like serpents slithering through shadow.
"Full alert," Zhou Ying commanded, his voice a blade.
The team encircled their wounded, weapons primed, eyes scanning the ground. Then, a voice—cold, mechanical—cut through their comms: "Coordinates, 114, 136."
A cadet fired instinctively, and a Starbug's roar shattered the night. The ground quaked as it surfaced, lunging at them. The voice—Janice's—rattled off more coordinates, each pinpointing a hidden bug, invisible to the naked eye. Zhou Ying's brow arched, his gaze flicking to Janice, her face expressionless, her eyes streaming with silver data. She was a machine in truth, her upgrades transforming her into a living sensor, her humanity a faint echo beneath the code.
The team fired, their shots guided by her uncanny precision, and the night erupted into chaos once more.