Khepri's Wake did not stabilize after the first purge.
If anything, it grew angrier.
The sky fractured further as the second wave of drones advanced, layers of broken light peeling away to reveal deeper void-strata beneath. Gravity surged and dipped unpredictably, pulling shattered structures into slow, spiraling collapse. System veins embedded in the ground flared from corrupted blue to a violent crimson, signaling escalating instability.
This realm did not want to be cleansed.
It wanted to consume.
"Aira!" one of the veterans called out, voice strained through static. "Incoming signatures—heavy class!"
She already knew.
Her senses had expanded the moment the realm resisted. The broken world spoke in pressure and distortion, and Aira listened the way a swordsman listened to the wind before a strike. Far ahead, beyond the frontline where veterans and recruits struggled to maintain formation, something vast was unfolding.
Not a guardian.
Not yet.
A nest.
"…System," Aira said calmly as she landed atop a fractured spire, surveying the battlefield. "Threat projection."
> Analysis ongoing.
Drone variants detected: Swarm-Class, Siege-Class, Command-Class.
Estimated total count: Increasing.
Realm instability feeding replication cycles.
"So it's self-sustaining," she murmured. "If we keep fighting like this, it won't end."
> Correct.
Below her, the mixed unit was holding—but barely.
Recruits were beginning to falter, their movements slowing as stamina drained and fear crept in. Veterans compensated instinctively, shifting positions, covering blind spots, sacrificing ground to prevent collapses. But the sheer volume of drones was eroding even their efficiency.
Aira exhaled slowly.
This was the moment the higher ups expected losses.
She refused to give them what they expected.
She stepped off the spire.
"Cosmic Step."
Space folded, depositing her at the center of the swarm before the drones could react. The sudden appearance of a lone figure deep within enemy lines triggered immediate response protocols.
Hundreds turned toward her.
Weapons charged.
Target locks converged.
Aira raised her sword—not aggressively, but deliberately.
"Astral Severance."
She cut downward.
The strike did not travel outward—it descended through the realm itself. A vertical fault line of authority split the battlefield, severing drone coordination across a wide radius. Systems flickered. Command signals collapsed.
For three seconds, the swarm hesitated.
That was enough.
"Void-Tide Dance."
Her body moved.
To allies watching from afar, it looked unreal—Aira spinning lightly amid chaos, her silver moon hair tracing luminous arcs as she flowed from one position to the next. Her feet barely touched the ground. Her sword sang softly with each motion.
Drones fell in her wake, cores ruptured with surgical precision.
Experience surged.
The system tracked it silently.
Level climbed.
But something else happened too.
The realm reacted.
A deep tremor rippled outward from the nest's location. The ground convulsed, tearing open a massive chasm as something vast began to rise.
A command-class drone—no, something beyond that—emerged, its frame layered with adaptive armor, multiple cores rotating in unstable harmony. It towered over the battlefield, its presence alone exerting pressure that forced weaker recruits to their knees.
A proto-guardian.
Not fully formed.
But close enough to end this mission disastrously.
Veterans regrouped instinctively, weapons raised.
"This wasn't in the briefing," one growled.
"It never is," another replied grimly.
Aira landed lightly, placing herself between the unit and the rising threat.
She did not look back.
"…System," she said. "If I eliminate the nest anchor, will the realm stabilize?"
> Probability: Seventy-four percent.
However, anchor elimination may trigger full guardian emergence.
Aira smiled faintly.
"Then I'll deal with that too."
She stepped forward.
The proto-guardian roared—not with sound, but with pressure. Space warped around its frame as it launched a barrage of compressed energy blasts, each capable of annihilating Rank Three operatives instantly.
Aira moved.
"Cosmic Step."
She vanished between blasts, reappearing along the guardian's flank.
"Stellar Pulse."
A concentrated surge of cosmic authority detonated against the armor, cracking one of the outer layers. The guardian staggered—but did not fall. Its cores rotated faster, adapting, recalibrating.
So it learned.
Good.
Aira welcomed resistance.
She darted forward, her blade flashing as she carved into exposed seams, each strike accompanied by precise system-guided calculations. The guardian countered with sweeping limbs, shockwaves ripping through the terrain.
The realm shook.
Veterans watched in tense silence as Aira fought something far beyond the mission's original scope. Recruits stared, fear giving way to something else—understanding.
This was what war demanded.
The proto-guardian adapted again, projecting localized gravity wells to pin her movements. The air grew heavy, dragging at her limbs.
Aira slowed.
Not because she was weakened—
But because she chose to be still.
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Dominion Waltz of the Silent Void."
The skill activated at full expression.
To allies, it looked like a dance under impossible pressure—Aira's body moving with deliberate grace, every step defying gravity's pull. To the guardian, its systems registered catastrophic logic failure as her authority overwrote its spatial constraints.
She moved through the gravity wells.
Her blade pierced the central core.
The proto-guardian screamed.
Then collapsed.
The nest destabilized instantly, its replication cycle shattering as drones across the battlefield froze mid-motion and dropped lifelessly.
Silence fell.
The realm trembled one last time—then began to stabilize, fractured skies knitting themselves together slowly as corrupted veins dimmed.
Aira stood amid the remains, breathing steady.
Her system pulsed.
> Massive experience accumulated.
Level increase detected.
The interface appeared.
---
Level: 418 / 1000
---
She dismissed it without comment.
Around her, veterans finally relaxed their stances. Some laughed shakily. Others simply sat down where they stood, exhausted but alive.
A scarred veteran approached her slowly, studying her with undisguised intensity.
"You weren't supposed to be here," he said. "Not on a mission like this."
Aira turned to face him.
"I was sent," she replied calmly. "So I adapted."
He nodded once. "The higher ups are going to notice you now."
She looked up at the partially healed sky.
"Let them," she said.
As extraction signals activated and transport arrays began forming around the unit, Aira felt something settle within her—not complacency, not pride, but certainty.
This mission had not ended when it was supposed to.
And neither would her path.
The risky deployments had begun.
The war was drawing closer.
And Aira, once the weakest, was now walking steadily toward the center of it—level by level, battle by battle—until even the higher ups would be forced to acknowledge what they had unleashed.