The four Vulkans were gathered in front of the HQ for their final preparation meeting before the sand bandits' assault.
Akram held a patched leather bag in his arms, heavy-looking. Runa and Baron stared at it intensely, curious about what Akram had prepared during their days of hard labor.
Akram eventually set the bag down and opened it, letting the Vulkans see the result of his work.
Inside, they found metallic chestnuts, the same ones Akram had used against Varog and his men.
"What are those things? What are we supposed to do with them?" Baron asked, skeptical.
"I don't really see how we're supposed to use them either…" Runa said, picking one up. "Do they sting? Are we supposed to make them step on them?"
"Not exactly…" Akram replied with a slight smile, as he grabbed one from the bag as well.
Without wasting a second, he threw the chestnuts with all his strength into one of the holes the Vulkans had dug.
The chestnuts exploded, creating a small shockwave and a deafening noise.
"HOLY SHIT! What the hell was that?!" Baron shouted. Runa, on the other hand, stood frozen, still shaken by the sound.
Elliot answered proudly, as if he had personally designed those small grenades.
"It's Made in Vulkania! It'll help scare them, maybe even defeat them!"
"That's not guaranteed…" Akram replied.
The Vulkans turned their eyes toward their leader, confused.
"It'll work very well against the weaker ones, but for the tougher ones, it'll probably take more," he added, rubbing his chin.
"Varog took three of those straight to the face and it barely hurt him… Then again, he wasn't normal to begin with."
The others looked at Akram in silence, their excitement slightly dampened by his words.
"Still, combined with the traps, it should work well enough. Stick them onto the turret bolts, that way the damage will be doubled," he ordered.
The Vulkan turrets were not cutting-edge technology and were fairly common in the new world. They weren't gun turrets, but structures that fired bolts and arrows.
Their power was enough to pierce even the strongest steel armor, making them a major defensive advantage.
With the addition of the explosive chestnuts, their lethality would be doubled, along with their psychological impact, much like in the early world wars from thousands of years ago.
"Stay focused. You know what to do when the signal goes off."
They all nodded, their expressions firm, showing their determination to protect Vulkania.
Akram returned to the HQ, going back to his work. Elliot, Baron, and Runa went to their positions and prepared their respective turrets with the explosive chestnuts.
Elliot and Baron worked side by side, helping each other.
"How many of these exploding things are there?" Baron asked.
"About a hundred, give or take. He'll keep making more," Elliot replied simply.
"But tell me… Baron," he added, as the conversation seemed to be ending.
"Hm?"
"Why?"
"Why what?" Baron replied, not understanding where he was going.
"Why did you stay here, in Vulkania, instead of leaving with the others? What made you stay?" Elliot asked, looking at him sincerely.
"Hm…"
"I mean… you follow orders without questioning them. For me or Runa, it makes sense—he saved us and helped us get revenge—but you?"
"Well… he reminded me of Barid, back then," Baron said, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
Elliot tilted his head slightly, trying to understand.
Baron wasn't the youngest Vulkan. He had been there almost since the very beginning of the colony. He was one of Barid's trusted men and one of Vulkania's best scouts.
"Barid believed in me, and he believed in him," Baron added.
"He saw something in him, even before all this. And seeing the way Akram acted to get us out of the shit we were in… I understood."
"For you and me, Akram was just a stranger at first. A guy supposedly from the past. We were nothing to him, and he was nothing to us."
Elliot stayed silent, letting Baron speak freely.
"But still, he worked himself to the bone for us. He lost his arm and he fought. Even though we've only known him for a few months…"
"To me, he has what it takes to be a leader. And he'll prove it again. I trust him," Baron finished simply.
Elliot smiled slightly, sharing the same view, and replied sincerely:
"Yeah… you're right."
The two men laughed together, relaxing for a brief moment despite the battle ahead.
That calm didn't last long. A faint reflection of light caught Baron's eye, and he immediately grabbed his spyglass.
"Shit…" he muttered, his voice slightly shaking.
Elliot looked at him, but before he could ask anything, Baron shouted:
"THEY'RE HERE!"
Elliot's blood froze instantly. He rushed to finish his task, hastily attaching the chestnuts to the bolts of his turret.
Meanwhile, Akram, inside the HQ workshop, sat beside Leyla while working on his mechanical prosthetic.
He had spent the last few days improving it, making it stronger and far more refined.
He tested it, moved his fingers, clenched his fist, punched the air.
"Done."
He stood up and gently took Leyla's hand, guiding her safely into a back room of the HQ.
"I'll be back soon, Leyla," he said, locking the door twice.
He then headed for the exit, taking a deep breath.
This was it. Victory would secure him a solid reputation in the Varang and firmly establish his place as the leader of the Vulkans.
Defeat, however, meant nothing but death.
"IN POSITION, RUNA, ELLIOT, BARON!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he moved toward the main gate.
"How many are there?" he asked Baron.
"More than I counted before… They've gathered even more. At least two hundred, maybe more…" Baron replied, worried.
Akram nodded and moved toward the gate lever. He opened the gate and stepped outside, at the foot of his colony.
The sand bandits were only about thirty meters away.
Leading them stood Zarod. He raised his hand, and his troops stopped instantly.
After a few seconds of silence, he finally spoke.
"I'm looking for a man named Akram… Is that you?!" he roared.
"Flesh and blood, indeed," Akram replied casually.
His mocking, provocative tone was once again betrayed by his body. His hands were shaking, and sweat glistened on his forehead.
The battle was now inevitable.