The air over the Ragnarok sector shivered as the Vile Wretched launched himself skyward. His insectoid legs were a blur of motion, snatching Loki by the throat mid-air and driving the god into the dirt with the force of a falling star.
In a flicker of divine speed, Loki vanished, reappearing behind the beast—but the Wretched was no simple machine. His mechanical faceplates slid open with a hiss, exposing the burning purple suns of his eyes. Raw Void energy erupted in a blinding flash, a tidal wave of power that blasted Loki backward until the god was buried deep within a fresh crater.
The Wretched stood over the pit, his metallic grin widening as he savored the moment. But triumph is a fleeting thing in a war of monsters. Out of the swirling smoke, a thick, obsidian-black tentacle whipped forward, slapping the Wretched across the face with a sound like a thunderclap. Four more tendrils coiled around his legs like hungry serpents, lifting the machine-god high before slamming him repeatedly into the stone floor like a discarded ragdoll.
The Emerald Beam
Tenebris Marcam stood upon the jagged ridge, his eyes glowing with a neon-green intensity that pierced the haze.
"TRABEM RELIQUIAM!" he bellowed.
Behind him, a massive green magic circle manifested, humming with the vibration of ancient, forgotten power. It unleashed a continuous beam of emerald energy that bathed the Wretched in a searing light. The beast roared in agony as his armor began to glow cherry-red and melt—until, with a desperate snarl, he dug his claws into the earth and vanished beneath the surface.
Tenebris cut the beam, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He stared at the smoking hole in the ground, his eyes widening as the earth beneath his own feet erupted. The Wretched burst out of the soil, his clawed hand inches from Tenebris's throat, when a thunderous CRACK echoed across the field.
Project: R.A.I.L. had spoken. A max-output slug struck the Wretched with enough kinetic force to stagger a mountain, forcing him to drop Tenebris and recoil.
The Revelation of the Balancers
The Vile Wretched righted himself, his expression twisting into a snarl of pure, unadulterated hatred. "Attempt failed after that shot!" he growled, his voice a distorted, static-filled rasp. "You guys are just mortals fighting some fucking demon... All of you are fighting gods now! You recruit demi-gods? You fought a False God—the Engineer wasn't even in his true form! You are all a bunch of liars!"
A haunting, heavy silence fell over the battlefield. The GDA soldiers lowered their rifles, the fire of battle replaced by the cold chill of confusion. Tenebris Marcam wiped a smear of blood from his forehead, his brow furrowed. Victoria and the Advisor shared a look of dawning horror, a secret beginning to unravel between them.
"You know what I'm talking about..." the Wretched continued, his voice rising in a crazed crescendo. "THE—"
"Void," a new voice cut through the wind.
John stepped forward from the ranks. Half of his body was now encased in a jagged, pulsing layer of blue ice that seemed to swallow the light. The Vile Wretched ground his teeth, a low, sinister laugh bubbling in his throat. "Bingo..."
But as the Wretched looked closer at John, the laughter died. He recoiled in genuine shock. "Frosted... frosty..." He blinked his four purple eyes in disbelief. "How the fuck were you honored by one of the Seven Balancers?"
John stopped, his frosted arm steaming in the cold air, his breath a cloud of ice. "Seven Balancers?"
"You heard me clearly," the Wretched hissed. "Seven Balancers. And his name is... Master Frosty." He shifted his gaze to the Advisor, his eyes burning with ancient spite. The Advisor went rigid, his body turning to stone behind his visor as a secret he thought was buried in the ash of history was dragged into the light.
John didn't wait for an explanation. He leaped with superhuman strength, his frosted fist connecting with the Wretched's jaw and sending him tumbling across the dirt. Tenebris seized the opening; his tendrils wrapped around the Wretched's limbs, pinning him to the earth as Loki rose from his crater, summoning a massive magical fist that descended like a hammer from the heavens.
The Gurgle in the Mud
The world shook as the Vile Wretched was pummeled into the mud by a relentless barrage of magical strikes and kinetic blasts. Amidst the deafening sound of shattering metal and tearing flesh, a new sound emerged from his broken jaw.
"Hehehaha... what a weak attempt."
The voice was no longer mechanical. It was a wet, gurgling sound—a noise that didn't belong to a machine or a man, but something that vibrated with a power far beyond the Awakened Army.
TO BE CONTINUED