Battered by the Consortium’s relentless assault, the ship tore itself from the ground with painful effort. Its engines, running on their last breath, roared in agony, spitting flickering yellowish flames—an obvious sign of combustion failure. Thick plumes of black smoke billowed out, momentarily choking the echoes of nearby explosions. With a mechanical groan, the craft angled its thrusters toward the sky, raising an immense cloud of dust under the strain of its laboring ascent.

  At last, it lifted off—wobbling under the barrage of enemy fire. Blaster shots streaked past like predators diving toward their prey, smashing against the hull in deafening bursts. The entire frame shuddered violently, each impact resonating deep into the ship’s metal bones.

  Inside the cockpit, a cacophony of shrill alarms screamed in a continuous loop, drilling into their ears and announcing the critical damage to their systems.

  But Kiran ignored them.

  His gaze stayed locked on the temperamental controls of his ship—a stubborn steel relic trembling under the brutal offensive.

  Every maneuver was a torture.

  The wounded vessel struggled to obey, its responsiveness crippled by damage.

  And yet, it had to hold on.

  Fight the gravity.

  Fight the flames.

  Fight the enemy.

  Every console flashed damage reports, each more troubling than the last. As if crushed beneath some implacable wrath, the ship refused to gain altitude. It flew, yes—but barely skimming the ground, unable to climb higher than twenty meters above the sand. Every attempt to break free from that invisible prison ended in failure… and another alarm.

  Kiran’s jaw clenched as he fought to maintain what little altitude they had. He weaved between dunes, narrowly avoiding looming crests, when a different signal suddenly blared through the cockpit.

  “What now!?” the feline snarled, exasperated by the unending storm of alarms.

  “A proximity alert! But…”

  Adam froze, his face tightening as realization struck.

  From the troop carrier still hovering above the ruined camp, three fighters emerged, escorted by a heavy assault craft. Of Consortium design, their chrome hulls gleamed under the harsh desert sun. Sleek and aerodynamic, the interceptors were built to slice through the air at blistering speeds—slender needles with two rear-curved triangular wings. Pride of the Consortium’s military engineering, these hunters had a single purpose: overtake and annihilate any ship attempting to escape their reach.

  Released from the transport, the fighters accelerated rapidly, launching into pursuit. Their engines screamed, producing a piercing whistle that tore through the air. Behind them, slower but far more menacing, the heavy fighter opened fire without warning.

  A rain of crimson lasers showered the desert around them, carving scorching trails through the air. Yet none of the shots were aimed directly at them. Adam frowned, a shiver racing down his spine as he understood the enemy’s intent.

  The beams weren’t targeting their ship.

  They were aimed at the ground.

  Explosions erupted across the desert floor. Each impact sent geysers of golden sand spiraling skyward. Within seconds, a rising dust storm swallowed their surroundings, turning the world into a thick, blinding haze.

  Kiran gritted his teeth, struggling against the increasing blindness as he tried to anticipate the invisible obstacles lying ahead. The chaos outside crescendoed into a morbid symphony: the thunder of explosions mixing with the shrill cries of enemy engines carving through the desert like a dying wail.

  A quick glance through the cockpit window confirmed Adam’s worst fear.

  The heavy fighter wasn’t firing at them—it was firing at the Esthéan temple.

  And in that instant, the Consortium’s true mission became painfully clear: erase all traces of the dig site and the discoveries made there. The camp’s destruction had been step one. The temple was step two.

  Then, inevitably, it would be their turn.

  No witnesses.

  The shots were precise and methodical, tearing the desert apart with surgical devastation. The ancient temple, which had endured millennia, was now in mortal danger. Its concealment beneath sand and cliff wouldn’t protect it much longer.

  The enemy lasers screamed past their ship, making its hull vibrate with a sinister rumble. Fragments of shattered rock exploded outward like deadly shrapnel. Above, the sky darkened beneath the swirling dust, giving the scene an apocalyptic glow. Occasionally, red beams pierced the haze, bathing everything in infernal light.

  A first blast struck the cliffside.

  The rock exploded in a thunderous roar.

  Smoking debris shot upward, nearly scraping their already failing ship.

  Gaining altitude was no longer optional—it was survival.

  Then multiple shots hit home.

  A chain reaction triggered in a world-ending roar. A shrill alarm pierced through the chaos.

  “The ship’s detecting a massive energy spike from the Esthéan lab…”

  “What does that mean?!” Kiran shouted over the noise.

  Adam didn’t get to answer. His console readings showed a surge of impossible energy and skyrocketing temperatures. Suddenly, all proximity alarms erupted at once.

  Before their eyes, the ground collapsed across a full kilometer.

  A tremor shook the desert.

  Then—silence.

  A heartbeat later, a deep, ancient roar rumbled from the depths of the earth.

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  Instinct took over.

  Panicked, Adam slammed his hand on one of the console switches while shoving the control stick Kiran held. Miraculously, the ship responded—surging upward as if jolted back to life.

  An instant afterward, a blinding white light erupted from the crater.

  A titanic shockwave tore through the atmosphere.

  Thousands of fragments were hurled skyward, turning the air into a storm of fire and molten stone. A towering column of flame engulfed everything. Heat waves slammed into their ship, shaking it violently.

  And still, despite the tremors—despite the death roaring beneath them—the ship climbed, wrenching itself free from the inferno.

  From the cockpit, Adam and Kiran watched in horror as the once-desert landscape vanished beneath a sea of flames and ruin.

  Two of the pursuing light fighters were caught in the explosion. They vanished instantly in a blazing pillar, torn apart and reduced to ash. Their shattered remains spiraled upward with the molten debris, swallowed by the chaos. The shockwave hit with unmatched violence, rattling the ship to its core.

  But the blast also gave them something precious: momentum. Propelled by the wave, the ship shot upward, racing toward space.

  Alarms still screamed, but the engines—miraculously—were stabilizing. Their roar became less ragged, the combustion finally evening out. They were no longer losing the fight against Oberon V’s gravity.

  Heat readings began to drop, though the devastation below was undeniable.

  The temple.

  The research center.

  Everything was gone.

  The dust cloud thinned, revealing the extent of the destruction.

  “Holy shit…” Adam whispered.

  “What?” Kiran asked, not daring to look away from the controls.

  “There’s… nothing left.”

  Below them, the desert plain, the cliff, the Esthéan temple—everything had vanished.

  In their place yawned a massive crater, a wound of molten metal and ash, still exhaling clouds of toxic, black steam.

  A millennia-old site erased in moments.

  The ship finally broke through the last atmospheric layers and emerged into the cold vastness of space. Behind them, Oberon V expanded into a massive sphere of swirling contrasts—its ethereal blue atmosphere blending with the burning reds and sandy hues of the desert. Majestic. Unconcerned. Indifferent to their desperate escape.

  But there was no time to admire it.

  The destruction of the enemy fighters had bought them only a brief respite. Every second counted. Their only hope was to get far enough to trigger hyperspace before another wave of pursuers arrived.

  Warning lights flashed red across the consoles, their glow casting eerie shadows through the cabin. Alarms drowned out the crackling of overheating circuits. Sparks burst from several panels—signs of imminent system collapse.

  Adam scanned his readings. Energy reserves were plummeting. Worse, the life-support system was on the verge of failure.

  “Damn it…”

  One enemy shot would end them—either cripple them or vaporize them.

  Time was against them.

  “More enemies?” Kiran gritted out.

  “If only that were the only problem…”

  “What now?”

  “Shields offline. Life support failing…”

  Kiran tightened his grip on the controls, knuckles whitening. The stick vibrated violently, echoing the ship’s structural tremors. The engines were pushed to their absolute limits—seconds away from dying.

  “Adam, hyperspace! I don’t know how long the ship will hold!”

  “Keep going! We’re not at distance yet!”

  Each second stretched like an eternity. Sparks rained from gutted panels. Heat thickened the cockpit air, making every breath a struggle.

  A new alarm blared.

  “Damn it, what now?” Kiran growled.

  “Proximity—”

  Adam didn’t finish.

  The last surviving fighter shot out from Oberon V’s shadow.

  Their reprieve was over.

  The hunt resumed.

  A green laser shot past their hull, sending the ship veering right.

  “Adam! We’re out of time! It’s now or never!”

  The distance indicator turned green.

  “We made it! Jump!”

  Kiran hit the hyperspace switch.

  Nothing happened.

  Space remained stubbornly static.

  “Why isn’t it working?!” he shouted.

  “No idea—”

  “Coordinates?!”

  “They’re correct—Neuror, the nearest world—”

  “Then I’m trying again!”

  Still nothing.

  The cockpit went dark—then flickered back weakly. Lights blinked erratically.

  Adam’s jaw tightened.

  “This is bad. Really bad…”

  Kiran stared at him, alarmed.

  “Our energy reserves… They’re almost gone,” Adam breathed. “If we can’t jump… we’re dead.”

  Frantically, Kiran hammered the controls. Error messages flooded the screens.

  “Maybe the navigation module fried from the shots… I’ll go check,” Adam said, unbuckling.

  But as he moved, that strange feeling washed over him again—the same one from the camp.

  “Kiran, right! No—left! Now!”

  Kiran obeyed instantly.

  A green beam sliced past the ship, missing them by meters.

  Heart pounding, Adam exchanged a glance with him.

  “Holy… that was close.”

  “How did you know?” Kiran asked.

  “Just… a feeling.”

  But the sensation returned—stronger.

  “Left again!”

  Kiran pulled hard. Another laser grazed the wing.

  “It’s happening again,” Adam muttered.

  No time to question it.

  The enemy fighter was closing in fast.

  Adam dove into the navigation console, shoving aside torn cables and scorched circuits.

  Behind them, the enemy pilot locked onto their trajectory. His targeting display formed an orange diamond around their ship. The segments drew inward, converging.

  Target acquired.

  He smiled coldly.

  His thumbs pressed down on two red switches.

  The blasters fired.

  “Up!” Adam shouted.

  Kiran yanked the controls. The engines screamed in agony as the ship shot upward. Green beams slashed through the space they’d occupied an instant earlier.

  “Hurry, Adam! The ship’s not gonna survive this!”

  Adam ripped off another access panel, sparks biting his fingers as he worked.

  “Dive!” he ordered suddenly.

  Kiran obeyed, plunging the ship downward. The hull groaned like a wounded beast. Electric arcs flashed through the cockpit.

  Frustrated, the enemy pilot changed tactics. He accelerated sharply, shot past them in a burst of speed, then spiraled around in a flawless maneuver. Now he was coming straight at them.

  “He’s in front of us!” Kiran barked.

  “I’m almost done!” Adam shouted.

  “You’d better be, or we’re dead!”

  Ahead, the fighter locked onto them again.

  The orange diamond tightened.

  A beep.

  Target confirmed.

  He fired.