The Shroud of Darkness thundered through the overhanging walls of the gorge. Captain Mikhas reduced the size of the force shield to its bare minimum, leaving a rippling void hanging over the outer surface of the hull. To mitigate this flagrant violation of all safety regulations, the captain ordered all available energy to be channeled into the shield, amplifying it several times.

  This was barely enough. A dense stream of particles tore sections off the palace-sized boulders blocking the road. Dust rose into the air as the shield carved furrows into the gorge walls, formed from the compressed remains of the Old World civilization. Several times, the cruiser’s corridors glowed red as sensors detected explosive substances sealed for centuries within the rock.

  At such occasions, they stopped. Bands of force beams pierced the space around the dangerous object, incorporating it into the safety zone created by the force shield generator. Only then did the cruiser move on, pushing the potential danger deeper into the mountains. With such a thin gap between the shield coating and the cruiser’s material, the explosion of even a simple bunker bomb risked ripping off the protective screen, sending a shockwave into the interior corridors.

  Orders cruisers—expensive, multi-role, and unique combat units—were designed to survive even the impact of an active volcano. When fired upon, their protective screens absorbed the initial shockwave, attempting to dampen it. In the event of a failure, the generators automatically disabled a segment of the shield, preventing a senseless struggle that risked system overload. Fresh defenses appeared several centimeters deeper, assuming the force of the initial impact had partially dissipated after initial contact. Cruisers often used this method to repel entire lakes of napalm fired at them by the enemy.

  That’s why the current situation was unacceptable. Instead of relying on state-of-the-art systems developed and tested by the brilliant scientists of the Land of the Oath, the bridge’s crew adjusted the protective screen, allowing for the possibility of human error. Each operator took simulators to enhance their own perception, and the second shift rested, ready to relieve any of them at the slightest sign of fatigue.

  So far, it was bearing fruit.

  Patches of greenery began to show on the formerly mountainous terrain, stubbornly growing through the piles of rock. Fragile-looking trees clung tenaciously to the mountain slopes, even withstanding avalanches triggered by the passing giant. The cruiser’s biologist received permission to quickly collect several samples of vegetation resilient to regular storms and prolonged absence of natural light.

  Curious eyes watched the hovering pyramid. Local gangs, settlers, and simply hapless travelers hurried out of the way, shocked by such encounters. The Shroud of Darkness did not respond to calls for negotiations, ignoring the tribute they had paid. Only once did a laser beam lash out from a turret, its blue sword cutting through the shackles of animals and people prepared as sacrifices to placate the intruders. The terrified crowd scattered, hiding in the crevices.

  Ruda knew they were moving too slowly. The cruisers were designed for rapid strikes across the vast deserts of the Reclaimers. The crusaders were renowned for their ability to infiltrate the Imps’ rear, wreak havoc on their supply bases, and then gracefully withdraw, combining a ferocious bombardment of the called-in reinforcements.

  No doubt the superiors understood this as well. Approaching a fork in the road ahead, a metal ramp descended on the Shroud of Darkness’ forward section, releasing four buggies that sped north.

  El Satanini was already waiting for them on the observation platform, clad in full armor. The platform was an extended semicircle of metal, facing north and unadorned. Recesses in the floor contained terminals for atmospheric measurements, optical observation, and other research.

  There was no use for them today. The heavy doors closed behind Ney and Ruda, and the two crusaders took their places next to their relatives from the commander’s squad. For the first time, Ruda felt herself standing out like a sore thumb because of the armor she’d been given. Her thoughts constantly turned to the installed ammunition feed system for the wrist cannon. Would it work if she transformed? Would the mace handle endure the grip of her enlarged fingers?

  Casting aside her doubts, she bowed to the commander and the magister standing with his back to her. The armorers had already repainted the smooth plates of her suit the color of night, adding a cheerful seahorse emblem to her chest. A rough cloak flowed from her shoulders, and a tabard clung to her shoulders, both sewn and dyed by rescued seamstresses in the shortest possible time.

  Jake stood next to Szarel. The magister placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, clapping his fingers once, and the commander leaped high, spreading his membrane wings. They swarmed, merging into two continuous, blurry arcs, holding Insectone aloft. Turning gracefully, despite the several tons of metal on him, Jake shot west like an arrow.

  Ruda’s gaze shifted beyond the platform.

  Once upon a time, there was a city here. Ships soared into space from landing pads, cargo was delivered along busy highways, illuminated by the glow of holographic advertisements playing on the glass of buildings. Citizens strolled along pristine boulevards, breathing clean oxygen, while urban transport flew above all this splendor.

  Then the Extinction happened.

  A grim forest of fallen buildings greeted them from the north. The once-snow-white walls of skyscrapers were blackened by a monstrous inferno that had befallen them in the past, and many windows gaped with shattered holes. Melted foundations tilted the buildings, almost concealing the ruined roads littered with debris. Debris filled jagged craters left by orbital bombardments. From a distance, such places looked like the quicksand traps of some giant insect.

  Ancient factories stood devastated, their outer layers flayed. Unknown chemicals released by the disaster triggered an uncontrollable growth of creeping ivy. Thick, purple-crimson ropes, bristling with thorns, filled the passages, hanging from blasted wall sections and filling the rooms. Their toxic emissions and residual radiation deterred most living creatures from settling here.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  However, recent footprints and vehicle tracks led out of this depressing dump. Ruda didn’t know the exact features of the Mesh, as this region was called, but she had seen enough to surmise the cause. Scavengers of all stripes had been digging deep into the ruined city, hunting for valuable materials and hoping to discover a piece of exotic technology expensive enough to provide for a comfortable retirement.

  The unfortunates then either drank away their earnings or were robbed by cunning bandits waiting outside, and the process began anew. Genuine discoveries were made by trained archaeologists with escorts.

  But now they had no opportunity to find a reliable vagabond to buy an up-to-date map, so Chernogor led his team out to explore potential obstacles in the treacherous terrain.

  The Onyx Order’s buggies differed from the open vehicles typically used for reconnaissance. Reinforced metal completely enclosed the cabin except for a small observation window. Heavy machine guns were mounted on top, and the front wheel was a heavy roller that crushed small obstacles. Built with combat in mind, each buggy carried six men. But only one crusader sat on the far left.

  “The scouts have passed the three-hundred-meter mark,” Carde said, receiving the operator’s report. “The last report was normal; the connection is lost.”

  So they’re jamming us here too. Ruda pursed her lips. Upon completing the mission, the magister immediately terminated the cruiser’s stealth mode, intending to inform headquarters. No one answered; the airwaves were full of static. Ruda’s personal message to her family also didn’t leave the terminal, even though she was using satellite communication.

  The Iternians knew every movement of important units anyway. There was no point in playing spies with them.

  “Seismic activity?” Szarel inquired.

  “Not spotted,” Carde reported, casting a long glance at the city.

  The buggies reached the leading edge of the thorny undergrowth, crunching their way along what had once been a primary thoroughfare. A leaning thirty-story office building loomed over them, a marvel of ancient engineering, refusing to collapse despite the passing centuries.

  A movement on the ground tugged at a vine extending from a window, and a lone skeleton in withered clothing fell out, shattering on the rocks and serving as a reminder of the monstrous cost of the catastrophe. How many Rustams, Sylvies, or others like Ruda herself had perished in despair in those hours or slowly withered from hunger and disease in the months that followed, ill-equipped to survive in the damaged world?

  It was impossible to say. Of course, this skeleton was not one of the ancients. There was a gunshot mark on the skull. The usual result of a division of spoils. Even so many years later, people kept killing each other over the most trivial things...

  The shadows of the ruins stretched, reaching to the edge of the approaching pyramid. Ruda tensed, looking up at the sky. Obeying her command, water wet her face. Scales surrounded her shifting eyes, and with razor-sharp clarity she noticed seven dots in the blue sky, glowing a brilliant white.

  “Incoming!” she barked, rushing to the control panel on the guardrail.

  Commander Carde was faster. He activated an additional protective field with the press of a button, and a second later, unknown projectiles rained chaos upon the earth.

  Seven domes, shimmering with white and blue light, rose amid the ruins. Arcs of electricity leaped from skyscraper to skyscraper, heating their frames to a red glow, and rivers of molten metal flowed onto the streets, scorching the lichen. A series of earthquakes, merging into a single, monstrous tremor, shook the area, triggering avalanches from the surrounding mountains and collapsing buildings.

  Hurricane-force winds lashed in all directions from the growing epicenters of destruction, filling everything with a stench reminiscent of burning rubber and the smell of ozone. More projectiles pierced the clouds, landing randomly on the Mesh. Their explosions vaporized entire city blocks, but this proved to be only a small prelude to the real nightmare.

  Tongues of electricity licked the atmosphere outside the ship, and suddenly, a veritable hell erupted from underground. The entire horizon was obscured by a bluish wave, reaching the roofs of skyscrapers. A noise comparable to a nuclear bomb detonated, drowning out any commands or questions spoken on the platform, and if the enemy continued their bombardment, Ruda could no longer notice.

  An infernal electrical holocaust raged outside the cruiser. Flashes of energy shot up like magma forced from cracks by pressure and crashed down, illuminating the surrounding area. The radius of destruction expanded, and soon Ruda’s heart sank with the realization that the reversing Shroud of Darkness couldn’t keep up with the approaching electrical tsunami. It threatened to engulf them, testing their barriers.

  Ruda’s fist almost touched the panel retracting the observation deck when a single word reached her.

  “Belay.”

  Magister Szarel, bareheaded, spoke without using a comm. His power extended funnel-shaped channels to everyone present, carrying the sound of his voice unimpeded to their ears.

  He stepped forward—a blur of black against the approaching shaft of light. Szarel raised his hand, and the wave of destruction halted, unable to penetrate the magister’s telekinetic field. Blue waves rushed past the cruiser, lapping at the mountains and receding, but not a single spark touched the force screens. Ruda watched this casual use of power in reverent awe. Szarel’s face did not grimace; his eyes did not widen. He simply refused to let destruction get to his subordinates.

  Soon, the nightmare subsided, dissipating into nothingness. Swirling smoke rose from the depths of the Mesh, and the red-hot buildings gradually cooled, falling into plump, blurry blobs of metal. A circle of scorched blackness surrounded the retreating ship, while the ground continued to tremble, warning of the next imminent outburst.

  The tapping of the staff brought Ruda back to reality.

  “Commander Chernogor was right. We’ll have to take the long way,” Szarel said, walking toward the doors. Carde and El Satanini had already entered, hurrying to their posts. “Inform his squad that their leader will join us later.”

  “Later?!” Ruda exclaimed, immediately standing at attention. She couldn’t hear the sound of engines coming from the ruins. “Sir, the scouting party... They’re gone. Nothing could have survived there.”

  “Trust in your brother, knight.” Szarel turned. His jaw nodded toward the Mesh.

  Many of the vines were now covered in the dirty gray of solidifying metal. The rest were smoking, covered in slag. Ruda wanted to clarify the question when something clicked in her head. The vegetation had survived, and the sand hadn’t turned to glass. The fury of the Mesh’s hidden mechanism threatened random travelers with death.

  But it could be waited out.

  “Chernogor learned a lot from conversations with local alcoholics, including one incident involving a small gang caught in an unfortunate location by an electro-vortex,” Szarel said, guessing her thoughts.

  Farrin. She wasn’t chosen at random.

  “Then...”

  “We didn’t know for sure. Every infantryman volunteered. Chernogor selected the oldest, excluding Butylin despite his objections.” The magister stood, watching over Ruda’s shoulder. She heard the operator’s quiet voice from his gorget, reporting the impossibility of detecting human traces. “Casualties will inevitably occur, but this relatively well-timed bombardment confirmed the second theory.”

  Szarel clenched his fist around the sword-staff.

  “If the riffraff here see us as prey, we’ll dissuade them with merciless retribution,” he promised.