"We’re making history in the South. Join the legends."

– Recruitment campaign leaflet of the PDC


Reng, Southern Offensive

Reng sat in his seat aboard the sharply climbing horus, trying not to focus on how the engines, running at full power, sent vibrations through the entire hull. He hoped the pilots were skilled enough to navigate the storm that stood in their way south. But when a wild gust of wind jolted the craft so hard it bent the steel wings, he felt tension grip his body in the dull realization that he had no control over this situation at all. As if Fate wanted to confirm it, the next sudden drop in heavy turbulence first lifted him from his seat and then slammed him back down as the pilots stabilized the fall. His stomach twisted so violently that for a moment he was sure it would turn itself inside out.


“You gonna puke?” came a voice from across.


He opened his eyes, unsure if the question had been directed at him, and squinted at Neron.


The modificant, whom he knew only slightly better than the others aboard, looked uneasy. The pilot's maneuvers probably didn’t make him feel any safer either, though he didn’t seem to be on the verge of vomiting. Reng thought bitterly how they’d stuffed their bodies with every possible enhancement, and yet no one had figured out how to stop flight sickness.


“That’s putting it mildly,” Reng admitted, taking a deep breath in an attempt to suppress the growing nausea. Uselessly.


Neron huffed and rubbed his hands. “Any idea where they're sending us? Honestly, I have a bad feeling about this. I saw them call in everyone. That’s not normal.”


Reng glanced toward the back of the cabin, where Borin was explaining something quietly to another crew member, then answered briefly:


“South.”


Even in that single word, the bitterness was clear.


“So they’ve finally made a move?” Neron attempted a grin, but it came out more like a grimace. “Well, at least we’ll finally settle things down there once and for all.”


Reng wished he could share Neron’s optimism that this nightmare might have an end.


“It’s going to be a slaughter. For us... for everyone,” he said flatly, unable to shake Ela’s warning. The south held no good future for modificants.


He said no more, as another sudden lurch of the horus forced him to grip his seat tightly and shut his eyes.


“Gonna blow chunks?” came Borin’s cold, mocking voice above him.


Reng opened his eyes and gave him a glare full of irritation.


“If you spew in here,” Borin continued with a sneer, “no one’s cleaning it up. Just so we’re clear.”


Reng gave him a simple gesture in reply. The raised middle finger, silent but clear, even in the dim light of the cabin. Borin laughed, though it sounded more like a guttural bark than genuine amusement. He grabbed the overhead bar as another gust rocked the craft, but the instability didn’t seem to bother him at all.


“This is it!” Borin shouted, his voice echoing through the vibrating hull. “They’re sending us south, as you’ve probably guessed by now. Someone up top finally came to their senses and decided it’s time to clean up the mess. Won’t be long before Prim plants its flag over the Southern Shore!”


The cabin erupted in cheers, stomping, and loud whistles. The modificants, eager and well-prepared, each expressed their excitement in their own way. In their faces, Reng saw determination, the desire to prove their strength to the world, and the kind of enthusiasm he might once have shared with those he'd guarded in the front lines, but that had long since drowned in the mud. He knew what awaited them. And unlike them, his mind wouldn't be dulled by a mercy haze of drugs to shield him from the horrors they'd encounter. All he could do was watch their reactions with growing heaviness and feel nothing. Just emptiness.


“You got a problem with that, Reng?” Borin asked when he noticed his silence.


Reng considered what to say but eventually just shook his head. No point in arguing.


“Good,” Borin smirked and continued, “because I just got a little update from command. We’ll be making a stop soon. I need five volunteers for a side mission. Nothing complicated, but you’ll miss the main fun down south. Seems someone from the Beacon snatched our mediator and I’ve been assigned to find her and bring her back. Nostr will take over command and continue south with the rest. So, who’s coming with me?”


Reng’s blood ran cold. There was no doubt he was talking about Ela. Which meant she’d managed to leave the Beacon and was now on the run. Sending Borin after her was bad. Very bad. So without thinking, Reng’s hand shot up.


“I’m going!”


Borin smirked, but this time without any humor. “Not you.”


“Why not?” Reng snapped, rising to his feet and grabbing the overhead bar to face him head-on.


“Because you think with your dick, not your brain,” Borin snapped back. “What good would you be? You’re defective. You can’t even trigger your own enhancements, so you’re completely useless. I saw you in that last simulation. You don’t stand a chance. So now you’re just a slightly better foot soldier. And I don’t have time to drag around someone who’s only in the way.”


Reng clenched his fists in anger and briefly considered what would happen if he returned Borin’s insults with a well-aimed punch to the mouth. But instead, he retorted sharply:

“Tonot didn’t think so.”


Borin’s smile turned cruel and cold. “I couldn’t care less. Maybe they forgot to tell you, but Tonot’s gone. Dead. Whatever experiment he was running with you is over. You’re just one of us now. And under my command. That means it’s up to me whether you come or not. And frankly? I don’t want you. You’ll be more useful in the south.”


Something clenched inside Reng’s chest. Ela had warned him he’d lose Tonot’s protection, but only now did he fully understand what that meant. He was back at square one, or worse. A malfunctioning modificant with no future.


“Borin… please,” he whispered, hoping that somewhere deep inside that heartless man, a trace of the old friend from the Hills still remained. But Borin’s eyes stayed cold and empty.


“I already said no, and I won’t say it again. If you don’t like it, you’re free to get off right now,” he sneered, “after all, Miren showed us how faulty parts get dealt with.”


The mention of the black-haired modificant made Reng’s blood freeze, but as Borin turned away, he knew there was nothing he could do. He sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. He felt desperate. Powerless. But if he had ever doubted what to do with the promise he had made to Ela, now he knew he wouldn’t hesitate. No. This wasn’t his world anymore. And when the chance came, he would vanish.


Moments later, he watched Borin and five others disembark to transfer into two smaller, more agile vehicles. Reng sat helplessly, absently rubbing the thin bracelet on his left wrist between his fingers. It was the same bracelet Ela had returned to him, the one he had nearly thrown away at her urging. And yet he’d kept it. Yesterday, right after returning from their encounter, he had dug it out from the bottom of a drawer and slipped it back on. Now it served as a reminder of his true path. The modificants might be chasing their victory, but he had another goal.


***


Nostr’s voice carried through the cabin of the horus, his confident words resonating with everyone present.


“There’s another storm brewing outside, but that won’t stop us! Quite the opposite! Their artillery won’t be able to target us in this weather. But once we’re on the ground, be aware we’ll be in range. Our armor can take a lot, but it’s still going to get hot out there. They know we’re coming. They also know this is the end for them. And they’ll fight like it. But we’re the better ones here, Fate is on our side, and that’s why we’ll win!”


The roar of the engines and the howl of the wind nearly swallowed his words. This time, the response wasn’t a wave of cheers. Perhaps because Nostr didn’t hold the same sway as Borin. Tension filled the cabin as they neared their destination. While some let out guttural cries, others remained frozen in place, jaws clenched, eyes fixed ahead. Everyone dealt with it differently, but it was clear this moment belonged to them. The ones Fate had chosen to become heroes.


Reng was among those who stayed silent. He knew too much to believe in easy victories. This wouldn’t be a battle. It would be a slaughter. And he knew there was nothing he could do to change it.


“It’ll be chaos,” he recalled Ela telling him as she tried to explain what awaited. “Synchronization might keep the units moving forward, but a slight deviation is all it takes for them to turn on each other. Remember, you’ll be facing not just the Letras Army but likely your own as well.”


It would be a brutal awakening for all of them, he thought, surveying the cabin full of eager faces. Some of them wouldn’t make it through the day.


He tried to push the thought away. Mechanically, he followed procedure, tightened all his straps, adjusted his armor, and pulled on his helmet. He lowered the visor immediately to hide the disillusionment and fear in his eyes.


The pilots’ first signal announced that they were approaching the target, and the atmosphere aboard the horus shifted. Laughter and chatter faded, leaving only a focused silence, interrupted by deep breaths and the metallic clicks of final gear checks. A blinking light on the ceiling signaled they were moments from landing. The side doors opened, revealing the raging storm outside. Even nature was furious.


Reng gripped the overhead handle and swallowed hard. The first explosion hit too close to the horus and the shockwave tossed them like rag dolls. Reng clung to the bar with both hands, but caught a glimpse of a man in front of him who hadn’t reacted fast enough and was now sliding toward the open doors. With a quick lunge, Reng grabbed his forearm and hauled him back with effort.


“Got you!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the storm and chaos inside.


Nostr was trying to keep control: “Hold your positions, we’re almost…”


His voice vanished in the deafening sound of another explosion, even closer this time. The gunners might not have been able to target them precisely, but that didn’t stop them from firing blind. The horus jolted again, tilting violently. Reng felt gravity pulling him toward the edge. He was still holding onto the man, but a sudden gust hurled another modificant into him from behind. The impact knocked him off balance, and his hand slipped from the bar.


Panic surged. The ground suddenly seemed infinitely far away. He tried to grab hold of anything, but his fingers skidded over the wet surfaces. He was slipping past the edge, the open doors receding as the storm swallowed him.


Even in mid-air, Tonot’s brutal training kicked in. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with a fall. Werren simulations had thrown him into plenty of painful scenarios. But never from this height. All he could do was hope.


The impact rocked his entire body. The armor absorbed some of it, but he was sure he had shattered every bone. Then he realized he was sliding. The slope beneath him was steep. That was what had saved his life. But he kept sliding, rain-soaked earth sending him careening downward, slamming into rocks and jagged outcrops. He tried to control it, but the speed was too much. He could only pray he wouldn’t smash into something that ended him.



Then suddenly he was still. Lying on the soaked earth at the base of the slope. Dazed. Barely able to breathe. He could hardly believe he was still alive. He’d fallen from a flying horus. The rocks had beaten him bloody, mud clogged the joints of his armor, but he was breathing.


Above, he still heard the engines and the distant thunder of anti-air fire. When he finally managed to sit up, he spotted the retreating lights of the horuses vanishing into the storm. The rest of the modificant unit was headed south. Toward the fated clash.


He slowly stood and pulled off his helmet. Rain hit his face hard, washing blood from a gash on his forehead. He tilted his face toward the sky and stood still for a moment, heavy with the weight of what came next. He should be joining the others, following orders, heading toward the victory Prim so confidently promised. But he knew he couldn’t. His purpose lay elsewhere. To the west.


He looked down at his hands, covered in grime and now also in his own blood. Hands that had saved lives. Hands that had taken them. Every new order had only pushed him further from his own humanity.


“Screw this,” he whispered, finally deciding to take the opportunity fate had thrown his way.


He put his helmet back on and checked his gear. His pistol was lost during the fall, but he still had his knife, the same one he’d brought from Karhen Rouz. He scanned the area for any usable equipment, and after slipping through the muck for a while, he found only one thing: the body of the modificant he’d tried to save aboard the horus. Now he lay limp, broken like a rag doll. Reng knelt beside him, hoping he wasn’t too late, and removed the helmet. The eyes staring up at the sky were lifeless. Reng didn’t recognize the face. He must’ve been one of the newcomers to the Beacon, someone he hadn’t had time to get to know. And now never would.


“Damn it,” he muttered, realizing it had been hopeless from the beginning.


He’d tried so hard to save him, and nearly got both of them killed. A harsh reminder that when Fate decides, nothing can stop its course. He closed the man’s eyes and, forcing down his discomfort, searched the body for anything useful. No weapon, but a binocular was still intact, though both lenses were cracked from the fall. Reng pocketed it and looked up at the sky.


Another explosion echoed like the end of the world, shaking the earth beneath him. A chill ran through his spine. This wasn’t artillery. It had to be something else. Something big.


With effort, he climbed back up the slope to see what had happened. The view from the top took his breath away.


The southern sky was on fire.


He lifted the binoculars and peered through the cracked glass. He was certain he was looking at the drop zone. But now there was nothing there, only roaring flames shooting up from a deep, black crater.


“What the twist…” he murmured, eyes locked on the inferno. It was unnatural, like the entire world had ignited in one strike from a spark-caster. The flames were enormous, unlike anything he’d ever seen. What could it have been? Artillery? Some hidden weapon Letras had kept in reserve? He didn’t know. But whatever it was, nothing and no one could have survived. Not the modificants. Not the tech. Not even the horuses.


His hands trembled around the binoculars, so he lowered them before he dropped them. Even without them, he saw enough to feel the sickness rising. He just stood there, staring at the apocalyptic vision, his chest tightening painfully until he finally doubled over to keep from collapsing. The truth hit him… his fall had saved him from certain death. If he’d stayed aboard, he would’ve burned with the rest.


He turned away with effort. Took a deep breath of the cold air, now tainted with the stench of burning. He knew there was nothing more he could do for those still out there. Yet guilt and shame clawed at him. He was turning his back on his people. Would Fate punish him for that? Should he repent for letting them all burn?


But then he realized he was being too hard on himself. He wasn’t running to save his own skin. He was running because someone needed him somewhere else.


Maybe Fate would understand. And with that thought, he finally turned and headed west.