"Ambush!" Gilbert's roar cut through the chamber, sharp and urgent.
Dozens of rogue knights dropped from alcoves, tunnels, and ledges—their armor worn and dull, marked by countless battles and years of disrepair. They moved with the ferocity of Styx but with the controlled lethality of elite killers.
Gilbert's attacker retreated, rejoining his companions. Through his visor, a mocking grin could almost be felt."We meet again, young Knight Kruger," he taunted, his grotesque blade resting lazily across his shoulder. "What were you saying about turning me into Styx food?"
Gilbert stood firm, both swords humming with low energy. He took in the situation with a quick glance— surrounded outnumbered and isolated.
"Don't worry," he replied chillingly. "I can still dice you up real good."
Behind him, Kean— covering Anastasia and Chen Mei, released a sigh.
"That's my boy. Always with a way out," he said. "So what's the plan?"
Gilbert released a short, humorless chuckle.
"Simple. We swing our weapons until they break. Or we do."
Kean paused, blinking at the boldness— just as Vivian and William chuckled over the comms.
"Well, I like that plan," Vivian said, reloading her shotgun with noble elegance. "Ditto," William added, his spear's blade glowing crimson, energy pulsing as he prepared for combat.
The leader of the Deathwatch knights laughed, the sound deep and resonant, dripping with dark amusement.
"That's it. Face death with honor," he swung his blade, air whistling around it. "Then, let me be your honor guard."
Gilbert's swords lit with violent energy.
"This ceremony is quite underwhelming for an honor guard don't you think," Gilbert said.
Another laugh.
"Didn't like the opening act? I thought the Styx were quite… igneous if I say so myself."
For a moment, everyone froze.
Silence.
Then—
"They were herding them…" William muttered, realization crashing in as he parried a savage strike. His words caused the entire Deathwatch to burst into raucous laughter.
"They sent them," Gilbert growled, his shoulder rifle snapping to the side to fire as his blade caught another incoming swing.
A rogue knight lunged for Adam from the shadows.
Bang
The shot took the attacker through the neck joint— clean. But a second knight tackled Adam hard, slamming him from his perch.
Vivian fired her shotgun, the pellets exploding in storm flames and shrapnel upon contact, driving two back. "They used the monsters as bait!" she snarled.
Kean twisted, blocking a blow from twin blades, then countered with a suplex that smashed the knight into the rock.
"So much for a quiet dinner!"
Anastasia triggered her last mines.
BOOM!
The wall exploded in a concussive blast of dust and screams.
Gilbert dropped to one knee, a blade whistling past his visor.
He rolled and shot point-blank. The knight collapsed.
"Fall back! Fall back!" Gilbert ordered. "Adam, covering fire!"
Bleeding but composed, Adam took position behind a boulder. His rifle cracked over and over—each shot surgical, saving seconds, saving lives.
The squad began retreating under coordinated cover as they tried to escape—but the Deathwatch pushed harder.
The tunnel walls sparking with ricochets and slashes. Gilbert was the last to move, sword and rifle both clearing their path.
They never reached the side tunnels. Forced by pressure and terrain, they stumbled toward the main channel of CL2.
"Gilbert, this route is suicide," Kean warned, his dagger eviscerating a rogue knight."You're the scout Kean— find another way," Vivian snapped, shotgun reloading in a fluid, practiced motion.
That's when it happened.
An electromagnetic net sailed through the air and snared Gilbert, its energy crackling, locking his limbs. He struggled—gritted teeth—but couldn't break free.
"No—Gilbert!" Anastasia yelled.
Adam fired, hitting the ones trying to reel him in. William surged forward, spear roaring with energy, ripping the net apart with one brutal swing. He grabbed Gilbert and yanked him free.
Then they ran.One after another, the squad dove into the deeper parts of the trench—the main channel of CL2—the darkness swallowing them whole.
Their helmet lights vanishing as they joined the oppressive black.
And behind them, laughter echoed.
The leader of this band of Deathwatch remained at the cavern's edge, visor reflecting the black maw where the squad had disappeared. He stood in silence, motionless.
A subordinate approached, voice low.
"That person won't be pleased we let them get away."
The leader didn't even glance at him.
"Who said anything about escape?" he replied coolly.
He turned, stepping back into the chamber.
"Gather the supplies they left behind. They were generous as to gather it for us, after all."
With that, he disappeared into the gloom of a cave tunnel, mind already calculating the next strike.
Below, in the suffocating dark of channel CL2, the squad slammed into the ground—hard. The fall had scattered them across the uneven trench floor, dirt and shattered debris crunching beneath their armor.
The light from above had vanished. What remained was artificial—dim helmet lights slicing the black in narrow beams, shadows writhing at the edges.
Gilbert groaned as he pushed himself up, combat instincts overriding pain.
His shoulder-mounted rifle clicked, motors spinning back online with a mechanical purr.
He spoke across the comm line.
"Status report."
One by one, voices came in—some ragged, others sharp.
"Alive. Injuries have worsened, but moving," came Adam's voice. A slight static crackle betrayed a minor comms injury.
"I landed in something soft. Hope it wasn't a corpse," Kean said, forcing a chuckle.
"No serious injuries," Chen Mei confirmed curtly. "I'm checking on Anastasia now."
"Vivian here. The shotgun's intact. Mood isn't," she muttered, audibly brushing dirt off her shoulder.
"William. Functional. Radions low spear powered down. If I don't get a chance to rest soon I doubt I will be able to activate for the rest of our mission."
Gilbert exhaled slowly, checking their surroundings. His visor flicked through scan modes. The terrain was different here—twisted structures of old alloy and black stone, cavernous roots of the trench coiling like a graveyard of war machines.
"Regroup on me," he said. "Lights low. No talking unless needed."
A silence fell, tense and watchful, only broken by the shuffle of boots and distant echoes—not all of them human.
"Report—this is Knight 141. My squad has been forced into deeper trench territory. We are now at grid CL2. I repeat we've been pushed into CL2." Gilbert's voice was barely above a whisper, each word clipped with restraint. His helmet light dimmed to a faint glow. Around him, the others were still and silent, every breath shallow.
Crackle
A voice buzzed through the comm.
"Knight 141, has your squad cleared its assigned zone,?"
Gilbert stared at the walls of the trench, the cold stone pressing in like a tomb. Movement echoed nearby—heavy, slow, and utterly inhuman. The kind of sound that turned nerves to iron or jelly
"That's not a priority right now. We've been forced deeper by the Deathwatch," he spoke into the comm, voice taut.
Crackle
"Repeat: has your squad cleared its zone?"
The voice was cold. Mechanical. Detached.
The squad was crammed into a small crevice, some huddled, others crouched awkwardly, their armor scraping against stone as they stacked for cover their helmets lights turned off per Gilbert's instruction. From above, a shadow loomed
A Styx. Towering. Twisting.
It moved in an unnatural silence, its body layered with the corpses of other Styx hiding its metallic scales—carapace on carapace, like armor forged in hell. The massive creature slithered past, its body brushing the mouth of the crevice, a sickening heat radiating from it.
Gilbert's hand tightened on his sword hilt. His heart pounded. His mind whispered a single word.
"Devil."
Only after the monster had passed did he breathe again
"Our zone was an hour from being declared clean," Gilbert hissed into the comms, each word sharp with frustration and fatigue. "Then the Deathwatch hered Styx into it and ambushed us."
There was a long pause.
"Thank you, Knight 141. Hold tight while a team is dispatched to verify your zone."
Gilbert stared into the darkness ahead of them, eyes narrowing.
Hold tight.
The words ringing in his ear like an alarm in the morning.
He looked at his squad. Mud-streaked, bloodied, and silent—but they still tried to keep their breathing steady and stayed alert in case of danger.
"Damn bastards," Gilbert muttered under his breath.
"What is it?" William asked, pressing close beside him, one arm still bracing Anastasia upright. Sweat rolled down his brow, the trench's damp chill doing little to cool the tension between them
Gilbert didn't turn to look at him.
"They told us to hold position… while they verify our zone."
His voice was low, hollow—resigned to the cold indifference echoing from command.
"Damn bastards," said Kean in a loud voice who had overheard them.
William's jaw clenched.
"Damn bastards," Kean repeated, louder this time, his voice echoing faintly through the trench.
Smack
Vivian slapped the back of his helmet—hard enough to make him flinch.
"Why don't you shout it louder?" she snapped in a biting whisper.
"I'm sure there's nothing else down here eager to kill us."
Kean rubbed the back of his head, muttering.
"You were all thinking it."
"Yes," William said calmly from his position near the wall, where he was adjusting his gauntlets. "But thinking and broadcasting to predators are different things."
"What now?" Adam asked, his voice cutting clean through the muttered conversation, halting everyone mid-thought as their eyes fell to the back of Gilbert's helmet.
Gilbert didn't respond at first. He stood still, his visor locked on the endless dark ahead—black stone, deeper shadow, and the barely audible hiss of something moving just out of range.
He drew a long breath, the silence thick as the trench around them. Then he spoke—calm, low, deliberate
"We rest. Briefly. Then we move."
The others waited—no one spoke, no one shifted.
"We'll look for a secondary channel—something that gets us away from open ground and out of immediate danger. Ideally, it'll lead to a defensible position, maybe even a decent hideaway. If we're lucky, we'll run into a patrol from the Watch who can direct us to the lift in this grid."
He paused. The sound of something scuttling echoed faintly in the far dark
"If the lift's too far or inaccessible, we chart a route back to CL1. We finish our mission and we don't die down here."
He sheathed one of his swords with a metallic click, shifting the remaining blade into a two-handed grip—his posture now solid, like steel in the heart of the trench.
"We move smart. Stay tight. We get out—or we carve the way ourselves."
The others exchanged glances. Nods followed. Small ones. Tired—but resolute