Chapter 47 - Cira/Cain
The first explosion hit at 02:13.
Cira felt it before she heard it—a low tremor, like the world sucking in a breath beneath her boots. A second later, the shockwave rippled through the corridor, rattling loose metal and hurling dust from the ceiling.
She snapped upright from where she'd been crouched beside Aren's bunk, adrenaline flooding her veins like ice. The lights flickered once—then died. Emergency amber blinked on in their place.
«Sienna!» she barked into her comm. «What the hell was that?»
Silence.
Then the response came, distorted and static-laced, «Unconfirmed. Power's fluctuating. We're—»
Another explosion. This one closer.
Cira was already on her feet, her hand snatching for her Arcblade, the weapon's soft hum almost drowned out by the rumbling beneath them. The ground trembled with a second hit, followed by a third—a cascading series of strikes, each one shaking the very foundations of the base. They were under attack.
Her mind raced through the possibilities. Was this it? Had Cain come for them already?
She moved instinctively, crouching by the door and peeking out into the hallway. No one. But the flashing emergency lights gave the walls a sickly hue, casting shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally long. She could hear the distant scramble of feet, the shuffle of Godhunters rushing to their posts, preparing for battle.
A scream echoed from further down the hall—then another explosion, this one deafening. The roar of it reverberated through her bones. The base was being torn apart.
«Talos!» she shouted into the comm. «What's happening?»
Silence. The comm line was filled with static.
Cira cursed under her breath, then dashed out of the room, her boots clicking softly against the floor. She moved quickly, glancing over her shoulder at Aren, still unconscious on the cot. She couldn't leave her there, not yet. But this was bad. Worse than bad. This was full-scale assault. Cain had come, and he wasn't here to negotiate.
Another rumble. This time the building groaned like something ancient was waking. She reached for her comm once more, but it was useless. The connection was dead. She needed to find Talos.
She rounded the corner and skidded to a stop as she nearly collided with one of the Godhunters—a burly man, his face set in grim determination.
«What's going on?» Cira demanded.
He shook his head, grimacing. «Can't get through to command. Talos called everyone to the central assembly. Says we need to regroup. Now.»
Her eyes narrowed. «Where's the assembly?»
«Third sub-level. They're trying to mount a counterattack. But... it's chaos, Cira. It's all falling apart.»
Cira didn't need another word. She shoved past him, her pace quickening as she descended to the third sub-level. The air felt thick with tension, and every step felt heavier as the explosions continued to rain down around them. This wasn't just a raid. This was a strike meant to break them.
When she reached the central command chamber, the large steel door was open, and Talos was standing inside, surrounded by a huddled group of Godhunters. His cold, calculating gaze flicked to her as she entered, and for a split second, Cira felt the weight of his stare—like he was measuring her.
He didn't waste time on pleasantries.
«Cira,» he said, his voice low and commanding. «Get the rest of your team together. We're executing the evacuation protocol. I want all personnel to the surface immediately. Exfil routes are ready.»
Cira's pulse quickened. The evacuation? That meant this was far worse than she'd expected. Talos rarely gave up ground, even when they were cornered.
She tilted her head. «And you?»
Talos' eyes darkened, a thin line forming at the corners of his mouth. He stepped forward, lowering his voice so only she could hear. «You, Bran, Sienna, Orlan, Even, and I will remain behind. We'll hold the line while the rest of the base evacuates. The Godhunters have to survive this.»
«You're staying?» Cira asked, surprised. Talos was always calculated. He wouldn't risk himself unless there was no other choice.
His gaze hardened, and the others around him shifted uncomfortably. He didn't flinch. «It's the only choice. If Cain is the one behind this, we can't afford to let him get to the rest of the base. We fight. And we hold.»
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her instincts screamed to argue, but she knew better. Talos was right. This was no longer a rescue mission; it was a fight for survival.
The alarms continued to blare outside, but inside the command chamber, everything was eerily calm—too calm. The others, who'd been assigned to evacuation, were already moving in the background, their faces grim and determined as they prepared to leave.
Talos turned to face the room, his voice now loud and commanding. «Godhunters! This is no drill! We are under attack. The enemy is outside, and they will not stop until we're destroyed. We have a choice—fight to protect the base or let it fall. Everyone who isn't designated for the remaining teams, get to the surface now!»
Cira felt a surge of resolve fill her chest. The base was crumbling, but they had a chance. They could still hold out.
Talos' gaze locked with hers. «Cira, get to your team. Bran and Orlan are already gearing up, Sienna's handling comms. I need you to lead them. They'll follow you.»
Cira nodded stiffly, her fingers flexing around the hilt of her Arcblade. It was time to take the fight to Cain.
The air in the room felt thick, as if the very walls were closing in on them. Every breath she took felt heavier, more urgent. She moved toward the door, but before she could step out, Talos called her name one more time.
«Stay sharp. This is what we've been trained for.»
She didn't respond, just nodded once, her expression hardening as she left the command chamber.
The hallways were in chaos now. Godhunters scrambled to their posts, checking weapons, securing doors, organizing evacuation efforts. The flashes of red emergency lights made everything look like a nightmare. But Cira's focus was on one thing: survival.
She found her team quickly. Bran, his face set in stone, was already reloading his rifle. Orlan was next to him, tapping away at his terminal, trying to restore some kind of communication. Sienna was scanning the screens, trying to get any information on the enemy's movements. Even stood to the side, his hands tight around his combat knife, his eyes darting toward every noise.
Cira's gaze swept over them. «We stay. We hold. Talos wants us to cover the flank. When the rest of the base is clear, we fight to the surface.»
Bran's lips thinned. «Understood.»
They didn't need any more words. They were ready.
The Godhunter base had just become a battlefield. And Cain was coming.
∆∆∆∆
Cain's boots hit the floor softly, the faintest thud, a shadow in the chaos. His synthetic left eye flickered once—an almost imperceptible blink. The target's coordinates had already been mapped. The strike had been clean, precise, surgical. And now it was time to move.
He looked down at his arm, the polished steel of the prosthetic gleaming faintly under the dim emergency lights. His fingers flexed, the cool metal responding with a smooth, metallic click. He didn't feel the weight of it, never did. The weight was elsewhere. Inside his chest. Beneath his skin. But here, in this moment, it was all secondary.
Around him, his men—the ones who followed him, who had sworn loyalty to Abel—moved like a well-oiled machine. Silent. Swift. Deadly. No hesitation, no mercy. They walked the halls of the Godhunter base like predators who had found their prey, a hunter's instinct guiding every step.
They weren't here for a raid. This wasn't a war. It was an eradication.
Cain barely glanced at the body that fell in front of him—one of the Godhunter's guards, throat slit so quickly there was no time for a scream. The man's body crumpled in a heap, blood already pooling on the cold concrete floor.
His men didn't stop.
The whir of plasma rifles hummed in the background, followed by another scream. It was short—cut off almost immediately as the weapon discharged. A second guard crumpled to the floor.
Cain didn't flinch.
He moved forward, his steps never faltering as his team made quick work of the remaining soldiers in the corridor. The soft, muffled thump of a body hitting the floor was the only sound that accompanied their advance.
«Cain,» a voice crackled through his comms, a low, gravelly whisper. «We've cleared the first two levels. No survivors.»
«Proceed,» Cain's voice was flat, detached. «Make sure they stay that way.»
His team acknowledged with silent clicks, and they continued their way through the base. They moved past bloodied halls, through rooms strewn with the remains of their enemies—quick deaths, no time for fear or prayer. The Godhunters had trained to fight, but they weren't prepared for this. Cain had planned every inch of this strike. This was his design. This would be the end of them.
They passed through another hallway, flanked by large reinforced doors on either side. Cain didn't pause. No hesitation. His men cut through the locks with ease, and the doors swung open.
Inside, a few more Godhunters awaited. They didn't stand a chance.
His soldiers moved first, flashing steel in the dim light. Plasma rounds fired, and another two bodies fell before they could even raise their weapons. The last one—a woman, barely more than a child in the eyes of Cain—turned to flee. She didn't make it past two steps.
Cain didn't flinch, but his gaze never left her as she collapsed, the life draining from her in seconds. The softness in his chest twisted. A faint, fleeting moment of something—regret, perhaps? Or maybe just the ever-present itch of guilt.
He shook it off quickly. There would be time for reflection later. Now wasn't the time.
The blood on the floor didn't bother him. It was just part of the job. Necessary. A means to an end.
He paused at the next junction, his soldiers moving past him, clearing their assigned sectors. His men were efficient. Cold. Ruthless. The scent of death was thick in the air, but he barely noticed anymore. Not when he had the objective firmly in his sights.
Cira.
He knew she was here. He'd seen the footage. She had no idea he was coming, and yet somehow, he knew she'd be ready.
But that wasn't his concern right now. His objective had never been her. It was the Godhunters—their leadership. Talos, Elohan, all of them.
They would fall, and Cain would be the one to see to it.
«Cain,» the voice on his comms was sharp, clear. It was Abel, his brother, always steady, always calculating. «Talos is on the move. The leader's leaving the command center. Do not let him escape.»
Cain's jaw tightened. «I'll handle it.»
The man he was tracking was close. Cain's team had already started to move toward the central chamber. It was only a matter of time now.
The last of the resistance fell in a blur of movement, and the team pushed forward. The rest of the base had already been reduced to a slaughterhouse. No one was left alive.
Cain advanced through the corridor, stepping over corpses that twitched with the final spasms of nerve and electricity. The walls were streaked with blood—sprayed, smeared, dripping in trails that told stories of panic and cornered desperation. The red emergency lights pulsed overhead, each flash throwing jagged shadows over the broken forms left behind.
The Godhunters had thought themselves untouchable.
Now they were meat.
A soldier came sprinting out from a side hall—desperate, wild-eyed, his arm half-blown off and trailing smoke. He raised a sidearm with trembling fingers. Cain didn't stop walking. He lifted his right arm and fired once. The energy round punched through the man's chest, flaring white-hot. He folded backward, spine bent in a gruesome arc before he collapsed in silence.
Cain didn't spare him another glance.
«East wing secured,» came the next comms report. «Command center's locked. Minimal resistance. They're cornered.»
Cain turned a corner and came face to face with three Godhunters in improvised barricades, shouting orders, firing in panicked bursts down the hallway. His soldiers didn't slow. They advanced through the gunfire like wraiths.
A plasma grenade rolled under the barricade. The scream that followed was cut off by the shriek of vaporized bone.
Cain stepped over their charred remains, his synthetic eye adjusting to the heat bloom.
The deeper they went, the more the Godhunters tried to rally—but all they achieved was a more poetic death. They fought like animals in a trap. Some with teeth bared, some with prayers on their lips, all dying the same.
One of his men shoved open the next door. A small command post. Inside, two officers were frantically typing at consoles—probably trying to purge data or send distress signals. One of Cain's soldiers shot them both through the skull without a word. Another set fire to the terminals.
Cain didn't speak. He just watched. Every kill was a message. Every scream, punctuation.
This wasn't vengeance.
It was punctuation to a sentence long overdue.
«Cain,» Abel's voice came again, this time lower, almost amused. «Talos slipped past. He's gone dark.»
Cain exhaled slowly, a thin curl of condensation rising from his lips in the chill.
«Then this isn't the end yet,» he muttered. Not without the head of the snake.
They reached the outer perimeter of the central chamber. What had once been a hub of intelligence and coordination was now a tomb. Blood smeared the Godhunter sigil on the walls. Dozens had died here, cut down by Cain's people in the opening wave.
One body was slumped against the wall, throat crushed, hands still clenched around a sidearm. Another was face-down in a pool of bile and blood, her leg severed mid-thigh. Someone had tried to drag her. They hadn't gotten far.
Cain stood at the center of it all, surveying the carnage like a general on the hill of a conquered city.
And that was when he felt it.
A presence. Heavy. Close.
He turned slowly, his hand already curling toward the grip of his weapon—but he didn't draw.
Cira stood at the far end of the hall.
Her armor was scorched. One of her sleeves hung loose, burned. Her left cheek was smeared with soot and blood—not all of it hers. The look in her eyes was fire and frost, shaking and unbroken.
She raised her sidearm.
Cain didn't move.
Neither of them spoke.
The lights flickered. Distant screams echoed from some forgotten wing. Somewhere, water dripped in steady rhythm.
Cain Smiled.