Part 8: Defectum

Erik's legs burned as he pushed himself harder, racing towards the uplink tower on the cliffside. The Malum ship hovered ominously above, casting a shadow over the battlefield that seemed to stretch endlessly. The air crackled with tension, each second ticking by like a death sentence. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to make it. He had to stop the bomb.

But as he neared the towering structure, the world around him shifted in an instant. The distant rumble of battle intensified, growing louder, the sounds of combat echoing through the fog that still lingered across the field.

Before Erik could even react, he felt it—the shift in the atmosphere. The air itself seemed to warp as three figures materialized from the haze, their forms emerging with frightening precision. Three Malum warriors.

They were no ordinary soldiers. Their armor was dark and jagged, their movements graceful yet lethal, as if they were predators stalking their prey. The leader of the trio was massive, his sword gleaming in the dim light. The other two were smaller, but just as deadly, wielding blades that seemed to hum with deadly intent.

Erik froze for just a fraction of a second—a moment too long.

The largest warrior bellowed, charging forward, his sword swinging in a wide arc toward Erik's chest. Erik barely had time to react. He parried the blow, the force of the strike reverberating through his arms, knocking him back several paces.

"Not today, boy," the warrior snarled, his voice deep and gravelly, before he swung again with a vicious strike.

Erik ducked just in time, feeling the blade whip past his head, missing by mere inches. But before he could regain his balance, one of the smaller warriors lunged, a blinding streak of steel coming at him from the left. Erik sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the attack, but his foot caught on a jagged piece of debris, sending him stumbling backwards.

"Stay focused!" Erik muttered to himself, shaking off the dizziness as he adjusted his stance.

The warriors were relentless. They moved in sync, each attack more calculated than the last. Erik was trapped—fighting against three seasoned warriors who had been forged for combat. His blade clashed against theirs in rapid succession, the sound of metal ringing through the air. Sweat poured down his face, his arms growing weaker with every parry.

He was losing ground. They were wearing him down, cornering him with each strike.

The leader of the trio grinned cruelly, his eyes cold as he delivered a brutal blow to Erik's side. Pain shot through Erik's ribs, forcing a gasp from his lips. He staggered back, clutching his side, but before he could recover, the second warrior took advantage of the opening, delivering a slash that raked across Erik's shoulder. Blood splattered against the ground, and Erik's vision blurred for a moment.

He was losing. The fight was slipping away from him.

Desperation clawed at him. He had no time to fall, no time to yield. The bomb was still coming. The ship was still in the sky.

Erik fought harder, summoning every last ounce of his strength. He managed to deflect another blow, but it was futile. The trio was too much, their strength and coordination too overwhelming. Another hit landed—a slash to his leg that sent him to his knees.

A scream echoed through the air—his own—or was it the wind? His head spun with dizziness, his body trembling from exhaustion. The bomb was too close. The pain was too much.

The roar of the Malum leader echoed through the battlefield.

"End him."

The final blow never came. Instead, there was a sudden shift, a deep rumble in the sky, followed by an unmistakable sound—an engine's roar. The sound of something falling.

Erik barely had time to process it. The Malum warriors, sensing the shift, stepped back. The looming shape of the ship overhead began to move again, and Erik's heart dropped as he realized what was happening. The bomb. The massive Cibus bomb they'd been waiting for.

He looked up at the ship, his eyes wide with horror. The bomb was dropping, the silhouette of it cutting through the sky like a falling star—a deadly force of nature, unstoppable and relentless.

It descended with frightening speed, faster than anything Erik had ever seen. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble as the bomb fell, the air thick with anticipation, like the world was holding its breath.

"NO!" Erik screamed, but it was too late.

The bomb struck the battlefield's central field with a deafening crash. The explosion was not like any Erik had ever imagined. It was as though the earth itself had split open, a blinding flash of light erupted in every direction, followed by a shockwave that sent debris flying in every direction. The blast was deafening, drowning out every other sound.

The force of the explosion sent Erik flying backward, his body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. Pain. Everything was pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, his head spinning. But the worst part was the silence that followed—the deafening, unnatural stillness that filled the air.

For a moment, Erik couldn't hear anything. He could only see the smoke and the burning remains of the battlefield. The remnants of what had been House Decus, a kingdom on the verge of collapse, now crumbled into nothingness.

The Malum warriors that had been battling him didn't seem to care about the blast. They stood at the edges of the devastation, their figures barely visible through the thick smoke, unmoving.

The bomb had done its job. But House Decus wasn't entirely destroyed—at least, not yet.

As the smoke began to clear, Erik struggled to his feet, blood pouring from his wounds. His body screamed in protest, but he couldn't stop now. He had to find cover. He had to survive.

The survivors of House Decus began to scream and scatter in every direction. The Malum forces, undeterred by the explosion, advanced with cold precision, moving toward the weakened remnants of House Decus like wolves closing in on their prey.

Erik staggered, his breath ragged, his vision swimming in and out. He turned to flee, but the soldiers of House Malum were already there, their numbers swelling like a tide of destruction.

Without warning, the ground rumbled beneath him again—the sound of Malum soldiers deploying from the ship. They began to advance across the scorched earth, sending waves of terror through the already broken ranks of House Decus. The remnants of the battlefield were no longer a place of war—it had become a hunting ground.

Erik's body gave out. He fell to his knees, his hands scraping against the ground as he tried to hold himself up. He had failed. The bomb had dropped, the war was lost, and House Decus was crumbling before his eyes.

Through the smoke, the figure of a Malum soldier stepped forward—his face obscured by the mask of his helmet, his eyes cold, devoid of emotion.

"Execute the remaining," the voice crackled over the comms, cold and final.

Erik's breath caught in his throat as the soldiers of House Malum began to advance on the remaining survivors, moving with brutal efficiency. There was no escape. There was no hope.

But in the back of Erik's mind, one thought burned brighter than all the others.