Battle on Deimos(Part-3)

My blade gleamed with killing intent, its edge hungry for vengeance, for justice. I stood face to face with the Alcrian leader, his towering frame casting a shadow even in the emptiness of space. We clashed, steel against fury, my blade and his molten fists colliding with a soundless shockwave that shook the dust of Deimos.

His skin, like an alloy forged in hellfire, was nearly impenetrable. I slashed, parried, and struck, but his body deflected my blows like an unbending wall of iron. Still, I didn't retreat. I couldn't. The airless silence of the battlefield only intensified my resolve.

The heat radiating from his fists was unbearable. One touch could melt through my war suit, burn through flesh, and char bone. But I didn't waver.

Then, something shifted. I caught a flicker of movement in his eyes—a signal. A command.

Suddenly, the Alcrian soldiers changed. They stopped attacking in reckless waves. Their formation tightened. They were no longer pressing forward but shielding, holding a line, defending.

"They're retreating," I realized aloud. A coordinated escape. Their spacecraft loomed in the distance, engines glowing with imminent departure. Alcrian soldiers were boarding, others shielding their escape, even sacrificing themselves to block our fire.

Powell raised his weapon, attempting to shoot the ship down, but a wall of Alcrians gave their lives to stop him.

Self-sacrifice.

We hadn't expected that.

These creatures—these invaders—were not mindless beasts. They had purpose. Discipline. Bonds. They were more like us than we dared admit.

The leader still stood before me, unwavering. Then a voice echoed in my communicator, firm and resonant.

"Let my final battle be a great one."

A chill passed through me. He spoke our language.

"No one interferes," I said, tone sharp with resolve. "Even if I die."

"Are you mad?!" Powell's voice cracked over the comms.

"Stop!" Sai's calm cut through the panic. "This is their decision. Let it be a warrior's end."

I looked at Sai through my visor and gave a nod. Thank you.

I pointed my blade at the leader. "Come."

And he came.

I swung at his neck, but he intercepted with a searing grip. My blade sliced from palm to forearm, but it stuck, caught in burning flesh.

He drove his fist into my gut.

Agony. My suit blistered and cracked. Oxygen hissed. A warning flared red.

I launched my repulsors midair, pushing off his body and sending myself flying backward. He stumbled, but remained unbroken.

We charged again. My slashes met his fists, each strike echoing in bone-shaking vibrations. The ground cracked beneath us. It was not a battle. It was a reckoning.

I launched at him again, blade raised. He caught my leg mid-flight, crushing the repulsor.

"Damn it!" I cursed.

I swung the other, only for it too to be caught—and crushed.

He dragged me in, my blade now buried in his chest. I had pierced his heart, and yet—he didn't fall. Instead, he gripped the seals of my helmet, trying to unsuit me. One tear, and the void of space would devour me whole.

"No…"

And then—

A surge.

A power I hadn't felt before, coursing through me like wildfire.

With a scream, I let go of the blade and drove my fist into his face. The blow cracked his visor, shattered his mask. His body lifted from the force, sent spiraling into space, lost to the void.

But I too was flung into the airless dark, no repulsors to steady me, nothing to stop the drift.

The stars spun.

Then—

A beam of light.

"Gotcha!" Austin's voice echoed. A tractor beam. I was reeled back in, collapsing onto the floor of the spacecraft.

Everyone was aboard. Isabella was slumped, unconscious, her hands still warm from healing Clady.

"He's alive," Powell confirmed, exhaling. "But…" His eyes narrowed at the wound site, suspicion brewing beneath his usual calm.

The mission was over. Deimos faded behind us.

This battle taught us more than tactics. It taught us truth.

Teamwork isn't optional in the void. Fighting in space isn't just difficult—it's near impossible without unity.

And the Alcrians? They're not monsters just to kill.

They grieve. They protect. They die for each other.

They may have families. Just like us.

So why?

Why are they attacking?

What did they want?

What did we do?

Who threw the first stone?

The silence in the ship was heavier than any gravity.

We may have survived Deimos.

But the real war—the one of understanding—had just begun.