During the battle DuRand seeing he is getting outnumbered, he only had two Vatborns by his side. His breath steady, his eyes cold. In his gloved hand, he holds a C-25 Imperial Grenade — the metal surface battered and scarred from countless battles.
DuRand squints down at the group below, calculating.
DuRand grips it firmly. His thumb and fingers find the notched center ring.
KRANK—TWIST.
A sharp, mechanical click sounds as the two halves rotate with a satisfying snap.
Immediately, the thin central seam flashes red, a deep pulse beginning to beat — thoom-thoom-thoom — faster and faster.
Lit from below by the eerie glow of the grenade, his lips curl into a grim, merciless smile and low, almost a whisper."Catch."
In a single, fluid motion, DuRand hurls the grenade into the air.
Four (John) — eyes sharpened, instincts firing faster than thought. As he noticed
DuRand ready to throw the charged C-25 grenade.
His hands snap up — fingers splaying instinctively.A brilliant cyan-white light flares from his skin, surging outward with raw energy.
From John's outstretched palms, intense beams of Lumen erupt.
The beams have pure white cores, surrounded by a vibrant, bleeding cyan halo that ripples and veins outward like living plasma. The beams flare wider as they stretch through the air — slightly conical, shimmering with heat distortion and energy waves.
John's hands themselves glow — the light penetrating beneath his skin, veins faintly lit from within, making his fingers look like conduits of raw power.
The beams scream forward, their energy cutting through the air.
The air distorts and shudders around them, waves of plasma-like shimmer trailing the beams' edges.
The spinning C-25 grenade is struck midair —The beams hit with pinpoint precision, flooding the grenade with violent energy.
A rapid implosion-flash as the grenade's internal mechanism overloads.
The C-25 detonates prematurely, sending a burst of fiery shrapnel raining down just a few feet in front of DuRand.
A concussive wave punches outward, throwing DuRand back against a concrete pillar, his coat whipping from the blast.
John's face set with fierce determination, lowers his hands slowly, the Lumen glow dimming, residual streaks of light swirling back into his palms like the dying breath of a star.
Where the grenade exploded — charred concrete, a blackened crater, and DuRand groaning.
But Four didn't notice this.
The battlefield had quieted, smoke drifting like ghosts through the charred landscape. Ash fell like snow. The final echoes of war faded into an eerie silence.
Henri limped toward John, eyes scanning him with a mixture of relief and paternal concern. Nearby, Malcolm knelt beside his son Sam, gently helping him sit up as they exchanged a silent look of gratitude for survival.
At the edge of the clearing, Alexander stood with Six and the remaining allies, his face grim yet focused. He tapped his wrist comm, voice sharp."Send Milano to our location. Now."
E.V.E.'s synthetic voice responded immediately, calm and efficient."Already inbound, sir."
None of them noticed the shadow that moved behind them.
Half-buried under rubble, his skin charred and armor fused to flesh and with arm completely incinerated, DuRand clawed his way upright. Smoke curled off his body like a shroud. Rage lit his bloodshot eyes as he reached toward the lifeless hand of a fallen Vatborn. He gripped the blaster with trembling fingers, its red glow flaring to life.
He leveled it at John—at Four.
The shot cracked the air.
Time slowed.
Henri saw it first."John!"
He lunged.
The blast hit Henri square in the chest, sending him hurtling backward. His body crashed to the ground, smoke rising from the scorched impact.
A second later, Alexander was moving, a blur of motion. His eyes flared electric blue as fire burst from his outstretched hand. Blue flames engulfed DuRand, who barely had time to scream. His body was ash before it hit the ground.
Silence fell again—but heavier now.
John stumbled forward."Henri!"
Freya, Griffin, Six, and the remaining Cepans rushed to Henri's side. Blood pooled beneath him, but his chest still rose—shallow, struggling.
Alexander knelt beside him, placing a hand on Henri's torso. A soft, radiant light spread beneath his palm. Henri's breathing steadied slightly. Not healed—but alive."He'll make it, but we need to move. Get him on Milano. We can stabilize him there."
Everyone nodded, urgency overriding panic. Together, they lifted Henri with care and speed, disappearing into the smoke, racing against time toward the ship.
The Milano descended from the storm-streaked sky, its engines humming like a ghost above the broken remains of Paradise High's football field. Scorch marks marred the turf, bleachers lay in twisted heaps, and smoke still curled lazily from where the battle had torn the ground open.
With a low hiss, the ship's landing gear extended, stabilizing on uneven terrain. The hull split open with a hydraulic groan, the ramp lowering like the tongue of a beast ready to swallow its own.
John emerged first, cradling a limping Bernie Kosar in his arms. The Beagle whimpered but gave a soft wag of his tail, his form flickering faintly with a trace of otherworldly energy.
Leon swept down from above in his martial eagle form, talons raking the air before he landed inside and Panthero, now in his black cat shape, padded in beside Alexander, his coat matted with dust and blood but his golden eyes still burning bright.
Inside the ship, the rest of the group filed in quickly. Sarah's parents stood near the back, wide-eyed and pale. Through the open hatch, they could see the shattered remains of the school behind them—a cruel confirmation that everything Malcolm had tried to explain was no exaggeration. This was real. And it was terrifying.
Six moved with practiced efficiency, sliding into the cockpit, fingers already flying across the controls. The engines flared, and the Milano rose with a low rumble, disappearing into the clouds just as sirens began to echo in the distance.
In the corridor, Alexander moved to support a bloodied Henri, gently guiding him toward the medical bay.
Alexander said quietly, "Let's get you patched up. We're not out of this yet."
The doors sealed shut behind them. The ship, their sanctuary, carried them away—leaving behind the wreckage of war, and the very human cost that had now spread far beyond the Garde.