The air in Drank-9, the infamous Rot City, was thick with ash and the metallic stench of blood. Screams echoed through the jagged streets, bouncing off rusted walls that had long been stained by the misery of Zypherian slaves.
But tonight, misery turned into slaughter.
The android squads, unleashed by the Zypherian command, descended like vultures upon carrion. Their crimson eyes scanned with mechanical hunger, their blades and rifles tearing through unarmed slaves. Ten androids alone had turned the streets into rivers of blood.
And at the heart of it—Mi'ken's death still lingered like a wound that wouldn't close. His body had fallen from the overlooking stage, crushed beneath the rubble. His last act—striking down the Zypherian hound Kuaq'sire—ignited the fire of rebellion. But for the slaves who looked up to him, his fall was a hammer blow.
"Kai—Kairox!" a woman cried, chasing after the ten-year-old who had collapsed beside Mi'ken's broken form. The boy's sobs pierced louder than the cries of battle.
"I lost my mother yesterday… and now you too!" Kairox's small hands clutched at Mi'ken's bloodstained cloak, his tears dripping onto the dirt. But before anyone could pull him away, a cold shadow passed overhead.
An android swooped down, its clawed grip wrapping around the boy's frail body. Kairox screamed, his voice cutting through the chaos as the machine's thrusters roared.
"No! Leave him!" warriors shouted, arrows and plasma bolts streaking through the sky. But the android twisted in mid-air, dodging every shot with machine precision. In seconds, Kairox was gone.
And he wasn't the only one.
Dozens of children were snatched from the ground, their cries swallowed by the mechanical wings of their captors. The Zypherians weren't just killing—they were taking the future.
Across the Rot City, the rebellion alliance—the Verdalians, the Eyrvaks, the Scorched Branch, the Liberation Army—fought desperately. But their blades bent against steel, their bodies burned beneath plasma fire.
The streets were a massacre.
Every corner, every alley, bodies piled. Smoke coiled above the city's towering spires, red and black against the twin moons.
And still, in the hearts of the oppressed, a flame refused to die.
Mi'ken's blood wasn't just death. It was a spark.
The slaves of Drank-9, beaten and broken for generations, now roared with defiance. Men and women grabbed pipes, broken tools, even their bare fists. They surged against the androids in waves, screaming not for victory but for vengeance.
The first true battle of the rebellion had begun. And it
was already drowning in blood.
The sky above Drank-9, the Rot City, was no longer a sky—it was a furnace of fire and smoke. The androids, their alloyed limbs shining with cruel precision, swept through the streets like hunters with no mercy. Their crimson optical sensors scanned the ruins, locking onto targets with an eerie calmness that contrasted the chaos below.
Slaves screamed. Families clung to one another, only to be torn apart in a blur of steel. The ground was painted with blood, and the great metal talons of the androids stomped across stone and bone without distinction.
One after another, children were seized.
The androids' cold hands, shaped like claws, snatched them by the arms, by the hair, by their torsos—lifting them as if they were fragile dolls. The resistance tried to fight back, hurling stones, knives, even stolen plasma rifles. But the androids were built for war, and the Zypherian slaves were built for chains.
Amidst this storm of horror was Kairox, only ten years old, trembling in the ash. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with soot, his eyes swollen red from tears.
He had seen too much already.
Yesterday, his mother had been taken from him, cut down before his eyes.
Today, Mi'ken, the man who had protected him, who had stood like a pillar of rebellion, had been crushed to death by an android's strike.
And now—hands like iron clamped around him.
An android's grip closed around his thin body, lifting him from the ground. His feet kicked uselessly in the air, his small fists pounding against metal that would not yield.
"No! Put me down!" he screamed, his voice breaking into sobs. "Not again… not again… I can't lose everyone!"
The android didn't respond. It didn't hear him, or maybe it simply didn't care. Its eyes glowed, scanning him, marking him as another specimen to be caged.
Around him, more children screamed as they were lifted. One clutched his sister's hand until a second android pried them apart, tearing their cries into two. Another child wailed for his father, who charged forward with a rusted blade—only to be shot through the chest and left in the dirt.
The androids marched toward their transport ship—a towering craft with a black, insect-like hull, its wings of steel folded as it prepared for departure. A ramp extended from its belly, swallowing the children into its metallic maw.
Kairox thrashed, tears streaming. He pounded the machine's arm with all his might, but the android's grip did not even shiver.
"I'm… weak…" he thought, as the air grew colder around him. "I couldn't save Mother. I couldn't save Mi'ken. I can't save anyone…"
He looked back one last time. Through his tears he saw the ruins of Drank-9, his people screaming as the remaining androids turned their weapons on the slaves. Blades of plasma, rifles of energy, and arms built to crush—unleashed in a massacre.
It wasn't a battle anymore. It was an execution.
The ship shook as the engines ignited. The ramp sealed shut with a final hiss, silencing the cries of those still outside. The children, huddled together inside the metallic prison, wept in terror.
Kairox's body trembled. His small hands curled into fists, his nails cutting into his palms. His voice cracked as he whispered to himself:
"Why… why am I so weak? Why can't I fight them? Why can't I protect anyone?"
The ship lifted from the ground, leaving the flames and the screams of Drank-9 behind.
And as the androids below turned their full attention to exterminating the remaining slaves, Kairox felt the heavy chains of helplessness tightening around his heart.
But somewhere, deep inside him—beneath the grief, the fear, and the weakness—something darker began to stir.
Something that would not remain silent forever.
The smoke of burning steel choked the skies of Dranak-9.
The screams of slaves mixed with the mechanical roars of the android legion, their red optics gleaming as they tore through the helpless Zypherian crowds. Blood soaked the rusted streets of the Rot City, painting its alleys in sorrow.
Among the chaos, a Zypherian slave woman fell to her knees, her six arms trembling, her dozen eyes overflowing with grief. Her child had been taken—snatched away into the cold hull of an android ship. She pressed her palms into the dirt, her voice breaking into the ash-filled night.
"Please… not my child… not my little one…"
One android leveled its cannon at her, the barrel humming, a cruel promise of silence.
But before the shot could fire—
An emerald light slashed across the square.
The android froze, split clean in half. Its circuits sparked and hissed.
From the smoke stepped a figure in black and emerald armor, a blade pulsing with otherworldly fire in his grasp. His voice cut through the ruin like thunder.
Jason Amberdenk had arrived.
Behind him, banners unfurled in the poisoned air—scorched, blood-marked cloths bearing the insignia of the Allied Rebel Forces. From the alleys, the skies, and the ruins, they came like a storm.
Jodu, the Scorched Branch, Rovin's feared right hand, leading the Zypherian frontlines with his twin-axes.
Kar'roth, the right hand command of eyrvaks shattered against the android armor.
Bill, a Zypherian war-seer, his eyes glowing as he tore through code and metal alike with psychic force.
Captain Shin, of the Verdalian fleet, striking from above with his plasma lances.
Dozens more—Verdalian captains, Zypherian exiles, Liliput fighters, all roaring in one united voice.
The androids turned, recalibrating, ten of them locking onto the new threat. But this time, they did not face frightened children or chained workers.
They faced warriors.
Jason's sword flashed again, cleaving through two androids in a single motion. Jodu leapt forward, his axes biting into steel skulls. Kar'roth swung his war-hammer, breaking circuits like bones. Bill's psychic storm ripped the heads from machines, scattering them into fire. Captain Shin's aerial fleet strafed the skies, raining bolts of light upon the android swarm.
The Rot City became a battlefield of fire and fury.
Kairox, still bound inside the android ship, pressed his face against the cold glass window. He watched through wide, trembling eyes as green fire danced below. His heart pounded. For the first time, he saw Zypherians fight back—not slaves, not prey, but soldiers. His chest ached with weakness, with guilt, with the weight of his own survival.
"I couldn't save Mi'ken…" he whispered. "I couldn't save anyone…"
But through the tears, through the shaking, a spark burned inside him. Watching Jason and the rebels fight, he felt it—hope was not gone.
By the time the last android fell, the Rot City shook with a sound it had never known before:
Not the screams of slaves.
Not the commands of masters.
But the roar of victory.
For the first time in centuries, the Zypherian slaves of Dranak-9 were free.
And the galaxy would remember this night—
The night the Allied R
ebel Forces struck their first blow against tyranny.