IC Desert Base — Dusk Light, Cracked Ground, A Hovercraft Burning in the Distance
The ramp hissed open with hydraulic breath. Heat swept in — dry, burned metal and char. I marched into the sun with my fellow soldiers, blinking in the daylight, visor auto-dimming.
We were at war with a Syndicated-created conflict. This was a Class One New World, but this barren side of the planet packed so much heat, it almost looked like a wasteland — except for the military settlements.
We marched to the encampment and joined other Titan 3 units spread out on the ground. Soldiers from Nomad also stood in the camp. A co-op mission. Titan 3 had requested additional reinforcements.
Above us, the sky bore view of colossal starships, each five kilometers long, hovering in orbit. Dropships poured from them like comets falling into war.
A military rover came in fresh from the battlefield. Doors creaked open. Soldiers stepped down — five men, five women. Then they opened the door for their commander. Her boots slammed into the baked land. One foot in front of the other, she marched toward us, her team following in formation.
She breathed slowly. No Exosuit. Standard combat uniform waist-down, minijacket over a jungle-green crop top. Plasma sword in one hand, gun in the other. Sweat glistened over her skin, visible war scratches across her body. Blood on her glove wasn't hers. Her visor lifted — glowing electric blue eyes pierced the daylight. Dust-coated bluish-white hair flared around her shoulders, sinuating in the light wind.
The beauty of her face and body… it was like we were already defeated in a battle we hadn't fought.
We were soldiers, trained to resist pain and battle-scars, but the sight of this feral goddess was a torture with no immunity from any book or exercise.
One even whispered, "shat... is her?"
She turned. Her hips moved with lethal grace. She holstered her gun with a mechanical snap and sheathed her sword across her back, then walked back and forth like a royal before her legion.
Her team captain briefed the troops on mission details.
Finally, she stepped forward and opened her mouth.
"No long speeches. Captain Kinze has already briefed you. We are up against enhanced human and cybernetic soldiers, aided by dangerous alien forces. But I tell you this—Bazmera are innocent, peace-loving people. You fight to defend the weak. Defend honor of Titan 3. You walk into those fields as rookies... you walk out as legends."
Her words were calm, controlled, but commanding. At the same time, her voice was so womanly it felt seductive and alluring, even if she didn't intend it.
Military rovers roared into position as Captain Kinze barked, "Lieutenants, load your teams. No time to waste, no space for slackers!"
We all scrambled toward the vehicles. I settled in. Then the door opened — and she stood right there. I didn't know what to do, what to say. I just stared at her like watching my wildest fantasies come alive.
"Move your butt, soldier," the woman flanking her commanded, and I slid over, clutching my rifle.
She entered. One officer took the seat beside her, another slid into the driver's seat.
"Commander, let us drop you off. This is your fifth trip to the site. Let us handle this," the driver pleaded — determination and leadership bespoken in her voice.
"I rest when I'm done. What am I supposed to do with all these rookies, Elara?"
The woman next to her interceded, "My queen, we have—"
The queen cleared her throat. She didn't like to be called that.
"I mean commander… we have fifty ships, and only five are needed to win this war."
"Samara, we need those ships to patrol civilian planets. Mutant incursions could strike anywhere."
"But Titan 3…" Elara tried to say something, but the commander cut her.
"Commander Philips wouldn't have called if it wasn't dire. You've seen the site. It would take more than Titan 3."
Now we quietly drove into the barren desert plateau. On the horizon, flames curled into the sky. The Bazmeran outpost was under siege, gates engulfed in fire.
"You are right, commander. They have almost doubled their forces," Elara murmured, scanning the horizon.
Eve tapped her wrist module. A hologram of a brown-haired woman materialized.
"Mira, we are running thin here."
"Commander, Soul Drifter's ready to launch," the hologram responded.
"Send the squad to the city. Send all the dropships to the camp — I need all the Nomad and Titan fighters in the sky."
"Understood," the hologram responded and disappeared.
The enemy had complete air dominance. Dropships couldn't get anywhere near the site — the last outpost the Bazmerans were trying to defend. The safest point was the camp we'd just left.
This was her fifth trip to the site today? Since the morning… or last night?
So this was her. Andromeda. Eve Andromeda.
We'd all heard things. Everyone in the fleet did.
The one who had been to the Dark Galaxy and back in one piece. The woman who destroyed an entire Thelarian army on planet Alta Seralos and planet Kaal. Killed a Thelarian commander, his brother, and later two high-ranking Thelarian generals.
She hadn't aged in centuries. And didn't plan to start.
The legend used to feel like a fairy tale. But now that she was in front of me… the rumors didn't do her justice.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Sweat trickled down from her collarbone and seeped into her chestwear. She peeled off her minijacket, letting the air coming from the windows dry her skin.
My mind was torn between focusing on the windshield… or on her body. Her dust-and-ash-kissed skin could provoke your fantasies even if bullets buzzed past you mid-battle.
I had all my life to fight these wars — and only this moment to look at her. Knowing I was right next to her gave me goosebumps. And those almond eyes… those beautiful, electric blue eyes.
Then her gaze snapped toward me.
"What's your name, soldier?"
"Ra-Rayan. My name's Rayan, ma'am," I stammered, forcing the words out of my throat.
"Stay close to my team. You'll be alright."
Brenna, her officer, gave me a nod.
"Yes ma'am… commander!"
We reached the site. Doors swung open. She jumped out. I followed.
We charged through the shattered walls and pushed the enemies back. Her team led the line. I stayed close to Brenna. Chaos erupted all around.
Above us, Nomad and Titan squadrons — outnumbered but not outclassed — turned the sky to fire as she shook the ground with thunder. Enemy frontlines shattered, her team trying to keep formation around her and guiding the other soldiers.
Enemy soldiers spilled from craters, bodies thudding. But Eve moved first — blade drawn, precise — slashing armor, collapsing throats. She pivoted around rubble, never slowing down. In every swing, she carved an image I couldn't un-see: muscle flexing beneath her torn crop top, the curve of her chin as she angled a strike, tiny sparks flying from her shoulders when her plasma blade engaged.
We were barely keeping pace.
The first wave had ended. The outpost was ours again.
Soldiers gathered around and cheered for the commander as she stood on the mound of a crater. That day, we saw a legend descend from our tales and stand right in front of us in all her glory. I realized two bold truths that day:
One — Truth is beauty. And beauty is her truth.
Two — She had changed us all. We'd never be the same again.