The signal was close.
The Warmachines sprinted across a dying moon.
Behind them, the temple shattered into flame. The throne room caved in on itself, consumed by ruptured fault lines and the slow implosion of a world no longer willing to hold together. Above, the sky had cracked open—fragments of Vornex's upper crust now floated in low orbit, drifting like pieces of a shattered crown.
The five remaining Warmachines ran at full tilt, feet slamming into shifting stone, sprinting across platforms that cracked and dissolved behind them. Fractures split like lightning across the terrain, and geysers of red light shot up from the core below. One misstep. One second too slow. Death.
No orders were needed.
The evac ship was inbound—screaming down from orbit like salvation wrapped in steel.
Fitus glanced up. "I see it!"
"Keep moving!" Riven barked. "We've got maybe sixty seconds before this place goes!"
"Less," Valkar grunted, dodging a spike of bone that jutted from the ground. "It's folding in on itself!"
Maverick didn't speak.
He ran ahead of them all.
Every muscle burned. His lungs were fire. The glaives pulsed across his back with static and smoke, half-melted, barely holding shape. But he didn't slow.
Candren's voice crackled through comms. "Path's narrowing, jump on three! One,Two"
They leapt in unison, soaring across a collapsing bridge of shattered obsidian. One of the fragments exploded mid-jump, sending Candren off-course. He hit the landing on one knee, sparks trailing from his back.
"I'm good! Go!"
They didn't leave him.
Fitus hauled him up with one hand, nearly dragging him forward as chunks of moon rained down around them.
"We're not losing anyone else!" he growled.
The terrain shifted violently.
Massive slabs of stone and bone heaved upward like tectonic ribs. The Warmachines darted between them—leaping, vaulting, climbing through a storm of fire and gravity. Beneath their feet, entire sections of the moon fell away, exposing veins of light that pulsed like arteries.
Thirty seconds.
The evac ship cut low through the sky, engine fire blazing.
Maverick marked its descent.
"There!" he shouted. "High point, northwest! That's our jump!"
They veered hard.
Straight across a narrowing plateau now tilting at an angle. The evac ship hovered at the far edge, its landing clamps deployed, back ramp open.
Flashing green.
Waiting.
Fitus, Riven, and Valkar surged ahead.
Maverick grabbed Candren's shoulder.
"You good?" he barked.
Candren nodded, breath ragged. "Yeah—just keep going."
They reached the base of the rise—a broken incline covered in cracks and falling debris.
The ship hovered just beyond the peak.
So close.
"GO!" Maverick roared.
All five sprinted.
The world behind them began collapsing—massive chunks of Vornex's surface caving inward toward the core. Lightning storms erupted through the crust. Gravity bent sideways. The whole moon groaned beneath its own unraveling.
The Warmachines hit the incline hard.
Running at full speed.
A final push.
Ten seconds.
Valkar dove into the ship.
Riven landed behind him, rolling into cover.
Fitus reached the edge and turned, offering his arm out for the others.
Maverick was next.
He grabbed Fitus's arm and vaulted inside.
Only one left.
Candren sprinted with everything he had, armor dragging, cannon heavy, breathing sharp. His legs trembled with overdrive strain. The ground beneath him cracked—
And a ripple tore through it.
"No!" Maverick shouted.
A gravitational sinkhole exploded beneath Candren's path. It didn't drag—it consumed.
"CANDREN!" Fitus screamed.
Candren reached out—
Maverick lunged, hand outstretched—
Their fingers brushed.
Then Candren's body was pulled backward.
His boots scraped stone.
He was gone.
Sucked into the sinkhole in a blink.
Silence.
Maverick stood frozen at the edge.
The evac doors slammed shut.
The ship pulled up hard—engines screaming as it tore into the sky.
The surface below collapsed entirely.
And Vornex Prime began to die.
⸻
Inside the ship, no one spoke.
Valkar sat against the wall, head low.
Riven stared at the floor, blades shaking in his grip.
Fitus turned away, fists clenched.
And Maverick stood alone.
He looked at his hand.
Still outstretched.
Still shaking.
Candren's voice echoed faintly in memory.
"We did it!"
But the words felt hollow now.
And Maverick said nothing.
Only lowered his arm.
And watched the moon vanish behind them.
___________________________________
The ship rumbled quietly through the void.
Its engines hummed low, a distant throb that barely registered against the silence inside. A silence heavier than the sound of war.
The four remaining Warmachines sat in stillness. Or stood, if their injuries refused to let them fold. No words had been spoken since launch. Not a whisper. Not a breath beyond what their lungs required. Only the slow hiss of pressurized steam rising from their cracked armor.
They were healing.
But slowly.
Too slowly.
Their regenerative systems had begun to reactivate—finally—but the delay spoke louder than any wound. It meant they had been pushed past the brink. Far enough that even the machines inside them had questioned if they would return.
White plumes rose from their gauntlets, their backs, the tears along their helms. Vapor curled through the dim light like smoke from a battlefield long extinguished. It filled the space between them like a ghost.
Two seats were empty.
No one looked at them.
Not at first.
⸻
Fitus sat with his forearms on his knees, gauntlets cracked to the bone. His head hung low, eyes flicking between the floor and the air in front of him—like he was watching something still playing out in his mind.
Then, without lifting his head, he spoke.
"…He was right behind me."
The words hovered. No one moved.
Riven sat across from him, leaning back against the wall, blades retracted but still flickering faintly with residual energy. His voice, when it came, was low. Barely there.
"I saw his hand."
He didn't say more. He didn't need to.
Valkar stood near the side of the cabin, both hands resting on the head of his hammer like it was an anchor holding him steady. His eyes were half-lidded, jaw locked tight.
"He held on longer than any of us."
Maverick remained silent.
He sat apart from the others, resting against the curved wall near the bay doors, back straight, legs bent. His hammer lay beside him. The glaive-staves of Mitus rested across his lap.
Steam curled upward from his chestplate in slow, rhythmic pulses.
He watched it rise.
Then, finally—
"We told him…"
A pause.
A slow breath.
"…we weren't losing anyone else."
Another beat. Longer this time.
"We were wrong."
⸻
No one replied.
Not with words.
Fitus leaned back, his head hitting the wall with a soft metallic thud. "He nearly didn't make it—twice. And still he fought like we were all walking out together."
Riven nodded. "Every time he slipped, he got back up. Never complained. Never stopped."
Valkar closed his eyes. "He pushed until the end."
They let the silence return.
Let it breathe.
Let it remind them.
Then Fitus exhaled through his nose. "Mitus. Now Candren."
Riven opened his eyes slowly. "Feels like we've aged a century in a day."
"No," said Valkar. "We were already old. War just reminded us."
Their gazes finally shifted—subtly—toward the two empty seats.
Mitus's.
Candren's.
The air around them felt heavier.
And Maverick?
He didn't speak.
But his hand tightened slightly around one of Mitus's glaives.
The hiss of healing armor continued.
⸻
There was no collapse.
No breaking.
Just breathing.
Just the quiet grief of titans.
Then—
The ship shuddered.
A new vibration hummed through the floor.
The landing gear extended with a metallic grind.
A red light blinked once above the door.
Then twice.
Then green.
A sharp hiss.
The doors began to open.
A bright crack of daylight split the interior, spilling into the chamber like the breath of a world they thought they might never see again.
Steam drifted into the light.
The Warmachines stood.
Not as victors.
Not yet.
But as what remained.
They said nothing. They stepped forward.
And the first light of Earth spilled across the war-born steel of their armor.