Location: White Night Ruins – Central Vault
In the shadows behind the mercenary column, space shimmered.
Unseen. Silent.
A lone Predator disengaged his camouflage field and watched from a high ledge above the vault's eastern corridor. Its red optics scanned the mercenary detachment below—over ninety strong, heavily armed, with elite-grade sensor packs and psychic shielding.
Even for a Predator, charging blindly into such a force would be suicide.
Warriors chose their ground. They didn't throw their lives away.
More importantly, they listened.
And what the Predator had overheard sent a coded burst directly to Silas Vire's techband.
[Alert: Identified group—Treasure Hunter Mercenary Corps.] [Commander: Reynolds—Avian-class Psionic. Objective: Inner Vault.]
Silas received the data as he stood before the ruins' inner gate. He exhaled slowly.
So… they beat us to the core.
He narrowed his eyes.
Good. Let them spring the traps.
Moments later, the ground trembled beneath his feet. A distant explosion echoed through the corridors like a god exhaling through stone.
Celeste—jumped behind him, hands trembling. Her helmet visor flickered in the dim light.
Silas tilted his head. Gunfire, smoke, and spirit energy discharge. Golems, perhaps?
He stepped through the massive alloy gate.
And the interior stunned him.
Metal walls hummed with ancient energy. The architecture changed from weathered stone to alloy mesh, integrated conduits, and crystalline interfaces. He stood in a chamber lost to history, where the archaic and the hyperadvanced met like tectonic plates.
He knelt.
Shards littered the floor—jagged fragments etched with psionic runes.
Celeste stepped forward, wide-eyed.
"These… these are the remains of Spirit Golems," she breathed. "White Night war-forged guardians. I've seen sketches of these symbols in classified archives."
Silas rolled a shard between his fingers. It still radiated heat.
The mercenaries fought here.
He let the fragment fall.
Then another explosion tore through the corridor ahead.
"Move," he ordered.
Within the Core Vault – Ruins Heart
The mercenary squad had walked into a crucible.
Six Spirit Golems stood in activation circles, their core crystals pulsing like dying stars. They had awakened too quickly, drawn by the scent of psionics and blood.
The mercenaries panicked.
"Fire! Fire, godsdammit!" one screamed.
But laser fire glanced off the golems' armor. In return, the constructs retaliated with beams of pure psionic energy.
One beam struck a formation dead-center.
Three mercenaries vaporized. No scream. No struggle. Just ash and heat and empty boots.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"They're regenerating!"
"Fall back! Get to the gate—!"
Reynolds stood unmoved, his eyes glowing with psionic voltage. Rage flared in his chest. That damn Dark Elf didn't say anything about this.
With a guttural cry, he raised his gauntlets and loosed a net of lightning across the chamber. The bolts arced violently, striking two of the golems and temporarily halting their advance.
He turned, voice amplified through his mask.
"Fall back now!"
As the mercenary group pulled back toward the gate, they collided—
—with Silas.
Collision Course
The mercenaries rounded the corner and immediately froze.
Ahead stood a man.
Calm. Unmoving. Dressed in a sleek adaptive suit. Surrounded by towering Predators flanking the corridor like executioners.
Behind them, the Spirit Golems roared.
Reynolds raised his rifle.
"Who the hell are you?"
Silas didn't flinch.
The mercenaries raised their weapons.
From the shadows behind Silas, the Predators stepped forward.
One mercenary turned, wild-eyed. "Boss—those things! They're coming!"
A high-pitched keening filled the corridor as another Golem broke through the tattered lightning net and gave chase.
"Shut up!" Reynolds barked, turning to fire.
In that single moment, the scene fractured—panic, gunfire, and diplomacy vanished.
[Incoming Combat – Escalation Detected]
The corridor erupted into chaos.
Silas didn't blink. He stepped aside.
Behind him, Predators opened fire—plasma lances cutting the darkness.
One Golem exploded in a violet burst of ether and bonesteel.
The mercenaries scrambled for cover, caught between Silas's arrival and the death machines they'd awakened.
"Hold the line!" Reynolds shouted, summoning another surge of lightning from his gauntlets.
He hurled the bolt across the corridor—only to see it caught mid-air by a Predator's shielding unit, dissipated into harmless arcs.
A shadow fell across him.
Silas.
Unmoved. Unbothered. Watching.
"I'll say this once," Silas said, voice low. "Drop your weapons. Or I let my ship's orbital cannon redraw this map from orbit."
Reynolds's eye twitched.
Then another Golem bellowed.
Behind them, death was still coming.