Commander Andras moved with deadly precision as soon as he stepped into the room. His twin Pulse Rifles, sleek and bristling with lethal energy, whirred to life. The weapons were not the standard issue, but rather modified versions equipped with advanced targeting systems and explosive plasma rounds, capable of piercing through most barriers with brutal efficiency. He leveled them at the group of captors without hesitation, his cold fury evident in every movement.


    The first shot rang out with a sharp hiss, and a plasma bolt tore through the air, hitting one of the captors square in the chest. The impact sent him crashing backward, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud before crumpling to the ground. Before the others could react, Andras squeezed the triggers again, sending another volley of shots in rapid succession. His guns spat deadly beams of energy, cutting through the dimly lit room like blades through cloth.


    Kaelen and Lyrian were dangerously close to the fray, but Andras’s aim was precise, almost surgical. Plasma bolts streaked past them, barely missing their bound forms by inches, but not once did they flinch under the barrage. They knew Andras well enough to trust his marksmanship, even in the heat of battle. His shots were calculated, each one intended to neutralize the threat without risking harm to his allies.


    Three more captors fell, their bodies dropping like stones as the plasma bolts found their marks. Blood splattered across the floor, pooling beneath the lifeless forms as their limbs twitched in the final moments of life. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and nauseating.


    "Fall back!" one of the captors shouted as he scrambled to reposition. The remaining men quickly recognized the danger they were in. This was no ordinary fight, and Andras was no ordinary opponent. He was a commander, a tactician, and they knew they wouldn’t last long against him if they remained in the open.


    A few of the captors closest to the scarred man sprang into action. Two of them hefted up energy shields—large, glowing barriers designed to absorb incoming fire. The shields flared to life as they planted themselves between Andras and their leader, creating a defensive line that shimmered with faint blue light.


    The scarred man, who had been barking orders moments before, was quickly pulled back by another pair of captors, their movements swift and coordinated. They worked like a trained military unit, every step precise as they dragged him out of the immediate danger zone. One of the men tossed down a small device that exploded in a burst of smoke, creating a thick cloud that obscured their retreat.


    The smoke had barely settled when a group of soldiers burst into the room, led by Jax and Nyra. Jax, towering over the others, hefted his pulse cannon onto his shoulder as his voice cut through the chaos.


    “Commander!”


    Nyra’s drones were already in motion, darting through the air and providing cover.


    Andras’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. The captors moved with precision, trained and coordinated, but they weren’t fast enough. With a quick flick of his wrist, he switched his pulse rifles to an area-of-effect mode, sending a wave of plasma scattering through the air. It detonated just before hitting their shields, a shockwave knocking several captors off their feet.


    “Secure the area!” Jax commanded as he fired his pulse cannon, the blast sending debris flying. His shots forced the captors to retreat behind makeshift barriers. Nyra worked alongside him, her drones raining suppressive fire, cornering the last of the captors.


    Kaelen, still bound, watched the battle unfold, the shadows around him pulsing in response. His eyes flickered to Lyrian, who remained unconscious but alive, his breath shallow.


    Suddenly, a desperate captor flanked Andras, raising a pulse cannon. Before he could fire, Andras rolled to the side, fluid and fast. The shot exploded on the ground where Andras had been, sending sparks flying. Without hesitation, Andras was on his feet, delivering a brutal point-blank shot that sent the captor flying into the far wall, dead on impact.


    “Kaelen! Lyrian!” Jax shouted, scanning the room. “You two better not be dead.”


    Nyra, never missing a beat, moved swiftly toward Lyrian, sending her drone ahead to scan his vitals as she knelt beside him. With deft hands, she began to unbind him, glancing down at his face. “Lyrian, can you hear me? Are you okay?”


    Lyrian stirred, his body twitching as his eyes fluttered open. He groaned softly, disoriented, before coughing and wincing in pain. “Please tell me you brought med kits. I could use a vacation.”


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    “We’ll get you a vacation. Just survive the next five minutes.”


    At the same time, Jax, covered by the gunfire from the other soldiers who were locked in combat with the remaining captors, maneuvered quickly toward Kaelen. With swift, practiced movements, he crouched beside him and cut through the ropes binding him to the chair. “Still getting into trouble, I see,” he muttered with a smirk as he freed Kaelen’s wrists.


    Kaelen, weak but still sharp, returned the smirk. “Thought I’d let you have the spotlight.”


    As they gathered themselves, the remaining captors regrouped, forming a tight shield formation around the scarred leader, who barked one last order, “Cover me! We’re leaving!”


    Andras wasn’t having it. His eyes locked onto the scarred man, his pulse rifles humming as he advanced with relentless precision. “Not so fast, old friend,” Andras growled, eyes narrowing in recognition.


    The scarred man froze for a second before turning his head, his sneer widening. “Andras. I was wondering how long it would take you to show up.”


    Andras fired a volley, detonating the plasma rounds just in front of the captors’ feet, sending them stumbling, their shields flickering. “You don’t get to walk away this time.”


    “I’m not the one who left, Commander. You did. I just chose a different path.”


    Jax, catching sight of the exchange, called over his shoulder. “Commander, we need to move now!”


    But Andras wasn’t done. He took another step forward, ignoring the chaos around him. “You betrayed everything we stood for,” he snarled. “And now you’re hiding behind these mercenaries?”


    The scarred man’s eyes darkened, his tone shifting. “You think I’m hiding? I’ve been waiting for this, Andras. For you.”


    Andras’s pulse rifles hummed louder as he closed the distance. “Then come and get it.”


    Without warning, the scarred man flung his hand forward, signaling his remaining men to attack. Gunfire erupted once more, forcing Andras to take cover behind an overturned desk. “Stay focused!” he barked to Jax and Nyra as they engaged the remaining captors. The air was thick with tension and gunfire as the two commanders locked eyes across the room.


    The scarred man, ducking behind cover, shouted back, “This isn’t over, Andras. You should’ve joined me when you had the chance.”


    “Joined you?” Andras spat. “I’d rather die standing for something than kneel with a traitor.”


    The scarred man laughed darkly.


    “We’ll see who’s left standing by the end of this.”


    He motioned for his remaining men to fall back, retreating toward the exit, but Andras had already anticipated his move.


    With a final volley, Andras fired directly into the floor in front of them, the plasma rounds detonating and forcing them to stumble back into the open. He moved with deadly precision, his gaze fixed on the man, ready to end it.


    But before he could advance further, a sudden, shimmering barrier flickered to life between them—a force of magic unlike anything Andras had anticipated. The air around the mercenaries warped, bending as the protective shield rippled and held strong, preventing Andras’s next shot from getting through. His eyes widened in surprise, frustration contorting his features as the scarred man straightened, shielded by the mystical force.


    “What the hell—” Andras muttered under his breath. He fired again, but the plasma rounds fizzled out as they struck the glowing barrier, barely making a dent.


    The scarred man, seeing Andras’s frustration, smirked.


    “You can’t touch me now, Andras. Not while I have this.”


    Andras clenched his jaw, his pulse rifles humming with renewed fury. “You think a shield will save you?” he snarled, taking a step forward. “I’ll break through it. I’ll tear you apart.”


    The scarred man’s smile widened, the force field expanded, pushing Andras and his soldiers back slightly. “You’re out of your depth, Commander. This isn’t Core anymore. You can’t control everything.”


    Andras, blinded by rage, lunged forward, determined to shatter the magical barrier through sheer will. His soldiers moved in tandem, their weapons trained on the mercenaries, but nothing penetrated the barrier.


    Meanwhile, Kaelen and Lyrian, still recovering from their ordeal, struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding before them. Lyrian, weak but conscious, watched the glowing shield with wide eyes. “What… what is that?” he rasped, clutching his side.


    Kaelen, still feeling the aftershocks of the dark energy that had once surged through him, narrowed his eyes at the barrier. The shadows, which had clung to him like a second skin during the chaos, had finally receded. Now, they were gone, leaving him exposed and utterly drained.


    His limbs felt heavy, and exhaustion pulled at him with every breath, his body barely able to support itself. Each step was a battle to stay upright, the weight of his own power too much to bear in the aftermath. “Something we weren’t ready for,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet.


    He glanced at Lyrian, then at Andras, who was relentlessly pounding against the force field. “We need to get out of here before it gets worse.”


    Lyrian gritted his teeth, nodding weakly as Nyra’s drones hovered close, providing them cover.


    “Can’t argue with that…”


    Suddenly, the scarred man’s voice boomed through the room again. “You won’t capture me, Andras. Not today.” With a subtle movement, he signaled to his remaining mercenaries. The shield shimmered brighter, then collapsed inward, pulling the scarred man and his men into a protective vortex.


    Andras roared in frustration, stepping forward with reckless abandon.


    “You’re not getting away!”


    He started firing round after round into the swirling magic, but it was futile. His pulse rifles clicked empty as the vortex swallowed the mercenaries whole, and in an instant, they were gone.


    “VARYK!!”


    The name echoed off the walls, filled with a mix of rage and despair.


    His soldiers moved to pull him back, their hands gentle but firm on his shoulders. “Commander, we need to regroup. He’s gone.”


    Andras’s chest heaved with labored breaths, his eyes still locked on the spot where Varyk had disappeared.


    He finally let himself be led back, the fire in his eyes simmering but far from extinguished.