"Evac protocol. Formation Delta. Move."
Alarms blared through the corridors like the death-screams of beasts. From deep within the installation, the pounding of armored footfalls echoed—heavy, relentless. Shadowscourge infantry. But not just any detachment.
From secured vaults, modified Shadowscourge handlers emerged—elite specialists designed for a singular purpose: track and eliminate traitors. Each one bore neural uplinks to their Scourgehounds, eight-limbed horrors bred for pursuit. The handlers moved with mechanical discipline, whispering commands into their helm-link, feeding coordinates and kill-orders directly into the huntpack's hive-thread.
No hesitation. No conversation. Just obedience. Just execution.
In the infiltration tunnels, Elan moved with purpose, sweeping corners as the team followed in tight formation.
"They've locked us out of the upper vents," Kael reported. "Only viable exit is through the vent shaft in sector nine."
"Detonate and drop," Elan ordered. "Zhenira, cushion the fall."
Kael primed the charge. The vent wall blew inward with a clean blast. The team dove, gravity buckling around them as Zhenira bent the psionic field to slow their descent.
They hit the maintenance deck hard. No time to regroup.
A new alarm sounded—deeper, pulsing through the metal like a war drum.
Tahlir's eyes went wide. "Planet-wide alert. They've unleashed the tracking division. Modified Shadowscourge—Scourgehounds inbound."
Elan checked the route on his wristband. "We cut through the manufactorium sector. Zhenira, blur our trail. Kael, traps on the fallback corridor."
They ran.
Behind them, the first Scourgehounds hissed into the tunnels—bone-armored predators with black chitin claws and fraying tongues of psionic heat. Their handlers, masked in runic helms and armored in layered obsidian plate, coordinated their pursuit with eerie silence.
One handler raised two fingers, feeding a command pulse into the beasts. The lead hound surged forward, snarling, loping down corridors with impossible speed, guided by scent, neural trace, and soulprint residue.
The Chase
The infiltration team stormed through abandoned foundries and dormant plasma forges. Overhead, sentry drones blinked to life. Elan dropped two mid-sprint. Kael flung a gravity mine behind them—its eruption crushed a corridor as Scourgehounds tried to leap through.
"Won't hold them long," Kael warned. "They'll adapt."
"They always do," Elan muttered.
Psionic tracer rounds lit up behind them. One caught Tahlir in the leg—he stumbled. Zhenira grabbed him, surging psionic energy into his muscles.
"Keep moving," Elan barked.
They burst out onto the canyon ridge.
Below, nestled in a bed of broken shadows, their stealth vessel—the Veilborn—waited, barely visible beneath its cloaking field.
"There," Zhenira breathed. "I'm dropping the shield—now!"
The ship shimmered into view as more hounds crested the ridge.
A Scourgehound lunged—Elan met it mid-air, slamming his blade into its throat. Kael hauled Tahlir toward the ramp. Zhenira turned, summoning a psionic wave that knocked two more beasts back into the ravine.
One handler raised a disruptor wand, marking the Veilborn's hull with a death pulse.
"Inside!" Elan shouted.
They leapt aboard as the hatch sealed behind them. The handler gave the final surge command. The Scourgehounds threw themselves at the hull—too late.
"Hard burn!" Elan ordered.
The Veilborn launched, engines shrieking, slicing through the stratosphere. Plasma fire raked the clouds as they skimmed beneath the orbital net.
Inside, the team collapsed into crash harnesses.
Tahlir clutched the encrypted core. "They're not just invading Zelith space. They're reawakening the deep fleets. Mobilizing genocidal protocols."
Elan stood at the viewport as Akaris V burned behind them.
"We brought back the truth," he said quietly. "Now we turn it into fire."