The skies above Venter darkened not from storm or bombardment—but from flame.
They came without warning, burning through the cloud banks like divine retribution. The Inferno Squad, the Zelith Empire's most feared executioners, descended in streaks of scarlet plasma, their vessels sheathed in ablative scales of gold and obsidian. Only one man held the power and conviction to summon them:
High General Vrakhar.
From the high command citadel on Zelith Prime, Vrakhar had watched the escalating reports from Venter with growing unease—civilian memory fragmentation, strategic inconsistencies, Mahasimu pullbacks that felt calculated rather than repelled. When Admiral Tyven relayed his suspicion that something darker had landed behind enemy lines, Vrakhar issued a classified order.
"Inferno Protocol: activate. Deploy to Venter."
To those below, their arrival signaled one thing:
The true war had begun.
Commander Vekra stood rigid at the outer defense spire, visor peeled back as the flame-slicked drop craft screamed toward the surface. His command staff gathered behind him in hushed dread.
"They sent the Inferno?" one officer whispered, her voice tight with disbelief.
"They did," Vekra replied, his voice tight. "Which means High General Vrakhar believes this is no standard Mahasimu assault."
The crafts landed with seismic force outside the planetary bastion, kicking up irradiated dust as their hatches folded open. Out strode a squad of ten—each one adorned in crimson-sable armor laced with celestial runes, helms glowing faintly from within. No insignia. No names. Their presence was enough.
The squad leader, a towering figure with braided bone charms hanging from his armor, stepped forward and said only:
"We are authorized for unrestricted authority. Turn over all rescued civilian data and recovered personnel."
Commander Vekra's jaw clenched. "Of course."
They were escorted to the internal databanks. There were only 1,512 survivors accounted for—many unstable, with memories fractured by trauma, neural shock, or likely psychic manipulation. The Inferno Squad reviewed each record, each vital scan, with the scrutiny of predators. No detail went overlooked. Their eyes were trained to spot the hidden rot.
Ruthen's Contingency
In the damp, flickering depths of the infiltration base—a broken aqueduct network twisted into a covert command center—Ruthen stood over the activated console, her scarred fingers dancing across neural glyphs. Esh'tal curled nearby like a coiled nightmare, its mandibles twitching in the half-light. The Thal'Karn's chitin shimmered with a rippling sheen, absorbing ambient noise as if drinking it.
When the transmission came, Ruthen barely moved. Her neural gauntlet flared softly, syncing Esh'tal's mental state to her own.
"Inferno is here," she muttered, voice low and rasped from old chemical scarring. "So Vrakhar thinks we're more than a shadow."
She turned to the secure hololith where Tamun and Je'ka waited, their features hardened by days of calculated deceit.
"You've played your part well," Ruthen said, her voice cold. "Now for Phase Two."
She uploaded a detailed infiltration route for the next stage—implanting neural relay seeds into key Zelith comms nodes under the guise of civilian inspection. Tamun's cover as a logistic aide and Je'ka's as a language analyst would provide access.
"But if the Inferno suspect either of you…" she paused, glancing at Esh'tal, whose eyes pulsed with otherworldly hunger. "…don't let them interrogate you. Death is a mercy compared to what they'll do."
Tamun gave a respectful nod. "We will not fail."
The Council's Deliberation
In the vaulted sanctum of the High Council—beneath star-charts older than recorded time and guardian statues etched in celestial obsidian—the tension from Venter had finally reached critical mass.
High General Vrakhar's activation of the Inferno Squad without pre-council approval sent a message even before his report arrived. The High Council met to determine the next course of action.
Elder Xiran, one of the few surviving founders of the modern Zelith military doctrine, stood from the Council dais.
"I will go to Venter," Xiran declared. "And I will take the Praetorium Guard with me."
There was a ripple of apprehension, but no challenge. Xiran was ancient, battle-tested, and renowned for his incorruptible discipline. If anyone could determine the true stakes on Venter, it was him.
"And the Great Crypts?" another elder asked.
Xiran's gaze lingered on the sealed vault schematics hovering in midair—deep beneath the capital, sealed in seven layers of oath-bindings and grav-locks.
"Not yet," he replied. "We do not unmake the world to save it… unless we must."
Still, the vote passed. If Venter fell, or if the Inferno failed—the Crypts would open.
Assembly of Fire and Shadow
In the war room aboard Voidspire, a volatile silence brewed. Admiral Kia stood at the central holo-table, arms behind her back, crimson visor flickering with tracking data. Vaelora's projection—tall, veiled in tendrils of psionic shadow—hovered across from her, the blackened sigils of the Whisperer caste glowing along her robes.
"Our space assault succeeded," Kia said. "Tyven is forced to split his forces. But he's digging in. If Vekra finds our agents, they'll be executed. Quickly."
Vaelora nodded. "Then phase two must succeed before Tyven learns to fear shadows, not fire."
"You've gambled a lot on your… attendants," Kia added with subtle disdain.
Vaelora's expression never shifted. "Fear and loyalty make excellent seeds. Ruthen has ensured they're useful."
"And what of the Inferno?" Vice General Tano, flanking Kia, growled. "We've seen them purge entire systems. If they learn of Esh'tal—"
"They will not," Vaelora said coldly. "Not before it's too late."
Kia exhaled, annoyed but impressed. "Then we hold the blockade. Venter burns slowly. Let the Zelith play defense while we hollow them from within."
As the holograms faded, the space between the Mahasimu vessels crackled with darklight pulses. The Voidspire's dread batteries churned energy for renewed bombardment—only to be halted at the last moment. The plan required subtlety now.
The storm had passed, but the poison had already seeped in.