The return journey was never quite settled, as persistent attacks from the Styx rattle the ship at unpredictable intervals. Thankfully the fleet's crew handled each threat allowing the wary knights to rest.
Gilbert, though, felt like turbulence as he kept trying to approach the quarantine zone. His presence was continuously met with silent resistance from the stationed guards, who eyed the young Lorelai warily.
Finally, after many failed attempts, he settled between William and Anastasia, as he exhaled letting the frustration settle.
His gaze flicked toward Adam, who was quiet as always.
"Adam, what's it like on the watch?" Gilbert finally asked, his voice calmer now, still lingering with exhaustion. The rest of the squad perked up at that question as they looked towards the only member of the squad to ever be stationed there.
Adam didn't answer immediately.
He ran his hand over his sniper rifle, as his mind wandered to his time in the nest.
"It's quiet. Until it isn't."
The squad listened, unmoving, absorbing his words in silence.
"It's not like our other missions outside. The air there is permeated with the stillness of death. And when you are finally spotted by Styx?"
He exhaled slowly, as his eyes lost focus for a few seconds.
"They are endless. You don't stop for recovery. You fight, then fight some more then suddenly it ends."
"And then they come again."
Adam shifted his rifle slightly, rolling his shoulders before adding:
"Rumor has it, at the deepest part of the trench, there exist three Tier I or a Tier X Styx. They are the reason that we require at least one Dread Marine to watch over the area."
His voice remained steady and unshaken as finished.
"Our job down there is but a singular objective kill as many as they come with fifteen 15-minute breaks when possible but you do not retreat until your shift down there is over regardless of the tier of Styx you run into."
The squad remained silent, for the rest of the trip. As they traveled the Citadel loomed ahead on their monitors smoke was rising from all around and at many places, the ground was scorched black even now fights could be seen happening all around the Citadel especially closer to the nest.
As the ship touched down, the monitor flickered to life, revealing Major Cade's image, he was still in his armor but his helmet was nowhere to be seen. His expression was unreadable.
"All squads are dismissed for rest until one week later when we deploy once more. Good work for the past few days, White Horns our inaugural battle went well by my standards."
The ramps lowered, the ship settling onto the landing bay, the Citadel's spires causing long shadows over the gathered fleet.
Edward moved first, leading his unit, Lorelai enclosed in a small metal box with glass walls her small frame a stark contrast to the floating contraption.
Gilbert's breath paused, his body tensing involuntarily at the sight. He forced himself to keep his breath steady then lifted his hand, motioning a simple wave just enough for her to see.
Lorelai's eyes met his, her small hands pressed against the glass.
As Gilbert led his squad down the ramp the atmosphere in the Citadel had changed from when they had departed. More knight squads moved in waves, formations shifting as ships landed and launched in rapid succession. The hum of engines help dampened the distant but mistakable sounds of battle on the far horizon.
Gilbert's squad adjusted their pace, ensuring they didn't obstruct the flow of troops until everything froze.
A large barrier opened up around the Citadel as alarms blared and all ships that were taking off or due to take ended up being grounded as the air shook.
A brilliant deep purple light erupted over the trench which they called the nest, casting elongated shadows across the Citadel's black stone and metallic surface.
Then came a deafening roar.
It tore through the air, shaking eardrums, and rattling armor, sending an undeniable chill down the spine of every knight present.
The Styx could only be described as a dragon, its red metallic scales gleaming, reflecting the evening sun its massive form could be seen even from miles away one of its wings seemingly capable of blocking out the sky.
As it unleashed a wave of fire, a counterforce answered from the sky.
The purple light condensed, shrinking into a single blazing point, the energy so intensely focused it caused the atmosphere around it to shudder.
The two deep purple lines split the fire, dividing the inferno as they tore through the dragon's flesh cutting through the scales that they had seen as impenetrable.
The purple line then moved with relentless precision targeting every vital point.
By the time the assault had ended, its pattern had etched what seemed to be lotus into the dragon spreading across its massive frame.
And then explosions started erupting throughout its frame causing it to succumb to gravity falling towards the ground.
Gilbert frightened by what he had seen hurriedly threw on his helmet and used it to zoom into the still glowing point of light.
This was the most detailed armor he had seen, it was black with purple and red, layered with iconography, ferns, lotus with thorns and markings woven into its plating with unnerving precision.
The helmet, a crown or perhaps a halo, defied the conventional design, instead of a full face visor it featured a mask-like structure enhanced by four lenses, two burning crimson while the others sat smaller, positioned above, accompanied by a reinforced jaw piece. A blood-red glow coursed through the circuits.
The pauldrons featured a dragon breathing purple flames meanwhile the other featured three pairs of dragon wings. The chest plate featured a flying dragon across the width.
As Gilbert observed the Knights armor something else he saw caused his breath to hitch. It was a cape but one that he would never forget.
Short, fluttering in the disturbed air, marked by a stenciled dragon.
His heart pounded he could recognize that helmet anywhere it was General Beckett, the dean of the academy and also his mentor.
Beckett held two war axes crackling with purple lighting as he raced towards the falling dragon but before he could engage it once more two roars came from different directions as more flame was launched in his direction forcing him to defend himself from their high temperatures.
Kean held onto Anastasia, his breath uneven as he pointed toward the battlefield, his mind struggling to process the scene before him.
"Tha-that's…. how-who-"
The words tangled together lost in disbelief.
For once Vivian didn't mock his reaction. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant figure, her voice low, reverent, as she answered.
"That is a Dread Marine."
Her words landed with weight as the entire squad even the overly composed Adam took deep breaths.
"Now you understand why they hardly fight on the planet. Even from here, while the Citadel itself can withstand this level of destruction-"
She paused, using the chance to watch the ongoing devastation even more intently.
"Nothing around the area where the fighting is occurring will be able to survive."
Aisling who was not far from them with her squad overheard Vivian's words and chimed in
"Dread Marines aren't just a miracle of human evolution," she said, stepping slightly closer, her squad to focus on the fight to follow her.
"They are also some of the most advanced weapons which the Federation has ever created. According to rumors a single Dread Marine armor cost the same as an entire Marine Knight platoon"
Gilbert stood among them not hearing a word they said his eyes locked on the sky, watching as two more dragons emerged, their metallic scales glinting against the chaos of the battlefield.
The first dragon spread its wings wide, its silver form sleek yet massive, electricity crackling along its edges like a barely contained storm.
The second heavier, its sheer size overwhelming- had black jagged plating, its claws cutting through the air with unnatural precision, with a glow shining beneath its ribs.
In the face of their dual assault, General Beckett remained unwavering, his sigils burning steadily, his stance neither defensive nor reckless as if he had foreseen this moment.
With an effortless grace, he secured his axes to his waist, then reached out- catching something midair, its shape was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Gilbert's visor zoomed in, taking in the weapon-
A canon, but one unlike anything he had ever seen before, heavy and cylindrical with intricate golden etchings resembling patterns of lightning and fire with purple glowing circuits. The muzzle features a split trident shape with reinforced metallic grips also featuring ceremonial engravings.
The instant Beckett gripped it, a surge of energy built within its core, crackling before it erupted, releasing a storm of pure force.
The barrage overwhelmed the dragon's flames, tearing through their assault, forcing them back- their massive forms struggling against the sheer onslaught of energy.
The force could even be felt at the Citadel sending small ripples throughout the energy shield.
Then- without hesitation- Beckett released the cannon, letting it drift as he shifted.
His hand found a metal cylinder at his waist, and in an instant, it expanded, morphing into a javelin. Its surface crackled with lighting power thrumming beneath its sleek form.
He launched it- the weapon streaking toward the black dragon, its trajectory accompanied by a thin purple line of light, linking Beckett to the massive beast in an instant.
The moment of impact resulted in a flare of expanding cobweb of purple lighting, as the weapon pierced its flesh.
The dragon's body convulsed, its metallic scales cracking, lighting shredded through its massive frame, the shockwaves traveling deep into it forcing it into a downward spiral.
Beckett plunged downward, his dual axes carving deep into the Styx dragon's flesh, the sheer force splitting scales like prime rib beneath a master's blade.
The beast's roar tore through the battlefield, shaking the very air, its pain rippling outward in waves that pressed against every soldier's eardrums.
Just as Beckett prepared to deliver the final execution, the red dragon—its presence returning like an omen—shot upward from below, its massive form rising behind its collapsing companion.
The attack was coordinated, its tail whipping forward, batting Beckett away from his intended kill, the impact sending a ripple of force through the air.
But the Styx wasn't done.
It followed through with a crushing claw strike, its talons descending like the weight of a mountain, ready to tear through Beckett in one decisive motion.
Yet—none landed fully.
Because Beckett, with inhuman reflexes, raised his axes, deflecting each blow in rapid succession, the strikes sending sparks flying as steel met the unrelenting force of alien fury.