Pain rippled through every fiber of my being. My muscles screamed, tendons strained like they were on the verge of tearing apart. The suit, though powerful, was beginning to exact its price on my body. I had minutes—maybe seconds—before collapse.
I needed to end this.
Across the skyline, smoke billowed like thunderclouds. The battlefield below burned in chaos, but most civilians—78% according to our last transmission—had reached bunkers. Our evacuation teams had done well. Meanwhile, the new suits were being dispatched to our allied forces fighting Rikapud soldiers on their home front. A counterbalance. A spark of hope.
But first, I had to survive this.
The Rikapud soldier emerged from the smoke. Tall. Silent. Encased in sleek armor that shimmered like oil. No insignia. No emotion. Just movement—swift and clinical.
We clashed.
The first blows were measured. I kept my suit's output low, letting my systems record and adapt to his patterns. He was good—disciplined, mechanical, but not invincible.
Then he threw me.
I crashed through a tower, metal groaning, glass erupting around me. My vision blinked black for a second. But I rose. Calmly, I increased power—just enough to push back, to overpower his next series of strikes. Every punch, every kick, every dodge—it was all captured and analyzed in real-time.
"Record engagement. Isolate weak points. Prioritize capture."
The Rikapud soldier began to falter, slightly—subtle hesitations, predictable weight shifts. I didn't aim to destroy him. I needed him alive—or at least functional—for analysis. If we could reverse-engineer his tech, we could evolve. Survive.
But my body had limits. Every movement felt like dragging knives through my bones. The suit, even with its advanced stress dampeners, was not enough to mask the pain anymore.
I launched my final strike—a calculated surge of power to disable his central motor functions. He crumbled.
Then I fell to one knee.
"Suit… retreat mode. Return to base."
Back at headquarters, reports streamed in.
The fighting had stretched into days. Our cities had suffered—but held. Casualties mounted, but hope remained intact.
Then, the message came through: The package has arrived.
Our infiltration team on Rikapud had succeeded. They'd struck key infrastructure—power plants, communication hubs—surgically and quietly. Not enough to annihilate, but enough to weaken. The Rikapud had no choice but to shift from attack to defense.
It wasn't victory. But it was balance.
For now.
We used the lull to regroup. Reinforce. I was undergoing emergency physical therapy, my body heavily bandaged, muscles soaked in regenerative fluids. But I wasn't resting.
We began designing new self-defense protocols for Earth. Autonomous satellites, planetary shields, and anti-warp cannons. In case the next warship didn't knock first.
There was too much at stake. Too many lives. Too much love.
And I had one job.
Protect it all.
Whatever the cost.
My mom, Nkhensani...