Chapter 8
The dropship's descent was like a thunderclap torn open across the sky.
Its hull split the clouds, dragging trails of fire in its wake as it pierced Gaeth-9's upper atmosphere, shedding ablative plating like dead skin. The forest trembled beneath its arrival—trees buckling, animals scattering, the air thick with ozone and scorched metal.
Kiro crouched behind the moss-choked remains of a war monument, its stone worn smooth by time and acid rain. His breath was steady. Focused.
The Blood God System pulsed within him—not a program, not a machine, but a living force. A core, now awakened. It didn't show numbers or levels. It wasn't designed to track progress.
It evolved. And it waited for blood to shape its next form.
A cold voice whispered from within:
"Slaughter the fangs of tyranny. Their essence will feed the forge."
The strike team emerged like wolves—six armored figures clad in blackened alloy, symbols of the Kruger Division burned into their pauldrons. Their armor was sleeker than standard Kargal gear—lighter, older, layered with reactive plating and wrapped in crimson mesh.
These weren't ordinary soldiers. They were Viora-users—warriors who had trained their bodies to channel an ancient energy that predated the Empire's technology. Viora was not tech. It was will made flame. Flesh made weapon.