Chapter 89: The Point of no Return, II
Lucien stood alone before the panic room vault, his breathing ragged, his armor fractured and scorched. Green thread-light flickered weakly across his limbs, struggling to hold its form. His double-bladed sword, now chipped and cracked, hung from his hand like dead weight.
The walls around him bore deep gouges where earlier clashes had torn through steel like paper.
Then came the next wave.
Seven aliens surged from the smoke. They struck with terrifying coordination. The first slammed Lucien backward, crushing his ribs beneath a brutal punch. Another clipped his leg–knee buckling, balance lost. The third locked his right arm mid-swing—Lucien’s double-bladed sword shuddered in the air before clattering across the floor with a shriek.
The others moved in tandem. One wrapped violet thread-light tendrils around his throat. Another planted its hand into Lucien’s chest, raw energy sparking against his armor’s weakened plates. Another came and drove him to the floor—hard. The ground cratered beneath him.
Lucien growled—he tried to budge but two more held him down.
He was pinned. Held down by six inhuman constructs. Their faceless heads hovered inches from him, gears-clocks orbiting in their palms—glowing, ever-turning, violet energy.
The last one stepped forward from the far end of the corridor, raising its hand. Its gear-clock began to spin—slow at first, then unnaturally fast. His palm building with sickening violet intensity.
One of the alien’s forced Lucien to turn his head, just slightly, enough to see.
The reinforced panic room—the vault. The only place left that reminded him of the past.
Then—