CHAPTER 14
NAULL
The air shimmers in hell-light. I step out of the dropship’s ramp and the wind hits me like a blade—acid sand whipping across the visor, gnashing at my arms through the undersuit. The sky above the acid dunes has torn open, bleeding orange streaks and violet lightning that crack everywhere. My boots grind into crusted salt and glass shards—Rhavadaz’s version of pavement—but here, it’s war.
And there it stands.
Taller than memory allows. Legs like cathedral pillars forged of rock and steel, each stride obliterating dunes beneath. The Alpha-Titan’s joints hiss open like ancient doors—scale-plated thighs shimmering with molten light. Its head cranes downward, surveying us, the molten eyes cutting through the storm like a promise of ruin.
Beside me, Whiplash hums. Its power core vibrates underfoot. The cockpit smells of hot circuitry, coolant—even fear, if fear had a scent. And Aria sits there, in the harness, jaw set. Her fingers hover over the control rig, knuckles white. I feel her heartbeat through the Meld, racing. But I push down the sigh that—maybe—wants to pull me under.
“Ready?” I ask, voice tight behind the mic.
“Ready,” she replies. Breath coming in quick jerks, like she’s swallowed sand. “Left flank. I’ll monitor servo feedback. You pull the strike.”
Her hand flicks a switch. I feel the Meld sharpen—our minds touching, but now the barrier between us is thinner than ever. I taste electricity.
“Here we go,” I say.
Whiplash leaps. The legs crouch then power into motion. Dust erupts in plumes like the base’s death knell. I drive us toward the Titan’s right flank. The wind knocks the armor plating back and that taste of grit? It’s in my mouth now.
The Titan reacts. A hand whips upward. I shout a warning. Aria shouts in return. The cockpit vibrates, systems flashing red. My palms sweat inside the gloves, the controls slick.
“Brace!” I roar, and Whiplash slams one foot into the ground. I dig in, waist-joint screaming, amplifiers groaning.
The whips deploy. Electric arcs leap outward. I maneuver—slider to full extension, cable arms snaking across the ground like hunting serpents. The Titan’s foot lifts. I feel vibration roll into my spine like an aftershock.
“Got it,” Aria says, calm now. “Whip one is locked to the knee joint. Whip two… I’m routing through auxiliary feed. Ready on your mark.”
“Mark.”
We strike.
The cables catapult. They hook. They wrap. The current surges. I see blue-white light sizzle over the Titan’s limb. The thing roars. God, itroars. The ground shudders. My boots fail to keep grip and I slide into the footwell.
“Hold on!” Aria yells.
I swing the leg back, whip the Titan through the chest with a devastating kick. One whiplash volley. Metal screams.
But victory? Not yet.
The Titan counters.
A limb like a cathedral beam plunges in. I scramble to maneuver out of its arc. The control rig punches back at me—Whiplash thrashing. My headset skews, static snapping.
“Aria—evade—eject—NOW!” I scream.
Her hand slams the eject button. I see the capsule behind her cockpit seat pop free, its hatch sliding.
But then?—
Background explosion. Tremor. Not in the mech. In my gut.
Whiplash spins. The cable arms shred themselves. The control system flashes. Whiplash’s chassis cracks along the side—a jagged line of fire blooming like a wound.
Recorded audio: cockpit alarm shrieks.
“Aria!” I howl.
