The Lugger crawled slowly across the jagged plains of R22, its thick treads grinding through iron-bark roots and bone-dry Kaiju remains scattered like ancient relics. Strapped across its armored back was the carcass of the hunched Kaiju—now missing half its face from Kael's plasma lance and half its spine from Tyren's brawling crush.
The moment they arrived at the base camp, extraction crews and scanners moved in with practiced urgency.
Kael climbed out of Ravager, limping slightly as he held his injured left arm close. Tyren followed, stretching his neck and rubbing at the deep red bruise forming across his jaw. Despite the pain, they both watched the dissection begin.
What came next stopped even the most hardened crew members in their tracks.
"Sir, this isn't… this isn't just a naturally hunched creature," one of the med-techs reported, voice trembling. "It's… it's been attacked."
Kael turned to face the man, narrowing his eyes. "Attacked? By what?"
"Not what. Who." The man tapped a screen that displayed internal scans of the Kaiju's back. "See this? These aren't signs of deformity. These are claw wounds. Deep, deliberate… and recent."
Tyren stepped in, frowning. "You mean it was running from something?"
"Or used as bait," Kael muttered.
Suddenly, the implications shifted. The Kaiju weren't just hunting each other like apex predators—they were part of something more.
Maybe a hierarchy.
Maybe a war.
---
Back on the battleship, Ryssa sat at the edge of the mission chamber, eyes wide as the new data flickered across her interface. She clenched her jaw as the analysis team briefed her.
"This isn't random evolution," one officer said. "Something is controlling the Kaiju on R22. Possibly even… mutating them."
That was all Ryssa needed.
Minutes later, she slammed her hand on the table and stood tall.
"I'm going down there."
The room went silent.
"General," one of the techs said cautiously, "with all due respect, your position doesn't require—"
"I don't care what it requires. I'm not sitting up here while those two risk everything on a planet crawling with unknown horrors."
She was burning with energy. Not just because of Kael—but because something real was finally happening. Not politics. Not reports. Real stakes.
A real enemy.
And she wanted in.
---
Within hours, a new strike squad was assembled.
Five elite mecha pilots, personally selected by Ryssa. Not just soldiers—specialists. Scanners. Artillery. Recon.
Kael and Tyren would lead.
Ryssa would command.
Their mission: to uncover the truth behind the Kaiju's behavior, follow the trail left by the mutilated beast—and hunt down whatever was strong enough to wound a creature that large.
---
Back on R22…
Kael stood at the edge of the base, staring into the dim horizon. His left arm was wrapped in a bioskin bandage, his face shadowed by the pale flicker of the lightning veins that occasionally ripped across the cloudy sky. R22 was darker now—less like night, more like a permanent eclipse.
Tyren walked up beside him, sipping synthetic coffee from a pouch.
"Ryssa's coming."
Kael didn't react.
"She's bringing a whole squad. Looks like they're giving us a promotion without the pay."
Kael finally spoke, voice low. "We don't need more people down here. More people means more to protect."
Tyren shrugged. "We're not the old 404 anymore. You're famous, Kael. Deal with it."
Kael didn't respond. He stared harder into the horizon.
And just as he was about to turn back, he saw it.
Not movement.
Not a shape.
Just the unmistakable silhouette of a clawed ridge, half a mile away—freshly car
ved into the side of a hill.
Another warning.
Another message.
Or maybe an invitation.