The Triforian ships kept their tri-auric beams trained on the asteroid, cutting deep into the North wing's artillery. KO-35's vessels maintained their front-line positions, absorbing enemy fire with reinforced armor while Earth's nimble ships struck with precision, dismantling the smaller enemy craft. But even with the battle raging, Red's focus was split. She was aboard one of the Aquitarian ships, and they were hurtling toward the asteroid, bracing for a hard impact.
Through the neural link, Red felt the steady hum of her team's thoughts. Prism recalculated constantly, adapting to changing tactical conditions. Bastion's presence radiated calm and confidence, grounding her. Echo reminded her to stay flexible, fluid in the face of uncertainty. They were all prepared, but there was an underlying tension as the asteroid loomed larger in the ship's view.
Suddenly, her console blinked with a transmission. KO-35's ships had intercepted enemy communications, but this wasn't standard battle chatter. What came through the comms was raw panic.
"They're in the walls!"
"They're breaking through the hull—!"
"—it's everywhere, get them off!"
The voices were filled with terror, chaos. Red froze for a moment, listening as the sounds of screeching metal and garbled screams filled the comms. Her breath hitched at the sound—something primal and horrifying. These were the Edonite drones at work, burrowing through enemy ships, not just dismantling them, but tearing them apart from within.
The comms crackled again:
"They're in the ventilation systems—cutting through bulkheads—"
"—get it off me! Help—!"
Screams, followed by a burst of static. Then silence.
Red clenched her jaw. She had known the drones were ruthless, designed to infiltrate and destroy, but hearing the enemy's terror was something else entirely. These weren't just efficient fighters; they were weapons of fear. The enemy wasn't just being defeated—they were being broken.
"Fighters have breached several ships," Aegis noted, his tone level. "The enemy is in disarray."
More intercepted transmissions followed, each more panicked than the last. The screams became a backdrop to the tactical updates, the sounds of the enemy being torn apart from the inside, physically and psychologically overwhelmed by the drones burrowing through their ships.
"—they're everywhere—"
"—can't stop them—"
Each transmission cut off abruptly, replaced by static or silence. The psychological damage was palpable, echoing in the fractured enemy formations on Red's tactical display. Their once-coordinated movements had faltered, ships drifting as their systems failed and their crews succumbed to the horror of the Edonite swarm. They weren't just losing the battle—they were falling apart.
But Red couldn't dwell on it. Her ship was seconds away from impact.
The asteroid loomed larger on the viewscreen, and Red braced herself. She knew this moment was coming—the Aquitarian ships weren't designed for elegance or grace. They were made for this: to crash into the asteroid, to burrow deep and breach its defenses. But knowing didn't make it easier.
Her hands gripped the edges of the console as the ship hurtled toward the asteroid. The last message cut off—a scream, followed by a violent burst of static—just as the ship slammed into the surface.
Impact.
The force of the collision rattled Red to her core. The ship groaned, metal grinding against stone as it tore through the asteroid's surface. Red felt the shockwave reverberate through her body, the lights flickering as the ship dug deep into the rock. The sound of the impact roared in her ears, shaking the walls, leaving her breathless.
The Aquitarian ship embedded itself in the asteroid's crust, pushing through with the last vestiges of its momentum. Red clenched her teeth, steadying herself as the ship ground to a halt, the vibrations still buzzing underfoot.
Her body ached from the impact, but they were in.
"We're in," Aegis confirmed. "Structural integrity holding."
Red pushed herself upright, muscles protesting from the jarring impact. The ship wasn't destroyed. Though parts of the hull were exposed, doors jammed, and sections damaged, they had survived the crash. They had made it.
"We can use this," she murmured, eyes scanning the data feed. "The ship's intact. We can turn this into a fortified position."
Prism's tactical insights flickered through the neural link, offering defensive setups for choke points. Bastion's steady presence fortified her resolve, while Echo's calm reassured her that they were still adaptable. The ship, now embedded in the asteroid, wasn't just a tool for breaching—it was their foothold.
Red couldn't shake the heaviness in her chest. The intercepted transmissions from the enemy still echoed in her mind. The terror, the panic—it had been too real, too visceral.
"Deploy defenses," she ordered. "We hold this ground."
Her team moved swiftly, setting up automated defense platforms and securing the ship's position. Red's attention remained sharp, but the silence from Blue weighed on her. His last communication had been garbled, distorted by interference, and now he was unreachable. He should have re-established contact by now.
"Aegis, any word from Blue?" she asked, her voice tight with tension.
"Still no word," Aegis replied, his tone controlled. "Interference remains."
Red felt a tightening in her chest. She trusted Blue—she had to. But the longer the silence stretched, the more it gnawed at her.
"We press forward," she said, steeling herself. "Target the remaining defenses. We take this asteroid."
The alliance fleet, taking advantage of the chaos caused by the drones, surged ahead. The enemy's fleet was collapsing, their ships drifting, their formations shattered. But even as they closed in on victory, Red couldn't shake the gnawing unease about Blue's silence.
She had to trust him. There was no other choice.