"What are we to do?"
"I am a prisoner! I never received a weapon!"
"What else can we do? We must hold our ground!"
"I have no gun! I have no gun! I have no gun!"
"I'll man the turret; take my laser rifle!"
Some prisoners still clung to life, armed only with tools such as shovels and hammers. These clever individuals understood the necessity of finding nearby soldiers and fighting alongside them—this instinct for survival was their salvation.
The fixed turrets within the bunker unleashed tongues of flame half a meter long, as laser beams erupted from the firing slots. The presence of these individuals greatly alleviated Qin Mo's burden; he no longer needed to clear the enemy infantry but only to target those among the rebels who bore explosives and remain vigilant for any armored vehicles.
Yet the enemy was numerous, and it was only a matter of time before they pressed upon the bunker. Qin Mo realized he must prepare for close-quarters combat. As he attacked the enemy, he surveyed the battlefield.
He was uncertain when Karon had fallen, his staff now embedded in the ground among a pile of corpses. A chainsaw sword stood upright within the carnage.
Qin Mo extended his hand.
Both weapons levitated, spinning as they soared into the bunker and landed at his feet.
This was telekinesis, his third ability aside from unleashing fire and lightning.
Not only was he focused on his own survival, but he also prioritized the safety of others. Using his telekinesis, he manipulated scattered weapons on the battlefield, retrieving bulletproof vests to distribute among his comrades. These vests, intended for planetary defense troops, lacked the quality of those used by the Starbound Army but still provided a degree of ballistic protection—though they would shatter after absorbing only a few hits.
In addition to the vests, Qin Mo gathered bayonets and additional laser rifles. These rifles were submodels of the M35, capable of accommodating longer bayonets.
As Qin Mo concentrated on the battle and preparations, the sound of artillery fire reverberated from afar.
"It's over," the combatants murmured, glancing skyward.
All huddled within the unfinished bunker, vulnerable to annihilation should a shell fall among them.
"Focus on the fight!" Qin Mo shouted, forcing himself to concentrate even as he raised his gaze to the heavens.
The shells were already en route, and Qin Mo sensed them all—twenty in total.
These shells did not move as a cohesive unit, making it troublesome for him to employ his final ability.
After a moment's hesitation, he redirected his attention from the shells to the surrounding air.
The shells descended but did not penetrate the air ahead; instead, they detonated mid-flight as if crashing to the ground.
Qin Mo distorted the physical laws governing a portion of the air, temporarily rendering it as solid as metal. This was his final ability, in addition to conjuring lightning, fire, and telekinesis.
Those who had survived—Qin Mo, the soldiers, and the prisoners—now faced yet another trial.
The rebel soldiers had suffered heavy losses in their exchange of fire; they resolved to launch a charge that would overwhelm the remaining defenders. Thus, they affixed bayonets to their laser rifles.
"How much ammunition do we have left?" Qin Mo inquired of the others.
"Report: we are out."
At this reply, Qin Mo fell silent and spread his arms wide.
The chainsaw sword lying on the ground rose into the air, its hilt landing in his right hand while the staff was grasped in his left.
The surviving soldiers silently lifted their laser rifles, also attaching bayonets, while the untrained prisoners seized hammers and shovels as their makeshift weapons.
Before the melee began, Qin Mo gazed at the advancing enemy, wishing to utter something rallying to uplift morale, but he was not skilled in oratory and could not formulate an inspiring phrase.
However, at this moment, such stirring words were unnecessary; Qin Mo understood that those fighting alongside him needed merely a rallying cry.
"It is my honor to fight alongside you," Qin Mo declared, pressing the button on the hilt of his chainsaw sword, its serrated edges roaring to life. "For the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor!"
Everyone roared as they surged from the bunker.
One prisoner, brandishing a shovel, sprinted ahead, quickly disappearing into the throng of rebel soldiers.
Qin Mo could not concern himself with anyone else; he propelled himself forward, leaping into the heart of the enemy ranks.
His right hand wielded the chainsaw sword, cleaving through foes, while his left hand raised the staff, slamming it against the ground.
A firestorm erupted, clearing a swath of space around him. This void was quickly filled by the approaching rebel soldiers, only to collide with the lightning that followed in its wake.
"Kill him with a bomb!"
"For the Savior!"
Upon hearing the shouts, Qin Mo turned, pointing his staff toward the source of the cries. A bolt of lightning shot forth from the double-headed eagle emblem, piercing through all the enemies laden with explosives, as well as those behind them.
This exhilarating sensation of wielding extraordinary power against hundreds invigorated Qin Mo; he failed to notice that the staff did not amplify his abilities but merely extended his reach.
"Artillery strike them!"
As he dispatched another enemy, Qin Mo suddenly heard a furious roar.
"But our comrades..."
"Artillery strike them!"
Panic seized Qin Mo; he could not wholly concentrate on altering the laws of physics, which meant the artillery would inevitably fall nearby.
Yet as he fretted, a flash erupted in the distance, followed by the thunderous roar of an explosion.
Somewhere in the rebel-occupied territory had been obliterated; whatever it was, it was critically important to them, for all the rebels raced toward the site of the blast.
Even as Qin Mo's chainsaw sword cleaved into an enemy's skull, that foe continued charging toward the site of the explosion, oblivious to the mortal wound.
When the last trace of the rebels vanished, the battle came to a close.
"Damn..." Qin Mo collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as he surveyed the surroundings for any surviving souls.
The few who remained trudged toward him, collapsing beside him in exhaustion.
Initially, around two hundred had entered the bunker, but now fewer than twenty were left.
"Gray," a young soldier stepped forward, saluting Qin Mo with the Eagle salute. "What shall we do next?"
"You ask me?" Qin Mo replied, taken aback.
After all, he was merely a prisoner, a psychic one at that; it was unexpected for these soldiers to seek his counsel.
Upon hearing Qin Mo's confusion, Gray and the other survivors shared similar sentiments, realizing they ought not to heed his orders.
Yet theory and practice diverged, and the situation demanded action.
"Allow me a moment to think," Qin Mo said, unwilling to abandon his comrades; he not only wished to survive but also to shed his identity as a prisoner.
"That thing around your neck," Gray pointed at Qin Mo's collar. "Is it not affecting you? Should it be removed?"
"What?" Qin Mo blinked, raising a hand to feel the collar around his neck, suddenly recalling the energy-suppressing device constricting him.