As the soulless entity charged towards him, Quavian remained unfazed.
The interstellar soldiers and fortifications began rallying towards the arena. It was futile to attempt a decapitation strike without heavy weaponry.
Quavian had faced far deadlier opponents in close combat—the terrifying rivals of the oath-breaking warband leader. One such rival had cleared an entire frigate within five months, possessing speed, endurance, and combat skill beyond measure, yet even he had met his end.
He doubted this soulless creature could be stronger... until the sudden emergence of a powered exoskeleton on the battlefield shattered that conviction.
This war machine rampaged, slaughtering any adversary within sight. Light beams and laser shrapnel rained down like deadly hail, annihilating all with ruthless efficiency. Beam after beam pierced through armor and struck down the assault aircraft hovering above the arena.
Even more fearsome was its simultaneous onslaught, firing laser shrapnel from its arms while shoulder-mounted cannons discharged beams and bolts.
Beside Quavian, Mogriva pondered further, admiring the designer's ambition. This exoskeleton was crafted to dominate a battlefield single-handedly, to ensure the near-certain success of even the most precarious missions.
Regret flooded Quavian as he realized his misstep in returning to the arena; had he known of this armor's presence, he would never have come back.
"Mogriva," Quavian turned to him, "you may well have doomed me."
Mogriva recalled his own assessment of the soulless one's combat strength, the assurance he gave Quavian that had convinced him to return. He hadn't expected this exoskeleton to appear from thin air.
"Get out of here." Mogriva unshouldered his hand-crafted thermal cannon and moved in front of Quavian, preparing to block the soulless creature's path before the exoskeleton could arrive.
At least this one lacked such armor.
Quavian, barely enduring the torment and bloodlust gnawing at him, quickened his pace towards the transport.
By now, enemies encircling Chen Ye and his team in the arena had been eliminated, and the Guardian armor transmitted a signal to the celestial engine, then moved towards Yaon's position.
Receiving the signal, the celestial engine launched a teleportation device to the arena, encasing all survivors in a vast barrier and, within moments, whisking them a hundred kilometers away.
Yaon closed in on the dais, the Guardian armor catching up to him and opening its shell to arm him while he continued his rapid pace. As the shell sealed shut, the jetpack activated, propelling him fifty meters up to the platform.
"Why does the galaxy house a killing machine like you?" Mogriva demanded, glaring at Yaon.
Yaon pondered this question in half a millisecond.
Guardians were not meant to exist; no species in the galaxy could craft a super-soldier to rival them. The transformation process hinged upon violently distorted local physics. Neither biology nor mechanics was rejected; the soul was retained.
"I simply underwent a baptism," Yaon replied.
With the answer in mind, Mogriva instantly raised his thermal cannon and opened fire.
Yaon activated bullet time in that very instant, dodging to Mogriva's rear, driving a blazing longblade through his abdomen.
Hearing the blade's bite into flesh, Quavian, still sprinting towards the transport, glanced back at the sight of Mogriva, now ablaze only fifty meters away, armor and all turning to fuel for the consuming fire.
Abandoning the transport, Quavian darted through the foundry's narrow corridors, hoping to elude death's pursuit.
Unbeknownst to him, his attempts to hide were meaningless; he was well within bio-scanning range.
Desperate, Quavian threw his subordinates in Yaon's path, but Yaon, firing with pinpoint accuracy, felled each in his way, remaining untouched by a hail of exploding rounds.
After exhausting every ploy to no avail, Quavian surrendered, pausing at an intersection.
Yaon had no intention of executing Quavian and the others from a distance. He closed in on Quavian, wielding the longblade conjured in the arena.
"Do you realize what you've done?" Quavian bellowed, eyes blazing with frustration. "You stopped a miracle's birth!"
Had the ritual succeeded, a great demon and its blood-letting kin would have been summoned to the Foundry World, transforming the tide of war.
Quavian, steeped in bitter despair, lamented aloud. "You've undone the ritual...you've wasted oceans of blood, countless days of my work… I've spent a lifetime mastering these rites!"
"Thank you for the compliments," Yaon replied with a bemused nod.
To Yaon, Quavian's tirade was praise indeed; his actions had thwarted the ritual, rendering his enemy's occult efforts futile.
Now, to eliminate the dark apostle who understood these rites… Yaon could scarcely imagine the accolades awaiting him upon his return to Tylon.
Quavian continued to vent, weaving dark curses and cryptic invective, until his mouth was silenced by Yaon's blazing longblade, which ignited his body and soul alike.
"Done." Satisfied, Yaon retracted his blade.
In that instant, he felt the gaze that had observed him lift away. The pendant suspended from his neck fell, and the blazing blade in his hand dissolved atom by atom.
He surveyed his surroundings; soldiers within the stronghold were closing in, though their numbers and formations posed no true threat.
Yaon activated teleportation. Encased in an energy barrier, he arrived in the prison, where he freed the captives, signaled the teleportation device, and executed the pustule-ridden interstellar warrior.
With his work complete, Yaon departed the foundry, leaving his adversaries clueless as to his brief but devastating incursion.