One Hour Ago – The Train Crash
The deep hum of the hover engines faltered, a shudder rippling through the train as it lost power. In an instant, the world tilted.
The train lurched violently, gravity twisting unnaturally as it crashed from its hoverline. Panels ripped apart, sparks erupted, and the once smooth hum turned into an ear-splitting roar of destruction.
Passengers screamed.
The impact came hard. The hover train crumpled as it slammed into the earth, skidding through rock and soil like a thrown blade.
Fire and smoke billowed, swallowing the wreckage as it came to a grinding, catastrophic halt.
Beneath twisted metal and fractured panels, Markus lay still—motionless amidst the devastation.
Then, his chest rose sharply. A ragged, gasping breath.
His eyes snapped open.
Disoriented. Blurry.
The acrid smell of smoke seared his lungs.
His pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic drumbeat that matched the panic clawing at his chest.
Pain flooded his senses—sharp, hot, and unforgiving.
But he didn't care.
Mom. Koari. Ichigo.
Their faces burned into his mind. The fear of losing them eclipsed everything else.
Not his friends. Not his best friend, Kai.
No one else mattered right now.
Only them.
"Move..."
The word escaped his lips in a strained whisper.
He tried to shift his body. A jagged piece of the train pressed against his side, pinning him beneath its weight.
His arms shook. His muscles refused to cooperate.
"Move..."
Markus muttered again, his voice cracking with desperation.
He dug his palms into the ground, ignoring the searing pain in his bruised shoulders.
I can't stop. I won't stop.
"MOVE!"
Anger erupted from somewhere deep inside him. His body screamed in protest, ribs aching with every breath, but he didn't care.
Gritting his teeth, Markus shoved against the twisted wreckage, his veins burning as he pushed harder.
It didn't budge.
"Move, damn it!"
His voice grew raw, almost feral. His arms trembled, his hands slick with blood and sweat, but his mind was singular.
They need me.
"MOVE!!!"
Summoning every last ounce of strength, Markus roared as he shoved upward, his vision blurring from the strain.
The wreckage groaned, shifting inch by inch until, finally, it gave way.
The metal screeched as it slid off him, crashing to the side with a deafening thud.
He gasped, free at last, collapsing onto his hands and knees.
Smoke curled through the air, and flames flickered in the distance.
He forced himself to stand. His legs were unsteady, his body battered—but his determination remained unbroken.
I'm the only one left...
As Markus took his first step forward, the ground beneath him trembled.
The faint hum of something mechanical cut through the crackle of fire and falling debris.
His senses sharpened.
A towering figure emerged from the smoke.
A robot.
Its cold, metallic frame stood three meters tall, its angular design reflecting the fiery glow of the wreckage.
Its crimson eyes locked onto Markus, scanning him like prey.
With a hiss, it raised a blade-like appendage that glinted in the dim light.
"What... the hell?"
Markus whispered, his heart pounding.
The robot lunged.
Adrenaline took over.
Markus dove to the side just as the blade slammed into the ground, cleaving through a shattered train panel.
Sparks and debris erupted, the mechanical screech of the robot ringing through the smoke-filled air.
Markus rolled to his feet, panting, his muscles protesting every movement.
His eyes darted to the ground.
Among the wreckage, a broken shard of metal caught his attention—jagged and heavy enough to serve as a makeshift weapon.
He snatched it up, gripping the shard tightly.
The robot turned toward him, its red eyes glowing with unrelenting menace.
It stepped forward, swinging its blade horizontally with terrifying speed.
Markus ducked, the strike slicing through the air just above his head.
Without hesitation, he darted closer, the weight of the shard steady in his hands.
I trained for this.
All that time... all those hours.
The robot slashed downward, and Markus narrowly dodged again, the blade carving deep into the ground.
Seizing the opening, Markus twisted and swung upward, driving the broken shard into the robot's side.
Sparks erupted on impact.
But the machine barely staggered.
Its response was immediate.
The robot's knee shot forward, slamming into Markus's chest and launching him backward.
He crashed onto the debris-covered ground, gasping as pain exploded through his ribs.
"Damn it..."
Markus coughed, his body protesting as he scrambled to his feet.
The robot loomed over him now, its blade raised high for a finishing blow.
Markus's mind raced.
Move... I must survive.
As the blade descended, Markus roared, throwing his hands up.
With every ounce of strength he had, he caught the blade in his palms.
The impact rattled through his bones, his muscles screaming in agony as he held it back.
"Not yet," Markus growled through gritted teeth.
Slowly, deliberately, he rose to one knee, his grip on the robot's weapon unyielding.
His eyes burned with resolve.
With a final shout, Markus wrenched the blade sideways, snapping it clean in half.
The robot staggered, thrown off balance.
This is it.
Markus hurled the broken piece of the blade like a spear, striking the machine's arm and sending sparks flying.
Before the robot could recover, he charged.
With a powerful leap, Markus closed the distance, his fist connecting with devastating force against its chest.
The sound of metal crumpling filled the air as the robot collapsed, splitting in two under the sheer impact of the blow.
Its lifeless remains hit the ground with a deafening thud, smoke curling from the fractured joints.
Markus stood over the wreckage, his chest heaving as sweat and blood streaked his face.
He wiped his brow, his hands trembling slightly from the exertion.
"I told you..."
His voice was hoarse but defiant.
"I'm not dying here."
The distant sounds of explosions echoed through the ruined city, reminding him of his mission.
Markus tightened his grip on the broken sword, his only weapon.
Mom. Koari. Ichigo.
He turned toward the city outskirts, where the warship loomed ominously in the sky.
With ragged breaths, he forced his battered body to move.
They need me.
Without another word, Markus began to run, his determination carrying him through the smoke and fire.
The city was dying.
Markus sprinted through the burning streets, his breath ragged, his grip tightening around the broken sword in his hands. Smoke coiled through the air, thick and suffocating, laced with the acrid stench of burning metal and blood.
Everywhere he turned, destruction swallowed the city whole. Buildings crumbled under the weight of unseen forces, their skeletal remains groaning as they collapsed. Fires raged, casting eerie shadows against the shattered pavement. The bodies of civilians lay scattered in the wreckage—some crushed, some burned, some torn apart by something far worse than fire.
His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat.
Keep moving.
He forced his legs to carry him forward, each step sending sharp jolts of pain through his battered body. The warship loomed above, its dark hull stretching across the sky like an omen of death. He had no way to reach it. No way to fight what was coming.
But he had to try.
Sector 4 was close.
He tore through the ruins, dodging falling debris, his mind fixed on only one thing—getting home. Finding them.
Mom. Koari. Ichigo.
He skidded to a stop.
His path was blocked.
Four machines stood before him, their red eyes glowing like dying embers in the smoke-choked air. Their frames gleamed, coated in a thin layer of soot and dried blood. Behind them lay the mangled remains of a family—two adults, two children—ripped apart, their lifeless bodies sprawled across the cracked pavement.
Markus felt something inside him snap.
That could be them.
That could be his family.
His hands clenched around the broken sword, his knuckles whitening as rage bubbled beneath his skin.
"Out of my way!"
His roar tore through the night.
The robots screeched in response. Two of them rushed forward, blades unsheathing from their arms, while the other two held back, their hands crackling with gathering energy.
Markus didn't wait.
He launched himself forward, his sword raised.
The first machine swung, its blade carving through the air, but Markus twisted his body, barely slipping past its strike. He felt the wind of the attack graze his cheek. He brought his own weapon down in a vicious arc, aiming for the machine's neck.
Metal clashed against metal, sparks flying in every direction.
The robot staggered, but it didn't fall.
The second one was already upon him.
Markus parried its strike, the force of the impact nearly numbing his arms. He gritted his teeth, forcing his aching body to keep moving. He ducked under the next swing, stepping into the machine's guard, and drove his broken sword upward.
The jagged edge tore through steel, piercing its core.
The robot let out a fractured screech before its systems failed, its glowing eyes flickering dark as it crumpled to the ground.
Markus didn't stop.
The first robot lunged at him again, but he was faster this time. He sidestepped, using the momentum of the dodge to spin and drive his sword deep into its exposed back. He twisted the blade, wrenching it free just as the machine collapsed.
Only two left.
The energy-wielding robots fired.
Markus barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side as twin blasts of violet energy streaked past him, incinerating the ground where he had stood just moments before.
No time.
He needed to close the distance.
He pushed forward, weaving between the wreckage, using the fallen husks of cars and debris as cover. Another blast tore through a crumbling wall behind him, sending shards of stone scattering in all directions.
He didn't slow down.
The moment he was close enough, he lunged.
The first machine raised its hand to fire, but Markus was already swinging. His broken sword cleaved through its arm, severing it at the elbow. The machine screeched, staggering backward. Markus didn't hesitate—he drove his blade straight through its head.
One left.
It fired.
Markus dropped to a knee, the blast skimming past his shoulder. Before the robot could fire again, he hurled his broken sword.
The jagged metal spun through the air, embedding itself deep in the machine's chest. Sparks erupted as it convulsed, struggling to remain upright before finally crashing to the ground, lifeless.
Silence.
Markus stood there, chest heaving, sweat and blood streaking his face.
He ripped his sword free from the final robot's corpse, his grip unsteady. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
I don't have time for this.
He turned and ran.
Sector 4 was close.
He had to make it.
The city blurred past him as he ran, each step sending sharp jolts of pain through his battered body. He had no time to think about it, no time to care. The only thing that mattered was getting home.
Smoke choked the air, thick and suffocating. It clung to his skin, burned his lungs, but he pushed through, weaving between crumbling buildings and shattered vehicles. The sky above was painted in streaks of crimson and violet—fires raging, warships looming like silent reapers.
Then, he saw it.
Sector 4.
Or at least, what was left of it.
The neighborhood had been reduced to rubble. Houses he had walked past a thousand times were now unrecognizable heaps of ash and twisted steel. The streets were lined with bodies, civilians caught in the chaos, their faces frozen in fear.
Markus's legs faltered, his heart slamming against his ribs.
No.
His home had to be intact. His family had to be alive.
He forced himself forward, stumbling over the debris, his breath ragged. His lungs screamed for air, his muscles burned, but he didn't stop.
He turned the last corner—
And the world caved in.
A massive shadow plummeted from the sky, crashing directly into the street where his house once stood. The impact was instant, a devastating shockwave that sent fire and debris rocketing in every direction. Markus was flung backward, his body slamming into the pavement.
Pain erupted through his ribs, his vision flashing white, but he forced himself up.
No, no, no—
The house was gone.
Flames devoured the remnants of the foundation, thick plumes of black smoke rising into the air.
A figure emerged from the chaos.
Markus barely registered the way the embers curled around him, the way the very air seemed to distort in his presence. The half-mask he wore was carved into a cruel grin, his dark coat shifting with the turbulence of the wind. In one hand, a blade pulsed with dark energy, humming like a living thing.
And in the other—
Markus's breath caught.
Three figures.
Mom. Koari. Ichigo.
They dangled limply from the man's grasp, their bodies eerily still.
A scream tore from Markus's throat before he even realized he had spoken.
"Let them go!"
His voice was raw, desperate, but the man didn't react.
Markus staggered forward, every instinct in his body screaming at him to move, to fight, to do something.
His mother's voice came first, weak and trembling.
"Please… let Koari go. She's only a child…"
Ichigo, despite the tears streaking his face, was defiant.
"Markus! Don't worry, I'll get us out of this!"
The masked man tilted his head, his voice laced with mock amusement.
"You love your family, do you?"
Markus couldn't stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. He nodded frantically.
"Yes! I love them! I love them so much!"
The man was silent for a long moment, then his lips curled into something cruel beneath the mask.
"Is that so?"
With a flick of his wrist, he let go of Koari.
She stumbled forward, her small frame trembling, but she managed to lift her tear-streaked face toward Markus.
"Big bro—"
The moment shattered.
A single, shadowy slash carved through the air.
Koari stopped mid-step.
Markus barely had time to register what had happened before her head tumbled forward, rolling across the broken ground.
It stopped at his feet.
His sister's lifeless eyes stared up at him.
A sound escaped his throat—something broken, something he couldn't even recognize as his own voice.
"No…"
His mother screamed.
Ichigo lunged, his voice raw with fury.
"You monster!"
The blade moved again.
Two flashes of dark energy.
Then silence.
Markus's mother and brother crumpled to the ground, their bodies motionless.
His mind couldn't process it.
One second, they were there.
The next, they were gone.
Markus dropped to his knees, trembling, his hands reaching out to cradle Koari's severed head. His fingers curled around her small frame, holding her close, as if that could somehow undo what had happened.
His body shook, his breath coming in ragged, uneven sobs. The world felt distant, hollow.
The masked man let out a slow, satisfied chuckle.
"I let her go, didn't I?" He tilted his head mockingly. "Right to hell."
Markus's fingers clenched. His breathing grew uneven, erratic. Something inside him was unraveling.
The man's laughter rang through the ruins.
"It's been far too long since I've enjoyed something like this."
Markus raised his head.
His eyes burned.
Something dark curled in his chest, deeper than grief, deeper than rage.
"I'll kill you."
It started as a whisper, barely audible.
Then, again—louder, sharper, like a blade scraping against steel.
"I'll kill you. I'll kill you!"
The masked man spread his arms wide, taunting.
"Come on, then."
Markus lunged.
He didn't think. Didn't hesitate.
He swung his broken sword wildly, his strikes fueled by nothing but raw desperation, but the man dodged each one effortlessly. A mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he knocked Markus back with a single, brutal strike.
"Pathetic," he sneered.
Markus staggered, barely keeping his footing.
Come on. You trained for this. You trained to protect them.
Don't stop now.
He rushed forward again, pouring everything into one final strike. His broken blade cracked against the man's mask—
And split it in two.
The pieces fell away, revealing the face beneath.
Markus's blood ran cold.
Satsujin.
Lionel's aide.
Satsujin smirked. "Disappointed?"
Before Markus could react, a surge of dark energy erupted from Satsujin's blade, launching him backward.
The impact tore through him. He hit the ground hard, rubble collapsing around him. His body refused to move, but his mind screamed.
Move, damn it. MOVE!
Satsujin strode forward, his blade raised high.
"Goodbye, little failure."
The blade fell—
And stopped midair.
Markus vanished.
Satsujin's expression twisted in surprise as he turned, finding another figure standing there, holding Markus over his shoulder.
Andrew Handerfall.
Satsujin's smile returned.
"How interesting…"
Andrew's gaze lingered on the devastation, his expression dark, unreadable. He adjusted his grip on Markus's unconscious form.
"You'll pay for this."
Without warning, chains erupted from Andrew's outstretched hand—massive, glowing, wrapping around Satsujin like living serpents. The ground cracked under their weight.
The warlock barely had time to react before the chains yanked him backward.
Andrew didn't wait.
He turned and sprinted away, Markus in tow.
The battle behind them faded into the distance.
Markus's vision blurred. His thoughts spiraled into darkness.
Mom… Koari… Ichigo…
I'm sorry.
Markus's vision blurred, the world narrowing to the rhythmic thrum of the evac ship's engines. His body felt weightless, his senses dulled by the overwhelming fog of exhaustion and pain. The scent of smoke still clung to his skin, mixing with the sterile, metallic tang of the ship's interior.
The ramp loomed ahead, bathed in the red emergency glow of the docking lights. Andrew's grip was firm, steady—Markus barely registered the sensation of being carried, his consciousness flickering like a dying ember.
Two armored figures awaited them, standing rigid as sentinels. Their helmets concealed their expressions, but the crackling energy in their hands betrayed their readiness for battle. Flames coiled along one warrior's arms, casting flickering shadows across the ship's entrance, while the other radiated a sharp, electric glow.
Andrew barely paused as he approached.
"Make sure no one brings this ship down," he ordered, his voice cutting through the dense, smoke-filled air like steel.
The fire-wielding soldier nodded sharply, his flames roaring to life. "Yes, sir!"
Andrew ascended the ramp, his strides unwavering. Behind him, the ship's doors sealed with a pressurized hiss, cutting off the chaos of Sector 4. The moment the lock engaged, the engines surged, lifting them away from the burning ruins below.
Inside, the artificial glow of the cabin flickered to life, cold and sterile against the destruction they had just escaped. Andrew moved with precision, lowering Markus onto a waiting medical stretcher. His touch was careful, but his jaw was tight, his mind elsewhere.
Blood smeared across Markus's torn clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat. His breathing was shallow, uneven, but steady.
Alive.
Andrew exhaled, pressing a hand briefly to his forehead. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, though the words felt hollow.
The ship trembled as it broke free from the atmosphere, the force pressing against the cabin walls. Andrew turned toward the viewport, his gaze locked onto the distant silhouette of Sector 4.
Fires raged, entire districts reduced to nothing more than crumbling husks. The skyline burned, twisted into jagged ruins, while dark warships loomed like specters over the city.
This isn't over.
Not by a long shot.
A deep, distant rumble cut through the air, pulling Andrew's attention to the monitors. The battle had already begun outside.
Satsujin moved like a phantom through the wreckage, his form a blur of shadow against the firelit ruins. The two armored warriors stood their ground, their energy flaring as they launched their assault.
Flames surged, engulfing him in a column of searing heat.
For a moment, the battlefield was silent—then the fire parted, and Satsujin emerged unscathed, his blade a gleaming arc of darkness.
A single, precise slash.
One of the warriors collapsed, their armor crumpling inward as the life was cut from them in an instant.
The second barely had time to react before Satsujin's blade carved through the air once more.
The last thing Andrew saw before the monitor flickered out was the crackling arc of lightning streaking toward Satsujin—then a blinding explosion, engulfing the screen in static.
Andrew clenched his fists.
You're buying us time… and I won't waste it.
The ship's engines roared, pushing them higher into the atmosphere. The pull of gravity weakened, the distant glow of Earth beginning to fade.
From the viewport, Andrew caught one last glimpse of Sector 4—just as a massive explosion consumed the battlefield. The ground trembled beneath the sheer force of it, a shockwave ripping through the ruined city.
Both of his men were gone.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot's voice crackled through the comms. "We're clear of the city, sir. Preparing to break atmosphere."
Andrew's gaze remained fixed on the distant fires. "Good," he said, his voice steady. "Make for the Defender. They'll be waiting."
The evac ship climbed higher, pushing past the last remnants of Earth's burning skies.
Silence.
For the first time in hours, the sounds of war fell away, replaced only by the endless void of space.
The Defender loomed ahead, its massive silhouette stretching across the darkness like a steel colossus. The ship's titanium hull glowed under the faint light of the stars, its insignia—a beacon of the Mercy and Mars Coalition—etched boldly across its surface.
Two more warships flanked it.
Zeus, its armor scarred from past battles, stood as a weathered guardian beside the pristine, cutting-edge Voyager 66.
The evac ship maneuvered into position, gliding smoothly into the docking bay. A mechanical hiss followed as the landing gear clamped into place, locking them onto the deck.
The airlock sealed behind them.
Within seconds, the medical team flooded the cabin. Their movements were precise, rehearsed—hands checking Markus's vitals, voices clipped as they barked orders.
Andrew took a step back, allowing them space.
"Stabilize him," he commanded, his voice low but firm. "No matter what it takes."
One of the medics nodded. "Yes, Admiral."
Markus was lifted from the stretcher, his limp form wheeled away toward the medbay.
Andrew stood still for a moment, his fingers tightening at his sides.
The weight of it pressed against his chest—the loss, the destruction, the bodies left behind.
But there was no time for grief.
Not yet.
Turning sharply, he strode toward the bridge.
The atmosphere on the Defender was tense, charged with unspoken urgency. Officers moved swiftly between their stations, the glow of the monitors casting pale reflections on their faces.
When Andrew entered, all eyes turned to him.
"Report," he barked.
A navigation officer straightened. "Three confirmed Lionel-class warships ascending, sir. They'll be in range within minutes."
Andrew's expression darkened.
"Prepare for a space jump. Take us to the nearest Mars Mobile outpost."
The crew moved quickly, hands flying across their consoles as the ship powered up.
Beyond the viewport, space began to ripple.
Andrew folded his arms, watching as the jump engines engaged. "Are they tracking us?"
The navigation officer's fingers hovered over the controls.
"Negative, sir. We're in the clear."
Andrew exhaled. "Good."
The ship trembled as the engines roared to life. The stars outside stretched into thin streaks of light, the fabric of space twisting—
Then, they were gone.
Silence fell over the bridge.
The war was behind them.
For now.
Andrew stepped forward, his gaze locked on the map unfolding before them.
"How long until we reach the outpost?"
"Three days, sir," an officer replied.
Andrew's jaw tightened.
"We're at war," he said, the weight of it settling over them all.