SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

The comms went dead.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one spoke. Operators stared at their screens in stunned disbelief. The weight of the command—those words—hung in the air like a death sentence. The Trident of Poseidon wasn't just a weapon. It was an obliteration protocol, designed to annihilate everything in its path.

In her cockpit, Icarus's blood turned to ice. Her breath caught in her throat, her vision tunnelling as her mind raced to process what he had just said. Her hands slipped from the controls, falling limp at her sides.

Her voice came out in a whisper, trembling and filled with dread.

"No… Elfy… what have you done?"

The battlefield erupted into a flurry of frantic activity as voices clamoured over one another, but all Icarus could hear was the deafening silence in her mind, the weight of inevitability crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

The finality of his words echoed endlessly in her ears:

"Trident of Poseidon."

Eilífr ducked low, narrowly avoiding a tentacle the size of a train car as it smashed into a crumbling building beside him. The force of the impact sent chunks of debris raining down, and his HUD flared warnings as smaller fragments pinged off his already battered armor. He didn't stop moving, weaving through the shattered streets of the city with precise, desperate efficiency.

His voice, sharp and calm despite the chaos, cut through the comms. "Colonel, set the strike to a two-minute delayed timer. I need time to disengage and break its focus."

In the control room back at Nautica, Colonel Cirus Trask's jaw tightened. His fingers gripped the edge of the console as he stared at the live feed of the destruction. "Two minutes? You better have a damn good plan, SABER-1," he muttered, his voice strained.

He hated the genetically altered soldier—always had—but even Trask knew that losing Eilífr here, in this moment, would be an incalculable loss. The only thing standing between humanity and annihilation was the very soldier he so despised.

"Understood," Trask said over the comms, his voice low. "Timer's set. Strike is on a two-minute delay. You've got one chance, Eilífr. Make it count."

Eilífr didn't respond immediately. He sprinted toward an alley, ducking just as another tentacle swept across the ground behind him, carving a massive trench through the rubble. His breathing was steady, calculated, his focus razor-sharp.

"Breaking its line of sight," he finally said. "Maintain triangulation lock. No deviations."

The creature roared, an otherworldly sound that shook the remnants of the city to its foundations. Its massive, glowing eyes scanned the ruins, searching for the soldier who had dared to challenge it. Eilífr darted from cover to cover, using the maze of debris and collapsed buildings to obscure its view.

Above, the small four-winged drone continued streaming the live feed back to Nautica. Its lens captured the devastation in crystal-clear detail, providing the only direct line to the battlefield. The control room was silent, save for the frantic tapping of keys and the occasional muttered update. Every operator's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as Eilífr moved with the kind of precision only a SABER could manage.

And then it happened.

A tentacle, blind with rage, lashed out wildly. The drone's feed jerked violently as the tentacle slammed into it, and for a brief moment, the screen filled with static before going completely dark.

In the control room, chaos erupted.

"We've lost the feed!" shouted one operator.

"Drone is down!" another confirmed, their voice tinged with panic.

"What the hell is happening down there?" someone else demanded.

Cirus Trask slammed his fist onto the console, silencing the room. "Everyone shut up!" he barked. "Focus on maintaining the strike lock. SABER-1 is still active. If anyone here panics, I'll have you out of this room in seconds. Clear?"

The room fell silent again, but the tension was suffocating.

Out in the field, Eilífr was oblivious to the panic back at HQ. His world was the immediate chaos around him—the rubble underfoot, the unrelenting tentacles tearing through what little remained of the city, and the deafening roar of the beast above. He zigzagged through narrow alleyways, using every ounce of his training to keep ahead of the creature's gaze.

"Colonel," his voice came through the comms again, calm and steady. "Confirm time remaining on the strike."

Trask glanced at the countdown on his console, the seconds ticking away like a drumbeat. "One minute, thirty seconds," he replied.

"Good," Eilífr said simply.

Trask leaned closer to the mic. "SABER-1... you do have a way out of this, don't you?"

There was a long pause. For a moment, Trask thought Eilífr might not answer, but then his voice came back, low and resolute.

"I always do."

The Colonel leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. He didn't know whether to believe Eilífr or not, but for now, all he could do was wait—and hope that the SABER would defy the odds one more time.

Eilífr darted through the ruins, his armor groaning with each movement as it bore the strain of debris impacts, shrapnel, and sheer exhaustion. The countdown on his HUD ticked down mercilessly: 01:30.

The beast roared behind him, its tentacles smashing into the ruins he had just cleared. Dust and fire filled the air as yet another building crumbled under its blind fury.

"Icarus," Eilífr called over the comms, his voice sharp but calm despite the chaos. "Status. Are you in position?"

Silence.

He leapt over a collapsed wall, landing heavily on a piece of scorched concrete. His HUD briefly flashed another shield warning as loose rubble struck him. He ignored it.

"Icarus, respond."

Nothing.

His jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin as precious seconds ticked away. 01:12. She wasn't usually like this. Icarus was steady under pressure, her banter a constant even in the worst of situations. But now… nothing.

Switching to a private channel, Eilífr's voice became more direct, his irritation bleeding through.

"Icarus," he snapped, his tone cutting like a blade. "Wake the hell up! Where are you?!"

Inside the cockpit of the Falcon, Icarus sat frozen, her hands limp on the controls. Her eyes stared unblinkingly at the darkened screen where the live feed from the drone had been moments before. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her mind raced with worst-case scenarios. The image of him standing firm amidst the chaos replayed over and over in her head, but now, with no visual confirmation, her thoughts spiraled.

He's going to die. I can't stop it. I can't do anything.

The crackle of his voice over the private channel broke through her panic like a thunderclap.

"Icarus!" Eilífr barked again, his tone razor-sharp. "You don't get to lose your nerve now! I need you to focus!"

Her head jerked up, his words snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. She blinked rapidly, her surroundings coming back into focus. Her hands instinctively gripped the controls, trembling but steadying as his voice continued.

"There's no time for this. Get in position now. I need extraction the second this is over," he growled, his voice softer but still firm.

"I—" She stammered, her throat tight, but she forced herself to swallow the lump threatening to choke her. "Understood."

Eilífr exhaled heavily, the faintest hint of relief in his tone. "Good. I'll see you on the other side. Now move."

She didn't respond verbally, but the faint hum of the Falcon's engines spooling up confirmed her compliance.

Switching back to the main channel, Eilífr refocused his attention on the task at hand. The countdown ticked below 00:58. He sprinted toward another cluster of ruins, the monstrous beast roaring in the distance, its tentacles tearing through the city as it searched for him.

The flat plains stretched out endlessly before Eilífr, a barren wasteland illuminated only by the faint glow of distant fires and the occasional flash of his rifle. The rhythmic pounding of his boots against the cracked earth was drowned out by the growls and screeches of the Extractants in pursuit. Each burst of his rifle sent another one crashing to the ground, but more took their place, their grotesque forms racing after him with unrelenting fury.

BOOM.

The landscape quaked as an ungodly roar of thunder rolled across the plains, a sound that made even the Extractants hesitate. The timer on Eilífr's HUD glared back at him, now flashing in deep red: -13 SECONDS.

He was in the final window. Somewhere far above, the weapon of devastation was hurtling toward the earth. The Trident of Poseidon would hit in less than two minutes.

His mind raced as his legs pumped harder, each step a battle against exhaustion and the weight of his armor. No sign of Icarus. No comms. No extraction. If she doesn't make it… how do I survive this? The question burned in his thoughts, a grim specter he couldn't ignore.

Every option felt futile. The blast radius was too wide, the destruction too absolute. His enhanced physiology might give him a chance against almost anything—but not this.

Behind him, the Extractants howled, gaining ground.

In the cockpit of her B-17 Falcon, Icarus shoved the throttles as far forward as they would go. The engines screamed in protest, the entire frame of the ship vibrating under the strain as it tore through the air like a bullet. Her HUD blared proximity warnings, but she ignored them. The only thing that mattered now was speed.

Why did I freeze up? she thought, teeth gritted. Why did I waste so much time?

Her hands were slick with sweat as she gripped the controls, her knuckles white. She scanned the ground frantically, her eyes darting between the horde of Extractants surging across the plains below. Then she saw it—flashes of light ahead, bursts of gunfire cutting through the chaos.

"I see him!" she shouted into her comms, her voice trembling. "SABER-1, I have eyes on you! Coming in for a landing!"

Eilífr's voice was cold and clipped, the exhaustion barely masked. "No. Don't stop. Come in hot at seventy-two kilometers per hour—ramp down."

Seventy-two kilometers per hour. Icarus's mind reeled for a split second. That wasn't a landing—it was a death-defying maneuver. But she didn't hesitate. "Understood. Ramp coming down!"

The rear of the Falcon hissed as the ramp lowered, the engines roaring louder as she angled the craft toward the ground. Dust and debris kicked up in massive plumes behind her, obscuring everything but the frantic horde of Extractants chasing a single figure.

Eilífr's HUD flashed red as he slammed his fist against his suit's emergency controls. "Maximum consumption, override x3," he barked.

The armor groaned and whirred, its energy reserves dumping into a final, desperate surge. His speed increased almost instantly, his legs pumping faster than humanly possible, but the cost was immediate—his shields flickered and burned out entirely, leaving him exposed. His internal systems screamed warnings: Power Core at Risk! Hemacrine Gel Critical Levels!

The sound of the Falcon's engines became a distant roar behind him, then louder, closer. He didn't dare look back. All he saw was the ramp lowering in his HUD feed, and all he felt was the crushing weight of time slipping away.

The ground shook violently as another thunderous boom tore through the air, the weapon descending ever closer. His timer flashed: 00:47.

Icarus's voice came through the comms, frantic but focused. "Elfy, I'm in position—forty-five meters behind you! You have to jump for it!"

The Falcon tore through the field at full speed, just a few meters above the ground, the ramp scraping low enough to cut through the taller debris.

Eilífr gritted his teeth, forcing every ounce of power into his failing legs. The Extractants were gaining. He could feel them, sense their snarls and screeches as they closed in.

With a final, guttural roar, he leapt.

The ramp was slick from the dust, the Falcon jerking violently as Icarus maneuvered to avoid the towering ruins ahead. Eilífr hit the edge hard, his hands slamming onto the metal surface and slipping dangerously close to the drop. His left leg dangled over the side, the Extractants snapping at his heels as he clawed his way up.

"Icarus, pull up!" he barked, his voice strained as the Falcon careened toward a looming building.

Her voice broke. "Not without you!"

The Falcon jerked upward just as Eilífr hauled himself fully onto the ramp. He hit the deck hard, rolling as the engines screamed in protest from the sudden ascent. Below, the Extractants swarmed the ground, their screeches drowned out by the sound of the Falcon's thrusters.

Inside the cockpit, Icarus pulled the ship out of its climb, her breathing ragged. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "You're on… you're on..."

Eilífr dragged himself to his feet, his armor sparking and hissing. He turned, staring out at the destruction below. The timer on his HUD flashed red: 00:12.

"Take us out of here," he said. "Now."

And the Trident of Poseidon roared toward its mark.