On the main deck of the Oath, Maloris stood in solemn silence, his gaze fixed on the fragile blue marble of Terra below. His gaze holding a conviction as deep as the void. Any threat to humanity would be crushed beneath the Imperium's relentless vengeance.
****Attention: Warp translation commencing. Secure stations and prepare for temporal nexus linkage.*****
***Engineering reports Spear of Chronus alignment at 98%. JumpLink on Terra confirmed active.****
*****Anchor beam from designated timeline locked. Chronal stabilizers online.*****
******Final countdown: 3... 2... 1...*******
With the Spear of Chronus as the pulsating nexus, a colossal warp gate tore open in the void—a swirling maelstrom of iridescent energy that warped space itself. The designated fleet plunged into its maw, vanishing in a cascade of fractured light.
---
**Earth, 2052**
In Earth's orbit, the fabric of space rippled violently. A burst of chaotic, multicolored flashes heralded the instantaneous arrival of multiple ships, their hulls emerging from the ether like ghosts materializing in the night.
Within moments, drop pods ejected from the vessels, hurtling toward the blue planet at breakneck speed. Breaching the atmosphere, they resembled a barrage of meteors—fiery streaks that tore through the air, shattering the sound barrier with thunderous booms and leaving trails of ionized plasma in their wake.
Far below, the last base of NORAD stood.
~~~~~~
Dan Forester stirred from unconsciousness, his eyelids fluttering open to a hazy world. He lay in a makeshift med bay—a weathered tent filled with the low hum of generators and the faint beeps of monitors. Rows of cots held sleeping figures, bandaged and broken, while medical personnel moved with quiet efficiency, their footsteps muffled on the dirt floor.
His eyes drifted to the IV drip, its clear fluid trickling steadily through the tube into his wrist. Gingerly, he reached for his shoulder, wincing at the sting of a dressed wound—a memento from the botched drop mission. The JumpLink had malfunctioned mid-descent, plummeting them from more than a hundred meters up. Casualties had been heavy; his survival felt like dumb luck.
With the remnants of his squad, they'd been tasked by the command in this timeline to extract a vital asset from an overrun lab. As predicted, more lives were lost in the chaos before success.
*sigh*
Slowly, Dan pushed himself upright. In the distance, he spotted Charlie perched on a med bed a few yards away, looking dazed. Charlie's eyes scanned the tent until they locked onto Dan's familiar face, easing some of the tension from his features.
Soon, they were discharged—the med bay was overflowing, with fresh waves of injured fighters streaming in. Resources were at an all-time low; they were fortunate to have received any care at all.
Stepping outside, they were stunned by the scene: a vast clearing teeming with urgency. Soldiers dashed about, barking orders amid the rumble of tanks and military vehicles trundling past. Helicopters thundered overhead, rotors whipping the air as they delivered cargo and ferried troops.
Loudspeakers crackled to life, blaring updates: "All units, report to rally points. Whitespike activity detected in Sector Bravo—mobilize defenses immediately."
A dense forest encircled the clearing, its shadows a stark contrast to the frenzied activity.
This was humanity's final stand.
Scanning the area, Dan noticed a familiar figure under a nearby tent: Dorian, in his red shirt, head bowed in quiet grief.
They approached.
"Hey, where is everybody?" Dan asked.
Dorian lifted his head, his expression heavy with contemplation.
"Where do you think?" he replied rhetorically. Realization dawned on Dan's face.
The boxes being unloaded weren't cargo—they were caskets.
"You should have kept going instead of jumping into that tunnel to save your friends," Dorian said.
"We're here to save people. We gotta try. We're on a mission—this is what we were sent to do," Dan replied solemnly.
"But you couldn't save them... could you? You'll see: nothing we do here matters," Dorian said, his eyes shadowed by the weight of past tours.
"That's where you're wrong. I don't believe that one bit... and I don't think you do either," Dan countered.
"You don't know me," Dorian snapped.
"If nothing matters, what are you doing here? Three deployments..." Dan pressed.
"Why do you have that—the souvenir around your neck?" Dan gestured to the Whitespike claw dangling from Dorian's chain.
"It's not a souvenir," Dorian retorted.
"It's a reminder."
"What?" Charlie interjected.
Dorian paused, then stood, his gaze piercing theirs.
"Reminds me of the one thing I learned the day I got drafted... I'll be dead in six months. Cancer," Dorian confessed.
"So here's what I'm gonna do: I'm gonna keep living my life the way I want to, and I'm gonna die the way I want to. I'd rather die here than the slow death back home."
Silence fell, thick and heavy, as Dan absorbed the tragic revelation.
"Dan Forester," an authoritative voice cut through. Two soldiers approached.
"That's me," Dan nodded.
"Command wants to see you," one said.
"You two, you're being redeployed," the other added, pointing at Dorian and Charlie, who grimaced.
"No, I'm a dead man—you kidding me? I can't do this again," Charlie said, laughing nervously.
"Yes, you can," Dan encouraged.
"I'm gonna get killed before I get to kill somebody else," Charlie's voice quivered.
"Yes, you can. You will." Dan placed a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder, while Dorian watched impassively.
"Okay... okay... okay."
Emboldened by Dan's faith, Charlie nodded shakily, catching his breath.
With an encouraging nod to Dorian, Dan whispered, "Take care of him."
Dorian responded with a subtle nod.
"Sir, we don't have all day," one soldier urged impatiently.
Dorian and Charlie watched as Dan followed them into the distance.
"Whew... okay... I can survive this," Charlie sighed, nodding to himself.
"No, you can't," Dorian said, amusement creeping into his tone as he stifled a laugh and walked off to gear up.
"Well, don't laugh—you don't laugh when somebody says they're gonna survive something," Charlie protested in disbelief, heading toward the tent.
Stepping out from the shade, the scorching sun beat down on his dark skin, making him flinch. "Fighting aliens in this temperature is just like asking me to die already."
He shielded his eyes and gazed up at the clear blue sky—a poignant reminder of nature's beauty, now stolen from humanity's grasp.
"What the..."
Something caught his eye.
"What is that... meteor shower?" he muttered, staring at the multiple burning objects streaking across the heavens.
Charlie gaped at the sky in astonishment.
"What the hell are you looking at? Hurry up and get ready," Dorian's voice shattered his reverie.
"Look... look at that... I think they're meteor showers. How are they so visible in broad daylight?" Charlie pointed skyward.
Dorian followed the gesture in annoyance, then froze. Squinting, he gasped.
"Those aren't meteorites!"
---
In the distance, Dan conversed with a woman in black combat fatigues.
"Colonel Forester, First Sergeant Dan Forester, Special Forces," Dan saluted. The woman before him was the base's highest command.
She returned the salute, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
"Well, former Special Forces—in a past life... Forester... you spell that with one R?" Dan asked, intrigued by the shared surname.
"Yes, just one R," the colonel nodded with a smile.
"Me too... Wait, where are your people from?" Dan couldn't help but inquire.
"Same place that you're fro—"
"Colonel Forester!" a voice shouted from afar, interrupting. A man rushed over, clutching a military tablet and wearing an earpiece.
"Ma'am," he saluted, glancing briefly at Dan.
"We have urgent news."
"Go on," Colonel Forester nodded, authorizing him to speak.
The man hesitated.
"News from Hart. They've reestablished communications..."
"Okay, good... but I fail to see what's so urgent," she pressed.
"That..." the soldier pointed skyward.
There, the flaming objects blazed across the firmament.
Colonel Forester and Dan turned to look.
WOOOOOOWWWww!!!!!!
The piercing wail of sirens erupted across the camp, a deafening crescendo that drowned out all else.
Over the loudspeakers, an urgent broadcast crackled: "All personnel, battle stations! Unidentified aerial incursion detected. Arm weapons, man defenses, and prepare for potential hostile contact. This is not a drill—repeat, this is not a drill!"*
"What are those?" Dan asked.
"No idea," Colonel Forester replied, turning back to the soldier. "Hurry and pull satellite footage from any operational birds."
"Yes, ma'am." The soldier pivoted to leave, then paused, listening to his earpiece.
"Yes... this is Command... affirmative, I am in proximity."
After a beat, he turned. "Colonel, this is for you." He removed the earpiece and handed it over.
"Who?" she asked, taking it.
"Lieutenant Hart," he replied.
At the name, Colonel Forester swiftly inserted the device.
"This is Colonel Forester speaking." She turned toward the command tent, the roar of armored vehicles and helicopter blades assaulting her ears.
"Follow me," she gestured to Dan and the soldier.
**COMMS**
"This is Hart—it's good to hear your voice, Colonel," Lieutenant Hart's voice echoed through the earpiece.
"Do you see the things in the sky?" Hart asked.
"My eyes are on them as we speak," Colonel Forester replied, craning her neck upward.
"How do you know what's happening here? Do you know what they are?" Colonel Forester demanded.
"Angels..."
---
**Scene Shift**
" They are Angels..." Lieutenant Hart repeated, her voice steady yet laced with awe. At the word, she glanced briefly at Lucan Varr, who nodded in quiet approval.
From her vantage point atop a rugged outpost ridge, Lieutenant Hart stood transfixed. The scorching sun baked the cracked earth beneath her boots, the air thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and ozone.
Her eyes locked onto the sky. What began as faint pinpricks of light swelled into a cataclysmic spectacle: dozens of fiery orbs plummeting from the heavens with colossal might, each one a blazing comet trailing plumes of superheated vapor that hissed and crackled like thunderbolts forged in hell. The atmosphere screamed in protest as they pierced through, sonic booms rolling across the landscape like tidal waves of sound, shaking the ground and rattling her teeth. Heat waves distorted the horizon, mirage-like, as if the very air recoiled from the intruders.
In her binoculars, the objects resolved into armored drop pods, their hulls glowing cherry-red from entry friction, etched with Imperium insignia that gleamed amid the inferno. The visual assault was mesmerizing: streaks of molten orange and white against the azure sky, like divine lances hurled by wrathful gods.