After Ashes

Commander Cray tightened his grip on the railing above the depot floor. Below him, his soldiers moved in frantic patterns, shouting orders as they scrambled to secure the crates of purified water. The heavy hum of machinery filled the air, but even its mechanical drone couldn't mask the tension.

"They're here," Cray muttered under his breath, his voice lost in the din.

The comm in his ear crackled, panic bleeding through. "North perimeter breached—drones down—" The transmission cut off with a sickening crack.

Cray's fists clenched. He'd prepared for this, but no plan could account for what was coming.

The Vanguard.

Their name was a curse spat out on desperate lips and a warning whispered in foxholes. They weren't just a team—they were a force, unstoppable and merciless. Rumours painted them as gods and monsters, cloaked in shadows and fire. Cray had told himself it was propaganda, stories meant to terrify the Confederacy's men.

But now, watching the shadows ripple across the depot floor, he knew the truth.

The first figure stepped through the haze of smoke and dust, a gleaming silhouette in the chaos.

Swift Angel.

His golden wings spread wide, catching the glare of the floodlights and refracting it into piercing rays. His armour was pristine, its polished surface unmarred by the filth of the world around him. But it was his face—his cold, sharp gaze—was what made Cray's breath catch.

Those eyes weren't the eyes of a man. They were weapons, honed and unyielding, forged in failure and unrelenting resolve. Swift Angel wasn't here to save anyone. He was there to pass judgement.

Behind him came Fantasia, her alien form otherworldly and serene. Her blue skin shimmered faintly, casting an ethereal glow that made her seem untouchable. Her bodysuit pulsed faintly with energy, alien tech alive and breathing.

She walked as if the chaos around her didn't matter—as if the humans scrambling to survive were beneath her notice. The glow in her eyes flickered, cold and calculating. Cray had heard the stories: Fantasia didn't just kill her enemies; she dismantled them, like a scientist dissecting a failed experiment.

Shadowleaf materialised next, her black-and-green cloak rippling as though alive. She moved like a whisper, her bow already drawn, a shimmering arrow of shadow magic nocked and ready. Her hood obscured most of her face, but her emerald eyes burned through the darkness, bright and merciless.

The shadows around her deepened as she moved, swallowing the light and amplifying the dread that radiated from her presence.

Then came Dark Ant, a walking storm. His black armour was battered and scarred from countless battles, and his mask was featureless save for two glowing slits where his eyes should have been. He moved with brutal efficiency, his batons crackling faintly with electricity.

He wasn't a man; he was inevitability given form.

Finally, World-Shaman stepped forward, the air around him shimmering as if reality itself bent to his will. His tattered jacket smouldered at the edges, the faint glow of embers dancing along its fraying fabric.

His eyes—bloodshot and wild—locked onto Cray, and the corners of his mouth twisted into a lazy grin. "Feel that?" he asked, his voice a low drawl. "That's the fear. We're only just getting started."

"Hold your positions!" Cray barked, his voice cracking.

The soldiers hesitated, their rifles wavering as the Vanguard advanced.

And then, the first arrow flew.

Shadowleaf's shadow-tipped projectile struck true, embedding itself in a sentry's shoulder. He staggered, his scream swallowed by the magic that burst from the arrowhead. The soldiers scattered, their formations breaking apart as panic set in.

From above, Swift Angel soared into the fray, his wings slicing through the air with a sound like tearing metal. He dived low, striking a soldier's rifle with the edge of his wing. The weapon shattered, its wielder collapsing in fear.

Fantasia followed, her energy blasts lighting the room in flashes of blue. She moved with precision, her strikes disarming and incapacitating without hesitation.

Dark Ant was a blur of motion, his batons sparking as he tore through the soldiers' ranks. His strikes were precise, each one dropping a target with cold efficiency.

Above it all, World-Shaman laughed. The air around him rippled, the walls groaning as he bent them inward. A soldier raised his rifle, but the barrel twisted in his hands, melting into a useless hunk of steel.

"You should've stayed home," Shaman muttered, flicking his cigarette into the air.

Cray's men were breaking. Their breaths came in short gasps, their movements frantic and uncoordinated.

"You think this makes you heroes?" Cray shouted, his voice hoarse.

Swift Angel landed, his boots striking the floor with a resounding clang. He stared Cray down, his wings folding behind him. "Heroes don't let tyrants hoard water while people starve."

Cray's lips curled. "You're murderers. No better than the ones you claim to fight."

Fantasia tilted her head, her voice like ice. "The difference is, we're better at it."

Shaman chuckled, stepping forward. "He's got guts. I like him." He raised a hand, and the air thickened, twisting around Cray and his remaining men.

"Shaman, stand down," Swift Angel snapped, his voice sharp.

Shaman grinned, but his hands fell to his sides. "Whatever you say, boss."

Cray's grip tightened on his rifle. He aimed and fired, the bullet slicing through the chaos toward the Shaman's chest.

Before it struck, Swift Angel moved, his wings snapping open to shield Shaman. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the golden feathers.

"Stand down," Swift Angel commanded, his voice carrying through the depot.

The remaining soldiers hesitated, their weapons trembling in their hands. One by one, they dropped their guns.

The room fell silent, save for the hum of energy dissipating.

Swift Angel exhaled slowly, his wings folding once more. "Secure the water," he ordered.

The Vanguard moved as one, efficient and unrelenting. Cray sank to his knees, the weight of defeat crushing him. He'd faced death before, but this wasn't death.

This was annihilation.