Before Bob could react, he felt the air shift. Darius was on the move.
Gabe's fog-powered arrows rained down from above, each one hitting Darius's massive frame. The impacts left glowing scorch marks across his rock-like skin and metal armor, but they didn't slow him down.
Sly appeared at Darius's side and struck. His claws hit hard, grinding into the stone. Bits of dust and rock flew off like sand blasted by a shovel.
Sly backed off, watching the damage. "That's your weak spot?"
Darius turned toward him. His metal jaws creaked open. "You call that damage?"
Bob blinked. "Great. He talks now."
Darius stomped forward, shaking the ground beneath him.
Sly glanced at Bob. "We might have skipped the part where we come up with a plan."
With a furious roar, Darius charged forward, smashing through the two implant soldiers who had fought Bob earlier. Their bodies slammed into the dirt with a dull thud, already too broken to resist. Darius used them like battering rams, gaining speed fast.
The ground shook. Fog and debris scattered around him.
Bob didn't flinch.
He gripped his weapon tight as it shifted into a thick club. He planted his feet, muscles tensing.
"Alright, Tinface. Let's see if that jaw's just for show."
Darius lunged, arms wide.
Bob stepped in and swung with everything he had.
TWACKK
The club slammed into Darius's iron jaw. The sound rang through the field like a hammer hitting steel. Darius's head jerked sideways, and cracks split across the metal near his mouth.
He growled, spitting a chunk of broken armor. "You think that hurt?"
Bob blinked. "My arms do."
Above, Gabe dove low. Three arrows fired in quick bursts, each one slamming into Darius's back and shoulder. Armor cracked. One plate snapped clean off and hit the ground with a clang.
Sly appeared in a blur behind Darius, claws glowing dark.
He slashed behind the knee. Dust burst from the strike. Darius roared and twisted to grab him.
SWOOSH
Sly was already gone.
"You're loud, but not smart," Sly said from the side, already moving in again.
Darius snarled. "Stand still and die."
Bob lifted his club again and grinned. "Round two, tinface."
Then, the unexpected happened...
The Little Finger forces turned.
Without warning, their weapons shifted. Abilities once aimed at Bob's crew now targeted the Red Hands.
Lucian's voice rang out across the battlefield. "Kill them all. No survivors."
Darius froze, confusion flickering through his eyes. "What are you doing?"
There was no answer.
The betrayal struck like lightning.
Blades pierced Red Hands soldiers from behind. SHHK Energy blasts tore through their lines. Their own allies cut them down without hesitation, ripping through armor, splitting limbs, and crushing skulls.
Implant soldiers still mid-swing toward Bob's crew didn't even register the shift. One had his head lopped clean off. Another dropped with a blade through his spine. A third was torn apart, chest split open before he could turn.
Darius growled, his voice cold. "Lucian. You dare betray us here?"
Lucian didn't reply.
Bob stepped back, eyes scanning the field as chaos erupted. Fires lit the fog. Screams filled the air. The balance of power collapsed in seconds.
Thud. Gabe landed beside him, wings folding in.
"Well," he said, voice quiet. "That escalated."
Sly appeared on the other side, wiping blood from his claws. "This isn't over."
Bob kept watching. His grip tightened on the club.
"No," he said. "It's just starting."
Bob turned toward the medical tent.
The operation had ended.
Inside, the man was awake.
Veyron Moreau opened his eyes slowly. His skin was pale and marked with faint, branching lines that glowed beneath the surface. His body was lean but unnaturally defined, as if carved from something harder than flesh. Black veins pulsed along his arms and neck, fed by the fog clinging to him like a second skin.
He sat up with eerie calm, then stood.
He was an Eldritch.
The fog thickened as he raised his thin, pale arms. It flowed into his open hand, twisting and hardening into a massive executioner's blade. The weapon pulsed, its shape shifting constantly, never fully settling.
Veyron gave a sinister smile, as if he already understood everything that was happening.
Lucian saw it too. He took a step back without realizing it, eyes wide as Veyron stood tall just moments after the operation.
For a second, he hesitated. Then he remembered who the man was.
He dropped to one knee, head lowered.
His voice barely rose above a whisper. "Boss…?"
Veyron turned his gaze toward him. A slow, knowing smirk formed on his face.
"Lucian," he said, voice smooth, almost amused. "I assume you've taken good care of my empire while I was resting."
Lucian didn't answer.
Veyron stepped forward once.
"Good," he said. "Now kill the rest."
Bob's stomach turned.
The realization hit him fast. Was the fight even necessary anymore? The Red Hands and Little Finger forces were now turning on each other, tearing themselves apart.
But that didn't mean his crew was safe.
He looked at his friends. They had been winning before, but the battle had dragged on too long. Their movements were slower. Their breathing was heavy. Cuts, bruises, and exhaustion were starting to show.
They weren't invincible.
And now Veyron had returned.
Bob had seen what he could do. The way he shaped weapons from fog. The way the battlefield reacted to his presence. He was powerful. More or less Stage 3.
The fight wasn't over. It had simply changed.
Bob clenched his jaw and gave the order.
"We're pulling back."
Bob didn't know if their new allies would turn on them too once the Red Hands were gone. And he wasn't about to stick around to find out.
Fighting was one thing. Fighting in the middle of a collapsing alliance was something else entirely. Staying meant risking more than just injuries. It meant losing control of the fight.
The smartest move now was to leave.
Bob turned sharply.
"Dr. Cal, get your crew. We're going."
Dr. Cal looked at his team and gave a firm nod. "You heard him. Grab what we need and move."
The battlefield was a massacre. Little Finger forces had turned on the Red Hands, cutting down their former allies with ruthless precision. The air stank of blood, burning metal, and scorched flesh. The ground was littered with bodies.
Bob's crew had seen enough.
The traveling medics packed up with practiced speed.
Dr. Cal, in his Cecaelia form, used his tentacle-like appendages to coil up medical tools and clamp cases shut. "No wasted motion. We stay mobile."
Harlan Kade moved quickly in his Harpy form, wings flicking as he swept gear into bags. "We're clear. Fast and clean."
Lynn Aster, her Sphinx eyes glowing faintly, secured diagnostic scanners into a sealed case. "We have everything critical."
Victor Reiss, his Gorgon form active, hoisted a compact storage crate with one arm. "No injuries. No losses. Let's keep it that way."
Avery Salis, in her Dryad form, touched the straps on each of their packs with brief precision. "Vitals steady. Let's move."
Dr. Cal nodded once more. "Stick close to Bob's team. We don't separate."
The medics fell in behind, fully equipped. Together with Bob's crew, they moved quickly through the shifting Pink Fog, retreating while their enemies remained locked in bloodshed.
Gabe shot upward, wings beating hard as he strapped himself to the pickup truck. The harness locked across his chest, and with a grunt, he lifted the vehicle into the air. The truck groaned under its own weight, but Gabe kept it steady.
No one rode inside.
To maintain their Glint forms, even the medics walked. Only their tools and supplies were packed inside the vehicle.
"Don't drop it," Bob called up without looking.
"I'm trying," Gabe shouted back. "This thing isn't exactly light."
Bob took one last glance at the battlefield behind them, then faced forward.
"Keep moving," he said. "We're not safe yet."
Iris and Sly followed close behind. Once Dr. Cal and his team pulled back, they all moved together, slipping through the thickening fog.
Dr. Cal's voice came from behind. "My people can hold this pace. Just don't stop."
The fog thickened as they pushed deeper into the ruined blocks. Broken streets and crumbling buildings blurred around them.
Bob's thoughts raced. They needed cover. A dead end would get them killed.
Then he heard it.
Soft footsteps behind them. Slow. Measured.
"They're still on us," Sly muttered. "One. Maybe two."
One or two Little Finger enforcers had picked up their trail and were following at a distance. Bob could hear their footsteps. Controlled. Cautious. Their Glints flickered faintly through the mist like dim signals warning of trouble.
They were being followed.
If they didn't shake them off soon, another fight would come. And none of them were ready for it.
Bob looked ahead, then to the side alleys.
"We find cover. No fighting unless we have to."
Then he saw it. A Metro station, half-buried under rubble but still accessible. The entrance was wide, the stairs cracked but solid. The pickup truck could fit through with Gabe guiding it carefully.
"Down there," Bob said, nodding toward the opening.
Sly exhaled beside him. "Metro? Again? Really?"
Bob didn't answer.