The battle had long since surpassed the scale of war.
What unfolded between Altopereh and the Hound was no longer a clash of machines, nor even a contest of pilots—it was something far more primal. Two forces, stripped of restraint, driven by a singular purpose: annihilation.
Everything else had faded.
The fleets, the burning wreckage, the distant screams over comms—none of it reached them anymore.
There was only the fight.
Only the enemy.
Only the next strike.
They moved like opposing storms colliding in endless fury, their speeds reaching a point where even the most advanced Terrian tracking systems failed to keep up. To the outside world, they were nothing but streaks of distorted light—gray and orange tearing through the void in violent, unpredictable patterns.
But inside the cockpits—
Everything was sharp.
Everything was clear.
Youri's breathing was steady, his eyes locked forward, unblinking. Blood still traced down from his earlier wounds, dried at the edges, fresh at the source—but he did not feel it. Did not acknowledge it.
He had entered that place again.
That cold, endless focus.
The place where nothing existed but the kill.
Across from him, Larsen was no different.
His body was failing.
He knew it.
But it did not matter.
The Hound surged forward again, its movements still terrifyingly precise, still fast—almost matching Altopereh's impossible speed. But now, there was something else beneath it.
Strain.
Tiny fractures ran across its armor plating, glowing faintly where internal systems struggled to compensate. Its right shoulder twitched a fraction too slow. Its tail, though still deadly, lagged ever so slightly between commands.
It was falling behind.
Not because Larsen lacked skill.
But because the machine could no longer keep up with the monster it faced.
Altopereh pressed the advantage.
Youri drove it forward relentlessly, each movement calculated, each strike heavier than the last. The gray plasma blade carved arcs through space, forcing Larsen to defend more, react more—pushing him into a narrowing corner of survival.
A clash—
Then another—
Then another—
Each one chipped away at the Hound.
Inside the cockpit, warning signals screamed.
Structural integrity dropping.
Core fluctuations rising.
Cortex strain critical.
"Larsen!"
Serin's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent, her tone cracking under pressure.
"The Hound is breaking down! You're pushing it past its limits—pull back!"
No response.
"Larsen, do you hear me?!"
Nothing.
He didn't even blink.
His eyes remained locked forward, pupils dilated, breath uneven. Blood dripped from his forehead, his left arm hung limp at his side—broken, unresponsive. His right leg was crushed beneath the cockpit frame, pinned, useless. Cuts lined his body, staining the white of his suit in dark crimson.
But none of it mattered.
He leaned forward slightly, a faint grin forming on his lips.
"Just… a little more…"
The Hound lunged again.
Altopereh met it without hesitation.
This time, there was no finesse.
No dance.
Just raw, brutal exchange.
Blade met claw.
Tail struck armor.
Laser fire and plasma bursts detonated point-blank between them, each impact shaking both units to their cores.
Then—
The moment came.
Youri saw it.
A delay.
A fraction of a second.
The Hound's movement faltered.
That was all he needed.
Altopereh moved.
Not fast—
But absolute.
The gray blade carved forward in a single, clean arc.
It didn't hesitate.
Didn't waver.
It struck.
The Hound's left arm separated instantly, spinning off into the void in a trail of molten debris. In the same motion, the blade continued downward—cutting through the left leg at the joint.
A clean sever.
The Hound collapsed mid-flight.
Its balance shattered, its systems screaming as it struggled to stabilize. Thrusters misfired, compensations lagged—its once perfect control now broken.
For a moment—
It hung there.
Crippled.
Silence bled into the battlefield.
Inside the cockpit, Larsen's head dropped forward.
Blood dripped from his chin.
His breathing was ragged.
But then—
He laughed.
A low, broken sound.
"…Good…"
The Hound moved again.
Against all logic.
Against all damage.
It surged forward.
One arm gone. One leg missing.
But still advancing.
The plasma swords behind it reignited, spinning wildly now—not in controlled precision, but in raw, unrestrained aggression. The tail lashed forward again and again, each strike heavier, more desperate, more violent than before.
The Trident was gone.
Lost in the chaos of earlier exchanges.
But Larsen didn't need it.
He had enough.
The Hound threw itself into the attack, abandoning defense entirely.
It became a weapon.
Every remaining system pushed beyond its limits.
The plasma swords launched in a chaotic barrage, no longer precise—but overwhelming in sheer volume. The tail struck again, catching Altopereh across the side, forcing it back slightly.
Larsen roared.
Not in rage.
But in defiance.
Altopereh answered.
Its chest flared open once more.
Micro-singularity rounds deployed.
This time—
Closer.
Faster.
Deadlier.
One struck.
Direct hit.
The Hound's torso distorted violently as the singularity collapsed inward, tearing a massive chunk from its core structure. Armor folded, internal systems ripped apart—energy surged uncontrollably through exposed circuits.
The Hound stopped.
Not by choice.
But because it could no longer move.
Its systems failed one by one.
Thrusters died.
Weapons flickered.
The plasma swords dimmed—then vanished.
The tail slowly despaired.
Inside the cockpit, Larsen's body slumped.
Still conscious.
Barely.
Serin's voice broke through again—but this time, it wasn't sharp.
It was desperate.
"Get him out of there! NOW!"
Alarms echoed across the bridge of Amnesia.
Crew members scrambled, hands flying across consoles as emergency protocols activated.
And then—
The void rippled.
Space folded in on itself behind the crippled Hound.
A massive distortion formed—
Then split open.
Amnesia emerged.
The colossal ship materialized like a phantom from another dimension, its dark hull absorbing the surrounding light, crimson veins pulsing along its surface. It positioned itself instantly behind the Hound, shielding it from Altopereh's line of attack.
Youri saw it.
And for the first time since the battle began—
He stopped.
Altopereh hovered in silence, its blade still burning, its systems ready to strike again.
But something shifted.
Not hesitation.
Recognition.
The battlefield had changed again.
And the war—
Was not over yet.