The group regrouped, trying to chart a new path. But the problem wasn't the path—it was what waited at the end.
The first tremor rolled beneath their feet. Not just a quake—an announcement. Something massive was waking from hibernation, furious that anyone dared disturb it.
Out of the mist came a Guardian Bot—an iron house on legs, its shadow swallowing the ground. Its armor wasn't simple metal but a built-in psychic distortion field, shifting colors and angles so fast that no one could tell what was real and what was just illusion.
Every step landed with the weight of a coffin nail being hammered shut. Twin cannons on its arms flared violet, while shoulder-mounted barrels rotated with a predator's patience.
"Everyone—on guard!" Claire shouted, even knowing it wouldn't matter.
Zoe darted forward anyway. "I'll bait it!"
She spun, slipping past laser fire, zeroing in on a weak point.. A chunk of scrap metal in her hand, she hurled it.
CLANG!
The sound that came back said it all: useless.
Kieran braced, forcing his trembling hands to trigger Undo. His body screamed for him to stop. His mind refused.
Nothing happened.
Only silence—louder than any explosion.
Does this damn power even work? he thought bitterly.
Claire glanced at him. "Do you have a plan?"
"We need to break its shield. Attacking head-on is a waste," Kieran said, analyzing the giant's structure with a designer's precision.
"Darius—can you Copy its barrier?"
The big man scoffed. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"
"If you overlay the fields, they'll cancel each other out. We'll get a window," Kieran explained.
Darius exhaled through his nose, agreeing it was the hardest thing in the world. "Fine. Keep it busy. I need time."
He yanked out his interface, typing commands mid-air with blistering speed. Thin scan-lines raced across the Guardian's shield, absorbing data, circuits flashing faster and faster.
The giant wasn't waiting. Its cannons began to charge, energy building into a blast that would leave nothing behind but scorch marks on the walls. Each thundering step made the ground quake harder, the violet glow intensifying.
"Let's see who's tougher!" Zoe taunted, throwing her arms wide. The cannons fired—beams of violet death cutting across the room.
She slipped through them as though moonlight dodging shadows, never letting the titan get a clean lock.
"I've got its attention! Do it now!" she shouted, sprinting, lasers slicing hairs from her head before sizzling into the floor behind her.
Hanna seized the moment. Her hand swept upward, carving a crimson arc through the air. "Take this!"
The blast slammed into the bot—
—The shield held.
Hanna hissed, frustration breaking through. "Damn it, what the hell is this thing!?"
Zoe smirked, juking between beams. "Guess your power's kinda… meh." She winked, darting left again.
"You brat…" Hanna's glare promised she'd deal with Zoe later.
Darius, safe in his corner, was busy hacking together a disruption device. Both hands flew across the holographic screen, orange code lines streaking by as he deconstructed the barrier field pixel by pixel.
"I need more time!" he barked. "Keep it busy!"
Zoe spun midair, lasers slicing past her. "And what do you think I'm doing—ballet practice!?" she snapped, flipping to the side.
Then—her foot snagged on a steel rod that shouldn't have been there, placed too perfectly to be an accident.
"Wha—!?" She staggered half a beat.
The giant didn't hesitate. The cannon locked on, ready to bisect her in a single blast.
To Kieran, the moment stretched into slow motion. His chest seized, palms clammy, body screaming stop—but he refused.
He triggered Undo.
Blue energy flared.
Zoe's stumble rewound, sending her a second back—just enough to slip past the beam with fluid grace, skating through it in a perfect arc.
Kieran collapsed to one knee, sweat pouring, hands shaking violently. The pain lanced through his nerves, no different from barbed wire dragged under the skin. Every use of Undo wasn't free—it carved a new fracture inside him.
Darius noticed the hesitation in his own eyes, just for a flicker. Then his voice cut through: "Almost done!" The progress bar surged toward completion.
The Guardian suddenly swiveled, locking straight onto him—as if it knew exactly who the real threat was.
Claire reacted instantly. Her hand swept across the air—Replace. Three scrap bins blinked, morphing into a massive steel table that slammed down in front of Darius.
The cannon fired.
BOOM!
The barricade vaporized. Shockwaves punched out, flinging Darius's device across the floor. Sparks burst, shrieking against metal. Circuits wailed as they broke—yet, somehow, part of the system still clung to life.
The shield faltered. A weak spot flickered—dead center on the giant's back.
"There! On its back—open target!" Zoe shouted, vaulting sideways to bait it into turning.
Hanna's focus snapped to the breach. "I'll take it."
She raised her hand. Crimson energy twisted into a spiraling spear, burning as if a newborn storm. The moment its back was exposed, she thrust forward.
"This ends now."
The Delete Spear punched clean through the gap.
The Guardian Bot shuddered, then toppled forward in a colossal crash—smoke and dust its funeral shroud.
Silence. No one moved. They'd actually done it.
Kieran stared at the wreckage. "…I've seen this before."
Zoe whipped her head around. "What did you just say?"
"…Nothing. Forget it. Let's keep moving." His tone was flat, too flat—his gaze fixed on the ruin. The harder he tried to remember, the blurrier it became, a memory bent through some invisible filter.
And then—something called to him. Not a voice.
It began with the scent of scorched metal and dust seared into the basement air.
And with that, a memory slammed into him.
Fast. Brutal. not unlike a runaway truck with no brakes.
A little boy sat alone in a small room overflowing with toys—his own private museum. Shelves crammed with robots from every era: street-corner gadgets, military prototypes shrunk down into collector models.
But one of them didn't belong.
It wasn't cute. It wasn't a toy. And no kid should've had it. A humanoid bot, nearly as tall as he was, sealed inside a transparent case.
Tiny hands searched for the latch.
Click.
A whisper of machinery answered.
The bot twitched—barely, but enough to make the boy flinch. His fingers recoiled, yet… didn't let go.
"Kieran! Dinner's ready!" His mother's call floated in from the other room.
The boy tore his gaze away. But those glowing green eyes stayed with him.
And a part of him—older, sharper—whispered: Trap.
The battlefield snapped back around him.
Metal screamed. Lasers carved the air, fire hissing off steel. Shrapnel rained. Sparks skimmed skin. The team pushed deeper toward Alpha Core containment station, changing strategy every three minutes as drones and bots coordinated with terrifying precision.
Every time Kieran triggered Undo, it was as if pulling a string on that same cursed box. Memory fragments spilled out—grainy, overwritten, overlapping virtually films projected on top of each other.
Damn it… how the hell am I supposed to control this power?
They'd made it farther when Zoe piped up, "So, genius boy, what's rattling around in that head of yours?"
Kieran leaned closer. Tighter focus.. "I've been watching their powers carefully."
"Spill it then, Mr. Einstein." Hands on hips, curiosity sharper than her sarcasm.
"Darius—his Copy has more limits than he lets on. He can only duplicate what he understands. If he doesn't, the result breaks—like that map earlier."
Zoe snorted. "Figures. Guy acts like he's Wikipedia with biceps."
"As for Replace," Kieran went on, "it only works on objects. They have to be roughly equal mass, or close enough to balance out. Two small items for one big one—that kind of math."
"Like trading dimes for candy? Got it." She grinned, smug as if she'd solved physics itself.
He gave her a nod.
"And Hanna?" Zoe's tone shifted, less playful.
"Delete can't touch living beings. But she's the most dangerous of us all. Anything she erases? It's gone from time itself. Even I can't Undo it."
Zoe's brows knit. "And you?"
"Undo works on almost everything—objects, people. But not raw energy. Not explosions, not fields. Entropy's too high." His voice dropped. "And every use tears into me. Body, brain—it's my own mind rebels. The more I use it, the harder it is to stay… me."
Zoe's smirk faded. She set a hand on his shoulder. "Then it's fine. That's why I'm here, right?" Then, casually, "So… what about my power?"
"That," he said flatly, "is for you to tell me."
Her jaw dropped. "Wait—you analyzed everyone except me?!"
Before Kieran could answer, Hanna strolled up, amusement lilting in her tone. "Wow. You two, huh? Flirting in the middle of a warzone—adorable."
Zoe whipped around, wide-eyed. "Seriously? Could you not?" She struck a pose straight out of a daytime soap heroine.
Kieran leaned close to her ear, whispering, "That's your power. Pissing people off."
He slipped away before she could explode.
"HEY! Get back here, you jerk! What's that supposed to mean!?" Her footsteps thundered after him.
Hanna stood back, arms folded, watching them chase each other through smoke and ruin. Her expression wavered between a faint laugh… and something harder to read.
They finally reached Alpha Core station.
No red carpet. No choir waiting to serenade them. Only alien architecture and the sharp tang of chemicals—an art exhibition from the future, curated by someone with a grudge against humanity.
"I'd kill to post this on my story… guess that's not happening," Zoe muttered, her grin flashing like an influencer discovering a new lipstick line.
Kieran scanned the chamber, unwilling to believe beauty came without venom. "Why was this place built… and for what?"
The ceiling stretched into infinity, stacked with colossal cylindrical machines. Walls shimmered with living streams of code, tangled with symbols that felt ancient, etched by something older than human memory. Plasma surged through glass conduits, pulsing as if alive.
Suspended in midair, a console rotated slowly, its holographic readouts spooling data too complex for even machines to keep up.
"…Alpha Core," Darius whispered—breath splintering with awe. His hands trembled, reaching out as though the treasure he'd hunted all his life was finally within reach.
"Is that code? Or runes?" Claire asked, uncertainty creeping into her tone.
And then—light collapsed inward, swallowed into a single point.
The object emerged. No larger than a human brain. Spinning, shifting—solid and liquid, symmetrical yet formless, caught between motion and stillness. Each turn released a keening wail that pierced the chest more than the ears. It wasn't meant to exist here.
"Alpha Core…" The words slipped from someone's lips, but the room had already fallen silent.
Footsteps echoed—measured, deliberate. Whoever it was, they understood that walking slowly here was a form of dominance.
From the shadows, a woman stepped forward. She wore white—fabric so fine it looked spun from radiance itself, interlaced with metallic fibers that shimmered faintly. Armor glinted across her shoulders and arms, delicate yet unyielding.
Golden hair cascaded as if liquid sunlight, framing eyes deep and endless as ocean beneath sky.
"Welcome to Alpha Core Station." Her voice was steady, each word resonating an invisible wave.
Everyone froze.
Zoe went rigid. Hanna shifted into a battle-ready stance. Kieran stood rooted, heart hammering for reasons he couldn't name. His body remembered something his mind could not.
The woman's smile was faint—neither friend nor foe. Her gaze never left Kieran.
"My name is Elara. I am the Core's custodian."
Kieran found himself stepping forward, pulse syncing with something in the chamber… something ancient, something calling.
Elara blinked once. A spark slammed into his mind a defibrillator's jolt.
"The system has confirmed your access."
"Me? Why?"
Zoe shot him a look like he'd just sprouted bird crap on his forehead. "Wait—you know her?"
He shook his head.
"You were granted access the day you were born," Elara replied. Before anyone could protest or even process, she raised a hand. The central console flared to life, vomiting torrents of symbols—every language, every code, every script, all spilling a dam bursting.
Sirens shrieked. Red strobes flashed across every surface, shadows convulsing with each pulse.
The main doors slammed open. The thunder of boots. Soldiers in black stormed in—synchronized, clinical, each one moving parts of a single organism. Armor gleamed obsidian under the alarms' glow. Rifles hummed violet, locked on targets with predator precision.
In thirty seconds, paradise turned into a warzone.
And then he entered.
Every gaze swung to the newcomer. Words died in their throats. No introduction needed. His presence alone bent the atmosphere heavier than gravity. Each step was a hammer. Shoulders broad, stride unhurried, radiating inevitability.
He hadn't come to negotiate.