Backwater Station didn't celebrate victory.
It braced for retaliation.
The fires from the destroyed Dominion headquarters still burned at the edge of the settlement, casting a dull orange glow across the broken streets. Smoke drifted low between buildings, mixing with dust and ash until the entire town felt suffocatingly heavy. What little time the Raiders had bought themselves was already running out.
Raynor stood near the center of the square, issuing orders as civilians and Raiders reinforced what defenses they could. Barricades were crude but functional—vehicles dragged into choke points, scrap metal welded into makeshift cover, anything that could slow an incoming force. The people who had been prisoners only hours ago now moved with purpose, anger replacing fear.
They knew the Dominion would come back.
And this time, it wouldn't be half-hearted.
Jake moved along the outer edge of the defensive line, not speaking, not directing—just watching. His attention wasn't fixed on any one point. It shifted constantly, scanning, tracking, measuring. Not with his eyes.
With something deeper.
The first sign came as a flicker at the edge of his awareness.
Movement, distant but deliberate.
Then more.
Not scattered patrols this time. Organized units. Converging.
Jake stopped walking.
"They're regrouping," he said.
Raynor glanced over. "How long?"
Jake tilted his head slightly, focusing on the pattern forming beyond the town. "Not long."
That was all Raynor needed.
"Everyone into position!" he shouted. "We hold here!"
The defenders settled into place just as the first Dominion vehicles broke through the smoke.
This wasn't a probing attack.
It was a reclaim operation.
Armored transports rolled forward in a tight formation, infantry advancing alongside them with disciplined spacing. Their approach was methodical, designed to crush resistance and secure the town quickly.
Raynor raised his rifle but didn't fire yet.
"Hold… hold…"
Jake stood just behind the front barricade, his gaze fixed on the incoming force. He wasn't watching the vehicles.
He was watching the soldiers.
Their movement.
Their spacing.
Their intent.
He could feel them now—not their thoughts, not clearly—but their presence. Points of focus in the chaos, each one carrying direction and purpose that he could almost read if he concentrated hard enough.
"Now!" Raynor barked.
Gunfire erupted.
The first volley slammed into the Dominion line, catching the front ranks as they advanced. Explosives detonated under the lead vehicle, flipping it sideways and forcing the formation to break apart just enough to disrupt their momentum.
But they kept coming.
Jake stepped forward.
A Dominion soldier broke into a sprint toward the barricade, weapon raised.
Jake's focus locked onto him instinctively. He reached out—not for the man's mind, not for control—but for the space around him.
He pushed.
The soldier stumbled hard, his balance collapsing as if the ground had shifted beneath him. His rifle discharged into the dirt as he went down, momentum carrying him into a roll that left him exposed.
A Raider finished him before he recovered.
Jake exhaled slowly.
That was manageable. Targeted. Clean.
He shifted focus.
Two more soldiers advanced together, pushing toward the left flank. Jake reached out again, this time pressing against the lead soldier's center of mass—not lifting, not grabbing, just disrupting.
The man's stride broke. He collided with his partner, both of them stumbling into each other's line of fire. The hesitation lasted less than two seconds.
It was enough.
Raider gunfire cut them down before they recovered.
Raynor saw it. Not what Jake was doing—but the effect. Soldiers tripping over nothing. Shots going wide. Advances stalling for no visible reason.
"Push them back!" Raynor ordered.
The Raiders surged forward, capitalizing on every break in the Dominion formation. But Jake could feel the strain building—not overwhelming, not dangerous yet, but present. Each use of his abilities cost something, and the costs were adding up.
A thin line of blood appeared at his nostril.
He wiped it without thinking.
The Dominion adjusted quickly.
They had to.
The next wave didn't charge blindly. Instead, they spread out, using cover, advancing in smaller units to reduce the impact of disruption. Their vehicles pulled back slightly, providing suppressive fire instead of leading the charge.
It was smarter.
More controlled.
But Jake adapted too.
A group of soldiers attempted to flank from the right side, moving through the ruins of a collapsed building. Jake turned toward them before anyone else noticed—not because he saw them, but because he felt the shift in pressure, the concentration of intent moving where it shouldn't be.
"Right flank!" he called out.
Raiders repositioned immediately.
Jake reached toward the flanking group—and this time, he targeted the lead soldier specifically. One focused push against the man's footing, timed to the exact moment he stepped over rubble.
The soldier went down hard, his body crashing into the debris with enough force to block the path behind him. The soldiers following had to break formation to get around him.
That delay was all the Raiders needed.
Gunfire tore through the exposed flank before they could regroup.
A transport broke through the far barricade, slamming into position as more Dominion troops deployed into the center of the town. This time, they came in heavier, better equipped, pushing hard to regain control.
Raynor saw the shift immediately. "They're reinforcing! Hold your ground!"
The defenders tightened their line, but the pressure increased rapidly. The Dominion forces pushed forward with renewed intensity, forcing the Raiders to give ground step by step.
Jake felt it.
The pressure.
From the battlefield itself.
Too many targets. Too many moving parts.
He couldn't disrupt all of them. Couldn't even reach most of them. His range was limited, his precision fading with each use, and the strain behind his eyes was building into something sharp and persistent.
So he chose.
Not the biggest threats.
The critical ones.
A Dominion marine raised his weapon toward a group of civilians trying to fall back behind cover. Jake's focus snapped onto him—just him—and pushed.
The man's aim jerked sideways. Not dramatically. Not visibly controlled. Just enough that his shots went wide, tearing into the barricade instead of the people behind it.
A Raider shot him a second later.
Jake's breathing was heavier now. Blood ran freely from his nose, warm against his lip. His vision flickered at the edges when he pushed too hard.
But he held.
Because that was all he could do.
Hold.
The final push came quickly.
With their flanking attempts disrupted and their formation fractured by a combination of Raider firepower and Jake's targeted interference, the Dominion forces began to fall back. Not in full retreat yet—but close.
Raynor didn't let them recover.
"Drive them out!" he shouted.
The defenders surged forward one last time, overwhelming what remained of the resistance. The Dominion soldiers pulled back under pressure, retreating beyond the edge of the settlement as their vehicles disengaged and withdrew.
And then…
They were gone.
Silence returned slowly.
The kind that came after something violent.
Heavy.
Uncertain.
Jake stood still near the front line, his gaze fixed on where the Dominion forces had retreated. His breathing was steady again, but the strain was visible—blood drying on his upper lip, faint shadows beneath his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Raynor approached him, stopping a few steps away.
"That wasn't ghost work," he said.
Jake didn't deny it.
"No," he said quietly.
Raynor studied him for a moment longer. "You look like hell."
Jake wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. "It's manageable."
Raynor didn't look convinced.
"They'll be back," he said.
Jake nodded once.
"Yeah," he said.
But his attention wasn't on the horizon anymore.
It was on the cost.
Because every time he reached out, every time he used what the hive had put inside him, it came a little easier.
And that—
Was the part that worried him most.