They actually did.

It would be highly daft thinking they won, not with the innocent lives lost.

The obscuron had achieved his aim.

Lyra found Tatehan standing near the center of the plaza, his armor still active, the silver plating now streaked with dried blood and dust.

She'd parked the battle vehicle a block away and made her way through the debris on foot, stepping carefully over rubble and bodies. Her own armor was splattered with less gore since she had fought with the battle vehicle and not outside, her movements tired but…. normal.

When she reached him, she stopped a few meters away.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Lyra's first instinct was to hug him. To wrap her arms around him and feel the reassurance that she was still sane, seeing this so much disaster was sickening.

But she didn't, because everyone was watching.

Soldiers. Civilians. Security personnel. All of them were scattered across the plaza, some tending to the wounded, others standing in stunned silence. And all of them knew who Battle Commander Tatehan was.

If she hugged him now, in front of everyone, it would raise questions, start rumors and complicate things.

So instead, Lyra settled for a small nod.

"You're still in one piece," she said, her tone light.

Tatehan's helmet was still up, concealing his face. He'd kept it active deliberately. There were too many people here, too many cameras and too many eyes. He didn't want his real face plastered across every news feed in Waython Hollow.

Being famous as "Battle Commander" was one thing. Being recognized everywhere he went as himself was another.

"Mostly," Tatehan replied, his voice filtered through the helmet's speakers. "You?"

"Same," Lyra said. She glanced around at the destruction, her expression hardening. "This is... bad."

"Yeah," Tatehan said quietly. "It is."

They stood in silence for a moment, taking in the scene.

And then, without another word, they got to work.

The next two hours were brutal.

Not in the way combat was brutal. I mean, their was no adrenaline, no life-or-death decisions and no enemy to fight. Instead, this was a different kind of exhaustion. The kind that came from seeing the aftermath and from dealing with the reality of what had just happened.

Tatehan and Lyra moved through the streets alongside the soldiers and emergency responders, helping wherever they could.

They pulled debris off crushed vehicles, freeing survivors trapped inside. They lifted sections of collapsed buildings, clearing paths for rescue teams. They carried the injured to medical transports, their armored strength making quick work of tasks that would have taken others much longer.

And everywhere they went, people watched.

Civilians lined the streets, some crying, some cheering, some too shell-shocked to do anything but stare.

"Thank you!" a woman shouted as Tatehan lifted a massive concrete slab off a car, freeing the family trapped inside. "Thank you, thank you!"

Tatehan nodded but said nothing, moving on to the next crisis.

A group of children stood near the edge of the plaza, their faces streaked with tears, clutching each other as they stared at the bodies of their parents lying nearby.

Tatehan's chest tightened, that was really sad to see, but he forced himself to keep moving.

He couldn't stop, not now. There was too much to do.

"Red Crest Clan! Red Crest Clan!"

The chant started somewhere near the market district and spread quickly, carried by the voices of survivors who'd been rescued, civilians who'd been protected and families who'd been saved.

"RED CREST CLAN! RED CREST CLAN!"

The soldiers around Tatehan straightened slightly, pride showing slightly across their exhausted faces.

But Tatehan didn't feel pride.

He felt... hollow.

Yes, they'd won. Yes, they'd saved lives. But they'd also lost lives. Dozens of them. Maybe more. The bodies were still being counted.

And for what?

Because the Obscuron wanted revenge. Because Tatehan had destroyed a fortress. Because one warlord couldn't stand the idea of being defied.

Tatehan gritted his teeth and kept working.

Or maybe this wasn't even about revenge. It was but not clearly. The obscuron wanted control of Mars and he would be getting closer to his goal this way.

They found a man trapped beneath a collapsed wall, his legs pinned, his breathing shallow. Lyra held the debris steady while Tatehan carefully pulled him free. The man gasped in pain but managed a weak smile.

"You... you're him," the man rasped, looking up at Tatehan's armored face. "The one who... who fell from the sky."

Tatehan didn't respond, they hadn't seen his face but they had saw his armor and they recognized it pretty well.

He nodded to one of the medics, who rushed over with a stretcher.

As they carried the man away, Lyra glanced at Tatehan.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

Tatehan looked at her, his expression hidden behind the helmet.

"No," he said simply. "If anything I feel disappointed."

Lyra sighed slowly.

By the time the sun began to set, the worst of the immediate crisis was over.

The fires had been extinguished, the survivors had been evacuated and the bodies had been collected and transported to the morgue.

The streets, while still scarred and broken, were at least passable.

Tatehan and Lyra climbed back into the battle vehicle, their armor still active, their bodies aching with exhaustion.

Other vehicles from the Red Crest Clan followed behind them as they drove back toward the base. Some peeled off to continue assisting with cleanup efforts. Others, like them, were heading home.

Lyra drove in silence, her hands steady on the controls, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Tatehan sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the ruined city.

The streets were quieter now, but the damage was everywhere.

Shattered windows. Collapsed storefronts. Bloodstains on the pavement… all that sad stuff.

And the faces.

The faces of the people they'd passed. The grief. The loss. The emptiness in their eyes.

Tatehan sighed.

The Obscuron had done this.

Not directly. He hadn't come here himself, he hadn't swung a weapon or fired a shot. But he'd orchestrated it. He'd unleashed these creatures. He'd turned Waython Hollow into a warzone.

And for what? Revenge? Pride? A show of power?

Tatehan's hands clenched into fists.

This had to stop.

The Obscuron had to be stopped.

Not just for the sake of the Red Crest Clan. Not just for the sake of Waython Hollow.

But for Mars! For humanity!

Because if this was what the Obscuron was willing to do to a single city as retaliation, what would he do if left unchecked? How many more lives would be lost? How many more cities would burn?

Tatehan stared out the window, his mind racing.

The Obscuron needed to be stopped.

Once and for all.

But... how?

The man was a warlord. A tyrant with an army, advanced technology, and resources Tatehan couldn't even begin to imagine. He had fortresses—plural. He had commanders like Cherak, soldiers, weapons, monsters.

And Tatehan?

Tatehan had a system, a handful of abilities, a half-repaired spaceship sitting in his inventory and the Red crest clan.

It wasn't enough. Not yet that is.

Tatehan exhaled slowly, his mind already turning over possibilities, strategies and plans.

He didn't have all the answers yet.

But he would find them.

Because the alternative, letting the Obscuron continue unchallenged, wasn't an option. That was defeat!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.