Chapter 330: Welcome to hell

Chapter 330: Welcome to hell

The briefing room felt electric with tension as forty personnel squeezed into a space meant for twenty. Emergency lighting threw sharp shadows across faces, and Noah could practically taste the urgency in the recycled air. This wasn’t just another deployment—this was big.

“Attention!”

Commander Damien Pierce swept into the room like he owned everything in it, including the people. Tall, broad-shouldered, conventionally handsome in that military recruitment poster way—except for how his eyes moved across the room like a predator cataloging prey. Noah’s stomach turned as Pierce’s gaze lingered on Sophie for several uncomfortable beats.

Sophie shifted closer to Noah without seeming to realize it. Diana’s face went blank—her default response to situations that disgusted her but couldn’t be directly confronted. Even Lyra seemed to shrink into her seat.

“We’ve got a shitstorm brewing in the Proxima system,” Pierce announced, his voice carrying that particular brand of authority that came from rank rather than respect. “Sirius Mining Operations has gone dark.”

The hologram behind him painted a grim picture—the Proxima system highlighted in angry red, warning indicators pulsing like infected wounds across three planetary bodies dotted with industrial installations.

“Fourteen-hundred hours today, we lost all contact. Every mining facility, every orbital platform, every civilian settlement.” Pierce’s eyes wandered again, this time settling on a brunette from Pathfinder Five. “Final transmission mentioned heavy Harbinger presence before the line went dead.”

Kelvin’s fingers were already dancing across his tablet, pulling files with the desperate efficiency of someone who knew information meant survival. “Christ,” he breathed, loud enough for their team to hear. “Two hundred thousand people. Contractors, families, kids…”

The number hit the room like a physical blow. Two hundred thousand human beings, potentially dead or worse, trapped in hell with no way out.

“Mission’s straightforward,” Pierce continued, tactical displays replacing the star map. “Get everyone out who’s still breathing. Figure out what the Harbingers are up to while we’re at it. And try not to die in the process.” His smile had all the warmth of a shark’s. “Questions?”

Lucas leaned forward, competitive instincts engaging despite the grim circumstances. “What kind of opposition are we looking at, sir?”

“Two to three-horns from the last intel,” Pierce replied. “But that was six hours ago. Could be anything by now.”

Two-horn Harbingers were the kind that required specialized teams and careful planning. Three-horns were the stuff of nightmares—Noah and Lucas had faced a two Crown barely a day ago and nearly died in the process. If they’d had six hours to dig in, establish territory, maybe even evolve…

“That’s why we’re bringing the heavy guns,” Pierce said, gesturing to the packed room. “Pathfinder Teams Five, Seven, Eight, and Twelve for primary assault. Support teams handle evacuation logistics and tech ops.”

The mention of Pathfinder Seven caused a ripple through the assembled personnel. Noah felt the weight of eyes on him, measuring, calculating. Grace Scott from Pathfinder Five gave him a respectful nod—professional acknowledgment between equals. But Marcus Torres from Pathfinder Eight was studying him and Lucas like specimens under a microscope, his jaw tight with what looked like wounded pride.

Being the team with the loudest successes apparently came with baggage.

“Thirty minutes to departure,” Pierce announced. “Full combat loads, extended deployment kit. We don’t know how long we’ll be out there, so pack like you mean it.”

As teams began dispersing, Pierce’s voice cut through the movement. “Eclipse, Grey—hang back.”

Noah and Lucas exchanged glances but approached. Up close, Pierce’s wandering attention became even more obvious as Sophie lingered nearby, checking something on her tablet.

“Your performance metrics make you our primary hammer,” Pierce said, though his focus kept drifting to Sophie like gravity. “I’m counting on you two to show everyone else how it’s done.”

“Understood, sir,” Noah replied flatly.

“Excellent. And Miss Reign,” Pierce turned his full attention to Sophie with a smile that made Noah’s skin crawl, “your work with Pathfinder Seven has been impressive. I might need to borrow that expertise for some of the other teams during this op.”

“I’m assigned to Pathfinder Seven, sir,” Sophie replied with professional ice.

“Of course, of course,” Pierce waved dismissively. “Just keeping my options flexible.”

The dismissal was clear, but Pierce’s eyes followed Sophie as they left. Noah’s hands clenched involuntarily, and it took serious self-control not to say something that would land him in military prison.

—

Thirty minutes of controlled chaos followed. Gear checks, ammunition counts, tactical reviews—the familiar ritual of preparing to walk into hell. Noah secured his Void Forge equipment while Kelvin rattled off intelligence briefings.

“Sirius Mining spans three worlds,” Kelvin explained, data scrolling across his tablet. “Primary extraction on Sirius Prime, secondary ops on Beta, main civilian population on Gamma. If the Harbingers hit all three simultaneously…”

“Coordinated strike,” Diana finished. “Not random.”

“Which means brains behind the claws,” Lucas added grimly.

Sophie packed supplies with care, but Noah could see the tension in her shoulders from Pierce’s earlier attention.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll manage,” she said, though her smile was strained. “Not my first rodent commander.”

The departure bay was organized mayhem when they arrived. Three heavy assault shuttles, two medical evacuation craft, and a mobile command vessel that would serve as their operational base. The EDF wasn’t messing around.

The social dynamics became crystal clear during boarding. Half of Pathfinder Five positioned themselves near Pathfinder Seven’s shuttle, obviously wanting to stick close to what they saw as the strongest assets. Grace Scott approached Noah directly.

“Eclipse,” she said with crisp professionalism, “Grace Scott, Pathfinder Five leader. If things go sideways down there, can we coordinate joint ops?”

“Absolutely,” Noah replied. “We’re all fighting the same war. But I think Lucas should be the one you ask. Although I’m sure he will give you the same answer. He’s our leader,” Noah said, making sure all protocol was recognized.

“Oh, my apologies,” Grace turned to Lucas and was about to say the same thing she’d said to Noah. But Grey cut her off.

“Haha…” Lucas chuckled to dial down the tension, “Like he said. We are in the same war. We cover each other’s backs, right?”

Grace nodded with a sigh, half relieved. To pathfinder team 7, this was their third mission where they were going to be facing hostiles. For these other kids, it was their first time even seeing one.

But Marcus Torres and his Pathfinder Eight crew made a show of boarding their shuttle with obvious displays of their gear and capabilities, body language screaming that they didn’t appreciate being overshadowed by what they probably saw as lucky rookies.

“Compensating for something,” Diana observed dryly.

“Let them posture,” Lucas shrugged. “Results speak louder than ego.”

The boarding process revealed just how much attention Pathfinder Seven had attracted. Despite multiple shuttles being available, at least half the deployment somehow found reasons to end up on their transport. The message was unmistakable: when the shooting started, everyone wanted to be near the team with the alpha class soldiers and the dragon.

Noah found it simultaneously flattering and uncomfortable. Six months ago, he’d been nobody. Now people were literally betting their lives on proximity to him and his friends.

The transport’s interior was functional military efficiency—forty combat seats in a space that felt like a coffin. As they settled in for the multi-hour journey, conversation turned to nervous speculation and tactical planning.

“Anyone know what Sirius actually mines out there?” asked Jake Morrison from Pathfinder Twelve, a stocky kid whose nervous energy screamed ‘first major deployment.’

Kelvin looked up from his tablet. “Rare earth extraction, mostly. Some of the minerals from Sirius Prime are essential for construction. Probably why the Harbingers hit it—deny us strategic resources.”

“Or harvest them for themselves,” Lyra added. “Intelligence suggests some Harbinger variants can integrate advanced materials into their biology.”

Commander Pierce’s voice crackled through the comm. “All personnel, FTL (faster than light) dropout in thirty minutes. Initial system scans will determine our approach. Stay frosty.”

The final approach passed in tense quiet broken only by system checks and nervous whispers. Through the small portholes, Noah watched the familiar distortion patterns of FTL travel. Soon they’d drop back into normal space and see firsthand what the Harbingers had done to the Sirius system.

When the FTL drive finally wound down and reality snapped back into focus, the first thing Noah noticed was the dead silence from the crew.

Never a good sign.

“Mother of God,” whispered the pilot.

Through the portholes, the Proxima system looked like a monument to human failure. Debris fields stretched across space where functioning orbital platforms should have been. Cruise ships—massive vessels designed to ferry mining families between worlds—drifted as broken carcasses, hulls split open and dark against the stars.

But it was the movement among the wreckage that really drove home the horror. Shapes that definitely weren’t human-made glided between the destroyed vessels, some large enough to be visible from their current distance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Pierce’s voice carried through the comm with obvious strain, “this is what the war actually looks like.”

The transport shuddered as it adjusted course, and Noah caught sight of Pierce through the small command section window. Even facing a graveyard of human civilization, the commander’s head was turning to scan the female personnel visible through the glass, his attention split between the crisis ahead and his personal obsessions.

Professional to the end.

Outside, the wreckage of two hundred thousand lives stretched endlessly through space, and somewhere in that graveyard, survivors were waiting for rescue.

If there were any survivors left to find.

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