The very instant Kal'tsit realized there was a mole deeply embedded within Babel's ranks, leaking critical tactical intelligence to the outside world, a suffocating dread for Theresa's safety gripped her heart. Was this entire ambush just a grand diversion? Was the enemy's true objective a decapitation strike against Theresa back at headquarters?
Yet, no matter how violently panic clawed at her insides, Kal'tsit was completely powerless to fix the problem from where she stood. Stranded in the middle of a barren wasteland, she couldn't just snap her fingers and teleport back to base, let alone personally hunt down the traitor burrowed inside their command structure.
Worse still, thinking through the variables brought a fresh wave of anxiety about the elite operators who were currently rushing to her rescue. By drawing Babel's premier combatants out to reinforce this remote supply caravan, the base was left in its weakest, most undefended state in months.
If the enemy capitalized on this window to launch a precision assault against Theresa inside a stripped-down headquarters... Kal'tsit couldn't even bear to imagine the horrific scenery that might await her when she finally crossed the threshold of Babel again.
"Before I make it back... you'd better pray you show a shred of actual competence," Kal'tsit muttered, her eyes locked onto the pitch-black horizon stretching out behind their position. Her voice was nothing more than a faint whisper, tossed into the howling wind, directed straight toward the distant coordinates where Babel rested. "At the very least, just make sure things don't collapse into the one nightmare scenario none of us are prepared to face."
Meanwhile, deep within the landship of Babel, the Doctor was acting as if absolutely nothing was wrong with the world. Having casually authorized the dispatch of their elite operators to extract Kal'tsit hours ago, the cloaked tactician was currently lounging comfortably in little Amiya's bedroom, completely focused on coaxing the young Cautus to sleep. The sheer aura of casual nonchalance radiating from the Doctor made the threat of an imminent enemy infiltration seem like a total impossibility.
"Doctor... did something bad happen today?" little Amiya asked softly, shifting beneath her heavy blankets. "I saw a huge group of our operators leaving the base in an awful hurry this afternoon. Is Dr. Kal'tsit in danger?"
Before surrendering to her sleep cycle, the vivid image of Babel's elite forces executing a frantic emergency deployment had dominated little Amiya's thoughts. Since Kal'tsit was the only high-profile commander operating outside the base right now, it didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
The poor girl simply couldn't shake the rising tide of fear for the doctor's safety. Even though the senior staff went out of their way to insulate her from the bloody details of their operations to protect her childhood, little Amiya's sharp intuition had long since picked up on the terrifying reality: Kal'tsit's journey was plagued by immense peril.
"Big geopolitical messes like that aren't things a growing kid like you should be breaking her head over!" the Doctor replied cheerfully. They reached out to gently rub little Amiya's head, their fingers lightly stroking the contours of her large, expressive rabbit ears. The Doctor's voice practically overflowed with absolute confidence—a tone that made it crystal clear that every single piece on the chessboard had already been accounted for.
"Your only assignment tonight is to listen to the bedtime story I'm about to tell you, and then get some good, deep rest. If everything goes according to plan, you'll be looking right at your beloved Dr. Kal'tsit the exact second you open your eyes tomorrow morning!"
"Speaking of which," the Doctor murmured, idly reaching over to grab the thick book resting on little Amiya's nightstand, "where exactly did your sister Theresa leave off last time? She's been banning me from story duty lately, to the point where I've completely lost track of what chapter we're on!"
The Doctor flipped open the heavy volume, only to find, to their utter bewilderment, that the book wasn't a collection of whimsical fairy tales at all—it was a dense, highly academic compendium detailing the brutal, war-torn history of Kazdel! Was Theresa seriously using a macro-analysis of civil warfare and political strife as a bedtime lullaby for a pre-adolescent kid?
Only Theresa would think digesting ancient Sarkaz political treatises right before bed is a normal parenting strategy, the Doctor thought, tossing the historical archive onto a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh. Turning back to little Amiya, they offered a much better counter-proposal:
"Reading dry history at this hour is just a waste of brainpower. How about the Doctor treats you to a completely unedited, epic saga called 'The Amazing Adventures of the Doctor and Kal'tsit' instead?!"
"Um, Doctor..." little Amiya whispered, her voice dropping to a cautious undertone as she delivered a devastating piece of counter-intelligence. "Sister Theresa explicitly told me this afternoon that if you dared to tell any of your 'bad' stories tonight, she would immediately take every single piece of slanderous gossip you've ever recorded behind Dr. Kal'tsit's back and play the audio files directly for her the second she gets home."
The exact second that warning registered, the Doctor's grand, theatrical posture deflated instantly, looking exactly like a punctured balloon stripped of its air. Abandoning all plans of creative rebellion, the cloaked strategist meekly picked the dry historical tome back up from the chair and began reading the tedious history of Kazdel to the little girl with absolute, law-abiding obedience.
Outside the reinforced hull of Babel, a thick blanket of heavy storm clouds slowly crawled across the sky, systematically erasing the silver glow of the moon and the ambient light of the stars. The wind began to howl across the barren wasteland, carrying the distinct, heavy moisture that signaled the imminent arrival of a massive downpour.
Back at the caravan's defensive perimeter, the tactical pressure from the attacking forces had reached a boiling point. Kal'tsit watched with a grim, severe expression as multiple weaponized Originium explosives cut through the darkness, arcing over their defense lines to detonate deep within the camp with a sequence of deafening, earth-shaking shock waves.
Using her hyper-acute tracking, Jeanne spotted a volatile projectile slicing through the air directly above her head. Reaching up with blinding speed, she clamped her bare fingers around the live explosive, redirecting its momentum in a single, fluid second as she hurled the payload straight back at the enemy's staging ground. The moment the device exploded along the lower ridge, the violent flash of fire illuminated a massive wave of Sarkaz infantry prepared to launch a synchronized breach run.
Unlike the low-tier, uncoordinated drifters they had easily wiped out during the previous skirmish, these combatants were packing high-grade military gear and moving in tight, professional squads. They systematically split into independent fireteams to advance from multiple angles, a tactical headache that prevented Jeanne from using her basic abilities to just sweep the entire field in one easy motion.
Furthermore, Jeanne quickly noticed that a huge chunk of these Sarkaz operators were wearing expensive, military-grade body armor. Looking at the sheer amount of money backed by this deployment, it was glaringly obvious that this strike force hadn't shown up to pull off a random, opportunistic highway robbery on a trade convoy. These men were professional assassins—and their primary target was unmistakably Kal'tsit.
"Exactly what kind of classified cargo are these trucks carrying anyway?" Jeanne asked, leaning her head toward Kal'tsit to get some basic answers amidst the growing chaos.
Judging by the sheer ferocity of the fighting, it was obvious the civilian drivers had never experienced a military engagement of this intensity before. Which meant, even in their past runs for Babel, things had never escalated to this apocalyptic level. The root cause of this nightmare was explicitly tied to whatever was locked inside these trailers—and the presence of Kal'tsit herself. Jeanne was genuinely curious to know what could possibly fill the cargo holds of a few commercial transports to warrant a localized war.
"A collection of heavy industrial maintenance machinery, along with specialized technical components that the manufacturing facilities of Kazdel are fundamentally incapable of producing internally," Kal'tsit explained smoothly. Her voice cut through the gunfire just as her spine rippled, unleashing Mon3tr into a maximum-readiness combat stance.
Hearing the clean, sanitized breakdown, Jeanne decided not to pry any deeper into the manifest. She had enough operational intelligence to know that the crates likely held a dozen highly classified strategic assets that weren't meant to be discussed in a hot combat zone.
At the very least, she could tell the crates didn't contain living biological test subjects or highly unstable weaponized hazards. If the cargo had leaned toward those dangerous variables, the independent logistics union would have flatly refused to drive the route; these drivers always conducted strict physical inspections of their hauls before signing a contract to ensure they never took a job that put their lives in existential danger.
Satisfied with her assessment, Jeanne threw her full focus back into repelling the charging lines of Sarkaz mercenaries. A heavily armored commando lunged across her sector, his cleaver tracing a lethal arc aimed directly at her throat. Without even shifting her center of gravity, Jeanne snapped out a lightning-fast front kick, her boot connecting with his chest plate with enough force to send his massive body spiraling backward through the air. The sheer kinetic shock of the blow instantly ruptured his internal organs, ending his life before he even hit the dirt.
"Searchlights up! Standard protocol, get those high-yield lights on right now! Move, move!" a senior guard commander shouted across the inner circle, desperately trying to give his men some visibility.
A sequence of powerful, high-intensity searchlights suddenly flared to life along the roofs of the transport trucks, their brilliant white beams cutting across the dark valley to expose the stealthy advance of the Sarkaz infantry teams. However, the exact moment the civilian drivers caught sight of the pristine, military-grade gear on the mercenaries, the fragile courage backing their defense took a massive, visible hit.
To make matters worse, their overhead lights began to systematically die. The enemy's hidden snipers fired off a succession of precision anti-materiel rounds, shattering the high-yield bulbs one by one until the camp was plunged right back into the suffocating embrace of the shadows—as if a living darkness were physically eating away at the remnants of their desperate hope.
If it weren't for the frantic commanders holding the line, combined with the fact that the cargo in these trucks represented the absolute sum of their worldly possessions, these civilian drivers would have abandoned the mission and scattered into the wilderness a long time ago.
"Doctor, the situation is falling apart fast! Look at the perimeter—is there any way you can pull in immediate backup?!" the Lupo vanguard leader barked as he ran across the command pocket to find Kal'tsit, completely skipping any polite introductions to demand a solution.
He had a completely realistic, unvarnished understanding of his crew's limits. Expecting a ragtag group of ordinary transport workers and low-level security guards to successfully hold off a hardened regiment of professional Sarkaz mercenaries was a mathematical delusion! It was nothing short of a suicidal pipe dream.
His men didn't even have enough combat skills to serve as a speed bump for these professionals. The only reason their defensive line hadn't been completely wiped out in the opening minutes was entirely due to the terrifying combat presence of Jeanne and Kal'tsit. If they wanted to see a miracle tonight, they desperately needed fresh reinforcements.
"I sent out an encrypted long-range distress signal hours ago," Kal'tsit stated, her face a mask of cold, calculated precision. "Babel's premier elite operators are currently rushing toward our coordinates at maximum speed. If their journey isn't slowed down by weather variables..."
The ancient doctor paused, looking up to analyze the thick, storm-choked sky before checking the digital screen of her wrist communicator to verify the timeline.
They are projected to reach our defensive line right before dawn. If we want to get out of this alive, our only directive is to use every single tactical asset we have to hold this exact spot until first light!"
Kal'tsit's voice carried a chilling, absolute weight that showed she wasn't spinning comforting lies. But the reality she was demanding was brutal: sunrise was still a staggering four to five hours away, while a professional mercenary detachment of this size had the coordination to wipe out a civilian camp in under twenty minutes.
The Lupo commander swallowed hard, cold sweat plastering his fur. Up above, the final searchlight shattered into a shower of glass from a sniper's bullet, and a few wet, heavy thuds echoed from the barricades as several frontline drivers took high-velocity rounds straight to the head.
Across the darkened perimeter, the only remaining light came from the erratic, dancing flames of their burning trucks. Looking out into the midnight dark, the defenders watched a massive, shimmering sea of red light particles drifting through the brush like a swarm of predatory fireflies—a sight that filled their hearts with pure terror.
Those glowing eyes didn't look beautiful; they were the physiological proof of the Sarkaz mercenaries' infection, their crimson eyes burning with a predatory light as the smell of fresh blood triggered the violent impulses of their biology. They were alpha wolves circling a pen of trapped sheep, completely intent on tearing the front line to pieces.
Of course, Jeanne remained firmly planted at the absolute center of the defense, her signature flag staff whistling through the air with loud sonic cracks as she cleared her immediate area. The sheer force behind her swings sent a clear warning to the surrounding enemies: Anyone who steps into this arc is getting their bones turned to dust.
An instant later, Jeanne tapped into her power, her holy blade erupting with a localized burst of specialized fire as she cut down an advancing shock trooper. The flames wrapped around his armored body instantly, turning his entire physical form into a pile of clean ash before he could even finish his step.
The intelligence our bosses gave us are completely wrong, the surrounding Sarkaz mercenaries thought, their eyes narrowing as they instinctively slowed their advance around Jeanne's sector. That woman's strength can't be measured by normal standards; she's a total wildcard!
Forming a loose, cautious ring around Jeanne's position, the predatory mercenaries began altering their strategy, aggressively calculating exactly what kind of special traps or high-yield suppression arts it would take to finally bring this terrifying woman down to her knees.