23:17, February 1, 2295

  Triumph Tower, 401 N Wabash Ave, Chicago, IL 60611, Terra Alliance territory

  Lorna Weiss watched the evacuation unfold from the Triumph Tower's marble-floored lobby, her reflection fractured across a wall of gilded mirrors. Outside, a stream of office workers and residents flowed through the plaza, guided by white-armored Vanguard marines. The contrast was stark - thousand-credit suits and designer dresses brushing past cleaning staff still clutching their mops, all equal in their fear.

  Through the lobby's glass walls, she noted the telltale emerald haze beginning to envelop the upper floors. Helionite smoke — unmistakable with its distinctive turquoise tint. The building's fusion containment systems were failing, leaking the luminescent byproduct into the night air. The eerie glow caught in the swirling clouds, transforming Chicago's skyline into an tableau of teal and orange as flames flickered behind glass facades. Any civilian would find the sight hauntingly beautiful; Lorna knew it for what it was — a beacon calling to every Radi-Mon within miles.

  As Lorna approached, one of the marines in white composite armor greeted her with relief. "Lieutenant Weiss, you're a sight for sore eyes."

  "You guys holding up? What's the situation?" Lorna replied calmly as she assessed the marine. As a Psi Lynx, agents like herself held equivalent ranks to lieutenants in the Armed Forces, which had always helped with coordination.

  "Could be worse, ma'am." Another Vanguard approached, helmet tucked under his arm. "Upper floors are clear except for the penthouse. Owner's refusing to leave. And the Helionite containment in the east wing is breached—we've got maybe thirty minutes before this whole area becomes a feeding ground."

  "Of course they are," Lorna muttered. Some things never changed, whether in Oslo or Chicago - the wealthy always thought their money made them invincible, even as their prized fusion technology turned their towers into Radi-Mon buffets. She adjusted her beige trench coat. "Status on the target?"

  "Still no visual. Seismic sensors show it moving beneath Michigan Avenue, but..." The marine hesitated. "There's something wrong with our readings. Like it's there and not there at the same time."

  A familiar heavy tread made Lorna turn. Thomas Mendoza approached, his cybernetic arms gleaming as he wove through the evacuation crowd. Despite the tension in the air, he moved with easy confidence, nodding to his Vanguard squadmates as he passed.

  "Brought you something," he said, producing a silver packet from his tactical vest. "Field rations. The good kind."

  Lorna accepted the self-heating meal pack with a knowing smile. The gesture was classic Thomas - practical yet personal. "Always taking care of me, aren't you?"

  "Someone has to." His gray eyes lingered on her face. "You've been running non-stop since that thing with Watrous."

  She tore the packet open, triggering the chemical heating element. Steam rose immediately, carrying the scent of synthetic beef and vegetables. It wasn't gourmet, but Alliance military tech meant it would be both nutritious and easy to digest. Another small privilege of serving the world's wealthiest nation.

  "Speaking of Watrous," Thomas continued, "the intel he gave about breeding facilities on Mars-"

  "That can wait." Lorna's tone was gentle but firm. She took a careful bite of the meal, letting the warmth spread through her. Through the lobby's glass walls, she could see the massive ‘T-R-i-U-M-P-h’ lettering illuminating the night sky - another beacon of wealth and inspiration, looming over a city where most residents struggled to make ends meet.

  A young cleaning woman hurried past, clutching a child's hand. The girl couldn't have been more than six, her wide eyes fixed on Lorna's quantum blue sword hilt as they passed. For a moment, Lorna saw herself in that child's face - another refugee, another life uprooted by forces beyond their control.

  "All units, update," Thomas's voice crackled through the comm network. "Ground teams, maintain perimeter. Roof teams, keep those spotlights moving. This thing's not getting past us."

  Lorna finished the last bite of her meal, crumpling the empty packet. "Thanks for bringing this," she said softly. When Thomas stepped closer, she let her hand brush his cybernetic arm. A small gesture that said everything she needn’t voice.

  The marble floor trembled beneath their feet. Just a whisper at first, then stronger. Through the windows, they could see ripples forming in the Chicago River, the water's surface breaking in patterns that defied physics.

  "There's our Radi-Mon," Lorna drew Baldr, the familiar weight of its hilt centering her as she spoke into her earpiece. "Diego, what have you got?"

  The evacuation's orderly flow dissolved into panic as another tremor rocked the building. Above them, crystal chandeliers swayed ominously.

  "Something's wrong with these readings," Diego's voice crackled through their comms. "The seismic pattern... it's like the signal's being scattered. Almost as if-"

  "As if it's cloaking itself," Lorna finished, her eyes narrowing. Through the lobby windows, she could see the river's surface continue to ripple in impossible patterns. "Psionic masking. Like what Manny did last month in the Houston op."

  Thomas directed his Vanguards into defensive positions, their white armor gleaming under the tower's exterior lights. "Since when do Radi-Mons have that kind of tech? Thought they were all claws and growls."

  "They evolve," Lorna's voice was grim. "Every generation gets smarter, develops new abilities. The ones in Norway —" She caught herself, but not before several Vanguards turned their helmeted heads in her direction.

  The ground erupted.

  Concrete and steel burst upward as something massive emerged from beneath Michigan Avenue. The Diabolisk rose like a nightmare given form - a mutated lizard standing at two stories tall, its body was a twisted mass of writhing muscles, chitinous plates, and razor-sharp claws. Its eyes glowed with an eerie red light, and steam vented from multiple locations along its spine, resembling a gigantic wingless dragon as it oriented on Triumph Tower.

  "Jesus Christ," one of the Vanguards whispered. "That thing's bigger than the reports said!"

  Lorna stepped forward, Baldr's pulse synchronizing with her heartbeat as she activated it, quantum blade igniting with a fierce hum. The blue light cast sharp shadows across her face as she moved to stand between the creature and the remaining civilians still scrambling for cover.

  The Diabolisk's head snapped toward her, nostrils flaring. Its eyes narrowed with frightening intelligence.

  "Ah," its voice was like grinding stone, speaking in the ancient language that only psionics could comprehend. "I smell the blood of the north in you, little one. It was your kind who facilitated my kin’s arrival on this planet."

  Several Vanguards stiffened, their weapons shifting slightly toward Lorna. The accusation hung in the air like poison - Nordling. Survivor of Scandinavia’s fall. Virus-carrier. Cursed.

  ”The fuck? Nordlings and them plagued people ought to be deported!”

  "Stand down!" Thomas's command cut through the tension. "I've served with Lieutenant Weiss for years. She was Alliance before I even enlisted. Whatever that thing's saying, it's lying."

  "Your metal-armed friend defends you well," the Diabolisk's laugh was like breaking glass. "But we Fenris Horde remember the taste and smell of Nordic flesh. The sweetness of your people's terror as they fled their frozen homes. You can't hide what you are, little northerner."

  "I don't hide anything," Lorna's voice was steel, even as her heart raced. "I serve the Alliance. That's all that matters."

  "Vanguards! You going to trust a Radi-Mon over one of our own?" Thomas challenged as he light gray eyes scanned the uncertain marines flanking them. "Over someone who's bled for this country?"

  Steam hissed from the Diabolisk's spine as it fully emerged from its tunnel. Its claws left deep gouges in the concrete as it moved, each step shaking loose debris from the tower above. Behind it, smaller shapes began to emerge - Bone Fiends and Skuggrs, drawn by their master's presence.

  "Sir," one of the Vanguards addressed Thomas, his hesitation evident even through his helmet. "In light of the Nucleus Virus, the 47th Amendment firmly states that any suspected Nordling should be — "

  "She's a Valoran that’s saved more Alliance lives than you can count, marine." Thomas's cybernetic hands clenched. "Now focus on the real threat."

  The Diabolisk's maw split in what might have been a grin. "Such loyalty. Such conviction. It will make your flesh all the sweeter when-"

  "You talk too much, lizard!" Lorna moved.

  Baldr's quantum blade carved a blue arc through the night as she launched herself at the monster's face. The Diabolisk's head snapped back, barely avoiding the strike, its surprise evident. It hadn't expected her to attack first.

  Lorna landed in a crouch, blade humming. "You want to taste something? Taste this."

  The plaza erupted into chaos as both sides engaged. Gauss Rifle fire lit up the night as Vanguards opened up on the smaller Radi-Mons. The Diabolisk's roar shook windows for blocks as it brought its full attention to bear on the woman who dared strike first.

  Behind her, Lorna could hear Thomas organizing the defense, his steady voice rising above the din. She didn't look back. Couldn't. Right now, she had to prove herself all over again, as she had done countless times before.

  Not as a Nordling. Not as an Alliance agent. But as herself.

  The first casualties came fast.

  Two Vanguards, veterans by their insignias, vanished in a spray of gore as the Diabolisk's tail scythed through their position. Their screams cut off with terrible finality, white armor scattered across blood-slicked marble.

  "Hold the line!" Thomas's voice carried over the chaos. His cybernetic arms whirred as twin blades extended from his forearms with a deadly whisper. The titanium edges caught the plaza's light as he intercepted a lunging Bone Fiend, crossing his blades in an X-pattern to catch its jaws. With a grunt, he forced the blades apart, splitting the creature's skull.

  Lorna danced between the Diabolisk's attacks, her right hand guiding Baldr in deadly arcs while her left wove patterns of psionic energy. The quantum blade left scorched furrows in the monster's hide, but the creature was learning, adapting. Each near-miss came closer than the last.

  "Glacies Lunae Fulgur!" Chanting in Ordovox, her spell crackled against the monster's scales. It was the most common psionic language in Valoran countries.

  The Diabolisk's eyes narrowed, and Lorna's blood ran cold as it opened its maw to speak.

  "Blóeskuggi Leiftr!" The incantation rolled off its tongue like thunder. Lorna recognized the language instantly, though not its entire meaning. A crimson bolt of energy erupted from the creature's maw, forcing her to dive aside. Where the spell struck, concrete bubbled and melted.

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  "Since when can they cast — " Thomas's question cut off as he drove both arm-blades into another Bone Fiend's throat.

  "Rauefeld!" The Diabolisk's next spell manifested as a wall of crimson energy. Lorna recognized this too - a barrier spell, but twisted into something corrupt. Bullets fired by the marines around them were all shattered to dust as they came in contact with the psionic barrier.

  The creature was using J?turmál, an ancient language she'd heard in her childhood, perverted into weapons.

  ”You recognize the words, do you not?” The Radi-Mon spoke to Lorna, wearing what resembled a grin on its reptilian face. “Such arrogance from the lesser races, to call it ‘the Tongue of Man-eaters’. But we both know better.”

  "Lorna, your left!" Diego's warning came just as a Skuggr burst through the crimson barrier. She pivoted, but not quite fast enough. Acid splashed across her side where the ballistic weave had torn, searing through fabric and flesh.

  Pain exploded through her nervous system. "Fulmen Argentum!" she managed to cast, silver lightning erupting from her left hand to blast the Skuggr back. But the effort drained her remaining Aether, and the Diabolisk seized its opportunity.

  "Blóespjót!" The monster's spell manifested as a lance of dark energy. It caught Lorna mid-dodge, sending her flying into the plaza's decorative fountain hard enough to crack marble. Water soaked her coat as she struggled to rise, both acid and spell-damage burning through her.

  Through blurred vision, she saw Thomas trying to reach her. His arm-blades flashed in deadly arcs, keeping Bone Fiends at bay while his heavy boots crushed anything that got too close. But there were too many. A young Vanguard broke formation to help, rushing to her side.

  "Lieutenant Weiss!" The marine's helmet was gone, revealing features barely old enough to shave. "Ma'am, you need to — "

  The Skuggr's second acid spray caught him full in the face. His scream would haunt her dreams.

  "Damn it!" Lorna's trembling fingers found the Medi-Vap in her coat. The device looked almost delicate - a silver cylinder with gentle curves, designed to fit comfortably against lips. She brought it to her mouth, inhaling deeply as she pressed a button affixed to its top.

  The Medi-Vap's effect was immediate. Teal-colored healing mist flooded her system, knitting flesh and purging toxins. Modern medicine at its finest. But it couldn't heal the guilt as she watched the young marine's body being dragged away by Bone Fiends.

  "Thomas!" she called out, pushing herself upright. Baldr's quantum blade sputtered, reflecting her depleted Aether reserves. "We need to regroup! There's too many —"

  Her warning came too late. The Diabolisk's tail caught Thomas mid-slash, batting him aside even as his arm-blades carved chunks from its scales. He crashed through the tower's glass facade, cybernetic limbs sparking as emergency stabilizers fought to protect his organic parts.

  "Lítilmenni," the Diabolisk rumbled a vocabulary that Lorna recognized. Little Ones. The word struck her like a physical blow - her father had used that term, so long ago in Oslo. "Your metal and meager strength cannot save you."

  Steam vented from its spine as it advanced on Thomas's position. The remaining Vanguards opened fire, their Gauss Rifles spitting hypervelocity rounds that barely scratched its hide. With terrible speed, its tail scythed through their ranks again. White armor and broken bodies scattered like leaves.

  "Hríebylur!" The monster's spell manifested as a storm of crimson shards, shredding through the marines' remaining cover. Those who tried to retreat were picked off by Bone Fiends, while Skuggrs cut off any hope of reinforcement.

  Lorna forced herself forward, but her legs buckled. The Medi-Vap was still working, but her left hand trembled as she tried to weave another spell, her Aether reserves almost dry.

  Thomas rolled to his knees, arm-blades extending once more. Sparks still traced paths across his cybernetics, but his organic jaw was set with determination. The Diabolisk loomed over him, its maw opening to reveal rows of serrated teeth.

  "I expected more from a Valoran," it said, switching back to the psionic tongue. "Such bold words defending your Nordling friend. Yet here you lie, broken like all the rest."

  "Go to hell," Thomas spat, cables tensing in his arms as he prepared for one last strike.

  "Daueaspjót!" The creature began to cast, dark energy gathering in its maw. Lorna recognized the spell - Death Lance in J?turmál. The same attack that had torn through entire buildings during Scandinavia's last days.

  She couldn't let it happen again. Not here. Not to her new family. Blood pounded in her ears as she struggled to rise, to do something, anything-

  That's when the sound of a different gunfire came.

  Silver-blue tracer rounds cut through the night like falling stars, each burst precisely targeted. The Bone Fiends nearest the tower entrance disintegrated under the onslaught, while consecutive hits forced the Diabolisk to abort its spell.

  "Sorry I'm late!" Emmanuel Boateng's voice rang through the comms, smooth despite the chaos. "Traffic was hell."

  He came in like a force of nature, his silver-white combat armor gleaming as he vaulted over a destroyed police car. The Kinetic Submachine Gun in his hands sang a deadly rhythm, its specialized ammunition leaving trails of quantum energy in their wake. His rastafarian locs, tied back in an intricate pattern, swayed with each precise movement.

  "Manny," Lorna breathed, relief and something else coloring her voice, her sapphire eyes taking in his approaching form. "About damn time!"

  "Couldn't let you have all the fun, beautiful." He flashed her that brilliant smile she knew too well, the one that had gotten her through more than a few lonely nights. His eyes flickered to Thomas's position, professional courtesy masking older tensions. "Tom, looking rough there, brother."

  "Rough? C’mon!" Thomas pushed himself up, hydraulics whining in his damaged arms. "Just getting warmed up."

  "Maridian," the Diabolisk's eyes narrowed at the newcomer, its voice dripping with condescension before it continued. "Bani — "

  "Ah-soo-bohn-tehn eh-toh-chyeh-reh!" In Anansemka, a language favored by Maridians worldwide, Emmanuel's spell cut off the creature's incantation with another primordial language. Like moonfire, streams of intense azure light erupted from his left hand while his right kept the submachine gun trained on surrounding threats. The spell caught the Diabolisk in the face, momentarily blinding it.

  "Still showing off, I see," Lorna managed a grin as she finally got her feet under her. The Medi-Vap had done its work, her body brimming with vigor once more.

  "You like it?" Emmanuel moved to cover her flank, his gunfire keeping the smaller Radi-Mons at bay. The way he positioned himself - close enough to protect, far enough to maintain propriety - spoke volumes about their history.

  Thomas rejoined them, arm-blades extending with renewed purpose. The three of them formed a triangle, backs to each other, a practiced formation born from countless missions. Yet there was an undeniable tension in how they moved around each other, the ghost of shared intimacies making every brush of armor or transferred momentum charged with meaning.

  "Baw-lah-eh See-kah!" Emmanuel's next spell sent quantum-enhanced bullets arcing toward the Diabolisk's eyes as he raised his full-auto gun to fire, the cerulean light of moon-enchanted bullets cutting through the night. The monster reeled back, but its tail swept the plaza in retaliation, forcing them to break formation.

  "Níeingr!" The creature's roar shook loose debris from the tower above. Coward. More J?turmál, but this time Lorna caught Emmanuel noticing her recognition of the word. His eyes met hers for just a moment, questions forming that she couldn't answer.

  "Focus up!" Thomas called out, professional mask firmly in place. "Diego, we need an exit strategy. This thing's not going down easy."

  "Working on it," Diego replied. "But there's a problem. Seismic readings show more tunnels being dug. Whatever this thing's planning-"

  "Blóestormr!" The Diabolisk's spell filled the air with crimson mist, obscuring vision. Through the haze, Lorna could see more shapes emerging from freshly torn holes in the earth - reinforcements answering their master's call.

  Emmanuel maintained his firing pattern, each burst precise despite the conditions. "Like old times, eh?" He caught Lorna's eye again, his meaning clear. Like that night in Tampa. Like Moscow. Like all the missions that ended in shared beds and unspoken promises.

  "Yeah, but let’s stay focused," she replied, more sharply than intended. She couldn't afford those memories right now. Couldn't let herself remember the warmth of Emmanuel's embrace, or the gentleness of Thomas's real hand against her skin as she had ridden him. They had a job to do.

  The Diabolisk's laughter echoed through the crimson mist. "Surrender, and I shall deliver to you a swift death."

  Through the crimson mist, Lorna assessed their situation with brutal clarity. Three Vanguards still standing. Emmanuel reloaded his gun, an empty magazine dropping to the ground with a clank. Thomas's bionic arms sparking with every movement. And her own Aether reserves barely recovered.

  The Diabolisk towered above them, steam rising from its spine vents as more Radi-Mons emerged from the tunnels below. Yet something in its posture had changed - a slight favoring of its left side where Thomas's blades had carved deep.

  "It's wounded," she transmitted through their private channel. "We just need more firepower."

  "Got you covered." Emmanuel's free hand slipped into his tactical vest, producing a familiar vial. The Indra-Sprite's blue liquid seemed to pulse in the darkness. "Brought your favorite."

  Their fingers brushed as she took it, the contact sending electricity through her tired muscles. For just a moment, she was back in his quarters in Tampa, sharing a similar vial after a different kind of exertion.

  "Thanks," she managed, uncorking it with her teeth. The liquid burned down her throat, instantly flooding her system with restored Aether. From the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas watching the exchange, his jaw tight.

  "Hl?ja!" The Diabolisk's spell manifested as waves of distorted reality, warping the air itself. Laugh, in J?turmál. A mockery of their moment of connection.

  Lorna pressed the half-empty vial back into Emmanuel's hand, her fingers lingering perhaps a heartbeat too long. "Save the rest," she whispered. "You might need it."

  Their eyes met briefly, sharing memories of other times they'd split such potions, and of nights when it had led to more.

  "Now!" Lorna shouted, unleashing her restored power as she raised her left arm to point at their nemesis, Ordovox parting from her healed lips with vigor. "Fulmen Argentum!"

  Silver lightning erupted from her left hand as Emmanuel opened up with his submachine gun. Thomas charged low, arm-blades seeking vulnerable points in the monster's scales. Their coordination was perfect - born from years of shared battles and shared beds, trust forged in fire and passion.

  The Diabolisk reeled under their combined assault. Its tail swept wildly, but found no purchase as they wove around each other with practiced grace. Even the smaller Radi-Mons seemed to hesitate, sensing the shift in momentum.

  "Glacies Lunae Fulgur!" Lorna's spell caught it in the face, forcing its head back. Emmanuel's quantum-enhanced bullets found the exposed throat while Thomas's blades severed crucial tendons in its legs.

  "Níe-" The creature began another spell, but Lorna was ready.

  "Passus Transitus," Lorna muttered, eyes narrowing as the next incantation slipped from her parched lips. She focused her mind, tapping into the Lunar energies that now coursed through her veins. Then, an ethereal aura ignited around her form, hues of cornflower blue lacing together. She blinked out of existence, reappearing behind the beast, her sword poised for a deadly strike.

  This time, there would be no escape. The imposing figure of the Diabolisk reeled under the relentless force, stumbling backwards, weakened and vulnerable with Lorna’s blue blade slashing at the side of its underbelly.

  The massive creature fell to the ground on one side, its sharp horns and razor-like claws now lifeless. Lorna stood tall, sweat dripped down her forehead and her muscles trembled with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline.

  The Diabolisk's eyes widened with something like recognition in its final moments. "You truly are of the north," it rumbled. "The blood calls —"

  Baldr's edge silenced it forever, as Lorna let out a fierce cry and plunged her sword deep into its chest.

  The plaza fell quiet save for the hum of Thomas's cybernetics and the soft clicking of Emmanuel's weapon cooling. The remaining Radi-Mons retreated into their burrowing tunnels, leaderless and afraid. Steam rose from the Diabolisk's massive corpse, carrying the scent of ozone and spent Aether.

  "Diego," Lorna activated her comm. "Tell Doctor Chakraborty she's got another specimen for autopsy."

  "Copy that. Extraction team is inbound." A pause. "Still in one piece?"

  She looked at her teammates - her friends, her secret playmates, her complications. Emmanuel was already checking the ammo of his weapon, his movements precise. Thomas ran diagnostics on his arms, the real muscles in his jaw still tight with unspoken words.

  "Yeah, we’re fine," she replied, not entirely lying. "Just another nightime mission."

  Later, she would deal with the questions in Emmanuel's eyes, the tension in Thomas's shoulders. Later, she would face the whispers about her heritage, the weight of secrets kept and shared. Later, she would remember the Diabolisk's words about blood and calling.

  But for now, she had done her job. The monsters were dead, the city was safe, and if the price was more emotional complications — that was a currency she'd been spending all her life.

  She wiped Baldr's hilt clean and returned it to her coat pocket. Above them, Triumph Tower's golden letters still gleamed, untouched by the violence below. The American dream in illuminated text, promising wealth, power and unapologetic personal freedom — to those strong enough to reach it.

  But Lorna had learned to want simpler things: purpose, self-care and the luxury of choosing which wounds to heal first.