Count Reginald Roth's Log, Supplemental
Albion Command recording
27 days after Rothgard's Fall
Armor stands unyielding.
Spells break like waves.
The city is reclaimed.
Across Blackthorn Harbor, dozens of Discovery platoons moved in coordinated waves, sweeping the city street by street. One such platoon—led by Delta Sergeant Marcus Hale and Marine Corporal Elena Reyes—pushed through the riverside district, clearing block after block. At the same time, Albion troops followed in their wake, growing bolder with every step.
Hale's matte-black exoskeleton led the way into a warehouse. A rune-warded floor collapsed beneath him, iron spikes shooting upward from hidden pits. The spikes shattered against his armor with a metallic clang. A split-second later, a binding-vine spell erupted from the rafters, thick tendrils of living Aether wrapping around his legs and torso. The vines tightened, glowing with mana-draining energy meant to sap the victim's strength. Hale simply flexed, the reinforced plating crushing the vines to dust. "Clear left," he called, voice calm through the external speaker.
Reyes followed through the same doorway. A cloud of acid mist erupted from concealed ceiling vents, hissing as it ate into wood and stone. The corrosive vapor rolled over her navy-grey armor without effect. From the shadows, a Draco caster hurled an illusion spell—phantom warriors lunging from every direction, their blades flickering with false menace. Reyes ignored the ghosts and fired a short burst, dropping the real caster hidden behind a crate. "Clear right," she replied.
Private First Class Jax Ramirez, the platoon's youngest Marine, hot-roped in behind them. During the brief calm inside the cleared room, he muttered, "These guys really think poison mist and ghost swords are going to slow us down?" Lance Corporal Maya Singh, the squad's calm medic, answered without looking up from checking a civilian. "Eyes on the civilians, Ramirez. We can laugh about it later. Stay focused."
Sergeant Tomas Kowalski, the gruff veteran everyone called Bear, grunted from the rear. "Save the commentary for the ride home, people. We've still got half the city to sweep. Keep it tight." The platoon secured the cluster of terrified civilians huddled behind overturned barrels. "Stay behind us," Hale told them. "We're getting you out."
Further down the street, a collapsing rune floor dropped the fire team into a pit lined with poisoned spikes and mana-draining webs. The spikes snapped against their armor. The webs tried to latch on and drain their strength, but the sealed suits tore through the glowing strands like cobwebs. From above, surviving legionnaires poured low-velocity rounds and hurled fire-breath potions that burst into liquid flame. The flames washed over the armor in harmless sheets of heat. Hale and Reyes climbed out in seconds.
"Bear, left flank—suppress!" Reyes snapped, all levity gone, voice sharp with command. "On it," Kowalski answered, his heavy rifle barking in controlled bursts. Ramirez slid into position beside him. "Got your six, Corporal. These bastards are going down."
Singh covered the civilians. "Keep moving—civilians clear!" Block by block, the sweep continued. In one square, a Draco siege engine had been dragged into position behind overturned carts. A nearby platoon's Jackel support hammered it with air-to-ground missiles, reducing the engine to scrap in a single blast. On the ground, Hale and Reyes cleared the surrounding buildings—facing collapsing rune floors, acid mist traps, binding vines, illusion phantoms, explosive ward doors, and mana-draining webs. Every trap and spell failed against the advanced armor. The two operators moved with machine-like precision, their weapons barking in controlled bursts.
By the time the sun had climbed higher, the last pockets of resistance had collapsed. Draco soldiers threw down their weapons and knelt in the streets, hands raised. Only a handful remained alive—officers and a few stubborn veterans who had been cut off from retreat. Delta operators secured them with efficient zip-cuffs and marched the prisoners toward a cleared plaza where a single VS-44 waited, ramp lowered. Roth and Lord Blackthorn descended the keep stairs to meet the returning force. Kane stood at the head of the column, helmet under one arm, his matte-black armor still pristine despite the carnage. Behind him, the surviving Draco prisoners were loaded aboard the shuttle under the watchful eyes of Marine guards.
Kane gave a crisp nod. "The city is clear, my lord. We have a handful of prisoners for Commander Voss and her intelligence section. The rest… well, they chose to fight to the end." Roth looked past him at the streets now quiet except for the distant crackle of dying fires and the low thrum of Jackel engines overhead. His own troops moved among the Discovery forces with growing ease, sharing water skins and exchanging quiet words of respect. The fear that had gripped the city only hours earlier had lifted.
"You have given us back our home," Roth said, voice thick. "And perhaps more than that." Kane met his gaze steadily. "We came to help an ally. Princess Jasmine asked us to keep her people safe. We intend to finish the job." The last VS-44 lifted off, carrying the prisoners toward interrogation and whatever secrets Voss could wring from them. Below, Albion soldiers and Discovery troops stood shoulder to shoulder among the rubble, the first fragile threads of trust beginning to form in the ashes of battle.