Despite the TLL's monumental triumph in seizing control of most of Base 42 and eliminating the Archbishop of Lucifer, they remained oblivious to the grim truth: Umbrìo had orchestrated this as nothing more than a calculated sacrifice.

Rewinding back, as the Infiltration Squad approached the chamber's entrance, the unfolding chaos was captured on a flickering tablet screen held by a vigilant TLL operative. In the distance, Anthony, Ryan, and Thomas led the charge, their movements sharp and relentless, driving forward with the intent to encircle the chamber and bring an end to the fight. Unbeknownst to them, they were rushing headlong into a trap far more sinister than they could have imagined.

One of Anthony's side monitors zipped ahead, scanning the terrain ahead, its cameras whirring as it cut through the smoke. But before it could relay any information, a sudden blast ripped through the air—a rocket-propelled grenade sent from the shadows. The monitor exploded in a fiery burst, falling to the ground as its screen was shattered.

"What the hell!?" Anthony shouted, his fists clenched as he watched the wreckage land at his feet. With a snarl, he picked up the broken monitor and, in a swift motion, reattached it to the side of his arm as it sparked relentlessly. "You're so dead."

The cartel member emerged from the shadows, his voice crackling over the walkie-talkie as he issued commands. Hidden rocket placements whirred to life, launching a devastating barrage toward the trio.

Thomas and Ryan scrambled, firing wildly, but it was futile—there were too many missiles coming at them.

"Don't waste your energy," Anthony called out, his tone calm as ever. He raised his left arm, and in an instant, a surge of energy coursed through him. An energy blade materialized, creating a protective shield around the group, deflecting the rockets with precision.

The deflected rocket veered wildly before slamming into a nearby TLL operative, the explosion leaving behind only a smoldering crater where he once stood.

"Poor bastard," muttered another operative, his gaze fixed on the shaky bodycam feed. Across the newly secured runway, the distant rumble of explosions echoed from the mountains, lighting up the darkened sky with bursts of plasma. Residual streaks lingered, casting eerie trails that seemed to claw at the heavens.

The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the garrison, the mist retreating as golden light crept across the landscape. Operatives moved with a rare ease, their morale lifted after what felt like an eternity of constant vigilance. The soft hum of dropships mingled with the sounds of repairs and idle chatter.

Near the edge of the runway, a small group had gathered around a portable speaker crackling with upbeat tunes. One operative, tall and gangly, performed a ridiculous jig, eliciting laughter from his comrades.

"Morning stretch," he declared dramatically, twirling with exaggerated flair.

"You call that dancing?" another operative teased, joining in with an over-the-top shimmy.

Even the medics, tending to the injured near the perimeter, paused to chuckle. The garrison was alive with good spirits—a rare luxury in their line of work.

"Save the theatrics for later, clowns," barked a gruff senior officer, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. The laughter died down only slightly, the operatives returning to their stations with lingering smiles.

Further away, Francisco crouched near an ancient tree at the edge of the clearing, his fingers hovering over a peculiar keypad embedded in the bark. The device was old, its screen flickering erratically, yet it pulsed with a faint, foreboding energy.

"Francisco, report!" came a sharp voice over the comms.

He hesitated, glancing back at the bustling garrison. The echoes of laughter, the rising sun—it all felt out of place. Unease prickled at the edge of his mind.

"There's something buried here," he finally said, his voice low. "Not showing up on scans, but it's... massive."

Before the words could settle, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. At first, it was subtle, like the faint grumble of distant thunder, but within moments it escalated to a violent quake. Operatives staggered, their earlier cheer evaporating as the earth groaned ominously.

A deafening crack split the air, and the runway fractured violently, a jagged chasm tearing through its center. Shouts of alarm erupted as machinery toppled, crates slid, and the ground itself shifted beneath their boots.

Then came the sound—an unholy roar of engines reverberating from deep underground. From the gaping chasm, the hidden hangar of Umbrìo revealed itself, its massive mechanical doors grinding open with a hiss of pressurized air.

Dark, sleek dropships rose into the morning sky, their engines screaming like tortured beasts. Drones and helicopters followed, their formation precise and unnerving. The vessels glinted ominously in the sunlight, their black surfaces absorbing the light like voids made tangible.

"Open fire!" a commander yelled, breaking the operatives' stunned silence. Plasma and bullets streaked through the air, but the escaping aircraft danced nimbly through the barrage, their movements almost mocking in their precision.

The earth quaked once more, but this time the tremor brought with it a suffocating weight in the air. A blistering heat surged outward, clashing with an icy chill that froze the breath in their lungs. Operatives froze, weapons in hand, as a figure emerged from the chasm.

Douglas.

He rose slowly, his form wrapped in a tempest of fire and ice, their chaotic energy carving his silhouette into something almost godlike. Each step he took rippled through the ground, leaving trails of scorched earth and frostbitten stone. The golden morning light caught on his elemental armor, turning him into a kaleidoscope of destruction. Soldiers froze, their weapons trembling in their hands.

"'Ey there fellas," Douglas called out, his voice dripping with mockery. His eyes swept over the stunned operatives, a predator sizing up prey.

Twin orbs of elemental energy formed beside him—one a roaring inferno that scorched the air, the other a glacial sphere that froze everything in its wake. With a flick of his wrists, the orbs surged forward, twin beams of destruction converging on the nearest line of armored vehicles.

The resulting explosion shattered the fragile calm of dawn. Vehicles melted into slag, the molten metal cooling rapidly into grotesque, frozen sculptures. Dropships still on the ground disintegrated, their shattered remains scattering like autumn leaves.

TLL operatives sprang into action, their shouts of panic blending with the hiss of plasma rifles and the thunder of rockets. Douglas didn't even flinch. A barrier of frost materialized, absorbing the onslaught with crystalline indifference. As it dissolved, he retaliated—flames roared from his fingertips, engulfing a squad in an instant, while jagged shards of ice erupted from the ground, skewering others where they stood.

Francisco, still by the tree, watched in horror as Douglas advanced, leaving a trail of death and destruction. His voice cracked as he yelled into his comm, "We need reinforcements! He's—"

His words cut off as a spear of ice impaled him, his body collapsing in a frozen heap.

The garrison descended into chaos. Soldiers fled, some abandoning their weapons, others dragging wounded comrades. Douglas moved with cold efficiency, his every action a calculated massacre. He seemed almost bored, his smirk unwavering as he unleashed another wave of destruction.

By the wreckage of a dropship, a young soldier huddled, clutching a photo of his family. Tears streaked his soot-stained face as he muttered prayers under his breath. Douglas paused, his gaze locking onto the trembling figure.

"Prayers?" Douglas mused aloud, his tone light, almost curious. "You're wasting your breath, mate."

He raised his hand, a shard of ice forming with lethal precision. The soldier never had a chance. The photo fluttered to the ground, landing softly in the bloodstained dirt.

Above the carnage, the surviving cartel aircraft rose higher, their engines roaring as they sped toward the horizon. The TLL forces tried desperately to bring them down, but Douglas turned his attention skyward.

"Leaving already?" he said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the battlefield. Fire and ice spiraled around him, gathering into a vortex of elemental fury. With a deafening crack, he unleashed the storm. The sky burned as flames and frost collided, obliterating the fleeing ships. Shattered debris rained down, casting long shadows in the morning light.

Silence fell. Smoke curled into the golden sky, mingling with the morning mist. The battlefield, once alive with movement and sound, lay still and lifeless.

A lone survivor crawled beneath the twisted remains of a barricade, his breath ragged. He looked up as a shadow fell over him. Douglas loomed above, his eyes glowing with an eerie light, his expression one of detached amusement.

"Bit early for a fight, isn't it?" Douglas said, his voice low. Without waiting for a response, he turned and leapt into the air, his form trailing fire and frost. The light of dawn caught on his elemental wake, painting the horizon in hues of destruction.

As the sound of his departure faded, a new one rose—the howling of the wind like a banshee, and then, it was followed up by otherworldly hum of a Tritanide. It warped amidst the wreckage, its rotating disc emitting a soft glow as it scanned the carnage. Its single, glowing eye narrowed as it focused on the fading trail of fire and ice. Without hesitation, the Tritanide surged forward, vanishing in a burst of energy, leaving the ruined garrison behind.

Some time later, Anthony, Ryan, and Thomas arrived at the devastated scene. Among the smoldering ruins and frozen wreckage, they found the lone surviving operative, battered and clinging to life beneath a twisted beam. Anthony helped him up, his gaze hardening as he took in the aftermath.

Ryan, meanwhile, stepped over the rubble and approached a dazed cartel member who was unlucky enough to still be around the area. Without a word, he gripped the man's head, crushing it with a sickening crunch. His usually stoic face twisted into a rare expression of anger.

"I'll hunt down that sucker," Ryan growled, his voice cold and resolute. Plasma wings crackled to life behind him, their yellow glow illuminating the scene as he took off with a deafening roar, leaving the earth trembling beneath his feet and a vibrant yellow trail streaking across the sky. Without hesitation, Thomas followed, his silhouette vanishing into the air.

Anthony stood still for a moment, his fists clenched and eyes burning with determination. The emerald hue of his energy flickered to life, black clouds swirling around him as streaks of green lightning tore through the air. "I'll eradicate that bastard," he vowed, his voice a low growl before he vanished into the storm, teleporting away in an emerald flash.