The airship floated like a phantom above the land, its massive metal hull gleaming under the shifting twilight, suspended in the thickening night. Garren Vex stood still at the front of the deck, arms folded, his boots heavy on the cold steel beneath him. Above, the city below was fading, the last vestiges of daylight struggling against the encroaching storm clouds. The sky was a cruel gradient of purple and black, threatening to open up into a downpour at any moment. Yet the airship cut through it all, its engines humming with eerie precision as it glided into the endless unknown.


    Around him, the X-Unit stood in perfect formation. They were an imposing line of silent figures, their angular helmets reflecting the dim light of the sky like polished obsidian. Their armor was sleek and practical—built for efficiency and dominance. Slate gray and metallic black, each chest plate was embossed with the unmistakable X on their shoulders—a mark of loyalty and absolute submission to the Dominion. The X was their uniform, their signature, their identity—a letter, impersonal but powerful.


    Garren felt the weight of the insignia on his shoulder, heavy like a stone pressing into his skin. He had worn it longer than any of them, had believed in it once, fought for it. But now, standing amidst them, he felt it like a branding iron—every inch of him resisting the meaning it once held. His fingers twitched at his side, a subtle movement, the only sign of his unrest. He was unsure if the airship or the X-Unit itself suffocated him. The cold, mechanical precision of the soldiers around him was oppressive, like the rigid grip of a world that demanded order and control.


    The X-Unit was a collective force—silent, unwavering. Their movements were synchronized in a way that could only be described as unnatural. Every step was calculated. Every breath was measured. Even the rustling of their cloaks, flickering in the heavy wind, was uniform. Their helmets were blank slates, expressionless, revealing nothing of the men and women beneath them, their thoughts, their fears. They were tools. Weapons. Enforcers.


    Garren''s gaze drifted across their facades and faceless visors, and he couldn''t help but remember the countless missions he''d been part of. The unreadable soldiers had always been a blur—a wall of authority and obedience. But now, for the first time, he saw them for what they were: echoes of his past. These faceless people did the bidding of the Dominion without question, without reflection. He was one of them.


    The wind grew sharper, tugging at their cloaks. The wooden airship deck creaked as the ship adjusted its trajectory, swaying slightly in the gusts. Garren held his ground, feet firmly planted, though his mind raced. He had always believed in the power of the X, the promise it symbolized—control, order, righteousness. But now, standing among them, he felt no such certainty. What was no glory in this? Where was the honor?


    Was this an actualization of his will to power?


    "Keep your focus, Vex." The voice came from his right, warbling through the speakers. It was a sharp, low growl of authority, like the hum of an arcblade being drawn. It belonged to the officer beside him, another higher-ranking X-Unit, and his commander. The officer''s helmet glinted, catching a brief flash of light from the distant city below.


    Garren didn''t reply. He hadn''t needed to. They all knew their role. No one spoke unless spoken to. Talking happened when the mission demanded it. Silence was both their strength and their shield. But still, Garren couldn''t shake the unease that gnawed at his gut. The airship was a monstrosity in the sky, floating just above the city like an old kingdom dragon.


    Below, the city was a sprawling mess of buildings and roads, illuminated by streetlamps in a harsh phosphorous glow. From above, it looked like a labyrinth—a maze of concrete and steel broken up by the occasional patch of green from a park or courtyard.


    The airship was headed for the city''s heart. The buildings were taller there—skyscrapers reaching high into the air like skeletal fingers. Their windows glowed with soft light, and Garren could almost imagine the warmth within each one. People went about their daily lives, unaware of the impending danger above them.


    The airship descended into the heart of the city. The X-Unit moved closer to the edge, their weapons raised, ready to unleash their power at any moment.


    "X-Unit," the officer said, his voice cold. "Prepare to engage any resistance."


    Garren''s eyes widened beneath his mask, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. But hesitation was not an option. He gripped his rifle—a long, heavy weapon with a sleek stock and a barrel glowing faint blue with magical energy. The muzzle, a cube perforated with vents, hummed ominously as he steadied his aim.


    Above, the airship loomed, its massive engines roaring as it descended over the city. The X-Unit dropped from its side like a torrent of metal-clad rain, landing with precision on rooftops and streets. Their weapons snapped into position, ready to strike down anyone who resisted.


    Garren hit the ground hard. His knockboots absorbed most of the impact, but the shock still rattled through his legs. The air was frigid, biting through his uniform, and the wind stung his eyes. Around him, the city quaked with chaos—screams, running footsteps, the crackle of flames.


    He raised his rifle, sighting a cluster of fleeing civilians. His finger hovered over the trigger. They ran, their cries sharp with terror.


    His hand trembled. Then he fired.


    The rifle bucked against his shoulder, discharging a burst of searing blue energy. The bolt struck a man in the back—he crumpled, spasming before falling still.


    A child rushed toward the fallen body.


    Garren pulled the trigger again.


    He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. The stench of burning buildings thickened the air, drowning out everything else. There was no stopping this. No turning back.


    He was the Dominion''s weapon.


    And the city burned.


    The X-Units moved in formation, firing their weapons and setting the streets ablaze. Buildings exploded and crumbled into piles of rubble, and the city descended into chaos.


    Garren felt tears streaming down his face, his heart pounding in his chest as the city around him erupted into a nightmare landscape of destruction. The sky turned black, and the air was filled with gunfire.


    As the city burned around him, Garren saw a squad break away from the leading group of soldiers and head toward a building in the center of the street.


    He wasn''t sure what prompted him to follow them. His own subunit was continuing down the street. But, something compelled him. He followed them, his rifle still humming from his earlier shots.


    The door was kicked down, and the subunit entered the building. Garren followed them inside and found himself standing in a small room with a table and chairs. In one corner of the room was an old, worn sofa. On it sat a young mother with her three children: two boys and a girl. They huddled together, clinging to each other for support, their eyes wide with terror as they stared up at the intruders.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The squad leader slung his rifle over his shoulders, "Well, what do we have here?"


    Garren felt a pang in his gut. The mother hugged the children to her, her eyes filled with fear. She had a look of resignation as though she was waiting to die. She looked at the X-Unit with a mix of fear and defiance. She didn''t want her children to see their own deaths.


    The squad leader stepped forward, his hand reaching for the mother''s face, his fingers trailing along her jawline. He grabbed her chin in his gauntlet and tilted it upwards to look her in the eye. He spoke in a low tone, his voice grating and cruel. "Tell me where the rebel leaders are hiding."


    "I don''t know!" she replied. "I swear! I don''t know!"


    "Lies," he said, slapping her hard across the face. The force sent her sprawling backward, and she fell to the ground, her body slamming against the floorboards. The squad leaders gestured for the other squad members to grab the children.


    "Let go of me!" The boy shouted. He kicked at his attacker, his fists flying. His sister was sobbing. She tried to run away, but one of the X-Unit caught her by the arm and pulled her back. Another soldier drew a pistol and held it to her head, forcing her to sit still. They were all crying. All but the little girl. She stared up at the men, her expression blank. She was so young, Garren realized. She must have been five or six at most, and her innocence was shattered.


    "You''re a pretty slut, unsorted like you just keep breeding." The squad leader said. He looked down at her body and smirked. "I''ve got an idea. I think we should have some fun with this bitch."


    Garren froze. He was no longer in control of his own body. He was paralyzed with horror, guilt, and shame.


    The Iron Catechism had taught Garren one truth: Strength is the only virtue. Mercy is decay. Empathy is sen. The weak exist to serve or perish.


    The Dominion saw itself as a return to nature''s law—a world where power alone determined justice. The X-Units were its enforcers, stripping away the pretense of morality and reducing war to its purest form: dominate or be dominated.


    But as the squad leader struck the woman, as the soldiers seized the children, as their laughter turned to something uglier, Garren felt sick. This wasn''t strength, this wasn''t order, this was filth. He had sworn himself to warriors, not butchers. And yet, he was one of them.


    The thought burned worse than shame. It was realization. If this is what the Dominion stands for… then what the hell am I fighting for?


    The others in the X-Unit laughed at the squad leader''s suggestion. One of them grabbed her and pulled her up off the floor. He pinned her hands behind her back and held her tight. She struggled and screamed. She kicked out with her legs, trying to escape his hold.


    The X-Unit forced her to the table.


    The horror was interrupted by the high-pitched pulse of Garren''s auto rifle. It was a sound like a whip cracking through the air. The shot tore into the squad leader''s armor, and he crumbled to the ground. His lifeless body slumped forward on its knees, his head lolling back limply.


    The room exploded in chaos. The squad members scrambled for their weapons and turned to face him, the traitor. Garren opened fire. His finger squeezed the trigger of his gun, and the rounds flew through the room like hail. He fired until there were no more targets.


    Garren stood in silence for a moment. Then, he knelt down next to the mother and children. "Come on," he said, trying to calm his panic. "We have to get you out of here."


    The woman was trembling with fear. Her children clung to her legs. She stared up at him with wide eyes. She was still in shock from what happened. She was covered in bruises, and her lip was bleeding.


    "Thank you," she said quietly.


    The woman''s eyes met his and held them for a moment. She seemed to be trying to tell him something, but he didn''t understand what her eyes were saying. He couldn''t remember what a thank you looked like.


    <hr>


    Garren''s mind was a haze. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest. He could feel his body moving, but he wasn''t aware of anything else. He was now AWOL, a traitor to the X-Unit and the Dominion. The word ''traitor'' rang in his head, a deafening roar of guilt, fear, anger, and confusion. What happened?


    He had killed his comrades, the people he once called family, and saved these civilians. These civilians were strangers and enemies, the ones they were trained to destroy without remorse and dominate. And now he had killed his own in the name of saving them?


    He couldn''t understand what he''d done, why he had done it, or the consequences. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and his emotions were raw. He could barely comprehend what this meant.


    "Sir?" A voice cut through the chaos. "We can''t move this fast with the children. We need to go slower. They''re tired and scared."


    The words snapped him out of his daze. The civilians stared at him, and the children clung tightly to the woman. Their eyes were wide, filled with terror. They were right; the children couldn''t run at his pace.


    Suddenly, the sound of a cannon strike from the airship shook him from his daze. The sound of gunfire filled his ears, and the world seemed to blur. The ground trembled beneath his feet; the air was suddenly thick with smoke and dust. He could see buildings collapsing, bodies flying through the air, and the screams of people dying. The smell of burning flesh permeated his nose, and the sound of explosions filled the streets.


    He had no time for guilt or self-pity or to think about what might have been. There were too many lives in danger and too much at stake to dwell on the past. His mind raced to formulate an escape plan.


    "We''re going to take a detour. Come with me." He said, leading the group away from the main road and toward the city''s outskirts, where he hoped to avoid detection. They traveled for several hours, taking shelter in abandoned buildings and moving on before dawn. Garren didn''t sleep a wink. As night fell, he saw the glow of fires on the horizon. He knew the fighting had moved to other districts, but it was far from over.


    "Come on, follow me. This way." He urged them along the path, his voice steady. His eyes darted back and forth between the trees and bushes as they passed through an old forest that had been left untouched since the days of the First Empire.


    The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows were lengthening. The trees cast long shadows that stretched across the ground in eerie shapes. A chill ran up his spine, and a cold sweat broke out over his body.