The Ishtar's Veil rumbled low, its engines slicing through the sky. Ibris leaned against the curved cabin wall near a tinted window, his long horn grazing the surface as he stared at the endless horizon. For six hours, he had tracked the shifting landscape—the Atlantean floating islands fading into the distance, followed by a fleeting glimpse of Bayhan City. Now, only an expanse of sand stretched below. He had tried sitting briefly, but the gnawing tension within him forced him back to his feet. Pacing unevenly, his restless movements revealed his growing unease.

He had also changed from his usual business-casual silk shirt and dress pants, as he always did during such operations, into his standard black tactical attire, now reinforced with lightweight armored plating on the chest, shoulders, and forearms for added protection. Despite his insistence, Yoshua refused to follow suit, staying in his relaxed button-down shirt and pants, but he had added an armored vest beneath the shirt and armored guards strapped to his forearms.

Marcus, on the other hand, had found a new suit aboard the Ishtar's Veil to don—sleek, tailored, and still entirely impractical for their mission. However, small armored inserts had been subtly woven into the fabric of his jacket and trousers, giving him a measure of protection without sacrificing his trademark Sumeri flair. The sight of Marcus adjusting his cuffs with the same meticulous precision had Ibris rolling his eyes.

Nabu-9 worked tirelessly to track the various GPS coordinates Marcus had provided from the Nexus Umbra system. Flying an airship to one precise location was hard enough, but Marcus had given him a 100-mile radius to aim for.

Ibris mulled over the facts as he leaned against the cabin wall. The records Vega had provided—whose origins Marcus still didn't know—indicated that the Khoraz operated ten separate facilities scattered across the Western Lands, all within this vast radius. Marcus was relying on calculated guesses, using the erratic movement of life forms displayed on the Nexus Umbra system to narrow down their destination.

They still didn't know exactly where Esa was, and as the minutes ticked by, Ibris could only hope that one of Marcus' elusive contacts would come through with something concrete soon.

Still preoccupied, Ibris pulled out his tablet, absently scrolling through messages.

A new one caught his attention, he raised an eyebrow as he tapped it open. It was from Lira, the cat halfbreed with playful smile and incredible curves:"I miss you. Maybe we can watch the sunlight from your bed again?"

Lira's intent was as clear as day. A faint smirk tugged at Ibris' lips, though he quickly shook it off. He scrolled past it with a flick of his thumb, his expression tightening as another message popped into view.

It was from Vega. Ibris' eyes narrowed slightly as he read the text: "Good news. Don Cavialli has accepted all your terms and conditions. His deliverables will be ready by the end of the week. Once secured, I will send him the codes to your facilities. What are your thoughts on his samples?"

Ibris sighed heavily, running his hand through his black hair. He stared at the words for a long moment. He had negotiated every term meticulously, yet the idea of partnering with someone menacing like Don Cavialli left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ibris reminded himself that he had no choice but to make the deal.

His hand instinctively brushed against his pocket, fingers grazing the small case of STIM vials Vega had handed him as samples. A dozen of them—enough to tempt, to test, and maybe to trust.

Vega had assured him repeatedly that Don's work was strictly for the development of such STIMs, intended for military and private contractors, and insisted they were perfectly safe for both humans and halfbreeds. Vega had even joked with a sly grin that Ibris should try them, sharing how she and her bedmate had tested and found the results "exhilarating"—though she warned, that it was easy to hurt yourself when you're that strong.

Ibris took another deep breath, as he came back to the present and took in his surroundings.

Yoshua sat near a window at the farthest point from the rest of the group. His arms were crossed, his posture rigid, and he stared unblinkingly at the endless expanse of desert below. Still avoiding Kaya and Mazi, he had barely spoken a word since departure from the Clinic.

Across the cabin, Kaya and Mazi sat huddled with Joher, all three clad in black combat gear like Ibris—cargo pants and fitted t-shirts reinforced with lightweight armor plating similar to his, providing protection to their chest, shoulders, and forearms. Their attire also included belts and harnesses for weaponry, utility pouches for supplies, and lightweight tactical boots designed for swift, silent movement.

Their voices were low, fragments of their conversation occasionally drifting through the airship—mentions of Elah, Esa, Joher's family, and the Khoraz. Joher occasionally murmured quiet prayers in a low voice, his words barely audible yet filled with a palpable sense of conviction. Meanwhile, as Mazi had done in the Clinic on and off over the past few days, he demonstrated and spoke to them with quiet authority, offering advice on general fighting techniques and tactics.

It was a conversation filled with intensity, but one Ibris had no desire to join.

Too much weighed on Ibris' mind—Geshar's health, the events in the South, Esa's outburst, the deal with Don, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead twisted into a tangled knot in his chest.

Adding to Ibris' frustration was the lack of control he had over their current journey. Not when Marcus was involved. Marcus was calculating, methodical, and always five steps ahead. About an hour ago, he had quietly said, "I'll be right back. We should be there soon," before slipping into the cockpit and sliding the door shut behind him without another word.

It had been too long. Ibris wasn't one to ignore his instincts, and something about Marcus' demeanor nagged at him—a quiet suspicion he couldn't shake. After a long moment of hesitation, he made his way toward the cockpit.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing Marcus seated in the pilot's chair. He wasn't steering the ship—Nabu-9 was handling that from the counsel in the cabin. Marcus, instead, sat with his hand resting on his tablet, its screen glowing with the Nexus Umbra's shifting data streams. His head was tilted back slightly, his auburn and gray hair catching the soft glow of the cockpit's overhead lights. His eyes were neither fully open nor closed—rolled back, with his breathing slow, deliberate, and almost rhythmic. It was a strange sight, unsettling even, as though Marcus were somewhere far away, connected to something unseen.

Ibris froze for a moment, taken aback. "Marcus," he said, his voice cutting through the low rumble of the cockpit.

Marcus jolted slightly, snapping back into focus. He turned his head toward Ibris, blinking rapidly as if shaken from a dream. "Ibris," he said, flatly. "Want a drink before the action?" He asked, slyly.

Ibris ignored the jest, stepping closer. "What were you doing just now?" He asked, scrutinizing Marcus closely.

Marcus did not respond. Then, as if something had suddenly dawned on him, Marcus blinked, straightened abruptly, and cleared his throat. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" Ibris asked, confused, as he looked foward to the endless expanse of sand stretching ahead.

Marcus paused, as if momentarily lost in another world. Then, suddenly, he spoke with quiet certainty, "There it is. I see which facility Esa is in," he added, calmly.

"What do you mean by that?" Ibris pressed, his unease evident in the tense set of his shoulders.

But Marcus rose abruptly, brushing past Ibris without a word, and strode into the main cabin. Ibris followed close behind, his unease mounting. Marcus stopped at a console, his fingers flying over his tablet as he input new coordinates. The holographic display of the Nexus Umbra's map shifted, zooming in with precision.

The airship's hum seemed to grow quieter as he spoke to everyone. "We'll be arriving soon," he announced, briskly.

Nabu-9 stepped forward. "At our current velocity, we will arrive in approximately nineteen minutes."

Marcus nodded sharply, his composure slipping just slightly. "We need to get there as soon as possible," he said, his words quick, almost clipped. "If we don't, we won't be able to save anyone." He murmured.

"Anyone?" Ibris asked, frowning. For a moment, his thoughts turned to Esa and Joher's family—his wife and parents. Was Marcus referring to them? Or was he talking about someone else? Ibris wasn't sure, and Marcus' quiet intensity offered no answers.

"Given what we're heading into, I can't say for certain what awaits us," he admitted, his gaze sweeping deliberately across the cabin.

"What are we heading into?" Yoshua asked, his military instincts kicking in.

Marcus glanced at him but didn't break stride, stepping closer to the holographic map. He pointed to a highlighted section of the Khoraz facility. "The arena is here," he said, his finger tracing the perimeter.

Marcus paused, fixed on the flickering holographic display. "The feed shows that the arena is a circular structure, open to the sky, with rows of seating packed with chaotic life forms. In the center is a sunken pit—an uneven expanse of sand, scarred and surrounded by scattered weapons like spears, blades, and clubs. Beneath the arena lies a maze of tunnels and chambers, likely holding cells." He took a deep breath and added, "Sheera and Esa are somewhere down there."

Ibris frowned. "Sheera?" he asked. "How can you possibly know—"

"Master Sheera? They have Master Sheera?" Mazi interrupted, panic visible on his face. "If Esa finds out, he'll end everyone in that arena."

That's what I'm afraid of, Ibris thought.

"What about Joher's family?" Yoshua added.

"My wife and parents may be there too," Joher said, trembling slightly. "May Elah be with them, wherever they are."

Marcus nodded. "I can only hope," he said, a flicker of sadness crossing his otherwise steely expression, "that they are with Esa and Sheera underground."

Yoshua put a reassuring hand on Joher's shoulder, who nodded in return.

"There are roughly ten to fifteen guards patrolling the grounds around the arena, eight to ten stationed within the arena's perimeter at all times, and another five to seven positioned inside the open pit," Marcus explained, gesturing to the shifting markers on the holographic map.

"That's a lot of guards," said Mazi.

Marcus continued, "Four massive laser cannons, each about fifteen feet in length, are positioned at equal intervals around the stadium. These weapons are fixed inward, aimed directly at the pit, ensuring no one inside can escape. The Khoraz have taken every precaution to keep their prisoners contained, no matter the cost."

Marcus paused to think for a moment. "Based on what I can see—" he paused almost catching himself, "or rather, what the Umbra Nexus is showing me—the laser bases correspond to the arena's load-bearing structures. If we plant explosives at these four points, the entire arena will collapse. We could take care of two birds with one sto—"

"Then we'll need to divide into three teams," Ibris interjected, taking charge and cutting off Marcus mid-sentence. This was Ibris' domain, after all—strategy, command, and execution. "One team to free the prisoners, a second to engage the guards, and a third to disable the cannons and plant the charges."

Marcus shook his head slightly and took a step back, yielding the floor to Ibris.

"Team One is Kaya, Joher, and Mazi," Ibris said firmly. "You'll take the underground tunnels and free the prisoners—Esa, Sheera, Joher's family, and anyone else you find."

Joher nodded, relieved. "Thank you," he said quietly. He closed his eyes and began whispering a prayer.

"I'm in," Kaya said without hesitation, watching Joher's quiet devotion with a solemn expression.

"Yeah, I am not leaving our people with those monsters a second longer," Mazi added with resolve.

Ibris nodded.

"Team Two," he continued, glancing toward Marcus, "Marcus and I will engage the guards inside the arena head-on, supported by stealth drones. We'll draw their attention, create a big enough distraction to keep them off Team One while they work their way to the holding cells."

Marcus gave a small nod of approval, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Earlier, he'd confided in Ibris that he had six top-of-the-line stealth drones tucked away—reserved for situations exactly like this. "Rainy day gear," he'd called them.

"A frontal assault? Bold. I like it," he said, straightening his suit.

"And that leaves me," Yoshua said, stepping forward. "Team Three. I'll disable their cannon lasers and plant the explosives. I'll make sure the arena comes crashing down."

"You won't be alone for long," Ibris said, his brow furrowing. "As soon as the guards are disabled, Marcus, the stealth drones, and I will join you to ensure the explosives are properly placed and the lasers are taken out. The destruction should create opportunity for a relatively smooth exit."

Yoshua smirked, his sharp canines flashing. "I've worked alone before, I can manage."

Ibris rolled his eyes at Yoshua's lone wolf trope before turning to the group. "That's the plan. Move fast and stay in contact." He paused. "If you run into a sky god, you do not engage. Do you understand me? You run." He added, gravely.

Marcus hesitated, nervously examining the holographic map. "One more thing. There's something else in that arena."

"Something else?" Yoshua asked Marcus, visibly irritated at his cryptic behavior.

"I don't know what it is," Marcus admitted, with unease. "The Nexus Umbra and I—" he hesitated briefly, "—we can't pinpoint it. But it's not Esa. Whatever it is, it's inorganic, it's moving fast—too fast—and it's killing lifeforms rapidly in that arena."

"Couldn't it just be an android?" Kaya asked, glancing at Nabu-9.

"An android usually has limited movement capabilities," Marcus replied, reflectively. "The movements here are erratic and completely unpredictable—one might say they're perhaps intuitive, not something you can program."

"What he means, Kaya," Yoshua added, addressing his niece for the first time since their departure, "it's strictly illegal to program androids to kill living beings."

"Not like the sky gods follow Atlantean laws," Ibris added, with dry sarcasm.

Marcus shot him a disapproving look.

Ibris leaned into the holographic image. The movement of the "something else" was unnaturally quick, almost like a blur, darting through the chaos with impossible precision. His heart sank as a chill ran down his spine. "No," he whispered.

"What is it?" Mazi asked.

"It can't be," Ibris said, backing away a little. "It... it can't be."

[Chapter 24 continues in the next section.]