Chapter 79| The Last Correction
The ambush came without warning roughly an hour into their continued advance, a considerable swarm of standard colony centipedes erupting from concealed side tunnels in numbers considerably beyond anything the Strike Team had previously encountered, clearly mobilized in direct response to the loss of all three Guardians.
"Contact, heavy numbers!" Freya’s sharp warning cut through the sudden chaos, and the Strike Team scrambled into defensive formation as the swarm surged forward with coordinated, overwhelming aggression.
"They’re compensating for the Guardians’ loss," Myria shouted over the mounting chaos, ice already forming defensive barriers even as she calculated the swarm’s numbers with rapid, urgent precision. "Numbers over specialization. We need to hold formation and grind through rather than attempting anything fancy."
The battle that followed proved grueling in ways the previous Guardian encounters hadn’t quite managed, sheer overwhelming numbers testing the Strike Team’s endurance rather than their tactical adaptability, every combatant pushed to sustained, exhausting effort as wave after wave of centipedes pressed relentlessly forward.
Irene’s restored hearing proved unexpectedly crucial amid the chaos, allowing her to track flanking maneuvers she would have previously missed entirely, her flames carving devastating, precisely-timed arcs that repeatedly disrupted the swarm’s coordinated attempts to encircle vulnerable positions. Vivian’s restored sight combined with her already formidable hearing to create a battlefield awareness that bordered on prescient, calling out threats before they’d even fully materialized. Everlyn’s voice, still rough and unpracticed, nonetheless proved capable of channeling her plantation magic with newfound, vocal-resonance intensity that hadn’t been accessible during her years of silence, roots and vines surging with considerably more devastating force than her notepad-guided gestures alone had ever managed.
Allen moved through the chaos with practiced, fluid precision, Shadow Transposition carrying him repeatedly to wherever the swarm’s pressure threatened to overwhelm the Strike Team’s formation, Ashfall Talons blazing with dragonfire intensity as he cut through wave after relentless wave.
"This isn’t stopping," Damon called out, breathing hard as his own considerable strength began showing signs of genuine strain. "How deep does this swarm actually go?"
"However deep it needs to, apparently," Freya shot back, blade moving with lethal, exhausted precision.
It was nearly twenty minutes into the sustained engagement, well beyond anything the previous battles had demanded, that the swarm’s numbers finally, gradually began thinning, the Strike Team’s coordinated defense proving too costly for the colony’s mobilized reinforcements to sustain indefinitely.
The last of the centipedes finally scattered and retreated roughly a half hour after the ambush’s initial eruption, leaving the Strike Team standing amid considerable wreckage, exhausted but intact, adrenaline and relief mingling in equal measure across every battle-worn expression.
"Casualties?" Farrow’s urgent voice crackled through the coordination channel.
"None fatal," Myria reported, voice tight with exhaustion despite the relief evident beneath it. "Considerable injuries, but Everlyn’s healing capacity has proven more than sufficient to stabilize everyone."
Allen felt the familiar warmth stir beneath his skin as the adrenaline of battle finally began settling, considerably more intense than any previous instance, and he didn’t need to fully process the notification before understanding exactly what the sustained, costly engagement had finally generated.
"Myria," he said quietly, and she looked up immediately, sharp eyes widening as she registered the particular weight in his voice.
"It’s ready," she said, more statement than question, disbelief and overwhelming hope warring plainly across her exhausted features.
Allen nodded, crossing the battle-worn clearing to kneel before her wheelchair, reaching for her hands with quiet, deliberate tenderness. "Your turn," he confirmed softly.
Myria’s composed exterior, maintained through six years of careful, hard-won peace with her own limitations, finally shattered entirely, tears spilling freely as she gripped his hands with trembling, desperate hope. "Allen," she managed, voice breaking. "I don’t know if I’m ready for this to actually be real."
"It’s real," Allen said gently. "It’s been real since the very first threshold. I promise you."
Myria nodded, unable to speak further, and Allen confirmed the final selection, the golden warmth spreading outward with gentle, foundational intensity, gathering around her spine and legs with a warmth that made her gasp, entire body shuddering as six years of severed nerve function finally, completely restored itself.
For a long, suspended moment, nobody moved, the entire Strike Team holding its collective breath as Myria’s trembling hands gripped the arms of her wheelchair, testing sensation that had been absent for six agonizing years.
Then, slowly, carefully, she rose.
Her legs held, steady and strong beneath her, and Myria stood fully upright for the first time in six years, tears streaming freely down her face as disbelief gave way entirely to overwhelming, unrestrained joy.
"I’m standing," she breathed, voice cracking with emotion she rarely allowed herself to display so completely. "Allen, I’m actually standing."
Allen rose to meet her, pulling her into a fierce, overwhelmed embrace as the entire Strike Team erupted into their fourth round of joyful, disbelieving celebration, Irene’s whooping cheer echoing off the glowing tunnel walls, Everlyn’s restored voice calling out delighted congratulations, Vivian’s tearful, radiant smile carrying the full weight of everything they’d finally, completely accomplished together.
"All four," Myria said, pulling back just enough to look around at her sister-wives, each of them now fully, miraculously restored. "Allen, we did it. All four of us."
"We did it," Allen confirmed, his own tears spilling freely as the full, overwhelming weight of the promise finally, completely fulfilled settled into place. "Every single one of you, whole again."
Around them, the Strike Team’s battle-worn clearing filled with something that felt, after everything Jenunl Island had already demanded of them, unmistakably like the sweetest possible victory imaginable — not over the swarm, or the Guardians, or even the considerable dangers still waiting ahead, but over every cruel, dismissive verdict the world had once passed on four women it had wrongly decided were no longer worth the investment.
Damon approached quietly once the celebration had settled into something more contained, expression carrying the same reverent awe he’d shown three times already, though this final instance seemed to strike him even more deeply than the rest. "Four times," he said softly. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget witnessing this, Veton. Any of it."
"Neither will we," Allen said, still holding Myria close, unwilling to release her just yet. "Not for as long as we live."