The battlefield was chaos incarnate. The sky above Planet Talven-9 burned crimson with the fires of war, the ground littered with broken weapons and the remains of fallen Zergs.
Explosions thundered in the distance, shaking the air with each detonation. Ahcehera stepped forward, her eyes scanning the combat zone.
Among the ranks of soldiers, one man caught her attention. The new recruit moved like a shadow, his every strike precise and deadly.
He wielded a long spear, but when a Zerg lunged too close, he abandoned it in an instant, snatching a fallen soldier's sword and driving it through the creature's skull without hesitation.
There was no wasted movement, no fear in his posture, only ruthless efficiency.
His presence carried an unshakable calm, as if he were merely indulging in an old habit rather than fighting for survival.
Ahcehera narrowed her eyes. A master of martial arts, one capable of adapting to any weapon at hand.
