A week. It had been a week they'd lived in a cycle of despair. Hunted, attacked, toyed with.
Every time they felt safe, Tyrant came. Every time a wound healed, another appeared. Every shelter fell, and their numbers continued to dwindle.
But this morning… was different.
There were no discussions. No strategy meetings. Not even a check on remaining supplies.
They all knew.
Today would be the final day. Not because of orders from HQ, nor due to logistics or tactics. But because their hearts had reached their limits.
Disgust, anger, devastation, and frustration had merged into one desire stronger than fear: to fight.
"This... is our end," Altair muttered, glancing around. His teammates' faces were full of wounds and fatigue. But their eyes burned bright. "Or… the beginning of Tyrant's end."
No one replied. But their steps were firm.
And as expected… Tyrant came.
