FAR OFF IN THE DISTANCE, through the smoke, sleet, and pockets of battling Robusts, the rocket sits in its subterranean hiding place. From what I can make out, it’s a hybrid of the old space shuttle program and some kind of laser propulsion. This is what even our people sacrificed for. But where is he going? Just into orbit?

“Demitri, run.” Mila screams, sprinting away into the fray.

Where am I supposed to run? All I can do is try and keep pace.

Mos fires his laser rifle over and over, frying the optical circuits of the Creed before him. He plows through them with his body—brute force and absolute doggedness are his tools, but it clears a path for the rest of us.

Snow explodes as bullets and bombs detonate around us. Covering my ears, I trudge forward, yelling for them to slow down, to wait for me. But they can’t hear anything over the din of war.

A grenade explodes to my right, the force knocking me clean off my feet. I crash awkwardly into the slush, spread eagle and vulnerable. My head ringing and my senses compromised, I roll to my knees.

“Think fast, Gracile.” Giahi slams the butt of his rifle across my face, sending me back to the ground with a thud. He spits on my head. “Poor little cloud prince, all alone. Do us all a favor and stay there. Even better, die there.” He glances over his shoulder and runs off into the fray.

Stay here and die, he said. Blood pours from my split nose, and my world spins. Would anyone even notice? I roll onto my stomach to search for Mila. She’s gone. They left me behind.

Don’t be pathetic, pidaras. Let me out. Let me save us.

I can’t let Vedmak loose again. Not now.

Something horrible shrieks from above. I flip to my back. A lone Ripper stands there, wielding an ax above his head, his eyes wild. Instinctively I grab at the sick stick Denni gave me and plunge it into his stomach. The effect is instantaneous—he convulses and vomits over my legs, clutches at his abdomen, then collapses to the ground. I scramble to my feet and push off into a sprint.

Ducking and diving between blasts and the high-pitched squeal of passing bullets, I run and run, only to drive deeper into the conflict. Parts of Creed bodies pepper the landscape, jerking autonomously. The limbs of fallen Rippers bleed into the snow, soaking it a deep crimson.

Another Ripper comes screaming toward me, his spear held high above his head. I dive behind a nearby boulder and wait, my chest heaving. The crazed man hurtles toward me, screeching. Three steps from impaling me, he evaporates in a puff of gray powder. A Creed soldier stands in the distance, its energy rifle smoking. It glances at me as if deciding whether I’m a threat or not. Then, apparently uninterested in me, the Creed stomps off.

Let me out. Vedmak snarls again. Let me do what I was born to do. This is no place for you. I can save us. I can make sure we survive.

What choice do I have? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to get out. Mila, Mos, Faruq. Even Denni. They all left me. They were never my friends.

I’m your only friend. I’m your only way out of this.

A silhouette crests the snowy hillock some fifteen meters away. I know this shape, this person. “Bilgi.”

But it’s not Bilgi. My moment of relief is snatched away. It’s a Ripper—the chieftain I saw outside Zopat. He recognizes me, his eyes wild with the desire for my blood.

There he is.

“No!” Forcing my tired legs once again into action, I push off the ground and tramp in the opposite direction, dodging a scrum of Robusts and Creed. But I only make it another hundred feet before finding myself, once again, face down in the freezing snow. Lying there, panting and exhausted both physically and mentally, my head fills with Vedmak’s nagging to set him free—to let him save us.

Far off in the distance, the rocket is shuddering. Smoke billows from beneath it as a powerful laser burns away the launch plate, creating the plasma that will thrust it into space.

We’re too late. I’m not a soldier. How did I ever think I could do this? I should just let them kill me. Or maybe I’ll just succumb to hypothermia. Better than being ripped apart by a black hole. I roll onto my back, spread out in the cold sludge, and close my eyes to accept my fate.

Without warning, my right hand flies to the side pocket of my pants, pulls out one of the syringes, and pops the cap off. It’s the Red Mist. “What the hell? Vedmak.” With my left hand, I clasp my right wrist and fight back. “Vedmak, no!”

The Ripper chieftain yelps into the cold air like a wolf. It’s enough to distract me, to give Vedmak a vital window. The needle pierces my chest and slides into the fibers of my heart. The pain is sharp, but momentary. My arms slump to the ground, my muscles tingle, and the world begins to darken. As the blackness closes in, Vedmak’s maniacal laugh fills my skull.

Now ... we play.