Khan let out a quiet groan as he watched yet another building at the edge of the plaza crumble, destroyed by the shockwave from one of Malik's massive strikes. Debris rained down, and through the cloud of dust he briefly glimpsed civilians fleeing in panic.
Every massive blow he blocked wasn't just exhausting his body—it was tearing at his soul. This wasn't a battlefield. It was the heart of the city, where people lived, where children were raised—and now it had become a wasteland of ruin.
His thoughts drifted—not from distraction, but necessity. Amid the roar of the sandstorm and the clash of elemental might, he remembered a conversation from just hours earlier with Derek, moments after Ren had returned to his van.
A few hours ago, after Ren climbed back into the van to finish prepping his armor, Derek had approached Khan and spoken quietly, but firmly.
"Captain," Derek said, "are you seriously telling us to storm the palace just like that?"
