A circular chamber, sunken three steps below the main hall, sat at the heart of Crusader HQ. Massive stone walls, blackened and smooth like obsidian, rose in tight geometric angles, covered in thin seams of gold runework that shimmered faintly even in the dark. The walls weren't just decorative—they pulsed with protective enchantments and stored mana reservoirs, like veins in a living machine. Thick, vertical support columns ringed the space, each one carved with the sigils of past campaigns and fallen realms.
The ceiling arched into a domed vault, high above, engraved with battle constellations and leyline networks. At its apex, a suspended gyroscopic lens—the Astral Eye—hung from fine adamantine chains. It tracked and rendered planar activity in real-time when activated, but now it loomed silently, its brass rings unmoving.
In the center of the room stood a wide tactical table, forged from dark mythril and reinforced with shimmering barrier runes. It floated inches off the floor, ringed by twelve rigid, high-backed command chairs—each one reinforced with stabilization glyphs and personal ID seals. The seats were unpadded, purely functional, built for officers who stood more often than they sat.
Embedded into the far wall was a bank of crystalline displays—vertical arcane monitors held in steel frames. They formed a twelve-panel command grid, normally blank or dim. Below them, a sloped control bench of etched stone curved with the wall's shape, scattered with projectors, mana-sockets, speaking crystals, and paper-thin glyph-slates. Each console was manned by a specialist: tacticians in dark tactical robes, war scribes with mana-feathered quills, and relay engineers with glowing runes pulsing in the veins of their arms.
The floor was cold. Perfectly smooth. A matte stone laced with thin lines of hextech bronze that traced paths between the central table and surrounding consoles. On the far side, twin doors—solid steel with arcane locks—waited shut. Above them, a massive glyph-inlaid crest of the Crusader Order looked down like a watching eye.
In the stillness, only soft breaths and quiet scribbles moved through the space. The war room had been calm.
And then—
FLASH.
The command wall ignited in crimson. Glyphs flared across all twelve screens at once—sharp, angular, aggressive. Alarms screamed from the ceiling. The Astral Eye above the chamber spun into motion with a sudden metallic hiss.
WARNING. CODE OMEGA.
Everything changed.
The moment the glyphs lit up, silence shattered.
Crusaders jumped from their chairs. A tactical officer at the central table knocked over his glyph-slate as he scrambled to pull up additional breach diagnostics. War scribes dashed to the command bench, robes flaring as mana-quills scribbled live notes across floating sigil-scrolls. Relay engineers shouted over each other, their voices overlapping through the comms feed as if trying to outrun the alarm itself.
"Seventy-three? Confirm that!"
"It's real—double breach, northeast quadrant!"
"Mana density is spiking—this isn't a false echo!"
The room that had felt so silent only seconds ago now pulsed with urgency. Red glyph-light stuttered across every surface—cascading in patterns that flickered like blood veins over stone. The arcane monitors filled with glitching maps, breach telemetry, and heartbeat vitals of operatives in standby.
The floating tactical table projected a growing red swirl: Realm 73, with its borders fracturing like broken glass. Arcane leyline routes flickered in and out, one by one going gray—a sign of cut communications or overwhelming interference.
High above, the Astral Eye spun rapidly now, its lenses locking and unlocking with precise clicks. A secondary projection unfurled beneath it, forming a rotating, ghostly globe that showed the breach as a pulsing wound in the air, like a cancer in reality.
Across the domed ceiling, embedded runes lit up row by row as emergency protocols engaged. The Crusader Order's crest above the exit doors began to glow red—a call to arms.
Then the comms snapped to life. The voice wasn't yelling—but it cut through everything with unnatural calm. Like steel.
HQ COMMS (layered, emotionless):
"Instability detected."
"Mana breach forming. Coordinates locked."
"Unit Echo-Nine, deploy."
At those words, the entire back wall of the war room shifted—stone plates retracting with a heavy grinding of gears, revealing an inner hallway bathed in red strobe light. A roar of distant alarms flooded in.
Crusaders ran.
A command officer slapped a glowing sigil on the side wall and shouted, "Get Echo-Nine to launch prep—now!"
Wizards in armor-light robes sprinted for exit corridors. Enchanters gripped their spellbooks, already flipping through pages mid-run. The air was thick with charged mana, burning ozone, and the scent of panic.
And above it all, the glowing glyphs on the screen continued to scream:
"WARNING. CODE OMEGA."
"DEPLOYMENT IMMINENT."
"INITIATE OMEGA PROTOCOL."
---
The corridor shakes faintly from the pressure of mana surges hitting the shielded compound. Fluorescent runes lining the ceiling flicker, casting the hallway in flashing bands of red and shadow. Alarms wail—piercing and high, like a warhorn trapped inside a machine.
The floor is blackened stone, inlaid with glowing lines of pale silver runework. Along the walls, hanging banners bear the symbol of the Crusaders: a spear piercing a rift, encircled by nine wings of flame.
Rows of lockers and alcove armor pods line one side of the corridor—this is the Ready Hall, the barrack spine for elite rapid-response units.
From the far end, bootfalls thunder in perfect rhythm.
Echo-Nine arrives.
A squad of twelve armored soldiers sweeps into view, sprinting in perfect formation—each figure a mix of sleek spelltech plating, cloth tabards, and personal augment gear.
Every one of them wears the C.R.A.D.L.E. insignia on their shoulder plate:
A polished steel badge etched with the words:
C.R.A.D.L.E.
Crusaders for Rift Annihilation, Dimensional Liberation, and Eradication
Motto: "From the ashes of chaos, we forge a new dawn."
The logo itself is stylized—a rising sun burning through the black edge of a dimensional rift, wreathed in radiant flame.
Their uniforms vary slightly by role—some bulkier with reinforced frames for front-line combat, others sleeker with arcane regulators along the spine. Each soldier carries their helm in one hand, the other hovering near a weapon glyph etched on their vambrace.
Behind them, secondary units race down adjacent hallways, orders shouting through headsets and over loudspeakers. Runes crackle. Metal doors hiss open. Sparks fall from overhead as backup conduits reroute power to launch systems.
The whole base feels alive—panicked, electric, vibrating with momentum.
From the central intercoms, the message echoes again:
HQ COMMS (overlapping, panicked now):
"Echo-Nine, you are the primary pursuit force—repeat, primary!"
"Breach confirmed—massive energy surge!"
"Civilian evac underway—airspace compromised!"
A scribe stumbles past, clutching a roll of emergency glyph permissions, eyes wide with terror. He slams against the wall to let the unit pass.
As Echo-Nine rounds the corner toward the armory, their vice-captain barks orders into the team channel:
VICE-CAPTAIN (radio, clipped):
"We deploy in three. Armor up. Keep tight. Rift pressure's already destabilizing."
Neon runs near the center of the formation, silent—focused. The red warning light flashes over his face, highlighting the tension behind his eyes. He glances once toward the ceiling, where a mural of a crusader facing down a breach beast is half-lit by alarms. Below it, the carved stone reads:
"Only the bold may outrun the void."
---
The squad bursts into a vaulted chamber, hexagonal in shape, surrounded by gilded armor bays inset along the curved walls like shrine alcoves.
Runes shimmer in the stone underfoot—etched channels of silversong alloy that hum softly, syncing to each Crusader's mana signature.
Above them, suspended on iron tracks, a glowing holo-glyph lattice spins slowly—a 3D projection of landscape, glitching in and out of coherence. You can see the breach: a jagged black wound pulsing red in the upper atmosphere, with ripple-lines indicating fallout zones.
On either side of the chamber:
Automated relic racks hold weapons in containment stasis—staffs in crystal brackets, rifles embedded in levitation fields, enchanted relics hovering above gilded pedestals.
Each Echo-Nine member steps into a separate armor pod. These are vertical sarcophagus-like alcoves, engraved with hundreds of interlocking glyphs—spellcircuits that read the body, the mind, and the soul.
As they enter, the bay doors slide shut with a hiss of pressurized air.
The ritual begins.
Arcane plating materializes in sequence—chest, arms, spine, legs—each piece clicking into place as enchantments bind them tight. Pulses of runelight crawl across the surface of the suits like veins, syncing to each Crusader's internal mana flow.
HQ COMMS (now automated, layered and robotic):
"Tactical enchantments online."
"Synchronization at 94%."
"Chrono-lock engaged. Suit kinetic sync achieved."
Through a thin crystal window in each armor bay, we see Neon's silhouette—he stands still as the magic builds around him, arms out slightly, eyes closed.
The C.R.A.D.L.E. insignia glows momentarily on each of their chestplates as the final seal locks.
Then the pod doors hiss open again—Echo-Nine steps out, fully armored.
Their suits hum with low resonance, charged and synced—hybridized war-forged armor, each customized per unit member. Elements of personal flair show—a scorched talisman tied to a vambrace, a charm carved into a knee guard, a visor etched with a loved one's name.
Neon's armor is slightly sleeker—artificer-tuned, designed for fluid motion and precise alchemy handling. Gold filament rings his gauntlets—containment arrays for rapid glyph construction.
A single bead of sweat rolls down his cheek under the helmet's shadow. His eyes flick once toward the breach projection above. The orb is pulsing faster now.
NEON (thoughts):
"We're too late."
"No. Not yet."
---
The chamber thrums with tense urgency — a sanctum carved deep beneath the barracks. Blackened stone pillars etched with flickering runes hold up vaulted ceilings. The polished obsidian floor reflects pulsing crimson alarms, casting eerie, shifting light across the room.
Ancient sigils glow faintly beneath layers of modern enchantments along the walls. A banner near the entrance bears the emblem of their order: C.R.A.D.L.E., with the motto etched beneath:
"From the ashes of chaos, we forge a new dawn."
Squad members hurry to personal relic stations, each uniquely crafted — some sleek and mechanical, others ritualistic and raw. Soft hums and crackling sparks fill the air.
Blade – Arclight Magic
One warrior steps forward, modular blade shifting fluidly between solid steel and crackling energy. Its edge hums like a distant storm, while a shield of magnetic segments unfolds with glowing runes that pulse as if alive—adaptive, unyielding.
Beast – Amalgum Magic
Beside them, a calm figure stands cradling a bee-shaped plush companion in arms like a child. The creature's tiny wings flicker with soft magic, casting a protective shimmer around its handler. The two move as one—tender, but battle-ready.
Blight – Abyss Magic
A cloaked figure prowls nearby—part human, part beast. Posture low, eyes sharp, and armor ripping like coiling shadows, shifting in texture and form. A growl echoes low in their throat—an apex predator in control.
Bloom – Aboris Magic
The sentinel holds a floating totem aloft, ancient runes glowing across its surface. It pulses with ancestral energy, and the earth beneath each step seems to breathe in recognition—an unspoken bond between protector and land.
Brick – Aegon Magic
A towering warrior moves with heavy purpose, armor locking into place with magnetic precision. Segments shift and snap together, forming energy barriers or solid walls depending on the tactical need—a walking fortress.
Bind – Amirule Magic
At the room's edge, hands weave through the air, commanding shimmering orbs suspended around them. Within each orb, shadowy creatures stir, bound by pacts too old to name, waiting for the flick of a wrist to be unleashed into the fray.
Buzz – Avaris Magic
In the background, a massive soldier stands motionless etched with glowing glyphs, its bulk brimming with restrained power. The core at its center beats faintly, in tune with the squad's energy—a silent titan ready to move.
Blast – Auraki Magic
In the armory's shadows, the sniper inspects a rifle with methodical precision. Rune-etched armor catches dim light in sharp angles, while mana coils hum softly along the barrel—calculated, prepared, lethal focus.
Bolt – Archon Magic
Among scattered tools and half-assembled machines, a mechanician tightens a bolt with practiced ease. Drones orbiting like curious birds—each one buzzing with enchantments, sensors, and personality. A gauntlet flares, displaying schematics in real time—each adjustment seamless, every movement an instinctive act of invention.
Brawl – Anima Magic
Standing alone, the martial artist exhales slowly, body marked by glowing runes. No weapons, no distractions—only perfect form and precise movement, a force unto itself, waiting to be unleashed.
Baron – Auracalcem Magic
A commanding presence steps forward, gaze steady and calculating. Surrounded by ethereal constructs pulse with colors of raw emotion—shields of verdant green resilience, fiery bursts of explosive rage, and shimmering orbs of tactical energy drain. Each hue represents a facet of battle will, expertly woven into an intricate dance of control and prediction.
Brew – Alchemy
At the heart of it all, Captain Neon works in quiet focus. Flasks and vials clink as practiced hands craft elixirs of healing, destruction, and transformation—magic refined through science and sheer will.
The air thickens with tension as armor synchronizes with weapons. The scent of ozone and burning arcane energy rises. Eyes narrow, breaths steady.
Crackling voices burst through comms:
"Weapons ready… Mana flow stabilizing…"
"Echo-Nine, mag-run corridor clearance in T-minus 80 seconds."
Brief, determined nods are exchanged. The bee companion buzzes excitedly. Modular weapons glow brighter. A storm is coming.
The corridor stretches ahead, a tunnel of light and sound. Walls shimmer with glyphs; veins of glowing mana pulse beneath crystalline panels. Arcane energy floods the path in shifting blues, golds, and violets.
Boots pound rhythmically on polished stone, echoing urgency. The charged air crackles electric.
The squad moves in tight formation, armor and weapons clicking and sliding into battle mode, energy flaring along edges.
Above, vaulted ceilings reveal ancient runes etched in black stone, faintly glowing—timeless and watchful. The air carries the scent of cold metal, faint ozone, and raw magic.
Rapid-fire comm chatter overlaps:
"Netherling activity increasing — signatures spiking."
"Breach T-minus 90 seconds — no room for error."
"Standby for aircraft deployment."
The squad leader glances back, eyes hard beneath their visor. A silent nod passes — everyone knows what's coming.
The titan lumbers behind—massive and imposing, servos whispering as it moves fluidly. Its glowing core pulses in sync with mana veins, a silent guardian poised for devastation.
Suddenly, lights shift to deep crimson as unstable energies ripple through the mag-run.
The squad tightens formation, muscles tense, ready to spring. The bee companion hovers near the leader's shoulder, wings shimmering with protective glow.
COMM: "Unstable air currents confirmed. Hold formation. Standby for green light."
The corridor ends in a vast hangar bay where a magic-tech dropcraft waits—engines humming, ramp lowered, ready.
The storm of battle looms just beyond.
---
The massive hangar pulses with eerie arcane light. Glowing conduits snake the ceiling, casting shifting blue and red patterns on polished steel.
The dropcraft dominates the space—a sleek fusion of magic and tech. Its hull gleams with shifting runes and segmented plating that ripples like liquid metal. Engines hum low, throbbing with latent power; arcane glyphs glow bright along wings and undercarriage.
Echo-Nine moves with practiced precision, boots clicking, weapons humming softly at their sides. Armor panels slide and lock, syncing to the craft's systems.
The air is thick with ozone, heated mana, and sharp metal tang. Crates and arcane equipment stand ready—artifacts, armor components, glowing energy cells.
One squad member taps a console by the ramp. Lights flicker green—boarding sequence confirmed.
The squad leader issues a sharp nod. Boots pound faster, breaths tighten. The squad floods into the dropcraft in fluid, choreographed motion—silent communication through glances and gestures.
Inside, dim red light casts long shadows. The hum of power rises as seats strap in, weapons clipped. Armor seals softly with glowing enchantments. Panels lock; kinetic and mana filters engage. The bee companion nestles into a harness near the pilot, wings folding tightly.
Outside, hangar doors seal. The world dims as engines roar—energy crackling over the hull like storm lightning.
Tension crackles; nerves taut but focused.
COMM (layered, urgent):
"Echo-Nine boarding confirmed. Realm integrity 38%. No reinforcements inbound."
"You are first strike. Prepare for breach insertion."
A low rumble shakes the craft. Lights flicker. Engines pulse louder, ready to launch.
The battle begins.
---
The cabin was dim, bathed in a deep crimson glow cast by emergency lights that pulsed softly along the walls and consoles. Panels flickered erratically, alive with swirling runes and strange, arcane symbols — their light rippling like liquid fire, casting dancing shadows over the armored faces within.
The air hung thick and heavy, a recycled breath tinged faintly with ozone and the metallic scent of finely tuned machinery. Mana filters hummed quietly overhead, cycling to cleanse the atmosphere with a faint electric buzz.
Strapped in tight, the squad members sat rigid, their armor plates clicking softly as kinetic sync systems locked their bodies steady against the coming descent. Faces were grim and focused; some bit down on their lips, others closed their eyes for a brief moment to steady nerves before the storm.
Fingers twitched near triggers, gloves tightening around modular blades that thrummed faintly at their sides. Along each weapon's edge, elemental energies flickered — some crackling with frost's chill, others glowing with molten heat, and one shimmering with the restless spark of stormlight.
Strapped into position, the soldier adjusted the bolts on his bot, his movements precise despite the rhythmic tremors running through the frame. The machine responded subtly—haptic feedback pulsing through his gloves, servos shifting in quiet acknowledgment. He worked efficiently, securing each piece as the system calibrated, the glow of embedded sensors casting faint reflections across the curved plating. It wasn't just a machine—it was an extension of him, waiting for the moment it would move as one.
Held firmly in the handler's grip, the small bee-like companion pulsed with a soft glow, synchronizing with the emergency lights. Strapped securely into place, its delicate frame vibrated faintly, responding to subtle shifts in its holder's grip—ready, waiting, a vital piece of the unfolding mission.
Whispers and static crackled softly over the comms, layered atop the tense silence:
"Engage breath-lock. Mana filters cycling."
"Prepare for high-turbulence entry."
"All units, final gear check. Synchronize kinetic dampeners."
Outside the armored windows, the sky roiled with crackling energy. Lightning forked wildly through rifted clouds — the breach glowed ominously, a bleeding wound in the heavens.
A sudden jolt shook the cabin. Heads snapped up, eyes flashing with sharp alertness.
The squad leader exhaled slowly, voice calm but firm:
"Hold steady. Remember the protocol. Secure the line—delay the breach."
Final glances exchanged — a moment of silent solidarity.
COMM:
"Crosswinds unstable. Rift pulling at trajectory."
"Brace for turbulence. Hold formation."
The dropcraft shuddered violently, red lights flickering—
Breath held. Heartbeats pounding.
Ready.
---
The cabin rocked violently, crimson emergency lights flickering wildly, throwing jittery shadows over armored faces tense with concentration.
A sharp crack split the air — brittle metal bending and tearing — followed by a harsh scratching sound as arcane-infused plating strained against unseen forces.
Runes etched along segmented armor shimmered and flared erratically, struggling to hold the structure intact as violent vibrations pulsed through every surface.
Squad members gripped their seats desperately, knuckles white, fingers clutching triggers and rail grips with grim determination. Armor panels creaked audibly, fighting to maintain their seal under relentless pressure.
Outside, jagged lightning tore through the rifted sky — arcs of electric-blue and violet energy slicing through swirling clouds of dark mana and smoke.
The dropcraft's engines roared deep and guttural, defiant against violent crosswinds and the rift's chaotic pull.
Behind reinforced glass in the mech bay, the warframe's glowing core pulsed steadily — a beacon of raw power in the storm.
The little bee-like companion clung to its handler's armor, wings beating frantically, its glow flickering with each violent shake.
A crackling voice burst over the comm:
"Crosswinds unstable. Rift pulling at trajectory."
"Structural integrity compromised. Expect hull breaches."
"Initiate final descent countdown. Brace for turbulence."
The squad leader's visor reflected jagged lightning outside. Jaw clenched tight.
A sudden lurch threw several squad members forward; breaths caught sharply.
Another loud crack sounded — a panel near the ceiling groaned under pressure, tiny sparks showering like fireflies across the cabin.
Tension was electric — a desperate battle to hold together against forces trying to tear them apart.
COMM:
"Drop on green. Hold formation Omega-Four."
Eyes met. Determination burned brighter than the storm outside.
---
The heavy armored hatch creaked and groaned as powerful hydraulics engaged. A blast of cold, biting air rushed in, scattering dust motes that swirled in the crimson glow.
Outside, the eerie light of the breach spilled into the cabin, casting shifting shadows over the squad's armored faces. Sparks and drifting embers danced in the sudden gust.
The squad rose as one, muscles coiling with tension, eyes sharp beneath glowing visors. Modular weapons hummed alive — elemental energies flickering along blades — frost-blue, molten crimson, and crackling stormlight.
Through the wide-open hatch, the shattered cityscape sprawled below — crumbling buildings, fires burning bright in the darkness, distant screams piercing the charged air.
Above, the rift bled jagged arcs of raw mana — a pulsating wound in the sky crackling with menace and power.
The squad leader's voice cut through the roar of wind and engines — sharp, commanding:
"Target zone in visual range. Breach expanding."
"Drop on green. Formation Omega-Four. Move fast. Move smart."
The hum of armor synchronized with the squad's breathing — slow, steady, ready.
A final blast of wind carried the scent of ozone and ash.
COMM:
"Echo-Nine deploy… good hunting."
---
The heavy ramp groaned as it descended, its metal joints creaking before settling with a dull thud.
Below, the ruined city sprawled — a twisted wasteland of crumbling stone, blazing fires, desperate shadows. Screams echoed faintly over the roar of wind and distant clashes of arcane power.
Above, the rift pulsed — an enormous orb of crackling energy bleeding raw power into the fractured sky, bathing the world in sickly reds and blues.
Echo-Nine moved as one — armored figures sprinting in tight formation, blades humming with elemental fury, shields shimmering with shifting wards.
The little bee-like companion darted ahead, a glowing streak weaving frantically through the chaos.
The Vice-Captain's voice rang sharp and urgent over comms, slicing through the tumult:
"GO! GO! GO! DROP! DROP! DROP!"
---
Neon lingered behind the squad, each step deliberate, heavy with memories that weighed down his every movement. Around him, the chaos of battle surged — engines roared, distant cries tore through the air, magic crackled in bursts — yet a suffocating silence pressed down on him, thick and cold.
His eyes locked onto the raging breach above, the massive wound in the sky that crackled and sparked with violent lightning. The fractured bolts danced across the reflective surface of his visor, casting sharp shards of pale light across his face. The wind whipped his coat, tugged at loose strands of hair, but he stood rooted like a monument—his breath slow, visible in the biting cold.
His hand rose slowly, trembling slightly, fingers stretching out toward the furious rift in the heavens. It was as if he could reach in and touch the very heart of the chaos.
This feeling...
I've felt it before.
The sounds of the world seemed to recede, distant and muted, as if swallowed by some immense, invisible tide. Time itself seemed to slow, the moment stretching taut. His gaze hardened — resolve crystallizing into cold steel.
---
Suddenly, the thunderous roar around Neon dulled, muffled as though he were sinking beneath a vast, silent ocean.
The rushing wind, the frantic shouts, the blaring alarms — all faded into a deep, echoing quiet that wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud.
Colors drained away too: the fiery reds and electric blues of the breach faded to muted, blurred pastels, their edges dissolving into the haze.
Neon's face filled the frame — calm, distant, glassy-eyed — caught in a moment outside of time, as if slipping beneath the surface of his own mind.
Silence stretched—profound and heavy—without a single sound.
---
Behind him, the blurred figures of his squadmates turned toward him, their shapes warped and indistinct.
Voices came through like echoes underwater, stretched and distorted — their words barely recognizable, caught in a warped current.
"—ptain!"
"Capta—Ne—!"
Neon's expression remained still, eyes distant and locked in memory, unreachable.
A sharp, piercing ringing began inside Neon's ear — high-pitched, relentless, growing louder with every passing second.
His fingers twitched involuntarily, the sound pulling him back from the void.
His eyes shifted subtly, focus sharpening as a glimmer of understanding stirred beneath the silence.
No words, only the crescendo of the ringing.
Then, suddenly, the muffled silence shattered.
Sound flooded back in a violent rush — wind howled fiercely, alarms screamed, orders blared across the airwaves, sharp and urgent.
"NEON!"
His squadmate's voice rang out loud and clear, piercing the haze.
Neon blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if waking from a deep trance, the world snapping back into sharp relief around him.
With a burst of coordinated motion, the rest of the squad leapt from the ramp, plunging into the swirling chaos below.
Neon was the last to move, but his step was now sure, decisive — his eyes burning with fierce determination.
Ten years ago... the Boundless awoke.