SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

The war room hummed with subdued tension, its usual cacophony of orders and chatter replaced by the quiet murmurs of a team of scientists poring over a massive holographic display. Floating in the center of the room was the detailed rendering of the creature that SABER-1 had fought—a monstrous, squid-like abomination that had forced even him to call down the Trident of Poseidon.

The hologram rotated slowly, its grotesque form rendered with unsettling clarity. Its tentacles stretched unnaturally long, covered in serrated edges and bioluminescent patches that pulsed faintly even in the projected image. The creature's massive central body was a grotesque fusion of hardened, chitinous plating and pulsating organic tissue, its translucent layers revealing a network of glowing veins that seemed to carry something far more potent than blood.

One of the lead scientists, a wiry woman with graying hair tied back in a messy bun, gestured toward the hologram with a stylus. "This creature is unlike anything we've encountered before. Its size alone—nearly three hundred meters in length—is unprecedented among the Extractants we've documented."

She pointed to the glowing core buried deep within the creature's body. "Here. This appears to be the central energy source. We've theorized it's some form of bio-plasma generator, capable of sustaining its colossal mass and powering its regenerative abilities. The energy output from this organ alone dwarfs anything we've seen in terrestrial biology."

Another scientist, a younger man with thick glasses, chimed in. "That would explain how it survived the artillery barrage. The 520mm rounds impacted its outer layers, but the kinetic energy wasn't enough to penetrate to the core. Each round would have been absorbed by the dense layers of chitin and subdermal tissue designed to redistribute impact forces."

The hologram shifted, zooming in on one of the massive tentacles. The display revealed a cross-section of the limb, highlighting layers of dense muscle fibers interwoven with a web of glowing veins. "And these," the woman continued, "are not just offensive appendages. They're actively drawing energy from the environment. The creature was absorbing the heat and shockwaves from the artillery impacts to fuel its regenerative process. In short, every attack we made against it was feeding it."

A low murmur rippled through the room as the implications sank in.

Colonel Cirus Trask leaned forward, his hands braced against the edge of the central console. His expression was stony, his eyes locked on the hologram. "You're saying it was invincible?"

The older scientist hesitated, then shook her head. "Not invincible. But without a precise strike to its core, it might as well have been. The Trident was our only viable option. Anything less would have prolonged the fight until it overran our forces."

The display zoomed out, revealing the entire creature again. The holographic model highlighted its battle damage—craters and gouges where artillery had struck, but the creature's core remained untouched. A faint overlay of data showed how it had regenerated entire sections of its body within minutes.

A younger technician, standing at a side console, swallowed hard before speaking up. "If SABER-1 hadn't called for the Trident… could it have been stopped at all?"

The room fell silent, the question hanging in the air like a weight. Finally, the older scientist sighed, her voice heavy with the answer. "No. It would have kept advancing. It would have consumed everything in its path, grown stronger with every step. And eventually… nothing would have been left to stop it."

Trask exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze back to the hologram. The image of the creature loomed over the room, a stark reminder of what had nearly slipped through their grasp. For all his doubts about SABER-1, even Trask couldn't deny that the genetically engineered soldier had made the only call that could have saved them.

The Colonel's voice cut through the silence, low and resolute. "He played the card no one else could. No one else would. And because of that, we're still here."

The scientists nodded solemnly, their earlier excitement tempered by the weight of what they had learned. The hologram continued to rotate, the creature's monstrous form a chilling reminder of the cost of survival.

"Keep digging," Trask ordered, his voice steady but cold. "If there are more of these out there, I want to know how to stop them before they make it to our doorstep."

As the scientists got back to work, the Colonel's gaze lingered on the hologram for a moment longer. His mind turned to SABER-1—the man who had fought this thing, who had called for the Trident, and who was now presumed lost.

You'd better have made it through this, soldier, he thought grimly. Because we're going to need you more than ever.

The streets of Carnitas were quieter than usual, the remnants of the recent memorial still hanging in the air. Icarus walked with her hands shoved into the pockets of her flight jacket, her pace unhurried but deliberate. Her thoughts were heavy, as they often were these days, but she forced herself to focus on practical things. She needed food, toiletries—basic necessities she'd been neglecting since… everything.

As she turned a corner near the central plaza, she slowed, her brow furrowing. It was the fourth time this month she had seen the same group of people gathered around SABER-1's monument. At first, she thought nothing of it—plenty of people came to pay their respects. But this group was different. There were families, older folks and children, their expressions a mix of reverence and quiet gratitude. Flowers of every color were placed at the base of the towering statue, interspersed with crude but heartfelt drawings. One little girl sat cross-legged near the statue's base, sketching something onto a piece of paper with a look of intense concentration.

Icarus stopped mid-stride, raising an eyebrow as curiosity began to tug at her. Who are they? she wondered, watching as the group quietly shared stories and rearranged the tributes. For a moment, she debated moving on, but her feet didn't listen. Instead, she crossed the plaza, her boots crunching softly against the stone as she approached them.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice breaking the quiet murmurs of the group. They turned to her, a few startled, but most simply curious. She offered a small, hesitant smile. "I couldn't help but notice you all… keep coming back here. May I ask why?"

An older man stepped forward, his face lined with age and wisdom. He had a kind, weathered expression and wore a patched jacket that spoke of years spent enduring hardships. "We're the ones he saved," the man said simply, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

"Saved?" Icarus tilted her head, her curiosity deepening.

Another voice piped up—a young woman holding the hand of a little boy. "From Morgan City," she said, her words laced with a quiet awe. "We're the forty-two survivors."

Icarus's eyes widened slightly, recognition dawning. She glanced back at the monument, her gaze lingering on the etched words of the plaque before turning back to them. "You're those survivors?" she asked, her voice softening.

The group nodded, and a few smiled faintly.

Curiosity fully winning over, she gestured to the flowers and drawings. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Not at all," the older man said, gesturing for her to join them.

Icarus crouched near the little girl who was drawing and gave the child a small, encouraging smile before glancing up at the others. "What was it like? The journey, I mean."

The older man chuckled, his gaze distant as though he were peering into a memory. "Hard. Brutal, even. Most of us hadn't traveled farther than a few miles in years. And walking all the way to the extraction point… we thought we'd never make it."

A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair added, "There were days when we wanted to quit. The elderly, the children—hell, even the younger ones were exhausted. But he wouldn't let us." Her voice broke into a soft laugh. "No matter how much we complained or how tired we got, SABER-1 was relentless."

A younger man chimed in, shaking his head with a rueful grin. "I remember trying to sit down one time, thinking I could rest for just a minute. He just stood there, staring down at me with that unblinking helmet of his. Didn't say a word. I swear, I felt like a kid caught stealing cookies." The group chuckled softly, the memory lightening the mood.

The older man nodded. "But he wasn't cruel. He carried the little ones when they couldn't walk. Helped the older folks when the terrain got rough. And when we were scared—when the Extractants were close—he was the one who stood between us and them. Every time."

The little girl looked up from her drawing and piped in, her voice small but filled with certainty. "He said we were his mission. That he wouldn't leave anyone behind."

Icarus felt a lump rise in her throat. She chuckled softly, though it was tinged with emotion. "Sounds like him," she murmured. "Stubborn to the end."

The group shared quiet smiles and nods. Icarus listened as they shared more stories, each one painting a picture of a man she already knew but through a lens she rarely got to see. He wasn't just a soldier or a legend to these people. He was their savior, their protector, their unwavering shield.

As the stories wound down, Icarus glanced back at the statue, the flickering candles casting long shadows across its imposing form. For the first time in weeks, she felt a faint warmth in her chest, a small but steadfast belief that he was still out there somewhere.

"Thank you," she said softly to the group, her voice trembling slightly. "For telling me."

The older man nodded, his expression kind. "He's out there. I can feel it. Men like him don't just disappear."

Icarus smiled faintly, the words resonating in her heart. No, they don't, she thought, as she stood and walked away, her steps a little lighter.