The nine of them held their backs to crumbling stone benches that were gradually giving way under the constant barrage. Gunfire echoed in the cavern, the noise bouncing off the walls and high ceiling to rain back down in anger. There was barely time to retaliate with a few loose shots of their own before the fury of the Silver Commander and her minions came back once more.

'Fill me in,' Rhama said. 'Have we got a plan?'

He smiled. 'Of course I've got a plan.'

'Really?'

'Yes. We wait until they give up and then we all go home.'

Rhama tried to smile back, but even she couldn't to manage to force one through, and it died before it got to her lips. 'Great plan.'

You don't need to tell me twice, Crysis thought. But what else could he do? It didn't seem to matter what they did, those soldiers kept on coming. They had a seemingly endless supply of canisters to reload, and they didn't seem to be running out of motivation, either. Their commander in chief especially. Crysis had the feeling that they could place her in the engine of a large star-liner and whack it on full thrust, and she'd come out with not much more than a thin layer of soot on that gleaming armour of hers.

Got to be a way. Perhaps if we could get over to that teleport pad again. No. We need one of their ships to get off. Which means we have to stay here. Take them out or sneak past somehow. It's the only way.

Crysis had often been accused of being overconfident in the past. Some had even used cocky, arrogant, narcissistic, and even vain. He didn't think he was that bad, but he could certainly see how people got that impression. He had a case of boundless optimism in any situation which usually helped him get through even the hairiest of scenarios. A bit of skill, a dash of enthusiasm, and a large helping of luck, had managed to drag him through the gauntlet he ran on a daily basis.

But now with rock dust billowing stinging his eyes and lungs, he looked into the eyes of his companions, old and new alike, and found himself faking the optimism he usually exuded naturally. What used to be etched onto every line in his face was now being held in place through sheer will. He had to pretend to be confident for them, but deep down he had the sinking feeling that they had come up against one challenge too many. This was it.

The gunfire ceased.

'What's going on?' Tonne asked. His eyes were larger than saucers, and a mad fire of panic burned in their depths.

'How should I know?' Crysis said.

As the echoes of gunfire faded, a voice called out over the battlefield. 'Tonne 457!'

Tonne shivered at the Silver Commander's voice. There was still some conditioning inside him answering to her call. Or perhaps it was that her voice was deep and booming, like a brass bell tolling the time for the gallows.

'You've caused us, and the whole Order, a great deal of trouble.'

'Don't worry; it's no trouble at all,' Doone shouted. He smiled at Skreem, who weakly returned it. Gurgaston slapped his arm and all of Doone's eyes looked down in shame for speaking out of turn.

'I'm willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself! If you turn yourself in, we can re-integrate you into the Order.'

Crysis tried to get a good read on his traitor, but getting a read on anyone in this situation was always going to be a tough ask.

'Why would I do that?' Tonne asked. 'You'd just as soon shoot me dead the second I stand up.'

'I could,' said the commander. 'But stay there and I guarantee that I will execute you with extreme prejudice. Your choice.'

'I go back to you and these guys will shoot me,' he complained. 'I'm dead either way.'

'Even your Kakr girlfriend? Do you think she could murder you in cold blood?'

Tonne looked to Rokoara for reassurance. Huddled behind another battered pew, she shook her head and gave her best watery eyes, big and blue. 'Please' she mouthed. 'Don't do it.'

But Crysis could see the fear in his shaking fingers, which were curled around the grip of a gun. Panic and indecision was a deadly cocktail at the best of times, and right now he didn't know which way the young man would go. He could turn and shoot out towards his former family, or take out his new friends out. His decision could rest on what he ate for dinner three nights ago. When the moments that define someone's life arrive, there's no way to tell what insignificant things in their history affect their choices.

He looked to Heratrix for support, but she was staring out into space towards the teleport pad. It was obvious what she was doing. She was only thinking of when the best chance to spring up, charge across the rubble-strewn cavern, and lock her hands around the commander's throat, might come. Someone usually so cold and calculating had become fixated on one thing and one thing only.

Gurgaston was still relatively incapacitated. Skreem and Rhama beside him were still shivering; still recovering from being transported across the planet in antiquated machinery. Doone had his bloodlust running like a high fever.

That just left Kris. She was on her own in the corner of the room, hidden behind a particularly large rock. Crysis couldn't see her well enough to predict what she might do at any given moment. She could turn a gun on herself, for all he knew of her.

Too many variables turning one way or the other on the flip of fate's coin.

'Yes? Come in.'

The commander. Someone in her ear. Silence. Then fluent swearing.

'457! I've offered you a saviour's hand out of this. You've turned it down. So be it.'

A shadow arose, gleaming with blood and dirt and ash. The commander was up on her feet and strode across the floor. Her faithful minions covered her as she put foot after foot. Within seconds she would be in the trenches of the thieves. In her shadow, hooded soldiers followed.

Crysis heard it all. He tried to stick his hand over the tops of the stone pew to return fire but rock blasted up and raked across his knuckles to draw blood. The butcher was coming for them.

And then Crysis saw it all in slow motion. He saw Tonne tense. His grip tightened his grip on the gun. His feet shifted ever so slightly as they prepared to launch him into the air.

A dark blur shot past Crysis towards him.

'You bitch,' Tonne muttered. He brought the gun up to Rokoara like he was pushing through treacle. He stood up, free hand in the air to try and halt his former mistress' fire. He'd prove he could do it. Then he'd return to the fold and try to atone for his sins.

But the blur was on him. Kris slammed into Tonne's back and the two of them sprawled out from undercover and into the open. Tonne's gun skittered across the floor.

The shooting from the advancing army stopped for a heartbeat as they took in what was happening.

That was enough time for the other side of the fight to get to their feet and take aim. The fighting began one final time.

Pandemonium. A discordant wail of light, sound, heat, and chaos reigned supreme. A quick cluster formed around Tonne and Kris, who wrestled for each other's throats, clawing for any available flesh which could be ripped or pulled or scratched. Rokoara tried to leap in to help her, but quickly became engaged in a brawl with two burly soldiers, and hadn't the time to get a shot in at her would-be boyfriend.

Others ducked and dived behind as they fanned out through the room. Crysis let off a run of blasts that ripped through a man's arms. He went to reload but was thrown to the ground by Rhama as a red shot screamed through the place his face had just been. He changed canisters in the dirt.

Doone and Skreem went back to back through the madness, firing so quickly that the metal of their guns' muzzles glowed from the heat. Gurgaston rested a Beta atop a pew which he swivelled like a sniper. He grunted in agony with each shot as it shunted back into his shoulder and sent a shock down to his leg.

He looked up to see a cracked visor appear above him. A gun barrel pointed down, and he hadn't the time to swing his up.

Then a hole bored through the hooded one's head, and the man collapsed forward on top of Gurgaston. Heavy. Bloody heavy.

'You can thank me now for that,' Skreem called from just out of sight as she scampered off again to hold up Doone's back.

'Why now?'

'Might not live.'

She'd got a point. He went to shift the body, got it halfway off, and let it roll away. 'Thank you.'

Crysis jumped down beside him. Blood dripped from lacerations on his face. He pushed the corpse aside. 'We might survive this, yet.'

'Only if you go help Heratrix,' Gurgaston said. He pointed out into the smoke again, and Crysis followed his line.

In the centre of the room, Heratrix was locked in a scrap with the Silver Commander. Guns had been ripped away, and the two ducked and weaved, each with one of the commander's array of large hunting knives. The commander sliced for Heratrix's left flank, but she danced out of the way and returned with a thrust underneath the helmet. The commander pushed her chin down to deflect the blow, but Heratrix managed to swing around the other way to come up behind her opponent. She slammed an exposed toggle and the back plate of the armour came away, crashing to the floor with a clatter that could be heard even above the din of battle.

'I knew I'd take great pleasure in killing you,' the commander hissed. She stepped back and fumbled for the straps which held her armour together. She ripped off her chest plate, gauntlets, and the rest of her gear, leaving only her helmet and a tight black bodysuit designed for extreme flexibility. 'I should do it in a fair fight.'

'You're fighting me,' Heratrix replied. 'It's always going to be unfair.'

The commander snarled and unleashed a driving flurry of swipes that forced Heratrix onto the back foot. Metal clashed and sparked in the dark. Heratrix swung her leg but the commander shifted away. A punch drove to the commander's side, and the commander took it hard. She dropped the blade down and brought off a great chunk of flesh from Heratrix's arm before she could retreat it. Un-robed, she was just as strong.

Crysis tried to get up and rush to his friend's aid, but it seemed as if everyone else in the battle suddenly had the same idea. Now Doone, Skreem, and Rhama were trying to make their way to the centre of the room, inching along the floor, ducking into the dents and renders in the floor, and the surviving soldiers did likewise.

On the far side of the room, Rokoara was bleeding from her side, but her two opponents were crumpled on the ground. Between Kris and she they had managed to subdue Tonne, but not before Kris sustained a trio of raked gashes to her cheek from nails that had come perilously close to her eye. With a well-aimed punch, Kris knocked the traitor for Sunday and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull.

'Thanks,' Rokoara said through gritted teeth.

'Don't mention it.'

Gurgaston touched Crysis' arm wearily, breathing hard. His leg had taken about all the punishment it could get away with. 'How many left?'

'Us or them?'

'Both.'

'We're looking good.'

He took Gurgaston's Beta as the big man collapsed and closed his eyes, exhausted. Crysis stood up and aimed a shot at a hooded soldier preparing to hit Doone's blindside. The soldier screamed and smelled his torso smoke and bubble.

Doone took his chance and spun to the central fight. He fired at the Silver Commander, but his canister was empty and the gun did nothing but emitted a pathetic pfft! every time he squeezed the trigger. He threw it aside and reached down for the gun the Silver Commander had tossed away, but she saw him from the corner of her eye. She ducked under a blow from Heratrix and threw her knife across the room. It hit Doone with a dull thunk! He collapsed onto the floor, blood pouring from the wound.

Rhama rushed to his side. The surviving hooded soldier tried to line up a shot but Skreem scampered over and knocked him for six with the barrel of her gun.

Meanwhile, the Silver Commander stepped in close and brought an arm up around Heratrix's neck. Heratrix waved wildly with her knife, trying to make contact, but the Commander wrestled her knife back. Crysis and Skreem stood up to take shots just as metal touched Heratrix's throat. 'Nobody move!' she screamed, 'Unless you want me to turn the bitch into a geyser.'

Everyone froze. The room fell silent except for Rhama trying to soothe Doone's screams.

'Drop them. Or she goes.'

Crysis waited for a moment, and then nodded to Skreem, who slowly put her gun on the ground. He checked that Rokoara and Kris were hands-free before following suit. 'Ok. We're all empty.'

'Thank you. Now. Which one of you can work that teleport pad?'

Nobody said anything. The knife drew a thin line of bright red blood from Heratrix's throat.

'Rhama,' Crysis said.

'Don't,' Heratrix croaked. 'Shoot.'

'Hush now,' the commander said. 'You and me are going to take a little trip through the atoms, and my ships are going to pick us up.'

'Not from here?' Crysis asked, braving the commander's reaction. 'What's changed?' Then he remembered the commander's swearing earlier. 'Oh, that's it.'

'What's it?' Skreem asked.

'I'm going to guess that the silver ship we brought with us had a little homing beacon in it. Straight back to Celestria, or an outpost not too far away. I doubt they'd want to lose track of something so precious, so they've got an entire army on the doorstep by now to take it back.'

As if to confirm his suspicions, muffled explosions drifted down the tunnels to the outside world. The commander's helmet bleeped and blared at her to let her know her ships were turning into molten wrecks above her head.

'Looks like you're the last one standing,' Crysis said. 'And you won't be doing that for very long.' The confidence was back. If he could just get Heratrix away from her...

Crysis could sense the commander's blood beginning to run cold. The air was growing cooler around her. She did her best to maintain an air of authority by straightening up her back, however. She gave a rough push to Heratrix. 'Start walking. You,' she motioned to Rhama. 'Get that thing working.'

Rhama looked at Crysis. He nodded. She checked Doone again, who had grown pale and had only one eye open. Critical but stable.

She slowly walked across the corpses towards the pedestal, hands raised. The commander already had Heratrix on the pad.

'Furthest point across the planet with easiest access from outside,' the commander barked.

Rhama dutifully obeyed, opening up the pedestal and beginning to run through menus and systems. She tried to remember exactly which buttons needed to be pressed, but she was exhausted and worn out, and her vision was starting to blur. Boxes swam into one and options trebled on their own.

The commander looked to the mouth of the tunnel. 'Now! Don't think I won't kill this one.'

'This is a teleport pad from before Earth's oldest civilisations,' Rhama explained slowly. 'I got here by luck after a lot of tinkering. Give me time.'

The commander's answer was to manoeuvre the knife so that the point was aiming directly into flesh. The bloody line across Heratrix's throat looked like a noose burn.

Crysis looked to the tunnel. They weren't coming fast enough for his liking. Hurry up.

Rhama hit buttons as fast as she could. Eventually, the menu with two options came up. She hesitated. Which one to press?

'Do it! Or she dies!'

Rhama touched one and backed away. 'There you go.'

The runes around the pad began to glow a deep red, revolving on their track anti-clockwise. Bright light swelled up from underneath the pad and trapped the two women in an ethereal cage.

The commander pulled her face down to Heratrix's ear. 'You were almost good.' She spun Heratrix around to face her. 'Almost.'

She kept the knife at her throat and touched a button on the side of her helmet. The glass cleared its tint ever so slightly, enough so that Heratrix got a good look at the commander's eyes. 'These are the last eyes you'll ever see. Goodbye.'

Heratrix braced herself for the inevitable slicing of flesh and bone.

Then the light of the teleport pad dropped, and was swiftly replaced by a hellish, Androssios red to match the glow of the runes.

The commander halted her slice. 'What's happening?' She looked to Rhama. 'What have you done?!'

'Self-destruct,' Rhama said, trying to keep the glee from her voice. 'I think.'

The silver commander froze in terror.

That was all the opening Heratrix needed. She shoved with all her might and the commander stumbled back away from her. Heratrix ran down the steps away from the pad. The commander regained her footing and began to run after her when everything began to shake. The runes spat fire into the air and an explosion rocked the cavern.

Everyone on their feet was thrown to the floor. Heratrix fell into Crysis, who caught her as they both tumbled back over the broken pew. There was an intense rush of heat and the sound of the world coming to an end. Shrapnel was flung across the battlefield to the far corners of the room. Rock fell from the sky and gouged holes in the floor, barely missing the survivors.

When the dust had settled and they opened their eyes again, they found the Silver Commander, thrown the length of a house over the heads of Crysis and Heratrix, in a crumpled heap on the ground in the centre of the room. Her limbs were twisted in obscene ways, and she could barely twitch a muscle, but she was still very much alive.

Heratrix regained her composure and crawled over to the commander. She put a knee on the small of the commander's back. 'Hello.'

Crysis raised a weary head and gave a dry, rattling chuckle. 'Was that a joke, 'trix?'

'No,' she said. 'I don't make jokes.'

The commander tried to push Heratrix away, but she had nothing left in her. She relaxed on the floor, and wished the bitch would kill her. But she knew she wouldn't. The commander knew that cold-blooded murder simply wasn't how Heratrix and her friends worked.

From the tunnel's mouth they heard raised voices coming closer. Dozens of torch beams threw shadows on the inside walls, and a few seconds later the room was swarmed by a flood of armed men in Celestrian uniforms. Orders were barked, and the LastLiners raised their hands. Everywhere was swiftly lit in that calming blue light.

One stopped by Heratrix. 'Who's that?'

'A new cell mate for Kalvulseah,' she said.

The Silver Commander tried to spit something back at her but Heratrix applied more pressure.

Crysis leaned back against the remains of the pew and couldn't stop himself spending what little energy he had left in laughing deep from his belly.

The battle was over and won.