CHAPTER 67: THE ALL-IN GAMBIT

The silence in The Ramble was heavier than the blood-red sky.

It was the quiet of a team that had just been told their fight was hopeless.

Jax, for the first time since Michael had met him, was completely still, his face a pale mask of pain and shock.

Jinx just stared into the gloom, her knuckles white where she gripped the stock of her rifle.

"So," she said, her voice a low, bitter rasp. "We’re screwed."

"An Umbraxis," she spat, the word tasting like a curse. "A true dragon-class. We can’t even scratch it."

Michael’s head was still pounding from the psychic scream of the Gate, but the immediate, crushing weight of Forge’s words was worse.

They had come this far.

Fought so hard.

And the final boss was an unkillable, raid-wiping monster.

Typical endgame content, his inner monologue drawled wearily. The devs really want you to buy the expansion pack.

He looked over at Chloe, who had been a quiet, solid presence beside him.

She was staring at her datapad, her face illuminated by its cool blue light.

Her expression was not one of defeat.

It was a mask of pure, unadulterated, and frankly terrifying concentration.

Her fingers were a blur across the screen, processing the new data, cross-referencing it with Forge’s live battlefield intel, her analytical mind running a thousand different combat simulations a second.

"No," she said finally, her voice cutting through their despair like a surgeon’s scalpel.

"Not impossible."

"Just improbable."

She stood, her posture instantly shifting from quiet supporter back to commander.

The ice queen was back on her throne.

"The surgical strike has failed," she announced, her voice all business. "A frontal assault is suicide."

She looked at each of them in turn, her cold, gray eyes burning with a new, wild, and desperate light.

"So, we will not be logical."

"We will be insane."

She brought up a new image on her datapad, a live, three-dimensional tactical map of the battlefield, and projected it into the air between them.

A massive, angry red dot pulsed in the center. The Umbraxis.

"Forge’s intel is correct," she began, her voice a rapid-fire burst of pure strategy. "The Umbraxis’s armored hide is nearly impervious to all conventional and energy-based attacks below S-Rank."

"Its fire breath has a core temperature that can melt DGC-grade armor plating in 2.7 seconds."

"It is, for all intents and purposes, a fortress."

Jax let out a low, pained groan. "So, we’re screwed. You’re just saying it with more big words."

"Every fortress has a weakness, Jax," Chloe countered, her voice sharp.

She zoomed in on the Umbraxis. Four smaller, shimmering, almost invisible dots flickered around it like satellites.

"Forge’s scans confirm my initial hypothesis," she said. "Its primary defense isn’t its armor. It’s these."

"Four spectral entities. Royal Guards. They are phased, just like the Ghosts. They generate a constant, overlapping defensive field that subtly distorts reality around the Umbraxis, making it even more durable."

"They are the pillars holding up the roof."

Jinx’s head snapped up, a flicker of understanding in her cynical eyes. "So we knock out the pillars."

"Precisely," Chloe confirmed. "Jinx, you have four Phase-Disruptor rounds left. You have four targets."

Jinx just stared at the map. The guards were constantly moving, weaving through the chaos of the battlefield. It wasn’t just four shots. It was four perfect, impossible shots, in the middle of a warzone.

"It’s a one-in-a-million shot, Boss Lady," she said, her voice a low growl.

"Then don’t miss," Chloe retorted without a hint of sympathy.

"Once the guards are down," she continued, her plan unfolding with a beautiful, terrifying logic, "the Umbraxis will be vulnerable. But only for a short time."

"Forge and The Ironhearts will initiate a full-scale diversionary assault on the west flank. They will draw its attention. They will be the anvil."

She turned to Jax.

"Jax," she said, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. "I need a hammer."

Jax, despite the white-hot agony in his leg, gave her a weak, manic grin. "Now you’re speaking my language."

"I need you to rig every remaining explosive you have into a single, high-yield, focused charge," Chloe instructed. "You will plant it at the base of that rock formation to the north. The one The Ironhearts have identified as structurally unstable."

"You will trigger a rockslide," she finished. "The goal is not to kill it. The goal is to stun it. To disorient it. To create a window."

Michael just listened, his heart pounding a slow, heavy rhythm in his chest. He knew what was coming next.

"That window," Chloe said, her cold, gray eyes finally locking onto his, "is for you."

"Jinx’s shots, The Ironhearts’ charge, Jax’s bomb... it will all be for nothing if you cannot deliver the killing blow."

"The Umbraxis is a living Gate anchor. Its core is pure, chaotic energy. A normal weapon won’t be enough. You are the only one with a power that can... unmake it."

"One shot, Michael," she said, her voice a low, final command. "One overwhelming, all-or-nothing strike."

The plan was laid bare between them.

It was insane.

It was beautiful.

It was a suicide run built on a foundation of hope, spite, and a whole lot of things that go boom.

"I have to clear this with Forge," Chloe said, her fingers already flying across her comms unit.

Forge’s grizzled, static-filled voice crackled to life a moment later.

Chloe laid out the plan, her explanation a masterpiece of cold, concise, tactical brilliance.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Analyst," Forge’s voice finally rumbled, a note of something that sounded suspiciously like awe in his tone.

"That is the single most reckless, idiotic, and completely insane plan I have ever heard in my thirty years of hunting."

He paused.

"It’s a suicide run."

Another pause, this one filled with the distant roar of an explosion.

"But it’s the best damn suicide run I’ve heard all day."

"The Ironhearts are in."