Battle Of Planets
Chapter 32: Charging out!

Chapter 32: Charging out!

The remaining Rangers assembled at the entrance of the building, securing the area while a few captured Rogues were made to kneel, their hands tied behind their backs to prevent them from reaching their Meta-bots.

Among them were Raine and her two comrades. While her companions panicked—fully aware that their crime was beyond redemption this time—Raine sat in silence, her head bowed. They hadn’t just committed an ordinary offense; they had dared to capture the President himself.

Lost in thought, Raine struggled to comprehend the devastation around her. This wasn’t what she had envisioned when she chose to follow Coco’s lead. She had wanted revenge against the Rangers, who had defeated and punished her countless times, but this... this was something entirely different. They had crossed every moral line possible.

Nonetheless, some of them hoped their mission would not be futile. If they had captured the President and exposed his corruption to the world, then maybe—just maybe—their efforts would have been significant.

Alex stood next to Sera and her mother, who was finally starting to relax. Around them, the other Rangers monitored the captured Rogues, while frightened citizens—trapped inside the building—silently prayed for a safe escape from this nightmare.

Tyson stumbled in next to Shaun. "Thank God you all are safe."

Alex remained silent, his gaze fixed on the scene before him and his mind occupied with a lingering question—why had Raine helped them? She had been determined to capture Sera and her mother, yet after the crash, she hesitated. Instead of pressing forward, she stepped back, surrendering after ensuring their safety.

Liora, standing nearby, watched nervously as cracks spread across the ceiling. The earlier explosion from the chopper had shaken the building to its core. They all knew that staying inside was dangerous, but with the overwhelming number of Rogues outside, the alternative was far worse.

"Rangers, come here!" a senior man ordered. The Rangers gathered around him, keen to hear their lieutenant’s words.

"So... what do we do now?" someone whispered.

"Can we get through their blockade?" another voice inquired.

"They’re too strong—we can’t confront them directly," murmurs spread through the group as uncertainty increased.

Tyson and Alex stayed quiet, anticipating the lieutenant’s next words.

"Serge, do you believe we’ll escape from here alive?" Shaun inquired, his voice polluted with fear.

"I’m not Serge yet," Tyson said, "but don’t worry—we will."

The lieutenant’s voice rang out, silencing the whispers. "Listen up! Our captain is out there fighting to protect the president—we can’t let him down! We must clear a safe path for everyone, even if it means putting our lives on the line."

A sense of determination grew among the Rangers as nods and murmurs of consensus transformed into cheers.

"We’ll do our best!"

"Right! We’re Rangers!"

"Let’s defeat them and prove who’s in charge."

The lieutenant spoke with conviction. "Guard the entrance and secure the rear. A team will remain behind to oversee the detained Rogues and safeguard the citizens," he instructed.

"You stay here," Tyson said firmly. "Sera needs you to be here."

Alex hesitated, his gaze shifting between Tyson and the battlefield. Then, he noticed Seraphina casting occasional glances at him, her worry evident. He clenched his fists, aware that she needed him here. In the past, he wouldn’t have thought twice about charging into battle, but ever since he got engaged to Sera, something had changed. He was holding back.

"Shaun, you should accompany him," Alex declared at last. "I’ll remain here to monitor the prisoners and call backup if necessary."

Tyson paused, surprised by the gesture. His brother struggled to express emotions easily, but this was his way of showing that he cared—by sending Shaun to watch his back.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Tyson’s lips.

"Open it!" the lieutenant shouted.

Having almost blocked the entrance with their bodies, the Rangers swiftly stepped aside to clear a path for the group to advance.

Outside, the Rogues loitered near the dilapidated structures—some hidden in shadows, others engaged in casual conversation, while a few surveyed the area from atop the debris. Their mission had been straightforward: drive the Rangers indoors and hold them there until their goal was achieved. And, in general, they had managed to do so.

The Rangers had fallen back, seemingly out of options. The Rogues were in command now.

Suddenly, a group of Rangers emerged, their battle cries slicing through the air. This unexpected assault caught the Rogues entirely off guard.

Tyson rushed out of the building, his breath hitching as he absorbed the sight before him. He had anticipated disorder, but nothing could have equipped him for this.

The battlefield erupted in a tempest of gleaming steel, crackling energy, and the thunderous din of battle. Armored warriors engaged in a whirlwind of action, their Meta-bots enhancing each strike, block, and leap. Rangers and Rogues darted through the chaos like streaks of light, metal colliding with metal, sparks igniting as blades hit metal shields, and plasma rounds shooting through the air like shooting stars.

Tyson stood still for a moment, his heart racing in his chest. This was war—neither a simulation nor a sparring match, but a real battle.

His helmet display flickered, filling his vision with markers—red for enemies and green for allies. The battlefield teemed with movement, and he found himself in the thick of it.

Someone lunged at him.

Tyson had little time to respond when an armored Rogue descended before him, his power level indicating seven. It wasn’t weak, yet it fell short of being strong enough to halt him.

Tyson’s instincts kicked in. His blade materialized in his grip, humming with energy. The Rogue swung first—a quick, downward strike—but Tyson twisted his body, narrowly dodging before retaliating with a fierce upward slash. Sparks flew as the Rogue’s armor absorbed the impact, sending him stumbling back.

No time to breathe.

Another enemy approached from the left—this one faster. Tyson parried, spinning on his heel and countering with a sharp kick to the chest, sending the Rogue crashing into a heap of debris.

He didn’t stop moving.

The battle consumed the entire street, with fighters clashing on the rooftops and the ground shaking from the force of their attacks. In the distance, he saw a Ranger thrown through a wall, only to pull himself up and charge back into the fray. Explosions rocked the battlefield as energy blasts rained down from above.

Tyson drew a sharp breath, clenching his sword more firmly. He found himself amid a legendary battle, a moment destined for remembrance.

And he wasn’t about to lose.

Tyson surged ahead with a battle cry, his sword slicing through the chaos like a light beam.

He dodged an incoming blow, then dropped to the ground, rolling beneath a swinging blade before springing back with a forceful punch that knocked another Rogue off balance. His momentum remained steady as he advanced, weaving through the battlefield with his attention fixed on the lieutenant, battling and issuing precise commands to the Rangers.

A familiar figure caught his eye from the corner of his helmet display.

Blue.

Blue sat quietly atop a mound of rubble, his once-vibrant presence diminished. The battle raged on—swords clashed, explosions rattled the streets, and cries of conflict echoed through the air—yet he stayed unmoving, as though the turmoil within his mind drowned out the chaos around him.

"Keep your distance and work together! I promise I’ll hit you if you act like wild dogs, Rangers!" the lieutenant shouted.

Shaun stood resolutely beside him, his metal shield raised like an iron wall, protecting their backs. "Lieutenant, we’re outnumbered. We need a plan."

The lieutenant chuckled sharply. "I’ve got a tactic for you, kid." He faced Tyson. "Crush their heads in. Take out as many as possible. That’s the most effective strategy there is."

Tyson and Shaun exchanged a wary glance, silently questioning whether their superior had finally lost it. Picking up on their doubts, the lieutenant chuckled.

"Check that out," he remarked, gesturing toward a group of Rogues hanging back at the battlefield’s edge. They weren’t engaged in the fight—merely observing and holding their ground. Just waiting.

"They aim to keep us immobilized. The instant we cease to move, they achieve victory," the lieutenant growled. "And I refuse to allow that. Understand, Tyson?"

Tyson clenched his fists and nodded reluctantly. "Yes, sir."

"Alright. Now go and poke the darn beehive."

Tyson blinked. "What did you say?"

"You have to divert their best fighters," the lieutenant stated. "If we can shift their focus from the entrance, we can get through."

Tyson paused. "So, how am I supposed to do that?"

The lieutenant shot him a glare. "You’re good enough to be a sergeant, yet you ask something so foolish? Pick a fight with their strongest. Make them focus on you. That’s an order."

"Damn it," Tyson muttered, surveying the battlefield. His eyes moved over the chaos until they landed on Blue.

"There you are," he murmured, narrowing his eyes.