Last chapter. The Heaven's Wing

Douklan didn’t hesitate. He leveled his plasma projector and fired. The weapon’s discharge flared brilliant orange, a miniature star erupting from the barrel.

The shot should have burned straight through the creature’s malformed chest, but instead, it stopped.

An invisible force rippled outward, a shimmering distortion in the air, as if the very fabric of space had tensed against the shot. The plasma crackled against it, held for a split second in defiance—then the shield wavered. The projectile forced its way through, though weakened, and struck the creature’s shoulder.

The thing staggered back, its ruined uniform smoldering, green eyes narrowing in something that might have been pain or rage.

Then it raised its hand.

The room detonated. An unseen force erupted outward, a tidal wave of raw, telekinetic energy. Consoles exploded in showers of sparks, screens flickered and died, their thin surfaces reduced to twitching static. Loose panels were torn from the ceiling, wires spilling out like exposed veins, sparking against the metal walls. Equipment was flung across the room, slamming into walls and bulkheads with bone-rattling force. The sheer pressure sent the team staggering.

And yet—the thing had not entered the room. It simply stood there, just beyond the doorway, its hand still raised, fingers curling into a slow, deliberate fist.

Amidst the flying debris and flickering, shattered screens, RB took the brunt of the force. The repair bot had been standing near the console, its sensors locked onto the creature. It barely had time to process the incoming energy wave before it was caught in the storm.

RB’s chassis crumpled like paper, its reinforced plating buckling under the telekinetic force. Sparks erupted from its joints as its servos seized, its limbs spasming violently before being torn apart at the seams. One of its arms was flung against the far wall, where it clattered to the floor, twitching weakly before falling still.

Its voice crackled over the comms, distorted and failing. "T-T-Tactical reassessm—"

The speaker cut out as its optical sensors flickered one last time, its core overloaded and rupturing in a burst of blue-white light. The once-reliable repair bot collapsed into a heap of ruined metal and lifeless components.

RB was gone.