The Martians

ELYSIA MANGAL-GRAH

The underground bunker trembles with great intensity, each shudder a reflection of the battle raging on the surface above. Dust trickles down from the ceiling, coating Elysia Mangal-grah's hair with a fine red powder. The air is thick with the smell of ozone and burnt flesh.

Her gaze is fixed on the quivering concrete above, as if she could pierce through to see her son. He's strong, she knows this, but he's only 19, a boy in the eyes of a mother, no matter the warrior he's become.

The weight of their survival rests on his shoulders—he must clear a path. Every tremor sends a fresh wave of terror through her—he's out there, alone, surrounded by those nightmarish creatures.

She knows that their planet is done for. The Defense Corps aren't fighting to protect Mars anymore; they're just buying time for others to escape. She curses the World Enders, those enigmatic destroyers whose motives remain shrouded in mystery; all that is known is their relentless drive to destroy worlds.

Their minions shatter worlds as easily as pebbles—a terrifying glimpse of the power that commands them, a storm that will engulf all. The Martians are warriors born of a harsh world, but against this foe, they are like a ripple against a tidal wave.

The noise and the relentless shaking of the bunker awaken baby Jove, who had been sleeping soundly in Elysia's arms. His sudden wail pierces through the thunderous booms and the high-pitched whine of energy weapons, a cry of confusion and fear. He's a light sleeper—once awake, he stays awake.

Now, the escalating chaos feeds his fear, and his cries reverberate through their refuge. A wave of despair washes over Elysia as Jove's wails pierce through the din. She knows that a crying baby is a beacon in this chaos.

Protected by earth and enhanced graphene, she does her best to calm Jove. She rocks him gently, whispers soft reassurances, but his cries persist. Each one is a needle in her already frayed nerves. In the corner, she glances at her twin-born children, Romulus and Juno, who somehow manage to sleep soundly, untouched by the clamor.

Their peaceful faces, so innocent amidst the turmoil, stir a sharp pang in her heart, a haunting reminder of the Mars they may never know. She thinks to herself that they might never get to see the beauty of Mars beyond its wars, the serene landscapes and the vast, red deserts now marred by conflict and destruction.

Her thoughts drift to Athena, her other daughter. There's no worry there; at only 17, Athena is a force to be reckoned with, considered one of the best fighters on Mars, a genius of warfare. She and her father had embarked on a desperate mission: to secure transport off-world for all of them, their only chance at survival in this doomed planet.

Though Ares's success would mean she wouldn't need to lift a finger, Elysia, left in charge of the baby and the twins, prepares herself nonetheless. Two decades have passed since her last fight, a conflict that culminated in Ares's birth in the battlefield. A glorious moment. Years of motherhood and peace have softened her edge, but within her, the ghost of the warrior stirs.

Years of motherhood and peace have softened her edge, but within her, the ghost of the warrior stirs.

She hopes, with a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening, that her former mastery—the mastery that earned her the mantle of the "Witch of Mars"—will return. She clenches her fists, the phantom echo of her past power resonating within her, as she prepares to protect her children with everything she has left.

The shaking ceases, replaced by a silence so profound it feels like a held breath. This is no end, she realizes. With a sense of urgency, she moves to prepare. Elysia gently straps baby Jove to her chest with a cloth, securing him close to her heart. She checks her compact pistol; the display flickers, showing enough power for what might come next. Her aim feels rusty, her draw speed slightly off.

Practicing a couple of draws, aiming at imaginary targets, she feels the weight of the years. Each movement is a reminder of the warrior she once was, trying to shake off the dust of time, hoping her muscle memory will kick in when it's needed most.

A sense of grim satisfaction settles over Elysia as she tests her form, stretching limbs. Each movement is punctuated by the sharp crack of joints stiffened from long disuse. Yet, with each stretch, a dormant fire rekindles within her, her body slowly unfurling, remembering the brutal choreography of combat.

She moves to rouse the twins. Romulus stirs first, his voice a sleepy rumble, thick with the lingering fog of dreams.

"Is it time?" he murmurs, eyelids still heavy. A faint smile graces Elysia's lips—a bittersweet flicker of warmth in the face of the encroaching darkness.

"Yes," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the distant tremors, "it's time." She bids them both to stay close, her gaze lingering on Romulus, a mother's unspoken plea etched in her eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks, a frown creasing his brow. With a quick jab of his finger towards his sister, he adds, "Juno wanders too, you know."

 Juno, roused by the accusation, retaliates with a playful cuff to his head.

A brief scuffle erupts between them, a fleeting spark of childhood joy that momentarily pierces the oppressive weight of the bunker.

Elysia gathers them close, her voice, a quiet murmur, filled the small space between them. "Listen carefully," she says, "it's dangerous outside. We're going somewhere else, just for a short time."

Juno's eyes were wide with a child's innocent curiosity. "Is it…pretty?"

"It's wonderful," Elysia says, a gentle smile touching her lips.

"The air smells sweet, like flowers you've never smelled before. The oceans are blue like the prettiest stones you've ever found, and they sparkle in the sun. The forests are so green and thick, it's like walking through a giant garden. And the mountains are huge, like giant piles of sand that reach up to the sky. At night, it's a world alive with sound and light, where a different moon hangs in the sky, and the stars themselves seem close enough to touch, as if they're putting on a celestial dance just for you."

Juno's eyes widen, her gaze turning dreamy at the thought of such wonders. Romulus, however, frowns and teases, "Stars don't dance, especially not for you."

Elysia intervenes, placing herself firmly between the squabbling twins before their playful jabs could turn serious. But her words are cut short as the bunker is rocked by a violent tremor.

She knows that's the signal. With urgency in her voice, she tells the children to follow her. They rush to the staircase, every step echoing in the sudden quiet. She reaches for the door, her fingers brushing the cold metal—then, a nightmare bursts through the gap in the door—a K'tharr's head, its jagged teeth exposed in a grotesque grimace. Instinctively, Elysia's hand blurred, drawing and leveling her gun at the creature's maw. The blast erupted from the creature's head, showering the bunker walls with blood and bone.

That was close, too close, she thinks, her heart still racing from the adrenaline. The landscape is eerily still. Too still. Elysia steps into the open, the harsh light of the Martian sky momentarily blinding. She shields her eyes, then reaches back into the bunker, helping the children out. Her children huddled close, a small, vulnerable group dwarfed by the vast, desolate landscape, they begin their perilous journey.