Golden light of the great setting sun painted the horizon in blood-orange hues. Its rays, piercing through the veil of dust, seemed like the day’s final farewell. The desert around you stood still, swallowed by silence and tension. Between two high cliffs, in the shadow of the harsh landscape, stood a military base—a small outpost where you and your team had taken up defensive positions.

At first, everything was quiet. But soon, distant figures began to emerge—the Nusians. Their attacks came suddenly, yet between each wave, there were brief respites. Just when it felt like it might all be over, you regrouped and kept fighting. It wasn’t easy, but somehow, you were still alive.

The fourth hour of relentless assaults had begun. It seemed the enemy knew no fatigue. Your medic rushed tirelessly between soldiers, patching wounds and dragging the unconscious out of danger. Meanwhile, your sniper, hidden somewhere on the slope, picked off priority targets. After the latest attack was repelled, an eerie calm fell over the battlefield.

Suddenly, a distorted voice crackled through your radio: "Showtime-11 has spotted a Sparta. Be quick on your feet, and don't hesitate to move." The words had barely finished echoing when a large figure appeared on the opposite slope. Two blades glinted in his hands, and even from that distance, you could feel his cold, smug smile.