CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The first real mission for the Thornwood Irregulars came on a rainy Tuesday.
Intelligence suggested a Sundered cell was operating in the ruins of Old Downtown—recruiting survivors, stockpiling weapons, preparing for something. The Irregulars were sent to investigate, disrupt, and capture if possible.
Olivia led six fighters: herself, Lucas, Cass, Marcus, Dee, and a new recruit named Jax—a lanky teenager with awakened speed who'd joined after the Sovereign battle, inspired by stories of "the small warrior who punched a god."
"I didn't punch a god," Olivia had told him during recruitment.
"You stabbed a god. Same difference."
They moved through the ruins in tactical formation, rain hissing against broken concrete and shattered glass.
The city was quieter now, the immediate post-Veil chaos settling into something more structured.
Creatures still roamed, but they'd established territories, patterns. Survivors had learned to avoid them.
"Contact ahead," Marcus whispered, consulting a handheld scanner. "Heat signatures. At least ten, inside what used to be a parking garage."
"Sundered?"
"Can't tell from this distance. But they're armed. I see weapons heat."
Olivia considered. A direct assault on an entrenched position with superior numbers was Vanguard doctrine—overwhelming force, shock and awe. But that wasn't her style.
"Cass, Jax—flank right. Find a secondary entrance. Dee, you're with me. We're going in quiet. Lucas, Marcus—cover from the street. If things go loud, you're our extraction."
"And if things go quiet?" Lucas asked.
"Then we capture everyone without firing a shot."
She and Dee moved through the shadows, Olivia using her phasing ability to slip through gaps in the rubble, Dee using her prison-guard experience to identify blind spots and security patterns.
The parking garage was partially collapsed, its upper levels open to the rain, its lower levels dark as a tomb.
They found the Sundered on level two.
Twelve of them, gathered around a makeshift altar of scrap metal and bones.
A figure in purple robes stood at the centre—not a Coven robe, but something similar, something corrupted.
The figure wore no mask, and his face was covered in self-inflicted cuts arranged in the circle-and-jagged-line symbol.
"The Sovereign speaks," the figure intoned. "The Veil weakens. The door opens. We prepare the way."
"For what?" someone asked.
"For transformation. For the merging. For the end of separation and the beginning of unity." The figure raised a knife. "Who offers themselves to the Sovereign's will?"
Several hands rose.
Olivia made her decision. She phased through the floor, dropping into the centre of the group before anyone could react. Her spear—Sable's spear—pressed against the cult leader's throat.
"Nobody offers anything," she said. "You're all under arrest. Surrender peacefully, or I get creative."
Chaos erupted.
The Sundered weren't trained fighters—most were desperate survivors, not soldiers. They scattered, some fleeing, some freezing, a few reaching for weapons. Dee emerged from the shadows, disarming two with practiced efficiency.
The leader laughed, despite the spear at his throat. "You think this matters? One cell, one leader? We are everywhere. We are everyone. The Sovereign's will cannot be stopped by force."
"Maybe not. But it can be slowed down by a spear through your windpipe." Olivia pressed harder. "Last chance. Call them off."
"I serve the Sovereign. I do not fear death."
"Then you won't mind this."
She struck with the spear's butt cap, a precise blow to the temple that dropped him unconscious. Cass and Jax burst through the secondary entrance, rounding up the fleeing cultists. Within minutes, the cell was contained.
"Twelve captured," Cass reported. "Three escaped into the ruins. Should we pursue?"
"No. Secure these ones. Get them back to the compound for interrogation." Olivia looked at the altar—at the bones, the symbols, the knife still wet with someone's blood. "And someone burn this mess."
Lucas appeared beside her, his sword drawn but unnecessary. "Clean operation."
"Too clean. They weren't fighters. They were victims." Olivia's jaw tightened. "The Sovereign is recruiting from desperation. People who've lost everything, who see the end of the world and think joining it is better than fighting it."
"How do we stop that?"
"We give them something better to believe in."
They returned to Compound Seven with prisoners and questions. Sable was pleased with the results but concerned about the implications.
"This cell was preparing for a ritual," she said, reviewing the evidence. "Something to weaken the Veil locally. If they'd succeeded, they could have opened a breach large enough for Legion forces to pour through."
"How many more cells are out there?"
"We don't know. Intelligence suggests dozens. Maybe more." Sable looked up, her blue eyes weary. "The Sundered aren't just a cult anymore. They're an insurgency. And insurgencies are hard to root out."
"Then we don't root them out. We replace them." Olivia leaned forward. "Commander, these people are desperate. They join the Sundered because it offers meaning, community, hope. We need to offer something better."
"What do you suggest?"
"Outreach. Patrols that help survivors instead of just fighting creatures. Medical aid, food distribution, protection. We show people that the Vanguard isn't just an army—it's a community. That there's a reason to keep fighting."
Sable studied her for a long moment. "You're talking about changing our entire operational philosophy."
"I'm talking about winning the war. Not just battles. The whole war."
"That's ambitious."
"I'm five-foot-nothing with a spear and a fictional hero complex. Ambitious is all I've got."
Sable laughed—a rare, genuine sound. "Very well, Commander Thornwood. Draft your proposal. If it makes sense, I'll present it to the Vanguard Council."
"You will?"
"You earned it. That operation was flawless. Your team is exceptional. And your instincts—" Sable paused, choosing her words, "—your instincts are better than most officers with decades of experience. Trust them."
Olivia left Sable's office feeling something she hadn't expected: validation. Not the desperate kind she'd sought when she arrived at the compound. The quiet kind that came from knowing she'd earned her place.