War in science fiction often straddles the line between the fantastical and the profoundly human. This week’s scene from Three Immortals has Vyoz and his commando team navigate a labyrinthine ruin, encountering both ancient mysteries and modern enemies. This sequence captures the chaos, tragedy, and split-second decision-making of combat while embedding it within a speculative setting.
At its heart, this scene is not just about firepower or tactics. It’s about what war costs—physically, emotionally, and morally. Twilight’s death is devastating, not only because of the personal loss to the team but because it starkly reminds us that even the most advanced armor or clever countermeasures can’t shield characters from the harsh realities of war.
The weight of this moment deepens when the team discovers the body of a civilian engineer among their fallen enemies. What they don’t realize—but the reader might—is that this man, Rroovu Ogbaa, is the scientist whose death was described in the previous scene. The brilliance of his mind, capable of unlocking the secrets of ancient nano replicons, was obliterated in a single instant, reduced to splattered fragments on the walls of the ruins. Rroovu’s death offers us a haunting juxtaposition to the commando team’s perspective. His final thoughts—of regret, unfinished work, and fading family memories—add an intimate layer of tragedy to the larger chaos of the battle.
These two perspectives—Vyoz’s gritty pragmatism and Rroovu’s poignant demise—highlight the complexity of war. Combat is not just a contest of survival; it is a crucible where lives, dreams, and brilliance are shattered without regard for their potential. The ruins, once a place of technological marvels, now become a graveyard for both ancient inventors and contemporary geniuses like Rroovu.
As science fiction fans, we’ve come to expect the depiction of larger-than-life battles. Star Destroyers clash above planets, and super soldiers charge into impossible odds. Yet, what makes scenes like this one hopefully resonate isn’t the technology or the spectacle—it’s the humanity. It’s Vyoz pausing to confirm Twilight’s death, his silent grief tempered by the mission’s demands. It’s Rroovu’s fleeting, incomplete thoughts as his consciousness dissolves.
These moments ground the story in something deeply relatable. They reflect truths about our world: the camaraderie among soldiers, the moral ambiguity of war, and the devastating ripple effects of violence. Science fiction, at its best, uses the vastness of space and the imagination of advanced civilizations to reflect the raw realities of human existence.
When I wrote the scene in the ruins, I wanted to show the intimacy of combat. Unlike the epic clashes seen in space battles, this was close, personal, and messy. The ruins, with their shadowy corridors and ancient mysteries, served as more than just a backdrop. They amplified the tension, the unknown threats lurking around each corner mirroring the uncertainty of the fight itself.
This brings me to a broader question: why do we love war stories in science fiction? Is it the adrenaline rush of a well-executed battle scene? The catharsis of seeing characters triumph against overwhelming odds? Or is it something deeper—a way to process the complexities of conflict and the resilience of the human (or alien) spirit?
For me, it’s all the above.
What do you think? Why do war stories—whether set on Earth or in the farthest reaches of space—resonate so strongly with us? Let me know in the comments if you’ve got a minute.
Next week, we’ll look at the next chapter “Ground War”. As the title promises, the brutality of combat on planet Prral has just begun.
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