Ch. 226..230: Interstellar_ Return of the Villain Chapter 226-230

Chapter 226: The Empire

Lyra had always known they’d eventually send someone to deal with her. She just never expected the guy to show up in person.

But there he was, right there in her line of sight, practically delivered to her doorstep.

She stalked him with the silent, deadly precision, her focus narrowing to a razor-sharp edge.

The man in the iron mask threw a glance over his shoulder, tension tightening his features. He was twenty meters ahead—too close for him to escape now.

Without warning, he skidded to a halt and spun around, unleashing an attack that arced through the air like a blade.

His dark energy seemed to twist reality itself, sucking the very life from the space between them.

Lyra fired back with a hail of ice spikes, but his shadowy force swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but emptiness.

Undeterred, she swiped her arm in a fierce arc, unleashing a green blade of energy that sliced through the air.

It clashed with his attack, creating a searing flash of black and green. Perfect. Her power of healing seemed to counter his destructive force exactly.

The man didn’t flinch. If anything, his eyes sparkled with an unnerving kind of excitement, like he’d just found something rare and dangerous. He whispered, "Yes, that’s it!"

SWISH.

Within a blink, Lyra had closed the distance, her sword pressing on his throat. Her eyes, dark and stormy, warned that she could end him right here. "Got you."

As she watched, the man slowly took off his mask, revealing slicked-back chestnut hair and piercing gray-blue eyes.

He studied her with an almost gentle admiration. His voice, low and smooth, carried a hint of amusement. "Impressive, Lyra. I’m Westros. Westros Llorens."

She barely blinked at his introduction, just tightening the blade against his neck. His name was irrelevant.

"You’ve been watching me this whole time?" asked Lyra.

"Oh, WE have," he replied smoothly.

"The Empire?" she demanded.

"That, and much more," he answered, his smile becoming nearly affectionate, a strange light in his eyes. "You have no idea, Lyra. EVERYONE wants you."

A chill crept down her spine. Lyra could feel the tentacles of a vast, hidden web closing around her, binding her tighter. Ever since she’d received the Soul Spike implant, the feeling had been growing, like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

"I wasn’t even supposed to be here today," Westros admitted with a casual shrug. "The squad that came to take you out got delayed, so I had to step in. Seems our meeting was inevitable."

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. "Then what’s your real goal?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, frustration biting at her tone. It was as if everyone was keeping secrets from her.

But Westros just tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Now, that’s a secret."

Lyra tensed, and in that split second, Westros moved.

His figure blurred, and before she could react, his kick landed solidly in her stomach, making her stumble back, pain spreading in a hot wave.

Lyra caught herself instantly, instincts kicking in. She launched a knee strike, swift and fierce, but he anticipated her move, locking onto her leg and pinning it with a firm grip.

His smirk was dangerously amused. "I know you’re strong," he said, eyes glinting, "but you need to calm down."

Lyra shot him a defiant look. "Not a chance."

With a sudden burst of strength, Lyra threw a punch that connected hard with his stomach.

She felt the impact deep within him, and blood splattered from his lips, painting her face in crimson, fierce and haunting against her pale skin.

"Don’t ever try to control me."

Grabbing his collar, Lyra followed with a brutal knee to his chest, the sharp crack of ribs breaking echoing between them.

Westros threw a punch, but Lyra caught his hand, squeezing until his bones splintered. Then, she backhanded him with enough force to send him flying.

Before Westros even hit the ground, Lyra was on him, slamming him back down with a vicious kick.

"Ugh—" Westros gasped, dazed and bleeding.

"Your strength... it’s evolved this much..." he murmured, his bloodied mouth curling in awe as he looked up at her in disbelief.

Lyra extended her hand, and with a flicker of psychokinetic energy, her blades snapped to her palm as if it had been waiting for her command.

"Fine," she said, voice as cold as steel, "if you’re not going to talk, then you’re of no use to me."

She aimed her sword at the man’s forehead, striking down with deadly precision—but—CLANG—a metallic whip shot out of nowhere, blocking her attack with a sharp ring.

Behind Lyra, the air whistled with the sound of something slicing straight for her.

She pivoted, deflecting a powerful metal fist that would’ve smashed her face in.

Her new opponent was clad in a sleek, silver mecha suit, its polished surface reflecting light in glints of white and silver.

This newcomer wielded a sword, too, and he swung it down with brutal force.

Lyra countered, but to her shock, her Schedar blade failed to even scratch the armor.

Lyra had only a second to react as another punch came her way. She threw up a light shield, but the strike unleashed a burst of laser energy, shattering her shield in an instant.

Then came a blast of electricity from the other assailant, sparking a barricade of crackling energy that blocked her escape routes. Lyra dropped her blade, rolling into a series of quick backflips to evade their coordinated attacks.

From the ground, Westros looked on, his face streaked with blood, yet his expression was lit with a manic excitement. "Yes, it’s her! She’s the one!" His voice was almost reverent.

A portal began forming around him, a swirling black tear in space.

Realizing he was about to slip away, Lyra tried to focus her powers, but the mecha fighters had closed in too tightly, leaving her no room to act.

Westros held her gaze for one final, intense moment before stepping through the portal, vanishing into thin air.

Fury bubbled up inside Lyra, her eyes hardening as she turned to the two mecha-clad warriors.

Tightening her grip, she fused her twin blades into a single, long staff, holding it behind her in a deadly reverse grip.

"If he wants to run, fine," she sneered. "You can take his place."

And then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished, her form blurring into the air. The only warning was the low hum of her staff cutting through space.

With one powerful strike, she launched the smaller mecha opponent into the air, the impact cracking his armor as he spiraled out of control.

The larger one retaliated with a powerful punch, but Lyra twisted her staff in a brutal arc, forcing him to dodge.

She barely touched the ground before a laser beam shot toward her; she kicked off the larger mecha, flipping through the air to evade the attack.

The clash erupted into a fierce, relentless fight.

These two weren’t just tough—they were possibly the strongest fighters she’d encountered in years.

Their were in mechas, moving with a smooth agility, yet they were also tough as titanium, capable of withstanding her most precise hits.

She knew these warriors had to be from the Empire; only they had access to such cutting-edge tech. No Alliance soldier she’d seen was equipped like this.

Lyra’s form blurred as she moved, her staff leaving streaks of light as it struck against their armor, each blow landing with enough force to dent the metal.

She ducked under a particle cannon blast, countering with a vicious jab that sent one of her opponents reeling.

But despite her relentless assault, the two fighters started showing signs of retreat.

"Fall back!" the larger warrior ordered, his voice distorted by the mecha’s audio filters.

The smaller one hesitated, almost reluctant, but he obeyed, maintaining a defensive posture as they began to withdraw.

Lyra, ready to pursue, narrowed her eyes, but they launched a wave of small explosives in her direction before pulling back.

Cursing under her breath, Lyra summoned Schedar, transforming it into protective armor just as the bombs exploded around her.

A massive explosion blasted outwards, scorching a ten-kilometer radius of ground.

When the smoke cleared, her enemies were gone without a trace.

The armor faded from her form, and Lyra steadied herself, covering her mouth as she coughed through the settling dust.

Taking a deep breath, her mind churned with thoughts of Westros’s cryptic words and the entire day’s events.

It was clear now—Westros had the Empire behind him, and the Empire was far more invested in her than she’d realized.

And from the way they’d confronted her, Lyra knew someone in the Alliance must’ve known about this too. That "someone" had opposed Westros’ motives and forced him to confront Lyra face-to-face.

And these mecha warriors? They hadn’t even unleashed their powers, hiding their true abilities behind that impervious metal.

"So, things are more tangled than I thought," Lyra murmured to herself.

The mystery of her parents’ deaths was only a single thread in a far larger web, one that was drawing tighter with every encounter.

On her way back, Lyra bumped into Cilia. She had rushed over, looking breathless and worried.

"There was this massive explosion—I thought you might have been hurt," Cilia said, her voice a mix of relief and concern.

Lyra just nodded, her tone brisk. "I’m fine. Ran into a couple of enemies trying to shut me up." She filled Cilia in briefly on what had happened, and Cilia’s expression turned serious.

"We need to get this to Leandro and the others. Fast."

Once they reached the main site, the grim reality of the situation hit home: Ansel’s body was already sealed in a black containment bag.

The legendary Vice Admiral, who had spent a lifetime fighting, had met a sudden and brutal end.

The loss cast a shadow over the whole team, but the others were even more stunned by the fact that Lyra had single-handedly fought off multiple level-eight operatives. Wary glances passed among them, a mix of respect and unease.

After Lyra gave her report on Westros, the Vice Admirals shifted their focus to one pressing detail.

"You said you managed to plant a tracker on him?" one of them asked.

Lyra nodded, pulling out her opticomputer and projecting a map.

A small, glowing dot showed Westros’s location—Central City. But even as she watched, the dot suddenly stopped moving.

Her frown deepened, knowing exactly what that meant.

...

Meanwhile, in Central City, Westros held up a tiny device between his fingers—a tracker he’d plucked from his own mech.

With a quiet chuckle, he crushed it to dust. "Smart move, Lyra," he muttered to himself.

He turned to his two subordinates, his tone cold. "The two of you couldn’t bring her down?"

Their irritation was barely contained. "We didn’t even use our powers. If we had, she’d be history," said one of them.

Westros smirked, the satisfaction in his voice unmistakable. "Then I look forward to seeing how you do next time."

With that, he stepped into a subspace portal, vanishing from sight.

...

Back at headquarters, Lyra lowered her opticomputer. "The tracker’s been disabled."

"No matter," Leandro replied, his face pale from recent injuries but calm.

Draped in his overcoat, he had a weathered, almost fragile elegance, the look of a soldier who’d seen one battle too many but wasn’t about to back down.

"We know he’s in Central City. That’s enough. Go on and get some rest. I’ll report this to the council and the election committee."

Lyra saluted, leaving without so much as a glance at Ansel’s body.

"Cold little thing, isn’t she?" murmured one of the Vice Admirals, watching her retreating figure. "That was her own grandfather, and she didn’t even flinch."

Leandro gave a small, weary sigh. "That coldness is exactly what drives her forward. But in the end..." His voice softened, a trace of sorrow lingering. "...she’ll find out that it leaves her utterly alone."

Chapter 227: Explosion

When Lyra returned to Unit T9, she found that things had already moved forward with the Macraite incident fallout.

Ryan had officially been promoted, gaining a rank boost to Commander.

Lyra’s achievements, meanwhile, were documented carefully in Hazel’s records, set aside for year-end commendations—but her position stayed the same.

As for the mysterious death of Wolf, the soldiers had come to a silent agreement with the story Ryan submitted: Wolf had faced the creature alone in a final, heroic stand, and though Lyra tried to save him, she could only avenge him in the end.

Ryan, seeing Lyra’s potential, briefly considered recommending her as his deputy. But Hazel intervened with a knowing smirk.

"She’s still young—don’t push her into the spotlight too fast," Hazel warned. "Besides, if she’s deputy, it won’t be long before she sets her sights on your position next."

Ryan froze at the idea, abandoning it instantly. The last thing he wanted was to end up like Wolf.

Lyra didn’t seem bothered by the missed promotion. In fact, she sought Ryan out shortly after to discuss something completely different.

They stood on the training grounds, and once she finished explaining, she looked at him expectantly.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, removing his sunglasses. "Hold on, did I hear that right? You want access to TOP-SECURITY files from the Alliance archives?"

"That’s right," she replied, unphased. "You’re submitting the Macraite report anyway. May as well grab a few extra files while you’re at it."

Ryan nearly choked. "Are you even listening to yourself? That’s the ALLIANCE’S TOP-SECURITY ARCHIVE, not the snack bar down the road! You can’t just ask for classified documents like you’re ordering a latte!"

The distant sounds of training drills filled the air, but Lyra’s attention stayed fixed on Ryan, her face calm, almost innocent. "I just assumed, sir, that you’d understand... given what happened with Wolf. Seems like we’re in the same boat now."

Ryan snapped to attention. "Enough!" His voice was so sharp that a few nearby trainees turned to look, and he hastily waved them off. "Nothing to see here!"

Exasperated, he sighed and glanced back at her, resigned. "Fine... I’ll look into it," he muttered, though his mind was already racing through the list of excuses he could offer.

This was no ordinary request. The Alliance’s top-security archives were buried under layer upon layer of defenses, from encrypted firewalls to biometric locks that only the highest-ranking officials could pass through.

Submitting his report was one thing—but accessing confidential files? Virtually impossible.

"Thank you, sir." Lyra’s tone was almost dismissive, her gratitude as casual as his reluctant promise. As he walked off, her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

...

The next day, Ryan made his way to the archive.

The Alliance’s top-security facility, hidden deep within the council building, was a vault of secrets protected by high-tech systems designed to prevent any data leaks.

After registering, verifying his identity, and passing through layers of security, Ryan entered the stark, minimalist report submission hall.

Inside, AI robots managed the archive’s sensitive documents—an added security measure to prevent human interference.

One of the sleek, white robots, standing just below Ryan’s chest, approached him and took the report.

It scanned the document with its optical sensors, emitting a cold, mechanical voice: "Submission complete. Please exit immediately."

Relieved that his task was nearly over, Ryan turned to leave, mentally preparing his "no-go" explanation for Lyra. She’d have to accept that the archives were simply too secure to mess with.

But as he stepped away, a tiny, pea-sized drone slipped from his hair and drifted, undetected, onto the robot’s head.

It passed unnoticed through the archive’s inner doors.

In a separate room, Koros, idly munching on bread, saw the signal flash across his monitor and snapped to attention.

He activated his superpower, and four extra arms and two additional eyes appeared, enhancing his focus and speed.

In seconds, he accessed the AI robot’s systems, temporarily overriding its primary functions and guiding it deeper into the restricted sections.

As the robot filed away Ryan’s report, Koros directed it toward the confidential files section.

The drone’s scanning mechanisms activated, capturing data on high-priority documents—including those on Tyro and Seren’s executions.

But the robot’s unusual behavior tripped security flags in the monitoring room. One technician quickly raised the alarm, calling out, "Sir, the primary archive robot, ’Administrator 035,’ is displaying unauthorized movements!"

The response was swift. "Initiate a halt command on ’035’—immediately!"

The remote shutdown command took effect, temporarily disconnecting the robot. However, a moment later, ’035’ reactivated autonomously, now fully independent of the control room.

The management team realized the gravity of the breach and submitted an emergency request to inspect the archive directly—a priority request requiring approval from an admiral.

Frederick received the alert instantly, his expression sharpening as he reviewed the situation.

He added a directive of his own. "Trace every file that robot accessed. And find out exactly who’s responsible for this breach. Use all resources necessary."

"Understood, sir!"

A team rushed toward the security archive’s inner sanctum, only to see thick, dark smoke spilling from 035’s station. A heavy sense of dread filled the air. ’Is it really on fire?’

The archive supervisor kept his composure, giving swift instructions. "Everyone, stay calm. The documents are fire-resistant. Focus on controlling the flames."

They were steps away from the entrance when a chilling warning crackled over their earpieces: "Do not enter! 035 just detected a massive energy surge!"

The director’s face went ashen. "RUN!" he shouted, panic breaking through his calm.

Barely seconds later, a deafening explosion shook the entire building.

The blast wave shattered thick glass doors, tore through reinforced walls, and sent searing paper scraps and clouds of dust scattering across the demolished archive.

As the team staggered to their feet, brushing off debris, they stared in stunned silence at the ruins.

The only sound was the dull echo of the explosion, reverberating through the now-decimated complex.

It was all gone. Absolutely obliterated.

Since the archive’s inception, countless attempts had been made to infiltrate it, but no one had ever succeeded.

The "Administrators" had been their ultimate safeguard, a fortress of impenetrable defense that had never been compromised—until now.

"How... how is this possible?" the supervisor whispered, his face pale. He was unable to grasp the ruin in front of him. "This place was built to withstand attacks from even Master Peculiars!"

Yet, the destruction was undeniable.

Turning sharply, he demanded, "Where were the patrol guards?!"

The Alliance’s most secure facility had just been annihilated in broad daylight, and there was nothing but silence to answer him.

Meanwhile, Ryan was just leaving the archive grounds when the explosion erupted behind him.

He stumbled as the earth shook beneath his feet, his eyes widening at the thick plume of smoke now billowing from the ruins.

A sinking feeling knotted his stomach as he fumbled for his opticomputer, dialing Lyra’s number with shaky fingers. "Where... where are you right now?"

Lyra’s voice on the other end was steady. "In my dorm."

In reality, Lyra was moving with silent precision through a shadowed tunnel beneath the city.

Glancing back at the squad of patrol guards tailing her, she shifted her voice to a low murmur.

"I’m busy. Catch you later." She ended the call, slipping deeper into the darkness.

Clad in a black jacket and mask, her appearance was completely altered, her voice and figure impossible to identify.

"Take her down—dead or alive!" barked the squad leader, his eyes flashing as he signaled his team to close in.

Lyra sighed under her breath. "Letting me go through the rift would’ve been smarter."

With barely a ripple of movement, she vanished from their sight.

The guards froze, blinking in shock. Then he realized that it was too late. Several of them were already falling, their heads twisted at unnatural angles.

In mere seconds, Lyra stood in a pool of blood, the task completed with brutal efficiency.

Mr. Frei stepped from a space rift beside her, his face a mixture of unease and reluctance. "These were innocent guards."

"If they’d survived, it’d be our blood on the ground instead," she replied calmly, stowing her weapons. "Let’s get back."

...

Once back in her dorm, Lyra quickly changed clothes, drying her hair.

An urgent pounding came from her door.

"Lyra!" Ryan’s voice was frantic, followed by the unmistakable thud of him preparing to kick the door down. But just as his foot lifted, she opened it.

"Right here." She leaned casually in the doorway, towel over her shoulder. "What’s the rush?"

Ryan’s face was pale with shock. "Did you hear? The security archive—it just blew up!"

Lyra arched an eyebrow, her voice smooth and steady. "Really? When did that happen?"

Ryan studied her face, searching for any sign of a reaction, but her expression remained unreadable, like stone.

Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "Get ready. Looks like we’ll be paying it a visit ourselves."

Chapter 228: Fixing 035?

Ryan’s instincts were on point. Barely half an hour after the explosion, orders hit the Special Forces with urgency: "Secure the area. Eliminate all threats."

Simple words, but everyone knew that if Special Forces were being called in, the higher-ups were seriously worried. When the team got the details, an icy dread settled over them.

Whoever blew up the High-Confidential Room wasn’t just bold—they were lethal. Word was, they hadn’t even found a full body among the patrol guards who had chased the attacker down into the sewers.

The scene left little doubt: this enemy didn’t play games.

At the facility, the team met up with the director, a man looking beyond drained. His brow furrowed with frustration as he angrily polished his glasses. "The target blew up the building to cover their tracks," he muttered. "Probably to hide whatever files they accessed. Tech’s working overtime to recover anything related to Administrator 035. Your mission is to clear the site and find any disruptors."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "A disruptor? What exactly is that?"

The director sighed, clearly irritated. "To control 035 remotely, the attacker would need a medium—something to act as a disruptor. Without that, the entire thing would’ve been impossible."

A chill ran through Ryan. ’A medium? Wasn’t I the last one near 035 before the blast?’

As if reading his thoughts, the director added, "And, sir, since you were the last person in contact with 035, you’ll need to be investigated as well."

Ryan exhaled. He’d seen it coming. He cast a sidelong glance at Lyra, whose expression remained unreadable. With a resigned nod, he headed off with the facility’s team, leaving his squad under Lyra’s command to examine the site.

As the squad moved through the rubble, faint sounds of sobbing broke the silence.

Nearby, a line of bodies lay beneath black tarps—patrol officers lost in the attack.

Young patrolmen huddled together, their crisp uniforms standing out against the bleakness of the scene. Tears filled their red-rimmed eyes.

"Our leader was level nine... and now he’s just gone..." one of them muttered, bitterness in his voice.

"We never should’ve sent them after that monster," another choked out, barely processing the sudden loss.

Half an hour ago, they’d been laughing, planning where to grab drinks after the shift. Now, thanks to that brutal attacker, they were left to mourn instead.

The sight cut deep for the newer Special Forces members. But the newly appointed Lyra barely flinched, her voice cold as she urged them to focus. "Don’t stare. You’ll get used to it soon enough."

In Special Forces, loss was as common as the bread served daily in the cafeteria.

Lyra took charge of Squad No. 7 with a calm authority that set the tone.

Marty, one of the seasoned members, tried to reassure the rookies. "Disruptors come in all kinds," he explained. "If surveillance missed it, then it’s probably got anti-surveillance tech. Could even be invisible."

As he spoke, he noticed Lyra subtly waved a hand at empty air, as if fighting off another of her coughing fits. Only, this wasn’t random—an invisible disruptor now rested beneath her skin, ready to be smuggled out without a trace. The setup was flawless.

Ryan returned from questioning without a hint of distress. He couldn’t help being struck by Lyra’s calm. She’d blown up the place and come back to the scene like nothing happened, her nerves seemingly unbreakable.

The squad scoured the area for hours, but no disruptor showed up. The documents were incinerated beyond recognition, and recovering 035’s data seemed like their last hope of catching the mastermind.

Caught in the tension, Ryan wasn’t sure if Lyra intended to fully destroy 035. Just in case, he’d made sure she had a chance to get close to it again. After all, he wasn’t about to get caught up in her plans.

"Squad No. 7, guard the tech center," he ordered, his gaze locking with Lyra’s as she walked by. His tone was quiet, but layered with meaning. "Be careful."

No way was he going down with her.

Lyra simply nodded, unfazed. "Yes, sir."

That afternoon, Ryan kept a close watch on Lyra from a distance, growing more anxious with every passing minute.

She wasn’t making any moves, though, and it was driving him crazy. ’Am I wrong about her?’

Despite his gut feeling, Ryan was starting to second-guess himself. Still, based on everything he’d seen and sensed, he was almost sure the disruptor had been smuggled in through him.

Eventually, his patience ran out.

Clenching his jaw, he made his way straight to the tech center.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" Lyra looked up, mildly surprised as he approached.

Ryan felt a tension headache building just looking at her. "What exactly are you doing here?" He kept his voice low and leaned closer, glancing around the room to make sure they weren’t overheard.

Then he gave a subtle nod, signaling her that this was her chance.

But Lyra remained cool, expression unreadable. "I’m on watch, just as you ordered. You don’t need to worry."

Exasperated, Ryan tried stepping inside, but she quickly blocked him. "The Tech’s head’s orders were clear—no outsiders allowed."

"Fine, keep up the good work," he muttered, eyeing her one last time. ’How can she stay so calm?’

Meanwhile, in the surveillance room, the facility director watched the monitors, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His brow was deeply furrowed.

"It doesn’t look like he’s the one behind this," the Tech’s head said, scratching his head.

The director’s tone was flat. "He was the last to interact with 035. He’s our top suspect."

"But with his skill level, he couldn’t have taken down the entire patrol squad," the Tech’s head countered.

The director rubbed his temples. "Still, he’s the one who brought the disruptor in and made sure to get close to the 035 wreckage. That makes him a prime suspect."

A heavy silence filled the surveillance room. After a long pause, the director asked, "No progress on restoring 035’s data?"

The tech team exchanged glances, looking uncomfortable. "The storage was too damaged in the blast. There’s nothing we can recover."

They had hoped their sting operation would draw the real culprit out, but so far, the bait hadn’t worked.

The director sighed, his face weary, then gave a determined order: "Find that disruptor."

He knew nobody would escape scrutiny after this disaster. However, as the head of a facility that had guarded the Alliance’s secrets for years without issue, he wouldn’t rest until the culprit was found.

Soon, one of the Special Forces members finally located the "disruptor". As suspected, it was equipped with anti-surveillance and invisibility features. The bad news? It was trashed beyond repair, the data storage fried.

"Destroyed? But wasn’t the point to steal information?" one of the tech staff shouted, frustrated. "With all the security measures in place, any data transmission would’ve been impossible from here. So why didn’t the attacker retrieve it?"

"Maybe they weren’t after the data at all," someone suggested, "maybe this was all just about causing chaos."

"That makes no sense," another staffer snapped back. "If they only wanted chaos, why even bother using 035? Blowing up the room alone would’ve been simpler."

While the tech team argued, the Special Forces had wrapped up their security sweeps and were preparing to turn the scene over to the investigation team.

The director listened to the tech team’s analysis, his gaze locked on the wreckage outside.

Then, something clicked. His eyes widened, and he grabbed the nearest tech officer’s arm. "Hold on—what if that disruptor was just a decoy? What if the attacker is still here?"

Just as the Special Forces were about to leave, the tech team rushed over, lugging new detection gear.

"Wait!" the Tech’s head called out, halting the exit. "We’re doing a full scan—everyone needs to be checked before leaving."

Ryan’s pulse quickened. Knowing he was hiding something, he fought to keep his expression calm and even encouraging, nodding along.

"Good call," he said, making sure his voice sounded steady.

He organized the team into a line for scanning, one by one.

Meanwhile, the Tech’s head’s eyes lingered on Ryan, silently wondering, ’Could he really be innocent, or is he just that good at playing it cool?’

"Why don’t you go first, sir?" the tech director suggested to Ryan, his tone laced with barely concealed suspicion.

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. They still didn’t trust him!

He shot a quick glance at Lyra, who stood in line with a perfectly neutral expression. Strangely, a sense of calm settled over him too.

If Lyra intended to frame him, she wasn’t about to escape cleanly herself.

With that thought steadying him, Ryan nodded and stepped forward, submitting to the inspection without complaint.

He even allowed them to examine his Space Button, watching as they went through every compartment.

When the check was over, he was cleared. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in the tech director’s eyes, which almost made him smirk.

It dawned on him then: Lyra had probably used him as a smokescreen, a convenient red herring to buy herself time and draw suspicion away from her own movements. Clever—infuriatingly so.

When Lyra’s turn came, Ryan kept his gaze fixed on her, looking for any hint of wrongdoing. Yet the inspection was swift and uneventful, and she too was cleared.

The Special Forces team finally filed out of the facility.

Outside, he caught a glimpse of Lyra subtly waving a finger, seemingly to empty air. A tiny nick formed on her fingertip, disappearing as fast as it had appeared.

Ryan made a point not to ask—better to maintain some distance. Still, his suspicions toward her only deepened.

All around them, rumors about the explosion spread like flood, sparking heated debates.

"Seriously? The Alliance let one of their top facilities get bombed?"

"Bet someone’s about to leak those files. Can’t wait to see what comes out!"

"Probably an Empire spy. Has to be, right?"

While the public speculated, the true culprit returned calmly to the base, blending right back into military life with her usual polished uniform and unshakable composure.

Once alone, Lyra didn’t waste a second. She connected the disruptor to an offline opticomputer, hidden away from any network prying eyes.

Chapter 229: The Truth

Late at night, the city lay beneath a faint glow from the satellite.

The satellite hovered above like a ghostly sentinel, casting an eerie light over Central City’s quiet streets.

In her dim dorm room, Lyra sat at her desk. The cold blue light of the screen reflected off her face, giving her the appearance of someone frozen in a chilling, unbreakable stillness.

Displayed before her were the classified documents she’d lifted from the explosion.

"Stardate 3012, May 7th: After investigation, it was confirmed that Rear Admiral Tyro and his wife were conducting illegal human superpower experiments with covert support from the Empire. Evidence is conclusive."

"Stardate 3012, May 10th: A military council convened, led by the Fleet Admiral and five Admirals, to discuss Tyro and Seren Shedd’s experiments. They resolved to execute the couple in secret following the upcoming beast migration operation."

"Stardate 3012, May 13th: After Tyro and Seren Shedd’s execution, news of the incident leaked, leading to a failed raid on their lab that allowed other involved parties to escape..."

Every detail of the Tyro couple’s fall was laid bare, from the planning stages to the aftermath.

Their list of contacts, personnel in the lab, and even the exact locations were there in ink. At the end of the report, the name ’Frederick’ appeared, marking him as the documenting officer.

"All that work... and this is what it comes down to," Lyra murmured, leaning back in her chair.

So, the rumors of their treason were true. And those horrific experiments really had happened.

Ansel, it seemed, had abandoned his own son to shield the Shedd family from scandal.

Yet a voice lingered in her mind, almost whispering: ’There’s more here. Something doesn’t add up.’

Lyra rested her head on her hand, the other idly tracing patterns on the desk.

Slowly, her eyes closed as thoughts circled in her mind, spiraling into darker depths.

The white ceiling above her began to morph, stretching and distorting as if the walls themselves were bending inward.

A black dot appeared overhead, growing wider until it shaped itself into a portal to subspace.

Westros stepped out of the swirling void.

Lyra jumped to her feet, eyes narrowing as a blade of pure light materialized in her hand.

With a swift motion, she struck, slicing through the air in an arc toward Westros. But her strike passed through his figure without resistance, and both he and the room behind him shimmered like a mirage, vanishing without a trace.

The space around her flickered, the illusion breaking apart before her as the quiet dorm room settled back into place, hauntingly still.

Westros perched lightly on the edge of Lyra’s bed, crossing his legs with an effortless grace.

His fingers drummed casually on his knee, and a faint, knowing smile flickered across his lips as he glanced at her opticomputer.

"Relax. I’m only here to talk," he said smoothly. "You blew that place up just to get a few answers. Bold move."

Lyra’s eyes narrowed as she registered something strange in the scene. "This is... a dream?"

Westros chuckled, clearly impressed. "Sharp as ever. Yes, one of my Peculiars enables me to communicate through dreams. He’s been working tirelessly for a full week to breach your defenses, waiting for a crack in your armor."

His voice drifted, as if the dream itself were struggling to hold its form. "This effort has left him drained—he won’t be able to use his powers for the next six months."

Ignoring the pleasantries, Lyra locked eyes with him. "Why are you monitoring me?"

"Because, Lyra, you are both our dream and our hope." His gaze lingered, his eyes gleaming with unsettling warmth. But when he seemed to expect more from her, she only scoffed, unimpressed.

"You can leave now," she said flatly.

A twitch of surprise crossed Westros’ face. "Aren’t you curious about your parents... and their connection to me?"

A flash of anger darkened her face. "I’ll find out the truth myself," she replied fiercely. "I don’t need lies from an Empire spy."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow, feigning shock. "Who told you I’m a spy for the Empire?"

His smile twisted, growing darker as he leaned closer. "I am something beyond humanity."

Lyra’s mind raced. ’Beyond human?’ Her pulse quickened, and she jolted awake.

Harsh white light filled her dorm room, glaring and sterile.

In the quiet, a distant machine ticked steadily. Meanwhile, across the compound, a young woman collapsed in a stark lab, trembling as if the life had been drained from her body. Her face was pale, her breath ragged.

Westros rose from an experiment table. He pressed his fingertips to his temple to steady himself, feeling a dull ache from the effort.

He glanced up at the projection clock on the wall. "Only five minutes?" he muttered, displeasure flickering across his face.

The woman on the floor, catching his irritation, struggled up onto one knee, her head bowed. "Forgive me, Doctor. Her psychokinesis surged and shattered the dreamscape."

Her voice was strained with frustration; a full week’s worth of work, all unraveled in seconds.

"Even your psychokinesis couldn’t contain her?" Westros’ eyes gleamed with something close to pride. "I should’ve seen this coming. You’re no match for her."

He leapt down from the table with a casual air. "You’re dismissed."

The woman nodded, her hands clenched tightly against the floor as her body began to ripple and dissolve, fading into nothingness.

After a pause, Westros placed a hand over his chest, frowning slightly. "Is something wrong with my heart, Number 9?"

A figure in a black jacket emerged from the shadows—a man with a blank, expressionless face. "Your heartbeat accelerated, Doctor."

Westros chuckled, almost amused. "Ah, so I really am in love with her," he murmured, as if making peace with a strange revelation.

His expression softened as he issued his next command, his voice low, almost reverent. "Since she’s beginning to grasp her purpose, it’s time for a little nudge. Make the announcement public. Let the world prepare—soon, they’ll have new ’companions’ to welcome."

Westros’ low, sinister laughter echoed through the laboratory, reverberating against the cold metal and harsh lights.

The sound slithered into the shadows, weaving past rows of tall, glass cylinders lining the walls.

Inside each cylinder, a motionless figure floated in eerie silence, illuminated by the pale, ghostly glow of the equipment.

...

After securing the classified files, Lyra chose a different course. She steered clear of the old laboratory site entirely.

First, the Alliance had leveled the place, leaving little behind to investigate; second, any attempt to approach it would only make her a suspect.

For now, her strategy was to observe and wait, avoiding any moves that might draw suspicion.

On her day off, she returned to her apartment, sharing a quiet dinner with Phelixes before heading over to visit the Calvin family.

As she strolled through the city, street-side news screens glowed in the gathering dusk, casting flickering light across the pavements.

"Breaking news: Another military academy student has vanished under mysterious circumstances. The cadet, identified as Hok Ramar, was last seen under strict supervision but disappeared while walking from the training room to his dorm. A gap in the surveillance network has left investigators without any leads."

Lyra caught part of the report. It was the third cadet disappearance the public knew about in the past two months.

However, her position as a Special Forces squad leader meant she was privy to the real count—nine students had disappeared. Each one was an elite cadet, carefully selected for their exceptional superpower potential, and highly valued by the military’s upper echelons.

Ryan had mentioned it once, shrugging as if used to such grim news: "Cases like this—dangerous ones that nobody can crack—they always land in Special Forces’ lap."

The next morning, over breakfast, her grandfather Benedict wore a deep frown as he studied her. "Kritt says this string of disappearances might get assigned to your team. Lyra, don’t you think it’s time to step aside from cases like these?"

"It’s just a routine disappearance case, Grandpa," she replied with practiced calm.

But Benedict’s concern didn’t waver. He shook his head, unconvinced. "You think I’m this easy to fool? One close call on Macraite was more than enough for you, Lyra. I don’t want any more scares."

Setting down his fork, he looked at her with a serious expression. "What if you feigned an illness? Now that Ansel’s out of the picture, I could pull a few strings, have Kritt arrange a transfer out of Special Forces."

"There’s no need, Grandpa," she said gently but firmly. "Special Forces suits me best." Besides, each mission was a step closer to what she was after, as long as she survived.

Just as Ryan had foreseen, the case was officially passed to Special Forces.

Chapter 230: New Mission

The Special Force soldiers all figured this mission would be intense—risky, sure, but just another day at work packed with some good ol’ adventure and a shot at some serious glory.

As departure approached, everyone went about the usual prep: cleaning gear, sharpening weapons, and throwing around a few jokes to break the ice with the new recruits.

But when they gathered at dawn in the training grounds, a surprise awaited them.

An old lady strode in. Her silver hair was swept back in a ponytail, catching the first light of the morning.

She was tall, her frame lean and powerful. She wore a pristine white cape, slightly damp from the dew, and it trailed behind her like a banner.

Wrinkles traced her stern face, but there was nothing frail about her—she moved with authority that was palpable. And those eyes—sharp as steel—made it clear this wasn’t a woman you’d want to cross.

The insignia on her shoulder caught the soldiers’ eye, and a wave of recognition rippled through the team.

Almost as one, they straightened up, saluting sharply.

"Admiral Valeria, ma’am!"

Valeria gave them a subtle nod, her gaze sweeping over the group with an assessing, no-nonsense stare.

Her voice, steady and commanding, cut through the morning chill: "This mission is under my command. Prepare to move out!"

The team glanced at each other, especially at Ryan, who looked completely unbothered, like he’d expected this. He probably had. But the others? They were still trying to wrap their heads around it.

An admiral leading their mission? That was practically unheard of.

As they loaded into the armored vehicles, one of the younger recruits leaned over to another and whispered, "Admiral Valeria’s a level-nine...you think we’ll be safer with her this time?"

His words lingered in the air, met with quiet, unsure glances.

Lyra traced the handle of her particle gun, Marty’s advice playing in her head on repeat: "Follow commands, stick with Ensign Shedd, and don’t go rogue." And for good reason—Lyra’s healing skills were often the thin line between survival and doom out there.

Meanwhile, back at the base, Hazel poured herself a steaming mug of coffee, her eyes fixed on the departing convoy from her office window. A couple of teammates waved, calling out, "Catch you later, ma’am!"

Hazel didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned closer to her assistant, voice low. "You might not know this, but the last time a Vice Admiral went into the field...no one—no one—made it back."

Her assistant’s eyes went wide, face pale as Hazel took a steadying gulp of her coffee. "Notify the departments. They should be ready for whatever might come."

"So soon?"

"Start with the death report forms. Print them out. And pull the service records for every member of T9," Hazel said, her voice flat but her eyes betraying a hint of dread. "Every single one."

She could only hope she wouldn’t need them.

The disappearances were all connected to one place—EPMA. Every missing cadet had trained there, which made it clear that the enemy’s target lay somewhere on Elden Prime.

Up in the lead vehicle, Valeria’s sharp eyes never left the map display on the screen in front of her, her lips pressed into a thin line.

In a strategic move, the military had started equipping students with discreet tracking devices after realizing the pattern. Sure enough, the signal from one of the abducted cadets had finally come online, allowing them to pinpoint an exact location.

The memory of the AMAT incident four years ago hung heavy over the mission. The brass suspected that Empire operatives were likely behind the kidnappings, but no one knew for sure.

After much back-and-forth, the decision had been made: Admiral Valeria would lead the mission herself.

Still, she hadn’t let the Special Force in on any of these details.

Suddenly, a blinking dot appeared on the screen.

Valeria’s posture tightened, her eyes narrowing at the display. Even Ryan, who’d been stoically steering the vehicle, sensed the shift in the air.

"Take us to these coordinates," she ordered.

Ryan nodded, glancing at the map. Surprise flickered across his face. "That close? Right outside Central City, near the Everlongest Mountains?"

Valeria’s frown deepened. "They’re bold enough to be, that’s why."

’They?’ Ryan raised a brow, curiosity getting the best of him. "Admiral Valeria...do you know who we’re up against?"

Her gaze remained steady, fixed on the direction of the Everlongest Mountains. "Not personally," she replied, "but I’ve heard stories."

Ryan wanted to press further, but Valeria shut him down, her tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. "No more questions. You’ll understand when we get there."

Normally, Admiral Valeria was the most approachable of the senior officers. Today, though, she radiated irritation, her intense focus on the mission making it clear that she wasn’t to be pushed.

Ryan held back, but a knot of unease started twisting in his gut.

The convoy came to a halt about a kilometer out from the dense forests skirting the Everlongest Mountains.

Surrounded by towering trees and thick underbrush, Valeria studied the 3D map, then signaled to Ryan. "Send in the scouts. I want the area surveyed."

At her command, a few soldiers with stealth capabilities slipped into the shadowed woods.

A squad leader with flight powers hovered above, ready to assist if anything went sideways.

Though it was morning, heavy clouds blotted out the sun, draping the forest in a dim, eerie gloom. The quiet was heavy, disturbed only by the occasional whisper of wind stirring the trees.

Half an hour ticked by, Valeria waiting with her arms crossed, eyes glued to the direction where her scouts had disappeared.

"Should I send in a backup team?" Ryan ventured.

"No need," she cut him off, her words like ice. "They’re likely dead already. No sense wasting more lives."

The harshness of her reply settled over the team, but they all knew the reality of missions like this. Death shadowed their every step.

Lyra toyed with a silver dagger, casting a sidelong glance at Valeria, her instincts kicking in. The Admiral was hiding something. ’Is it that quote from Westros?’

Lyra remembered his words: "Something beyond humanity."

’Does the higher-ups know exactly what—or who—we are up against?’ Lyra wondered.

"But we don’t even know what the enemy is capable of," Ryan tried, keeping his voice low.

"You don’t need to know." Valeria’s voice hardened. She swung her hand to the side, releasing a controlled burst of energy that punched a neat hole in the trunk of a nearby tree. The power of the shot left the air charged.

Without missing a beat, Lyra flicked her dagger forward, making it sail into the depths of the forest.

The blade struck true, embedding itself in a shadowy spot between the trees.

A thin line of blood appeared, dripping from the darkness before the sound of a heavy body crumpling into the undergrowth reached them.

Lyra lunged forward, flattening the grass with a powerful kick.

She spotted the fallen figure.

A brief, tense silence fell over the group, and they all understood—they weren’t alone here.

Lyra didn’t waste a second. She summoned a blast of concentrated green light, sending it forward.

A pained groan echoed out as the figure reappeared. It was a short-haired woman. She was in black combat gear, blood seeping from a wound on her shoulder, and a fresh cut marking her cheek where Lyra’s blade had sliced.

The woman’s gaze burned with fury as she locked eyes with Lyra. Then, she flickered and vanished, blending back into the shadows with a quick, skilled maneuver.

The woman moved like a wraith, weaving between trees and branches, leaving only the rustling of leaves in her wake.

But Lyra didn’t flinch. She tracked her movements, listening intently, and then she spun, lashing out with a kick so fierce it sent the figure reeling.

THUD!

The woman collided with a tree trunk, her face twisting in shock. Her eyes blazed with disbelief, as if to say, ’How can this be?’

Just then, a light on her earpiece blinked, a signal coming through. With a grimace, she triggered her powers, her figure dissolving into thin air once more.

"Don’t let her escape!" Valeria commanded sharply, and Lyra was on her in an instant.

The enemy, named "No. Fifteen", moved as if propelled by sheer desperation. Her body became a blur as she dashed from tree to tree, hoping to lose Lyra in the darkness.

Blood loss had weakened her, forcing her to rest briefly against a tree trunk. But before she could recover, a flash of silver shot toward her, and she ducked just in time—only to be struck by a hard kick that sent her sprawling.

Her invisibility flickered and failed, leaving her lying exposed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She glared up at her pursuer, a young woman who’d leaped down from the trees with terrifying precision. Disbelief and frustration burned in her gaze.

"How can you see me?" Fifteen asked.

Lyra pointed her dagger at the woman, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Your tricks don’t work on me."

Fifteen’s expression turned to one of utter humiliation, rage simmering beneath her pained stare.

A dangerous glint flickered in Fifteen’s eyes as she locked onto Lyra, sending a rippling wave of psychokinesis through the air.

The force made Lyra’s balance waver, just for a moment—a moment Fifteen seized to whip out a dagger with triumphant speed.

SHHKT!

She froze, disbelief twisting her face as she glanced down to find the blade buried in her own chest.

Slowly, she looked back up to meet Lyra’s cold, unwavering gaze.

"I warned you," Lyra murmured, voice laced with scorn, "your superpowers don’t work on me."

With zero hesitation, Lyra wrenched the blade free, then gripped Fifteen by the throat, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. "Last time, you thought it was fun to invade my dreams. So tell me—where’s Westros?"

A grimace of pain marred Fifteen’s face, but defiance still sparked in her eyes.

"Even if you reach him, you’ll be the one captured," she spat, blood trickling down her lip. "By now, your teammates are probably dead."

Fifteen’s fingers dug into Lyra’s arm, a twisted smile pulling at her mouth. "All that power, and you walked right into our trap! You’re nothing more than bait, pulled away from your team!"

"Yeah, I know," Lyra answered with a chilling calm. "After all, you’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?"

Without another word, she began dragging Fifteen back towards the camp.

Lyra was certain that as long as she stayed close to Valeria, the enemy would hesitate to launch a full-on assault.

Westros had underestimated her once, and she was counting on him to make that same mistake again.

But she knew the plan: lure her away, dismantle the rest of the team, then come for her.