Ch. 266..270: Interstellar_ Return of the Villain Chapter 266-270
Chapter 266: Westros’ Fury
Lyra hit the battlefield like an apocalypse.
With the Stellar Devourers no longer in her path, she became an unstoppable force, carving through enemy ranks like a scythe through a brittle straw.
Every swing of her blade, every burst of power, left devastation in her wake.
By the time yet another Empire general crumpled at her feet, Admiral Barret could barely contain his fury.
"Retreat!" he snarled, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The fleet scrambled to obey, retreating over a hundred miles to lick their wounds.
Inside the Empire’s command ship, the tension was palpable.
Barret stormed into the medical ward like a thunderstorm ready to unload. His voice shattered the uneasy silence, booming across the sterile hall.
"Ian! You’d better have a damn good excuse for this disaster!"
In one of the advanced healing pods, Ian lay slouched and pale, his face a ghostly mask of pain.
Beside him, Skylight dragged himself out of his own treatment pod, still clutching his injured side. He stepped between Barret and Ian, his voice steady despite his obvious weakness.
"Sir, I need you to calm down—"
"Calm down?" Barret’s bark of laughter was anything but amused. "Do you have any idea how many officers Lyra has killed today?" His voice grew louder, angrier, venom lacing his words as he jabbed a finger in Ian’s direction. "And you—her handler, her problem solver—were nowhere to be found!"
The other officers, many of whom wore fresh scars from Lyra’s rampage, began exchanging dark looks. Their mutters of frustration bubbled up, growing louder as Barret’s tirade continued.
"You were supposed to stop her, Ian! Wasn’t that your Stellar Devourers’ duty? Or did you let her run wild on purpose?" Barret’s patience snapped as he grabbed Ian by the collar and yanked him upright. Ian man winced, his body too weak to fight back.
"Speak up, damn you!" Barret barked.
Ian’s pale face twisted into something sharp and cold. Gone was his usual smug grin, replaced by a cutting glare. "Watch your tone, Barret," he rasped. "I am a Stellar Devourer."
Barret’s lip curled in a sneer. "A Stellar Devourer? You?" His voice dripped with disdain as he shoved Ian back into the pod. "You’re nothing but a failed experiment—a broken lab rat. You’re not even worthy to kiss their ass."
The mutters in the room turned into outright scorn, eyes full of blame and distrust pinning Ian down.
Despite the venom around him, Ian straightened up, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Call me what you want, but I’m still alive. Can any of you say the same if you’d faced her?"
He gestured to the jagged scars across his chest. "These wounds would’ve killed anyone without the Stellar Devourer gene. I’m standing here because I’m stronger than all of you."
Barret’s face flushed crimson with rage. "If it weren’t for your cursed gene," he hissed, "this whole war would’ve been over by now!"
Ian’s lips twisted into a taunting smirk. "Funny. Without me, you wouldn’t even have a fleet left to command."
That was the breaking point. With a furious roar, Barret lunged, his hands wrapping around Ian’s throat. "I’ll end you myself!"
Skylight gasped, his hand darting out to grab Barret’s arm. "Sir, stop! He’s still injured—"
Barret swatted him aside with a snarl, sending him sprawling to the ground. "Stay out of this, Skylight!"
Ian’s eyes darkened, and a faint but dangerous energy began swirling around him.
The gravitational pull made the walls creak, the air twisting with tension. Alarms blared as the beginnings of a black hole crackled into existence between his hands.
"You wanna die here, old man?" Ian’s voice was deadly calm, cold fury bleeding through. "Fine. Let’s see if you can take me."
Chaos exploded across the room. Officers who still had the strength scrambled to activate their powers, their voices rising in panic as the black hole expanded, pulling at everything nearby. The air hummed with tension on the brink of violence.
"Stop!" Skylight’s cry cut through the noise, his voice desperate and raw. But his plea was lost in the cacophony of clashing powers, the room seconds away from tearing itself apart.
Then, as suddenly as the chaos began, it ended. A pale hand appeared from the haze, dispelling the black hole with a single gesture, like snuffing out a candle.
The room froze. Westros had arrived.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The icy authority in his expression was enough to silence the room.
His gaze swept over the mess before him—Barret, still gripping Ian’s limp form, the officers paralyzed with tension, Skylight clutching her side from the floor.
"Explain," Westros said, his tone soft but unyielding.
Barret hesitated, his bluster wilting under Westros’ piercing stare.
Finally, he released Ian, letting him collapse onto the floor, gasping for air.
Skylight rushed to his side, her trembling hands steadying him.
"Sir," Barret began, his voice wavering, "Lyra has killed half our command today. And the Stellar Devourers—he—was supposed to stop her, but instead—"
Westros raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. His calm expression chilled further, his voice sharp as frost. "Are you suggesting this is MY failure, Barret?"
Barret’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Westros didn’t wait for an answer. His gaze turned to Ian, then back to Barret. "Lyra has killed your generals. And? This is war. Death is inevitable."
Westros couldn’t care less about these people, about the Empire’s loss. The biggest shock for him this time was that they let Lyra slip away.
The air in the medical bay became suffocating. Barret’s face froze in a grimace, caught between anger and humiliation.
The other officers exchanged looks, seething with rage yet too intimidated to voice it. The tension in the room was palpable, a stifling weight that seemed to press down on everyone.
Ian noticed it all, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. ’Typical humans,’ he thought with contempt. ’Faced with a more powerful Stellar Devourer, they cowered like worms, too afraid to even speak.’
With barely concealed eagerness, Ian turned to Westros, his voice tinged with desperation. "Sir, please heal my injuries. I swear I can bring Lyra back to you."
Westros slowly shifted his gaze to Ian, his expression impassive. His eyebrows twitched slightly, a faint show of disdain crossing his otherwise unreadable face. "You," he began coldly, "what makes you think you’re worth my time—or my resources?"
The words hit like a lash. Ian flinched but didn’t back down. He opened his mouth to protest, but Westros continued, his tone clinical, detached, and cutting. "According to your performance metrics, you barely measure up to half of Lyra’s capability. Were it not for your unique superpower, you wouldn’t even survive a single exchange with her."
Westros paused to let the insult sink in, then clicked his tongue with open derision. "Trash is still trash."
A wave of stifled chuckles rippled through the officers present. Even Barret allowed himself a smirk, his gaze brimming with contempt.
Ian’s knuckles turned white as his fists clenched. His lips quivered, and his knees threatened to buckle.
Westros, however, had already lost interest in him, his icy gaze sweeping the room.
"I see none of you have any clue how Suxie and the others met their end." He snorted softly. "I expected no better."
Turning toward Barret one last time, Westros spoke with the weight of finality. "Remember my command: Lyra’s life is not yours to take. If you disobey, you’ll face the consequences."
Barret’s complexion turned an unhealthy shade of pale as he saluted stiffly. "Understood."
Satisfied, Westros walked out, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a bell. The silence he left behind was deafening.
Barret’s anger reignited the moment Westros disappeared. He glared daggers at Ian, who was still slumped in Skylight’s arms.
"No more treatment for him!" Barret barked, his voice laced with venom.
Skylight stepped forward, panicked. "Sir, Ian’s injuries—"
"You keep your mouth shut!" Barret cut him off sharply. "I brought you under my command because you were promising, Skylight. As for him—" Barret jabbed a finger at Ian, "—the only reason I allowed that lab rat to stay was his connection to the Stellar Devourers. And this is how he repays me? Disgusting."
He turned to leave but hesitated, glancing back as if the mere sight of Ian offended him further. "Get him off my ship immediately. If he’s still here in two hours, Skylight, you’ll both be kicked out."
With that, Barret stormed away, leaving the room filled with a mixture of awkward silence and barely suppressed tension.
Skylight knelt beside Ian, helping him back onto his feet, but Ian shook him off roughly.
"I’m leaving," Ian spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "Don’t think for a second that I wanted to stay with this pack of useless humans."
"You’re in no condition to go anywhere," Skylight protested, grabbing his arm.
Ian scoffed, his expression defiant. "The only ones who can heal me are the Stellar Devourers, not these pathetic excuses for medics."
A nearby officer, lounging smugly in a treatment pod, interjected with a sneer. "Skylight, why bother with trash like him? He’ll go crawling back to the Stellar Devourers for help anyway."
Another chimed in, laughing. "You think they’ll even bother with him? He’s just a failed experiment to them, a joke!"
Ian’s face turned deathly pale as the snickers around him grew louder. He gritted his teeth, every word cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.
Skylight, however, stood abruptly. His expression hardened, and he tightened his grip on Ian’s arm. "I’ll take you with me."
The room went dead silent. Every officer present stared at Skylight as though he’d grown a second head. Even Ian froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"You don’t need to act like some saint," Ian muttered, yanking his arm away. "Barret was right about you—you’re just a bleeding heart who doesn’t know when to quit. Leave me alone!"
Skylight didn’t budge. "I’m packing my things. We’re leaving together."
"Skylight, don’t be reckless!" one of the officers shouted. "Barret has invested so much in your training. Don’t throw it away for someone like him!"
Another officer joined in, shaking his head. "He’s not worth it, Skylight. Think about your future!"
Their words made Skylight pause briefly, doubt flickering across his face. But then he clenched his jaw, his resolve firm. "I’ve made up my mind."
Ian stared at him, stunned. His voice trembled. "Why... why would you do this?"
Skylight smiled faintly, his expression tinged with nostalgia. "Because we grew up together, remember? Back then, I promised I’d always protect you. I failed once. I won’t make the same mistake again."
Ian looked away, his throat tight. He had no response. He didn’t know how to thank Skylight—or if he even could.
Chapter 267: Raising The Stakes
After a brief respite, the Alliance fleet finally caught its breath.
Lyra was summoned to the medical ship to treat soldiers gravely injured by the Stellar Devourers.
Wherever she passed, soldiers and medics alike stared at her with a mix of fear and awe. Her brutal efficiency on the battlefield had left an indelible impression.
The battle monitors told the tale of her carnage: ten high-ranking enemy generals, 92 senior officers, and an uncountable number of ordinary soldiers had fallen by her hand.
Her superpower had swept through the battlefield like an unstoppable storm, decimating all in its path. Even the infamous Master Peculiar mercenaries, hired under an ironclad contract with the Empire, had broken rank and fled the moment she turned her attention to them.
Her achievements were nothing short of legendary. Few could imagine, let alone replicate, such a feat.
If not for the interference of the Stellar Devourers, she might have stormed the Empire’s flagship itself.
*****
Meanwhile, on the Empire’s side, Admiral Barret was in a state of near stroke as he reviewed the casualty reports. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, and the polished metal creaked under the pressure.
"Damn it!" he roared, pointing at the data displayed on the screen. "Just one Lyra—and she’s managed to kill so many of our top officers!"
The list of the dead read like a catalog of the Empire’s best and brightest.
Rear Admirals, Commodores, and even a Vice Admiral were among the fallen.
Rear Admirals alone took decades to train, and she had eliminated ten of them in a single campaign. It was a blow the Empire could scarcely afford.
The officer tasked with compiling the report stood stiffly, his face pale. "Lyra’s tactics are terrifying, sir. She operates independently and targets the strongest superpowered individuals on the field. No one can stop her."
As he spoke, the officer’s voice faltered. He remembered the haunting green superpower that had chased him across the battlefield. The memory of narrowly escaping death still sent chills down his spine.
Barret’s fury boiled over. "We have advanced mechas, high-energy weapons, an army of soldiers and officers—and you’re telling me we can’t deal with one woman?" His voice was sharp enough to cut through steel.
The officer gulped. "It’s not that we didn’t try, Admiral. But her combat abilities exceed level nine, sir. Realistically, only a Supreme could handle her."
The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. Everyone knew the truth: Supremes were forbidden from engaging in direct combat. To deploy one would violate the delicate balance of power between the factions.
Barret’s expression darkened. But instead of exploding again, he nodded slowly, his anger simmering into cold resolve. "You’re right."
He stood abruptly, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "For now, we’ve retreated. Let’s focus on the other front."
*****
On the Alliance side, Lyra had just finished preparing to treat another patient, a trembling soldier with a grievously wounded leg.
She adjusted her enormous surgical saw with precision, ignoring the soldier’s horrified expression.
Just as she was about to make the first cut, Mandy elbowed her way through the gathered crowd. "Ensign Lyra," she said in a low voice, "Vice Admiral Whyte has requested your presence immediately."
Lyra sighed with faint regret. She had only just started—her tally of sawed limbs stood at a measly seven.
Reluctantly, she left a green energy shield over the soldier’s leg to stabilize it and set the saw down.
...
Lyra piloted her mecha to the command center aboard the Alliance flagship. The moment she entered, she noticed that all the senior officers were already present.
Standing at the door, Thierry watched her arrival with a measured gaze, hands clasped behind his back.
Mandy followed Lyra inside, taking her place at the door in a similar stance.
As Lyra stepped into the room, Chuck spoke directly. "You’re just in time. We have a mission for you."
Lyra glanced at Cohen, who stood slightly to the side. His furrowed brow and troubled expression betrayed his disapproval.
The pieces fell into place quickly. Lyra turned back to Chuck, her tone calm but probing. "I’m going to lead reinforcements to Admiral Dale’s position, right?"
Lyra’s sharp instincts caught Chuck off guard, but he nodded after a brief pause. "That’s correct. After pulling back from this front, the Empire has bolstered its forces near Admiral Dale’s position."
The situation was precarious. If the Legion of the Apollo’s were annihilated, and Wyrmtrace fell, it would be a catastrophic loss for the Alliance, leading to a disastrous domino effect.
To avoid such an outcome, they had no choice but to send reinforcements.
However, Lyra was acutely aware of the risks. If she were sent to Admiral Dale, she knew the man would likely use her skills to turn the tide—and then eliminate her without a second thought once her utility was exhausted.
Cohen, sharing these concerns, frowned deeply, his disapproval written all over his face.
Instead of outright rejecting the mission, Lyra asked calmly, "May I ask, sir... If I leave, what will we do if Stellar Devourers reappear here?"
Chuck sighed, his tone heavy. "Stellar Devourers have also been sighted near Admiral Dale’s position. That’s why this gamble is necessary. If we divide our forces, we may not have enough to withstand their next assault. The hope is that you can reach them before the enemy moves again."
He leaned against the table, visibly weighed down by the grim choices.
Ideally, they would have fortified Wyrmtrace and avoided splitting their forces, but the Legion of the Apollo’s included many experienced officers and Admiral Dale himself. They couldn’t afford to abandon them.
"Luckily," Chuck added, "Fleet Admiral Whyte will arrive at Wyrmtrace in five hours. We can hold out until then."
The mention of Frederick brought a flicker of relief to the room. If Lyra was the Alliance’s most formidable weapon, Frederick was their anchor, a calming presence that steadied even the most turbulent waters. His impending arrival gave everyone a glimmer of hope.
Lyra mulled it over, her thoughts racing. After a moment, she spoke. "I have a suggestion."
"Let’s hear it," Chuck said.
"If this is already a gamble on time," Lyra began, her gaze steady, "then why not raise the stakes? Instead of splitting our forces, we commit fully. We take all available units from Wyrmtrace and coordinate with Admiral Dale to launch a full-scale assault on the enemy. A pincer attack."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Cohen’s eyes widened briefly before a determined glint appeared in them. "I support this plan," he said firmly.
The other officers hesitated, their expressions ranging from thoughtful to outright alarmed.
"Are you insane?" one officer exclaimed. "If we leave Wyrmtrace defenseless for five hours and the Empire attacks, we’ll be remembered as traitors!"
"Exactly!" another officer chimed in. "If the enemy lands on Wyrmtrace, we might still salvage the situation. But if they bypass it—"
"They’ll run into Snowfall," Zarek interrupted sharply. His eyes were sharp as he leaned forward. "I also support Ensign Lyra’s proposal. If we win, we’ll solidify our hold on Wyrmtrace. If we lose, Snowfall remains as a backup. Legion Glory will hold the line there no matter the cost."
Wyrmtrace, while fortified, had always relied on Snowfall as its defensive fallback. Long before Wyrmtrace was developed, Snowfall had served as the sector’s primary defense.
Strategically, Snowfall, Wyrmtrace, and Voidstar No. 2 formed a triangular formation on the star map.
Admiral Dale’s position near Wyrmtrace meant Lyra and her reinforcements could reach him within five hours—the same amount of time it would take Frederick to secure Wyrmtrace.
"It’s feasible," Chuck murmured, his excitement growing. "Even if the enemy breaches Wyrmtrace, Legion Glory and Snowfall will buy us time to regroup." He slapped the table with a resounding thud. "I’ll present this to Fleet Admiral Whyte immediately."
Minutes later, Frederick’s holographic image appeared in the center of the room. All the officers stood and saluted sharply.
Frederick returned the gesture with a composed nod, his piercing gaze scanning the room.
Chuck quickly summarized Lyra’s proposal.
Frederick listened intently, his expression unreadable.
When the explanation concluded, Frederick’s voice broke the silence. "This plan is... too risky."
His words were measured but carried undeniable weight. "If I fail to arrive in time, or if the enemy detects our movements and exploits the gap, the consequences will be catastrophic."
Chapter 268: Lyra’s Strategy
Frederick had built his legacy on being the ultimate chess master of warfare. Known for his razor-sharp caution and meticulous planning, he was the reason the Alliance had survived the chaos thus far. Nothing about his leadership was left to chance.
But as Chuck stood before him now, facing his cousin’s cool, calculating stare, he couldn’t shake that familiar knot in his gut. That gaze could unnerve the bravest of souls. Still, Chuck was a battlefield commander, and this was no time for hesitation.
"Sir," Chuck began, choosing his words with care. "I’d like to propose a tweak to our formation. If we spread the defensive line during the march, it’ll give us the space to hit the enemy with our full force."
Frederick’s face was unreadable, the silence heavy.
Before Chuck could press further, another voice cut through. "Sir," said Cohen, "I need to speak."
Frederick gave a measured nod. "Go ahead, Captain."
Cohen inhaled deeply, his voice calm but with a weight that demanded attention. "Even if we manage to pull off the rescue of Admiral Dale, we’re still stuck in a bad spot." He let that sink in before continuing. "The enemy’s retreat is a ruse. They’re scared of Ensign Lyra picking off their officers, but they’re using the downtime to rally reinforcements—more Peculiars, stronger ones. When they’re ready, they’ll hit us with everything they’ve got."
His words sent a chill through the room, but Cohen wasn’t done. "If we wait for that moment, we lose. Plain and simple. Our only shot is to go on the offensive now, while they’re still vulnerable."
Frederick’s stoic face didn’t so much as twitch, but his silence was an invitation for Cohen to explain further.
"The Empire and Stellar Devourers have formed an alliance. Their tech and weapons were much better than ours now, and their advance has been brutal. Right now, their vice-admiral alone can rival our Legion Glory. Meanwhile, they’ve got six admirals and ten Supremes. And we?" Cohen’s voice hardened. "We’ve got one Legion Glory and one Lyra. We can’t win this the old-fashioned way."
He took a step forward, his tone daring anyone to argue. "We need bold moves. They’re biding their time to launch a massive attack on Wyrmtrace, but we’ve got a chance—just one—to strike first. If we coordinate with Admiral Dale and hit them from both sides, we could tip the scales."
It was a bold proposition, the kind that had likely crossed others’ minds but died there, smothered by caution. Yet Cohen had said it out loud, leaving no room for doubt: this was a gamble, and they were already running out of safe bets.
Frederick’s gaze sharpened as he addressed his son. "Captain Whyte."
"Yes, sir." Cohen’s voice didn’t waver.
"You’ve thought this through?"
"I have, sir."
Frederick nodded once, his voice as solid as his reputation. "Then draft me a detailed plan in the next ten minutes. Minimize risks. And make sure Captain Rymes locks down the line and monitors enemy activity."
It was a measured compromise—bold enough to take a risk, careful enough to keep safeguards in place. Zarek, standing nearby, saluted crisply, silently acknowledging his new orders.
As Frederick ended the communication feed, the war room exploded into motion. Officers huddled, working through every aspect of the operation. Yet one major hurdle loomed: how to move their forces without setting off enemy alarms.
"Maybe optical camouflage could work?" an officer suggested.
"No," another cut in. "Their sensors would shred right through it. It could even tip them off."
The problem was clear: sneaking a large force past the enemy unnoticed was like trying to hide a flare in the middle of the night.
Cohen turned to Lyra.
"Ensign Lyra," he said, his voice steady, "any ideas?"
The room stilled, all eyes locking onto her. Lyra didn’t flinch.
"I do," she replied, her tone calm but with a quiet confidence that drew everyone closer.
Her plan was simple yet brilliant. "The enemy is watching our ships, not our people. So, we leave the main ship behind as a decoy and send out two auxiliary ships instead."
For a beat, no one spoke. Then—
"... That’s genius," Chuck blurted out, his tone filled with renewed energy.
Lyra’s idea turned the enemy’s assumptions against them. By keeping the main warship stationed as a distraction, the enemy’s attention would stay locked on it.
Meanwhile, the auxiliary ships, small and seemingly unimportant, would slip by under the guise of routine supply runs.
The catch? Those auxiliary ships were cramped, with just enough room for personnel, mechas, and fighter jets—no luxuries, no extra supplies. It was a tight squeeze, but a sacrifice they could handle.
"Alright, it’s settled!" Chuck declared, his voice brimming with determination.
The pieces were in place. Now all that was left was to execute—and to see if this gamble would pay off or bring everything crashing down.
The plan was finalized, and no time was wasted.
Soldiers packed tightly into the auxiliary ships, leaving no space unused. Even the corridors were crammed with personnel, their expressions resolute despite the discomfort.
Before boarding, Lyra took a moment to leave a subtle but unmistakable trace of her superpower on the medical ship, crafting the illusion that she hadn’t left at all.
"This should make them hesitate," she remarked quietly.
Cohen couldn’t hide his astonishment. They were about to travel an immense distance—tens of thousands of miles—and yet Lyra’s psychokinesis would remain active here, undetected. Just how powerful was she?
With everything in place, the two auxiliary ships departed, leaving the main ship behind.
Zarek, tasked with holding the line, initially felt a pang of disappointment. But as the auxiliary ships disappeared into the void, he became acutely aware of the vast emptiness around him.
The main ship, along with its accompanying smaller vessels, stood eerily quiet. They were effectively a bluff—a toothless wolf baring its fangs.
Even the patrols outside the battle line had been left in place to avoid raising suspicion, but inside, the ships were completely deserted.
It felt as though they were holding a broken weapon against an encroaching predator, hoping the enemy wouldn’t call their bluff.
Zarek’s nerves were stretched thin. He avoided monitoring enemy movements too closely, fearing even the slightest misstep might reveal their ploy.
An hour crawled by before scouts reported back: the enemy had made no moves.
Zarek exhaled deeply, tension momentarily easing from his shoulders. "Keep scouting," he ordered, his resolve hardened.
Thus began his grueling vigil, alternating between hope and dread as the hours dragged on.
By the fifth hour, Zarek was nearly at his limit when he spotted the familiar silhouette of Legion Glory’s warships on the horizon. Relief surged through him so powerfully that he almost wept.
*****
Meanwhile, Lyra and her team had already arrived at the outer edges of Legion of the Apollo’s battlefield. Their timing was impeccable, and the moment Admiral Dale received the news of their arrival, he slammed his hand on the table with triumphant force.
"Finally! Begin the counterattack at once!"
For too long, he had been forced into a defensive stance, and now his chance for retaliation was here. He wasted no time in rallying his forces, striking the enemy before they could react.
The momentum shifted rapidly. As the Alliance forces closed in, the Empire’s troops found themselves ensnared in a deadly pincer.
Caught off-guard, the Stellar Devourer commander attempted a desperate escape. Activating an interdimensional portal, he surged forward, only to crash headlong into a shimmering green energy shield. His eyes widened in shock.
The faint hum of a light mecha filled the air. It moved with deadly precision, closing the distance between them.
The guy paled. "Isn’t she supposed to be on Wyrmtrace?!"
The realization struck too late. In the next instant, his world ended.
*****
The battle left Legion of the Apollo’s forces battered but victorious. Despite suffering heavy losses, they quickly rallied under Chuck’s people, turning the tables on their enemies.
Together, they pushed back the Empire’s forces, driving them into a chaotic retreat.
News of the defeat reached Barrett, and his fury was immediate. He had been preparing to launch a decisive assault on Wyrmtrace when the reports arrived.
"Legion Glory... has arrived at the battlefield," the scout announced.
Barret’s face twisted with rage, his plans unraveling in real time. Overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation, he roared, clutched his chest—and fainted.
By the time the Empire fully grasped what had happened, their once-formidable offensive had crumbled into disarray.
Chapter 269: Saving Dale
Admiral Barrett was neck-deep in shame, his reputation in tatters after failing to capture Wyrmtrace. What should’ve been a defining victory had slipped through his fingers, leaving him a pariah among his peers.
"Well, well," a fellow Admiral drawled during the holographic meeting, his voice thick with mockery. "Weren’t you bragging about taking Wyrmtrace in a day? How’s that working out for you, Barrett?"
Barrett’s jaw tightened, his darkened expression barely masking his irritation. Still, he managed to mutter through clenched teeth, "Frederick’s Legion Glory is already on the move. You’d better prepare."
His eyes flicked to the silver-haired man at the head of the table, the unease in his chest mounting. Trying to steady himself, Barrett nervously rubbed his fingers together, his voice dropping to a quieter pitch.
"Sir, if Lyra isn’t neutralized soon, she could become a real problem."
The response was immediate—and brutal. Snickers rippled through the room as the other Admirals exchanged knowing glances.
"Ah, yes," one said with exaggerated patience. "The same Lyra who forced you into a retreat and cost us the upper hand at Wyrmtrace. Excellent work, Barrett."
Another Admiral leaned back with a smirk. "She’s just an lab rat, isn’t she? Barrett’s acting like she’s the second coming of Nemesis. Our tech can easily overwhelm her. He’s just too timid to push forward."
Barrett’s patience snapped. Guilt had kept him quiet until now, but the relentless insults ignited his temper.
"Easy for you to talk from your cozy command centers! You weren’t the ones facing her in battle!" He leaned forward, practically growling. "Next time, why don’t YOU stick around and fight instead of running?"
The room erupted, another Admiral barking, "Whoever flees is a coward!" The meeting spiraled toward chaos.
Then the silver-haired man lifted his gaze. One sharp, icy look from him silenced the room like a sudden freeze.
"Wolfe will be dispatched to Wyrmtrace shortly," he announced, his voice cold and clipped. "Lyra is his responsibility. The Stellar Devourers will not be involved in this matter."
The air grew heavier. Wolfe’s name carried weight—an enforcer with a reputation for efficiency and merciless precision. Even the boldest Admirals stopped their sniping at the mention of him.
Barrett, however, furrowed his brow. No Stellar Devourer support? Without their interdimensional travel tech, Wolfe would take at least seven days to reach Wyrmtrace. That was an eternity to hold out against Frederick’s forces and Lyra’s unrelenting strikes.
The silver-haired commander wasn’t done. "Admiral Tauras is to dispatch reinforcements immediately. Prepare to secure the battlefield."
"Yes, sir," the Admirals chorused in unison. Barrett, grateful for the shift in attention, ended the call as quickly as protocol allowed. He slumped in his chair, exhaling in relief.
"Relay the orders," he told his staff wearily. "No more reckless attacks until Admiral Tauras arrives. Hold position." His tone left no room for argument—he wasn’t about to risk another embarrassment.
*****
Outside Wyrmtrace, the vibe aboard the warships was a mix of triumph and exhaustion. Chuck and Cohen’s forces had returned victorious, their narrow journey aboard two auxiliary ships culminating in a decisive victory.
Now, they were aboard the Legion of the Apollo’s ships, riding high on their hard-earned success.
But in the command room, the mood was far from celebratory. Admiral Dale sat stiffly in his chair, his face drawn with worry. His adjutant stood nearby, echoing his unease.
"Can’t we do anything?" Dale muttered, frustration lacing his words.
The adjutant shook his head apologetically. "Sir, we’re in the middle of space. Supplies don’t just appear."
The dire situation weighed heavily on them. After the prolonged battle, resources were almost non-existent. They’d barely managed to scrape by as it was.
The door slid open, and Chuck strolled in casually, brushing crumbs from his jacket. "Admiral Dale," he called out, his tone annoyingly cheerful, "you got any more food? My brothers are starving."
Dale froze, his face shifting through disbelief, exasperation, and then outright rage. He shot to his feet, jabbing a finger at Chuck.
"FOOD?! You’ve eaten everything! My soldiers are practically collapsing from hunger, and now you want more?"
Chuck cocked his head, feigning surprise. "Wait, you’re saying there’s nothing left?"
"Nothing! None! Zero!" Dale roared, his voice echoing. He couldn’t believe the audacity. They’d barely managed to keep themselves fed before Chuck and his reinforcements had shown up—empty-handed, of course. The sudden engagement had completely derailed their plan to restock at Snowfall, leaving everyone scrambling.
The battle itself had been grueling, stretching over fifty relentless hours. When they finally won, there was no time to savor it. Soldiers were forced to ration their meals so tightly that even compressed food bars were split in half.
"A whole battalion under an Admiral," Chuck grumbled, loud enough for Dale to hear, "and we’re still running out of food. We save the day and now we’re starving too."
Dale’s face flushed a deep red, equal parts fury and humiliation. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for Chuck’s reinforcements—he truly was. But this situation was an absolute nightmare.
Finally, with a dismissive wave of his hand, Dale barked, "Get out! Just get out! You’ve earned your commendation—now go starve with the rest of us!"
Lyra strode over with her usual sharp demeanor, her gaze locking onto Chuck. "No food?" she asked bluntly.
Chuck spread his hands with a wry smile. "None."
Her expression turned colder as her eyes flicked to Dale. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving the old man fuming.
"Don’t think you can show me attitude just because you saved my life!" Admiral Dale bellowed after her, his face red with indignation.
Chuck, ever the mediator, laughed it off. "Oh, come on, sir. Isn’t she always giving you that look? Relax. You know she really did save your skin back there."
The memory was still fresh. Trapped by three level-nine Peculiars and with a Stellar Devourer lying in wait, Dale had been cornered. His mecha had been destroyed, and death seemed inevitable when Lyra arrived. Though she had hesitated to intervene, the situation demanded it.
She’d been nearby, and with so many eyes on her, ignoring Dale’s danger would’ve invited criticism she couldn’t afford.
After all, she’d worked too hard to regain her place in Frederick’s forces. Beyond that, rescuing an admiral came with significant merits, ones that could prove invaluable later.
For Lyra, the decision to save Dale wasn’t personal—it was pragmatic. As for his grumbling now, she couldn’t care less.
Fortunately, the battlefield was close to Wyrmtrace, and after five grueling hours of hunger, supplies finally became available.
The enemy had temporarily withdrawn from Alliance space, allowing the legions to regroup on Wyrmtrace for repairs and resupply.
*****
Admiral Dale, now on Wyrmtrace for the first time, marveled at the progress. His eyes scanned the infrastructure rising across the planet, and he couldn’t help but comment.
"They’ve built so much already. Not bad," he muttered, as though inspecting the place like a superior officer on a casual tour.
Chuck rolled his eyes. The others ignored him entirely, much to Dale’s irritation.
A few muffled grumbles later, his mood turned peculiar as the group passed through Wyrmtrace’s New Central City and approached the military base. Everywhere they went, workers stopped to call out greetings to Lyra.
"Miss Shedd!"
"Morning, boss!"
Out of every ten workers, at least half seemed to acknowledge her as their superior.
Dale’s frown deepened as they passed teams of laborers working on ambitious engineering projects. His gaze darted to Lyra, walking beside Cohen with her usual composed air.
"You’re abusing your authority!" he accused, unable to hold back his frustration.
Lyra met his glare with icy calm. "Eddie’s smuggling weapons didn’t seem to bother you much, Admiral Dale. Or did you think no one noticed?"
Her words hit him like a hammer. Wyrmtrace was far from the only planet where personal interests had influenced decisions.
Dale’s garrisoned planet was practically under the thumb of his family’s dynasty, a far cry from the relative order Lyra had maintained.
The accusation left Dale speechless, his face contorted in anger and embarrassment. His teeth clenched as he shot her a venomous look. If it weren’t for her, Eddie wouldn’t be rotting in a cell right now.
Chuck caught Cohen’s eye and flashed a grin, clearly enjoying the exchange. It was rare to see someone put Dale in his place, and Lyra seemed to do it effortlessly.
After the team disbanded to rest, Lyra returned to her command center at LE Energy’s base, heading straight for the bio-laboratory on the lower level.
Unlike the bustling mecha workshop, the bio-research team was small, composed mostly of eccentric scientists drawn by her unique healing abilities.
"She is here," the department director, Rachel, called out. She rushed to greet Lyra with barely concealed excitement.
"I’ve tried everything I can think of, but I can’t dissect her," Ming Zhan explained with a mix of frustration and awe. "Looks like we’ll need your help directly."
Lyra nodded. "I’ll handle the scalpel. You record the data."
The two moved into the sterilization chamber, donning spotless white lab suits before entering the brightly lit operating room.
At the center of the lab was a surgical table surrounded by glowing green restraints, holding a woman captive. Her eyes snapped open as Lyra approached, and terror instantly replaced any semblance of composure.
"No... no, no!" Suxie stammered, her voice trembling as the realization of what was about to happen sank in.
Chapter 270: Breaking Down the Devourer
In the blindingly bright lab, a scalpel carved from emerald light sliced with unflinching precision.
As it touched flesh, Suxie’s anguished screams filled the sterile air, sharp and raw like shattered glass. Her body, bound by glowing green energy, thrashed wildly.
Slick, black mucus spilled from her wounds, staining the pristine white of the lab with its nightmarish sheen.
Despite the torment, Suxie’s formidable vitality clung stubbornly to life, refusing to let her escape into the void.
In the corner, Assisbot No. 1 huddled in its standby mode, a metallic oval pretending to be unnoticed.
’That selfish wo... no... Lyra, she doesn’t play around. No wonder everyone’s terrified of her.’
"Lyra! You’ll regret this—arghhh!" Suxie’s voice cracked, her attempts to summon her black hole core flickering under the unyielding pressure of the green energy.
Lyra’s focus never wavered. Her hands moved with eerie steadiness, the scalpel gliding as she dissected organ after organ with a surgeon’s elegance—like conducting a dark symphony of science.
On the sidelines, Rachel scribbled furiously in her notebook. Watching Lyra work with such precise brutality was oddly mesmerizing.
For Rachel, who thrived on order and detail, it was practically therapeutic. Her eyes darted to the monitors, tracking every dip and spike in the life readings.
"Boss, her heart just stopped," Rachel said, her voice tight with both alarm and fascination.
Without even glancing up, Lyra waved her hand, channeling vibrant healing energy to pull Suxie back from the abyss.
The process played out like clockwork, a grim dance of death and revival.
Rachel could only stare, awestruck.
Healers could usually mend skin, close wounds, and maybe patch a torn muscle if they were skilled. Anything deeper—internal bleeding, organ damage—needed surgery alongside their abilities.
But Lyra’s healing went beyond human logic. It didn’t just mend. It controlled.
Human. Beast. Monstrosity. It didn’t matter. Lyra’s abilities bent them all to her will.
By the time Lyra finished, every organ, strand of hair, and trace of essence had been cataloged and analyzed. She finally let the healing energy fade.
Suxie’s body, now void of vitality, began its horrifying decay.
Rachel froze as the process unfolded. The dark energy that had sustained Suxie seeped out in heavy waves, her body collapsing inward like a deflating balloon. Skin sagged, muscles withered, and bones disintegrated until all that remained was a brittle husk.
"So, the Stellar Devourer’s existence hinges entirely on this dark energy," Lyra murmured, her sharp eyes dissecting what little was left.
She turned to Rachel, who was furiously jotting notes, her expression a mix of wonder and terror.
"What’s your take compared to stellar beasts?" Lyra asked.
Rachel paused, adjusting her goggles with a spark of enthusiasm. "Surprisingly similar," she said, her tone almost giddy.
She tapped her pen against her notebook. "The Stellar Devourer wields black hole energy, while beasts rely on abilities parallel to human superpowers. Structurally, though, they’re almost identical. The big difference? Stellar Devourers just look more human."
"As I thought." Lyra’s voice carried a calm certainty. Humanity’s fears about these creatures being invincible were exaggerated.
"Should we share this with the military?" Rachel asked, clutching her notes.
"No," Lyra said firmly. "This stays off the grid."
"Got it!" Rachel grinned, hugging the stack of papers like a treasure trove.
When stellar beasts had first emerged, they wreaked havoc, pushing humanity to its breaking point.
Only the tireless work of researchers brought their threat under control. But the Stellar Devourer was a puzzle no one had cracked. Not even the military had managed to capture one.
Until now.
Rachel’s chest swelled with pride. ’I’m holding data that could change everything!’
What Lyra planned to do with the information didn’t matter to her. Being part of this groundbreaking moment was more than enough.
Rachel stared intently at the swirling black mist, now sealed in a glowing green glass vial. "If we could expel this power from the Stellar Devourer’s body, or disrupt its flow, we’d have a way to counter them entirely!"
Lyra’s gaze lingered on the vial for a moment before she nodded. "Keep that in mind. Discuss the specifics with Koros." Then, without further comment, she pressed a switch near the lab table.
Two flamethrowers emerged from hidden compartments, unleashing streams of searing orange fire. The dry husk on the table disintegrated almost instantly, reduced to a fine gray powder.
Rachel carefully packed away the remaining samples, sealing them securely in reinforced containers. "Boss, can you lock these up with your superpower? We don’t want any of this deteriorating."
With a wave of her hand, Lyra encased the specimens in shimmering green energy.
"These findings are more than enough," Rachel said with a grin. "Though we’ll probably need your powers to put them to use when the time comes."
Lyra nodded absentmindedly; her expression suddenly darkened. Her eyes sharpened, scanning the room like a predator sensing a trap.
A rift of pure darkness tore through the air, opening a portal to another dimension.
Without hesitation, Lyra forged a blade from emerald light and hurled it into the void.
CLANG!
The knife was intercepted mid-air by a broad black sword, wielded by Westros. His figure materialized from the shadows, his face calm but watchful.
Before he could speak, Lyra was already upon him, her blade flashing in a downward arc.
Westros barely had time to raise his weapon in defense. Their clash sent a shockwave of energy rippling through the lab.
Westros gaze narrowed as he felt the pressure behind her attack. "No wonder Suxie lost to you," he muttered. His voice lacked its usual fervor, replaced instead by cold calculation. "Your advancement... it’s beyond anything I can control now."
Despite his words, his expression betrayed neither fear nor anger—only a deep, unsettling curiosity.
"This doesn’t make sense," he murmured, his voice tinged with suspicion.
The two forces locked in stalemate for a moment before Lyra suddenly withdrew, leaping back with an agility that defied the natural flow of her movements.
Rachel’s eyes widened in disbelief, noting the uncanny mismatch between Lyra’s body’s actions and its musculature.
Westros noticed it too, his frown deepening.
Lyra chuckled softly. "If the universe can produce creatures like the Stellar Devourer, then it can just as easily produce something to counter them, don’t you think?"
Westros tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. "Yet as far as we know, nothing exists that can counter you. That breaks the rules."
"Rules?" Lyra’s smile turned sharp. "The Stellar Devourers didn’t follow the rules when they appeared. Neither did countless advanced civilizations before them."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The rules bend when something new comes into being."
The weight of her words made Rachel’s head spin in confusion, but they struck Westros like a hammer. His eyes widened in sudden realization.
"You know," he whispered, barely audible. "You’ve figured it out!"
"Perhaps," Lyra said, her green eyes glinting with dangerous clarity. "But now I’m here to confirm."
Before Westros could react, the lab erupted in a blinding burst of emerald light. Lyra charged again, blade flashing, and their battle resumed with renewed ferocity.
This time, however, Westros was distracted—just enough for a hidden player to intervene.
From the corner of the lab, Assisbot No. 1, silent until now, shot a concentrated beam of green light straight at Westros.
ZING!
The beam pierced Westros’ chest, leaving a smoldering black hole.
Westros staggered, his dark energy leaking rapidly from the wound. He turned toward the smugly vibrating Assisbot, realization dawning too late. ’She knew I’d come today. She’s already uncovered the Stellar Devourer’s secret!’
As his strength ebbed, Lyra seized the opportunity, her blade striking repeatedly. With swift, precise movements, she carved his form into pieces.
Yet as the remnants of his body twitched on the ground, they evaporated in a burst of shadow.
"A clone," Lyra muttered, straightening.
Far away, deep within a black hole, Westros’s true form jolted awake. His body trembled, green fissures spreading across his chest like cracks in stone. Pain contorted his face as he struggled to contain the invading energy.
"Sir, are you all right?"
Figures emerged from the darkness—several subordinates with anxious expressions.
Westros clenched his teeth, forcing himself to remain upright. "Suxie’s body is destroyed," he growled. "Has she returned yet?"
One of them, Moya, shook her head, her expression grim. "Not yet."
Another subordinate voiced their concerns. "Sir, the black hole grants us less power with each passing moment. The rules... they’re starting to shift."
Once, Stellar Devourers reigned supreme, their power an unchallenged constant in the cosmos. But even the unshakable bends to time, and their grip on the universe was slipping.
Lyra’s strength had reached a tipping point, her rise threatening to rewrite the very laws that governed existence.
And when the rules changed, it would spell doom for the Stellar Devourers.