Ch. 271..275: Interstellar_ Return of the Villain Chapter 271-275

Chapter 271: The Rules Are Changing

Westros exhaled sharply, his face etched with the weight of confession. Resignation and regret danced in his eyes. "No use hiding it now. The shift began a century ago. That’s why I started experimenting on humans—to stop it."

The room fell into stunned silence, each word sinking in like a blade.

"But instead," he continued, his voice bitter, "I failed. Worse—I accelerated the shift. I created HER. A being capable of dismantling Stellar Devourers entirely."

Moya’s voice cracked as panic seeped in. "Then what do we do? How do we destroy her?"

"We don’t," Westros said, his voice hollow. The air in the room seemed to tighten, the gravity of his statement suffocating. "Even if we kill Lyra, someone else like her will rise. The change is unstoppable."

He pressed a hand against his chest, where green, glowing fractures pulsed with excruciating pain. "The only option left is to convince her to join us."

Moya let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Join us? After all the times we’ve tried to kill her? She’s thrown in with the Alliance, Westros! There’s no way she’ll trust us now."

Westros smirked, a sharp, knowing look in his eyes. "That’s where you’re wrong, child. Lyra didn’t choose the Alliance. She chose humanity."

The revelation hit like a thunderclap, leaving the room reeling.

Westros’s tone turned cold, each word deliberate. "If humanity disappears, we’ll be her only remaining companions."

Lyra’s loyalty was clear. She stood as humanity’s shield, keeping the Stellar Devourers at bay not out of alliance but out of fear of mistrust. Yet, if humanity were gone and the Devourers no longer threatened her, peace might be achievable.

"In this infinite universe," Westros finished, his voice low and foreboding, "no one survives alone. Not even her."

*****

Far away, atop a glacier as old as time, a lone man meditated in the howling winds. His hair and beard were frosted white, flowing like the storm itself.

Ice clung to his skin, yet an unseen force emanated from his form, quieting the chaos around him.

The man’s eyes snapped open. A pressure filled the air, the kind that foretold calamity.

"The rules are changing," he murmured, his voice carried on the frigid breeze.

*****

In a bustling war council chamber, Admiral Frederick frowned deeply as he stared at the cryptic text. The message was brief yet weighty: "The rules are changing."

"What does that even mean?" he muttered.

Valeria’s holographic projection flickered to life, her casual tone contrasting the tension. "Who knows? The old man hasn’t said a word in a hundred years, and now he drops this on us. Typical."

She shrugged as though the universe’s mysteries were a mild inconvenience. "Lynn’s headed up the mountain to ask him directly, but you know how he is—probably busy deciphering the secrets of existence or whatever."

Frederick, however, wasn’t laughing. His expression was grim. "His abilities are far beyond our comprehension. If he’s speaking now, it’s because the matter is urgent—likely catastrophic."

Around the table, the other Admirals exchanged uneasy glances.

Raphel, ever the optimist, leaned back with a cocky grin. "Hey, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe the change means we’re about to win this war. Let me go in as the vanguard, sir. I’ll crush those Devourers and bring back a trophy!"

Dessel rolled his eyes, his tone dry. "Think bigger, Raphel. If the universe is shifting, this isn’t just about a skirmish. It could be biological, physical, metaphysical—hell, maybe gravity’s about to flip, or energy as we know it might stop working."

Admiral Conners’ face darkened. "Or it could mean the end of humanity altogether."

"Obviously," Dessel quipped, unimpressed. "That’s the default outcome, isn’t it?"

The room lapsed into silence. The weight of the Grandmaster’s words pressed heavily on their shoulders. If he had broken a century of silence, the implications were colossal.

*****

By the time the Admirals adjourned, they had reached one uneasy conclusion: the change was tied to Stellar Devourers.

"One thing is clear," Frederick declared, his voice steady but firm. "A shift of this magnitude will leave traces—patterns we can follow."

The universe had witnessed upheavals before. Superpowers, legendary beasts, even the Stellar Devourers themselves—they had all left signs before their emergence.

Now, the harbingers of a new age were beginning to appear.

Frederick sat in brooding silence, his sharp gaze scanning the battlefield report Chuck had delivered.

The document laid everything bare—casualty numbers, equipment losses, tactical missteps, and a detailed timeline of events from the first infiltrators to the final rescue of the Legion of the Apollo’s.

One name kept cropping up at every pivotal moment: Lyra.

"Who suggested reintegrating Lyra into the combat unit?" Frederick asked casually, though the undertone of curiosity was unmistakable.

Chuck, far more at ease when it was just the two of them, flopped into a chair across from his cousin. "Your son, obviously," he answered with a smirk. "Back when people were dropping like flies after Stellar Devourer attacks, Cohen and I brainstormed options. He decided to reach out to her and see if she could help. And she did."

Leaning back with a satisfied grin, Chuck added, "After that, Cohen formally recommended her reinstatement to active combat. Why? Worried he’s got a crush? Relax. If Lyra goes for Cohen, it’d honestly be a step down for her. Don’t raise your hopes too high."

Frederick let out a sharp snort but didn’t take the bait.

Undeterred, Chuck pressed on, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, Fred. Where else are you gonna find a daughter-in-law like her? Smart, filthy rich, and a total stunner. She’s the whole package."

Frederick’s expression darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes. "I’d rather she cared for Cohen because of who he is," he replied curtly, "not because of the influence behind him."

Chuck’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "Honestly, I don’t think she cares much about romance—or people in general. Lyra’s ambition runs deeper than any personal ties. If she’s working with us, it’s because it aligns with her goals, not because of Cohen or anyone else."

With a shrug and a lazy salute, Chuck stood and sauntered out, leaving Frederick alone with his thoughts.

Frederick leaned back, exhaling heavily. The currents of time were shifting, as they always did.

One generation’s ambitions inevitably gave way to the next, each wave reshaping the future in its own image. Whether that future would favor them, however, remained uncertain.

*****

While Frederick brooded, the Alliance pushed forward with preparations for the looming war. On Wyrmtrace, their fortified front-line planet, the relentless arrival of supplies transformed it into a bustling stronghold.

For Lyra, now deeply entrenched in the Alliance’s cause, relaxation wasn’t an option. She immersed herself in ensuring the military’s success with her signature determination.

One afternoon, Debbie entered the room, clipboard in hand.

"The majority of critical supplies have been delivered to the forward base," Debbie reported. "What’s left are secondary items like rations and clothing. Should we reassign personnel from the construction projects to focus on the war effort?"

The question hung heavy. Redirecting resources to military needs seemed logical with the Empire’s forces looming. If the war turned against them, everything they’d built so far could be lost.

Lyra’s response was instant and unwavering. "No. Continue as planned."

Debbie hesitated, concern flickering across her face. "Are you sure? If—"

Lyra cut her off, her tone cool and decisive. "As long as people are here, we’ll find a way to thrive. Shift the focus of the projects if necessary, but we don’t stop. Ever."

She understood the stakes all too well. The Empire’s advance was relentless, but Admiral Frederick’s forces weren’t going down without a fight.

Eventually, Wyrmtrace would transition into a hub for mercenaries and military personnel—a logistical powerhouse. Lyra knew its strategic value and intended to ensure it paid dividends.

"Got it, boss." Debbie turned to leave, but barely made it to the door before she burst back in, her face pale with urgency.

"Boss! Trouble—Caesara’s been attacked!"

Lyra’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

"Her convoy was ambushed while transporting supplies. The cargo’s been stolen, and she’s critically injured!"

"Wasn’t she carrying medical supplies?"

"She was, but they’re not working!"

Lyra was already moving, grabbing her gear. "Send me the coordinates. I’ll handle it. Update Cohen and give him every detail."

Without waiting for a response, she strode to the window and leaped out, summoning her armor mid-air.

The sleek, emerald plating locked into place in a matter of seconds, catching the sunlight as energy surged through her.

With a burst of propulsion, she rocketed skyward, a green streak against the horizon.

Debbie didn’t waste a moment either. Grabbing her communicator, she barked into it, her voice sharp with urgency. "Captain Whyte? This is critical—get ready for immediate action!"

Chapter 272: Killing The Prey

The road between the space port and the military base had become Wyrmtrace’s most bustling artery in recent days.

Yet, even in this hub of activity, no one expected a daylight robbery—much less one targeting LE Energy, the city’s most untouchable powerhouse.

The onlookers, caught between shock and morbid fascination, stood rooted to the spot, watching as the chaos unfolded.

Half-built structures flanked both sides of the street, skeletal frameworks of steel and concrete looming like unfinished monuments.

Towering machinery stood idle, their shadows stretching over the debris-strewn scene.

Two transport vehicles had been struck—one jammed into a building wall, its frame twisted and embedded like a grotesque art piece, while the other lay overturned in the middle of the road, its scattered cargo ignored like trash in the pandemonium.

Abandoned vehicles littered the area, haphazardly blocking lanes as if their drivers had fled in panic.

Under the pale glow of a single streetlight, the battered crew of the Stellar Caravan clustered together.

"Caesara... Ma’am! Hang in there—SHE is almost here!" one crew member pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of fear.

Caesara lay sprawled, her body a horrifying canvas of carnage. Her chest was ripped open, exposing shattered ribs that jutted like daggers into her punctured lungs and heart.

Blood poured from her mangled form despite the frantic efforts of a medic, who pressed useless gauze to the wound.

Caesara’s breaths were shallow, wet, and desperate.

Three others nearby weren’t in much better shape. Their injuries, though slightly less gruesome, were equally beyond the capabilities of standard med-tech.

Caesara’s lips trembled as she fought to speak, each word a struggle. "Tell... HER... avenge me..."

Shane dropped to his knees beside her, gripping her bloodied shoulders. "You wanna talk about revenge? Do it yourself! Stay alive, damn it!" His voice cracked, and his knuckles whitened as he shook her, refusing to let her slip away.

But Caesara’s vision was dimming. Her thoughts spiraled into darkness. ’This can’t be it. I’m not ready to die... not like this.’

Suddenly, a dazzling green light tore through the gloom. From afar, it seemed like a single beam, but as it descended, it fanned out into a radiant cascade, bathing the entire area in its shimmering glow.

Shane moved instinctively, pulling shards of bone from Caesara’s chest as her body began to heal right before his eyes. Muscle and skin knitted themselves back together with stunning speed. He let out a shaky breath and collapsed onto the pavement, tears streaming down his face. "Hail to the stars..."

The other wounded crew members were experiencing the same miraculous recovery.

As they staggered to their feet, awe-struck, their attention snapped toward the overturned transport.

There stood Lyra, surveying the wreckage like a vengeful goddess. Her face was unreadable, her steely gaze cutting through the chaos.

"Ma’am!" The crew scrambled to stand at attention.

Lyra’s voice was cool, her words precise. "The attackers: two males. One controls starlight, one with superpower displacement abilities, correct? The latter also manipulated spatial gates?"

Caesara, still shaky but alive, ground her teeth as anger fueled her words. "That’s right. The bastard with the displacement ability almost finished us, but the other one turned on him. They escaped in a stolen vehicle."

Lyra’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening further. "Understood."

With a faint hum, her armor activated, its gleaming plates locking into place. She leapt down from the transport and strode toward the trail left by the attackers.

The frigid energy that surrounded her made even Shane and Caesara shiver despite their miraculous recovery.

The signal led Lyra to the outskirts of New Central City, where the attackers’ stolen transport had been abandoned.

Its smoking husk was a sad, charred remnant of its former self.

Most of its cargo—food and basic supplies—had been taken. What was left had been torched beyond use.

Lyra frowned, her sharp mind unraveling the implications. ’Why go to such lengths just for basic provisions?’

*****

Far from the city, in the mouth of a mountain cave, a shimmering spatial gate flickered into existence.

Two guys stumbled out—Skylight, supporting Ian as they staggered forward.

Skylight eased Ian onto a rock near the cave’s entrance, his movements both hurried and gentle. Without a word, he began gathering firewood.

"Can you hold on?" Skylight finally asked, his voice low but urgent.

The pair were a far cry from their earlier strength. Clad in plain, ragged clothing, their beards unkempt and their faces hollow with exhaustion, they looked like fugitives on their last legs.

"Not dying yet," Ian rasped, though his voice betrayed the effort it took to speak. His body trembled as he drew shallow breaths. "But... I still can’t extend the spatial gate to the Empire. Something’s wrong. Even with the damage from Lyra, the black hole’s power should’ve recovered by now. But it hasn’t. It’s like... it’s just gone."

His youthful face twisted in frustration and guilt. "I’m sorry, Skylight. I dragged you into this mess."

Skylight crouched by the firewood, his hand emitting a focused beam of sunlight to ignite it.

As the flames crackled to life, he straightened and rested a comforting hand on Ian’s head. "Don’t apologize. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. If I’d had the guts back then, you wouldn’t be in this position now."

Since the fateful incident, Ian and Skylight hadn’t shared a moment this close in years.

Breaking the silence, Ian leaned over and nudged Skylight with his head, his expression softening into a playful grin. "C’mon, Skylight. Even if you’d gone back then, there’s no guarantee you’d have survived, either."

The words hung in the air, drawing a heavy pause between them. Neither spoke, lost in the swirling memories of their past—memories steeped in regret and impossible choices.

Eventually, Ian’s brow furrowed, his playful demeanor vanishing. He turned sharply toward Skylight, his voice hard. "You shouldn’t have stopped me from finishing them off. I can’t manage long-range teleportation right now—what happens if someone tracks us down?"

Skylight exhaled, a tired weight in his voice. "There were hundreds of people there, Ian. Were you seriously planning to kill every single one of them?"

Ian’s lips curled into a bitter scoff, his words as cold as the mountain air. "What’s the difference between killing one and killing them all?"

The years Ian had spent as a blade of Stellar Devourers had eroded any respect he might have once had for human life. His casual tone made Skylight’s jaw tighten, his gaze darkening with disappointment.

"Ian," Skylight said quietly, though his voice carried an unmistakable firmness. "Life matters. We can’t just snuff it out because it’s convenient."

Ian turned his face away, withdrawing from Skylight’s reach as his voice grew even colder. "That’s what YOU think. As far as I’m concerned, every single person out there—except you and me—deserves to die."

Skylight’s heart sank as he looked into Ian’s frosty, distant eyes. He let out a long, defeated sigh, the words he wanted to say slipping away before they could form.

But before Skylight could attempt another plea, his senses flared in warning.

A suffocating energy descended, prickling the back of his neck. His head snapped up just in time to spot a figure perched silently on a tree branch above them, so still that she seemed like a statue carved from the shadows.

Skylight and Ian reacted instantly, their years of survival instincts kicking in.

Without exchanging a word, they moved in unison, launching an attack aimed to neutralize the figure before they could act. But their efforts were futile—before their powers could even manifest, blades of radiant emerald light appeared, pressed against their throats.

Skylight froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly as disbelief washed over him. He was no amateur; his psychokinetic abilities, while not the best of the best, had earned him his rank as a level-eight Peculiar.

And yet, he hadn’t even been able to blink before the stranger had disarmed them. ’Who... or what... is she?’

Beside him, Ian trembled uncontrollably, his instincts betraying his usually cold demeanor. This fear was different—primal and overwhelming. It dug into him, twisting his gut and freezing his limbs. ’Why am I so terrified? Is it... because we’re the same kind’

Ian opened his mouth, his voice barely a whisper. "You..."

The person finally moved, stepping off the branch. She descended gracefully, carried by a shimmering shield of light that glided effortlessly through the air.

As she landed, the blades at their throats stayed perfectly in place, their edges humming softly.

It was Lyra.

Lyra’s gaze swept the area, searching for hidden traps or backup, but none appeared.

Satisfied, she turned her attention to the two men, her lips curving into a cold, amused smile.

"Abandoned, have we?" she asked, her tone mocking but layered with sharp menace.

Ian flushed, his humiliation burning hotter than the fear gripping him. He snarled, his defiance rising in an effort to mask his terror. "It’s none of your damn business, you—"

The insult died in his throat as his eyes locked with hers. Her dark, fathomless gaze silenced him completely, his voice strangled by some invisible force.

Ian tried to speak, but the words refused to come. ’What’s happening? Why can’t I talk?’

Seeing Ian falter, Skylight stepped forward, his voice shaking with urgency. "We... we were cast aside. We’re worthless to the Empire now. Kill me if you must, but I’m begging you—spare Ian. You’re the same kind, aren’t you?"

Lyra’s sharp gaze snapped to Skylight, her voice cutting through the air like frost. "The same kind? Him?" She shook her head, her expression twisting into one of disdain. "He’s not my kind. He’s prey."

With a simple flick of her fingers, the light blade pressed against Ian’s chest plunged deep. He collapsed instantly, his body crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

"No!" Skylight’s anguished scream echoed across the clearing. He lunged forward, but the oppressive green light held him in place, rendering him powerless.

He dropped to his knees, his face contorted in agony. "Ian! Stay with me! Use the black hole—wake up! Don’t leave me!"

He crawled to Ian’s lifeless form, shaking him violently, his voice breaking with despair. "Ian! Look at me! Look at me!"

The blade of light, still lodged in Ian’s chest, glimmered faintly before dissolving into the air.

Skylight turned his grief-stricken face toward Lyra, his rage burning bright in his tear-filled eyes. But deep down, he knew resistance was useless. Her presence alone had rendered them helpless.

Lyra’s expression didn’t change. With a flick of her wrist, the light coiled around Ian’s body, hoisting it into the air.

A second tendril wrapped around Skylight, pulling him up alongside his fallen companion. She rose into the air, her wings of light carrying her effortlessly toward the distant horizon.

*****

As Lyra approached a fleet of military helicopters hovering in formation, her radiant form silhouetted against the sunlit sky, the soldiers aboard watched her arrival with bated breath.

Cohen was standing in the open doorway of a chopper. He squinted through the harsh wind and called out. "How did it go?" His voice barely carried over the noise of the blades.

Lyra didn’t answer. Instead, she raised her hand, revealing the glowing bundle of light she carried. The forms of Skylight and Ian, limp and lifeless, were visible within.

Cohen’s face paled as she landed, stepping into the helicopter’s cabin.

The bodies dropped heavily to the floor with an audible thud. Cohen stared, recognizing them instantly. "It’s... them?"

The other soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. There was no mistaking it.

Skylight and Ian, once the Empire’s most feared enforcers, had met their end at last.

Chapter 273: Coming Back To Life

Lyra stepped into the helicopter, her movements precise as she stowed Schedar back into her Space Button with practiced ease.

"All dead?" Cohen asked, his tone casual, though the answer was obvious.

"They hijacked a truck full of supplies and nearly killed Caesara," Lyra replied without emotion, her voice as cold as the mountain air.

Cohen gave a slight nod, unsurprised. Mercy wasn’t in Lyra’s repertoire—not for enemies like these.

He signaled to a military medic, who swiftly examined the bodies. After confirming both were lifeless, Cohen began arranging for their transfer.

"They were high-value targets," he remarked, his tone clipped and professional. "Their deaths will count toward military commendations."

Lyra’s expression didn’t change. "Fine." She turned to leave but paused after a few steps. Glancing back, she added, "Leave the bodies with me. I’ll handle the dissection."

Cohen raised an eyebrow at her request but didn’t question it outright. After a moment’s thought, he replied, "Once the formalities are complete, I’ll have them sent to the your base."

Lyra nodded curtly, the conversation over.

*****

That evening, under the sterile glow of an overhead satellite, Lyra sat at her desk, her face illuminated by the harsh white light of her lamp.

The cold, clinical atmosphere matched the chill of the corpse storage room below.

Shane entered quietly, his tone respectful as he reported, "The bodies have arrived. Should I take them to the morgue?"

"Send them to Sublevel 1," Lyra replied without looking up, her focus still on the documents she was finishing.

By the time she descended to the lab, it was well past midnight.

The base’s sublevels hummed with quiet energy—most of the research teams were still hard at work, their dedication to their experiments stronger than any need for sleep.

The corpse storage room was stark and frigid, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

On the examination table lay the naked bodies of Ian and Skylight, their pallid forms marked by crude autopsy stitches.

Ian’s torso bore jagged incisions, poorly sewn together, leaving his body a grotesque patchwork.

Lyra’s lips curled into a faint sneer. ’Typical. The military can’t resist cutting up hybrids like lab rats. Who knows how much they’ve already ruined?’

Shane watched uneasily as Lyra approached the bodies. Her demeanor shifted, the usual calm control replaced by an intensity he rarely saw.

Lyra raised her hand, fingers splayed, and the room filled with a strange, green glow. The light shimmered like a swarm of fireflies, swirling above the corpses before sinking into their still flesh.

Shane’s breath hitched as he saw their chests suddenly rise. His heart pounded. "Are they... coming back to life?"

Ian’s eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright with a sharp gasp, clutching his chest. "Argh! That hurts like hell!" His gaze landed on Lyra, and his expression twisted into fury. "You witch!"

Shane stumbled back, gripping the nearest surface for support as Ian’s voice rang out, seething with venom and raw pain.

"You sucked almost every ounce of life out of us," Ian snarled, his voice trembling with rage. "Just enough to keep a flicker alive. And then—what? You relight it? Right at the edge of death?"

Ian’s hands trembled as he recalled the agony of being dissected, fully conscious yet unable to move. The memory of scalpels carving through his flesh and organs made his stomach churn.

Skylight stirred beside him, sitting up slowly. Unlike Ian, his anger was muted, replaced by a cautious wariness.

Skylight locked eyes with Lyra, his voice calm but sharp. "You went to a lot of trouble to bring us back. What do you want, Miss Shedd?"

"For now? Nothing." Lyra gestured toward Shane. "Get them work permits and synthetic biomimetic masks."

Shane blinked, startled by the practicality of her command. Still, he nodded and moved to carry it out. ’She’s making them work? Using them like laborers? That’s... bold, even for her.’

Lyra glanced at the two men as Shane stepped away. "Too bad we don’t have a cosmetic surgeon on hand. It would’ve saved us the trouble of masks."

The masks would effectively disguise their identities, concealing them from military scrutiny. Lyra had no intention of letting the two use their powers openly; the risks were too great.

Still, even without their full capabilities, the two former Empire enforcers were assets that could be exploited.

Even hauling supplies or performing menial tasks would save resources—and Lyra was nothing if not resourceful.

Before leaving the room, Lyra leaned over both men, her hand glowing faintly. She implanted psychokinetic marks into their bodies, ensuring their compliance.

Skylight winced as the mark settled into his spine, while Ian spat curses, his pride stinging more than his body.

Shane observed in silence, his admiration for Lyra growing despite himself. ’She’s audacious, alright. Stealing these two out from under the military’s nose? That takes guts.’

Once the marks were set, Shane checked the time and gasped softly. "Boss, you’ve only got an hour left before your leave is up."

Lyra straightened, her demeanor unruffled. The two-day leave she’d earned for her role in the recent invasion had been rare, and she intended to make the most of what remained.

With one last glance at the subdued Skylight and Ian, she turned to leave.

As she walked away, a faint smirk crossed her lips. ’Not bad for two days.’

Lyra gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, her sharp gaze pinning Skylight and Ian in place. "From this moment on, forget who you were. If you so much as think about disloyalty, death will be the kindest option you’ll get."

With those chilling words, she turned sharply and strode down the corridor. Halfway through, her lips curled into a cold smirk, and her pace quickened, as if the matter was already beneath her consideration.

*****

In the sterile, dimly lit room they’d been left in, Ian writhed on the operating table, his teeth clenched in agony.

Around his neck, a glowing green collar shimmered faintly, a suppressor designed to crush any attempt to access his black hole abilities.

"That witch!" Ian snarled, his voice strained as he pushed against the collar’s crushing restraints. Veins bulged on his neck, his face reddened with the effort to summon even a flicker of his power.

"Stop it, Ian!" Skylight hurried to his side, gripping his shoulders. "You’ll kill yourself if you keep pushing it. Pull your power back!"

Ian’s eyes fluttered as his strength waned. "I... have to get you out of here," he rasped.

A small, flickering black dot appeared in his palm, barely the size of a pinhead. But the collar’s green light surged violently, extinguishing the spark in an instant.

Ian’s body convulsed once before going limp, his head lolling to the side.

Skylight quickly checked his pulse, his shoulders sagging with relief when he found it still faintly beating. Ian was alive—barely.

Moments later, the door slid open with a quiet hiss, and Shane entered, carrying two synthetic biomimetic masks. He placed them on the nearby counter with a casual grin. "Better cooperate. SHE doesn’t give second chances. But, if you follow the rules, things won’t be too bad."

Skylight looked up, his expression skeptical. "You sound awfully comfortable in her shadow. Let me guess—you’re the poster boy for loyalty?"

Shane smirked, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hardly. Before this, I ran a crew of space pirates."

The admission caught Skylight off guard. He studied Shane more carefully, noting the impeccable appearance: a crisp white shirt, tailored black slacks, and an air of polished confidence.

Yet beneath that clean-cut exterior, Skylight sensed something sharp and dangerous—a blade hidden in a velvet sheath.

"Believe it or not," Shane continued, his tone almost smug, "most of HER people aren’t exactly saints... Oh, except for Debbie. She’s a civilian. Every one of us used to be in... let’s say, morally ambiguous professions. Former gang leaders, mercenaries, space pirates—you name it." He chuckled darkly. "With your skills, you might climb the ladder here faster than you did as a Rear Admiral."

Skylight stiffened but couldn’t suppress a bitter laugh. ’Rear Admiral to fugitive... now this. Life really does love its ironies.’

"Not like we have any better options," Skylight muttered, more to himself than Shane.

After helping Ian put on the biomimetic mask, Skylight followed Shane to their new quarters.

*****

"This block is reserved for key personnel," Shane explained as they stepped into a well-secured area of the facility. "You’re free to leave, but only with an authorized escort. Stick to the rules, and you’ll be fine."

After detailing the facility’s regulations, Shane gave Skylight a light pat on the shoulder. "Good luck. You’re gonna need it."

As Shane walked away, Skylight mulled over the unspoken confidence in Lyra’s setup.

Despite the lack of physical confinement, he knew they weren’t truly free. He could feel the faint hum of the psychokinetic mark Lyra had embedded in his mind, a constant reminder of her control.

Still, Shame couldn’t help marveling at her audacity. ’This is what real power looks like.’

******

The next morning, Ian stirred in bed, his eyes dull as they stared at the ceiling. "I’ve dragged you into this mess," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "You could’ve gone back to the Empire... but now—"

"Don’t start," Skylight interrupted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "We’re in this together. I’ve already given too much to the Empire. If protecting you means swallowing my pride, then so be it."

Ian’s gaze hardened slightly. "You’re serious about working for that woman?"

Skylight nodded. "For once, Ian, we need to live for ourselves. Not as pawns. Lyra’s team might not be paradise, but it’s better than dying for the Empire or Stellar Devourers. This is freedom, even if it’s a small taste of it."

"I hate this!" Ian snapped, his hands balling into fists. His voice trembled with a mix of anger and fear. "But... if you’re staying, I’ll follow."

After a moment of silence, Ian added, "There’s one condition."

Skylight arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Ian hesitated, then muttered, "Lyra has business at Voidstar No. 2, doesn’t she? When the time comes, ask her to let us go there."

"Voidstar?" Skylight frowned, suspicious. "What are you planning?"

Ian’s eyes flickered with a faint desperation. "It’s our best shot at real freedom. If we can make it there..." He trailed off, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’ll even beg her if I have to."

The word "beg" carried so much bitterness that Skylight almost laughed. But seeing the raw determination in Ian’s eyes, he simply sighed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"We’ll see how far this road takes us."

Chapter 274: He’s My Adjutant

When Lyra returned to the military base, her life settled into a mix of tension and monotony.

Every day, the looming threat of an attack from the Empire kept everyone on edge. Yet, the routine of drills and constant preparations left little time for anything else, making the days blur together.

Two nights after her return, Lyra wrapped up an exhausting training session.

The hour was late, and the base was quiet as she trudged back to her quarters. On the way, she crossed paths with Cohen, who was just finishing his own exercises.

"Perfect timing," he said, falling into step with her. "I need to talk to you about something."

They walked together toward the dormitory, the cool night air clinging to their fatigues.

"With your performance in this campaign, you’re guaranteed a promotion once your merits are processed," Cohen began matter-of-factly. "You’ll be jumping at least three ranks, which means you’ll command a full regiment. You’ll need to appoint an adjutant and a clerk. Do you have anyone in mind?"

Lyra’s battlefield success was impossible to ignore. She’d earned more than a dozen first-class and special commendations, even with efforts to downplay her achievements. Her promotion to Lieutenant Commander was a mere formality at this point.

The weight of her new responsibilities wasn’t lost on her. A regiment meant command over three battalions—nearly two thousand soldiers. It was a serious role, one she’d take head-on.

"I just need people who are ready to put their lives on the line," she said, her tone sharp with conviction.

Cohen smirked knowingly. "I figured you’d say that. I’ll assign you the vanguard regiment: one mech battalion and two fighter jet battalions. They’ll suit your style."

"Perfect."

As for selecting her adjutant and clerk, Lyra had the choice to hand-pick her team or accept pre-approved candidates. She shrugged off the decision for now. "I’ll figure it out."

By the time they reached the dormitory, the base had slipped into a deep hush. Energy-saving lights cast faint halos down dim corridors, leaving long stretches of shadow.

It was in one of these pockets of darkness that their sharp senses picked up a low, ugly exchange.

"You’re really playing hard to get? Just let me check that body of yours!" The man’s voice oozed malice.

"Let go of me!" came the trembling reply, fury barely restrained in the younger soldier’s voice.

The older man sneered. "Don’t make me lose my patience. If you keep resisting, I’ll strip you of your rank. Do you really think I won’t?"

The struggle became more audible. The younger man’s defiance was clear as faint flickers of blue energy lit up around him, only to be crushed under the older man’s gravity superpower. Forced to the ground, the younger soldier gasped for air, his glare unwavering.

The older man leered over him, his voice full of twisted satisfaction. "You’ve been cast out by the royal family. You’re nothing here but a stray dog. Stay with me, and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded."

He began fumbling with his belt, the sound of the buckle slicing through the tension in the hallway. But before he could move further, a sharp, sardonic voice cut through the air.

"Well, this is a first," Lyra drawled, arms crossed, her gaze like a blade. "A live male-on-male scene in the hallway. And to think I’m stuck watching this with Cohen."

The older man—Orson Whyte—froze mid-motion. The younger soldier’s tense body loosened slightly, and a flicker of dark amusement played across his face.

"Lyra," Orson growled, his voice a low warning. "This is none of your business. Walk away now, and I won’t hold it against you."

Lyra raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. "Wow, territorial much? I didn’t realize you were this possessive about your dirty work."

A cold tension filled the air as another guy stepped out of the shadows. Cohen’s calm, commanding presence sent a chill down the corridor. His sharp gaze swept over the scene, taking in every damning detail.

Orson stiffened, letting go of the younger man as if burned. In his rush, his pants snapped back into place with an awkward noise that echoed in the stillness.

"Uncle Orson," Cohen said, his tone cutting and icy. "Report to my father immediately. Take whatever punishment he deems fit. Now."

Orson hesitated for only a brief moment before slipping back into his polished, aloof demeanor. He adjusted his sleeves with deliberate care, the Vice Admiral insignia on his shoulder catching what little light the corridor offered.

"Cohen, don’t blow this out of proportion," he said, his tone casual and faintly condescending. "Things like this are common in the military. No need to take it so seriously."

Cohen’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, his icy gaze sharpened. His voice was cutting as he replied, "Disciplines are disciplines. Please adhere to it."

Were it anyone else, Cohen would just drag him straight to the command center for formal disciplinary action.

Even this restrained rebuke made Orson bristle with discomfort. His lips twitched in irritation before he masked it with a tight smile. After a moment, he adjusted his sleeves again, feigning indifference.

"Very well. I will comply," Orson said flatly. He cast a brief glance at Lyra before turning on his heel and walking off into the shadows.

The tension in the corridor eased slightly as Orson disappeared, though the weight of the moment lingered.

Slowly, Aurelius pushed himself to his feet. His movements were deliberate, his hands brushing dust from his uniform with a precision. He was trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

Aurelius tried to sound indifferent, but the slight tremor in his hands and the tightly pressed line of his lips betrayed the storm of humiliation roiling inside him.

Aurelius had endured endless mockery and scorn before being cast out of the royal family.

Now, as a soldier, he found himself humiliated further—this time by a superior officer. And to make matters worse, the whole sordid scene had unfolded before Lyra and Cohen, two of the most respected figures in the military.

Feeling ashamed, Aurelius wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Cohen stood stiffly, at a loss for words. Despite his commanding presence, he struggled to offer comfort in a situation like this. He had no idea what he could say that wouldn’t sound hollow?

Lyra’s gaze shifted to Aurelius, her eyes sharp and appraising. He froze under her scrutiny, his fists clenching at his sides as if bracing for a cutting remark.

Lyra’s words were brisk and unexpected.

"Captain Whyte," she said, addressing Cohen without looking away from Aurelius, "if you’re helping him, finish the job. Assign him to me as my adjutant."

Her tone left no room for argument; it wasn’t a request.

Cohen blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before nodding. "Very well," he said simply.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aurelius felt a flicker of something he had nearly forgotten: hope.

The next day, Cohen dug into Legion Glory’s official incident reports, scanning for any mention of Orson’s misconduct.

As expected, there was nothing.

No surprise there—Orson’s casual dismissal of the matter had already suggested an attempt to bury it. With confirmation in hand, Cohen headed straight for Frederick’s office.

Standing at the door, Cohen’s posture was sharp and unyielding.

Chuck, lounging nearby with his usual easy demeanor, waved him forward. "Relax, kid. We’re family. No need to be so stiff."

Cohen didn’t budge, his disciplined stance unwavering.

Chuck shrugged, muttering, "This one’s always so serious."

Frederick, seated behind his desk, looked up briefly. "Come in," he said curtly.

Cohen stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he saluted. "Last night, I witnessed Vice Admiral Orson Whyte assaulting a subordinate," he said, his voice steady and precise. "The evidence is irrefutable, and I’m here to formally report the incident."

Chuck choked, coughing violently at the blunt delivery, but neither Cohen nor Frederick acknowledged him. Their eyes remained locked, a battle of will in silence.

Frederick responded after a moment, his tone cool and measured. "This matter was addressed last night. Vice Admiral Whyte accepted his punishment and received appropriate disciplinary action."

Cohen’s jaw tightened. "Then why wasn’t it formally documented?"

His gaze was sharp, unwavering in its pursuit of justice. But Frederick’s expression hardened ever so slightly.

"This matter does not require further discussion," Frederick said firmly, lowering his gaze back to the reports on his desk.

Cohen stared, disbelief washing over him. His father was the man he had idolized all his life. Cohen couldn’t believe that Frederick just dismissed such a grave offense so lightly?

Before Cohen could press further, Chuck stepped in, gripping his shoulder and dragging him out into the hallway.

"I don’t get it," Cohen said, his voice low but strained. He gripped the window frame tightly, staring out at the base. "Is it really so difficult to handle this properly? Publicly?"

"It’s not difficult," Chuck replied, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked into his pockets. "But if Orson goes down publicly, so will a dozen others. And when that chain reaction starts, how do you think the rank-and-file will view us? The ones supposed to lead them?"

Chuck smirked bitterly, his gaze steady as Cohen’s resolve flickered. "Don’t tell me you think Orson’s the only one," he added mockingly.

 

Chapter 275: Cohen and Lyra?

Chuck had always been the black sheep of the Whyte family—a slacker who seemed content to drift through life while his family thrived on discipline and ambition. But in this rare moment, Cohen found himself begrudgingly agreeing with Chuck’s pragmatic outlook.

Cohen had spent his military career far removed from the murkier depths of military politics. He focused on his duties, maintaining strict discipline among his subordinates and avoiding the scandals he had only heard about in hushed whispers.

On Wyrmtrace, his command was tight and clean, the kind of unit where even the smallest infraction would be swiftly dealt with.

Yet, during the recent Legion Glory reunion, he had been thrust face-first into a reality he couldn’t ignore.

"This is so unfair to the victims," Cohen muttered, his voice low, but filled with frustration.

Chuck leaned against the wall, his usual air of laziness giving way to something sharper. "And what would fairness even look like?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly somber. "Unless Orson loses his command entirely, nothing will truly change."

Cohen’s jaw tightened. Stripping a Vice Admiral of their authority was practically unthinkable—an action reserved for egregious offenses, the kind committed by someone like Ansel, whose crimes were too monstrous to overlook.

As much as Cohen hated to admit it, Chuck’s assessment was painfully accurate.

Chuck shrugged and continued, "Fairness only exists when both sides have equal power. When one side has all the authority, the weaker party is always at a disadvantage."

Cohen remained silent, the weight of those words settling over him.

"You want justice? Then climb higher. Your father, as the Fleet Admiral, has to think beyond just right and wrong. He has to balance the entire system. One day, when you’re in his position, you’ll understand." Chuck gave Cohen a light pat on the shoulder and walked off, his usual carefree attitude slipping back into place.

The sheer scale of Legion Glory made the conversation hit harder.

With over twenty Rear Admirals and countless officers beneath them, scandals were inevitable. Even Frederick, the fourth-generation leader of the Legion, couldn’t exert full control over such a sprawling organization.

Yet Chuck had been right about something else too—Frederick was grooming Cohen for leadership, preparing him to shoulder this immense responsibility. The question was: could Cohen accept the compromises that came with it?

For a long moment, Cohen stood there, unmoving. Finally, he took a step he’d never dared before, using his special privileges to access the Legion’s disciplinary records.

What he found shattered what remained of his faith in the system.

Orson, the perpetrator of the vile incident, had received nothing more than a formal warning. For someone of his rank, it was a meaningless gesture—a token punishment to sweep the matter under the rug.

Meanwhile, Orson remained as smug as ever.

When he heard that Cohen had entrusted Lyra with his "prey," Orson almost laughed out.

"So young, so naive," he muttered under his breath before making a series of calls. With confidence in his every step, he went directly to Frederick’s office.

"Sir, I propose that Lyra take command of the X21 Vanguard Regiment," Orson declared, his tone righteous and his posture stiff with faux dignity.

Across the room, Chuck sipped his coffee, barely masking his disdain for Orson’s theatrics. His eyes followed every calculated move Chuck made, his expression one of faint, amused contempt.

Frederick’s gaze remained steady as he listened. "Cohen intends to assign Lyra to his command," he replied curtly.

Cohen’s division was a powerhouse—a well-oiled unit of five regiment and a Special Forces team, filled with soldiers he had personally vetted and trained.

Recently, one of his Lieutenant Commanders had been promoted and reassigned, leaving a vital vacancy Cohen planned to fill with Lyra. Her battlefield prowess made her the perfect fit.

But Orson dismissed the idea with a casual wave of his hand. "With all due respect, sir, I think Cohen should maintain his distance from her. Women like Lyra often have ulterior motives. Besides, their personalities clash. They’re like two monarchs in a chess game—both vying for control. Who’s to say whose hands Legion Glory will ultimately end up in?"

Frederick didn’t reply immediately. His face remained impassive as Orson continued to press his point before finally retreating with a self-satisfied smirk.

Once the door shut behind him, Frederick wasted no time. He contacted three other Vice Admirals, proposing that Lyra be reassigned to their command instead. Each one declined, their excuses vague and transparent. Words like "unsuitability" and "logistical challenges" littered their responses, but the underlying truth was clear: none of them wanted Lyra.

When the final call ended, Frederick’s face darkened.

As the final communication line cut off, Frederick’s face darkened, his expression a storm of suppressed frustration. Chuck, leaning casually nearby, sighed as if resigned to the inevitable.

"He’s already coordinated with the others," Chuck remarked. "Even if you force Lyra into their command, they can still shuffle her around through internal transfers. She won’t escape their grasp."

The Legion Glory was a delicate balance of power. The four Vice Admirals collectively commanded nearly a million soldiers, while Frederick himself held authority over 800,000.

If those Vice Admirals ever sought independence, even without the full loyalty of their troops, they could fragment the Legion enough to undermine Frederick’s command.

Especially in this state of wartime emergency, Frederick had to tread carefully.

Soon after, orders were finalized and sent out.

*****

The rapid clatter of approaching footsteps broke the heavy silence outside the office.

Chuck glanced at Frederick’s tense expression, then set his coffee down and went to intercept the newcomer.

"You won’t accomplish anything by barging in there," Chuck warned, blocking the door. "Don’t make a scene."

"Father, you’re forcing her into this!" Cohen’s voice, uncharacteristically loud and full of emotion, broke through.

For the first time, Chuck saw his usually composed nephew in complete disarray. Cohen had never referred to Frederick as "father" within the military before.

"If you need her to fight the Stellar Devourer," Cohen continued in a furious rush, "why are you sacrificing her to power games?" His outburst drew the attention of passing officers who glanced toward the scene, wide-eyed. It was rare to see Cohen this agitated.

Chuck struggled to restrain Cohen, eventually managing to pull him aside. "You have to trust your father. He’ll find another way."

Cohen’s glare bore into the closed office doors, his frustration palpable. Then, with a sharp turn, he stormed away, his white cape flaring behind him like a banner of unyielding conviction.

His ideals, pure and uncompromising, would not bend to political machinations.

*****

Inside the office, Cohen sat in brooding silence for a long time before he regained his composure. The tension hung in the air until a soft knock broke through.

Mandy stepped in.

"Captain," she said with quiet determination, "I have a request."

"You want to return to her side?" Cohen asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

"Yes," Mandy affirmed, her expression resolute. "It was Lyra’s and my agreement. I vowed to become her strongest ally, her right hand."

Cohen’s lips tightened. "Do you realize she’s already made Aurelius her adjutant? Adjutants are limited to two per commander. How can you be so sure that you’ll be chosen?

Mandy hesitated for a fraction of a second but then broke into a confident smile. "I may not become her adjutant, but she’ll leave a place for me. The one most suited to my abilities."

Cohen was momentarily taken aback, his mind flickering to the memory of Lyra’s unwavering determination. Cold as she was, her sheer resolve drew people to her.

Perhaps that was her true strength—her ability to inspire loyalty through her clarity of purpose.

"Fine," Cohen finally said. "Once her reassignment is complete, you can go." He stood abruptly, a decision crystallizing in his mind. He wanted to see her for himself.

When Cohen arrived, the orders for Lyra’s promotion and reassignment to lead the X21 Vanguard Regiment had just been finalized.

Aurelius, still adjusting to the new reality, looked as though he had been handed a cruel twist of fate.

Earlier, he had celebrated his escape from one harsh posting, only to find himself thrown back into an even harsher one.

"Why won’t HE leave me alone?" Aurelius grumbled, his handsome features twisted into a scowl.

Slumping onto a bench in the base’s training field, he clutched his head, staring blankly into the distance like a man on the verge of breaking.

"Facing someone like HIM again, I’d rather die." His voice was low and bitter, the words escaping like a curse.

Lyra, standing nearby, shot him a cold glance. "If you’re ready to die, why not take your enemies down with you first?"

Her sharp retort cut through Aurelius’ self-pity. Despite his despair, his bitterness didn’t mask his stubborn will. "I won’t die," he said through gritted teeth. "Not until I’ve dealt with them all. Even if I have to grovel, I’ll survive."

"Don’t forget," Lyra said icily, "you’re my subordinate now."

Aurelius stiffened. The woman standing before him bore no resemblance to the younger, greener version he had met during the AMAT campaign. Her face, now hardened and defined, reflected only cold ambition and unshakable confidence.

When Cohen arrived, this was the Lyra he saw—a woman who no longer needed protection or concern. His worries, he realized, had been completely unnecessary.