The sun of Vokar-17 was barely visible, its light choked by thick ash clouds. The upper eastern zone lay shattered—charred structures, crushed terrain, and blackened corpses of the Scorched Branch rebels who once held the line.
A crimson flag fluttered in the smoky wind—marking the zone as claimed by the Vir Empire.
On the ground, 2,000 Zypherian royal soldiers marched in a V-formation, their boots crunching ash and char. Their red six-limbed bodies moved in practiced sync, rifles slung over their shoulders, scanners glowing faintly from head-mounted visors.
"Sector 9B clear! No signs of Mek'lar!" one of the scout captains shouted, voice sharp through the comms.
Another soldier snarled, "This damn fog... That verdalian freak could be anywhere."
Commander Vakk, an Upper C-Class Zypherian, stood on a twisted pillar of stone, watching the horizon.
He growled into his communicator:
"Three days ago, we wiped the Scorched Branch from this sector. Mek'lar alone escaped. And now we've got another ghost—a green-skinned Verdalian who disabled an entire android platoon. This is no coincidence."
He turned to his second, Sergeant Vakk, "Issue full area sweep. All units are to move in 6-soldier squads. I want checkpoints every 300 meters. If you find anything—Verdalian tech, rebel insignia, blood—you report it."
"Understood, commander."
The soldiers spread like wildfire across the terrain—climbing ruined towers, marching through cracked roads, probing ravines with thermal scans.
Unknown to them, Jason Amberdenk and Mek'lar, though battered and bruised, watched silently from the cavern mouth tucked between two collapsed mining towers, their breathing shallow.
"They're looking for us," Mek'lar whispered.
Jason nodded. "They'll keep coming. But we're not running."
A glint of resolve flashed in Jason's silver eyes.
He checked the charge in his plasma blade—low, but enough for one good fight.
"Verdalians don't start wars. But we sure as hell finish them."
Twenty-six Verdalian ships broke through the choking cloud cover, each one splitting away into different warp vectors—flying towards the other nine planets in the Liliput Star System. Their green-and-silver hulls glowed softly before cloaking themselves in stealth mode, avoiding Vir Empire scanners.
But three ships remained in orbit above Vokar-17, hovering silently like predators holding breath—Ship 1 (Lead), Ship 11, and Ship 20.
Inside Ship 1, the command room pulsed with tension.
Captain Shin, standing before a glowing tactical holo-map, addressed the gathered officers.
"The alliance with both Eyrvaks and Scorched Branch is secured. Now, we move. We escort these three ships to Rovin's deep hideout—the Verdalian way: swift, silent, and unyielding."
As Shin activated Phase-II Cloaking Protocol, a tremor shook the ship.
"Impact detected!" shouted Navigator Lina.
The ship shook again—this time from an external energy field slamming into the cloaking net. Outside, the clouds parted.
Dozens of crimson and obsidian ships formed a blockade around them.
From the lead Zypherian dreadnought, Commander Kroouch stepped forward, his four glowing red eyes scanning the Verdalian fleet from afar.
"You think you can escape with our rebels under your wing?" Kroouch boomed, amplified across frequencies. "Verdalia has made its move. I will erase it."
Inside the lead ship, Shin's tone hardened.
"Jigo. Time."
The main bay doors opened.
Out walked Captain Jigo, the lower B-class warrior, the muscle of the fleet. Towering, silent, veins pulsing with deep red light, he stepped into the airlock and launched into the sky—arms glowing with Fantom Arts of Red.
As he ascended through the ozone-tinged smoke, crimson energy erupted from his fists, forming jagged spirals that ripped through enemy drones and pierced the forward Zypherian guard ships.
"Verdalia stands for peace," Jigo growled, "But not without strength."
Kroouch responded, leaping from his own command vessel. His six arms spread, each tracing the sigils of Fantom Arts of Black, a rare corrupted art known only to elite warriors of the empire.
"I'll sever your energy from the void itself."
Black arcs slashed across the sky, cutting through the red. The two energies met—red flame against black void, a shockwave pulsing across the heavens, blinding lights flashing like two stars colliding.
Below, Rom stood with rebel envoys from Eyrvaks and Scorched Branch, watching the sky shimmer with explosions.
"With Verdalia by our side," Rom said, his voice steady, "This time—we win."
The polluted wind howled through the broken terrain. Charred corpses of androids lay scattered, their mechanical insides still sizzling with leftover electric hums. The air was dense, choking, and toxic. Even a Verdalian could barely breathe.
Jason Amberdenk, sweat pouring down his green forehead, coughed violently as he staggered forward—supporting Mek'lar, who limped beside him.
A sudden hum echoed behind them.
An android assassin, armed with a twin-barrel plasma gun, emerged from the ash, targeting Jason's back. It locked on.
Beep. Beep.
Jason turned, eyes calm, and unsheathed his sword—a blade humming with unstable energy.
"You missed your chance."
With a snap of his wrist, Jason activated Fantom Arts of Black, and a raven-like streak of dark energy sliced through the air, exploding the android into shimmering debris.
Metal clanked.
Behind the smoke, the Zypherian elite Sergeant Vakk stood tall—his body armored in plated crimson steel, four arms folded, the other two gripping long shock-lances. His red eyes glowed.
"Impressive. But you're just one man."
He raised his arms—and a roar echoed across the zone. From behind ridges, valleys, and cliffs, nearly 2,000 Zypherian royal soldiers marched forward, their formation relentless, blood banners raised.
Vakk smirked and bellowed:
"Verdalian, Face your fate! You will drown in our numbers."
Jason looked at the waves of soldiers. The air shimmered with heat. The sky overhead still glowed faintly from Jigo and Kroouch's battle.
Mek'lar, still slouched behind a boulder, whispered hoarsely:
"Run, Verdalian... You can't win this."
Jason laughed. A calm, eerie, fearless laugh. He glanced at the old man.
"They started this war... I'll be the one to finish it."
He stepped forward.
The wind picked up. The earth seemed to pulse with energy beneath his boots. His silver hair fluttered wildly as he raised his sword again—no longer just a weapon, but a beacon of rebellion.
He sprinted forward, alone, toward an army.
"Charge!" screamed Vakk.
The 2,000 Zypherian troops surged toward Jason like a tsunami of war.
And Jason, the lone Verdalian warrior, dove headfirst into the wave—a fire within the void, his sword slicing red and black arcs across the battlefield, a storm unleashed.
Above them all, the stars bore silent witness as a legend took its first breath.