The room was silent, darkened by thick velvet drapes and lit only by the flicker of crimson projection flames. The throne, carved from obsidian and etched with the sigils of the Vir Empire, sat like a ghost at the center.
Upon it, in full silhouette, rested King Laco—the unseen monarch of Vokar-17, ruler of the Lilliput star system.
The air was dense.
A Zypherian officer, trembling before the throne, knelt with his head bowed.
"Your Majesty… our eastern forces… have fallen."
The silence cracked. Then—
A crackling sound echoed as the king's gloved fingers crushed the goblet in his hand, crimson liquid dripping like blood onto the black stone floor.
"Two… thousand…"
His voice came out like a venom-laced whisper.
"Defeated by one Verdalian."
Moments later, inside the Strategic War Chamber, ten holograms blinked into existence—each bearing the form of a royal figure from the ten planetary thrones of the Liliput star system.
Queen Astell of Zelkaris, veiled in metallic silver, flanked by Zypherian guards.King Tharnox of ShadraxQueen Velna of Myra , armored and beastlike.And others—each one ruling a fractured, weakened world.
Laco stood before them, his shadow long and pointed.
"The Verdalians have landed. The rebellion has aligned with them. My eastern division is in ruins."
The royals exchanged tense glances.
"Then what do you propose, Laco?" asked Queen Astell.
He turned toward a glowing vault panel and raised his hand.
"We activate the Grade Two Android Units—across all ten planets. No more restraint."
Gasps echoed across the holograms.
"But those are meant for outer defense—planetary war," said Duke Yallven.
"This is war," Laco snarled.
"Verdalians and rebels have formed a trinity. Liberation Army led by Arco. Scorched Branch under Rovin. Eyrvaks with Targan. Crush all three."
He stared down the projections, each one now showing planetary unrest, flickering protest banners, and destroyed outposts.
"Burn their strongholds. Kill their leaders. Silence their people. I want them erased."
In a dim chamber below the citadel, massive containment pods lined the walls—Grade Two Androids within them—sleek, black, and spiked with weapons of quantum fire, plasma blades, and anti-psionic fields.
As an engineer input the activation codes, a voice announced:
"Unit-001 to 500… Fully Operational."
Somewhere, deep within the wires of war, the engines of extinction awakened.
The sky above Zelkaris was a thick, rust-colored haze. Pollution hung like a shroud, choking both land and breath. Beneath it, a single advanced desert vehicle sliced through the cracked terrain, weaving between blackened rock formations and abandoned extraction zones.
At the wheel sat a Zypherian—a towering figure, red-skinned with six powerful arms, four eyes, and scaled armor marked by burn scars. His name: Quorrax, a courier and scout for the underground network of rebels hiding in the city's outer sectors.
He glanced at the radar panel. The signal from Hidden Plaza still pulsed—barely.
"Almost there…" he muttered, voice distorted under a respirator.
Suddenly—ping. ping. ping.
Red dots flared across the scanner.
"Damn it."
Three shapes burst from the dusty horizon—androids, gliding on black anti-grav plates, their weapons already charging. The first blast struck the ground ahead, tossing dust and plasma skyward. Quorrax swerved hard, dodging another bolt by inches.
But then—a fourth android appeared directly above.
"Too close—!"
The plasma cannon fired, and with a deafening shriek, Quorrax's vehicle exploded, flipping into the sand.
He rolled free—bruised, coughing, but alive. The androids closed in fast, beams charging.
He growled, raised his bladed gauntlets, and fought.
One down. A second slashed. But the third and fourth struck him hard in the back, knocking him to one knee.
He coughed blood, glaring defiantly.
"I won't die to machines."
Just as the final blow came—a blur shot from the side, wrapped in green motion and shimmering speed.
A new Zypherian—taller, cloaked, four glowing eyes hidden in shadow—landed between them with a thunderous impact. In a blur of six-armed strikes, all four androids fell—their heads severed, their power cores gutted, and their limbs shattered.
The dust cleared. The figure stepped into the light.
"A-Arco…" Quorrax gasped.
Standing tall and quiet, Arco, the Leader of the Liberation Army, nodded once.
Despite his age, his build was powerful—an elder Zypherian warrior, battle-worn and stoic. Across his chest glimmered the Ember Sigil, the symbol of Zypherian resistance.
More fighters emerged from the canyon—rebels, engineers, and medics. They quickly surrounded the crash site, scanning for threats and helping Quorrax to his feet.
"You're late," Quorrax muttered with a faint smile.
"And you're reckless," Arco replied, voice dry. "You risked your life for a signal."
"I had to. We couldn't afford to lose contact with Hidden Plaza."
Arco nodded solemnly. His eyes scanned the hills.
"The androids are no longer patrols. They're hunters. That means we move now."
He turned to the gathered soldiers—dozens of red-skinned Zypherians, some armed with stolen imperial gear, others with only makeshift armor and passion in their eyes.
"Listen," Arco said, his voice rising with command.
"The corrupted Zypherian royal family, led by Laco, is selling our entire star system to the Vir Empire. They call it unity. But we know better. They are trading our skies, our people, our legacy—for androids, weapons, and empty power."
The soldiers murmured angrily.
"But not all Zypherians bend to tyranny. The Scorched Branch, the Eyrvaks, and now—the Verdalians—stand with us. We fight not just for survival. We fight to reclaim what is ours."
He unsheathed his weapon—a six-bladed glaive, humming with red and green energy.
"Tonight, we execute Phase One of Operation Reclaim. We take the defense grid of Hidden Plaza. We sabotage the Vir listening tower. And we remind them—Zypherians do not kneel."
The desert wind howled, carrying with it the embers of rebellion.
Under the burning orange sky, dust clouds swirled as the two figures stood opposed—Jigo, the silent muscle of the Verdalian fleet, and Kroouch, the ruthless lower B-class Zypherian commander and brother of Roouch. Energy pulsed around them in rippling shockwaves.
Jigo stood tall, wrapped in thick, armor-enhanced robes lined with green-tinged steel. His silver hair shimmered, framing his green-skinned face etched with years of battle. His hands glowed, crackling with Fantom Arts of Red—a rare Verdalian energy discipline focused on pure force.
Across from him, Kroouch snarled, six muscular arms extended, ready to strike. His body was covered in heavy royal-grade armor, each movement calculated and brutal. Around him coiled the sinister smoke of Fantom Arts of Black—the signature of his rank and ruthlessness.
"You Verdalians really are everywhere now," Kroouch spat.
"Your kind should've stayed in your forests."
Jigo cracked his neck.
"And you should've stayed in your king's shadow."
With a roar, the two lunged.
Their Fantom energies clashed—red against black, power against precision. Shockwaves shattered the rock formations around them. Kroouch spun, launching a multi-limbed flurry of dark strikes. Jigo blocked with glowing forearms and countered with a Fantom shockwave, sending the Zypherian skidding across the ground.
Dozens of soldiers from both sides backed away, shielding their eyes from the light and heat. This wasn't a battle—it was a verdict. A declaration of who would define the future of Vokar-17.
Captain Shin stood before a vast digital war map, surrounded by officers, technicians, and Verdalian soldiers. Holograms of the remaining captains flickered into view—each stationed across the 10 planets of the Liliput Star System.
Shin's voice was calm—but resolute.
"We've received confirmed data. Our commander, Jason Amberdenk, has defeated an elite unit of 2,000 Zypherian royal soldiers in the Upper Eastern Sector."
The officers stiffened.
"He risked his life to protect a dying Zypherian rebel—Mek'lar, former general of the Scorched Branch. His actions speak clearly."
He stepped forward, eyes locked with the captains' holograms.
"Jason has made a decision. So must we."
The silence was thick—until Shin broke it:
"As of this moment, we are no longer neutral aid. We are allied—with the rebellion."
Gasps echoed in the room.
"This is now a military and humanitarian realignment. All ongoing relief distribution operations are to cease. Every ship will redirect."
He turned to his comms officer.
"Encrypt a new directive in Verdalian Code 7-Frost. Destination: Narlak's Maw—the current hideout of Rovin, leader of the Scorched Branch. This is to be shared with all 29 ships."
Rom, standing nearby, gave a nod of approval.
"It's the only place they can regroup before the empire retaliates," he said quietly.
Captain Shin looked once more at the burning sky on the ship's display.
"Verdalia stands for life, not conquest. And if that means war… so be it."
Outside, the battle between Jigo and Kroouch raged on.
And in the stars above, 29 ships began to turn—all toward one place:
Narlak's Maw.