After seizing control over one-fourth of the Btell planet by land and dominating half of its skies, the invaders known as the Plazies forced a major turning point in Btell's history. Half of Btell's population, weary, overwhelmed, and outmatched, surrendered to their rule. The Plazies were formidable beings hailing from the distant planet Elizes. They resembled humanoids in form, standing at an average height of 5'9", with tough, leathery brown skin that acted as a natural armor. Even the most advanced local weaponry, such as the 90mg Propeller Gun , from my planet couldn't pierce their resilient exterior.
These creatures required only the drinkable waters of Btell to fuel their space-faring missions and maintain their biological systems. With this minimal dependency, they quickly rooted themselves into the planet's ecosystem. As time passed, a division formed among the Btellians one half chose resistance, becoming a rebellious force fighting to reclaim their home, while the other half submitted, allying with the Plazies in a desperate bid for survival.
The Plazies, in turn, enslaved the obedient faction, exploiting their skills, knowledge, and resources. They plundered the planet's wealth, harnessed Btellian intelligence to advance their technologies, and molded the young into tools of their empire. From within this era of oppression and silent rebellion, I was born,forged not merely as a child of Btell, but as something more. I am Bjorn.
In a dim, grey-toned compartment of the spacecraft,one assigned strictly for the Btell humans,the air was thick with the scent of metal and alcohol. Ten of us sat strapped into our seats, each holding a bottle of cheap space-brew, trying to make the two-hour ride bearable. On the glass walls beside us, weapons and ammunition were neatly mounted, each slot marked with the name of its owner.
I stood alone, surrounded by the quiet hum of tangled wires and clunky systems, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of the portable drive. My job? Monitor the crew. Make sure no traitor slipped through. Plazies didn't trust anyone, not even their allies. And I was the watchdog.
Just as I started scanning through the database, one of the men Grimmer, half-drunk and slurring, called out to me.
Grimmer:
"Hey Bjorn, why can't you grow a beard? You look like a schoolboy with long legs and skin smoother than a newborn."
Bjorn:(dry, commanding)
"You're talking nonsense again, Grimmer. Inject some naline before you lose the ability to stand. The gravity on Elizes will snap your spine in half."
Pearce:(chuckling in a buzzed tone)
"First time flying to a new planet and I already feel like royalty. The Plazies treat me better than my own family."
Jeremy:(snorts)
"Better? They're demons in disguise. We bow down and serve because we have no choice."
Pearce:
"You're just bitter. They feed us, clothe us, protect us. Hell, they treat us like brothers."
Bjorn:(sarcastic)
"Yeah… brothers who only bring booze and look like they crawled out of the same gene pool. Real family, huh?"
A weird silence followed. My words twisted the air. The others looked at me sideways, unsure whether I was mocking the Plazies… or secretly siding with them. That's the thing about truth, when you dress it in sarcasm, it makes people nervous.
After securing the intel, I moved into the Plazie zone of the ship. Their compartment was cold, sterile, and quiet, metal panels a uniform shade of silver-grey, wires tucked in perfect grids, not a single thing out of place. I passed by their training area. Unlike us, who relied on firearms, Plazies trained their bodies like machines. They swung massive maces, long shafts with heavy spherical heads, spinning them in wide arcs above their heads like it was nothing.
One of them, Shegh, spotted me.
Shegh:(mocking grin)
"Hey Bjorn! Catch this! Come work out with us, tall boy. Being the tallest human ain't much of a flex, I could end you in ten punches."
All around him, the others roared in support of their training partners.
Plazies (chanting):
"You're not weak, brother. You're lazy. Push it! Push it! Push it!"
Then came Raj.
He was different. My closest Plazie friend. A genius with chemicals, broad-shouldered, muscled, and as tall as me. He crushed me in a hug, laughing as he looked past me.
Raj:
"So… how are your people doing? Still drunk or have they finally pumped some naline into their systems?"
Bjorn:(grimly)
"Their brains are still crawling. They're slaves here, no doubt. But even in their fog, they know there's no such thing as a future."
Raj:(quietly)
"Future? That's a myth, brother. If the Plazies didn't own you and me,even though me being a plazie, some other master would. Governments, warlords, each other… the truth is, we're all chained to something. But the only real chain is the one we can't break"
Bjorn:
"God?"
Raj:
"Exactly. The one who moves every gear in this machine we call the universe."
We kept talking—talking as if our words had power, as if by claiming there's an end to slavery and to this empire of infinite control, we could make it true. Foolish hope, maybe. But hope is the last thing you kill.
We finally arrived at the Chief Commander's control chamber. The place buzzed with energy—panels, gears, dials all designed for purposes I didn't even recognize. The entire ship was being operated by twelve Plazies and three humans from Btell, including me. As I handed over the latest reports—documents tracking both Plazie personnel and our people—the Commander glanced at them, then looked up. His scarred face twisted into a smirk that made the air go cold.
Commander:(interrogating tone)
"Bjorn."
Bjorn:(snapping his heel to the floor, voice sharp)
"Yes, Captain!"
Commander:
"Do you know why your kind—your Btell people—look almost identical to Plazies? Same structure. Same skin tone. Only your eye color and strength differ."
Bjorn:
"No, sir!"
Commander:(nodding slowly)
"That's why we mark your kind with the green belts. It's the only clear difference. Even our top scientists can't explain why you resemble us so closely. That... concerns me."
Before the silence turned heavier, Raj stepped forward and mimicked my salute. His voice was calm, but confident.
Raj:
"Captain, they may be from another planet, but their intellect is remarkable. They aren't inferior. They're different. Unique—like us, but in another way."
Commander:
"Unique or not, they are still outsiders. Inhabitants—guests on our land."
His words struck me like ice. I wasn't here to argue. I was here to work, safe, and under the roof the Plazies offered in exchange for our servitude. But that didn't make his words sting any less.
Just then, the ship's operator leaned in, voice sharp with urgency.
Operator (Plazie):
"Commander, urgent update."
Commander:(irritated)
"What is it now?"
Operator (Human):
"Our fuel levels won't get us to the destination. But we can land at Fierce Stadium to refuel."
Commander:(surprised, almost excited)
"Really? Then land there immediately! Bjorn, tell your men,they're about to witness a true Plazie battle."
As the Commander walked away, I leaned toward Raj.
Bjorn:(quietly)
"What is this place? What kind of battle?"
Raj:(grim)
"It's where two Plazies fight to the death. The loser… gets decapitated. Simple as that."
That twisted my stomach. We returned to our seats as the ship descended. My men, finally sobering, jabbed themselves with naline injections. It brought their senses back and flushed the alcohol out. The turbulence shook us hard, but within seconds, everything steadied.
When we stepped onto Elizes, the sensation was overwhelming. It felt like stepping into a dream, or a nightmare too polished to be real. Towering buildings sliced into the sky, but not too many. Most people lived in tall, clustered apartments like stacked colonies. The sky was copper-blue. Clean. Too clean.
The Commander ordered us to follow him to the stadium. On the way, I took in the alien but mesmerizing technology, no flying vehicles like those on Btell. AI was used sparingly here, only for essentials. Plazies didn't let machines take over everything. They trusted hands. Minds. Muscle.
Despite their strict regime, their faces carried no stress. No weight. They walked like people who'd already won their battles. Above all of it rose a palace with a golden dome, the Plazie flag fluttering high, marking the heart of their empire.
When we entered the stadium, eyes turned toward us. Not friendly. Not hostile. Just curious. Inside, the combat arena was sealed beneath an unbreakable glass floor, transparent for viewers, but indestructible even against high-caliber weapons. The match had already begun.
My fellow Plazie officers howled and roared, transformed into primal beings by the sight of violence. The match was intense. And then… the twist happened.
One of the fighters,the leaner one,moved differently.
Not like a Plazie.
His stance. His footwork. His strikes. They were familiar. He was using techniques that I'd only seen back home. Southern Btell-style combat, ancient, graceful, precise. It wasn't just his movement. His face… something about it sparked a memory. Even his aura felt Btellian. But no one else noticed.
After suffering heavy blows, he stood back up. The crowd exploded.
Crowd:
"Jurgen! Jurgen! Jurgen!"
He raised his fists, then sprinted. His opponent lifted a hand to block, but Jurgen moved like a ghost, fast, silent, ruthless. He landed a devastating uppercut to the chin, sending the other fighter flying eight feet backward.
I stood frozen.
A human? Here? Using ancient techniques on a Plazie battlefield?
My Commander and his officers cheered louder than ever. Not one of them suspected a thing. But I saw something in Jurgen they didn't. Something off.
Then came the final blow.
Jurgen lifted the ceremonial blade. His hand trembled for a moment. I saw hesitation in his eyes, southern Btell warriors never believed in killing. But then anger overtook him. He struck, and the blade sliced clean through his opponent's neck. The head soared like a tossed apple and thudded into the corner of the arena.
The crowd erupted.
But I stood still.
Because Jurgen… wasn't just another Plazie warrior.
He was one of us.
Or at least… he used to be.
He fought like a southern Btellian, movements steeped in our traditions, our discipline. Techniques that were never taught on Elizes. His strikes, his footwork, his finish, it was all ours. And yet no one else seemed to see it.
My Plazie commander and colleagues were roaring with joy, fists pumping in the air, their faces lit with excitement. Not a hint of suspicion. They cheered him on like a hero, an idol, a perfect warrior born of their own.
But I knew better.
Jurgen wasn't using Plazie combat.
He was using ours.
And that made my mind more chaotic than being horror.
After the battle ended, our commander approached me and Raj, his voice booming with excitement.
Commander(grinning wide):
"Why don't we bring him into our squad? That fighter, Jurgen, he belongs with us."
Raj(smiling eagerly):
"That's actually a great idea. If he joins, even Bjorn's crew might get honored. The government would grant us more status, finally."
Commander(tone dropping, serious):
"who said I care about their rewards? This is about us. With him, we'd be the most feared squad in the force."
He clapped Raj on the shoulder, dreaming of glory. But I wasn't listening anymore. His ambitions had cracked something open inside me. The moment I saw Jurgen's face, my memories began flooding back, swept in by the sandstorms of my past.
Cut to: Btell – Years Ago
Btell, once a thriving world, was now a desert graveyard. The Plazies had drained its drinkable water to fuel their ships, leaving only dust, dry wind, and burning skies. Sandstorms were frequent. No one walked without thick cloth across their face and heat-resistant goggles, eye wear invented by our people to survive in the storm. Even under Plazie rule, we were inventors. Survivors.
I was born into the Amethyte clan, a once-powerful tribe known for mastering intellect, combat, and chemical science. My father, Erik Neumann, was our clan head. He was tall, sharp-eyed, and brilliant… but he wasn't a hero.
He was a traitor.
He sold our strategies to the Plazies, believing cooperation could save us. But guilt tore at him. And in the end, he tried to undo what he had done.
I was eight the last time I saw him. He was training with my uncle in a wind-blasted clearing, sparring with traditional combat techniques, their bodies hardened by the dust and discipline.
That night, we sat down for supper. My pregnant aunt brought food to the table. I don't remember her face clearly, I was too small, but I remember her kindness.
Erik(voice heavy, eyes downcast):
"All of this… our suffering… I caused it. I gave them what they needed. I thought I was saving us, but I shackled us instead."
He wept, his calloused hand brushing my cheek.
Aunt(gently):
"You didn't force us to kneel. You just hoped we wouldn't die. That's not betrayal, it's desperation."
But something behind his eyes told me… he knew more. Things we were never meant to hear.
The next morning, he and my cousins donned black armor caked with sand. They were setting off on an expedition to a planet he called "Rith." I didn't understand it, just that it was dangerous, and maybe, redemptive.
At the launch center, he hugged me and my aunt.
Erik(quietly):
"South of Btell, find my master from the Lazuli clan. He'll protect you. I have a chance to fix what I broke. If I don't return… don't hate me. Not for what comes next."
Aunt(bittersweet smile):
"Our stories always run parallel, Erik. My husband vanished for his future. Your wife left for hers. And you and I, left behind, raising what's left. We always end up in the same place."
He smiled, and then he was gone.
He never came back.
Within days, we fled to the Lazuli as instructed. But tragedy followed. My aunt died giving birth, and I was left holding her infant son, my cousin. He was all I had.
Then came the lie.
The Plazies declared the expedition a failure. Everyone died, they said. "Even Erik Neumann." The Amethyst clan was declared extinct. But I knew better.
Whispers reached me later: my father had died on the mission, but not before attempting to turn on the Plazies. He tried to sabotage them, but failed. And traitors on both sides made sure he wouldn't return.
Then, when I was barely ten, Lazuli soldiers tore my cousin from me. "He belongs elsewhere," they claimed. I resisted, and they punished me, harshly. They stripped away my clan's name. My dignity. My boyhood.
That was the day I ran.
For days and nights, I wandered the broken crust of Btell. The land was dry, blistered, dead. No water. No food. Only wind and pain. But I didn't die.
Because I had Amethyst blood.
Eventually, I did the unthinkable: I infiltrated the Plazie system. I faked my name, forged my origin. I became someone else, a phantom from a made-up clan that no longer existed on paper.
They didn't know they'd hired the son of their enemy.
They didn't know that the only living member of the Amethyst clan now served among them.
They still don't.
And now, here I stand… watching Jurgen fight like one of us… and wondering:
Could it be?
Am I not the last?