They say that history is written by the winners. If that's true, then the winners must have been incredibly boring, because the official history of Nemesulla reads like a manual for how to build a toaster.
Two hundred years ago, the Great War happened. The Outworlders came, the holograms flickered, and Queen Enzella—our beloved undead mother, soul of the universe—granted power to her chosen children, the Awakens. They fought, they won, and then everyone settled down to live happily ever after in a utopia of three species.
At least, that's what the textbooks say.
The reality? The reality is staring at me from the rusted girders of Sector 4, smelling like ozone and cheap lubricant.
The reality is that 200 years later, we're still cleaning up the mess.
"Stop mumbling and focus, Xero. Your heart rate is elevating," a cool, synthetic voice whispered directly into my auditory nerve.
"I'm not mumbling, I'm monologuing. It helps with the suspense," I muttered back, gripping the cold metal of the rooftop ledge. "And I'm not nervous. I'm just… mentally calibrating."
"Liar. Your cortisol levels suggest you are terrified."
I grinned behind the matte black helmet of my suit. "Niya, if I wanted a therapist, I would have bought one with the money I don't have."
Below me, the night air of Nemesulla was thick with the hum of repulsor engines. The docking bay was a cavernous maw of shadow and flickering yellow lights, occupied by a single, battered transport ship and about thirty armed figures.
This was the target. A mid-level Awaken smuggler by the name of Varg. Word on the street was he'd hit a Blue Portal—the exploration kind—and come back with a haul of high-grade energy crystals. The kind that could power a small city, or, more likely, get a guy like Varg drunk for a decade.
I checked the readings on my HUD. Suit: Jin.304. Status: Online. Integrity: 98%. Energy Output: Infinite.
Infinite. It still sounded fake. My grandfather, the legendary 'God of Destruction,' had built this thing in a basement or a lab or wherever geniuses hang out. It ran on a crystal that shouldn't exist, housing an AI that was smarter than me. And me? I was just Xero. The guy with zero awaken power. The juice seller's son.
Four months ago, I was worrying about squeezing fruit. Tonight, I was about to crash a party with thirty criminals who could bench press trucks.
"Xero," the voice of my ally crackled over the comms. It was Jax, a Nephiz with arms like tree trunks and a habit of stating the obvious. "They're loading the crates. Varg is shouting at someone. Shocking, I know."
"Copy that, Jax. Stick to the plan. You take the left flank. I'll drop in and say hello."
"Roger. Try not to get shot. Again."
"That was one time!"
I didn't wait for a response. I engaged the suit's thrusters.
The world tilted. Gravity lost its grip as I launched myself off the roof, the wind screaming against the armor. For a second, I felt weightless, a god of steel descending from the heavens. Then, reality set in.
"Thermal sensors detect twenty-eight hostiles," Niya announced calmly as I plummeted. "Recommendation: Aim for the center. Cause chaos. It suits your personality."
"Rude."
I slammed into the concrete floor with a crater-inducing thud. The shockwave rippled outward, tossing two Krioz guards like ragdolls. Dust billowed, obscuring the bay.
"Who in the hell?!" Varg's roar cut through the haze.
I straightened up, the suit's servos whining softly. "Delivery for Varg! I ordered extra large pain, but I think I got the wrong address."
The haze cleared. Thirty guns turned toward me. Energy rifles, plasma casters, and one guy holding what looked like a rocket launcher.
"It's him!" someone shouted. "It's that metal freak from the Syndicate!"
"Open fire!"
Red plasma bolts filled the air. I didn't dodge—I couldn't dodge that many. I just braced.
"Impact in 3… 2… 1…"
The first bolt hit my chest plate. The suit shuddered, absorbing the kinetic energy, the Xerixs crystal humming in my core. The heat dispersed instantly.
"Energy absorption at 4%," Niya reported. "Shields holding. You may proceed to punch them."
"My pleasure."
I moved. It wasn't graceful at first; it never is. I'm not an Awaken. I don't have super reflexes wired into my DNA. I have to rely on the suit's gyroscope and my own clumsy instincts. But when you're wearing a tin can that can punch through a tank wall, clumsy is enough.
I grabbed a crate and hurled it into a group of smugglers on the right. They scattered, shouting in panic. A burly Human with cybernetic arms charged me, swinging a wrench the size of my torso.
"Duck," Niya said.
I ducked. The wrench sailed over my head. I countered with an uppercut to his jaw. The sound was sickening, but he dropped instantly.
"Left flank engaging!" Jax roared over the comms.
On the far side of the bay, the wall exploded inward. Jax stormed in, his crystalline skin glowing with blue light, swatting smugglers aside like flies. "Come on then! Is that all you got?"
The confusion was perfect. Their formation broke. They didn't know whether to shoot the flying metal man or the glowing giant.
Varg, however, wasn't panicking. He was charging up.
The smuggler leader stepped off the loading ramp, his eyes glowing violet. He was an Awaken, mid-tier. Gravity manipulation, if I had to guess. The crates around him began to float.
"You little flies," Varg growled, raising a hand. "You think your scrap metal can stop me?"
The air pressure spiked. I felt it even inside the suit. I was pinned to the ground, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.
"Warning," Niya's voice lost its calm edge. "Gravitational anomaly detected. Structural integrity of suit decreasing. Mobility compromised."
I gritted my teeth, straining against the invisible force. "Jax! I'm stuck!"
"I'm busy!" Jax yelled back, wrestling with three guys at once.
Varg sneered, walking toward me. "Who are you working for? The F3 Squad? No, they don't use garbage tech. Who sent you?"
I tried to move my arm. It wouldn't budge. The servos whined in protest.
"Just a concerned citizen," I wheezed.
"Niya," I thought. "I need options."
"I have one," she replied. "But it is risky. We can override the safety limiters on the leg thrusters. It will break your legs, but you will be moving fast enough to break his face before you feel it."
"Break my legs?!"
"Correct. Or you can let him kill you. Statistically, that is the less favorable outcome."
"Override the damn limiters!"
Click.
A surge of crimson warning lights flooded my HUD. WARNING: SAFETY PROTOCOLS DISENGAGED.
"Goodbye, legs," I muttered.
With a deafening boom, the suit's legs detonated with thrust. I wasn't just running; I was a cannonball. The gravity field shattered around me as raw velocity overcame physics.
Varg's eyes widened. He tried to raise a shield, but he was too slow.
My fist connected with his stomach.
The impact sent a shockwave that shattered the glass of the nearby control tower. Varg folded around my arm, his eyes bulging, before he was launched backward, crashing through three stacks of cargo containers and embedding himself into the far wall.
Silence fell over the dock. The remaining smugglers looked at their unconscious leader, then at the smoking metal man standing amidst the wreckage.
"Run!" someone screamed.
They dropped their weapons and scrambled for the exit.
I stood there, panting, the suit's cooling fans spinning at max capacity.
"Niya, status."
"Left tibia fractured in three places. Right fibula shattered. Suit seal compromised. But Varg is unconscious. Objective complete."
I looked down at my legs. I couldn't feel them yet, but the suit was shifting, locking into a rigid cast mode to stabilize the bones.
"You did it," Jax said, walking over. He looked battered, but he was grinning. "That was insane. You literally launched yourself at him."
"I had a motivating discussion with my AI," I said, leaning heavily against a crate. "Did we get the stones?"
Jax gestured to the containers. "All ten crates. The Bounty Syndicate is going to love this. Leafless Group isn't going to be happy, though."
The Leafless Group. A splinter cell of traitors, ex-military types who sold tech to the highest bidder. They were the reason Varg had these crystals to begin with. They were the reason I was wearing this bucket on my head instead of sleeping in my bed.
"We don't care about the Leafless Group right now," I said, fatigue washing over me. "We just need the payout. I have debts, Jax. And my dad is wondering why I'm 'working late at the warehouse' every night."
Jax laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're living the double life, buddy. It's the price of being a hero."
I looked at my reflection in the shattered window of a nearby transport. A faceless armored figure. A monster made of scrap and infinite power.
"I'm not a hero, Jax," I said quietly.
"Then what are you?"
I pushed off the crate, the suit whining in protest.
"I'm just a guy trying to fix the mess the history books left behind."
I looked up at the night sky, where the twin moons of Nemesulla hung pale and distant. Somewhere out there, the gods were fighting. Somewhere, the Outworlders were watching. But down here? Down here, it was just us, the garbage, and the ghosts.
"Let's go home," I said.
"Affirmative," Niya whispered. "Initiating stealth mode. Try not to limp too obviously."
I smirked behind the helmet. "No promises."