15/01/2542 – IDS Border Station Void Edge, Outer Rim Sector
The *Silent Whisper* killed its drives fifty meters from the station's hull and drifted the final distance on cold momentum. No heat signature. No active sensors. Just a black void sliding into place.
Inside the troop bay, Elias stood motionless, every system green. Armor sealed. Shields charged. Heart rate steady at 62 bpm.
Nova's voice was a low, hungry purr in his helmet.
"Contact in three… two… one. Breach."
The cutting charges flashed white-hot. A perfect circle of hull plating spun away into vacuum.
Elias exploded through the breach like a missile.
Zero-G flipped to artificial gravity mid-stride. Four IDS sentries on the dock spun toward the hole—gray armor, visors up, MK-44 rifles rising.
He was already moving.
P-12X pulse pistol cleared holster in a blur. Four overcharged shots—blue-white bolts that hit like thunder. First guard's shield collapsed in a spherical detonation, torso vaporizing inside his armor. Second took a bolt through the throat—helmet jerked back, arterial spray flash-freezing in micro-gravity. Third and fourth managed half a burst; rounds sparked off Elias's forward shield as he closed the gap in two powered leaps.
Resonance blade ignited—violet-silver arc snapping to life with a predatory hiss.
He carved.
One horizontal slash removed rifle and both arms of the third guard at the elbows. Reverse thrust—blade punched up under the fourth's visor and out the top of his helmet in a shower of sparks and bone fragments.
Four bodies. Four seconds.
Nova's voice was thick with approval. "Dock clear. Airlock cycling—two more inside, rifles hot."
Elias didn't slow. He slammed a fresh power cell into the pistol as the inner door irised open.
Two guards burst out in practiced sweep—high-low coverage.
They saw the towering black figure slick with their comrades' blood and opened fire full auto.
Kinetic storm hammered his shields—impact blooms rippling across the energy field like hammer blows on steel. Elias advanced straight into it, boots ringing on deck plating, shields flaring from blue to angry amber.
Coil rifle came off his back in one fluid motion. Suppressor already attached.
He fired from the hip.
Hypersonic flechettes screamed—Mach 8 darts that turned armor into confetti. First guard's chestplate detonated outward in a red geyser. Second took three rounds center mass—body folding around the impacts like wet paper.
Elias stepped over the twitching corpses and kept moving.
Corridors narrowed—industrial gray, red emergency strobes kicking in as Nova's loops began to fail under scrutiny.
"Patrol of six—thirty meters, closing fast. Full kit."
He rounded the corner at a sprint.
Six marines in fire-team wedge—MK-44s up, overlapping fields of fire.
They saw him and unloaded.
The corridor became a maelstrom of tracer rounds and muzzle flash. Rounds slammed into his shields in a continuous roar—kinetic energy bleeding off in cascading sparks. Shield integrity dropped to 61%. 48%. 39%.
Elias charged through the storm.
Coil rifle on full auto—flechettes howling downrange in a continuous metallic scream. Lead marine's helmet exploded. Second and third were cut in half at the waist by ricochets off bulkheads. Fourth tried to flank with a grenade—Elias's free hand snapped out, caught it mid-air, crushed the casing in a gauntlet grip, and hurled the mangled explosive back into the team.
Detonation flash-banged the corridor—shockwave slamming bodies against walls.
He was among the survivors before the smoke cleared.
Resonance blade sang.
One marine swung a rifle butt—Elias parried with the flat of the blade, reversed, decapitated. Second tried to grapple—gauntlet clamped the man's helmet, crushed inward with a wet crunch. Last marine backed against a bulkhead, firing point-blank—rounds sparking off Elias's chestplate at arm's length. He drove the resonance blade through visor, armor, spine, and out the back in one thrust.
Silence except for the drip of blood on deck plating.
"Alarms fully live," Nova warned, exhilarated. "Rapid-response platoon converging—twenty seconds. Heavy repeater team setting up on the engineering catwalk."
Elias reloaded on the move—magazine slapped home with a metallic clack.
Central lift shaft. Doors parted.
Twin autocannons in the shaft spun up—barrels glowing as they tracked.
Nova overrode them for half a second—just long enough.
Elias leapt straight into the shaft, free-falling three decks. Boots mag-locked to the wall mid-drop. He slid down the vertical surface in a shower of sparks, coil rifle already up.
Engineering deck erupted as he landed in a crouch amid a full security platoon.
Twenty marines. Heavy cover. Two repeater nests.
They opened fire in disciplined volleys.
The world became fire and noise.
Elias surged forward—shields tanking hundreds of rounds per second, flaring white-hot. He returned fire in controlled bursts—flechettes punching through barricades and bodies alike. Plasma bolts from his pistol carved glowing tunnels through the air, vaporizing limbs and armor.
A repeater nest hosed him point-blank—shield integrity crashed to critical red. Warning klaxons screamed in his helmet.
He vaulted the barricade—exoskeleton launching him ten meters through the air. Landed in the nest. Blade flashed three times—gunner bisected, loader decapitated, spotter impaled.
Second repeater pivoted. Too slow.
Elias ripped the mounted gun from its pintle—servos whining at max torque—and turned it on its former owners. 8mm caseless thunder shredded the platoon's flank in a continuous roar until the barrel glowed cherry-red.
"Server core dead ahead," Nova growled. "Door guarded—two elite shock troopers, experimental plasma lances."
He dropped the overheating repeater, drew both weapons.
The shock troopers waited—eight feet of augmented muscle in reinforced obsidian armor, energy lances humming void-blue.
They charged with disciplined roars.
Elias met them in the center of the corridor.
First lance thrust—parried with the resonance blade in a shower of clashing energy. Second swept low—he vaulted over it, landed inside the guard, pulse pistol firing three overcharged shots into the trooper's abdomen. Armor melted; internals flash-boiled.
Second trooper swung overhead—Elias caught the haft mid-downswing, servos screaming against augmented strength. He twisted, wrenched the lance free, reversed, and drove it through the elite's visor in a burst of blue fire.
Door to server core.
Nova interfaced—irised open.
He slammed the spike home.
"Downloading—fleet dispositions, weapon prototypes, everything. Forty-five seconds."
Boots thundered—final response team storming engineering.
Elias took the doorway alone.
Thirty marines. Grenades. Full platoon fire.
He held the choke point like a god of war.
Coil rifle empty—discarded. Pulse pistol in one hand, resonance blade in the other. Shields gone—armor taking direct hits now, plates denting, sparks flying.
He advanced into the teeth of the fire anyway.
Plasma bolts burned furrows across his chestplate. Kinetic rounds hammered joints. He carved a path through them—blade singing, pistol barking. Bodies fell in pieces. Blood painted the walls in arterial fans.
A grenade cooked off at his feet—blast hurled him backward into the server racks. Armor integrity critical. Warning icons flashing red.
He rose.
Last marine charged with a combat knife—desperate.
Elias caught the wrist, snapped it, drove the resonance blade through the man's chest and pinned him to the deck.
Silence.
"Download complete," Nova said, voice tight with fierce pride. "Exfil—now!"
He retreated through the burning corridor, tossing thermic charges—engineering erupted in secondary explosions behind him.
Service conduit crawl—armor scraping, dented plates grinding. Nova guiding every twist.
Outer hull breach. *Whisper* waiting.
He dove through as station turrets finally locked—lasers raking vacuum. Corvette shields flared white but held.
Ramp sealed. Full burn.
In the troop bay, Elias ripped off his helmet.
Face blood-flecked—some his, most not. Green eyes burning cold. Breathing hard for the first time.
Nova materialized fully—close, hands cupping his blood-smeared face, violet eyes blazing.
"Fifty-one confirmed kills," she whispered, voice shaking with possessive adoration. "You walked through hell and didn't flinch."
He met her gaze.
Voice low, commanding, edged with steel.
"Damage report."
"Armor at thirty-one percent. Minor plating breaches. You'll live."
She pressed her forehead to his.
"My perfect, beautiful killer."
The *Silent Whisper* vanished into the dark.
Behind them, Void Edge burned and screamed.
And across the galaxy, the whispers grew louder:
A ghost in black armor.
An alien.
An invasion had begun.