The Zerg altar couldn't be destroyed.
Not truly.
White Warbler's words echoed through Silas Vire's mind as he stood alone on the bridge of the White Night. Her voice, projected psionically with unwavering calm, had delivered the grim truth.
"The core is not a device, Captain. It is a seed—born from the Overmind itself. If shattered, it will regrow. Elsewhere. Elsewhen."
Silas stared out the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the roiling jungle canopy of Arcturus. He didn't need history logs to understand what the resurgence of the Zerg would mean. He'd read enough.
Entire worlds reduced to flesh. Populations consumed and converted. Ecosystems rewritten in the image of madness.
It had taken five ancient empires and the sacrifice of billions to seal the Zerg back into subspace.
If the seed awakened now… there would be no second chance.
Suddenly, a sharp tremor shook the deck beneath his feet.
[⚠ ALERT: The White Night is under attack.]
The ship's AI repeated the warning three times in quick succession.
Silas's techband lit up instantly. He dashed toward the forward consoles and activated external visuals.
Above the jungle, a silhouette emerged from cloud cover—a C-Class fire-support corvette, angular and retrofitted with thickened armor and oversized missile banks.
No, not just any ship.
The Thunder.
Treasure Mercenary Corps insignia still painted across its flanks.
And at its helm? Reynolds.
Bandaged. Alive. Enraged.
"Damn human monkey," Reynolds snarled from the command deck of the Thunder, staring down at the jungle ruin his squad had failed to loot. "You humiliated me. You think this is over? Think again."
He slammed a clawed fist against the targeting console.
"All batteries! Target the ruins! Flatten everything!"
The Thunder's underbelly lit up with dozens of ignition flashes.
Dozens of missiles screamed toward the surface.
—
Inside the White Night, Silas gritted his teeth. "Of course he didn't run."
Plumes of flame bloomed across the canopy as the Thunder's first barrage hit.
The jungle erupted. Vines, trees, even rock were flung into the air.
But from the wreckage, something else emerged.
The White Night.
The relic ship—freed of jungle overgrowth by the bombing—lifted skyward, thrusters rumbling to life. Steam hissed from its landing pylons as it rose into the air, its dark hull gleaming with the firelight of destruction.
Reynolds's laughter died in his throat.
"…That's not just a ruin…"
His feathers bristled.
"…That's an A-Class ship?!"
Inside the White Night, Silas's voice was calm.
"Activate propulsion. Break orbit."
The ship ascended in a thunderous surge of inertia, emerging above the treeline as firelight danced off its hull. It hadn't been destroyed by the attack. It had been freed.
And now, it rose to hunt.
—
Reynolds staggered forward on the Thunder's bridge.
"Sink it!" he shouted. "Sink it now!"
Cannons locked. Missiles re-armed. The Thunder's armaments, enhanced with illicit upgrades, were formidable for a C-Class vessel—enough to overwhelm even small-scale planetary defenses.
But they weren't enough for this.
Not for what was coming.
Not when a second ship entered orbit above them.
—
[Alert: Yamato-Class Beam Cannon Charging]
From the heavens, a second shadow blotted out the sun.
The Hyperion.
S-Class battlecruiser. Flagship of the void.
Silas's fingers danced across the control panel inside the White Night. Through his linked interface, the Hyperion answered.
From the bow of the Hyperion, a hum began to build. The barrel of the Yamato Cannon glowed with pulsating azure light.
Reynolds froze.
"Is that…"
He turned toward the display.
The glow intensified.
A thin stream of light burst from the Hyperion, racing down toward the jungle in a beam as wide as a cargo freighter.
It struck the Thunder dead center.
—
The result wasn't an explosion.
It was erasure.
The Thunder's armor cracked. Vaporized. Internal reactors detonated. A shockwave of energy sliced across the atmosphere, scorching the nearby peaks.
From the ground, even miles away, a mushroom cloud could be seen spiraling into the sky.
—
Inside the White Night, White Warbler stood beside Silas in silence, her sapphire eyes reflecting the afterglow.
"That weapon…" she whispered.
"It is incomplete," Silas replied. "When it's fully restored, it will be much worse."
Beside them, Celeste Vale crouched, covering her ears, her eyes wide with the terror of orbital warfare.
Silas said nothing to her.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he tapped a final command.
[Incorporate: A-Class Ship – White Night into Hyperion Guard Formation]
[Formation Updated]
With the White Night now integrated into his fleet, Silas turned his back on the wreckage.
One A-Class transport recovered.
One psionic warlock gained.
One mercenary corps annihilated.
He had made his presence known.
To the Ascendancy.
To the mercenary lords.
To whoever had tried to recover the Zerg altar.
And now, the Hyperion sailed once more—deeper into the Void of Space.
Where darker things awaited.