*vrrrrooooom...
The engines of the dropship steadily whirred down, their low hum fading into a deeper rumble before the aircraft landed inside the dreadnought's vast hangar bay with a loud metallic
*thud!
A feeling of anticipation gripped Jinn and his friends as they stared forward, anxious yet curious—this vessel was now their ferry to Juggernot XII, the infamous homeworld of the Zerafhon Empire.
"We have arrived," Amaron announced calmly, his mechanical voice echoing slightly as he turned his head toward the dropship's door.
A series of mechanical clicks echoed as the locking mechanisms disengaged.
The doors let out a pressurized hiss as they began sliding downward, slowly revealing the scene outside—little by little.
Jinn narrowed his gaze.
His lone eye sharpened, filled with determination as he braced himself for what awaited them.
Then, with a heavy
*thunk!
the large door fully opened, revealing the massive hangar bay.
Their footsteps echoed faintly as they stepped down onto the cold metal floor, their boots striking with light taps that barely masked the deeper rumble of other nearby vessels docking and unloading troops.
Countless soldiers poured out of neighboring dropships, fresh from the battle that had taken place in the city of Leran.
Jinn instinctively understood—they were part of the same ground force that had devastated his home.
As he walked further, his eye widened, lips slightly parted in awe.
He took in the vast complexity and mechanical grandeur that surrounded him.
Amaron noticed and let out a mechanical chuckle.
"What do you think, little Jinn? First time inside a dreadnought?"
All around them, ships of varying designs hovered, docked, or flew across the hangar's layered levels.
From compact space fighters to colossal destroyers and towering frigates, many of them bristled with massive cannons, blasters, and turrets—an elegant display of destructive power.
Jinn's gaze swept across the glowing golden banners and red armored plating.
Crimson and gold dominated the decor—an aesthetic of deadly elegance that marked the identity of House Sorellia.
For the first time in his life, Jinn had stepped aboard a dreadnought.
His mouth hung slightly open.
"So this… is a dreadnought," he muttered.
He wasn't the only one amazed.
His friends walked with slow steps, unable to hide the wonder in their eyes.
Among them, one couldn't contain his excitement.
"I-I've read about these in books," Vox said, eyes darting around, voice shaking.
"But I never thought it would be this amazing…"
Amaron let out another hissed laugh.
"Welcome to the Crimera—the Crimson Lady of House Sorellia!" he announced proudly.
Steam hissed from the vents on his mechanical jaw as his arms spread with flair.
Vox froze.
"Shit!" he blurted, then quickly clamped his hands over his mouth.
Mhm? Amaron's neck clicked and twisted unnaturally as he turned to face him.
"Is there a problem, child?"
Scratching his head, Vox gave a fake laugh.
"Ah… haha—sorry!"
He nervously scurried back to the others, who stared at him in confusion.
Moments later, a soldier approached and gave Amaron a polite bow.
"Welcome back, Master Amaron," the soldier said in a formal tone.
"I will escort you all to the inner interior."
Amaron nodded. "Then lead the way, soldier."
As the group followed, Verhedyn leaned in toward Vox, nudging him with an elbow.
"Why did you freak out earlier?" he whispered, eyebrow raised.
Vox's reaction had made the others equally curious.
Looking left and right, Vox motioned them in closer, whispering sharply, "Don't you get it!?"
"We're captives of House Sorellia—that House Sorellia," he hissed, his voice filled with urgency.
Hector, serious as ever, asked, "Care to explain? You wouldn't be this shaken if it wasn't important."
Orin tilted her head. "Judging from that look on your face… we're probably screwed."
Vox took a deep breath, then continued.
"House Sorellia has one of the highest slave turnover rates in the empire. Almost all of their slaves are turned into battle pawns."
He placed both hands on his head in panic.
"And if I'm right… their initiation rituals are brutal!"
His words sent a visible shiver down the group—everyone except for Jinn, who was too far ahead to hear.
Kain's legs trembled.
His voice cracked.
"G-Guys, I'm scared…" He looked at them with tear-filled eyes.
"Y-You all know I can't fight!"
"Quiet down!" barked a soldier from the front.
After a tense pause, Hector leaned closer to Kain and whispered, "Don't worry. We'll protect you—just stay close. Like glue."
Orin hushed them.
"Keep it down. They're watching us. We'll talk later."
Vox whispered one last thing before the conversation ended.
"One thing's for sure… we're not mining ores on some distant planet."
His voice echoed in their minds like a grim prophecy.
From this moment forward, they weren't just war orphans.
They were slaves—prisoners of the Empire of Zerafhon.
After several minutes of walking through long corridors and riding vertical elevators, they finally reached what appeared to be the inner hallways of the dreadnought.
Jinn observed the bustling halls.
Dozens of Zeraf soldiers moved swiftly and efficiently through branching passageways, while civilians in formal attire rushed past with gadgets, papers, and other equipment in hand.
"We've arrived, Master Amaron," said the escorting soldier, stepping aside.
With a sharp click from his rotating neck, Amaron nodded and turned to Jinn.
"All right, no time to waste, kid!"
Without waiting, he sprinted off down one of the branching halls.
*clang! *clang! *clang! *clang!
His heavy metal legs struck the floor with thunderous clunks at every step.
"Let's get you to the operation room!" he called out, a tone of excitement layered in his synthetic voice.
Jinn's eye widened in alarm.
"Wait—what about my friends!?" he shouted, his body jostling uncomfortably in Amaron's arms as they rushed through the corridors.
"Don't worry!" Amaron shouted back without slowing.
"I'm sure the other soldiers will guide them to their respective cells!"
Steam hissed violently from his limbs as he increased his speed.
Eventually, they arrived at a sealed door marked with the medical insignia of the Empire. Amaron shifted Jinn's weight into one arm and used the other to press a code into a panel.
*Hisssss!
The door slid open with a mechanical hum, revealing the grim interior of the ship's medical wing.
"Here we are!" Amaron announced, carrying Jinn inside.
Jinn's eye scanned the room.
Bloodied soldiers lay on metallic beds, their wounds being tended to by the Ankari—alien healers with four long arms and a speed rivaling machines.
They moved swiftly, bandaging, stitching, stabilizing.
"So those are the Ankari…" Jinn murmured. "Vox told me about them."
"Fascinating people! But that's not why we're here!" Amaron barked, heading deeper into the facility until they reached a more sterile, sealed-off room.
This one was different.
Far more advanced.
A collection of medics stood inside—not Ankari, but high-ranking Zerafhon personnel.
Their sharp, predatory eyes gleamed gold beneath the dim surgical lights.
"Prepare the operating room!" Amaron ordered, laying Jinn onto the cold metal of the operating table.
Several medics moved to gather around him.
One sneered as he glanced at Jinn.
"What's a filthy Rinari doing here?" he muttered with disgust.
"Your blue blood doesn't belong here. Filthy creature."
Amaron's head turned slowly.
"That's my patient, fool," he said coldly.
"You have no right to question who I operate on."
Steam hissed from his jaw.
"I-I apologize, Master Amaron," the medic replied, backing off quickly.
With a flick of his wrist, Amaron gave his next command.
"Prepare the materials for cyber limb assimilation surgery."
The staff scattered, collecting gear and preparing tables.
"Also bring out a neurolink device. We'll need it for the procedure," Amaron added, raising both arms and deploying small tools from his fingers, calibrating a machine next to the table.
Another medic approached, holding a metallic container.
"Master Amaron, our supply of VitraKlexyn is nearly depleted. The patient may not survive without it during CLAS."
Amaron didn't even look at her as he responded.
"He'll survive. He won't be needing it."
His voice was resolute.
Jinn turned his head.
"Wait—what in the hell are you about to do to me?"
Amaron paused calibration and tapped Jinn's forehead with a metal finger.
"Don't worry, little Jinn. Soon your body will be whole again!"
"Ah… so prosthetics?" Jinn asked, raising the stump where his arm used to be.
"No, no—this is something much more amazing. Just wait and see," Amaron replied, chuckling.
His laugh echoed with an eerie mechanical echo.
"You shall taste the glory of the machines!"