The chamber inside Zelkaris' underground command spire was carved out of living blackstone, its walls humming faintly with resonant energy harvested from the planet's core. At the center, a colossal holographic dais flickered to life, projecting ghost-blue figures that shimmered like ghosts across the room.
From world to world, the leaders of the Liberation Front appeared. Some were seated in their own hidden bunkers, others stood amidst chaos on their planets, but all eyes now turned toward the unified display. The war had reached a point where hesitation meant death.
The first to speak was Vaarn, the scarred frontline commander of Zelkaris itself. His projection towered, his voice like steel hammered on an anvil.
"Reports confirm the Vir Empire is shifting three fleet divisions from Orvus toward Myra. They intend to choke our supply lines at sea. If Myra falls, every front collapses within weeks."
Across the circle, the hologram of Garvin flickered in. His medic's coat was blood-stained even through projection, as though he had just left an operating bay.
"They're not only tightening supplies—they're flooding Orvus with plague-bombs. I've intercepted Empire codes. Shadrax's bio-labs are shipping strains that can wipe out entire colonies in a night."
His tone was sharp, but beneath it was exhaustion, the kind that made even victories taste like ash.
Karjax, the former Royal Guard turned strategist, leaned forward, his shadowed face grim.
"This is no random tightening of fronts. They are drawing us into a trident strike—Orvus, Myra, and Drest. Hit those three, and every other star-system bleeds out. The Adam Clan has studied us. They are moving like chessmasters."
From the far edge of the dais, Zerlan, the sniper, spoke only two words:
"Then kill them."
His voice was cold, razor-thin. He didn't waste breath on speeches.
The hologram shifted, now flickering between each planetary front.
Orvus, drowning in volcanic ash, its skies forever red, commanders coughing through respirators as they argued for reinforcements.
Myra, once an endless ocean, now cut with shipyards and fuel depots, its admiral demanding more carriers to protect the supply lines.
Shadrax, with its eerie laboratories glowing green under the surface, scientists-turned-rebels begging for an immediate strike before the next plague shipment left orbit.
Eldrion, refinery capital, where children still toiled under Vir overseers. Their planetary head was half-crazed with rage. "If we do not strike now, the blood of our people will curse us forever."
Drest, once a forest kingdom, its voice represented by a withered tribal chief, his hologram shaking as he recounted how his people starved in dust.
Volturna, the logistics nexus, appeared as twin figures speaking in eerie unison, riddling their words with both prophecy and warning.
Hythrax, the bastion of assassins, its shadowed leader offering silent nods, daggers gleaming in hand.
Noxera, the frozen hell, where a woman draped in furs spoke of entire prisons buried under ice—"If the Vir unleash them, half our sector is lost."
Zelkaris, jewel-turned-ruin, bearing the heaviest weight, its leader Vaarn's voice cutting above them all.
And then came the outsiders.
From Vokar-17's Ashen Mountains, the Scorched Branch warband and the mysterious Eyrvaks appeared, their distorted holograms making the air itself crackle. Their guttural leader barked:
"We are not your soldiers. But the Vir Empire burned our skies. Show us where to strike, and we will leave nothing breathing."
The chamber darkened for a moment, and silence spread. The Liberation Front was vast, fractious, and bleeding on every front. But here, at this meeting, the fate of the Lilliput star system would be decided.
Finally, Karjax broke the silence, slamming his gauntlet on the projection table.
"We cannot afford scattered raids anymore. This must be one strike. One blade. One cut straight to the Adam Clan's throat."
The holograms flickered, arguments rose like storms—strategies clashing, alliances wavering, tempers breaking. But one thing became clear as the meeting raged on:
The next attack would not be a skirmish.
It would be the opening move in a system-wide rebellion.
The holographic chamber dimmed into a cold silver-blue glow. The council of leaders—Ka'roth, Targan, Bill, Mek'lar, Zor, and the gathered Eyrvaks—stood encircled by the shimmering projection of the star map. Entire constellations flickered, bending into miniature reliefs of the Lilliput star system. Red sparks marked hostile centers of the Adam Clan, yellow marked unstable zones, and soft green motes pulsed wherever the Verdalian alliance had footholds.
The air felt heavier, as if all were choking on the immensity of the war they had committed themselves to. Even the walls, layered with ancient runes, hummed faintly as if in anticipation.
Ka'roth broke the silence first. His voice carried the tone of one who had fought too long, but still bore fire in his veins.
"Brothers, sisters, warriors of Verdalia… we know the Adam Clan has begun re-focusing their might here. After centuries of disinterest, they want Lilliput again. This meeting is not to debate whether we fight—it is to decide how we survive and win."
The holographic map zoomed, highlighting three crimson spheres.
"These," he continued, "are the attack centers. The core military bases the Adam Clan has reignited within the outer belt. Their android fleets pour from here, their energy channels fuel their weapons from here. Strike one down and it is a dent; strike all three, and the serpent's head writhes."
Bill, still kneeling moments earlier to Ka'roth in reverence for their mission's success, now rose. His tired eyes were bloodshot, but his voice carried the steadiness of command.
"I have seen the android legions up close. They are not the old models of the first war. These are reinforced, layered with quantum alloys. Their shielding adapts in real time. You cannot pierce the same way twice."
The murmurs spread across the table. Holographic figures of distant tribe leaders—projected from hundreds of light-years away—shifted uncomfortably.
Then Mek'lar, scarred and stern, leaned forward. His words were quiet, yet they filled the chamber like thunder.
"Do not underestimate their machines. I fought them in the canyon battle, where two thousand soldiers came for my head. My blade could not hold, my breath failed me—the very air of this planet turned to poison in my lungs. Yet Jason Amberdenk stood against them. Alone. He turned tides where armies fell."
The room froze. Even the humming runes dimmed as if listening.
Zor, the elder, his wrinkled face streaked with tears he no longer cared to hide, lifted his hand. His voice cracked, but his words were iron.
"Mek'lar speaks truth. Jason… the boy carries the will of Verdalia itself. I watched Lord Helius in the old wars, leading a rebellion without death, sparing even enemies when blade met blade. I thought no one would bear such spirit again. But Jason…" His eyes shone with both grief and pride. "Jason is the weapon no forge can build."
The holographic stars brightened, swirling to highlight Verdalia's territories. Ka'roth nodded.
"Then it is settled. Jason will not just fight—he will lead. But we cannot place all hope on one warrior, no matter how great. Each of you will carry tasks. Every strike must weave into a single pattern."
He gestured, and the hologram shifted again.
Task Assignments
Targan's Command
The first projection showed the barren moons orbiting near the Adam Clan's eastern outpost.
"Targan," Ka'roth said, "you and your division will cripple their supply chain here. Their androids consume plasma fuel from these siphoning stations. Destroy them, and their machines starve before battle begins."
Targan bowed his head, his expression unreadable but eyes gleaming with determination.
"I will see the siphons burn. Not one barrel of plasma will reach their fleets."
Bill's Division
Next, the map spun, showing corridors of space traffic near the central outpost.
"Bill, you will lead infiltration. You know their android systems more than anyone. Steal their encryption keys, bend their code, turn their machines against themselves."
Bill allowed a rare grin to cross his face.
"They built them to adapt. I'll teach them adaptation has limits. Their machines will bleed their own kind before this war is over."
Mek'lar's Charge
The image shifted to the mountainous stronghold at the farthest rim of the system.
"Mek'lar, your warriors will hold the Adam Clan's forward lines here. You will not retreat, even if the world burns around you. Verdalia needs your shield."
Mek'lar slammed his fist into his chest, scarred armor rattling.
"My shield stands. My blade stands. If this mountain must fall, it will fall with my corpse upon it."
Jason's Destiny
Finally, the hologram burned with light, focusing on the heart of the Adam Clan's central hub.
"And Jason…" Ka'roth's voice softened. "You will pierce the heart. The android legion that cannot be stopped—stop them. Not for glory, not for vengeance, but because only you can. You saved Mek'lar where no one else could. You breathed where no air existed. You alone can carve the path Verdalia needs."
Jason, standing silently at the back of the chamber, said nothing at first. His eyes lingered on the stars as though he could see beyond them. At last, he spoke—his voice young, but already weighted with destiny.
"I will go where I am needed. But I am no weapon. Verdalia is the weapon. Its people, its heart, its will. I only carry that flame."
A hush fell across the council.
Debate on Androids
Then the meeting shifted into deeper strategy. Leaders raised concerns, each pressing for clarity.
"The androids," began a tribal chief from the hologram, "they adapt too quickly. Even when one falls, the next rises stronger. How do we kill a machine that learns faster than any sword?"
Bill answered first, tapping into his holopad. "They adapt to tactics, not unpredictability. When Jason fought those two thousand, he did not repeat a single strike. Every motion was instinct, chaos refined. That is why they could not cage him. Our armies must fight like him—not machines repeating drills, but rivers flowing where no map exists."
Another voice cut in, bitter and sharp.
"Easier said than done. You cannot train a thousand soldiers to move as one river."
Zor raised his hand.
"Then do not train them as one. Train them as many rivers. Split their currents, let them diverge and converge, confuse the machine until its own learning drowns."
The discussion spiraled. Talks of android vulnerabilities, their need for plasma, their overreliance on central nodes. Every leader spoke, argued, refined.
Jason remained quiet until Mek'lar once more slammed his fist.
"You doubt? Look at me!" He stood, towering over all, scars bared. "Two thousand soldiers against me. I could not breathe. My lungs collapsed. Yet Jason lifted me and cut down my killers, one by one. He is no boy—he is Verdalia's storm. If we doubt him, then we are already dead."
Ka'roth raised his voice to calm the fervor.
"Peace, Mek'lar. No one doubts Jason. But we must prepare as though Jason does not exist. If he falls, Verdalia must still fight."
Jason finally spoke again, this time with quiet finality.
"If I fall, Verdalia will not fall. Verdalia does not rest on one man. It rests on all of us, together."
Closing the Council
The holograms dimmed one final time, the star map collapsing into a single glowing orb—the representation of Verdalia itself. Its light flickered across their faces, illuminating warriors, leaders, survivors, and dreamers alike.
Ka'roth's voice carried the weight of the meeting's end.
"Then it is decided. We strike not tomorrow, not next season, but now. Verdalia will not wait for chains. Each of you knows your path. Do not falter."
The leaders placed their hands to their chests, one by one. A pledge unspoken, but heavier than words.
Zor, tears still glistening, whispered, "Helius would have been proud. Verdalia still breathes."
Mek'lar clasped Jason's shoulder, his scarred hand trembling.
"You saved me once. Now, save us all."
Jason looked into the elder warrior's eyes, then into the light of Verdalia's hologram.
"I will not fail."
And with that, the council dissolved, the fate of worlds hanging on the shoulders of warriors, androids, and a boy destined to become legend.
Space stretched endlessly in every direction, a black ocean scattered with diamonds. But this ocean was not calm—shadows of warships lurked in it, their jagged silhouettes aligned across a dozen random planets of the Lilliput Star System.
Each colossal ship bore the blood-red emblem of the Vir Empire, carved and glowing across their armored hulls like scars in the night. These were not merchant vessels nor explorers; they were predators, forged for conquest. Their very sight was enough to summon dread into the hearts of weaker civilizations.
Among these ships was one whose surface still bore scorch marks from a recent battle. This was the same fleet that had clashed with Verdalia's army—the same fleet that had stolen one of Verdalia's thirty great ships. That prize now rested docked among the Vir armada, its wings folded, its once-proud Verdalian insignia desecrated with the crimson mark of the Adam Clan.
Inside the flagship, deep within its metallic heart, sat Commander Two – Bells.
Bells was not human. His species, the Veylrians, were known across sectors for their strange physiology. His arms were unlike any ordinary limb—they were elongated, covered with shimmering ridges that resembled the larynx of a throat. When Bells flexed them, the ridges vibrated and produced frequencies of sound so powerful they could crack steel, shatter communication relays, or bend weaker minds into hallucinations.
It was said that Veylrians did not speak with voices as humans did; they sang in vibrations, a language of tones. Yet Bells had trained himself to speak in common tongue, though his voice always seemed to hum with a faint tremor, as though an unseen chorus whispered behind every word.
He sat alone now, in a chamber of polished obsidian metal. The walls were adorned with moving sigils, projections of past victories, banners of planets burned under Vir rule. Bells leaned back in his chair, his fingers—if they could be called that—tapping against the armrest, sending out faint tremors that shook the air like the plucking of an invisible harp.
He muttered to himself, the hum in his throat resonating softly through the room.
"Finally… my meeting with him has come to an end."
His yellow eyes narrowed, reflecting both exhaustion and bitterness. He had just spoken with Lord Bright Adam, the second-in-command of the Vir Emperor himself. And though the meeting had ended, the weight of Bright's presence lingered like poison in the room.
The door slid open. A Vir soldier in black and silver armor stepped inside and saluted.
"Commander Bells, sir. A priority signal. Lord Bright Adam requests your presence once again."
Bells' vibrating arms twitched. His voice trembled with restrained irritation.
"…He never rests, does he?"
The soldier dared not respond. He simply handed over the signal receiver. Bells extended his strange limb toward the console, and as he pressed it, a hologram blazed into existence before him.
The room seemed to shrink instantly as the image took form.
It was a man—no, something greater than a man.
Lord Bright Adam.
He stood tall, his body wrapped in white and silver armor that gleamed like it was forged from starlight itself. His face was unmistakably human, yet unnaturally unaged despite his 200+ years of existence. His eyes burned like twin suns, sharp and unrelenting. His hair, silver as steel, flowed past his shoulders, framing a face both regal and merciless.
Bright Adam was not merely a soldier. He was the might warrior, the strongest blade of the Adam Clan, commander of the Vir Empire's First Legion, and feared across galaxies as an S+ class warrior. To see him, even as a hologram, was enough to paralyze entire generals.
Bells lowered his gaze instinctively. Even with his vibration-born pride, even with his alien strength, he knew he was nothing before this man.
"Bells," Bright Adam's voice thundered, deep and resonant. It was not sound alone; it carried weight, each syllable falling like a hammer into the bones of those who heard it.
"You were assigned a task. A simple one: to capture the entire Lilliput Star System… and then expand to the next galaxy. And yet, whispers reach me."
The hologram leaned closer. Bright Adam's eyes sharpened, cutting into Bells like blades.
"I hear… you are making deals with the terrorist Dark King."
Bells' throat vibrated uncontrollably, a sign of unease. He bowed his head further, arms pressed to his sides.
"My lord… rumors are twisted things. The Dark King reached out to me, but I—"
"Silence."
The word cracked through the room, sharper than a whip. Bells stopped at once, trembling.
Bright Adam's expression darkened, his voice lowering into a growl.
"You are one of the Commander 30, Bells. Do you even remember what that means?"
The hologram flickered, showing the crest of the Adam Clan, its golden lion devouring a star.
"Your role is not merely conquest. You are the second layer of protection for the Adam Clan. When the Assassination Association fails, when hidden blades strike at our throats, you— the Commander 30—are to be the shield. The final wall between my family and the void."
Bright's glare intensified.
"But you… you have forgotten your place."
Bells swallowed hard, the ridges of his arms quivering with a low hum of fear. His alien pride fought to rise, but before Bright's presence, it shrank.
"My lord, forgive me. I was only—"
"If you do not finish your task," Bright interrupted, his tone deadly calm now, "If you continue your… alliances with enemies, then understand this, Bells: I will personally ensure you face the consequences."
The word echoed like a curse. Bells imagined his bones being shattered by Bright's blade, his frequencies silenced forever. He shuddered.
Bright straightened, his armor gleaming as the hologram stabilized again.
"Go back at once. Take the fleet. Burn the Lilliput system. Do not return until its suns kneel under the Vir banner."
For a moment, the great warrior's eyes seemed to pierce beyond the hologram, as though they looked directly into Bells' very soul.
"Do not… fail me again."
With that, the hologram cut off. The chamber fell silent, leaving only the faint hum of Bells' trembling arms.
The commander slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily. His throat vibrated with a low, bitter growl.
"…Bright Adam… you think yourself eternal. You think yourself invincible. But even suns burn out."
His yellow eyes flickered with a strange fire, a mixture of hatred and ambition.
Though the great warrior had ordered him, though fear chained him… part of Bells still clung to whispers of rebellion. The Dark King's offer lingered in his mind. An offer of power beyond the Vir Empire's reach.
But for now, he would obey. He had no choice.
He raised his elongated arms, sending a vibration through the flagship's command deck. Lights flared, alarms rang, and the soldiers within the ship straightened at once.
"Prepare the fleet," Bells commanded, his voice reverberating through the halls.
"We set course for the Lilliput system. And this time… we will not leave survivors."
The war drums of the Vir Empire began to beat again.
And across the stars, darkness spread.