The sun loomed high over the dry, colorless sky of Vokar-17, casting long shadows over the massive Verdalian ships stationed across the parched terrain. Cracks split the drought-ridden ground like a broken mirror, and thick layers of dust swirled around the camp. The ships had landed just as planned, far from the main zones of conflict—but now, a heavier conflict loomed in every heart.
Inside the outer perimeter of the lead ship, officers and soldiers stood frozen.
The silence was sharp. Too sharp.
Just moments earlier, a secure communication had pierced through the static—Verdalia was under attack.
A woman's voice, broken with sobs, had screamed through the speakers. The sounds of explosions, sirens, and destruction still echoed in the ears of everyone present. Then the line had gone dead.
Now, uncertainty gnawed at every corner of the encampment.
Captain Shin stood atop a mobile command platform outside the lead ship, gazing over the assembled soldiers, crew members, and medics. His uniform was dust-covered, but his posture remained as firm as ever—shoulders back, eyes like steel.
He could see it clearly: panic behind the brave faces. Despair. Some trembled silently. Some looked skyward, as if praying to the stars. Others clenched fists, fighting back tears.
He stepped forward.
"Verdalians," he said, his voice steady, clear.
The murmuring stopped.
"We came here with a mission—to bring hope. To carry food and life to a dying system. We did not come to make war. We did not come to break laws. We came because people were starving. Because we are not just warriors—we are Verdalians."
He paused, letting the wind speak for a moment.
"We have received the worst news imaginable. Verdalia—our home—is under attack. Families. Friends. Loved ones. Everything we swore to protect."
A ripple of anger moved through the crowd.
"But listen closely," Shin said, his voice rising, "This is not the end."
He stepped down from the platform, walking among his troops.
"I know you want to fly back right now. I know you want to fight. But what would Jason do? What would our commander—the man who leapt from the sky to save this fleet—want us to do?"
Silence again.
"He would want us to stay calm. To hold this line. To complete the mission. To save lives. That's what makes us different from empires. We don't burn what we're afraid of. We feed it. We lift it up."
He raised his voice now, the command tone returning.
"Verdalia is strong. It has survived worse. And we will return—but not in shame. We will return having done what was right. We will complete the mission. We will deliver every last crate of food we brought to the people of this system. Then—then—we will go back, and Verdalia will rise again."
Cheers didn't break out.
But heads lifted. Backs straightened. Tears were wiped.
A calm, hardened resolve filled the air.
The silence had changed
The Eyrvaks (a fraction of rebellion among zypherians rebels) leader, Targan, stood in the middle of the scorched street, the smell of gunfire and burning rubble heavy in the air. His red skin, typical of his people, was streaked with sweat and grime. His heart pounded in his chest as he gripped his rifle tightly, his teeth bared with determination.
For hours, his people had fought against the forces of King Laco, struggling to hold their ground. The streets of the capital were flooded with desperation. Rebel fighters clashed with soldiers, their weapons blasting fire into the dim evening sky.
The cries of the wounded and the mournful shouts of the rebellion echoed through the narrow alleyways. One voice stood out among the chaos—a young man, trembling in fear, shouted, "Why are you doing this to us?! Why did you do this?!"
His voice cracked, desperation turning into a plea. He was a man broken, forced to fight for a cause that seemed meaningless in the face of such overpowering tyranny. Targan could see the look in his eyes—a mixture of hopelessness and anguish, the kind that only those who had seen too much destruction could know.
Before Targan could speak, a soldier, a member of King Laco's elite guard, raised his weapon. A flash of red light cut through the air, and the young man collapsed onto the ground, lifeless. The sounds of the battle continued, but for a moment, there was only the heavy silence of death.
The cry that escaped Targan's throat was one of fury, but he didn't hesitate. Without a second thought, he dove forward and grabbed the fallen man's body, dragging him to safety behind the cover of a nearby building.
"Stay down!" Targan shouted to his fellow rebels. He shot a quick glance at the soldiers closing in on their position and, with a determined roar, stood tall.
"No! This will not be the end! Not today! We will continue to fight! We will not let them take this city!" His voice boomed through the streets, rallying his people. He turned to the others, sweat dripping down his face, eyes burning with resolve.
"We may be outnumbered. But not outgunned. This rebellion is not just a fight for survival—it's a fight for the soul of every Eyrvaks! No rebellion clan will help us. No space cops will help us. The Republic of Saturnite cannot help us. Why? Because all the star systems surrounding the Lilliput system are under the conquest of the Vir Empire! Even Robinson Drewauge, the legendary leader of the rebellion clans, cannot help us now! He's engaged in his own battle with the Vir Empire's supreme commander, Bright Adam—he is fighting for survival himself!"
Targan's voice rang out, raw and full of emotion.
"We are alone in this, but we are not weak. We are not powerless. We will push them back."
The words echoed through the battered streets, a defiant cry against the forces of the Vir Empire and the tyranny of King Laco.
At that moment, the soldiers advanced, their guns trained on Targan. But before they could fire, a group of four rebels emerged from the shadows, helping Targan pull back into the city. They moved swiftly, their movements precise as they worked together to get their leader to safety.
One of them, a tall Eyrvaks woman named Kira, gripped Targan's arm, her voice fierce. "We'll make it through this, Targan. You said it yourself—we have no choice. We have to win."
Targan nodded grimly, wiping the blood from his brow. The fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever as he was helped back to the heart of the city, where the rebellion still had a chance.
The fight was far from over.
Jason staggered to his feet, blood trickling down his face, staining the dirt beneath him. His body ached from the battle, the metal shards from the fallen androids piercing his skin, but he refused to fall. His vision blurred, but his will remained unbroken. The barren land stretched endlessly around him, the silence broken only by the whirring of the remaining androids as they closed in.
Fifteen of them. Each one armed with devastating weapons and enhanced strength. They moved with cold precision, a silent army of destruction. Jason's hand gripped the hilt of his sword, now slick with blood. His body bruised, but there was something more—the glimmer of something ancient, something deep inside him, ready to emerge.
His eyes, once filled with doubt and pain, now shone with a quiet, almost deadly determination.
He stood tall, despite the odds. The green energy, a faint aura at first, began to pulse around him, growing brighter and more intense. It danced with a life of its own, wrapping around his body in a swirling vortex of light. The air hummed with an energy that seemed to vibrate with the very essence of the Verdalian people—pure, untamed, and unstoppable.
Jason raised his sword high, the light from the energy pulsing with every movement. His heart beat in time with the rhythm of the green flame. There was a moment of silence before he finally spoke, his voice a low, almost mocking growl.
"Come at me, you metallic puppets. You think you can stop me? You're not even worthy of my time."
A laughter escaped his lips, not from amusement, but from a deep, resonating confidence—a confidence forged from years of struggle, sacrifice, and loss.
"Today," Jason continued, his voice growing stronger with each word, "you learn that no machine, no matter how advanced, can ever break the spirit of the Verdalians. And I, Jason Amberdenk, will make sure of it."
The green energy around him intensified, the very ground beneath his feet trembling in response. His eyes blazed with the fiery determination of someone who had long since accepted their fate.
"Let's see how well your metal bodies stand against a true warrior. This is where your march ends."
With a powerful yell, Jason surged forward, his sword cutting through the air like a streak of green lightning.