"We've surrounded them, sir."
"Excellent," the officer replied, his voice cold as steel. "Those fools will learn what it means to stain the name of the Terrian Empire. Prepare the Radical Cannon. Target the Tartarusios."
Two Hours Earlier
A ship cut through the void like a blade, its dark-green hull drinking in what little starlight reached it. Long, narrow and sharpened by design, it looked from a distance like a spear forged for war. The red light pulsing from its vents and weapon housings made it seem almost alive, as though heat and fury simmered just beneath its armored skin. Sensor fins jutted from its frame like the spines of some deep-space creature. When its engines finally roared, it was not a hum but something deep and primal, enough to make nearby vessels shudder and their comms flicker. The ship did not simply announce its arrival. It declared it.
Inside, it was vast — corridors lit by cold blue strips, every footstep echoing back from the high walls, the air carrying a faint metallic tang. It felt less like a ship than a cathedral, built not for comfort but for awe. The command deck rose above it all like a throne room. Somewhere deep beneath it, behind reinforced bulkheads and encrypted locks, the core pulsed quietly, as if it were watching.
"Approaching Zellion's border and docking station, Captain," said the helmsman, fingers moving across the console. "Payment confirmed. Still no response."
"Patch me through to Zellion Space Station," Oscar Meilton ordered, leaning forward in his chair. "Video call with the director. Tell him we've got Brions for appraisal."
Oscar was young for a captain, but he carried himself like a man twice his age. He had electric-blue eyes, black hair cut short and spiked, and a thin scar across his right brow from his first real battle. His crew liked to say that his gaze alone could silence a room. He did not need to raise his voice on the bridge. People simply listened when he spoke.
A moment of static passed before a voice filled the bridge. "Docking granted, Tartarusios. Proceed to Bay Four."
The screen flickered to reveal Director Harry Blain, half-bald and half-smirking. He was a large, soft man, the last strands of his hair slicked back with too much oil, the gold embroidery of his uniform straining at the buttons, and his jeweled rings flashed every time he gestured — which, like his smirking, was often.
"Well, well… Captain Meilton. Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Director Blain," Oscar said, grinning. "You're looking well. Gained some weight?"
"Careful," Blain hissed. "I could revoke that clearance right now."
"Relax, Harry, it's a joke. I've got a clean shipment this time. You'll be pleased."
Blain's smirk faltered. "You'd better be. The Empire's been sniffing around for you, Meilton. I won't cover your ass twice."
The moment the call ended, the director turned to his aide, and whatever warmth he had pretended to show was gone from his face. "Once they unload, contact the Empire. Tell them the Tartarusios is here. Those criminals think they can play me. Let's see how long they last."
Aboard the Tartarusios
"Hey, Oscar," Halley muttered over comms. "You think that bastard's gonna keep his word?"
Halley was Oscar's right hand — his equal, and the blade that cut through hesitation when he could not. Her neck-length hair was bleached green, and her brown eyes could go from fierce to warm in a heartbeat. What she shared with Oscar was not romance but something harder to name, the bond of two people who had bled and survived together more times than either of them cared to count.
Oscar snorted. "Blain? Not a chance. He's still sore about last time. Get those Brions offloaded before they rot."
"Copy that. But we should stay ready. The second he gets his hands on the cargo, he'll sell us out."
"Already on it. Prep the Orbitons, reload the cannons, and keep maintenance on standby. Let's hope I'm wrong, but don't count on it."
Crew Quarters
"What's with all the noise?" Youri's voice echoed down the narrow corridor. "I can't sleep with this racket!"
Youri carried his whole life on his skin. A tapestry of scars covered his body, most of them buried under dark tattoos that wound over muscle and bone. Every line meant something, though no one aboard knew what. When anyone asked, he only smirked, took another drink, and changed the subject. Untamed brown hair hung over half-lidded green eyes that always looked tired — ancient, almost — the eyes of someone who had seen too much and cared too little, or perhaps had cared far too much once, long ago.
He spent most of his days sprawled across a couch in the crew quarters or perched on the hull with a bottle in hand, watching the void drift by. He laughed with the crew, played cards with them, fixed their weapons and patched their wounds, but he never talked about himself. When someone asked why a man like him was not in command, he would only shrug and say that he had done enough leading for one lifetime. Some nights, when the ship was quiet, they would find him sitting alone in the dark with a half-empty bottle, staring out at the stars as if he were waiting for someone who would never come.
Oscar's voice came through the comm. "Docked at Zellion. Crew's rushing repairs. We've been running non-stop for weeks. Fifth time this month."
"Fifth?" Youri groaned, rubbing his temples. "I get that we're outlaws, but this is suicidal."
"Sorry, Youri. These runs pay well. We need the credits."
"Fine," he muttered, grabbing his jacket. "I'll get something to eat."
He paused by the viewport on his way out. The world below was scarred and half-dead, a surface of vast craters and drifting clouds of ash, and he looked at it longer than he meant to. "Zellion," he murmured. "A planet gutted by empire greed. They say the Terrians unleashed a God Orbiton here during the last war, just to remind everyone who rules the stars."
Zellion Station
Director Blain paced across the platform as the cargo came down. "Be careful with that cargo! Those Brions are worth more than your lives."
Oscar gave him a lazy salute. "Relax, Harry. We didn't drag them across six systems to drop them now."
"Hangar Seven. My team's waiting."
"Copy that. Halley, go with them," Oscar said. "I'll check something outside. Stay sharp. This place stinks of betrayal."
Above the Hull — The Forbidden Hangar
"There it is," Oscar muttered, staring down at the sealed doors of Hangar Two. "He's gonna kill me for this."
"Captain?" Nolan called from below. "What are you doing up there?"
Nolan, the ship's mechanic, was built like the machines he loved — solid, rounded at the edges, impossible to break. His hands were scarred and stained with oil that no amount of scrubbing could remove. His faded blond hair stuck out from under a grease-stained cap he never seemed to take off.
"Just… checking the weather radar," Oscar said.
"He's always hanging around Hangar Two," Nolan said under his breath once the captain had moved on. "That area's off-limits, even to the captain."
"Yeah," one of the young mechanics replied. "Why is that?"
Nolan leaned back against the wall, his eyes going somewhere far away. "Sit down, kid. Let me tell you a story." He spoke of Garossos, a planet of iron and stone that had once been bustling and was now nothing but dust. "The Empire used it as a junkyard during the war. I ran a burger stall. Simple life. Then the sky cracked open and fire fell like rain. They called it a lesson in obedience." He smiled bitterly. "That's when I saw my first warship. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I thought, if I'm gonna die, let it be aboard one of those. So I joined, became a mechanic, and later I deserted and crashed on some nameless rock, starving and out of hope."
His gaze softened as he went on. "Then I saw her. The Tartarusios, cutting through the clouds like a scar of light. No signal, no call, just music — a melody coming from that little window above Hangar Two. Sad, beautiful, alive. I fell asleep to that song and woke up aboard her." He chuckled. "Oscar found me. Said, 'Welcome to the Tartarusios,' and told me one thing: never open Hangar Two. I never asked why. Some things you just feel."
Inside Hangar Two
The heavy door hissed open. Youri stood in the dim light, half in shadow, and he did not look surprised to see who had come in.
Oscar stepped inside quietly. "So this is where you hide."
"Shouldn't you be steering the ship, Captain?" Youri said.
"I'm the captain. I go where I please."
Youri smirked. "Then you already know what's in here."
Oscar's eyes shifted toward the hulking silhouette beyond the glass, a sleeping titan wrapped in steel and silence, and for a moment he forgot what he had meant to say. "Is that…?"
"Altopereh," Youri said. "The Vanisher."
It stood like a god forged from the bones of dying stars — a towering Orbiton, matte black and non-reflective, built to vanish against the backdrop of space. It bore no insignia and no lights, only the suggestion of a core buried deep in its chest, pulsing with dormant power. Eight segmented wing-blades lay folded against its back, weaponized solar razors capable of slicing through hulls or drinking in starlight to recharge, and a single jagged antenna jutted back from its low helm like a broken crown. When it moved, its footfalls created sonic booms, and pilots who had faced it swore they could feel it more than hear it, a faint rhythmic pulse like the heartbeat of a slumbering titan.
Its cockpit had no simple controls. It had a nervous system, built to fuse with its pilot's mind, and to command it was to risk one's sanity, because its neural matrix was said to push back, testing anyone who dared to sit in its core. It was the last of the God Orbitons, machines built not for conquest but for annihilation, and those who saw it on the battlefield never called it by its name. They called it the Vanisher.
Oscar's breath caught. "That's impossible. It was destroyed at Orion."
Youri's tone was soft but heavy. "Some things refuse to die." He turned to face him. "Tell me, Oscar. What does freedom mean to you?"
Oscar hesitated. "Freedom? It's this. What we're doing. Traveling the stars, no borders, no rules, just open space."
Youri nodded slowly. "Good answer."
"Why ask?"
"Because," Youri said, walking past him toward the door, "I needed to be sure I picked the right captain."
Before Oscar could ask what that meant, the comm on his wrist came alive. "Captain! Imperial warship on approach, bearing Zellion's border!"
Command Deck
Oscar's smirk was gone by the time he reached the bridge. "Put it on screen."
The command deck fell silent as the Terrian crest appeared — an iron phoenix soaring across a field of red stars, the symbol of conquest that half the galaxy had learned to read as a death sentence.
"Damn it," Oscar hissed. "Blain sold us out. Warm the engines."
"Main shields to two hundred percent!" Halley shouted across the bridge. "No one fires without my order! If that Radical Cannon hits, we're nothing but cosmic dust!"
"All pilots to their stations! Enemy Orbiton's closing in fast!"
Oscar clenched his fists. "Tom, buy us seven minutes."
Tom was the crew's ace, buzz-cut and scar-chinned, with eyes that scanned a battlefield for angles and weak points instead of fear. When Tom was in the air, victory always felt a little closer.
"Copy that," Tom said. "Titans, launch!"
The Battle Over Zellion
The void erupted. Blue plasma streaks cut across the darkness like thunderbolts in the night, and the Tartarusios shuddered with every nearby detonation as Orbitons streaked through space around her, towering humanoid war machines whose thrusters glowed like burning halos. Metal roared against metal as the Titans clashed with the Empire's hunters.
"Titan Three, engaging the left flank!"
"Titan Five, heavy fire, armor breached!"
"Pull back, Titan Five!" Oscar barked.
"Negative! They've locked onto my core — I can't shake them!"
There was a flash, then static, and then a voice came through that made the whole bridge breathe again: "Enemy Orbiton destroyed." The comm stayed quiet for a heartbeat before Tom's voice returned, breathless. "That's one down. Five more to go."
"Good work, Tom. Titans, fall back to formation! Get ready for leap prep!"
"Engines hot," Bjorn shouted. "ETA one minute!"
Bjorn was the mind of the crew — blond hair combed back, round glasses forever sliding down his nose, more scholar than spacefarer. He was shy and easily flustered in conversation, but he could calculate orbital trajectories faster than most computers. The crew liked to joke that while their weapons won the fights, it was Bjorn's brain that made sure they lived long enough to celebrate.
"Set destination, five hundred light-years from Zellion," Oscar barked.
"Copy. Initiating leap in five… four… three…"
The stars stretched, and then they froze. Halley's eyes widened as the readouts filled with red. "Captain, we're surrounded. Twenty-three warships. All Imperial."
The Hunters Arrive
"We have them, my lady," a lieutenant said aboard the Imperial flagship. "The Tartarusios cannot escape."
Countess Emilia Rozasar stepped from the shadows into the light. Her crimson hair shimmered like liquid fire beneath the bridge lights, but it was her eyes that silenced rooms — black as the void between stars, reflecting no light and no mercy. "Patch me through to their captain," she said, her tone soft and deadly.
"My lady, it's unnecessary. We can obliterate them from here—"
Her gaze cut through him like a mono blade. "I want to see the man who slaughtered my fleet at Onyx."
The holo-screen flickered alive, bathing the Tartarusios' bridge in cold blue light. Emilia's face filled it, serene and predatory, the calm before annihilation. "This is Countess Emilia Rozasar, Commander of the Eastern Galactic Forces. You are surrounded. Surrender and stand trial for your crimes against the Terrian Empire, or be erased from existence." She let the silence stretch. "Last chance, Captain."
Oscar turned toward Halley. "Time to leap?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"Too damn long." He clenched his jaw. "Power to cannon."
"If we divert that much, shields will drop. One hit and we're gone."
Before he could answer, Nolan's voice cracked across the comm. "Sir! Hangar Two is opening!"
Oscar froze. "What? Who authorized that? Put me through!"
Static flared, and then came Youri's voice, calm and defiant. "Boost shields to two hundred percent. Hold the line. I'll make an opening."
"Youri, that's suicide!"
"This is my ship, Oscar." There was a pause, a breath of something final. "And no one points a gun at it and lives."
The ship's AI followed in its flat monotone: "Hangar Two opening. Titan Zero, launching."
The Tartarusios' underbelly split open, venting light and vapor into the black. From that burning gate a single shadow emerged, its jet-black armor veined in molten red and its energy pulsing like a heartbeat. The last of the God Orbitons, a myth that had just turned real, ignited its thrusters in a flare of crimson, and the shockwave alone shattered the nearby debris into dust.
Halley's breath caught. "Titan Zero deployed. I've never seen an Orbiton move like that."
Oscar's eyes hardened. "You won't again. Anyone who does doesn't live to tell about it."
Youri's voice slid through the comms, low and human and tired. "I swore I'd never climb back into this cockpit. But promises are for the living."
"Target locked," the machine answered, cold and precise. "Antimatter cannon, charging."
Inside the cockpit, Youri's hands moved as if instinct had been reborn in them. The machine remembered him. Its panels lit with alien symbols, and the hum of raw cosmic power filled the air around him while the enemy fleet tightened like a steel storm closing on a single spark. He vanished in a flash of red light. A heartbeat later the first Orbiton split clean in two, plasma still glowing along the cut. Another dove at him, and he spun and fired micro-singularity rounds, tiny collapsing stars that folded the attacker into nothing. Each time he disappeared and reappeared, another Orbiton was torn apart, until the void around the fleet had become a graveyard of twisted steel.
"Enemy count: eight."
On the Imperial flagship, Emilia gripped the railing, and for the first time her voice trembled. "Impossible. He's a phantom."
Then Youri's voice came again, crackling across every frequency so that every soldier in the fleet heard it. "Alto. Erase."
The antimatter cannon fired. There was no sound, only a wave of lightless energy so pure it seemed to devour its own shadow. The front line of twelve Imperial warships disintegrated, their atoms scattering into radiation and silence. When the light died, only drifting fragments marked where the Terrian fleet had stood.
On the bridge of the Tartarusios, no one spoke. Oscar stared at the holo-feed, at the static and the ash. When he finally found his voice, it was barely a whisper. "Youri… what have you done?"
Through the haze of comm interference came a single reply, hollow and almost tired. "What I always do."
Then there was only silence, and in that silence, across the endless dark, his name began to spread again — whispered like a curse and revered like a myth. Youri Kronos, pilot of Altopereh, codename Titan Zero: the God Orbiton that erased fleets, and the man who had vanished with it.