Looking at the compass that had just been tossed into the trash can…
One of the team members couldn't help but ask, "Captain, what do we do now?"
He had been fairly confident about surviving this punishment mission. But the way that compass reacted? Like a thunderclap at the opening act.
They all knew—even if that compass had only reached the two-thirds mark on its scale, it still meant a boss-level enemy that would require the whole team's full effort to handle.
And if it hit the maximum? That usually meant a high probability of a total wipeout.
Yet for the compass to completely collapse on the spot? That was beyond anything they'd imagined.
His confidence shattered instantly.
The rest of the team didn't say anything out loud, but their eyes revealed clear signs of dread.
"…Don't panic. This was just a small hiccup."
The captain knew he had to rally morale. His expression turned serious as he said, "I've still got a reinforced version of the compass—blessed by the Holy Spirit. Let's first get a read on the target's power before making any decisions."
He then reached into his spatial storage and pulled out another compass, this one noticeably larger than the last.
Unlike the previous one's simple design, this compass was etched with golden runes glowing faintly with divine light—clearly a high-grade item.
Even as he took it out, the captain felt a pang of pain. This compass was imbued with a one-time enchantment. If he weren't feeling so uncertain himself, he'd never have used it so lightly.
Seeing the new compass, the Purgators in the room quickly shifted their attention, eager to see what this one would reveal.
Under their tense gazes, this compass at least didn't break down like the last.
Its needle began to rotate slowly after locking onto the target.
Soon, it climbed past the 60-mark on the scale—out of a total of 100.
In their last world, a 100-mark reading meant a being at the
"Demigod" Rank.
The kind of entity that could destroy cities or even nations singlehandedly.
And when the needle finally reached the full 100.
Every Purgators present, including the captain, looked grim.
If it were an open battlefield, they could maybe set traps or use trickery.
But inside a spaceship, face-to-face with a Demigod-level opponent?
They didn't even have a place to run.
Even if they somehow won, the cost would be disastrous.
Before they could process how to handle the situation—
The needle, after completing one full rotation to 100, didn't stop. Instead, it looped back to 1 and started rotating again.
"…?"
One of the team members stared in confusion. "Wait, does this thing stack?"
Everyone was baffled. No one had a clue what it meant.
Under their watchful eyes, the needle finished its second rotation… then a third…
A fourth… fifth… sixth…
The compass needle showed no sign of stopping, spinning faster and faster with each loop.
A dozen seconds later—
To everyone's shock, the needle was spinning like a helicopter rotor, even generating noticeable wind.
And then, with just that one needle, the compass lifted off from the captain's outstretched hand and began to float in mid-air.
"???"
"Damn!"
"Holy shit!"
"What the hell?!"
"Mother—!"
Everyone was completely stunned by the scene.
Just then, on the nearby Lewis and Clark, the spaceship that was about to dock with the Horizon, Captain Miller—who had been briefing his crew for landing—also caught sight of the floating compass.
Puzzled, he asked, "What's that? Some kind of new drone?"
It was the first time he'd seen a compass-shaped drone.
Strange as it looked, it gave off a weird sense of déjà vu.
What's the term for it again?
Ancient aesthetic + modern tech?
Faced with the question, the captain glanced at the compass now hovering over his head. He licked his lips, then muttered, "…Uh, yeah. Right."
Miller's curiosity was piqued.
"Cool design. Got a link to where I can buy one? I'd love to pick one up when we get back."
"Sure… no problem…"
After brushing Miller off with a few polite words, the captain turned serious and told his deputy, "Get those Tsar Bombs we bought at a premium ready. If things go sideways, detonate them immediately!. We'll use the space scrolls to hide in an alternate dimension and ride it out."
"Understood…"
---
Meanwhile, aboard the Horizon, its creator—a scientist named William—was preparing to brief the crew on the mission details.
Trying to ease them in, William started, "First of all, I'm really glad—"
But before he could finish, Captain Miller cut him off, clearly annoyed:
"You might be glad, but we sure as hell aren't. We had to cancel our scheduled leave just to come all the way out to Neptune—not exactly a vacation. And FYI, the nearest rescue station is 3 billion kilometers away. The last time someone tried to rescue a ship from that distance, both vessels ended up gone!"
He had every right to be pissed—having both their holiday taken away and being sent on a high-risk mission.
It was only because they were all professionals with status and reputation that no fists were thrown.
Otherwise, Miller would've flipped the table by now.
But William simply brushed aside the complaint with a glance and continued,
"Due to how sudden this situation was, a lot of details weren't disclosed to you in advance. For instance, not long ago, the Space Administration received a distress signal.
And that signal came from the Horizon—which mysteriously vanished several years ago."
Hearing this, many of the crew members frowned.
They had assumed they were just heading out for a regular rescue mission.
No one expected the target to be a ghost ship that had disappeared years ago.
It all sounded… off.
One of the crew, who hadn't heard about the incident becoming headline news on Earth, scoffed, "Yeah right. That thing's been gone for years. It's already been searched for countless times—how could it just be floating out by Neptune?"
Captain Miller, however, figured William wouldn't joke about something like this.
Wanting more information, he said, "Alright, let's hear him out."
With that bit of support, William shrugged and continued:
"The Horizon was a special government-commissioned vessel, designed specifically for faster-than-light travel…"
One of the crew cut him off, frowning, "Pardon me, but that's impossible. According to relativity, nothing can move faster than light."
This crew member was a tech officer—top graduate from a prestigious university.
To him, William's words sounded like utter nonsense.
But William didn't try to hide anything. He said plainly:
"Since we couldn't break relativity, the ship itself can't exceed the speed of light. But we used a different approach. Put simply, we used magnetic fields to compress gravitons into a small cluster, then used Scalar's Tensor Theory to fold space-time…"
One of the less educated crew members instantly went cross-eyed.
He cut in, "Can you not use alien language? Speak Human, man."
William rolled his eyes.
'The educational gap on this ship is insane…' he thought silently.
But to keep the mission moving, he picked up a sheet of paper.
He wrote "A" on one end and "B" on the other, then asked, "This paper represents space. What's the shortest way to get from point A to point B?"
A crew member replied, "Draw a straight line?"
William shook his head. "Wrong. One point."
He folded the paper so that point A touched point B, then stabbed through both with a pen.
After the demonstration, he explained:
"The Horizon's FTL system works by using gravity to fold space. By overlapping the starting and ending points, the ship effectively skips all the space in between. It doesn't travel faster—it jumps across folded space."
After hearing all this…
The crew felt like they were listening to a sci-fi novel.
They didn't fully understand the technical stuff, but it sounded very high-tech.
One curious crew member asked, "How do you know all that?"
William replied casually, "Because I built it."
That answer instantly changed the room's mood.
Their attitude toward William improved drastically—and for good reason.
Anyone who could build something like that had to be a serious powerhouse. Not someone you wanted to offend.
Seeing their shift in tone, William was satisfied and continued:
"During the test flight, everything was going smoothly. But once the Horizon reached Neptune and initiated its first space-jump…
The ship disappeared.
No signal. No wreckage. Nothing.
It just vanished without a trace—until now."
Faced with the intel provided by William, Miller couldn't shake a growing sense of dread.
This bizarre and mysterious event made him feel like he had stepped into the role of a character in a sci-fi thriller—one where disaster could strike at any moment.
His instincts told him to walk away immediately, but the higher-ups clearly wouldn't allow that.
After thinking it over for a moment, Miller's expression turned solemn. He asked, "If that ship has been missing for seven years, where has it been during that time? And how did it make its way back?"
William answered directly, "That's exactly why we're here—to find out. Although we're not sure if there are still any survivors onboard, the Space Agency did receive a transmission."
As he spoke, he moved his hand over the control panel and tapped a certain option.
The next moment, an eerie cacophony of wailing and sobbing came from the speakers.
It sounded like a chorus of countless tortured voices—screaming and crying in anguish—all layered together in a way that sent chills down everyone's spine.
But as they listened more closely…
They could barely make out fragments of what seemed like human speech.
One of the crew members frowned. "What the hell is that?"
William calmly replied, "The headquarters in London has already filtered the signal several times. Buried within it is a fragment that resembles human language."
"'Libera me'?"
The ship's doctor hesitated as he listened to the distorted audio. "Part of it sounds like Latin… something along the lines of 'Free me' or 'Save me.'"
The group began to discuss the possible meaning.
Only the Purgators observing from the sidelines knew what it truly meant.
In fact, the correct translation wasn't "libera me," but rather "libera te."
The full phrase was "Libera te tutemet ex inferis"—Latin for: "Save yourself from hell."
But hidden within it was a malevolent intent from an unknown dimension.
What it truly meant was unclear. Did it imply that the Event Horizon—the missing ship—needed to be freed to wreak havoc again? Or was it referring to something else entirely?
Either way, whatever that thing was, it clearly wasn't friendly.
At this realization, a few of the Purgators turned pale.
A place that could be called hell or the underworld, that turned both people and spaceships into monsters… was certainly no place for the living.
And this type of unknowable, otherworldly evil—no matter the time or place—was always the most dangerous kind of enemy.
———
After exchanging a glance, the deputy team leader gave the captain a small nod.
It was a silent signal: Tsar Bomba—Big Ivan was fully prepared and ready to be detonated at any time.
The captain finally exhaled in relief.
Those several Big Ivans were their ultimate trump card—each equivalent to 200 megatons of TNT.
If detonated successfully, they could annihilate entire nations.
With temperatures reaching into the hundreds of millions of degrees, theoretically, they could incinerate anything.
At this point—
Even if they knew next to nothing about their enemy, or how it operated, the Purgators firmly believed in one thing: "When in doubt—nuke the hell out of it."
Just like how, in countless horror movies, some inexplicable force always stops characters from continuing to tempt fate inside haunted houses…
After several near-death encounters, the Lewis and Clark—like a doomed horror movie protagonist—finally docked with the Event Horizon.
Thus began the mission none of them wanted to be on, but were forced into by orders from above: a suicide run they had no choice but to take.
Compared to the naive main characters who didn't know any better…
The Purgators were under far more pressure. In their eyes, the so-called Event Horizon was nothing less than a floating hellscape.
Long ago, the ship had been twisted into a living nightmare by that alien dimension.
The captain tried to reassure his team:
"Hold steady. Just follow the protagonists for now. The early stages should be relatively safe…"
According to the movie plot they had watched beforehand, once onboard, they would pass through a fairly long corridor without incident.
The real danger wouldn't begin until one of the crew members encountered trouble in the engine room—and Dr. William was mentally corrupted by the Event Horizon. That would be the true start of the nightmare.
As the airlock door slowly opened, the captain stepped in first to boost his team's morale.
But the moment he caught sight of the interior, his body flinched instinctively.
According to the movie, this corridor should have been just a narrow passageway—nothing unusual.
But now, it was covered in gore and limbs.
Countless dismembered corpses clung to the walls, as if they were a part of the ship's very structure.
The Event Horizon's cold steel interior was lined with hundreds of mutilated skulls—embedded like decorations.
Their empty eye sockets stared directly at the intruders in eerie silence, screaming without sound.
An opening shock!
Utterly soul-crushing!
"…Shit."
The captain, who had just taken a step forward, immediately jerked his leg back.
As members of the advance team, Captain Miller and Dr. William—who had entered right after him—were equally horrified.
In just one second, they were nearly scared into wetting themselves.
Without hesitation, Miller slammed the button to close the hatch and screamed:
"FUCK NO, FUCK NO, FUCK NO, FUCK NO, FUCK NO, FUCK NO!!"
"This goddamn place is worse than a haunted house! If a few demons from hell crawl out of that hallway, I'd believe it!!
Cut the link with the Event Horizon! Right fucking now!!"
"Screw the mission!!. Where we came from—THAT'S where we're going back!!"
In the original story, Dr. William was supposed to be the one stubbornly pushing forward.
But now, after seeing that hellish scene, he nodded furiously. "Go! We need to get the hell out of here!"
If they had at least made it through the hallway safely, only to be betrayed later, that would be one thing.
But just seeing the entrance was enough to make any sane person flee.
The truth behind the Event Horizon? The integrity of scientific inquiry?
None of it mattered anymore.
Survival was the only thing that mattered.
Even the main characters and the eventual antagonist—who were supposed to have a dramatic ideological clash later on—now shared one united opinion:
"We're out. This hellhole is beyond saving."
The pilot, who hadn't seen what was inside but saw the sheer terror on his commanders' faces, instantly realized something had gone very wrong.
He frantically worked the console.
A few minutes later—
He shouted in despair, "We can't disconnect! The docking mechanism's jammed! Someone has to go onto the Event Horizon and blow the coupling point—we won't break free otherwise!"
In other words: a whole lot of effort had been absolutely useless.
A few minutes later—
With countless eyes watching them—protagonists, side characters, extras, even villains—regarding them like noble martyrs…
The Purgators gritted their teeth and marched out of the Lewis and Clark.
They had no choice. Their mission was to eliminate the Event Horizon, or more accurately—the thing now inhabiting it.
They had to go, whether they wanted to or not.
"Goddamn Matrix…" the captain muttered.
Walking through the ship, stepping over corpses littering the floor, he clutched his weapon tightly and cursed the Matrix Purgatory with every breath.
But even as he raged, he still did his job and tried to reassure his team:
"Keep your nerve. I don't care what kind of hell this is—two nukes will blow it straight to oblivion."
Then he opened the engine room doors.
According to the plot, what awaited inside should have been a gravity drive composed of several concentric rings.
And indeed—it was still there.
But it didn't quite match the version shown in the film.
The most striking difference was a bone-crafted insignia suspended at the center of the device.
It looked like a rune formed by an X with a crossbar at the bottom—composed entirely of skulls.
In addition, the walls of the engine room were covered in twisted writing.
Among the Purgators was a Mage.
The moment his eyes landed on the symbols, he instinctively recognized them—his eyes glazed over, and he began to recite the words unconsciously.
Realizing what was happening, the captain—who also understood the symbols—lunged to stop him.
But it was too late.
"Blood for the Blood God, skulls for the Skull Throne."
As those cursed words were spoken aloud, a sinister, blood-scented wind began to howl throughout the chamber.
The captain stared blankly, murmuring to himself in despair:
"Warhammer…? A Daemon from the Warp
A few minutes later…
A massive crimson fireball, laced with intense nuclear radiation, erupted near Neptune—centered on the Event Horizon.
The explosion incinerated everything within a radius of several dozen kilometers, turning space itself into a raging inferno.
But without fuel to sustain the blaze, the flames quickly died down.
Revealed in the aftermath was the heavily damaged husk of the Event Horizon.
As for the Lewis and Clark… there wasn't even enough left to call it wreckage. It had been instantly vaporized—reduced to scattered metallic particles so fine you'd need a filter just to collect them.
Once the chaos settled into silence…
A strange, guttural roar—filled with irritation—echoed across the void. A pulse of unknown energy rippled outward from the wreckage of the Event Horizon.
Then, like a living creature mending its wounds, the ruined vessel began to regenerate.
Scarlet flesh and pale bones began to bubble forth from the jagged metal, rapidly growing over the twisted remains.
Before long, a grotesque, crudely assembled, scaled-down version of the Event Horizon stood in its place—reborn as a grotesque flesh-and-bone warship.
Once its new structure stabilized, the abomination—now devoid of any visible pilot—set course for Earth at incredible speed.
Clearly, after suffering such a grievous blow, whatever now controlled the Event Horizon was not pleased.
And it was coming for payback.
---
Earth — United Kingdom.
Inside the monitoring center of the Space Agency.
A staff member lounging in a leather chair, casually sipping coffee, suddenly sat bolt upright as the screen in front of him flickered and changed.
The shock nearly caused him to spill his cup.
He slammed the mug down and shouted, panic in his voice, "Something's wrong! The Lewis and Clark's signal just vanished!"
The room descended into immediate chaos.
As the designated rescue ship for the FTL-experiment vessel Event Horizon, the Lewis and Clark held immense strategic value.
While not quite as groundbreaking as the Event Horizon, it was still a national treasure-class spacecraft.
It carried the finest equipment money could buy, and the personnel aboard were all elite veterans—each one a seasoned expert in their field.
So, its sudden disappearance set off every alarm.
They had already lost the Event Horizon—and now the Lewis and Clark was gone as well.
The blow was devastating.
Interstellar-capable ships were nothing like the regular ferries running between Earth, Mars, or the Moon.
They represented the bleeding edge of science and consumed tremendous national resources.
If there was even a sliver of hope, they had to act.
---
At that same moment…
Elsewhere, someone else was watching.
Orsaga, who had been monitoring the agency's data feeds, also noticed the Lewis and Clark had likely been destroyed.
"Looks like trouble's on the way," he muttered, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.
Then, almost casually, he tapped away at his keyboard.
Through his connections with Petra, he leased a facility and ordered a stockpile of supplies to be delivered and stored there.
Sitting next to him, Petra raised an eyebrow and asked, "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
Orsaga chuckled. "The kind you wouldn't understand~~"
From his perspective, the threat wasn't particularly serious—just a possible inconvenience.
No need to panic.
He was mostly just… curious.
Curious about what kind of entrance the enemy would make.
Curious whether things would become more interesting.
Curious about what secrets might be lurking in the depths of this universe.
Aliens?
Something else entirely?
He wasn't worried—just intrigued.
Petra lightly punched his chest and, unable to resist, let curiosity get the better of her too. "You and your damn mystery games…"
Meanwhile, Elsa—seated on a separate couch—watched the two of them flirt with a disgusted look on her face, clearly annoyed by their antics.
---
Over twenty days later…
Following extensive internal discussions, the Space Agency finally launched a second search-and-rescue mission.
Inside the control room of the new ship, the pilot was whistling and leisurely reading a book.
Since the flight path had already been verified as safe, there were no obstacles expected along the route.
Even if a stray asteroid appeared, the ship's built-in AI could react in less than a microsecond.
In truth, his main role was just to ensure the ship ran smoothly.
There was no need to actively monitor the surroundings; just check the system status every now and then.
All other crew members were currently in hibernation.
To conserve resources, the ship used a rotating duty system. Only essential personnel remained awake at any given time, while the rest were put into cryosleep and swapped out every five days.
"Damn it, no internet… If I'd known, I would've brought my laptop and played some games…"
He wasn't reading the book because he liked it—he just had nothing else to do.
But then, from the corner of his eye, something caught his attention.
A new blip appeared on the radar—a ship-like object.
"Huh?"
He turned to confirm their current coordinates.
They were in uncharted space—a zone where no civilian ships should be.
Frowning slightly, he wondered:
'A mining expedition? But there's no asteroid belt out here.'
'Then what the hell are they doing here?. Maybe some company's testing a prototype vessel?'
As his mind spun with speculation, something unusual flashed on one of the nearby displays.
His expression froze.
It was the ship's lifeform detector—usually used to locate survivors during rescue ops.
And according to the display… that "ship" wasn't a ship at all.
It was a massive living organism.
The readings showed it was nearly 300 meters long—and moving at over twice their speed.
Since he had personally checked the lifeform scanner pre-launch, he immediately ruled out a malfunction.
A flood of science fiction scenarios raced through his mind.
And with it came a deep, sinking sense of dread.
Without a second's hesitation, he slammed the emergency wake-up button.
With a series of hissing sounds, the cryo-pods began to unlock.
As the crew slowly awakened, the pilot's voice boomed through the ship:
"All crew members, report to emergency stations immediately!. We have an unidentified biological entity rapidly approaching the ship!"
The ship's captain—who had just awoken and was still groggy from cryosleep—froze when he heard those words.
'Aliens?'
He didn't dare linger.
He rushed toward the control room.
But before he could even step inside—
The main display screen stopped him in his tracks.
What he saw…
Was a grotesque warship covered in writhing flesh and bone.
Its jagged, irregular hull bristled with weapon turrets, and thousands of bones had been fused into a massive emblem on its side.
There was no need for guesses.
No need for analysis.
Anyone who laid eyes on that thing would feel it instinctively
It did not belong in this universe.
It had come from hell.
"Quick—!"
The captain opened his mouth to issue retreat orders.
But before the words could leave his lips—
The bone warship's cannons roared.
Dozens of energy blasts lit up the void.
In a storm of fire and explosions, the rescue ship never stood a chance.
It was consumed in an instant—reduced to nothing more than a fiery cloud in the darkness of space.
It wasn't long before it happened again.
Amidst a wave of shock, the Space Agency once more received a transmission—the unmistakable signal that another spacecraft had been destroyed.
The Director's furious roar echoed throughout the control room:
"What the hell is going on?! They haven't even reached Neptune yet—how could something go wrong already?!"
In the midst of his outburst, a technician timidly spoke up:
"Sir, the Rafea's monitoring system transmitted one final data package before it was destroyed. It likely contains video footage."
After the previous incidents involving the Horizon and the Lewis and Clark, the Rafea, as part of the second rescue wave, had been equipped with special long-range transmission devices capable of sending back recorded data from deep space.
Though the technology might seem basic, for a civilization just beginning to explore the stars, it was a hard-won breakthrough—achieved through the sacrifice of lives and vast resources.
Many missions had ventured far into space, only to find themselves stranded—too far to return, with no fuel or means to resupply. Rescue missions couldn't reach them in time, and crews often died of starvation.
With signals too weak to transmit back, their fates remained unknown. No confirmation of life or death—just silence. Another name on the missing persons list.
Over the decades of space exploration, such tragedies had become all too familiar…
Upon hearing that a data packet had successfully made it back, the Director clutched at it like a drowning man grabbing a rope.
"When can it be decoded?" he demanded.
The technician, still uncertain, replied cautiously:
"It seems the transmission was partially disrupted… I'll need about an hour to decode it."
"Good! Once it's done, I'll give you a full month of paid leave!"
Motivated by that promise, the technician immediately straightened up and replied,
"Consider it done, sir!"
---
Forty minutes later.
After finishing the decoding process and watching the footage himself, the technician looked as if he'd just seen a ghost.
He knew instantly—his vacation was gone.
After witnessing this kind of footage, he'd be lucky to avoid getting locked away indefinitely, let alone take time off.
When the Director viewed the footage that had been handed to him, his expression turned dark. He immediately turned to his aide and said,
"Inform the Ministry of Defense, the Prime Minister, and Her Majesty… Tell them this is a matter of extreme urgency—they need to be here immediately."
Having seen the video himself, the aide understood the gravity of the situation and didn't dare hesitate.
"Yes, sir!"
---
Dozens of minutes later.
Using military-grade maglev aircraft and similar transportation, the most powerful figures in the United Kingdom gathered at the Space Agency.
Once everyone had taken their seats, the Director didn't waste any time:
"The rescue mission we sent to find the Horizon and the Lewis and Clark… has also run into trouble."
"What do you mean?" someone asked.
"Weren't the rescue crews supposed to reach Neptune in a few more weeks? Could there have been a navigational error?"
The Chancellor of the Exchequer (Finance Minister) was the first to voice his frustration.
"You do realize those three ships combined cost us two months of the UK's entire GDP, right?"
He was livid. To him, this was nothing short of gross negligence by the Space Agency.
But the Director said nothing. Instead, he pressed a button in front of him, illuminating the central screen in the conference room.
"At the moment it was destroyed, the Rafea transmitted one last piece of data. Watch this, and you'll understand."
"Destroyed?"
Everyone immediately seized on that word.
With puzzled expressions, they turned their attention to the screen.
Then they saw it—a grotesque, bio-mechanical warship cruising silently through space. In a flash, it unleashed a devastating volley that completely obliterated the Rafea.
The Queen, visibly shaken, spoke in disbelief:
"Aliens? That… was an alien warship? But why would they attack us?"
"We don't know yet," the Director replied grimly. "But our analysis revealed something shocking."
"That alien warship… bears roughly 70% structural similarity to the Horizon—the very ship we lost years ago."
"There's a high probability that it's a heavily modified version of the Horizon itself."
"Moreover, if we consider the time and location of the Lewis and Clark's disappearance, along with the alien vessel's speed and movement patterns, our experts have concluded that it was already in the vicinity of Neptune when the Lewis and Clark vanished."
"And now, after it directly destroyed the Rafea, we have compelling reason to believe this ship is responsible for all three incidents."
At this, the expressions of the gathered officials darkened.
One ship lost could be written off as an accident.
But three?
That pointed to hostility—intentional, calculated hostility.
'What could Earth possibly have done to earn the wrath of an alien species?'
The question lingered in everyone's minds.
And so, the elite members of the government began to debate the matter fervently.
---
An hour passed.
Still no conclusions.
Several theories had been proposed, but none were convincing.
After all, Earth was a backwater speck in a quiet corner of the galaxy. It didn't seem like the kind of place that could offend an advanced alien civilization.
Suddenly, a researcher burst into the room and whispered something urgently into the Director's ear.
His face changed instantly.
He stood up and interrupted the meeting.
"Everyone! Something critical just came in from the tech team."
"Based on the alien ship's speed and its appearance near the Rafea, if it truly passed Neptune… then it's been traveling in a straight line."
"And its trajectory is aimed directly at Earth."
"If our calculations are correct, we estimate it will arrive… in about fifteen days."
The room erupted.
Those who had been thinking about covering up the incident immediately gave up on that idea.
"What?!"
Shock swept through the room.
Speculation flew.
"Judging by the design of that warship, I think we're dealing with a brutal faction of interstellar raiders!"
"Could be slavers—they might be coming to Earth to capture people!"
"We need to prepare to fight back!"
"They're capable of interstellar travel. We probably don't stand a chance. Maybe we should surrender early—and offer up other countries instead?"
"Start with France. I bet they'll surrender before we do anyway."
"Not a bad idea!"
"Smart. I like it."
As the conversation began to veer off course, the Queen raised her voice to bring order:
"Enough!"
"Based on their behavior, I doubt they'd leave survivors if they had the chance to take everything."
"So even if it comes to that… surrender must be our last option."
"Agreed. Judging by how they destroyed the Rafea without hesitation, they won't negotiate unless we show some resistance first."
"If we give up too easily, we'll only look weak—and die even more miserably."
"In that case, we should start coordinating with other countries. See if they have any countermeasures or preparations."
"...I second that."
"Agreed."
"Count me in."
---
That very day, the world's major powers each received a classified intelligence report—along with an invitation to a special global summit.
As the summit concluded…
After a full day of debate and heated arguments, Earth's major powers finally managed to produce a somewhat unified resolution:
"If communication is possible, we will attempt peaceful contact."
"If hostility is shown—we strike first."
Of course, the real reason they reached consensus so quickly was simple:
They had no other choice.
None of them had the capability to abandon Earth and flee into the stars.
And the enemy, after all, was just a single warship.
What if—just maybe—they could actually win?
With that hopeful thought in mind, the nations began mobilizing their resources.
Countless secret weapons and classified technologies, previously hidden away in the shadows, were now brought out into the light.
After cobbling together every scrap of firepower they could, the compiled list of weapons and systems surprised everyone.
Their side's overall combat strength… wasn't bad at all.
If it really was just one starship—not even a particularly strong one—they might actually stand a chance.
That realization gave the leaders of each country a much-needed boost of confidence.
Mobilization began at full speed.
Weapons, personnel, and equipment were rushed to the space bases on Mars and the Moon at all costs.
The plan was to build defensive lines there—to intercept the incoming enemy before it ever reached Earth.
And as one massive transport vessel after another launched into orbit, their engines roaring with blinding blue flame…
This kind of unprecedented military operation—both in scale and secrecy—was impossible to hide from everyone.
Soon, the nations that hadn't been invited to the summit, along with various civilian organizations and multinational corporations, began to sense that something was wrong.
Even a global war wouldn't require this much manpower and logistics.
They started using every method at their disposal to dig for answers from the higher-ups.
Bribes, seduction, drugs, weapons...
But those at the top knew just how serious this situation was. No one dared slip up at such a critical moment.
It was as if every world leader had suddenly become a saint—no matter how much they were tempted, no one said a word.
After a series of failed attempts, the frustrated parties changed tactics and started digging from the bottom instead.
In just a few days, rumors began circulating among the public—and rapidly spread through various media channels.
Anxiety and panic took root.
Protests, demonstrations, and even violent riots began to erupt across the globe.
But for the major powers, these events were barely worth a reaction.
Aside from dispatching police when things got particularly out of hand, they didn't bother intervening further.
To them, this was just noise. Background static.
Mob violence? So what?
Did they have nuclear warheads?
11th-generation fighter jets?
Maglev main battle tanks?
Next-gen smart rifles?
No?
Then let them riot for a few days. What difference did it make?
Once the real threat was handled, all of this could be cleaned up in a matter of minutes.
And if they couldn't solve the main problem…
Then none of it would matter anyway.
---
In a luxury villa…
After hanging up a phone call, Petra's expression was grim.
Orsaga glanced at her and casually asked,
"What are you up to?"
There was a brief silence. Perhaps deciding that it was better to mentally prepare him early, Petra sighed and replied:
"…The situation's gotten a bit unstable. I wanted to make backup plans—for the three of us."
Under normal circumstances, given her influence in Britain, even if a global war broke out, Petra could easily guarantee their safety.
For example, just beneath this upscale neighborhood, about 300 meters underground, there was a fully equipped fallout shelter.
It had enough supplies to sustain over 10,000 people for more than a decade.
Its security?
Flawless. Built by and for the elite.
Even a nuclear strike on the surface wouldn't breach it.
But this time… something was off.
In a confidential conversation with the Queen, Petra had picked up on some troubling undertones.
The Queen's subtle implications only reinforced her growing suspicion that this wasn't just another crisis.
It demanded caution.
So she had tried to arrange a private spaceflight—to escape to another planet and wait things out until the truth became clear.
But due to the current global situation, not even she could pull that off.
Hence the sour look on her face.
---
"Unstable?" Orsaga chuckled. "You're worried about that?"
"Ugh, you're so annoying."
Seeing his complete lack of concern, Petra frowned.
Just thinking about how she had humbled herself, made calls, begged for favors—not for herself, but for all three of them—made her scowl.
"I only did it for us, you know."
Orsaga gently soothed her,
"No need to stress over something so minor. Just do whatever you feel like doing."
Even though his current strength was at a human level, after a recent blood ritual, Orsaga had obtained one opportunity to unleash his true form.
So that so-called Horizon ship?
He didn't consider it a threat at all.
Even if he didn't know its exact capabilities.
Because honestly, the enemy's performance had been underwhelming.
Neptune was what—three billion kilometers from Earth?
At lightspeed, that was a trip of under three hours.
But that trash heap of a ship was going to take dozens of days to get here?
To Orsaga, that wasn't "advanced alien tech."
It was slow. Turtle-slow.
He was getting impatient just waiting.
---
Picking up on the disdain in his tone, Petra asked curiously,
"You know something about it?"
In her mind, Orsaga was an enigma—his background completely untraceable.
Even with all her power, she had found nothing on him.
That could only mean one thing:
He had deep, dangerous secrets.
Which was why she suspected he might know something more than he was letting on.
Orsaga responded honestly,
"To be fair, I know a little. But not much."
That bizarre, fleshy warship?
He honestly didn't know exactly what it was.
But its grotesque design, covered in blood and bone, gave him a strange sense of familiarity.
Back in the Abyss, his wholesome hometown demons loved that kind of whimsically grotesque aesthetic.
---
Seeing the sincerity on his face, Petra rolled her eyes and teased,
"Liar. I bet you know all the secrets."
"…"
As an honest abyssal demon, Orsaga felt deeply wronged.
No matter who it was, throughout his entire existence…
Everyone assumed he was a liar.
Even if they didn't know his true nature, they just knew he was shady.
But in truth, from the moment he was born until now, he could count the lies he'd told on one hand—ten at most.
He truly believed he had earned the right to be called "honest."
And yet, the entire world seemed determined to paint him as some scheming, duplicitous bastard.
It was honestly exhausting