Chapter 71: Echoes in the Rust
The air in the scrapyard hung thick and metallic, a cloying perfume of rust, ozone, and damp earth. Inside the makeshift shelter, the voice continued its litany of frustration, a high-strung monologue directed at the inert machinery.
"No, no, that's too much power fluctuation! You'll fry the core capacitor matrix. Stupid, primitive Terran power sources…"
Erza's eyes narrowed. The voice was thin, laced with a frantic energy that spoke not of malice, but of desperation. She signaled to Hancock with a precise, economical hand gesture: I go left, you go right. On my signal, we enter. It was the kind of silent command she had given a hundred times on a hundred battlefields.
Hancock, however, responded with a barely perceptible roll of her eyes. How brutishly predictable, she thought, her own assessment of the situation far more nuanced. A frontal assault, however swift, would only terrify their quarry. This wasn't a soldier; he sounded like a panicked technician. A different approach was required. She ignored Erza's signal, a deliberate act of insubordination that caused a vein to throb in the Requip mage's temple.
Instead, Hancock took a single, elegant step forward into the open. "It is terribly rude to ignore guests who have traveled so far to see you," she announced, her voice a silken melody that cut through the man's muttering. It was not her commanding empress tone, nor her lovesick murmur for Luffy, but a third, carefully crafted cadence: disarmingly pleasant, yet undeniably superior.
The muttering from within the shelter ceased instantly. There was a frantic clatter, the sound of something metallic being dropped, followed by a squeak of pure terror. A moment later, a man scrambled out of the opening. He was gaunt, with wide, terrified eyes that darted between the two women. His clothes were a strange, form-fitting grey jumpsuit, now smudged with grease and dirt. This was Zylar. He clutched a device that looked like a soldering iron had been merged with a scanning tool.
"Stay back!" he yelped, brandishing the tool like a weapon. "I-I'm armed! This is a class-four particle exciter! It can… it can excite your particles! Violently!" His voice cracked on the last word, betraying the emptiness of his threat.
Erza stepped out from behind her cover, her presence an immediate, oppressive weight. Her armor gleamed in the fading light, her expression one of stern impatience. Zylar's eyes widened further, his gaze flickering from the impossibly beautiful woman in the strange, flowing pants to the terrifying armored warrior who looked like a goddess of death.
"We are not here to harm you," Erza stated, her tone flat and direct. She considered this the most efficient way to de-escalate, though the effect was more intimidating than calming. "We need information."
"Information? I don't have any! I'm just a traveler! A lost tourist!" Zylar babbled, taking a clumsy step backward and tripping over a discarded engine block.
Hancock sighed, a sound of profound disappointment in the universe's sheer lack of quality. "He is clearly terrified of you, Titânia. Your approach lacks… finesse." She turned her attention back to Zylar, her lips curving into a smile that was at once dazzling and predatory. "Now then, little man. There is no need for such hysterics. My companion is… uncouth, but her point stands. You will answer our questions. It would be so much more pleasant for everyone if you were to cooperate."
Her words, while seemingly gentle, carried an undercurrent of absolute command. It was not the overt power of her Mero Mero no Mi, but the raw force of her Haoshoku Haki, applied with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel—enough to cow, but not to incapacitate. Zylar visibly flinched, the will to resist draining from him.
"I… I…" he stammered.
Erza, recognizing that her directness was failing, decided to cede the floor for a moment, though it galled her. She stood silent, a sentinel of steel, allowing Hancock to employ her own methods.
If she can get him to talk, so be it, Erza thought, her internal focus already shifting to cataloging the man's technology and assessing his potential as a threat or an asset. Her primary motivation was the protection of her guild and this world; the method was secondary, so long as it was effective.
"Let us begin with a simple question," Hancock continued, taking another step closer. "Who is the 'Conqueror of Worlds'?"
Zylar's face went white, a stark contrast to the grime on his cheeks. "You… you know of him? Then it's too late. He's already found this galaxy. He's coming." The frantic energy in his voice was replaced by a hollow dread. "My world… Xylos… it was a paradise. A world of artisans, thinkers, musicians. We had no standing army. No weapons of mass destruction. We didn't need them." His gaze became distant, lost in a memory of profound loss. "Then he came. His fleets blotted out our twin suns. His emissaries demanded fealty. Our leaders refused. They spoke of peace, of mutual understanding."
He let out a choked, bitter laugh. "The Conqueror does not understand peace. He understands only subjugation. He didn't bomb our cities. He didn't invade with armies. He did something worse. He released the Scourge."
"The Scourge?" Erza asked, her voice sharp with interest.
"A nanite plague. It doesn't kill. It… un-makes. It breaks down complex matter. Buildings turned to dust. Forests melted into grey sludge. People…" He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "They just… dissolved. Within a week, our world was a barren rock. I only escaped because I was on an orbital research station, studying solar flares. I saw it all. I saw my world die."
Hancock's smile had vanished. The story of a world annihilated, of a people erased, resonated with the deep trauma of her own past—the loss of freedom, the utter powerlessness in the face of monstrous authority. While she would never admit it, a sliver of empathy pierced her armor of arrogance. The perpetrators were different—Nobles versus a Conqueror—but the nature of absolute, world-shattering tyranny was the same. Her hatred for such forces was visceral and pure.
"This transmitter you're building," Erza pressed, steering the conversation back to the tactical present. "What is its purpose?"
"I'm trying to send a warning," Zylar said, his voice barely a whisper. "To anyone. To any organized power in this sector of the galaxy. The Galactic Federation, the Star Alliance… anyone who might stand a chance. I'm trying to transmit the Conqueror's fleet signature, his energy patterns, his weaknesses. The data I gathered from the station. But this planet's technology is archaic! I can't get a stable quantum-entangled frequency!"
He gestured wildly at his creation. "It's hopeless. He'll find this world, just as he found mine. And you'll all be dust."
Miles away, in the sterile, echoing expanse of Healdsburg's main industrial park, Himeko and Mirajane moved with a quiet, practiced efficiency. The park was a geometric world of concrete warehouses, gleaming silos, and silent smokestacks. There was no sign of life, not even the hum of machinery.
"The energy signature was strongest here," Himeko said, her voice low as she consulted the datapad integrated into her wrist gauntlet. Its light cast a soft blue glow on her face. "A massive, instantaneous discharge, consistent with spatial translocation. Pip landed in this quadrant." Her approach was methodical, her mind processing data with the calm precision of a seasoned scientist.
"It feels… lonely here," Mirajane observed, her gaze sweeping over the empty loading docks and darkened windows. Her senses were attuned to more than just energy readings; she felt the emotional residue of a place, the lingering echoes of presence and absence. "But not empty. It feels like someone was here recently. Hiding."
Himeko nodded, trusting Mirajane's intuition as a valid, if unquantifiable, data point. "Let's check the main distribution center. A structure that large would offer the best cover."
As they walked, Mirajane glanced at Himeko. "Are you worried? About Erza and Miss Hancock?"
Himeko allowed herself a small, wry smile. "Worried for them, or worried for the scrapyard? Their personalities are… highly reactive. Like two unstable chemical compounds. Kept separate, they are potent. Mixed together, the result is likely to be explosive." She paused, her expression turning more serious. "But they are also incredibly powerful and, in their own ways, fiercely dedicated to protecting their worlds. Erza's sense of justice is as unyielding as her armor , and Miss Hancock's devotion to her home and her… beloved… is absolute. If anyone can handle a cornered alien, it's them. Our concern lies here."
They reached the enormous rolling door of the distribution center. It was slightly ajar. Himeko ran a quick scan. "No power to the building. The door was forced manually."
Mirajane placed a hand on the cold metal, pushing it open further. The gap widened with a low groan, revealing a cavernous space filled with towering shelves of crated goods. Dust motes danced in the beams of their flashlights.
"Pip?" Mirajane called out softly. Her voice, gentle and non-threatening, echoed in the vastness.
There was no reply but the drip-drip-drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere in the darkness.
Himeko pointed her light towards the floor. "Look."
In the thin layer of dust, there were tracks. Not human boot prints, but a series of precise, three-toed impressions, as if made by a large bird. Alongside them was a strange, oily black residue, glistening faintly in the light. It was smeared in a long, dark trail leading deeper into the warehouse.
"That is not Pip's," Himeko stated, her scientific curiosity piqued. She knelt, using a small tool from her kit to scrape a sample of the residue into a vial. "This substance… it's organic, but its cellular structure is unlike anything in my database. It seems to be… corrosive."
Mirajane's gentle expression hardened. Her eyes, which a moment ago held only concern, now held a glint of the protective ferocity she reserved for threats against the innocent. The feeling of loneliness in this place was now tinged with something colder, something predatory. Pip had been here. But it seemed he wasn't alone. And the evidence suggested he had not left willingly.
Aboard the Little Express, Joey listened to the exchange from the scrapyard through the ship's comms, his knuckles white as he gripped the console. Lyra sat beside him, patiently watching him, her head tilted.
He heard Zylar's story of a world un-made, of a people dissolved into dust. The sheer scale of the horror was unimaginable, a concept so vast and cruel it bypassed his anxiety and settled in his gut as a cold, heavy dread. This was his worst nightmare given form: a universe where entire worlds could be extinguished on a whim, where the innocent suffered and died for no reason. He felt a surge of profound empathy for Zylar, a kinship with his terror and loss.
He's like me, Joey thought, the realization a painful shock. He's scared. He's alone. He's just trying to survive.
Lyra touched his arm, her small fingers a comforting pressure. "Sad," she said, her large eyes reflecting the faint glow of the console screens. She had heard it too.
"Yeah," Joey breathed. "Sad." He felt a familiar wave of helplessness wash over him. What could he possibly do against a force that could erase planets? He was just Joey, the guy who was afraid to order a pizza over the phone.
Then, he heard Himeko's voice cut in on a separate channel, her tone clipped and professional. "Little Express, this is Himeko. We have a situation. We've found tracks and a biological residue not belonging to our target. It appears Pip may have been captured or attacked by an unknown hostile. Stand by."
Joey's heart hammered against his ribs. Captured. Attacked. The words echoed in the quiet cabin. Two active missions, two unfolding crises. He looked at the comms panel, at the blinking lights representing his new, powerful, and terrifying friends scattered across his hometown. He felt responsible for them, a feeling so foreign and overwhelming it was almost dizzying.
He had to do something. He couldn't fight, but Himeko had given him a job. Monitor the comms. He could do that. He could do it well. He forced himself to take a deep breath, mimicking the calming exercises his therapist had taught him. He picked up a stylus and pulled up a fresh data log on the screen, his hands shaking slightly.
He began to transcribe Himeko's report, his fingers flying across the screen. Industrial Park. Unknown hostile. Biological residue. Corrosive. He then switched back to the scrapyard feed, logging Zylar's testimony. Conqueror of Worlds. Nanite plague. Scourge. Target: Xylos. Annihilated.
The act of organizing the information, of giving the chaos some semblance of structure, was calming. It was a small thing, a tiny act of defiance against the overwhelming fear. It was a job. It was his job. For the first time, sitting in the command chair of a starship, surrounded by dangers he couldn't comprehend, Joey felt a flicker not of purpose, but of usefulness. And for now, it was enough.
________________________________________
If you want more chapters, please consider supporting my page on Patreon. with 40 advanced chapters available on Patreon
https://www.patreon.com/c/JoeyLean