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.