The wind howled across the barren expanse of Tartarus, dragging long trails of dust and ash across the endless desert. It screamed against the jagged remains of what once stood tall and unstoppable, now reduced to a relic half-buried beneath the weight of time itself. Youri walked against that wind, each step heavy, deliberate—like a man moving not just through space, but through the consequences of his own choices.
The silhouette of the fallen Orbiton rose before him once again.
What had once been Altopereh's vessel—a towering embodiment of annihilation—now stood like a grave marker in the middle of an uncaring world. Its legs were almost entirely swallowed by sand, thick layers of dust clinging to every joint and crevice. The once imposing armor plating had dulled, its metallic sheen replaced by a weathered, almost fossilized texture. It looked ancient. Forgotten.
Youri stopped.
To him… he had only just left it.
Yet what stood before him now looked as though centuries had passed since it last moved.
"…So this is how time works here…" he muttered under his breath.
The realization settled deep in his chest, heavier than anything he had carried before. Tartarus was not just a different place—it was a broken one. A place where time did not flow… but fractured.
He stepped forward.
Each movement stirred the sand, revealing more of the buried machine beneath. His hand reached out, brushing against the cold surface of the cockpit frame. The metal was rough beneath his fingers, eroded—not by corrosion, but by time itself.
"This thing…" he whispered, "…it's been sitting here for… decades… maybe more."
And yet—
He had only been gone for what felt like hours.
Youri pulled himself up, climbing over the partially buried plating. Sand slid beneath his boots as he made his way toward the cockpit hatch.
When he finally reached the cockpit, he paused.
The glass panel was clouded, scratched, and layered with dust so thick it almost obscured the interior entirely. It looked abandoned—like a tomb sealed shut by time.
But something caught his eye.
A faint flicker.
Youri narrowed his gaze and wiped a portion of the glass with his sleeve. Beneath the grime, a dim light pulsed weakly from one of the internal panels.
"…No way…"
His heart skipped.
He forced the hatch open with effort, the mechanism groaning as if protesting its awakening. Sand poured inward as the seal broke, cascading into the cockpit like a waterfall of time itself reclaiming its space.
Youri stepped inside.
The air was stale. Heavy.
Dead.
But the systems… were not.
He moved toward the left-side console, his eyes locking onto the flickering display. The screen struggled, glitching, barely holding itself together—but it was active.
And then he saw it.
A signal log.
Still running.
Still transmitting.
Youri leaned closer, his breath catching in his throat as he read the data.
"…Ping… active… for… two hundred years…?"
His eyes widened.
Two hundred years.
The AI had been sending out a location signal—for two hundred years straight.
"That's impossible…" he whispered.
But it wasn't.
Not here.
Not in Tartarus.
Youri slowly leaned back, his mind racing as pieces began to fall into place. Time didn't just move differently here—it fractured depending on where you stood. What felt like minutes in one place could become centuries in another.
And then—
He saw himself.
Reflected faintly in the cracked surface of the display.
Youri froze.
His hand slowly rose to his face.
The man staring back at him… was not the one who had left Terria.
Strands of white ran through his hair—subtle, but unmistakable. His face was sharper, harsher… aged not just by time, but by something deeper. His eyes—once steady, controlled—now carried something darker.
Something worn.
"…So it got me too…" he said quietly.
Tartarus had not spared him.
Even standing still, it had taken something.
Youri exhaled slowly, then turned toward the pilot seat.
"…Doesn't matter."
His voice hardened.
"If I stay here like this… I die."
He stepped forward and dropped into the cockpit seat. The familiar structure wrapped around him, cold but still intact. His hands moved instinctively, muscle memory guiding him as he reached for the emergency startup controls.
"Let's see what you've got left…"
He initiated the sequence.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
A faint hum.
The cockpit flickered to life.
Screens sparked one after another, dim at first, then stabilizing. Systems struggled, some failing outright, others barely responding—but enough remained.
A mechanical voice echoed through the cockpit, distorted but functional:
"Power level… critical…""Switching to… substitute systems…""Activating… secondary core…"
Youri's eyes sharpened.
"The Brion core…"
He remembered.
Long ago, the empire had tried to replicate the power of god units—failed attempts that led to the integration of secondary cores. Inferior, yes… but still capable of sustaining basic functionality.
And now—
That backup was all he had.
The cockpit lights stabilized further. Energy slowly began to circulate through the system, weak but steady.
Outside, something shifted.
Sand slid off the massive frame of the Orbiton.
A low vibration spread through the structure as systems reawakened for the first time in centuries.
Youri tightened his grip on the controls.
"Come on…"
The monitors flashed again, clearer this time.
"Primary core: inactive.""Secondary core: online.""System state: NEO configuration enabled."
Youri frowned slightly.
"…NEO mode?"
The designation appeared across the central display.
Not the original form.
Not the god-state he once wielded.
Something… different.
Something reduced.
But still—
Alive.
The massive frame of Altopereh trembled.
Dust and sand cascaded from its armor as joints slowly unlocked, grinding against the weight of time. The buried legs shifted, forcing themselves free inch by inch.
For the first time since its fall—
The machine moved.
Youri felt it.
Not the overwhelming presence of the entity that once resided within it—
But something else.
A hollow echo.
A shell… waiting to be filled.
"…You're empty now, huh…" he muttered.
No voice answered him.
No laughter.
No monstrous presence.
Just silence.
For the first time since he had known it—
Altopereh was quiet.
Youri leaned back slightly, exhaling.
"…Good."
His eyes hardened.
"Then this time… I decide what you become."
The systems stabilized further. Mobility functions came online, though limited. Weapon systems flickered—some operational, others permanently lost.
It wasn't the god of destruction anymore.
It was something else.
Something broken.
Something surviving.
Just like him.
Youri looked out through the cracked cockpit glass, toward the endless crimson horizon of Tartarus.
Storms raged in the distance. Domains clashed beyond the desert. Creatures he had yet to see… waited.
And somewhere in that chaos—
Was the path to survival.
Maybe even—
A way back.
Youri tightened his grip on the controls.
"Alright…"
The massive frame of Altopereh shifted again, rising further from the sand, casting a long shadow across the desert.
"Let's see what this world really is."