Year 3030
"Wah! Wah! Wah!"
The alarm blared through the corridors of steel. Red light washed over the trembling walls of Ship VVV22 as the battle cries of the dying echoed across comms. Earth's defenses had proven too much, tearing through the Vex'ri Armada with impossible resistance.
> "Attention all Chrome Imperium soldiers aboard ships AX-111, ZCX-112, AX-113, and VVV22—retreat immediately. Assemble at the Mothership."
The command shook the ship. Zrashy's head snapped up, pale arms shivering on the controls. His white eyes—ringed with dark circles like a sleepless angel—blinked rapidly. Then relief escaped him in a weak, rattling breath. His ship had been chosen to retreat.
For once, he was not doomed.
Zrashy sagged back into his chair, marble skin slick with cold sweat. Golden hair clung to his forehead, shimmering in the red emergency lights. He was no warrior. Never had been. His place was here, strapped to the pilot's harness, guiding the vessel through space while the others screamed for glory.
They had stripped him of weapon controls long ago. Too weak, too slow, too frightened to handle the laser cannons. They had laughed as they reassigned him:
> "Let the rag steer the ship. At least then he won't kill us by mistake."
Now, claws shaking as they gripped the helm, Zrashy obeyed. Engines howled. His ship lurched into retreat, tearing away from Earth's burning orbit.
Minutes later, the battered VVV22 pierced the void, crawling toward the Mothership—a colossal fortress of black steel and obsidian glass, floating in the endless dark like a wounded god.
Zrashy exhaled. Alive. Still alive.
But he didn't know… survival was only the beginning.
Zrashy stumbled out of the pilot's chair, his steps quick and clumsy.
Clang!
He collided with a soldier in chrome armor. The alien snarled, shoving him back with armored hands.
"Watch it, loser!"
Another shoved past with a hiss. "Fool—move!"
Zrashy ducked his head, claws trembling. His golden lashes caught the light. "S-sorry…" It was all too normal. He was used to being shoved, mocked, treated like the ship's rag.
The barracks lights dimmed. A shimmering hum filled the chamber, and suddenly—
A hologram erupted before them.
A tall figure appeared, clad in white uniform threaded with silver, ranks gleaming across his chest. His white eyes held the same dark-ringed exhaustion that marked their kind. Golden hair swept back from his pale brow.
"General Cictory," the soldiers murmured, snapping to salute.
"Well done to you all," the General said, voice low but heavy with command. "But you know as well as I do—we suffer… unacceptable damages from these Earthlings. Their defenses… too strong."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
General Cictory lifted a claw. A new image appeared beside him: a spinning vortex of light, pulsing with cosmic energy.
"So, we resort to Plan B."
The hologram shifted, showing Earth… then peeling back the years like falling pages. Cities crumbled into dust, oceans receded, forests regrew. Finally—darkness, fire, and a savage, untouched world.
"The Chosen will be sent to Earth… thirty thousand years in the past."
The room stirred with shock. Whispers rose, harsh and eager.
"That way, you will not simply fight them…" Cictory's voice grew sharp, cutting through the noise. "…you will enslave them before they ever arrive. Their civilization will never exist. Their strength, their defiance—snuffed out."
The soldiers cheered, voices echoing.
"To you, Chosen, we entrust the future of the Empire."
Zrashy froze. His stomach twisted. He hated war—always had. To him, soldiers were nothing but troublemakers, plundering, conquering, all in the name of "greener pastures."
But his thoughts were drowned by the roar of the room.
"Good luck," General Cictory finished, raising a hand in farewell.
And then, outside the ship's windows, the portal shimmered.
It opened like a wound in space, vast and alive, glowing with a light that bent stars. Zrashy's heart rattled in his chest as the black fleet aligned before it.
The soldiers roared in triumph.
Zrashy only whispered, white eyes wide with dread:
"…Why do I feel like this will be our doom?"
Zrashy's claws trembled over the controls. The portal widened, a roaring wound of light. His golden lashes fluttered as he forced his voice steady.
"VVV22… preparing to pierce the veil," he announced.
The ship lurched forward, and with a final shudder, plunged into the screaming light.
---
Through the portal, Earth awaited.
But it was not the Earth Zrashy knew.
It was not a planet—it was a god's dream.
Rivers glowed silver under the eclipse, carving ancient scars across endless valleys. Beasts larger than warships prowled the plains, their roars making the air itself tremble. Forests pulsed with power, as though each tree carried a heartbeat.
Zrashy's claws clicked softly against the console, unbidden.
"Beautiful…"
Then the feeling struck him—like eyes pressed against his soul. The planet wasn't silent. It was watching. Waiting.
The ship descended lower, engines hissing.
That's when Zrashy saw him.
A lone figure stood on a cliff above the canopy. His body was carved in muscle, draped in furs. Around his waist hung the skull of some slain beast, its fangs glinting like knives. His hair, twisted into long dreadlocks, whipped against the storm.
Across his chest and arms, glowing inscriptions burned into his flesh—ancient sigils that pulsed in rhythm with the eclipse above. In his hand he held a spear, crude in shape but radiant with the power of thunder itself.
Zrashy's scanner stuttered alive.
> Lifeform detected.
His voice cracked, white eyes blinking rapidly. "L-lifeform… detected."
But this was no prey. No trembling primitive.
The man did not flinch. He did not run. He raised his spear, eyes glowing like molten suns, and waited.
Not with fear.
Not with worship.
But with the calm patience of a hunter who already knew his prey would come to him.
The man lifted his spear and roared—thunder split the heavens, the sky bruised black.
"We… we need to leave," Zrashy whispered, his claws clicking nervously against the controls.
But the figure below only grew brighter. His body blazed with inscriptions, his eyes burning suns. With a violent thrust, he hurled the spear skyward—its shaft wreathed in lightning.
"Brace!" Zrashy hissed. He jerked the ship sideways, the vessel groaning as space itself buckled around them. The spear missed by a breath and struck a sister ship in formation.
The world detonated in fire. Metal screamed, debris rained.
Inside, the crew slammed against their restraints. A soldier spat blood, glaring at Zrashy with burning white eyes.
"You ragged fool!" he cursed, voice dripping fury.
"I—I'm sorry!" Zrashy snapped back, his pale hands trembling as golden hair fell across his haunted features. The ship spun, thunder chasing them across the storm-choked sky.