I never imagined that these horrors, this tide of death, had all been wrought by my own hand. I must devote the remainder of my days to nurturing new life—that, Zor thought, is the one task still worthy of me.
He stood at the watchpost of the temporary command center, gazing outward. Four full days had been spent erecting this place; before that, the planet's surface had been nothing but barren waste. Now, before him stretched a flourishing expanse of vegetation. Blossoms flared with vibrant vigor, their globed buds unfurling beneath the sun with radiant life.
Zor was one of the Lords of the Protoculture—foremost among his kind, and one of its keenest minds. He nodded in quiet approval, though a procession of memories drifted through his thoughts. His people's deeds often tormented him, driving him nearly to madness. Yet whenever he beheld such beauty—this fragile triumph wrought from labor—the anguish receded, swept away by a profound sense of accomplishment.
Above him, massive starships and orbital fortresses eclipsed the sky, withdrawing from the area at his command. Their departure pleased him, as did the lush flowers. Their very presence made the death he approached feel almost welcome.
Tall and slender, Zor bore no mark of age upon his lean face; his thick hair rose like shafts of starlight. His attire was regal, impeccably tailored, a short mantle draped across his shoulders.
Then an alarm blared behind him—the Zentraedi pre-battle warning rising to a shrill crescendo.
"Alert! Alert! Invid transport ships approaching! All units, embark immediately!"
Zor drew his gaze away from the serene vista and turned toward the base, heavy with the stench of war. Zentraedi forces were rallying for battle. Though startled by the Invid incursion, outnumbered, and disadvantaged by the enemy's high ground, they remained fiercely resolute. Battle was their blood; war, the sole meaning of their existence.
It was not a conscious desire to fight the Invid, but an instinctive war-nature—an impulse woven into their very being. Zor's own flawed judgment, combined with the ruthless tyranny of their rulers—the Robotech Masters—made this bitterly ironic. Those machine-hearted overlords had transformed a gentle, contemplative people into one of the most ferocious forces in the cosmos.
The Zentraedi supreme commander, Dolza, was being armored for battle. His massive, sculpted brows framed a face rough-hewn like stone. He glared at Zor.
"I warn you—before those flowers bloom, we'll all be corpses!"
He brandished his colossal, metal-clad fist—a hand large enough to crush Zor outright. Zor's aide, Vard, tightened his grip on his weapon, but Zor met Dolza's threat without flinching. All around them, the thunder of war rose as heavily armed infantry and towering battle-pods surged toward the front.
"Where is the fortress?" Dolza demanded. "What have you done with it?"
"I ordered it away," Zor replied calmly. "To a place far from this vile and senseless war. By now it should be near the edge of the system. At its speed, with its power, the Invid will never intercept it."
Dolza could not deny the truth. The star-fortress was Zor's greatest creation, the most formidable battleship in existence—nearly a mile long, the culmination of his genius and the limitless energy of the Flower of Life.
"Where did you send it?" Dolza pressed, but Zor offered no answer.
"Were it not for my oath before the troops to protect you," Dolza growled, raising his immense fist again, "I would kill you where you stand."
A squadron of quick-reaction battle-pods thundered to the front. These improbable metal giants—large enough for one or two Zentraedi—resembled headless ostriches encased in armor shielding their primary and secondary weapons.
"I never expected you to understand," Zor murmured, each word weighed and deliberate.
A shockwave tore through the base as explosions erupted, reports of Invid landings crackling through the comms.
"You were born for battle," Zor told the towering commander. "War is your duty."
The outer wall of the command center buckled. "Go—fulfill the destiny of your kind!"
The wall collapsed entirely. Vard leapt to shield Zor with his own body as Dolza charged out. Invid Shock Troopers—towering engines of destruction forged from impenetrable alloys—advanced through the flying rubble, monstrous warships walking on titanic legs.
Even so, they were scarcely a match for Zentraedi battle-pods. Lances of blinding blue fire pierced the armor of the first Shock Trooper in range. Invid cannons roared in reply, but under the storm of fire its seams failed; it erupted, flinging molten shards across the battlefield.
Then three Shock Troopers surged forward, with a dozen more behind. Devastating shells and crimson plasma tore the sky asunder, annihilating the command center and igniting infernos. Their overwhelming firepower shredded countless battle-pods, forcing the Zentraedi to fall back.
A group of troopers unable to reach their pods engaged on foot, firing light weapons against the towering Invid; they charged without fear, heedless of the cost. One agile soldier dove beneath a Shock Trooper, blasting its armored joints until an explosion shattered its immense leg. The machine toppled, crushing its attacker beneath it.
Elsewhere, an Invid unit clawed apart a disabled pod, dismembering the wounded pilot within. Swarms of small scout units followed the Shock Troopers into the base.
One such scout found Zor. The Invid had sought him for a long time—vengeance burning in their minds.
They closed in. Vard fired desperately, drawing their attention and sacrificing his life. A blast struck him dead and seared Zor as well.
A cache of shells ignited. The blast flung Zor aside, sparing him momentarily. Agony engulfed him—skin burned to the bone, lungs scorched, joints shattered, internal bleeding rampant. Death crept near.
An Invid scout moved in for the kill—but Dolza arrived, his heavy gun blazing.
"Zor is hit! Get medical teams here immediately!" he roared through his comm.
"Breetai! Breetai—where are you?"
A concentrated volley obliterated the scout, though it had already sent a signal. More units closed in.
Dolza and the surviving soldiers formed a defensive ring, prepared to die as Zentraedi always had—unyielding.
Suddenly artillery thundered from both flanks—the reinforcements had arrived. Breetai led the charge, some on foot, most in battle-pods, joined by ranks of armored assault carriers. Under relentless fire, the Invid lines broke.
Yet a cluster of Shock Troopers launched a suicidal rush toward Zor and Dolza. A blast destroyed a pod beside Breetai; shrapnel tore into his face, striking his right cheek. He fell, aflame.
But the Zentraedi counterattack did not falter. The Invid were driven back through the breach.
Dolza lowered his rifle at last. Pursuit could be left to field commanders; he had reports to study. Nearly all Invid survivors were slain or intercepted attempting to flee. The Robotech Masters would soon learn of this unexpected victory—and retribution would surely follow.
Breetai lived, though the wound would scar him forever.
None of it mattered to Dolza. He looked upon Zor's charred form as medics labored in vain. Zor was beyond saving.
Zor knew it too. His mind drifted strangely, the pain distant, yet every whispered word about the star-fortress reached him with crystalline clarity. He smiled—burned flesh tightening in agony—comforted that the ship had escaped.
He recalled the moment he had resolved to send it away. With the boundless power of Protoculture and the brilliance of his discoveries, he had glimpsed unknown sciences, unseen pathways.
He remembered gazing upon the blue-white world drifting in the void, silently blessing it with hopes of life. He sensed its future—an epicenter of events, of conflicts spanning galaxies.
A pillar of energy burst from the planet below—one hundred miles across—howling, shimmering, swirling like a cosmic storm. It rose into the heavens, its apex blossoming into a vast bird of living consciousness—a phoenix whose wings unfurled wider than the world itself. Its solemn, grieving cry made Zor forget his own death. It soared toward another star.
Zor wept—two tears sliding down his burned face—yet he felt strengthened by his final certainty: the star-fortress would reach that blue-white world.
The final echoes of battle faded; the last Invid had fallen.
Dolza stood beside Zor's body as life slipped away grain by grain. He even wondered whether Zor had sought death by his own design.
But it no longer mattered. The fortress had fled, carrying Zor's loyal followers beyond the Masters' reach—for now.
Their final transmissions reported an Invid interception—unexpected and costly. The crew fought through, gravely wounded. The news brought Dolza no comfort.
"Your mission ends with your death, Zor," he murmured. "But I must return in shame."
"I have shattered the Masters' designs of conquest," Zor whispered, struggling for breath. "Yet a grander, more radiant destiny is only beginning… Dolza…"
A spasm of coughing wracked him—then silence. His eyes closed forever.
Dolza faced the immense screen. The image of the Robotech Master glowered back—hawk-nosed, stone-faced, furious. Dolza recounted everything.
"…and thus, we cannot determine the fortress's location—not yet."
The Master's voice was cold, hollow.
"You will reclaim the fortress at any cost. Dispatch the nearest Zentraedi fleets at once. Reinforce as needed."
Dolza bowed. "And Zor, my lord? Shall I have him buried among the flowers he loved?"
"No. Freeze him immediately. Deliver the body yourself. Guard it well. There may yet be knowledge within his cells."
The image vanished.
"Lord Dolza—Breetai reporting."
Dolza examined him. In scarcely days, the seasoned commander had recovered enough to stand—though the cost was etched upon him. The Invid shard had wrought irreparable damage; half his head was now sheathed in gleaming alloy, his right eye replaced with a crystalline lens. He looked more severe, more ruthless—qualities Dolza admired.
He led Breetai to a newly reinforced section of the base, where the Flower of Life had already begun to sprout. Dolza outlined the situation, then revealed what few knew: the secret struggle between Zor and the Masters, and Zor's vision for the future of Protoculture.
At last Dolza spoke:
"You are my finest field commander. You will lead the expeditionary force. Bring the fortress back."
Sunlight glinted from Breetai's metal mask. "But it has already folded away."
"Then follow it. Retrieve it," Dolza said, devoid of sympathy. "The fortress is the child of Protoculture. If we fail to recover it before the Invid, everything we have fought for will be lost."
Breetai's expression hardened into resolve.
"The fortress will be ours. I swear it."