Kzarian had never been inside the royal residence alone.
Not like this.
The halls were silent—
too silent for a place that belonged to a king who never slept.
Walls of living metal reflected his face back at him in fragments.
Older.
Tired.
Broken.
A soft blue light flickered as he stepped forward.
STATUS: KING KANSA — OFF WORLD
ACTIVITY: RESEARCH / CLASSIFIED
Kzarian exhaled slowly.
Of course.
The king was never home anymore.
Not really.
He lived in laboratories now.
In machines.
In data.
In whatever had crawled inside him.
THE MESSAGE FROM MARS
A sudden chime cut through the silence.
Kzarian turned.
A holographic screen ignited by itself.
No command.
No authorization.
Just… appeared.
PRIORITY TRANSMISSION — MARS SECTOR
Text scrolled rapidly.
Asteroid core successfully breached.
Unknown material extracted.
Designation pending.
Energy readings exceed all known scales.
Preliminary conclusion:
This substance can neutralize higher-dimensional entities.
Kzarian's breath caught.
Higher-dimensional.
Gods.
His hands trembled.
"This…" he whispered,
"…this isn't science anymore."
Images followed.
The stone.
Dark.
Dense.
Not glowing—
absorbing light.
Reality around it looked… thinner.
Kzarian closed his eyes.
Memories surged.
THE PAST THAT NEVER HEALED
His mother.
A magic queen.
Executed publicly—
on King Kansa's orders.
"Magic is weakness," the king had said.
"Science is truth."
Then his son.
Strapped to a machine.
Screaming.
While Kzarian pressed the button.
Again.
Again.
Again.
For science.
For orders.
For a king who now laughed at gods.
Kzarian's nails dug into his palm.
Blood welled.
"I see it now," he murmured.
"You're not fighting magic."
"You're replacing it."
FOOTSTEPS
Heavy.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Kzarian froze.
The sound echoed through the corridor.
One step.
Two.
Three.
A presence filled the hall before the man appeared.
King Kansa emerged from the shadow.
Armor partially removed.
Eyes brighter than they used to be.
Sharper.
Hungry.
He looked at the hologram.
Smiled.
THE KING SPEAKS
"So," Kansa said calmly,
"they found it."
He stepped closer.
The stone's image rotated.
His reflection bent unnaturally across it.
"A god-killer," he whispered.
Then he laughed.
Not loud.
Not manic.
Satisfied.
A laugh that belonged to someone who had already won.
"I told them," Kansa continued,
"nothing survives impact like a lie told long enough."
Kzarian swallowed.
"My lord," he said carefully,
"this power—this isn't safe."
Kansa turned slowly.
Looked at him.
Really looked.
"Safe?" he repeated.
Then—
anger flashed.
"Did gods care about safe when they built dimensions over our heads?" he snapped.
"Did magic care when it chose who lived and who burned?"
He leaned closer.
His voice dropped.
"I am ending hierarchy."
THE DEAL
Kansa raised his wrist.
A faint symbol pulsed beneath the skin.
Not a tattoo.
Not technology.
Something else.
"Do you hear it?" Kansa asked softly.
Kzarian didn't answer.
Because he did.
A hum.
Low.
Cosmic.
Like the universe listening to itself think.
Kansa smiled wider.
"I am science," he declared.
"I am progress."
Then—almost tenderly—
"I am the king of kings."
He turned toward the air.
Spoke to nothing.
"Mother," he said,
"prepare the machines."
The word struck Kzarian like a blade.
Mother.
Not his.
Not magic.
Something far older.
Something that had answered.
THE ORDER
Kansa tapped the console.
"Send this reply to Mars," he commanded.
The message typed itself.
USE ALL NECESSARY FORCE.
REMOVE THE STONE.
I WILL PROVIDE ANY MACHINE REQUIRED.
FAILURE IS NOT PERMITTED.
Kansa laughed again.
"We will kill gods soon," he said.
"Hahaha."
The sound echoed too long.
Too deep.
Kzarian took a step back.
Then another.
This wasn't ambition.
This was devotion.
Kansa had sold something.
Not his soul—
his judgment.
ESCAPE
Kzarian turned and ran.
Alarms did not sound.
Doors did not close.
It was as if the palace let him go.
He burst out into the cold Neptune night, heart pounding.
Behind him, the palace lights glowed brighter than ever.
A beacon.
A warning.
Kzarian collapsed into shadow.
Breathing hard.
Shaking.
Then—
resolve hardened inside him.
"They turned him into a god," Kzarian whispered.
"So I'll steal the weapon."
His eyes burned.
"I will take the child."
"No matter the cost."
ENDING
Far away—
in a sealed laboratory—
the alien baby opened his eyes.
The tattoos pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
As if something had just promised him freedom.
TO BE CONTINUED