I can feel the fear in him—like a predator chasing its prey through the dry, dangerous plains of the savannah. The only rule here is eat or be eaten.

  This is what I craved. I like it... no, I LOVE it.

  Liberty Three and the others were still locked in combat against the Krog’thars. The battle raged on, chaotic and explosive—but it wouldn’t last much longer.

  "Right wing hit," said Liberty Eleven over the comms. "Need to land. Liberty Three, I’m giving you command of Liberty Wing."

  "Yes sir, it’s an honor," replied Liberty Three with a playful tone, dodging laser bolts from enemy fighters as if it were just another day at the academy.

  Liberty Eleven carefully broke off, heading back to the GDU’s small carrier—the very ship that had brought them to the heart of battle.

  The tides were shifting. Krog’thar fighters were dwindling, and their carrier had fallen after one of the GDU’s elite infiltration teams seized control of the massive yellow scrap heap that once dominated the field.

  Liberty Three led the offensive, flanked by Liberty Seven and backed by squadrons like Echo and others.

  "Liberty Seven, flank the corvette at eleven o’clock. I’ll punch through the other side," he said, his voice firm now, commanding.

  He executed a grand maneuver, tilting his fighter onto its side to slip between two fragments of a destroyed ship, engines humming like a whisper of death.

  Liberty Seven struck first, blasting the corvette’s forward guns and gouging the hull. Liberty Three followed, lighting up the side turret and finishing it off with a final bolt to the left wing nozzle.

  "Good shot, Liberty Three," praised Liberty Seven.

  Reinforcements arrived—massive ones. The 177th attack fleet, more than thirty thousand ships strong, emerged from hyperspace. The end was near for the Krog’thars.

  Liberty Three looked upward as hundreds of ships began to ripple into view from hyperspace, majestic and terrifying. Vessels of every class shimmered against the void, bringing with them the promise of freedom—and annihilation.

  "Now look at that," he said, chuckling as the Pig Swallower arrived—a colossal warship bristling with titanic railguns that had already laid waste to countless enemy capital ships. Painted black with white stripes, it bore the massive symbol of the GDU: peace and liberation.

  A true jewel of the GDU fleet, commanded by none other than General Lucius Nix, a legend who’d turned the tide of war more times than most could count. Every soldier in the Union respected him.

  Within minutes, the remaining Krog’thar forces attempted to flee—but the Pig Swallower wasn’t about to let them go unpunished.

  "Let’s go back, Seven. Our work here is done. No more pigs to fry," said Three, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice.

  "Alright, Three," Seven responded.

  Behind them, Krog’thar ships erupted in silent bursts of fire and debris.

  Clearing the asteroid belt, the two fighters landed safely on the GDU carrier—miraculously untouched after the brutal chaos.

  The deck crew was already waiting to inspect the fighters. Liberty Eleven sat alone on a wooden crate, a steaming drink in hand. His messy dark hair draped over his face. He looked like a man carrying the weight of loss.

  Liberty Three popped open his cockpit, tore off his helmet, and shouted, "What a battle! Hey, Eleven, did you see how many I took down? And those maneuvers—goddamn, what a fight!"

  He didn’t bother with the ladder—he just jumped down from his fighter, swaggering away like he’d won the galaxy. Liberty Seven followed, more composed, removing her helmet. Her long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, her striking green eyes locking on to Three.

  "Yeah, nice flying, Three. Next time, try controlling your tone," she said, face tight with disapproval.

  Three met her gaze with a blank expression and shrugged. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He turned back to Eleven, pride still radiating from him. "You think I’ll get promoted, Eleven? With my skills, I should already be a squadron capt—"

  "Hey, kid!" Eleven barked, standing up and slamming his drink down. His voice was low and furious. "You don’t give a fuck about anything, do you?! We lost comrades today, and you act like an undisciplined brat. You don’t speak like a pilot, you don’t act like one—you’re only here because you’ve got some skills." He pointed at him sharply. "At least show some respect for the dead!"

  He sat back down with a sigh, his gaze dropping once more. "You need to learn how to read the room, kid. You’re not alone here."

  Liberty Three stood still, silent. Regret flickered in his blue eyes. His gloved hands clenched together tightly.

  Moments passed. The only sounds were the distant whir of tools and murmured voices of the repair crew.

  “Where’s Five? Did he land yet? That sleepy dumbass should be here by now.” he said, looking around the hangar with a hint of concern.

  "He landed on the enemy’s carrier," Seven said softly. "And I don’t think the elite squad ever found him."

  A crew member in white approached them, holding a tablet.

  "Liberty Wing?" he asked.

  Eleven straightened. "Yes. James Brooke, pilot nickname Liberty Eleven. Ready to give a report." His eyes darkened for a moment, then he focused again. "We’re probably the only survivors. Eight casualties, including Captain Rhys. One missing—Liberty Five landed on a Krog’thar carrier, and we haven’t heard from him since. His body... probably lies within the wreckage, waiting to be found."

  The crewman nodded solemnly. "Thanks for the report. And… sorry for your loss."

  He walked away, leaving behind the wounded remnants of Liberty Wing—still silent, yet haunted by the echoes of fallen comrades whose voices still lingered in their minds.

  Meanwhile, in the control room of the glorious, peace-bringing warship The Pig Swallower, the sounds of distant commands and rhythmic beeps from control panels echoed across the chamber like a cold, mechanical heartbeat.

  "General Nix, nearly the entire Krog’thar fleet has retreated. They’ve suffered heavy casualties—by all metrics, this battle is a clear victory. I’m transmitting the report files from our various squadrons and ships now," said a calm, professional voice projected from a holographic screen in front of General Nix, the ship’s cold-eyed commander.

  “Alright,” Nix replied flatly, his voice laced with indifference. He sighed, barely glancing at the dozens of flickering screens around him. Then, more sharply, he added, “Admiral Gorges, recalibrate the ship’s systems and prepare for hyperlaunch. We’re heading home.”

  “Hyperlaunch? But sir, there are still many things to check and battle reports to analyze. We should—” Admiral Gorges began, but was swiftly cut off.

  “Let General Andrev handle it,” Nix muttered, leaning back in his chair.

  There was a brief pause. Gorges hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll inform him immediately.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A soft beep echoed through the room as the holographic communicator flickered again.

  “General Nix,” the voice on the screen spoke once more.

  “What is it now?” Nix asked, rubbing his temple with a tired hand.

  “We’ve recovered footage of a missing pilot—Kael Varn—captured by a security camera aboard one of the Krog’thar carriers.”

  Nix raised an eyebrow, only mildly interested. “Go on.”

  “The Liberty Wing squadron was among the first to engage in combat. They suffered eight confirmed losses, with only three survivors. One pilot was listed as missing. That pilot, Kael Varn—callsign Liberty Five, age 19—appears in the footage. We see him land on the Krog’thar vessel, steal one of their ships, and escape. He then flew into the direction of the Krog’thar Confederacy. He’s deep in enemy territory now. Every second we delay, his chances of survival drop drastically. I’ve already assembled a rescue team—"

  “Cancel it,” Nix said abruptly.

  “What? B-but sir, we must attempt to rescue him—he could be in grave danger!” the voice on the other end stammered, clearly shaken and concerned.

  Nix exhaled sharply and placed his forehead against his hand, his elbow resting on the table beside him. “I’m not risking an entire team of pilots to save a kid," he said coldly. "Especially one with documented anxiety issues.” He glanced at the report file. “The Union has millions of pilots. They’re meant to be expendable. It’s the burden of their role. Sometimes... sacrifices are necessary.”

  There was a long pause. Then, quietly, the voice responded, “Understood. I’ll cancel the rescue mission and continue compiling the other reports for you, sir.”

  “Good,” Nix replied, a faint smile flickering across his face.

  Moments later, Admiral Gorges’ voice returned. “We’re ready for hyperlaunch, sir.”

  “Perfect. Let’s get out of this shithole,” Nix said, standing up with a stretch. “I want to get my hands on one of those drippy Earth cheeseburgers. I’m starving, man!” he added with a laugh, sounding more like a rebellious teenager than a general.

  In seconds, the Pig Swallower charged up its hyperdrive and vanished into the void, leaving behind a silent graveyard of shattered ships and pulverized asteroids. The scene resembled a haunting painting—twisted metal, glowing embers, and the backdrop of two broken moons casting their dim, melancholic light over the wreckage.

  One day later, back on Earth…

  Within the colossal chambers of the Galactic Council, a storm of voices filled the air. The room was styled like a grand Roman forum—immense white marble pillars, towering statues of historical figures, and tiered seats capable of holding thousands of senators, envoys, and committee members.

  “We can’t back down now!” bellowed Grand Senator Walkatra, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. “We’ve crippled their fleet. If we retreat at this moment, we throw away our chance to wipe out the Krog’thars and perhaps even end the tyrannic dominion of the Drak’Nars for good!”

  He stood tall in the center platform, the fiery conviction in his voice igniting murmurs of approval across the hall.

  “This is not how the Galactic Democratic Union should act in times of crisis,” countered Vice Chancellor Quagsin. His tentacles, which grew from his head like a living beard, twitched animatedly as he spoke. “We’re bleeding resources due to embargos and disrupted trade routes. The public is growing restless, panicked even, as more of our soldiers and pilots fall in meaningless battles. What benefit is there in prolonging this war?”

  Quagsin’s words were passionate, but the tide in the room wasn’t with him.

  “Chancellor, if we give up now, we dishonor every soldier who has fallen,” Walkatra responded firmly. “The Krog’thars are retreating from vital systems that they need to survive. We’re so close—we must finish what we started. We have the momentum, and soon, we’ll have the tools.”

  Applause erupted from the majority of the council members.

  “With that said, allow me to introduce a project designed to bring swift and decisive victory,” Walkatra continued. “A collaboration between myself and one of our most trusted military minds. I now give the floor to our Vice Minister of Defense—General Lucius Nix.”

  Thunderous applause erupted as General Nix strode forward, chin high, saluting the council like a performer stepping onto stage. He raised his hands, calling for silence.

  He brushed his dark hair back and began. “Esteemed members of the council, it is my great honor to unveil the result of years of planning, dedication, and technological advancement: The Skullknights.”

  A hologram flared to life, revealing a towering, fully armored soldier in all black—tactical boots rising nearly to the knees, reinforced military-grade pants, sleeves and gloves of thick fabric, an anti-laser vest, and a visor-equipped helmet made from rare alloys. The gas-filtering mask extended to the nose, adaptable for night vision, toxic environments, and even zero-gravity combat.

  Murmurs spread like wildfire through the room.

  “These soldiers,” Nix continued, “are genetically enhanced warriors. Engineered for battle across any planet, under any condition. Taller, stronger, faster. Trained from birth, to become true warriors. The Krog’thars’ only real advantage—brute strength—is now obsolete. And that’s not all…”

  He tapped the holographic panel again. “We have developed a new class of fighter ship, one that outpaces our current models in both speed and firepower. Piloted by elite Skullflyers, who are ready for deployment at this very moment.”

  This time, the chamber exploded in applause. Grand Senator Walkatra nodded in pride, but others—like Vice Chancellor Quagsin—remained quiet and stern.

  These fools… Ahahaha. They’re already falling for it. Like mice chasing the smell of cheese straight into the trap.

  “And now,” he said aloud, “none of this would have been possible without our most valued partner. The mastermind behind this genetic breakthrough. Please welcome... Mr. Henry Tau.”

  From behind Nix emerged a small, thin old man in a red and black ceremonial robe. Bald, barely 50 kilograms in weight, he waved humbly as the entire council rose to greet him.

  “Thank you, General Nix,” Tau began. “And thank you to this honored council for allowing me this opportunity. I am the CEO and founder of VirexionGeneEngineering, the company that, in partnership with the military, developed and perfected the ultimate soldier. We have facilities across and beyond the GDU. Ten million Skullknights have already been produced. Ten million loyal weapons of liberation, ready to die for this nation and liberate oppressed systems. We are ready to tilt the balance of this war.””

  The room grew louder with every word, voices overlapping, excitement rising like a tide.

  Vice Chancellor Quagsin raised his hands again, demanding order. “Comrades, I understand your eagerness. We all want this war to end. But remember, just months ago—before Senator Eric Williams was assassinated—you sought peace. Now, your judgment is clouded by rage. But we are not just a democracy—we are a peaceful union. We are meant to build friendships, not destroy civilizations. Please… do not give in to this temptation.”

  “Vice Chancellor,” Nix said, rolling his eyes.”Senator Williams tried to negotiate with them. And they killed him. In public. With a sniper. We can’t let that go unanswered. It’s time to finish them together with this war.”

  More applause followed. The tide had turned.

  Then, the Chancellor rose.

  Chancellor Yuelvi, an Aelveri, stood like a beacon—his golden-white feathers glowing in the lights above, his sharp beak glinting like a blade. “Tomorrow, we shall vote on the proposal laid before us. The decision to deploy these new weapons will be made then. Council dismissed.”

  As members began to leave, still chattering in clusters, Nix and Walkatra exchanged a subtle but knowing glance. Quagsin narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t right.

  Nix walked to his apartment in the massive penthouse that towered over 6 kilometers high, nestled in the New York district of the American West Coast City Sector of Earth.

  “Mina, turn the lights on and change the air, I'm suffocating in here,” he said to his assistant AI, which immediately obeyed his command.

  Nix moved toward a metal door with a screen mounted beside it. He placed his hand on the screen, and the door slid open automatically. He stepped inside, combing his hair with his right hand again.

  He snapped his fingers, and the lights shut off. A holographic screen appeared before him.

  “Good day, Emitter. I have good news.”

  As soon as Nix spoke, a tenebrous aura filled the room. A dark figure cloaked in a black robe with a hood, revealing only the faint outline of his mouth, appeared on the screen.

  “Tell me more,” said the figure with a sinister voice. This was the Emitter.

  “Today, I presented the Skullknights to the council. I knew the members would be pleased, but I didn’t expect such overwhelming approval. Even a fool would suspect something is behind it... but they’re so consumed by hatred and exhaustion,” said Nix, a smirk forming on his face.

  The dark figure replied,

  “Good. The plan is progressing perfectly. You’ll see — all this will be rewarded by the Empire.”

  “Yes... thank you, my lord,” General Nix whispered, bowing his head.

  “Oh, and one more thing. During the battle of Yelkar-6, a Union pilot escaped and fled into Krog’thar territory. There’s a chance that this pilot has entered a region still unknown to the GDU. Should I send an assassin, my lord?” Nix asked, his eyes gleaming with malice.

  The Emitter answered,

  “Yes. We must eliminate anyone who could compromise our camouflage. That is... undesirable.”

  “Yes, my lord. It will be done immediately. I wish you a good night,” Nix said, bowing once more to signal the end of the transmission.

  As the screen vanished and the dark figure faded into nothingness, Nix turned and walked out of the room, already making a call from his wristwatch.

  That day marked the beginning of something new — the day the mice fell into the fangs of the hungry cat.