The notorious Kree pirate Alex knew he would never forget that raid. It was that very raid that made him fall in love with boarding tactics. Back then, he was just starting out—nothing special about the job. Just like now, they had a rundown ship, a stinking crew wielding a ragtag collection of weapons, smugglers, cybernetically enhanced robbers—stealing anything and everything. But one thing was different: back then, when he was just a first mate, he had a captain unlike any other.
"I was still a smuggler then." A drunken Alex patted the mechanical prostitute beside him, speaking to his crew. "He was a legend. We all called him Captain! Surely you've heard the story?"
The strange-looking crew members shook their heads one after another, the two-headed brute among them being particularly clueless.
Alex, irritated, took another swig of his drink and began to tell the tale.
"Move your lazy asses, you sewer rats! You've been sleeping for hours! First mate, give them their dose!"
"Captain, what's a rat?"
"Shut up! No questions when I'm talking!" Solomon smacked Kree First Mate Alex across the face, then kicked over a thug who was trying to snatch extra doses of the addictive narcotic. He tossed the stolen dose back at the man. Wiping his hands, he barked, "One per person! No one takes more! You useless scum! Weapons team, what's the status?"
"The slaves have prepped the bow laser cannon!" Alex stammered.
This was a merchant vessel that had been hastily armed, but its previous owner had never expected a smuggling run this short to be targeted by pirates. To cut costs, they hadn't even bought proper ship cannons. Besides the bow laser, they had only a few small-caliber turrets—hardly effective in zero gravity, but they would have to make do.
"Good!" Solomon leaned back in the chipped captain's chair, gazing through the reinforced glass at the faint lights of deep space. "Helmsman, full left rudder! Let's give that bastard a real show!"
"Aye, Captain!"
"Yes, Captain!"
On the radar screen, the numbers measuring their coordinates against their target's were shrinking rapidly.
Checking his watch, Solomon estimated that the first attack was about fifteen minutes away. In the meantime, he had to keep his unruly crew in check—if he took his eyes off them, they'd be brawling in no time.
So he drew his sword.
A chilling silence fell over the room.
Everyone had seen how many men the captain had killed with that blade.
It was the kind of fear that felt like ice cubes shoved into their brains—an emotionless slaughter. Even the drugged-out pirates shut their mouths and obediently stood behind their captain.
Then, a burst of flames suddenly illuminated the space beside Solomon.
Accompanied by a hauntingly beautiful melody, a magnificent golden-red bird emerged from the fire.
"He was a sorcerer," Alex whispered to the crew, and even the fiercest of pirates inhaled sharply at the word. Like a nightmare they could never wake from.
"It was a strange voyage," Alex continued, watching the horror on their faces. "Though, at the time, we didn't know that. We thought he would bring us fortune. And he did—at the cost of death. Both for his enemies… and his allies."
"But that's a story for later. Let's talk about that battle. I won't deny it—I learned a lot from that captain."
Braving the searing heat of the golden-red bird's flames, Alex peeked at Solomon's notebook.
For Solomon, this period was something of a vacation—a rare moment to contemplate the structure of his future army, its weapons, communication systems, and tactical doctrines, including how to maintain efficiency in interdepartmental operations.
He turned his head and caught the first mate sneaking a glance.
And suddenly, Alex realized he could understand the writing.
He could read every word—even in Xandarian script.
Alex knew this was Solomon's doing, and he was careful not to offend his captain. He forced down his curiosity and quietly absorbed the knowledge within the notebook.
"Take care of it," Solomon said, rising from his seat and handing the notebook to Alex—along with the golden-red bird.
The crew could now feel the gravitational pull of a nearby planet.
This was the battlefield Solomon had chosen.
He didn't just want a ship.
He wanted a fleet.
After all this time, he had carefully maneuvered so that this planet's gravity would become his trap.
He drew his sword and herded the crew toward the bow, sealing them inside with a heavy door.
Alex, watching in shock, saw Solomon's glowing figure step through the airlock—floating into space without any equipment.
"Alex!"
The captain's command drilled directly into his skull, yanking him back from his daze.
"Full speed ahead, you bastard!"
"Yes, Captain!"
"He stood atop the ship, sword in hand, commanding it to ram straight into the enemy!"
Every time a new recruit joined the crew, Captain Alex would tell them this story.
Every time he recalled that moment, it felt like his blood was pounding war drums in his ears.
Enemy fire streaked past their ship's reinforced glass, but not a single shot hit.
Alex suddenly understood.
Cheering wildly, he maxed out the thrusters, sending the ship hurtling toward its target.
The bow laser cannon fired first, tearing through the enemy vessel's weak outer armor. The smaller, faster smuggling ship plunged into its foe, ripping through metal like a dagger into flesh.
The pirates—still high on drugs—burst from the smoking wreckage, shouting, shoving, coughing.
And then they saw him.
The captain, who had not been with them in the hold.
The captain, who was already leading the charge, sword in hand.
If the lights had been brighter, if the fire suppression mist had been thinner, they would have seen the brutal gash carved into the enemy ship's hull.
Nothing could stop him.
Not thick steel doors.
Not cybernetically enhanced warriors.
Nothing lasted more than two moves under Solomon's blade.
He stepped over bloodstained remains, lifted his sword, and faced his pirates.
"LONG LIVE THE CAPTAIN!"
The pirates roared, following Solomon's charge, firing their weapons wildly.
The first mate's turrets thundered in the corridors.
No one cared who they hit, or who hit them.
They only wanted to unleash violence!
"That was the day we took this ship! That was the day we took this fleet!"
Captain Alex, now visibly emotional, slapped the armrest of his chair.
"He led us to victory! We are proud of him!
"You—scum, rejects, cowards of civilization—your luck has turned!"
He raised his pale cybernetic arm, pointing at the deep crimson flag hanging over the captain's throne.
On that fine, natural fabric, a golden bird with long tail feathers was embroidered. A sword pierced vertically through the flag's center.
And on the opposite wall, a portrait painted from Alex's memory.
In it, Solomon stood, sword in hand, radiant light shining behind his head.
"You will fight under his gaze! You will bathe in his brilliance!
"This is an honor you could never have earned!
"You forsaken bastards—cheer! No matter who you once were, now you are our family!
"We will grant you glory! We will grant you riches!
"Drink, my friends!
"Raise your voices for Captain Solomon!
"LONG LIVE THE CAPTAIN!"
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