"Then let's see what kind of hunters they really are."
Silas Vire's lips curled into a quiet, razor-sharp smile. The true predator, after all, never roared before it struck. It waited—silent, confident—wearing the mask of prey.
He had refused Lyra Caelis' fleet offer.
He had dismissed the Pluto Outpost's escort protocols.
And now, alone aboard the Hyperion, he drifted just past the edge of sanctioned space, waiting for the inevitable.
The Crocodile Fleet, emboldened by greed, took the bait.
Like scavengers catching the scent of blood, they broke formation and surged forward—closing in on the dreadnought that moved without fleet support.
Back near Pluto Outpost, the temporary alliance of civilian ships under the Valkyrion's command watched in alarm.
Lyra Caelis frowned as a tactical feed flickered onto her bridge display.
"They're moving... toward the Hyperion?"
One of her officers spoke up.
"They're actually going to strike this close to Ascendancy space?"
"Apparently so," Lyra murmured. "Fools."
"She did ask him to join the fleet," someone whispered on the comms.
"He refused. Let him deal with the consequences."
"We should take the opportunity—while the pirates are distracted—to jump."
Lyra Caelis narrowed her eyes but said nothing. The fleet around her was composed of inexperienced navigators—children in steel shells. They wouldn't survive open conflict. And as for the man they left behind…
He knew what he was doing. Didn't he?
—
Far above, in the Pluto Outpost command center, Commander Rourke stared at the tactical display, his voice low and cold.
"They're really going after him."
"Should we intervene?" an officer asked.
Rourke didn't respond immediately. Then, grimly, "Deploy two interceptor frigates. But keep your distance."
He muttered under his breath, "If that ship falls into pirate hands, we won't be facing raiders next month—we'll be facing a new pirate kingdom."
—
Inside the Hyperion, Silas calmly stepped into the bar once more. A Marvin unit served him a chilled drink. Classical music drifted through the air, soft violins dancing across the dark silence of the vessel.
He sipped slowly.
His techband pinged.
[Multiple vessels approaching at combat velocity.]
[Tactical threat confirmed – Crocodile Pirate Fleet.]
[Flagship: "Giant Maw" (Converted Class-B Freighter)]
[Support: 2x Class-F Fire Frigates]
Silas stood, placing the glass down as the alert shifted from passive red to flashing crimson.
[Warning: Incoming ordnance detected.]
Explosions lit the darkness.
Missiles—dozens, then hundreds—streaked through the void, fire trailing behind them like comets born to kill.
The pirates had fired everything. The Giant Maw surged ahead, flanked by its two converted war frigates, their launch bays open and glowing red.
A storm of warheads slammed into the Hyperion.
From the Pluto Outpost, even Lyra's fleet could see the impact—thousands of detonations cascading against the dreadnought's hull, engulfing it in a supernova bloom.
Onboard the Giant Maw, Krell bared his teeth in triumph.
"Ha! Bring her in! Prepare for boarding! That ship is ours!"
He laughed like a man already crowned king.
But then…
A blinding flare cut through the flame.
From the inferno, the Hyperion emerged—untouched.
Its hull shimmered as a golden-blue energy shield unfurled in layered hexagonal tessellation, repelling the last of the explosion.
Not even scorched.
Not even dented.
The comms lit up aboard the pirate ships. Panic.
"Captain! Their armor's intact!"
"The barrier's still holding—there's no breach!"
"Th-that's impossible!"
Krell's laughter choked into silence.
He stumbled toward the viewscreen, eyes wide as the silhouette of the Hyperion loomed through the dispersing smoke, monolithic and patient.
And then it returned fire.
Silas stood upon the bridge, unshaken.
"Target lock," he said. "Disengage safeties."
[Fire control online.]
[Predator-class smart cannon arrays calibrated.]
[Main battery: active.]
The Hyperion's dorsal gun emplacements rotated with mechanical precision. Plasma core chambers began to glow. Venting systems hissed. A low hum echoed through the bridge like the breath of a sleeping god roused to wrath.
Silas spoke one word.
"Fire."
The forward battery released a flash—silent, blinding—and a beam of energy slammed into one of the Class-F fire frigates.
It didn't explode.
It simply ceased to exist.
Metal, fuel, crew, data—disintegrated mid-space as if the stars had taken offense at its existence.
The remaining frigate panicked, firing chaotically as its navigation systems spiraled into disarray.
The second volley was slower—merciful.
It struck the engine core, and the ship bloomed into a violent red blossom of shattered alloy and venting bodies.
On the Giant Maw, Krell's bridge devolved into screams.
"They're not responding to our hails!"
"Shields at maximum! Brace for—"
A final blast landed across the converted freighter's side, shearing off its main launcher array and throwing it into a spin.
Alarms howled.
Fires erupted.
Krell staggered, blood trailing from his scaled jaw.
His voice cracked. "What… what is that ship…?"
Silas answered.
He activated a final command.
[Deploy Predators.]
Deep within the Hyperion, the sealed cryopods hissed open. One by one, sleek figures emerged—seven feet tall, plated in matte-black reactive armor, their eyes aglow with red targeting arrays. Razor gauntlets unfolded from their forearms. Plasma blades hissed to life.
A thousand Predators. Silent. Ready.
[Boarding authorization granted.]
[Launch craft en route.]
The Hyperion was no longer a symbol.
It was a judgment.
And the Void of Space had just received its first sentence.