"We've surrounded them, sir."
"Excellent," the officer replied, voice cold as steel. "Those fools will learn what it means to stain the name of the Terrian Empire. Prepare the Radical Cannon. Target the Tartarusios."
Two Hours Earlier
"Approaching Zellion's border and docking station, Captain," said the helmsman, fingers dancing across the console. "Payment confirmed. Still no response."
"Patch me through to Zellion Space Station," Oscar Meilton ordered, leaning forward in his chair. "Video call with the director. Tell him we've got Brions for appraisal."
A moment of static—then a voice filled the bridge.
"Docking granted, Tartarusios. Proceed to Bay Four."
The screen flickered, revealing Director Harry Blain, half-bald, half-smirking.
"Well, well… Captain Meilton. Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Director Blain," Oscar said, grinning. "You're looking well. Gained some weight?"
"Careful," Blain hissed. "I could revoke that clearance right now."
"Relax, Harry—it's a joke. I've got a clean shipment this time. You'll be pleased."
Blain's smirk faltered. "You'd better be. The Empire's been sniffing around for you, Meilton. I won't cover your ass twice."
As the call ended, Blain turned to his aide.
"Once they unload, contact the Empire. Tell them the Tartarusios is here. Those criminals think they can play me—let's see how long they last."
Aboard the Tartarusios
"Hey, Oscar," Halley muttered over comms. "You think that bastard's gonna keep his word?"
Oscar snorted. "Blain? Not a chance. He's still sore about last time. Get those Brions offloaded before they rot."
"Copy that. But we should stay ready. The second he gets his hands on the cargo, he'll sell us out."
"Already on it. Prep the Orbitons. Reload the cannons. Maintenance on standby. Let's hope I'm wrong—but don't count on it."
Crew Quarters
"What's with all the noise?!" Youri's voice echoed down the narrow corridor. "I can't sleep with this racket!"
Oscar's voice came through the comm. "Docked at Zellion. Crew's rushing repairs. We've been running non-stop for weeks. Fifth time this month."
"Fifth?" Youri groaned, rubbing his temples. "I get that we're outlaws, but this is suicidal."
"Sorry, Youri. These runs pay well. We need the credits."
"Fine," he muttered, grabbing his jacket. "I'll get something to eat."
He paused by the viewport. The world below was scarred and half-dead—vast craters and clouds of ash.
"Zellion…" he murmured. "A planet gutted by empire greed. They say the Terrians unleashed a God Orbiton here during the last war—to remind everyone who rules the stars."
Zellion Station
Director Blain paced across the platform. "Be careful with that cargo! Those Brions are worth more than your lives."
Oscar gave a lazy salute. "Relax, Harry. We didn't drag them across six systems to drop them now."
"Hangar Seven. My team's waiting."
"Copy that. Halley, go with them," Oscar said. "I'll check something outside. Stay sharp. This place stinks of betrayal."
Above the Hull — The Forbidden Hangar
"There it is," Oscar muttered, staring at the sealed doors of Hangar Two. "He's gonna kill me for this."
"Captain?" Nolan called from below. "What are you doing up there?"
"Just… checking the weather radar."
"He's always hanging around Hangar Two," Nolan said under his breath. "That area's off-limits—even to the captain."
"Yeah," one of the mechanics replied. "Why is that?"
Nolan leaned back against the wall, eyes distant. "Sit down, kid. Let me tell you a story."
He spoke of Garossos—a planet of iron and stone, once bustling, now dust.
"The Empire used it as a junkyard during the war. I ran a burger stall. Simple life. Then the sky cracked open. Fire fell like rain. They called it a lesson in obedience."
He smiled bitterly. "That's when I saw my first warship. Beautiful… and terrifying. I thought—if I'm gonna die, let it be aboard one of those. So I joined. Became a mechanic. Later, I deserted. Crashed on some nameless rock. Starving. Hopeless."
Nolan's gaze softened. "Then I saw her—the Tartarusios. Cutting through the clouds like a scar of light. No signal, no call—just… music. A melody from that little window above Hangar Two. Sad. Beautiful. Alive. I slept to that song. Woke up aboard her."
He chuckled. "Oscar found me. Said, 'Welcome to the Tartarusios.' Told me one thing—'Never open Hangar Two.' Not even I asked why. Some things you just… feel."
Inside Hangar Two
The heavy door hissed open. Youri stood in the dim light, half-shadow, half-machine.
Oscar stepped inside quietly. "So… this is where you hide."
"Shouldn't you be steering the ship, Captain?"
"I'm the captain. I go where I please."
Youri smirked. "Then you already know what's in here."
Oscar's eyes shifted toward the hulking silhouette beyond the glass—a sleeping titan wrapped in steel and silence.
"Is that—?"
"ALTOPEREH," Youri said. "The Vanisher."
Oscar's breath caught. "That's impossible. It was destroyed at Orion."
Youri's tone was soft but heavy. "Some things refuse to die."
He turned to him. "Tell me, Oscar. What does freedom mean to you?"
Oscar hesitated. "Freedom? It's this—what we're doing. Traveling the stars. No borders, no rules. Just open space."
Youri nodded slowly. "Good answer."
"Why ask?"
"Because," Youri said, walking past him, "I needed to be sure I picked the right captain."
"Captain! Imperial warship on approach—bearing Zellion's border!"
Oscar's smirk vanished.
"Put it on screen."
The command deck fell silent as the Terrian crest appeared — an iron phoenix soaring across a field of red stars. The symbol of conquest. The mark of death.
"Damn it," Oscar hissed. "Blain sold us out. Warm the engines."
"Main shields to two hundred percent!" Halley shouted across the bridge. "No one fires without my order! If that Radical Cannon hits, we're nothing but cosmic dust!"
"All pilots to their stations! Enemy Orbitons closing in fast!"
Oscar clenched his fists. "Tom — buy us seven minutes."
"Copy that. Titans, launch!"
THE BATTLE OVER ZELLION
The void erupted.
Blue plasma streaks cut across the darkness, each one a thunderbolt in the night.
The Tartarusios shuddered under the blast of nearby detonations.
Orbitons streaked through space — towering humanoid war machines, their thrusters glowing like burning halos. Metal roared against metal as the Titans clashed with the Empire's hunters.
"Titan Three, engaging the left flank!"
"Titan Five, heavy fire—armor breached!"
"Pull back, Titan Five!" Oscar barked.
"Negative! They've locked onto my core—I can't shake them—!"
A flash. Static.
Then—
"Enemy Orbiton destroyed."
The comm went quiet for a heartbeat before Tom's voice returned, breathless:
"That's one down… five more to go!"
"Good work, Tom. Titans, fall back to formation! Get ready for leap prep!"
"Engines hot," Bjorn shouted. "ETA—one minute!"
"Set destination—five hundred light-years from Zellion."
"Copy. Initiating leap in five… four… three—"
The stars stretched—then froze.
Halley's eyes widened. "Captain… we're surrounded."
"Twenty-three warships. All Imperial."
THE HUNTERS ARRIVE
"We have them, my lady," a lieutenant said aboard the Imperial flagship. "The Tartarusios cannot escape."
Countess Emilia Rozasar stepped from the shadows into the light.
Her crimson hair, long and sharp as a drawn blade, shimmered like liquid fire beneath the command bridge lights, each strand catching the glow of the monitors around her. Yet it was her eyes that silenced entire rooms — black as the void between stars, reflecting no light, no mercy.
"Patch me through to their captain," she said, her tone soft but deadly.
"My lady, it's unnecessary. We can obliterate them from here—"
Her gaze cut through him like a monoblade.
"I want to see the man who slaughtered my fleet at Onyx."
The holo-screen flickered alive, bathing the bridge in cold blue light.
"This is Countess Emilia Rozasar, Commander of the Eastern Galactic Forces.
You are surrounded. Surrender and stand trial for your crimes against the Terrian Empire.
Or be erased from existence."
TARTARUSIOS — BRIDGE
"Oscar, incoming transmission!"
"Put it through."
Emilia's face filled the screen—serene, predatory, the calm before annihilation.
"Last chance, Captain," she said evenly. "Surrender."
Oscar turned toward Halley. "Time to leap?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"Too damn long." He clenched his jaw. "Power to cannon."
"If we divert that much, shields will drop. One hit and we're gone."
Before he could respond—
"Sir! Hangar Two is opening!" Nolan's voice cracked.
Oscar froze. "What? Who authorized that?!"
"Put me through!"
Static flared—then came Youri's voice, calm, defiant.
"Boost shields to two hundred percent. Hold the line. I'll make an opening."
"Youri, that's suicide!"
"This is my ship, Oscar."
A pause—a breath of finality.
"And no one points a gun at it and lives."
The AI's monotone followed:
"Hangar Two opening. Titan Zero—launching."
The Tartarusios' underbelly split open, venting light and vapor into the black.
From that burning gate, a single shadow emerged—
jet-black armor veined in molten red, energy pulsing like a heartbeat.
The ALTOPEREH.
Codename: The Vanisher.
Last of the God Orbitons—myth turned reality.
Thrusters ignited, flaring crimson. The resulting shockwave shattered nearby debris into dust.
Halley's breath caught. "Titan Zero… deployed."
"I've never seen an Orbiton move like that…"
Oscar's eyes hardened. "You won't again.
Anyone who does—doesn't live to tell about it."
Youri's voice slid through the comms—low, human, tired.
"I swore I'd never climb back into this cockpit. But promises… are for the living."
ALTO's AI responded, cold and precise.
"Target locked. Antimatter cannon—charging."
Inside the cockpit, Youri's hands moved like instinct reborn.
The machine remembered him.
Panels lit up with alien symbols, the hum of raw cosmic power filling the air.
The enemy fleet tightened around him—a steel storm ready to crush a single spark.
"Empire warship locked."
Youri vanished in a flash of red light.
A heartbeat later—impact.
The first Orbiton split clean in two, plasma still glowing along the cut.
Another dove at him.
Youri spun, fired micro-singularity rounds—tiny collapsing stars that folded the attacker into nothingness.
"Enemy count: nineteen."
He streaked upward—disappeared again.
Each reappearance was death.
Each flash of crimson light, another Orbiton torn apart.
The void became a graveyard of twisted steel.
"Enemy count: eight."
On the Imperial flagship, Emilia gripped the railing, voice trembling.
"Impossible… he's a phantom."
Then Youri's voice came again—every frequency crackling with it, resonating through the bones of every soldier who heard.
"ALTO. Erase."
The antimatter cannon fired.
There was no sound—only a wave of lightless energy, so pure it devoured its own shadow.
The front line of twelve Imperial warships disintegrated, their atoms scattering into radiation and silence.
In the aftermath, the stars flickered like they were gasping for air.
The vacuum screamed.
And then—nothing.
When the light died, only drifting fragments marked where the Terrian fleet had once stood.
On the bridge of the Tartarusios, no one spoke.
Oscar stared at the holo-feed—static and ash.
"Youri…" he whispered. "What have you done?"
Through the haze of comm interference came a single reply—hollow, almost tired.
"What I always do."
Then silence.
And in that silence, across the endless dark, his name began to spread again.
Whispered like a curse. Revered like a myth.
Youri Kronos.
Pilot of ALTOPEREH.
Codename: Titan Zero.
The God Orbiton that erased fleets—
and the man who vanished with them.