The Orbitons rained fire upon the remaining Baraken fleet, their weapons cutting through the void like streams of molten light. Within minutes, the proud ships that once guarded the skies of Baraka were nothing more than glowing wreckage adrift in orbit. The fleet that had once inspired fear across a thousand worlds now burned silently above their home planet — its end swift and absolute.
Inside the control room of the Tartarusios, the crew stood watching the devastation unfold. No one cheered. No one smiled. Victory had long lost its thrill. The mood was not can we win, but how long until it's over.The truth had become painfully clear — the Empire of Baraka, once said to have conquered the stars, was no match for the technology of the Tartarusios, a vessel ten thousand years ahead of its time.
Bjorn folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the flickering images of collapsing ships. "To think this is the mighty empire that once ruled the known universe," he muttered.
Zoma, standing beside him, cracked a faint smile. "The empire you speak of hasn't reached that height yet," she said softly. "But if there's any good to come from this, it's theirs to claim. There's no greater lesson than one learned in defeat — especially against an opponent like us."
Before Bjorn could answer, Tom's voice came through the comms."Captain, the remaining ships are retreating to the planet. Should we pursue?"
Oscar leaned forward in his chair, his gaze still locked on the screen. He had been waiting for a reply from Kaiser — the message of truce, the plea for reason. But none came. The silence from the Empire was absolute.
He exhaled, slow and heavy. "No response," he murmured. "Then it's over."
The path to leave was open now. The titans had done their work, leaving only debris and a handful of ships limping back to Baraka. Turning from the display, Oscar looked to Zoma. "All right, tell me something. You said when we first appeared here that we could leave this place. How?"
Zoma turned her gaze toward him, her synthetic eyes glinting faintly blue. "Yes. This ship can travel through the Corridors without the aid of the Rings. You've already proven that — or rather, your friend has."
Everyone's attention shifted to the corner of the room.There, lounging in the captain's chair, was Youri — fast asleep, legs kicked up on the console, cap tilted over his face like nothing in the world could bother him.
Oscar sighed, walking over and snatching the cap from his face. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up."
Youri groaned, stretching his arms lazily. "Are we home yet?"
"Not yet," Oscar replied with a smirk. "Our lovely mechanical oracle says you know how to get us there. You wouldn't happen to have a clue what she's talking about, would you?"
Youri yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Well… there is a way," he said finally. "But to power up the Daitron drive, we need a special energy source — something called Tarcl. It's made of ultra-fine particles, usually found near black holes. Sometimes they appear in open space too, but when and where… that's impossible to predict. Not with our current tech, anyway."
The room fell silent. The crew exchanged confused glances. No one had heard of such a thing — not even the ship's archives mentioned Tarcl or Daitron energy. Dimensional travel was still the stuff of myth.
"So what?" Oscar said, crossing his arms. "We dive into a black hole and hope for the best?"
Zoma's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Fortunately for you, I might be able to help. My creator left me with the final instructions for my mission. Within that data, there's a set of coordinates — a point in time and space where Tarcl particles will appear. That moment," she said, glancing at the ship's clock, "is today. May 8th, 4832. But I can't access the location until I complete my directive — and create the next version of myself."
Oscar studied her for a long moment. There was always something about Zoma — an air of mystery, of inevitability. Since she'd appeared, the crew had followed her lead into one impossible situation after another, and somehow survived.
"Well," Oscar said at last, voice steady. "Then let's finish your mission — and get you home."
Moments later, the Tartarusios turned its bow toward the planet below. The capital, Basen, burned faintly under the clouded skies. A few last-ditch defense ships stood between them and the surface, loyal soldiers refusing to surrender even as their empire collapsed. They fought bravely — and died quickly.
It was senseless bloodshed, but honor demanded it. They would not let their Emperor fall without resistance.
By the time Kaiser had reached the throne room, the Tartarusios had already descended through the atmosphere and landed on the grassy fields just beyond the Consul. Smoke rose in the distance, and the air shimmered with the heat of battle.
This time, there was no grand strategy, no order of war. The fight was over.
The ship's ramp lowered, and Oscar stepped out with Halley, Bjorn, Zoma — and, for once, Youri. It was rare to see him leave the ship, but even he wanted to face the man whose pride had nearly doomed an empire.
Behind them came three others: Kaiser the First, Mahin, and Tarko — the living relics of another age, walking side by side with those who had ended it.
They made their way through the broken corridors of the Consul. The marble floors were cracked and smeared with ash, the golden walls blackened by fire. The once-great halls of the Baraken Empire now echoed with silence. Even in ruin, the place carried a haunting majesty — a memory of power that refused to die.
There were no guards to escort them. Every able soldier had retreated to the throne room to stand beside their Emperor in his final hour.
When they reached the great doors, Mahin pushed them open. The sound of metal against marble echoed through the vast chamber.
Inside, on the steps of the throne, stood Kaiser the Second. He rose slowly, his injured arm wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. His uniform was torn, but his posture remained regal.
As the smoke from the hall drifted in, he gazed at the newcomers — at the travelers, the outlaws, the destroyers of his fleet — and at the familiar face among them. The father he had once banished to the labyrinth of shadows.
For a long moment, the Emperor said nothing. Then, with a faint, bitter smile, he spoke.
"Welcome, travelers," he said, his voice echoing through the ruined hall. "Once again, to the mighty Consul of the Baraken Empire."