In a string of calculated misfortunes, Kyknos had finally reached Prireem. The planet's skyline gleamed with towers of gold and silver, their surreal architecture curving and spiraling in shapes no Earth-born mind would easily grasp. The pastel-hued sky bathed everything in a dreamlike calm—a deceptive tranquility considering the storm of power shifts now shaking the empire.
She barged into the corridors of the Paragon palace, eyes burning with purpose.
"Entry is forbidden. La'sylix has issued strict orders," barked one of the guards, shoving her back.
Kyknos clenched her fists, her lips curling into a scowl—just as the corridor shifted. The hallway lights dimmed, and three figures in ceremonial armor stepped forward.
"Due to unforeseen developments," the leader of the Imperial Guardians announced, "an audience has been granted. Let the princess pass."
The guards exchanged uncertain glances before parting. One of them gave Kyknos a look of pure disdain as he gestured her forward. She returned it with a smirk, brushing past him as if she were still royalty.
The throne room loomed ahead, majestic as ever. Marble-like pillars spiraled toward the crystalline ceiling. At the far end stood familiar statues—herself and her elite warriors—remnants of a past when loyalty still meant something. Guards bowed as she strode through.
"La'sylix," Kyknos called out, tilting her head with theatrical flair, "still radiant, I see. I must say, your new robes are even more extravagant than last cycle. May I—"
"Spare the theatrics," La'sylix cut in, her voice cool but commanding. "Present your report. I have little time for posturing. Where are my Imperial Elites?"
Kyknos' grin widened, the sparkle of provocation dancing in her eyes. "Ah, so you've grown impatient. No pleasantries? Tsk, tsk. You really should engage more, sister."
She casually scanned the guards flanking the throne—measuring them, as if calculating who she could cut down first if it came to it.
La'sylix leaned forward in her throne, voice taut with fury.
"Cal'Rae—speak. Now. Where are they?"
The empress's patience thinned with each breath. Her sister, as always, treated this palace like a performance stage.
Cal'Rae crossed her arms and sighed melodramatically.
"You know, I wish I could pretend to be upset about the news I bring. But truthfully? This is on you, Sister. You sent them on a mission they weren't prepared for."
La'sylix narrowed her gaze, disappointment etched into every line of her face.
"Eight months of banishment, and you've learned nothing. Some T'tallions truly never change. Just admit the truth. Say you don't know where they are. Confess that you abandoned the mission and left my Imperial Elites to die."
She reclined slowly, her voice cooling, but no less pointed.
Cal'Rae rolled her eyes, idly twirling a strand of her hair between two fingers.
"Give me a break. You keep pointing fingers at me—at Thraq—as if we're the threat here. No, dear sister. You're the problem. Sitting in your golden tower while your little soldiers meddle in affairs far beyond their understanding. So when your 'brilliant' band of misfits gets shattered, remember who signed the order."
La'sylix stood.
Every guard along the corridor stiffened, the silence sharp as glass. She raised a hand.
"Stand down. I'll handle this one myself."
The empress stepped from the throne and approached her sister. The air between them turned cold. Cal'Rae—taller by a few inches—tilted her head with that ever-present, knowing smirk. She still thought she had the upper hand. La'sylix studied her in silence, then spoke again.
"You still haven't denied it. So I'll ask one last time—
Where are my Imperial Elites?"
"Oh, what a tragedy it would be," Cal'Rae said, feigning sympathy, "if I told you most of the guards in your empire are not who they claim to be."
She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her voice dripping with mock concern.
"Didn't our dear father make the same mistake? Trusted his right-hand man—right before he was betrayed and bled out on those very steps?"
La'sylix's eyes narrowed. Her breath slowed. She scanned the chamber.
Several guards tensed—too stiff, too still. Others flicked glances at each other. Uncertainty spread like a virus. The air turned heavy. Thick with the scent of treachery.
Cal'Rae smiled.
"There it is," she whispered.
In a blink, she lunged. Her hands ignited with kinetic force as she grabbed her sister and launched skyward. La'sylix barely had time to react before her body slammed into the throne—shattering its upper arch and toppling the imperial crest that adorned it.
"ZEN-BARIANS, ATTACK!"
Her cry rang out like a war drum.
With a single snap of her fingers, chaos erupted.
The golden corridors transformed in an instant. Uniforms were shed. Blades drawn. Guards turned on one another. Screams echoed off marble and steel. Dozens of Zen-barian infiltrators revealed their true allegiance as they swept through the imperial hall like wildfire.
La'sylix groaned, pulling herself from the shattered remnants of the throne. Blood trickled from her brow. Her eyes locked with Cal'Rae's—no longer as a sister, but as a traitor to the crown.
Meanwhile
SkyRaider tossed the guitar across the room with surprising precision. Arthur snatched it midair, spun it around once for show, and slammed the end into the electronic panel beside the cell. A surge of static cracked through the air as sparks erupted, and the cell door groaned open.
"Still got it," Arthur muttered, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder before swinging the guitar onto his back like a battle-worn sword.
Outside, the ascender shuddered from another direct hit. Monette clutched the controls tightly, eyes darting across the interface. "Gunz! I need support fire from turret three!" she shouted into the comms.
"Already on it!" Gunz replied from the upper turret, his massive Helix Reaper firing round after round at Thraq's personal guard ships now circling the area. The skies above the pod lit up like a fireworks display, streaks of energy fire burning through the air.
Back inside, Arthur stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Now, I'd love a beverage and a proper reunion, but I'm assuming we're still under attack?"
"Correct," Tommy said coolly, stepping beside him. "And we have less than three minutes before Thraq breaches the pod's inner hull."
"Fantastic. Time for the encore," Arthur said, already moving with a renewed, chaotic energy.
SkyRaider kicked open the pod's back door. The vacuum seals hissed as they were released, revealing the chaotic firefight in the distance. "Ascender is on standby. Monette's prepping a short-range teleport," he reported.
Tommy grabbed Arthur's wrist. "Ready?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You do realize I've been waiting years for this rescue?"
"Let's make it count."
The three sprinted down the corridor as the pod behind them collapsed under the strain of Thraq's final strike. Just as the glass dome shattered and pressurized air began to scream into space, Monette activated the teleport beacon.
In a bright flash of white light, the trio vanished.
Aboard the ascender, they reappeared in the lower cargo bay—gasping, coughing, and falling over each other in a heap.
"Welcome back, Arthur Eros," Monette said, her eyes wide. "You've aged... less dramatically than expected."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, starbeam," Arthur winked.
Outside the viewport, Thraq hovered midair, his green cape rippling in the windless vacuum, eyes burning with fury.
SkyRaider clenched his jaw. "We've got the rockstar. Now let's get out of here before Thraq turns that fury into another crater."
Monette nodded, engaging the warp drive.
"Ascender, punch it."
The stars stretched and blurred as the ship launched into hyperspace, leaving Thraq's rage—and the smoldering battlefield—far behind.
BOOM.
The button's glow pulsed under Monette's fingertip, and within seconds, the rear cannons of the Ascender roared to life. Twin pulses of plasma fire hurled outward, striking the already unstable remnants of Talbein's starship just as it collided with Thraq's.
A blinding explosion erupted behind them—white hot, laced with deep violet streaks. The shockwave rippled through space as the Crusaders' ship banked hard to the right. Inside, the team braced themselves as the hull trembled from the force.
"WOOOOO!" Monette squealed, spinning in the pilot's chair. "That was so satisfying!"
"Was it absolutely necessary to smile while causing that much destruction?" Arthur shouted over the alert sirens, holding onto the ceiling bar with one hand and his guitar-rifle hybrid with the other.
"If you're going to hit the red button," Gunz said from above, descending from the turret bay with a smirk, "you better enjoy it."
SkyRaider high-fived Monette as she brought the ship out of its spiral. "Nice flying, princess. That'll teach that space troll to monologue over explosions."
Tommy remained silent, eyes on the rear-view display where the smoke and debris of Talbein's final act glowed like a new constellation.
"He knew what he was doing," he finally said. "He knew this would be the only way to wound Thraq."
Arthur's smirk faded as he looked toward the display. "He was a fool. A brilliant, noble fool." His voice carried a rare weight. "Let's make sure it wasn't in vain."
The crew fell into a moment of silence as the ship cruised through the aftermath. Bits of burning wreckage floated behind them, marking the death of one ship… and maybe the spark of a greater rebellion.
Then, the comms crackled again.
"I am Empress La'sylix of the Paragon Empire. Starship Crusaders, I wish to speak with you… immediately."
Monette's eyes widened. SkyRaider muttered, "Great. Royal summons. That's never a casual chat."
Arthur, unphased, reached for a nearby bottle of water, twisted it open, and took a long sip before stating flatly:
"Someone bring me a damn shirt before we meet royalty."
"Oh! So that's how it works." Monette's eyes widened in wonder as the compact device Talbein had activated shimmered, warping space and teleporting him directly inside the ship. She barely had a second to process it.
Snapping out of her awe, she spun back to the controls. "Strap in, everybody—this is going to get wild."
The Ascender roared as Monette slammed the throttle forward, hurling the vessel ahead just as the explosion behind them lit up space with a searing blast of orange light, its pulse nearly blinding.
Arthur shielded his eyes, stumbling slightly as he gripped the side railing. "Raider? Raider, we good? That looked real close!"
Talbein, steady even after teleporting into a moving ship mid-firestorm, retrieved a second device from his coat and tossed it to Monette. "Lady? Catch."
She caught it with both hands and plugged it into the console. The dashboard flared with new life. "Oh… oh wow. These are deep core overrides."
"They're boosters," Talbein clarified. "You're about to fly faster than you've ever dreamed—just don't hit light speed, or we'll phase ourselves inside out."
Monette smirked, her hands dancing across the controls. "No promises." She hit the override.
The Ascender screamed through the void, its engines surging with energy as it hit overdrive. Stars stretched into streaks.
But the escape didn't go unnoticed.
Dozens—hundreds—of Zen-barian vessels began to flicker on the radar like angry fireflies. The swarm had seen them. The swarm was coming.
"Well," Arthur muttered, watching the incoming swarm light up the display in red, "they certainly are tenacious, aren't they?"
SkyRaider gave a low whistle. "Buckle up, Crusaders. This isn't over. It's only the beginning."
The Ascender hurtled forward, into the unknown stars—and straight into the heart of the war.