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  The treeline was burning.

  Soren sprinted out of the complex, boots kicking up ash and grit as he entered the open air. His body vibrated with the raw power of Aether Dust coursing through him, and he felt the urge to kill. To correct The Professor’s mistakes.

  The forest lit up with muzzle flashes and dying screams. Liberty Union soldiers scrambled in scattered formations, their lines already broken as a small horde overwhelmed them. One was dragged screaming into the brush—cut short with a wet snap. Another collapsed under a blur of claws and glassy eyes.

  The creatures looked half animal, half nightmare.

  The first beast was the size of a motorcycle—sleek, feline, and wrong. Its skin was nearly see-through, a lattice of veins pulsing with silver-gold under moonlit muscle. Six reflective eyes flicked toward him independently, just as it blinked out of view entirely.

  It can cloak itself.

  His fists clenched, waiting for the strike.

  He sensed its movement, felt it pounce, and surged forward, catching it midair. It reappeared and shrieked—a bass-heavy noise that made his teeth rattle. Claws raked across his shoulder, but he barely felt it.

  He held it up by the throat.

  Tywin can choke on these damn creations.

  There was a blinding flash followed by a crack like lightning splitting stone.

  Azure bolts surged from his hand in jagged arcs, spiderwebbing through the creature’s translucent skin as the air thrummed with a charged, electric buzz. Its veins lit up, pulsed, then burst outward in ruptured seams of light and gore.

  The creature went limp.

  Soren inhaled through his nose, his shoulders rising, and exhaled slow, catharsis washing over him. He flung the carcass aside just in time for another to come barreling out of the smoke. This one was faster, claws glowing as they sliced toward his throat. Soren twisted and let it pass, then drove his elbow into its spine with enough force to send it skidding ten feet across the ground in a broken heap.

  Movement behind him—

  He spun too late.

  Something hit him like a freight train.

  Soren arced through the air for a solid two seconds trying to reorient himself before he became quickly acquainted with a thick tree trunk.

  He fell to the ground, then looked up.

  A massive adversary charged from the brush, hooves cracking the ground with every thunderous stomp. At least twelve feet at the shoulder, antlers shining with crystalline Aether, eyes like molten gold. A small gravitational pulse emanated out of the beast, a wave of invisible force that staggered Soren just long enough for the beast to slam into him and pin him to the tree.

  The trunk shattered.

  For a moment, Soren and the stag flexed against each other, both trying to overpower through raw muscle.

  And then—

  Aurania leapt from somewhere above, bringing her entire weight to bear straight through a cleaving axe-blow. It connected with the stag’s spine, landing with a sickening, wet crunch. The beast screamed—more force of nature than voice—and staggered sideways, blood like liquid light spilling from the wound.

  Soren stood.

  “That thing giving you trouble?” Aurania yanked her axe free.

  He just smiled at her, power still causing his vision to faintly shake. “I could kiss you.”

  “Dinner first.”

  The sound of an LU soldier’s death screams shocked them back to reality, and the symphony of war orchestrated around them.

  Gunfire.

  Boots on dirt.

  Claws on flesh.

  A distinct noise cracked through the battle as Morgan’s Mercy ended another of those strange feline beasts.

  “Stop standing around.” Violet strolled through the trees. A satisfying ping rang out as she ejected her scalding-hot magazine and loaded a fresh one.

  The Aether Dust itched beneath his skin as it screamed to be used.

  He launched forward, joining the fray as more creatures poured from the forest—five… no, six more quadrupeds, their translucent bodies flickering in and out of visibility.

  They surrounded Commander Garrin and his men.

  A howling rang out—high-pitched and unnatural. More creatures emerged in a blur of motion—different, canine. The joints bent wrong, ribs exposed, and they were bigger than any wolf should be. They shrieked, and a wave of vertigo hit Soren like a punch. One soldier clutched his head, screaming. Another vomited, dropping his weapon.

  It was like a noise induced hysteria.

  Weaponized panic.

  Soren pushed through, channeling harder.

  He roared and leapt forward, catching one wolf-creature mid-pounce. He crushed its neck underfoot, and another lunged. His hand whipped towards it, and it froze midair like an insect in amber. He clenched his fist, and it crumpled like paper.

  A third nearly reached Tamiyo up on the ridge, but Veolo tackled it and beat it to death with her bare hands. She jumped up with a grin and whipped her rifle off her back, opening fire at a pack of beasts.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” Soren yelled, grabbing another wolf-beast by the tail. He swung it overhead, then down into the ground.

  “Gotta have fun with it!” came Amalia’s bubbly voice. She somersaulted into the battle then slid under one of the giant felines, peppering its belly with short bursts of fire. Inelius backed her up, firing down with precision as he moved defensively next to Tamiyo.

  It was beautiful, coordinated chaos.

  But his power was building too fast.

  Soren’s vision blurred—the edges of the world glowing. He could feel hearts beating. Sense footsteps through the dirt. Hear thoughts before they became words. The Dust was overwhelming him.

  He didn’t just feel powerful.

  He felt like he was unraveling.

  One of the cats lunged for Violet, and he reacted without thinking.

  A lightning arc jumped from his fingers, wild and white-hot.

  The creature exploded midair—

  Violet was thrown too.

  She blasted backward with a cry and flipped over once as she sailed through the air.

  Soren froze.

  A couple small branches broke her momentum and she landed in a sprawl, disappearing into a thick bush.

  “Vi!” Amalia squealed and sprinted for her sister.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Soren stared at his hand, the Aether Dust flaring along his arms, veins of light too bright, too wild.

  Right before Amalia reached the bush, Violet popped up. Her hat had vanished, and her hair stuck out in wild tufts, faintly buzzing with residual static.

  She looked at Amalia, trying to catch her breath. “That ride still sucks.”

  Amalia let out a sigh of relief and immediately pivoted to continue shooting.

  “Hey!”

  Before Soren could turn, Veolo’s fist whipped his head to the side.

  He looked back at her, more stunned than anything.

  “Stop being flashy!” Veolo yelled. “Just beat the shit out of them!”

  She wasn’t mad—she was helping him focus.

  He stared at her for a beat, then exhaled. He nodded, and the two of them squared up with the beasts, back-to-back.

  They surged back into the fight—two forces of bare-handed fury. Soren’s enhanced strength and durability drove bone and blood into dirt. Veolo’s favorite pastime made her untouchable. She dodged, punched, dodged again—then cracked a wolf-skull open against a tree trunk. She let out a bark of laughter, already leaping toward her next victim.

  The tide was turning.

  Amalia zipped through the chaos, her rifle popping with rhythm as she vaulted over debris and dropped to one knee in front of a fallen LU soldier, shielding the man long enough for Tamiyo to direct him to safety over comms.

  Inelius barked an order, coordinating the last few soldiers into a semi-coherent line, and Violet reappeared beside him—disheveled, focused, and dealing Mercy with raucous rapport.

  Soren slammed another translucent cat into the dirt hard enough to crater the ground, then turned to catch his breath—

  And saw Aurania.

  She was weaponless, her greataxe buried several meters away in a mound of dirt. Her body was locked in a desperate grapple with one of the massive stags—the final one still standing. Aurania held the crystalline antlers in a death grip, both opponents’ hooves digging trenches in the soil as each tried to shove the other forward.

  Her teeth were bared. Her muscles flexed and veins popped with the strain.

  It wasn’t immediately clear who was winning.

  The rest of the creatures lay dead or dying as Commander Garrin regrouped what was left of his men.

  Soren approached Aurania, watching her struggle without moving to help.

  Inelius and Violet almost opened fire on the stag, but Tamiyo pointed out how Soren was waiting and they held off.

  Veolo and Amalia walked up behind Soren, watching with him.

  Aurania growled, breath hot with fury. Her eyes flicked over to him. “What—the fuck—are you waiting for—?”

  He crossed his arms and shrugged, the glow starting to fade as he calmed himself. “I heard you were the strongest lacravida alive.”

  Still straining, a small grin appeared on her face. “Oh—” she growled, holding the stag back as it shoved harder. “You—Fuck you—”

  Soren leaned forward. “Only if you earn it.”

  Aurania’s jaw flexed in anger. She dropped her weight, then twisted.

  The stag tried to fight it, but it was thrown off balance. It fell to its side—

  Aurania was on it in an instant. She slammed a hoof into the stag’s body, twisted its antlers hard the other way—

  A sickening crack rang out. The whole body spasmed once.

  Then it went still.

  The battlefield quieted.

  Inelius shouted orders from the ridge above at Veolo and Amalia, directing them to assist wounded LU soldiers. Soren walked forward until he stood next to the greataxe, still buried in the dirt.

  Aurania's chest was heaving as she caught her breath. She stood up, staring at him, and slowly walked forward. Glancing at her axe, she said, “What?”

  Soren just shook his head. “I don't touch your stuff.”

  A small, breathless laugh escaped her. “Yeah, but you didn't help either.”

  “Not true! I gave moral support.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled her axe from the ground.

  They joined Commander Garrin and his men. He'd lost just over half of them—and Garrin himself was missing half of his left shorn-blade.

  When Soren saw it, he said, “Fuck Garrin, you alright?”

  “Just a flesh wound.” He handed some gauze to one of his men. It was a lie, Soren knew the blades were basically made of bone.

  “Thanks,” Garrin added. “We'd all be dead without you guys.” He rose and faced Soren, holding out his uninjured arm.

  Soren firmly grasped his hand.

  “Anytime Garrin, we got your back.”

  They spent the next half hour helping Garrin’s remaining soldiers regroup. Amalia and Veolo moved between the wounded, lifting bodies with care—some breathing, some not. Inelius coordinated with Tamiyo, directing evac routes while patching what he could with field dressings. Raine brought The Ghost of Mandachor over and landed nearby so she could lend a hand.

  Garrin didn’t slow down once. Even with half his left blade snapped off, he issued orders, refused help, and only paused long enough to ask what they’d found inside. Soren gave him the short version—The Professor’s base, the mysterious ship, the facility still awakening.

  Garrin just nodded and said, “Don’t stop now.”

  By the time the last of the wounded were loaded onto the shuttle for exfil, a moon had shifted overhead, casting long shadows across the clearing.

  Soren turned toward the entrance of the complex, the structure still faintly pulsing with light like it was waiting for them to return. The team stepped up around him as he stood at the entrance, all bracing for another round of reality shattering discoveries.

  Violet was failing at getting her sister to give her hat back, recovered from the bush she had fallen into. Tamiyo scanned Aurania to make sure she had no lasting stag injuries she wouldn’t admit. Inelius gave Raine a quick wave from the ridge and ran to join them.

  Soren grimaced as Veolo walked up next to him. Both arms were covered in blood up to her elbows except for where she had wiped off her hands. The back of her head even had some matted blood congealing in her silver hair.

  None of it was hers, it all came from the creatures she killed.

  “Did you lose your rifle?” Soren asked in an amused tone.

  Her brow shot up. “You have no room to talk, dude.”

  There was a pause.

  “So did you?”

  “I didn't lose it!” Her jaw set. “It broke in half when I beat one of those freaky cats to death with it.”

  They all laughed and Aurania handed Veolo her sidearm.

  Soren stepped back into the complex, followed by friends.

  The air inside felt cool after the heated battle outside. The hum of the walls—once erratic and flickering—had settled into a steady thrum. Soren led the way through dim corridors that came alive when he passed—lights activating, panels unlocking, machinery blinking awake like the facility was recognizing him more and more.

  They passed several smaller chambers—some filled with shattered equipment, some with flickering holograms too corrupted to decipher. Each room hinted at experiments long abandoned. One still had ancient skeletal remains fused to a medical table, surrounded by shattered syringes and what looked like prototype Aether injection rigs.

  Eventually, they entered a bio-research wing. They found where the beasts outside had come from. They weren’t some freak byproduct of Aether Dust exposure. They’d been designed in a lab by The Professor, millennia ago, and managed to survive all this time.

  Soren wished it had stopped there.

  A sealed chamber opened only when Soren laid his palm against a panel.

  The lights slowly activated, revealing a massive, circular bio-research station. Holographic displays hovered in the air like frozen thoughts. A curved wall bore countless embedded screens, each showing genetic code, embryonic timelines, and planetary maps tagged with familiar systems:

  Lacravi, motherworld of the lacravida.

  Tol-Kein, homeworld of the d’moria.

  Vakarian, birthplace of the lazarco.

  The list kept going. Every single race throughout the galaxy that was not human was listed.

  Soren moved forward as the data cascaded through different languages and formats, including The Professor’s own cryptic coding—until it finally settled on a language they all understood.

  English. Plain, regular English, the same as Soren knew back in 2090.

  "Non-human phenotype stabilization project: GENESIS-03."

  Overseer: Enderfield, Tywin.

  Status: Autonomous continuation active.

  Result: Viable racial branches distributed.

  Status update: All species seeded.

  Projected integration: 99.9% cultural divergence complete.

  End-state goal: Adaptive survival through engineered evolution.

  Soren felt a chill crawl up his spine. The only silver lining he could find was he saw no mention of Aether Dust infusion. But as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, he heard himself whisper:

  “No…”

  The air in the room felt frozen.

  Aurania stared at the screen like it had slapped her. “What does that mean? Why are all of these homeworlds listed here?”

  Tamiyo stepped closer, scanning the data. “He... created them. Every sentient race across the galaxy is a result of Enderfield splicing together DNA with humans. They weren’t... natural evolutionary offshoots. He designed them. Built them to thrive, then seeded their planets using autonomous delivery systems tied to this facility’s network.”

  Inelius stepped back. “Our homeworlds... were planted?” His voice was full of disbelief.

  Soren said nothing.

  The truth bled out of the screens in front of them. Code. Cloning structures. Timelines and planetary dispersal projections. Everything backed it up.

  Aurania’s jaw clenched. She growled, “You’re saying everything our people know to be true is a complete lie?”

  Tamiyo sounded like she was trying to be gentle without shying from the truth. “I’m saying... it’s worse than that. He didn’t just manipulate your history. He authored it. On purpose. After his death, his AI kept writing the script. Your culture, your wars, your traditions—they’re yours, but your origins?” She gestured to the projection. “They’re his.”

  “That's why everyone can speak Terr-English…” Amalia squeaked.

  Violet's face contorted. “And why we can reproduce with all of the races. We all share human DNA.”

  Aurania was staring daggers into one of the holograms. A lacravida fetus floated in artificial stasis—bones still forming, muscle growth mapped in progress bars, culture packages noted in side-text. The truth of their mythos was twisted in front of her.

  Theirs was the mother-race.

  Designated.

  Designed to be resilient and fruitful.

  The other races were created first, but suffered from fertility problems. Lacravida males didn’t exist for a reason: The entire race’s purpose, according to The Professor, was to boost the reproduction of all other races.

  “This is why that bastard's face is on the mural in Silvara’s Hall,” Aurania seethed. “He’s the creator that bestowed the gift of life on our people.”

  She turned away, breathing hard.

  “A man playing God with the lives of mortals.”