Time doesn’t move out here.

  It stretches. Folds. Bleeds.

  First it was days. Then weeks.

  Then it just... was.

  I stopped counting after the second year.

  A few warning shots had already flared off our bow—bright streaks of plasma slicing across the void like a reminder. They were being polite. For now.

  I’d spent the last half?hour at the viewport, Lion silent beside me, both of us watching the ships drift. Across the bridge, alien voices whispered in layered dialects—sharp consonants and fluid hums—punctuated by flashes of golden light from the diplomatic interface. Our delegation was still talking, still stalling.

  And I just kept watching those streaks burn past, wondering how the hell we got here.

  The Stormbreaker groaned beneath us. Not like Jericho—this ship’s alive in ways it shouldn’t be. Veins in the walls. Flesh under metal. Bio-reactors the Rue built that hiss if you breathe too loud.

  Lion refused to call it by its Coalition name—said it was “xeno filth, barely worth naming at all.”

  So he renamed it The Stormbreaker.

  And like everything he touches, the name stuck.

  I had to admit... It fits—even if the ship wasn’t human.

  Coalition ships weren’t normal ships.

  They were arguments—built by committee, held together by compromise. You could feel it in every hallway—every groan of overstressed alloy and mismatched system.

  The Vonn use crystal—brittle, elegant, useless under pressure.

  The Khevari weave metal with silk and fluid. It ripples when you touch it—like nerves.

  The Rue grow theirs. Rooted. Pulsing. Alive.

  This ship is all of that. And none of it.

  We stole it anyway.

  A one-sided slaughter—human strength against alien faith.

  They bet everything on honor and unity.

  Lion answered with bone-cracking violence and zero mercy.

  I didn’t kill the crew.

  I only ate the ones he butchered—

  the ones who never even saw it coming.

  The day we were ripped from Jericho.

  Teleported here. Trapped in this alien husk.

  The day we left him behind.

  My father.

  All according to his plan.

  I told myself it was survival. That the dead didn’t care.

  But I knew better.

  The Khevari say the soul rots if the body’s not honored.

  The Rue sing their dead home for days.

  Even the Vonn—cold, arrogant bastards—crush the bones to carry as memory.

  And I was tearing through their last rites with my teeth.

  The Coalition built this ship out of hope—dozens of species clinging to one fragile dream.

  My father didn’t dream.

  He broke nature, rewrote biology, bent spacetime into chains, and called it progress.

  He didn’t want peace.

  He wanted proof.

  Proof that he was smarter.

  That he could outbuild gods.

  That if the universe wouldn’t worship him—

  it would at least kneel to his work.

  So here I was—trading burials for biomass.

  I hated it.

  Still do.

  A shot slammed against our shields this time—hard enough to make the hull groan.

  And I thought, more food ahead…

  They call me a monster anyway.

  They whispered it in their own languages—clicks, scents, flashes of light, vibrations. And sometimes in Galactic Common, when they thought I wasn't listening.

  But I got all of it.

  Fungal signals. Root pulses. Nervous system sparks. Language wasn’t just words—not out here. I picked that up from the crew I ate. What they knew, I know now. Even what the others call me in their glowing script.

  The White Maw.

  The Hollow Godling.

  The Golden Heretic’s Mercy.

  Lion didn't care. He stalked the halls like he was born to rule them. The aliens fear him more than me. Maybe because he doesn’t talk. Maybe because they’ve seen what happens when someone pushes him.

  He doesn’t argue. He just ends things.

  That’s why I’m his mercy.

  Lion shifted beside me, golden visor flashing in the bridge lights.

  I shook my head—trapped in thoughts that don’t even feel like mine.

  I grabbed my flask and took a swig—

  because motion drowns the memories,

  because silence claws the walls of my skull the moment I stop,

  because the burn is the only peace I still recognize.

  Sometimes I catch my reflection and don’t recognize the mouth that smiles back.

  Sometimes I forget that it wasn’t revulsion I feel when I bite down.

  I kept going because if I pause long enough to breathe, I’ll start to think—

  and I don’t know what comes next if I let myself think too long.

  Outside the viewport, five ships drifted into formation—clean, precise, predatory. I recognized the pattern. Battle-ready. Defensive wedge. They were circling the shattered moon now, its cracked surface riddled with ancient tech—spires of dead metal jutting out like bones. This is it. The catapult.

  I was out of time.

  I had nothing but time for years… and now it’s gone.

  All that work—days blurred into years.

  Not for survival. Not for clarity. Not even for peace.

  I kept busy—brewing alcohol, rebuilding Valicar, tuning the antimatter core.

  Projects. Distractions. Anything to keep my hands moving while the clock ran down.

  Because deep down, I knew this day would come.

  And I thought maybe I’d be ready.

  But I’m not.

  Now it’s here, and I still don’t know what to do—

  except follow the path Lion laid out in front of me.

  Valicar was done. Rebuilt from scrap, memory, and stolen alloy.

  Vonn harmonics. A Khevari pulse-thread, repurposed and refined by its nanos.

  Alien tech reshaped into something better.

  But Phoenix still chews through the inhibitors.

  I’ve tried to keep the biological creep in check. I failed.

  My ears were longer now—sharper. Pointed. Twitching sometimes like they’re listening for something I can’t quite hear. Always scanning. Always searching.

  Valicar adjusted the shield’s quantum frequency whenever it slipped—shifting before the Hive can latch on.

  // VALICAR STATUS — LIVE FEED

  Suit Integrity: 88%

  Nanite Reserve: 71%

  Biomass Buffer: 61%

  Ear Morphology: +4.1 in (and twitching)

  Psychological Stability: “subjective”

  Advisory: consume protein, reduce Ruebrew intake, stop arguing with zealots.

  I dismissed the HUD overlay with a thought—smart?ass.

  It’s not perfect. But it’s enough. Just barely.

  Dad once called it my armor. But I know better now.

  It’s not armor.

  It’s me.

  And like Lion, I’ve become dependent on a machine to keep Phoenix from devouring what’s left of me.

  We were drifting toward something ancient—something buried in time and blood.

  Kael had said there was a quantum catapult under the moon's crust, Coalition tech from before the Hive War. Lost for decades. If we reach it, we can outrun the Hive. Maybe even make it past the front.

  “The message is already on its way,” he told me. “They know we’re coming. Just not when. Or how.”

  I wanted to believe him.

  But belief doesn’t get you through Hive territory.

  The Hive wasn't just chasing us. It was chasing me. Not to kill me. To crown me.

  That’s what Phoenix was made for—what I was made for. A Queen Node. A unifier. The final piece in something ancient and broken.

  Right now the Hive was fractured—split into competing nodes, each growing wild, each searching. It didn't speak with one voice. Not yet. But it was trying. Spreading like roots, building toward reunion.

  And then it really found me.

  That first ping—Phoenix brushing the Hive’s lattice—sent the whole network into a documented frenzy. Coalition analysts called it a galaxy?wide tantrum: fleets veering off patrol, nodes howling across subspace, everything with a pheromone gland screaming my name.

  It only got worse the closer I pushed toward the front. Out here the Hive wasn’t one empire; it was a thousand rival kingdoms devouring each other for the right to crown me. The Devil?fleet wants to drag me in by brute force, crack me open like a seed. The other nodes posture and coo, trying to impress me—prove their strain deserves to be the prime once I fuse with it.

  They kept forgetting I have no intention of fusing with anything. I’ve already lost enough of myself. I’m not handing over the rest just so one brood can brag it beat the others to the prize.

  Not that it’s stopped them from trying.

  They’ve chased me for over a decade now. And without Jericho, we’ve had to run.

  But now we’re backed against a wall—

  the Hive’s front line ahead of us,

  The Devil and Orion only hours behind.

  There’s only one way out.

  One jump, and we slip the noose. But we’re not alone.

  Coalition. Pirates. Or something worse. This wasn’t random.

  And I think I knew who sent them. The only question was—who tipped them off?

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Lion and I still stood by the forward glass, watching.

  Behind us, Kael and our delegation flicker beneath the comm-pit’s pale light—nervous, hushed, tense. They know what happens if I turn Lion loose. They’ve seen it.

  The aliens on the other end didn’t flinch. Their replies bled through in layered dialects and cold precision.

  Kael raised his voice—warning them this wouldn’t end well. Not here. Not in front of the Council.

  And especially not in the history books, if any of them lived to write it.

  The response?

  Laughter.

  If you could call that sound laughter.

  Valicar had hummed louder now. It hadn’t just shielded me—it had guided me. Filtered the noise, pushed back the pressure. Kept me focused.

  All through the same neural implant Dad gave me as a child.

  The same one he probably used to manipulate me.

  The same one that’s always known what I was thinking—maybe even before I did.

  Just like the virus.

  Just like Phoenix.

  Always listening. Always reaching. Curious. Hungry.

  They circled each other constantly—Valicar and Phoenix—two halves of me that couldn't agree what I am. One trying to hold the shield. The other testing it.

  That’s why they keep finding us.

  My ears twitched when something breaches the field. Just a ripple. Just a whisper. And it’s enough to bring them closer.

  It almost got us killed by the Devil. Close enough to see the Orion, riding just behind the lightcurve, two of the largest Hive fleets converging like I was gravity.

  I still feel them—just outside sensor range. Orion: broken, echoing like a lost prayer. The Devil: silent and watching. Waiting for the jump, like the whole galaxy’s holding its breath.

  We were cutting too deep into the front. Digging through territory no one had touched in years. So Kael—or the people he answers to—gave us this.

  Reach the catapult. Jump. Blow it behind us.

  Such a waste, I thought. But we’re out of time.

  I’ve stopped pretending I’m safe from the Hive. Or from myself.

  The Hive still whispers. Not constantly. Just when I bleed. When I feed. When I forget I’m not supposed to enjoy the taste.

  Every time I eat something not meant for humans—bone, biofluid, engineered protein—Phoenix grows stronger. Faster. Stranger.

  And every time I wake up, I’ve lost a little more of myself.

  I kept telling myself I’m still in control.

  So far, I believe it.

  But I know what I look like now.

  The Rue won’t meet my eyes.

  The Starn hide when I pass.

  One Lueaseg offered me a flower from hydroponics—then backed away like I might eat her.

  They’re not wrong.

  Because if I run out of biomass again—if the jump fails—if the Hive catches me?

  I don’t know what I’ll do to survive.

  Lion thinks I’m preparing for ascension. He says this is what my father wanted. A goddess, wrapped in flesh. Baptized in pain. Jericho’s heir.

  Maybe he’s right.

  But fuck him.

  I didn’t ask for a crown. I asked for peace.

  I asked to be human.

  I was raised in a golden cage—movies, food, drinks, every luxury a dying Earth could still provide. Plush beds. Top-shelf liquor before I could even spell it. All of it handed to me like a reward.

  But it wasn’t kindness. It was anesthesia.

  To keep me docile. To keep me quiet.

  Because the tests didn’t stop.

  The needles. The scans. The screaming until my throat bled.

  What they called my father’s legacy—

  I called torture.

  And instead of humanity’s hero?

  I became the reason people—human or alien—look over their shoulders when the lights go out.

  Because I’m a fucking monster.

  The one Dad called Homo immortalis.

  And now here we are—

  a fleet ahead of us, and the Hive on our ass.

  The catapult waits, and we don’t have time to play diplomat.

  That leaves me with only one other choice.

  Do I give Lion the order?

  And what happens after he slaughters the fleet ahead of us?

  When we jump, I either make it to the Council—and buy Dad the time he needs.

  Or I don’t.

  Maybe I join the Hive.

  Maybe I end up in someone else’s lab—another rat in a prettier cage.

  One of those things is going to happen.

  Unless they just throw me into a sun.

  And honestly?

  Some days, I wonder if that’s the kindest option.

  Let them judge me.

  Let them try.

  I haven’t stopped judging myself. Not for a second.

  “Someone sold us out.”

  Lion didn’t look at me when he said it. His voice was calm—the kind of calm that comes before something breaks.

  Outside the viewport, the same five ships drifted even closer—tight, quiet, controlled. Their opening hail still echoed: demands for our surrender, veiled as promises of relief. A few cannons had already fired—warning shots, meant to scare. But now the real guns were coming online. Heavy arrays cycling up. Power signatures spiking as their main shields angled forward—full strength, full intent.

  Like they were daring us to make a move.

  Below them, the shattered moon waits—catapult buried beneath ice and debris, pulsing faintly under the crust. I took a closer look. The structure had been recently restored—sections reassembled, ice cut clean. They’d been here a while. Getting it ready. Preparing for us.

  Even the explosive charges lining its magnetic rail—set to trigger right after we jumped.

  They had the same idea as us. Which meant they knew the Hive was close.

  Yet we’d just gotten here.

  And they were already in position.

  Lion was right, as always. They were here for me and someone ratted us out.

  Threaded my name through alien comms I couldn’t even begin to untangle—layers of memory, a dozen species deep. The tech was advanced. Too advanced.

  My father knew how it worked.

  I don’t.

  I sip from the flask clipped to my belt. Bitter. Burned. Rue sap and stabilizers—my own mix. Keeps the light-burn in my chest from flaring too fast. The gland in my throat pulses soft, steady.

  Stay calm… or start speaking. I thought in words no human’s supposed to know.

  “They were waiting for us,” I mutter—switching to the alien tongue out of habit more than need.

  “You were right. No way they just stumbled on us this far behind Hive lines.”

  I take another sip. Acrid, sharp—worse than before. Still not enough.

  God, I hate admitting he’s right.

  “Think it’s political?” I ask, glancing at the formation outside. “Or did someone just want the bounty?”

  Lion exhaled through his nose. Static crackled faintly through the seals in his mask.

  “You really shouldn’t speak that filth around me,” he said, the suit’s auto?translator hissing half a beat after my words.

  “I need the practice.”

  His AI translated it anyway. No delay. No emotion. Just clean words, dropped sterile into the air like it’s done it a thousand times.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell. But to answer your question—we can ask the lapdog. Or better yet, I’ll find out who whispered your name to this scum.”

  “You’re not torturing the crew.”

  “They’re not crew,” he growled, “They’re assets. Breakable ones.”

  “They’re survivors.”

  “They’re liabilities.”

  Same thing, I thought, but couldn’t admit.

  I finally tore my eyes from the viewport and my mind from my thoughts.

  The bridge is alive with quiet tension. Holograms flickered. Biolights pulsed. The air was too still.

  Kael stood at the comm-pit still in a Rue-forged med-brace—sleek, organic, fused to his jaw like it had always been part of him. The Rue tech had reshaped him after the injury, fixing the bones clean—but it left something colder in their place.

  The Kael I met that day died in the hall. What stood here calculated. Wearing diplomacy like a shield too polished to trust.

  He is smart. He learned fast how far to push Lion—and he never would again.

  Maybe it was him who gave them our location.

  Or maybe it wasn’t.

  Truth was, it could’ve been anyone.

  We hadn’t made many friends over the years—just left trails of fire and fear. The crew stayed loyal because Lion kept them in line, and because I still hadn’t broken my promise.

  I told them we’d return to Coalition space.

  I told them I’d help stop the Hive.

  Whether they believed me—or just clung to the idea—I couldn’t say.

  Kael was near the central console, speaking in tones too polite to be honest, flanked by a few other senior officers.

  But it was obvious—Kael was in charge.

  The aliens found that funny, seeing a human front the delegation. But Lion had suggested Kael lead—and if not him, then Lion himself.

  Well. That was an easy choice.

  I didn’t think it was smart to speak to them directly, and the other species would definitely betray me.

  But Kael? At least I could read him.

  His hands moved in practiced gestures—calm, diplomatic, like none of this was personal.

  Like I wasn’t standing ten feet away while they argued over who owned me.

  A Rue priestess glowed softly on the transmission feed, her scent-speech layered through the translator like incense.

  “You promised the Council safe transport of the cargo. You did not promise deviation. And yet here you are—missing over fifty ships and carrying hostiles, according to our scans. The catapult coordinates were filed under diplomatic clearance for emergency evacuation. Deviating now violates—”

  “—a sovereignty clause in conflict with biological precedent,” Kael interrupted smoothly. “And as acting representative of a freeborn lineage from humanity’s original homeworld, I invoke diplomatic protections under the First Contact Concordat.”

  A ripple passed through the channel—quiet, but there.

  Kael leaned in. “The Council never recognized Earth’s ascent to warp capability. You’ve dealt with offshoots—fractured echoes from abductions and rogue colonies. But Sol and Lion? They are Earth’s blood, born of a species that cracked the void and came here by design, not accident. That makes this… the true first contact.”

  Silence.

  For a moment, even the translation filters hesitated—like they were choking on the implications.

  Legal standing.

  Like I’m just cargo with teeth.

  I glanced at Kael. He was doing well—for us, at least.

  Was that because he believed what he said?

  Or because Lion was still standing behind me, silent and staring like judgment incarnate?

  Maybe both.

  That made me smirk.

  Damn. He actually meant it. Or he’s just a really good diplomat.

  The Vonn emissary, all crystal facets and refracted light, clicked its tongue—a harsh, scraping noise that passed for laughter.

  “You have no standing,” it said flatly. “The anomaly is registered under emergency Hive protocols. Strategic property. Council domain.”

  Anomaly. Property.

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

  Another voice cut through. A Hav’ka—water-slicked, sonar-pitched, filtered through a translator that made the deck hum.

  Their ship drifted on the far edge of the blockade—coiled and vast, elegant and old. One of the most advanced things still flying, even by galactic standards.

  Kael had warned me the moment it came into view.

  Whatever that was worth…

  "That class flirts with the Elder bans," he’d said, half-mocking. "There are weapons on that ship even the Council pretends don’t exist. Might even scratch Jericho… after a while, anyway."

  And now its eye was on me.

  “They speak like it’s their decision,” I murmured, just loud enough for Lion to hear.

  “They always do,” he said, voice calm but taut. “Until someone reminds them you’re not theirs.”

  “Someone like you.”

  His silence was answer enough.

  I turned my attention back to the viewport. Five ships. Five voices. One silent observer. No names. No banners. No open allegiance. But I recognized the cadence—the way they moved, the strategic deference.

  I’d only started studying Coalition culture in the last few years—piecing it together from old ship records and whatever transmissions made it through the quantum relays.

  Half the time, the closest relay was already overrun by the Hive.

  It took years just to get a message out that we were alive and coming.

  Probably a mistake.

  Most of what I knew came from the memories I’d taken—from crew who once served Vorathel, one of the Council’s quieter members and the former owner of this ship.

  Their loyalty ran deep, coloring everything I saw through them—every name, every threat, every betrayal—warped by the lens of allegiance.

  Long before Lion and I took it.

  He backed this mission. Wanted me alive—not broken, not dissected.

  That was something, at least.

  But the others?

  Vorathel had two real rivals on the Council—both with enough power, and just enough ego, to sabotage his mission from the inside.

  If anyone was behind this, it was one of them. Maybe both.

  One wanted me dead.

  The other wanted me tamed.

  A weapon in their pocket—something neat and sharp to aim at anything not born under their banner.

  The memories painted one clearer than the other.

  The woman with the elegant voice and ocean-colored skin—who spoke of using the Hive like a scalpel, not a plague.

  She saw Phoenix as an opportunity.

  Me as an upgrade.

  Then there was the cyborg. Cold. Devout. Called me extinction incarnate.

  Thought if I died, the Hive would go with me.

  That burning me down would save the galaxy.

  But none of them claimed a banner. Not this time.

  They wouldn’t say who they worked for—not directly. No colors. No crests. Just silence wrapped in protocol.

  But I knew.

  They weren’t from Vorathel—the one whose people backed this mission.

  He was fair. Cared about the galaxy. My best hope of reaching the Council for real.

  But even he had rivals.

  Rival hands. Cleaner knives.

  The kind who’d risk the galaxy just to boost their careers.

  One wanted to own me.

  The other wanted to erase me.

  And neither gave a damn about what I wanted.

  So these ships came with no names. No affiliations.

  Just euphemisms. Veiled threats.

  Pirates with a budget.

  Basically just here for the bounty.

  The worst kind of politics.

  Kael was still playing his part, still negotiating as if any of this mattered. As if they wouldn’t shoot the second I stepped into the light. I didn’t blame him. He was oath-bound to bring me in alive.

  But not to protect me.

  To deliver me.

  And the crew of The Stormbreaker? They hadn’t said a word yet. Not in defense. Not in protest.

  Just quiet. Watching. Waiting to see if the monster in the room would let herself be taken.

  You are ready,?Queen?Mother, the Hive whispered past my shielding.

  We are close.

  Lion glanced at me. Just enough to let me know he was ready.

  A twitch in his armor. A subtle shift in stance. Like violence was already blooming behind his eyes—impatient, coiled, waiting for permission.

  I’d seen it before. Every time.

  The calm he wore before becoming something biblical.

  “This is your call,” he said. “We kill them now… or we wait for them to kill us.”

  I looked at him—really looked.

  All that power. That precision. That hunger to be unleashed.

  If my father could cram an apocalypse into a man…

  What the hell could he do with Jericho?

  Or with himself?

  The thought made my skin crawl.

  Apotheosis, the Hive whispered. The word slithered past my shield. Ancient. Final. I could feel it coiling behind my eyes. A crown offered in silence.

  They were coming.

  I drew in a slow breath.

  “Do it,” I said.

  Lion turned toward the airlock.

  He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to.

  I could almost imagine the grin under that golden helm—

  wide, unhinged, hungry.

  He unhooked the hammer from his back—

  slow, reverent—like a priest drawing a blade at the altar.

  This wasn’t going to be a fight.

  It was a sacrifice,

  a blood?offering to the only god he had ever known.

  Julian?Voss.

  And for a breath, watching him walk away—

  I understood.

  This was the apex of what it meant to be human in my father’s eyes—

  and maybe… the beginning of something worse.