"What's taking so long?" Silva barked, hovering behind Ginto's chair.
Ginto didn't look up.
"Can't you see I'm working on it?"
Lines of data scrolled across every monitor. Radar feeds, heat signatures, aura mappings—they filled the air with glowing light. Ginto's fingers danced over the screen.
"I've re-routed every ship system. All scanners, aura logs, and spectrum feeds. There's no trace of any non-human presence."
"But we all felt something," Jinka said, arms crossed.
"Yeah," Ginto replied. "And considering this guy's tech was able to delay signal detection, it's no wonder we haven't found anything."
Alph folded her arms.
"Honestly, I'm not surprised. Their tech's way beyond anything I've seen."
Barock squinted at her. "Didn't your planet have advanced tech?"
"I left a long time ago," Alph said. "And I didn't take any of it with me. I'm not some scientist."
"It's engineer," Barock muttered.
"Shut up, both of you!" Jinka snapped. "We're in the middle of a crisis."
Silva turned away from the monitors, rubbing his forehead.
"This isn't working..."
"What kind of guy is he?" Akira asked.
Everyone looked at him.
"You know him, right?" Akira went on. "This... Dolph. What kind of man is he?"
"Why are you asking me this now?" Silva asked, his voice low.
"Because I wanna know if he's the type to destroy the planet from the shadows... or play with us first. You guys do it for fun, right? He's here to do that 'conqueror' thing. He's gonna enjoy it."
Silva looked at him, and slowly nodded.
"You're very right."
He walked toward the center of the room.
"Let alone Dolph... every conqueror does it for fun. That's the truth no one likes saying out loud. We enjoy the power. The control. The sound of screaming. But even among us—he's different."
Silva's voice dropped.
"He's the embodiment of cruelty. Sadism. Pain fuels him. He doesn't conquer planets. He breaks them. Slowly."
The room was still.
"Even we hate him," Silva said. "Even other conquerors."
Akira's voice was quiet now. "I never asked before. But how do you know him?"
Silva didn't answer right away.
He looked up toward the ceiling. Or maybe farther than that.
"...Old friend," he said finally. His voice was flat. Empty.
Suddenly—static.
The screens across the room blinked and scrambled. Ginto's monitors. The tablet. Even the ship's intercom. Static cracked in sharp bursts.
Then—
Billboards in Times Square. Televisions in homes. Cell phones. Laptops. Everything.
Every screen across the planet.
A face appeared.
It was smiling.
Too wide.
A man—gaunt, sharp-eyed, with skin like chalk and an eerie, deliberate twitch to his movements. One hand scratched at his own cheek as he leaned into the camera.
"Hello, humans," he said, voice smooth and disturbingly calm.
In the ship's control room, Silva stood frozen. Jinka's eyes widened.
"...It's him," Silva said, not shouting—just a flat, cold certainty.
The figure on screen grinned.
"You might be wondering why you're seeing this. Why you, of all species, are being addressed by someone of my... caliber."
He tilted his head.
"Because you are," he said softly, "the universe's favorite disappointment. The most pathetic, worthless peice of crap."
His smile didn't waver.
"So I, Dolph the Conqueror—Dolph of Volrock—have decided to offer you a chance."
He held his arms out wide, grin stretching further.
"A chance to redeem yourselves."
His eyes stared directly into the camera.
Lifeless. Hungry.
"Your trial begins soon."
The screen cut to black.
Silva didn't move.
Then he turned.
"Ginto!"
"Already on it," Ginto said, scrambling back into his chair. "I told you, whatever signal he's using—it's not normal. It's layered. Fragmented. There's something off—"
A sudden chime.
"...Wait."
Ginto's fingers flew.
"I've got it. The transmission... it came from—"
He stopped.
"...Rome."
The room fell quiet.
"Rome?" Akira repeated.
"A place called Vatican City," Ginto added. "Whatever he's doing... that's where it starts."
Silva's jaw clenched, eyes sharpening like drawn blades.
"Then that's where we go."
"We'll get going there soon," Silva said, tightening the strap on his arm brace.
"Kiluar," he called without turning.
"Prep the crew."
Kiluar slid his weapon into a soft scabbard behind his back.
"As always."
"Ginto—get me exact coordinates. And full terrain, civ-pop density, elevation. I want no surprises."
"I'm already on it," Ginto muttered, flipping through layers of mapped data. "Rome's a fortress of architecture and confusion. I'll have to cross-reference live satellite loops."
"Barock—fuel and run diagnostics," Silva added.
"You got it!" Barock shouted, already halfway down the corridor.
"Jinka—get your weapons."
"Already prepped," she said, strapping a double-barrel launcher to her back.
Silva turned toward Alph.
"You coming?"
Alph tilted her head.
"You got real weapons for me? Not just toys?"
Silva smirked.
"And something easy to move in?"
Jinka tossed her a bandolier and nodded.
"Come with me."
Akira sighed. "C'mon. We're moving again?"
Kiluar passed him with a sharp glance.
"It's your people who are at stake, human."
"Yeah, yeah," Akira muttered. "Like I care."
He walked off, arms in pockets.
Cameras blinked to life across an oval chamber. Every screen showed the same frozen face: Dolph, still grinning from his earlier broadcast.
After the unexpected message from Dolph, the world governments decides to have a meeting.
The oval chamber was full. Every major leader had arrived. The broadcast—Dolph's eerie message—had played in real time just hours earlier.
Tension choked the air.
A British ambassador slammed her hand on the table.
"This is a joke. A digital stunt. A bad hacker."
"Madam," a U.S. representative cut in, "the broadcast penetrated military-grade encryption. And that... face appeared on screens not even connected to satellites."
"Still doesn't prove alien origin!" the French ambassador countered.
"Hell, we've seen cults do worse."
"Then explain this," said the U.S. Secretary of Defense.
"My Pentagon phone's screen lit up. It's not even electronic. It's analog."
There was a long pause.
The German Chancellor leaned forward.
"What if this is extraterrestrial? And we're sitting here debating terminology while something prepares to strike?"
"Strike where? How?" asked the Japanese rep
"It spoke in English."
The Indian delegate replied coldly,
"Which suggests they wanted us to understand."
The room grew quiet.
A South African intelligence head finally spoke.
"We need to stop playing semantics. We just saw someone hijack the planet. If that wasn't war, it was a declaration of it."
"So what's our response?" asked the UN Chairperson.
A NATO general cleared his throat.
"Form a dedicated global agency. Not reactionary. Long-term. Independent."
"An Earth Wing," the Chinese rep suggested. "An arm that acts when no nation can afford hesitation."
"He's right, this sure doesn't seem anything normal that Earth has seen, we have to set up a force, a wing with our best weapons and people," said the Indian delegate.
"We can't afford to fight at this moment. What if things end up worse? We have to come together and prepare for the worst," added the Italian rep.
Murmurs of agreement spread.
And for once, no one argued.
The scene shifted, and Silva's ship arrived at Vatican City.
Ancient cobblestones. Empty piazzas. Shadows danced over statues of saints.
The ship landed silently in a garden courtyard behind stone walls.
The second their feet touched the ground, they were not alone.
Four figures stood in the moonlight, already waiting.
They didn't even get to step down before they saw them.
Four figures waited at the foot of the basilica's great stone steps.
One stood tall, lean, with skin like burnished copper and glowing orange eyes. No weapons—only fists wrapped in thick rope-like bandages. He cracked his neck and gave a slow bow.
Another crouched atop a fountain statue. She had long limbs, pitch-black skin with streaks of teal. A pair of daggers spun between her fingers, never still.
Beside her, a massive man with ivory bone-plated armor across his chest leaned on a spear taller than himself. His eyes glowed blue-white, and his breath sounded like a storm through steel.
But it was the fourth who stepped forward.
A giant, scarred man with long hair, fierce eyes, and a face marked by burns and slashes. He wore no armor, a tailcoat with a robe. His voice, when he spoke, was calm but carried like thunder.
Jinka raised her gun but didn't shoot.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Silva exhaled through his nose. "Of course it's them."
"You finally arrived," The scarred man said.
Silva stepped down onto the stone, cracking his knuckles.
"...Raak."
The massive man moves forward, stands beside Raak , and says,
"Silva of Varnak. Jinka of Scal'Dras. I hoped you'd answer his call.",
"Been a long time, Silva," Raak replied. "Shame we have to do this standing on holy ground."
"You care for human gods?" Silva asked.
"I care about others' sentiments", Raak replied
Jinka stepped forward.
"obviously you have to play Nobel. Didn't expect you to crawl behind Dolph like a dog."
Raak's eyes were calm. Unblinking.
"Don't mistake loyalty for servitude. We follow because we believe."
"In him?" Jinka scoffed. "He's a monster."
"The universe is already a corpse," Raak replied. "We just help carve it properly."
Alph stepped beside Silva, twirling one baton slowly.
"You always this poetic, or just when you're lying?"
Raak smiled faintly.
"I speak truth. That's why I'm the voice."
"You want us to leave?" Kiluar asked, hand already near his side-blade.
"No," Raak said.
"Only one conqueror can take over a planet," Raak added.
"You mean kill people?" Alph asked Raak.
"Please, let me finish, lady.", Raak replied.
"Huh? What's with that?" Alph said angrily.
"My point is, please leave the planet so we can do our job."
Raak requested Silva.
"You are not doing anything here, Silva replied.
"So we unfortunately have to kill you", Raak said without any emotion.
"is that what you want?", Raak added.
Silva puts his hands down, stands upright.
"We want you to try."
The four stars approaching them.
Silva took one step forward.
"Let's talk the old way."
Voro—the copper-skinned fighter—moves forward like a brute.
He flicked his wrists, cracked his knuckles, and grinned.
"Let's test your discipline, Scal'Dras."
Jinka didn't hesitate.
She pulled her rifle and fired once—clean, center-mass. Voro bent sideways with unnatural grace, the bullet grazing past him.
He was already rushing her.
Jinka flipped backward, holstered her rifle in mid-air, and drew twin shock knives.
"You talk too much."
Across the courtyard, Talgor—bone-armored and hulking—breathed heavily like a storm building in the dark. His spear dragged across the stone, leaving a scrape like nails on a tombstone.
"You are Kiluar," he said, voice like gravel.
"Weak wrists. Pretty shoes."
Kiluar blinked.
"You speak?"
Talgor lunged.
Kiluar spun, dodging the first sweep and drawing his side-blades mid-turn. His foot slid across stone as the spear whooshed past his waist.
"You know," Kiluar muttered, slicing upward, "I was really hoping you'd be mute."
The spear slammed into the wall behind them, showering stone.
Alph had already vanished into motion.
Her opponent—the long-limbed, spiderlike female—hissed through fanged teeth as she spun two daggers like spinning saws.
"You smell like wasted effort," the creature whispered.
"You talk like someone who bleeds easily," Alph replied.
Then they clashed.
Blades rang. Alph danced between pillars, letting her batons flow like streamers, snapping them against bone and shadow. Her style wasn't brutish. It was poetic—spinning arcs of steel and calm.
Jinka ducked a high kick from Voro, planted her boot into his shin, and shoved her blade into his ribs. He twisted around it and grinned in her face.
"You always did fight like you were angry at the world."
"I am angry at the world," she growled, and headbutted him.
Kiluar slid under Talgor's spear again, this time landing a clean slice across his thigh. Sparks flew from the armored plates, but the giant didn't flinch.
"You're slow," Kiluar said.
"You'll scream like the last prince I broke," Talgor replied, lunging again.
The chaos surged—footsteps, grunts, blades clashing, stone cracking.
Then—
A quiet voice cut through it.
"So you are just going to stand?"
Silva.
He walked forward.
He was walking toward Raak.
The massive, scarred leader hadn't moved. Arms folded. Eyes burning like dying suns.
"You were never patient, Lord Silva," Raak said.
"But you used to be brave," Silva replied.
Raak's arms lowered.
"Come at me!"
Silva broke into a sprint.
Raak met him halfway.
No weapons. Just flesh, bone, and old history.
Silva's fist met Raak's palm with a shockwave that cracked the marble beneath them.
Silva ducked the counter-punch, slammed an uppercut into Raak's side—only for Raak to twist his massive body and elbow Silva full-force into a column.
Dust exploded.
Silva stumbled forward.
Raak walked toward him, unhurried.
"You still fight like you're proving something."
"And you still talk like you've already won."
They collided again.
Fists like hammers. Every hit a declaration.
Across the battlefield, Alph flipped backward, landing beside Kiluar and Jinka.
They stood panting, bruised, weapons drawn.
Voro smiled, blood running down his cheek.
Jinka wiped her mouth.
The spiderlike assassin clicked her blades together.
Talgor raised his spear, stepping forward again.
And overhead—
The sky began to flicker.
A low-frequency vibration shook the air, like the hum of something massive... approaching.
Jinka looked up.
"That's not them... is it?"
Alph didn't answer.
Kiluar narrowed his eyes.
"...Ginto, are you seeing this?"
No answer.
Silva and Raak were trading blows—neither relenting, neither falling.
causing shockwaves in the sky.
The scence moves to a dark room, and a guy asks Dolph.
"Sir aren't you gonna join?"
Dolph replied smiling
"i've different plans"
To Be Continued in Chapter 5: Part 2...