Black Lamia Division
Euripython Belt Station
Euripython solar system
Euripython Star sector
Euripython Galaxy
22nd Krios cycle, Solaris Prime
Rage. It burned, searing through every fiber of his being, an inferno that refused to be extinguished. It was primal, unfathomable—a fury so intense it tore through the very earth beneath him. The ground groaned and fractured under the weight of his wrath, deep fissures tearing through the surface, as mountains—those ancient giants—were pulverized into dust. The planet itself seemed to bend beneath the weight of his divine rage, caving in on itself as if unable to withstand the sheer pressure of his anger.
Above, the heavens themselves shuddered. A comet of light—blinding and blistering—ripped through the vastness of space, its brilliant tail cutting through the fabric of the universe. The air crackled and split, and reality itself trembled, warping under the force of the light that blazed like a harbinger of doom. It was a light so fierce, so relentless, that it burned everything in its path, igniting the very stars as it passed. And within the core of this divine destruction, within the heart of the burning flame, was... something that neither he nor anyone else could comprehend.
Leon's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged as the remnants of the dream clung to him like a heavy shroud. The remnants of the fury—the inferno that had raged within him—lingered like a lingering ember, igniting an unsettling sensation in his chest. The dream had been far too vivid, too real. He could still feel it—the pulse of overwhelming rage, a feeling that filled him with a profound unease. He didn't want to feel it. Not again.
Leon slowly pushed himself off the bed, the sheets rustling beneath him as he rose to his feet. His movements were automatic, as if the weight of the dream still clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of a nearby console, seemed foreign, distant.
He walked out into the hallway, the cool air of the building brushing against his skin. The atmosphere of Meri's mercenary division building was starkly utilitarian—practical, but alive with the buzz of activity. Mercenaries, hardened faces and calloused hands, moved with purpose, their eyes scanning mission holographs, discussing assignments, or exchanging information with no more than a brief nod. The scent of fresh coffee and the sharp tang of sweat from long hours filled the air, making the space feel alive, yet impersonal. Leon moved through it all like a specter, unnoticed yet deeply aware of the world around him.
The building was a multifaceted hub—part operational base, part dormitory—a place where those who lived by the sword could rest or prepare for their next mission. It was Meri's domain, a testament to her skill and ambition. He passed a group of tough-looking mercenaries, their expressions unreadable, lost in the glow of mission assignments projected on their wrist terminals. Leon couldn't help but admire what she had built. More than just a Paladin of Starlight, she had woven a life beyond that, a life of purpose, influence, and respect. Her success was more than just her title—it was her achievement, her own legacy.
And yet, as Leon continued toward the administrative sector where Rex and the others were waiting, an uncomfortable question tugged at him. What about me?
Once, the answer had been simple—revenge. When his body had been weak, when he had been at the mercy of sickness, his only drive had been to avenge those who threatened his family. His pursuit of the Fallen Stars had been a means to an end, a way to fulfill his desire for justice, for retribution. He had been single-minded, certain that once he found them, he would be ready to strike. But everything had changed the moment he met Sam. A new feeling, one he had never anticipated, had stirred within him—hope, connection, maybe even something akin to purpose.
Since then, he had grown stronger, healed in ways he never imagined possible. The thirst for revenge still lingered, but it wasn't the fire that burned him anymore. There was time, an infinite expanse of it, stretching before him. His enemies—whoever they were—would still be there when the time came. He didn't need to hurry anymore. But then what?
His thoughts drifted to his homeworld—Apollo. His people. His inheritance. Could he lead them? Should he lead them? He had never considered the prospect of ruling, never cared much for the weight of the crown that should have belonged to him by birthright. But now, standing amidst the hum of activity, he could almost see himself at the helm—commanding, guiding, protecting his people.
But no. Not while House Leo was tied to the Federation.
The thought of the Divine Emperor, the figurehead of the Federation, slammed into his mind like a fist. The very existence of the Federation, the Twelve Houses, the rules that governed them—they were all tied to him, to that figure Leon could never truly claim dominion over. The Divine Emperor was the true master of House Leo, not him.
Leon froze mid-step, a chill crawling up his spine. The moment his mind touched the Divine Emperor, that same searing rage from the dream exploded within him. A molten fury—sharp and blinding—rushed through him, threatening to consume everything in its path. His shadow quivered, distorted, as if it were alive, reaching outward, stretching to engulf the very building around him, the air thickening with oppressive heat. He felt it, the weight of his power, and the suffocating anger that came with it.
"Leon, is that you?" Rex's voice cut through the haze, snapping him back to reality.
Leon blinked, his breath ragged, his body tense, as he looked up to find Rex standing a few paces away, concern etched across his face. The familiar voice pulled him out of his daze, but the fury still simmered, lingering just beneath the surface.
"So you're awake already," Rex said, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and relief. His gaze fell on Leon, who was already on his feet, moving with that quiet, determined energy he always had. "Where are you going?"
"I'm off to Delacroix's place," Leon replied, his voice steady and unyielding. "It's time to get what I came here for."
Rex raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not fully satisfied. "And what exactly is that? You still haven't told me what it is you got from Delacroix's mind."
As they exited the building, the hum of activity outside greeted them. The Mercenary Division's headquarters was located in the heart of the city, a bustling nexus of business and action. The air was thick with humidity, the sun blindingly bright as it poured its heat onto the crowded streets below. People moved with purpose, their footsteps quick and decisive as they navigated the busy marketplace. Shuttles of all shapes and sizes darted above and below, weaving between towering skyscrapers, while the ground-level transports hummed steadily through the congested lanes. The world felt alive—vibrant, noisy, and full of motion.
For a fleeting moment, Leon's mind wandered to a time long past, back to old Terra, when the Grey had cloaked him in its shifting shadows, allowing him to blend into the background. A small, nostalgic part of him longed for that old comfort, that ability to vanish in plain sight. But then the realization hit him—he didn't need the Grey anymore. Not here, not now.
Without warning, his leg pushed off the ground, his body lifting effortlessly into the air. Rex's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in surprise as Leon soared upward, the ground below shrinking rapidly. The air around them seemed to grow still for a moment, as if holding its breath.
"Leon, there's a law against flying within the commercial area," Rex called out, his voice a mix of shock and caution.
"I know," Leon responded casually, his tone cool and unaffected. "That's why I made myself invisible." His smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "Are you coming or not?"
Rex hesitated, his feet firmly planted on the ground as he looked up at Leon, who was now floating just above him, an ethereal figure in the daylight. "I can't go flying—"
Leon raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "I extended my invisibility to you too," he said, his voice dripping with playful confidence.
Rex paused, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a rebuttal, but the words never came. Instead, he simply sighed, resigned to the fact that Leon's idea of 'rules' often didn't include the usual limitations. With a frustrated grunt, Rex glanced around, ensuring no one was watching too closely. The moment he realized the coast was clear, he muttered something under his breath and, with a reluctant step, followed Leon's lead.
They soared through the towering spires of the Alpha Quadrant, the metallic cityscape flashing by in a blur of chrome and glass. The air was thick with the hum of advanced technology and the low whine of air-shuttles darting between structures. Below them, the sprawling districts unfolded in a labyrinthine maze, each sector with its own personality. As they reached the red light district, the mood shifted. Neon lights flickered like distant stars, casting a sultry glow across the streets, the promise of revelry hanging in the air. It was here, amidst the flashing signs and extravagant facades, that one of Delacroix's many clubs lay.
The building they approached seemed strangely silent, an eerie stillness hanging around it like a forgotten memory. The club was closed for the moment, its vibrant exterior now shrouded in the shadow of the late hour. The absence of life within the walls added to the place's uncanny atmosphere, giving it the air of a long-abandoned monument. But Leon wasn't concerned with its silence—he was focused on his mission. They were here for a reason, and the club's emptiness didn't dissuade him.
As they descended towards the building, a trio of flying droids suddenly emerged from the shadows, their metallic bodies glinting under the harsh neon lights. They moved in synchronized formation, their mechanical voices crackling through the air.
"Crime Alert! Crime Alert! Crime Alert! Individuals are breaking Code article 5.7, prohibiting the use of Flight technique," the droids beeped in unison, their voices tinny but firm.
Leon didn't even break his stride. With a yawn, he lazily raised a finger, the gesture casual but deliberate. Mana swirled around his fingertip, gathering in the air as elemental energy pulsed through his veins. In a fluid motion, he released the energy, the mana transforming into a concentrated beam of light. It shot through the droids with the speed and precision of a razor, disintegrating their forms in a flash of bright light and a crackling burst of static. The now-silent droids fell, their remains scattered across the pavement.
Rex landed beside Leon, his frown deepening. He shook his head in disbelief. How could he just do that? The audacity to destroy the droids without a second thought—Rex couldn't help but admire the reckless bravery Leon so often displayed.
They made their way into the building, the door creaking open with a faint groan as they stepped inside. The place was as dark as a tomb, empty and abandoned, save for the lingering scent of alcohol and old cigarette smoke. The interior seemed to breathe a quiet sigh of forgotten revelry, the once-thriving club now swallowed by silence.
As they moved deeper into the space, the lights flickered to life with a sudden hum, casting soft, intermittent pools of light that barely illuminated the room. The dim glow revealed the cluttered remnants of the club's glory days—abandoned chairs, dusty counters, and the faint outline of forgotten drink stains on the bar.
Leon's gaze drifted across the space, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the bar. His face lit up with a rare, youthful excitement. Without a word, he moved toward the counter, his fingers brushing over the bottles lined up along the shelf. He grabbed one with practiced ease, the label too faded to read, and popped the cap with a satisfying crack. Without hesitation, he took a long gulp, savoring the taste as though it was the first drink he'd had in years.
Rex leaned against the bar, his arms folded as he observed the surroundings. "With Delacroix gone, I wonder if this place fell under the Federation's control," he mused aloud, his eyes scanning the emptiness.
Leon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. "No, it didn't." His voice was casual, but there was a certain certainty in his tone that suggested he knew far more about the situation than Rex could guess. He took another swig from the bottle, the action almost deliberate.
Before Rex could press further, a voice rang out from above, rich with authority and sharp with recognition.
"Leonard Haravok! Arexander Pendragon!"
Rex's eyes snapped upward, his posture instantly shifting from relaxed to alert. From the platform above, a figure loomed down on them. Lance Al'Roth, with his characteristic yellow-green eyes that shimmered under the dim lighting, looked down with a gaze full of scrutiny. The way he stood, towering over them from his elevated position, was enough to put anyone on edge. Rex sighed, his shoulders tensing.
"This is going to be interesting," Rex muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked upward, following the slow, deliberate descent of Lance Al'Roth as he walked down the Helix-shaped staircase that spiraled from the upper floor. The structure itself seemed to defy the typical architecture of the club—sleek, angular, and almost organic, like the twisting tendrils of a serpent descending from its perch. As Lance moved down, each step felt weighted, as though every inch he descended brought a palpable sense of tension, drawing the space closer to some inevitable confrontation.
Leon watched him with a steady, unreadable expression, his body relaxed, but his eyes sharpened with keen awareness. Lance's presence filled the room, his every movement exuding the confidence of someone who had not only claimed power but owned it. The moment he reached the bottom, the air between them thickened, as if the very atmosphere had grown dense with unspoken intentions.
Lance looked at Leon, his voice smooth, almost taunting. "What took you so long?"
Leon raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smirk. "I take it you've been expecting me," he replied, his tone casual, yet laced with an underlying current of amusement. "Vuelo told you I would be coming, didn't she?"
Lance's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "Something like that," he said, the words carrying the weight of a truth only partially revealed.
Rex, who had been watching the exchange with growing suspicion, shifted his stance, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his weapon. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice hardening, betraying his unease.
Lance met Rex's gaze, unruffled, almost amused. "It's my club now," he said with quiet authority, his voice calm but layered with ownership. "Everything that once belonged to Delacroix... now belongs to me."
Leon's eyes flickered toward Rex, then back to Lance, a glimmer of understanding crossing his features. "I see," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "So that's why Vuelo allowed you to bring him in, Rex. She was done with Delacroix, and wanted to take his territories from him at the same time."
Rex's expression hardened as the pieces clicked into place. "I see," he said quietly, his voice lacking the conviction it had held just moments ago.
The silence hung in the air, heavy with the implications of Lance's words. Leon's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Lance, his mind already calculating the motives hidden beneath the surface of this encounter. "So why exactly were you waiting for me?" Leon asked, his voice low, demanding, as though this was the moment where everything would shift.
Lance's eyes glinted with something darker, something he hadn't fully revealed. "Delacroix had some things I think you might find interesting," he said, his tone deliberate, almost enticing. There was an edge to his words, as though he were offering a secret, an invitation to something hidden. "If you're interested in seeing it, I can show it to you."
The offer hung in the air between them like a delicate thread, fragile but full of potential. What exactly did Lance have in store for him? What lay beneath the surface of this encounter, waiting to be uncovered? The question lingered in Leon's mind, but he gave no outward sign of hesitation. Instead, he merely studied Lance, as if weighing the cost of what was about to unfold.