The starships descended upon Dead Omen Star like iron titans breaching a cursed realm, their hulls pitted and scarred by the relentless abrasion of cosmic dust. They settled into designated safe zones, carved from the planet's blood-red soil, where the ground pulsed faintly with the residue of slaughtered Starbugs. The air was thick with a metallic tang, laced with the acrid rot of ichor, a miasma that clung to the throat like a living thing. Above, the sky hung low, its violet-tinged clouds swirling in a dim, oppressive dance, casting an eerie glow over the jagged landscape. The safe zones, temporary sanctuaries, were encircled by automated turrets, their sensors sweeping the horizon with unblinking vigilance, their faint hum a fragile promise of security in a world that offered none.
The Empire's team, led by Bai Sha Roning, disembarked with the precision of a well-oiled machine, their mechs gleaming like polished obsidian under the alien sky. Each cadet moved with disciplined grace, their formation a testament to the Ares Empire's rigorous training and unyielding standards. The prior matches of the joint military exercise had cemented their dominance, the Federation's victories rare and bitterly contested. Yet, the exercise was more than a contest of skill; it was a spectacle, broadcast live across the starnet to billions of viewers, who watched not for the predictable outcome but for the raw daring of the cadets. These young warriors, barely past their academy years, were the galaxy's rising stars, their names blazing across forums and feeds. None shone brighter than Bai Sha Roning, the newly crowned Prince, whose legend had grown to mythic proportions.
Since her coronation, Bai Sha's fame had erupted like a supernova, her image inescapable—plastered across holo-ads, dissected in breathless headlines, and immortalized in fan art that flooded the starnet. Her heroics in the arena, where she had faced down Silver mechanoids with a blend of ferocity and grace, were the stuff of legend. Candid shots from her coronation, her silver-gray hair catching the light like a comet's tail, had sparked a frenzy of adoration. Her Blackbird companion, once the diminutive Little White Chirp, was now a majestic creature, its nebula-like feathers a symbol of her mystique. A viral photograph of Bai Sha standing beside the Blackbird, its wings spread like a cosmic tapestry against Youdu Star's twilight, had become an icon, sparking debates about her divine lineage and inspiring countless tributes. Media outlets, ever ravenous for clicks, delved into the Roning dynasty's storied past, one article proclaiming, "Beauty and Power as Weapons: How the Imperial House Stands Atop Human Evolution."
In the Federation's safe zone, Jingyi lounged against a mech's hull, her light-brain casting a soft glow across her sharp features. She scrolled through the article, her voice dripping with skepticism as she read the title aloud. "This dramatic? Really?"
She flicked through a gallery of past Roning emperors, each a vision of regal perfection—eyes like cut gems, features carved as if by a divine hand. Her banter faltered, her lips parting in quiet awe. Yaning, sprawled nearby, chewed his gum with rhythmic intensity, leaning over to peer at the screen. His jaw stalled mid-bite, his eyes widening. "Sha Sha's ancestors are a constellation of stunners," he muttered, half to himself. "How do humans even look like that?"
Jingyi closed the screen with a wry smile, her tone softening. "Good news, at least. We know Sha Sha's definitely a Roning."
Both cadets bore the weight of loss, their families claimed by the galaxy's endless conflicts, their futures solitary but for the bonds they forged here. Bai Sha's reunion with her kin, her ascension to Prince, warmed their hearts like a distant star's light. They, too, were starnet darlings—Jingyi, Yaning, and the Zhou brothers—their talents rivaling the Empire's finest, their names whispered with the promise of greatness. Yet, beneath the glamour, they were comrades, bound by shared trials and the unspoken vow to survive Dead Omen's crucible.
Yaning, ever the optimist, offered a stick of gum to Janice, the team's cyborg prodigy, whose sleek, metallic frame gleamed under the violet sky. Her response was a flat, robotic, "No, thank you. I don't require excess nutrition." Yaning winced, his grin faltering, and fired off a message to Zhou Ying. "Her upgrade's made her more mechanical. What's the deal?"
Zhou Ying's reply was swift, his tone clipped. "Maybe that's the point. My uncle sent a manual—if she glitches, I can fix her."
Yaning's fingers danced across his light-brain, his brow furrowing. "Don't forget she's human. Modified, sure, but she chose this. Respect that."
Zhou Ying's response carried a grim weight. "Talk humanity to my uncle? Janice's mods passed ethics reviews, meant to bolster troop numbers. Her mind's flawed—she needed this to fight. Worrying about her won't change that. Worry about us—stable mods could mean mandatory implants."
Yaning's face darkened, the specter of forced augmentation a cold shadow over their future. Zhou Ying continued, his words stark. "Janice is a weapon now. My uncle gave her to me to wield carefully. Dead Omen's perfect—bugs aplenty, low chance of clashing with Sha Sha. Land, kill, leave. Done."
Yaning hesitated, his fingers hovering. "You sound off. Something up?"
A long pause, then Zhou Ying's reply: "Just a bad feeling. They're not just modding her body—they're tampering with her mind."
The starships' ramps retracted, and the teams stepped onto Dead Omen's crimson soil, the ground crunching faintly under their boots, as if protesting their intrusion. The air was a foul, primal stew, thick with the stench of decay and the sharp bite of alien minerals. Cen Yuehuai, her mech's filters struggling against the assault, gagged audibly, her voice muffled through her helmet. "What is this place?"
Xino, his long knife drawn, moved with a predator's grace, his aura sharper than the blade in his hand. "Safe zones are made by slaughtering bugs, grinding their remains into the soil," he explained, his voice low, carrying the weight of experience. "Bugs avoid it for days—low-grade ones, at least."
Survival on Dead Omen hinged on evasion, not confrontation. Single threats were manageable; swarms were death. Bai Sha, her senses honed to a razor's edge, grimaced at the odor, her silver-gray hair catching the violet light as she adjusted her mech's visor. "No wonder it reeks."
Xino and Jiya, both frontline veterans, stepped forward, their eyes scanning the horizon. "We've fought swarms," Xino said, his tone steady but urgent. "Let us take point."
Bai Sha nodded, her mind already mapping the terrain. "Elite squads upfront, Xino and Jiya on flanks. Mech techs, stay mobile, guard resources."
Her commands, broadcast across the team's encrypted channel, were met with a thunderous, "Yes, Your Highness!" The cadets' voices carried a fervor that startled her, their eyes burning with a loyalty that felt almost tangible. This was no longer the casual camaraderie of their earlier days; she was their Prince, their beacon in the dark. She steadied herself, the weight of leadership settling like a crown upon her shoulders, heavy but unyielding.
A distant wail, resonant and haunting, pierced the night—a Starbug's cry, its echoes slithering through the air like a warning. Bai Sha inhaled sharply, her hand tightening on her mech's controls. "Move out."
The team surged forward, a blade of steel and will cutting through the alien dark. Minutes from the safe zone, the horizon erupted into chaos—a swarm of Starbugs, their forms a grotesque tapestry of multicolored claws, maws, and segmented limbs, scuttling across the crimson soil. The cadets, trained to target weak points, faltered as the sheer numbers overwhelmed, their precise strikes disrupted by the swarm's relentless assault. The air filled with the screech of metal and the wet crunch of ichor, the ground trembling under the weight of the onslaught.
Cooperation became their salvation. Yu Yan and Cen Yuehuai led the charge, their mechs carving a path through the chaos. Yu Yan's heavy sword, a massive blade of reinforced alloy, cleaved through bugs like a scythe through wheat, forcing them to expose their glowing mental cores. Cen Yuehuai, perched in her mech's cockpit, tracked their energy signatures, her bow humming as she unleashed flaming arrows. Each shot burst into a fiery bloom, incinerating cores with surgical precision, the night alive with arcs of fire and the screams of dying bugs. The ground grew slick with ichor, the air thick with the stench of charred flesh and molten metal.
Cen Yuehuai, airborne in her mech, caught sight of a golden lion—Xino's spirit form—leaping through the swarm with primal fury. Its claws tore through bugs, its roar a challenge that shook the air. "Xino, you're insane!" she shouted, her voice crackling over the comms. Spirit forms, manifestations of a warrior's soul, were vulnerable in such chaos, drawing frenzied attacks from every direction.
Xino offered no reply, his focus absolute. He wove through the swarm, his long knife a blur of lethal precision, each strike finding a vital point—mental cores, nerve clusters, or pulsing hearts. His mech's movements were fluid, almost balletic, the blade an extension of his will, carving a hundred-meter swath of carnage through the enemy ranks. His team rallied around him, their mechs forming a protective ring, shielding him from encirclement. Their synergy was flawless, a testament to Xino's leadership and the trust he inspired.
Cen Yuehuai, awestruck, felt a surge of clarity. This was Xino's true self—a warrior forged in the crucible of battle, his calm exterior a mask for the fire within. She refocused, her arrows finding new targets, each shot a spark in the night. The swarm began to thin, the bugs' numbers dwindling under the cadets' relentless assault, but the victory was hard-won. The air vibrated with the hum of mechs and the distant wails of surviving bugs, retreating into the shadows.
Bai Sha, at the rear, surveyed the battlefield, her light-brain displaying real-time data—casualty reports, ammo counts, mech integrity. Her team had suffered no losses, but the strain was evident in their labored breaths and the flickering alerts on their screens. She opened the comms, her voice steady, cutting through the chaos. "Regroup. Check your systems. We're not done."
The cadets obeyed, their mechs forming a defensive perimeter as techs scrambled to repair damage and reload weapons. Bai Sha's Blackbird, perched on her mech's shoulder, let out a soft chirp, its feathers shimmering like a miniature galaxy. She reached out, brushing its wing with a gloved hand, drawing strength from its presence. Dead Omen Star was a crucible, but her team was no mere alloy—they were steel, tempered and unyielding.
In the distance, a new sound rose—a low, rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of the planet itself. Bai Sha's eyes narrowed, her instincts flaring. The Creeping Rose, the 3S-grade nightmare, was near. She glanced at Xino, his lion form fading as he rejoined the team, his knife still dripping with ichor. "Ready for round two?" she asked, her tone light but edged with steel.
Xino's lips curved, a rare smile. "Always, Your Highness."
The team braced themselves, their resolve a beacon in the dark, as Dead Omen's true horrors stirred beneath the crimson soil.