"We've surrounded them, sir."
"Excellent," the officer replied. "Those fools will learn what it costs to stain the name of the Terrian Empire. Prepare the Radical Cannon. Target the Tartarusios."
Two Hours Earlier
The Tartarusios cut through the void like a spear, long and narrow, its dark-green hull swallowing the faint starlight. Red light pulsed from the vents and recessed weapon housings along its flanks, as if something alive simmered beneath the armor. Fins and sensor arrays jutted from the frame like the spines of a deep-space creature, and at the stern, a cluster of crimson thrusters promised violent acceleration.
Then the engines roared.
Not a hum. Not a whisper. A roar. It rolled out as a pressure wave that rattled nearby hulls and made their comms flicker. The ship did not announce its arrival. It declared it.
Inside, the corridors ran wide and high under cold blue light, every footstep echoing. On the command deck, tiered platforms looked out over the stars, and the consoles glowed softly, minimal and precise. Somewhere far below, behind reinforced bulkheads and encrypted locks, the core pulsed. Quiet. Watching.
"Approaching Zellion's border, Captain," the helmsman said, fingers dancing across his console. "Payment confirmed. Still no response."
Captain Oscar Meilton leaned forward in his chair. He was young for a commander, broad-shouldered and lean, with unruly black hair and a thin scar slanting across his right brow. His eyes were an unnatural electric blue, and when they settled on someone, that person tended to stop lying.
"Patch me through to Zellion Station. Video call with the director." He smiled. "Tell him we've got Brions for appraisal."
The screen flickered. Director Harry Blain appeared, flushed and shining, the last strands of his hair oiled flat across his scalp. Rings flashed on his fingers as he waved them toward the dock like a man granting a favor.
"Well, well. Captain Meilton. Didn't think I'd see you again. Docking granted. Bay Four."
"Director Blain," Oscar said. "You're looking well. Gained some weight?"
"Careful. I can revoke that clearance right now."
"Relax, Harry. It's a joke. Clean shipment this time. You'll be pleased."
Blain's smirk slipped. "You'd better be. The Empire's been sniffing around for you, Meilton. I won't cover for you twice."
The call ended. Blain turned to his aide, mustache twitching. "Once they unload, contact the Empire. Tell them the Tartarusios is here. Those criminals think they can play me. Let's see how long they last."
Aboard the Tartarusios
"Hey, Oscar," Halley said over the comms. "You think that bastard's going to keep his word?"
She stood at his shoulder, as she always did, neck-length hair bleached sea-glass green, brown eyes sharp. She was his right hand and the blade that cut through hesitation when he couldn't. The look she gave him now held the kind of affection that comes from bleeding beside someone, not from romance.
"Blain? Not a chance," Oscar said. "He's still sore about last time. Get those Brions offloaded before they rot."
"Copy. But we stay ready. The second he gets his hands on the cargo, he sells us out."
"Already on it. Prep the Orbitons. Reload the cannons. Maintenance on standby. Let's hope I'm wrong, but don't count on it."
Crew Quarters
"What's with all the noise?!" Youri's voice echoed down the narrow corridor. "I can't sleep with this racket!"
He was sprawled across a couch with a bottle on his chest, tattoos winding over muscle and old scars like rivers of history. His brown hair hung unkempt over half-lidded green eyes, tired and unreadable. Ask him what the tattoos meant and he'd smirk, take a drink, and change the subject. Ask him why a man who was clearly born to lead sat on a couch instead of in the captain's chair, and he'd shrug. "I've done enough leading for one lifetime."
The crew respected him because he didn't care whether they did. He'd stand beside you in a fight without a question, fix your weapon, patch your wound, and never ask for thanks. Some nights, someone would find him sitting alone in the dark, staring out at the stars, as if waiting for something that would never come.
Oscar's voice came through the comm. "We've docked at Zellion. Crew's rushing repairs. We've been running nonstop for weeks. That's five jobs this month."
"Five?" Youri groaned, rubbing his temples. "I get that we're Renegades, but this is suicidal."
"Sorry, Youri. These runs pay well, and we need the credits."
"Fine." He grabbed his jacket. "I'm getting something to eat."
He paused at the viewport. The world below was scarred and half-dead, all craters and clouds of ash.
"Zellion," he murmured. "A planet gutted by empire greed. They say the Terrians unleashed a God Orbiton here during the last war, just to remind everyone who rules the stars."
Zellion Station
Director Blain paced the platform. "Careful with that cargo! Those Brions are worth more than your lives."
Oscar gave him a lazy salute. "Relax, Harry. We didn't drag them across six systems to drop them now."
"Hangar Seven. My team's waiting."
"Copy that. Halley, go with them," Oscar said. "I'll check something outside. Stay sharp. This place stinks of betrayal."
Above the Hull
Oscar crouched above the sealed doors of Hangar Two, peering at the small window set high in the wall. "He's going to kill me for this," he muttered.
"Captain?" Nolan called from below. "What are you doing up there?"
"Just checking the weather radar."
Nolan snorted and lowered his voice. "He's always hanging around Hangar Two. That area's off-limits, even to the captain."
"Why is that?" one of the young mechanics asked.
Nolan leaned back against the wall, thumbs hooked in a belt gone shiny with grease. He was built like the machines he loved, solid and rounded at the edges but impossible to break, his hair faded to old brass beneath a grease-stained cap he never took off. His hands were thick and scarred, his fingernails permanently outlined with the ship's last repair. His eyes went distant.
"Sit down, kid. Let me tell you a story."
He spoke of Garossos, a planet of iron and stone, once bustling, now dust.
"The Empire used it as a junkyard during the war. I ran a burger stall. Simple life. Then the sky cracked open and fire fell like rain. They called it a lesson in obedience."
He smiled bitterly. "That's when I saw my first warship. Beautiful and terrifying. I thought, if I'm going to die, let it be aboard one of those. So I joined. Became a mechanic. Later, I deserted. Crashed on some nameless rock, starving, hopeless."
His gaze softened. "Then I saw her. The Tartarusios, cutting through the clouds like a scar of light. No signal, no call. Just music. A melody drifting from that little window above Hangar Two. Sad. Beautiful. Alive. I fell asleep to that song and woke up aboard her."
He chuckled. "Oscar found me. Said, 'Welcome to the Tartarusios.' Told me one thing: never open Hangar Two. I never asked why. Some things you just feel."
Inside Hangar Two
The heavy door hissed open. Youri stood in the dim light, half in shadow.
Oscar stepped in quietly. "So this is where you hide."
"Shouldn't you be steering the ship, Captain?"
"I'm the captain. I go where I please."
Youri smirked. "Then you already know what's in here."
Oscar's eyes shifted to the hulking silhouette beyond the glass, a sleeping titan wrapped in steel and silence. "Is that...?"
"ALTOPEREH," Youri said. "The Vanisher."
It stood like a god forged from the bones of dying stars, a towering Orbiton, one of the last still operational in the known universe. Its matte-black armor drank the light, built to vanish against the backdrop of space, a ghost in orbit. Eight segmented wing-blades folded against its back, each one a weaponized solar razor. A single jagged antenna swept back from its helm like a broken crown. And somewhere deep inside the chest, there was a faint, rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of something sleeping.
Inside, the cockpit was a cathedral of metal and neural links. It had no ordinary controls, only a nervous system meant to fuse with its pilot's mind, and it was said to push back against anyone who tried to command it. Those who faced it on the battlefield rarely lived to use its name. They called it the Vanisher.
Oscar's breath caught. "That's impossible. It was destroyed at Orion."
"Some things refuse to die," Youri said softly. Then he turned. "Tell me, Oscar. What does freedom mean to you?"
Oscar hesitated. "Freedom? It's this. What we're doing. Traveling the stars. No borders, no rules, just open space."
Youri nodded slowly. "Good answer."
"Why ask?"
"Because," Youri said, walking past him, "I needed to be sure I picked the right captain."
"Captain!" The alarm cut across the comm. "Imperial warship approaching Zellion's border!"
Oscar's smirk vanished. "Put it on screen."
The bridge fell silent as the Terrian crest filled the display: an iron phoenix soaring across a field of red stars. The symbol of conquest.
"Damn it," Oscar hissed. "Blain sold us out. Warm the engines."
"Main shields to two hundred percent!" Halley shouted. "No one fires without my order! If that Radical Cannon hits, we're cosmic dust!"
"All pilots to your stations! Enemy Orbitons closing fast!"
Oscar clenched his fists. "Tom. Buy us time."
Tom was an ace Orbiton pilot, buzz-cut and unhurried, with a thin pale scar curving along his chin. He scanned a battlefield the way other people read a page: angles, weak points, openings. When Tom was in the air, victory felt closer.
"Copy that," he said. "Titans, launch!"
The Battle Over Zellion
The void erupted.
Blue plasma streaked across the dark like thunderbolts. The Tartarusios shuddered as nearby detonations rolled past. Orbitons tore through space, towering humanoid war machines with thrusters burning like halos, as the Titans clashed with the Empire's hunters.
"Titan Three, engaging the left flank!"
"Titan Five, heavy fire! Armor breached!"
"Pull back, Titan Five!" Oscar barked.
"Negative! They've locked onto my core, I can't shake them..."
A flash. Static. Then:
"Enemy Orbiton destroyed."
The comm went quiet for a heartbeat before Tom's voice returned, breathless. "That's one down. Five more to go."
"Good work, Tom. Titans, fall back to formation! Prepare to leap!"
"Engines hot," Bjorn called from the navigation station. He was the quiet mind of the crew, blond hair combed neatly back, round glasses sliding down his nose at the worst moments, more professor than spacefarer. In a fight, he wasn't the one you wanted on the front line. When things went wrong, he was the calm voice that brought everyone home. "ETA, one minute."
"Set destination. Five hundred light-years from Zellion."
"Copy. Initiating leap in five... four... three..."
The stars stretched. Then they froze.
"Leap interrupted," Bjorn said, his voice thin. "It's an interdiction field."
Halley's eyes widened. "Captain, we're surrounded. Twenty-three warships. All Imperial."
The Hunters Arrive
"We have them, my lady," a lieutenant said aboard the Imperial flagship. "The Tartarusios cannot escape."
Countess Emilia Rozasar stepped out of the shadows. Her crimson hair, long and sharp as a drawn blade, shimmered beneath the command lights. Her eyes were black as the void between stars, reflecting nothing.
"Patch me through to their captain," she said, her tone soft and deadly.
"My lady, that's unnecessary. We can obliterate them from here..."
Her gaze cut through him like a mono blade. "I want to see the man who slaughtered my fleet at Onyx."
The holo-screen flickered alive, bathing the bridge in cold blue light.
"This is Emilia Rozasar, Commander of the Eastern Galactic Forces. You are surrounded. Surrender and stand trial for your crimes against the Terrian Empire, or be erased from existence."
Tartarusios, Bridge
"Oscar, incoming transmission!"
"Put it through."
Emilia's face filled the screen, serene and predatory, the calm before annihilation. "Last chance, Captain. Surrender."
Oscar turned to Halley. "How long until we can leap?"
"Fifteen minutes to break the field."
"Too damn long." His jaw tightened. "Power to the cannon."
"If we divert that much, the shields drop. One hit and we're gone."
Before he could answer, Nolan's voice cracked over the comm. "Sir! Hangar Two is opening!"
Oscar froze. "What? Who authorized that?"
"Put me through!"
Static flared. Then Youri's voice came through, calm and defiant. "Boost shields to two hundred percent. Hold the line. I'll make an opening."
"Youri, that's suicide!"
"This is my ship, Oscar." A pause. "And no one points a gun at it and lives."
The ship's AI answered in its flat monotone. "Hangar Two opening. Titan Zero, launching."
The Tartarusios' underbelly split open, venting light and vapor into the black. From that burning gate, a single shadow emerged: jet-black armor veined in molten red, energy pulsing like a heartbeat.
ALTOPEREH. The Vanisher. Last of the God Orbitons, myth turned real.
Its thrusters ignited crimson, and the shockwave shattered nearby debris into dust.
Halley's breath caught. "Titan Zero... deployed. I've never seen an Orbiton move like that."
"You won't see it again," Oscar said quietly. "No one does, and lives to tell it."
Youri's voice slid through the comms, low and human and tired.
"I swore I'd never climb back into this cockpit. But promises are for the living."
"Target locked," the AI said. "Antimatter cannon charging."
Inside the cockpit, Youri's hands moved on instinct. The machine remembered him. Panels lit up with alien symbols, and raw cosmic power hummed through the air. Around him, the enemy fleet tightened in, a steel storm closing on a single spark.
"Empire warship locked."
Youri vanished in a flash of red light. A heartbeat later came the impact. The first Orbiton split clean in two, plasma still glowing along the cut.
Another dove at him. Youri spun and fired micro-singularity rounds, tiny collapsing stars that folded the attacker into nothing.
"Enemy count: nineteen."
He streaked upward and disappeared again. Each reappearance was a death. Each flash of crimson was another Orbiton torn apart, until the void was a graveyard of twisted steel.
"Enemy count: eight."
On the Imperial flagship, Emilia gripped the railing, her voice unsteady. "Impossible. He's a phantom."
Then Youri's voice came again, crackling on every frequency, resonating through the bones of every soldier who heard it.
"ALTOPEREH. Erase."
The antimatter cannon fired.
There was no sound, only a wave of lightless energy so pure it devoured its own shadow. The front line of twelve Imperial warships disintegrated, their atoms scattering into radiation and silence.
When the light died, only drifting fragments marked where the front line had stood.
On the bridge of the Tartarusios, no one spoke. Oscar stared at the holo-feed, at static and ash.
"Youri," he whispered. "What have you done?"
Through the haze of interference came a single reply, hollow and tired.
"What I always do."
Then silence.
And in that silence, across the endless dark, his name began to spread again. Whispered like a curse. Revered like a myth.
Youri Kronos. Pilot of ALTOPEREH. Codename: Titan Zero.
The God Orbiton that erased fleets, and the man who vanished with them.