Space stretched in every direction. No light. No sound. Just the endless dark.
A massive warship moved through it, slow and steady. Its engines gave off a deep hum that seemed to sink into the ship's bones. The body of the ship was black, edges sharp like blades. It looked less like a machine and more like something alive—something hunting.
Faint purple light pulsed through glowing lines that ran across its surface. Smaller ships flew beside it, keeping pace. The purple veins lit them too, casting shadows that danced across metal frames.
Inside, the halls ran long and cold. Steel walls lined with glowing symbols. Thin lines of purple neon lit the paths ahead, leaving shadows that shifted with every step. The air smelled clean, too clean. Like nothing had ever breathed here.
Toward the front, the hall opened into a wide chamber.
The bridge.
One wall was pure glass, stretching from the floor all the way up. Beyond it, only space. Endless and still.
A man stood at the center.
His shoulders squared, boots planted firm. He didn't need to move to command attention. The way he stood said enough. His suit, once fine, now had light creases at the elbows and knees—but it still carried a kind of weight, like it belonged to someone who had seen everything and survived it.
Smoke curled in slow spirals from a lit cigarette between his fingers.
Lines marked his face, carved deep with time. A well-trimmed beard framed his jaw. Strands of gray ran through black, just enough to show the years. Dark glasses hid his eyes, catching the purple glow and sending it back empty.
Rings circled his fingers. Four in all. Each a different color. Their light pulsed soft, barely there.
He didn't move. He just watched the stars, silent.
Then, his lips moved.
"We're getting close…"
————
A scoff broke the stillness.
"Why are we even here, old man? Who's stupid enough to attack this place?" The voice cut through the air, sharp and lazy. No respect in it. Just boredom—and something under it, like a challenge waiting to rise.
The man at the glass didn't react. He didn't need to. His eyes stayed on the dark beyond, unmoved.
"Call me that again, and I'll throw you out myself. Let's see how much attitude you have when you're gasping for air in the void."
The reply landed like a blow. Not loud. Just heavy.
Behind him, the younger man let a smile rise. It started slow, crooked at the edge. He didn't flinch, didn't blink.
"Bold of you. But if you did that, who'd be left to do the dirty work?"
He stepped forward, light hitting his figure. He moved like a fighter—not bulky, but cut clean, built for speed and impact. His arms hung loose at his sides, but every part of him looked ready to strike.
Then came the mark.
It started at his wrist, black lines curling up his skin like something alive. Not ink. Not art. It pulsed faintly, the light catching metal buried inside. Small pieces shimmered under the skin—sharp, wrong. His fingers curled, veins shifting beneath the surface. Whatever it was, it didn't just sit there. It held something back.
A voice broke through the moment, smooth and warm like silk over steel.
"Relax, Jov."
Another figure leaned back in a wide leather chair, legs tossed over the table like he belonged there.
His hair spilled over his chest in thick golden braids, catching the light with every slow breath he took. The smirk on his lips hadn't moved in a while. Maybe it never did.
His eyes tracked everything, never blinking for long. Always watching.
"We got intel. Vortex has been snooping around again. We're here in case they try something."
Jov breathed out through his nose, arms crossing. He shifted his weight, foot tapping once.
"I was enjoying myself with the ladies. Now I'm stuck in this hole with you two."
The words came easy. No tension. Just heat under the skin, like someone itching to leave.
"Let's hurry up. They're waiting for me to return."
The old man dropped into his seat. It groaned under him. His fingers curled tight around the armrest. The skin over his knuckles stretched white.
"You two sicken me."
The blonde didn't blink. His grin stayed where it was.
"Come on, sir. You'll miss us when we're gone."
His voice sounded light. But his eyes—cold, sharp, reading every move—stayed locked on the older man's face.
Jov tilted his head, grin steady, arms loose.
"yeah. Don't go crying when you realize you can't live without us."
The old man didn't speak. The silence returned, broken only by the hum of the panels and the faint thrum running under the ship's floor.
Then a voice snapped through it, sharp and clear.
"Commander, unidentified ship approaching. Vortex insignia confirmed."
The trooper at the radar station stood straight, arms locked to his sides. His armor—sleek, pitch black—pulsed with thin purple lines that moved like living veins. The glow ran across his chest, circling a jagged emblem carved into the metal: the mark of Apex. His helmet covered everything, just one red line where his eyes should've been.
Jov's right arm tensed. The stone lodged in his flesh shimmered under the dim lights, catching a glint as he clenched his fist. That smile of his came back, wide and ready.
"So, they really did come."
He rolled his fingers once, as if trying to calm the thing beneath his skin.
The blond man pushed himself upright, brushing his coat flat as he stood. His hair shifted with the motion, gold sliding over his shoulders. He moved like he had all the time in the world, but something had changed in his eyes.
"Looks like we're up."
The old man flicked ash from his cigarette, the smoke curling upward, slow and thin. He leaned into the console, shoulders heavy, jaw set.
"Hmph. So much for a quiet patrol."
The blue glow of the holographic display lit his face. On it, the Vortex ship drifted forward—slender and sharp, like a blade sliding through the dark.
Jov stretched his neck, his whole frame rising, ready.
"We should blast them before they get any ideas. Save us the trouble."
The blond man's head turned. His smile didn't last long.
"And this is why no one lets you make decisions."
He shifted his gaze toward the front, eyes locking on the commander.
"What's the move?"
The old man didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked to the trooper still standing at attention.
"Any movement?"
"Negative. They're closing in, but no signs of aggression."
The old man's hand tapped against the console. Slow and Heavy.
"Then we wait. No one makes a move until they do."
He stared at the display. The Vortex ship kept coming.
"If they step out of line… We remind them whose territory this is."
Jov let out a breath through his nose, sharp and rough. His head tilted back.
"More waiting?"
His arms crossed, but his hands didn't stop moving. Fingers twitched, the mark on his arm flaring slightly.
"We already know why they're here."
The blond man watched him, mouth tilting with a hint of mockery.
"patience, Jov. Maybe if you sit still long enough, we'll let you throw the first punch."
Jov didn't answer. He just stood there, still but never calm.
The old man turned back to the glowing display. The Vortex ship crawled forward, closer with every second.
"Keep eyes on them. If they try anything reckless, we crush them."