Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 219: The Last Soul Spike

Chapter 219: The Last Soul Spike

Lyra’s eyes skimmed across the listings from Macraite’s biggest auction house until one item stopped her cold—a level-nine strength-enhancing plant up for grabs.

This kind of high-powered item was usually tucked away in secret auctions, hidden from prying eyes. But here it was, posted publicly, just begging for anyone with deep enough pockets or enough clout to come after it.

It felt like an open dare, tantalizing bait meant to snag only the most daring—or desperate—of buyers.

Moments later, Morrison’s hologram materialized in front of Lyra, his expression already serious. He’d seen the listing too. "Our intel suggests the Shedd family has their hands all over this auction house. Word is, Ansel himself put that plant up for sale."

The setup couldn’t be clearer if they’d hung a flashing sign on it: this was a trap aimed right at Lyra. The Shedds knew her well enough to understand that no one wanted a level-nine strength-enhancer as badly as she did.

Morrison glanced at her, his voice almost cautious. "Are you going for it, boss?"

Lyra’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Only one Soul Spike left," she murmured, almost to herself.

Just one more piece.

No one else understood her drive for an unshackled, untouchable freedom—a power she’d spent years clawing toward.

Morrison didn’t need more details; he got it. "Should we rally our level-nine Peculiars?"

Lyra knew the plant’s presence was bound to attract the strongest of the strong.

Among Peculiars, there was this strange, unwritten rule: level-nines and above avoided direct confrontation unless absolutely necessary. No one knew why, but both the Empire and the Alliance stuck to it. So as long as that code held, she only had to prep for whatever they might throw her way.

"No. Not worth it," she decided. "Once we get our hands on it, even allies might switch sides if the reward’s right."

Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. If the Shedds were parading this plant in the open, they had more than a simple transaction in mind. She was ready to see just how far they’d go to rope her in.

But she wasn’t one to walk in unprepared. After setting a few plans with Morrison, Lyra prepped for her departure.

The next morning, she squared things with Ryan for a brief leave and boarded a shuttle to Macraite’s floating city.

This city—an entire island held above the ocean—lived up to its reputation. And Universal, the Shedds’ crown jewel auction house, stood tall in the center of it all, as influential as the family who owned it and known throughout the Alliance.

The minute she disembarked, she felt the attention snapping to her, eyes following her every move. And as soon as she walked into Universal and registered for a VIP pass, the news reached the top floor without delay.

"She’s here, Grandpa Ansel," reported a young man in a sharp, fitted suit, addressing Ansel in his top-floor office.

Today, Ansel had swapped his military attire for a sleek, black suit with understated gray pinstripes. The suit fit the air of a sophisticated businessman, but his eyes had a hard, calculating gleam that signaled not to be underestimated.

"Should we bring her up?" the young man asked.

Ansel shook his head slowly, a calculating smile playing on his lips. "Let her stew until the auction kicks off. She won’t be leaving without that plant."

Lyra settled into the VIP lounge on the second floor, her gaze sweeping over the grand hall below.

It was already bustling, packed with the Alliance’s powerful and influential—military brass, politicians, aristocrats—all drawn to the allure of the legendary level-nine plant.

She was certain there’d be some level-nine Peculiars lurking in the crowd, too; nobody would risk putting up a fake in such esteemed company.

Right on cue, a manager bustled over to the entrance, his nerves visible.

The whole place buzzed with a palpable tension, as if the air itself was coiling up for what was to come. The game had been set, and Lyra was ready to play.

A sleek, high-end Lev vehicle slid to a halt outside the auction house, drawing attention with its effortless elegance.

A tall woman got out of the Lev, cutting a striking figure in a tailored black suit, topped with a flowing coat that swept around her with every step.

Removing her sunglasses with an air of practiced nonchalance, she revealed a pair of piercing eyes, the kind that seemed to miss nothing and hold no fear.

"Miss Shane, right this way! Your platinum suite is all set," the manager said, practically racing over to greet her, a grin so wide it etched deep lines into his face.

Shane returned his smile with one equally bold.

"Lead on," she replied, her voice smooth, as she strode confidently across the grand hall, her every step commanding attention.

"Anyone who has the manager at her beck and call must be dropping some serious billions—so, who’s she?" whispered a spectator.

"The Alliance is huge," someone murmured back. "Could be a major player from the underbelly."

Lyra heard the whispers and raised a brow, her lips curving in a smirk. "Seems they’re pulling out all the stops here," she thought, amused by the display.

Finally, the auction began.

With each new item introduced, the white-gloved host brought a dramatic flair, keeping the energy up as the hall filled to capacity, thick with anticipation.

It was clear everyone had shown up for one item in particular.

"And now," the host’s voice rang out, tinged with excitement, "the grand finale—a level-nine strength-enhancing plant’s fruit: Blazing Blood!"

Gasps rippled through the hall as a small, glowing box was placed on the stage. When the lid lifted, a fiery red light spilled out, like a flame contained within the fruit itself.

"This rare treasure," the host continued, his hands trembling, "was discovered a year ago beneath Macraite’s largest volcano. After thorough testing, it’s been verified to contain energy levels close to the peak of level nine."

The powerful Peculiars in the room were already emanating intense psychokinetic energies, thickening the air with an unspoken pressure.

"The consignor, however, is requesting a trade, not a purchase. Interested parties, please submit your trade items; selected candidates will be invited for private negotiations on the third floor."

The host quickly shut the box, which disappeared into the platform with no room for further inspection. The stakes had been set high, but everyone expected it with Ansel’s name on the line and the item’s value evident.

Buyers frantically submitted their most valuable trade items, hoping for a shot.

Disgruntled murmurs filled the air as bidders began to realize that not even high-end mecha cores were making the cut.

"What could he possibly want that would outshine all this?" one person muttered.

Only a handful of candidates were ultimately selected, and Lyra found herself among them—without even entering a bid. She’d been the first pick.

A quiet laugh escaped her; it was clearly a ploy. "The grandfather and granddaughter... they’re staging some family drama here, aren’t they?"

The woman next to her snickered, leaning in. "Oh, you don’t know? They hate each other’s guts. Rumor is, they’re both just waiting for the other to kick it."

But Lyra knew her presence was about more than just a trade. She was stepping into a showdown, a carefully laid trap.

Inside the elevator, her escort snuck glances at her reflection in the mirrored walls. She caught his gaze, meeting it in the reflection with eyes like ice. "Something wrong?" she asked, her voice chilling.

He quickly jerked his head away, swallowing hard. "N-no, Miss."

Today, the auction house had doubled down on security. Level-nine Peculiars were stationed everywhere, all tasked with monitoring her. Many of them seemed convinced she wasn’t leaving unscathed.

When the elevator doors slid open, her escort stepped aside, motioning her forward. She strode out, pausing only briefly before pushing open the door to the meeting room.

Ansel stood inside. He was leaning on a cane, his eyes sharpening as he watched her cross the room.

Taking a steady breath, Lyra stepped forward. She then closed the door behind her, and calmly took the seat opposite him, her gaze unwavering.

Ansel’s mouth curved into a mocking smile, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. "I didn’t expect you’d have the nerve to show up."

She met his look without flinching. "Nerve has nothing to do with it. I needed to be here."

Ansel’s eyes locked onto Lyra, unreadable and hard. They were like the depths of still, murky water.

"How does a defiant brat like you even carry the Shedd name?" he growled, his tone dripping with contempt. "Five Soul Spikes—enough to crush anyone. But you? You survived it, and you didn’t just endure; you turned it into something you could wield."

Lyra met his outburst with a cool indifference, brushing past his words as if they barely registered. "We’re here to discuss a trade, aren’t we?" she said, her voice calm, cutting straight to the heart of it. "What do you want, Ansel?"

Ansel’s expression turned even colder, his eyes narrowing. "And you actually think you’ll be leaving here tonight?"

Lyra’s gaze didn’t waver; if anything, it sharpened, meeting his icy threat with steel. "Let me guess—you’re after Schedar, aren’t you?"

The truth hung heavily between them.

If Ansel’s goal had been her death, he’d have never let her set foot in the building. No, the only reason he hadn’t struck yet was because he wanted something from her, something she alone possessed.

Considering his circumstances—the accusations, the mounting charges, and a growing need to vanish without a trace—only one prize made sense: Schedar, the key to his escape.