Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 226: The Empire

Chapter 226: The Empire

Lyra had always known they’d eventually send someone to deal with her. She just never expected the guy to show up in person.

But there he was, right there in her line of sight, practically delivered to her doorstep.

She stalked him with the silent, deadly precision, her focus narrowing to a razor-sharp edge.

The man in the iron mask threw a glance over his shoulder, tension tightening his features. He was twenty meters ahead—too close for him to escape now.

Without warning, he skidded to a halt and spun around, unleashing an attack that arced through the air like a blade.

His dark energy seemed to twist reality itself, sucking the very life from the space between them.

Lyra fired back with a hail of ice spikes, but his shadowy force swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but emptiness.

Undeterred, she swiped her arm in a fierce arc, unleashing a green blade of energy that sliced through the air.

It clashed with his attack, creating a searing flash of black and green. Perfect. Her power of healing seemed to counter his destructive force exactly.

The man didn’t flinch. If anything, his eyes sparkled with an unnerving kind of excitement, like he’d just found something rare and dangerous. He whispered, "Yes, that’s it!"

SWISH.

Within a blink, Lyra had closed the distance, her sword pressing on his throat. Her eyes, dark and stormy, warned that she could end him right here. "Got you."

As she watched, the man slowly took off his mask, revealing slicked-back chestnut hair and piercing gray-blue eyes.

He studied her with an almost gentle admiration. His voice, low and smooth, carried a hint of amusement. "Impressive, Lyra. I’m Westros. Westros Llorens."

She barely blinked at his introduction, just tightening the blade against his neck. His name was irrelevant.

"You’ve been watching me this whole time?" asked Lyra.

"Oh, WE have," he replied smoothly.

"The Empire?" she demanded.

"That, and much more," he answered, his smile becoming nearly affectionate, a strange light in his eyes. "You have no idea, Lyra. EVERYONE wants you."

A chill crept down her spine. Lyra could feel the tentacles of a vast, hidden web closing around her, binding her tighter. Ever since she’d received the Soul Spike implant, the feeling had been growing, like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

"I wasn’t even supposed to be here today," Westros admitted with a casual shrug. "The squad that came to take you out got delayed, so I had to step in. Seems our meeting was inevitable."

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. "Then what’s your real goal?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, frustration biting at her tone. It was as if everyone was keeping secrets from her.

But Westros just tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Now, that’s a secret."

Lyra tensed, and in that split second, Westros moved.

His figure blurred, and before she could react, his kick landed solidly in her stomach, making her stumble back, pain spreading in a hot wave.

Lyra caught herself instantly, instincts kicking in. She launched a knee strike, swift and fierce, but he anticipated her move, locking onto her leg and pinning it with a firm grip.

His smirk was dangerously amused. "I know you’re strong," he said, eyes glinting, "but you need to calm down."

Lyra shot him a defiant look. "Not a chance."

With a sudden burst of strength, Lyra threw a punch that connected hard with his stomach.

She felt the impact deep within him, and blood splattered from his lips, painting her face in crimson, fierce and haunting against her pale skin.

"Don’t ever try to control me."

Grabbing his collar, Lyra followed with a brutal knee to his chest, the sharp crack of ribs breaking echoing between them.

Westros threw a punch, but Lyra caught his hand, squeezing until his bones splintered. Then, she backhanded him with enough force to send him flying.

Before Westros even hit the ground, Lyra was on him, slamming him back down with a vicious kick.

"Ugh—" Westros gasped, dazed and bleeding.

"Your strength... it’s evolved this much..." he murmured, his bloodied mouth curling in awe as he looked up at her in disbelief.

Lyra extended her hand, and with a flicker of psychokinetic energy, her blades snapped to her palm as if it had been waiting for her command.

"Fine," she said, voice as cold as steel, "if you’re not going to talk, then you’re of no use to me."

She aimed her sword at the man’s forehead, striking down with deadly precision—but—CLANG—a metallic whip shot out of nowhere, blocking her attack with a sharp ring.

Behind Lyra, the air whistled with the sound of something slicing straight for her.

She pivoted, deflecting a powerful metal fist that would’ve smashed her face in.

Her new opponent was clad in a sleek, silver mecha suit, its polished surface reflecting light in glints of white and silver.

This newcomer wielded a sword, too, and he swung it down with brutal force.

Lyra countered, but to her shock, her Schedar blade failed to even scratch the armor.

Lyra had only a second to react as another punch came her way. She threw up a light shield, but the strike unleashed a burst of laser energy, shattering her shield in an instant.

Then came a blast of electricity from the other assailant, sparking a barricade of crackling energy that blocked her escape routes. Lyra dropped her blade, rolling into a series of quick backflips to evade their coordinated attacks.

From the ground, Westros looked on, his face streaked with blood, yet his expression was lit with a manic excitement. "Yes, it’s her! She’s the one!" His voice was almost reverent.

A portal began forming around him, a swirling black tear in space.

Realizing he was about to slip away, Lyra tried to focus her powers, but the mecha fighters had closed in too tightly, leaving her no room to act.

Westros held her gaze for one final, intense moment before stepping through the portal, vanishing into thin air.

Fury bubbled up inside Lyra, her eyes hardening as she turned to the two mecha-clad warriors.

Tightening her grip, she fused her twin blades into a single, long staff, holding it behind her in a deadly reverse grip.

"If he wants to run, fine," she sneered. "You can take his place."

And then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished, her form blurring into the air. The only warning was the low hum of her staff cutting through space.

With one powerful strike, she launched the smaller mecha opponent into the air, the impact cracking his armor as he spiraled out of control.

The larger one retaliated with a powerful punch, but Lyra twisted her staff in a brutal arc, forcing him to dodge.

She barely touched the ground before a laser beam shot toward her; she kicked off the larger mecha, flipping through the air to evade the attack.

The clash erupted into a fierce, relentless fight.

These two weren’t just tough—they were possibly the strongest fighters she’d encountered in years.

Their were in mechas, moving with a smooth agility, yet they were also tough as titanium, capable of withstanding her most precise hits.

She knew these warriors had to be from the Empire; only they had access to such cutting-edge tech. No Alliance soldier she’d seen was equipped like this.

Lyra’s form blurred as she moved, her staff leaving streaks of light as it struck against their armor, each blow landing with enough force to dent the metal.

She ducked under a particle cannon blast, countering with a vicious jab that sent one of her opponents reeling.

But despite her relentless assault, the two fighters started showing signs of retreat.

"Fall back!" the larger warrior ordered, his voice distorted by the mecha’s audio filters.

The smaller one hesitated, almost reluctant, but he obeyed, maintaining a defensive posture as they began to withdraw.

Lyra, ready to pursue, narrowed her eyes, but they launched a wave of small explosives in her direction before pulling back.

Cursing under her breath, Lyra summoned Schedar, transforming it into protective armor just as the bombs exploded around her.

A massive explosion blasted outwards, scorching a ten-kilometer radius of ground.

When the smoke cleared, her enemies were gone without a trace.

The armor faded from her form, and Lyra steadied herself, covering her mouth as she coughed through the settling dust.

Taking a deep breath, her mind churned with thoughts of Westros’s cryptic words and the entire day’s events.

It was clear now—Westros had the Empire behind him, and the Empire was far more invested in her than she’d realized.

And from the way they’d confronted her, Lyra knew someone in the Alliance must’ve known about this too. That "someone" had opposed Westros’ motives and forced him to confront Lyra face-to-face.

And these mecha warriors? They hadn’t even unleashed their powers, hiding their true abilities behind that impervious metal.

"So, things are more tangled than I thought," Lyra murmured to herself.

The mystery of her parents’ deaths was only a single thread in a far larger web, one that was drawing tighter with every encounter.

On her way back, Lyra bumped into Cilia. She had rushed over, looking breathless and worried.

"There was this massive explosion—I thought you might have been hurt," Cilia said, her voice a mix of relief and concern.

Lyra just nodded, her tone brisk. "I’m fine. Ran into a couple of enemies trying to shut me up." She filled Cilia in briefly on what had happened, and Cilia’s expression turned serious.

"We need to get this to Leandro and the others. Fast."

Once they reached the main site, the grim reality of the situation hit home: Ansel’s body was already sealed in a black containment bag.

The legendary Vice Admiral, who had spent a lifetime fighting, had met a sudden and brutal end.

The loss cast a shadow over the whole team, but the others were even more stunned by the fact that Lyra had single-handedly fought off multiple level-eight operatives. Wary glances passed among them, a mix of respect and unease.

After Lyra gave her report on Westros, the Vice Admirals shifted their focus to one pressing detail.

"You said you managed to plant a tracker on him?" one of them asked.

Lyra nodded, pulling out her opticomputer and projecting a map.

A small, glowing dot showed Westros’s location—Central City. But even as she watched, the dot suddenly stopped moving.

Her frown deepened, knowing exactly what that meant.

...

Meanwhile, in Central City, Westros held up a tiny device between his fingers—a tracker he’d plucked from his own mech.

With a quiet chuckle, he crushed it to dust. "Smart move, Lyra," he muttered to himself.

He turned to his two subordinates, his tone cold. "The two of you couldn’t bring her down?"

Their irritation was barely contained. "We didn’t even use our powers. If we had, she’d be history," said one of them.

Westros smirked, the satisfaction in his voice unmistakable. "Then I look forward to seeing how you do next time."

With that, he stepped into a subspace portal, vanishing from sight.

...

Back at headquarters, Lyra lowered her opticomputer. "The tracker’s been disabled."

"No matter," Leandro replied, his face pale from recent injuries but calm.

Draped in his overcoat, he had a weathered, almost fragile elegance, the look of a soldier who’d seen one battle too many but wasn’t about to back down.

"We know he’s in Central City. That’s enough. Go on and get some rest. I’ll report this to the council and the election committee."

Lyra saluted, leaving without so much as a glance at Ansel’s body.

"Cold little thing, isn’t she?" murmured one of the Vice Admirals, watching her retreating figure. "That was her own grandfather, and she didn’t even flinch."

Leandro gave a small, weary sigh. "That coldness is exactly what drives her forward. But in the end..." His voice softened, a trace of sorrow lingering. "...she’ll find out that it leaves her utterly alone."