Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 233: The Culprit

Chapter 233: The Culprit

Inside the lab, silence reigned.

The remaining level-nine Peculiars stood in Lyra’s way, their eyes blank yet filled with an eerie determination.

Despite the brutality they’d just witnessed, they threw themselves forward without hesitation, almost as if offering themselves up to buy Westros more time.

Lyra wasn’t in the mood for long fights. With a flick of her hand, a wave of ice spread from her feet, freezing the Peculiars in place for a crucial three seconds.

Three seconds was all she needed.

The sounds of combat were swift and brutal. By the time she moved on, the lab floor was littered with frozen limbs and lifeless bodies.

At the lab’s core, Westros was wrapping up his work. Holding his hand in a claw-like shape, he summoned an unnatural pull, and the experimental subjects inside glass chambers convulsed.

One by one, Crystal Cores tore from their foreheads, drawn into a dark, swirling void in his palm.

Before he could finish, a blade flashed toward him.

With a casual gesture, Westros summoned a dark vortex to absorb the attack, but Lyra dodged around it, striking his right shoulder squarely.

What she saw next made her blood run cold. The injury, nearly severing his arm, didn’t bleed. Instead, dark threads of energy snaked out, weaving the torn flesh back together until it looked untouched.

If not for his torn clothing, Lyra might have thought the wound had never happened.

Westros adjusted his tattered sleeve, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and indulgence. "Always diving in headfirst, aren’t you?"

Lyra took a step back, her grip tightening as the realization hit her—he wasn’t human.

Then, from behind him, an immense pull began to emanate, so intense it felt as though it could tear apart everything around it.

This wasn’t just some pocket dimension, as she’d previously assumed. It was a black hole, a ravenous void, consuming everything in its reach.

The force grew stronger, dragging Lyra toward it.

The air felt heavy, her breaths shallow, and her body like lead. Desperate, Lyra summoned her superpower, casting a shield of deep emerald energy toward the void, giving her just enough time to break free from its pull.

But the respite didn’t last. Within seconds, the shield shattered, splintering like glass, and the black hole’s force came roaring back, stronger than ever.

Seeing Lyra’s shock, Westros chuckled darkly. "What a shame. If you were just a bit stronger, maybe you’d be able to stop me."

Lyra planted her sword into the ground, bracing herself against the pull of the black hole, her gaze hardening. "You’re not the real Westros."

The Westros she’d faced before had backed down, retreating without hesitation.

"Oh, I am," he replied, his smirk widening. "The one you encountered earlier was a digital projection, nothing more." In an instant, he was standing inches from her, his hand pressing possessively against the back of her neck, close enough to whisper. "I came here in person... just for you."

Lyra’s head was forced back, her eyes drawn to the churning void behind him.

"What ARE you, really? Are you even... biological?" she demanded, a flash of confusion cutting through her voice.

For the first time, the reality around her felt disturbingly surreal.

She’d encountered powerful beasts, monstrous entities from far-flung worlds, but none with the intelligence or precision of this creature.

Westros was neither human nor beast. And yet, the way Valeria had reacted to his presence suggested that the higher-ups in the Alliance were well aware of him—just that the truth had never reached the public.

"Biological?" Westros glanced at his earlier wound, then laughed, shaking his head. "Where do you see anything ’biological’ about me?"

His tone took on a smooth, eerie calm. "This universe is matter. But we... we are disruptors, dominators, creators. We stand beyond its limitations."

What would have sounded like insane arrogance from anyone else felt like undeniable fact coming from him, as though he truly were a god towering above reality itself.

To Lyra, his words defied all reason, a riddle wrapped in unfathomable power.

Westros leaned close, his grip unyielding as he twisted her gaze back to the black hole, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I came here to take you with me. Look at it. I have power beyond your wildest imagin—"

A brief lapse in his focus, and Lyra seized the opportunity.

She summoned a blade of green energy and drove it backward, straight into his torso, wrenching herself free as he staggered back in shock.

The black hole dissolved instantly, and air flooded the room as she dropped to her knees, gasping.

Westros clutched his side, dark misty fluid seeping from his wound as his face contorted with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Your power... it’s evolved beyond recognition..."

"Looks like it’s effective against you," she retorted, her hands glowing as she formed another mass of vibrant green energy, molding it into a threatening shape as she advanced.

At that moment, two sharp bursts of air sounded.

A pair of mechas—a towering one, and a smaller, sleeker model—blocked Lyra’s path, positioning themselves to shield Westros.

"Cough..." Westros pressed his wound, his face twisting in frustration. "One day... you WILL belong to us."

The taller mecha hoisted him up, beginning to escort him out.

Lyra turned to find herself face-to-face with the smaller macha, cutting off her pursuit.

With a swift motion, she morphed Schedar into a long staff, ready to engage.

The lab was cramped, but her movements were swift and fluid, her strikes raining down with fierce precision.

In moments, Lyra’d forced her opponent to the ground. Then, twisting her weapon again, Lyra transformed Schedar into a ring, snapping it shut around the mecha’s midsection like an iron cage.

Trapped, the pilot inside fired a barrage of lasers and particle blasts, thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free. But Lyra advanced unflinchingly, gripping one of the mecha’s arms and slamming it against the wall.

"Stop struggling," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "I know it’s you."

She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Isadora."

The moment she said the name, the struggling ceased.

Even through the mecha’s thick armor, Lyra could feel the shock ripple through its pilot.

"How... how did you know?" a voice stammered from inside.

The faceplate slid open, revealing Isadora’s striking, proud features. But her usual air of arrogance was gone, replaced by something cold, deadly—a hardened warrior Lyra had never seen before.

The old, headstrong Isadora was no more, her gaze now razor-sharp, intense, and utterly focused.

Lyra’s voice remained steady as she confronted Isadora. "There were plenty of reasons to suspect you. For one, both times I was attacked in my dreams, it happened after I dined with the Calvins. Then there’s the way your combat style felt... familiar."

She paused, her gaze piercing. "And at the scene of Dr. Brian’s murder, the superpower particles left behind? They belonged to you."

Isadora’s eyes widened, a look of shock breaking through her icy composure. "You suspected us all along?"

Lyra allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "Yes. But back then, I didn’t understand WHY."

Now, though, it was clear: the Calvin family wasn’t just implicated—they were at the heart of it all, intricately tied to Westros from the very start.

Isadora’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "That old fool thought he could manipulate you with all that talk of ’familial loyalty.’ He never realized his precious scheme was nothing but a joke to you."

"Something like that."

Isadora’s expression contorted with fury, a fire of envy and desperation flashing in her eyes. "But WHY YOU? Why do they treat you like you’re something special?" Even bound as she was, she leaned forward, her glare searing. "And me? They use me, dispose of me. Daytime, I’m dressed up for their events; at night, I’m in this damned suit, sent out to kill for them!"

Her voice shook with venom. "Even then, I’m nothing to them, just a useless pawn. And you... you’re all anyone cares about. Why?"

With a sudden, desperate burst of energy, Isadora’s mecha snapped apart. Her slender form slipped through the weakened rings holding her, and she lunged at Lyra, raw anger on her face.

But without the armor of her mecha, she was defenseless.

Lyra sidestepped easily, her own power and skill far surpassing Isadora’s. She struck with precision, her blade plunging into Isadora’s chest and silencing her with a single, final blow.

With a calm, steady hand, Lyra withdrew her blade, her gaze unwavering. "If that’s how you felt," she said quietly, "then why did you ever try to compete with me?"

Isadora’s body shuddered, her eyes fixing on the harsh, white ceiling light above. "B-because... there’s no escaping it..." Her voice faded, her gaze unfocusing as her eyes drifted shut.

A moment later, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Another mecha approached, pausing at the doorway before entering.

As its shell peeled away, Robin stepped out.

"You’re a bit late," Lyra said, her voice unshaken, though with a hint of reproach.

Robin’s typically composed face held a strange detachment, a glint of irony flashing in his eyes. "Not that it matters. She and I never really had a connection."

He turned to face Lyra, the irony in his tone sharpened. "If anything, I’d say you and I have more in common."

Lyra’s brow furrowed, a shadow of confusion crossing her face. "What are you talking about?"

Robin tapped his head, indicating his jet-black hair. "Black hair, lightning powers... never wondered why?"

The realization hit Lyra like a shockwave. Her pupils widened sharply as the pieces slid into place.