Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 258: Battlefield

Chapter 258: Battlefield

In the vast, silent expanse of the universe, ancient stars continued their ageless journey, drifting through space in serene, unchanging rhythms.

But in an instant, the silence was shattered as high-energy cannon fire ripped through the void.

Mechas clashed with warships, and flashes of superpowered energy erupted in bursts of lethal brilliance.

This was a battlefield—a hell for the living, an anthem of death.

Under emergency protocols, Chuck commanded from the heart of the Alliance’s main warship. His voice was steady, clear as he issued orders to the scattered divisions.

"Captain Whyte, take Division C30 and pull back from the left flank. Captain Rymes, engage spatial transfer to get behind the enemy and execute a pincer maneuver!"

Just as the formations shifted into action, an urgent alert sounded. "Sir, high-grade mecha approaching fast!"

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Just one?"

"Yes, only one, sir."

"Deploy the ’Starlight’ mecha to intercept," he ordered, confident. The ’Starlight’ was one of the Alliance’s most advanced all-purpose mechas, a powerhouse with near-level-eight capabilities in speed, defense, and attack.

Chuck’s fleet only had access to two of these prized units, typically reserved for Admiral-led missions.

But his confidence wavered as soon as the enemy came into view. The single, silver mecha, marked with black and gold, tore through the battlefield with terrifying precision.

In a single shot, it obliterated ’Starlight’, leaving Chuck chilled to the bone.

The enemy mecha, sleek and relentless, now angled toward the main warship.

"Activate the light shield defense!" Chuck commanded urgently.

The pilot responded instantly, engaging the shield. But the crimson energy cannon, streaked with dark energy, barreled toward the ship’s engine core.

Just before it struck, a platinum mecha leaped into action, enveloping the enemy in a powerful gravity field that yanked it downward. Despite the interference, the shot was still released.

The thin beam of energy sliced through the light shield, leaving a smoking hole in the ship’s hull. The engine core was spared, and the ship maintained power, but the damage was severe.

In the cockpit of the platinum mecha, Cohen exhaled with relief. He barely had time to reinforce his shields before the next blast punched through, tearing into the shoulder of his mecha.

"Cohen, fall back!" Chuck’s voice came over the comm, tense with concern.

Cohen engaged his superpower, commanding the mecha to dash back toward the main ship, but the enemy followed close, relentless.

Just as it closed in, a blade of shimmering gold light swung down between them.

The golden sword dispersed on impact, but the enemy mecha didn’t even flinch.

"What the hell? Since when did the Empire’s tech get THIS strong?" Zarek’s voice crackled in disbelief. He had no choice but to dodge. He was trying to put distance between himself and the advancing red mechas that now surrounded him.

In response, golden spikes extended from his mecha, creating a ring of defenses around him like the spiky shell of a durian.

With a sharp burst, he launched them outward, skewering several of the enemy mechas. But his small victory was short-lived; this adversary was unlike any he’d faced before.

A wave of dread washed over him, a feeling so intense it jolted him to his core.

Almost instinctively, Zarek activated layers of golden shields around his mecha. But as a swirling dark vortex formed in front of him, his shields dissolved in an instant, powerless against it.

A black hole—a distortion of space where even light could not escape—materialized, consuming everything in its path.

The vortex twisted the very fabric of space, devouring any mecha, ally or enemy, that dared come near.

In seconds, there was nothing left but a dark, gaping void.

Every nerve in Zarek’s body screamed with terror. Just as he felt the pull of the vortex, a sudden gravitational force yanked him away, sparing him from being completely consumed.

Still, half of Zarek’s mecha was torn apart by the edge of the black hole. He clutched his mangled shoulder, blood leaking into the void from a gash inflicted by the vortex’s pull. He managed to limp his battered mecha back to the main ship.

The battle had only begun, but already, the toll was heavy.

The Alliance forces were up against a nightmare—an enemy stronger than anything they had prepared for.

As Zarek staggered back to the main ship, a team from the medical corps rushed to his side. They worked frantically, applying salves and stitching where they could, but their faces grew grim.

"Report to Vice Admiral Whyte immediately—Captain Rymes’ injuries aren’t healing!" one medic shouted urgently, his voice thick with worry.

"It’s the same with every soldier brought back from the front lines," another medic added, shaking his head. "Their wounds resist even our most advanced treatments!"

When Chuck received the report, he didn’t hesitate. "Get Lyra over here—NOW."

A pause, and then a hesitant voice over the comm line. "Uh... sir, she didn’t deploy with us."

Chuck’s patience snapped. He opened a direct line to the medic head, his tone icy and controlled. "You knew Lyra could handle this specialized injuries. Why wasn’t she assigned to this unit?"

"She... refused to come, sir," the medic head replied, sounding uneasy. Lyra’s abilities were invaluable, but her reluctance was as well-known as her talent. No one on the team could force her to join the front line.

Chuck clenched his fist, seething. "And you didn’t think to report this?" His roar echoed through the command center, cutting through the tense silence.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he switched channels, trying to contact Wyrmtrace’s surface. But the communication base remained offline, leaving him with no way to get through.

"Send all soldiers injured by the Stellar Devourer back to the surface—immediately," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for questions.

The medical corps scrambled into action, swiftly preparing the wounded for emergency transport back to Wyrmtrace.

As the injured were sent down, the battle above raged on, consuming hours in relentless, brutal fighting.

The Alliance forces, though outnumbered and outmatched technologically, managed to withstand the Empire’s initial assault by relying on their proximity to resupply points.

Against all odds, they held their ground, and eventually, the Empire’s forces pulled back to regroup.

When Cohen finally emerged from the medical bay, he went straight to the command center. "Vice Admiral Whyte, what’s the current status?"

Chuck was slumped in his chair, the strain of command evident in his undone collar and weary gaze. Without a word, he gestured to the tactical report on his console. "All the details are here. Read them."

Cohen took in the numbers, grimacing. Despite knowing firsthand how intense the battle had been, he was shaken by the stark reality of the losses and the damage.

"Our equipment..." he murmured. "It’s a catastrophe."

"The Empire’s tech has advanced astronomically since they started experimenting with the Stellar Devourer," Chuck said, bitterness lacing his words. "They’re meddling with forces beyond their control, but it seems they’re willing to risk it all."

Cohen’s thoughts drifted back to his father. Thirty years ago, the Empire had crumbled under his father’s command, forced into silence for decades. But that quiet had merely masked their preparations for this brutal resurgence.

Unable to stay still, Chuck began pacing the room. "Where’s Admiral Dale’s backup? That old fool was supposed to be here hours ago!"

Though Chuck had been born into a military family and trained from an early age, he had never fully embraced the life. He had taken the quietest post he could find. Now, thrown into the heart of a devastating battle on Wyrmtrace, he was on the verge of snapping.

"He might not be coming," Cohen said, his expression darkening.

Chuck stopped mid-step, narrowing his eyes. "What are you saying? Is that old man scheming something?"

"He wouldn’t dare," Cohen replied, voice firm. "But think about it: the Empire’s fleet was already lying in wait, yet they didn’t send an overwhelming force against us. It’s likely that Admiral Dale’s fleet has been intercepted en route."

Chuck’s face fell as he realized the gravity of Cohen’s words. The Empire’s ambush wasn’t just a random assault. They were aiming to systematically eliminate Alliance forces.

"We need to buy time until my fa... Fleet Admiral Whyte’s reinforcements arrive," Cohen said. "If Dale’s fleet has been blocked, then we’re on our own."

Chuck groaned, pressing his hands to his temples in frustration. "We’re already outgunned and outmanned! And don’t forget, that level-nine Peculiar—the one that attacked our base earlier—is still out there. If he joins the fight..."

Cohen slammed his fists down on the table, his eyes blazing with determination. "We have no other choice. If our defenses fall, Wyrmtrace’s civilians—and the entire Alliance—are as good as gone."

His gaze met Chuck’s, fierce and resolute. He wasn’t about to let that happen.