Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 271: The Rules Are Changing

Chapter 271: The Rules Are Changing

Westros exhaled sharply, his face etched with the weight of confession. Resignation and regret danced in his eyes. "No use hiding it now. The shift began a century ago. That’s why I started experimenting on humans—to stop it."

The room fell into stunned silence, each word sinking in like a blade.

"But instead," he continued, his voice bitter, "I failed. Worse—I accelerated the shift. I created HER. A being capable of dismantling Stellar Devourers entirely."

Moya’s voice cracked as panic seeped in. "Then what do we do? How do we destroy her?"

"We don’t," Westros said, his voice hollow. The air in the room seemed to tighten, the gravity of his statement suffocating. "Even if we kill Lyra, someone else like her will rise. The change is unstoppable."

He pressed a hand against his chest, where green, glowing fractures pulsed with excruciating pain. "The only option left is to convince her to join us."

Moya let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Join us? After all the times we’ve tried to kill her? She’s thrown in with the Alliance, Westros! There’s no way she’ll trust us now."

Westros smirked, a sharp, knowing look in his eyes. "That’s where you’re wrong, child. Lyra didn’t choose the Alliance. She chose humanity."

The revelation hit like a thunderclap, leaving the room reeling.

Westros’s tone turned cold, each word deliberate. "If humanity disappears, we’ll be her only remaining companions."

Lyra’s loyalty was clear. She stood as humanity’s shield, keeping the Stellar Devourers at bay not out of alliance but out of fear of mistrust. Yet, if humanity were gone and the Devourers no longer threatened her, peace might be achievable.

"In this infinite universe," Westros finished, his voice low and foreboding, "no one survives alone. Not even her."

*****

Far away, atop a glacier as old as time, a lone man meditated in the howling winds. His hair and beard were frosted white, flowing like the storm itself.

Ice clung to his skin, yet an unseen force emanated from his form, quieting the chaos around him.

The man’s eyes snapped open. A pressure filled the air, the kind that foretold calamity.

"The rules are changing," he murmured, his voice carried on the frigid breeze.

*****

In a bustling war council chamber, Admiral Frederick frowned deeply as he stared at the cryptic text. The message was brief yet weighty: "The rules are changing."

"What does that even mean?" he muttered.

Valeria’s holographic projection flickered to life, her casual tone contrasting the tension. "Who knows? The old man hasn’t said a word in a hundred years, and now he drops this on us. Typical."

She shrugged as though the universe’s mysteries were a mild inconvenience. "Lynn’s headed up the mountain to ask him directly, but you know how he is—probably busy deciphering the secrets of existence or whatever."

Frederick, however, wasn’t laughing. His expression was grim. "His abilities are far beyond our comprehension. If he’s speaking now, it’s because the matter is urgent—likely catastrophic."

Around the table, the other Admirals exchanged uneasy glances.

Raphel, ever the optimist, leaned back with a cocky grin. "Hey, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe the change means we’re about to win this war. Let me go in as the vanguard, sir. I’ll crush those Devourers and bring back a trophy!"

Dessel rolled his eyes, his tone dry. "Think bigger, Raphel. If the universe is shifting, this isn’t just about a skirmish. It could be biological, physical, metaphysical—hell, maybe gravity’s about to flip, or energy as we know it might stop working."

Admiral Conners’ face darkened. "Or it could mean the end of humanity altogether."

"Obviously," Dessel quipped, unimpressed. "That’s the default outcome, isn’t it?"

The room lapsed into silence. The weight of the Grandmaster’s words pressed heavily on their shoulders. If he had broken a century of silence, the implications were colossal.

*****

By the time the Admirals adjourned, they had reached one uneasy conclusion: the change was tied to Stellar Devourers.

"One thing is clear," Frederick declared, his voice steady but firm. "A shift of this magnitude will leave traces—patterns we can follow."

The universe had witnessed upheavals before. Superpowers, legendary beasts, even the Stellar Devourers themselves—they had all left signs before their emergence.

Now, the harbingers of a new age were beginning to appear.

Frederick sat in brooding silence, his sharp gaze scanning the battlefield report Chuck had delivered.

The document laid everything bare—casualty numbers, equipment losses, tactical missteps, and a detailed timeline of events from the first infiltrators to the final rescue of the Legion of the Apollo’s.

One name kept cropping up at every pivotal moment: Lyra.

"Who suggested reintegrating Lyra into the combat unit?" Frederick asked casually, though the undertone of curiosity was unmistakable.

Chuck, far more at ease when it was just the two of them, flopped into a chair across from his cousin. "Your son, obviously," he answered with a smirk. "Back when people were dropping like flies after Stellar Devourer attacks, Cohen and I brainstormed options. He decided to reach out to her and see if she could help. And she did."

Leaning back with a satisfied grin, Chuck added, "After that, Cohen formally recommended her reinstatement to active combat. Why? Worried he’s got a crush? Relax. If Lyra goes for Cohen, it’d honestly be a step down for her. Don’t raise your hopes too high."

Frederick let out a sharp snort but didn’t take the bait.

Undeterred, Chuck pressed on, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, Fred. Where else are you gonna find a daughter-in-law like her? Smart, filthy rich, and a total stunner. She’s the whole package."

Frederick’s expression darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes. "I’d rather she cared for Cohen because of who he is," he replied curtly, "not because of the influence behind him."

Chuck’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "Honestly, I don’t think she cares much about romance—or people in general. Lyra’s ambition runs deeper than any personal ties. If she’s working with us, it’s because it aligns with her goals, not because of Cohen or anyone else."

With a shrug and a lazy salute, Chuck stood and sauntered out, leaving Frederick alone with his thoughts.

Frederick leaned back, exhaling heavily. The currents of time were shifting, as they always did.

One generation’s ambitions inevitably gave way to the next, each wave reshaping the future in its own image. Whether that future would favor them, however, remained uncertain.

*****

While Frederick brooded, the Alliance pushed forward with preparations for the looming war. On Wyrmtrace, their fortified front-line planet, the relentless arrival of supplies transformed it into a bustling stronghold.

For Lyra, now deeply entrenched in the Alliance’s cause, relaxation wasn’t an option. She immersed herself in ensuring the military’s success with her signature determination.

One afternoon, Debbie entered the room, clipboard in hand.

"The majority of critical supplies have been delivered to the forward base," Debbie reported. "What’s left are secondary items like rations and clothing. Should we reassign personnel from the construction projects to focus on the war effort?"

The question hung heavy. Redirecting resources to military needs seemed logical with the Empire’s forces looming. If the war turned against them, everything they’d built so far could be lost.

Lyra’s response was instant and unwavering. "No. Continue as planned."

Debbie hesitated, concern flickering across her face. "Are you sure? If—"

Lyra cut her off, her tone cool and decisive. "As long as people are here, we’ll find a way to thrive. Shift the focus of the projects if necessary, but we don’t stop. Ever."

She understood the stakes all too well. The Empire’s advance was relentless, but Admiral Frederick’s forces weren’t going down without a fight.

Eventually, Wyrmtrace would transition into a hub for mercenaries and military personnel—a logistical powerhouse. Lyra knew its strategic value and intended to ensure it paid dividends.

"Got it, boss." Debbie turned to leave, but barely made it to the door before she burst back in, her face pale with urgency.

"Boss! Trouble—Caesara’s been attacked!"

Lyra’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

"Her convoy was ambushed while transporting supplies. The cargo’s been stolen, and she’s critically injured!"

"Wasn’t she carrying medical supplies?"

"She was, but they’re not working!"

Lyra was already moving, grabbing her gear. "Send me the coordinates. I’ll handle it. Update Cohen and give him every detail."

Without waiting for a response, she strode to the window and leaped out, summoning her armor mid-air.

The sleek, emerald plating locked into place in a matter of seconds, catching the sunlight as energy surged through her.

With a burst of propulsion, she rocketed skyward, a green streak against the horizon.

Debbie didn’t waste a moment either. Grabbing her communicator, she barked into it, her voice sharp with urgency. "Captain Whyte? This is critical—get ready for immediate action!"