Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 292: The Venus’ Seashells

Chapter 292: The Venus’ Seashells

On Voidstar No. 1, the crew of the Broken Blades space pirates stumbled upon a struggling village nestled among the barren plains.

Wielding state-of-the-art weapons, the thirty-something pirates fanned out, forcing every villager to gather in the central fountain square. They moved with practiced precision, going door to door to ensure no one was left hiding.

"Our boss has one simple demand," the squad leader announced, his voice low and menacing as it carried through the crowd. "From now on, twenty percent of your harvest is ours. On top of that, you’ll pay a monthly tax of 100,000 astrocredits. Play along, and we’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

The square was filled mostly with the elderly, women, and children. The few men among them were gaunt and weak, their hollow eyes and tattered clothing reflecting the grinding poverty of the village.

They stood silent, unable to summon the strength or courage to resist.

The village chief, a frail old man with shaking hands, stepped forward hesitantly. His voice wavered as he pleaded, "Sir... please... we’re already paying tribute to the Falcons and the Wolf Fangs. There’s nothing left for us to give."

The squad leader’s lips curled into a mocking grin. He clapped his hands slowly, his sarcasm biting. "Well, aren’t you lucky! Three different pirate crews squeezing you dry. That’s impressive."

The crowd shifted nervously. The Falcons and the Wolf Fangs were both notorious, with leaders who had climbed to level Nine, solidifying their status as some of the most dangerous forces on Voidstar No. 1.

But the squad leader wasn’t impressed. His grin soured into a sneer. "I don’t care what you’re already paying. I said twenty percent, and I mean it. You’re not starving yet, are you?"

His words cut like a blade, slicing through any fragile hope the villagers might have had.

Sixty percent of their harvest was already promised to the other gangs. Now, with this new demand, there would be nothing left—no food, no money, no way to survive.

The village chief fell to his knees, desperation in his voice. "Please, sir, I beg you—"

He didn’t get to finish. The squad leader’s blade flashed, silencing the old man mid-sentence.

Blood splattered across the dried-up fountain as the chief collapsed. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Parents shielded their children’s eyes as muffled cries broke out.

"Sir!" someone screamed, but no one dared to move.

The squad leader wiped his blade and scanned the crowd with cold, unfeeling eyes. "Get moving," he barked. "Load everything up!"

Under the watchful eyes of armed pirates, the villagers could only stand by as their precious grain was taken.

Sack after sack was hauled away, leaving their storage bins empty. Even the stale black bread left on their tables—bread that had been their lunch—was taken.

"What are we supposed to eat?" a woman cried, clutching her young child. Her voice was shaky, her despair spilling out.

A pirate raised his weapon and aimed it lazily in her direction. "Say another word, and I’ll shoot that brat in your arms."

Her sobs turned silent, tears streaming down her face as she hugged her child close.

Before leaving, the squad leader issued one final command. "You’ve got until tomorrow night to cough up this month’s protection fee."

The pirates climbed into their transport vehicles, and the roar of engines echoed across the village as they disappeared into the distance.

The villagers were left in stunned silence, exchanging defeated glances.

Slowly, they began the grim task of burying their chief. Then they returned to what was left of their homes, finding overturned furniture, smashed storage bins, and even their hidden caches ransacked.

It was too much to bear.

At last, the weight of their despair spilled over, and the village was filled with wailing cries of anguish.

*****

In the desolate outskirts of Voidstar No. 1, the sudden roar of engines shattered the silence. A small, battered spaceship, trailing smoke and debris, was being relentlessly chased by a military warship.

The damaged craft barely made it through the atmosphere before crashing into the dusty plains with a deafening thud.

A boy, no older than ten, was out gathering firewood when he saw the ship fall from the sky. His bundle dropped to the ground as his eyes widened with fear.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran back toward the village.

"Dad! Mom! Another bunch of space pirates is here!"

Only the children still panicked at the sight of a ship. The adults, hardened by years of unending struggle, barely reacted. Exhaustion had stripped them of the strength to be afraid.

The boy’s panicked cries brought a ripple of unease through the village.

Villagers began gathering at the settlement’s entrance, their faces etched with worry. Among them was an elderly man with snow-white hair leaning heavily on a cane.

He squinted at the distant crash site and spoke slowly, his tone wavering between doubt and resignation.

"How do you know it’s space pirates? Couldn’t it be the military...?" he asked, his voice almost hopeful.

A younger man cut him off sharply, his frustration boiling over. "Grandpa Rick, stop daydreaming! The Alliance left us to rot ages ago."

The bitter truth was something everyone knew too well.

Years ago, the Alliance military had attempted to intervene, but their forces were decimated by the pirates.

Since then, the Alliance had all but erased Voidstar No. 1 from its maps.

"We’re nothing to them," the younger man continued, his voice heavy with despair. "We’re just the abandoned descendants of scavengers. The Alliance doesn’t care about people like us."

The villagers were the offspring of scavengers who had once eked out a living by salvaging and refining scrap metal from the surrounding junk planets.

When the pirate gangs blockaded the area, cutting off trade and communication, their once-fragile connection to the outside world was severed.

Over time, generations were trapped in poverty and forgotten.

Without resources, skills, or powers to resist, their existence became one of quiet suffering, sinking further into despair with each passing year.

The boy’s outburst was like a slap across their collective faces, a cruel reminder of their hopelessness.

Rick’s hand trembled slightly on his cane. He sighed deeply and muttered under his breath, "Dig the grave... and make it bigger."

His quiet words landed like a thunderclap among the villagers.

The older ones looked up at him, their tear-streaked faces filled with sorrow. Slowly, they began to move, resigned to his grim instructions.

It was against this backdrop of fear and desperation that the second group of pirates arrived.

*****

At the forefront of this new pirate crew was a striking woman whose presence demanded attention.

She stepped gracefully from the sleek transport ship, her crimson stiletto heels clicking sharply against the cracked earth.

Her fitted red gown, slit high at the thigh, emphasized her commanding figure.

Draped over her shoulders was a black coat with a fox-fur collar, the luxurious fabric stark against the village’s dilapidation.

Her silver hair, cascading over one shoulder, shimmered like moonlight, and her sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept across the scene.

With her confident stance, radiant crimson lips, and look of quiet authority, she seemed equal parts regal and lethal.

A small entourage followed close behind her, their movements casual yet alert. Each radiated danger, their mere presence a warning.

Rick, the new village head, shuffled nervously forward, bowing his head. "M-may I ask why you’re here?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The woman walked past the crude wooden barricades without so much as a glance at them. Her tone was calm but firm as she replied, "We’re staying the night. We’ll leave tomorrow."

Rick and the other villagers exchanged confused, uncertain looks. ’Pirates asking to stay, not demanding it?’

A young man from her crew broke the momentary silence. Flashing a theatrical grin, he kicked over a wooden post and shouted, "Don’t you know who we are? We’re the infamous space pirate crew—the Venus’ Seashells!"

The villagers blinked, momentarily puzzled by the name.

’Venus’ Seashells? Is that supposed to sound intimidating?’ Rick thought, fighting the urge to let the confusion show on his face.

The young pirate seemed to revel in the reaction. He stomped on the broken post, snapping it in half, then jabbed a finger toward the villagers. "Didn’t you hear them? Get some rooms ready! Or we’ll feast on you instead."

Another crew member, younger but equally intense, stepped forward with a menacing look. "And make sure there’s food! I’m starving."

Behind them, two others—Vikie and Elsie—watched the antics with thinly veiled amusement.

Helion and Grains had a knack for over-the-top theatrics, perfectly fitting their role as stereotypical space pirates. Still, even they couldn’t help mentally wincing at the crew’s peculiar name. ’Venus’ Seashells? Really?

The villagers, however, weren’t focused on the name. All they could think was how cursed their luck had been: two pirate crews in a single day.

Rick swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak again. "Everyone, we... we have a farewell ceremony tonight. Please, don’t be offended."

His gaze lingered on Helion’s oversized blade, haunted by memories of the earlier slaughter.

Trembling, he gestured weakly. "My house is at your disposal. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

An elderly couple stepped forward hesitantly. The man spoke, his voice low and cautious. "You can use our house too. Please... spare the young people and children. Without them, we can’t harvest the fields."

His wife nodded silently beside him, her eyes pleading. Their words hung in the cold air, a desperate prayer wrapped in trembling fear.

On Voidstar No. 1, the unspoken rule among pirates was simple: avoid unnecessary large-scale slaughter of young people and children.

Ordinary inhabitants were already few and far between. If they were wiped out, there would be no one left to grow crops. Instead, to ensure compliance and discourage rebellion, the pirates often took children as hostages.

"Smart move," Helion sneered, baring his teeth in a mockery of a grin as he followed Rick to the offered lodging.

Once inside, Helion wasted no time playing his part. With exaggerated disdain, he kicked over a chair, causing the villagers trailing behind him to flinch.

"What a dump!" he growled. Turning to the woman at the center of their group, he added, "Boss, I don’t think these people are taking us seriously. We should just teach them a lesson."

Grains chimed in eagerly, "Yeah, let’s just wipe them out! Saves us the trouble!"

Rick staggered, clutching his chest as if the threat alone might cause him to faint. Behind him, villagers clutched their children tightly, their wide eyes filled with terror.

The woman was Lyra. She glanced briefly at her overacting companions before sauntering to a chair. She sat gracefully, crossing her long legs, her voice smooth and commanding.

"We barely escaped. Keep a low profile."

Phelixes chuckled softly. Even Lyra was committed to the act, though her commanding presence made her convincing without effort.