The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 201 - Desperate struggle

Chapter 201: Chapter 201 - Desperate struggle

The mother ship of the Farians groaned under the pressure of each successive hit.

The walls of the command deck trembled, warning lights flared red, and sparks spat from the overhead circuits as another round of energy pulses from the Grayling behemoth smashed into their shields. Outside, through the front view panels, the monstrous vessel loomed closer and closer, its jagged plating illuminated in flashes of crimson with every discharge.

"Shields at 72%!" barked one of the crewmen, his voice strained. "Starboard side is taking critical damage!"

"Hold it steady!" Dican shouted, gripping the edge of the control console. His eyes were locked on the holographic display showing their ship’s trajectory against the massive bulk of the enemy. The Grayling ship dwarfed theirs, its presence like a black wall against the void of space.

"Commander, we can’t fire back! Our vessel is unarmed!" another crew member cried out, panic lacing her voice.

"Then we dodge. That’s all we have. Maintain energy rerouting to the shields! Cut life support to lower quarters if needed, divert everything to shield sustainment!" Dican ordered sharply.

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Behind him, Bian stood motionless, knuckles white against the railing, his face pale as he stared at the behemoth ship outside. It didn’t fire traditional projectiles—its weapons were jagged plasma beams, lashing forward like whips, slicing through space with terrifying precision.

"The shield is down to 60%! They’re focusing on our port engines!"

"Reroute rear propulsion. We can’t outrun them, but we can slide past them," Dican muttered to himself, then raised his voice. "Prepare a slingshot maneuver! We’re going to use the gravity pull of the black hole to swing around their starboard hull and enter the singularity."

Gasps rang out across the deck.

"What?! We can’t survive the gravitational shear!"

"We can if we follow the temporal arc line. I’ve plotted it! Do as I say!"

"Course adjusted! Maneuver inputted!" shouted the nav-officer, sweat dripping from his brow.

The ship veered, shuddering violently again as it took another glancing blow. The lights flickered. For a moment, the forward shields destabilized, showing jagged spiderweb-like cracks across the screen. But they held.

"Shields at 48%!"

"Keep going! We only have to make it another hundred thousand units! Keep that hull intact!" Dican shouted, bracing himself.

The ship jerked hard. Beneath them, the artificial gravity struggled to compensate as they pulled into a dangerously tight spiral, moving directly into the black hole’s event horizon—the outer ring where physics still had mercy.

"Structural friction incoming!" someone warned. "The behemoth ship is in our way!"

"Skim it! Scrape it if we have to. Cut as close as you can without breach. Do it!"

The deck groaned. Outside, the Farians’ ship passed so close to the monstrous vessel that metal shrieked—not from within their own ship, but as their reinforced shield skimmed the Grayling hull, drawing a searing line across its surface.

"We’re scraping its armory section! Minimal resistance. It wasn’t expecting us to go this close!" someone shouted.

Dican narrowed his eyes. "Good. Let it learn not to underestimate us."

For a second, the viewscreen flickered. Static blurred their vision—and then it snapped clear.

They were through.

The black hole swallowed them with a silent pull, and then all became white.

The ship lurched one final time as the gravitational turbulence slowed—and then steadied.

"Shields stabilizing. Hull intact. No external breach. We’re in."

Silence.

The entire crew remained frozen, hearts racing.

Then Dican exhaled, slumping slightly. "Full diagnostic. Then signal my brother’s fleet. Let them know we’re coming through the wormhole."

Behind him, Bian slowly sat down, his breathing shaky. He didn’t say a word.

Dican turned his head slightly. "We made it."

But Bian didn’t look back. His thoughts were elsewhere.

He blinked up at Dican in fear. His chest rose and fell quickly, heart hammering in his ears from the close call. But soon that fear curdled into something hotter—rage. Without thinking, he shoved himself to his feet and slapped Dican hard across the face.

The crack echoed around the command center like a thunderclap. Everyone turned. Heads snapped. Silence fell, thick and awkward.

"Why the fuck don’t you guys have any arsenal on your ship!" Bian screamed at the top of his lungs, eyes wide, voice cracking. "You’re an alien ship heading to another world and you don’t have a single fucking bomb on board? I could’ve been killed! That was fucking close! Are you an idiot, Dican?!"

No one spoke. The crew around them stood frozen, expressionless, unmoving—but none of them stepped forward to defend Dican either. If anything, their silence was louder than words. A cold, stiff refusal to acknowledge or respect the one who had just berated their prince.

Dican stood there quietly, his face turned to the side, one cheek already blooming red. His fingers gently rose to touch the skin, his movements mechanical, slow. He blinked rapidly, lips parted slightly in confusion. "W-What...?" he whispered. His voice trembled.

He looked around at his crew as if expecting someone—anyone—to explain what had just happened. But they all stared past him, eyes locked on their screens, their controls, anywhere but at him. Dican turned back to Bian, his grey eyes dazed, almost lost. "Who...?" he muttered, voice barely audible.

But Bian heard it.

His stomach sank.

"No. No no no—"

Without wasting another breath, Bian lunged forward, dragging Dican by the arm outside and ran into a corner where no one was looking. The prince didn’t resist. His steps dragged, unfocused.

"Stay with me," Bian hissed. "Don’t do this now."

He fumbled at his own pocket, pulled out the tiny vial of purple salve he had hidden there for emergencies. He unscrewed the top, grabbed Dican’s hand, and in one swift, practiced move, sliced a small gash across the prince’s palm.

Dican barely flinched.

Bian smeared the purple salve into the cut, pressing it in with his thumb, muttering under his breath as he worked. The paste shimmered slightly against the skin, seeping into the open wound and disappearing beneath Dican’s skin like water sinking into dry earth.

Dican blinked again.

His pupils dilated, then slowly returned to normal.

He gasped suddenly, staggering, clutching at Bian’s shoulder for support. "Wh-What happened...? Bian, I—"

Bian gripped him tightly, forcing him to stay upright. "Not now. Just breathe."

Dican’s breathing came ragged and sharp, but at least he was back.

The crew still didn’t speak, but a few of them finally turned to glance their way. Quiet understanding passed between them. They had seen what happened. They knew their prince had nearly slipped again.

And that he’d been pulled back by the very mate who had moments ago struck him.