Intergalactic conquest with an AI

Upon impact, they exploded with a hissing spray of bright orange liquid. it was a volatile compound designed to stick to flesh and burn for hours, even without oxygen.

The result was instant. Waves of infected were swallowed by raging fire, their shrieks drowned out by the roar of napalm.

Then came the second wave of Kinetic turrets and plasma cannons, aligned and fired in synchronized bursts. Armor-piercing rounds shredded the infected masses, while high-intensity plasma beams lanced through the regenerating mutants, finally slowing their relentless advance.

"Come on, boys! Let's show them how the Blood Legion fights!" Lyra shouted, her voice sounding like a rallying cry. The rear hatch of the command ship opened with a mighty clang and from it, three hundred elite Aegis units dropped like meteors from the sky.

Their armor was matte black, their visors glowing blood red. As they fell, they unleashed precise bursts of laser fire, cutting through the infected like blades through cloth. The descent was so coordinated it looked like a choreographed storm of death.

Lyra, meanwhile, had her own entrance to make. She leapt out from the command ship last, her power armor flaring to life as thrusters activated to control her fall. She dropped fast like a blur of crimson light and glinting armor before slamming into the ground with a shockwave that cracked the earth around her.

The moment her boots hit the surface, a dozen infected creatures charged at her, screeching as they ran. But Lyra had changed. She had trained with the Blood Clan for months.

She had tapped into their secrets, not the finesse of blood weapons, but something even more dangerous in wars... Field Control.

The ground pulsed beneath her and then, with a sharp motion of her hand, a glowing crimson ring erupted from her feet.

It expanded in an instant, slicing clean through every infected that crossed into its radius. Their bodies fell in pieces, blood spraying across the ruined terrain.

The contaminated blood was sucked into the spinning ring around Lyra like it had a will of its own, feeding her power, spinning faster, and generating more rings. They hovered around her like deadly halos, pulsing with energy.

All Lyra had to do now… was walk.

With each calm, deliberate step she took across the battlefield, the infected came running like moths to a flame. Mindless, shrieking, limbs flailing as they charged at her in desperate waves, and every single one of them was sliced apart before they could even touch her.

Her rings spun like deadly blades around her, slicing through flesh, armor, and bone as if they were made of paper. Blood splattered everywhere but it didn't fall harmlessly to the dirt.

Instead, it was drawn toward the spinning rings, feeding them, strengthening them, and creating new ones that rotated around her like a bloody halo of death.

This wasn't just raw power. It was precision, technique, and dark elegance. What she used now was one of the five forbidden techniques she had learned directly from one of the ancient patriarchs of the Blood Clan.

A technique so deadly it was only taught to a handful of chosen disciples. It worked by tapping into the stellar energy that naturally flowed through the blood of their lineage, energy that, when concentrated into a focused ring, acted like a power core.

The first crimson ring was born from her own blood and energy. But every ring after that… was built using the blood of her enemies. The more she killed, the more rings she could form, and the more powerful she became. It was a beautiful, terrible cycle that was perfect for the battlefield.

As she walked leisurely across the outpost's ruined main esplanade with her armor glowing faintly from energy flow and her rings whirling like orbiting moons, her second-in-command landed behind her with a thunderous crash.

The Tyrant unit hit the ground like a meteor, the impact sending cracks through the concrete beneath his metal boots. Without hesitation, he brought down a crushing metal fist on the skull of a stray infected that had managed to crawl out from under a destroyed pillar. The creature's head exploded like a rotten fruit under the blow.

"Commander," the Tyrant said in his usual emotionless tone. "The interior of the outpost has been fully secured. All remaining infected have been purged by the Blood Legion. There are no hostiles left within the perimeter."

Lyra twirled her fingers with a casual flick, guiding the rings like a conductor directing an orchestra of death. They obeyed her silently, spinning faster as they carved apart the last few infected nearby.

"Mmm… Good work," she replied, her voice remaining cool and calm. "But tell me... have you found anything that explains why the outpost came under such a massive coordinated assault?"

Her hands kept weaving slowly with graceful movements through the air, commanding the rings with unnatural precision. They spun around her like orbiting blades, ready to strike at anything that dared come close.

The Tyrant unit remained still, standing just a few paces behind her. His eyes, glowing faintly with cold blue light, never left the rings.

"Negative, Commander," he answered. "There is no solid intel available from our scans or recovered logs. I recommend speaking directly with the commanding unit of the outpost for further analysis."

He did not move, but the tension in his stance was obvious. He may have been forged from reinforced steel and liquid metal alloys, but even his frame would be shredded if it touched one of those spinning rings.

Lyra exhaled slowly through her nose. "Mmm… I'll take your advice," she said at last.

With a final movement, her hands snapped downward. The orbiting dark rings suddenly slowed… then collapsed inward. The blackened, infected blood that had once formed them fell like thick ink to the ground.

Her original blood ring, the first and purest, was reabsorbed through the glowing sigils on her palms. Her armor pulsed softly in response, as if it had fed.

Silence returned to the field.

"Alright then…" Lyra said while flexing her fingers now that her energy flow had calmed. "Where is he? The outpost commander?"

The Tyrant raised one arm and transmitted data directly to her command device. A soft ping echoed from the small screen on her wrist as a glowing blue map appeared.

"Coordinates uploaded. The commanding Tyrant unit should be located near the southwest maintenance sector, beneath the collapsed hangar structure."

"Got it," Lyra replied, her boots clicking as she turned toward the designated area. Her pace was calm and steady, like someone who had all the time in the world, despite the recent chaos.

The battlefield behind her was still smoldering, broken bodies and smoking ruins scattered everywhere, but Lyra no longer paid attention to the carnage. Her mind was now focused on the next puzzle, the reason behind this attack.

Quietly, her massive second-in-command followed behind her, each of his footsteps sending soft vibrations through the cracked ground.

His weapons remained primed, his sensors scanning every inch around her. Though he said nothing, his presence was like a silent wall ready to intercept any new threat that dared to approach.

Together, they moved toward the shadows of the ruined sector, seeking answers in the wreckage of what had once been a stronghold.

After several minutes of walking through the crumbling remains of the Kaelzar outpost, Lyra and her towering second-in-command finally found the Tyrant unit who had once commanded this outpost

Or rather… what was left of him. The once-imposing war machine now lay half-buried beneath a pile of scorched rubble and collapsed metal beams.

His armor plating was torn open in several places, wires dangled like broken veins, and his right leg was entirely missing.

Sparks flickered from his chest cavity, and one of his glowing eyes had dimmed completely. The fact that he was still even active or more like barely holding on to any form of life, was nothing short of a miracle.

And that miracle had Cleo's craftsmanship written all over it.

"Whoa… damn," Lyra muttered softly while kneeling down beside the ruined unit. "Hey there, TyTy's cousin... I guess I'm the one who was supposed to take over command of this place."

She slowly looked around, taking in the sight of the shattered walls, collapsed towers, and burning wreckage still smoldering across the base.

"But looking at this mess... it doesn't really feel like there's much left to take command of, huh?" she added with a dry chuckle, though her voice carried a tinge of sadness.

She turned her gaze back to the ruined Tyrant unit, who barely had enough strength left to move his head. Despite the exposed wires, crushed components, and mangled metal, his glowing eye twitched and focused on her. He tried to speak.

"U…d…fi…n…cre…tu…"

The sounds that came from his damaged voice modulator were garbled, fragmented pieces of a sentence that might have once carried an important warning.

Lyra frowned, brow furrowed, and glanced back at her second-in-command, who stood silently a few feet away, scanning the area.

"Did you catch that, TyTy?" she asked while pointing a gloved finger at the mangled machine in front of her. "I didn't understand a single word he just said."

"Negative, Commander," the Tyrant replied in his usual stoic voice. "However, while his vocal systems appear to be critically damaged, I believe his memory banks are still functional. I may be able to recover the last recorded events."

Lyra tilted her head. "Okay... but, uh… will that hurt him or something? I mean, I know he's not exactly 'organic,' but I don't want to kill the poor guy just to get some answers."