Intergalactic conquest with an AI

"I-I swear I didn't know she was connected to a Conqueror!" Martin cried out, his voice trembling with primal fear. His face was pale, his eyes wide with panic, and there was a wild, desperate look in them... as if he were just a few moments away from slipping into madness.

The hours of harsh interrogation had clearly taken their toll on him, both mentally and physically. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, his lips were cracked, and bruises covered much of his face. "Please! You have to believe me!"

Valxir, the supreme commander of the mercenary forces, didn't react with rage or disgust. Instead, he calmly walked over and crouched down to Martin's level, gently placing a gloved hand under the young man's chin and tilting his face up.

"Shhh, shhh… calm down, young master," he said in a disturbingly soothing tone. "There's no need for all this noise and panic. We're all friends here, aren't we?"

His voice was soft, almost tender, but his eyes were cold and empty. "Now, listen carefully. When you hire a mercenary company... especially one as powerful and respected as mine, you need to give them all the correct information. If you leave things out or lie… well, things like this happen. Bloody, complicated things."

Martin tried to speak again, but only his lips quivered, but Valxir cut him off by lightly tapping his cheek. "But, you say you didn't know. And I believe you," Valxir said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he stood up. "I really do."

He turned his attention toward his top officers standing nearby. "Gentlemen, please leave us. I'll call you back once I've finished my little… conversation."

Zorbag just snorted, clearly amused but not surprised, and walked out without another word.

Volkong let out a casual laugh. "Hahaha! Sure thing, boss. I'll tell the cleaning crew to be on standby."

Zanar, however, lingered for a moment. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. Something about the situation didn't sit right with him, but in the end, he said nothing and exited the tent in silence.

Once the others had left, a terrible silence fell over the room. Then, only the muffled, terrified screams of Martin could be heard... pleas for mercy that went unanswered. They were quickly joined by a different, repeated sound. A sharp, rhythmic slapping, like flesh striking flesh. The noise echoed across the tent walls like cruel punctuation marks in a one-sided conversation.

And just like that, the war raged on outside, uncaring.

The battlefield had become a nightmare. The two great armies, the technologically advanced Kaelzars and the battle-hardened mercenaries, remained locked in a brutal stalemate. Neither side was willing to retreat, but neither could make significant gains. Yet, amid this already devastating conflict, another threat grew stronger by the hour.

The infected.

They surged in terrifying numbers. With each wave, they grew more violent, more grotesque, and more powerful. It had reached the point where Tier 3 infected, towering beasts nearly four meters tall had begun appearing frequently on the battlefield.

Their grotesque forms and twisted limbs were more than enough to terrify even the bravest mercenaries.

Inside the command tent, as Valxir sat shirtless on his bed, Martin's limp form lay motionless beside him while his Blood stained the sheets. Just then, Volkong barged into the room, his face twisted with urgency.

"Boss! I know you're... busy, but I've got urgent news!" Volkong shouted before freezing in place at the scene before him.

Valxir didn't even flinch. He let out a tired sigh and rubbed his temples. "Volkong… How many times must I tell you to wait outside until you're called?" he asked, clearly irritated.

"Right, right, my bad," Volkong muttered while scratching his head. "But, uh... this is really important."

Valxir raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Just give me a sec..." Volkong tapped his forehead, trying to remember. "What was it again...? Ugh, it's on the tip of my tongue..."

At that moment, a squadron of fighter jets roared past the camp overhead, their engines screaming through the air. Volkong snapped his fingers. "Oh! That's right! the collector dog finally showed up. Zanar told me to tell you he's waiting in the communications room."

Valxir stood up, stretching his arms before starting to don his heavy power armor piece by piece. "Good. Call in a squad of soldiers and tell them to toss this little brat to the infected. Let them chew on something soft for a change."

"Got it, boss!"

Minutes later, Valxir entered the communications room aboard a grounded transport vessel. A large screen flickered to life, revealing the twisted, reptilian face of the Collector Dog.

"Well, well," Valxir said with a smug grin. "What took you so long to show up? Having trouble slipping past the planetary blockade?"

The collector growled, his scaled snout curling in rage. "Spare me your sarcasm, mercenary. Why wasn't I informed about this abomination?!"

He pointed toward a holographic image of the Kaelzar fortress orbiting the planet, its colossal guns and impenetrable shields dwarfing the vessels near it.

Valxir shrugged nonchalantly and opened his arms wide in mock innocence. "How could I have told you anything, hmm? After your last call, someone decided to jam all communications on the planet. Must've slipped my mind."

"Hissss! This is exactly why dealing with mercenaries is a waste of credits!" the collector dog snarled, his sharp fangs glinting under the screen's glow.

His slit-pupiled eyes burned with fury as he glared at Valxir, radiating a barely restrained urge to kill. "At the very least, do you know where the Blood Clan girl is right now?!"

Valxir, as always, remained cool and composed. He leaned back in his chair, unfazed by the reptilian rage seething on the other side of the communication feed. "Hahaha, of course I know," he replied casually while raising a hand and rubbing two fingers together in the universal sign for money.

"But that kind of sensitive information? That wasn't part of our original deal, now was it? If you want more intel, you'll need to... pay up, fair and square."

"Hissss… Greedy bastard!" the lizardman spat, his scaled fingers clenching into fists. "I could turn your entire camp to ash with a single barrage from my orbiting cannons and be done with all of you!"

Valxir didn't even blink. Instead, he let out another amused laugh and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Oh, I'm sure you could," he said while still smirking. "But then you'd be stuck wasting days combing the entire planet just to find a girl who might already be off-world. She's slippery, you know? Vanishes like smoke. Can you really afford that kind of delay right now?"

A heavy silence fell between them.

The two men, one flesh, one scale, locked eyes through the screen. The room grew tense, as though the air itself were watching them, waiting for who would break first. For several long seconds, nothing moved.

"Five hundred thousand credits," the collector dog hissed; his tone was obviously still bitter.

"One million," Valxir countered instantly, his voice smooth and firm, without a trace of hesitation.

"Eight hundred fifty!" the lizardman growled back, his claws tapping against the console with irritation.

Valxir gave a toothy grin and clapped his hands together. "Deal!"

Moments later, a soft beep came from the console. Valxir glanced at the screen and nodded with satisfaction.

"Mmm, there it is. Just received the transfer." He raised his arms in a theatrical gesture. "See? That wasn't so painful, was it? All this yelling and posturing when it could've been handled with a few credits and some manners."

The collector's tail flicked with annoyance. "Enough of your games, mercenary. Give me the damn information."

Valxir made a dramatic show of placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me! So cold, so heartless... no wonder only cold blood flows through your veins." He chuckled before switching to a more serious tone.

"Alright, alright. Based on our current intel, we've narrowed it down to two possible locations. One: the massive fortress you were too scared to approach. And two: the machine army positioned directly in front of our line."

He leaned in closer to the screen, his eyes gleaming. "Either way, it's a tough nut to crack."

The collector dog hissed low in his throat. "Very well. I'll send some of my forces to support your front. Make sure your troops prove themselves worth the cost. As for that… fortress," he snarled, "I'll deal with it personally. And remember! capture the girl alive and intact, or your final payment will be reduced. Significantly."

With a growl, the lizardman slammed the screen off, cutting the communication in a burst of static.

Valxir leaned back once again, folding his arms behind his head and grinning like a man who had just made a killing in a card game. "Ah, I love working with rich, angry clients."

On the other side of the battlefield, Rex found himself in a situation that left him completely dumbfounded... a rare feeling for someone like him.

Standing right in front of him, with her hair disheveled and still dressed in a medical gown, was someone who absolutely shouldn't be out of bed, much less here.

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds before finally speaking, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a sharp headache began to form.

"...Let me get this straight," Rex said slowly, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. "You stole a transport ship. From the fortress. No one stopped you. No alarms. No alerts. And now you're standing here telling me you want to fight again?"