Reincarnated as a Mushroom?

Chapter Ninety-Nine:

A Judgement Clad in Frost and Tactical Stupidity

Chapter Ninety-Nine:

A Judgement Clad in Frost and Tactical Stupidity

—

Down in the liquor-laced belly of the hive's southern cathedral—otherwise known as the club—Sophia stood by the bar like a queen awaiting a favored knight.

Her smile was the kind of indulgent that said yes, you may leave, but don't think I'm not watching you from orbit.

"Do you have everything you need, my sweet?" she purred, brushing a phantom speck from the counter.

"Yes, thank you." I adjusted the strap on my pack, then cocked my head. "Where's Keyla, by the way? Wanted to say goodbye to the little sunbeam before I vanish into sub-zero hell."

Sophia's smile twitched upward into something dangerously close to a grin.

Even she wasn't immune to the uncanny charm of the hive's most suspiciously adorable psychopath. The fact that her saccharine act had worked—on both me and Crystal's handpicked alpha—was clearly still tickling Sophia's deeply strategic brain.

"Keyla's out on a special assignment," she said, tone airily dismissive. "She's... efficient when properly motivated. And don't worry, Samantha will be waking tomorrow. I won't be without help for long."

A shame I wouldn't be around for that. I could already imagine the pulse in the air when Samantha finally joined the hive in full—no longer a guest of Crystal's consciousness, but an organ.

Sophia made a shooing gesture. "Now go, my sweet. Best not keep the driver waiting."

I gave her a kiss that was technically only thirty seconds long, but somehow made her knees buckle halfway through.

By the time I pulled away, Sophia had to lean against the doorframe, both hands bracing her against the sudden loss of heat. I smirked and walked into the frostbitten light of day, crossing the threshold from hive-warmed decadence to cold, industrial necessity.

The vehicle waiting for me wasn't some dingy hovercab—it was sleek, matte-black, military-grade.

Fast.

It tore through the sky with the arrogance of a god with somewhere to be.

Despite heading north far enough that snow replaced color, the trip took under two hours. By the time we broke through the final cloud bank, I could already feel the gnaw of cold chewing at the windows.

"I don't care if I've got thermokinesis," I muttered, pulling my coat tighter. "I'm not standing outside in this frozen cuntscape."

My suit, still folded in a discreet travel cube beside me, responded sluggishly to telepathic command. Without my hive link, it was greedy—draining ambient energy to wake from slumber like some spoiled metallic dragon.

Eventually, after enough mental nudging and a few insults, it unfolded.

The interior cabin was tall enough for me to stand, which meant the armor could deploy at full size.

Climbing in was like shedding skin. My body sank into the familiar embrace of engineered dominance, and the moment the plating sealed shut, the suit synced with my Mindspace.

Unity.

Rolling my shoulders, I summoned Kiya from the miniature armory now reduced to a compact pack. Her scabbard hovered into my palm, and I affixed her to my hip with care.

Then I sat.

And waited.

—

Far below, in front of a warship that looked like a cybernetic whale with anger issues—the Thanatos, aptly named—a man was pacing.

He looked like someone who'd styled himself after a rejected protagonist from a militarized soap opera. Six feet tall, black hair kissed with grey at the temples, and a fur-trimmed Spartari military coat tailored to scream "I make poor financial decisions but look good doing it."

His eyes were brown and full of the kind of trouble that typically resulted in bar fights or lawsuits.

"Your man's late," he snapped, directing the words at Kathrine with more venom than strictly necessary.

Kathrine, meanwhile, was unbothered.

She wasn't freezing her tits off like him—thanks to a high-grade thermal skinsuit layered under her outer coat—and more importantly, she had tact. The patience to outlast morons was a skill in her bloodline.

"Quit your whining, Caleb," she said without looking up. "Irvine's dependable. Probably the driver's fault."

She waved him off like a fart in church.

"Why don't you go inside and warm your balls before they turn into icy stress toys?"

Caleb scoffed and struck what he clearly thought was a dignified pose. He flicked his hair back, retrieved a "tactical" rock from his pocket, and stood on it—one foot raised, like a budget Hercules striking a pose for a frozen cologne ad.

"No one boards the Thanatos without my vetting. I don't care if you're the one keeping the thermal systems from collapsing, I'm the captain, and that's my rule."

Kathrine rolled her eyes so hard they might've rotated into a parallel dimension.

"You're forty-two, Caleb. Act like it."

Luckily for the collective dignity of humanity, a dark shape began descending from the sky.

A sleek vehicle. Mine.

Caleb's eyes lit up like a grudge-bearing elf. "Finally. I'm going to tear this royal pansy a new one."

Kathrine snorted. "Of course you are."

Caleb prepped himself like he was posing for a propaganda poster—feet apart, spine straight, tactical rock underfoot. This was not a man. This was a capital M Main Character, and the universe was going to hear his monologue whether it wanted to or not.

The vehicle touched down.

The driver—clearly not prepared for arctic bullshit—stumbled out and opened the door.

Then immediately screamed like he'd seen Satan in a thong.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

He ran. Just fucking ran.

Caleb's hand went to his laser pistol before his brain even registered the threat. His eyes locked onto what stepped out of the transport, and every juvenile neuron in his body was replaced with war-hardened instinct.

A creature emerged.

Seven feet tall. Bipedal. Armor tan and purple, sleek as liquid steel, with glowing amethyst eyes and pulsing energy orbs on its chest that radiated "touch me and die."

A war-god in motion.

Caleb leveled his pistol. "Stand down, alien entity, or I will engage with deadly force!"

I paused, confused.

"I'm sorry—am I in the wrong place? Wait, there you are—Kathrine! You said my heirloom wouldn't cause problems."

Kathrine, peeking from behind her cover with a gun that had materialized from fuck-knows-where, blinked in disbelief.

"Irvine?"

I waved.

Striding toward her casually, I let Caleb continue waving his little gun like it might matter.

"Apologies," I said. "Lapse of judgement. Been a weird few days. Anyway—do I have my permits, or are we risking a suicide-by-dick-measuring contest here?"

My visor turned pointedly toward Caleb.

Kathrine's exhale was a puff of vaporized embarrassment.

"You're really pushing it, handsome. I was expecting some basic shield tech—maybe Eradai-grade. Not… this. That said, your alien tech clearance is the highest there is now. You're fully permitted. For this... and more."

I leaned in, hand lifting to her chin with the soft scrape of armored fingertips.

"Thanks for going the extra mile, again. For a guy you barely know. Maybe I can repay the kindness... space travel gets awfully lonely."

Kathrine's face turned a shade redder than her hair.

She silently thanked every god that her thermal skinsuit was heat-dampening, or an icicle might've formed between her thighs.

"S-Sure... sounds—"

"HANDS OFF OR I SHOOT!"

I ignored Caleb completely and turned back to Kathrine.

"Seriously, what is this guy's deal?"

Kathrine snapped.

"PUT THE GUN AWAY, YOU DUMB CUNT!"

The tundra went quiet.

"I don't give two shits about your 'vetting process.' We're boarding the ship. Now. And if you don't like it, you can shove it so far up your arse your ancestors feel it. I can always buy a different mercenary company and gut this ship for spare parts, you entitled prick."

Kathrine surprised even herself with the outburst.

She didn't let it show.

She grabbed my arm—well, the armored pseudomuscle of it—and dragged my oversized ass toward the ramp like a furious Disney villain dragging her lover out of a bar fight.

Caleb didn't move. Just stood there, boot back on his tactical rock, staring out into the snow like a sad action figure left on a shelf.

As we passed, he didn't flinch. Didn't speak.

But in his mind?

Calculations.

Reflection.

Respect.

He was thoroughly impressed.

The mystery man had faced two rifles he knew were aimed at him, ignored them, identified Kathrine as an ally instantly, and de-escalated with chill precision.

Even more telling?

He didn't break composure next to someone he clearly had history with.

Kathrine's blush had been obvious to anyone not blind or dead.

Caleb smirked.

"Hah... never thought I'd hear the redhead say 'dumb cunt.' That alone makes today worth it."

He raised his hand and signaled.

From snowbanks and hidden nooks, sharpshooters emerged—snipers and anti-material riflemen, wrapped in white and frost, now returning to the ship.

One of them asked, "So, boss—what'd you think of the alien-man-robot-thing? Did he pass?"

Caleb grinned.

"We haven't seen the man under the metal yet. But his character? Bleeds through it. We have ourselves a new ally aboard the Thanatos."