Aegirarch observed the virtual conference unfolding before him with detachment. The virtual aquatic realm of his domain stretched infinitely, its simulated depths designed to soothe his mind while reinforcing his control.

Around him, the assembled leadership of his fleet materialized commanders, captains, investors, and the scientific council, each represented by their chosen avatars. Their presence was necessary, though their individual thoughts were irrelevant to the ultimate directive.

He had little patience for inefficiency. Even less for distractions.

The psionic specialists were among those distractions. Their very existence grated against his structured order. The ability to manipulate thoughts and perceptions made them an inherent societal liability, one that could never be fully trusted. Some species had attempted countermeasures—genetic barriers in offspring, and powered Nullite shielding, but such measures were imperfect. True security lies in vigilance and control.

And control was something Aegirarch maintained absolutely.

Dauqils, the fleet’s highest-ranking psionic, initiated the meeting with the grave urgency Aegirarch had already anticipated. His digital avatar was a faceless silhouette, yet Aegirarch imagined that behind his real mask of scale and bone, his expression was lined with unease.

“I have called this gathering to discuss a growing threat—one that, by all definitions, should not exist,” Dauqils began, his synthetic voice carefully modulated to avoid betraying anxiety.

A three-dimensional projection of the targeted moon flickered into view, accompanied by streams of data on Nullite extraction and processing rates. To the investors, this was the only relevant data. Aegirarch registered the subtle shifts in their body language small signs of excitement. Profit margins were expanding. Expansion equalled dominance.

Dauqils did not allow their optimism to linger.

“The recent battle against the anomaly cost us a significant portion of our workforce and disrupted operations at key mining hubs. Many among you assume this to be a temporary setback that the anomaly was neutralized.”

He gestured. The data shifted. A new classification appeared.

NETHROS.

A ripple of discontent spread through the assembly. Some scoffed at the name, dismissing it as over-exaggeration. Others exchanged wary glances, knowing all too well the implications. Nethros. The Devourer of Souls. A creature of ancient Grithan folklore—pure myth, yet a term that invoked deep, instinctual dread.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Superstitious nonsense. And yet, effective in conveying the appropriate scale of the threat.

Aegirarch allowed the murmurs to continue for exactly six seconds before muting the entire assembly with a thought command. Order returned instantly.

Dauqils resumed.

“Many here fail to grasp the complexity of an etheric network. Unlike our digital constructs, psionic networks are decentralized, organic, and adaptive. What we face is not merely an aberration—it is something entirely unprecedented. A mind capable of splitting itself into autonomous entities without degradation. A consciousness distributed across countless bodies.”

A calculated silence followed. Aegirarch observed the expressions of the gathered fleet leaders. The implication had finally reached them.

Kraklak, the head of the science division, his virtual avatar, appeared forward next. Unlike the psionics, Aegirarch had use for his kind. Hard data. Logical conclusions.

“We have analysed genetic samples from the anomaly,” Kraklak began, his voice measured, precise. “It is related to the Valurian species.”

That caught my attention.

Aegirarch’s eyes narrowed slightly. The Valurians were extinct—because he had made them extinct. Their civilization had been systematically dismantled. Their fleets had been annihilated. Their colonies were sterilized.

Nothing should have remained.

“We initially believed this to be a remnant faction,” Kraklak continued, tapping through layers of biometric data. “However, there is no evidence of conventional Valurian presence on the moon. Instead, what we see is something engineered—possibly a last-ditch biological weapon. The Valurians were known to suppress their psionic potential through Nullite exposure. It is entirely possible they developed an organism capable of acting in their stead.”

Aegirarch considered the implications.

A self-sustaining, highly adaptive entity. One that had evaded detection until now. It had been a minor disruption—until recently. Now, it was growing. Rapidly.

Dauqils spoke again.

“If given time to entrench itself, it could become irreversible. Imagine an organism that spreads across an entire biosphere—endlessly multiplying, altering itself to counteract any offensive measure. A network that is already superior to any psionic structure observed in known space.”

Aegirarch did not imagine. He calculated.

Efficiency. Cost. Risk.

He did not entertain fear. He did not allow hesitation.

“The proposed solution?” he asked.

Dauqils straightened. “A full military campaign. Mining operations must be suspended. All resources must be redirected toward warfare. If we fail to act now, eradication may no longer be an option.”

The investors bristled at the suggestion, their avatars shifting with barely contained frustration. To them, war was an unnecessary diversion—an expense that delayed profit.

Aegirarch turned to Kraklak. The scientist’s assessment carried more weight than the psionic’s alarmist rhetoric.

Kraklak nodded. “Confirmed. If left unchecked, the organism will reach critical mass. Our options will become increasingly limited. If we fail to eliminate it now, we may be forced to resort to nuclear sterilization.”

Unacceptable.

Nuclear cleansing would irreversibly contaminate Nullite deposits. The loss of mining operations was an inefficiency Aegirarch was not prepared to tolerate.

Aegirarch spoke, his voice final.

“Mining operations will be reduced by forty percent. All suspended facilities will be repurposed for war production. The first phase will be containment—no further expansion of the anomaly will be permitted. The second phase will be eradication.”

Some commanders straightened at the clarity of the directive. The investors remained silent. The scientific council exchanged glances, already preparing for the next phase of their research.

Aegirarch’s gaze swept across the assembly. None would mistake his directive for discussion.

“We exterminated the Valurians with precision. This will be no different.”

For a moment, the digital realm was utterly silent. Then, one by one, the leadership acknowledged his command. The battle lines were drawn.

Aegirarch disconnected from the conference, leaving them to execute his orders.

He turned his focus to the projected simulations now unfolding in his private chamber. The anomaly’s growth patterns. Its potential evolutionary trajectories. The countless scenarios his processors analysed in real-time, adjusting variables with mathematical precision.

He watched as simulated waves of mechanized legions clashed against the anomaly’s shifting forms. The organism adapted with each encounter, growing faster, denser, and more efficient.

The war would be unlike any before it.

Aegirarch did not fear war.

But he understood the necessity of total, absolute eradication.

The alternative did not exist.