Druhalith (The Season of Resilience)

Day 276

40 days since my arrival

I sensed it in time, deflecting the attack and forcing it back with an unyielding mental shove. The invading presence broke apart, snapping like a taut wire. My captive’s body jerked with the backlash, his breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps as if the severed connection had stripped away part of his consciousness.

I commanded the drones to take the prisoner away, isolating him in a separate tunnel. His presence was proving more trouble than it was worth.

I returned my focus to the task at hand, tell me, I demanded, my voice a low, resonant whisper that vibrated within his thoughts.

Who made the contract?

Flashes of fragmented memories flooded my mind as I delved deeper into the prisoner’s thoughts, sifting through the haze of his recollections. Some whispers and rumours clung like shadows in the recesses of his mind.

He had overheard fragments from his overseers, vague hints that the contract had been struck not by his creators, but by a nation in a neighbouring system. This distant nation was expanding aggressively, its ambitions set on terraforming and colonizing new systems.

My captive had pieced together what little he could, he recalled muttered warnings of survey ships lingering at the edges of our operational range, His creators had merely been a hired force to clear the way for these unseen colonizers who viewed this system’s inhabitants as little more than obstacles in their path?

How many of you were sent here?

A look of terror flickered in his half-lidded eyes. The remnants of his conditioning fought against my questions, but it was clear he lacked the strength to resist for long. He drew in a shaky breath, his mind yielding just enough for a sliver of truth to slip free.

“Fifty thousand deployed across both moons and planet” he stammered, his words strained as if each syllable fought to stay hidden “Eight hundred thousand searching for remnants on priority target”

Are there any survivors? I asked, my thoughts sharpened to an edge.

Any, who escaped?

Are any of my creators’ kin left alive?

His face twisted, and a flicker of something darker passed over his expression. For a moment, he said nothing, his lips pressed tight as if trying to hold back a truth too painful, even for him. I could feel his fear intensify, mixing with a sort of pity.

“They're gone,” he finally whispered, his voice hollow. “All extermination protocols were completed sixty galactic standard days ago. The host species offered minimal resistance, with only minor casualties against a cybernetic autonomous worker here fifty-three days ago.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me, each syllable a nail driving into my consciousness. Although I did not know them something resonated within me about their loss. It was not just the death of a species it was the erasing of a legacy, an existence scrubbed clean from the universe by merciless hands.

How large is your force?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“A vast force, from… from the Triumvirate. Thousands of ships… frigates, destroyers, carriers… they hold the solar system to maintain control. Commanded from… three capital…ships.”

The scale of it struck me, an armada that large outclassed everything I could create this changes everything I might need to dig deeper into the moon maybe even spread out the tunnel network everywhere.

And who commands them?

I pressed, leaning in closer. My mind probed his thoughts, amplifying his terror to crush whatever resistance lingered.

Who commands your forces?

His gaze turned vacant, a glimmer of memories breaking free under my control. Obscured faces materialized in his mind obscured by large spheres, spheres containing plants and water aquatic masters. “..... Aegirarch leads the entire force. Others follow his directives without question.”

Aegirarch. I committed the name to memory. If victory was unreachable, then I would make this war as costly as possible. For now, though, I needed to know more about their weapons, their strategies, and their purpose here.

What of your weapons systems? I asked, pressing my will into him again. How do you achieve such overwhelming destruction? What do you carry aboard your ships?

His face twisted with an agonized expression as his mind struggled to remain coherent under the pressure. He spoke through clenched teeth, his words sluggish and broken. Ship-mounted rail guns…missile swarms, plasma…., drones launched in waves… anti-fighter measures, orbital bombardments the list went on and on.

The more he rumbled on about the array of weaponry his force had the more outclassed I felt their arsenal made my meagre win feel pointless.

And where are they stationed? I demanded. I needed to know the positions and their weaknesses in their ranks. If I were to exact my plans, I had to dismantle their entire force.

“Strategic points,” he muttered, his voice almost inaudible. “One fleet stationed here above primary planet… another at primary target….last fleet searching asteroid belts for rare minerals.”

As he spoke, I could feel his resolve cracking further, each revelation peeling back the layers of his conditioning. His memories began to swirl faster, fragments of planets, ships, and distant stations flitting through his mind like fragments of a broken mirror.

The pieces were coming together, though one question continued to gnaw at me—a dark, lingering curiosity that I couldn’t ignore.

How long will they be here?

His mind was getting weaker now closer to breaking bit by his memories flashed by “ten cycles or until cleansing protocols…are completed”

I withdrew from his mind, letting his body crumple to the floor as he gasped for air, desperate to fill his lungs. This revelation shifted everything every plan I’d devised would have to be abandoned and rebuilt from scratch.

I motioned for the drones to take the prisoner back to his cell, they seized his limp form and lifted him from the ground. I could still feel the lingering weight of his revelations, the remnants of his fractured thoughts pressing against my own as I turned and began striding back to my workshop.

Each step quickened as the implications sank in, urgency rising with every stride. I needed plans and countermeasures, something to tilt the scale in my favour now that I knew the true depth of the enemy’s force.

The tunnels blurred as I made my way, passing through the resin-covered walls, the sound of movement echoed throughout the tunnels as I passed several architects reinforcing the tunnels.

Finally, I reached my workshop. I swept across the room, immediately retrieving one resin tablet I began reworking all my plans after analysing every scrap of memories the prisoner had yielded.

The war had shifted, its stakes now altered. This wasn't just about survival any more, it was about making them pay for every attempt to retake this moon ten cycle that's how long they had to fulfil the contract.

My survival was still paramount, but they had a timeline to achieve their goals I had to make this conflict as costly and drawn out.

I forced my thoughts back into focus. I needed to take the fight to them, but not recklessly it would require careful preparation. My mind worked rapidly, sketching out the changes needed. The burrowers had to be redesigned to expand the tunnel network, and that meant growing the fungal ecosystem to sustain larger infrastructure.

I would need new combat drone variants, specially equipped to handle both enemy ships and ground vehicles and another type solely for extraction built to gather intelligence and keep captives alive just long enough to get the information I required.

Time was ticking for the current prisoners; their air supply, food, and water were dwindling. Though I had developed methods to extract information without causing severe bodily harm, keeping them alive was now my priority. I required more captives—especially their engineers.