Chapter 374
When the Star Fell (IV)
Fred loitered about the empty observatory, drinking, reading, and occasionally watching an episode or two of some of his favorite childhood TV shows. He had been at this station for ten years now, though it felt more akin to being in a lighthouse by the shoreline that never saw a ship. He nary had contact with another human being, and were it not for his youngest daughter occasionally paying him a visit, he would have likely gone partly mad in the meantime.
The job he got was fairly simple—observe the Jupiter’s moons. That was it. It was in line with his field of study, in line with his dreams as a young boy, but it came at a time that couldn’t be worse. All eyes veered away from the empty and open space and toward the Towers, where the dreams were being fulfilled at large. Even his youngest daughter, Sonya, who was born with severe asthma, was now completely cured. In fact, she was a fancy mage, she said, who could shoot fire and make it rain at will.
Fred was old—too old for those things. He was breaching his mid-sixties, but what he found strange… was that he was almost growing younger rather than older. He was far sprier today than he was fifteen years ago. He could jump, he could dance, he could bend over and pick things up without crying out in pain. He had never went to the Towers—never conscripted himself with magic despite the urging of his kids. And, yet, here he was—younger rather than old, mobile rather than crippled.
It didn’t make his job any less boring, however. While the rest of the humanity was off researching actual alien worlds and learning about more things than he could imagine, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, on the side of a mountain, staring at the carved portion of the sky, observing nothing and no one. Moons, he mused, were exciting at some point. There were ideas and dreams tossed about colonizing some of them, especially Europa. Today, though, those dreams were dead. In fact, the entire industry around space was dead. Nobody cared anymore. He didn’t think so, anyway.
Sighing, he finished off the cup of tea and approached the telescope, peering through it. He’d seen nothing for years and expected to see nothing still. But… he was wrong. His heart nearly stopped at the sight he was witnessing and he yelped, tossing himself backward as though he had seen a ghost. No, he did see a ghost—or, rather, had seen something that shouldn’t be there. Ships. There were ships.
Trembling, he forced himself over once again and gazed through—but it hadn’t changed. The sight was still the same, capturing objects that were clearly not natural floating about the Earth’s distant orbit. While the concepts of alien life and alien worlds were hardly strange these days, that was only in relation to the Towers. Inside, there were plenty—innumerable, even. Outside, however, it was all still covered in the great silence. There was nothing but the extensive expanse of darkness that went on forever it felt, unsuspecting. Life was somewhere out there, that much the world knew, but even with the Tower, it was impossible to pinpoint where in the sky those worlds inhabited.
With trembling fingers, he adjusted the scope slightly, mainly to focus more clearly, but was soon greeted with a sight even more shocking than the ships themselves. There was a figure, he realized, floating about in open space, without a suit or a helmet. It was impossible to distinguish any features beyond the hazy outline, but it was clearly a person in ordinary clothes. And they were freely floating about, seemingly unbothered both by the open space as well as the numerous ships sitting in front of it.
Fred felt his world come crashing—he was old, too old for this. All he wanted to do was sit in the quasi-retirement home and observe the beautiful moons and sip his tea and occasionally chat with his kid, who was his connection to the world in the Towers. He didn’t want this, that was for certain.
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In the meantime, Cain revved up Mana until it practically coalesced around him. The figure who stepped out seemed to stumble for a moment as the Mana’s capacity continued to rise, and Cain saw that they were about to retreat—but he wouldn’t allow it.
Slamming out his right arm, a ball of fire surged from within his fingers the size of a large bus. Soon, he overloaded it, and tinier bolts, like shrapnel, began to fire out in radiant pathways toward the armor-clad figure. The latter struggled to summon enough Mana to block from every direction, evidently overwhelmed by the firepower of a single spell.
That was when Cain felt it—the surging energy from within the numerous ships. They weren’t just decorations or means of travel, he discovered—they were weapons. Hundreds of people, or whatever they were, charged their Mana into the ships’ weapon systems, all cleanly aiming toward him. He grinned, excited at last, and slammed his palms together.
Mana burst out of him like a tidal wave, fire cratering across openly splayed, shooting out like the extended limbs in the shape of dragonheads. He ducked forward rather than retreating as they likely expected, throwing off their aim.
Beams, one after another, shot forward in the burst of energy that would have wounded even him. It was clear that they came prepared—but he didn’t care. He reached the armored man and clasped him around the throat, heaving the arm back before tossing it forward, throwing the figure like it was a javelin, imbuing it with a supercharged Mana bomb.
The figure bounced against the ship as the bomb went off. There was no sound in space, yet Cain could almost hear it—that was the sheer scale of the explosion that immediately evaporated two nearby ships from the existence. The shockwave sent him barreling backward and displaced their encirclement; there was likely panic and horror, for he had noted the surge in Mana consumption across the board.
Recovering, he waited for a moment. He felt a bit sick, no doubt the backlash of using over 50% of his total Mana in a singular attack. Though the explosion was truly massive and seemed to scare them momentarily, it was also the strongest attack he could conjure up without temporarily crippling himself. And he’d only managed to take out two of their ships—not to mention that the figure that had the bomb strapped to him survived somehow. Armor, no doubt, Cain mused. Gear, especially past a certain point, became almost as important as Classes and Skills and Spells. It could save or destroy at will, evidenced by Cain’s own arsenal. He mostly never met his match back on Earth, but this was different. He wasn’t dealing with the curated enemies but rather with other Conquerors who likely had far more experience and equipment than he did.
Nonetheless, the blow he dealt seemed to strike well below the surface of things. The figure retreated hastily like a wounded dog licking his wounds while the ships, too, retreated a few paces, coming closer together like a pack of wolves eyeing a defiant prey. Cain didn’t pursue or engage immediately, still feeling the effects of burning through so much Mana so quickly. It was just the beginning, he knew. He’d have to endure till U’nul fell, at the very least. As far as he knew, Quinn had remained outside, but unlike him she wasn’t equipped to fight in open space. By now, she had likely noticed the bursts of energy and was looking to research it.
There would be implicit understanding, he knew, once she realized the situation. The ground battle was all but inevitable—and she would, to the best of her abilities, prepare for it while Cain held the armada back for as long as possible. He didn’t think he would last that long, however—mostly because he didn’t want to use his full strength. If he acted too hastily, he might draw one-too-many eyes at him and at Earth, especially those he didn’t want seeing him just yet. This, in turn, limited how much he could do. While he displayed an impressive attack, he also made it obvious enough that it cost him a lot.
It was better to suffer in silence for a little while in the face of the hunting dogs rather than slip and invite over the lions. He knew that Earth was likely under a watchful eye, and though he was told there would be ‘forces’ masking it, he didn’t like the notion of leaving his fate in the hands of some intangible ‘forces’. Taking a deep breath, he settled down as the burn slowly faded, his Mana restoring slowly. Once again, he made it purposeful--he could restore all the expended Mana within a couple of minutes normally, but he elected deception instead. Felt safer. How much? That, he didn’t know. But he was ready--as ready as he ever was going to be for fighting an invading, alien, space armada, a string of words he never thought would add up in a sentence that made sense.
“And yet,” he mumbled, grinning faintly as he felt the ships slowly coalesce energy. “Lo’ and behold.”