POV: Zoranians

Sol Space Outskirts, Planet Iridev – Earth Date September 19, 2433

The Zoranian fleet loomed in orbit, blotting out the dim dwarf star’s pale light. Below them, Iridev lay scorched and wounded, its surface a patchwork of craters from weeks of bombardment. Ma’aak’tal watched the battered planet from the bridge of his flagship, a vessel that bristled with Zoranian pride; hulking, overarmed, and immense.

“Primitives,” he spat, his tail lashing the polished floor. “Hiding like cowards.”

Around him, hundreds of warships formed an iron ring in space, their weapons trained downward, waiting for the killing blow.

Then, the disturbance came.

“Admiral! A quantum disruption, sector three!”

“Show me.”

The holographic display flickered to life. A patch of space, empty a moment ago, now screamed with quantum signatures - hundreds of them, blooming like sparks.

“Are our sensors malfunctioning?” Ma’aak’tal growled, his claws gripping the edge of the console.

“No, sir,” the sensor officer stammered. “It’s real. Something is-”

Her voice cut off as the flagship shuddered.

On the display, the empty void twisted and rippled, and then they emerged. Small ships - human ships - poured from the black. They were nothing like Zoranian warships: angular, fast, tiny compared to Ma’aak’tal’s colossus. Yet there were thousands.

“Impossible! Cloaking?!” Ma’aak’tal barked.

“No, sir!” the officer shouted. “The quantum signatures - they’re extreme! I’ve never seen-”

The bridge darkened for a split second. Then, a voice. Calm, cold, and mechanical.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“So be it.”

The words reverberated through the ship, carrying an unsettling weight. Every officer froze, their scales rippling with unease. Ma’aak’tal’s snarl faltered, his throat dry.

“Where did that come from? Identify the broadcast!”

But no one answered. Outside, the human ships vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared, fading back into the void.

“Counterattack! All ships, fire on my command!”

But the chaos had already begun.

“Admiral!” cried the comms officer. “The Venathis is gone! There’s nothing left!”

“The Talarisk just vanished off scanners! It… it’s-”

“Reports from sector seven, half the fleet isn’t responding!”

The Zoranian flagship trembled again. On the viewports, distant ships erupted into lightless, soundless fireballs. There was no visible source of the attacks, no projectiles, no beams of energy. Just destruction.

“They’re picking us apart,” whispered the sensor officer, her voice trembling.

Ma’aak’tal stared at the carnage, his rage giving way to something colder. His fleet - his glorious fleet - was unraveling like a hunting net in the wind.

“Show me the humans!” he bellowed.

But the display showed nothing. The void remained dark and silent, even as Zoranian ships vanished one by one.

“How?” Ma’aak’tal growled, but the word came out as a whisper.

A warning flashed on the display: Quantum signatures detected - within minimum safe range.

The ship groaned beneath him.

“Admiral!”

From the viewport, he saw them, just for a moment. Human ships, dark and angular, too close. They swarmed the flagship like wasps, slicing through its shields and armor with pinpoint precision. Ma’aak’tal stumbled as the bridge erupted into chaos; sparks, alarms, screams.

“Counterattack!” he roared, though his voice was drowned in the din.

But there was no one left to hear him.

Outside, the Zoranian fleet - the pride of his people - died in silence.

The flagship shuddered again and again, each tremor an echo of the destruction tearing through his fleet. Ma’aak’tal gripped the edge of his command console, his claws sinking into the metal. The vibrations beneath his feet slowed, then ceased.

And then… nothing.

The quantum signatures vanished. The strafing ended. The air hung still, save for the crackle of broken systems and the labored breaths of the bridge crew. The flagship settled. Beaten, battered, but alive.

“Admiral,” whispered a voice from the darkness - a single crew member, wide-eyed, scales pale. “They stopped.”

Ma’aak’tal’s chest heaved, his sharp teeth bared. Why?

He looked to the viewscreen. Where his fleet had once hung, there was only debris - silent and scattered across the void. A graveyard.

They left us alive.

Not from mercy. Not from kindness. Humanity did not grant such luxuries. No, they left him breathing for one reason alone.

They wanted us to know.

Ma’aak’tal collapsed into his command chair, his scales cold against the metal. The silence of space pressed in on him, deafening.

“They wanted us to see,” he muttered, his voice hollow.