The vast hall interior of the spaceship, known as the Elysium, loomed with an air of grandeur and an unsettling sterility, as if it had been polished to within an inch of its existence.

Gleaming metallic walls rose imperiously, smooth surfaces reflecting the overhead lights, which flickered occasionally as if even they questioned their own purpose.

Enormous windows lined one side, offering a panoramic view of the inky abyss of space—a magnificent void littered with stars and the occasional distant planet, resembling a celestial dusting of sugar on a black cake.

For once, the hall’s window didn’t face the blue planet.

At the heart of this spacecraft's monumental chamber stood Senior Fleet Admiral Thaddeus Voss, an imposing figure whose forty years had not only etched lines of wisdom upon his weathered face but also gifted him with a well-honed sense of comedic timing.

“I’m cooked,” he muttered. Dressed in a crisp navy uniform replete with insignia that screamed authority, he sported an expression that was equal parts contemplative and bemused, as if he were constantly replaying a bad joke in his mind.

“I’m so fucked, this is so bad, I’m dead, super dead, to the bone, simmering bone broth,” he looked pale. “I want to drink bone broth before I go.”

Why did the hall not face the world of Nethermere at this particular time? Well…

With a disgruntled hum that made the void seem to twitch, a spaceship warped into view—a sleek, metallic beast, all angles and arrogance.

The ship exuded an air of entitlement, as if it were the universe’s most exclusive dining establishment and they were merely the underdressed tourists sent to beg for a table.

Its sudden appearance had drawn gasps from the gathered crowd a floor below, a collective inhalation that echoed off the walls, punctuated by the soft hiss of air vents trying to regain composure.

This ship heralded the arrival of one of the Ten Overlords—the elite who scrutinized not just resources but the very essence of their existence. As if summoned by fate, or perhaps an overzealous cosmic joke, he was here to analyze, audit, and judge.

Thaddeus, a mere flicker amongst titans, watched with dread, the kind that only came from knowing the futility of resistance.

"This is not another day, another audit. This is…" he thought, a wry smile creeping onto his lips. “Nothing says ‘thank you for your service’ like a visit from an Overlord.”

His inner cynic stepped forward, reminding him that they’d soon be laying their hopes and dreams at the feet of an entity likely more concerned with paperwork than planets. The universe might be grand, but bureaucracy was even grander.

As the ship settled in, he straightened, ready to face judgment, all while feigning an enthusiasm he did not feel.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

From the ship that had just warped into existence, a bridge of artificial atmosphere materialized, shimmering like a mirage in a desert of stars. It connected the sleek vessel to the grand hall, where tall windows flung open like the arms of a long-awaited lover.

The door of the spaceship glided apart with a whisper that threatened to shatter the solemnity of the moment.

A figure emerged, floating down the atmospheric bridge as if gravity were merely a suggestion.

She was a vision of the future, wrapped in a cape that seemed woven from midnight itself, each fold glistening with tiny constellations—a subtle tribute to the universe she commanded.

Her skin glowed an ethereal silver under the hall’s illumination, her eyes like swirling galaxies danced with mischief as they settled on Thaddeus Voss. Her hair, a cascading waterfall of iridescent strands, floated about her like curious tendrils seeking truth in the mundane.

Behind her strode an entourage of elite space guards, clad in armor that was both practical and absurdly ornate. Their visors glinted ominously, and one could almost hear the melodramatic orchestration accentuating their march—if only orchestras could be programmed on command like a well-trained pet.

Thaddeus couldn’t help but feel slightly underwhelmed by his own attire—futuristic, decorated, and appropriate as a senior fleet admiral, yes, but compared to her? Scoff.

He had anticipated a visitor, but perhaps not one so resplendent. “Ah, I see the universe has decided to send its ambassador of fabulousness,” he deadpanned in his mind.

If he wasn’t sent for this mission, maybe he’d never have met this figure.

As the woman approached, the air charged with an electric tension. The guards positioned themselves with the precision of a well-rehearsed dance, their presence a stark reminder that here, beauty was just as deadly as it was enchanting.

“Admiral Thaddeus Voss, I’ve heard of your lifelong achievements.”

Her voice was a curious blend—deep and resonant, yet undeniably feminine and mature as she addressed Thaddeus. Her expression? A masterclass in unreadability, flat yet adorned with relaxed eyebrows that suggested she might be considering how best to roast him for dinner.

“Lady Mahkato,” Thaddeus bowed low, putting on his best show of deference. “It’s an honor to host you in this project.”

“Hmm,” Mahkato replied, her gaze sweeping the room like a hawk. “Where’s Marquis Blitzen’s son?”

Thaddeus kept it simple, though his mind was anything but. “He’s... on business down on the settlement on land.”

The senior fleet admiral knew that it was unheard of for someone of Rudolf’s station to neglect an audience with one of the Ten Overlords. Even if the Marquis’ son hailed from the illustrious Seven Heavens, protocol clearly dictated that he should drop everything for Lady Mahkato.

Mahkato’s eyes narrowed, a warning light flashing across her features. “Tell me what business?”

Here we go, Thaddeus thought grimly, readying himself for what felt like a ceremonial execution. What kind of urgent affairs could possibly eclipse her presence?

“We…” Thaddeus hesitated, grimacing as if bracing for impact, his words crawling at a snail's pace.

ZZZZZNNNGGG—!

“Sir! A message from Admiral Rudolf’s ship! Ah—the crew… they’re requesting a video meeting now!”

A crew member burst in, fresh from the chaos, waving the portable communication device like a flag of surrender. The screen flickered to life, and what it revealed was so absurd that even Mahkato’s eye seemed to twitch.

The figure at the center of the screen loomed ominously—dubbed Apex Two in the documents—his languid posture betraying an air of lazy superiority, looking down at Rudolf Blitzen, Thaddeus’ Junior Admiral, with blades pressed against his neck.

“Good afternoon, Admiral,” the notorious tyrant of Nethermere began, clearly relishing the moment. “I trust you’ve heard about me.”

“But this marks our first official meeting, so allow me to extend the courtesy of an introduction,” he smirked, his charm laced with menace. “I am Caliburn Pendragon.”