Chapter 136: Humans Part 2
They expected resistance the moment they reached the military base.
That was the assumption carried by everyone in the convoy. Armored units tightened formation as they approached the outer perimeter. Weapon systems were checked twice.
Communication lines stayed open. Even the pacing of the vehicles slowed—careful, controlled—like the entire force was preparing to hit a wall.
But there was no wall.
The outer gates stood open.
No alarms.
No gunfire.
No movement along the watchtowers.
The convoy moved deeper into the base, engines echoing through empty corridors of concrete and steel.
Floodlights still worked, casting hard white pools across the ground. Tracks of recent activity were visible—tire marks, dragged equipment, scattered dust—but no bodies, no defenders, no sign of withdrawal under pressure.
Only absence.
At the center of it all was the entrance to the underground hangar.
A wide access gate built into reinforced plating, large enough to swallow entire fleets of transport vehicles. It stood partially open, as if it had already been used and left that way. The air around it was still, unnaturally so, as if even the wind had been reduced to observation.
The convoy stopped.
Engines idled down in staggered sequence.
One by one, doors opened. Armed personnel stepped out. Clan operatives formed loose lines behind their leaders. Dark Chains units moved to the front, scanning angles, rooftops, blind spots. Everyone expected a trap to reveal itself in the next breath.
Minutes passed.
Nothing came.
Then a figure walked closer.
A boy.
No older than twelve.
He stood at the threshold of the underground hangar, as if he had been placed there rather than having arrived. His posture was straight, hands relaxed at his sides. No visible weapon, no armor, no insignia.
Only plain clothing, too large for his frame.
His face showed neither fear nor curiosity. Only calm—the kind that did not belong to his age.
The convoy's forward line slowed to a stop, and the Dark Chain executive spoke. "Move, or we will kill you."
(I advise you all not to proceed if you value your life.)
A few of the clan members shifted their grip on their weapons. One of them let out a short, almost disbelieving breath. Just from hearing that voice alone, their bodies were already telling them they were in very deep danger.
Francis was only controlling a body, and yet his presence was already enough to put pressure on everyone there. Thanks to Samantha, he had realized he could transfer his abilities to his pawns without any direct connection whatsoever.
Though it was limited to the powers of kings, and the output was low, it was more than enough to deal with any threat humans could throw at him.
He had not told Samantha about it. She would likely insist on letting them in, saying there was still plenty of space.
The Dark Chains executive raised a hand slightly.
He studied the boy for a moment, expression unchanged.
"You're alone," he said.
(I might be alone, but I am more than enough to kill every single one of you here. Please turn back. I don't really want to kill more people unnecessarily now that I have achieved my goal.)
CRACK!
The sky split with lightning. Wind roared through the base at a scale that made the clouds look unstable, as if they could tear apart at any moment.
By that point, everyone knew the warning was not a bluff, but something he could enforce at will.
However, they were out of options.
"We can't do that. Even if what you're saying is true, going back will also lead to our deaths. At most, we're just buying a few hours."
(That is indeed correct. So would you like me to kill all of you now? I'll make sure it's fast—you won't even feel pain. It's the only mercy I can give you.)
"Wait! If you're really that powerful, can't you do something about the silver anomaly? It's obvious you're favoring the Covenant members, which means you're not on the side of that thing."
(I did try.)
His answer came without hesitation, but there was a slight pause afterward—not uncertainty, but calculation, as if he had already run through every possible variation of the outcome and discarded them all.
(Unfortunately, even with all my power, I can't wipe it out. It's a virus, and it will only stop when it has nothing left to consume. Destroying part of it is useless.)
"Is there really no other way? Do we just accept it and die?"
Francis paused for a moment. He saw that some of the clan members had traits that would be useful for Samantha later, and there was still space for around five hundred more people.
But they were prideful; they could also plant the seed of rebellion.
On the other hand, the Covenant members were more united. They treated Samantha as his own daughter and would not easily betray her.
(I can't do anything. I'm not a god.)
"Then you leave us with no choice. Attack!"
CRACK!
Lightning fell from the sky. In an instant, every single one of them was reduced to ash.
There was no impact force that pushed them back. No dramatic collapse. The moment the light touched them, their forms simply broke apart.
Francis looked at the aftermath once, then turned back toward the airship.
Inside the hangar, the airship remained the only structure still drawing attention.
Activity had shifted into urgency rather than order.
Panels were being sealed. Power lines rerouted. The outer hull—once visibly incomplete—now showed rapid progress, metal plates locking into place, stabilizers tested, internal systems cycling through final checks.
A technician stepped back from a console, wiping oil from his hands.
"It's stabilizing," he muttered. "We're actually getting full systems online…"
Another voice answered without looking up. "That shouldn't be possible this fast."
No one replied.
By now, no one questioned the speed anymore. Francis had already bent expectations too many times.
He had even altered the engine into something partially biological, storing a new energy source that used his own electrical current to power the ship.
It was built so that even in his absence, Samantha could still activate it.
But Francis wasn't finished. He reinforced the hull, patching weak points and integrating biological structures into it. The result made the ship look partly alive, with protrusions capable of venting flame and force. It was only possible through his microscopic control over cells.
Small adjustments continued across the structure without visible command—metal subtly shifting, sealing, aligning—as if the ship itself was learning how to complete itself under his influence.
While this continued, he checked the situation in space. The orbital cannons had retreated and converged on a station far larger than Epsilon.
Even from a distance, he could see it held a population of tens of thousands.
Below, the ocean had already turned silver.
From the information he had absorbed during infection, he understood the silver anomaly was a human-designed final weapon against the beast. Left alone, it would eventually die out when it had nothing left to consume—like a virus without a host.
His priority now was keeping Samantha and her group alive until that happened. The station was their best option. It likely had its own ecosystem—food production, livestock, seeds, systems for rebuilding once the anomaly collapsed.
With that in mind, he moved closer.
A few kilometers out, beams of light opened fire.
This time, he did not evade. He struck them aside, redirecting them using Lugar's ability.
More came. He repeated the process.
What mattered was not destruction, but breaking their will to fight—completely and cleanly.
When the orbital cannons began to reload, he seized the opening and dove toward the station. With no air resistance, his speed increased sharply.
He did not break through the hull. He stopped at a control room window.
Inside, people sat at rows of terminals, focused on their work. He raised a hand and pressed it against the glass. Among them, he recognized one—Lucien Ark.
(How about we talk?)
His voice filled the room. It should not have been possible, but it traveled through vibration in the structure itself.
Inside, everyone froze. Lucien Ark looked up, anger sharpening his expression.
"You beast. Why are you doing this? Isn't it enough that you forced us to use VIR because of your existence?"
(Don't blame that on me. All of this is the result of your own doing. But I don't have the time—or the interest—to point fingers. You did what you believed was right for humanity. Right or wrong doesn't matter anymore.)
"You…"
Lucien clenched his fist. He would have preferred an insult over that kind of calm acknowledgment from a beast.
Francis didn't react. He was already scanning for gaps in the station's systems, looking for a way to insert his parasite. All of them were human. That made control the fastest, most efficient path.
(I'm here to negotiate. Let's help each other out.)
"You want me to negotiate with a beast? Over my dead body!"
(What other options do you have? It's either negotiation, or you end up being destroyed by me. Your choice.)