Intergalactic conquest with an AI-Chapter 423: Crucifixion. {2}

He never finished the sentence.

A cluster of crimson roots, thick as metal beams, shot up from the earth and punched straight through the hull of the rising transport. The entire ship shook violently as alarms screamed and sparks flew from the walls.

But the ship didn’t explode since Its frame was strong.

"You BLOODY MONSTER!" the commander screamed while grabbing a rocket backpack from the emergency gear rack and strapping it on with frantic speed. He punched the launch button and blasted out of the back of the ship, smoke trailing behind him as he rocketed down to the ground below. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

He landed hard, tumbling and scraping against the rocky terrain.

And just then, the ship above him exploded in a fireball of twisted metal and plasma, raining debris across the sky.

The commander pushed himself up, panting hard while blood ran from a cut above his brow. He looked up at the explosion, then at the nightmare landscape growing around Lyra.

And for the first time in his career... he had no idea what to do next.

"...Fuck."

Then, as if they had been waiting, watching, the crimson roots that had just torn through half of the transport ship suddenly twisted in the air and turned down toward him.

The commander’s eyes widened as the massive blood-soaked tendrils began diving straight at him from above. Their movement wasn’t random anymore; it was deliberate, focused, and personal, as if they had sensed his fear, his cowardice, and chosen him as their next prize.

He spun around, looking for a path to escape. But there was nothing... no more ships. No more allies. No more time.

With a bitter breath, he clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and accepted his fate. He didn’t scream. He didn’t run. He just stood there, still and defeated.

In an instant, seven roots impaled him from all directions, piercing through his chest, abdomen, and limbs. His body went limp before it hit the ground, lifeless, dangling like a puppet with cut strings.

A brief silence followed. Then, a calm, almost amused voice broke the air.

"Hmm... What a shame. He was a useful tool."

As the words faded, a beam of scorching laser light ripped through the air, followed by several more. The roots that had skewered the commander were blasted apart, disintegrating into sizzling vapor. They burned away in an instant, cut down by invisible precision strikes.

From the shadows, someone stepped forward.

A figure in sleek, heavy power armor emerged just a few meters from where the roots had died. His armor shimmered slightly, revealing that he had just deactivated a high-grade cloaking field.

Until that moment, he had been watching the entire battle unfold like a silent, unseen, calculative god.

And he was not alone.

All around him, dozens of other armored figures began appearing, each one heavily armed, carrying advanced weapons, and exuding dangerous confidence. They were specialists, clearly. Elite. Not simple mercenaries or expendable foot soldiers. These were professionals.

But the roots did not hesitate.

Like hungry beasts driven by instinct, the crimson roots surged toward the armored newcomers, moving like a swarm of snakes seeking warm prey. They didn’t recognize power or rank; they only sensed blood and energy.

The first armored figure sighed loudly.

"Tch... It’s always the small ones that scream the most," he muttered with a tone of annoyance, stepping forward. His hand moved to his hip, and with a soft hiss, he activated a laser sword, the glowing blade humming with energy.

He lowered into a combat stance just for a moment. And then, without warning, he vanished. To the watching soldiers, it was like he disappeared into thin air. And in the same heartbeat, he reappeared directly behind Lyra.

The battlefield seemed to freeze.

There she was... still nailed to the massive cross of blood and thorns, her body broken and limp, her head bowed like a fallen angel. Her aura flickered with the last remnants of her power, and her consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion.

The armored man looked up at her with cold, analytical eyes.

"So you’re the one responsible for this mess... the source of the infection. And also... the target," he said flatly.

Without another word, he deactivated his sword. The blade disappeared with a hiss.

And as if that act alone had been a trigger, the massive blood structure exploded.

The crimson cross shattered into a thousand shards. The roots recoiled and tore apart. Roses made of blood disintegrated into mist. And from the explosion, blood rained down, painting the ground, the soldiers, and the ruins in shades of deep red.

The storm had ended in one single breath.

Lyra’s body, now freed from the thorns, began to fall.

But before she could hit the ground, the armored man grabbed her by the hair, lifting her like she was nothing more than a broken doll... her body limp, arms dangling, skin pale beneath the blood.

He raised her up to face level, inspecting her with disgust.

"Ugh. Disgusting. This is exactly why I hate dealing with the Blood Clan," he said with a sneer. "They always leave a mess behind with their twisted, filthy powers."

Lyra’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, just enough to see his face, but she was too weak to respond. Her lips parted slightly, a breath escaping, but there was no strength left in her to speak.

The man stared into her face, unmoved. To him, she was no longer a threat; she was just a specimen.

"Tsk," the man in power armor muttered as he studied Lyra’s broken form still hanging from his grip. "At least you’re beautiful. That’ll bump your value. The Collector will pay extra for a pure-blooded member of the Blood Clan, especially one this rare. Might even throw in a bonus."

He gave a cold chuckle and shifted his grip slightly. "Well then, let’s make sure you stay in one piece. I’ll seal you up nice and tight. I’ll need to keep you wrapped like the precious cargo you are."

With his free hand, he reached behind him and pulled out a small, curved dagger from a hidden compartment on his back. It gleamed with a faint, sickly green hue, it was a specialized tool forged for one purpose only, to torment and control beings with powerful regeneration.

Its edge was laced with a viral serum designed to cause internal injuries over and over again, preventing healing and slowly wearing the victim down.

He positioned the blade over Lyra’s chest, aiming for her heart.

But just as he was about to plunge it in, a thunderous sound shattered the air, followed by another, and another, and several shockwaves, growing louder and closer with every second.

The man holding Lyra paused. He turned his head slightly, glancing up at the sky.

A burning comet, glowing red and gold, was breaching the upper atmosphere, its fiery tail streaking across the darkened sky like a celestial blade. It descended fast, too fast, cutting through the clouds, heading straight toward them.

"Hmm? And what do we have here?" the man mused, his voice laced with amusement rather than concern. Then, the comet fired multiple golden laser beams arced toward the armored squad.

In an instant, several of the elite soldiers surrounding him reacted, moving like lightning. They didn’t draw weapons; they simply raised their arms, intercepting the lasers with the palms of their energy-shielded gauntlets. The blasts scattered harmlessly off their armor, redirected into the distance.

"Oh?" the man smiled, still unfazed. "It seems we’ve got something entertaining approaching."

He kept his grip on Lyra’s hair, letting her body sway slightly like a captured trophy.

Suddenly, the air itself boomed with a voice, a voice like thunder, shaking the ground and echoing across the sky.

"MOVE. YOUR. FILTHY. HAND. FROM HER!"

The pressure hit like a wall. Fire and force rippled outward from a single point as a massive shockwave erupted in the middle of the battlefield. Flames crackled, dust surged, and heat rolled across the terrain.

The man looked to his side just in time to raise a hand, catching a flaming blade aimed directly at him.

A second later, Rex appeared in front of him with his eyes burning with fury and his sword ablaze with golden fire. His presence was like a rising sun on the battlefield, and his very existence pressed down on everyone around him.

But the man in armor didn’t flinch. He caught the blade bare-handed, stopping it as if it were nothing but a falling branch.

"And who might you be?" he asked, mildly curious.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned Rex’s aura for a moment.

"Hmm... Tier 5. A newly crowned Planetary Champion, perhaps? That explains your boldness. Still wet behind the ears if you think you can match a Tier 6 like me."

With that, he flexed his arm and hurled Rex away, sending him flying like a meteor crashing into the earth. The impact shook the ground, creating a massive crater of shattered stone and scorched dirt.

The man chuckled and held Lyra higher, as if showing her off to the world.

"So, dear stranger... you want this little treasure I just caught with so much effort? I hope you’re ready to pay a higher price than the Collector. This kind of merchandise doesn’t come cheap."

He waved Lyra’s limp form slightly, as if she were a piece of fabric. Her hair, soaked with blood, trailed through the air like silver silk in the wind.

That was all Rex needed to see.

Something inside him snapped.

The ground trembled as his energy surged. He stood in the middle of the crater with his sword raised, glowing with light and rage. The very air around him fractured as space itself seemed to twist.

"You dare..."

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he swung his sword once at the ground.

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