Red Dragon Spaceship Awakening: I Gain Alien Abilities on Mars-Chapter 232: Reflections of War
It had stored every ounce of force they had poured into him, every punch, every kick, every impact, and then it had released it all in one devastating explosion that had sent them flying.
Tatehan exhaled slowly, his lips curving into a faint smile. That ability had been a lifesaver. Literally.
And then there was the Force Multiplication ability.
Tatehan’s mind lingered on that one for a moment, turning it over, appreciating just how effective it had been. He had only used it a handful of times during the battle, but each use had been devastating. The chakrams tearing through six soldiers instead of three. The destructive power of his thrown weapons, amplified to levels that had caught even him off guard.
It was cool. Really cool. The kind of ability that made him feel like he was operating on a different level, like he was tapping into something beyond just physical strength or skill. Something that made him feel like some all mighty powerful being.
It was strategic, tactical and a force multiplier in the truest sense of the word.
Tatehan opened his eyes and reached over to the nightstand beside his bed, grabbing his phone device. The screen lit up as he tapped it, displaying the time in bold, glowing numbers.
9:50 PM.
Ten more minutes until he needed to leave.
He had set an alarm earlier, right after getting back to his quarters and collapsing onto the bed. Ten minutes until he was supposed to meet Bjorn and head to New Helios for the interrogation of the hostages they had captured. The battle commander, the squad leaders and the soldiers who had been cuffed and hauled onto transports, all of them were waiting in holding cells, and Bjorn had made it clear that he wanted Tatehan there when they started asking questions.
"You’re the one who called this alliance together, lad," Bjorn had said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to rattle his armor. "You deserve to be there when we start getting answers."
Tatehan had agreed. He wanted to be there. He needed to know what the Obscuron was planning, what other bases might be out there, what forces were being mobilized and what cities were in danger.
The soldiers had landed back at their respective cities by now, the transports touching down in Waython Hollow, Loenitt, Iron Haven, and Reon Outpost. Not all of them had made it back alive. Tatehan had seen the body bags being loaded onto the return flights, had heard the quiet, somber conversations among the fighters as they counted their losses.
But the leaders—Bjorn, Elara, Jorin, Tom—had all agreed that it had been a really good mission. The casualties were regrettable, but the strategic victory was undeniable. They had struck a blow against the Obscuron, seized his weapons, and sent a clear message that the cities of Mars were no longer going to sit back and wait to be attacked.
They were going to fight back.
And they had decided, unanimously, that they would use the weapons they had taken from the Obscuron to attack him later. Turn his own arsenal against him. Use his resources to dismantle his operations piece by piece.
It was poetic, in a way. It was beautiful to think about.
Tatehan’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud, sharp sound that rang out from his phone device.
The alarm.
He had set it for exactly ten minutes before he needed to leave, and now it was blaring at him, the sound cutting through the quiet of the room like a knife.
Tatehan sighed, reaching over and tapping the screen to dismiss the alarm. The sound stopped, and the room fell silent again.
He sat up slowly, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cool floor. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the satisfying pop of his shoulders as they loosened, and then he stood.
He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the shirt he had tossed onto a chair earlier. He considered putting it on, going through the normal routine of getting dressed, but then he paused.
Why bother?
He was just going to summon his armor anyway.
Tatehan grinned to himself, shaking his head at the absurdity of it. A few months ago, he would have never even considered walking around shirtless, let alone skipping clothes entirely because he had a suit of high-tech armor stored in his inventory. But that was Mars for you. That was the life he was living now.
A crazy, fun and dangerous life.
He walked over to the door, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, and then he pulled it open.
The hallway outside was dimly lit, a few fighters moving through the corridors, their voices low as they talked among themselves. A couple of them glanced at Tatehan as he stepped out, their eyes widening slightly when they saw that he was shirtless, but they did not say anything. Just nodded respectfully and kept walking.
Tatehan stepped fully into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and with a single thought, he summoned his armor.
———
Inside a white room, Bjorn stood facing the battle commander, his massive frame blocking most of the light from the overhead panels. The Viking’s face was hard as stone, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold and unreadable beneath the shadow of his brow. He looked like he could grab the man sitting in front of him and turn him to paste with his bare hands, and the battle commander seemed to know it.
The man was so stern it was almost unnatural. His expression was locked in a mask of defiance, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes staring straight ahead as if he were looking through Bjorn rather than at him. His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with heavy magnetic restraints, and his ankles were similarly locked to the legs. He was not going anywhere.
