SSS-Tier Extraction: From Outcast to Overgod!-Chapter 88: The Last Precursors

Flying into the swirling chaos of the Collapsed Star god was like trying to pilot a paper airplane through a washing machine during an earthquake.

The "Odyssey" bucked and groaned, its advanced systems pushed to their absolute limits. Gravitational waves, like invisible tsunamis, washed over them, threatening to tear the little ship apart.

"Hull integrity at ninety percent!" Emma called out, her voice tense. "The gravity is trying to flatten us! I’m reinforcing the structural fields, but I don’t know how long they’ll hold!"

"Forget the hull, I’m more worried about the Marauders!" Zara shouted, pointing at the main viewscreen. A fleet of ugly, spiky Marauder capital ships was forming a blockade between them and the tiny bubble of safety at the storm’s center. freёnovelkiss-com

"They’ve been waiting for us," Scarlett said, her knuckles white as she wrestled with the controls. "It’s a trap."

The tiny, flickering light of the Precursor Enclave seemed a million miles away. They were so close, yet so far.

Ryan looked at the chaotic scene, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. They couldn’t fight their way through. They couldn’t sneak through. They had to do something different.

"Emma," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "The gravitational waves. Are they random?"

"No," she replied, her eyes scanning her console. "They’re waves. They have peaks and troughs, just like on an ocean. They’re chaotic, but there’s a rhythm to them."

"A rhythm," Ryan repeated, a daring plan forming in his mind. "Scarlett, can you surf?"

Scarlett glanced at him, a wild, brilliant spark in her eyes. "I’m about to find out."

What followed was the most insane piece of piloting in the history of the universe. Guided by Emma’s calls, Scarlett stopped fighting against the gravitational waves and started to ride them.

She would steer the "Odyssey" into the "trough" of a wave, a temporary channel of lower gravity, and ride it like a surfer catching a wave on a beach.

The ship shot forward, weaving through the storm, using the universe’s own violent energy to propel them. The Marauders, who were fighting against the gravity, were left behind, their clumsy ships struggling in the cosmic currents.

They shot past the blockade, dodging energy blasts and weaving through the wreckage of older, less fortunate ships. They were a silver arrow flying through the heart of a hurricane.

Finally, they broke through the last ring of debris and entered the calm, quiet space at the center of the storm. The tiny, flickering bubble of light grew larger, revealing what it was: a small, shielded habitat, a tiny island of order in an ocean of chaos.

Its shields were weak and sputtering, and its lights were dim. It looked like a candle about to be blown out by the wind.

This was the Precursor Enclave.

Scarlett gently guided the "Odyssey" towards the habitat. A single, small docking bay door irised open, inviting them in. They flew inside, and the door sealed behind them, shutting out the violent chaos of the Collapsed Star.

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the hangar a stark contrast to the storm they had just flown through. They had made it.

They lowered the ship’s ramp and stepped out into the Enclave. The air was thin and smelled of dust and old, tired machinery. The light was dim, coming from a few flickering panels in the ceiling. The place felt ancient, fragile, and incredibly lonely.

As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw them.

There were only a handful of them, maybe five or six. They were the last Precursors.

They were not the towering beings of pure light Ryan had seen in the Weaver’s archives. Time and desperation had taken their toll. They were now faint, translucent figures that seemed to shimmer and fade at the edges.

They were tall and graceful, but they looked tired, like ghosts who had been awake for far too long. They huddled together in the center of the room, gathered around a small, ornate pedestal.

On top of the pedestal was the Genesis Seed. It was a perfect, crystalline sphere, about the size of a basketball. But it was damaged. A network of fine, dark cracks ran through its surface, and its inner light, which should have been a brilliant, steady white, was now a weak, flickering pulse.

The Seed was broken.

One of the Precursors, a figure who seemed a little brighter and more solid than the others, glided forward. Her form was feminine, and her light had a soft, silvery glow.

She looked at Ryan, and her eyes, which were like two distant stars, held an immeasurable sadness and wisdom.

A voice entered their minds. It wasn’t a sound, but a thought, a feeling, a melody of pure meaning.

<You have come, the thought resounded. We have been waiting for so long. I am Lyra. They once called me the First Weaver. I helped build the machine that brought you here.

Ryan and his friends could only stare in stunned silence. They were standing in front of one of the literal creators of their universe.

<We are all that is left, Lyra continued, her thoughts tinged with sorrow. We fled the Schism, hoping to find a quiet place to start anew. We brought the Genesis Seed, the heart of a new world. But the chaos of the Void found us.

It has been chipping away at our sanctuary, at our very existence. The Seed is fractured. It can no longer sustain us. Soon, our light will go out, and we will be nothing more than a memory.

She turned her gaze to Ryan, and he felt a strange sense of recognition. She was looking not just at him, but into him, at his SSS-Tier talent, at his connection to the Weaver.

<I see it in you, Lyra’s thought-voice whispered. The potential. The spark that we lost. Your strange and wonderful power... it is a tool for mending.

A power to impose order on chaos. It is the only thing in this broken universe that might be able to repair the Genesis Seed.

She explained that to fix the Seed, it would require two things: an immense, almost impossible understanding of the principles of how reality is woven together, and a significant source of power to fuel the process.

Ryan felt a surge of hope. This was it. This was the reason he was here. He could fix the Seed. He could save them.

But their conversation was cut short by a deafening, metallic shriek from outside the habitat. Red alert lights began to flash throughout the Enclave, casting everything in a bloody, pulsing glow.

On the "Odyssey’s" still-active sensor screen, they saw it. The Void Marauder capital ships, having navigated the storm, had arrived.

They were surrounding the small, fragile habitat, their weapon ports glowing, their ugly, spiked ships looking like a pack of wolves cornering a wounded rabbit.

They had been followed. They had led the pirates right to the last hope of the Precursors. The Marauders were here to take the Genesis Seed for themselves.

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