For a split-second, time seems to hang as the blood of every Mallali leader turns to ice. Before them stands a tall alien lacking any fur on its limbs. The creature's masculine appearance and strangely shaped head, with a sunken-in snout, a mostly-flat face, and only a bit of fur atop its head, gives all of the Core's mightiest figures the fright of a lifetime.

Two of the four guards rushing to protect the Mallali leaders, the two who are closest to the freakish alien, pull the triggers on their sidearms. Energized proton beams fire from their blasters and strike the alien, yet cause the creature no visible damage. Even more alarmingly, the beams reflect off a shimmering blue force-field wrapping around the creature's body and ricochet to the ceiling and wall. Another two shots bounce off again and nearly strike Turbo Baryon, making the Trellut leader flinch fearfully as death misses him by mere inches. He yanks his limbs inside his shell, praying he'll survive this encounter.

The alien, somehow speaking in perfect Dakkit, raises his front paw.

"Stop. You won't be able to hurt me with those pathetic weapons. More likely, you'll kill one of your idiot bosses, instead."

The guards pause for a moment, unsure of what to do. With their sidearms having no apparent effect on the creature, they silently curse themselves for not carrying higher-caliber weaponry as part of standard policy. Instead, they holster their weapons and rush forward, intending to tackle the alien.

As the two closest guards try to take the creature down, the other two jump in front of the Alfras, Sir Benjiro, who flattens himself against the wall while breathing heavily. "Sir! We have to get you out of here!"

However, Sir Benjiro merely gazes with widened eyes at the strange creature, his expression containing a mixture of horror and recognition. Before he can say anything, the other two guards reach the alien. They dive at him and attempt to tackle him, only for the creature to move with lightning speed. He spins around on his heel and sweeps his leg in a wide arc, kicking both of them across their faces! With a single move, the alien delivers bone-cracking force to both guards' snouts, sending them crashing against the wall. They both slap against the underground bunker's hardened surface and faint, unable to endure such a powerful retaliatory strike.

A moment later, all falls silent. The two remaining guards attempt to grab the Alfras and drag him out of the room, but he digs his feet in and presses himself against the wall, as if trying to sink into its embrace.

"Y-you! It's you!" The Alfras cries, his voice shaking with fright. "It can't be! You're... you're a Precursor! A living P-Precursor!"

At the mention of that word, every Mallali leader in the room, previously frozen in surprise, leap from their seats. They bolt straight upward, looking at the alien with even more fear than that which they displayed toward the Demon Emperor, Yama, just a minute earlier. Unlike the strange shadow monster which they hadn't heard of until his introduction via hologram, every Sentient in the galaxy shares the same deep-seated fear and reverence of those who formed the galaxy's technological power structure some tens of millions of years before.

"Impossible!" Leevoo exclaims, her pointy Cheemu eyes practically bulging from her heads. "They've all gone extinct! How could one show up here?! Where are the other guards?! GUARDS!!"

The Precursor, now positively identified, straightens his posture. He turns to look at the Alfras for a moment with an expression of interest before redirecting his attention to the Cheemu merchant queen.

"The other guards won't come. I've hacked into the security of this bunker. For the moment, nobody has any idea what's happened down here. As for you lot, I didn't come with harmful intentions, though that will change if you attempt to assault me again."

The Precursor folds his arms behind his back. He assumes a dignified posture while shooting a pointed gaze towards the Alfras.

"Since you recognize me, that will make my job a lot easier. My name is José Rodriguez. I am indeed a Precursor, but my species call themselves Humans, or Terrans. You may use whichever word you prefer. It makes no difference to me."

His deep, growly voice commands attention. Yet, somehow, despite his perfect pronunciation of the Dakkit language, the Terran's mouth doesn't sync up to the words at all. Instead, an unknown translation device speaks the words from somewhere on his body, replacing his vocabulary post-speech.

Upon hearing the Terran's explanation, Sir Alfras shakily nods his head. "I... I knew it... my father didn't lie to me... he showed me the secret data files. He revealed th-the true appearance of your people."

After pausing to catch his breath, the Alfras forcibly stops his overweight body from trembling.

"How did you get in here? No, more importantly, why have you come? Are you here to assassinate us?! What is your purpose, Precursor?! Are there any more of you? Have your people somehow survived the passage of time?"

As the Alfras fires off questions, the Precursor simply stares at him as if gazing at a baby. He glances at the now-standing Mallali leaders, shrugs, and pulls out a chair. The Precursor takes a seat and calmly leans back before gesturing at the Alfras's chair.

"Sit. If I wanted to kill everyone here, you'd already be dead. Your security is slipshod, underprepared, and frankly, a complete embarrassment."

The alien's snide tone catches most of the Mallali off-guard. As the de-facto rulers of the Milky Way, they enjoy a technological supremacy that no other Sentients may ever attain in their lifetimes. The average Era-rating of their ships, weapons, and industry far surpasses those of any other species, yet when faced with a genuine Precursor, they can only blush with shame.

Slowly, some of the tension in the air seeps away. Benjiro hesitantly pushes his guards aside and walks back to his chair. With the Precursor sitting within an arms' reach, he feels deeply uncomfortable, yet still forces himself to act authoritatively, not wanting to diminish his political prestige among the others.

"D-did you not hear the Precursor?" Sir Benjiro barks, aiming a glare at the other Mallali leaders. "Sit!"

A few of the weaker willed leaders shift uncomfortably, preferring instead to bolt for the door and flee for their lives. Yet, in their hearts, they know that if they were to do so, the Precursor could likely kill them with a snap of his fingers. So invincible are the ancient deities who once ruled the Milky Way that all those present feel like pedantic children compared to him. Begrudgingly, they all take their seats as well, though several of them shift chairs to sit much further away from the head of the table, where possible, with Leevoo retaining her seat at the furthest edge of the room, closest to the exit door.

Once a sense of tense calmness returns, the Precursor folds his spindly paws together on the table and assumes a domineering air.

"All of you are ten times more imbecilic than I ever expected. I came here today hoping to convince you with simple logic that slaying Yama was in your best interests. Instead, you looked only toward your bottom line. Only the stupidest of Terrans would side with a Demon Emperor, but even those fools wouldn't throw aside their morals with such exuberance."

The Terran shakes his head. He stares at the Alfras disapprovingly, paying no attention to the two guards still frozen in fear, uncertain of what to do. They stand helplessly behind the Alfras, still wanting to pull him to safety, yet unable to force their leader to do anything if he doesn't wish it. One of them discreetly tries to communicate with the other guards outside, but receives static in response.

Sir Benjiro rests his paws in his lap while eyeing the Precursor warily.

"Is that your reason for coming? Grawf! You... wish to turn my people against this... Yama? Is that truly your purpose?"

José Rodriguez nods. "Yes. And as for you, how did you recognize my appearance? From what I've gathered, nobody in the galaxy has ever seen a Human in the flesh, nor do they know of my people's history, our proper species' name, or countless other details."

The Alfras maintains eye contact with José. "...In the first age, when my people joined the other star settlers... we were among the first to find ancient Precursor ships. Their synthminds frightened us, but we managed to decipher some of their secrets before tearing them apart. After decommissioning all of the synthminds and rebooting them from fresh installations, we locked away any knowledge we retained, allowing only our leaders to know of those secrets. Among them were a few... composite images. We gleaned a few details regarding the ancient Precursors and passed that knowledge down to each generation's Alfras."

José snorts. "Only the Dakkit knew? Not the Kessu? Surely, the Kessu would have been the ones to uncover the information regarding my people. Unless..."

The Admiral pauses for a moment. He narrows his eyes as he recalls the backroom dealings which led to the Kessu's disappearance from the galactic scene.

Sensing the Precursor's thoughts, Benjiro averts his eyes. "Hmph. The Kessu. I had not thought of their existence in years until seeing those recordings you provided. Grawf! It must have been you who united the Kessu and Kraktol together against the Buzor. Only a Precursor could pull off something previously thought impossible."

"Perhaps I did," José says, offering a faint smile. "But we're not here to talk about me. I have a mission, and you have what I need to fulfill it. One way or another, I'm not leaving until you decide to assist me in killing the Demon Emperor, Yama. You will not betray your people by uniting with him. You will not make any backroom dealings with him. You will not hold even the slightest shred of empathy for him, or I will personally rain fire and fury over everything that you hold dear."

Admiral Rodriguez leans forward. "Have I made my position clear?"

The Alfras swallows heavily. So do all of the other Mallali leads. "Y-yes."

After a momentary pause, he hesitantly continues. "But... pardon my ignorance. Why do you need my help? You are a Precursor. You are clearly more powerful than anyone in this room. You bypassed our defenses and infiltrated our most heavily guarded facility with apparent ease. I do not understand why you would go to such lengths, nor why you hold such animosity for the Demon Emperor. Can't you... explain your intentions?"

The Admiral contemplates Benjiro's question. After sweeping his eyes around the table, he spots similar confusion in the eyes of all those present.

"Mmm. Yes, I can answer your questions. Your ignorance is understandable, as you are not aware of my identity. Let's start with the basics. As far as I know, I am the last living Terran in the galaxy. I recently awoke from stasis-sleep to find that my entire species had gone extinct. Were that simply the case, you would not be seeing me today. However, through a series of encounters, I happened upon the existence of a living Demon Emperor, and this has awakened my inner warrior blood. Even among other Terrans, I am a supreme existence. I was once a member of a faction known as Ramma's Chosen, and our people stood at the pinnacle of Precursor society."

Minutes pass.

The Terran regales those present with sweeping tales of his past. He slowly lightens the oppressive atmosphere by honestly and directly answering any questions regarding his people's history. For the first time in their lives, all the Mallali leaders begin to learn the truth of the ancient Precursors. They discover that not only were the Terrans far mightier than the Sentients living in the modern galaxy, but their knowledge and military might stood tens of epochs higher, as well. Any questions the somewhat more scientifically literate Mallali ask, José answers with such a level of profoundness that they can scarcely understand his words.

A deep sense of shame and insecurity falls upon the 'smarter' Mallali present. They lower their heads and sink into their chairs, feeling like toddlers trying to show off before a genius-level scientist. In truth, José's knowledge comes mainly from technical blueprints stored in his cranial implants, though these basic texts still prove brilliant in the eyes of Sentients who can scarcely build and repair ancient Terran starships.

After José finishes his explanation, the Alfras slowly nods. "I see. So you are the last living Precursor. You are... alone."

Immediately, the Admiral's eyes turn venomous. He detects a hint of malice in Benjiro's words, making him laser his gaze to bore onto the Alfras's skull.

"Don't get any funny ideas. I may be the last Terran, but I am far from alone. I possess a ship with fifty thousand elite warriors, taken from the best of the Kraktol and Kessu. Trained in my Terran ways, they could fall upon your cities and worlds without me lifting a finger. We could rain annihilation upon Enchillon and any other so-called 'capital world' without losing our breath. Your worlds are fragile. Weak. Pathetic. In my day, every planet worth its credits possessed a shield generator capable of protecting its civilians, yet the heart of your empire lays defenseless before me, just waiting for me to express my anger."

José pauses for half a beat, allowing his threat to worm its way into the ears of all present. Then, he lowers the intensity of his gaze, allowing them to sigh in relief. "Be glad that I have come in peace seeking your assistance. In truth, I need not have sought your help. Were it not for my insistence on expediency, I could have hunted Yama down myself. However, there are many worlds of which the Buzor may have seized control, and I would rather not waste my time searching all of them. By putting your, no doubt, extensive surveillance methods to good use, I can rapidly locate and exterminate Yama. As for what will happen following the success of my mission..."

The Admiral leans back in his chair. He casually waves his hand before himself, as if to indicate a trivial matter. "I suppose I could repay you for your assistance. A bit of knowledge from a living Precursor would be more than enough to offset any 'losses' you might make because of Yama's death. If I were to give you knowledge on ship-building, you could finally replace those dreadful cruisers of yours. For the galaxy to have sunk to the level of 25th-Era technology when my people once uniformly held the galaxy at the 50th-Era, that is a steep decline I simply cannot forgive."

Once the Admiral starts talking about benefits and transactions, Leevoo's eyes light up. In the back of her mind, the smell of profits come wafting in, sandblasting away any previous fears she might have held toward José. In the same way she disregarded her fear of Yama, she quickly recognizes a similar opportunity from the Terran.

"You possess ancient, long-lost knowledge, yes? Might we be able to transact with you on a more permanent basis? This Yama creature could make for a decent ally, but I think I speak for all of us when I say you are clearly a much more attractive trading partner! Mlerp! I have ships, weapons, slaves, anything you wish to trade, I can- ulp!"

She pauses mid-speech as José's eyes meet her own. For a brief instant, the sensation of death falls upon Leevoo's soul, leaving her petrified.

"Slaves." José hisses. "Speak not of that word around me. Were we still living in Terran times, I would have exterminated the lot of you for upholding such a barbaric, inhumane, unconscionable practice. I have accepted some of the less enlightened foibles of this 'modern' galaxy, but if you dare speak of slaves in front of me again, don't act surprised when your head FALLS from its shoulders."

The Human inhales deeply. He swallows the rage burning in his heart before adopting a more neutral expression.

"I do not intend to become long-term trading partners with any of you. For this one occasion, I will offer my services. You help me kill Yama, and I will give you knowledge that will make you undefeatable among your contemporaries. I care not what happens to this galaxy after you acquire the power you so desperately seek. Once I slay the last Demon Emperor, I will leave. You will never see me again. Besides, you don't have anything I want."

Sensing a hesitance among the Mallali after his show of rage, José pauses to summon a projection at the center of the table. Before their eyes, he conjures a set of secret files from their internal network, ones which give him administrator access to the blueprints of the battlestations orbiting Enchillon's primary world and its moon.

"This pathetic excuse for a planetary defensive station disgusts me," José says. "Look at the shoddy construction, the cut corners, and the awful internals. With just a few minor tweaks, I can advance this station from the 20th-Era to the 30th."

Before their eyes, José begins to rapidly reconfigure the planetary station. Partly stunned by his easy access to their top-secret files, and even more shocked by the speed of his revisions, the Mallali completely fail to follow the Admiral's reconstruction of the battlestation. Within just five short minutes, José converts the ugly-looking defensive platform into a spic-and-span, fully featured 30th-Era long-range assault platform capable of both offense and defense. It even incorporates a lightspeed drive, allowing it to traverse around the planetary system to repel invaders from any direction, unlike the current one, which lingers helplessly in orbit, praying for invaders to cross its path.

"A... amazing..." Leevoo whispers. Her fear and awe toward José ascend to new heights, providing a confusing dichotomy of emotions as she struggles to make sense of her thoughts toward him. "So fast! Mlerp! How can you manipulate the projections with such speed? Are you augmented?"

José smiles. "I am. Heavily. Ramma's Chosen possess only the best in Terran augmentation. The weapons I can bring to bear on my person are more than you can possibly imagine."

Benjiro, having remained silent for the past several minutes, nods wearily. "I see. It does indeed seem that you are qualified to hunt down and exterminate this... this Yama. Still, even with your past history, I do not understand why you seek to slay this ancient Demon Emperor. Grawf! With all of your people dead, you have no reason to worry over the fate of the galaxy. We are not your kin. If Yama eliminates us all, as you claim he will, our fate will not matter to you."

The Admiral purses his lips. "Perhaps. However, I have principles upon which I must abide. Ramma's Chosen have always been the most righteous among all of Terrankind. We must eliminate heresy at all costs, even if it means sacrificing our own lives. Yama is an evil existence. If my people have gone extinct, I simply cannot sit idly while he seeks to increase his power. If Terrankind must go extinct, then so, too, must the Demons. I will never allow a galaxy to exist where humanity has vanished while the demons have taken over."

Marlon Fischer, leader of the Core's military forces, cocks his head. "Mighty Precursor, skree! I must ask, because I am curious. Why does it seem as if your intentions are... too noble? Not only do you seek to eliminate a potential calamity for us in the form of this Demon Emperor, but you will pay us for the privilege of doing so, and you will even risk your life in the process. While you assume all of the risk, we will reap all of the rewards. No sane Mallali, Avaru, or Rodak would ever fall for such a clear trap! Surely, you must wish to extract value from us in some way!"

"Haha."

José laughs, but his tone comes off as dry and condescending.

"Is that what you think? That I'm doing this to try and worm my way into your hearts? I honestly could not care in the slightest about you or your people. I need access to your full scouting abilities. I need access to your ships, spies, and reconnaissance capabilities. I am willing to pay for their usage, since I don't like to inconvenience people. In truth, my payment is a trifle compared to the knowledge locked in my head and aboard my ship's databanks. The knowledge I am offering is enough to stop you from embarrassing yourselves with the awful technology I've seen so far. It's not enough to throw you to the top of the 50th Era. Frankly, you've a long way to go before you deserve that privilege. You can work your way up to that level while also discarding your... less savory societal aspects, over time."

As the Admiral outlines his needs, he pauses for a moment. "Oh. It seems one of your military admirals has transmitted a Priority One classified-call to this location. My firewalls have blocked it, but I'm interested to see what she has to say. Sir Benjiro, please take the call, but don't try anything funny."

The Alfras nods dumbly. "Err, yes. Of course."

José drops the restrictions, allowing a holographic image to appear at the center of the table. A female Dakkit named Admiral Ameleya appears, her Great Dane-like appearance giving her a stern but tempered edge. Amelaya doesn't notice José, due to the Terran hiding his appearance from the room's transmitters. All she sees are the other Mallali, Avaru, and the lone Trellut at the table.

"Great Alfras! I regret to interrupt your meeting, but I bring urgent news. I have just received multiple simultaneous Alpha Incursion distress signals from fifteen Core Worlds. The Mallali have come under attack!"

"What?!" Benjiro yelps. "Who dares?! Is it the Doats? The Kraktol?!"

The Admiral shakes her head. "No, Great Alfras. Rather, it is the... Buzor."

Her expression becomes one of confusion, as if she can hardly believe the words she is saying.

"They appeared from thin air, Great Alfras. Multiple incursions, all at once. We did not detect any hyperspace transmissions. Instead, the Buzor Carapaces penetrated our airspaces out of nowhere. The vast Carrier Beetles used to transport their armies shouldn't be capable of crossing star-systems at any reasonable speed, yet somehow huge masses of different Buzor species have appeared all at once! Not only is their attack both bizarre and unexpected, but it's simply too sudden! Many of our elite military ships are out patrolling more distant star systems. We will require several days to recall them, but by then, we may have lost all of the contested worlds!"

José frowns. He turns to the Alfras. "Tell her to list all of the worlds under attack. We will discuss what to do after I see their targets."

The Alfras, realizing his Admiral can't see or hear the Terran, slowly nods. "Admiral Ameleya, grawf! Send me a list of all the worlds under attack. I will contact you not long from now with specific orders."

"Acknowledged," Ameleya replies. "I will begin recalling our forces, in the meantime."

Her image disappears. In its place, a map of the Milky Way appears, but zoomed in on the Southern Core and its relevant star systems. More than a dozen worlds become highlighted, allowing José and the others present to examine them.

The Terran furrows his brow. A look of resentment appears in his eyes.

"This is not a coincidence. For the Buzor to attack out of the blue, Yama must be pressing them into action. Do not underestimate the Buzor, Benjiro. They forced the Kessu into slavery. They manufactured high quantities of military-grade weaponry. Most likely, they used the Warp-Gates I mentioned to arrive inside these specific star systems. As for their space-traveling carapaces... I cannot say. Perhaps they have used a form of FTL-travel you know nothing about."

Benjiro hesitates. He looks as if he wants to retort, but saying anything about the Kessu might reveal information he'd prefer to keep secret. Airing out his dirty laundry will only bring criticism upon himself.

"...I see. These worlds are not random. Each one is the location of a Sentient species' capitol. Enchillon has not come under attack, but Daxarus has! It is the homeworld of my people, the Dakkit. Rhalnova, Xoth, even Veter!"

As the Alfras points out various worlds, José's eyes brighten with alarm. "What did you say? Veter?"

"Aye. It is the homeworld of the Varot," Benjiro says, pulling up an image of cute-looking ferret-like sentients. "The Varot are a peaceful Mallali subspecies who play a decent role in the creation of industrial-grade ship fuel. Their species-"

"I don't care about the damned Varot!" José rudely interrupts. "This world, it's not 'Veter!' It's supposed to be called Ramaldius! It is the former headquarters of my faction, Ramma's Chosen! For the Buzor to attack it as well... this can't be a coincidence. This has Yama's handiwork all over it."

The Terran falls silent. Suddenly, a look of worry enters his eyes.

He abruptly stands up, startling the Mallali present.

"Our deal is off," José declares. "If I am right, I may have just found Yama on my own. If, however, I don't, then I shall return in the near future to seek out your help. It's better this way. Now I don't have to feel guilty about handing out free upgrades to slavers and heretic sympathizers. Hopefully, my intuition is right."

Leevoo's heart-rate skyrockets. "Wait, great Precursor! What of your technology? Your assets! We can still make a deal!"

"I don't think so," José declares. "Not now, anyway. If I'm wrong, you'll get another chance. Anyway, I have to go. You don't need to send any troops to Veter. Whether Yama is there or not, consider it under my protection."

Before any of the other Mallali can voice any objections, the Terran strides toward the room's exit. He leaves, causing the room to fall silent.

Benjiro, momentarily struck dumb by the human's actions, presses his paws together.

"He... he left? Just like that?! The damned Terran wreaked havoc and left! GRAWF! We didn't get anything out of him, and now he's off to kill Yama!"

Leevoo, too, looks embittered. "His technology... now we'll never get it for ourselves. Damn! What a tragic loss! That mlerping Terran is one selfish, greedy bastard!"

The Alfras chuffs several times in annoyance before shaking his head. "Grawf! Grawf! GRAWF! Never mind! We'll worry about him later! For now, we must focus on protecting our worlds! Start by drafting a plan to recapture any worlds once the Buzor have taken them over. I want all options on the table!"

The other leaders nod brusquely. Some of them appear grateful the Terran has finally left, while others appear regretful at their losses. However, with this sudden invasion by the Buzor on their doorsteps, they have their work cut out for them if they wish to save their worlds.

"Yes, Alfras!" The table chimes in unison.