A thunderstorm of boots crashes against the deck-plates of the Dakkit mothership, the Capital-Class 'White Death.' Thousands of soldiers rush toward Deck Two, near the rear of their rectangular vessel's engine bay. Outfitted with top of the line 45th-Era weaponry and armor, they stand at the apex of the Milky Way's modern civilizations.

And yet, faced with the horrors boarding their ship, the Dakkit feel only inferiority and fear. Compared to Terran-trained troops equipped with 50th-Era equipment, the Dakkit are little more than disobedient pups begging for a spanking from their mothers.

The first wave of Dakkit soldiers arrives inside the corridor less than thirty seconds after the enemies have boarded their ship. Even so, they stumble upon a bloodbath, finding more than three hundred support personnel lying dead, blood and entrails spilling out of their bodies. A hail of gunfire falls upon the Dakkit reinforcements, forcing them to dive behind cover.

"Graugh!" Bellows a deep, masculine voice. "Foolish mutts! Your leader has consigned you to oblivion! He has angered my master, and therefore, he has angered me! I am Grundle, hear me roar!"

A ten-foot-tall Kraktol, much bigger than when the Dakkit last saw him just 'ten days' before, stomps forward, wading through the gunfire as if the deadly weaponry were little more than foam pellets splashing against his armor. On his shoulder stands his battle-buddy, the comparatively tiny Kessu known as Ruuki.

"Skreow!" Ruuki roars, his voice deep like a tiger. "Eat lead! Eat shit and die! I won't rest until every last one of you murderers falls to my claws!"

Both warriors sport incomparably shiny, silver-tinted armor covering every inch of their bodies. Ruuki's appears much slimmer, affording him less protection but far more flexibility, while Grundle's works exactly the opposite, turning him into a walking tank. The other Kraktol and Kessu behind them, numbering one hundred in total, wear only slightly less-shiny armor.

Ruuki pounces off Grundle's shoulder. His body becomes a blur as he races across the floor, dodging bullets and lasers thanks to his suit's predictive algorithms. He disappears from Grundle's view, tearing into the rear flanks of his Dakkit enemies and causing them to scream in pain. All Grundle sees for a split-second is blood spraying from behind a giant crate before a Dakkit commando slumps to the side, all life having fled from his body.

Grundle himself doesn't slack off. He stomps toward that same group of enemies and rips them apart, tearing their bodies in half with the same ease a monkey might split a banana. No matter what weapons fire in his direction, he doesn't take the slightest damage.

"Pitiful worms!" Grundle howls. "Graugh! You are too weak! You are ALL too weak!"

On the upper decks of the White Death, Admiral Rufus frantically issues commands to the fleet as a whole, and his ship's internal defenses.

"Borf! Lead the intruders to Deck Four! Assemble our best troops there! Lay down our heaviest defenses and pin them in a crossfire! I'll evacuate the VIPs through Decks Twelve and Thirteen!"

The Admiral shoots sparing glances between the Dakkit military fleet and his internal defenses. To his alarm, the Precursor's ship begins moving toward the White Death, ignoring the bullets and rockets raining upon its bulkheads as if they don't matter in the slightest.

However, with the imminent threat of Kraktol and Kessu intruders occupying his mind, he cannot command the fleet formation a tenth as effectively as before. Rufus delegates much of the work to his subordinates, opting to pay as much attention as possible to the boarding party.

As the minutes pass, Grundle and his comrades easily clean out Deck Two, wiping away all of their enemies from existence.

"Graugh! Ground Commander Grundle!" Roars a second Kraktol, as he drops to one knee. "Sir! We have eliminated all hostiles on this deck! The Great Betrayer and the Mallali Leaders all reside on Deck Ten. However, the Dakkit have assembled an ambushing party on Deck Four!"

Grundle pounds his metal-plated fist against his armor. "What ambush? What Dakkit troops? Crush those pups! Show them the might of my Admiral! Let them taste the same fear my brothers and sisters faced!"

"Yes, commander!"

The second Kraktol takes his leave, while Ruuki darts forward and springs into the air, landing on Grundle's shoulder.

"Mreow! I killed twenty-five. You?"

Grundle snorts. "Twenty-seven! We must pump those rookie numbers up! How can our troops respect us if we do not kill three times the pups they do? Let us lay waste to these stupid mutts!"

Grundle pauses for a split second. He glances toward Ruuki and nods, lowering his voice.

"For Lele."

Ruuki nods.

"For all of our family."

The two of them lead the charge, barreling through the emptied-out Deck Three and straight into the ambush on Deck Four. They arrive on the shuttle servicing deck filled with wide open spaces and countless positions for cover. Turrets hastily bolted to the floor mix with the ship's internal defenses, unloading walls of bullets, plasma, and explosives on the Kraktol and Kessu combatants.

"You will not stop this croc!" Grundle roars. "You are still too wet behind the ears, you ugly pugs!"

Unlike the initial waves of Dakkit guards, those hastily thrown onto Deck Two to stall the Terran's invaders, the troops positioned on Deck Four come from a finer breed of warriors. They wield superior weaponry and armor, and move in combat formations to power up their attacks.

Two Dakkit wielding melee weaponry and shields move forward, their blue-colored armor glimmering under the ship's annoyingly bright internal lighting. Behind them, half a dozen shotgunners take aim, firing powerful spreads of superheated lead at the intruders. Some of the Kraktol suffer minor wounds, but most of them power through the heavily fortified defensive embattlements, while their Kessu allies leap to the ceiling and magnetically attach to the exo-plates. They skitter along the roof, alarming the Dakkit as the four-foot-tall kitty-cats zip past the Dakkit's defenses.

"Shoot those Kessu!" One of the Dakkit field commanders barks. "Blast them! Don't let them get close!"

While Grundle's fist meets the head of a Dakkit general, his battle-buddy pounces at the backlines, ripping through the Dakkit defenders with ease. Ruuki momentarily loses himself in bloodlust, tearing through their armor with his metallic claws. He shreds the Dakkit into mincemeat, causing them to yip and howl in fear.

It takes a full twenty minutes, but eventually, Grundle's forces kill the last defender, giving them full control of Deck Four.

"Losses?" Grundle asks.

"One Kraktol fatality, sir!" Comes the immediate reply. "Otherwise, only light injuries."

Grundle gnashes his teeth. He glances backward, where he spots one of his fallen sisters.

"BASTAAARDS! That's one too many. Come on! We will avenge our cute little sister! Let's nab that traitor, and his mutt-master, too!"

Enraged by the death of just a single soldier, the Terran's troops storm forward as if stimulated into a frightening bloodlust. Having eliminated the mightiest soldiers aboard the White Death, all that remains are merely the most average troops, those who haven't fought in genuine combat in years. Despite being well-trained, not even a hundred of them can compare to just a single one of the Terran's elite shock troops.

Meanwhile, on Deck Fourteen.

The Alfras and his fellow Mallali leaders, including Leevoo the Observant, pile into a transport ship, readying themselves for a daring escape.

"Mraww! W-what about me?" Meows a solitary Kessu, a fat chonker with tears streaming down his face. "I-I helped you guys out!"

"Shut up, Kessu brat!" The Alfras barks. "I bet the Terran's troops can't wait to wrap their claws around you! Serves you right for betraying your species! Now get out of my way!"

The Alfras kicks the Kessu, Skippy, sending the fat cat tumbling backward. Then, he climbs into the ship and closes its hatch.

"Grawf! You, pilot! Get us out of here! Quick, before the Terran's troops catch us!"

The pilot hesitates.

"S-sir! After the Bloodbearer reappeared, it launched another seven hundred interceptors! If we go out there now, those fighters will blast us to bits!"

"We can't stay here!" Benjiro barks. "Fly us to another ship in the fleet, then. Something heavily armored."

"We'll have to travel more than two kilometers through the 'hot zone' to reach the nearest Destroyer, sir," The pilot says. "I'm waiting for launch permission. Once our ships clear a path, we can leave!"

The Alfras snarls angrily. However, realizing that fleeing into a hot zone will only result in his immediate death, he bites his tongue.

"...The instant you receive clearance, get us out of here! Grawf!"

"Yes, Great Alfras!"

Benjiro settles back in his chair. He shoots a glance at the other Mallali leaders, all of whom appear just as unnerved as him.

"The Terran..." Leevoo mutters. "We should not have made him our enemy. I was a fool to follow you. Mlerp."

"Stupid scale-face." Benjiro growls. "Do not try to blame me. It was your greed for credits that made us chase after him. You are just as at fault as me."

"I did not think critically..." Leevoo says, lowering her head. "You are right. I should have taken more precautions-"

Suddenly, an alarm blares inside the transport ship's internal compartments. Red lights begin to flash, turning all of the Mallali leaders jumpy.

"What's going on?" Benjiro barks. "Report!"

The pilot stiffens. "S-sir! The Terran's troops have broken through Deck Thirteen! They're here!"

Benjiro glances to his left, through the ship's side-window. There, he witnesses the hangar door collapsing as heavily armored Kraktol and Kessu commandos come barreling in, slaughtering all of the Dakkit in sight.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Benjiro yelps. "Get us out of here! Just go! We'll die if those Rodaks catch us!"

"Yes, sir!" The pilot says, clearly not enthused about facing down ten feet of meaty, muscled Kraktol.

He hammers several buttons, causing the ship's engines to ignite. Just as the transport starts to move, it shudders and stops.

"What's going on?" Benjiro asks. "This is no time for delays!"

"Sir... the controls aren't responding!" The pilot says, his tone panicky. "I'm trying to reboot, but... none of the ship's systems are functional!"

At that moment, a robotic female voice speaks inside the ship's compartment.

"Your escape attempt will not succeed. I am the Bloodbearer's synthmind, Umi. I have seized control of your vessel in the name of the United Terran Coalition. Any attempts to resist will result in death. Await your judgment at the hands of my Admiral, the last Terran."

The side-door leading into the transport tears off its hinges, and a giant grey crocodile head pokes inside.

"Heh heh heh. Well, now! If it isn't the Alfras himself! You're not going anywhere, pup."

.......................................

The Mallali mount a strong secondary counter-attack against the Terran. However, the moment Admiral Rodriguez's troops seize control of the White Death, the battle momentum drastically shifts out of the Dakkit's favor. With two capital-class ships firing upon the Mallali, they quickly begin to suffer unimaginable losses. Dozens of ships jump to warp, escaping the system without a second thought, while the rest end up blasted to scrap, their crews scattering into the blackness of space, never again to walk the mortal coil.

Aboard the Bloodbearer, countless cheers erupt as the Slipstream, now sporting a heavily-armored yet still ultra-stealthy brick design, lands inside the hangar. Its exit hatch opens up, and Grundle struts outside, with Ruuki on his shoulder. Immediately behind him come more than three-dozen shackled prisoners, all of them the former leaders of the Mallali Empire, and even the White Death's Admiral.

At the very back, one tiny figure hangs his head fearfully, too scared to look anyone else in their eyes.

Skippy, the Great Betrayer.

The moment Skippy appears, countless jeers, insults, and taunts fire his way. With the Bloodbearer now sporting more than three thousand Kessu, most of these vat-cloned kitty-cats don't know Skippy personally, but all have heard of his treachery which nearly led to the downfall of their species.

"Lick my fur, you kitten-murderer!"

"Just you wait 'til the Admiral's done with you! Mraww! We're gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

"There won't be enough of you left to make a mop!"

Grundle leads the prisoners down and through the Bloodbearer's many hallways, across its entire length, and finally, to the Bridge in its front.

Eventually, Grundle stops before his Admiral and drops to one knee, bowing his head respectfully.

"Graugh! Master! I have brought the Great Betrayer, as well as the accursed Mallali!"

José Rodriguez, Admiral of the Bloodbearer, and the last Terran in the entire Milky Way, sits in his command chair, gazing at the prisoners with contempt. His facial hair appears thick and unkempt, giving him a wild, savage look. His skin, while tinged slightly green, appears a bit healthier and more human-like compared to when he first revived some 'ten days' before.

"Rise." José says, his tone terse. "You've done well, Grundle. I'm proud of you."

"I could not have come as far as I have without you, my master," Grundle says, as he climbs to his feet. Thanks to his bodily enhancements, he now towers a full head and a half over his Admiral, yet always maintains an air of deference in the Terran's presence.

Grundle walks over and forces the Alfras to his knees, along with all the other Mallali, Avaru, and Rodaks. He stands behind them, intimidating them with his presence.

Benjiro, once the mightiest Sentient in the Milky Way, shivers when the Terran's gaze falls upon him.

"What... what will you do with us?" Benjiro asks.

The Terran remains silent for a moment. He closes his eyes, thinking carefully about his response.

"You... took something from me."

Benjiro blinks. "Took what?"

The Terran opens his eyes.

"My happiness. I finally felt it again, if only for a while. You took away the one thing I cherished, all to satiate your greed."

He gazes at the captured Mallali with a half-pitying gaze.

"I can never regain that which I've lost. I cannot bring back those who have disappeared. I cannot undo the past, as not even the Creator himself could accomplish such a feat. But even so... I'm not happy to simply let that pain go. I won't feel a drop of satisfaction unless I can make you suffer in the same way."

The Terran lightly drums his fingers on his chair's arm.

"It would be so easy. I could foist one of a million different torture devices upon you. I could place false memories into your brain. I could place you in a simulation where you would watch as your friends and family perished at my hands, over and over again. You wouldn't even be able to tell it was fake."

He sighs.

"But I would know. I would know that in the end, your loved ones got to keep on living, while mine didn't. That just wouldn't do."

The Admiral glances at Grundle and nods. Grundle cocks his head slightly, then turns and leaves.

A minute later, Grundle returns with a levitating pod hovering behind him, inside of which, an injured Dakkit male lays, with numerous nutrient tubes feeding into his body.

"Maximillian!" Benjiro cries. "Wait, please, Precursor! My son is innocent! He is just a pup! He only followed my orders, but I am the one who made him do those awful things!"

José smiles, his expression seeming somewhat half-hearted.

"You know what's funny, Benjiro? I believe you. I believe that your son only did awful things because you ordered him to do them. Just like your troops..."

The Terran leans back in his chair.

"But it doesn't matter. Even if your son had no blood on his paws, he wouldn't escape punishment. Do you know who else was innocent? Who else didn't deserve such a gruesome fate?"

Admiral Rodriguez strokes his beard.

"My Kessu friends. My Kraktol comrades. My brothers and sisters. My children and family. You killed them all when they had done nothing to deserve such a fate. Ordinarily, I could never do unto you such a horrible fate as what you've done unto me, not without becoming a heretical monster... but recently, I've..."

The Terran pauses. He cocks his head in an eerily alien manner.

"...adapted my thinking. I've realized the boundaries between heresy and righteousness really don't matter that much. All those silly lies I once believed never amounted to anything. In the end, monsters win, but angels fall. So perhaps that's what this galaxy needs. A monster like you. A monster like me."

José taps a button on his chair. He calls up a holographic viewscreen in the room, one which broadcasts an image of Enchillon, in all its murky, smoggy glory.

"You know, this world once held a lot of sentimental value to me..." José muses. "My brother-in-arms grew up here. My best friend. A man I loved more than myself. He's dead now. So are all the others. And frankly... I just can't tolerate seeing you slowly ruin the planet he once called home. So... I think I'll accelerate its fall."

Benjiro's eyes grow wider the more the Terran speaks.

"Grawf... no... please, you can't! Those are innocent civilians! They have no quarrel with you!"

"Oh, please," José huffs. "Don't act as if you care. You starved them and choked their lungs with pollution. You never once gave a damn about the poor begging you for help. The only value this world holds in your eyes are its industrial exports and riches."

The Terran shakes his head.

"As for the claim that its people are innocent... well, so were the Kessu, and that didn't stop you. Just consider this me repaying the favor."

The Admiral presses a button on his chair.

"Glass it."

A voice speaks back to him.

"Yes, Admiral!"

Moments later, a brilliant light ignites on one of Enchillon's continents, followed by another, and another, and tens more.

All across Enchillon's surface, nuclear eruptions detonate, blasting apart the citizenry at the atomic level. Billions perish within minutes, none of them getting more than a few breaths to contemplate their imminent demises.

"NOOOO!" Benjiro howls. "You... you monster! How could you do this?! Those were my people! There were Kraktol and Kessu there! Surely, you wouldn't kill the sentients you love so much?!"

The Admiral nods. "You're right. I didn't. Before your fleet showed up, I had my synthmind scan through all the databases on your planet. I located every Kessu and Kraktol on Enchillon, and I brought them aboard the Bloodbearer. The only dead sentients will be those from your lineage. And frankly, if a few strays end up caught in the blast zone?"

José shrugs.

"Oh well. I tried to save them."

The Alfras stares, dumbfounded and horrified, as blast-waves ripple across his planet's surface, shattering its ecology, breaking down all of its artificiality, and superheating its atmosphere well beyond any sentient creature's tolerable levels.

"How... how could you do this?" Benjiro asks. "Don't you have any conscience? The Kessu were combatants. They were... blocking my access to strategic resources! What you've done is an act of GENOCIDE!"

José snorts. "Genocide. Yes, you're right. I just find it laughable you would call me out for such a thing, after what the Dakkit did to the Algaru. Ah, look at that shock on your face. Yes, I accessed your secret records. I know the truth about your history."

The Admiral stands up. He strides toward the Alfras, but instead of stopping before his hated enemy, he walks into the backline, where a single Kessu sits on his knees.

"Skippy." José says, his tone empty and lifeless. "I wasn't sure what to do with you at first. Oh, I had plenty of ideas, but frankly, nothing struck my fancy quite as much as handing you off to the Kessu. I've spoken to Ruuki. He lost his daughter, Lele, because of you. I don't think he will allow your death to be quick and painless. Something tells me he'll let you bleed for a few years. He'll make sure to drag out your pain."

A small puddle appears between the fat cat's legs.

"P-please... I just... I didn't wanna die to the Dakkit... aaooo..."

"You chose poorly," José says. "Now, live with your decision. Die with your decision. Ruuki, take this lard-ball away. I don't ever want to see him again."

Ruuki looms over the kneeling Kessu, his eyes hard as steel.

"Mraww. Don't worry, Admiral. You won't."

The adult drags his blubbering, obese companion out of the room, while José strides over to his chair and takes a seat.

The Admiral gazes at the viewscreen, watching as Enchillon's former glory fades into the annals of history.

"Billions dead at the push of a button." José mutters.

The Admiral strokes his mossy green skin, sighing with resignation.

"Perhaps I am no longer... fully... human."