Five days after Jarek's Steelborn trashed the Pale Crest fleet, the Void rift flickered again. Not a war party this time—just a lone messenger ship, sleek and pale, broadcasting at full blast across the Redstone system.
"Due to the severe losses you've inflicted on the Pale Crest Empire's fleet, you will compensate us," the signal demanded. "If payment's beyond you, surrender a planet instead. Or send envoys to negotiate. Fair terms, and we'll let this slide."
Same old swagger. The Ribs—logic-driven to a fault—couldn't compute it. The Pale Crest had struck first, lost everything, and now wanted them to pay? For a planet, no less?
A Steelborn commander, voice flat but edged, cut through the chatter. "They need a hard lesson. Fast."
Jarek nodded. He saw the game—behind the bluster, the Pale Crest was fishing for talks. Peace, sure, but on their terms, with Redstone bending the knee. They even wanted his envoys to trek to their system, like he'd beg at their door. Fat chance. "Lesson it is," he said.
He flashed the message to the lone Pale Crest prisoner, still cooped up in a cell. The guy—trunk-nosed and twitchy—had groveled plenty since capture, but this news lit a spark in him.
"You'd be wise to send a delegation," the prisoner said, chest puffing. "That fleet was just a taste. The Pale Crest's real strength is beyond you. War? You'll never touch our system. The Void gate's locked—step through, and our guns'll shred you. Ten thousand railguns, five thousand lasers, three thousand—" He rattled off numbers like a sales pitch. "Doesn't matter how fast you fly. You'll be dust."
Jarek almost laughed. The guy just handed over their whole defense plan—free, no prodding needed. But the prisoner's smug grin faltered when Jarek turned to leave, tossing back, "We don't need the Void."
The cell went quiet. "What's that mean?" the prisoner muttered. "No Void? There's no star-hopping without it. You're bluffing—scared of us, right?" No answer came. "Right…?" His voice cracked, hope draining.
The Pale Crest had banked everything on that rift, rigging it with firepower to catch anything popping through. Too bad for them—the Steelborn didn't play by Void rules. The Ribs had sniffed the Void early, hated its rot, and ditched it. Jarek had pushed for star travel anyway, and the non-inertial drives delivered. Faster-than-light, no cursed shortcuts required.
Three months after the fleet wipe, Jarek's expeditionary force was locked and loaded. A thousand ships—big guns to scout craft—all hummed with the new drives. The Forge System didn't just juice Rib production; it cranked out war gear too. Once the drives were cracked, they rolled off the line like bullets.
Jarek pulled up the system stats:
Name: Jarek
Ability: Immortality
World Strength: 50,000
Forge Boost: 11x
From a measly 100 at the start, to 1,000 post-Steelborn shift, now 50,000—a five-hundred-fold jump in twelve years. Redstone had gone from a dustball to a system-spanning power, ready to step beyond. But Jarek knew the galaxy was vast, and this was still small-time. Firepower-wise, he wasn't happy yet. More teeth, more steel—that's what he craved.
The fleet's target: Crestfall, ten light-years out, home of the Pale Crest. The prisoner's loose lips had confirmed it. "We're hitting Crestfall," Jarek said, voice low and sure. The Ribs didn't cheer—they just moved, ships powering up in perfect sync.
The Pale Crest thought their Void trap was a wall. Jarek's Steelborn would fly right over it. No gates, no demons—just raw speed and a reckoning.