Kyle stared down at the child beneath the floorboards, his face twisted in disgust.
Something about the boy felt wrong. The silence, the blood, the way those dark blue eyes stared back—not like a newborn, but something else. Something that saw.
"Ugly little thing," he muttered. His grip tightened on his rifle. "I ought to put it down."
Before he could aim, his fellow soldier stepped in front of him, lowering the weapon with a firm hand.
"Have you forgotten the orders?" he snapped. "Newborns are to be handed over—to Doctor Scoff."
Kyle scowled. "Scoff? That lunatic?"
He turned away from the boy, his voice lowering in disgust.
"If not for his noble name and ties to the imperial family, he'd be locked away. Everyone knows what kind of twisted mind he's got. He even dared to look at one of the Emperor's nieces with those eyes…"
His partner didn't respond. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew the rumors. And no one said them too loudly.
"Whatever he is," the soldier said, "he's still protected. And he gets what he wants."
They gathered the child, wrapped him in bloodied cloth, and moved back through the chaos.
The village burned behind them. Smoke spiraled to the sky. Fires crawled up the walls of homes. Screams still echoed in the distance—some human, some not.
At the forward line, the full might of the Stella Empire stood in silent readiness. Steel giants—tanks, transport carriers, and crawler drones—covered the broken earth. Overhead, airships loomed with their armored bellies and rotating turrets, casting shadows over the fields like dark gods.
Ten thousand soldiers, dressed in black-and-gray imperial armor, all equipped with pulse rifles, exosuits, and surgical precision.
But despite their strength, the Republic's army was coming.
Thirty thousand men, hardened by hunger and despair. Veterans, militia, farmers forced to wear helmets. Poorly equipped, but burning with the will to protect what little they had left.
Even so, none of the Empire's soldiers flinched.
Instead, laughter broke out among the ranks.
"Is that all?" someone scoffed. "Thirty thousand fleas thinking they can bite?"
"The Republic should've stayed underground," another chuckled. "They call this an army?"
Kyle leaned against a transport, lighting a cigarette, watching as the horizon shimmered with the Republic's advance. "They'll die screaming," he muttered. "They always do."
Beside the command airship, a ramp hissed open.
A man stepped out.
The laughter stopped.
He wore a long black coat with silver trim. His hair was streaked red and gray, slicked back with clinical precision. Round-lensed glasses gleamed coldly against the firelit field. His presence alone made hardened soldiers stand straighter.
Doctor Scoff.
Even among the Empire's monsters, he was feared. A man of immense privilege and even greater obsession. Rumors clung to him like shadows—about what he did in his labs, about the experiments that cried in the dark, about children who entered and never left.
But none of that mattered. He was protected. He was vital.
The moment he stepped down, the soldiers bowed.
"Lord Scoff," Kyle said, straightening. "It's an honor."
Scoff glanced at the infant in Kyle's hands. His eyes flicked, cold and sharp, calculating.
"We found some newborns," Kyle added, gesturing behind him. Several soldiers carried bundled infants, crying, bloodied, some silent. "Thought you could use them… for the Empire."
Scoff smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
He reached forward and took the white-haired child in one hand. The baby barely moved, breath shallow, blood dried across his face.
But Scoff's eyes lingered on him.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."
His fingers traced the boy's jaw, smearing blood as if examining a fine painting.
Behind him, engines roared to life as preparations began for another march. The Empire moved like a machine—efficient, unstoppable, merciless.
And now, a new piece had entered its gears.