Chapter 362: Superior force - Four hundred and seven

Chapter 362: Superior force – Four hundred and seven

The transport ship Valkyrie descended through Sirius Prime’s atmosphere with the controlled precision of a military operation that had been rehearsed a thousand times. Four hundred and seven of the Earth Defense Force’s finest soldiers sat in perfect formation, their Beast Gear humming with contained power, weapons checked and rechecked, abilities primed for immediate deployment.

Cassandra felt the familiar weight of command as she studied the tactical displays. Everything looked normal—standard planetary composition, breathable atmosphere, no obvious signs of massive destruction. But the complete communications blackout from Pierce’s team told a different story.

“Ma’am,” Lieutenant Morrison called from the sensor station, his voice tight with sudden tension. “We’re picking up a single heat signature approximately two klicks from the designated landing zone.”

“Clarify ‘single,'” Cassandra ordered, moving to look over his shoulder at the display.

“One individual, ma’am. Standing alone on a hill overlooking our approach vector.” Morrison’s hands moved across his controls, refining the scan. “Preliminary readings suggest… significant mass. Roughly three times standard human proportions.”

The command cabin fell silent except for the hum of the ship’s systems. Every soldier in earshot had gone perfectly still, because they all knew what those readings meant.

“Harbinger?” Cassandra asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Affirmative, ma’am. And based on the cranial protrusions visible on thermal…” Morrison swallowed hard. “Three horns, ma’am.”

The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop ten degrees. One-horns were scouts—dangerous, but manageable with proper tactics and sufficient firepower. Two-horns were bad news, requiring specialized assault teams and heavy weapons. Three-horns meant invasion. Three-horns meant that somewhere, high-ranking EDF officers were about to receive casualty reports that would make strong men weep.

“All squads, combat ready,” Cassandra announced over the ship’s comm system. “Three crown hostile confirmed on surface. This is not a drill. Absolute lethal force authorized. No holding back, no hesitation, no mercy.”

The response was immediate—the metallic chorus of weapons being armed, the subtle hum of enhanced abilities being activated throughout the ship. Pyrokinetics began generating heat signatures that made the air shimmer. Electrokinetics sparked between their fingers. Telekinetics tested their grip on loose objects around the cabin.

Cassandra moved to the secured container Admiral Arthur had provided and secured it carefully in a reinforced compartment of her gear harness.

“Landing in thirty seconds,” the pilot announced.

“Set us down two hundred meters from the hostile,” Cassandra ordered. “Full combat deployment. I want overlapping fields of fire and immediate tactical positioning.”

The ship touched down with barely a whisper, its advanced systems absorbing the impact. The cargo bay doors opened with hydraulic precision, and four hundred soldiers poured out in perfect formation. Heavy weapons teams took elevated positions, snipers found their marks, assault specialists formed attack formations, and support personnel established firing lines that could have held off an army.

Cassandra was the last to exit, her beast enhanced combat suit gleaming in Sirius Prime’s alien sunlight. She activated her suit’s external speakers and looked up at the figure standing motionless on the hill above them.

Even at this distance, Kruel was impressive. Easily eight feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway and muscles that spoke of strength beyond human comprehension. His three horns caught the light like polished obsidian, and being the only one in sight, he stood with the relaxed confidence of someone who had never encountered a threat he couldn’t handle.

“Attention, Harbinger,” Cassandra’s amplified voice carried across the landscape. “This planet has been designated for human colonization under Earth Defense Force protocols. Your presence here constitutes an act of hostile occupation. You have ten seconds to gather your forces and depart this system immediately.”

Kruel’s head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something amusing. When he spoke, his voice carried impossibly well across the distance—no amplification needed, just raw vocal power that made the air vibrate.

“I can hear four hundred and seven heartbeats from here,” he said conversationally. “All beating faster than they should be. Fear does that to inferior species.” His smile was visible even from two hundred meters away. “You don’t mean any of those threats, little commander. Your people are terrified.”

The casual dismissal sent ripples of anger through the assembled soldiers, but their discipline held. Weapons remained trained on the target, abilities continued building potential energy, formations stayed tight and professional.

“I came out here to offer you a choice,” Kruel continued, beginning a slow walk down the hill toward them. “Surrender now, and I’ll make your deaths quick. Continue this charade of resistance, and I’ll take my time with each of the four hundred and seven of you.”

Cassandra felt something cold settle in her stomach. He’d counted them. Somehow, from that distance, he’d counted every single person in her command.

“Final warning,” she called out, though she knew it was already too late. “Stand down or face the consequences.”

Kruel stopped walking and laughed—a sound like an avalanche made of broken glass.

“Consequences,” he repeated, savoring the word. “I conquered the Zelthrani Hegemony with consequences. I broke the Kortharian resistance with consequences. Forty-three species have learned about consequences from me, little commander.”

Cassandra sighed and raised her hand. The signal every soldier had been waiting for.

“All units,” she said quietly into her comm. “Light him up.”

The world exploded in light and thunder.

Ravager blasters fired in perfect synchronization, their Category 4 beast cores unleashing enough energy to level city blocks. Plasma cannons added their fury to the barrage. Rocket launchers sent their deadly cargo screaming through the air. The concentrated firepower of four hundred elite soldiers turned the hillside into a hellscape of destruction that could have cracked a moon’s surface.

Sand and dirt flew in massive clouds, obscuring vision and making the air itself seem to scream. The bombardment continued for thirty seconds of pure, overwhelming violence that should have erased any living thing from existence.

When the dust settled, Kruel was still standing.

His shirt was riddled with holes, pieces melted against his skin, other holes revealing skin that looked like it had been carved from dark grey marble. His shorts were singed but intact. His three horns gleamed without a scratch. And his smile had grown wider.

“My turn,” he said.

Kruel bent his knees slightly, and the ground beneath him cracked. Then he jumped.

The impact of his leap created a sinkhole twenty feet across and sent a shockwave that knocked the nearest soldiers off their feet. But it was the shadow falling toward them that made strong men whimper in terror—a massive silhouette blotting out the sun, descending on them like the fist of an angry god.

Kruel landed in the center of their formation with the force of a meteor strike. The shockwave alone killed seventeen soldiers instantly, their enhanced physiology meaning nothing against kinetic force that could shatter mountains.

Before the dust had even settled, Kruel was moving.

Sergeant Hayes, a pyrokinetic veteran of six campaigns, managed to unleash a stream of flame hot enough to melt steel. Kruel caught the fire in his bare hand, compressed it into a ball, and threw it back. Hayes’ screams lasted three seconds before the superheated plasma consumed him entirely.

Corporals Martinez and Singh, working in perfect tandem, hit Kruel with synchronized lightning strikes that could have powered a city. The electricity danced across his skin like static, and he looked down at them with mild interest before grabbing both men by the skull and crushing their heads like overripe fruit.

The heavy weapons teams tried to adjust their fire, but Kruel moved too fast for targeting systems designed for normal combat. He crossed fifty meters in a single bound, landing among the rocket launcher crews. His fist went through Specialist Thompson’s chest armor like it was made of paper, emerging from the man’s back in a spray of blood and bone fragments.

“Formation Seven!” Cassandra screamed over the chaos. “Converging fire patterns!”

But Formation Seven was already dying. Kruel had grabbed Private Solomon by the leg and was using him as a club, smashing through assault teams with casual efficiency. Solomon’s screams cut off when his spine snapped, but Kruel continued using his body as a weapon until there wasn’t enough left to hold onto.

Lieutenant Morrison, the sensor operator, tried to coordinate a telekinetic assault from twelve different soldiers simultaneously. Kruel felt the invisible force trying to hold him in place and tilted his head curiously. Then he flexed, and the backlash sent all twelve telekinetics into seizures that killed them within seconds.

The carnage was beyond comprehension. Kruel moved through their ranks like a force of nature, each motion calculated to inflict maximum psychological damage. He bit Lieutenant Reeves’ head off like it was an apple, the wet crunch audible over the screams of dying soldiers. He grabbed Sergeant Cole by the arms and pulled until the man came apart at the shoulders, then threw the pieces at fleeing support personnel.

What was most terrifying was these weren’t normal soldiers. All were ranked second generation upwards. The majority being third generation soldiers. No alpha ranked amongst them but third gens of that quantity were more than equal to a single S ranked soldier. These were experiendd soldiers. They were just unlucky to be in the same world as the one Kruel was in.

Enhanced soldiers with strength enough to lift vehicles found themselves grabbed by the throat and hurled with such force that they splattered against distant rocks. Electrokinetics watched their most powerful attacks absorbed harmlessly while Kruel reached out almost gently and stopped their hearts with precise pressure point strikes.

The slaughter wasn’t random—it was methodical. Kruel systematically dismantled their command structure, targeting officers and specialists with surgical precision while letting enlisted personnel watch their leaders die in the most horrific ways possible.

Corporal Kim, a hydrokinetic who could manipulate water at the molecular level, tried to boil the blood in Kruel’s veins. Kruel caught her by the wrist, smiled, and slowly crushed every bone in her arm while she screamed. Then he did the same to her other arm, then her legs, taking his time while her squad mates watched in frozen horror.

“Fall back,” some of the soldiers began whispering. Then shouting. “RUN!”

But there was nowhere to run. Kruel was everywhere at once, his massive frame moving with impossible speed and grace. He caught fleeing soldiers and slammed them into the ground with enough force to create human-shaped craters. He grabbed others and threw them so hard they literally exploded on impact.

The worst part wasn’t the violence—it was the casualness of it. Kruel wasn’t angry, wasn’t even breathing hard. He moved through the massacre like someone tidying up a messy room, disposing of inconvenient objects with minimal effort and maximum efficiency.

Captain Rodriguez, a veteran of the Proxima campaign, managed to land a direct hit with a plasma cannon at point-blank range. The blast would have vaporized a building. Kruel caught the plasma bolt in his hand, studied it for a moment like an interesting curiosity, then flicked it back at Rodriguez. The captain had time for one terrified scream before he became a brief star of superheated gas.

In less than four minutes, four hundred and seven of Earth’s finest soldiers had been reduced to scattered body parts and traumatized screams that echoed across the alien landscape.

Cassandra stood alone in the center of the killing field, her weapon hanging loose in her grip. Around her, the remains of her command painted the ground in shades of red that would haunt her dreams forever. The few soldiers still technically alive were too broken to fight, too injured to flee, reduced to whimpering remnants of what had once been the pride of the Earth Defense Force.

Kruel stood twenty feet away, not even breathing hard, his casual clothing being the only thing that had suffered any consequence despite having just committed genocide with his bare hands against some of EDF’s best. This very team having been nightmares to the like of one horns, two horns and even certain three horns in their deployments.

He looked at her with those predatory eyes and smiled—not the cruel expression of a sadist, but the appreciative look of a professional recognizing quality work.

“You’re still alive,” he observed conversationally.

Cassandra let her weapon fall to the ground. There was no point in pretending anymore. She’d just watched four hundred elite soldiers die in minutes, killed by a single opponent who hadn’t even been trying particularly hard.

“Why?” she asked simply.

Kruel tilted his massive head, studying her with genuine curiosity. “I’ve come to realize that humans value strength, just like any intelligent species. You were in command of all these warriors, which means there must be something special about you.” His smile widened, revealing teeth designed for tearing flesh. “Until I discover what that something is, I won’t kill you.”

He ran his tongue across his lips, tasting the blood that had splattered across his face during the massacre.

“I intend to find out.”