Five hours later, in the captain's quarters.
Kenthelion rose from the bed, retrieving his neatly folded uniform from the chair nearby. His movements were unhurried, almost lazy, as if the last several hours hadn't taken the slightest toll on him.
On the bed, Deborah remained curled under the blanket, only partially covered. Her face was flushed—not just from exhaustion, but from a simmering blend of embarrassment and silent fury.
Deborah:
"You really are a bastard," she muttered, voice weak but edged like a blade, her narrowed eyes filled with personal vengeance.
Kenthelion glanced at her, just briefly. That same thin smirk played on his lips—calm, arrogant, infuriating.
Kenthelion:
"Alright, Deborah. You've been yelling at me for hours. I think you need more than just air."
Deborah let out a quiet growl and turned her face into the pillow.
Deborah:
"Damn it... I just want to rest. Get out of my room. I mean—your room. Whatever. Just go."
Her voice trailed off at the end. There was no more strength left to fight. Not now.
Kenthelion studied her for a moment. He knew where the line was. For now, he wouldn't push it further.
He picked up his tactical gloves from the desk, then silently made his way to the door. It slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss, leaving Deborah alone—with her thoughts.
As he walked the corridor toward the command center, Kenthelion exhaled slowly, brushing his long hair back. Beneath that easygoing air of his, he understood one thing clearly:
That woman was not someone easily forgotten.
And he was far from done with her.
When he arrived at the Alesia's command bridge, Kenthelion found Jonah just finishing a transmission with Selene.
Kenthelion:
"What happened?"
Jonah:
"Captain, Lady Selene just tried to contact you. When she didn't get a response, she reached out to me instead. As of now, Fort Cassie has been half-secured. The Stormtrooper and Terran Marine units are advancing steadily, wiping out the remaining Arachnid forces inside the asteroid stronghold.
Your entire battle fleet has been deployed to support the operation, including Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin's armada—with his Star Destroyers and the Death Star itself. Inside Fort Cassie, Lady Selene discovered a manufacturing facility—an armor and light weapon factory—that is now being refitted by one of the Adeptus Mechanicus Tech-Priests under her direct orders."
Kenthelion said nothing, but his eyes sharpened. Jonah could feel it—the pressure wasn't from the situation outside, but from the man standing in front of him. He knew the truth: Kenthelion wasn't just a ship captain in the Federation. He was the emperor in disguise.
The tension in the room began to mount. Kenthelion's presence grew heavier with every passing second, like a lion patiently watching its prey while still wearing a human mask. Jonah felt like a rat being studied before the strike.
He had already been anxious, but his panic peaked when he received a direct signal—a live transmission from Grand Moff Tarkin. The holographic screen lit up with a breathtaking sight: a massive planet-sized warship—the Death Star—escorted by an armada of Star Destroyers.
Jonah knew nothing good ever came from something that big.
A ship the size of a moon wasn't built for transportation. Behind its magnificent design lurked something far worse: a weapon of mass destruction, with a power no one had yet dared to measure.
Author's Note:
The Death Star is typically escorted by several classes of Imperial warships, including the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, and in some cases, the Tector-class Star Destroyer (semi-canon/Legends). For the second Death Star, the escort fleet also included the massive Executor-class Star Dreadnought as its command ship.
Kenthelion was satisfied with the report. He hadn't expected Fort Cassie to contain a functioning weapons and armor manufacturing facility. While Starship Troopers' gear was considered standard by Imperial standards, with some modifications from the Adeptus Mechanicus, the results could be more than acceptable—at the very least, good enough to reinforce the Planetary Defense Forces (PDF). Every piece of equipment needed to be secured and brought back.
Inside Fort Cassie, Selene led the assault without hesitation. Every corridor her forces cleared was littered with the mangled remains of Arachnid bugs. The Zombie Wolverines operated like perfect killing machines—fast, ruthless, tearing through enemies with razor-sharp claws. The Warrior Bugs swarmed in waves, crawling along walls and ceilings alike. But their attacks were swiftly suppressed by supporting units providing solid cover fire for the Stormtroopers and Terran Marines.
Meanwhile, the Space Marines had pushed deep into the facility's inner sectors, focusing entirely on exterminating the larger, deadlier species—Tanker Bugs, Firefry Bugs, and Burrower Bugs.
Selene gave quick, decisive orders:
"First team, take twenty Zombie Wolverines and sweep the left corridor. Fourth team, another twenty to the right. The rest with me—center path."
She paused, then added,
"Terran Marines and Stormtroopers, assist the incoming USS units. Space Marines, focus on eliminating the heavies—Tanker, Firefry, Burrower. Do not let them breathe."
"Yes, ma'am!" one of the USS commanders shouted before his unit immediately dispersed. The Zombie Wolverines followed in tight formation, shielding the USS troops while tearing through any remaining Arachnid stragglers.
The Space Marines remained silent. To them, only Kenthelion was worthy of direct acknowledgement. But they obeyed Selene's orders without hesitation. She carried the full authority of the Emperor of Mankind—Kenthelion himself—granted explicitly for this operation.
In the landing bay of Fort Cassie, Selene stood at the frontlines, leading the charge against a massive onslaught of Arachnid Warrior Bugs. The towering creatures swarmed from every direction—crawling across the floor, skittering along the walls, and dropping from the ceiling like a deadly rainstorm.
The USS troops sprang into action. Autocannon units were deployed in seconds, their barrels locking onto the narrow corridors now echoing with screeches and the thunder of countless insect legs. Within moments, a crossfire net of bullets filled the space—dense, coordinated, and devastating.
The first wave was annihilated before they could reach the front line.
Heavy-caliber projectiles tore through them like a storm of steel:
"THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!"
The cannons roared, their thunder rolling through the metal corridors, shaking the entire structure. Each shot was an execution:
"KRAKK—SKLAAARGHH!"
Arachnid cracked and split apart. Glowing green ichor sprayed across the steel floor, marking violent deaths. One round shattered a forelimb; two more ripped the thorax to shreds. Their shrieks rang out like rusted metal being scraped across stone—only to be silenced by the next round—
"KA-THOOM!" — "SPLAAAT!"
A direct hit to the skull turned heads into clouds of gore and shattered bone.
From the upper vents, Zombie Wolverines descended, attacking from above with inhuman speed. These genetically engineered monsters pounced with surgical precision, shredding Warrior Bugs attempting to flank from above. Their claws sliced through Arachnid like wet paper. Insect corpses slammed into the floor one after another, piling up into natural barricades.
On the flanks, the Terran Marines remained calm. They held their fire, waiting for the right moment. This was the USS's battle to fight—and survive. But as soon as a gap opened—
"ZRAAK-ZRAAK-ZRAAK!" — "KRUNCH!"
The unmistakable discharge of C-14 Impaler Gauss Rifles echoed through the halls. Electromagnetic slugs ripped through insect bodies, pulverizing their insides as if crushed from within. Shells exploded, thoraxes imploded, heads were flung across the room. Every shot landed with deadly precision.
The Firebats moved up. Jets of flame burst from their Perdition Flamethrowers—white-red firestorms sweeping through enemy ranks.
"FWWOOOOOSH!!"
The corridor transformed into a furnace.
"SHRRRAAAKKKKK!!"
Insects writhed as they burned alive. Black smoke and the stench of roasted flesh filled the air, choking the lungs and smearing the walls with soot. The steel corridors bore silent witness to the absolute purge taking place.
Further back, the Marauders stood ready. Patient. Calculated. And then—
"THUMP-THUMP!" — "KRA-KOOM!"
Their Punisher Grenade Launchers lobbed heavy rounds into choke points. The explosions tore through walls and flooring, launching Warrior Bug limbs in every direction, mixing green ichor with fire and smoke.
Dominion Medics and Medivac crew worked fast, pulling back the wounded and exhausted USS soldiers. Some of them hailed from the Underworld universe—modern, trained, but unaccustomed to the sheer brutality of warfare waged in the styles of StarCraft or Warhammer. Their eyes betrayed their shock—not just at the enemy's savagery, but at the overwhelming destructive power of the Imperial Caelestis arsenal now in their hands.
But Selene showed no mercy. No softness. No hesitation.
This was a trial.
The Terran Marines, Firebats, and Marauders were ordered to intervene only when the situation grew dire. Until then, it was up to the USS troops to fight. To learn. And more importantly—to survive on their own strength.
After over six hours of unrelenting, brutal combat, the landing bay of Fort Cassie finally fell silent.
The last insect collapsed, its body slamming into the metal floor with a wet, lifeless thud. Nothing moved, save for drifting smoke and vaporized blood. The floor was littered with corpses, shattered Arachnid, and the wreckage of war.
Selene stood alone in the center of the corridor—still, silent—her eyes sweeping across the battlefield.
"Hold your positions and get some rest. Fifth team will send personnel to resupply your ammo," Selene ordered, her voice firm but composed. Her eyes swept over the USS troops, who now showed clear signs of exhaustion after the brutal battle that had just ended. "Stay alert... and secure the perimeter. Firebats, burn the insect remains—we're not taking any chances of them coming back."
The order was carried out immediately. Flames reignited in the corridor corners as Firebat units swept the fallen Warrior Bugs with controlled bursts of fire. The stench of scorched chitin filled the air.
Thankfully, Selene wasn't fighting alone. The reinforcements from Stormtroopers and Terran Marines—dispatched directly by Kenthelion—had been crucial. The USS forces—a specially formed unit drawn from the Underworld universe, created by Kenthelion and Alice (of the Resident Evil world)—were now under Selene's direct command. Still, within the formal military hierarchy, Selene operated under the authority of both Kenthelion and Alice.
But that was only in the tactical sense—only on the battlefield.
Outside the warzone—especially within the colossal megastructure palace of Kenthelion—the power dynamics were far more complicated. There, Selene wasn't a general. She was one of the chosen women of that eternal bastard—Kenthelion, the interdimensional Imperator.
Still, Selene never let personal dynamics interfere with her command.
Selene stood at the edge of the hangar bay, her eyes scanning the neatly arranged rows of Federation landing craft from the Starship Troopers universe—Corvette Transports and Marauder Type R Dropships, lined up with military precision. Each vessel looked immaculate: hulls free from corrosion, thruster systems on standby, and armored plating unmarred by wear. These weren't relics—they were still spaceworthy. And in the unforgiving reality of interstellar warfare, that meant more than luck. It meant strategic potential.
Across the facility, Stormtrooper and Space Marine units had completed their sector sweeps. They were now returning to their capital ships—among them, the Imperator Somnium, a Battlecruiser-class vessel, and a full-sized Star Destroyer—accompanied by ranks of Terran Marines marching with unshakable discipline, not a single step out of formation.
Meanwhile, the USS forces remained stationed on Fort Cassie's surface. They had received direct orders: scour the entire complex and clear out the remnants of Arachnid carcasses. To some, the task might have seemed mundane compared to the glory of battle, but Selene understood all too well—these kinds of responsibilities were the foundation of power in any newly conquered territory.
In a war, victory wasn't determined solely by who fired the biggest guns—but by who could hold the ground they'd bled to take.
----
Aboard the Alesia—a mid-sized Federation Corvette Transport—Kenthelion had just finished receiving a long-range transmission from Jonah. The subject: a search mission for the missing heavy cruiser John A. Warden, lost somewhere in deep space under unclear circumstances.
The search order, Jonah claimed, had come directly from the upper echelons of the Terran Federation's command structure—namely Sky Marshal Richard Riverfield and Deputy Sky Marshal Amy Snapp.
Kenthelion merely scoffed at the mention of their names.
"Let Jonah handle it," he muttered coolly, far more intrigued by the idle hum of the ship's corridors than the Federation's internal politics. He continued his unhurried stroll toward Alesia's command center, slipped inside without ceremony, and casually dropped himself into one of the captain's chairs—lounging back like nothing in the universe truly demanded his attention.
Meanwhile, in the command hall aboard the Alesia, the remaining Mobile Infantry troops from Team A‑01 and K‑12 were gathered. Dressed in casual off-duty clothes, they sat sprawled across benches and railings, trying to recharge after their grueling last operation. The atmosphere was relaxed on the surface, but tension still lingered—no one yet knew what their next orders would be.
Deborah had joined them in the hall, sitting slightly apart from the others. Her gaze was distant, as if caught in thought, but her posture remained straight—deliberately composed, as if trying to maintain a sense of authority. Her face looked… different. Refreshed. Noticeably so, in fact—and Tia Durer picked up on it immediately.
Tia Durer
"Deborah, are you okay?" Tia asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied her friend. There was something off—not in a bad way, just… unexpected. Deborah looked prettier today. Almost radiant.
Deborah
"I'm fine."
Deborah's eyes briefly flicked toward Tia, then down at herself, before fixing forward again. Her voice was calm, but there was an unnatural stiffness to it. Beneath the neutral expression, she was holding onto a secret she had no intention of sharing—especially not with Tia Durer.
She didn't want her to know that last night… she had slept with Kenthelion.
Chase:
"Shit! I knew it! I could feel it... We're probably not going back to Terra anytime soon."
Mech:
"Man, you're such a pessimist," said a Mobile Infantry trooper in black combat armor, lounging beside him with his back against the ship's cold metal wall.
Chase:
"Specialist, actually. Well... almost."
His tone was flat, but laced with frustration. He looked down at his jacket—worn, scuffed, a battlefield souvenir no one would want.
Mech:
"Then make a wish. Before we get tossed back into hell."
Chase:
"I've been through five short-run ESP trials already. If this damn jacket wasn't defective from production, I wouldn't be sitting here with you assholes," he muttered, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes.
Deborah:
"Asshole. That's why you always know when I'm in the shower."
Deborah turned sharply, her voice cutting through the air. What Chase said wasn't a joke to her—there was genuine disgust beneath her words. She stood, turned to face him, one hand on her hip.
Deborah:
"So now you're reading my mind? I know exactly what's running through that filthy head of yours—and it makes me sick."
Without waiting for a response, Deborah spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. A heavy silence fell over the hall. A few soldiers exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or just keep their mouths shut.
Moments later, the sliding door opened with a hiss. Carmen Ibanez and Lieutenant Tony Daugherty entered, making their way to the main console. Instantly, the large display screen flickered to life, revealing the scarred face of a man with a metal eyepatch over his right eye.
General Johnny Rico.
Every soldier in the room stood to attention and saluted.
Johnny Rico:
"At ease. You may sit."
The room settled into a more formal tone as the soldiers returned to their seats. Rico took a moment, his gaze sweeping across the room—measuring their morale, perhaps.
Johnny Rico:
"Let's get straight to the briefing. First of all, I know everyone aboard the Alesia played a huge part in Fort Cassie. Your sacrifices weren't small. And I know… you've all lost more than just gear."
He paused briefly, voice deepening as he continued.
Johnny Rico:
"Second—yes, I know you need time to recover. Believe me, I've been in your boots. But unfortunately…"
He leaned in slightly, his expression darkening.
Johnny Rico:
"We've got a problem."
Ratzass:
"What?"
A voice barked from the right side of the room—too loud, too quick. Lieutenant Daugherty shot him a sharp look, silently telling him to hold his tongue.
Johnny Rico:
"The John A. Warden has gone missing. And the Alesia is the closest military vessel in its sector radius."
He let that hang in the air a moment before continuing.
Johnny Rico:
"I've ordered your captain to alter course. Your mission is to investigate and locate the missing heavy cruiser John A. Warden. Any issues with that order?"
Tension spiked like static.
Ratzass stood up slowly, speaking not just for himself, but for every weary soul from Fort Cassie.
Ratzass:
"On behalf of the troopers from Fort Cassie… We want Major Henry Varro reinstated to our unit. If not, we won't be going on this mission."
Lieutenant Otis Hacks:
"Stand down."
A voice from the back tried to cut it off before it became an open mutiny.
But Johnny Rico raised a hand.
Johnny Rico:
"It's alright. Let him speak."
Ratzass:
"We need Major Henry Varro back. If not, we won't be joining this mission," the Mobile Infantry soldier stated firmly, making his demand without hesitation.
Johnny Rico:
"Colonel Henry is currently detained under Carl's orders for breaching protocol during the last battle. However, if he's willing to participate in this operation, he may rejoin the Mobile Infantry unit. His trial will proceed regardless. Understand?" Rico responded firmly to Ratzass.
Ratzass:
"Understood, sir," Ratzass replied succinctly.
Johnny Rico continued, "When you pass through the nebula, communications will likely be cut off. Prepare yourselves as best as possible, and may luck be on your side. Now, disperse and get ready for the mission."
The Mobile Infantry unit began to file out of the room. But as Carmen turned to leave, Johnny called her back in a softer tone.
Johnny Rico:
"Captain Carmen, wait a moment. Take it slow."
Carmen turned, staring at Johnny with an unreadable expression.
"Why did you let them take the John A. Warden warship from me?" she asked coldly.
Johnny Rico sighed before answering,
"Carmen, it's not your ship. It's a Terran Federation asset."
Carmen frowned, her voice sharp with anger.
"General Johnny Rico, you remember how we lost my last ship, right? I don't want that tragedy to happen again with this one." She paced around, frustration clear in her gestures.
Johnny Rico looked at her with understanding.
"Carl is the Minister of the Department of the Supernatural. He acts under orders from Sky Marshal Richard Riverfield. He has the authority over any warship. This mission is so classified that even I haven't been fully briefed."
Carmen spread her hands, casting a cyn