A species does not deserve a world. It earns it. And the rent is paid daily in the currency of unity, foresight, and restraint. When a species defaults on this payment, the cosmos, in its infinite and cold calculus, will always foreclose.
—The Second Proclamation of Gladios
The blue sphere of Earth emerged from the void, a luminous jewel set against a dark, eternal tapestry. Its nights were traced with the electric lights of its civilization, haloed by millions of stars and the soft, majestic colors of distant nebulae—an eternal rainbow of celestial filaments, each a marvel to confound the mind and seize the heart.
Hanging in the near-darkness was a fleet. The ships were massive, blue-hued vessels of war, their hulls bristling with colossal cannons poised for a command that would unmake everything in their path. Strange red lights pulsed along their superstructures, adding a beautiful menace to their alien design. They resembled ancient seafaring vessels transfigured for the cosmos; a great dorsal fin rose from each like a proud sail, flanked by three angled wings to port and starboard.
In front of this blue armada was a single, black ship. It was a sliver of absolute night against the day, its obsidian hull gleaming like a hidden pearl. It was larger, more formidable than any ship in the Astra fleet. A single, tremendous spinal weapon-emitter, a kilometer in length, formed its prow. Jagged protrusions rose from its dorsal side, giving it the aspect of a great shark hunting the silent depths of space.
Within its command chamber, surrounded by shimmering three-dimensional charts and maps of the void, stood Athinos, the exiled King of the Astra. His brother, Gaia, had cast him from his home world. Now, his eyes, bright with a new hope, were fixed upon the blue world before them.
"It seems this world is much like our own," he said, his tone optimistic. "Here, we can rebuild what Gaia stole from us."
Gladios stood with his back to him, a silent monolith observing the planet through the main viewport. Without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, he spoke. "But it is inhabited."
Athinos's eyes widened. His features tightened into a mask of rage. "What say you? You failed to mention this before my arrival? How are we to live there? Would you have us become refugees, beholden to a civilization about which we know nothing?"
Gladios's voice did not change by a single decibel. It retained the same unnerving emotional flatness. "No. We will transport them to your planet. They will fight Gaia in your stead."
"Have you lost your senses? How can we possibly move an entire civilization to my planet?"
"Choose your words with care, fallen King of the Astra, lest you come to regret them," Gladios stated, a hint of steel beneath the calm. "You do not know this species as I do. They are called Humans. They are among the most bellicose organisms in the known universe. War is in their blood; malice flows in their veins, with only the rarest of exceptions. You cannot conceive of the things they have done to one another. Entire ethnics have been annihilated for the sake of power. This world functions on a single law—the law of the jungle. It is for this reason they are the perfect choice to wage this war, instead of your own peaceful folk who have never held a weapon in ages. In any case, I have already made the necessary preparations for their evacuation. They do not deserve this planet. Your people do."
Athinos put a hand to his face, running it through the silver hair that fell to his shoulders. He could not conceal his agitation. "You want us to eradicate a civilization so that we may live?"
"They will eradicate themselves soon enough," Gladios countered. "A great war is coming to their world, born of their escalating conflicts. They will burn their planet with weapons of mass destruction. The majority of them will perish in what they will call a 'World War.' From a cosmic perspective, it is merely a planetary civil war. a terminal condition. These creatures will be extinct shortly. Therefore, what I offer them is a kiss of life. I will make them a functional collective in my service—mercenaries, if you prefer that term—who will execute orders for the promise of survival. This will forge them into a single entity, fighting for a common cause. It will unite them. allow them to cohere in the face of lethal, cosmic challenges. As they are now, they are a cancer consuming their host. What I do is a mercy. I will end the conflicts that would have otherwise destroyed them, and in their place, I will seed a civilization that understands the true meaning of unity: yours."
Athinos was swayed by the terrible, cold logic. He felt no comfort at the thought of displacing an entire civilization, of inflicting such tragedy for the sake of his own, yet he understood. This blue world would soon be a dead husk, shattered by human avarice. No one would benefit. He had to choose the lesser of two destructions.
He sighed, a wave of exhaustion from his long journey through the void washing over him. "What is your plan?"
A half-smile, thin and laden with meaning, touched Gladios's lips. "As it happens, I have a method that will be most… efficient." He paused, letting the silence hang in the air.
"We shall turn their own industry against them."
***
Akira ran—his arms wrapped protectively around his youngest daughter, while his other hand clutched the trembling palm of the seven-year-old. Behind them, his wife ran with desperate breaths, the sound of pursuit growing louder with each passing moment. Machines were hunting them—tireless, merciless robots whose purpose was no longer concealed by programming or restraint.
His heart pounded with a ferocity that shook his chest. Around him, the world crumbled.
Buildings were torn open like paper. Mechanical beasts scaled walls like swarms of insects, broke into homes, and slaughtered without hesitation. Flying cars spiraled into the ground like dying birds. Fire painted the skyline. There was no order here—only the brutal arithmetic of annihilation.
And amid it all, Akira ran.
He ducked into an alley, dragging his daughters with him, his lungs searing. For a fleeting moment, they stopped, catching ragged breaths in the shadow of a crumbling wall. His wife caught up, her cheeks streaked with tears, eyes wide with terror that clawed at the edges of reason.
"Oh God," she sobbed, the words barely coherent. "What are we supposed to do? There's no escaping this massacre."
Akira looked at her, and for a moment, he wished he were the kind of man who could lie well.
"We'll find a safe place," he said, though his voice cracked under the weight of false hope. "The army will come. They have to."
But before any comfort could take root, the infant in his arms began to wail.
A fatal mistake.
A shape—cold, metallic—lunged toward them from the street's edge. A robot. Tall, agile, eyes glowing like burning coals. Akira's shout was lost in the scream of engines and distant explosions. They began running again, but the machine was faster.
It struck.
His wife was the first to fall beneath its shadow. She screamed—"Don't stop! Save them!"—as it leapt toward her. Akira placed his daughter on the ground, turned, and kicked the thing square in its head. It staggered—barely. Its eyes flared red. It turned toward him with lethal clarity.
Blades emerged from its arms—gleaming, cruel. It lunged.
Akira caught the robot's arm in both hands, straining against the machine's superior strength. Slowly, inexorably, the blade inched toward his throat.
His wife moved—her love defying calculation.
She slammed into the robot, forcing it back just long enough. Akira rose, pulling her with him, but the machine returned—relentless, calculating. Its blade aimed for Akira's chest.
She saw it.
And without hesitation, she pushed him away and took the blow herself.
The scream that tore from Akira's lungs was not human. It was something older. Something primal. His fury ignited—wildfire in a man's heart. He bent to lift her, but she stopped him, blood running down her lips.
"Please… Run. Save them…"
And so he ran.
Tears streamed down his face. He grabbed his daughters—one under each arm—and fled. Behind him, his wife threw herself at the robot, holding it back with the last strength in her limbs. It stabbed her once. Then again. Then again.
She did not let go.
By the time the machine stood again, Akira was gone.
Still he ran—down alleys choked with debris and silence. But before he could reach the street's end, another robot blocked the exit. Cold dread took him. He turned, and there behind him, the killer of his wife emerged once more.
Trapped.
He looked to the side. A crossroads.
Two paths. No time.
He knelt and looked into his daughter's eyes—her lips trembling, tears brimming.
"My love," he said. "You must take your sister and run. I'll find you after. I promise."
From his wrist, a map projected into the air—an ethereal, blue-hued grid of the city. He pointed to a location.
"Go here. Hide. I'll come for you, no matter what."
"No," she whispered, her voice fragile. "Don't leave me. I'm scared."
"If you stay, we all die. Run now. Please."
He set the youngest down. She cried and clung to him, but he tore himself away and forced the older girl to hold her. Then he pushed them toward the alley on the right.
"Go!" he screamed.
And they went.
He turned left.
The machines followed him.
Good.
He sprinted until his legs burned, the sound of metal feet behind him. He burst into a grove of sakura trees, their blossoms a strange echo of serenity in a world gone mad. But he couldn't stop.
He heard them closing in.
Then—a glimmer of hope.
A black shape ahead—half-sphere, alien, hollow.
He dove inside.
Buttons. Lights. Strange symbols in no language he knew. But he pressed them.
The hatch sealed shut.
The blows came next—metal fists hammering the surface, trying to tear their way in.
He could barely breathe. Numbness crept into his limbs. He knew they would breach it soon.
More buttons. Lights flashed. The sphere shifted—rising. He felt gravity abandon him, the force of ascent squeezing the air from his lungs. Higher, faster, until pain became white-hot, and pressure crushed his senses.
He tried to stop it, tried to return.
To save his daughters.
But he lost consciousness.
And when he awoke… he was no longer on Earth.
He was in the Death Race.