The big game plan was simple: wait. Wait out the years in both universes.
In the Star Wars galaxy, I'd ride the timeline until the Clone Wars began. In the Irken Empire, I'd bide my time until the Florpus Hole finally opened. Simple. Controlled. Predictable.
That was the plan. And the plan was, quite literally, ninety percent "sit and wait."
But things never go to plan.
The first big event to break the silence was the Great Assigning—something nearly half the Empire had been preparing for. The ceremony was to take place on the convention-world Conventia, a planet-sized auditorium built solely for conventions.
Of course, me being me—and fully aware of what was destined to happen—I chose to observe from a safe, comfortable distance aboard the Massive. I already had my planet assignment secured, along with a hundred other newly recognized Invaders.
The actual ceremony was just a formality. Only the top twenty Invaders were required to attend in person—an honor, supposedly, a spotlight for the Empire's best and brightest.
And then, the day before the Great Assigning…he showed up.
Zim.
I wish I could describe the events that led up to what happened, but honestly, I'm not sure anyone could. He just showed up—in a Frontline BattleMech, of all things—blasting buildings, trampling civilians, and turning Conventia into a fireworks display
Eighteen of the twenty Invaders on the planet died that day. The only survivor? Invader Scooge.
That day, Operation Impending Doom I was officially canceled—labeled a failure.
I'm not even sure how he got out of being executed. Zim was banished to the planet Foodcortia—as a food service drone. Even then, that punishment felt too light for what he managed to accomplish.
It would be a few months after that when the Tallest—through the Control Brains—pushed out an announcement for Operation Impending Doom II, again to be held on Planet Conventia for the Great Assigning.
Unlike in the original timeline, Tak and I were both among the chosen Invaders.Which Invaders got undercut to make room for us? I have no idea. Looking around the crowd, the only familiar faces were Scooge, Invader Tenn, Tak, and Invader Lard.
Funnily enough, Lard had originally been assigned to invade Planet Vort in the show. But this time around, it was Tak who got that assignment—home of the universe's most comfortable couch.
Sadly, I felt a little bad for the Vortians. I'd worked with them extensively during the Massive's construction, and they didn't deserve what was coming. They'd already been blamed for the deaths of two Tallest. Outwardly, the Empire pretended to forgive them—but here we were, assigning an Invader to their homeworld anyway.
One by one, names echoed through the chamber, each Invader stepping forward to receive their mission.The holo-map above displayed planets lighting up like a galactic lottery
Then my name appeared.
"Invader Dabo! Please make your way up to the stage!"Tallest Red's voice boomed through the hall, too enthusiastic for comfort.
The rooms's uncomfortable silence really made it awkard as I walked up the ramp, antennae twitching.
"Ooooh," the Tallests moaned in unison, both of them leaning forward as I stepped into the spotlight.
"Look at this one, Purple—he's tall!""I know, Red. Are we sure he's not defective?"
Their synchronized awe echoed across the stage like a bad comedy routine.Every Irken in the audience turned to stare.
"Height advantage!" Purple declared proudly, jabbing a finger at me as if he'd just discovered evolution.
"Yes, yes—very invadery," Red added, nodding sagely. "I like the menace in his posture."
"You've been assigned a planet," he continued, glancing at his data tablet. "Verdara."
"Home of a Dyson ring," Purple added, donut halfway to his mouth. "Try not to blow that up when you invade."
The holographic galactic map flickered overhead as the blue-green marble of Verdara pulsed to life—lush green bands wrapping around vast oceans, sunlight glinting off the orbiting Dyson ring like a halo.
The crowd responded on cue. A synchronized clap rolled through the chamber—mechanical, mandatory, lifeless. But somewhere near the back of the hall—
"YEAH! THAT'S MY GUY!"
Scat's voice boomed across the chamber, echoing off the polished metal walls.
Next to him, Bolts was waving both arms in the air, yelling, "MASTER! PROMOTION OBTAINED!"
Dozens of Irkens turned their heads, glaring daggers at them.
I blinked once. "Thank you, Tallest," I said flatly, voice just loud enough to carry over their cheering.
Red grinned wide, antennae twitching with glee. "Go forth!" he bellowed, extending both arms dramatically.
Purple raised a donut like a toast.
"Conquer something".
I turned and walked offstage. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the Massive purred with amusement.
Of course, the ceremony didn't end there. It never does when Zim's involved.
He appeared exactly as I remembered him. Zim—self-proclaimed greatest Invader of all time—stormed through the entry doors in a blaze of chaos and overconfidence, security drones trailing behind him.
Just like in the show events played out near identically. And just like in the show, the Tallests met us in the equipment hall once the Great Assigning ended.
Invaders stood at attention in their assigned lines, the air buzzing with static pride.
Zim, of course, was one of the first to step forward. Got Gir, and the tallest managed to convince him that he was assigned all his equipment, when he promptly left. Thank god too, being near the guy made me anxious.
And just like that, the universe's most statistically preventable disaster was officially in motion.
The Tallests watched him go, still grinning. "I give it a week," Purple said. Red chuckled. "You're generous."
Then they turned to the rest of us like nothing had happened. "All right—next!"
~LATER~
I got my own S.I.R. unit—standard-issue, three feet of absolute obedience and service—(I planned to imbue it with the Force once we hit Verdara) They also handed me a mountain of invasion gear: enough curious little gadgets to make any ordinary Irken Soldier jealous. Best of all, they gave me a ship. Brand new.
I met Bolts and Scat for one last meal—greasy, glorious fuel that made my insides feel both guilty and proud. We kept the talk light, the kind of small talk that doesn't need a goodbye. Then Bolts climbed into my new, top-of-the-line spittle-runner and I slipped into the pilot seat.
The next week, Bolts, myself, and the S.I.R. unit I decided to rename Roger sailed across the stars in a slow but uneventful journey toward planet Verdara. The ship hummed quietly through the void.[1]
The first sight of Verdara filled the cockpit window like a living gem. A swirl of deep blues and radiant greens shimmered under the soft light of its sun—oceans so vast they swallowed continents whole, and landmasses veined with bright rivers and thick jungles. Even from orbit, the planet radiated an energy that could only be described as alive.
Encircling the star in the distance was the Dyson Ring, a shining halo that glittered against space.
Bolts whistled beside me. "That's… impressive. No rust anywhere."
Roger, seated upright in the auxiliary chair, replied with perfect precision,"Planetary engineering integrity: confirmed. Verdaran civilization aesthetics: unnecessarily pristine, sir."
He wasn't wrong. Verdara's cities glimmered across the planet's few landmasses—woven seamlessly with their forests and lakes, their architecture curving with the natural terrain instead of flattening it. Spires of polished wood and smooth composite rose between treetop canopies, linked by hanging bridges and glowing bioluminescent vines.
The Verdaran people moved across the plazas and walkways below—short, green-skinned humanoids with smooth, vibrant complexions and eyes like polished emeralds. They were the same height as most Irkens, though their movements were slower, deliberate, peaceful. Their clothes were simple—woven from natural fibers, decorated with silver thread.
They were… harmonious. No weapons in sight. No fortifications. Just art, architecture, and a serene confidence that came from believing the galaxy wouldn't touch them.
Roger's voice cut through the hum of the ship. "Mission parameters, sir?"
I exhaled, antennae tilting slightly. "Step one: blend in. Step two: find where the government hides its defenses. Step three…" I paused, smirking faintly. "Make myself at home."
With that, the spittle-runner descended through the cloud layer, streaking across the atmosphere in a controlled burn. The ship glided down toward one of the main continents—where vast forests met the edge of sprawling wooden cities. Only their mega structures needed steel casings.
We touched down just outside one of the suburban regions
As the engines cooled, I stared out at the city beyond. The air shimmered faintly with energy, the wind carrying a scent of moisture and blooming flora.
"Verdara," I muttered again, stepping down the ramp."Let's see what kind of paradise I get to ruin."
~ONE YEAR LATER~
One year. That's all it took for everything to go horrifically, irreversibly wrong.
It hadn't started that way. At first, it was going beautifully—almost insultingly so.
My underground base thrived beneath the surface, a labyrinth of Irken-grade engineering hidden under the façade of a quaint family farm. On the surface, it was all rustic simplicity—rows of vibrant Verdaran crops, a humble wooden house, and the occasional neighbor dropping by to talk about soil quality. Below, however, was an arsenal of labs, databanks, and dissecting tables humming with quiet menace.
I'd hacked into the Verdaran state registry within my first week, rewriting records until I was legally recognized as a proud local citizen—"Dabo Verdane," (If I went to earth it'd be like saying Dabo Humane)farmhand turned aspiring politician. The ID checked out. The history? Flawless fabrication. And when I put on my disguise?
Ding. Skill Gained: Disguise (Lv 1 /10).
The Verdaran government didn't discriminate; they adored a good underdog story. A rural boy with "humble beginnings" and a passion for civic duty? They ate it up. My homeschooled-farmboy cover became a symbol of "grassroots leadership."
I joined the local council soon after as the apprentice to an aging official who preached defense and security. His slogan was basically "Peace through Preparedness," and the public loved it. So did I—because it gave me an excuse to funnel intel straight into my PAK, at least until I felt something...
~Something~
The council chamber smelled faintly of burnt wood polish and recycled air. My mentor — Councilor Thelen — was busy addressing a minor zoning dispute, his words swimming in political double-speak about "resource distribution equity."
I tuned him out. My focus wasn't on the debate. It was on the pressure.
Something was pressing against the edge of my mind. A ripple through the Force, faint but unmistakable. It wasn't refined or trained like a Jedi's touch — it was raw, feverish, and soaked in fear.
I excused myself from the chamber, antenna twitching with agitation as I followed the trail outside. The Force pulled me through the city's green-veined streets until I reached an underpass, the sound of dripping water echoing through the stone.
There, huddled beneath a crumbling wooden arch, was a Verdaran — clothes in tatters, eyes wide and unfocused. His hands trembled as he rocked back and forth.
"They're coming…" he whispered, voice hoarse. "The hungry ones. Teeth in the soil. Claws in the sea. The sky will rain red."
He stared up at me, pupils dilated, irises glowing faintly gold — unmistakably touched by the Force."The end of days," he hissed. "Verdara will choke on its own breath."
The Force around him spiked for a heartbeat — sharp, cold, and wrong — before vanishing completely.
I stepped back. "You should probably… drink less sewage water," I muttered, forcing a small laugh.
He didn't answer. Just turned his head toward the skyline, trembling. The words followed me out of the tunnel like an echo buried under static:
see you again… when the screaming starts.
For a moment, I thought about silencing him — standard Irken cleanup. But something about the look in his eyes made me hesitate.
By the time I returned to the council chamber, Thelen was finishing his speech. "Apprentice Dabo," he said without looking back, "try to focus. Politics requires patience."
"Yes, Councilor," I replied smoothly. But my mind was still on that man. A Force-sensitive Verdaran wasn't supposed to exist.
But I had to get back into blending in. So I dropped the thought.
To sell the act, I even started actual farming. Hoping to finally max out my merchant skill by selling produce.
Ding. Skill Gained: Farming (Lv 1/10).
But pretending to be one of them didn't mean I could ignore the mission. Every few months, someone important simply… vanished.Sometimes a rival politician, sometimes a higher-up from another city.All of them found their way into my underground labs.
And my Anatomy skill soared.
Ding. Skill Progression: Anatomy (Lv 2→ 3).
The SYSTEM chimed when a pulse monitor flatlined or a heart was forced to stop by my blade.
DING. Necromancer (Lv 4 → 5).
DING. Necromancer (Lv 5 → 6).
By the end of the year, over two dozen cadavers slept quietly in my inventory, tagged and preserved like trophies. Every one of them a lesson in biology, death, and intel gathering.
Above ground, I was beloved. My name circulated through newsfeeds; my speeches about unity and defense played across holo-panels in nearby districts. The people trusted me—with their votes, their safety, their children.
I'd become a household name, all while building a house of corpses below their feet.
There was no suspicion. None. Not even when the local males invited me to their communal spawning pits—a once a year event where after the woman laid their eggs, the men would randomly fertilize a clutch of them. I'd escape with creative excuses and polite smiles. Weird, nature-worshiping aliens.
The best part? They respected me for it.They called me disciplined. Focused.
I had a ten-year plan mapped out in perfect increments—each milestone leading to the same goal: Planetary Secretary of Defense. From there, Verdara's complete subversion would've been inevitable.
Having corpses sitting in my inventory collecting dust, I had the funny idea of finally putting my necromancer skills to the test.
I revived ten of them.
The results were… disappointing. Slow-moving, dim-witted husks that shambled like sleepwalkers. Their eyes glowed faint blue, and they obeyed every order I gave—"walk,""stop,""fetch stick."
That was the full extent of their genius.
My Raise Undead skill refused to level. I assumed the skill required combat experience—maybe my undead needed to kill something themselves.
After my MP recovered, I decided to revive one more, just for the hell of it. That's when I got the warning:
WARNING: Current INT limit reached. Control threshold: 10 / 10. Revive anyway?
Ten undead—the cap for my intellect. Mediocre, I thought.
But then an idea sparked. If I revived one more, something outside my control, wouldn't that technically make it… an enemy? And if it was an enemy, could I gain experience for killing it?
The logic was sound—if a little stupid. I grinned, rolled my shoulders, and said aloud, "Yes."
The corpse on the table jolted.
Normally, my undead began with a faint blue glow in their eyes before twitching to life. But this one—this one twitched wrong.Its eyes didn't glow blue. They glowed red.
Then came the convulsions—violent, jerky, seizure-like.Its jaw cracked open, unhinging at the corners as its skin stretched and tore, revealing dark red muscle beneath. Its teeth elongated into jagged points, its fingers curling into claws.
The sound it made didn't belong in any living throat—half roar, half gurgle, like something trying to scream through its own blood.
"What the fuck is going on?" I whispered.
My ten blue-eyed servants groaned in unison, moving to intercept before I could even command them—an instinctual act of loyalty. They surrounded the thing, forming a defensive circle between it and me.
Then it lunged.
It tore through them like paper.Limbs ripped free, torsos split open, entrails splattering across the metal walls.The lab echoed with wet sounds—ripping, chewing, splattering—until only one remained, crawling toward me, missing its lower half.
Panic hit."Computer! Quarantine!"
A containment field snapped into place just as the creature smashed into it, claws screeching against the energy barrier. Its face pressed to the shield, eyes gleaming red with animal intelligence.
Then it stopped.Tilted its head. Studied the barrier.
And without a sound, it turned—found a ceiling vent—and tore its way in.
"COMPUTER! WHERE'S IT GOING!?"
The AI's voice came back calm, detached.
"Target is heading to surface."
"Well, stop it, computer!" I shouted, voice cracking as my antennae flared upright.
The computer answered in its usual deadpan monotone.
"Target has broken surface. Currently escaping perimeter."
"Where's it going?" I snapped, already dreading the answer.
"Heading toward nearest native dwelling."
A cold surge of panic clawed its way up my throat.
"Quick—call the authorities! Tell them we heard weapons fire from the neighboring house!"
"Acknowledged."
The system dialed the local emergency network, its synthesized Verdaran accent perfectly calm.
"Reporting disturbance. Possible weapon discharge. Immediate investigation recommended."
"Send out probes!" I barked. "I want eyes on it—and secure the base! I don't want that thing ever coming back!"
"Affirmative."
A monitor unfolded from the ceiling, flickering to life with static before stabilizing into a shaky aerial feed. Through the lens of a stealth drone, I watched the thing move—fast, erratic, unstoppable.
The creature sprinted across the farmland like an animal possessed, reaching my neighbor's home within seconds. The drone kept pace overhead, silent and invisible.
Then it struck.
It punched straight through the wooden wall, splinters bursting outward like gunfire.Before the drone could angle its camera through the gap, the sound hit—screams.High, sharp, primal.
When the image finally cleared, the sight nearly made me gag.
One Verdaran lay crumpled on the floor, throat torn wide open, blood pooling beneath him like spilled paint. Another fought desperately to push the creature away, but the thing's jaws had already latched onto his shoulder.
It didn't bite—it dug.Its claws sank into the Verdaran's chest, puncturing through ribs and pulling until the screams ended in a gurgle.
And then, silence.
The creature froze, twitching once, before bolting out through the opposite wall—gone, leaving only two corpses behind.
I exhaled shakily. "Computer… keep eyes on it—"
Then I stopped.
The bodies on the monitor twitched. Once. Twice.Their eyes—previously glassy and vacant—flared red.
Their limbs snapped into unnatural motion, joints bending the wrong way as their skin began to stretch, tear, and reform.
"Oh, no…" I whispered.
They were changing.
"Computer! Send more probes!" I shouted, stumbling back from the screen. "I want eyes on all of them! NOW!"
"Deploying additional surveillance units."
Dozens of new feeds blinked to life across the wall—each one flickering with scenes of spreading chaos: doors breaking, windows shattering, shadows moving through the night.
What had I done.
The original creature had fled—darting into the dark tree line, deeper into the forest, heading God knows where—while the two fresh converts stumbled toward the nearest neighboring homes.
Through the drone's eyes, I watched them move—clumsy but fast, drawn by something primal. The forest swallowed their figures in seconds, but one probe stayed locked on the original.
It was still running. Still hunting.
The camera followed as it burst into a moonlit clearing filled with deer-like creatures, slender and pale green, their eyes wide with animal confusion. The undead lunged, claws hooking around one's neck and snapping it like a twig.
Then, with a sickening crunch, it bit down—teeth sinking through bone and brain matter alike.
The rest of the herd bolted, scattering into the woods.The probe didn't follow them. It stayed. Watching.
Seconds passed.Then the body twitched.
"...No," I whispered.
The slain creature convulsed violently, its muscles spasming as its legs buckled inward. Then came the glow—red light bleeding from its eyes, seeping from its skull like fire under skin.
Its transformation was wrong.The flesh at its neck split clean down the center, widening, tearing, stretching up through its face. Its skull split open from the inside, revealing glistening teeth where its brain used to be.
It didn't grow claws—it became a mouth.From the neck up, the thing was just… hunger.
It screeched—wet, gurgling, primal—and bolted after the others.
"What… what is happening?" I muttered.
This wasn't necromancy. This wasn't mine.
My Raise Undead skill never made that.
Without my command, the computer dispatched more probes—hundreds of them—each feed flickering alive with fresh static. New screens bloomed before me, painting the walls in trembling blue light.
I wanted to act. I wanted to contain it.But every option ran the same risk: exposure.If I moved openly—if anyone traced the response back to me—my cover would be gone.
So I waited.And I told myself something laughably naïve.
I had faith.
Faith that the Verdaran government could handle this. Faith that their precious logic, their unity, their endless optimism could save them.
But I was wrong.
Hours passed. The nearest city fell into chaos. Screams on one monitor, gunfire on another. Streets lit by emergency beacons, people running into the night. The infection spread faster than any response could keep up.
I hacked into their emergency broadcast network—overriding state channels—and issued a state-level evacuation order, calling for a full military deployment.
It was the fastest response time in the Verdaran system's history. And it still wasn't fast enough.
By the time their soldiers arrived—Jumping off flying skiffs, rifles gleaming—they didn't even know what they were looking at.
They froze. Just… stood there. And then the monsters reached them.
The screens became a mosaic of carnage. Soldiers screaming as claws split armor, jaws tore flesh. One after another, they fell—and rose again.
The computer kept adding feeds until the base hit its limit—hundreds of static-filled monitors flashing in every direction, each one showing some new horror.
I felt my antenna droop as I slumped onto the cold floor, staring blankly at the chaos.
Maybe I could leave.Abandon this base. Move continents. Start again under another identity.
Maybe they'd write this off as some random planetary pathogen.
Then I saw the newsfeeds.
Sailors dragged screaming off their ships.Fish—fish—leaping from the water, sinking teeth into flesh. And when those bites killed… they came back.
The entire planet was infected.
I just sat there—silent, motionless—bathed in the flicker of hundreds of monitors.
There was nowhere to go.
Seems like someone up the chain of command finally knew when to cut their losses.
Because slowly—but surely—the orbital bombardment began.
My computer picked it up first.Trajectories. Heat signatures. Dozens of Verdaran warships repositioning themselves in high orbit, forming a planetary perimeter. Their formation was textbook-perfect, but the purpose was unmistakable.
They weren't rescuing anyone.
The first flashes came minutes later. Blinding spears of light streaked through the upper atmosphere, followed by a sound like the sky tearing open.
Then came the impacts.
Whole cities evaporated under the bombardment—laser fire raining down in brilliant, surgical beams that turned streets into glass and forests into craters. Explosions rippled across the oceans, the shockwaves visible even from orbit.
It was something only the Irken Empire would dare to do——and yet here they were.
I stared at the monitors, the light from the burning world washing across my face. The sensors screamed warnings, seismic readings spiking beyond their calibration.
They weren't targeting infected zones anymore. They were targeting everything.
But it was too late.
If it was in the water… if even one infected microbe survived in the world's oceans—a planet that was eighty percent water—
Then it was already over.
In my desperation, I shouted, "COMPUTER! CONTACT THE TALLEST!"
The smaller monitors blinked out one by one, their chaotic feeds dissolving into static until only a single colossal screen remained before me.
For a moment, there was nothing—just the hollow hum of the failing planet outside.Then, the line connected.
The bridge of the Massive came into view—vast, immaculate, calm.A nauseating contrast to the chaos below me.
And there they were.The Tallest.
Reclined on an absurdly plush couch, half-buried under snack wrappers, eyes glazed with boredom. Red was flipping through a holographic magazine; Purple was lazily tossing donuts into his mouth and missing half of them.
"Invader Dabo," Red drawled, not even looking up. "This is unexpected. How goes it?"
The calm tone nearly made me lose it.
"Tallests! You— you have to listen! The planet—Verdara—it's—something went wrong!
Purple blinked slowly, tilting his head as if I'd just interrupted a nap."Wrong how? Like… politically wrong or explode-y wrong?"
"Explode-y!" I shouted, voice cracking. "Some kind of infection! Everything's dying! It's spreading too fast—water, animals, people—it's everywhere! I tried to contain it, but it's— it's—"
Red leaned forward, squinting past the holo-feed.The camera feed caught the corner of my base behind me——and the shredded remains of my first ten undead.
Limbs torn off. Chests caved in. A severed head still faintly twitching.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Red snorted. "Ew. You should really clean that up, Dabo."Purple gagged dramatically. "Ugh, that one's still moving!"
I stared in disbelief."This isn't a joke! The infection is evolving! It's spreading through the oceans! It's turning everything into—"
"—zombies?" Purple interrupted, mock gasping."Oh, spooky!" Red added, wiggling his fingers in mock fear. "Scary undead plague! Ooooh, we've never had one of those before!"
"I'M SERIOUS!"
That got them to stop laughing—barely. Red's expression softened just a little, the kind of polite patience you give to a child mid-tantrum.
"Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands. "We'll file a report. Don't panic."Purple nodded sagely. "Yeah, don't panic. That's, like, Rule One for invaders. Right after 'Don't blow up the planet you're invading.'"
"I— I didn't blow it up!" I stammered. "It's still happening!"
Red sighed, reclining again."Look, Invader Dabo, we've been doing this a long time. Planets go through… phases. Fires, explosions, biological collapses—"
"Biological collapses?!" I echoed.
"—and then the survivors rebuild. You're an invader. Handle it."He flicked his wrist dismissively, as if erasing a line of text.
Before I could yell back, the computer's voice cut through the air like a scalpel:
"ALERT. Automated defenses activated. Perimeter shield engaged."
The ground rumbled. Red lights flared across the ceiling, visible signs of active defenses.
A split second later, Roger and Bolts burst into the room.Roger's voice hit first, sharp and clipped:
"Enemy contacts breaching the outer perimeter! Multiple hostiles approaching from the treeline—heat signatures inconsistent with Verdaran life forms!"
Bolts stumbled in behind him, servos whining. "Sir, they're everywhere—surrounding the base! Some of 'em are burrowing!"
The feed flickered, catching Red mid-eyeroll."Burrowing? Really? On a planet that's mostly water?"
He leaned forward anyway, his posture shifting ever so slightly from lazy to alert."Base AI," he commanded, tone suddenly crisp. "Transmit a full planetary scan to the Massive. I want life-sign telemetry, thermal mapping, the works."
The AI responded instantly, voice cold and factual:
"Uploading now."
The Tallests' holographic projection flickered for a few seconds, the transmission data reflecting off Red's face.At first, he looked bored. Then confused. Then—slowly—his expression dropped.
Purple leaned closer to the hologram, chewing mid-bite. "What's with all the red dots?"
Red's antenna twitched. "That's not radar noise. Those are recognized hostiles."
The map pulsed—millions of red blips spreading outward like a disease.The oceans were blooming with movement. Cities were blinking off the map entirely.
"Verdaran military signatures collapsing," reported the AI.
Its tone was sterile—utterly disconnected from the chaos it described.
"Surface communications failing across multiple continents. Orbital control nodes remain active. Intercepting encrypted comm chatter."
Lines of text began scrolling across the holo-feed—fragmented transmissions bleeding through the noise:
"––containment breach—"
"––burn them, all of them!—"
The holographic map zoomed in on Verdara's orbit—tiny icons representing defense satellites still holding position, their chatter a symphony of panic.
Purple leaned closer, squinting. "They're still online up there."
"Yeah," Red muttered, tapping his chin. "Looks like their space assets haven't realized the planet's already a write-off."
He turned his gaze back toward me, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"Well," he said at last, his voice dripping with sardonic amusement, "congratulations, Invader Dabo. You've done it."
I blinked. "Done what?"
He spread his arms. "A flawless invasion. Zero chance of survival. Full planetary destabilization in under a day. That's got to be some kind of record."
Purple snorted into his drink, spraying crumbs everywhere. "Oh, that's good. We should put him in the brochure!"
"This isn't funny!" I snapped, antenna quivering. "The infection's spreading through everything—air, water, the animals! It's out of control!"
Red leaned back, completely unbothered. "Relax. We're Irkens. We don't get infections."He waved his hand dismissively. "Our PAKs filter out organic contaminants. Whatever that sludge is, it's beneath our military concern."
Purple nodded lazily. "Yeah, biological contaminants are gross but harmless. Just squishy problems waiting to be vaporized."
Then Red's tone shifted—colder, sharper, the commander momentarily breaking through the apathy.
"Massive, set course for Verdara. Get the fleet ready for an organic sweep."
The ship's voice—low, mechanical, and disturbingly pleased—rumbled through the comm like a predator's purr.
"Acknowledged, Tallest Red. Adjusting heading. I am… eager."
Purple snickered. "Oh, the ship likes this one."
Red gave a dry chuckle. "Don't we all? Been a while since we've had a proper cleanse."He turned back to me, smirk widening just slightly. "You started this, Invader Dabo. You'll finish it. Hold out until we arrive—and if you're still alive when we land, maybe I'll even promote you."
"Promote—?! Are you insane?! This isn't an—"
The line cut before I could finish.
The screen flickered to black, leaving behind the faint red reflection of the alert lights on my face.
Outside, the bunker trembled. The thud of impact reverberated through the metal bones of the base.
Roger was the first to move. "Sir, perimeter defenses are sustaining direct assault. Contact numbers increasing exponentially. I recommend we retaliate immediately."
Bolts stumbled to a nearby console, his servos whining from overexertion. "They're swarming the entire shield line! Some are burrowing underground"
Through the observation monitors above, I caught brief flashes of the outside world: Ash drifting like snow, forest canopies torn apart by shadows that moved too fast, their silhouettes shifting with each lunge. The sky was stained a sickly orange—Verdara's upper atmosphere choked with smoke from the first orbital strikes.
The ground beyond the shield seethed. Dozens of dark figures slammed into the barrier—some sprouting tendrils, others splitting open along their spines, releasing clouds of corrosive mist that hissed against the energy field.
A chorus of wet shrieks echoed in the distance.
The Massive's voice whispered again through my comm—just faint enough to make my blood run cold.
"Seven rotations, Invader. Keep the world intact. I'd like to see it burn in one piece."
Then silence.
Bolts flinched at another impact. Roger raised his blaster, posture perfect.
I just stared into the flickering red light washing across the room, the sound of the undead clawing at the shield.
"You started this," Red had said. And he was right.
I'd wanted an invasion. Now I had one.
CLASS: Necromancer (Lv 6 / 100)
HP: 85 / 85
MP: 50 / 50
SP: 60 / 60
Unallocated Stat Points: 30
STATS
STR: 12
END: 12
DEX: 12
INT: 10(+60)
WIS: 10
CHA: 20
LCK: 10
ACTIVE SKILLS
Raise Undead (Lv 1 / 10)
Force Telekinesis (Lv 7 / 10)
Force Heal (Lv 7 / 10)
Enhanced Movement (Lv 5 / 10)
Precognition (Lv 4 / 10)
Disguise (Lv 6 / 10)
Farming (Lv 2 / 10)
PASSIVE SKILLS
Force-Based
Force Sensitive (Lv 6 / 10)
Force Meditation (Lv 9 / 10)
Force Veil (Lv 4 / 10)
Mechu-Duru (Lv 3 / 10)
Magic / Necromancy
Anatomy (Lv 4 / 10)
Alchemy (Lv 4 / 10)
Herbalism (Lv 4 / 10)
Pharmacology (Lv 2 / 10)
Physical / Combat
Sprinting (Lv 3 / 10)
Acrobatics (Lv 5 / 10)
Parkour (Lv 5 / 10)
Brawling (Lv 5 / 10)
Melee Weapons (Lv 1 / 10) → Knives (Lv 2 / 10)
Lightsaber (Lv 4 / 10)
Stun Resistance (Lv 1 / 10)
Sneaking (Lv 4 / 10)
Ranged / Engineering
Marksmanship (Lv 5 / 10)
Ranged Weapons (Lv 3 / 10) → Small Arms (Lv 3 / 10) → Massive Weapons (Lv 1 / 10)
Computers (Lv 8 / 10)
Engineering (Lv 4 / 10)
Strategy (Lv 6 / 10)
Construction (Lv 4 / 10)
Utility / Social / Misc.
Merchant (Lv 9 / 10)
Masseuse (Lv 8 / 10)
Muscle Memory (Lv 2 / 10)
Knot-Tying (Lv 4 / 10)
Painting (Lv 4 / 10)
Singing (Lv 2 / 10)
Woodworking (Lv 5 / 10)
Pain Resistance (Lv 5 / 10)
Drug Resistance (Lv 1 / 10)
Politician (Lv 2 / 10)
TRAITS
Mana Gifted
One with THE FORCE
2nd MIND+
Robotic Stamina
Dimensional Traveler
The Chef
Acid Punk
One with Machines
Smart Man's Gun
Echo of the Force
Eye of the Force
[1] Those who know