In a distant, nameless fold of the delay universe, countless galaxies swam in the silent dark.
On a fog-shrouded planet within one of these swirling islands of stars, a tear in reality shimmered open. Hayate stepped through, his boots sinking slightly into the damp, spongy ground. The air was thick, a choking, opaque blanket of mist that limited visibility to a few arm's lengths.
"What a weird planet," he muttered, his voice flat. "So much fog for nothing."
He closed his eyes, dismissing the physical world. His consciousness expanded outward, a radar-pulse of pure intent. He wasn't just scanning the planet; his senses rippled across star systems, brushing against asteroid belts, diving into stellar coronas, skimming the surfaces of frozen moons. He sought one specific signature: the cold, voracious hunger of the Zunan.
A moment later, his eyes snapped open, sharp and clear.
"Yep," he stated. "This galaxy is crawling with them. All kinds. Like… billions, trillions? I don't know. Too many to count, anyway."
Annoyance, not concern, flickered across his features. He began to levitate, rising straight up through the soupy fog. It thinned, then broke, revealing the planet's bruised purple surface below, and finally the star-dusted velvet of space. He rose until the planet was a cloudy marble below him, then a dot, then insignificant against the grand spiral of the galaxy itself, a whirlpool of two trillion stars.
Hayate floated in the profound silence, the galactic core a bright smear of light in the distance. He raised both hands, stretching them wide as if preparing to embrace the entire cosmos before him. A faint sigh escaped him.
"It's unfortunate, but oh well," he said in his mind to the void. "I'd love to not waste any more time killing them one by one. I've gotta check on the kids, after all."
His hands began to glow. Not a bright flash, but a deep, ominous crimson that started at his palms and seeped up his forearms. The energy didn't crackle or roar, it accumulated with a heavy, dreadful silence, warping the space around him, making the light from nearby stars bend and bleed.
"Wave of Calamity."
He spoke the name without fanfare.
The glow intensified from crimson to a blinding, solar white, and then
It released.
It was not fire or but a force of energy disintegrating everything in it's path.
Planets did not explode; they ceased to be. Stars did not go supernova; they were snuffed out like candle flames in a hurricane. Nebulae of vibrant color dissolved into gray nothingness. The wave washed over the supermassive black hole at the galaxy's heart, and even that monument to gravity was unraveled, its event horizon flickering and vanishing without a whimper.
In ten seconds, it was over.
Where a magnificent spiral galaxy with two trillion stars had spun for eons, there was now only an immense, perfect sphere of empty, featureless space. A hole punched in the tapestry of the cosmos. Numbers, scale, celestial mechanics—none of it had mattered.
This was the power of Hayate. A level of devastation the new soldiers could scarcely imagine, let alone hope to match.
Hayate lowered his hands. The red glow faded from his skin. He let out a small, weary sigh, as if he'd just completed a tedious chore.
"Well," he said in mind, "that should be the last galaxy they told me about. I should go see how the rookies are doing."
He made a casual, tearing motion with his hand. A portal of calm blue light rippled open beside him. He stepped through, and the absolute emptiness he left behind was complete.
---
He arrived at the coordinates of Pathro and Kobayashi's mission at almost the exact moment their battle concluded.
His portal opened not onto a planet's surface, but into cold, airless vacuum. Hayate's eyes, usually so dismissive, widened a fraction.
There was no planet. Only a expanding, dissipating cloud of debris rock, dust, and glittering ice spinning slowly in the light of a distant sun. And floating amidst the cosmic wreckage were two figures: Pathro, completely unconscious, and Kobayashi, who was barely clinging to awareness, one hand feebly holding onto his teammate.
A sense of genuine shock momentarily froze Hayate. His lips parted to speak, but no sound could travel in the void. Sounds needs a medium and with only space left, he couldn't speak. The thought formed clearly in his mind instead: Huh? What happened here? Did they face a Zunan that strong?
As if sensing his arrival, the last thread of Kobayashi's consciousness snapped. The relief of seeing a superior allowed his body to finally surrender. He went limp alongside Pathro.
Hayate's telekinesis, invisible and precise, gently enveloped both boys, drawing them toward him. He scanned the area with his senses. No lingering Zunan presence. Only the fading echoes of a catastrophic detonation and two human energy signatures, one dangerously faint.
Whatever they faced here is definitely gone. So I assume they killed it.
He was about to open a return portal directly to the Medical Treatment Facility back on their base world but halted. No. Can't do that. The vacuum here would violently suck the air out of the facility, cause a hell of a mess and probably injure staff. In that case…
He changed the destination. The next portal opened onto the gray, dusty surface of Earth's moon. He floated through, pulling the boys with him, and landed softly on the regolith. Without pause, he shot upward, a streak of light leaving the moon's gravity well, arcing toward the beautiful blue marble of Earth.
He entered the mesosphere, where the thin air began to whisper against his protective energy field. Here. This was sufficient medium. He stopped his ascent and, for the second time, tore open a portal. This one led directly into the sterile, white hallway of the Medical Treatment Facility, air pressure equalized.
He stepped through, the two wounded rookies floating behind him. A nurse, her uniform crisp and white, was already maneuvering a floating medical bed around a corner, its anti-grav hum quiet.
"Get them treated," Hayate said, his voice back to its usual detached tone as he gently lowered Pathro and Kobayashi onto the bed.
The nurse didn't flinch at their battered, space-dust-coated forms. She simply tapped a panel, turning the bed full reverse. "On it, sir," she replied, her professionalism absolute, and hurried them away down the hall toward the surgical suites.
Hayate watched them go for a brief moment. A frown touched his lips. I let my underlings get injured to the point of fainting on my very first mission overseeing them? This will reduce my rating. The Vice-Captain won't be so happy hearing about this. She will scold me pretty bad.
He paused, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Crap. What am I still doing standing here? I should go get the rest of them.
With a swift gesture, he opened a final portal. This one shimmered with the strange, muted colors of the Delay Universe. Time to retrieve Kiligaku, Toshiro, and the others.
---
Pathro woke to silence.
Not the uneasy silence of a battlefield after destruction, nor the hollow quiet of space but something gentler. Absolute. Still.
He was lying flat on his back.
Coolness pressed faintly against his spine, seeping through the fabric touching his skin. He blinked once… twice… and his vision slowly sharpened. Above him stretched an endless sky, soft blue, unmarred, scattered with slow-drifting clouds as white and delicate as brushed cotton. The sun hung high, its warmth steady and comforting, not harsh enough to sting the eyes.
"…Huh?"
His voice sounded small here.
He pushed himself upright, expecting resistance, a mattress, solid ground, something. Instead, gentle ripples spread outward in perfect circles from where his hands pressed down.
Ripples?
His eyes widened.
There was no floor.
No land.
Only water.
An infinite ocean extended in every direction, its surface so calm it reflected the sky almost flawlessly, the horizon dissolving where blue met blue. The world felt unreal in its symmetry.
"What the hell…?" he muttered.
He was sitting on water.
Instinctively, he shifted his weight, bracing for the plunge, but nothing happened. His body remained perfectly supported, as if resting on invisible glass.
No… no way.
He cautiously pressed a hand downward.
His fingers slid effortlessly through the surface with a soft shhhlk, sinking into the cool liquid. The water swallowed his palm… his wrist…
But his arm didn't pull him down.
His body stayed afloat.
Supported.
Suspended.
"…This makes zero sense," he whispered.
His heart thudded once, heavy and slow.
Am I dead?
He stood up.
The water held his feet like solid ground, the surface dimpling faintly beneath his soles. He looked down at himself, and froze.
He wasn't wearing his combat gear.
Instead, simple gray sports pants clung loosely to his legs, and a plain white T-shirt rested against his chest, stirring gently in the breeze.
"…When did I change clothes?"
His fingers curled into fists. He squeezed hard, nails biting into skin. Pain bloomed real, sharp.
He inhaled deeply.
The air smelled clean. Fresh. Slightly damp, like morning mist after rain.
Too real.
Too complete.
"Either this is the most realistic dream I've ever had," he murmured to the empty horizon, "or this isn't a dream at all."
He knelt and leaned forward, peering into the water.
It was impossibly clear.
Sunlight streamed down into endless blue depths, fading gradually into darker shades the farther he looked. No fish. No plants. No seabed. Just infinity.
Serene… but wrong.
Peaceful… but empty.
Like a place that existed not to comfort, but to wait.
"Pathro."
The voice came from directly behind him.
Not loud.
But it vibrated, as if the sound didn't travel through air, but through existence itself.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up.
WHOOSH—!
Pathro flipped backward in one smooth motion, water rippling violently beneath his feet as he landed several meters away in a low, combat-ready stance. His breath hitched. His heart slammed against his ribs.
Nothing.
No energy spike. No presence. No warning.
Only
Something stood where he had been.
It was humanoid in shape… but not flesh.
Not light.
Not shadow.
It was absence.
A man-shaped silhouette of pure, depthless black, like a hole punched cleanly through reality itself. The sky behind it seemed swallowed, erased. Only its eyes existed two calm, unwavering points of soft white light.
Pathro swallowed.
"…What the hell is that?"
He pushed outward with his meta-sense.
Nothing answered.
Not resistance.
Not emptiness.
Not silence.
Just… nothing.
Like trying to sense a void where existence refused to register.
I can't feel it. At all.
The figure spoke again. Its voice layered, echoing softly from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"So… your journey has finally begun."
Pathro's brow furrowed, dread coiling in his stomach.
"It won't be long now…now that you have become a Zunan Fighter."
"What?" Pathro snapped. "What are you talking about?"
His pulse quickened. Questions crashed into his mind all at once.
Was it waiting for me? Is this some kind of test? What even is this thing?
He forced his voice steady. "Who are you? And where am I?"
Cold sweat slid down his neck.
The silhouette did not move.
"You still have time," it replied calmly. "This is not the moment."
That did it.
Fear gave way to irritation, hot, sharp, familiar.
"Tch," Pathro clicked his tongue. "Enough with the cryptic crap."
His muscles tensed.
"I'll beat answers out of you."
He lunged forward, foot kicking off the water's surface, fist drawn back, explosive energy coiling tight as he aimed a direct strike at the center of that dark form.
The instant his intent turned hostile
GLRRRK
The water betrayed him.
Its solidity vanished.
His foot plunged downward, the surface swallowing him whole as if a trapdoor had opened beneath reality itself.
"—?!"
He gasped as his body dropped, the world flipping upside down. Water closed over his head with a soft, final glug.
He sank.
Not thrashing.
Not screaming.
Just falling slowly, helplessly into endless blue.
Above him, the silhouette remained unmoving.
Its white eyes watched calmly as Pathro descended, the surface light fading… dimming… until darkness claimed everything.
"Oh my goodness!"
Pathro jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his body arching upward as
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The steady rhythm of a heart monitor filled his ears.
Harsh white light burned overhead. The scent of antiseptic stabbed into his nostrils.
"…Huh?"
He blinked rapidly.
A hospital room.
Sterile. Clean. Real.
He looked down, pale blue medical scrubs. Tubes connected to his arm. To his right, another bed.
Kobayashi lay there, chest rising and falling steadily, unconscious, wrapped in soft light from diagnostic monitors humming quietly.
Pathro exhaled shakily and stared at the ceiling.
"…So it really was a dream."
But it didn't feel like one.
The water. The voice. That impossible emptiness.
It felt remembered, not imagined.
He swung his legs off the bed, bare feet touching cool linoleum.
"What an absurdly real dream," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He felt… great.
No pain. No fatigue. No lingering damage.
Whoever patched us up is insane.
He slipped on a pair of simple sandals beside the bed and glanced back at Kobayashi, reassured by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Time to check on the others."
He opened the door and stepped into the bright, bustling hallway of the medical facility leaving behind the stillness, the ocean, and the watching eyes.