Later.
In one of SABER's glass-floored corridors, Abbott and Polaris strolled side by side, flanked by elite guards.
"She should've been silenced long ago," Polaris muttered, annoyed. "Three years of scattered sabotage, leaking intel, trying to spark revolts... and still, we allow her to breathe? Who does she think she is?"
Her blade hovered behind her again, twitching with her irritation.
Abbott exhaled slowly. "Lux is not an Anisaphien, Polaris. She's not bred for chaos. She's an idealist. Idealists are more... persistent."
He stopped walking, thoughtful.
"Putnum will handle the details. Prepare the craft. And this time, no more warnings."
Polaris smirked, eyes glowing faintly green.
"Good. I'm done playing."
***
Far beyond SABER's reach, a radiant figure streaked across the stars—a living comet ablaze with desperation.
Lux, the last free voice of her people, surged toward the Pleiades Cluster, known across galaxies as the Seven Sisters—celestial entities said to grant miracles... or doom, depending on the heart that asks.
She dropped to her knees upon the observation deck of her ship, clutching her chest, trembling.
"Please… you who bend fate and shape stars," she whispered into the void. "I offer myself to you. Stop what is coming. Spare my people from what I… what I allowed. I was wrong to trust those spineless delegates. They chose safety over justice—fear over resistance."
The stars blinked.
Her voice cracked as she reached out to the light. "Grant me strength. Grant me a chance to stop Abbott—he who has extinguished too many lives already."
But then—
Red lights burst to life on her console. Sirens. Alerts. Heat signatures.
From her left flank, sensors lit up like wildfire.
Her home world—already under siege.
With fury scorching her every cell, Lux turned course and blasted toward her planet. Her form shimmered with solar energy, crackling brighter and hotter as she approached atmosphere.
She arrived too late to stop the mothership descending like judgment itself.
And beneath its shadow, the figure she feared most stood—calm, pale, unreadable.
Abbott.
The Infinity Sparks launched everything they had. Solar beams. Planetary disruptors. Beacons of light meant to break even gods.
It didn't matter.
He moved through it all like a phantom. Protected by a lattice of black nanites that rippled over his skin—advanced armor so dense it could absorb the blast of a world-ending cannon. Once.
It would only need once.
Lux met him head-on, plunging them both into the planet's core in a desperate bid to end it before it began.
She wrapped her blazing limbs around his throat, pouring every ounce of light into his armored form.
"You don't want to do this, Abbott," she hissed, breath shaking with pain and power.
His reply was ice.
"I didn't. But you forced my hand, Infinity Spark."
With monstrous force, he broke free—one blow tearing through her defenses. His fist, glowing with compressed gravity, pierced her chest and smashed through the mantle beneath them.
And then—
The core ignited.
A white-hot eruption swallowed the planet from within. A once-thriving civilization reduced to floating ash and shrapnel in moments.
From high orbit, Putnum watched it happen.
He stood aboard the viewing deck of the mothership, flanked by silence and smoke, his face ashen.
He had brought Abbott here. Escorted him. Protected him. Believed in the mission.
And now…
Billions of lives gone.
Below, fragments of buildings, cities, people floated in the void. The glowing embers of a world that once dared to resist.
"No…" he whispered, voice cracking as he stepped toward the glass. "What have you done, Abbott?"
Abbott emerged behind him, still dusting off his sleeves.
"Simple," he said coolly, not even winded. "Effective."
Putnum's fists clenched. But he said nothing.
Not yet.
***
"So let me get this straight…"
Gunz crossed his arms, posture rigid, tail twitching. "You just stood there while Abbott vaporized a planet because they wouldn't hand over their resources? Sounds to me like you're not that different from him. You—or your little loyalist fan club."
His words cut sharper than any blade, and he knew it.
Putnum didn't flinch. He simply sat in the pilot's chair, shoulders heavy, staring down at the cold metal floor.
"I'm not proud of what I did," he said quietly. "But at the time, I had a duty. As captain of the enforcers, I had to appear unshakable—fearless. They needed someone to follow. Someone to believe in. During that period, I inadvertently became his primary enforcer."
He looked toward one of his remaining subordinates. The man refused to meet his eyes.
"I escorted Abbott to Lux's world. I watched him… destroy it. I said nothing while comrades—good soldiers—lost everything. Families. Homes. Futures."
His voice cracked, just for a second, before he steadied it.
"But I'm saying something now. Because it's not too late to make things right. We can't undo what's been done, but we can decide what we do next."
A beat passed.
Then—
"Snnnnkkkk—pfff. Zzzz…!"
Gunz made an exaggerated snoring noise, eyes still closed, claws drumming dramatically on the table.
"Oh, sorry," the fox said, yawning. "Didn't realize I walked into a redemption arc monologue!"
SkyRaider arched an eyebrow from his seat across the deck, expression unreadable. "Harsh, even for you."
Gunz shrugged. "I'm not a fan of traitors with poetic guilt. Sue me."
But Randall's usual smirk had faded. His fingers tapped lightly against his belt buckle as he studied Putnum.
"You didn't answer the real question," he said, leaning forward just slightly. "Why us?"
Putnum met his gaze. No smile. No mask.
"Because you're unpredictable. You're untethered. Because when SABER finally overreaches—and it will—you're the kind of chaos they can't plan for."
Gunz opened one eye. That got his attention.
"Well—" the fox said, stretching lazily, "now that... that's a pitch I can work with. Now I'm back on board."