The void trembled.
The Commissioner watched on his displays as the Leviathan Mundikuni entered the system. It was massive—larger than anything he had ever seen. Larger than the Mundikuni they were on. Larger than the sun that had once warmed his home world. Larger than anything that should exist in the void between worlds.
It moved slowly, deliberately, its form shifting and twisting as it swam through the darkness. Its hide was not like the other Mundikuni—not iron, not stone, not flesh. It was something else. Something older. Something that had been forged in the depths of the void before the first stars were born.
Its eyes—hundreds of them, thousands of them—glowed with a cold, hungry light. They were fixed on the city. On the energy. On the ritual site.
On Aurelion.
The Commissioner's hands clenched.
"All units," he said, his voice echoing through the communication systems. "The Leviathan has entered the system. Prepare for engagement."
The first wave of ships hit the Leviathan like a swarm of insects.
Hundreds of thousands of warrior-class vessels—sleek, deadly, designed for void combat—swooped toward the creature, their weapons blazing. Plasma cannons fired in unison, their beams lancing across the void. Missile batteries launched volley after volley, each one finding its mark. Energy lances carved through the Leviathan's hide like knives through butter.
The creature didn't flinch.
It didn't even slow down.
The ships swarmed around it, their weapons tearing through flesh and hide. But the Leviathan was too large. Too ancient. Too powerful. Every wound they inflicted healed within seconds. Every missile they launched was absorbed. Every beam they fired was refracted by its hide.
The Commissioner watched on his displays, his heart sinking.
It's not working, he thought. We're not even scratching it.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to the fleet commanders.
"Concentrate fire on the eyes," he ordered. "Blind it. Slow it down."
The ships adjusted their formation, their weapons focusing on the Leviathan's thousands of eyes. Plasma beams lanced across the void, striking eye after eye. Each explosion sent a shockwave through the creature's massive form.
But the Leviathan had too many eyes. It could afford to lose them.
And it was still hungry.
The Tier 3 railguns joined the fight.
They were the most powerful weapons in the city's arsenal—massive cannons that could tear through the hide of a Mundikuni like paper. They had driven back the first wave of creatures. They had held the line.
But the Leviathan was different.
The first shell struck its flank, detonating with the force of a small star. The explosion was blinding—a flash of light that lit up the void for miles in every direction.
The Leviathan didn't flinch.
The second shell struck its eye—one of the larger ones, a massive orb that glowed with hungry light. The explosion was even bigger than the first. The eye burst, ichor spraying across the void.
The Leviathan roared.
But it didn't stop.
It kept coming.
The railguns fired again. And again. And again. Each shot was perfectly aimed, perfectly timed, perfectly devastating. The Leviathan was wounded—its hide cracked, its eyes destroyed, its flesh seared.
But it was still coming.
The guides formed the final line of defense.
They were small—tiny compared to the Leviathan, tiny compared to the ships, tiny compared to everything else in the void. But they were not helpless.
Their back compartments opened, revealing the comically large railguns they carried. The weapons hummed to life, their barrels glowing with contained energy. They took aim, their sensors locked onto the approaching creature.
And they fired.
The railguns were not as powerful as the Tier 3 cannons. They were not as advanced as the spaceship weapons. But they were many—thousands of them, each one firing in perfect synchronization. The void was filled with light—a storm of projectiles that tore through the Leviathan's flesh, chipping away at its hide, slowing its advance.
The guides held the line.
But the Leviathan kept coming.
The Commissioner watched on his displays, his heart pounding.
The battle had been raging for hours. The ships were exhausted. The railguns were overheating. The guides were running low on ammunition. The Leviathan was wounded—more wounded than any creature he had ever seen—but it was still coming.
We can't stop it, he thought. We can't even slow it down.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to all defensive units.
"Fall back," he ordered. "Reform the perimeter. Concentrate fire on its maw—it's the only vulnerable point."
The ships and guides retreated, their formations shifting. The Leviathan followed, its hunger driving it forward. Its maw was massive—large enough to swallow a city—and it was open, ready to consume everything in its path.
The railguns fired, their shells striking the maw. The ships fired, their beams lancing into the creature's throat. The guides fired, their railguns blazing.
The Leviathan roared.
But it didn't stop.
It kept coming.
The Leviathan reached the city's shield.
It pressed against the barrier, its massive form straining against the energy field. The shield flickered, cracked, groaned. The Commissioner watched on his displays as the barrier strained under the pressure.
It's going to break, he thought. The shield is going to break.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to the city's engineers.
"Reinforce the shield," he ordered. "All power to the barriers. Do whatever you can."
A voice responded—strained, desperate. "We're trying, sir. But the Leviathan is too strong. The shield can't hold much longer."
The Commissioner closed his eyes.
We're going to die, he thought. We're all going to die.
He opened his eyes.
No, he told himself. I will not give up. I will not surrender. I will fight until the end.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to all defensive units.
"This is the Commissioner," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "The Leviathan is at our door. The shield is failing. We cannot stop it through strength alone."
He paused.
"But we can slow it down. We can buy time. We can give the engineers a chance to reinforce the shield, to find another way, to—"
He stopped.
What else was there? What else could they do?
He didn't know.
But he had to try.
"All units," he said. "Concentrate fire on the Leviathan's maw. Do not stop. Do not retreat. Fight until the end."
He raised his hand.
"For the city. For the Mundikuni. For our lives."
He brought his hand down.
"Engage."
The battle continued.
The Leviathan pressed against the shield, its massive form straining against the barrier. The shield flickered, cracked, groaned. The engineers worked desperately, rerouting power, reinforcing the barriers, doing everything they could to hold the line.
The ships and guides fought on, their weapons blazing. The railguns fired until their barrels melted. The guides held their positions, their railguns roaring.
The Leviathan was wounded—more wounded than any creature had ever been. Its hide was cracked, its eyes destroyed, its flesh seared. But it was still coming. It was still hungry. It was still relentless.
The Commissioner watched on his displays, his heart pounding.
We can't hold much longer, he thought. The shield is going to break. The city is going to fall. We're all going to—
A new alert flashed on his displays.
He looked at it.
The shield was failing.
Not in one place—everywhere. The Leviathan's constant pressure had weakened the barrier beyond repair. Cracks were spreading across its surface, light bleeding through the fractures. The engineers were screaming over the comms, their voices desperate, their efforts futile.
The Commissioner pressed a button, opening a channel to all defensive units.
"The shield is failing," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "All units, prepare for close-quarters combat. The Leviathan will breach the barrier. When it does, we fight."
He paused.
"We fight for our city. We fight for our homes. We fight for our lives."
He raised his hand.
"For the Mundikuni."
He brought his hand down.
"Engage."
The shield shattered.
The Leviathan poured through the breach like a tidal wave of flesh and hunger. Its massive form crushed buildings, tore through streets, consumed everything in its path. The city descended into chaos.
The ships swarmed the creature, their weapons blazing. The guides fired their railguns, their small forms darting between the Leviathan's massive limbs. The railguns—those that still functioned—fired until their barrels glowed white-hot.
But the Leviathan was too large. Too powerful. Too hungry.
It moved through the city like a force of nature, its maw open wide, consuming everything in its path. Buildings collapsed. Streets crumbled. Beings screamed and ran, their guides floating beside them, their lives shattered.
The Commissioner watched on his displays, his heart pounding.
We can't stop it, he thought. We can't even slow it down.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to all defensive units.
"Fall back," he ordered. "Reform the perimeter at the temple. Protect the ritual site. Do not let it reach the energy."
The ships and guides retreated, their formations shifting. The Leviathan followed, its hunger driving it forward. Its maw was massive—large enough to swallow a city block—and it was open, ready to consume everything in its path.
The railguns fired, their shells striking the maw. The ships fired, their beams lancing into the creature's throat. The guides fired, their railguns blazing.
The Leviathan roared.
But it didn't stop.
It kept coming.
The Commissioner stood in his headquarters, watching the battle unfold on his displays.
The Leviathan was closer now—so close that he could feel the ground trembling beneath its weight. The city was in chaos. The defenses were failing. The guides were dying.
We're going to lose, he thought. We're going to lose everything.
He pressed a button, opening a channel to all defensive units.
"This is the Commissioner," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "The Leviathan is at our door. The city is falling. We cannot stop it through strength alone."
He paused.
"But we can slow it down. We can buy time. We can give the engineers a chance to find another way, to—"
He stopped.
What else was there? What else could they do?
He didn't know.