Chapter 582: The Unwanted Tour Guide

Kylus hauled the final gravity crate up the Strider’s loading ramp, the heavy metal clanking against the reinforced deck plates. The lower hold hummed with activity as the crew secured their newly acquired mountain of black-market military hardware and universal space chips.

Reva paused near the back of the cargo bay, her keen eyes locking onto a specific reinforced container. She raised her kinetic rifle and tapped the side of the box with the barrel.

“Captain,” Reva called out, her finger hovering over the trigger. “We have a problem. This crate is actively shivering.”

Xavier walked over, gesturing for Kylus and Rin to flank the container. “Pop the latch.”

Reva kicked the locking mechanism. The lid sprang open, revealing the Abyssal Weaver squeezed between two illegal dark matter drive coils. The towering demon had completely shed his elegant corporate silk, now wearing a tattered, oil-stained mechanic’s jumpsuit that barely covered his obsidian scales.

He hugged his knees to his chest, looking absolutely pathetic as he blinked against the harsh lighting of the cargo bay.

“Please do not shoot,” the Weaver rasped, slowly raising his clawed hands in surrender.

Lyra sparked a fireball over her palm, illuminating the demon’s terrified violet eyes. “You have exactly three seconds to explain why you are stowing away on our ship before I turn you into a campfire and roast meat with your body.”

The Weaver scrambled out of the crate, dropping to his knees on the metal deck. “The moment I surrendered that data drive to you, my soul was marked for extraction! The Demonic Society’s surveillance network sees everything in Sector Four. If I stay on this planet, the First Pillar will drag me into the Abyss and flay my flesh for eternity!”

He crawled slightly closer to Xavier, though he smartly kept his distance from Lyra’s flames. “I am begging you for asylum. Take me with you.”

Xalvoria stepped out of the corridor, her crimson gown gliding silently over the grating. She looked down at the trembling broker with an expression of profound boredom.

‘I have crushed galaxies, and now I am collecting pests,’ she thought, curling her lip in disgust. “I do not want this filthy creature breathing my air. I will compress him into a footstool.”

“Wait!” the Weaver shrieked, backing away from the Empress. “I am the sector broker! I know the exact patrol routes around the Dead World! I know the security codes for the Demonic mothership’s outer hull! You cannot infiltrate that shipyard without me!”

Xavier raised his hand, halting Xalvoria before she could snap her fingers. He looked the demon up and down, weighing the tactical advantage. ‘A terrified guide is usually a reliable one. He literally has nowhere else to run.’

“Congratulations, Weaver,” Xavier said coldly. “You are officially our new tour guide. But if you give us a single bad coordinate, the Empress gets her footstool. Get to the bridge.”

The Strider’s massive thrusters roared to life, shaking the dust from the hangar walls as the dreadnought broke free of Vandermis Aventine’s gravity well. Rin guided the heavy vessel through the dense, neon-lit storm clouds, aiming the nose directly toward the dark expanse of space.

Just as the blue atmospheric friction faded from the viewport, the ship’s proximity alarms began to scream.

A massive barricade of purple-painted corporate dreadnoughts materialized from the planet’s orbital stealth grid. Dozens of heavy weapon batteries swiveled in unison, instantly locking their targeting lasers onto the Strider’s hull.

The main communications terminal flashed red. CEO Lorde’s face appeared on the screen, his cybernetic eye spinning erratically in a fit of absolute rage.

“Vanguard vessel! Cut your engines immediately!” Lorde roared, spit flying from his lips. “My men just checked the subterranean bank! You emptied my entire vault! Every last credit, every single military prototype! Did you really think you could play me for a fool and just fly away?!”

The Abyssal Weaver grabbed the edge of the navigation console, his scales turning a pale shade of gray. “He has four heavy cruisers! We are completely outgunned! We are going to be vaporized into cosmic dust!”

“Shut up,” Rin snapped, completely unfazed as he kept his hands steady on the pilot’s yoke.

Xavier stepped forward and leaned casually against the captain’s chair. He didn’t bother turning on his streaming drones or opening his system interface. He simply offered Lorde a polite, razor-sharp smile.

“Consider the contents of your vault an extended security consultancy fee, Lorde,” Xavier replied smoothly. “You hired the best. We expect to be compensated accordingly.”

“Open fire!” Lorde screamed to his fleet commanders. “Turn them into scrap!”

The entire corporate blockade unleashed a synchronized volley of concentrated plasma artillery. Bright streaks of lethal energy crossed the void, aiming to tear the Strider apart at the seams.

“Viola,” Xavier ordered, not even bothering to brace himself for impact. “Let’s see what we bought.”

Down in the engineering bay, the young mechanic slammed a heavy lever forward. The stolen military-grade prototype shields, freshly integrated into the Strider’s power core, flared to life with a blinding, iridescent blue light.

The planetary-grade artillery slammed directly into the dreadnought. Instead of tearing through the armor, the plasma splashed harmlessly against the prototype barrier, dissipating into harmless ripples of static energy. The heavy ship barely shuddered under the immense bombardment.

Lorde’s jaw dropped on the monitor. His elite fleet had just fired their primary cannons, and they hadn’t even scratched the paint.

“They… they survived a direct barrage?” the Weaver whispered, staring at the viewport in utter disbelief. He looked at Xavier, suddenly realizing exactly what kind of monsters he had just allied himself with.

“Requiem, get us out of here,” Xavier commanded, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.

Requiem bypassed the standard hyperdrive and initiated the illegal dark matter core they had salvaged from the vault. The fabric of space directly in front of the Strider violently tore open, creating a swirling, pitch-black rift.

The dreadnought surged forward, diving seamlessly into the tear. The raw gravitational wake of the dark matter jump violently tossed Lorde’s pursuing cruisers aside like toys in a hurricane, leaving the furious CEO screaming at static as the Strider vanished into the void, perfectly on course for the Demonic Society’s Dead World.