Chapter 583: The Ghost Fleet

The pitch-black tear in reality spat the Strider out into a graveyard of dying stars. Requiem immediately cut the sub-light engines, allowing the dreadnought to drift silently into the fringes of the uncharted system.

Before them loomed the Dead World. It was not merely a planet, but a colossal, hollowed-out celestial body whose molten core had been replaced by a pulsing, violet Abyssal forge. Millions of jagged metal scaffolds and docking rings protruded from the planetary crust, swarming with demonic dreadnoughts and hollowed-out slave ships.

However, blocking their path was a dense asteroid belt that seemed to breathe.

“Stop the ship!” the Abyssal Weaver shrieked, pressing his face against the bridge viewport. “Do not move another inch!”

Kylus enhanced the optical sensors. The ‘asteroids’ were not made of rock. They were millions of Void-Mines—grotesque, sentient masses of fleshy tendrils and volatile void energy drifting lazily through the vacuum.

“They track the thermal and spiritual signatures of biological souls,” the Weaver explained rapidly, his obsidian scales rattling with fear. “If we brush against even one, it will detonate with enough force to crack this hull in half. To pass, someone must broadcast the shifting abyssal cipher from the exterior communications array. Your new prototype shields are too thick; they are blocking my internal access codes.”

Xavier leaned back in the captain’s chair and offered the demon a terrifyingly polite smile. “Sounds like you are going on a spacewalk, Weaver.”

“I cannot go out there alone!” the broker protested, gesturing frantically at the minefield. “If I miss a single keystroke, the cipher resets and we all die!”

“Lyra,” Xavier said, not breaking eye contact with the demon. “Make sure our new friend types carefully.”

Ten minutes later, the outer airlock hissed open, exposing the Weaver to the freezing vacuum of space. He wore a bulky emergency pressure suit that severely restricted his movements.

Lyra stood right beside him on the exterior hull, her own sleek environmental suit barely containing the immense heat radiating from her hands.

She kept herself anchored to the grating with one hand while her other hand gripped the collar of the demon’s suit, casually holding him over the lethal abyss.

“Type, broker,” Lyra commanded over the private comms channel, dangling him precariously as a massive Void-Mine drifted within ten yards of her boots.

The Weaver frantically tapped his jagged claws against the exterior terminal, inputting a rapidly shifting sequence of demonic runes. “I am typing! Stop shaking me! If you drop me, the cipher fails!”

“If you input the wrong digit, I am throwing you directly into that floating flesh-bomb and riding the shockwave back inside,” Lyra promised cheerfully.

The terminal chimed with a sickly green light. A localized frequency pulsed from the Strider’s array. Instantly, the sea of Void-Mines parted, their tendrils retracting as they recognized the demonic clearance code. The dreadnought glided smoothly through the lethal belt, leaving the explosive entities bobbing harmlessly in their wake.

Lyra dragged the hyperventilating demon back through the airlock and tossed him onto the deck plates. “Good job, intern. Let’s go.”

As they returned to the bridge, the true scale of the shipyard became apparent. The Strider navigated past the husks of massive, derelict capital ships that had been gutted for scrap.

The Weaver scrambled to the navigation console and began inputting his old broker overrides, successfully masking the dreadnought’s heavy energy signature to mimic a damaged, low-tier scavenger transport.

“The disguise is holding,” Kylus reported, watching the tactical display. “The automated planetary sensors are ignoring us.”

‘Perfect,’ Xavier thought, stepping up to the main console. ‘We just need to find a quiet docking bay and—’

[ Proximity Alert: Class-A Demonic Vessel Approaching. ]

A sleek, heavily armored patrol interceptor detached from a nearby scaffolding and swept directly over the Strider’s bow. The vessel locked tractor beams onto their hull, forcing Rin to completely kill their forward momentum.

The comms terminal cracked with static before a guttural, commanding voice filled the bridge. “Unidentified transport. Your registry is out of date. Power down your primary core and prepare for a physical inspection. Any resistance will result in immediate disintegration.”

“A physical inspection?” Rin frowned, his hands drifting toward his twin swords. “If they step onto this bridge and see a crew of heavily armed humans and an Aurelian, the entire planetary fleet will descend on us.”

Xavier’s mind raced. Starting a firefight inside the shipyard would be absolute suicide. They needed to play the part.

“Nobody shoots,” Xavier ordered sharply. “Hide the weapons. Kylus, pull your hood down and pretend to be my indentured mechanic. Rin, Lyra, grab some of those greasy rags from engineering and look pathetic. We are just humble junk traders who got lost looking for scrap.”

Xalvoria simply stood in the center of the bridge, her regal crimson gown contrasting wildly with the gritty industrial environment. She crossed her arms, her golden eyes flashing with a dangerous, lethal pride.

Xavier looked at her. She radiated pure cosmic authority and void magic. There was absolutely no way to disguise an Empress.

“Empress,” Xavier said, pointing toward a narrow supply closet near the rear bulkhead. “I need you to step inside.”

Xalvoria stared at him as if he had just suggested she eat dirt. ‘He wants me… the ruler of the cosmos… to hide among mops and lubricant fluid?’

“I will turn your spine into a necklace, human,” she whispered, her voice a low, vibrating threat that caused the temperature on the bridge to drop.

“Ten minutes, I promise. I will even let you ride me the way you want, no objections,” Xavier coaxed, ushering her toward the small metal door as the heavy clanking of magnetic boots echoed from the Strider’s outer hull. “If they see you, we lose our element of surprise. Just think of it as a temporary tactical retreat.”

With a scoff that could have shattered glass, Xalvoria stepped into the cramped closet. Xavier slammed the door shut just as the primary airlock hissed open.

Three elite Demonic Inspectors marched onto the command deck. They wore heavy, bone-plated armor and carried crackling shock-rifles. The lead demon, a hulking brute with four crimson eyes, scanned the dimly lit bridge.

He took in the sight of Kylus hunched over a sparking console, Rin and Lyra covered in engine grease, and Xavier standing by the pilot’s chair with a perfectly executed expression of cowardly panic.

“P-please, officers!” Xavier stammered, raising his hands submissively and adopting a trembling tone. “We are just independent contractors! We paid our sector taxes to the Weaver, I swear! Our navigation core glitched and we drifted into the restricted zone!”

The lead demon sneered, stepping aggressively into Xavier’s personal space. He leaned down, sniffing the air with contempt. “You humans smell like fear and cheap oil. Let me see your cargo manifest, scavenger, before I decide to throw you out the airlock for wasting my time.”