The mission room was a cramped, windowless vault of polished black steel, its walls etched with glowing blue circuitry that pulsed like a sleeping beast’s heartbeat. Holographic maps of **Aethelgard** flickered above the central holotable, casting ghostly light over the handful of Saiyans gathered there. No crowds, no distractions—just the hum of machinery and the clatter of armor as warriors adjusted their gear. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the faint, metallic tang of pre-battle adrenaline.

  At the holotable’s edge stood **Dr. Kaela Vex’orra**, her lab coat blindingly white against the room’s gloom. Her sharp eyes scanned the sparse attendees: **High-Class Varek** (oozing disdain), **Super Elite Altos** (fidgeting with a cracked scouter), two low-class grunts, and **Mori**, the youngest and smallest in the room.

  Mori sat rigid in her seat, her tail coiled tightly around the chair leg. Her armor—polished to a mirror shine by overeager servants—felt suffocating. *First mission. First mission. Don’t mess up.*

  **Dr. Kaela:** “—Aethelgard’s king claims the threat is minor. ‘Burrowing pests,’ he calls them.”

  Mori’s fingers dug into her thighs. *Focus. Focus. Father’s watching.*

  But her mind raced.

  **Mori’s Thoughts (Anxious):** *What if I fail? Vael will laugh. Aeron will smirk. Selene… Selene will tell Father I’m weak. Again.*

  She imagined her brothers’ faces:

  - **Vael**, eldest, *“Should’ve stayed in the nursery, little sister.”*

  - **Aeron**, middle brother, flippinga dagger. *“You’ll trip on your own tail.”*

  - **Selene**. *“Pathetic.”*

  **Mori’s Fantasy (Childish):** *Victory. Her brothers kneeling before her mori mmm check my power level now Selene forced to braid her hair. Selene scowling as Mori sits on Father’s throne. “Who’s weak now?”*

  She bit her lip to stifle a giggle. *Stupid. Childish.*

  **Dr. Kaela** tapped the holotable, zooming in on Aethelgard’s southern continent—a cracked desert under a blood-red sky. “The locals speak of ‘Krylls’ as myth. Ancient monsters that devoured their ancestors. Legends say they’re extinct.”

  **High-Class Varek** snorted, his crimson armor gleaming. “Legends? We’re here for *legends*? Waste of time.”

  **Super Elite Altos**, a bald short old man, stammered, “B-But Lord Havie said—”

  **Varek (cutting him off):** “Havie’s soft. We should be glassing rebel worlds, not chasing fairy tales.”

  Mori’s tail tightened. *Why am I here? To prove I’m not weak. To prove…*

  **Mori’s Fantasy (Humorous):** *Returning home victorious. Her brothers forced to serve her dinner. Vael grumbling, Aeron dropping a plate, Selene’s perfect hair singed. Uncle Zeelthar laughing. “Told you she’d outshine you brats!”*

  **Dr. Kaela (snapping):** “Focus, recruit!”

  Mori jolted, heat flooding her cheeks. *Stupid! Stupid!*

  **Dr. Kaela** continued, oblivious to Mori’s turmoil. “The Aethelgardians were once slaves to the Kryptons. They fled here, built their ‘paradise,’ and erased their past. If Krylls exist, they’re buried deep.”

  Mori’s mind wandered again. *Uncle Zeelthar*. The only one who’d ever praised her. *“You’ can achieve what you' want, mori. Don’t let anyone put you down.”*

  **Mori’s Fantasy (Yearning):** *Zeelthar standing beside her father. “ i told your brother my niece is strong veil ahh i was wrong about you my litte doighter *

  **Varek (mocking):** “Slaves and fairy tales. This mission reeks of cowardice.”

  **Altos (defensive):** “L-Lord Havie says the agricultural data is vital! Their crops grow in toxic soil! Imagine feeding armies with—”

  **Varek:** “Imagine *winning wars* instead of farming!”

  Mori’s fists clenched. *Focus. Prove yourself.*

  ---

  ### **Scene 5: The Weight of Expectation – Mori’s Resolve**

  **Dr. Kaela** pulled up a grainy image: skeletal, insectoid shadows carved into Aethelgard’s ancient temple walls. “If Krylls exist, they’re bio-engineered. Perfect hunters. The king’s ‘pests’ may be far worse.”

  **Mori’s Thoughts (Determined):** *I’ll find them. I’ll crush them. Father will see.*

  But doubt crept in. *What if I freeze? What if I’m not strong enough?*

  **Mori’s Fantasy (Defiant):** *Standing over a mountain of Kryll corpses. Her brothers silent. Selene’s icy glare melting into shock. “She… she did it.”*

  She straightened in her seat, chin raised. *I won’t fail. I won’t.*

  **Dr. Kaela** concluded, “We deploy at dawn. Secure the southern ruins, extract soil samples, eliminate hostiles. Understood?”

  **Varek:** “Understood? This is babysitting!”

  **Altos:** “Y-Yes, ma’am!”

  Mori nodded, her throat dry. *I won’t fail. I won’t.*

  As the holograms faded, Mori lingered, staring at the holotable’s dim glow.

  **Mori’s Final Fantasy:** *Her father’s throne room. Her brothers silent. Veil’s voice: “You’ve made me proud.”*

  She stood, armor clanking. *Time to prove them wrong

  Mori stood, the ghost of her father's imagined praise still warming her. Time to prove them wrong. Her resolve felt brittle, like thin ice over a dark ocean, but it was there.

  Just as Dr. Kaela deactivated the main holomap, the mission room's entrance hissed open again. Not with the quiet efficiency of before, but with a jarring scrape of metal on metal. Two figures stumbled in, already grappling, their identical faces contorted in matching snarls.

  Jax: "...always cheat, Vex!"

  Vex: "Only way to beat your ugly mug!"

  They slammed against the wall near the weapon racks, knocking a plasma rifle clattering to the floor. Mid-Class Elites, their armor scuffed, identical scars bisecting their left eyebrows. Mori recognized them – Jax and Vex, notorious brawlers known more for property damage than tactical brilliance. They often arrived late, rivalry overriding punctuality.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Varek curled his lip. "More degenerates. Altos, control your-"

  HSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHH!

  The door didn't just open this time; it screamed, vapor flooding the room, thick and cold like a tomb's first breath. The blue circuitry on the walls pulsed erratically, flickering as if recoiling.

  Silence slammed down. Jax and Vex froze mid-grapple. Varek choked on his insult. Altos’ already pale face went bone-white, his hand instinctively hovering over his scouter, knuckles white. The two low-class grunts near the back flattened themselves against the wall.

  A shadow fell across the threshold, impossibly large, eclipsing the corridor light. Mori felt the air pressure change, a low thrum vibrating through the metal floor into the soles of her boots. The scent of ozone intensified, sharp and stinging, overlaid with something else... something acrid, like burnt meat and overheated wiring.

  Domo entered.

  He wasn't just tall; he was a monolith of scarred, dark-grey flesh and blackened, pitted armor that seemed fused to his hide. Ten feet, maybe more, his horns scraped the doorframe as he stooped slightly to enter. Fresh gashes, still weeping fluid, crisscrossed his chest and arms, sizzling faintly. Slung over one massive shoulder, limp as discarded prey, was another Saiyan. Mori squinted through the settling vapor – Gogeta? His face was a swollen ruin of purple bruises and dried blood, head lolling, one arm bent at an angle that made Mori’s stomach clench.

  Domo’s eyes scanned the room. Not the deliberate assessment of a commander, but the predatory sweep of a starved beast entering a feeding ground. His pupils were vertical slits, glowing with a faint, unstable crimson light.

  His gaze landed on Jax and Vex, still frozen near the wall – the closest obstacles.

  He didn’t detour. He strode directly towards them, each step a heavy clang on the deck plating. He stopped inches from them, the heat radiating from his body palpable.

  Domo: His voice was a low rumble, like rocks grinding together. "Scramble, maggots."

  Vex, ever the instigator, recovered first. A reckless, hyena-like grin split his bruised face. "Well, look what the Krynlag dragged in! Didn't know they stacked garbage that high, brother!"

  Jax elbowed him, but a similar, defiant smirk touched his own lips. "Lost, big guy? The scrap heap's outside."

  Domo didn't react, didn't even blink. He slowly raised one hand, palm open. It wasn’t large, proportionally, but thick, scarred, wires visible beneath torn synth-skin near the wrist. A faint, sickly green energy began to gather in his palm, crackling audibly, making the lights flicker again. "Asraioth law won't save you from me when you're stains on the wall."

  Mori felt rooted to the spot. This wasn't the controlled power she trained with. This was raw, uncontrolled annihilation gathering in his hand. Her mind, usually racing with anxieties about Selene or Vael, went utterly blank, replaced by a primal danger klaxon. Who IS this? This wasn't in the briefing!

  Dr. Kaela stepped forward, her voice tight but trying for authority. "Lord Domo, stand down! This is a mission briefing room-"

  Domo didn't turn. "Someone doesn't know their place." The energy in his palm pulsed brighter, greener.

  Varek, who had been sneering defiance only moments ago, took an involuntary half-step back, bumping into Altos. His eyes darted between Domo's glowing hand and his superior. "M-Master Altos...!" he hissed, his voice thin, all arrogance bled away.

  Altos was already moving. Not retreating, but shifting his stance, body low, his own energy signature flaring – a controlled, disciplined blue aura pushing back against the oppressive weight of Domo's presence. His face was grim, aged decades in seconds, sweat beading on his bald head. "Domo," Altos' voice was tight, strained, but clear. "Enough."

  Vex still looked excited, thrilled by the confrontation, oblivious to the sheer lethality radiating from Domo's hand now aimed directly at his face. But Jax... Jax glanced down. His scouter, fixed on Domo, let out a strangled beep-beep-ERRR! before the display cracked, going dark.

  Jax's eyes widened. The defiant smirk evaporated, replaced by hollow shock. He saw Vex, grinning like an idiot, practically vibrating with anticipation for a fight he couldn't possibly survive. He saw Domo's hand, the green light now reflecting in his brother's wide, eager eyes.

  One millisecond. Thought ceased. Instinct took over.

  WHACK!

  The sound was sickeningly loud in the tense silence. Jax's fist moved in a blur, connecting brutally with Vex's jaw. There was no finesse, just pure, desperate force. Vex's eyes rolled back, the excited grin vanishing as he crumpled instantly, unconscious before he hit the floor.

  Jax ignored his twin. He snapped ramrod straight, facing Domo, slamming a fist over his heart in a formal Asraioth salute. His voice was rough, shaking slightly, but loud enough to carry. "Apologies, Lord Domo! My brother... forgets his place."

  Domo observed the scene, the green energy in his hand slowly dissipating with a final, resentful crackle. A slow, cruel smile spread across his scarred face, revealing pointed, metallic teeth. He nudged the unconscious Vex with the toe of his massive boot.

  Domo: "Good."

  He then turned, strode to the nearest empty chair – the one Mori had just vacated – and unceremoniously dumped Gogeta's limp body onto it. The metal frame groaned loudly under the impact. Domo kicked another chair closer, spun it around, and sat heavily, propping his enormous, gore-caked boots onto the edge of the now-inactive holotable where Aethelgard's map had been moments before.

  The room was utterly silent, save for Gogeta's ragged, wet breathing and the low hum of the undamaged machinery. Mori found she could breathe again, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She stared at Domo, then at the unconscious Vex, then at the barely conscious Gogeta.

  Her first mission. It had just become infinitely more complicated. And infinitely more dangerous.

  The heavy silence pressed down, broken only by the shallow, wet rasp of Gogeta’s breathing. A pained groan escaped him. Mori, startled from her thoughts, saw his bruised eyelids flutter. One cracked open, struggling to focus in the dim light.

  She moved quickly, her earlier stiffness forgotten. Kneeling beside the chair Domo had used as a dumping ground, she kept her voice low, familiar. "Gogeta? Hey, easy."

  He blinked, his eye finding her. Recognition flickered, then his gaze slid past her, locking onto Domo sprawled nearby. His jaw clenched audibly, teeth grinding, and his good hand tightened into a fist at his side. Raw hatred burned in his eye. He tried to lever himself up, a sharp hiss escaping as agony shot through his broken arm.

  "Yeah," Gogeta grated out, the words rough and strained, never looking away from Domo. "He… plays rough." He spat blood onto the deck plating, deliberately close to Domo's massive boot. Domo remained impassive, colossal and still, seemingly ignoring them both.

  Mori gently steadied Gogeta's shoulder. "Okay, rest," she urged, her tone shifting back to a forced seriousness. This mission, her first mission, was already spiraling. "We're heading out soon."

  Gogeta looked back at her, the fury in his gaze softening almost imperceptibly as he met her eyes. A flicker of shared understanding, perhaps? He gave a curt, shallow nod and slumped back, the fight momentarily draining out of him.

  Domo shifted then, the groan of abused metal loud as he repositioned himself. His crimson, slit-pupil eyes swept the room before landing on the scene – the injured boy, the small girl beside him. He hadn't yet acknowledged the others formally.

  Before Domo could speak, however, Super Elite Altos stepped forward. His small frame seemed taut, energy held tightly in check. His usual fidgeting was gone, replaced by a cold stillness. He stopped directly in Domo's line of sight, his voice quiet but carrying unnerving weight in the tense room.

  "Who beats a kid?" Altos asked, the question hanging like a blade in the air. He didn't gesture towards Gogeta; he didn't need to.

  Domo slowly turned his massive head, his gaze settling on Altos. The air grew thick, charged with ozone. A low growl rumbled in Domo’s chest. "You want me to beat you, little relic?" The threat was naked, brutal.

  Varek, standing near Altos, went deathly pale, taking an involuntary step back, eyes wide with terror. He looked desperately at his master, seemingly horrified by Altos' audacity.

  Altos didn't flinch. He met Domo's stare evenly. "Lord Havie’s son," he stated, not quite accusation, not quite explanation. The name hung in the air – the Lord who had apparently assigned this mission, now revealed as Domo’s father. "He didn't raise you well."

  A beat of absolute silence. Domo’s scarred lips peeled back from his metallic teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. It was pure contempt. He scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound, as if Altos' judgment, his father's name, meant less than nothing. He seemed to decide Altos wasn't worth the effort of swatting aside. The immediate, lethal pressure radiating from him subsided fractionally, though the menace remained coiled beneath the surface. Altos, having said his piece, held his ground but didn't press further, his point made.

  Domo turned his attention away from Altos then, his gaze sweeping the room as if noticing the others for the first time. "Mission?" His voice boomed again, impatient. He jabbed a thick finger towards Dr. Kaela. "Nobody briefed me. Explain."

  Dr. Kaela, composed despite the near eruption, met his gaze. "Lord Domo. Aethelgard. Southern continent ruins. Investigate suspected resurgence of bio-engineered organisms, 'Krylls'. Primary: Threat assessment, elimination. Secondary: Secure agricultural soil samples – vital toxic-resistant flora data. Locals: non-hostile magic-users. Avoid collateral damage; significant payment received." She delivered the points like hammer blows, swift and precise.

  Domo listened, his expression twisting into a deeper sneer. "'Pests'? 'Soil samples'? Magic-users?" He spat the last words like poison. "This is work for grunts and failures!" He surged halfway out of his chair, the metal screaming in protest. "Leave it to you weaklings-" His glare swept over them all – Altos standing resolute, Varek shrinking, the wide-eyed grunts, Jax stiffly ignoring him beside his unconscious twin, Mori watching silently, Gogeta breathing raggedly. He paused, then slammed back down with a thunderous crash, crossing his arms. A low growl vibrated through the deck. He wasn't leaving.

  Dr. Kaela activated her wrist device. Sleek black scouters materialized on the holotable. "Standard issue adaptive scouters," she announced. "Final warning: The Aethelgardian payment is substantial. Their neutrality is valued. Unauthorized harm will have consequences. This is a Tier 5 Undertaking. Do not fail."

  The door hissed open. A lanky Saiyan in Low-Class grey fatigues entered, snapping a shaky salute as his eyes widened at the assembly, lingering on Domo. "P-Pilot Akim, Rank 1 Low-Class. Transport 'Dust Devil' ready for Sci-Tech Vex'orra, Lord Domo, Super Elite Altos, and mission team."

  "Lead on, Pilot," Kaela ordered.

  The walk to the ship was thick with unspoken tensions. Gogeta forced himself upright, swaying but stubbornly upright, moving with painful stiffness. Mori stayed near, a small, silent shadow. Domo stalked behind them, radiating impatience. Altos moved with clipped precision, Varek scrambling slightly to keep pace beside him. Jax hauled the still-limp Vex over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. The two Elite-Class brothers, now reduced to one conscious warrior and his burden. Roric, the scarred Mid-Class veteran, and Lyra, the observant one, fell in behind them, followed by the two actual Low-Class grunts who looked utterly miserable.

  Scene 8: Passage Through Shadow

  The 'Dust Devil' was less a ship, more a battered metal container with engines. The smell of stale recycled air, old sweat, and burnt wiring filled the cramped space. Domo claimed the back two seats immediately, forcing everyone else to squeeze forward. Gogeta collapsed into a seat near the front, Mori taking the one beside him, noticing the tremor in his hands as he fumbled with the harness. Jax manhandled Vex into the seat opposite them, securing him tightly. Altos took the seat behind the pilot's bulkhead, Varek nervously sliding in next to him. Roric and Lyra found spots on the inward-facing jump seats, leaving the two grunts gripping handholds near the ramp.

  "Strap in!" Pilot Akim's voice crackled, strained, over the intercom from the cockpit coffin. "Rough ride out!"

  The ship lurched, engines screaming in protest. Metal groaned. Mori felt the vibration deep in her bones as they accelerated, the station lights blurring past the grimy viewport. Then came the gut-wrenching lurch of the FTL jump, plunging them into the disorienting, non-Euclidean tunnel of Asraioth warp space – a nauseating swirl of violets, indigos, and impossible angles.

  Time lost meaning. The drone of the engines became a constant hum. Domo slept, or pretended to, a slumbering volcano filling the rear of the cabin. Altos reviewed data on a handheld device, occasionally inputting complex command codes that made Varek fidget nervously beside him. Jax checked his brother's pulse periodically, his face set like stone. Roric methodically disassembled and reassembled his rifle, while Lyra simply watched, her intelligent eyes missing nothing. Mori tried to study the Aethelgard maps on her scouter, but the cramped space, the oppressive presence of Domo, and the memory of Altos' defiance kept intruding. Tier 5... Havie's son... Who beats a kid?

  Akim's voice occasionally broke the monotony – announcing passage through Sector 9 patrol routes, marked by the distant flash of Asraioth cruisers, or noting their transit past the skeletal framework of 'Bastion Omega', a half-finished deep-space fortress bristling with weapons emplacements aimed out at the unknown. They flew near the shredded remnants of a Xylosian dreadnought, a casualty of some forgotten border skirmish, a stark reminder of the Empire's reach and ruthlessness. The journey stretched, measured in consumed ration packs and the growing stiffness in Mori’s limbs.

  Then, the sickening lurch subsided. The chaotic warp tunnel dissolved, replaced by the angry, swirling reds and oranges of a planet’s atmosphere filling the viewport.

  "Entering Aethelgard orbit," Akim announced, his voice tight with concentration. "Atmospheric turbulence kicking up. Designating LZ Alpha in the southern desert ruins. Brace for insertion."

  Mori stared down at the hostile-looking world rushing up to meet them. Her first mission. It felt less like proving herself now, and more like surviving whatever waited below – and within the ship itself.