Chapter 143: A Plot Born Among the Stars

Governor Renn Valcor sat alone in his dimly lit personal command chamber aboard Ashen Prime, the largest and most secure Federation space station in the entire Ashen Sector. The room, normally a symbol of his unshakable authority, now felt oppressively silent. The walls, smooth slabs of reinforced obsidian alloy, gleamed under the soft artificial glow of control panels, their screens flickering with classified data streams. The air was sterile, cool, and thick with tension, yet the faint hum of the station's life support systems was the only sound that accompanied him.

His fingers hovered over the sleek, illuminated console in front of him, hesitating for a fraction of a second before tapping the encrypted message that had just arrived. The report was stamped with the highest clearance level, delivered directly from his intelligence division, a group he had personally curated over the years to ensure absolute loyalty.

His expression was unreadable as his eyes scanned the lines of text flashing before him.

 PRIORITY REPORT: BLACK SUN SYNDICATE - STATUS: TERMINATED

 SUBJECT: FINAL OUTCOME OF CONFLICT – KYNARA

 ESTIMATED BLACK SUN CASUALTIES: 99%

 DRAKOR KRENNA – CONFIRMED DECEASED

 ASSETS LOST: 100%

 PSYCHIC ORE EXTRACTION AND MILITARY OPERATIONS: TERMINATED

 COALITION FORCES SECURED FULL CONTROL OF PLANET

 NO REMAINING SYNDICATE RESISTANCE DETECTED

A single sentence at the bottom stung like a dagger to the heart:

 THE WAR ON KYNARA IS OVER.

Valcor sat still. Motionless. The icy chill in his gut spread like poison through his veins.

He had spent years manipulating the chaos of the Ashen Sector, ensuring that Drakor's criminal empire remained unchecked. As long as the Syndicate thrived, he could operate in the shadows, leveraging their illicit activities to expand his own influence within the Orion Federation's labyrinthine political structure.

But now? Everything was gone.

Drakor was dead. His once-mighty empire, the very foundation upon which Valcor had built his power network, was reduced to nothing but smoldering ruins and corpses.

The Syndicate's supply lines of psychic ore and experimental weaponry had been severed overnight. The hidden factories, many of which had been directly funded by Valcor's secret accounts, were either destroyed or captured.

And the worst part?

It had all happened too fast. Drakor had reassured him numerous times that everything was all according to plan.

He kept repeating those manic ramblings of his about '' Convergance of Fate''. That everything will end smoothly with one decisive battle. One night of reckoning.

Years of careful manipulation, so many weapons and credits....

The sterile hum of the command chamber faded into the background as Governor Renn Valcor's gaze flicked toward another screen. This one was different. It wasn't filled with financial reports or casualty lists. It wasn't a dry summary of political maneuvering within the Federation.

No, this was something far more important.

It was the only battle that mattered.

His fingers danced over the console, pulling up archived combat footage from his classified surveillance probes, secretly embedded across Kynara's war zones. These probes had fed him live data throughout the conflict, allowing him to monitor the war from the comfort of Ashen Prime.

But this footage, this duel, was something else entirely.

Valcor leaned forward as the playback began. The screen's glow reflected in his cold, calculating eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt something dangerously close to awe.

The battle between Drakor and Ethan played before him in raw, unfiltered horror.

He had already seen fragments of this fight, but this was the first time he was analyzing it with true intent. Not just as a detached observer, but as a man searching for answers.

What he saw shook him to his core.

The sheer violence of the clash. The unnatural, cataclysmic forces colliding with each strike. The way the very air itself seemed to warp and fracture under the weight of their battle.

That lunatic Drakor had always been powerful, the product of decades of genetic and psychic augmentation, enhanced by technology that Valcor himself had helped fund. His strength was supposed to be peerless, a perfected weapon designed to overcome mortal shackles.

And yet…

He lost.

Not just lost. He was annihilated.

The camera feeds trembled as the battle intensified, struggling to maintain focus amid the storm of energy and destruction.

Ethan Walker.

The unknown variable.

The mercenary who had unraveled years of careful manipulation with his mere presence. The man who somehow united the fractured resistance groups into a singular, unstoppable force.

Drakor had been on the verge of something unprecedented, something that went beyond psychic augmentation. Beyond even the mind-control technology that Valcor had personally funneled credits into developing.

And yet, none of it had mattered.

Because that damned Coalition appeared and ruined everything.

Valcor's jaw tightened. His fingers gripped the edge of the console as the footage continued, his mind racing through the implications of what he was seeing.

Then, the screen flickered again, shifting to the final, decisive moment.

Drakor's lifeless body collapsed onto the battlefield, his once-unmatched power snuffed out like a dying star.

And standing over him…

A shadowed figure.

A monstrosity cloaked in an aura of abyssal energy, his form flickering between existence and something far more eldritch.

Valcor's breath hitched as he focused on the weapon in the victor's grasp.

A black molecular dagger.

Unlike anything Valcor had ever seen before.

Unlike any molecular blade ever seen within the Orion Federation's territories.

It glowed with an unnatural energy, its form shifting subtly as if it wasn't truly bound by the laws of reality.

What the hell was that weapon?

A deep, sharp pain coiled in his gut. A mix of fear and… something else.

Hunger.

This was power, to his knowledge, beyond anything the Federation had ever cataloged. But then again, The Orion High Council hid many secrets that he could never have access to.

This was something unknown. Something untapped. Something that had the potential to change the very balance of power across the galaxy.

And nobody else seemed to realize it yet.

Perfect.

His gaze darkened as he leaned back in his chair, the gears in his mind shifting from panic to calculation.

If the Resonance Amplification Device's blueprints were still intact somewhere in the wreckage of Kynara…

If he could secure that molecular dagger before anyone else understood its potential…

If he could unlock whatever power Drakor had been chasing before his death…

Then maybe, just maybe, he could survive this mess and emerge stronger than ever.

The Federation would not protect him if the Coalition uncovered his immense corruption. The Federation would not hesitate to strip him of his position if they deemed him a liability.

But if he could make himself too powerful to ignore? Then it wouldn't matter. The Federation didn't punish power, they integrated it.

His decision was made. There was no turning back.

Governor Renn Valcor slammed a button on his console, his fingers digging into the cold metal surface with the weight of finality.

A shrill chime echoed through the chamber, instantly initiating a priority transmission.

Across Ashen Prime, red alert beacons flashed to life as his command override swept through the station's encrypted communication network.

His voice cut through the sterile hum of the warship's control systems like a blade:

"Summon all high-ranking officers to the war room. Immediately."

There was no room for negotiation. No room for hesitation. He had wasted enough time.

The holographic interface flickered to life, projecting the confirmations of his summons. Officers, intelligence chiefs, and strategic coordinators across Ashen Prime acknowledged the order, their responses coming in with crisp, military precision.

Good.

They wouldn't know it yet, but tonight, they would either become his instruments of power… or be erased as obstacles.

Valcor exhaled slowly, his mind now fully locked onto the course ahead. He could not afford a slow, bureaucratic response.

The Coalition was still reeling from their victory, caught up in the chaos of restructuring Kynara. If they were given time to stabilize, to gather their forces, then his window of opportunity would slam shut.

This had to happen now. His plan was simple, but brutal.

Valcor would unleash the full might of the Federation garrison stationed aboard Ashen Prime.

Officially, the attack would be framed as a counter-terrorism operation. A final security sweep to eliminate "remnants" of the Black Sun Syndicate.

In reality? It would be a massacre.

The Coalition would never see it coming. Their forces were scattered, focused on securing infrastructure, negotiating local power struggles, and dealing with the fallout of war.

By the time they understood what was happening, it would be too late.

Valcor's fleet would strike fast and hard, wiping out the resistance forces and suppressing the mercenaries before they could consolidate control.

The few who survived would be forced to scatter… or bend the knee. Either way, they would not be in his way.

At the same time, retrieval teams would be sent to Kynara under a different pretense: To secure "lost Federation assets."

Every conflict left classified material unaccounted for. Sensitive data, military-grade technology, and experimental research that could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands.

That was how this mission would be sold to any potential dissenters.

But in reality? Their true objective was far more valuable.

Valcor needed the Resonance Amplification Device's blueprints.

If they were still intact somewhere in the wreckage of Kynara, he would find them before anyone else could even begin to understand what they truly were. Drakor had been pursuing something beyond conventional psychic augmentation. Something that might have allowed him to ascend.

If those blueprints contained even a fraction of that knowledge…

Valcor would not let it go to waste.

And then there was the dagger. The black molecular blade.

The weapon that had defied logic and shattered Drakor's supposed invincibility.

Even with all his experience, all his limited knowledge of classified Federation data, Valcor had never seen anything like it.

Drakor had known something. He had seen something, and what realized had terrified him.

If his visions had led him to that blade, then Valcor needed to understand why.

No, he needed to possess it. That molecular dagger must be a key to power beyond divinity, and Valcor would make it his own.

Of course, not all of his officers would fall in line. There would be dissent. Voices of concern.

Some officers had already expressed frustration over the needless loss of Federation troops on Kynara.

They blamed him. They saw him as reckless, corrupt, short-sighted.

That was a problem. A problem that needed to be eliminated before it could fester.

Any officer who questioned his orders would be dealt with.

Some would be convinced through carefully placed incentives. Promises of power, wealth, and promotion beyond what the Federation's rigid hierarchy would normally allow.

Those who refused to see reason? Would not live to see tomorrow.

Valcor leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. His breathing had steadied.

The plan was set. The pieces were moving, and there was no turning back.

Yes. This would definitely work. His face warping into a devious grin.