The Questioning - Chapter 12

It took nearly three hours to descend to the planet due to the distance between the mothership and the natural satellite. The delay was also caused by interference generated by the planet itself. It was likely emitting some sort of electromagnetic disturbance, or perhaps its atmosphere destabilized in the presence of advanced technology. Either way, they made it.

"We're almost there! Grab your things now!" someone shouted down the corridor.

Tyrin looked at his weapon—a relic, obsolete compared to the more advanced firearms of the other recruits.

"Okay… but how do I use this thing?" he muttered, confused as he examined it.

"You've got to be kidding me, right? Didn't you pay attention during training?" said a nearby companion with a sarcastic grin, but he quickly added, "Just call on your genetic support, man."

"Genetic support? What the hell is that? And more importantly, how do I use it?" Tyrin felt a twinge of irritation, but he knew he needed help.

"It's simple. Just call out your status. Worked for me. Good luck!" the boy replied, already walking off to prepare.

Despite the short explanation, Tyrin felt like the tip could prove useful. He took a deep breath, ignoring the overwhelming sense of inadequacy clawing at him, and decided to try.

"Status…" he said quietly, feeling a little ridiculous.

🌀 STATUS 🌀

Rank: SSS / 00

Strength: 4

Resistance: 7

Speed: 6

Skill: 12

Psyche: 0

To his surprise, something extraordinary happened. A translucent hologram filled with information materialized in the air before his eyes, floating like a personal interface.

"Dirty soldiers! Head to the landing zone immediately and prepare yourselves. I won't be left behind because of two worthless fools!"

The sharp voice snapped Tyrin out of his thoughts. He still didn't fully understand what was happening, but one thing quickly became clear: after receiving the implanted gene, recruits were assigned tattoos that reflected their status. His only weapon was an ancient, battered piece. If this was a reflection of his value in the hierarchy, he was clearly at the bottom of the ladder.

"Let's get ready to land. Stay close and alert," came another command.

Still disoriented, Tyrin quickened his pace, determined to catch up with the group ahead. As he drew closer, he was startled by the metallic sound of the hatch opening. For the first time, he saw the planet's exterior with his own eyes.

"So… this is heat," he whispered, incredulous.

Outside stretched an endless desert, a landscape few from his planet had ever seen—and even fewer had returned to describe. Among the planets Tyrin had read about, none seemed to have an environment like this. The view was both unsettling and fascinating.

The heat was dry, abrasive, almost suffocating. The air hit like a direct blow to the throat, making even breathing difficult. Tyrin felt the oppressive weight of the hostile environment around him.

A scream echoed through the ship, cutting through the silence.

"Help!"

The sound sent shivers through Tyrin's body. He wasn't the first to hear it, but his reaction was instinctive. He whipped his head around, trying to locate the source as the crew around him descended into chaos.

"Quick! It sounds like there are comrades still alive at the station!"

The group followed the imposing Astra, running without question. The sprint, stretching nearly two kilometers, left many gasping for air. But for Tyrin, the most unsettling part was the Astra's calm pace, as though it were merely walking while everyone else scrambled in desperation.

"Sir, why are we running straight into an ambush? Is this part of the mission?"

Calandriel came to an abrupt stop. She turned to Tyrin with a hard expression, her eyes shining with both irritation and curiosity.

"Ambush? What exactly are you trying to say?"

Tyrin hesitated. He knew that opening his mouth could put his life at risk. But the Astra's piercing gaze demanded an answer.

"Apologies, sir… I just find it unlikely that a human made that sound."

"Explain yourself, recruit."

Tyrin took a deep breath. The words of Dante echoed in his mind: "Keep your opinions to yourself unless your life depends on it." He decided to take the risk.

"We're in open terrain, sir. Visibility should be at least three kilometers. Even after running two, we haven't seen anything. It doesn't add up. The sound we heard… it can't have been a normal human. And I'm certain it wasn't an Astra calling for help either."

Calandriel crossed her arms, studying Tyrin with renewed interest.

"Why are you so sure it wasn't a fellow Astra?"

"Because… according to Article 367, paragraph 2, subsection 27, Astras, Vultras, and Zentros are prohibited from occupying natural satellites unless under direct orders from the Ultras."

A heavy silence fell over the group. When another scream echoed, louder than before, everyone flinched—but Calandriel remained still, her eyes locked on Tyrin with a mix of distrust and intrigue.

"What do you think we're dealing with? And how would you handle it?"

Tyrin swallowed hard. He knew every word that followed could decide his fate.

"I believe it's a Tyrina 57B, sir. Also known as a Mimic. It's a bipedal creature, relatively weak in direct combat but dangerous for its ability to imitate human sounds. It rarely acts alone and is usually accompanied by centurions. They're not intelligent but extremely arrogant, making them easy to deceive. My suggestion? Avoid direct confrontation and lure the creatures into a trap."

The Astra raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"You're smarter than you look. Good… very good."

She stepped away, walking with purpose as she retrieved her communicator to contact the ship. Meanwhile, the group around Tyrin began to whisper, torn between admiration and discomfort at the unexpected knowledge of the young recruit.

"Sir, they've realized it's an ambush. Permission to initiate the test immediately."

"Let me guess… it was that clever little recruit."

"I must say, he's taken a much more complex approach than I would have. Still, the means matter little if the end result is what we seek, right?"

"HAHAHAHAHA! How can something so inferior be so… clever? He must be one of those types who's only intelligent. What a waste."

"I agree, sir. Judging by his level, I can't reach another conclusion. I'll begin the mission now."

"Yes, yes. Do as you wish."

A few minutes later, Calandriel returned, her expression intense.

"Alright, recruits. The mission is simple: eliminate the enemy and take the northern station before nightfall."

She turned her gaze to Tyrin.

"Tyrin, come here. Do you see that 'rock' up ahead? That's not a rock. It's the feces of an adult Belzebuth. And if you're as smart as I think you are… you know exactly what that means. Good luck."

Without waiting for a response, the Astra disappeared into the desert, vanishing over the horizon in seconds.

The group was left behind, terrified and leaderless. Tyrin remained frozen for a moment, staring at the twisted vegetation ahead. What looked like a moving bush caught his attention—and his breath.

A young woman approached, interrupting his thoughts.

"Tyrin, my name's Rose. What do we do now?"

For a moment, silence enveloped them all. Finally, Tyrin raised his eyes, looking at the small group now depending on him.

"We need to get out of here before nightfall… or we'll die in the most grotesque and painful way imaginable."

The citadel of Helheim 74B was an anomaly on the fringes of the Federation. A place where fallen-blood nobles clung to power like shipwreck survivors grasping at debris. Dante, a descendant of an ancient and respected lineage, embodied this resistance. Unlike his family, he believed that a return to glory would not come through politics but through personal effort. His idealism made him a curious figure: a noble who saw potential greatness in Tyrin, even amid the decay.

"You need to learn the Federation's internal regulations, Tyrin. I don't want you to be defeated by ignorance. An Astra must be strong, capable, and intelligent. Read and memorize these three glossaries. Understood?"

"If you keep your end of the deal, I'll even memorize the Glossary of Federation Nobles," Tyrin replied.

To Dante, Tyrin was a raw diamond—determined and intelligent, but without direction.

"If you follow my advice, you'll become the best. Riches and power will be within your reach, both for you and your sister. I promise."

A deliberate cough interrupted the moment.

"Ah, Miss Karim! Decided to join us mere mortals?" Dante said with a smirk.

"Very funny, Dante. I overheard something about regulations. Are you seriously making him study that in his free time?"

"No misunderstanding here. He'll read during your lesson. We already talked, and Tyrin said he could handle both."

Karim raised an eyebrow at Tyrin, incredulous.

"Do you really think this will work, Tyrin?"

"Don't worry. I remember everything I see. I can do two things at once," he said confidently.

Even the skeptical Karim couldn't deny Tyrin's talent. But her lessons often tested her patience.

"Tyrin, I understand Dante told you to read this, but I need you to focus on this part. It's critical."

"Apologies, I heard everything you said. But if you want me to look directly at you to feel comfortable, I can do that," Tyrin replied with a faint grin.

Karim sighed, irritated by the boy's apparent overconfidence.

"You, kids! Where is the respect? Alright, let's go. I need to show you the most dangerous and common tyrants that might cross your path. I'll start with the one I believe is the strongest. So pay close attention, because knowing how to recognize the signs will decide whether you live... or die. The most dangerous one, the one you must always beware of, is..."

Now, in the present, chaos had taken over. The group had been running for 15 minutes straight, the citadel already in sight.

"Why the hell are we running straight toward the enemy?!" a boy shouted, exhausted and angry.

Others began to voice their protests. Tyrin realized it was impossible to keep the group in the dark any longer. He came to an abrupt stop.

"We'll rest for 20 minutes. Then we'll head to the citadel. There will be enemies, but together we can survive."

"And who made you the leader? Why should we run toward our deaths? We could wait until nightfall and attack them by surprise," argued a small girl with a defiant stance.

"I suggest we vote. Who's with me?"

A few hands went up, but Tyrin interrupted.

"Waiting until nightfall is suicide. If we stay here, we'll die with 100% certainty."

"What are you talking about? We're in a group, we know where the enemy is. This doesn't make sense!"

"Our problem isn't the Mimic. It's the Fluviel Executioner. The Tyrano Belzebuth."

The group fell silent, terrified. Everyone knew the legend of the Executioner—a killing machine designed to exterminate both humans and even distracted Astras. Facing it was like shaking hands with death.

"That doesn't make sense! We haven't seen any signs…"

"You're wrong. That 'hard sack' we saw along the way is its dung. There's only one. No offspring. It's probably watching us right now, waiting for an opportunity. If we stay here, we'll be its dinner."