Antares, The Dead Planet

Inside the cavern, the man waited for Ulysses to return. His eyes lingered on the entrance as memories of the battle struck his mind like a storm.

He had been deployed as a contingency. The Angel was first spotted in deep space, leaping across vast distances—advancing several parsecs at a time.

Initial scans indicated a Category 3 entity—not ideal, but manageable. That changed the moment the central warship detected life signs on the moon of Or'Khul. No one had known a colony had been established there.

The auxiliary warship Geitha jumped in to establish communication—without success.

It became clear the Angel was headed straight for the planet. These beings are malevolent, thriving on annihilation. They take joy in wiping out defenseless sectors. The Knights of Inciras couldn't allow that to happen.

So they sent Umal Khal, a battle-hardened veteran who'd faced Category 4s alone. That... was their first mistake.

He didn't stand a chance.

Within three hours, Umal was already cornered. His warship tried to extract him but was obliterated along with everyone aboard.

The operation shifted. It was clear this Angel was far stronger than the scan had indicated. Ventura and Wester stood no chance in open space.

So they made a grim decision: sacrifice Antares—a lost colony—to destroy an Angel capable of planetary annihilation from within the border.

They tried to evacuate as many as they could. Most armor bearers wouldn't have bothered—but Wester was different.

"That's his gift," Ventura muttered just as Ulysses entered the cave again—forty-seven minutes after he'd stormed out.

Ulysses' eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was bleeding. His knuckles, mangled and raw. Ventura didn't even look at him.

"A gift?! Who? The Angel?!"

He was unraveling. Understandably.

But Ventura knew that if he wanted to save this kid, he had to make him understand. He needed Ulysses to retrieve his armor—maybe someone else could unlock its secrets.

"No. From Wester. He's... an anomaly. You familiar with the term?"

Maybe it was Ventura's tone. Maybe it was everything.

Instead of curiosity, Ventura got a punch to the face. His nose broke with a wet crunch.

"NO! THE FUCK I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

Ulysses paused, panting, tears in his eyes, then broke again.

"THE WHOLE PLANET IS DEAD! AND YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT GIFTS?! WHO CARES?! MY HOME—EVERYTHING I KNOW—is GONE!"

He collapsed. His legs gave up. His sobs echoed in the cave, filling the silence Ventura had grown used to.

Ventura hesitated, then spoke—his voice quieter.

"Listen… even if this planet's lost... you can still save yourself."

"For what?"

The defeat in Ulysses' voice was palpable. Ulysses Antares had lost the only place in the universe he cared about. For him, life had ended hours ago.

The cave shook violently, stones falling from the ceiling before settling again.

"I need you to... deliver a message. To Wester."

His wound was worsening. Not even the nanobots in his armor could keep him alive anymore. He reached down to his leg and retrieved a metallic ring, placing it on the ground. A black void opened within it.

He slipped his hand inside. To Ulysses' astonishment, it didn't touch the floor. His hand simply disappeared—like the space went on forever.

"Infinite storage space," Ventura muttered. "Costs more than you can imagine. But useful."

He finally found what he was looking for and tossed it to Ulysses.

An almost perfect oval bounced with a loud bang that echoed through the cavern.

"What is it?"

Ulysses stood, stumbling closer. He reached out and instinctively pressed against Ventura's leg wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Map and key to my personal ship," Ventura replied. "You... have to leave. Before the collapse completes."

Another tremor—larger than the last. Chunks of the cave ceiling crashed to the ground.

"Guess I don't have a choice anymore…"

Ulysses wiped his eyes, still dazed. Ventura handed him the Infinite Circle in silence.

Ulysses didn't say a word. He didn't need to. This was goodbye. As he took the device, a drop of blood fell from his hand onto the white armor.

It vanished instantly into the suit.

A sound emerged—like a machine rebooting after centuries of silence.

"You... you're a bearer?!"

Ventura's eyes widened in disbelief as the armor, with eerie sentience, peeled away from him and launched onto Ulysses.

"WAIT! WHAT IS THIS?! VENTURA?!"

Ulysses screamed. He fought back, but the armor moved faster than thought. It wrapped around him, bonding with his skin. His body collapsed from the strain as it fully encased him. The helmet sealed last.

Then, he saw everything.

It was like being born again. A blue filter covered his vision. Strange glyphs filled the edges of his sight. It was something utterly alien—nothing he'd ever imagined.

"VENTURA! SIR! WHAT IS THIS?!"

He turned, light on his feet. His leg—he realized—was no longer in pain. The suit... it had healed him.

But Ventura didn't respond.

He lay still, lifeless. Without the armor sustaining him, he had died instantly.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Ulysses bolted out of the cave, with no direction. He just couldn't be there anymore.

The heat, the ground shaking, this new weight unknown to him, it was madness, the armor felt like being suspended in water, so good, but so chaotic

Outside, he noticed something.

A thin white line on the ground—projected, glowing faintly.

A path.

The suit was guiding him. With the oval and the circle in hand, he took one last look at the cave—at the man who had died for him.

"Me? A bearer? I don't even think I know how to pilot a vehicle— and now I'm supposed to control this suit?"

"That's my job. Don't worry."

Ulysses gasped. The voice hadn't come from around him, but from inside his own head.

"The suit?"

"Correct. It appears you're my new carrier. A shame, really. I liked the other one."

"You chose me? Just because he was dying?"

He asked, walking quickly now. The ground shook with every step, and the heat was rising, suffocating.

"I didn't choose you. You reprogrammed my system."

"That's impossible—I don't even know how a computer works."

"Clearly. You're an anomaly, Mister Ulysses."

"Anomaly...? That's what Ventura called Wester..."

"Indeed. That's what you are. Your blood overwrote my core directives. My primary function now is not only to obey you, but to give you full access to my system."

"I don't understand any of this."

Yet as he kept moving, things began to feel easier. His breath calmed. His steps grew steadier. His wounds—gone. The pain had faded entirely.

"Well… aren't you something magical?"

"I'm currently feeding you with nanobots. Your skin and muscle tissue are being artificially reconstructed. I've also administered a controlled mix of painkillers. My function is to ensure your survival—at any cost."

He didn't argue.

Eventually, the path led him to a cliff's edge—where a ship stood waiting.

It hovered just above the ground, twenty meters long, rectangular in shape. Both flanks were lined with small booths—storage or sleeping quarters, he couldn't tell. It pulsed faintly with light, untouched by the chaos consuming the world behind him.

Ulysses paused.

He turned to look back at Antares—his home.

The planet screamed in agony. Cracks split the land. Magma surged upward. The air shimmered from the heat. Thunderous eruptions and tectonic ruptures shattered whatever silence remained. This place—his place—was long gone

He watched for a long time.

Then finally, he turned away.

But something caught his eye.

A figure—one he hadn't noticed before—sat a few meters from the ship. On the ground. Perfectly still.

"Hey! Who are you?!"

Ulysses called out, hopeful. A survivor? Emotion surged through his chest. He wasn't alone. He could save someone.

But as he stepped closer… recognition struck him like a hammer.

He knew that man.

Of course he'd survive.

ICARO.