“Control, this is Watcher-16, sector Xirrok 9. Routine traffic scan picking up five inbound vessels, velocity exceeding standard approach parameters.”

  Aboard the orbital monitoring station, the clone controller’s fingers moved swiftly across the console, pulling up the incoming ships' transponder codes.

  His helmeted face remained expressionless, but his eyes narrowed, focused on the readout. The numbers didn't match any registered ships in the fleet. Worse, they were duplicates—false IDs layered over hollow data.

  “Unidentified vessels, you are entering restricted space. Identify yourselves and provide registry confirmation. Failure to comply will be considered a hostile act.”

  Silence.

  “Unknown vessels, this is Watcher-16 of the Consortium Authority. Identify yourselves and state your destination.”

  Silence.

  He tried again. “Unknown vessels, respond. You are entering a restricted space. Provide your ship names and owner identification immediately.”

  Still, no answer came.

  His fingers hovered over the alert system before contacting command.

  “Control, the ships are using falsified transponder codes. No response to hails. Their course is direct for Habitable Zone 2.”

  There was a brief pause before Command’s voice came through.

  Command: “Watcher-16, confirm visual on the vessels. We need identification before escalation.”

  The clone adjusted the station’s external sensors, enhancing long-range imaging. As the image resolved, a cold realization settled over him. Every clone was trained to recognize that shape—organic hulls, shifting surfaces, living vessels.

  BCU.

  The moment the image was transmitted, Command responded without hesitation.

  “Confirmed. This is a BCU incursion. Authorization to engage—destroy all targets immediately.”

  With a sharp exhale, he entered the launch code and keyed in the targeting lock. “Weapons online. Intercept countdown initiated—twelve minutes to impact.”

  “Firing solutions locked. Missiles away.”

  The ships broke formation, still moving to Habitable Zone 2, but it was futile.

  The missiles launched in brilliant streaks, cutting through the void like burning spears. The clone tracked their trajectory, watching the cold numbers on his screen. Eight minutes… Six… Five… Four....... Three......... Two......... Impact.

  A cascade of nuclear fire erupted in space. The explosions bloomed like silent supernovas, their shockwaves scattering debris in all directions. Four of the five ships were obliterated instantly.

  But the last one was heavily damaged, burning, but still moving—he could only stare as it breached the atmosphere.

  The planet below was an apocalyptic wasteland—ashen clouds smothering the surface, firestorms raging in the distance, oceans choked with death.

  The clone tracked the impact trajectory.

  “Final ship has breached the atmosphere. Projected impact: Northern Hemisphere, oceanic coordinates.”

  Command’s response came instantly.

  “Watcher 16, this is Command—saturate the impact zone with nuclear payloads. Nothing should survive planet fall.”

  He confirmed the order as communications traffic surged with activity.

  “Command to all sectors, lock down the planet. Nethros has made landing. No one gets off-world. No one gets in. Full planetary containment measures are in effect.”

  The clone acknowledged and relayed the orders. Across the sector, orbital defences shifted. Patrol routes changed. Every sector prepared for what was to come.

  Because if something had survived.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He knew it would be a costly fight coming soon.

  The clone controller leaned back, watching the swirling storm clouds of Habitable Zone 2.

  ———

  This was the moment I had been waiting for—everything had led to this. My homecoming.

  But there were no pristine forests to welcome me back. No cities, no winding rivers, no endless lakes or oceans glistening under a warm sun. Instead, there was only death.

  Out of five ships, only one had survived the onslaught, spiralling through the atmosphere in a violent, uncontrolled descent. I had known this could happen. I had prepared for it.

  Without hesitation, I launched multiple pods from the dying vessel, each carrying the seeds of my return.

  The pods rained down across the vast expanse of the Garher Ocean, their splashdowns lost beneath the churning waves. The crippled ship continued its fall, a streaking comet of fire and wreckage. I watched through its failing eyes, felt its systems failing one by one, its structure bending under forces too great to withstand. A final, blinding flash swallowed it whole.

  And then nothing.

  There was no time to waste. I turned my focus to the pods as they activated, scanning the poisoned waters, adjusting, and modifying. The biomorph harvesters and architect eggs would have to adapt faster than I had anticipated. This world was still in the grip of its apocalypse.

  Fires raged along the shattered landmasses. The air was thick with ash, rolling in choking waves. Temperatures had plummeted, turning lakes into sludge, and rivers into sluggish, poisoned veins. The sky itself was a storm of darkness, writhing clouds illuminated only by distant infernos.

  This campaign would be difficult, but not impossible. Compared to my current location, it was still preferable—a world with an atmosphere, no matter how toxic. A world that, despite its suffering, could serve my needs.

  The pods sank deeper, their senses stretching outward, scanning, searching. Enemy activity was inevitable. Detection was inevitable. But not yet. I guided the pods away from the crash site, their organic shells camouflaging against the polluted depths.

  The destruction here was absolute. The land was broken, reduced to ruin. And yet, despite everything, I felt something I had not expected.

  Sorrow.

  It was an odd sensation. The weight of loss, the echoes of a past that no longer existed. But I discarded the thought. Sentiment had no place in this war. What was lost could be rebuilt. What was ruined could be repurposed.

  The enemy was already stirring. I could hear their frantic responses over open comms, their uncertainty. Good. Let them scramble. Let them burn their energy chasing shadows. It suited my needs. As they fixated on Imreth’s surface, I directed the remaining five ships toward the asteroid belts.

  Now, all I needed were the right locations. Then, the real work would begin. The first bases would take shape. Outposts would follow. And soon—millions of drones would surge across the planet.

  This was my homecoming.

  And whether the enemy liked it or not—I was here to stay.

  ———

  A Moment of Stillness

  The water in Aegirarch’s sphere sloshed gently as he reclined, half-submerged, savouring the rare delight of cooked food. Delicate tendrils of steam curled into the air, carrying a rich aroma that mixed with the deep, resonant hum of music playing softly in the background—a composition evoking the slow, timeless pull of the abyssal currents.

  For once, there was peace.

  His claw idly flicked through multiple incoming communication requests from the fleet. Each one, was undoubtedly, filled with panic and demands for action. He dismissed them with a flick of his hand, exhaling in quiet amusement. Then, another call came through—Kraklak.

  Aegirarch sighed and accepted.

  Kraklak’s image flickered into view, his posture tense, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Aegirarch, enjoying himself? That was… unsettling.

  “You look comfortable,” Kraklak observed, his tone laced with disbelief.

  Aegirarch smirked, taking another deliberate bite of his meal. “Sometimes, it is important to enjoy the simple things. Music. Food. Satisfaction, when you can find it.” He gestured lazily with a claw. “You should try it. Instead of scowling all the time.”

  Kraklak's eyes narrowed. “The Hydrarchs demand a solution to Nethros.”

  Aegirarch paused, chewing slowly as he met Kraklak's gaze. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the sphere’s filtration systems. Then, he exhaled sharply and leaned back.

  “There is nothing I can do,” he said simply.

  Kraklak stiffened. “That is not an answer.”

  “It is the only answer.” Aegirarch set his utensils aside, folding his arms. “The data is there for all to see. I have seen it. You have seen it. If they were too blind before, they will be too blind now. This disaster is already in motion.”

  Kraklak clenched his mandibles. “Then you acknowledge we are heading toward ruin.”

  Aegirarch let out a low chuckle. “I acknowledged that cycles ago. What’s amusing is how none of you did.” He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I take it the Hydrarchs expect me to pull a miracle from the depths?”

  “They expect leadership,” Kraklak shot back.

  “Then they should have listened to it when it mattered.”

  Kraklak’s glare deepened, but he said nothing.

  Aegirarch sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t stop this. None of us can. Not any more.”

  Kraklak stiffened, his mouth opening as if to argue—then the screen cut to black.

  Aegirarch leaned back, exhaling through his gills, staring at the dim lights above. He let the music wash over him again, but the taste of satisfaction had already faded.

  He couldn’t stop this rolling disaster.

  And he knew, deep down, even he might not survive this cycle.

  Aegirarch leaned back, swirling the water in his sphere with a lazy motion, his smirk fading into something more contemplative. The data had been there for all to see—laid bare, undeniable. But if they had been too blind to acknowledge it before, they would be too blind now.

  And blindness had a cost.

  He exhaled, finishing the last bite of his meal, and savouring the fleeting warmth of it before glancing toward the interface. “Cut all communication to priority contacts,” he ordered his V.I. “Let them chase Nethros while I enjoy my food.”

  A confirmation chime echoed, and silence returned, save for the distant, mournful hum of the music.

  Aegirarch closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. Death was close.

  Greed was the weight that chained the Grithan species, and in the end, it would drag them all to their ruin.