The team stared in shock, torn between the instinct to flee and the dread of abandoning their captain.
"Tommy? Got any brilliant ideas?" Gunz's tone was laced with sarcasm, but for once, he was hoping the quiet swordsman would surprise him.
Tommy looked away, his expression unreadable, as if weighing the impossible. Before he could answer, Monette sighed heavily. "Where do we go from here? We can't just leave him behind, can we? We h—"
"Ahn Sanamoon."
The name cut through the air like a blade. Tommy's voice carried no hesitation—only certainty.
Monette blinked. "What?"
Gunz frowned. "You wanna run that by us again?"
Tommy met their gazes. "Set a course for Earth. I have a plan. We bring back the original king—the progenitor of the onyx hybrid race. Ahn Sanamoon can defeat Thraq."
"And Randall?" Monette pressed, concern etched in her voice.
"We'll come back for him," Tommy replied. "He'd do the same for us."
Monette turned back to the viewport, watching Prireem shrink into the distance. The mother ship climbed free of the planet's gravity, and then—with a sudden burst—the stars streaked into lines as they jumped to light speed.
Cosmic Tower | Andromeda Galaxy
Thraq strode into the chamber with the kind of confidence that came from knowing no one could touch him—yet. The tower's polished obsidian floor mirrored his every step, the echo carrying through the vaulted hall.
From their seats, Skyler and Abbot exchanged uneasy glances. Putnum, however, didn't bother with subtlety. His glare locked on Thraq like the crosshairs of a targeting scope.
"Where is Talbein?" His voice was low, deliberate. "What have you done with him?"
Thraq settled into the throne as though it had always been his, leaning forward just enough to seem casual—but not harmless. "First and foremost, that is none of your concern, Putnum. Stay out of Paragon's political affairs if you value your well-being. Talbein has merely been… succeeded. By someone of greater intellect."
The smirk on Thraq's face wasn't arrogance—it was provocation. He knew exactly what rules bound Putnum's hands, the ancient agreement that forbade him from meddling in the politics of other galaxies unless invited.
Putnum took a measured step forward, then another, until he was standing close enough for his presence to become a silent threat. "Listen closely, Thraq. If I find out you've been playing a crooked game…" His voice dropped into a dangerous calm. "…I will personally see to your removal."
Then, with a deliberate shift of tone, Putnum smiled and gave Thraq a deceptively friendly pat on the shoulder. "Welcome aboard, Thraq."
Abbot's gaze never left Putnum, his eyes tracking every movement like a hawk assessing a predator. The tension in the room was thick—dense enough to cut with the sharpest star saber in the known galaxy.
Aboard the Shamrock Mother Ship
The confinement bay was crowded with restless new fighters, each waiting for their turn in the Bashrock Mountain tournament.
"Hey," SkyRaider said casually, leaning toward a nearby woman with an expression that dared trouble. "You wouldn't happen to have any tools to cut these, would you?"
The woman didn't answer—she just glared at him, her eyes simmering with a quiet fury. Her skin was a striking pink, her hair a deep red, and her clenched fists rested like coiled weapons in her lap.
"SkyRaider," La'sylix sighed from beside him, rubbing her temple. "Is that really wise? Perhaps don't antagonize complete strangers?"
"Oh, come on, Syl, relax. We're not in any danger. She looks like a perfectly nice lady." He grinned, leaning in again. "So—what was your objective? You know, before… all this?"
The princess muttered under her breath, "By the stars, I'm trapped with an idiot."
The woman's response was ice-cold and deliberate. "My objective? SkyRaider, my goal was to rip Bellenova's heart from her chest and watch the life drain from her eyes. Then I was going to dance on her body as she drowned in her own blood. But thanks to you," she said, her voice tightening, "that plan's ruined. I was so close." She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back against the humming metal wall as the ship's generator thrummed beneath them.
SkyRaider didn't flinch—he just smiled. "Well, look on the bright side."
She cracked an incredulous glance at him. "Oh? And what exactly is that?"
"You know my name now."
Her lips curled into a mocking smirk. "How could I ever repay you for such an honor?" she asked, dripping sarcasm.
"Pfft. Who said it was a good thing for you?" he shot back. "It just means my name's getting famous."
The space pirate leaned back, smug, while La'sylix pinched the bridge of her nose, silently reconsidering every choice that had led her here.
The two women fixed him with equally sharp glares.
"Cyndra has escaped Bashrock Mountain before," La'sylix said, her voice low but edged with warning. "But only at great cost. Don't think for a second she'll side with you unless it serves her. She's here for vengeance—for her war horse."
From somewhere in the bay, a gruff voice added, "A war horse worth dying for."
"Well, isn't that just delightful," Syl replied dryly, rolling her eyes.
"I still don't know what Bellenova did to him," Cyndra muttered, her gaze distant.
The mother ship shuddered violently as it touched down, the sudden jolt announcing their arrival. Outside, a deep, rhythmic chant rose from thousands of unseen throats, the sound spilling into the bay like a living thing.
Syl and Cyndra locked eyes—an unspoken recognition passing between them.
"That's her," Cyndra said flatly. "Always stirring the pot when she doesn't get her way. Just like her father, Abbott."
For reasons she didn't care to name, Syl found herself oddly comfortable confiding in the fiery stranger.
Red warning lights flared, painting the pod in crimson. An alien tongue crackled over the loudspeakers, commanding their release. The metallic door split open, and gravity seized them all—fifty contestants hurtling downward into the roaring arena below.
The crowd's chant thundered around them.
The tournament had begun.
This ending keeps the focus on the tension between Syl, Cyndra, and the looming spectacle, while setting up Bashrock Mountain as a dangerous, almost gladiatorial stage.
T H E E N D