I was hiding behind the broken column, my machete gripped tight in my right hand, the cold blade pressing against my sweaty palm. My breath came in short puffs, the dry air of Czarnia scratching my throat. My mother had whispered for me to stay back with the others, but I couldn't—I had to see it with my own eyes. The stranger, Vilgax, descended from the ship like a living storm, the red and black metal of his armor reflecting the pale light of the twin moons. He was tall, imposing, his tentacles writhing beneath the metal like living shadows, and his visor glowed red, cutting through the dimness. Zorak, the brute who runs our group, charged at him, his makeshift axe swinging in his hand as if it could tear the sky apart. I thought it'd be quick—Zorak's a mountain of muscle, the strongest I've ever seen, a massacre survivor who seemed invincible. But Vilgax… he was more than strength. He was something I didn't understand.
The fight started in the blink of an eye, and I could barely keep up. Zorak moved first, his bare feet crushing the cracked stone, a guttural roar ripping from his throat as he charged. He looked like one of the mutant beasts we hunt—wild, uncontrolled, hands spread like claws, his curved black nails glinting in the faint light. He leaped, aiming for Vilgax's chest, and I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. But Vilgax moved—not rushed, not afraid, but with a calm that made me frown. He sidestepped, his heavy armored body creaking, and Zorak's strike hit empty ground. The stone exploded where he landed, a cloud of dust rising like smoke, shards flying so close I felt one slice the air near my cheek.
Zorak laughed, a rough, taunting sound, brushing the dust off his shoulder with a slap. "Fast for a rich boy!" he sneered, his red eyes sparking with anger and amusement. He spun and swung, his right arm cutting the air like a hammer, muscles bulging under his pale skin. Vilgax raised his arms in a cross, blocking, and the impact rang out like low thunder—the sound of metal against tough flesh. His boots scraped the stone, gouging deep furrows, but he didn't fall. He stood firm, the red visor locked on Zorak, saying nothing. I bit my lip, my machete trembling in my hand. How did he take that? Zorak's crushed skulls with less force than that.
But Zorak didn't stop. He roared again, saliva dripping from his sharp teeth, and leaped higher, hands clasped in a downward strike that looked like it could crush a ship. The air quaked with the motion, and I thought it was over—Vilgax would turn to dust, like so many others Zorak had destroyed. My stomach churned, but then Vilgax rolled to the side, his body spinning with a precision that didn't make sense for someone so big. The armor grazed the ground, sparks flying, and Zorak's blow cratered the spot where he'd been—a deep hole, rocks scattering like shrapnel, one hitting the column beside me with a dry crack. I flinched, but I didn't take my eyes off him.
Before Zorak could turn, Vilgax was up. The tubes in his arms hummed, a high-pitched sound cutting the silence, and I saw the metal expand—his muscles swelling, the armor stretching with a groan that made my teeth ache. He stepped forward, the ground shaking, and punched. Just one punch. His fist slammed into Zorak's head mid-leap, and the sound was like an explosion—a boom that made my ears ring, a shockwave hurling dust everywhere. Zorak's head burst, blood and bone spraying in red arcs, chunks hitting the stone with wet thuds. His body collapsed, heavy, legs folding as if they didn't know they were dead, and the silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
I stood frozen, the machete nearly slipping from my sweaty fingers. My eyes were wide, my chest heaving too fast. Zorak was the strongest I knew—he killed mutant beasts with his bare hands, broke rocks just to show he could. But Vilgax destroyed him with one blow. It wasn't just strength, like Lobo or the others I'd seen here. It was… different. He moved with certainty, every dodge perfect, every step calculated, like he'd seen the end before it began. My heart pounded, but it wasn't just fear—it was something warm, something rising in my chest that made my skin tingle. Admiration. I'd never seen anyone like that. He was the owner, he said, and now I believed him.
Vilgax stood there, fist still outstretched, blood dripping from the red metal of his armor. He ordered the robots to take the body—cold machines that swooped down buzzing, their claws gleaming as they grabbed Zorak by the shoulders and waist. Blood trickled in streams as they lifted him, dripping onto the stone like thick rain, and the robots floated back to the ship, their engines' hum blending with the Czarnians' silence. He turned to us, his visor glowing, the armor stained dark red, and spoke in a voice that seemed to rise from the earth itself. "I am Vilgax. Owner of Czarnia. Tell everyone: I'm here. I'll stay in the ship for three days. Anyone who wants to leave this broken planet, come to me. The strong and clever have a place in my empire. The weak, don't." Each word weighed heavy, cut deep, and I felt a shiver down my spine.
The others around me murmured—some angry, some scared—but I barely heard them. Vilgax turned his back, the ground shaking with each step as he climbed the ship's ramp. Then he stopped, turned his head, and I saw it. His red visor met my eyes, and I froze—my heart raced, the air caught in my throat. He was massive, his battle-stained armor looming, tentacles writhing like shadows. But I didn't look away. I don't know why—maybe stubbornness, maybe that heat I couldn't explain. He stared at me for a second, then entered the ship, the door closing with a clang that echoed through the ruins.
I didn't wait for the others. I gripped my machete tighter, the cold metal firm against my skin, and ran toward the ruins where my mother was. The dry wind hit my face, whipping my wild black hair back, and my bare feet pounded the cracked stone. Our home's nothing special—a shallow cave on the edge of the old plaza, with rough stone walls and a half-broken roof that lets the wind in. Inside, there's a pile of old rags in one corner, a stack of twisted metal we use as a bench, and a small fire burning in a ring of stones, thin spirals of smoke curling upward. My mother was there, huddled near the flames, her pale face lit by the orange glow, her red eyes dulled with exhaustion and worry. She lifted her head when she heard me, her trembling hands clutching a tattered cloth.
"Lyra!" she called, her voice weak, almost swallowed by the crackling fire. "What did you see? Talk to me!" She leaned forward, gray hair falling over her thin shoulders, her fingers gripping the cloth like a shield.
I dropped to the ground beside her, dust puffing around me, the machete falling with a dull thud. My breath was heavy, my chest heaving as words spilled out fast, tripping over each other. "Vilgax," I said, eyes wide, still seeing the fight in my head. "He killed Zorak, Mom. Zorak went at him—fast, like a beast, with those claws and punches that break everything. But Vilgax… he dodged, blocked, like he knew every move before it happened. And then—one punch, just one punch, and Zorak's head exploded. Blood everywhere, the body dropped like a rock. He's strong, Mom—not like Lobo, not like Zorak. He's got… control. He knows what he's doing."
My voice faltered, and I stared at the flames, the fire dancing in my eyes. His face—the visor, the armor, that deadly calm—wouldn't leave my head. "He said he's the owner," I went on, quieter, almost to myself. "That he bought Czarnia after the massacre. Said he'll stay in the ship for three days, waiting for anyone who wants to go with him. Anyone strong, anyone smart." I looked up at her, my heart still racing. "I saw it, Mom. He took Zorak down like it was nothing. He's… incredible. I don't know why, but I feel it. He's different from anything I've seen here."
My mother stared at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as if searching for words. She reached out, her trembling fingers brushing my cheek, her rough skin against mine. "Is he like Lobo?" she asked, fear dripping in her voice, her eyes searching my face. I shook my head, the motion firm, almost eager. "No. Lobo was crazy, destroyed everything without thinking. Vilgax… he's calm. He wins before he fights. I saw it in his eyes—in how he moves. He's strong in a way I've never seen."
She went quiet for a moment, the fire crackling between us, shadows dancing on the cave walls. Then she cupped my cheek, her eyes softening with a sadness I knew well. "Be careful, Lyra," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "Strength like that doesn't save anyone. It uses. It takes, even if it comes with promises." Her hand fell to her lap, the cloth slipping from her fingers, and she stared at the fire as if seeing the past burning there.
I didn't answer. I kept watching the flames, the heat licking my face, the machete beside me glinting faintly in the light. My chest was still warm, my heart beating with something that wasn't just fear or anger. It was him—Vilgax. The way he stopped Zorak, the way he looked at me before entering the ship. Three days, he said. Three days to decide. And I don't know what I want, but I know I can't get him out of my head.