Aboard the Nemesis
The Nemesis's planning room was dimly lit, holographic displays casting a cold glow over the steel table. Yuri stood at its head, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he listened to Alexis deliver the latest intelligence.
"It's happening sooner than expected," Alexis said, tapping the projection. "The rebels are mobilizing. Their last strongholds are collapsing, so they're making a final push before they run out of resources. We can expect them to strike within the week."
Yuri remained silent. It had been four years since this rebellion began—four years of war in the shadows. He had fought in conflicts like this before—messy, drawn-out, filled with paranoia and blood. But this one had taken an unexpected turn.
His gaze drifted to a secondary display, where security footage showed a young boy, no older than four, yet appearing fourteen. His expression was hard, his stance disciplined as he watched prisoners fight in the pits.
The child.
Yuri barely kept himself from scowling. He had found the boy at the start of this campaign—an anomaly amidst fire and ruin. At first, the child had been nothing more than an afterthought—a potential hostage, a bargaining chip. But after a few months, when Yuri finally revisited the matter, he saw the difference. The child had grown. Not like a normal infant. By the time Yuri took a real interest, the boy had the physicality of a toddler, his eyes sharp with understanding.
Curious, Yuri tested him—first with puzzles, then with weapons. What he saw was impossible. Strength beyond reason. Reflexes no human child should possess. Intelligence that outpaced even seasoned warriors.
That was when Yuri made his decision.
This boy would be his legacy.
By the time the boy was two, he had already defeated three unaugmented men in mock combat. Not through brute strength—though even then, he had been stronger than he should have been—but through his mind. He had read their movements, manipulated their actions, and dismantled them with cold precision.
Now, the boy stood at the edge of the slave pits, watching another fight unfold. The pits had been created as punishment, but over time, they had become something else—entertainment for the nobles. Duke Karlos and his visitors treated it as sport, wagering fortunes on desperate men forced to battle for their amusement.
Yuri had allowed the child to fight here. It was brutal, but necessary. Strength had to be proven.
Yet, he was not blind. He saw the hatred in the boy's eyes.
The boy loathed him.
And Yuri understood why. He had trained the child ruthlessly, kept him locked in a cage-like room aboard the ship when he was not fighting. The boy had tried to escape—had even managed to wound him once, driving a blade deep into Yuri's stomach before being subdued. Yuri could see the fire in his eyes—the hatred, the hunger, the ambition.
The boy still wanted to kill him.
Good.
Yuri smirked. He had grown.
Still, for all his hatred, the child obeyed.
Not out of fear.
Not out of weakness.
But because he respected Yuri's principles.
Yuri knew he wouldn't always be able to control him. One day, the boy would challenge him again. One day, he would try to win.
And Yuri would be ready.
"Any other movements?" Yuri asked, snapping back to the present.
Alexis nodded. "The nobles are still demanding we keep the pits running. More wagers, more fights. The rebels may try to infiltrate the palace during one of the events."
"Let them try," Yuri muttered. "We'll turn it into a trap."
Alexis hesitated before speaking. "And after this?"
Yuri exhaled, his eyes drifting back to the footage of the boy. Four years old, and already, he looked fourteen.
What would he become in ten more? In twenty?
He had trained him to be a weapon, a successor. But something about this war, about this planet, drained him. This was not how he dealt with things.
"We leave," Yuri finally said. "We've bled enough for these nobles." His gaze hardened. "We go back to Cybertron."
A silence fell over the room before Alexis smirked. "The old home, huh? It's been a while."
Yuri turned off the display. "Too long."
Outside, the child continued to watch the fights, unaware that his future was about to change once again.
He turned to take his helm. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, thoughts drifting back to his life in the gladiatorial pits of Kaon.
With an exhale, he put his helm on.
For now, the war still had to be won.
...
Oc pov
Aboard the Nemesis
The ship hummed around him. Orion had long since learned to recognize the sounds—the deep rumble of engines, the sharp hisses of pressurized doors, the rhythmic thud of boots against steel floors. He knew this ship better than most. It was his prison, his battleground, his home.
He stood at the edge of the pits, watching the latest fight unfold. The scent of sweat, blood, and desperation filled the air, but Orion hardly noticed. He had seen too many of these battles, fought in too many himself.
At first, it had been easy—just a game. A test of skill. But he had grown to hate it.
He clenched his fists as a man crumpled to the ground, struggling to rise. He recognized him. A newer fighter. He wouldn't last long. None of them ever did.
His mind drifted, as it often did, to his first days aboard the Nemesis.
Back then, he had been nothing but a curiosity—a nameless child in a world of warriors. He hadn't known where he was or how he had come to be, only that he was different. Even before he could speak, he had known that much.
He learned quickly. Language had fascinated him—how sounds carried meaning, how words could be shaped and twisted. His caretakers had been wary, but he had forced them to understand him with gestures, expressions, persistence. By the time Yuri returned from his campaigns, Orion had already taught himself to speak.
And Yuri… Yuri had intrigued him.
The man had been different from the others. Strong, commanding. A force of nature. Orion had admired him once. Yuri had brought him puzzles, challenged him with games that forced him to think. Orion had relished every moment, believing—for a short time—that Yuri was something close to a friend.
That illusion had shattered the moment training began.
At first, it had been exhilarating. He had never been allowed to run before, to truly move. He had laughed as he sprinted, jumped, tested his growing strength. But as the months passed, the games faded, replaced by harsh drills and endless combat.
Then came the pits.
At first, he hadn't understood why he was made to fight prisoners. They were already beaten. What was the point? But Yuri had made it clear—this was part of his training. A lesson in survival.
He had hated it. But he had done it.
And then… Jake.
The first man to ever ask for his name.
"Boy," Orion had answered, confused when the man frowned.
"That's not a name," Jake had said. "A name is who you are."
That conversation had stayed with him. When they fought again, Jake had offered him a name.
"Orion," he had said. "That's what I'll call you. A name for someone who aims for something greater."
He had taken that name as his own.
And that had been his first mistake.
Yuri had not tolerated his closeness to the prisoners. The day Orion asked why they were made to suffer, why Yuri did this to them, was the day Yuri broke him.
Pain had been his answer. Punishment until he could no longer move.
And after that, Jake and the others were gone.
That had been the moment Orion truly began to hate Yuri.
That was when the escape attempts began.
Each time, Yuri caught him. Each time, Yuri made him suffer for it. But Orion never stopped. He refused to break. Even when Yuri beat him within an inch of his life. Even when he was locked in a cell with nothing but books on war and death.
He endured.
He learned.
Now, standing at the pits once more, watching another man fall, Orion felt nothing but cold determination.
"One day," he thought, "I will be free. I will understand why I exist. And I will be stronger than Yuri."
A voice broke him from his thoughts.
"Boy."
He turned. Yuri stood nearby, watching him with that unreadable expression. Even now, Orion couldn't deny the respect he felt for him. The man was brutal, but he was unshakable.
Orion hated him. But he would learn from him.
He would surpass him.
"Come," Yuri said. "Training is not over."
Orion exhaled, glancing once more at the pits. Then he turned, following his captor, his mentor, his enemy.
For now, he will endure.