Aegirarch observed the cascading streams of data with an impassive gaze, each report a testament to the ever-evolving disaster unfolding on the moon’s surface. What was calculated to be a minor regional conflict had metastasized into a full-scale planetary war. Days had turned to weeks, and despite all predictive models, the situation continued to spiral out of control.

  The strategic miscalculation gnawed at him, not as an emotional failing, but as an error in logic. The initial campaign had been projected as a simple containment and eradication effort—surgical, efficient, and cost-effective. He had trusted the calculations of his war planners, the simulations run by his virtual intelligence, and the battlefield analysis of his commanders. Yet, within the first hours of engagement, it became clear that something fundamental had been miscalculated.

  New Biological Combat Units (BCUs) had emerged onto the battlefield, counteracting the technological advantages his forces had relied upon. These units were no longer simply evolving; they were adapting at a rate far beyond biological norms. Armour penetration that had once sufficed now proved ineffective, and drone swarms were being systematically dismantled.

  The science division had managed to retrieve samples, only to discover that the evolutionary strain was entirely new—genetically distinct from any of the previous samples collected. Even those stored for long-term study had become obsolete, rendered useless against this next stage of development.

  This defied conventional understanding. Evolution was a process of incremental refinements, not rapid, directed leaps. Yet, this entity this anomaly was accelerating its advancement at a rate that should not have been possible.

  The battlefield was shifting yet again. The entity had begun constructing missile platforms, deploying ships into low orbit. Biological ships. Biological weapons. The war planners had initially dismissed the notion, deeming it impractical for a purely biological entity to develop space-faring capabilities in such a short time frame. That assumption had proven disastrously incorrect.

  The scientific division was ecstatic, enthralled by the unprecedented breakthrough in bioengineering. They spoke of natural plasma weapons, of organic hulls that could self-repair, of living munitions that could think, adapt, and target weaknesses mid-flight. What they saw as a revolutionary marvel, Aegirarch saw as a catastrophic escalation.

  These developments were not random. There was intelligence behind them, guiding them with precision. The anomaly was not merely evolving; it was strategizing. And that meant it could anticipate his next moves.

  Aegirarch dismissed the thought, refocusing as his virtual intelligence categorized the latest losses. Three modified mining hauliers, hastily repurposed into troop transports, had been destroyed. Two had detonated upon boarding, taking two of the entity’s ships with them. A minor victory, but a costly one. The final ship had attempted a desperate manoeuvre, crashing directly into the surface of an active battlefield. Its captain, Frival, had at least left behind a scar—a swath of radiation now seeping into the terrain.

  A desperate move. A pointless move. The anomaly had adapted to worse.

  Frival had survived. Nor did he deserve to he was an etheric user.

  Yet, the greater concern was how long the radiation would stall the anomaly’s forces. How long before it adapted once again?

  For now, Aegirarch was still maintaining the fa?ade of a controlled operation. Investors were still bidding on the Nullite yields. No one was willing to admit the operation had gone beyond their ability to contain. No reinforcements were coming. There was no greater fleet preparing to intervene. The losses were considered unfortunate, but not yet critical enough to warrant outside interference.

  That would change. And when it did, Aegirarch intended to be the one who controlled the narrative.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He turned his attention to a direct transmission request. The connection was slow, pulsing through the void. The display formed into a shifting black sphere with a white symbol of coral a sign of Ankrae’s presence.

  “Ankrae,” he acknowledged, his voice a measured monotone. “I require your assessment of Frival’s condition. Will your faction intervene?”

  There was a delay. He wondered if the connection had faltered before her response came.

  “No,” she said flatly. “Our Order will take no further action. We mourn the loss of Master Dauqils and those whose minds shattered attempting to comprehend Nethros’ presence.”

  Aegirarch leaned back, contemplating the implications. The losses must have been severe if their order was withdrawing. He had always regarded them as an insular faction within the fleet, wielding influence but never fully aligned with the greater mission.

  “I extend my condolences,” he replied, carefully measured. “I have been occupied. I was unaware of Master Dauqils’ passing. What are the final numbers?”

  A pause.

  “I have assumed command,” she said. “Of the three hundred who arrived, one hundred and forty-two are dead. Fifty-six remain in isolation, their minds fractured.”

  He ran the calculations. Over half their force was gone.

  She continued, “We are en route to the system’s sun for a solar burial ritual. Our Order is withdrawing all claims to Nullite extraction. We have acquired enough. We will await the arc ship at the nexus point.”

  That caught his attention. Withdrawing?

  That meant their mining rights would soon be in contention. That could be an opportunity to let the miners’ representatives fight for the claim while he leveraged control over the battlefield.

  Aegirarch spoke carefully. “Your decision is understood. I will not interfere. However, I request that any clones trained in etheric manipulation be transferred to my command.”

  There was another long pause. He ran probability models as he waited. 43% chance of compliance. The virtual intelligence was already calculating potential counter-offers.

  Ankrae finally spoke. “We will accept. A twenty percent claim on their cost, to be repaid in full.”

  He did not allow his surprise to show. This was a far more generous offer than anticipated. These clones had been trained extensively, their genetic modifications making them rare assets. A mere twenty per cent claim was far below their actual value.

  “I accept,” he said without hesitation. “The payment will be transferred within the hour.”

  The connection was cut without further exchange.

  Something was wrong.

  They had been too willing. Too quick to surrender valuable assets. What were they planning?

  He wasted no time. His virtual intelligence immediately dispatched orders to his intelligence division to monitor the Order’s ships and track every movement in real-time. If they were preparing for something, he would know.

  He returned his attention to the ongoing reports.

  Progress was being made. Minor victories. Several nests in the Northern Hemisphere had been eradicated. But the South was another matter entirely. The anomaly had entrenched itself there, consolidating its hold. It had been systematically eliminating resistance. There were no prisoners to save in this conflict.

  One report stood out—a quarry in the South, still operational, untouched.

  The anomaly had not attacked it. That was an anomaly in itself.

  Why had it been left alone?

  He flagged it for investigation. A potential weakness? A trap? Both?

  His screens continued to flood with new updates—investors vying for his attention, battlefield reports demanding decisions, and logistical data requiring analysis.

  Aegirarch ignored them all.

  This was no longer a campaign of attrition. This was a war for extermination.

  Precision had failed. The only solution left was an overwhelming force.

  His next step was clear. A mass mobilization of clone forces. A full planetary cleanse.

  Nothing less would suffice.