The Core Species’ method of “seizing” a vessel was purely physical.
Sakedi pressed his ship tight against the frigate he had long since marked. He decelerated sharply in the shortest possible window, having meticulously selected a weak point that was neither flammable nor explosive, carefully avoiding all engines and power reactors.
the docking bay, originally intended for berthing, served his purposes perfectly.
The enemy had clearly not prepared for a friendly visit. Sakedi forcibly shattered the sealed hatch with cannon fire and practically wedged himself in, using his ship’s ramming prow to spear into the docking chamber. It looked reckless, but it was a feat of extreme technical precision. From the sudden turn to the actual impact, the entire process took only a heartbeat. A fraction too much force, and it would have been his own assault ship that shattered.
Zerg ships were much like the remoras of the Old Earth’s oceans, a trait that suited their biological habits; once they latched onto prey larger than themselves, they did not let go easily. This design was originally intended for use against humans; the suction of a small parasite craft was tight enough to strip a layer of outer armor from a human warship. Forcing a separation often resulted in excessive structural damage and further disintegration of the hull.
As it turned out, Sakedi had turned this characteristic around to play a game of cosmic “bumper cars” with his own kind’s vessels.
The entire operation made Kleiman’s scales stand on end.
*Madman.*
What sane Zerg would play head-on collisions in deep space? No matter how thick a male’s hide was, it wasn't meant to withstand such abuse.
Most Zerg ships possessed self-repair functions. Even if a foreign object latched onto them, the surrounding outer plating would quickly converge to crush the intruder. Had it been a human, the impact force and the accompanying high temperatures would have been enough to shatter their body instantly.
In the next second, the frigate’s defense mechanisms engaged. The ruptured hull began to restore itself automatically, and the healing outer walls completely flattened the enemy craft wedged in the docking bay.
The leader of the Armed Species didn't even know if his commander had successfully boarded. It was a suicidal, high-stakes beachhead landing. No other Zerg would ever attempt such a play; one could die a hundred times without ever successfully triggering such a survival-rate glitch. It was an operation with zero room for error.
Sakedi had indeed nearly met his end.
A patch of his pitch-black scales had been torn away. The hatch, deformed by the impact, wouldn't open, nearly trapping him inside the scrapped assault ship. Brushing shoulders with the Reaper, he blasted open the junction between the two ships. He had just scrambled through, enduring the terrifying pressure of the vacuum whistling through the cracks, and pulled his legs into the frigate’s side when the vessel’s self-repair kicked in.
He watched as his assault ship was crushed into powder just inches from his left leg. The resulting heatwave from the explosion tore away another cluster of his scales, carving wounds deep enough to expose bone.
Zerg males were terrifying creatures, possessing healing speeds and pressure resistance unimaginable to humans. They could endure extreme cold and heat, bite through a patrol ship’s deck with their bare teeth, and would not die instantly even if exposed to the radiation-filled vacuum of space.
Even so, his stubborn bravado had caused his auditory system, scent glands, and entire neural reflex function to go completely offline for several seconds. For a moment, his life began to flash before his eyes like a revolving lantern. When he tried to push himself up, he collapsed directly onto his knees.
Even when fighting Katra, he had stubbornly maintained his dignity and flown up to the high platform. This was the first time he truly couldn't stand. This, perhaps, was the progress of civilization and the power of technology.
He could almost feel the shattered bones within his body knitting themselves back together with frantic speed. Fortunately, Sakedi had stabilized at the peak of his adulthood; his recovery speed and physical strength had reached an unnervingly high level. Otherwise, he would have been left paralyzed, waiting to be bagged like a trophy.
The good news was that once the frigate’s outer armor was repaired, the suction trying to pull him out vanished, allowing him to breathe normally.
However, he still didn't have much time.
*Gera is going to scold me when I get back.*
The Core Species reflected on his actions. He couldn't pull these kinds of stunts next time; he was a man with a family now... a Zerg with a family. Gera would cry. It was likely because he acted with such reckless abandon that the white Noble had followed his example and bled from his nose at the Great Information Nest.
Just as he finished his self-reflection, his head slammed into the ceiling with a *thud*, adding insult to his already dizzy mental state.
Excellent. The impact hadn't caused a massive explosion, but it had likely knocked the frigate’s gravity system offline.
The standby Armed Species didn't dare withdraw. They could only continue to follow the frigate, fighting while they observed. Within seconds, Kleiman received a flood of inquiries asking, “Is the Commander still alive?” He nearly lost his composure.
The connection had cut out the moment the other ship hit. He was more anxious than anyone right now, but he could only maintain a wooden expression as he commanded his team to keep darting around to draw aggro.
Sakedi truly had no time to deal with them.
A frigate carried roughly thirty to fifty Zerg. While the number wasn't large, more than half were Core Species. The cosmic collision had been too dangerous to risk anyone else’s safety, so he hadn't been able to bring any subordinates. This meant he had to solo the dungeon.
Fate is a circle, often making one relive the past when least expected. It was such a familiar scene, such a similar operation. When he had first opened his eyes in this body, he seemed to be on a path of stealing a ship and making a run for it.
Fresh blood splattered everywhere, dripping down the black scales of the male Zerg. It was now a live broadcast of Battle Royale 3.0.
“He may have successfully entered.”
Kleiman, who had been leading his men in guerrilla tactics, kept a constant eye on the frigate’s movements. The ship, which had been attacking normally, was now slowing down for no apparent reason, even ceasing its fire on the enemy for several moments.
“Follow it.”
Until they were certain he had gained control of the ship, they couldn't rashly draw too close. Yet, they couldn't leave it entirely unattended either. They were forced to circle the target, half-guarding and half-monitoring it, all while battling cannon fire from all directions.
The loss of two wingmen in quick succession nearly drove the Armed Species leader into a rage. The Sub-King’s regular forces were not easily fooled. He wanted to let go of everything, abandon the plan, and rush out to tear the enemy fleet apart—to stop talking about tactics and rely on instinct to bite through every obstacle in his path.
His xenomorphic state layered up only to be suppressed again. As Kleiman led his men on a patrol near the frigate, he silently recited his mantra a dozen times: *“Surrender and live, disarm and live, give up resistance and we are still comrades...”* This brainwashing slogan of the Core Species was far too catchy. Having heard it so many times recently, it had almost become an unconscious murmur in his subconscious to resist his instincts.
“Stop reciting that.”
Just as the third wingman was hit and he was muttering those meaningless words while leading his squad in a chaotic dance, the black male’s voice finally crackled back to life on the team’s comms channel. “Have you been traumatized? My ears are going deaf.”
“Reciting that now feels like you’re mocking me.”
It was indeed far too ironic.
Blood splattered across the spiral patterns of the walls, flowing down toward the floor. The entire bridge of the ship had become a massive slaughterhouse. Fortunately, Zerg technology was resistant to acidic blood; otherwise, Sakedi suspected the sheer volume of gore would have burned straight through the frigate’s floorboards.
He could somewhat understand Clark’s mindset now. If possible, he didn't really want Gera to see him like this.
The pitch-black male was fully immersed in a deep xenomorphic form. Steel-like wings and a tail whip coiled behind him, and he was so caked in blood that the original color of his body was nearly invisible. His own blood mingled with that of his enemies, as intimate as brothers from the same source. The realization was enough to trigger a strong sense of revulsion.
Creatures from the same womb, biting and devouring one another until only one could ascend the high platform.
The ship was riddled with the marks of projectile fire, especially the command bridge. It was hard to imagine what kind of fierce battle had taken place there. Sakedi extended a leg and swept the remains of a Zerg sitting in the commander’s seat aside.
Then, he sat down.
During the slaughter, the ship’s gravity system had undergone a reboot, and the liquids that had been floating everywhere crashed back to the floor. It was sticky and damp underfoot.
The Armed Species leader was likely under too much pressure, as he had been buzzing in the comms channel like a praying monk, reciting the propaganda slogans. This made the Core Species reflect for two seconds on whether he had bullied Kleiman too much.
“Report the situation.”
As he issued the command, he rapidly began to maneuver his newly acquired frigate. The main weapons were undamaged, the core power reactor was in good condition, and the ship itself was still authenticated by the Sub-King fleet’s core command tower. Perfect.
“Three assault ships lost...”
“Charging complete, ready to fire at any time!”
Kleiman’s somber tone stood in stark contrast to the report from the Alpha battleship that rang out in the channel. It had been a long time since they had suffered losses among the Armed Species.
“I understand. Follow me.”
Sakedi wasted no words, simultaneously instructing the main ship: “Once I blow the enemy’s defense wall, be ready to attack. The moment the Sub-King’s command ship’s defenses vanish, level it for me.”
“Understood.”
“Received.”
Both sides responded simultaneously. The direct-line males, their minds clearing, reorganized their formation and moved into a close escort position around the enemy frigate.
The defense wall acted against all unrecognized craft and vessels, but it would not intercept its own ships. The activation device for the defense wall was flush against the outer hull of the core command ship. If damaged, backup components would rapidly reboot and take over within half a minute.
Thirty seconds was more than enough time. The Core Species was betting on those thirty seconds of rebooting.
Thus, when the leader of the Grey-wing tribe, who had been outside the third quadrant, made two consecutive warp jumps to reinforce his territory, he arrived just in time for the largest cosmic firework display in history.
Sakedi always enjoyed abstract operations.
With his ship’s identification accepted, the Core Species—having bypassed the defense wall’s restrictions—turned the enemy’s own ship against them and blasted their defense generator before they realized anything was wrong. It was a case of shearing the sheep and then beating them with their own wool.
The line between "intelligent identification" and "idiotic identification" became very blurred in specific scenarios; the protective shield that could block all external attacks failed to stop its own vessel.
Clark, leading the main force, couldn't activate the River of Time and had to take the warp points. Consequently, just as he finished the jump, a massive explosion of gold and red erupted in the void.
A fully charged shot from the main cannon, fired during the few seconds the defense barrier was down and before it could reboot, streaked from the center of the opposing fleet matrix. From a vast distance, it directly pierced the command tower of the Sub-King’s core Alpha battleship.
The sight of two Kings blasting each other was so rare that most Zerg failed to process what had happened. The core of the Sub-King’s fleet exploded on the spot. The central blast triggered a chain reaction of smaller explosions—a magnificent, fiery bloom.
Like a meteor shower streaking across the sky, a crimson river splashed waves among the stars. Molten gold and the silver shards of ship hulls wove together in a reflection brighter than distant suns, flickering unsteadily. To the uninformed, the scene was hauntingly beautiful; in reality, everything within sight was a synonym for death.
How similar this was to the scene of the first human raid on the Hive. Treading upon the dense, wave-like swarms of Zerg, they had forcibly torn open a corner of the Royal Nest and severed the most important head.
Sakedi’s Grey-wing tribe surged forth in full force, their muzzles unshackled for the first time. While the enemy was in chaos and unable to reorganize, the "moths" broke formation. Shifting from a steadfast defense, they plunged into the battlefield with madness.
The Armed Species, led by Kleiman, went into a killing frenzy. The grudge of losing three wingmen was enough to drag this already bellicose team into a collective xenomorphic state. One by one, they crushed the enemy’s warships, plundering, devouring, or sinking them outright. Small auxiliary craft latched onto larger frigates or battleships like lampreys, biting off huge chunks of metal and flesh.
The entire battlefield was instantly transformed into a meat grinder.
Watching the scene from afar, the silver-grey male Zerg gave a soft laugh.
“It seems Sakedi doesn't need our reinforcement after all,” he said. “The other side hasn't been naive enough to cling to kindness in the midst of war.”
***
