On returning Alexander stood at the center of the room, his gaze sweeping across the group. Six. Freya (One). Maggie(Two). Hannu(Three). Marina(Seven). Stanley (Nine). Ella (Ten). Griffin.They stood ready, tension thick in the air. The other Cepans Hilde, Conrad, Dante, Adelina, Katrina, Sandor and Crayton gathered soon.
The dim glow of holographic displays flickered across their faces, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
Alexander turned toward Lexa, who sat before a wall-high translucent screen, her fingers gliding effortlessly over its interface. Streams of data, surveillance footage, and encrypted messages scrolled in shimmering lines of light.
His voice was steady. "What's the update on Henri and Four?"
Lexa barely looked up, her gaze fixed on the screens. "Not much," she muttered, her tone clipped. "Four has started a romance with a girl named Sarah. From all the data we've gathered—she's clean. No red flags."
A brief silence.
Then, she continued, "Henri, on the other hand... he's looking for Malcolm. Desperate, even. He's scouring for any sign of where the remaining Garde and Cepans might be."
At the mention of his name, Malcolm stiffened. He had been staring at a floating hologram—a snapshot of his wife and son frozen in time. Their smiles untouched by the chaos of the war.
His voice, when he spoke, was quieter. "Will the Mogadorians suspect anything about Henri visiting Patricia and Sam?"
Lexa's fingers paused over the screen. She turned toward him. "No. Our attack on the Mog base in Spain has completely diverted their attention. Right now, they're chasing ghosts."
Malcolm let out a slow breath. Relief.
Lexa studied his expression for a moment, then added, "Your son, Sam… he truly believes you were abducted by aliens."
Malcolm's eyes flickered, there was small smile on his face. He had a real fascination with extraterrestrials, an interest he shared with his son Sam over which they shared a bond. So seeing him continue it brought a small smile.
"Also," Lexa smile slightly, "he wears your glasses to school every day. Even though he doesn't need them."
A flicker of pain crossed Malcolm's face.
He clenched his fists, swallowing the ache in his chest.
He wanted to reach out. To let them know he was alive. But right now—that was impossible.
The room fell into silence.
Alexander watched Malcom closely, noticing the subtle way his fingers clenched at the sight of his family.
"You'll see them again," Alexander said, his voice calm but firm. "We just have to be smart about it."
Malcom exhaled, nodding, but the sadness in his eyes remained.
Lexa continued tapping through the holographic interface, her brow furrowed. "We need to make sure Henri doesn't do anything reckless. He's desperate, and that makes him unpredictable. If he starts drawing too much attention, the Mogadorians will notice."
Six crossed her arms. "Then we intercept him before that happens. If we don't, he might lead the Mogs right to Number Four."
Maria (Seven) shifted uncomfortably. "Can we really do that without alerting the Mogs? If they're watching him closely enough…"
Alexander smirked, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. "We'll make it look like an accident."
Griffin grinned. "I like where this is going."
While in Mogadorian base, the chamber is vast, cold, and silent, carved from blackened metal. Faint red energy pulses through the walls like the veins of some ancient beast. At its center stands a towering metallic pillar, its surface dull and lifeless—for now.
Heavy boots echo.
Mogadorian Commander DuRand, he is bald, with a pale complexion and a smooth, almost unnatural skin texture. Their forehead is adorned with dark, angular tattoos or markings. His eyes are intense and piercing, with a slightly sunken look, making them appear menacing. The sclera seems darker than usual, adding to the eerie effect.
A distinctive feature is the wrinkled slits running vertically along the sides of the nose, it is an augmentation that helps him track his prey by following there scent.
He appears to lack eyebrows, making the face look even more unnatural. The ears are not prominently visible, possibly covered by the hood or blending into the skin.
He is clad in battle-worn armor, strides forward. His movements are precise, disciplined. He reaches the base of the pillar, then kneels, bowing his head and with voice low, reverent."I am here to do your bidding, my Lord."
For a long moment, there is nothing.
Then—the pillar breathes.
A deep, unnatural pulse ripples through the chamber. The metal surface shudders, then melts into a swirling molten cascade. Liquid fire spills downward, reshaping itself in an eerie, deliberate motion.
A monstrous figure rises from the seething metal—a being of unnatural precision and power. His skin, a battlefield of scars. His eyes, dark voids filled with cruel intelligence. His mouth splits open, revealing two rows of jagged, needle-like teeth.
This is Setrakus Ra.
The molten metal twists upward, shaping into a jagged, hooded form. He towers over DuRand, his body flickering with infernal energy, as though barely contained within this spectral projection.
The air grows heavy. The heat presses down, suffocating, oppressive.
Setrakus Ra with a voice a blend of fire and shadow, deep and commanding."Speak."
DuRand clenches his fists, keeping his head bowed. His voice is firm, but there is an edge of desperation beneath it." We tracking the remaining Loric. Although we have encountered slight set back with the recent attacks on our bases—"hesitates, then hardens."But I am sure, we can hunt all of them down."
The molten form tightens, its fire intensifying. The scars along Setrákus Ra's face twist grotesquely, his monstrous visage tilting downward. A low growl, disapproving."You speak of failure."
The pressure in the chamber spikes—as if the air itself is trying to crush DuRand into dust. DuRand voice was straining, his fists clenched."No, my Lord. A delay. Nothing more."
A long, excruciating pause.
Then, Setrákus Ra exhales slowly. The molten fire calms, shifting back into its eerie flickering state."Then finish what you have begun."his form looms closer, voice a whisper of impending doom."And do not fail me again."
DuRand didn't dare look up, ad Setrakus Ra added."I will send the one of the Black Order to Earth to search for the Garde."
DuRand was slightly angry, but didn't show it. He didn't want the Black Order to get all of glory of hunting down the Garde.
The Black Order, was an elite team comprised of powerful Trueborn Mogadorian, who were given argumentation that gave them special abilities. They were trained them in the ways of combat by Setrakus Ra, turning each of them into a deadly warrior.
Many Trueborn Mogadorian like DuRand hated them and envied them.
With a final, violent pulse, the molten projection collapses inward, retracting into the pillar. The red energy dies down, the metal cooling, hardening—until it is once again a lifeless monolith.
DuRand exhales, muscles tense. He slowly rises to his feet. His expression is blank. But in his eyes—fear.
He turns, striding out of the chamber, the echoes of Setrákus Ra's presence still clinging to the air.
Behind him, the pillar stands silent. Waiting.