First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

Chapter 509: Xavier’s Arrival

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Xavier stood where he’d climbed out of the pod, eyes moving across the destruction like he was counting losses that weren’t his.

Reva just stood there, staring at him like her brain hadn’t caught up yet. Ash streaked her face, blood drying along her jaw, her chest rising and falling too fast. Rin looked between Xavier and the smoking pod, then back at Xavier again, a crooked grin spreading across his face like he’d just seen something ridiculous and perfect at the same time.

"You’re alive," Rin said. "Of course you are."

Arlen let out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her weapon lowered a fraction, then another, before she caught herself and steadied it again. Viola’s expression didn’t change much, but her eyes tracked Xavier from head to toe, taking inventory the way she always did when something dangerous entered the room.

Around them, the war continued.

Weapons still fired in bursts. Someone screamed in the distance. A drone spun out of the sky and smashed into the ground hard enough to send debris skittering across the stone. The war hadn’t ended so much as collapsed into scattered, unstable pockets of violence where the wounded and the desperate were still fighting because stopping hadn’t occurred to them yet.

Xavier followed the sound and lifted his head.

His gaze landed on Jareth first.

The man stood upright amid the destruction, armor intact, shields faded but not broken. Smoke rolled past him, and he didn’t seem bothered by it. A few of his remaining crew clustered nearby, bleeding, shaken, still holding their weapons because they didn’t know what else to do.

Then Xavier’s eyes shifted.

Kylus was still on his feet, but barely.

One arm hung wrong. His armor was cracked and blackened, systems sparking along the seams. He leaned into the wreckage behind him, breathing hard, teeth bared in something between pain and fury. In front of him stood his assistant, back straight, weapon raised, body positioned just enough to block the cleanest lines of fire coming his way.

"Heh!" Xavier scoffed and smirked when he saw Kylus. "Strongest mercenary they said. Hiding behind a girl like a coward."

"KILL HIM!" he shouted, voice raw as it cut across the basin. "NOW! Before he moves again!"

A few of his people reacted on instinct, weapons lifting, targeting systems snapping toward Kylus’ position.

Xavier turned his head slowly.

He looked at Jareth like he’d just been interrupted mid-thought.

"The fuck makes you think you get to tell me what to do?" Xavier said. "You had your fun calling shots from orbit. I didn’t sign up for your orders."

Jareth stared at him. "He’s the reason this turned into a massacre."

Xavier shrugged, the movement tugging at burned armor and half-healed wounds. "Maybe. Still not your call."

Xavier turned away from the wreckage and walked straight toward them.

The fighting carried on around the basin in broken bursts, scattered fire from people who hadn’t realized the war was already finished for them. He didn’t slow. He didn’t look back. His attention narrowed to the small pocket of space where Reva, Requiem, Viola, Rin, and Lyra were clustered behind cover.

Reva was the first one he reached.

Up close, she looked worse than he expected. Cuts along her arms. Burn marks on her jacket. Blood dried unevenly across her neck and collarbone. She didn’t step back when he stopped in front of her. She didn’t step forward either. She just stared at him like she was still deciding whether he was real.

Lyra shifted against Requiem’s shoulder.

Her breathing stuttered, then steadied again, eyes unfocused as they drifted across nothing in particular. When she tried to sit up, her balance gave out and Requiem tightened his grip to keep her upright.

Xavier’s gaze snapped to her.

"What’s wrong with her?" he asked.

Requiem shook his head. His voice stayed calm, but the strain underneath it was obvious. "I don’t know. She collapsed earlier. No visible injury. No sign of external trauma. Her vitals keep fluctuating in ways that don’t make sense."

Lyra winced as another distant explosion rolled through the basin. Her hands curled against her chest, fingers trembling.

"We need a hospital," Requiem continued. "A proper one. Not a field patch. Whatever this is, it’s deeper than exhaustion or shock."

Xavier nodded once and turned, scanning the basin.

He was looking for lift signatures, intact thrusters, anything that could still fly. Burned-out frames littered the ground. Wrecked dropships lay half-buried in collapsed stone. Drones smoldered where they’d fallen, their cores cracked and useless.

Nothing moved.

Only two silhouettes still stood with enough structure to matter. Jareth’s ship, battered but upright, shield emitters cycling through damage protocols. Kylus’ craft farther out, partially embedded in the basin wall, its hull torn open along one side.

Xavier’s jaw tightened.

He turned back to the group. "I’m not taking either of those."

Reva let out a sharp breath. "Of course you’re not."

The background fire crackled again, closer this time. A wounded merc screamed somewhere beyond the wreckage before the sound cut short.

Viola stepped closer, eyes hard, voice steady. "You know what they put us through, right? Weeks of running. He turned half the planet against us with one bounty."

Xavier listened without interrupting.

Lyra shifted again, breathing uneven, her head lolling slightly before Requiem steadied her.

Xavier exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he said. "We’re getting her out of here."

He looked past them again, already recalculating, already weighing options that didn’t involve borrowing from men who had turned the basin into a grave.

"Stay close," he added. "And keep her steady."

Jareth’s voice cut through the basin before anyone could move.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

"After everything I did," Jareth went on, his voice climbing despite himself. "After the resources I burned, the favors I called in, the line I crossed to keep you alive. Eighty percent of my crew is gone. Ships, weapons, stockpiles—ashes. And this is how it ends? You walking away?"