CHAPTER 498: MOBILIZATION. {5}

"I would like to see who is brave enough to try and lay a finger on my woman and my child."

In the next instant, the space behind Nyra and Michael shifted. A figure of four meters tall materialized just behind them, his massive, pristine white wings unfurling to fill the room with their impossible span.

A crushing, divine aura exploded outwards; it was a palpable pressure of pure silver light. It did not touch Nyra or Michael. But everyone else in the massive chamber, from the director, the teachers, the guards, the accuser... everyone was instantly and violently slammed to the floor, pinned as if by an invisible hand, gasping under the weight of a power they could not comprehend.

The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with an invisible pressure. Rex’s gaze, sharp as a blade, swept over the assembled faces before settling on his son. "So, Michael," he began, his voice low and measured, devoid of a father’s warmth and full of a commander’s cold expectation. "Tell me what happened."

His very presence was a weight, and now that all of it was focused on the boy, Michael felt it crush down on him, a suffocating force that made it hard to draw breath.

"Rex." Nyra’s voice cut through the tension, it was firm yet laced with a mother’s desperation. She rose, placing herself squarely between her husband and her son like a living shield. "Stop your aura. You’re suffocating him."

For a heartbeat, Rex held the pressure, his eyes locked with his wife’s. Then, he relented. The crushing Planetary Champion aura vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the room’s occupants gasping as if they’d broken the surface of a deep ocean. The air felt light and precious again.

Rex’s attention, no less intense but now contained, shifted to the Director. "So?" The single word was a demand. "For what reason did you attempt to summon the guards upon my wife and child?"

The Director flinched, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. "It... it was just a minor misunderstanding, my lord! I assure you. Had we known you were his father, the matter would have been resolved quite differently, of course."

Rex couldn’t help but let out a soft, dark chuckle. The sound held no humor. "So," he repeated, drawing the word out. "What you are saying is that because Michael’s father is someone like me, this matter should simply vanish? And tell me, Director... what if I were just a common human slave, as they said? What then?"

At those words, a cold dread seized the Director. The water in his atmospheric suit didn’t just feel cold; it felt like a shard of ice forming against his spine. Seeing the man pale and tremble, Rex let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Hah. So I was right." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Now, Director. What did my son actually do to warrant being treated like a criminal?"

The Director’s hands fluttered uselessly, betraying the calm he was desperately trying to project. "He... ahem... he struck another student. Punched him."

Rex raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, the living metal of his wings shifting with a soft, metallic chime as they settled against his back. "And why," Rex asked, the question deceptively calm, "did he do that, Director?"

"We... I..." the Director stammered, sweat beading on his brow. "We don’t yet know the reason."

A long, weary sigh escaped Rex’s lips. With a mere thought, the living metal in the room flowed and coalesced, forming an intricate, imposing throne behind him. He sat, the gesture one of absolute, unassailable authority. He signaled for Nyra to take her place on his lap, a gesture of unity and protection, and for Michael to stand at his side.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly," Rex said, his voice beginning as a low rumble that built with terrifying speed. "You treated my son as a common criminal. You threatened my wife with the guards. And you did all of this... Without knowing the reason for the conflict?!"

His final shout was not merely loud; it was a physical force. The very walls of the room vibrated, the air itself seeming to crackle with the raw, unleashed power of his voice.

Rex let his words hang in the air like a silent, crushing verdict. The room held its breath. Then, his gaze softened ever so slightly as it fell upon his son. "Now, Michael," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, a stark contrast to the thunder of moments before. "Tell me the reason you punched him."

Nyra, seated securely on his lap, gave Michael a small, encouraging nod, her calm presence was for Michael like a balm in the storm.

Michael took a shaky breath, his small voice barely a whisper at first. "He... he said I’m just a human slave, like my mother." The words gained a painful strength as he continued, his small fists clenching. "He said he was going to ask his father to buy us... so he could play with my mother."

As the vile words left his son’s lips, Rex’s expression didn’t just turn dangerous; it became absolute. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by the cold, sterile void of deep space. "Oh?" he murmured, the single syllable dripping with a promise of ruin. His focus shifted to the other boy, who now seemed to shrink under the weight of that gaze.

Rex’s fingers began to drum slowly on the arm of his living metal throne. Each tap was a clean, sharp, metallic ping that echoed through the silent room like the first notes of a funeral dirge, a reaper’s choir tuning its instruments.

"Director," Rex’s voice was deceptively soft, his eyes still locked on the cowering child. "Who is the father of this... boy?"

The director’s eyes darted between the terrified child and the implacable monarch before him. He was a man drowning, and he grabbed the only flotsam he could find. "H-he is the son of the Minister of Education on this planet!" he blurted out, offering the child’s lineage as a sacrificial lamb to save his own skin.

A slow, humorless chuckle escaped Rex’s lips. He turned and gently ruffled Michael’s silverish hair, a gesture of profound affection amidst the chilling lesson. "Do you see that, Michael? That is the truth of this universe. Words are meaningless. Even though you were in the right, you were perceived as weak. That boy’s father was strong, so his word was law."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the terrified officials. "But now... a stronger one has arrived. And so, their loyalties, their truths, they shift like sand in the wind."

Though Michael was only five, the brutal clarity of the moment seared the lesson into his heart. He understood. Money could build a castle of influence, make you feel like a king within its walls. But when a true titan comes, a real power that could shatter worlds, all the gold in the universe couldn’t save you. Real power was not a currency; it was a force of nature.

Rex finally looked back at the director, his patience finally exhausted. "If we were on any other world," he stated, his voice flat and final, "I would have erased every one of you from existence for this insult."

"But I have a... good relationship with the planetary champion here, and I will extend that courtesy." He stood, lifting Nyra effortlessly in his arms, a king with his queen. He took Michael’s small hand in his own. "Most importantly, I have no desire to paint my son’s world with violence today."

And without another word, without a sound or a shimmer, the surrounding space folded. One moment they were there, a portrait of ultimate power and familial love, and the next, the room was simply empty, leaving only the echo of a lesson and the scent of cold, living metal.

For a long moment after Rex and his family vanished, the only sound in the room was the ragged, collective gasp of men trying to reclaim air that had been stolen by terror.

The Director was the first to move, straightening his suit with a trembling hand, a pathetic attempt to reassemble his shattered authority. He cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence.

"Ahem. Gentlemen," he began, his voice raspy. "What transpired here... it never happened. None of it. Not a single word of this leaves the room. Have I made myself cle—"

His sentence ended in a wet, choking gurgle. His eyes bulged, wide with incomprehension, as his hands flew to his neck. A warm, shocking wetness soaked his collar. He looked down, and the last thing he saw was the vibrant, alien crimson of his own blood spraying between his fingers.

The gasps of the others turned into strangled cries, cut short before they could fully form.

From the corner of the room, the air shimmered like a heat haze, solidifying into a massive, obsidian-black humanoid form. It moved with a silent, liquid grace that was more terrifying than any roar. Its optical sensor glowed with a soft, pitiless red light, sweeping over the frozen figures.

"Extermination protocol initiated," a cold mechanical voice stated, a synthetic, monotone baritone that held no more emotion than a stone. It was the last voice any of them ever heard.

The rest was a silent, brutal ballet. There were no screams, no shouts for mercy... only the sickening, wet sounds of impacts and the soft thuds of bodies collapsing. The door remained sealed, but from the narrow gap beneath it, a slow, creeping tide began to flow... a shimmering, multi-hued river of blood in shades of blue and green and red, painting the sterile hallway floor.

The black automaton stood impassive amidst the carnage, its chassis streaked with gore. The surrounding air shimmered once more as four identical units uncloaked, their forms equally drenched.

"Elimination of all witnesses confirmed," the lead unit intoned.