Intergalactic conquest with an AI

The moment I gave the order to my grandson to assemble everyone in the cargo bay, I found myself lingering by the station's massive observation window, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene outside.

In the distance, the shattered debris of the pirate battleship drifted silently through space. This was the ship that merchants had feared for decades, the predator that left countless vessels in ruins, now reduced to nothing more than a lifeless scrap.

It felt unreal, like watching a myth dissolve into smoke. If I told anyone about this moment, they'd think I had finally lost my mind or that senility had taken its toll. But there it was, plain as day. The terror of the trade routes, destroyed so effortlessly, might as well have never existed at all.

I knew I should head to the cargo bay to greet the ones who saved us, but my old heart wouldn't stop hammering. This wasn't relief. It was dread. We didn't know if these newcomers were saviors or wolves wearing the skin of lambs.

By the time I arrived at the cargo bay, the air was thick with anticipation. The metallic saviors who had arrived earlier were already in perfect formation, their glowing visors reflecting the dim lights of the station.

Everyone else, station guards, civilians, and engineers, stood silently, their eyes fixed on the transport ship descending toward the bay.

I had expected something massive like a fortress of steel bristling with cannons, the kind of ship you'd associate with nobles, but what landed instead was shockingly... ordinary. Small, sleek, efficient. It looked more like a courier than the herald of destruction.

As the ship's ramp lowered, tension rippled through the crowd. You could practically hear the collective gulp as we waited to see who would step out. Then, finally, they appeared.

The first was a man in heavy gray armor, his helmet concealing his face, though his movements were unmistakably human. He was arguing with a much smaller figure, a girl in sleek black armor that seemed to ripple and shimmer like it was alive.

Her emerald-green wings flared out behind her in annoyance, their faint glow casting shadows on the walls.

"I told you to let me handle it!"

the girl snapped, her voice sharp and impatient.

"And I told you to stop acting like a walking demolition crew!"

The man shot back. His voice was muffled by the helmet, but his exasperation came through loud and clear.

Before their bickering could escalate, a third voice called out from within the ship.

"That's enough. Behave."

The voice was soft and melodic but carried a weight of authority that made both of them freeze on the spot. And then she appeared.

The woman who stepped out was unlike anything I had ever seen. She was dressed in radiant white and gold armor that shimmered in the cargo bay's harsh lights.

Her white wings stretched elegantly behind her, every feather catching the light in a way that made them look like they were carved from pure starlight. She moved with a grace that seemed almost unnatural, her black hair flowing like it had a life of its own.

Even my old heart skipped a beat. I couldn't imagine what the younger men were feeling, but at least no one dared to make a crude comment. Thank the stars for that, because what happened next could have silenced them forever.

Without a word, the woman strode to the center of the cargo bay. The air around her seemed to hum, almost as if the space itself was responding to her presence. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she created a throne, a towering construct of white marble and gold that materialized out of thin air.

The sight alone was enough to leave the crowd awestruck, but then it happened.

The pressure.

It hit all of us at once, like an invisible wave crashing over the bay. My knees buckled, and I wasn't the only one. Several of the guards fell to the ground, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them.

Civilians clung to each other for support, their faces pale and wide-eyed. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was something deeper, something primal.

And then he appeared.

He was a giant of a man, stepping out of the transport ship with an aura so commanding it felt like the room itself was bowing to him. His armor gleamed white and gold, matching the woman's, but there was something about him that set him apart.

A pair of powerful white wings extended from his back, each feather seeming to glow with its own inner light. A golden halo floated on his back, humming faintly like a low, distant choir.

But it was his face that struck me most.

There was no anger there, no malice, no disgust. He was smiling, a calm and gentle expression, like he had just walked into a reunion with an old friend. It was almost enough to make you forget the sheer weight of his presence, the way it filled every corner of the room and left no space for doubt.

He walked slowly, purposefully, his boots echoing against the metal floor. When he reached the throne, he sat down with a kind of effortless authority, his gaze sweeping over all of us as if he were taking stock of the entire station.

That was when it hit me.

This man wasn't a noble. Nobles don't carry themselves like that. Nobles don't silence rooms with their presence or make entire stations tremble just by existing.

No, this man was something else entirely. Something I had only heard about in stories, whispered by those who claimed to know the truth.

He wasn't a Savior. He wasn't a noble.

He was a conqueror.....

As Rex eased himself onto the throne, just as Cleo had instructed before they arrived at the cargo bay, he surveyed the scene before him. It was a strange mix of awe and chaos.

Some of the residents of the station were frozen in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief, while others were already on their knees as if worshiping him.

"Why is everyone so surprised? There's no need for that. Come on, stand up,"

Rex said, waving his hand casually in a gesture for them to rise. His words, however, seemed to have the opposite effect.

Despite his command, no one moved. Some even looked like they were trembling, rooted to the floor as if an invisible force was keeping them down.

Cleo let out a soft sigh, the kind of sigh that suggested this sort of thing happened more often than she cared to admit. She walked toward him with her usual calm, her boots clicking softly on the cargo bay's metal floor.

Once she reached him, she gently tapped his shoulder with one slender finger, trying to get his attention.

"Hm? What's the matter?"

Rex asked, his voice low and relaxed as he turned to face her, his golden halo glowing faintly above the throne.

Cleo didn't speak right away. Instead, she pointed at him, then turned to point toward the kneeling residents of the station. Her intent was clear, she was trying to explain that his overwhelming aura was the reason they couldn't stand.

Rex, however, had a different interpretation entirely. With his unparalleled intellect (or so he often liked to boast), he glanced at her gestures and, in his infinite logic, reached the

perfect

conclusion.

Without a word, he grabbed Cleo's hand with one smooth motion, pulling her onto his lap in an effortless display of strength.

"Wh—what are you—"

Cleo barely had time to react as she found herself unceremoniously seated on his legs, her usually composed face now frozen in shock. Her wide eyes stared up at him, trying to process what just happened.

The residents of the station, who had been struggling to comprehend Rex's divine presence moments earlier, now looked on in stunned silence. Cleo darted her gaze between Rex and the dumbstruck crowd, trying to piece together how this had spiraled out of control so quickly.

Rex gave her a proud smile, as if he had just solved the greatest mystery in the universe. He even gave her a casual thumbs-up, as if to say,

Don't worry, I've got this under control.

"You… are an idiot,"

Cleo muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible. Only Rex and Ys, thanks to their enhanced hearing, caught it.

Cleo buried her face in her hands, her cheeks blazing red as she tried to erease herself out of existence. She could feel the heat of embarrassment radiating from every cell in her body.

Cleo's logical mind, the one that prided itself on precision and efficiency, had completely short-circuited. Her systems were frozen. She had no idea how to salvage this situation. But she had to focus. She had a job to do.

Leaning in closer to Rex, her voice trembling, she whispered into his ear.

"Deactivate your overdrive. It's boosting your aura too much. They can't stand because it's overwhelming their mental energy."

"

Ahhh, no wonder,"

Rex said, tilting his head like a child finally understanding why the puzzle piece didn't fit. "

Thanks, honey."

Cleo's face somehow turned even redder at the casual term of endearment, and she resisted the urge to smack him in front of everyone.

Rex, blissfully unaware of her mortification, casually deactivated his overdrive. His enormous wings vanished in an instant, leaving only the golden halo hovering above him.

With the suffocating aura gone, the tension in the room lifted. The residents of the station began to rise shakily, exchanging wary glances as they tried to regain their composure. Rex, as oblivious as ever, chuckled and leaned forward.

"Haha, sorry about that, everyone. Didn't mean to make you kneel or anything. Honest mistake. Anyway, who's in charge around here?"

he said, pulling Cleo closer with one arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Cleo let out a quiet groan, her face still buried in her hands, while Ys, who had been watching everything unfold, was turning a deep shade of red as well. But hers wasn't embarrassment. No, hers was pure, unfiltered envy. Her emerald-green wings twitched behind her as she clenched her fists.

Carlos, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. His shoulders were shaking as he struggled not to burst into laughter. Every time Ys shot a glare his way, she only made it harder.

Finally, an elderly man stepped forward. The station administrator, his steps slow but steady, approached the throne. His face was lined with years of experience, though his expression was one of wariness.

"I'm the one in charge,"

the old man said, his voice firm but tired. His eyes flicked between Rex, Cleo, and the rest of the group. He stopped just short of the throne, his hands clasped behind his back as he tried to mask his unease.