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Chapter 178: Pissing Their Pants—This Human Is Too Damn Strong!
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 16:44:56 +0000 UTC
“But what could’ve wiped out Black Robe’s entire squad without a single distress call?”
The question dropped into the war room like a guillotine—silent, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
The Mogadorians—grizzled commanders, strategists, and brutal tacticians—exchanged uneasy glances under the dim light of the command tent.
Fifty Mog soldiers.
Armed. Trained. Merciless.
Gone.
Not a single scream. Not one signal flare. Not even a dying transmission.
Just silence.
---
“It doesn’t make sense,” one growled.
The Loric? No way. They were weak. Scattered. Barely clinging to survival. If they’d had this kind of power, they wouldn’t have been running for twenty years.
A human military strike?
Unlikely. Earth’s forces were laughably primitive. Their best weapons couldn’t even scratch Mog armor.
And even if they had stumbled onto Black Robe’s team, the squad would’ve cut them down like wet paper.
---
“Could the Loric have jammed their comms?”
That came from White Whale—a broad-shouldered Mog with rolls of muscle and a sneer carved permanently onto his face.
But that theory was shaky. The Loric didn’t have that kind of tech. And even if they did, it wouldn’t explain the slaughter. Black Robe’s team should’ve been able to neutralize the threat and restore communications easily.
---
“Don’t forget,” rumbled Kild, the commander in charge, “a Piken was killed too.”
The entire room stilled.
The Piken were walking engines of death—winged monstrosities built for annihilation. Deploying one against Loric survivors was already overkill.
But now?
Even that hadn’t been enough.
---
“Could one of the Nine have awakened their Legacies?”
It was barely a whisper.
But the weight of that suggestion made the air grow heavy.
A silence spread. Uncomfortable. Dreadful.
The Nine were still young. Their Legacies—if any—should’ve been untrained, erratic.
But maybe… maybe one had finally awakened.
It was the only explanation that even remotely made sense.
---
BOOM!
A thunderous crack split the air overhead, shaking the tent.
“Report!” Kild barked.
A scout ran in, panic etched across his face.
A holographic display flickered to life, projecting a blur—moving at a speed that shouldn’t be possible—streaking across the sky, straight toward them.
“That’s—a person?!”
Someone gasped.
The figure wasn’t a ship. It wasn’t a missile.
It was human.
Or… humanoid.
And flying.
---
“Humans don’t fly,” White Whale said flatly.
“Neither do most aliens.” Another Mog muttered.
The display zoomed in.
Cloak. Boots. Black undersuit. Wind trailing off him like flames.
And then—
CRASH!
The figure slammed into the center of the valley like a meteor, dust erupting around the point of impact.
The screen turned white, then cleared.
He was standing.
---
“He’s here for us.”
Kild’s voice was grim.
There was no way this timing was a coincidence.
“One man?” White Whale snorted. “How arrogant.”
Two hundred Mogs. Dozens of beasts. Advanced weaponry.
This was going to be a slaughter.
“Don’t underestimate him. Take a team. Bring him in—alive.”
Kild’s eyes narrowed.
“I want to know what he is.”
---
Outside
Alex stood calmly in the open valley, wind brushing through his hair.
To an ordinary eye, the land was barren—an empty desert of stone and sand.
But through his eyes?
The illusion peeled back like skin.
X-ray vision cut through the cloaking field, revealing the hidden Mog base below.
Tents that resembled insect nests. Mog soldiers milling about. The crumpled hulk of a grounded starship in the center.
An energy field shimmered faintly across the air, cloaking them.
Child’s play.
Zzzzt.
Two beams of heat seared out from Alex’s eyes, cutting through the barrier like tissue paper.
---
The illusion shattered.
The base flickered—then revealed itself in its grotesque, alien entirety.
“What?!”
“He saw us?!”
Panic erupted.
Alarms blared.
Mog soldiers scrambled for weapons, boots pounding against metal platforms.
“Everyone to positions!”
“Formation delta! Deploy turrets!”
White Whale led the charge, flanked by a dozen elite Mog soldiers.
“Who are—”
ZAP.
Alex’s heat vision flared.
White Whale didn’t even finish his sentence.
His head exploded, vaporized by a precise, searing beam.
---
Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Zzzzt.
The beams carved through Mog lines, slicing through armor, skin, bone.
They fell like dominoes.
---
“Kill him!”
The sky filled with retaliatory fire.
Energy rifles lit up, dozens—no, hundreds—of shots screamed through the air toward him.
Alex didn’t move.
The blasts hit him.
And bounced off.
---
“What the hell?!”
“He’s not even flinching!”
“What is he?!”
They didn’t have time to figure it out.
---
WHOOSH.
Alex moved.
Not ran.
Moved.
Faster than any eye could follow.
A red blur darted between soldiers.
Bodies flew. Heads rolled. Limbs were severed with surgical precision.
His heat beams flared again—crossing in deadly arcs.
A lattice of searing death.
The Mog camp was turning into a graveyard.
---
“Release the Piken! The Grebeks! Everything!”
Kild’s voice cracked as he screamed into the comms.
It was their last card.
---
ROOOAR.
Winged titans burst from containment—fifteen Piken, each one snarling, armored, talons glinting.
From below, twenty Grebeks—hulking, four-legged beasts with rows of serrated teeth—charged forward like unleashed tanks.
They thought they were about to turn the tide.
---
But Alex didn’t even blink.
He rose off the ground, hovering effortlessly.
And then—he vanished.
Reappearing mid-air in front of the lead Piken.
BOOM.
One punch.
The Piken’s chest imploded.
The body spiraled downward like a broken toy.
---
The others didn’t last long.
They couldn’t even touch him.
Every movement he made left shockwaves.
Every blast of his heat vision left smoking carcasses.
Every punch ended a life.
---
Below, the surviving Mogs watched in growing horror.
Some tried to run.
Some froze in place.
All of them, without exception—
Pissed themselves in fear.
---
This human…
Wasn’t human.
He was death.
Draped in flesh.
And he was just getting started.
