Aegirarch observed the screens in silence, the calculations before him unravelling into failure. The optimal routes to victory, once assured, had collapsed. What should have been a brief cleansing operation had devolved into a catastrophic quagmire.

  The anomaly refused to yield. Instead, it adapted, escalating the conflict with an evolving arsenal of biological constructs. It had already demonstrated the capability to produce ships and missiles. Given time, what would prevent it from developing even greater horrors?

  Projections for the coming weeks offered no favourable outcomes. The entity’s war machine advanced with alarming speed, its latest variants surpassing prior limitations. If left unchecked, it would soon birth new weapons beyond current comprehension. Some concepts, once relegated to the realm of nightmares, were now indisputable reality.

  His etheric clones continued their surveillance, but the price was rising. Of the five hundred assigned, forty-one had succumbed to complete mental collapse, while others exhibited symptoms of impending failure.

  The creature’s presence was unlike any prior etheric capable species and all attempts to observe it eroded the minds of those who dared.

  Aegirarch reviewed the latest intelligence. The designation “Nethros” had gained traction among his subordinates. It would suffice.

  He compiled his final recommendation, the moon should be sterilized with extreme radiation saturation. If necessary, a meteor impact could be engineered to shatter the lunar body entirely. No options were off the table.

  Yet even this crisis was overshadowed by a new complication. The clone forces had gone rogue. Reports flooded in detailing increased incidents of friendly fire, lost facilities, and vanished supply convoys without any evidence of BCU incursions.

  Paranoia spread like contagion. Accusations erupted among the fleet’s factions, each blaming the other. The situation worsened as suspicion fell upon the etheric users, igniting tensions that threatened to fracture the expedition entirely.

  Ankrae had already withdrawn with the rest of her order, severing ties with the main force. She had issued a final statement before departing, they would relocate to the system’s third planet, awaiting the return of the Arc Ship. They would not involve themselves any further.

  Meanwhile, logistical failures deepened. Supply convoys in both the eastern and western sectors had begun vanishing. Transponders went dark, transports disappeared, and in some cases, vessels inexplicably altered course, pilots willingly steering toward their demise.

  Now, whispers of mutiny circulated through the fleet. Several prominent factions had begun discussing his removal from command.

  A predictable display of short-sightedness. If they failed to grasp the severity of the threat, then they were of no consequence to him.

  Aegirarch had already secured what he came for. The wealth he had amassed far exceeded his initial projections. The moment an opportunity presented itself, he would depart. With his newfound fortune, he would ascend another tier in the Triumvirate’s rigid hierarchy.

  Let them fight over the wreckage. He had no intention of sinking with this failing endeavour.

  ———

  He arrived early at the virtual hall, its vast three-dimensional projection replicating the crushing depths of the Triumvirate’s home world.

  Every detail was meticulously crafted the slow, rhythmic sway of bioluminescent flora, the distant shimmer of thermal vents.

  Even the simulated pressure felt authentic, a subtle reminder of the hierarchy that ruled their kind.

  As more Grithan logged in, the hall filled with motion, each individual taking their designated position, status, and wealth dictating their placement within the fleet’s command structure.

  He observed in silence, cataloguing expressions, and gauging body language. Anticipation, calculation, the ever-present undercurrents of rivalry.

  With a single motion, he activated the mute function. The distant murmur of conversations ceased instantly. Dozens of eyes turned toward him.

  “I call this meeting to order.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His gaze swept across them, assessing, dissecting. He already knew how this would unfold.

  “The week's meeting shall see our dropping estimations.”

  A holographic image of the moon's Nullite veins materialized. The Consortium's representative, Sorith-Ven was the first to speak drawing attention.

  “The loss of production is unacceptable. The continued instability on the moon has decreased efficiency by nearly 43%. The latest reports suggest that our main excavation sites are being systematically targeted.”

  Aegirarch remained still. He already knew the numbers. He had seen the projections hours ago. Furthermore, he let Sorith-Ven vent.

  “The longer we delay full control of the moon, the greater the chance our competitors could locate and even claim this solar system. We demand, no, we require a resolution to this infestation.”

  Aegirarch responded with the same measured tone he always did.

  “The entity is adapting faster than projected. It has begun disrupting not just excavation, but logistics. Direct military engagements have failed to yield long-term control. Standard attrition tactics will only result in further loss of assets.”

  His words were deliberate, an undeniable fact laid out with no emotional weight.

  Sorith-Ven's gills flared in irritation. “Then adapt faster, Aegirarch. Your position exists to neutralize problems, not catalogue them.”

  He said nothing. His silence was his statement.

  Next, a stream of combat footage filled the abyss clone patrols ambushed by units that should have been under their control. They moved without hesitation, executing perfect strategies as if directed by a higher intelligence.

  The Intelligence Division’s representative, Xyphon-Kai, leaned forward.

  “Rogue assets are now confirmed in at least three operational zones. They are no longer simple deserters. They act with coordination and precision. This is not random rebellion. We believe they are being subverted by the anomaly.”

  Aegirarch did not react outwardly, but inwardly, he had already suspected this.

  “What level of encryption have they broken?” he asked.

  Xyphon-Kai shifted, his form glitching slightly, in a rare display of unease. “All of it.”

  A murmur rippled through the chamber. Even Sorith-Ven paused.

  “Every combat doctrine, every manoeuvre tree, every strategic contingency. It is no longer a question of if this intelligence understands us, but how long it has understood us.”

  Aegirarch processed the implications. The rogue units had not just gained independence, they had been assimilated by the anomaly.

  “Then we alter them. Rewrite protocols, change parameters.”

  Xyphon-Kai hesitated. “That would require a full fleet-wide purge of all existing clone control chips. It would cripple current operations, to leave gaps in our defensive structures for weeks, if not months.”

  Aegirarch barely blinked. “Then do it. This is not a debate. If our enemy already knows our next moves, we flip the board and start anew.”

  That stirred a faint unease in the hall. He had his V.I. observe every reaction with meticulous scrutiny, searching for irregularities. It found none but that did not eliminate the possibility of treachery.

  The holograms shifted again, displaying a growing list of lunar facilities lost to BCU assaults.

  The Military Division's secondary commanders finally spoke, their irritation evident.

  “We were not designed to fight organisms that operate outside traditional warfare. Every engagement results in escalating casualties. Even orbital suppression has been… inefficient.”

  The word inefficient was a polite term for failure.

  The Science Division’s lead researcher, Kraklak, interjected.

  “Then perhaps the error lies in our method. If our weapons fail, the solution is not more weapons, it is recalibration. This creature does not operate within the rules of warfare. It is warfare itself, evolving, absorbing, learning. I suggest… alternative measures.”

  Aegirarch turned slightly, observing Kraklak’s. The Science Division often spoke in riddles, but their meaning was clear.

  “Are you suggesting my protocols?”

  “Yes. I am suggesting total destruction.”