Chapter 1 part 7

Void Emperor Tera Havoc

Void Emperor Tera Havoc

“Uwhahahaha! Tremble before me, young cadets of Freyja Station! I am the Void Emperor Tera Havoc, sovereign of the cosmic abyss!”

“Kyaa!”

“Woaah!”

Inside the station’s recreation dome, the children shrieked in delight, scattering like exploding meteor before the towering figure looming over them. His helmet was shaped like the fearsome head of a Space Hydra, its coiled tendrils framing a visor that glowed with an eerie light.

Yes—it was I, Narwhal! Or rather, in this moment, the mighty Void Emperor Tera Havoc! None could stand against my reign!

“Kishaaa!”

“Kyaa! He’s too scary!”

“Th-this!”

“Uwhahaha! Pathetic! Your toy weapons are but sparks against the inferno of my power!”

One particularly brave child lunged forward, swinging a training baton at the armored joints of my costume.

“Ah! Clever! Striking where my armor is weakest! A fine tactic for a young spacer! But know this—the privilege of all great villains is crushing the tools of their foes!”

With a dramatic snap, I broke the baton in half.

“Ah! You broke it!”

“Uwhahahaha! Only one force in the universe can defeat me—the sacred energy of cosmic wheat! Gather its drifting grains, fill this canister to the brim, and the seal upon this weapon shall shatter!”

I raised a gleaming toy laser pistol high, its polished surface catching the artificial sunlight.

“A blaster!”

“What’s that!?”

“Uwhahaha! Complete my challenge, and this prize shall be yours! But beware—only the boldest shall prevail against Tera Havoc!”

“Let’s do it!”

“Me too!”

“I’ll search the hydroponics bay!”

Eyes alight with determination, the children scattered like a swarm of eager little explorers, their tiny boots clattering against the metal floors. Even after hours of play-fighting, their energy was boundless—truly, they were a force of nature unto themselves.

“You have a gift for handling children, Mr. Narwhal.”

I turned to see Dr. Healer standing nearby, his medical bag slung over one shoulder. His face was lined with exhaustion, the dim glow of his neural headpiece flickering faintly—a telltale sign he’d been pushing himself too hard again.

“Ah, Doctor! Finished with the morning check-ups already?”

I pulled off the bulky costume, letting cool air wash over my sweat-dampened face. The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples.

“The cosmic wheat harvest is nearly done,” I continued, “and tonight’s celebration will be in full swing before we depart tomorrow.”

“Indeed. At least we’ve avoided any major accidents this cycle.”

“Thanks to you. You’ve been working nonstop. Are you getting any rest?”

“The station’s constant hum makes it difficult. It’s quieter near the core worlds—fewer rattling pipes, fewer groaning air recyclers.”

“Can’t argue with that. Still, try to take it easy while you can.”

Our security assignment had been mercifully uneventful—no pirate raids, no rogue asteroid miners causing trouble. Just the usual station hiccups: glitchy maintenance bots, minor radiation leaks, and the occasional space rat sneaking into the food stores. Annoying, but hardly life-threatening.

The truly dangerous sectors were far from here, patrolled by others in the endless black between stars.

“How are the station’s workers holding up? Any serious injuries?”

“Mostly joint pain and spinal compression. Working in zero gravity without proper support takes a toll, especially when they can’t afford medical exosuits.”

“No med-bays out here either, huh.”

“That’s why they rely on those long-armed harvesting mechs. But even machines can’t stop time. Bodies wear down eventually.”

“Distance. Lack of funds. But more than that… resignation. They’ve accepted this as their fate. And that’s the hardest part to see.”

Nearby, the children darted about, scooping up floating grains of cosmic wheat into their containers. Dr. Healer watched them, his expression softening with sorrow.

“They say station workers like these rarely live past fifty standard years. Core-worlders get seventy, sometimes more. Out here, without proper care, their bodies just… give out. And to the overseers, it’s just another statistic.”

“Is it lack of education?”

“Partly. But be careful, Mr. Narwhal—don’t speak too loudly about changing things. Many here fear the unknown more than their suffering.”

“Oof…”

I hadn’t realized. I’d seen hardship before, but hearing it laid bare like this struck deep.

“There’s never enough medics in the Rim. Even in the capital stations, it’s the same story. The wealthy get priority treatment, while everyone else waits cycles for basic care.”

“If it’s not bleeding or broken, you’re stuck in line,” I muttered.

“Exactly. I do what I can—healing nanites, tissue regeneration. But one person can only do so much. That’s why we need to train the next generation. Still…”

His gaze lingered on the children, their laughter echoing through the hydroponic gardens.

“It’s not an easy path. Medical nanotech is far more complex than combat gear. These kids won’t get the training or resources they need. Born here, expected to work like their parents… they’re trapped. Better off than miners in faraway planets, maybe, but not by much.”

“If medics like me can’t reach them in time, then all I can do is hope they live longer, healthier lives than those before them. That’s all I can ask for.”

The festivities were a humble but lively affair, packed with lab-grown delicacies and rowdy spacers enjoying their brief respite. I’d planned to watch from the sidelines, soaking in the local traditions—but station veterans had other ideas.

Before I knew it, I was swept into zero-G dancing (a chaotic mess of spins and flailing limbs), off-key space shanties (whose lyrics made no sense even to the singers), and an endless buffet of synthetic “delicacies.”

Seconds? More like infinite servings!

By the end, my stomach staged a full rebellion. I respected the effort that went into crafting those dishes, but my taste buds were not on board. Still, I grinned through every bite.

“Thank you, uncle!”

“Thank you for the blaster toy! Come back soon!”

“For the last time—I’m your big brother!”

I waved as I handed over the toy laser pistol I’d been storing for years. The kids immediately started blasting imaginary foes. “Just—don’t shoot anyone with that!”

The trip back was smooth, save for Team Leader Odinson throwing out his back hauling space wheat. He spent the return trip flat on his back, grumbling like a disgruntled cargo crate. Otherwise, no pirates, no disasters—just quiet transit.

Every year, I dread this assignment. And every year, it turns out fine. I even got to pilot a harvesting mech, which was more fun than I’d expected. Baldr Station’s Security Team 3 was a solid crew—grizzled, experienced, the kind you’d trust in a firefight. If we cross paths again, I know they’ll have my back. But given the harsh realities of station life… I wonder how many of them will still be here next time.

“A person’s life shines brightest in the void while they’re alive,” I murmured later, back in my quarters.

I turned to my latest project, a welcome distraction. Carefully, I dripped shimmering liquid onto a dish of stabilized plasma. The colors swirled like miniature nebulas, forming intricate, glowing patterns. A tiny data chip floated in the mix, absorbing the radiant hues. Once fully coated, I encrypted the data and sealed it with my personal signature.

“There we go.” The chip now bore a celestial design, its surface alive with swirling color. The thin film allowed data to transmit clearly—like a message written in starlight.

“...I want to repay them before I return to the void.”

This wasn’t from Narwhal. This was from Commander Havoc. It had been a while. The timing was perfect.

Slipping into my enviro-suit, I stepped into the station’s darkened night sector.

The Next .The medical bay was in an uproar.

“Dr. Healer! You have to see this!” Asisu, a junior medic, nearly tripped in his haste to shove a comm tablet into Healer’s hands.

“What’s got you so excited?”

“It’s a quantum-encrypted message—from Commander Havoc! And it’s real! The signature matches! He sent it to other stations too!”

“Oh? The inventor?”

“Yes! I don’t know why it came here, but it’s legitimate! We have to act fast before other med-bays copy it!”

Healer activated the data chip, skimming the contents.

“Let’s see… Hmm. An emergency hydration formula?”

The recipe was simple—filtered water, electrolytes, glucose (or synthetic honey). Basic ingredients, yet the message claimed it could treat radiation sickness, zero-G nausea, and dehydration.

“If this is real…” Healer’s voice trailed off.

“...This could save countless lives.”

“Asisu, we test this immediately. If it works, we distribute it everywhere.”

“What?! We could sell this!”

“The message says, ‘I wish for this knowledge to spread across the stars.’ It’s not ours to keep.”

“Oh… right.”

“It’s already been sent to multiple stations. The ingredients are common. We can’t hoard it.”

“I thought we’d be rich…”

Asisu was still young, his greed untempered by experience.

“Asisu,” Healer said with a faint smile, “do you really care more about credits than saving lives?”

“N-No, sir!”

“Good. Then let’s get to work. If this works, it’ll change everything.”

“Yes, sir!”

And so began another busy day in the medical bay. The recycled air felt lighter, the future a little brighter. Dr. Healer allowed himself a small smile.

Perhaps today, more lives would shine a little longer in the void.

Author's Note:

Well, well, well, look at you, dear reader, still hanging on after that cosmic rollercoaster! I hope you enjoyed the latest escapades of our beloved Void Emperor Tera Havoc—aka Narwhal, the man who can turn a bunch of space kids into a cosmic wheat-harvesting army faster than you can say "Uwhahaha!"

First off, let me just say, if you thought playing dress-up as a galactic tyrant was easy, try doing it in zero-G. Those kids have more energy than a supernova, and I swear, one of them nearly took out my knee with that training baton. But hey, all's well that ends with a toy laser pistol and a bunch of delighted squeals, right?

And let's talk about Dr. Healer—our resident saint of the stars. The man is a walking medical miracle, patching up spacers left and right with nothing but a flickering neural headpiece and sheer willpower. If you ever need a reminder of what true heroism looks like, just watch him try to get some sleep amidst the symphony of groaning pipes and rattling air recyclers. Spoiler alert: it doesn't go well.

Now, onto the festivities! Zero-G dancing, off-key space shanties, and enough synthetic "delicacies" to make your stomach stage a full-blown rebellion. I ate it all with a smile, folks. Every. Last. Bite. And let me tell you, my taste buds are still filing a formal complaint.

But amidst all the chaos and laughter, there's a sobering truth. Life out here in the void isn't easy. It's a constant battle against time, distance, and the cold, unfeeling expanse of space. Yet, these folks keep going, day after day, with a resilience that would put a black hole to shame.

So here's to the station workers, the medics, the kids, and everyone in between. May your lives shine bright, your cosmic wheat be plentiful, and your toy laser pistols always hit their mark.

And remember, if you ever find yourself in need of a good laugh or a heartwarming tale of triumph against the odds, just tune in to the next chapter of "Void Emperor Tera Havoc." Trust me, it's going to be out of this world.

Until next time, stay snarky and keep reaching for the stars!