Chronicles of the Carnage Wars

That dream… no, that vision, it didn't last more than a flicker, a short breath in time. But it left behind something heavier than memory, it clung to me like smoke after a fire. I didn't sleep after that. My body stayed still on the mat, but my thoughts were burning. The image of that bleeding figure, that scarred version of me catching bombs with his bare hands, replayed again and again. My heart didn't settle. That dream had the weight of prophecy… or madness.

Outside, Elizes was still under its silver night. The planet had no stars, only a single swirling orb above, an artificial moon, glowing cold like a silent guardian.

When that silent star shifted into a gleam of morning light, Raj stirred from his floor mattress. His body moved slow, like someone returning from battle, not rest. I lay on my side, watching him in that alien quiet.

In front of me stood a sundial, not the kind with ticking hands or blinking lights, but a clean obsidian slab set into the wall, casting its shadow with eerie precision. A single slender Gnonom, the central stick, cast its line sharply west. The shadow was thick and long.

Raj noticed it too. The red dust of Elizes, floating outside, shimmered like a curtain of rusted snow.

The gnonom's shadow didn't lie.

It was early morning.

And yet, I was still trapped somewhere between dream and reality. And in that fragile moment, I wasn't sure which was more terrifying, the dream I'd seen, or the world I had woken up to.

Raj's voice cracked the quiet with a lazy weight.

Raj (in a sleepy tone, bass low):

"How was the sleep? You look like someone who's slept while being sleepless."

I smirked.

Bjorn:

"Couldn't really sleep,brother. New place. New silence. My mind stayed wide awake while my body pretended otherwise."

Raj yawned and reached over to the table where a clear metal flask rested. A soft blue glow shimmered inside it.

Raj:

"Drink this. My father makes this energy blend. Said even humans can take it without side effects. It's like liquid clarity."

He passed it to me. One sip, bitter, cold, slightly metallic and my eyes opened wider, like a curtain pulled back in the morning sun. The cloud in my mind thinned. I could feel the tiredness peel away.

By the time we neared the squadron zone, Raj activated the same invisibility badge he had once used to sneak me back to his place. With it, I moved back into my assigned hexagonal plot. Everything looked the same, except my comrades' eyes.

They all looked at me like I was... not entirely one of them anymore.

Jeremy, as usual, wore suspicion like a second skin. He didn't say a word, but his glance stabbed questions into me like I had stepped too far out, like I had tasted something forbidden and liked it.

Pearce:

"Hey Bjorn, how was the hospitality over there? Nah, forget that, how was the food ? Did they serve you something spicy or still those bland cubes?"

I grinned and rubbed my stomach with fake drama.

Bjorn:

"My stomach's still full, Pearce. Whatever it was, it made my soul rest for a while."

Grimmer, always the one to mock with affection, squinted at my face.

Grimmer:

"Oi, beardless boy... why is there a patch growing on your chin now? You finally evolving?"

I laughed, more than I should've. His comment hit me like a memory of peace. For a few seconds, I forgot where we were.

Soon, it was time for warm-up.

Our battalion, Chorosh Battalion, was a clean-cut military zone. The space-ships were lined in military precision, their silver bodies gleaming under the alien sun. They sat opposite the battalion head office, while behind them stretched the launch paths for takeoff.

We jogged along the front road, the ships standing like giants to our left, while the narrow woods of Elizes formed the right. The path twisted slightly through artificial trees, oxygen-makers, not natural ones.

Plazies trained differently.

While we humans jogged, paced, and breathed through routines, the Plazies went full HIIT, lifting weighted bars twice their size, running like animals through obstacle pits. Only a few practiced combat stances; those ones, you could tell, were elite, not just strong but disciplined, calm like snakes ready to strike.

As we were finishing our final stretches and breathwork, a wave of noise came from the gates.

The Glock Squad had returned.

They were the crown jewel of Chorosh Battalion. They walked in like they owned the ground they stepped on and honestly, they might as well have. This time, they had returned from Btell, my planet, and they had brought prisoners. Rebels. Fighters. My people.

Their commander led them.

Commander Runge.

He was a sight I hoped never to see up close again. A face full of scars, eyes that never blinked too long. One of his legs had been replaced, a false limb, mechanical, but he walked like it was real. The man moved like he never left battle behind.

From the glass chamber above the battalion hall, our General watched silently. As Runge walked toward the command office, all the soldiers straightened in salute.

Except me.

I froze, lost in his presence, the rage, the danger, the memory of what he did in Btell. I didn't salute.

A nearby Plazie soldier saw my hesitation, stepped forward, and hissed a threat. His hand hovered near his weapon.

I raised my arm, late, but still in time to avoid escalation.

When Runge disappeared into the head office, everything went back to the way it was. Soldiers returned to their rhythm. Jokes resumed. But I felt like the ground had cracked slightly.

Because I knew who he was. I knew what he had done.

And more than that, I knew he hadn't come back here just to deliver prisoners.

As we walked toward the mess hall, or as they called it, our "fuel station", I saw the glass chamber above us again.

Inside, Runge and the General were already deep in conversation.

They weren't talking about today.

They were planning something else.

Something silent. Something... off the grid.

And I had a sinking feeling that whatever it was.

[Scene: Inside the Elizes Battalion Headquarters, under Plazies control. Technology flourishes, but a cold hatred against humans brews in the hearts of its people.]

General (slamming both palms on the metal table, voice thick with restrained fury):

"What? You mean these fools aren't even the real leaders of the rebellion from Btell?"

Commander Runge (calm, deliberate, with a crooked smile):

"No, General. They're not. But their faces will do just fine to send fear back home. The Btellians have never seen their true leaders, it's forbidden. So why not give them something to chew on? A false victory."

General (scoffing):

"And for this mockery, you stormed a planet, risked lives? You've started building castles from clouds again, Runge. This is why we trained you like a hound of war, not a court jester."

Runge (steadily):

"General, I don't joke in matters of war. That forsaken planet we lost years ago, it still holds secrets. We couldn't read it from our satellite scans. Too many shadows. If we want to win, we must understand them from within. Send men… and send humans. Let the Btellians sniff out the cracks in their unity. Exploit their differences."

General (voice turning cold):

"My objective is simple. Conquer. Enslave. Let them rot under our boots. Their solar system is a ticking time bomb anyway. Like that doomed planet we studied decades ago. They'll finish themselves off. We just need to collect the pieces."

Runge (more personal now):

"True, but there's something else, General. No one has ever explained why Btell humans and we Plazies look so… alike. Same faces, same bones. Only our eyes and skin tell us apart. And that distant planet? Their people carry every trait—brown, pale, dusky… their genes are a puzzle."

General (pausing, tone softer):

"As your General, I approve your mission. But as your father… I would've declined it."

Runge (smirking):

"Okay Dad...., Sorry!! Okay General... I'll recruit a seven-member team. Four Btell humans, three of ours. Best in every skill. We'll train them ourselves."

General:

"Do as you will. But don't come back with regrets."

[Scene shifts to the mess hall. Bjorn eats with Raj, surrounded by cold stares from his comrades.]

Raj sat beside me, unbothered by the others. Their eyes held suspicion, but he met them with quiet fire, silencing them without words.

Bjorn (between chews):

"Why isn't your father's photo in your home, Raj?"

Raj (swallowing slowly, voice low):

"I don't want people to know I'm a martyr's son. They either pity or place you on a pedestal. My father didn't die for glory. He… he gave his life for someone from your planet."

Bjorn (stiffening):

"What? Who?"

Raj (leans in, whispering):

"He never told me the name. Just said the man was tall, black hair, sharp features, strong shoulders. Like you."

The description sliced through my chest. That wasn't someone else. That was me or rather, my father. It clicked. My father had a friend here… a Plazie friend. Raj's father.

Before I could speak again, the battalion's speakers blared.

Runge's voice echoed through the station:

"There will be a combat selection this cycle. Humans from Btell,prove your worth. The chosen ones will serve in the High Valour Mission. Glory awaits."

My heart trembled. Combat. A test. A stage I wasn't ready for… but I couldn't back away.

Raj looked at me, steady and sure.

"You'll do it. I know you will."

When I stepped onto the field, the sun above Elizes burned bright. One of my comrades, Jeremy, laughed at me with a smirk, already picturing my defeat.

The sun baked the sandy arena, casting long shadows over the dueling grounds. I stood steady, my heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the sand shifting under my feet.

Jeremy shuffled toward me with a grin, cocky, thinking I wouldn't read his next move. But I'd traveled with him for nine years. I knew the way he shifted his weight before throwing a punch, and that he always used his right hand first.

As he lunged, pushing his leg back to build momentum, I pivoted left, caught his fist mid-air, twisted his arm clockwise, and swept him to the ground. My grip held him there for ten full seconds. The match was done.

The next opponent didn't move. He stood still, waiting, testing me. I approached, slow and steady. Just when I reached close, he spun on one leg and kicked at my neck. I ducked, charged forward, and rammed my shoulder into his stomach, sending him flying backward. As he hit the ground, I punched his face four times before he shoved me off with arms that felt like metal rods.

I faked a stumble. He stepped forward, exactly as I hoped and I slipped behind, locked him in a chokehold, and slammed him down. He didn't get up.

Then came the strongest of us, the team's combat master. As he walked into the field, cheers erupted from the sidelines. Behind him stood Raj calm, unreadable. He had trained me well and whispered strategies into my ears for weeks.

The fight began fast. Iron fists came swinging at me, but I ducked, jumped, slid across the sand. It took two minutes of dodging to understand his rhythm. But then bam. A punch to my face. Then one to my stomach. Again. And again. Five in total. He kicked me hard. I fell.

He thought I'd stay down. Maybe I should have. But something rose inside me maybe pride, maybe pain. I stood, body trembling, blood in my mouth. He came at me with another punch, and I ducked low, landing a full-force punch right into his groin. He dropped.

And in a flash of fury, I punched his face again, this time, cracking one of his teeth. The crowd went silent.

As I stood there, bruised and breathless, barely holding myself together, a strange thought ran through my mind: I am an amethyst boy. I can stand through storms. I was built to endure.

Commander Runge stepped out from the observation post. He stared at me long and hard, his eyes carried something strange… almost mischief. Then, without a word, he walked away toward the command corridor with his aides.

Raj walked over and handed me a bottle. It was blue an energy booster, no doubt.

Raj: "Drink this. You're coming with me on a space expedition."

Bjorn (raising an eyebrow): "What are you even talking about? Wasn't this whole combat just to find the strongest human from Btell?"

Raj: "That's what you wanted to believe. You built your own story in that head of yours. But the Plazies don't play fair, bro. They never intended to leave you behind."

Bjorn: "Then why take me? You want me to die beside you on some unknown planet, is it? You've lost your mind."

Raj (laughing): "I don't want you to die. I want you beside me. You're the only friend I've got, and the only one who knows me really knows me."

I didn't have a reply. His words sounded like nonsense. But somewhere beneath that madness, I saw something, loneliness. The kind I had known since I was ten. And for some reason, that mattered.

The commander's corridor looked nothing like the rest of the Plazies' facilities, ground-level, wooden door, no windows, no tech. He called us in with a single gesture.

Inside, he locked the door and shared everything, the truth he had spoken with the General. The mission. The secrecy. The seven members.

Four humans. Three Plazies. Raj and Runge were already in. They needed to find the third.

Commander Skorn, who stood in the corner, crossed his arms and offered a name.

Commander Skorn: "Jurgen."

At the sound of that name, my stomach tightened. I'd heard whispers… rumors. I leaned forward across the table to listen closer. Runge's face shifted, interest sparking.

Runge: "Jurgen? Who's that?"

Commander Skorn (in a tone of grim respect): "We don't know his parents. He was bred for war. A gladiator, our kind of beast. Notorious. Selfish. But lethal."

Runge: "What's a gladiator?"

Commander Skorn: "They're warriors raised as combat slaves. But honored like kings. Jurgen once beat and killed a Chorosh Battalion elite during a bet-match. It's tradition: winner lives, loser dies."

Runge (wide-eyed): "He defeated a Chorosh-trained soldier? Our training is sacred. That makes him rare. I want to see him."

Raj (cutting in): "He's dangerous. Selfish."

Runge (grinning): "So am I. I just want to survive. I can handle him."

That answer made everyone freeze. The room went cold, not from fear, but realization.

This wasn't just a mission.

Runge sat at the far end of the long steel table, legs spread, back reclined, lost in thought. His eyes were half-shut, but he wasn't sleepy. He was thinking. About Jurgen.

I leaned forward, curious.

Bjorn: "Commander, are we heading on a mission where we destroy our enemies?"

Runge's head slowly turned toward me. His face was still, voice colder than a morning fog.

Runge: "Who said we have enemies? We are just separated by our beliefs… separated by the way we choose to preserve peace, for the people and the solar system. This isn't war. It's a surveillance mission. We're going to a planet called Earth. People there… they look like us. Like you, Bjorn. Even Btell-born humans share similarities with Plazies. That's what makes it complicated."

The name "Earth" struck me like a memory swung from a chain, back then I believed that was "Rith" and Raj's family believed it as "Ath". My father's mission… labeled a betrayal. Raj's father… the same mission… martyred.

Bjorn (lower, questioning): "Then why do we need Jurgen?"

Before Runge could answer, Raj stepped beside me. His voice had more warmth than usual but held the sharpness of someone who knew what it meant to bleed beside brothers.

Raj: "Only the strongest among us are chosen for such missions. Jurgen isn't just strong. He's like a Plazie monster dressed in human skin. He must be with us."

For a second, I thought they were right.

Without saying another word, Runge stood, walked out, and we followed him into his patrol vehicle, built like a beast, armored on all sides but sleek like a knife in wind. We rode toward the Halls Street sector, nearly two miles from Raj's place. Jurgen's address wasn't easy to trace, even in a tech-rich world like Elizes. We asked around, locals and a gladiator match conductor.

The match man, wide-eyed and bruised from past brawls, pointed to the second floor of a weathered three-story complex. The building looked like it had survived riots and victories, both.

Climbing the steep, spiraling stairs took us two long minutes. Runge knocked.

The door opened.

There stood Jurgen, bare chest, scars mapped across his lean, muscular body like stories carved in flesh. He wore nothing but trousers, a toothbrush machine spinning in his mouth, and the eyes of a man who hadn't slept or perhaps never learned how to.

Without warning, Runge kicked him. A solid blow to the stomach. Jurgen's body flew back and crashed into the wall, landing beneath a half-open window.

Then came a sound, clap clap clap.

Another Jurgen emerged from the left side of the room, smiling, his voice rich and oddly boyish.

Jurgen: "What a move, Commander. That was my hologram. Impressive, no? Watch."

He tapped a button. The fallen body vanished into the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Jurgen: "The kick still hurt, right? That's the beauty. Pain, weight, presence, all real. My design. I made it. No scientist would dare go this deep, maybe not even the mad ones."

This second Jurgen, real Jurgen, wore the same outfit. Only difference was the alertness in his eyes. Still, Runge wasn't done. Without pause, he kicked again. This time, the real Jurgen hit the dining table, crashed through it, and groaned on the floor.

Runge, limping slightly from the blow, grabbed a chair and sat down with one trembling leg stretched forward.

Runge (grim, dry): "You can call me a fool, Jurgen, but I do know the real you. Holograms don't break tables. And they don't cast shadows."

Jurgen chuckled. Not out of respect, but admiration for Runge's cold sharpness.

Runge (leaning in): "Listen. I need you. One mission. One team. One planet. If you join us, I'll grant you any reward within my command."

Jurgen slowly got up, face unreadable.

Jurgen: "You want me… with this?"

He tugged at the skin on his both the hands and palms. Beneath it—steel. A mechanical hands.

Jurgen: "A scientist gave me this. I was born with nothing in an orphanage. This machine made me a boy again. It's how I fought. How I won."

We were stunned. None of us knew. Not even rumors.

Runge: "You think that's a weakness? That's your edge. You killed a Chorosh Battalion soldier in a gladiator match, with no formal training. You have instinct, precision, and will.All we need is your hand in the mission."

Jurgen raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Jurgen: "Alright then. Marry me to the princess."

Silence.

I could feel the room freeze.

He laughed.

Jurgen: "Relax. I'll find my way to her. What I do want: armor. Full gear. The best. Food, safety, and after this, give me a mansion. I want to live like I fought for it."

Runge shook his head.

Runge: "You're a selfish brat." (pauses) "Fine. Tomorrow, training, assessment, and equipment orientation. We leave soon."

In that small room, under old walls and scarred light, I witnessed a cold man bargain with a boy whose heart was made of rust and silver.

When we shook hands, something happened.

Raj's hand trembled. Runge's too. Barely. But mine? Mine was still.

And that scared me more than anything else.

And finally what was it on his hand?