Melee: The True Core of Space Warfare
Do you know the true essence of space warfare? Is it the massive railguns that pulverize an enemy's capital ship from thousands of kilometers away with a single shot? Or the grand fleet battles where beams crisscross the galaxy like threads of light? The media romanticizes it all, but reality is different. None of the above. The core of space warfare is the most primal, most reliable method: close-quarters combat.
Crunch! A gruesome bursting sound echoed through the airlock corridor as metal and bone shattered together.
"Gaaahhh!!!"
The scream was short-lived. The head of Kib, who had been strutting at the front like he owned the place, exploded against the bulkhead like an overripe watermelon. The reinforced glass of his helmet shattered, spraying blood and brains into the void.
"Wha... what the hell?!"
The burly pirate trailing behind, Brackson, recoiled in horror. He'd undergone muscle augmentation, his upper body twice the size of a normal man's. But what he saw was pure terror incarnate.
A man emerging from the smoke. Clad in a matte gray reinforced suit—worn but meticulously maintained—he moved with the heavy grace of a knight in full plate armor storming the battlefield.
"Wh... why the fuck is a modded human like you riding around on some shitty transport?!"
Brackson swung his vibro-hammer wildly. But the man didn't dodge.
The man's fist reversed Brackson's elbow joint with a sickening twist.
"Aaaagh! Captain!!! You hearing this? Backup! Backup!! Save me!!!"
Brackson wailed into his comms. But the man's hands showed no mercy. He grabbed Brackson by the collar and slammed him face-first into the deck.
Bam! Crack!
Brackson's lower body twisted at an unnatural angle. The snap of his spine reverberated down the corridor.
The technician Zebb, who had been prying at a door behind them, tried to flee but was snatched by the nape.
"Pl-please...!"
Thud! The man hoisted Zebb up and hurled him through the narrowing gap of the closing bulkhead door. The hydraulic jaws crushed his torso. A horrific sight—head and body forcibly fused.
The last survivor, Zorn, panicked at the spectacle and crawled back toward the pirate ship.
"Sp-spare me... I was just following orders..."
The man said nothing. He simply strode forward and crushed Zorn's ankle underfoot.
Snap.
"Aaaack!"
The man drew his pistol from his hip holster. No hesitation. One shot. A hole punched through Zorn's forehead.
Thirty seconds. That's all it took to wipe out the four-man boarding party.
Kal lowered his gun barrel, gazing indifferently at the sprawled corpses littering the floor. Moments ago, these had been screaming, begging lifeforms. Now, just meat.
Behind his helmet visor, the blue tactical HUD showed all enemy vitals flipping to OFF.
Kal's assessment was utterly dry. No fear, no disgust, not even triumph. Just one thought.
...Quiet now.
The irritating noise was gone. He eyed the docking hatch linking to the Night Raven. The entrance to the pirate ship Mad Dog. The source hadn't been eliminated yet. Only by rooting it out would this end.
Kal shook the blood from his gauntlets and stepped into the pirate vessel.
"S-something's wrong."
Pirate Captain Ballock stared at his monitor, sweat beading on his brow. Just moments ago, he'd thought he'd cornered them—a terrified father and his little girl. Easy prey, a jackpot.
But it flipped in an instant.
The fastest scout, Kib, lost vitals first. Head trauma—redlined and gone.
That was the start. The unassuming man on-screen turned demonic the second the team breached.
Brackson, who could crush a normal human like a tin can, got his lower half pulverized in one hit. Tech whiz Zebb was squashed in a bulkhead. Sneaky bastard Zorn lasted longest but ended with a hole in his skull.
Total wipeout.
Clatter... The captain's hands shook.
"Th-that guy's no joke. Kills without a second thought."
The first mate muttered, face ashen.
"Federation military? Nah, why would a regular grunt be solo in the Outer Rim? That suit... modded old model? Ex-soldier maybe?"
The captain slammed his desk.
"Damn it! Why's a retired soldier pulling this shit? He should be sucking on a pension!"
"Captain! All four scouts' vitals flatlined!"
"I can see that! Shut up!"
"A-and...!"
The helmsman shrieked.
"Enemy ship's breached the hatch—intruder's in our hull! Closing fast!"
"What? Block him first! Activate ship defenses! Drop bulkheads now! Spin up the turrets!"
"Already did! He's too fast! Dodges aim or hits blind spots! No secret weapons or traps only you know about?!"
"If this rustbucket had any, I'd have used 'em! How far?!"
Thud! Boom!
Heavy vibrations shook the bridge deck. Distant destruction closed in.
"Br-bridge... right outside..."
The first mate pointed at the door, trembling.
The captain swallowed dryly, aiming his laser pistol.
"Why... why the hell is a monster like that here?"
After a real workout like this, my tuned artificial muscles pulled taut. The suit's sub-motors hummed soothingly, venting excess heat from my body.
The ship looked like scrap from outside, but inside? Solid. Layout and defenses were systematic—pirate profits well-invested.
But pirates gonna pirate. Crude compared to Federation standards.
The steel bulkhead blocking me crumpled like paper and flew aside. My mini plasma cutter had melted the locks.
Two guards at the corridor's end opened fire. I slid low behind barricades, suit thrusters hissing reverse thrust.
This level? Pathetic. If xenoforms boarded? I'd bet the ship turns slaughterhouse in ten minutes flat.
People dream of space opera romance—vast armadas trading barrages across light-minutes, beams painting the void.
Sad truth: it's a shithole. High-output beams suck on cost-efficiency. In vast space, diffraction scatters energy over distance. A laser from 10,000 klicks hits like a warm flashlight.
Sure, capital ships brute-force range with insane power, but cooldowns take ten minutes—a efficiency nightmare.
Swarms of millions of xenoforms? Forget it.
So the Federation learned: best kill is breaching the shell and ripping from inside.
That's why space forces pour astronomical budgets into assault troops and boarding over fleets. No romance, high survival.
This is textbook.
"System, activate adrenaline boost."
Vision slowed, senses sharpened. I kicked off debris and charged.
Their guns couldn't track. Slash. My vibro-knife severed rifle and wrist. No scream—straight to the throat, onward.
Bridge beyond this wall. I eyed the sealed door: 20cm titanium alloy. Bomb-proof.
No choice. Max out artificial muscles and suit strength assists.
A roar louder than all prior chaos—door flew inward. Lucky? Screams meant someone ate it.
I grabbed a downed body from earlier, tossed it in as cover. Red laser fire erupted.
"Fierce resistance."
But portable lasers? My suit's armor laughs.
Confirmed—charged in, smashing through.
Fizz! Zap! Beams scattered off my surface.
"H-heek! Monster!"
Bridge was hell. Helmsman cowering on the floor, first mate hands up. Captain alone, wild-eyed, emptying his clip.
I strode forward, snagged his wrist.
Crack.
"Aaaagh!"
Laser pistol clattered. I hoisted him, smashed into the console.
"Wait! Hold on!"
Blood-flecked spittle flew as he begged. No trace of that comms arrogance.
"We... we got words to exchange, right? Huh, sir?"
"Speak."
I squeezed his collar, voice ice.
"My... my bad! Misjudged—thought you were prey. No idea a pro like you's out here in the sticks..."
He grinned obsequiously, gauging me.
"Sorry 'bout that. But hey, we're the ones bleeding? My crew's dead, you're unscratched. Call it even?"
"..."
"O-or surrender! Yeah, we surrender! Take everything—fuel, cash! Just let us have the lifepods. Gotta live, right? Gentlemanly, yeah?"
He parroted my earlier words, pleading. Shameless—almost funny.
"Gentlemanly."
I shook my head.
"Declined."
"What? Hey, wait! Why?!"
My eyes locked his shaking pupils.
"Someone back on my ship, trembling, worrying about me. Can't sleep leaving loose ends."
"You... you psycho fuck! Damn it! Die!"
He fumbled for a grenade pin. My knife was faster.
Slash. His head tumbled free.
Silence blanketed the bridge. Resistance gone, control seized.
"Gotta head back quick."
Eve's waiting.
In the dim cargo hold, Eve huddled knees-to-chest. Kal said wait. Be good, he'd be right back.
She trusted him. Waited.
But.
Bang! Thud! Vibrations and screams from beyond the wall clawed her heart.
'Kal... you okay?'
Anxious. Scared. Breath caught at the thought he might not return.
Helplessness. First time feeling so utterly powerless, pathetic.
"Uuu... Kal..."
She bit her lip. Couldn't wait. If Kal's in danger, she had to help. Go eat those bad guys whole.
Eve sprang up.
"Gonna go out."
She charged the sealed bulkhead, straining at the manual lever—
Hiss. Door slid open.
"...!"
Eve startled back. Someone stepped from the dark.
Blood scent. Mixed with familiar body odor.
"What? Told you not to worry, just wait. Where you going, troublemaker."
Kal. Helmet tucked at his side, same old smile.
"Kal!"
Eve screamed, tackling him.
Thump. Hard suit met cheek. Cold metal, but warmest embrace ever.
"Waaah! Kal! Kal!"
"Hey, why cry? I'm back."
Kal stroked her head familiarly.
Eve clung tight, sniffing.
Sniff sniff.
"...Smells like blood."
She jerked up. Red stains speckled his suit.
"Oh, this? Not mine. Bad guys'."
"No! Kal smell! Smells like Kal's blood!"
Eve's nose never lied. She snatched his right hand.
"Ahh." That wound? From breaching the bridge door. Bone cracked, skin peeled on knuckles, blood oozing.
Just a scrape. But to Eve? Cataclysm.
"Bleeding... bleeding! Kal hurt! Does it hurt? Hurt a lot?"
Tears welled; she flailed.
"Don't hurt, Kal! Hooo-!"
Kal chuckled awkwardly.
"Eve. This ain't serious. No amputation, no loss."
"No! Gotta treat! Quick! Meds! Where meds?!"
Eve dragged him to the med bay. He followed, feigning defeat.
Sitting in sickbay, insisting he could do it himself—ignored. Eve's tiny hands slathered ointment, bandaged mummy-style. Kal watched, thinking:
Me, unflinching at lost limbs in war, pampered over a fracture scrape.
"All done!"
Eve beamed proudly at the wrapped fist.
"Thanks. Feels all better."
He flexed it, grinning. Eve giggled back.
As calm settled, something ignited deep in Eve's chest.
'Kal got hurt. Because of me.'
Her weakness, hiding—Kal paid. If she were stronger. If she could protect him.
'Next time... I'll help. I'll protect Kal.'
Her heart thumped fiercely. Not mere sustenance.
Thump. Thump.
That pulse rippled beyond bulkheads, into cold vacuum.
A wave only they could sense.
Amid wreckage, a shadow dormant decades stirred.
[...?]
Dozens of red eyes flashed.
Then moved toward the source.