From Idler to Tech Tycoon: Earth

Chapter 211 - 211: Purge
Somewhere in Saturn’s asteroid belt, a black TRC troopship cruised. The Shadowfang, its stealth plating absorbing all light, moved slowly. It was just another rock in the vast, swirling field of ice and rock. On its bridge, Captain Renell Froice watched the main screen. He was a man of few words, his face hard, eyes sharp. He ordered the ship to stop near a massive asteroid, a jagged chunk of rock the size of a small moon. The asteroid was pitted, ancient, a silent sentinel in the void.

”Status on the scans?” Froice’s voice was a low growl, cutting through the bridge’s quiet hum.

A bridge crew member, a young woman with a buzz cut named Specialist Anya Sharma, tapped her console. Her fingers flew across the holographic display. ”Captain, we have one hundred fifty-two hostiles inside that asteroid. One hundred one human cultists. Fifty-one Krill. Deep underground, central chamber. High-density energy signatures, likely power generators and comms arrays.”

Froice nodded, a grim satisfaction on his face. No surprise. This was standard. Another hidden nest. ”Inform Colonel Ronnel Santamo. Mission is a go. Confirm target coordinates and breach points.”

Sharma acknowledged. ”Sending encrypted burst now, sir. Tactical overlay transmitting to Spartan command modules.”

Below deck, in the troop boarding modules, Colonel Ronnel Santamo — Ronnie — checked his gear for the tenth time. He ran a gloved hand over the smooth, cold surface of his plasma rifle. He was surrounded by the Ordo Infernalis Spartans. These were the black ops of the TRC, ghosts in black armor. Their mission: eradicate Krill remnants and their human cultists. This was their daily bread, their grim purpose.

Ronnie’s voice, calm and steady, cut through the low hum of the module’s life support. ”Men, we have green status. Target acquired. Check your gear one last time. Brace yourselves. Let’s give these bastards a surprise they won’t forget.”

The Spartans answered in unison, their voices a low rumble from their helmet comms. ”Sir, yes, sir!” Each Spartan checked their black power armor. The matte-black plating absorbed light, making them almost invisible in shadows. They cycled their plasma rifles, the energy cells glowing with a faint blue light. They ran gloved fingers over the edges of their vibro-blades, testing the keen edge. Some held prayer beads, their silent devotion a stark contrast to the weapons they carried. The air smelled of ozone and recycled oxygen, a familiar scent of impending combat.

”Pressure check, all pods,” Ronnie ordered. ”Internal comms secure.”

”Pods one through five, green,” a Spartan confirmed. ”Pressure holding.”

One minute later, on the Shadowfang bridge, Captain Froice gave the order. ”Check the trajectories. Release the clamps. Initiate silent launch sequence.”

The troopship shuddered, a deep vibration. Five container-sized boarding pods ejected from its belly with a soft hiss. They looked like drifting cargo containers, unmarked, slowly tumbling towards the large asteroid. Perfect camouflage. They were designed to mimic space debris, undetectable by standard scans.

Inside Ronnie’s lead pod, he checked external sensors. The asteroid loomed closer. ”Thruster controllers, maintain predestined trajectory. Micro-adjust for asteroid collisions. Avoid. Maintain sync with other boarding pods. Fifty meters out.” His voice was calm, efficient, a rock in the storm.

Then, Ronnie’s voice hardened. ”Activate boring protocol! Full power to thermal drills!”

The boarding pods adjusted. Their thrusters flared, a brief, controlled burst that barely disturbed the void. They boosted towards their target. The ends of the pods, tipped with powerful thermal drills, hit the asteroid surface. The rock melted, not just the surface, but deep through the asteroid, directly into the underground base. Simultaneously, the pods pressurized the base hull, then spat out a sudden burst of inert gas, disorienting anyone near the breach points. A silent, deadly entry.

In the enemy command room, ten reptilian Krill were gathered around a holographic map. Their scales shimmered in the dim light of the central display. A human, wearing a blood-red and black robe, stood beside them, bowing slightly. He was a cult leader, his face fanatical.

Suddenly, a klaxon blared. Red lights flashed across the room, bathing the Krill in an angry glow. The human cultist flinched, his eyes wide with fear. ”My lords, they found us!” he shrieked, pointing at a rapidly blinking breach indicator on the map. It showed five points, all converging on their central complex.

The lead Krill, larger than the others, slammed a clawed fist on the table. Its voice was a guttural hiss, filled with rage. ”What?! That’s impossible! Our cloaking fields were absolute! Our perimeter sensors showed nothing!” It turned to its guards. ”Prepare the ships! Order your men to hold them off! Do not let them reach the core!”

The human agreed, scrambling for a comms unit. His voice, though trembling, tried to sound commanding. ”To arms! Defend the temple! For the Emperor!”

But it was too late.

On the pods, the doors didn’t just open. They burst. Explosive bolts blew them inward. They slammed into human cultists and Krill bystanders, crushing them against the walls, splattering blood and viscera. Those who had gathered, expecting a frontal assault from a single entry point, were caught off guard, their crude weapons useless.

The Spartans appeared. Black armored giants, emerging from the smoke and debris. Plasma fire erupted. Blue bolts sizzled through the air, hitting cultists and Krill alike. Flesh vaporized. Enemy fire came back, a chaotic spray of laser blasts and kinetic rounds. But the Spartans had thick energy shields. The shields shimmered, deflecting enemy fire, sparks flying like miniature fireworks. The Spartans’ accuracy was superior. Every shot found a target. Every burst was lethal.

Squads moved. Fast. Efficient. They cleared through each room with brutal precision, a well-oiled machine of death.

”Squad Alpha, clear central corridor! Push to objective Bravo! Squad Beta, secure primary access points, deny all flanking maneuvers!” Ronnie barked into his comms, his voice a calm counterpoint to the explosions. His plasma rifle hummed, spitting death. He moved with a deadly grace, a black shadow in the flickering lights, leading the charge. ”Theta and Gamma, provide suppressing fire, maintain overlapping fields of fire!”

Hidden and deactivated Krill ships, sleek and menacing, sat in underground hangars. Their cloaking fields had kept them safe, until now. Krill officers scrambled, about to board them, hoping to escape. They ran for desperation in their movements.

Then, the hangars exploded. Not from within. From above.

The Shadowfang, still cloaked, had deployed specialized kinetic penetrators. They were silent, designed to bypass energy shields and hit critical points. Each penetrator carried a thermite charge. They struck the hangars’ reinforced ceilings, punching through rock and alloy.

The Krill ships burst into flames. Metal screamed. Explosions ripped through the hangars, a chain reaction of destruction. Secondary detonations followed as fuel lines ignited, turning the cavern into an inferno. The Krill officers, caught in the blast, became charred husks, their desperate escape plans reduced to ash. It was too late. Their escape was cut off.

”Hangars confirmed destroyed,” a Spartan reported to Ronnie, his voice flat. ”No enemy egress. Thermal signatures match Krill vessel destruction.”

”Good,” Ronnie said, his voice cold. ”No witnesses. No reinforcements. Just a clean sweep.” He knew the importance of leaving no trace, no survivors to spread word or rebuild.

The Spartans pushed deeper. They were relentless. Their power armor shrugged off most attacks, the kinetic impacts barely registering as shoves. Their helmet-mounted targeting systems painted enemies in glowing red, highlighting weak points.

”Sector Gamma cleared! Moving to objective Charlie!”

”Squad Beta, report! Resistance levels?”

”Heavy resistance in Sector Delta, Colonel! Fanatics are dug in! Expect close-quarters combat!”

Ronnie led his squad into a large hall. It was a makeshift temple, crude Krill symbols painted on the walls. Human cultists, armed with scavenged Earth weapons and some crude Krill energy rifles, screamed. Their eyes were wild with fanaticism. They charged, a desperate, suicidal wave.

”Form up! Fire discipline! Suppressing fire, then advance!” Ronnie yelled. His Spartans formed a tight line, their shields overlapping.

Plasma bolts ripped through the cultists. Their robes caught fire. Their screams were cut short as they disintegrated. The Spartans moved like a single, unstoppable force. They didn’t take prisoners. This wasn’t about capture; it was about eradication.

A Krill warrior, larger than the others, burst from a side room. It roared, a guttural challenge, its claws extended. Its skin was tougher, its movements faster. It was a general, perhaps, or a high-ranking priest. It lunged at a Spartan, aiming for the neck joint.

Ronnie raised his plasma rifle. A single, focused shot. The blue bolt hit the Krill’s head. Its armored skull exploded in a shower of green blood and bone fragments. The body crashed to the floor, twitching once, then still.

”No quarter!” Ronnie’s voice was cold, echoing in the hall. ”Sweep and clear. Leave nothing. This asteroid is to be sterilized.”

The Spartans moved through the base, room by room. The sounds of combat slowly faded. Plasma fire, screams, explosions. Replaced by the steady thud of armored boots and the hum of scanning gear. The air grew heavy with the smell of ozone, burnt flesh, and the metallic tang of alien blood.

The last human cultist, found hiding in a ventilation shaft, was swiftly and silently eliminated. The base was silent. Only the hiss of environmental systems, now damaged, and the Spartans’ heavy breathing remained.

Ronnie received a report: ten Krill officers were found in a reinforced room, hiding. They were protected by a squad of Krill elites, clearly expecting the Spartans wouldn’t find them. Their arrogance was their undoing.

The Spartans breached the door. It exploded inward. Synchronized plasma fire erupted. The Krill elites, expecting close-quarters combat, barely reacted. Their heads were pierced by plasma bolts, exploding before they could even raise their weapons.

Ronnie walked towards the Krill reptilians. Their legs trembled. Their tails twitched nervously. One of the Krill officers thought, These black-armored humans… from what I’ve watched on our other cell footage these forces were ruthless. They had eradicated entire outposts without mercy. Our human spies had also learned that these black ops forces didn’t exist in any public knowledge or military records. They were what the humans call ghosts.

One of the Krill officers, a smaller one, hissed, asking Ronnie for a duel. His head was popped off without hesitation, a quick, brutal burst of plasma.

Each remaining Krill was given a brutal execution. One had its limbs slowly sliced off by a vibro-blade, its screams echoing. Another had its scales extracted, one by one, before a final, merciful shot. A third was burned alive, its body charring and bubbling. The Spartans didn’t rush. This was not just killing; it was a message.

Only one Krill remained. A general from the last Human-Krill War, four years ago. His scales were scarred, his eyes filled with a desperate, ancient hatred. They took him for questioning. It was standard protocol: locate all other cells, and especially, human sleeper agents on Earth.

”Base cleared, Captain,” Ronnie reported to the Shadowfang. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. ”All hostiles annihilated, save one Krill general for interrogation. Mission parameters met.”

Captain Froice’s voice came back, calm and professional. ”Understood, Colonel. Begin extraction. Good work. We’re holding position for pickup.”

Ronnie looked around the command room. The Krill’s holographic map still glowed faintly, showing stars they would never reach. The air was thick with the smell of burnt flesh and ozone. He felt nothing. Just the cold satisfaction of a job done.

He turned to his Spartans. Their black armor, now streaked with alien blood and dust, was a testament to their grim work. They were silent, efficient, ready for the next order. ”Alright, men. Let’s get out of this rock. Extraction points are secure. Mission accomplished.”

The Ordo Infernalis moved to the extraction points, their heavy boots echoing in the now-empty corridors. They had come, they had fought, and they had purged. The asteroid base, once a hidden threat, was now a tomb.