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    Where did it all go wrong?


    It wasn’t that Montana neglected security before his big operation, nor that he was on bad terms with other cartels.


    Montana, with one foot in legality and the other in the shadows, tirelessly worked to avoid creating unnecessary enemies. He ran his cartel like a businessman, not a pirate.


    As a result, he built a cartel so massive it ranked among the top three at Space Dock. His approach had proven sessful—at least until today.


    Just moments ago, Montana stepped into the private elevator for Second Command, struggling to keep himself from screaming in frustration. The beautiful music flowing from the elevator’s speakers was doing little to calm him, especially as the sound of gunfire mixed into the smooth piano melody forced reality upon him.


    His fortress was falling.


    "…Damn it."


    It was impossible to hold back his curses in this situation. As he muttered slowly, the guards standing behind him flinched.It wasn’t only Second Command under attack. Communications with Third Command werepletely cut off, and reinforcements from First Command were isted by monstrous creatures scattered everywhere.


    “All that’s left is…”


    Escaping the fortress.


    On the 110th floor of eachmand post, there’s a means of escape from the fortress. When the Empire managed the fortress, they installed private transports for their officials to survey the.


    These small rockets could eject directly to specific points on the, reaching them at high speed. The transports were also protected by reinforced shields normally used on warships, making them quite safe.


    However, they couldn’t be piloted and could onlynd at pre-designated points. Once there, all he could do was wait for a rescue team.


    "Asking for help from other cartels is out of the question."


    The reason he left Central Control was because he’d heard that the enemy had breached the underground bunker. Those merciless monsters wouldn’t have spared the VIPs hiding there.


    The fortress was crumbling, and his powerful VIP allies were gone. No other cartel would lend him a hand.


    "…Wait a second."


    The ones in the banquet hall were all finished, but those staying on the upper floors hadn’t been touched.


    Especially the woman he held in the highest regard—a member of the cult.


    She had chosen not to attend the banquet, citing personal reasons. Although she was mysterious and avoided contact with others, if she was still upstairs, he had hope.


    The woman was someone the head of Gar Melda’s family had instructed him to treat with utmost respect. If he stayed hidden on the with her, Gar Melda would surely send help.


    When the disy numbers hit the 90s, he pressed for floor 100. That was where hisst insurance policy remained.


    —


    "Dieeeeee!"


    "Fall back! Fall—aaaah!"


    Gunfire roared, interspersed with curses and screams.


    The Auxiliary Organ under its chin detected the vibrations of these familiar sounds, tinged with a sweet scent.


    Number 26’s invasive tendrils dragged pirates out from their hiding spots at the hall’s crossroads. Before they could resist, the six appendages at the tips of the tendrils shredded the captured flesh.


    Warm blood, organs, and flesh fragments that should never have seen the light of day spilled out. Ifpared to music, their fragrance was like an elegant symphony woven by distinct strings.


    ?If it were human, I suppose it would have shuddered.?


    Indeed, the pirates, drenched in the blood of theirpanions, looked like they could barely keep their sanity. Staring vacantly at theirrades torn to pieces, they soon met a simr fate at the hands of the mutated creatures extending from between Number 26’s legs.


    The mutated creatures roared, waving tendrils crowned with trophies of decapitated heads. Others charged at the remaining pirates, eager to im trophies of their own.


    ?I wonder how that one is doing.?


    It had been some time since PS-111 began its hack against Third Command. The machine had undergone several upgrades before reaching the fortress. By now, it was likely breaching Third Command’s firewalls.


    ?If it’s on schedule, it’ll take another ten minutes…?


    Just as that thought crossed its mind, a massive explosion sounded outside.


    The sound, akin to a ship’s horn, was so loud it could be heard from any corner of the fortress. Blood and chunks of flesh that had been pooling on the ground floated momentarily before sttering back down.


    “It worked!”


    What I’m witnessing now is a sign that the gravity maintaining the fortress has been disrupted. In other words, PS-111 has takenplete control of the life-support systems.


    And that thunderous roar echoing throughout the fortress? That, too, is a signal meant for me.


    “They’re venting the oxygen.”


    I know this move well from games.


    Not only has it stopped supplying oxygen to the entire fortress, but it’s venting it out into space. Even if First and Second Commands try topensate by pumping in more oxygen, the amount being vented will still outweigh what’sing in.


    In about an hour, every living thing in this fortress will copse fromck of oxygen.


    “There’s no point in fighting the pirate forces any further.”


    I’ll leave the rest to the mutated creatures and the mercenaries zealously spreading madness bombs. I have other matters to tend to.


    “Securing the escape routes.”


    The military port withrge-scale ships docked has already been destroyed. In this situation, they only have one possible means of escape.


    “The transports at Command.”


    Kesha Arma is a space instation that orbits in sync with the mining. Command has high-speed transports that fly directly to the mining. These are essentially space rockets used by fortress officials forary inspections.


    The transportsunch from the top of a cylindrical Command building, travelling along a long silo that connects to the reinforced ss dome covering the fortress. They can’t be piloted manually, but they can reach the in less than a minute.


    “If any survivors from Command use those, it’ll be a hassle.”


    That would mean I’d have to follow them to the to hunt them down. It wouldn’t be hard, but right now, I’m on the verge of evolution. I’d rather avoid needlessplications.


    “Was the transport dock at the top?”


    The top of Command is on the 110th floor. I’m currently on the third floor.


    “Guess I’ll have to break my way up.”


    [ZZZZ ZZ (Come over here)]


    ?Understood.?


    I shifted Number 26 from where it perched above my head. Gently cradling it with the arms on my chest, I activated the biological cannon now pressing against the ceiling.


    As soon as the spore loaded with explosive liquid shot from the cannon and hit the ceiling, it detonated. A third of the ceiling on my floor copsed in a heap. I felt a faint warmth from the carapace on my back and head, but nothing major.


    “Looks like that went well.”


    I started smashing my way up through the building at a rapid pace.


    “What the—?!”


    “Get back—ugh!”


    Pirates who had fortified the hallway with cover to fight the mutated creatures were obliterated as I burst up through the floor. Some of them fell through the gaps, and others were pinned beneath debris, where they were torn apart by the mutated creatures.


    ?Big One, are you hurt??


    Seeing debris scattered across my head and back, Number 26 sounded concerned.


    [ZZZZ ZZZ (Too sturdy to get hurt)]


    ?Strong! So strong!?


    I shook off the umted debris easily, and it shimmered happily in response.


    I continued ascending, smashing through ceilings with explosive spores or breaking them apart with powerful strikes from my winged arms.


    Sometimes I sted through hallways upied by pirates, other times through massive rooms adorned with luxurious decorations, and even through swimming pools where water now drifted weightlessly. The floors of the building were punctuated with gaping holes over 10 meters wide, yet the Command structure remained standing, likely thanks to the shielded walls surrounding the exterior.


    Ascending through the fortress, leaving devastation in my wake, I soon found myself nearing the top.


    “Almost there.”


    After the opulent 100th floor, there were no more signs of human presence. Instead, the walls separating the floors were more than twice as thick as before. This must be because I’m approaching the floor with the transport ships.


    “No wall can withstand acidic breath, though.”


    Thick as they may be, they’re nowhere near as tough as the shielded walls. I opened my mouth and unleashed a highly acidic fungal breath.


    Just like creatures melting throughboratory walls with acid blood in ssic sci-fi horror movies, the ceiling was carved out by the acidic breath. The damage wasn’t limited to just one floor—above, I could see melted remains on the next.


    I broke through the liquefied walls and continued upwards until I finally reached the top.


    Here, a long silo stretched upward, exceeding the height of Command itself. Though I couldn’t see it past the shield walls, from here one could normally view the entirety of the fortress and the beyond through reinforced ss.


    At the bottom of the metal-lined silo was a small transport ship. A handful of people who were about to board it looked at me, startled.


    There was a rather rotund pirate, three bodyguards, and a woman cultist with antlers on her head.


    “Antlers?”


    I’ve fought with antlered cultists before, though they’re anything butmon. Cultists with antlers are among the most powerful psychic users and the highest nobility within cult society. Their numbers are few, and they rarely engage in external activities.


    Among those I’ve faced, only Muriel and Jason had antlers, and they were both yers, not your usual cultists.


    “Could they be a yer?”


    I remembered Kadun’s words: there was a powerful figure among the Marcio Cartel’s clients.


    “First, let’s deal with the transport ship.”


    Whether that cultist is a yer or not, cutting off their escape route takes priority. I prepared my psychic breath without dy.


    My mutated tendrils glowed purple, emitting intense energy. The violet beam, a facsimile of the immense powers bestowed only upon dragons, shot toward the transport ship.


    Though the ship possessed an impressive shield, it was currently inactive. There was no way it could block my attack.


    But what happened next was beyond my expectations.


    When the antlered cultist raised her right arm, a circr mand formed of purple threads appeared, nullifying the psychic breath. No, “nullified” wasn’t the right word.


    The fiery psychic power met the mand and vanished as if it had never existed in the first ce.


    The mand curved into a dome, shielding the transport and those around her.


    “What kind of technique is that?”


    There are few defensive techniques capable of neutralizing an attack so effortlessly.


    If it were something like the Red Armor of the Red Gagons or Vortex One’s defensive ability, that might suffice, but this is a cultist. While there are psychic power techniques capable of blocking a psychic breath, none should be able to do so this easily.


    “And there was no recoil.”


    With Adhai, using Red Armor to block attacks still means her body absorbs the shock, so she gets pushed back.


    Yet this cultist seemed to manipte and neutralize the very nature of my breath, as if they used the “Complex Spectrum” skill.


    “Could it be…?”


    An unknown technique, an antlered cultist roaming around a pirate fortress.


    Taking these two factors into ount, there could be only one answer.


    “A cultist ranker.”


    “…Rank 5.”


    The cultist, exuding a chilling aura, looked at me and murmured in an icy tone.


    An unexpected opponent in an unexpected ce—a ranker, just like me.


    From her outstretched left hand surged an overwhelming psychic power, hurtling directly toward me.