Battle Of Planets
Chapter 115: I’ll be there

Chapter 115: I’ll be there

Tyson stood in his square white room—sleek and far more advanced than anything he’d seen in his own city. High-tech interfaces floated mid-air, like transparent screens, lining the walls. Even the fridge and the entrance to the washroom had designs, crafted to match a human’s styles.

He took a cautious step forward to the futuristic fridge. When he opened it, light flickered inside, and a holographic menu appeared, displaying a list of food items from Earth. Some meals he recognized instantly—things he’d eaten all his life. Others were exotic, unfamiliar.

He hesitated, then tapped the icon of a warm meal.

For a moment, he doubted the machine’s promise. How could a fridge create a warm meal instantly—especially one from Earth? But in the next second, a steaming plate appeared in the upper chamber—the space where ice cubes were usually stored.

He blinked, stunned. it was warm, as if freshly made, but who made it? and how?

He had been skeptical when he got the the rubber suit—another product of this mysterious facility. But the moment he slipped it on, he felt the difference. This wasn’t like the cheap imitations back home. The suit vibrated faintly with a hum of energy—an unfamiliar frequency, tuned perfectly to fuel his meta-bot. He could feel it unlike many other who just frowned.

And then there were the nano-particle stations—sleek pods where users could recharge their reserves in mere seconds. On Earth, the process took over an hour. Here, it happened in an instant.

Tyson leaned against the wall, a plate of food in his hand. He was hungry, to the point he ignored the possibility that it might be poisonous or dangerous...

This place... was alien in design but eerily suited to human needs. It was efficient, intuitive, and oddly comforting.

But the question still lingered: Who built it? And why give them so much? when they are all here to die?

Tyson lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. a activity he often did when he was alone. It used to be calming, watching the stars stuck to his ceiling back home in his room. But here, there were no stars. Just smooth, white metallic panels. they were foreign and Alien.

There was a knock, and before Tyson could respond, the door slid open automatically.

"This is a bore," Alex said, barging in and heading straight for the fridge. He tapped a icon, pulled out a can, and cracked it open. "You suck, by the way."

Tyson glanced at him briefly but said nothing. He knew Alex was nervous too, maybe even scared But Alex always knew how to mask his feelings behind sarcasm and bravado. Tyson only wished he could do the same.

"You have your own room," Tyson said, sitting up slightly. "Why are you here?"

"To see what kind of cool stuff you got—and man, I’m disappointed," Alex replied, taking a long sip. He glanced at him then hesitated. "D-Do you think we’ll be stuck here long?"

Tyson shook his head slowly. "I don’t know..."

"It won’t be long," a deeper voice cut in. Edward stepped into the room, walking over to the fridge. He selected a dark bottle and pulled it out with familiarity. "Elven wine," he said, holding it up. "Too strong for most, but perfect for dulling pain. its Rare on Earth. Here? It’s free and unlimited. I missed this"

He chuckled and took a seat.

The three of them sat there in silence for a while. No words, just them for a while Edward spoke.

"I was lost too, the first time I came here," he said, looking at the bottle in his hand. "Felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me. Heck, I even beat the crap out of a few guys just to vent the frustration."

"You did the same thing this time," Alex muttered.

Edward smirked faintly. "It’s different this time." His eyes met theirs, steady and sure. "It’s necessary—for what’s coming. And I need you both to trust me. Whatever happens, follow my lead. Okay?"

"And what is coming, Father?" Alex asked, his tone sharpening. "Huh? Why didn’t we ever talk about this crap before? We didn’t learn any of it back on Earth."

"I know..." Edward replied slowly, "But it was for the best. If people back home knew how things really worked here, there would be chaos. The Rangers before us did the same thing we’re doing now—kept silent and let the chosen ones uncover the truth on their own."

Tyson clenched his fists. "So hiding the truth is acceptable to you? We’re just supposed to blindly trust what’s been passed down for generations without question?"

Edward paused, the silence thick in the air. Then he said, "You’re both grown now. How you process this... how you choose to carry it forward... that’s up to you. Maybe you’ll change things. Maybe that’s what this generation is for."

Tyson and Alex exchanged a long look.

"I’ve always believed the two of you are future leaders," Edward continued. "But to lead, first you must survive. Forget glory. Forget fame. Forget everything else. Just survive. That’s all I ask of you now."

They nodded solemnly.

"Good," Edward said, allowing a rare smile. "Remember, your wives are waiting for you back home. You have to go back to them."

"We have to go back," Tyson repeated quietly. "And we will... won’t we?"

Edward hesitated, then nodded. "Of course, my son. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. But remember—from now on, I’m not your father. I’m your leader. And if you disobey my orders, I’ll knock some sense into you."

"Like you haven’t already," Alex muttered with a sigh.

"That was just training, my boy. Now? It’s serious." Edward stood and straightened his coat.

"Sergeants—be ready!"

With a quick wink, he left the room.

The two brothers sat in silence, watching the door close behind him.

"We’re screwed, aren’t we?" Alex asked.

Tyson nodded. "Definitely."

---

"Sir, this is the gathered data from everyone," a captain-ranked officer said, handing Edward a data file that floated mid-air, flickering softly with holographic light.

Edward studied it in silence. "We have... six generals," he muttered, his tone thoughtful. That was fewer than last time, but he quickly pushed the disappointment aside. They’d have to make it work.

The list included known powerhouses—Rogues, General Mills, another unnamed general, and on the other side, Edward himself, Julien, Ryuk, and the surviving veteran from the last tournament. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what they had.

Still, Edward knew the truth: even the strongest generals would be useless without a frontline. Unless the weaker ranks carved out the path—unless the sergeants and cadets risked everything to create a battlefield worth fighting on—none of this would matter.

He stared at the flickering data, jaw tightening. It wasn’t just about strength anymore.

It was about strategy. Sacrifice. Timing. And survival.

"We do have 21 captains," the Captain reported. "Twenty-nine lieutenants, thirty-one sergeants... and the rest are kids."

"Kids?" Edward stopped in his tracks, "Where are you from, Captain?"

"Ah—Lukia City, sir," the captain replied hesitantly.

Edward stepped closer, his voice cold and sharp. "Look around you. Do you still see children?"

The captain glanced nervously around the corridor where young men and women—some barely out of their teens—checked their mEta-bots, adjusted rubber suits, and exchanged tense glances. Every one of them had the same look in their eyes: fear and nervousness yet drive to survive.

"They’re not kids anymore," Edward said grimly. "No matter their rank, their age, they’re here to fight for humanity. You will speak of them with respect."

The captain stiffened "Apologies, sir. I meant—Cadets."

Edward turned his gaze to the group of Rogues and Rangers, scattered near their rooms, keeping wary eyes on one another. Old rivalries still lingered, but that would have to change soon.

"Sergeants and cadets," Edward said, mostly to himself, "they’re the most important pieces on this board. Maybe even more than any of us."

The captain looked stunned but didn’t argue. He didn’t know how these battles worked—how chaos twisted everything, where strength was nothing without sacrifice and structure. So he stayed quiet, listening carefully.

---

Babylon

"General, all preparations are complete," a captain announced. "We’re ready to depart for Elria."

"Good." Albert nodded, his gaze softening as it fell on his son—Justin—seated in a high-tech wheelchair, "You see, my son?" Albert said warmly. "I told you—our enemies won’t prevail."

"R-Right, Dad." Justin tried to match his father’s confidence with a smile, but the bruise

Tyson had left on his jaw still throbbed. The memory stung more than the pain. He still felt dread gnawing at him—but being beside Albert, feeling his father’s sheer presence and certainty, gave him a false but powerful sense of control.

"They’re as good as dead," Justin muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice. "No one will come between me and her."

Albert was about to reply when a flicker of light interrupted him—an AI on. On the hovering screen appeared Max. His eyes were bloodshot, inraged.

"My old friend," Max said, "I hear you’re planning a visit to Elria."

Albert’s jaw tightened. With Edward and Julian gone, Max was now the only man standing in his way—the last obstacle to claiming the title of the strongest in the world.

"What’s it to you, Max?" Albert replied sharply. "I’m going to take what’s mine. You can’t stop me."

Max’s expression didn’t change. "You’re right," he said, standing. "I can’t stop you..." He leaned closer to the screen, voice dropping an octave, almost whispering, "...but the moment you leave Babylon, I’ll be there—with your son."