The Changed World

Alaska, Earth Alliance General Headquarters.

The massive holographic tactical display no longer showed the blue points of light representing the Alliance fleet. All that remained was a deathly still expanse of sea coordinates stained crimson, along with a continuously flashing "SIGNAL LOST" warning.

The image was frozen on the final frame transmitted from an aircraft carrier's bridge.

An enormous, utterly unnatural shadow—like some mythical beast that devoured the sun and moon—had taken a bite out of the sky, swallowing the entire fleet along with the sea beneath it.

The command center was deathly silent. No one spoke.

The staff officers and commanders whose faces had been filled with the thrill of vengeance just minutes ago now sat collapsed in their seats like puppets with their bones removed.

Annihilated.

There were no survivors.

The lead general tremblingly picked up the cigar beside him and brought it to his lips, then fumbled for his lighter.

His fingers had always been steady. Over the decades, these hands had signed countless documents capable of changing the fates of millions, and had personally piloted fighter jets through artillery fire.

But today, he tried twice and still could not get the damned thing to light.

"Click—click—"

The flint wheel scraped against the stone, throwing off two faint sparks before they immediately died in the cold air.

He gave up.

He tossed the cigar and lighter back onto the desk. Metal struck mahogany with a dull thud.

The sound seemed to break some kind of spell, and the stifling air in the command center began to move again.

"Retreat."

The general's voice was quiet, but it spread through the entire command center via the built-in microphone on the desk and reached the remaining fleets standing by.

"All forces, withdraw from Orb waters."

Once the order was given,