In a natural cave by a coast in the United States, the sounds of hammering rang out, as if someone were forging iron inside. Firelight flickered on and off.
But the sound of the waves concealed everything, while the salty stench in the damp air completely dispersed the smell of smoke and fire.
Ord, the man on so many minds, was here. Air-filtering equipment resembling breathing tubes was fitted into his two round nostrils. Holding a strange firearm-like device, he was using it for 3D printing.
He was clearly repairing his Single-Person Aircraft. It looked like a coffin one could lie inside, with a seat to ride on and a control stick for steering. For now, it could be called a Flying Motorcycle.
In short, every time he made a part, he forcefully hammered it onto the vehicle.
Earth's climate was like hell to his race. Pollution was everywhere, invisible deadly viruses constantly surrounded them, and the native creatures were ugly and insane. This was a suicidal mission.
He understood that. He had known it from the very beginning.
But only he on the entire planet of Broken Land could accomplish such a mission, because he was a Superhero who had saved that world countless times.
To prevent his own planet from being destroyed, Earth had to be destroyed. There were no other options.
He still remembered the smiling faces and expectations of those who had seen him off when he departed. Those were what supported him as he continued to fight in this fallen, dark hell.
Looking at the burning torch beside him, he stopped working. Thinking of his homeland brought a brief warmth to his eyes.
People had crowded around him as he boarded the spaceship, calling him a hero as they had in the past and hoping