Later, back at STF Headquarters, the warship battle was over.
Mostly.
The city had survived. The demon fleet had been pushed back. Ground forces were finishing cleanup outside the capital, and the damaged warship was already being dragged into repair docks.
But inside STF HQ, the team had gone straight from combat to recovery.
And recovery, apparently, meant the weight room.
Metal clanged through the massive training facility as soldiers and STF members moved between racks, platforms, and machines. Some were lifting. Some were stretching. Others were sitting around pretending they were about to lift.
Ian stood near the center of the room, still in partial armor, looking around with narrowed eyes.
"Where's Deadshot?"
Blade, sitting on a bench with a towel over his shoulder, shrugged.
"Skipping again, probably."
Ian shook his head.
"I swear, he's allergic to responsibility."
Blade took a drink of water.
"To be fair, he did survive falling out of a warship battle. Maybe he's allergic to being awake."
Ian gave him a flat look.
Blade raised both hands.
"I'm just saying."
Optimus walked past them, calm as ever, though even he looked tired from the fight.
"We need everyone in the meeting room. Ten minutes."
Blade groaned.
"Bro, we just fought a fleet."
Optimus kept walking.
"And now we talk about why we had to fight a fleet."
Ian pointed toward the door.
"Move."
Blade stood slowly.
"This is why nobody likes leadership."
Ian didn't look back.
"Good. Keeps the job open."
Ten minutes later, the meeting room filled with STF members.
The long table was surrounded by some of the Empire's strongest warriors. Ian stood at the head, arms crossed, the dark glow of the central display reflecting across his armor. Optimus stood beside him, calm but serious.
Blade leaned back in his chair.
Steel stood instead of sitting, arms folded like he expected the meeting to become a fight.
Stark sat silently, his presence heavy enough to make the room feel smaller.
Ice King rested one hand on his staff, looking annoyed that nobody had allowed him time for tea.
The Lion looked fully recovered and way too energetic.
Voltron stood in the corner like a silent execution machine.
Deadshot Valor finally entered late, stretching like he had just woken up.
Ian watched him walk in.
Deadshot stopped.
"What?"
Ian stared.
Deadshot looked around.
"I was recovering."
Blade muttered, "From responsibility."
Deadshot pointed at him.
"Exactly."
Ian exhaled through his nose.
"Sit down."
Deadshot sat.
Ian turned back to the room.
"Me and Optimus talked. We're labeling Varnyx a planetary-level threat."
The mood shifted.
Even Blade stopped joking.
Optimus stepped forward.
"We're calling in the full STF. We need options. We need theories. We need a way to stop him before he escalates."
The doors opened again as more STF members entered the room.
Among them was Buzzblade, the 17th Great.
He leaned forward, sharp eyes locked on Ian.
"So what's the plan?"
Ian looked around the room.
"That's why you're all here."
A pause.
Then Ian said, "We don't have one."
Blade slowly turned his head.
"Wow."
Ian ignored him.
Blade continued anyway.
"Ian is actually open to suggestions. Mark this day. Somebody record this."
Deadshot lifted a hand.
"I can pretend I was recording."
Ian's eyes cut toward them both.
Blade immediately looked forward.
Deadshot lowered his hand.
Optimus took over.
"We need to work together on this. Varnyx keeps escaping, keeps adapting, and somehow keeps showing up where he shouldn't. So let's start with the biggest question."
He tapped the table.
"Where are the demons coming from?"
Voltron's cold, metallic voice answered immediately.
"We find the origin point…"
The room quieted.
Voltron's glowing eyes brightened faintly.
"And we obliterate it."
Nobody spoke for a second.
The Lion leaned slightly toward Blade.
"He always makes the simple answer sound like a threat."
Blade whispered back, "Because it is."
Optimus nodded slowly.
"I like the direction. But how do we find the source?"
Ice King stroked his beard, his expression shifting into something older and more serious.
"It is always one of three things," he said. "A portal. A hidden world…"
His eyes narrowed.
"Or the underworld itself."
That word settled over the room.
The underworld.
A place everyone in the Empire knew about, but few wanted to discuss lightly.
Ian stared at the table.
Then something Drunnith had said returned to him.
"The Old World."
Optimus looked over.
"What?"
Ian raised his head.
"Drunnith mentioned something before. He called the Demon World… the Old World."
The room went quiet again.
Ian turned to Ice King.
"You ever heard of it?"
Ice King leaned forward, arms crossed.
"I am old," he said, "but not that old."
Blade opened his mouth.
Ice King pointed at him without looking.
"Do not."
Blade closed his mouth.
Ice King continued.
"I have heard whispers. Old rumors from centuries ago. Stories that claimed this world was not the first world. That something existed before the Demon World became what it is now."
Ian's eyes sharpened.
"And you believed them?"
Ice King scoffed.
"No. I thought they were nonsense. Stories made by men who stared at magic too long and started hearing the walls talk."
Optimus looked thoughtful.
"Maybe it's not so crazy."
Blade raised an eyebrow.
"You're siding with the wall-hearing magic guys?"
Optimus ignored him.
"If there's even a sliver of truth, we should look into it."
Ian nodded.
"Agreed."
Then his voice grew lower.
"We should test Drunnith's DNA. Maybe we can determine just how ancient he really is."
The room fell quiet.
Everyone turned and stared at Ian.
Ian blinked.
"What?"
Blade slowly raised a brow.
"Uh… nobody said anything about DNA, man."
The Lion pointed at Ian.
"Yeah, you just jumped straight into scientist mode."
Deadshot leaned back.
"I didn't even know demons had DNA."
Steel looked at him.
"Everything living has a structure."
Deadshot pointed at Steel.
"See, that's why I don't ask questions around you."
Ian rubbed one eye, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was.
"Huh…"
He looked back at the display.
"Must be tired. Long day."
Optimus smirked slightly.
"Yeah. It's been a long one."
He turned toward the rest of the room.
"Everyone get some rest."
A few people started to relax.
Then Optimus added, "And heads up. We've got a new batch of interns and trainees arriving tomorrow. You're all assigned to mentor them."
The relaxation died instantly.
Blade sat up.
"Tomorrow?"
Deadshot stared at him.
"After today?"
The Lion grinned.
"I can't wait."
Everyone looked at him.
The Lion shrugged.
"What? Last time I was a trainee, someone decided to slice up my gear during inspection."
Blade laughed.
"That was a harmless prank. Relax. It was funny."
The Lion slowly turned toward him.
"You did that?"
Blade paused.
"No."
Ian cut in.
"You're all dismissed. Sleep while you can."
The STF members stood and began filing out of the meeting room.
Some complained.
Some laughed.
Some argued over who would get stuck with the worst trainee groups.
Their voices echoed through the polished halls of HQ.
Warriors.
Legends.
And now, whether they liked it or not…
Mentors.
STF HQ — Common Room
6:00 AM
The common room was far too bright for how little sleep everyone had gotten.
Optimus stood near the center of the room with a cup of coffee in hand, looking frustratingly awake. Beside him, Ian leaned against the wall near a large display showing the day's STF schedule.
The schedule was packed.
Training blocks.
Field readiness drills.
Equipment checks.
Mentorship assignments.
Recruit orientation.
And, because the galaxy apparently had no mercy, active mission rotations.
Blade stood near the couch, half-awake and visibly offended by the hour.
Deadshot Valor leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes barely open.
Steel looked ready.
Stark looked like he had been ready since before sunrise.
The Lion stretched, smiling like this was somehow exciting.
Ice King held a mug of tea, wrapped in his usual cold dignity.
Optimus took one calm sip of coffee.
"Alright, listen up."
The room quieted, mostly.
"Around one thousand new recruits are coming in today."
Blade slowly looked at him.
"One thousand?"
Optimus nodded.
"Your job is simple. Mentor them, guide them, and get them used to what it means to be part of the STF."
A few STF members groaned.
Someone in the back muttered, "I didn't sign up for babysitting."
Ian's eyes moved toward the voice.
The room went silent.
Ian spoke firmly.
"This isn't a break day. Treat it like any other."
He gestured toward the schedule display.
"You're allowed to take them on field work, maintenance, support tasks, training drills, or whatever else you're doing today. But do not treat them like tourists."
Blade raised a hand.
"What if they act like tourists?"
Ian looked at him.
"Then scare them into acting normal."
Deadshot nodded slowly.
"That I can do."
Optimus gave him a warning glance.
"Safely."
Deadshot sighed.
"You people keep taking the fun out of mentoring."
The Lion grinned.
"I'm actually excited. They're gonna be looking up to us."
Blade looked at him.
"You're going to give one of them a speech, aren't you?"
The Lion nodded proudly.
"Several."
Ice King sipped his tea.
"Poor children."
Ian checked the time.
"They arrive at 0800. That gives you two hours to clean yourselves up, check your gear, and prepare your assignments."
Deadshot lifted his head.
"Why did we pick the busiest day of the week for this?"
Optimus smirked.
"Because the galaxy won't wait."
He looked across the room, his tone growing more serious.
"We want to give them a real taste of what it's like here."
The room settled.
Because that part was true.
The STF was not just training.
It was pressure.
Responsibility.
Danger.
Brotherhood.
The recruits arriving today were not stepping into a normal military branch.
They were stepping into the place where legends were made.
Ian pushed off the wall.
"Two hours," he said. "Don't waste them."
Blade rubbed his face.
"I hate inspirational mornings."
The Lion clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on. Let's go make the trainees fear us."
Blade finally smiled.
"Now that sounds better."
Outside the common room windows, the first light of morning spread across Tenrihines.
And far below, transports carrying the next generation of STF recruits began their approach.