First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess-Chapter 421: Food and Trouble

The food arrived in mismatched trays carried by people who looked nervous about every step they took.

The food showed up in uneven batches, carried by people who kept glancing toward the door like they expected it to explode open at any second. It wasn’t pretty, but it smelled right, and that was enough. Xavier didn’t wait. He pulled a tray closer and started eating properly, shoulders finally loosening as hot food hit his stomach.

Around them, the room relaxed a little. People went back to their meals.

Klatos watched him for a moment, then relaxed slightly. Rin took a bite, then another. Even Arlen allowed herself to sit back, though her eyes never stopped moving.

That was when the sound outside shifted.

Engines rolled up hard and stopped without finesse. Multiple vehicles of different sizes and wheels rolled outside. Not one or two, but a cluster, heavy frames idling loud enough to bleed through the walls.

Tires scraped. Doors opened. Boots hit the ground in an uneven rhythm.

Klatos didn’t look surprised. He muttered under his breath, wings tightening.

"Sha’keth varuun... filth-born dogs," he hissed in his native tongue.

Rin’s fork froze mid-air. Arlen’s posture went rigid, her hand dropping slightly below the table.

Xavier kept eating.

The front doors burst open, metal bending under the impact, and armed figures poured inside. Different species, different builds, mismatched armor scavenged from a dozen sources, but all of them carried weapons that had seen use. Shots rang out into the ceiling, not aimed to kill, just to announce ownership.

People screamed. Chairs scraped back. The room emptied itself in seconds, guests dropping to the floor, staff scrambling behind counters.

Xavier chewed and reached for another bite.

They moved through the room methodically, stripping valuables, yanking people up, shoving them back down. They moved fast after that, ripping jewelry off wrists, yanking bags away, barking orders in a mix of languages that barely overlapped. Anyone too slow caught a rifle butt. Anyone too loud got kicked. This wasn’t a raid. It was routine.

When they reached Xavier’s table, several guns turned their way.

The leader stepped forward, broad and plated, eyes lingering on Xavier’s exposed face longer than was comfortable. Klatos stood slowly, hands open, wings slightly spread in a placating posture.

He spoke first, voice steady, switching languages mid-stream.

"Zha’ren thaal, kha’tes moruun. This isn’t your ground. Take what you want and move on."

One of the thugs snarled back, words sharp and guttural.

"Mor’keth! You speak like a dockslave now."

Another added, louder, "Human pet. Feathered traitor."

Klatos didn’t back down. "You don’t know who you’re standing with," he said. "Walk away before you make this expensive."

The leader laughed and said something crude that got a few of them chuckling. He gestured sharply, and one of the thugs stepped forward and kicked the table hard.

Plates flew. Food hit the floor. Sauce splashed across the tiles.

Xavier was left holding his fork, one bite still speared on the end.

The entire room locked up.

He looked down at the mess, then calmly lifted the fork and finished the bite. He chewed slowly, deliberately, eyes half-lidded, like he was savoring it. When he swallowed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I was eating Earth food," he said evenly. "First decent meal I’ve had in two weeks."

He looked up at the group, then focused on the leader. "Quick question. Has anyone ever interrupted you while you were eating."

One of the thugs laughed loud. "No one’s ever had the balls."

The air compressed.

The laughing thug vanished sideways and slammed into the wall with a sound like a freight container hitting concrete. The wall buckled inward, panels cracking as his body was crushed into it and left there, unmoving, half-buried under fractured plating.

No one else laughed.

Xavier set the fork down carefully and leaned back in his chair, finally looking annoyed. "Yeah," he said. "That tracks."

He met the leader’s eyes. "If you knew how it feels to be interrupted like that, you wouldn’t have done it."

The guns wavered. No one fired. Klatos stood frozen, wings tight, watching the shift ripple through the group as fear started replacing confidence.

Xavier finally looked up from the ruined table and stared at the leader like he was deciding whether to be generous or bored.

"Here’s how this goes," he said, voice calm, almost casual. "You walk out. You pretend none of this happened. And you get me Earth food. Real Earth food. I don’t care how far you have to go or who you rob to get it."

The leader blinked once. He stared at Xavier, clearly not sure if he’d heard right. His eyes flicked to the body crushed into the wall, then back to Xavier, then around the room where his people were suddenly very quiet.

For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, then he laughed, slow and loud, spreading his arms slightly as if inviting the room to share the joke. He said something in his language, sharp and mocking, and a few of the thugs snickered.

Klatos stiffened immediately. "Xavier—"

The leader stepped closer, boots crunching over broken glass. He leaned down toward Xavier, grinning, and spoke again, this time slower, taunting. Whatever he said made it clear he thought this was done, that the human had overplayed his hand.

Outside, the district had started paying attention. People gathered at a distance, peeking from alleys, leaning over railings, hovering drones stopping mid-patrol to record. Everyone could feel that something was about to go wrong. The tension snapped when gunfire erupted inside the motel, sharp bursts followed by crashes, screams, shouted curses in half a dozen languages, furniture breaking apart under force that had nothing to do with bullets.

Rin followed, already swinging, disarming one thug and driving another back with brutal efficiency. Arlen moved like she’d been waiting for this excuse all night, firing and advancing without hesitation, every shot placed to end the fight instead of prolonging it.