Intergalactic conquest with an AI-Chapter 417: The enemy within. {5}

The tenderness, the unwavering loyalty, and the way she used her own body as a shield to protect her... it stirred something deep inside her chest. Something old. Something painful.

A memory....

It wasn’t clear at first, but as the maid continued tending to her, those buried images began to surface, memories of her mother. Of the way her mother used to hold her when she was scared or stroke her hair after a nightmare.

The soft hum of her voice. The warmth of her embrace. The way she always placed herself in harm’s way whenever danger came close to the family.

And now, here this machine was mimicking that same care with a kind of grace and warmth Lyra had almost forgotten existed. Her lips quivered slightly. Her chest tightened, and a knot formed in her throat that refused to go away.

She wasn’t sure if it was the pain from her wounds, the exhaustion, or just the haunting resemblance to her past, but for the first time in what felt like years, Lyra had to fight back tears.

The battlefield had gone quiet. The night was still. And in that moment, she was just a kid that was hurt, confused, and being held by something that felt like a mother’s ghost made of wires and steel.

"...Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking slightly.

The maid didn’t say anything back. She simply continued her task, her golden eyes glowing softly, unmoving, yet understanding.

"By the way... ugh..." Lyra groaned as she tried to push herself up from the ground. Her body ached with every tiny movement.

She wanted to sit up or at the very least lean her back against the nearby wall, but the pain flooding her muscles and ribs was too much. With a frustrated breath, she gave up and allowed herself to slump back onto the cold floor.

She lay there for a moment in silence, catching her breath. "Where are we? And... what happened?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t remember anything after... after hearing that..."

Her words stopped mid-sentence as a horrible realization struck her.

"System!" she suddenly shouted, her voice filled with urgency but no reply came.

She quickly raised her arm and looked at her command device. The small screen was glowing softly, looking completely functional and showing no signs of damage.

That only made her worry even more. If the device wasn’t broken, then something else had to be preventing communication. She turned toward the imperial bot maid, her crimson eyes filled with concern.

The maid met her gaze and held it for a moment before calmly answering in her usual soft tone, "We are currently hiding, my lady."

"After the orbital bombardment, I carried you into the ruins of a nearby building, one of the few that still had any structural integrity left. I needed to get you to safety so I could treat your injuries and avoid the enemy." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

"The enemy?" Lyra asked, her breath turning uneven as she clenched her teeth to deal with the pain. "You mean the infected, right? Are they still out there?"

But the bot maid slowly shook her head. "No, my lady. This time... the enemy wasn’t the infected. These were soldiers. Trained, disciplined, and well-equipped."

"They moved like professionals. And their armor... there were no insignias, no logos, no colors that could be traced back to any known group or faction."

Lyra frowned deeply. "Unknown soldiers...?" she muttered.

The maid tried to bring up a holo-screen to show Lyra an image of the enemy forces, but a red warning message blinked in front of her eyes. Her energy reserves had dropped too low.

She couldn’t afford to project visuals anymore, not if she wanted to remain functional. So she deactivated the command.

Lyra’s thoughts raced. "If they were responsible for that bombardment... then it means they might be the same ones using that mutated creature to wipe out the outposts across the region," she muttered, her voice remaining sharp with growing anger.

"But that doesn’t make sense... orbital fire like that should’ve been detected and blocked by the system. Why didn’t it stop it? Why didn’t it warn us?!"

She began tapping commands into her arm console again, trying to force a connection.

"Could it be a signal jammer? Are they using something to block communications?" she asked quickly.

The bot maid hesitated. For several long seconds, she didn’t speak. Then, quietly but firmly, she responded.

"No, my lady. The problem is not interference." She paused, then said the words that felt like daggers to deliver. "Approximately three hours ago, while you were unconscious... our orbital destroyer was struck. It fell from the sky and crashed down onto the surface of this planet."

Lyra’s hands froze above her command device. "What...?"

The maid continued, her voice softer now, as if trying to cushion the weight of her words. "It was completely destroyed. Based on the wreckage I scanned... I believe the system AI went down with it. There is no signal. No command hub. No systems left."

The silence that followed was heavier than the walls around them.

For a moment, Lyra didn’t say anything. Her heart sank like a stone in her chest. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Then, quietly, in a voice soaked in bitter disbelief, she whispered to herself...

"Again... I’m losing everything... to this cursed world..."

Her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms despite the pain. Her body trembled not from fear, but from the rising storm of grief and rage building inside her.

But as it often happens on a battlefield, time to grieve or even breathe was a luxury few could afford. There was no space for sorrow when danger walked only a few steps behind.

Death didn’t knock politely... it kicked down doors without warning. So, even as Lyra tried to wrestle her pain and loss into silence, her instincts as a commander forced her to stay alert.

Suddenly, the bot maid stood up in a swift and deliberate motion.

"What’s wrong?" Lyra asked, surprised, her voice still raspy from exhaustion.

The maid’s eyes glowed faintly. "The proximity sensors I placed on the first three floors of this structure have detected movement," she said, her voice remaining calm but with some levels of tension.

Her hands gripped a thick metal bar she picked up from the rubble. It was still covered in chunks of concrete, clearly a makeshift weapon.

"Infected?" Lyra asked as she pushed herself up again, gritting her teeth against the pain.

But the bot maid gently pressed her back down.

"I can’t confirm. My network interface was damaged during the bombardment. I have no access to external data. But movement patterns suggest humanoid soldiers," she explained as she began removing a small device from a compartment hidden between her ribs.

"My cloaking module still works. I’m installing it into your power armor. Please stay silent and still. No matter what happens, do not move unless I return."

With precise, mechanical care, the maid attached the cloaking module to Lyra’s armor. Sparks danced briefly from the connection, and then her armor shimmered before vanishing from sight.

The maid stood and gave her one final look. "I will return, my lady."

And then she turned, limping slightly, and disappeared into the shadows of the ruined stairwell.

All Lyra could do was lie there, motionless, hidden, and helpless, watching the outline of the bot maid fade from sight. A cold knot twisted in her chest. It felt too familiar... it was like watching her mother walk away one final time, never to return.

Meanwhile, on the lower floors of the ruined building, a small enemy unit had entered. Their steps were slow, precise, and coordinated. Not a word was spoken between them, just silent hand signals and mechanical breathing through their armored helmets.

It was a five-man squad. Each wore advanced tactical armor, painted in matte grays and blacks, completely unmarked. Their leader, a seasoned veteran, wore slightly heavier armor than the others, with small additional plating on his chest and shoulders.

He moved first, leading the team carefully up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, the leader raised a clenched fist. The team froze immediately.

With quick hand signals, he ordered them to spread out and sweep the area.

"Clear," one whispered through the squad channel.

"Clear," came another voice seconds later.

Once the floor was secured, they began making their way to the third level. One of the soldiers moved first with his weapon raised while his eyes scanned the darkness.

But the moment he crossed the threshold, a heavy mass struck his helmet with brutal force. The impact shattered his visor and his skull with a sickening crunch. He dropped like a stone, no sound escaping his lips.

From the shadows, the bot maid burst forth, her movements fast and brutal. Without hesitation, she plunged the metal bar through the neck of the second soldier, then twisted and drove it through the third’s chestplate. Blood and sparks sprayed in all directions.

But she was too late to catch the remaining two.

The last pair retreated back to the second floor, taking cover. The veteran didn’t hesitate; he pulled a grenade from his belt and hurled it toward the stairs. The device beeped once before detonating, filling the air with smoke, fire, and deafening noise.

Silence followed... brief and uncertain. But then, from the swirling haze of dust and ash, a silhouette stepped forward. She moved like death itself.

The bot maid, covered in debris and cracked plating, emerged from the smoke. Her golden-lit eyes locked onto the veteran as she reached him in a heartbeat. With a brutal twist of her wrist, she snapped his neck and let his body fall.

Before the last soldier could even raise his rifle, she turned the veteran’s weapon in her hands and pulled the trigger.

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