Urth
1489 Words
Urth watched the human through the transparent shell of the hibernation pod, his pale fingers clasped behind his back.
Perfect.
Even in stillness, the subject radiated potential. The nanotech lattice beneath the human’s skin pulsed faintly, responding to biological signals Urth had spent cycles perfecting. Three Earth-years of refinement. Three years of pain, resistance, rage—and survival.
Most subjects broke.
This one had not.
Zero.
Urth allowed himself a thin smile.
The others—failed experiments—still haunted him. Hollow things. Corpses animated by obedient nanotech. Efficient, yes, but soulless. Empty. They obeyed without thought, without fire. They disgusted him. But they had no thought, to defend, or use logic. Tools without will were useless in war.
A sleek metal device slid toward him at alarming speed and stopped directly in front of his face. The projection flickered to life, revealing a bronze ship he knew far too well.
The Emperor’s vessel.
Urth sighed.
What could he want now?
“He is not supposed to arrive for another six cycles,” Urth muttered. This was… unexpected.
His gaze flicked briefly back toward the hibernation pod. Showing the Emperor that was not an option. He had never been granted authorization to create it. Never received approval to experiment on the human slaves.
No. It was best to keep it hidden.
Decision made, Urth turned sharply and exited the lab. He summoned three guards, their silver-black armor gleaming under the ship’s cold lights.
“Make sure nobody enters this lab,” he ordered. “Guard it with your lives.”
They nodded without question and took their positions at the door.
Urth adjusted his posture and began walking toward the landing dock. As he moved, a fake smile settled over his face—practiced, effortless.
Emperor Zaka was an odd individual. Once known as the Conqueror of Multiple Planets and Worlds, he was now little more than a wasteful Emperor. Power still clung to him, but vision had long since abandoned him.
The docking sequence thundered through the ship as the Emperor’s vessel connected with Urth’s own. Urth stood still, listening to the metallic groan and final impact.
The hatch opened.
Twelve guards marched out first, their synchronized footsteps echoing loudly as they formed a clear, guarded path. Moments later, Emperor Zaka emerged.
He wore a long red gown, dazzling with gold striping, and a helmet-like crown—white and overly adorned—etched with symbols representing his many conquests.
His gaze locked onto Urth. He did not smile.
“Well,” Zaka said coldly as he approached, eyeing Urth with open disgust, “you have certainly gained weight.”
Urth forced himself not to react, brushing the insult aside. The Emperor had always been this way—rarely acknowledging those beneath him with respect or courtesy. It was simply how he ruled. And everyone accepted it.
The Emperor had only acknowledged Urth once before—when Urth was still young.
Even then, Urth had been known as a brilliant child. A genius. His intellect had set him apart early, but brilliance alone had never been enough to earn the Emperor’s recognition.
Not until the illness.
It was a rare condition among the Kahrin—one that prevented growth, halted development entirely. Only a few of their kind suffered from it, but those who did were condemned to weakness. Stagnation. A slow decay of potential.
Urth had found the cure.
Not only had he cured himself, but he had also cured the Emperor’s youngest brother. That single act had changed everything.
From that moment on, Urth had worked under the Emperor’s command, tasked with discovering new ways to improve their kind, to strengthen and advance their species. It had been a long, demanding journey—one marked by pressure, secrecy, and sacrifice.
And yet, Urth would not change it for anything. He was here to serve. To make everything better for his people. He believed, without hesitation, in the advancement of his species—the superior species.
They walked through Ship O35 together, the Emperor moving at an unhurried pace as he surveyed the collection of Earth’s lifeforms. Creatures from every corner of the planet stood frozen in containment—preserved, catalogued, owned.
Every now and then, Emperor Zaka made a low sound of approval. Urth watched him carefully.
“So many creatures,” the Emperor mused, stopping before a massive frozen form. “So much to consume. So many resources. And yet the humans made no use of it.”
Urth followed his eyes. “The humans called this one an elephant,” he said smoothly. “It was… erratic. Caused significant chaos. We placed it into hibernation.”
The Emperor seemed pleased.
Urth allowed another practiced smile to stretch across his face.
The Emperor had not been present during the invasion of Earth. He had simply dispatched others to do his work, to conquer and claim in his name. Lazy, perhaps—but Urth would never voice such thoughts aloud. It was not his place. It never had been.
They continued onward.
They stopped before another creature—small, fragile-looking, frozen mid-movement.
“I believe the humans called this one a lemur,” Urth said.
The Emperor did not respond at first. His eyes remained locked on the creature, his expression stiff, unreadable. The air around them shifted, the earlier satisfaction draining away.
“This reminds me of my third wife,” the Emperor said at last.
Urth stiffened internally but kept his composure. “Would you like me to send a few to your palace, sire?” he offered carefully.
The Emperor turned on him with visible disgust.
“No. I hated her.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Eradicate it. I never want to see this creature again.”
Urth bowed slightly. “As you wish, sire.”
They moved on.
The Emperor glanced around the ship once more, his gaze sharp now, searching. “There must be more,” he said. “Is there anything else you are working on, Urth?”
Urth did not hesitate. “No, sire. This is all I have. My findings are limited to Earth’s resources—resources that would serve you well. They will play a wonderful role in adorning you, sire… and adorning our planet.”
He smiled and bowed again. The Emperor seemed satisfied—for now.
The Emperor was a being who took great pleasure in whatever pleased him. He had married multiple women—many of whom he barely looked at, let alone acknowledged. They were ornaments to him, nothing more.
“You know, Urth,” the Emperor said casually as they walked, “I remember sending you a number of beautiful human slaves for your enjoyment. Have you been enjoying yourself with them?”
Urth felt a flicker of disgust rise within him, but he kept it buried deep beneath his composure. He took no pleasure in hearing about women. Or men. Or flesh at all. Urth found satisfaction only in himself—in standing before a mirror, admiring his own brilliance, praising his own achievements. Words of reverence meant far more to him than touch ever could.
“Yes,” Urth replied evenly, bowing his head slightly. “I keep them for my pleasure, Sire.”
The Emperor laughed, a sound rich with indulgence. “Ah,” Zaka said, clearly amused. “A man will always be a man.”
He looked at Urth with something close to fondness, as if they now shared a common ground. Urth smiled back, careful, controlled. Perhaps this was the one thing the Emperor believed they could bond over—the acts of flesh.
But the truth was far simpler. Urth had no interest in others’ bodies. His fascination lay only with his own—with his mind, his achievements, his perfection. He desired admiration, recognition, praise. He would rather stand before a mirror and revere himself than ever touch another being.
Still, he allowed the Emperor his assumption. Some misunderstandings were useful.
All at once, the small metal device appeared before Urth again, hovering silently at eye level. Its projection activated—but only for him.
The Emperor glanced at Urth with mild curiosity, as if attempting to see what he was seeing. But these devices served only one master. They were bound to a single mind, a single identity. Whatever truths they revealed, they revealed them to no one else.
Urth watched.
Subject Zero stood at the open airspace—an oval chamber designed to circulate breathable atmosphere for Earth’s captured creatures. Beyond it lay nothing but the void.
He did not hesitate.
Zero jumped.
Urth remained perfectly composed. To anyone watching him from the outside, he appeared unmoved, as though he were observing an unremarkable data feed—static, lifeless, inconsequential.
But inside, he had just watched his greatest creation, his finest subject, his masterpiece......
—commit suicide.
His success.
His son.
- Writer
