Chapter 1 part 2

Four Idiots Meet One Hybrid Narwhal 

As I might’ve mentioned before, I’m a hybrid—a rare product of two clashing worlds. The Lunatran Empire and the Holy Solar Commonwealth of Solflare. A spacer and a solar priest got a little too close one night aboard a neutral trading station, and out came *me*.

Lunatrans and Solflarians, while not as distinct as Old Earth’s ancient peoples, still have their genetic markers. Lunatrans sometimes carry void-black quantum-absorbing patterns in parts of their body, dark enough to swallow light itself. Solflarians, on the other hand, are often adorned with photonic hair, glowing with pulses of radiant energy. Not every one of them bears these features, but when they do, it’s unmistakable.

Me? I got both. My bioluminescent hair pulses in waves of silver light, streaked through with Lunatran void-black. A loud, undeniable proclamation of my mixed heritage. And in a galaxy where the Lunatran Empire and Solflare Commonwealth have spent three centuries tearing each other apart, you can imagine how that goes over.

In case you missed the hint: targeted xenophobia.

“Why are there Solflarian *half-breeds* in the Mercenary Guild station, huh?”

The voice rang out, cutting through the guild's common area like a plasma blade. A man’s voice, amplified through his neural comm—purposefully ensuring *everyone* could hear.

“Bet he’s the spawn of some Solflare pleasure-slave,” another jeered.

“Walking around like he’s some kind of chosen ancient,” a third sneered, laughter spilling into the air.

"Hahaha!"

I glanced up. Four of them, all clad in powered armor—not the flashy kind you see on amateurs, either. Their postures and movements marked them as ex-military, seasoned but arrogant. New faces at the station, and already making waves.

Normally, I’d brush off insults. I’ve lived with them my entire life. Half-breed, void-mutt, light-spawn—I’ve heard it all. My mixed heritage is no secret; it’s etched in my hair for all to see. Still, openly mocking someone here, *inside the guild station*, is reckless even for this frontier outpost. Which means one thing: these idiots came looking for trouble.

“Oh, lively newcomers, huh?” I said, forcing a grin. “Too bad guild registration isn’t today. Come back later with the credit transfer ready.”

Some fights are worth buying. This was one of them. In any starport, grinning foolishly and letting insults roll by without challenge is a path to nowhere. Reputation, fragile as a starship’s thermal shielding, is everything in the void. Keeping a polished demeanor in public is vital, but bending to every arrogant fool risks tarnishing your name—something no mercenary can afford.

I ran a quick diagnostic on my suit’s combat systems, making sure everything was operational. In our line of work, where muscle often speaks louder than words, there’s no shame in standing your ground when disrespected. A fight isn’t just about strength; it’s about showing you’re not prey.

I’d been in a fine mood earlier, savoring the end of a long morning clearing asteroid drift from the station’s transit lanes and enjoying a hot cup of Geromaze oatmeal—a synthesized delicacy that actually manages to taste halfway decent. But they ruined it, these arrogant whelps.

As I rose from my seat, I glanced toward the holo-counter. The receptionist, her holographic avatar flickering faintly in the dim station light, wore an expression that said she was more exasperated than concerned. She wasn’t about to intervene, though.

“Self-responsibility. Do as you please,” her weary eyes seemed to say.

The station’s unwritten rules applied: no outright brawling in the guild’s heart unless absolutely necessary. I wouldn’t be the one to shatter that fragile peace—not here, not today. But if these fools wanted to take it somewhere else, I wouldn’t hesitate to teach them what happens when you challenge the Galaxy A Narwhal.

“Don’t get cocky, hybrid trash, just because you’re holding a cheap Half-Spec Blaster,” one of them growled.

“I’ve spaced 56 Solflare dogs like you in the Twice Nebula!” another boasted.

“Maybe I’ll carve those disgusting light-pulse markings right out of your head,” the leader sneered.

Oh, 56 kills? Sure, buddy. If you were a fleet commander, you wouldn’t be wearing bargain-bin shield generators.

Engaging my suit’s magnetic boots, I pushed myself upright. “You’re bothering folks here trying to eat. If you want to go, let’s take it to the cargo bay.”

The leader grinned, his faceplate glinting. “Gladly.”

And so, the airlock hissed open, and I stepped out onto the station's docking platform, but—

"Die!"

Before I could take another step into the neon-lit streets of the station, a shadowed figure erupted from the darkness. His movement was swift, his fist a comet streaking toward my face.

A cheap ambush in the void of stars? Pathetic. Not content with ganging up on me, they had to throw in a surprise assault too. Cowards, the lot of them. Still, I couldn’t help but smirk.

"Heh. Predictable."

The punch connected like a meteor strike, the force reverberating through my reinforced boots and up my legs, the impact cushioned only slightly by my suit’s shock absorbers. Beneath my helmet, I tasted blood. My vision blurred for a moment as I staggered back, the sharp sting of pain cutting through me.

Dammit, busted lip. Great.

"What the...?"

"Guah... useless... no effect... is that all you’ve got!?"

Those words—his arrogance—stoked the fire in my chest.

"Hah! Idiots. Go on, finish him!"

"Yeah!"

The others rallied around him, their movements like scavenger drones circling a damaged freighter. Four against one, their confidence practically oozed from their cocky grins. Their tactic? Overwhelm with numbers.

Amateurs.

"You’ve done it now, small fry! Hrah!"

"Geh!"

My counterattack was swift. A precise blow to the gut sent the first one crumpling to his knees, the faint shimmer of his suit’s energy shielding flickering out like a dying star. The others weren’t deterred—they rushed me, trying to drown me in sheer brute force. But their clumsy strikes were easy to read, their movements predictable. I danced between them for a moment, my body moving like a ship dodging asteroid fragments.

But the truth? Fancy moves had their limits.

No time for theatrics. Let them hit, boost strength with special power: "the force", and strike back harder.

"Take this!"

"What is this guy?! Strong—?!"

"You think you can take on *me*, the Narwhal !?"

"Ugh!"

The blows landed, hammering my body, but it didn’t matter. I allowed them to connect, channeling my energy into the enhancers built into my battle suit. Pain surged through me, but the payoff was worth it—a single retaliatory strike sent one of them sprawling to the ground, groaning in agony.

"S-Stop! I give! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!"

"Shut it, worm! You *dared* to mock me—mock *my blastersw*! No mercy!"

"Giiiii!?"

I grabbed the front of his hair as he begged, yanking his head downward and slamming it into mine. The headbutt reverberated through his helmet, and he dropped like a malfunctioning droid.

"I-I didn’t do anything, I swear—"

"56 kills in raids, huh? Lower that score if you’re gonna lie, idiot."

"Uwaa!"

My open palm cracked across his face, sending him crashing to the ground. His helmet shattered under the force, the sound of brittle glass meeting steel filling the air—a melody to my ears.

"H-Help me...!"

"Help you? Don’t even *think* surprise attacks will be forgiven. Scum."

The leader, finally stepping forward, sneered with false bravado. He raised his weapon, his hand trembling.

"Eat thi—!"

I moved faster than he could react. Grabbing his wrist, I twisted until I heard the satisfying snap of bones breaking. He howled, dropping his weapon as pain overtook him.

"S-Sorry! Please! I won’t ever mess with you again!"

"You mocked me, didn’t you? Made light of my weapon, my *Half-Spec Blaster*!?"

"N-No! I didn’t mean—!"

"Take this! *Half-Spec Blaster Kick!*"

"Guohhh!"

My boot connected with his stomach, the force enough to lift him off the ground before he crumpled into a heap.

Idiots. They ruined the road with their stupidity.

"Never mock me—or my Half-Spec Blaster—again."

I spat on the fallen fools. My body ached from the skirmish, but I straightened up and made my way back toward the guildhall, ignoring the crowd that had gathered to watch.

"Damn Narwhal," I heard someone mutter from the observation deck. "Took on four at once. Not bad."

"Oww... way oww... dirty surprise attack," I grumbled, limping past the onlookers.

Mirai, the guild clerk, waited for me at the counter with an amused expression. "Good work, Mister Narwhal. Those four had a record of poor mission evaluations and misconduct. We’ll adjust their standings further after this little incident."

"Go ahead," I grunted, wiping the blood from my lip. "Now, can I use the treatment room?"

"You’ll have to pay for it, of course," she replied, smirking.

"I’ll pay. Later. Just... let me lie down."

As I shuffled toward the medical bay, the ache in my body reminded me that brute force wasn’t always the answer. Next time, I’d fight smarter—make it look effortless, leave an impression without taking so many hits.

"Not going to rank up after this, Narwhal?" someone asked behind me.

"Doesn’t seem likely," Mirai answered for me. "He avoids the risky deep-space contracts that come with promotions and the increased attention from Core Worlders."

"Sheesh. Too bad. He’s strong, though," another voice muttered.

I sighed, wincing as I pressed a cold pack to my swollen lip. Strong, huh? Maybe. But strength wasn’t worth it if this was the aftermath.