Intergalactic conquest with an AI

He turned slightly, his gaze falling upon the tall, grim-faced officer standing rigidly at his side; this officer was none other than the Commissar of the local enforcers.

"Send in your men. Eradicate what remains. But maintain discipline and advance with caution." His eyes, hard as flint, returned to the chaotic exodus.

"The scout drones were clear. These rebels are no longer fighting with scavenged slug-throwers. They are armed with Kaelzar pulse rifles and plasma charges, stolen from our own fallen during the pacification."

This single piece of intelligence had changed everything. The earlier failures of the local enforcers were now explained; they had been facing their own superior technology in the hands of desperate, cornered foes.

The moment Carlos's fleet had entered orbit and the drone footage had reached his command screen, the mission parameters had shifted irrevocably. Capture and interrogation were luxuries of a stable occupation.

This was a surgical purge. The order had been changed from 'capture' to 'extermination'; it was a necessary, brutal measure to cauterize a festering wound before it could poison the entire planet.

The air, still thick with the chalky dust of collapsed masonry, was now torn apart by a new, hellish symphony. It didn't take long for the cautious advance to erupt into a full-scale battle.

The sharp, sizzling crack of laser fire intertwined with the deeper thrum of plasma discharges and the relentless, percussive roar of kinetic machine guns. This chaotic orchestra was punctuated by the ground-shaking detonations of rocket launchers and pre-planted rebel explosives, detonating in a last, desperate attempt to slow the inevitable advance.

From a holo-communicator snatched from a fallen rebel, a panicked voice screamed, "Sir! Those machine cattle are here! Our defensive line is being broken! We should retre—" The voice cut off, replaced by a sharp, terrified gasp. "What in the seven hells is that?!"

The communicator's feed, now in the hands of a rebel, showed a new nightmare. It was a Tyrant unit, a hulking bipedal engine of war that stood a full head taller than its Aegis brethren.

With a deafening shriek of tortured metal, it pried apart the reinforced armored door of the rebel commander's bunker with its bare hydraulic claws. The camera, shaking wildly, focused on the Tyrant's impassive, glowing optic sensor.

"Rebel located," a flat, synthetic voice stated, devoid of any emotion. "Exterminating." A laser cannon mounted on its shoulder swiveled with a soft whir. There was a blinding flash of crimson light, and the feed dissolved into static.

In the command bunker, all that remained of the rebel leader was a smoldering, fist-sized hole clean through his skull.

This Tyrant was part of Carlos's personal Royal Guard, a testament to the severity of this operation. But with his own security assured by an even more powerful, unseen protector, Carlos had deployed the Tyrant to lead the local garrison of Aegis units, turning a difficult assault into a methodical slaughter.

Panic became a virus among the rebels. "Commander! It's not just the enforcers!" another voice shrieked over a dying comms channel.

"The machines themselves are here! The true Kaelzar machines!" Their terror was justified. From the bellies of the frigates hovering above, Aegis units descended on tethers like a rain of steel angels, landing with heavy, ground-shaking thuds.

As soon as their boots touched the earth, the massacre began. They moved with chilling, synchronized efficiency. There were no demands for surrender, no assessment of threat.

Their programming was absolute: anyone not registered in their database as an ally was a target for eradication. Rank, role... age... none of it mattered. For two relentless hours, the fortress echoed with the sounds of dying resistance, until only the silence of the grave remained.

Those rebels with the foresight and luck to have fled earlier had escaped the immediate steel noose. But for them, an even more terrifying fate was already unfolding. Rex's orders had been unequivocal, "Clean the world of opposition."

Carlos was a man who followed orders to the letter. At his command, the hangar bays of the frigates opened once more, releasing the newest tools designed by Cleo for planetary control.

They were not humanoid but bestial, huge, mechanical wolves, their sleek chassis forged from darkened alloys. They moved with an unnerving, fluid grace, their advanced sensory arrays scanning the surrounding hills and ruins for the scent of fear, the sound of a panicked heartbeat, and the residual heat of a fleeing body.

With a silent, predatory intent, the pack was released, and the hunt began.

"Congratulations, Admiral. You have eliminated the rebels from this planet," the Commissar said, offering a slight bow, his hand pressed to his chest in a gesture of respect that felt premature.

Carlos did not return the sentiment. His gaze remained fixed on the smoldering fortress. "The job is not yet done, Commissar. What we exterminated here was merely a cell, a single infected limb. The main body of this rebellion is still safe and sound, hidden within its nest." A cold, calculating light glinted in his eyes. "But not for longer."

He lifted his arm, the sleek device on his wrist humming to life. "System, prepare Operation Brush."

A synthesized voice responded instantly. [Understood, Admiral.]

The call ended. Carlos turned, his expression unreadable. "We march into the city, Commissar. We will use your vehicle." It was not a request.

An hour later, the grim procession began. The Kaelzar army, a column of polished, silent death, marched in perfect lockstep alongside the more ragged local enforcers.

Overhead, the frigates cast long, predatory shadows that slid like a pall over the city streets. These very avenues still bore the scars of the initial invasion... cratered pavements and the skeletal remains of buildings.

Seeing the conquerors march so brazenly, fully armed, through the heart of their world fanned the embers of the locals hatred into a silent, searing flame. The air grew thick with unspoken curses and glares of pure hate.

"Admiral... I must protest," the Commissar whispered from the seat beside Carlos, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest.

"This is not wise. We are blind. We don't know where the rebels are hiding, and you, marching like this... you are making yourself a target." He could feel the weight of the hatred pressing in from every window and shadowed alley, a tangible force that made his own skin crawl.

His fears were realized in a single, brilliant flash. A bright red line, the telltale streak of a high-powered laser shot, appeared in the air, aimed directly at Carlos's temple. It vanished in less than a fraction of a second, not with the impact of a hit, but as if it had been swallowed by an invisible maw.

In a hidden room across the city, a rebel officer stared in disbelief. "Commander! The sniper failed! Something... something blocked the shot!"

"That's impossible!" the rebel commander shouted out while rubbing his temples in frustration. "That was specialized ammunition designed to bypass any known shield! Are you certain he didn't just miss?"

"It doesn't matter!" the commander finally snarled, slamming his fist down. "The plan stays the same!"

On his signal, the city erupted. From rooftops, windows, and alleyways, rebels poured forth, unleashing a storm of laser fire and plasma charges directly at the procession. Many focused their fire on Carlos, who remained standing tall in the open-top vehicle, a statue of utter indifference amidst the chaos.

"Argos," Carlos said, his voice calm as he slowly put on a pair of darkened sunglasses. "Is it done?"

A shimmer in the air behind him solidified into the formidable, hovering battle suit, Argos. The sudden appearance of the silent, hulking guardian made the Commissar and his aides jolt back in terror.

[Affirmative. All rebel combatants and their communication signal origins have been triangulated. The frigates are standing by, awaiting your command.]

"Acknowledged. You may shoot now."

At Carlos's quiet command, the sky fell. From the frigates above, a rain of crimson light descended with dozens, then hundreds, of precision laser strikes, each lasting mere milliseconds.

They fell in a silent, horrifying ballet, painting the city in brief, bloody strokes. Wherever a rebel stood, a lance of light found them, evaporating them in an instant. The roaring gunfire was replaced by an eerie, deafening silence, punctuated only by the sizzle of cooling stone and the distant, panicked screams of civilians.

"And there you have it, Commissar," Carlos said, his voice devoid of triumph as he turned to enter the waiting Argos suit. "This is how you pacify a world. You must be more decisive next time."

As the armored form of Argos sealed shut and ascended towards his frigate, the Commissar slumped to his knees. He did not see a liberated city; he saw his beloved home once again shrouded in smoke and flames, a brutal lesson written in fire and blood.

Carlos's actions were not confined to Kator. The footage of the swift, merciless purge was transmitted to every world under Kaelzar control. It was a simple, unequivocal message...

Opposition, in any form, would not be tolerated. And for those who dared to defy them, this was the only scenery that awaited them... a city of ghosts and the cold, impartial judgment of raining light.

The image of the Commissar kneeling in the ashes of his authority was the final, perfect frame. Carlos did not see a man broken by grief, but a tool that had been properly tempered. The lesson had been seared into the very stone of the city, a warning etched in laser-scorched earth.

Inside the cockpit of the Argos suit, the world outside was a silent, data-rich tapestry. Carlos's gaze swept over the tactical readouts.

[Operation Brush: Phase Two Complete. Civilian Casualty Estimate: 3.2%. Deemed Acceptable for Pacification Quotient.]

The words glowed, cold and clinical. He had not come here to be loved; he had come to ensure that the machine of control ran without friction.

"Set a course for the Iron Resolve," he commanded. "And open a channel to High Command. Priority: Black."