Start with a Hammer, End with Five Beast Husbands

Imperial Year 31415. Blue Star. A red dot settled between my brows. “Restricted zone.” The man’s voice was cold, edged with menace. “Turn around.” I didn’t move. A memory flashed—three days ago, my father had been taken in here. That day, the mine supervisor came for him in person. I stood outside the door and caught only one line: “Go take a look at that thing.” I followed him in secret. I saw him enter the spacecraft that had fallen from the sky a few days earlier… and he never came back. I rode my bike—two salvaged engines spliced together, powered by a black-market energy core, its frame welded inch by inch by my own hands. A massive black silhouette lay skewered across the wasteland. Its hull was torn open, charred; from the cracks seeped a faint blue glow—like it was breathing. I hid the bike among a pile of scrap rock. I had barely taken two steps— “Stop.” The red dot locked onto me again—my throat, my chest, then back to my forehead. From the shadows, he stepped out. “Unauthorized personnel are not permitted,” he said. My throat tightened, but I spoke anyway. “My father was called in three days ago for repairs. He’s a technician. I’m his assistant. We always work together.” He didn’t move. “Turn around.” The red dot was perfectly steady. I knew that if I took even one more step forward, he would shoot. I let out a slow breath, raised my hands, and backed away. One step. Two. Only when I retreated into the shadows did he fade back into the dark. I turned and went back to my bike, only then realizing my palms were slick with sweat. The engine roared to life, and I rode off. This abandoned zone is forbidden ground to everyone else—but to me, it’s like the backyard of my home. My father used to bring me here to “treasure hunt”—ores, chips, spare parts—anything could be turned into something useful. My bike, my childhood toys, even the appliances at home—piece by piece, were all built this way. I stopped at a collapsed mine pit. The entrance was pitch-black; no one dared go near it. I cut the engine, hid the bike, and slipped inside. Dampness, rust, and the cold scent of ore rushed over me. This path—I could walk it with my eyes closed. Downhill, a turn, squeezing through a narrow crack—places I had fallen countless times as a child. “Remember the route. Next time, you won’t fall.” My father’s voice echoed in my mind. I gritted my teeth and pushed forward. The deeper I went, the colder it got. A low tremor rumbled overhead—the ship’s engines. I quickened my pace, squeezing through the narrowest passage. Then, suddenly, it opened up. I spotted a tool kit on the ground—old, heavily worn. It was obviously my father’s. I opened it. Inside, along with the usual tools, was a set of work clothes. I changed quickly, pulled the cap low, tightened the sleeves. Then I took out a hammer from the kit—modified by my father. One end was embedded with a black crystal. He once told me it was the hardest substance in the universe. I’d always thought he was exaggerating. But now, the weight of it in my hand was… reassuring. I hooked the hammer at the small of my back, took a deep breath, and headed deeper into the mine. That abandoned tunnel led straight beneath the ship. As the vibrations above grew clearer, I knew—the ship was right overhead. Fresh scrape marks lined the ground. I pushed aside a loose slab of rock. Click. Behind it was a narrow passage, cleanly cut open. I closed my eyes for a brief second, then slipped inside. A few minutes later, a cold white light appeared ahead. When I stepped closer, I saw the rock wall had been torn open. Beyond it—cold metal. I reached out and touched it. A current shot up my arm. The next instant, it surged. Before I could pull back, a force yanked me forward. Weightlessness hit. I was dragged straight through the breach. The world spun. I slammed into the ground, staggered, and forced myself upright. Smooth alloy flooring beneath my feet. Overhead lights—cold, white, unwavering. I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them, adjusting to the brightness. This looked like a lower-level storage bay. Fixed racks lined the area in neat rows. Supplies were locked down—metal crates, sealed containers, unfamiliar equipment. Everything was in perfect order. But no one was there. I stopped in front of a door—flush with the wall. No handle, just a control panel. The control room had to be above. I reached out to touch it. No response. I pulled out the hammer, testing the edges. I could break it open—but it would be loud. It might draw those people from earlier. I paused, thinking. What would my father do? He’d bypass it. Find a maintenance route. I had just turned to leave when the ground jolted beneath my feet. The entire space shuddered. A low hum rose from deep within the floor—the engines coming alive. Then a stronger jolt. Racks rattled. Metal clanged. My heart clenched. —The ship had started. “…No way.” Was it about to take off? The vibrations intensified again. I grabbed onto a rack to steady myself. If it really lifted off, my father and I, We’d never make it back. No. I have to get upstairs. Just then, a cold electronic voice echoed through the ship: “Attention all personnel—” “The ship will initiate its first jump in five minutes.”