Chapter 183: 183. The Trial (2)

The fourth screen turned its attention to Owen.

“The second accused. You claim no knowledge of the vault theft?”

Owen met the obscured projection’s gaze. “Correct. That happened centuries before I was born.”

“Yet you traveled with Gorvax. Aided his escape. Fought Enforcers on his behalf.”

“I made a choice to Help a friend or abandon him, and I chose to help.”

“A friend who destroyed worlds. Harvested billions.”

Owen’s voice was steady. “A friend who’s trying to save someone he loves. Yeah. That friend.”

The screen pulsed. “Love does not excuse genocide.”

“I never said it did.” Owen’s lips twitched. “But it kinda explains it. And understanding why someone does something doesn’t mean you agree with it. Just means you’re not an idiot who thinks the universe is black and white.”

The fifth screen spoke. “You speak carelessly for someone on trial.”

“I speak honestly. Thought that was the point of a trial.”

The first screen: “Your honesty is noted. As is your insolence.”

Owen almost smiled. “Thanks.”

The fourth screen’s voice shifted. More intense. More focused.

“Your CE signature. It reads as Tier 5, five-stars. Highly unusual for a lesser world human.”

“I train hard.”

“Training does not explain such rapid advancement. You achieved five-stars in what… weeks? Months at most?”

Owen kept his face neutral. “I had good mentors. Fought tough enemies. Learned fast.”

“Or you possess some… genetic advantages.”

“Hmm… Like what?”

The screen pulsed. “Enhancements. Modifications. Alterations to your baseline species.”

Owen’s heart rate spiked but he kept his voice calm. “I’m just a human who got lucky. Wrong place, wrong time, right opportunities.”

“Your cellular structure shows… irregularities.”

“I’ve been through a lot. Fought cosmic beasts. Survived a dungeon. Maybe that changed me.”

“Cosmic radiation does not alter fundamental genetic markers.”

Owen shrugged. “Then I’m a mutant. Lesser worlds have those. Genetic anomalies. Come on, It happens.”

The fourth screen seemed to lean forward, though it was only a projection. “You would submit to a full genetic analysis? To prove your claim?”

Owen’s jaw tightened. “No.”

“Why not? If you have nothing to hide—”

“Because I don’t trust you people to not dissect me ’for science’ if you find something interesting.” Owen’s voice hardened. “I’m already sentenced to Prison World and now You want to study me? Wait until I’m dead.”

The screen pulsed brighter, frustrated.

But the fifth screen interrupted. “The accused has the right to refuse invasive testing. Speculation without evidence is insufficient. If you wish to pursue genetic analysis, submit a formal petition. Until then, move on.”

The fourth screen dimmed. Reluctantly.

Owen exhaled slowly.

—

Kaelon stepped forward again.

“The Tribunal has heard the charges. The evidence is clear. Gorvax is guilty of theft, genocide, and crimes against the cosmic order. The second accused is guilty of aiding a fugitive and resisting Tribunal authority.”

He gestured to the screens.

“The Tribunal will now deliberate and pass sentence.”

The five screens flickered. Went dark. The voices conferred in silence, conversations hidden from the chamber.

The crowd waited. The murmuring resumed but quieter now. Anticipation.

Owen glanced at Gorvax. His face was stone.

Minutes passed.

Then the screens reactivated.

The first screen spoke.

“The Tribunal has reached a verdict.”

The second screen: “Gorvax of the Vexari. You are found guilty on all charges.”

The third screen: “Standard sentence for theft from a Noble Race vault is execution.”

The fourth screen: “However, the Tribunal recognizes certain… factors. Your knowledge of cosmic gardening techniques. Your tier. Your potential value as a study subject.”

The fifth screen: “You will be sentenced to Prison World. Season 47. Duration: indefinite. No pardon eligibility. Survival until natural death or combat elimination. If you survive the full season, your case will be reviewed regarding the missing genetic material.”

Gorvax’s expression didn’t change. But his hands clenched slightly.

The first screen turned its focus to Owen.

“The being known as ’False Fist.’ You are found guilty of aiding a fugitive and resisting Enforcer authority.”

The second screen: “Standard sentence would be imprisonment for 50 standard years in a containment facility.”

The third screen: “However, your combat record, your tier, and your… unique potential make you suitable for alternative sentencing.”

The fourth screen: “You will be sentenced to Prison World. Season 47. Pardon eligible if survival value exceeds 1,000,000,000 credits by season’s end.”

Owen’s jaw tightened. “And if I refuse?”

The fifth screen’s voice was cold. “Refusal results in immediate termination. Choose now.”

Owen looked at Gorvax. Then back at the screens.

“I accept.”

The first screen: “Sentencing is finalized. Both accused will be transported to Prison World within 24 standard hours. Medical care for associated non-combatant parties will continue during incarceration period, contingent on prisoner compliance.”

Gorvax’s head snapped up. “Seri?”

The second screen: “The individual known as Seri will remain in Tribunal medical custody. She will receive continued treatment. If you survive Season 47, her status will be reviewed for potential release.”

Gorvax’s voice was tight. “And if I die?”

The third screen: “She will be released to spend her remaining time in peace. Medical support will be provided until natural expiration.”

Silence.

Then Gorvax nodded.

The screens went dark.

Kaelon stepped down from the prosecutor’s podium. “The trial is concluded. Remove the prisoners.”

The Guards moved forward and Grabbed Owen and Gorvax by their restraints.

The crowd erupted. Some cheered. Some jeered. Some simply watched with cold, analytical interest.

Owen was led toward the exit corridor.

As they passed through, he glanced back at the chamber one last time.

The five screens remained dark. The Judges had already moved on to whatever came next.

—

They were returned to holding cells.

But not the same ones. These were different. Harsher. Closer to the transport bay.

Owen sat on the metal bench. Stared at the wall.

Gorvax was in the adjacent cell.

Neither spoke for a long time.

Then Owen broke the silence.

“The vial, was of the progenitors’ Matriarch blood line?”

Gorvax’s voice was quiet. “I guess so.”

“Whoa…so, Could I be more special than I thought?” Owen said as he glanced at his hands.

“Maybe…”

Owen leaned back against the wall. “24 hours. Then we’re prisoners for real.”

“Yes.”

“You ready?”

Gorvax was silent.

Then: “No. But I’ll survive anyway. For Seri.”

Owen almost smiled. “Good. Because I’m not dying in some cosmic gladiator arena. Not when I have people waiting for me at home.”

Gorvax looked at him through the wall. “You still think you’ll make it back?”

“I have to.”

“Then I hope you’re right, Dragon.”

—

In the medical bay, three levels below the Tribunal Chamber, Seri watched the trial’s broadcast on a screen mounted to her hover-platform.

She watched Gorvax stand before the Judges. Watched him sentenced to Prison World.

Tears streamed down her face.

“Survive, Gor,” she whispered. “Please. Just survive.”

The screen went dark.

Outside her window, the neutron star pulsed.

3.7 seconds. Again. Again. Again.

Time that could not be stopped.

Justice that could not be escaped.

—

24 hours later, Owen and Gorvax stood in a transport bay.

Around them, 198 other prisoners. All sentenced to Prison World. All waiting.

The bay doors opened.

A massive transport ship waited. Black. Featureless. Built for one purpose: delivering convicts.

A voice echoed through the bay.

“Board now. Season 47 begins upon landing. Survive. Entertain. Earn your freedom.”

Owen stepped forward.

Gorvax followed.

The doors sealed behind them.

The ship launched.

Destination: Prison World.

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