Fallout Game Merchant 2.0

Chapter 184: Zetans Attack! Part 3

Six hovered just above the cracked snow, the pressure around him bending the world slightly, like reality itself was being crushed inward. From his hip, his twin Desert Eagles gleamed—a spectral black with veins of light running through the barrels, feeding into custom runes inscribed by his own hand.

He raised them, fingers calm but coiled like a coiled viper.

Eyes of the Spirit: Active.

The battlefield lit up in his vision—structure points, power fluctuations, living signatures, trajectory movement—all visible. He wasn’t looking at the world anymore. He was reading it.

Then came the chorus of thunder—

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!

Each shot echoed a commandment, like the toll of a divine bell, not just heard, but felt—deep in the bones of every living thing on that battlefield. As laws were rewritten in the universe with each pull of the trigger.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang—

The first shots sliced through the shimmering energy domes that protected the Zetans, followed by shots that erased a squad of Zetan skirmishers mid-charge, their forms disintegrating into a haze of glowing mist before they even knew they’d been marked.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang—

The next four targeted key structural joints in a nearby war mech, the Decomposition shots did what no conventional weapon ever could. The shields—crafted from alien energies—flickered, groaned, and then imploded, unmaking the alien alloy at a molecular level.

The machine screamed with a voice it shouldn’t have had as it collapsed, imploding in on itself, its neural core silenced forever, as the ships shattered into bursts of starless mist.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang—

High in the sky, four Zetan ships darted to reposition—but Six already saw their trajectory before they did. His fingers danced like a conductor, pulling invisible threads, and each shot found its mark in the warp cores beneath their hull plating. One by one, they were unwritten, their forms winking out like forgotten dreams.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!

The final four—deliberate, calculated, ruthless—were aimed not at soldiers, but at command nodes: psionic relays and comm towers hidden behind cloaking fields. But Six didn’t need eyes—he had the Spirit. The rounds cracked through reality itself, homing in, and in seconds, the battlefield’s alien communications web was gutted, severed from the fleet’s hivemind.

A silence fell.

A living silence.

The snowflakes didn’t dare touch the ground. The air seemed to pause.

And then the Zetan line began to break. Not from loss. From fear.

They had seen weapons. They had seen resistance. But they had never seen something that didn’t fight them...

...It judged them.

From behind the cover of the War Bus, Boone lowered his rifle and muttered:

"Holy shit..."

Cassidy let out a low whistle.

"Never seen a man take apart an army like a god sketchin’ in a notebook."

Inside the bus, Kimball stared out, the reflection of Six still glowing in his pupils.

"Is he... human?"

Rebecca, holding her belly that carried their youngest child, smiled faintly, proud and amused.

"Nope."

She said softly.

"He’s mine."

And outside, Six stood alone, smoking barrels still glowing, the wind catching his coat like a banner of war.

The Zetan command ship—last in orbit—began to flee.

Six raised one gun lazily.

"...One more."

Bang.

The final shot was fired straight into the clouds—an archangel arc of silver energy that screamed like a banshee. Above, the largest of the Zetan crafts—a command vessel the size of a pre-war football stadium—shuddered.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—

FWOOOOOOOM.

A dark flower of annihilation bloomed across the sky. No explosion. No fireball. Just erasure. The ship ceased to be. Not destroyed—deleted.

Silence followed, broken only by the whisper of wind and the crackle of residual energy. The battlefield was still. No Zetan moved. Nothing dared to.

Six lowered his weapons, the glowing runes on his body dimming to a soft pulse. His breath misted out like smoke from a forge.

He turned toward the War Bus.

"We’re not done."

He said flatly, his hair glowing phosphorus white like moonlit ash.

"We begin here."

From behind the glass, Kimball stared in disbelief.

"What are you?"

Six glanced up, his jagged obsidian-black horns glowing in the reflection of the snow.

"I’m the end of what thought it could conquer my world."

"I’m the Sun God, Mahesvara."

A ripple tore through the clouds overhead as if the heavens themselves bent under the weight of that name.

Mahesvara.

Not a title. A truth. A declaration written not in ink, but in the ashes of fallen empires.

The War Bus doors opened with a slow hiss, and Rebecca stepped out, her coat flaring behind her, hand resting on the swell of her stomach as if to anchor the coming generation to the earth their father was now protecting with mythic violence. Her expression was soft, but her eyes? Those burned with the kind of pride only seen in legends.

Kimball stumbled forward behind her, boots crunching in the fractured frost. He looked up at Six—no, Mahesvara—and the chasm between soldier and sovereign stretched wider than the battlefield beneath their feet.

"You took down a fleet. A fleet."

Six didn’t turn, just reloaded the Desert Eagles, the sound crisp, surgical—inevitable.

"I didn’t take them down."

He replied, his voice smooth but final, like granite polished by centuries.

"I reminded them of the truth of the world."

Kimball blinked.

"And what truth is that?"

Six finally turned, locking eyes with him.

"I don’t kneel. And don’t like anyone touching my things"

Behind him, the remains of the Zetan fleet hung like fading ghosts in the sky, their presence reduced to a distant memory and smoldering silence.

The wind carried the scent of ozone, scorched metal, and something older—primordial. The world itself seemed to breathe easier now, as if its guardian had returned.

Raul stepped up beside Kimball, the Mexican ghoul giving a nod of grudging respect.

"So... what now, boss?"

Six looked to the horizon where the Zetan mothership had once loomed.

"Now?"

He said, sliding his Desert Eagles back into their holsters, the runes along his arms fading back beneath his skin.

"...Now I send a message."

Rebecca arched an eyebrow, arms crossed.

"To who?"

Six smiled faintly.

"To every other bastard watching."

He raised his hand to the sky, and a single flare shot up—an obsidian beam crowned with violet fire, crackling with information encoded into light itself.

A warning.

A challenge.

A promise.

In the void beyond stars, other empires would see it. Other invaders. Other would-be gods.

And they would know—

Earth had a Protectorate God now.

And he wasn’t in the business of mercy.