The Strongest in the Galaxy (Mates and Mayhem in the IMPERIUM #1)

Chapter 1

The Whispers of Fate

Khar

"Whatever you do, do not anger a Divani. They are a ruthless, calculating species where unnerving intelligence meets overwhelming physical force. Exceptional soldiers in times of war… yet in times of peace, it is safest not to stand too close."

The IMPERIUM Guide to Peaceful Coexistence with Registered Spacefaring Species

If anyone ever asked for Khar’s opinion, and thank the Universe’s Cradle that almost no one did, it usually came down to one thing: the Universe could choke on its own black core and he would not raise a single claw to stop it.

Today, however, the Universe had other plans. Specifically, it had decided to finally teach a certain Divani male a lesson after far too many years of coasting on the effortless privilege of being born exceptional.

Khar was not accustomed to weakness.

The Divani, his people, ranked among the strongest of all Registered Spacefaring Species.

Even among them, he was exceptional. In Divani society, where body size directly correlated with strength, intelligence, and leadership potential, Khar had been destined for greatness.

A destiny he had walked away from without much regret, choosing instead to waste his galactic days at the far edge of the known galaxy on a space station, living a life of comfortable monotony.

Until this moment.

Khar was also not accustomed to waiting.

At Gravity Pulls, a gym designed for soldiers, elite athletes, and creatures from high-gravity worlds, the regulars already knew the rules. When Khar walked in, it was wise to clear whichever section he intended to use. When Khar wanted a machine, everyone else simply vanished from that quadrant.

Today, however, two offenses struck him at once, sharp as a laser blade driven into the base of his carefully polished horns.

An unfamiliar lifeform sprawled across the very machine he wanted.

Even that he might have tolerated. What he could not ignore was the arm and forelimb press being set to a resistance so high that even he found it difficult to move, let alone lift repeatedly.

The alien was tiny, with a narrow torso and two arms and two legs dangling loosely from it.

Its body was sheathed in a dark, clinging material that covered everything except the lower half of its round, hornless head.

Against pale skin, a small mouth curved in a surprisingly soft line of red.

For one dangerous moment, Khar’s attention caught on those lips.

He crushed the thought immediately.

He did not consider himself xenophobic. When he encountered new species, he despised all of them equally if they were weaker than he was. Yet somehow this little nothing, not even listed among the Registered Spacefaring Species, managed to mock him simply by existing.

And that was before it spoke.

"Waiting for this too? I have two sets left. We can alternate if you want."

Even its voice was velvet, a complete betrayal of the insult its presence represented.

Khar stared without blinking into the creature’s plain, unlit eyes, his own inner-lit gaze flaring bright enough to send most species fleeing. Civilized entities tended to evolve from herd-minded herbivores. They instinctively recognized when they were standing too close to a predator.

The creature merely lifted one shoulder in a shrug and resumed its reps when he did not answer.

Khar’s focus snapped away when one of his favorite war anthems thundered through the gym speakers.

This station hosted countless species, and cross-cultural exchange was encouraged. Anyone could upload motivational music from their homeworld. But this track was from an Unregistered Race. Too fast. Too violent for most.

For Khar, it sounded like rebirth.

To distract himself from the indignity the tiny alien had caused, he headed for the reception desk to inquire about whoever had requested the song. Perhaps the uploader had more tracks from that mysterious species.

His heavy steps echoed down the corridor, drawing the usual mix of envious and respectful stares. No surprise. His size alone dwarfed the galactic average, not to mention the bulging muscles beneath taut skin, the curved horns crowning his forehead, and the gleam of his claws. A nightmare for many.

Fear had never concerned him. His own thoughts and pleasures always came first.

He refused to let this minor annoyance ruin what had otherwise been a very good galactic day. He had woken in peak condition, had no duties, and the gym finally smelled different. Instead of the hateful sting of disinfectant that assaulted his predator-sharp nose, the air carried something else.

Something like a luxury perfume.

He almost considered complimenting the receptionist for once.

When he reached the desk, he slammed a clawed hand onto the counter hard enough to make the slim Dak’ri worker drop their holopad. They had met before. They knew better than to test a Divani’s patience.

"Khar, how can I help you?" the trembling receptionist asked.

Khar’s low, rumbling voice carried easily across the room, even though he made no effort to raise it. Authority clung to him whether he wanted it or not.

"The song that just ended. Who uploaded it?"

The Dak’ri hurriedly retrieved their holopad.

"Oh, that one. It is from an Unregistered Spacefaring Species, but the uploader listed the genre. Let me see… rock from the hum…man? No. The Human race."

Khar’s eyes flared brighter, a clear sign of displeasure.

"That is not what I asked. Who has it?"

The receptionist shrank in their seat.

"Khar… I cannot give out personal information once someone leaves the gym. But I thought I saw you talking to them earlier."

Khar’s brow furrowed between his horns. Talking? Impossible. There had been no one worth acknowledging.

Unless this fool meant that ridiculous little runt.

Without a word, Khar turned and stalked away. The Dak’ri collapsed into their chair with a relieved gasp.

He returned to the machine.

It was empty now, scrubbed clean by the automated sanitizing systems. No scent. No sweat. Nothing to track.

He sat, gripped the handles, and prepared to reclaim his domain.

To his shock, he could barely move the bars.

Absurd.

If that scrawny alien had managed it, then he, exemplar of the Divani, certainly could. He stood, circled the machine, checked the settings, found nothing amiss, and finally rebooted it. Only then did the resistance return to normal, and he moved easily through his reps.

Balance restored.

Or so he thought.

Curiosity, however, was the Divani’s greatest vice when it came to strength. When no one was looking, Khar opened the machine’s training log. His name dominated the leaderboards, as always.

Except now the alien’s entry matched his record.

Exactly.

And beside it, a small symbol blinked.

Increased gravity setting: active.

Khar’s carefully ordered universe shattered.

Irrevocably.