Chapter 235. Inside the Ship
The exterior of the Lightbringer was a marvel of alien engineering, but Noah knew that the true soul of a ship lay within its corridors. As they drifted alongside the sleek, yellow-green hull, he searched for a way inside. The ship's hatches were sealed tight, and without a key or a passcode, the traditional route was closed to them. But Noah was never one for tradition.
He led Lissandra and Gwen toward the forward section, where a massive, wrap-around canopy of orange-tinted glass glowed like a dragon's eye. This was the cockpit, the nerve center of the vessel.
"Hold on tight," Noah whispered.
He reached out, his mind tapping into the raw power of the Tesseract. Since he had assimilated the Space Stone's essence, his [Blink] ability had evolved into something far more potent. He no longer just moved himself; he folded the very fabric of reality. With a sudden flare of golden light, the three of them vanished from the vacuum of space.
A heartbeat later, they were standing on a soft, carpeted floor.
The cockpit was surprisingly intimate, spanning roughly ten square meters. It was a symphony of holographic displays, recessed control panels, and glowing conduits. In the center stood two pilot seats, their ergonomic designs suggesting long hours spent at the helm.
The left seat was an island of chaos in the otherwise sterile environment. It was cluttered with colorful trinkets, strange charms, and a small army of stuffed toys. In the center of this collection sat a clockwork monkey, its fur matted and its glassy eyes staring blankly at the wall.
Noah stared at the toy, a cold shiver running down his spine. Given that this ship had once been the haunt of someone like Jinx, that monkey wasn't just a toy. It was a catastrophe waiting for a reason to happen.
"Whoa... we're actually inside?" Gwen spun in a slow circle, her fingers dancing toward the glowing buttons and foreign tech. She looked like a child in a candy store, her eyes widening as they landed on the toys. "Oh, look! A little monkey!"
"Gwen, don't touch that!" Noah barked, pulling her hand back. "That thing probably has enough explosive yield to level a city block."
He turned toward Lissandra, who was already surveying the command console with a clinical eye. "Lissandra, can you interface with the ship's mainframe?"
Lissandra stepped forward, her movements fluid and regal. She placed a pale hand upon the central console. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the screens erupted in a frantic crimson strobe, lines of alien code cascading downward like a digital waterfall. The lights in the cockpit flickered and died, plunging them into darkness for three long, tense seconds before humming back to life with a soft, steady azure glow.
"The Lightbringer's systems are now under our total jurisdiction," Lissandra announced, her voice calm and devoid of boastfulness, as if seizing control of a faster-than-light starship was as simple as turning a page.
"Excellent," Noah nodded, feeling the ship's life-breath—the hum of the reactors and the hiss of the vents—align with Lissandra's presence. He didn't know if the ship had possessed an onboard AI before, but with Lissandra at the helm, it now had a goddess. "Let's see what else this bird is hiding."
He watched the screens flicker with technical schematics, fuel levels, and structural integrity reports as Lissandra began her diagnostic. Before they moved on, however, Noah's gaze returned to the monkey. It felt wrong to leave it there. He carefully picked up the toy, intending to inspect it.
The moment his fingers brushed the fur, the monkey's eyes snapped open, glowing a malevolent, pulsing red. Creeeak... The toy began to move, its wooden arms jerking as it started to clash its tiny metal cymbals together. Clang! Clang! Clang! A shrill, mocking laughter echoed through the cockpit.
"Nope. Not today," Noah muttered. He snapped his fingers, opening a miniature portal just inches from the toy and flicking the mechanical nightmare through it into the void.
Boom!
The silence of space was absolute, but the visual was deafening. The monkey had barely drifted fifty meters when it vanished into a sun-bright sphere of fire. The explosion expanded rapidly, a gout of orange and violet flames reaching two hundred meters across, momentarily outshining the distant stars.
Noah winced at the sheer scale of the blast. Good grief. Every version of Jinx across the multiverse is exactly the same brand of crazy. He looked at the spot where the monkey had been and realized that Yasuo had likely been flying around with a nuclear-tier suicide vest tucked right next to his head.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, thankful he had only summoned the ship and not its former, more "volatile" inhabitants.
Gwen stood frozen, her mouth slightly ajar as she watched the embers of the explosion dissipate against the black. She had thought the toy was cute. Now, she realized it was a herald of certain death.
"Let's move," Noah said, shaking his head. He led them through a circular hatch that hissed open as they approached—Lissandra was already anticipating his every step.
What followed was a grand tour of the vessel's interior. They walked through echoing corridors of brushed alloy, passing by crew quarters that felt strangely lived-in. In one cabin, Noah opened a locker to find a collection of robes and gear—exact replicas of Yasuo's attire. The system hadn't just copied the ship; it had mirrored the lives within it, creating brand-new, unworn versions of everything.
Noah ran a hand over a deep blue tunic. It was sturdy, refined, and possessed a certain wanderer's charm. "I think I'll keep this," he mused. "It suits the mood."
"I could make you something even better," Gwen chirped, her excitement returning. "Just give me the measurements!"
They passed through a common area that looked like a high-tech lounge, featuring entertainment systems and games from a world Noah had never seen. He couldn't resist pausing for a moment, pressing a few buttons on an arcade-like terminal that hummed with neon light.
Finally, they reached the cargo bay. It was a cavernous space, housing several single-pilot shuttles—sleek, needle-shaped craft designed for rapid deployment.
"It's a fine ship," Noah concluded as they finished their circuit. "But it's not a warship. Not yet."
He had realized during the tour that the Lightbringer had likely begun its life as a merchant vessel or a high-end transport for an interstellar trade guild in the Odyssey universe. It was built for comfort and speed, with state-of-the-art life support systems, but its teeth were few. Aside from the two prow-mounted emitters that doubled as thrusters, it was practically unarmed.
Noah didn't mind. In fact, his mind was already racing with possibilities. He felt a surge of inspiration, a phantom whisper of genius that felt remarkably like Heimerdinger's manic creativity. He could see where the pulse-cannons should go, how to reinforce the shields with enchanted plating, and how to turn the cargo bay into a laboratory that would make Stark green with envy.
"First thing's first," Noah said, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "We turn this cargo bay into a proper R&D center. And then... we see how fast this thing can really go."
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