Venom Rose

Daggerheel—cracked and cold, a dwarf planet spinning alone near the Glitterbelt. Venom Rose called it a pit stop. A place to tune her strings, recharge her soul. Then the purring began. Low and deep, pulsing through subspace like a deathbed lullaby. Her amps screamed before she touched them. She looked up—and saw it. Meowtra. A titanic feline head, planet-sized, eyes glowing like dying stars. She wasn’t drifting—she was hunting. And straight in her path: the Glitterbelt, home to millions. But Meowtra didn’t travel alone. They came first—ripping through the sky in twitching, claw-shaped starships. Sentient. Anthropomorphic. Fleas. Tall, spindly-limbed beings encased in armored exoskeletons, built to leap, swarm, and shred. Each moved with erratic rhythm, like living riffs on a broken solo. They weren’t just riding Meowtra’s power—they were bonded to it. Pilots, warriors, worshippers. And now, they were descending. Venom lit her last cigarette and mounted the amp tower. With one scream of her coffin-shaped guitar, she lit up the sky—ripping parasites from the air in sonic blasts. Their ships dodged and danced, returning fire with piercing sound-claws and dissonant beams. Her tower burned. Her strings broke. But she didn’t stop. Not until she reached the comm deck. “Venom Rose, Daggerheel. Planet Meowtra inbound to the Glitterbelt—millions at risk. She’s not alone. Her defenders—they’re sentient. Flea-like. Armored. Armed. And they fight like hell. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” She slung her last guitar and stepped outside as Meowtra eclipsed the sky.