Last Circle on Kesh

 

The storm-lashed ruins of the ancient Sith temple on Kesh had become an open grave. Eighty-three combatants had been dropped from orbit in escape pods exactly seven hours earlier. The orbital platform above had already narrowed the allowable zone three times. Now only a single shrinking circle of violet lightning remained—barely two kilometers across.Vana Torm, former Imperial Shadow Guard, crouched behind a toppled obsidian pillar. Her electrostaff hummed at the lowest setting, just enough to keep the rainwater from shorting the weapon. Across the broken plaza she could see three others still alive:

• A Mandalorian in scorched silver-and-black beskar, rocket boots smoking from overuse.
• A Mirialan Nightsister whose green tattoos glowed faintly whenever she moved her fingers through the air, weaving something dark and patient.
• A young human scavenger boy—no older than seventeen—clutching a cracked purple lightsaber that clearly did not belong to him.

The boy was shaking. Not from cold.Vana’s comm bead crackled once. A synthetic voice from the platform overhead:“Final perimeter established. Ninety seconds until lethal-zone contraction. The last combatant receives freedom and two million Republic credits. Begin.”No fanfare. No music. Just the sudden scream of wind as the lightning wall tightened another fifty meters.The Mandalorian moved first—predictable. A whipcord launcher snapped toward the Nightsister. She didn’t dodge. Instead she raised one hand and the durasteel cable simply stopped mid-flight, writhing like a living thing before snapping back at double speed. It wrapped the Mandalorian’s throat. He triggered his flamethrower in panic; orange fire painted the rain in hissing steam.The Nightsister smiled thinly and yanked.Beskar met obsidian at speed. The helmet cracked like an egg. The body didn’t get up.Now two remained who mattered.The boy looked at Vana across thirty meters of broken statues. His knuckles were white around the stolen saber hilt. The blade flickered erratically—unstable crystal, poor kyber alignment. He was going to die holding someone else’s destiny.Vana stood slowly, letting him see her. No sudden moves. She thumbed her electrostaff off completely.“You’re not a killer,” she called over the storm. “And that blade is already killing you. Feel it? The feedback tremor in your elbows?”The boy’s lip trembled. “I didn’t ask for this.”“None of us did.” Vana took one deliberate step forward. “But only one walks off this rock.”Lightning flashed. For a heartbeat the entire ruined plaza turned violet-white.The boy lunged.He was fast—faster than she expected. The purple blade hissed toward her chest in a sloppy but powerful overhand strike. Vana didn’t ignite her weapon. Instead she stepped inside the arc, left palm slapping the boy’s wrist upward while her right drove a precise knuckle strike into the soft place beneath his sternum.He folded like cheap flimsi. The lightsaber spun out of his hand and skittered across wet stone, still burning.Vana caught him before he hit the ground. She lowered him gently, one knee in the pooling rainwater.“I’m sorry,” the boy gasped. Blood flecked his lips. The stolen saber had bitten him somewhere deep on the way down.“I know,” Vana said.She reached across him and picked up the fallen lightsaber. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt the blade steadied—violet turning clean, angry crimson.Of course. It had been waiting for someone who understood how to carry guilt.Above them the lightning wall hissed inward, now only steps away.Vana pressed two fingers to the boy’s throat. Pulse gone.She stood. Looked up at the invisible judges orbiting far overhead.“I claim the bounty,” she said, voice flat. “And I’m keeping the saber.”Silence for three heartbeats.Then the synthetic voice returned:“Combatant Vana Torm. Victor. Transponder beacon activated. Extraction shuttle inbound. Congratulations.”The lightning wall froze—then reversed, peeling back like burning film.Vana clipped the crimson blade to her belt beside the silent electrostaff. She looked down at the boy one last time.“You lasted longer than most,” she told the body. “That’s something.”Rain continued to fall on the dead temple as the extraction lights finally broke through the storm clouds—cold, white, and indifferent.She walked toward them without looking back.Eighty-three had fallen.
One walked away.
And the galaxy, as always, didn’t care which name was attached to the statistic.

Series Review: Terraformars

 

Terraformars is one of those anime/manga series that dares you to look away—and then punishes you if you do. Brutal, bizarre, and unapologetically extreme, it takes a pulp sci-fi premise and pushes it into body-horror territory with startling commitment.

The setup is gloriously unhinged: centuries after humanity terraforms Mars using algae and cockroaches, the planet evolves something terrifyingly humanoid. When genetically enhanced human teams are sent to reclaim the planet, the story becomes a relentless survival narrative where evolution itself is the enemy.

What Terraformars does exceptionally well is conceptual escalation. Each mission introduces new genetic modifications inspired by real animals—mantis shrimp, bullet ants, poison dart frogs—and the series often pauses to explain the biology behind them. These pseudo-scientific interludes are strangely compelling, grounding the madness in just enough reality to make it feel plausible. If you enjoy speculative science pushed to grotesque extremes, this is catnip.

The tone, however, is not for everyone. Terraformars is grim to the point of excess. Characters are introduced with rich backstories only to be violently erased moments later. The series leans heavily into shock value—graphic deaths, body mutilation, and an almost nihilistic sense that heroism rarely matters. At its best, this reinforces the theme that nature is indifferent and survival is not fair. At its worst, it feels exploitative and emotionally exhausting.

Visually, the manga is far stronger and more consistent than the anime adaptations. The art style emphasizes exaggerated musculature and monstrous transformations, reinforcing the idea that humanity must abandon its own form to survive. The anime’s first season captures this intensity, but later adaptations suffer from tonal inconsistency and stylistic missteps that blunt the impact.

Ultimately, Terraformars is a series you admire more than you enjoy—unless you enjoy being unsettled. It’s a savage meditation on evolution, colonial arrogance, and the cost of survival, wrapped in a hyperviolent shell. If you’re looking for subtlety, warmth, or hope, look elsewhere. If you want science fiction that feels like it’s punching you in the face while lecturing you on biology, Terraformars delivers exactly what it promises.

Verdict: Ambitious, disturbing, uneven—but unforgettable.