As Selene’s regent-intelligence servitor and one of her household attendants, ndicant Bias naturally paid close attention to the Empress’ shifting moods and interests.
Governance was one thing, but when it ca to leisure, he could just as seamlessly adapt to her preferences.
Perhaps one mont, the docunts on the study desk concerned matters of utmost importance—the rise and fall of alien species across the Empire’s domains and the livelihoods of colonial citizens—and the next, even the most obscure tabloids from the farthest governorates would be prepared and presented in advance to serve Selene’s passing curiosities.
Though, truth be told, ndicant Bias still didn’t quite understand why Selene found such fascination in those folk tales and local gossip rags.
Was it curiosity? A desire to view her subjects’ daily lives from a different perspective? Or simply boredom seeking amusent?
ndicant Bias couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—his data processing and logic modules clearly still had room for improvent.
"Rogue Trader Daily...?"
Stretching lazily, Selene glanced at the neatly stacked and reviewed morials and reports on her desk, nodding with mild satisfaction. "As expected of —efficient as always."
Then, she casually picked up a small golden pill—one of the refined results of her modified Ōtsutsuki... or rather, Selene-style Honkai Alchemy—crafted from the primordial fruit of the God Tree’s chakra harvested from Colony World No. XIII–638059.
Crunch.
"Oh, it’s the local paper from the 1st Legion’s colonial sector," she murmured as she chewed, much like one would snack on sunflower seeds. Accepting the freshly printed, old-style newspaper that ndicant Bias had materialized from thin air, she brought it close and inhaled softly.
"Mmm~ the faint fragrance of herbal ink. After staring at inorganic projections and holo-screens all day, this vintage touch does have its charm."
The paper was filled with local dialects translated in real-ti—stories of who had been executed or honored, which rchant’s daughter or son had joined the free-trader caravans, who struck it rich, and who was lost to a warp anomaly—simple news of the sort common folk found endlessly entertaining.
"...Lauding the Empire’s glory again? How dull."
In one corner of the tabloid, Selene even noticed the sycophantic verses of failed literati seeking favor from local officials.
"The planet’s forr ruling noble family, upon the death of their old governor, left the corpse unburied and donned armor to fight one another..."
Her eyes flicked over the passage, a faint glimr of interest lighting them.
"Oh? Another ambitious soul has entered my net, it seems."
Due to the militarized administration of the Inquisition’s 23625th Expansion Sector, none of the rational lifeforms in the occupied star systems had yet been granted citizenship. Governance remained brutally simple—law enforcent, census registration, and plague prevention, all enforced with uncompromising efficiency.
On a whim, Selene released a fragnt of her divided consciousness—and monts later, it returned, carrying with it the joy of having dyed the Force in her own color.
The Force had now found its way into the Honkai Dinsion—yet another guest had arrived.
Neither the ’landlord,’ Honkai Energy, nor the ’senior tenants’—demonic qi, spiritual power, youki, psychokinesis, aura, psionics, mana, or chakra—showed hostility. Instead, they all eagerly gathered around, pressing in like greasy middle-aged n greeting a young, bare, and blushing newcor.
...
Ahem.
Another supernatural energy had joined the Honkai Dinsion as nourishnt—as a new branch.
Honkai Simulation: The Force.
Selene extended her hand, and from her palm rose a surge of blood-red particles wrapped in black mist.
Fear... anger... hatred... fear... malice...
"As expected..." she whispered.
Without tricks or rituals, simply by awakening through her own convictions, she had indeed attuned to the dark side of the Force.
A tide of overwhelming, negative emotions swept through her consciousness like a storm, enveloping her vision in a shroud of deep, endless darkness.
Her blood-red pupils dilated and contracted like those of a beast—but her expression remained calm, even blissful, as she imrsed herself in the dinsion of darkness, savoring the origin of this supernatural power.
In that mont, Selene felt warmth in her palm—the sensation of blood itself.
Countless visions flashed before Selene’s eyes—severed limbs reaching out to grasp her, scenes upon scenes of carnage. On Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple, across countless worlds of the galaxy, Jedi Knights were being struck down by their own clone troopers—caught completely off guard, torn apart, blood and limbs scattered as screams filled the air.
Betrayal.
Order 66.
Selene’s eyes flickered with sudden understanding.
This was the infamous cleansing order issued by Palpatine, then still the Chancellor of the Republic—commanding the Grand Army of the Republic’s clone forces to execute all Jedi as traitors. It was this that brought about the near-extinction of the Jedi Order.
Though, whether Order 66 was a Jedi Purge Order or a Jedi Proliferation Order... Selene couldn’t say for sure.
After all, the Jedi were annihilated, yes—but their reputation had been thoroughly cleansed. From the scorn and suspicion of the late Republic, the idea of the Jedi had rebounded and spread like wildfire. Those who embraced the Way of the Jedi multiplied across the galaxy—at rates even more astonishing than cancer cells.
Palpatine’s Galactic Empire had been driven nearly mad trying to suppress the uprisings and insurgencies, endless campaigns of pacification and control—far more frequent, by Selene’s estimate, than in her own Empire.
She smiled faintly. "Well, I’m not Palpatine. I’m far more generous than he ever was. If it spreads like cancer—then we’ll just cleanse one planet at a ti. Convert or die."
After all, the Emperor—the Old Man of the Imperium—had left her with an astronomical number of armies.
"Lightsaber..."
As if rembering sothing, Selene raised her slender fingers and gestured. In her palm appeared a short, thick hilt, fitted with a pair of small switches. Above it was a tal emitter dish, barely larger than her open palm. The hilt and emitter were adorned with small, gem-like components.
A Jedi’s lightsaber.
Hummm!
The lightsaber ignited. A blade of shimring green energy flared to life in Selene’s grasp, writhing and flickering like fire—then slowly shifted, deepening into a blood-red hue.
Without hesitation, her delicate, unprotected hand grasped the blade directly, embedding her fingers into the energy. A chorus of harsh, buzzing shrieks filled the elegant, opulent study as scarlet light flared, casting her face in a demonic glow.
Crack.
The lightsaber shattered—crushed from blade to hilt in Selene’s grasp.
Reducing the ruined weapon to dust between her fingers, she murmured softly:
"A pity. The Sith Order perished before the Jedi Order did—only a few stragglers remained, passing down fragnts of power from generation to generation. Hardly worth ntioning."
"Only a quarter of Darth Sidious’ Galactic Empire has chosen to heed Darth Vader’s counsel and change banners unconditionally..."
"Such stubborn fools and would-be usurpers... but it’s enough."
"What I truly require are the industrial worlds of the Inner and Mid Rims—their developed production chains, their workers and engineers—not the sprawling noble houses and interstellar corporations."
The old Galactic Republic had rotted from within. Even when Darth Vader had been Anakin Skywalker, he had despised those sa Inner Rim magnates and corrupt gacorporations that dood the Republic.
If they were wise, Selene would tolerate them.
Her magnanimity was boundless.
If they insisted on dying—so be it.
The newly acquired forces under her banner—hungry, warlike, ferocious, the Astartes Chapters and regints of the Astra Militarum, all competing for recognition and the twelve auxiliary army titles of the Sacred Empire—would not hesitate to pave their path with the bones of resisting worlds.
It was worth rembering: the only reason these battle-maddened killers from the Warhamr universe behaved with such restraint and discipline was because Selene had imposed order upon them—through the Imperial Guard, the Inquisition, and the network of commissars and command officers.
Otherwise, given their savage temperants, Selene would have already received nurous reports of Exterminatus-level purges erasing entire star systems.
So far, not a single Exterminatus had been issued. The worst had been orbital bombardnts—flattening an entrenched fortress city of a diehard Galactic Imperial faction, shattering a continental shelf or two. Half an Exterminatus at most.
In truth, as the Sacred Selene Empire’s military grew larger, more formalized, and more systematized, the days of casually "opening the door and delivering Exterminatus for warmth" had beco far less frequent.
In the past, Selene had taken great pleasure in annihilating those who defied her—every act of rebellion, every hint of resistance t with the harshest, most devastating punishnt imaginable. But as ti passed, and she experienced both the benefits and consequences of such actions, she began to regard it with calm indifference.
Selene was not a purely evil or malevolent deity.
Yes, she was cold and easily annoyed, vain, greedy, proud, and filled with eccentric habits impossible to label as good or evil. At tis, she was brutally violent—more chaotic than the Chaos Gods themselves—killing the families of dissenters, grinding their bones, seizing their souls, torturing them without rcy. Innocents often perished as collateral damage. Such events were commonplace.
She was almost entirely detached from what most civilized societies would define as goodness.
Yet, she was still regarded as a benevolent Finality, a good goddess, and a great empress.
Well... everyone said so.
And Selene fully agreed.
She wasn’t insane. She didn’t kill for no reason, nor did she go out of her way to slaughter the innocent. Every action had its logic—collateral casualties were simply an unavoidable cost.
When she was younger and less experienced, she had once believed extermination orders were a glorious solution—only to later learn that fully developed planets were far more valuable intact than destroyed.
As her reign continued, Selene consciously began reducing such unnecessary losses. This wasn’t a matter of temperant, but rather the mark of a truly competent ruler.
After all... those planets were her money.
Now, her majesty no longer required the annihilation of innocent planets to be demonstrated.
According to private mutterings among the Primarchs from the A–13 Grand Sector (Warhamr 40K):
"Our new Empress—the Holy Empress Selene—is a relatively moderate, morally flexible, and not particularly racist imperialist. She rely wishes to rule a vast ocean of stars and its countless lives, not to launch endless extermination crusades to wipe out every xenos race in existence."
When Selene learned of those whispers, she rely scoffed—and then quietly doubled their workloads—but decided not to take offense.
Reining in her wandering thoughts, she organized the information brought back by her fragnt consciousness, focusing especially on reports concerning Darth Vader and the Galactic Empire’s banner-switching faction.
"Once the promise is made, it must be fulfilled. Darth Vader truly is the ideal candidate for Governor-General of the Inquisition’s 23625th Expansion Sector. I’ll confirm his appointnt once he arrives at the Imperial Capital."
...
Clack... clack...
Clack... clack...
"..."
"..."
"Lady Kaguya, you really don’t need to be so nervous."
Walking across one of the vast crystal skybridges of the Imperial Palace, the returning golden-haired knightly maiden halted, glancing back helplessly at the silent figure following her in identical rhythm.
A young—no, mature—woman, perhaps? Or... a widow?
Three eyes: two white, one crimson Rinne Sharingan gleaming on her forehead. Pale skin, hair so long and silken-blue that it trailed behind her body like a banner. No eyebrows, yet strikingly beautiful, with two small horns adorning her head, dressed in a white robe patterned with black tomoe.
She was none other than the Rabbit Goddess, progenitor of chakra and ancient god of Colony World No. XIII–638059—officially renad the Immortal Blade Sector, howorld of the Ninja Star System III.
Yet now, the once-proud progenitor of chakra dared not flaunt her divinity.
Her lineage ant nothing here.
Having journeyed from the shinobi world across the void, witnessing firsthand General Esdeath of the Empire freeze an entire planetary system with a gesture and slaughter Ōtsutsuki elders as easily as one might crush flies—Kaguya Ōtsutsuki was utterly terrified.
If what she had witnessed along the transdinsional warp-path to the Imperial Capital was ant as a display of the Sacred Selene Empire’s might, she thought grimly—it had worked.
Warships larger than ten-tails itself, colossal fortress-stations the size of planets, and endless arrays of star-forges stretching across the void...
She was deeply, profoundly shaken.
The orbital bombardnts that could flatten continents and boil seas—their destructive power enough to remake worlds. The thods that could extract and contain stellar energy itself. The interstellar volleys launched across astronomical distances, beams of light chasing and colliding through the void...
All of it convinced Kaguya Ōtsutsuki that the golden-haired general nad Durandal had not lied to her.
This was indeed a civilization of a higher dinsion—one capable of eradicating the entire Ōtsutsuki clan.
Compared to such power, the shinobi world—and even the Ōtsutsuki themselves—were utterly insignificant.
"Your Majesty... how will you arrange for... ?" Kaguya asked softly, her gaze lifting toward the distant golden gates of the Imperial Palace, where shadows moved beneath the cascading light.
Standing solemnly in formation were the Sangheili Honor Guards, the Astartes Honor Guard, the golden-armored Imperial Household troops, the patrolling Sisters of Silence, and even the soaring Flügel.
Especially the latter three—their piercing, watchful gazes carried a pressure that could crush the soul.
Kaguya felt death.
That weight hidden in their eyes—a killing intent so tangible it felt like mass itself—left her certain that any sign of hostility, any attempt to flee or resist, would lead to instant annihilation. No escape. No plea for rcy.
"Lady Kaguya, there’s no need to be afraid," Durandal said, brushing a strand of coral-blonde hair behind her ear before clapping her hands lightly. Her tone was firm but reassuring. Having entered the Imperial Palace many tis before—her close friend Rita served there—Durandal, the Immortal Blade, was neither nervous nor hesitant as so many visitors were.
Kaguya’s contributions were modest, but not insignificant.
Freed from her lunar seal, she had obediently cooperated with Durandal in identifying all remaining targets across the shinobi world. She had also provided the coordinates of the Ōtsutsuki clan’s ho system, serving as a guide for the Imperial military in locating other clan mbers and their God Trees scattered throughout the cosmos.
In the campaign to hunt down one of the Ōtsutsuki elders at a core habitat, Kaguya had even acted as the lure.
"And those captured Ōtsutsuki... the chakra fruits and the unripe God Trees—what will Her Majesty do with them?" Kaguya asked, drawing a deep, nervous breath.
"Refine them into pills. Consu them. Or plant them in the garden as ornants."
Durandal’s response was casual—she prided herself on understanding Selene’s quirks.
At tis, the Empress’ motives were simple: appetite and collection.
That’s even more terrifying, Kaguya thought bleakly.
The idea of the Empress refining living Ōtsutsuki into alchemical pills made her blood run cold. She was terrified that when they t, Selene might casually decide to refine her as well.
If that happened, she would rather have remained sealed forever.
As an Ōtsutsuki, she knew all too well the cruelty of her kin. Those turned into alchemical material were beyond saving—not even a "wedge" could restore them. Their life force, soul, chakra, and genetic essence would all be reduced to ingredients.
But there was no escape now. She had to face it.
During their brief ti together, Kaguya had sensed Durandal’s sincerity—her warmth and her pure, noble heart.
Far better than that grim overseer who saw everyone as a threat to be contained and controlled.
Before long, after passing through several teleportation gates and following the palace attendants, Durandal and Kaguya Ōtsutsuki arrived at the study hall of Schönbrunn Palace’s Outer Court.
The hall’s towering arches, ornate doors, rounded windows, and intricate stone reliefs exuded splendor and majesty.
At the threshold, the Imperial Guards knocked gently and announced the visitors. From within ca a low, resonant female voice—rich and magnetic:
"Enter."
Durandal pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
Then—
Hummm...
An endless darkness engulfed the spacious study, like a bottomless void devouring everything. Blood and terror pulsed within the shadows.
"Your Majesty?!"
Has she gone berserk?!
No—too weak. Rootless, hollow. This wasn’t Selene’s power. It ca from another world. Of course—Selene could hardly "lose control"; she was a deity of chaos and divinity alike.
Lose control? Of what?
Calming her thoughts, Durandal instinctively stepped in front of the trembling, quail-like Kaguya, shielding her as the storm of darkness howled around them—unyielding, steadfast.
"It’s you, Bianka."
In an instant, the darkness lted away like snow beneath spring sunlight, revealing once more the radiant splendor of the palace interior.
The red velvet carpet spread across the entire chamber, adorned with priceless murals and mastercrafted armors from countless eras and races. The chandelier above resembled a field of stars—an expression of its owner’s refined yet extravagant taste.
Reclining on a cushioned divan beside the imperial dais, Selene propped her head lazily on one hand. A lightsaber hilt, its core filled with a faintly glowing violet-red fluid from her latest experint, rested on the desk beside her. Her gaze flicked casually toward the visitors.
Oh—it was Bianka, and a lovely little widow.
Selene smiled faintly.
"Ah, the one from the ’Tree-Planting Clan’ under your and Esdeath’s supervision. General Pandia von Lorraine submitted a report. Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, was it? You may rise."
A lie, of course. She already knew perfectly well.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kaguya said softly.
Before her, seated with lazy majesty upon the throne, the Empress radiated effortless authority. Her calm voice was devoid of warmth or threat—yet Kaguya could feel its weight pressing upon her soul.
Timidly, she asked, "I am but one awaiting judgnt, Your Majesty... may I ask the reason for this audience?"
"Bianka introduced you. The Empire will grant you citizenship. I happen to require a specialist to manage one of my personal projects. After reading Bianka’s report, I decided to et you in person—rather than simply pardoning or executing what remains of your Ōtsutsuki kin."
Kaguya tensed. "What... kind of work?"
"My God Tree Garden—its caretaker."
At the word garden, Kaguya froze.
This... she understood perfectly!
She blinked, her usually cold face softening into hesitant delight. Glancing at Durandal, then back to Selene, her pearlescent white eyes glead faintly. "Then, Your Majesty... may I be suited for the task?"
"Are you?" Selene asked.
"I am!"
"Very well." After three seconds of contemplation, Selene nodded.
She instructed the palace attendants to escort the newly appointed Royal Arborist to the registration bureau for citizenship and training in the Imperial common tongue. Then, turning her gaze to Bianka, she smiled faintly.
Expecting new orders, Durandal imdiately dropped to one knee with a sharp thud, performing the knight’s salute.
"Stop, stop, stop," Selene chuckled. "Am I the kind of ruler who works her subordinates to death? Bianka—take a break. Didn’t Kiana invite you and your squad to her governorate as guests?"
"Your Majesty ans...?"
"Yes, go," Selene waved casually.
"Thank you, sister!"
Watching the knight’s bright, joyful figure disappear as the great doors closed, Selene smiled with amused satisfaction.
"If I give them holidays, I can give myself one without feeling guilty. My conscience is still too soft."
With a sigh, she tossed the local tabloid in her hand onto the desk. The open page’s subtitle read in bold, elegant script:
’A Newly Discovered Friendly Trade Haven for Small Independent rchants — Visiting the Monster Kingdom.’
...
—
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