WOOSH—
Sakaar shot through the air like a blazing missile — yet not in a straight path.
BAM!BAM!
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
Every few seconds the earth beneath him trembled violently as shells rained down in a relentless storm, shaking the entire horizon. Every explosion tore through the soil, flinging burning debris skyward and filling the atmosphere with smoke dense enough to darken the midday sun. The ground he fought for for more than a century was now burning and breaking apart.
He passed above what had once been villages and towns — now nothing more than flattened ruins. Entire forests that had taken centuries to regrow after the last war were now engulfed in roaring fire. Lakes boiled and dried up into steaming pits, and entire mountain slopes were sliding down into the craters left behind by the bombardnt. The air was thick with the sll of burning tal and flesh, and yet, even with all this destruction, there was nothing any of them could do.
No wall could repel the rain of destruction descending from the heavens. No shield was strong enough. The skies themselves had turned into the enemy.
Furious, Sakaar gathered his strength and surged forward, accelerating until he broke the sound barrier several tis in succession. He aid straight for the new command post of the Shattering teors Empire’s army leaders. His descent ended in a thunderous impact that cracked the ground beneath him. He rose through the smoke, his voice shaking the earth:
"What exactly is happening here?!"
"Marshal Sakaar, you have finally arrived — the situation is catastrophic!" A man with a half-eaten jaw, his face scarred and blackened from shrapnel, spoke rapidly. His words ca between gasps, as if the air itself was heavy with fear. "Please, co and see for yourself! There’s no ti to explain."
Sakaar’s sharp gaze swept across the camp. He could sense imdiately that the tension here was not ordinary fear — it was the dread of soldiers who had seen the unthinkable.
This "command post" was little more than a crater carved into the heart of a mineral-rich mountain. The previous base, the one built by engineers of the empire, had already been turned to dust by a blast. Everything around him scread chaos.
He stepped toward the center of the crater, where a group of officers stood huddled around a holo-table glowing with projections of live data and battle feeds. Then, suddenly, he stopped — frozen in disbelief.
On the screen before him, a live broadcast showed the skies above Verilion. He rembered this view. It was the sa kind of image he had seen in the past, during his eting with The Lord, when the lord had sent that strange glowing sphere into his mind. Through it, he had once glimpsed a colossal battle — a clash of warships and flas spread across both the surface and the atmosphere of Verilion.
Back then, that sight had filled him with excitent — a burning, predatory thrill that set his three hearts racing. The surface war had seed massive, glorious even, and the aerial combat had felt like the ultimate display of power. But what he was seeing now...
This dwarfed everything.
The war he had witnessed 140 years ago was nothing but a warm-up.
The number of enemy warships orbiting Verilion had multiplied tenfold — no, twentyfold! Fleets of the Shattering teors Empire and the Crumbled Dreams Empire were falling one after another, burning like stars that had lost their light. Entire armadas were being erased within minutes. At this rate, they would soon be completely surrounded, their remaining formations wiped out.
And once that happened... the rest of Verilion’s skies would be left wide open — free for the enemy fleets to unleash their hellish bombardnt without resistance.
"What caused all this?!" Sakaar roared, turning away from the chaotic feeds.
"It’s the war in the Middle Sector, Marshal — the one against Lord Hedric!" one of the officers said, his trembling fingers gripping the edge of the table. "That war has finally reached us."
He swallowed hard and continued, "Up there, Lord Zarion’s advance — along with the allied fleets — has slowed dramatically. The Crumbled Dreams Empire’s armies have been executing flawless tactical maneuvers, using precise orbital strikes to pin down every forward move. On top of that, the Hundred Planetary Defense Fleets of Shazar have joined the fight. It’s beco roughly two thousand enemy fleets against barely four hundred of ours. That’s five to one — an impossible ratio."
"...Five to one," Sakaar muttered, his voice low but heavy enough to silence everyone.
The officer nodded grimly. "That’s bad for any commander, but for Lord Zarion, who had planned for a twelve-to-one advantage... it’s catastrophic. Every assumption, every prediction he made — all of it has collapsed. The enemy has sohow gained a frightening amount of intelligence, and their coordination is... unnatural. It’s as if sothing — or soone — is seeing everything from above and guiding them."
Another officer leaned forward, voice grim. "The war has been raging for fifteen years now. In the last ten alone, Lord Zarion has captured around six hundred planets and destroyed a hundred eighty more. But the cost—" he gestured at the flickering display, "—over two hundred of his fleets lost, compared to only fifteen on our side."
"And so of them are trying to flee. Indeed, anyone who didn’t co from the Middle Sector 100 has been granted permission to retreat. That decision alone caused Lord Zarion to lose even more of his followers — and in his fury, he descended upon them himself! The coalition he once ruled with political mastery is now being held together by sheer, terrifying personal might."
Sakaar finally pieced together the aning behind all that exposition. His voice ca low but sharp, "So... because he can’t advance at the pace he demands, he decided to redirect his wrath—toward us?"
"Exactly." One of the generals nodded grimly. "At the beginning, we were encircled by a hundred fleets belonging to Lord Hedric and another twenty from the Crumbled teors Empire. Normally, that kind of power would be enough to crush any invading force before it could even reach orbit. For centuries, despite the endless conflict, we never lost even a quarter of that strength. Even when waves of enemies numbering two hundred fleets ca down upon us, our n above—under your command, Marshal—held the skies, no matter the odds. But this ti... everything’s changed."
Another general, covered in soot and fatigue, slamd his clawed hand against the tal table. "Our n above have been barely hanging on through constant bombardnt. And then—without warning—Lord Zarion decided to send more than two hundred fleets as reinforcents to the Young Sector!"
"Damn it all!" another officer barked. "Hundreds of ships are now swarming right above the territories we control, raining destruction upon us without pause! And as if that wasn’t enough—the allied armies on the surface have encircled us completely. They’re not advancing, not retreating... just waiting—waiting for us to be obliterated under the relentless fire raining from the heavens!"
"...?!" Sakaar’s face twisted in disbelief, his crimson veins glowing faintly beneath his skin.
That number... two hundred motherships, two thousand support carriers, and a hundred thousand war battleships. A sky filled with pure death. No wonder the air itself seed to tremble and burn with chaos. No wonder the land beneath them had turned to ash and molten glass.
"It’s obvious what Lord Zarion is doing," one general growled, his fangs bared, voice vibrating with restrained fury. "He’s taking advantage of Lord Hedric’s entrapnt in the Middle Sector to annihilate us here. If Verilion falls, the entire war will tilt in his favor. Even if he never sets foot on Planet Shazar—his victory will already be sealed in the minds of every empire watching!"
"Or..." another added bitterly, slamming his fist down, "he’s attempting to force Lord Hedric to send massive reinforcents to defend Verilion—diverting his strength and relieving the pressure on his own fleets. It’s a masterstroke. He wins either way."
BAM!
"Damn it!" a voice howled across the command chamber. "In every possible outco, that bastard wins!"
"....."
Sakaar stood motionless. The flickering light from the holo-table painted his broad fra in blue and red, his eyes fixed on nothing. The sound relay crystal in his hand slowly dimd as he shut it off, letting silence swallow the room.
Only after several long, suffocating minutes did he finally break the quiet. "What did the ShadowSwords say about this situation? Did we receive any word from them?"
It was impossible—unthinkable—for Theo, the son of the Lord, to remain silent amid such chaos.
One of the generals exchanged a confused look with another before answering, "Yes, a ssage arrived not long ago—addressed specifically to you, Marshal. That’s why we called you here."
Sakaar’s jaw tightened. "Then why did you not say that first?!" His roar rattled the walls, sending dust down from the ceiling.
"It wasn’t much of a ssage, honestly," the general admitted, bowing his head slightly. "A man dressed entirely in black appeared—no insignia, no voice signature—and told us to deliver a single line: ’His Highness, the Supre Sword, instructs you to do what must be done to defend Verilion.’"
"There were several others present who heard him. They kept asking for details, for clarification, but he refused to say another word. He left as suddenly as he appeared, vanishing into thin air. The others dismissed the ssage as aningless and returned to their stations, fighting to hold back the enemy’s bombardnt. They’ve been performing miracles, Marshal—holding out longer than anyone thought possible."
One of the senior officers, voice filled with a grim sense of irony, turned toward Sakaar. "A strange ssage indeed. The Marshal is already doing everything within his power, is he not? Tell us, Marshal Sakaar—what more could even you do now?"
"......"
"...Marshal Sakaar?" another voice ventured, hesitant.
".........."
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