"??!!"
At these words, everyone present fell into a stunned silence. Then, many shifted their gaze back to the consoles and screens before them. The monitoring camera near the command center captured a scene that made every heart drop—quite literally. As the thick smoke from the self-destruct in the sector gradually cleared, a figure emerged from the blazing ruins like the grim reaper stepping out of hell.
Curze's silhouette slowly materialized from the flames and debris, his power armor still gleaming with a cold, unforgiving metallic sheen—remarkably, not a scratch blemished the paint. A pale, golden barrier flowed about him, completely shielding him from the explosive heat and shock. And he strode forward with calm, measured steps, as if the explosion that should have devastated the entire sector were nothing more than a trivial stroll.
"This... how is this possible?!" one officer gasped, his trembling finger pointing at the screen as if he could not believe his eyes.
Silence fell over the command center, every gaze fixed on the lone figure emerging from the wreckage. Shock and despair were etched on every face; they had witnessed a terror beyond their wildest nightmares. Even Governor Takin clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening from the effort.
"Not even a sector's self-destruct could contain him—what sort of monster is this?" another officer whispered, his voice quivering as the image of Curze's effortless emergence replayed in his mind, mocking all their previous efforts.
Then, as if things could not get any worse, something even more horrifying happened. Curze's gaze, visible behind his visor, seemed to register that the command center's occupants were watching him. He paused for a moment, then slowly raised his head. His cold, deep eyes appeared to pierce through the cameras, staring directly into the souls of everyone present. The very sensation of being watched forced the room into a breathless silence.
Using a hacking program implanted by Lucy, Curze then transmitted his deep, commanding voice through the comm channel:
"Your struggles are futile; death is your only destiny."
That low, raspy tone—seeming to echo from the depths of hell itself—shattered the last vestiges of rationality among the officers. Faces turned ashen, eyes wide with terror and despair. They finally understood that they faced not merely a powerful enemy, but a terror that defied conventional defeat. Not even the Death Star's self-destruct sequence could shake him in the slightest. Helplessness gripped them utterly, leaving them at a loss as to what to do next. Only someone like Darth Vader might have a chance to confront such a being; as for the rest of them mere mortals, they were nothing more than ants beneath his feet.
The atmosphere in the command center plummeted to an icy void, and Governor Takin's expression darkened to match. He knew, with painful certainty, that the battle's outcome was now irretrievably lost.
How do we fight this?
The combined forces of our assault troops, Death Troopers, and even the Sith apprentices within the Death Star are not enough to dispatch one man like him.
Now, Curze is practically at our doorstep—just a wall away from where we stand. With what can we possibly counter him?
Takin's eyes flicked over the projection; he saw that Curze was nearing the safety door of the command center. The alarm's shrill cry grew louder, and the flashing red lights bathed the room in a bloody glow. It seemed that the only remaining option was to initiate the "Final Protocol" and self-destruct the Death Star along with this sector.
Yet within Takin, a surge of unwillingness and defiance arose. His sharp eyes betrayed a struggle, a moment of hesitation. He could not bear it. He could not bear to lose the power he had so arduously earned, nor relinquish his exalted position—or even his precious life. He had given everything for the Galactic Empire, even at the cost of countless soldiers' lives. He had done everything possible and then some. But the enemy's might was simply beyond mortal reckoning. This giant had shattered through the Death Star's defenses single-handedly, unstoppable, and now there were no troops left at their disposal; every possible measure had been exhausted.
Takin looked around at the stunned faces in the command center—most were dumbfounded, desperate, scrambling to devise some plan to reverse their fate. The high-ranking officers who once commanded such pride now resembled lambs awaiting slaughter.
In that moment, a thought flashed through Takin's mind: perhaps surrender is the only, and indeed the correct, way out.
He calculated silently. With his rank and those of his fellow officers, they would likely be spared, their lives preserved.
As he considered this, his eyes returned to the screen. He saw that Curze had only a turn and a hallway left before reaching the safety door of the command center, forcing him to decide quickly.
And surrender, he realized, did not necessarily mean defeat—it could be a strategy for survival. They might even leverage their influence to expedite the enemy's collapse of the Galactic Empire. In this way, they'd merely change sides while still enjoying power, status, and wealth beyond ordinary imagining.
A sly smile played at the corner of Takin's mouth as he envisioned his role in the new order—still the indispensable right hand of the ruler, albeit under a different master.
Then he spoke, "Open the communications channel."
His voice resonated through the command center like a routine order. The officers exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes filled with doubt and apprehension, but they complied swiftly.
Takin's voice then carried over the entire Death Star:
"This is Governor Wilhelm Takin. My friends, we surrender and will provide all necessary assistance. Cease your attack—we are ready to talk."
As soon as the words rang out, every eye fixed on Takin.
Their faces were a mixture of shock and complex emotion, as if they could scarcely believe that this once ruthless governor would choose surrender. Yet Takin paid them no mind.
In his heart, there was only one thought—to survive and continue enjoying that supreme power.
As for the fate of the Galactic Empire? That no longer mattered.
As Takin's "surrender declaration" echoed through the command center, some officers gradually recovered their composure, understanding his intent. A look of reluctant acceptance crossed their faces as they nodded in agreement. For those long accustomed to power and status, the survival of the Empire was no longer their primary concern. Rather than perish with the Empire, it was wiser to follow Takin's example—to reinvent themselves and join the ranks of the "righteous" forces, toppling the dark Empire from within. After all, survival comes first.
But Takin's declaration did little to slow Curze's advance. At that very moment—
Buzz—zzzz—!!
A piercing metallic tearing sound suddenly broke the command center's silence.
A pair of gleaming, golden claws—like bolts of lightning—burst through the seemingly impregnable safety door. Their energy fields emitted a low, menacing hum, like a beast roused from slumber, ravenous for blood to sate its fury.
Immediately, the owner of those claws—Curze—began to swing his deadly weapons in a crisscross pattern, sparks flying.
The heavy safety door crumbled under his assault, a triangular gap cut through it like a gaping wound.
Thud, thud!
Heavy footsteps, echoing like thunder, reverberated through the command center with each step causing the floor to tremble.
Curze's silhouette emerged slowly from the gap; his blood-red robe billowed behind him like a banner soaked in gore, proclaiming the imminent arrival of death.
He did not wait for Takin and his men to "open the door" willingly; with brutal directness, he declared his victory.
Then, Curze raised his hand and removed his sealed helmet.
With a soft mechanical sound, the helmet came off to reveal a fair, chiseled face—handsome yet stern, a visage carved from stone. Coupled with his towering stature and an aura of overwhelming menace, he resembled a flawless statue of war.
Yet his eyes shone with a chilling light, capable of stripping away all pretenses and piercing straight into one's soul.
Curze scanned the command center and then intoned,
"Your surrender means nothing. Remember, death is your only destiny."
His tone carried a mocking edge, as if ridiculing the officers' naïveté and foolishness.
After speaking, a bizarre, unreadable smile tugged at his lips—a smile that blended cold, murderous intent with an enigmatic madness, as if heralding some unspeakable horror about to be unleashed.
Governor Takin and the high officers stared, mouths agape, gripped by an indescribable terror. Some were so frightened they lost control of their bladders—urine soaking their pristine uniforms and dripping onto the floor with a soft, pathetic patter.
"Then..."
Curze paid no mind to these pitiful figures. His hoarse, deep voice echoed once more as he surveyed the assembly of high officers, finally fixing his gaze on Takin.
Then, moving with deliberate calm, he advanced toward Takin and continued,
"Let's start with you."
?!
Takin snapped back to his senses, his face contorting with horror.
This man—a power broker among the Galactic Empire's elite, one whose influence could shake the galaxy—stumbled to his feet, staggering backward in a desperate attempt to flee from Curze.
"Wait!" Takin cried, no longer caring for his dignity or image. Desperation took over as he tried to barter his final trump card:
"I know more Empire secrets! I can provide you with intelligence—I can—"
Crack—!!
Before Takin could finish, a bone-chilling tearing sound interrupted him.
Curze's hands, like iron pincers, clamped down on Takin's shoulders and waist, then, with brutal force, tore him apart.
Takin's body, so puny compared to the genetic original, was ripped in two without resistance.
Blood spurted like a fountain; entrails and bone fragments splattered across the smooth metal floor, accompanied by a sound so revolting it made one want to vomit.
Takin's upper half crumpled helplessly to the ground, his eyes still wide with disbelief and despair, while his lower half was casually discarded by Curze like a piece of worthless trash.
"Ugh!!"
Witnessing such a brutal, bloody spectacle, some officers could no longer contain themselves and began to vomit uncontrollably. The sour stench mixed with the coppery odor of blood, making the air in the command center even more oppressive. Others were completely stupefied, their legs giving way as they collapsed to the floor, staring blankly at the dismembered remains of Governor Takin, unable to comprehend the horror before them.
How could one of the Empire's top officials—Governor Takin, who wielded power capable of stirring the fate of the entire galaxy—be so easily torn apart by this "giant" before their eyes?!
Moreover, these once high-and-mighty officers had never witnessed such a ghastly scene.
Curze's towering presence—over five meters tall—and his unbelievable strength, defense, and speed instilled a terror so profound in their hearts that they began to wonder if they had truly "fallen" so far as to provoke the wrath of both man and god, attracting a true "demon" to impose the most ruthless punishment upon them.
Yet, Curze remained unmoved by their terror.
He continued to survey the room with his icy gaze and, with that same bizarre smile, his voice echoing from the depths of hell, asked,
"Who's next?"
"Next... it's your turn!"
An enraged roar shattered the command center's silence, like a stone dropped into a calm lake, sending ripples of shock through everyone.
And that roar seemed to "awaken" Curze from his bloodlust.
He turned his head, his gaze locking onto one officer.
That officer, summoning every last bit of courage, fumbled to draw his sidearm, fighting through trembling hands as he aimed at Curze.
His eyes blazed with anger and despair, as if he were summoning his final courage to defy the "demon" before him.
Whoosh—whoosh—!
A volley of energy beams erupted from the weapon, flying straight for Curze's unprotected head.
But his hands trembled so much that his aim was "pitifully inaccurate."
Of the multiple rounds fired, only two barely struck Curze's face—and that was because Curze had deliberately eased up, deactivating his armor shield and psychic barrier, watching as the beams hit him.
Yet, even without his shields, those two energy rounds did not scorch Curze's skin; not even a mark remained.
Even so, the officer continued pulling the trigger.
"Oh? Interesting."
Seeing this, Curze reined in his murderous intent and instead employed a trick taught by his brother Lorgar—using his psychic senses to "peer" into the hearts of everyone present.
------------------
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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