?
Darth Vader's breathing suddenly faltered.
Clearly, he hadn't anticipated that someone could cross the psionic and Force-formed barrier he had established—let alone do so without immediately alerting him.
He turned toward the voice and saw, standing at the heart of the Spartan formation, a striking silhouette that had appeared without a sound—
She was clad in golden armor, every curve of her plating sculpted like a masterwork of divine craftsmanship—simultaneously exuding battlefield-worthy defense and the graceful contours befitting a "goddess."
Soft golden energy pulses traced the armor's joints, like starlight woven into metal.
Her waist-length golden hair was simply tied back, faint psionic sparks leaping between the strands.
Her face was perfection itself—sharp nose, full lips, and eyes sharp as a hawk's, burning with both wisdom and the fire of war.
But most striking was her aura. Merely standing there, she made the surrounding air dense and heavy with presence.
Vader locked his gaze on the golden figure.
He had never seen such a being—neither Jedi nor Sith, nor one of the Chaos gods he had come to understand.
She had appeared without sound, as if stepping from the rift between reality and illusion, completely bypassing the Force's precognitive senses.
!!
The Spartans, witnessing her arrival, displayed rare emotional shifts.
John's breathing quickened slightly. Douglas's spine straightened instinctively like a soldier before his supreme commander. Even Jerome, typically composed, raised his head—a Spartan's instinctive respect for overwhelming strength.
Of course they recognized her—
Pallas Athena, Olympian goddess of war and wisdom, now one of the Empire of Humanity's highest-level assets.
"..."
Vader didn't speak.
His breath grew unnaturally steady, and his enhanced battle instincts kicked in instantly—
This woman had hurled the ancient spear that interrupted his corruption ritual and flung him away from Obi-Wan from more than ten kilometers away. That meant her baseline physical strength was at least equal to his—perhaps even superior.
She had pierced his layered barriers, proving formidable psionic control.
And her stance and grip on her weapon revealed a warrior honed by countless battles.
What made Vader most cautious was the look in Athena's eyes.
Not just the fanaticism of a warrior—but the calculated focus of a strategist. She was watching him too, like a chessmaster scanning the board for her killing stroke.
An eerie calm settled over the battlefield.
Far in the distance, Níðhöggr's breath attacks died down. Even the bolter fire of the Ironwing Knights grew sparse.
The central district of Mos Eisley felt like it had been plucked from the flow of time—paused in place—with only the silent clash of energy fields between Athena and Vader continuing to thicken.
But once Athena entered Vader's isolation field alone, the Spartans regained their freedom.
John gave the order to fall back.
His gaze swept past Obi-Wan's crumpled figure at Vader's feet. The Jedi Master's chest still rose and fell faintly, but his face was ashen as death.
Too far. Too risky.
And yet, Obi-Wan was priceless.
His mastery of the Force, Jedi techniques, and his body enhanced by the Light Side—all of it made him worth a major Imperial effort.
That's why John had attempted the rescue when Vader was momentarily staggered—"recovering" Obi-Wan was worth the risk.
But now, with Athena stepping in, the Spartans could retreat to a safer position and wait for their next opening.
Vader didn't block the withdrawing Spartans either. He was entirely focused on the goddess before him.
Soon, Blue, Red, and Black teams pulled out of the central chaos zone to rejoin their allies at the rear.
And then—
BOOM—BOOOOOM!!
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!!
ROOOAAARRR——!!
No sooner had they withdrawn than fresh explosions, bolter salvos, and dragonfire engulfed the outskirts of Mos Eisley.
With aerial support from the Ironwing Knights and Níðhöggr, the Imperial forces were finally turning the tide.
Imperial Fists squads pushed forward methodically, using massive shields as mobile bunkers to carve safe paths for fleeing civilians.
Auxiliary heavy weapon teams deployed plasma mortars, launching hundreds of rounds that obliterated heretics and banished daemons back to the Warp.
Clone soldiers, Terminators, and Hunters held the rear, sacrificing themselves to buy time for the core units and local population.
Sigismund's earlier retreat order had reached all units.
Green tactical indicators on the network began flowing outward, a slow but unstoppable tide.
From above, Mos Eisley's central district still sat under a black smog of chaos. The northern quarter was still aflame from Níðhöggr's breath. Yet from that inferno, over ten thousand Imperial troops—divided into scattered teams—escorted tens of thousands of civilians out of the city.
Then, the beam of golden light widened.
In a flash of brilliance, an entirely new army stepped onto the battlefield.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
"DIE! DIE, HERETICS!"
Thunderous war cries shook the field, resonating with metallic force.
CLANG—CLANG-CLANG—!!
The roar of 50-cal explosive boltguns drowned every other sound. Bullets screamed through the air, and heretics fell like wheat before the scythe.
Each round shredded multiple enemies, and every impact exploded with psionic fire, annihilating even the last trace of corruption.
And the sheer scale of these reinforcements left many heretics gasping—
Forty thousand soldiers, pouring from the light like a silver tide.
Their armor was moving art—sleek power armor painted in black, silver, and white, etched with Chinese scripture and Imperial sigils. Hoods and cloaks flapped in the wind. They were sci-fi knights and nuns incarnate.
They were unmistakable.
These were the Battle Knights and Battle Sisters, formed after the Empire unified Universe "Thirteen"—the Trench Crusade.
In the years since, they had expanded to 100,000 elite troops.
And their gear? Utterly lavish.
The R&D division had merged the best of auxiliary mech suits and Titan data to create power armor with cold-fusion cores and energy shields.
Their customized boltguns, though slightly smaller than Astartes versions, fired faster. Paired with cloned-enhanced muscle surgery and neural-synced armor targeting, their accuracy reached a terrifying 99.7%.
A single Battle Sister, after reloading, calmly raised her bolter and three-shot a Chaos sorcerer from kilometers away—her bullets piercing the sorcerer's forming spell and blowing his skull apart.
Yes, each Knight or Sister cost more than arming a hundred auxiliary troops—but their worth wasn't in coin.
They were the swords of the Inquisition, trained for only the most apocalyptic threats—Warp incursions, mass Chaos corruption, and beyond.
And they deployed with textbook precision.
Knight strike squads formed wedge formations, charging with power lances and chainswords. As they clashed with daemons, holy fire erupted, burning away corruption forever.
Sisters with sniper bolters took the high ground, sniping key threats with surgical precision.
Heavy squads unleashed their signature melta cannons, turning entire streets into glass tunnels.
Their arrival dramatically accelerated the evacuation—fortifying both flanks with walls of steel and fire. Any heretic or daemon that dared approach was turned to pulp in a storm of fire.
And as this army established a fresh line—
The pillar of light shimmered once more.
A figure in a crimson robe emerged, her first step touching the sand with such grace that the grains parted reverently.
She was divine—a face like classical marble, eyes swirling with galaxies. Her regal aura clashed starkly with the bloody battlefield.
She was none other than Hera, Queen of Olympus.
She reached the dune's summit, gracefully lifted her left hand, and, like a conductor, drew a line through the air—
SHUU—BOOOOM!!
A golden psionic flare exploded within the enemy ranks.
No smoke. No blast wave. The daemons under its light vaporized. Corrupted flesh vehicles melted like snow beneath the sun.
With one move, one-fifth of the heretic flank was erased.
Then, Hera turned her gaze to the city's east.
With vision far beyond Astartes range, she spotted thirty-plus women and children cornered by raving heretics—auxiliaries a hundred meters away.
She raised her right hand. A translucent dome of psionic energy enveloped the civilians.
VMMM—POP!!
A Chaos cultist's massive axe struck the barrier and exploded his arms into blood mist. Bolts from other heretics merely rippled harmlessly against the shield.
Nearby auxiliaries rallied, reformed formation, and slaughtered the crazed heretics, successfully extracting the trapped civilians.
Through it all, Hera never stepped foot into the city.
She stood atop the dune, her crimson robes fluttering gently. Every wave of her hand cleansed another battlefield section.
She was not like Athena—charging in with a spear. Nor like Níðhöggr—raining fire.
She maintained balance, intervening with absolute precision—
Just as her divine domain dictated.
Marriage, family, and holy order.
And today, she protected the last spark of humanity on Tatooine.
"Holy shit…"
Douglas glanced at the real-time tactical map on his HUD while still laying down Gauss fire.
Overhead, griffins soared. Sisters' chants mingled with gunfire. In the distance, Hera's barrier shone like a crystal dome shielding them from death.
He whistled, tapping the side of his helmet with a grin.
"With reinforcements like this, why are we even retreating? Let's charge back in, hah!"
"A temporary advantage doesn't equal victory," Cortana cut in calmly—but her voice was slightly faster than usual.
"According to the intel I've exchanged with support forces, this deployment was part of an emergency interstellar teleportation ordered by the Emperor himself, after foreseeing Tatooine's imminent fall."
She played an encrypted video.
On it, the surface of planet Jedha split with a massive psionic rift. Two Olympian gods, the Ironwing Knights, Níðhöggr, Battle Knights, and Battle Sisters all vanished into golden light.
"Teleporting this many forces at once…" Cortana paused for half a second. "Even though I can't directly perceive supernatural power, it's clear that such an operation would cost the Emperor a tremendous amount of energy and stamina—and whatever 'psionic force' he uses.
So for now, we continue evacuation and establish a new fallback position, as planned."
Cortana was right. Hera alone could maintain large-scale shields to block orbital bombardments from Chaos warships.
Sigismund agreed—so all units continued executing the withdrawal order.
"Got it," Douglas said, dropping the jokes. He turned, gave a tactical signal to the other Spartans.
"Hold formation. If Athena drives Vader back, we snatch Master Kenobi and pull out per command."
And at the center of Mos Eisley—
Goddess of War Athena still faced down the Dark Lord Darth Vader.
Neither had moved.
And it was clear now—this wasn't a duel of muscle or speed.
This was something deeper—two beings silently probing each other's essence, still uncertain who would prevail.
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American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
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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