Char's destruction left behind only the faintest "scar" in the cosmos.
What was once a harsh and hostile planetary surface had now fragmented into a drifting asteroid field under the pull of the nearby star. Occasionally, globules of magma that hadn't fully cooled would crystallize into obsidian-like formations in the vacuum.
The massive planetary core continued its slow disintegration, its released energies producing eerie radiant effects throughout the "nebula," like a silent requiem.
The joint fleet of the Human Empire and the Terran Dominion lingered in a safe sector of space, silently observing the ruins.
The ground battle had indeed been tense and grueling—their mission was to hold off the Zerg tide and draw out the Queen of Blades.
But the battle in low orbit had been… strangely "quiet"—
After the first salvo from the Dreadnought-class warships, the Zerg bio-fleet could barely muster any effective counterattack.
The Emperor-class battleship Nerva hadn't even used its full firepower. Its escort fleet alone was enough to sweep aside the remaining Zerg ships.
The size disparity was hopelessly one-sided.
The Terran Dominion's prized warships looked like toys in the presence of the Human Empire's fleet.
Their escort ships, ranging from 500 to 700 meters in length, had armor thickness, cannon calibers, and displacement that dwarfed the Dominion's mainline vessels.
And the true capital ships of the Human Empire were like mobile iron mountains, equipped with weapon systems far beyond the comprehension of Dominion engineers.
Aboard the Bucephalus.
Inside a private chamber, Valerian Mengsk sat sunken into a couch by the observation viewport.
The usually elegant prince looked disheveled. His platinum hair had lost its luster, his clothes wrinkled and neglected.
In his hand, he held a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold—but he forgot to drink it, simply staring blankly at the asteroid belt that had once been Char.
In the reflection on the window, his bloodshot eyes stared back at him.
"She… crushed an entire planet beneath her foot."
He murmured, voice dry and rough like sandpaper.
The images refused to leave his mind—the moment Athena's divine body expanded, Char's crust shattered like an eggshell…
That level of power was beyond warfare. It was dimensional annihilation.
Ripples stirred the liquid in his cup.
Valerian only then realized his hand was trembling. He forced a bitter smile and set the cup down, wiping his palm on his expensive pants—but it couldn't dry the cold sweat.
His thoughts turned to more practical concerns: the loyalty of his forces was crumbling.
The troops who had followed him to Char were likely all reconsidering their allegiance now.
The Dominion's military was already a patchwork—
Conscripts from colonies, ex-convicts from prison worlds, and even grizzled veterans from the old Sons of Korhal era.
These men had followed the Mengsk family out of survival instinct, but now a stronger survival option stood before them.
"Swearing loyalty to a goddess… how ironic."
Valerian's lips twitched.
He could already picture the scene aboard his ships—rank-and-file soldiers quietly crafting crude statues of the War Goddess, officers whispering about "changing sides," perhaps even some already leaking intel to the Human Empire.
Most pressing was his father's dilemma.
A holo-channel on the table displayed a secure line to the imperial palace on Korhal. Valerian's finger hovered over the connect key… and couldn't press it.
He knew he should try to convince his father to surrender.
But he also knew it would be futile.
Arcturus Mengsk—who valued power more than breath—would rather burn Korhal and the entire Dominion to the ground than give up the scepter.
Besides… would the Human Empire really accept a butcher with billions of lives on his hands?
"Heh…"
Valerian suddenly laughed aloud, the sound edged with a trace of madness.
He remembered his father's favorite saying: "Power isn't given. It's taken."
But now, neither he nor his father had the right to take anything.
Outside the viewport, a Human Empire escort vessel was on routine patrol.
The markings on its armor were foreign to Valerian, and under the starlight they gleamed with a cold brilliance—a brilliance that stabbed at his eyes, and at his pride as a successor.
"Perhaps…"
He slowly stood, straightening the creases in his collar.
He shut off the holo-call and instead pulled up the fleet's personnel roster. It was time to prepare for the worst—for the sake of those still worth saving.
The first name on the list: Warfield.
The old general had gone to the medbay upon returning to the fleet and had received the Dominion's most advanced prosthetic arm.
Valerian realized that severing ties with his father to protect the soldiers and officers loyal to him was now the top priority.
Suddenly, the door hissed open.
"Your Highness!" Warfield, now healed, entered the chamber in haste. His voice was somewhat urgent:
"The Human Empire… they're requesting you aboard the Nerva immediately."
Valerian's hand froze in midair.
It had come, as he expected.
He cast one final glance out at the starlit ruins—once Char, now a grave marker for the Mengsk dynasty.
Metallic corridors echoed beneath his steps. Warfield walked beside him, his pace heavier than usual.
The emergency lights along the bulkheads cast long shadows of the two men—shadows that seemed to foretell their approaching fate.
"Your Highness," Warfield muttered in a low, gravelly voice, "Whatever demands they make… you need to stay alive."
"Heh…"
Valerian gave a bitter smile, his fingers unconsciously brushing the gold embroidery on his sleeve—the Mengsk family crest, now an ironic symbol.
"Alive? General, do you think we still have any bargaining chips left?"
Warfield was silent for a moment. His prosthetic arm hissed softly with hydraulic pressure.
"At least… you're different," he finally said, glancing at a surveillance camera blinking at the end of the hallway. "You haven't stained your hands with innocent blood."
"…"
The prince didn't answer.
Rounding a corner, they came upon a group of marines gathered outside a rest bay.
The soldiers fell silent at the sight of their leaders, though snatches of conversation still drifted:
"—She crushed an entire planet with her foot!"
"I heard the goddess can do that with just a finger—"
The words cut off abruptly.
The soldiers stood stiffly at attention, but their eyes darted.
Soon after, Valerian and Warfield boarded a private shuttle in the hangar.
As they left the Bucephalus and approached the Nerva, Valerian glimpsed the enormous "flying temple" through the narrow window, the shrinking distance between them creating a suffocating pressure. The hangar entrance of the Nerva was absurdly large, like a gaping maw ready to swallow them.
"God…" Warfield muttered, "Their hangar could fit several Bucephalus-class ships."
It was true.
As the shuttle entered the Nerva's interior, the sight before them took both men's breath away.
Under a dome over a thousand meters tall, countless shuttles and strike craft moved in orderly traffic. Massive robotic arms, the size of small ships, handled cargo and equipment with precise coordination.
When the shuttle touched down at its designated spot and the hatch opened, three towering figures were already waiting at the base of the ramp.
Each over three meters tall, these "giants"—or Greek demigods—wore light bio-armors that barely concealed their chiseled musculature.
They wore Corinthian-style helmets, only revealing two cold blue glows beneath the faceplates. The tips of their polygonal spears vibrated faintly, emitting a dangerous hum.
No greetings. No scans.
The lead demigod simply stepped aside to clear the way, tapping his spear haft against the deck. The metallic clang echoed through the hangar.
Valerian took a deep breath and followed. Warfield stayed close behind.
They boarded an internal rail shuttle. Once seated, it began to glide silently.
The scenery outside became blurred patches of color. Only the occasional colossal pillar confirmed they were moving within the hull.
"This isn't a warship," Warfield murmured. "It's a flying city."
Ten minutes later, the train stopped before an arched tunnel.
The demigods rose first, and at the tunnel's end, two ten-meter-tall bronze doors slowly opened—
The flood of light made Valerian squint.
When his vision cleared, the sight before him stunned him anew.
A circular chamber over a hundred meters in diameter, with forty massive pillars supporting a domed ceiling adorned with star charts. The floor, cast from planetary-core alloy, bore engravings of every galaxy and universe conquered by the Human Empire. In the center, a huge hologram displayed real-time energy readings from Char's debris field.
Valerian's gaze climbed the stairs—
At the top of nine gilded steps stood a throne made from an unknown luminous material. Gold streams of living energy wrapped around its armrests.
Seated there was a figure that stole the prince's breath.
Athena, now out of her armor, wore a draping white robe inscribed with faint defensive runes.
Her slender fingers rested on the throne's arm, from which holographic particles flowed.
When the goddess looked up, Valerian felt as if the entire starfield rotated within her eyes—a living divinity that dwarfed any projection.
"Valerian Mengsk."
Her voice wasn't loud, but the mechanical torches on either side of the hall flickered in unison. Each syllable carried layers of resonance, as if millions across parallel timelines were repeating her words.
Valerian realized his knees were trembling uncontrollably. Though Athena clearly restrained her divine pressure, the gulf between lifeforms still pressed on him like a mountain.
Warfield was worse off. His prosthetic arm faltered, hydraulic oil leaking from its joints, legs heavy as lead. But he still refused to kneel.
"You're tougher than I expected."
Athena leaned forward slightly—enough to ripple the air around the throne. "Seems there's something salvageable in the Mengsk bloodline after all."
Suddenly, the hologram distorted.
Char's remnants were overridden by a higher-dimensional force. Countless golden particles gathered and formed a figure in black-gold armor.
As the hardlight projection of Emperor Samuel Young fully materialized, the room's gravity subtly shifted.
Valerian's heart nearly stopped.
Even across dimensional walls, Samuel Young's presence hit like a supernova.
Though not physically present, he felt more real than anything else. The black-gold patterns on his armor seemed to condense all light and darkness of the universe into liquid form.
His gentle smile struck terror into even the hardened Warfield.
"Prince of the Terran Dominion."
When Samuel Young spoke, even the floating dust seemed to freeze. His voice carried a dimensional timbre—like it echoed from past, present, and future all at once.
"I offer you two choices."
He raised a finger. Two holograms appeared before Valerian.
On the left: the imperial palace on Korhal engulfed in orbital bombardment.
On the right: Terran soldiers peacefully laying down arms in a surrender ceremony.
"Resist to the end, or…" Samuel's gaze flicked to Warfield's missing arm, "End this farce with minimal bloodshed."
Silence fell like a vacuum.
Valerian could hear his blood pounding. He looked at the "peace" scenario—specifically at a figure within it. Arcturus Mengsk, sentenced and executed publicly.
His Adam's apple bobbed. Bitterness spread across his tongue.
"My father…"
"He doesn't matter," Athena interrupted as she rose, her white robe billowing without wind. "What matters is how many lives you can still save."
She snapped her fingers.
A torrent of data emerged around the hall, forming a detailed list before Valerian.
It was a dossier of every Mengsk family member, each name followed by crime assessments. Next to Valerian's own name: "Transformative value: 87%."
"The Koprulu Sector needs order," the Emperor's voice rang with renewed force. "And you happen to have the political background we need."
He pointed to the Mengsk emblem on Valerian's chest. "Take it off. Wear the imperial dragon instead, and tens of billions of civilians will be spared from war."
Valerian closed his eyes.
He recalled the marines whispering in the hangar before he left the Bucephalus. The golden dragon crests on imperial warships, glowing in the sun outside the shuttle window.
And finally, Athena's expression as Char collapsed—that indifference to chaos and corruption alike.
"…I understand," Valerian replied hoarsely, opening his eyes.
"Good."
Samuel Young gave a genuinely warm smile. He reached out, and Valerian's crest floated into the air—melted in golden fire, then reforged into the imperial dragon.
"A wise choice." The projection began to fade. "The future you will be proud of who you are today, child."
As the final spark of light vanished, Athena stepped down, her white robe trailing behind. Each step left glowing prints on the alloy floor.
The goddess halted before Valerian, whose body still trembled, and said:
"Don't look so glum, kid. You just saved tens of billions of human lives. That's already greater than all your father's 'achievements' put together."
(End of Chapter)
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