A dozen or more hours later, "coming" to low orbit over Saint Shield 7;
the scene here was the opposite of the recent "calm," a full-on fortress on war footing.
The garrison fleet of the Diwuzu Legion—
two so-called indestructible Emperor-class battleships, dozens of cruisers, and even more agile escorts—patrolled in a tight defensive lattice. The cold gleam of hull metal flashed under the star, and a killing stillness soaked the void.
At the edges of the fleet's patrol paths and beyond the planet's gravity well, vast quantities of twisted, shattered, now-lifeless masses of flesh floated. Like rotten leviathans adrift in space, they told of a short but fierce clash here not long ago.
These were the final traces left by the blood moon entities that had tried to smash the gate.
"Sight" turned to the most eye-catching structure—the spatial gate.
This energy curtain, six kilometers on a side and flat as a mercury mirror, still held steady above the surface, shedding a soft, constant light, linking two different universes.
Since the Engineering Department used large environment stabilizers to quiet the planet's geological unrest triggered earlier by the Ishimura, freshly laid maglev lines—blue guide lights flickering—radiated outward like iron arteries from the gate, tying together the surrounding areas and the forward bases on the surface with high efficiency.
The rail network greatly sped personnel, equipment, and cargo transfers, turning Saint Shield 7 into a bustling interstellar "logistics" hub.
At this moment, a large maglev train designed to transport key personnel or items was running along a dedicated line straight to the forward base, gliding through the mirror-like gate, then slowing to a precise stop in a sealed, heavily guarded platform.
The train settled. A soft hiss of pressure equalization sounded. Heavy alloy doors slid open along their tracks.
Thud, thud!
Heavy, measured steps—like beats that could stir the ground itself—came first from the cars, echoing through the vast platform.
Two units of warriors stepped out first, a sight that hit like a blow.
One squad wore black-and-gold Terminator armor etched with Imperial dragon crests and ornate filigree, bearing thunderbolt halberds that symbolized the Emperor's authority and power. They were the Emperor's personal guard—
the Custodians.
Their presence alone meant the supreme will had arrived.
The other squad wore deep green Terminator plate, layered with thick titane-alloy and plasteel composite. Salamanders Legion emblems were stenciled on their pauldrons.
They were Salamanders veterans—elites famed for unbreakable defense and fearless ferocity.
The two lines of giants moved like walking fortresses, quickly and in order taking the platform's key points. From behind their visors, cold gazes swept every corner—ensuring absolute security.
Then a taller, even more imposing figure stepped out.
Nearly six meters in height, he wore a suit of personal power armor plated with dark-green, dragon-scale lamellae; molten glimmers pulsed faintly in the joints.
In his hands was a giant warhammer that breathed killing cold—
Tyrella's Frost Great Hammer.
He was Vulkan, the Salamanders' Primarch, renowned for his craft and boundless strength.
Vulkan's eyes—lit with a hot red glow—swept the platform. Only after he confirmed no potential threat did he turn slightly and say in a steady voice toward the car:
"Father."
"Mm."
An answer came—calm, rich with unanswerable majesty.
Then a figure of even greater stature stepped from the carriage.
He too wore black-and-gold power armor, but its design was older and more solemn, as though it bore the weight and history of all mankind.
At his waist hung a sword that seemed plain yet held the power to unmake stars.
His very outline shed a soft golden light, not blinding but impossible to ignore, as if he himself were the source of light and order.
He was the founder and sovereign of the Human Empire of the prime universe—
Emperor Samuel Young.
Samuel Young now stood near Vulkan's height—close to six meters—planted like a sea-calming pillar, the space seeming to center on him.
Every Imperial official, officer, and technician on the platform, there to receive him, dropped to one knee as one the instant the Emperor stepped down, heads bowed in highest respect.
Emperor Samuel Young swept them with a gentle gaze and lifted a hand. A soft, irresistible force raised everyone up.
"No need for ceremony."
His voice was not loud, yet it reached every ear, carrying a power that smoothed every agitation.
"Father, brother."
Sui Meng, waiting on the platform, stepped forward at once to salute Emperor Samuel Young and Primarch Vulkan.
"Your Majesty."
Halsey also came forward. Respect for humanity's supreme ruler colored her voice, along with the excitement of a scientist meeting the key to unlocking her research—and, yes…
a hint of teasing.
"Mm." Emperor Samuel Young answered again, then looked directly to Sui Meng and Halsey. "Take me to the matrix."
His words were simple and direct, no small talk—aim clear.
Excitement kindled in Halsey's eyes. She nodded at once. "Please follow me, Your Majesty."
She turned to lead the Emperor, Vulkan, Sui Meng, and their necessary guards and scientific staff to the heavily guarded site where the metal matrix, moved from Planet B, now rested.
But as the group began to leave the platform, Emperor Samuel Young suddenly halted.
?
His gaze hardened, peace falling away into a razor keenness, as if he had sensed something.
Slowly he raised his head. Those eyes—like lances through the void—lifted to Saint Shield 7's sky, pierced the atmosphere, and fixed on the cold deep.
Almost in the same second, Saint Shield 7's defense network alarms shrieked.
Beyond the planet's orbit, space rippled and warped like water struck by stones. Then one, two, three…
blood moon entities—more numerous than before, vast and grotesque—completed superluminal jumps, appearing in Saint Shield 7's sector like sharks on the scent.
Their crimson hides—riddled with bulging veins and holes—looked more terrible under the starlight. Their aim required no words: to retake the metal matrix that now lay in Imperial hands.
"These wretches truly don't know when to stop their folly!"
Sui Meng felt the dense threat-returns from orbital sensors slam in, and the nauseating, massive disturbance of the blood moon cluster racing for Saint Shield 7. A blaze of anger roared up inside him.
Especially with his father—
Emperor Samuel Young—present to direct, and his brother Vulkan here as well—these xenos still dared to harry them?!
It was like smearing the Diwuzu Legion's honor banner, a public sneer at their ability to pacify this universe!
It set his teeth.
His eyes slid for a heartbeat to Vulkan at his side.
Thankfully, this brother—famed for forbearance, resolve, and devotion to forging and guardianship—was not one of those Primarchs hungry for power, forever sniffing out chances to widen their sway.
Else this "defense lapse" might have been used as a pretext to propose his Legion's intervention in this universe—"assisting" the Diwuzu with the xenos—while carving away glory and governance in truth.
Even so, Sui Meng knew the blood moons' refusal to stay dead could not be pinned entirely on Legion shortcomings.
Grand Device 01's first firing had purged every blood moon within thirty thousand light-years with thunderous force, but that radius still left much of the vast galaxy untouched.
In corners it did not bathe, unknown numbers of blood moons still lurked.
To end the threat at the root, there were only two paths:
first, deploy multiple Grand Devices at key galactic nodes to build an interlocking web of fire—"cleansing" with no blind spots;
second, strike at the source—make the silicon civilization that created Markers and blood moons, whose core consciousness likely lies bound in this metal matrix before them… bow to the Human Empire. Then all blood moons and Markers would, bereft of orders, settle into harmless cosmic dust.
As Sui Meng's mind raced—scales of strategy tipping—the silent Emperor Samuel Young spoke.
His voice was calm, bearing a strange power that stilled all turmoil and anger, and it reached straight into Sui Meng's heart:
"Steady, child."
The Emperor's gaze still rose to the sky—as if through the roof to face the threats just in from the void:
"These are moths to flame. Trifles, nothing more. Don't let petty things foul your mood and judgment."
Before the last syllable faded, those deep eyes—dark as the star sea—were suddenly filled, utterly, with radiance pure as liquid gold.
An unspeakable weight—one that made everyone there, even Sui Meng and Vulkan, feel their own light dim like candles before the sun—burst outward from Samuel Young as the center.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!!
A visible, near-tangible flood of golden psionics, like the energy ring of a supernova, surged from Samuel Young's body!
Not a random blast, but a precision release—spreading faster than physics—clean and rapid in all directions.
It ignored matter. In an instant, it pierced the forward base's armor and dome, swept the face of Saint Shield 7, then raced through low orbit and out into the broader sector at inconceivable speed.
Where the golden flood passed, every Diwuzu, Custodian, Salamander—and every Imperial soul; every vehicle; every piece of gear—felt a warm, vast power brush body and mind. There was no discomfort—only spirits lifting and the "flow" within running truer.
But for the blood moon pack—fresh from the jump and steeped in malice—the gold became the perfect verdict.
The moment the golden surge washed across each blood moon's massive, twisted body, pure gold fire rose from within and without, at once—like a red-hot brand on snow!
This was no mundane flame. It burned the blood moon's essence—the foul energy and twisted matter that made it.
In the instant the light touched them, those planet-sized hulks—things that could drive a system to despair—had no time even to struggle. In the extremity of light and heat, they melted like wax flung into a hell-furnace—breaking, vaporizing, dissolving to uncounted golden motes—and then were gone into the cold void, without scrap or stain left behind.
Where alarms had wailed and clouds of war gathered at a predator's press, calm returned to Saint Shield 7's sector in the next breath.
The bright river of stars shone clear again, as if the "sky-blotting" swarm had never come.
Only the faint energy ripples still settling in space—and the wordless shock in Imperial hearts—proved the earthshaking scene had been real.
"Sir, all incoming anomalous space signatures have vanished. Orbital threat confirmed fully neutralized."
Wu Ji's cool report broke the short silence over the link.
"."
Sui Meng only dipped his head a fraction, saying nothing more.
Outwardly he kept his calm—but inside, a sea rose.
He knew his father held depths enough to scour the stars alone—but never had he thought that a threat of this scale would be handled exactly as his father had said—a "trifle"—with the smallest motion, without taking a single step from the platform—accomplishing a precise purgation across astronomical distances.
That easy mastery of the whole made Sui Meng's respect—and awe—rise to a new height.
The aside done, nothing stood in the way.
Led by Halsey, Samuel Young, Vulkan, Sui Meng, and their necessary guards and research staff left the platform, boarded high-speed base transports, and rode to a special field about ten kilometers north of the forward base—marked at the highest alert level.
There lay the metal matrix, brought "from afar" from Planet B, moved here by the Imperial Engineering Department under the strictest protocols.
It rested inside a temporary but gigantically scaled research bay—equipped with multiple energy suppression fields and physical barriers—awaiting the Emperor's personal inspection and judgment.
The real engagement, perhaps, was only now about to begin.
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