"The minions of Emperor Palpatine! You gene-modified devils who defy the laws of nature! You will never make us surrender!"
On the Rebel Alliance's flagship battle cruiser, stretching several kilometers long, a valiant rebel officer led his subordinates in setting up proton cannons, multi-barreled blasters, and heavy laser cannons at the sealed bulkhead gate, unleashing a torrent of fire to suppress the boarding group of 'gene-modified devil warriors.'
Swish swish swish swish!
Caught off guard, several Astartes warriors from the Blood Angels' Redemption Angels Chapter were knocked sprawling mid-charge by the powerful kinetic impacts as they advanced and destroyed the laser turrets.
"Heavy blasters!"
The Redemption Angels in the rear immediately adjusted tactics. Tactical squads either grabbed fallen comrades or dragged those whose ceramite armor was melted and smoking, quickly spreading to the sides of the corridor. Veterans equipped with new orichalcum composite armor and personal energy shields raised their deflection field shields, advancing step by step under the roaring blaster fire.
"It's a particle beam mixed with plasma discharge."
"They've opened the bulkhead gate—one heretic heavy-weapon centuria entrenched, equipped with thermal shields."
Within the comms channel, the Redemption Angels' squad exchanged concise, efficient updates.
Having fought many battles across the planetary worlds that once fell under the Old Galactic Republic's influence, the entire expeditionary army dispatched by the Sacred Selene Empire was already well familiar with the conventional thermal weapons of this universe—the blaster rifles that fired cohesive photon-energy pulses.
Cheap, low recoil, powerful, and capable of adjustable non-lethal output.
Compared to laser rifles or electromagnetic pulse guns, they were crude and imprecise, yet deeply loved throughout the galaxy by men, women, and children alike—including both the Rebel Alliance and the Galactic Empire. A truly universal standard weapon.
The Sacred Selene Empire's martial officers gave their evaluation: a weakling's weapon!
True warriors should wield something massive—the stronger the recoil, the greater the power—and let their mighty, iron biceps master it, displaying with grandeur what it means to be a proper Imperial soldier of the Empress.
How could one display noble character while using the same weapon as weaklings?
The high command, however, ignored these muscle-headed fools who had trained their brains into steel.
To them, blasters were fine. Many models had adjustable output thresholds—non-lethal stun settings that incapacitated targets without causing physical harm.
Affordable, stable, reliable—perfect for the Ministry of Justice and local law enforcement to adopt after some adaptation from Imperial equivalents.
Back to the battle: through constant accumulation of frontline combat data, the Sacred Selene Empire's Inquisition 23625th Frontier Command had already formulated effective countermeasures.
Blaster energy beams were generally classified into two types: particle beams, which inflicted greater damage on flesh; and plasma beams, which were more effective against machinery and energy shields.
Bang! Bang!
In barely a second, two Redemption Angels exchanged glances and confirmed their tactics. They hurled two flash-concussion grenades, then ducked and rolled out, drawing the plasma pistols from their thigh-mounted mag-holsters. Without even aiming, they fired three bursts of plasma toward the end of the corridor.
Zzzzzzz...
Six streams of blue plasma streaked through the corridor reeking of scorched metal and blood. The already battered alloy bulkhead, weakened by previous bombardment, exploded midair as molten iron and debris filled the passageway. A dozen rebels, caught unprepared, were instantly charred into blackened corpses.
Even the thermal shields flared into blinding white radiance for a moment.
Taking advantage of that brief second when the rebel laser gunners flinched and the suppressive fire faltered, the Redemption Angels' heavy assault unit advanced under overlapping shields.
WHOOOM!
In that instant, the Gauss disintegration cannon fired, its green lightning-like beam illuminating the dark corridor shorted by ruined circuitry.
The atomic green flare expanded like a miniature sun, engulfing half the rebel fortification and gun emplacement. The violent implosive reaction swept through, swallowing dozens of rebels who had no time to flee.
Faced with an attack that directly destroyed atomic bonds and tore the target apart from the microscopic level, the rebel soldiers—flesh and blood included—were crushed like smashed watermelons, reduced to a heap of bloody ash and fragments.
The most miserable were those who somehow survived, half of their bodies annihilated by disintegration particles. Thrown back by the impact, they crashed heavily to the ground, half their bodies engulfed in searing pain, their bodily fluids, blood, and waste gushing out as they wailed in agony.
"Damn it!"
Falling to the ground, the rebel officer's hand holding the blaster pistol was vaporized from the mid-forearm down. Seeing half of the veteran unit he had led for years wiped out in mere seconds, his bloodshot eyes filled with hatred and grief. His face, shredded and bloodied by flying metal shards, twisted with fury.
"Executioners! Tell your false Emperor and tyrant master—The Force is with us! The will of the Republic shall never perish! For freedom, we march to—"
Zzt...
Chrrr...
The advancing Redemption Angel didn't bother listening. With the growling snarl of his roaring chainsword, he slashed through the officer's throat. The man clutched at his neck desperately, but the serrated teeth carved through flesh and bone, tearing away his collarbone and part of his jaw. Blood sprayed like a fountain, splattering the walls.
"Accelerate the advance! We rise upon burning wings! We are the avenging angels of Sacred Selene's wrath!"
The officer's eyes bulged wide like copper bells, blood vessels bursting as he glared in defiance. He seemed determined to remember the sight of the skull-wing insignia emblazoned on the chestplate of the roaring Astartes officer before him. The next moment, the Redemption Angel captain smashed him into the wall with one massive swing, bones and organs bursting apart.
Ahh—! Help! Mom!
From behind the shields and defensive barriers, the screams of the Rebel infantry echoed endlessly. The explosive rounds weren't particularly effective against energy shields, but against unarmored flesh, the two-stage micro-missiles left no room to escape.
Perhaps the rebels were mere gene-cloned soldiers—far inferior in both individual and overall capability compared to the Sacred Selene Empire's main Astartes legions—but when it came to fighting mere mortals, they were more than enough.
A single explosive round didn't just puncture—it detonated, tearing bodies apart, splitting soldiers in half, or reducing them to chunks of meat. The air was thick with blood mist as desperate cries filled the corridor.
"By the Empress' flame, purge the wraiths of darkness!"
In the inner decks near the ship's central bay, a detachment of the Black Templars—black armor marked with the white cross—was pursuing retreating Rebel Alliance officers.
"Exterminate them!"
With the cry of a Black Templar Champion, a Terminator armed with a heavy proton fusion cannon stepped forward, his back bearing a massive energy supply pack.
FWOOOM!
A piercing shriek filled the air as the blast door vaporized into dust. A column of flame burst through the inner hull, blasting apart the impact barrier. Even the waiting shuttles were flung aside in a ring of explosions. The hangar became a ruin—smoke, ash, and dismembered corpses everywhere.
"We've lost Mon Mothma... Admiral Gial Ackbar, go! The Rebel Alliance cannot afford to lose you too!"
As the enemy pressed closer, amidst the chaos of the deck and one sealed bulkhead after another being blown open, a group of Rebel officers surrounded their naval commander, urging him desperately to retreat.
Gial Ackbar was not human. A pure-blooded Mon Calamari, his skin was orange-red, his hands webbed, his large eyes bulging from his rounded, dome-like head.
"No. I cannot go. I will not."
Ackbar raised his fin, pointing toward the red-lit holographic projection of the ship's perimeter, and spoke in his hoarse Mon Calamari accent:
"We have fought tyranny and despotism for so long. Freedom and democracy have always been our proudest weapons. Yet never have we spoken of sacrifice. Among the Rebel High Command—aside from Senator Bail, who perished unexpectedly in the Death Star's attack—none have fallen on the front lines. That is our shame."
"We have always sent our young soldiers to die, while the Empire mocked our hypocrisy. Now, Mon Mothma has gone before us."
Ackbar listened to the thunderous roar of blaster fire and alien battle cries echoing ever closer. Watching the wounded writhe in pain from even the slightest touch of the enemy's power, he understood—this would be his final moment of reflection.
He spoke into the comms battle channel: "All evacuation craft and Rebel personnel, on my command, make the jump to hyperspace immediately. May the Force be with us."
Then, Ackbar reached into his belt and pulled out the blaster pistol he hadn't used in years. "I suppose... it's time for me to die as well. If this darkness is what we must endure before dawn, then let it begin with us."
The next moment—BOOOOM!
"Mantis Warriors, claws of the Empire!"
"Black Templars, blades of the Empire! Slay the enemies of the Empress!"
Smashing through the molten bulkhead door, the Astartes warriors stormed in, charging through blaster and rifle fire, their bolters roaring as they turned everything before them into clouds of shredded flesh and blood.
Ranks, race—none of it mattered anymore. They had become one.
Hit repeatedly by disruptor rounds, the ship's shield field would take time to recover from its paralysis. But the Sacred Selene Empire's military had long since locked onto this suspected Rebel Alliance flagship.
Thud... Thud... Thud...
The muffled booms of thermal breaching charges continued to echo throughout the hull—boarding torpedoes, assault gunships—endless.
Every Astartes Chapter in the engagement wanted a piece of the Rebel Alliance's "fresh meat."
Their pride drove them onward, desperate to prove their worth and valor to the Divine Empress Selene—that they were no less capable than the original Astartes Legions still retaining their full formations.
After all, once the Angels of Death of the Human Imperium, now reduced within the Sacred Selene Empire to regional forces of the A–13 Grand Sector, they could not accept being called second-rate.
We are not rabble! We are the Emperor's main host!
Pitifully, the Rebels bore the brunt of this frenzied slaughter—Astartes companies from various boarding detachments competing in sheer massacre.
...
As the battle reached its end, the starry battlefield became a whirl of radiant, multi-colored light.
Dazzling hues shimmered amid drifting smoke—flames of burning gunfire, cascades of sparks, spinning debris, plasma flares, falling aircraft erupting in explosions, and storms of electromagnetic plasma filling the void with steel wreckage.
"Change the banners."
On the command bridge of the Death Star II, Darth Vader—once more wearing his helmet to embody the feared image of the Dark Lord—spoke coldly. Before the assembled high-ranking officers of the Galactic Empire's Endor theater, he transmitted the message that the Emperor was dead, that he had ascended, and that the Empire itself would now transform.
"The age of Palpatine is over. The era of the Galactic Empire has ended. Now begins the age of the Sacred Selene Empire."
His gaze lingered on the generals who, until an hour ago, had been his subjects of the old order. "The Force... is with us now."
"For Selene—!"
It was a war cry and a prayer he had learned from the Sacred Selene Empire's army.
"For Selene!" ×N
They shouted in unison, though few knew who Selene truly was. Yet as the first of the Imperial generals saluted, more followed, and soon the chant echoed throughout the Death Star II like a rising tide.
It had gone rather smoothly.
The Palace Guards of Selene, the Imperial Household troops and the silent Sisters of Silence, merely exchanged quiet looks.
The Endor front was now secure. The Galactic capital of Coruscant likely would not pose much trouble either.
But what of the loyalists of Palpatine—the true warlords of the Galactic Empire, the Sector Governors and High Sector Governors, the entrenched magnates and corporate dynasties who controlled the Core Worlds and the inner ring? How would they respond?
And then there were the lingering remnants of the Jedi Order, the survivors of the Old Republic, the rebels and conspirators scattered across the stars.
Perhaps... there would indeed be many more wars of pacification and restoration to come.
...
Meanwhile, within the Honkai Dimension, the Imperial Capital.
In the outer study hall of Schönbrunn Palace, a long oval projection table displayed the still-unconquered territories of the former Galactic Empire in shimmering holographic light.
"Assessment complete. The rest should proceed smoothly."
Behind the screen, stretching lazily with a yawn, Selene rose slowly from her cushion and placed the folder labeled Inquisition 23625th Frontier Command into the desk's second drawer.
At her side, the regent-intelligence servitor Mendicant Bias nodded silently, lowering the priority level of this theater's operational status.
"Anything amusing to ease the fatigue?" she asked.
"Your Majesty, this is the issue of the Rogue Trader Daily you were perusing earlier..."
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