Max stood at the center of the ruined crater, steam rising around him as the ground cracked beneath his feet. The Pirate Palace loomed ahead, an ugly fortress of spikes and metal, brimming with hostile life. From all sides, the alien army began to pour in—cyborgs, mechs, beasts, soldiers with glowing blades and guns built into their arms. They screamed, roared, and charged.
Max didn't flinch.
He raised his hand slowly.
From behind him… the shadows shifted.
Then something stepped out.
A tall knight in black armor, with glowing red eyes and a massive broadsword crackling with dark energy.
Then another. And another.
Dozens, then hundreds, of figures emerged from the rift behind Max—his own army.
Each one unique. Twisted, powerful, terrifying.
Some were vampires in elegant, bloodstained armor. Others were towering beasts with eyes like stars. Wraiths, liches, bone knights, spectral archers, even ancient dragons wrapped in chains of soul flame.
The sky darkened as his legion spread out behind him—an army of nightmares.
Max looked at the Pirate Warlord's forces, unbothered.
He cracked his neck, letting out a low breath. "So this is what they've brought?"
He turned slightly, just enough for his army to hear.
"Well," he said casually, "I brought mine too."
He raised one finger—and snapped.
His army moved.
In a blur of motion, the battlefield erupted.
Shadow blades tore through steel. Vampires blurred into the enemy ranks, ripping through them like paper. A massive spectral wolf pounced, jaws crushing a war mech in one bite. Screams echoed as the cyborg soldiers tried to fight back—only to be overwhelmed.
Max didn't need to lift a hand.
But he did anyway.
As one of the enemy commanders flew toward him in a power suit, Max simply looked up—and the man stopped mid-air. Frozen.
Then crumpled like paper, crushed by an invisible force.
Max didn't even glance back as he walked forward slowly, through the battlefield that had become a massacre. The Pirate Palace shook with alarms. Energy shields burst, reactors sparked, towers collapsed under the chaos.
The commander Thesk Or'han watched it all from his control chamber, his clawed hands gripping the rail.
"What is he!?" he roared.
His screen zoomed in on Max.
Unbothered. Untouched.
Just calmly walking toward the throne room.
Max's voice rang across the comms, deep and calm.
"You called down a storm."
He paused, eyes glowing faintly now with ancient power.
"Well now, I am the Night Monarch."
Thesk Or'han snarled, smashing his fist into the console, sending sparks flying. His crimson eyes glowed with rage.
"All elite units, to the throne chamber! Hold the line!"
But it was already too late.
Down below, his fortress city was falling apart—his army, torn to shreds. The towering mechs were reduced to scrap. His genetically enhanced beasts lay broken and burning. His Reaper units—his best assassins—hadn't even reached Max. They were cut down by his vanguard before they could strike.
And now… Max was at the gates.
The throne chamber doors—twelve feet thick, reinforced with neutronium and laced with quantum locks—stood between him and Thesk.
Max stopped before them.
One breath.
He raised a single hand.
A flash of power, invisible to the eye, burst from his palm. Not loud. Not flashy. But final.
The doors simply disintegrated, atom by atom, as if they'd never been there.
Inside, the warlord stood waiting—armored in living steel, his body twice the size of a man, claws glowing with venomous plasma, a massive hammer strapped to his back.
"You made a mistake coming here alone," Thesk growled.
Max stepped in. Calm. Unhurried.
"I'm not alone," he said quietly.
As if on cue, the shadow of one of his Night Generals—an undead warlock in robes made from stitched souls—appeared behind him. It didn't move. It didn't need to. Its presence alone silenced the entire throne hall.
Max's eyes locked with Thesk's.
"I don't even need to lift a single finger to defeat you—my army is enough," Max said coolly as he stepped to the side, leaning casually against the wall, letting his warlock do the work.
While aboard the ship earlier, Max had studied much about these beings. Their cybernetics reminded him of the old Cyberpunk games—people enhanced with tech implants, neural nodes, synthetic bones, and modular gear. Some rumors spoke of advanced tech buried deep in pirate command units—experimental augmentations that granted monstrous strength.
Max had never seen it in action.
Until now.
Thesk's lower body was gone—blown away in a previous blast—but the upper half was still functional, crawling with writhing cables and twitching plating. Max watched closely as the warlord's spine reformed itself with cybernetic limbs, raising him into a new form.
"So he does have it," Max murmured, intrigued.
The Warlock stepped forward.
It stood tall and terrifying—skeletal in form, its body cloaked in ethereal smoke and crimson soul threads. In one hand it held a staff dripping with cursed energy. In the other, nothing… yet reality twisted around its open palm like it was trying to flee.
Thesk growled. His new limbs cracked and hissed, unfolding razor-thin blades, energy claws, and a shoulder cannon already humming with unstable plasma.
"You send your pet to die, Max?" he sneered. "I'll crush it. Then you."
The Warlock said nothing. It raised its staff, and the room darkened.
The temperature dropped instantly. Frost began to creep across the metal floor. Souls—yes, souls—began to rise from the ground, screaming in silence, dragged from the battlefield outside.
Then—
Boom.
Thesk moved, launching toward the Warlock like a bullet, claws extended.
The Warlock didn't even flinch. With a wave of its staff, a wall of black bone erupted from the floor—blocking the attack.
Clang!
Sparks flew. Thesk's claws tore through half the wall—but the Warlock was already gone, vanished into smoke. Then—
Slash!
A blade of pure soul energy ripped across Thesk's chest, carving through armor and cybernetics alike. He roared, twisting around, firing his shoulder cannon—
The Warlock raised a single bony finger.
The blast froze mid-air.
With a flick, it reversed, slamming back into Thesk's cannon and detonating it from within. Flame and shrapnel tore through the chamber.
The warlord screamed, falling to one knee, cables thrashing violently.
"You… freak—!" he snarled.
***
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