"You… freak—!" he snarled.
The Warlock appeared before him again, eyes burning like twin stars. It leaned down and whispered in a dead language—one that scraped across Thesk's mind like rusted blades.
And then it touched his forehead.
Thesk convulsed.
His body shook. His eyes went wide—showing images flashing through his mind: a million souls he'd butchered, all screaming. The sins of his past, replayed all at once.
The Warlock stood tall again, lifted its staff—and drove it into Thesk's chest.
BOOM.
A column of black light erupted from the throne room, piercing the ceiling, shaking the entire fortress.
When it faded… Thesk Or'han was gone.
Only a smoking crater remained.
The Warlock turned and walked calmly back toward Max, who gave a soft nod.
"Efficient," Max said. "Brutal. I like it."
He stepped forward and looked around the ruined throne room.
"One warlord down," he muttered. "How many more are left?"
His eyes narrowed. His smirk returned.
"Guess I'll find out."
Max then turned his gaze toward the still-smoking crater where Thesk Or'han had once stood. The room was quiet now—only the flicker of burning cables and the low hum of failing machinery remained.
He walked closer, hands in his pockets, his coat billowing gently behind him from the residual energy still hanging in the air.
He tilted his head slightly, peering into the blackened pit. A few scraps of cybernetic plating sparked weakly. Some shattered vertebrae. But in the center…
The core.
A gleaming, half-organic, half-mechanical heart-like structure still pulsed weakly—some stubborn part of the warlord refusing to die.
Max smirked.
"Hmm," he murmured to himself, crouching by the edge. "I wonder what kind of undead you can become..."
Behind him, the Warlock stopped and raised its head, sensing the shift in intent.
Max reached out lazily, letting his fingers hover above the still-beating core. His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with raw command.
"Rise."
Black mist began to pour from his hand, curling down into the remains like searching tendrils. The light in the cybernetic heart flickered. Then again. Then… held.
The remains twitched.
Metal limbs jerked. Sparks flew. A hand reached up from the ashes, now twisted, skeletal—part necrotic bone, part corrupted tech.
The Warlock took a step back, watching with interest.
The thing that was once Thesk pulled itself from the crater, groaning, wires dangling like torn nerves. Its eyes glowed a hollow, hellish red. Its mouth opened, and a low, distorted growl echoed through the chamber:
"Command… acknowledged…"
Max stood, his expression thoughtful—almost amused.
"A techno-lich," he said. "Didn't think you had it in you."
The creature bowed, twitching slightly as dark energy stabilized its broken frame. Arcane sigils burned into its remaining armor. Its old mind was gone—replaced by something far worse. Loyal. Obedient.
And furious.
Max turned to his Warlock.
"Bind it. Train it. Give it a place in the army. And make sure it remembers who owns it now."
The Warlock bowed in silent obedience and led the new abomination away.
Max looked out the shattered throne room windows, where the stars still shimmered beyond the ruined walls.
The conquest began quietly—but ended in fire.
After the fall of Thesk Or'han, Max didn't stop. He moved like a shadow through the stars, system by system, sector by sector. Wherever there was resistance, it was crushed. Wherever there were warlords, they fell—one by one.
The Armangda Union, once a terrifying coalition of pirate kings, rogue AIs, techno-gods, and mutant warlords, began to fracture. Their most fortified citadels—gone in days. Their command fleets—shattered into debris fields. Even their secret bastions hidden in subspace collapsed under the weight of Max's relentless assault.
He didn't bring armies to those battles.
He unleashed them.
Nightmarish beasts forged in shadow, corrupted revenants wearing the faces of former generals, soul-bound titans, wraith dragons with breath that silenced stars.
Each time Max arrived, his forces swelled—because the defeated were never wasted. They were claimed. Warlocks raised their spirits. Engineers twisted their tech. And Max's undead empire grew.
In just over a month, what was once the most feared pirate alliance in this quadrant of the galaxy became a graveyard kingdom ruled by silence, shadows, and a single name:
Max.
Eventually, Max stood alone on the high ridge of the last stronghold—a cliff that overlooked what remained of the world's capital, now quiet under his dominion. The sky, once filled with defense fleets, now shimmered with dark banners and floating citadels humming with necromantic energy.
The world itself—once a warzone—had changed. Under Max's influence, forests had regrown, cities repaired themselves with bio-mechanical fusion, and the people—those few civilians who had been trapped in fear—were given order, safety… purpose.
The entire planet now pulsed with his mark.
He looked out over the cities below, arms folded, eyes calm. His generals stood behind him—silent, awaiting command. The Techno-Lich that was once Thesk knelt nearby, now a loyal sentinel. The Warlock loomed beside Max, its staff humming with stored planetary souls.
Max exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Oh boy… I really messed up the world leaders," he mumbled, leaning back as a line of techno-undead stood silently at his side like statues.
He glanced over his techno-undead, muttering under his breath, "Well… let's make the world better now, you dumb idiots."
Max wasn't interested in ruling every little thing himself. He had the vision—but not the patience for micromanagement. So, to reshape the world properly, he gifted it something greater.
From his journey into the Horizon Universe, Max had collected a vast repository of Cyberpunk data—everything from advanced biotech, sentient urban infrastructure, to environmental regeneration protocols. He uploaded it all into the planetary core of Horizon and used it to birth something new.
Gaia.
Not the mythical goddess of old, but a digital, AI-driven world-god—crafted to maintain and evolve the planet under Max's command. She was brilliant, adaptive, and bound only by one law:
"Above all else, serve this world. Above you, only Max."
He created her not as a servant, but as a queen in his name. Where he was lazy and unpredictable, Gaia was exacting, passionate, and endlessly efficient.
***
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