Life on Earth continued much as it always had, with one significant exception: everywhere you went, people were talking about aliens and super soldiers.
Coffee shops buzzed with animated discussions about the latest sighting of the "demon wings" over a European city. Office workers shared cell phone videos of the Giant Canyon—that massive aircraft carrier that had become a symbol of Earth's resistance. Students debated which super soldier was the coolest, forming informal fan clubs dedicated to Ge Xiaolun's invincibility or Liu Chuang's god-slaying axe.
In living rooms across the country, families gathered around televisions to watch government broadcasts about "enhanced defense initiatives" and "partnership programs with advanced civilizations." The euphemisms fooled no one. Everyone knew what was really being discussed: the fact that Earth was no longer alone in the universe, and not all their new neighbors were friendly.
The envy was palpable. Ge Xiaolun and his team had become household names, modern legends in the making. Everyone knew their origins—students recruited into a mysterious academy, chosen for genetic compatibility with ancient super soldier programs, transformed into something more than human.
But knowing about it didn't mean you could join it.
The entrance requirements for the Super Soldier Academy were impossibly strict, and they had absolutely nothing to do with wealth, connections, or family background. You could empty your bank account, call in every favor you'd ever accumulated, sell everything you owned down to your shoes, and it wouldn't matter. Either you had the genetic markers they were looking for, or you didn't.
No amount of money could buy you a spot in that program.
So people complained, naturally. That was human nature. But even as they grumbled about the unfairness of genetic lottery, most of them also prayed. Lit incense at temples, whispered words to whatever higher power they believed in, asked for protection for the soldiers on the front lines.
Those soldiers—both the super-powered ones and the ordinary men and women in uniform—were the last barrier between civilization and chaos. If their defense lines broke, if they failed...
Well. Nobody wanted to think too hard about what came after that.
Of course, not everyone responded with prayer and hope. Some people looked at the situation and made different calculations. They saw that other countries had already fallen to demon occupation, that those territories were now ruled by Morgana's forces. And they thought: if you can't beat them, join them.
A steady trickle of people began leaving the country, crossing borders legally and illegally, seeking out demon-controlled zones. Their logic was grimly practical: if they could obtain the demon gene transformation, become one of Morgana's soldiers, at least they'd have power. At least they'd be more than just fragile humans waiting to be crushed by cosmic forces beyond their comprehension.
Better to be a demon than a corpse, right?
Morgana, to her credit—or perhaps her detriment—ignored these supplicants completely.
It wasn't just because Marcus had warned her against interfering with this country's people, though that played a role. Even without that restriction, she wouldn't have wasted resources on these cowards. Spineless opportunists who'd abandon their homes and people at the first sign of trouble? Who'd sell out their species for a taste of power?
They disgusted her. Reviving the demon gene in creatures like that would be an insult to the concept of freedom she was fighting for. Demons should be revolutionaries, rebels against cosmic order who chose their path deliberately. Not... these things. These weak-willed parasites looking for an easy way out.
Let them beg. She had more important concerns.
Meanwhile, Marcus seemed to have vanished from the world's awareness entirely. No sightings, no reports, no dramatic appearances on aircraft carriers. It was like he'd simply stepped out of reality, leaving behind only his gifts and warnings.
Ducao found this absence both reassuring and deeply worrying.
On one hand, if Marcus wasn't interfering, that meant he wasn't causing problems. On the other hand, not knowing where an entity of that power level was or what he was planning? That kept Ducao awake at night, staring at ceiling shadows and running through contingency plans.
He had enough to worry about without adding "missing reality-warping Void master" to the list. The threat of alien invasion was still very real, and despite the incredible advantage the lantern furnace had given them, Earth remained desperately weak by cosmic standards.
Even with the power of the lantern furnace augmenting their soldiers, they could only compete with first-generation divine body warriors. That was impressive for humans who'd been throwing rocks at each other just a few thousand years ago, but against second-generation divine bodies? They'd struggle. And some civilizations had already achieved third-generation divine body technology.
Third generation. Gods, for all practical purposes.
However, there was one critical advantage Ducao had discovered through extensive testing: super soldiers who already possessed divine bodies could also use the lantern furnace's power.
And when they did, the results were extraordinary.
He'd run the tests personally on Ge Xiaolun and the others. Fitted them with tactical helmets, had them interface with the lantern furnace, measured the output. The power each soldier could manifest seemed to scale with both their willpower and their existing enhancement level.
Perhaps the lantern furnace granted power proportional to what the user could safely channel. Perhaps it was something else. Ducao wasn't entirely sure of the mechanism, but the results spoke for themselves.
Zhao Xin—the Spear of Dexing, possessing a second-generation divine body—could burst out destructive power matching a third-generation divine body when channeling the lantern furnace.
Third generation. The kid could fight gods now.
When Ducao had first seen those test results, he'd sat in his office for twenty minutes just staring at the numbers, convinced they had to be wrong. He'd ordered the tests run again. Same results.
As one of the architects of the Deno Galaxy's destruction ten thousand years ago, Ducao understood divine bodies intimately. He knew exactly what a second-generation Dexing Spear could do—the speed, the precision, the raw penetrating power that could punch through advanced armor like tissue paper.
But a third-generation Dexing Spear? That was the difference between a soldier and a demigod. That was the kind of power that could change the course of entire battles single-handedly.
And it wasn't just the raw destructive capability. The lantern furnace's power gave Zhao Xin versatility he'd never possessed before. His fighting style had always been straightforward—get close, stab things very quickly, try not to die. Effective but limited.
Now? Now he had options. Energy constructs, ranged attacks, defensive barriers. His combat approach could be dynamic, adaptable, creative. The boy was no longer just a spear that moved fast. He was becoming an actual warrior.
"Hm?" Marcus paused in his work, eyes suddenly focusing on something only he could see. "Someone carrying Void power just entered my awareness."
He was aboard his ship—a vessel that existed partly in normal space and partly in dimensional folds that would make most civilizations' physics departments cry—studying the principles of concept materialization he'd learned from Ducao. The information was fascinating, like discovering a entirely new branch of mathematics that could reshape reality.
But this new development demanded his attention.
His gaze penetrated space itself, looking through layers of reality like someone peering through stacked sheets of glass. There—someone approaching Earth, and they carried the distinctive signature of secondary Void manipulation.
"The one using secondary Void power in this manner... that should be karl's work, shouldn't it?" Marcus smiled, genuinely intrigued. "Let's see how far the God of Death has progressed with that Big Clock of his."
This could be very educational.
Beyond Earth's orbit, hidden from conventional detection by advanced stealth technology, the Taotie fleet hung in space like a swarm of mechanical locusts.
The ships were brutal in their aesthetic—all sharp angles and weapon emplacements, designed by a species that valued function over form and death over beauty. These weren't exploration vessels or diplomatic cruisers. They were instruments of conquest, built to overwhelm and annihilate.
On the bridge of the flagship, a figure sat upon a throne-like command chair. The Howler King—the one some translators called "Devourer" or "Eater of Gluttony"—was a warrior composed entirely of biomechanical components. Flesh and metal merged into something that was neither fully organic nor fully machine, but somehow more terrible than either.
And from him, secondary Void energy radiated like heat from a furnace. It warped the space around him subtly, causing the very fabric of reality to flinch away from his presence.
"My king," a beast-like warrior approached the throne, head bowed in deference. His voice held the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious figures. "We have arrived at the Earth system. The target is within strike range. Do you wish to commence the attack?"
They had traveled far for this moment, following their god's commands. karl, the God of Death, had given them this mission. They would flatten this primitive world, harvest its deaths, offer those souls as tribute to their deity.
The Howler King's mechanical eyes glowed with cold light as he considered the question. Finally, he spoke, his voice a synthetic rasp that nonetheless carried absolute authority.
"We wait. When the master's other affairs are concluded, we will strike. Not before."
The beast-warrior bowed deeper, accepting the command without question. Of course they would wait. They served karl before all else, and if their god had other plans in motion, those plans took priority.
What the Howler King didn't know—what none of them knew—was that karl, the God of Death they so revered, was currently experiencing something he hadn't felt in centuries: complete confusion.
In his dark sanctuary, surrounded by research equipment that defied conventional physics and texts that predated most current civilizations, karl stared at communication records with an expression of baffled frustration.
He'd discussed the plan with Morgana extensively. They'd coordinated, worked out the details, established timelines. The strategy was simple: while he kept Kesha occupied with one threat, Morgana would handle another front. Together, they'd overwhelm the King of Angels' defensive capabilities.
But now? Now Morgana had just... backed out. Quit. Sent him a message essentially saying "changed my mind, good luck with Kesha, bye!"
karl prided himself on his ability to predict patterns, to understand motivations, to see the logical progression of events. He'd spent millennia studying death, the Void, the fundamental nature of existence itself. His phantom body was proof of his dedication—he'd forsaken physical form to get closer to his research subjects.
And yet he couldn't make sense of this.
"It's bizarre," he muttered to himself, reviewing the timeline again. "Until recently, she was obsessed with destroying Kesha. Thirty thousand years of hatred, and she talked about her sister like... well, like someone who desperately wanted to prove a point through violence. And now? Suddenly she 'doesn't care anymore'?"
People didn't just drop thirty millennia of resentment overnight. It didn't work like that. There should have been a progression, a gradual shift, something to explain the transformation.
But Morgana's change had been almost instantaneous, and it coincided with... with...
Earth.
Something had happened on Earth. Something significant enough to completely alter Morgana's priorities and emotional state.
"Master," a hunched figure in black robes shuffled forward—Snow, karl's most loyal servant. "We have received communication from the Howler King. He requests permission to launch the attack on Earth."
karl's glowing eyes—the only truly visible feature in his phantom form—flickered with sudden interest.
"Tell them to proceed," he said after a moment's consideration. "But carefully. I want them to probe Earth's defenses, discover what's changed there. And..." He paused, a plan forming. "Send word to Hua Ye as well. Have him investigate from a different angle."
Snow bowed. "The Scum King may object to being used as a reconnaissance asset, Master."
"He can object all he wants. Tell him I said it's necessary." karl waved a dismissive hand. "Both the Howler King and Hua Ye are merely pieces on the board, Snow. The Howler has his Void engine, Hua Ye has his black hole engine. Both of them are difficult to kill even under the best circumstances. If they encounter something dangerous on Earth, they'll survive long enough to report what they found."
And if they didn't survive? Well, the loss of some ordinary soldiers and two difficult personalities wasn't really a loss at all. karl had plenty of other assets he could deploy. What mattered was understanding the anomaly.
"I must know what changed on that planet," karl said softly, almost to himself. "What could be powerful enough to completely transform Morgana's fundamental approach to existence?"
What he didn't know—what he couldn't have guessed—was that the Void he'd spent his entire existence studying, the ultimate fear he'd dedicated himself to embracing, had already manifested on Earth in physical form.
Marcus was already there.
Under karl's orders, the Howler King gave the command. The Taotie fleet's engines flared to life, and dozens of warships began their descent toward Earth's atmosphere.
They would crush this primitive world. They would harvest death for their god. They would—
Ducao watched the fleet approach on his tactical displays and smiled.
He wasn't surprised by the Taotie's arrival. Intelligence reports had been tracking their approach for hours. And surprisingly, he found that he wasn't particularly worried either.
Before the lantern furnace, this fleet would have been a nightmare scenario. Dozens of advanced warships, armed with weapons that could level cities, crewed by warriors who'd been fighting and conquering for generations. Earth's conventional military wouldn't have stood a chance, and even their super soldiers would have been stretched dangerously thin.
But now? Now Ducao commanded an army where each soldier possessed combat ability equivalent to a first-generation divine body warrior. Even without god-killing weapons, they could crush most of the Taotie forces through sheer power and numbers.
And when you added in the super soldiers—Ge Xiaolun with his invincibility, Liu Chuang with his god-slaying axe, Zhao Xin with his third-generation-level burst damage—the Taotie didn't really have a chance.
The military force currently under his command was roughly comparable to the Deno Galaxy at its peak, ten thousand years ago. Not in terms of top-tier power or technological resources, but in terms of mid-level combat capability? They were competitive.
Even the angels, famous throughout the universe for their military might, couldn't mass-produce first-generation divine body warriors the way Earth could now. The angel civilization had achieved its strength through tens of thousands of years of careful development, genetic refinement, and technological advancement.
Earth's soldiers had touched a lantern.
One touch. That was all it took to elevate an ordinary human to super-soldier status. The implications were staggering, and Ducao was still processing them.
"Lianfeng," he said, turning to his second-in-command, "do we have the capability to intercept the Taotie fleet in orbit? Keep them away from the cities?"
Lianfeng—elegant, brilliant, and probably the only person who truly understood how Ducao's mind worked—consulted her tactical displays for a moment before nodding.
"Yes, sir. Based on our testing of the lantern furnace's power output and our projections for the super soldiers' current capabilities, we can engage and eliminate the Taotie fleet before they reach the atmosphere. Numbers won't matter. We have absolute qualitative superiority."
Ducao's smile widened, taking on a edge that several younger officers found deeply unsettling.
Finally. Finally, he could fight without constantly worrying about civilian casualties, about infrastructure damage, about preserving what little Earth had. He could wage war the way he'd been trained to, the way his instincts screamed at him to operate.
He would show these alien bastards exactly why he'd once been called the War Butcher. That nickname hadn't been given lightly. He'd earned it through countless battles, forged it from rivers of blood and mountains of corpses.
The moment he made that decision—the moment he fully committed to unrestricted strategic command—the temperature in the command center seemed to drop. Several technicians shivered involuntarily, glancing around in confusion. Even Lianfeng looked at Ducao with an expression that was equal parts nostalgia and concern.
She recognized this shift. She'd seen it before, back in the Deno Galaxy, back when Ducao had been a different person with a different purpose. The general who'd helped destroy an entire star system was returning to the surface, and god help anyone who stood in his way.
The War Butcher is back, Lianfeng thought, feeling a complex mixture of emotions. Part of her was glad—they needed that tactical brilliance, that ruthless efficiency. But another part felt pity.
Not for Earth. For the Taotie.
Before, when Earth had only possessed a handful of super soldiers and conventional military forces, the Taotie fleet would have been a genuine existential threat. A desperate battle for survival that could have gone either way.
But now? Now the Taotie were walking into a meat grinder, and they didn't even know it. With the lantern furnace's power distributed among thousands of soldiers, combined with Ducao's brilliant strategic mind freed from defensive constraints...
This wasn't going to be a battle. It was going to be a massacre dressed up as military engagement.
While processing these thoughts, Lianfeng's fingers flew across her command interface, issuing a cascade of orders. Ordinary soldiers mobilized to defensive positions around major cities. Super soldiers received their individual mission parameters. Support teams activated communication networks. The entire military apparatus of the country began moving with choreographed precision.
They were going to send the Taotie a gift. A message that the entire universe would receive loud and clear: Earth was no longer the defenseless civilization it once was. The War Maniac who'd destroyed the Deno Galaxy had returned, and he had an army behind him now.
Throughout Juxia City, soldiers appeared as if materializing from shadows. They took up positions on rooftops, in alleyways, at major intersections. All of them were fully armed, wearing tactical gear that gleamed with quiet menace. And on every helmet, the same symbol was embossed—the mark of the lantern furnace, representing willpower and hope merged into a single concept.
The citizens' initial reaction was panic. Armed military deployment in the streets? That was never a good sign. People grabbed their children, hurried into buildings, whispered frightened speculation about what crisis could be unfolding.
But as minutes passed and nothing exploded or caught fire, the panic evolved into confusion. The soldiers weren't acting aggressively. They were just... standing there. Positioned like guards, like they were protecting something.
Or waiting for something.
As time wore on, no important dignitary arrived. No political figure emerged requiring security. Instead, people began noticing something else in the sky.
Dark shapes, angular and wrong, descending through the clouds.
"Holy shit," someone breathed, voice carrying in the sudden hush that had fallen over the street. "Those are spaceships. The aliens are attacking again!"
The whisper became a shout, became a wave of noise as people finally understood what was happening. This wasn't a military exercise or a security drill. This was an invasion, and these soldiers weren't guards—they were the front line.
Before the panic could truly set in, before people could start running in random directions or doing the other stupid things terrified humans tend to do, the soldiers activated their power.
White light erupted from every helmet simultaneously, thousands of points of radiance that merged into a continuous field of energy. It rose from the streets like a wall, like a dome, like a shield woven from pure willpower and hope and desperate faith in the future.
The light filled the sky over Juxia City, meeting the descending Taotie ships and stopping them cold. The vessels' weapons fired—plasma bursts and kinetic rounds and stranger things besides—but the attacks dissipated against that luminous barrier like rain against stone.
"All units," Lianfeng's voice echoed through every soldier's communication channel, crisp and professional, "prepare for engagement. Standard soldiers will maintain defensive positions and assist with civilian evacuation. Super soldier teams—you are clear to engage. Show them what Earth is made of."
A chorus of acknowledgments came back, ranging from professional military responses to more colorful confirmations.
"Finally!" Zhao Xin's voice was probably the most enthusiastic, crackling through the comms with barely-contained excitement. "Hey! Taotie army! Check out how Master Xin's going to completely destroy you!"
He stood atop one of the taller buildings, dark gold spear resting casually on his shoulder. White energy swirled around his body like morning mist, and along the length of his weapon, something incredible had manifested—a white dragon, coiled around the spear shaft, its eyes glowing with the same fierce light as Zhao Xin's own.
"Come on, Xin Zhao," Ge Xiaolun's voice came through the channel, amused despite the tension. "You're being the most extra person here. Are you seriously using the lantern furnace power for special effects?"
Several other voices chimed in with laughter and good-natured mockery.
Zhao Xin's response was immediate and indignant. "What do you mean special effects?! This dragon is a tactical advantage! It's a secret weapon!"
The laughter increased, though it carried no real meanness. Everyone understood where Zhao Xin was coming from, even if they teased him about it.
Among all the super soldiers, Zhao Xin, He Weilan, and Qilin had always had the most "ordinary" abilities. That was a relative term—they were still superhuman by any reasonable standard—but compared to some of their teammates, they'd always been overshadowed.
Zhao Xin had it particularly rough. He was the Spear of Dexing, a legendary genetic line from the Deno Galaxy, someone who'd been famous ten thousand years ago. But in practical terms, what did that mean? He could run really fast and stab things. That was it. Valuable? Sure. Flashy? Not so much.
Ge Xiaolun was virtually unkillable, his body reforming from injuries that would paste normal people. Liu Chuang wielded the god-slaying axe, a weapon that could cut through divine bodies like butter. Cheng Yaowen commanded the earth itself, reshaping terrain at will. Qiangwei could open spatial portals and teleport across battlefields.
And Zhao Xin? He was really good at running and stabbing. In a world of cosmic-level threats, that felt inadequate.
But now—now he had the lantern furnace. Now he could manifest that dragon construct, channel power in ways he'd never imagined. For the first time since joining the team, Zhao Xin felt like he was operating on the same level as everyone else.
He Weilan and Qilin were special cases too, though in different ways. Their genetic enhancements were genuinely ordinary—barely first-generation divine body level, the absolute minimum for super soldier classification.
But they'd both received other advantages that elevated them beyond their base capabilities.
Qilin possessed almost supernatural marksmanship, an intuitive understanding of trajectory and timing that made her frighteningly effective with god-killing ammunition. Put a god-killing weapon in her hands, and she became one of the most dangerous members of the team despite her relatively weak physical enhancements.
He Weilan had been gifted a pair of gauntlets by Marcus himself, boxing gloves that contained enough power to elevate her strikes to near third-generation divine body levels. Combined with the lantern furnace? She could hit as hard as an actual god.
Only Zhao Xin had been left with just his genetic enhancement and his speed. Until now.
"Hey," he shot back at his teammates, "what ARE you talking about? This dragon is my secret weapon! I've been studying this technique for weeks!"
He raised the dragon spear dramatically, white energy coiling brighter along its length. The construct dragon's eyes flared, and its serpentine body seemed to pulse with barely-contained power.
"With this, I'm going to use spear techniques that would make my ancestor Zhao Yun cry tears of joy! More gorgeous, more powerful, more absolutely devastating than anything he ever managed!"
He wasn't entirely exaggerating either. His abilities as the Spear of Dexing synergized perfectly with the dragon construct. The speed, the precision, the raw penetrating power—all of it combined into something that was genuinely greater than the sum of its parts.
He'd tested it extensively during training exercises, and every time, he'd fallen a little more in love with the sensation. This was what he'd been missing. This was what it felt like to be a true warrior rather than just a fast guy with a spear.
The other super soldiers could only shake their heads, but there was fondness in their exasperation. They understood, even if they teased him about it. And besides, Zhao Xin wasn't actually wrong—the dragon enhancement really did significantly boost his combat effectiveness.
"Alright, everyone," Reina's voice cut through the banter, carrying the authority of someone who was technically a goddess even if she was still figuring out what that meant. "Listen up and get into position. We're about to start this for real."
She smiled, a fierce expression that promised fire and fury. Her arms rose, and dark energy began gathering around her hands, pulling stellar radiation from the sun itself. The light intensified, growing brighter and brighter until it was almost painful to look at directly.
Around her, the rest of the super soldier team dispersed to their assigned positions. This wasn't a battle for heroes fighting together—this was coordinated military action. Each of them had been given specific targets, specific ships from the Taotie fleet that they were responsible for eliminating.
It wasn't going to be one or two spaceships. Not even a handful. Almost every vessel that hung in orbit above their heads belonged to someone on this team. They were going to systematically dismantle an invasion force, and they were going to do it before the Taotie even realized how badly they'd miscalculated.
No one chose to retreat. No one suggested alternative strategies or raised concerns about the odds. They were actually looking forward to this, eager to test themselves against real enemies rather than training simulations.
After all, they'd gained so much power so quickly that none of them really understood their own limits anymore. They knew they were stronger—much stronger—than they'd been before the lantern furnace. But how much stronger? What were they actually capable of now?
Time to find out.
As everyone settled into their positions, Reina's gathered energy reached critical mass. Her arms were miniature suns now, stellar fire contained in human hands. She locked onto the nearest Taotie warship, calculated the trajectory, and prepared to show these invaders exactly what happened when you threatened Earth.