Deep beneath the Shadow Dominion's imperial palace, locked behind twenty layers of quantum encryption and a labyrinth of tunnels filled with enough explosives to level a star system, rested a single device. Its existence was a state secret, its schematics guarded by a thousand generations of loyal servants. Its name was whispered only in the highest ranks of the Dominion, a word spoken with a mixture of reverence and terror: The Star-Spear.
The Emperor, his eye still twitching from the sheer, unmitigated humiliation of his War Champion's defeat, stood before the device. The room was dark, cold, and silent, save for the low hum of ancient power. This wasn't just a weapon; it was the ultimate deterrent, a cosmic reset button, a final act of rage for a ruler who had run out of options.
"Awaken… my ultimate creation," the Emperor hissed, his voice a dry, rasping whisper. He pressed a button on a small, jeweled console.
The weapon hummed to life. The core, a sphere of compressed star matter, began to glow with an intense, blinding white light. Ancient, glowing runes, symbols of cosmic annihilation, appeared on its sleek black casing. Mechanical wings, massive and beautiful, unfolded from its sides like a steel angel of death. The device locked onto a single, unsuspecting target in a distant sector of the galaxy.
Its target was Aetherion.
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The next day, back in orbit, Aetherion was completely unaware of the cosmic vengeance being prepared for him. He was sitting at a small space café, a popular spot among spacefarers for its genuinely delicious coffee and its stunning panoramic view of the nearby nebula. He was sipping a hot drink, his senses tuned in to the small, wonderful details of his breakfast.
"So, they say this place makes the best galaxy donuts…" he muttered to himself, taking a contemplative sip of his coffee. The donut, a delicate pastry shaped like a nebula, was a work of art. "And the coffee's pretty good, too."
His quiet moment of gastronomic bliss was interrupted by a brilliant flash of light in the distance. He looked up from his table, his gaze drawn to the celestial fireworks. He pointed with a nonchalant finger.
"Oh, hey, free fireworks?"
It wasn't fireworks.
In the center of the nebula, a long, elegant spear of light was charging up, a beacon of pure, destructive energy. It was aimed directly at his table, a distance of a hundred million miles, with unerring precision.
The café's customers, a mix of aliens and humans, stared in paralyzed horror for a moment, then screamed and fled, tripping over each other in a desperate scramble for the emergency exits.
Aetherion sighed, still seated. He looked around at the now-empty café, a sad expression on his face. "Man, can't a guy just have breakfast in peace?"
He had no time to ponder the rude interruption. The Star-Spear fired.
A beam of pure, focused annihilation ripped through space. It wasn't a blaster bolt; it was a force of nature. It vaporized asteroids in its path, their dust turning to starlight. It sliced through the edges of a few stray moons, leaving perfectly clean, glowing gashes. The sheer shockwave from the beam's passage flattened entire cities on nearby planets, a silent, unseen act of cosmic destruction. The beam was a torrent of compressed hatred, aimed at one single point in space.
When the dust, and the silence, cleared… Aetherion was still sitting there. The space café, which was made of fragile glass and even more fragile hopes, was completely gone. But the small, circular section of the floor where his table and chair rested was perfectly intact. The table—and his coffee—were completely untouched, not a single drop spilled.
Aetherion blinked, taking another sip of his coffee. "Oh. I think it missed me."
It hadn't. The blast had hit him dead-on, its energy tearing through his body with the force of a thousand supernovas. But his body, completely and utterly bored by the attack, had simply decided not to notice.
He stood up from his chair, a slow, deliberate motion. He stretched, a loud, satisfying yawn escaping his lips. A new System alert, red and angry, popped up in his vision.
[Warning]
You have successfully been hit with a planet-destroying weapon.
[HP: 100%]
[Achievement Unlocked: "Didn't Feel a Thing."]
[Reward: +10,000,000,000 EXP.]
"Honestly," Aetherion muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at the Star-Spear, which was already charging a second, even more powerful shot, its core glowing with a desperate, furious energy.
Aetherion reached up, and with a casual, almost lazy flick of his wrist, he caught the next shot—with his fingers. The massive, galaxy-annihilating beam of energy hit his hand with the sound of a soft "thwump," and was instantly contained in his palm, a small, harmless-looking ball of light.
"Is this yours?" he asked the Star-Spear, his voice echoing in the now-empty space. He tossed the beam back toward its sender, a simple motion like throwing a frisbee.
The Star-Spear, a weapon so complex it had its own rudimentary consciousness, was unable to comprehend being attacked by its own ammo. Its systems overloaded, its core destabilized, and with a spectacular, galaxy-spanning explosion, it detonated. The resulting shower of glittering debris, caught in the vacuum of space, spelled out two simple, glowing words against the black backdrop of the cosmos.
**"FREE DONUTS."**
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In the Emperor's palace, an aide ran in, his face pale with fear. "Your Majesty… the Star-Spear is gone. It… it exploded."
The Emperor, staring at the holographic feed of the debris spelling out a breakfast message, felt a slow, terrible rage begin to boil. His jaw dropped, and he slammed his fists down on his throne, which for a moment, simply turned to dust.
"…He's mocking me."
Aetherion, meanwhile, sat back down at the café, which was now slowly being reconstructed by a team of highly efficient worker drones. He had found a small, pristine, and thankfully untouched box of galaxy donuts.
"Finally," he said, taking a bite of the perfect pastry. "Breakfast."