The command spire of the Gilded Ambition trembled. Fires burned in shattered consoles, alarms screamed, and officers huddled in corners as the great doors buckled inward.
Then they burst.
Harlock entered, a shadow wreathed in mist, crimson eye blazing like a star of blood. His saber crackled with arcs of lightning, the sound sharp and hungry. He walked in silence, every step steady, measured, inexorable.
At the far end of the chamber, Veynar rose from his throne. His gilded armor gleamed with artificer's filigree, and in his hand he carried a master-forged power sword, its edge humming with energy.
"You… you dare board my ship?" Veynar's voice cracked, his words more bravado than conviction. "I am Veynar of the Ambition Line! This vessel is mine by writ and by blood! You are nothing but—"
Harlock did not answer. He raised his saber and advanced.
The clash came sudden. Veynar swung with all the fury of desperation, his blade arcing in a perfect duelist's strike. Harlock met it, not with speed, but with inevitability — his saber catching the blow, sparks cascading in the dim light.
Then he struck.
His blade sliced across Veynar's thigh, the power field cutting through gilded armor, leaving flesh smoking beneath. Veynar screamed, staggering back.
Harlock followed. Slow. Methodical.
Another strike — this one across the arm. Not deep enough to sever, but enough to cripple, enough to burn. Veynar howled, his weapon nearly falling from his grip.
Harlock's crimson eye glowed brighter. His face remained cold, expressionless. Each blow was deliberate, calculated to hurt but not to end.
"This… this is not combat…" Veynar gasped, slashing wildly. Harlock parried with ease, then drove his saber into the man's shoulder, twisting just enough to tear muscle from bone before pulling free.
Veynar fell to his knees, blood pouring, armor ruined. He looked up at Harlock, terror dawning in his eyes.
"You're… a monster…"
At last, Harlock spoke. His voice was low, steady, a blade of ice.
"No. I am Arcadia."
He struck again, the blade raking across Veynar's chest, tearing through the last of his gilded plate. The Rogue Trader screamed, the sound shrill, broken, filled with madness.
Harlock leaned close, crimson eye burning, mist coiling around them both.
"Every man you sent. Every child you murdered. Every prayer you mocked. This is their hand upon you. This is the rage of my people."
Veynar wept, his voice collapsing into babbled pleas. His power sword fell from his grip, clattering across the floor.
Harlock stood tall, saber raised for the final blow. The crew of the Ambition watched in silence, none daring to move, none daring to breathe.
And with a single, precise stroke, Harlock ended it.
Veynar's body slumped to the deck, blood pooling at his feet.
The chamber was silent save for the hiss of Harlock's saber cooling, its arcs fading to nothing. His crimson eye burned in the dark as he turned, cloak sweeping behind him.
The Rogue Trader's line had ended.
The Arcadia's wrath had been delivered.