A Kree soldier didn't even have time to scream.
Derek's fist drove straight through his chest, the impact detonating his body into a spray of blood and shattered bone. Even with the Kree's naturally enhanced physiology, there was no resisting that kind of raw force. One exchange was all it took—life erased, existence reduced to nothing.
Above them, a streak of red cut through the sky.
A heat vision beam tore into a transport battleship, slicing it cleanly before the entire vessel erupted in a violent explosion. Burning debris rained down like meteors, igniting the battlefield below and pushing the momentum of the assault even further in the Kryptonians' favor.
The tempo of war shifted completely.
The newly born Kryptonian soldiers weren't reckless. Unlike Locke, they didn't rely solely on overwhelming physical power. Instead, they fought with discipline, combining advanced energy weapons with precise coordination. Lines of fire crisscrossed the battlefield as they systematically eliminated resistance.
Still, not all of them held back.
Some soldiers gave in to instinct, charging forward with bare hands, their bodies becoming weapons in their own right. Their movements were sharp, efficient, and brutally effective, each strike carrying the weight of encoded combat knowledge.
Despite the Kree's strength, they couldn't keep up.
Both races had evolved under high-pressure, nitrogen-heavy environments, but the difference lay in their design. Kryptonians weren't just strong—they were engineered. Every strand of their genetic code had been optimized, refined to define their roles from birth.
Combat wasn't learned.
It was inherited.
Their instincts, their techniques, their understanding of warfare—it was all etched into their very DNA. Against that kind of biological precision, even elite Kree soldiers found themselves outmatched in direct combat.
Within ten minutes, the No. 1 Leo Military Base collapsed.
Reinforcements had arrived, but it didn't matter. The defense lines were shattered, command structures eliminated, and the entire installation fell under Kryptonian control.
"Secure everything," Locke ordered, his tone calm but absolute. "All weapons. All ships. Nothing gets left behind."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Without hesitation, the soldiers began executing the next phase.
Transport vessels were seized and repurposed, their control systems overridden as they were redirected toward the пространственный gate still hovering in the air. One by one, captured resources were moved through the portal, vanishing into the distance.
Metals. Ores. Weapons. Ships.
Everything was taken.
The flow of materials didn't stop.
Rare metals stockpiled over centuries, high-grade alloys, advanced weapon systems, and even partially constructed vessels were stripped from the base and sent back to Neptune. What had once been a proud Kree installation was now nothing more than a hollow shell, its value extracted down to the last fragment.
The truth was simple.
The Kryptonian Empire was poor.
Beyond the massive World Engine and a handful of reconnaissance ships, their fleet was almost nonexistent. They had the knowledge. They had the engineers. But without resources, all of it meant nothing.
Even their production lines were crippled.
The materials required to build large-scale interstellar warships were scarce, and the genetic nutrient solutions needed to sustain their incubation systems were nearly depleted. The empire existed, but only barely—it was a shadow of what it should have been.
Locke understood that clearly.
And he had no intention of letting it remain that way.
War wasn't about survival.
It was about acquisition.
"Without guns, we take theirs," Locke murmured to himself, a faint smile forming as he watched another wave of captured ships pass through the gate.
The results were already exceeding expectations.
At one of the orbital docks, they had discovered a partially completed super-heavy warship. It wasn't finished, but it didn't need to be. With Kryptonian engineering, it could be restructured—reborn into something far more powerful.
Another World Engine.
"Good," Locke said quietly. "Clear every military base."
The Space Stone pulsed.
Reality bent.
In an instant, Locke and hundreds of Kryptonian soldiers vanished from the Leo base, reappearing deep within the No. 2 military installation. There was no warning, no approach, no breach of defenses.
They simply appeared.
Right in the heart of the base.
The Kree had never considered the possibility of an internal assault. Their defenses were designed to repel external threats, not enemies materializing inside their command centers.
By the time alarms sounded, it was already too late.
The attack spread outward like a shockwave.
From the core to the perimeter, Kryptonian forces tore through everything in their path. Command units were eliminated before orders could be issued. Defensive systems were destroyed before they could activate.
The center bloomed into chaos.
By the time the Kree realized what was happening, their lines had already collapsed.
Then it happened again.
And again.
Locke moved without pause, jumping from one base to another, each time bringing overwhelming force directly into the enemy's heart. Every strike followed the same pattern—instant insertion, rapid annihilation, total extraction of resources.
Across Garonne, explosions lit up the surface.
Military fortresses burned, their defenses crumbling under an assault they couldn't predict or counter. The Kree, accustomed to centuries of peace within their controlled territory, were completely unprepared for this kind of warfare.
This wasn't a battle.
It was systematic dismantling.
From orbit, the scale of destruction became clear.
Garonne's installations—once symbols of stability and control—were being erased one by one. Each base lost meant more ships, more weapons, more resources falling into Kryptonian hands.
Inside the temporary command center, panic reached its peak.
"They're not just attacking," an officer shouted. "They're taking everything! Our ships, our equipment—this is looting!"
"Blatant looting!" another voice echoed.
"Damn it!"
Desperation turned into a final, ruthless decision.
"All units, listen carefully," the commanding officer barked. "Initiate self-destruction protocols on all interstellar warships. Destroy everything before they can take it!"
Silence followed.
Very few responded.
Because there were barely any bases left to respond.
The realization hit like a hammer.
The officer's face went pale, his expression collapsing under the weight of failure.
"…We can't let this continue," he said, his voice tightening. "Mobilize all orbital weapons. All air fleets. Target every military base on the surface."
A pause.
"Sir… you're ordering us to bombard our own installations?"
"Yes," he snapped. "No hesitation. No exceptions. If we can't keep it, neither can they."
The command was transmitted.
In orbit, massive space-based weapon systems began to activate. Satellites shifted into position, their cores lighting up as they started charging for planetary bombardment.
On the ground, Locke paused.
Something had locked onto him.
It wasn't visible, but he could feel it—an instinctive warning embedded deep within his Kryptonian physiology. The threat wasn't immediate, but it was real, and it was coming from above.
He tilted his head upward.
His gaze sharpened, the Eye of Insight piercing through layers of atmosphere and distance. The sky became transparent to him, revealing the source of the lock.
Orbital weapons.
Space-based laser satellites, already charged and preparing to fire.
"Pathetic," Locke said softly.
He raised his hand again.
This time, he didn't pull.
He clenched.
Five fingers closed together, as if crushing something invisible.
....
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