The ash-covered plains of Igneous burned beneath the orange-brown clouds of the approaching Vladoff fleet. Their warships, hulking masses of metal, hung in the air like specters of war. The Vladoff colors—burnt orange with splashes of grey and white accents—gleamed in the light of the smoldering forges below, blending with the fiery atmosphere of the volcanic planet.
Standing on the command balcony of the Igneous fortress, I couldn't help but marvel at the industrial behemoths slowly descending. Vladoff's Iron Bears, each piloting massive, bipedal 10-meter mechs, were relentless, determined warriors. They were here for traitors, or so their intercom message claimed, but I knew better.
"This is Commander Sergei Dragunov of the Vladoff Iron Bears," a static-laced voice crackled over the loudspeakers. "We're here under the authority of a Hyperion search warrant. Hand over the criminals, and we'll be on our way. We don't want a war."
I stood silently, my gaze locked on the warships that loomed above, darkening the skies. Hyperion search warrant? Hyperion no longer existed in this region. We had taken control of Igneous years ago, shortly after Alexander's rise to power. Vladoff was either unaware or chose to ignore the shift in authority.
One of my men, a young lieutenant, looked to me with uncertainty. "Governor Xion, what should we do?"
"Patch me through," I said, my voice steady.
He nodded, flipping a few switches on the nearby console. A green light blinked on the communication panel, signaling an open channel.
"This is Xion E. Million, Governor-General of Igneous. Vladoff, you are trespassing on Imperium territory, and your Hyperion search warrant is outdated. Leave at once, or we will be forced to defend our sovereignty."
Silence followed, a long, tense moment as the crackling intercom remained quiet. Then, the deep voice of Commander Dragunov returned, laced with a mix of amusement and contempt.
"The Imperium, huh?" Dragunov chuckled. "I've heard whispers of you and your so-called empire. UAT, right? A bunch of upstarts. But listen, 'Governor-General,' we don't have time for your little power games. Hand over the criminals, or we'll come down there and take them ourselves."
I glanced down at the sword hanging from my side. It wasn't just any blade. The weapon was fitted with an experimental Light Core, a technology that absorbed light from the environment and funneled it into the wielder's body. It was a prototype, a gift from Alexander himself. The sword's power stemmed from the mutation I'd gained during a procedure Alexander performed on me. When he healed me—when he augmented me—the energy from his abilities had left a permanent mark on my body. I could channel light itself, strengthening my abilities and reflexes beyond those of an ordinary human.
But even with the power I wielded, I knew this wasn't going to be an easy fight. Vladoff's Iron Bears weren't a force to take lightly. Each mech was a walking fortress, piloted by highly trained soldiers with a reputation for brutal efficiency. I had seen them in action before, and I knew that this was no bluff.
"Ignore their threats, sir," one of the soldiers said, his voice tight. "They won't attack without provocation. They're just here to scare us."
I turned to him, my expression grim. "They've already begun their descent. They're not leaving without a fight."
The lieutenant swallowed hard, looking back at the radar, where dozens of red blips—enemy mechs—were approaching the surface. I could hear the murmurs of the other soldiers behind me, their confidence faltering.
I raised my voice, cutting through their whispers. "Prepare the defenses. I want all anti-air batteries online, and get the perimeter turrets operational. We'll hold them off."
The soldiers snapped to attention and rushed to follow my orders, their armored boots clanging against the steel floors as they scattered to their stations. I turned to the lieutenant beside me. "Signal reinforcements from our outposts in the nearby sectors. If we're going to win this, we'll need everything we have."
He nodded, though his expression betrayed his fear. He knew, as I did, that we were vastly outnumbered. But I had fought against impossible odds before.
As the first wave of Vladoff drop pods slammed into the ground with deafening booms, the air was filled with the acrid smell of burning metal. The mechs began to emerge from their pods, towering over our forces like metal giants. Their orange-brown armor gleamed under the volcanic sky, and their weapons bristled with energy—plasma cannons, rotary guns, and missile pods. Each Iron Bear was a walking arsenal.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of my sword, feeling the Light Core's energy pulse beneath my fingers. The mutation that Alexander's power had left within me stirred, as if sensing the coming battle. Light from the molten landscape around us began to gather, streaming into the Core and feeding into my body. My muscles surged with power, and I felt my senses sharpen, my reactions quicken.
"I'll handle the front line," I said to the lieutenant. "Make sure our forces are ready."
"You're going out there alone?" His eyes widened, his disbelief clear.
"I've faced worse," I replied, giving him a reassuring nod before turning toward the battlefield.
As I approached the front line, the soldiers under my command were already engaging the enemy. Plasma fire lit up the sky, and explosions rocked the ground as our turrets opened fire on the advancing mechs. The Vladoff Iron Bears returned fire, their heavy weapons obliterating everything in their path. The sounds of war—the screams of men, the whir of energy weapons, and the deafening roars of the mechs—filled the air.
I drew my sword, the blade glowing faintly with the absorbed light. The soldiers nearest to me glanced my way, their expressions bewildered. In a world dominated by guns and explosives, a man wielding a sword seemed almost laughable. But I didn't care what they thought. They didn't know the power I carried.
I charged into the fray.
The first Iron Bear targeted me, its plasma cannon locking onto my position. The air hummed as the weapon fired, sending a ball of searing energy straight toward me. But I was ready. With a quick slash of my sword, I deflected the plasma shot, the Light Core absorbing part of its energy and sending a surge of power through my body.
The mech's pilot hesitated, clearly not expecting such resistance from a mere foot soldier. I took advantage of the moment and leaped onto the mech's leg, driving my blade into the joint. The Light Core flared, and the sword sliced through the armor like butter, severing the joint and causing the mech to stumble.
I jumped clear as the Iron Bear collapsed, its pilot scrambling to eject from the wreckage. I turned, my senses attuned to the battlefield around me. I could feel the light energy pulsing from the forges, from the molten rivers that crisscrossed the planet's surface. It was as if the very core of Igneous was feeding me power, and I used it to press forward, cutting through the enemy ranks with deadly precision.
One after another, the Iron Bears fell. My sword, glowing brighter with each strike, carved through their armor, and my movements became faster, more fluid as the Light Core amplified my abilities. The soldiers fighting alongside me stared in disbelief, watching as I brought down the massive mechs with nothing but my blade and the light-infused power coursing through my veins.
But even as I fought, I knew this wasn't going to be enough. There were too many of them. The enemy was relentless, and for every mech I destroyed, two more took its place.
And then I saw him—Commander Dragunov.
He stood at the rear of the enemy formation, his Iron Bear taller and more heavily armored than the rest. Twin plasma cannons were mounted on his shoulders, and a shield generator hummed on his back, deflecting incoming fire from our turrets. His mech was painted in Vladoff's signature colors, with a large insignia on the chestplate: a bear's head, roaring in defiance.
"I see you, Imperium dog," Dragunov's voice crackled over the intercom. "Come and face me if you dare."
I didn't hesitate. This was the leader of the enemy force, and if I could take him down, I might just buy us enough time to turn the tide of battle.
I charged toward him, my sword blazing with light. Dragunov's cannons fired, but I deflected the blasts, the energy feeding into the Light Core. The closer I got, the more powerful I felt, the mutation within me responding to the growing energy. I leaped onto his mech, driving my sword into the armor plating, cutting through to the inner mechanisms.
Dragunov roared in anger as his mech stumbled, one of its cannons going offline. "You'll pay for that!" he snarled, firing the remaining cannon at point-blank range.
The blast sent me flying, but I landed on my feet, the Light Core absorbing most of the impact. My body ached, but I pushed the pain aside. I had to finish this.
I charged again, this time aiming for the reactor core of Dragunov's mech. With a powerful strike, I drove
my sword deep into the machine's heart. The Light Core flared, and the energy within me surged to its peak.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the reactor exploded, sending a shockwave across the battlefield. Dragunov's mech crumbled, and the remaining Vladoff forces began to retreat, their morale shattered.
But I wasn't done. High above, the Vladoff warship began its final assault. A massive bomb, glowing with a fiery light, descended toward us. It was large enough to destroy everything—our forces, the enemy, the entire battlefield.
I stared at the falling bomb, feeling the heat of its energy. I knew I couldn't stop it. But I could try.
With one final surge of strength, I channeled every ounce of light energy I had absorbed into the Light Core. My body glowed with the power of the mutation, the energy coursing through my veins like fire. And with a blinding flash of light, I leaped toward the bomb.
The explosion that followed could be seen from orbit.
---
The Vladoff warship retreated, their mission incomplete. They had come for traitors, but they had found something far more dangerous—an Imperium warrior with the power of the light.
And where I had stood, there was nothing left but a crater, glowing faintly with the last remnants of the energy I had unleashed.
The name of Alexander and his Imperium would no longer be a secret.
Elsewhere...
The command deck of the Vladoff flagship was a cold, sterile place, devoid of warmth or character. The polished metal floors reflected the dim, artificial lighting that barely illuminated the massive room. Despite the sprawling space, it felt oppressively small, like a cage, as if the walls themselves were closing in. But perhaps that was just the presence of the man at its center.
Dimitri Makarov.
He stood at the helm, his back to the assembled officers. His posture was rigid, perfectly straight, like a man made of stone. There was nothing particularly striking about him—no towering stature, no chiseled features or scars of a warrior. He was, for all intents and purposes, ordinary. The kind of man you could pass in a crowded street without a second glance. And yet, the silence that followed him into any room was deafening.
He didn't smile. He didn't frown. His expression was one of complete and utter indifference, as if nothing in this universe could stir even the faintest flicker of emotion in him. He was a void in human form, a man whose soul had been carved out long ago, leaving behind only a shell of calculated malice.
The officers around him shifted uncomfortably in his presence, as if they could feel the weight of his attention even though he hadn't said a word. They stood at attention, faces pale, waiting for orders.
Dragunov's voice crackled over the intercom, breaking the tense quiet. "Sir, this is Commander Dragunov. We have engaged the Imperium forces on Igneous. Xion E. Million is leading their defense. Our forces are advancing but... we're encountering resistance. Shall we proceed?"
Makarov didn't respond immediately. He stared at the stars beyond the massive viewport of the flagship, his fingers drumming ever so slightly against the cold metal of the command console. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but for Makarov, it was the equivalent of a storm of emotion. His dark, unfathomable eyes scanned the void of space, as though he was searching for something—something only he could see.
"Commander," Makarov finally spoke, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, yet it carried through the room like a bullet, striking with lethal precision. "Crush them."
There was no passion in his words, no anger or urgency. It was a simple command. An order. As if he were discussing the weather, not the obliteration of an entire planet.
"Yes, sir," Dragunov replied. "We'll—"
"Wait."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Makarov turned slightly, just enough for the officers behind him to catch a glimpse of his pale, featureless face. His eyes—dead, emotionless—scanned the room, landing briefly on each officer. They flinched as though they had been physically struck, each man terrified to hold his gaze for too long.
"Pull back," Makarov said. "Send in the bombers. Level the surface."
There was a hesitation over the intercom. "But, sir... the Iron Bears are still on the ground. We'll—"
Makarov's eyes narrowed, just a fraction. "I said... level it."
It was not a suggestion. It was not even a command. It was a fact, already decided. The fate of the Vladoff soldiers on the surface was inconsequential. They were tools, nothing more. Pawns to be sacrificed in his game.
Dragunov's voice faltered, barely able to conceal the shock. "Understood, sir. Bombers incoming."
Makarov turned back to the viewport, dismissing the matter as if it had never been worth his time in the first place. His fingers continued to drum softly on the console, a rhythmic tapping that was almost hypnotic. He stared into the endless black of space, his face impassive.
Behind him, the officers exchanged nervous glances, but none dared speak. They knew better. Makarov's patience was not something to test. He was not a man who raised his voice, or gave second chances. He was the kind of man who, with a simple flick of his wrist, could end the lives of millions, and feel absolutely nothing in the process.
For Dimitri Makarov, the universe was a canvas, and his brush was chaos. He painted in destruction and blood, with no rhyme or reason. It wasn't hatred that drove him, nor ambition, nor even ideology. He didn't seek power for its own sake. No, Makarov was something far worse. He was a man who reveled in the act of breaking things—systems, people, planets. The reasoning behind it didn't matter to him. He didn't need a reason. The world was his plaything, and he would destroy it simply because he could.
A holographic display flickered to life beside him, showing the descending wave of Vladoff bombers heading toward Igneous. He watched, unblinking, as they began their descent. The soldiers on the surface—both Vladoff and Imperium—were ants to him, scurrying about, oblivious to the hammer that was about to come crashing down.
"Sir," one of the officers finally dared to speak. His voice trembled as he stepped forward. "If we bomb the planet now... we'll lose valuable assets. The Iron Bears—"
Makarov slowly turned his head toward the officer. The silence that followed was agonizing. The officer swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow as Makarov's empty gaze bored into him.
"They are replaceable," Makarov said, his voice as cold as ice. "The bombers are not."
There was no further argument. The officer nodded, stepping back into line, his face pale and his eyes wide with barely contained terror. No one else spoke. No one even moved.
Makarov turned his attention back to the display. The bombers were almost in position now, preparing to release their payloads. It would be a beautiful thing, in its own way. The fire and destruction. The screams of the dying. He could already imagine it. He could almost hear it.
And yet, as the bombs fell, as the entire surface of Igneous lit up in a blazing inferno, Makarov felt nothing.
There was no thrill. No satisfaction. It was just another task completed. Another step in his endless game of destruction. He watched the devastation unfold below, but his expression remained unchanged, as cold and passive as ever.
Behind him, the officers stood in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the carnage below. They had long since grown used to the brutality of their leader, but there was something about this—something about Makarov—that still sent chills down their spines.
He was unlike any leader they had ever known. Most men who sought power did so for a reason—for glory, for revenge, for wealth. But not Makarov. He didn't care about any of that. He didn't care about anything at all.
He was a void, an abyss that consumed everything around him. And in his eyes, the universe was nothing but a playground—a place to be torn apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.
As the last of the bombs fell and the fires raged across the surface of Igneous, Makarov turned away from the display. Without a word, he walked toward the exit, his footsteps echoing in the deathly quiet of the command deck.
The officers stood frozen in place, not daring to move until he was gone. Only when the doors closed behind him did they allow themselves to breathe again, each man letting out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.
In the hallway beyond, Makarov continued walking, his pace steady, his expression unchanging. There was always another planet to destroy, another system to break. His work was never finished.
And as he disappeared into the shadows, it was clear that for Dimitri Makarov, the chaos had only just begun.