"Death to the false emperor!"
Before his body could even react, Arcturus felt himself thrown into a chaotic, spinning flight, his vision tumbling as though the world itself had flipped. Then—soft hands caught him. The moment he regained awareness, his senses were drowned by cold, suffocation, and confinement…
That single instant stretched into eternity.
To be dominated, powerless to resist—this was the sensation Arcturus hated most since the fall of his family. He was nothing more than a bouncing ball in a child's hand, toyed with at will, his vision tilting, shifting—
First into view: amber eyes shimmering with rainbow light. Then the sight of a headless body slowly slumping, its broad frame concealed poorly by fine clothes. A black, square-collared coat trimmed with gold, great bronze pauldrons weighing upon its shoulders.
So familiar…
Have I been beheaded?
Is this the end for me? How laughable, Arcturus.
Bright red reflected in Arcturus's dull gray pupils, unblinking, until life faded.
Pupu～
As though torn trachea gurgled with grotesque noises.
Gutsi gutsi～
Carotid arteries snapped, blood bursting forth in crimson fountains, spraying iron and stench across the golden-threaded carpet and the Mengsk family's golden wolf crest. A heavy body collapsed, trembling echoes pulling down shattered glass, crystal goblets shattering with crisp chimes.
The headless corpse sprawled upon the carpet, blood and bile pouring from the neck like a volcanic eruption. With the spilled port, it mingled into a foul, sweet-smelling mist.
"Wahaha, so this is the false emperor who ruled an interstellar dominion… Hmhm, though his territory is much larger than Disboard's, his individual strength seems no greater than those humans—and weaker than even the Seiren fools. Still, they do resemble the Dwarves, relying on weapons to bolster their power…"
"No matter—this is still the head of a stellar empire's emperor! The first trophy of the Flügel's campaign, the first prize of the Battle Angel Legion! This is worth more than a 'rarity 5' item!!"
"Hehehe… when I get home, I'll mount it at the door. Everyone will be jealous! Or… the living room? Dining room? Oh—I know! My bedroom! Azril always tries to ambush me at night. This will provoke her nicely… ehehehe…"
Clutching Arcturus's severed head in her arms, Jibril trembled with excitement, drooling as she spun midair.
The girl's actions grew ever stranger, her image collapsing further.
"..."
Shock. An angelic maiden in her prime, hugging an old man's severed head, drooling and giggling—was this the destruction of conscience? The downfall of morality? Or the distortion of human nature?
Thanks to the imperial pyramid-palace's top chambers being the most secure area of the Dominion, all of this was captured with perfect clarity—proof of the Terran Dominion's peak technological might.
On the central split-screen, Valerian Mengsk, through the cameras, had the misfortune of witnessing the grotesque scene.
With full audio. Dolby surround. 8K quality.
His own father's headless body, its expression frozen in unwilling rage, eyes wide, still locked in that last instant of defiance.
The winged girl with halo—clearly a mighty psionic, akin to Sarah Kerrigan herself—was cradling his father's head like a lover, babbling with unrestrained glee.
Though he could not understand her words, her expressions spoke plainly.
A pervert.
Was this joy of vengeance fulfilled?
So this was it. The old man always had too many enemies. Too many grudges. Too many foes.
The Korhal government collapses, the Dominion falls… As Arcturus's son, will I be next for retribution…?
At that moment, Valerian was already considering the possibility of going into hiding. If all else failed, he would rely on the Rangers familiar with the remote frontiers of the Koprulu sector, pay heavily for guides, and slip away to lay low.
He had ambition, yes. He had inherited his father Arcturus's iron hand—hard, ruthless, and unwavering in pursuit of victory. But more precious still, he had also inherited the kindness and mercy of his late mother Juliana. His ways were far gentler.
Given time, Valerian could have become a far better emperor than Arcturus the tyrant. Many figures in the Terran Council agreed on this.
The meaning was obvious: one tyrant was more than enough. Another, and none could endure.
Valerian's belief in law and justice gave him a bright future. He was praised both at home and abroad.
But—such a chance would never come.
His father had died suddenly, Korhal itself was crumbling, and the Terran Dominion was on the verge of ruin. He, the crown prince, would expire before he could even be crowned. Mishandle this once, and his own life would become some opportunist's path to fortune.
Even a clever cook cannot prepare a meal without rice.
Hopeless.
With only a few ships and the joint fleet of the Rangers at his disposal… Arcturus had claimed Kerrigan's swarm was being suppressed, but with the scale of the Korhal system's battles, if Valerian threw his forces in, not even a splash would remain.
Storming through possibilities, weighing paths for survival—just as he prepared to shut off the transmission and contact Kerrigan, ready to tell her: You're late. My father's already been taken care of—
Bang!—
"Oh? I nearly forgot about you, trash. Who are you?"
Startled, Valerian looked up. Suddenly magnified across the screen, a bloodstained yet breathtakingly divine face loomed.
Even separated by unknown astronomical distances, when those eyes locked onto him, Valerian's heart froze.
The gaze carried the playful malice of a predator watching its lamb. He knew at once: if this angelic girl truly stood before him, a mere touch would end him. Escape or pleas—both meaningless.
"I am Crown Prince of the Terran Dominion, Valerian Mengsk."
Words of concealment choked in his throat. The stubborn pride of House Mengsk surged instead. Aboard the Hyperion beyond the Korhal system, Valerian stepped forward, head held high, meeting Jibril's gaze.
"…Son of Arcturus."
Without hesitation, he raised his chest and declared: "With the sudden passing of Emperor Arcturus I, by law of the Dominion, I ascend as Emperor Valerian I. I hereby—"
"Oh, so you're the false emperor's son."
Jibril cut him off without a care. "The new false emperor, too—two birds with one stone. Hm. Trash, tell me your location. I want your head. As a rare honor, I'll place it in my collection."
"I hardly consider that an honor."
This woman was ruder than Kerrigan herself. Bitterness welled in his chest, but Valerian forced himself into the performance of a statesman: "As a great power, is this how you treat your guests?"
A subtle flattery.
"As Emperor of the Dominion, I request this as a diplomatic audience. Not a declaration of war, but an earnest, respectful appeal. I wish—"
Even as he spoke, Valerian carefully studied Jibril's attire: a uniform trimmed with gold, emblazoned with the double-headed eagle, embroidered angel wings spread wide, golden tassels and cords falling from her shoulders with elegant precision…
Far too familiar. As a royal, the courtly style was unmistakable.
The spread angel wings framing the eagle matched the figure of the girl herself, so young in appearance as to be absurd. The same symbol crowned the prows of the invading warships. At its heart stood a golden, hollow diamond, radiant like a stylized sun.
That 'sun'—raised above all. Did it signify an institution? A house? Or… someone?
"…an audience with the Emperor."
Valerian spoke cautiously, especially after seeing Jibril hesitate: "In the name of Emperor Valerian I, I shall represent the Terran royal house, represent humanity of the Koprulu sector, and submit a letter of surrender to the True Emperor, the True Lord."
Though he was the only royal left and the Mengsk family could hardly claim to represent the entire sector, Valerian still draped himself in the tiger's skin.
"Uh…"
Jibril twisted uncomfortably.
It had to be admitted—thanks to the distance sparing him immediate danger, Valerian's calm words had indeed struck her weak point.
It was her first time in a foreign war. To Jibril, invoking Selene was like a sentient race of Disboard submitting directly to the god of their world. Logically, his name must be placed before Selene. If, after seeing it, Selene wished to meet him and grant protection, but Jibril had already killed him in advance—that would be a disaster.
Unknowingly, the Flügel girl's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"Mm, my banquet of false emperor father and son… oh well, I'll spare you. Quickly send me your letter of surrender."
She floated lightly down to the clean carpet, patting her skirt, then strode to the wide desk and plopped herself onto the chair, tossing her legs casually over the edge.
"I am prepared to surrender, under conditions. First, I wish the people of the Dominion to be treated—"
"Just write it. The content doesn't matter to me. I'm only the messenger. I'll present it to Her Majesty. Of course… if Her Majesty rejects it, then, hehe—"
With a brief 'angelic smile,' Jibril snatched up a custom-made windproof lighter from the desk, fiddling with it.
Its trigger jutted outward strangely from the flame-port, gilded and inlaid with silver, engraved with ornate patterns. A decent enough collectible.
Click! She flipped it open, pressed—kakakaka!—
Mechanisms shifted, springs clacked, and in the center of the chamber, a prism rose, pushing aside Arcturus's headless corpse.
A silver-gray metallic prism, its surface covered with crisscrossing cracks, splitting its faces into irregular segments.
Zzzzz—crackle!
Blue-white arcs burst forth, the chamber's lights flickering with thunderous snaps.
"What is this?"
Shrouded by the prism's light, Jibril frowned. The thing made her uneasy.
"…A Xel'naga artifact."
From the other side of the split-screen, Valerian muttered: "So that's it, father. This was your trump card against Kerrigan."
"Always one face for the public, another in secret… my father."
A wry smile tugged at Valerian's lips.
Even as heir, he had never abandoned the passion for archaeology his father had always scorned. As a child, he had spent hours digging in the dirt for alien relics. As a man, he had wielded the Dominion's resources to search across the sector for ancient remains—most belonging to the mysterious creators, the Xel'naga.
Now, the very man who mocked him had relied on such a find as his trump card. Fate's irony, perhaps.
"An artifact? Then another fine collectible! Wahaha, everyone will be so jealous…"
Rubbing her hands, Jibril prepared to seize the prism—
Ahem.
"Oh, wh—"
Drooling over the "trophy," the Flügel girl froze. That familiar voice sent a shiver through her. Startled midair, she nearly crashed face-first, but managed to pull up. Wide-eyed, she stared.
Her gaze fell on the prism. Cautiously, she whispered: "Your Majesty?"
Bzzzz—! A dazzling, indistinct figure broke through the very barrier of reality, crossing the void to manifest upon the Xel'naga prism.
"Jibril, wipe your drool."
Selene's face darkened. She was in the void, locked in combat, stripping the essence of void-forged beings and seizing their permissions. At that moment, a signal from this artifact was caught in her grasp.
Thinking it a chance for a display, she split off a secondary consciousness. And so, Jibril's drooling face was shoved before her.
Still, looking at the golden-haired man leaning forward in the split-screen, Selene knew this was not for nothing.
"…The creators—the Xel'naga!"
See? He said it himself.
—
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