The stars shimmered coldly as the Verdalian fleet cut across the void, engines burning with purpose.
At the center of the formation stood Jason Amberdenk—a battle-scarred commander, forty-three years old, his voice carrying the weight of Verdalia's will. Behind him stretched thirty colossal Verdalian warships, each forged in the ancient shipyards of home.
One had already fallen. At the choke point of Heaven's Bridge, the Vir Empire's blockade crushed a vessel in fire and silence. Jason had not forgotten the names of those lost, nor would he. Their sacrifice burned in his heart as fuel.
Now, after fifty-five light-years of relentless travel, the fleet had arrived in the Lilliput Star System.
What was once a sanctuary now lay broken—its people shackled, its cities dimmed by imperial cruelty. Verdalia had not come merely as saviors, but as kin. For when the Verdalian soldiers saw the oppression with their own eyes, they did not hesitate. An alliance was forged with the rebels of this system—one born not of politics, but of shared rage and hope.
Jason stood on the bridge of his flagship, eyes fixed on the burning horizon of Vokar-17, the capital planet of the system. Its towering city of Segment One loomed ahead—the very throne of Vir oppression.
At his side was Ka'roth, the shadowed Zypherian commander, right hand of Eyrvak, and comrade to Targan who now battled Roouch elsewhere. Ka'roth's voice was sharp, his presence like a blade in the dark.
"Jason Amberdenk," Ka'roth said, "today we cut the chain from this world's throat. Segment One must fall—swiftly, and without mercy."
Jason's hand tightened on the console rail. His troops, Verdalian and Rebel alike, awaited his word. Thousands of soldiers carried the same fire in their hearts.
He raised his voice, and the command rang through the fleet:
"For Verdalia. For Lilliput. For every soul crushed by the Vir Empire—today, we march!"
Engines flared. The combined armada surged toward Vokar-17.
The battle for the capital was about to begin.
The grand halls of Segment 1's Royal Palace echoed with silence, save for the cautious footsteps of a messenger. The air was thick, suffused with a cold pressure that came not from the marble walls or towering pillars, but from the presence seated upon the obsidian throne at the chamber's heart.
Laco, the shadowed ruler of the Liliput Star System, reclined on the throne. His form was wrapped in flowing garments of black shade that seemed to drink in the light, a silhouette that concealed his true nature. None had seen his face in full daylight — only the reflection of his voice, deep and resonant, carried his authority.
The messenger knelt, trembling.
"Sire… according to the latest reports, the rebels are… advancing. Their numbers grow with every passing moment. It seems the rebellions are winning."
Laco did not stir at first. His head tilted slightly, as though the words had been carried from far away. Then, slowly, his voice broke the silence.
"Fine." The word was soft, but it rolled like thunder through the chamber. "If they crave victory… let them taste despair."
His shadowed hand lifted, and from the side of the hall, a soldier stepped forward, awaiting command.
"Launch the androids, all of them," Laco commanded, his tone dark and unshaken. "And summon my trusted blades. Krouch. Fin. My nephew Varel…" His voice lingered on the name. "The son of my little brother must prove his worth in the flames of war."
The soldier stiffened. "At once, sire."
"And do not forget…" Laco's gaze flickered, though none could see his eyes beneath the dark shroud. "…the cyborg commander ZP-012, Touge. He will strike from the shadows where machines and flesh converge. Let them all converge from every sector. Crush the rebellion at its root."
The messenger's fear deepened. For when Laco gave orders, it was not merely strategy — it was an unfolding storm.
As the soldier bowed and hurried out, the vast chamber returned to silence. Yet in the darkness, Laco's faint silhouette leaned forward, a whisper echoing in the void.
"Ka'roth… Jason… all of you will soon understand."
The shadows around the throne swirled as though alive, devouring the flickering torchlight, leaving the ruler of Liliput cloaked in eternal mystery.
The battlefield trembled. Roouch stood tall, his aura thick with a dark crimson glow that seemed to devour the very light around him.
He raised his hand, chanting with a voice that carried both dread and pride.
"Fantom Arts of the Crimson Phantom: Sixfold Destro-Strike!"
His fists blurred into afterimages—six consecutive punches, each heavier than the last, crashing forward like collapsing mountains. The ground split apart. Explosions of flame and scarlet shockwaves rippled across the plains.
Targan was hurled back, his ribs snapping, blood spraying mid-air. Bill tried to shield him, but the sixth strike shattered his defense and flung him into a crater. The Verdalian rebels screamed as the energy shockwaves tore through their lines. Zypherian allies were caught in the storm as well—friend and foe alike crushed under the ruthless power.
The once-green fields turned into a sea of dust and broken stone.
Targan coughed blood, struggling to rise. His vision blurred, yet in his heart, the face of the Zypherian girl flickered. Her smile. Her trust. The dreams they once whispered beneath starlight. Rage seared through him, but his body betrayed him—shaking, broken, unworthy against Roouch's monstrous might.
Bill, his arms trembling, pushed himself to his knees. His voice cracked, but he roared into the chaos:
"Old man Zor always told us there was a god! That he sees everything… that He punishes the evil!"
His cry echoed across the battlefield, raw and desperate. Tears mixed with blood.
"But where is He now?! No one punished the monsters that destroyed him. No one answers us. And now—now we suffer because there is no god!"
The words cut through the air sharper than Roouch's strikes. The troops faltered, Verdalians clutching their wounds, Zypherians glaring with pain and despair.
And Roouch—he only smirked, crimson flames dancing on his fists, as if Bill's outburst amused him.