A portion of the demon army was marching through a massive jungle when the sky changed.
At first, it was only a distant rumble, something low and unnatural rolling across the canopy. Then the treetops started bending under the pressure of engines. Demons on the forward ridgelines looked up just in time to see Imperial jets cutting over the jungle in tight formations, followed by rows of warships moving like steel storms through the sky.
One demon scout climbed higher onto a broken stone overlook, expecting to see a normal response force.
What he saw instead made even him hesitate.
Below the ships, the Empire's ground army was already spreading through the jungle, splitting into disciplined battle lines and support columns. Armor rolled between the giant roots and muddy lowlands. Infantry moved in waves through the green shadows. And behind all of it, behind the warships, behind the formations, behind the entire sky itself, came the STF warship.
It was colossal.
Not just large. Not just intimidating.
Colossal.
Its shape blotted out entire sections of the heavens as it pushed forward above the jungle, its engines roaring so deeply that the sound seemed to vibrate inside bone. Even the demons, creatures bred for war, felt something ugly and primal crawl into their instincts when that ship passed overhead. It did not look like a vessel.
It looked like judgment.
Up on the bridge, Ian stood at the front command rail, looking down over the endless sea of green and the moving enemy signatures layered across the holo-map. Around him, senior officers, admirals, and generals were linked into the warship's command network.
His voice came through the ship-wide military comms calm, clear, and sharp.
"The demon army has spread out thin. That works in our favor. Our strategy is simple—divide and conquer. But do not take them lightly."
The holo-map shifted, showing demon armor groups, command knots, and support routes.
"These aren't wild beasts. They have a navy. They have armor. They have battlefield structure. These are the kind of demons you read about in the Great Wars, trained soldiers, not mindless raging monsters. Treat every front like it matters."
He paused just long enough for the warning to sink in.
"Stay sharp. Hit hard. And do not let them regroup."
Across Deccounia, the battle opened on multiple fronts.
In the jungle, Capt One Arm led the charge.
Armored vehicles pushed through mud and tangled roots, their treads chewing through swampy ground while infantry moved on both sides in staggered advance lines. The air was thick with humidity, smoke, and the sharp crack of early gunfire. Massive trees rose like pillars around them, their trunks so wide that entire squads could hide behind them.
Capt One Arm rode at the front on his cybernetic horse, a black war-beast of metal plating and reinforced muscle. It moved with frightening speed through terrain that would have slowed normal cavalry to a crawl. The horse matched him perfectly, both of them dark, battle-worn, and built for old-fashioned brutality in a modern war.
In his left hand, Capt One Arm carried an iron sword.
His right arm, the cybernetic one, glinted darkly whenever stray muzzle flashes hit it.
Beside him rode and ran soldiers who had followed him through enough battles to trust him without question. Near him was Red Riot, his son, his blood, and one of the few fighters in the Empire who could match his intensity blow for blow. Their bond on the field was obvious even when neither one spoke.
Capt One Arm raised his blade and called out over the battlefield.
"Red Riot, you stay with me. Dreadwake, Fifteenth Great, left flank is yours. Kairoth, Twelfth Great—you go with him and keep that side from folding."
Dreadwake gave a small nod, already steering his column left through a muddy corridor between giant root systems. Kairoth said nothing, but his presence slipped into the treeline like a living threat.
Then the firing started.
Demons dropped from the upper canopy, leaping from branch to branch before crashing into the Imperial advance. Capt One Arm met the first one head-on, rising in the saddle and cutting downward in one brutal stroke. The blade split through armor and flesh together.
Another demon lunged from above.
His cybernetic arm snapped up, caught it by the throat, and hurled it off the horse's path.
Red Riot moved differently. Faster. Wilder.
He launched himself from tree to tree, red hair flashing between leaves as he fired bolts from his crossbow into demons that tried to flank from the upper canopy. Every shot was clean. Every shot dropped something. When one demon tried to leap over him, Red Riot kicked off a branch, spun in midair, and buried a bolt through its skull before landing lightly on another limb.
Below them, Imperial APCs opened up with roof guns while infantry spread through the roots and mud, cutting down demons in disciplined bursts.
The jungle became a vertical war.
On the desert front, the battle was louder.
Hotter.
More violent.
Rockets streaked across open sky. Heavy weapons thundered. Sand plumes erupted under artillery impacts and tank rounds. Helicopters skimmed low over dunes and broken rock, dropping fire onto advancing demon armor.
Steel and Stark helped lead the assault there, moving with a battalion that was fighting across a broad desert corridor littered with burning wreckage and shattered vehicles. The air tasted like sand, metal, and fuel.
In a trench line reinforced by armored plating and spent shell casings, Voltron laid down heavy fire, his weapons hammering so hard the ground trembled around him.
Steel ducked behind cover as a tank round screamed overhead. "How did we get stuck in the desert again?"
Stark, kneeling nearby with a launcher on one shoulder and dust all over his armor, fired and watched the explosion bloom in the distance. "I know. It's like Fort Vanguard all over again."
Steel grimaced. "That's exactly why I don't like it."
Ahead of them, Aegis-IX Bastion tanks fired in sequence, each shot kicking up huge walls of sand. Demon armor answered from farther out. The sky above the desert was full of motion, gunships, helicopters, anti-air bursts, and interceptors ripping in and out of combat lanes.
Voltron's mechanical voice came over the squad net as he fired another punishing barrage.
"Enemy armor on the ridge. Marking for destruction."
Stark leaned up just enough to see. "I see it."
He launched a rocket.
The ridge detonated in a bloom of sand and fire.
Steel rose from the trench at the same time, charging forward with infantry as the line advanced another fifty yards into the chaos.
In the mountain region, the war felt colder, but no less brutal.
Ice King and Azaryl, the Fourteenth Great, led the ground push there. Jagged slopes, icy ridges, and narrow stone paths turned every movement into a risk. Above them, Imperial jets and demon flyers fought in savage dogfights through clouds and mountain winds. Every few minutes, a streak of fire would tear across the sky, followed by a crash somewhere among the ridges below.
The wind in the mountains was intense enough to shove soldiers sideways if they lost focus, and the cold cut through armor joints and exposed skin alike. Yet Ice King looked more comfortable here than almost anywhere else.
Azaryl fought a few paces to his right, elegant and sharp, every movement cleaner and more disciplined than the chaos around them.
"This terrain favors us if we keep formation," Azaryl called over the wind.
Ice King blasted a group of climbing demons off a ledge with an icy burst from his staff. "Then let's keep it."
Below them, mountain infantry pushed upward while support gunners anchored kill zones between rock walls. Above them, naval support vessels traded fire with demon air elements weaving through the snow and smoke.
Then the STF warship entered the fight.
Back on the bridge, the massive vessel finally came into direct contact with the demon military fleet. Smaller attack craft, corrupted aerial gunships, and weaponized transport carriers tried to swarm from multiple angles, counting on numbers and speed.
Ian looked out through the bridge glass as warning symbols lit the tactical overlay.
Demon attack ships angled toward them.
Jets poured in.
Anti-ship batteries flared.
For a moment, it was all noise and red targeting marks.
Then Ian exhaled, almost bored.
"Okay," he said, loud enough for the bridge crew to hear. "That's enough playing around."
He straightened slightly.
"Show them what the Empire is all about."
The bridge crew reacted instantly.
"All weapons online!"
"Target locks confirmed!"
"Missile arrays ready!"
Ian's voice cut through it all.
"Engage."
The warship woke up.
Massive gun batteries rotated into firing position across its hull. Missile bays opened in layered rows. Anti-air cannons roared to life with deafening speed. Beams of tracking light cut across the battle zone.
Then the ship fired.
Missiles launched in swarms.
Heavy guns thundered.
Point-defense batteries stitched the sky with streams of destruction.
Demon targets vanished in explosions almost the instant they were marked. Attack ships broke apart under concentrated barrages. Corrupted fighters tried diving low, only to be erased by anti-air fire before they ever got close enough to threaten the hull.
Then the hangars opened.
Imperial jets poured out of the warship in wave after wave, screaming into the sky like unleashed blades. Behind them came support gunships and fast attack craft, spreading into the battlefield and turning the air war into absolute chaos.
On the bridge, Optimus let out a low whistle as he watched whole sections of demon air support disintegrate under the barrage.
"Yeah," he said with a grin that only showed up in moments like this. "That's more like it."
Blade stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the tactical feeds as targets vanished across multiple fronts. "Hard to be subtle with a ship that size."
Ian didn't look away from the battlefield. "Good. I'm not trying to be subtle."
Below them, across jungle, desert, and mountain, the Empire's forces pushed harder.
The war had stopped being defensive.
Now it was pressure.
Now it was momentum.
Now it was the Empire bringing everything it had to the field.
And somewhere beyond the front lines, behind the demon formations and the roaring battlefield, something strong enough to lead this army was still waiting.
Ian could feel that much already.
This was only the beginning of the clash.
The real monster still had not stepped onto the stage.