Daylight blackened into pitch-dark dusk across the borders of Planet Orion. The earth wept two bitter tears. Viscous blue blood flooded shattered skulls and drowned the urban sprawl. Choking smoke and roaring flame suffocated the sky. Both screamed the same absolute truth: a radiant civilization, defined by its pride, majesty, and unconquerable might... had fallen. Thousands of years of culture, progress, and ancient history wiped from existence in less than an hour. Erased by an Emperor from a distant, forgotten galaxy, flanked by his eight disasters.
Above this absolute ruin, the flag of the Solar Dynasty rose high, casting its crushing shadow across Orion's burning sky. The planet broke. A massive population of twelve billion souls knelt beneath the boots of a single tyrant. A world overflowing with genius minds and obscene wealth. The gold embedded in its crust equaled ten thousand times that of Earth. Had the Emperor claimed this planet alone and turned back, he would stand as the richest entity in creation. No one could rival his fortune, even if they owned Earth and everything on it. Gold was never the objective. His greed cut deeper. Billions of tons of rare minerals and cosmic resources unmatched in the solar system lay buried here. Wealth that would catapult his empire's evolution exponentially.
The Emperor stepped into the corridors of the Orion royal palace. His footsteps echoed like death warrants. The scene dripped with terror and majesty. The path stretching toward the throne room was paved with pure, ancient gold, gleaming as far as the eye could see. Around him, his wives walked with calm, unyielding arrogance.
Camille cast her gaze left and right, inspecting the colossal statues and the palace engravings. Her eyes sparked with an unhinged, artistic obsession and a relentless, defiant gleam.
"Oh... My Lord... my darling husband..." Camille whispered with feverish excitement, swaying lightly on her feet. "I would be so terribly proud... oh so proud, to carve dozens of statues for you across this entire palace. Did you know? The architecture of this arrogant little civilization is painfully dull. It lacks soul. It lacks... artistic audacity!"
The Emperor did not look at her. He continued his slow, arrogant march and answered with absolute finality:
"Not now, Camille. Not until we humiliate them."
As they approached the heavy steel doors of the main hall, a desperate movement shifted within the shadows of the pillars. The surviving palace guards and panicked nobles scrambled to form a final line of resistance. Trembling hands reached for weapons, bracing to defend their last sanctuary.
Before they could take a single step, Veronica moved forward.
Bearing an icy stare and a rigid posture, she drew no weapon. Instead, she parted her lips and spoke in a calm, highly audible tone. She delivered no threats. She simply recited precise data. She listed their names, one by one. She exposed their hidden family lineages, their most despicable personal secrets, and the exact corruption scandals entangling every single commander and noble in the room. She executed the verbal dismantling with terrifying, algorithmic precision.
Blue blood froze in their veins. Their limbs paralyzed. In that fatal second, everyone realized that everything was completely exposed and meticulously planned. Any sudden movement meant immediate annihilation. Weapons slipped from their slackened grips. They surrendered to their fate.
Veronica turned back to the Emperor and bowed her head slightly. She spoke with flawless, clinical efficiency:
"They have been neutralized, My Lord. Comprehensive excavation operations for rare minerals have commenced. The planet is now under your absolute obedience."
"Initiate the purge, Veronica."
A single, concise command. It shattered the throne of an entire world.
Veronica received the order with absolute coldness. She raised her palms toward the burning sky like a priestess invoking death. In a flash, oceans of crimson metallic eyes ignited. The robotic army unleashed itself like a steel plague, sweeping across cities and ruins, harvesting souls without an ounce of mercy.
Imperial guillotines required no executioners. They operated on a blind, merciless algorithm. A drone would pin its target with a skull-piercing scan. If the subject met the rigid standards—physical symmetry, genetic purity, flawless features—they earned a second life. A life as a slave serving the Solar Dynasty. Those who failed to satisfy the machine's taste? Crushed in a fraction of a second.
Within hours, entire Orionian settlements vanished from existence. Ancient bloodlines, rooted deep in the planet's history, burned to ash. Slaughter overflowed until stone walls bled thick, sticky blue blood. A child's innocence bought no mercy. An elder's frailty granted no pardon. A coward's surrender meant absolutely nothing. To the artificial intelligence, they were all just meat. Pawns and test subjects waiting for the grinder.
Deep in the alleys of a forgotten slum choking on poverty and despair, a steel boot shattered a rotting wooden door. Inside the wailing house, a newly minted widow curled into a dark corner. Her husband had enlisted in General Madi Roll's vanguard, desperate to drag his family out of the dirt. Instead, his body vaporized in the freezing cosmic void just hours prior.
The woman sobbed. She crushed her four-year-old boy against her ribs, trying to bury him from death itself, her trembling hand gripping the crib of her newborn daughter. Then, steel death towered over her. It leveled its weapon. Her terror evaporated. A feral, maternal instinct ignited in her eyes. She glared at the machine with pure, unadulterated rage, ready to rip its metal plating apart with her bare teeth to shield her young.
Three seconds.
That was all it took. Three seconds for the processor to measure facial dimensions, sequence their genetics, and issue its freezing, emotionless verdict.
A silent flash fired.
The machine pivoted with absolute mechanical indifference and marched out. It never looked back. It left the infant screaming and wailing alone, thrashing in a warm, spreading pool of blue blood. Completely alone in a house that pulsed with four living souls before the sun rose on this cursed day.
The purges burned on without pause. Field executions gutted the population. Carpet bombings reduced entire districts to ash. Precision strikes erased existence itself. Planet Orion never stopped bleeding.
While the first phase of annihilation ground the planet's bones to dust, the second phase of the purge took shape, woven from pure arrogance and lust. A phase designed exclusively to feed the Emperor's ego. The harvesting of a thousand flowers. One thousand women. The absolute elite, the most flawless and beautiful creations this miserable rock had ever birthed, served up as concubines for the Emperor. Plus one. One final jewel. Handpicked by the Emperor himself, saved for a far darker purpose.
In the heart of the desecrated throne room, Camille, Layla, and Isabella strutted forward. They bowed in total, reverent submission before the Emperor. They acted as the ultimate Selection Committee, sorting and filtering the human spoils for their master.
Layla leaned in, her voice dripping with poisoned honey. "My Lord... we have sorted the spoils. Five hundred virgins selected from the thousand so far. They are the absolute pinnacle of beauty this world has to offer. Only the finest, just as your greatness deserves."
The Emperor did not care about the numbers. A demonic, eager glint flashed in his eyes. He asked in a low, chilling tone, "And what of... my personal selection?"
The three wives traded a knowing, wicked glance. Isabella flashed a vicious smile. "Don't even stress about it, darling husband. She's getting totally premium care right now."
The Emperor rose from his throne. He walked. Slow, heavy steps echoing like death knells down the corridors leading to the royal palace's subterranean dungeons. He stopped before a pitch-black cell. A single, sickly beam of light cut through the dark. He clasped his hands behind his back. His signature sadistic smile crept across his lips.
The second her eyes locked onto him, the captive morphed into a raging beast. She thrashed with lethal ferocity, lunging to tear his throat out. Thick titanium chains binding her neck and slender limbs yanked her back with brutal force. She slammed against the freezing stone wall, forced to her knees against her will.
She panted heavily. Her chest heaved, fueled by pure, unadulterated hatred. She had been subjected to calculated, engineered torture. Torture designed to crush the pride of the soul, shatter the mind, and rip hope from its roots. Yet, it left no physical marks. Not a single scratch. Not a stray bruise to ruin her radiant, snow-white skin or her breathtaking features.
The Emperor stood there, drinking in her hatred with absolute pleasure. He relished the sight of the Orionian crown jewel thrashing in her shackles like a degraded slave. This helpless captive was nothing less than the final remnant of pride for this butchered planet...
One of the princess of Planet Orion. Princess Oria. The daughter of General Madi Roll, whose mutilated half-corpse still hung crucified and bleeding from the prow of the Imperial dreadnought.