The Hound tore into the void like a living catastrophe, its matte-black frame streaking through space with violent intent. The moment it entered the battlefield, three Terrian Orbitons broke formation and launched straight at it—rookies, eager, untested, driven by orders and fear in equal measure. Their thrusters flared bright blue as they closed in, plasma rifles charging, targeting systems screaming for a lock.
The Hound did not evade.
It did not slow.
It met them head-on.
In a single, fluid motion, its arm lifted—plasma igniting along its claws—and with a sweeping arc, it tore through the first unit. The Orbiton split cleanly across its midsection, its core flashing violently before erupting into a bloom of fire. The second pilot barely had time to react before the Hound's canons totally destroying it mid air.
The third fired.
A beam lanced across the void—clean, precise—but the Hound twisted mid-flight, letting the shot graze its armor. Sparks scattered across its plating, but the damage was negligible. Before the Terrian pilot could adjust, the Hound closed the distance, grabbing the unit by the head and crushing it inward with terrifying force. The metal crumpled like paper. Then it threw the lifeless husk into a nearby cruiser—impacting the hull and triggering a chain explosion that ripped through the ship's side.
And just like that, the Hound kept moving.
Ship to ship. Unit to unit.
It carved a path through the battlefield—not fighting, not engaging—but erasing. Plasma fire lit the void in flashes of orange and white as Terrian ships scrambled to respond, their formations collapsing under the sheer unpredictability of the assault. LEX units deployed in waves, surrounding, firing, coordinating—but every move they made felt too slow, too late.
Then—
Something changed.
Larsen noticed it instantly.
His visor flickered with updated telemetry as he hovered briefly between strikes. The chaos around him began to shift—not in intensity, but in pattern. Ships were pulling back. Orbitons were retreating, repositioning—not out of fear, but design.
A perimeter.
They were avoiding him.
Creating space.
Larsen frowned slightly, his fingers tightening over the control grips. "...What are you—"
The radar screamed.
A violent spike of energy surged behind him—so sudden, so overwhelming that it cut through every other signal like a blade.
And then—
Impact.
A massive gray plasma blade cleaved through space where the Hound had been a fraction of a second earlier. Larsen reacted on instinct, forcing the Hound into a brutal side-thrust maneuver. The blade missed a direct hit—but not completely.
A deep scar carved across the Hound's chest plating.
The armor split open, molten edges glowing as internal systems flared in warning.
Larsen's breathing hitched.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Slowly, he turned.
And there it was.
Towering behind him, emerging from the void like a god of death—
Altopereh.
Its presence alone distorted the battlefield. Dark, immense, its form pulsing with an unnatural, oppressive energy. The gray plasma blade extended from its hand.
Inside its core—
Youri.
Awake.
Watching.
The comms crackled violently.
"Larsen!" Serin's voice cut through, sharp, urgent. "Be careful! That's not a standard unit—you're facing a God Unit!"
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"Altopereh… the Reaper."
For the first time, the battlefield seemed to hesitate.
Larsen exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing behind his visor. His lips curled—not in fear, but something darker.
Excitement.
"I was wondering when you'd show up…" he muttered.
Altopereh didn't respond.
It moved.
In an instant, it vanished—then reappeared above, blade descending in a vertical arc meant to cleave the Hound in half. Larsen reacted fast, boosting backward, his claws forming in his grasp just in time to intercept.
The clash—
Was catastrophic.
Gray and orange plasma collided, sending a shockwave that tore through nearby debris fields, shattering fragments of destroyed ships into dust. Energy surged outward in rippling distortions, forcing both units apart.
Youri pushed forward again.
No hesitation.
No strategy.
Just intent.
To kill.
Serin's voice returned, sharper now. "Larsen, listen to me—we're sending the Trident. Coordinates incoming—"
"That won't be enough," Larsen cut her off.
Silence.
Then a breath.
"…Alright," Serin said. "Then I'm sending both."
Far below, on the surface of Seron, two massive launch platforms ignited simultaneously. The sky cracked open as twin payloads shot upward, piercing the atmosphere like meteors in reverse.
Back in orbit, Youri saw them.
Two signatures.
Fast.
Precise.
He understood instantly.
But he didn't move.
Didn't intercept.
Didn't try to stop it.
He let it happen.
Because somewhere deep within him—
He wanted this.
The Hound surged backward, catching the first package mid-flight. The casing shattered open, revealing the Trident—but this time, it pulsed brighter, hotter, more unstable. As Larsen gripped it, the weapon came alive instantly, fusing with the Hound's systems.
Then the second package arrived.
It unfolded in silence.
A ring.
Perfectly circular. Pure. White.
Small—no larger than the Hound's hand.
But the energy radiating from it—
Was monstrous.
"Do it," Serin whispered.
Larsen didn't hesitate.
He reached out—
And took it.
The moment the ring made contact, everything changed.
A violent surge of energy erupted outward—white and orange colliding in a blinding explosion that consumed the battlefield. Every sensor overloaded. Every screen went white. Ships lost tracking. Pilots screamed as their systems failed under the sheer intensity of the release.
Even Altopereh staggered.
For a moment—
There was nothing.
Then—
Light faded.
And what stood in its place—
Was no longer just the Hound.
The Trident burned brighter than ever, its orange plasma extending like a living flame. The horns atop its head surged higher, sharper, more defined. The tail elongated, its blade splitting into multiple segmented edges that pulsed with lethal energy.
But that wasn't all.
Behind it—
Thirteen white plasma swords hovered in perfect orbit, forming a slow, rotating halo. Each blade identical. Each radiating a cold, divine intensity that contrasted violently with the Hound's infernal glow.
And above its head—
A crown.
A thin, circular halo of white plasma, floating just above the horns.
Angelic.
Oppressive.
Unnatural.
The energies didn't clash.
Haven and Hell sized to exist.
Perfectly balanced between destruction and transcendence.
Serin's voice trembled—not with fear, but awe.
"…It worked…"
Larsen rolled his shoulders slowly, testing the new form. The energy coursing through the Hound responded instantly—faster, sharper, more alive than anything before.
He looked at Altopereh.
Then smiled.
"Let's see how deep your hell goes… Reaper."
Across from him, within the abyss—
Youri didn't speak.
Didn't react.
But Altopereh did.
A low, monstrous roar echoed through the void, shaking space itself.
Two beings stood now—
One crowned in chaos.
One born of annihilation.
And as they moved—
The war around them ceased to matter.