Across the vastness of space—
a fleet advanced.
At its center moved a colossal warship, stretching over one hundred light-years in length.
A vessel so immense that its mere motion distorted the fabric of space itself.
The Megastar-class.
A warship forged from the combined technologies of countless multiversal civilizations—billions, trillions of them.
And it was not alone.
A fleet of five hundred billion ships followed in formation.
Their passage disrupted everything—
The laws of physics.
Star systems.
Galaxies.
Clusters.
Superclusters.
Even the great walls and the cosmic web itself.
The universe trembled as they advanced.
At the helm of this incomprehensible armada stood one man.
Emperor Achilles.
A young ruler bearing the name of a legendary hero.
Arms crossed, he stood upon the vast command bridge, gazing into the infinite expanse.
Before him lay countless planets.
Yet even their gravity bent and warped under the sheer presence of his fleet.
The natural order of the cosmos itself was breaking apart.
"Your Majesty, your meal is prepared."
His personal secretary appeared behind him.
A teleportation device shimmered nearby.
With a silent nod, the emperor turned.
His crimson mantle flowed behind him as he stepped onto the platform.
In the next instant—
he stood within a grand hall.
A vast chamber of steel.
Commanders from across the fleet had gathered there.
At the center floated a throne of black.
As the emperor seated himself upon it, the commanders followed suit.
He lifted a golden chalice.
Inside, a crimson liquid shimmered.
He glanced across the room.
"The final battle approaches."
"I trust in each of your abilities."
He raised the chalice.
The commanders followed.
And the meal began.
They spoke among themselves.
Laughed.
Shared words before the storm.
But the emperor did not eat.
He simply watched them.
"Does the food not suit your taste, Your Majesty?"
His secretary's voice came softly at his side.
She had already moved beside him.
"…No."
He exhaled faintly.
"I was merely reflecting."
"This war… began with my mother's death."
"And now… we have come this far."
"So many soldiers lost."
"So many comrades gone."
"And now…"
He looked into the distance.
"We possess the power to tear apart the universe itself."
"Soon…"
"Very soon…"
"We will strike back at the gods."
Yes—
this fleet was preparing to leave the universe itself.
To wage war against the gods.
"With you, Your Majesty," the secretary said softly,"even the gods will be surpassed."
"All things will fall into human hands."
The emperor gave a quiet laugh.
"Humans… created by gods…"
"Now destroy the universe… and turn their blades upon their creators."
"I suppose that makes me a sinner beyond redemption."
"My lord," she replied gently,"you are a savior."
"You have saved countless lives."
"To the gods… life is nothing more than fallen leaves."
"You fight under the banner of justice."
He listened.
Then smiled again.
"…If that is true… then perhaps it is enough."
At last—
he took his first bite.
The Last Supper — End