The void erupted with fire and death.


    Garett gritted his teeth, the cockpit of Galatine humming around him as he drove the God-Husk forward, thrusters blazing like a falling star. The Voidlance pulsed in his grip, the sheer gravitational force distorting the space around it. The nearest enemy ship barely had time to react before he plunged the weapon through its hull.


    A micro black hole blossomed at the point of impact.


    The warship folded inward, metal shrieking as it collapsed into itself before vanishing entirely, erased from existence in an instant. What remained was nothing more than a smear of residual energy, the crew lost to the abyss.


    On Zyrax’s bridge, the undead warlord tilted his head.


    “So. You do have some bite.”


    He had known the moment he laid eyes on the fleet that he was dealing with something special. He could feel it—like recognizing a predator in the wild. Still, Galatine’s speed was beyond expectation, its sheer destructive force exhilarating.


    He smiled, cold and deliberate. “Good. I was worried this would be boring.”


    With a flick of his wrist, Zyrax’s fleet responded. From the warships'' bays, Ignis drones swarmed forth—compact, mass-produced attack units, the kind originally exclusive to the Celestial Empire or their chosen allies. But like anything valuable, they found their way into the black markets, smuggled, stolen, or counterfeited by third-rate manufacturers. These, judging by their sluggish movements and inconsistent shielding, were likely bootlegs—still deadly in numbers, but nowhere near the real thing. Alongside them, the Drakeguard deployed, their void drake chassis gleaming in the starlight, their lance-mounted weapons primed. The sight of them confirmed what Garett already suspected—Draconis forces had a hand in this, whether directly or through under-the-table dealings. These machines were a staple of their legions, and while they had been seen elsewhere, it was rare for them to be outside Draconis control. That, or Zyrax had his own sources.


    Garett barely blinked.


    The Voidlance thrummed in his hands as he pulled the trigger, unleashing a cascade of micro black holes. Each shot was a singularity in miniature, consuming all matter in its path. Drones imploded into nothing. Mechs were torn apart, their reinforced plating collapsing into singular points before winking out of existence.


    It was almost too easy.


    "Having fun?"


    Garett tensed. Nyx’s voice purred in his ear, and before he could react, she materialized in the cockpit beside him, lazily floating upside down in the zero-gravity environment. She stretched, feline-like, her tail flicking idly as she smirked at him.


    He groaned. "Could you not? Kind of busy here."


    Nyx tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Interesting. You''re struggling more than I expected. Performance issues, perhaps?"


    Garett scowled. "I swear to every god you claim to know—"


    "Oh, relax, Resonator," Nyx chuckled, flipping herself right side up. Her cosmic eyes gleamed with mischief. "I’m just here to observe. Though, I will say…"


    Her gaze drifted toward the Voidlance, which pulsed erratically in Garett’s grip, the gravitational field around it fluctuating slightly.


    "This weapon of yours," she mused, "it’s incomplete. You''re wielding power beyond your understanding, and it shows. Sloppy, unfocused. Amateurish."


    Garett gritted his teeth, tearing through another wave of drones. "I don’t have time for a lecture, Nyx."


    "No, I imagine you don’t," she said, watching as his movements sharpened, Galatine carving effortlessly through the enemy ranks. "Still. Something to think about."


    Finally, he reached Zyrax’s flotilla.


    The remaining warships loomed before him, cannons priming, but Garett barely registered the threat. He opened the comms.


    "You’re out of cannon fodder," he said. "Might as well surrender now."


    Zyrax’s laughter crackled through the channel. "Surrender? Oh, you misunderstand. This has been entertaining. But I think I’ll take what I came for now."


    Garett’s fingers twitched over the controls. "Yeah? And what’s that?"


    "Veydran. The girl. And that pretty toy you’re holding."


    Garett exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, see, that’s not happening."


    "Mm." Zyrax chuckled. "Then I suppose you’d better kill me quickly."


    "With pleasure."


    Garett surged forward, Voidlance poised for the killing blow. He moved faster than any warship could react, the Voidlance striking true—


    Zyrax’s flagship exploded in a cataclysm of light and shrapnel.


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    And then he heard Leona’s scream.


    It wasn’t the battle cry of a warrior. It wasn’t the sharp, commanding bark of a soldier. It was raw, agonized—pure devastation ripping through the comms, louder than the explosion itself.


    Garett’s blood ran cold.


    "Leona? What the hell is wrong?"


    Her breath hitched. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.


    "That voice… that was… my father."


    Garett felt the world tilt. He’d never seen Leona shaken, never heard her like this. She was his rock, his shield. She didn’t break.


    And yet, she was unraveling before his eyes.


    "Leona," he said carefully, "Tyburstein Leonis is dead."


    Her breathing was ragged. "I saw him die, Garett. I was there. I remember the smell of burning flesh, the way his blood soaked into the marble, the sound of his last breath. I saw his body with my own eyes. And now, I just heard his voice like he never left—like he''s still here, watching, waiting."


    Garett gripped the controls tighter. "Then we—"


    A sudden burst of golden light interrupted him.


    Summoning magic.


    From the wreckage of Zyrax’s ship, something stirred. An immense presence, something ancient and terrible, clawed its way into existence. The energy pulsed outward, warping space, bending reality at its edges.


    A titanic war machine emerged from the wreckage, wreathed in golden summoning light. Crimson plating gleamed under the fractured starlight, its surface marked with gold highlights that traced intricate patterns like veins of molten fire. It was massive, its blocky, angular frame built for war, not elegance—a colossus of steel and fury.


    A Starflare Buster loomed on its back, its immense form a declaration of destruction. Unlike conventional weapons, this was no simple projectile cannon. It was a conduit, a focus for arcanic energy, capable of unleashing elemental devastation with the force of a collapsing sun. The sheer size of it meant that whatever spell Zyrax intended to cast would be overwhelming in both penetrative force and sheer annihilative power.The crimson God-Husk lands on a piece of a massive debris.


    Every step of the God-Husk sent tremors rippling through the void, its sheer presence pressing against the fabric of space itself. It was a knight in armor too heavy for any mortal to bear, a warlord reborn in metal, poised to carve its legend anew.


    The two titans stood at the precipice of war, the very air between them charged with raw, unfiltered power. Space itself seemed to bend around them, as if it were not merely warping from their presence, but kneeling, bound by an unseen oath to forces greater than mortal understanding. The void did not simply yield—it obeyed, shackled to the will of its masters, trembling under the weight of gods preparing to clash. the weight of their presence distorting the void. For a moment, the battlefield was silent, as if the universe itself held its breath, awaiting the clash of gods.


    Inside Galatine’s cockpit, Garett’s fingers tightened on the control levers. His screen pulsed with the name GALATINE, an affirmation of the power that now surged through his veins. Across the void, inside the crimson behemoth, Zyrax’s HUD displayed a name etched into legend—BALMUNG.


    Nyx materialized fully now, standing behind Garett’s seat, her celestial eyes widened in something dangerously close to disbelief.


    "No," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Not this soon. Not here."


    Garett cast her a sideways glance, but his grip on the controls was tighter than before. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, the weight of Galatine settling deeper into his bones, into his soul. This wasn''t like before. Every other battle had been chaos and instinct, a blur of movement and survival. But this—this was something else.


    The air in the cockpit felt heavier, thick with something beyond fear. Not dread. Not hesitation. Something deeper, something primal.


    Recognition.


    His whole life, Garett had clawed his way up, forced the world to see him as more than a magicless noble''s son. He had built his own power, invented his own way to wield it. And yet, in this moment, staring down the crimson behemoth before him, he felt small.


    Not weak. Not lesser.


    Just… acknowledged.


    It was as if Galatine itself, the very entity bound to him, recognized the thing standing across from them. Not just an enemy. Not just another battle.


    A rival.


    His fingers flexed around the control levers, sweat beading at his temple. He inhaled sharply, forcing down the foreign weight in his chest. Whatever this was, he wouldn’t falter.


    He wouldn’t break.


    He scoffed, trying to mask the tension tightening his jaw. "Care to explain why the all-knowing Nyx suddenly looks nervous?"


    Her tail flicked erratically, a telltale sign of unease. "Because you are a fool playing in a god’s arena, and you don’t even know the rules. I expected other Resonators to appear eventually, but this? A God-Husk in the hands of one who already walks between life and death? This battlefield is cursed. You should not be here."


    Garett exhaled sharply, eyes locked on Balmung. "Well, too late for regrets."


    Zyrax’s laughter crackled through the comms. It was not mocking, nor cruel—it was hungry.


    "So it’s true," Zyrax murmured, almost reverently. "You wield Galatine. A legend reborn." He exhaled, his voice rich with anticipation. "Do you know what that means, Fenralis?"


    Garett scoffed. "That you’re about to get your ass kicked?"


    Zyrax chuckled. "No. It means, for the first time in centuries, I have something worth fighting."


    Leona barely heard them. Her heart pounded, her pulse roaring in her ears as she stared at the crimson mech on her screen —but all she could hear was the voice that haunted her memories. The voice of her father.


    Her grip on the controls was ironclad, but her fingers trembled.


    She was a knight of House Leonis, forged in discipline, trained to be unbreakable. And yet, in this moment, she felt like a child again, standing in the ruins of her home, watching the dead rise where heroes once stood.


    A war raged inside her—duty against the desperate, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, it was all a mistake.


    Her father was dead.


    And yet, he was here.


    "Leona," Garett’s voice cut through the storm in her mind. "I need you with me."


    A war raged inside her—duty against the desperate, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, it was all a mistake. She was bound by her oath, by her honor, to protect Garett with her life. That was absolute. It had never been a question, never something she doubted. And yet, the lines were no longer clear. Because this was not just another enemy.


    This was her father.


    She hadn’t allowed herself to grieve—not fully. Not the way she had wanted to. She had swallowed her sorrow, buried it under duty, forged it into steel and discipline. But now, the cracks were forming, splintering through the armor she had built around her heart.


    What would he say if he saw her now? If he saw her standing against him, blade drawn, prepared to kill him?


    And worse… what if he called her name?


    Her fingers clenched against the controls. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. A part of her—an aching, fragile part she wanted to kill—whispered that maybe there was still something left of him. Maybe she could reach him. Maybe this could all be undone.


    But she knew better.


    The dead did not return whole.


    Leona had always been Garett’s rock, his shield, his protector. She had stood between him and death more times than she could count. But for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could protect him now. Not from this.


    Because how did you raise your blade against the ghost of the man who once held you in his arms and told you he was proud of you?


    Her father was dead.


    And yet, he was here.


    Balmung took a step forward. The void trembled in its wake.


    And then, Zyrax spoke again, amusement laced in his voice.


    "Well then, Fenralis. Shall we dance?"