In the vast, war-torn territories, reality itself had been grasped by an invisible force stronger than gods. Yet this time, thanks to cascading lights, twinkling constellations, and a snowball rolling and growing uncontrollably, the space remained in a twisted form even amidst folding and tearing, though the light itself fractured. But what fell within the sphere of light did not vanish entirely, defying annihilation.
Especially the snowball—borne across warped dimensions upon collision after collision, it melted, shrinking with each bound. Paradoxically, whatever ground it struck saw reality stabilize.
It had proved conclusively: Emma’s devastating strike could be neutralized. Although the counter-force and law required still demanded cosmic resources, even greater than the imagination of mortals—it nonetheless lifted fears. If a countermeasure existed, people found greater comfort even if they dared not believe it feasible before; despair now gave ways to cautious hope.
No one yet grasped exactly what would survive from Qianye’s homeland. The light beam could plainly not rival the wrath from Emma—yet its very presence shattered an unscalable perception of power once felt invulnerable.
Atop the corner tower of Youtong Pass—
Lin Wu stated impassively, “The girl launched a strictly defensive salvo—its force dispersed over distance. Had it been fully defensive mode, this weapon may endure a single bombardment from the floating city. Still, energy leakage would unleash widespread collateral—civilians within the ripple would be struck by penetrating waves.”
Much like standing within the wrath of an ancient Celestial Sovereign. The vast majority would perish as dust in the gale—but some might yet slip through.
Hao Di asked slowly, “In the beginning, what were those bright spots upon the province’s surface?”
Glancing toward Zhaps’ sons with a hint of irony, Lin Wu paused briefly in response, “Because this launch was a remote-commanded operation, those spots were beacon markers—target coordinates.”
The source of these luminous pillars originated inside a mobile fortress of Bei Army—a vanguard outpost in Lin Xitang’s former military district. It lay deep inside enemy territory and had once always been manned in person by Lin Xitang himself.
Following the realignment of imperial military divisions, its strategic importance waned alongside its outpost function, finally decommissioned; structures above soil collapsed and eroded. Yet neither Jao family-appointed successors, rebel insurgents, nor local rebels had detected the hidden super weapon deeply embedded and awaiting purpose anew.
Upon hearing this, all turned their curiosity to a critical matter unspoken still—how was such a massive coordinate web deployed right beneath the rebellions? Lin Wu visibly collected his words thoughtfully before revealing—
“Those ‘markers,’ are actually raw energy arrays installed secretly into ordinary military hardware—a constellation network hidden across various weapons.”
Both Hao Di and the Zhaps’ sons caught his intent quickly. Soon realizing illicit weapons smuggling through corrupt channels to enemy supply chains—suddenly the puzzle clicked into place, like pieces assembling.
However, amidst that revelation, Zhao Jun Du abruptly remembered a dusty classified episode—a memory long dormant. Once, mistrust drove him to investigate Songzining’s unusual connection with Qian Ye again and again, though hard evidence remained elusive at every attempt. For instance, whispers regarding Yining Corp’s dealings and secret alliances with Northern Expedition Army outside known supplier relationships.
This past suspicion had, for a time, soured his view towards Songzining. And yet here and now, long-missing answers stood ready to burst into clarity—but the reality had twisted unpredictably apart from old assumptions. Even for Zhao Jun Du, calm by nature, his inner tempest was indescribable.
“The Silence of The gods,” he exhaled softly to himself.
A sudden shift in Lin Wu’s eyes—the gaze narrowed, his countenance sharpening into razor suspicion, locking onto Zhao. For all intensity however, Lin Wu held still with lips sealed.
Hao Di heaved deeply. “You understand—Bei’s labs rival Imperial ones? And yet the Empire has gone without any new designs of super weapon for 500 years.”
Many reasons accounted for this. Foremost: centuries of domestic peace made resource allocation contentious—these titanic expenditures required to build, sustain, and operate super weapons always ran into budgetary pushback when their usefulness remained theoretical. Especially when conflicts didn’t materialize frequently.
Also critical was the friction between military command sectors and powerful noble families in those territories. The coordination, secrecy, and logistics involved with these colossal region-scale weapons bred complexity no faction could manage for long.
Case in point—the Lin Xitang prototype. Despite its proximity to Zhao-controlled zones, they apparently remained blind until too late. After Lin’s passing and official hand-over procedures, the new Bei commander conveniently withheld its disclosure. Had it been relayed, the weapon wouldn’t have ended up decommissioned to rust among ruins. Yet if you probe deeply, hidden truths surely exist—no party free of fault when secrets sleep long.
Meanwhile far away, Emma’s City once again stirred. No soul yet knew the full purpose of the shadow-born races—it threatened to continue assailing Wubei Province or prepare targeting vectors deeper across the Empire’s lands—toward civilization.
Silently awkward in that grand debate, Zhao JUN HONG nonetheless dared an awkward inquiry next, “Lin Commander—can Bei’s weapon launch again, do we still have fire?”
Lin Wu shook his head. “Not anymore—first full launch, real-time test, done once, that’s the end of her.”
Then indicating the frantic trio of technical minds scurrying to organize on-site— “Once reports and firing results finalize, all will pass fully to Marshal Zhao Gong Cheng.”
JUN HON G lowered head in silent recognition. Westlands had integrated just recently—they lagged behind the older provinces’ long-prepared planetary defense schemes deeply rooted and matured over decades. Western City indeed could endure several strikes—no assurance for You-Tong however.
A question nonetheless remained unresolved. Every salvo from a weapon such as this, required incalculable reserves. Honestly—those two rebel sectors combined could barely hope to match in wealth even a fraction of one firing charge’s staggering cost. What indeed did Emma’s council hope achieving in such prodigious expense?
Emma’s City ceased second movement at centerline territory dividing Yunan and Wubei. From that optimal midrange, full coverage swept across Tung Gate’s outer rampart and forward.
Tension surged instantly at You-Tung.
No idling, Emma’s entire city commenced slow, calculated turning upon axis—in deliberate alignment—the bow’s orientation pointing straight toward the fortress itself: directly at You-Tong!
Panic rose within the walls; space-ward fleets commenced orderly launches into skies. Meanwhile ground regiments scrambled further still into final battle deployments.
On every section of the wall’s gun tower and critical firing position—turrets whirred to life—officers raced from post to post, confirming readiness.
Abruptly, an unimaginable pressure erupted into the skyline above You-Tung!
Like a hurricane tearing through the fabric of emptiness, it billowed forward across all quarters and beyond into Yunan and Wubian.
Hao Di’s silhouette slowly ascended in the sky. As mists thickened below him, skies rolled dark and tempestuous. A vision stirred above—within the clouds—a celestial serpent wreathed in storms unveiled itself, its form half seen beneath nine coils upon storm-bolt wings and thunder crown.
Without a sound lightning cracked open the heavens.
Then from that luminous divide the full visage became clear—a serpent adorned with twin wings, golden fangs aglow with radiant lightning—cradled within coils, rotating serenely, a radiant blazing pearl of contained fire and light.
A moment passed. The celestial snake stretched wide his thunder-bright wings. And with that unfurled brilliance, the pearl’s energies spilled in all directions to paint the heavens with illumination.
Light faded. Shadows followed as world momentarily darkened, eyes cast upward in bewilderment as they beheld the outstretched wings—towering, immense—their shadow alone swallowing the horizon.
At that shifting edge of brilliance and abyss, suspended and unmoving, remained the city of Emma—a timeless source of undiminished brightness: neither increasing nor waning.
Within her, ancient forces coiled—sudden and terrible—arrose a presence as of the abyss traversed timeless cycles to cross reality.
The portion of the sky the celestial wings overlooked slowly flushed with a dull golden glow—a transition skipping afternoon toward dusk.
When the hurricane summoned by heaven-serpent plunged screaming into dusk’s dominion—calm perished amidst violent collision.
The Imperial Emperor’s aura, titled “Heaven’s Will”, clashed head-on with the ancestral vampire lord’s field, ‘Twilight Dominion.’ Across leagues beyond sight, the two great forces clashed and surged—one a radiant storm, one fading day.
At lull—when their first battle had momentarily settled.
Hao DI’s domain had crossed well past the provinces’ midway threshold—but Harbuz’s domain had retreated a distance—an arrow’s span short.
Evidence unmistakable even among darkness—never young prince among eternal-blood aristocracy, even a newly crowned Arch-Dominant stood outmatched by Empire’s new-born Sky Sovereign.
Overlooking everything, within Emma’s City, Prateek’s roar bore wrath and alarm. “An Aeon Lord! Since when did this empire gain this celestial threat?
Duke Dar’ael had left long ago with Wizlords below, tending to ground assault efforts following the incomplete salvo. Fortunes were not yet cast in shadow—this land’s native Force signatures proved meager overall; surviving elite opposition had been whittled down through surgical strikes.
The high wizard confirmed it, assuring deviations would stay minimal. An outcome welcomed. They may avoid redundant tasks upon the first half of their dual-pronged strategy.
Staying aboard in royal tower, dark elven princes and spider-lords fared not much warmer than Prateek, their moods stormy indeed—new Aeon Lord emergence in the middle of their operations unnaturally shook balance in ways that made battlefield command uncertain. Even if the sight alone wasn’t sufficient to cause full-scale fear and flee—such a surprise meant new chaos in war-making calculus—most unwelcome.
Alone, unshaken, in this storm of emotion—Harbuz stood apart, calm.
As though, from mere glances, none could detect his presence had moments before been locked within the domain-battle.
He started walking forward—his every pace sending waves of bloodlust rippling from him outward, condensing around form a full-fledged armor—a semi-divine red war-attire taking shape upon body. His hand now held a gleaming crimson spear.
It was then Prateek came to senses—overwhelmed at being powerless moments ago. For Harbuz to unleash his domain field unchecked. As his fellow stepped toward rampaging from City’s gate, Prateek flash-materialized beside him, hand seized the crimson arm.
“You are about to do, Harbuz?”
Clad in his divine-blood armaments—the crimson knight stilled like a monument of gods. Twin eyes, unchanging in purity, remained oceans beneath calm heavens. His reply, voice serene: “I am to welcome his challenge.”
Prateek stood struck silent, momentarily uncertain how to counter such resolute declaration.
Meeting challenge was warrior’s honor itself. Hadn’t he himself walked paths of blood for so long? To stop Harbuz would dishonor the oath of eternal struggle that defined their race. How could he speak then?
He released him instead. Stepping respectfully aside, the prince nodded.
“In truth—good. Then shall I watch your six.”
Simultaneously from his, a dark, arcane aura stirred like a living shadow. In his raised hand a staff materialized fully. Purest black, as if hewn not from ordinary matter but from the deepest void—the core glowing subtly with light like an eye’s slitted pupil.
When the two lords had passed through the light-veil into Emma’s external sky—then at last dared the dark elven Dukes Meirina and Joqi to stir. Overpowered so deeply by the previous presences—they dared not breathe loudly while those two titans passed; even less hope of interrupting them.
Their eyes silently locked.
Recognition passed. They sensed same shared feelings. From that instant—for the first time understanding blossomed.
“I wonder—was he really handling The Parliament Sanctum artifact ‘Keeper of Fate’ in both hands?” Meirina spoke in hushed fascination.
Joqi affirmed solemnly, “He is indeed—none other than Prince Prateek deserves its steward than him.” A brief pause followed then he murmured, a strange glint flickering in shadow.
“You know… I must confess—our Prince Harbuz impresses… The legends about vampires crowned and capable of facing Celestial Sovereigns—it truly was not boast at all. Now I see exactly why King Kain treats him with equal status.”
Meanwhile, undeterred—Harbuz moved unhurriedly across terrain where the desolation stretched infinite.
Ahead loomed, the colossal bastion—standing under grey heavens. Behind it soared high still, an ethereal image of the fire dragon. Two vast wings fully outstretched, shadowing beneath their breadth all the land behind for protection against the coming fire-storm of the unknown.
Suddenly light winked before him, a figure formed. Harbuz halted mid-step. A man—donned in an imperial uniform—silhouetted stood on the pathway blocking him. He wore maturity well in both posture and age—though in him seemed no echo of the skystorm aura he recently met upon skies beyond.
He raised his glance, voice calm as still-waters: “Harbuz of the Blazing Crowns? It was my honor—to study beneath Master Lin Xitan’s teachings.”
Harbuz’s blood core throbbed violently, once—and on the very same breath, a line of ancient script carved upon its frame flared like memory rekindled. Then vision filled, engulfed entirely by blurring trails of blades—sky ablaze with sword light.
Slashing death with frost’s edge,
Scorching light at the hourglass’s end.
Sword piercing stars to meet its fate,
Cuts clean tyrants ‘neath god’s very sight.
This sword bore the legacy of Qin Dynasty Emperors—it was known across heavens as ‘Terra.’
And this blade… belonged to him.
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