Torture, pain, and death.

It seems that every living being, at the very first moment of their own wisdom and consciousness, will have such a dark imagination: they cannot help but imagine, to fear, to figure out the most terrible torture they can imagine, and in some darker corner, they will secretly expect, expecting that it will fall on the heads of other beings, causing sorrow and wailing.

They do it in the dead of night, when anger and malice dance wildly.

But even the most terrible and darkest delusions in the heart of every life can never imagine how painful the real eternity will be.

Entering the Destiny Engine alone is the most torturous challenge that mortal beings can exist: even the god of the Crucible, who has single-handedly built this eternal cage, probably does not know how many tyrannical souls are imprisoned here, brutally tortured and killed in endless resentment and anger.

In order to create an unprecedented decisive battle weapon, the entire Northern Galaxy, which was cleaned by Ran Dan's butcher's knife, turned dozens of star regions from the prosperous world of the nest capital into a complete death scorched earth, even if the total number of sacrifices made since the Human Empire launched this great expedition, compared to the huge number of souls imprisoned in the [Destiny Engine], it is still rare.

And now, the emperor of Randan stands in this eternal cage: now, this is his own cage.

The sea of resentful spirits, which was enough to drown everything, completely tore apart its skin and flesh at the first moment it walked in, and the never-ending ghosts and ghosts rushed to its body and soul in a terrible howl of revenge, every inch of bone was gnawed away little by little, and every strand of soul was torn apart by a thread, as if tens of millions of carnivorous insects devoured a living life little by little, making pain and struggle the only memory and sense before death.

Vengeance, malice, curses, or downright madness.

Countless souls were driven by such emotions to inflict unimaginable atrocities on the Xenomorph Emperor's body: they burrowed into its eyelids and lips, gnawing at the fragile nerves behind its eyeballs and teeth; They burrowed into its flesh and blood, turning the invisible cold wind into steel knives that scraped bones, scraping bones and veins over and over again; In the heart, in the brain, in every fingertip and every inch of skin, and even in every pure land of its soul, the vicious soul is everywhere like a swarm of locusts.

And this kind of torture, which is nothing more than what happens in the first moment, is simply too easy compared to the madness that follows.

They tried to eat it alive, tried to keep it alive, crumbling in endless resentment and torment.

No living being, whether it was an ordinary human being, a mighty Astarte, an arrogant overlord of Randan, a warlike skinner, or the oldest and most vicious of the Comorian magnates, would be no different from this scene: the spirit of such a person was utterly shattered in the first breath, and everything they saw was enough to kill them, and they did not even feel pain, for their spirit was dead long before they were utterly torn apart: for any ordinary beingHere, it's the place of death.

However, for the alien emperor, here, it is eternal.

It was in the midst of the most terrifying torture machine in the galaxy at all of it, so vast and insane that even the deepest eyes of the subspace couldn't help but move their attention here for a short time, witnessing how it functioned and emanated its most brutal and wonderful art.

The Emperor of Randan was dead, its mortal body dead in the first second it stepped here, its skin and flesh torn apart from its bones by the furious hurricane, its bones, internal organs, and nerves gnawed away in the next instant, and it was already a dead man before it felt more pain.

But in the next moment, but before its heart could start its second beat, it was at the very center of the pain, alive.

Its body was supported by a strong vitality and a stronger will, and its flesh and bones grew tenaciously: and then more and more souls were blown away by the icy wind.

Grow, scrape, grow, scrape......

Every second is the most painful torment between life and death.

Every second, this torture may have to be repeated countless times.

But this physical torture and pain is far less than one ten-thousandth compared to the mental.

Souls, vicious souls, all souls, they poured into the sea of souls of Emperor Randan, eager to destroy it, but only here, it was the last country where the Alien Emperor could never abandon even an inch of land.

Its spiritual vision must be maintained, its reason and its thinking must exist, its soul must live, even if it is only as long as the most pathetic dry bone, it must remain alive: not for its own sake, but for the sake of this mighty and disordered force, which does not indiscriminately descend upon its people.

So, it struggled, it resisted.

It wailed.

No one can hear its most painful and mournful wail, because it does not echo in the real universe at all, but constantly sets off layers of never-ending bloody rain in the sea of souls.

The soul is furious, and those wills, already mad by being deprived of life, are tormenting every inch of its nerves and will in an increasingly distorted manner, shouting loudly to make it surrender and fall, and the battle with them will not stop for a moment, and the torment with them will never subside.

Piercing and pervasive, the fury of anger and revenge has turned into the greediest and gluttonous beast, and if it escapes the most terrible torment in the world, all that it holds dear will fall apart in an instant.

It even heard laughter, countless roars and curses, equally endless laughter: from the place of the real king of the universe, from the eternal kingdom of chaos and desire, from the most blasphemous wills and their loyal servants: they were dressed, they were ready to fight, they cheered with fanaticism for this rare performance.

Applause, sarcasm, whispers, and never-ending promises mingled with pain, striking at its spirit and will, forcing it to reach them with all its might, to resist the most wonderful contracts in the galaxy: each of them was what it longed for most: the future, the good, the hope......

and liberation.

But, it can't.

It can't do that.

It raised its head and wailed.

It can only wail.

It wails, commanding itself to resist all erosion, commanding its body to persist in futile resurrection and existence in the endless erosion of life and death.

Until it can withstand it all.

Until it can resist it all.

Until it is able to accept them, to accept these wild souls, to be able to attach them to its body, to greedily devour and replace its flesh, and to use its will and reason as its wonderful food.

Until it has the strength, enough strength and wildness, to sustain it all.

to sustain the hope of its race.

It must do so, it must step into and become the engine of destiny, holding the final fate of its race in its own hands.

It had time to do so, because in the engine of fate, time and earth flow so slowly and sluggishly, perhaps one of the most inconspicuous moments in the outside world, which was ten thousand years here.

Years.

Years.

Another 10,000 years.

——————

It doesn't care.

——————

The empire is retreating.

Ran Dan is advancing.

Victory is being revealed.

But Skanderbeg didn't care.

The number two of the entire Randan Empire stood loyally on the side of the [Engine of Destiny] in this way, like the most ordinary lowly servant, waiting for the return of his lord.

It doesn't know how long it will have to wait, it just lets the passage of time, the pace of war, and the end of everything.

After an unknown number of the most brutal encounters, the human fleet finally began to slowly begin its own withdrawal, which was an absolute helpless move: even though Ran Dan's royal fleet had been dispersed quite a bit under his orders, the remaining army was still enough to crush the few remaining imperial fleets in terms of numbers.

The defense line has been breached, the fortress has been captured, and the key nodes that have been drained of countless blood and have not given up an inch of land are now just useless garbage that has been discarded, and no one cares about them, and the alien fleet has once again approached the orbit of Tux V, and once again cast a vast landing army, and once again let the flames of war be ignited by everyone's corner.

This time, they are unstoppable.

The most wounded Imperial fleets had disappeared from the battlefield without even noticing, and the well-organized mortal auxiliaries had already boarded the transport ships at some unknown point and began their own retreat under the cover of the salamanders.

There may still be millions of Imperial warriors who have been stuck to the alien army and abandoned by de facto helplessness, but there are also many more warriors and hopes that have been preserved, and have become the new blood of the Empire.

But all this, but the victories, the honors, the gains and losses all this represented, Skanderbeg did not care, he closed his eyes tightly, and threw all the war to the marshals and admirals who had survived the war, and it itself stood in place, like a statue of black iron without any beauty.

And beside it, behind it and in the distance, in the darkness and dim light that spreads all the way to the horizon, there are figures who do the same thing as it.

They stand, they are silent, they wait for their only master to return, no matter how long they have to wait.

These beings, these warriors, these ruthless killing machines that the soldiers of the Empire would call the [Forbidden Army of Randan] in awe, they numbered in the tens of thousands, and against the backdrop of their pure black helmets without sorrow and joy were the never-ending scarlet light of the [Destiny Engine].

And so they waited.

I don't know how long I waited.

Until the return of the Emperor.

Or the end of all things.

——————

How long has it been?

It doesn't know, it can't know.

Its will, its spirit, every inch of its reason and noble emotion, once proud, has faded, has been worn out, and has ceased to exist in this perhaps countless years of torture and torture.

No...... One more point.

And also...... And also......

It gritted its teeth, gritted its teeth that had long been devoured, fantasized about its own persistence and pain, and persisted with it.

One more point!

It must be held!

Ran Dan!

It thought of the word.

The word has power, it has the power to get it back on its feet.

Ran Dan!

It looked up, and it saw.

It could see everything, and in the bone-chilling wind that no one could bear, the broken fragments pierced into its non-existent eye sockets like shattered lenses, bringing with it memories and vision.

It can be seen.

It could see the starry sky, the light of the stars piercing the thick clouds, like the tears of the gods pouring down on the black sand, transforming into the most wonderful pearls, it saw, it saw the day, the day it will never forget: it stood under the stars, on the cliffs, and the cold light thousands of miles away enveloped its body, casting its shadow on every leaf of the forest.

Starry sky.

At that moment, it thought so.

Then, it knows, it knows everything about itself: mission, persistence, faith.

Starry sky, beautiful starry sky.

It should belong to Ran Dan, starry sky.

It should belong to them, to its people and race, as it should.

At that moment, it knew, and it woke up.

It had its own name, its own family and its own story, but in front of the stars, they were insignificant.

That day, under the stars, an ordinary life passed away.

An Emperor has appeared.

The Emperor of Randan.

It watched, it felt the tears of non-existence slowly drip down in the non-existent eye sockets, causing the innumerable unborn in the subspace to laugh wildly.

It shed tears? Maybe not.

It's just screaming, wailing.

In seeing.

It saw its own footsteps, saw its figure, a thousand years ago, its shadow dragged its armor and robes, set off its steps, in every inch of land, in every inch of the wasteland of the Randan mother star, without the slightest stop, it began its work.

It gained some partners.

It gained some trust.

It received some troops.

It gained some followers.

It got some wins.

It lost some of its best friends.

It lost some of its friendships.

It has acquired a number of titles.

It lost some of its smiles.

……

Fate is like a flood, but in the blink of an eye, it is year after year.

It saw its own spirit, it saw its own ambition, it saw countless statues and temples standing with bursts of cheers, it saw the first warship of the race penetrate the distance of time and space and send back its own message.

It saw, saw the death of an empire, and a galaxy of chaos.

That's opportunity, that's danger, that's their time.

It thought.

So, it drew its sword and pointed it at the starry sky above it, and the flames of war began to burn.

It's time.

Let the starry sky become theirs.

It thought.

——————

Thereupon.

It woke up.

——————

It is more dazzling and terrifying than a thousand bright stars, and it is more absurd and gloomy than ten thousand dead worlds.

When it stepped out, its broken mind thought so.

It walked out, and I don't know how long it was, it walked out of the [Destiny Engine].

No, it should be said.

It became, the Engine of Destiny.

——————

It saw its own companion, its last companion, and it saw the loyal Skanderbeg, the hero of Randan, its left hand and its right hand.

The number two person in the Randan Empire raised his head, and he saw his lord, his true appearance, and what kind of existence it was at this moment.

With a single glance, endless madness and disorder attacked its brain, and the will accumulated over a thousand years of conquest and struggle was almost wiped out in front of this being.

It lowered its head, and in an instant, countless beads of sweat appeared on its forehead, more than in the last thousand years combined.

No, stick to it.

Skanderbeg said to himself.

That is [Ran Dan], the emperor of the Ran Dan Empire, its lord, its only master.

It gritted its teeth, it raised its head again, it watched everything in front of it, and used its tenacity to resist all the madness.

It will follow it, no matter what really happens, no matter what it becomes.

Then, it heard cheers.

Countless cheers, they come from Randan's forbidden army, from countless Randan's legions and fleets, from every Randan's overlord and warrior, from every Randan's soldiers.

They cheered for their sovereign, even though they couldn't see it at all: the endless scarlet light had now completely enveloped the alien emperor, and no one could see it for what it really was, but just looking at the light that was taller and more powerful than the most powerful titan of the human empire, no one could doubt that their emperor had become stronger, like every miracle that had happened before, like all the stories they had heard since childhood.

The emperor is still alive.

It will work wonders.

It will bring victory, with the future.

The cheers erupted, they continued, they were born spontaneously in the chest of every Randan soldier, and there was no need for any words or encouragement, when the light like a god, through the naked eye and countless projectors, appeared on every Randan warship, all the depression and discouragement disappeared, and the endless courage and divine will reoccupied everyone's hearts.

Ran Dan attacked again.

A winning offense.

This time.

They won.

——————

Won.

No more ornaments, it's the simplest: win.

The alien warships wrapped in black flail mercilessly crushed the last star fortresses and defensive arrays loyal to the human empire, and on the barren surface of Tuckers V, one Void Shield after another also fell under the second wave of attacks, and countless impregnable fortresses were exposed to the fire of the alien warships, and they could not even withstand the first attack.

The line of defense was shattered, the world fell, and all the pride and persistence turned into a real defeat in the moment, which surged into the hearts of every Imperial warrior: but this did not make them fall into madness and anger, most of the surviving human warships had already retreated in an orderly manner to those pre-reserved jump points, and the mortal auxiliaries and space wolves were the first to evacuate: because of their position in the war, the heirs of Riemanlus paid unimaginable casualties and costs, when the Wolf King once again inspected his troops, he will have to promote at least eight new wolf owners at once.

Then there is the fleet of the most powerful and nimble Dark Angels, and the Legion of Salamanders who have volunteered to stay behind and break the dead: the Lord of the Fire Dragon and his sons are inspired by the spirit of every comrade who has fought here, and they know that every resistance and sacrifice of their mortal warriors can safely retreat to the safety of the rear.

The most powerful ships were the Indomitable Truth and the Flame Forged as the last and most absolute core, and around them were the more agile warships, and beyond these high-speed ships were countless warships that had long since been destroyed and jumped, and countless alien warriors swarmed on them, cheering their hard-won victory.

This is the last scene of the Battle of Taks, the last moment of the countless encounters between humans and Ran Dan.

Blood and tears are flowing, the bitterness of defeat and the long laughter of victory are constantly echoing under the same sky, the world is collapsing, the stars are dying, and the subspace, attracted by countless shocks and collisions, seems to be the only victor, in the endless laughter, wantonly devouring the world.

Until the scarlet light, the almost invincible Emperor Ran Dan, randomly dispatched a small force of his own, and after Ran Dan's army retreated, he tore the entire Tux V Star to pieces, allowing the crumbling vortex and magma to swallow everything that had been.

This war is over.

Ran Dan, won its victory.

——————

But is that really the case?

On the shattered battleship, in the burning fortress, Ran Dan's flag flew high unscrupulously, but it could never hide the crimson glow of the light gun.

On each human warship that was torn apart and captured by the Xenomorphs; On every dying, breached fortress by the Iron Horse, and even on the fragments of the shattered world, countless fires, countless gunshots, countless war cries: they existed, though no one cared.

The war is over.

The alien wins.

But resistance is far from over.

There are still aliens falling, blood still flowing, and there are still reverberating reverberations of unyielding warships and fortresses that have long been unable to evacuate.

There will always be people who insist on resisting.

There will always be people who despise death.

There will always be people, even if the world is shattered and burning before their eyes, even if the will to end and die is stirring up waves in their hearts, they will hold their steel guns and face this universe that has never been merciful, a world that has never been merciful.

Let out your own roar.

——————

The end, and death.

And roaring

Bellow.

It heard a roar.

How familiar.

Pain invaded its mind, twisted and gnawed at its body, but it could still hear it.

I can see it.

I can feel it.

It walked, no longer needing any warships or cars, it was wrapped in pure pain and torment, not stopping even the most basic for a moment, it hid in the brightest light, like a moment of unbridled star, through the void.

It could hear, it could hear the wild laughter, they were watching it, they were seducing it with the most playful attitude, they were waiting for its death and humiliation, and it was a moment of enjoyment for their boring eternal life.

…… Let them be.

It thought, marched, fought.

Battle, it can't even be called a real battle, it has long forgotten a lot of things, the moment it came out of the [Destiny Engine], it forgot a lot, it threw away a lot of things, a lot of wisdom and pride, to save the most important ones.

But it still knew how to fight, even if it was just casually tilting the myriad souls that were wrapped beneath its body.

It triumphed, it shattered the world that had been impenetrable for a long time, it repelled those who tried to resist it: they were stuck in front of the Mandeville Point, eager to create their own miracles: it knew them, it knew that they were the genetic prototype of humanity.

What a powerful and beautiful creature.

Perhaps, it should have made some, it should have made some a long time ago, and maybe then it would have a better chance of victory.

No...... It won't do that, it won't be like that human, arrogantly stealing those false flames: it's drinking to quench thirst, he can't control them all the time, he's going to burn himself eventually.

It thought so, and it even thought of another person it remembered, another genetic protogen, that cold-blooded monster whose name it had forgotten: even the craziest and most ruthless Ran Dan warrior was more like a living being than that monster, he was so cruel and ruthless that it remembered it deeply.

It remembered their deals: despite the fact that they hadn't spoken to each other, and despite the years they had been inseparable on the battlefield known as the Galactic, they had made a deal, a deal that had been the result of a tacit understanding.

It remembered how the cold-blooded man swaggered with everything he needed and his puppets to the deepest stars in the northern part of the galaxy.

That's the price of it, it keeps him unimpeded, and the reward it gets is ......

The Legion, the ignorant Astarte Legion, the Legion abandoned by their fathers, they became bargaining chips in ignorance, outcasts, labelled as incompetent, ravaged and slaughtered by its Legion, and finally dissipated into a mist of blood that they had once sworn to hold onto.

It remembered the scene, and when it remembered, it was facing some innocuous resistance.

Resistance comes from those genetic protogens, and the treasures that go with them, enough to make it feel red.

They stopped on a battleship stuffed with explosives, eager to stop its pace and will: it had to admit that they could have that confidence.

The Soul Drinker, the terrifying being referred to by the feared words of its people, how delicate her power was, and despite being so weak, she was genuinely causing trouble for it, stirring everything it struggled to control, until it evaded an unavoidable attack with one move, and she briefly withdrew from the battle of disparity.

The blonde warrior, who commanded the bloodless and tearless war machine, held its feet, and could hear even his every word and command: though it was wailing endlessly, it could already discern what a great military master it was, and the wisdom of his every command was beyond the reach of its best people.

And the pure black dragon, the crimson-eyed monster, his giant hammer was there to smash heavily on its long-non-existent leg, it even felt a hint of false pain, he was a martial god, he was invincible, he could easily tear apart any of its people, there would be no suspense.

It remembered Skanderbeg, but it immediately denied it: Skanderbeg was far inferior to them, not the slightest.

Not to mention, its other people.

……

……

…… Is this human?

Is it its opponent?

Is it its race, the enemy of its dreams?

How is it going to defeat the plan it once longed for and realized, humanity?

The one that was once glorious, once rose, once dominated the four seas, let his will and greed plunder the entire galaxy, and let countless aliens and civilizations spin and disappear with their joys, sorrows, and sorrows...... Mankind?

Although it has been an enemy for so long, it is only at this moment that it really begins to feel this problem.

It was silent, it wailed, and he felt a desperate silence take root in its mind, and in the blink of an eye it had become a towering tree, a tree that was wrapped in countless pains and deeply rooted in its soul, and even the never-ending torture from the [Engine of Destiny] could not compare to one ten-thousandth of this pain.

Humans......

It attacked, it roared, and it rampaged between the most powerful genetic protogens like a terrible dragon twisted by madness.

It beat them.

No doubt.

No doubt......

It stood, destroying the relentless war machines, and watched as the being known as the Soul Drinker struggled back to the battlefield, grabbed her two dead companions on the ground, and then transformed into a dagger in the palm of her hand.

Her face was hideous, furious in its purest form.

She slit her throat and made a small scar, causing a drop of blood to run down her snow-white neck: with this insignificant drop of blood, her whole being seemed to dim for a moment.

It didn't stop its attack.

Before the deadly assault arrived, the blood began to burn and roar.

The hurricane, a hurricane that could disrupt its offensive, appeared before it, and by the time it raged, smashing the hurricane to pieces, it was empty.

The primordials, the machines, the last fleets and the humans, have vanished without a trace.

It stood silent, motionless, allowing itself to struggle in endless pain.

——————

Keep moving.

In a trance, Skanderbeg seemed to hear the command: it was broken, it was twisted, it was chanted by a myriad of hoarse throats in an endless curse.

And this order, was carried out.

——————

The end, and death.

And also...... Mankind.

Before its victorious people arrived in the next galaxy, it struggled to ponder the meaning of these words in its remaining sanity.

It thought of its race, of its beloved Randan, and of every Randan soldier it squandered at will.

It thought of them, of their rise and glory, of how they gnawed at the wreckage of humanity, and completed their rise in this great galaxy with speed that it could not have predicted.

Then, there is ambition, there is expansion, there is war.

It's destruction.

It's the destruction from the galaxy.

Once again, the Dead Empire began its own roar, reorganizing its legions, reclaiming its borders, and crushing all its opponents under absolute power.

It had thought it was one step away from its dream, and it had thought that the only thing it had to worry about was the terrible existence in those subspaces, until the overlord it thought was dead rose once again and walked in front of its race.

They want their lives.

There is nothing more to be asked for than destruction.

Thus, the war broke out.

Then, they lost.

Without any suspense, lost.

Finally, the last bit of territory in the Tux system has been completely swallowed up by the increasingly unbridled subspace, and the storm and the vortex have taken over here, forcing Randan's fleet to abandon this boiling hot land.

In the midst of endless pain, the alien emperor took one last look at the battlefield where it had given its all.

It was victorious, defeating three legions from the human race: but it knew that there were sixteen more of humanity like this.

They still have stronger forces and more fleets, and they have more terrible ambitions and confidence to persist in war.

It simply poured out everything it had, repelling one hand of humanity: not even a hand with all its might.

It closed its eyes.

Let yourself drown in pain.

Rather than the reality of being sober, the pain makes it feel relieved.

——————

Until.

What it felt.

Light.

That is, light.

It opened its eyes, and it felt the light, the cold glow.

He was waiting for it, right at their next destination, the next galaxy, the nameless, the most inconspicuous corner of the galaxy.

Perfect for ending a story, isn't it?

It thought, it watched, and it allowed its fleet, its own people, and its own strength, to slowly rush there, to the cold sun, to the golden and ruthless legions.

They were waiting for it.

They were preparing everything.

They're preparing for the end.

It seems, as long as it beats them, it can get everything of its own.

It thought so when its brain was flooded with this ridiculous thought, when it saw the icy sun and the metal dragon that surrounded it.

It can be felt.

——————

The end, and death.

It thought of it all again.

Then, in the endless agony, in the never-ending torment, in the most distant and twisted of all, in the ecstasy of the gods.

The alien emperor smiled.

(End of chapter)