Vermond stood silently, gazing into the swirling void of the blackhole beyond the glass ceiling, the stars warping like ribbons of light. Kiana stood beside him, her white hair dancing gently in the artificial breeze. There was peace… for a moment.
Then—
She vanished.
Vermond blinked.
“…Kiana?”
The stars were gone. The glass was gone. Everything was gone—except him and the yawning, infinite abyss.
The blackhole pulsed.
A voice, ancient and slow, deep enough to rattle his very bones, echoed through the void.
“GOD OF LIFE AND DEATH… DO YOU SEEK POWER?”
Vermond didn’t flinch. He just narrowed his eyes, and with a small smirk. “Become the core of our Super Capital Citadel.”
The void shattered.
He was back—feet on the floor, stars above again, Kiana beside him, smiling knowingly like she had just watched a very entertaining show from the front row.
“You really said that to a blackhole?” she whispered.
Before Vermond could reply—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”
Jard’s scream tore through every speaker.
All of them—Renn, Erie, Ruen, Mon—rushed to the upper command platform just in time to see the impossible.
The entire Super Capital Citadel was being dragged by the blackhole.
Renn was flipping switches. “OH NO. OH NO NO NO. THIS IS BAD. THIS IS WORSE THAN BAD!”
Mon stood frozen, blinking. “Are we dying or ascending? I honestly can’t tell.”
Erie had his hand on his head. “I KNEW WE SHOULDN’T HAVE MADE IT WHITE. NOW IT LOOKS LIKE AN AFTERLIFE HOTEL!”
Ruen stared out the window. “...Well, at least the view is nice.”
Suddenly, the blackhole collapsed inward, and in a flash of light—
BOOM!
The Super Capital Citadel was no longer around the blackhole.
It had fused with it.
Right in the center of the station's core—a swirling orb of endless light and darkness spun slowly, powering the colossal war-citadel from within.
All systems lit up in gold. Engines thrummed with life. The walls hummed with unnatural energy.
Jard fell to his knees, screaming.
“YESSSSSSSS!! OUR LARGE LARGE LARGE WARSHIP IS NOW A BLACKHOLE DEITY PALACE!!! THIS IS PEAK ENGINEERING!!NOW THAT WE HAVE UNLIMITED POWER, LETS EXPAND OUR TECHNOLOGY!!”
Erie stared at him. “He’s gone. He’s finally snapped.”
Mon, adjusting her hair, grinned. “I’m going to sell tickets just to see this thing.”
Renn, deadpan. “We need rules. No more talking to cosmic entities without approval.”
Kiana leaned toward Vermond. Sweetly whispering to his ear. “Big brother, next time, at least tell me before fusing a celestial anomaly into our home.”
Vermond just smiled. “Surprise.”
Minutes later..
Jard stood atop the engineering deck, eyes bloodshot with excitement, hair a mess, arms spread wide like a man possessed.
“LISTEN UP, YOU BEAUTIFUL FOOLS!!”
Everyone in the room froze—Erie even dropped his ration bar.
“WE NOW HAVE UNLIMITED ENERGY! INFINITE! BLACKHOLE CORE, BABY!!”
Ruen leaned back against the wall, whispering to Renn, “Oh no. He’s doing the madman speech again.”
Jard slammed a massive hologram onto the central table. It flickered to life—an absolutely monstrous design. A Super Large Large Shield Generator, with towers taller than skyscrapers, domes layered like shells, and a glowing ring of energy that could wrap around a moon and still ask for dessert.
“WE’RE GOING TO BUILD A SHIELD! THE BIGGEST SHIELD EVER! SO BIG, SO STRONG—NOT EVEN A STAR GOING SUPER-NOVA COULD CRACK IT!”
Erie blinked. “...You good, bro?”
Mon appeared on the upper screen, calmly sipping something pink and bubbly from a tall glass.
“I like it. I’ll fund the entire thing. Material drops incoming in three minutes.”
She smirked, swirling her drink, “Think of it as an investment. If I’m going to live at the top of a moving god-tier war-citadel, I want walls that make suns cry.”
Jard shouted into his mic, “SHE’S ON BOARD! WE’RE DOING IT!”
Construction alarms rang throughout the Citadel as ships started unloading crate after crate of shimmering alloys, crystalline energy cores, and rare components that literally floated by themselves.
Renn sighed as he looked at the blueprint. “We need new definitions. This isn’t a station anymore. This is becoming a space continent.”
Kiana, leaning over Vermond’s shoulder, chuckled softly. “Big brother… should we tell them to slow down?”
Vermond didn’t even flinch.“Let them build. Let them dream.”
The entire Super Capital Citadel rumbled—not in fear, but in ambition.
Jard’s voice boomed across every comm channel like a man announcing the birth of a new god.
“ENGINES STABLE! CORE STABLE! DARK CRYSTAL INFLUX STABLE! BLACKHOLE SINGULARITY: PETTING ZOO LEVEL STABLE!”
Thousands of workers across gleaming white sectors moved in sync, massive cranes rotating with eerie precision, welders lighting up the hangars like miniature suns.
The Super Large Large Shield Generator had begun construction.
Towers rose, mile by mile, each one humming with energy drawn directly from the Citadel's blackhole core. Shield rings were installed along the outer skin, vast enough that entire fleets could dock inside just one arc. Floating pylons, guided by anti-grav fields, drifted into position like puzzle pieces guided by fate itself.
Ruen, watching from the observation deck, slowly lowered his mug.
“...It’s actually happening.”
Erie, eyes wide, looked at the glowing energy-conductors being hauled past.
“Man. I thought the crazy ended with the moving Citadel. Now we’re building... whatever this is.”
Mon strolled in, hair flowing, sipping something suspiciously expensive again.
“This is what progress looks like, gentlemen. You don't stop with greatness. You wrap it in indestructible fashion.”
Jard pointed toward the sky, eyes alight with madness.
“We’re going to be UNTOUCHABLE! THIS SHIELD—no, THIS ARMOR OF THE HEAVENS—WILL MAKE STARS JEALOUS!!”
Kiana leaned toward Vermond, her voice soft. “He’s really gone full supervillain architect now.”
Vermond didn’t look away from the window, where the swirling blackhole now looked like the heart of a living empire.
“Let him cook.”
And so they did.
Hours ticked by, filled with the sound of welding, humming turbines, and distant celebratory music as Jard's Super Large Large Shield Generator crawled toward completion like a mechanical mountain being born.
Then, Mon spoke again, her tone calm but serious, echoing through the command room.
“We need more manpower.”
Erie, mid-chew on a synthetic meat bun, nearly choked.
“WE ALREADY HAVE MILLIONS!”
Mon smiled, crossing her arms, standing beside the grand projection of the Citadel’s schematics.
“This Capital Citadel is enormous. Based on the size of the sectors... we can house nine hundred million. Comfortably.”
The room went silent. Then Vermond smirked, eyes gleaming faintly with a soul-bound glow—213 flickering like divine code in his gaze.
Kiana turned to him, her voice casual but laced with purpose. “Big brother... the clones. Let’s not forget the clone center.”
And so, the two made their way to the hidden Clone Center, a cold and silent chamber where the strange, blank-eyed, naked clone still stood—unmoving since the day they arrived.
Vermond stepped forward, the air thickening, energy whispering around his body. His glowing number began to dim... flickering lower... lower...
Then hours later..
0
He breathed out, a strange peace washing over him.
The room shuddered softly.
213 new bodies emerged from the cloning chambers. Each one perfect. Silent. Waiting.
At that moment, Old Man Renn—who had been napping with a blanket over his lap—suddenly bolted upright and grabbed his comm.
“Jard! Get over here! Bring the suits!”
A chaotic clatter followed—Jard sprinting down the corridor like a lunatic, dragging behind him a hover-crate of shining white military uniforms, flanked by stunned workers, each holding pristine armors like holy relics.
As the doors slid open, Jard skidded to a halt and saw them—the clones—lined up in eerie silence, awaiting orders.
Jard’s jaw dropped.
“This is... MAYNIFICENT!!”
Erie appeared behind him, deadpan.
“You mean magnificent.”
“NO! I MEAN MAYNIFICENT!! Because it’s SO GOOD it needed a new word!”
The clones began suiting up, one after another, sliding into the sharp, polished white armor designed for their Empire. It fit them perfectly, like the galaxy itself had been waiting for this moment.
As the white-armored clones stood tall in flawless formation, Jard’s voice echoed through the comms, crackling with excitement:
“Mon! Mon, get down here! You’ve got to see this!”
Mon appeared on one of the upper walkways, accompanied by two of her black-clad aides. As her crimson eyes scanned the scene below—the perfectly synchronized clones, glowing with subtle soul residue—her expression shifted.
From calm.
To pure shock.
“Cloning... it still exists?” she muttered, almost to herself. “That technology’s been banned for decades... centuries, even.”
Before anyone could respond, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. “Bring the weapons.”
Dozens of her personnel rushed off like ants with a mission, and minutes later, hover-crates filled with high-grade weapons were dropped down beside the clones—rifles, blades, pulse cannons, all painted white with golden insignias, gleaming like they were meant for gods.
Mon turned back toward Vermond, her voice sincere. “No need for payments. Consider it my offering… to the new Empire.”
Then it happened.
The clones—all 213 of them—suddenly moved, perfectly synchronized, like a tide of discipline. They began to ascend the levels of the Citadel, boots striking the metal floors in perfect rhythm. No one had spoken. No orders were given.
They moved only because Vermond thought it.
People across the sector paused. Workers, ex-engineers, ex-pilots—even those who had just come from the celebration—looked up.
And what they saw was a vision.
The first true Legion of the Empire.
Pristine. Silent. Divine.
A line of white soldiers marching like destiny itself through the inner veins of the Super Capital Citadel.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
One muttered. “Are those... soldiers?”
“Where did they come from?” Person beside him answered.
“They’re.. beautiful...” Another person said.
Though their number was small, only 213, they made the Citadel feel alive. Like it wasn’t just a floating moon-sized structure, but a true nation-in-the-making.
Even Mon, now watching from the command balcony beside Kiana, let out a low, almost amazed chuckle.
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“Small start... but a terrifying one.”
Vermond remained still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes calm. The smile on his lips said only one thing:
IT'S TIME TO GRIND.
Back at The Command Center, buzzing quietly, light from the distant stars and the swirling blackhole core casting shifting reflections across the pristine white floors. Vermond, his eyes now void of numbers—completely cleared from soul summoning—stood at the center table, fingers tapping as sector maps blinked to life.
Mon leaned on the railing nearby, her voice casual but sly. “There are several pirate dens in the surrounding systems. Ones I used to trade with before they got... too greedy.”
She flicked her wrist, and red markers appeared on the galaxy map—flashing where the dens were hidden in asteroid fields and dead zones.
Vermond’s lips curled into that signature, dangerous smirk. “Time to grind.”
Before anyone could respond, Kiana stepped beside him, reaching up and planting a quick but bold kiss on his lips, her expression playful but sincere.
“Big brother should grind well,” she whispered, brushing his cheek.
A silence fell.
Mon, who had been watching from the side, blushed faintly, her crimson eyes flicking away. A tiny pang of loneliness sparked in her chest as she turned slightly, pretending to check a datapad.
That’s when Erie slid up beside her, hands in his pockets, grin absolutely unfitting for the moment. “Hey, just so you know... I’m still single.”
WHAM.
Mon’s fist flew like lightning, and with a sound resembling a small explosion, Erie vanished from view, catapulted off-screen like a piece of cosmic trash. A few people in the Command Center looked up, completely unfazed.
From a distant hallway came Erie’s muffled voice through the comms.
“I REGRET NOTHING—!”
Back in the room, Mon exhaled and muttered, not even looking. “Idiot.”
Kiana just smirked and leaned a little closer to Vermond. “Let’s start the grind then, My dear Commander.”
Vermond nodded, dark aura subtly flaring.
“Deploy the Legion. Set course for the nearest den. It’s about time the galaxy learned to fear the Empire.”
Minutes later..
From the distant edges of pirate territory, a strange pulse shimmered in the stars—space bent, cracked, and then ripped open.
Boom.
A deep, thunderous hum echoed across the asteroid field as the Super Capital Citadel emerged from warp, moving slower than most ships—but its sheer immensity was terrifying. The pirates didn’t even react at first.
They couldn’t.
Their minds simply refused to believe it.
Ships larger than stations. Engines glowing with blackhole-fed energy. Thousands of white docking bays, all glowing ominously. And at the front—a shining Empire banner hung proudly in the vacuum of space.
Then the screams started.
“WHAT IS THAT?!”
“It’s... it’s a planet—no, a WARSHIP?!”
“MOMMY—!”
Panic broke out. Entire fleets tried to flee—but it was too late.
One by one, the Legion pods dropped from the Citadel, streaming through the darkness like white comets. 213 clones, clad in full white armor, rifles humming with Mon’s donated high-grade weapons. And at the center—
—the first clone, older, more experienced, silently landing with a heavy thud.
The ground assault began.
No mercy. No hesitation.
The Legion moved in eerie silence, coordinated by Vermond’s thoughts. Pirates fired back desperately—but it was useless. The white-armored figures didn’t flinch, bullets ricocheting off energy fields, and when they fired—it was over.
Rockets, plasma bolts, drones. Efficient. Surgical.
Mon, watching from the bridge, sipped her tea and muttered with a smile,
“They’re cute when they panic.”
Jard, eyes sparkling, leaned forward like a child at a candy store.
“Oh my void—look at them run! Someone get me popcorn!”
Renn, arms crossed. “Less popcorn, more data. Check how they respond to cornered prey.”
Erie, still with a bandage from earlier, groaned from the floor.
“You guys didn’t even try diplomacy.”
Kiana, beside Vermond at the command chair, smiled gently.
“No need. They were warned.”
Vermond’s glowing eyes narrowed as explosions bloomed across the pirate base. His voice, cold and low.
“I need more souls.”
Minutes later..
The dust of war still clung faintly to the air as the last pirate signal flickered out. Inside the Command Center of the Super Capital Citadel, lights dimmed into a calm white hue. The mood was quiet—until Vermond’s eyes flared once more.
72.
The number returned.
Kiana saw it first and softly whispered, “You’re back.”
Vermond didn’t reply. He just nodded, gaze focused as he approached the central Holo Map projector. It flickered, then stabilized, displaying the Illegal Federation Map—a massive schematic of outlaw space: thousands of red dots, each representing a rogue empire, syndicate, warlord, or fallen republic.
Erie whistled. “Sheesh... and we thought a few thousand was already a headache.”
Mon walked in silently, holding a small device. Without a word, she clicked it into the map’s core slot.
The entire Holo Map glitched, then expanded.
Wider. Deeper. Endless.
Millions.
Millions of empires.
Each dot was pulsing. Shifting. Some massive, almost the size of a moon, others tiny—but all alive, scattered across galaxies and voids Vermond had never seen. Some empires had sized territories.
Jard stared, jaw dropped. “This... this is insane.”
Mon calmly spoke as she gazed at the chaos of the universe.
“This is the real illegal map, Vermond. What you had was a sandbox. Welcome to the ocean.”
Renn stepped forward, mumbling. “Some of these factions—I've read about 'em. Lost in the dark centuries. I thought they were myths...”
Ruen, arms crossed, muttered, “Looks like we’ve been a big fish in a shallow pond.”
Erie turned to Mon, eyes wide.
“And you used to be part of this?”
Mon only smiled, red eyes glowing under the soft light. “I was small. A moon in a sky of stars. But you—” she looked toward Vermond, “—you’ve got something they don’t.”
Kiana then grabbed Vermond’s hand again, squeezing tight.
“We’ll rise, big brother. No matter how many stars there are—we’ll burn brighter.”
And Vermond, now seeing the vastness of the cosmos for the first time, simply smiled. "Then let’s keep grinding.”
And then..
The sector ahead shimmered with red warnings on every radar—Bounty Den 09, a fortress-like pirate system that even seasoned Federation captains feared to approach. Jagged asteroids floated lazily around rusted battle debris, massive cruisers prowling the void like wolves. Heavily armed, heavily wanted, and heavily dangerous.
Inside the command center of the Super Capital Citadel, Mon stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed as the scans came in.
“This isn’t like the last one,” she said, her voice sharp. “These aren’t just pirates. These are bounty lords. Killers who made names on blood and war. Even you—Vermond—aren’t strong enough to face them head-on.”
But Vermond… only grinned.
The number 72 glimmered faintly in his light eyes as he stepped toward the holo-glass, watching the patrolling cruisers like they were ants.
“Then let’s go there.”
Erie immediately let out a sigh. “Why do I feel like this is gonna end with the whole place on fire again?”
Hours later, the Super Capital Citadel arrived—slow, steady, and monstrously silent.
From the pirate sector’s edge, it was like a moon had entered orbit, casting a pure white glow across the stars. The pirate cruisers stopped mid-patrol, scans flooding their systems—what was that? A station? A planet? A... ship?
Then, the realization dawned.
“W-warship.. Mothership...?”
"That ain't a mothership, that's a damn planet!"
“What the hell is that thing?”
“It’s alive! IT'S MOVING—GET THE HUNTERS—”
From within their command bunkers, bounty hunters looked up from their whiskey glasses and holo-pools. Hardened men and women paused their laughs, their smirks fading. Some stepped toward reinforced glass to see the monstrosity floating in from the darkness.
“That’s not a station,” one muttered. “That’s a damn god flying a fortress.”
One by one, every bounty hunter turned to the window.
And they stared.
They stared at the thing larger than moons, glowing pure white, it's core a friggin black hole, with thousands of docking bays, military glass windows, and the infamous Legion standing at the ready.
The moment of silence was palpable.
Then one hunter finally said. “...we're gonna die, aren’t we?”
And far, far above, Vermond just leaned forward, eyes glowing, lips curling into a smirk. “Commence descent.”
From the underbelly of the Super Capital Citadel, the Legion launched—214 white-armored soldiers, lined up in perfect formation, leaping into the void like celestial executioners. Their glowing eyes cut through the black of space, rifles and blades primed, their descent trailing streaks of energy like falling stars.
Sirens across the pirate den screamed to life.
“Contact! THEY’RE DROPPING! WHAT ARE THOSE?!”
Dock crews scrambled. Gunners powered up defense turrets. Bounty hunters slammed their drinks down and sprinted to their ships—but it was too late.
The Legion landed.
Explosions echoed like drums of war, smoke and screams filled the air. Buildings shook, walls crumbled, and every pirate, no matter their rank, trembled.
Above the chaos, Vermond’s voice cut through the comms—calm, cold, and absolute.
“This is your only chance. Give us everything—your ships, your weapons, your resources—and you will live.”
There was a pause.
“Resist… and you won’t even have time to regret it.”
Terrified pirate leaders, still watching the moon-sized Citadel above, folded instantly, pouring surrender signals into every channel they could. Hangars opened, ships floated out, weapons were lined up in surrender formations.
But then…
A shadow moved.
From the smoke, a figure leapt, landing without a sound. A tall frame, perfectly balanced, a hood covering their face. Their stance was clean, precise. When they looked up—
Their eyes glowed white.
Erie’s voice crackled over the comms, tense. “What the hell—who is that?”
Mon’s eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. She stepped closer to the glass, voice low.
“Kiana… that person… has a little strange energy. Vermond, be careful.”
Vermond, standing on a tower above, just smiled.
Suddenly, the elite undead appeared—a circle of shadows, blades and guns ready. They moved as one, surrounding the hooded figure in a deadly ring.
But the figure didn’t flinch.
The battle erupted.
Gunfire and flashes exploded in seconds—the figure moved like lightning, dodging, weaving, countering with deadly precision. One elite’s head was blown clean off. Another sliced in two mid-charge.
Erie watched from the screen, stunned. “HOW IS HE—Wait—Where’s Vermond?!”
Then—
He appeared.
Vermond didn’t walk. He manifested, standing behind the hooded one in a blur of warped space, his eyes glowing brighter than ever—72.
But… something was wrong.
His expression was cold—too cold. His movements, inhumanly fluid. The air warped around him, flickering with deathly energy.
Kiana gasped, “That's not Big brother.”
Then, Vermond—no, his power—spoke through him, a voice laced with ancient wrath.
“This bastard doesn’t even know how to gather souls.”
He stepped forward, pressure rising like a storm. “What a waste.”
The battlefield fell silent for a breath—one long, sharp breath—as Vermond stood face to face with the hooded bounty hunter.
The figure cocked his head slightly, voice smooth and edged like a blade.
“You’re the one behind this… Citadel?”
“You look soft. Pretty eyes. Who gave you command of an empire?”
Vermond smiled—a twisted, knowing grin.
“I didn’t take command. I made it. With the souls of cowards… and counting.”
The bounty hunter laughed, low and confident, stepping forward. His boots crushed the rubble underfoot, cloak shifting, revealing a sleek, black rifle slung to his back and twin pistols at his hips.
“Souls? You one of those cult freaks?”
“No,” Vermond said, voice like calm thunder. “I’m your god now.”
The air exploded.
The bounty hunter moved first—a flash of speed, guns drawn in a blink, rounds flying toward Vermond's heart.
But Vermond… was already gone.
He reappeared midair, upside-down, fingers extended. A shadowy ripple burst from his palm, catching every bullet in an ethereal black web. The bullets dropped—melted—and he landed with a whisper.
“You don’t get it,” Vermond murmured, his voice now deeper, layered. Something else was speaking through him.
“I am not flesh and blood anymore.”
The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Then die like the monster you are.”
He flipped backward, tossing a grenade that erupted in bright anti-void light—deadly to necrotic energy. The undead didn't flinch, as they are emitting the Devine and Demonic power— Vermond walked through it, cloak fluttering like torn silk in a storm, unscathed.
He was smiling now. That arrogant, ancient kind of smile that made your soul itch.
“Cute trick.”
He vanished again.
A moment later, blood splattered.
The bounty hunter staggered back—his shoulder torn, his left pistol gone. He didn’t even see the attack.
“What the—?!”
Vermond reappeared behind him, whispering in his ear.
“You can’t fight me. You weren’t born in death.”
He grabbed the man’s spine through his armor and ripped it halfway out, tossing him like trash. The bounty hunter hit the ground, screaming, twitching.
Mon watched from the Citadel’s upper tower, stunned. “He… He’s not just fighting. He’s hunting.”
Kiana stood beside her, eyes gleaming. “Big brother’s proving a point.”
Erie gulped. “What point—?”
Kiana didn’t answer.
Back on the ground, the bounty hunter tried to crawl away. “What are you?!”
Vermond crouched beside him. His eyes glowed 72 again, and a dark, swirling aura engulfed them both.
“I am life stolen from death…” He leaned closer. “…and death perfected through life.”
Then—he crushed the bounty hunter’s skull, soul erupting into Vermond’s hand
like white fire. The power surged into his body. His eyes blinked—now glowing 73.
Silence.
And then, still thrumming with the aftershock of battle, stepped through the dim-lit corridors of the Super Capital Citadel. His presence alone was enough to part any crowd—he moved like a force, not a man. His cloak still stained from the bounty hunter’s soul, his eyes burning softly with the number 73.
He entered the bridge.
Kiana turned, sensing him before he spoke—her green eyes meeting his light ones, a silent exchange. Something fierce, unspoken, and overwhelming passed between them.
Then, without a word, Vermond strode forward—and kissed her. Hard. Fierce. Real.
The room froze.
Mon’s jaw dropped, her red eyes wide. “W-What the…”
Erie slowly turned red from ear to neck. “Uhh…”
Ruen blinked twice, eyes darting between the two. “Should we… leave?”
Renn, squinting, muttered. “Kids these days…”
Jard’s hands were shaking. “T-This is too much—I haven’t even finished the new shield’s inner lining!”
The kiss ended just as suddenly. Kiana’s lips parted slightly, stunned, breathless, but glowing.
Vermond looked into her eyes, his voice low, steady.
“We’re not dying in this war, Kiana.”
And just like that—he was back to normal.
He turned toward the console like he hadn’t just sent half the bridge into cardiac arrest. His cape flowed behind him, a soft hum of power following each step. The moment lingered in the air, awkward and intense.
Erie cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh... mission report?”
Mon still blushing, muttered, “Why did that feel…”
Jard simply nodded. “That’s it. I’m adding a romance sector to the Citadel. That energy could power another engine.”
Everyone just… nodded in confused silence, pretending to look busy as Vermond stared at the stars.
Like nothing happened.
Then, minutes later..
The massive docking bays rumbled as the pirate ships—old, patched, some barely flying—landed one by one inside the Super Capital Citadel. The pirates, scruffy and wild-eyed, stepped out, eyes wide at the sheer scale and brightness of the place. White walls. Polished floors. Military drones floating silently like ghosts watching their every move.
Then suddenly—
A loud voice boomed across every speaker. “WELCOME! Dear manpower!”
It was Jard, of course, standing at the top of a broadcasting balcony, arms stretched like a conductor before a symphony of criminals.
“You are now part of the Super Capital Citadel workforce! And remember! If you ever commit something bad in here…”
A beat of silence.
Then he leaned close to the mic.
“…you’ll lose your pen!”
The entire dock went silent.
Pirates blinked. Looked around. Whispered.
“Pen?” one muttered. “What pen?”
Then Mon, standing beside him, whispered something into the mic, deadpan. “He means your privates.”
Chaos.
Some pirates instantly backed away like they’d stepped on a minefield.
Others clutched their crotches protectively.
One shouted, “OI, WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS?!”
Erie, walking nearby with a clipboard, just muttered, “We’re running a dictatorship with rules from a comedy sketch…”
Kiana, sighing, pinched the bridge of her nose while Vermond just quietly watched, a faint smirk on his lips.
The onboarding process continued.
Fear kept the peace...
As the rowdy pirates slowly adjusted to their new, unusually clean surroundings, Mon calmly walked up to Vermond, her red eyes reflecting the glowing white of the citadel’s interior.
“Vermond,” she said, arms crossed, “it’s time we implement our own credits. Our own currency. If we’re going to deal with nobles, traders, and future alliances, we can’t rely on the existing systems. We need our own economy—one they have to adapt to.”
Vermond gave her a slow nod, his mind already seeing the systems unfolding.
Just then, Jard burst in, eyes practically glowing with excitement, a holoboard in hand.
“I already made something!"
With a flick of his fingers, a blueprint hovered in the air. It showed a small sleek device—like a ring you place on one of your fingers. Inside it was a full digital credit bank system.
“Stick it on your finger, and bam! You’ve got access to your account, digital ledger, transfer options, and even a personal ID tag. All tied to the Empire’s new currency.”
Mon raised a brow, impressed. “That’s... actually useful.”
But Jard wasn’t done.
“Also—since we have infinite energy, I activated the AI system you gave me, Mon. It’s now installed into the core of the Citadel.”
Everyone in the room froze.
And then—
A soft, calm yet commanding voice echoed throughout the entire Super Capital Citadel:
“Hello, citizens. This is your Citadel. I see all. I know all. Do not litter. And please… stop kissing in hallways.”
Kiana blinked.
Erie spat out his drink. “WHAT.”
Mon covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
The AI’s voice continued, crisp and polite.
“Your credit system will be initialized shortly. Welcome to a new age of Empire. And remember—Jard’s finger rings are mandatory. Refusal results in minor incineration.”
Ruen leaned toward Renn and muttered, “I think this place just became alive.”
Renn grunted. “It was alive the moment that damn black hole joined the team.”
Vermond just stared at the AI speaker... and smirked. “Good. Let’s turn this empire into something the universe has never seen before.”
Just as the laughter died down and everyone was still trying to process the fact that the Citadel now talked, Jard—predictably—wasn’t done yet.
He clapped his hands, standing on top of a console like a proud inventor presenting his magnum opus.
“ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!”
A new blueprint flickered to life above his head, this one showing a tiny device shaped like an earbud, sleek and white to match their aesthetic.
“This,” Jard declared, “goes into your ear. Lightweight. Seamless. Looks like a fashion piece, but it’s not just for show.”
He zoomed into the internal systems of the device.
“It connects directly to the Citadel’s AI. Tracks every citizen’s ID, vitals, location, and assigned sector. If someone tries to commit a crime—bam—instant report to the AI.”
Mon raised a brow. “So it’s surveillance.”
Jard grinned. “Smart surveillance. The AI knows who’s allowed where, what they’re allowed to carry, even their behavior patterns.”
Erie tilted his head, suspicious. “What if someone rips it out?”
Jard smirked. “Don’t worry, I thought about that.”
The blueprint shifted—revealing tiny micro-barbs. “It’s painlessly sealed to the ear’s internal structure. Try to pull it out and—well, you won’t be hearing orchestras anymore.”
The AI’s voice echoed softly. “Tampering with the ear unit will result in disciplinary action. You may keep your limbs. We’ll see.”
Renn nodded approvingly. “I like this AI. It’s got character.”
Kiana whispered to Vermond, “It’s creepy... but it’ll keep us safe.”
Vermond stared at the blueprint, then nodded.
“Install it. From now on, anyone who lives here will be known, monitored, and protected.”
Mon chuckled. “We really are becoming gods, aren’t we?”
And somewhere deep within the citadel’s core, the AI hummed in quiet agreement. “Gods... with good taste in infrastructure.”
As everyone was still digesting the ear implant system, Ruen let out a deep sigh and muttered under his breath:
“Here comes the neverending blueprints again…”
Like clockwork, Jard spun around, his fingers dancing across the air as a brand new holographic projection lit up above the command table.
“Ladies, gents, undead, clones, and AI overlords—may I present: our fleet.”
The first image: White Battleships. Sleek, sharp-edged, armed with massive turrets and enhanced armor plating, their hulls reflecting the Citadel's all-white aesthetic. The AI’s voice echoed proudly:
“Fleet aesthetics approved. Blessings of minimalism granted.”
Erie squinted. “Why only battleships? That’s a little… extreme?”
Jard, never missing a beat, held up one finger. “I. Am. Not. Done.”
BOOM! Another blueprint slid in—a White Space Carrier, compact compared to the battleships but bristling with mini-launch pads, drone hangars, and defensive turrets.
Mon’s eyes widened. “This thing… it’s smaller, but the tech in that hull—whoa.”
She stared at the specs, then turned to Jard. “Okay, and where exactly do you think you’re getting the materials for all this?”
Jard gave the most casual finger gun ever seen.
“From you.”
Mon blinked. “…I think I might be losing a lot from this nerd.”
The crew chuckled—except Erie, who was still trying to wrap his head around how fast Jard was working.
But Jard wasn’t even halfway done. He grinned and flicked again.
“Last one. Maybe. Depends on how I feel tomorrow.”
Another projection appeared: AI-controlled smallcrafts—sleek little support ships with twin-barrel turrets and agile thrusters. Each was designed to operate only inside and around the Super Capital Citadel.
“They’ll patrol sectors, respond to crime alerts, and support future police units. Think of them as flying watchdogs with itchy trigger fingers.”
The AI chimed in softly.
“Initiating draft for smallcraft naming protocols. Top suggestion so far: The Nuisance Series.”
Kiana giggled. “Perfect.”
Vermond, quiet as always, simply nodded.
“Build it all. We’ll need it.”
Hours later..
The construction surge began once more, echoing across the massive expanse of the Super Capital Citadel.
People—citizens, pirates-turned-builders, Mon's crew, engineers, and the clone legions—were now actively hammering, welding, scanning, calibrating, and arguing as they began to set up food courts, residential sectors, marketplaces, ship docks, entertainment zones, and training facilities. One entire district was already being called "The Blade Strip"—a name coined by some ex-bounty hunters now happily serving as janitors.
Erie, standing at the observation deck with a massive cup of synth-coffee, squinted at the bustling scene and muttered:
“Feels like we’ve got a billion people running around already…”
Just then, the Citadel’s AI chimed in with crisp clarity through the overhead speakers.
“Correction: Current registered population is 132 million. 132,084,926 to be exact. We are operating at only 14.6% optimal population capacity.”
Erie blinked. “That’s not even close, huh.”
Kiana, walking beside him with a data tablet, glanced at the empty sectors ahead—massive stretches of polished white corridors, power-hubs, and unopened gates.
“We’re gonna need a lot more people to even fill a quarter of this place…”
In the distance, one of the pirates—now wearing a crisp white janitor uniform—tripped over a power cable and yelled:
“WHOA—WHY IS THE FLOOR SO CLEAN!?”
Another replied while sweeping. “That’s what you get for walking on pure white without sunglasses!”
Meanwhile, Jard ran by, pushing a trolley full of micro-reactors, muttering something about needing more reactors for the “shield coils for the Nuisance Series Beta.”
Mon, watching the scene, let out a breath and muttered, “We’re building a god’s playground... and it’s still half empty.”
Vermond, arms crossed, just stared into the stars. “Then we’ll keep filling it. Sector by sector.”
Mon, arms folded and eyes locked on the glowing empire map floating midair, pointed toward a swirling region deep within the outer stars.
“We need to start somewhere bold. Not pirates. Not scavengers. Let’s target an actual empire. One that matters.”
Erie, leaning on a railing, groaned dramatically, removing the tracking-ear device Jard had made earlier and tossing it into the air.
“Alright, no more ear tech talk for now. Let’s go full diplomatic for once—shiny boots, fancy clothes, wine we can’t pronounce. The whole thing.”
Mon raised a brow but chuckled. “Exactly. Let them see who now sits in the void they thought they owned. Let Vermond walk among them… as a prince.”
“And Kiana,” she added, glancing sideways, “as our Princess.”
Vermond narrowed his eyes, stepping forward into the light.
“Then let’s start big. Not some weak aristocracy. Let’s go to the Folkan.”
Everyone froze. The room went dead silent.
Ruen blinked. “The… Folkan? The ones who annihilated the Federation’s 12th fleet? Those guys?!”
Vermond’s voice was calm, but solid. “Yes. The ones who shattered the Federation’s pride with nothing but voidcraft and strategy. We’ll arrive cloaked. Let them underestimate us.”
Jard, from a nearby control panel, looked up with a small, mischievous grin.
“Then you’ll need the Battleship. It’s not finished, but I can have it flyable in twelve hours… if I skip meals, and sleep, and sanity.”
Mon placed a hand on her hip, watching the Battleship’s structure slowly take form outside the observation glass. It was sleek, deadly, and regal—pure white with obsidian undersides. The future face of their empire’s might.
“Then it’s decided,” Mon said with a smile. “Let them believe we come in peace… until they understand we come with power.”
Kiana gave Vermond a faint smirk “You better learn to dance, Big Brother.”
“Kiana,” he said, eyes steady, serious. “Why do you keep calling me ‘big brother’… when we’re not even blood related?”
Everyone froze. Erie actually dropped a datapad. Mon blinked, glancing over with interest. Ruen leaned forward. Even Jard paused, like his brain had short-circuited.
Kiana’s eyes lifted to meet Vermond’s, her face unreadable for a second… then soft.
She stepped closer. Slowly. Her voice was quiet, but each word struck deep.
“Because I love you, Vermond.”
She wrapped her arms around him—tight, possessive, as if afraid he might vanish.
“You were the one who pulled me from that wreckage. You were the one who stood with me through every dark moment in space. I called you ‘big brother’ because I didn’t know how to explain what I felt. Because I was scared it’d ruin us.”
Her lips neared his ear, a whisper only for him.
“But not anymore. You’re mine. Remember that… Babe.”
Then she bit his ear.
Erie made a choking sound. “I—oh my god—” thunk. He literally smacked his own face against the wall and slid down.
Mon covered her eyes with a hand, muttering, “I did not sign up for a live drama.”
Ruen was frozen with his mug halfway to his lips. “...did she just.. called him babe..?”
Jard was already sketching something in his blueprint book titled. “Emergency Room for Emotional Damage.”
Hours later, the white-armored behemoth floated at the center of the Citadel's massive construction hangar—the first official Royal Battleship of their empire, gleaming with pristine armor and bristling with subtle power. Its hull bore an elegant insignia: a white phoenix rising with wings spread wide, and behind it, the swirling abyss of a blackhole, like an eternal eye watching all.
Inside the launch deck, everyone was gathered.
Jard, with oil stains on his sleeves and a satisfied smirk on his face, clapped his hands and held up two sleek, glowing outfits.
“There! For the Prince and Princess of the Empire,” he said proudly. “White phoenix insignia stitched with soul-weaved nanothreads. Embroidered manually by the AI’s drone arms. Pretty sick, right?”
He handed the tailored suits to Vermond and Kiana. Pure white, sharp-cut, regal. But not bulky—sleek enough for war, elegant enough for diplomacy.
“Also…” Jard tapped the side of his head. “The ship’s embedded with the AI from the Citadel—the really smart one Mon gave us. Anything happens, you’ll be alerted instantly. Hull breach, sabotage, even a noble farting with too much pressure.”
Erie raised a brow. “You tested that?”
“...Don’t ask.”
Kiana inspected her outfit, fingers running along the blackhole insignia stitched at the chest.
“We’re really going to walk among the nobles like this...”
Mon grinned. “You're not just walking, girl. You’re arriving like stars falling from heaven. Let 'em stare.”
Vermond just nodded, his eyes now glowing faintly again—73.
“Let them know,” he said quietly. “A new Empire is rising.”
And so, the Royal Battleship powered up, its engines humming with contained fury. The cloak shimmered into place, ready to glide unseen into a nest of Nobles and secrets.
