[Oliver PoV]

  "Now that the child's play is over," the Sovereign declared, settling back into his seat with the poise of an emperor reclaiming his domain, "let's get to what I demand of you. It's time for a little competition."

  Oliver fought to suppress the astonishment rippling through him. The sheer ease with which the Sovereign had dismantled Mordred left him questioning everything he had done and prepared for a moment like this.

  [Analysis Paused]

  [Target Lost]

  [10% of Data Obtained]

  [Return with Image to Continue Analysis]

  The holographic alerts flickered in his vision, a frustrating reminder of the interrupted scan.

  'Shit, I hope that's enough for the tech team,' Oliver pondered, his gaze locked on the Sovereign. The other heirs hung in suspended tension, their focus locked onto the enthroned entity. The air still hummed with residual Energy, thick and oppressive.

  "What do you mean by child's play?" Katherine interjected, her voice cutting through the haze. She stood as one of the few unbowed figures in the room, her posture defiant amid the sea of wide-eyed awe. She seemed unfazed by the suffocating blanket of Energy that clung to the air.

  "All this strife, your rebellion against the Empire," the Sovereign replied, his tone laced with boredom, as if recounting a trivial plot. "It's all a futile diversion, especially for me." He rapped his knuckles against the arm of his throne. "Every instant you squander not clashing with the Orks is one fewer tribute I claim, and I do so relish my offerings."

  Katherine faltered, her sharp retort dying unspoken on her lips, her features tightening into a mask of reluctant silence.

  "But I comprehend your plight," the being continued, snapping his fingers with a resonant crack that echoed through the chamber. "I understand far more than you could fathom. Your fragile alliances, your desperate bids for freedom amid an eternal war."

  The resonant snap of the Sovereign's fingers echoed through Oliver's ears. In that instant, a holographic display materialized before him.

  [1st Position: Meridius - 0]

  [2nd Position: Sforza - 0]

  [3rd Position: Echo - 0]

  [4th Position: Demeter - 0]

  [5th Position: Arcantus - 0]

  [6th Position: Nemo - 0]

  [7th Position: Hyperion - 0]

  [8th Position: Arctos - 0]

  [9th Position: Lot - 0]

  [10th Position: Selene - 0]

  [11th Position: Dardanus - 0]

  [12th Position: York - 0]

  [13th Position: Aquarius - 0]

  Oliver's brow furrowed in confusion. His mind raced, trying to figure out what it was supposed to mean. It was unmistakably a leaderboard, a ranked hierarchy encompassing all the Great Houses. From the iron-fisted industrial barons of Meridius to the enigmatic monster-controllers of Nemo, and now, improbably, including his own fledgling Aquarius at the end.

  "You must already be seeing it," the Sovereign spoke. He pivoted slightly in his throne, his gaze locking onto Oliver, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Our competition shall unfold among you, thirteen. It was a fortuitous addition, incorporating one more Great House. It will enrich this exercise."

  Oliver held his stare steady, unblinking. The room had fallen into a profound hush, a vacuum of anticipation where even the whispers of confusion had disappeared. The only audible intrusion was the subtle hiss and gurgle of the air recirculation ducts overhead.

  "You all are missing a proper incentive," the Sovereign continued, his tone shifting to one of paternal admonishment, as if lecturing children. "Now that the Orks no longer pose an existential threat to your existence, you have no reason to focus on the war. All except those three." His finger extended like a decree, gesturing toward the cluster of militarists. Demi's eyes, however, showed no pride; instead, they smoldered with a quiet shame. Her face tightened as she was furious at being a marionette; another "good puppet" in the Sovereign's grand theater.

  "Regrettably, it took me some time to take action," the entity admitted, a trace of theatrical remorse in his cadence. "But at last, the ideal incentive became clear." With another snap of his fingers, a colossal helogram projection burst into life before him.

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  The holographic projection depicted a metropolis set against a clean, blue sky. Its tall skyscrapers reached into the sky, streets busy with hover-vehicles and crowds of unaware citizens. Oliver, although he couldn't figure out which city, it was unmistakably New Earth, not some distant colony.

  "If you no longer tremble before the Orks," the Sovereign proclaimed, "then you shall learn to dread me." The moment the words left his mouth, a blinding light flared high above the city. Then, in a silent flash, it exploded. A wave of energy swept through, erasing everything—homes, skyscrapers, cars, people—in less than a second. When it was over, nothing remained but scorched earth and drifting ash where life had thrived only seconds before.

  "My dear god," Katherine gasped, her voice a fractured whisper that shattered the stunned silence. Her eyes widened with horror as the projection showed the remains of what had once been a city. The sentiment rippled through the assembly like a psychic shockwave, murmurs of dismay and choked oaths echoing from the lips of Heirs. Their faces paled under the holographic glow as the weight of terror pressed upon them.

  Mordred, still sprawled on the cold floor in a heap of bruised ego and lingering shadow wisps from his shattered armor, strained to lift his head. He blinked, trying to clear the blurred vision. Adrian stood rigid nearby, his jaw clenched so fiercely that muscle bulged along his neck, teeth grinding with audible tension.

  Oliver, however, drew a measured breath, his chest rising and falling in controlled rhythm amid the emotions swirling in the room. This wasn’t new to him. He had seen cities erased before; he was in one of them. He still had memories from a century ago, when the war turned Seoul into craters.

  But even he wasn’t numb. The casual erasure of so many lives still tore at him. A genocide delivered with a flick of godlike indifference. His hand tightened into a fist, knuckles pale, veins throbbing.

  "By the looks on your faces," the Sovereign observed with a predatory smile, his gaze sweeping across each Heir. "I can see you're properly motivated." His lips curved in a smile that held no warmth, only the cold calculus of an eternal being toying with ephemeral pawns.

  Respect for the Emperor, already weak, collapsed even more in Oliver’s eyes. The feared Sixth Division, once the Empire’s ultimate power, now seemed small. And Stewart, once untouchable, stood humbled before the Sovereign. Their reputations were in ruins, alliances would crumble, and rebellion would soon ignite across the stars.

  "Our game is quite simple," the Sovereign decreed, leaning forward with the poise of a gamemaster unveiling his board. "For every Ork your Great House kills, be it a lowly grunt or a warlord, you shall gain points on the leaderboard. Every six months, I will revisit this list, scrutinizing your points. The underperformers... they shall see one of their cities expunged from existence, a cleansing fire until your House is but dust." His promise hung in the air like a death sentence. The holographic leaderboard flickered in response.

  The moment the Sovereign finished speaking, the leaderboard flickered to life. Zeroes vanished, and points began updating in real-time, as if data from battles across the galaxy was streaming straight into the chamber.

  [1st Position: Demeter - 105]

  [2nd Position: Arcantus - 91]

  [3rd Position: Nemo - 62]

  [4th Position: York - 60]

  [5th Position: Dardanus - 55]

  [6th Position: Selene - 49]

  [7th Position: Lot - 29]

  [8th Position: Hyperion - 25]

  [9th Position: Arctus - 21]

  [10th Position: Meridius - 18]

  [11th Position: Echo - 15]

  [12th Position: Sforza - 12]

  [13th Position: Aquarius - 8]

  Oliver studied the display carefully, his eyes scanning the rankings like a battle map. It was apparent why the Militarists led: Demeter, Arcantus, and Nemo racked up points from ongoing wars on the Empire’s borders, where their fleets fought Ork hordes in endless battles.

  Aquarius languished at the bottom, a fledgling House with points scraped from sporadic expedition teams probing remote systems. Yet time was an ally; Oliver calculated the window ahead, a span of months to recalibrate strategies, marshal forces, and pivot toward this macabre contest. The other Houses would also scramble to adapt.

  "How is this scored?" Triz inquired, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife. She adjusted her spectacles as if it helped her analyze the data better.

  "Each of you has a Z Crystal," the Sovereign said, leaning back in his throne. "Whether it’s in your weapons or your Ranger Armor, I can sense it whenever it comes alive. Tracking every Ork you kill and every ship you destroy."

  "And how much do we need to achieve?" Cicero asked sharply, his voice rough from years of politics and wars, his cybernetics humming as he crossed his arms over the light armor on his chest.

  "How much?" the Sovereign repeated, his voice sharp with mockery. "No threshold binds you; cease your hunts this instant if it pleases you." He paused, then burst into laughter, the sound booming through the chamber. "But remember, the underperformers shall taste my punishment."

  The message hit hard. Standing still meant death. No Great House could afford to wait, because at any moment, a rival could surge ahead, earning points from fresh kills. Worse, the Sovereign’s words were unclear. Would only the last place be punished, or the bottom three? The uncertainty ate at them, driving the war to grow even more brutal.

  "Go, go! You're dismissed. You’ve all bored me enough," the Sovereign said, waving his hand like he was shooing away pests. The gesture carried a subtle push of Energy, urging everyone to their feet, even Lucius and Stewart, their once-proud uniforms now looking rumpled and small.

  Oliver stood and joined the others heading toward the exit. Around him, the other Heirs whispered.

  "How do we sell this to the people. Do we make it sound like a glorious crusade?"

  "We’ll need to start new invasions, rally the fleets..."

  "How far do we have to go? Deep into Ork space, or the edges?"

  "And what if we wipe them all out? Does the game end, or does he create something worse?"

  Before stepping out, Oliver turned for one last look at the Sovereign, lounging on his throne like a predator watching its prey.

  "Good game to all!" the Sovereign called after them, his voice full of smug amusement, like a gamemaster delighting in the chaos he had unleashed.