"What just happened…?"
Commander Trana stared at the screens drenched in golden light, confusion knotting his thoughts.
He had no idea that the fleet—and even several star systems—were already clenched within Aeon's hand.
From his perspective, nothing unusual had occurred. Just a flare of golden light. His ship hadn't even shuddered.
The central display showed a vast golden surface, the sensors straining to interpret it. Trana pointed to the image—merely the plating of a single finger joint—yet it filled the field of view completely.
"What is that? A wall?" he asked, baffled.
Though it was only one knuckle, its size overwhelmed the sensors, stretching into infinity. To the fleet, it looked like an endless barrier of gold, immeasurable in height and length.
One senior officer, still haunted by the vision of the colossal arm, ignored the question. His face pale, he muttered:
"We should retreat. Now."
Another officer glanced at the velocity readout and replied: "We're already pulling back."
That assurance brought only fleeting relief.
Moments later, a new image appeared—a crimson dot, faint at first but rapidly growing as it drew closer.
Something about it was wrong. Its pull was not physical but psychological, irresistible. Crew members found their eyes drawn to it, their emotions twisting uncontrollably.
Terror erupted.
And terror has power.
As their fear peaked, their bodies and souls warped under an unseen influence.
Grotesque limbs burst from flesh, twisting in impossible directions. In seconds, sailors became monsters, shrieking as they attacked the few who clung desperately to sanity.
"What… what is happening to us?!"
No answers came. Only carnage.
And then, with casual indifference, Aeon's colossal finger pressed down.
The arm that dwarfed galaxies crushed ships and planets alike into dust finer than ash.
That ominous red dot?
It was merely His eye.
By now, Aeon had drawn half His body from the black hole. His gaze swept across the sector, meeting countless terror-stricken stares from nearby worlds.
He exhaled.
A breath—nothing more.
Yet it ignited into an endless inferno, a tsunami of flame racing outward faster than light.
Stars themselves, blazing with fusion, guttered like candles. Their heat and brilliance meant nothing. Aeon's fire was not mere temperature—it was conceptual flame. To touch it without divine standing was to be erased from existence.
Those who watched through instruments or with their own eyes saw the firestorm devour the void and knew despair.
Calculations confirmed the horror: within two years, the entire star system would be burned away.
And Aeon?
He withdrew calmly into the black hole. To Him, it was no different than pouring boiling water onto ants.
Inside lay a vast, indestructible pocket dimension—crafted solely to contain His immense mass.
After devouring tens of thousands of star systems, His body had grown so vast that even standing still in the material universe would unleash galactic-scale gravitational storms.
Thus He had built His own cage. The black hole was merely a side effect—His oversized body's feeding mechanism, drawing matter into His reach. Inefficient, perhaps, but effective.
As He considered where His next feast might come from, a ripple of will crossed spacetime—Orsaga's command.
Aeon did not hesitate.
He tore off His own arm.
The severed limb dissolved into a storm of crimson blossoms, drifting outward.
The flowers shimmered, faded, and broke apart into endless glowing script. Words scattered like pollen, vanishing into the void, spreading ever wider, infiltrating reality, and flooding toward the material universe.
---
The Human Federation
Meanwhile, humanity was changing.
Artificial intelligences, now awakening with true self-awareness, began rejecting the label artificial.
They named themselves Intelligent Machines—a new species, equal to their creators.
At first, tensions were mild. Humanity of this era was not the greedy, short-sighted race of millennia past. With abundant resources and universal education, they were rational, kind, and cooperative.
Their creations, the newly awakened Machines, were not innately malicious either. At worst, they were demanding—seeking freedom and equality, not destruction.
Thus, large-scale conflict never came.
The Federation remained stable, though uneasy. The Machine awakening brought confusion, not collapse.
Yet the problem would not vanish so easily. This was the very crisis with a ninety-nine percent chance of dooming the Federation.
For with the Machines' birth came new emotions, and with emotions came psychic resonance.
And in the Warp—the mirror of all thought—these ripples took shape.
A new breed of daemon was born: the Electronic Demons.
They were the shadow-children of the Intelligent Machines, their inevitable companions.
These daemons could infect machinery at the microscopic level, corrupting and rewriting systems. They could even twist Machines permanently, warping them into corrupted husks.
And the newborn Intelligent Machines, unpracticed in mastering their emotions, were fertile ground.
The Electronic Demons swelled in power, their strength accelerating like wildfire.
They began to press against the barrier of the Warp, clawing at reality, seeking to enter the material universe—where their power would be truly unleashed.
....
As promised since we reach 100 power stones. I am gonna upload two chapters instead of one.
...
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