Above Venter – Mahasimu Hanger Bay, Voidspire
Ruthen's stealth ship, matte black and crusted with dried blood and scorched metal, shuddered as it docked into the cavernous hangar bay of the Voidspire. The Voidspire, Vaelora's flagship, was a fortress among stars, its internal bays pulsing with the heartbeat of conquest. As the dock seal hissed open, a wave of rot and death spilled from the ship's interior.
Lesser slave-attendants scrambled forward—barefoot, covered in grime, eyes downcast—dragging hooked tethers to pull out the stasis crypts. Twin crystalline pods holding Tamun and Je'ka were delicately removed, carried like sacred cargo by slaves who trembled under their weight.
Behind them, Ruthen's own stasis pod—larger, with curved obsidian metal and defensive glyphs—was pulled out last.
Overseeing the operation was a single Luminary. Cloaked in coiling shadow-robes, its faceless helm radiated psionic pressure. It cracked its segmented whip—a serrated strand of neural barbs—and lashed a slow slave across the back, the blow tearing into skin with a wet snap.
"You dare hesitate before your Lady's vessel? You will clean your blood… with your tongue if necessary."
The attendant fell, choking, but crawled forward, scrubbing the blood with a stained cloth and his bleeding hands. Another slave offered no help—only silent terror. Above, patrols of Shadowscourge moved with mechanical grace, ignoring the scene entirely. Elite fighter pilots with curved obsidian armor stalked toward their interceptors, preparing for the next sortie.
Orbit of Venter – Full-Scale Assault
Outside the Voidspire, war raged.
Vice General Tano had begun his descent. The Oblivion Cauldron, his mothership, led a procession of brutal siege-craft—each spewing countless drop-pods containing waves of Shadowscourge troopers. Some carried Scourgehounds in shock-resistant sarcophagi. Others deployed Thal'Karn war-beasts, their psionic handlers riding atop them like demons of the old night.
The ground cracked under their landing. Civilians scattered. Firestorms ripped the air as darkened pillars of descent slammed into Venter's crust, deploying legions like vomited nightmares. Each Mahasimu soldier, clad in baroque armor and armed with soul-seeking spears, advanced with terrifying precision.
Tano, wrapped in dark imperial armor and draped in chain-cloaked blood sigils, oversaw the battle from a black obsidian tower dropped from orbit—a mobile command throne. Around him, holoscreens displayed Zelith counterattacks and target zones. His voice echoed in the minds of his legion:
"The Elder escapes. Find him. Bring me his head, and the blood of his council. Let their last breath honor the name of the Giza Mtuji."
Meanwhile – Cradleward Trajectory
In deep transit aboard a royal escort cruiser, Elder Xiran finally stepped into meditation, folding his arms beneath ceremonial robes. He had left Venter behind… but not the war. From his private chamber he activated a sealed channel to the Cradle of Stars.
"Begin preparation," he said into the darkness. "The Cradle must be made ready… and the Crypts must not open alone."
As the ship accelerated through voidspace, the Zelith High Council's last weapon stirred—unspoken, ancient, and terrible.