"Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!"

The Planetary Emperor of the Shattering Meteors Empire raised the colossal hammer slowly, with deliberate effort, as though he were lifting a mountain with his bare hands.

It wasn't because the hammer was heavy… nor because his body was weak. No—this was the law.

The ritual demanded three strikes—each one separated by silence long enough for the echo to travel across the entire planet, reaching every ear, stirring every soul, before the next blow could fall.

And this—this was a privilege.

For if an outsider, a stranger to the planet, attempted the same feat, he would have to wait not minutes—but hours, perhaps even days between each strike.

DOOOOOOOOM

The first impact shook the crust of the world. The sound wasn't just heard—it reverberated through the marrow of the planet itself. Mountains quivered, skies rippled, and even the stars seemed to blink in rhythm with the vibration.

The Emperor lifted his gaze upward.

Above the atmosphere, space itself trembled. His eyes narrowed when he saw the distortion—it was Marshal Brontor, hovering in orbit, his enormous horns crackling with energy. He was preparing an annihilating strike, one powerful enough to pierce the atmosphere and obliterate the Emperor before he could complete the ritual.

"Damn you!!" The planetary emperor closed his eyes tightly, gripping the hammer again with both hands. His arms trembled—not from fear, but from the tension of what he carried: his duty, his people, and his homeland.

He wasn't fighting for Hedrik anymore.

He was fighting for the land of his birth, for the soil that had shaped him.

"Brontor!!"

Fargus bellowed with every breath in his chest, his voice echoing through the burning sky as he lunged forward to intercept.

But—

"Ooooooohhhhhh!!"

The roar of the Space Beast shook his very essence. The creature was closer now—far too close.

"No!!"

Fargus froze for a split second. The bearded whale had grown furious—this time its movements were more violent, its speed unimaginable. Its rage was no longer the quiet tremor of a sleeping god—it was a tempest unleashed.

Whooosh!

Above Fargus, a massive cauldron manifested out of nothingness.

Its surface was dark, ancient—like a fragment of the cosmos itself, etched with runes that pulsed with red mist. The air thickened under its presence; even those thousands of kilometers away felt their lungs tighten.

Even Brontor hesitated mid-charge, his face twisting. "A Fourth-Class Planetary Extremis Artifact?! You people have something like that?!"

"…!!"

Fargus bared his fangs, his expression carved from pain and resolve. This was the final defense Hedrik had entrusted him with—a weapon to be used only in the shadow of extinction. He was warned never to reveal its existence… unless the end was truly near.

And now—it was.

Wshhhh

The cauldron inverted above him, and a shower of crimson mist began to rain down, coating his body.

"Grrrrrraaaah!!!"

Fargus roared, his muscles convulsing, his veins glowing red. His once-white aura turned to bloodlight, his claws glimmering like molten blades. His energy reached its absolute limit.

Then—

"Wall of Crumbled Dreams!!"

Fargus thrust both claws forward. In an instant, a colossal barrier surged upward, spanning horizon to horizon, shielding both sky and earth.

"OOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!"

But the Beast didn't stop. It lunged.

BAAAAAAAAAAM!!

"Bfffhhhkk!!"

The impact sent shockwaves across the continent. Fargus coughed blood violently, his eyes bleeding from the force—but the wall held. The Beast halted midair, its mass grinding against the red light.

"Damn it!"

Brontor's eyes burned with envy. The power of a Fourth-Class Extremis Relic was beyond comprehension. His pride couldn't bear it. He immediately shifted his focus, gathering energy to strike Fargus instead of the planet.

But then—

Diiiiiing!

The second strike resounded across the world.

"That's enough, insect. Know your place!!"

Brontor looked down again, snarling, his three horns radiating energy. He had gathered more than enough power now—enough to shatter the planet's outer shell with a single headbutt.

"You won't!!"

Fwoooosh

A small spatial gate opened silently behind Brontor.

Then—

Zwoo! Zwoo! Zwoo!

Hundreds of crimson Daisies burst forth, swirling like a storm and colliding with his back in a cascade of explosions.

"Arrrggghhh!!!" Brontor howled in pain. Each blossom was a miniature catastrophe, and now hundreds detonated across his hide without warning. His gathered momentum scattered instantly, his attack unraveling before completion.

"Who—who dares?! Aaaaah!!"

He twisted in the void, eyes darting wildly until he saw it: a lone crimson soldier, standing firm, channeling endless waves of daisies through a small warp gate before him.

"Enough!!"

Brontor tried to flee—he twisted, accelerated, spun—but the flowers pursued relentlessly, tracking his every move, homing in as though guided by vengeance itself.

And no matter how high he flew, or how deep into the void he plunged, the crimson storm followed, unending... Until his fury boiled past the limits of reason.

Brontor's massive frame twisted with terrifying speed, his three horns gleaming with celestial light as he turned entirely toward Sakaar. The space around him warped from the sheer force of his power, and his booming voice ripped through the vacuum of the void itself—

"DIIIIE!!"

"…!!"

Sakaar froze where he stood, his pulse pounding like thunder in his ears. The flow of crimson chrysanthemums from his hand stopped instantly. The moment Brontor's monstrous gaze fell upon him, he felt the crushing weight of annihilation—an instinct deeper than thought, a primal certainty that death itself had noticed him. For an instant, Brontor's colossal figure blurred in Sakaar's vision until he seemed to fill the cosmos, as if he were the Bearded Space Behemoth reborn in demonic flesh.

Whoooooooosh!

Sakaar's arm, once a fountain of luminous red petals, erupted instead into torrents of blood. He shaped it frantically, drawing from his very life force, crafting wall after wall after wall of gleaming blood before him. Each one reflected the void like polished glass, each trembling under the monstrous energy bearing down upon it.

But—

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!

The first wall shattered instantly. The second disintegrated in the same heartbeat. The third and fourth exploded in a rain of red mist that boiled away into nothingness.

Sakaar barely managed to raise his head before the unimaginable force hit him.

He saw space itself bend, folding like cloth around the impact point, the airless void screaming in protest.

"Oh… no—"

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!!

The strike connected squarely with his chest. His armor crumpled inward like paper, runes flaring and dying in the same breath. Then whoooosh!—his entire body was sent hurtling backward across the emptiness, spinning through broken debris and starlight until he vanished into the far horizon.

His fate—unknown.

"Oooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh—!!"

During this chaos, the Bearded Whale—that ancient creature of the void—reared back, its massive fins glowing with sickly light. Then it surged forward again, ripping through the vacuum like a tidal wave of pure destruction.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!

"Bffftttt—!!"

Fargus coughed a fountain of blood. His clothes were drenched crimson, his breath ragged and weak. Even remaining conscious was agony. His vision swam, but amidst the blur, one image remained clear—the scarlet wall still stood.

But he knew. There would not be a third time. The next strike would shatter both the wall and his soul.

"Hmph!!" Brontor snorted sharply through his triple nostrils, the air around him twisting with pressure. He watched with disdain as the crimson soldier disappeared into the far reaches of the void, then turned his rage once more toward the planet.

He began gathering his might again—horns glowing, veins pulsing with the rhythm of a living storm.

But before his next attack could begin—something impossible happened.

The thick, swirling blood clouds that had cloaked the planet's eastern pole after the explosion of the crimson daisies began to move on their own. Slowly at first, then faster—twisting, circling, spiraling—until they rose into the void and wrapped around Brontor like a colossal shroud.

"What the—?!" Brontor growled, his voice shaking the void. He struggled, flaring his aura, but the grip of that crimson mist tightened around him. It was no ordinary vapor—its density was monstrous, "What is this?! What's happening to me?!"

Snarling, he redirected the energy gathered in his horns into his massive hand. The veins along his arm burned bright with golden light as he prepared to release his full destructive might—enough to tear a moon apart.

But before he could strike—the blood moved again.

Whooof...

The mist thickened, coalescing, pulling toward a single point. And from within that swirling, boiling ocean of blood emerged a colossal crimson giant, towering over four hundred meters tall. The void trembled beneath its presence.

It raised a warhammer the size of a fortress, runes blazing across its head like rivers of molten metal. The air vibrated with every motion, and when the giant spoke, the sound was like thunder rolling through eternity:

"Say hello to your master… on my behalf—I AM AMOOOON! HAH! HAH! HAH!"

"Huh—?!"

Brontor's thoughts faltered.

Normally, not even a strike from A top level World Cataclysm or a even Nexus State warrior could hurt him outright.

But now—here, in the emptiness of space, bound and shackled by the crimson mist coffin, unable to evade or defend—if that hammer struck him directly—

THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

Amon brought the warhammer down. The blow tore open space itself.

Whoooooooooooosh—!!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Brontor's scream echoed through the cosmos as his massive body was hurled into the endless void, burning like a falling star. The light of his aura stretched into infinity before vanishing completely.

No one knew where he went—or if he would ever return.

And then—

DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING—

The third strike fill and resounded through the heavens.

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