The vastness of deep space—wherever one looked, it was an endless expanse of darkness stretching infinitely in length, width, and height.
Whoosh!
A cylindrical cruiser-freighter, the kind commonly seen in the Outer and Mid Rims of the Galactic Empire, dropped out of hyperspace, tearing across the dark void like a streak of lightning. It quietly sailed toward the nearby planet—its destination and the endpoint of its cargo transport mission.
Inside the freighter's cockpit, the captain and his co-pilot watched the final readings on the console, monitoring the descent. Seeing that they were nearing their destination, they both let out a long breath of relief.
"Phew! Finally done. What a headache of a delivery run. Every single hyperspace jump had to be limited to half an hour in Coruscant standard time. What kind of cargo is this sensitive?"
"Who cares? We deliver, get paid, and that's it."
Suddenly, a calm yet resonant voice came from the back. "Oviparous eggs."
"Huh?" ×N
Everyone in the cockpit turned toward the voice.
"Exactly what you're thinking," said the oldest man in the crew, clearly the team leader. Raising a steaming cup of cocoa-like stimulant beverage, he took a slow sip before continuing. "They're the offspring of our client, so to speak."
"Based on team policy, we don't reveal the client's cargo mid-mission. But since we're almost at the endpoint, there's no harm in telling you now."
"Back when our team first started—how many years ago was that... anyway, we had a job just like this once, escorting a frogfolk mother and her children. So don't mess this up."
Within the former Galactic Republic's sphere of influence—spanning tens of thousands of years and countless star systems—there were billions of sentient species: mammals, reptiles, amphibians, avians, and even jawless aquatic beings. At the mention of this, the newer crew members straightened in their seats, faces turning serious.
A mistake in such a mission could mean the extinction of an entire oviparous species line—an unforgivable offense that could start a blood feud lasting generations.
"But why is that lady in such a hurry?" one crewmember asked, glancing through the transparent partition at the lizard-like client in the passenger cabin. "Judging by her payment, she's not short on money. Why not just take a regular passenger liner? Why hire a cargo ship like ours? It's dangerous and uncomfortable."
Beside her, inside a tall cylindrical container, countless pale-pink eggs floated gently in nutrient fluid—the unborn offspring of her kind.
One of the senior crewmen lit a treasured cigarette, snap! shutting off the interstellar comm unit before muttering a single, heavy word: "War."
"Outer Rim. Arkanis Sector. A massive interstellar war just broke out. And it's no small-scale planetary rebellion either."
"According to the Bounty Hunters' Guild network, Emperor Palpatine's—the Sith Lord's—naval fleets suffered devastating losses. Entire Imperial Army garrisons and Stormtrooper detachments stationed at key systems were annihilated."
Among spacers, bounty hunters, and mercenaries, few groups in the galaxy were better informed. Their reports were rarely baseless rumors.
And when word spread that Emperor Palpatine was mobilizing his fleets in response—that Darth Vader and the elite 501st Legion had departed from Endor—everyone's expressions turned grim.
"This place isn't safe anymore," someone finally said after a long silence. "If the war expands, the entire Outer Rim around the Arkanis Sector will be engulfed. Even the Mid Rim might get hit."
"Many bounty hunters and mercenary groups are already pulling out. Even brokers and guild officials are leaving in droves. Once this job's done, boss, we should get out too."
The experienced crew all turned to their middle-aged team leader, silently agreeing.
There was no point in dying for credits. There would always be more jobs.
If it were just another localized rebellion—some Rebel Alliance guerrilla force fighting the Emperor's dictatorship—they might have stuck around. High risk, high reward, as the saying went.
But this... this was different. A full-scale, sector-spanning offensive and occupation campaign.
Chasing credits wasn't worth dying for. Not like this. In a galactic meat grinder like that, small-time operators like them wouldn't even leave dust behind.
"I thought this was just another Rebel Alliance guerrilla uprising, but before we could even finish this contract, things have spiraled out of control..."
After a moment of consideration—perhaps he had already expected it—the team leader nodded decisively. "Our current position is right on the border of the Arkanis Sector's Outer Rim, close to the Mid Rim industrial worlds. We could easily run into elite forces from either side—"
Rumble—Rumble—Rumble!
What the hell was that?!
Before he could finish, a thunderous roar erupted from all directions, followed by a blinding crimson flash that tore across the darkness of space. The crew froze in shock, mouths agape, their eyes wide with disbelief.
We're not even in low orbit yet... there shouldn't be any sound in a vacuum. So where—where is that coming from?
Then came a new sound—tap, tap, tap!—against the cockpit viewport.
And when they turned to look—
It was a person.
A being with the perfect features and form of a human woman, yet with shimmering, iridescent hair that flowed like liquid rainbows. A rotating geometric halo spun above her head, and from her back extended a pair of luminous, delicate wings that radiated soft light.
An angel—straight out of myth and legend.
At first, her beauty seemed almost fragile, dreamlike. But as she moved—
Crack... crack... crack! The hull groaned, engines shrieked, and the very fabric of space seemed to ripple. From the void itself, ghostly tendrils extended, twisting reality around the freighter. A silent wave pulsed outward, locking onto the ship entirely.
"Stay sharp! It's an illusion trap from a space predator! Fire! Fire! Open fire!"
"You wish to kill me?"
In the blink of an eye, the winged girl appeared inside the cockpit. Her amber eyes flickered with mild surprise as she raised a slender finger to her chin, her tone curious as she studied the trembling crew who had just reached for their weapon triggers.
"Y-you..."
The burly middle-aged captain's hand hovered near his blaster pistol, cold sweat beading on his forehead. The sight of the hovering, ethereal angel filled him with an indescribable fear.
Her small frame radiated an overwhelming presence that crushed the air around her.
He wanted to draw his weapon—but his limbs felt as though they had turned to ice.
"Enough, Jibril. Don't toy with them. They're merely ants—perhaps ones who bask, unknowingly, under Our Majesty's light. Perform a mind scan. If they belong to the Galactic Empire or the Rebel Alliance... kill them."
The voice that followed was regal and mature—resonating directly within their minds, yet somehow still audible to the ear.
Whoosh!
As the light shifted, everyone turned instinctively toward its source—and froze.
Multiple angels had appeared in the cockpit.
Their leader was nothing like Jibril. Instead of rainbow hues, her attire was entirely violet—pure, flawless violet without the slightest impurity. Her appearance was more refined, sensual, and elegant. Beneath the cascade of ocean-blue hair that shimmered like a prism, her single visible eye opened slightly, sweeping the mortals with a cool, indifferent gaze.
"Honestly, Rafil, you're such a bore," Jibril said, placing one hand on her hip and lazily floating over to the stunned crew leader before he could even speak. She casually patted his forehead with her hand.
"Let's see... oh, what was it Her Majesty said again? Ah, yes. 'Your moral boundaries are quite flexible.' During the busy seasons, you're respectable, well-rated interstellar traders. But when business is slow, you turn to mercenary work..."
Rafil, long accustomed to Jibril's irreverence, paid no mind to her antics or to the hapless smugglers before them.
Truly, had Jibril not acted on impulse after overhearing their chatter, Rafil would have ignored such insignificant mortals entirely. They weren't even proper soldiers—just transporters. And Rafil was not one of the more bloodthirsty among the Flügel.
Her attention turned instead toward the brilliant planet gleaming in the distance—the Mid Rim hub world that now filled the viewport.
The planet's orbit sparkled like a sea of stars.
Vessels of every shape and size darted in and out, hyperspace trails flickering like waves of light. From the traffic alone, one could tell—the level of prosperity was unimaginable.
"Rafil, we've hit the jackpot. This is a Galactic Empire core world in the Mid Rim with a full-scale shipbuilding industry."
Emerging from the freighter—now set to auto-pilot—after completing the mind scan, Jibril looked upon the flourishing planet below with the gleeful anticipation of a predator spotting prey. Her fingers flexed eagerly, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Dr. Stylish needed a planet with full industrial capability as a prototype foundry world for his new experiments, right? I think this one will do nicely. Hehehe... I'll trade it to him—for a few rare beasts to decorate my chambers."
"Then you'll follow orders this time, won't you, Jibril? And remember—under no circumstances are you to use Heavenly Smite as a greeting."
Rafil's hand shot out, grabbing Jibril by the collar before she could launch herself toward the planet. With calm authority, she pressed her younger sister's shoulder down, her tone composed yet unyielding.
"I didn't reprimand you for destroying that barren Outer Rim world, but this is the Mid Rim. Its population, resources, industry, and research infrastructure—all are vital 'nutrients' for the Empire's growth."
She spoke like a wise elder imparting lessons to a reckless apprentice.
"As the Divine Empress' Third Sequence of Imperial Guard, the Flügel are not merely angels of death and destruction. We embody Selene's will. We must also spread the light of Her mercy. Do you think Our Majesty is some mindless god of slaughter?"
"...Oh."
Jibril's ahoge drooped as she lowered her head, murmuring meekly.
Compared to Azril—their eldest sister in the capital, who behaved more like a mischievous child—Rafil's composed maturity carried far greater authority. Especially since the war in which she lost her left wing and eye battling the Old Deus. After Selene restored and enhanced them, Rafil's influence among the Flügel rivaled, even exceeded, that of Jibril and Azril.
She was, in every sense, the steward of the Flügel.
As they spoke, one of the Imperial Star Destroyers patrolling the sector picked up their presence and began to approach.
"This is the Galactic Empire Navy. Identify yourselves immediately—"
Through psychic link, the Flügel intercepted the transmission, filtering the static. The officer's voice continued: "Once your identities are confirmed, we'll provide emergency assistan—"
The officer's tone suddenly shifted. "Wait! What are those life forms!? Does the galaxy even have such a species!?"
The comm channel erupted in chaos.
"Well then," Rafil sighed, her violet eyes turning toward the approaching Star Destroyer, "courtesy before conflict."
Her gaze swept across the entire Imperial fleet anchored in orbit around the planet below.
"Remember, control your output levels. Do not inflict catastrophic damage upon the planetary surface—"
But before she could finish, whoosh!
Jibril—now grinning from ear to ear—transformed into a beam of radiant light and shot forward at lightning speed, straight toward the towering command bridge of the Star Destroyer.
"Mortals! Kneel before the Angel of Death! Kneel before me, Jibril!"
In an instant, her strike tore through the Star Destroyer's rear bridge, leaving a gaping crater hundreds of meters wide. The explosion scattered stormtrooper armor and durasteel fragments into space, smoke billowing outward like a flower of flame.
Rafil could only sigh, pressing a palm to her forehead in weary resignation.
"Very well, sisters—move out. Courtesy first, slaughter later. Save the mortals where possible. If courtesy fails... then kill."
Her voice was calm, almost sweet—and yet her words carried a chill that could freeze the soul.
If anyone had been listening, they would have trembled.
...
Meanwhile, Leia Organa Solo—one of the leaders of the Rebel Alliance—watched from afar as the Sacred Selene Empire's forces descended upon Tatooine in overwhelming numbers, crushing both Imperial and Rebel resistance alike, along with countless unaffiliated mercenaries.
With deep sorrow, regret, and fear in her heart, Leia departed the Tatooine system.
She needed time to think. To plan. And to reconnect with the main Rebel Alliance fleet—for the next move in a galaxy now caught in the storm.
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven