"Different universe…" Kallus muttered, surprise flickering in his eyes. But that was all. He had no real attachments left in the world he'd come from. In truth, he had always longed for a new beginning—an escape from a life that had grown suffocating.
Whoever this Supreme Being was—whatever their intentions—Kallus didn't care much. He didn't know their motives, and frankly, he preferred to live in the present rather than worry about the future.
Shaking off the wandering thoughts, he focused on the Red Empress again. "Do you know anything more about this Supreme Being?" he asked. "Why he brought me here? Or even you?"
Red Empress gently shook her head. "I don't know much, Master," she said softly. "Only what I've already told you—and something he left with me. Beyond that, I have no answers."
Kallus felt a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped for more. To know something—anything—about a being powerful enough to turn fiction into reality and transport him across universes. But he kept his voice steady.
"Then tell me what he left with you," he said.
Red Empress gave a slow nod. "He left a message. A note. It said he would watch over you... and observe what you choose to do with everything he has given you."
Kallus nodded in return, though confusion crept in. The words were vague. No clear purpose. No direction. Just... watchfulness. It didn't sit right.
Still, he didn't dwell on it. He had a feeling the answers would come in time. This being—whoever they were—was clearly beyond his comprehension. After all, they had taken a digital dream, a ship he had designed in a game, and made it real.
That alone was enough to leave him awestruck.
But the human mind is hard to control.
Even though Kallus had told himself not to dwell on it, his thoughts spiraled anyway. What made me so interesting? So significant? Why would a being like that even notice someone like me… among billions?
He forced himself to stop. These were questions he couldn't answer—at least not now.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and returned to his usual mindset. The situation was already far beyond his control. Trying to understand someone—or something—capable of bending reality was outright foolish. A waste of time and mental energy.
Instead, his focus shifted.
He analyzed his current situation and came to a clear conclusion: this was an opportunity. A massive, once-in-a-million-lifetimes kind of opportunity.
A thoughtful smile spread across his face. He was already here. Whatever the Supreme Being's purpose was—whether it wanted something from him or not—it didn't matter. Wasting brainpower trying to guess at the unknowable would get him nowhere. Better to focus on what he could do.
He had an overpowered ship at his disposal—his dream vessel, the Obliterator, now real.
And he had ideas.
Even if, as the Red Empress said, this was a different universe—one that mirrored his own but on a far greater scale—he would learn as he went. Space was vast, and full of possibilities.
And Kallus had strengths.
No, he didn't excel at everything. He was still human. Imperfect, like everyone else. His life in the previous universe had grown dull and uneventful. But even if the world had bored him, he had always stood out in certain areas.
He wouldn't brag—but when it came to strategy, leadership, and adapting to high-pressure situations, he was unmatched. Second to none.
There was a reason he dominated Galactic Conquest—a game built entirely on strategy and warfare. Others only aspired to master it.
There was a reason he dominated Galactic Conquest—a game built almost entirely around strategy and warfare tactics. Something others could only aspire to master. Yet Kallus, who had always excelled in these two critical fields, had become the undisputed overlord of the game across all servers.
As Kallus contemplated his situation, he began to see it for what it truly was—a new beginning. Well, not entirely. He knew his past still stood with him, and the events that had once shattered his bright and cheerful personality continued to linger. Still, Kallus resolved not to dwell on the past more than he had to and instead focus on the new beginning before him.
He finally spoke, more to himself than to the Red Empress. His voice was low, a little rough, but steady—like someone ready for whatever came next.
"I may not fully understand why this is happening… or why I was chosen, out of so many. But I won't reject this opportunity. I'll use it—for redemption, for a new purpose. And when the time comes, if that being calls on me... I'll be ready."
Floating calmly just behind him, the Red Empress heard his words. A soft smile formed on her face.
"A wise and worthy mindset, Master," she said gently. "You can carve out a new purpose, a new meaning—from a life that was once monotonous and even painful. This is your chance to transform it all. And here, you can finally use your talents to their full potential. I'm here to help you do just that… and more."
Kallus nodded, her words echoing in his mind. They felt sincere, measured—spoken for his benefit, not just to reassure him.
He turned toward the command room of the Obliterator, finally taking in its full design with real attention. He was quiet, but inside, a surge of excitement was building—excitement he didn't show to the Red Empress just yet.
He scanned everything—the surrounding consoles, the advanced tactical displays, the immersive environment that wrapped around him. The massive digital panels displaying the starfield outside weren't high-grade glass like in modern spacecraft—they were projection displays, seamlessly embedded into the walls.
The command room, he realized, wasn't placed on the surface of the ship at all. It was buried deep inside the armored hull—completely sealed off and shielded. A hidden nerve center, designed to survive even if the ship's outer defenses failed.
But as he studied the ship's internals and design more closely, Kallus began to notice several differences—and his eyes narrowed. Something was off. Not off exactly, but... different.
Some details didn't match what he had created in the game. Subtle changes in the layout. Extra systems—some of which he didn't even recognize. Even the data displayed on the weapon systems was different. They were more numerous than he remembered, and their performance parameters were off the charts—so absurdly high, it felt almost overpowered.
But the thing is, he knew that while the Obliterator was powerful—more than any in its class—it wasn't overpowered by any means or in any aspect.
More so, Advanced modules had been added along with the already exiting one's , and the ship's power generator alone was unlike anything he'd ever implemented in it. It was the same model, but its output was unreal—absurd even—far beyond the specs of the one he'd originally installed.
The Obliterator wasn't just a one-to-one replica of what he'd built. He knew that within just a few seconds—after all, this ship was his.
He had spent years planning it, countless hours fine-tuning every detail. Sure, it was inside a game, but that didn't matter. He was the one who designed it. Every system, every module, every section—even down to the imaginary bolts.
So the differences stood out. Instantly. After all, a creator knows his work intimately—far better—because he understands the intricacies and nuances of his creation.
And, After all, the Obliterator wasn't just a ship to him. It was the practically embodiment of a lifelong passion of his. Since childhood, Kallus had been obsessed with space and spaceships.
It all began with a sci-fi movie—massive starships dueling in the void, some small and agile like fighter jets, others so massive they dwarfed cities. Watching those battles unfold had taken his breath away. He was hooked from the start.
From there, it only grew—anime, novels, games—anything involving space. If it was an anime or a movie, he would watch it; if it was a novel or manga, he'd read it like a madman, even sacrificing his sleep if the plot and world-building were good.
After all, he wanted to live that life. As a kid, he dreamed of piloting his own ship, navigating the stars, fighting pirates, chasing treasure—building something of his own.
Even as he got older and reality sank in—that humanity wasn't anywhere close to making those dreams real—his passion never faded. Not even once.
Then, as if the universe had finally heard his quiet pleas, a company launched Galactic Conquest, a full-immersion VR game based on space warfare and exploration.
There was no way he'd miss it.
He bought the game on day one, knowing it was his best shot at living his dream, even if only virtually.
Galactic Conquest gave him that chance. From starting as a lowly mercenary or trader, players could build fleets, establish empires, conquer systems. And Kallus did just that. Slowly, with patience, grit, and ridiculous amounts of effort, he worked his way up. Through missions, grinding, and constant tweaking, he climbed the ranks.
And then came the project—his project: designing the Obliterator. The ship of his dreams.
It took him months. Stress, frustration, sleepless nights. But finally, it was nearing completion. A few more in-game days, and it would be ready to deploy. Then he'd show everyone what true strategic domination looked like.
Unlike the stories pulled straight from a novel—where the protagonist wakes up inside the very world they were only meant to play, no longer sitting in their room or lying in a game pod..
Kallus paused, thinking—and then it hit him. The dimensions of the Obliterator were off too. He remembered them clearly from his original blueprints: 28 kilometres in length, 10 kilometres in width, and 5.6 kilometres in height.
But from what he was seeing now, from this vantage point inside the ship, it was obvious—this wasn't the same scale.
The Obliterator was meant to be a dreadnought-class battleship, heavily inspired by one of Earth's most iconic fictional warships—the Executor-class Star Dreadnought from the Star Warriors movies. That ship had always awed him: massive, sleek, and terrifying in its presence. A floating engine of fear.
But this wasn't a simple copy-paste of that design with a new name slapped on.
Far from it.
If it had been, Kallus wouldn't have worked so hard. He wouldn't have spent sleepless nights refining every aspect of the ship. No, what he created went beyond imitation.
He had reimagined the entire structure.
He spent months identifying and eliminating what he saw as design flaws in the Executor—both obvious and subtle. The biggest change? The superstructure.
He had completely removed the towering dorsal "cityscape"—an iconic but, in his eyes, deeply flawed design. That massive spine was nothing but a vulnerability, a weakness just waiting to be exploited.
Instead, he drew inspiration from the sleeker, more streamlined design of the Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. The Obliterator's upper hull now had a sharper, more angular silhouette—refined, modern, menacing. From above, it looked like a monstrous evolution of the Resurgent class—larger, heavier, more advanced in every way.
This wasn't an Executor-class Star Dreadnought—this was something far greater than the Executor could ever be.
All in all, while the Obliterator was undeniably inspired by the Executor, calling it an entirely different design wouldn't be wrong. Aside from some visual resemblance, everything about it—both inside and out—had been overhauled.
The Obliterator didn't just match the Executor in power—it surpassed it in both scale and destructive capability. And it did so while shedding the critical vulnerabilities that had led to the Executor's downfall—a failure Kallus considered nothing short of shameful.
One of the most crucial changes was the integration of the command center deep within the hull, rather than placing it exposed atop a towering superstructure. As noted earlier, this design significantly increased survivability by eliminating an obvious weak point.
That's not to say the Executor was a flawed ship by nature—far from it. Its raw potential was terrifying. But Kallus believed its operators had been its true weakness. No dreadnought of that magnitude should have fallen to a lone fighter. Still, the design flaws were there—concentrated systems, a lack of internal redundancy, and poor distribution of critical infrastructure. In the wrong hands, it was vulnerable to well-coordinated strikes.
The Obliterator, on the other hand, was built to resist those exact scenarios and more.
Kallus had designed it with a reinforced modular superstructure, distributing critical systems throughout the ship instead of centralizing them. Each vital section was compartmentalized and shielded with specialized materials to prevent cascading failures in the event of an attack.
The result?
A sleek, refined warship that wasn't just beautiful to look at—it was brutally efficient. A star dreadnought not only built for spectacle but optimised for survival and domination in full-scale warfare.
As Kallus reflected on every detail of the Obliterator, a deep sense of pride welled up inside him. It wasn't just a passing emotion—his entire being radiated it. This ship, now real and tangible, was the product of years of vision and relentless effort. Even though it had begun as a design within a game, he had poured everything into it. And now, standing within its command center, how could he not feel proud?
Yes, there were differences—some features he hadn't created himself—but even those seemed like improvements. Enhancements. He let out a breath and smiled to himself.
Let me enjoy this moment, he thought. I'll ask Red Empress about the changes later.
Living in that moment, Kallus spoke softly, almost in a whisper.
"This ship… it was my dream. A dream I've had since childhood. One that no amount of hard work could've fulfilled—because the world just didn't have the technology to make it possible. A dream that never died… only partly satisfied by virtual reality games. But now that it's real, something I can touch and stand inside… the feeling is overwhelming."
Behind him, the Red Empress floated gracefully, her voice smooth and calming.
"As overwhelming as it may be, Master, this is all real. And it's only the beginning. The Supreme Being did not give you this ship for nothing. He left a message… etched into my memory. He said that, in the not-so-distant future, you will face challenges—real ones. And the Obliterator is the tool he's given you… because you're already starting behind."
"Oh…" Kallus murmured, eyes widening slightly as a flicker of surprise crossed his face.
So this wasn't just a gift. It was a setup. A preparation for something larger, something unknown.
It unsettled him for a moment—but only a moment.
Excitement quickly overtook worry. Because this wasn't a game anymore. He wasn't just lounging in a VR chair, drifting through battles in a simulation. No… this was real. The challenges ahead would be real, too.
And Kallus was ready to meet them at his best.