As he continued gazing at his now-transformed ship—still his at its core—Kallus studied the Obliterator through the augmented-reality holographic display of the command bridge. It offered a full 360-degree view of the ship's massive structure, allowing him to admire every inch of it in real time.
Memories of its creation surged through his mind again. Every feature, every integrated module was a testament to the countless hours he had spent collecting rare technologies, customizing systems, and assembling them into something far greater than just a digital model. This wasn't just a ship—it was the physical embodiment of his passion and effort.
One of the most obvious differences—the simplest and yet most profound—was its sheer size.
In starship engineering, especially at the dreadnought class level, increasing size isn't as simple as stretching a chassis like with cars. It requires a complete overhaul of the internal systems, reworked hull architecture, reinforced sections, and precision redistribution of load-bearing structures. It multiplies design complexity at every level.
At 28 kilometers long, the Obliterator far surpassed its spiritual predecessor—the Executor-class. But this wasn't just for spectacle. The increase in scale had purpose.
Kallus hadn't envisioned the Obliterator as merely a flagship.
He had designed it to be a mobile fortress—a self-sustaining behemoth capable of operating independently, without relying on a support fleet like the Executor did. Unlike its predecessor, which often depended on escort ships for defense and logistics, the Obliterator was built to stand alone. To fight alone. To survive ambushes and continue operations long after others would've fallen.
Its enhancements didn't just make it more powerful—they made it faster.
Despite its massive scale, the Obliterator could accelerate at remarkable sublight speeds. For a ship of this class, that kind of maneuverability was unheard of. It wasn't just a floating fortress—it was a fast one. In this new age of warfare, speed was power.
But speed wasn't even its most impressive trait.
The Obliterator's true specialty?
It housed two internal shipyards.
Each one capable of constructing vessels nearly equal in size and complexity to a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. While in motion. While traveling through space. Completely self-reliant.
Given sufficient resources, the Obliterator could build an entire fleet to suit any tactical situation—without ever needing to return to a base.
These internal shipyards were marvels of engineering in their own right, filled with automated systems, adaptive frameworks, and cutting-edge machinery that optimized every stage of shipbuilding. And if needed, the Obliterator could even dock a fully assembled Resurgent-class ship within its internal bays for deployment, repair, or integration.
And its capabilities didn't stop there.
At the very heart of the Obliterator lay its crown jewel—state-of-the-art research and development laboratories, unlike anything ever seen before. These labs were equipped with advanced analytical tools, specialized chambers, high-precision fabrication units, and countless other systems—all designed to create the perfect environment for one thing: innovation.
Whether it was refining new alloys from exotic materials, testing radical propulsion concepts, developing cutting-edge technologies, or even designing the next generation of warships, the Obliterator's R&D facilities were a hub of limitless progress.
Calling them a heaven for researchers would not be an exaggeration. Here, scientists and engineers had everything they could possibly need to invent, refine, and experiment—without restriction. The only limit was imagination.
Two levels below the research sector lay the ship's production factories—industrial giants so advanced they rivaled, and in many ways surpassed, the planetary-scale complexes of the most developed worlds.
Powered by bleeding-edge fabrication technologies, these factories could process virtually any raw material into refined resources and advanced components, seamlessly feeding the ship's endless demands without relying on external supply chains with limitless fabrication units.
But their true brilliance lay in scale. The Obliterator's internal industrial complexes weren't just capable of sustaining itself—they could fabricate parts, equipment, and even full shipments of arms and systems for its entire strike group.
Whether supporting 10,000 ships or even scaling toward hundreds of thousands, the Obliterator could provide. After all, the Obliterator was not just any dreadnought-class ship—it was, in the truest sense, a self-contained civilisation of production and creation.
If one day Kallus chose to settle as nothing more than a raw material refiner and equipment supplier, he could have thrived in those fields as well. Yet, he would likely never take that path—for doing so would mean failing the expectations of the being who entrusted him with such power in the first place.
And another thing was that there was no fun in running a business. Earning money and all that was good—really good—he would never deny that, no, not at all.
But with the Obliterator in his hands, with this much power at his command, he would rather chase something far more daring than simply starting a venture in this new universe. Shaking the thought from his mind, he turned his focus once more to his beloved, ever-changing ship of dreams.
The Obliterator, taking things a step further, carried its own advanced mining equipment—capable of harvesting asteroids, moons, and even rich celestial bodies for raw materials. This ensured it could not only meet its own demands but also sustain the needs of its vast strike group.
In every sense, this was a ship built for absolute independence. It relied on no one and nothing beyond itself. With its self-sufficiency, the Obliterator could traverse the galaxy—or even the universe—for centuries, perhaps millennia, without ever needing to dock at a port. Its cutting-edge systems allowed it to endlessly replace, replenish, and renew everything it required.
Kallus had envisioned the Obliterator as the ultimate creation: not just a weapon, but a command center, sanctuary, and fortress—capable of adapting to any situation, dominating any battlefield, and thriving in the harshest voids of space.
He ran his hand slowly across the polished surface of his command throne, fingers brushing against the smooth console at his side. A faint warmth welled in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, a small, genuine smile crept across his lips.
"Truly," he muttered to himself, "a mobile fortress like nothing else."
His gaze lingered on the panoramic holographic displays as he continued softly, "A ship capable of obliterating any enemy in the literal sense, and yet more than that—a factory able to forge its own armaments, refine the alloys required to build them, and a laboratory to drive innovation and push technology beyond its limits.
Of course, such equipment cannot conduct research or create breakthroughs on their own; they require capable people to wield them. To call the Obliterator a mere hunk of metal would be laughable—for it carries within it the potential to serve as the foundation for something far greater. What it becomes, however, rests entirely on how he chooses to use it—whether to shape something greater, something larger than himself."
Kallus then added softly, almost in awe, "This is everything he could have hoped for—and more."
His gaze shifted back to the Obliterator, marveling not only at its sheer, overwhelming size but also at the sophistication of its systems. They weren't just advanced—they were far beyond anything he remembered designing.
Their performance was so exceptional that he couldn't shake the thought: the Supreme Being had not only pulled his creation out of the digital realm and into reality, but had also upgraded it. That was the only explanation that made sense.
He wanted to ask the Red Empress if his suspicion was true, but the flood of data streaming across the displays—the ship's parameters, the raw power it radiated—was too distracting. He couldn't look away.
The Obliterator's armament alone was staggering, a testament to its dual role as both command ship and battlefield dominator. Every weapon had been chosen carefully by him for devastating effect in its class, each one reinforcing its purpose as a fortress and executioner rolled into one.
Chief among these weapons were the 120 capital-class quad antimatter pulse cannons, mounted with precision along the dorsal and ventral hull. At first glance, the number might seem underwhelming for a ship of this scale—until one realized the true magnitude of these weapons.
Each cannon was the size of a frigate, stretching hundreds of meters long, capable of unleashing destruction that could tear apart capital ships in moments.
Each antimatter pulse cannon shot carried enough force to tear through a planet's crust in seconds—enemy shields were nothing in comparison. Their power was so overwhelming that anything trying to withstand them would crumble like paper under fire.
And when all 120 of these titanic weapons unleashed their fury together, the Obliterator transformed into a juggernaut of annihilation, capable of engaging—and obliterating—entire fleets by itself.
Complementing these were 80 SE-238 Obliterator-class 1500mm dual railguns, designed for long-range precision strikes. Using advanced magnetic acceleration technology, they could hurl projectiles at near-light speeds, delivering catastrophic kinetic energy to targets thousands of kilometers away. These railguns were perfect for crippling enemy flagships or neutralizing fortified installations like planetary shields, star fortresses, and orbital defense grids.
Unlike conventional designs, the SE-238s could fire not only solid projectiles but also specialized energy-charged rounds, giving them the versatility of both kinetic and directed-energy weapons. Each gun was a mechanical titan—102 meters tall, 346 meters long, and 278 meters wide, with massive 1500mm barrels jutting forward, primed to unleash devastation with pinpoint precision.
For mid-range engagements, the Obliterator was armed with 269 SE-298 Sentinel systems—colossal triple-barrel railguns, each capable of launching three rounds every five milliseconds. In battle, they were brutal, shredding any ship foolish enough to stray close into twisted debris within moments. Measuring 300 meters in length, 65 meters in height, and 200 meters in width, their sleek, angular frames radiated menace, their 1200mm barrels built for relentless, rapid destruction.
Adding to this overwhelming arsenal were 18,000 EW-203 Pulverizers, smaller but no less lethal pulse cannons, designed to saturate the battlefield with concentrated energy fire. These provided unmatched coverage against fighters, corvettes, and incoming projectiles, ensuring no gap in defense.
And then came the missiles. The Obliterator carried an awe-inspiring 10,000 missile launchers, spread throughout its armored hull. Each launcher could deploy warheads carrying the deadliest payloads science could conceive: antimatter warheads, black hole generators, space-rending blast missiles, void charges, and more conventional munitions for tactical versatility.
A single coordinated barrage from this missile network could annihilate entire fleets in seconds, reducing thousands of ships to scattered wreckage.
And yet, for all of this destruction, Kallus knew these were only the primary systems—the Obliterator held even more hidden within its vast armored frame.