The echoes of war rippled through the void — a sea of dying stars burning red and gold. Amongst the chaos drifted the flagship of Duragon the Conqueror, a fortress so vast it eclipsed the moons it passed. Its hull was layered with blackened steel, its energy cannons like molten eyes, each pulse shaking the fabric of space itself.
Inside, silence ruled. The grand chamber — part throne room, part command bridge — radiated the weight of dominion. Red banners bearing Duragon's sigil hung from the towering walls. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the crimson light that leaked from massive viewing windows overlooking the cosmic battlefield.
And there, seated on a throne carved from the remains of the rulers of the fallen worlds, sat Duragon — his immense frame draped in armor as black as voidglass. His skin was the color of burning embers, veins glowing faintly with heat, and his two horns curved forward like the tusks of an ancient beast. His yellow-gold eyes gleamed with a kind of quiet amusement, the look of a predator who'd grown tired of the hunt yet still enjoyed watching prey struggle.
Footsteps broke the stillness. An armored attendant entered the chamber, kneeling deeply. His voice trembled with both urgency and fear.
"Lord Duragon," he said, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the ground. "Grave news — it concerns General Tirax."
Duragon did not move. His gaze lingered lazily on the field of stars ahead. "Tirax?" he rumbled, his voice deep, slow, and resonant enough to make the walls hum. "Speak."
The attendant swallowed. "He is dead, my lord."
The words hung in the air like a cold wind. Even the ship's core seemed to falter, the hum dimming for a heartbeat.
Duragon finally turned his head — just slightly — his gaze now on the trembling messenger. "Dead," he repeated, almost tasting the word. "How… inconvenient. Tirax was useful and the best among my generals. Looks like his over reliance on his ability got him for good."
The attendant's armor creaked as he tightened his stance. "Our sensors recorded his ship's destruction. He was slain during his conquest of a remote world."
Duragon rose from his throne. His movement was unhurried, yet every step reverberated like thunder. "And who dares to do this?"
The attendant hesitated, the word catching in his throat. "…A Saiyan, my lord."
That made Duragon pause. His molten eyes flickered — not with anger, but with curiosity. "A Saiyan?" he said softly, almost amused. "One of those feral creatures from the northern fringes? They've always been… arrogant and prideful, but hardly remarkable."
He stepped closer, towering over the kneeling attendant. "Explain."
"Our probes captured energy fluctuations beyond Tirax's last transmission and the surveillance captured their battle," the attendant stammered. "The captured footage of their battle helped us determine his opponent Saiyan — though magnified to a level… unprecedented."
Duragon turned his gaze toward the war raging outside the viewport. Flames consumed fleets. Planets cracked apart. He watched in silence before letting out a low, humorless chuckle.
"So… Tirax, my finest general, falls to a warrior from an extinct race." His smirk widened. "Interesting."
He placed one massive hand against the glass, claws scraping faintly. "Do you know why I value generals like Tirax?"
The attendant shook his head silently.
"Because they crave conquest," Duragon continued. "They dream of victory, power, dominion… and that hunger keeps them sharp. But Tirax—" His tone darkened. "—became predictable. His wars lacked flavor. His victories lacked challenge."
He turned slightly, golden eyes locking on the attendant once more. "And now, a Saiyan… ends him. Perhaps the universe has a sense of humor."
The attendant dared to lift his gaze. "My lord… shall we avenge him?"
Duragon chuckled again, this time genuinely amused. "Avenge him? You misunderstand me. This isn't vengeance… this is curiosity."
He walked back toward his throne, the glow of the battlefield reflecting off his armor. "Keep an eye on this Saiyan. I want to know his name, his movements. The war here is nearly done anyway."
He sat back down, resting an arm across the side of the throne. "In fact… send word to the three remaining generals. It's time they stopped playing."
The attendant blinked. "My lord?"
Duragon's voice was soft, but it cut like steel. "Recall them. Order them to end this war immediately. I want the enemy crushed and silence restored to this sector."
He tilted his head slightly. "Once that's done, summon them to me. Tell them their lord wishes to prepare… for a new hunt."
The attendant bowed again, trembling. "As you command, Lord Duragon."
He turned to leave but hesitated at the door. "If I may, my lord…"
Duragon looked at him expectantly.
"Why did you not take part in the war yourself? If you led the charge, none could stand against you."
Duragon smiled — the kind of smile that belonged to gods and monsters. "Because," he said slowly, "watching ants grasp at false hope… is far more entertaining than simply crushing them."
The attendant's face paled as he bowed again. "Understood, my lord."
When he was gone, Duragon leaned forward on his throne, resting his chin on his knuckles. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for the empty chamber. "A Saiyan strong enough to kill Tirax… intriguing. Let's see how brightly this flame burns before I snuff it out."
Across light-years of silence, a small silver ship glided through an emerald atmosphere. Clouds parted around it, and golden sunlight spilled through the cockpit as it descended.
Inside, Razor stood by the viewing panel, his reflection staring back — black eyes steady, jaw set. Behind him, 18 monitored the controls, calm and precise. The hum of the ship filled the quiet between them.
The moment they broke through the clouds, the planet stretched before them — vast green forests, jagged mountain ranges, and rivers that shimmered like molten glass. The air was dense, the gravity heavy. Razor could already feel its pull pressing against his limbs. He smirked faintly. "This… is perfect."
18 raised an eyebrow. "Perfect for you maybe. I can already feel the gravity crushing my circuits."
He chuckled under his breath. "Exactly why I chose it."
The ship touched down in a clearing surrounded by towering cliffs. As the ramp lowered, Razor stepped out first, the sunlight glinting off his dark hair. The ground trembled faintly under his boots — the kind of force that made every movement deliberate, every breath earned.
18 followed, scanning the landscape with cautious admiration. "You really know how to pick a place," she said dryly. "High gravity, no civilization, wild creatures everywhere… truly romantic."
Razor gave a faint smirk. "Didn't hear you complain last night."
Her eyes widened as color rushed to her cheeks. "That—! That's not what I meant!"
He turned away with an amused expression. "Then don't make it sound that way."
She glared for a second before sighing. "You really are impossible."
The two stood there quietly, the wind brushing through the trees, the single sun high above them. Razor closed his eyes briefly, feeling the pressure of the world against him — every muscle in his body alive, and ready.
"This place…" he said finally, "will make me stronger."
18 smiled faintly, arms crossed. "Then let's see if you can keep up."
Razor glanced at her — that confident spark in her blue eyes, the teasing smirk that always seemed to draw him in. For a moment, he simply stared, realizing again how different she became from the time when he first met her. Then he looked away, hiding the small smile that formed at the edge of his mouth.
"Try not to fall behind," he said.
"Try not to collapse," she shot back.
And as the two walked toward the mountains, the camera of fate slowly pulled back — from the green world with its bright Sun to the void of space beyond. Unseen, far across the galaxy, a dark gaze turned in their direction — Duragon's.
The Conqueror's interest had been piqued. And for Razor and 18, their peaceful world was already standing in the shadow of something vast, and unstoppable.