For Glory

Years passed. Years of rebuilding, of re-arming, of meticulously, ruthlessly perfecting the Nhjashj technology they had seized and twisted to their own purpose. The Earth healed, scarred but not broken, rising from the ashes of invasion with a newfound unity, a singular, focused will. The Human Empire was not just a name; it was a reality, a nascent power flexing its muscles in a galaxy that had underestimated them, had dismissed them as insignificant. The Galactic Council, once offering aid, now watched with a wary, uneasy respect. Humanity was no longer pleading for a seat at the table; they were building their own table, and the galaxy would have to adjust.

At the heart of this transformation was the reversed engineered Nhjashj technology, now far exceeding its original form. Human ingenuity, sharpened by necessity and driven by a burning desire for retribution, had unlocked secrets within the alien science that even the Nhjashj themselves had not grasped. They built warships that dwarfed Nhjashj cruisers, energy weapons that unleashed power beyond anything the invaders had wielded, defense systems that were truly impenetrable. And they built war suits, personal armor that turned human soldiers into walking tanks, impervious to almost any known weaponry, enhancing strength, speed, and senses to superhuman levels.

The absolute power of Seven, a council of carefully chosen leaders embodying humanity's new resolve, made their decree: Retribution. The Nhjashj homeworld, the source of their pain, the wellspring of their conquering ambition, would be made to pay. There would be no negotiation, no diplomacy, no mercy. Only fire and blood.

The human fleet assembled, a vast armada eclipsing even the Nhjashj invasion force that had descended upon Earth years before. These were not scavenged ships, not jury-rigged fighters. These were vessels of war, purpose-built for annihilation, gleaming black behemoths bristling with human-perfected Nhjashj technology, symbols of humanity's terrifying metamorphosis. Leading the charge was the flagship Sons of Samak, a colossal dreadnought, a monument to their fallen heroes, carrying within its command deck, the chillingly pragmatic leaders of the Human Empire and the ghosts of a world forever changed.

The journey to the Nhjashj homeworld was swift, brutal. No stealth, no evasion. The human fleet moved with overwhelming force, a wave of darkness sweeping across the stars, announcing their arrival with a deafening declaration of intent. Nhjashj defenses, once considered impenetrable, crumbled before the might of human technology. Planetary shields shattered like glass, orbital defense platforms vaporized in blinding flashes, Nhjashj fighter swarms were swatted aside like insects before a storm.

The Nhjashj homeworld, a harsh, resource-scarce planet that had birthed a culture of war, was unprepared for the storm that descended upon them. They had expected resistance, perhaps, a token defense, a desperate plea for mercy. They had not conceived of the fury that humanity had become, the chilling efficiency of their vengeance.

The human fleet unleashed its fury from orbit. Planetary bombardment began, not surgical strikes aimed at military targets, but a systematic, planet-wide firestorm. Energy beams lanced down from the heavens, vaporizing cities, turning continents into molten slag, scorching the very atmosphere. Kinetic projectiles, the size of mountains, slammed into the planet's crust, triggering seismic upheavals, volcanic eruptions, tectonic cataclysms that tore the world apart.

The sky above the Nhjashj homeworld burned with human fire. Oceans boiled away, continents cracked and crumbled, the very air ignited in a planet-wide inferno. Nhjashj civilization, millennia in the making, dissolved into dust and ash in a matter of days, consumed by the relentless, overwhelming human assault.

But orbital bombardment was not enough. The Seven demanded more. They demanded a reckoning on the ground, a visceral, undeniable display of human dominance, a final, brutal punctuation mark on the Nhjashj chapter of galactic history. Human drop ships, sleek and heavily armored, pierced the burning atmosphere, deploying legions of soldiers clad in advanced war suits onto the ravaged surface. These were not soldiers seeking to conquer, to occupy, but to exterminate. They moved through the fire-swept ruins of Nhjashj cities like implacable judges, their war suits impervious to the planet-wide inferno, their energy weapons unleashing precise, merciless destruction.

What followed was a massacre. Nhjashj resistance, fragmented, disorganized, technologically crippled, was utterly futile. Their energy weapons bounced harmlessly off human war suits, their defenses crumbled before human firepower. Human soldiers moved through the ruins, systematically hunting down any surviving Nhjashj, their war suits turning them into unstoppable killing machines.

The fighting was not glorious, not honorable. It was brutal, efficient, terrifying in its clinical execution. Human soldiers, their faces hidden behind impassive war suit visors, moved through the smoke-choked ruins, their energy weapons spitting fire, leaving trails of ash and vaporized alien flesh in their wake. No quarter was given, no mercy offered. Every Nhjashj encountered, soldier or civilian, warrior or child, was systematically eliminated.

The screams of the dying, the crackle of human energy weapons, the roar of planetary firestorms – these were the sounds of the Nhjashj homeworld's final days. Human soldiers moved through the carnage, their minds hardened, their hearts cold, their purpose singular: annihilation. They were instruments of vengeance, agents of human fury, enacting a retribution so complete, so absolute, it defied comprehension.

Weeks passed. The bombardment ceased. The human soldiers completed their grim task. The Nhjashj homeworld was silent. Lifeless. Burned to ashes. Every city reduced to rubble, every ecosystem eradicated, every breath of Nhjashj life extinguished. The planet itself was a tomb, a scorched, lifeless husk orbiting a cold, indifferent star, a monument to human vengeance.

The human fleet returned to Earth, bearing the grim tidings of their victory. There were no celebrations, no parades, no jubilant pronouncements. Only silence. A heavy, oppressive silence that spoke of the terrible cost of glory, the chilling price of retribution.

The story of the Nhjashj homeworld's destruction became legend, whispered in hushed tones across the galaxy, a chilling tale of human fury, a stark warning to any who might dare to challenge the Human Empire. It was a story that shook the minds of whoever retold it, a narrative etched in blood and fire, a testament to the brutal efficiency of human vengeance, a dark mirror reflecting the monstrous capacity for destruction that humanity had unleashed upon the galaxy.

The Sons of Samak were long gone, their sacrifice now a foundational myth of the Human Empire. But their legacy lived on, twisted, transformed, warped by the fires of war. Humanity was safe. Humanity was powerful. Humanity was… feared. And in the silent void of space, a new question echoed, unspoken, yet terrifyingly present: What had humanity become in its quest for glory? And what horrors would they unleash next, upon a galaxy now trembling before the dawn of the Human Empire?