Chapter 47 -The Price of Arrogance

**

The Shi'ar command room froze.

One second—chaotic as a warzone. The next—silent as a grave.

Every commander stared at the tactical hologram, where blue dots representing their fleet **winked out** one by one. A starship died every half-second. No explosions. No distress signals. Just... annihilation.

The Shi'ar admiral's voice cracked like a whip: **"Status report!"**

A technician swallowed hard. **"Fleet losses at 37% and climbing. Unknown attacker. No debris patterns. It's like they're just... vanishing."**

Then—

**"Gentlemen."**

A voice like melted honey dripped through the room.

Lin Fan leaned against the holotable, pink fingers drumming on its surface. **"I believe we were discussing compensation?"**

Pandemonium erupted.

The Kree commander-in-chief—the only physical attendee—recoiled as his holographic peers flickered into static. His hand flew to his sidearm, but Lin Fan's sigh stopped him cold.

**"That toy won't help."** Lin Fan flicked his wrist. The gun **melted** into molten slag mid-draw. **"Your Star Destroyer Cannon was cute, though. Like a child throwing a tantrum."**

He stepped closer. The Kree commander stood rigid, jaw clenched. To his credit, he didn't beg.

Lin Fan's grin widened. **"I like you. Most scream. Or soil themselves."** His palm glowed white—not with ki, but something **darker**. A squirming mass of Majin symbiote pulsed in his grip.

The Kree commander's eyes locked onto it. **"What—"**

**"Shhh."** Lin Fan pressed the parasite to the warrior's forehead. It **burrowed** in like a living tattoo.

For three heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then—

The Kree's pupils **flared black**. His stance straightened. When he spoke, his voice carried a double timbre—his own, and something **ancient**.

**"My lord."** He knelt.

On his brow, an **M-shaped brand** flickered.

---

Outside, the massacre continued.

Lin Fan's clones **swarmed** the remaining ships. Some tore through hulls with bare hands. Others inhaled whole battalions like snacks.

The Shi'ar admiral's final transmission echoed across frequencies:

**"All vessels, retreat! This is no longer a battl—"**

Static.

By dawn, the Dark Quadrant held only **wreckage and whispers**.

And aboard the last fleeing Kree command ship, a newly obedient general smiled at his reflection—tracing the mark on his forehead.

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