Chapter 81: Above the Thalor Core World Vaelora’s Warfront

The darkness of space was lit in flashes of orange and blue as Mahasimu dreadnoughts and Thalor starcruisers exchanged brutal volleys of plasma and antimatter. A thousand ships clashed in a synchronized ballet of destruction. The Nyoka-Class warcruisers, with their serpentine hulls, twisted through the barrage like shadowed predators, unleashing phased missiles that broke entire Thalor formations. Explosions bloomed like dying stars.

From her flagship, Vaelora, adorned in her ceremonial war-cape and obsidian crown, watched with a mixture of pride and hunger. Her shadow-armored battalions were already descending onto the surface, led by Shriek-class dropships. She activated a fleet-wide channel.

"Let them see the despair of their false gods. Burn the sky, break the ground."

On the planet below, Thalor trenches roared with plasma fire. Massive quadrupedal Mahasimu walkers leveled forests and vaporized bunkers, while Thalor warriors, dressed in luminescent armor powered by spiritual resonance, held the lines with grim, zealous fury. The battlefield was a hellscape of falling debris, shrieking wounded, and spiritual hymns clashing with Mahasimu war chants.

Above it all, a second shadow streaked across the void.

Eleena had arrived.

Her personal mothership, Shatter-Soul, broke through a Thalor blockade and deployed her elite corps: genetically refined berserker shadows and her own war-chosen children born of despair. Eleena walked off the ramp in silence, her presence enough to silence even the battle-hardened. She licked blood from her palm, a long-standing ritual, and turned to Vaelora via psychic link.

Eleena: "Their defenses are admirable… like granite shaped by wind. Lovely, but eroded. I want the capital, sister."

Vaelora: "We shall take it. This world is their final breath before the scream. The capital will not need to burn—it will simply bow."

She turned to her slave-attendants Tamun and Je'ka, bound in ornamental chains, kneeling on the command bridge.

"Watch this moment. Record it. For the ants, this is history. For gods—it's performance."

Kal'mor-Zai – Observation Craft 'Vigilant Silence'

Floating just outside the war zone's edge, the Seers' observation vessel glided like a ghost. Inside, War Seer Kal'mor-Zai leaned over a crystalline viewport, his pitch-black eyes narrowed.

Kal'mor-Zai: "Even now, they hold back. But if Xiran falls… we will be drawn in. Prepare Executive Order 99."

His Faceless General, taller and more heavily armored than any ordinary slave, nodded. Kal'mor-Zai gave a low hum.

"Begin transmission to Jha'mor'ak. This cannot continue in silence."

In the sanctum chamber on Jha'mor'ak, the Grand Blind One appeared via hologram, flanked by his four council members. He uttered no words at first—just a single nod.

Grand Blind One: "As the Blind One commands, so shall it be."

Dakarie – Beneath the Black Hole

Dakarie stood upon a black crystal bridge as millions of Seers streamed silently toward hidden passageways that hadn't existed yesterday. Faceless Kings oversaw the evacuation. One of the Faceless—mouthless no more—whispered something to the King.

Dakarie narrowed his eyes.

"They're… leaving?"

His guard, Teren, hissed, "What in all worlds is happening?"

The Faceless King turned.

"Executive Order 99. Only the Grand Blind One can authorize it. No Broken Seer, not even a Council member, may defy. Now… we too must descend."

Massive tunnels cracked open, swallowing entire districts. No lights. No warnings. The entire megacity was vanishing, slipping into the abyss beneath the Black Hole. The whisper of war had become a howl.

Thalor Flagship 'Vayra'tel' – Elder Xiran's Command

Elder Xiran, draped in ancient war-robes, stood tall on his flagship's bridge, his long hair tied with luminescent threads. His golden warstaff, a relic from the Time of Blossoms, pulsed with energy.

"This is it. Their twin witches have arrived. If we fall here… the heart is exposed."

His commanders nodded. On the view-screen, the planet below flickered in chaos. His voice boomed across all fleet channels.

"Thalor… we've lost the edges of the map, the rim of the song. But we stand at the soul. And I'll be damned before I let them darken our last sunrise."

He raised his staff.

"For the soulworld! For Vael! Strike true!"

As the fleets clashed again, Xiran's dreadnought barreled directly toward Vaelora's command ship.

The Twin Sisters of Despair would not have an easy conquest.

The two colossal flagships collided like beasts in the void—Xiran's Vayra'tel and Vaelora's Voidsphere docking with thunderous fury. Magnetic clamps hissed and sealed. War sirens blared. Then the bulkhead doors blew open, and Elder Xiran led the charge.

Thalor warriors surged into the Voidsphere, shouting war hymns, hurling radiant spears of energy, and unleashing sacred psionics that twisted the very gravity of the corridor. Behind them strode Xiran, staff in hand, flanked by an elite vanguard of spiritbound knights whose armor glowed with inscriptions of aeons past.

They met Shadowcorps head-on—grotesque Mahasimu death-hulks and Shadowscourge elites bred in madness and shadow. Screams echoed through the ship's pitch-black halls, blood turning weightless in the zero-grav chambers. Yet Xiran pressed on.

Meanwhile, deep within the bridge of the Voidsphere, Vaelora sat unfazed on her throne, obsidian-skinned fingers gently stroking the ridged head of Esh'ka, her massive, insectoid Thal'karn beast, who purred low with psychic malice.

A Shadowscourge officer, his armor cracked from a previous campaign, ran forward and knelt.

"High Shadow… the Thalor have breached our halls. Xiran himself leads them."

Vaelora's pale silver eyes did not blink.

"Let them come."

The two Twin servants, Tamun and Je'ka, knelt beside her throne, trembling. Tamun's breathing was ragged.

Without turning her gaze, Vaelora whispered coldly,

"It's okay to be scared… but if I smell it again…" Her tone sharpened to a near-hiss.

"…you're dead."

Tamun swallowed the fear down like acid and whispered, "Forgive me, goddess."

Vaelora extended a single, clawed finger.

"Contact Eleena. Now."

PLANETSIDE – ELEENA'S SLAUGHTERFEST

The battlefield was hell. The Thalor were collapsing, their defenses shattered as Eleena personally tore through bunkers and psionic pylons with her bare hands. The air shimmered around her in a haze of blood and heat. Shadow troops followed her, but none could keep pace.

A shrill tone pierced her mind—Vaelora's call. She sighed.

"All of you—halt. You'll spoil the fun."

The battle stilled like a painting. Corpses steamed. Smoke drifted lazily in the air.

Eleena opened the link.

"What is it?"

Tamun, her voice quivering, replied,

"My great Lady Vaelora sends a gift… Elder Xiran."

Eleena's bloodstained grin widened into a jagged, demonic smile.

"Well now… that's more like it."

She turned to a shadow-trooper waiting at attention.

"Order the full retreat. Everywhere."

Across the planet, Mahasimu forces withdrew, confusing the battered Thalor, who began to cheer in disbelief, thinking perhaps their prayers had worked.

They were wrong.

VOOIDSPHERE BRIDGE – SHOWDOWN OF TITANS

The bridge doors exploded inward. Smoke curled through the air. Thalor warriors fell to their knees, crushed by the psychic weight of Vaelora's throne room. Xiran walked through the carnage, his face a mask of war. Vaelora stood now, her throne behind her, the stars beyond the viewport like glimmering teeth.

"You're late," she said coolly. "Typical of the devout."

Her voice turned venomous.

"You didn't even bring me a rat from Jha'mor'ak… though that one…" —her eyes locked on a female Thalor soldier—

"…her eyes are different. Perhaps she smells of the Seers."

She stepped forward. Twin shadowblades extended from her wrists, crackling with an aura so black it seemed to drain the light around them.

The ants—Tamun and Je'ka—knelt, drawing smaller shadow-forged blades, their bodies trembling but minds steeled. Four Death Shadows emerged from the floor itself, cloaked in psychic distortion.

Battle erupted.

Xiran's guard fought valiantly—but Vaelora was the storm incarnate. In a blur, three guards were cut down, their souls siphoned through her blade into an orbiting prism of torment. Esh'ka tore through the rear, ripping out spines and spraying acidic gore.

Only Xiran remained.

He engaged her, blow for blow. Each strike was a seismic clash of will, light and shadow screaming in friction. Blood sprayed from both, but Vaelora grinned even as her sweat beaded.

"You're better than I expected," she admitted. "Not prey worthy of a fleet, but enough to… entertain."

The battle shook the Voidsphere itself. Faceless infiltrators, hidden among the chaos, began withdrawing—knowing this had become something far more dangerous than intelligence gathering.

Vaelora's eyes snapped to them.

"Twins. Retrieve the mouth."

Tamun and Je'ka nodded, sprinting after the disguised Seer operative, blades drawn.

Back on the bridge, Vaelora deflected Xiran's radiant strike and whispered:

"These ants… are worthy of a god."

That's when Xiran realized he had made a mistake.

"Sound the retreat!" he barked. "Return to the ship!"

His head guard turned—only to be decapitated by Vaelora, her blade humming.

She walked slowly, deliberately, after them. Her face and armor were drenched in blood.

"Run. Flee. History always remembers who bled first… and who bled last."