{A/N: So, um I went a bit overboard on this one. This chapter is 7.9k words. Really sets the tone for how brutal this book things can be. Also, I'll be using many terms and things from WH40K. Give me your honest opinions on the comments. Enjoy!}
***
A bright, yellow sun and a huge ringed planet sat high in the heavens, their light cascading over the white city until the stone itself glowed softly.
Towers, as high as skyscrapers, were not crudely built to show power and utility like so many Saiyan-conquered worlds; they were spires of sculpted ivory, cut to rise out of the ground like white-hot fire. It was beautiful and breathtaking.
Every so often, great bridges that arched between them were no mere transport routes, but works of art. They were slender as a bowstring, carved with sigils that caught the sun and refracted it down to the streets below.
Below, the streets spread wide and straight, tiled in polished quartz that reflected the sky until it seemed as though the city itself floated in light.
Canals cut through every district with waters as clear as glass. They were guided from the snowcaps of distant mountains.
Elven banners of emerald and silver, hung from balconies that spiraled like unfurling leaves.
Sculptures of their heroes which stood at every square, so lifelike their shadows felt like company; slender warriors, philosophers, queens with eyes raised skyward. Most carried a bow for some reason.
The air smelled faintly of cedar and spice, smoke from open gardens where food was roasted slowly in communal pits, where families laughed and sang under their gods' light.
It was a place made to last forever. A place made to insist it had always been perfect, and would always remain so.
Which is why the elves never saw their end coming as twin "meteors" streaking from the sky like raining fire.
Believe it or not, elves were much taller than depicted in the tales of Earth. They stood an average of 2.1 meters tall.
Their skin was so pale, it had the faintest hint of translucency. The only thing dark on their bodies is their hair, almost touching the ground in long, silky falls. Sharp ears spiked from their heads at a vertical angle.
Elves.
A people who believed pretty people deserved the world. To the elves, beauty wasn't vanity. No, it was strength. Their philosophers wrote that symmetry was the mark of truth and strength in the universe, that a flawless face reflected a flawless spirit. The male elves would undoubtedly be mistaken for women. They looked very effeminate. The only thing separating them from the women would be their slightly muscular bodies and their broad shoulders.
Their lawmakers decreed that the most beautiful must also be the most powerful, for ugliness could not govern without corrupting.
In concordance, the armies trained not only to strike with precision, but to strike with elegance; every maneuver, every blast, every stance had to flow like dance, or it was considered shameful and hideous.
Compared to two saiyans, one would believe their numbers would suffice. Every household in the white city poured sons and daughters into the plazas, their auras shining like silver flames.
Out in the distance, miles away, twin columns of smoke rose in billowy rifts. A civilization of millions stood wondering what star could possibly have fallen.
They had pride. Pride in their kings and queens whose hair never grew dull with age. Pride in the simple fact that when they looked in a mirror, they saw perfection and believed the universe itself bowed to that image. It was their strength. However, like a two-edged sword, it was also their weakness.
For beauty alone does not win wars. It only starts them.
And when the Saiyans came, they brought something the elves had no doctrine for. Not grace. Not elegance. Not the illusion of perfection.
They brought raw, ugly, brutal survival. Survival that had always owned the world, no matter how pretty the people who claimed it were.
In the skies, twin streaks of fire trailed as the pods burned through atmosphere from the orbital ship they'd exited. They struck the outer marshes like meteors, dirt and plants into plumes that hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.
When the hatches hissed open, two shapes rose from the craters, armored in dark carapace, white boots gleaming, and tails wound tight around their waists. One male and female.
The male's Reckoner (Scouter) blinked green across his brow, parsing numbers with a rapid rhythm.
"Population grid's loaded," he said, voice level, the words carrying through the internal coms system. "9.8 million within the coastal arc. The coherence distribution is dense. Average PL of 17,000. And the High-value signatures have been confirmed and sent to your Reckoner. Copy that, Delta-2?"
The female stretched her fingers, rolled her wrist, and let her hand fall still at her side. Her voice sharply cut across the comms unite. "Copy that, Delta-1. What's the protocol sent from SAT-COMM?"
"Seventy," the male answered, knowing she knew what it meant.
Within moments, they floated above the White City, looking down at the elves as though they were just ants, arrogance written all over their faces.
The surrounding elves fell into silence upon seeing the two shapes appear in the sky. Tens of thousands of pale faces lifted.
Delta-2's voice called out first; very calm, resounding, and unlike the usual arrogant tone she carries. Every word heavy enough to destroy any resistance and pride
"By decree of the Imperium Law, this world is to be assimilated into the Saiyan Empire. The induction process will be conducted by sundown. Your lives will be spared in accordance to the Doctrine. Your kings and queens will kneel or be killed."
Delta-1's voice followed, deeper, cutting through the plazas with enough force to rattle their skulls.
"Your pride will not protect you. Your beauty does not interest us. Strength is the only law, and you are bound to it as of now. Resist, and you will die. If you yield, the Imperium will gladly open its arms and welcome you to its fold. For if you do not yield, the Seventy Rule will take effect: thirty percent of your population will be killed, seventy kept. You will give us what we want and leave you what is yours. This is mercy. This is dominance. This is… Imperial."
As their message concluded, they stood, or floated, within the air; ever so sure of themselves.
The elves murmured in disbelief, their voices like ripples.
"They speak our tongue. How is this possible?"
"No… their mouths shape it wrong."
"Are they gods?"
"Blasphemy!"
"They are no gods," said one, staring at the tails coiled around their waists. "The Codex of One speaks of beings with hairy tails. These are what our gods call… Saiyans."
Thousands of faces were turned upward, thousands of voices whispering and talking in alarmed tones. None seemed to realize just what sort of a pickle they truly were in.
Children were lifted onto shoulders to see. Mothers hushed their little ones with words that had always been true before.
One child, a boy with green hair much shorter than most of his peers, and eyes so azure, you would've thought they were real stones spoke to a woman holding him up, "Mother, will we die?"
"Shush, baby," she replied quickly, stroking the long green hair of the boy whose eyes were wide as moons. "No one's going to die. The Archons will not allow this to be."
Right on que, the air trembled as the Archons flew in from a far distance. The sound of multiple Airbus A380's (the largest commercial planes in the world) came from beyond south of the city.
The seven of them cut from the horizon, trailing contrails of silver-blue magic, pink-white magic, and green magic auras that streaked the skies. Their hands drew back like bowmen, and in their palms, light formed into arrows. Not the crude blasts of lesser races such as humans, but bolts shaped sharp, narrow, and pure energy.
Beauty even in destruction. This was their mantra.
Elves roared when the arrows launched. A storm of white fire filled the air, a rising tide that became a wall, a wall that became a sky of judgment. They kept releasing, thousands of bolts, all perfect and right on target. The plaza lit as if the sun had fractured into a million shards.
Every beam struck. Not a single one missed. The wave swallowed the intruders whole, igniting the air with heat. Towers in the dance shuddered from the force. Bridges groaned. The crowd exhaled as one, their fear of the unknown invaders dissolved into triumph.
"They are gone!" shouted an elf elder, voice breaking with relief. "The Archons have struck true!"
Hands clasped in prayer. Voices lifted in cheers that spilled down the white streets and echoed through the canals. The statues of kings seemed to smile in the light.
But above the roaring and the cheering, two dark shapes emerged, suspended in the air where the storm of magic arrows struck had struck. Their armor smoked but was otherwise unchanged. Their hair shifted and changed in the ever changing wind. Their tails were still curled tighter around their waists.
Delta-1's head tilted. A small fleck of ash slid off his shoulder. Seeing this, his lips pulled into a contemptuous grin.
Delta-2 raised her left palm to her face and scowled. The palm's blistered a bit but is relatively unharmed, and the gathered heat dripped off her palm like melted wax. Her eyes cut through the smoke; and they were pitiless.
The cheering faltered.
The elves had fired perfection. And perfection that had failed. Their Archons' are the strongest of their people. An archon could be born once every 2,000 years. They were in no way gods, but they were well above the strength of their people. So, how could the two invaders survive the onslaught of 7 Archons?
Cracking his neck, Delta-1 says, "Commence the cull." Only wishing they'd just accept their fate.
***
Delta-1 dropped through the smoke without waiting for their applause to end. The nearest elf tried to run when they saw him. He was too slow.
He simply raised his hand, flattened it into a knife-edge, and let his ki burn down to a scalpel glow.
The elf who tried to flee, stopped mid-flee and mid-scream. Delta-1's knife-hand had passed through his head like a hot knife through wet clay.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The elf stood there, body rigid, with eyes wide like he'd just thought of a clever to joke say. The plaza handy realized he was there yet until after he attacked.
Then, the cut showed itself.
In front of everyone, the front half of his skull slid down with grotesque grace, like a mask peeling off: nose, lips, brow, and most of the jaw.
The exposed meat was shone slick under the sun: wet brain tissue trembled like grey custard, lines of white nerve hanging loose and twitching.
His tongue dangled from a half-jaw, flapping uselessly in open air as he tried to scream through clogged nostrils that no longer existed.
Blood gushed, not in a spray but in thick sheets, pouring over his chest, painting the perfect white of his tunic in arterial black-red. He made a sound like boiling water escaping a pot, gurgling against the ruin of his throat.
Then, his knees buckled. Only for his body to then get folded like an omelet, dropping to the ground, his own blood forming a crimson halo around his mutilated head.
The plaza erupted in screams, high-pitched alarmed, as if the beauty of their race had just been shattered in one swing. The elves closest to the corpse stumbled back, clutching their faces as if they were afraid theirs might fall off too.
Delta-1 flicked his fingers. Air pressure flew from his hand in a wide arc, sending the nearest elves flying. He smiled. It wasn't a joyful one, not even cruel, but one of finality.
Delta-2 dropped into the plaza like a meteor, the stone underneath her feet cracking in spiderwebs and a bit of dust flew out.
Across from her, the Archon readied his sword, armor gleaming silver, and long hair braided back in elegant patterns. His voice cut through the chaos:
"You dare… ugly thing. You dare land here and—"
She launched herself before the sentence ended. If it were Goku present at that time, he would've applauded her. Because she arched in the same manner he had done to a certain red- haired giant alien.
Her fist slammed into his solar plexus, armor ringing, driving him three steps back. He bent over, drooling as he tried to breathe.
Delta-2 sat there and watched, amused at such a sight.
"You damned elves, always trying looking down on those who you believe less beautiful. You'll see where that gets you."
Regaining a bit of air, he raised his blade, swiping up and nicking her shoulder. The heat burned deep. She clicked her teeth, not in pain, but recognition.
"Not useless after all," she muttered, rolling her neck. "Great . I like when these fights last."
The Archon, cherry-red, screamed and struck again, faster this time. Their clash became a chaotic rhythm of fists. Sparks lit the plaza as ki collided, every blow shaking the air. The ground quaked upon each clashing strike.
The elf feinted high, swept low, and carved a line across her thigh. The cloth material of her armor protected her. Though, the fabric did tear a bit
She grinned wider.
"Pretty little cut," she mocked. "But, it's not enough."
He snarled and poured power into his blade, aura flaring white-silver. He swung in an arc meant to cut her in half. Delta-2 stepped in, let the blade scrape across her armor, and took the wound just to be close enough to hurt him.
Her elbow smashed into his cheek and his bone cracked. He spat blood and reeled back in pain. She followed with a kick that broke his ribs with a sickening crunch.
Still, he didn't fall. He wheezed in a bit of air, aura spiking, and slammed both palms into her stomach, unleashing a beam point-blank.
The blast tore through the plaza, engulfing her in blinding light, throwing rubble into the sky.
For a moment, the elves watching cheered as they stood serval tens of meters away. "He's done it! The Archon Elrond—"
The smoke cleared.
To their disbelief again, Delta-2 stepped out, armor undamaged, but her skin was burned raw in places. She had the smile of predator on her face.
She spat blood onto the stone, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and laughed. "That was it? That was the best you can do? At this rate, I probably won't even be able to raise my power level by 1000 fighting you elves."
She blurred forward again, faster than before. Her knee came up into his ribs, which were already cracked, driving through them until something sharp tore inside him.
He gasped, face twisting.
Before he hit the ground, she palmed his chin and fired a shot under it.
The elves stared. Not one rushed to the fallen Archon. They froze in place with hollowed eyes of fear. Some covered their mouths, others clutched at each, hands over their children's faces. The silence was worse than screaming.
Then, slowly, the sound came… a tremor first, like wind through a hurricane. A hundred voices, rising thin, stretched past their breaking point.
"ARCHON! ARCHON!" they wailed, some in grief, others in rage, until everything was just screams.
A dozen beams erupted in unison. Delta-2 dropped through the light, body whipping into motion. She wove through the crowd like a snake: elbows crushing ribs, heels cracking skulls, fists smashing faces.
An elf screamed, but the sound got cut short short when Delta-2's palm flattened to his sternum and had a beam fired through it. The beam carved through him, blowing his spine into sparks, and continued on to hit the woman behind him.
Her chest opened, her clavicle evaporated, and she stumbled in circles with her hair on fire, clawing at a throat that was charred open.
The plaza dissolved into panic.
"They are demons!" someone screamed.
"No, gods of wrath!" another shouted back.
"They bleed like us!" cried one of the Archons who had survived the first exchange.
His face was slick with another's blood, his bow shaking but still raised. "Look! They bleed! They burn! They are not untouchable!"
Her voice carried over the chaos, loud, and desperate. "Citizens of Yllithar! Will you let these hideous beasts write their names over our spires? Or will you stand and fight?!"
A vibrant pink aura arose from beneath her feet and spread throughout the majority of the White City.
Touched by this aura, the crowd of elves resolve had swelled with a terrible sound. Women and men who had moments ago cowered now bared their teeth. Their beauty was cracked but not broken.
The Archon raised his hand, pointing at Delta-1 and Delta-2, who now floated above the carnage they'd caused.
"Archons, to me. Every blade and hand must be raised to the sky! Our world is not theirs to take. it is ours! Strike with me, and strike until your hearts burst!"
A wave of aura flared. Dozens, then hundreds of elves ignited with energy, the plaza was drowned in ethereal light. The bridges shook as more poured in from every quarter. Four Archons led from the front, faces twisted in fury, voices uniting into a single howl.
"FOR YLLITHAR! FOR BEAUTY! FOR THE GODS!"
The air became a storm of beams and blades, a whole civilization hurled itself at two Saiyans.
Delta-1 cracked his knuckles, floating beside Delta-2, tail loosening. A grin spread across his face.
"Finally," he said. "I was getting tired of that annoying chanting."
Delta-1 met the line head-on. He took one shot on the shoulder and drove forward anyway, lifting an elf by the jaw with a grip that cracked their molars.
He rag-dolled the body into the next elf and spiked it with two quick blasts mid-air. The corpse bloomed. Meat ripped. Bone turned to shrapnel and cut long pale bodies into red rags.
"Elites first," Delta-1 said, Reckoner painting targets. "Cull bracket at thirty or close to it. Prioritize signatures above fifteen thousand."
Delta-2's Reckoner answered with a soft chime.
HOSTILES: 15,327… 17,102… 21,884. 38,923. MARKED.
She smiled without warmth. "Let's get to work, Delta-1."
They moved in robotic sync.
There was nothing fancy about it. There weren't any speeches or special poses like certain low-level alien groups.
Delta-1 broke shields and bones with the same fluidity. He liked using the heel of his palm. It shattered jaws and kept his knuckles fresh. He kicked knees, drove thumbs into the soft triangle under the ear.
When a blade of light came for his ribs he let it take skin, then caught the thrower's forearm and tore it off at the elbow with a twist and a short rip of ki to help the joint go free. Blood came out in high, bright arcs. He threw the arm into its owner's face and shot through both.
Delta-2 preferred momentum. She punched through one man's stomach, grabbed his spine through the hole, and pulled him onto her as a shield for the three needle-beams that followed.
They punctured the back of his head into paste. She used his slack body to smash another elf off balance, then stomped his face until the stone under it cracked and the face was a print.
The plaza turned into a very wet place.
That was fine. Their white saiyan battle boots held. Made from a special material to not only stay attached to the foot, but also included liquid proof soles with amazing grip. Their breaths didn't hitch even once.
"Archons," Delta-2 said. His visor tagged three power spikes angling in from the high spires. "Looks like another volley of arrows incoming. Though, I wonder why the signature with 38k hasn't made a move yet."
The archons were too wrong for this planet. They were too fast and strong for their own people, and too proud. Their auras were heavy. The strongest signatures were below 30k with the closest strongest being at 29k hovered in the distance.
Oh, boy, were they were strong. But not strong enough to pose a threat to them. Except that one close to a power level of 39k.
The first Archon rolled a disc shield like a saw at Delta-2's neck. She ducked and caught its bottom edge with nothing but her palm. These were reflexes cut from years of training and experience. She threw the disc back at the Archon, only for him to dodge to the side. The speed and force being too much.
Taking that opening, Delta-2 punched through his chest bones and buried her hand in the archon's insides… up to the wrist.
He said something that sounded like a question. She didn't bother with the answer. What was the purpose? You are going to die anyways. Then, she forcibly tore down his torso and out and let him tumble open. His insides spilled out in a gory mess.
The second came for Delta-1 in a tight, straight dash. She didn't telegraph her attacks with yells or mantras.
Delta-1 let her eat the first elbow in the kidney, then gave a headbutt that opened a split from brow to hairline. The archon saw double for a blink. That was just enough though.
He filled that blink with a roundhouse kick to the jaw that sheared it off its hinges and left it hanging by meat. The archon choked on her own blood and tried to speak. She backed up in horror. Her magical energy desperately shot out at Delta-1 but he speared two fingers through his skull and ended the confrontation.
The third hung back and called up something big. A huge ball of energy hummed in the air. It sizzled and crackled with bursts of energy. The sea rose the edges of its coasts. The wind howled in crazy gusts, pulling in and at itself.
Delta-2 turned her head and spat onto the stone ground. "Bored."
She stamped her feet into the ground and burst upwards. A ring of pressure pushed out from her chest and kicked out in a circle.
The first three ranks of encircling elves went airborne like they were learning to fly the hard way. She followed the ring with a lattice of shots. A multitude of explosions sounded in quick succession. Each blast took an elf out. They were extremely explosive kills.
The third Archon barked a command, voice breaking on it.
Delta-1 angled in on him. The big trick came: the ball of magical energy had built up enough pressure and was released on Delta-1, an attack meant to hold and burn.
The energy back struck true. The force of the ball of energy was that of a 1 megaton nuke. The force of the collision blew everyone back. Many caught in its radius were either charred to a crisp or flung back by miles. Still slightly burned.
Delta-2 chewed her lip. The blast was very strong. Even she was flung back hundreds of meters. She couldn't help but use her Reckoner to gauge his life signature. The red visor displayed alien numbers: 38,257. She humphed to herself for thinking he'd actually die to an attack like that.
'He would only deserve death got being so weak to due from an attack like that,' Delta-2 chided herself. The worry was very un-Saiyan of her.
Though, not uncommon for Saiyans who'd been paired for over two thousand years. Still though, the cultural influences of their society battered down on her just a bit to feel guilty of such sentimentality.
Meanwhile, Delta-1 walked forward through the heat the blast that scorched and boiled the stone ground for a hundred meters in radius.
The white tiles of the plaza were blistered and melted under his boots, turning glassy where molten seams bled through.
Air bent around him, rippling with the aftershock of the elves' combined strike and his ever-increasing anger. Smoke curled off his shoulders.
His armor that was once black and seamless now hung in tatters, half-melted into his skin.
The carapace plates that protected his front and back torso sloughed away with every step, dripping like slag. His chest was bare now and his skin scorched raw and blistered, patches of muscle shone red and raw where the skin had been seared off.
One must know, a saiyan of his caliber could shrug off the strikes of ballistic missiles with no apparent injuries. However, now, one must see just how incredibly powerful that ever back truly was.
Delta-1 didn't limp. Nor did he stagger. His breaths were heavier though, each exhale steamed the air in front of his face.
Delta-2 hung back, observing his injuries with envy in her eyes. With her PL being about five thousand less than his, her PL would've definitely gone up by at least two thousand after sustaining such an injury. Though, it wasn't enough to equate as a near-death injury. So, it wouldn't be as tho she would get a 30% increase. She looked on.
An elf in the distance whispered, voice trembling and pointing at Delta-1: "Look… he's burned! We can strike—"
And it was true. Dark blood trickled from cuts across his arms and side. His lip was split and his left brow was cut by shrapnel. He looked less like a god and more like a demon dragged out of a pit, all raw and ready to murder.
But more than pain, more than the smoke or the stink of cooked flesh, there was the fire in his eyes. His face twisted, jaw tight, fangs bared. His aura coiled close to his body, flickering blue-white, and burning hotter with every step.
He wasn't beaten. If anything, he was angry. How dare such a puny civilization bear its tiny fangs at an elephant.
Delta-1 tilted his head back, spitting blood into the distance. His voice carried a low and unsettling weight to it.
"You think your efforts can defeat me? The Saiyan Imperium? All you've done—" he raised his hand, ki blazing in fury, lighting the plaza in sick azure light, "—IS PISS ME OFF."
The elves shuffled back, their courage shriveling as the ground under him hissed with each step. He looked like a corpse still walking, flesh cooked, armor gone, and yet he advanced—not weaker, but sharper, angrier, more dangerous than before.
The Archon looked down at him, aura blazing silver-blue, hair fluttering in the wind like their beautiful silk banners. His voice cracked but carried, straining to sound like authority in front of his people instead of a scared wuss.
"Monster! Yllithar will not bow to carrion the likes of you. This is our city. And our light will—"
Delta-1's fist silenced him. It slammed into his left cheek with a crack that rang through the plaza. The Archon's shield of invisible magical energy shattered like glass under the force of his punch. The force was enough to push him back several tens of meters.
Delta-1 didn't stop. He grabbed the Archon by the throat, lifted him higher in the sky, and rocketed into the air, dragging him like a ragdoll.
At a three hundred meters up, Delta-1's aura flared brighter, hotter, his burned chest heaving with each furious breath.
"Your people…" he snarled into the elf's face, every word was filled with rage. Why couldn't they just yield? He slammed his fight into his right cheek which gave another crunch. The Archon wheezed in pain, spitting blood across Delta-1's shoulder, trying to form words.
"Even… so… you… can't… kill us all—"
Another blow shut him up, Delta-1's just crashed into his ribs. His bone snapped audibly, a dent in the shape of his first formed. He punched again. And again. Each strike cracked something new: nose caving, eye swelling shut, cheek split open until the elf's once-perfect features were a ruined beyond recognition.
Delta-1's tail was unwound from his waist and was whipping wildly around. He roared, voice raw in rage.
"I don't give a damn about your people. My duty is to the Saiyan race. So, silence yourself about what I can and can't do!"
He hammered another fist into the elf's gut, folding him in half mid-air, which then spiked him downward. The Archon's body slammed into the plaza below, stone erupting in a shockwave, leaving a crater ringed with broken tiles and screaming elves in the distance.
Delta-1 raised his voice to the max, so that everyone in the White City could hear him.
"Right now, I don't care about the Imperium's rules. I don't care about the Doctrine. I'm going to destroy this whole city."
He raised his palm in the air. Blue ki gathered, brighter and brighter, swelling until it became a blazing orb of huge proportions. It was akin to a white dwarf star in his hand. Arcs of plasma and heat waves surged from it.
They finally silenced. And it wasn't from pity. But understanding that the shape above their heads will erase their entire existence and nothing can stop it.
"Hey, Delta-1."
Delta-2's voice cut across the plaza, calm and flat. This is the tone they use when things are official and they are not familiar with each other. She flicked her wrist, and gore and blood flew from her knuckles. The blood slipping off her skin looked casual.
"Quit acting like some mindless beast. We've got a mission to complete, not a damn genocide to explain."
He growled, shoulders rising, chest heaving like bellows.
"I want to eradicate this entire world. Every single one of these pale-faced fucks."
Delta-2 stepped closer, her eyes hard as she stared up at him.
"Them deserving it or not doesn't matter. What matters is the Doctrine. Seventy live, thirty die. That's it. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you want High-Lord Targen's foot up your ass? You know how he feels about us low-born anyways. Pretty sure Primarch Berron won't appreciate you destroying a top-notch seedling planet within his sector."
The orb shook unstable above his palm. His lips peeled back in a snarl, breath hissing. For a moment the elves believed they were already dead and that there was no changing his mind.
Then, with a roar, Delta-1 clenched his other hand shut. The giant orb collapsed back into the palm of his hand with a violent suction. The heat died.
He spat blood into the wind and glared at the elves who trembled below him.
"Count yourselves saved. You're lucky the Imperium held me back," he says, slowly floating down to the destroyed land.
Delta-2 smirked and patted him hard on the back, her boots crunching over shards of white glass. He snarled in pain, knowing she did that on purpose.
"Good, boy."
"Let's finish the bracket," Delta-1 said.
And with that, they slaughtered the rest of the high profile targets methodically with no wasted movement. They weren't even blurs in the eyes of the elves. The Saiyan pair moved too swiftly for their eyes to see.
Any who ran with power above the targeted level got chased and dropped.
When the Reckoners chimed and the numbers rapidly changing, there were still screams, but fewer. The plaza had the quiet of a place that remembers noise.
"Cull complete: 29.6%." Delta-1 read it from his visor. "We're within tolerance levels."
"What about their crown?" Delta-2 asked.
"Absent," Delta-1 said, scanning the spire balconies. "Or dead. They probably hid themselves, thinking we won't know where they are. The one with PL 38k on the that island has to be it."
They went looking for some sort of priest or any one of power to tell them.
The air inside the last room stank of fear. It was located in what Delta-1 said looks like a place of worship.
When Delta-2 punched the door inward, the sound of shearing steel echoed like a scream, and the elves inside froze. These weren't warriors. They didn't wear armor, carry weapons, nor did they even have the lean arrogance of the Archons.
These were civilians; administrators clutched stone tablets of light, healers in pale linen, choir singers whose voices had gone mute with terror. They were a pretty and quite fragile people, huddled against the walls as if the stone could shield them.
At the back, on a raised platform, stood one who still pretended at dignity. Robes in purple layers across his shoulders, rings of diamond and gold shone like stars on his fingers. His face was pale as carved marble, but his bent at the back, just a little to show how terrified he really was.
Posture was the last thing he forgot.
Delta-2 pointed at him with casual cruelty.
"Name."
The elf's throat worked once before he spoke. "I am Seralyon. High Priest of the Eternal Crown of Yllithar."
Delta-1 stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the raised platform. His voice came low and guttural. "You'll lead us to your royalty."
The room erupted in whispers and gasps, voices overlapping in panic.
"Our queen is sacred!"
"She is far, beyond the western sea—"
"She will never kneel!"
"You Saiyans will rue the day your Empire falls."
Delta-2 silenced them with one annoyed glance. "Your Archons are dust. Sacred or not, your queen will kneel. If she refuses, we'll kill her and crown a new royalty."
Seralyon flinched, but he did not look away. His voice trembled, yet he forced it forward. "If she bows, the people will bow. If she resists… we are all dead. I will take you to her. She already knows of your presence."
Delta-1's grin was ugly, teeth bared in happy dominance.
At the White City, the elves clung to the railings of their spires, watching their last hope vanish toward the far side of the world.
***
Their bodies streaked across ocean, leaving contrails that blazed against twin suns. The priest wasn't in a good spot. He screamed along the whole flight. Delta-1 held him by his robes.
Delta-1 cruising, still in his scorched armor, grunted. "It's almost a shame."
Delta-2 raised a brow. "What is?"
"The city," he said after a beat. "The way it shines. It's almost like it knows it's the prettiest thing on this pale rock." He snorted, shaking his head. "We Saiyans don't build like this. Hell, we don't need to. But I can see why they love it."
Delta-2 let out a soft laugh, something rare and sharp. "I didn't think you noticed pretty things."
He shot her a sidelong glance, smirk tugging at his scarred lips. "I noticed you, didn't I?"
Delta-2 clicked her tongue, but her eyes flicked sideways, betraying a hint of warmth she didn't mean to give. "Tch. Don't flatter yourself."
For a moment, her own voice faltered. The words had an edge, but softer, almost reverent. Her cheeks flushed with the faintest shade, quickly hidden behind the hard line of her mouth.
Delta-1 barked a low laugh, sharp but knowing. "Blushing are you? That's not very Saiyan of you."
Her eyes narrowed instantly, tail snapping against her hip. "Say another word and I'll put your teeth through the back of your skull."
But she didn't deny it.
"Still, this island is remarkably ethereal. I could feel an energy in the air."
The High Priest, Seralyon, dangling from Delta-1's grip, lifted his head to Delta-2 with his index finger up.
"You see the gold and white bridges and towers," he said, eyes fixed on the perfect city. "But beneath the beauty and grandeur are graves. Millions. Our people once numbered in the billions, but pride killed us. A civil war broke out thousands of years past. Brother against brother, sister against sister. All led by our Archons. We burned half our world to ash and left ourselves a shadow. What you see now… this jewel…" His hand trembled as he gestured toward the alabaster towers glimmering with pearls and many gems. Even the air shimmered a pink hue. "…is all that remains of what we were."
Delta-1 grunted, unimpressed. "So you culled your own numbers down before we even arrived."
Seralyon did not flinch. "We believed the beautiful were meant to rule. So we slaughtered the ones who did not fit. Entire bloodlines were erased in the era. When it ended, only a few tens of millions remained. We rebuilt everything with trembling hands, polishing every stone, knitting every banner, pretending perfection could cover the scars. And for a time, it did. We were once beautiful and mighty. Even after our gods left us."
Delta-2 studied him, her expression unreadable. "And now?"
The priest lowered his eyes. "Now it ends again. Not by our hand, but yours."
For a long moment, silence hung in the cradle. Only the wind, only the thunder of waterfalls ahead.
Delta-1 looked back at the city, lips curling. "No. It doesn't end. Your world is just changing owners."
Delta-2 smirked faintly. "And by the look of it, the queen knows that already."
At its heart, behind gates of pearl and walls carved with scenes of triumph, waited the queen. Soon, they passed royal guards and entered the throne room.
***
Upon laying eyes on the queen's ethereal elf face and the soft pink blush creeping across her nose and under those azure blue eyes from the throne room's roaring fire, Delta-1 couldn't look away.
He stared hard at the piercing blue windows to her soul, the straightness of her long golden hair cascading down to her calves like a shiny waterfall streaking into pink tips at the ends, and those sharp elven ears sticking out from the sides of her head; all before his gaze dropped to the massive fucking rack hanging off her 8-foot frame.
That "armor" was some next-level elven seductive shit: ornate gold-trimmed plates of lightweight unknown metal, etched with glowing pink runes that hugged her curves, but it barely qualified as coverage.
The top was a low-cut corset-style breastplate that crushed her tits upward into displaying obscene cleavage.
Her tits were goddamn monsters, bloated with fat like overfilled water balloons extending out over 15 inches from her chest.
Each one was huge enough to swallow her head whole a few times over (that's 80 inches of upper-boob for L-cups or bigger). They were just sloppy, slightly sweat-slicked bags of pale, milky titmeat that looked more like fat teardrops ready to burst than normal boobs.
Even with all that heft, they wouldn't flop all the way to her gut without the golden metal cups holding them. Not that that it mattered much on her giant ass body; those jiggling tit monsters still tried to steal the show.
But hell, they put up a hell of a fight and Delta-1 tried his hardest to look away. Forget the overly-plumped melon-sized globs or how they'd squish like dough under his palms. Each one had a fat, pink areola slapped on the front, all bumpy with little milk holes that screamed "stuff me full of cum and watch me leak."
Below that, the plates tapered to a wide belt around her waist, leaving her toned belly fully exposed, all creamy and alluring, before flaring into hip guards that framed her breedable wide hips without hiding nothing.
Her lower half fared no better for modesty either. Thigh-high greaves of that same flexible metal wrapped her tree-trunk legs like slutty stockings, the tops riding high enough to expose the crease where thigh met crotch, with cutouts that let her perfect skin free of blemishes breathe.
A tiny codpiece-style thong plate barely shielded her fat, bare mound, the front a polished golden shell that molded to her puffy lips like it was painted on, red-flushed edges of her inner thighs visible on either side. There was an intricate rune or tattoo, Delta-1 didn't care which, below the navel of her belly button that was reminiscent of a tramp-stamp.
Behind her thighs, her planet-sized ass cheeks bulged out uncovered, even as she sat, the armor's back was just a harness of straps that disappeared into her crack, leaving those wobbling globes free to bounce and beg for a slap.
The whole getup shimmered in the firelight, sweat from the heat making the metal slick and her pale skin glisten, turning the "protection" into pure cocktease bait that hid jack while making her look like a goddess built for breeding.
Looming close by like a pissed-off beast, Delta-1's Saiyan bulk was dwarfed by her frame. Those black eyes locked on like a hunter, spiky black hair shooting up wildly against the fancy elf banners and gold crap, tail whipping behind his burnt body. Even while burnt, one could see the slabs of muscle that crushed armies, and civilizations, every flex displayed raw power in this prissy throne room.
Right then, he swore he'd rip that teasing elven scrap off Illyana's jiggling slut-body and ravage every inch raw if he could.
But duty calls and that comes first.
The queen broke the silence first, her voice rich and commanding and unwavering despite the weight of her surrender.
"I did not raise arms against you, lords of the void. Not from fear of death, but from the certainty of inevitability. You are a storm, consuming all in your wake. For a thousand years, I have ruled this world. I've seen the ending of a war that erased entire peoples, yet none rival your ferocity. To challenge you would yield not just my form, but the soul of my kingdom. Thus, I chose patience."
She tilted her regal head, baring the smooth, pale column of her throat to the torchlight, her golden hair spilling down to her calves in shimmering waves, streaked with tropical green and blue at the tips, framing her pointed elven ears like a crown of sunlight.
"I am Queen Illyana of Yllithar. If my submission preserves my people, then so be it. I offer it freely."
With the grace of a descending star, she lowered herself, thighs folding against her calves, the massive, boulder-like curves of her backside sinking to rest on her heels.
The priests stifled sobs of grief, her royal guards gripped their weapons in defiance, wanting to pull her her up. These proud elves crumbled under the sight of their queen's submission to the enemy.
Delta-1 stepped forward, his smaller shadow swallowing her lush figure.
"This is how it ought to be. All the races kneeling before the might of the Imperium. This pleases me very much."
Illyana's azure eyes snapped up, twin glaciers blazing with regal defiance. "Heed the burden of my act. In yielding, I bind my entire realm to your will. This is no weakness, but a gambit. A wager to preserve what I cherish."
Delta-2 smirked from the sidelines, her grin belying the good mood she's in. "She's no empty-headed sow. Much better than the last Royal we conquered."
Delta-1 leaned closer, his rough knuckles brushing under her chin as he tilted her face up to meet his hungry stare.
His eyes raked over her full lips, then dropped to the heaving swell of her barely-contained tits, the mythril creaking as her chest rose, a bead of sweat trickling down into that endless cleavage.
For a moment, the room paused. But all breaths released when he spoke.
"You're ours now. Imperium Law wills it. Your world is yours to rule. But know this, the Saiyan Imperium are the true owners. All we ask is to share your knowledge with us and to serve capable fighters to join our ranks. We in turn will gift your world some knowledge and technologies to help you progress."
Delta-2 chimes in with a bit of a snarky attitude.
"Lastly, might I add, you are no Royalty in front of us. A new title will be given unto you. Arch-Regent. Your people may refer to you as Queen, but know your place, worm."
The Queen's head dropped lower, voice trembling. "It is… sealed."
Delta-1 grabbed Illyana's right hand, and with a lot of concentration, imbued the House of Ribes sigil into her flesh. The stench of burnt skin filled the air. When her gaze fell upon the back of her hand, she saw a cluster of fruit with a sword in the middle. And a tail encircling both. It's a simple House Sigil of Low House.
Illyana's gaze didn't waver, her voluptuous frame steady as a statue, her globular buttocks still planted firmly on her heels, thighs quivering slightly from the strain.
Delta-2 flexed his scorched hand, the mark oozing red. "Show that when they ask who descended unto your world."
Illyana rose with deliberate grace, her massive curves swaying as she stood, the armor barely holding her tits and hips in check.
Her eyes locked on them, cold as winter seas but burning with unspoken fire. "Then may the gods of old grant me strength to uphold this vow without falter. For if I stumble, know my wrath will shake the heavens before you claim your due."
Delta-1's grin was all teeth, a flicker of respect in his dark eyes. "Keep that fire. We Saiyan's love a good fight."
They walked out into the heat again. The plaza ran slick. Stones had turned to black glass where blasts had been too hot. The spires leaned like teeth under a fist. The screams had gone down to a numbing silence. Only the wind is heard.
Delta-2 clicked her tongue and squinted at the sun. "I hate this light," she said, as if the suns had offended her personally. Sweat traced clean lines through the dust on her cheek. She didn't wipe it. "Something's off about it."
"Ha, I knew I wasn't going crazy. But, orbital dropship will descend in twenty," Delta-1 said.
"Good," Delta-2 said. She rolled her shoulders, a slow grind. "I'm hungry."
They found their pods in the marshy area landed at. The black hulls woke when they touched the plates. The House crest looked dull and unfriendly against the sand. The guidance spirit slid into their Reckoners like a cold hand.
"Ribes-Red Pair," the voice said. "Pacification report received. Cull ratio: 29.6%. Arch-Regent Illyana registered. Tribute schedule provisional. Extraction vector ready."
"Launch," Delta-1 said.
They rose on the rail, sand falling in curtains off the cradle. The White City got small in a hurry. The bodies didn't. From altitude, the pattern was obvious: it was a slaughter fest. Most of the city was littered with bodies. The numbers were not to be calculated.
Delta-2 looked once and looked away. "We did our job," she said through her pod's communication system. In their language that meant "we were efficient".
Delta-1 knocked his helmet twice with his knuckles. "We did what the doctrine says," he said.
She grunted. "That's the same thing, asshole."
The seed-lances (space pods) hit the sky. The sun and ringed planet flattened into coins and slid behind the edge of view.
"Trajectory locked," the guidance spirit (AI) said. "Berron Sector, 32."
Delta-2 settled back, eyes half-closed under the visor, the corners of her mouth still twitching with leftover fight. "When our boy decants," she said, "we will teach him what it truly means to be a Saiyan: To fight and become the strongest. So that we may never be slaves again."
"We teach him to finish kills clean," Delta-1 agreed. "And to count."
"Hell, he'll enjoy it," Delta-2 said, and smiled only then, it was small. Delta-1 didn't respond. He yawned and let the sleep take over.
And still, galaxy moved on.