Meanwhile, returning to the moment the flagship was destroyed as Matthew Thomas and his team launched themselves into the core of the enemy ship’s red energy ring.Earth Orbit, at Ground Zero of the Collision.Mach 500 tore through the laws of physics. Inside the flagship's control chamber, there was no longer any sound. The friction of cosmic particles had melted the vessel’s outer shielding, transforming the steel hull into a white-hot plasma projectile.Matthew Thomas gripped the main propulsion lever. His body was breaking apart. His muscles were tearing under G-force pressure impossible for human anatomy to endure. Fresh blood burst from his nose, ears, and skin pores, instantly evaporating as the cabin temperature skyrocketed.[CRITICAL WARNING!][200% SYNCHRONIZATION EXCEEDS BIOLOGICAL LIMITS.][HOST NERVOUS SYSTEM 94% INCINERATED.][BRAIN DEATH IN 0.003 SECONDS.]“System... override the damage!”

The air inside the throne chamber of Aetheria did not feel like oxygen. It felt like microscopic shards of glass slicing through the walls of his lungs every time he breathed.Matthew Thomas knelt upon a floor that was not made of stone or marble but woven from solid light pulsing in rhythm with the cosmic heartbeat of this planet.Beneath the transparent surface, miniature galaxies were born and died within seconds, radiating a deep blue glow so brilliant it burned the eyes.There were no walls in this chamber, only colossal pillars of energy stretching thousands of meters upward, supporting an endless dome where unfamiliar constellations gazed down upon him like the judgmental eyes of ancient gods.The agony tearing through Matthew’s body was no longer mere physical pain but molecular disintegration. Using the Alpha-Level Reality Destroyer on Earth had drained every last stem cell from the marrow of his bones. Across the corner of his vision, the ARC System interface flickered viole

The private observation chamber of the Aetherian royal palace felt silent, cold, and oppressive. One side of the room had no wall at all, only a fully transparent glass panel stretching a hundred meters high, overlooking a violet and gold nebula storm raging through outer space.At the center of the sterile yet magnificent chamber, Matthew sat forcibly restrained in an anti-gravity suspension chair. His legs had gone completely numb, his neural networks deadened by the systemic poison of the ARC system that continued devouring his body from within.Standing before the colossal window was Crown Princess Seraphina, her back turned toward Matthew Thomas. Her silhouette radiated an intimidating elegance. When she slowly turned around, Matthew had to admit to himself that this alien woman surpassed the very definition of human beauty.Her face was sharp and sculpted like an ancient war goddess, her pale skin nearly luminous, her silver hair flowing flawlessly without a single imperfection.

The Genesis Reactor Chamber was not located on the surface. It was embedded deep within the core of planet Aetheria itself. This was not a place meant for living beings.The heat generated by the reactor’s central pillar rivaled the fusion corona of a star, restrained only by layers of quantum force fields that rippled through the air like waves of liquid glass.At the center of that artificial hell, atop a rectangular altar carved from pure crystal that could not melt, Matthew Thomas lay bound on his back.His wrists, ankles, and neck were locked in restraints of solidified energy that chained his physical body in place, preventing it from exploding apart in every direction.Matthew’s biological condition had already reached its absolute limit. His skin was deathly pale, cold as a corpse, while the veins along his neck and arms had blackened severely from systemic toxins.His eyes were wide open. His breathing had diminished into shallow gasps. Behind the quantum bulletproof observat

A raging storm battered the thick glass windows on the eightieth floor of Archon Global Tower in New York City. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the executive conference room dominated by a twelve-meter-long black marble table.At the head of the table sat Viviane Lane in silence. Her beautiful, maternal face had frozen into porcelain. The sharply tailored black dress she wore radiated pure authority.Hidden beneath the table, out of sight from everyone else, her hand tightly gripped a silver wedding ring, Matthew Thomas’s ring, her husband’s.Around the table sat five men in expensive suits, their postures rigid with tension. They were Archon’s senior executives, the remnants of Julian Vance’s shadow.“This is ridiculous, Mrs. Thomas,” Marcus Thorne said, breaking the silence. The man in his fifties, with neatly combed gray hair, leaned forward slightly.“It has been over fourteen days since your husband disappeared after the incident on that ocean platform. Archon’s stock is