The houses burned with fire and smoke.
Boom!
Rat-tat-tat!
"Help me!"
"No—don't kill me!"
"Fight them to the end!"
"Marley will never fall! Just as she once defeated Eldia, she will rise again!"
...
Gunfire, explosions, shouting—their sounds tangled together, merging into the only melody that filled the night.
At this moment, in Liberio, in Marley, in the Middle Eastern Coalition, across the entire world—the Empire's cleansing operations had reached their peak. Bursts of gunfire and the barked orders of soldiers overlapped in a chaotic, blood-soaked symphony.
Thud-thud-thud—
Imperial soldiers of the Sacred Selene Empire pulled back their bolts without hesitation, chambering cold bullets and unleashing scorching streams of laser fire. Their steel boots hammered against concrete, cobblestone, and wood alike—steady, rhythmic, and merciless. It was a brutal symphony, one titled "The Purge."
Squad after squad, under the command of their officers, moved like packs of wolves and tigers. Guided by tactical terminals listing confirmed non-cooperators, they carried out arrests and executions one by one.
You either cooperated and were given dignity—or you resisted and were executed without mercy. There was no middle ground.
"What are you doing—? Aaaah!"
With repeated crashes, doors were kicked open from the outside, and fully armed killing machines stormed into noble estates already blazing like bonfires.
"Search every room! Sweep every corner! Finish your work before the Governor arrives! No explanations! No mercy! All who refuse Imperial law are enemies of the Empire!"
A young boy led his little sister by the hand, fleeing through a secret passageway under the desperate protection of their parents' servants. Behind them, the orange glow of laser fire seared through stone and wood. The beams cut through the night, red and blinding beneath the blood-colored sky.
Whether from the choking stench of gunpowder and smoke, or from their tender age and undeveloped lungs, the siblings soon began to cough violently as they ran.
Soot clung to their faces, and their once-elegant clothes were now stained and scorched. The little girl turned back timidly, wanting to call for her parents, but the world around her had become strange and unfamiliar.
The next moment, a gunshot rang out.
Her brother—who had just crouched to pull her into an alley—screamed and fell, crimson spreading across his shirt.
A Servant Army officer, patrolling with his guards to seal off the area, spotted the fleeing pair.
"Identity confirmed… subjects marked for cleansing—son and daughter of Marleyan Vice Speaker Randall Jonah."
His mechanical voice echoed as he turned his head toward the trembling girl. Then, without hesitation, he raised his weapon, the muzzle cold and steady.
A sharp crack split the air. The little girl's fragile body jolted backward under the recoil, collapsing softly into the dark corner of the wall.
"Bastards! You animals! You'll all burn in hell! I'll—"
The boy's words choked off mid-curse as another shot rang out. His body convulsed, his face frozen in that final, twisted expression of hatred. The bullet had torn through his skull, painting the ground with a burst of blood and bone.
There was no pity, no compassion. But neither was there cruelty born of hatred—the officer's expression never wavered.
Just another number to be erased.
Task completed.
Nothing more.
Perhaps the conscripts drawn from colonial worlds had once felt pity during their first battles, a flicker of humanity that made their fingers tremble on the trigger.
But the veterans—those forged by endless years of war—had long since sealed away what little softness remained in their hearts.
It could still be used—but not here.
"Leon."
As the officer passed a stunned young soldier, he placed a firm hand on the youth's shoulder.
"Compassion is a good thing. An Imperial soldier shouldn't be a mindless killing machine. But don't misuse that compassion. Letting them go—that's the true crime. How can you be sure their hatred for the Empire will fade with time? I don't want guesses, assumptions, or your so-called judgment. I want certainty. Absolute answers."
"Remember this. Don't let it happen again."
"I… yes, sir." The handsome young recruit's lips parted as if to protest, but in the end, he lowered his head in shame.
"Come on, move it!"
A group of veterans laughed, pulling the still-hesitant recruit along by the neck. "Leon, kid, you've been doing fine so far. Top scores in your enlistment exams, too. What, your knees go soft every time the target's under one-sixty in height? Ridiculous."
"Yeah, seriously—what good does it do you to let them go? You think they'll thank you? When they grow up and carry out a terrorist attack that kills civilians, you going to take responsibility for that?"
"Cut that nonsense out, or it'll bite you one day! Worst case, you'll drag us all down with you! On a high-intensity battlefield, how can we trust you to guard our backs like that?!"
"The mission must be completed without exception, Leon. Don't start acting up again."
"The next name on the list—Marleyan Army Marshal Theo Magath's residence…"
...
This was a glimpse from Selene's vision within the Honkai Dimension.
From a near-orbital perspective, she watched from the macro level. After reviewing the latest performance reports from Durandal, Raiden Mei, and others, she had, almost unconsciously, during a brief moment of leisure between state affairs, turned her gaze toward Kiana.
Hmm… Selene could see it clearly.
The intensity of this conquest was, indeed, low enough.
Though the fate of those listed on the Empire's purge registers—those nobles and families—seemed utterly tragic, enough to draw tears from an onlooker, in the grand scheme of things… it wasn't so bad.
Kiana's governing philosophy, in essence, could be summarized as: better one family weeping than an entire street; better the ministers cry than the common folk.
Even if the Imperial troops carried out their orders with a level of brutality far beyond her intentions, there was progress nonetheless.
In fact, Selene had even quietly infiltrated Kiana's personal administrative terminal, curiously browsing through her drafted reforms and proposed governance adjustments.
"Eh… Eren Yeager was killed by me? When did that happen?"
Selene paused, blinking in surprise at the report.
She genuinely hadn't known.
Would the sun care about the creatures that die from basking too long under its rays?
"This is… honestly disappointing."
Her consciousness solidified upon the sands of that higher plane as she muttered, squinting thoughtfully and resting her chin in one hand. "Seriously, what a waste. I came here to take a little vacation—to relax, have a bit of fun—and the most entertaining part just up and vanished."
And she had been the one to make it vanish.
Selene sighed, losing some of her amusement as she lifted her gaze toward the heavens.
The realm known as the Paths.
Around her stretched an endless desert beneath a starlit sky. The only anomaly was the massive central pillar of light, its countless branches splitting outward—now faintly tainted.
Veins of violet-red Honkai energy traced along the colossal structure like parasitic toxins, seeping into the "Tree of Light" formed by the collective consciousness of all Eldians—and spreading fast.
The purple glow in the sky grew richer, denser, like the spiritual network connecting every Eldian to the Founding Power—and through it, the Founding Power influencing them all in turn.
Even now, corrupted by Honkai energy, the Paths persisted.
Around the pillar stood countless colossal humanoid sand sculptures—ordinary Titans three to fifteen meters tall, and even super-sized ones fifty to seventy meters in height, everywhere she looked.
At the far edge of the sand sea, more and more were being built.
"Ymir."
Not Ymir Fritz—just Ymir.
She appeared to be no older than twelve—golden hair falling smoothly over her shoulders, rough linen clothes hanging loosely from her small frame. Her features were fine, but her eyes were empty and lifeless. She moved mechanically, endlessly filling a wooden bucket with sand, shaping it into the form of yet another Titan.
A hollow shell without a soul—or perhaps, a puppet with a hollow heart.
Even as Selene approached and stood behind her, the girl continued working—bending low, carefully but numbly shaping the feet and foundation of a new sand Titan.
"So that's how it is… This is the true nature of the Power of the Titans."
Whenever an Eldian transformed into a Titan in the real world, Ymir would, in this timeless realm, build a sand body for them—sending it through the connecting Path. That was the origin of the Titan's sudden, seemingly spontaneous appearance.
This world was both real and unreal. Time did not exist here, yet it connected past and future alike—any point in reality could be reached from within this realm.
In short, Ymir's consciousness had never vanished with her body. It had lingered here—in this high-dimensional space known as the Paths.
Whether this dimension was formed from Ymir's own inner world or from her fusion with that mysterious, grotesque being—the so-called "source of life"—no one could say. Perhaps that creature was a remnant of the primordial higher dimensions, and by sheer coincidence, Ymir's emotions had bound it to her, giving birth to this realm.
Selene didn't care. Because now, it belonged to her.
"Your duty ends here, Ymir—the origin of Titan power. The Fritz royal line is finished. I am now the new sovereign of the Eldians. And so, I grant you the right to choose your own fate: freedom… or loyalty to me."
Hmm? No reaction? What is it she desires?
Leaning down slightly, Selene's fingers—wrapped in a faint purple-red radiance—gently brushed Ymir's thin, fragile shoulder. Her gaze met the girl's hollow eyes—eyes that had been drained of life by two thousand years of solitude and endless repetition.
"Or perhaps," Selene murmured softly, "I could grant you a new life. Be reborn, live the life you once longed for—a life where you are truly loved."
After a long pause, Selene's patience began to wane.
Diplomacy had never been her strong suit. Persuasion through reason was someone else's art. She was better at persuasion by promise—or by power.
With a sigh, she extended her hand. At her fingertip, the black, star-like fragment of annihilation began to collapse silently—its gravitational core swallowing light. The spark of void flared briefly as she twisted the imaginary into reality.
So she's shutting down? Fine. I've played the merciful part. If she won't respond, then I'll just… use force.
"Really?"
A soft, hesitant voice echoed beside her ear—fragile, childlike, as if the speaker was still learning to use it. Selene turned slightly. The tone was timid, stuttering… but alive.
Fitting, she thought. As a slave, Ymir had long since lost her tongue—cut out by her masters. Even after becoming an eternal consciousness within this dimension, she had never restored it herself. Selene had done that for her.
For the first time, Ymir raised her head. On that small, delicate face, Selene saw the unmistakable blend of deep, searing hatred—and a faint, well-hidden, yet indelible trace of love.
"You… you would let me start over? To live the life I once dreamed of?"
Ymir's newly brightened eyes looked up fearfully at the figure before her—this splendidly dressed, impossibly regal woman, whose mere presence was far more terrible than the first King Fritz, her husband and master—the true "Devil of All Earth."
"Yes," Selene said with a nod.
She extended her hand and touched Ymir's forehead. Ripples of light spread outward.
The royal bloodline's ancient shackles shattered—erased by Selene's will. But… why did the Power of the Titans still remain?
Ymir's body trembled as she dropped the sand-filled bucket, staring at her hands in disbelief.
"The power of the Titans," Selene said calmly, "still has its purpose. You, however… are free now."
The word freedom lingered on Selene's lips—but she swallowed it. Freedom? No. It was merely a transfer of ownership—from the shackles of the Fritz royal line to her own dominion of Honkai authority.
To deceive such a pitiful slave girl, even for someone as shameless as Selene, felt a little too cruel. Better, perhaps, to grant her release.
"Preserve your memories—or perhaps…"
With a detached motion, Selene turned her palm toward the empty void. With a flick of her wrist, she opened a passage from this higher-dimensional realm back into the physical universe.
"No. I choose not to preserve my memories." Ymir's voice trembled, but her eyes held a spark of hope as she looked up at Selene.
"Very well. When your new life reaches its end, your memories will return. My word is law."
Selene moved her fingers slightly. Ymir gave one last glance back, bowed faintly, then stepped forward—vanishing completely from the higher dimension.
"Phew… I didn't expect to gain something like this. It seems I should take strolls like this more often."
Selene looked up. Above the coordinate space hung countless stars—glimmering, beautiful, all linked by the Paths. Through their shifting trajectories, she could see the hosts of the Intelligent Titans, the mindless Titans, every Eldian throughout the physical world.
"The Founding Power… a built-in Path. To channel and enhance it through Honkai energy—another potential recruitment world, isn't it? Oh, and only among the Eldians… well, then we can't let them destroy that potential."
"I wonder," she mused aloud, a faint smile curving her lips, "how our adorable Governor will handle it once I designate this as a conscription world…"
As her words faded, Selene's form—woven from starlight, threaded with the glow of suns, and shaped by the projection of Honkai itself—dissolved into motes of light. The fragments swirled like dancing fireflies before fading into the depths of the higher dimension.
Only the towering pillar of light remained, its surface etched with intricate violet-red veins—lines of energy pulsing and alive.
Zzzzt—
—
—
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