Why did he suddenly lose his temper—and in front of Gilgamesh, no less?
Charles really did have guts.
But his courage shattered instantly beneath a scarlet beam.
The blazing red light swept across the metal floor, carving a deep trench beneath the goblin's feet. Molten metal hissed as it dripped and steamed on the ground.
Scorpio Milo lowered her raised index finger. A dangerous look surfaced on her beautiful face beneath her long, reddish-brown hair.
"You green-skinned goblin over there. In front of the adults, keep your temper in check. Otherwise… things won't end well for anyone."
She had only meant to warn him—not threaten him—but Charles clearly took it the wrong way. His wrinkled face twisted in terror, and he nearly collapsed.
The exhibition hall's metal flooring was made from the highest-grade synthetic alloy available in Xandar—heat-resistant and practically indestructible. Yet it melted from a single finger?
If that beam had touched him, he'd already be ash.
"S-Sir! Please… please forgive my mistake!"
With death staring him down, anger was the last thing on his mind. He bowed deeply, his entire body trembling.
Gilgamesh looked down at him. Normally, he would have broken this goblin's bones one by one, but since Milo had already vented his irritation for him, pressing the matter further would feel petty.
"I'm designing a fleet. Besides top-tier configuration, it needs the most magnificent appearance possible—completely gold. Firepower must be sufficient as well. Can you manage it?"
Charles trembled. He didn't dare even imagine refusing.
"Rest assured, sir. I helped design the Nova Legion fleet. I promise I can create something that satisfies you!"
Seeing the confidence in his voice, Gilgamesh nodded, reached out, and tapped the goblin lightly on the forehead. In an instant, a massive stream of data surged into Charles's mind.
The sudden download made him dizzy. His legs nearly gave out, and he would have collapsed if the guide beside him hadn't held him up.
"Th-This is…"
As he parsed the incoming data, his cloudy eyes widened in disbelief.
These were the Nova Empire's top-level ship specifications—weapon systems, engine frameworks, material formulas, manufacturing protocols… everything.
This was the Empire's highest-level classified information. Any planet possessing these blueprints could leapfrog into becoming a superpower on par with the Nova Empire itself.
"Who… who are you people…?"
His voice shook uncontrollably. His thoughts spun.
What kind of group held secrets even he wasn't qualified to access?
Gilgamesh, of course, had no intention of answering. Under divine will, nothing in this world was secret to him.
These were things Charles had no right to know.
"Just mind your own work. Asking too much won't do you any good."
Gemini Saga, who understood Gilgamesh better than anyone, cut in before Gilgamesh even needed to speak.
Meanwhile, Deathmask was already engaging the Nova Corps.
Golden flames coiled around him as he soared like a dragon through the sky. Hundreds of Nova ships chased him, unleashing volleys of cannon fire and heat rounds.
"That's it? This is all you've got?"
Bullets and beams formed a storm around him, but Deathmask only laughed. His body twisted and darted like a swallow—shooting upward, dropping downward, weaving through skyscrapers at impossible angles.
Ghostly blue flames flared in his palms. Now and then, one slipped free and detonated a ship instantly.
"Damn it—he's mocking us!"
Centurion Till trembled with fury. The enemy's speed kept shifting; half-speed or full-speed, the distance never changed.
No matter how fast he moved, Deathmask was always a step ahead.
"All units, follow my command! Second and third teams—spread out and encircle him! Everyone else, head to the Shar Science and Design Institute!"
As a centurion, Till at least had some tactical insight. Seeing he couldn't catch the target, he immediately adjusted his strategy.
If I can't catch you, then I'll ignore you. I'll attack your base instead—let's see how calm you stay then.
And in fact, his plan worked.
Deathmask, who had been toying with the Nova fleet like a cat playing with frightened mice, suddenly noticed that most of the ships chasing him had vanished. His expression shifted to boredom. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sensed the fleeing ships had actually turned back toward Gilgamesh. His face grew cold.
"Well, I was going to play with you for a while. Why are you all in such a hurry to die? If I end up ruining the master's fun, I'll be punished, you idiots!"
His tone sounded impatient, yet the calm look on his face made it clear he was perfectly relaxed.
In a heartbeat he crossed dozens of kilometers and appeared directly in front of the retreating ships.
Watching a Nova warship speed toward him, Deathmask shook his head with mocking disdain. "This iron coffin of yours is ugly as hell… but at least it'll make a sturdy container for your corpses."
A bluish-green glow flared from his hands, aimed squarely at the incoming ship.
"Life's already short enough. Don't take shortcuts next time.
Head to the Underworld clinging to that regret!
Sekishiki: Underworld Wave!!"
His roar shook the skies. The emerald light erupted into a spiraling torrent of divine energy, like a whirlpool swallowing the ocean, its radiance flooding the battlefield.
Wherever that light passed, every soul was ripped from its body.
As squad leader Denalir Thiel was flying at the front, the full force of the emerald radiance struck him. His soul tore free instantly, his hazy spiritual form dragged out through the cockpit canopy and sucked into the spiraling divine maelstrom—twisting like water down a drain—before flowing straight into Deathmask's waiting palm.
The darkness there gaped like a bottomless maw, devouring soul after soul.
The empty bodies left behind collapsed into lifeless husks, turning countless pilots into motionless vegetables. Their ships veered off-course, slamming into the ground and nearby structures in chaotic parabolic arcs like dumplings dropped into boiling water… some crashing close enough to graze Deathmask, who didn't even notice.
A clean instant kill.
Once he got serious, he wiped out hundreds of ships with a single attack.
"Tch. I thought you'd last longer. What a letdown."
As the battlefield fell silent, Deathmask lowered his hand. The city before him had become a dead zone—strewn with motionless bodies like discarded dolls. He allowed himself a twisted, satisfied smile, then turned, flicking his cloak as he transformed into golden light and shot back into the sky.
What he failed to notice was the figure crouched behind the counter of a nearby shop—Peter "Star-Lord" Quill, biting down hard on his lip, staring at Yondu's prone body, lost in thought…
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