Aurelion's command arrived shortly at Youri
A direct intrusion into Youri's skull, bypassing language, bypassing doubt—reduced to a single, absolute directive that fused seamlessly with Flow State. In that state, a pilot's inner world narrowed to one brutal axis: death. Killing. Eradication. The enemy ceased to be people, ships, or worlds—it became a concept to be removed from existence.
History recorded dozens of God Unit pilots who could not contain that narrowing. Pilots who, once stripped of empathy and restraint, turned their weapons inward. Toward the Empire itself. Toward command structures. Toward anything that still moved.
But Youri was different.
Not stronger.
Not purer.
Just… elsewhere.
His body remained fully under control—reflexes flawless, breathing steady, neural synchronization at optimal levels. His senses functioned perfectly. He perceived everything.
Yet his mind was not there.
It was bound—dragged deep beneath consciousness, submerged in a vast, endless watery abyss. A place without edges. Without sound. Without pain. Above him, far above, chaos existed only as distortion—ripples at the surface of a distant ocean. Explosions, commands, death itself barely registered as shifting light.
Youri drifted.
Weightless.
Still.
Around him, Altopereh moved. Its immense form flowed through the abyss like a shadow beneath dark water, coiling, circling, existing alongside him.
For the first time since their bond was forged, Altopereh hesitated.
A deep groan reverberated through the abyss—not sound, but pressure. Thought shaped into warning.
The cost of this battle will deteriorate your body,
cell by cell, system by system.
But that will be the least of your worries.
The words pressed against Youri, but did not disturb him.
Altopereh shifted again, its presence tightening.
Will you endure the aftermath of what you are about to commit?
Will you carry what remains—when there is nothing left to erase the memory?
For the first time in Flow State, something answered.
Youri's eyes slowly closed within the cockpit.
And the abyss changed.
He was running.
Bare feet against warm grass, damp with morning dew. Sunlight spilled across rolling fields of Daylight, golden and endless. The air was alive—thick with the scent of soil, flowers, and summer heat. Wind brushed against his skin, gentle and familiar, carrying laughter with it.
A table stretched across the open garden, long and heavy with food. Wooden, worn, loved. Plates clinked softly. Voices overlapped. Life existed there in abundance.
They were all there.
Flavio stood at the head of the table, broad-shouldered, smiling in that quiet, proud way he always had. To his left stood Lira, radiant, laughing as sunlight caught in her hair. To his right was Mira, calm and warm, placing food onto plates with effortless grace, her movements full of care.
Liam and Emma sat beside Lira, older than Youri remembered them—bickering playfully, their words sharp but their smiles betraying affection. Across from them, Leo and Brandon leaned casually against the table, sharing a drink, shaking their heads in amusement as Liam and Emma escalated into laughter.
Youri stood at the far end of the table.
His hand rested on its surface, fingers splayed against the wood as if grounding himself. He leaned forward slightly, head bowed, watching them all—memorizing every gesture, every expression.
To his left stood Six.
Greedy as ever, shoveling food into his mouth without shame, cheeks full, laughing mid-bite as crumbs fell freely onto the table. Unapologetically alive.
To Youri's right was Leonora.
She was speaking animatedly with Gloria, who sat beside her, both of them smiling, their conversation light and effortless. Leonora's eyes sparkled the way they always did when she forgot the world beyond the moment.
And somehow—impossibly—Barnaby was there.
Standing beside Six, perched half on the table, holding a glass of wine like he belonged among them. He gazed upward at the blue, cloud-streaked sky, expression peaceful, unburdened. As though the universe had never asked anything of him.
It was wrong.
And perfect.
A gathering that never existed.
A future that never came.
Yet in that impossible moment, Youri felt something he had rarely known in life.
Contentment.
A quiet, overwhelming comfort settled into him. The kind that did not demand words or justification. Just presence.
And the thought came—clear, gentle, final.
If the world must end…
let it end here.
Let it end with this.
The laughter.
The warmth.
The memory of being loved.
The garden shimmered.
The abyss reclaimed him.
Altopereh recoiled.
The antimatter cannon unfolded.
Layers of containment structures rotated and locked into place, reality itself bending around the weapon's core. Dark energy condensed—not light, not void, but something that devoured both.
On the bridge of the Sovereign Spear, alarms flared.
"Antimatter charge initiated," tactical announced, voice strained. "Containment stable. Firing sequence counting."
Aurelion stared at the display.
Firing percentage climbed.
10%.
22%.
41%.
He said nothing.
He did not move.
Youri stood motionless within the cockpit.
One hand rested on the trigger.
The dark visor of his helmet reflected the nearby star—a thin ray of light glancing off its surface, brilliant against the black. For a fraction of a second, time itself seemed to hesitate, as if the universe recognized what was about to be taken from it.
Altopereh spoke one last time.
Then remember this,
when the silence follows.
You chose.
The firing percentage reached 100%.
The trigger was pulled.
The antimatter cannon discharged.
A dark gray beam tore through space—not explosive, not radiant. It did not burn its path.
It erased it.
The beam struck Volar.
For an infinitesimal moment, the planet resisted—shields flaring, crust fracturing, atmosphere collapsing inward. Then physics surrendered.
Matter met antimatter.
Volar ceased to be.
No explosion.
No debris.
No echo.
Where a world had existed seconds before, there was nothing—no planet, no orbit, no memory etched into space itself. A perfect absence carved into the universe.
Silence followed.
On the Sovereign Spear, every system froze.
No one spoke.
Aurelion closed his eyes.
Somewhere deep beneath layers of command protocols and Flow State suppression, something inside Youri broke loose and sank even deeper into the abyss.
The garden faded.
The table emptied.
The laughter died.
Only water remained.
And in the vast universe ruled by the Empire of Terria, the name Volar would never be spoken again.