The skies burned crimson above the battlefield.
Ash and blood painted the stars as the humans clashed against the endless swarm of Zerg — monstrous, chittering things that devoured planets as easily as insects devour leaves. Screams, explosions, and the deep tremor of falling cities echoed through the broken air.
At the forefront stood Sheng Long, Marshal of the Interstellar Empire.
His uniform was torn, his armor cracked, but his eyes — cold and unwavering — burned with a black fire. Around him, his soldiers fought valiantly, their minds blazing with the light of their beast companions. Wolves, hawks, lions — phantom shapes flickered behind each warrior, born of their mutated mental powers.
But it was not enough.
The Zerg Queen had descended upon the battlefield herself, a bloated, nightmarish being whose shrieks tore through the strongest defenses. She was too strong, too vast, feeding endlessly on the life around her.
And Sheng Long knew: If she was not stopped here, humanity would fall.
He exhaled slowly.
From his body, an enormous black dragon materialized, coiling around him, scales shimmering like a midnight sea. Upon its forehead blazed a blood-red moon — the mark of an SS-level mental power wielder. The ultimate guardian.
But even the strongest beast was not invincible.
Sheng Long touched the beast nucleus inside his chest — a crystalline core that housed the essence of his dragon soul. It pulsed weakly. Damaged beyond repair after too many battles, too many sacrifices.
There was only one option left.
He smiled, just a little. It was not a sad smile, but a quiet, resolute one. The smile of a man who had lived not for himself, but for the countless lives behind him.
With a roar that shook the heavens, Sheng Long surged forward, piercing through the swarming Zerg. His body ignited with a furious light, the dragon roaring in tandem. A searing explosion of power erupted, obliterating everything within its reach.
The Queen screamed, wounded at last. The Zerg faltered, their lines broken.
And Sheng Long vanished in a storm of light and blood.
The battle ended with the Zerg retreating to the dark corners of the galaxy. Humanity wept for their hero, the Marshal who gave everything to save them.
They built statues in his name. They wrote songs of mourning and hope.
And they believed he was dead.
But far away, on a remote forgotten planet, a black dragon with a blood-red moon on its forehead thrashed against rusted chains, snarling and broken, waiting... for something — for someone — to heal what had been shattered.
Waiting for salvation.