Far out in the void, the war ripped open the darkness like bleeding wounds.
Selene's fleet, massive and ancient, coiled around her like a fortress. Her flagship — The Night Sovereign — floated at the heart, bristling with black cannons and wicked, curved blades along its sides. The banners of endless night whipped behind it, embroidered with her sigil: a bleeding moon cradled in chains.
The air inside the bridge was cold and sharp, like a blade pressed to your throat.
Selene stood tall in her silver-black armor, her cloak billowing behind her as the alarms screamed. Her silver eyes burned, locking onto the two figures carving a bloody path straight toward her — Raphael and Freya.
"Send in the Nightborn," she said coldly.
At once, the deck shuddered as hundreds of warriors — tall, faceless things wrapped in black mist and plated armor — launched from the lower decks, hurling through space toward the incoming threat.
On the outer lines, cannons flared to life.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
