The warship Obsidian Fang hovered in low orbit over Gaeth-9, cloaked in layers of refracted light and null-space distortions. It was a relic of the First Expansion—an ancient leviathan from a time when the Empire still feared what it couldn't conquer.

Within its sanctum, the war table flickered.

Data-scrawls in crimson and gold flowed across layered holoscreens. Pulse-signatures. Core resonance trails. Godwave static. The air was thick with ozone and tension.

General Veyren Kalt stood with hands folded behind his back, armor freshly etched with the sigil of House Kruger—a stylized eye devouring a star. He had commanded dozens of extermination campaigns, put down rebellions on moons where even light refused to touch.

But this… this was something else.

"Show me the pulse again," he said quietly.

A nearby Watcher—one of the psychic analysts attached to the Void Division—nodded and replayed the feed.

The screen shimmered with echoes from Gaeth-9's moon.

It was not a mere energy spike. It was layered, like a scream stitched across reality itself. Divine resonance, older than any Kargal construct. Threaded with Blood Core harmonics and an unfamiliar second pattern—one the archives called Verdict-Class Imprint.

A god was not just awakening.

A union was occurring.

"This matches the Blood God's signature," murmured the Watcher. "But it's… distorted. Strengthened. Twisted."

Veyren leaned closer. "Explain."

"It's evolving," the Watcher said. "But not as the Blood God once did. The core is mutating—combining with another forgotten entity. Something old. Judicial. A warden-class presence. Possibly a survivor from the War of Binding."

The general's face tightened.

"You're telling me we have a fused god-entity reborn… inside a slave."

"He's not a slave anymore."

The words hung there, bitter and sharp.

Veyren turned away from the table and walked to the viewport. Below, Gaeth-9 shimmered like a diseased jewel—its forests blackened, its mines hollowed, its cities run on bones and silence.

"How long until he reaches the surface?"

"Unclear. He's descending through the old ducts—off-grid. Non-systemic paths. We estimate less than two cycles."

Veyren let the silence linger. Then:

"Send word to the Executor."

The Watcher paled. "The Executor? Sir, we haven't even—"

"This is no longer a hunt," Veyren snapped. "It's containment. If he reaches the surface, if he incites the workers or connects with the old factions hiding in the salt cities—"

He didn't need to finish the thought.

The Kruger Executor was the Empire's final answer. A war-priest bred in null-space, trained in Viora from birth, implanted with ancestral memories of divine execution.

If Kiro was now more than just an Apostle…

Then only an Executor could challenge him.

"Also," Veyren added, "wake the Sleeper Cells on Gaeth-9. I want eyes on every deep vein. If he finds another shrine…"

He paused.

"...we may be facing the resurrection of an entire pantheon."