Chapter 959 The World Changes Color (2/2)

Another civilization defeated by the darkness, dying like a torch that finally burned out.

Nevertheless, it did not mean that there was no hope.

”The heart never numbs no matter how many times I see this.”

A young individual of the cicada race watched as the psionic tractor beam slowly dismantled the space station, separating the data storage and vaults which would have been in turn moved into their own ship. His expression was mixed, his tendrils twitching.

”Instead, it ignites my rage and the desire to resist.”

Every other race nodded quietly.

Unlike invasion by other civilizations, the wars between civilizations of Order, or even being eaten by the celestial beasts, insect swarms, or nomadic creatures that wandered the stars, being destroyed by Chaos was the ultimate nihilism.

For the former, it would all have been fine whether one successfully repelled their invaders or should their planet have fallen and their race taken as slaves or vassals, and even if they were eaten alive alongside the planet, since it was logical and a part of the cycle of Order.

Certainly, there would be civilizations that would indeed be killed, their nation, culture, and species no longer in existence, but the defeated never truly vanished—everything about them would have been broken down by the victors and converted to nutrients.

Whether nutrients in a literal sense or the faintest traces of inspirations, historical fragments, or even fashions, the defeated would only ever be consumed by the victors in their entirety. The victors would have then kept advancing, the food in their stomachs granting them energy. There would always be those who journeyed ahead, carrying along everything the defeated had lost.

Our civilization had failed and had become food for another civilization. While one would have been unable to stop from clenching fists over such matters, it ultimately remained a part of the cycle of Order, like in food chains in which big cats hunted down the lambs in the grasslands of ancient planets.

Culture would have been absorbed, technology would have inspired others, and the seemingly useless flesh ultimately would have held purpose, even if as fertilizer and fecal matter.

Sadness was unnecessary. It was similar to carnivores feeding, dead flesh being broken down by other critters. Even wheat needed fertilizer—everyone was the same and it was destined, so there was nothing unacceptable.

But the Chaos was different.

The civilization destroyed by Chaos bore no fruit: no one would gain anything out of it, and neither victory nor defeat meant anything. If the wars between civilizations was an all-out conflict for survival, there would have always been someone who would be absorbing nutrients and improving in the end, eventually stepping forward to new heights—but destroying Chaos yielded nothing, be it was culture, technology, or fecal matter. Chaos simply corrupted the final remains of civilization, turning it into copies of themselves.

The ultimate emptiness, the absolute hollowness.

”Take them down to storage and deliver them to the Life Preservation Sequence next time around… our great, compassionate iron-skinned leader had been collecting these all along.” The captain, a lifeform that resembled a jellyfish relayed his orders with psionic ripples. ”And heighten defenses—after the Great Turnaround destroyed the permanent anchor points of the Chaos spawns, they've started retaliating wildly and searching for another suitable spot to make new anchor points.”

”The Tanyans' plight has taught us a lesson: if there's no helping it, destroy your own planet so that it would not be corrupted and turned by the Chaos—”

The jellyfish commander appeared to have more to say, but with a rumble that appeared right by his ears and a profound light that emanated from behind his body, all his thoughts were interrupted.

”What—what's going on?!”

The jellyfish commander quickly activated the rear lens monitor only to find the warp anchor point at the heart of the Tehran system brightening—a rainbow spectrum appeared by the layers before turning into narrow beams, stretching towards the dark starry skies like torrential rain.

Incidentally, one of the rays were headed straight for them, with several cruisers instinctively executing evasive maneuvers. To be precise, the light was making a beeline for the Ferris wheel space station. It was a red streak of light—symbolizing rage, courage, a will to resign to its fate and resistance.

[Emotion locked on. Kumar civilization of the Tehran system, you hold rage in your heart.]

[The moment to fight back has come.]

Like an illusion, the red light seeped into the space station…

It began to shine and tremble, even as a silhouette manifested and took form on the surface of the space station: there were solid limbs and a body, a bear-like species that appeared burly and firm. There were no signs of glazing in the eyes of the silhouette, only determined rage and unyielding courage—the members of the patrol fleet could not help but cry out in shock, for it was the extinct species that had built the space station.

Boundless emotions stirred the vortex while the monstrous spectrum flashed in the Void, shining upon all resonating ruins of civilization and nurturing each spirit that had not bowed to their fate.

The heroic spirits of the civilization leveled their gaze at the dark Void and their nemesis of the past—they had been defeated so completely that not a shard of their bones remain, and they had not much power even if they had been awakened. They could not change a thing, having merely been summoned to the world by a profound will so their history about how Stellaris had resisted the Chaos over the years, and how many Evil Gods lurked behind the darkness could be better understood.

Even so, it was not to say that it was futile, for the will to fight was the final purpose.

In the Midgardian system, the silver world slowly arose amidst endless cheers and prayers to become a star that glimmered amongst the skies. A brand-new sun was left behind his form, and the summoned warrior's body stirred, creating a spectrum that made the planetary system quake. They shot inside every warp portal and teleportation doorway, and starting from the nodes forged by innumerable civilizations, began to spread towards every corner of the Stellaris universe.

Light spread everywhere, momentarily invoking heroic spirits that were not resigned to their fate—be it within uninhabited celestial corpses or planets whereupon Order had already been restored, be it Dark Domains conquered by Chaos or massive fortresses crowded around by the planetary systems of a civilization.

He has come.

The shepherd of strife had arrived, standing to witness the wrecks of civilizations' sacrifice and the graves of those who were not resigned to their fate. He had read the history of the world, the calls of civilization, as well as experienced the remarkable anguish of all life, as well as their detached sense of loss—he had come, at once peeling off the bloody scabs and wreaking torment while ushering a new age. He would lead the living in resistance, journeying forth to rebirth or perhaps ruin.

War never changed.

The curtains had barely risen for the age of darkness, but the sparks had already begun to spread beneath it.

In the age where the faraway stars still flickered, in the moment that the fires of wrath had yet to die, the final flames of war were about to ignite upon the vast and empty world.

Thus, the world changed color.