“Fire the Absolute-Zero Frost Cannons! Turn that yellow meat-smelling fireball back into a dead rock!”
Standing on the jagged ice prow of his five-mile-long flagship, Vulture-King Han Ba (Rank 9 Early Galactic Realm) swung his frost-covered harpoon forward, his eyes bloodshot with greed and rage.
Behind him, five hundred skull-shaped warships carved out of ancient black glacier-ice roared through the central star system of the Frost-Ash Galaxy. Every single ship had a giant bronze cannon mounted on its nose, packed with compressed Thousand-Year Corpse-Frost Powder.
“Boss, if we freeze that sun again, won’t the three trillion dirt-farmers down on the twenty planets freeze to death?” asked his second-in-command, a scar-faced pirate named One-Ear Bing.
“Who cares if half of them freeze?! As long as they’re shivering, they have to buy our Fire-Stones!” Vulture-King Han Ba snarled, spitting a mouthful of blue ice onto the deck. “Do you know how much money I lost in the last twenty minutes?! Eight hundred warehouses of low-grade Fire-Stones are sitting on my moon base right now! Yesterday, a single basket of those rocks could buy a man’s farm, his ox, and his daughter! Today, because some busybody mayor from the Milky Way turned on a free sun, nobody wants my rocks even to prop up a wobbly table leg!”
