BOOOOOOOM—CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
Across the two hundred million light-years of Sector 4 (The Northern 200 Galaxies), the starry void looked as if a mad butcher had taken a rusty meat-cleaver to the fabric of space itself.
All 100,000 Inter-Galactic Spatial Bridges—the ancient stone-and-starlight transit highways that connected the three million mining worlds, merchant hubs. Frontier settlements of the North—had been detonated at the exact same second by the fourth Script-King, the King of Massacre.
Without the stabilizing pull of the spatial bridges, chaotic dark-red spatial storms tore through the northern constellations. Ten billion civilian evacuation transports—crammed to the rafters with terrified miners, frontier families, and crying children. Spun wildly out of control in the broken void lanes, their engines stalling as the jagged rifts sucked them toward collapsing red-giant supernovas!
Even worse, down at the core of 100,000 Inhabited Northern Planets, two thousand blood-armored Slaughter-System Clones had drilled 100,000 Hostage-Linked Void Mines directly into the planetary tectonic plates!
Every single void mine was linked by a crimson hair-trigger resonance thread to the surrounding spatial frequency.
Up in the fifth-dimensional Blood-Iron Palace—a jagged fortress forged from rusted execution blades and coagulated blood. The King of Massacre stared through his horned iron visor at the live projection of Sector 4, his fingers poised over his Golden Script-Typewriter.
