My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 747: A New Warlord

We exited my quarters and proceeded along the hallway towards the command center. As we drew nearer, the vessel's vibrations intensified, with murmurs seeping from the half-open entrance even prior to our entry.

The full team had gathered already.

I cleared my throat briefly.

"Is that the whole group?" I remarked, mainly to draw focus rather than inquire. Once their eyes turned to me, I shifted a bit aside. "Fine. Introduce yourselves to the latest addition to the Order of Absolute. Come ahead."

The shape trailing me advanced.

The Eternal entered the chamber with deliberate strides, his stance upright, his impact instantly felt despite no energy surge. Clad in dull black entirely, shaped like a human yet exact, crimson gaze fixed and watchful as it surveyed the area.

Steve emitted a soft whistle he couldn't restrain. "Well, damn," he grumbled.

Before others could react, a shadow darted.

Knight materialized right before Ash in a noiseless burst, near enough that the abrupt shift rustled the atmosphere.

Knight halted and glanced upward at him. "I did not expect that."

I breathed out lightly. "Yeah. I didn’t expect that either."

Knight’s stare held steady. "He appears... strong."

I nodded. "He is."

The Eternal showed no instant response. Instead, his vision followed Knight’s motion, examining from ears to talons, from limbs cloaked in shadows to the subtle warp encircling his build. He tilted his head a touch and regarded me.

"He is not hostile," he stated, more as a note than a query.

"He’s a friend," I answered.

He dipped his head once to accept it.

Aurora wasted no time.

She leaped down and circled him leisurely, fingers locked behind her, faint sparks dancing in her locks as interest surged. "Huh," she uttered. "I didn’t expect the color change."

She paused before him and tilted back a little to peer at his features. "Not gray. Not shiny. Doesn’t look like them at all. Still feels weird though." She grinned. "But I like it. Looks good on you."

The Eternal blinked once, absorbing it.

North advanced next.

"What’s his name?" she inquired.

"I haven’t decided yet," I replied. "I’m open to opinions."

Aurora’s arm raised swiftly. "Vante."

I eyed her. "No."

She scowled. "You didn’t even think about it."

"I did. Still no."

Ragnar leaned forward a tad from his spot. "Blackhammer."

Steve swiveled to gape at him. "You’re just naming weapons again."

Ragnar shrugged. "Strong names are good names."

Steve laughed softly. "Yeah, Blackhammer. Sounds like he should be smashing mountains and yelling a lot."

Lyrate murmured softly. "Names shape direction," she said. "Choose carefully."

A short silence fell.

North gazed at him once more, then suggested. "What about Ash?"

I echoed it softly to myself. "Ash."

Steve nodded gradually. "Yeah. That actually fits."

Aurora beamed. "I like that one."

I turned to Ash. "Alright. From now on, your name is Ash."

Ash dipped his head further this time. "I will answer to Ash."

With the matter resolved, the strain lifted. Talks flowed back easily, members returning to panels and screens, chatter mingling as the craft pressed onward steadily.

Ash stayed put briefly, then edged over a touch, watching quietly as the Order of Absolute carried on nearby, seamlessly weaving him into their flow.

******

In the heart of the Blue Spiral Galaxy, ancient wounds were tearing apart anew.

What had never fully mended started throbbing once again.

A Grade Three rift blazed over a shattered expanse of void. The Nagas had poured major forces into this sector. Their flags drifted beside guard stations, fighters shifting with strict order as they braced against the swarm emerging from the breach.

On an edge outpost, the fabric of space wavered.

A lofty Naga male emerged from the warp. Scales showed on his arms and throat, marked and shadowy, yet his energy stayed subdued, held tight and restrained. Lesser observers might deem him a standard commander.

He wasn’t.

His sight scanned the outpost swiftly before locking on one form.

In a single bound, he disappeared.

He rematerialized next to her amid a shimmer of shifted space.

She was directing orders to the fighters clustered around, her words steady and commanding, when she detected him. She pivoted right as he neared.

"Xebec," she stated, her voice edged with shock. "What are you doing here?"

The fighters stilled, awareness sparking in their features. Each one knelt low and retreated silently, granting the pair solitude on the outpost.

Xebec observed their departure, then faced her fully.

For an instant, a raw emotion flickered in his look. He noted her fair complexion, the subtle inner luminescence, the extended azure tresses cascading to her waist like drawn by invisible flows. Her eyes, narrowed as a snake’s, held a profundity absent ages past. Her garments gleamed softly, sheer threads of glow trailing like waves on a pond.

He admired her allure within.

He kept it hidden.

"Azalea..." he started, then halted, adjusting. "I came with news."

Her gaze sharpened a fraction. She noted the change, the halted closeness, but opted against remarking.

"What kind of news makes you abandon your station during a rift engagement?" she questioned.

Xebec breathed out steadily. "Several things. None of them small."

She held steady.

"For starters," he pressed on, "Vaelix Ranthor and Velaira Ranthor are dead."

Azalea’s calm fractured subtly.

"They’re... dead?" she queried.

"Yes," Xebec affirmed. "Both of them."

She fixed on him briefly, digesting it. "That’s... confirmed?"

"Completely," he stated. "And the Ferans are not taking it well."

Azalea’s jaw clenched.

"As I told you before," Xebec continued, "they left their territory chasing something. Vaelix told me he was going to take another wife." He huffed lightly. "You know how they are. Always smiling, always hiding knives."

Azalea nodded, disquiet building in her core.

"Now his remaining wives are widowed," Xebec noted, his voice growing somber. "And he never came back. You remember where I said he was going."

She paused.

Then nodded.

Xebec laughed dryly. "Then you’re thinking in the right direction."

He gave her no chance to linger.

"There’s more," he added. "We received another report yesterday. The demons have successfully closed a Grade Four rift."

Azalea’s eyes flared wide.

"A Grade Four?" she echoed. "That’s impossible. They haven’t managed that in decades."

"And yet," Xebec said, "it happened."

"How?" she demanded right away, tension sharpening her tone. Since her return, she craved nothing beyond making a real impact. Sealing a rift personally topped her goals.

"They weren’t alone," Xebec answered. "They allied with a group calling themselves the Order of Absolute."

She furrowed her brow. "I’ve never heard of them."

"Neither had most people," he replied. "Until now. They’re being referred to as a new member of Warlord Of The Void."

Azalea took it in. "One group was enough to tip a Grade Four?"

"That’s what we’ve confirmed," Xebec said. "And here’s the part that concerns you."

He lifted his hand and summoned a holographic projection between them.

A male figure appeared in the display, expression serene, bearing firm, positioned opposite an Eternal. Violet Essence lingered subtly about him, bending the space enough to identify clearly.

Azalea went rigid.

Her palm lifted gradually to mask her lips.

"Billion," she breathed.

Xebec observed her closely. "Yes," he murmured. "The same one you asked me to keep an eye out for."

Her eyes stayed on the projection.

The conflict, the breaches, the mounting frictions among species—all of it abruptly seemed to converge on one perilous point.

And a deep dread told her that this round, containment wouldn't hold for much longer.

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