The Bloodline System Chapter 1664 1664: Pulverized

The resistance forces persisted in launching world-shattering strikes at the deities, forcing the divine beings to stagger back.

Targeting the Overseer, they finally unleashed their deity-disintegrating cannon, a weapon fueled by a hundred supernatural entities possessing the power of Alpha-ranked mixedbloods.

An unstoppable indigo beam erupted, surging forward with devastating momentum toward the Overseer.

Boom!

A thunderous detonation occurred, followed by a violent purple shockwave that incinerated everything within a million-mile radius.

Even the allied fleets were caught in the purple tide; however, they survived by activating shield generators that granted them intangibility for several seconds, sparing them from the destructive surge.

In the aftermath, all visibility was obliterated. For a full minute, nothing could be seen until the energy wave finally dissipated.

When the view cleared, the sight that greeted them left everyone in a state of profound shock.

The Overseer remained seated, completely unharmed without a single mark on his person.

Furthermore, the deities who had been wounded earlier—the ones with holes blasted through them—suddenly erupted into manic laughter.

Their mocking bellows echoed across the galaxies as they clutched their midsections in sheer amusement. The massive wounds on their gargantuan bodies mended instantly as they pointed at the fleet of the last resistance, laughing without end.

“They truly believed they were winning...” one deity managed to gasp between fits of laughter.

“Oh, providing mortals with hope just to rip it away again is such a delight...” another remarked with sadistic pleasure.

The members of the resistance wore grim expressions as they listened. They had just deployed the most lethal weapon in their possession, yet it had failed to even graze these entities.

They had failed to grasp the true nature of their enemy. It wasn't a matter of their own weakness; their adversaries were simply too transcendent.

At this moment, they were utterly devoid of options.

The deities began to toy with the fleet, circling the vessels and playfully striking the hulls of the ships to demonstrate that the resistance's survival was entirely at their whim.

“Stop playing with your food...” the Overseer commanded, his patience exhausted as he raised a single hand.

Instantly, the front line of the resistance fleet—more than fifty vessels—imploded into nothingness.

The communication channels were flooded with screams.

“Shields are failing!”

“Navigation is lost—!”

“They are in our heads—THEY ARE INSIDE OUR MINDS—”

The deities, who clearly held the Overseer in high reverence, moved forward with cold indifference.

Acting with a unified will, they unleashed a tidal wave of divine power that snuffed out the final embers of the rebellion.

Several powerful figures within the fleet broke formation in a desperate attempt to engage the Overseer directly.

They hurled potent supernatural techniques at him and the surrounding deities.

The Overseer did not even acknowledge their presence.

A simple vibration of the deity's aura pulverized hundreds of incoming attacks and sent the attackers crashing into an asteroid, shattering its crust.

Following thirty minutes of one-sided carnage, the resistance was reduced to a pathetic state:

A few fractured vessels.

A cascade of flaming wreckage.

Hundreds of thousands of casualties.

Only dozens of survivors.

Finally, the Overseer glided forward.

With a voice that caused the very fabric of existence to tremble, he declared:

“Creation does not defy its creator.”

And with a single sweep of his celestial hand—

Space buckled.

Time splintered.

Reality was shredded like thin fabric.

Every surviving ship was twisted, mangled, and vaporized in a heartbeat.

As the blinding light faded, nothing remained.

No fleet.

No soldiers.

No commanders.

Only drifting particles of dust remained in the cosmic expanse, slowly being consumed by the growing territory of the deities.

The universe was surrendered.

Hope was extinguished.

The Last Resistance had been wiped out, leaving not even ashes behind.

...

...

~ The Hidden Star ~

As the days stretched into weeks, the visions ceased to be gentle occurrences.

They no longer manifested only during sleep.

They began to haunt Angy while she was wide awake.

Whether she was walking, eating, listening to the disputes of others, or gazing at the artificial sky of the Hidden Star, they appeared.

Initially, she dismissed it as mourning... as if her psyche was fracturing under the burden of Gustav’s disappearance. That was the lie she told herself. That was what she needed to believe to stay sane.

However, grief did not manifest with such mathematical consistency.

Grief did not present the same recurring symbols.

Grief did not evolve in this manner.

Each vision was distinct.

Varying locations. New sensations. Different shards of reality collapsing upon themselves.

Yet, there was one unchanging element.

A specific point.

A singularity.

A location where everything folded inward—not to be destroyed or erased, but to be held.

And Gustav was always present there.

Suspended...

She started to perceive details that had previously escaped her.

The strange behavior of time in his vicinity. The way the darkness refused to swallow him. The way reality warped around the void he left, like a wound that refused to close.

Then there was the other realization.

The one she had desperately tried to overlook.

Every time she attempted to reach for him within the visions...

she met resistance.

It was becoming clear to her that...

These visions were not warnings.

They were not prophecies.

They were not the symptoms of insanity.

They were a set of instructions.

When the next cycle began, the group convened once more.

The same chamber. The same table. The same fractures in their alliance.

Only Angy had changed.

She remained silent, her gaze distant as her mind resonated with the revelation she now possessed.

E.E stood near the center of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“We have lost contact.”

The room fell into a tense hush.

Falco scowled. “Lost contact with who?”

“The last resistance group,” E.E stated. “The unit that departed three cycles ago. Our strongest remaining asset.”

Alero sat up straight. “They were supposed to check in within forty-eight hours.”

“They didn’t,” E.E said bluntly.

A heavy silence followed.

Slowly, the horrific truth settled in.

Elevora whispered, “...The deities are still on the move.”

“They never stopped,” Aildris added with a grim tone.

E.E gave a single nod. “Which means if the last resistance hasn't reported by now—”

“They’re dead,” Falco finished the thought.

The words lingered in the air like smoke.

No one contested the statement.

There was no point.

If the deities were still rampaging through star systems without opposition, then the resistance had failed.

Utterly.

E.E let out a sharp breath. “This is exactly why we cannot afford to rush in blindly.”

Alero pounded his fist against the table. “So what? We just sit here?”

“We wait for a plan that actually works!” E.E shot back.

“And while we wait, more civilizations are incinerated?”

“And if we act prematurely, we die—just like they did!”