The Bigshot's Superstar Wife-Chapter 125: Grab

The halls of the royal war chamber were alive with tension. The moment the king had given his order, the empire’s forces moved with ruthless efficiency.

Fleets were mobilized, intelligence networks activated, and the hunt for Zyvander intensified. It did not take long.

Within weeks, their spies had tracked Zyvander’s forces to a hidden outpost on the uncharted moon of Velyth, a forsaken wasteland on the farthest edges of Sinalta’s dominion.

It was a place long abandoned by civilization, its surface scarred by ancient wars, its underground caverns now repurposed into a fortress of horror.

The king himself led the assault. This was no mere military operation, it was a father confronting his greatest failure.

The Imperial Guard descended upon Velyth in a storm of fire and steel, sweeping through Zyvander’s forces with calculated precision.

The prince’s abominations, twisted half-Zerg soldiers, fought with terrifying resilience, but the king’s elite warriors were relentless.

Explosions rocked the barren terrain as the empire’s might clashed against its greatest threat.

Through it all, the king pressed forward, cutting down any monstrosity that stood in his path.

His golden armor was stained with blackened Zerg blood, his sword humming with raw energy as he carved through the ranks.

His heart pounded, not just from battle, but from the knowledge that this night would decide everything. And then, deep within the stronghold, he found him.

Zyvander stood waiting in the heart of his command center, clad in obsidian-black armor, his golden eyes gleaming with something between amusement and contempt.

The room was dimly lit by pulsating blue screens displaying encrypted data, battle strategies, and disturbing images of ongoing Zerg experimentation.

"You always were relentless," Zyvander murmured, his voice calm, almost amused. He made no move to draw his weapon.

"To think you’d come all this way yourself. Fatherly concern? Or an emperor’s duty?"

The king’s chest heaved, his rage barely contained. "Do you even understand what you’ve done?" His voice was cold, deadly.

"The atrocities, the abominations you’ve created… You’ve turned against your own people."

Zyvander’s lips curled into a smirk.

"And what are our people, Father? Frail creatures bound by weakness, by fear? We have warred with the Zergs for centuries, yet they continue to evolve. I have simply embraced the inevitable."

"You call this evolution?" The king’s voice was sharp. "You slaughtered entire planets, twisted innocent lives into mindless husks..."

"I made them stronger." Zyvander stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"They are no longer weak, no longer shackled by mortality. Imagine an empire where soldiers do not die, where we no longer fear annihilation."

The king’s fingers curled into fists. "You seek to replace our people with monsters. You were meant to protect Sinalta, not become its destroyer."

Zyvander tilted his head. "Destroyer?" He let out a quiet chuckle. "No, Father. I am its savior."

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a lifetime of expectations shattered in a single night.

Then, the king moved.

His sword struck like lightning, a golden arc of destruction. Zyvander barely dodged, his own blade flashing out to meet the attack.

The chamber erupted into a whirlwind of combat. Stay connected with novelbuddy

Zyvander was fast, faster than he should have been. His movements were unnatural, enhanced beyond human limits.

His sword clashed against the king’s with shocking force, sparks flying as they exchanged blows.

The king fought with the weight of years, of discipline, of a ruler’s might. Every strike was precise, calculated.

But Zyvander fought like something else entirely. His speed was inhuman, his strength beyond mortal limits.

And then the king realized, Zyvander had already begun fusing himself with the Zerg.

"You’ve tainted yourself," the king spat, parrying a vicious blow.

Zyvander smirked. "I have transcended."

He lashed out, and for the first time in decades, the king faltered.

The next strike was blindingly fast. Zyvander’s enhanced strength sent the king crashing into the reinforced wall, cracking the metal on impact.

Pain exploded through his ribs, but he forced himself up. Zyvander stood over him, his silver eyes now tinged with something… unnatural.

"You were always a visionary," Zyvander mused. "But you lack the courage to embrace true power."

With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a pulse of dark energy. The king barely had time to react.

Pain tore through his body as an unseen force slammed into him, searing through his nerves like molten fire. His vision blurred. His limbs trembled. His sword slipped from his grasp.

He collapsed to his knees.

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Zyvander knelt before him, speaking in a whisper only he could hear.

"Sleep now, Father. Rest while I reshape the empire."

The last thing the king saw was his son’s face, hovering over him like a specter, before darkness consumed him.

When the king was finally found, he was barely breathing. His once-mighty presence was reduced to a broken figure, his body riddled with unnatural wounds.

The royal physicians worked tirelessly, but the damage was unlike anything they had ever seen. He was not dead. Not truly. But he did not wake.

The Empire of Sinalta was thrown into chaos.

Whispers of the battle spread like wildfire. Some said the emperor had fallen in honorable combat. Others claimed he had been betrayed by his own flesh and blood.

But one thing was certain.

Zyvander had won.

With the emperor in a coma, the throne was vulnerable. The council wavered, the military divided, and the outer planets trembled in fear.

And Zyvander?

Zyvander disappeared.

Vanished into the depths of the galaxy, his whereabouts unknown. But the remnants of his army remained, scattered across the empire like embers waiting to ignite.

And somewhere, in the cold darkness of space, the Crown Prince was waiting.

Waiting for the perfect moment to return. Waiting for the day he would reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.

The empire held its breath. The war was far from over. In the grand halls of the imperial palace, silence reigned.

Ministers whispered behind closed doors, generals argued in hushed voices, and the people of Sinalta waited, uncertain of their future.

The emperor’s body lay in stasis, preserved yet unresponsive. The weight of his absence pressed upon the empire like a gathering storm.

And in the void, beyond the empire’s reach, Zyvander watched. He was not done. Not yet.

For as long as his father remained in slumber, the throne was his for the taking. And this time, he would return not as the heir...

But as the conqueror.