Origin Chapter One: Gallant Sacrifice

The empire was in its twilight, old and weary...

Gazing into the distant starry sky, the general waved his hand. Adjutant Qin seemed to understand his resolve, his face grave as he picked up the telephone from the desk. The person on the other end had apparently been waiting for a long time.

He gripped the receiver tightly, spent a few seconds in heavy contemplation, and his rough, labored breathing seemed to signal that a weighty decision was about to be announced.

“Adjutant Qin, what is the general’s command?” the voice on the other end inquired cautiously. Qin glanced at the general, then sorrowfully pronounced his decision.

A long sigh of relief drifted through the line, followed by a lengthy silence before the call was disconnected.

“General, you need not do this. Every one of your soldiers is willing to lay down their lives for you!” Adjutant Qin stood straight, nearly shouting his words, while the general exhaled deeply.

“Adjutant Qin, say no more. The troops are to remain inactive and obey only the new commander’s orders—no exceptions.”

With that, the general strode to the door. Outside, a squad of elite special forces awaited, each clad in the most advanced combat armor, their bodies completely encased in sleek, black flexible metal.

As the general exited, one of the soldiers stepped forward, but the general waved him aside, signaling him not to intervene. Seeing the general’s determination, the entire squad snapped to attention and saluted in unison, their excitement palpable; the sound of metal gauntlets striking their foreheads rang out, chilling and resolute. The general paused for two seconds, returned the salute with solemn dignity, then walked on without looking back.

Outside the building, even more military and police forces awaited—fully armed, surrounded by dozens of war robots, with the sky above crowded with hovering heavy assault vehicles, all weapons primed and ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Around the square, starship-grade communication jammers had been set up to block all transmissions except on encrypted frequencies, eliminating any outside contact.

The general surveyed his surroundings, then continued toward the nearby square, now thronged with a sea of people. Over a million citizens had converged from all directions, and as the general stepped out, hundreds of thousands broke into uncontrollable sobs.

On the square, the execution platform had already been prepared, with a guillotine forcibly requisitioned from a collector. When the collector learned it would be used to execute the general, he was overcome with remorse for ever owning such a cursed artifact. After a period of shame and anguish, he ended his own life with a cherished antique pistol, unable to bear the thought of the general dying before him.

The guillotine had been decrepit, its blade blunt and useless. The collector had commissioned the empire’s finest restorers to refurbish it, fitting it with a new blade crafted from an unknown metal recovered a century ago by an expedition to a distant planet—exceptionally hard, with memory properties. The collector had spent a fortune and over a year with metallurgical experts to complete it. Its edge was rumored sharp enough to split atoms. The empire’s scheming officials had seized the guillotine to humiliate the general, choosing this brutal method to intimidate dissenters.

The general approached the platform, striding up to the guillotine. He ran his hand gently along its surface, gazing at the gleaming blade. He knew that when death came today, it would be swift and without pain.

The executioner stood nearby, shrouded head to toe, his eyes hidden behind black, bulletproof glass. He dared not meet the general’s gaze, but nonetheless saluted him and called out, “General!”

The general returned the salute with gravity, adjusted his uniform, and turned to face the mass of citizens below—a million strong. He saluted them, the longest salute of his life, for they were his people, those he had protected. Among them were his veteran soldiers and the families of countless fallen warriors. Tears welled in the general’s eyes.

At that moment, the square erupted in turmoil. A million voices cried out the general’s name as the crowd surged toward the execution platform. The military police on alert immediately swung their weapons to aim at the people.

“Hurry up!” “Carry out the sentence!” Officials seated in judgment on the platform shouted frantically at the executioner.

Undeterred, the crowd pressed against the police lines. The security forces began deploying non-lethal weapons, and the square filled with the crackle of tasers and the impact of batons. With every blow, it seemed bones shattered. The injured multiplied, and the police, overwhelmed by the sheer tidal wave of humanity, could no longer hold their ground.

“Execute him now!” barked a sharp-featured official, issuing a final threat: “Or your entire family will face a military tribunal!”

The threat was chilling.

The general saw all this and understood: if he lingered, countless innocents would be hurt or killed.

Calmly, the general approached the guillotine, resting his neck in the slot designed for the condemned.

The executioner trudged slowly to the release lever, his hand shaking as he placed it on the switch. The crowd grew even more frenzied, desperate to save the general and breach the final line of defense.

The general turned to the executioner and said, “Zhang Jun, do not grieve.”

Startled, the executioner stammered, “General, how did you know my name?”

The general smiled. “You are a good soldier...” He closed his eyes, waiting for Zhang Jun to pull the lever.

Suddenly, a thunderous barrage of gunfire and explosions erupted below, more savage than before. The officials, gripped by panic, had ordered a full-force crackdown. Flames consumed the masses, and bodies fell into pools of blood.

The general knew that any further delay would only increase the carnage. He shouted, “Zhang Jun, do it!”

Zhang Jun recoiled, shouting back, “No, I refuse!” He had only admiration for the general. It was the general’s charisma that had inspired him to serve. Had it not been for a brutal battle, he would still be in the front lines. Though they had won that day, every comrade-in-arms had perished. When the general pinned a medal on him, he said nothing, only embraced Zhang Jun tightly, allowing him to finally weep.

The general thundered in frustration, “At this moment, no one can save me. Carry out the order!”

In a sudden burst of resolve, Zhang Jun moved to pull the general up, but the general roared, “He alone can command me! Zhang Jun, I will return...”

As Zhang Jun turned, he froze, stunned by the words. Would the general really return? In that split second of hesitation, a sudden spray of warm blood struck his face.

The chief judge, unable to wait, had kicked the deputy judge to the platform to pull the release lever himself.

Zhang Jun was stunned, rooted to the spot.

The general’s severed, bloody head tumbled down the steps of the platform, the wound clean and neat. There was no pain etched on his face—in that instant, there was no suffering.

Witnessing the general’s execution, the crowd was driven to absolute fury. All reason vanished. Hidden weapons were rushed to the front; those without seized arms from the police. The exhausted forces cast aside their gear and fled.

The people armed themselves. Many retired veterans began organizing combat squads, setting up defenses and encircling the general’s body. At the same time, others recovered his head, and surgeons rushed to stitch the remains together, fighting back tears. Nobody blamed Zhang Jun for his actions; he stood silently at the general’s side, ramrod straight with grief.

Meanwhile, the special forces team that had just said their farewells broke through the lines to reach the square. Though they had foreseen the outcome, the moment was still unbearable. These iron-willed soldiers stifled their sorrow, shedding a few tears before carrying out the general’s final orders.

A jet-black, non-reflective cryo-pod was surreptitiously delivered. The general’s remains were placed inside, and another pod brought forth a body identical to the general’s. Then, silently and unnoticed, the pod containing the general’s true remains was spirited away.

Barely five minutes after the general’s body was removed, the sky darkened. The people looked up to see the empire’s most powerful Imperial Guards deploying their entire fleet of armored hovercraft. The special forces captain signaled Zhang Jun to follow, and word was passed for everyone to disperse and hide.

Realizing there was no other choice, the multitude began to scatter into the surrounding streets. But the tide of humanity moved slowly. The empire’s leaders, now terrified, had given the order to massacre the square. The Imperial Guard was not the army of the people, but bio-mechanical soldiers—clones of the most elite warriors, engineered to be half-machine. They possessed neither humanity nor mercy, only loyalty to their controllers. To ensure maximum efficiency, every soldier was implanted with berserker and other drugs, making them easy to manipulate.

The moment the order was given, thousands of armored hovercraft unleashed torrents of death. No one struck survived intact.

In terror, people fled as those behind them fell, but no one could stop to help. Each victim was reduced to thousands of fragments. The crowd ran on, rage and despair mingling, while in the distance, the empire’s flag fluttered in the sunset, weary and forlorn. Blood on the earth painted the sky above the square crimson, and as the general had said, in this moment, the empire was dying in the hearts of its people.