STAR POV

The sandstorm swallowed the sky whole.

Dust rolled through Washington like a living thing, curling between buildings, howling down empty streets, erasing the world in shades of brown and gold. Then she fell from it.

Star struck the pavement, and the street shattered beneath her.

Asphalt split outward in a violent ring, debris lifting, spinning, then crashing back down. Smoke and dust climbed into the air around her like a curtain. She rose slowly from the crater’s center, unhurried, untouched.

Her armor drank the light — black samurai plating edged in shadow, smooth, lethal. Her long black hair moved in the fading wind. One eye burned gold. The other, soft pink, glowed with quiet promise.

Her katana rested against her hip.

Behind her, boots struck pavement in perfect unison.

Her soldiers stood in formation, heads bowed for a single breath before snapping to attention. She lifted two fingers slightly — a silent salute — and they mirrored it without hesitation.

The storm began to die.

Through thinning dust, the road to the White House stretched ahead, littered with ruin. Burning helicopters. Overturned vehicles. Bodies still in uniform, motionless in the street. Jets screamed overhead, shadows cutting through smoke.

Star walked.

Each step echoed in the hollow silence between distant gunfire. Her men followed in formation, an unbroken wall of black behind her. No one spoke. No one needed to.

Ahead, Azrathion stood in his monstrous form, towering, muscle and horn and fury. He turned as he sensed her, red eyes igniting. A rumble rolled from his chest — not rage.

Anticipation.

Together, they approached the White House.

Ten minutes later, they stood before it.

Floodlights cut through smoke. Defensive lines stretched across the grounds — soldiers, Secret Service, armored vehicles, mounted weapons trained forward. Barrels lifted as one, tracking her.

Azrathion stopped.

So did she.

Her army halted behind her in perfect synchronization.

For a moment, there was only wind.

Star stepped forward alone.

Boots crunched over shattered glass. Her armor made no sound.

She looked at the line of defenders the way someone might study a wall already condemned.

“Lower your weapons,” she said.

Her voice was calm. It carried anyway.

“This is the only mercy you will be offered.”

No one moved.

Fingers tightened on triggers. Eyes locked onto her glowing gaze.

She took another step.

Her gold eye flared brighter, molten, alive.

“I will ask once more,” she said. “Lower your weapons… or die defending what you love most.”

A man climbed onto a tank, gripping a microphone with shaking hands. His voice boomed across the ruined lawn.

“We will defend these lands till our last man dies!”

The words echoed.

Star tilted her head.

For a second, she almost admired it — that stubborn, fragile thing humans called courage.

“So be it,” she said softly.

She looked at Azrathion.

His monstrous mouth curled into something like a grin. “I didn’t want you to miss the best part, my queen,” he rumbled.

Star turned her gaze back to the White House, white walls smudged with smoke, history clinging to it like dust.

Then she exhaled.

“Kill them.”

Her body unraveled into black sand.

She dissolved upward in a spiral of darkness, scattering into the air as the first shots rang out. Her soldiers moved as one, weapons rising, fire tearing through the silence. Muzzle flashes lit the smoke in violent bursts.

Azrathion roared and charged.

The ground shook under him as rockets streaked forward, explosions blooming against his body in fire and smoke. He didn’t slow. Metal screamed as he tore into the defensive line, tanks shuddering under his strength.

From above, Star re-formed in the sky, hovering in the storm’s dying remnants.

She watched.

Emotionless.

The battlefield below flickered with fire, steel, and falling bodies — and to her, it meant nothing at all.

Only the outcome mattered.

And the outcome had already been decided.

The gates shattered as he crashed through them.

Metal screamed. Stone broke. Defensive lines collapsed under the force of him as Star’s soldiers advanced behind his shadow, dropping to cover, returning fire with disciplined precision. The lawn became chaos — bodies falling, smoke rising, commands drowned beneath gunfire.

Azrathion reached the tanks.

His claws tore into armored steel as if it were thin metal sheeting. He ripped the top from one vehicle and hurled it aside, then seized another, lifting it with a bellow of fury and smashing it into the pavement hard enough to crater the earth.

A rocket flew straight toward his head.

Without looking, he caught it.

It detonated in his grasp, fire swallowing his arm — and when the smoke cleared, he was still standing. His gaze snapped toward the soldier who had fired.

Azrathion grabbed an armored truck and hurled it.

It tore through the defensive line like a meteor.

But the sky answered.

Fighter jets screamed overhead, descending low, engines shrieking as missiles tore downward. Explosions ripped through Star’s advancing forces, dirt and fire erupting in violent bursts. Some of her soldiers vanished in the blasts, lines breaking, reforming, pushing forward anyway.

Azrathion looked up and roared his challenge to the sky.

He reached down, tore a heavy tire free from a wrecked vehicle, and spun with impossible force. The tire left his hand like a launched weapon, whistling upward. A jet screamed past—

—and the impact sent it spiraling into a distant building in a bloom of fire.

From the opposite side, dark helicopters rose — Star’s reinforcements — rockets streaking from their wings, trading fire across the burning skyline.

Azrathion brought his hands together with a thunderous clap.

Between them, darkness condensed — stretching, shaping — until a massive spear formed, cruel spikes jutting from its head. He seized it and plunged back into the battlefield, every movement sending soldiers scattering.

Above it all, Star watched.

She floated in the thinning storm clouds, silent, untouched, the war unfolding below like a moving map. Fire reflected in her mismatched eyes. Screams, explosions, gunfire — none of it reached her.

She pulled a phone from within her armor.

One call.

“Send it,” she said.

She ended the call.

Below, her forces pushed closer to the building, step by bloody step.

Then—

The world split open.

A thunderous detonation rolled across the city, deeper than any before. Sound swallowed everything. For one suspended moment, both armies froze.

The White House burned.

Flames roared from its structure, black smoke twisting high into the sky. The symbol of a nation stood engulfed.

Silence spread outward like a shockwave.

A commander stepped forward slowly, hands shaking, and raised a white flag.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” he shouted, voice cracking.

Rifles hit the ground. One by one. Then all at once.

Azrathion stalked among them, stomping through smoke and debris, growling low as soldiers fell to their knees, hands behind their heads, eyes wide with terror.

Star descended from the sky.

She landed lightly in front of the commander, black sand reforming into armor and flesh. Not a mark on her.

“Wise choice,” she said.

Her gaze shifted slightly to Azrathion, spear hovering near the kneeling men. Her own soldiers raised their weapons, steady, waiting.

“Now,” she continued, voice soft as falling ash, “take me to your leader.”

The commander swallowed and nodded.

And turned toward the burning White House.

They moved in silence, Star leading, Azrathion following closely at her side. When they reached the bunker, the demon shifted back into his human form, the monstrous bulk shrinking into familiar, terrifying grace.

The commander gestured toward the hidden entrance. “This is where I’ve been hiding.”

Two soldiers guarding the door raised their weapons immediately.

“Stand down,” the commander barked, but they didn’t listen.

One step. One fluid motion from Star.

The soldiers froze mid-breath, eyes wide in terror. Seconds later, her katana flashed. Their heads fell in unison, silent and final. She sheathed the blade, calm as if nothing had happened.

“Open the door,” she said.

“I can’t,” the commander replied. “It only opens from the inside.”

Star’s gaze flicked to Azrathion. He exhaled, shoulders tense, then shifted back into his monstrous form. He drove his fists into the reinforced metal door, pounding relentlessly. Steel groaned and splintered. With one mighty heave, he tore the door from its hinges.

Inside, gunfire erupted, but Azrathion ignored it, roaring, impervious to bullets.

The President’s eyes widened, alarm flashing. He barked orders, and soldiers hesitated, then ceased fire.

Azrathion returned to human form, stepping aside as the commander moved through the breached doorway.

“My apologies, Mr. President,” the commander said, voice trembling. “I never expected…”

Before the words could finish, Star moved unseen. Her katana slid silently through the commander’s torso. He gasped, twisted, and fell — life extinguished before anyone could comprehend. She cleaned the blade with a single, precise motion and returned it to her hip.

The President stared. Terror and awe clashed in his eyes. “Who… who are you?”

Star smiled, cold and sharp. “I am your new president. But you may call me… your Highness. Or my Queen. Whatever suits you.”

He gulped, nodding. “Yes… my Queen.”

A soft giggle escaped her. “Good boy,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led him outside. The city sprawled before them in ruin — streets cratered, smoke curling into the sky, remnants of a war no one alive would forget.

Her assistant arrived, flanked by soldiers with a camera. Star turned to him. “You’re going live, sir. The world needs to see this. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the President replied, still shaking.

Star, Azrathion, and her assistant walked forward. She activated the broadcast. The camera captured the devastation, every detail of fire and ruin.

The President stepped forward, voice trembling but resolute.

“My people,” he began, “we have failed to defend our nation. I want to thank you for your loyalty, for your service, and for your respect toward this country. You now serve under a new President, a new order. Thank you… and may God be with you all.”

The broadcast ended.

The screen went dark, and the world was left in silence.

Star turned.

The President was forced to his knees by her soldiers, his suit stained with ash, his breathing uneven. Smoke drifted behind him from the burning remains of what had once been power.

She stepped in front of him.

Metal whispered as her katana left its sheath. The blade rested lightly against his shoulder — not cutting, not yet. Just a promise.

“Tell me,” she said, voice calm as still water. “Why should I keep you alive?”

He swallowed hard. His voice trembled. “I—I can give you everything. Access. Weapons programs. Hidden facilities. Intelligence networks. Locations even most of my own government doesn’t know about. Keep me alive… and you gain the world.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“What makes you think,” she said softly, “that I don’t already know what you hide behind closed doors?”

His eyes widened. He faltered, words tangling. “I—I don’t know that… but I can be useful. Reliable.”

Her assistant stepped forward. “Your Highness, he speaks truth. He gives us infrastructure — armies, weapons, global reach.”

Azrathion folded his arms, watching the kneeling man like prey. “With him,” he rumbled, “this wretched world falls faster.”

Star considered him for a long moment.

Then the blade slid back into its sheath.

“So be it.”

She turned away. “Take him.”

The soldiers dragged the President back toward the ruined building that had once been his command.

Star faced Azrathion.

“Return to the Masters,” she said. “Tell them the task is complete.”

He studied her. “And you?”

Her eyes shifted toward the horizon. “There are… associates of mine who require attention.”

Azrathion nodded and moved off to command the remaining forces.

But Star did not follow.

She turned slowly back toward the White House.

Flames crawled across its broken structure. Smoke clawed into the sky. The symbol of a nation lay wounded.

Her gold eye ignited.

She knelt and placed her palm against the shattered ground.

The earth answered.

The fire faltered first — flames bending inward, shrinking, then dying as if starved of existence itself. Stone groaned beneath the soil. Foundations shifted. The very air seemed to pull inward toward her hand.

The White House began to rise.

Walls stretched, stone darkening, reshaping. Marble twisted into blackened fortress stone veined with deep crimson. Towers erupted upward where columns once stood. Windows narrowed into towering archways. Spires pierced the clouds.

The ground reshaped, expanding, lifting, forming terraces, battlements, towering gates.

History vanished.

Power replaced it.

When Star lifted her hand, the transformation was complete.

Where a nation’s symbol had stood now loomed an ancient fortress — vast, black, crowned with spires that seemed to scrape the sky itself.

A castle not built by men.

A throne not meant for rulers of this world.

Star rose slowly, wind pulling at her hair, her mismatched eyes glowing against the storm-dark sky.

And for the first time since arriving—

She looked pleased.