Call Me Akuma

Noticing that we had arrived at our destination, two Custodes-like guards moved to the exit as the docking process completed. They positioned themselves ahead of us, while two more followed closely behind. When the doors slid open, the first two guards stepped out with deliberate precision, and we followed them in their wake. 

As I exited the aircraft, the sight that greeted me was a vast, cathedral-like hangar, its size rivaling that of a massive football field. The space was alive with disciplined order. On both sides of the hangar, dozens of Custodes-like soldiers stood in perfect formation, arranged in five neat lines on either side of a wide, polished pathway. Each of these warriors radiated an aura of unyielding strength and authority. 

Their weapons were as varied as they were fearsome. Some carried massive axes that gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, while others held towering mallets with runic carvings glowing faintly. There were even warriors wielding what looked like chainswords—huge, roaring blades that combined the deadliness of a weapon with the savagery of a saw. Each soldier bore a unique presence, their combined force creating an atmosphere so oppressive that, even without threatening gestures, the very air seemed heavy with dread. 

Behind these imposing figures stood another contingent of soldiers, hundreds strong, arranged with the same immaculate precision. Unlike the Custodes-like warriors, these men and women wore military-style uniforms and carried a more subdued, disciplined aura. They were tall, standing between seven and eight feet, but their presence, while significant, paled in comparison to the towering might of the Custodes-like elite before them. 

Directly ahead of us, eight individuals stood in a line, exuding an air of authority that marked them as being of higher rank than the rest. They donned the unmistakable armor of the Custodes-like soldiers but carried no visible weapons; their presence alone was sufficient to command respect. Their armor bore intricate markings—badges and medals gleaming on their shoulders, each a testament to their rank and achievements. Around their waists, some wore ornate belt decorations, the most striking of which was an emblem shaped like a book with two swords crossed diagonally across it—a powerful symbol of wisdom balanced by strength. 

As if they were a single organism, all the individuals within the massive hangar simultaneously brought their fists to their chests and bowed deeply, their movements precise and unified. The gesture radiated loyalty and unwavering devotion; their synchronization was so flawless it seemed almost rehearsed. Yet, despite the perfection of their actions, the sincerity of their allegiance was unmistakable, filling the vast space with an almost tangible sense of reverence. 

Despite the overwhelming pressure and reverence their presence created, my father remained entirely unaffected, as though this grand display of respect and power was nothing more than an everyday occurrence for him. His calm and composed demeanor stood in stark contrast to my own experience. The sheer weight of their combined auras bore down on me like an invisible force, pressing heavily against my chest and threatening to suffocate me under its intensity. 

Noticing my discomfort, my mother frowned, her sharp gaze darting toward me with concern. Without hesitation, she lightly tapped my father's arm, a subtle yet deliberate gesture that seemed to signal for his intervention. He turned his attention to me, his calm and unwavering demeanor unchanged. Then, as though he simply willed it, all the suffocating pressure that had been crushing me vanished entirely, dissipating as if it had never existed in the first place. The oppressive weight, the overwhelming aura, the suffocating presence—it was gone in an instant, leaving me gasping for air. 

Something was deeply wrong with the people here. When I encountered the four Custodes-like guards earlier, I had felt a measure of pressure, but it was nothing compared to this. This wasn't just emotional or mental strain; it was physical. It was as though their combined presence was actively choking the air from my lungs, constricting my very ability to breathe. 

I had faced countless life-threatening situations in my past life—moments where survival seemed impossible. Yet even then, I had never encountered anything like this. Back then, the pressure was intense but abstract—a looming sense of danger that gnawed at my mind rather than my body. But this time, it was different. 

The pressure these people exuded wasn't just an intangible feeling—it was physical, a force as real and inescapable as gravity. I could feel it bearing down on me, constricting my chest and stealing the air from my lungs. It wasn't simply fear; it was a presence, a palpable weight that overwhelmed my senses and left me utterly exposed. I couldn't fully comprehend what it was or how they wielded it, but one thing was painfully clear: I wasn't prepared to face it. 

A Custodes-like figure in the front, distinguished by more medals and badges than anyone else around, stepped forward with a sharp salute. His voice was heavy and commanding as he spoke. "By the Emperor's will and The God, I am Panthera Tigris, newly anointed as Captain of this sacred vessel, The Golden Star Destroyer. On behalf of my honored brethren and loyal kin, I humbly welcome you, my Lord, to this bastion of His divine light." 

From the tone of his voice alone, it was clear that Panthera Tigris was in his middle years, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority. His crimson-red eyes glowed with an intensity that suggested a savagery held in check by years of experience and wisdom. But what stood out most was the balance he struck between raw power and disciplined leadership, a presence so commanding it felt almost divine as he addressed my father with unwavering reverence. 

The words Tigris spoke left me in a state of confusion. As he welcomed my father, a flood of thoughts overwhelmed my mind: "So, am I in the Warhammer 40K universe? No, that can't be right. If this was truly 40K, then that man in front of me would be considered a heretic and would have already faced a gruesome death. And he just mentioned Star Destroyer... So, is this a Star Wars universe? But no, it can't be that either, because there's mention of both an emperor and a God rather than The Force. Best guess? This must be some kind of mixed universe. But I can't be certain without gathering more information... I'll have to wait and see." 

The uncertainty swirled in my mind, adding to the unease that already gripped me. Whatever reality I found myself in, it was not one I could easily classify or make sense of. 

The uncertainty gnawed at me, and the tension in the air made everything feel torturously slow as I tried to make sense of it all. 

Then, my father, ever calm and composed—a man of few words—finally spoke to the captain of the Golden Star Destroyer. "May the Emperor and God's will be with you on your new journey, Panthera Tigris." His voice was steady, the words carrying a weight of authority and respect. Without missing a beat, he passed by the captain with the same serene, almost detached demeanor, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It was as though the overwhelming presence of this place, the people, and the strange universe we were in had no effect on him. He moved through it all as if it was simply another day at the office. 

As my father passed by, Panthera Tigris and his entire group sharply saluted him, their gestures filled with deep respect and gratitude. But what set Panthera Tigris apart was the way he saluted—his movement almost seemed like a thank you, as if he was personally grateful for my father's blessing. 

However, a disquieting feeling crept over me. As they saluted, I noticed something strange in the air. Even though their faces were hidden behind helmets, I could somehow feel the exchange of glances between Tigris' entourage. Their gazes weren't simply respectful—they were weighted with something more. A hint of jealousy, perhaps? It wasn't overt, but it was unmistakable. The way they looked at Panthera Tigris—those subtle shifts in their posture and the flicker in their eyes—spoke volumes. It was clear that whatever he had received from my father was of immense value to them too, something that wasn't easily attained. Their reactions suggested a deep rivalry, one born from competition or even envy. Whatever favor or privilege Tigris had gained had evidently stirred some unspoken tension among his comrades. 

---

If we reach 100 stones, I'll reward you all with a bonus chapter!