The first thing I noticed wasn't the silk sheets worth more than most planets' GDP, or the bed that could comfortably fit an orgy.
It was my hands.
They were wrong. Too long, too elegant, too pale. Like someone had downloaded my consciousness and installed it in hardware I didn't have the specs for.
I sat up, and the world shifted wrong. My center of gravity was off. Every movement had too much reach, too much power. Like trying to play a game after someone fucked with your sensitivity settings.
"What the fuck," I whispered, and even my voice was different. Deeper. Smoother. The kind of voice that could order genocides over breakfast and make it sound reasonable.
Memory fragments crashed through my skull—but wait, that one was mine. Choking on instant ramen in my studio apartment, monitor still showing Galaxy Conquest VII's defeat screen. My last thought: "Fucking Raven Vex'thara and his bullshit final phase—"
And now I was here. In his body.
The irony tasted worse than the ramen that killed me.
I stumbled toward what I hoped was a mirror, my new body moving with a grace I couldn't control. Like it knew how to walk better than I did. When I saw my reflection, I nearly had a second heart attack.
Lord Raven Vex'thara stared back at me. Dark hair and crimson eyes
"Holy shit," I breathed. "I'm fucking gorgeous."
The room around me was Black chrome and crystallized starlight.
Weapons that could level continents hung on the walls—though the scorch marks on the ceiling suggested they weren't just for show.
Three different blood types stained the carpet (a helpful display informed me:
Type A-positive human,
Type G Grokkies,
Type Unknown-analysis pending).
A woman's earring was embedded in the wall at what had to be terminal velocity.
The kind of room that said 'I have violent sex and violent arguments, sometimes simultaneously.'
What the hell had I inherited?
My hand moved to the nearest console before I'd decided to reach for it. Fingers dancing across controls I'd never seen but somehow knew. The display responded before I touched it, systems reaching out to meet my intent halfway.
That... wasn't normal.
KNOCK KNOCK.
The sound interrupted my thoughts.
My body moved without consulting me—hand dropping to where a weapon should be, stance shifting to something combat-ready. Muscle memory of a killer, installed and ready to run.
"Enter," I called, and the word came out sharp enough to draw blood.
The door slid open with a whisper of advanced engineering, and Commander Meus stepped through.
Every thought immediately evacuated my brain.
The game developers hadn't just been conservative—they'd been criminal. Because there was no way any rating system in existence could have handled what I was looking at.
Meus was built like someone had asked a war god to design the perfect warrior, then decided to make her devastating in entirely different ways. Six feet of controlled violence wrapped in an Imperial Guard uniform that was fighting a losing battle against curves that violated several laws of physics.
"Lord Raven," she said, dropping into a bow that nearly made me swallow my tongue. "The preparations are complete."
I forced myself to meet her eyes—brown, sharp, constantly assessing threats. Even while bowing, she was calculating different ways to kill me. The knowledge sat in my brain uninvited: she was fast enough to do it, too.
"Preparations?" I managed.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she straightened. "For Grokkies Station, my lord. As you commanded." A pause. "You're... contemplative this morning."
Shit. "Problem with that?"
"You usually make execution decisions before your eyes fully open." She said. "Yesterday you had three people spaced before breakfast."
Double shit. "I'm trying a new thing. Delayed gratification."
"Of... murder?"
"Exactly."
She studied me with the kind of intensity that made me understand why Original Raven kept her around despite the obvious threat. That analytical mind was as dangerous as her body.
"The assault fleet awaits your signal," she continued, though something in her tone suggested she was filing my behavior away for later analysis.
Right. Grokkies Station. In the game, this was where Raven's villain arc really kicked off—a brutal orbital bombardment that would cement his reputation as a monster and set up his eventual downfall three acts later.
But I wasn't bound by the game's script anymore.
"Change of plans," I said, moving to the tactical display. "I'm not sending the fleet."
For the first time since entering, Meus showed genuine surprise. "Sir?"
As I reached for the controls, the display shifted before I made contact. Not like motion sensors—like the machine was reading my nervous system directly.
Data flowed across the screen: Grokkies defense patterns, shield frequencies, vulnerability windows. Information I'd memorized for a perfect game run, now served up by technology that seemed eager to please.
In the game, their shields cycled every 3.7 seconds with a 0.3-second vulnerability window. The wiki had been precise down to microseconds. But that was a game. This was real. Would the patterns hold?
Only one way to find out.
"My lord?" Meus stepped closer. "Are you alright?"
"I'm going myself," I said, the words coming out before I'd fully thought them through. "Solo."
"That's impossible. You can't take an entire station alone—"
"Watch me." I pulled up ship inventory through the room's interface, my fingers knowing exactly where to gesture. "The Nightshade. My personal stealth frigate."
The ship's specifications materialized in the air between us. In the game, this had been endgame content—the kind of ship that made other players rage-quit. Here, it was real metal and murderous intent.
"Sir, even with the Nightshade, the Grokkies have quantum regeneration systems. Their ships can rebuild from molecular damage in minutes—"
"Not after I'm done with them." I accessed Raven's personal armory, scrolling through an inventory. "Molecular disruptors."
Meus went pale. Actually pale. "My lord, those don't just kill. They make death contagious. The last person who used them created a three-system quarantine zone. They're banned by seventeen treaties—"
"Good thing I don't give a fuck about treaties." The words came out in Original Raven's cadence, and for a moment, I felt him there—a ghost of cruelty whispering approval. "Fear is a tool, and I need a very sharp one today."
Her hand actually twitched toward her weapon before she caught herself. That's how bad molecular disruptors were—even his bodyguard considered stopping me.
"What exactly are you planning?" she asked.
I turned to face her fully.
More memory bleed—I knew that look. It was the one Raven wore before doing something spectacularly violent.
"I'm going to knock on their front door and have a conversation," I said. "After I demonstrate what happens to people who keep me waiting."
The Nightshade's systems came online.
The whole room seemed to pulse in sync, technology responding to intention before action.
"Prep the ship for immediate departure," I ordered, surprised by how naturally the authority came. The voice, the stance, the expectation of obedience—all hardwired into this body. "And Meus?"
"Yes, my lord?"
I smiled, and felt the expression settle into something dangerous. "Clear my schedule for the next few hours. I have a reputation to maintain."
Before she could respond. The lights dimmed to emergency levels. Every piece of technology in the room cowered as the priority communication array activated.
The Imperial seal materialized in the air—not projected, but burned into reality itself. My father's personal sigil, reserved for two things: emergencies and executions.
"Raven." The voice didn't come from the speakers. It came from everywhere. From the walls. From my bones. From the space between atoms. "You have thirty seconds."
The transmission cut off, leaving silence heavy enough to crush planets.
Meus was watching me carefully, her expression unreadable. That analytical mind working overtime. "My lord? Your orders?"
I looked at the communication array, then at the tactical display showing Grokkies Station, then back at her magnificent... eyes. Definitely her eyes. Though my new body had very different priorities than my old one, and they were making themselves known.
Time to find out what kind of villain I was going to be.
"Tell my father I'll call him back," I said. "I have a speedrun to complete."
"A what, my lord?"
"Nothing. Inside joke. With myself." I headed for the door, trying not to think about how naturally this body moved toward violence. "One more thing, Meus."
"Sir?"
"In the game—I mean, in theory—how long would it take one ship to reduce a station's defenses to nothing?"
She calculated instantly. "With conventional weapons? Seventeen hours minimum. With molecular disruptors?" A pause. "Forty-three minutes."
I grinned. "I'll do it in thirty."
Her eyes widened slightly. "My lord, you can't just ignore the Emperor—"
"I'm not ignoring him. I'm showing initiative." I moved toward the door. "Besides, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Especially when you bring back results."
Meus hesitated for a moment.
"The Nightshade requires a full pre-flight check," she said finally, falling into step beside me. "I'll need to ensure all systems are operational."
I glanced at her, surprised. "You're coming with me?"
"You're planning to assault a neutral station with banned weapons while ignoring a direct Imperial summons." Her expression was professional, but I caught something else in her eyes. "Someone needs to ensure you survive long enough to explain yourself."
"And that someone is you?"
"I'm your personal guard, my lord. Your survival is my responsibility." She paused. "Besides, someone needs to witness whatever insanity you're planning. For the official record."
I grinned. "Meus, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful and terrifying partnership."
"Just try not to get us both executed, my lord."
"No promises," I said, heading for the hangar. "But I'll make it entertaining."
---
[Grokkies Station - Command Center]
Commander Zyx'ara watched the sensor ghost flicker across her screens. One ship, running silent, but she knew that signature. Everyone in the sector did.
"It's the Nightshade," she said quietly. Her scales shifted through colors her subordinates had never seen—purple fear, amber curiosity, and something that might have been rose anticipation. "He's coming alone."
"Alone? That's insane."
"That's Raven Vex'thara." She pulled up archived footage—stations burning, fleets scattered like toys. "When he comes alone, it means he's making a point."
"What do we do?"
Zyx'ara's scales settled on an unusual rose gold. "Prepare for negotiation. Or annihilation. With him, they're often the same thing."
"Should we power weapons?"
"No." She closed all four eyes briefly. "When death comes calling, you offer it tea and hope it's thirsty."The Nightshade's hangar bay was a cathedral of black metal and predatory design. My personal stealth frigate sat in the center like a sleeping dragon, all angular lines and barely contained violence. Just looking at it made my pulse quicken.
"All pre-flight checks complete, my lord," Meus reported, her fingers across the interface. "Stealth generators online, molecular disruptors loaded and armed."
The ship's cockpit welcomed me. Every control, every system interface felt familiar in a way I can't even explain. This wasn't just Raven's ship—it was an extension of his will, and now mine.
"Comfortable?" Meus sat down in the co-pilot seat.
She moved so smoothly, and I couldn't help but check out how her uniform hugged her body.
Focus, I told myself. You're about to commit what's probably several war crimes. Try to keep your priorities straight.
"Like I was born for this," I replied, firing up the engines. "Time to see if I'm as good at this as the game made it look."
The hangar bay doors opened to reveal the star-field beyond. Grokkies space lay three jumps away—neutral territory that was about to become very un-neutral.
"Engaging warp drive," I announced, and reality twisted around us.
---
Three hyperspace jumps later, Grokkies Station materialized on our sensors like a bad omen made manifest. The massive ring-shaped structure bristled with defensive platforms, weapons arrays, and enough firepower to crack a moon. Exactly like the game, but somehow more intimidating when it wasn't just pixels on a screen.
"My lord," Meus whispered, her voice tight with tension. "Their entire defense fleet is launching. Forty-one ships and counting."
I studied the tactical display, my gamer instincts kicking in hard. In the original game, this had been a puzzle boss—brute force would get you killed, but there was an elegant solution if you knew the pattern. The trick was making them defeat themselves.
"Perfect," I said, activating the comm system. "Grokkies Station, this is Lord Raven Vex'thara of the Dominion Empire. You have thirty seconds to surrender before I demonstrate why that's your best option."
The response was immediate and predictable—weapons fire from every platform simultaneously, turning the space around us into a light show of death.
"Predictable," I muttered, diving the Nightshade into a spiraling descent that used their own defensive grid against them. "Meus, watch this."
I led their fighters into a classic pincer formation, their ships converging on our position from multiple vectors. At the last possible second, I activated the stealth field.
The Grokkies ships, unable to stop their attack runs or detect our new position, collided with each other in a spectacular display of poor tactical coordination. Explosions bloomed like deadly flowers across the void.
"Twelve ships down," Meus reported, her voice filled with something between awe and what sounded suspiciously like arousal. "How did you—"
"Know their attack pattern? Lucky guess." I lined up the next phase, targeting their command ship with surgical precision. "Now for the real show."
The molecular disruptor charge hit their flagship's regeneration core dead center. Instead of the usual blue glow of quantum reconstruction, there was only empty space where half the ship used to be. No explosion, no debris—just gone, like it had never existed.
The remaining Grokkies fleet stopped firing immediately.
"I think I got them to notice us," I said, reopening the line of communication. My heart was racing, but I managed to keep my cool and speak confidently. "Now, shall we discuss terms like civilized beings?"
---
The Grokkies station's docking bay was a study in controlled panic. Alien soldiers, tall, scaly humanoids with four arms and reptilian features, quickly tried to line up in a sort of honor guard as we got off the ship.
"Call your leader," I announced, letting Raven's reputation precede me. "Now."
A female Grokkies stepped forward, and I had to admit—the universe had interesting taste in alien anatomy. Tall, elegant, with scales that shifted color in the light and curves that suggested their species had very similar priorities to humans when it came to physical attraction.
"I am Commander Zyx'ara," she said, her voice carrying musical undertones that made my skin tingle. "The High Council will see you."
Professional, I reminded myself, even as I noticed how her form-fitting armor did absolutely nothing to hide her assets. Even if she was built like an exotic dancer's fever dream.
"Lead the way," I said, noting how her soldiers kept their weapons lowered but ready. Smart. "And Commander? I appreciate the warm welcome, but if anyone so much as twitches wrong, I'll demonstrate what happened to your flagship on a more personal level."
Her scales shifted to a deeper purple—definitely fear, if I remembered the game's lore correctly.
"Of course, Lord Raven. This way."
As we walked through corridors lined with nervous guards, Meus leaned close enough that I caught her scent again.
"My lord," she whispered, "that was... impressive."
The way she said it had me thinking she wasn't just talking about my tactical skills. Her voice had this fiery vibe that made my body react in all the wrong ways for a diplomatic mission.
"That's a warmup," I replied, feeling more like Raven.
The command center doors opened revealing the Grokkies High Council—five aliens who looked defeated.
Good.
"Gentlemen," I said, stepping into the center of the room. "Ladies. Let's talk."
The eldest of the council, his scales marked with age and what looked like old battle scars, stepped forward.
"Lord Raven," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "To what do we owe this... visit?"
"I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse."
---The docking bay in the Imperial capital looked like a massive cathedral made of steel and dreams, with tall arches and shiny surfaces. This shows the power and wealth of the empire.
As the Nightshade's engines wound down with their characteristic whine, I could see Admiral Korrath waiting with what looked like half the Imperial Guard.
His posture shows barely contained fury mixed with military discipline—the kind of stance that said he'd been practicing his lecture for hours.
"Here we go," I whispered to Meus, who looked prepared for this after our little hiccup in hyperspace.
I stepped off the ship.
Admiral Korrath stepped forward immediately, His face looked like he was annoyed, probably from putting up with military stuff and dealing with politics for, like, forever.
"Lord Raven," he said. "The Emperor has been... concerned by your absence."
The way he said 'concerned' made it clear he meant 'absolutely fucking livid.'
Molly, Korrath looked like he wanted to space me personally. In the game, he'd always been a pain-in-the-ass NPC who gave you tedious escort missions. But here? Here he was a genuine threat with forty years of military experience and a direct line to Daddy Dearest. Good thing I had the ultimate cheat code—being the Emperor's only heir.
"Has he?" I replied, letting Raven's natural arrogance bleed into my voice. "I've been handling Imperial business. Successfully, I might add."
"Taking unauthorized action in neutral space without Imperial sanction—" Korrath began, but I cut him off with a gesture that would have gotten anyone else shot on sight.
"Admiral are you questioning my judgment?"
The docking bay went dead silent. Every soldier, every technician, every pilot suddenly found somewhere else to look. This was the moment—defer to military protocol, or establish dominance like the Crown Prince I was supposed to be.
Behind me, I felt Meus tense. She knew the old Raven would have drawn steel by now, probably killed someone to make a point. This Raven was playing a different game—still dangerous, but surgical rather than brutal.
"I conquered an entire system while you were filing reports," I continued. "The Grokkies now fly Imperial colors and pay Imperial taxes. Perhaps we should discuss who's been more productive with their time."
Korrath's jaw worked silently for a moment, clearly torn between military protocol and the very real fact that I'd just handed the Empire a major strategic victory. Finally, his training won out.
"You are Lord Raven Vex'thara," he said through gritting his teeth, "the heir to the Dominion throne and Crown Prince of the Empire."
"Exactly." I stepped closer. "And what does that make you, Admiral?"
"Your father's appointed military commander."
"Appointed. Not heir. Not family. Appointed." I let that distinction hang between us. "I suggest you remember that hierarchy, Admiral. It could prevent us from having a bad time.
While I was talking, something strange happened - the palace's security systems glitched out for a sec, making a few guards check their weapons. The building's AI was messing with me once more, and I still had no clue why.
Korrath noticed it too, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The Emperor is waiting, my lord. He's... eager to hear about your initiative."
"Alright, let's not make him wait," I said, walking past the Admiral.
As we strolled through the hallways with all those Imperial flags and weapons that could blow up a city, Meus walked up next to me. I could tell she was secretly relieved that Korrath didn't immediately try to throw me in jail.
"Nicely done," she murmured.
"Just getting started," I replied, and meant it.
The throne room doors loomed ahead—twenty feet of reinforced durasteel decorated with the Imperial seal. Beyond those doors lay my father, the man they called "the one death fears," and apparently a princess who'd decided to show up early for our wedding negotiations.
No pressure at all.
"ENTER."
The single word hit us like a shockwave before the doors even opened. When the Emperor spoke, reality itself seemed to pay attention. The massive portals swung inward with pneumatic precision, revealing the heart of Imperial power.
But my attention wasn't on the Emperor sitting in judgment on his obsidian throne, or the assembled court watching like vultures circling fresh meat.
It was on her.
The Zephyrian Princess stood beside my father's throne, and damn if she didn't look the part.
Where I'd expected some pampered political pawn, I found myself looking at a woman who radiated confidence that came from genuine power.
She was tall with an hourglass figure. The deep blue fabric hugged every curve—from her full breasts to her narrow waist to hips.
When our eyes met, she smiled like someone who'd just spotted something new to play with.
Fuck I thought, . this complicates everything
"My son," the Emperor said, and somehow managed to make it sound like both greeting and death threat. "How good of you to finally join us."
He didn't move from his throne. My father was tall, broad-shouldered, with the same red eyes I now wore and an aura of contained violence.
I'd faced him down in the game dozens of times, but this was different.
"Father," I replied with a slight bow. "I came as soon as I finished securing our new protectorate."
"Ah yes." His voice carried across the throne room. "The Grokkies situation. Tell me, son—did I give you permission to conduct independent military operations?"
Every courtier in the room leaned forward slightly. This was the kind of Imperial family drama that could end with executions or promotions, depending on how it played out.
"You taught me to show initiative," I replied, letting steel enter my voice. "The opportunity presented itself. I took it."
The princess stepped forward before my father could respond, breaking protocol with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she made her own rules.
"So you're the infamous Lord Raven," she said. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
Her smile was sharp. "I don't like being avoided."
I caught Meus watching the princess with the kind of professional assessment that wasn't entirely professional. Her hand rested casually near her sidearm, and I realized with dark amusement that my bodyguard was sizing up my potential bride as a threat.
Not entirely wrong, either.
"Your Highness," I said, offering another slight bow. "Forgive me. Duty called."
"Oh, I'm sure it did." She moved closer. "I hear you've been conquering systems in your spare time. How... productive of you."
"Just keeping busy," I replied. "I hate being idle."
"Wonderful." Her smile turned predatory. "I have so many ideas about how to keep you... occupied."
The way she said it made several courtiers shift uncomfortably. This woman was dangerous in ways I hadn't expected.
I was starting to like her already.
"ENOUGH." The Emperor's voice cut through. "We have business to discuss. The wedding arrangements—"
"Can wait," I interrupted, and the entire court held its breath.
My father's eyes narrowed to red slits. "Excuse me?"
This was it. The moment where I either established myself as Crown Prince material or got myself exiled to the Outer Rim. Time to go all in.
"The Grokkies conquest changes our strategic position," I said, my voice carrying across the silent throne room. "Three major hyperspace routes now under Imperial control. New mining rights. A tributary system that will pay for itself within two years."
I gestured toward the princess, trying not to notice how the movement made her dress shift in interesting ways.
"Perhaps Her Highness would like to hear about the Empire's expanding power before we discuss... personal arrangements."
The princess's eyebrows rose, and for a moment, something like genuine interest flickered in her eyes.
"Actually," she said, "I would. Very much."
The Emperor leaned back in his throne, and I caught the ghost of what might have been approval in his expression.
"Very well," he said finally. "Tell us about your conquest, my son. Leave nothing out."
As I began to speak, describing the tactical brilliance of the Grokkies campaign, I noticed three things:
First, the princess was listening with the kind of attention that suggested she understood military strategy better than most of my father's generals.
Second, Meus was watching both of us with growing tension, her professional mask starting to crack around the edges.
Third, every time I emphasized a particularly clever tactical decision, the palace's lighting systems flickered slightly in response.
Whatever was happening to me, it was getting stronger.
And I still had no idea what it meant.
But one thing was becoming crystal clear—my simple plan to avoid an arranged marriage and enjoy my new life as a galactic prince was about to get a lot more complicated.
The princess was smart, dangerous, and apparently as interested in power as she was in whatever physical assets had earned me my reputation. Meus was getting jealous in ways that could turn professional very quickly. And my father was watching all of it.
Time to see if this gamer could handle playing against the galaxy's best.
Game on.