Hello, I'm Here to Confiscate the Weapon

This place had once been the Myriad Worlds' universally recognized safe house.

Its absolute defense perimeter was said to withstand even a Main God's self-destruction for three minutes.

Now it looked like a wet sandcastle kicked apart by a mischievous child.

The wall, cast from Star Core alloy and covered in ancient defensive runes,

now bore several human-shaped impressions.

The Commander's once-proud rocky body lay shattered across the floor.

Every fragment had lost its luster.

They looked like a pile of unwanted, cheap construction waste.

The Great Chieftain's enormous lion head had been driven into the reinforced alloy floor.

Only his hind legs stuck out,

still twitching involuntarily.

Once.

Twice.

Then they went completely still.

Turing sat slumped amid the wreckage.

Only a few charred strips remained of his expensive Robe.

His blackened hands gripped the floor, his fingernails torn back.

His eyes, once so calculating they were said to read the course of the Star River,

held nothing but emptiness now.

His pupils had dilated.

He could not even focus.

"Bzz... bzz..."

The Prehistoric Sniper Rifle lay on the floor.

Though its barrel had twisted into a corkscrew,

it stubbornly continued spitting blue electric sparks.

Every burst made Turing's body flinch.

Just then,

Rrrip—

The space above the vault, which had already repaired itself,

suddenly tore like a piece of cheap cloth.

It was as though two invisible hands had seized it

and ripped it apart without a shred of restraint.

The Spatial Turbulence along the rift's edges had no time to erupt

before an overbearing will forced it back down.

There was no dazzling divine light heralding the arrival of a peerless master.

No grand background music, either.

Just a black-and-white sneaker, size 44,

stepping through first.

It landed on the remains of the shattered Star Core Round