DW DXD Intermission: The Matic Empire

Between the prologue and chapter 2

Space

Where once ten colossal warships of the Matic Empire had surrounded their prey, now only nine remained. Their formation drifted, fractured and off-balance, as the burning debris of their destroyed flagship scattered across the black vacuum.

The Diabo Alliance cruiser’s suicide run had done its work. The enemy’s pride, one of the Empire’s spearheads, the banner of their power was gone.

The wreckage floated like a graveyard, twisted hull plating spinning slowly in zero gravity, jagged fragments still glowing faintly with residual heat, and bodies… dozens of them. Men and women who had once shouted war cries in the name of the Emperor now drifted silently, faces pale, armor scorched, eyes staring forever into the void.

In the distance, the other warships fired controlled bursts from their engines to hold position, their crimson insignias glowing like bloody brands against the night.

—--------------------------------

The Medical Bay

But within one of the surviving vessels, behind sealed doors and muffled alarms, the true cost of the battle was being confronted. 

The air inside was thick with antiseptic mist and the steady rhythm of machines. Rows of glowing panels lit the chamber in pale lavender, their light reflecting off steel walls. In the center of the room, a massive cylindrical healing chamber pulsed with faint energy, filled with purple bioluminescent liquid that swirled like living fog.

Suspended within was the broken husk of a man. The general of the Metic Empire.

His once-pristine black-and-gold uniform had been torn away, leaving pale skin and grotesque wounds exposed to the regenerating fluids. One arm remained — skeletal and scorched. His legs were gone entirely, torn away in the explosion. His torso bore deep gashes where shrapnel had torn through flesh. His face, once sharp and smug beneath the Empire’s crest, was a mask of ruin — half-burned, half-rebuilt by emergency grafts.

And yet… there was movement. Slowly, his body began to twitch through the haze of the liquid. Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

A medic stood at the control console, his hands trembling as he watched the vitals flicker. “By the Emperor… how is he still…”

The head physician,an older man with silver hair cropped short and a scars lining his jaw, silenced him with a glare. “Quiet. The general does not die so easily.” His tone carried a weight that was half faith, half fear. “He bears the Emperor’s favor. Flesh can be rebuilt but his Will cannot.”

The medic swallowed hard and nodded, eyes flicking back to the chamber.

The purple bioluminescent fluid churned in the healing chamber, bubbles swirling as the figure within stirred. His mangled body twitched, scorched flesh knitting slowly, muscle threads weaving under the influence of nanites. His single remaining eye flickered open — bloodshot, furious, but alive.

A low mechanical hiss sounded as the chamber’s breathing apparatus adjusted, pumping air through a mask strapped over his ravaged mouth. Tubes ran into his chest and neck, keeping him tethered between life and death. Through it, his voice rasped out, harsh and commanding.

“…Report. What happened? Where… am I?!”

The medics froze at the sound. Even broken, the general’s tone cut like a blade.

The head physician stepped forward. His back was stiff, his voice measured, though his hands clenched behind his back. “General… you are aboard the battleship Vornax, one of the surviving vessels. You were recovered from the wreckage of the flagship after its destruction.”

The general’s eye narrowed. ‘Destroyed!’ The word festered like poison.

The physician continued, voice heavy. “The Diabo Alliance cruiser… it rammed your ship and caused a massive explosion. Their final act took down the flagship. We found you barely alive among the debris. Your body was… gravely damaged. Missing both legs. Your right arm beyond saving. Multiple organ ruptures.”

The medic at the console swallowed audibly, trying not to meet the general’s gaze.

The physician pressed on. “We are doing everything in our power to heal you. Cybernetic replacements will be necessary for your missing limbs, but with the best surgeons on the ship, you will not only recover… you will be stronger.”

Silence. The general’s breathing rasped through the mask, bubbles curling past his face. His lips curled faintly into a snarl.

“I don’t care about my body,” He rasped at last. “I asked again… what happened to the Watch?”

The words hung heavy in the sterile air.

The physician hesitated. He knew this question was coming. His fingers twitched at his side, but he steadied his voice. “General… the Dimensional Watch is currently… missing.”

For a moment, nothing. Just the soft hum of machines.

Then the chamber quaked as the general slammed his remaining fist against the glass from within, purple fluid rippling outward in violent waves. The medic stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

“Missing?!” The general’s roar rattled the speakers, his voice distorted but no less furious. “That device was the entire purpose of this mission! Without it… without it, the Emperor will—” He cut himself off, rage strangling his words. His eye blazed like molten iron.

‘The Emperor trusted me. The Watch was everything. To lose it… to fail now…’ His chest tightened, not from injury but from the weight of shame.

The physician lowered his gaze but did not flinch. “I understand, General. The Eight Commanders have already been dispatched. They scour the debris fields and surrounding sectors for any trace of the artifact. As we speak, hunters are searching every vector, every anomaly.”

“And the ninth ship?” The general snapped.

“Stationed. Awaiting your recovery. We would not move without your orders and to know that you were okay.”

The general’s ruined lips curled back in a snarl. “Fools. Every ship, every soldier must be hunting it. The Watch is not some bauble to be misplaced. With it, the Emperor can conquer not just systems… but realms. If we fail him…” His voice broke into a guttural growl, “…none of us will live to regret it.”

The physician bowed his head. “Understood, General.” He turned sharply to the medic at his side. “Send word immediately. Inform the commander that the General is awake, and his orders are absolute. All forces are to prioritize the recovery of the Watch. No exceptions.”

The medic nodded shakily and hurried from the room, boots clattering against the steel floor.

Inside the chamber, the general leaned his head back into the liquid, eye half-closed. Pain wracked his body, but fury kept him conscious.

‘Pathetic… The Watch will be found. It must be. And when it is… I will be the one to deliver it to the Emperor. My failure will be erased in blood.’ The word echoed in his own skull, sharper than the machines beeping around him. ‘To think that those fools thought their sacrifice would mean anything…’

He remembered the last moment of the Diabo cruiser, its engines flaring as it pierced the blockade, fire erupting as it slammed into his flagship. He remembered the shockwave, the searing heat ripping his flesh away, the brief taste of death.

‘They destroyed my flagship. They left me like this… a carcass floating in fluid. And yet… they did not kill me.’ His ruined hand twitched. Rage pulsed where veins had been torn apart.

‘I will see their Alliance burn. I will see their worlds ground to dust. And that artifact… that Watch…’ His mind lingered on it, a flicker of obsession threading his pain. ‘It slipped from our grasp tonight, but no matter where it was sent, no matter what world it fled to, the Emperor will have it. I will have it.’

Bubbles rushed as he exhaled sharply, eyes blazing.

The head physician stepped closer to the chamber, bowing his head. “General… your body will recover. We will rebuild you stronger. We will see to it. Rest for now and heal.”

But the general’s gaze fixed on him, sharp and unyielding even through the liquid.

A voice, hoarse and guttural, filtered through the tank’s speakers.

“Rest?” He rasped, broken lips curling into a cruel smile. “There will be no rest… not until I crush every last remnant of the Diabo Alliance beneath my heel.”

The medic shuddered. The room seemed colder.

The general closed his eyes once more, sinking into the glow of the liquid, but the expression on his ruined face was unmistakable.

Survival was not mercy. It was a sentence and the stars themselves would soon tremble beneath his vengeance.

Done, tell me what you think. Did I give them an air of menace? Honestly this intermission should have been written ages ago. But I only remembered after rewriting my old chapters.