Intergalactic conquest with an AI

She moved with impossible grace; every step was like a blur, every motion a practiced dance. The closest attackers, two Lizardmen wielding heavy axes, lunged at her, but she grabbed one and twisted him into the path of the incoming fire. Plasma and bullets tore into his back as Lyra used him as a living shield, grinning like a battle maniac.

As the body went limp in her arms, she didn't waste a heartbeat. Her crimson blood swirled and surged, forming a massive tentacle that launched the corpse straight back at the attackers.

"Here! You forgot your friend! Aha!" The dead Lizardman's body arced through the air, then it exploded mid-flight.

A burst of blood energy detonated from within, scattering dozens of crimson spikes in every direction. Screams erupted as the jagged projectiles tore through scale and bone. Several of the attackers collapsed, shrieking in pain, while others staggered back, clutching their bleeding limbs.

The rooftop was now a bloody mess, and Lyra stood in the center of it like a queen among corpses.

Each drop of spilled blood fed her.

Each scream of pain strengthened her.

That was the nature of the Blood Clan.

Their power wasn't just in their weapons; it was the stellar energy in the blood. The battlefield was her banquet, and every wound her enemies suffered was fuel for her growing strength.

Lyra's crimson aura flared brighter as she absorbed the spilled life around her. Her eyes gleamed with unnatural light, her weapons hummed louder, and her movements grew even faster.

But nature, in all its wisdom, never allows true perfection without a price.

The Blood Clan, powerful as they were, had not escaped this balance. A race blessed with near-limitless strength, regeneration, and the ability to draw power from blood itself… they had also been cursed.

The deeper they drank from the well of blood, the more their minds slipped into madness. And that was the reason the normally quiet, reserved, and soft-spoken Lyra was now acting like an unhinged monster on the battlefield.

Her eyes, once calm and sharp, now gleamed with frenzied hunger. Her lips twisted into a wild grin as laughter escaped her... laughter that was raw, chaotic, and bloodthirsty.

The blood that soaked the battlefield, being lizardman blood, her own blood, blood in the air, and blood in the ground, was making her stronger by the second. With every drop absorbed, she grew faster, tougher, more lethal... and more unhinged. As long as blood flowed, she was almost unkillable. But the cost was sanity.

This was the reason the Blood Clan never became conquerors.

Despite possessing the power to challenge empires and dominate worlds, they chose a different path: that of assassins. Silent killers who struck only at high-value targets before vanishing. They couldn't afford prolonged battles. The madness was always lurking, waiting for an excuse to consume them.

And the more pure the bloodline, the more dangerous the frenzy.

Lyra, along with her sister, had been blessed, or some would say cursed, by the very creator of the Blood Clan. Their blood wasn't just noble. It was the origin. They were not just descendants; they were progenitors reborn.

That meant her transformation was faster. And far more terrifying.

As she absorbed more blood, her body began to change. Twin crimson horns erupted from her forehead, pulsing faintly with light. Her once dark hair turned silver, shining like moonlight, and every flick of her head left behind a sparkling trail of crimson dust that looked like glitter made of blood.

[Little boss! Come back to your senses!] Mini Cleo's voice echoed urgently inside Lyra's helmet. [You're being surrounded! If we don't leave now, we'll be trapped! We have to go!]

But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

Lyra stood atop the ruined rooftop, laughing wildly. Her hands covered her face as though trying to hold herself together, but it was too late.

"More... more! MORE! Bring me more sacrifice!" She screamed, her voice cracking with madness and power.

Around her, rings of blood-red energy pulsed outward. The rings shredded through some of the surrounding lizardmen, cutting them apart with razor-thin precision. Others, those with tougher Tier 2 scales, managed to block the worst of it, escaping with only cuts.

But even minor wounds were a death sentence now.

The crimson dust floating in the air drifted lazily toward them, then latched on. The moment it touched their blood, it became like a swarm of tiny parasites. The dust drilled into their veins, burrowing deep, and began draining them dry.

"Hissss! It's a monster!!"

"S-Somebody help! AHHH!!"

The screams echoed across the ruined block as the Lizardmen writhed in agony. The blood wasn't just being pulled from them... it was ripped out, painfully and slowly, like burning shards being dragged through their arteries.

Their skin shriveled, their limbs spasmed, and their eyes rolled back as they collapsed one by one, now looking like dry husks of their former selves.

"Hiss! Everyone stay calm! Tier 3 and above only! The rest of you fall back now!" A sharp voice could be heard around the area.

It was the Great Scale, the commanding officer of the Lizardman force, a towering, heavily organically armored warrior whose presence made even the bravest soldiers stand straighter.

As soon as he arrived at the scene and saw what was happening, he didn't waste a moment.

With a roar, he charged toward Lyra with his massive war axe raised high. The weapon crackled with energy, designed to cut through even the toughest armor. He brought it down in a mighty swing, but Lyra was already gone.

She vanished from the spot with supernatural speed, reappearing just a few meters away, her crimson eyes locked onto him.

She raised her hand, and with a sharp movement, she conjured several long, bloody spears that launched toward him like missiles.

The spears hit but they shattered against his reinforced scales. The Great Scale didn't flinch. He lifted his axe again. "You've drawn enough blood, abomination. Now it's time for you to fall."

Lyra grinned, her silver hair dancing in the bloody wind.

"Fall? Me!? You can try! hahahah!"

Lyra's laughter echoed once more; it was a sound that didn't belong to a sane mind anymore. Her silver hair danced wildly in the wind, glowing softly under the pale light as her hands stretched outward with madness-fueled glee.

Without warning, the blood pooling across the battlefield, the blood of the fallen, spilled across stone, steel, and dirt, suddenly surged to life.

In the blink of an eye, it rose like a crimson tide turned against its own creators.

Dozens of jagged blood spikes erupted upward from the ground, shooting through the bodies of every unfortunate Lizardman that was caught unaware. Those without strong enough scales didn't even have time to scream.

Hundreds were skewered instantly, their bodies lifted off the ground like grotesque decorations on bloodied stakes.

The Great Scale, the commander of the Lizardman battalion, roared in fury.

"HISSSS! EVERYONE, ATTACK TOGETHER!"

With a powerful swing of his massive axe, he smashed through the rising crimson spikes, clearing a path toward the blood-crazed Lyra. Behind him, Tier 3 warriors responded in unison.

Charging forward to close the distance, while the weaker ranks, those of Tier 2 and below, spread out to support from afar, opening fire from rooftops and behind debris with laser rifles and chemical launchers.

Lyra dodged as best as she could; her movements were fast and wild, but she couldn't avoid everything. The Tier 3 Lizardmen closed in fast, their heavy weapons pushing her into a corner, step by relentless step. Chemical bolts rained down from above, and even though she twisted her body to avoid the worst, they were gaining ground.

"Tch—trash! Trash!! TRASH!!!" She screamed furiously, her voice breaking into a distorted roar as two of the larger lizardmen managed to breach her defense.

One axe came down hard, slicing clean through her right arm.

The other struck her ribs from the side, shattering bone and spraying blood across the pavement.

She staggered back, howling not in pain but in rage.

With her eyes blazing with crimson light, Lyra threw her head back and unleashed a banshee wail as her six blood rings exploded outward like circular saws of condensed death. They spun wildly, faster and faster, a storm of crimson energy and jagged edges.

But the Tier 3 warriors were ready.

They raised their weapons and shields that were forged from reinforced scale and tempered alloy. The spinning rings crashed into their defenses, sparking and shrieking, but failed to break through.

Her ultimate attack… was being stopped.

"We have her pinned! Don't let her recover! Push now! CLOSE THE GAP! PREPARE THE ELECTRIC HARPOONS!" The Great Scale roared, his powerful voice commanding the chaos like a war drum.

He launched himself forward, his massive legs slamming against the ground and leaving cracks in the concrete with every step.

Lyra's eyes widened. "N-No! Stay AWAY from me!" She shrieked, the fear in her voice now rising above the bloodlust.

Her body trembled with unstable energy before she let out another explosive burst of crimson light. The energy ignited the air around her, forming a blazing aura of shimmering blood magic. Her severed arm regenerated in a flash of liquid red flesh, bone, and muscle, all reforming instantly.

But it wasn't enough.... they were still coming... still pushing her back.

The Great Scale's presence loomed larger and larger in her panicked eyes.

Her breathing turned erratic. Her crimson rings began to glitch, no longer smooth and deadly but expanding and shrinking at random, their rotation jerky and unstable.

She lashed out wildly, throwing blood spikes in every direction at shadows, at walls, at nothing. The air stank of blood and burning flesh.