Secrets of Kni’thokon

[crisrko]

Idrithrel Grezeiros
Order of Ecclesia
Mireesh Marr

By the break of dawn, I was already awaiting in the Ziggurat’s training facilities. It was one of the largest rooms in the entire complex, equipped with multiple mechanical platforms that could be adjusted to replicate all sorts of environments. Multiple dark energy virtual reality projectors created obstacles and live flora and fauna as desired; truthfully, it was the ultimate training environment for any soldier.

Surrounding the platforms, several shield generators ensured that no debris or psionic energy would leak from the training grounds and into the stands and surrounding rooms. After all, we held tournaments and contests inside this arena for the students; plus, should the instructors or facility guards wish to loosen up a little, they could also use the grounds for sparring.

I stopped by the armory on the way here to retrieve a blade for Anastajia. As a student, she’s not exactly allowed to carry any weapons on the premises outside of curricular activities, and it’s not like I expect her to fight me bare-handed while I swing my sword at her; though, that could make for a useful training experience. You never know on a real battlefield; you could lose your weapon, or even worse, a limb, and still have to carry on fighting.

Although, with her vast psionic energy stores I wouldn’t be surprised if she could hyper-regenerate a severed limb. Of course, I have no real way of testing this, I am not so depraved as to maim my apprentice to test a theory, nor do I hope that I will ever find out the answer to this question. I care for this apprentice, much like I did for Plume… though maybe I suppose I do like Anastajia more. She has more fire in her than he did.

After waiting for what was the better of a quarter of an hour, I began to grow impatient. Where is this apprentice of mine? I’m reminiscing and praising her and then she has the gall to be late to training?

`Anastajia` I call out to her telepathically. Strangely enough, I cannot really sense her psionic energy.

Before I could rise to my feet, a single blast of psionic energy shot out from the ceiling, missing me by a few inches. I twist and turn, using the momentum to jump several feet away from the impact zone before returning the favor.

Psionic energy gathered at the tips of my fingers as I shot out a few blasts of low-output energy in the general direction of where the surprise attack came from… but they were all deflected immediately.

“My, aren’t we moving quickly?” I ask, bemused. “Hiding your psionic energy to prepare a surprise attack. A good attempt, but it wouldn’t quite work on me, my dear girl.”

Anastajia stood before me, a silver blade in her right hand. She’d picked it up from the ground while I dodged her attack.

“How does it feel? I believe the hilt installed on it is adaptive, so it should be responding to the wielder’s hand’s proportions.”

Anastajia inspected the blade for a moment, shooting a few glances towards me from time to time to make sure I don’t intend to attack her while she’s distracted. I simply nod, raising both of my hands up.

“It’s… surprisingly comfortable.” She says, “Much more comfortable than the swords I’ve been training with so far.”

“It’s not one of the training weapons. You can think of it as a gift. There is no rule within the Order that students cannot have their own equipment.” I explain, pointing at the blade in her hand. “I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself. Plus, it’s been long overdue.”

Anastajia looked at me somewhat perplexed; I can tell she is happy for the gift but is struggling to accept it. I suppose that her low self-esteem still rears its ugly head from time to time.

“Those blades are special… they adapt to the features of their wielder. Later, I can even teach you to modify its properties to better suit you in combat. Think of it like a conduit.”

“I remember seeing a conduit like this before when I went with Plume to Salo Helise.”

“Are you talking about the Blade of the Huntress?” I ask, curtly.

Anastajia pauses for a moment.

“Come on, my dear. When it comes to psionic artifacts, our Order knows everything that moves. We knew the Taufeans were in possession of it, and that they called you to take it.”

After this quick explanation I reached towards the hilt of my sword, pulling it out. It shone a bright, crimson red, as if it was thirsting for battle. My psionic energy slowly seeped into the blade, causing its edge to slowly turn purple.

“Focus. Slowly drive some of your psionic energy into the weapon. Not too much at once, please, it hasn’t yet adapted to you.”

I watch as Anastajia glides her hand over the blade, slowly feeding her psionic energy into the weapon. What previously was a bright, silvery blade turned into a charcoal black, almost lightless weapon. I could see that it shone with a purple hue, so the process did not fail. Anastajia looked at me, expectantly, to tell her what had happened.

“As the weapon adapts to the wearer’s psionic energy, it’s color can sometimes change. I suppose it has to do with the attributes of your power, though I would have to be honest and say that I’ve never seen a design like that.”

I shrug my shoulders lightly before raising the tip of my blade in her direction, awaiting her move.

“Focus your energy into the blade and take a swing.” I speak.

Anastajia nods, following my instructions. A tangible, physical slash of psionic energy shot out in my direction, and I swat it away.

“Good.” I praise her as the edges of my mouth curl into a satisfied smile.

With a sudden fluid motion, Anastajia wrapped her feet in psionic energy and lunged forward, her sword slicing through the air towards me; our blades clashed with a metallic ring that echoed in the arena as I parried her strike with a swift upward motion.

She spun away; her feet light on the ground, and came at me again, this time feinting to the right before striking to the left. I anticipated her move, meeting her blade with my own in a shower of sparks and psionic residue. She’s been carefully maintaining her psionic output since the start of the battle.

Our swords danced and clashed, moving as if in a deadly ballet; Anastajia’s footwork was precise, her strikes powerful and measured. I swung low, aiming for her legs, but she used her shield to blunt my attack and dodge to the side by a hair’s breadth before retaliating with a strong blast of psionic energy.

I effortlessly jump above it, dodging the attack.

“I see that you’ve been paying attention in swordsmanship.” I praise her while moving the strands of hair from my eyes and behind my ears.

Her answer came between ragged gasps.

“I’ve been… told I am quite good at it… by the instructors.”

I nod in confirmation.

“You are, indeed. It pleases me to see you are so adept in melee. Many of our soldier’s swords become dull due to their reliance on dark energy weaponry.” I lament. “I can understand it. Not everyone is as strong a psionic as us.”

“Weapons… are weapons. Does it matter if it is the blade or the rifle?” she asks, stalling for time.

“Hmm…” I ponder for a moment as I close the distance. “I suppose not, though this dance is a feast for the soul.”

I lunge forward, manifesting a ball of psionic energy in my spare hand; Anastajia releases a flurry of psionic slashes in my direction, but I dodge them effortlessly before towering above her. Caught completely by surprise, she stabs her blade upwards towards my throat…

As I dodged her blade, I realized that it was not a stab but that she released the blade from her hands, throwing it towards me. Immediately, she closed the distance towards me, grabbing my wrists with her hands and pulling me towards her, throwing me off balance.

Just as she twists her hip and throws me over, I let go of the ball of psionic energy, hitting her square center mass. I could see her psionic shield shatter as she flew towards the edge of the arena, crashing into the wall with a deafening thud.

“Have I overdone it?” I ask myself out loud. “Anastajia, dear, are you okay?”

I can feel the subtle shift in her aura; so far, she’s been holding it under control masterfully, but that last impact has probably thrown her off. I wonder if she’s going to go berserk again.

I wait, following the flow of her psionic energy while she gets back up to her feet. She seems dizzy, a few droplets of blood having formed above her right eyebrow. It must be a gash on her forehead or above. Her bun is also ruined, her long platinum hair dangling behind her. She shoots a deathly glare, as if scolding me for taking the spar too far; that’s fair, I suppose. I have gotten ahead of myself since I haven’t had the time to blow off steam lately.

Anastajia’s violet eyes flicker as she tethers on the edge of going berserk. I am honestly impressed by her self-control. She slowly brings her powers under control, diminishing the psionic energy surrounding her with each passing moment. After a minute or so, she appears to have stabilized it.

“You know…” I speak “In a real battle, you wouldn’t be afforded this time to get yourself under control.”

Anastajia nods as she drops down on her butt, effectively conceding the fight.

I sheathed my blade and approached my apprentice, placing a palm on her head. From here, it seems like I am talking to the same brat that Plume dropped off in my temple. What a handful she was for the first month.

“You’ve done well, Anastajia. I am proud of your progress.”

As those words parted from my lips, she turned her gaze towards the ground, nodding silently. Honestly, even in moments like these, she gets all shy. Her reddened ears are a dead giveaway.

“You can take the rest of the day off. Go get your injuries checked out at the infirmary.”

“I’ll be fine.” she answers as she pushes herself up to her feet; a wince on her face after tapping the gash above her eyebrow.

“I know you can heal it by yourself, but I don’t want it to scar.” I smirk. “You wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”

She rolls her eyes at my pathetic attempt of a joke and nods once before picking up and sheathing her new sword. I can see her eyes glisten as she attaches the hilt to her waist. I was right in picking this gift out for her.

“Will we be training more often from now on?” she asks, looking me in the eyes.

I have been, admittedly, somewhat busy those past few weeks. Buried in either paperwork or meeting with the Grand Admiral of the Black Fleet; there are some concerned voices in the government and the military that those rebellions will soon spread to our own worlds. I’ve read the report on Stavanger; an avoidable tragedy. Several battalions from the United Galactic Peacekeeping force were lost, and those lives included Mirati personnel as well.

For whatever reason, the Council was unable to send the reinforcements in time. Sheer incompetence or treasonous interference? I wouldn’t be able to say at this point in time. Most of the surrounding fleets found themselves in engagements with the Boellian insurgents; normally they should’ve made easy work of them, but they employed kamikaze tactics, damaging several cruisers in the process.

On the worlds, the Boellian population was obviously in support of the rebellion. Guerilla warfare broke out in the cities; the factories, the mines, wherever there were Boellian hands, there also were Boellian arms. Most concerning however was the discovery of a rogue psionic element aiding the rebellion. I wouldn’t have suspected the Order of Psion in the first place, but the Kalealise have also denied it; well, I suppose they have their hands full with bringing that traitor Lorkan to death.

We’ll be leaving for Thiel in about a month. I may aswell make time to train her further.

“We will. We’ve had a light spar today, so that I can figure out where your ability level is at now.” I nodded to her. “You have heard from the Administrator that you are among the thousand adepts going to Thiel, correct?”

She nods.

“Good. We have some time to prepare. I want to ensure that I don’t need to worry about your safety on the planet.”

Slowly stepping forward, I approach the girl and rest one of my hands on her shoulders.

“Now go get that gash checked out like I told you.”

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Mireesh Marr

I’ve been at the Ziggurat for the better part of a year now, ever since Plume left me in Master Idrithrel’s care. It was difficult at the start, but I’ve adapted to the new environment. I have my own room, unlike on Zith, and there are far more training materials over here.

Grand Psion Turgal did not emphasize combat ability, while it seems that the Order of Ecclesia does; the arena inside the Ziggurat cannot be compared to anything I have seen. Certainly not on Zith, nor on any other Psion worlds that Plume took me too.

Maybe you could make a case for the academy on Rhar’I, since Psion Millu Ashnar did not fully subscribe to Grand Psion Turgal’s way of thinking. He was more… militaristic, I suppose. He had several combat facilities built on the planet to train the students living there; it would make sense, in a way, since that academy is closer to the pirate territories and the incursion on Salzenmund.

I heard from the news that Na-Swe-Shuk has been besieged by the swarm. I wonder if Psion Ashnar has taken up arms and left for his home planet. According to the news, many Behrfrangi from across the galaxy have left to fight for their home. I don’t know if Turgal would do it, but if there were any Psion that would leave the order for this, it would have to be Psion Ashnar.

The Imperium sent a token force to Na-Swe-Shuk as well, as part of their responsibilities as a member of the Galactic Council; among them, five hundred adepts from the Order. I heard that Master Idrithrel picked out some of them, mostly among the older adepts that were supposed to break into the ranks of the order proper. It is tradition, I am told, that those considered ready to “graduate” is sent on a military mission out in the galaxy.

By the end of this month, I will also be heading out on a mission on some over-run world, Zubelgenubi. It seems to be under the ownership of the Archduke’s family, and Master is supposed to help them get it back from the monsters that overran their facilities. I heard about planets like these, ‘fractured worlds’, they’re called.

Planets that have been bombarded… destroyed… through rampant use of dark energy and dark matter armament. At one point, the energies detonate the planetary core, sending the planet into a physics-defying state; the planet itself is torn apart, but there remains a gravity field that holds it somewhat together; the rock plates keep drifting through the void in the planet’s gravity well, leading to immense storms and phenomena unseen in the rest of the galaxy. It’s a byproduct of dark matter’s properties, they say. I don’t understand the bulk of the explanation, either way.

A familiar voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance to the side to see Elephon, a Mirati adept, just like me.

“Mireesh Marr to Anastajia. Are you listening?” he asks softly, prodding the side of my head with the corner of a tome he’s carrying.

I slapped the tome away from me, causing him to almost drop it. He scoffed, pulling the chair opposite me and sitting down at the desk.

“Clearly you’re listening if you’re willing to be rude.” He says as he pushes the tome towards me.

“I’m sorry. I was startled.” I smile as I respond with an obvious half-truth. “What’s this?”

“A tome.” He answers briefly, much to my chagrin.

“I can tell as much. A tome on what?” I ask, pulling the tome closer to me. It’s very weathered, the cover having seen the better part of a lifetime. Unfamiliar letters are etched into the cover.

“It’s a bestiary, focused on dark energy spawns. I figured we’ll need it, since we’re going to Zubelgenubi.” He explains. “I have no doubt they’ll brief us beforehand, but knowing more couldn’t help, right?”

I nod lightly before skimming through the pages aimlessly. I can’t tell what a single word means.

Elephon looks at me, clearly bemused. I can hear him chuckle under his breath before opening his mouth.

“Can you not read Old Mireshi?”

I shake my head before turning the tome around and sliding it towards him. Elephon looks through the pages before settling on one of the first few entries.

“Voidfiends.”

Elephon turned the tome towards me and pointed at the sketches of the monsters. Malformed creatures of pure darkness, not too dissimilar to eels or other aquatic creatures. Some of them possess wings instead of fins, a single central eye instead of two and many other deformities. Nothing appears to be standardized and it is merely a product of their corruption by dark energy.

“So, most of them used to be the local fauna…” he says gravely. “Transformed and reanimated by dark energy.”

“It’s crazy when you think we have rifles shooting out that stuff.”

Elephon looks at me for a moment before continuing to read out the information from the tome.

“So physical attacks seem to be the most effective… Energy weaponry is inefficient.” He reads as he drags his finger across the yellow paper. “Kinetic armament is advised.”

A while passes while Elephon continues to read out a few excerpts from the bestiary to me. By now, my time here should have expired, and the librarian is probably on their way. I let Elephon know that I must go and ask him to take some notes from the tome and send me a copy. It makes more sense when he does it, they’re much easier to understand.

However, as I made my way through the main hall and into the dormitories, I came across two of my few ‘mortal enemies’. Virion and Aleesia Dorven, the twins from the Dorven family, and members of the so-called noble faction here in the Ziggurat. Two pretentious brats with an ego taller than the Seat of Power itself, despite being nothing more than the children of a count.

Count Dorven, a veteran of the Coalition War has his fief in the eastern territories of the Imperium; a small factory-world in the Neurys system, near the border with the new Sylosi colonies. He fought in the battle of Akkanar as a strike-craft pilot and almost lost his life; he now serves as an instructor at the naval academy. Master Idrithrel claims he is a reasonable man, unlike his two children. Their mother’s influence, I suppose.

Despite my best efforts to avoid them, Aleesia spots me just as I turned the corner; a wicked grin on her face as she nudged her brother in my direction. Soon enough, I could hear her voice grating against my ears.

“Anastajia!” she calls out to me, but I pace forward, ignoring her.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to us, sister.” Virion says mockingly as he rushes forward to cut me off.

I roll my eyes as I take a step backwards to avoid bumping into him. Aleesia caught up to him, leaning against her brother as she stared down at me. As Miratis, they were naturally taller than me, which made the way they looked down at me even more infuriating.

“I see its Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber. How can I help you today?” I ask, crossing my arms impatiently.

“You know us. We’re looking out for our lessers. I’ve heard that you’re also going to come to Zubelgenubi with us.” Virion answered, a mocking smile forming on his face. “I can’t really believe that they’d let you out of all people on such an important mission.”

Aleesia shook her head dramatically. “I know right, brother. To think that the Order would send a human girl on a matter related to the Archduke of all people!”

Several students pass by as the scene pans out, most of them familiar with their antics; unfortunately, most of them neither cared nor were they willing to intervene on an outsider’s behalf. Some of them even shared their beliefs, since those two were so popular with the younger adepts.

“Are you done?” I ask them. Aleesia could see that I was annoyed by their theatrics and took that as a sign to continue her petty games. She would lean forward, pressing her index finger against my chest.

“I don’t think you get it.” She explained as she towered above me, each word carefully dragged out as if I was incapable of understanding her. “No one thinks that a prat like you should be fighting with our legions.”

I chuckled under my breath in disbelief, raising one of my eyebrows.

“Really? It seems like the Executors do” I speak, shrugging my shoulders. “And if anything, I was near the top of the list, unlike you two.”

I swat her finger away, much to her annoyance. Virion takes a step forward as if trying to intimidate me through presence alone.

“I’m just a poor, human, outsider… and yet I’ve been picked before your royal asses. Did the Count have to intervene for you, by any chance?”

Like all the bratty nobles in the Ziggurat, those two were also prone to anger. I could tell that my last sentence stung as Virion gripped me by the collar, tugging away at my jacket. His sister’s psionic energies flared up in response to this perceived humiliation.

“You should be more careful with your words, girl.” Aleesia spat out with venom in her voice. “Words like these could get you in a lot of trouble.”

I roll my eyes dramatically.

“I could never.”

As I looked around, a circle had formed around us comprised of students from all over the temple. Noticing this, Virion let go and wiped his hand across his own chest. Aleesia leaned in closer to me snarling a few words of contempt before turning around and making her way through the others.

“We’ll all be on our own over there. Remember that.”

With those words as a parting gift, Virion followed his twin sister and the spectators quickly dispersed.

 

[HistoryDude]

Will this new weapon of Anastajia's get a name? Also, does its black texture have something to do with her personality?

Fractured worlds sound horrifying. Why do I feel like some of the information from that bestiary will become really useful?

It's nice to see that Anastajia has some amicable relationships, even if some of the Mirati (Virion and Aleesia) are... less than kind. I wonder if we'll see their better sides during this mission...

 

[crisrko]

Fractured worlds sound horrifying. Why do I feel like some of the information from that bestiary will become really useful?

Fractured worlds *are* terrifying, and will be pretty focal to the stories moving forward.

Will this new weapon of Anastajia's get a name? Also, does its black texture have something to do with her personality?

Any cool weapon will get a name. It's texture does have something to do with the personality, but it also has to do with her powers.

It's nice to see that Anastajia has some amicable relationships, even if some of the Mirati (Virion and Aleesia) are... less than kind. I wonder if we'll see their better sides during this mission...

Elephon is a bro.

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Thile

A week has passed since we departed Mireesh Marr. All disciples of the Order are travelling with the Grand Executor herself; since this is an official matter and given the nature of the task at hand, the Imperium has sanctioned the deployment of a Giga Fortress. Despite arriving in Zubelgenubi quickly, we had to wait for the rest of our forces to arrive.

Archduke Valesky seems to be committing a lot of resources in regaining control of the planet. I heard from Elephon that we will be joined by several mechanized and armored divisions, as well as a sizeable deployment of Alpha Gunships and Bombers. I thought that we would be simply clearing a planetary infestation, but I realize now that this is a much bigger ordeal.

Over twenty armored divisions, a few dozen mechanized and around a dozen various specialized divisions, ranging from Arachnaes to Alpha Siege Warforms; those Warforms are a real big deal. It’s a robotic unit that the Imperium has rebuilt based on ancient designs; one single warform is worth an entire tank division, and the Archduke has brought half a dozen of them to Thile.

Before departing Mireesh Marr, the Administratum let us know of our assignments during the planetary mission. Our adepts will form a singular division under the command of an Executor. I am part of the 1st Battalion, like the Dorven twins. Our reciprocal dislike aside, their abilities suit this assignment. Our 1st Battalion will be tasked to operate as a Shock Unit, punching through the enemy lines alongside the Warforms and the Landcruisers.

By the end of the day, we will be landing in the center of the planetary storm. It’s unlike anything I have seen before. I cannot fathom how this planet is holding together, let alone how it is capable of sustaining any sort of life… if you could call those darkspawn such. Our instructors have stressed to us that we need to ensure we maintain the structural integrity of our combat suits, or the environment will make quick work of us. We cannot breathe the air on the surface and exposing our skin to the air will quickly result in frostbite. Take too long to seal the suit and you will be frozen solid.

As I sat on a durasteel box in the hangars, I could feel my heart pound in my chest; a relentless drumbeat that echoed the anxiety and fears running through my veins. I was playing with my food, absent-mindedly. Around me, the entire room was a flurry of activity. Veteran adepts were sharpening their weapons, the scraping of metal a harsh reminder of what was coming. Others were running last minute tests of their combat suits and auxiliary equipment, making sure that all of their functions were within parameters. I could hear some of the younger adepts exchange final words of encouragement in hushed tones; most of them empty bravado. Their laughter was forced and hollow; they were just as anxious about tonight as me, only their nobility did not allow them the weakness of looking afraid.

As I let out a deep sigh, I could feel a hand gripping my shoulder; as I looked up, it was Nephinae, one of the more veteran adepts joining us for this mission. Her eyes were a mixture of a compassion and steely resolve. She sat down next to me before speaking, looking blankly in the distance.

“First battle is always the hardest.” She said, her voice low and grave. “But I’ve seen you, Anastajia. You’ve got what it takes to come out of this just fine.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. I let out an anxious chuckle as I wanted to respond, but my throat felt tight; the words were tangled in a knot of fear and anticipation. I thought that I would be better than this after training with the Order of Psion for almost two decades. I went on missions with Plume before. I had seen danger, I had been in danger; but this felt different, it was different.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never had a way with words, so this is the best encouragement I can give you.” Nephinae added, playfully punching my shoulder. “You’ve got to go out there and show the Grand Executor that her apprentice is a veritable goddess of battle.”

With that, she pushed herself up and took her leave, going to another group of greenhorns, no doubt to try raise their spirits.

---

​

As the ship hovered above Thile, the dark energy shields shuddered under the pressure of surrounding the storm as beams of pure energy struck the hull of the vessel. We could see the amassing forces in orbit as they all exited their jumps; the Archduke did not lie, Idrithrel will have a veritable army to destroy all monster strongholds on this planet.

We made our way to the drop pods and secured ourselves. Our division will be at the front of the battle, to secure a landing zone for the tanks and landcruisers. We will not be diving down alone; two siege warforms and several autonomous drone units are being deployed with us for support.

---

A drop pod had enough room for just fourteen, plus any disposable equipment like single use rocket launchers, energy cannons and static energy shields. Anastajia gripped her dark energy rifle so tightly that the servomotors supporting her hands let out a pitiful cry.

The twins, Virion and Aleesia Dorven were sitting across from her, huddled up together. It was their first battle as well. She could not see their faces, but she could feel they were just as anxious as her. Next to her, Nephinae stood silently, awaiting impact.

The pod shuddered violently as it pierced the upper atmosphere; the intense vibrations rattling the occupant’s bones.

'BRACE FOR ENTRY!' the automated voice announced, though they hardly needed a reminder. Anastajia took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus; she even recited some mantras that Plume had taught her before in the hope that it would stifle some of her anxiety.

The pod’s roar intensified, fiery comets streaking through the sky, visible to both allies and the mutants on the grounds. Anastajia could imagine monsters watching, tracking the descending pods in preparation for the onslaught. A void mutant fortress was tough to crack; they were defiled and mutated by dark energy, yes, but they were not mindless beasts. She steeled herself, closing her eyes.

'IMPACT IN FIVE SECONDS!' the voice droned; Anastajia’s pulse pounded in her ears.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

It slammed into the ground, sending ripples of dust and dirt in all directions. With a hiss of hydraulics, the doors exploded outwards, casting aside any smoke and debris.

Nephinae was the first one through the door, bellowing a Mirati war cry and charging forward towards the void mutants surrounding them, blasting psionic energy and dark energy bolts indiscriminately.

It was chaotic. Swirls of colors and sounds – blazing fires, towering plumes of smoke and the staccato bursts of kinetic rounds. In the distance, the strikecraft engaged in a strafing run, dropping an immense amount of dark energy infused explosives over the mutant ranks, destroying their rudimentary fortifications and turrets.

Anastajia was following behind Nephinae, only moving forward. She did not have the time to look behind, or she would be left behind the raging assault. Dark energy bolts whizzed past her head, close enough for her armor’s integrated systems to blare an almost deafening warning in her ears.

Enveloped in thick psionic energy, Nephinae flitted and danced as though possessed by a God of War, carving and gorging through the mutant hordes. Calling her Ecclesian kindred to break through.

“Break them apart! Singe them in the name of the Empress!” she bellowed as her crimson blade bisected a void mutant at the waist.

---

In orbit above Thile, on the flagship Eversong, Grand Executor Idrithrel Grezeiros was coordinating the planetary battle.

The Eversong, an Inarnin-class Hyperion was the largest class of combat ships produced by the Mirati Imperium. Akin to the precursor and fallen empires of the galaxy, the Imperium employed a vertical design, seamlessly blending the weaponry in the hull of the ship itself.

But the number of Inarnin-class Hyperions was limited; not even the Imperium could field more than two dozen of them. As such, they are usually deployed in key strategic sectors; they are the effective flagships of their fleets. A Titan, but on another, far greater scale.

Now, in the Eversong’s command center, Idrithrel and the Archduke were stood before a massive holo-table, watching the projection of the Imperium forces in real time. While the Order of Ecclesia carved a way through to the Mutant Stronghold, additional drop pods containing armored divisions and landcruisers crashed onto the planet; a forward operating base was immediately established and fortified with anti-air and anti-tank turrets.

“It is all progressing as expected.” Eleg Valesky said. A flicker of enthusiasm could be heard in his voice. “At this rate, the Stronghold will be taken by the end of the week.”

“And the Valesky family will finally begin to work on a new Voidsphere of the Imperium.” Idrithrel retorted, looking at the grizzled official.

Eleg was very familiar with Idrithrel’s burning loyalty to the Empress. After Kryszorwyn’s coup, Idrithrel personally led the remaining Executors and quelled the remaining noble rebellions before they even got off their planets, going as far as torching the ancestral homes of many dynasties. A new start, if you will, symbolizing the centralization of power under the new Empress, and the relegation of the great noble families.

“It is as you say.” Eleg nodded. “But please, Grand Executor, I can feel your disdain with every word. It would be most kind of you if we could be on the same side for the duration of this siege.”

Idrithrel chuckled under her breath; it was forced, maybe even provocative.

“I have been most accommodating, Archduke. I have not forgotten that the Empress has sanctioned this expedition, so rest assured.” Idrithrel explained as she zoomed the projection onto the forward shock assault.

There were so many units on the holo that it was nearly impossible to read. Idrithrel sliced it like a pie and dragged part of it to the side, discarding the rest. It centered on the identifier: ECCL-BT-1-0768-AN.

“I see that your apprentice is also part of the assault forces.” Eleg pointed out the obvious. “And part of the vanguard, as well.”

Idrithrel glanced at him through the corner of her eyes; is he really pretending that he did not know? He’d seen the lists, and it was his office who had the battalion switched to a vanguard role; it was initially meant to roll in with the landcruisers after the FOB was secured. By the time the siege of the stronghold proper began, their battalion would have reduced effectiveness due to the tiredness.

In the grand scheme of things, whether the battalion entered the siege of the stronghold itself at full effectiveness or not was not important; the overwhelming force brought to bear against the mutants would break through them all the same. However, it would impact the casualties taken by the Order, and Idrithrel knew that.

Even though the archduke has received the Empress’s blessing to secure the planet for the Imperium, and even though she directly decreed that the Order is to assist this, he is still playing politics.

‘Oh, how I wish I could squash his head.’ Idrithrel thought to herself, a scowl forming on her face. After a brief pause, she acknowledged the presence of Anastajia on the planet.

“I thought that it would be a good experience for her. While the shards provided by the temple provide valuable insight, the training done in a virtual environment does not quite compare to the real thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Truly.” Eleg nodded. “Nothing compares to real battle experience; though, I must say, you must have quite the faith in her to have assigned her to a shock unit.”

“What can I say…” Idrithrel stared blankly at the project, watching the identifier dance through swathes of enemies. “She is a wondrous prospect.”

---

Nephinae had fought against the Void Mutants before. Thile was not her first expedition on a Fractured World, and this was the reason that she was the leader of her squad. Out of all fourteen of them, only she and another three had cleared a stronghold before. It would still take a few more days before breaking through the main bulk of their forces; the stronghold would not fall today, and she knew that.

Anastajia and the Dorven twins kept close behind her, fighting with ferocity and eerie precision. She’d heard of the twin’s prodigious electrokinesis, but to see them expertly use it to deflect and annihilate the enemy firsthand was quite the sight; their abilities bring honor to the Count and his bloodline.

On the other hand, the human girl was keeping her use of psionic energy to a minimum, using minimal energy to enhance her physical abilities beyond what the suit allowed her to do. She could no longer feel any of the anxiety she oozed inside the drop pod; perhaps she would survive the battle.

Through the smoke of the battlefield and over the heads of the enemy, a fleet of drones dove straight drown, releasing a barrage of micro-missiles. As the explosions tore through the mutants, the first battalion charged through the gaps, eventually breaking the enemy line. They were now in full retreat.

‘Something is wrong.’ she thought to herself. Nephinae could see the mutants running back, dropping their rudimentary weaponry aside and making their way to the stronghold. Despite the effective charge, it should not have been enough to break them.

The wind was howling, drowning out the mechanical whirls of the drones and the dreadful sound of the landcruiser’s engines. All the hairs on her body stood on end; her instincts screamed at her to run. Something was coming.

A large pile of flesh and armor crashed into the ground, straight in the middle of the first battalion, sending some of them flying with the debris; the unluckier ones were squashed below in a lake of blood and metallic gunk. This winged, pitch blacked thing stood on its two feet, bellowing a deafening roar that sent a Warform tumbling on its back.

“IT’S A VOID TERROR!” they cried out as it swept its immense claws horizontally, carving through at least a few dozen warriors.

​

“Disperse! All troops disperse and concentrate fire upon the Terror! Do not bunch up!” the voice of the battalion commander droned inside their helmets.

Nephinae and the veterans leapt forward, empowering themselves with psionic energy; a barrage of dark energy bolts and kinetic rounds clashed with the monstrosity’s armored hide; but the rounds could not pierce through, instead bouncing in all directions.

“Pummel it with psionic energy!”

An arc of lightning shot out from the ground, striking the terror straight in the face; it’s hide badly burnt and smoking. Virion and Aleesia Dorven, their hands interlocked, pooled their psionic energy together to shoot out that bolt.

But it was not enough, and the monster swept forward, enraged by their attack. The ground thundered with each colossal step, crushing anything beneath it into a thick paste; it was now focused on the twins.

Virion and Aleesia continued their barrage; it was effective, the beast cried out in pain with each blast, but there was no sign of stopping.

Nephinae cried out to them to jump, to dodge out of the way, but they could not move in time. Those blasts had drained them more than they expected; their legs buckled and would not move, at the mercy of the rampaging monstrosity.

As its claws came crashing down, a single flash of violet psionic energy shot in front of the twins; the moment quickly passed, and they found themselves out of the impact zone. Aleesia and Virion looked at each other in utter bewilderment; they had resolved themselves to their death, yet here they were, alive and fine.

Virion looked up, a single figure standing before the two; a long, black blade in her right hand.

“You…?” he asked, trembling in his voice. “Why?”

Anastajia towered above them, her psionic energy radiating in all directions. It made them tremble; it was too much for just one person.

But Anastajia did not answer them; her body had moved on its own. No one could have blamed her if she just let them be turned into a red mist, but she could not bear knowing that she could have saved them from their imminent death.

As the rest of the battalion engaged the monster once again, Anastajia began to gather a large amount of psionic energy; a ball of pure swirling energy formed between her two hands. It was uncomfortable; her pulse was heightening, and her irises flickered intensely, tethering on the edge of losing control of her powers.

“It’s not possible…” Aleesia mumbled under her breath, aghast at the violent rotation of energy.

Nephinae and the others noticed the energy gathering in the background; they leapt away from the Terror, pooling their psionic energies together to root it to the spot. The exertion scratched at their psyche, the pain causing many of them to cry out. On the brink of unconsciousness, she cried out to Anastajia.

“NOW!”

A single ball of pure psionic energy shot forward, disintegrating everything in its path in a trail of infernal fire and glass, striking the terror dead center, exploding in a blue wash of blood and acid. It tore open a gash in its chest, exposing the muscle and skeleton beneath; it howled a bloodcurdling scream of pain.

Anastajia staggered forward, her vision cloudy. Explosions and screams continued to ring out in the background as she collapsed to the ground with a thud, passing out.

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Thile

She has been here before. It was the temple on Zith, in all its splendor. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes and databanks; the contents of this library eclipsed only by the library of the Ecclesian Ziggurat.

Her surroundings shifted; Anastajia was sat on one of the meditative plates inside the library; several tomes and psionic shards sprawled at her feet, humming with brilliant psionic energy.

Space itself was distorted; the light inside the library was a green haze and incomprehensible words echoed throughout the room. A chill ran down her spine as she noticed a single being standing opposite to her, a young woman wearing the traditional robes of the Orders of Psion.

She was no taller than her and seemed to be of a very similar physical build; not tall, but not short either. Her thin waist accentuated by an ivory belt, decorated with many intricate designs of alien origins. A single black blade dangled from her hip; it was her blade.

Anastajia tried to speak, but she could not. Her throat constricted at the mere thought of speaking, as if obstructed by a being of immense powers.

‘Where am I? What’s going on?’

As those thoughts entered her mind, the shards began to shake, releasing a blinding green light.

Her surroundings shifted once more. She was now in her chambers on Miresh Marr, standing before the mirror at the entrance to her room. This same woman was reflected in the mirror, but just like inside the library, she could not see her face; something was clouding it.

Anastajia closed her eyes for a moment as she channeled her psionic force, causing the image to distort even further. She felt a flicker of unease, as if something stared at her; it was the reflection in the mirror. Even as the world surrounding them was reduced to an incomprehensible green haze, the reflection remained clear.

As she mustered her psionic energy, Anastajia felt that was no longer constricted. She could feel hands, her legs, her fingers. This time, she was able to speak.

“Who are you?” she demanded; her words fell flat, their echo stifled at conception. “What do you want from me?”

In response to her question, the reflection vanished from the mirror; as she peered into the glass, a vast, unknown planet was displayed. An invisible force compelled her forward; no, it dragged her towards the mirror.

Anastajia tried to stand her ground; her muscles strained against the unknown forces. Something pushed her in, causing her to fly through the mirror.

Once again, the surroundings shifted.

A simple platform, drifting through the endless void. There was nothing. No light, no stars, no asteroids. Just nothingness, in all directions.

Anastajia tried to call upon her psionic powers once again, but this time was unable to; something was suppressing them.

“Who are you?!” she demanded once again.

“I am you…” the voice echoed, assaulting her mental defenses.

Anastajia strained under the onslaught. “You are not me!” she cried out.

For a moment the echoes stifled, allowing her to regain her composure. She tried to summon her powers once more, but to no avail. Slowly, the echoes turned into a rumble; she could not understand it at first, but it was as if the rumble mocked her.

The woman returned once more, now wearing the uniform of the Order of Ecclesia. She stood a mere few feet away from Anastajia, yet she felt impossibly far away, as if none of her actions could reach her, despite being within just outside arms reach.

“A part of you.” “Something that was lost.” “Who are you?”

All those words bombarded her at once.

“Daughter.” “Orphan.” “Psion.” “Executor.”

Anastajia could feel her strength slowly leaving her as the figure approached her steadily.

“Lost.” “Thought dead.” “Symbol.” “Triumph.” ”Hope.” “Curse.”

She collapsed to her knees as the figure now towered above her; a thick, psionic energy enveloping her entire being.

“Who are you?” the being asked.

Anastajia remained silent, focusing on regaining her strength.

“I know, but you do not.” the being spoke once again, much to her chagrin. “But I could tell you.”

Anastajia’s heart sunk; she could tell her of her origins?

It stated its terms: “An exchange.”

“An exchange? What sort of exchange?” she asked.

Something stirred within her, clawing once again at her mental defenses. She cried out in agony as the being continued to tower above her, motionlessly.

“A pact.”

No. She should not. She knew that she should not, but whatever this creature was, it knew of her; the power it has manifested, it was no doubt a being from the Shroud. As Anastajia continued to reason with herself, a single whisper came into her ear.

“My knowledge for a pact.”

Anastajia wavered as the being extended her arm towards her; it was awaiting confirmation.

---

“Remember, Anastajia.” Plume spoke softly. “Psionic power is both a boon and a curse.” He added, caressing the child’s head. “When we are at our weakest, the sweet temptations of the Shroud will be at their strongest. You must never allow it to take control over you.”

---

As the being trembled in anticipation, a soft change occurred in the psionic energies surrounding them. Slowly, the platform cracked, and light began to seep through the endless void.

An angry roar echoed through the dimension; her defiance had insulted it, and it would not be denied its pact by a mere mortal. Its psionic energies spiraled out of control, seeking to restore balance to this dimension; the void flickered between green and purple as the two forces collided.

“Ungrateful!” “Fool!” “Scoundrel!”

The words echoed through her head as a barrage of raw, unfiltered hatred pounded in her mind. She would not be able to resist much longer. In desperation, Anastajia prepared to strike at the being with all her remaining psionic energy.

As the figure grabbed her by the throat, Anastajia could feel something move through the dimension at impossible speeds; something huge and dangerous, not too dissimilar to the entity standing before her.

A single flicker of golden light tore through the void, dropping onto the platform, causing the figure to expose its true nature, a monstrosity of incomprehensible flesh and bone. It did not have a shape, for shape was limited by its angles and points. It roared a deafening noise, shattering all of Anastajia’s mental defenses. She could feel her body mere seconds away from transforming into something else.

“ANATHEMAAA!” it cried, unleashing an ocean of psionic energy towards the golden speck of light.

Light engulfed this entire space, sending Anastajia back into reality.

---

Anastajia woke up with a searing pain in her mind, disoriented and agitated, sweat cold on her skin. She was out of her armor now, lying down in an unknown bed. She could hear the echoes of battle in the distance, explosions and energy torpedoes annihilating everything in their path.

Different contraptions were attached to her, monitoring her vital signs and nourishing her body. It was an infirmary. She must have been dragged back to the FOB by one of the medical units.

“Have you come to?” a voice asked, softly. It was a Mirati woman, but she did not recognize her. She was wearing combat gear, but the red patch on her chest indicated that she was part of the medical corps.

Anastajia nodded weakly, still sapped of strength.

“Your physical parameters appear to be fine, but your mental activity was all over the place while you slept.” she continued. “Bad dreams?”

“You could say something like that.”

“Very well. As far as I am concerned, I’ll give you a dose of stimulants and send you on your way.”

With that, the nurse made her way to the console of the medical contraptions by the side of the bed, tapping a few buttons. In mere moments, Anastajia could feel her blood pumping once more; the tiredness was slowly fading.

“You’re part of the first battalion, are you not?” she asked while disconnecting Anastajia from the devices.

Anastajia simply nodded.

“You can find your battalion commander outside. They’ve been waiting for you to come to.”

“My battalion commander? Why would he be waiting for me?” Anastajia asked, somewhat perplexed.

“I don’t know. Not my job, not my business. Go, you’re hogging up my bed.”

After being ushered outside, Anastajia changed back into her combat uniform and made her way outside the medical complex.

It was very bright outside; lightning bounced off the force field shielding the FOB from the planet’s weather, crashing into the nearby rocks instead.

Multiple landcruisers and tanks were being brought in with orbital transports and lined up in formation as the logistic and mechanic corps continued to process their arrivals. Despite their rudimentary armaments, the mutants were adept at destroying our armor, so the Imperium was forced to continuously send in new units.

Eventually, Anastajia noticed the battalion commander and made her way to him, saluting.

“Adept 0768-AN reporting for duty, sir.”

Her battalion commander was a young man, looking no older than a human male in his thirties. He was wearing his combat armor and had a large xentronium glaive attached to his back; the insignia on his shoulder indicated that he was also an Executor of the Order.

“Are you Anastajia?” he asked, flatly. “Grand Executor Grezeiros has been up my ass the entire day, looking for updates on your status. Are you her bastard child or something?”

Anastajia frowned. If Idrithrel heard him she’d probably split him in half for the callous disrespect.

“Either way.” he continued “You are to report back to the frontlines. We’ve achieved a breakthrough after you blasted the hide off that void terror. We’re preparing to breach the stronghold.”

“Yes, sir.” she nodded,

Before Anastajia turned around to depart, the battalion commander motioned her to wait.

“Another thing, adept.”

Anastajia looked up at the man. “Sir?”

“Good job on taking down that void terror. I’ve been told by your squad leader that it was your psi-blast that allowed them to kill it. I’m going to recommend you for an award.”

“I—uh—thank you, sir.” she saluted him once again, but paused for a moment. Noticing this, the man sighed, having already wasted valuable time on this interaction.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sir. Do you think it is wise?”

“What is?”

“Awarding me.”

He looked at her perplexed, as if she just uttered the most idiotic words that he had heard today. A brief moment of awkwardness ensued, as the two stared at each other. He eventually broke the silence.

“Every single time. I am going to go insane!" he ranted, stomping his foot on the ground like a child while flailing his arms in the air. "All of you aliens! Aaah!" he rubbed his eyebrows together before refocusing on Anastajia. "First. It is within my purview to recommend an award for whomever I wish.” He raised one finger. “Second. I don’t care if you are a human or not, without that feat of yours, my battalion would have probably taken more casualties than it already has.” Two fingers. “Three. I do not give a rat’s tail what the Archduke or any other moron thinks. I report to the Grand Executor, not him. He can go pound sand.” Three. “Anything else?”

“No sir.” she responded quickly, her eyes darting away awkwardly.

“Good, now get lost.” and waved her off.

Anastajia trailed off in search of the transport carriers.

In the distance, Nephinae and the Dorven twins were waiting by a transport shuttle, conversing with one of the logistics officers. She could not really make out what they were talking about, but both Nephinae and the officer appeared to be arguing.

Eventually, Nephinae noticed her, calling her over to the shuttle. Aleesia and Virion avoided her gaze like the plague, scurrying away like roaches. It did not bother Anastajia, but a tinge of displeasure was visible on Nephinae’s face.

“Are you better, then?” she asked, offering Anastajia her hand.

Anastajia took her hand, pulling herself up and climbing into the shuttle. She was still a bit stiff, but nothing that won’t go away on its own.

“I’ll be better once I get off this planet.” she answered. “It’s good to see you’re okay.”

Nephinae nodded, motioning over a pair of randoms to scoot over and give them some space. One of them tried to say something, but the glare she gave him caused him to rethink his actions. She sat down, waving Anastajia aggressively to sit down next to her. Anastajia complied, setting her blade between her legs.

“I must thank you, Anastajia. Were it not for your last attack, we wouldn’t have been able to break through its armor.” Nephinae explained, cupping one of her palms between her hands. Anastajia recoiled slightly, taken aback. “I don’t think you understand that you’ve pretty much saved the rest of our battalion.”

“I—Uh—Thank you? You’re welcome?” the words stuttered through the response, much to her embarrassment.

“If we both get off this planet safe and sound, I’ll make sure to treat you to dinner back on Miresh Marr. I promise.”

Anastajia nodded silently, her gaze darting around. Virion and Aleesia avoided her once again, staring down at the floor. For the next hour, Nephinae brought her up to speed on the progress of the assault.

After she had passed out, Nephinae and the rest of the veterans were able to nail the void terror in the chest with several dark energy bombs; they could stick them directly in the muscle above its heart thanks to the psi-blast let off by Anastajia. As it collapsed, the mutants tried to sally out once more, but the landcruisers and warforms reinforced them and drove them into their stronghold.

With the mutant forces surrounded, they were able to collect all the dead and wounded, sending them to the FOB for medical treatment. Anastajia’s wounds were minimal, so there was no need to transfer her to a more advanced medical facility. Due to their feat of taking down the terror, the battalion was allowed to break off from the assault and recover their forces.

Apparently, according to some of her friends higher up in the command structure, the Grand Executor almost ripped out the Archduke’s spine after being blindsided to the presence of void terrors at this assault point and ordered an investigation into the entire intelligence network to make sure that other information was not “lost” on the way. To say that she was enraged would be an understatement. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed, and due to some intervention from the rest of the command structure, the Archduke got away with his life intact and threatening that he would report this to the empress.

In the assault, the first battalion had suffered around three hundred casualties, lowering its combat effectiveness by almost a third. Reinforcements will be added from the auxiliary troops, but some reshuffling will be necessary, a blend of psionic and non-psionic troops. As far as Nephinae’s squad goes, its effectiveness was, against all odds, intact. Zero casualties.

But the siege of the Stronghold approaches.

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Thile

We’re approaching the fifth day on this planet. After defeating the mutant hordes surrounding the stronghold, our army breached the plateau and besieged the fortress. It is an interesting construct; it is not too dissimilar to the way the Imperium builds. Exotic alloys, an amalgamation of different materials interwoven by dark energy, that finally births one nigh impenetrable construct to anyone that does not wield dark matter and dark energy as the Imperium does.

Nephinae has already notified us of our orders; the battalion will once again be at the forefront of the battle. So long as we can take control of the fortress and cleanse the mutants from all levels, our position will be uncontested, and the resources can be diverted towards the Void Gardens and the Void Pits. According to the Battalion Commander, Master and the Archduke have descended to the planet already; they’ve gone to the Valesky’s research facilities.

I would hope that nothing befalls Idrithrel, but I cannot fathom what could ever truly harm her.

---

Anastajia was waiting in the siege camp amongst the other warriors of Ecclesia; idle chatter was drowned out by the whirling sound of the dark engines and propulsion systems of the Siege Warforms.

Batteries lit up the sky, working tirelessly to breach the walls of the fortress; fighters danced in the sky, dropping energy bombs with each run as they avoided the defenders on the wall. It pounded, and pounded, sending vibrations through the very plateau the camp was standing on. Soon, gaps will form in the hard-light plating, and the Imperium will storm them with overwhelming force.

Nephinae approached Anastajia, carrying her helmet under her right arm. She had dark circles under her eyes; she could not get any rest ahead of the final assault.

“I’ve been told we’ll be rotated after this assault.” she explained “Since neither the Void Flora nor the Void Crystals are susceptible to psionic attacks, the Grand Executor has other orders for us.”

Anastajia nodded, wiping away at sword, polishing it ahead of battle. Nephinae cocked a curious glance at her, before continuing.

“You have been ordered to the research facility. I will be joining you. We are to, apparently, escort the Grand Executor herself moving forward.”

Anastajia could sense fragments of amusement in Nephinae’s words. Thinking that the Grand Executor would need an escort was pointless; she probably had another reason to call them at her side.

“What about the Dorven twins?” Anastajia asked. “Are they not coming with us aswell?”

Nephinae shook her head. “No. Apparently they are being sent off-world.”

“Off-world?” Anastajia dropped the rag on a nearby crate before sheathing the blade at her hip. Her helmet dangled on the other side, attached to the magnetic clips on her hips.

“I hear that the countess has pulled some strings and found a way to have them pulled from the assault. Apparently, someone has leaked to the noble families that the Archduke withheld information regarding the Void Terror.”

Anastajia and Nephinae both smirked, thinking of a certain Mirati woman.

“Anastajia…” Nephinae paused for a moment, unsure of the words she was about to speak. “I know that you dislike the twins, but they are not bad kids.”

Anastajia looked back at her, silently.

“They are the product of their environment, a product of the countess, not the count. I’m sure you’ve seen them scurrying about ever since you saved them.” Nephinae pulled the rag aside, sitting down on the crate towards Anastajia. “I do not have the right to tell you to forgive them, but think about it, okay?”

“Why do you care so much about them, Nephinae?” Anastajia broke her silence as she removed the helmet from her waistline, slowly putting it on. “I do not hate them, but I do not intend to forgive what they’ve done either.”

Nephinae sighed, adorning her helmet at once; the assault was to commence soon. An order was issued through the integrated combat network, notifying all soldiers at once.

“We can talk about this another time. It looks like we’re setting out.”

Anastajia nodded absently, joining rank with the other troops ahead of the next meatgrinder.

---

Assault of the Mutant Stronghold had begun.

From the sky, a fleet of Void Gunships swept in low, unleashing a torrent of energy torpedoes and machine-gun fire, targeting the towers and the bodies on the wall. Chunks of hard-light metal dropped from the battlements, crushing any unlucky soul that would find itself below it.

On the ground, the Order of Ecclesia marched with relentless determination, their boots crunching on the debris-strewn ground. Sappers, shielded by psionics placed energy detonators at the foot of the wall and detonated them in a symphony of destruction. Sections of the ramparts crumbled, creating breaches for the infantry to exploit.

Nephinae led the charge, dancing through the mutants, sword and energy rifle in each hand. Alpha Kill-Teams plugged any gaps in the Ecclesian ranks as the shock troops split the remaining defenders apart, beelining for the inner fortress.

Psionic energy slammed into the monsters, throwing scores of them from their feet and charring their blue hides. Victory was at hand.

“Eight Squad.” the voice inside their helmets announced. “Divert from the main charge and scale the inner fortress’s walls.”

“Battalion Commander, what’s going on?” Nephinae asked for the entire squad to hear. “Has something happened?”

“We’ve received information that a Mutant Lord may be present inside the fortress. You need to take care of it before it can re-animate the slain.”

“A Lord can do that?!” Aleesia Dorven cried out. “Can we even take it out by ourselves?!”

“Clear comms.” he rasped. “You are my fastest team, now carry out your orders. Time is of the essence.” and terminated the link.

Anastajia listened as Nephinae cursed the battalion commander while driving her sword through the skull of a mutant, blue blood and gore dripping from the blade.

“On me.” she declared, leading a charge towards the fortress walls. “Use your psionic energy to scale the wall.”

Anastajia imbued her body with psionic energy as she strode over the wall, jumping over a group of mutants shooting from the top of the inner battlement. Anastajia dived down, cutting them apart with a flurry of slashes.

Looking down from the battlement, the ground below continued to descend into chaos as the Mirati soldiers poured through the main gate. They’ve taken the gate, and now the courtyard had fallen to the Imperium forces. It was no longer a battle, but a slaughter of the remaining mutants.

“Where is that thing?” Virion Dorven asked as he threw a mutant off the wall; his armor was scratched and dented having sustained damage when charging through the horde on the ground level.

On the other hand, Nephinae’s armor was in almost pristine condition despite leading the charge itself. It was the difference in their abilities to employ psionic shielding.

“It must be nearby.” Aleesia answered. “Do we split up, squad leader?” she asked, looking directly at Nephinae.

Nephinae pondered for a moment, inspecting her squad. Both Virion and Aleesia seem to have taken some damages; it was visible on their armors, and even if the damage did not pass through, she would rather not risk sending them alone when their armor is operating at reduced efficiency. She will not risk the lives of her greenhorns, she thought, before looking at Anastajia.

Anastajia could probably fend off a Lord alone, she thought. At least when it came down to power that is; but she is too inexperienced to fight as effectively as possible. Splitting up now means that if one of the groups encounters the Lord, they will need to hold on until reinforcements arrive.

“No. We’ll continue on together--” Nephinae answered, but she stopped herself short, looking in the distance.

A void mutant dressed in black armor, standing two or three feet above the rest of the horde, carrying a huge, barbed mace of unknown origin in its right hand. It glowed a ghastly blue, no doubt due to dark energy tampering.

“Looks like he found us instead.” Anastajia noted, readying herself.

But it was the mutant lord who moved first, striking out barehanded, the fingers on his left hand unspooling into long searing lashes that carbonized the vambrace of one of their squad mates. It dashed forward, whirling, lashing down again to the right. Were it not for her brother’s keen senses, Aleesia would have been vaporized now.

“Hey, hey, are you kidding me?!” she blurted out as both her and Virion dodged to the left before retaliating with an electrokinetic blast, hitting the mutant in the chest. Its armor was glowing like embers, but there seemed to be no significant damage.

“Surround him and whittle him down!” Nephinae barked her orders before unleashing a torrent of small energy blasts to garner its attention. “He’s stronger than the other void mutants, but our squad is stronger!”

It glanced for a moment as Nephinae ran in circles around it before unleashing its lashes upon one of the veteran squad mates, severing his left leg from the hip. He cried out in pain as the suit released analgesics and other chemicals directly into his body to regain optimal parameters, but this would only serve to soothe his agony. Seizing the moment, the mutant charged forward, bringing its long right arm towards the sky, its fingers tightening around the handle of the mace.

Nephinae and Anastajia cried out, trying to deploy a psionic shield between them, but they were too late. The lord drove the mace down with such strength and speed that it tore through the warrior’s body, carving a hole in the battlement at the impact point.

“Bastard!” another veteran bellowed as he closed the distance seeking to drive his energy spear through the lord’s armpit. In a flash of light, the mutant twisted and turned, taking his head with its mace. Blood spurted from the trunk as the body slumped to the ground.

Virion’s hands trembled as he raised his sword once again, guarding. “We can’t get too far else he’ll close the distance with those tendrils. Get too close and he’ll just do *that*. How are we meant to kill it?!”

Nephinae muttered something under her breath before calling out for an immediate bombing run.

“Squad Leader Eight, requesting an immediate bombing run on our position. We’re being torn apart by the mutant lord!”

“Acknowledged, Squad Leader. Strafing in three… two… one.”

A Void Gunship descended from the skies, unleashing a torrent of gunfire towards the Mutant Lord, causing the monster to shriek in pain as it hurled one of the void mutant bodies towards the ship, shattering one of its rotors. Smoke and fire engulfed the engines, causing the Gunship to come crashing down in the chaos below.

Nephinae and Anastajia would not waste this moment, charging at the monster in unison. As Nephinae leapt above it, channeling psionic energy into the tip of her blade, Anastajia slid behind the monster, using her powers to root it to the ground. Nephinae descended quickly, stabbing her blade at the monster’s head, only to be parried and sent flying backwards.

Aleesia and Virion rushed forward, zapping bolts of lightning at the monster but to little effect. Three other veteran warriors stabbed at the monster, but it blocked all of the strikes with unfathomable speed, even managing to throw in a few attacks of its own. A third veteran was crushed beneath his mace, and a fourth was impaled by the tendril.

Anastajia leapt away, creating some distance between her and the monster, releasing her bind in the process.

She continued to look around, trying to formulate a plan in her mind as the Dorven twins and the remaining veterans struggled for their lives in a dance of life and death. Nephinae was nowhere nearby, probably thrown off the battlement when she failed her attack.

‘Think, Anastajia, think.’

One of the Dorven twins cried out to her, Aleesia. “Anastajia, can’t you do the same thing you did to that Void Terror?!” as she dodged the lord’s attack in a backward somersault.

As the encounter stretched on, mutant reinforcements began to scale the battlement to assist the monstrosity; its voice was rugged, guttural even. It called out to its warriors, though none of the members of the eight squad could make sense of the words.

Caught off-guard, one of the veterans slipped on the grime and ichor bathing the soil and was impaled by a mutant spearman. Virion parried one of the tendrils with his sword, crackling sparks and smoke rising from the blade. Another mutant charged at Aleesia, but the tip of her sword found it’s throat even as she scrambled back to her feet; it’s snarling becoming a death rattle as it folded to the deck.

Anastajia enveloped herself with psionic energy once again, gathering the forces between her hands, but they fizzed out just as they manifested. She was slowly panicking, and her powers stopped cooperating. Cursing, she tried once again, this time succeeding in shooting a shroud bolt at the mutant lord, chipping the shoulder guard off its armor.

Its attention was now on her, rampaging through enemies and allies alike, blowing the Dorven twins out of the way alongside dozens of void mutants and bringing its fists together over its head before hammering down at her. She rolled out of the way by the skin of her teeth as the surface beneath her cracked under the impact.

A direct hit meant instant death, even for her.

‘Anastajia.’ the voice called out to her telepathically. ‘Keep it preoccupied for a few moments.’

‘Nephinae? You’re okay?’ she asked while dodging another blow. She was slowly being cornered by the mutant lord, each step bringing her closer to the edge of the wall.

‘My collarbone has been shattered and I have a punctured lung. I am hanging on by the grace of my suit and will.’

Anastajia could sense the truth in her words. ‘What is the plan?’

‘I am channeling all my remaining psionic energy in a single attack. I will freeze it solid. It falls on you to shatter it into pieces.’

Anastajia parried one of the tendrils and closed the distance, slashing the back of its knee in the process. Her sword was proving more effective than the others, no doubt due to the psionic enhancement.

‘How long do you need?’

‘A minute.’

‘Tall order. I will do my best.’

The telepathic link severed as Anastajia somersaulted over the mutant, striking at the exposed shoulder in the process.

All her sword lessons in the Ziggurat were paying off, especially the ones with Idrithrel. Had she not taught her how to incorporate psionic enchantment in her style, she would not have been able to pierce through the monster’s armor. It was, in a weird way, like the armor worn by the Imperium forces. Something to do with the dark energy imbuement, she thought. No wonder it’s so tough to crack. While Anastajia and the mutant lord stared each other down, neither side moved. She could feel the psionic energies rippling nearby. Nephinae was charging her attack, and the mutant lord could sense it too. It growled low, as if displeased that the fight was being interfered with by someone else.

Ten seconds.

It charged forward, bringing its fists together over its head once again. Anastajia had seen the move before and simply slid between the monster’s legs, slashing at its other knee in the process. It bellowed a cry, falling forward on its knees and swinging the mace behind in an arc that nearly caught Anastajia off-guard, defying its own anatomy and skeletal structure.

Twenty seconds.

She released several shroud bolts, blasting at the back of the monster’s head in a volley that could have shattered the hull of an alpha landcruiser. Smoke rose from the charred armor alongside the smell of searing flesh.

Thirty seconds.

A blast of dark energy struck Anastajia from the side, flinging her towards the edge of the wall. A void mutant had shot her with a looted dark energy rifle while she was focusing on the mutant lord. Alerts overloaded her visual interface, notifying her of damage to the structural integrity of her shield and armor through her ragged breath. She had sustained injuries to her dermal tissue too, but, luckily, the dark energy did not pierce through the plates. While she scrambled to her feet, slipping through the muck and blood on the surface, the void mutant raised the dark energy once again, taking aim.

Fifty seconds.

Virion and Aleesia Dorven unleashed an electrokinetic attack that vaporized the mutant, leaving the dark energy to fall to the ground in front of Anastajia. She tried to stretch her hand forward towards the rifle, but the mutant lord kicked it away, grabbing the girl by the top of her head.

Sixty seconds.

As the helmet cracked between the mutant lord’s fingers, Nephinae appeared behind in a cloud of psionic residue and drove an energy spear into its back, detonating. Smoke bellowed and chunks of hard-light plating flew off the armor, allowing Nephinae to release an immense psionic bolt onto its skin from point-blank range, freezing it solid.

Released from its grip, Anastajia unleashed a stream of infernal flames, vaporizing the lord’s upper half in the process. As it slumped to the ground, the remaining mutants fled, scattering in all directions. Clean up operations are all that remain.

​

 

[crisrko]

So, with this, I am going to be taking a bit of a break. I've written a few chapters already, but I will be busy with work for the next week or two. See you then.

 

[crisrko]

Hello,

I'll be back tomorrow with the start of the interlude. I think it will be great at showing what sort of things have been going around the galaxy, and the political situation with the many factions in the galactic council. Not before another chapter of our favorite human wallowing in self pity and doubt. Elephon certainly will have his hands full.

With that, I want to thank everyone who has voted the AAR in the ACAs, and I hope you'll continue enjoying the story. I personally think that the writing has started picking up with the interlude (though I was happy with everything prior too!), so I hope you guys stick around.

see you tomorrow

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Thile

A week has passed since we’ve landed on the planet. Two days ago, we secured control of the mutant stronghold and purged the remaining stragglers from the planet. By the end of the day, our battalion had suffered significant losses, losing half of its soldiers. From a thousand, we were down to 200 men and women from the initial landing.

As far as our squad was concerned, by the end of the assault, our squad had lost seven soldiers, most of them veterans who fought together with Nephinae on other planets. She is… not taking it as well as I expected; she promised them all they’d get off this ghastly rock together.

Aleesia and Virion, the twins, were sent to the Eversong in orbit, where the Dorven family servants will pick them up. We didn’t speak much after the battle, but they did thank me for saving them. I hope they’ll be less of a pain in my ass going forward, but who knows.

Idrithrel sent a shuttle after me and Nephinae yesterday. It was great to finally see her again. We didn’t talk too much since she’s still overseeing the planetary operations. Apparently now that the mutants are laying off the facility, the Archduke’s men have been making progress opening the vault. It appears to be ancient technology, dark energy based, but much more potent than what the Imperium could employ at this time. I suppose that the Imperium is yet to truly reach the zenith.

We’ve been pulled out of the first battalion and will serve directly under master for the rest of our stay on this planet. As far as the rest of the battalion goes, they’ve been either reassigned behind the lines or sent back to the Eversong. We will not be deployed in the Void Forests nor the Caves.

---

Helyx Research Facility; the research facility repurposed by the Valesky Dynasty to study void energy phenomenal and dimensional anomalies on the fractured world of Thile.

From the outside, the facility is nearly invisible, its existence betrayed only by a subtle glimmer of light reflecting from the dark energy shield surrounding its concealed entrance. It is nestled deep within the craggy embrace of an unnamed mountain; a monolithic sentinel with rugged and jagged peaks shrouded in swirling blue void energies.

Inside the Helyx, the facility stretched through out a labyrinthine network of sleek corridors and expansive chambers. According to the Archduke, this facility appears to be older than the Imperium itself, having been discovered in the early days of colonization by his forces; according to the scientists, it’s walls are constructed from a material similar to the hard-light alloys employed by the Imperium, though subtly better, stronger.

At the heart of the facility lays the Nexus, a large chamber that oversees all of the systems connected to the facility, as well as the place where the scientists employed by the Archduke conduct their daily activities. Directly below, the vault in question is connected to the Nexus through a mobile platform.

Anastajia and Nephinae were conducting their now daily duties inside the Nexus. Those duties consisted of following the Grand Executor around while she oversaw the extraction operations and the rest of the planetary assault. A safe assignment, if a bit boring.

“How much longer is this going to take, Archduke?” Idrithrel asked, her hands spread out over the holo-table. She was in the middle of coordinating the torching of the Void Forests. “You promised me the databank before the end the campaign.”

Eleg nodded through the holo-feed, seemingly unbothered by the Grand Executor’s impatience.

“I intend to honor my oath, Grand Executor. My scientists have made much progress in unravelling the vault’s secrets. You are free to come down yourself and see.”

“You know that I need to continue overseeing the operations.” Idrithrel answered sharply, her gaze betraying her feelings on the intelligence mishaps. “Soldiers may not be worth much to the Valesky Dynasty, but I personally abhor waste.”

Eleg sighed, somewhat disappointed, before someone from the background interrupted the call. He’d murmur something, inaudible to Idrithrel’s side of the call. After a couple of exchanges, the Archduke refocused on the call.

“Seems you’re in luck, Grand Executor. We’ve unlocked the vault.” Eleg declared solemnly, his eyes stoked with the flames of his ambition. “If you cannot come down yourself, please do send someone to collect.”

“Understood. I will be sending my two aides.”

“As you wish.”

Idrithrel terminated the holo-call, spinning her seat to face towards Anastajia and Nephinae and sent them on their way with a single nod. The two girls returned the nod, holding onto the hilts of their swords and exiting the Nexus’s main command room towards the vault platform.

After crossing the security checkpoint and waiting for about five minutes, the platform safely arrived at the bottom level. Ildrodrel Valesky was awaiting them with four kill-team squaddies in tow, equipped in intricate hard-light suits of interwoven and interlapping plates and matrices. Anastajia couldn’t really tell, but it seemed to be some of the best craftmanship the Imperium could offer, spare the Empress's Praetorians.

“Adepts.” he spoke, acknowledging their presence. “May I kindly ask that you allow my men to inspect your equipment?”

Anastajia blatantly refused his request. Nephinae piled on in support.

“Not happening, my lord. I’ll remind you that we answer to a different authority, and, to be honest, we don’t trust your men to keep their hands to themselves either.” she explained, offering the young lord a smile for the sake of appearances. “Plus, we’ve been allowed to pass through the security checkpoint.”

Ildrodrel clicked his tongue before conceding. “Very well. Follow me please and please mind your manners.”

Anastajia and Nephinae strode forward, escorted on each side by a soldier. A while would pass as they made their way through the lengthy corridors, eventually reaching the Archduke and the rest of the science team in a large expansive room.

A single vault laid before them, connected to a multitude of wires and tubes that Anastajia did not understand. At the end of these contraptions, the scientist team was working on an ancient terminal; she could not see what was being displayed from here, but it was unlikely she would understand anyway.

“I keep telling you, Archduke, that this is not as simple a matter as you would believe!”

“Which is precisely why I am paying you a fortune, Curator. You told me that you’ve made a breakthrough and that you will be opening this soon. What changed?”

Archduke Valesky was arguing with a reptilian clad in expensive black robes and cybernetic augmentation. Curator, he mentioned. Most likely, this scientist of his was actually a member of the Curator Order.

“You need to understand that operating dark energy is a delicate matter.” he explained, gesticulating as if speaking to a child and not a half-millennia old man. “Unfortunately, we’ve been unable to produce pure enough dark energy to power the mechanism.”

“And is there no way to bypass it?”

“Well, I suppose we could use a Omnikey, but…” the Curator sighed, looking at Eleg.

“But?” the archduke asked in frustration. “Let me guess, it will require a sizable donation to your Curator’s Order.”

The Curator simply smiled.

Watching the exchange between the two continue, Nephinae nudged Anastajia with her elbow and smirked. Ildrodrel was not amused.

“You will have your donation…” he sighed, waving his hand dismissively. “Now open that damned vault.”

The Curator bowed his head in gratitude, removing a small device from the sleeve of his robe. A small cylinder composed of what appeared to be living metal; something was off about it, Anastajia could tell, but she did not possess the knowledge to know what exactly it was.

“As you may now, those Omnikeys have been forged by our Order for thousands of years. Living metal, shaped with the purest form of dark energy drawn through archaeotech reactors.”

Anastajia watched the Curator boast as he slotted the device in one of the terminal’s ports, causing the lights to flicker red as something changed.

“It sends different pulses at different frequencies while scanning the energy signature of the mechanism or lock that it is slotted in.”

A short while after, the mechanical locks disengage, and the vault begins to pry open, kicking up scalding steam and smoke.

“Could we not have done this from the start?”

It was Ildrodrel who posed the question.

The Curator would shrug his shoulders and then turn towards the Archduke and nod, motioning his hand towards the opened vault.

It was not a large vault, by any means. It contained several stands, the displays labeled in an ancient language that they could not identify. Even the Curator failed to identify what this language was, perhaps predating the data stored in his Assistant AI.

“Those relics will need to be identified by the Imperium’s science division, Archduke.” Nephinae pointed it out before the Archduke laid his grubby hands on anything. “Also, please do not forget that as per your agreement with the Grand Executor--”

Eleg would cut her short, however, wafting his hand dismissively.

“Yes, yes. A deal is a deal. I care more about the planet than I care about this vault.”

Nephinae bowed before him then nodded to Anastajia; the two entered the vault, looking at the displays, one by one under the watchful gaze of Ildrodrel and his kill-team. Archduke Valesky and the Curator seem to have already left to settle the matter of donations.

Anastajia trailed her fingers over the different displays, trying to make sense of the inscriptions to no avail. Eventually, a blue cube caught her attention. Looking closer at it, the cube could fit in the palm of her hands, a construction of smaller, interlinked cubes of dark energy infused alloys.

“Nephinae, I think this is it.”

“This?” Nephinae asked, placing her hand on the display. “It certainly looks like a databank.”

“Should we take anything else besides the databank? What has mas—the Grand Executor said?”

A slip of the tongue, though Nephinae did not mind.

“Let’s see.” Nephinae exhaled softly and closed her eyes, channeling her psionic forces. ‘Grand Executor Grezeiros.’

‘Nephinae? Have you retrieved the databank?’ Idrithrel responded telepathically.

‘We have. What do we do with the other artifacts?’

‘Have them secured and tagged for the scientists back in Mireesh Marr. I’m not doing the Archduke any favors today.’

‘By your will.’

Anastajia waited by Nephinae’s side as the girl explained the Grand Executor’s instructions to her. Eventually, Ildrodrel would provide them with the manpower necessary to tag and label every artefact inside the vault; the relics will be ready for transport to the home world of the Imperium.

Having retrieved the databank, they returned to the Grand Executor’s side.

 

[crisrko]

Anastajia
Order of Ecclesia
Mireesh Marr

I was surprised that the Archduke honored the deal he’d make with master. I wonder whether it’s because she is the Grand Executor, or because of the involvement of the Empress in brokering the deal.

I’d never seen the Empress before, though Idrithrel told me about her before. She was one of her adepts; by her own admission, the greatest psionic she’d ever trained or seen. I asked her, out of morbid curiosity, if she could beat her. She looked at me, laughed and flatly said: ‘I wouldn’t get to make a single move.’

She is not as present in the daily lives of the Mirati anymore, not since her ascension to the Seat of Power. On the day the Coalition War ended, she killed her father in a coup that shook Mirati society to the core and decimated the influence the noble houses held in the Imperium.

After retrieving the databank, our stay on the planet of Thile continued for another week, while the Imperium forces wrapped up operations in the Void Gardens and Void Crystals. It was a foregone conclusion, and the archduke is now preparing the necessary materials to begin the dimensional reconstruction of the planet. Soon, the Imperium will have a new Voidsphere.

Nephinae was assigned to another mission; apparently, this will be a joint operation by the Order of Ecclesia and the Order of Psion at the best of the Galactic Council. Somehow, the Dannian’s have obtained the necessary votes to expedite the reclamation process of their lost sectors, and the Imperium must contribute by sending two psionic battalions to the battle. I asked her if she wanted me to talk to master, maybe I could ask her to give her some time off, but she said she’s used to it.

As far as I go, I did end up receiving a commendation for my actions in the assault on the stronghold. It was awkward, since most of the attendants were Mirati dignitaries and Executors; no doubt, some of them were more interested to see what sort of alien disciple the Grand Executor had picked up. Master was very smug about it, though, and saw the need to rub it in the Archduke’s face. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me personally in the ass.

I’ve been spending my last few days training in the Ziggurat alone, with only Elephon to come in and check up on me from time to time. Master is apparently busy with reports of the Katgan Swarm aligning with the Cult of the Eater and is debating with the Empress on how to move forward. I wish she had more time to train with me. Something had changed after Thile. My powers have somehow become more potent, and it is getting increasingly more difficult to keep them under control. I hope it has nothing to do with the nightmares.

---

On the roof of the Ziggurat, Anastajia was looking over the duraconcrete cage that is called Miresh. Her feet were dangling off the side of the structure, dangerously close. She was pondering, pondering her stay at the Ziggurat, pondering her training with Idrithrel, and finally, her deployment on Thile.

Being an adept of the Mirati Imperium was never going to be a peaceful life, but she knew that when she agreed to train under the Grand Executor of Ecclesia. Still, she wished it would be more adventurous, like the Order of Psion. This was a much more rigid structure, much more militaristic.

While she continued with her thoughts, another Mirati adept, not much older than her and about just as tall as her entered the rooftop. With short, slow steps, he began walking to her.

“I can tell you’re there, Elephon.” Anastajia spoke with a tinge of boredom in her voice. “It’s disrespectful to creep up on someone.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve been practicing on my stealth.” he answered with a shit-eating grin.

Anastajia looked at him while he slowly sat down next to her.

“With an attempt at stealth like that, the Executors would probably cane you.”

“Which is precisely why I am not a fighter, but a Keeper of Knowledge.”

Anastajia rolled her eyes, leaning against his shoulder.

“So you’ve decided then? You’re going to become a librarian?” she asked, grinning. “How much like you.”

His reply betrayed some annoyance: “A Keeper of Knowledge, not a librarian.”

“And pray tell, what is the difference, Elephon?” Anastajia asked, her mischief evident from miles away.

“A Keeper of Knowledge is tasked with documenting the histories and deeds of the adepts of the Order of Ecclesia, as well as any techniques, technologies or artefacts created or discovered by its members. It is highly intellectual.”

“Sounds boring.”

“To you, maybe. But not to me. Enough about that, what’s going on with you? Why are you up here all alone?” Elephon asked, glancing down at her.

“I’m tired. I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Elephon dotingly placed his hand on her head; she twitched for a moment but allowed it: “Is it nightmares, again?”

“Yeah… A different one, this time. I don’t know if I should tell master about it.”

“Different? Different how?”

“I see myself in it. In the library on Zith. In the knowledge vaults in the Ziggurat. I am searching for something. A book? A databank? I don’t know.”

Elephon paused for a moment. “Sounds weird, but I don’t see what concerns you so much about it.”

“First time I had this dream, there was someone else with me. She looked like me, talked like me, but it wasn’t me, if that makes sense. It felt… divine. Evil. Eldritch.” Anastajia gazed up towards the distant stars, looking at something that was not quite there. “It offered a pact. It would help me, if only I entered a pact with it.”

Elephon frowned. “You definitely need to tell the Grand Executor.” as he pulled her towards him, looking at her face. “Ever since you came back from Thile, it’s been like your powers have been bugging out. Something is wrong, and you need to tell the Grand Executor before it gets even worse.”

Anastajia pulled herself back, slapping his hand away dismissively. “And she’ll do what? I’ve been having those strange dreams my entire life. There’s no fixing them. They always come back.”

Elephon pulled her back by her hand, staring directly in her eyes, before speaking with a mix of annoyance and compassion. “You need to stop acting like a brat and talk to your master. She’s the only one who can realistically help you.”

“Brat?” she flared up. “I’m sorry for being a brat, Keeper of Knowledge.”

“Anastajia—“

Before Elephon could speak, Anastajia jumped to her feet, making her way to the rooftop exit, leaving a bewildered Elephon behind.

---

note: a double chapter, as the focus will shift away from Anastajia for a while

 

[crisrko]

“Oh, Holy Spirit”, the young boy whispered. “How many are there?”

Battleships, in the hundreds, bloated the light of the sun and darkened the skies. Planetary batteries drowned out his thoughts as the hydraulic systems cried with each strike.

By far the largest Katgan incursion that Vrako had ever seen.

But it was not the jet-black ships of the swarms that unsettled him, but the eerie crimson hue that surrounded each Katgan drone as it dropped onto the planetary surface.

Arthropod monstrosities, each leg ending in a sharp claw that could tear apart neutronium, and in some cases, even xentronium. A dozen eyes on each side that gave them both redundancy and exemplary vision.

“Those are no normal Katgan drones… I can sense the shroud upon them!” Vrako cried out, his hands shaking as he looked upon the descending monsters.

An explosion nearby threw him off his feet; a Behrfrangi strikecraft crashed into the ground, surrounded by flying Katgan Hoppers.

Screams. Screams coming from the strikecraft pilot: “Help me! Someone, help me!” the pilot cried out. “Don’t let them get me! Please!” as the Hoppers clawed and dugged through the strikecrafts hull and armor, seeking to reach him.

Vrako dropped his rifle on the ground as he cowered on the ground, covering his head with tendrils. “This isn’t happening…” he cried, denying reality.

Flesh and tendon snapped between the beating of the Hopper wings, the wet sound of gnawing as the pilot drew his last breath.

“Oh, Holy Spirit… Please save us” he wept, as the hoppers etched closer to him, the beating of their mandibles scratching at his ears.

‘This is it.’ Vrako thought to himself, as he felt the hoppers tower above him. ‘Forgive me, Chana.’

As the claws came down upon him, death did not claim him. A psionic blast rippled through the air, tearing the hoppers apart where they were standing. Vrako could seldom believe it, as a sole avian humanoid stood before him with his wings stretched out.

He’d seen his kind before, a Vissari, hailing from the arctic wastes of Vissas on the other end of the Galaxy. What he’d not seen before however, was a psionic Vissari.

“Rise, Behfrangi. Your Holy Spirit has use for you yet.” as the Vissari stretched his hand out, pulling Vrako up to his feet. “Pick up your weapon. This position can no longer be defended.”

Vrako stared at the avian, emitting a low hum; it was his way of thanking him. The Vissari nodded, pressing two talons on his left vambrace. His transmitter cracked loudly.

“Plume of Silver to Psion Ashnar. I have found a survivor on the western bank.”

“Understood, Plume of Silver. Make your way to our fortified position. We are defending the extraction site. Katgan Drones are pummeling us as we speak.”

“What of the Foundation reinforcements?”

“Admiral Kako Rotram is entering the system as we speak. We can only hope that he can open a path for us.”

Plume could hear explosions and screams in the Psion’s background. He must make haste.

“Understood. On my way.”

Vrako stood by his side, awaiting his instructions.

“You are coming with me. Come, we must hurry.”

---

At the edge of the Sne-Oms-Sthing system, Admiral Kako Rotram’s Artuxil Fleet exited the hyperlane, gunning for Na-Swe-Shuk at full speed. He’d received the distress beacon from the Psion and made for the Behrfrangi’s ancestral home even as the civilian government collapsed after the battle of Dismer, and destruction of the Behrfrangi Naval Forces.

Having survived the battle, the Admiral resorted to hit and run tactics on the Swarm, focusing on allowing refugee shuttles to escape the former Berhfrangi territories. During one such battle, he received the distress transmission from Na-Swe-Shuk.

“We cannot be too late. Make haste!” the Admiral bellowed to his soldiers.

He’s been desperate ever since he received the transmission. Desperate to save lives. Desperate for a flicker of hope. When he saw that the transmission came from none other than a Psion, his heart swelled thinking that the Order of Psion had arrived to assist the Foundation; his hopes were quickly crushed.

“I want all fighter squadrons and bombers to be ready on deck. Prepare for immediate deployment, we must open a path for the survivors.”

He’s resolved himself to his feet. Admiral Kako Rotram knows that the chances of him living through this encounter are slim, at best.

“Admiral!”

Admiral Rotram gazed towards the engineer.

“We’ve detected Katgan ships in the orbit of Na-Swe-Shuk. They know we’re here.”

“What of their forces?”

A pause.

“Well, what of their forces?!” he shouted. “How many are there?”

“Hundreds of ships, of varying sizes, my lord. We’re detecting over three hundred corvettes, a hundred frigates, two hundred destroyers…”

​

Rotram’s thoughts swirled in his head, blocking out the report. He simply acknowledged the report, offering no comment.

“Keep our cloaking systems on and stay out of their range. Establish contact planetside, as soon as possible.”

---

Plume and Vrako came as the sun began its downward arc in the sky. Gosha, the former planetary capital of Na-Swe-Shuk was now a former shadow of itself; the towering buildings were now just a heap of rubble, the verdant parks were torched to the ground and the community basins were all overflowing with a wretched green goo.

Occasionally, planetary batteries and anti-aircraft weaponry fired in the background, striking at the Katgan aerial patrols. Retaliation, however, would be swift; the weaponry could not sever the connection between the drones and the Hivemind in time.

Wading through the ruins of an industrial sector, Vrako and Plume could see Behrfrangi guerilla fighters dangling from the cargo crates and the destroyer cranes, watching from above. In the streets, makeshift barricades that could only slow down a Katgan assault.

A small group of guerilla fighters approached them. A low, tired hum echoed from the leading Behrfrangi.

“You must be Plume of Silver.”

Plume nodded, unwrapping the rags from around his face. Gosha’s air reeked of something sulphuric; the reek bordered on being chemically unhealthy for Plume, who’s biology was not entirely adapted to the planet. Through a raspy cough, he confirmed his identity.

“Psion guide you, warriors.”

“I am Anqual. Come, I will take you to Commander Ashnar.”

Anqual turned towards the towering crates, making a signal. Within a few moments, the lookouts disappeared, and the group made their way deeper into the industrial district.

“I understand that we’ve lost the water treatment plants then?”

“A Katgan assault two nights ago. Brawler and Armored drones as its spear tip. Not much we could have done.” Anqual swallowed. “We’ve lost sixty fighters in the battle.”

Plume remained silent as the group turned the corner, entering one of the warehouses, and then, into a large bunker complex. It was well camouflaged inside the industrial park. Even the Swarm with its Searcher drones would have trouble finding this location.

Inside, the remaining population of the Capital City Gosha greeted them; sparse groups of injured civilians huddled in makeshift tents and structures, attended to by an overworked group of medics. On the ledges above, Behrfrangi storm-troopers equipped in patched delta equipment. Morale was… low.

“Come. Commander Ashnar is in the room above.” Anqual motioned towards one of the rooms connected to the catwalks before ordering his soldiers to take up their usual positions.

“Mister?” someone called out.

Vrako swallowed hard as he looked at the source of the voice. Plume let out a long, deep sigh as he stared down the Behrfrangi child.

“What is it, Arik?” Anqual approached him, kneeling to his level.

Arik motioned to the energy rifle in his hands. “My gun’s jammed. I can’t get the power cell back in.”

Anqual reached out and shook his head while inspecting the weapon.

“Look. You need to click on the lock switch on the other side. It’s a release catch, okay? Slide it back, put the cell in.”

Arik dropped the power cell with his shaking tendrils but managed to secure it on the second try. “Thank you, mister!”

“Good job, my brave boy. Now go, come on.” and shooed him off towards one of the groups. He turned towards Plume and nodded: “Sorry about that. Let’s go. You’ll have to stay here, however…” pointing at Vrako.

Vrako glanced at Plume, who simply bopped his head in confirmation, and found himself a comfortable corner to sit in.

---

Inside the room above, Psion Millu Ashnar and two similarly equipped Behrfrangi were standing around a circular table and a spread out holo-projection of the city of Gosha. All of them were wearing hard-light powersuits and had at least one psionic conduit attached to their back or waists. Psion Ashnar was in possession of a large Xentronium glaive, brimming with psionic energy.

“You’ve come, Psion Plume of Silver. It is the first time we see each other face to face since the last time you came to Rhar’I, is it not?” he hummed, spreading out his tendrils to bring Plume into an embrace. Plume accepted his embrace, patting the old Behrfrangi on his back.

“It is. I hope I find you in good faith, Psion, but please, no longer refer to me as a Psion.” Plume smiled, weakly.

Millu stared at him through his visors before sighing.

“I see that something has happened. I remember… You had an apprentice, didn’t you? A human girl. I remember her, she was strong, so strong. What of her?”

Plume sighed, softly. “I no longer have an apprentice, my friend.”

Millu stared at Plume, silently, as the thoughts swirled through his head.

“Please don’t tell me…”

But Plume cut him off. “No. No. Nothing happened. I…” he paused. “I have sent her to train under Master Idrithrel.”

“Idrithrel? But she is no longer part of—”

It clicked, and Millu sighed loudly.

“I see. This is why you’re no longer a Psion.”

Plume nodded.

Millu patted him on the shoulder before motioning him over to the table: “I have many more questions for you, Plume of Silver, but there are other matters that we must attend to right now.”

All the present Behrfrangi nodded to him as he approached the table. They were also Psionites, just like Millu. Warriors from the academy on Rhar’I, no doubt.

Millu placed his tendrils on the edge of the table: “I will be blunt, my friends. The Holy Foundation has fallen. The Behrfrangi state is no more. Our job right now is to get as many refugees off the planet as possible.”

​

 

[crisrko]

Lorkan watched the scouring of Na-Swe-Shuk from the bridge of his flagship, the Gorger, in the planet’s low orbit. A Titan seized and repurposed from the Galactic Council during the cleansing of Salzenmund and the initial assault on the Holy Behrfrang Foundation.

“The drones have been searching the planetary surface for the archaeotech vaults for a week now, my lord. Are we sure that our information is correct?”

Yinuke, a Taufean cultist, and the right-hand man of Lorkan the Betrayer. A silver-manned Taufean hailing from the planet of Sibuhu, one of the Republic’s few pilgrimage sites.

Lorkan turned to look upon his second-in-command. Shroud beings flitted, darting and howling around him, feeding on the Taufean’s emotions and psionic powers.

“He is the one who gave me this information, Yinuke.” Lorkan answered, tapping the overgrown claws on the edge of his ebony throne. “If he says that the vaults are here, then they are here.”

“Our forces have been overwhelming the Council for months now. We’ve seized control of the entire Behrfrang territory, and the Swarm now gorges upon their planets and people. Why do we not simply open a rift to Miresh?”

Lorkan growled, the rumble rattling through the deck of the flagship, causing some of the crew to shake in fear.

“Miresh is different.” Lorkan’s head, twice as large as that of a normal Taufean, slowly turned to look at his second-in-command. “Tearing a path to Miresh, through the Shroud, is simply impossible. Do you know why?”

“The Empress?” Yinuke asked.

“The Empress.” Lorkan confirmed, materializing a ball of psionic energy in his right hand. “When the first Shroud rifts appeared around Salzenmund, I tried to open a rift directly to Mireesh Marr. I was denied. All of Miresh is within her psionic range.”

Yinuke remained silent. A single psionic capable of denying the Eater of Worlds? To be able to shut a Shroud rift closed? Heretical. Incomprehensible. To know that a Mirati fleshbag denied his lord made his blood boil.

“She is an anomaly. A gaping wound in the Shroud. She is Anathema to the Shroud Gods. Kill her, and the Eater of Worlds will ascend us to Godhood.”

As the two gazed onto the planet below, one of the engineers on the deck called out to him.

“My lord!” It was Teerd Sar, a Sylosi psionic engineer his cult had picked up during one of the earlier raids in the southern half of the galaxy. Its scales were a rugged, burning red, reminiscent of the red skies of Sylos. “We have received information from the Katgan below that there are still stragglers and survivors fighting on the surface.”

Lorkan wafted his hand dismissively. “It’s only a matter of time until they die. They are of no consequence to us.”

“Lord. According to the drones, they are all psionics. Most of them are Behrfrangi, but apparently there is also a silver Vissari on the surface.”

Teerd Sar watched as the power armor creaked and cried under Lorkan’s weight who descended from his throne and towered above him. He could feel the Shroud wisps of psionic energy floating and circling around him, feeding on the emotions of their host, like parasites.

“Psionics? Are they Foundation fighters? I thought we had exterminated all of them when we fractured Dismer III.”

Lorkan’s voice betrayed his anger. Anger at a job poorly done. Odd pockets of resistance were to expected; it was a statistical impossibility to wipe out any and all Behrfrangi in direct engagements and planetary bombings, but the destruction of their psionic forces were carefully prepared and carried out.

“No, sir.” Teerd Sar swallowed, a knot in his throat. “According to the Watcher Drones, there are Behrfrangi psionics from the Order of Psion. They are led by a Psion.”

His eyes widened, grinning from ear to ear. His canines were exposed, causing beads of cold sweat to form on Teerd Sar’s forehead. His pupils dilated in response to the presence of a predator; an evolutionary response.

“Is it Turgal? Has that filthy mollusk actually left Zith to protect his species home?”

“It is not Turgal, my lord.” Teerd Sar swallowed again, crumbling under the psionic pressure exuded by the Avatar of the Eater of Worlds. His thoughts were spiraling out of control and in every direction, anger welling into him to send him into a berserk frenzy. He bit down his lower lip before speaking. “Psion Millu Ashnar, apparently.”

Lorkan paused for a moment, pondering. “I had heard of him. He’s the Psion of Rhar’I, was he not?” he asked, turning towards Yinuke. Yinuke nodded in confirmation.

Lorkan’s heart burned like scalding iron; was it excitement? Was it anticipation? Was it both? He was the Avatar of the Eater of Worlds, and he would bring his God a trophy.

“Prepare our troops, Yinuke. We’re going down!” he bellowed, picking up a large psionically imbued Xentronium great axe from the side of his throne. It was his weapon, Hell’s Scream. “Enter their last known location into the Shroud engine, Teerd Sar.”

Teerd Sar bowed his head and barked out the orders below to the beam operators. He’d turn around, as if he had forgotten something.

“My lord! I have not yet told you of the Vissari!”

Lorkan guffawed loudly before breaking into a peal of laughter, overlapping sounds of his voice and of the shroud entities attached to him.

“There is but a single silver Vissari psionite! And I had seen him decades ago, with the Empress’s lapdog!”

As the Shroud engine screamed into motion, a rift formed inside the ship, carrying Lorkan and his band of monstrosities to the planetary surface.​

---

​

It was a map of Na-Swe-Shuk. Millu Ashnar and his men have compiled the information based on current intelligence. Gosha and Gosaxx are the only cities that still have a semblance of a resistance on-going. As they spoke, sectors of Gosha were being lost to the rampaging Katgan drones.

Attrition did not work against the Katgans. Every felled drone was easily replaced. A new one created from biological matter, and with the wholesale slaughter of the planet’s population, biological matter was in high supply. In the center of the map, the Katgan had created a Spire; a conduit to enhance communication with the Hivemind, and a facility to breed new Katgans.

It used to be an atoll. Plume had been there before, many years ago. It was a beautiful place. Kalpash Atoll, it was called. Behrfrangi legends say that there is where the first mollusk took to the land, standing on two feet. It was, to them, the birthplace of their species, and later on, their civilization.

And now, it was desecrated by the Swarm.

On one of the other continents, the lone city of Gosaxx continued to fight against the hivemind; isolated from the rest of the resistance, those brave men and women fought to maintain control of the only operation dark energy facility on the planet, hoping to restore power to the planetary-spanning energy shields.

If they could do this, they thought, they could cut off the assault force from the rest of the Hivemind; or, failing that, they would entrap a sizeable amount of Katgan forces on the planet, denying them the nutrients and the drones garnished from Na-Swe-Shuk.

Plume’s eyes darted all over the map, before finding the Psion. His face had greyed and deflated, a consequence of the overexertion he’d endured those past few days. What was worse, however, was the constant heating of the planet. As the ecosystem crumbled around them to the Hive, the surface of the planet was slowly becoming hostile to the Behrfrangi. Once the planet would be turned into a Hive World, their death would become imminent.

“What is the plan then, Psion Ashnar?”

Millu Ashnar pointed towards the spaceport on the map: “As you can see, Plume of Silver, we are in a precarious situation. To get these people off the planet, we must take control of the Gosha Spaceport, eighty miles to our southeast.”

“We’d need to fight our way there, while carrying wounded and civilians.” Plume answered, shooting a glance over his shoulder into the open space below.

“It is true. Some of us will die on the trek, but if we stay here much longer, we will all die.”

Meena Mona, one of the psionites that had come to the planet with the Psion. She too, was a Behrfrangi.

“What of the Admiral. Have we heard anything from him since?” Anqual asked, looking at Millu.

As all the eyes turned towards the Psion, he nodded, pressing a button on the holo-table. As the planetary map dissipates, the face of the Fleet Admiral appears before them; a recorded transmission, sent an hour ago.

“I am Fleet Admiral Kako Rotram, with the Artuxil Fleet. We’re drifting near the planet as we speak, but we cannot provide you with any orbital bombardment nor any ground troops due to the Katgan ships in lower orbit. We’re outnumbered… at the very least, six to one.”

As the difference in forces become apparent, the information fell upon the Behrfrangi’s necks like an executioner’s sword. Psion Ashnar’s face was grave, and both Anqual and Meena Mona seemed to be tethering on the edge of desperation.

“Engaging means compromising our cloak. You must reach the Spaceport and notify us immediately as you do so. Once you do, we will attack the Katgan to garner you enough time to escape.”

Plume knew that face. It was the face of a man resigned to his death; but there was still a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Hope, that should the shuttles escape, the Behrfrangi species would live on.

“I await your news. May the Holy Spirit guide you towards us.”

End transmission.

A grave silence befell the room. It would be Plume who would break it.

“When are we heading out?”

Psion Ashnar replied: “As soon as night falls. Us Behrfrangi can see well enough in the dark as is. We’ll provide you with night-vision if you need it.”

Plume nodded. “Please do so.”

Meena Mona raised one of her tendrils. Ashnar nodded, allowing her to speak: “It would take us at the very least, two days. Realistically, three, and at worst, depending on how many times we need to engage the Swarm, four to five days. Do we even have enough supplies for everyone?”

“No.” Anqual answered, shaking his head. “At best, we have enough food and water for two days.”

 

[crisrko]

When Plume had first landed on Na-Swe-Shuk, it was during the first assault of the Katgan forces, shortly before the decisive battle of Dismer. Despite the confusion and disarray, the civilian government of the Holy Foundation was still intact.

He fought with the planetary guard against the initial swams, he watched as the order broke down under the heel of the Katgan; their bombardment was indiscriminate, setting the oceans ablaze with toxins, turning it into an acidic wasteland. Spires were implanted into the planet’s crust, slowly kickstarting the assimilation process. If undisturbed, by the end of the year, this would become just another Hive World.

It was two weeks back that he made first contact with the Psion. After Goupter had fallen, like the rest of the southern continent, when Plume had resolved himself to die against a Katgan patrol, he heard the broadcast. A broadcast, previously recorded by the Psion, meant to play out on the Behrfrangi military and civilian communication networks, repeated endlessly. A call to join the resistance in the capital city.

And so, Plume had begun his long march through the southern continent. During his march, he came across many pockets of Behrfrangi, fighting to protect their lands; they refused to join him. They were born there, and they intended to die there.

Na-Swe-Shuk changed. It’s sky was no longer the beautiful azure that he had known years prior. It was now black and turgid, no doubt a consequence of the sickness that had befallen the planet. The climate quickly changed, turning the air into a cold gale that shot freezing spears through every exposed nook and cranny. His planet, Vissas, was an arctic planet, so the weather did not bother him as much, but for Na-Swe-Shuk it meant the slow descent into death.

On a fateful day, he came across an ambushed resistance cell fighting against a patrol of Katgan brawlers and hoppers. It tore through the Behrfrangi with such ferocity and skill unlike anything he had seen before. The Swarm, he thought, was evolving. With each encounter, with each biomass it collected from the Behrfrangi world, it learned new tactics of wars and stratagems.

But this was nothing uncanny, not for a ravenous hive-mind collective. Katgans were strong, but they were not something that the galaxy had not seen before. It was their psychic sensitivity; not the mechanism behind their gestalt collective, but raw, psionic power. He saw it during the final battle of Goupter. A new Katgan specimen, but much larger, much stronger than any he had seen before. Agility of a Hopper Katgan, with the toughness and strength of the Brawler. It called out to the Behrfrangi defenders telepathically, pretending to be one of them, and when it succeeded in luring them out, the Swarm struck, annihilating and assimilating all present.

Katgan “Lords”. It made sense. He’d never seen them in large numbers. Always a single, lone Lord, with an army of brawlers, hoppers and swarmers. He faced off against it, once, and was forced to flee.

Eventually, he reached the looming bastion city-fortress of Gelre, the southernmost point on the western continent. He had secured transport, a boat, from the southern continent. Through the will of Psion himself, or perhaps sheer fortune, he made it across the acidic sea. What he found there, however, was a ruin, scorched and torn apart, without a speck of life.

He continued his march north through what should have been the Great Jungles of Galat, only to find endless deserts in their place. The Swarm had stripped the biomass clean, leaving behind only barren rocks. Past the Great Jungles, he could see the city of Gosha in the distance. To the east, the Gosha Spaceport.

Fate would have it, however, that he would travel to the Spaceport first, after seeing and hearing the signs of on-going battle raging around the facility. By the time he had arrived, however, the remnant Behrfrangi forces were crushed; Vrako was the single survivor of the encounter.

---

“I did not grow up on Na-Swe-Shuk, you know?” Vrako confessed as he stared blankly at the devastated landscape around them. Their convoy was already a day through their journey to the Spaceport; a final, perhaps futile, attempt at getting the last few survivors off the planet. “I grew up on a planet far-away from here. Byssi, if you ever heard of it. A small agri-world outside of the core Behrfrangi planets.”

Plume stared silently at the young Behrfrangi. He could sense the emotional turmoil through the subtle changes in his psionic flows. He was… overwhelmed.

“I was an algae farmer, just like my father, and my grandfather before him. We had a small, nice domed farm before we received the mobilization order.” He said, his voice cracking through the transmitter in his armored suit. “I answered the call. I was sent for training here, before being assigned as planetary guard.” He laughed. “I wanted to fight on the frontlines, you know? In my mind, I was going to be a hero from a backwater planet, rising to glory against the Katgan terror.”

“You’re young. We all had such fantasies.” Plume explained, smiling beneath the cover of his helmet. “I had an apprentice who thought she would rise to unite the entire Galaxy, to bring in an age of peace.” He laughed, but Vrako could sense the loneliness in his laugh.

“Do you think we’re going to make it off this planet, master psionite?” Vrako asked, his eyes pleading beneath the golden lenses of his face plate.

“I pray we do, Vrako. I pray we do.”

---

Their convoy shuddered to a halt. Meena Mona approached Psion Ashnar from the front, her dark energy rifle dangling at her hip.

“What happened? Is there something ahead?” the Psion asked, wearily. This march was taking its toll even on him.

Meena turned to the side, raising one of her tendrils to point in the direction of the Spaceport before speaking.

“We’ve scouted ahead and have seen several Katgan drones patrolling the Spaceport. It seems that they are slowly taking the structure apart.”

Ashnar could feel his heart sink, a riveting sickness swelling in his throat as he forcefully swallowed. He held one of his tendrils out towards Meena and she passed him a pair of holo-binoculars, using them to extend the range on the embedded ocular systems in his suit.

“Looks like Brawlers, mostly. What of the rest?” he asked.

“According to one of the men, the worker drones are busy tearing the destroyed shuttles apart. Most of the platforms are occupied by the wrecks, spare a few. It seems to be lightly defended.”

“Could the Fleet Admiral’s shuttles land?”

“If we can take the Spaceport.”

Ashnar held the holo-binoculars out to her before turning towards Plume and Anqual. He could sense the anxiety exuded by Anqual, and thus focused on Plume. “What do you think, Plume of Silver?”

Plume paused for a moment. “I’m not a warrior, master Psion, nor am I a strategist, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

Ashnar nodded, his gaze darting towards the civilians behind them. He’d already lost some of them to the journey here, both old and young. His gaze then wandered towards Anqual and Meena, who both nodded.

“It is now or never. Notify the Fleet Admiral and equip every able-bodied man and woman. We’re storming the spaceport today.”

Anqual saluted before spinning on his heel to call over one of the men and depart into the crowds. Meena made her way towards one of the transporters, flinging the doors open to expose the quantum communication-link device. A rudimentary tool, Plume thought, but the comm-link amplifiers on the planet had been compromised; they needed to do it the old-fashioned way.

“Where do you want me, Psion?” Plume asked grimly while motioning Vrako to head over to Anqual and the rest.

“I have to ask a favor, Plume.” Ashnar spoke softly, looking at the Vissari psionite. “I want you to take the survivors towards the Order’s territories. And I do not mean Rhar’I, I had ordered everyone off the planet before I came here.”

Plume bowed his head respectfully. “I promise.”

Ashnar’s tendrils wrapped around Plume’s right shoulder, and he smiled beneath his helmet. “Good.”

Meena approached the two from behind before detaching the weapon from her hip.

“Sir. We’ve notified the Fleet Admiral. They stand ready.”

Anqual and Vrako also joined quickly after.

“We’ve equipped an additional hundred-twenty civilians, commander. We’ve about a hundred-eighty soldiers in total available. Twenty soldiers will take defensible positions in a near-by ravine with the children while we clear the platform.”

As Ashnar nodded and turned around on his heels towards the Spaceport, something happened. He could not understand what had happened in that moment, but for a singular moment, it felt as if time stood still. Psionic energy gathered above the group, spawning a group of shroud wisps into existence. As he peered towards the pool of energy, he could hear the low rumbling of a voice.

“I found you.”

 

[kakom]

Hey, I wanted to let you know that I nominated you for WritAAR of the Week.

 

[crisrko]

Hey, I wanted to let you know that I nominated you for WritAAR of the Week.

Thank you very much. It is great to know from time to time that people are reading and enjoying the story.

 

[crisrko]

It was not meant to go this way. For all their sacrifice, for all that they have gone through, the Behrfrangi dared to hope that salvation was within grasp. Less than two miles ahead, the survivor contingent gazed with longing eyes at the Gosha spaceport, their last chance to get off this planet.

As the non-combatants dispersed in all directions under the erratic screaming of the Psion’s subordinates, the sky tore apart and psionic energy began to seep onto the surface of the planet. An eerie, murderous crimson ray cast down towards the ground and amidst the materializing shroud wisps, a monstrously large Taufean phased into their dimension, with his honor guard in tow.

Plume’s heart dropped at the sight of the Taufean. He was humongous. No, to say that he was humongous was an understatement. No Taufean could reach a size such as his through neither genetic mutation nor manipulation; it was a monument of flesh, crafted by dark powers. His armor, rough and rusted, though comprised of carefully inlaid matrices and metal plates no doubt masterfully crafted by an artificer, looked as if it was barely containing the mass of raging muscle. He was, by Plume’s estimations, at least triple in height compared to him, his head the size one of his armored paws.

His power armor creaked and wept with each step that the monster took, stopping a mere fifty meters away from the Psion and his contingent. Anqual and Meena Mona quickly sprang into action, arming their dark energy weapons and taking aim at the towering giant and his warriors while Vrako stood behind Plume, the rifle shaking violently in his hand. A mixture of hisses and roars was the reply.

“Millu Ashnar. Psion of the Order of Psion.” the voice spoke, rough and primal.

The Psion stared at the towering monstrosity, extending his hand to his back and removing his Xentronium glaive from its clips.

“I presume that you are Lorkan, the Cursed.” the Behrfrangi commander replied. A loud snarl came from the monster before he’d raise one of his armored paws, pressing a lock beneath his helmet. Gas poured out, and with a mechanical whine, the helmet opened to reveal the face contained within.

“I have heard much about you, Psion. Tales of your mastery of the Shroud, of your psychic force.” He explained, stabbing his great axe Hell’s Scream into the ground, splitting it open. “I only see a desiccated, walking corpse. Pity.”

Plume could see it too. Those past few weeks under siege by the Katgan Swarm and the destruction of the planetary ecosystem had taken their toll on the weather Psion. His once vibrant skin had turned dull, greyish even. His movements had become sluggish after starvation had begun to set it, choosing instead to give what little rations he had to the children in the refugee column.

The Psion looked back at Lorkan, his expression hidden beneath his power suit. His voice crackled through the embedded transmitter. “I confess. I have seen better days, O Cursed One.” He gripped the handle of his glaive, mentally preparing himself for the ensuing battle. It felt heavy in his hand, much heavier than it used to. Was this because of his weakened physical state, or was there something else at play here?

Lorkan could sense this weakness, and his face twisted into a monstrous grin. No words were spoken, yet the honor guard behind him readied their weapons aswell, each taking aim at one of the few behind the Psion. Yinuke, the cursed one’s second in command, had Plume in his sights. With a loud mechanical whine, Lorkan lifted Hell’s Scream from the ground and raised it high, before allowing the handle to rest against his right shoulderplate.

“I have come to claim your head, Psion of Rhar’I.” he explained. “My lord, The Eater of Worlds demands it, and I, his avatar, shall deliver it.”

“Your lord, huh…” the Psion sighed, tightening his grip on his glaive. “I am willing to give you my head, Lorkan, if you let my people go.” as he motioned to the side towards Anqual and the others.

Lorkan’s gaze followed his movement, looking down upon the group of Behrfrangi psionics before he snarled loudly, splitting a blob of phlegm at their feet. Vrako shuddered, his finger itching on the trigger, though Plume extended his left arm in front of him. “Your death shall be a fine kill, Psion. I would rather have you fight for your people.” as he motioned towards the group.

With Lorkan’s instruction, Yinuke and the honour guard approached, their black boots crunching against the arid ground. They moved slowly, maintaining a tight formation as the first shot rang loudly; a blast of dark energy striking Meena Mona directly in her chest and flinging her backward, crashing against the rocks and kicking a large dust cloud up in the air.

Vrako immediately returned fire, shooting indiscriminately in their direction without any care for friend or foe, losing himself to fear. Chaos ensued, and within mere moments, Lorkan and the Psion found themselves engaged in a melee. Something in the sky, something far away, looked down at the battle unfolding, as if smirking with glee. With each corpse that hit the ground, with each drop of blood spilled upon the soil of Na-Swe-Swuk, the sky turned a darker tinge of red.

Every movement made by the Avatar of the Eater of Worlds was rough, hindered by the unbridled rage and overdeveloped musculature bestowed upon him by his benefactor. His armor, though a masterwork by artificers now long gone, creaked and buckled under the power exhibited by the cursed one. As he brought Hell’s Scream crashing towards the ground, the Psion of Rhar’I jumped to the side, dodging the strike by a hair’s breadth. He could feel the heat of the great axe’s blade seep through the interlaid matrices of his power suit. It made his skin crawl and his blood boil; there was a psychotic aura surrounding the weapon, no doubt meant to drive the combatants towards battle rage, so that they may enjoy the thrill of the battle with little regard for their lives.

Ashnar riposted, driving his glaive forward, aiming for a space between the helmet and the collarbone of the Avatar. His target was humongous, much larger than him, so he should have little issue in striking true. That would be the logical conclusion, yet reality would be different. With a speed unbecoming of his size, Lorkan avoided the strike with little effort, retaliating with a blast of psionic energy that the Psion would repel.

“I see there is life in you yet, Psion.” Lorkan laughed, his long claws wrapping around the handle of his great axe as he switched to a two-handed stance. A thick psionic aura began to envelop the weapon, different from the psychotic effect the Behrfrangi had felt before. It screamed danger.

“I will not allow my species to die today, Lorkan.” he rasped between labored breaths. “I beseech you once more. Let my people to leave.” as he circled the avatar. He could hear the blasts and screams behind him, but he could ill afford them a moment. One mistake could cost him his life at this stage. He knew that this was only the beginning of their battle.

“I refuse.” he bellowed, a mixture of glee and rage in his voice, twisted by the effects of the Eater of World’s trance. By now, the sky had turned a deep crimson red, and the avatar could feel the piercing gaze of his master urging him forward towards his prize. He would not fail today, the Shroud God would not allow it.

Millu Ashnar shook his head and weakly muttered a scant few words under his breath: “Psion, guide my hand.”

---

Psionic energy scattered in all directions as the Vissari and Yinnuke clashed with each other. Yinnuke, the second in command of the Avatar of the Eater of Worlds and the leader of his honor guard was no stranger to melee combat; a veteran of all the campaigns Lorkan had undergone, and his faithful dog throughout his fall to the dark Shroud God.

As they bounced off one another, Plume enveloped his claws in psionic energy and leapt forward, striking the Taufean in the chest area, to ill effect. His hit had struck through, but it was as if the supercharged warrior did not even feel the strike. Before he could react and jump out of the way, Yinuke clasped his hands together and brought them overhead for a devastating attack. As his arms came down, Plume crashed loudly against the ground, the air in his lungs escaping with a pained gasp.

“I have taken the Eater’s gift, you insect.” Yinuke boasted, as he stretched out his long, armored hand to grab Plume by one of his wings. “A Psion of the Order of Psion… So what?” he snarled, crushing his head beneath his armored boot, muffling the avian’s pained cries. “Your age has ended, Psion. It is now our time.”

With the twist of his right hand, bones and joints cracked and buckled under the immense pressure; he broke his wing at the base. A ravishing pain traveled from the wing and up his back, all the way towards his head. Plume could no longer breathe, much to the Taufean’s glee. His shoulders slumped, ceasing his incessant struggle, and Yinuke let go of his wing, muttering a few words of joy.

“What did you expect, Vissari?” Yinuke asked, increasing the pressure he pressed down on the avian’s head, causing the armored helmet to buckle and crack. “You came to a dying world, hoping to what? Save them?” he laughed mockingly. “Look around you. The Katgan have destroyed this planet. Soon, it will be unhabitable to normal life, and they will move on to the next planet.” Yinuke’s hand trailed towards Plume’s other wing, grabbing it by the tip. “I have fought alongside the Psions during the Coalition War. To think that you are their successors.” and twisted violently, breaking the cartilage and bones in his other wing. Plume stopped moving, and despite his armor pumping him full of analgesics and different forms of chemical stimulants, passed out from the shock.

Yinuke lifted his foot, staring down at the broken Vissari before motioning a member of the honor guard over. Another Taufean, much like Yinuke and Lorkan, though he appeared to be a gray maned Taufean, and somewhat smaller in stature. His black armored boots thudded against the ground as he strode forward, dragging the broken body of one of the Behrfrangi soldiers behind him.

“What are your orders, commander?” he spoke, his voice rough and coarse like the others. His face twitched and spasmed, a response to the Eater’s trance. “What should I do with this one?”

“Disarm him. We’re taking him with us.” Yinuke replied as he looked upon the battle unfolding in the distance. “I will go to our lord’s side. He should be done by now.”

“And the rest of the Behrfrangi refugees? Some of them are trying to escape with whatever remains of the Psion’s group.” he asked as he leaned over to grab the unconscious avian by his feet, his monstrous claws wrapping around his ankle and biting hard, carving into the armor.

“Sic the Katgan drones on them, Jogosai. This planet is entirely under their control, they’ve nowhere to run nor hide.” he answered, patting the gray maned Taufean on the shoulder and exposing his teeth in a monstrous smile. ”The Eater looks fondly upon us, my brother, and our lord will deliver him the head of the Psion of Rhar’I.”

Jogosai nodded, closing his eyes to telepathically commune with the swarm as psionic energies swirled around him.

---

As the Psion of Rhar’I, Millu Ashnar was known for his martial prowess and his adherence to a different creed than that of the Grand Psion’s. While Grand Psion Turgal preached that the Order of Psion should scant interact with the galaxy at large, only handling the retrieval and safekeeping of artefacts and humanitarian missions, Millu Ashnar believed that it was the duty of the Order to protect the weak and wanting, much like before the Coalition War.

When news of the raids in the systems near Salzenmund began to flood the nearby worlds, the psion came across a raving pirate while on a mission for the Order. He thought him insane at the start, screaming of psionic apparitions and monstrous raiders appearing from the nether to devastate planets and take large amounts of prisoners. He dismissed them, leaving him to his ramblings and drink.

Eventually, news of the raid on Drakenhof spilled among the pirate and mercenary channels that he and his warriors were monitoring for deterrence. After Drakenhof came Hutung, and then Hushua. By the end of the year, over half of the planets in the Grand Duchy had experienced some form of attack by a psionic host of ravagers. Worst of all, he thought, the Grand Duchy was keeping this information secret, instituting a complete informational and news ban across the worlds; in reality, the only thing this achieved was to weaken the planetary governments ahead of the rift opening.

Everything changed when the rift opened. The Katgan poured in the millions, their bioships spreading in all directions and seizing control of many systems. Rhar’I, too, was attacked, but the Order managed to repel them. When the news of the war spreading to the Holy Behrfrangi Foundation reached him, Millu Ashnar gathered what sparse resources he had and made the treacherous trip to the Core Worlds, so that he may fight for his species. He appealed to Turgal, but the reply never came. Was the message intercepted, or did Turgal refuse his call to aid?

When the psion first stepped foot on Na-Swe-Swuk, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. His planet, his home, the cradle of his species, withered and dried. What was a lush archipelago world now turned into an arid, toxic rock unfit for Behrfrangi life. He fought during the first siege of Gosha, and the second, and the third. No matter how many Katgans they felled, they came back in bigger numbers, having recycled the biomass from their own drones and his men. Worse, they had slowly begun to mutate, no doubt from the psionic strands collected; psychic attacks that would frighten the mind, foul tricks that would disorient the defenders.

And now, the curtains begin to draw on the final act. He stands before the Avatar, his glaive clutched in his hands, a foe unlike any he had seen since the height of the Coalition War, when psionically supercharged warriors littered the battlefields, when the Shroud Gods bestowed their gifts to champions of every species. According to the records of the war, it was there that Lorkan’s descent into evil began.

Millu Ashnar strode forward, empowering himself with psionic energy. He faked a stab towards the Avatar’s stomach before deftly slipping below his guard and releasing a bolt of psionic energy from close range to little effect. Lorkan scoffed, looking down at him.

“Time on this planet has weakened you, Psion.” he said as the energy shields dissipated the psionic bolt into a cloud of steam. “An attack like that will not even get through my energy shields.” before charging forward, swinging Hell’s Scream wildly in his direction with speed that the Psion could barely react to.

Sparks scatter as the glaive and great axe clash, parried to the side. Lorkan stretched his large hand forward, looking to latch on the Behrfrangi’s shoulder, but he was too slow. Millu Ashnar jumps to the left, shooting bolts of psionic energy in rapid succession towards Lorkan. Much like the attacks before, they scatter upon contact with his shield, nothing more than annoyance. He barrels forward with ill regard for damage, like a rampaging animal, raising Hell’s Scream high. It glows, imbued with a charge of psionic energy that upon release, carves a path forward through the air and soil, splitting the ground beneath them.

The Psion was slow to react, jumping high in the air, exposed to a secondary attack that quickly followed. Lorkan closed the distance, clawing at him with his spare hand. The xentronium glaive blocks the attack, but the monster barrels into him, knocking him away through sheer force of impact. Alarms and warnings blare inside his suit, releasing analgesics and chemical stimulants as reports of broken ribs echo inside his helmet.

His black boots touch the ground, crumbling the rocks beneath and shaking the ground. Lorkan stands up quickly, striding steadily towards the fallen Behrfrangi. He’s breathing hard, sucking and snorting like a laboring animal, there is spittle on his chin and lips as he stares him down, gathering psionic energy in his spare hand before clawing down at him once more. There was no contact, even though there should have been. Once more, the psion had evaded by the skin of his teeth, expertly striking back through the gaps between the avatar’s helmet and breastplate, lodging his glaive in his neck.

Blood sputtered, trickling down the edge of the weapon and the Taufean’s armor. The psion roared, pushing the handle of the weapon further into his neck, driving it with all his weight. Muscle snapped and tore, before the glaive stopped moving. Lorkan had grabbed the handle with his spare hand, locking the weapon in place as he raised his great axe high in the air, bringing it down with speed greater than he had exhibited before. Millu let the handle go, the sharp blade of Hell’s Scream cutting against the edge of his chest, sending sparks and metal scattering left and right. That was close. Too close.

“You’ve allowed yourself to fall so far, cursed one.” the psion said as his fingers trailed over the gash carved into his armor. A millisecond slower, and he would have had his chest split open. “You were one of the greatest warriors of Kalealise. Look at you now.”

Lorkan twisted his left hand, pulling the glaive out of his neck amidst a shower of blood. It had struck one of his arteries. He brought his gaze down, looking at the wet red liquid and then at the psion. Lifeless red visors stare down the Behrfrangi before the long claws wrap around the helmet, removing it. Blood trickled down his snout as the muscles on his neck bulged, contracting hard. Somehow, the wound began to heal, sizzling as if cauterized by a high-powered laser. Psionic hyper-regeneration. Millu frowned beneath his armored helmet.

“I have ascended.” he grumbled as psionic energies rippled around him, turning into a whirlpool of psionic energy unlike anything that the psion of Rhar’I had ever seen before. “From the wretched ruins of Akkanar, I clawed my way out, clinging onto life.” and it disintegrated just as quickly as it had materialized, alongside the Avatar.

The Avatar disappeared. Just as the psion could process this information, he found himself sent flying backwards, crashing into the ground with such speed that his armor crumpled under the force. He registered the pain before anything else. His right shoulder was broken, and he could feel blood trickle down his forehead. He tried to rise to his feet, but the pain stopped him, causing him to only slump forward on his knees. He gropes for his fallen glaive, crawling forward silently. He would not give him the satisfaction of hearing him whimper or cry.

Lorkan watched him struggle, pulling Hell’s Scream out of the ground as he thought about how to strike the final blow. As he licked the drying blood from his snout, he watched the psion pull himself to his feet and lean against his weapon. He grinned in delight before sweeping the great axe horizontally; somehow, the psion managed to parry it once more, holding his glaive with only his remaining hand before thrusting it towards the avatar once more. It would not reach his neck, but his instincts screamed to him to dodge as an infernal stream of fire shot out of the tip of the glaive. A pyrokinetic attack. Lorkan lunges forward to seize him while he stumbles backwards, but his claws catch only a handful of hardened ice, as a sheet of it materializes between him and the psion.

Millu brings his glaive into a sweep, whipping and bending the handle around the sheet, catching the avatar onto the side and cutting through his energy shield. He could feel something warm as flames sputter around the blade once more, leaving a trail of smoke and melted metal.

Lorkan growled in pain, enraged by this final defiance: “You still have something left. A little strength. A few tricks. You deserve your reputation, Psion of Rhar’I.”

The two continue to exchange a few more blows, trading hits in rapid succession, even as the Behrfrangi tethered on the edge of death. Cuts leaked blood all over his face, the power armor dented and broken in several locations. Lorkan barreled forward once more, charging through the armor of ice and swatting away the glaive with Hell’s Scream before catching the psion’s chest with his fist, folding him in two as he crumpled to the ground.

It was over. He could hear the psion wheeze and gasp for air as the stimulants began to wear off. His armor could no longer sustain combat operations, and the mechanical motors slowly fizzled into death, trapping the Behrfrangi inside. Metal shards littered the ground, the previous impact having split the armor open. He could see his chest cavity move, the heart beating inside of him slowly with whatever life remained. His body spasmed as he tried to lift his broken body. He would not get up this time.

Millu Ashnar watched as Lorkan dragged Hell’s Scream towards him, his thoughts drifting to the lush world of the past. As the great axe dropped, he could only hope that some of the survivors escaped.

In orbit, Fleet Admiral Kako Rotram waited for a signal that would never come.

 

[crisrko]

Biyan-Bid Yastunikan stood before representatives in the Galactic Council inside the Interstellar Assembly. Artificial light engulfed the room, shining brighter than it ever should. Uncomfortable glares fell upon him as he pleaded for their support, whispering sweet nothings, false promises of support that would never reach the Lofanasi Conglomerate. Unity had begun to fracture, and the self-serving leaders of the western galactic half would not send their flotillas on a journey across the known world.

After the Holy Behrfrangi Foundation had fallen, the Katgan Swarm continued its blitz, striking the nearby empires. Lofanasi, Vissari and Taufean worlds were now the target of their ravenous onslaught. By the end of the first week, a tripartite alliance had been signed. A new Federation, at least for the duration of the war; but this would not be enough, and Biyan knew this.

He looked upon their faces, and they looked away. By the end of the session, the motion would fall, and the Conglomerate would fail to have the Swarm declared as a Galactic Crisis.

Inside one of the private quarters of the Interstellar Assembly, Biyan-Bid and representatives from the Vissari and Taufean empires sat together. A meeting, of sorts, to plan further actions. Aligned in a circle, there were four seats. Biyan sat in the seat furthest from the entrance, at the center.

“As you’ve seen, the motion has failed.” he said as he gestured towards the holo-table between them. An image of the cast votes floated over the table, displaying the shameful cowardice of what is called, the Galactic Community. “We will not be able to force the others into the conflict.”

To his left sat the Vissari representative, a short, blue avian, very similar to the ancient owl species located on the ancient Earth. A mundane looking Vissari, were it not for the bright burning eyes of embers. His name came from this striking physical trait. Eyes of Orange.

“The Four Clans are fortifying our border territories as we speak.” he explained, taking a small sip from a porcelain cup. The liquid, black as tar, foamy at the top. It was reminiscent of coffee, though it was not that. It was a brew of tea, native to their planets. “After the fortification is complete, we will commit forces to the counterattack.”

On the right sat the Taufean representative. A large golden maned Taufean, imposing and well kempt. He was at least two-three heads above the Eyes of Orange, and one above Biyan-Bid. The right-hand man of the Republic’s prime minister.

“We are mobilizing forces are we speak.” Aju Zhu said, his claws tapping loudly against the wooden armrests. “We are receiving support from the Order of Kalealise, aswell.”

Biyan nodded, cupping his palms together. Time had weathered his face, though rejuvenant treatments have prolonged his life well beyond the normal life expectancy of a Lofanasian.

“We will cover all the financial costs necessary for the campaign. Our Enterprise has been expanding aggressively on the Imperium fringe worlds, and the returns have been nothing short of spectacular.” he lit up the end of a cigar, taking a hungry puff and exhaling slowly, allowing the smoke to coat his lungs and soothe his nerves. “There is someone I wish to introduce to you.”

“Who is it?” Aju Zhu asked, looking towards the entrance. He was not a fan of such backroom dealings, but in this time of need the Republic would could never brave the storm of the Katgan alone, and the Council does not seem to agree on matters of war. “I hope that he is an ally in our plight, First Speaker. I care not of anything else at this moment.”

“Of course.” he answered as a devilish grin formed upon his lips. “A representative from Shetu Ashkhety.”

“Shetu Ashkhety?” Eyes of Orange furrowed his eyebrows, setting the porcelain cup down on its plate before moving it to the coffee table by his side. “I thought that the Ashkhites were not members of the Galactic Community.”

“No, they are not.” Biyan nodded, before extending his hand out towards the holo-table and swiping to the left, turning the projection off.

At that moment, the entrance to their private room opened, and a single Ashkhite dressed in gray robes entered the room, a single tome dangling from the belt wrapped around his waist. A somewhat historical apparel, if anything.

“Gentlemen.” the Lofanasi man bobbed his head before extending both of his arms outwards towards the robed figure. “This is High Inquisitor Phrohenaten, the de facto ruler of the Council of Shetu Ashkhety.”

​

---

On the other side of the space station, in another private lodging much like the one used by the First Speaker of the Lofanasi Conglomerate, sat a spiteful little man, not much taller than four feet. He was short and stubby, the ornate white and gold robes on him sitting awkwardly, as tablecloth draping over a round, plastic table.

While he watched over the final results of the vote, the door to his chamber slid open, revealing a familiar face. He was more or less the same height, though wearing a custom duroceramic armor with attachment points for heavier ordinance. At his waistline, a single dark energy pistol. Carrying more than that on a station like this would be impossible either way due to galactic protocol and attempts at breaching this protocol would be immediately shut down by the Mirati Praetorian squad stationed here. His face was weathered, not due to age, but rather due to the things he had seen. His eyes and cheeks where sunken and his lips parched, cracked at the edges.

“Archon, there is someone who wishes to see you.” the soldier spoke before standing at attention, as Dannian protocol dictated. “He claims to be a friend. I believe he said that his name is Sukarno.”

A single chubby finger perked up, indicating him to let the man in. He complied and opened the door, standing aside to make way for the figure to come in. A man wearing a black robe and a crimson mask entered, bowing performatively before the Dannian Archon.

“Have a seat, my dear friend.” he said, as he motioned towards the seat next to him. Unlike the room used by Biyan, the seats here were all made from different sorts of exotic leather, found from different animal species across the Confederacy, some on the brink of extinction. “I have been awaiting your news.” before leaning over to the side and taking another drag from what appeared to be a hookah. “I trust that—” he stopped himself, glancing in the direction of his bodyguard. “Pita, my dear boy, make yourself useful and refill our drinks and plates, will you?” and shook the edge of the tray sitting next to him.

Pita scowled, complying with his order silently. It was the Archon’s discrete way of saying to get lost for a while.

The crimson masked humanoid pressed a few fingers on the base of his mask, disengaging the lock mechanism amidst a gasp of smoke and steam. He let out weak sigh, seemingly under some mild discomfort, or even pain as his direct skin made contact with the air inside the station. The Archon looked ahead, refusing to allow his eyes to trail in the direction of the man, for fear of his reaction. It unnerved him, much like all of the meetings before. Something, somehow, compelled him to avoid gazing upon that face. Was it magical, or was it his instincts? He could not really tell.

“Have you found it yet?” the man asked him while extending his hand to the side to pick one of the fine crystal glasses. He swirled the contents of the glass before inhaling the aroma. Wooden barrels, reminiscent of the way his people prepared whiskey. “My plans have been… accelerated, for reasons out of my control.”

“Oh. Pray tell me what happened, my friend.” the archon forced himself to smile, hoping to butter him up; it is a tough crowd however, and he understood that he should relent as soon as the man let out an annoyed grunt. “Very well. To answer your question, yes. I’ve had the records scoured, and I believe that we have found the location of the psionic archive you’re looking for.”

As he said that, the Archon slid a small storage device towards Sukarno before awkwardly shifting inside his seat. Sukarno stretched out his fingers and dragged the device closer to him, allowing the Archon to catch a few glances at the withered skin. His fingers indicated that this man was ancient, and yet he moved much like a normal man.

“I will make sure that my contacts within the Human Republic continue to support the Dannian Confederacy in all matters pertaining to psionics.” he said as he inspected the device, letting it tumble between his fingers as he played with it. Eventually, he stashed it in his robe. “On that note, Archon, I notice that you have changed your choice of bodyguards. I’ve seen a few fresh faces.”

“That? Oh.” he wafted his hand dismissively. “Most of them are special forces, trained by us or in cooperation with other factions within the Council.” he explained, allowing the smoke to coat his lungs and throat before exhaling it through his nostrils. “With the Boellian revolt spiraling out of control, I require a more comprehensive protection detail.” he smirked, wallowing in his own sense of self-importance. Sukarno, for what it was worth, was indifferent to his reply, instead staring ahead like he had done since the start of this meeting.

“What of this one? Pita, I heard you call him. He seemed… different.”

“Different? How?”

Sukarno would not reply, causing the Archon to continue awkwardly. “He used to be a slave to the Qwumx Autocracy. It seems that for some reason or another, they had him and some other slaves on a mission towards Dark Space. Dark Space, can you believe it?” he spat out beneath brief bouts of cough. “You can figure out that the Imperium caught them and notified us of one of our own being a slave.”

“And you decided to hire him as your bodyguard?”

“What? No. We threw him back in the army. Looks like he knows a few tricks. According to my generals, he is quite skilled in combat, and was willing to take the job.” he explained while shifting in his seat awkwardly once again. “I am known to be quite… strict, yes, strict. Despite the obvious honor of working as my bodyguard, it seems that not many wish to do so.” he snarled “But, given the war with the Boellians, I am willing to let it slide.”

Sukarno remained silent, instead grabbing his helmet with his left hand before placing it on his head. A few moments later, Pita opened the door, carrying a tray of food and drink which he’d set down on one of the tables between the duo. The Archon thanked him, before waving him off dismissively once more to get lost.

“Before you go, my dear friend, there is another matter.” the Archon spoke, tapping the edge of Sukarno’s armrest, carefully avoiding his bony hands. “I believe that the Imperium has caught wind of the archives being targeted. I do not know whether they will try to beat you to the archives, but I thought you should know.”

Sukarno rose from his chair: “I’ll keep that in mind.” before walking over to the door, pressing the mechanism on the wall. It slid open, and Sukarno disappeared in the station’s long corridors, leaving the Archon alone in the smoky room.

 

[Nikolai]

So much suffering. So much nobleness, sacrifice and blood among the heroes of this story.

 

[crisrko]

So much suffering. So much nobleness, sacrifice and blood among the heroes of this story.

Unfortunately it's going to get worse before it gets better. We're not even close to how far the damage done by the Katgan Swarm got before the Galactic Council actually did something about it. If there's one thing Stellaris models correctly in the Galactic Community system, is inaction and apathy.