Post by EmperorMyric on Feb 22, 2023 9:21:44 GMT
Catan System: IRG Space
The sound of crunching as Grand Admiral Namals tucked into his elaborately cooked dinner made Admiral Atlas wince.
The man was a pig, pure and simple as he scoffed himself with barely any decorum, not once offering Atlas a bite or even looking up to talk to him. Even when he did, he spoke with his mouth full and with clear disinterest.
“The production quotas are down again” It was a simple statement, but Atlas knew the anger that could come and go at a moments notice.
“Yes Sir, the work gangs were striking again over another reduced food ration” Atlas looked upon the disgusting form of his superior with contempt. He was a bloated, spoilt man with a barely kept beard and thick hair, his uniform barely fitting his short rotund body. Medals gleamed off his chest for battles he had never won by his own merit and the cutlery he eat with were inlaid with gems and diamonds. Namals was a man of the old order, serving under Garren he had been allowed to live under Inara with a minor role in the military. But since the rise of the militarists and the collapse of the Grand Empire Namals had bribed, backstabbed, shot and bullied his way back up the ranks. He was nobility, nothing more.
Atlas by comparison was a man stolen from his destiny and full of vitality. Tall, blonde and well kept Atlas had fought for Inara in the 2nd Ancerious war, and had accepted the defeat with a heavy but understanding heart. He had worked with the occupation forces but had been one of the many millions rounded up in the chaotic mess that had been the militarist coup and withdraw to the southern territories. Whole families had been separated, and Atlas had wept when he had learnt his wife and child had been left behind, abandoned, and then finally killed by the Four Daggers Army who had swept in after the withdraw.
He hated the IRG, he hated his superiors, he hated everything about his life. The new Capitol had not been perfect, but it had been something. The Mandate was a hollow shell of soulless work, the IRG was a rotting effigy to the Garren order, and the others were failed offshoots of extremists, mad men or Union puppets.
Capitol was dying and Atlas despite his best efforts, could accomplish nothing here.
“Well shoot 100 of their families and see that we get back on track, those ship quotas won’t fill themselves for the war effort” Namals replied with a mouth full of exquisite wine. Atlas narrowed his eyes in anger. More random killings.
[16:53]
Things had to change. But he had no power.
----
Despite the failings of the IRG and the chaos that engulfed it the Catan system was one of the lucky ones. Well developed it had originally been a part of the so called ‘Shadowguard’ as had been their nickname, back in the days of Garren and the Dark Triumvirate that the Union had nicknamed the origins of the APP. Captiol had swept in across the territory turning it into their southern zone, and quickly built their huge arcologies across the sweeping black crystal infrastructure of the previous occupants. Despite the curfews, militant policing and surveillance as well as constant secret police raids Catan was a catered for and organised place. The same could not be said for much of the IRGs territory, but the system was important for one simple reason, its huge shipyards.
Massive frameworks cradled Capitol warships from multiple eras, Mk.2 vessels that had fought at the start of 2AW mixed with Mk.3 and even newer Mk.4 designs. The IRG could not be picky with its assets and the frameworks half merged into black crystal as the old Shadowguard works orbited the barren planet just further out from the two main populated worlds. Given the large blue star which the system orbited the Catan system was well off in terms of habitability, two earth like populated planets, a barren blasted world used by the shipyards and a cold gas giant further out with functioned as ship testing and training areas.
All of this was Grand Admiral Namals domain, his own personal kingdom. Each of the main militarist leaders had their own system, a petty kingdom for them to rule as they saw fit so long as they provided what was needed to the greater whole under Pelio.
Still not all was so calm at Catan.
The VMFR Salut was once a proud vessel of the Royal Federation Grand Navy, now it was something else. What it was was not something that could be easily described. The sterile decks and ordered passage ways and rooms had been filled tendril growths spreading from control panels, power sockets and anywhere else connected to the ships core. The tendrils in a mocking way kept the ship clean apart from their presence in place of the crew which had since been used for another purpose. The hanger which was once full of noise, hustle and bustle was quiet. Pilots who were considered some of the best that the Federation had to offer were now permanently integrated into their ships, unrecognisable mounds of flesh occupied the cockpits of the strike craft as the tendrils sprawling around performed the maintenance and armament. On the bridge at the core of the ship the crew there had been changed, skeletons sat slumped on their consoles, their flesh having been used to make something at the centre on what was the captains command throne. It was not fully machine or fully flesh but something in-between, it appeared like a giant grotesque brain using the repurposed flesh of the old crew. It pulsated in rhythm with the ship reactor. The crew after having their minds taken from now had their bodies taken as well, they were ship and the ship was them.
"I have new target for you." A feminine voice sounded over the PA system.
"The Catan system shipyards. Its destruction would please me and destabilise the region further." It continued.
"The relevant information has gone to your cortex."
The creature merely listened and pulsated as the orders were received. It launched itself into warp towards the appropriate area to begin firing operations. The process was the same as usual as the centre of the ship broke open to reveal its massive armaments. After a brief charging process it fired both the round and a warp bubble to transport it. The rest was up to the targeting computer built into the round and the results as always would potentially be devastating.
“These damn strikes are causing production slumps Atlas you do realise that reflects on me, right?”
“Yes s-“ Atlas hadn’t even gotten time to respond to Namals before the man began to speak again.
“The other admirals will be at my throat in short order, I could lose Catan. They would undermine me in an instant. You should know that Atlas, now order those killings or I-“ Namals had barely gotten through his second mouthful of food before the alarms bared. The Grand Admiral reacted in shock, he had no idea what to do. Atlas was already moving to the communications panel in the ornately decorated dining room.
“Report!”
“Incoming warp bubble sir! Unknown firing vessel but we detect a projectile, its aimed at the main yards!” Atlas swore.
“Yards? W-What H-How-“ Namals stammered to reply.
“Time to impact? Raise interdiction and go to full combat footing”
“This must be that bitch Strixx! Some kind of surprise attack by the Mandate! Ill have their damn head-“
Atlas didn’t even get time to respond or even the answer to his question.
The bubble didn’t need to care about interdiction as it approached the yards, it was already travelling at such speed as to effectively impact in hardly any time at all. Ironically, it was actually intercepted mere seconds from impact, the Trident Devastator striking it with a railgun round with such marksmanship that it would have been commended by nearly any superior in the known galaxy. The issue was, at such speed the projectile merely shattered, the sabot turning from a single round into thousands. Devastator in her heroics had inadvertently made it much, much worse.
[12:02]
The fragments impacted the shipyards and command section like a shotgun, tearing through entire sections and sending a cascading affect as debris spewed outwards. 40 ships were destroyed in as many seconds as the rounds tore through the unshielded vessels, their docking cradles shredded and turned into additional projectiles. The black crystalline structure onto which the shipyard had been grafted also took the impacts hard, shattering sections and turning them lethal. Within moments the shipyards had become little more than a cloud of debris, filled with the few heavily damaged warships that had somehow survived total annihilation. Catans main asset had been totally destroyed.
But the firing had not gone unnoticed. Capitol had orchestrated many surprise attacks in the past, and the IRG knew how hated they were and how close to conflict with the Mandate they had been. Incompetent yes, but stupid, no.
A small picket force consisting of two Isumon class escorts and a Hydra Class destroyer detected the sudden Alcubierre bubble and the huge energy flash associated. Instantly burning to flank speed they approached with full weapons ready, they fully intended to ensure whoever had just struck the IRG would be dearly repaid.
----
Atlas could barely move, the room was a mess, blackened and with segments of old portraits burning across a rubble strewn floor. He could hear Namals mewling through the alarms, the man sounded like he was dying. Good riddance.
But he himself felt the caress of death. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his right arm was barely responsive. Blood streaked down his face and while he couldn’t turn to see he could feel something heavy was across his back. No doubt he had been crushed by one of the support struts of the facility. What an awful way to die, he hadn’t gotten the chance to fight, to try and bring down this terrible order. He wouldn’t even be the one to kill Namals personally.
No… This couldn’t happen surely not now… rage and anger flooded him.
He clenched his left hand into a fist impotently.
“I wish… I wish for power, I cant die… Not like this… I have to save Capitol…” The words were barely a whisper from his mouth, his final words as he felt the cold closing in.
Be it chance, by design or be it fate, it was uncertain at the time.
Though it seemed that someone or perhaps 'something' had heard Atlas' plea, in the slowly thinning atmosphere.
There was a strange twist in his perception, through closing eyes, as if having always been there, a man in strange clothes had shifted into existence in the demolished remnants of the room. He hadn't been here before, he couldn't be, Atlas was sure of it. Yet, he seemed... 'right' to be here.
Moments stretched to eternities as the man clad in black robes observed what was left of the room, then the last thing Atlas saw was the man staring down on him, with a mysterious smile and something he could best describe as a... malicious pity, if he ever were to remember it.
He felt as if something was digging through his head, no, not his head, his mind, it made no attempt to hide its presence, nor was it particularly rough or gentle but it seemed to be satisfied by what it found.
A voice echoed through his drifting away mind, imperious, ethereal, philosophical, yet in its own way gentle, patronising as if offering him a deal.
"You, wish for power? You, wish to save capitol?"
There was a deep and amused laughter.
"You are Atlas, you bear a powerful name, a Titan, which held the world on its shoulders.
Do you think, you would be capable of that?"
He had no power to speak but the voice was already in his head, where he first thought the question was rhetorical, the voice lingered, as if waiting for an answer.
"Preserve yourself, my curse must spread. Sending instructions." The same feminine voice echo'd into the mind of the Salut.
"By your will Empress." It replied.
Immediately turning itself on its central axis to protect the main gun the Salut began disgorging waves of bombers and fighter to engage the incoming ships from the IRG. They flew unlike the organic pilots which used to crew them and they maintained a single file line moving like a snake while the bombers flew freely with a heavy escort. Something seemed wrong with how the strike craft moved and acted even as they came under weapons fire they still continued unabated by their mission, they evaded, dodged and used EW to the best of their ability to get to their targets. The bombers went in first unleashing a close range volley of disintegrators, their aim was to carve entry ways into the ship, this is where the long line of fighters came in, closer inspection would reveal they were of all different makes, no squadron the same as the other and they made full burn towards any and all entry ways opened by the Bombers to disgorge their imitating pilots.
Atlas was bleeding out fully now, he was half in half out of consciousness as the man seemed to ask him the questions. He could still do so much… He couldn’t speak when he asked if he wanted power or to save Capitol, he merely nodded.
That act alone sent fire down his clearly shattered spine, his face contorting in both pain and anger at the supposed laughing.
“Yes… I-I am C-Capable” He finally managed out of spite.
The dying man turned his head already in total pain to stare up at the person asking him questions.
“H-Help me, or e-end it”
---
The Capitol escort force immediately began to fight back. Wracks of missiles were launched both towards the fighters but also the unknown contact as railguns were fired in volleys. Tachyon Arrows were powered up and began to fire and cycle even as the small complement of Sabre fighters launched from the Hydra.
Hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched the pilots did what they could to intercept the bombers even as they began to hammer a hole into one of the Isurmon class escorts. Despite furious point defence fire, the disintegrators blasted a hole wide open into the left flank of the ship, causing it to go into a roll to try and throw off further strikes into its vulnerable opening.
The Hydra responded by firing its centre lined Tachyon Arrow at the unknown target before turning its railguns solely onto the incoming craft.
Alarms were being raised everywhere now, and while the main yards had been utterly devastated and the vessels within ruined the other elements of system defences and on patrol fleets were slowly responding, making speed towards the clear battle ongoing with whoever or whatever had just struck so clearly against the IRG.
There was a strange silence in the room, the man seemed amused by his answer, but also interested.
"My, my, is that so? We shall see."
The man squatted down, with all the serene calm in the world, one hand holding his weapon upright, the other stretched out, reaching for Atlas face, cradling half of it in his hand, the pain from the touch and movement was unbearable in of itself. Yet, there was an unnatural warmth emanating from the the hand, it did nothing to soothe any of the pain in the slightest, however, it made it ever so slightly more bearable. As if complimenting the feeling, the mans face was covered in a mysterious simultaneously friendly and malicious smile.
"We do not grant death in wishes, nor do we grant you life without consequence, we grant the means to struggle, potential, power to be harnessed, the price is a part of your memory, it is a path of no return and one many do not return from."
He slightly tilted his head, the smile dropped for a scrutinising gaze, searching Atlas' eyes for things that lied beyond his comprehension.
"Do you, Atlas, accept our terms?"
The Salut on impact of the Tachyon arrow let out a spray of gore as the projectile made contact. Blood and other unidentifiable organs and tissue contaminated the void. Comms channels would be disrupted slightly as a scream of pain came through them. The Salut knew it was outmatched and began making headway from the escort force to preserve itself. The bombers would break their attack and return to the Salut as the expendable fighters concentrated on the large hole of the escort ship. Diving recklessly towards it and ejecting their pilot. The forms that emerged were esoteric, nonsensical and aggressive. They looked to assault crew members and aimed to take the flesh from their bones to add to their own mass while others looked for access points in which to interfere with ship operations and allow the forms further access into the ship.
Atlas was on the verge of passing out, of dying.
He struggled two times to form the words in response to the man in front of him, each time one of his arms moved slightly.
Finally he spoke.
"I-I do"
It was barely a whisper, but the man was slipping immediately after the words were spoken. Already the shouts and cries of other men trying to make their way to the Generals room were making themselves heard, they had no way to help Atlas but rescue efforts were underway either way.
---
The already stricken Isurmon lost power as the strange amalgamations gained a foothold, its crew battling in corridors against impossible odds as the vessel drifted out of formation entirely.
The second escort had also suffered damage, its weapons crippled by attack craft it tried to withdraw away from the battlespace before it too lost power, reporting inhuman horrors across all decks.
Only the Hydra stood undaunted, its PD blasting terrors from the void and its guns intent on crippling whatever monstrosity had struck the system. It might have even had a chance as well, the reinforcing vessels of the IRG fleet burning to meet it and reinforce. But when the weapons of the first Isurmon class suddenly unloaded into the Hydras flank its chance of retribution faded. Taken wholly off guard its shield systems had not kicked in to identify the threat, the railgun rounds and missiles turning the entire port flank into a mangled half melted mess. Calls for immediate answers fell on deaf ears as another volley tore the central spine of the destroyer out. Leaving it crippled and betrayed.
The fight was over.
"So be it."
The man whispered, letting go of Atlas face, who had now fallen unconscious, standing up in turn.
"A word has been given, a contract made, your wish for power shall be granted."
He recited it like a verse to himself, like an ancient ritual, there was no visual change, no perceivable effect, but something within Atlas changed, bones reformed, flesh sewed itself back together.
...and with his new potential, the first memory, that of his meeting with the strange man, faded away. Though he would never know why, he would survive this day, however, where this would lead him from here, was entirely up to himself.
The man looked around the room for another moment. The Admiral had long been dead at this point, it conveniently saved him the time of doing someone the favour of disposing of him personally, he listened to the voices coming closer and then shook his head.
He wondered where this one would go.
There was a knock against the door from the side of the admirals room as the rescue team passed by, but by the time they managed to open the room, any traces of the strange man had long faded away.
The Curse had spread and taken its first victims, its forms continued to spread around the ships securing control of critical areas before making sure that no further biomass could escape from the ship. Empty life boats were ejected while occupied ones were sealed shut. Hiding crew were eventually found and dragged away to suffer the fate of their peers. To scare off any would be pursuers it was broadcast across the IRGs own frequencies. More would suffer this fate but not today. The new additions powered their drives and made best speed to the Salut still retreating, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Once the two escorts arrived they began making preparations for FTL.
The sound of crunching as Grand Admiral Namals tucked into his elaborately cooked dinner made Admiral Atlas wince.
The man was a pig, pure and simple as he scoffed himself with barely any decorum, not once offering Atlas a bite or even looking up to talk to him. Even when he did, he spoke with his mouth full and with clear disinterest.
“The production quotas are down again” It was a simple statement, but Atlas knew the anger that could come and go at a moments notice.
“Yes Sir, the work gangs were striking again over another reduced food ration” Atlas looked upon the disgusting form of his superior with contempt. He was a bloated, spoilt man with a barely kept beard and thick hair, his uniform barely fitting his short rotund body. Medals gleamed off his chest for battles he had never won by his own merit and the cutlery he eat with were inlaid with gems and diamonds. Namals was a man of the old order, serving under Garren he had been allowed to live under Inara with a minor role in the military. But since the rise of the militarists and the collapse of the Grand Empire Namals had bribed, backstabbed, shot and bullied his way back up the ranks. He was nobility, nothing more.
Atlas by comparison was a man stolen from his destiny and full of vitality. Tall, blonde and well kept Atlas had fought for Inara in the 2nd Ancerious war, and had accepted the defeat with a heavy but understanding heart. He had worked with the occupation forces but had been one of the many millions rounded up in the chaotic mess that had been the militarist coup and withdraw to the southern territories. Whole families had been separated, and Atlas had wept when he had learnt his wife and child had been left behind, abandoned, and then finally killed by the Four Daggers Army who had swept in after the withdraw.
He hated the IRG, he hated his superiors, he hated everything about his life. The new Capitol had not been perfect, but it had been something. The Mandate was a hollow shell of soulless work, the IRG was a rotting effigy to the Garren order, and the others were failed offshoots of extremists, mad men or Union puppets.
Capitol was dying and Atlas despite his best efforts, could accomplish nothing here.
“Well shoot 100 of their families and see that we get back on track, those ship quotas won’t fill themselves for the war effort” Namals replied with a mouth full of exquisite wine. Atlas narrowed his eyes in anger. More random killings.
[16:53]
Things had to change. But he had no power.
----
Despite the failings of the IRG and the chaos that engulfed it the Catan system was one of the lucky ones. Well developed it had originally been a part of the so called ‘Shadowguard’ as had been their nickname, back in the days of Garren and the Dark Triumvirate that the Union had nicknamed the origins of the APP. Captiol had swept in across the territory turning it into their southern zone, and quickly built their huge arcologies across the sweeping black crystal infrastructure of the previous occupants. Despite the curfews, militant policing and surveillance as well as constant secret police raids Catan was a catered for and organised place. The same could not be said for much of the IRGs territory, but the system was important for one simple reason, its huge shipyards.
Massive frameworks cradled Capitol warships from multiple eras, Mk.2 vessels that had fought at the start of 2AW mixed with Mk.3 and even newer Mk.4 designs. The IRG could not be picky with its assets and the frameworks half merged into black crystal as the old Shadowguard works orbited the barren planet just further out from the two main populated worlds. Given the large blue star which the system orbited the Catan system was well off in terms of habitability, two earth like populated planets, a barren blasted world used by the shipyards and a cold gas giant further out with functioned as ship testing and training areas.
All of this was Grand Admiral Namals domain, his own personal kingdom. Each of the main militarist leaders had their own system, a petty kingdom for them to rule as they saw fit so long as they provided what was needed to the greater whole under Pelio.
Still not all was so calm at Catan.
The VMFR Salut was once a proud vessel of the Royal Federation Grand Navy, now it was something else. What it was was not something that could be easily described. The sterile decks and ordered passage ways and rooms had been filled tendril growths spreading from control panels, power sockets and anywhere else connected to the ships core. The tendrils in a mocking way kept the ship clean apart from their presence in place of the crew which had since been used for another purpose. The hanger which was once full of noise, hustle and bustle was quiet. Pilots who were considered some of the best that the Federation had to offer were now permanently integrated into their ships, unrecognisable mounds of flesh occupied the cockpits of the strike craft as the tendrils sprawling around performed the maintenance and armament. On the bridge at the core of the ship the crew there had been changed, skeletons sat slumped on their consoles, their flesh having been used to make something at the centre on what was the captains command throne. It was not fully machine or fully flesh but something in-between, it appeared like a giant grotesque brain using the repurposed flesh of the old crew. It pulsated in rhythm with the ship reactor. The crew after having their minds taken from now had their bodies taken as well, they were ship and the ship was them.
"I have new target for you." A feminine voice sounded over the PA system.
"The Catan system shipyards. Its destruction would please me and destabilise the region further." It continued.
"The relevant information has gone to your cortex."
The creature merely listened and pulsated as the orders were received. It launched itself into warp towards the appropriate area to begin firing operations. The process was the same as usual as the centre of the ship broke open to reveal its massive armaments. After a brief charging process it fired both the round and a warp bubble to transport it. The rest was up to the targeting computer built into the round and the results as always would potentially be devastating.
“These damn strikes are causing production slumps Atlas you do realise that reflects on me, right?”
“Yes s-“ Atlas hadn’t even gotten time to respond to Namals before the man began to speak again.
“The other admirals will be at my throat in short order, I could lose Catan. They would undermine me in an instant. You should know that Atlas, now order those killings or I-“ Namals had barely gotten through his second mouthful of food before the alarms bared. The Grand Admiral reacted in shock, he had no idea what to do. Atlas was already moving to the communications panel in the ornately decorated dining room.
“Report!”
“Incoming warp bubble sir! Unknown firing vessel but we detect a projectile, its aimed at the main yards!” Atlas swore.
“Yards? W-What H-How-“ Namals stammered to reply.
“Time to impact? Raise interdiction and go to full combat footing”
“This must be that bitch Strixx! Some kind of surprise attack by the Mandate! Ill have their damn head-“
Atlas didn’t even get time to respond or even the answer to his question.
The bubble didn’t need to care about interdiction as it approached the yards, it was already travelling at such speed as to effectively impact in hardly any time at all. Ironically, it was actually intercepted mere seconds from impact, the Trident Devastator striking it with a railgun round with such marksmanship that it would have been commended by nearly any superior in the known galaxy. The issue was, at such speed the projectile merely shattered, the sabot turning from a single round into thousands. Devastator in her heroics had inadvertently made it much, much worse.
[12:02]
The fragments impacted the shipyards and command section like a shotgun, tearing through entire sections and sending a cascading affect as debris spewed outwards. 40 ships were destroyed in as many seconds as the rounds tore through the unshielded vessels, their docking cradles shredded and turned into additional projectiles. The black crystalline structure onto which the shipyard had been grafted also took the impacts hard, shattering sections and turning them lethal. Within moments the shipyards had become little more than a cloud of debris, filled with the few heavily damaged warships that had somehow survived total annihilation. Catans main asset had been totally destroyed.
But the firing had not gone unnoticed. Capitol had orchestrated many surprise attacks in the past, and the IRG knew how hated they were and how close to conflict with the Mandate they had been. Incompetent yes, but stupid, no.
A small picket force consisting of two Isumon class escorts and a Hydra Class destroyer detected the sudden Alcubierre bubble and the huge energy flash associated. Instantly burning to flank speed they approached with full weapons ready, they fully intended to ensure whoever had just struck the IRG would be dearly repaid.
----
Atlas could barely move, the room was a mess, blackened and with segments of old portraits burning across a rubble strewn floor. He could hear Namals mewling through the alarms, the man sounded like he was dying. Good riddance.
But he himself felt the caress of death. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his right arm was barely responsive. Blood streaked down his face and while he couldn’t turn to see he could feel something heavy was across his back. No doubt he had been crushed by one of the support struts of the facility. What an awful way to die, he hadn’t gotten the chance to fight, to try and bring down this terrible order. He wouldn’t even be the one to kill Namals personally.
No… This couldn’t happen surely not now… rage and anger flooded him.
He clenched his left hand into a fist impotently.
“I wish… I wish for power, I cant die… Not like this… I have to save Capitol…” The words were barely a whisper from his mouth, his final words as he felt the cold closing in.
Be it chance, by design or be it fate, it was uncertain at the time.
Though it seemed that someone or perhaps 'something' had heard Atlas' plea, in the slowly thinning atmosphere.
There was a strange twist in his perception, through closing eyes, as if having always been there, a man in strange clothes had shifted into existence in the demolished remnants of the room. He hadn't been here before, he couldn't be, Atlas was sure of it. Yet, he seemed... 'right' to be here.
Moments stretched to eternities as the man clad in black robes observed what was left of the room, then the last thing Atlas saw was the man staring down on him, with a mysterious smile and something he could best describe as a... malicious pity, if he ever were to remember it.
He felt as if something was digging through his head, no, not his head, his mind, it made no attempt to hide its presence, nor was it particularly rough or gentle but it seemed to be satisfied by what it found.
A voice echoed through his drifting away mind, imperious, ethereal, philosophical, yet in its own way gentle, patronising as if offering him a deal.
"You, wish for power? You, wish to save capitol?"
There was a deep and amused laughter.
"You are Atlas, you bear a powerful name, a Titan, which held the world on its shoulders.
Do you think, you would be capable of that?"
He had no power to speak but the voice was already in his head, where he first thought the question was rhetorical, the voice lingered, as if waiting for an answer.
"Preserve yourself, my curse must spread. Sending instructions." The same feminine voice echo'd into the mind of the Salut.
"By your will Empress." It replied.
Immediately turning itself on its central axis to protect the main gun the Salut began disgorging waves of bombers and fighter to engage the incoming ships from the IRG. They flew unlike the organic pilots which used to crew them and they maintained a single file line moving like a snake while the bombers flew freely with a heavy escort. Something seemed wrong with how the strike craft moved and acted even as they came under weapons fire they still continued unabated by their mission, they evaded, dodged and used EW to the best of their ability to get to their targets. The bombers went in first unleashing a close range volley of disintegrators, their aim was to carve entry ways into the ship, this is where the long line of fighters came in, closer inspection would reveal they were of all different makes, no squadron the same as the other and they made full burn towards any and all entry ways opened by the Bombers to disgorge their imitating pilots.
Atlas was bleeding out fully now, he was half in half out of consciousness as the man seemed to ask him the questions. He could still do so much… He couldn’t speak when he asked if he wanted power or to save Capitol, he merely nodded.
That act alone sent fire down his clearly shattered spine, his face contorting in both pain and anger at the supposed laughing.
“Yes… I-I am C-Capable” He finally managed out of spite.
The dying man turned his head already in total pain to stare up at the person asking him questions.
“H-Help me, or e-end it”
---
The Capitol escort force immediately began to fight back. Wracks of missiles were launched both towards the fighters but also the unknown contact as railguns were fired in volleys. Tachyon Arrows were powered up and began to fire and cycle even as the small complement of Sabre fighters launched from the Hydra.
Hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched the pilots did what they could to intercept the bombers even as they began to hammer a hole into one of the Isurmon class escorts. Despite furious point defence fire, the disintegrators blasted a hole wide open into the left flank of the ship, causing it to go into a roll to try and throw off further strikes into its vulnerable opening.
The Hydra responded by firing its centre lined Tachyon Arrow at the unknown target before turning its railguns solely onto the incoming craft.
Alarms were being raised everywhere now, and while the main yards had been utterly devastated and the vessels within ruined the other elements of system defences and on patrol fleets were slowly responding, making speed towards the clear battle ongoing with whoever or whatever had just struck so clearly against the IRG.
There was a strange silence in the room, the man seemed amused by his answer, but also interested.
"My, my, is that so? We shall see."
The man squatted down, with all the serene calm in the world, one hand holding his weapon upright, the other stretched out, reaching for Atlas face, cradling half of it in his hand, the pain from the touch and movement was unbearable in of itself. Yet, there was an unnatural warmth emanating from the the hand, it did nothing to soothe any of the pain in the slightest, however, it made it ever so slightly more bearable. As if complimenting the feeling, the mans face was covered in a mysterious simultaneously friendly and malicious smile.
"We do not grant death in wishes, nor do we grant you life without consequence, we grant the means to struggle, potential, power to be harnessed, the price is a part of your memory, it is a path of no return and one many do not return from."
He slightly tilted his head, the smile dropped for a scrutinising gaze, searching Atlas' eyes for things that lied beyond his comprehension.
"Do you, Atlas, accept our terms?"
The Salut on impact of the Tachyon arrow let out a spray of gore as the projectile made contact. Blood and other unidentifiable organs and tissue contaminated the void. Comms channels would be disrupted slightly as a scream of pain came through them. The Salut knew it was outmatched and began making headway from the escort force to preserve itself. The bombers would break their attack and return to the Salut as the expendable fighters concentrated on the large hole of the escort ship. Diving recklessly towards it and ejecting their pilot. The forms that emerged were esoteric, nonsensical and aggressive. They looked to assault crew members and aimed to take the flesh from their bones to add to their own mass while others looked for access points in which to interfere with ship operations and allow the forms further access into the ship.
Atlas was on the verge of passing out, of dying.
He struggled two times to form the words in response to the man in front of him, each time one of his arms moved slightly.
Finally he spoke.
"I-I do"
It was barely a whisper, but the man was slipping immediately after the words were spoken. Already the shouts and cries of other men trying to make their way to the Generals room were making themselves heard, they had no way to help Atlas but rescue efforts were underway either way.
---
The already stricken Isurmon lost power as the strange amalgamations gained a foothold, its crew battling in corridors against impossible odds as the vessel drifted out of formation entirely.
The second escort had also suffered damage, its weapons crippled by attack craft it tried to withdraw away from the battlespace before it too lost power, reporting inhuman horrors across all decks.
Only the Hydra stood undaunted, its PD blasting terrors from the void and its guns intent on crippling whatever monstrosity had struck the system. It might have even had a chance as well, the reinforcing vessels of the IRG fleet burning to meet it and reinforce. But when the weapons of the first Isurmon class suddenly unloaded into the Hydras flank its chance of retribution faded. Taken wholly off guard its shield systems had not kicked in to identify the threat, the railgun rounds and missiles turning the entire port flank into a mangled half melted mess. Calls for immediate answers fell on deaf ears as another volley tore the central spine of the destroyer out. Leaving it crippled and betrayed.
The fight was over.
"So be it."
The man whispered, letting go of Atlas face, who had now fallen unconscious, standing up in turn.
"A word has been given, a contract made, your wish for power shall be granted."
He recited it like a verse to himself, like an ancient ritual, there was no visual change, no perceivable effect, but something within Atlas changed, bones reformed, flesh sewed itself back together.
...and with his new potential, the first memory, that of his meeting with the strange man, faded away. Though he would never know why, he would survive this day, however, where this would lead him from here, was entirely up to himself.
The man looked around the room for another moment. The Admiral had long been dead at this point, it conveniently saved him the time of doing someone the favour of disposing of him personally, he listened to the voices coming closer and then shook his head.
He wondered where this one would go.
There was a knock against the door from the side of the admirals room as the rescue team passed by, but by the time they managed to open the room, any traces of the strange man had long faded away.
The Curse had spread and taken its first victims, its forms continued to spread around the ships securing control of critical areas before making sure that no further biomass could escape from the ship. Empty life boats were ejected while occupied ones were sealed shut. Hiding crew were eventually found and dragged away to suffer the fate of their peers. To scare off any would be pursuers it was broadcast across the IRGs own frequencies. More would suffer this fate but not today. The new additions powered their drives and made best speed to the Salut still retreating, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Once the two escorts arrived they began making preparations for FTL.