Post by ingen on Mar 30, 2023 19:29:26 GMT
INGEN - Beef
KHANATE - Paracelsus
MENTSHN - Dokky
FURRELIAN UNION - Ofton
The Khanate had seen better days. With the Khan to have vanished into thin air and the Diadochi Council barely keeping the empire together it truly did seem like the days or reckoning have arrived. Even though the five general-governors put on a show of unity, it was clear that they were all working on their own separate projects and planning for the inevitable time when either the empire finally split or one of them made a seize for power to rule. Salome slowly amassed capital and territory to effectively make her own empire. Jaghatai prepared his forces and flexed his great power to make a move on the throne. Adamas continued to wait for his lord and keep the empire united. Barabas braced himself for what was coming and planned to either remain loyal or fleet the second things turned south.
But what of Lainar the scheming one? Well, he planned. And made contacts. Notably, with a distant empire that supposedly claimed its fame to be that of great builders of mega-structures. He was not blind to the threats of the galaxy and the enemies the Khanate had made. He had heard tales of the Crucible and its might. Of the thousand-strong fleets of other nations that possessed far superior technology. And he came to realise just how small their empire was.
That needed to be amended. And so, he made the choice to contact the Mentshn to begin the construction of countermeasures. He chose the Xibalba Star System- one of his own personal territories, to be the stage for constructing this.
Xibalba was average for a star system overall. It came with a yellow dwarf star and a small set of planets- numbering at six proper planets in all and split into groups of three by a huge asteroid belt essentially creating an outer and inner ring. Only two planets could possibly be habitable. The third planet was a world mostly made up of savannah and steppes and was partially colonised with several main cities dotted through the planet and connected by long roads, all of which depended on a huge industrial centre near the equator of the planet where it kept the cities alive and on the map. The fourth was a barren rocky world though it possessed an atmosphere of sorts. This was a mineral rich world and it was a popular mining and prison colony for the Khanate, where workers slaved away for years, transporting material to the third. A workable system overall. And due to the industrial focus, this made it the perfect spot for the countermeasure to be constructed.
In terms of defences, the two planets and the asteroid belt were guarded by series of orbital defence platforms, space stations, and sensor arrays. This made it hard for the outer rings to be protected but allowed for the Khanate to easily defend their interests.
With the deal done, the Diadochi soon began to have the system receive a steady supply of materials and warships for protection, unknowingly drawing attention to the system itself.
Agartha, Xibalba System, Forlorn Spiral
Voivode’s Palace
The civilised slash industrial world of Agartha, third planet to the sun, rarely saw as much activity as of recent days, Vlad mused to himself. The voivode sipped red wine from a chalice of gold before gesturing for one the slaves to fetch him another one. He was a fairly young in physical appearance. His hair was a deep shade of brown while his eyes were a pale crimson. His skin was chalky white and his face was oddly smooth for someone his age. He wore a black coat and cloak with golden fastenings for decor.
Unlike other Voivodes who were usually of the main five species, Vlad was human- or at least, mostly human. He had been birthed to a consort of the previous Voivode. Rather than be a slave, he was raised as a successor to his will and soon ascended to the ranks ebefore eventually replacing him. Such a feat was not common in the Khanate. But within Laniar’s Realm? Then it was certainly far more likely.
As a slave approached him with a jug of more wine, Vlad sighed and looked up the window that bared open the sky. Normally, there would be nothing for him to see. But now, just barely, if he enhanced his eyes with aura, he could make out the shapes of the Mentshn structure…
It was like someone had painted black lines all across the Xibalba Star.
Even though Vlad intellectually could understand that these structures were far, far beyond the reach of the star, it was difficult to not think of them as resting on its surface. After all, the shadows they cast across the thing were tangible, and curved, and bizarrely-arranged. If one had deigned to outline the orbits of a planetarium in rings and represent the pro-and-apo-apses of the planetary bodies using huge, circled lenses, then they might've gotten a clear picture of the absolute monster of spindly engineering those monument-builders were constructing up there.
The actual engineering of the thing was beyond baffling. From the Voivode's briefings by the strangely-religious Mentshn, he knew that each of the thing's seven stellar belts was more or less the breadth of a middling continent and the thickness of one's crust. By all accounts, it shouldn't have been self-supporting; but the ringed priesthood had insisted on their 'spells and spellcraft' ensuring its 'Holy Design'.
Remarkably, they'd actually pulled through.
Even now, if he chose to look through a telescope, Vlad would have likely been able to catch the glints of Mentshn citadel-craft light-minutes away from his current position. There were streams of the things running from the asteroid belt to the defense-array, and if one put them on a stellar map, it would've resembled nothing short of an anthill out there. The fact that they'd managed to congregate so many of the freaks was a feat all of its own; but the price being footed for them was mind-boggling in and of itself.
All the same, despite the late-night panic attacks and flabbergasted shouting matches the Khanate engineers had endured, Vlad and the rest of the players in this system now had the assurance that the prototype was just about ready enough for testing.
Nobody in their right mind would fire a Crucible at an inhabited star system as a test, of course - but the sentiment and excitement therein were tangible nonetheless.
Yoshiko Kawashima waited patiently to be admitted into Avery Johnson's office. The head of the Jade Intelligence Agency Network, or JIAN, was a living legend, and had been in the post for over half a century, and had been in the field for years before that. The grandmother of the Jade Emperor and a veteran of every war since before the Jade Empire had reached for the stars, she was an intimidating figure, but Kawashima was quietly confident of herself.
The data she had collected pointed to something big happening in the Xibalba Star System, territory of the Khanate. The system had recently gone dark, shutting itself off from trade and civilian egress. There were many reasons a system would do this, but usually in more innocent cases such as plague or natural disaster, there would be warning calls and appeals for aid. Not so for the Xibalba Star System.
That alone was suspicious enough. She had assigned pickets to keep watch and the only things moving in or out of the system were military vessels and haulers. Whatever was happening there, it was big, and given that the Khanate was a known CONA member, with troops serving at Aedleshaven, it was unlikely to bode well for the Jade Empire and the rest of SAGA.
The guard at the door, a Frame, suddenly spoke, almost softly enough to avoid disturbing the tranquil quiet of the richly decorated and dimly lit waiting room.
"Please enter," was all the robot said. Kawashima stood, brushed her yukata smooth, offered the shallowest of bows to the guard and then stepped inside the Director's office....
FDS Sodenati Carpatii - Xibalba System - Marauder Khanate - Forlorn Spiral
Over the barren, almost lifeless surface of the planet Xibalba, the fourth planet of the same-named system, there waited a task force. Not in the bright-red colour of the Marauder Khanate, but in the grey-green scheme of the Furrelian Union. Indeed, leading the odd twenty-ships was a Furrelian, Sedom Doredema. An older admiral in his odd 50s, his fur had started to grey out. Still though, he was among the best staff the Furrelian Union had to offer, at least in Ancerious. Experienced with fighting during the long D’Karian war, he had been put in command of a fleet protecting the CONA allies of the Union. Despite the Sodenati Carpatii, a twenty-year-old battleship named after the battle of Carpatii, between the SROE and the Furrelians during the D’Karian War, not being the most modern or technologically advanced, it was still leagues in front of both the most advanced non-Furrelian ships in the system. The Marauder Khanate, the owners of the system, were nowhere close to the Furrelians in regards to technological advancements, and the Menstinh were too busy building their gigantic megastructures.
Of course, an unbelievable amount of resources would be needed for megastructures. The Furrelians, who had only officially joined CONA a few months before as a response to FFR SAGA membership, found themselves in a rather difficult spot, as they were not natives to the galaxy. Seen as impostors by most of CONA, and as traitors by most of SAGA, they had to prove themselves worthy of CONA membership. One way how they did so was to respond to the Khanate’s call. Gifts of materials and resources for construction were sent down to the Forlorn spiral, while a taskforce of twenty had been sent to protect mining operations above the planet of Xibalba, as well as to offer a general defence. The project being constructed was too important to lose: A countermeasure to the recently-shared Crucible plans. The system was inhabited, so the chance of an Ingenious madman firing upon the system, for a test nonetheless, was practically zero.
Despite everything, the Furrelian crew aboard the taskforce was not too enthusiastic about the deployment. They had been stuck aboard the same ship for weeks, and while usually, that would not have been a problem, it was made worse by the fact that the ships were in orbit of an inhabited world, one which they were not allowed to set foot on. Daily rituals were repetitive for those aboard, and the wish for some action became real.
Xibalba System
Like birds running before a storm, the first warning the CONA garrison had of what was to come were a few automated probes that nibbled at the edges of the system, gleaning what information they could. The drones were clearly disposable, and other than the most basic of thruster maneuvering had no defenses against incoming fire should any of the system's defenders feel the urge to trudge that far out to destroy them, but it was what they heralded that would no doubt concern the CONA commanders at Xibalba.
Sabishi
One of the Jade Empire's colony systems in the Ancerious Galaxy, Sabishi was unremarkable. Named 'loneliness' for the vastness of its one inhabitable planet, it was primarily of interest due to its rich mineral composition, hidden beneath wide sweeping steppes on a single supercontinent that was home to a variety of bizarre megafauna.
The planet below was merely a backdrop to the activity overhead, however. Protected by the system's single defensive layer, and watched by the local garrison forces, an entire Jade Fleet had arrived in-system, staging to assault the Xibalba System. Less its three carriers and a couple of vessels in drydock, the 102nd Nanban boasted 174 warships, everything from corvettes to giant battlecruisers. It was the largest gathering of Jade naval might since the conquest of Marchand a year previously, led by Admiral Daisuke Minowara himself. A staunch critic of the new Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi, it was perhaps the man's dubious former loyalties that had prompted the young warlord to select Minowara's fleet to lead this mission. Looming over them all, dwarfing even the Cornewaille class cruisers, was Otakemaru Station, the new Crucible-pattern superweapon built in collaboration with the Imaginese. Unfired as of yet, it possessed a stark and unyielding threat, casting a pall across the system.
_
The plan was simple. The 102nd would drop in across a broad front, overwhelming what small picket or advance forces the CONA garrison had in place, and then form a defensive perimeter whilst the Otakemaru charged and fired its primary weapon, destroying the system's star and whatever the enemy were building in orbit around it. The Otakemaru would then exit the sytem and fall back to Jade space, with the 102nd following it.
The plan seemed simple enough. Sat in his personal quarters, watching an illuminated fountain ripple in the corner, Minowara had a gut sense of foreboding, but he shook it off. Whatever the enemy were building, the JIAN seemed to think it was big, big enough to constitute a threat. He would rather they act first and destroy it than wait to see what monstrosity the natives were planning to unleash, and if Mitsuyoshi's international stock went down as the result of demolishing an entire solar system then that suited Minowara just fine too.
He was confident in his force's ability to hold off any counter-attack by the enemy, whose preparations would almost certainly be defensive in nature themselves. By the time the defenders shook themselves into proper posture and advanced in good order, their star would already be dead and all he had to do was beat them back until it was time to withdraw.
At least, that was the plan.
Xibalba System
Meeting Room, Salem Station
Vlad reclined on his chair, hardly paying attention to the meeting going on. It was the weekly report on the progress of the megastructure in which he had to listen to the gripes of his servants and meet with the strange Mentshn currently squatting on his fiefdom and the Furrelians watching over it. Don’t get him wrong, he understood the severity of the situation but these weekly meetings were always drool.
The room they were in was plan and far from the usual lavish decorations the he was known for, yet he still appreciated the fact that the slaves here knew how to cook well. The door opened and Vlad on instinct turned to greet the slave who would no doubt be there to bring in some refreshments for him- but to his surprise, he saw it was a security officer of the station.
“My lord I bring urgent news from our scouts,” the officer muttered as she attempted to avert her eyes from the sheer presence of the many figures in the room.
“Well, speak it,” Vlad replied. He pushed down the hint of worry that had built up within him. Surely nothing was happening, right? The officer looked around before she rushed over to him and whispered into his ear.
“How messy,” the Voivode scowled as she backed away. He turned to face his equals and spoke, “perimeter sensors have detected the presence of drones at the edge of the system. I have no doubt now that we have been located and we may be expecting an incursion sooner or later.”
His scowl deepened and he snapped his fingers, “bring me more wine. I don’t care if it’s poor, I just need a damn drink,” and all though it was not her duty, the officer rushed out of the room.
Fonhar Zalman was, understandably, distraught by Vlad's indifference. Being an acolyte Rednerfolk, they felt they deserved a certain kind of respect from people - or at the very least a peership. After several hours of trying to drill magical theories and nigh-incomprehensible progress updates into the Voivode's head, however, they were starting to lose faith. Zal was about to launch into yet another hour-long tirade on the importance of the Holy Ratios when the guardswoman finally burst in, robbing the poor acolyte of what little momentum they'd finally regained.
Already sick of the Voivode's inattention and the notable lack of hors d'oevures suitable for a creature such as themselves, Zalman whirled on the woman with such ferocity that they ended up snapping the hapless filament they'd been using to gesture at the scrolls floating behind them. They were about ready to hex the poor stationer with something truly vile when one of their golem-like guards grabbed their shoulder and pointed. Furiously, the Fonhar snapped their gaze toward the half-angelic and half-knightly figure's gauntlet, before again whipping it viciously around to figure out what in the Amsring's unholy name they were pointing at.
Zalman raised an eyebrow when they realized the pair were whispering.
Once the Voivode had finished ordering his alcohol, the lead architect hesitantly rolled the metal-fabric scroll floating in midair and condensed it into one of the many sheafs interwoven into their veil-like ponytail of dark iron and flecked gold. They reattached the two ends of their presentation-wand with a flash of Thaums, ordered it back into the shape of a tiny, thorned tiara, and then set it at an angle upon their black head of hair.
The Acolyte seemed to be having something close to a stroke, upon further examination. Their expression was a bizarre mask of blank emotions; formed from wide eyes and a tight mouth. The architects around them glanced to one another, anxiously preening the half-halos floating over their heads, and started fidgeting nervously.
When Zalman broke the silence, the tune of their voice mirrored the tension of a fake-out crescendo. A false softness and release, crouching behind the highest hysteria they could muster. ”Are you saying,” they asked, first arching their fingers and then folding them, ”that we’re about to be… attacked?”
The architects around the table began very pointedly holding up their scrolled schema and reading them. None of them looked any more comfortable than they had prior - and in fact, one or two dawned looks of horror as they realized how bare-bones some of the structure’s systems truly were at present.
One stood up in a wash of white and blue robes, excused themselves, and mechanically walked off. A minute later, they could hear sobbing down the hall.
The Sodenati Carpatii was too far from Salem station for the crew to personally attend the meeting. In fact, the only Furrelian aboard the station was the military attacheé, Kesinedema, who was not even present in the meeting, having only arrived by shuttle a few hours earlier to ‘enjoy’ the Marauder lifestyle of slavery and servitude. Even then he was only barely allowed to interact with the people aboard the station. Even worse was that his presence aboard the station was only announced just after he had actually arrived.
Still though, most of the Staff Officers of the Sodenati Carpatii were present in the meeting, just via a video-audio connection, using a universal translator to translate to and from Sylenti, the main language spoken in the Furrelian Union. The flagstaff consisted of the three captains of the largest three ships, a battleship, carrier and heavy cruiser, their Executive officers, and the defence officer of the Carpatii. All of the flagstaff consisted of Furrelians, except for the captain of the Heavy Cruiser Marotin Kessaio, who was a Katharian from the protectorate.
Doredema listened as the conversation between the Architects and the Voivode continued. Pathetic, he thought, watching the fief order alcohol from officers and slaves praising the man keeping them indentured. The Furrelian Union would never allow such backwards practices of degeneracy, showing how much, both technologically and socially, the Union was advanced compared to the Monarchical Khanate. The Furrelian admiral patiently waited for his turn to walk, first letting the Mentshn architects do their business, before speaking without asking for permission beforehand.
“Voivode Vlad,” he said, his voice smearing out the royal title. Doredema had never had a problem with ranks or titles, but royal titles were the worst for him, as he absolutely disdained the system of heritage royals used to get power and live lavishly, the natural opposite of the Furrelian Meritocratic system. “Do we have any idea who, or what is going to attack us? Perhaps if you could send an expeditionary force towards some of the drones, and try disabling them, we could find out about the nationality.” He took a sip of his own drink, a Furrelian herb soft drink called Osate, healthy and refreshing. “Maybe you could search for our Military Atacheé to your nation, Commander Kesinedema? He is currently aboard your station, and can help with strategising.”
Vlad drummed his fingers impatient on the table. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl. To think they had been discovered. Did he not hide his tracks well enough? The incessant sobbing of the architect grated at his nerves but he simply let out a deep exhale through his nose to calm himself, “about to be attacked? Uncertain. For all we know, these drones could be the preliminary force to an invasion that will occur in a day. Or maybe they’re just spies who have only recently discovered us. Regardless, we will need to act decisively.”
Inhale. Remember his lessons. Do not lose calm. Not yet, “for now, it’s best we hurry with the project and bolster our defences,” calm. Calm. Calm. He turned to look at the monitor and snapped his fingers to grab the attention of one of his aides in the room, “you heard the admiral. Find them and bring them here. Be quick.”
The doors opened and the officer from before entered the room holding a jug of wine. He quickly presented his chalice and allowed her to pour his drink, “and you,” he told her once she finished, “dispatch a message to comm relays and broadcast a message to my warchiefs outside the system. Tell them to gather their forces and come here immediately.”
He considered asking for aid from other voivodes, but dismissed the idea. Not only was his position already at risk once he recalled all his forces, but it was without a doubt that the voivodes would leech of his success like the vermin they are if they were called here. No. This was best a matter he solved himself. However, asking Diadochi Lainar…
“Send a message to Lord Lainar. Tell him of this development and that his assistance would be appreciated,” he finished and dismissed the officer who simply rushed out of the room once more.
“Whoever these bastards are, I’ll see them all to hell,” he scowled and finally allowed his temper to leak through, “I will not be made a mockery in my own domain!”
"Hurry with the project." Zalman breathed, sounding incredulous. They looked to the Architects, and the Architects looked to them, and all of the Mentshn just sort of stared at each other.
"Hurry with the project," they sang again, the psychic tune of their voice quivering at a hysterical vibrato. Zal ran their bejeweled fingers through the iron filaments of their black hair, and then they flashed a grin with their tombstone mono-teeth. Their lips curled in an unsettling way at the edges of their slate-grey and ruby-veined lips, and they chuckled in a disjointed halftone. "Did you hear that? He's asking us to hurry with the project!"
Zalman spread their arms, eyes wide, and giggled. They giggled, and giggled, and kept giggling; flopping backward in their chair and slowly, painstakingly turning about. The laughter grew and distorted as they twisted their body, until at last it reached a shrieking and misbegotten snarl of sonopsychic mania alike a guitar ringing in the minds of those present.
"HURRY WITH THE PROJECT!" They slized through the air, and then the other Menthsn at the table burst into noise. Some began laughing in the same deranged way as their Fonhar. Some started hyperventilating. One doubled over, retching as the weight of the situation set in - and the one in the hall started swearing.
All of them wept tears of magic, little stars crackling in iridescent veils of emotion and spattering in phantom drops upon their clothes and scrolls and chairs and floors and tabletop-sections. Some looked to each other and laughed. Some slapped each other on the back. They all just writhed there, hooting and cackling and swearing and sobbing and unpleasantly gurgling, until at last they were drained of energy.
As their companions wiped their silver eyes, Zalman set an elbow upon the table; leaning toward the Voivode with a kind of sarcastic friendliness. They mockingly scratched their head, turning their wild eyes to their companions, and grinned unsettlingly.
"Jericho," they piped in their characteristic snarl, "can you hurry with the project?"
Jericho's cynical grin audibly ratcheted into their cheek, and they shook their head. Zalman leant dramatically over to the other side, and asked the same question. The response was much the same. They did this a handful more times, and then leant back in their chair: clasping their hands before their chest as if they were trying to strangle some invisible man.
"Voivode," they chirped, "Vlad," they piped, and "of the Khanate of the Great and vanished Khan" they spat.
Their hands audibly popped and cracked when they clenched just a degree harder. "We are trying to assemble an alchemical transmutation array on the scale of stars, using magics we ourselves are only just discovering and methods which have only been tested in the halls of decrepit and filthy acolytes lost of time and sanity."
Zalman leant forward onto the table, thunking each of their stone arms onto its top, and tilted their head down. The effect was something roughly similar to a Kubrick stare - albeit, one with a hunched back and bowed shoulders.
"The Device is barely functional, as it stands," they continued, giggling again, "and if you had listened to my tirades over the past starspans, you would understand that we cannot 'hurry with the project.' The primary ignition trench is barely filled, barely a quarter more than the bare-necessary storage and collection circuits are complete, only the skeleton of the Fentser-bands are fully carved, and a fraction of the necessary Thaumic vents and subspells have been confirmed functional - let alone worthy of acceptance by our senior Magishfolk. The Device is in a functional state in the same manner that an unquenched and burning spearhead is ready to be sent to war."
Zalman's grin crackled into a bare-toothed scowl, and their fingers snapped toward their hair; scraping into the strands with a terrible noise of shrieking stone and metal. "WE'RE BARELY AT THE TESTING STAGE"! They cried, the despair of their voice blending with its crackling tones like a choleric rock-opera. "VOIVODE OF THE KHANATE OF THE GREAT AND VANISHED KHAN, YOU ARE STABBING A HOT SLAG INTO THE BELLY OF AN ONCOMING BEAST! WE ARE BARELY CERTAIN OF ITS SURVIVING THE FIRST HIT - LET ALONE SPILLING ITS GORE!"
The Acolyte slammed their fists onto the table, heaving with enough fire to set their rubies glowing and humming eerily, and stared at them in horror. They sucked a deep breath in, tinting the light of the room red, and then slumped; holding their head in their hands.
"We have been working as fast as is physically possible." They moaned, rubbing their temples with a smooth shuffling and scraping. "Unless we are to awake Ner themselves a full seven star-turns of this world in advance, then I must demand that you ensure us at least that time's span to recalibrate the components we are individually priming - let alone the entire Device."
During the event, many of the Khanate officers and aides had stepped back from the table and away from their Mentshn counterparts in fear. Their outbreak had struck a chord within them all and reminded them eerily of the shamans they so loathed. But it was also for this reason that Vlad did not falter. Instead, he looked at them with an emotion akin to disgust.
drip drip.
Purple liquid seemed to drip from his lips onto the table. Yet instead of pooling, it fizzled like acid and burnt a hole through it. A scent vaguely reminiscent of pepper filled the air. He bared his teeth revealing them stained purple. It was clear that the Voivode had activated his aura.
Vlad placed his hand palm down on the table and glared at Zalman. Then, he balled his hand into a fist.
The doors opened and a slave entered the room, holding in her hands a tray containing a meal for both the Marauder and Menshn representatives. She looked at the scene in horror and opened her mouth to scream-
-when a metal spike sprouted from the ceiling of the room and impaled her through the brain.
The Voivode relaxed and unclenched his hands, allowing for his aura to shimmer down.
“I do not care,” he told them, “for the cost and the work it will take to see the project done. Lord Lainar had instructed that I see this project to its completion and that this structure developed for the benefit of the Khanate. You will finish this project. You will work as fast as you can. In exchange, I will provide everything you need- even if it means stripping down a planet to its core. All I ask now-” His lips turned into a sneer, “that you treat me with the respect I’ve earned.”
He twitches a finger. The spike that had impaled the slave retracted itself and allowed for the corpse to crumble to the ground, “now get out of my sight and get back to work.”
Admiral Daisuke Minowara was not happy. This whole expedition stank of another of Mitsuyoshi's foolhardy adventures, but so far the man had been successful at every turn and so it was impossible to criticise him, doubly so as he was now the Jade Emperor. Mitsuyoshi had brought the Marchanders to heel, had reclaimed Whitewharf and had neutered his political opponents, and so now if he declared that the 102nd was to assault the Xibalba System then so it would be.
Their probes were reporting a light picket screen around the system, although the deeper layers of Xibalba were hidden by baffles, signal jammers and countermeasures both complex and simple in design. The plan, however, was straightforwards enough that Minowara still had hope it would play out without a hitch. The 102nd would assault the system, clear out the pickets, and make space for the Otakemaru Station. The giant Crucible-pattern weapon would fire upon the system's star, destroying the system core and anything present there, enemy warships included.
Across his fleet, captains signalled their readiness, and with only the most momentary pause he ordered his fleet to advance. The glowing emerald lights of Slipgate windows began to flicker open across the fleet, a shimmering wall of windows into the unknown through which the castle-ships of the Jade Navy slid quietly and without fanfare.
-
Some time later
The first Jade ships out of the darkness were the hayabune, the half-kilometer frigates that formed the numerical bulk of the IJN. The ships of each squadron fought as units, gliding from their crystalline entrypoints on sprays of cascading foam as they hunted down picket forces, flak frigates hammering with their spinally-mounted barrage guns whilst the carrier frigates launched fightercraft and corvettes to clear away enemy scouts and wipe away minefields.
Amidst the chaos, the far larger hulls of the destroyers and cruisers of the 102nd began to emerge. Dwarfing the first warships, these behemoths immediately began traversing their colossal dorsal turrets, hammering huge shells of steel-framed treated quarzite loaded with supercritical fluid at the sparse defenders of the first line of CONA territory.
Minowara watched from the bridge of his Kaisigi-class command ship. It was strange, going to war without the thump of heavy guns beneath his feet, but the Botas Reforms had mandated the change, reasoning that commanders needed to be commanding, not worrying about laying individual cannon sights. He glanced across at Mitsuyoshi, who was occupying a hastily-installed throne off to one side, and sighed internally. It was entirely possible that whatever CONA were building in the Xibalba System was a serious threat, but this rushed assault seemed like a bad idea to him.
Full Fathom Five, Xibalba System
Ever since word of enemy scouts in the system had reached his ears, Vlad spent the time he had prepared for battle. His scattered squadrons were summoned back to Xibalba. Defences were constantly maintained and tested. And he himself had spent more time on board his warship, the battleship Full Fathom Five, than his own palace. It was a rather stressful affair all together and he only hoped that his wariness would be vindicated. On the other hand, he would rather not deal with an invasion.
So it was with mixed emotions that he stormed into the primary bridge. News of the invaders, the Jade Empire of Ingen, reaching the system edges had just about started to spread throughout the entire system. The bridge itself was a riot of noise, officers and aides squawking about trying to maintain order while crewmen loudly talked to one another, dismissing them out of fear of the fact that yes, they were being attacked by a technologically superior foe.
“I need a status report,” Vlad growled to the nearest officer who was startled as he realised that their overlord was here.
“Lord Vlad!” The officer snapped to attention before he began to hurriedly speak, “the Ingen have breached our perimeter defences and are chewing their way through our mines and defence stations there. We expect them to reach the Outer Ring defences soon.”
Vlad scowled. So this would be a battle decided by fleets then. So bet it, “have the Ring Defence Platforms prime their main cannon and prepare to fire on the enemy. Considering their numbers, they probably won’t do much but it's good to have them pick away at their numbers. Prepare the Xibalba Fleet to fall into formation and prepare their weapons. The Lord Diadochi wishes for us to test a new doctrine against the invaders.”
His personal armada was divided into two fleets- the Agartha Fleet which protected the Inner Ring and served as their last line of defence and the Xibalba Fleet which protected the Outer Ring and served as their first line of defence. Diadochi Lainar had constructed this defence plan for him personally as he wanted to test out the new military doctrine of the Khanate- one that relied on long-range hit-and-run strikes.
“Make sure the warchiefs follow this plan accordingly,” Vlad warned, “and send a message to our allies about the incursion. In the meantime, I must begin to coordinate the Xibalba Fleet,” it was nothing short of his duty.
[=][=]
The Xibalba Fleet was the larger of the two fleets stationed here and consisted of eighty or so warships. Many of these ships were either new classes or retrofitted old ones. There was a clear focus; larger ships were equipped with a single or multiple spinal railguns while smaller ships were outfitted with missile pods and torpedo bays. Soon, the fleet began to split into individual squadrons of four or six with an even ratio of classes, all in accordance with the new doctrine.
However, this took time and it was clear the ships would not be able to fire their weapons just yet.
A streak of light suddenly flew through the void of space- one of the Ring Defence Platforms had opened fire its payload of metal slugs at near light speeds. Then, another, and another. These shots were possibly inaccurate and easy to intercept but their main focus was to try to buy time for the fleets to assemble.
The battle had begun in earnest.
Voivode Vlad had prepared for battle.
The Mentshn, on the other hand, had scrambled to buy themselves more time.
The Apprentice-Saint Zalman had dedicated their efforts to managing the most essential phases of the Device’s remaining construction. Work efforts had been diverted from the collection systems of the inner three Bands and focused into the mechanisms of the Third and Second Bands; which respectively maintained the Device’s reaction and stabilised its functions. Though the entire complex was in the barest sense of a working order, Zalman feared that one of the other systems would fail: and so they focused their efforts on ensuring the failsafes and supports were completed first.
They were still weeks out from safe operations when a messenger came to the Acolyte, informing them of what had happened.
At the time, Zalman had been busy with blessing one of the Third Band’s great emission-spires. The messenger - an angelic Shternfolk from the outer fleets - caught a chisel to the head as they disturbed the priest in their work. They endured a withering look from the haggard Magishfolk, noted the frizzled mess of Zalman’s once-pristine black hair, and tried their best to consider their phrasing.
“O, great Acolyte-Rednerfolk Zalman-” They began, singing in a formal dirge, but were interrupted by an electric-guitar snap from the priest. “I,” they snarled, wroth with responsibility, “Have no time for niceties and games. Now what the Hell do you want with me?”
The Angel paused, opened their mouth, closed it again, and frowned; looking down. The surface of the Band offered little help, being hundreds of metres beneath their feet, and so they instead looked to the ground of the ornate balcony which Zalman stood upon.
Better.
They fluttered their metal feathers, set a bare foot of pale stone and yellow crystal down upon the rune-laced gold of the balcony, and unclasped their hands from behind their back. They laid them at either side, sucked in a deep breath of mana from the Obelus, and winced when they met Zalman’s gaze again.
“They’re here.”
Zalman stared at the Angel with a thin-lipped smile and raised eyebrows, twitching.
”They?”
“The Infidels, Great Zalman.”
Ulphonse braced for some terrible outburst. They pre-emptively flinched backward, clutching their hands to the bust of their white-metal robe as the rings spinning about their wrists, about their ankles, and above their shoulderblades skipped a beat. They were surprised when Zalman failed to hurl some words of abuse in them, and instead whimpered in a broken way.
Moments later, they found themselves hunched around the comparatively little figure; trying to soothe their tears and sobs with gentle stammers of encouragement and uncertain brushes of their scroll-tangled hair. The two were simply gathered there for a spell, the great Angel trying to comfort the Priest, until at last they were startled by an order.
“Travel to the Fonhars at the edges of this system,” Zalman shakily asserted, “and tell them to arm their Shternfolk. There is to be a war of Angels, and they must be prepared to embrace the current of the Rings, should it turn against our favour.”
As the Angel lifted from the platform with a flutter of wings, the Apprentice Saint weakly clutched the railing of their balcony. They looked up into the night sky, and saw a glinting thing among the stars: barely visible in the night if it were not for the light of the Xibalba Star.
”It is time,” they quietly resolved, ”to wake Saint Heilprin.”
It felt like an admission of defeat.
So far, so good thought Minowara as he watched the battle unfold in front of him. The initial scattered pickets of the Khanate defenders had been brushed aside with ease, and the enemy seemed content to snipe at long range whilst they shook their main forces into formation.
Incoming solid munitions raked at the fleet's forward elements from long range. The smaller ships in his command simply moved out of the way, whilst his own range ship fired its TILT drives to protect the fleet., sending many of the slugs off harmlessly into space. CIWS and hardlight reactive shields caught yet more, and yet inevitably some made it through, rattling against the hulls of the fleet, sparking fires and emergency crews that raced to repair damage and replace armour panelling. Minowara watched as the New Nobori Unfurled, one of his assault frigates, suddenly flared as a stray slug punched through its engine core. There was no time to evacuate as the ship buckled from the internal pressures and detonated in a silent haze of fire. His first capital ship sunk during this action, it was a small loss but still a stinging one, and no doubt there would be more before the day was done. Regardless, things were proceeding apace.
Checking his scanners, he assessed the immediate situation. Overall, the beachhead had been secured and he gauged the time right to proceed to the next step. He issued a command to his formation and it began to shake out, forming a broad series of positions backed by a central core of heavy artillery and a reserve of battlecruisers. As the ships glided slowly to their new posts, Minowara forced himself to patience. The enemy, who far outnumbered them, were gathering for a massive counterattack, and so the timing of the IJN's next move was vital.
From behind him, he suddenly heard a voice. It was the Jade Emperor. He had opened comms to the locals.
"This is Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi. I offer you the chance to cease work and surrender, or be destroyed."
“Opening bombardment seemed ineffective milord,” an aide reported to Vlad, “from what our scanners report, they appear to possess active defences that surpasses our own,” she looked at the computer and submitted them to the rest of the bridge officers and aides through their data slates.
“Damnit!” Another aide cursed, “those ODPs possess the strongest cannons in the entire system! If that’s not enough to take one down, then what hope do we have?!”
“Calm yourself,” Vlad scolded from his command throne. He ached for some wine but resisted the urge to drink during such an urgent time. He needed to focus, “if power cannot stop them then numbers will. We have roughly thirty more cannons like that and we can send out hundreds of missiles to overwhelm them. If need be, we can fall back to Agartha and focus our defences there.”
Even as murmurs of assent echo throughout the bridge, a member of the comms crew suddenly spoke up, “we’ve received a comms line from the enemy ship. Opening now.”
Before Vlad could even wonder why tey were so urgent in demanding he hear it, the message began to play. Vlad listened for a moment. And listened. And listened.
And then, he slammed his fist into the armrest of his throne and stood up, angrily glaring at the space in front of him. He tried to reign in his temper but found himself speaking before he could, “you mossy fuck! You come to MY lands, kill MY people, and make demands from ME?! When I get my hands on you I’ll string your guts in a sausage and feed them to the dogs!” He breathed heavily, not feeling an ounce of shame in his outburst… but then, a savage grin formed on his face as a cunning plan entered his mind, “then again, considering who you married, maybe you’d like that!”
He sat down back on his throne, “have the balls to face me man to man and maybe next time, I’ll consider your offer. Until then… go die in a ditch greengo scum!”
From the wall next to him, a spike suddenly launched itself forward and impaled the communications suite that connected him to the Jade Emperor.
“Send a message to the Mentshn,” Vlad told his aides after a moment passed, “tell them to prepare their sorcery. If it all goes well, then our enemy may have been inspired to play their cards sooner than they may ever want to.”
[=][=]
In the void of space, the Xibalba Fleet began to open fire. A string of lights dance across darkness as thirty spinal mounted cannons fire slugs of metal accelerated to near light speeds. Other ships however, held the lines, patiently waiting for the Ingen to enter the range of their missiles which sadly did not have the technology needed to propel them at faster ranges. It was not like they could do much even with previous doctrine and tactics- many doubt that close range ETC guns would be effective at all!
The Mentshn had no idea what a radio—or indeed, radiation—were. They had only recently been taught that light was not merely a thing, but a thing which could move. In fact, it had taken months since the start of the Device's construction for them to even consider ratifying such a concept: and it was only recently that the Publishing House for the Sanctity of the Holy Rings had finally agreed to place it under the 'principles of the universe' section of their Holy Book. Thus, Vlad couldn't simply send a regular message: he'd had to send a courier.
Said courier was traveling through space at speeds exceeding the still-mysterious concepts of light when its warp bubble was interrupted: rocked by the backwash of several Alcubierre streams smearing past it in the opposite direction. They'd barely had time to stop and turn around, but by then, it had already been set into motion.
The first Mentshn warships had arrived to the Xibalba Front.
Saint Ner Heilprin had displaced quite a number of Fonhars to construct The Device which now sat about the Xibalba Star—meaning that they had in turn dragged a number of sub-cultures and influences with them. There were ships with soaring eagles, and ships with labyrinthine patterns, and ancient vessels, and new vessels, and vessels with bird-wings and insect-wings and the more modern spike-feathered wings: and they had arrived in a scraggly mass in the gaps of the Khanate's ships.
The Mentshn came with their towers staring down upon the Ingenious and the Jade forces, and they came in force. Sprawled out among the new collection of vessels were recent breeds of Monitor-type ships, which had rode the faster-than-light streams of their compatriots to join the fray. There were the overlarge sails and stumpy towers of Void-Cogs, and the sleek, vicious teardrops of Void-Clippers, and the clustered towers of Void-Frigates, and even the looming mass of a Void-Galleon, backed by two subluminal ships-of-the-line. Their bottoms bore domes of stone filled with eyes, and their sides were resplendent with radial wings shimmering in aurora, and their surfaces and the space near them whirled and shone and glittered with floating clockwork and gold and silver and balconies and buttresses and crystal and metal gardens of eerie, alien plants and coral which had want for no atmosphere nor turf.
The ships fell sideways, bringing their great tails to bear with their great foundations. The things floated impossibly in space with nary a thruster nor bell, their long, skyscraper-built bodies dashed across the cosmos.
Then one imploded into a shower of fragments and blood, struck by the enemy's artillery.
With a delay of light-minutes and light-seconds as each saw the ship die from their various vantages, the Mentshn opened fire. Many of the smaller vessels bore things like ballistae and linear catapults, slinging bolts of hardened alloy against the onslaught. Others bore crystal lattices that changed and shimmered, and had things like instruments dotted across their balconies and floors. When the trumpets blew, they blasted forth arcs of colored magic that froze ships' skins and shook ships' holes and bathed ships' guns in impossible infernos. When the strings sang against all logic in the wordless night, their cones of noise carried with them bursts of metal needles and purple-green Octarine lightning and crashing waves of fleetingly-molten stone.
They did little compared to their opponents, but fight they did as well.
The Frigates and the Galleon and its Ships of the Line were the most baffling, because as they brought themselves to bear, they also brought around circular crowns of amputated balconies. These balconies fixed themselves, and then glowed with Octarine and iridescent aurorae. Phantom roads flashed from them for brief moments as they sent things screaming at superluminal speeds for as long as they possibly could, and then kept going even as their Alcubierre bubbles popped. It wasn't until one managed to break through the flak screens that their payloads became obvious.
It stood up upon the deck of a ship, with six wings with feathers made from great, elongated spikes and nails crackling out behind it. It reached to its back with both golden gauntlets, their knuckles creaking noiselessly as they deathgripped one handle each, and then it flowed like the wind.
Warped distortions shimmered along the edges of its enormous, fan-like hinged swords: having divided a cannon's barrel like a fin gliding through water. The Brutenshternfolk raised both their blades in a pantomimed challenge, their eyes burning beneath the visor of their armored helm, and then they charged to rip into the ship with their wings pushing them to the deck and propelling them forth.
The rain of flaming comets and gleaming shapes continued, bearing more Angels with more Warpweapons and magicks: hellbent on ripping their enemies to shreds.
Acolyte-Saint Zalman breathed a sigh of relief as Ner's chamber crawled to a halt over the surface of the First and Outermost Band. It was but a single dome-topped structure sat upon a faster-than-light furnace - with its wings extended toward the Xibalba Star to draw from its power and heat. It was tiny, but that was the point: and it wasn't as if Saint Heilprin would even notice the time between they had boarded the room a few months ago and now, when they would be departing it. Something about moving at such speeds without protection allowed one to skip past the annals of Time alike a stone in water, and many Saints used chambers alike it to manage projects easily over the course of months or even years.
The stretched wings of the little building folded, and folded, and folded, and kept folding - compacting from spindly distortions miles and miles across into a bare few hundred meters at their smallest scale. While the Saint's Chamber slowed itself to a halt relative to the First Band, Zalman tried to prepare their explanation: pacing back and forth with their hair-scrolls jangling and their white robes swishing.
By the time the door to the Chamber had opened, Zalman was still babbling to themselves: their electric-guitar voice grating in a familiar way between the ears of its single occupant. They allowed Zalman to continue for a while longer, curiously examining the condition of their disciple, and only interrupted once the poor thing was on the verge of another breakdown.
ZALMAN?
The word was not spoken so much as it hadn't been and then Was, woven into the local infosphere without a breath of effort.
PLEASE CALM YOURSELF. The Saint smiled patiently, furrowing a pair of eyebrows which shimmered with the blue and purple and red and orange of TIG-welded stainless steel. I CANNOT UNDERSTAND YOU WHEN YOU ARE SO—
"SAINT HEILPRIN!" They screamed, jumping back defensively and then scrambling madly into a knelt Litany of Saints. "PLEASEFORGIVEMEIHADNOIDEATHATYOUWEREALREADY—"
CALM YOURSELF. And Zalman felt their entire mind gently massaged into a calm breeze, their feelings coaxed into quiet within seconds.
The Acolyte blinked, scraped, bowed, and then began to explain the situation. The Saint remained within their doorway, listening carefully as their disciple did-so, and gazed out upon the fruits of their planning with a silent temperance.
When Zalman finished, panting and sucking in another breath of Obelus, they were interrupted by a risen hand. Zalman petered off, unable to help themselves from staring at the TIG-Weld-wash of their Saint's metal fingernails, and fell back into a meek silence. Saint Heilprin smiled again, lowering their arm with a rustle of metal-paper and golden nails, and stepped out from the doorframe of their Chamber.
IT SEEMS, they Orchestrated, looming over Zalman at four meters' height, THAT THE SITUATION IS DIRE.
They set their hand upon the Acolyte's black-iron hair, and Blessed it with a gesture of holograms and sparkles. With that, they began walking toward a spiral stairwell leading into the centre of the Band: their great crystalline spearhead-feathers following their body obediently.
IT IS GOOD THAT YOU CAME TO ME.
"Yes, Saint Heilprin," whispered Zalman with reverence dripping from their words as they followed. "Amen, Saint Heilprin."
Doredema and his Furrelian fleet observed the conflict arise from a distance. The Furrelians were in firing range but had not yet been targeted by Ingen. Instead, the fleet started its defensive protocols. The flagships moved deeper in a spherical-shaped defensive formation, with picket ships such as destroyers making up the outer circles. The Sodenati Carpatii, still the largest and most imposing ship of the fleet - and, probably the largest threat to Ingen in the system - warmed its plasma-syphoning system, not yet engaging it. The captains of the ships waited patiently, watching everything unfold right in front of them.
Then came the Jade Emperor on the main communications line. Patiently, Doredema waited for the Emperor, and later on the Voivode to finish talking. It was not enjoy seeing the Voivode lose his temper like a mongrel dog, but it was understandable. He did not like the Jade Emperor himself. Still, though, he felt like he at least deserved some respect, but the Khanate was far behind the Union, so he had no worries about the Khanate and Ingen fighting it out. What he did worry about was that there was a chance his own fleet would be hit, which would have to prompt a return action. In Sylentic, he began shouting orders over the bridge.
“Open a one-to-one with the Jade Emperor! We need to face him with the facts. Afterwards, get a one-to-one channel open with the Voivode. He needs to be informed that there is a chance the Furrelians will not participate in the defence of his degenerate homeland, one million SIGEC is much more important than a slave block. All understood?” he shouted to the communications officer.
“Aye, sir!”, the officer responded, energetically. Chimes showed that the young Furrelian ensign was working with the slightly-dated system, opening the channel.
“Good. A final thing for everyone, broadcast this to the other ships too, is that we must record everything from here on out. If Ingen fires on us first, we are authorised to respond from Hicom. Do not fire at them before that, because the Union will lose a Million SIGEC then, and I swear to Greyas, I will sell all of you to the alcoholic voivode of this degenerate land as slaves to pay back that one million if you fire first! And I am not joking around here!” the officer said as seriously as possible, at the end he himself chuckled a bit, but it was a serious concern. He would not sell anyone to the Voivode, but the Union would have a hard time re-earning the one million, which could better be used on the war effort against the terrorist FFR.
A minute after the orders rang out, a one-to-one, face-to-face channel was opened between the bridge of the Carpatii and the emperor Mitsuyoshi, wherever he may have been at that moment. The Furrelian admiral had quickly tidied up his fur and uniform: He may have disliked all royalty, but some were more deserving of respect than others.
“Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi, This is Sedom Doredema, Admiral and captain of the Furrelian Union’s Defence Service’s FDS Sodenati Carpatii, leading the Furrelian Union’s defensive taskforce in the Xibalba System.” The officer proudly proclaimed, following procedures which he and millions of other Furrelians had learned during officer training. “As per the agreement our nations signed on the Tatiana Interplanetary Economic and Research Zone, TIERZ, in the Socialist Republic of Imaginarium dated, 79 AME, there will be no violent actions between the Furrelian Union and Jade empire of Ingen. I must remind you, and your fleet currently in the Xibalba system, that any aggression against any Furrelian or Furrelian-flagged units will be in violation of the beforementioned agreement our nations signed. The Furrelian units under my command will continue to carry out our order of defending the system, but will only react with force if forced to. For further questions, please ask them now, or open a communications channel with either me or our delegate to your nation. Thank you for your attention, Emperor.”
While that was happening, the Furrelian fleet sent a short message to the Khanate. Only through text, it proclaimed that the Union would not yet undertake aggressive actions against Ingen, and would only do so if any one Furrelian or Furrelian-flagged ship would be hit.
Mitsuyoshi listened with a look of faint amusement on his face as the Voivode's outburst rang across the bridge. There was a moment of silence after the polemic had ended and the comms line closed, Minowara's face barely restraining his outrage, but the Jade Emperor simply raised an eyebrow.
"Greengo scum? That's quite the accolade, handed down by a slaver." he remarked, twisting in his seat as a vast green glow filled the starboard viewports.
A colossal slipgate was opening, a broad swathe of emerald light that illuminated the darkness. Through the window between worlds emerged four colossal prongs, gigantic speartips of metal that grew as a vessel entered the system.
A huge ring of crenellations appeared, followed by sheer flanks of light and metal, an even larger ring of energy sinks, followed by seemingly endless engines that flared out, roaring power even at low impulse as the behemoth settled into position.
"IJN Sakura this is Otakemaru Station. We are in position, acquiring targeting data now."
"Otakemaru Station this is the Sakura, copy your last." came the reply from one of Minowara's bridge staff, as the admiral pored over his updating console report. The Furrelians were lurking nearby, but their position closer to actually made things easier - they were out of the direct line of fire of the Otakemaru's main weapon and, according to their announcement, would not involve themselves in combat if not fired upon. Minowara tagged the Furrelian ships as neutrals, ensuring that across his fleet consoles would flare up a warning and require an additional verification to target them.
Around them the fleet continued to spar at long range with the enemy. With neither side closing in, casualties on both sides were relatively low, although some of his ship icons were darkening from greens to yellows, oranges and the occasional red, whilst ahead of them he watched a vast Mentshn ship come apart in a tangle of glittering debris and blood
"Now what...?" Doredema mumbled to himself. He had proclaimed that the Furrelians would not attack Ingen, but in return, he had probably not made himself favourable with the slaver Voivode. Now usually, he would not care about what a slaving degenerate would think, but, Doredema was guarding Vlad’s system - so he had to at least try following his orders.
Then came his key to enter - the massive, and honestly frightening Otakemaru station. The Furrelians knew what it was, and what it could do - and they would not just let some Ingenious madman blow up the system they were guarding. As far as he was aware, Doredema did not know if the system designed to counter it was online, and with a stroke of self-proclaimed genius, he had come up with a plan.
“Order part of the fleet to put themselves in the line of fire between the station and the star! If they keep up with our agreement, they shouldn’t fire at us and have to delay firing, giving the slaver and the Mentshn time to counter, and maybe destroy it.” Doredema shouted over his bridge. In the background, the usual chimes and noises were made as the messages were transmitted to the rest of the fleet. Over the background noises, Doredema finished his sentence, grinning. “If they’re competent enough to do so, at least!”
As said, as done. Within less than five minutes of subtle movement, three ships suddenly took off towards the projected firing line. It would take a while before they could actually reach it, but with weapons disabled and only the most basic defences and countermeasures engaged, it showed that while the destroyer and two corvettes didn’t mean any harm, they would most certainly be able to defend themselves - at least partially - if Ingen decided to fire at them.
“Damn them!” Vlad cursed and slammed a fist into his already damaged throne, “is lining their own pockets the only thing they have in mind?” In the end, the war prince sighed and reigned in his temper once more. Not all was lost. They had the Mentshn to rely on. At least they could be counted on to fight, despite how confusing they were at times.
For fuck’s sake, they didn’t even have a proper communications system. He had to send in a damn courier! If he hadn’t experienced this with the Ellians he would have blown another gasket. Still, it was clear that a direct assault against Ingen would fail. He needed to plan this out more…
“My lord, the Furrelians are moving into the calculated firing path of the Crucible!” An officer reported, “we’ve received a message- they’re planning to use their trickery to buy us time.”
Vlad huffed and took the time to consider this. Then he groaned, “well. That should make the Mentshn happy at least. But now we must figure out a course of action.”
He could order a charge, but the Mentshn appeared to disprove the notion as their paltry attack had not gone so well. Not to mention, half of his armadas was unable to to actually attack as they were still behind the field. So that meant…
“Pull our ships back behind the asteroid field. We must prove ourselves to be too juicy of a target for them to not resist firing,” Vlad eventually said, “we will regroup with the other half of our armada and then prepare for a counterattck once the Crucible has been fired. Send a courier to the Mentshn and a message to the Furrelians to inform them of this plan.”
It grated at him that he had lost the first bout against the enemy, but what could he do? They needed to fight smart, not strong.
[=][=]
The Xibalba Fleet began to pull back as soon as the other was given. The asteroid field was large enough for individual ships to navigate through but not without considerable difficulty. The retreat was hasty and disorganised and several ships were lost in the chaos. Regardless, it truly did seem the Khanate was preparing for a final stand as they combined with the Agartha fleet.
Atop the Ingenious ships, the angels died in droves.
Where they weathered the pulses of raging gravity, they were stripped bare of armor, skin, muscle, and bone by black and screaming storms of Osmium dust. Where they brought their Warpweapons' linked faces to bare and stood their ground, they were gunned down mercilessly by projectile defenses and even shorter-ranged artillery. They were executed like trapped locusts upon electric webs; flown to their doom, snared, and then eviscerated mercilessly.
There were a small handful—an incredible and lucky minority—who succeeded, however. Be it that they flew into blind spots or beheaded their assailants' guns with enough ferocity to weather the storm, these few set to work maiming and goring their enemies from the inside. Upon a small series of Ingenious vessels, the comms networks filled with screams, then deafening blasts, and then silence.
The ships were falling back as best they could.
Having graciously received the Khanate courier upon the Galleon—the Erlking—the Mentshn soon sent out droves of little wingéd messengers to communicate the plan. Their ships turned their foundations toward the asteroid belts, beginning to fall toward them with their spires pointed at the enemy. At such an angle, most could scarcely see their opponents—let alone fire—and those with spells were busy siphoning the energies of the Obelus back into their stores and magical capacitors from the spread feathers of their enormous wings. By some incredible miracle, only a quarter of this outward fleet had been lost: owing to their propulsion. Their imprecise dimensions had made them into a kind of shield: sending the ballistics of missiles and even lighter mass-driven ordinances flying off in skewed directions. This was not to say that the survivors were undamaged, however; as over half were cracked, injured, and bloodied with their own silvery gore.
One such courier was dispatched upon the greatest Shternpath of the Erlking, sent screaming across the system of the Xibalba Star toward the First Band of the Alkahest.
. . .
Saint Heilprin was surprised when they received the courier's report, but not disappointed. With a condolence manifested from the psion-sphere and a blessing, they sent the little Shternfolk rocketing back to the fleet upon a few spare measures of False Ancerium. As they returned to the control-altar, they were pleased to find Zalman waiting for them (insofar as anyone could be happy to see Zalman, the poor man), with their arrays set into place.
Nervously, the acolyte bowed; scraping their black filaments of iron hair upon the floor. Heilprin sighed, smiling wearily, and simply walked past them; manifesting meanings as they went.
YOU ARE GOING TO INJURE YOURSELF DOING THAT, they observed, their robe-dress tinkling like a chandelier as they walked barefoot upon the shining floor. ACOLYTE-SAINT ZALMAN, PLEASE ASSIST ME IN ATTUNING TO THE ALTAR.
"Yes, Saint Heilprin!" They exclaimed, leaping to action and beginning to affix their superior's crystalline feathers into their housings. "Of course, Saint Heilprin!"
Eventually, the Saint hung in midair like a heretic upon a crucifix. Spread out before them in a massive disc were the spearhead-like shards of their crystalline wings' floating feathers, secured into golden sheaths suspended in the air by tubes and rods. Drill-tipped feeds and tubes had been drilled into the joints of their elbows, the flesh behind their knees, and the space under their armpits and behind their collarbone: using incredibly fine bits so as not to damage the Saint's delicate, almost porcelain-esque body. Below them was a great brazier-cauldron, shining with divinating solutions, and around them the room arched into a great Gothic dome. The walls were caked in clockwork and fragments of metal designed to form changing symbols and runes, and the floor shone darkly: bathing the entire area in its onyx reflection.
Looking down to Zalman at the steps of the altar, Saint Heilprin smiled: their prismatic eyes swirling and glowing with the mana now coursing through their body. Their hair drifted weightlessly behind them in a veil, sending bolts of Octarine lightning crackling among its TIG-annealed colors and length in a self-contained storm.
I WILL NEED YOU TO MANAGE THIS CHAMBER IN THE EVENT ITS INCOMPLETE SYSTEMS BREAK OR MISALIGN, they considered, nodding to their eventual successor. MAY THE HOLY RINGS GUIDE YOUR HAND, ACOLYTE-SAINT ZALMAN.
The architect cowered before their superior, nodding meekly, and pulled up a series of odd-looking tools. "Yes, Saint Heilprin," they whispered, shivering at the overwhelming presence in the room. "Of course, Saint Heilprin."
Ner closed their eyes upon the altar, concentrating for a spell, and opened the countless thousands placed evenly along the Device's receiving ring. They noted the poise of Otakemaru Station, smiled as they realized the Furrelian ships were effectively now their goalposts, and brought the Device to bear with a choral cry of effort.
The immense structure around the Xibalba Star groaned, shifted, and turned—the very light around it bending and warping as its Ancerium Furnaces forced it to fall into place. The structure's chutes fell across its bands, its massive joints shifted ever so subtly in place, and its master frowned, noting its irritable controls.
THIS WILL BE HARDER TO USE THAN I ANTICIPATED, Saint Heilprin thought to Zalman, dilating the mechanisms within the wormhole projectors. DID YOU EVER—NO; THE SAFETIES WERE A PRIORITY. OF COURSE.
The maw of the Device met the barrel of the Station, preparing to receive its unholy wrath.
The Otakemaru station began to emit colossal energy readings, blazing on sensors like a beacon. Its target was clear, the power banks of the system preparing to fire the beam that would ultimately destabilise the Xibalba Star and obliterate whatever CONA had planned here.
Tearing his eyes from the battle readout, which showed a slight but steady attrition amongst his force as piecemeal defenders hurled themselves forwards and were destroyed, the Admiral was alerted to movement from a detachment of Furrelian warships who seemed to be angling to place themselves in the path of the superweapon.
He opened a line to the Furrelian admiral.
"Please be advised you are making a direct course for an existing active conflict zone. As per our agreement, I must insist that you withdraw, or else be considered in violation of the non-aggression pact between our nations by way of engaging in tactical maneuvers designed to impede the IJN in battle."
Whether the Furrelians were trying to act as shields for the Xibalba System or had simply not understood what was happening, he did not care. He would not have warned them at all, instead allowing them to be obliterated by the Crucible's main gun on its path towards the system's heart, had there not been a million SIGEC at stake.
Vlad cursed under his breath as he stared up at the screen. On it, he could clearly see the superweapon ready itself with the scanners nearby going haywire as they screamed the incoming data. It was so close… he could just charge at it then he’d be able to strike against the Jade Empire and win a great victory for the Khanate. But he had to be patient and lure them into his trap. Once the Crucible fired and then disabled by their trick, then would be the time to make their charge as the enemy forces were in disarray.
Until then, all he had to do was endure the losses from forward strikes by the enemy. He loathed the fact that a good number of his fleet were unable to strike at them- not without entering close range and in great numbers…
A part of his mind tried to tell him that even if the Crucible was destroyed, this would still wipe out a large portion of his personal fleet. He would lose vast resources and may be struck back to square one. But he knew that this risk had to be taken. Not just for Lord Lainar or the Khan… but for himself as well. Because if it all went to plan, then he could be rewarded handsomely which would enable his own rise to power.
“Send a message to the Furrelians,” he said, “tell them to fight and honour this alliance… or leave the system if they value their coin so much.”
Once again, the Furrelians found themselves between a rock and a hard place. They had to honour the non-aggression pact with Ingen and the CONA alliance with the Khanate's Voivode and Mentshn. They had to violate one to honour the other, and, they were unwilling to. There certainly was more respect for the Ingenious than for the Khanate, and when the two sent messages at the same time, it was no wonder they responded to Otakemaru first.
"Admiral Minowara, copy that. Thank you for informing us, the Furrelian ships will withdraw back to Xibalba planet. Doredema out." Doredema said with a calm and controlled voice, hiding the fact that he was fuming inside. Not from Ingen, but more from the sheer disrespect the barbaric Voivode had shown to him and his forces. While the destroyer and corvettes rushed back to the planet, he was shouting orders over the bridge of the Carpatii.
"Engage firing procedures for missiles and long-range weaponry, do not lock anything yet, but keep them on standby! Flatten anyone who tries fighting against us."
A few minutes after Doredema's shouting match on the bridge, he opened a comms channel with the Voivode. He was fed up with the Voivode.
"Keep your slimy slave-owning alcoholic nose out of Furrelian affairs, you shit! If you want us to fire, be aware that we will owe one million SIGEC to Ingen! One million! Double the amount your forgotten hell-hole is worth, even with the investments MY Union made in it! We will only fire if triggered, understood?" The last part was of course a rhetorical question, but it was the end sentence. The Furrelian ship closed the communications channel, and com-locked them after sending another short message proclaiming that if they wanted to talk, they should send a courier.
Above the scale of the traitorous Doredema—above the slimy Voivode Vlad and the matters of the Xibalba and Agartha and One-Hundred and Second and Furrelian Flagstaff—there were two great monstrosities poised to strike.
The first, the mace. The spear, the lance, the destroyer—the alchemy of Visnhu's many faces and forms into the multi-armed and yet singular, terrible violence of Krishna: "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."
The second, the shield. The truncheon, the quarterstaff, the martyr—the great and aversarial immovable object prepared to receive the unstoppable force. One tensed, and the other relaxed. The Crucible roared with heat, and light, and power. Its adversary—the Device-to-be-named-Alkahest—was waking up.
. . .
>>PLAYING: "Time Will Catch Me First"
Within the central chamber of the Device, the self-crucified Saint flexed their fingers; those both upon and beyond their body. They sighed—a musical noise that filled their clockwork chamber like the heavens—and they shifted, setting the great array into place.
From the innermost Bands, the chutes opened and the curved ramps stretched across the astral distances to grace their receiving trenches. It was like great apertures or metal spiderwebs rolling between the surfaces, delivering sloughs of frozen beads and material. The immense spikes pointed into the Xibalba Star's atmosphere rolled and glowed - and arcs formed along them, traveling up the second layer arcing over them, and the third arcing over that. Though the Fourth Band remained dormant, the two above it began spinning in concert: with the Third arcing clockwise over its brethren and the Second arcing counterclockwise over that. The First Band simply sat in place, its great open aperture staring down the face of the Crucible's beam.
Over the entire stellar mechanism, an aurora of Octarine light and magic formed. It was an entire weather pattern of flowing magical energies, glowing and celebrating before they were either pulled into the depths of the Obelus or channeled into the massive machine. Within its many hearts, its many symbols and runes began to glow and morph: and soon, a point opened at its mouth. The point grew within its open circle, and it swelled, and it dilated into a massive spherical hole in space. Through the hole, all the fleets of Xibalba could see the stars: as if a great chunk had been bored cleanly through the Xibalba Star and out to the other side.
Within the chamber of the control altar, Acolyte-Saint Zalman prayed and sang and shook: overcome with the terrible gravitas of what was soon to come.
"Sir," called one of Minowara's officers, "the enemy are engaging some kind of defensive system. It appears to be magic-based."
"Fire when ready," replied the Admiral, stony-faced. The enemy might try to resist, but the Crucible was a tried-and-tested system that had laid waste to dozens of systems over the years, and Xibalba would be the latest system to fall victim to its destructive power.
The artificial accretion disc had grown into an incandescent whirl of power and menacing energy, glinting in the dark, and suddenly it coalesced into a beam of blinding light which sprang forth from the maw of the colossal Otakemaru Station. Screaming through the system like a thunderbolt from the gods, it ploughed through anything in its way as it approached the star of Xibalba itself, ready to shatter the newly-created magical barrier...
Somewhere aboard the Otakemaru Station
Ordinary Mariner Takanaga squinted at the readout then made a note on his holo and moved to the next one. He stopped as something overhead gave a brief and harsh rattle, but Chief Seong-Eon just chuckled. "It always does that," he said, motioning for Takanaga to move on. They stopped either side of a gravity relay to run a density check when their holos both trilled. The station was preparing to fire its main gun. They stopped and braced themselves, staring upwards at the roof in silent anticipation.
The deck rumbled beneath them, though the weapon itself was surprisingly quiet. Perhaps it was all the decks between them and the core. After a few moments, Takanaga glanced at the chief.
"Chief?" he asked hesitantly.
"What?" replied Seong-Eon, not taking his eyes off the ceiling above them.
"What are we actually firing at?"
"Sir, they're preparing to fire!" an ensign shouted over the bridge, watching the reports come in of the Otakemaru station suddenly getting ready to engage the system. Alarms started to ring over the CIC as it became more and more obvious that if Ingen was to fire, the fleet itself would become victim of the exploding sun, too. A slight worry took over on the bridge, but orders were orders, the Furrelians had to stay and defend the system until the end, even if they could not fire at anyone themselves. Doredema was again pondering to himself, stroking his fingers through his well-kept greying fur.
"Prepare for both engagement and evacuation! Take up contact with Hicom, and prepare missiles, but do not yet lock targets! I have an idea. Cut recording, temporarily..."
A few encrypted messages were exchanged between the captains of the Furrelian fleet, but still, little movement was observed by anyone. Unbeknownst to anyone though, there was in fact a little action that the Furrelians were undertaking, in the form of twenty-ish stealth missiles. Using a large amount of precision and care, to prevent either Ingen or the CONA 'allies' in the system from finding out, some of the Furrelian ships slowly let Anti-matter stealth missiles out of their silos, using the manoeuvring thrusters of the ships, rather than any of the engines of the missiles: Fuel for the missiles was costly. Slowly but surely, the twenty missiles were each assigned individual targets, mainly on the side of Ingen, but also on the Khanate's leading ships, and were sent to standby mode. They waited, dormant, patiently luring in the darkness of space until their time to strike came.
The Furrelians were going to help, perhaps in the most back-stabbing method possible: Just waiting until it was unable to make sure that it was Furrelian weapons being used.
What happened next did-so in a matter of hours first, seconds next, and fractions of a second at last. To date, this event is remarkable for one simple reason:
Even in spite of the near-total wreckage of Alkahest Leba, this is now galactically-considered to be one of the very first events in which a Crucible firing did not result in the death of its target star.
When the beam reached the first of the Device's wormhole-pairings some several hours after its initial firing, there was a scream and a flash of absolute, incredible brilliance. The first length of the Crucible's beam passed straight through the connection before the pressure differential severed it entirely, forming a sickening warp and snap where the wormhole had once been. At once, the Alkahest flared to life: its entire golden surface razed by iridescent rainbows of magical power collected straight from the Crucible's beam. The blinding light traveled only a spare few kilometers more before it was abruptly intercepted by the second wormhole, sent ripping straight beyond the star in a totally improbable and utterly eyewatering light-show. The regulating band of the Alkahest was at this point spinning so quickly that it appeared to be occupying every point of its radius almost simultaneously: and the inner rings were rotating with such demented velocity that they had blended into a single Saturnite disc of racing rainbow and color. Shafts of excess mana went whizzing off into the night sky like rays of light beaming through an atmosphere, delivering streams of crackling, hooting celebration and madness that zipped and vanished into the void.
The beam was almost completely through when the entire system failed.
In the critical moments of its function and at the height of its power load, right when it was about to de-stress, the system underwent a surge that made space for astronomic radii around it sing with wretched, dissonant microtones. The band spinning perpendicular to the star's poles - the regulator - shattered in an instant, dissolving into a cloud of sizzling metal and micrometeorites that went spinning off into the night in a skewed disc. The inner bands melted and failed, their synthetic Ancerium stores igniting and then erupting in a show that warped the light around them into toroidal streams of mania. The entire device imploded into this Kolleronic horror, sinking into a glowing ring of magically-contaminated shrapnel that glowed around the star like a halo. The remaining sliver of the Crucible's ejection mass still incoming slammed into the crown of light like a hammer against molten metal and glass - ripping into the Xibalba Star and peeling away its upper atmospheres as if it were a fucking orange and not a marvel of relativity.
When the dust settled, the star still held: though it was now disfigured, discolored, and rung by a rapidly-cooling crown of broken metal and fizzling machinery.
They would have to rebuild the entire thing—admittedly, now with resources conveniently and abundantly in-place. More disturbing, however, was what happened to the Mentshn ships.
Their great domes of eyes began shedding mercury tears, their wings shriveled, and their lights went grim and cold: as if each had been suddenly stricken by some overwhelming melancholy.
Acolyte-Saint Zalman and Saint Heilprin were dead, or worse still, lost to the madness of the Obelus. They had been at the center of the Alkahest's outermost band: now just another stream of matter in the Xibalba Star's new crown.
There were many wonders in life he had seen. From the sprawling hills of his Agartha to the iridescent coral-lit oceans of Okeanos to the endless factory spires of Xibalba. He had seen the wrecks of a hundred ships all drifting through space, the stars and cosmic dust of the galaxy, and the mesmerising effects of dozens of magical spells. Yet as he stared at the Alkahest in its work, he couldn’t help but shed a single tear.
“Beautiful…” he muttered, “so beautiful…” the wonder lasted for a while. Even as the megastructure failed he could not tear his gaze away. He was finally drawn away from the sight when he noticed how he began to get dizzy from having forgotten to breath. And that struck him from his reverie, “s-send the order to charge!” Vlad yelled to his officers. He was greedily gasping for air in between words as he looked as the display of the Ingen ships, “drive them out of our system!” As the orders were carried out by a very much distracted crew, Vlad found himself sitting on his command throne.
He soon fell into contemplative silence, his mind wandering back to the event as his fleet made their charge to the Jade fleet. He wondered… will he ever be able to see such beauty again?
[=][=]
The Khanate fleet, though technologically inferior to their foes, possessed the advantage in numbers. Using the chance bought to them by the Mentshn, the fleet advanced forward and finally began to open fire at the Jade once they reached acceptable range. Nuclear missiles flew from silos and pods, screaming silently into the void and intent on slamming into the enemies. Spinal railguns fired metal slugs nearly at the speed of light at their foes. And the ships with mana casters fired blinding streams of pure rainbow mana that could easily melt through even the thickest of hulls. However, they were engaging at incredibly close ranges and it was without a doubt that they would feel the wrath of the Jade Emperor soon… but considering they’ve already achieved their objective, would it be so bad?
The watching Jade fleet held its breath as the coruscating beam of particles and energy crashed into the heart of the system, shattering ships and stations as a series of blinding lights and flashes marked its arrival at the system core. It was hard to discern what was going on at this range, but eventually the lights died down and a cheer arose as the bright yellow presence of Xibalba herself was nowhere to be seen.
The cheers faded, however, as they realised that the star was not gone, just muted. There had been no colossal supernova, no meltdown, no fiery destruction of the system and its defenders. Injured, weakened, the star still lived and so did the serried ranks of Khanate and Mentshn warships, battered as they were. Somehow, something had gone wrong, but even as they watched the enemy formations began to stir into life. There was no time for a post-mortem.
"Recharge FTL! Prepare for a withdrawal!" bellowed Minowara, not waiting on the Jade Emperor's permission. Every moment counted now as it was a race against time; the IJN seeking to hold off the oncoming storm long enough for a general withdrawal whilst the defenders of Xibalba suddenly went on the offensive, seeking to overwhelm their would-be destroyers.
The IJN fleet opened fire, desperately trying to stem the tide that swarmed towards them. Heavy artillery punched holes in the oncoming horde, but the sheer weight of fire was already telling, ship after ship reporting unsustainable damage. Some managed to flee through Slipgates, some drifted lifeless as their crew abandoned ship, and yet others detonated in spectacular blazes of flame and energy.
"We cannot wait," said Mitsuyoshi unexpectedly. "We must demonstrate kime-saki. To stand still is to die."
Minowara simply stared at him, at a loss for words. Technically Mitsuyoshi was right, but the odds against them were insane. Minowara's only hope was that they could hold long enough for the Otakemaru to charge its FTL drives
_
What Mitsuyoshi was suggesting was in line with IJN sailing instructions, and could buy them time, but at the risk of insupportable losses. Unsure of what to do or how to react to this override of the chain of command, Minowara remained silent as Mitsuyoshi stood, the Emperor's face taut.
"I am transferring to the Proud Pine Shield" he announced. "I will detach a force of destroyers and frigates for an assault on the enemy formations. Artillery, cruisers and all other undetached vessels will remain under your command to form a perimeter around the Otakemaru. Ensure that it is withdrawn safely."
He turned and left the bridge, and even as Minowara watched the shuttle depart he could see the readout on his console as the fleet reorganised itself, nearly two dozen vessels splitting off and forming up in a flying wedge.
"Gods help us," he muttered to himself, turning his gaze back on the hundreds of advancing CONA warships...
ABOARD THE PROUD PINE SHIELD
Mitsuyoshi's plan was relatively simple. He would approach the enemy fleet using Agartha as cover and then reverse course - as the enemy expected him to slingshot one way around it, his strike force would instead appear over the opposite horizon and rake the enemy flank, causing turmoil and hopefully forcing some of their line to break off and deal with the attack, buying the 102nd precious time. As Agartha grew in his sights, however, and the first enemy shots began to crash into the detachment's defensive measures, he felt a flicker of uncertainty....
Vlad focused on the many screens as they continuously updated with news of the ongoing battle. Tens of his ships had already been destroyed by the infernal enemy and dozens more would soon meet the same fate. His grand fleet of nearly two hundred vessels were being cut down and soon he doubted he’d have much of a navy left. It was harkening to realise just how much of his resources were being thrown away all for the greater good of the empire. Despite the fact that the battle was still happening he could not help but think of the future as a result of this.
With his forces depleted he would be in a weak position to contest his rivals. In fact, he’d be a sitting duck. Would this mean he would be ousted by fellow warlords vying for his kingdom? Could this have all been a plan by Lord Lainar to get rid of him after all this time? He had to take a deep breath to calm himself. No. He couldn’t lose his head now- not when so close to victory. Lainar promised him glory and treasures if he was to succeed. And he had to ensure he did not.
And that was by making sure that he did his job well.
“Send out the order to the fleet- prioritise taking down that bloody station with everything we have,” Vlad ordered, “follow my orders clearly and divide into battlegroups Aleph, Bet, Gimel, Dalet, and-” he stopped himself upon realising he only had enough spare ships for four battlegroups to attack the station. He spoke quickly to hide this mistake, “-yes, those four. Aleph and Gimel, focus on the station. Bet and Dalet, protect them and screen against enemy fire. Route this ship to join Aleph.”
His officers let out a cry of affirmation before they rushed to work. Vlad sighed and sat down on his command chair. He nearly ordered for a goblet of wine before he realised this was no place for drinking. He cursed the universe for its cruelty before barking one last command.
[=][=]
By now, the Khanate forces were fully into the fight with nearly every ship in the star system brawling with their Ingen counterparts. Ships died in droves even while they still fired, all futile trying to whittle down their foe for a chance of victory in this great battle of attrition that seemed to have no clear victor.
However a path slowly began to make itself known as dozens of Khanate ships began to launch a more precise assault. A capable commander would be able to note four loose formations that were now charging directly at the dreaded station. Two of the battlegrops focused nearly all of their firepower on attacking it, launching missiles and slugs as they tried to get close to use their mana casters. The other two focused entirely on protecting those two as focused on any enemy ship that dared to fire upon them. Yet even this plan had a cost- with so many ships focused on this single assault, other battlefronts began to collapse as without reinforcements, the Khanate forces could not simply sustain itself alone.
If this battle was to be won, then their allies would need to act.
Minowara watched intently as the enemy formed up a clear attack plan, splitting into four distinct elements. Two lunged forwards to attack whilst the other two remained back to screen them. The fleet fire command network plotted their expected course and he realised with a jolt that they would almost certainly pierce his weakened line.
"Artillery!" he called, opening a direct line instead of simply issuing orders through his console, "concentrate on the starboard attack!"
Almost immediately, the huge prows of the Odachi class platforms began to adjust, afterburners and vector thrusters nudging the long spiral barrels into position before silent bursts of coruscating graviton beams roared forth, plunging towards the heart of one Khanate thrust.
Meanwhile, the rest of his ships moved their attention to the port spearhead, to his left. It was a risk, but between the artillery strikes and Mitsuyoshi's impending flank attack he hoped that the enemy's left flank would be thrown into disarray, letting him bring his whole weight to bear on their right and defeat the Khanate forces in detail whilst the Mentshn hesitated. He watched as his remaining warships began to reform position, his heavy Cornewaille battlecruisers taking up center position and matching the oncoming Khanate slug for slug even as both sides lost good men and women to the maelstrom.
__
Mitsuyoshi hid his anxiety as the first Khanate ships appeared over the horizon of Agartha. Facing away from his small formation, they were firing at an unseen target, the rest of the 102nd. Now he had to commit his ships to a silent, headlong rush at their flanks. He had already ordered his captains to hold fire until fired upon - the closer they could get to the enemy, the more damage their sudden and unexpected attack would inflict. If he could throw this flank into chaos, they might be able to turn the tides and even hold long enough to fire the Otakemaru Station again...
… But that chance would never come.
There was no FTL signature of the approaching vessel that came in fast and without warning. One moment it wasn’t there, the next it burst into reality with a flurry of burning string. The ship was immensely sleek and almost held together with golden light, its surface shimmered as it lined up on its pre-selected target. Protected as it was with the flotilla the vessel opened fire the moment it came in range.
A burning filament rushed out from the ships tip, piercing through the Emperor’s vessel perfectly and without effort. Hitting the main reactor and drive system, enough to cripple the ship totally as it would be forced to land. A moment later however it ‘cracked’ the whip, the filament whipping around as tension was placed on it, the impossibly sharp Solarite sliced through the main vessels engine block and chaotically flung about in the vacuum of space. But while it looked chaotic, its movements were painstakingly deliberate as it sliced through one ship after another. Some were outright destroyed, cut into numerous pieces that came apart under the ships own acceleration while others lost whole portions of their hull or main drives, mission killed but not totally destroyed.
In was chaos, with everything happening in the scope of a couple minutes the strike had been utterly devastating.
With the strike completed the unknown vessel disappeared once more in a blaze of light before it entered close range with the Jade formation. Reeling and crippled, the Emperor’s entire plan had been gutted before it began.
But as his main vessel began to lose power and enter lower orbit the situation became only more dire.
The Mentshn, meanwhile, had been up to their own sneaky business.
Their couriers had done some communication with the Khanate ships over the hours and minutes of the engagement—a freakish affair in space defined by long and agonizing stretches of silence in the void, followed by great bursts of overwhelming violence as reloads finished and targeting solutions crystallized. Flowing eerily through space with nary a signature but the shimmers of their Kolleronic gravity and spatial flux, the winged towers of the Khors had spent their time circling toward the Ingenious flank.
Their path of transit was a kind of drunken half-heart curve, as they intended to flank with but one consolidated force and had little to no actual navigational equipment beyond their eyes, wings, and abaci. They skimmed the edge of Agartha's gravity, moving counter-spinwise in a shoal of shining metal and preparing themselves for the coming blows. As they traveled, however, a number died—many being blown to smithereens upon detection or simply bled to death by lazy point-defense fire. As they abruptly turned upward to strike at the right flank of the enemy, however, they were treated to an incredible sight.
They witnessed the glory of the golden ship, and felt its divine presence burning in the void. Every last one of their eyes focused on it in utter incredulity, and they couldn't help but keep staring as it vanished into nothing once again. The sheer psychic weight of it could mean only one thing to them;
Surely, it had to be the soul of the late Saint Heilprin come to save them. With that, their own faint mandalas let off a noiseless cheer that echoed through the void—for Hurrah; Providence had come to save them! Their spirits invigorated, the towers surged up toward the mass panic and destruction of the Ingenious forces: linear catapults and spell-instruments and angelic boarding-bridges alight and firing and screaming into the night with the overwhelming fervor of holy war. Even as they bled and died and subsumed into the oppressive weight of the new thing in the sky, however, they chanted—and as one, the noise faintly echoed across the orbit of Agartha.
They chanted a prayer.
Amen, they sang;
Amen, Amen, Amen;
Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen, they cried;
Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen;
Amen.
Vlad knew that unless a miracle happened then this battle would be lost. His battlegroups were taking far too much damage and the full frontal assault was not very effective. In the end, he was all but ready to give the orders for a final charge when it appeared. A golden ship of light. A chariot of the gods themselves. It was a beautiful sight. Yet it destroying the fleets of his enemies made it even grander. He nearly fell to his knees in shock yet he restrained himself. Already his bridge crew were murmuring prayers of gratitude and worship. He needed to be strong and seize the gift given to him.
Oh Khan… you were always by my side…
“Send a message throughout the fleet,” Vlad ordered shakily, “tell them… tell them that the Khan has saved us all,” after all, what else could it be? Who else could have come to their rescue? He ignored the questions that burned in his heart. Like why the Khan didn’t show himself or why the Khan appeared in gold and not His usual colours of crimson and sable. Regardless, the more practical side of him knew a chance when he saw one.
And as the message was broadcasted throughout the fleet and as thousands of voices cried out in triumph, Vlad noticed yet another chance that had appeared- the Emperor’s ship… it was caught in the orbit of Agartha. The ship would crash. And if it was intact…
“Transfer command to Warchief Sona,” Vlad commanded a much calmer crew, “make sure she sees to the destruction or disabling of the Ingen. If they surrender, then take them as prisoners. None shall escape. And take out the damn station if she can.”
“And what about us, sir?” One of his officers asked.
Vlad smirked, “have our ship prepare to deploy dropships to Agartha- as close as to the predicted location of the crash site of the ship. I will personally see to the assault of the survivors- and the capture of the Emperor himself.”
[=][=]
With the Ingen forces in disarray, the four battlegroups charged recklessly firing everything they had- both at the fleet and at the Crucible. The scattered forces all across the system proceeded to fight once more hoping to further emphasise the killing blow.
But Vlad’s own ship, the Full Fathom Five, did not not enter the battle. Instead, the battleship proceeded to enter the orbit of Agartha… and stayed there. Its weapons were primed and ready to fire. Yet all the ship did was hang there, as if mockingly watching the Emperor’s ship collapse to the surface. And when it finally did- if it finally did… dropships were deployed planetside, with the Voivode Vlad on one of them.
The Furrelian fleet watched the combat rage on, no longer with envy, but with horror. Whatever that ship was, or whoever it belonged to, it was enough to push the Furrelians over the edge finally.
They finally initiated an attack.
Not an honourable one, nor anything following the tactics of the Gaussian or D'Karian wars, but a strategically innovative one, more akin to how the Furrelian Union had launched its first strike against the rebellious Republic. The attack consisted of two stages, and in fact, stage one had already been initiated.
"Change target of missile 13E from main fleet to the downed Ingenious ship! Target as close to the bridge as possible, make sure that its signal is hidden until just past the Khanate's flagship, enable terminal stage at distance of a few light seconds. Full load." Doredema shouted over the bridge of his flagship at the closest arms officer, who in turn gave his orders to the missile in question.
"Missile ready, waiting for order to fire, sir!"
Doredema waited for a few seconds before giving the order. A slow prayer went through his head, reciting one of the Makenaist mantras while looking at the combat display from the Furrelian perspective, the twenty-odd missiles blipping with 'stealth mode', while one was highlighted, showing its trajectory through the Khanate's lines towards the ever-descending Ingenious flagship.
"Fire missile 13E."
As ordered, it happened. The display showed the missile racing towards the Khanate's lines, manoeuvring past some ships at incredible speeds, before disabling stealth mode just past one of the larger of the Voivoide's ships. The sensor signal appeared, but it was just before the missile calculated its final stretch and engaged terminal speed, a now bright-blue plasma trail following the matte-black missile as it increased its speed up to a fraction of light, rushing towards the Pine Shield.
AGARTHA
The Jade ships rained down onto the planet like an apocalypse. Kilometers of burning steel screamed through the atmosphere, beating the surface of the planet like the fury of a god as a squadron died in the skies above the people of the Khanate. Beyond them, stars seemed to wink out of existence as those Jade ships not already sunk or destroyed began to scuttle themselves or retreat, leaving the planet's orbit to the Khanate and the mysterious golden warship.
Mitsuyoshi was silent. Not only had his attack failed, but now his squadron was destroyed or in flight and he was about to crash land onto a hostile enemy planet. He barely registered as one of the bridge crew called out a warning of an incoming heavy missile, nor did he notice when it was plucked from the sky by Agarthan defense systems. Whilst the ship's AI thought this remarkable, he was focused on the looming ground below them. The general brace alert went out and surviving crew all over the ship rushed to their impact stations, clamping themselves in with moments to go.
It was not enough for many. As nearly three miles of warship ploughed into the surface of the planet, the screams of metal, earth and living being blended into a cacophony that was only deafened by the rushing wave of dust and dirt that spread outward from the impact site. The sound seemed to go on forever as the sky was darkened, but eventually the chaos began to subside. Through the haze, the survivors on the ground could see the looming hulk of the ruined warship through the gloom, silhouetted against the heavens, flames still billowing from a hundred spots. There was another nightmare of sound as a huge portion of the superstructure fell, crashing against the tilted hull before tumbling like rain to the ground far below.
Inside, Mitsuyoshi released himself from his harness. He had survived where many had not, but in the gloom voices were calling out, crying for help or calling out commands.
_
Dazed, he emerged onto what had been an observation deck. Now open to the elements, he had an incredible view of the surface of Agartha. Ahead of him across green fields lay a vast city, the wailing sirens of air rescue teams already audible as they rushed to try and save the people whose outlying villages had lain in the wake of his dying starship. Stacks of smoke obscured his view, as did the clouds of dust thrown up by their landing, but the sense of scale was still breathtaking. It was easy to forget how huge these vessels were in the emptiness of space.
A hologram flickered to life next to him. It was the ship's AI.
"Your Highness, an evacuation shuttle is preparing to launch near your location. I have placed waypoints in your h-"
Mitsuyoshi waved it to silence.
"No, no," he said tiredly, not elaborating further. Instead, he breathed in, reveling in the freshness of the air despite the pollution leaking from the crashed behemoth around him. After a pause, the AI bowed and then disappeared. Some vessels were already taking off, escape shuttles roaring through the chaos to try and reach safety in the darkness above, relying on speed and stealth. Not all of them would make it, but Pine began routing the Soul Vault network through them anyway, hoping to preserve at least some souls in the midst of this disaster...
IN SPACE
Minowara was in disbelief. He had never seen a warship capable of doing that, even amongst the most advanced races his people had encountered. The idea that the Khanate had somehow engineered this was beyond understanding. It made no sense to him either - why would they not launch this weapon against the heart of his fleet? The CONA hordes were pressing them hard now and his position was in danger of collapse, but the enemy were paying dearly for their victory and this golden vessel could have saved so many of their lives and ships.
None of it made sense to him, but there was no time to think. The enemy were pushing and across the front his vessels were winking from greens to yellows, oranges or even reds. He circled a group with his console and they broke off, following his warship. The enemy had bent his line on the left flank and he had to throw them back, to buy time. The Otakemaruwas nearly ready to jump but it was already receiving fire. He felt the ship lurch beneath him as it changed direction, part of a sweeping wedge of IJN vessels that crashed into the Khanate line.
The last Minowara saw of the battle was one of his frigates crashing into an enemy vessel, both coming apart in a silent cloud of fire and wreckage. Part of that wreckage drifted towards the bridge and the point defenses worked to demolish it, and an enemy missile slipped through the chaos to blast a chunk from the superstructure of the Sakura, taking Admiral Minowara with it.
He did not live to see the Otakemaru finally open its vast emerald Slipgate and slide out of the system, but once it was safely gone his XO had the presence of mind to order a general retreat and all capable vessels remaining opened up their own gates. Green portals winked here and there in the darkness as the battered fleet fled the system, leaderless and bloodied.
Vlad stared out the window of his dropship as it soared through the skies of Agartha. From this height, he was able to get a clear view of all the damage wrought by the crashing ship. Although it did not land on any major cities, it had torn through more than a few villages and falling debris had impacted several cities. The casualties were relatively light, but when combined with the losses of nearly the entire battle… it was enough to make him pale in horror.
Truth be told he didn’t know why he was feeling this now- this regret. This sadness. Was it the lights of the Alkahest that caused his barriers to crumble? Was it the miracle golden ship that saved him? Or was it simply the fact that now the adrenaline was dying down, he could finally think. Of all his loyal subjects who were slain. Of all his soldiers and citizens who died because of the invaders. He didn’t care for the slaves who toiled away in factories to make the Alkahest- nor did he care for all the Ingen he slayed. Rather, it was the people he was supposed to protect, their lives and futures all dashed away, that made him balk.
Would this be worth it in the end, he wondered? Would the prestige and honour granted by the Council of Diadochi be enough to compensate for the thousands of lives lost in this battle? Maybe. If he could present the Emperor to the Diadochi, then maybe, he can be given more planets and resources to control. Perhaps with this, he can ensure that he could defend his people even more. And just maybe, be the great leader he was destined to be.
“Sir, the planetary defence forces are en route to the ship. It’s too large for us to completely surround it but with some artillery and missiles, we can box them in to prevent escape. Shall we have our troops begin the attack?” An officer radio’ed him.
Vlad shook his head however. He had another plan in mind. For while the Jade Emperor was an enemy, that didn’t mean he wasn’t deserving of respect, “no. Wait till I land. I will send a message to him. In the meanwhile, bunker down and prepare for a fight. I want to be ready for a siege if we must.”
[=][=]
A few thousand metres away from the crash site…
A small forward base of operations had been established here. Command tents and prefabricated buildings had been set up, where Vlad and his commanders could plan an assault. Missile artillery and all sorts of war machines had been assembled not too far away, ready to unlease fire on the enemy should they be fools. IFVs and Heavy Assault Vehicles were racing towards the crash site to complete a partial encirclement.
Vlad stared blankly into the distance where the ship was roughly located. Right now he had dispatched troopers to not just surround it but to also evacuate nearby villages. A part of him wished that it wasn’t this place for a fight- open fields and sprawling hills spelled death for his men if they were to attack an enemy in a relatively well fortified position. And what’s more, he doubted his artillery would even be enough to break the ship’s hull. He did have ICBMs, but the satellites in orbit that were needed to pinpoint the location of the ship were destroyed, meaning he’d need to do it the old fashioned way and have bombers deliver it instead.
He sighed and looked ahead before he turned to face his advisor, “we are ready to attack. Send them this message…”
“You at the ship, listen to this. The people of Agartha sleep in their beds, let us not disturb them further. You have no chance. No chance at all. Why throw your lives away? Surrender now, o’ great Jade Emperor- my worthy foe. Lay down your arms and enter my custody. Do so, and I will assist you in searching for survivors and guarantee their safe return to their homes. Let us not rob husbands from wives nor fathers from sons. Surrender now, Jade Emperor…*”
Vlad paused. Then, he sighed and turned around, “just make sure they get the damn message. I’m going to get some rest.”
There was a faint shimmer in the air despite the beautiful sun and the now blackened clouds raising into the sky. The crash had caused devastation with much of the surrounding forests burning and trees flattened. There was no FOB for what was coming, no mustering of troops or readying for an attack on the now clipped Emperor. The distortion turned into several squads of soldiers, each with luminous strings which rose above them into the air and animated like them puppets. All of them were the recognisable form of Panopticon phase troopers along with two large forms of golems.
In their midst stood a woman, her body radiating a strange rainbow like shine. It wasn't her power, it was her body, whole parts of here were made out of iridescent colourful string which rippled in the hot winds of the crash.
Eraserhead looked upon the destruction with indifference. She had suffered much since the incident in the Liminus but she hefted her great Unical Scythe and spoke softly.
"Begin operation"
At the command she began sprinting at speed, the abominations moving with her like some horrific marionet carnival as they rushed the wreckage of the ship, only one target in mind. The age old way to counter any potential threat.
Sever the head, slay the body.
Mitsuyoshi barely had time to weigh up the facts. Though the Khanate had clearly won, the fact they weren't immediately attacking suggested that they expected to take losses if they tried, or perhaps that they thought the Jade Emperor would be a useful bargaining chip and so were looking for some way out of the war.
His ship's main reactor was already offline, failsafes having neutralised it when the scuttle command window was missed. It would take more time than he currently had to render it operable again. He could detonate the ammunition reserves but that would do little more than deny the wreckage to the enemy. Some of the ship's guns were still operable, and between that and his surviving crew and marines he could probably put up enough of a fight to make the Khanate remember the day, but defeat was a question of when, not if.
Before he could respond, however, strange shimmering puppets appeared and began storming towards the colossal wreckage. The ship's AI oriented one of the looming 912-LB railguns, its gears grinding, and was able to unleash a salvo at one cluster of the attackers, obscuring them in a billowing cloud of smoke and fire and sending chunks of earth rocketing into the sky as an area the size of a football field was levelled, but he couldn't see the outcome.
He rushed back into the superstructure. As he moved, the ships AI built a rudimentary mac of their surviving personnel, marred by the damage to the interior sensors and structures. They had less than a hundred souls left alive on the ship of the 650 they started the battle with, but a good third of them were marines and the rest were all IJN personnel. He knew they would put up a good fight.
"Your Majesty, I do not believe these forces belong to the Khanate. It is possible that th-"
Mitsuyoshi cut him off. "Who are they and how do we kill them?"
"Cached JIAN Database records suggest the Army Of The Panopticon. Detailed information unavailable - connection severed."
Vlad barely had time to close his eyes before he found himself rushed back towards the command tent where a gaggle of his captains and lieutenants squabbled amongst each other. Before he could approach them to make heads or tails of what happened, a faunus approached him bearing the purple armour coat of Warchief Sona. The faunus appeared to be a lieutenant of hers and saluted when he saw him, “Lord Vlad, apologies for the chaos but I was just distributing some reports from the frontline.”
And just from hearing the tone, Vlad knew it wasn’t anything good. The voivode sighed and waved his hand, “I take that they haven’t taken too kindly to my message then?”
However to his surprise, the lieutenant shook his head, “in fact, they don’t seem to have a replied to your message at all. It’s been completely ignored. However, our scouts have a battle taking place around the ship. We’ve double checked and it’s not from any of ours. We believe someone else may have engaged them.”
For a moment, a familiar well of rage began to make itself known to him. Yet, it was hollow and dry. All of his anger and hatred had been exhausted out from him considering all the events and the best he could do was sigh deeply through gritted teeth. Memories of the ship that had intervened during the space battle flooded to the forefront of his mind. Could it have been them? No. There was no way. How could they have snuck into the planet? Surely they would have been noticed, right…?
“No. It must have been the Furrelians or another party. Regardless, them entering our planet without informing us is enough cause for me to retaliate,” Vlad spoke, keenly aware that even if it wasn’t mentioned in any agreement, he could always make it up, “we need to move, immediately. Hammer them with our artillery. We’ll advance under the cover of rocketfire and swarm both parties. Show no mercy- kill all who resist and to those who bend their knees, bind them in chains and send them for processing. But I want the Emperor alive.”
The chatter of his subordinates died down as they scrambled to follow his orders. Vlad looked around and gave another, “someone fetch me my wargear and my personal HAV. I’ll take part in the assault. Tell Warchief Sona to begin immediately!”
[=][=]
No less than ten minutes after the word left Vlad’s mouth, the many mobile artillery pieces began to let loose their might. Rockets screamed as their soared through the air. Shells whistled overhead. The indiscriminate fire seemed to be a full blanket bombardment of the crash site! While it was highly unlikely for the damage to be that severe, especially when going against ship armour, it should serve to disorient their foes.
Which was exactly what was needed for the Marauder forces to begin their approach. Already, a squadron of gunships were flying towards the crash site, their bellies full of marauders. Jets flew around them both to scout out the battlefield and to provide cover fire for them. This initial force would likely reach the ship first but it was not all.
For soon, bursting through the treeline and into the open plains, a horde of IFVs and HAVs charged- after all, if the Ingen guns were occupied, surely they would have nothing more to fear from them, right?
"Did the missile connect?" the shout rang over the bridge. "Did the fucking missile connect?" Doredema was losing his temper with it all. He had come to the realisation that the Union could do squat shit in the system: the entire operation was indeed a waste of Furrelian resources. The Union could not retaliate against the Jade Empire due to TIERZ, it could not help the Khanate on Mentshn due to them being unable to attack Ingen.
"Damn it! "
As if he had all the time in the galaxy, the Furrelian fleet slowly reorganised in their orbit around Agartha. From Xibalba, the ships made their way to the capital planet of the system, weapons and countermeasures ready for a possible attack or stray missile. The twenty-three ships of the Furrelian taskforce were ready to attack, but essentially, it would've been stupid to assume that they'd actually do so. The field of missiles that the Furrelians had left behind was disabled one by one, once the battle was over they'd properly destroy each one to prevent the Khanate from stealing them.
Still a few light seconds out of the main theatre of combat, the task force entered Agartha's sphere of gravity.
"Grab the snacks. This is the closest we'll get to combat, watching our 'allies' die."
The Mentshn had, for the most part, sat in space after the voidfleet left. They’d spent the majority of the time cheering their heads off in a psychic uproar, various feasts and dances erupting across the decks of their elegant tower-ships at the supposed victory. To the vast majority of them, all seemed well: but there was one still troubled by something of great concern.
Fonhar Volf Caan was spying through the telescope of the great, lone Void-Lineship which had survived the Ingenious onslaught. After a long and quiet spell, they set the beautiful length of metal and crystal back into its resting place - its various layered tiers collapsing one into the other until it was little more than a gilded pillar looming just above them. They idly rubbed the knife-like tip of one of their ears, jangling their earrings thoughtfully.
“Is this still our battle,” they asked aloud, their guitar-and-bass voice thrumming richly through the domed space of the ship’s dome, “or would it be interference to continue?”
The eight cemented pillars within the dome opened their eyes and swiveled their heads, the rooted statues serving both as a permanently-available advisory counsel and a handy architectural tool. They shrugged the weight of the dome upon their hands, their long hair covering the dull tips of their ears, and turned to one another with thoughtful expressions. A psychic hum of microtones and invisible notes rang through the air as the mediaeval supercomputer passed its thoughts about the room, until at last one of the great Toyfolk lowered a hand.
“Permission to speak is granted,” Volf absently muttered, nodding to the great, hunched figure. They cleared their throat, working metallic vocal cords which hadn’t seen use in weeks, and opened their statement with a groaning croak like granite sliding upon granite.
”Is it your mission to defend the Folk of the Khanate of the Great and Vanished Khan,” they ululated, their voice warming up to speech with a weak vibrato, ”or is it your mission to protect the Khanate of the Great and Vanished Khan?”
Volf rubbed their ear again, frowning in a way that wrinkled the straight triangle of their metal-pierced nose. They raised a hand to gesture as they spoke, sending their dress-like cloak swishing about them on the floor, and then lowered it when they realized they didn’t know. The Fonhar began pacing in a circle about the Astronomarium, dragging both their blood-red hair and their slate cloak upon the floor. At last, when they had completed thirteen revolutions, they looked perhaps more conflicted than when they had started.
“...We are beholden,” they slowly articulated, “to our sponsors. To flee our sponsors is to break that trust, but we cannot assist them unless… unless…” Volf began rubbing so vicariously that their ear began shedding flakes of their marble-and-ruby Hart. When they removed it, the surface had been polished: leaving an odd, reflective disc on the bladed edge of their earlobe.
“Call forth the Brutenshternfolk,” Fonhar Caan considered, “and prepare them for a drop unto the world below. They are to take prisoner or execute the Ingenious, and they are to ruin what little magicks and weapons they still possess.”
The eight pillars bowed, the ceiling letting off a gong-like noise as its eight metal segments collided with each other. They rose to full height, shouldered their burdens once more, and began dispensing orders to the population of the lineship. As they did so, Fonhar Volf stepped up to the solid wall beneath the roof - peering through one of the stained-glass windows at the planet below.
”We will do what little we can,” they resolved, waving a hand across the glass and clouding its surface into a solid color.
. . .
The Angels had began falling around the time that the Ingenious flagship passed into the volume of the atmosphere. It was only now that they were finally breaching the thermosphere, letting up brilliant ribbons of fire and light as their falling-shields melted and splayed out against the planetary forces. As they fell, their cloudy and voluminous mandalas came within the notice of Eraserhead’s sixth sense; like LEGO toys setting down upon the floor of a child with clever hands.
Agartha
The ships remaining railgun had done little to the Panopticon general who had made herself inside the ship, other than cause a huge plume of smoke and ash to erupt all over the ship. This had swiftly been joined by the impacts and explosions from Khanate artillery raining down from above. It didn’t take a genius to figure out her target was a wanted man, and the Menthsn and Khanate were both on course to execute him. Truth be told, Eraserhead could leave the Jade Emperor to his fate, to let them kill him.
But that left his fate to chance, and she would leave nothing to chance.
The Menthsn would be dealt with by other assets, but Mitsuyoshi was her charge, he was powerful, and the Jade were ever eager to engage with foreign activities. With him removed, the empire would be in disarray and hence give the Army more breathing room for its plans.
Rounding another corner, she side stepped a laser blast within a blink of an eye. To observers she was just alone, moving impossibly fast and killing even faster. But some, in their final honourable moments of combat saw the phase troopers assist her. The marines were doing their jobs, Eraserhead could respect that, they were assets, just like her. She ensured their deaths were quick and as painless as possible, even as the twisted interior of the ship groaned and rattled from the artillery falling upon it.
She was close now, her coruscating body tingling at the sensation of completing the objective.
She had been angry at Alesso’s order for this mission instead of leading the charge at Askandar. But she knew he wanted to test her limits of the new body.
“Almost there” She whispered.
In Space
Despite the pondering and the now action by the Menthsn, the great library remained calm and almost cosy. Lit in the way it was a suppository for such knowledge, history and enlightenment which had helped bring a species to the stars. It was a place sacred to many, and while the Saints had come and gone the debate on whether to act or withdraw had at the very least been settled.
But the Menthsn were one such race that posed a threat. While sometimes little more than children blundering in the galaxy they had come far, and their potential was there. They were psionic in nature, and that was a problem. One that the Army needed to fix.
The calm serenity of the sacred place was shattered as a blinding flash of light signalled the sudden arrival of a strike team from the Panopticon. Golden light and string emanated from the breach, a hail of bullets being targeted at the nearest Saint, tearing through grimoires and tomes, shredding bookshelves and destroying lecterns as the Army fanned out and conducted its decapitation strike with ruthless unflinching discipline.
Twenty soldiers exited the breach, alongside a Watchman who began to summon through phase troopers that manifested and twitched in mid air. They swooped forward, aiming to decapitate anything and anyone nearby as scribes and lesser Menthsn were gunned down. With the immediate threats taken care of the soldiers then hoisted their grenade launchers, firing a volley of munitions that exploded into incendiary firestorms quickly catching the books and turning the quiet and cosy scene into one of utter insanity and destruction.
”Purge them” Was the only command uttered by the Watchman as the soldiers advanced.
The meeting had been peaceful, until then.
After the four remaining Saints had finished mourning the passing of Heilprin, and after the thirteen Publishers had finished their suppers, the matter of the technology Ner had adapted came to light. A miniature model of it sat upon the gilded round-table before the four Saints and the single empty seat, and before the the various encircled chairs of the thirteen Publishers. As they quietly discussed and joked in the background, the four had come into an argument.
Saint Elfman, the towering war-priest with a cloak of nine two-storey-tall blades, had stood up, raising a ruckus over the nature of such a feat. the diminutive Saint Fur, still comfortably nailed to their chair, spread their hands to appease the giant in their silver armor; while the skeletal Saint Halper lambasted their colleague from within their little storm of liquid-metal instruments, and the weighty Saint Greenspan worked to soothe their contingent of stone beasts and golems. Elfman was glowering under the dark iron of their topknotted hair with a ferocious expression, about to snap a vile remark at Fur in their 'prissy little blue robes,' when a hole opened in their head.
Lantz, Eidel, and Shayna watched in stunned silence as the roaring giant creaked, lilted, and toppled: shattering both the meeting-table and embedding their immense blades into the floor in a deafening cacophony of noise.
"Purge them."
. . .
The great spoke within the very centre of the Mentshn home-world's distorted ring-shape was gorgeous. It was a brilliant lattice of gold and silver and crystal, with the seat of power itself forming a glittering, lithe axel. The library's floor-and-ceiling windows stared out into space, wrung like a Gothic O'Neill cylinder. It was a stunning place - and where the walls were not coated in tomes and manuscripts, they were embellished with murals, paintings, sculptures, and living statues and works which served as the caretakers, maids, gardeners, and lowly assistants.
One end of the spoke now glowed an evil orange.
In the wake of the Panopticon, the temple had become a graveyard.
Manuscripts burned: alit with a psychic fire that consumed their metal leafing and pages. Bodies and lost limbs decorated the bridgeways, stairwells, and terraces like scattered and gory plants. Mercury blood painted the beautiful walls in a Pollockian mess of gore: and broken shells of metal frames decorated the floors as if they were a scrap-yard.
The Publishers were dead, their heads jammed upon banisters and railings.
Lantz Fur was little more than a destrung puppet; their magical nails ripped from their body and the holes remaining left to gape and drench their fine clothes in blood. Eidel Halper was a desecrated mash of limbs and finery in the pool of their own liquid instruments, the only evidence of a coherent being long lost to devastation. Shanya Greenspan had been hacked to messy pieces, her own body mixed with the ruined and shattered forms of her personal menagerie - and Jan Elfman laid in the centre of it all, having been speared to the floor, blown with craters, and filled with bullet-holes to finish off their ninth and final resurrection.
Great and broken blades of transmuted floor and architecture jabbed up in a field of death. Music notes and waves had been scorched into the floor - and the various lifeless bodies of alien animals laid still and fractured in the great hall of madness. The saints' corpses all clumped together in this mess called to mind a monument of sorts: with their hollowed bodies on display for all to see among those soldiers who had fallen with them.
The Chorus had been decapitated: and a celebration of death had blossomed upon the stump of its severed head.
The confines of the gunship rattled slightly at the speeds it was travelling to reach the
“Give thanks to the Khan, my brothers,” squad leader Minas proclaimed. The wolf faun looked around at each member in the eye before he began to put on his helmet, “Lord Vlad has given us the task to seize the emperor of a defeated empire. The Khan provided us with the opportunity to be among the first to lead this mission. We must not disappoint either.”
A rumbling agreement echoed from the ten-man squad of marauders. However, one of them, a female faun with the features of a deer spoke. “What if the other arbans get to him first? Should we engage in competition?”
For a moment, Minas really did consider what she said. In the end, he shook his head, “no. Victory matters above all else- for there is no greater glory than succeeding,” perhaps that is why he was a squad leader. He actually had a reasonable mind and the charisma to keep his men in line.
With the marauder satisfied, he focused on affixing his helmet over his head and allowed for the data-runes that signalled 100% activation to dismiss themselves. The life signatures of the rest of his squad appeared alongside a scanning reticle. The helmet was the most advanced piece of equipment given to Marauders like him. With a firm nod of satisfaction, he picked his weapons of choice for this mission- a sub-machine gun that he could wield with one hand and an enchanted battleaxe in the other. The former was the heirloom of a minor warlock family whose wielder he slew in combat. Now he used it as both a weapon and a way to enhance his magic.
Some questioned the usage of a melee weapon in combat and he understood the reason. But they would be fighting in a ship which most likely had confined corridors. The reasoning for bringing a melee weapon was obvious.
The gunship jolted to a halt- most likely, it was now hovering above the ship. The pilot’s voice echoed throughout an intercom; “we’ve arrived. Drop down. We’ve ceased artillery fire.”
And with that, the doors to the gunship opened. Upon looking down, he could see how they had landed on an opening at the ship’s hull that would take them inside it. He saw the rest of his squad stand and part way to allow him to be the first to drop down.
“Go go go!” He yelled without turning back. He stepped out of the dropship and plunged towards the surface. Yet he made sure to angle his body and pump his legs and bones with aura before he fell through the opening and landed on the ground with a resounding thump. His teeth rattled and had he not focused he may have bit off his tongue. Yet this fall would have broken a lesser man’s bones while he was still standing… and ready to fight.
He realised he was not the only one in this area- this corridor of sorts. There were people. Marines? Sailors? He didn’t care. They weren’t his target.
He yelled his throat raw and swung his axe towards one of them. Gore splashed along the wall as two parts of a body toppled to the ground. A force pushed onto his shoulder and he felt pain. It clouded his mind as he opened fire with his gun that saw a bullet-ridden person fall to the ground. He hardly noticed that he was hacking away at another person until his axe nearly slipped from his hand due to the amount of blood that coated it.
Gunfire echoed around him for a moment before it silenced. The rest the squad had dropped down as well and dispatched the others present. The corridor was clear.
“Squad leader, you are wounded,” the same marauder from before spoke. He ignored her and flushed the wound with aura that saw it healed though it still throbbed with phantom pain.
“I’ll fight. What’s the status of the mission?” He demanded.
Another marauder was checking a communications device before he spoke, “our aerial troops have landed all across the ship. We are scouring for the Emperor and killing everyone in our way. Lord Vlad will soon arrive with the main army.”
“Then let us be sure to present the Jade Emperor when he gets here,” Minas commanded, “Lord Vlad wishes him alive. But if he refuses, kill him.”
And with that, the sqaud departed to search for their mark, unaware of the presence of the Panopticon.
AGARTHA
The thin resistance of the scattered survivors did not impede the phase troopers much. One marine, a rune blazing on the hilt of his sword bayonet, surprised the attackers by lunging forwards and cutting apart a phase trooper, the kharaa rune guiding the blade to its target through the dimensions. No skill could make up for the phase troopers' ability to seemingly teleport however, and even as the marine span to slash at another trooper, that enemy simply disappeared, the phase trooper behind it raising its rifle and gunning the marine down.
The crew in this part of the ship dead or scattered, there was now an empty path upwards through the superstructure of the ship. From the viewports the Panopticon troopers could see the swarming Khanate soldiers below...
A storey or two above them, a pair of terrified crewmembers scrambled up the stairs only to pull up at the sight of the Jade Emperor. They bowed immediately, one wincing through the pain of the deep cut in his side.
"Your Majesty, there are too many of them. We..."
Mitsuyoshi waved them to silence. "Go. Make your peace." he said, jerking his head further up the stairs, before drawing his glittering rose katana and shrugging off his cape.
ELSEWHERE ON THE SHIP
Whilst the Phase Troopers were almost impossible to kill, the Khanate raiders were most certainly not. Sergeant Kureimoa of the 6th Regiment was the highest ranking survivor of the ship's small marine contingent, and like any good NCO he had hammered order out of chaos, pulling bloodied soldiers together and forming an ad-hoc unit that swept through the corridors like the tide, slow but inexorable.
Shield, the ship's AI, was badly damaged, but had enough sensors and function remaining to give Kureimoa the tactical advantage. Even as Minas dragged his bloodied axe from the corpse of a crewman, there was a ping as a firefly grenade clattered down the corridor to explode at Mina's feet in a burst of smoke and electrical chaff.
Two marines swung out first, one kneeling and the other standing, and hammered bursts of 10mm fire at immediate targets of opportunity. Behind them, the sergeant and another soldier ducked across the corridor into cover on the other side, before adding their rifles to the din.
Kureimoa watched as the telltale dance of orange firebursts marked the impact of the q-cyl rounds, skittering across the forms of Khanate raiders half-obscured by the smoke. He barked an order and the marine to his left moved forwards with him, the other two covering them as they moved to scour the corridor for survivors. Three more marines joined them from the corridor behind, his platoon reduced to seven in total. From the smoke, an armoured figure sprang towards him, waving an axe. Kureimoa emptied his clip at the silhouette and it dropped to one knee. As he flicked his bayonet to life to lunge downwards, another burst of fire from the side threw the raider down. The sergeant glanced to his left, Private Koyako barely six feet away with her gunspear still smoking.
-
She nodded and they moved deeper into the corridor, against what they did not know. It seemed that there was more than one conflict taking place here, and the sergeant's concern now was to find the Jade Emperor, regardless of what stood in their way, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the few survivors left were overwhelmed by the huge armies swarming around the wrecked ship.
AGARTHA
Eraserhead could here the information that the strike on the Menthsn had succeeded.
Another obstacle removed from the great plan.
There was still so much to do and yet they had come so far. It was interesting to ponder, given her memories of being a small child and major asset for the Army early on operating to undermine and manipulate Capitols elite during the occupation, how long ago that felt. An entire lifetime of serving the Army, of seeing how far they had come. Her new body, while strange to her, was indeed more powerful. She had to thank Scarlet, while the calamity in the Liminus had been a major setback for Alesso this unexpected boon was welcomed by the woman as she sliced a Jade warrior in two.
He was close now, Eraserhead could sense the Emperor. And she was pretty sure he could sense her.
Close... Yes, two decks above. Her phase troopers fanned out to deal with those still left below, but Eraserhead had one target. Unfurling a twine of Solarite she gracefully pirouetted on the spot, throwing the string upwards and slicing a hole through both decks. Pushing the heavy deck plating and structural supports out the way effortlessly the partly multicoloured woman leapt through the holes and landed on the floor quietly.
Holding her scythe close Eraserhead stared straight at Emperor Mitsuyoshi.
"You know why I am here. Let us not waste time"
String fell from her rainbow like hand and her eyes glowed a deep gold, bringing up her Scythe Eraserhead lunged for a decapitation strike at lightning speed.
On board a heavy assault vehicle to the ship…
Vlad felt his lips twist in distaste at the news he had just received. Apparently the airborne troops had been slaughtered and though not all were dead, they had failed their main task of seizing the ship. Which meant that the task now fell to him and his army. He looked around the HAV and saw the elite troops he had brought to guard him as he led the assault on the ship. All of them were warlocks. All of them had at least five years of experience as a marauder. All of them were loyal only to him and the Khan, “get ready,” he commanded.
As soon as the words left his lips, the marauders snapped into action, putting on helmets and checking rifles, “afix bayonets! Fix bayonets!” Their captain ordered, “be ready for blood!”
The vehicle they were travelling in jolted and Vlad distinctly heard the sound of an explosion. Looks like that enemy were still shelling them with ship board guns.
Not soon after, he heard the distinct scream fo rocket artillery most likely trying to disable the aforementioned defences.
“We’re almost there, Lord Vlad,” the driver of the vehicle said over the intercom, “our troops have already begin entering the ship.”
He simply grunted and closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. Now that he had time to think, he realised just how insane this battle was. First a brutal space battle followed by a superweapon’s firing and counter. Then a mysterious force intervened to save them at the last moment. What on earth was going on? And now that his head was more clear, he felt that the Khan had little to do with this.
The vehicle came to a sudden stop. Vlad opened his eyes and realised he had missed a countdown of their arrival. His guard were already rushing out of the vehicle and he quickly stood up to join them.
As he stepped outside he was aware of just how large the crashed ship was. It was a majestic thing and packed far more firepower than anything the Khanate could field. Perhaps he could salvage the wrecks and upgrade his own forces…
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to lose focus. He looked down at the gear he wore, having long since swapped out his fne robes for a close fitting version of standard marauder armour that was painted a deep sable. Although instead of a rifle, he carried a spear- though it could hardly be described as such, instead being a complex piece of machinery that served as both catalyst for magic and weapon. It was more akin to a work of art really. Nevertheless, it did its job well.
“Let none survive,” he commanded his guard. Hordes of his marauders were charging into the ship intent on sweeping it clear of enemies. Soon he will join their number, “I have offered them mercy and they have spurned it. Let them taste our steel instead. Onward!”
And with that speech, he raised his spear forward, the tip of its blade glowing a shade of purple. His guard soon charged into the fray and entered the ship, with him joining them soon.
Once inside, he and his guards marched past the corpses of marauder and marine alike. He heard the sound of gunfire in one of the ship’s many rooms and directed his guard there.
What he saw shocked him. He saw the last of a Khanate arban getting slaughtered… but their killers were unlike any foes he recognised. His guard were quick to action and instantly fired upon them with their rifles, only for the unknown foes to teleport out of the way. By the time his guard realised what was going on, a number of them had fallen.
Vlad cursed. For a moment, he debated retreat… but he had a feeling that there would be none. And so, resigning himself to his fate, he gripped his spear and roared, “Victory or death!” He pumped into the metal walls of the ship and used a mix of both manipulation and transmutation to morph the metal into large metre long spikes. With a mental command, he launched the veritable wall of death right at his foes!
UPPER DECK
Mitsuyoshi took in the strange apparition before him. From the reports of the Army of the Panopticon he had expected some hulking shadow, a grim blaze of eldritch light and claws that would seek to tear his body from the mortal realm. She was just a girl, more a young woman, her youth undercut only by the gravity of her expression and the strange flickering that seemed to occasionally reveal the veins and bones beneath her youthful, glowing skin.
She carried a scythe in one hand and some kind of force whip in the other, and wasted little time. She spoke, but he barely registered the words. Somehow, her arrival had soothed him. Not only did she seem like a worthy adversary, a far better fate than being swamped by dozens of infantrymen, but her apparent humanity made the possibility of dying at her hands more palatable, although it also made it harder to summon up the contempt and drive to butcher her like he had so many inhuman foes before her.
She swung her scythe and muscle memory kickedin. He stepped inside the blow, not even using his left hand to parry the haft of the scythe as he threw a light overhand slash almost like a chiburi at her head and neck.
BELOW DECKS
Sergeant Kureimoia and his soldiers were holded up what had once been a storage room. The contents were now strewn over the floors, and with two marines guarding either doorway with their drones, the sergeant assessed what tactical data was still available. The ship was a mess, the few Jade survivors now rushing to find Khanate soldiers and surrender before the Panopticon phase troopers emerged from their phantasmic lairs to commit one-sided butchery, whilst those same Khanate soldiers were learning the same lessons the crew of the Shield had.
"We should try to get to the Emperor." said one corporal. The sergeant nodded.
"Agreed. But we do him no good by dying. We have to move carefully, avoid contact..."
Eraserhead didn’t just seem to fight, she seemed to dance. Her motions on trying to kill the Emperor were not about targeting limbs or attempting to cripple him, she was going for the clean kill with every single blow.
As he stepped inside the blow and struck upwards, she reversed the scythe, bringing the bottom of the shaft in to parry the blow and moved to the side to let the force bring the weapon up and free to dissipate itself. Her eyes were like a multicoloured rainbow as she locked onto Mitsuyoshi’s, using the reversal to spin the scythe Erasherhead attempted to spin it faster, aiming to bisect the man cleanly. She wasn’t using her abilities yet, she aimed to end this quickly, cleanly and painfully for the Jade Emperor.
This even troubled her, Eraserhead had never cared for such mercy before. She had always carried out the orders with no care for her target. She didn’t really care for Mitsuyoshi, but her mind kept straying to the sight of Scarlet and the Isochroma girl who had saved her in the Liminus, they had been enemies and yet she had not only shown mercy but care.
She had since ended up with the strange half body made of rainbow coloured string, but had it affected her mind?
Alesso had been convinced she was ready for action, but she already felt different as she tried to kill the Emperor. Was this side effect of the Isochroma itself?
The screams of the dying blended together with the roars of the defiant living as the battle raged on. Throughout the shipwreck marauders fought desperately against their new unknown enemy while surrendering Jade personnel found themselves caught in the crossfire. But there was an entire army of marauders rushing into the ship. But their goals were not to seize the ship anymore. No. Instead, it was to rescue Voivode Vlad. For he, and the rest of the first wave who rushed into assault the ship, were now trapped there.
The ship had been declared as lost to the enemy and already scores of artillery were lining up to blast it to kingdom come. But still they had to find their beloved prince least their victory fall into the maws of defeat. So wave after wave of marauders were sent by land and sky to find the survivors of the first wave and evacuate in spite of the horrific casualties inflicted. They will not stop. Not until they find him…
[=][=]
Vlad found himself lost into the ship corridors. The brief skirmish he found himself in had ended in his defeat. His men were butchered and to save his own life, he used his magic to throw up a cloud of magical darkness to make an escape.
Now he was running. Trying to find a way out. Trying to regroup with the rest of his army before it was too late. He didn’t dare use up any more aura than necessary for fear he may need it to escape again. What he had left will have to suffice.
In the end, he found himself on the upper decks where he could have sworn he heard some fighting. He enhanced his senses and sure enough heard the sound of weapons clashing. Cautiously, he approached and readied his spear. If he was lucky, it would be a marauder captain. If not… well, he would need to say his prayers soon.
And so he took a peek through the pipes and saw the battle between Eraserhead and Mitsuyoshi- not that he knew it was them, of course.
UPPER DECK
Mitsuyoshi caught the haft of the scythe with his forearm, the impact feeling far more solid than it should have been to the phased warrior. A brief glance told Eraserhead all she needed to know - it was an artificial arm, mechanical, its strength evident as the Emperor heaved, pushing the two of them apart momentarily.
Wary of her whip-like tendril weapon, he paused, sword held low in his right hand, left arm poised between them.
"Am I that much of a threat to this Panopticon?" he asked coolly. Even as he spoke he recognised a glimmer of uncertainty in his opponent's eyes. Not fear, but simply...doubt. He did not know why the Army Of The Panopticon would go to such lengths to kill him, but it seemed perhaps the confusion was not only on his side.
ELSEWHERE
Kureimoia's team was moving painfully slowly. The initial chaos of the Marauder attack had given way to silence, puncuated only by the occasional ringing of distance footsteps, isolated yells and single bursts of gunfire, sporadic and jarring. The ship seemed haunted, despite the fact that the blood coating its hallways had not had time to dry.
"Warning. Additional Khanate forces detected. Estimated strength; three battalions minimum." chimed Shield in his helmet comms. Kureimoia grunted. Normally that would be terrible news, but perhaps a fresh Khanate attack would draw some of these damned ghosts away and make movement easier for his little band. Up ahead one of his marines waved a hand for them to freeze; obviously her drone had spotted something. After a tense minute, she motioned them forwards and they crept onwards, placing their steps with a care born of desperation.
UPPER DECK
"All are a threat to the great plan"
As she was pushed away she twisted, trying to anticipate any sudden lunges or ripostes but they did not come. She paced several times to try circle the Emperor before once again striking out with her Solarite whip.
At the same time she brought her scythe low, to try and strike at Mitsuyoshi's legs.
"You are one case of many who are to be eliminated. It is simply the mathmatics of victory"
As the whip curled in, Mitsuyoshi threw up his left arm and let the glowing weapon wrap around it. Neon-lit crystals of red, pink and purple hues sprang from his arm, cracking and shattering under the energy of Eraserhead's weapon, in some places burning through to the mechanical arm below. Mitsuyoshi took a sharp two-step backwards avoid the scythe and tugging on the whip as he thrust his sword forwards towards his foe's stomach.
Eraserhead had full respect for the Emperors fighting skills, he was well timed, experienced and knew her attacks despite her speed. He could read an opponent well.
As her scythe once more missed the mark against the mans legs as he stepped back she instinctively let the Scythe go, clattering to the ground as he yanked her Solarite whip and pulled her towards him, the point of his sword aimed for her stomach.
Thinking fast Eraserhead didnt pull away or attempt to dodge outright to break free of his grasp, she used the momentum of the pull and stepped in past the point of the sword, its edge sliding along her armour and cutting into her right side drawing blood. Twitching at the pain and now almost face to face with the Emperor Mitsuyoshi her right hand which once had the scythe and looked like it was trying to punch the man in gut, manifested a gleaming golden knife.
Using her own forward motion and the yank on the string she plunged the knife into the mans chest, her own blood dripping down onto her multicoloured leg. Itself tinged with various tones.
"Well fought, your majesty" She whispered low, twisting the ethereal blade.
Vlad watched the battle end. He saw Mitsuyoshi take a knife to his chest. He saw Eraserhead ignore her own wounds to plunge said knife there. Idly he wondered if he could take them both on now that they were wounded… but he dismissed such a thought. There was too much unknown information and too much had happened during this damn battle. The best he could do was observe… though he one of them showed a sign of weakness… he gripped the heft of his spear, channelling his aura into the tip of the blade.
Outside, the marauders were arriving by the hundreds. Red armoured soldiers rushed into tight corridors and unleashed fire upon anyone who wasn’t their warring prince. Whenever they encountered resistance, they would simply use the weight of their numbers to crush it. Time was running short before one the squads eventually found their way to the bridge.
Mitsuyoshi gasped with the impact, shock taking him rapidly. He tried to push her away but his arm felt weak. The sword fell from his right hand and he thrust his hand at her wound, pushing himself away, but that only tore the knife out as spurts of dark blood gouted from the wound. Liver he thought to himself absently, before turning his gaze on the strange young redhead before him. It was strange, but he didn't feel fear or panic. Only a sense of relief. The ennui that had gripped him for years was finally lifting, a burden from his shoulders.
He toppled wordlessly, his armour clattering against the buckled deck...
BELOW DECKS
"Update; the Jade Emperor has been injured in combat. Vital signs appear weak. Unconfirmed." chimed Shield, a faint tinge of stress streaking through the AI's voice.
"Gods damn it," snarled Kureimoia. They were at the base of the tower that the Jade Emperor fought in now, but in the stairwell ahead they could hear the sounds of battle as Khanate soldiers battled against the unknown phase soldiers. There was no way to sneak past but they were the last active Jade personnel. Most had been killed on impact or else in the chaos since, whilst a lucky few had surrendered to Khanate forces.
"We have to go." urged one of his marines. The sergeant nodded. "Fix bayonets." he growled, activating his own hololight bayonet. The surviving marines powered up their own weapons, a dozen argent spikes in the darkness, and after a moment's pause they all looked expectantly at the sergeant.
He drew a breath.
"Tennoheika! BANZAAAAI!"
His roar was taken up by a dozen voices as they stood, charging in a rush through the doorway and into the maelstrom beyond. Unknown to them, the eyes of the gods had turned to this corner of the galaxy, and their calls did not go unheeded...
"Is it done sister Eraserhead?"
"It is done Brother Alesso"
The psionic manifestation of the knife dissipated in Eraserheads hand, the Emperors blood on it now falling to the floor. She didn't quite feel pity, but the emotions that Mitsuyoshi had felt at the moment of his death puzzled her. He had in some ways been truly released of a burden. Either way her mission was complete, there was no reason for her to be here anymore.
All across the ship the Panopticon forces merely faded out, like smoke on the breeze as if there were never tangentially there.
"Bare witness, your Khan is one for the abyss too" Eraserhead did not turn to look at Vlad, but her words were definitely directed at him.
The woman picked up the Unical Scythe on the floor and opened her arms wide, Golden tendrils of string reaching down from a bright doorway as they lifted her up like a puppet.
With a flash of light Eraserhead was gone, and so too was any trace of the Panopticon presence.
The words of the mysterious woman struck him and he regretted not joining in the fight when he had the chance to. He gripped his spear tightly as he approached the corpse of the Emperor. For a moment he wondered if he should cut off his head and present it as a trophy. It wouldn’t be too hard to claim he had slain the man. But the same words repeated in his head once more and he knew he could not let what happened here stayed silent.
He idly kicked at the man’s shoulder to make sure he was dead before he sighed, “perhaps I will grant you this one mercy.” he said to himself, “and leave you alone. But you were going to blow me up so…” with a twitch of his finger, a dozen metal spikes would spring from the floor with the intent to rip his body to shreds, “... rot in Hell you piece of shit.”
[=][=]
The remaining Jade Marines would stumble onto a the battle between the newly arrived marauders and any phase troopers who had not yet left. Upon sighting them, a squad of marauders turned their weapons upon the marines. The threeway battle was now resuming in earnest as the marauders fought on for a false god who never once cared.
The air seemed to darken as the Voivode spoke. Above the pile of mutilated flesh that had been the Jade Emperor, two pinpoints of light began to form, dulled like lanterns viewed through a thick fog. Vlad immediately felt a sense of threat, as if something was watching him, and then the floor began to rumble. After a few seconds the Voivode would realise it wasn't the ship shifting, but rather a noise. A noise so deep that it couldn't exactly be heard, but rather felt.
There was a sound as of ice cracking, and the Jade Emperor's body began to crystalise. The sound of rain, gentle at first and then growing in intensity, began to drum through the ruined vessel. The pink and green crystals began to dissolve, disappearing into nothingness.
The bulkheads began to creak and groan, and panels buckled as if a giant creature was moving behind them. No words were spoken, but Vlad felt a sense of a hunger. The sense of menace intensified before suddenly vanishing. Light returned to the wreckage and the sound faded away, replaced only with the creaking of the dying starship and the distant sounds of combat drifting up from elsewhere in the ship...
BELOW DECKS
The furious Jade Marines charged into the fray, catching the Khanate soldiers as they were already dispersed from their previous firefight with the Panopticon forces. To Kuremoia's right a marine went down, hit by a lucky burst of fire. The marines crashed into the Khanate warriors at full speed, bayonets levelled, doubling up so that each enemy would face two marines who would then swiftly move onto the next one. Their objective was to break through the knot at the bottom of the staircase and climb the empty ruins up to the Emperor's last known position
Vlad stumbled and nearly fell. His heart was racing and he scrambled to activate his aura to shield him from the attack and to lash out only for it to disappear. He hardly noticed he had fallen to his knees and was breathing heavily. What... was that?
He took several breaths to calm himself and still his racing heart yet all he could remember is that absolute moment of fear. Steadily, the voivode got to his feet and stumbled out of the door to finally get out of here.
BELOW DECKS
The Marauders and the Jade Marines were converging onto the same location it seemed. The fighting had quickly turned to one in close quarters. Despite their losses, the few warlocks amongst their number easily rallied and lashed out at the marines. Soldiers punched with enough power to bend steal and others moved fast enough to dodge the stabs of bayonets. A marauder found himself with a blade in his gut yet he simply applied aura to reinforce the skin and muscle layer there to prevent himself from getting gutted. He used the same power to strengthen his hands as he tried to crush the marine's head.
The few surviving marines were desperately outnumbered, and no matter how hard they fought the end was inevitable. Soon, other than a handful of injured soldiers and those POWs who had already surrendered to other Khanate forces, the ship was quiet, inhabited only by Khanate warriors and the dead.
KHANATE - Paracelsus
MENTSHN - Dokky
FURRELIAN UNION - Ofton
The Khanate had seen better days. With the Khan to have vanished into thin air and the Diadochi Council barely keeping the empire together it truly did seem like the days or reckoning have arrived. Even though the five general-governors put on a show of unity, it was clear that they were all working on their own separate projects and planning for the inevitable time when either the empire finally split or one of them made a seize for power to rule. Salome slowly amassed capital and territory to effectively make her own empire. Jaghatai prepared his forces and flexed his great power to make a move on the throne. Adamas continued to wait for his lord and keep the empire united. Barabas braced himself for what was coming and planned to either remain loyal or fleet the second things turned south.
But what of Lainar the scheming one? Well, he planned. And made contacts. Notably, with a distant empire that supposedly claimed its fame to be that of great builders of mega-structures. He was not blind to the threats of the galaxy and the enemies the Khanate had made. He had heard tales of the Crucible and its might. Of the thousand-strong fleets of other nations that possessed far superior technology. And he came to realise just how small their empire was.
That needed to be amended. And so, he made the choice to contact the Mentshn to begin the construction of countermeasures. He chose the Xibalba Star System- one of his own personal territories, to be the stage for constructing this.
Xibalba was average for a star system overall. It came with a yellow dwarf star and a small set of planets- numbering at six proper planets in all and split into groups of three by a huge asteroid belt essentially creating an outer and inner ring. Only two planets could possibly be habitable. The third planet was a world mostly made up of savannah and steppes and was partially colonised with several main cities dotted through the planet and connected by long roads, all of which depended on a huge industrial centre near the equator of the planet where it kept the cities alive and on the map. The fourth was a barren rocky world though it possessed an atmosphere of sorts. This was a mineral rich world and it was a popular mining and prison colony for the Khanate, where workers slaved away for years, transporting material to the third. A workable system overall. And due to the industrial focus, this made it the perfect spot for the countermeasure to be constructed.
In terms of defences, the two planets and the asteroid belt were guarded by series of orbital defence platforms, space stations, and sensor arrays. This made it hard for the outer rings to be protected but allowed for the Khanate to easily defend their interests.
With the deal done, the Diadochi soon began to have the system receive a steady supply of materials and warships for protection, unknowingly drawing attention to the system itself.
Agartha, Xibalba System, Forlorn Spiral
Voivode’s Palace
The civilised slash industrial world of Agartha, third planet to the sun, rarely saw as much activity as of recent days, Vlad mused to himself. The voivode sipped red wine from a chalice of gold before gesturing for one the slaves to fetch him another one. He was a fairly young in physical appearance. His hair was a deep shade of brown while his eyes were a pale crimson. His skin was chalky white and his face was oddly smooth for someone his age. He wore a black coat and cloak with golden fastenings for decor.
Unlike other Voivodes who were usually of the main five species, Vlad was human- or at least, mostly human. He had been birthed to a consort of the previous Voivode. Rather than be a slave, he was raised as a successor to his will and soon ascended to the ranks ebefore eventually replacing him. Such a feat was not common in the Khanate. But within Laniar’s Realm? Then it was certainly far more likely.
As a slave approached him with a jug of more wine, Vlad sighed and looked up the window that bared open the sky. Normally, there would be nothing for him to see. But now, just barely, if he enhanced his eyes with aura, he could make out the shapes of the Mentshn structure…
It was like someone had painted black lines all across the Xibalba Star.
Even though Vlad intellectually could understand that these structures were far, far beyond the reach of the star, it was difficult to not think of them as resting on its surface. After all, the shadows they cast across the thing were tangible, and curved, and bizarrely-arranged. If one had deigned to outline the orbits of a planetarium in rings and represent the pro-and-apo-apses of the planetary bodies using huge, circled lenses, then they might've gotten a clear picture of the absolute monster of spindly engineering those monument-builders were constructing up there.
The actual engineering of the thing was beyond baffling. From the Voivode's briefings by the strangely-religious Mentshn, he knew that each of the thing's seven stellar belts was more or less the breadth of a middling continent and the thickness of one's crust. By all accounts, it shouldn't have been self-supporting; but the ringed priesthood had insisted on their 'spells and spellcraft' ensuring its 'Holy Design'.
Remarkably, they'd actually pulled through.
Even now, if he chose to look through a telescope, Vlad would have likely been able to catch the glints of Mentshn citadel-craft light-minutes away from his current position. There were streams of the things running from the asteroid belt to the defense-array, and if one put them on a stellar map, it would've resembled nothing short of an anthill out there. The fact that they'd managed to congregate so many of the freaks was a feat all of its own; but the price being footed for them was mind-boggling in and of itself.
All the same, despite the late-night panic attacks and flabbergasted shouting matches the Khanate engineers had endured, Vlad and the rest of the players in this system now had the assurance that the prototype was just about ready enough for testing.
Nobody in their right mind would fire a Crucible at an inhabited star system as a test, of course - but the sentiment and excitement therein were tangible nonetheless.
Yoshiko Kawashima waited patiently to be admitted into Avery Johnson's office. The head of the Jade Intelligence Agency Network, or JIAN, was a living legend, and had been in the post for over half a century, and had been in the field for years before that. The grandmother of the Jade Emperor and a veteran of every war since before the Jade Empire had reached for the stars, she was an intimidating figure, but Kawashima was quietly confident of herself.
The data she had collected pointed to something big happening in the Xibalba Star System, territory of the Khanate. The system had recently gone dark, shutting itself off from trade and civilian egress. There were many reasons a system would do this, but usually in more innocent cases such as plague or natural disaster, there would be warning calls and appeals for aid. Not so for the Xibalba Star System.
That alone was suspicious enough. She had assigned pickets to keep watch and the only things moving in or out of the system were military vessels and haulers. Whatever was happening there, it was big, and given that the Khanate was a known CONA member, with troops serving at Aedleshaven, it was unlikely to bode well for the Jade Empire and the rest of SAGA.
The guard at the door, a Frame, suddenly spoke, almost softly enough to avoid disturbing the tranquil quiet of the richly decorated and dimly lit waiting room.
"Please enter," was all the robot said. Kawashima stood, brushed her yukata smooth, offered the shallowest of bows to the guard and then stepped inside the Director's office....
FDS Sodenati Carpatii - Xibalba System - Marauder Khanate - Forlorn Spiral
Over the barren, almost lifeless surface of the planet Xibalba, the fourth planet of the same-named system, there waited a task force. Not in the bright-red colour of the Marauder Khanate, but in the grey-green scheme of the Furrelian Union. Indeed, leading the odd twenty-ships was a Furrelian, Sedom Doredema. An older admiral in his odd 50s, his fur had started to grey out. Still though, he was among the best staff the Furrelian Union had to offer, at least in Ancerious. Experienced with fighting during the long D’Karian war, he had been put in command of a fleet protecting the CONA allies of the Union. Despite the Sodenati Carpatii, a twenty-year-old battleship named after the battle of Carpatii, between the SROE and the Furrelians during the D’Karian War, not being the most modern or technologically advanced, it was still leagues in front of both the most advanced non-Furrelian ships in the system. The Marauder Khanate, the owners of the system, were nowhere close to the Furrelians in regards to technological advancements, and the Menstinh were too busy building their gigantic megastructures.
Of course, an unbelievable amount of resources would be needed for megastructures. The Furrelians, who had only officially joined CONA a few months before as a response to FFR SAGA membership, found themselves in a rather difficult spot, as they were not natives to the galaxy. Seen as impostors by most of CONA, and as traitors by most of SAGA, they had to prove themselves worthy of CONA membership. One way how they did so was to respond to the Khanate’s call. Gifts of materials and resources for construction were sent down to the Forlorn spiral, while a taskforce of twenty had been sent to protect mining operations above the planet of Xibalba, as well as to offer a general defence. The project being constructed was too important to lose: A countermeasure to the recently-shared Crucible plans. The system was inhabited, so the chance of an Ingenious madman firing upon the system, for a test nonetheless, was practically zero.
Despite everything, the Furrelian crew aboard the taskforce was not too enthusiastic about the deployment. They had been stuck aboard the same ship for weeks, and while usually, that would not have been a problem, it was made worse by the fact that the ships were in orbit of an inhabited world, one which they were not allowed to set foot on. Daily rituals were repetitive for those aboard, and the wish for some action became real.
Xibalba System
Like birds running before a storm, the first warning the CONA garrison had of what was to come were a few automated probes that nibbled at the edges of the system, gleaning what information they could. The drones were clearly disposable, and other than the most basic of thruster maneuvering had no defenses against incoming fire should any of the system's defenders feel the urge to trudge that far out to destroy them, but it was what they heralded that would no doubt concern the CONA commanders at Xibalba.
Sabishi
One of the Jade Empire's colony systems in the Ancerious Galaxy, Sabishi was unremarkable. Named 'loneliness' for the vastness of its one inhabitable planet, it was primarily of interest due to its rich mineral composition, hidden beneath wide sweeping steppes on a single supercontinent that was home to a variety of bizarre megafauna.
The planet below was merely a backdrop to the activity overhead, however. Protected by the system's single defensive layer, and watched by the local garrison forces, an entire Jade Fleet had arrived in-system, staging to assault the Xibalba System. Less its three carriers and a couple of vessels in drydock, the 102nd Nanban boasted 174 warships, everything from corvettes to giant battlecruisers. It was the largest gathering of Jade naval might since the conquest of Marchand a year previously, led by Admiral Daisuke Minowara himself. A staunch critic of the new Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi, it was perhaps the man's dubious former loyalties that had prompted the young warlord to select Minowara's fleet to lead this mission. Looming over them all, dwarfing even the Cornewaille class cruisers, was Otakemaru Station, the new Crucible-pattern superweapon built in collaboration with the Imaginese. Unfired as of yet, it possessed a stark and unyielding threat, casting a pall across the system.
_
The plan was simple. The 102nd would drop in across a broad front, overwhelming what small picket or advance forces the CONA garrison had in place, and then form a defensive perimeter whilst the Otakemaru charged and fired its primary weapon, destroying the system's star and whatever the enemy were building in orbit around it. The Otakemaru would then exit the sytem and fall back to Jade space, with the 102nd following it.
The plan seemed simple enough. Sat in his personal quarters, watching an illuminated fountain ripple in the corner, Minowara had a gut sense of foreboding, but he shook it off. Whatever the enemy were building, the JIAN seemed to think it was big, big enough to constitute a threat. He would rather they act first and destroy it than wait to see what monstrosity the natives were planning to unleash, and if Mitsuyoshi's international stock went down as the result of demolishing an entire solar system then that suited Minowara just fine too.
He was confident in his force's ability to hold off any counter-attack by the enemy, whose preparations would almost certainly be defensive in nature themselves. By the time the defenders shook themselves into proper posture and advanced in good order, their star would already be dead and all he had to do was beat them back until it was time to withdraw.
At least, that was the plan.
Xibalba System
Meeting Room, Salem Station
Vlad reclined on his chair, hardly paying attention to the meeting going on. It was the weekly report on the progress of the megastructure in which he had to listen to the gripes of his servants and meet with the strange Mentshn currently squatting on his fiefdom and the Furrelians watching over it. Don’t get him wrong, he understood the severity of the situation but these weekly meetings were always drool.
The room they were in was plan and far from the usual lavish decorations the he was known for, yet he still appreciated the fact that the slaves here knew how to cook well. The door opened and Vlad on instinct turned to greet the slave who would no doubt be there to bring in some refreshments for him- but to his surprise, he saw it was a security officer of the station.
“My lord I bring urgent news from our scouts,” the officer muttered as she attempted to avert her eyes from the sheer presence of the many figures in the room.
“Well, speak it,” Vlad replied. He pushed down the hint of worry that had built up within him. Surely nothing was happening, right? The officer looked around before she rushed over to him and whispered into his ear.
“How messy,” the Voivode scowled as she backed away. He turned to face his equals and spoke, “perimeter sensors have detected the presence of drones at the edge of the system. I have no doubt now that we have been located and we may be expecting an incursion sooner or later.”
His scowl deepened and he snapped his fingers, “bring me more wine. I don’t care if it’s poor, I just need a damn drink,” and all though it was not her duty, the officer rushed out of the room.
Fonhar Zalman was, understandably, distraught by Vlad's indifference. Being an acolyte Rednerfolk, they felt they deserved a certain kind of respect from people - or at the very least a peership. After several hours of trying to drill magical theories and nigh-incomprehensible progress updates into the Voivode's head, however, they were starting to lose faith. Zal was about to launch into yet another hour-long tirade on the importance of the Holy Ratios when the guardswoman finally burst in, robbing the poor acolyte of what little momentum they'd finally regained.
Already sick of the Voivode's inattention and the notable lack of hors d'oevures suitable for a creature such as themselves, Zalman whirled on the woman with such ferocity that they ended up snapping the hapless filament they'd been using to gesture at the scrolls floating behind them. They were about ready to hex the poor stationer with something truly vile when one of their golem-like guards grabbed their shoulder and pointed. Furiously, the Fonhar snapped their gaze toward the half-angelic and half-knightly figure's gauntlet, before again whipping it viciously around to figure out what in the Amsring's unholy name they were pointing at.
Zalman raised an eyebrow when they realized the pair were whispering.
Once the Voivode had finished ordering his alcohol, the lead architect hesitantly rolled the metal-fabric scroll floating in midair and condensed it into one of the many sheafs interwoven into their veil-like ponytail of dark iron and flecked gold. They reattached the two ends of their presentation-wand with a flash of Thaums, ordered it back into the shape of a tiny, thorned tiara, and then set it at an angle upon their black head of hair.
The Acolyte seemed to be having something close to a stroke, upon further examination. Their expression was a bizarre mask of blank emotions; formed from wide eyes and a tight mouth. The architects around them glanced to one another, anxiously preening the half-halos floating over their heads, and started fidgeting nervously.
When Zalman broke the silence, the tune of their voice mirrored the tension of a fake-out crescendo. A false softness and release, crouching behind the highest hysteria they could muster. ”Are you saying,” they asked, first arching their fingers and then folding them, ”that we’re about to be… attacked?”
The architects around the table began very pointedly holding up their scrolled schema and reading them. None of them looked any more comfortable than they had prior - and in fact, one or two dawned looks of horror as they realized how bare-bones some of the structure’s systems truly were at present.
One stood up in a wash of white and blue robes, excused themselves, and mechanically walked off. A minute later, they could hear sobbing down the hall.
The Sodenati Carpatii was too far from Salem station for the crew to personally attend the meeting. In fact, the only Furrelian aboard the station was the military attacheé, Kesinedema, who was not even present in the meeting, having only arrived by shuttle a few hours earlier to ‘enjoy’ the Marauder lifestyle of slavery and servitude. Even then he was only barely allowed to interact with the people aboard the station. Even worse was that his presence aboard the station was only announced just after he had actually arrived.
Still though, most of the Staff Officers of the Sodenati Carpatii were present in the meeting, just via a video-audio connection, using a universal translator to translate to and from Sylenti, the main language spoken in the Furrelian Union. The flagstaff consisted of the three captains of the largest three ships, a battleship, carrier and heavy cruiser, their Executive officers, and the defence officer of the Carpatii. All of the flagstaff consisted of Furrelians, except for the captain of the Heavy Cruiser Marotin Kessaio, who was a Katharian from the protectorate.
Doredema listened as the conversation between the Architects and the Voivode continued. Pathetic, he thought, watching the fief order alcohol from officers and slaves praising the man keeping them indentured. The Furrelian Union would never allow such backwards practices of degeneracy, showing how much, both technologically and socially, the Union was advanced compared to the Monarchical Khanate. The Furrelian admiral patiently waited for his turn to walk, first letting the Mentshn architects do their business, before speaking without asking for permission beforehand.
“Voivode Vlad,” he said, his voice smearing out the royal title. Doredema had never had a problem with ranks or titles, but royal titles were the worst for him, as he absolutely disdained the system of heritage royals used to get power and live lavishly, the natural opposite of the Furrelian Meritocratic system. “Do we have any idea who, or what is going to attack us? Perhaps if you could send an expeditionary force towards some of the drones, and try disabling them, we could find out about the nationality.” He took a sip of his own drink, a Furrelian herb soft drink called Osate, healthy and refreshing. “Maybe you could search for our Military Atacheé to your nation, Commander Kesinedema? He is currently aboard your station, and can help with strategising.”
Vlad drummed his fingers impatient on the table. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl. To think they had been discovered. Did he not hide his tracks well enough? The incessant sobbing of the architect grated at his nerves but he simply let out a deep exhale through his nose to calm himself, “about to be attacked? Uncertain. For all we know, these drones could be the preliminary force to an invasion that will occur in a day. Or maybe they’re just spies who have only recently discovered us. Regardless, we will need to act decisively.”
Inhale. Remember his lessons. Do not lose calm. Not yet, “for now, it’s best we hurry with the project and bolster our defences,” calm. Calm. Calm. He turned to look at the monitor and snapped his fingers to grab the attention of one of his aides in the room, “you heard the admiral. Find them and bring them here. Be quick.”
The doors opened and the officer from before entered the room holding a jug of wine. He quickly presented his chalice and allowed her to pour his drink, “and you,” he told her once she finished, “dispatch a message to comm relays and broadcast a message to my warchiefs outside the system. Tell them to gather their forces and come here immediately.”
He considered asking for aid from other voivodes, but dismissed the idea. Not only was his position already at risk once he recalled all his forces, but it was without a doubt that the voivodes would leech of his success like the vermin they are if they were called here. No. This was best a matter he solved himself. However, asking Diadochi Lainar…
“Send a message to Lord Lainar. Tell him of this development and that his assistance would be appreciated,” he finished and dismissed the officer who simply rushed out of the room once more.
“Whoever these bastards are, I’ll see them all to hell,” he scowled and finally allowed his temper to leak through, “I will not be made a mockery in my own domain!”
"Hurry with the project." Zalman breathed, sounding incredulous. They looked to the Architects, and the Architects looked to them, and all of the Mentshn just sort of stared at each other.
"Hurry with the project," they sang again, the psychic tune of their voice quivering at a hysterical vibrato. Zal ran their bejeweled fingers through the iron filaments of their black hair, and then they flashed a grin with their tombstone mono-teeth. Their lips curled in an unsettling way at the edges of their slate-grey and ruby-veined lips, and they chuckled in a disjointed halftone. "Did you hear that? He's asking us to hurry with the project!"
Zalman spread their arms, eyes wide, and giggled. They giggled, and giggled, and kept giggling; flopping backward in their chair and slowly, painstakingly turning about. The laughter grew and distorted as they twisted their body, until at last it reached a shrieking and misbegotten snarl of sonopsychic mania alike a guitar ringing in the minds of those present.
"HURRY WITH THE PROJECT!" They slized through the air, and then the other Menthsn at the table burst into noise. Some began laughing in the same deranged way as their Fonhar. Some started hyperventilating. One doubled over, retching as the weight of the situation set in - and the one in the hall started swearing.
All of them wept tears of magic, little stars crackling in iridescent veils of emotion and spattering in phantom drops upon their clothes and scrolls and chairs and floors and tabletop-sections. Some looked to each other and laughed. Some slapped each other on the back. They all just writhed there, hooting and cackling and swearing and sobbing and unpleasantly gurgling, until at last they were drained of energy.
As their companions wiped their silver eyes, Zalman set an elbow upon the table; leaning toward the Voivode with a kind of sarcastic friendliness. They mockingly scratched their head, turning their wild eyes to their companions, and grinned unsettlingly.
"Jericho," they piped in their characteristic snarl, "can you hurry with the project?"
Jericho's cynical grin audibly ratcheted into their cheek, and they shook their head. Zalman leant dramatically over to the other side, and asked the same question. The response was much the same. They did this a handful more times, and then leant back in their chair: clasping their hands before their chest as if they were trying to strangle some invisible man.
"Voivode," they chirped, "Vlad," they piped, and "of the Khanate of the Great and vanished Khan" they spat.
Their hands audibly popped and cracked when they clenched just a degree harder. "We are trying to assemble an alchemical transmutation array on the scale of stars, using magics we ourselves are only just discovering and methods which have only been tested in the halls of decrepit and filthy acolytes lost of time and sanity."
Zalman leant forward onto the table, thunking each of their stone arms onto its top, and tilted their head down. The effect was something roughly similar to a Kubrick stare - albeit, one with a hunched back and bowed shoulders.
"The Device is barely functional, as it stands," they continued, giggling again, "and if you had listened to my tirades over the past starspans, you would understand that we cannot 'hurry with the project.' The primary ignition trench is barely filled, barely a quarter more than the bare-necessary storage and collection circuits are complete, only the skeleton of the Fentser-bands are fully carved, and a fraction of the necessary Thaumic vents and subspells have been confirmed functional - let alone worthy of acceptance by our senior Magishfolk. The Device is in a functional state in the same manner that an unquenched and burning spearhead is ready to be sent to war."
Zalman's grin crackled into a bare-toothed scowl, and their fingers snapped toward their hair; scraping into the strands with a terrible noise of shrieking stone and metal. "WE'RE BARELY AT THE TESTING STAGE"! They cried, the despair of their voice blending with its crackling tones like a choleric rock-opera. "VOIVODE OF THE KHANATE OF THE GREAT AND VANISHED KHAN, YOU ARE STABBING A HOT SLAG INTO THE BELLY OF AN ONCOMING BEAST! WE ARE BARELY CERTAIN OF ITS SURVIVING THE FIRST HIT - LET ALONE SPILLING ITS GORE!"
The Acolyte slammed their fists onto the table, heaving with enough fire to set their rubies glowing and humming eerily, and stared at them in horror. They sucked a deep breath in, tinting the light of the room red, and then slumped; holding their head in their hands.
"We have been working as fast as is physically possible." They moaned, rubbing their temples with a smooth shuffling and scraping. "Unless we are to awake Ner themselves a full seven star-turns of this world in advance, then I must demand that you ensure us at least that time's span to recalibrate the components we are individually priming - let alone the entire Device."
During the event, many of the Khanate officers and aides had stepped back from the table and away from their Mentshn counterparts in fear. Their outbreak had struck a chord within them all and reminded them eerily of the shamans they so loathed. But it was also for this reason that Vlad did not falter. Instead, he looked at them with an emotion akin to disgust.
drip drip.
Purple liquid seemed to drip from his lips onto the table. Yet instead of pooling, it fizzled like acid and burnt a hole through it. A scent vaguely reminiscent of pepper filled the air. He bared his teeth revealing them stained purple. It was clear that the Voivode had activated his aura.
Vlad placed his hand palm down on the table and glared at Zalman. Then, he balled his hand into a fist.
The doors opened and a slave entered the room, holding in her hands a tray containing a meal for both the Marauder and Menshn representatives. She looked at the scene in horror and opened her mouth to scream-
-when a metal spike sprouted from the ceiling of the room and impaled her through the brain.
The Voivode relaxed and unclenched his hands, allowing for his aura to shimmer down.
“I do not care,” he told them, “for the cost and the work it will take to see the project done. Lord Lainar had instructed that I see this project to its completion and that this structure developed for the benefit of the Khanate. You will finish this project. You will work as fast as you can. In exchange, I will provide everything you need- even if it means stripping down a planet to its core. All I ask now-” His lips turned into a sneer, “that you treat me with the respect I’ve earned.”
He twitches a finger. The spike that had impaled the slave retracted itself and allowed for the corpse to crumble to the ground, “now get out of my sight and get back to work.”
Admiral Daisuke Minowara was not happy. This whole expedition stank of another of Mitsuyoshi's foolhardy adventures, but so far the man had been successful at every turn and so it was impossible to criticise him, doubly so as he was now the Jade Emperor. Mitsuyoshi had brought the Marchanders to heel, had reclaimed Whitewharf and had neutered his political opponents, and so now if he declared that the 102nd was to assault the Xibalba System then so it would be.
Their probes were reporting a light picket screen around the system, although the deeper layers of Xibalba were hidden by baffles, signal jammers and countermeasures both complex and simple in design. The plan, however, was straightforwards enough that Minowara still had hope it would play out without a hitch. The 102nd would assault the system, clear out the pickets, and make space for the Otakemaru Station. The giant Crucible-pattern weapon would fire upon the system's star, destroying the system core and anything present there, enemy warships included.
Across his fleet, captains signalled their readiness, and with only the most momentary pause he ordered his fleet to advance. The glowing emerald lights of Slipgate windows began to flicker open across the fleet, a shimmering wall of windows into the unknown through which the castle-ships of the Jade Navy slid quietly and without fanfare.
-
Some time later
The first Jade ships out of the darkness were the hayabune, the half-kilometer frigates that formed the numerical bulk of the IJN. The ships of each squadron fought as units, gliding from their crystalline entrypoints on sprays of cascading foam as they hunted down picket forces, flak frigates hammering with their spinally-mounted barrage guns whilst the carrier frigates launched fightercraft and corvettes to clear away enemy scouts and wipe away minefields.
Amidst the chaos, the far larger hulls of the destroyers and cruisers of the 102nd began to emerge. Dwarfing the first warships, these behemoths immediately began traversing their colossal dorsal turrets, hammering huge shells of steel-framed treated quarzite loaded with supercritical fluid at the sparse defenders of the first line of CONA territory.
Minowara watched from the bridge of his Kaisigi-class command ship. It was strange, going to war without the thump of heavy guns beneath his feet, but the Botas Reforms had mandated the change, reasoning that commanders needed to be commanding, not worrying about laying individual cannon sights. He glanced across at Mitsuyoshi, who was occupying a hastily-installed throne off to one side, and sighed internally. It was entirely possible that whatever CONA were building in the Xibalba System was a serious threat, but this rushed assault seemed like a bad idea to him.
Full Fathom Five, Xibalba System
Ever since word of enemy scouts in the system had reached his ears, Vlad spent the time he had prepared for battle. His scattered squadrons were summoned back to Xibalba. Defences were constantly maintained and tested. And he himself had spent more time on board his warship, the battleship Full Fathom Five, than his own palace. It was a rather stressful affair all together and he only hoped that his wariness would be vindicated. On the other hand, he would rather not deal with an invasion.
So it was with mixed emotions that he stormed into the primary bridge. News of the invaders, the Jade Empire of Ingen, reaching the system edges had just about started to spread throughout the entire system. The bridge itself was a riot of noise, officers and aides squawking about trying to maintain order while crewmen loudly talked to one another, dismissing them out of fear of the fact that yes, they were being attacked by a technologically superior foe.
“I need a status report,” Vlad growled to the nearest officer who was startled as he realised that their overlord was here.
“Lord Vlad!” The officer snapped to attention before he began to hurriedly speak, “the Ingen have breached our perimeter defences and are chewing their way through our mines and defence stations there. We expect them to reach the Outer Ring defences soon.”
Vlad scowled. So this would be a battle decided by fleets then. So bet it, “have the Ring Defence Platforms prime their main cannon and prepare to fire on the enemy. Considering their numbers, they probably won’t do much but it's good to have them pick away at their numbers. Prepare the Xibalba Fleet to fall into formation and prepare their weapons. The Lord Diadochi wishes for us to test a new doctrine against the invaders.”
His personal armada was divided into two fleets- the Agartha Fleet which protected the Inner Ring and served as their last line of defence and the Xibalba Fleet which protected the Outer Ring and served as their first line of defence. Diadochi Lainar had constructed this defence plan for him personally as he wanted to test out the new military doctrine of the Khanate- one that relied on long-range hit-and-run strikes.
“Make sure the warchiefs follow this plan accordingly,” Vlad warned, “and send a message to our allies about the incursion. In the meantime, I must begin to coordinate the Xibalba Fleet,” it was nothing short of his duty.
[=][=]
The Xibalba Fleet was the larger of the two fleets stationed here and consisted of eighty or so warships. Many of these ships were either new classes or retrofitted old ones. There was a clear focus; larger ships were equipped with a single or multiple spinal railguns while smaller ships were outfitted with missile pods and torpedo bays. Soon, the fleet began to split into individual squadrons of four or six with an even ratio of classes, all in accordance with the new doctrine.
However, this took time and it was clear the ships would not be able to fire their weapons just yet.
A streak of light suddenly flew through the void of space- one of the Ring Defence Platforms had opened fire its payload of metal slugs at near light speeds. Then, another, and another. These shots were possibly inaccurate and easy to intercept but their main focus was to try to buy time for the fleets to assemble.
The battle had begun in earnest.
Voivode Vlad had prepared for battle.
The Mentshn, on the other hand, had scrambled to buy themselves more time.
The Apprentice-Saint Zalman had dedicated their efforts to managing the most essential phases of the Device’s remaining construction. Work efforts had been diverted from the collection systems of the inner three Bands and focused into the mechanisms of the Third and Second Bands; which respectively maintained the Device’s reaction and stabilised its functions. Though the entire complex was in the barest sense of a working order, Zalman feared that one of the other systems would fail: and so they focused their efforts on ensuring the failsafes and supports were completed first.
They were still weeks out from safe operations when a messenger came to the Acolyte, informing them of what had happened.
At the time, Zalman had been busy with blessing one of the Third Band’s great emission-spires. The messenger - an angelic Shternfolk from the outer fleets - caught a chisel to the head as they disturbed the priest in their work. They endured a withering look from the haggard Magishfolk, noted the frizzled mess of Zalman’s once-pristine black hair, and tried their best to consider their phrasing.
“O, great Acolyte-Rednerfolk Zalman-” They began, singing in a formal dirge, but were interrupted by an electric-guitar snap from the priest. “I,” they snarled, wroth with responsibility, “Have no time for niceties and games. Now what the Hell do you want with me?”
The Angel paused, opened their mouth, closed it again, and frowned; looking down. The surface of the Band offered little help, being hundreds of metres beneath their feet, and so they instead looked to the ground of the ornate balcony which Zalman stood upon.
Better.
They fluttered their metal feathers, set a bare foot of pale stone and yellow crystal down upon the rune-laced gold of the balcony, and unclasped their hands from behind their back. They laid them at either side, sucked in a deep breath of mana from the Obelus, and winced when they met Zalman’s gaze again.
“They’re here.”
Zalman stared at the Angel with a thin-lipped smile and raised eyebrows, twitching.
”They?”
“The Infidels, Great Zalman.”
Ulphonse braced for some terrible outburst. They pre-emptively flinched backward, clutching their hands to the bust of their white-metal robe as the rings spinning about their wrists, about their ankles, and above their shoulderblades skipped a beat. They were surprised when Zalman failed to hurl some words of abuse in them, and instead whimpered in a broken way.
Moments later, they found themselves hunched around the comparatively little figure; trying to soothe their tears and sobs with gentle stammers of encouragement and uncertain brushes of their scroll-tangled hair. The two were simply gathered there for a spell, the great Angel trying to comfort the Priest, until at last they were startled by an order.
“Travel to the Fonhars at the edges of this system,” Zalman shakily asserted, “and tell them to arm their Shternfolk. There is to be a war of Angels, and they must be prepared to embrace the current of the Rings, should it turn against our favour.”
As the Angel lifted from the platform with a flutter of wings, the Apprentice Saint weakly clutched the railing of their balcony. They looked up into the night sky, and saw a glinting thing among the stars: barely visible in the night if it were not for the light of the Xibalba Star.
”It is time,” they quietly resolved, ”to wake Saint Heilprin.”
It felt like an admission of defeat.
So far, so good thought Minowara as he watched the battle unfold in front of him. The initial scattered pickets of the Khanate defenders had been brushed aside with ease, and the enemy seemed content to snipe at long range whilst they shook their main forces into formation.
Incoming solid munitions raked at the fleet's forward elements from long range. The smaller ships in his command simply moved out of the way, whilst his own range ship fired its TILT drives to protect the fleet., sending many of the slugs off harmlessly into space. CIWS and hardlight reactive shields caught yet more, and yet inevitably some made it through, rattling against the hulls of the fleet, sparking fires and emergency crews that raced to repair damage and replace armour panelling. Minowara watched as the New Nobori Unfurled, one of his assault frigates, suddenly flared as a stray slug punched through its engine core. There was no time to evacuate as the ship buckled from the internal pressures and detonated in a silent haze of fire. His first capital ship sunk during this action, it was a small loss but still a stinging one, and no doubt there would be more before the day was done. Regardless, things were proceeding apace.
Checking his scanners, he assessed the immediate situation. Overall, the beachhead had been secured and he gauged the time right to proceed to the next step. He issued a command to his formation and it began to shake out, forming a broad series of positions backed by a central core of heavy artillery and a reserve of battlecruisers. As the ships glided slowly to their new posts, Minowara forced himself to patience. The enemy, who far outnumbered them, were gathering for a massive counterattack, and so the timing of the IJN's next move was vital.
From behind him, he suddenly heard a voice. It was the Jade Emperor. He had opened comms to the locals.
"This is Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi. I offer you the chance to cease work and surrender, or be destroyed."
“Opening bombardment seemed ineffective milord,” an aide reported to Vlad, “from what our scanners report, they appear to possess active defences that surpasses our own,” she looked at the computer and submitted them to the rest of the bridge officers and aides through their data slates.
“Damnit!” Another aide cursed, “those ODPs possess the strongest cannons in the entire system! If that’s not enough to take one down, then what hope do we have?!”
“Calm yourself,” Vlad scolded from his command throne. He ached for some wine but resisted the urge to drink during such an urgent time. He needed to focus, “if power cannot stop them then numbers will. We have roughly thirty more cannons like that and we can send out hundreds of missiles to overwhelm them. If need be, we can fall back to Agartha and focus our defences there.”
Even as murmurs of assent echo throughout the bridge, a member of the comms crew suddenly spoke up, “we’ve received a comms line from the enemy ship. Opening now.”
Before Vlad could even wonder why tey were so urgent in demanding he hear it, the message began to play. Vlad listened for a moment. And listened. And listened.
And then, he slammed his fist into the armrest of his throne and stood up, angrily glaring at the space in front of him. He tried to reign in his temper but found himself speaking before he could, “you mossy fuck! You come to MY lands, kill MY people, and make demands from ME?! When I get my hands on you I’ll string your guts in a sausage and feed them to the dogs!” He breathed heavily, not feeling an ounce of shame in his outburst… but then, a savage grin formed on his face as a cunning plan entered his mind, “then again, considering who you married, maybe you’d like that!”
He sat down back on his throne, “have the balls to face me man to man and maybe next time, I’ll consider your offer. Until then… go die in a ditch greengo scum!”
From the wall next to him, a spike suddenly launched itself forward and impaled the communications suite that connected him to the Jade Emperor.
“Send a message to the Mentshn,” Vlad told his aides after a moment passed, “tell them to prepare their sorcery. If it all goes well, then our enemy may have been inspired to play their cards sooner than they may ever want to.”
[=][=]
In the void of space, the Xibalba Fleet began to open fire. A string of lights dance across darkness as thirty spinal mounted cannons fire slugs of metal accelerated to near light speeds. Other ships however, held the lines, patiently waiting for the Ingen to enter the range of their missiles which sadly did not have the technology needed to propel them at faster ranges. It was not like they could do much even with previous doctrine and tactics- many doubt that close range ETC guns would be effective at all!
The Mentshn had no idea what a radio—or indeed, radiation—were. They had only recently been taught that light was not merely a thing, but a thing which could move. In fact, it had taken months since the start of the Device's construction for them to even consider ratifying such a concept: and it was only recently that the Publishing House for the Sanctity of the Holy Rings had finally agreed to place it under the 'principles of the universe' section of their Holy Book. Thus, Vlad couldn't simply send a regular message: he'd had to send a courier.
Said courier was traveling through space at speeds exceeding the still-mysterious concepts of light when its warp bubble was interrupted: rocked by the backwash of several Alcubierre streams smearing past it in the opposite direction. They'd barely had time to stop and turn around, but by then, it had already been set into motion.
The first Mentshn warships had arrived to the Xibalba Front.
Saint Ner Heilprin had displaced quite a number of Fonhars to construct The Device which now sat about the Xibalba Star—meaning that they had in turn dragged a number of sub-cultures and influences with them. There were ships with soaring eagles, and ships with labyrinthine patterns, and ancient vessels, and new vessels, and vessels with bird-wings and insect-wings and the more modern spike-feathered wings: and they had arrived in a scraggly mass in the gaps of the Khanate's ships.
The Mentshn came with their towers staring down upon the Ingenious and the Jade forces, and they came in force. Sprawled out among the new collection of vessels were recent breeds of Monitor-type ships, which had rode the faster-than-light streams of their compatriots to join the fray. There were the overlarge sails and stumpy towers of Void-Cogs, and the sleek, vicious teardrops of Void-Clippers, and the clustered towers of Void-Frigates, and even the looming mass of a Void-Galleon, backed by two subluminal ships-of-the-line. Their bottoms bore domes of stone filled with eyes, and their sides were resplendent with radial wings shimmering in aurora, and their surfaces and the space near them whirled and shone and glittered with floating clockwork and gold and silver and balconies and buttresses and crystal and metal gardens of eerie, alien plants and coral which had want for no atmosphere nor turf.
The ships fell sideways, bringing their great tails to bear with their great foundations. The things floated impossibly in space with nary a thruster nor bell, their long, skyscraper-built bodies dashed across the cosmos.
Then one imploded into a shower of fragments and blood, struck by the enemy's artillery.
With a delay of light-minutes and light-seconds as each saw the ship die from their various vantages, the Mentshn opened fire. Many of the smaller vessels bore things like ballistae and linear catapults, slinging bolts of hardened alloy against the onslaught. Others bore crystal lattices that changed and shimmered, and had things like instruments dotted across their balconies and floors. When the trumpets blew, they blasted forth arcs of colored magic that froze ships' skins and shook ships' holes and bathed ships' guns in impossible infernos. When the strings sang against all logic in the wordless night, their cones of noise carried with them bursts of metal needles and purple-green Octarine lightning and crashing waves of fleetingly-molten stone.
They did little compared to their opponents, but fight they did as well.
The Frigates and the Galleon and its Ships of the Line were the most baffling, because as they brought themselves to bear, they also brought around circular crowns of amputated balconies. These balconies fixed themselves, and then glowed with Octarine and iridescent aurorae. Phantom roads flashed from them for brief moments as they sent things screaming at superluminal speeds for as long as they possibly could, and then kept going even as their Alcubierre bubbles popped. It wasn't until one managed to break through the flak screens that their payloads became obvious.
It stood up upon the deck of a ship, with six wings with feathers made from great, elongated spikes and nails crackling out behind it. It reached to its back with both golden gauntlets, their knuckles creaking noiselessly as they deathgripped one handle each, and then it flowed like the wind.
Warped distortions shimmered along the edges of its enormous, fan-like hinged swords: having divided a cannon's barrel like a fin gliding through water. The Brutenshternfolk raised both their blades in a pantomimed challenge, their eyes burning beneath the visor of their armored helm, and then they charged to rip into the ship with their wings pushing them to the deck and propelling them forth.
The rain of flaming comets and gleaming shapes continued, bearing more Angels with more Warpweapons and magicks: hellbent on ripping their enemies to shreds.
Acolyte-Saint Zalman breathed a sigh of relief as Ner's chamber crawled to a halt over the surface of the First and Outermost Band. It was but a single dome-topped structure sat upon a faster-than-light furnace - with its wings extended toward the Xibalba Star to draw from its power and heat. It was tiny, but that was the point: and it wasn't as if Saint Heilprin would even notice the time between they had boarded the room a few months ago and now, when they would be departing it. Something about moving at such speeds without protection allowed one to skip past the annals of Time alike a stone in water, and many Saints used chambers alike it to manage projects easily over the course of months or even years.
The stretched wings of the little building folded, and folded, and folded, and kept folding - compacting from spindly distortions miles and miles across into a bare few hundred meters at their smallest scale. While the Saint's Chamber slowed itself to a halt relative to the First Band, Zalman tried to prepare their explanation: pacing back and forth with their hair-scrolls jangling and their white robes swishing.
By the time the door to the Chamber had opened, Zalman was still babbling to themselves: their electric-guitar voice grating in a familiar way between the ears of its single occupant. They allowed Zalman to continue for a while longer, curiously examining the condition of their disciple, and only interrupted once the poor thing was on the verge of another breakdown.
ZALMAN?
The word was not spoken so much as it hadn't been and then Was, woven into the local infosphere without a breath of effort.
PLEASE CALM YOURSELF. The Saint smiled patiently, furrowing a pair of eyebrows which shimmered with the blue and purple and red and orange of TIG-welded stainless steel. I CANNOT UNDERSTAND YOU WHEN YOU ARE SO—
"SAINT HEILPRIN!" They screamed, jumping back defensively and then scrambling madly into a knelt Litany of Saints. "PLEASEFORGIVEMEIHADNOIDEATHATYOUWEREALREADY—"
CALM YOURSELF. And Zalman felt their entire mind gently massaged into a calm breeze, their feelings coaxed into quiet within seconds.
The Acolyte blinked, scraped, bowed, and then began to explain the situation. The Saint remained within their doorway, listening carefully as their disciple did-so, and gazed out upon the fruits of their planning with a silent temperance.
When Zalman finished, panting and sucking in another breath of Obelus, they were interrupted by a risen hand. Zalman petered off, unable to help themselves from staring at the TIG-Weld-wash of their Saint's metal fingernails, and fell back into a meek silence. Saint Heilprin smiled again, lowering their arm with a rustle of metal-paper and golden nails, and stepped out from the doorframe of their Chamber.
IT SEEMS, they Orchestrated, looming over Zalman at four meters' height, THAT THE SITUATION IS DIRE.
They set their hand upon the Acolyte's black-iron hair, and Blessed it with a gesture of holograms and sparkles. With that, they began walking toward a spiral stairwell leading into the centre of the Band: their great crystalline spearhead-feathers following their body obediently.
IT IS GOOD THAT YOU CAME TO ME.
"Yes, Saint Heilprin," whispered Zalman with reverence dripping from their words as they followed. "Amen, Saint Heilprin."
Doredema and his Furrelian fleet observed the conflict arise from a distance. The Furrelians were in firing range but had not yet been targeted by Ingen. Instead, the fleet started its defensive protocols. The flagships moved deeper in a spherical-shaped defensive formation, with picket ships such as destroyers making up the outer circles. The Sodenati Carpatii, still the largest and most imposing ship of the fleet - and, probably the largest threat to Ingen in the system - warmed its plasma-syphoning system, not yet engaging it. The captains of the ships waited patiently, watching everything unfold right in front of them.
Then came the Jade Emperor on the main communications line. Patiently, Doredema waited for the Emperor, and later on the Voivode to finish talking. It was not enjoy seeing the Voivode lose his temper like a mongrel dog, but it was understandable. He did not like the Jade Emperor himself. Still, though, he felt like he at least deserved some respect, but the Khanate was far behind the Union, so he had no worries about the Khanate and Ingen fighting it out. What he did worry about was that there was a chance his own fleet would be hit, which would have to prompt a return action. In Sylentic, he began shouting orders over the bridge.
“Open a one-to-one with the Jade Emperor! We need to face him with the facts. Afterwards, get a one-to-one channel open with the Voivode. He needs to be informed that there is a chance the Furrelians will not participate in the defence of his degenerate homeland, one million SIGEC is much more important than a slave block. All understood?” he shouted to the communications officer.
“Aye, sir!”, the officer responded, energetically. Chimes showed that the young Furrelian ensign was working with the slightly-dated system, opening the channel.
“Good. A final thing for everyone, broadcast this to the other ships too, is that we must record everything from here on out. If Ingen fires on us first, we are authorised to respond from Hicom. Do not fire at them before that, because the Union will lose a Million SIGEC then, and I swear to Greyas, I will sell all of you to the alcoholic voivode of this degenerate land as slaves to pay back that one million if you fire first! And I am not joking around here!” the officer said as seriously as possible, at the end he himself chuckled a bit, but it was a serious concern. He would not sell anyone to the Voivode, but the Union would have a hard time re-earning the one million, which could better be used on the war effort against the terrorist FFR.
A minute after the orders rang out, a one-to-one, face-to-face channel was opened between the bridge of the Carpatii and the emperor Mitsuyoshi, wherever he may have been at that moment. The Furrelian admiral had quickly tidied up his fur and uniform: He may have disliked all royalty, but some were more deserving of respect than others.
“Jade Emperor Mitsuyoshi, This is Sedom Doredema, Admiral and captain of the Furrelian Union’s Defence Service’s FDS Sodenati Carpatii, leading the Furrelian Union’s defensive taskforce in the Xibalba System.” The officer proudly proclaimed, following procedures which he and millions of other Furrelians had learned during officer training. “As per the agreement our nations signed on the Tatiana Interplanetary Economic and Research Zone, TIERZ, in the Socialist Republic of Imaginarium dated, 79 AME, there will be no violent actions between the Furrelian Union and Jade empire of Ingen. I must remind you, and your fleet currently in the Xibalba system, that any aggression against any Furrelian or Furrelian-flagged units will be in violation of the beforementioned agreement our nations signed. The Furrelian units under my command will continue to carry out our order of defending the system, but will only react with force if forced to. For further questions, please ask them now, or open a communications channel with either me or our delegate to your nation. Thank you for your attention, Emperor.”
While that was happening, the Furrelian fleet sent a short message to the Khanate. Only through text, it proclaimed that the Union would not yet undertake aggressive actions against Ingen, and would only do so if any one Furrelian or Furrelian-flagged ship would be hit.
Mitsuyoshi listened with a look of faint amusement on his face as the Voivode's outburst rang across the bridge. There was a moment of silence after the polemic had ended and the comms line closed, Minowara's face barely restraining his outrage, but the Jade Emperor simply raised an eyebrow.
"Greengo scum? That's quite the accolade, handed down by a slaver." he remarked, twisting in his seat as a vast green glow filled the starboard viewports.
A colossal slipgate was opening, a broad swathe of emerald light that illuminated the darkness. Through the window between worlds emerged four colossal prongs, gigantic speartips of metal that grew as a vessel entered the system.
A huge ring of crenellations appeared, followed by sheer flanks of light and metal, an even larger ring of energy sinks, followed by seemingly endless engines that flared out, roaring power even at low impulse as the behemoth settled into position.
"IJN Sakura this is Otakemaru Station. We are in position, acquiring targeting data now."
"Otakemaru Station this is the Sakura, copy your last." came the reply from one of Minowara's bridge staff, as the admiral pored over his updating console report. The Furrelians were lurking nearby, but their position closer to actually made things easier - they were out of the direct line of fire of the Otakemaru's main weapon and, according to their announcement, would not involve themselves in combat if not fired upon. Minowara tagged the Furrelian ships as neutrals, ensuring that across his fleet consoles would flare up a warning and require an additional verification to target them.
Around them the fleet continued to spar at long range with the enemy. With neither side closing in, casualties on both sides were relatively low, although some of his ship icons were darkening from greens to yellows, oranges and the occasional red, whilst ahead of them he watched a vast Mentshn ship come apart in a tangle of glittering debris and blood
"Now what...?" Doredema mumbled to himself. He had proclaimed that the Furrelians would not attack Ingen, but in return, he had probably not made himself favourable with the slaver Voivode. Now usually, he would not care about what a slaving degenerate would think, but, Doredema was guarding Vlad’s system - so he had to at least try following his orders.
Then came his key to enter - the massive, and honestly frightening Otakemaru station. The Furrelians knew what it was, and what it could do - and they would not just let some Ingenious madman blow up the system they were guarding. As far as he was aware, Doredema did not know if the system designed to counter it was online, and with a stroke of self-proclaimed genius, he had come up with a plan.
“Order part of the fleet to put themselves in the line of fire between the station and the star! If they keep up with our agreement, they shouldn’t fire at us and have to delay firing, giving the slaver and the Mentshn time to counter, and maybe destroy it.” Doredema shouted over his bridge. In the background, the usual chimes and noises were made as the messages were transmitted to the rest of the fleet. Over the background noises, Doredema finished his sentence, grinning. “If they’re competent enough to do so, at least!”
As said, as done. Within less than five minutes of subtle movement, three ships suddenly took off towards the projected firing line. It would take a while before they could actually reach it, but with weapons disabled and only the most basic defences and countermeasures engaged, it showed that while the destroyer and two corvettes didn’t mean any harm, they would most certainly be able to defend themselves - at least partially - if Ingen decided to fire at them.
“Damn them!” Vlad cursed and slammed a fist into his already damaged throne, “is lining their own pockets the only thing they have in mind?” In the end, the war prince sighed and reigned in his temper once more. Not all was lost. They had the Mentshn to rely on. At least they could be counted on to fight, despite how confusing they were at times.
For fuck’s sake, they didn’t even have a proper communications system. He had to send in a damn courier! If he hadn’t experienced this with the Ellians he would have blown another gasket. Still, it was clear that a direct assault against Ingen would fail. He needed to plan this out more…
“My lord, the Furrelians are moving into the calculated firing path of the Crucible!” An officer reported, “we’ve received a message- they’re planning to use their trickery to buy us time.”
Vlad huffed and took the time to consider this. Then he groaned, “well. That should make the Mentshn happy at least. But now we must figure out a course of action.”
He could order a charge, but the Mentshn appeared to disprove the notion as their paltry attack had not gone so well. Not to mention, half of his armadas was unable to to actually attack as they were still behind the field. So that meant…
“Pull our ships back behind the asteroid field. We must prove ourselves to be too juicy of a target for them to not resist firing,” Vlad eventually said, “we will regroup with the other half of our armada and then prepare for a counterattck once the Crucible has been fired. Send a courier to the Mentshn and a message to the Furrelians to inform them of this plan.”
It grated at him that he had lost the first bout against the enemy, but what could he do? They needed to fight smart, not strong.
[=][=]
The Xibalba Fleet began to pull back as soon as the other was given. The asteroid field was large enough for individual ships to navigate through but not without considerable difficulty. The retreat was hasty and disorganised and several ships were lost in the chaos. Regardless, it truly did seem the Khanate was preparing for a final stand as they combined with the Agartha fleet.
Atop the Ingenious ships, the angels died in droves.
Where they weathered the pulses of raging gravity, they were stripped bare of armor, skin, muscle, and bone by black and screaming storms of Osmium dust. Where they brought their Warpweapons' linked faces to bare and stood their ground, they were gunned down mercilessly by projectile defenses and even shorter-ranged artillery. They were executed like trapped locusts upon electric webs; flown to their doom, snared, and then eviscerated mercilessly.
There were a small handful—an incredible and lucky minority—who succeeded, however. Be it that they flew into blind spots or beheaded their assailants' guns with enough ferocity to weather the storm, these few set to work maiming and goring their enemies from the inside. Upon a small series of Ingenious vessels, the comms networks filled with screams, then deafening blasts, and then silence.
The ships were falling back as best they could.
Having graciously received the Khanate courier upon the Galleon—the Erlking—the Mentshn soon sent out droves of little wingéd messengers to communicate the plan. Their ships turned their foundations toward the asteroid belts, beginning to fall toward them with their spires pointed at the enemy. At such an angle, most could scarcely see their opponents—let alone fire—and those with spells were busy siphoning the energies of the Obelus back into their stores and magical capacitors from the spread feathers of their enormous wings. By some incredible miracle, only a quarter of this outward fleet had been lost: owing to their propulsion. Their imprecise dimensions had made them into a kind of shield: sending the ballistics of missiles and even lighter mass-driven ordinances flying off in skewed directions. This was not to say that the survivors were undamaged, however; as over half were cracked, injured, and bloodied with their own silvery gore.
One such courier was dispatched upon the greatest Shternpath of the Erlking, sent screaming across the system of the Xibalba Star toward the First Band of the Alkahest.
. . .
Saint Heilprin was surprised when they received the courier's report, but not disappointed. With a condolence manifested from the psion-sphere and a blessing, they sent the little Shternfolk rocketing back to the fleet upon a few spare measures of False Ancerium. As they returned to the control-altar, they were pleased to find Zalman waiting for them (insofar as anyone could be happy to see Zalman, the poor man), with their arrays set into place.
Nervously, the acolyte bowed; scraping their black filaments of iron hair upon the floor. Heilprin sighed, smiling wearily, and simply walked past them; manifesting meanings as they went.
YOU ARE GOING TO INJURE YOURSELF DOING THAT, they observed, their robe-dress tinkling like a chandelier as they walked barefoot upon the shining floor. ACOLYTE-SAINT ZALMAN, PLEASE ASSIST ME IN ATTUNING TO THE ALTAR.
"Yes, Saint Heilprin!" They exclaimed, leaping to action and beginning to affix their superior's crystalline feathers into their housings. "Of course, Saint Heilprin!"
Eventually, the Saint hung in midair like a heretic upon a crucifix. Spread out before them in a massive disc were the spearhead-like shards of their crystalline wings' floating feathers, secured into golden sheaths suspended in the air by tubes and rods. Drill-tipped feeds and tubes had been drilled into the joints of their elbows, the flesh behind their knees, and the space under their armpits and behind their collarbone: using incredibly fine bits so as not to damage the Saint's delicate, almost porcelain-esque body. Below them was a great brazier-cauldron, shining with divinating solutions, and around them the room arched into a great Gothic dome. The walls were caked in clockwork and fragments of metal designed to form changing symbols and runes, and the floor shone darkly: bathing the entire area in its onyx reflection.
Looking down to Zalman at the steps of the altar, Saint Heilprin smiled: their prismatic eyes swirling and glowing with the mana now coursing through their body. Their hair drifted weightlessly behind them in a veil, sending bolts of Octarine lightning crackling among its TIG-annealed colors and length in a self-contained storm.
I WILL NEED YOU TO MANAGE THIS CHAMBER IN THE EVENT ITS INCOMPLETE SYSTEMS BREAK OR MISALIGN, they considered, nodding to their eventual successor. MAY THE HOLY RINGS GUIDE YOUR HAND, ACOLYTE-SAINT ZALMAN.
The architect cowered before their superior, nodding meekly, and pulled up a series of odd-looking tools. "Yes, Saint Heilprin," they whispered, shivering at the overwhelming presence in the room. "Of course, Saint Heilprin."
Ner closed their eyes upon the altar, concentrating for a spell, and opened the countless thousands placed evenly along the Device's receiving ring. They noted the poise of Otakemaru Station, smiled as they realized the Furrelian ships were effectively now their goalposts, and brought the Device to bear with a choral cry of effort.
The immense structure around the Xibalba Star groaned, shifted, and turned—the very light around it bending and warping as its Ancerium Furnaces forced it to fall into place. The structure's chutes fell across its bands, its massive joints shifted ever so subtly in place, and its master frowned, noting its irritable controls.
THIS WILL BE HARDER TO USE THAN I ANTICIPATED, Saint Heilprin thought to Zalman, dilating the mechanisms within the wormhole projectors. DID YOU EVER—NO; THE SAFETIES WERE A PRIORITY. OF COURSE.
The maw of the Device met the barrel of the Station, preparing to receive its unholy wrath.
The Otakemaru station began to emit colossal energy readings, blazing on sensors like a beacon. Its target was clear, the power banks of the system preparing to fire the beam that would ultimately destabilise the Xibalba Star and obliterate whatever CONA had planned here.
Tearing his eyes from the battle readout, which showed a slight but steady attrition amongst his force as piecemeal defenders hurled themselves forwards and were destroyed, the Admiral was alerted to movement from a detachment of Furrelian warships who seemed to be angling to place themselves in the path of the superweapon.
He opened a line to the Furrelian admiral.
"Please be advised you are making a direct course for an existing active conflict zone. As per our agreement, I must insist that you withdraw, or else be considered in violation of the non-aggression pact between our nations by way of engaging in tactical maneuvers designed to impede the IJN in battle."
Whether the Furrelians were trying to act as shields for the Xibalba System or had simply not understood what was happening, he did not care. He would not have warned them at all, instead allowing them to be obliterated by the Crucible's main gun on its path towards the system's heart, had there not been a million SIGEC at stake.
Vlad cursed under his breath as he stared up at the screen. On it, he could clearly see the superweapon ready itself with the scanners nearby going haywire as they screamed the incoming data. It was so close… he could just charge at it then he’d be able to strike against the Jade Empire and win a great victory for the Khanate. But he had to be patient and lure them into his trap. Once the Crucible fired and then disabled by their trick, then would be the time to make their charge as the enemy forces were in disarray.
Until then, all he had to do was endure the losses from forward strikes by the enemy. He loathed the fact that a good number of his fleet were unable to strike at them- not without entering close range and in great numbers…
A part of his mind tried to tell him that even if the Crucible was destroyed, this would still wipe out a large portion of his personal fleet. He would lose vast resources and may be struck back to square one. But he knew that this risk had to be taken. Not just for Lord Lainar or the Khan… but for himself as well. Because if it all went to plan, then he could be rewarded handsomely which would enable his own rise to power.
“Send a message to the Furrelians,” he said, “tell them to fight and honour this alliance… or leave the system if they value their coin so much.”
Once again, the Furrelians found themselves between a rock and a hard place. They had to honour the non-aggression pact with Ingen and the CONA alliance with the Khanate's Voivode and Mentshn. They had to violate one to honour the other, and, they were unwilling to. There certainly was more respect for the Ingenious than for the Khanate, and when the two sent messages at the same time, it was no wonder they responded to Otakemaru first.
"Admiral Minowara, copy that. Thank you for informing us, the Furrelian ships will withdraw back to Xibalba planet. Doredema out." Doredema said with a calm and controlled voice, hiding the fact that he was fuming inside. Not from Ingen, but more from the sheer disrespect the barbaric Voivode had shown to him and his forces. While the destroyer and corvettes rushed back to the planet, he was shouting orders over the bridge of the Carpatii.
"Engage firing procedures for missiles and long-range weaponry, do not lock anything yet, but keep them on standby! Flatten anyone who tries fighting against us."
A few minutes after Doredema's shouting match on the bridge, he opened a comms channel with the Voivode. He was fed up with the Voivode.
"Keep your slimy slave-owning alcoholic nose out of Furrelian affairs, you shit! If you want us to fire, be aware that we will owe one million SIGEC to Ingen! One million! Double the amount your forgotten hell-hole is worth, even with the investments MY Union made in it! We will only fire if triggered, understood?" The last part was of course a rhetorical question, but it was the end sentence. The Furrelian ship closed the communications channel, and com-locked them after sending another short message proclaiming that if they wanted to talk, they should send a courier.
Above the scale of the traitorous Doredema—above the slimy Voivode Vlad and the matters of the Xibalba and Agartha and One-Hundred and Second and Furrelian Flagstaff—there were two great monstrosities poised to strike.
The first, the mace. The spear, the lance, the destroyer—the alchemy of Visnhu's many faces and forms into the multi-armed and yet singular, terrible violence of Krishna: "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."
The second, the shield. The truncheon, the quarterstaff, the martyr—the great and aversarial immovable object prepared to receive the unstoppable force. One tensed, and the other relaxed. The Crucible roared with heat, and light, and power. Its adversary—the Device-to-be-named-Alkahest—was waking up.
. . .
>>PLAYING: "Time Will Catch Me First"
Within the central chamber of the Device, the self-crucified Saint flexed their fingers; those both upon and beyond their body. They sighed—a musical noise that filled their clockwork chamber like the heavens—and they shifted, setting the great array into place.
From the innermost Bands, the chutes opened and the curved ramps stretched across the astral distances to grace their receiving trenches. It was like great apertures or metal spiderwebs rolling between the surfaces, delivering sloughs of frozen beads and material. The immense spikes pointed into the Xibalba Star's atmosphere rolled and glowed - and arcs formed along them, traveling up the second layer arcing over them, and the third arcing over that. Though the Fourth Band remained dormant, the two above it began spinning in concert: with the Third arcing clockwise over its brethren and the Second arcing counterclockwise over that. The First Band simply sat in place, its great open aperture staring down the face of the Crucible's beam.
Over the entire stellar mechanism, an aurora of Octarine light and magic formed. It was an entire weather pattern of flowing magical energies, glowing and celebrating before they were either pulled into the depths of the Obelus or channeled into the massive machine. Within its many hearts, its many symbols and runes began to glow and morph: and soon, a point opened at its mouth. The point grew within its open circle, and it swelled, and it dilated into a massive spherical hole in space. Through the hole, all the fleets of Xibalba could see the stars: as if a great chunk had been bored cleanly through the Xibalba Star and out to the other side.
Within the chamber of the control altar, Acolyte-Saint Zalman prayed and sang and shook: overcome with the terrible gravitas of what was soon to come.
"Sir," called one of Minowara's officers, "the enemy are engaging some kind of defensive system. It appears to be magic-based."
"Fire when ready," replied the Admiral, stony-faced. The enemy might try to resist, but the Crucible was a tried-and-tested system that had laid waste to dozens of systems over the years, and Xibalba would be the latest system to fall victim to its destructive power.
The artificial accretion disc had grown into an incandescent whirl of power and menacing energy, glinting in the dark, and suddenly it coalesced into a beam of blinding light which sprang forth from the maw of the colossal Otakemaru Station. Screaming through the system like a thunderbolt from the gods, it ploughed through anything in its way as it approached the star of Xibalba itself, ready to shatter the newly-created magical barrier...
Somewhere aboard the Otakemaru Station
Ordinary Mariner Takanaga squinted at the readout then made a note on his holo and moved to the next one. He stopped as something overhead gave a brief and harsh rattle, but Chief Seong-Eon just chuckled. "It always does that," he said, motioning for Takanaga to move on. They stopped either side of a gravity relay to run a density check when their holos both trilled. The station was preparing to fire its main gun. They stopped and braced themselves, staring upwards at the roof in silent anticipation.
The deck rumbled beneath them, though the weapon itself was surprisingly quiet. Perhaps it was all the decks between them and the core. After a few moments, Takanaga glanced at the chief.
"Chief?" he asked hesitantly.
"What?" replied Seong-Eon, not taking his eyes off the ceiling above them.
"What are we actually firing at?"
"Sir, they're preparing to fire!" an ensign shouted over the bridge, watching the reports come in of the Otakemaru station suddenly getting ready to engage the system. Alarms started to ring over the CIC as it became more and more obvious that if Ingen was to fire, the fleet itself would become victim of the exploding sun, too. A slight worry took over on the bridge, but orders were orders, the Furrelians had to stay and defend the system until the end, even if they could not fire at anyone themselves. Doredema was again pondering to himself, stroking his fingers through his well-kept greying fur.
"Prepare for both engagement and evacuation! Take up contact with Hicom, and prepare missiles, but do not yet lock targets! I have an idea. Cut recording, temporarily..."
A few encrypted messages were exchanged between the captains of the Furrelian fleet, but still, little movement was observed by anyone. Unbeknownst to anyone though, there was in fact a little action that the Furrelians were undertaking, in the form of twenty-ish stealth missiles. Using a large amount of precision and care, to prevent either Ingen or the CONA 'allies' in the system from finding out, some of the Furrelian ships slowly let Anti-matter stealth missiles out of their silos, using the manoeuvring thrusters of the ships, rather than any of the engines of the missiles: Fuel for the missiles was costly. Slowly but surely, the twenty missiles were each assigned individual targets, mainly on the side of Ingen, but also on the Khanate's leading ships, and were sent to standby mode. They waited, dormant, patiently luring in the darkness of space until their time to strike came.
The Furrelians were going to help, perhaps in the most back-stabbing method possible: Just waiting until it was unable to make sure that it was Furrelian weapons being used.
What happened next did-so in a matter of hours first, seconds next, and fractions of a second at last. To date, this event is remarkable for one simple reason:
Even in spite of the near-total wreckage of Alkahest Leba, this is now galactically-considered to be one of the very first events in which a Crucible firing did not result in the death of its target star.
When the beam reached the first of the Device's wormhole-pairings some several hours after its initial firing, there was a scream and a flash of absolute, incredible brilliance. The first length of the Crucible's beam passed straight through the connection before the pressure differential severed it entirely, forming a sickening warp and snap where the wormhole had once been. At once, the Alkahest flared to life: its entire golden surface razed by iridescent rainbows of magical power collected straight from the Crucible's beam. The blinding light traveled only a spare few kilometers more before it was abruptly intercepted by the second wormhole, sent ripping straight beyond the star in a totally improbable and utterly eyewatering light-show. The regulating band of the Alkahest was at this point spinning so quickly that it appeared to be occupying every point of its radius almost simultaneously: and the inner rings were rotating with such demented velocity that they had blended into a single Saturnite disc of racing rainbow and color. Shafts of excess mana went whizzing off into the night sky like rays of light beaming through an atmosphere, delivering streams of crackling, hooting celebration and madness that zipped and vanished into the void.
The beam was almost completely through when the entire system failed.
In the critical moments of its function and at the height of its power load, right when it was about to de-stress, the system underwent a surge that made space for astronomic radii around it sing with wretched, dissonant microtones. The band spinning perpendicular to the star's poles - the regulator - shattered in an instant, dissolving into a cloud of sizzling metal and micrometeorites that went spinning off into the night in a skewed disc. The inner bands melted and failed, their synthetic Ancerium stores igniting and then erupting in a show that warped the light around them into toroidal streams of mania. The entire device imploded into this Kolleronic horror, sinking into a glowing ring of magically-contaminated shrapnel that glowed around the star like a halo. The remaining sliver of the Crucible's ejection mass still incoming slammed into the crown of light like a hammer against molten metal and glass - ripping into the Xibalba Star and peeling away its upper atmospheres as if it were a fucking orange and not a marvel of relativity.
When the dust settled, the star still held: though it was now disfigured, discolored, and rung by a rapidly-cooling crown of broken metal and fizzling machinery.
They would have to rebuild the entire thing—admittedly, now with resources conveniently and abundantly in-place. More disturbing, however, was what happened to the Mentshn ships.
Their great domes of eyes began shedding mercury tears, their wings shriveled, and their lights went grim and cold: as if each had been suddenly stricken by some overwhelming melancholy.
Acolyte-Saint Zalman and Saint Heilprin were dead, or worse still, lost to the madness of the Obelus. They had been at the center of the Alkahest's outermost band: now just another stream of matter in the Xibalba Star's new crown.
There were many wonders in life he had seen. From the sprawling hills of his Agartha to the iridescent coral-lit oceans of Okeanos to the endless factory spires of Xibalba. He had seen the wrecks of a hundred ships all drifting through space, the stars and cosmic dust of the galaxy, and the mesmerising effects of dozens of magical spells. Yet as he stared at the Alkahest in its work, he couldn’t help but shed a single tear.
“Beautiful…” he muttered, “so beautiful…” the wonder lasted for a while. Even as the megastructure failed he could not tear his gaze away. He was finally drawn away from the sight when he noticed how he began to get dizzy from having forgotten to breath. And that struck him from his reverie, “s-send the order to charge!” Vlad yelled to his officers. He was greedily gasping for air in between words as he looked as the display of the Ingen ships, “drive them out of our system!” As the orders were carried out by a very much distracted crew, Vlad found himself sitting on his command throne.
He soon fell into contemplative silence, his mind wandering back to the event as his fleet made their charge to the Jade fleet. He wondered… will he ever be able to see such beauty again?
[=][=]
The Khanate fleet, though technologically inferior to their foes, possessed the advantage in numbers. Using the chance bought to them by the Mentshn, the fleet advanced forward and finally began to open fire at the Jade once they reached acceptable range. Nuclear missiles flew from silos and pods, screaming silently into the void and intent on slamming into the enemies. Spinal railguns fired metal slugs nearly at the speed of light at their foes. And the ships with mana casters fired blinding streams of pure rainbow mana that could easily melt through even the thickest of hulls. However, they were engaging at incredibly close ranges and it was without a doubt that they would feel the wrath of the Jade Emperor soon… but considering they’ve already achieved their objective, would it be so bad?
The watching Jade fleet held its breath as the coruscating beam of particles and energy crashed into the heart of the system, shattering ships and stations as a series of blinding lights and flashes marked its arrival at the system core. It was hard to discern what was going on at this range, but eventually the lights died down and a cheer arose as the bright yellow presence of Xibalba herself was nowhere to be seen.
The cheers faded, however, as they realised that the star was not gone, just muted. There had been no colossal supernova, no meltdown, no fiery destruction of the system and its defenders. Injured, weakened, the star still lived and so did the serried ranks of Khanate and Mentshn warships, battered as they were. Somehow, something had gone wrong, but even as they watched the enemy formations began to stir into life. There was no time for a post-mortem.
"Recharge FTL! Prepare for a withdrawal!" bellowed Minowara, not waiting on the Jade Emperor's permission. Every moment counted now as it was a race against time; the IJN seeking to hold off the oncoming storm long enough for a general withdrawal whilst the defenders of Xibalba suddenly went on the offensive, seeking to overwhelm their would-be destroyers.
The IJN fleet opened fire, desperately trying to stem the tide that swarmed towards them. Heavy artillery punched holes in the oncoming horde, but the sheer weight of fire was already telling, ship after ship reporting unsustainable damage. Some managed to flee through Slipgates, some drifted lifeless as their crew abandoned ship, and yet others detonated in spectacular blazes of flame and energy.
"We cannot wait," said Mitsuyoshi unexpectedly. "We must demonstrate kime-saki. To stand still is to die."
Minowara simply stared at him, at a loss for words. Technically Mitsuyoshi was right, but the odds against them were insane. Minowara's only hope was that they could hold long enough for the Otakemaru to charge its FTL drives
_
What Mitsuyoshi was suggesting was in line with IJN sailing instructions, and could buy them time, but at the risk of insupportable losses. Unsure of what to do or how to react to this override of the chain of command, Minowara remained silent as Mitsuyoshi stood, the Emperor's face taut.
"I am transferring to the Proud Pine Shield" he announced. "I will detach a force of destroyers and frigates for an assault on the enemy formations. Artillery, cruisers and all other undetached vessels will remain under your command to form a perimeter around the Otakemaru. Ensure that it is withdrawn safely."
He turned and left the bridge, and even as Minowara watched the shuttle depart he could see the readout on his console as the fleet reorganised itself, nearly two dozen vessels splitting off and forming up in a flying wedge.
"Gods help us," he muttered to himself, turning his gaze back on the hundreds of advancing CONA warships...
ABOARD THE PROUD PINE SHIELD
Mitsuyoshi's plan was relatively simple. He would approach the enemy fleet using Agartha as cover and then reverse course - as the enemy expected him to slingshot one way around it, his strike force would instead appear over the opposite horizon and rake the enemy flank, causing turmoil and hopefully forcing some of their line to break off and deal with the attack, buying the 102nd precious time. As Agartha grew in his sights, however, and the first enemy shots began to crash into the detachment's defensive measures, he felt a flicker of uncertainty....
Vlad focused on the many screens as they continuously updated with news of the ongoing battle. Tens of his ships had already been destroyed by the infernal enemy and dozens more would soon meet the same fate. His grand fleet of nearly two hundred vessels were being cut down and soon he doubted he’d have much of a navy left. It was harkening to realise just how much of his resources were being thrown away all for the greater good of the empire. Despite the fact that the battle was still happening he could not help but think of the future as a result of this.
With his forces depleted he would be in a weak position to contest his rivals. In fact, he’d be a sitting duck. Would this mean he would be ousted by fellow warlords vying for his kingdom? Could this have all been a plan by Lord Lainar to get rid of him after all this time? He had to take a deep breath to calm himself. No. He couldn’t lose his head now- not when so close to victory. Lainar promised him glory and treasures if he was to succeed. And he had to ensure he did not.
And that was by making sure that he did his job well.
“Send out the order to the fleet- prioritise taking down that bloody station with everything we have,” Vlad ordered, “follow my orders clearly and divide into battlegroups Aleph, Bet, Gimel, Dalet, and-” he stopped himself upon realising he only had enough spare ships for four battlegroups to attack the station. He spoke quickly to hide this mistake, “-yes, those four. Aleph and Gimel, focus on the station. Bet and Dalet, protect them and screen against enemy fire. Route this ship to join Aleph.”
His officers let out a cry of affirmation before they rushed to work. Vlad sighed and sat down on his command chair. He nearly ordered for a goblet of wine before he realised this was no place for drinking. He cursed the universe for its cruelty before barking one last command.
[=][=]
By now, the Khanate forces were fully into the fight with nearly every ship in the star system brawling with their Ingen counterparts. Ships died in droves even while they still fired, all futile trying to whittle down their foe for a chance of victory in this great battle of attrition that seemed to have no clear victor.
However a path slowly began to make itself known as dozens of Khanate ships began to launch a more precise assault. A capable commander would be able to note four loose formations that were now charging directly at the dreaded station. Two of the battlegrops focused nearly all of their firepower on attacking it, launching missiles and slugs as they tried to get close to use their mana casters. The other two focused entirely on protecting those two as focused on any enemy ship that dared to fire upon them. Yet even this plan had a cost- with so many ships focused on this single assault, other battlefronts began to collapse as without reinforcements, the Khanate forces could not simply sustain itself alone.
If this battle was to be won, then their allies would need to act.
Minowara watched intently as the enemy formed up a clear attack plan, splitting into four distinct elements. Two lunged forwards to attack whilst the other two remained back to screen them. The fleet fire command network plotted their expected course and he realised with a jolt that they would almost certainly pierce his weakened line.
"Artillery!" he called, opening a direct line instead of simply issuing orders through his console, "concentrate on the starboard attack!"
Almost immediately, the huge prows of the Odachi class platforms began to adjust, afterburners and vector thrusters nudging the long spiral barrels into position before silent bursts of coruscating graviton beams roared forth, plunging towards the heart of one Khanate thrust.
Meanwhile, the rest of his ships moved their attention to the port spearhead, to his left. It was a risk, but between the artillery strikes and Mitsuyoshi's impending flank attack he hoped that the enemy's left flank would be thrown into disarray, letting him bring his whole weight to bear on their right and defeat the Khanate forces in detail whilst the Mentshn hesitated. He watched as his remaining warships began to reform position, his heavy Cornewaille battlecruisers taking up center position and matching the oncoming Khanate slug for slug even as both sides lost good men and women to the maelstrom.
__
Mitsuyoshi hid his anxiety as the first Khanate ships appeared over the horizon of Agartha. Facing away from his small formation, they were firing at an unseen target, the rest of the 102nd. Now he had to commit his ships to a silent, headlong rush at their flanks. He had already ordered his captains to hold fire until fired upon - the closer they could get to the enemy, the more damage their sudden and unexpected attack would inflict. If he could throw this flank into chaos, they might be able to turn the tides and even hold long enough to fire the Otakemaru Station again...
… But that chance would never come.
There was no FTL signature of the approaching vessel that came in fast and without warning. One moment it wasn’t there, the next it burst into reality with a flurry of burning string. The ship was immensely sleek and almost held together with golden light, its surface shimmered as it lined up on its pre-selected target. Protected as it was with the flotilla the vessel opened fire the moment it came in range.
A burning filament rushed out from the ships tip, piercing through the Emperor’s vessel perfectly and without effort. Hitting the main reactor and drive system, enough to cripple the ship totally as it would be forced to land. A moment later however it ‘cracked’ the whip, the filament whipping around as tension was placed on it, the impossibly sharp Solarite sliced through the main vessels engine block and chaotically flung about in the vacuum of space. But while it looked chaotic, its movements were painstakingly deliberate as it sliced through one ship after another. Some were outright destroyed, cut into numerous pieces that came apart under the ships own acceleration while others lost whole portions of their hull or main drives, mission killed but not totally destroyed.
In was chaos, with everything happening in the scope of a couple minutes the strike had been utterly devastating.
With the strike completed the unknown vessel disappeared once more in a blaze of light before it entered close range with the Jade formation. Reeling and crippled, the Emperor’s entire plan had been gutted before it began.
But as his main vessel began to lose power and enter lower orbit the situation became only more dire.
The Mentshn, meanwhile, had been up to their own sneaky business.
Their couriers had done some communication with the Khanate ships over the hours and minutes of the engagement—a freakish affair in space defined by long and agonizing stretches of silence in the void, followed by great bursts of overwhelming violence as reloads finished and targeting solutions crystallized. Flowing eerily through space with nary a signature but the shimmers of their Kolleronic gravity and spatial flux, the winged towers of the Khors had spent their time circling toward the Ingenious flank.
Their path of transit was a kind of drunken half-heart curve, as they intended to flank with but one consolidated force and had little to no actual navigational equipment beyond their eyes, wings, and abaci. They skimmed the edge of Agartha's gravity, moving counter-spinwise in a shoal of shining metal and preparing themselves for the coming blows. As they traveled, however, a number died—many being blown to smithereens upon detection or simply bled to death by lazy point-defense fire. As they abruptly turned upward to strike at the right flank of the enemy, however, they were treated to an incredible sight.
They witnessed the glory of the golden ship, and felt its divine presence burning in the void. Every last one of their eyes focused on it in utter incredulity, and they couldn't help but keep staring as it vanished into nothing once again. The sheer psychic weight of it could mean only one thing to them;
Surely, it had to be the soul of the late Saint Heilprin come to save them. With that, their own faint mandalas let off a noiseless cheer that echoed through the void—for Hurrah; Providence had come to save them! Their spirits invigorated, the towers surged up toward the mass panic and destruction of the Ingenious forces: linear catapults and spell-instruments and angelic boarding-bridges alight and firing and screaming into the night with the overwhelming fervor of holy war. Even as they bled and died and subsumed into the oppressive weight of the new thing in the sky, however, they chanted—and as one, the noise faintly echoed across the orbit of Agartha.
They chanted a prayer.
Amen, they sang;
Amen, Amen, Amen;
Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen, they cried;
Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen;
Amen.
Vlad knew that unless a miracle happened then this battle would be lost. His battlegroups were taking far too much damage and the full frontal assault was not very effective. In the end, he was all but ready to give the orders for a final charge when it appeared. A golden ship of light. A chariot of the gods themselves. It was a beautiful sight. Yet it destroying the fleets of his enemies made it even grander. He nearly fell to his knees in shock yet he restrained himself. Already his bridge crew were murmuring prayers of gratitude and worship. He needed to be strong and seize the gift given to him.
Oh Khan… you were always by my side…
“Send a message throughout the fleet,” Vlad ordered shakily, “tell them… tell them that the Khan has saved us all,” after all, what else could it be? Who else could have come to their rescue? He ignored the questions that burned in his heart. Like why the Khan didn’t show himself or why the Khan appeared in gold and not His usual colours of crimson and sable. Regardless, the more practical side of him knew a chance when he saw one.
And as the message was broadcasted throughout the fleet and as thousands of voices cried out in triumph, Vlad noticed yet another chance that had appeared- the Emperor’s ship… it was caught in the orbit of Agartha. The ship would crash. And if it was intact…
“Transfer command to Warchief Sona,” Vlad commanded a much calmer crew, “make sure she sees to the destruction or disabling of the Ingen. If they surrender, then take them as prisoners. None shall escape. And take out the damn station if she can.”
“And what about us, sir?” One of his officers asked.
Vlad smirked, “have our ship prepare to deploy dropships to Agartha- as close as to the predicted location of the crash site of the ship. I will personally see to the assault of the survivors- and the capture of the Emperor himself.”
[=][=]
With the Ingen forces in disarray, the four battlegroups charged recklessly firing everything they had- both at the fleet and at the Crucible. The scattered forces all across the system proceeded to fight once more hoping to further emphasise the killing blow.
But Vlad’s own ship, the Full Fathom Five, did not not enter the battle. Instead, the battleship proceeded to enter the orbit of Agartha… and stayed there. Its weapons were primed and ready to fire. Yet all the ship did was hang there, as if mockingly watching the Emperor’s ship collapse to the surface. And when it finally did- if it finally did… dropships were deployed planetside, with the Voivode Vlad on one of them.
The Furrelian fleet watched the combat rage on, no longer with envy, but with horror. Whatever that ship was, or whoever it belonged to, it was enough to push the Furrelians over the edge finally.
They finally initiated an attack.
Not an honourable one, nor anything following the tactics of the Gaussian or D'Karian wars, but a strategically innovative one, more akin to how the Furrelian Union had launched its first strike against the rebellious Republic. The attack consisted of two stages, and in fact, stage one had already been initiated.
"Change target of missile 13E from main fleet to the downed Ingenious ship! Target as close to the bridge as possible, make sure that its signal is hidden until just past the Khanate's flagship, enable terminal stage at distance of a few light seconds. Full load." Doredema shouted over the bridge of his flagship at the closest arms officer, who in turn gave his orders to the missile in question.
"Missile ready, waiting for order to fire, sir!"
Doredema waited for a few seconds before giving the order. A slow prayer went through his head, reciting one of the Makenaist mantras while looking at the combat display from the Furrelian perspective, the twenty-odd missiles blipping with 'stealth mode', while one was highlighted, showing its trajectory through the Khanate's lines towards the ever-descending Ingenious flagship.
"Fire missile 13E."
As ordered, it happened. The display showed the missile racing towards the Khanate's lines, manoeuvring past some ships at incredible speeds, before disabling stealth mode just past one of the larger of the Voivoide's ships. The sensor signal appeared, but it was just before the missile calculated its final stretch and engaged terminal speed, a now bright-blue plasma trail following the matte-black missile as it increased its speed up to a fraction of light, rushing towards the Pine Shield.
AGARTHA
The Jade ships rained down onto the planet like an apocalypse. Kilometers of burning steel screamed through the atmosphere, beating the surface of the planet like the fury of a god as a squadron died in the skies above the people of the Khanate. Beyond them, stars seemed to wink out of existence as those Jade ships not already sunk or destroyed began to scuttle themselves or retreat, leaving the planet's orbit to the Khanate and the mysterious golden warship.
Mitsuyoshi was silent. Not only had his attack failed, but now his squadron was destroyed or in flight and he was about to crash land onto a hostile enemy planet. He barely registered as one of the bridge crew called out a warning of an incoming heavy missile, nor did he notice when it was plucked from the sky by Agarthan defense systems. Whilst the ship's AI thought this remarkable, he was focused on the looming ground below them. The general brace alert went out and surviving crew all over the ship rushed to their impact stations, clamping themselves in with moments to go.
It was not enough for many. As nearly three miles of warship ploughed into the surface of the planet, the screams of metal, earth and living being blended into a cacophony that was only deafened by the rushing wave of dust and dirt that spread outward from the impact site. The sound seemed to go on forever as the sky was darkened, but eventually the chaos began to subside. Through the haze, the survivors on the ground could see the looming hulk of the ruined warship through the gloom, silhouetted against the heavens, flames still billowing from a hundred spots. There was another nightmare of sound as a huge portion of the superstructure fell, crashing against the tilted hull before tumbling like rain to the ground far below.
Inside, Mitsuyoshi released himself from his harness. He had survived where many had not, but in the gloom voices were calling out, crying for help or calling out commands.
_
Dazed, he emerged onto what had been an observation deck. Now open to the elements, he had an incredible view of the surface of Agartha. Ahead of him across green fields lay a vast city, the wailing sirens of air rescue teams already audible as they rushed to try and save the people whose outlying villages had lain in the wake of his dying starship. Stacks of smoke obscured his view, as did the clouds of dust thrown up by their landing, but the sense of scale was still breathtaking. It was easy to forget how huge these vessels were in the emptiness of space.
A hologram flickered to life next to him. It was the ship's AI.
"Your Highness, an evacuation shuttle is preparing to launch near your location. I have placed waypoints in your h-"
Mitsuyoshi waved it to silence.
"No, no," he said tiredly, not elaborating further. Instead, he breathed in, reveling in the freshness of the air despite the pollution leaking from the crashed behemoth around him. After a pause, the AI bowed and then disappeared. Some vessels were already taking off, escape shuttles roaring through the chaos to try and reach safety in the darkness above, relying on speed and stealth. Not all of them would make it, but Pine began routing the Soul Vault network through them anyway, hoping to preserve at least some souls in the midst of this disaster...
IN SPACE
Minowara was in disbelief. He had never seen a warship capable of doing that, even amongst the most advanced races his people had encountered. The idea that the Khanate had somehow engineered this was beyond understanding. It made no sense to him either - why would they not launch this weapon against the heart of his fleet? The CONA hordes were pressing them hard now and his position was in danger of collapse, but the enemy were paying dearly for their victory and this golden vessel could have saved so many of their lives and ships.
None of it made sense to him, but there was no time to think. The enemy were pushing and across the front his vessels were winking from greens to yellows, oranges or even reds. He circled a group with his console and they broke off, following his warship. The enemy had bent his line on the left flank and he had to throw them back, to buy time. The Otakemaruwas nearly ready to jump but it was already receiving fire. He felt the ship lurch beneath him as it changed direction, part of a sweeping wedge of IJN vessels that crashed into the Khanate line.
The last Minowara saw of the battle was one of his frigates crashing into an enemy vessel, both coming apart in a silent cloud of fire and wreckage. Part of that wreckage drifted towards the bridge and the point defenses worked to demolish it, and an enemy missile slipped through the chaos to blast a chunk from the superstructure of the Sakura, taking Admiral Minowara with it.
He did not live to see the Otakemaru finally open its vast emerald Slipgate and slide out of the system, but once it was safely gone his XO had the presence of mind to order a general retreat and all capable vessels remaining opened up their own gates. Green portals winked here and there in the darkness as the battered fleet fled the system, leaderless and bloodied.
Vlad stared out the window of his dropship as it soared through the skies of Agartha. From this height, he was able to get a clear view of all the damage wrought by the crashing ship. Although it did not land on any major cities, it had torn through more than a few villages and falling debris had impacted several cities. The casualties were relatively light, but when combined with the losses of nearly the entire battle… it was enough to make him pale in horror.
Truth be told he didn’t know why he was feeling this now- this regret. This sadness. Was it the lights of the Alkahest that caused his barriers to crumble? Was it the miracle golden ship that saved him? Or was it simply the fact that now the adrenaline was dying down, he could finally think. Of all his loyal subjects who were slain. Of all his soldiers and citizens who died because of the invaders. He didn’t care for the slaves who toiled away in factories to make the Alkahest- nor did he care for all the Ingen he slayed. Rather, it was the people he was supposed to protect, their lives and futures all dashed away, that made him balk.
Would this be worth it in the end, he wondered? Would the prestige and honour granted by the Council of Diadochi be enough to compensate for the thousands of lives lost in this battle? Maybe. If he could present the Emperor to the Diadochi, then maybe, he can be given more planets and resources to control. Perhaps with this, he can ensure that he could defend his people even more. And just maybe, be the great leader he was destined to be.
“Sir, the planetary defence forces are en route to the ship. It’s too large for us to completely surround it but with some artillery and missiles, we can box them in to prevent escape. Shall we have our troops begin the attack?” An officer radio’ed him.
Vlad shook his head however. He had another plan in mind. For while the Jade Emperor was an enemy, that didn’t mean he wasn’t deserving of respect, “no. Wait till I land. I will send a message to him. In the meanwhile, bunker down and prepare for a fight. I want to be ready for a siege if we must.”
[=][=]
A few thousand metres away from the crash site…
A small forward base of operations had been established here. Command tents and prefabricated buildings had been set up, where Vlad and his commanders could plan an assault. Missile artillery and all sorts of war machines had been assembled not too far away, ready to unlease fire on the enemy should they be fools. IFVs and Heavy Assault Vehicles were racing towards the crash site to complete a partial encirclement.
Vlad stared blankly into the distance where the ship was roughly located. Right now he had dispatched troopers to not just surround it but to also evacuate nearby villages. A part of him wished that it wasn’t this place for a fight- open fields and sprawling hills spelled death for his men if they were to attack an enemy in a relatively well fortified position. And what’s more, he doubted his artillery would even be enough to break the ship’s hull. He did have ICBMs, but the satellites in orbit that were needed to pinpoint the location of the ship were destroyed, meaning he’d need to do it the old fashioned way and have bombers deliver it instead.
He sighed and looked ahead before he turned to face his advisor, “we are ready to attack. Send them this message…”
“You at the ship, listen to this. The people of Agartha sleep in their beds, let us not disturb them further. You have no chance. No chance at all. Why throw your lives away? Surrender now, o’ great Jade Emperor- my worthy foe. Lay down your arms and enter my custody. Do so, and I will assist you in searching for survivors and guarantee their safe return to their homes. Let us not rob husbands from wives nor fathers from sons. Surrender now, Jade Emperor…*”
Vlad paused. Then, he sighed and turned around, “just make sure they get the damn message. I’m going to get some rest.”
There was a faint shimmer in the air despite the beautiful sun and the now blackened clouds raising into the sky. The crash had caused devastation with much of the surrounding forests burning and trees flattened. There was no FOB for what was coming, no mustering of troops or readying for an attack on the now clipped Emperor. The distortion turned into several squads of soldiers, each with luminous strings which rose above them into the air and animated like them puppets. All of them were the recognisable form of Panopticon phase troopers along with two large forms of golems.
In their midst stood a woman, her body radiating a strange rainbow like shine. It wasn't her power, it was her body, whole parts of here were made out of iridescent colourful string which rippled in the hot winds of the crash.
Eraserhead looked upon the destruction with indifference. She had suffered much since the incident in the Liminus but she hefted her great Unical Scythe and spoke softly.
"Begin operation"
At the command she began sprinting at speed, the abominations moving with her like some horrific marionet carnival as they rushed the wreckage of the ship, only one target in mind. The age old way to counter any potential threat.
Sever the head, slay the body.
Mitsuyoshi barely had time to weigh up the facts. Though the Khanate had clearly won, the fact they weren't immediately attacking suggested that they expected to take losses if they tried, or perhaps that they thought the Jade Emperor would be a useful bargaining chip and so were looking for some way out of the war.
His ship's main reactor was already offline, failsafes having neutralised it when the scuttle command window was missed. It would take more time than he currently had to render it operable again. He could detonate the ammunition reserves but that would do little more than deny the wreckage to the enemy. Some of the ship's guns were still operable, and between that and his surviving crew and marines he could probably put up enough of a fight to make the Khanate remember the day, but defeat was a question of when, not if.
Before he could respond, however, strange shimmering puppets appeared and began storming towards the colossal wreckage. The ship's AI oriented one of the looming 912-LB railguns, its gears grinding, and was able to unleash a salvo at one cluster of the attackers, obscuring them in a billowing cloud of smoke and fire and sending chunks of earth rocketing into the sky as an area the size of a football field was levelled, but he couldn't see the outcome.
He rushed back into the superstructure. As he moved, the ships AI built a rudimentary mac of their surviving personnel, marred by the damage to the interior sensors and structures. They had less than a hundred souls left alive on the ship of the 650 they started the battle with, but a good third of them were marines and the rest were all IJN personnel. He knew they would put up a good fight.
"Your Majesty, I do not believe these forces belong to the Khanate. It is possible that th-"
Mitsuyoshi cut him off. "Who are they and how do we kill them?"
"Cached JIAN Database records suggest the Army Of The Panopticon. Detailed information unavailable - connection severed."
Vlad barely had time to close his eyes before he found himself rushed back towards the command tent where a gaggle of his captains and lieutenants squabbled amongst each other. Before he could approach them to make heads or tails of what happened, a faunus approached him bearing the purple armour coat of Warchief Sona. The faunus appeared to be a lieutenant of hers and saluted when he saw him, “Lord Vlad, apologies for the chaos but I was just distributing some reports from the frontline.”
And just from hearing the tone, Vlad knew it wasn’t anything good. The voivode sighed and waved his hand, “I take that they haven’t taken too kindly to my message then?”
However to his surprise, the lieutenant shook his head, “in fact, they don’t seem to have a replied to your message at all. It’s been completely ignored. However, our scouts have a battle taking place around the ship. We’ve double checked and it’s not from any of ours. We believe someone else may have engaged them.”
For a moment, a familiar well of rage began to make itself known to him. Yet, it was hollow and dry. All of his anger and hatred had been exhausted out from him considering all the events and the best he could do was sigh deeply through gritted teeth. Memories of the ship that had intervened during the space battle flooded to the forefront of his mind. Could it have been them? No. There was no way. How could they have snuck into the planet? Surely they would have been noticed, right…?
“No. It must have been the Furrelians or another party. Regardless, them entering our planet without informing us is enough cause for me to retaliate,” Vlad spoke, keenly aware that even if it wasn’t mentioned in any agreement, he could always make it up, “we need to move, immediately. Hammer them with our artillery. We’ll advance under the cover of rocketfire and swarm both parties. Show no mercy- kill all who resist and to those who bend their knees, bind them in chains and send them for processing. But I want the Emperor alive.”
The chatter of his subordinates died down as they scrambled to follow his orders. Vlad looked around and gave another, “someone fetch me my wargear and my personal HAV. I’ll take part in the assault. Tell Warchief Sona to begin immediately!”
[=][=]
No less than ten minutes after the word left Vlad’s mouth, the many mobile artillery pieces began to let loose their might. Rockets screamed as their soared through the air. Shells whistled overhead. The indiscriminate fire seemed to be a full blanket bombardment of the crash site! While it was highly unlikely for the damage to be that severe, especially when going against ship armour, it should serve to disorient their foes.
Which was exactly what was needed for the Marauder forces to begin their approach. Already, a squadron of gunships were flying towards the crash site, their bellies full of marauders. Jets flew around them both to scout out the battlefield and to provide cover fire for them. This initial force would likely reach the ship first but it was not all.
For soon, bursting through the treeline and into the open plains, a horde of IFVs and HAVs charged- after all, if the Ingen guns were occupied, surely they would have nothing more to fear from them, right?
"Did the missile connect?" the shout rang over the bridge. "Did the fucking missile connect?" Doredema was losing his temper with it all. He had come to the realisation that the Union could do squat shit in the system: the entire operation was indeed a waste of Furrelian resources. The Union could not retaliate against the Jade Empire due to TIERZ, it could not help the Khanate on Mentshn due to them being unable to attack Ingen.
"Damn it! "
As if he had all the time in the galaxy, the Furrelian fleet slowly reorganised in their orbit around Agartha. From Xibalba, the ships made their way to the capital planet of the system, weapons and countermeasures ready for a possible attack or stray missile. The twenty-three ships of the Furrelian taskforce were ready to attack, but essentially, it would've been stupid to assume that they'd actually do so. The field of missiles that the Furrelians had left behind was disabled one by one, once the battle was over they'd properly destroy each one to prevent the Khanate from stealing them.
Still a few light seconds out of the main theatre of combat, the task force entered Agartha's sphere of gravity.
"Grab the snacks. This is the closest we'll get to combat, watching our 'allies' die."
The Mentshn had, for the most part, sat in space after the voidfleet left. They’d spent the majority of the time cheering their heads off in a psychic uproar, various feasts and dances erupting across the decks of their elegant tower-ships at the supposed victory. To the vast majority of them, all seemed well: but there was one still troubled by something of great concern.
Fonhar Volf Caan was spying through the telescope of the great, lone Void-Lineship which had survived the Ingenious onslaught. After a long and quiet spell, they set the beautiful length of metal and crystal back into its resting place - its various layered tiers collapsing one into the other until it was little more than a gilded pillar looming just above them. They idly rubbed the knife-like tip of one of their ears, jangling their earrings thoughtfully.
“Is this still our battle,” they asked aloud, their guitar-and-bass voice thrumming richly through the domed space of the ship’s dome, “or would it be interference to continue?”
The eight cemented pillars within the dome opened their eyes and swiveled their heads, the rooted statues serving both as a permanently-available advisory counsel and a handy architectural tool. They shrugged the weight of the dome upon their hands, their long hair covering the dull tips of their ears, and turned to one another with thoughtful expressions. A psychic hum of microtones and invisible notes rang through the air as the mediaeval supercomputer passed its thoughts about the room, until at last one of the great Toyfolk lowered a hand.
“Permission to speak is granted,” Volf absently muttered, nodding to the great, hunched figure. They cleared their throat, working metallic vocal cords which hadn’t seen use in weeks, and opened their statement with a groaning croak like granite sliding upon granite.
”Is it your mission to defend the Folk of the Khanate of the Great and Vanished Khan,” they ululated, their voice warming up to speech with a weak vibrato, ”or is it your mission to protect the Khanate of the Great and Vanished Khan?”
Volf rubbed their ear again, frowning in a way that wrinkled the straight triangle of their metal-pierced nose. They raised a hand to gesture as they spoke, sending their dress-like cloak swishing about them on the floor, and then lowered it when they realized they didn’t know. The Fonhar began pacing in a circle about the Astronomarium, dragging both their blood-red hair and their slate cloak upon the floor. At last, when they had completed thirteen revolutions, they looked perhaps more conflicted than when they had started.
“...We are beholden,” they slowly articulated, “to our sponsors. To flee our sponsors is to break that trust, but we cannot assist them unless… unless…” Volf began rubbing so vicariously that their ear began shedding flakes of their marble-and-ruby Hart. When they removed it, the surface had been polished: leaving an odd, reflective disc on the bladed edge of their earlobe.
“Call forth the Brutenshternfolk,” Fonhar Caan considered, “and prepare them for a drop unto the world below. They are to take prisoner or execute the Ingenious, and they are to ruin what little magicks and weapons they still possess.”
The eight pillars bowed, the ceiling letting off a gong-like noise as its eight metal segments collided with each other. They rose to full height, shouldered their burdens once more, and began dispensing orders to the population of the lineship. As they did so, Fonhar Volf stepped up to the solid wall beneath the roof - peering through one of the stained-glass windows at the planet below.
”We will do what little we can,” they resolved, waving a hand across the glass and clouding its surface into a solid color.
. . .
The Angels had began falling around the time that the Ingenious flagship passed into the volume of the atmosphere. It was only now that they were finally breaching the thermosphere, letting up brilliant ribbons of fire and light as their falling-shields melted and splayed out against the planetary forces. As they fell, their cloudy and voluminous mandalas came within the notice of Eraserhead’s sixth sense; like LEGO toys setting down upon the floor of a child with clever hands.
Agartha
The ships remaining railgun had done little to the Panopticon general who had made herself inside the ship, other than cause a huge plume of smoke and ash to erupt all over the ship. This had swiftly been joined by the impacts and explosions from Khanate artillery raining down from above. It didn’t take a genius to figure out her target was a wanted man, and the Menthsn and Khanate were both on course to execute him. Truth be told, Eraserhead could leave the Jade Emperor to his fate, to let them kill him.
But that left his fate to chance, and she would leave nothing to chance.
The Menthsn would be dealt with by other assets, but Mitsuyoshi was her charge, he was powerful, and the Jade were ever eager to engage with foreign activities. With him removed, the empire would be in disarray and hence give the Army more breathing room for its plans.
Rounding another corner, she side stepped a laser blast within a blink of an eye. To observers she was just alone, moving impossibly fast and killing even faster. But some, in their final honourable moments of combat saw the phase troopers assist her. The marines were doing their jobs, Eraserhead could respect that, they were assets, just like her. She ensured their deaths were quick and as painless as possible, even as the twisted interior of the ship groaned and rattled from the artillery falling upon it.
She was close now, her coruscating body tingling at the sensation of completing the objective.
She had been angry at Alesso’s order for this mission instead of leading the charge at Askandar. But she knew he wanted to test her limits of the new body.
“Almost there” She whispered.
In Space
Despite the pondering and the now action by the Menthsn, the great library remained calm and almost cosy. Lit in the way it was a suppository for such knowledge, history and enlightenment which had helped bring a species to the stars. It was a place sacred to many, and while the Saints had come and gone the debate on whether to act or withdraw had at the very least been settled.
But the Menthsn were one such race that posed a threat. While sometimes little more than children blundering in the galaxy they had come far, and their potential was there. They were psionic in nature, and that was a problem. One that the Army needed to fix.
The calm serenity of the sacred place was shattered as a blinding flash of light signalled the sudden arrival of a strike team from the Panopticon. Golden light and string emanated from the breach, a hail of bullets being targeted at the nearest Saint, tearing through grimoires and tomes, shredding bookshelves and destroying lecterns as the Army fanned out and conducted its decapitation strike with ruthless unflinching discipline.
Twenty soldiers exited the breach, alongside a Watchman who began to summon through phase troopers that manifested and twitched in mid air. They swooped forward, aiming to decapitate anything and anyone nearby as scribes and lesser Menthsn were gunned down. With the immediate threats taken care of the soldiers then hoisted their grenade launchers, firing a volley of munitions that exploded into incendiary firestorms quickly catching the books and turning the quiet and cosy scene into one of utter insanity and destruction.
”Purge them” Was the only command uttered by the Watchman as the soldiers advanced.
The meeting had been peaceful, until then.
After the four remaining Saints had finished mourning the passing of Heilprin, and after the thirteen Publishers had finished their suppers, the matter of the technology Ner had adapted came to light. A miniature model of it sat upon the gilded round-table before the four Saints and the single empty seat, and before the the various encircled chairs of the thirteen Publishers. As they quietly discussed and joked in the background, the four had come into an argument.
Saint Elfman, the towering war-priest with a cloak of nine two-storey-tall blades, had stood up, raising a ruckus over the nature of such a feat. the diminutive Saint Fur, still comfortably nailed to their chair, spread their hands to appease the giant in their silver armor; while the skeletal Saint Halper lambasted their colleague from within their little storm of liquid-metal instruments, and the weighty Saint Greenspan worked to soothe their contingent of stone beasts and golems. Elfman was glowering under the dark iron of their topknotted hair with a ferocious expression, about to snap a vile remark at Fur in their 'prissy little blue robes,' when a hole opened in their head.
Lantz, Eidel, and Shayna watched in stunned silence as the roaring giant creaked, lilted, and toppled: shattering both the meeting-table and embedding their immense blades into the floor in a deafening cacophony of noise.
"Purge them."
. . .
The great spoke within the very centre of the Mentshn home-world's distorted ring-shape was gorgeous. It was a brilliant lattice of gold and silver and crystal, with the seat of power itself forming a glittering, lithe axel. The library's floor-and-ceiling windows stared out into space, wrung like a Gothic O'Neill cylinder. It was a stunning place - and where the walls were not coated in tomes and manuscripts, they were embellished with murals, paintings, sculptures, and living statues and works which served as the caretakers, maids, gardeners, and lowly assistants.
One end of the spoke now glowed an evil orange.
In the wake of the Panopticon, the temple had become a graveyard.
Manuscripts burned: alit with a psychic fire that consumed their metal leafing and pages. Bodies and lost limbs decorated the bridgeways, stairwells, and terraces like scattered and gory plants. Mercury blood painted the beautiful walls in a Pollockian mess of gore: and broken shells of metal frames decorated the floors as if they were a scrap-yard.
The Publishers were dead, their heads jammed upon banisters and railings.
Lantz Fur was little more than a destrung puppet; their magical nails ripped from their body and the holes remaining left to gape and drench their fine clothes in blood. Eidel Halper was a desecrated mash of limbs and finery in the pool of their own liquid instruments, the only evidence of a coherent being long lost to devastation. Shanya Greenspan had been hacked to messy pieces, her own body mixed with the ruined and shattered forms of her personal menagerie - and Jan Elfman laid in the centre of it all, having been speared to the floor, blown with craters, and filled with bullet-holes to finish off their ninth and final resurrection.
Great and broken blades of transmuted floor and architecture jabbed up in a field of death. Music notes and waves had been scorched into the floor - and the various lifeless bodies of alien animals laid still and fractured in the great hall of madness. The saints' corpses all clumped together in this mess called to mind a monument of sorts: with their hollowed bodies on display for all to see among those soldiers who had fallen with them.
The Chorus had been decapitated: and a celebration of death had blossomed upon the stump of its severed head.
The confines of the gunship rattled slightly at the speeds it was travelling to reach the
“Give thanks to the Khan, my brothers,” squad leader Minas proclaimed. The wolf faun looked around at each member in the eye before he began to put on his helmet, “Lord Vlad has given us the task to seize the emperor of a defeated empire. The Khan provided us with the opportunity to be among the first to lead this mission. We must not disappoint either.”
A rumbling agreement echoed from the ten-man squad of marauders. However, one of them, a female faun with the features of a deer spoke. “What if the other arbans get to him first? Should we engage in competition?”
For a moment, Minas really did consider what she said. In the end, he shook his head, “no. Victory matters above all else- for there is no greater glory than succeeding,” perhaps that is why he was a squad leader. He actually had a reasonable mind and the charisma to keep his men in line.
With the marauder satisfied, he focused on affixing his helmet over his head and allowed for the data-runes that signalled 100% activation to dismiss themselves. The life signatures of the rest of his squad appeared alongside a scanning reticle. The helmet was the most advanced piece of equipment given to Marauders like him. With a firm nod of satisfaction, he picked his weapons of choice for this mission- a sub-machine gun that he could wield with one hand and an enchanted battleaxe in the other. The former was the heirloom of a minor warlock family whose wielder he slew in combat. Now he used it as both a weapon and a way to enhance his magic.
Some questioned the usage of a melee weapon in combat and he understood the reason. But they would be fighting in a ship which most likely had confined corridors. The reasoning for bringing a melee weapon was obvious.
The gunship jolted to a halt- most likely, it was now hovering above the ship. The pilot’s voice echoed throughout an intercom; “we’ve arrived. Drop down. We’ve ceased artillery fire.”
And with that, the doors to the gunship opened. Upon looking down, he could see how they had landed on an opening at the ship’s hull that would take them inside it. He saw the rest of his squad stand and part way to allow him to be the first to drop down.
“Go go go!” He yelled without turning back. He stepped out of the dropship and plunged towards the surface. Yet he made sure to angle his body and pump his legs and bones with aura before he fell through the opening and landed on the ground with a resounding thump. His teeth rattled and had he not focused he may have bit off his tongue. Yet this fall would have broken a lesser man’s bones while he was still standing… and ready to fight.
He realised he was not the only one in this area- this corridor of sorts. There were people. Marines? Sailors? He didn’t care. They weren’t his target.
He yelled his throat raw and swung his axe towards one of them. Gore splashed along the wall as two parts of a body toppled to the ground. A force pushed onto his shoulder and he felt pain. It clouded his mind as he opened fire with his gun that saw a bullet-ridden person fall to the ground. He hardly noticed that he was hacking away at another person until his axe nearly slipped from his hand due to the amount of blood that coated it.
Gunfire echoed around him for a moment before it silenced. The rest the squad had dropped down as well and dispatched the others present. The corridor was clear.
“Squad leader, you are wounded,” the same marauder from before spoke. He ignored her and flushed the wound with aura that saw it healed though it still throbbed with phantom pain.
“I’ll fight. What’s the status of the mission?” He demanded.
Another marauder was checking a communications device before he spoke, “our aerial troops have landed all across the ship. We are scouring for the Emperor and killing everyone in our way. Lord Vlad will soon arrive with the main army.”
“Then let us be sure to present the Jade Emperor when he gets here,” Minas commanded, “Lord Vlad wishes him alive. But if he refuses, kill him.”
And with that, the sqaud departed to search for their mark, unaware of the presence of the Panopticon.
AGARTHA
The thin resistance of the scattered survivors did not impede the phase troopers much. One marine, a rune blazing on the hilt of his sword bayonet, surprised the attackers by lunging forwards and cutting apart a phase trooper, the kharaa rune guiding the blade to its target through the dimensions. No skill could make up for the phase troopers' ability to seemingly teleport however, and even as the marine span to slash at another trooper, that enemy simply disappeared, the phase trooper behind it raising its rifle and gunning the marine down.
The crew in this part of the ship dead or scattered, there was now an empty path upwards through the superstructure of the ship. From the viewports the Panopticon troopers could see the swarming Khanate soldiers below...
A storey or two above them, a pair of terrified crewmembers scrambled up the stairs only to pull up at the sight of the Jade Emperor. They bowed immediately, one wincing through the pain of the deep cut in his side.
"Your Majesty, there are too many of them. We..."
Mitsuyoshi waved them to silence. "Go. Make your peace." he said, jerking his head further up the stairs, before drawing his glittering rose katana and shrugging off his cape.
ELSEWHERE ON THE SHIP
Whilst the Phase Troopers were almost impossible to kill, the Khanate raiders were most certainly not. Sergeant Kureimoa of the 6th Regiment was the highest ranking survivor of the ship's small marine contingent, and like any good NCO he had hammered order out of chaos, pulling bloodied soldiers together and forming an ad-hoc unit that swept through the corridors like the tide, slow but inexorable.
Shield, the ship's AI, was badly damaged, but had enough sensors and function remaining to give Kureimoa the tactical advantage. Even as Minas dragged his bloodied axe from the corpse of a crewman, there was a ping as a firefly grenade clattered down the corridor to explode at Mina's feet in a burst of smoke and electrical chaff.
Two marines swung out first, one kneeling and the other standing, and hammered bursts of 10mm fire at immediate targets of opportunity. Behind them, the sergeant and another soldier ducked across the corridor into cover on the other side, before adding their rifles to the din.
Kureimoa watched as the telltale dance of orange firebursts marked the impact of the q-cyl rounds, skittering across the forms of Khanate raiders half-obscured by the smoke. He barked an order and the marine to his left moved forwards with him, the other two covering them as they moved to scour the corridor for survivors. Three more marines joined them from the corridor behind, his platoon reduced to seven in total. From the smoke, an armoured figure sprang towards him, waving an axe. Kureimoa emptied his clip at the silhouette and it dropped to one knee. As he flicked his bayonet to life to lunge downwards, another burst of fire from the side threw the raider down. The sergeant glanced to his left, Private Koyako barely six feet away with her gunspear still smoking.
-
She nodded and they moved deeper into the corridor, against what they did not know. It seemed that there was more than one conflict taking place here, and the sergeant's concern now was to find the Jade Emperor, regardless of what stood in their way, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the few survivors left were overwhelmed by the huge armies swarming around the wrecked ship.
AGARTHA
Eraserhead could here the information that the strike on the Menthsn had succeeded.
Another obstacle removed from the great plan.
There was still so much to do and yet they had come so far. It was interesting to ponder, given her memories of being a small child and major asset for the Army early on operating to undermine and manipulate Capitols elite during the occupation, how long ago that felt. An entire lifetime of serving the Army, of seeing how far they had come. Her new body, while strange to her, was indeed more powerful. She had to thank Scarlet, while the calamity in the Liminus had been a major setback for Alesso this unexpected boon was welcomed by the woman as she sliced a Jade warrior in two.
He was close now, Eraserhead could sense the Emperor. And she was pretty sure he could sense her.
Close... Yes, two decks above. Her phase troopers fanned out to deal with those still left below, but Eraserhead had one target. Unfurling a twine of Solarite she gracefully pirouetted on the spot, throwing the string upwards and slicing a hole through both decks. Pushing the heavy deck plating and structural supports out the way effortlessly the partly multicoloured woman leapt through the holes and landed on the floor quietly.
Holding her scythe close Eraserhead stared straight at Emperor Mitsuyoshi.
"You know why I am here. Let us not waste time"
String fell from her rainbow like hand and her eyes glowed a deep gold, bringing up her Scythe Eraserhead lunged for a decapitation strike at lightning speed.
On board a heavy assault vehicle to the ship…
Vlad felt his lips twist in distaste at the news he had just received. Apparently the airborne troops had been slaughtered and though not all were dead, they had failed their main task of seizing the ship. Which meant that the task now fell to him and his army. He looked around the HAV and saw the elite troops he had brought to guard him as he led the assault on the ship. All of them were warlocks. All of them had at least five years of experience as a marauder. All of them were loyal only to him and the Khan, “get ready,” he commanded.
As soon as the words left his lips, the marauders snapped into action, putting on helmets and checking rifles, “afix bayonets! Fix bayonets!” Their captain ordered, “be ready for blood!”
The vehicle they were travelling in jolted and Vlad distinctly heard the sound of an explosion. Looks like that enemy were still shelling them with ship board guns.
Not soon after, he heard the distinct scream fo rocket artillery most likely trying to disable the aforementioned defences.
“We’re almost there, Lord Vlad,” the driver of the vehicle said over the intercom, “our troops have already begin entering the ship.”
He simply grunted and closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. Now that he had time to think, he realised just how insane this battle was. First a brutal space battle followed by a superweapon’s firing and counter. Then a mysterious force intervened to save them at the last moment. What on earth was going on? And now that his head was more clear, he felt that the Khan had little to do with this.
The vehicle came to a sudden stop. Vlad opened his eyes and realised he had missed a countdown of their arrival. His guard were already rushing out of the vehicle and he quickly stood up to join them.
As he stepped outside he was aware of just how large the crashed ship was. It was a majestic thing and packed far more firepower than anything the Khanate could field. Perhaps he could salvage the wrecks and upgrade his own forces…
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to lose focus. He looked down at the gear he wore, having long since swapped out his fne robes for a close fitting version of standard marauder armour that was painted a deep sable. Although instead of a rifle, he carried a spear- though it could hardly be described as such, instead being a complex piece of machinery that served as both catalyst for magic and weapon. It was more akin to a work of art really. Nevertheless, it did its job well.
“Let none survive,” he commanded his guard. Hordes of his marauders were charging into the ship intent on sweeping it clear of enemies. Soon he will join their number, “I have offered them mercy and they have spurned it. Let them taste our steel instead. Onward!”
And with that speech, he raised his spear forward, the tip of its blade glowing a shade of purple. His guard soon charged into the fray and entered the ship, with him joining them soon.
Once inside, he and his guards marched past the corpses of marauder and marine alike. He heard the sound of gunfire in one of the ship’s many rooms and directed his guard there.
What he saw shocked him. He saw the last of a Khanate arban getting slaughtered… but their killers were unlike any foes he recognised. His guard were quick to action and instantly fired upon them with their rifles, only for the unknown foes to teleport out of the way. By the time his guard realised what was going on, a number of them had fallen.
Vlad cursed. For a moment, he debated retreat… but he had a feeling that there would be none. And so, resigning himself to his fate, he gripped his spear and roared, “Victory or death!” He pumped into the metal walls of the ship and used a mix of both manipulation and transmutation to morph the metal into large metre long spikes. With a mental command, he launched the veritable wall of death right at his foes!
UPPER DECK
Mitsuyoshi took in the strange apparition before him. From the reports of the Army of the Panopticon he had expected some hulking shadow, a grim blaze of eldritch light and claws that would seek to tear his body from the mortal realm. She was just a girl, more a young woman, her youth undercut only by the gravity of her expression and the strange flickering that seemed to occasionally reveal the veins and bones beneath her youthful, glowing skin.
She carried a scythe in one hand and some kind of force whip in the other, and wasted little time. She spoke, but he barely registered the words. Somehow, her arrival had soothed him. Not only did she seem like a worthy adversary, a far better fate than being swamped by dozens of infantrymen, but her apparent humanity made the possibility of dying at her hands more palatable, although it also made it harder to summon up the contempt and drive to butcher her like he had so many inhuman foes before her.
She swung her scythe and muscle memory kickedin. He stepped inside the blow, not even using his left hand to parry the haft of the scythe as he threw a light overhand slash almost like a chiburi at her head and neck.
BELOW DECKS
Sergeant Kureimoia and his soldiers were holded up what had once been a storage room. The contents were now strewn over the floors, and with two marines guarding either doorway with their drones, the sergeant assessed what tactical data was still available. The ship was a mess, the few Jade survivors now rushing to find Khanate soldiers and surrender before the Panopticon phase troopers emerged from their phantasmic lairs to commit one-sided butchery, whilst those same Khanate soldiers were learning the same lessons the crew of the Shield had.
"We should try to get to the Emperor." said one corporal. The sergeant nodded.
"Agreed. But we do him no good by dying. We have to move carefully, avoid contact..."
Eraserhead didn’t just seem to fight, she seemed to dance. Her motions on trying to kill the Emperor were not about targeting limbs or attempting to cripple him, she was going for the clean kill with every single blow.
As he stepped inside the blow and struck upwards, she reversed the scythe, bringing the bottom of the shaft in to parry the blow and moved to the side to let the force bring the weapon up and free to dissipate itself. Her eyes were like a multicoloured rainbow as she locked onto Mitsuyoshi’s, using the reversal to spin the scythe Erasherhead attempted to spin it faster, aiming to bisect the man cleanly. She wasn’t using her abilities yet, she aimed to end this quickly, cleanly and painfully for the Jade Emperor.
This even troubled her, Eraserhead had never cared for such mercy before. She had always carried out the orders with no care for her target. She didn’t really care for Mitsuyoshi, but her mind kept straying to the sight of Scarlet and the Isochroma girl who had saved her in the Liminus, they had been enemies and yet she had not only shown mercy but care.
She had since ended up with the strange half body made of rainbow coloured string, but had it affected her mind?
Alesso had been convinced she was ready for action, but she already felt different as she tried to kill the Emperor. Was this side effect of the Isochroma itself?
The screams of the dying blended together with the roars of the defiant living as the battle raged on. Throughout the shipwreck marauders fought desperately against their new unknown enemy while surrendering Jade personnel found themselves caught in the crossfire. But there was an entire army of marauders rushing into the ship. But their goals were not to seize the ship anymore. No. Instead, it was to rescue Voivode Vlad. For he, and the rest of the first wave who rushed into assault the ship, were now trapped there.
The ship had been declared as lost to the enemy and already scores of artillery were lining up to blast it to kingdom come. But still they had to find their beloved prince least their victory fall into the maws of defeat. So wave after wave of marauders were sent by land and sky to find the survivors of the first wave and evacuate in spite of the horrific casualties inflicted. They will not stop. Not until they find him…
[=][=]
Vlad found himself lost into the ship corridors. The brief skirmish he found himself in had ended in his defeat. His men were butchered and to save his own life, he used his magic to throw up a cloud of magical darkness to make an escape.
Now he was running. Trying to find a way out. Trying to regroup with the rest of his army before it was too late. He didn’t dare use up any more aura than necessary for fear he may need it to escape again. What he had left will have to suffice.
In the end, he found himself on the upper decks where he could have sworn he heard some fighting. He enhanced his senses and sure enough heard the sound of weapons clashing. Cautiously, he approached and readied his spear. If he was lucky, it would be a marauder captain. If not… well, he would need to say his prayers soon.
And so he took a peek through the pipes and saw the battle between Eraserhead and Mitsuyoshi- not that he knew it was them, of course.
UPPER DECK
Mitsuyoshi caught the haft of the scythe with his forearm, the impact feeling far more solid than it should have been to the phased warrior. A brief glance told Eraserhead all she needed to know - it was an artificial arm, mechanical, its strength evident as the Emperor heaved, pushing the two of them apart momentarily.
Wary of her whip-like tendril weapon, he paused, sword held low in his right hand, left arm poised between them.
"Am I that much of a threat to this Panopticon?" he asked coolly. Even as he spoke he recognised a glimmer of uncertainty in his opponent's eyes. Not fear, but simply...doubt. He did not know why the Army Of The Panopticon would go to such lengths to kill him, but it seemed perhaps the confusion was not only on his side.
ELSEWHERE
Kureimoia's team was moving painfully slowly. The initial chaos of the Marauder attack had given way to silence, puncuated only by the occasional ringing of distance footsteps, isolated yells and single bursts of gunfire, sporadic and jarring. The ship seemed haunted, despite the fact that the blood coating its hallways had not had time to dry.
"Warning. Additional Khanate forces detected. Estimated strength; three battalions minimum." chimed Shield in his helmet comms. Kureimoia grunted. Normally that would be terrible news, but perhaps a fresh Khanate attack would draw some of these damned ghosts away and make movement easier for his little band. Up ahead one of his marines waved a hand for them to freeze; obviously her drone had spotted something. After a tense minute, she motioned them forwards and they crept onwards, placing their steps with a care born of desperation.
UPPER DECK
"All are a threat to the great plan"
As she was pushed away she twisted, trying to anticipate any sudden lunges or ripostes but they did not come. She paced several times to try circle the Emperor before once again striking out with her Solarite whip.
At the same time she brought her scythe low, to try and strike at Mitsuyoshi's legs.
"You are one case of many who are to be eliminated. It is simply the mathmatics of victory"
As the whip curled in, Mitsuyoshi threw up his left arm and let the glowing weapon wrap around it. Neon-lit crystals of red, pink and purple hues sprang from his arm, cracking and shattering under the energy of Eraserhead's weapon, in some places burning through to the mechanical arm below. Mitsuyoshi took a sharp two-step backwards avoid the scythe and tugging on the whip as he thrust his sword forwards towards his foe's stomach.
Eraserhead had full respect for the Emperors fighting skills, he was well timed, experienced and knew her attacks despite her speed. He could read an opponent well.
As her scythe once more missed the mark against the mans legs as he stepped back she instinctively let the Scythe go, clattering to the ground as he yanked her Solarite whip and pulled her towards him, the point of his sword aimed for her stomach.
Thinking fast Eraserhead didnt pull away or attempt to dodge outright to break free of his grasp, she used the momentum of the pull and stepped in past the point of the sword, its edge sliding along her armour and cutting into her right side drawing blood. Twitching at the pain and now almost face to face with the Emperor Mitsuyoshi her right hand which once had the scythe and looked like it was trying to punch the man in gut, manifested a gleaming golden knife.
Using her own forward motion and the yank on the string she plunged the knife into the mans chest, her own blood dripping down onto her multicoloured leg. Itself tinged with various tones.
"Well fought, your majesty" She whispered low, twisting the ethereal blade.
Vlad watched the battle end. He saw Mitsuyoshi take a knife to his chest. He saw Eraserhead ignore her own wounds to plunge said knife there. Idly he wondered if he could take them both on now that they were wounded… but he dismissed such a thought. There was too much unknown information and too much had happened during this damn battle. The best he could do was observe… though he one of them showed a sign of weakness… he gripped the heft of his spear, channelling his aura into the tip of the blade.
Outside, the marauders were arriving by the hundreds. Red armoured soldiers rushed into tight corridors and unleashed fire upon anyone who wasn’t their warring prince. Whenever they encountered resistance, they would simply use the weight of their numbers to crush it. Time was running short before one the squads eventually found their way to the bridge.
Mitsuyoshi gasped with the impact, shock taking him rapidly. He tried to push her away but his arm felt weak. The sword fell from his right hand and he thrust his hand at her wound, pushing himself away, but that only tore the knife out as spurts of dark blood gouted from the wound. Liver he thought to himself absently, before turning his gaze on the strange young redhead before him. It was strange, but he didn't feel fear or panic. Only a sense of relief. The ennui that had gripped him for years was finally lifting, a burden from his shoulders.
He toppled wordlessly, his armour clattering against the buckled deck...
BELOW DECKS
"Update; the Jade Emperor has been injured in combat. Vital signs appear weak. Unconfirmed." chimed Shield, a faint tinge of stress streaking through the AI's voice.
"Gods damn it," snarled Kureimoia. They were at the base of the tower that the Jade Emperor fought in now, but in the stairwell ahead they could hear the sounds of battle as Khanate soldiers battled against the unknown phase soldiers. There was no way to sneak past but they were the last active Jade personnel. Most had been killed on impact or else in the chaos since, whilst a lucky few had surrendered to Khanate forces.
"We have to go." urged one of his marines. The sergeant nodded. "Fix bayonets." he growled, activating his own hololight bayonet. The surviving marines powered up their own weapons, a dozen argent spikes in the darkness, and after a moment's pause they all looked expectantly at the sergeant.
He drew a breath.
"Tennoheika! BANZAAAAI!"
His roar was taken up by a dozen voices as they stood, charging in a rush through the doorway and into the maelstrom beyond. Unknown to them, the eyes of the gods had turned to this corner of the galaxy, and their calls did not go unheeded...
"Is it done sister Eraserhead?"
"It is done Brother Alesso"
The psionic manifestation of the knife dissipated in Eraserheads hand, the Emperors blood on it now falling to the floor. She didn't quite feel pity, but the emotions that Mitsuyoshi had felt at the moment of his death puzzled her. He had in some ways been truly released of a burden. Either way her mission was complete, there was no reason for her to be here anymore.
All across the ship the Panopticon forces merely faded out, like smoke on the breeze as if there were never tangentially there.
"Bare witness, your Khan is one for the abyss too" Eraserhead did not turn to look at Vlad, but her words were definitely directed at him.
The woman picked up the Unical Scythe on the floor and opened her arms wide, Golden tendrils of string reaching down from a bright doorway as they lifted her up like a puppet.
With a flash of light Eraserhead was gone, and so too was any trace of the Panopticon presence.
The words of the mysterious woman struck him and he regretted not joining in the fight when he had the chance to. He gripped his spear tightly as he approached the corpse of the Emperor. For a moment he wondered if he should cut off his head and present it as a trophy. It wouldn’t be too hard to claim he had slain the man. But the same words repeated in his head once more and he knew he could not let what happened here stayed silent.
He idly kicked at the man’s shoulder to make sure he was dead before he sighed, “perhaps I will grant you this one mercy.” he said to himself, “and leave you alone. But you were going to blow me up so…” with a twitch of his finger, a dozen metal spikes would spring from the floor with the intent to rip his body to shreds, “... rot in Hell you piece of shit.”
[=][=]
The remaining Jade Marines would stumble onto a the battle between the newly arrived marauders and any phase troopers who had not yet left. Upon sighting them, a squad of marauders turned their weapons upon the marines. The threeway battle was now resuming in earnest as the marauders fought on for a false god who never once cared.
The air seemed to darken as the Voivode spoke. Above the pile of mutilated flesh that had been the Jade Emperor, two pinpoints of light began to form, dulled like lanterns viewed through a thick fog. Vlad immediately felt a sense of threat, as if something was watching him, and then the floor began to rumble. After a few seconds the Voivode would realise it wasn't the ship shifting, but rather a noise. A noise so deep that it couldn't exactly be heard, but rather felt.
There was a sound as of ice cracking, and the Jade Emperor's body began to crystalise. The sound of rain, gentle at first and then growing in intensity, began to drum through the ruined vessel. The pink and green crystals began to dissolve, disappearing into nothingness.
The bulkheads began to creak and groan, and panels buckled as if a giant creature was moving behind them. No words were spoken, but Vlad felt a sense of a hunger. The sense of menace intensified before suddenly vanishing. Light returned to the wreckage and the sound faded away, replaced only with the creaking of the dying starship and the distant sounds of combat drifting up from elsewhere in the ship...
BELOW DECKS
The furious Jade Marines charged into the fray, catching the Khanate soldiers as they were already dispersed from their previous firefight with the Panopticon forces. To Kuremoia's right a marine went down, hit by a lucky burst of fire. The marines crashed into the Khanate warriors at full speed, bayonets levelled, doubling up so that each enemy would face two marines who would then swiftly move onto the next one. Their objective was to break through the knot at the bottom of the staircase and climb the empty ruins up to the Emperor's last known position
Vlad stumbled and nearly fell. His heart was racing and he scrambled to activate his aura to shield him from the attack and to lash out only for it to disappear. He hardly noticed he had fallen to his knees and was breathing heavily. What... was that?
He took several breaths to calm himself and still his racing heart yet all he could remember is that absolute moment of fear. Steadily, the voivode got to his feet and stumbled out of the door to finally get out of here.
BELOW DECKS
The Marauders and the Jade Marines were converging onto the same location it seemed. The fighting had quickly turned to one in close quarters. Despite their losses, the few warlocks amongst their number easily rallied and lashed out at the marines. Soldiers punched with enough power to bend steal and others moved fast enough to dodge the stabs of bayonets. A marauder found himself with a blade in his gut yet he simply applied aura to reinforce the skin and muscle layer there to prevent himself from getting gutted. He used the same power to strengthen his hands as he tried to crush the marine's head.
The few surviving marines were desperately outnumbered, and no matter how hard they fought the end was inevitable. Soon, other than a handful of injured soldiers and those POWs who had already surrendered to other Khanate forces, the ship was quiet, inhabited only by Khanate warriors and the dead.