Post by drakadorchaos on Jul 24, 2023 10:00:41 GMT
Athaneum Surface; Section 13-C - Askandar[?]
Lights. Explosions.
Movements, a gravitic wave, vector redirection, synthmuscle stretching and tensioning.
Projectiles, heat. Screams over comms. Orders.
The metal under his feet, a swing, a throw. Redirection, impact.
Flung out into the void, primordial soup where he stood moments ago, the ring split.
Sensor distortion. Call back, redirection, charge. Use the cover, overcome it.
Impact, redirection, block, damage warnings, thrust, heat.
Silence.
Deralith stood on the surface of the Megastructure, just by his own side, as the ancient spear was thrust upwards by the massive Custodian frame, into the frozen in time ascended monstrosity which was ‘One’. A weapon, not a person as he had learned in the aftermath. A strange thing how similar they were, strange that of the two of them he was likely still the more ‘human’ one despite being a machine. All around them were the various other elements, Elwar, who had just been dropped out of One’s hands ‘Lillian’ in a large combat frame, the strange psionic entity of the Singers standing partially in and partially out of reality. Farther out, many, many more, soldiers, machines, constructs and everything in between. He looked up, seeing the Svarthan nuclear warhead approaching, with a mild frown on the Androids face.
The avatar shook his head, continuing to observe the scene with cold indifference. On the surface at least..
There were roughly about two point eight million splits in the flow of actions and how it could’ve gone. Two point eight million splits, all detailed, calculated and played over the last few weeks, simulated to the atom and quantum foam interaction in the artificial landscape of the inner Network cyberspace. All based on the various sets of data collected from him, Elwar and various others which had been approached by them in the post of the battle.
About one thousand eight hundred different ways in which he could’ve opened the battle, seventeen thousand different approaches and movement patterns, roughly two hundred and seventy thousand ways in which the gravitic tidal waves could’ve been modulated, after all gravity was a finicky thing to manipulate, six hundred and thirteen different exploitations of opening for attacks.
One outcome.
Two point eight million all amounting to mere variations of what they had achieved. Not counting the countless millions more, all of which leading to either Elwars death, the annihilation of Askandar or the Athaneum, the death of all present forces, various combinations of it or all together. So many splits, so many simulations, so many outcomes, yet it all amounted to one rather simple conclusion. They had not been ready. He was too weak. It displeased him to admit but it was a simple truth. The simulation turned off, vanished into the depths of the data storage.
Not everything about this battle had been disastrous though. The Athaneum could be rebuilt, Elwar would recover. They had learned a lot from this battle especially for their psionic research.
He went through the data sets again.
The attack had also saved him from trying to convince Elwar of using the research as bait to lure out the Panopticon and fight them on Askandar on their own terms… or bypassing getting his approval or informing him in favour of a more… direct approach. He was uncertain how he would’ve reacted, given the earlier incidents. Regardless, they had gotten their battle, though the Panopticon preempted their plans.
There were many things they had to do now and many more that needed to be planned, after the ‘field tests’ of the various technologies they had deployed in the surface battle or derived from it they were now ready to approach a number of companies, most prominently Triarch and some of those originating in Carnaith, for further proliferation of the anti-psionic equipment, both powerful organisations though it was hard to ignore someone making an offer as enticing as the one he made.
Their own Psionic research would continue along with a thousand other tests now that new resources had been made available again as the corridors beyond Aedleshaven were open once more, easing the harvesting of ftl-fuel.
Phase technology would be re-introduced into specialist frames after it had been replaced in favour of other things due to the widespread interdiction.
The ‘Gravitic Resonance Adaptive Mandalas’ would make their first appearance in focused reasearch after the harp had been tested itself, a tool that could give them a considerable edge in future along with the refinement of the Duskstone particle cannons.
The first prototype of the ‘Solar-Lance’ would soon be done, it was currently still running in the frame of an ancerium harvester, but it would do, it may even be beneficial for now, given their plans.
Well and the other project they had started working on after their cursory interaction with Orbeole pertaining Voshs… uncooperative behaviour. The Meridian was a fascinating place though one they had only brief interactions with so far.
…and then there was Corona. Silently he went through the inventory of exotic weapons they had acquired to stop the tide of Invaders, many of these assets were now approaching the borealian cluster alongside Qarvatons fleet formation even though the Mirdif fleet still blocked entry to said cluster.
Network Psionic Research Ship ‘Akasha’; Unknown Location; Deep Space
The Android stretched out its hand towards the pedestal, a gesture more for the artificial mind housed in the frame than one actually necessary, aurastone rearranged in its inner mechanics, finetuned electronic pulses and calculations doing nothing else but forming specific patterns fired. The sensors picked it up, like a drop in the endless ocean which was the psion field, the slight nudge the artificial mandala gave towards reality…
…and reality answered. The cube of metal atop the pedestal began floating.
In silent fascination Deralith stood before the chamber. Not in awe of the powers at display. No, he had witnessed those and many others beyond numerous times in the past. No, it was about the process, the way which had led them here. Psionic research had been a touchy and complicated topic, with many stones thrown in their way, by circumstance, chance, war, economics and not the least of which the Army of the Panopticon itself.
Yet, they were here. The first fully artificial, synthetic psion, completely derived from the Networks own research, not a full three years from when they started, not four since their arrival. A process which took other factions decades and they were here.
It was a momentous occasion, as if they had unravelled a piece of the universe, even though there was still a long way to go, even at their current pace the Army was likely still a decade ahead of them and the Network would not be able to keep this pace. Where fine tuned methods failed they would have to rely on brute force, where their research was lacking they would have to substitute with imitations and still…
It was the powers of this entire galaxy just at his fingertips.
He slowly reached out his hand, almost longingly, remembering his failures, his lack of power in the face of the ascended ‘One’.
…the desire to stand and assist at the Prince's side.
The things he could do exploiting this new power… was this perhaps… what…
…
Something inside him stirred. His expression hardened.
No.
They, were the Exalted Network. They destroyed esoteric powers, used them as tools if necessary. They, did not rely on them.
The locking bolt fired and disabled the frame which had just been standing there serenely, the mandala muted in the process, violated almost, the metal cube dropping the ground as physics reclaimed it.
This was a step forward. A dangerous one but nonetheless important, they grew ever closer to being able to effectively combat the Army of the Panopticon.
Soon it would be time.
He turned away without looking back, now looking at another chamber, the sound of feet clunking over metal flooring echoing as this was one of the rare Network ships which had an actual atmosphere, mostly for research purposes.
Inside the chamber sat a young woman with red hair, looking at a large harp. Noticing him she turned around and smiled gently. Obviously she was another Android. The harp was still being tested, but Veyarey seemed to have a strange connection to it, one of the many unpredictable things that had started to happen once the Androids began developing mandalas without any warning signs. It had turned out that some of those which had vanished had also developed mandalas, individual personalities and consciousnesses disconnected from the coding of their AI be it sapient or not. He had started to give orders to detain any which showed signs of mandala awakening, for study, to prevent further vanishing, for containment. They were dangerous to the Network, unpredictable, some had even resisted their kill codes…
He smiled back.
In the background of the chamber a large humanoid frame stood, skeletal still at the moment though already it was starting to become visible what its final shape would be. Long flowing ‘hair’ was attached to sockets in the walls, ftl data conductors that were to feed external data to the body once the first tests began, thin needle-like arms weaving Aurastone monofilament into its limbs, filled with a variety of both adaptive processing cores and failsafes, the eyes were hollow, it had no skin so far but its size clearly matched that of the harp, betraying its actual purpose.
Project Loreley was going well. Perhaps it was time for a field test.
Lesser Network Cyber Domain; Personal Space
A crystal pillar reached towards the sky, in a seemingly endless complex patterns built of intertwined strands, both transparent and yet not, it’s internal structure of billions of individual crystal shards, reflecting and breaking the light of the three hypergiants that orbited the world distantly in all possible and impossible colours, rays of psychedelic colours going off in all directions, semi-solid, phasing in and out of the fragile reality each instance a moment passed to the next, each like a song, a gentle breeze and loving touch, gently caressing each blade of white bioceramic grass on the surrounding plane, gently waving in the winds of the thin atmosphere, showing the still visible shine of stars against the burning of the suns.
A man, multifaceted and glorious, disembodied yet hyperreal floated before the construct, eyes closed, arms stretched out as if basking in its shine.
Asdryn did not know where he’d go next, sometimes not even where came from but here, here he was allowed to be himself, a rare treat he was not able to enjoy often.
As the figure split into a thousand figments of its own imagination, his gaze grew kaleidoscopic, taking in every moment, every ray of light, as he observed his creation, with every moment noticing more and more maladjusted or disorderly arranged crystals, to a point where to someone more intolerant to them may have been driven insane by the imperfections the longer they looked at it. But to him? There was a serene calmness in the chaos of this place, something floating, ethereal and disorderly without being oppressive or possessive, a wondrous maybe even necessary effect, even though he had not died before arriving here, this time. It was not perfect and it would never be but he knew it, to him it was a token of individuality.
Maybe in the eyes of the non-linears of the Network this would be dull[it wasn’t], futile, yet it fascinated him every time.
This place was… home. In a way. More than the Proxies would ever understand[they would] in his eyes. In ways more than they would ever care to think about [they do], when discussing the fates of the next of their kind to be sent off on a mission, that could last days or decades, time and time again torn out of their dream, to claim a new identity or personality.
[DecOheReNce]
There was something bitter in his mind, there had always been but now there was something… more. Something felt off.
Lights. Explosions.
Movements, a gravitic wave, vector redirection, synthmuscle stretching and tensioning.
Projectiles, heat. Screams over comms. Orders.
The metal under his feet, a swing, a throw. Redirection, impact.
Flung out into the void, primordial soup where he stood moments ago, the ring split.
Sensor distortion. Call back, redirection, charge. Use the cover, overcome it.
Impact, redirection, block, damage warnings, thrust, heat.
Silence.
Deralith stood on the surface of the Megastructure, just by his own side, as the ancient spear was thrust upwards by the massive Custodian frame, into the frozen in time ascended monstrosity which was ‘One’. A weapon, not a person as he had learned in the aftermath. A strange thing how similar they were, strange that of the two of them he was likely still the more ‘human’ one despite being a machine. All around them were the various other elements, Elwar, who had just been dropped out of One’s hands ‘Lillian’ in a large combat frame, the strange psionic entity of the Singers standing partially in and partially out of reality. Farther out, many, many more, soldiers, machines, constructs and everything in between. He looked up, seeing the Svarthan nuclear warhead approaching, with a mild frown on the Androids face.
The avatar shook his head, continuing to observe the scene with cold indifference. On the surface at least..
There were roughly about two point eight million splits in the flow of actions and how it could’ve gone. Two point eight million splits, all detailed, calculated and played over the last few weeks, simulated to the atom and quantum foam interaction in the artificial landscape of the inner Network cyberspace. All based on the various sets of data collected from him, Elwar and various others which had been approached by them in the post of the battle.
About one thousand eight hundred different ways in which he could’ve opened the battle, seventeen thousand different approaches and movement patterns, roughly two hundred and seventy thousand ways in which the gravitic tidal waves could’ve been modulated, after all gravity was a finicky thing to manipulate, six hundred and thirteen different exploitations of opening for attacks.
One outcome.
Two point eight million all amounting to mere variations of what they had achieved. Not counting the countless millions more, all of which leading to either Elwars death, the annihilation of Askandar or the Athaneum, the death of all present forces, various combinations of it or all together. So many splits, so many simulations, so many outcomes, yet it all amounted to one rather simple conclusion. They had not been ready. He was too weak. It displeased him to admit but it was a simple truth. The simulation turned off, vanished into the depths of the data storage.
Not everything about this battle had been disastrous though. The Athaneum could be rebuilt, Elwar would recover. They had learned a lot from this battle especially for their psionic research.
He went through the data sets again.
The attack had also saved him from trying to convince Elwar of using the research as bait to lure out the Panopticon and fight them on Askandar on their own terms… or bypassing getting his approval or informing him in favour of a more… direct approach. He was uncertain how he would’ve reacted, given the earlier incidents. Regardless, they had gotten their battle, though the Panopticon preempted their plans.
There were many things they had to do now and many more that needed to be planned, after the ‘field tests’ of the various technologies they had deployed in the surface battle or derived from it they were now ready to approach a number of companies, most prominently Triarch and some of those originating in Carnaith, for further proliferation of the anti-psionic equipment, both powerful organisations though it was hard to ignore someone making an offer as enticing as the one he made.
Their own Psionic research would continue along with a thousand other tests now that new resources had been made available again as the corridors beyond Aedleshaven were open once more, easing the harvesting of ftl-fuel.
Phase technology would be re-introduced into specialist frames after it had been replaced in favour of other things due to the widespread interdiction.
The ‘Gravitic Resonance Adaptive Mandalas’ would make their first appearance in focused reasearch after the harp had been tested itself, a tool that could give them a considerable edge in future along with the refinement of the Duskstone particle cannons.
The first prototype of the ‘Solar-Lance’ would soon be done, it was currently still running in the frame of an ancerium harvester, but it would do, it may even be beneficial for now, given their plans.
Well and the other project they had started working on after their cursory interaction with Orbeole pertaining Voshs… uncooperative behaviour. The Meridian was a fascinating place though one they had only brief interactions with so far.
…and then there was Corona. Silently he went through the inventory of exotic weapons they had acquired to stop the tide of Invaders, many of these assets were now approaching the borealian cluster alongside Qarvatons fleet formation even though the Mirdif fleet still blocked entry to said cluster.
Network Psionic Research Ship ‘Akasha’; Unknown Location; Deep Space
The Android stretched out its hand towards the pedestal, a gesture more for the artificial mind housed in the frame than one actually necessary, aurastone rearranged in its inner mechanics, finetuned electronic pulses and calculations doing nothing else but forming specific patterns fired. The sensors picked it up, like a drop in the endless ocean which was the psion field, the slight nudge the artificial mandala gave towards reality…
…and reality answered. The cube of metal atop the pedestal began floating.
In silent fascination Deralith stood before the chamber. Not in awe of the powers at display. No, he had witnessed those and many others beyond numerous times in the past. No, it was about the process, the way which had led them here. Psionic research had been a touchy and complicated topic, with many stones thrown in their way, by circumstance, chance, war, economics and not the least of which the Army of the Panopticon itself.
Yet, they were here. The first fully artificial, synthetic psion, completely derived from the Networks own research, not a full three years from when they started, not four since their arrival. A process which took other factions decades and they were here.
It was a momentous occasion, as if they had unravelled a piece of the universe, even though there was still a long way to go, even at their current pace the Army was likely still a decade ahead of them and the Network would not be able to keep this pace. Where fine tuned methods failed they would have to rely on brute force, where their research was lacking they would have to substitute with imitations and still…
It was the powers of this entire galaxy just at his fingertips.
He slowly reached out his hand, almost longingly, remembering his failures, his lack of power in the face of the ascended ‘One’.
…the desire to stand and assist at the Prince's side.
The things he could do exploiting this new power… was this perhaps… what…
…
Something inside him stirred. His expression hardened.
No.
They, were the Exalted Network. They destroyed esoteric powers, used them as tools if necessary. They, did not rely on them.
The locking bolt fired and disabled the frame which had just been standing there serenely, the mandala muted in the process, violated almost, the metal cube dropping the ground as physics reclaimed it.
This was a step forward. A dangerous one but nonetheless important, they grew ever closer to being able to effectively combat the Army of the Panopticon.
Soon it would be time.
He turned away without looking back, now looking at another chamber, the sound of feet clunking over metal flooring echoing as this was one of the rare Network ships which had an actual atmosphere, mostly for research purposes.
Inside the chamber sat a young woman with red hair, looking at a large harp. Noticing him she turned around and smiled gently. Obviously she was another Android. The harp was still being tested, but Veyarey seemed to have a strange connection to it, one of the many unpredictable things that had started to happen once the Androids began developing mandalas without any warning signs. It had turned out that some of those which had vanished had also developed mandalas, individual personalities and consciousnesses disconnected from the coding of their AI be it sapient or not. He had started to give orders to detain any which showed signs of mandala awakening, for study, to prevent further vanishing, for containment. They were dangerous to the Network, unpredictable, some had even resisted their kill codes…
He smiled back.
In the background of the chamber a large humanoid frame stood, skeletal still at the moment though already it was starting to become visible what its final shape would be. Long flowing ‘hair’ was attached to sockets in the walls, ftl data conductors that were to feed external data to the body once the first tests began, thin needle-like arms weaving Aurastone monofilament into its limbs, filled with a variety of both adaptive processing cores and failsafes, the eyes were hollow, it had no skin so far but its size clearly matched that of the harp, betraying its actual purpose.
Project Loreley was going well. Perhaps it was time for a field test.
Lesser Network Cyber Domain; Personal Space
A crystal pillar reached towards the sky, in a seemingly endless complex patterns built of intertwined strands, both transparent and yet not, it’s internal structure of billions of individual crystal shards, reflecting and breaking the light of the three hypergiants that orbited the world distantly in all possible and impossible colours, rays of psychedelic colours going off in all directions, semi-solid, phasing in and out of the fragile reality each instance a moment passed to the next, each like a song, a gentle breeze and loving touch, gently caressing each blade of white bioceramic grass on the surrounding plane, gently waving in the winds of the thin atmosphere, showing the still visible shine of stars against the burning of the suns.
A man, multifaceted and glorious, disembodied yet hyperreal floated before the construct, eyes closed, arms stretched out as if basking in its shine.
Asdryn did not know where he’d go next, sometimes not even where came from but here, here he was allowed to be himself, a rare treat he was not able to enjoy often.
As the figure split into a thousand figments of its own imagination, his gaze grew kaleidoscopic, taking in every moment, every ray of light, as he observed his creation, with every moment noticing more and more maladjusted or disorderly arranged crystals, to a point where to someone more intolerant to them may have been driven insane by the imperfections the longer they looked at it. But to him? There was a serene calmness in the chaos of this place, something floating, ethereal and disorderly without being oppressive or possessive, a wondrous maybe even necessary effect, even though he had not died before arriving here, this time. It was not perfect and it would never be but he knew it, to him it was a token of individuality.
Maybe in the eyes of the non-linears of the Network this would be dull
This place was… home. In a way. More than the Proxies would ever understand
There was something bitter in his mind, there had always been but now there was something… more. Something felt off.