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"What the hell do I do now… what do I do…?" I muttered to myself while waiting for the dissection results of the peasant I had brought back, sitting on top of one of the planet's colossal trees.
Even with my inhibitors, I could feel the pressure of knowing where we were. As if being trapped between two shitty alien races bent on exterminating us hadn't been enough, now we had something far worse: the presence of the Four.
And then came the existential problem: there didn't seem to be any way back. The anomaly that dragged us here was gone. Nothing to track. The ships sent out to explore the region hadn't returned yet, but so far all scans showed the same thing—total unknown. We had no star maps of this galaxy. Without maps, we were effectively blind.
It didn't help that we'd already started cannibalizing the non-functional battlecruisers to repair the others. We had a massive graveyard of warships where hundreds of repair drones cut apart hull segments to keep the few surviving vessels barely warp-capable.
But the worst part was… if we did somehow manage to return home, what the hell would we do about the demonic threat?
Should I keep my men ignorant of what lurked in the shadows?Tell only the officers I trust?Or drag all of them into the nightmare I had stumbled into?
I didn't want to imagine a demon taking over the body of one of my Ghosts. Or worse…
"Shit… right, we still have a few captured protoss… their psionic signatures could attract demons… though their minds are nearly impossible to break. I doubt a demon could take one of them," I murmured, thinking through possibilities.
"General, autopsy completed," a voice said through the comm.
Hearing the words I'd been waiting for, I leapt off the towering tree, falling several dozen meters before slowing myself mid-air with telekinesis, touching down as lightly as a feather.
I reached the scientists and medics who had finished cutting open the peasant's corpse. Just from the looks on their faces, I already knew I wouldn't like what they had to say—even without reading their thoughts.
"What is it? What's the problem? I can bring back a fresher specimen, one I didn't hit with psionics."
"No, that's not the issue… less screaming, so thank you for that. The problem is something else entirely. His DNA… it's very different from ours," one of the physicians said.
"Different how?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"They are human, that's for sure. But their genetics have diverged so far that they can barely be considered terran anymore. They currently share only about ninety percent genetic similarity with standard terran DNA. That may sound like a small difference, general, but it's enormous when you remember that normal genetic variation sits between ninety-eight and ninety-nine percent. I have no idea how, in just a single century since humanity left Earth, such extreme divergence could occur. I would suspect genetic manipulation, but these people lack the technology to do anything like that."
"So… they are human. But they're very far from terran genetics. What about me? With my hair and eyes?"
"You're still within ninety-nine percent. You don't even count as a mutation—just unlucky genetic rolls," the doctor said, clearly trying not to stare at my hair.
"I see… good. We need to gather the others and decide what to do. They have giant robots, and I don't even know if we have a functional Thor in the arsenal. We could bring a battlecruiser into low orbit and use the Yamato to take it out, but who knows what else we'll find in this society… or we could just get out of here and search for a world with better minerals and gas."
They all nodded, packed up the gear, and we returned to the shuttles to head back to the battlecruisers.
Repairs were going well. By cannibalizing the destroyed ships we'd made several cruisers operational, and the White Star at least functioned within the bare minimum of its specifications as a Dominion capital ship and carrier.
I gathered the five remaining leaders. Some had died in the catastrophes; another went up when his cruiser's reactor detonated. There were fewer and fewer leaders left among the Defenders of Man—only members of the Royal Guard branches and one of the major financial backers of the rebellion remained.
The meeting was held in the same chamber aboard the White Star where I had executed the generals who voted to surrender. We had to determine what the hell to do now. Not even I knew what was possible, considering we were now in the worst place imaginable, where even my already legendary bad luck could get worse. Death wasn't the worst fate anymore—being taken by a demon was.
"So… any idea where the hell we are?" Mason asked, Commander of the Sons of Korhal, still wearing his CMC-400 armor, his eyes distant.
"No, but did you know the damned Cerberus was carrying zerg? My men had to purge them," said Harlan, Commander of the Prometheus Company—our anti-zerg specialists.
"Seriously? Zerg… I don't even know why I'm not surprised anymore," Mason muttered, shifting in his seat.
"The zerg issue is handled… luckily," I said, looking toward Harlan, who nodded.
"And where the hell are we? Because the reason we almost died is your stupid decision to jump into warp with no idea where we'd exit. We're lucky to even be alive. What if we'd come out inside a star or a black hole? We'd have died just because you wanted to run," shouted the donor, the one who had financed dozens of our battlecruisers.
"It's Davies' fault, and it always has been. Hendrik pulled us out of the fire and almost won us the war. If Davies hadn't rushed things, we'd have the traitor's head right now and we'd be planning how to rebuild the Dominion after the liberal chaos left by Valerian the Coward," said Kazimir, Commander of the Aegis Guard, the Emperor's shock troops.
"I have no idea where we are. But the planet below is a human colony. Who knows when it separated from the Earth government. Heavy genetic drift, combat walkers, and nothing else. It would take national-level research to figure out how to beat them. But the real question is what we can do with what we have," I said calmly.
"Great… more shit. So what now?" the donor spat.
"We settle in the region. It's the best option. We don't have the means to return to the Dominion with barely a quarter of our battlecruisers still operational. We'll have to play the long game. Valerian's Dominion is weak; his liberal reforms and pacifism will be his undoing. Meanwhile we, guided by Emperor Artursk's legacy, will grow strong. Even if we're just half a million terrans. He controls billions, but they'll grow complacent… and we'll return victorious."
Everyone agreed… except one.
"I funded this because Davies promised we'd reclaim the worlds my family colonized. I'm not waiting decades to get my investment back. We need to—"
He didn't finish the sentence. Mason blew his skull apart with his pistol.
"Finally some peace. I've wanted to kill this bastard for a long time," Kazimir said, satisfied.
"I'm surprised you didn't kill him earlier," Mason said to me, spinning the cylinder of his ornate pistol, the one gifted to him by the Emperor himself.
"He had contacts in the Dominion useful for sabotage. But he had nothing left to offer except headaches… so this is better," I replied, watching the Royal Guard officers relax.
"So, do we hit the planet and put it to work immediately?" said Kurt, admiral of the fleet and the mind behind most of our space victories.
"No. Leave it to me. I think I can exploit their feudal system. Let my people wreak havoc inside, then we strike. We don't know what we're facing, so it's better to act with brains than brute strength. I can try to take control of their administration from the inside," I said, picturing the scenario.
"Fine. Do it, Hendrik… for Artursk," Kurt said, raising his fist.
"For Artursk," I repeated, raising mine.
Everyone went to work immediately. A large fleet descended into an unpopulated region of the planet, where thousands of Royal Guard soldiers offloaded military equipment in case my infiltration failed.
Thousands of Sons of Korhal in CMC-400 armor deployed alongside Egidian Guard troops in CMC-860 suits and medics from the Theta Response contingent. They were prepared to launch a full assault if necessary, while engineers tried to salvage and deploy heavy war machines like the Black Hammers and shock divisions stored in the cruisers. Most were too damaged, so we had to rely on extremely well-trained heavy infantry for a violent planetary takeover if it came to it.
Sending hundreds of operatives, we penetrated deeper into inhabited territory, learning more about how this region worked. Apparently only three noble houses had access to what we would call "modern" tech: their combat walkers weren't the only thing. Inside their castles they stored all kinds of technology, and only their most trusted soldiers carried laser weapons that had to be lasguns.
If we were lucky, they weren't connected to the Imperium. If they were, we had between one and three centuries before they responded—an absolute blessing considering that if they had Dominion-style warp drives, that same multi-century trip would be a matter of days or months. Even in the worst-case scenario, we had time to prepare, or simply squeeze the planet dry to rebuild the fleet and run.
But I didn't waste time. My training taught me the first step: cut communications. Without contact, they were isolated prey we could surround and eliminate. So planetary and orbital communications became my priority.
"What the hell is this…?" I muttered as I watched three astropaths in a chamber performing some kind of ritual.
Their minds were overflowing with twisted temptations and their power was a disaster, like Ghosts with zero psionic discipline. They looked like they could lose control at any moment.
I raised my C-10 rifle and fired three times. Three holes. Three skulls blown open. Without hesitation, I searched for the orbital communication link. No radio operators, but there was a transmitter. I sabotaged it by ripping out its circuitry.
I coordinated with all my Ghosts, and the killings were immediate: anyone involved in communications died within the hour. Hundreds of dead in a precise strike. Then we stormed the hangars housing their walkers. We secured the bay, stripping them of their best weapon. We sent the signal to the Royal Guard to begin the assault.
Soon the dropships crossed the skies. Hundreds of Sons of Korhal disembarked, opening fire on the planet's defenders.
Their pathetic armor was nothing against depleted uranium needles traveling at sonic speeds. Their lasers couldn't scratch CMC-400 plating. Even then, I saw Theta Field medics treating severe burns more than once.
"Mason, do you read? My work here is done. I am moving to my next target. My Ghosts are already intervening. Continue your assaults," I ordered while running toward my transport.
"Roger… we're finishing the last local resistance. We'll join the others when we're clear," Mason replied, his gauss rifle thundering in the background.
"No ships are leaving the planet so far," Kurt added while patrolling the surface.
"Good. Keep me updated. Any sign of off-world communication?"
"Nothing on the sensors… though our sensors barely function, so… I wouldn't rely on that," the admiral replied.
"But it's something," I said as I boarded my transport. My crew was already waiting. We activated the ship's cloak and headed toward the second noble house that needed to fall.
By nightfall, the world… was already ours.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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