"… Thus, in the time of the Burning Sky and Rusted Chain,
When the Soil Defiled becomes the Throne of Ash,
The Blood of Iron shall sing the Song of Steel,
And herald the coming of the Final Age.
Watch the signs, the Scarlet Day and Wrath Unending, for with them comes the Great Unraveling,
And the Sins of Dawn shall wake to cast the Final Judgment..."
- The Divine Algorithm 948:27, Prophetic Computations
~~~~
"What do the numbers mean?" Valyra quizzed as she slid the clip into her sidearm, a heavy, unadorned kinetic pistol, with a single fluid motion. She lowered it to her thigh, the weapon's electronics automatically engaging with the magnetic holster embedded within the ceramo-metal composite plate covering her pale flesh. She flexed her arm, the weight and stiffness of the human-made suit of armor she was clad in, feeling unfamiliar and uncomfortable. For a creature used to fluidity and grace, the primitive suit felt clunky and restrictive, disrupting her balance in ways she was unused to.
"What numbers?" replied the other woman, her silver hair bound into a tight bun as she adjusted the last straps of her own armor. Duchess Yelena, the Kalidani woman whose demeanor was as cold as the world she hailed from. The princess knew that her rank as a general had nothing to do with her station within the human aristocracy, for the woman was far more skilled and dangerous than her age would lead one to believe.
"The ones on the sleeves of your uniforms. And your suit of armor," the princess clarified. "I have seen only the Psi Corps wear those numbers," she said, the need to feed the boundless curiosity of her sharp intellect overriding her reciprocal hostility towards the duchess.
"Levels," Yelena answered curtly, not looking in her direction as she put her helmet on and engaged the airtight seal with a sharp twist, the mechanisms in her suit of armor engaging automatically, the metallic collar snapping closed with a series of clicks and a faint, barely-audible hiss. "It's how we grade psionic ability. The higher the number, the greater the power," the duchess explained. A simple system, efficient, if bland, just like so many other aspects of Terran culture and society. No, not culture, Valyra corrected her thoughts. Cultures. Plural. The humans had not yet developed cultural and religious homogeneity, a trait she would have considered but another indicator of primitivism a mere month ago. Since living among them, though, she'd come to realize that it was not a weakness at all, but the very thing that had allowed them to become the accomplished diplomats they were, for they practiced that craft endlessly among themselves, honing it to a degree that rivaled even the elite envoys of her own species, if not outright surpassing them.
Of course, every species with any degree of psionic attunement had a way of grading and categorizing the aptitude of their adepts, but it was usually something wrapped in layers of ceremony, artistry and meaningful honorifics. The humans, in their typical fashion, reduced it to simple mathematics, practical and militaristic. Even the Golem House, the second oldest civilization in the galaxy and the only artificial intelligence to develop a soul, had a more poetic system than the humans. Looking at the assembled adepts, she could see most of them were sixers or sevens, with a smattering of fives and eights, while the duchess herself was a thirteen, indicating a degree of attunement far greater than most Terrans, though still falling short of even a middle-ranked Alvari.
Yet, Valyra knew that behind that bland simplicity, hid a depth of capability and ingenuity which would impress even her ancient tutors back at the Temple of the Crystal Boughs. The humans might not have had much in the way of raw power, but they made up for it through sheer efficiency. "And the warlord?" she quizzed as she slid her own helmet in place, grimacing slightly at the unpleasant sensation of having her long, elfin ears bent around the shape of her skull by the restrictive piece of gear. "What is his level?"
The duchess shrugged. "You would have to ask him," she responded as she fastened the last of the spare magazines to her chestplate. Valyra sighed softly. Of course, what else could she expect from Kainan? Even his secrets had secrets. The duchess had nothing more to add and turned to check the seals on her own whisper cat's armor, a black-striped male named Wraith. Valyra observed the Kalidani woman seal the feline's helmet shut, struggling to hide her amazement at the beast's calmness. Since their departure from the Terran capital, she had seen many of the beasts aboard the fleet, which puzzled her greatly, as it was quite uncharacteristic of the ever-so-practical humans to bring their pets along with them on a military campaign, until she learned that the creatures had been trained to use specialized exosuits in battle, equipped with retractable steel claws and even reaction control thrusters that allowed them to maneuver in the cold vacuum of space, controlled by a subdermal implant that detected which way the beast intended to go.
The Terrans kept surprising her with their uncanny ability to take such primitive concepts like war beasts and firearms and transform them into deadly implements of war, perfectly adapted to the rigors of the contemporary battlefield. Valyra sighed and climbed aboard her assigned leech pod just as a squad of heavily-armored soldiers trundled past, their boots thudding against the deck plating as they ambled along with a gait that reminded her of deep ocean divers. Their exosuits were even bulkier and heavier than the already clunky regular armor their species wore, painted a matte-black and covered in ceramic thermal tiles, while exposed surfaces were decorated with white trim. A heavy-looking portable shield generator was strapped to each soldier's chest, while their backs held rugged-looking antigrav packs with a pair of built-in inertial dampeners jutting outwards from a pair of stubby-looking delta wings.
Valyra shuddered as they passed, not because of their menacing poise, but because of what these men and women were. Orbital paratroopers, a term that had sent goosebumps prickling along her skin when it was explained to her. The sheer, insane bravery required to dive into a planet's atmosphere in the heat of combat, enduring the lethal horrors of reentry while protected only by a primitive shield generator and a thin layer of thermal padding from the hungry plasma jets that sought to vaporize them, had left her in a stunned stupor for seconds. And there were very few things that could have such an effect on the Alvari princess.
Their presence was a harsh reminder of what lay ahead, for after they completed their current mission of seizing the system's infonet relay, the Riftspace sub she was currently on, would swing back around to join the main invasion force laying siege to the Dra'var'th colony. For the Terrans and many of their allies, this was to be the first full-scale planetary invasion in the history of their species. The cohesion, discipline, all of their tactics and technology, would be put to the test, subjected to a baptism by fire, as the human saying went. The technological gap between the Pact forces and the defenders also meant the human-led coalition's casualties would be horrendous, though the Terrans had suffered even worse during the destruction of their homeworld.
"Attention all hands," a voice echoed from the U-207's incercom system, interrupting Valyra's thoughts and dragging her back to the here and now. "This is the captain, speaking. Riftspace immersion in fifteen minutes, after which we are going radio silent. I want everyone at their stations, combat condition is now active throughout the ship and will remain so until the conclusion of the operation." With that, klaxons activated throughout the ship and the lighting shifted to that dark, blood-red color that heralded the coming violence. It would be a short, forty-minute jump to their destination.
Valyra sighed as the duchess strapped herself into the seat opposite her, the Kalidani noblewoman's expression hidden by the visors of her helmet, but her aura remained cold and professional. The two women had an intense, simmering disdain for each other, sparked by the passive-aggressive attitude with which Kainan's alabaster-haired protege had treated her from their very first meeting. And the princess was quite certain that attitude had nothing to do with xenophobia. Fortunately, Yelena had proven herself remarkably disciplined despite her age and was quite capable of setting aside her pettiness and work with the princess when the situation called for it.
Flanking her were several Psi Corps operatives and, much to Valyra's surprise, a pair of Nyxian Void Stalkers, their felinoid features concealed beneath their sleek, matte-black suits of recon armor. The princess did not expect any other Pact species to participate in this operation, for the Terrans were the only ones in the alliance with any notable degree of psionic abilities, aside from the newly-joined Fyrrathi, of course and the infonet relay they were targeting, was bound to be full of Dra'var'th Death Knights, the elite units of the Dragon House. That was the reason she herself was participating, aside from the fact that the entire mission depended on what intel she'd been able to provide about the interior layout of Dra'var'th infonet relays. They needed psionically-gifted fighters for this mission and while Valyra was no soldier trained in the intricacies of tactical operations, she was one of the most powerful psions in the galaxy and quite possibly the greatest duelist of her generation. She didn't bother to ask about the Nyxians, though. She'd find out soon enough.
~~~~
Beta Draconis V was an arid, dusty world. A world swept by a scorching wind that whipped-up the coarse, irritating red sand into crimson clouds that swept across its surface. Very little plant life survived here and what did, was as crimson as the skin of the aliens which inhabited it, transplanted here from their homeworld of Tartaros during the terraforming process, hundreds of thousands of years ago. The sandstorms that plagued the colonies of the Dra'var'th were infamous across the galaxy, though their fury failed to impress upon Kainan any sense of awe. Compared to the cataclysmic superblizzards of Kalidan, they were but a gentle summer breeze.
For most of its history, this colony and others like it, were a source of fear and anguish for all the species unfortunate enough to find themselves under the brutal, sadistic yoke of the Dragon House, of the psionic vampires which fed upon the suffering of others. Today, though, it was this world's turn to tremble. For above it, loomed the steel hulls of close to fifty thousand ships and none of them were friendly.
"My lord," the gruff voice of the fieldmarshal interrupted the warlord's silent meditations. "We are finishing up the remainder of their orbital defenses," the grizzled officer reported. "I estimate we will achieve total orbital control within seventy minutes." The holographic projector at the center of the command dais revealed the situation in greater details. Of the colony's once-mighty defenses, only a few lonely platforms still survived to put up a stubborn, but ultimately doomed resistance, while the majority had already been shattered into a billion tiny pieces by the relentless onslaught of the allied fleet. The planetary shield generators, once thought impervious, had been obliterated by the tachyon lances, leaving the world below vulnerable and exposed and of the defense fleet, only burning hulks remained, slowly tumbling down towards the planet.
Kainan nodded silently, tightening the magnetic fastenings of the last few pieces of his armor. Throughout the galaxy, it was extremely uncommon for a head of state to take part in a planetary invasion, especially a monarch, which had to consider the continuation of his bloodline in addition to all the other duties required of the leader of a nation. But Kainan was no king or emperor. He was the warlord. And warlords were held to a different standard than other monarchs. "Good. Fieldmarshal, I leave you in command of the fleet," he responded as he checked his weapons.
Beta Draconis V… Of course, that wasn't the name by which its current occupants referred to it, just the designation the Pact's military planners had given it. Kainan had not bothered learning its Dra'var'th name, as it would soon be called something else entirely. For this world was to be humanity's first military conquest across the stars. And he had to be there in person, in the first wave of the imminent assault. Had to be the one to plant the flag upon its dusty surface, for the symbolism was important and a warlord had to lead by example, to put his life on the line alongside the armies he commanded. That was his duty, one of the many he shouldered for his people.
"My lord, perhaps you should reconsider…" the fieldmarshal protested, concerned about the potential consequences should he fall in battle. Kainan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I can not ask humanity to fight and bleed if I am not willing to do the same," said the warlord, his stormcloud eyes gazing out at the planet lazily rotating on the viewscreen of the flagship's combat information center. "A leader who is unwilling to put his life on the line for his nation, does not deserve to lead."
It had nothing to do with glory, infamy, or with the desire to resurrect ancient tradition. It was a precedent he had to establish for his fledgling Empire, a weight that future generations ought to ponder. The one who issued the call to war, should also be the one to wage it, to personally pay the price that war exacted. To do otherwise, would run the risk of spawning generations of sheltered rulers who, detached from the grim realities of the battlefield, would be tempted to play fast and loose with the lives of the people they commanded. War, that ever-present and often necessary specter he was all too familiar with, was not something that should ever be decided lightly, or by those who knew nothing of its horrors.
It was something he'd decided early on when he first began to walk the path he'd set himself to, before the Pact, before, even, he brought the scattered remnants of the Terran Federation back together. He could not back down now, on the eve of mankind's first battle on a world not their own.
At his side, Kat sat on her haunches, the loyal, fierce whisper cat, gazing at him through the tinted visor of her helmet. He stroked her shoulder, then swept his gaze across the silent crewmembers surrounding him, the grim-faced officers who served him and the command center of his flagship for what might very well be the last time. His private thoughts, though, went to Valyra, who was waging a battle of her own, millions of kilometers away in the cold vacuum of space.
The silence stretched, palpable and poignant as the assembled Pact admirals awaited his response, doubts and tension written plainly across their features, human and alien alike. The warlord sighed, then turned and marched towards the elevator with grim determination, crimson cloak billowing behind him like a gruesome herald of the bloodshed that was to come. "Prepare my dropship," he commanded, his decision final, his expression one of hardened steel.
~~~~
Like all things shaped by the crooked hand of the Dra'var'th, the infonet relay in the Beta Draconis system was constructed to look like a jagged obsidian monolith who's very surface seemed to drink in all light, warmth and hope, exuding a cold aura of dread in return. On most days, it was a hub of activity transited by hundreds of courier vessels flitting to and fro like a swarm of regimented hornets, offloading their data drives with information from the wider galaxy and collecting updates from the lone colony and the hundreds of outposts, star bases and space stations that dotted the orbits of the various celestial objects locked in their eternal dance around the system's twin, flickering stars. Today, though, no courier ships dared to approach, for the void surrounding it was illuminated by the angry orange glow of plasma bolts and the bright blue engine trails of short range swarm missiles, maneuvering like coordinated schools of fish in order to confuse and overwhelm the relay's point defenses.
At the outer edges of the interdiction field, a pair of phantoms circled like sharks, flitting in and out of existence. Riftspace subs, destroyer-sized vessels briefly emerging from the safety of the higher-dimensional substrate to launch lightning-fast attacks, then phase shifting again before the station's defenses could return fire. They were but a single part of the Pact task force, the rest still waiting for their turn to emerge and commence the assault as soon as the interdictor emitters were taken out.
Chett swarmcraft and Shartan predator fighters darted about, hunting for the last few remnants of the relay's defensive complement of strike craft with the grim efficiency of a school of piranhas stripping a wounded animal of its flesh. As soon as the last of the Dra'var'th fighters were taken out, the Pact's torpedo bombers would charge in and unload their deadly payloads upon the various subsystems which had been designated for destruction. Shield generators, weapon emplacements, interdictor emitters and external sensors, until the station was left completely blind and with its belly exposed to the assault force which remained safely concealed in Riftspace, just out of the reach of the defenders.
Explosions rippled across the black hull of the station, leaving its hull pockmarked by a thousand tiny craters in the spaces once occupied by turrets and various other machinery. And then, the space around the relay twisted and tore open to reveal a kaleidoscope of impossible colors, faint trails of prismatic light slowly drifting off the hulls of the emerging vessels like puffs of steam.
Aboard the U-207, the rhythmic calls of the klaxons changed to a sharp, thrumming drone. Valyra tucked her arms into her crash seat in anticipation for the sudden lurch of acceleration the alarms announced. The Riftspace sub maneuvered alongside the stricken relay, hatches opening along its side, revealing a line of tubes that ran down half the vessel's length. The princess felt, rather than heard, the activation of the magnetic rails, a wave of pressure that made her ears pop and her teeth vibrate. Then came the roar of fusion thrusters as her leech pod shot out from the capital ship, racing across the five thousand or so meters that remained between it and the station. Every species developed its own specialized craft for boarding actions and the principle was more or less the same, even though the technology differed greatly. The Terran ones reminded Valyra of the bullets the humans were so fond of using, with a pointy, superheated plasma drill up front and a ring of thrusters at the back, surrounding the rear airlock. She counted down the seconds and drew in a deep breath as the chronometer in the corner of her vision reached a value of ten.
The leech pod slammed itself into the hull of the relay station, grappling cables firing outwards in a conical pattern to stabilize the small boarding vessel as it melted its way through the armor plating. The sound of the spinning plasma drill was deafening, even when muffled by her helmet, a screeching, metallic wail that reverberated in her bones. Then, there was a sudden lurch and the hissing of ceramic foam as the craft formed an airtight seal around the breech point to prevent catastrophic decompression, for the Terrans did not yet have sufficiently-advanced hardlight technology to achieve the same result without the use of such crude methods.
The drill's job finally finished, it detached with a loud bang, launching itself forward through internal bulkheads, causing further destruction in adjacent chambers and corridors before finally grinding to a halt. The light inside the pod changed from red to green and the princess slapped the release of her harness, drawing her shardblade and sidearm in a single, fluid motion as she sprang into action.
The corridor outside the pod was a scene ripped straight out of a nightmare. Light fixtures and power conduits had been fried to a crisp by the raging fury of the plasma drill, rendering them useless, her helmet's integrated night vision function rendering the darkened hallway into an eerie green. Off to her left, she could see what remained of a pair of station security personnel, their armor melted to the deck plating below like gruesome sculptures, immortalized in the moment of their deaths. The bodies inside, had been instantly vaporized when the pod breached through the bulkhead.
The section they were in had been sealed by a blast shutter, an opaque field of hardlight which the Terrans wasted no time dealing with. Cursory scans located the power conduits which fed the projector and while a pair of Psi Corps agents slapped shaped charges at precise points along their path, the rest of her assault squad took up positions, their weapons ready to face off against the Dra'var'th security forces which were undoubtedly massing on the other side. It was the two Nyxians who surprised Valyra the most. Activating magnetic clamps positioned inside their shin plates and ballistic vests, they sprung up and attached themselves upside down to the ceiling, heavy, recoiless sharpshooter rifles sighting down the corridor to pick off enemies one by one.
She did not dwell on it for too long, though, for the princess was not inclined towards the wasting of time, either. Especially not in the heat of battle. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and reached outwards through the Veil, extending her awareness far beyond the boundary past which physical senses were unable to perceive. Her eyes snapped open with an ice-cold clarity.
She activated the commlink in her helmet. "Six beyond the blast shield. Two Death Knights. Three regular warriors taking cover behind the pillars. Another further back, with some kind of heavy weapon," she relayed to the rest of the assault squad. At her side, Yelena nodded, then gestured something to her troops, the formation immediately readjusting in preparation. Again, she marveled at just how efficient these Terrans were. No detailed orders needed to be handed out, no instructions beyond a few hand gestures. Everyone knew what their job was and set themselves to their assigned tasks with a swiftness and discipline unexpected of the Lesser Species.
The boarders sprang into action the instant the blast shield went down and the corridor became animated by the organized chaos of close quarters combat. The Dra'var'th had indeed attempted to set up fortified emplacements, including a heavy blaster defended by a portable energy shield, the weapon spraying plasma bolts upon the Pact forces the instant its operator laid eyes on them. To Valyra's displeasure, there were also a pair of automated turrets which she could not have sensed through the Veil, forcing her to duck behind one of the decorative columns, now warped and twisted by the heat of the leech pod's drill. The air crackled as the heavy weapons fired, plasma bolts sizzling through the space she'd occupied a mere moment earlier. A brief cry echoed throughout the scorched hallway as a Psi Corps operative failed to react in time, the cry cut short as a second and third projectile found their mark.
The soldiers dealt with them with their typical efficiency. One of the humans detached a rocket propelled grenade from his belt and tossed it forward. Its antigrav coil activated in mid-air, the projectile reorienting itself before the small thruster fired and the explosive missile raced towards its target with an ear-splitting shriek. The second turret was picked apart by a series of swift, efficient psionic blasts from the duchess and another soldier, while the Nyxian sharpshooters wasted no time putting two precisely-aimed shots down the barrel of that blaster just as it was about to fire. The corridor shook violently as the weapon's plasma coils overloaded and detonated with a blinding flash, incinerating its operator and one of the other guards as it died.
Now, Valyra darted forward, her focus on the Death Knights. Dra'var'th soldiers opened fire as she ran, but she simply danced around their shots, sensing their targeting vectors before their muscles even registered the command to pull the trigger. It was that supreme command over psionics, which enabled the Alvari to maintain their supremacy, even against the vastly more numerous minions of the Dragon House. Although hampered by her clunky, heavy suit of armor, such was her mastery of the Rinathay that she was still leagues above her foes. She did not move, she flowed. She fell upon the first Death Knight in the span of a few heartbeats, ducking low under the swing of his plasma whip, battering his guard wide open with a telekinetic blast that shattered every bone in his arm, her shardblade thrusting upwards through a gap between the plates of his armor, piercing his heart before he even had the time to scream.
Valyra twisted, ripping the blade free as the second Death Knight cracked his whip through the space she'd occupied a moment earlier, somersaulting over him and severing his hamstrings with a single, graceful flourish by the time he pulled his arm back for a second swing. Yelena finished him off with a pair of Gun Kata moves that sent bullets zigzagging into his exposed armpit before he even hit the floor, but the princess had no time to contemplate this, for the reinforcements emerging from an elevator adjacent to the corridor confirmed that her intel regarding the station's internal layout had, indeed, been correct.
Entrusting the Terrans to deal with the remaining soldiers, she focused on those reinforcements, more specifically on the Death Knight leading them. In a fraction of a second, she suppressed the wave of terror the Dra'var'th psion was attempting to project, then she reached out with her own psionic powers, overwhelming his mental defenses and crushing his heart with a precise telekinetic blast to his chest. Her gun went up and laid down a barrage of suppressing fire upon his companions as his corpse slammed into the next blast shield and slid off like a bug splattered against the hull of a speeding shuttle. Another pair of rocket propelled grenades shrieked past her and ended the remainder of the squad just as the duchess' whisper cat finished savaging the last of the Dra'var'th soldiers she'd left behind.
"Check for traps and advance!" ordered Yelena and the Terrans sprang into motion, scanners picking off the nasty surprises hidden along their paths. Precisely thrown shaped charges took them out one by one as the boarders advanced towards their target, a scene repeated all throughout the station as the Pact forces converged upon the data center at the relay station's heart. It was a race against time, for the station's commander was undoubtedly already purging the databanks of the valuable intel they were intending to capture.
~~~~
Only a handful of defenders remained between the boarders and their target. But these were the most capable fighters the Dra'var'th had on the station, the deadliest of their Death Knights, brimming with stolen power harvested from the tortured souls of slaves. The firefight unfolded in the cavernous antechamber that stood between the Pact forces and the heavily defended data center, the invaders pinned down within the elevator shafts and narrow corridors which surrounded it. Corpses littered the polished obsidian flooring, a few defenders and a few too many boarders, the remains of their suits of armor smoldering from the violent fury of the plasma bolts which claimed their lives. Dra'var'th scorchers spat their cruel projectiles with the relentlessness of a hailstorm, their shots almost as precise as the Terran bullets, whose aim was being disrupted by the aura of terror psionically projected by their enemies. Such was its oppressive weight, that even Valyra had to fight down waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm her concentration.
She'd taken off her clunky helmet a few hallways back. The cold metal wouldn't do much to protect her against a plasma bolt on the off-chance that one managed to score a hit and she preferred to have her senses as unimpeded as possible. Beads of sweat trickled down her furrowed brows, her usually fluid posture stiff, except for the shivers coursing through her frames. Not from cold, or fear, but from the sheer mental effort required to suppress that aura of terror, at least to some degree that allowed her Terran companions to still functions, though the Nyxians had proven less fortunate, whimpering behind whatever cover they could find, their stares blank as their minds, lacking psionic protection of their own, simply collapsed under the weight of the telepathic assault.
Something was horrifically wrong. Valyra could sense it, beyond the great sliding doors that separated the data center from the circular antechamber that surrounded it. Something far worse than the handful of Death Knights still remaining, could have mustered. It was the kind of wicked darkness only the Nosferatu, the lesser nobility of the Dra'var'th, were capable of mustering and only under specific, horrible circumstances.
The humans fought well. Incredibly so, especially the duchess. Their kind had spent eighty years against the cruel yoke of the Dra'var'th and unlike the Nyxians, had grown accustomed to the wickedness the Dragon House was capable of inflicting. That adaptability was one of the many reasons the devils were always looking for pretexts to cull them from the galaxy, for stripped of the terror that was their main psionic weapon, their kind was physically weaker than even the humans and even with their overwhelming technological advantage, vulnerable, as the invasion was already demonstrating. Their soldiers recovered quickly from the initial shock and after only a few brief moments required for regrouping, began their assault anew, tackling their foes with mechanical precision, snapping from one firing stance into another in that strange, stop-motion style of movement that was characteristic of the Gun Kata.
Somewhere to the left, beyond the decorative columns lining the northeastern side of the antechamber, a squad of Psi Corps operatives darted out of cover, level eights and sevens, judging by the glimpses Valyra caught of them as they advanced, their psionic resistance somewhat greater than many of their comrades. Again, their combination of martial arts, efficient usage of psionics and clever application of their primitive explosives, proved a remarkably lethal combination.
They wasted little time picking apart the last of the defenders, their grim resolve urging them forward even through the dark aura emanating from beyond those doors, bullets zigzagging their way into targets while the shrieking of their rocket propelled grenades echoed throughout the cavernous antechamber, turning fortified enemy positions into heaps of smoking rubble. As the last of the Death Knights fell, Valyra hissed out a sigh of relief, letting her arms fall to her side and the telepathic barrier with them. She staggered for a brief moment, the exhaustion of the string of battles all the way into the heart of the relay station, finally taking its toll. But she couldn't stop now, not yet, not until the station was secured.
Drawing a deep breath to compose herself, she stepped forward, halting in front of the great obsidian doors of the data center. Up close, she could see the small, jagged spines that had been carved into their surface, spines meant to peel off the flesh of anyone foolish enough to touch them. The duchess appeared at her right, the Kalidani woman looking as cold and composed as ever. "Just you and me, duchess," she said, casting a glance in her direction. "The rest should remain outside until we secure the chamber."
The duchess offered her a curt nod before relaying the new orders to her troops, leaving them and her whisper cat behind. Both women could sense the aura of dread emanating from beyond those doors. Though it meant greater risk to her, the princess was relieved that the Kalidani noblewoman had acquiesced to her request. Both knew it would be very difficult for the rest of the Psi Corps operatives to resist it and Valyra had no desire to watch any more of the Terrans bleed and die for her, if she could help it.
A team of combat engineers from the Terran Empire's Logistics Corps sprang into action with practiced efficiency, wasting little time splicing their specialized datapads into the local grid. Especially here at the heart of the Dra'var'th relay station, the security measures were formidable, with layers of encryption that relied upon the vastly superior processing power of the ancient computers of the Dragon House, laced with the typical nasty traps their species was known for, including bits of hidden code that would trigger lethal power surges if tampered with. But the Terrans tackled the problem with their typical combination of ingenuity and grim determination, bypassing the locking mechanisms altogether and shunting power from the light fixtures into the mechanisms that operated the hinges of the ominous doors. For a few brief moments, the rumbling wails of groaning metal reverberated across the antechamber as the hinges fought a mechanical tug of war against the locking mechanisms, but eventually, the former won and the great doors slid open with a deafening crack.
Weapons already drawn, the princess and Yelena darted through the opening without missing a breath. What they found on the other side, was a scene taken straight out of a nightmare. Rows upon rows of cylindrical devices had been stacked into every available inch of floor, in-between monolithic columns of servers, hastily hooked up into the data center's psionic infrastructure by a tangled web of conduits converging at the chamber's center. The cylinders were a matte black in color and appeared to have been carved out of a single block of obsidian, seamless except for the single opening in each machine's front, currently sealed by a translucent hardlight barrier revealing the horror unfolding within.
Suspended in a dark orange substance of some kind, there were bodies. Or rather, what was left of them. Most had once been human, though Valyra could recognize other species as well, all of them now in a state that no words in any Terran or Alvari language could truly describe. They were not alive anymore, not exactly, but not dead, either. Suspended in an in-between state, kept aware and conscious by unnatural means as they were slowly dismantled at a subatomic level. The princess could feel the sheer anguish of those pitiful beings, their minds long since shattered, leaving nothing but artificially amplified pain behind, pain that fed the power of the being seated on the throne at the chamber's heart. It was a scene of such horrific, unimaginable cruelty, that Valyra had to fight back waves of nausea at the sight presented to her, even though she'd long since known what the Dra'var'th were capable of. A solitary tear rolled slowly down her cheek and the princess shuddered as she thought of Kainan, whose childhood had been filled by sights such as this.
A bout of sadistic laughter echoed across the chamber as the wicked being that was responsible for this atrocity, rose from her throne. Like the majority of her species, she was a spindly creature, red-skinned and with a pair of ugly horns jutting from her forehead, her body clad in a polished black armor adorned with spines and blades, who's shape was designed to bulk up her otherwise frail-looking frame. She smiled in a way that didn't reach her bloodshot eyes, revealing a maw of teeth that had been filed into wicked points and Valyra knew better than to underestimate her, despite her diminutive appearance. For the Dra'var'th woman was one of the Nosferatu and her psionic aura was currently brimming with the power of a thousand tortured souls.
No words were exchanged. No time was wasted. The princess spared a glance towards Yelena and gave her a single, shallow nod before dashing forward, her shardblade whistling through the air as she wove around the Nosferatu's searing plasma whip. She darted right, her left arm snapping upwards and she squeezed the trigger of the gun, firing a pair of bullets that bounced harmlessly off of her opponent's psionic barrier. Valyra did not wait to observe whether or not the projectiles hit, she rolled under the return swing of that lethal whip and launched herself upward, her leap enhanced by a telekinetic burst of energy that sent her above a hail of plasma bolts fired from the Nosferatu's scorcher, sizzling through the space she'd occupied a heartbeat earlier.
Yelena had not wasted any time, either. The tall duchess unleashed a barrage of zigzagging bullets and telekinetic blasts against the Dra'var'th, trying to find some gap in her defenses, some weak point in her psionic barrier. It was no use, however. As long as she was still hooked up to those awful engines of torture, the Nosferatu could replenish her reserves of power as swiftly as she expended them. Valyra's jaw tightened. She knew what she had to do, though she did not look forward to it. "Keep her occupied!" she called out to the duchess and sprang backwards, not waiting to see whether or not Yelena had heeded her. To her credit, Kainan's protege swiftly caught on to the princess' plan and drew the Nosferatu's focus to her with a flashy, but ultimately useless barrage of psionic blasts that were swiftly draining her reserves.
Valyra had to act fast, she knew the duchess would not last long against the Dra'var'th woman's assault, not unless the playing field was leveled. She holstered her gun and shardblade, closing her eyes and ignoring the chaos of the battle as she reached into the Veil, her consciousness expanding outwards to find all the tormented echoes of the beings trapped in the torture vessels. Fighting back tears of heartbreak, she enveloped them with her psionic presence, gently feeling around the feeble, flickering flames of their life energies, seeking the invisible chords that held their souls anchored to the world of the living. And with a shuddering sob, she severed them. Her iridescent eyes snapped open, laden with tears and heavy with sorrow. Her gaze found the Nosferatu and cold fury took the place of pain.
The sudden loss of the victims caused a psionic backlash to surge through the infernal machine, traveling up the eldritch cables still attached to the Nosferatu's spine with the speed of thought. The Dra'var'th woman screamed, her eyes blazing red as she dropped her scorcher, her hand clawing frantically at the conduits, trying to yank them out with all the haste she could muster. Seizing upon the opening, the duchess redoubled her assault, pouring the last reserves of her strength into collapsing what remained of the vile fiend's barrier. The Nosferatu's eyes focused upon her with such hatred that even the composed Kalidani woman flinched. She saw the holographic interface appear in the air, saw the Dra'var'th's trembling hand reaching for what was likely the trigger for the station's self-destruct sequence and in that moment, she knew what she had to do.
She sighed, her gun clattering to the floor as she stepped forward, her expression one of grim resignation as she mustered every ounce of power she had left. Her arms thrust forward and she let out a guttural, defiant shout, a single word not in the Colonial language, but in Kalidani, a call for her ancestors to welcome her in the Forever War, the afterlife of her race's religion. She poured everything into that telekinetic blast, all her discipline, her stubborn defiance, her unbroken will and fierce spirit. The Nosferatu's barrier shattered like a sphere of glass, forcing the fiend to stumble backwards. The Dra'var'th let out a guttural snarl in her own language and raised her plasma whip to strike the Kalidani woman down. With the last embers of her stamina expended, the duchess closed her eyes, waiting for the end.
Valyra saw it all unfold, saw the grim determination in the posture of the young Kalidani noblewoman as she made her fateful decision, sensed the lack of hesitation in her aura. As that whip fell, she sprang forward, throwing out her hand and slamming it aside with a psionic blast fueled by all the fury she could muster. She grabbed the collar of Yelena's armor, shoving her aside as she pirouetted, drawing her shardblade in a single, fluid motion, vaulting towards the Nosferatu currently stumbling over her wicked throne. She did not gloat. She did not speak a single word. Her blade traced a graceful arc through the air as she spun, then parted the fiend's head from her shoulders. She landed in a graceful crouch, her Eryndai extended sideways, a single drop of black blood dripping from its crystalline edge. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
Yelena stared at her hands, stunned that she was still alive. She had expected to die there, knew she did not have enough stamina left to deflect or dodge out of the way of that cruel whip. Her silver eyes snapped up to the crouching princess and she pushed herself upright, still shaking as the adrenaline wore out, a pang of guilt gnawing at her heart. She had treated the Alvari heiress with no small measure of hostility, seeking to humiliate her at every opportunity. She had hated her, hated the way she always seemed to hover near the warlord and above all, hated the way Kainan looked at her. She had judged her to be just another entitled, scheming highborn from the Great Houses. And now, that very same woman had just saved her life.
She sighed and shut her raging emotions down. There would be time enough to deal with that later, right now she still had troops to command and a station to secure. Her posture straightened and she gave the princess a single, curt nod as the Alvari heiress raised, then did something that Valyra would have never expected. She bowed.
~~~~
An aura of dread loomed over the parched world of Beta Draconis V. It was not a focused thing, not the sadistic, weaponized fear the planet's inhabitants masterfully wielded. No, this was a different kind of fear, a cold fear, one that sent shivers down the spines of those whose hearts it had blossomed in. For the sky above the colony was alight with an endless rain of shooting stars. Not from a passing cluster of meteors or any other celestial bodies caught in the planet's gravitational grip. These were an artificial kind of shooting stars, the kind caused by the superheated plasma trails of ships entering into the world's atmosphere. So, so many ships…
For those who led those ships here, this was the single greatest naval invasion since the beaches of Normandy, so very long ago, when another war had been fought against a different evil. And yet, the mind-boggling scale of a twenty-seventh century planetary invasion dwarfed that ancient world war in its entirety. For this war was an interstellar one, a conflict waged on such a scale, that a single battle exceeded all of Earth's old wars, combined. So many were the invading ships, that the night sky lit up as brightly as the dawn, as if the planet's atmosphere had suddenly caught fire.
Down below, ground defenses spat all the firepower they could muster, great particle beams and plasma bolts surging upwards to lash angrily at the invaders, while death rays, invisible aside from a slight shimmer in the air, burned every living being they could target. Over the horizon loomed great mushroom clouds of nuclear fire as Dra'var'th fortifications were struck by the Pact's orbital bombardment, peppering the planet with radioactive craters as mighty defensive emplacements were reduced to subatomic particles by multi-megaton warheads raining from above.
Kainan watched it all unfold on the heads-up display of his helmet, watched the casualty reports streaming in. One million soldiers perished in the first five minutes of the invasion, before their boots even touched the ground. Tens of millions more kept raining down onto the planet, aboard dropships and mobile fortresses, while orbital paratroopers braved the fires of reentry protected by no more than a feeble shield and their armor's thermal cladding. He did not look away. He would not look away, not now, not ever. Every death was his responsibility to carry, it was his duty to commit that growing number to his memory, to let it haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. They had sacrificed their lives for his war. His sacrifice was to carry their ghosts with him and ensure they hadn't died for nothing.
His own dropship leveled out, reaching the end of its own entry into the atmosphere and beginning its vertical plunge towards the ground, spent inertial dampeners ejecting with a thud, the sophisticated pieces of machinery now little more than lumps of molten slag falling down upon the city below. Through the Veil, he felt it all. All the deaths, all the hateful dread of the colonists below, the uncertainty gnawing at his own army. "Open up a transmission. All channels. Unencrypted," he commanded, steeling himself as he pulled off his helmet. He wanted everyone to hear his words. Not just the Pact forces, but also the enemy, combatants and civilians alike.
"Peace…" he spoke, his tone steady, his gaze unwavering. "Such a simple word. Such a lofty ideal, yet a deceptive one… In its name, we have endured oppression. For its preservation, we were told to accept the shackle and the whip, to bow and kneel even as the executioner's blade fell upon our throats. For the sake of peace, we were told to close our eyes when they took our children. To hold our tongues when our own were slaughtered. To stay the hand of righteous wrath, regardless of what we were forced to suffer."
He clenched his fist. "Yet, freedom in this galaxy can only be won through war. Where there is peace, corruption and injustice grow. Where there is war, the rot is burned away, making room for new and better crops."
The warlord's eyes darted once more to the updating casualty lists, now displayed onto the dropship's viewscreen. "Our enemies style themselves as the guardians of civilization. They tell us that peace at any cost is the only way to preserve it." He drew a ragged, heavy breath as his eyes took in the growing number of dead and dying, his thoughts drifting to the millions more that would soon join them in the great beyond. Such was the price of war and without the willingness to pay it, the galaxy would be left at the mercy of beings like the Dra'var'th, of tyrants and slavers who viewed life as a resource to be harvested, shackled and expended. His brows creased with cold determination, his face a mask of steel. "They lie!" he shouted. "And we? We are the harbingers of war! We are the cleansing fire that will burn away the rot!" Across the fleet, aboard cruiser and dropship alike, boots stomped against deck plating with a metallic thump.
"So have no fear! Go forth, burn away the lies and conquer in the name of righteous order!" the warlord called out, sensing the surging fervor of those who followed him. Thump. Another stomp. "Death to the Dragon House!" Thump. "Death to peace!" Thump. "For the Empire!" Thump. "For Earth-that-was!" Thump. "For those who will come after us!" Thump.
As his dropship hit the ground upon a flat, dry plain outside the capital, the warlord strode out with his shoulders, the crimson banner of the empire clutched firmly in his left hand, Kat flanking him on the right side. The first, feeble rays of dawn illuminated a grim battlefield as the twin suns crested shyly over the horizon. And with them, the invaders came, braving fire and murderous rage, hurling themselves through the enemy defenses with fanatical relentlessness, their spirit unbroken, their will unshaken.
The warlord gazed at the communications drone a final time, then at the rain of fire in the sky and settled upon the silhouettes of the dark cities peppering the horizon. His eyes burned with that same fire descending from above, burning away the last, lingering echoes of his doubt. Fist clenched tightly around the steel pole, he raised his crimson banner high. "This flag is here to stay!" he shouted. Around him, dropships landed in the thousands, soldiers poring forth. Great landing craft spewed out tanks and siege walkers and all the assorted engines of destruction that the Pact had mustered. The rumble of artillery thundered, its echo reverberating across the grim field of battle. The warlord smiled, a cold, grim expression, a gesture of terrible finality. And then, he drove the crimson banner down, spearing it into the ground, sealing the alien world's fate. "Seize the future, make it ours!"