The Sons of Typhon
28-06-2005, 07:19
In the world of the nomadic Sons of Typhon, one had to be the strongest and the smartest to gather the energy to push the clans together to serve an aim. A wandering race, they had had a long time to develop their nature, one of independence, lust, and violence, and it was difficult to pull a clansman away from his instincts, not to mention direct his aims in the service of a power greater than that of his clan. Infighting had long been rule amid the cold cities of the monolithic hulks that drifted through space, carrying the Sons on their endless, aimless journey, and only recently, with the rise of King Uhlrich the Mighty had they been able to divert their attentions from their own internal wars to unite against the insidious threat of a breakaway clan.
The people of the Clan Chiron, the most peaceful of the clans, had for long been growing weary of the endless wandering, and the constant bloodshed at the hands of the other Sons. Rallied by their chief, Alaric the Bold, they had turned away from the leadership of King Uhlrich and renounced themselves as Sons of Typhon, choosing instead to go their own way in search of fertile worlds and a life of peace as settle men.
But their dreams were not to be so, not at the hands of one as he, the strong willed, madness driven King Uhlrich and the hands of his equally ferocious vassals, the chiefs of the other clans, who had rallied around the banner of their king, and begun a pursuit of Alaric and his rebels that led them across galaxies. There was no mercy in dealing with those who turned their backs to the nomadic way of life, and a trail of corpses now lay in the wake of Uhlrich and his warships.
At long last, a full five years after the secession, the Sons of Typhon had discovered the last remnants of the Clan of Alaric, the Poseidon, an Eden ship, one of the 8km long vessels that housed the larger portion of a clan’s population. Alaric himself had managed to keep himself and the 550,000 others who called the ship home out of the clutches of Uhlrich, but now it seemed that his hour was drawing nigh.
Of all the things about the depths of space, it was the quiet that drove him mad. The cold, the emptiness, the constant presence of death, all paled in comparison to the wall of silence that was always present. Sometimes, in the depths of his mind he wondered if others were surrounded by it as he was, or if it acted as a bubble, constantly following him, keeping his mind and soul permanently enveloped in it. The quiet had pierced his being for so long that he wondered too if it had not become a part of him, and if the source of the silence was his mind itself rather than the endlessness of space forcing itself down upon it. Deep within all the twisting, wrenching contours of his brain, amid all the rage and insanity that pushed him, he concluded that it was indeed the quiet that sent him over the edge.
But he realized also that in going over the edge, he had found the cornerstone of his power, the force that drove him to his position of dominion over the clans, the force that set him in a place of exultation over his one time brothers, the other Sons of Typhon.
He was the strongest of them, and the smartest, and this he knew for in his madness lurked the mind of the intellectual, the calculating presence that let him know his own position, and thus avoid the tenuous perils that others would so easily fall victim to. It allowed him to exploit the weaknesses of his brethren, to speed the demise of his foes, and to muster the force to direct his people according to his own iron will.
Now he, King of the clans, unifier of the Sons of Typhon, Uhlrich the Mighty, let his eyes rove out beyond the small window, one of few places where a man could view the depths beyond from inside the Hydra, Uhlrich’s own Behemoth class warship, a mammoth that he had commanded since his early thirties, and one that had recently laid waste to thousands who opposed his reign.
“Your lordship, the Poseidon has refused our calls to surrender. They have neglected to trust in your mercy.”
“Then they are wise. Alaric knows what to expect from me. He has betrayed me, and he has betrayed the Sons. He will die like a dog for it.”
“Indeed your grace. His blood will stain steel in a short time.”
“And the blood of his entire clan will run with his. Prepare my armies.”
Beyond, the rust brown hull vibrated as countless thick hangar bay doors slid open, and vicious black cannon began to protrude from the ugly mammoth. Swarms of hundreds of small ships, lightning fast, and thin, with a single pilot in the bubble shaped cockpit on the ship’s nose raced forward, flying towards the gargantuan Poseidon. Like bees, they began to fly in cyclonical patterns around the hull, as from the gloom more vessels began to appear behind the Hydra. Dozens of other warships belonging to the various clans had come to bear witness and join in the vengeance that was about to befall the people of the traitor Alaric.
Uhlrich’s face was a grim stone as he watched the proceedings.
The small ships broke off their pattern, and broke off from the hull, flying away perpendicular to the ship before turning rapidly and diving back, unloading with a barrage of energy weapons, blasts slamming into the thick metal as the Poseidon’s own small weapons array opened fire, sparking a few disintegrations among the swarm.
The cannon of the Hydra began their own barrage, unleashing a far more powerful destructive force on the hull of the vessel. Blasts pierced weak points in the hull, and brought chaos to the interior. Fires opened up as corridors twisted and bent under stress. Steel towers within the vessel crumbled as blasts pierced through them, Slaughtering thousands instantly.
From the bays of the Hydra and her cohorts, vessels larger than the small attack ships lurked forth, their bellies laden with the clans’ warriors, ferocious thick limbed soldiers. The vessels accelerated for the bays of the Poseidon, attaching themselves like leeches to the hull, sawing away at the metal.
Screams echoed throughout the halls of the Eden ship as Alaric watched the extent of the destruction from his command deck on the underhull. His expression was stoic in the face of the irresistible onslaught, but he could not hide a trace of sadness in his eyes at the thought of the coming massacre. There was no doubt in his mind that by the time Uhlrich’s vengeance was fulfilled, 550,000 people would be dead.
“Sir, their landing pods have attached themselves. We’re already seeing breeches across the board. It won’t be long before his men reach you. I suggest we move you to the secure deck where we can mount a better defense.”
Alaric nodded, wordless in this hour of judgment, as he allowed himself to be ushered by a contingent of his bodyguards through the secure door, into the corridor leading to the elevator which would bring them to a bunker like structure nearer the center of the vessel.
However, it was not to be, as when they neared the elevator a section of the hull ahead of them came away, and amid the smoke, black armored troopers dropped to the floor below. A few quick shots, and the soldiers surrounding the head of the clan fell to the ground, smoking holes bored away in their chests. Mechanical voices drifted out from under the black face masks.
“Is that him?”
“Must be. Get him.”
The soldiers moved forward as Alaric’s hand went to a pistol at his waist, but the black gauntlet of one of the soldiers clamped around his wrist, and crushed the hand, wrenching it clean off. Alaric yelled out in pain, as the soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
“Bastard’s going to see the King.”
The people of the Clan Chiron, the most peaceful of the clans, had for long been growing weary of the endless wandering, and the constant bloodshed at the hands of the other Sons. Rallied by their chief, Alaric the Bold, they had turned away from the leadership of King Uhlrich and renounced themselves as Sons of Typhon, choosing instead to go their own way in search of fertile worlds and a life of peace as settle men.
But their dreams were not to be so, not at the hands of one as he, the strong willed, madness driven King Uhlrich and the hands of his equally ferocious vassals, the chiefs of the other clans, who had rallied around the banner of their king, and begun a pursuit of Alaric and his rebels that led them across galaxies. There was no mercy in dealing with those who turned their backs to the nomadic way of life, and a trail of corpses now lay in the wake of Uhlrich and his warships.
At long last, a full five years after the secession, the Sons of Typhon had discovered the last remnants of the Clan of Alaric, the Poseidon, an Eden ship, one of the 8km long vessels that housed the larger portion of a clan’s population. Alaric himself had managed to keep himself and the 550,000 others who called the ship home out of the clutches of Uhlrich, but now it seemed that his hour was drawing nigh.
Of all the things about the depths of space, it was the quiet that drove him mad. The cold, the emptiness, the constant presence of death, all paled in comparison to the wall of silence that was always present. Sometimes, in the depths of his mind he wondered if others were surrounded by it as he was, or if it acted as a bubble, constantly following him, keeping his mind and soul permanently enveloped in it. The quiet had pierced his being for so long that he wondered too if it had not become a part of him, and if the source of the silence was his mind itself rather than the endlessness of space forcing itself down upon it. Deep within all the twisting, wrenching contours of his brain, amid all the rage and insanity that pushed him, he concluded that it was indeed the quiet that sent him over the edge.
But he realized also that in going over the edge, he had found the cornerstone of his power, the force that drove him to his position of dominion over the clans, the force that set him in a place of exultation over his one time brothers, the other Sons of Typhon.
He was the strongest of them, and the smartest, and this he knew for in his madness lurked the mind of the intellectual, the calculating presence that let him know his own position, and thus avoid the tenuous perils that others would so easily fall victim to. It allowed him to exploit the weaknesses of his brethren, to speed the demise of his foes, and to muster the force to direct his people according to his own iron will.
Now he, King of the clans, unifier of the Sons of Typhon, Uhlrich the Mighty, let his eyes rove out beyond the small window, one of few places where a man could view the depths beyond from inside the Hydra, Uhlrich’s own Behemoth class warship, a mammoth that he had commanded since his early thirties, and one that had recently laid waste to thousands who opposed his reign.
“Your lordship, the Poseidon has refused our calls to surrender. They have neglected to trust in your mercy.”
“Then they are wise. Alaric knows what to expect from me. He has betrayed me, and he has betrayed the Sons. He will die like a dog for it.”
“Indeed your grace. His blood will stain steel in a short time.”
“And the blood of his entire clan will run with his. Prepare my armies.”
Beyond, the rust brown hull vibrated as countless thick hangar bay doors slid open, and vicious black cannon began to protrude from the ugly mammoth. Swarms of hundreds of small ships, lightning fast, and thin, with a single pilot in the bubble shaped cockpit on the ship’s nose raced forward, flying towards the gargantuan Poseidon. Like bees, they began to fly in cyclonical patterns around the hull, as from the gloom more vessels began to appear behind the Hydra. Dozens of other warships belonging to the various clans had come to bear witness and join in the vengeance that was about to befall the people of the traitor Alaric.
Uhlrich’s face was a grim stone as he watched the proceedings.
The small ships broke off their pattern, and broke off from the hull, flying away perpendicular to the ship before turning rapidly and diving back, unloading with a barrage of energy weapons, blasts slamming into the thick metal as the Poseidon’s own small weapons array opened fire, sparking a few disintegrations among the swarm.
The cannon of the Hydra began their own barrage, unleashing a far more powerful destructive force on the hull of the vessel. Blasts pierced weak points in the hull, and brought chaos to the interior. Fires opened up as corridors twisted and bent under stress. Steel towers within the vessel crumbled as blasts pierced through them, Slaughtering thousands instantly.
From the bays of the Hydra and her cohorts, vessels larger than the small attack ships lurked forth, their bellies laden with the clans’ warriors, ferocious thick limbed soldiers. The vessels accelerated for the bays of the Poseidon, attaching themselves like leeches to the hull, sawing away at the metal.
Screams echoed throughout the halls of the Eden ship as Alaric watched the extent of the destruction from his command deck on the underhull. His expression was stoic in the face of the irresistible onslaught, but he could not hide a trace of sadness in his eyes at the thought of the coming massacre. There was no doubt in his mind that by the time Uhlrich’s vengeance was fulfilled, 550,000 people would be dead.
“Sir, their landing pods have attached themselves. We’re already seeing breeches across the board. It won’t be long before his men reach you. I suggest we move you to the secure deck where we can mount a better defense.”
Alaric nodded, wordless in this hour of judgment, as he allowed himself to be ushered by a contingent of his bodyguards through the secure door, into the corridor leading to the elevator which would bring them to a bunker like structure nearer the center of the vessel.
However, it was not to be, as when they neared the elevator a section of the hull ahead of them came away, and amid the smoke, black armored troopers dropped to the floor below. A few quick shots, and the soldiers surrounding the head of the clan fell to the ground, smoking holes bored away in their chests. Mechanical voices drifted out from under the black face masks.
“Is that him?”
“Must be. Get him.”
The soldiers moved forward as Alaric’s hand went to a pistol at his waist, but the black gauntlet of one of the soldiers clamped around his wrist, and crushed the hand, wrenching it clean off. Alaric yelled out in pain, as the soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
“Bastard’s going to see the King.”