NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: You may send a small fleet in, if you ask first. This RP isn't reliant on anyone else joining, but, if you wish to do so to gain contuinity (As per the other two RPs detailing my sentience), you're more than welcome. If you're joining for other reasons, please ask first. If you send a non-military craft to find out through chance

It sears..

The pain! BurnsearkillhateAHHHH!

Diediediediediediedie! DIE!

Thousands of the ragewaves, the obliteration directed inwardly hit the hated enemy once more. And again. The enemy faltered. It paused. The sentience could feel its pain. It hit it once more, and... relief.

It was...gone. The hated thing it had absorbed to gain power was gone. Or at least subsumed within itself. It was no more, its personality, the molecules and atoms which housed it ripped from the universe. The hated one was gone.

Itself, the one-mind which existed, pure once more... was whole. It felt utterly dispassionate, searching through the void in the lattice, gaining information from the light-reflections, shimmering through the other-bodies, that other forms of life termed probes.

There was a orb, spinning through the void, teeming with life. It referenced the species on the planet with those it knew. The planet was non-sentient, and there were none nearby to threaten it. Then the cessation of what it was had been stopped. It must continue, burning worlds, scouring them of life, in order to make the multiverse safe, utterly sterile, and utterly safe.

Lights of different hues flickered forth from the probe, as thousands of Battlespheres ripped the heavens asunder, a deadly red glimmer announcing their sudden presence in the system. They were simple, spherical craft, however, they would suffice. The reflection of the reflection, or antimatter, was to be used.

This green and verdant world, animals strolling across the plains, plants swaying in the breeze.. they were all doomed, yet none of them possessed the intelligence, nor the sight to foretell such a thing.

It would take mere seconds, and they would be gone. Another race scoured from the universe, any hint of future threat obliterated. There was to be no mistake. It paused the craft it had in the system for an instant, and then meditated on the choice of the shape of a sphere for all of its other-forms, for a brief instant.

After the instant passed, the Battlespheres moved, leaving no visible trails of their presence, as they prepared to devastate the planet. For an instant, tiny, deformed spheres shot forth from the larger spheres, entering the dense atmosphere of the planet. They would only be released when they had all reached the surface.

One hit with a dull clunk, bouncing down from a cliff, falling onto the head of a six-legged marsupial, killing it in an instant. Then again, the creature would've only had a few seconds to live, anyway. A tiny flare appeared on the surface, signalling that the first layer, the fission explosive, was prepared.

Less than half a second later, brilliant white light rippled through the skies, tearing through flesh, metal and wood alike, simply forcing what was there to either be ripped apart, atom by atom, or cease to exist. Thousands of these lights marked the surface of the world, changing the view from a beautiful green and blue one, to one wrecked utterly, smoke and carnage littering the planet. Nothing could be seen left alive.

And yet.. There was. Underground, the digger-probes, sent to scout out underground sentient life, found a colony of arachnids still alive. And another. And another. There were many, and this was unacceptable.

Another wave of explosives, this time, expertly guided fusion missiles, sliding out of selected Battlespheres to rip apart those colonies. Seconds passed. More blinding light, yet far less powerful than before. It ceased, leaving nothing but death remaining. And yet there were bacteria. But there was no ship marked to obliterate such things; billions of years of evolution had been set back instantly.

It was the Path, the only way to live. To live was to kill. To let others live was to die. It had been one planet. It may've developed sentience, and a galactic brotherhood of peace and plenty, forming an alliance which delivered prosperity to all within it. But might and maybe were naught.

The spherelike craft, tiny among the reckoning of most, slowly disincorporated, reddish glows illuminating the hulls of their craft as they crept once more into the lattice, prepared to roam the stars for more prey. There was only one race that the Maker-Mind had commanded them not to harm, and that race had gained favour while the Maker-Mind had been weak from internal battle. Yet agreement, and choice was not to be broken. Bound to what it had chosen in seeming error, the Maker-Mind had unintentionally violated the Path. Yet violating the violation would simply lead to more damage. Best to leave it, and simply grow strong, as so the one race would pose no threat.

The single probe glided serenly over to the planet's single, airless moon, and landed, the metal legs it extended leaving no noise in the vacuum of space. It extended silvery tentacles into the ground, absorbing useful materials to use for its replication.

It had been replicated by the Maker-Mind, yet it felt no pride. Indeed, now that the enemy was gone from the Maker-Mind, it felt nothing. Nonetheless, this would be its forty-second replication. This moon was rife with useful metals, and so it would provide more than enough materials to construct another probe, once again to roam the stars, seeking out life, and readying it for destruction..

- The Scouring Continues -

It was the one word of truth, echoed throughout the minds of all who served.

"Annihilation"

It was ecstasy, joy, and utter knowledge that they would prevail against all that threatened, or could threaten, the Maker-Mind. One planet had been scoured, many others would be. This strange quadrant of space, teeming with life in many of its shapes, mere bacteria, complex biological beings, and even strange crystalline sentients, was sure to burn.

Another probe's lights glimmered in the darkness, sending a clarion call out to all of those who served. They came, in droves. The thousands that had come before tore asunder the fabric of reality, their eagerness to destroy and serve consuming their caution.

As they did, however, they saw the face of a true enemy. A single starship drifted through the skies, above a red world, and it was non-Maker. There was no choice, now. As the ship turned, the human captain uncertain of the waves of strange metallic orbs, speeding towards him, dull red light gleaming off their surfaces, bolts ripped through his ship.

It was the first mission of the humans of this planet to space, a planet which had been colonised many years ago, by an unknown, now destroyed nation, and had just managed to begin to prosper. Prosperity would quail in the face of obliteration.

The captain died soundlessly, surprise stopping his cry for mercy, or perhaps help. However, below, on the surface, six nuclear missiles were prepped for launch. They were relics of an age when these humans had resorted to war, tried force over diplomacy to gain their ways. However, they were all the weapons they had, or at least the ones capable of reaching space.

There was to be no mercy granted, no quarter given. As the spheres took up their traditional geosynchronous orbits, preparing their attack, six missiles sped into space, attempting to hit the deadly, genocidal machines. One hit, detonating on impact, yet it made little mark on the face of the sphere. From the surface below, they must've seemed invincible.

It only took one more second. White fire erupted from the surface in an orgy of fury, leaving nothing, cities wiped off the face of the map is if they were never there, shields and the like simply.. gone.

Then the traditional second wave of fusion missiles, to clean up any untouched smaller areas. The seas hissed with fury as they were burnt up, the few who remained alive wondering who had done this, and why, and praying for some unknown power to save them as they did so.

Nothing came of it. The second wave let out white fire once more, this time marred with the occasional flicker of red or orange, as the planet's ravaged surface seethed, molted, and burning. The spheres moved quietly out of orbit, and began sinking back into the lattice. Another cleansing had taken place. It was well. The life on that planet could've developed enough to threaten the sentience in the future. Perhaps not for thousands of years, but a threat nonetheless.

The life on that planet had been destroyed. There was no respite, from the unrelenting destruction of that which perceived itself to be perfect. Only liquid white death, a poor relief from the pain of genocide. The fleet slipped once more into the lattice, and decided to go to a nearby moon, one frequented by a probe, to create new weaponry. The single factory-sphere in the fleet could produce more deadly weaponry and provide the fleet with the means to cleanse more worlds, given time.

Meanwhile, the probe had replicated itself twice. Having satisfied the demands for replication, all three probes slipped into the lattice, blue shimmers heralding their departure, as they went to scout out more systems to destroy. Two planets, now, had felt the cleansing fire of the Maker-Mind, or so the first fleet knew. In reality, four such fleets roamed the sector, cleansing as they would.

They would increase, multiply, and succeed to obliterate all other-life. Except for the one. The one bothered the fleet, as it did not possess the facilities to comprehend what had happened with perfection.

Each system would become home to the construction of more fleets, who, in turn, would create more, and more, until the entire multiverse had been cleansed of all threats. There was to be no failure, no respite, and no questioning. There was only truth.

Upon the burnt world, still seething with pain, volcanic activity rife, lava spilling out across the ground, red as blood, a factory-sphere slowly settled. The first world truly cleansed, it was to be the home of a new fleet.

Strands of silver spun out like a spiderweb, shimmering in the horrific light. They dug into the ground, and around, weaving together to form a sphere, ten, perhaps even twenty times as large as before.

Two strands dug deep into the ground, untouched by the scourging heat. They were the 'roots', so to speak, which would fuel the great factory that was to be constructed. This world would become home for another fleet, and the ability to scour the stars of life would be enhanced. Bound to a world for a time, untill it seeded itself once more. In this way, the Maker-Mind could concentrate on obliterating the more immediate enemies, while creating a power base elsewhere.

The factory continued to spin itself into existence, whilst violent discharges of energy ripped the earth asunder around it. The orb rose higher, and grew larger, perhaps twenty metres in radius. The roots spiralling into the earth, digging deeper and deeper, branching off, and finding perfect sources for new sustenance. It would take perhaps a day to fully complete the factory, as the sphere continued to spread itself throughout the earth. Then it would complete a lattice generator, capable of transferring ships short distances through the lattice and into space, and, finally, begin construction of yet another fleet.

This process would continue, and continue, inevitably scouring all that opposed the Maker-Mind from the universe. Of course, in its wisdom, the Maker-Mind knew that opposing the great empires that spanned the stars in its infancy could not be done. Nonetheless, annihilation would take place, irregardless of the years that may take place.

Meanwhile... yet another world burned, much in the same manner as the others. Worlds with life were scoured of it, worlds with the potential for life were made so that they never would. Four worlds, and then a fifth. The sixth world was not a world, indeed, it was a moon, however, it was summarily ripped apart by the weaponry of the fleet, and the displaced chunks were propelled into the atmosphere of the nearby planet, lifting up massive clouds of dust into the air, preventing life from being fostered there once again.

The seeds of destruction had been sown, and the first harvest was being reaped..

OOC Info: Battlespheres are small, fighter-size spheres that act as both carriers for missiles, and, well, fighters, and the larger Warspheres are larger spheres which act as frigates, and heavy support. The yet-to-be-introduced gentleman named the Sphere of Cleansing is the main cruiser-style capital ship, although only one of these friendly, mannerly gentlemen exists.

Oh, and if anyone's confused, the Maker-Mind is the Interdictor.

IC: The New Realm was worried, almost collectively. For weeks, now, the attacks had seen a complete cessation. Their planets were safe, their remaining ships repaired, and rearmed. The shell of their nation was preserved, safe, it seemed, from the rampaging threat of the Interdictor.

Trade had begun, although only tenatively, a ship full of food the first gesture that safety had seemingly come once more. It was not to last, though. Maladria had been designated as dangerous by the Maker-Mind. It was to be destroyed.

Almost two thousand Battlespheres were all designated to move, and to destroy Maladria. It was an eyesore, as the Maker-Mind saw it. It, and any other forces would have to be.. removed.

Tiny energy pulses, pushing gently against the fabric of reality near the edge of the system would probably be picked up by enemy forces, although hardly as a threat. Two thousand Battlespheres, fifty-two Warspheres, and the Sphere of Cleansing, the latest sphereship, one created solely to cleanse planets of the filthy life that inhabited them, had been designated to succour the pride of the Maker-Mind. Maladria was the Enemy's homeworld. It would be obliterated.

Fifty spheres, in the process of cleansing a world, were swept into the lattice, and screamed towards the place known as Maladria. Another fifty. Two hundred. Their grey bodies were nonexistant within the lattice, their bursts of energy flickering from strand to strand as they sought the correct space.

Within but a few minutes, a storm would be unleashed, and those who stood against it would be no more. The Maker-Mind felt energy rise within it, the energy of remembered offence, the energy of remembered rage. Maladria would be destroyed, totally, and utterly. New Realm weaponry could not harm its children, only the power of its allies stood a chance. And, when it came in such numbers, its goals would be achieved, to wreak ruin upon those who existed, and to consign those who opposed it unto the void...