NationStates Jolt Archive

“And amongst the Faithful, there arose the cry for War. And it was the Black Angel who led them, Scion of Chaos and Master of Mankind, and his vengeance drowned systems in blood and burned planets alive.

For the disciples of the Blood God marched as his Generals, and the Chosen of Khorne was his Fist. And into the maelstrom of Charybdis they did plunge, that our people might live forever; free, prosperous, Faithful.”

-Epistles of Charybdis, Chaplain Ecanus; Bearer of the Word.

The world was aflame.

The harsh flare of dawn rose over the pale blues and greens of the planet, whose name was rendered in local tongues as Zantha III, alighting upon it with all the warmth of a mother, defining curve and contour of the orb.

Ecanus smiled to see it, smiled at the irony that this world seeming ablaze would soon burn as an offering, a sanctification before the thrones of his Gods. The glorious Masters of Chaos. First Chaplain Ecanus; Dark Apostle, Bearer of the Word of Chaos, moved from the observation deck, tracing a hand across the engraved oaths of blasphemous devotion to Chaos, up and over the gleaming runic tattoos upon his bare scalp. He felt their power pulse and coil beneath his flesh, undulating with the beatings of his twin hearts.

He strode into the vastness of the temple, impressive even for a structure nestled in the heart of a Chronosian flagship. Its walls had all the appearance of faded volcanic rock, like the walls of ancient pagan fanes, runes gleamed upon the stone, edging the vast banners of allegiance from each Legion. Nine great thrones ringed the room with lesser seats at their bases, two thrones amongst them higher than the others, one still greater than all.

Ecanus chuckled darkly as he took his seat beneath the banner of the Ascendant Daemons, a hunched and snarling Daemon scaling an eight pointed star wrought of iron. He sat in the Throne normally reserved for his Liege-Lord Gabriel, but spoke now with His voice as his emissary. Around the room, he saw other absent Primarchs had sent their own Messengers; sanguine Turel in place of the Emperor himself, pestilent Ameeron standing in for Lucian, the shifting figure of Zovus replacing Severino. Aesri, Master of the Steel Fists, had taken it upon himself to attend, intent upon being a part of the first wave. Hakar and Radu had arrived to back their chief ally, the Warmaster, accompanied by hulking warriors of their First Companies. Mystery-shrouded Archon slunk in the shadows, the black clad, twisted and ‘purified’ Azahan moving to his own place within this conclave.

There remained but one more to arrive.

The great doors swung wide, revealing the vast figure in his battledress. Gold, brass and iron edged the great scarlet ceramite armour that contained his awesome might. Followed by the Terminator armoured forms of his favoured Captains, Achaeus and Brensis, Cabot himself graced the gathering, ascending to his highest throne, just higher than that of Turel. For here within his vessel, he was the Will of the Emperor.

“Hail, friends! Brothers both absent and present, warriors of the Legios Astartes, soldiery of the Imperial Guard-!” Representatives of the various Guard Regiments looked up at the towering choleric force that was Cabot, as though amazed that they should be acknowledged by him, “-Adepts of the Mechanicum and the most hallowed offices of the Inquisition” Cloaked and robed adepts glanced up and nodded reverently, some adorned with gleaming cybernetic implants.

“Each of you is here to answer the matter of Charybdis. A hundred systems lie before us, each studded with the jewels of viable worlds. We are the to the Crusade, in Remiel’s name, to victory. Victory over those who already dwell there, victory over those who would oppose us.

We will not be cowed by fear! We will not yield till all the worlds within Charybdis raise their voices in praise of the Gods! This world we gaze upon is but the first which shall know the taste of our might and the hammer of Compliance!”

“We stand ready to educate these worlds to the wonder and glory of Chaos.” Ecanus spoke. “Our vote is with you, Warmaster.” A holographic sigil, representing the Ascendant Daemons in favour flashed into being in the still air.

“The chosen of Nurgle stand with you, Warmaster. It is the will of Lord Lucian that we march together to share with these worlds the love of Father Nurgle.” The symbol of the Envenomed Fang appeared, crackling in the air as Ameeron let his whispered voice raise up over the gathering.

“Tzeentch favours us, Lord Warmaster. We shall bring his will to this conflict, and shape the very fabric of fate with our maledictions.” Zovus bowed his head as the mark of the Black Order sparked into life.

Radu and Hakar voted to support the motion, as did Aesri on the condition that he be included within the first wave. By the time Archon’s sigil blazed in favour, it was decided. The time for war drew near, and Cabot would determine how it would be fought.

“I have sent messages to those allies whom I believe we can trust in this endeavour. But it is important that we begin our efforts soon. That is why…” Cabot paused, chuckling as the holographic representation of the world, mapped by servitor drones and orbital scans, crackled into life.

“I give you, Zanthus III”

http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Trenai.jpg

Silence

There is only silence in the void known as outer space. Silence resonates across the universe, a mere curtain of the stage where the universe's truest horrors take center stage and perform for the cosmos in the greatest of all tragedies...

It drifted silently across the ocean of space, a massive planetoid surrounded by countless broodships, the very children of the creature. Drifting slowly through space, yet with purpose. Its hunger had grown since the last galaxy it have devoured and was now hunting for the next prey.

The broodships dispersed, each searching for worlds for the Omnilord to consume in its massive tendrils. These were the horrific armada that the Omnilord had given birth to. Each one had its purpose in the Horde. Some were defenders, firing upon enemy naval vessels, while others launched spores onto the planet, releasing their legion of monstrosities upon the population to devour the planet of all life. One such broodship had located something…

It had been searching for close to 6 months since the dispersal. There had been no life aside from minor planets with small amounts of “livestock” to keep it searching. It stopped at a nearby sun to collect rays for its photosynthesis and refuel. However, its antennae had picked up something. It began receiving Synapsewarp anomalies from a far away cluster. This mass of biopsyche energy could only mean one thing: Lifeforms.

It summoned the armada to its current position as it drifted towards the cluster. It would be sometime before it could reach the cluster and even more time before the armada made it to the position.

It continued moving serenely, like the quiet before the storm…

A long loud blast sounded through the air, followed by more, the cornicerns giving the orders to advance, passed down from the highest command. The drummers began their beats, the rhythmic step of the phyrric march. Step, step, step, pause. Step, step, step, pause. It was like a dance, one that brought with it terror and death. The sounds of the war drums and the marching of thousands of feet drowned out even the heavy noise of the intense battle that raged around the shoreline.

The squares of identical warriors, grey and stoic, the crests on the helmets of the officers and the auqualifers signifying each cohort. The pennants of red and gold fluttering madly in the air as they were brought along by the marching bearers below. The entire checkerboard of men moved as if a single entity, staying in perfect alignment with the square next to them, keeping the ranks. Step, step, step, pause.

The massive fleet that had nested on the blue waters of the planets ocean sat idly, their crew working to make repairs after the initial combat that took place above the waterworld, allowing the legion to land. The sea transports were just pulling up on the sandy beach, unloading the battle tanks that began to add to the mealstorm of energy that was already being unleashed by the infantry.

"Have the tanks move around the flanks and pull ahead of our main line," Aetius spoke as he pointed to the holographic battlefield map infront of him. His traditional cuirass of hard leather matched those of the other high ranking officers that stood with him within the command tent that had been assembled sometime after the shoreline was taken. "The natives seem to be broken on the flanks, but their center is still holding enough to make an orderly retreat. If our armor can move around and cut of their retreat, then we can have them before they make it back to their city and regroup behind that shield of theirs."

Domitian entered the tent, standing straight up and saluted stiffly. "General. The enemy center has been broken and they are in full retreat. I just gave the order to pursue. I assume our armored divisions shall partake as well?"

Flavius barely looked up from the hologram, merely watching the soundless battle of minitures that raged before him. "Yes....thank you, Legate." He then spoke to the rest of them, barely pausing to change the address of the orders, "Have the vessels launch their compliments of fighters and bombers also. We have air superiority, let's use it."

With stiff, proper salutes, they went about their tasks.

(OOC: Uh...not sure what to call this planet yet....but if that one guy wants to make a 3D planet thing for it, it's pretty much a small waterworld with one island the size of the UK.)

http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Allistea.jpg

I affectionately called it Allistea. Hope you guys like B^D

OOC: Me ol' world, chappies!
http://i10.tinypic.com/33nb0bm.gif

Infection..

A red beam lanced down through the atmosphere, searing away air and water alike, crashing into the unsuspecting city. Buildings burst into flames, and people died, their bodies twisted by the red lightning that tore their world. And again. And again.

It was peculiar. In the silence of space, there was no way that the civilization would gain help. There were no screams, no pleadings for mercy. Merely the relentless red lightning, hitting with perfect accuracy, cities scoured away, floating metropolises sunk, a thriving civilization, having harnessed the power of the atom, unable to utilise it to defeat the Maker-Mind's superiority in space. But this world would not be.. fully cleansed. Merely the major centres of population. For they were to be utilized as factories.

It took little time, before grey-silver ships settled down on the surface of the world, tendrils reaching tenatively into the earth, churning out the machines of war. Manifest had come to Charybdis. And it had come with a vengeance.

The conquest of a single planet, given the fleet that had arrived, was of little consequence. But it was a single world. There were two such in the system, each thriving with a civilization of its own. Two worlds that would fall under the sway of the Maker-Mind, in its bid for the cluster.

And we have arrived. It is peculiar. On the shoulders of these hundred worlds.. the fate of entire alliances rests. Weakness and strength shall be proven, and the cluster will surely be of significance in millenia to come.

The first world was taken. Already, the silver nanite-infections clustered out, swarming through the torn atmosphere, to seek out, and corrupt the life that was there..

Cluster

The echoes of light and gravity, boosted simply by being freed of the constraints provided by relativity, spread quite freely throughout the - by astronomic standards - rather limited volume occupied by the cluster, transporting information.

Suns like gigantic furnaces and planets like chalk, insignificant but visible. Most of them appeared to be perfectly peaceful, either dead or settled only by nascent civilisations anywhere in between the paleolithic and relativistic spacetravel. Some of them were even aware of the presence of other, alien civilisations, courtesy of this region's exceedingly dense concentration of, well, life - once two neighboring civilisations gain a basic understanding of radiowaves, they know of each other.

Anyway.

Sometimes, the planets abound appeared to erupt, releasing far more energy than they were supposed to, for some reason or another.

The Interstellar Exploration Unit Stargazer did, unfortunately, know the reason.

It sure weren't volcanoes.

It'd arrived only a little while ago, through a twenty kilolightyear long crash-stop routine that'd made up roughly ninety percent of the journey - it was a lot easier to get up to speed than to brake, when the latter involves killing you when you do it too fast.

Regardless.

So far, so bad. It wasn't a pleasant sight - the farther it distributed its subcraft complement, the more it saw, and the more it cursed its own self for having chosen to accept the Kiss My Ass's request.

It was just too depressing.

Still. It had accepted the request, and its job consisted of setting up the informational infrastructure needed for reconnaissance and communications.

Hidden in non-relativistic realms of space, there but effectively intangible, nothing but the occasional virtual photon knocked into existence by sheer chance and through the interaction of relativistic and less-than-relativistic space betraying their existence - and yet, watching quietly, determinedly, as the events unfolded.

It would, admittedly, be a rather thinly-woven web - the Stargazer had expended all but two of its subcraft, which, while it allowed to keep a reasonably close eye on every system, didn't exactly allow for close observation - details could be missed, and information would be lost.

It would be the job of the rather more heavily armed ships aware of the event to change this.

FTLCOM@L1E30&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeam
From: IEU Stargazer
To: SEU Kiss My Ass
Subject: Doing my bit

Done. I've released my subcraft complement - they're of course all carrying a bunch of lighter observation drones, too -, and I expect them to finish deployment in the local systems within about a day.

So, how about you?

FTLCOM@L1E25&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeam
From: SEU Kiss My Ass
To: IEU Stargazer
Subject: Re: Doing my bit

Perfect. We'll arrive soon. I expect you to do a preliminary listing of local civilisations & ecosystems, as well as where hostiles have shown up. In the meantime, I'm rallying the gang - I expect three SEUs and twelve TEUs to participate. Maybe the IEU Astral Romance, too. Not counting the Sanglanti and the CLA itself - but the latter's more for groundwork.
-
A third of a fleet? Not unimpressive. What about transports and habitation?
-
Transports may be a 'lil problem - there's no way we can transport billions off without extracting mindstates. Which is certainly an option, and will be done when necessary - but still. And that's only including sapients, not entire ecosystems.
-
Ouch. Incidentally - I'll be able to give you a list of hostiles, and maybe civilisations, so long as they have, ya'know... Radio. But forget ecosystems - my resources are stretched enough as it is, and I'd rather avoid entering relativistic space and becoming traceable by scouts.
-
Point, I suppose. Well, we'll be there within a day and a half. We might even be able to triple our numbers - not that this would be enough, but still. Incidentally, begun seeding?
-
Nah. As I said, my resources are stretched enough as it is, setting up the network.
-
You do know what we're here for, yes?
-
Yes. Still stretched. Cut a lot of my manufacturing in favour of more computronium and communications. I am your ComHub, remember?
-
Ah well.
-
Incidentally. Where are you going to transport our refugees to?
-
Mrm. The options vary - right now, my associates are mostly concentrating on lunar habitats. For the higher-up civilisations, the Hypocrisy itsef is an option - and for everything else, it appears that some megalomaniacs are working on an orbital. It'll presumably take a while, and I suspect considerable issues in terms of varying ecosystems, but it's probably our best call.
-
Nifty. Well, see you in a day and a half.

Mars

The Histoire de l'Or led the formation of ships, radiating sails bulging in the fields abound in the 'Void' of space. Baroque figurines of gold and silver covered the railings, and broadsides of grasers (The 'Gr' standing for 'Gravity', as opposed to 'Gamma Ray') could be seen on each side, wide muzzles seemingly glaring at the red planet below.

The open decks were filled with EM - sound might not be transmitted in the vacuum, but radiation has notably less problems with it -, infrared being dominant.

People were excited.

On the open decks, only the Sanglanti could be seen. There were, after all, relatively few people (Other than them, that is) who could survive the hard vacuum without wearing some form of protection. Inside each of the ships, however, a stranger could be seen. A guide to help the Sanglanti find their way.

It'd been a long time since the Sanglanti had been declared 'Keigh' by the Yvressi, courtesy of the assistance they'd rendered to the eldar when Mars had first been at risk.

Now, they returned the favour, and after a few moments of navigating, the fleet, similar in appearance to a formation of french lineships of the late eighteenth century, vanished in the web.

oocness: Naturally, the webway-guide’s been cleared with Tor Yvresse beforehand. Which systems are actually, errr, ‘Connected’ is anyone’s choice.

Iskander

They'd... changed a little since they'd arrived in Iskander, then still as a people enslaved, kept docile by a variety of means, and equipped with what - by the Hypocrisy's standards - amounted to rather undesirable weaponry.

Sure, they still looked pretty much alike (As clones generally do), but by now, they thought. It was their decision whether to turn left or right, it was their decision whether to be a soldier or an artist, and it was their decision whether they fought or not.

They were free.

Free and... Despite keeping their general looks, subtly altered.

Blood was still pumping through their arteries, but it carried almost twice as much oxygen as before. Nutrients were still transported from their stomach to their cells - but they were extracted and burned with vastly greater efficiency. Muscles still worked as they should - but they were strengthened, hardened, more flexible than before, invisible filaments giving them abilites evolution would've considered unnecessary (And, given the amount of anorganic material used for them, difficult to create) and wasteful.

Neurons, too, had been altered, and information was spreading through their bodies much more quickly than before. Eyes, too, had been expanded in function - while fullband 'Vision' was difficult to achive without rather massive alterations to the brain, expanding it to the ultraviolet- and infrared bands was rather less difficult.

Sound? Hand/ eye coordination? Treatment of wounds? Immune system? God knows what else?

It'd all changed.

This said, macroscopic cybernetics were less common. Or more to the point, as good as unextant.

The CLA was, after all, a force meant for low-obs operations. Not for brute force.

And Giraud Taussig (Originally 'Named' MPC-112-B) was one of them. He was also one of the roughly six-thousand clones who'd volunteered for participation in the cluster-operations - less because they saw a pressing need for it (No clone-users appeared to desire operations in the region), but because they wanted to flex their muscles.

Sitting all day in Iskander and training for operations that were seemingly not going to progress was, after all, mildly boring.

A sigh. Well. We'll see how this one ends, I suppose.

Pessimism wasn't too atypical for the CLA, which was only too aware that it was the equivalent of a partisan force - if the Hypocrisy saw a need to engage in full-scale warfare, it'd resort to machines. And this didn't exactly help morale, as much as it tried to convince the clones that their services were needed, anyway.

Still. Time to do some shooting.

With that in mind, he eventually entered the ship that'd bring him to the cluster - together with a sizeable number of his comrades, donned up in (Mildly modified) knockoffs of Sunseti and Territorial PA, and seemingly armed to the teeth.

Whether they'd get a chance to actually use them was another question - surface warfare being a comparatively rare thing, and all that. This said, Giraud's neighbors were already busily discussing the option of 'porting over to opposing ships for FPS re-enactments...

http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/HST.jpg

Here you go HST. Always a pleasure.

After I get some turkey in me this post will be replaced with an actual IC post.

IC

"And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and did cast them to the earth"

Revelation 12:3 - 4

The farmer had returned from the town, carrying supplies and fuel in his cart. The harvest would begin soon and he wanted to get all of the good crops before any of the nakati bugs stripped through his fields.

He reached his destination and stepped off the carriage. His son had already began picking the crops. He turned to his father and yelled "Hey Pa!! I got us on a head start already!"

His father smiled and drove in the harvester to help his son get the crops. As they were picking, the father noticed some movement in the bushes. What the hell, he thought. Thats odd. Too big to be a bug. He got off the harvester and grabbed a shovel to check out the movement. His son followed behind him carrying a scythe.

They treaded through the forest searching for whatever was in here. It was probably those Olsen boys again, always messing around in his crops. Always playing pranks on the horses and the family.

"You boys there? You'd better get out here before..." the crops in front of him began shaking rapidly. The father and his soin drew their farm tools to fend off whatever was in there.

Out from the crops slithered a slug-like creature, redish-brown in color. The father stared down at the creature. "What the hell is this thing here?" asked the father.

"I dont know pa. I aint never seen it before." responded the son. Little did they know that something was watching them. Waiting...

The son turned away as the father inspected the slug. It was slimey of course, with no eyes and small, stubby antennae. It seem to be frightened of something else in the woods. Suddenly, he heard his son screaming behind him. The father turned to see another creature the size of a cat attacking his son.

"Marcus!" the father yelled as he tried to pull the monster off. The monster was like the slug, only with armour and legs and a very sharp barb on its tail. It kept itself attached to Marcus, trying to get inside him. It turned around and sprayed the father with a strange bile from its stomach. It burnt throught the face of the father, causing him to fall to the ground writhling in pain. The creature turned back to the son and plunged the sharp barb into his heart. As the son fell, it began burrowing into his chest, looking for the perfect spot for Cellular Degeneration followed by Kraeton Gestation. The father tried to move but something had crawled into his ear when he fell. Something...slimey...

The father got up. He took the body and dragged into the barn, where he put Marcus's corpse in a warm place near the hay. The father left him there and walked into the house. His wife looked at him and demanded, "Where have you been!?! I have been waiting for you and Marcus all damn night!! Where is the boy anyway!?!"

He grabbed her. He had only one thing in mind.

Reproduction.

Around the backwater world, the horde was spreading like a plague in this manner. With only a population of 400 million, it was a matter of a week before the entire planet was overtaken. And thus marks the end of a world, merely used as cattle for the Kraeton broodship.

http://us.ent3.yimg.com/movies.yahoo.com/images/hv/photo/movie_pix/walt_disney/treasure_planet/planet14.jpg

Capatin Markus Cutter sat in the captain's chair of the Guildcraft Starsailor, The Starchaser, awaiting the call from the Guild Lord.

Captain Cutter, The Starchaser, and it's crew were part of the Pirate Guild.The Guildcraft Starsailor was a beautiful vessel, armed to the teeth with ion cannons and missile launchers. The ion cannons were only designed to disable and it was not very often the ship got into a real dogfight.

After all, blood was not profitable.

Correction, thought Cutter, blood was profitable. The rumors were flying in this part of space. Criminals, smugglers, and lowlifes of all kinds were leaving the sector in droves. Often they had better information that the local authorities did. The paticular information that interested Captain Cutter was the prospect for a major conflict in this region. A war would mean supply lines that could be raided, weapons to be seized, VIPs to capture and all sorts of oppertunity.

A whistle sounded, and the commo officer announced the Guild Lord was on the line.

"On screen"

A holograph blinked to life in the front of the bridge. An older man appeared adorned in an old world style naval uniform.

"Greetings Captain Cutter, the Guild Council has reviewed your report and grants your claim. The Guild will instruct other guild members that enter the area to fall under your leige. Good Hunting Pirate Captain!"

Cutter bowed, and the holograph vanished into the cold air.

Cutter turned to his first officer, "Prepare the ship. We will enter the cluster in a week or so after the battles begin. For now I want this ship inspected from top to bottom and the weapons crew to perform gunnery training from starbreak to stardusk."

The first officer bowed, "Yes sir!

Frost formed on his exposed armour plates as Marshal Kanskyr crept through the frozen night of Concremo Primus (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/ConcecroPrimus.jpg), the leather grip of his long combat knife held tightly in his right fist. He took another step, his soft leather boots making barely a sound on the ice-packed earth. Ten feet away, a sentry stared into the darkness with a pair of magnoculars, scanning for anyone attempting to break into the spaceport complex.

Kanskyr's team had been inside the perimiter for almost an hour.

A rush of feet on hard turf, a flash of steel in the night and the long blade slipped into the sentry's back. Kanskyr's muscles bunched as he pulled the man down to the ground with his left arm, and twisted the knife free. Steam rose from the open wound, and blood seeped out to stain the frost red. Kanskyr kicked the dying man onto his back, and stamped once, twice, three times on his chest. A number of sharp cracks betrayed broken ribs, but the life was already gone. Kanskyr activated his microbead.

"Perimiter guards neutralised," he whispered, "squad will proceed to primary objective."

Seven patches of darkness spread, and became the silhouettes of Kanskyr's men. The eight scouts formed a staggered line, and began advancing at a crouch across the spaceport's central runways. Within fifteen minutes, they had set and activated all three teleportation beacons in their designated areas, and began the process of retreating back over the perimiter fence.

They reached the three-metre-tall obstacle, and quickly executed four simultaneous short scale jumps, as one half of the team boosted their respective partners onto the top of the wall. Kanskyr scraped a layer of skin from his forearm on the rough concrete as he struggled for a grip, eventually managing to strengthen his handhold enough for the second part of the manouver. He felt hard hands grip his belt, buckles and head as his partner used him as a ladder to reach the top of the wall. Peering to his left, Kanskyr saw the other three pairs complete the climb and vault the wall.

Kanskyr collapsed and rolled with the landing, absorbing the drop. His team was recovering their rifles from where they'd abandoned them before entering the compound, and he thumbed his microbead again, this time switching it to a secure, long range, focused datastream.

"Eight Heralds to First Light," he said "this is Kanskyr. Beacons have been set."

A few seconds passed, and the microbead crackled with static. "Transmission understood, Eight Heralds. Initiating transfer."

---

Fernis Kaan, Marshal of the First Grand Company of the Obsidian Guard, felt blood trickle into his mask as he rematerialised on the surface of Acerbus Magna. he system's young star broke over the horizon, but his gene-enhanced eyes allowed him to ignore the harsh glare reflecting from the ground frost and Kaan ordered his men onward. Six Terminator-armoured Chaos Marines fell into formation behind him as he strode towards the spaceport's main security doors.

Kaan's eyes were fixed on a hardened steel doors, which scans had indicated led to the spaceport's communications array. His objective was to destroy the array before a warning could be sent to the planetary governor, so that the main landings could take place relatively unmolested. Kaan activated his chainfist, and the blade hummed into life with a smoothness borne of careful maintainance. The squad reached the security door, and Kaan flung his weapon forward. The steel screamed as adamantium teeth bit deeply and with terrible strength, buckling the surface of the door. A second blow broke through to the other side.

Kaan wrenched his weapon from side to side, ripping and tearing the hardened steel with an obscene ease. A Terminator lent his strength, smashing his energised power fist into the door with terrible force. The steel was forced aside to reveal the artificial light of the building's interior. A guard had heard the cacophony of tortured metal, and now unslung his autogun with desperate speed. He fired, several high-velocity slugs impacting on the surface of Kaan's shoulderpad, and he brought his combi-bolter to bear in reply.

The twin barrels chattered, spraying a cascade of mass-reactive shells. The huge rounds bit into the guard's vulnerable flesh, and secondary detonations ripped his legs away. The man fell with a scream, long and deep and true, as the scarlet spray from his bloody stumps soaked the concrete, and Kaan's squad finally beat their way into the complex.

tag for now

The vastness of space cannot be underestimated or it will swallow you whole. By walking through uncharted worlds and flying in the air of never before seen systems one comes to discover the great expanse of eternity. And none could appreciate that more than the man who sat upon his command chair staring out at the newest star daubbed painting of space. His uniform, sparkling white and immaculate, hung upon his strong frame with authority. His posture spoke volumes of strength and inner power. His glowing red eyes screamed forth the depths of his passion and resolve to conquer all. He was what some considered the most perfect warlord of all.

Heels clashing upon the metal floor an officer strode forward and saluted the blue skinned man. "Admiral, we've just come out of hyperspace in the designated coordinates."

"And?"

"Thus far we have detected no signs of any opposition in atmosphere or in orbit. The planet itself seems passive. My analysis team is looking into the data further, but I believe we may have come upon another dead system," replied the captain.

"Do not be too hasty. We've thought the same before and saw that it was not so."

"Of course admiral," said the captain. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "But perhaps we can claim this new system with ease now. The rest of our fleet is still arriving but we may not need the full support."

The admiral nodded. He turned his ruby-red eyes to the captain's face. "Continue our operations and see if you can drag up any information on the system we've entered. The map charters thought we might have entered a whole new quadrant of space...have they found anything, maybe a name?"

"Ah! Yes they have sir."

"And?"

"I believe they said that the last information retrieval mission they found this area to be known as Charybdis," said the Captain.

"Charybdis," said Grand Admiral Thrawn. "What an interesting name."

Planet Latium Deos

The brilliantly lit cathedrals that existed upon the blue-green planet of Latium Deos shone with a light that was considered to be a treasure of the universe. Men, women, and children from across the eons and great reaches of space had travelled here via pilgramage or simply on an adventure to discover themselves at this holiest of holy places. Few could deny, while standing before the Alter of the Diamond Heart, that there wasn't something spiritual about the place.


The young man sat upon his gilded throne with a heavy heart. His life was ever stressed by the internal politics of his cardinals and arch bishops, and even more so when the Emperor Treize chose to interfer as well, but this new accurance was more than he felt he could bear. He was, after all, only 26 years old; the youngest Alva Acacius ever to sit upon the throne of the Trinity.

"My Lord, we must not terry any longer. We cannot ignore this new information," said a tall man standing before the dias upon which the Alva Acacius sat. "If we do not find Dorotheus in time then other more malign entinties could come upon it and take it."

"How do we know it even exists, except through the supposed visions of a blind hermit?" asked a broad framed man in an arch bishop's robes, and a special cross upon his chest marking him as leader of the Trinity Inquistion. "We cannot send our valuable resources on such a fools erand."

"It is no fools erand!" The first man nearly shouted. "Or must I convince you?" A new tone entered the man's voice and the entire chamber seemed to become much more colder. The arch bishop flinched. The other man, dressed in the black and silver of a priest's livery, didn't move.

"Enough," said the young Alva Acacius said. "I will not abandon this new sign from God, is that understood Germanicus?"

The arch biship nodded.

"You, Father Duilius, and your Crusnik Group will go upon this new mission. You have the full authority of the Trinity Organization to extract this artifact at all costs," said the Alva Acacius.

"Thank you my lord," said Duilius. His long silver-white hair flashed in the sunlight that came through the windows. He narrowed his red tinted eyes at the arch bishop and then bowed to the young man. He turned and walked out of the chamber.

"Your holiness, I do not like this," said Arch Bishop Germanicus.

"If anyone can do it...it is the Crusniks; even if you think their kind a blaspheme to God," replied the young man with all the sterness he could muster. The bishop blushed and nodded.

"Well," Spoke Lord Baker, aboard his Flagship Reaver. "I see our Chronosian Allies are attacking the Charybdis Sector?"

"Indeed my Lord," His Second in Command, Admiral Reinhardt replied. "They and numerous other allies of ours are making incursions into the region."

"Then it is only fitting," He spoke turning to face him. "That we join them. Set a course to this sector. When we arrive, we shall spread the word of Khorne! The Book of Lorgar shall be on the lips of all, or all shall perish!"


With that, the mighty Executor Class Star Destroyer, escorted by hundreds of other vessels, slipped into the warp, destined for Charybdis.

A flash of light then another and another until it was impossible to count them all. The lights were of course a fleet exiting subspace, the Arcadian 3rd fleet to be exact. Crew of the 3rd fleet referred to it as "The Iron Cross" and were proud enough of their ships to mark every ship within the armada with a black cross.

Aboard the command and control ship Blue Ridge admiral Eva Falken looked over to the com officer and said in a low voice "Send a message to the taleidonnians make sure they know its us."

"Yes ma'm. Combat IFF ping has been sent and codes confirmed."

"Good, now try to patch me in with the taleidonnia commander."

"It may take a minute ma'm, there’s allot of chatter."

The admiral nodded and turned to the holographic pedestal. After she type in the proper access sequence the machine came to life with a blue glow. Soon five one foot tall figures began to appear on the table and the admiral recognized them as the task force commanders. The miniature officers looked to one another and back to the admiral all standing at attention. "Commanders move you're ships into a defensive cube and make the fleet battle ready." The miniature’s nodded their head or gave a proper "yes ma'm". The figures each began to fade away as the commanders moved to follow their orders.

The com officer was right behind the admiral when she turned around. "Ma'm I've got and audio only channel directly to the taleidonnian commander." She nodded and moved over to the consol, inserting a chip that contained the message.

Republic commander, Arcadian third fleet responding to code 66 under the constitutional agreement. Awaiting orders.

Third Arcadian Fleet-Central Command-ANF 453212

Operation ships: 145, 2 main battle carriers, 5 escort carriers, 6 battleships, 40 destroyers, 60, cruisers, 70 frigates, 4 supply ships, 10 troop transports, 1 command and control ship.

Lead ship: Blue Ridge

Commander: Vice Admiral Eva Falken

Ground forces: 2 Army Corps.

Epirea

'Epirea'. 'Earth' would be the most appropriate translation, though of course, it wasn't 'Earth' - it was, however, the home of the roughly two-and-a-half billion sapient natives which, due to being divided into several dozen nations and a couple thousand languages, a few dozen of which were actually spoken by more than half a backwater tribe, didn't have a single name for their species.

The same was, of course, true for the name of the planet itself. 'Epirea' was merely the name given to it by the dominant language of the planet.

In any case. Right now, Epirea was experiencing a cold war of sorts - with a few additional difficulties. Nuclear power? Check. They'd detonated their first hydrogen bomb roughly a week ago. Space? Check, so far, four nations had succeeded in launching satellites into orbit, and two more were working on it.

And that was the problem. There weren't just two superpowers engaging in a cold war.

There were six.

And this was one of the problems President Iekarta of the Central Confederacy - at this time the strongest of the six superpowers on the planet - had to deal with. Six nuclear arsenals, pointed at each other...

And the President really wasn't fond of ending in a mushroom cloud.

He looked out of the window, at a crowd of anti-war protesters, holding up signs, singing slogans, egging his window, and shouting something about how 'The Aliens will save us.'

Idiots.

Sure, he knew that there were aliens in their (Relative) neighborhood. Their electromagnetic emissions were, after all, obvious (If difficult to understand). But believing that they'd magically come from the skies and bring peace to his world? Really now...

Fucking patra-smoking idiots.

And then he turned around, flat, brown face expressing apathy and frustration...

And saw an alien.

"Good afternoon."

Definitely alien. A hairy head, for one thing. About his size, but five fingers on each hand - thinner and shorter than his own. And very, very pale.

Just, why did she speak his language? With a mild Okra-accent, no less.

"Um. Good afternoon, I said. My name's Maria Aleksandra-"

The strange alien's introduction was interrupted by the president's phone ringing. Louder than ever before. At least that was what the president thought.

"-and that call's most likely caused by my ship. Well, feel free to take the call. We've time, and you are the president, after all."

"Eh?" The president took the phone, too surprised to strictly, well... React. How the hell did it get in here, anyway? "Yes? ...Oh, I see... Yes, yes... No, I'm not particularly... No, apparently they've already sent an envoy... Yes, in my office... Yes, that'd be a good idea... I think."

He hung up. "And... Why are you here? Is this an invasion?"

Maria hesitated. "Well, sort of..."

President Iekarta frowned. "Well. Given that you've what appears to be a multi-million ton spaceship in orbit, and can magically enter my office, I suppose that you're here to negotiate our terms of surrender."

Doors burst open, and four security guards pointed guns at Maria - who, oddly enough, didn't react at all. Instead, she just looked at the president, oddly serenely - at least Iekarta thought it was serene. "You're missunderstanding. We're not the ones doing the invading. We're the ones who are here to save you from the invaders... oh, and the Crush 'em actually masses several dozen million tons."

Epirea (Orbit)

The Tactical Engagement Unit Crush 'em sat lazily in its high orbit, observing the surface-dwellers, and occasionally targetting vaguely primitive-appearing individuals in the planet's rainforests and tundras with its effector, eagerly learning their languages - it'd already done so with the major ones (Hence why its 'Ambassadors' could speak them), but its curiosity was effectively limitless.

Hadn't it been for the rather dire purpose of its presence, it'd actually have enjoyed this job - it whistled quietly to itself as a few of the world's two-dozen satellites started to ping it, their doubtlessly nervous operators wanting to learn more about the giant rock that'd just appeared on top of them.

<Maria> Ship?
<Crush 'em> Yes? Done?
<Maria> As good as. They don't quite believe me, but seeing as they don't exactly have a choice...
<Crush 'em> Hee. You'd be surprised - the Divine Alliance was about to launch a few ICBMs at me. Nevermind me being in too high an orbit to reach me with this first-generation wannabe-missiles...
<Maria> Hrm. That's stupid. They'll need their nukes.
<Crush 'em> Oh, I interfered with the launch mechanism - they never actually launched.
<Maria> Nifty. And deployment?
<Crush 'em> Black-Body ordnance's liberally spread in various orbits. I figure that any hostile force will concentrate on this planet, so I'm concentrating it here, too - vonNeumann seeds have been deployed on the minor moons of the gas giants and that icy planet two AU off. So, how about dropping off my doomsday-devices and displacer-platforms?
<Maria> Still negotiating, but I think we've a 'Yes'... Ah, yes, we have. Apparently your screwing with the League's ICBMs convinced them that we're not bluffing. I must say, they're fairly quick with exchanging their information, now that they've someone other than themselves to deal with...
<Crush 'em> Nifty. Well then - you take care of organising defence and evacuation on the surface.
<Maria> Already at it.

Anamaris

The tribe was gathered around the burning fire, men, women and children alike looking at the spirit that'd just appeared within the flames that spreading the scent of freshly cut wood throughout the camp.

They didn't kneel down, didn't pray or ask for forgiveness - they were just showing their curiosity, with mothers having to keep their children from touching the fire in an attempt to feel the spirit's transparent form.

A serene spirit, certainly, almost like the benign - if demanding - Natuanaka the shaman had so often told them about.

Light, and fire, and warmth... It promised them all these things, dancing there in the fire, and in the night, touching their hearts with its wisdom. If they were to come with him, it'd save them. Soon, soon a dreadful plague would invade this world, trying to consume them and all they stood for - and it, the spirit, didn't have the power to stop them. However, he'd try to save as many of his children as he could, and he'd send messengers to carry them off to a new paradise.

The spirit vanished, but the tribe slept well this night - soon, the messengers of the spirit would arrive. They would be different from all they knew - harder than rock, and flying without wings. Small, smaller than the people of the tribe, but benign, and there for them.

Anamaris (Orbit)

The ship's avatar - a grumpy-looking old lady with a shotgun in her right hand - blinked. "Erm. We're here to evacuate the roughly ten million sapients on this planet. Tell me again when we were supposed to carry the entire local fauna and flora with them?"

The drone wobbled a little in the air. "Well, it is a very fascinating fauna. And I'll admit, I've developed a certain liking for vaguely mammelian megafauna, so-"

"It's impossible!"

"Hey now. I didn't say you were supposed to carry off a few teratons of animate matter. Just... Specimen. Enough to allow for a restart."

"... the natives will soon be responsible for the extinction of roughly half of them, anyway, you know..."

"Yes. But it'll be them."

The ship's avatar sighed, and eventually went limp, its version of telling the drone to shut the fuck up.

It was much more pleasant to concentrate on the placement of ordnance, anyway. And so it watched as its packages were reaching their targets, deep in the oceanic trenches of the planet below, in the rocky insides of trojan asteroids, and in the eternal ice of comets half a lightyear off the local star.

Soon enough, temperatures in all these (And a number of other) locations were rising by fractions of a kelvin, while EM-absorbing missiles, as good as invisible over any kind of vaguely significant distance, made their way to lagrangean points within the system the Ecstasy considered significant, and likely to be within simulated engagement parameters.

It almost forgot to put its displacer-platforms into the world's oceans.

Otara System

The fast crusier Dawn Treader did its swing-by around the third of the system's gas giants, fusion torches throwing plasma out the back of the craft at rather absurd velocities, and accelerating the same in accordance with Newton - or, as far as the local civilisation was concerned, Tweed -, climbing the velocity ladder at slightly more than twelve metres per second.

The ship's captain, Onara Zakazi, yawned briefly, still wearing her bathrobe, and then slapped her second-in-command. "That's not where your hand belongs to."

"Awww..."

The rest of the crew - five people in total - just chuckled.

"Swingby... Done. Free of Natule's hill sphere in three... two... one... We're a go for the clouds."

"Perfect." Onara sat down on her command chair, bathrobe fluttering slightly (Without giving her crew too much of a view on her rather beautiful green skin), briefly staring at her second-in-command. "Well then. Maybe cut acceleration to 90%? I'd enjoy normal gravity..."

"Wouldn't the higher gravity help you out of your robe?"

The sound of the brush hitting the helmsman's console had something amusing to it.

"They now! You almost brought us off-cour- err... What's that?"

"What's what?" Onara replied, while trying to keep her robe from falling off her.

"That... A second."

An image appeared on the main screen. The image of a ship, considerably larger than the Dawn Treader, and of seemingly alien construction.

"Just out of range for our artillery. No EW/ ECM to speak off... We can scan them freely... They've matched velocity with us."

Gone was the rather less than serious attitude on board of the fast cruiser - none of the seven people on board had expected anything like this. Sure, they were aware of the presence of alien civilisations. As a matter of fact, they'd had contact with one of their neighbors - messages to and fro tended to take a decade, but still, it worked.

But none of them had expected them to show up in the middle of the Ansuran Confederacy's system, seemingly appearing from nowhere, and with a ship that outmassed a battleship by almost three orders of magnitude.

The captain looked at her intelligence officer, who was busily pressing buttons and interacting with the Dawn Treader's subsapient computation arrays (Sapient AI were one of the things their civilisation hadn't managed to construct yet, although they were pretty close, these days).

"Materials... Unknown. Their mass and orbital configuration doesn't match up. It's definitely a warship, though," he pointed at some of the extensions visible on the foreign ship's hull. "That ought to be guns. I can identify lasers and particle cannons... kinetics... Pretty standard, actually. Though with their apparent level in material's science, I wouldn't want to go up against them. Shit, their density's more than ten times ours!"

"Annnd... they're calling us. High Ulsac. Their ship's apparently called the DEAT on Sight."

Onara peered at her second-in-command, for once letting go of her bathrobe (It stuck to her, though). "Well... what are they saying?"

"Hello. We've a lot to discuss..."

Strategic Engagement Unit Born to be Wild

The flash was nigh-infinitely brighter than a sun, but limited to a very small area - and this area expanded, rapidly, with the speed of light, until it reached its target, a collection of (For lack of a better word) 'Waste', which promptly vanished in the detonation, as half a cubicmetre of it got instantaneously vaporised, and rapidly increasing pressure threw the rest of it throughout the room - well, until the fields came down and stopped them from damaging the walls (Fat chance, but it looked tidier that way) or the room's residents.

"Hrm. This one works."

"... I told you it does."

"Well, you never know for certain, with you machines. You're not much different from a gun, all things considered."

The drone looked hurt, and eventually extended its fields to take the gun away from the man - granted, he'd never have the chance to actually target the drone if he ever wanted to, but just to be certain... "So that's the gratitude you show after we offered you a chance to actually do something. And something useful at that."

The man grinned. "Look. I don't mind you, but... You just don't understand."

"What is there to understand?"

The man hesitated for a moment, staring at the drone, as if it wasn't even there... or maybe it was, but different. "The abyss."

"Yes?"

"I've stared at it. On Io."

Now the drone backed off. I didn't know he's one of them...

"And?"

The man grinned. Or maybe he looked scared. The drone couldn't tell. "And it stared back at me."

Minutes passed. The man left, probably for sleep. Or probably not - he never did so without screaming. In the meantime, the drone poked the ship.

"Um. Why exactly did you take this nutjob on board?"

"He told you were he came from, yes?"

"Yes."

"Consider for a moment who we're going to fight. Then consider that this man survived on Io."

"... You may have a point."

Cluster

FTLCOM@L1E20&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: IEU Stargazer
To: Everyone Involved
Subject: Starting Now

Well then. I trust it that you're all present? Very good.

First things first - the informational networks have been set up. So far, no measures to prevent us from seeing have been taken - I'd say that for now, we've remained undetected by the hostile entities we're dealing with.

Note that this will most likely change as soon as we start to fire - definitely in terms of our actual presence. But our sensor network, too, may be traced - this is close to being unavoidable, once we're using its FTL-perception to start avoiding their fire. It is my job to make sure that this will happen on a strictly local, rather than global basis - we cannot afford losing this advantage, given our disadvantage in terms of numbers and time.

Secondly, cooperation with local entities. There's a number of sufficiently advanced societies - none appear to be FTL capable, but there are some with significant in-system spacetravel - to render significant firesupport to our own effords. It remains my - and the KMA's - opinion that evacuation ought to remain our primary goal. Still, the option of holding territory, though difficult, should not be disregarded.

Thirdly, contact. Our resources are limited, and we're therefore limiting contact to those civilisations that we can deal with at the present time. This is unfortunate, but unavoidable.

Fourthly, cooperation. So far, we appear to be the only ones who care about doing what amounts to humanitarian aid-
-
[Collective Groan]
-
-yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway. If other do-gooders forces are noticed, contact. AFTER their do-gooder nature has been verified.

And fifthly, engagement. To ensure successful evacuation, it is necessary to slow down the approaching forces. We don't have to try to destroy them - it's unlikely for us to succeed in this, anyway -, but we have to damage them, while evacuation, vonNeumann seeding and ordnance deployment occur.

Now, I'm not a military men, and as such, the Kiss My Ass will now take over the briefing.
-
[Kiss My Ass] Alright. Attached is information about the identified hostiles, as well as preferable operations against the same.

The presence of a tyranid-like swarm highlights interesting possibilities - namely, getting them to move against other hostiles. However, as of now, our primary interest should be in figuring out the exact capabilities of identified hostiles by way of hit&run attacks. May I ask the assembled minds which targets they want?"

***The Citadel:Uninhabited system on the edge of the charybdis cluster***


King Richter looked out of the massive viewpoint in the command station of the asteroid city. A massive formation of city rocks, war ships, markaia factories, and fortress rocks were present in the combined armada. Travelling with the fleet in this newly uncovered region of space was almost the entire population of the Divine kingdom. They would act as an infrastructure away from home, manufacturing goods, providing repairs and food as well as a home away from home.

The second and fourth GTFOA fleets, newly formed were the center of the fleet formation. They were untested and unproven, bolstered by the Prefecture's contingent of twenty two Solidan battleships and eight Cataphract carriers, each of which carried two hundred fausts, fifty HASS-14
schwert heavy fighters and one hundred hellebardes. The GTFOA combined fleet totalled one hundred and twenty frigates, two monitor's, the Divine light of Purity and Heavenly ray, as well as five Cataphract Carriers, each of which carried over four hundred Alpha II's and a small GTFOA marine contingent with a hundred THT-II ground HMF's. Four Solidans of the GTFOA were also available as were a dozen each of the experimental Endymion and Algol units.

The King looked to the right and the left, the right flank was being held by the Divine celestial expeditionary forces, the one hundred ship fleet had seen more fighting then just about any unit in the Tannelornian military aside from those in the DVK. Though the battle over their ancient home had cost the DCNT almost three hundred vessels, those ships were primarily einhanders and Zweihanders, selling their lives to ensure the precious pilots, carriers and civilians were able to escape.

The DCNT still contained five hundred active and highly elite ships, many of them underwent even more upgrades after the battles. The DCEF however was the only remaining formation to be built using the old doctrines. Twenty Zweihander Dreadnoughts, ten Morgenstern fleet carriers, fourty five Einhander gun destroyers and twenty five Shield carriers. However despite the formidable cruiser force, the true power of the DCEF contingent came in its nearly ten thousand Morgenraete III omega high maneuver frames, as well as each ships platoon of the ultra Elite Divine celestial cavaliers.

At the forefront of the fleet were two mighty vessels, one the Fafnir, sister ship to the mighty Balmung, which had caused horrific damage to the fleets of the combine over their ancestral home, as well as evacuating tens of millions of innocent vascilians. The other was none other then the SDF Eternal. Archangel had been catastrophically damaged prior to its final jump, removing the tiny nation of Eurothia to a safe place before she fell apart. Most of the crew escaped however the loss of the ancient ship would go down in the annals of bravery.

On the Left flank was the contingent from the Grahfsberg Federation, now happily stationed in a small relatively obscure but mineral rich system with a single inhabitable world, a small ocean planet which they had only built so far one permanent settlement. The Grahfsberg Federation contingent was made up of one hundred of the most experiends Bio-com ships, seventy schwertwhal destroyers, twenty knurrwhal heavy cruisers and ten Caschellott command carriers.


With them were almost twenty thousand of the far more expendable Lowe Bio-com high maneuver frames, based on the original Mark II Morgenraetes which the Tannelornian high command had been loathe to part with, but they lacked pilots for the older but still viable fighter craft. So they simply installed a Bio-com, a few extra missiles and a Urenbecht field.

Like all Tannelornian fleets, even the Bio-com's of the Grahfsberg were based heavily on their mecha. King Richter smiled, it was a grand fleet of conquest and exploration. Three hundred and seventy warships of Tannelorn, though it was their deadly cargo of nearly fourty thousand mecha that truly made the fleet as powerful as it was. He watched for a while as vessels started patrols and CAP missions, ships filtering off to find suitable positions to start mining operations inside the Charybdis cluster.

He activated the comms system, sending a quick dispatch to Space Lord Abarrakh. "My Lord Abarrakh, you missed the defeat of the Combine over our ancient home, the death of our world and many other events as you sacrificed your vessel to save the lives of innocents. Do I take it then that you are as eager to fight those that would stand in the way of the Divine Celestial federation as are my men?" he grinned softly. Abarrakh appeared on the comms, nodding softly.

"Aye that I am friend, we missed GENESIS 3 firing upon the enemy fleets, I have heard that it was quite impressive, the combines generals and admirals were truly foolish and untrained, they acted in no way to stop us from committing to attacks, even firing in to each other in their eagerness to destroy our people and the people of Auman, I wish I had been able to return." he grinned softly back, looking around the bridge of the Fafnir he still longed for his old ship.

"It was a marvelous sight, though it lead to the death of our ancestral home, the enemies arrogance had been their undoing, their reliance on kinetic weaponry had not been in their favour as well as their utter lack of any answer to the morgenraete, still there were far, far too many to win a conventional battle against, we did only what we could do to hold off the storm so that we might be able to save those that were most important to us, our wives and children." The king answered softly.

"We should send a dispatch to our Chronosian friends, they are currently inside of a system known as Zantha III, it would be good to let them know we are here as well to aid them in pacifying yet another star Cluster." Abarrakh grinned, he had much experience in such matters, interstellar war in the tight confines of a star cluster as well as pacification of violent races.

"Many worlds shall join the Divine Celestial federation before we are done, this is certain, through negotiation, through force or through Divine right itself, where the people of Tannelorn go peace shall be attained, through friendship or fire, there will be peace where we tread." Abarrakh finished his proclamation. The recent events, the deaths of billions of Aumanii and millions of their own country men had hardened their hearts.

War was the ultimate expression of politics, war was the ultimate expression of ones wills and desires. Tannelorn had long ago abandoned all but the most basic diplomacy and economic boon of power for military power. The Military was the voice of war, the voice of the people of Tannelorn.

With the Kings forces were three hundred and sixty ships of war, over fourty thousand mecha and fighters as well as nearly three hundred thousand troops of the DCC, GAP of the Prefecture and the GTFOA second and fourth divisions. The Divine Knightery of the DVK would form the regular army of this invasion force, eight hundred thousand men at arms and seventy thousand knights had remained after the evacuation.

The Combine had attempted Genocide, instead they were thwarted by superior tactics, strategy and the inept planning and coordination of the Combines own joint commanders. Thousands of ships died over the Divine Kingdom in their mad rush to annhillate those who had disagreed with them politically, those who had stopped them from commiting atrocities on others before the vascilians themselves were betrayed and attacked. Tannelorn had prevailed, at the greatest cost imagineable, millions dead and their ancient home utterly destroyed. The Aumanii had been rescued by a combined effort of those who would be friends of Vascilia, despite the fact they were targetted by a heinous weapon while they were unable to defend themselves.

Such events would not be repeated ever again. War called to the old blood and the new, Tannelorn was ready to expand the Federation.

The Kraetons had almost finished off the planet. There were some humans trying to resist. However the people could do nothing against the horde of monsters hunting them down like deer, devouring them and storing their DNA in their bodies. The Kraeton Asesinos were the size of lions and traveled in packs of 20, picking off people and vehicles left and right. They ran on four legs and had spinal thorns down its ebony tail, which had upon it a claw-like blade to grab and plunge into the flesh of its prey and most armour. If any humans or vehicles tried to attack it, there was also a sac in its mouth that shot a corrosive bile that could eat though most armour and flesh in high concentrations. This helps the Asesinos simple flood through entire cities like a plague.

As the final lifeforms and flora were taken aboard the broodship, the first part of the armada had rendezvoused with it, readying to attack the Charybdis Cluster. Inside each ship were the gestation sacs, in charge of creating the meteoric spores that contain the larvae that invade the planets. The sacs were all getting ready for the upcoming invasion, producing countless Larvaetons to infiltrate and invade. The spores were small enough to look like small debris or meteorites entering the atmosphere but durable enough to withstand the heat change. After the spores landed, the larvaetons would escape, either taking over sentient lifeforms or mutating into their final form, the Shrykas, an armoured creature the size of a cat with a deadly barb on the end. While the larvaetons take over their hosts and spread their seed to the opposite sex, the Shrykas imbed themselves into other creatures and secrete a liquid that causes the innards of the animal to break down at a cellular level, turning the body into a cocoon where it implants more larvaeton eggs and more are created. This goes on until there are enough larvaetons to combine and create the Kraeton Cacuscudo Organs that produce the inhuman creatures that swarm cities and devour entire planets.

The armada picked up the Kraetons on the planet and drifted off, preparing the destruction of an entire cluster.

Captain Cutter sat down in the command chair in an abandoned sector of Charybdis. He has just walked through the entire ship for an inspection and they were getting ready for gunnery drills.

Cutter and the First Officer were pleased with the mantinance of the Starchaser. Every bolt had been tighted, every system was running flawlessly, and the ship was cleaner than it had been for some time.

"Launch drones one and two."

Two small drones leapt out of the Starchaser's bays. The drones released thier wings and unlocked thier turrets and began firing their ion cannons at the starship.

Cutter picked up his pocket chronometer, ""Gunners, fire at will""

The Starchaser released a barrage of ion fire at the drones, which began taking evasive manuvers. Highly mobile, the Gunners had to shift thier fire quickly in order to hit the drone.

Drone Alpha flew out over and through the solar sails only to be met with a bolt of ion to it's dorsal side as it left the rigging. The drone began to spin as the other gunners nailed it repeatly. The drone moaned and shut down as the ion charge disabled it.

Drone Beta had accelreated away from the ship and was now turning to make another run on the Starchaser. The Gunners opened up and several of them hit the drone.

Cutter stopped his chronometer. ....45 seconds..

He stood, "45 Seconds is too slow. Recover the drones and launch again! Captain Cutter wanted to get the time down to at least 25 seconds before the hunt.

He turned to his First Officer, "Who was the gunner that nailed Alpha as it left the rigging?"

"Young Ensign Revan"

"Mark that shot on his record."

Six spaceports had fallen within an hour, as each succumbed to the Terminators of the Obsidian Guard. Orbital shuttles delivered men and supplies to the surface on a massive scale, and nearly three hundred thousand men were on the ground by the end of the first day. Operations continued into the night, and the Chaos invasion progressed according to schedule.

---

Landing +49 hrs

Colonel Syrius Festin of the 609th Joruun Rifles peered into the distance as the Salamander scout vehicle in which he stood raced along the concrete highways of Concremo Primus. Discarded enemy equipment, uniformed bodies and wreckage from civilian vehicles littered the shell-marked road, evidence of the advance. In the distance, dark smoke hung heavy over the city, where Guard units were engaged in heavy combat against the Concreman defence forces.

The Marines had already airlifted into another combat zone now that the position had been fortified, and this campaign had been left for the Imperial Guard. The 609th was reinforcing the 1138th Anturus Praetorians in the city, alongside the 303rd Barati Dragoons, the armoured regiment in whose vehicles the 609th were riding.

Joruun was a civilised world on the opposite side of the Imperium, one of the hundred dominated by the Obsidian Guard, which had only recently begun tithing troops. The 609th was the first regiment raised on Joruun, and morale was high in this, the regiment's first campaign.

---

Along the column the men of the 609th disembarked, sliding from Leman Russ and Chimera hulls as the vehicles lay idly humming. Colonel Festin's Salamander had regrouped with the regiment as they reached the outskirts of the city known as 'Lucenis', and he now watched as his regiment formed up either side of the road with a professional efficiency that had taken five months to drill into them.

From the nearest tank, the colonel of the 303rd, a man named Hucris, was waving for Festin's attention. Colonel Hucris was a man who enjoyed his occupation, and was lauded by his men for his willingness to fight.

"Festin!" he called. "You've got point! I need infantry to sweep the habs either side of the roadway as we advance! I'd prefer to go first, normally, but the enemy have developed a terrible habit of hitting our tanks with disposable rockets, and I'd rather not catch one of those up my fuel pipe!"

"I'll accept that excuse for now," joked Colonel Festin, "but it'll grow tired fast. Wish us luck!"

"Tzeentch willing. Don't get yourself killed, Festin."

---

Landing +51 hrs

Solid slug rounds ripped into the corner of wall where Colonel Festin had been only a second earlier. Sporadic fire continued for a few seconds more as the enemy flung rounds his way, just in case. Five metres into open ground lay a Joruun, his leg pierced in three places and the blood flowing. A medic stood just behind Festin, and had already thrown a set of bandages and counterseptic to the wounded man, who was applying them with utter concentration. A second Guardsman was trapped in the open as well, and was lying flat behind a low concrete wall.

Festin thumbed his microbead.

"Support, this is One! I need a stonk ASAP at coordinate zero-five-niner, four-niner-seven, target is a brick building."

A few seconds passed, and the microbead crackled in reply. "One, this is Support, Lieutenant Emrin speaking. I have the target, eight rounds incoming."

Festin turned to his squad, seeing frightened faces and grinding teeth. Every eye was on him.

"Mortars are incoming on the enemy. We're going to wait three seconds after they land, and then we're going to double time it. Check your loads. Keller," he ordered, slapping the squad medic on the shoulderpad. "Be ready to run to Hirch, I want him back in cover fast."

The whistle of incoming artillery could be heard now, as the requisitioned mortar rounds tore through the air to drop their high-ex payloads on the enemy. Festin spoke to his men to keep them calm.

"Wait for it," he ordered. "Wait for it."

The whistling sound grew to an ear-splitting shriek, and the Joruun covered their ears as they readied for the impact. They waited for what seemed far too long, as though the mortars had overshot, before the explosion came. Eight staggered rounds hit their target with calculated accuracy, blasting through into the second and first storeys of the building. Dust billowed past the corner which the squad hid behind, and Festin waved the grey mist away from his eyes.

"KELLER!" he yelled, his ears ringing from the mortar attack, "GO!"

The young medic stumbled out into the open, sprinting over the plaza towards the wounded Hirch. Festin grabbed the nearest pair of Guardsmen, and started hauling them bodily out, towards the enemy building on the far side.

"RIFLES! RUN!" he ordered, "RUN!" He'd already hauled four past himself before the other two got the idea. The shock and noise had blanked minds, but orders and a firm grip on a lasgun overrode the confusion. Festin sprinted after his men, drawing his pistol as he did so. The target building loomed tall and foreboding, and seemed to stay the same distance away no matter how far he ran. Festin saw a face at a window, and brought his weapon to bear.

"COVER FIRE!" he screamed, still running as he snapped off las-rounds through the darkened opening. The six Guardsmen ahead of him began firing as they ran, and the first was already at the door. His heavy boot slammed into the lock, breaking the rusted steel and forcing the door open. The man barged past a barricade, and Festin saw flashes of red as the man fired from inside the building.

Twenty feet.

Another man was in, now. He joined up with the first, and they forced their way into the next room. There was a scream, a flurry of las-rounds and a bellow of rage. Festin recognised his men's voices as they killed in the confined spaces, battering their enemies down with rifle butts and fists, and performing their bayonet drill with desperation.

Lunge. Twist. Remove. Ten feet. One more through the door.

Five feet. The other three were in. The firing was coming fast.

Festin was at the door, and he kicked it fully open. Where his eyes went, his pistol followed, and he ran further into the building to find his men.

Two rooms on, and they were there in a long corridor, one lying in a spreading pool of scarlet as five huddled behind scrap furniture as enemy troops fired from behind a barricade at the far end. One man was trying to recover the body, a vain effort, for the man was missing most of his face and was clearly no longer breathing. Festin hunched down by his squad and fumbled for a frag, pulling the pin and holding the grenade.

"Fire in the hole," he whispered to his men, making sure they all heard. He let go of the trigger, and the grenade armed. Four. Three.

He threw it down the length of the corridor, not watching to see where it fell. They all heard the thumping detonation, amplified tenfold by the cramped space, and stood. Festin sprinted down the corridor, this time leading his men into the fight. Dust fell from the ceiling, obscuring the enemy, and they ran through it. Two men beyond, and Festin ran for the closer, his teeth grinding and his throat making the keening, killing noise that men make when they face death.

He fired, the las-round burning into the enemy's stomach. The man fell, and Festin moved in, kicking and stamping on him as he lay on the ground. One, two, three kicks to the head, and he was confident the man would not be getting up. Another Guardsman fired into the second, following up with a bayonet. A second man joined him, and the bloody blades rose and fell as their victim screamed his air away. A third put a round into the head of each enemy with a soldier's mercy.

They stood there, marvelling at what they had done, and at each other. Hirch, supported by Keller and the eighth man came stomping through the building, finding the six men silently staring at each other and at the bodies in the silence of shell-shocked men.

"Keller," croaked Festin, his mouth dry with dust and his throat sore. "Keller, call a med-wagon, and see Hirch to the nearest field hospital."

Keller licked his lips before he spoke, still staring at Festin. "Are you going to be alright, sir?" he asked.

"We'll be fine," said Festin, nodding numbly and adjusting his peak cap. "Get back with Hirch." He turned to his six remaining men.

"Continue the advance," he ordered. "This show isn't over."

OOC: I'll be following the exploits of the 609th throughout this campaign, as much as I can. Keep a look out for Festin and the Rifles.

With one planet already stripped of life, the Kraeton fleet turned back to their predetermined course.

The Charybdis Cluster

On the Surface of Darimus

Darimus (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Kraetus1.jpg) was a more than a colony planet on the fringe of the Cluster. It was an actual homeword, home to an advanced modern tech race of humans similar to those from Terra, or Earth by antiquity. This would require something more direct that the simple infiltration method...

"Premier Niiat, we have a situation!" yelled the Secretary of Defense, Honorable Ghest.

"Whats going on Ghest?" responded the premier.

"Take a look at this. Satelitte images show that there is an enormous fleet in orbit around our planet."

"What!?! Aliens!?! That's impossible! There are no such things as..." the premier stopped as Ghest changed the premier's television to the satelitte feed. On the tv were the broodships, massive and numerous, surrounding the planet.

"Have you tried making contact?" Niiat said.

"Negative. We decided to run it by you before..." Ghest was cutoff by the image of the satelitte being destroyed. The image turned to static.

"Check the other satelittes! We need full 24 hour coverage of these aliens! I have a bad feeling about this." Niiat surfed thorugh channels to see if any other countries had found out about this. There was one channel that made him stop.

THIS IS NNB, NIIAT NEWS BROADCAST

Anchorman: "We have breaking news from the very streets of Vigor City. Live in Vigor City is our correspondent, Matar Kiiar. Matar?"

"Yes, I am here at the Niiat Square where it appears that the sky is...bleeding!" she said. "It seems that other cities in other countries are reporting this same phenomenom. The population is scar..."

"We're all going to die!!!" yelled an old hobo with a "THE END IS COMING" sign. "I told you all!! The End is here and you will pay for your sins."

"As you can see there is mass hysteria. What will the government do in this unusual event..."

"I wish I knew," said Niiat to himself.

Across the globe, the population look up as the skies began turning a crimson colour. Many people began to panic, packing all of their belongings and running. Other went for their weaponary to defend whatever the hell was coming down. And some just stared in awe and fear.

"Hold on I see something falling," said Matar. A giant spore the size of a car landed in the square. The crowd dispearsed and screamed.

Army personell rolled in, guiding people back to safety while they took care of the spore.

"What is it?" asked Sergeant Yar.

"Im not sure sarge. I think it is alive," responded Jay, the army biologist. "Wait there is something crawling inside of it!"

The Larvaetons broke out of the spore and began swarming over the men like a mass of cockroaches, each trying to get inside of the man. Matar ran from the wave of Larvaetons toward the safety of a back alley. She looked up at the sky. The bloody skies began raining down more of the organic material. These spores were covering the entire cityscape. From them Larvaetons swarmed out of them.

The army got into action, firing explosives and using flamethrowers to take out the small creatures. For awhile it appeared to be working, as the Larvaetons ran away in fear.

"We got em boys!! Lets keep this up..." an inhuman howl resonated through the skies. "What...what was that?" asked a soldier.

"I...I don't know. We better check it...AGH!!!" a ghost-like tentacle pierced through the sarge's heart.

"Sarge!!! Fire!! Fire!!" the soldiers began firing at whatever had killed the sarge, but they couldn't see it. This creature was invisible. All that was visible was the blood on the end of the tentacle, dragging the sarge as the ghost creature evaded the gunfire.

"We gotta find this thing before he gets us too!" yelled the biologist. He turned to run for his weapon when he slammed into something. As Jay regained his breath, he saw another creature the size of a lion.

The Asesino.

Jay ran as the Asesino chased him and the squad. The squad began firing at him with a barrage of bullets. From behind the squad were three more Asesinos.

"How did they get by!?!" yelled Jay.

"Shut up and keep firiAACHHHH!!!" another solder was taken down by the Asesino. It tore his arms off and began dragging him into an alley.

"no...no...kill...me..." he sputtered to Jay. "Kill...me..." He was silenced by the Asesino, already finished devouring the man.

"NO!!!" Jay yelled as he ran off. Jay kept running through the streets as the nightmarish reality continued playing. Soldiers all around him were being picked off by the Asesinos that had landed. Jay turned behind him and saw his savior.

It was a light vehicle with a gatling gun on it. He entered in it with the driver. "Get on the top and fire!" yelled the driver.

"With pleaseure," responded Jay.

The gun fired with its barrage of armour piercing bullets into the flesh of the Asesinos. One by one the daemonic creatures fell to the power of the Vulcan cannon. They might be able to win this, he thought. They might...

* * *

It looked ahead of the Asesinos, seeing a strange vehicle firing at his brood. The prey thought they were winning. It looks like I have to change my strategy...

Sicari. He was a select breed of Kraetons. He was smarter than the Asesinos and a much better hunter. His skin had a special cellular structure allowing him to bend light around him and making him nigh invisible. On his back were countless tentacles that could move him from wall to wall and also kill unsuspecting prey. His brain was constructed differently than theirs, allowing him to summon and control them at will. He summoned a squad and began his new tactics.

The squad of about 40 Asesinos began running towards the vehicle, bodies already piling up. They began tried to shoot their bile at the vehicle, but they were too far. The creature on the gatling gun seemed to be very pleased with himself, almost convinced that he would win...

The Sicari snuck around the alleys, invisible to all ground forces of the Darimus. He found the vehicle. More units were surrounding it, trying to protect it from Asesinos. It is a shame, he thought. This prey was getting quite interesting, however the time for games is over.

He lunged at the vehicle and landed, launching the acidic bile and the driver and then ripping the biologist in half. The tentacles began stabbing through the other soldiers as they tried to kill the agile creature. But it was too late. The Asesinos had surged the platoon, searing throught the human flesh and drinking of their blood. It was only a matter of time, the Sicari thought.

The broodships had come into the atmosphere and began launching aerial creatures known as the Volucri. They were fast creatures and made for picking off infantry. They choked the skies in their hunt for flesh. Behind them were the Raveners, actual biofighterships that could keep up with starfighers and jets, taking them down.

Around the world, images of huge organic structures being erected were popping up in Niiat's office. These were the Kraeton Cacuscudo Organs, giant palaces of Kraeton gestation. These were procuding the countless creatures of the Horde. From the broodships came giant tendrils that wrapped around buildings to tear them down. Plasma blasts rang from the Volucri and the Raveners as well as a new beast of burden, the Ballista. The Ballista were the Kraetons answer to tanks, a creature the size of a two story building with two organic plasma barrels on its back. They began the coverfire for the rest of the army that were attacking.

Inside the Premier Niiat's office, he began to panic as the sounds of death drew closer and closer.

"Ghest, prepare my motorcade! I need to get out of here!" he yelled over the intercom. No one answered back.

"Ghest! Where are you you son of a bitch!?!" he yelled. As he let go of the intercom button, a mutilated body was smashed through the door. It was Ghest. The Premier screamed as he turned to the creature, the Sicari. It pierced through Niiat's amr and pinned him against the wall with his tendrils.

"What...what are you going to do to me!!" he yelled. The Sicari brough to him a Shryka. The Sicari shoved it into the Premiers mouth as he began to gag on it. It was a matter of time, thought the Sicari. This Shryka was different, he thought. It would be important to keep Niiat alive for the coming invasion.

The world of Darimus would be destroyed within two weeks. An entire civilization gone.

The gunners had gotten thier time to an outstanding fifteen seconds. It was now the pilot's turn to go through some drills.

In an astroid feild.

It was the last test for the crew before hunting. If The Starchaser could make it past the astroid feild in less than 10 minutes, Captain Cutter would declare them ready for The Hunt. It was a risky test at breakneck speed. It would take all hands at their best. Deven, the ship's new sharpshooter, would be at the foward guns and the first line of defence if the pilot couldn't get away in time.

The pilot, Lt. Swift, stood ready at the helm holding the large steelwood wheel.

Cutter sat down in his chair and calmly gave the order, "Begin the run"

The Starchaser lurched foward as Swift hit the throttle.

The feild was one of the more crowed astroid belts they had come across. The Starchaser lept over the first major rock, tiled 30 degrees starboard ,and flew under the next one. The ship hit it's boosters to avoid a rock that was hurtling in behind them.

Cutter gave a second order, "Gunners, begin gunnery training now"

The Port and Starboard Gunners began firing at the passing astroids. The rear and foward gunners held off so they wouldn't mess up the pilots plotted course.

Swift called out, Foward/Rock/Two!

Deven swung his guns left and up blasting an approaching astroid to bits as The Starchaser flew by in it's wake, the debrie being burned up in the shields.

The Starchaser continued to race through the belt, turning a full roll before swinging all the up in order to avoid a paticualrly huge astroid.

The pilot was calling out his movements, "30 degrees clockwise.....15 degrees upside, 75 degrees counter.......8 degrees down 29 degrees clockwise...full boost on my mark...3...2....1...Go"

Cutter was pleased. Flying through an astroid feild was enough to put any fighter pilot on edge, but for a ship the size of The Starchaser it was downright maddness. Lt. Swift had remained calm throughout the exsersise and was making excellent time. Ensign Deven was taking commands from the helm with relative ease, and the ship was performing well.

"Reverse thrusters on my mark, 3...2...1...Go...10 degrees to port...full thrusters in 3...2....1....go...down 10 degrees...full boost in 3...2...1..go.....Belt Clear Sir

Captain Cutter clicked his chronometer...."8 Minuets, excellent work Mr. Swift I belive we're ready.

One Week and a Half into the Darimus Invasion

"Sir...it's been 48 hrs...the squad isn't coming back," Private Johan said to the sergaent.

Sergeant Hiialet just stared off into the crimson sunset, his breath getting shorter and shorter. The Kraeton's Asphyxiation Spires were polluting the atmosphere little by little with a strange airborne substance. Many of the soldiers found themselves becoming gravely ill and hacking up black fluids and even pieces of their lungs.

He looked around what was once Vigor City. The buildings were ruins now, replaced with the grotesque organic structures of Darimus's new occupiers. The ground was covered with blood and bodies of people, civilians and soldiers alike, all trying to escape the surge of Kraeton monstrosities. They weren't going to last much longer, Hiialet thought. This world is finished. All these years...all of the advances in science and health for nothing...nothing at all. Nuclear weapons did little to nothing against these aliens. Darimus is doomed...doomed...

"Sir!! Look ahead!!" Hiialet looked ahead to see one member of the squad that had been sent out to find help. He was limping and bleeding profusely from his arm. Hiialet and his men ran to his aid, helping him into their outpost. They quickly applied a tourniquet to his arm and gave him some painkillers. Hiialet came into the medical tent and met with the soldier.

"Private Gleason," he read off of the diagnostic sheet, "what happened to the rest of the squad you were with?"

"Kraetons...Krae...Kraetons...killed the entire squad..." he stuttered. "But I saw...I saw their hive...its huge..."

"Where did you see it Gleason?" Hiialet demanded.

"At the very center of Vigor City. I think...i think it is connected to...the Spires..."

Hiialet left the man quickly and went to his men. "Soldiers, gather every weapon you can find. We are the last army left in this country. There are 2,000 of us and many more than them, but we have new information about their hive. If we destroy this hive, we may be able to take out some of the spires and reclaim this land. Are you ready men!"

"Yes sir!" they yelled with renewed strength. The men moved out with tanks and fast attack vehicles while Hiialet ordered an air strike onto the hive. They were going to win this one. They had to.

***

The airforce were already on their way to strike down the hive. They had everything they could muster, from fortress piercing missles to nuclear missiles ready to take out the hive.

"Alright we are ready to commence bombardment. I don't see the hive yet sir," said the Red Leader of the Kraeton strike force.

"Sir we have a visual...my god it's big!!"

Ahead was a colossal Kraeton Cacuscudo Organ the size of most of the center of Vigor City. The planes locked onto it and readied fire. Until they heard the screeches...

"Raveners!! Evasive manuevers now!!" yelled Red Leader. Raveners began firing, each one chasing down a jet of choice and taking them down one by one. Red Leader had three on his tail and was trying to shaked them.

"Dammit...eat this assholes!!" He let loose a missle, going backwards to the Raveners and exploding on contact, killing all three.

"Yes!!" He yelled. "How is everyone else!?!"

"Sir....there's...monst...flyi...you..." the radio had become staticy. What the hell were they say...

He looked in front of him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

The ground forces were encroaching on the hive. The air strike had failed and it was up to them to try and take it out from the inside. The Kraeton had already sense their arrival, yet they weren't outside of the hive protecting it.

"Odd," Hiialet said. "Why aren't they protecting the hive?" A monstrous shrill filled the air. Everyone looked up at the new creature heading towards them.

It was huge and shaped like a wyvern. It had four massive wings and on its serpentine underbelly were bioplasma cannons and tendrils to grab unsuspecting prey. On its face was a giant needle in between the two...yes two mouths it had, one on top of the other.

This was the Guacamayo.

It divebombed towards the men, scorching them in a massive inferno of flames and napalm while showering them with plasma blasts. The men screamed for mercy as the fire burned through their flesh, choking their already damaged lungs. The Guacamayo came back again, but this time Hiialet was ready. Upon his tank he began firing. The shells damaged the beast but it still kept on flying.

"Fire at the wings!!" he yelled in vain. The tanks opened fire as it came around a third, this time nailing it in its mouths and wings. The creature fell into a remaining building, bleeding and screeching for help. Hiialet turned back to his men and said, "We have this!! Let us ride into battle.!!" The men didn't move. They were fixated on the hive. Hiialet turned and saw why they weren't moving.

"My god...no...it's over...it's over..." he dropped to his knees as a colossal shadow loomed over his men.

It took two weeks. Two whole weeks before Darimus was nothing more than a barren rock amongst the stars. The broodships had collected the remaining Kraetons and departed.

As they departed, in the ship lay a special cocoon, waiting for the right moment to hatch.

Elyana was feeling ill.

Something...was terribly wrong. She placed a hand on her stomach sitting down in her ship's cabin. She took a look out the her cabin's porthole to catch a glimpse of the stars.

What's wrong?...I hear screaming...pain...agony...death

She swept a lock of raven hair out of her emerald eyes. She stood back up, fixing her royal blue dress. It fit quite well on her slender body, and it had a flowing quality about it that gave her the appearance of walking on air. Although, at this point in time, she quickly sat back down. She felt much to sick to be floating anywhere.

Elyana was a rarity amoung pirate vessels. Normally, women went into the Merchant Guild and men went to etheir the Pirate or Warrior Guilds. Elyana was neither a Pirate or Merchant, but rather an Albatross. She could feel life throughout the starry sky. An ability that is vital amoung a race that has no homeworld and lives among the stars. Without being able to seek out other forms of life, there can be no trade. No way for The Exiled to seek out planets in which to trade goods in exchange for food and water. No safe harbors. For The Exiled, being able to find life amoung the stars was a matter of survival. It was not as important now and days, The Exiled had firm trading agreements with various races for generations now, but Albatrosses were still welcome aboard any ship. Simply for being able to detect dangers and things that were not quite correct in the Great Flow of Things.

Elyana spent most of her time in her cabin. Captain Cutter had graciously given up his Captain's Cabin so she's have a place to herself. The men were polite to her as it was bad luck to anger the Albatross. (Or Captain Cutter for that matter!)

Still, she couldn't shake this foul wind. She had never felt such pain. It's as if a world were dying.

She attempted to stand again, fixing her raven hair back in it's place. It was streaked with blue and glittered when it was worn down. It was quite difficult to manage at times. She began to make her way toward the bridge.

Whatever this way, it would not bode well.

With most of the Kraeton already going throught the Cellular Degeneration for re-use and updated Strains, some of the Kraeton were still alive inside of the ships. The Omnilord was long behind them but they still felt his powerful presence as they entered the Cluster.

In the depths of the main broodship, there was a cocoon heavily guarded by some Asesinos. It was nearing hatching so the Asesinos were guarding it heavily. Nearby, the Sicari that had captured Niiat crawled by to check on the fleets new prodigal son. With the Omnilord far away, some of the Kraetons were being disconnected from the horde and giving into there instinctal urges. This made guarding the chysalis imperitive so as to keep order amongst the ranks.

The cocoon began to hatch, causing a commotion to stir near it. The Sicari ran there to watch the next evolution in the Kraeton genus.

The creature broke through the cocoon and stepped forward, covered in embryotic fluid and blood. He stood up, a fully transformed half-human half-Kraeton entity. What was once Niiat was now the new general in the Kraeton Horde.

"Ah...I am born anew," Niiat said unto the horde. He could feel the minds of the horde all being restored under true order. Niiat was a beacon of power and control to the Kraetons. With him in power, there was no question that the Kraetons would be unstoppable. He rose his arm and the broodship immediately created a living throne of flesh and sinew. Niiat sat upon it. I had always wanted to obtain power, he thought. Always.

"Let us go. We have a system to conquer."

Captain Cutter, the First Officer, and the Pilot were in the map room, plotting a course. Through the use of slipstream, they could go in and out of paticular systems as they pleased. The trick was to hit in places where there supply lines would be stretched and do be able to disappear quickly, so that any patrols would be clueless as to where exactly to follow. With so many nearby star systems this was ideal grounds for hunting.

Cutter was actaully acting as more of a scout for the rest of the Guild. Yes, they would be raiding ships, but the Guild needed to get an idea of what they were up against. This cluster was vast and it would take alot of slipping in and out of real space to get a good sense of what was going on.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

The map room door opened to reveal Elyana, grasping on the side of the doorway. As she started to collapse, the Lt. Swift rushed up to catch her.

"Miss Elyana, what's wrong?" asked the Captain.

The First Officer clicked the gold comlink on his naval unifrom, Map Room to Infirmary, get me a medic in here right away.

Elyana stirred and spoke, "It's ok...I'm allright...but there's something wrong out there. Something terrible's happened Captain.

Cutter knelt down beside the Albatross, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Elyana blinked her emrald eyes a few times, "A world is dying. People crying...dying..suffering...pain..death..agony.

Cutter hit a switch on the console and a 3D holograph flooded the room. Where m'lady? Where is the dying world?

Elyana pointed at a dimming star, "There...the screaming is coming from there

The medic arrived and began to check her vital signs. Cutter motioned the First Officer aside.

So, we can ethier check out the dying world now or continue on our mission to hit the supply lines coming from that big invasion. I know you're not the least bit supersitious so I want your thoughts before I decide.

The Guild should be here soon. We need to have something for them. This...this thing can't be profitable.

Let's chart a course to the dying world, but place one of the main lines in our path. If there is something that can bring so much pain to the Albatross, the Guild will need to know that as well.

The Starchaser's solar sails began to collapse down. The entire ship dimmed, as the electrical charges simmered throughout the entire hull.

A bolt of blue energy leapt from the ship, ripping open time and space, as The Starchaser slipped into slipstream.

Niiat stared from space at the first would that had fallen to Kraeton control. Unlike previous invasions, however, the Kraetons were staying imbeded on the planet of Darimus, growing more and more. Niiat had a plan for the mass invasion. He would turn Darimus into a hordeworld, giving birth to more units and thus more broodships. This would make the devouring more efficient. And Kraetons were all about evolving to be more efficient.

The planet was covered with Cacuscudo Organs to create units and Asphyxiation Spires to continues pumping the toxic miasma into the atmosphere. With Niiat's imagination, the Larvaetons clumped together to create new structures never before seen to the Kraeton. There was the Brood Gland, using the planets resources to create more broodships for the fleet. There were also Assualt Tendrils, one of the defense platforms that use powerful tentacles to kill ground vehicles, and the Bile Towers, a huge defense gland that fires acidic bile at aircraft and ground crew alike. The planet was already theirs, yet Niiat was still uneasy about something. Being apart of the Omnilord and so high in the Hierarchy, he was a powerful psychic, controlling the entire legion of monsters. Yet he knew that someone was watching, He could sense a being...a powerful being...and he was a bit worried that they sensed him too.

The Starchaser came out of slipsteam and raised it's solar sails. It powered down it's generators, and all unnessasary systems. The ship, grew silent.

The ship dimmed, giving it the appearance of being dead in space. The Solar Sails would unfurl and help move the ship moved foward. The crew stayed silent. This was not a drill....this was The Hunt.

They were sailing in an area just behind the invaders main force. As the demands of the front increased, supply vessels would be sent foward. If the attack was going very well or very poorly, the escorting force would diminish. If this was the initail attack, there might be a few ships without an escort. The crew was ready. They had trained hard. All they had to do....was wait.

- - -

Lady Elyana was back in her chambers. The door was locked. She would take advantage of the silence around her to focus herself.

She was now wearing much more comfortable garments and sitting in a chair custom made for her slender frame. She would be perfectly comfortable. Perfectly at ease.

She closed her eyes.

First, there was darkness

She could feel the space around her, the recycled air flowing through her cabin. The silk fabric on her chair. Her robes touching her soft skin.

Then, the ship

She could feel the solid gaze of the Captain. The confident hands of Deven. The worry of the medic. The careful way the Pilot held the wheel, the way he tried to listen to the ship through the wood.

Then, the stars

She could feel the heat of the nearby sun, the frozen world a bit away. The yelling of men far away. She could feel the blood racing through the soliders hearts. Yes, there was a war. Yes, there was pain. Yes, there was death.

She extended her view. So many worlds here!

She felt kids laughing. Women gossiping. A baby crying. This world did not know there was life outside thier own world.

Farther

This one did. They were worried. They were preparing. They must be the defenders.

But still

There was the deadworld.

Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out.

Lady Elyana could feel the stars through her body. She was almost floating now, her hair leaving her body in defiance of the gravity around her.

Ready

Her mind sailed to the deadworld. So much pain still residing. The spirits did not rest. They were anguished. So sudden thier demise.

The air is poisined

Bodies still lay strewn about. Soliders, women, children with looks of horror on thier face. So much death. A world filled with untame spirits, unable to rest.

There is something more

She saw it. Monsters. Abominiations. Swarming over the planet. Choking it.

Wait

There is another being connected to the stars. Not in the same way as herself, but still there. A monster.

Step away

She focused. Saw the stardust.

So all the monsters are connected.

She was growing weary. It was time to go back.

Back to the stars

Back to the warm sun

Back to the safe ship

Back to the darkness

Back to her chair

Back to her body

Back

Back

Back

She opened her eyes again. And rested.

OCC: Any party may volunteer to be the first raided ship although it's in the vincinity of Clan Ansu and Chron

Niiat turned. He felt it. Someone was watching. He sneered evily. Let them watch, he said, all traces of humanity lost in the mind of the Omnilord. Let them watch what will happen to them next.

The Siraci crawled next to him like a panther. Niiat looked at the Sicari and petted it like a large cat.

"You are quite the killing machine," he mused to himself. "With my imagination, however, I could make you much better at what you do." That said, he began thinking about newer strains of Kraeton species to further the destruction of all life. He could sense more people coming, only much farther away. It will be no matter, he thought. All will succumb to my will...

OOC Im just going to wait until I get the ok to make other planets to conquer. Also I wanna wait for others to post here.

Scuta (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Scuta.jpg) in all its glory.

"And in the crucible of war they shall be forged, upon the surface of a besieged world. The true and the faithful shall endure as the unworthy are laid low; food for the Blood God! The Changer shall gaze upon the world and bless it with his touch. The Prince of Excess himself shall purify the People and the Lord of Decay will purge them of their weakness

Such is the glory of Chaos! The black wonder of the Undivided Chaos!"

Ecanus let his words drift forth to the warriors of the assembled Legions and Regiments, these Crusaders for the Gods. Helet herbs drift from his hand into the smouldering heat of a censer, unnameable substances slipping from his palm. Each man could taste the heady scent of ritual and warpfire.

"The Gods are with us, brethern! Their favoured servants in the hallowed Immaterium shall come to the aid of their favoured within this flawed material universe! Our foes may be legion but they are without blesing. They shall know the pain of millennia of war, the experience of countless battles upon them!"

"And they shall die beneath the iron of our advance" A booming voice cut through the zealous thunder of Ecanus' sermon.

"Lord Aesri" The Chaplain bowed his head in reverence "You honour our assembled host with your presence."

"As it rightly should." He chuckled blackly "I have not seen the zealot hordes of the Ascendant Daemons march at the side of the Steel Fists in an age, and while you preach most admirably, I wonder how you fight. As we shatter walls, can you keep up with the hammer of our advance?"

"The sons of Gabriel do not shirk from serving the Gods in combat, Lord Primarch. It isour might, in body and spirit that shall convert this world, as surely as your guns."

It almost amused him, Ecanus' indignation at being regarded as weak. Each legion should be as iron against the enemy, unyielding. Aesri was of the opinion that some light rivalry would only strengthen them. He could almost imagine Ecanus pushing the men under his command harder, faster, to greater lengths. He did, after all, have muhc to prove to those gathered; before Primarchs and chosen, before the eyes of the Warmaster.

"Of course, Ecanus, but you must admit that it is we who shall open the way"

"Perhaps, but it is the Word of Chaos that shall inspire all under our command" The Chaplain let a feral sneer cross his features. "After all, what is devotion without True Faith? What is victory devoid of belief?"

"Empty" Aesri conceded, chuckling softly "But I imagine we shall both prove ourselves worthy before the power of the Gods. I shall see you when we deply, Ecanus. Chaos shall claim this world; by martial power and spiritual might"

"I am glad that I have your faith and blessing, Lord Gabriel himself shall praise your humility."

"I am glad to hear that" Aesri smirked. "I shall see you and your men upon the embarkation deck. May the Gods smile on you, Chaplain."

Ecanus watched Aesri depart, turning back to the men gathered before him, his hands tight around the shaft of his Crozius.

"They always do, Lord Primarch...They always do."

FTLCOM@L1E20&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: IEU Stargazer
To: SEU Kiss My Ass [TEU No More Privacy; TEU Rocket Run; TEU Misty Menace; TEU Tactical Fruit Basket]
Subject: Wet Operations

Ready?
-
Ready. Additional relays have been deployed - our view is quite beautiful. Well, in a sense.
-
Going for the kill, I take it?
-
Nah. We've four ships, dear. Jabbing them, slowing them down. If we get close enough, we might displace a couple drones to the surface.
-
Why not, you know... Absurdly oversized bombs?
-
Because we want to slow them down, not encourage them to attack yet another world once this one's dead?
-
Point. Well then, have fun.
-
I will.

Concremo Primus

The four craft - the Tactical Fruit Basket had remained in a non-relativistic state on the other side of the planet - shifted into relativistic space, quietly, without making much of a fuss - the radiation and short-lived particles caused by the brief moment of giving Einstein the finger was insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

Four ships and their subcraft, at this time about ten million kilometres off the local planet. They were moving quickly, their momentum from before the shift conserved, and would reach their intended engagement-distance - ten lightseconds off the enemy - within less than forty minutes, but still. For now, they were far away.

Missiles were distributed, quietly. They, just like the ships and their subcraft, were near-perfectly black - and not only for the visual EM spectrum. They, just like the ships and their subcraft, were staying unpowered, coasting quietly through the void, trying to remain invisible.

Being massively outnumbered as they were, detection had to be avoided until they were to open fire. The first moment of the engagement had to make them look like a force much, much bigger than they were - a 'Fair' fight couldn't even succeed in stalling the opponent.

Conducting incoming radiations into their heatsinks, converting their gravity to avoid mass sensors picking them up... - and shifted in non-relativistic space, sensor drones watched the targets, and distributed information about the enemy's movement back to the approaching squad of ships, just in case that a psyker would notice them - there were no humans on board, only the ships' minds, and they should be safe, but one never knows.

Strikingly, the ships didn't even talk, instead maintaining absolute silence. Sure, they were arrogant and talkative, but for once, they were taking their job serious.

Anamaris

"Let... Let go off me!" the drone shouted, seemingly annoyed with the child that'd chosen to spend its time riding the 'lil floaty thing.

"Weee!"

The drone looked a the child's mother, pleading, but her only reaction consisted of waving at the child, and encouraging it.

Good goddess. They're mere... Weeks from being eaten by... Whoever comes first, and this cheery. It's sickening.

Let them be. Remember, they're leaving everything behind.

And we're rebuilding it for them. Argh. Couldn't we've started with the megafauna?

Didn't one of their sabretoothed antilopes - the carnivorous ones - try to eat you?

Yeah. Poor thing broke its teeth off. Ah well. Anyway...

The savannah was full of life and activity. This morning, the spirits had come again - and they'd brought great, flying boats and little, flying helpers with them. The tribes' elder had declared it the begin of a great journey that'd bring them to their promised land - and after a series of fascinating (The Ecstasy) or time-wasting(The drone) celebrations, they'd started to enter the shuttles.

It was a long and tedious process, but slowly, the evacuation was progressing.

Otara

"So, errr... You want us to assist you."

Captain Otara of the fast cruiser Dawn Treader was by now dressed in her (Un-)usual uniform, and effectively staring at the... odd looking alien - or ship - in front of her.

So did the rest of her crew.

The DEAT on Sight's representative/ instance - a slim, tall human male - nodded, seemingly amused by his apparent exoticness. "Yes. Well. We intend to assist you, more like it."

Onara frowned. "And why are you contacting us, rather than, you know... The government?"

The DEAT shrugged. "I spent a while listening to your people. And I liked your style. But you're right - I suppose it's best when you accompany me to your government's representatives. You've already contacted them, right?"

"Of course... Shouldn't you know that, anyway, with your god-knows-how-it-works supership?"

"I do. But I thought it polite to ask."

Somewhere in the Cluster

The subcraft entered relativistic space like they always did - careless, but unremarkable.

It was one of six that'd been delegated to this particular system, after its usual weaponry had been replaced with a simple cargo hold, and like its five brethren, it moved quite determinedly towards the next comet.

Reaching it, and matching velocity, took maybe half an hour. Then a little jab...

And that was it.

Next, it'd have to check the planets themselves. And their moons, of course.

It was a decidedly boring kind of work - no wonder that it didn't contain a mind. It was quite entiely non-sapient, following its routine with surprisingly little adaptability, though with a fairly reasonable degree of efficiency.

It was one of dozens working on the preparation of the future battlefields. A hundred systems... There was still a lot of work to do.

Nonetheless, a lot had already been done. Things were starting to look somewhat less gloomy, now.

The armada was making preparations to embark on what would be the greatest destructive force in the history of the cluster. Niiat walked down the fleshy corridors of his flagship, ironically named Darimus. He had created it from his will and the gestation of the Brood Glands. The ship was much larger that the other broodships and had better bioweaponary based on the railgun technology developed on his planet, only using special neurotransmitters and muscles to charge the guns and fire energy particles at the enemy.

He walked to the bridge, surrounded by his minions, each cowering under his psychic aura. They all feared his wrath and all called him the Patriarch. He sat on his throne of flesh and tissue and thought about his past, about what he had been like as a human. So weak, so frail, yet always wanting more power. His ursurption of power in the former country of Hajar, now renamed Niiat and now destroyed, was a sneaky one, filled with scandals and lies about the former ruler. from then on he thought he was on top of the world.

But now...now he had the power of a god. He could create life at the whim of his fingertips. He had new species created to better exterminate the life in this cluster, some not even the Omnilord had thought of. In his sense, he could be better...maybe even overrule the very Omnilord himself.

A sudden surge of pain rushed through his nerves. He dropped to his legs and screamed. His muscles began throbbing and his pores began bleeding.

"OK!! OK!! I'm sorry!! I won't ever challenge you again!!" he yelled to the Omnilord. The pain subsided. Dammit, he thought. Even as the ruler of this sector, he was still under the psychic thumb of the Omnilord, even 40 lightyears away. This was a message, saying "Don't you dare f*ck with my rule."

The broodships were almost finished loading the armies aboard. Almost 2 billion creatures were ready to strike the next planet. It would be fast and destructive, more so than the previous hit. The target:

Eridani (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Eridani.jpg)

***0340 hours. Iron Citadel, City of Gereron, Gaias IV, Charybdis Cluster***


The hunched form of the god-king of Immyr shuddered involuntarily, the orbs of his eyes twitching under the stretched skin of his eyelids. A sharp hiss escaped through clenched teeth and sweat beaded on his furrowed brow. Rhedick was dreaming again.

The dreams had been coming more frequently of late and the regular onslaught of these visions was taking its toll. Rhedick’s normally fair skin had taken on a grayish cast and his piercing green eyes were shadowed and blood shot more often than not now. Rumors of illness had swept through the murky corridors of the Iron Citadel like wildfire and the lights of tens of thousands of candles could be seen throughout the great city of Gereron as the populace prayed for their king. Only those closest to Rhedick knew the true source of the dreams that plagued their ruler’s sleep. Chaos.

***Two hours later. Iron Citadel, City of Gereron, Gaias IV***

“It has started.” The pain in Rhedick’s voice was unmistakable to the other two men seated and they could only stare at the haggard appearance revealed by the dim glow strips above. The smaller, more grizzled of the two cleared his throat.

“Where Dread Sovereign? Where does the foul foot of Chaos fall?” asked Lord Marshal Caiphus. There was no doubt in the Caiphus’ question. It was simply that, a question. Caiphus had served under Rhedick as Lord Marshal for 22 years. His loyalty was unquestioned, his faith in his king unwavering. As commander of the Royal Guard, it would fall to Caiphus to lead the defense of the Immyrian Theocracy. Where the forces of the Ruinous Powers reared their ugly heads, it would be Caiphus and the steel and thunder of the Royal Guard they would be facing.

“I don’t know. I cannot see that. The Warp itself appears to be masking the advance of this foulness. I know only that Chaos has made its way into the Cluster. They could be here tomorrow or they could never find us at all. I have no way of knowing,” replied Rhedick. One powerful hand came up to scratch briefly at the stubble of his dirty blond hair before dropping to the tabletop with a jarring thump. His eyes came up to meet those of his friend and confidant. “You must assemble the Guard Caiphus. Assemble the Guard in all of its might. You must prepare for the defense of the home world. If we fail, nothing will be left of this planet or of the Way. This world will be scoured clean in the name of Khorne. That must not happen.”

“By your word Dread Sovereign, it shall be done,” replied the Lord Marshal, almost stiffening to attention where he sat. The god-king’s eyes shifted in that moment, coming to rest on the giant that sat quietly to his left. Imposing in his midnight blue powered armor Uriel, Grand Master of the Nightbringers, gazed back impassively at his ruler. The royal eagle shown proudly on his breastplate and the winged skull of his Chapter glinted boldly on his left shoulder guard. His engraved bolt pistol sat on the table before him and his power sword rested against the back of his ornate chair. The eyes of the Templar shown with a faith no others could match for if the Royal Guard was the king’s shield, then the Nightbringers Chapter of the Templars was his sword. While a single Nightbringer drew breath, the Immyrian Theocracy would not fall.

“It will fall to you to seek out and destroy the leaders of this Crusade should they make planet fall Uriel. While the Guard engages the main force and holds them in place, the Templars must seek out the commanders, be they human or Warp spawn, and deal with them,” whispered Rhedick. The massive Templar merely nodded as if this was expected. No words were needed for the Templars were simply and extension of the god-king’s will. The thousand men of the Chapter would go to their deaths with praises on their lips at a word from him.

“Then go my friends and may the might of the One God be with you.”


OOC: I have no idea when any Chaos forces or those affiliated might reach the Theocracy. That being the case, I will simply role play the preparations. For those that might be wondering, the Templars are simply my version of the Space Marines. I will attempt to hold true to that model in every way. As I said before, my nation is based loosely on the Imperium of Man. Weapons and technology will be strictly followed and come only from WH40k canon. If anyone wants to setup a RP within the RP, let me know. I’m only a single planet after all, I’m going to need all the help I can get.


Link to intro post for the Crusade:

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=507078&page=7

On the surface of Eridani

The Council of New Eridani City had gathered in the Citadel of the Gods, the main meeting centre of all of the leaders of Eridani. Eridani was a united and advanced civilization that had been monitoring the Darimusians for some time, preparing for first contact with the species. Of course that was until their Observer sent back the new disturbing images of the last two weeks.

“Order!! Order!! I demand order in this council!!” yelled Darius, Speaker of the Citadel.

The council began to quiet down. Darius continued on by turning on the massive LED monitor behind him. On the monitor was the footage from the invasion of Darimus by the Kraetons. The council grew uneasy as they watched the footage.

“As you all can see, the past two weeks have been the scariest times for our world as these new invaders devoured the life from Darimus. The alien beings seem to be like locusts, devouring life from planets then moving on, however they seem to be staying on that planet.”

“What do you expect us to do speaker?” asked one of the members.

Darius looked at the council and said, “The planetary defense systems are at full power and we are readying the armada as we speak. We believe that we will be able to orbital bombard the planet to exterminate all life on the world. However, this won’t be easy. We still don’t know what we are up against and we will need the assistance of the United Planets Alliance. I am preparing an envoy to go to the other planets and warn them of this new menace. All agreed?”

The council raised their hands unanimously.

“Ok then,” Darius said, “we will begin immediately. First of all, we need to…”

Sirens filled the air of the city. The council began to panic and Darius brought up the Orbital Defense Network on the screen. On the monitor, he saw the platforms each being destroyed one by one. The alert went off.

“PLANETARY BREACH CODE RED!! PLANETARY BREACH CODE RED!!” The council members tried to run out of the doors of the Citadel.

“Everyone calm down! Our envoy has already been sent and our army will deal with this!” yelled Darius. “We are safer in here! Let’s calm down and staAAGH!!” an invisible tendril stabbed through the speakers face as it lifted him up. The council screamed as they tried to leave the building, but the doors had been locked.

“We’re gonna die!! We’re all gonna die!!” yelled one member.

The Asesinos smashed through the windows and door, slaughtering through the aliens and ripping them limb from limb. One member tried to make a run for it but an Asesino lunged at him, ripping off the torso and head clear off of his legs. From across the room, men were being ripped into two and being eaten alive as their blood-curdling screams were silenced forever by the throats of the monsters. The Sicari showed himself, devouring Darius and attacking some soldiers that were trying in vain to defend the Citadel. One soldier shot an RPG at the Sicari. It looked dead at it and dodged like lightning, then as fast as it dodge, it quickly shot out a long scythe-claw arm at the soldier, piercing his body and slicing him in half. This was a new strain of Sicari, affectionately called the Cerberus Strain. Tucked away on the shoulders of the Sicari were two scythe-claw arms that extended and could strike someone at 15 ft away. He continued clearing the path for the others, killing all that opposed the new Kraeton order. With some of the men inside still alive, they all saw him come in.

Niiat walked to the injured soldiers and said, “This meeting…is adjourned.” The Kraetons swarmed over the remaining men and stripped them of all flesh and bones.

Across the planet the Kraeton were moving fast. Despite this, the Eridanians were holding up better than the Darimusians, but not by much. The Volucri began their decent along with the Guacamayo, the massive dragon of the Kraeton army. They dive-bombed past the laser fire, each firing plasma bolts and napalm while the Guacamayo drenched them in its plasma inferno. The men’s blood-curdling screams filled the ambient noise of snarls and gunfire. On the ground Ballista were firing huge bolts of plasma as they tore through the cityscape like the behemoths they were, picking up hovertanks and tossing them aside like toys. The armies held up, however, valiantly and defiantly against the legion swarming at them. Rain of gunfire continued from the rifles and railgun platforms around the cities.

Niiat looked upon his army from the Citadel. They though they would win, he thought, but they were sadly mistaken. From afar an inhuman roar filled the mass cacophony already in the air.

“Wha…what the hell was that!?!” yelled one of the soldiers.

It barreled through its own Kraeton brethren, raging straight for the soldiers’ postion. The railgun and rifle fire were concentrated on it as well as the others, but it tore through the defensive walls like paper. It was a hulk of a Kraeton, towering at least 30 ft over the aliens. It had massive claws and scythes as well as bioplasma cannons on the shell on its back. On its face were battering ram horns on the skull and a sharp rhino horn on the nose with mandibles around the mouth.

This was the Vastaetor.

Its roar filled the soldiers with fear as it and his brood plowed through the men, devouring all in their site. All that passed through its mind was the insatiable thirst for blood and the unstoppable hunger for flesh. Its voracity could not be beaten by any Kraeton, minus the Omnilord himelf. This planet was theirs for the taking and no one else’s. They fleshy beings were buttery and soft and they enraged his taste buds, making him want more.

Niiat hovered above the battlefield, pleased with himself. He looked out through the crimson skies. To think, they actually thought their envoy would make it pass my armada. Unthinkable.

In space…

A small capsule from the Eridanian envoy ship floated amongst the debris of the demolished fleet. Inside was only one man. One survivor of the soon-to-be fallen race of Eridani. It floated through space, nearing an unknown ship of exiled ones…

OOC That escape pod is for TheExiled. I'll let him float there as you take out some Ansu.

North-East Quadrant, Designated Planet "Alturon"

Within the space of two days the Imperial Thrashian Hand of Thrawn Fleet had arrived within the newly discovered system. When no name for the system could be found, Thrawn had seen fit to dub it the Alturon System (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Planets/ZAON_Imperium_Regis.jpg). First thought as a dead system, it was later discovered that it indeed had a small indigenous population.

Rather than deal with them in a mundane manner and awe them with their apperance and technology, Thrawn had opted just to eliminate them from orbit. By the third day of the operation Alturon had been set up as the main operations center for Thrawn and had become his forward headquarters for entering into what his astrographers were calling a "star cluster."

Setting up proper observation and FTLi monitors throughout the system Thrawn had seen to it that his fleet was not to be surprised by anything that might threaten them now that they had established a foothold in the cluster. But his men went about their tasks with ease and a with a precission that they had gained from spending the last four years expanding over thirty different systems and dozens of different worlds in the Wild Space. All of them were veterans.


"Sir, we've just recieved the last report from Captain Niell. His scout team has just returned and reports that there are three more systems just beyond this one, and that if his suspicions are correct, more lay beyond them," reported Captain Brandei.

Brandei had changed in the four years under Thrawn's command. He had lost his vernacular of most useless Fleet protocol and had learned to be blunt and honest in how he treated his work. Thrawn appreciated that quality and had encouraged him to continue along that path. Further he had grown a trident-like beard that gave him a sharp look, giving him a trade mark by which the entire fleet knew him.

"Very good captain. Has our Mr. Philip of the Industry Guild reported on whether or not those construction yards were completed yet on Malforus?"

"He reports that they are 90% complete and requests that you make sure your command station group at Filos is more adroit at bringing up ores and other vital minerals he says he needs in the construction."

"Remind Mr. Philip that the military is not his concern and that building shipyards and ore refineries are. Also send a message to Commandant Gehirn and instill some sense of time in the man," said Thrawn with a drawl. Brandei nodded and mentally noted it.

"In the mean time captain," said Thrawn. "We must contemplate further expansion."

"Indeed sir," said Brandei with enthusiasm. "I've already recommended that the Stormhawk, the Mavolent, and Dragon assault groups head into the next system."

In order to develop his conquest quickly Thrawn had instituted a new organization of the fleet, melding together a group of either three Star Destroyers or three Venator II Star Destroyers into a group and added with several support craft, a few Dreadnoughts, Lancer Frigates, and patrol craft. This collection of different craft, though small in size, had proved brilliantly able to handle all situations that combat presented and as such became the normal deployment of Thrawn's fleet, one that was made of less than 80 Star Destroyers and less than 500 support craft.

Even with the few shipyards that the Guild had helped create were as yet not able to create anything bigger than a missle boat.

"Duly noted Captain," said Thrawn. "I'll allow Stormhawk group to take point in entering the next system. The other two need some rest and will remain here with us."

"Understood sir," said Brandei. He saluted the Grand Admiral and left the private sanctum of the greatest military mind to ever live.

OCC: Clan Ansu, if you think this is a god mod, let me know and I'll change the post.

Most starships travel though some sort of subspace. The exiled shipbuilders had over time learned how to rip holes through subspace and 'slip' into subspace. The technology worked both ways. By using high powered sensors to look lightyears past, it was possible to open a hole in subspace and force the ship out of subspace. It took time and luck to pull an operation off with success. First, there was the problem of spotting an approaching ship. The target ship had to be traveling at just the proper angle, and then the timing must be perfect. Open the hole too early and the ship's power will be too drained to sustain itself. Open it too late and the prey would fly past you at lightspeed.

However, with as much action in front of them, and as large a force as the crusaders had, it was only a matter of time before somebody crossed thier path.

Captian Cutter gave a signal and the ship stirred back to life. The ship generated much more power than it needed to function, and for good reason. The slipstream device took up alot of power. The ship began to hum, and blue sparks flew throughout the hull.

The Slip Officer called out, "Slipstream burst on my mark.....20 seconds.....10 seconds...5....4....3....2....1...NOW

The spearlike shape at the front of the ship began to glow white-hot and fired into the darkness ripping a small hole in time and space.

The crew of The Starchaser waited for the supply vessel to fall from the stars. It appeared on thier scans to be a cargo vessel of Ansu origin.

TAS Lexington, 4th fleet headquarters sector 14-
The large majestic ship orbited the planet gently, rumbling through the depths of space, the soft yellow glow of the planets home star gently caressed and outlined the nearly two kilometer battleship as it flew along in line with its port of call . the bridge of the ship was lit by several repetitive bright and white lights that illuminated the entire chrome, white and metal structure of the bridge, there was hardly any change in those lights accept for a few glimmering panels on the doors that flickered blue or green every so often, the dull repetitive environment of the bridge was slightly colored and lived up by computer panels that beeped quietly and constantly, personnel walked back and froth from the hallways on to the bridge and toward several different consoles attending to there duties like drones in an ant hill, the bridge was in a wash of blue uniforms only broken by the occasional brown and tan technician uniforms. In the middle of the mass of persons a tall skinny buy built figure stood in his blue decorated uniform, his black short hair and tan skin were emphasized by the dull mundane utilitarian white light shining upon him and his blue decorated uniform. It was adorned with memories of the past gleaming gold and silver metals where pinned across his chest, the mission patches from his assignment plastered on each of his arms. He looked around his head gliding and turning, his blue eyes panned and looked at officers working and attending to there constantly repeating duties for the day. The young C&C officer stood directly across from the captain, his hands moved gently across the glassy beeping panels as he pressed in to it with them, suddenly a message erupted from the fed force command channel, the console began to reverberate a dull steady off and on beep. The officer looked towards a red flashing light on the panel; he raised an eyebrow and pressed it with his smooth white hand, in the split second before his hand pressed down upon the button he shifted his head over to the captain, and in a swift deep voice he spoke.


“Captain Black we have message from Fed Force.. Its priority”

The captain stared over to his subordinate nodding and responding in a commanding stiff voice.

“Ill take it here put it on the holo screen.”

C&C responded quickly tapping combinations on the glassy panel before him he raised a holographic image, as it suddenly came on in a bright flash of light.


The message came up with an older admiral another old war horse; it was captain black’s old friend hartigan, the older slightly balding grey haired roughed faced man in the message started to speak.

“Captain black, or should I call you old whiskey, or maybe ill just call you Richard” hehehe the figured chuckled friendly manner the sound of his old chuckle reverberating thorough the bridge.

“Seriously” he started to speak again “The United Terran alliance, has received a message from our Chronosian allies they have offered us an opportunity to enter in to a small campaign of expansion with them, while Fed gov doesn’t usually approve of such expiations, we must keep our allies appeased, its also good opportunity to gain footholds and resources in that sector of space, that’s called the Charybdis cluster.”

He paused for a second and laughed “these governmental memos are so dry” he chuckled again stopping and continuing to speak.

“Captain your orders are to lead the 4th fleet in to this area of space and assist our allies, you are to head towards the cluster and then send a message to them good luck captain..”



Black nodded as the hologram suddenly disappeared his head turned over to the con officer who was already gathering the fourth fleet together, he said in a loud but stiff voice “Set a course to rendezvous with the forth fleet..



Once the small fleet of ships went in to formation they rumbled across the havens with bright blue and white streams of energy from they’re engines. The ships floated along pushing towards a jump area, rotating sections of older omega mark I ships moved around swiftly they moved in to the back of the formation superseded by refitted omegas and other ships, the Lexington floated gently in front of the twenty ship fleet its engines glowing blue as they streamed out a well of particles behind it. The large gleaming masses of metal came to a stop, engines shuttering to a halt. Suddenly with a white burst of gleaming blinding light a massive jump portal the Shimmered In to the bright angelic gleaming rays of light the fleet pushed in to it quickly engines coming to life body as it suddenly closed a few meters from behind the fleets as they became trapped in the colorful bright light of third space. Several hours later another white portal opened in to third space and the massive long body of the TAS Lexington came through it was followed by a mass of twenty ships ranging from Olympus class corvettes to advanced omegas. Several third space jump portals opened up ripping space in a energetic, thunderous noise with in the ships, the fleet had ripped out of several third space portals moving along quickly in to formation as they accelerated in a warping fashion out of the bright heavenly light, ad the sudden rips collapsed and closed as if nothing was there before leaving dark lonely emptiness.


Universal message to the crusaders:

This is the Terran alliance fourth fleet we have come to assist you in your subversion of this sector of space, if you require assistance or know of any area in witch you need assistance please direct us to it

Now the fleet waited its ships drifted slowly in to the cluster taking its time waiting for a reply, hoping a nation would request its help, if not it would seek out a world on its own.

(OOC: that last line was an invitation of who wants to fight me )

"General Aetius, sir," saluted the Centurion as he entered the command building, formerly the home of the now deceased leader of Allistea. The office was scarcely decorated, with the exception of the pennants and flags on the walls, and of course the large table in the middle where many maps and documents were scattered about. "Arcadian vessels have arrived within the system, they request permission to land."

Flavius mumbled to himself, "Hmm? Yes, granted. Tell them that the planet has been taken and the assembly point shall be the city. A shame we had to level half of it, but it makes a perfect landing pad and loading dock. Anything else?"

The soldier replied enthusiaticly, still happy within the command of the so far successful commander that led them to victory over the peoples of this planet. "Yes, General. We've received a transmission from the Senate, thirteen Republican legions have been placed under your command and are currently en-route to Allistea to rendezvous with our forces."

Aetius looked up excitedly, finally tearing his attention away from the document he was reading, "Really? The Consul actually came through. Aw it's better than I had hoped. With that kind of firepower we would be able to take much more of this cluster, however I have something for them to do first. Dismissed."

The soldier saluted and exited the room.

"And what," intoned Domitian, "Is it you have planned?"

Aetius smiled, "We sent out scouts who are mapping Charbdis as we speak, and keeping an eye out for the first signs of the Imperium. A decisive victory over them at their first arrival may persuade them to leave the cluster, ultimately allowing us control."

"So once we find the Imperium, we shall attack them then." was the replying query of the Legate.

"Precisely."

Epirea

"So... You're saying that any number of horrible threats are closing in on us, be they organic-hating machines-" here, Chancellor Irekra of the Divine Alliance spent a brief moment looking at one of the doubtlessly soulless (But still annoyingly talkative) drones floating inside the room - they looked harmless enough, at least to her. Just not really... Alive.

"- all-consuming animal-hiveminds, wizards out to corrupt all life in disease and blood, or any number of other foes."

"Correct." Maria nodded, smiling quite sweetly while looking at the six assembled 'Great Leaders' of Epirea, most of which would probably enjoy cutting each other up. They were, after all, competing superpowers, and not exactly on friendly terms.

The last few days had been rather... eventful, to say the least. The media had, unsurprisingly, noticed the arrival of the strange aliens in orbit, with the result being that the Crush 'em was now what amounted to being a superstar and, indeed, a pop-culture idol. In the comparatively open-minded Central Confederacy, anyway.

Of course, not everyone had taken it this well - rumours and outright accusations of invasion plans (The Crush 'em interfering with the Divine Alliance's ICBMs had been leaked, and caused considerable unrest) had been thrown about, and many a patriot was wearing gas masks to protect himself from the virii or chemicals that'd mutate him into a slave of the newly arrived aliens.

The ship had eventually decided to allow a group of journalists a tour on board of itself, doing its best to look and sound as jovial as possible, and generally being an excellent host, but alas, it hadn't helped much, as some of the Greater Oceanic Federation's newspapers had decided to run with the headline 'THE CONTINENT-CRACKERS WE'RE BLACKMAILED WITH', and a picture of the Crush 'em's missiles below the same.

Fortunately, the ship was pretty used to media excesses (The enormous freedom the same enjoyed in the Hypocrisy having prepared it for such), and didn't take the matter as particularly insulting. And it was more realistic than the claims of the smaller countries, that it was here to support one or more of the superpowers in their quest for global domination...

Still. It all made the process of saving this people mildly... Difficult.

"And you want us to allow you to deploy forces in our defence, as well as to start building up an... Industrial base capable of supporting us, yes?"

"Again, correct. It'll take a while, of course, and the peculiarities of your world's present developmental stage will cause certain... Issues, meaning that we wont be able to turn you into an alpha-class force, but... we should be able to do something."

Utana Oganda, President-for-Life of the Oceanic Federation, stared at Maria. He felt... Disgust. Disgust for the alien in front of him, even more so than for the heretics of the Divine allince or the racially impure - the grey people of the Central Confederacy. "And we're supposed to believe you?" he asked, hostility radiating from him.

Maria shrugged, looking almost desinterested. "Do you have a choice?"

Otara

She'd gotten used to it, by now. The first moment, when the DEAT on Sight had entered her ship, she'd just... Wondered.

It'd certainly looked impressive, much taller than the average Atuna - the species she belonged to -, and less stocky, too... It probably came from a world with notably less gravity than her own.

'It looks cute,' her second in command had said, suggesting that maybe she should try an exotic experience (Her response had consisted of slapping him).

The alien/ ship had been polite, though. Arrogant, perhaps, but nonetheless, it knew manners, even though it sometimes expressed a somewhat flippant attitude - but in that, it fit well into the people on board of the Dawn Treader.

Well. They'd all stared at it for maybe a minute, more excited than freightened (If they had to be frightened by it, they'd already have been shot), and her helmsman had eventually asked (And prompty received) an autogram.

It was a rather special event, after all.

But then, things had changed. They'd seen why they'd been visited by the aliens, and their excitement had turned into fear.

And captain Onara Zakazi could still feel this fear as she walked down a corridor of the United Otaran Sphere's Palace of the Republic, with the DEAT's representation following just behind her.

Today was a very special day. But she'd never have guessed that the mad fears of Science-Fiction authors dead for fifty, for a hundred years would suddenly turn out to be true.

She'd gotten used to the alien. But she doubted that she'd ever get used to the universe she now knew she lived in...

Small Talk

FTLCOM@L1E20&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: IEU Stargazer
To: All
Subject: Progress

I may inform the assembled minds that-
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Keep it short, tightass.
-
[Stargazer] What an illuminating comment. Do you have any more pearls of wisdom, or may I continue operating as the central hub for this operation?
-
[Throbbing Temptation] You may. If you keep it short.
-
[Stargazer] Asshole.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] See? Much quicker.
-
[Stargazer] ...
-
[DEAT on Sight] Would you two stop this and concentrate on the matter at hand? So, what was it?
-
[Stargazer] Alright. In terms of progress - Anamaris is presently being evacuated. So is Enechal - the latter's generally iron-aged, with a few cases of gunpowder, but that's about it.

With regards to Otara and Epirea, we're presently engaging in uplifting - both worlds possess military capabilities that, if we render assistance, might allow permanent resistance while less developed civilisations are being evacuated. This said, progress is frustratingly slow, which causes a number of problems. However, we expect that it might still take a while until the invasion hits them, so we should manage it.
-
[Crush 'em] If you ask me, we should quickly sort out a few matters on Epirea - some of the residents aren't exactly the kind of people I'd be particularly interested to help...
-
[DEAT on Sight] They still make nice cannonfodder.
-
[Crush 'em] Point.
-
[Stargazer] ... In terms of general ordnance-seeding, twenty systems have so far been visited by us (The aforementioned four included) - provisional names are Natura, Castor, Polata, Nicos, Polythene, Wacsan, Pestrer, Taussig, Ute, Ifret, Laderne, Esperi, Quodong, Keffner, Hawnig and Jeretea. Needless to say - seeding takes time, and the systems are as-of-now more-or-less undefended.
-
[Crush 'em] Indeed. Personally, I think we should care less about the seeding - we can do that after an invasion, too -, and more about the evacuation bits. I realise that it's effectively impossible for us to evacuate several billion people from a planet - I believe our benchmark is 'Hundred Million', yes? - but we should at least be ready for extraction under combat conditions, with regards to post-nuclear civilisations.
-
[DEAT on Sight] I agree. Problem is that the cargo haulers are taking their sweet time. Unsurprisingly so. And we're presently lacking enough space to put refugees in - while our friends are working well in readying habitats, they'll most likely take longer than this war will take. Which is a bad thing.
-
[Stargazer] I know. Well, we're still waiting for reports from the KMA & its pals. If they manage to inflict the damage necessary to stall their target, we might actually be able to prolong this conflict for rather longer than we originally estimated.
-
[Born to be Wild] Incidentally, if I may direct all your attention to the presence of a rather rapidly growing swarm of bioships?
-
[Stargazer] We're aware of it.
-
[Born to be Wild] Any objections to engaging in vermin-extermination? I don't think we can get them all in one go, but I consider it a necessity to prevent even further growth, before they become a bit too difficult to kill.
-
[DEAT on Sight] Mrm. I'd rather get a few specimen first. Figure out their biochemistry, and all that. If we can split the local group off the main hive - if they have one -, we might be able to turn them into a rather effective tool.
-
[Stargazer] They're pretty far away from anyone else, though. Redirection might be difficult.
-
[Born to be Wild] I'll keep it in mind. For now, I'm organising a strike force. Five ships indeed...

OOC: I'll do another IC soon, just haven't had anytime lately. Sorry, but I'll be back in soon.

OOC: I say again. I am posting as the Obsidian Guard, a Legion of Chaos Space Marines allied with Chron's Imperium, totally unaffiliated with the Clan.

Assuming, Exiled, that you are following a supply vessel descending to Concremo Primus, the only world which I am even close to, then the planet is completely surrounded. I am transporting four thousand Marines of the Obsidian Guard, along with almost three million men of the Imperial Guard. All shipments to the planet are escorted to low orbit, and the fleet's capital vessels are in high orbit, ready to defend against just such a raid as yours with overwhelming firepower.

I will be splintering the attack after the subjugation of Concremo Primus, and would recommend that you wait until then to attack with a single ship. If you still wish to go ahead with this little rp, let me know and I will post.

IC:

Aboard the Repulsive-class Grand Cruiser, Splendid Falsehood, flagship of the Obsidian Guard.

"There," said the tech-adept, pointing to an energy reading. Still in training, the adept lacked the mechanical augmentations and whiplike mechandrites so characteristic of the Mechanicus. "Sixteen readings, short, small and fast. They disappeared after a few seconds, sir, and I fetched you as soon as I could."

Lieutenant Yuris stared at the screen as the recording played, watching as the sixteen runes accelerated for a few seconds before disappearing. "How long ago was this?"

"Only a few minutes, sir," replied the adept.

"Broadcast to the fleet. Incoming ordnance, void shields to full!" ordered the Lieutenant.

"Ordnance!?"

"Ordnance, you idiot! You don't need constant power to move through the void, only target vectors and a little speed! They're fire-and-forget missiles!"

---

The message had been broadcast with only seconds to spare, but some captains were not so fortunate as the commander of the Splendid Falsehood. An Iconoclast-class Escort had not recieved the order in time, and the alien ordnance penetrated deep into her hull before tearing the ship apart from within. Her structure buckled before bursting open, sending fragments of white-hot bulkheads, fuel and mutilated and asphyxiated crewmen to burn up in the atmosphere of Concremo Primus.

Thousands died in the destruction, but the fleet was safe.

Three days.

It had taken almost three days for the Horde to overrun half of the planet under their occupation. As incredible as this feat was, Niiat considered this to be unacceptable. The previous planet only took tho days to overrun the armies, leaving the remaing week and a half to assimilate the planet and hunt down the splinter armies of the Darimusians. These Eridanians were a tougher race. Their armour made it a bit more difficult to tear through, although it was still possible and most effective.

At the Capital City of Eridani

"Ma'am, we have the Railgun Artillery Batteries in place! Commencing firing!" yelled Private Nay.

"Commence! We cannot let these passed these walls!" responded Magistrate Karen.

She was stoic, standing amongst her men while firing down the enemy Asesinos with her pulse rifle. Her long silver hair covered her armour. Her face was smooth and young, with beautiful pale eyes and light grey lips. If it hadn't been for the blood-stained armour or her pulse rifle, one would have wondered why on earth such a beautiful woman was in such a horrific battlefield. Her men followed her without question, each one infatuated with her. She was their wife in a sense and was always their to protect and lead her men into battle. They were the greatest soldiers the planet had to offer.

The railguns and artillery were taking down the waning Kraeton army. Volucri swarms had died down and the Asesino had all but stopped. The soldiers were winning, sniping off Kraetons before they even had a chance to come close to the fortress walls. Even the Sicari would have a tough time getting through.

"This battle is ours!!" yelled the soldiers as they mauled the Kraeton legion. Karen wanted to celebrate, but there was something wrong. Something very wrong.

She looked ahead and for the first time in her military career, she froze in fear. Over the horizon, a massive surge of millions upon millions of Kraeton monstrosities flooded the battlefield, en masse and en route to the fortress.

"Ma'am!! Ma'am!! They're coming!! We need air support!! We need more artillery now!!" yelled Corporal Jons. She stared into the horde and yelled, "Massive fire everyone!!"

The Kraetons flooded into the fortress, climbing on the bodies of their own brood to reach them. They swept by like a tsunami, tearing through the armour of the men and vehicles. The Vastaetors slammed throught the tanks, tearing them open and devouring the crew. Some fired their bioplasma cannons at the men, scorching them to death as their horriffic screams filled the air. Volucri filled the skies, firing their plasma bursts at the fortress.

All was lost, thought Karen. She had to escape to warn other planets of this menace. She had no choice.

"Men!! Follow me!! We must leave!! To the Planetary escape pods now!!" The men gathered all weapons they could and began running for the pods. But it was no easy task. Asesinos picked off the men one by one while the Volucri sniped them from the skies. By the time they reached the pod, only 5 men and Karen made it.

"Closing the hatches!!" yelled Corporal Jons. The door slammed shut behind them. "There we should be safe."

Karen hit the launch button. The pod shot out of the building, soaring passed the swarms of Volucri. From below she stared at her dying world. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the only home she had ever known was dying at the hands of aliens.

"Look!" Jons yelled and pointed over the horizon. "What...what is that!!" Everyone saw it...The Cacuscudo Organ that had built itself away from the fortress began...growing...moving...almost evolving...

"That's...impossible!! Nothing that big can exis..." Jon was silenced.

Karen and the remaining men turned passed his bloody corpse to see a Sicari with its toothy smile and a scythe-claw plunging into the others.


Niiat was pleased. The capital city had fallen. The Cacuscudo Organs had all finshed growing and a couple Cacuscudos had to use their special abilities to take out the armies, but they would relocate and reimplant themselves back into the planet. All was going well for his army. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that there could be more. If he could only subdue the Omni...no...I can't think like that...or else another shock.

He began preparations for the next planets to feel his wrath. The Caedes would continue throught the cluster. If he wanted to win, he had to upgrade even more and created better weapons.

Karen screamed as her men were impaled by the tendrils and claws of the Sicari. She ran for the armory as it turned and gave chase. The Sicari shot its acidic bile at her, barely missing her face but getting the armour on her arm. It began eating through, getting closer to her flesh. She tore off the armour piece and grabbed a rifle, but the Sicari smacked the rifle out of her hands and slammed her into the wall. She was half awake, seeing its tendrils rearing up for the kill. She looked to her left and saw it.

The airlock button.

The Sicari struck and she barely moved out of the way, getting stabbed through her leg. She howled in pain but kept her composure and pressed the button, The airlock doors opened behind the Sicari, the pressure change sucking him into the vacuum of space. It tried to take Karen with him, but she shot the tendril that was in her leg off. He drifted into space, back towards the planet. Karen closed the doors and sat there, crying and holding her leg.

The pod kept floating, awaiting anyone to find it.


OOC this is a second pod, which can be found by anybody. The first pod from the envoy is for TheExiled

OOC: I say again. I am posting as the Obsidian Guard, a Legion of Chaos Space Marines allied with Chron's Imperium, totally unaffiliated with the Clan.

Assuming, Exiled, that you are following a supply vessel descending to Concremo Primus, the only world which I am even close to, then the planet is completely surrounded. I am transporting four thousand Marines of the Obsidian Guard, along with almost three million men of the Imperial Guard. All shipments to the planet are escorted to low orbit, and the fleet's capital vessels are in high orbit, ready to defend against just such a raid as yours with overwhelming firepower.

I will be splintering the attack after the subjugation of Concremo Primus, and would recommend that you wait until then to attack with a single ship. If you still wish to go ahead with this little rp, let me know and I will post.



OCC: I'll wait then. Sorry about the mix-up with the Obsidian Guard VS Clan. I was under the impression the attack was already at the next stage. The Starchaser will continue to sit tight until a proper target apprears. It may not be aimed at you, but it will be aimed at a crusading force. Just can't start prirating until the supply lines are set. {EDIT: Actaully, I think I'll go nab that pod real quick. I'll do this in my next post}

John stared at the screen, disgusted. No pirates, not a one. It had been just a filthy rumor. He had wasted twenty minutes chasing after ghosts, and half-truths. Sighing to himself, he turned to his sensor officer. "Make one more scan and then we can go home." The man nodded and began tapping the keys once more, beginning the long range scan of the moon area. The Captain laid back and sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Why was it he always got the sucky jobs? He had done his part and yet he was still treated as a lackey? The military had promised him better treatment after the- "Sir!" Jumping in his chair, John glanced at the sensor station to see the officer looking tense.

"What is it?" The sensor man merely pointed at the screen and it showed a ship finishing a flash jump. A black ship. A stunned look covered the captains face and the crew glanced at him, curious.

"Sir?" John shook his head.

"Everyone, look nice. That is the personal ship of the Director of Intelligence, Omega. The same man who sent us on this mission." They all instantly straightened and the comm officer looked up.

"Recieving message sir."

"Put it through." A masked face appeared on screen. It was a simple black mask, with eye holes and a mouth. A silky voice came from the masked man.

"Greetings, Captain. You are perhaps wondering why I sent you out here where there are obviously no pirates and meet you here personally? Well, that is something best discussed at a place like this, where only we are here." Folding his hands together, John nodded his understanding.

"You see, Captain, I have been recieving intelligence over the past few hours about a situation in the cluster next to us. It is called the Charybdis Cluster, and it would appear it has drawn a lot of attention recently." Omega seemed to shuffle something looking at papers, while a image of the said cluster appeared next to him.

"We have recieved transmissions on our long ranges sensors of strange vibrations, ones indicating a battle of some kind and transmissions. On these transmissions, we have only managed to recieve pieces and parts of them but they all have the same theme: Horror. Civilizations are being attacked by something which we cannot comprehend, and a few were cut off. Which we believe to mean they were destroyed. Now, we could not be sure, but we have also recieved news that the Arcadian Federation and the Taledonian Empire have begun to gather at a planet named....Allistea. High Command has issued orders for a fleet to be gathered together under Admiral Azrael, and to meet at the jump point and then you all will go to Allistea and recieve further orders. Do you understand?"

John looked around at the crew before nodding. "I do. When do we leave?" Omega smiled.

"Now."
****
At the rendevous point in Telrosian space

A fleet of around 82 ships waited on the very outer-most rim of Telrosian Space. It had 10 Assault Carriers, 33 Cruisers, 42 Missile Frigates, 3 Capital Ships, 170 Repair Frigates, 80 Medical Frigates, and 40 Carriers. Admiral Azrael stood on the bridge of the TRS Lightning Strike, overseeing the fleet. This man had risen to command over the years through his ideas for reform, his great respect for the men and his tactical ability made him an admiral. His striking green eyes, short blonde hair and pale complexion helped to give him many lady fans. However, as shy as he was, he always declined them. A sensor officer turned to him.

"Sir, the last six ships commanded by Captain Darkstar have arrived. He sends his greetings and awaits further orders." Azrael smiled. "Good, have the fleet prepare for a flash jump to Allistea. Tell me when the countdown begins." He nodded and Azrael sat back down in his chair, waiting. Several minutes later, the countdown sounded, and Azrael prepared himself. Flash jumping was hard on the stomach. With a loud crack, they all vanished into space.
****
In the space above Allistea
A loud crack and a white flash signalled the Telrosian's fleets arrival to Allistea. As the 468 ship fleet began to disengage from it's orbit and loosen up, a message was sent down to the planet.

"Greetings. This is Admiral Azrael of the Telrosian Republic, Task Force Alpha. I am here to offer aid and request orders to further the will of the Republic."
***
OOC: It sucks, but I have been gone a few days. Meh.

OOC Hey Telros. I got your email, however the picture isn't showing up for some reason. Just put the image in photobucket or someother image hosting site and post it here. I can save it and then make the planet.

IC

Karen's pod continued to drift in space. Onboard, she tried to make sense of what was happening down there. The pod was still connected to the main computer on the planet and she was still recording the visuals. Perhaps if she is found she can relay the images and warn people in time.

If she was found...

They had finished scouring the planet, killing off countless life forms and storing their DNA strains aboard the Darimus. Niiat had more ideas with these strains, although they weren't needed but they were quite helpful. The Asesinos were ingeniously crafted by the Omnilord, needing little perfection. Yet he had ideas for a better strain of Asesinos that could help fill the gap of heavy infantry that they desperately needed. It would take some time and more than likely appear in the next invasion.

The Kraeton structures were already being built and were terraforming the planet to the will of the Kraeton. Another homeworld for the creation of more Kraetons. Vastaetors continued rampaging throught the lands, each accompanied by a pack of 30 Asesinos, all on patrol for any survivors. Inside the Cacuscudo Organs, some Vastaetors were undergoing Cellular Disassembly to advance the armour and weapons on the already unstoppable juggernaut. The creatures ramming horns were strengthened and the main piercing horn was sharpened and thickened. The scythes were left intact, but the claws were completely changed, become more round and covered with spikes to not only act as crushing claws, but as wrecking balls too.

Niiat walked into the ruins of the Citadel. He liked this world better than his old one, although Darimus was the more powerful now in terms of Kraeton control. He and his pet Sicari strolled through the room, looking at the destroyed LED screen on the wall.

“This is some fine work you did,” he said to the Sicari. “I am glad I have made you myself, Cerberus.” He stroked its head. The creature let out a gargled hiss in pleasure. “Now let me check our interplanetary status.”

Using his powers, he began searching through the local area of space, searching for Synapsewarp signatures near the planet. There he read them. Two pods had escaped his grasp.

“Dammit!” Niiat yelled. “There shouldn’t be any survivors!” He didn’t want the risk of other races trying to play the Good Samaritan and try and stop his forces. “My plans are going to have to be accelerated…” he laughed to himself. “Let the evolution begin.”

Floating through space in opposite directions were the two pods, one of the envoy, the other of Karen.

Scuta (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Scuta.jpg) in all its glory.
Thank you. :D

Outskirts of the Charybdis Cluster
A lonely probe hung in space... waiting. It would not have to wait for much longer.

The fabric of space shuddered, and tore. Out of the rip came a new crusader for this patch of space. The first vessel out of this rip, an MC80 named Love and Peace, came to a fullstop near the probe. There was an exchange of data, and the captain of the vessel, Commander James Delen, sent a transmission to the flagship of the newly formed Combined Fleet, the Dreams of R'lyeh.

The message was concise:
9154 Scuta, Red Dwarf system. 3 planets, 1 asteroid belt.
Asteroid belt, outermost body, could be valuable for resupply
Outer two planets are rock-type, one has heavy radiation, the other has rings and electromagnetic storms.
Innermost planet is terrestrial. Smaller than Earth, atmosphere thin-toxic, rebreathers necessary
Crashed starship detected, Type I civilization also found (has basic thrustships), is humanoid
Recommend planet be annexed to resupply fleet, and protect budding spacefarers
Orders?

The fleet commander, Admiral Gregory Hayes, considered the recommendation. It didn't take long. He sent a message back to the Commander.
Take your attack wing, a troop carrier, and the Third Guard Regiment, and annex the system. Be as gentle with the population as possible, but use force if you have to. This system is not an appropriate home for our colonists, we will continue further into the Cross.

A small portion of the fleet formed its own group, and jumped into the Warp. Several minutes later, the rest of the fleet did the same in a different direction.

Scuta, High Orbit
An hour later, a group of ships (Three MC80s, several frigates and corvettes, and a troop carrier) jumped into orbit over the peaceful planet. Right in the middle of their formation was a Scutan thrustship. They broadcast a single message to the vessel, using translation software and information gathered from Scutan broadcasts by the probe. The message was two words:

Hi there.

Another message was sent to the governments of the world below:
We are the Sudecroix Expeditionary Force. Do not be alarmed. Your planet has been made a protectorate of the Irish Government. Do not resist, and you will not be harmed. Your way of life will be left as undisturbed as possible. However, we are setting up a garrison in this system and on your world. This is as much for your protection as it is for ours. We would like to meet with the leaders of your nation. Please broadcast a reply on frequency 106.7 Mhz.

The troopship disgorged its payload, and transports containing the Regiment landed on the planet below. The soldiers were fitted with rebreathers in addition to their flak armor, so that the predominantly carbon dioxide atmosphere of Scuta I could be breathed. Soldiers filed into the three main cities of the world, and, supported by Leman Russ tanks, took them over. Here and there, skirmishes broke out, but order was quickly restored.

The negotiations with the newly formed Scutan World Government were short: the Scutans would be, for the most part, left alone, and the Terrans could build a garrison on the planet and would take tribute in the form of materials and labor for the repair of warships.

Meanwhile, the main fleet continued into the Charybdis Cluster, searching for a suitable world...

Admiral Falken acknowledged the message from the republic commander and ordered all ships capable of atmospheric transit to land on the planet. Apparently the commander wanted the whole fleet resupplyed before moving on to further engagements, so much so that he had decided to level half of the largest city on the planet to make a landing field. The ships began to descend, leavening about 60 ships in orbit.

When the fleet made touchdown in the newly cleared 'parking lot' hatched began to lower from all the ships and crews began to disembark. The admiral noticed republic crews were already standing ready to bring supplies onboard, from the amount of material stockpiled she assumed it would take some time. Leavening her commanders with orders to assist the republic crew in every way she hopped into a attack vehicle and made her way to the old capital building.

Republic guards let her in to the main office with some reluctance and the staff in the building generally ignored her, to busy carrying out their duties. Admiral falken announced her entry into the main room and gave a crisp salute to the republican in charge. "Sir Vice Admiral Falken reporting as ordered."

Edoniakistanbabweagua (Karen)

The Strategic Engagement Unit Born to be Wild more or less, well... Drifted through space, having moved considerably closer to the present position of the hivefleet, and observing them from its safe-but-limited position in non-relativistic space.

In a way, it was actually quite fascinating, seeing the incredibly efficient wastefulness of their actions. They were capable of sucking up resources to degrees that made a factory ship jealous, yet, they didn't use this capability for anything other than to replicate endlessly, evolving for the single purpose of spreading further, of consuming more.

Not a single mind there that could appreciate music, not one individual that'd follow a simple, 'Laid Back' style of life. All forced to follow the one, the singular purpose of the whole.

In a sense - and this realisation was rather disconcerting to the ship - they were surprisingly similar to the Hypocrisy. Efficiency over beauty, body over spirit. No regard for the values of others, just the desire to spread one's own ideal to everyone else, whether they wanted it or not.

And yet, so different! Here the hive, destroying the individual, whereas in the Hypocrisy, the individual stood above everything else, and conformity was considered bad form. Here the outright destruction of everything different, whereas the Hypocrisy preferred more subtle means, transforming what it considered inacceptable, not so much for its own good but simply because it believed its way to be the ideal way for everyone else, too (A strange sort of arrogant altruism, perhaps). Here the violent eagerness to move, to consume as much as fast as possible, and in the Hypocrisy, near-infinite patience, almost to the point of suicide.

Obviously, the Born to be Wild was only too aware that the hive was - presumably - not thinking of its actions as 'Evil', if it was consciously aware of them at all. Like every carnivore, it wanted to feed, and like every (Subsapient) organism, it wanted to spread. If it was to engage the hive, regardless of the eventual purpose of the engagement, it'd not be a battle of 'Enemies' (Hell, even if it was to engage the Chronosians, it wouldn't strictly consider them enemies. Merely as an entity representing a philosophy detrimental to its own values. Sure, they had the right to spread - and it had the right to try and prevent exactly that).

It'd merely be a duel between different believe systems, different values, different philosophies.

Hee. Well. At least if they've somehow evolved on their own, as opposed to being engineered as a weapon.

It was about then when something caught its attention. A little blip in space, still relatively close to the last world the creatures had overrun, and well within the system.

It checked, quickly connecting to the recondrones and surveillance craft the Stargazer had deployed in the system (If outside relativistic properties) about a week ago.

Ah, damnit. FTL sensors were - annoyingly - passive-only, and the object's reflective & radiative properties weren't exactly notable - shiny as the technology available to the Hypocrisy was, it wasn't quite perfect.

Hrm. Maybe a hundred cubicmetres of it... Looks equivtech to local civilisation. Can't do a an in-depth analysis while shifted, though. Grargh.

It's light support - four Tactical Engagement Units - hadn't yet arrived. It was alone.

Lets see where the creatures are... Distance versus shifting cycle... Approximate accelerative capabilities... Yeah, should make it.

It did the equivalent of a sigh, and then engaged its shifting unit, waiting patiently until the countdown was over - and did so three times, to enter reality proper from its former third-layer position.

Twenty-five minutes passed, an agonisingly long time for the ship - the whole process of passive scanning and contemplating implication and actions had taken roughly 0.05 milliseconds - and then it entered reality, maybe half a lightsecond off Karen's escape pod.

A brief scan.

Composition: Primarily metals. Traces of organic matter equivalent (Error Margain < 20%) to creature-composition. Significant amount of organic matter equivalent (Error Margain < 1.5%) to local sapient population. No traces of high-density (> 10 g/cm^3) annihilatory weaponry.

Molecular movement consistent with given temperature gradients within the object, plus heavily breathing local sapient (Error Margain < .01%).

Proposed course of ac-

Bloody subconsciousness.

The Born to be Wild sighed again, making a note to reprogram its subconscious routines, swept the escape pod with its effector, and started to smile.

Or would've started to smile, if it could do such a thing.

A survivor. How fortunate.

A moment later, Karen was probably hearing a voice in her head.

Hello, in there. Need a ride?

Concremo Primus Clan Ansu - and yes, I know you're not playing as 'em. But using one's actual name makes identification easier)

oocness: And I'm, errr, assuming that your overall silence in the matter means that the attempted-stealth approach of the Kiss My Ass and its three companions was reasonably successful.

So far, so good. The four craft were coasting quite insignificantly in the void of space, somewhat more than three million kilometres off Concremo Primus.

Of course, this was about to change, now.

CCOM@&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: SEU Kiss My Ass
To: TEU No More Privacy; TEU Rocket Run; TEU Misty Menace;
Subject: And now...

Alright then. Ready?
-
[No More Privacy] Sort of. Jesus, they're huge.
-
[Kiss My Ass] Well, yes. Us being out-tonnaged by, errr... A huge margain is one of the reasons why we're doing this, remember?
-
[No More Privacy] Point.
-
[Kiss My Ass] Anyway. Subcraft are deployed, and missiles are, too. And we're now close enough for our present hull-configuration to burn us if some jackass goes and points a high-powered sensor at us. Time to change this.
-
[Rocket Run] Right away.

To the Kiss My Ass, it was quite a beautiful moment. What had been quite utterly black was now reflective. Ships turned from veritable holes in the sky into blinding mirrors, finally announcing their presence, and announcing it in a way that made the four of them - of which the Kiss My Ass was the largest, being 1401 metres in length. The three others were between 560- and 660 metres long, all of them half as wide as they were long, and again half as high as they were wide) - appear like a force ten times their actual size. Still notably less than what they were going up against, but impressive enough to make people bother.

Hopefully.

They'd already started EW, projecting a near-infinity of conflicting signals, of radiation-chaos and false information into the skies of Concremo Primus, hopefully adding to the confusion - and then, they started to fire.

It was quite an anticlimatic beginning, as was effectively unavoidable, over this distance. Displacers and more conventional field-drivers (An evolution of the railgun, in a sense) deployed the warheads which contained in them death that - while hardly as efficient as antimatter - was still more so than 'Mere' fusion, and certain much safer to handle than AM.

Once they'd reached a save distance from the ships - a couple thousand kilometres - they detonated, a few hundred tiny sparks in the skies, each of which configured to send ten largish gamma-ray lasers, altogether containing maybe ten percent of the bomb's total energy output, at the targets.

Naturally, this was combined with more conventional fire.

Of the four ships, the Kiss My Ass sat in the middle of the formation - and around it, each a lightsecond away from it, sat its three companions, forming a circle almost two million kilometres in circumfence.

Around them, neatly distributed within an even greater circle 450000 km in diameter, were the ships' subcraft - the point-defence related ones were, ironically, pointless over this distance, but the 168 capship-grade ones (Essentially gunturrets with drives attached to them) could nonetheless provide not entirely insignificant firesupport.

And that they did, in a rain of particle beams and x-rays, the former barely, the latter well within their effective engagement range - which translated as '90% energy density on target'.

It was, of course, mildly difficult to actually hit a target over this distance, lightspeed lag being the annoying thing it is. As such, the small group of ships didn't even try to target individual ships of their opponent - instead, they formed veritable 'Cages' of fire, concentrating it on given volumes of space, spread so that of the many beams fired at any such volume, a few had to hit a target - even if the majority was to miss the same, instead causing pretty little flowers of heat and plasma in the upper atmosphere of the planet.

They were very temporary cages, of course. With each beam being a mere microsecond long, 'Sweeping', well... Anything was effectively impossible, the firing rate of sixty RPM nonwithstanding. The advantage was obvious, though - the more 'Concentrated' the energy in the beam, the less time for shields or armour to radiate or conduct it off, and the more energy would go into the actual target, damaging it. Doing this did, of course, cost a little in gun lifetime (Which didn't particularly enjoy dealing with such energy concentrations, either), but as long as the engagement didn't continue for ages...

And in the midth of it, on carefully pre-destined vectors to avoid them being shot down by friendly fire, were the missiles.

They were accelerating rapidly, now, having given up on stealth, instead providing a veritable hurricane of radiations and fields coming from them - it wasn't quite possible to see the drive-and-ECM caused hurricanes of radiations each missile had formed around itself with one's bare eyes, but just about everything else, well...

Of course, their very design made it obvious that these weren't really made for 'Stealth', but for a brute-force approach. Their warheads were actually located at their tail-ends - rather than bothering with Newton in any sort of conventional sense, their drivefields pulled them through space, with the added benefit of the drive fields' properties being rather detrimental for kinetic, plasma, particle etc. ordnance thrown at them. In effect, they acted as a kind of shield for the missile.

It did, admittedly, do very little when it came to 'Mere' radiation weapons - read, lasers -, but that was what the missiles' reflective hull was for. It certainly wouldn't be perfect - but every joule less absorbed by it increased its survivability, and survivability was key.

Another aspect was their sheer size. The largest were over a hundred, the (More numerous) smaller ones were still over fifty metres in length, and a tenth of that in diameter. Each missile was equivalent to sixty-five (Or, in the case of the smaller ones, six-point-five) thousand metric tons (A not entirely insignificant fraction of which would do the E = m x c^2 deal upon getting close to a target - at this velocities, near-contact detonations were preferable to on-contact ones) of sheer killdeath speeding towards their targets, the chaos fleet in Concremo Primus' orbit - the only problem was that there were comparatively few missiles (28 of the heavier ones, and 196 of the smaller ones), and regardless of their sheer hugeness - they weren't going to survive capship-grade fire.

But well. They weren't meant to kill the entire chaos fleet assembled in orbit. Merely to jab it. Distract it.

To make it angry.

Radiations raced through space, announcing the veritable slap-in-the-face the Kiss My Ass intended. All that remained was to see whether the Obsidian Guard took the bait, or not.

CCOM@&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: SEU Kiss My Ass
To: TEU No More Privacy; TEU Rocket Run; TEU Misty Menace;
Subject: And now...

But I have to say - seeing as this is the first time I see it for real -, I must say...

Awesome.

She stared back from her corner, looking clearly at the airlock doors in front of her. She had heard a voice in her head. Was she going mad now? Was she going insane from the trauma of the loss of her homeworld? No, this couldn't be. The computer was blinking. Moving for the first time since the attack, she checked the computer to see that there was infact something outside of the escape ship. She sighed in relief. Since she did not have psychic capabilities, she simply sent a message to the ship (OOC Is it a ship or probe?)

"This is Former Magistrate Karen Okiri of the planet Eridani. I require some assistance," her voice was shaky. It was over for now, but they had to be warned of the invading forces. They had to...

OOC: kinda short right now. Im gonna slow down a bit and focus on these pods more.

Born to be Wild/ Karen Okiri

The 'Something' was indeed there, largely in the form of a rather bland-looking ship almost one-and-a-half kilometre in length - though not necessarily visible as such to the sensor suite of a mere lifepod.

The Born to be Wild considered the situation for a moment. It was already closing in on the pod with Karen inside it, which posed no difficulty (Indeed, if anything, it offered opportunities). A somewhat more significant diffiulty was its sole human resident - Jack was mildly insane, and had inhaled a little too much of Io's hostile atmosphere to be considered a 'Safe' asset.

I'll have to keep the two seperated... At least to an extend.

And then it switched to more common means of communications, and once more contacted Karen.

CCOM@&EM1E-1; SL0; Tightbeam
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: Magistrate Karen Okiri; Planet Eridani
Subject: <Blank>

I figured as much. Well. I'll have closed in in... forty-three seconds. From there, I suppose I can just move your escape pod to board.

The present environmental conditions on board - temperature, atmosphere, humidity, the likes - shouldn't be a problem for you, though if you wish, I can change the composition of the atmosphere a little to make it approach the standard on your world. Or what was its standard until... But you know that bit.

I suspect that I'll be incapable of rendering assistence beyond providing shelter for you, though - unfortunately, the means I'm presently having available are insufficient to deal with the problem that has befallen your world. And while I intend to change this, I cannot do so immediately.

Oh, and my apologies if I I'm a little off with the grammar and pronounciation - I haven't had time to fully immerse myself in the peculiarities of your language, although I'll of course try to do so in the forseeable future.

This said, we'll be able to talk face to, errr... Ship as soon as you're on board. A second...

Seconds ticked by, one by one. The ship did a few more scans of the escape pod, just to make sure that it was really safe - in the age of femtometer-scale informational warfare and nanological infections, 'Better safe than sorry' was generally a good idea.

Still, it proved to be as innocent as the Born to be Wild had expected in the first place, and moments later, field-grips extended, and pulled the pod into one of the ship's absurdly cramped hangars, as Karen Okiri would doubtlessly notice upon stepping out of her shuttle - the hangar was filled with a dense collection of ordnance, be it subcraft, missiles, bombs, or simple trash - the latter being what passed as low-intensity kinetics.

Just toss them out of the hangar while being on a collision-vector with a target, and watch the fun, so to speak.

In between were ellipsoid drone-shells, gun-attachments, micromissile-boxes (All of them more-or-less identifiable) and - less identifiable - things like vonNeumann packages, growing ordnance, the likes.

Someone was geared for war, and that someone was also waiting for Karen, in the form of a human-male projection (With field-edges to allow for the illusion of solidness).

It bowed slightly. "I realise that this is likely the wrong moment, and that you're not exactly in the mood, but nonetheless...

"Welcome on board of the Born to be Wild, Magistrate Okiri. I'm the ship's mind, understandably going by the same name."

She saw the holographic image and said, "Thank you for finding me. It has been a long day."

She walked inside the ship next to projection.



The planet was his. Niiat had overtaken the planet and was already on work to creating a new strain of Broodships and warriors. The new Broodships were recycled from the old, reinvigorating the dead cells and placing the genetic material in an embryotic state. These new ships had evolved better armour and were now incorporating special shielding systems based on their muscular system and bioelectricity.

Niiat had looked through the technology archives of the planet. He found countless advances in weaponary that had been castaway by the peace-loving race. Railguns, Nuclear Weapons, EMP bombs, Gauss weaponary, Iota Mass Cascade Batteries. He smiled eviliy as his mind began to buzz with countless ideas for his army.

Born to be Wild/ Karen Okiri

"I figured as much." Hrm. Must be a little... Shocked. I expected more of a reaction. "In any case... If you could stand still for a second?"

Fields extended again, this time coalescing around Karen's wound, for a moment changing their properties, and slowly, carefully, removing the remnants of the Sicari that'd stabbed her.

The ship's representation smiled. "Valuable intelligence, if you will. And now for treating the actual wound... Hum. Well, fields wont help there, and I don't exactly have much in the way of medicine available... But some cream and a few bandages should do."

It hesitated for a moment, looking a little closer at the alien woman in front of him as they left the hangar for the 'Habitation' sector of the ship which, for all practical intends and purposes, was outright tiny - sure, it was more than enough for the few (Now two) organic residents, but in comparison to the size of the ship at large, well... Though, in fairness, it was surprisingly well-furnished, and and reasonably tasteful (If morbid) - everything appeared to be at least mildly gloomy, be it paintings, the arrangement of lights, or the very architecture.

"In any case. Do you have any wishes? Apart from avenging your fallen, errr... Species. Which could be arranged, in due time, I think."

Another moment of hesitation. Less because it was necessary - it wasn't - but because it seemed appropriate. "Oh, and of course, if you've any questions - just ask."

Otara

"Yes, this would be appropriate."

Captain Zakazi blinked at the DEAT's representation in front of her. So did, well, most of the engineers and scientists in the room. "You're not serious."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because... It's just so, well... Unwieldy."

The DEAT shrugged. "That it is. it is, however, necessary. You don't want to scratch their paint, you want to kill them. And unless you're providing ordnance on this scale, you'll fail in doing so."

"Another issue-" one of the engineers, a young, and rather pale man (His green would've looked irradiated if it'd been vaguely bright) noted. "We'll have difficulties, errr... Producing these things."

"Indeed. Well - my own manufacturing capabilities are of course available to you, and indeed, already rather busy working on such and a number on other things."

"And you're already busy turning our asteroids into missile farms..."

"Indeed, I am. Well. Was. Right now, all that's left in this regard is waiting, really. In any case - this weaponry is required. I can of course not provide the necessary materials - or machines - to provide your entire industrial output with the necessary materials for state-of-the-art ordnance, but nonetheless - it's a start."

"Another question. Missiles-"

"A second. Well..."

Epirea

President Iekarta's office had changed quite visibly over the past week, almost as if the impending doom of this world had infected it - and his office was most certainly not an exception to the rule.

Maria entered quietly, closing the door carefully behind her and walking as softly as she could manage.

"Is everything alright?"

The President took a long time to answer. "No. No it's not. Seen the protesters?"

Maria nodded. "Yes. It's... understandable."

"Indeed it is."

Finally, the President turned around, facing Maria as he was sitting on his chair. "So, why? Why not evacuate us, too? At least a few of us - I know that you're incapable of doing it with everyone, but some of us..."

Maria hesitated, not wanting to shrug. "It can't be helped. You do have at least some means to inflict damage upon the potential opponent - you're down the queue."

The President laughed, bitterly. "It's quite fitting, isn't it? This room. So dark and... Gloomy. And you... expecting us to find an opponent than can kill all of us without ever touching the ground, without ever being in range for our weapons, feeble as they no doubt are to you! This is a game, isn't it? A game where you test our ability to react to stress? A game where you can play your little routine, just to watch us all die, while recording it in realtime from a lightyear away!"

"Please, you must rea-"

"WHY US?"

Silence.

"Why... Why don't you... You told me about your society's values. Your ideas. Why do... Why do you bother as much about them as you do about us? Why are the lives of the Oceanic federation as valuable to you as ours?! They still consider you an enemy, you know. A threat."

"We..." Maria bit her lips. "I think it's better when I go back to organising the defensive measures."

The President looked, no, stared at her as she left his office.

"Yes. Yes this is... Better. Indeed."

OOC Another crappy post. I have a much better one coming later this evening.

IC

Karen stayed still as it treated her wound. She saw it taking remanents of the Sicari that had attacked her. They were probably going to analyze the genetic structure of it as she had done on the planet.

"You're wasting your time," she said to it. "They constantly evolve. The species you fight against one day arent the same kind you fight the next." Still, they seemed more advanced than her species and perhaps there would be more hope in terms of finding a way to kill them.

The ship had asked her for any requests. Vengence, death to the Kraetons. This wouldn't happen. But she did have one.

'I want to help with the taxonomy and studying of any Kraetonic biomatter found. I want to help at least eradicate the creatures. I'll give you all knowledge of what we had come up with."

OOC: here you go, Ed. http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k308/Nirokasa/worldgen.gif Sorry for all the mixups.

Captain Black sat on his command chair moving his fingers slightly over his chin; they brushed up against his rough five o clock shadow slowly as he awaited any reply. Directly across from his position the con officer stood over his console once more moving his smooth pale hands over the glassy reflective computer paneling in front of him. It seemed to be quiet out there no response no communications and no sign of any friendly or hostile ships. Black thought to him self in a split second half cocked idea.

~what a waste of time why was the fourth fleet dragged all the way out to this dead part of space for such a mission there is not even a sign of friendly or hostile contact… I could be better off having rest and relaxation on the beaches of Torm rather than doing this all-~

Suddenly his thought was cut short by the con officer, who in the few mundane moments in to the thought had been setting up and receiving a message and had failed to motion it to the captain. The young officer shifted his view over to black and started speaking in a normal professional voice while attending to his console.

“Sir we have an incoming message from fed- force… It appears to be new orders from the admiral”

Black looked over to the officer with a flick of his wrist and a some what annoyed deep voice…. “Yeah put it on...” his lips curled in to a dull frown, his mind already going through ideas on wanting to retire and get away from these repetitive boring assignments.

The officer shrugged slightly and thought nothing of it, his hand pressed down on a blinking red light on his console and suddenly the front of the large nearly monochrome lit bridge flew in a flash of blue colors.

The older man from before had appeared with another message this time more laid back and relaxed. The man started to speak in a loud voice commanding voice again like most admirals would…. Saying in his speech…

“Captain we have a new assignment for you in the cluster I know you’ve been sitting there for hours on end waiting for a response to our message, and you probably wont like this one bit old man ... but we need you to escort a colony ship and a gate construction ship to a planet inside the cluster region to be colonized.. It’s a boring assignment I know but we need you … good luck fed com out...”

The captain nearly threw his hands up in discuss of his new assignment his eyebrow slightly twitched now and again as his mind made rather insulting thoughts about his superiors. He looked over to his con officer and asked in an even more annoyed angered voice…

“When the hell is that convoy coming through? I want to get this mission over with quickly…”

The con officer nodded and looked to his console suddenly a bright white jump point opened up in front of the fleet and a six kilometer gate builder followed by smaller colony ships made there way out, the huge ships floated ominously over to the fleet adding bulk to them, making the fleet seem like a huge force to be reckoned with, colony ships took positions near modified and older omega destroyers while the gate builder stayed behind the TAS Lexington.

The con officer had already begun playing the message sent by the explorer class ship.

Hello captain this is the TAS Magellan and was ready to go gelin over to this sector, it should be arriving at your helm’s panel now, its dubbed new Tyrian and you might like it there. By the way I’m Captain Hernandez it’s a pleasure to meet you.

Black glared at the con officer with a stare of death and a hellish burn in his eyes almost as he was about to unleash a furious flame to engulf his subordinate. The officer cringed and looked a little nervous the bridge was in ominous silence…

Black frustratingly said in an annoyed voice “Just get us there, tell them we got the coordinates”

Black went on to mumble something about the admiral the new captain he had met napalm and gouging eyes out….

Some of the crew stared at him for a second and cringed ever so slightly, the quickly went back to work as the captain turned to stare at them.

The con officer glanced at the helms officer with a confused and surprised look then shook his head….


Suddenly the entire fleet began floating towards a central point; there metal bodies shimmered in the dark lifeless void of space, the out lines of the ships getting dimmer and dimmer as there white and blue engines pushed them along, rotating sections moved in tandem and a sort of rhythm. The large ominous vessels stopped ever so suddenly.. the hulls gleamed with dim light from the hull runway light emplacements.

Suddenly in a huge energetic whooshing noise a white angelic jump point opened up thousands of different colors poured from it illuminating the vessels in a wash of rainbow colors. The ships rushed in to the vortex one by one in a quick burst of speed.. the ships floated inside the colorful angelic light moving at near instant speed towards the planet…. No sooner had they entered it, they exited it with a burst of energetic lighting noise in to the darkness of space. They ominously floated towards that strange uncharted world…

(ooc just consider this my fleet is already starting to colonize the world ill post the other surface stuff later)

OOC: here you go, Ed. http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k308/Nirokasa/worldgen.gif Sorry for all the mixups.

And here is Nirokasa (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Nirokasa.jpg). Enjoy!

IC

The fleet lifted into space. Niiat was at the helm, preparing for their next target.

Kvasir (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Kvasir.jpg)

Niiat looked upon his creations as they prepared to land on the planet. They were indeed the creations of perfection. no prejudice, no hatred. All were equal in the eyes of a Kraeton. All were merely food to the Omnilord and his children, none were better than the other. Niiat raised his hand for the launch.

The spores began to land on the planet. Kvasir was another advanced civilization somewhat ahead of Karen's planet. They had gotten word of the Kraeton advance and were prepared for battle.

Plasma batteries fired upon the spores and the newly evolved Raveners as they entered the atmosphere. The majority of the spores made it safely, but the ground crews were ready. They began torching the spores before Larvaetons could make it through. From out of low orbit, the hundreds of Broodships entered the atmosphere, desperately launching Volucaris and Asesinos at the aliens. The Kvasirians, however, had other plans, launching Cluster Ordinance Missiles to take down the ships and the creatures before they even touched the skies.

The battle lasted for hours with the Kraetons getting no real foothold on the planet. Niiat cursed himself.

"I should have taken more units with me!!" he yelled. "Damn technology.

Niiat's flagship was under attack when he yelled "That's it!!"

As fast as the Broodships had came, they departed, leaving some Kraetons on the planet. The Kvasirians cheered across the world as they had withstood against the Horde and its Broodships.

Niiat stormed to the belly of his ship. He was furious, angry at his failed attempt to take another planet in the name of the Kraeton. Damn technology, he thought. I should have just stayed with attacking en masse instead of trying to match them technologically. Still, he had one trick up his sleeve.

In the Capital Building of Kvasir City

Cheering echoed throught the city as the Kvasirians retained their homeworld, fighting back the Kraeton menace. Everyone in the satellite towers were cheering and hugging and dancing. No one had noticed that the Broodships weren't leaving. In fact, they seemed to be going into some sort of formation, surrounding the planet.

A couple people looked up.

"What...what are those!?!" yelled a couple of people.

The army looked up to see them. They were numerous, massive spores raining down upon the planet. They exploded on impact, launching a massive shockwave of acid and diseased flesh. The people screamed as the acid ate through their flesh. Some people were unfortunate and instead got the diseased liquid over them.

"My eyes!!! My eyes!!! Make it stop!!" sores covered the man as his eyes began bleeding profusely. People contiued falling, flesh complete eaten off their corroded bones or covered with cancerous sores and bleeding from every pore on their bodies. Children were crying in pain as their mothers fell to the ground, burning alive as new spores filled with natural napalm burned the planet. The entire planet was screaming, begging for mercy that the Kraetons neither knew nor cared about.

Niiat looked from above, smiling in his accomplishment as the planet was torn into a massive inferno of disease and fire. He had hoped others were watching, taking example at those that cross Niiat. He could hear every voice yelling for mercy, every voice beggin to be free.

Then there was silence...

***Retribution-class battleship Litany of Fury. Gaias system***

The leviathan that was the Retribution-class battleship Litany of Fury churned through the inky blackness of space. Sensors probed and sniffed as the mighty warship moved, straining to catch that first, faint sign that Chaos had found them.

The Navy had been patrolling the Gaias system aggressively for the better part of a week now and it was painfully clear that these patrols would continue for the indefinite future. A pair of Dauntless-class light cruisers and a single Defiant-class light cruiser accompanied the Fury, one of only two Retribution-class battleships in the entire Navy. Their job was to monitor the furthest reaches of the Gaias system, watching for something that might never come. The Fury was not alone in this duty. All over the system, elements of the Navy prowled the shadows of space, poised for action.

The Immyrian Navy was not a large force, totaling barely 80 ships including support elements. Not large at all, but fierce. Fierce and proud and dedicated to the defense of the home system

***Archbishop’s office. Cathedral of the Masses. Gaius IV***

It was a sign of his fury that Festus was pacing. Normally composed under any circumstances, the Archbishop was clearly displeased. The under priest, whose job it was to accompany the Archbishop and see to his every need, cowered near the door of the dimly lit office.

“The king has mobilized the military in its entirety. Without the blessing of the Church. The Blessed Hammer of the One God is being thrown back and forth, looking for something that is not there and for what? The dreams of our king?” Festus’ slender fingers fidgeted within the confines of his voluminous priestly robes. The rosary at his waist clinked and clattered with each agitated step. The man by the door could only watch, mouth agape, as the leader of the Holy Church worked himself into a state. “If the king cannot follow protocol, then he must be made to recognize the error of his way.”

“Sur…..surely our Most Blessed Sovereign knows what he is doing Your Eminence. His is the voice of the One God. He thinks only of the safety of the people,” stuttered the under priest, daring the senior cleric’s wrath. Archbishop Festus whirled on him, eyes blazing with righteous fury.

“Get out of my sight you fool. I will not have your taint infecting this most holy of places. Your services are no longer needed,” Festus hissed, his hands moving to make the protective sign of the blessed eagle. The priest fled in terror, knowing that he had crossed over into a place from which there would be no return.

Festus turned and made his way over to his desk and slumped into the high-backed chair. He sat only a moment before calling for a scribe servitor. The part man/part machine trundled in within the span of a few moments and drew up before the Archbishop.

“Full encryption. Alpha cipher. Message to High Admiral Morpheus on board the battleship Litany of Fury………….”

Niiat screamed in fury. An entire population, wasted under his new weapon. They could have been useful in the evolutionary process, he screamed in his mind. But no! They had to fight back! At least others will see the true power of the Kraetons. Still, he was furious at the end results.

The entire Kraeton army cringed under the psychic tirade from him as he walked to the Cacuscudo Gestation Organs. There he looked upon each Birthing Sac in the massive structure. The new strains were being carefully crafted by his powers. This would be a new species of Kraeton that would be faster and deadlier than the Asesinos, although resourcewise, they were a bit more expensive. Still, he thought, they could replace the Asesinos if tested properly. They needed one last thing however.

Closing his eyes, he gathered all of the fury and anger he could muster. As he did, the other Kraetons, aside from the Vastaetors whom were also made with the fury of Niiat, ran away from the Organ. The psychic fury streamed into the Sacs, inserting new personalities into the creatures. This would insure that they would never back down and would destroy every living thing in its path.

Niiat smiled as the Sacs began to hatch. Perfection, he thought. Efficient. These Kraetons were the model of perfection. No inner bickering, no prejudices, no seed of rebellion, no dissention. Just an organic machine, ready to show the other races the perfection of Kraeton.

They would stay for now, taking what was left after the Viral Bombardment for the next invasion and allowing the Broodships to rest after overtaking three worlds.

Planet Anarion, North-Western Quadrant, Charybdis Cluster

“Don’t move! You’re violating the Sanctum of Her Majesty!” yelled the armed guard captain. Dressed in blue and gold livery and armed with large assault rifles the fifty or more guards charged into the room. The front ranks along with the captain confronted the figure standing at the center of the large domed room.

“Don’t move!”

“That is not a part of my mission profile,” stated the figure. “Orders on the presence of alien life are not specific.”

“You won’t get close to the Jeweled Heart!” yelled the captain.

“Positive, active obtrusion to mission objective: sentenced to death. Switching Homeostasis Tactics Program to Reaper Mode,” stated the man in his monotone voice. His eyes flashed bright neon red, like a laser.

With swift agile movements the figure dropped his arms to his sides. Two large black pistols jumped into his hands on cables and he gripped them firmly. With equal eye blinking speed he brought them up and began systematically putting a bullet into the chest of every guard he aimed at.

“Fire!”

The guards opened up with their assault rifles. The roar of gunfire was accompanied by the tinkle of brass shells falling to the floor. However the bullets simply smashed into the stone floor and empty space.

The figure, dressed in a black over-cloak lined with silver, raced in a circle and into the mob of guards. He ducked, jumped, swung, and dodged his way through them; each one he passed received a bullet into his chest, driving into the heart, and ending life. It was like a dance of death, a dance that took place at fantastic speeds.

The man dropped in between two groups of guards. They yelled and leveled their rifles. He jumped. Their volleys smashed into their partners and they killed each other, mowing down their comrades in an effort to kill the intruder.

“Dear Majesty!” one guard yelled out as his guts were wrenched out by a trio of bullets. His fellows joined him in darkness.

The figure ran strait at a guard who fumbled with his weapon. The man screamed and shut his eyes for a second, bringing up his rifle at the same time, and when he opened them he found the intruder gone. He stared wide in disbelief. He had just been right there. The guard turned and found a pistol barrel pressed against his chest. He didn’t even have time to think of screaming.

“All obstacles eliminated. Proceeding with the mission,” said the black clothed figure. He strode across the room, now littered with the bodies and blood of fifty dead human-like men. The fact that they were of human origin didn’t bother the man. He wasn’t, after all, programmed to care either way about alien life unless he was ordered to do so.

The man entered a large room with a massively high ceiling, going so high it was if it was open to the stars. At the end of the room, through a row of seats very much like pews, was an alter of sorts. Upon its gold and silver table sat a crystalline object in the shape of a crown. A heart shape was at its peak.

A voice suddenly crackled over the man’s hearing piece.

“Tristan, have you located the object?” asked a woman’s voice.

“Affirmative,” replied Tristan. He walked the final few steps and stood before the alter. He picked up the crown and looked at it carefully. His internal sensors scanned it with minuscule detail.

“Well, do your scanners say if it’s what we’re looking for?” the woman asked.

“Negative. It’s not what we’re looking for,” stated Tristan. “The lead was false.”

“Ah! No way, and I thought we had it…oh well, return to the rendezvous point and we’ll pick you up, ok Tristan?”

“Affirmative.”

Tristan turned, his black silver lined cloak billowed out behind him and he strode off down back the isle between the pews. He didn’t look back at the object he had come to claim, or the object he thought was what he had come to claim, and walked out of the sanctum. He passed through the domed room and was careful to step over the bodies of the guards as well as pools of blood. He exited down the main wooden doors and came to the grand stair case of marble that had led up to the cathedral-like building that he had come to search.

He stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t move!” shouted a voice over a voice amplifier.

Below Tristan and all around the tier where the building was located were at least a hundred guards. Tristan’s sensors counted them within a second. 127 guards. All of them armed with either the assault rifles the others had carried, pistols of some sort, or a sword that the officers seemed to favour.

“You’re under arrest for entering the Sanctum without permission from her majesty and for the murder of her Majesty’s personnel. Put down any weapons and come with us!”

Tristan put his arms at his side and within a flash his pistols shot into his waiting grip. They automatically reloaded and clicked with a short whine of machinery. He brought them up and aimed them at the men waiting below.

"Switching Homeostasis Tactics Program to Genocide Mode."


=-=-=

Aboard the Spiritus Sancti

A woman, dressed in the white and blue of the Trinity Organization’s nunnery, walked through the white metallic halls of the Spiritus Sancti thinking hard. She had just finished reading the last of her research concerning the artifact, the reason they were in the god-forsaken star cluster in the first place. What she found in her texts was not promising nor did she feel that it bode well for the future of their expedition.

All of a sudden she slammed into something and fell to the ground. Surprised she looked up and saw a tall red haired man in a Trinity priest’s uniform, flecks of what looked like dried blood were on his cloak.

“Ah! Father Tristan, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” the nun said in a fluster.

“No problem,” said Father Tristan. He offered his hand and helped the woman stand again. “You should be aware of your location Sister Elaine or your health may be at risk. I find no problems in your health at present, but you should be careful.”

Elaine blushed at the thought of her body being scanned, then reminded herself that it was only Father Tristan; an alpha-level human cyborg, a rare specimen amongst the technological community. He was more machine than man however, his entire brain and thought processes powered by machines. She set her thoughts aside and smiled up at him.

“Thank you Tristan, I will try to be more careful. Did you mission go well?”

“Negative. It was not the correct artifact,” said Tristan. His expression did not change at all as Elaine watched him speak. He really was a machine. “If you will excuse me however, I have a meeting with Father Nightroad within 1 minute and 29 seconds. I must leave you now.”

Tristan bowed and walked past Elaine in a brisk walk. He looked human, that was for sure, but he was still lacking in a few more human aspects. Elaine giggled and continued to walk to her destination.

She entered a large library. Books upon books, shelves upon shelves, covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The room extended for several hundred meters. She stood up on a chair to look over the mounds of books and desks that covered the floor of the ships great library. She then spotted who she was looking for.

Another woman, dressed identical to Elaine, was running her hands along the binds of the books and looking through them with the speed of thought. Her hands swept over titles, pages, and within moments she would toss it away, the knowledge within already absorbed.

“I wish I had that talent,” said Elaine aloud, as she stepped down a large pile of books.

The woman turned and revealed a bright smile and beautiful face. Her green eyes and black hair shined in the light of the library.

“Sister Elaine! You surprised me!”

“Sorry Sister Alexandra,” said Elaine with a smile. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, and about what?” asked Sister Alexandra. She stepped over to Elaine, dusting off her dress, and sat prettily on a stack of books and folded her legs. “I’m all ears.”

“Well…it’s about the artifact,” began Elaine.


=-=-=
Main Cabin

Father Tristan stood in front of a high polished desk that sat upon blood red carpet. Holographic windows on the right wall showed the open planes of a planet, bright green and with blue skies. Behind the desk sat a man dressed identical to Tristan. He had long silver hair that was kept in a ponytail behind his head, he wore circle-type glasses and had a disarming smile on his face.

“So the information was false?” asked the man behind the desk.

“Yes Father Nightroad. It was,” answered Tristan. “The artifact on the planet was of some value but was not the one which our mission profile is seeking.”

Father Nightroad, Krusnik 02, and sub-leader of the Krusnik Order sighed. It was to be expected. Even if the Professor thought he had been right, it was the third time his predictions and scans had proven wrong. Ever since they had entered the Charybdis Cluster’s 1st quadrant the group had run across nothing but false leads and hopes.

“Very well Tristan. You are dismissed. Inform Brother Micheal that we are to make a heading to the next planet,” said Father Nightroad. “Then report to Father Kaehdlin and tell him that he’s next on the roster for mission drop.”

“Yes sir.” With a bow Tristan left and Nightroad leaned back in his chair, gazing out the fake window and remembering happier times.

North-Eastern Quadrant, Macaroth System

The system of Macaroth was deemed the next step in Thrawn’s campaign into the Cluster. Not only was the Macaroth System heavily populated, but it was also slated as a forge world. It was densely populated and covered with large, technologically advanced forge cities and factories. Smoke and smog covered the skies. According to preliminary scans, the people were human-like and were using post-nuclear technology. The planet even had several orbital stations and the rudimentary starts at a space faring fleet.

However this promising bloom was to end before its time.

Fleet Group Storm came out of hyperspace within long range and halted. The task force consisted of three Imperial Star Destroyers, 7 Dreadnoughts, 4 Lancer Frigates, and a collection of smaller craft and supply vessels. Captain Oric, commanding, stood on the bridge of his flagship the Fiery Dragon.

“Sensor scans report?”

“Three large 1 kilometer sized space ships coming out of orbital lock. They are preparing what armaments they carry,” reported the ComScan crewman.

“Helm, give me a 30 degree port turn and 19 degrees down angle,” ordered Captain Oric. “Main batteries are to prepare to fire.”

“Firing solution created Captain.”

“Sir,” interrupted the communication ensign. “We’re picking up a faint signal. I’m picking it up right now; I’ll put it on speaker.” The man turned a few dials on his station controls and a voice came over the loud speakers of the bridge.

“Et hart url karm han! Wie elst du kan hast?” the voice asked.

Captain Oric frowned. “Can you translate that?”

“Working on it sir,” said the comms ensign. He worked for several minutes, driving the recording through dozens of algorithms and known language bases. Within 15 minutes he had achieved the ability to correctly translate it.

“You are not allowed entrance here! Why have you come and who are you?”

“Send this reply,” said Captain Oric. “Your planet and system are now under the direct control of the Empire of Thrashia under the pretends of Warlord and Grand Admiral Thrawn. Failure to surrender peacefully and without a fight will result in your destruction.”

The ensign worked his controls a bit more. “Sent sir.”

“Now we wait…mean time, have the 4th Clone Division ready their landing. Tell Lieutenant Dryall that he is to make a hyper-skip over to the far side of the planet and make landfall. The first continent will do nicely,” said Oric.

“Understood sir,” said his adjutant.

((OOC: The planet I am invading is a PMT world with tech based upon the new game, Battlefield 2142. As in the game, this planet is in the middle of an Ice Age. In an ironic twist, the vast majority of the planet has also started to flood, although the cause of this is yet unknown.

This is what the planet looks like: Hyperion (http://direpress.bin.sh/tools/world/worldgen.cgi?iter=20000&rotate=120&pct_ice=70&height=400&pct_water=80&seed=1164944766&projection=Square&palette=Alternate&cmd=Create)))

Hyperion System, South Eastern Charybdis Sector

The Hyperion System had contained a half-eldar and human planet for a number of years, which had seen its fair share of hardships throughout the millenia. However, during its two thousandth revolution of its people's second age, it began to show signs of global cooling. The Hyperion's leading experts predicted that the planet would move into its fifth ice age, which was one hundred percent accurate.

One problem.

When they predicted that the ice age would come, they also predicted an increase of landmass across the planet. This happened...for two decades. After the second decade, the planet's water mass increased dramatically, creating tsunami effects in a global scale. Hundreds of millions of people were killed within a week as the huge waves crashed into large coastal cities and a number of inland cities as well. In that one week, the population of Hyperion had decreased by nearly five percent.

With the landmass decreased, the land that was left was becoming overcrowded, and with that problem fell another: a large deficit in resources. With these two problems, a number of intact alliances from when the planet had been 'normal' began waging war on one another. Throughout the course of three hundred years, the war had devastated what was left of the land, and resources were nigh non-existant. With this as a problem, many alliances formed larger ones to pool their resources and assure each other's survival.

Two large alliances were all that was left: the Coalition of Communist Nations and the United Nationalist Peoples of Ytheron. These two nations waged a war of supreme dominance upon each other, which has continued to this day for over seven hundred years..

Neither side would be expecting their new foe.

0840 hours Copen GMT

A small fleet of ships came into the system under a heavy blanket of Minovsky particles. These Minovsky particles would allow the fleet to close in on Hyperion under a cloak of interference, making the fleet completely invisible to the radar scanners of the young, promising planet.

Once within range, the Musai Argos began deploying their mass of mobile suit forces, which were soon supported by their Komusai shuttles, which acted as support gunships, refueling stations, and rearming stations for the mass of suits deployed. Once they were all deployed, they began to swarm around the planet, searching for any satelite they could find in orbit.

One by one, each mobile suit squadron began reporting each satelite they found, and everytime, they confirmed that it was destroyed. Military satelites, communications satelites, anything orbiting the planet was destroyed.

Once the satelites around the planet were taken care of, the mobile suits were recalled as hundreds of heavy lift vehicles began dropping from the bellies of the ships, deploying into the southern regions of the planet, and as soon as the last H.L.V. had been deployed, the five Gawzine Ras began their own assault.

Targetting the major population centers of the world, they began firing their orbital bombardment cannons. Dozens of cities were impacted simultaneously, leaving massive craters the size of Lake Utah where magnificent works of architecture once stood. Within minutes, the population of Hyperion had decreased from ten billion people to a meer one billion without a single casualty to the incoming invaders.

*Several weeks into the opening of the Charybdis Crusade*

"Emperor, we've been recieving reports of massive movement of ships and men into a seemingly uncharted section of space. It isn't too far away, and we can have a heavily defended survey mission there within approximately 3 days. We wouldn't be able to detatch any Battlecruisers for the effort, but we've got serveral of those new Heavy Cruisers floating around, and enough Yamato Missiles to support them. I can detatch CruRon 24, CruRon 16, and DesRon 32 within the hour. The Carriers Lexington and New Gettysburg can also be deployed. I've even managed to convince the Umojans to send us a full division of Protectorate forces to act as infantry support. The Combine has agreed to send some of their surveyors and extractor ships, so any valuabe resources we find can be easily exploited. All we're waiting on is your go ahead." Various charts and graphs flashed in the background, as force deployments, threat assesments, and available assets rotated through general Duke's slideshow.

"So, you're basically saying that you've managed to pull together a decently powerful fleet, enough troops to deal with hostile natives and hostile invaders alike, and the technical assets needed to exploit anything we find." Emperor Mensk looked dubious, there had to be something he was missing, or that Duke was leaving out.

"Well, we have secured all of those things, yes. And we've got a pretty good read on what's in the area. And we think we know which systems to avoid based on long range recconaissance by a squadron of cloaked Wraiths through the cluster."

"What's the catch Duke?"

"The forces we've noted moving into the area, it's the Chronosian Imperium. We don't know what they want, or if they'd attack us if we placed worlds under our protection, but the odds are good that there would, at some point, be a confrontation."

"I see. And your final opinion still says go?"

"Yes sir, I've got Jim in charge of the operation on our side, and Schezarr is running things for Umoja. They've got those bastards with Magellan coming from the Combine. We really don't have much to worry about, unless it's alot more opponents than intelligence thinks it is."

"And what do they think it is?"

"No more than a few chapters worth of Marines, at most it's the third part of a legion, with Guard support."

"Well then, that's not too much at all, is it? I guess I'll sign the orders for an expedition. We can secure a few planets and hopefully recoup any losses we might take in the proccess."

"Yes your highness. I'll have everything deployed immediately."

-Orbit, Khorhal IV-

"Our orders are in everyone, we're to rendevous with an Umojan division and a Kel-Morian survey team just outside Tarsonis, before we set course for a recently surveyed cluster of systems." James Raynor looked around the table at his top officers, they all knew their jobs well, even if some were a bit green for his taste. It was a simple mission, where the worst they'd have to face would be a few Chronosian pirates. "Dismissed people, see that we're ready to depart by 14:00."

Two hours later, the command formally known as Terran Expedition 14368, or informally known as Clusterfuck, departed Korhal to meet up with their temporary allies. Just a few short days later, they would arrive in the system designated Gamma-134682, the only place that they were certain had life, and didn't have Chronosians.

As the H.L.V.s began plummetting through the upper atmosphere of Hyperion, several of the larger 'eggs' began to 'crack' their shell, creating a ballute system that protected its valuable cargo. Within each of the vessels that were opening up were the Gaw Airships, each with their engines roaring and ready to heave the massive planes into the skies of Hyperion. As soon as they reached ten kilometers above the surface of the planet, the Gaws simultaneously deployed, roaring into life and heading for their objective within Coalition territory.

The remaining forces dropped into a region marked as the Farsian Desert, a completely desolate area in the center of the last remaining continent, and as soon as the H.L.V.s touched down, they folded open, allowing the large Dabude-class Land Battleships to roll out of the large H.L.V.s to await their assigned battlegroups.

As each drop ship began unloading its cargo, the massive force began dividing itself up, each Dabude receiving a sizeable force that rivaled an Imperial Guard regiment in sheer number and weaponry. As soon as each Dabude received their regiments, the troops were loaded aboard, the tanks fell into formation, the fighters began flying in escort formations, the Zakus stood atop the battleships, and the Doms moved forward as recon units. Each Dabude had their own objective to achieve, and with the amount of forces at their disposal, achieving those objectives within the Ytheron territory would be simple.

Regiment Setup

Dabude Command Ship
2000 Troops per Command Ship
200 Magellas per Command Ship
100 Dopps per Command Ship
12 Zakus per Command Ship
4 Desert Doms per Command Ship

Company/Platoon/Squad Setup

Company
200 Soldiers (10 Companies per Regiment)
20 Magellas (10 Squadrons per Regiment)

Platoon
50 Soldiers (1 Command Platoon and 3 Platoons per Company)
5 Magellas (1 Command Squad and 3 Squads per Squadron)

Squad
10 Soldiers (5 Squads per Platoon; 1 Sergeant w/ Pulse Rifle, Combat Pistol, and short sword, 5 Soldiers w/ Pulse Rifles, Combat Pistols, and Combat/Utility KABARs, 2 Soldiers w/ Rail Drivers, Combat Pistols, and Combat/Utility KABARs, 2 Soldiers w/ W.A.S.P. Launchers, Shotguns, and Combat/Utility KABARs, whole squad outfitted with frag grenades, concussion grenades, extra ammo, and field rations)
1 Magella (1 Transport Tank per infantry squad, squad rides in armoured rear bed on backside of tank's drive base)

http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Hyperion.jpg

There's Hyperion.

To Copenhaghenkoffenlaugh whose name, like mine, force utter frustration from RPers that have to C&P our name. Cheers! :D

Post to replace this later

Born to be Wild/ Karen

"Oh, that's not an issue. 'Conventional' bioweapons - apart from not possessing the degree of efficiency we desire - would presumably fail, anyway - with this degree of species-internal diversity, and the degree of specialisation this things possess, I doubt that we could come up with something useful.

"I'm more interested in the basic information transfer mechanisms - how they think and interact.

"In any case..." The ship hesitated, as they walked down a few rather narrow corridors - Angstians tending to be comparatively small, their corridors tended to be, too -, mostly out of politeness (It was still a few steps to their destination). "I'm fairly certain that I'll be able to accommodate your desires. Biolabs and habitation are available - if small. This isn't exactly a biology faculty -, and, yeah.

"Incidentally..." The projection - not really a hologram, per se, but close enough - stopped. "You don't happen to have some basic information on how they communicate? Right now, we're guessing a mixture of basic biochemical signals - hormones and the likes - and some generated EM, probably infrared. No idea whether more exotic means - psychicness or some such - are involved, which would, ah... Complicate matters. Oh, and this is your room. A tad spartan, but..."

'Spartan' was most certainly no understatement - a simple bed, a simple table, access to basic communications... And that was it. "Well, I can decorate it later. incidentally, for the purpose of faster communications - would you mind some implants, once I've done a physiological analysis? makes communications faster. And thinking, too, come to think of it."

Owantu

The world was surprisingly diverse - the two northernmost continents were already aware of the existence of gunpowder, and a few of the local civilisations were actually experimenting with steam, although the social structures in existence weren't really supporting an industrial revolution just yet - the Tactical Engagement Unit Wishmaster was pretty certain that the two continents would undergo a series of less 'Industrial' and more 'Bloody' revolutions over the next, oh, probably about twenty local years.

Or would, if there wasn't the minor issue of having to move them off, and radically changing their entire worldview to the point of 'What the Fuck?'.

In any case. The ecology had already been smashed by the locals - while the ship could detect the remains of many a species below the surface, the overall megafauna had been reduced to little more than a tenth of its former extend, with half of the species already being annihilated. And as far as things went, it appeared that smaller ones would follow soon enough.

Not that it minded this - it was pretty normal over the 'Typical' development of a sapient species, and generally not much of a problem. The best predator wins - nothing special about it.

But it was, well, interesting to watch.

The two southern continents were much less developed - they were aware of iron, of course (Well, the ones that weren't hadn't survived to this day), but rather far off... Well, anything else.

The Wishmaster considered. This was exactly the type of civilisation that was most difficult to deal with - too advanced (And too sizeable) to be carried off with a bit of effector-induced 'Magic' or 'Prophecies', not advanced enough to have at least a small chance to defend itself.

No-man's land.

Well. it'd have to try. Somehow.

Next to it - which is to say, a couple thousand kilometres off -, space suddenly spit out a small group of craft, fat, ugly, empty.

There they are.

Time to call a few kings.

Warplanning

FTLCOM@L1E20&EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: IEU Stargazer
To: All Involved
Subject: Overall Situation

I realise that most of you will already be aware of this, but just for the sake of completeness - a rundown on hostiles and their operations within this region.

Chronosia appears to move relatively slowly - so far, nothing particularly important to note. However, what appears to be an offshot of the Chronosians - 'Obsidian Guard', I think - moves somewhat faster, but has already been engaged, though only to stall them, not to annihilate them. We're still waiting for the results, though.

Taledonia - at least we think it's them, our information is mildly limited in this regard - is moving similarly slow. 'Allistea', their target appears to be called. Like the Chronosians, they're of comparatively little concern.

The aggressive hegemonising swarm the Born to be Wild is following is moving rather more rapidly - So far, we count the following in-cluster victims (Not counting ones outside of the same): Darimus, Eridani, Kvasir. I believe that there is still majority support for trying to 'Control Them' - should this not work, I suppose that extinction-event scale strikes against the worlds 'Infected' by them, followed by in-depth decontamination are a necessity.

The next party appears to be a mechanoid-esque group, sort of the antithesis to the force investigated by the Born to be Wild - again, moving slowly. However, while they appear to move slowly, they're probably one of the most capable forces in the region, courtesy of their mechanoid-ness. It'll likely be useful to wait and see how they fight against others before acting on our own - it is better to avoid surprises.

Furthermore, there appears to be a Thrashian operation going on. Details on Thrashian kit and tactics can be acquired by asking the Twink Factor - which will, incidentally, join our ranks, soonish. It should be noted that they've likely changed some of their tactics since the last time they met us - they may be unaware who hit them the last time, but I doubt they'll be unprepared. They have so far attacked what appears to be called the Alturon system (No survivors), a planet called 'Anarion' (No occupation, nor extinction event - why they were showing up there is presently unknown), and the Macaroth system - operations there are still in progress. Given the native's ability to fight back in space, intervention might be an idea.

New Ireland (?) appears to have made a move against what the natives apparently called 'Scuta' - it is worth noting that this seems to have been a mere annexion, not a case of genocide. New ireland is therefore at the bottom of our priority list - the option of cooperating with them might be worth considering, as our primary goal is to save lives, not ensuring sovereignity. Besides, we need all the help we can get.

Last but not least, a force notably similar in appearance (And tactics) to the Thrashian one has attacked what they appear to call 'Hyperion' - extinction-event scale bombardement, as far as these things go.

Any opinions?
-
[DEAT on Sight] Well. I agree on the biobugs-issue. And I believe that the Born to be Wild's TEU-escort has by now catched up to it? Ought to start something serious, soon.
-
[Technically A Pacifist] Indeed. Also, I agree with the assessment of New Ireland - maybe I should make contact?
-
[Stargazer] Feel free. In the meantime, I'm organising some more evacuations. As it is, Conquest Inc. appears to be interested in 'Hosting' our friends - of course, the deal would be, errr...
-
[DEAT on Sight] Well, as you said - we care for their survival, not necessarily for their permanent sovereignity. So long as they don't end up as slave labour, I doubt anyone will care. Much.
-
[Stargazer] Indeed. Well then - happy hunting.

"Sure you can implant me a bit later. I should get to work.

Karen began looking through the footage that had been recorded on her pod, trying to name and classify each creature, listing them by their jobs in the Horde. They were disgusting, she thought as she continued scraching the wound on her leg. It was healing, but it still looked very infected.

The Vastaetor was the one that caught her attention. This creature had not appeared on Darimus, yet there it was, plowing through the encampments and the vehicles like a walking tank. This could mean that these Kraetons knew that they were dealing with someone considerably more advanced technologically than them and evolved a creature to combat that. But how? She took note of the four arms it had, two were massive claws while the other two were giant bio cannons. The plasma and the acidic bile were two problems that were encountered with the armour as well as its thick claws. From what was seen on the piece of the tendril from the Sicari was that the claws and scythes and blades on the Kraetons were in fact a very thick bone that had properties of metal. Studying it proved that it was as strong as adamantium and could pierce most armour, explaining how they can just flood through an army. They would need more specimens, but for now the Sicari would do.

She continued studying their movement. Looking at the precision of the movement. As one moved, they all followed in exact unison. Was is pheromones? Psychic emmisions. She looked through. They were picking off people that were clearly hiding from them. Karen wrote down theories, from enhanced sense of smell to a special lateral line that could sense bioelectricity. But she needed more...

She fell to the ground, her head feeling like someone had pierced it. She could feel something...angry...someone was furious...very furious. Her head wouldn't stop pounding with hatetred and fury. Slowly it began to subside as she stood back up. What was that? It was so horrible...so bad...


Niiat check through the space of the Synapsewarp. There were more people invading than before, he thought. This could pose as a problem to his plans. Cerberus crawled next to him, rubbing itself on Niiat and waiting to be petted.

"Hmm...this may be the time to create alliances," he thought. To do this without the Omnilord knowing would be a difficult task, but he had a plan to take care of that. "However, who would ally with myself?" He continued pondering as he checked the Navigation Synapse in the ship, tracking the pod that had escaped. It had been taken up by a strange ship of unknown origin.

"They must already know about us, although not much..." he thought. "Perhaps I can use their assistance. There are much others around but these are the closest. I will have to think about this."

His ship, the Darimus continued to stay docking in orbit of Kvesir.

*Hyperion System, Copen Landing +2 Hours*

The Terran task force appeared above the system just a bit too late. It was their intended destination, but it would seem someone had arrived first.

"General Raynor, the Combine assets report that they're detecting a heavy space presence over the habitable planet of this system. We observed no such thing on our original recon flight sir."

"Can you determine the origin of the vessels?"

"No sir. They're not Chronosian, but they don't fit any known profile either. The Morians have sent out several cloaked recon drones to get a better look at the number and disposition of the vessels. Admiral Liberty requests permission to deploy several squadrons of Wraiths, also cloaked, to sweep our area for hostiles. We think we came out far enough to avoid their notice, but we made a big signature coming in, and if they send anything our way, it's liable to be something that can be made to die relatively easily."

"I know that. Give him permission to deploy several of the Wraith Squadrons, as well as Lexington's Interceptor complement on low power. Valkyries and gunships should remain with the task force just in case we miss something coming in on us."

And with that, a round dozen reconnaissance drones, invisible to the naked eye and all but the most esoteric of sensors, overflew the Copen Fleet. Data was streamed back the the commanders in real time, and the massive Magellan institute had a pretty good idea of what they were facing, due to both visual and sensor returns. There were a few oddly blind spots that even regular detection methods against cloak didn't penetrate, but it was chalked up to unknown technology, and flagged to be watched as a possible threat indicator. Meanwhile, the Interceptors of the supercarrier Lexington flooded the space around the ship. With nearly 1,000 fighters in the space surrounding the small task force, and more available at a moments notice, and the screening Destroyers and Cruisers taking up positions to protect the Carriers, any assaulting force would have to be very numerous indeed. Or very foolish. With the number of gunships and Valkyries currently surroundig the vulnerable carriers, and the Wraiths that had not yet been deployed from their hangars, there were more than 3,000 fighters deployable, plus the complement of New Gettysburg's spacious hangars. If they were hostile, they were going to ercvieve a warm reception. If they weeren't hostile, then they'd do the same thing they planned on doing to the locals. Exploit them mercilessly.

Hyperion Surface, Coalition Territory, Local Time 1333 hours.

The massive fleet of Gaw ships had split up into smaller fleets of ten airships each, and had split up to take a larger amount of territory. The resistance they encountered was small, and lacked any coordination at all, as the local VTOL Gunship and Transport Ships found out the hard way each time they got within a kilometer of each fleet.

However, each attack kept increasing in strength, and eventually the Gaw fleets had to come up with alternate routes to their targets to avoid further engagements, or end up overwhelmed by enemy forces. After a short time, each fleet reached their designated targets, and were met by much larger forces. Massive flying fortresses, codenamed by the locals as Titans, met the fleets head-on, but not matter how much resistance they put up, and even with their shields at maximum strength, the Gaw's mega particle cannons made short work of them, allowing the fleets to drop their payloads of thirty mobile suits each into the remaining medium-size cities.

Combat within each city was quick and easy for the Gelgoog forces, and the Zeons suffered absolutely no casualties in comparison to the hundreds of dead or wounded soldiers of the Coalition. Even their impressivly powerful T39 Walkers, codenamed by the locals as Bogatyrs, were no match for the Gelgoogs, causing only superficial damage with their rocket launchers and cosmetic damage with their head-mounted anti-air flak guns.

To quote the Borg, resistance was futile.

Hyperion Surface, Ytheron Territory, Local Time 0945 hours.

"Alright, men," yelled the commanding officer, Captain M'Queve. "This will be our first land engagement with the local forces we know as the Ytheron. Although their technology is vastly inferior to ours, you must tread lightly when combatting them."

A map of the objective that First Regiment was supposed to take appeared on every man's cyberneticly implanted tactical heads-up display.

"The Ytheron have a strong military presence within this city," continued the Captain. "I speculate that they've been tracking our movements since we landed, although how they've been doing this is questionable, at best.

"The Ytheron second and third infantry divisions have already dug into the city along the front we planned on moving through." A portion of the Northern border of the city was highlighted upon that sentence, and then was zoomed in to provide a hazy, but decent picture that showed the men the trench systems and weapons emplacements that were lined in front of them.

"We also have confirmed orbital scans of two armoured divisions moving into the city from the South, and we believe that they are the Ytheron fourth Tiger battalion and the twelfth Riesig Walker division. It's believed that the Tiger battalion is going to move into the city and support the entrenched infantry forces while the Riesig division moves in on our flanks." The map zoomed out to show the speculated movements of both divisions.

"Since this is the case, we're going to soften the target up with our fleet before we move in. Since we want to take the city in a semi-intact state, the fleet is going to use their Jormungand cannons instead of the Keilas Guilles. Once they've done their job, we'll move in to mop up the remaining forces. Remember, we're here to take prisoners for the Imperium, so try not to kill every living soul remaining in the city.

"Alright men, fall out and join your assigned tank squadrons. Dismissed!"

The soldiers replied. "Sieg Zeon!" And with that, they filed out.

Hyperion Orbit

"Sir! Visual scanning has reported multiple unknown ships entering the system at coordinates thirty four point two by zero eight point nine!" shouted the tactical officer in obvious surprise.

"On screen," replied the fleet commander, Vice Admiral Dozle Zabi.

Upon his order, a staticked visual showed several large ships with a sizeable number of fighter and support craft buzzing about them.

"Have Major Rhidden take a squadron out to act as a communications relay for us," ordered the Vice Admiral.

"Roger, sir," replied the comms officer. "Major Rhidden, deploy to these coordinates and stay at alert status two. Do not engage the unknown forces unless they show hostile intent."

In the flagship hangar bay...

"Roger, command, Crimson Lightning Squadron, launching."

A squadron of six mobile suits deployed from the leading Gwazine Ra, showing no weapons being charged. Trailing Johnny Rhidden's commander Gelgoog was a line that allowed the communications to be relayed once the Chimera Squadron had reached outside of the will of the Minovsky particles.

Once outside of the field's emissions, a transmission was relayed through Rhidden's suit.

"We are of the Zeon Empire, and welcome you cautiously to the Hyperion system. Our leader, Emperor Sarkaran, has decreed that this planet be given to the Imperium as soon as we have quelled all pockets of resistance on the planet. If you wish for mining assets upon the planet, that is restricted, although the three moons are rich in a number of resources. You may have those instead."

The ship saw the Born to Be Wild ahead of them, watching the assimilation of the world of Kvesir. Aboard were Tarvians, known in the cluster for their piracy as well as selling stolen goods to other races in the cluster.

"Sir, we are now nearing the unknown craft. Should we board them captain?" asked Ensign K'Tar.

Captain Mak'tarikou looked into the ship for a while. Finally responding, "To the contrary, I believe they seem to have a fixation with that invading force below them. Perhaps we may have something of their that they may want." He chuckled and continued. "Set a message relay."

Below the deck in a holding chamber, a creature lay dormant under massive amounts of sedatives that would have normally overdosed any other living creature. It was sleeping, blanketed by its tendrils on the back. One of these tendrils was special.

The end of it had been cut off.

To: The Born to Be Wild
From: Starreaper

Greetings, captain of the Born to Be Wild. We have something of interest for you. Since you seem to enjoy seeing the creatures below you, we have with us a live, but sedated, specimen of one of those creatures just for you. For the right price, of course, this can be yours for the taking. Please answer back post haste.

Captain Mak'tarikou

The world below seethed. Silver looped around rocks, burying itself into the earth, like a massive, all-consuming parasite, spewing out the ships of the Maker-Mind as it did so. The system would suffice, for now, it determined. It had a significant portion of its forces here, however, there were more powerful, and more numerous enemies in the Charybdis cluster. It had no doubt that it could accomplish the directive of cleansing all life within the area, and leaving - but it would leave enemy fleets here, which would then be diverted to other battlefronts.

No, it would be best to wait. Hold the single planet it could, and wait. Construct orbital defenses, faster-than-light inhibition fields, and gear up for a defense. The consilidation of its hold here was vital.

Swarms of metal-spiders, the slender, yet massive spider-like ground troops, marched across the surface. Although it had been devastated, the occasional remnant of life remained. Indeed, the human colonies on the planet it had claimed were quite resilient, the occasional 'survival' city, far underground, or shielded town remaining. And that could've led to their revival.

In their thousands, the spiders marched. Over hills, over molten rock, the tips of their feet becoming malleable, and melting, and then reforming themselves, each spider walking on four legs at a time, leaving four to cool off. The extermination came first. Then the fortification.

There was time yet, to accomplish what needed to be done. Out-system, a few probes flung themselves into the rift, navigating its hazardous pathways carefully, preparing to drop out in other systems. The extent to which the enemy had conquered the Charybdis Cluster would be important to realise later-on.

***Preparations and Dominion***

It was the way of Tannelornians to always secure and ensure the safety of that territory that came under their sway as soon as it was claimed. In this way no invaders or former owners could have an easy time and force them to leave hard won territory, either through blood or resources that which belonged to Tannelorn would not be given up without the stiffest resistance.

The fleet had spent the first few days upon arrival in the Charybdis cluster scouting out territories and laying out a long range sensor web several light years from the first system they had entered. They had spent the better part of a week analysing nearby systems and trying to figure out who was the "biggest dog on the block" of their region of space. They had found them.

They had also found several other worlds that had civilisations on them, mostly primitives resembling the city states of ancient Mesopotamia.
It had been a relatively simple task to extend the Divine Celestial Federations protection over them, a single ship and subtle manipulation of the native cultures had seen the God kings and various other rulers come under their sway. Some of the Scientists specialising in anthropology were not totally convinced that the people of these worlds were yet convinced that the Tannelornians were not gods. After all when your bravest warriors copper spear can not even dent their armour and the new guests come down on massive ships that could be likened to floating cities..it was rather hard to dispel that illusion.

The primitive worlds Tannelorn encountered would all be subsumed in this fashion, though they were not as useful industrially as another protectorate would be, the type of war that would be raging in the heavens was one that these people had no defense against. It was the responsibility of the Divine Celestial Federation to protect these people, if that meant conquering them, then so be it. They had after all come to Charybdis to assist their allies, the Chronosian Imperium as well as to expand the Federations domains. Any other reason then that was a simple pretext. Tannelorn would no longer sit in peace, they would assure that goal through expansion and war.

Man cannot exist without it, as a species we would surely cease to exist if all conflicts were removed from our hearts. The drive to survive was the same drive that made men kill each other for whatever reasons they chose. The Tannelornians would kill to protect life, that would be their reason to fight, to expand..to conquer. It was the most basic and most honourable reason to kill, to eliminate that which could harm you. Charybdis was an untamed sector of space, it would now be civilised.

There was trouble on the world of Monthak, though that would be settled quickly, a platoon of DCC had been dispatched to defeat their armies in battle.

Much of the fleet itself was mobilising to bring their righteous rule to a world known as Yorim, or at least that was the closest approximate translation. The Tannelornian scouts had spent some time listening to their communications, in an attempt to gain a working knowledge of their language before they came to proclaim them part of the Divine Celestial Federation.

That time had now come.

***Yorim system***

The time had come to add this world to the Divine Celestial Federation. The first sign of Tannelornian presence came when almost ten thousand high maneuver frames and fighter craft jumped in system using Jump rings, devices that could be placed on a Morgenraete or Alpha II in place of FAST packs.

Behind them came Three Prefecture battle ships, the Miraculous, the Magnificent and the Merciful. Along side those were two of the GTFOA's Solidan class Battleships, the Charter of rights and the Freedom of choice.

They started to broadcast on wide band as they approached the inner system.

You are now under the protection of the Divine Celestial Federation of Tannelorn, a new era of security and prosperity shall welcome you with open arms. Do not resist us for we are not here to destroy you or your people.

It had begun..forms moved in the darkness beyond.

Born to be Wild/ Karen

Reality once more pisses on the graves of Einstein and Planck alike, doing its own thing, while generally being annoying.

Well, at least it's quiet.

At least the Born to be Wild's companions are now present.

So much for it being quiet.

CCOM@EM1E-1; SL10; Tightbeamed ComNet
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: TEU Act on Instinct; TEU Improper Behaviour; TEU Pleasure of Discipline
Subject: Overall Situation

There you are! Was about time. What stopped you?
-
[Act on Instinct] Space being a bitch, mostly. Anyway. Intel?
-
<Infoburst>
-
[Pleasure of Discipline] Mrm, neat. Nastier than expected, though, yes?
-
[Born to be Wild] Yes. Still not a per-ton match for us, I think, but nasty 'nough. And it's difficult to tell how they work - DNA analysis suggests a certain lack of the organs required for biochemical control, though. 'Suggests' because I lack a living body to verify which DNA-strings are read and which ones are ignored, and because the thing's bloody complex - the evolutionary potential is absurd. Oh, and I can't see much in the way of EM emission, either.
-
Ouch.
-
[Born to be Wild] Well, it's been a lesser creature. Still, if there's something psychic involved, eh...
-
[Act on Instinct] Well. Doesn't have to be perfect. We'd have to try it out.
-
[Born to be Wild] True. But I'm pessimistic. In any cas- errr, huh?

The Born to be Wild glanced surprised at the approaching Tarvian ship, surprised largely because it thought that most everyone else would run the hell away from the carbon-biased hegemonising swarm.

Hum.

A trap? Possible. It did its sensor sweeps, checking for weaponry, armour, drive systems, electronics or what passed for them in this time and place, and would probably have spent a while poking around in the heads of its crew, too, had it been close enough to focus its effectors appropriately.

Very impolite, that, but this was a warzone, and the Born to be Wild was of the opinion that this excused the occasional lack of manners.

And then, a message arrived. Pretty standardised - read, understandable - language, unencoded...

Nifty.

[b]CCOM@EM1E-1; SL0; Tightbeam
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: [i]Starreaper
Subject: Overall Situation

'Enjoy' seeing them is perhaps the wrong term... But I suppose that being interested in them counts. I I take it that it's better not to ask how you acquired it? Not that it matters - I'm indeed interested, though I'm somewhat at a loss 's of what you'd want for it - I figure that local currencies are rapidly losing value, so something else might be more appropriate? Materials, weapons, slaves, information...?

Sincerely,

~ Strategic Engagement Unit Born to be Wild

In the ship's manufacturing section, or more specifically, in the bioresearch-oriented bits of the same, Penta-Melchios - one of the ship's few sapient drones * - skiddled around a few corners, quietly muttering to itself about the corridors' labyrinth-resque structures preventing it from accelerating to tripledigit metres-per-second before it slowed down to a crash-stop and straightened its tie while coughing politely.

"Ahem... Miss Okiri? Um... Are you alright?" A quick scan followed, looking for signs of illness, probably caused by bioagents or chemicals Karen wasn't used to. Hum... Must be the stress, and losing a couple billion of her species. "Errr, in any case. Your work might soon become more interesting - we might be able to acquire a living specimen."

Owantu

Henry bowed stiffly, making sure not to do the prostration that was generally considered 'Proper' in front of the Emperor of the Wisenatan Empire.

The Emperor seemed displeased. Very good, Henry thought. The empire was already reasonably developed - it was still lacking in chemical industry, but railways were already being built, and the population was pushing for 'Democratic' (Meaning 'Oligarchic') reforms - of the many nations on the planet, the empire was indeed the most developed, but also one of the most fragile, due to its enormous ethnic and cultural diversity, and the resulting separatist tendencies.

Or in other words, it could collapse if one did so much as to throw a stone in its general direction.

And Henry wasn't much into blowing sugar up the ass of an emperor - that this particular emperor's reign had been surprisingly competent aside, Angstians simply didn't consider nobility to be particularly worthwhile.

"So... What are you here for, Lenathian?" The Emperor smiled a little, somewhere in between nervousness and genuine curiosity, notably different from the priest to his side, who - though hardly believing that Henry was a 'Demon' (He was too well-educated for that), was seemingly unfriendly to what Henry represented.

Lenathian? Oh, right, that gas giant two planets off...

"Warning you... And, um, I'm not from Lenathian..."

And then, Henry proceeded to smash the worldview of yet another people.

Captain Mak'tarikou chuckled as he read the returning message. Well, he though, they could use some weapons. Of course, knowing most species, they would want to see the goods.

"Let me send them back a message," he said/

"Aye aye sire!"


Karen got up and said, "Yeah, yeah...I'm ok...just a headache..." She followed him to the bridge, wondering about the "specimen" she was supposadly receiving. She was there when the message went in.

To: Born to BE Wild
From: Starreaper

e are glad that we could provide you services which you require. We may discuss trdae in a bit. Meanwhile, if you would like to come aboard and see the creature you may send a crew here. I promise they will be safe from any harm.

Captain Mak'tarikou

Karen thought to herself, then told the ship, "I can go on board. I can check it out, making sure it is good enough. Is that ok?"

Hyperion Surface, Coalition Territory, Local Time 1333 hours.

The massive fleet of Gaw ships had split up into smaller fleets of ten airships each, and had split up to take a larger amount of territory. The resistance they encountered was small, and lacked any coordination at all, as the local VTOL Gunship and Transport Ships found out the hard way each time they got within a kilometer of each fleet.

However, each attack kept increasing in strength, and eventually the Gaw fleets had to come up with alternate routes to their targets to avoid further engagements, or end up overwhelmed by enemy forces. After a short time, each fleet reached their designated targets, and were met by much larger forces. Massive flying fortresses, codenamed by the locals as Titans, met the fleets head-on, but not matter how much resistance they put up, and even with their shields at maximum strength, the Gaw's mega particle cannons made short work of them, allowing the fleets to drop their payloads of thirty mobile suits each into the remaining medium-size cities.

Combat within each city was quick and easy for the Gelgoog forces, and the Zeons suffered absolutely no casualties in comparison to the hundreds of dead or wounded soldiers of the Coalition. Even their impressivly powerful T39 Walkers, codenamed by the locals as Bogatyrs, were no match for the Gelgoogs, causing only superficial damage with their rocket launchers and cosmetic damage with their head-mounted anti-air flak guns.

To quote the Borg, resistance was futile.

Hyperion Surface, Ytheron Territory, Local Time 0945 hours.

"Alright, men," yelled the commanding officer, Captain M'Queve. "This will be our first land engagement with the local forces we know as the Ytheron. Although their technology is vastly inferior to ours, you must tread lightly when combatting them."

A map of the objective that First Regiment was supposed to take appeared on every man's cyberneticly implanted tactical heads-up display.

"The Ytheron have a strong military presence within this city," continued the Captain. "I speculate that they've been tracking our movements since we landed, although how they've been doing this is questionable, at best.

"The Ytheron second and third infantry divisions have already dug into the city along the front we planned on moving through." A portion of the Northern border of the city was highlighted upon that sentence, and then was zoomed in to provide a hazy, but decent picture that showed the men the trench systems and weapons emplacements that were lined in front of them.

"We also have confirmed orbital scans of two armoured divisions moving into the city from the South, and we believe that they are the Ytheron fourth Tiger battalion and the twelfth Riesig Walker division. It's believed that the Tiger battalion is going to move into the city and support the entrenched infantry forces while the Riesig division moves in on our flanks." The map zoomed out to show the speculated movements of both divisions.

"Since this is the case, we're going to soften the target up with our fleet before we move in. Since we want to take the city in a semi-intact state, the fleet is going to use their Jormungand cannons instead of the Keilas Guilles. Once they've done their job, we'll move in to mop up the remaining forces. Remember, we're here to take prisoners for the Imperium, so try not to kill every living soul remaining in the city.

"Alright men, fall out and join your assigned tank squadrons. Dismissed!"

The soldiers replied. "Sieg Zeon!" And with that, they filed out.

Hyperion Orbit

"Sir! Visual scanning has reported multiple unknown ships entering the system at coordinates thirty four point two by zero eight point nine!" shouted the tactical officer in obvious surprise.

"On screen," replied the fleet commander, Vice Admiral Dozle Zabi.

Upon his order, a staticked visual showed several large ships with a sizeable number of fighter and support craft buzzing about them.

"Have Major Rhidden take a squadron out to act as a communications relay for us," ordered the Vice Admiral.

"Roger, sir," replied the comms officer. "Major Rhidden, deploy to these coordinates and stay at alert status two. Do not engage the unknown forces unless they show hostile intent."

In the flagship hangar bay...

"Roger, command, Crimson Lightning Squadron, launching."

A squadron of six mobile suits deployed from the leading Gwazine Ra, showing no weapons being charged. Trailing Johnny Rhidden's commander Gelgoog was a line that allowed the communications to be relayed once the Chimera Squadron had reached outside of the will of the Minovsky particles.

Once outside of the field's emissions, a transmission was relayed through Rhidden's suit.

"We are of the Zeon Empire, and welcome you cautiously to the Hyperion system. Our leader, Emperor Sarkaran, has decreed that this planet be given to the Imperium as soon as we have quelled all pockets of resistance on the planet. If you wish for mining assets upon the planet, that is restricted, although the three moons are rich in a number of resources. You may have those instead."

"Sir, communications has news. Unfortunately, it's mixed news."

"Give it to me."

"Good news, the other guys are talking to us. Bad news, it's not anything we understand."

"Well, maybe they'll have better luck understanding Terran than we'll have understanding...whatever it is they're speaking."

"Aye sir, which message would you prefer for us to send?"

"We'll go with Merchant 5. It should get the point across. Deploy the remainder of the Wraiths between our fleet. Have them go out under cloak, and then power down. If the other group is hostile, we can intercept any force they send our way and warn them off. Or cut them to ribbons if the need arises."

"Aye sir, Merchant 5 selected, transmitting now."

We are the Terran Dominion. Our interest in this system lies purely in the opening of its markets to our merchants by any means necessary. This may include the pacification of hostile lifeforms or fleets. Any actions taken to hamper our effort will be construed as acts of war. Any negotiations will occur on our terms. Negotiators from the Morian Mining Coalition and the Kelanis Mining Guild will represent our interests. Any military questions may be directed towards the admiral or general in overall command of this fleet.

- General James Raynor, Commander, Raynor's Raiders, Terran Dominion Task Force Charybdis

As the message was transmitted, the total Wraith complement of the fleet moved out, hidden from sight, prepared to ambush any hostile forces sent to engage them. They were officially in the system to gain basing rights and rights to valuable resources, but with a fleet in orbit it might just come down to blows. And General Raynor was never one to take excessive chances where the lives of his men were concerned.

Born to be Wild/ Karen

There was, of course, no 'Bridge' per se on the Born to be Wild - the ship was quite neatly divided into 'Weapons', 'Propulsion', 'Manufacturing', 'Hull' and 'Habitation', with the things one would usually find on a bridge - namely, command and control - being located in bits of highly viscous (If liquid) or crystalline (If not) computronium that were spread liberally throughout the ship - distributed computing did, admittedly, suck when it came to reaction times, but it increased survivability a fair bit -, which made up a rather insignificant percentage of the whole, maybe a millionth of the ship's total volume.

But the habitation sector probably counted as 'Bridge', as far as these things went.

The Born to be Wild itself had done away with its projection, for now consisting of a disembodied voice ('I'm growing a CHON body for myself, but it'll take a 'lil time'), which expressed its nodding, well... Not at all.

"That should be okay. Penta-Melchios should go with you, just in case - and in case that things go really wrong, I can keep a mindstate-backup of yourself, if you wish. And no, I wont, errr, snoop.

"In any case. I see no issues. Just doing the last bit of organisation. A moment, please..."

CCOM@EM1E-1; SL0; Tightbeam
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: Starreaper
Subject: Overall Situation

Deal. A shuttle will launch in a moment - to accelerate proceedings, together with examples of what I'd consider a fair price.

Sincerely,

~ SEU Born to be Wild

The shuttle itself was a surprisingly comfortable affair - at twenty-three metres long, eleven-and-a-half wide, and almost six metres high, the point-defence-subcraft-turned-personal-transport (By replacing its weapons pod with a habitation/ cargo module), had plenty of space available for its two passengers and limited cargo - as well as for the cargo it'd probably (Certainly, as far as Penta-Melchios was concerned) carry back to the Born to be Wild.

Brief flurries of radiations, what appears to be a mild violation of conservation of energy (Wihout really being such, although the shuttle's drives come close), a few turns for the hell of it...

Docking, get security checks over with (Penta-Melchios' weapon-slots were empty, though its internal 'Standard Suite' - effector, field emitter, micro- and knife missiles, and so on... - was of course still milspec, and could be pretty nasty, if things called for it) and over, on foot or afloat.

Penta-Melchios left the talking to Karen, though.

“To serve as we do is to be one among billions. To serve as we do is to fight from the grandest warp-blessed Hell to the impure lairs of the abhorrent Xeno. To serve as we do is to offer all before Thrones both mortal and supernal. Service in His name. Service in Their names. It is that devotion that marks us as chosen.”
- Regimental Commissar Ignus Volke, 15th Kossean Blooded.

Years had passed since Kosse had been subjugated, brought to full compliance and subservience to the word of Chaos during the dire manipulations of the Republic Wars. Given its bloody history, and its tumultuous placement so near to current Taledonian space, it was only natural that Kosse, which had borne its brunt of the fighting so far as to invite reputation as a trial by fire and crucible of war, should serve as an ideal world to provide the Imperium with new blood for the Imperial Guard.

The 15th Kossean Blooded; heralded as a new generation of recruits to invigorate the Guard and strengthen the Imperium in time for the Charybdis Crusade, bringing the light of Chaos to countless worlds. They had been reborn and remade in the Kossean front, made strong and wiry by the battles that had sundered the divided world in a flurry of masterful engagements which, with Astartes support, had brought the world under Chronosian rule.

Each man in sturdy flak jacket raised their lasguns to face the stage, each a warrior in their own right. They were not warp-touched psykers or sorcerors, no superhuman born of genetic manipulation, they were merely men. Footsloggers in one of the greatest and most numerous armed forces that the galaxy had ever known. Tanks; might Baneblades and stoic Leman Russ’, Artillery; howling Basilisks, and transports like the Chimera, all stood ready and willing before the stage, filling their parade ground at this, the 15th Kossean muster.

Ignus Volke raised a hand to adjust his peaked cap, squinting in the harsh Kossean sunlight, as his other fingered his bolt-pistol. His was a sacred duty, steeped in politics and faith, devoted to ensuring the bravery and purity of his regiment. To his left stood Lord General Erich Gravner, his scarred and weathered features speaking of the bloody fighting he had endured at the Kossean Betrayal, as many Taledonians would brandish what had come to be known as the Great Kossean Victory.

Volke stepped forward, clearing his throat as he approached the vox-caster and began to speak, allowing his rich commanding voice to drift forth over the assembled troops. He was to speak first, his words to encourage and reassure the Blooded as they were prepped for the wider war. They would go to the stars in bitter conflict, in Remiel’s name, and die or fight in his service.

“Hear me, men of Kosse! You are the 15th Regiment raised from this world, the 15th regiment selected to serve the Imperium! You are the Emperor’s hammer, his fist closed around the throats of our foes! You fought the Taledonian’s when we liberated this world, without training some amongst you rose up against the Enemy. You fought at the sides of warriors of the Emperor, true Guard and Astartes themselves, you fought for your homes, your lives, your freedom….For Mankind!”
He paused, letting them bask in his praise. For a glorious moment they felt as gods. Warriors as feared and potent as Astartes, hopes and dreams fattened by the words of Ignus Volke, right before he tore them apart.

“Yet you are but men, men untried and untested! For though you fought in defence of this world, you did only what any cornered animal would do! It falls to me, as your regimental Commissar to show you what it means to be Guardsmen in His service. And I shall ensure-“ He gestured out over the gathering with the whirring blade of his active Chainsword. “-That each man does his duty at the Front or serves as an example to others. Cowardice is failure, Failure is death! A single step back earns you the ire of my gun, for you are the Kossean Blooded and you shall not retreat nor surrender!”

He stepped back, his duty done, each man now aware of the punishments levied against them in the Emperor’s name. They probably hated him now; that was good. He was used to the hate of the Guard, had been since his first post after the gruelling years in the Schola Progenium Chronosia, and the slog through warzones as a Cadet. Their hate would make them strong. Pure

Lord General Gravner cut an imposing figure as he moved forward to take Volke’s place. He stood 6 feet tall, form bristling with muscle and pent-up anger. His head was shaven, gleaming in the sunlight, marked only by the sigil of Aquila over Eight Pointed Star, a symbol of his unwavering devotion, a tattoo in the centre of his forehead. Medals adorned his armour, bronze and silver and gold gleaming upon his breast, like stars upon the night sky. He sighed as he regarded the men with pale blue eyes, deepest in the web of scars that made up his war-torn features. He broke into a sudden grin, gleaming white teeth almost glowing in the hot light of Kosse, vanishing momentarily as he addressed them.

“At ease, men. Ignus seems to have made clear that you need guidance, the harsh demands of disciple and faith. He’ll drive you harder and push you further than any other Political Officer in all of Kosse. I’ve met few worse in all my years of service, but that simply means that there are few better than he. All I ask is that you serve with honour. You’re being deployed in a matter of days. Whatever world you end up on is the will of the Gods, seeing Kosse again isn’t a matter of when, but most definetly an if

Most Guard never get back to the world of their birth, you are no different. Kosse might as well be a dead world to you. You are men of the Guard first and men of Kosse second, thus you have everything to give in the Emperor’s Name. I will ensure that you give your true all, loyalty and honour in death. I will bring you through the fire of the crucible of war and show the galaxy the might of Kossean blood!”

He bowed his head in almost solemn reverence, turning and walking offstage as the first celebratory lasblasts went off into the air. Somewhere a band struck up a regimental hymn, a fierce and martial rendition of ‘Imperial Victory Marches’, the whine of brass rose with the shrill whistle of the pipes, the pounding of the drums filled the air, mingling with the first celebratory roars of blank rounds from the Basilisks, the drums waxing and waning, fading into….



…The shrill howl of falling shells echoed over the trenchlines on Zanthus III, dislodging mud and water over the 15th Kossean as they ducked low in the face of the enemy artillery. Colonel Alexus Deran leapt up to the firing step, bellowing in Kossean battle argot as he let loose with his lasgun, firing off a quick half-dozen shots before hurling himself to the muddy ground, grunting as he slammed against the iron and wood bracing the trench, a low wail reaching his ears through a break in the bombardment. He crawled through the muddy half-mauled trench, dragging himself through the cold sludge. Smoke hung in the air, obscuring the skies that were weeping in torrents of rain-tears, almost stymieing his advance towards the source of the hissed lament.

A group of soldiers crouched around their wounded, armour gleaming silver and scarlet where it wasn’t coated in dirt and toil, a banner was still held high , a silver world alight with crimson flames, a proud VI embossed below it, as stylised and artificed as their armour.

“Hey!” he yelled, stumbling to his feet as another explosion rocked the line, forcing his way further along the Chronosian lines. “Hey! Colonel Alexus Deran, Kossean 15th, didn’t know we had anyone else with us up here.”

”Colonel Markus Erdos, Hydran 6th, we were deployed to help support the advance. A thousand men, limited armour support. What about you?”

“Artillery’s pounding away, we’ve got some of our own hammering the northern citylines” He wiped dirt and rainwater from his eyes. “Got around 1,500 all along the line, possibly intermixing with yours.”

“….A wise summation” A voice cut in, the towering figure of Gravner, flanked by Volke (who now wielded both chainsword and bolt-pistol with relish), advancing. “The enemy will break soon, we have initial reports of openings in the Northern Line”

Alexus smirked at Markus as he checked his lasgun, the other Blooded had gathered by them, their banner held high; adorned as it was of a world split down the middle, bleeding. The blood spilled on and for Kosse was a sign of their Blooding, they were marked by their origin and thus the 15th Kossean Blooded.
And now they were opening the way.

Alturon System, Thrashian Campaign Headquarters

Grand Admiral Thrawn sat quietly in his private chambers, observing the art that rotated slowly around his command chair and control consoles. His eyes were half closed but the light of his eyes betrayed his concentration. The artwork that moved around him were made of samples captured from the Mriss System, the neighboring system of Macaroth and the next target of Thrawn’s conquest.

A buzzer noise sounded and he sighed. With a lazy outstretched hand he pressed a glowing indicator.

“Yes?” Thrawn asked.

“Admiral, this is Captain Brandei,” said the voice. “I have the reports you asked for as well as an update from all fronts.”

“Enter.”

The far wall seemed to break apart as the hidden door opened and Captain Brandei stepped through from the darkened ante room. He stepped forward past several stands that held art and other assorted pieces of Thrawn’s private collection of decoration and up to the control console. He came to attention and snapped off a salute.

“At ease Brandei, begin your report,” said Thrawn. He opened his glowing red eyes all the way and concentrated on the captain. Brandei, who had gotten use to Thrawn’s red eyes, didn’t flinch away from that stare and began speaking.

“From the Macaroth System: Captain Oric of the Battle Group Storm reports that all orbital and space defenses of the system have either been captured or destroyed. The 4th, 23rd, and 19th Clone Divisions have landed on one of the three major continents and made a foothold. The pacification of the planet is underway and General Nadine says that he should be able to complete the campaign within three months, given that he receives at least three more divisions and support of the 3rd OZ Brigade,” said Brandei, he paused and caught his breathe.

“Does he report the phenomena that we’ve been experiencing else where?” asked Thrawn. He leaned forward in his chair and set his chin in his right hand while his elbow rested on the chair arm.

”Yes sir, he does. It’s the same strange detection frequencies that we’ve been picking up in nearly every system we scout,” replied Brandei. Thrawn nodded and leaned back.

“Its to be expected I should guess. Continue please.”

Brandei sucked in breathe. “Thus far the cluster-wide mapping has almost been achieved. The observation cloak net that you ordered set up is in the process of activation. Within two days, at the most, we should have a more complete picture of what is in the Charybdis Cluster. With that OCN we should be able to more directly discover the source of the phenomena.”

“Good, I’ll have to see to it that Colonel Borain is congratulated. How goes the supply issues?” Thrawn asked.

“The 4th Supply Group has thus far been able to establish a quick route of travel outside the cluster to our command bases in Wild Space. Thus far these lines of communication are safe, however as per doctrine each caravan does have a strong guard.”

“Good,” said Thrawn. He stood up from his command chair and walked through the holo-touch console and stood in front of Captain Brandei. “I expect things to be getting harder once we know what we’re up against.”

“Of course sir,” said Captain Brandei dutifully. “Shall we begin the operation?”

“Yes,” said Thrawn.

The two officers stepped out of the art-filled room and out into the bowels of the Imperial Star Destroyer Dark Conqueror. Naval Stormtroopers saluted stiffly in their white armor as they strode their normal and very mundane patrol routes through the halls. Black uniformed crewman stopped in their tasks or conversations and saluted as the pair walked on toward the bridge of the ship.

“So we’re attacking Mriss already?” asked Captain Brandei as he walked next to the grand admiral. He was vaguely aware of passerby and saluting crewman but concentrated on speaking with Thrawn.

“It’s certainly ripe for the taking,” pointed out Thrawn. “And a base there would give us the capability to launch attacks up and down the entire length of our quadrant.”

“Except that any enemies we have here would undoubtedly know that as well sir,” said Brandei carefully.

“Exactly,” said Thrawn with a smile.

The two of them came up to a large secure blast door. Two stormtroopers stood at attention on either side of it. Within a few moments the doors slid open after detecting the presence of people wishing to enter the bridge. Thrawn and Brandei stepped through and entered. “Officer on deck!” called out the on-duty deck officer. The bridge and those crewmen able to, saluted. Thrawn waved them down and walked around to his command chair. It was identical to the one that sat in his private chambers.

“But that battle is far into the future Captain, have no worries,” said Thrawn. “For now, our primary goal is to build up enough forces and strategic positions from where we can claim final victory.”

“Of course sir,” said Brandei, who took his place by Thrawn’s side. “You’ll not hear anymore of my thoughts on the subject or doubts any longer.”

“Don’t worry Captain, I think you lost them four years ago after we met.”

"It's good to have you, Falken. It's nice to see other provinces besides us Taledonians taking an interest in the affairs of the Republic."

Aetius smiled as he left the Arcadian to her newly made ready quarters within the command building. Things were going well. In the time it had taken for lunch and a tour of the installation for the woman, half the promised legions had arrived and were waiting in orbit for their orders. Some from Telros had even come, another province taking interest in the Republic.

"General, sir" a young soldier saluted as he came around the corner, "I've been looking all over for you, sir."

"Well, here I am" Flavius replied amicably, "What is it, soldier?"

"Sir, we've heard back from one of the scouting parties, they've discovered the Chronosians assaulting a planet called Zanthas III by the natives."

Flavius swore, "I wish we could have found them before they took a planet, however we can perhaps catch them while they're consolidating their forces."

The soldier made a skeptical face, "Sir? We only have half our strenght so far?"

A glare from Aetius made the legionarie saluted and march off to carry out his orders. The Chronosians would be met on the battlefield soon.

Karen limped aboard the Starreaper, nervous as she entered the domain of these ruthless pirates. Her race had known about them for some time now. They were cutthroats in every sense of the word, having no remorse nor quarter for anyone. Hell, its a wonder why he's giving us the Kraeton, she thought. They would make fast friends.

"Good day to you, Miss..." Captain Mak'tarikou began.

"Okiri, Captain Mak'tarikou," she retorted.

"Ah yes, the legendary Magistrate of Eridani. How are you do..."

"May we please skip the pleasentries, Captain Mak'tarikou?" she interrupted.

"Yes, let us get right into business shall we?" he said to her mockingly.

The two walked down the stairs towards the elevator. As they went down the elevator, Captain Mak'tarikou began talking about the creature.

"It is quite an animal madame. Very vicious if I do say so myself. Killed three of my best men," he looked at her coldly and continued. "Of course, that means that this thing will be given at a much higher price to compensate for loss of crew on my ship."

"Such a pathetic view on the life of your men," she remarked back at him. "Just give me the damn creature and we'll sort something out."

"If you insist."

They left the elevator and walked towards the cargo area. There she saw it. The massive creature that had killed her crew before she ejected it out into space. How did it survive, she wondered. Surely it had to breathe, and the temperature of space should have killed it.

She limped towards the screen. It was sleeping. Dormant. So helpless to the world now. It almost looked...fragile. This creature was less durable than the normal Kraetons, yet she knew it could kill this entire ship if awoken.

"That thing is a tricky one madame," Captain Mak'tarikou interrupted her thoughts. "It apparently has optic camouflage ability. We've had to keep it sedated and under thermoscopic watch. It strikes like a ghost with those set of cat'o'nine tails it has on its back."

"I know," she said. Captain Mak'tarikou stared at her leg, still looking slightly infected. "So what do you want from us?"

"Well seeing that this here is a one of a kind, and you are the last of your kind..." the captain and crew closed in around her. "I believe that your knowledge of weaponary from your race ould help us. Not to mention it gets quite...lonely here without a lass like yourself." He placed his hand around her cheek.

"Get your f***ing hands off me!" she yelled. The crew took out their pistols

"This isn't an option." Captain Mak'tarikou said. "Come to your new owner right no..." The sirens went off. "What the bloody hell is going on!?!"

"SIR!! The creature...he's gone!!!" Everyone looked into the glass. There was nothing there.

"Check the thermoscope! He may be trying to trick us."

"Nothing!! There is nothing!"

"Open the hatch! I'll check it out!" Captain Mak'tarikou walked into the cage, looking around. Where are you sweetie, he thought.

"I know you are here," he shouted. "Come out come out whereever you..." he stopped. The crew and Karen looked in as they saw a tendril piercing through the face of Captain Mak'tarikou, blood spraying around the room. The crew took out their weapons and began firing, trying to kill the creature, but it was too agile. It leaped over the men and barrell rolled, exposing his back to them. The tendrils rained down, stabbing through the skulls of the pirates and ripping their heads straight off. It landed on its feet and shook off the blood and skulls. Then it stood on its hind legs and stared at Karen.

She began running away, trying desperately to contact the ship. All that was going through her mind was the only possibility that could have started this mess...

The Sicari was cold-blooded.

Born to be Wild/ Karen

Penta-Melchios observed the proceedings with a fair degre of amusement, quietly following Karen as if it was little more than her attendant, and generally not seeing a reason to interfere - Karen had come here on her own, free will, and Penta-Melchios rather expected her to deal with the potential obstacles.

And then the creature escaped.

Penta-Melchios sighed internally. Talk about security - or the lack thereof. I wonder how they suvived for this long... Could at least have used a two-stage door... Ultrasonic detection... Ah well.

It didn't particularly care about the captain - having fullband-EM 'vision' and being perfectly capable of following the pressure changes in the air (Or to utilise some other means, if it felt like it), the creature had never been invisible to it, but it found that saving its own energy and letting the creature kill the pirates was more efficient than doing it on its own.

As such, Penta-Melchios simply floated about, idly watching blood and brain tissue spraying about. It projected a few fields to avoid the same landing on its casing, pointed its optic array at Karen...

And then at the Sicari.

Damnit. I hate being ignored.

Karen started to run. And with the pirates being, well... dead, Penta-Melchios decided that it was time to interfere - it'd of course recorded the entire scene for its own entertainment (One almost had to be mildly perverse to do its job), but letting Karen die would probably go to far.

Fields extended, coalescing around the Sicari's tendrils, and cutting them off. Similar fields also stabbed the creature's legs, cutting through tissue, ripping through bones and tendons and nerves alike, immobilising the creature.

It continued for somewhat longer than a hundredth of a second, somewhat needlessly slowly, until every limb, every tendril, everything the creature could possibly use to maim and kill, was cut off, or broken. Unusable.

Of course, it took care not to cause lethal wounds for the creature - it was needed alive, for a while, anyway.

"Idiot pirates. Um. Karen? Karen? It's safe now. I think we can move it over."

Its effector was already focussing on the creature, invading the animal's nervous system, its brain, its mind (Or lack thereof). Manipulating neurons, analysing nformation transfer routes through the creature's body, and looking for the source of its species' hivemind-ness.

The Hypocrisy was suffering a certain lack of psychics (As in, it had none, though some of the folks who'd spent a while on Io tended to be experienced with it), but while means to directly detect 'Psychic' influence were unavailable to the drone (As well as the ship), indirect detection - by way of seeing how the creature's mind reacted to certain stimuli, and whether it was somehow influenced from the outside or not - was still perfectly viable.

"In any case. I think we can go now. Don't even have to give them the third-grade CREWs... Ah, I think it's better if I move the creature on my own, I take it? Incidentally, interesting similarily between the wound it did apparently suffer at some earlier time, and the bit of tendril we took from your leg."

Returning to the Born to be Wild and its entourage was a reasonably simple matter.

Owantu

Henry had had to change his opinion about the local nobility a little - the Emperor was actually a rather fascinating man, intelligent, perhaps a bit too careless about his subjects (But less so than many others), and most certainly very curious.

At this moment, they were both walking through one of the wide gardens available to the Emperor, alone (Although the ministers had begged the Emperor to keep some of the palace guard with him, just in case that the strange and menacing alien did something... Bad), and talking about the future.

"So... You're certain that we can't defend against what is coming for us... But you've yet to find a place you could move us to?" A smirk.

"Yes. It's, ah... Lets call it 'Logistical Difficulties'. And you don't appear to be particularly worried..."

"Oh, I'm used to the idea of dying a violent death. Have gone through three assassination attempts, so far."

"Oh."

"Not quite the same thing as seeing our entire species going, but..." The Emperor clicked his mandibles. "Well. It'd be a tad tragic, I guess. But there are so many species..."

"Yes, and yours is one of the species we're out to save, somehow."

"Oh, I'm sure you're manage it. A few million, anyway."

Henry cringed. "Yeah, well..."

"To think that I thought my time was revolutionary when I was introduced to the steam engine..." The Emperor whistled. "I didn't know it'd be this revolutionary. Ah well."

He hesitated.

"Yes... What is it?"

Still hesitation. The Emperor eventually took one of the fruits that were growing richly on the many trees in the garden, looking at it, and slowly cleaning it from dirt with three of his four arms. The last one eventually touched Henry's neck, which was something that made Henry rather nervous, the Emperor knew - technological inferiority ('About threehundred years' Henry had said) aside, his species had more than twice the physical strength of this 'Humans', and could break a human neck with casual ease. "I wonder. You see, I was born into my position. I tried my best, and I think I did well... But when you move my people - you already started it, no? - I wonder about... A different life."

Henry was silent for a while, slowly walking alongside the Emperor. There were many arguments against it - his people would need the support, would need a key to the past... But as always, the Hypocrisy supported the individual over all else. "I think that's doable."

Approach - Zanthus III

oocness: Hope you're ok with me assuming webway-connectiveness

The webway still freaked the Sanglanti - and their eldar guides, even though they considered the constantly-alcoholised shells of the humans-turned-spacelifeform to be keigh for all they'd done for the eldar, couldn't help but to find this mildly amusing - or would've, if they had possessed something resembling humour.

On board of the Ville de Paris, a fantastic-looking threemasted vessel, commandant de Roucy was mostly, well, drunk (Just like the rest of his crew), after having consumed something along the lines of two litres of alcoholic beverages in the 50+ percentage range - he was looking mildly mystified at his musket, wondering what it was and where he'd left his powder-bag.

He wasn't sure just what his powder-bag was useful for, but he was sure that it was something important.

"Hrmmm... A-HA! Oh, wait... non, non, that doesn't quite... Mon Dieu, I... Where..."

But eventually, a pleasant snoring replaced the somewhat confused babbling. The pirates slept, prepared for their engagement of the eldar's enemy - and the great looting this would doubtlessly involve.

They had caught it. Back aboard the Born to Be Wild, they have narrowly escaped the Sicari and had it in custody. It had been placed in a containment room so as to keep it from ever escaping or killing again.

Karen then turned to the ship and Penta-Melchios and said, "Thank you guys for saving me back there. That thing would've had me if it were for those fields you had." She looked at the body of the Sicari. It was amazing. The tendrils, legs, and tail had all been maimed completely, yet only minutes after the capture they were regenerating.

"We should let it be. I'll need to study everything about it, including their regeneration ability. I guess we'll have to feed it or something." Karen turned back to them. "I think we should also sweep the pirate ship for any other creatures there. Back during the battle for my world, wherever there were Kraetons, there were usually these little larvae things that were there. Just wanna see if I can take a sample of them."

She smiled at them and turned to the Sicari, now almost completely regenerated. It stared back coldly, almost with a defiant look to it. He wasn't going to make this easy. Then again, neither were they.



Niiat was ready to attack. His fleet had already left the dead world of Kvesir and had their sights on a new world, this one farther into the Northeastern sector of the southwestern quadrant of the Cluster.

It was called Gheistarch (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b308/psychicwraith/Planets/Gheistarch.jpg), a stunningly beautiful world with all sorts of life and humans. Perfect to add to the Horde. Niiat had looked over his new swarm. The fleet all got upgraded strains, making them more durable and giving them better weaponary from the Forgehives of the newly annexed Eridani, now renamed Tiia-Miiat. The fighters aboard the Hangar Sacs were also upgraded with faster capabilities and better shielding and weaponary. The Kraetons however, were the ones that were truely evolved. Current strains were upgraded with more durable armour and denser weaponary as well as more potent bile. Newer weapons appeared, like the Larvaeton Borer, a sadistically cruel weapon that inserted a dense high speed "nail" into the victim, releasing a special brood of larvaetons that could bore and devour through flesh while going straight for the brain.

The pinnacle of Niiat's work were two new species he had created from scratch. Two that would make their appearance in the invasion of Gheistarch.

He smiled, althoguh felt something disturbing him. For a brief moment, he could feel the presence of someone far away. He look across space and thought, whoever this is...she is...she seems to be after him...and already has one of his creations...

Little did he know, there was another faction interested in the planet, one of similiar taint and wickedness. One that would begin a massive battle for the rights to the world and spark an epic war between evil and evil.

OOC: Thats my little intro to the battle between me and Wanderjar. Here's looking atcha man. Also I have started on the species chart, but I have a test tomorrow so It wont be done until tomorrow night.

Thrawn Expansion Fleet HQ

Captain Brandei walked with a brisk pace through the halls of the Gaurgant orbital relay station. The ORS was the newest creation of Thrawn's scemes. It was a nerve center for thousands of operations and reporting, utilizing the MAGI super computer system and other more unknown mechanics. Thrawn had designed it to allow him full control of the campaign from any known point and now that Alturon had finally been fully established as the fleet's new headquarters Thrawn had transfered his command staff over from the Dark Conqueror.

Brandei returned the salute of two stormtrooper and stepped into the admiral's meditation room. Brandei tried his best to remain silent but it didn't last long as he found that Thrawn was staring strait at the door. Brandei saluted Thrawn, who sat sitting in a comfortable looking chair that if he remembered right had been bought from a rogue trader from CoreWorlds.

"Sir," said Brandei. "I've just recieved word that the Macaroth System is now pacified. General Madine reports that the clone army lost some 5,498 soldiers and 394 century tanks. The OZ 3rd Brigade reports five Leos damaged and two completely destroyed."

"Thank you Captain," said Thrawn. He held up a data pad. "I've just recieved a more detailed report from General Madine's adjutant, Colonel Felix."

The tone in Thrawn's voice caised Brandei to twitch. What was it that Colonel Felix was reporting that he couldn't do it through regular channels, and instead had to go over Brandei's own head and strait to the Grand Admiral.

"Sir?"

"Colonel Felix had some interesting information for me, that is all. He sent me several data tags from the planet's capital, information files captured from the indigenous government concerning our growing phenomena," said Thrawn, a smirk forming on his lips.

'I don't understand sir," stated Brandei. The Intelligence Department had been investigating it for two months strait and had yet to overturn very many rocks. All that had been found that was the same in every system were irregularities in certan parts of those systems radiation was found that shouldn't have been there."

"Indeed," said Thrawn. "And..."

"And we've detected series after series of small electromagnetic wave lengths from those locations, indicating a communication system or link of some sort," finished Brandei. He felt rather foolish speaking in this manner, and felt like Thrawn was leading him by the nose.

"Correct Captain." Thrawn sat up in his chair and his eyes flashed as he smiled and tapped the data pad. "And this new evidence suggests to me a whole new idea."

"What is the evidence exactly?"

"According to these files of the planet Macaroth's ruler, a group of 'Outworld' individuals came to them. Not only was this a landmark occasion for Macaroth, which it would have been under any other circumstance, but these outsiders reportedly offered the Caliph of Macaroth a way to evacuate their planet and to offer some military assistance," said Thrawn.

Brandei's eyes were wide with shock. "Evacuating and giving assistance against what?" he asked carefully.

"Us," said Thrawn. "Captain, have you ever heard of an organization known as the Clone Liberation Army?" Brandei shook his head and Thrawn nodded. "Many have but for the most part Thrashia has never had direct contact with them."

"Why do you mention them sir? Do you think their here?"

"Yes," stated Thrawn. "Its like putting together a puzzle. The CLA and its main supporter, a nation known as Der Angst, has existed for the last century under severe Galactic Imperial scrutiny and there have been numerous attempt to infiltrate their organization. When I was still serving under Palpatine I led several of these small, off-record attempts."

"But why here sir?" asked Brandei.

"That is of course their mission. They believe in a foolish creed to help all in need from what they consider evil or tyrannical. Yet the evil is always the first to claim he is good...anyway Captain, the CLA and its compatriots are operating within this cluster and seem to be well entrenched."

"You mean-"

"Yes," said Thrawn. "Those radiation emissions and communication frequincy bursts are part of a information net, much like the one we're presently setting up."

"What are we to do about them sir? I'll alert all commands, we'll get the fleet ready to strike out and-"

"You'll do no such thing Captain." Thrawn stood up from his chair and walked toward Brandei. He put a hand on the captain's shoulder. "For now we will not attempt to discover their location, it would be useless anyway as they are highly mobile. It is enough that we are merely aware of them."

Brandei sighed in defeat. "If those are your orders sir, then so be it. I also wanted to report that we're twenty hours away from completing OCN. We'll have information from all over the entire cluster within fourty hours."

"Good," said Thrawn. He walked to the door and opened it. "Until then, continue upon our schedule. We've a sector to conquer."

"Sir, communications has news. Unfortunately, it's mixed news."

"Give it to me."

"Good news, the other guys are talking to us. Bad news, it's not anything we understand."

"Well, maybe they'll have better luck understanding Terran than we'll have understanding...whatever it is they're speaking."

"Aye sir, which message would you prefer for us to send?"

"We'll go with Merchant 5. It should get the point across. Deploy the remainder of the Wraiths between our fleet. Have them go out under cloak, and then power down. If the other group is hostile, we can intercept any force they send our way and warn them off. Or cut them to ribbons if the need arises."

"Aye sir, Merchant 5 selected, transmitting now."

We are the Terran Dominion. Our interest in this system lies purely in the opening of its markets to our merchants by any means necessary. This may include the pacification of hostile lifeforms or fleets. Any actions taken to hamper our effort will be construed as acts of war. Any negotiations will occur on our terms. Negotiators from the Morian Mining Coalition and the Kelanis Mining Guild will represent our interests. Any military questions may be directed towards the admiral or general in overall command of this fleet.

- General James Raynor, Commander, Raynor's Raiders, Terran Dominion Task Force Charybdis

As the message was transmitted, the total Wraith complement of the fleet moved out, hidden from sight, prepared to ambush any hostile forces sent to engage them. They were officially in the system to gain basing rights and rights to valuable resources, but with a fleet in orbit it might just come down to blows. And General Raynor was never one to take excessive chances where the lives of his men were concerned.

"Admiral, they've sent a return transmission," Rhidden called in. "They're using universal basic."

"Well, I don't particularly know basic," replied the Admiral. "Since you seem to know what they're speaking, you give them the message."

"Copy that, sir," replied the Crimson Lightning. He then replied to them, his English slightly broken, but his message sounding like this.

"Greetings from the Zeon Empire. My superior officer greets you, as well, albeit cautiously. We are here to take the populace of this world prisoner, for the Chronosian Imperium has slated this world for a mass sacrifice. With this in mind, please know that we can not allow you upon the surface, as we are still quelling the population's remaining resistance armies. However, if you are searching for new resource nodes, my superior officer's intel states that the three moons of this planet are rich in heavy and precious metals, and if you wish to have them, please take what you want. Just don't tell anyone, okay?" Johnny chuckled slightly.

Back on the flagship

"Admiral Dozle, sir," the tac officer reported. "Captain M'Queve is requesting that we provide orbital shots from our Jormungand cannons."

"Have one Chivvay Fenrir and two Musai Argos provide a three-shot bombardment upon the target, and keep the shots loose so that they make the enemy ground forces keep their own heads down."

"Aye, sir," said the tactical officer, who then relayed the order.

Hyperion Surface

The shots from orbit flew down like a hammer of thunder upon the Ytheron trenchline, pounding the pathetic Hyperionites and generally terrorizing them, as they had no clue as how to defend themselves from such an onslaught. Those who had made it out of the shots were many, but most of their emplacements were in shambles, and it would be an hour until their reinforcements arrived.

That was time that they did not have.

Almost immediately after the orbital bombardment had finished, the Ytheron forces were forced to duck their heads down again as they were shelled from a long distance by the Dabude Land Battleship and the assaulting Magellas. Their retaliation was less than par, their anti-vehicle rail cannon emplacements not having the same accuracy as the Zeon Empire's long range cannons did, thereby preventing them from even disabling even a single assaulting tank.

As the Magellas closed in, the Ytheron infantry began their own retaliating, firing off shoulder-mounted quad rocket launchers and anti-vehicle rifles at their attackers, but even those weapons were ineffective against the hardened Gundarium Alpha armour of the Magellas. As soon as the Magellas were within range, their thirty five milimeter autocannons began firing upon the infantry and lighter assault vehicles, while the main cannons began firing on the supporting APCs, whose own anti-vehicle EMP launchers and autocannons were proving futile against their enemies.

The tanks were soon upon the trenches, and infantry began pouring out of the Magellas, whose own autocannons and main guns had torn apart the Ytheron defenses almost entirely. The infantry squads began taking any prisoners they could find, even taking wounded soldiers. The remaining squads began pouring into the city, where most of the defenders had fled to. Soon, fierce guerilla combat engulfed the entire city.

Captain M'Queve studied the incoming reports in the command bridge, where the entire battle was watched and coordinated on a hologram table. Comparitive reports showed that the Ytheron forces had taken a sixty percent casualty rating, while his own men had barely taken a ten percent casualty rating. Things were looking good for his men.

But the Ytheron reinforcements had yet to join the battle, and M'Queve knew that the fighting would grow even more intense, and the casualties would grow higher...

Born to be Wild/ Karen

"Well, that's why Penta went with you in the first place, really. In any case..."

Quick scan. Mrm. Impressive. "And yes, feeding it would be appropriate - I'll arrange as much. Same for the pirate ship. I was about to consume it, anyway - makes nice missile material -, but, yeah. We'll search it once it's inside."

Time passed. The pirate ship was taken in and disassembled, its now-dead crew salvaged as food for the Sicari, anything even remotely Kraeton-looking extracted and kept in MedSec isolation - essentially, a couple rooms in the habitation section of the Born to be Wild, kept under constant surveillance. If a creature did so much as sending a nerve impulse to activate the muscles needed to, lets say, bite Karen's head off - well, blocking the same, or cutting off a leg or two (Depending on how violent the ship felt) was simple enough.

One had to admit, this made analysing the creature a lot easier.

And everything else of the ship, well... went through the Born to be Wild's manufacturing sector, and turned into a missile.

In the meantime, the ship offered Karen a little drink. "Chantre and microgoo? The former tastes nice, the latter will assemble the CommArray to contact me directly. I figure you'll prefer this to DNA recombination."

Cluster

The freighter moved quietly through the void, carrying its vast, yet feeble cargo - encased in skinsuits and sleeping, children next to their parents, animals next to sapients, they were travelling through space, towards a new home, a new existince.

Their homeworld? Certainly not empty - life still flourished there, ninety percent its biomass remained, its oceans full of activity, its rainforests home to countless species, its air filled with the screams of winged - mostly feathered - creatures.

But the essence of the world was carried off to safety, its people - who had learned the basic principles of agriculture and domestication one, two thousand years ago, but were still unaware of 'Metal' - dreaming inside the vast bellies of the starships that were now counting the seconds to their first shift - not only the people they were evacuating, but also they themselves, were going on a long journey, rather longer than was common among them.

Otara

"Not particularly nice-looking..."

"Form over function, dear." The DEAT looked rather amused at Captain Zakazi, who - to it - looked almost unnatural in her uniform.

It - he - very much preferred her in her bathrobe.

"If you say so... Well, you told us how to build it. Now you can explain all the things in it to me."

"Most certainly, my dear."

The shuttle entered the Dawn Treader II's hangar, flying gracefully past its now-simplistic form and markings, finally landing and opening its front door.

"And here we go, technology demonstrator number one."

CLA Flotilla

They'd actually taken a rather significant time to get to the cluster - preparations had been difficult (Hardly surprising, given how young (Slightly over a year old) the CLA was - calling it '100% combat-ready' would've been a blatant lie), and transit had been, too.

Now, however, they were there.

And - happiness! -, there was now a vastly more promising target than they'd thought they'd find! Hardly surprising that the clones celebrated quite happily, and to degrees that'd make the Iron Fists blush with embarrassment...

Still, celebrations tend to end after a while, and work tends to take over, again. And the flotilla - consisting of three SEU-like ships, nine TEU-like ships, and three 1010102 stardestroyers (Bought and then not-so-subtly modified by the Necrontyr ship Erisavenus before they'd been made available to the CLA) - spent a little time resting and organising, once it'd made contact with the already-present DA-related factions in the cluster.

The next steps would have to be planned rather carefully.

"So, the potential locations are..." Giraud looked around, where his fellow commanders were sitting, studying maps, sipping on their drinks, and planning a war.

"Alturon, Macaroth, Anarion and Mriss. Alturon has been a case of full-scale genocide - there's very little we could do there, and it'd be rather pointless, all things considered.

"Macaroth seems to have been a more conventional conflict - probably because advanced societies make a better workforce - but here, too, combat is over. We'd essentially attack a completely prepared force not suffering from multiple fronts - natives would probably lend us support, but it's still a rather difficult thing, all things considered.

"Anarion and Mriss have allegedly been subject to raids and recon operations - acting there would grant us the full support of the natives. However, we cannot really tell which one of the two will be attacked - We'd, again, have to wait."

"Well... Attacking Macaroth would presumably slow them down, while allowing us to hurt an enemy that is already somewhat spread out, no?"

"Yes, it would."

"It is also worth noting that defending the local natives isn't what we're here for - at least, not anymore. Our goals are considerably more specific, and I feel that Macaroth would provide us with exactly the kind of target we require."

"Well then..." Giraud once more looked at the assembled leadership of the CLA. "A decision, gentleman?"

The decision wasn't unanimously, but clear enough.

Macaroth.

Macaroth

The TEU Convict was rather well-known for its - even by Angstian standards - extraordinary lack of discipline. The results had been... Interesting, to say the least.

As of now, two of its four sapient inhabitants - the drone D-Eric (A 01-fanboy) and the human Jiang Fu - were, well... Stuck on the planet, armed, certainly, but slightly lacking in numbers to do, well... pretty much anything, and trying to stay hidden.

Fuckup number one.

Fuckup number two had been the surprisingly early attack - granted, the Convict had made contact in a region that'd been flagged as 'Lost' in the first place, too close to the edges of the cluster to really have a chance (The vast majority of the Hypocrisy's effords in terms of evacuation and uplifting where concentrated on the central bits of the cluster, where enough time to pull it off was a given), a rather pointless endeavour, but still...

It still came early. Too early to seriously interfere, too early to provide a true threat to the attacking force. Sure, the Convict featured engagement ranges that'd presumably make it possible to snipe at a variety of targets with impunity - but it'd merely warn the enemy before forces capable of doing real damage would arrive, and - a few nice kills aside - end up being detrimental to its operation's success.

So it had retreated, staying quite safely in a non-relativistic state and watching the proceedings, only a handful of black-body missiles and bombs it'd deployed earlier interfering in the short war that took place.

This, however, was about to change.

Information. It was, of course, the basis of everything, be it warfare or insider trading at the stock exchange - in the case of the Convict, it was mostly the former.

How many ships? How many weapons platforms, anti-orbital guns, ground forces (Approximation, by checking the number and size of troop transports) are present, what are they doing, where is the rest of the Thrashian force, how fast could they return...?

It wanted to know all this, and, fields extended to catch the echoes caused by relativistic radiations, it listened to the picture in place 'There', in reality as most people knew it, trying to gain the knowledge it desired.

oocness: And on a side note, could you check with me before making such... significant assumptions the next time? I adjusted to make what you posted, ah... possible as much as I could (The CLA however, remains much, much younger than a hundred years), but... Would be preferable.

"Greetings from the Zeon Empire. My superior officer greets you, as well, albeit cautiously. We are here to take the populace of this world prisoner, for the Chronosian Imperium has slated this world for a mass sacrifice. With this in mind, please know that we can not allow you upon the surface, as we are still quelling the population's remaining resistance armies. However, if you are searching for new resource nodes, my superior officer's intel states that the three moons of this planet are rich in heavy and precious metals, and if you wish to have them, please take what you want. Just don't tell anyone, okay?" Johnny chuckled slightly.

"Comms, get me Liberty, Schezarre, and those guys at Magellan. We need to figure out exactly what we're doing here."

"Aye sir. General Schezarre is already en route, as is one of the scientists from Magellan. Admiral Liberty is currently eating dinner, and will join your directly."

"Alright, I'll be in the briefing room. Send them in as they arrive."

"Yes sir."

-approximately 15 minutes after the second transmission was recieved-

"And that's the whole of it. They hold the planet in the name of Chaos, and there is no way for us to get to the surface without fighting our way through their fleet. I already know I'm going to set up some automatic mining facilities on the surface of those moons. But we were told to take planets too, so, any suggestions for how we can get down there, kick the cultists off, and take the planet for ourselves, for minimal losses?"

"We could try killing them with our Wraiths. We already know they can't see them, don't we?" The scientist's nasal voice was quite aggravating, and his idea was moronic.

"Your talking privileges have been revoked until we stop talking about anything military. Now, anyone with a GOOD idea?"

"We could offer our services as mercenaries. All of our ships can operate in atmosphere, where theirs obviously cannot. If we do act as mercenaries, we will be in among their fleet when we decide to betray them, as well as having a decently sized presence on the ground, and the ability to rapidly deploy the remainder. We'll even have all of our fighters in among them, meaning we can simply unload at anything that isn't ours and watch the fireworks."

"Sounds good. Anything from you Danny?"

"I think that'll actually work Jim. Assuming they take the offer, we can paste them, and then take whatever we want fom the natives to boot. Win Win."

"Alright then. Since I'm in favor of it too, we'll start moving towards the moons, and offer our services as we go."

The small task force of Terrans moved out, keeping the Wraiths, once again cloaked, between them and the main body of the opposing fleet. As they moved, a message went out, offering the services of the 151st Umojan Armored Battalion to quell any resistance on the surface.

Otara

The tiny molecule moved erratically through the centrifuge, being tossed about, senselessly, and eventually losing all its bonds with the molecules it'd once neighbored in the great, macroscopic structure it'd once been a part of.

It was confused. What was being done with it? Electrons ripped out of its protective shell, ionised, and forced away by the fields that now started to act on it, making the tiny molecule feel helpless, vulnerable...

Close. Very close. Almost, almost it'd have collapsed into its individual nuclei, losing any but the faintest memory of what it'd once been, turning into ionised matter, into a diffuse plasma...

But it wasn't to happen. Not here. Not now.

Endless pipes, infinitely larger than the molecule. And so many of its own kind were moving, flying with it, they, too, ripped apart from each other, flowing as a gas, following a predetermined course and the commands of beings far beyond their comprehension, yet consisting of the same matter as they themselves did...

The journey was long, and - as far as the tiny 'lil molecule could be aware of it - not without pain. But eventually it ended, just like everything would end, even protons (Assuming that nobody pulled out the entrophy-reversers, anyway), and the tiny molecule rested, exhausted, and still feeling the influence of the fields as they touched it, forcing its electrons to do as they shouldn't, increasing its energy and causing it to flinch.

That was the idea.

Reactions occured. The gas turned liquid, then solid, and molecules recombined even as electrons - ripped from them ages ago - settled, and were reabsorbed into the greater whole.

Slowly, the molecules took on a new form. A macroscopic form. A half-sphere, hollow on the inside, solid on the outside. A touch of beauty, a few lines burned into the object, much to the horror of the molecules nearby, which barely escaped the terrible, energy-state increasing, and exciting burn, and couldn't appreciate the micrometer-sized structures, left there mostly because they were just too cute to be left out.

The molecule didn't much mind this new state. It wasn't very excited, and it felt safe inside this fairly solid, fairly stable structure it was now a part of. That it wasn't capable of actually appreciating, or understanding it didn't really matter - a lack of excitement, and a degree of stability was all it desired.

And so it rested.

Rinse and repeat.

A system was preparing for war, and in a sense, these molecules were the key to survival - or at least, one of the keys.

Macaroth

FTLCOM@1E20&EM1E-1; SL9; Tightbeam
From: TEU Convict
To: Guillotine
Subject: Joining the party?

I figure you're into doing some mischief, given that you're showing up here. Well, welcome - I'll be your local incident coordinator for today. And maybe tomorrow.
-
[Convict] Hello?
-
[Convict] Helllllllo?
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] Understood. May I request the transfer of your recon-information, Tactical Engagement Unit Convict?
-
[Convict] o.O Oh, great. Meatbrain, and not even optic nerve adaptions.
-
[Convict] Well, this will be a sloooooow conversation.
-
[Convict] Incidentally, it'd be great if you were to keep the tightassed attitude where it belongs.
-
[Convict] And before I forget it... <Infoburst: Macaroth Attached>
-
[Convict] There you go.
-
[Convict] Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
-
[Convict] Tick. Tock. Why some people are still using barely-tuned neurons is beyond my understanding.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] I think it'd be in everyone's best interest if we kept our communications as short and to the point as is possible, Tactical Engagement Unit Convict. Might I remind you that despite the annihilatory nature of the photons we cause to turn 'Real' in relativistic space, they still remain detectable, regardless of the encryption-level?
-
[Convict] Jeebus. They really did drill you quite expertly, didn't they?
-
[Convict] And there the KMA thought you guys would brighten up a 'lil.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] The information you've provided us with will doubtlessly be of great assistance to our planning. We'll come back to you.
-
[Convict] Yeah, yeah, that's great... It's not like I've two people down there I'd rather get back...
-
[Convict] So screw you.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen] And, on a side note only tangentially related to our mutual operations in this area - bite me.
-
[Convict] o.O
-
[Convict] It's alive! Hooray!
-
[Convict] Well. Sort of, anyway...

Information travels a handful of lightyears, leaving a trail of rather pointless and short-lived, but nonetheless noticeable radiations spread over rather absurd volumes of space.

The information is then received, decoded, and dissected, analysed, and served with a nice drink - possibly Chantré.

After all, the CLA, being (Unsurprisingly) heavy on organic components in its structure, can afford some luxurities, even if the clones themselves are rather unfond of utilising the same.

"Thirty-two identified warships, and a number of support craft that - if the Thrashians think vaguely similar to us - might as well happen to 'Just So' contain capship-grade weaponry as a nasty surprise. Probably not too likely - they should be unaware of our presence, although it's of course always a good idea to be careful."

"This is certainly true. All in all... Are we a match?"

Captain Paulsen shrugged. "That depends. If we can surprise them, and if we can utilise our - presumably - superior range and more versatile weaponry, as well as faster reaction times, yes.

"If, however, we're somehow forced into close combat, then... I doubt we'd be destroyed, but our losses could turn out being inacceptable."

The combined commanders - Giraud among them - nodded. "Which means that we'll go in."

"That it does. Though I wish we could get the Convict to go somewhere else."

"Maybe that can be arranged... Or it plays fire magnet for us."

"Or that. In any case. I hereby order this fleet to engage the Thrashian forces in Macaroth - Gentleman? Please return to your ships and prepare for our move. I expect to see detailed plans for the initial assault and - if possible - landing operations within two hours."

The reply came as one. "Yes Sir."

Needless to say, the CLA was quite a bit more into proper protocol than the Hypocrisy proper would ever be.

***Gaias IV. 105 kilometers west of Malac’s Cross***

It was said that the city of Malac’s Cross was a blessed city, watched over by the One God for the simple fact that it housed the single largest shrine to Him on the planet. Pilgrims from all over the Theocracy traveled thousands of kilometers to pray within its hallowed halls and to gain the peace that only true devotion can bring.

Private Samiel of the 1st Gregorian Regiment “The Blessed” knew nothing of this, nor did he particularly care. While the city of Malac’s Cross might be blessed, it was clear to Samiel that the rolling dunes and occasional scrub forests surrounding the city were not. It was a wasteland, a desert. Wind was a constant companion, slashing through the Regiment’s positions in a gritty wave that left a fine coating of dust on everything in sight. Even at night, the wind slackened off only slightly, the biting sand reduced to an annoyance rather than a painful distraction. Nighttime temperatures dropped rapidly to near freezing, only to soar with the rising of the sun the next morning. Men and machines both, suffered under the punishing conditions. If the Regimental medicae weren’t treating heat stroke and exhaustion amongst the troopers, they were trying to ward off the debilitating effects of dysentery that seemed to follow soldiers like a shadow. The tech-priests of the Mechanicus were no better off. The fighting machines and equipment of the 1st needed constant care and ministrations. The machine spirits of the Chimeras and Leman Russ battle tanks were aggravated by the conditions and the prayers of the tech-priests rose from parched throats day and night. No, thought Samiel, this place was not blessed. Not at all.

Samiel’s watering green eyes swept over the mortar pits and heavy bolter positions nearby even as his bony fingers played over the familiar outlines of his standard pattern long-las. Over his left shoulder, waves of heat roiled and rose over the squat, deadly form of the Hydra anti-air platform positioned hull down behind a small berm, its quad linked flak cannons pointed skyward expectantly. Samiel was young, only twenty. The youngest trooper in his platoon. He had joined the Regiment the day of the Founding outside his home city of Gregor and had never looked back. It had been his only option. The youngest and smallest of five sons, his chances of apprenticing out to a guildsman or merchant were slim. He was short and scrawny where his brothers were tall and stocky, ideally suited for the farm work of the agri-plots or the back breaking toil of the forges. His only real option had been the Guard and even then, he was only just tall enough to enlist. That had been twenty-three brutal, soul searching months ago.

Upon assignment to his platoon, he had immediately been dubbed “Squeaker” by the other recruits. His small stature and pleasant tenor had damned him from the start. The moniker had stuck to the point that even the officers referred to him as “Squeaker” or “The Squeak.” The ensuing months had been painful, reducing him to tears on more than one occasion but they had also been enlightening. He had discovered a knack for sniping. It wasn’t long before he was out shooting everyone in the platoon and eventually the company. Within 8 months, he had been selected for sniper training and had distinguished himself there as well. Now, with his sharp eye and precious long-las, he was a respected and well-liked member of the platoon. They still called him “Squeaker” but it was now a badge of honor. He was truly part of the unit.

Right now, that unit was deployed astride the main thoroughfare into the city of Malac’s Cross. If any enemy wanted easy access into the city, they would have to come straight down this highway and the 1st Gregorian’s sole purpose would be to keep that from happening, even if the unit was wiped out in the effort. The blow to planetary morale would be devastating if the Shrine of the Pious were destroyed or defaced in any way. Nobody really knew why they were here. Higher ups in the regiment continued to insist that it was just an exercise but rumors had begun to spread. Rumors of invasion. Rumors of Chaos. Samiel hoped it was neither.

OOC: Alright this is the beginning post for the Invasion of Gheistarch and my fight against Wanderjar.

IC

The fleet had made it. After a couple of days, Gheistarch had appeared before Niiat's fleet of monstorous Broodships. Niiat sat upon his organic throne, smiling upon what would be the testing grounds and newest addition to the Hordeworlds of Niiat.

Niiat closed his eyes and concentrated. This would require the utmost in power and coordination. The psychic energy from his newly evolved mind shot out, searing every synapse in his ship and spreading to the entire fleet. The launch would begin. no Infiltration. No sneaking. Just full-out force.

The spores began to drop into the atmosphere. Below them was a small city in the province of Mayit. The people scattered as they tried to dodge the crimson hail raining down on the townspeople. From the spores, Larvaetons and Asesinos poured out and began hunting down the aliens, ripping them apart like the meat grinding machines they were.

As more spores landed, a man was hiding behind a garbage dumpster when he noticed something coming out of the spores. It didn't look like the Asesinos. In factm it stood like a velociraptor with razor sharp scythes for frontal arms and toes as well as a pair of bio-guns with organic bayonettes. The creature screeched loudly as it called upon more of its kind. The man began to run the other way, but ran into something. As he looked up, he saw a pack of them, surrounding him like raptors.

"Oh my g..." the creatures swarmed him, ripping him into many halves.

These new creatures, simply called the Falxifers, began joining the Asesinos in the manslaughter of the green aliens. A pack of Falxifers began sniffing around the area. It could sense a thicket of the aliens hiding underneath the building with its lateral line. This was easy, it thought.

It thought...

"Daddy...are we going to be ok?" asked one of the smaller creatures, tears in her eyes. He simply looked at her and said, "I promise you, the Mayit Defense Forces will be here. They will save us."

No they wont...we'll devour them like we will devour you weak species...

She stopped crying and turned to him again, "Daddy, where is mommy?" The father began crying. He couldn't tell her. He just couldn't. The images of her been torn apart were too much even for him.

I ate her...I wonder if you will taste as good...

It looked at the other pack members. The other Falxifers were in place, waiting for the signal of the alpha male.

It howled. The Falxifers swarmed into the basement, surrounding the aliens huddled in fear. Destroy them...devour them...add their flesh to make us stronger.

The little girl screamed as she saw a Falxifer plow its scythes into her father's throat, decapitating him and spreading blood all over the room. It turned to the little girl and for a brief moment, smiled. Then it struck.

The Falxifers and Asesinos outside continued to hunt, rooting out potential dangers and other animals so as to allow for the growth of a Cacuscudo Gestation Organ. The squishy aliens would be gone, thought the alpha male. They could not withstand their might, their speed, and their skill.

The entire city was taken down as Ballistas began landing and starting the bombardment. Plasma mortar filled the air, destroying the buildings and killing off mass amounts of life. In the air Volucari swarmed around the remaining citizens and picked them off, devouring them in mid flight. This was merely the landing party. The bigger and better units would come soon.

Niiat was proud. his newest species the Falxifers, spawned from the very hatred and fury of the lord himself, had performed nicely. They were doing much better than the Asesinos in flushing out infantry and lifeforms. But the day had just begun.

High Above Gheistarch, Reaver


"Lord Yellak," spoke the Admiral Hereath to the mighty battlefleet's Commander, "The fleets are in position. Several million Legionnaires are ready to deploy, and the Wraiths are eager. The Armored Fists are mobilizing into their drop ships, and our orbital arrays are now online. My Lord, this world shall fall quite easily."

"Very Good Admiral," Yellak replied turning and grinning evilly. "How long before we can send in the first wave?"

"It should not be long sire. Within the next hour."

*Too be continued! Late for class!! :(*

Macaroth

Captain Oric stood on the bridge of his Imperial Star Destroyer with extreme satisfaction. Within less than a month his forces had successfully crushed the armed forces of Macaroth Prime, dethroned it's ruler, and subjugated its people into loyal servants of the Empire of Thrashia and the divine command of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

The ground forces had surprised the Macarothians. Oric found that the fighting class of the planet fought by a code that did not allow for combat to begin unless a challenge was made. Since their drop ships had not issued a challenge the planetary defenses had been inactive during the entire engagement.

It was only after the space forces had been wiped from existence that they truly began to fight back, and only then to just survive on basic instinct. By then however it had been too late. The Emperor of Macaroth had been captured and forced to sign a treaty. All of his forces surrendered and were ordered to swear allegiance to Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Thrawn himself had arrived to receive this oath of loyalty and saw to it that the planet was reordered to become functional again. Its massive factories and ore mines restarted for the making of war materials for the Thrashian campaign.

Captain Oric at first thought it unwise to allow most of the planet to stay unoccupied and had asked the grand admiral for more reinforcements. However Thrawn had simply denied the reinforcements and assured Oric that now that they were sworn by their honor to be loyal, there would be no need of such visible bonds. Thus far the admiral had proven right. Not a single resistance group or rebel insurgency had started. It was almost a miracle in Oric's opinion, but then he knew better than to second guess the Grand Admiral.

Oric was disturbed in his thoughts of glory by his adjutant. The lieutenant snapped to attention beside the captain.

"Sir, I believe you should read this report sir. We're picking up strange anomalies at the edge of the system."

"Strange how?" asked Captain Oric. "Lieutenant Durel this had better not be a waste of my time."

"No sir, but they are the same anomalies which we were told to watch for, by the Grand Admiral. These readings we're getting are on a much larger scale than the norm."

"And what does your computer project on the answer?"

"Sir," said Lieutenant Durel. "The computer believes that it could either be just a fluke or a possible surge of power, a power surge print similar to the ones used on Chronosian ships when they shift out of the warp and into real space...only I've never seen anything like this and the computer listed 17 other options."

Captain Oric snorted. "Don't start jumping at shadows Lieutenant. We remain at battle readiness level 3, and no higher. You know the drill. I'll not bring my entire fleet to combat readiness just on your foolish fears."

"Yes sir, I apologize sir for distracting you," said Lieutenant Durel, tight lipped and looking strained. He didn't like Captain Oric. He thought he was a pathetic glory-road lover.

"No matter Lieutenant. It shows your keeping on your toes. If you like keep observing these anomalies and if some boogey man shows up be sure to tell me."

"Yes sir." Lieutenant Durel stalked off swearing under his breathe.

Mriss System, Thrashian Invasion Begins

A great flotilla of warships had been prepared for the Mriss operations. Not because they expected a strong defense, which they did, but they also wanted to make an example of their strength; that was Grand Admiral Thrawn’s plan.


- -

They didn’t wait for daybreak. They didn’t wait for clement weather, or favourable turn in the tides. They didn’t wait because they were greater than the weather and more powerful than the tides. They were brighter than the daybreak.

Along the west coast of the major continent, down the line of seaboard towns and cities that had been linked and fortified into one long snake of battlements called Doron’wek, the sky went white.. It was off-white, sour white, and the whiteness pressed down on the high roofs and machicolations. Hot, dry clouds rolled in from the sea, and pooled wire rough fog in the lower parts of Doron’wek, as if the ocean were evaporating.

There was no wind, and everything was hushed. Visible static charges gathered like ivy around the raised barrels of the weapon assemblies standing ready along the eighty-kilometer long fortress.

A door opened out to the west, out over the ocean, and cool air rushed in. In seconds I had grown into a gale, a blistering, east-ward-rushing belt of wind that lashed across the ramparts of the city-fort, and blew soldiers off the battlements, bent the stands of coastal trees into trembling right-angles, and stacked the sea up, white-top wave upon white-top wave, before driving it at the rock-crete footings of Doron’wek.

As the huge wind reared up over the coast, the earth below shook, as if a terrible iron weight had been dropped upon it, and there was a noise, the loudest noise any man has ever heard and it not kill him. It was the sound of the atmosphere caving in as billions of tones of metal fell into it like rocks into a pool.

Less than a minute later, the first strikes seared into the Doron’wek. They were not pretty things, not the lusty, romantic booms of fire a man might see delineated on triumphal fresco; they produced no halo of purifying light, no magnificence to backlight a noble hero of Thrashia.

The fist strikes were like rods of molten glass, blue-hot, there and gone again in a nano-second. The cloud cover they came through was left wounded and suppurating light. Where they touched, the ground vapourised into craters thirty meters wide. Bulwarks, armored towers, thick barriers of metal and stone all vanished, and with them, the gun batteries and crews that had been stationed there. Nothing was left but fused glass, lignite ash and deep cups of rock so hot they glowed pink. Each strike was accompanied by a vicious atmospheric decompression that sucked in debris like a bomb-blast running backwards.

The strikes came from batteries of the giant Imperial Star Destroyers hanging just above breathable atmosphere. Their sleek gun-metal gray hulls glowed gold and bronze in the pearly light of the climbing sun, and their great prows parted the wispy tulle of the high, cold clouds, so that they resembled fleet of sea galleys from the myths of legend. So thin and peaceful that realm of high altitude, their massive weapon systems blinked out the rods of visible heat with barely an audible gasp.

Other vessels, bulk carriers, had emptied themselves into the sky, like swollen insectoid queens birthing millions of eggs. Their offspring fell in blizzards from the scorched and punctured clouds, and were picked up and carried by the hurricane winds slicing in from the sea. Countless assault ships spurted like shoals of fish. Clouds of drop-pods billowed like grain scattered from a sower’s hand.

The defenders of Doron’wek began to fire, although their efforts were merely feeble spits of light against the deluge. Then heavier emplacements woke up, and sprawling air-burst detonations went off above the coast. At last, substantial orange flames began to splash the sky, twisted into streamers by the monstrous gales. Bars of black smoke streaked the air like a thousand dirty finger marks.

To its occupants, Doron’wek had always seemed horizontally inclined: the long parapets and curtain walls running for kilometers, bending and twisting around the curves of the coast, with flatness of the tidal mud beyond, the hinterlands of marsh and breeze-fluttered grasses and the undulating plane of the grey sea. It was a place of wide angles and vistas, o breadth.

In five minutes, that inclination had changed. It became a vertical place, where that verticality was emphatically inscribed down the sky by the beams and stripes of glaring turbolaser energy jabbing down from the clouds. The sky became tall and lofty, illuminated by inner fire. The fortified blocks of Doron’wek were reduced to just a trimming of silhouette at the bottom of the world, as the towering sky lit up above it, like some vision of the ascent to heaven.

Shafts of light, so pure and white they seemed to own the quality of holiness, shone down from an invisible godhead above the sky, and turned the clouds to polished gilt and the smoke to grey silk.

The blizzard of crenellated assault landers fell upon Doron’wek’s burning lines. They came droning like plagues of crop-devouring insects, and struck like spread buckshot. Furious scribbles of light and pops of color lit up the eighty kilometers of wall in an effort to repel them. Thousands of tracer patterns strung the air like necklaces. Flaming rockets roared up in angry arcs, trailing hot dirt. Rotating cannons drummed and pumped like steam pistons and turned the sky into a leopard skin of black flak smoke. In the steep fortress walls, gunports oozed with light like infected wounds as energy weapons recharged and then sprayed out their ribbons of light.

Drop-ships and assault landers alike burned in mid-air. Some melted like falling snowflakes in sudden sunlight and some blew out in noisy, brittle flashes and pelted the battlements with metal hail. Some fell into the sea, trailing plaintive smoke, or buried themselves like tracer rounds in the towers and great ornate spires of Doron’wek. One great tower, at the southern end of the city region, half collapsed after such a collision and left just part of it standing above the billowing dust, a finger of stone with broadening crest like a giants thigh bone rammed into the ground.

The vast majority of drop-ships and assault ships made it to the ground however. From their hulls spilled hundreds of thousands of white armored clonetroopers, blue uniformed Thrashian regulars, and the green uniformed auxiliary infantry recruited from conquered planets. With them rumbled tides of century tanks and above stalked the massive forms of OZ mobile suits. With cries of “Long live Treize Kushrenada” and “For the Emperor” the ground forces of the Empire of Thashia assaulted the fortified region of Planet Mriss.

High Above Gheistarch, Reaver


"Lord Yellak," spoke the Admiral Hereath to the mighty battlefleet's Commander, "The fleets are in position. Several million Legionnaires are ready to deploy, and the Wraiths are eager. The Armored Fists are mobilizing into their drop ships, and our orbital arrays are now online. My Lord, this world shall fall quite easily."

"Very Good Admiral," Yellak replied turning and grinning evilly. "How long before we can send in the first wave?"

"It should not be long sire. Within the next hour."

"Then make it so. Prepare a landing area for our forces. Once the Astartes have landed, then bring down the Blood Pact Legionnaires, and the Armored Legion. We'll prepare a planet head and launch our operations from there." He smiled inwardly, this planet would fall easily, so he thought, and the Crusade would give them the blood of many, beginning the Dark Crusade deeper into the Charybdis.

From deeper within the vast bulkheads of the ship, Captain Selis of the Emperor's Wraiths Astartes Legion 1st Company kneeled with his head down, before a Sorceror reading from the Book of Lorgar. The words of chaos, the desires of blood and malice filled his thoughts with each heretical word. How he loved, if he could truly feel that emotion after millenia within the mind devestating miasma that was the warp, or on the Death World of Wanderjar, the foul words of the Book. They instilled the glorious hatred and blood lust that only Khorne himself could inspire.

"Company!" He shouted after the Sorceror had finished the Dark Chapel reading. "Prepare to move out! Get to the drop pods! We're landing! Maim! Kill! Burn!" Shrieks of blood lust filled the air as the men lifted their bolters and chainswords high in the air, begging for Khorne's infernal blessings of blood.


And within the hour, a massive landing commenced, sending the Wanderjarian Chaos Legion's forces on to Gheistarch, where fate and destiny awaited, in the greatest battle between to evils ever, would be fought, and the Planet, regardless of who claimed victory, would never be the same.

Niiat stared infront of what subconsiouslly would be the navigation screen in his mind. There they were, a massive navy of unknown origin. Who were these people, he thought. Did they truely believe they were taking this planet from them? I think not...

Like a conductor for an orchestra, Niiat began coordinating the swarms on the planets towards the major cities of Mayit, ravaging everything along the way. The Falxifers and Asesinos were nearing the capital city, but the Gheistarchians were putting up a decent resistance.

The alpha put its muzzle in the air, sniffing the air for the enemy. He could smell them a mile away and sense even more. He gestured towards the others to attack. They listened, positioning themselves amidst the urban rubble of the outskirts of the capital city. The Asesinos, as good as they were, were now just used as a distraction, attacking the north part of the city while the Falxifers infiltrated with a group of Sicaris. The Sicaris left the group, acting as the lone wolves, picking off stragling infantrymen and clearing the way so the Falxifers could strike.

The Alpha continued relaying orders both psychically and with gestures as they positioned themselve around the city.

"So far the defense is holding up," said Private Gauria to his teammate. "We've been taking them out so much there is a huge wall of bodies on the outskirts."

"Thats good," replied Dominik. "We cannot let them through. The Jariu Kingdom is reporting that they are getting invaded by other aliens."

Interesting...another predator...hmmm...

"What!?! Another attacker? Can we even defend against them?" he asked.

"I don't know...I don't know..."

Now...

The Falxifers and Sicari struck the men. They screamed as the whirlwind of blades maimed through them, spreading blood and organs all over the Kraetons bodies. It felt a surge of exhiliration as it felt the sinew and flesh being plowed with its scythes. The others had heard the commotion and began firing upon the Falxifers. They scattered, hiding amongst the urban debris as the Sicari became invisible and snuck around the platoon, impaling them with their tendrils. The infantrymen paniced as they were slaughtered like cattle by the swarm of Kraetons that engulfed them, Falxifers, Sicaris, and Asesinos alike drank the rivers of blood that were flooding the entire city. The Alpha looked upon the city in chaos. This was theirs now. No one could take this from them. Not even these new invaders. He stared at the Sicari that was known to Niiat as Cerberus. Our master's will shall be fulfilled it thought to him. Cerberus merely nodded and darted off into the main base. There it saw some men at the computer. He quickly shifted and killed them all then stared at the screens. On them were a navy unknown to the swarm. Niiat could see through the eyes of the Sicari and saw images of these creatures destroying the inhabitants of the world.

"Beautiful...simply beautiful..." He almost cried with tears of joy as this army...this model of efficiency was plowing through the civilians with neither prejudice nor mercy. "Incredible..." yet he knew of one thing.

Their strain had to be added, for there was room for only one...only one destroyer to bring perfection to the universe.

Mriss Invasion


Beyond the towers, that particular sector of the fortress of Doron’wek was a wilderness of fire and rubble. Captain DDA-3177, also known as “Hot Shot”, gathered up his men and managed to get linked up with the rest of his company, Fox Company, 1st Brigade, 501st Legion, which had come down in their transport inside the perimeter wall of the fortress. There was no sign of his CO, Major AA-2909.

They were closer to some of the area’s major gun emplacements, and were subjected to the side-effects of their bombardments.

The emplacements, mainly anti-air and long range cannon, were firing at full rate. Their flashing concussions tore the sky overhead, and the ground shook continuously. For a normal man it would overcome the senses, too bright for the eyes, and no voice would penetrate it. They however were not ordinary men. They were the 501st.

Motioning his men forward the clonetroopers moved along a drainage trench and past several culverts. They spotted a few dead white armored bodies lying in some of these, evidence of another assault group’s passage. At the end of the culvert Hot Shot caught up with his scout squad led by “Mole”, a clonetrooper scout who was one of the best in the business. Mole nodded to his commanded and Hot Shot gave him the go ahead.

They crossed a smoke-washed concourse and came towards what Hot Shot was certain were the munitions silos for the two thundering emplacements way off ahead. Mole took them as far as the low wall, and then got them into cover.

Hot Shot wasn’t sure why at first until he saw puffs of stone dust lifting off the top of the wall, and realized that they were under ferocious small-arms fire, the noise of it lost in the bombardment. He nodded his thanks to Mole who simply shrugged and gave him the thumbs up sign. One trooper was slow getting down. He walloped over onto the ground and lay there with his legs kicking furiously for a few seconds. Then his limbs went slack.

When the firing became sporadic, Hot Shot led them over the wall. He did this with a simple comm tap and gesture. The one hundred and forty or so clonetroopers surged up and over the low wall of cover and charged into the fire zone.

Hot Shot reached the cover of an upturned slab of rockcrete that a rocket had scooped out of the yard, got down, and lifted his blaster rifle over the rim and gave cover fire. It felt good to him to finally be firing his weapon. He poked his eye cam over the lip of the slab and looked at what was in front of them.

There in the haze of smoke and dust was a bunker. It was an ugly protruding piece of rock that sat on the slope a hill. Beyond it was a taller rockcrete building from where the enemy was firing large cannon at the invasion forces. That was their objective.

Three of his men fell before they could reach any kind of cover from the las fire that ripped out of the bunker. Mole reached the cover of some mangled engine debris five meters away from Hot Shot. The captain activated his comm.

“Mole this is Hot Shot, do you copy?” The comm fizzed for a moment and then finally the line opened up. Mole turned his head in the direction of Hot Shot and nodded.

“Affirmative, I read you Captain.”

“You still have a few of those smoke detonators?” asked Hot Shot.

“Yes, a few. Why? Have a plan?”

“Yes. I want you to blind that bunker. Once that is done lead your men up the left and get on the flank of that bunker and find the entrance. Wait there for my signal. I’ll take the rest of the company up the right and move around to the rear. Heavy weapons squad will be in reserve to cover us.”

“Understood sir,” said Mole.

The scout sergeant rummaged through his satchel webbing for a moment and took out three smoke detonators. He handed two of them out to a couple of his scout mates. They all pressed the activation button. With a quick movement they rose up and launched them into the air.

With great skill the smoke detonators landed just in front of the fire gunport of the bunker and went off. A great fog of black smoke launched up and effectively blinded the bunker.

“Go!” With the patter-patter roar of a heavy blaster cannon firing from the heavy weapons squad the rest of the clonetroopers charged forward.

Sergeant Mole led his men up the left side over the rocky and pit scarred ground. They got around the side of the bunker and came upon a flight of steps made of rockcrete that were sunken into the ground and headed into the side of the bunker. He signaled his men to set up and wait for the signal.

Hot Shot led his men at the fastest possible pace and charged up. His back slammed up against the rockcrete of the bunker as he reached it, he was less than a meter from the fire gunport. The enemy continued to fire blindly into the smoke. His men began circling around the right side of it. Hot Shot took out a detonator satchel charge from his webbing and pulled the pin on it. He waited to the count of ‘4’ and with a quick toss he sent it strait into the gunport. He dived away to the ground and into cover.

There was a fantastic explosion and the ground shook. Rockcrete erupted outwards and shot into the air trailing smoke like flaming meteors. Great billows of gray smoke erupted and blew over the area.

Hot Shot shook off the dust and small pieces of rubble that covered him. He picked up his blaster rifle and opened the comm. He set off a small pattern of clicks to signal. He looked at his handy work and saw that the entire front of the bunker was now a gapping crater of ruined rockcrete.

Sergeant Mole received the signal and got his men ready. After a few moments they heard movement coming up from the stair well. Covered in dust and coughing four enemy soldiers came up from the depths of the bunker. They were wearing long red dust covered battle coats and had round helmets on their heads, metal goggles covered their eyes. One of them had a weapon of some sort in his hand.

Mole didn’t hesitate. Before the enemy even knew to be surprised the troopers unleashed a hail of blaster fire and mowed down the enemy soldiers. They were long dead even before they crumpled to the ground. Mole had two of his men get out frag detonators and sent them launching into the bunker entrance. They heard the krump-krump of the detonators going off and a few screams.

“Clear,” said Mole into his comm.

The company reassembled behind the ruined bunker. The support heavy weapons squad jogged up as well and lugged their blaster cannons. Hot Shot had them get into a defensive circle and decided what to do next.

They were on the decline of the hill and could just make out the tall emplacement bunkers that the enemy was using ahead of them. Every few seconds the ground would shake and another spout of flame and smoke would erupt from the extended barrels of the emplacements. Their mission was to knock them out and give some relief to the other Thrashian forces further down the invasion landings.

“Mole, get your men up there and tell me where an entrance is,” ordered Hot Shot. The scout sergeant nodded and with a hand signal had his men sweeping up the hill in a semi circle formation. Hot Shot turned to his men and ordered them to stand down for a moment. A few lifted off their helmets and drank water out of the canteens they carried. Others checked their weapons and slapped in new power cartridges. They waited in earnest for the scouts to return.

Mriss

They moved through a wide section of drainage pipelines, through rain-washed rockcrete underpasses stained with oil and dust. The gray smog of the battlefield drifted back over their positions. To the west rose the great curtain wall of the Doron’wek, to the immediate north the shadowy bulk of habitat spires, immense conical towers of the city, their thousands of windows all blown out by shelling and air-shock. There was no sign of a solitary living thing.

Sergeant Mole and his men moved through the area with extreme caution and tight combat silence. They communicated via hand signals and battle speech.

They began passing blast-proofed bunkers of great size, all empty except for scattered support cradles and stacking pallets of grey fibre-plast. A crowd of battered, yellow, heavy lift trolleys were abandoned on the concourses before the bunkers.

“Munitions stores,” signed one trooper to Mole. “Shell stockpiles for the emplacement.”

Mole thought that a good guess. They edged on, cautious, going a half-time march and with weapons ready. They came forward past a few similar munitions bunkers and came to a cargo loading bay of tubular steel and riveted blast-board. The bay was mounted with hydraulic cranes and derricks on the surface, poised to lower cargo into a cavity below ground.

Mole smiled and signed to his men. “We’ve got our info, move back out.” As silent as they had come they withdrew from the cargo bay and back through the bunkers until they came back to the captain’s position and their company.

Hot Shot stood waiting for them. “Find anything?”

“Yes sir, we found a lot of munitions store houses and a cargo landing bay in the rear of the emplacement. It’s possible we can find a way in from there,” said Mole. The ground rumbled again and the emplacements huge barrels roared. They didn’t have much time to think of another solution.

“Alright, move out,” ordered Hot Shot. “Mole you lead point.”


The company entered the cargo bay and they went to the edge of the cavity. Clonetroopers descended on the metal grilled stairway onto a raised platform that lay alongside a wide, well lit tunnel that ran off out of sight into the impacted earth. The tunnel was modular, circular in cross section, with a raised spine running along the lowest part. Mole and Hot Shot examined the tunnel and the armored control post overlooking it.

“Maglev line,” said Mole, who had done all he could to augment his basic engineering knowledge with off-world mechanisms. “Still active too. They cart the shells from the munitions dump and lower them into the bay, then load them onto bomb trains for fast delivery to the emplacements in the hills.”

He showed Hot Shot an indicator board in the control position. The flat-plate glowed green, showing a flickering runic depiction of a track network. “There’s a whole transit system down here, purpose built to link all forge factories and allow for rapid transportation of material.”

“And this spur has been abandoned because they’ve exhausted the munitions stores in this area.” Hot Shot was thoughtful. He opened his data-feed and made a working replica sketch of the network map. He compared it to the area maps of the emplacements that orbital tactic command had gotten from orbital surveys. It was a little different but the basic elements were the same.

‘It’s a way in,” said Mole. Hot Shot nodded.

“They won’t have blocked it because they need these maglev lines active and clear to keep the bomb trains moving to feed their guns.”

“Then lets go,” said Mole. Hot Shot sensed the clonetroopers smile even though he couldn’t see it with the scout sergeant’s helmet on.

It was possible to advance down the maglev tunnel four abreast, with two men on each side of the central rider spine. It was well lit by recessed blue-glow lighting in the tunnel walls, but Hot Shot sent Mole and his scouts in the vanguard to check for booby traps.

An unopposed advance down the stuffy tunnels took them half a kilometer north-west, passing another abandoned cargo bay and forks with two other maglev spurs. The air was dry and charged with static from the still powered electromagnetic rail, and hot gusts of wind breathed on them periodically as if heralding a train that never came.

At the third spur, Hot Shot turned his column into the new tunnel, following his map. They’d gone about twenty meters when Mole whispered into the comm.

‘We need to go back to the spur fork,” he said.

Hot Shot didn’t query his scout sergeant and they retreated the whole company back to the junction they had just passed. Within a minute, a hot breeze blew at them, the tunnel hummed and a maglev train whirred past along the spur they had been about to join. It was an automated train of sixty open carts, painted khaki with black and yellow flashing. Each cart was laden with shells and munitions, hundreds of tones of ordnance from distant bunkers destined for the main battery emplacements in the area. It rolled past slick and inertia free.

Hot Shot consulted his sketch map. It was a little difficult to determine how far it was to the next station or junction, and without knowing the frequency of the bomb trains, he couldn’t guarantee they’d be out of the tunnel before the next one rumbled through. Hot Shot cursed and knew he couldn’t turn back. They had a mission to accomplish.

“Rhine! Heckler!” he called, two troopers answered to their nick-names and hurried over.

“You both have engineering training,” he stated. Both nodded. “Given the resources at hand, could you stop one of these trains?”

“Sir?”

“And then start it again?” asked Hot Shot.

“I think so sir,” said Rhine. “These trains move on the rails, sucking up a power source from them. It’s a conductive electrical exchange, as I’ve seen on batteries and flux-units. We just have to lay some non-conductive material on the rail fine enough that it wouldn’t actually derail the train. What do you have in mind sir?”

“Stopping or slowing the next train that passes, jumping a ride and starting it again,” said Hot Shot.

“And riding it all the way to the enemy,” said Mole. Hot Shot sensed another smile. Rhine and Heckler took out a bunch of material from several of the company’s packs and got to work.


A warm gust of air announced the approach of the next train, some seventeen minutes or so after the first they had seen. Rhine and Heckler had wrapped several sleeping roles over the rider-rail just beyond the spur and tied a length of the material cut from one of the scout’s camo-cloaks.

The front cart passed beyond the non-conductive layer, the electromagnetic current was broken, and the train decelerated fast as the propelling force went dead. Forward momentum carried the train forward for a while – by the track side Hot Shot prayed it would not carry the entire train beyond the circuit break, or it would simply start again – but it went dead at last and came to a halt, rocking gently on the suspension field.

“Mount up!” called Hot Shot. The 501st company clambered up onto the bomb-laden carriages, finding foot and handholds where they could, stowing weapons and holding out hands to pull comrades aboard. Hot Shot and Mole and six other troopers mounted the front cart alongside Rhine who clutched the end of the camo-cloak cloth.

“Good work trooper,” Hot Shot said to Rhine and held a hand up as he watched down the train to make sure all had boarded and were secure. In short order, the entire company, 140 troopers, were in place, and relay of acknowledgements ran down the train to Hot Shot.

Hot Shot dropped his hand. Rhine yanked hard on the cloth cord. It went taut, fought him and then flew free, pulling the sleeping packs up and out from under the cart like a large flatfish on a line. In a moment, as the circuit was restored, the train lurched and silently began to move again, quickly picking up speed. The tunnel lights began to strobe-flash as they flicked past them.

Hot Shot checked his power cartridge to see that he had 80 shots still left in it. He turned on his comm and spoke to his men. “Ready, weapons ready. Word is given. We’re riding into the mouth of the lion and we could be among the enemy any minute. Prepare for sudden engagement.”

Along the train, blaster rifles whined as they powered up, launchers clicked to armed, and the company plasma cannon hummed into seething readiness.

They traveled along for a long time it seemed, passing empty stations and unlit cargo bays. A spur to the left, then to the left again, waiting while another bomb train passed ahead of them from another siding. Then they were moving again. The tension wrapped around Hot Shot liked a straitjacket. All of the passing tunnel looked constant and familiar, there were no markers to forewarn or alert.

The bomb train slid into a vast cargo bay on a spur siding, coming to rest alongside two other trains that were being offloaded by cranes and machine lifters. An empty train was just leaving on a loop that would take it back to the munitions dumps. The chamber was lofty and dark, lit by thousands of lanterns and the ruddy glare of work-lamps. It was hot and smelled bitter, like a furnace room. The walls were, as they could see them, were draped with banners proclaiming the Royal Dynasty of Mriss.

There were upwards of two hundred Mrissians in the dim, gantried chamber working lifters or sliding bomb trolleys. None of them seemed to notice the new train’s extra cargo for a moment.

Hot Shot’s company dismounted from the train, opening fire as they went, laying down a hail of blaster fire that cracked electricity in the air. Hot Shot had forbidden the use of the heavier weapons until they were clear of the munitions.

Dozens of Mrissians fell where they stood. Two half-laden trolleys spilled over as hands released the levers. Warheads rolled and chinked on the platform. A trolley of shells veered into a wall as its driver was shot, and overturned. A crane assembly exploded and collapsed. The clonetroopers surged onwards. They fanned out in perfect formation, taking point of cover after point of cover and scything down the fleeing Mrissians. A few had found weapons and were returning fire, but their efforts were dealt with mercilessly.

Hot Shot advanced up the main loading causeway with the 1st platoon, blasting Mrissians with his blaster. Nearby, Mole and a trio of his scout marksmen were ducked in cover and picking off any Mriss soldier on the overhead catwalks.

One of the heavy weapons specialists had his heavy blaster cannon which he had liberated from a pintle mount some time before. Hot Shot had never seen a soldier fire one without the aide of recoil compensators or lift capacity before. The trooper groaned slightly and strained with the effort of steadying the howling weapon with its six cycling barrels, and his aim was more than a little below standard. He killed dozens of the enemy anyway. Not to mention a maglev train.

The 501st company led the fight up out of the cargo bay and onto loading ramps which extended up through great caverns cut into the hillside. A layer of blue smoke rose up under the flickering pendulum lighting rigs. Clear of the munitions deck, Hot Shot ordered the plasma cannon and rocket launchers up, and began to scour a path, blackening the rockcrete strips of the ramp and fusing Mrissian bone into syrupy pools.

At the head of the ramps , at the great elevator assemblies which raised the bomb loads into the battery magazines high above them in the hillside, they met the first determined resistance. A massed force of Mriss soldiers in their red battle garb rushed down on them, blasting with their las guns and other weapons. Hot Shot commanded a squad up the left flank and cut into the from the edge, matched by the rest of the platoon from the right, creating a crossfire that punished them terribly.

Hot Shot ducked behind some freighting pallets as lasfire rounds wailed down from the Mriss units at the elevator assembly. Hot Shot found he was sharing cover with two of his assault troopers. “How much ammo do you have left?” he called.

“Half gone already,” responded one. The trooper slapped in a new clip and hooked a small module onto the full auto setting. “But then there are more than enough dead to count it by.”

Hot Shot gave a wolfish grin. “With me men!” He pulled out his vibro bayonet and the three of them charged out from cover firing. They were more than halfway up the loading ramp to the elevators. The company’s crossfire maneuver had fenced the shriven in around the hazard striped blast doors, which were now fretted and punctured by blaster impacts and fusing burns.

As he charged Hot Shot felt the wash of fire behind him as his own units covered and supported. He could here the whine of the long-pattern blaster snipers, the crack of normal blaster fire, and the rattle of the heavy blaster cannon.

The three of them reached the makeshift defenses around the enemy. One trooper went down, clipped by a las-round. Hot Shot and the other assault trooper bounded up to the debris cover and cut into the now-panicked Mriss soldiers. Hot Shot emptied his blaster into the faces of a group of Mriss soldiers and ditched it, scything forward with his vibro blade. The other trooper laid in with his bayonet as well, stabbing into bodies and firing at point-blank range to emphasize each kill.

It took two minutes. They seemed like a life time to Hot Shot, each bloody, frenzied second playing out like a year. Then he and the other trooper were through to the elevator itself and the Mriss soldiers were piled around them. Five or six more clonetroopers were close behind. The assault trooper nodded in victory to Hot Shot.

The nod was premature.

The elevator doors ahead of them parted and a trio of well armed Mriss soldiers appeared. A las-round found its mark in the side of the assault troopers head and blew the body away, covering Hot Shot’s armor in a mist of red blood. He turned and was about to meet the rush of the enemy when there was the crack whine of three blaster shots. All three red clad soldiers were hit in the center chest and fell dead to the floor. Hot Shot instinctively knew that scout sergeant Mole had provided these marksman blasts.

Hot Shot got to his feet, wet and wretched with blood and fouler stuff. Hit men were moving up the ramp to secure the position. Above them, at the top of the elevator shaft, were maybe a million Mriss soldiers and personnel, secure in their battery bunkers. Hot Shot’s company was right in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold.

Hot Shot smiled.

Karen had continued through the past week studying the biological structure of the Sicari that was captured while drinking some Chantre giving to her by the ship. They had come a long ways since they had captured this thing.

By now everyone had to have heard word of the infestation of a planet in the southeast sector of Quadrant 2 called Gheistarch. Although heartbroken that another planet was being overtaken by the Horde, she knew this would be the best chance to observe them in action. Karen went to the ship and said, "The research is going well, to which I will be making a report momentarily. However, I have noticed that the fleet has moved and they are attacking a planet along with another race. I believe this would be a good opportunity to observe them in their natural state. What do you say?

Mriss

It took another precious half hour to regroup and secure the bomb deck. Hot Shot’s scouts located all the entranceways and blocked them, checking even ventilation access and drainage gullies. Hot Shot paced, tense. The clock was ticking and it wouldn’t take long for the massive forces above them to start wondering why the shell supply from below had dried up. And come looking for a reason.

There was the place itself too: the gloom, the taste of the air, the stupid banners on the wall. It was as if they were inside some sacred place, sacred only to idiots who had some unholy work to do for their Mriss King.

The comm-link chimed and Hot Shot responded, hurrying through to the control room of the bomb bays. Mole, Rhine, and others were waiting for him. Someone had managed to raise the shutters on the vast window ports.

“What is that?” inquired Rhine.

“What we came to stop and destroy,” Hot Shot said, turning away from the stained glass viewing ports. Far below them, in the depths of the newly-revealed hollowed cavern, stood a vast megalith, a great stone carved building that smoked with chemical exhaust and the workings of steam. Electricity wires hung from its side like ivy. It seemed to be a major control conduit for the entire area.

“It won’t take long for them to notice the bomb levels aren’t supplying them with shells any more. Then we can expect serious deployment against us,” said Mole.

Hot Shot nodded but said nothing. He crossed to the control suite where Rhine and Heckler were attempting to access data. He walked over to them and watched as they manipulated the controls of the computer.

“Plot it for me,” Hot Shot said. “I have a feeling there may be more to those conduit things.”

“We’re there…” Rhine said with excitement. He pointed at the glowing map sigils. “And here’s a larger scale map. You were right. That stone conduit down there is part of a system buried in the hillsides of Doron’wek. Seven all told, in a strung out pattern. They’re all charged up with power right now, helping the Mriss operate their defences.”

“What do we do?” asked Mole.

“We have explosive aplenty,” said Heckler. “Let’s blow it.”

“No!” said Hot Shot. “We don’t know how that much built up energy will react to explosives. It could be dangerous to the entire invasion force. No, we have to break the link…”

“Sergeant Mole, load as many hand carts as you can find of Mriss warheads, prime them for short fuse and prepare to send them up on the elevator on my cue. We’ll choke the emplacements upstairs with their own weapons. Heckler and Rhine I want you to gather more of that non-conductive material again.”

They all three gave him blank looks.

“Now?” he added sharply. They leapt to their feet.


Hot Shot led the way up the ramp towards the conduit. It was smoke with energy and his skin prickled uncomfortably. He led the two engineer experts over to the edge of it and had several other troopers fan out. In their hands were forty or so sleeping packs tied together with camo-cloaks and industrial staples that they had found in the cargo bay. They wrapped it around the huge forty-foot conduit and fused it together. The material began to smoke a little and nothing happened.

“It’s not working,” said Heckler.

“Then we cut the alignment,” said Hot Shot. He called up three other troopers. “Get charges set in the supporting mound. Don’t target the conduit itself. Blow it so it falls away or drops.”

“Yes sir,” they responded.

Hot Shot tapped into his comm. “Mole, send those warheads up.”

“Acknowledged captain.”

At the elevator head, the troops under Mole’s command thundered trolleys of warheads into the car. “Shush!” said on trooper suddenly. They stopped. A pause – then they all heard the clanking, the distant tinny thumps. Mole swung up his blaster rifle and moved into the elevator assembly. He pulled the lever that opened the upper inspection hatch. Above him, the great lift shaft yawned open like a beast’s throat.

He stared up into the darkness, trying to resolve some detail. The darkness was moving. Mriss soldiers were descending on ropes and hooks like bat-things down the sheer side of the shaftway.

“They’re coming!” he yelled and slammed the hatch shut.

Hot Shot cursed, feeling the panic rising just a little. Trapped, entombed, the infernal enemy seeping in from all sides. Speakers mounted on the walls and consoles all around squawked to into life, and a rasping vice, echoing and overlaying itself from a hundred places, spat some gibberish into the chambers.

“Shut that off!” Hot Shot yelled at Rhine.

Rhine scrambled at the controls, desperately. “I can’t!” he cried.

A hatchway to the east exploded inwards with a shower of sparks. Men screamed. Lasfire began to chatter. A little to the north, another doorway blew inwards in a flaming gout and more Mriss soldiers began to battle their way inwards.

Hot Shot opened a link to his platoon commanders. “Start the retreat. As many as we dare to keep the covering fire.” Then he adjusted his intercom to wide band.

“Captain to all units! Commence withdrawal, maximum retreating resistance!” He sprinted down through the mayhem into the megalith chamber, knocked back for a second by the noxious stench that his helmet failed to filter. Heckler and three other troopers were just emerging, their arms and upper bodies caked in black tarry goo.

“It’s done,” said Heckler.

“Then blow it! Move out!” Hot Shot cried, pushing and shoving his stumbling men out of the cavern. “Mole!”

“Almost there!” replied Mole from over at the elevator. He and the trooper next to him looked up sharply as they heard a thump from the liftcar roof above them. Cursing, Mole pushed the final trolley of shells into the elevator bay.

“Back! Back!” Mole shouted at his men. He hit the riser stud of the elevator and it began to lift up the shaft towards the Mriss emplacements high above. They heard impacts and shrieks as it pulverized the Mriss soldiers coming down the shaft.

The clonetroopers with Mole were running for their lives. Somewhere, far above, the payload arrived – and detonated hard enough to shake the ground and sprinkle earth and rock chips down from the cavern roof. Lamp arrays swung like pendulums. Hot Shot felt it all going off above them. He pushed Heckler in front of him and onto the maglev tunnel. Enemy las-fire burned their way. A trooper dropped, mid-flight. Other turned, knelt, and returned fire. Blaster bolts and las-fire glittered back and forth.

Behind them all, in the megalith chamber, the charges placed by Heckler’s team exploded. Its support beams blown away, the great cackling stone conduit system teetered and then slumped down into the pit. The speakers around the chamber went silent.

Total silence. The Mriss firing had stopped. Those that had penetrated the chamber were frozen in horror as they watched the conduit fall. The only sound was the thumping footfalls and gasping breathe of respirators of the fleeing clonetroopers.

Then a rumbling started. Incandescent blue electrical fire flashed and rippled around the monolith chamber. Without warning the stained glass viewports of the control room exploded inwards. The ground rippled, ruptured; rockcrete churned like an angry sea.

“Get out! Get out now!” bellowed Hot Shot.


General Durin stood on the bridge of his hovering command craft that sat five miles out to sea before the walls of Doron’wek. His forces had been landed for the last hour with some success but the going was still tough. He watched through magnifiers as he noticed the usual plumes of shell fire disappeared. The general frowned.

“Feth but I think they’ve stopped-” he started to say.

The hills beyond the curtain wall of Doron’wek exploded. The vast network of hills and rockcrete protrusions that were weapon emplacements splintered and puffed up dust and fire, swelling for a moment before collapsing into themselves. A bell-shaped cloud of ochre smoke boiled up over the horizon where the Mriss stronghold had once been. Lightning flared in the sky. The communications station in the corner of the General’s command station wailed and then went dead.

Secondary explosions, munitions probably, began to explode along the lines of Doron’wek, blasting the heart out of everything that they held. A firestorm of shockwave and flame passed over the massed forces of clonetroopers and other groups. They found cover where they could, but some where carried off by the force of the wind.

General Durin looked at his signals officer. “Order a full advance. Now!”


They had been knocked flat by the shockwave, losing many in the flare of blue flame that followed them up the tunnel. They were blundering through the darkness and dust. There were moans and coughs.

In the end it took almost five hours for them all to claw their way up and out of the darkness. Hot Shot led the way up the tunnel himself. Finally the surviving elements of the 501st troopers of Fox company, 1st Brigade emerged into the dying light of another day. Most sat down or staggered in the mud, sprawling, laughing. Fatigue washed over them all.

Hot Shot sat down on a curl of mud and took of his helmet. He started to laugh and all the tension sloughed off him in one easy tide. It was over. Whatever else, whatever mopping up, Mriss was won.

He watched as in front of him a large, massive formation of clonetroopers supported by century tanks passed them by. An officer stepped over to him and saluted, it was a Lieutenant.

“Sir? Are you alright? We’ve just got orders for a general advance,” the clone lieutenant said. Hot Shot nodded. He got up and put his helmet back on and turned to his men.

“Fox Company, 501st! On your feet! Front and center!” he called. His men immediately responded and formed up. They were tired and hungry but they were far from finished.

“There’s some more ass to be kicked up ahead,” said Hot Shot. “Who’s with me?” The remaining 68 clonetroopers cheered and they began marching along with the rest of the army.

Aetius walked along the road that was being rebuilt around him along with a young Optio of his who had shown promise when he had made a comment about the campaign that told of strategic brilliance. The devastation caused by the Republican fleet had left a large portion of the city decimated, but after only weeks a good amount was already rebuilt by the military engineers.

"Can we really be sure that the people won't revolt once we leave?" the Optio asked, a concerned expression about him. "Leaving but half a legion to keep control of the planet isn't very reassuring. Say they revolt, drive the garrison from the planet, and we are beaten back by the Chronosians, where, then, when we are battered and vulnerable, will we go?"

"If you'll recall, Julius, we took the planet when it was at full strenght with but a single legion, now they are battered and vulnerable. No, half a legion will do, for the time being."

The General paused and stared up at the departing cruiser whose engines seemed to make any attempt at further conversation futile. Five thousand men, plus six starships, it was small true, but it would have to do. The Chronosians would no doubt have a large force, enough to counter but the most determined attackers. With a sigh, he released the doubt from his mind and continued towards the awaiting shuttle.

"General," Admiral Craius saluted as Cassius descended the ramp and stepped onto the hangar floor, the rest of the passengers filing out as well, the Optio he had been talking to earlier emerging and staying a few paces behind him waiting. "All ships have been accounted for, and if our Praefects aren't useless then all ground forces should be aboard as well."

Aetius nodded, then began walking towards the exit with the middle aged space man who wore the simple grey uniform of the navy. "Give the fleet the order to depart then, and contact me when we arrive at....Zantha III was it? And Admiral, have the fleet emerge from hyperspace away from the planet. We can sneak up on them."

"Wouldn't simply appearing within their midst catch them by surprise and give us an even greater advantage?"

Aetius turned and stared sternly at the man, "Do exactly as I say. Emerge from hyperspace away from the planet, Admiral. Do not fail me."

With a gulp, Craius nodded and muttered, "Yes, sir."

The enormous bulk of the Imperial class battle cruiser floated elegantly through the vacuum of space, the grey colored hulls making it stand out clearly, allowing the full effect of it to be taken in, dominance and authority eminating from it as if cologne. Vessels of all different make from all provinces of the Republic surrounding it, cruising with the same peaceful elegance as the command vessel. Near a hundred in all.

A blink of light....and they dissappeared.

Aeronae

It was a world similar to that in which self-declared intellectuals vigorously chase after vague ideas, instead of contenting themselves with the physical manifestations of their dreams. One vast continent dominated almost an entire quarter of the planet's spherical body; with archipelagos, and island chains branched out like the rough limbs of knowledge out into the deep blue oceans.

Chains and chains of immense snowcapped islands tower over slate-gray seas, some clawing through every layer of clear curtain into an endless ocean of emptiness.

Armies of pine and broad-leaf soldiers occupy land and hillock, fortifying it from assaults of erosion invading from the sky in high frequency. Some stretch into the heavens, casting wide shadows of erratic shape onto the land below.

Rough seas of rolling green rush into stony shores, wave after wave of tree-knobbed or bald hillock, crash with silence into the lands around them, beholding all manner of life betwixt their timeless forms.

All cut by aqueous vipers, both of momentous and insignificant proportions. Winding between the legs of those still wooden sentries, emanating from the shimmering ice of the sky-piercing islands, and twisting through those torrents of tumbling serene green.

This world of unparallelable natural beauty hung like a turquoise necklace on a chain lacking substance, around the neck of a fiery star the lightest hue of vibrant cyan. Aeronae was a world untouched by intergalactic devastation wrought by terrible and grotesque beings from beyond the stars. It's people knew of war fought only amongst themselves over resource or differing ideologies, yet those wars could never deprive Aeronae of its awe-inspiring natural beauty, or scar its thick granite skin too deeply. However, all of that was soon to change if the ravagers of worlds if fortune swayed their way.

From deep within the never ending bowels of the universe itself, an abhorrent force of fanaticism, insanity, and blood lust carved its way into the Charybdis cluster, the region of bright, civilization filled stars that Aeronae found residence, seeking to devour it utterly for their own despicable purposes. The worshipers of Chaos; the grotesque gorgers of all life; the totalitarian knights of corrupted valor, and the ever ambitious Imperials, all came in mighty warships, unleashing waves of destruction upon the cluster, driven by malignance and selfish desire, ushering forth the physical manifestations of hell itself, upon the surface of each damned world. At some point, Aeronae would be one such world: damned to become the very embodiment of misery and suffering, one just like any other already subjugated by forces beyond their reckoning. That is, if the Father's ever searching, ever watchful amaranthine eyes did not encompass and anticipate all for Aeronae's sake.



"...And they came across the sea o’ darkness; i’ great metal chariots that tore eulphecure asunder, unleashing torrents o’ fire upon the land. From their bowels even worse a plague emerged. Warriors wielding swords o' unholy fire swept across the land. Murdering the weak, raping the innocent, and despoiling the sacred. One after the other, kingdoms great and small fell; scorched from the Earth, their souls damned to suffer eternally." A man, an old man, aged beyond what was thought possible, said to a small crowd of onlookers with a voice that boomed like thunder from underneath a thick ashen beard.

"Till finally, only one kingdom stood; corruption approaching in all directions; even from the sullied heavens. Faith remained in the people's frightened hearts, but it was a misplaced faith: i’ Gods that had done nothing to keep the Evil from beyond away. Gods that had remained silent when women screamed; who remained idle when men fought and died, who simply watched when their temples were desecrated. False idols had kept the people from learning of the Father, false idols had doomed them all." The man said with solemn anger upon his concrete stage; the remains of a stairwell that had once lead into an apartment building, that was now only rubble and ash, remains from a war fought long ago.

The crowd of gold-eyed men and women looked on with fascination and suspicion. A few stopped by to listen, only to move on down the cracked road after just a few words. Others had been listening since the man began several hours ago. They all came or passed by, and went or stayed in silence as the sun began to set into a horizon fractured by mountains behind the old orator.

"Though damned; with only an eternity o’ agony and misery ahead o’ them; the Father had not forsaken them. He had not forgotten about those who had never known him. He sent a prophet, yclept Kaar-iesh. He assailed the kingdom's highest mountain, and preached. With words as strong as the mountain itself, and ferocious as a typhoon, his words spread o'er the land; into the ear o’ all who listened." The prophet said, his voice getting steadily louder. His face was stained by emotion; religious fanaticism held back only by a sheer force of will. He swiftly and gracefully shifted position every other word, turning to one part of the crowd to the other, making sure to convey to all the message he so fiercely believed in.

"And seeing the light o’ deliverance through those words, and offered to him their imprisoned souls. The Father obliterated the cages binding them, returning flesh and bone to the dust from whence they came, lifting the ashes into corrupted air. And this storm o’ dust didst turn into a great black cloud; burning the air with rods o’ green light; shattering the air with claps o’ horrible thunder, and blackening sun." His voice was reaching crescendo, with his eyes alight in a verdant blaze, filled with the fires of divine ecstasy. His voice was louder, and body stronger. He was a man no longer.

"And from this blasphemous heaven, the Father's Angels did descend. From the upturned Earth His Acolytes did pour forth. And warriors who had long since fallen rose again. All armed with a sword o’ salvation, and a shield of redemption, covered in an armor blighted black by the Father's blessing. And they didst fall upon the avatars o’ impurity, slaying them all i’ a Holy storm. Banished from the Earth and from the Heavens, the enemy was no more, and the people of A'rank-ietha brought to glorious salvation. Quoth The Book of A Thousand Dead Kings.

"But the scourge of blasphemy will always strike again, and it is to this world that they come! It is this world that shall soon suffer a fate just as terrible as that which wrought all those souls of A'rank-ietha! Yet, just as the Father saved them, he shall save us. We must offer ourselves to him, so that our souls may be set free!" He bellowed, throwing clenched fists into the air high above a head with burning eyes staring deep into the twilight stained heavens.

There wasn't a cheer, nor was there an applause, only a dispersal of a crowd that could not understand the ravings of a madman. The war threatening the world had not yet reached them, news of the fall of other worlds was not yet known. He was preaching memorized passages from a book none had heard of, about a disaster they had never known. However, not all shut out their minds to the message of truth.

"Who is this Father you continually speak of?" A young boy asked as he ran up to the makeshift stage.

"The Father is the savior of your soul, boy, if only you choose to listen." The man replied tersely.

"That is not good enough! How can you speak of such things and, dare warn us all of such a disaster with an answer as paltry as that?!" The young man said angrily.

Abhor-Inkelstadt, the name he carried before his eyes were open, before the quite old man who drank when he had the cash, and stole things for cash when he had known, before he became a prophet for the Holy Father. Now he had no name, only a mission.

“How is it paltry boy? The Father saves; the Father fights against the tide of unholy blasphemy that has such a stranglehold upon the universe as we know it. He is all knowing, all seeing, and all-powerful. What else is there to know, Asanka?” The prophet asks as he towers over the blond haired boy. He knew what Asanka wanted; it’s what everyone wanted who lacked the financial resources needed to live a life free of starvation and poverty: some sort of answer, some sort of path down a better road free of suffering. Though few would like the answer the Prophet had in mind for them.

“Well for one thing… wait just a Fontraen minute, how the hell did you know my name? Who told you?” Asanka-Creol asked with a flare of anger. The Prophet knew the young man would be put off by that revelation, yet another way to emphasize his point.

“The Father is all knowing, and what He knows, I may know if He deigns it necessary to the furtherance of His Holy cause, boy. Now do you believe? Or shall you go back to the outer-edges of the city, and contemplate your existence over that dying candle as you always do?” He stepped down off the stairwell slowly, with eyes transfixed upon Asanka, burning brighter with each heavy step.

“Fuck you… wait, how the hell did you know that? How do you know any of this? Who have you sent to spy on me? Why are you spying on me? Get back you psycho!” Askana said. He stumbled while backing away from the descending Prophet, falling to the ground. He kicked up rubble and dirt attempting to get back to his feet, but he just kept falling back down.

“The Eyes of the Father are not ‘spies’ boy, no more than a child is a parasite in its mother’s womb. What He sees, I may see. What He knows, I may know. All to spread His message, as I have already explained.” The Prophet stood over the cowering Asanka with incredulous, burning eyes. The boy had backed into a slab of concrete, and could retreat no further. Everyone else just went about their way, more concerned with their own mortal problems than those concerning their trapped souls. Sheep without a Sheppard.

“A foul trick, all of it. For whatever reason you felt necessary at the time, you chose to spy on me, to win me to whatever secret cause you are trying to push. Well it shall not work upon me! Be gone!” Asanka said with what courage he could muster in the face of such an imposing man. It was all for naught.

The Prophet just starred; penetrating beyond his flesh and mind, going right to the core of his very soul. Asanka fell back down again, loosing his footing in the loose gravel. He could see something in the Prophet’s eyes, a stream of images clouded by obscurity. They flashed over and over again, each time clearer, each time with more meaning, each time unleashing a larger and larger wave of feeling.

All-consuming fire, the sky ablaze, cities razed and oceans boiling away; armies of warped metal machinations sweep over the land under banners of pestilence and wrath. Warships of the same heretical blasphemous alliance purge the planet of its beauty, with rod, and fire, and arrows set aflame. A picture so clear but at the same time so vague; the warships and demon men were nothing more than incomprehensible blurs, but all the same they made him scream out in terror, in such timbre as to make everyone around turn and look on with shocked curiousness.

“Such an appalling sight! It cannot be real, none of it; a trick, another trick. Go away from me, now demon!” Asanka shrieked as he ran away, with the threat of his balancing fleeing from him remaining a constant danger till he reached more stable ground; the main highway still cracked and battle worn. He sprinted towards his home, the Prophet knew, on the outskirts of Cannae city. A sprawling mega metropolis divided into two sections; one atop the other, separated by a thick slap of fortress level armor and an army of men to keep those underneath in their shacks and crumbling buildings.

The top section was comprised of thin needle like skyscrapers breaking the skyline, casting their long shadows over the fatter, squattier buildings not far below, and them their own shadows onto the streets and parks and upper-class neighborhoods not much farther down; all constructed in an amalgamation of modern and gothic architecture.

Underneath laid the slums and impoverished areas; where the richest below would still be the poorest above. Vast arrays of concrete megastructures acted as homes for most of the poor masses, cracked, crumbling, and curving to the side; they were not fit for habitation but still people lived in them. The parks were disheveled quagmires of dead foliage and decaying park structures. The streets were broken, and most had long been treaded to dust. It was a hell in its own right, but a home to a huddled mass above all else, but not for long. Of this the Prophet was certain, just as he was certain Asanka would soon be a disciple of the Father, just as soon as his mind began fathoming the messages revealed to him by through the Prophet’s cold, burning eyes.

oocness: Poor, but eh - at least I got it done. Things not related to Macaroth will have to wait until tomorrow.

Hope my assumption that FTL-Interdiction wasn't up (Or rather, wasn't up to the degree that it'd fuck with system-entries three-million klicks away from the planet) is correct, too o.o My apologies if the assumption is incorrect, will edit as necessary.

Macaroth Approach

All in all, the plan was fairly simple, and decidedly lacking in tactical finesse, in elegance and beauty. As a matter of fact, it was almost disappointingly primitive.

This had a reason, of course, and the reason was just as simple as the 'Plan' itself - space itself was simple. Exceedingly simple. Three dimensions, and a near-complete lack of cover - that was all there was to it. No rivers, no mountains, no foxholes, to storms, no rain, no snow, no ice, no sudden temperature changes, nothing that could hinder movement or obstruct the view.

The 'Plan' (A truly grandiose word for something so simple) reflected this. It took this (Lack of) elements, combined them with the technology available to it (Some of the technology available to it, anyway), and the end result almost amounted to the spacedy-equivalent of trench warfare.

Almost, but not quite.

Captain Paulsen - he was originally from Mationbuds, but had eventually been (Legally) 'Acquired' by the CLA - was only too aware of the rather limited means he had available for this operation. He was similarly aware that this kind of stunt - something rather close to 'Real' military operations - wasn't exactly what the CLA was meant for.

It was meant for partisan operations, sabotage, quick hit&run's.

'Easy in, easy out', as they said.

This however, well... Wasn't.

Well. At least they'd have the support of the Convict (Sadly, the Twink Factor and its TEU-entourage hadn't arrived just yet), and the bulk of the Thrashian fleet was busy elsewhere.

For how long, that was another question.

Two hours, forty-six minutes and forty seconds.

That was the time limit Captain Paulsen had himself set for the operation. Ten-thousand seconds, to do everything required - and he wasn't even certain whether this was sufficient to avoid reinforcements breathing down their neck or not. That they couldn't actually see anyone coming in on hyperdrives didn't help, either.

"Luck counts, too, I suppose..." he mused, mostly to himself.

'His' ship, the Guillotine was now accelerating slowly, switching layers of non-relativistic space simultaneously with the rest of the fleet - well, actually, 'Fleet' was a bit much, 'Detachment' was a better term - , or at least with the bit of it that was actually using this form of FTL - the three modified stardestroyers did not, which made coordinating the strike mildly more difficult than would've been necessary in a more homogenous force.

Well, it was too late to think about it, and the calculations had already been done, anyway.

Orders moved along the chains of command, spending a second or two in transit, before these orders were turned into actions. The ships didn't have minds, of course - neither uploads, nor machines -, but they could still be run by a handful of clones jacked into the ship's systems, which made things considerably easier than they'd otherwise be.

The couple hundred people on each ship - the vast majority of which had nothing to do - mostly spent their time in transit playing cards or boardgames, training their reflexes (Not so much their strength - it was more dependent on the kind of armour in use than physical fitness) and compatibility with built-in effector gear, subconscious PD routines or any number of other pieces of equipment, half of which was presumably overengineered and of decidedly little use on the battlefield.

But that's what one gets when one is supplied by technophile jerks with a certain lack of practical thinking.

Macaroth

Paulsen could almost feel the enemy, now. Awareness was key, of course - and the image of reality one could get in the lower layers of non-relativistic space could be a surprisingly detailed one, if one did it right.

Thirty-two apparent targets, plus a number of not-so-apparent ones that could as well turn out to be threats.

Thoughts were transferred along the Guillotine's networks, connecting the handful of people who were actually running the ship with each other, coordinating their actions, preparing them for the last step.

There was a good chance that the Thrashians knew about them - as they entered lower layers of non-relativistic reality, and their velocity decreased, the echoes they caused in relativistic space became more notable.

It wasn't a very pleasant thought.

Still, they had to go in. Or rather, wanted to go in.

Ready? the question came, asking the various people controlling the ship, running the weaponry, sensory perception, EW, the drives, damage control, communications and so on and so forth.

Ready, the reply came, from them as well as from the other eleven ships in the flotilla, all of which were counting the last moments before they'd enter an engagement with a force twice their own in sheer numbers - this didn't say all that much, but it was still an unpleasant fact.

Seconds were ticking by, one by one. Threehundred seconds to complete the shifting circle (Faster than 'Real' Hypocrisy warships, actually, owing to the decreased density of the CLA ships) - if everything went as planned, they'd enter relativistic reality in the same moment that the three modified SDs would arrive.

Tick. Two-hundred and ninety-eight. Guns ready to fire, subcraft long-since deployed, staging their own countdowns. Missiles are warming up.

Tick. Two-hundred and ninety-nine. Movement. Do they know? Will they've FTL-Interdiction up? Will we be able to slip through anyway, or not? Will there be mines in black-body mode? Sensors have registered nothing, but certainty is unachivable... And more than half the people on board don't have mindstate-backups, instead following their own code of honour, desinterested in adopting the careless attitude of the Hypocrisy, to which war is little more than an interesting game.

Tick. Three-hundred. No more time for worries. Shift.

Twelve ships appeared in reality, to be joined by three more about half a second later (The math had been a little off), all of them a fair bit off the planet (And the Thrashian fleet components in the system) - about three million kilometres away, to be specific, velocity still the same they'd had in non-relativistic space. General direction? Macaroth. Speed? Significantly below .1c, and decreasing.

Fifteen ships, surprisingly uniform designs by Hypocrisy standards - the Guillotine and its two sisterships measured slightly less than 1.4 kilometres in length and massed slightly more than half a gigaton, their nine smaller companions went at about 660 metres in length (The Wealth of Nations, the factory craft that'd built them, had been rather disappointed that it hadn't worked out to 666 metres), and massed somewhat less than sixty million tons. The SDs were, well - pretty standard, really. Externally, anyway. Internally... Not so much.

Alongside them, in thin but nonetheless rather noticeable clouds covering positively huge volumes of space, their subcraft had shifted as well, ready to provide what support they could.

Pretty, but useless, Fourth-Rank pilot MPC-218-A 'Custer' thought, 'Swimming' in the liquid, viscous computronium that connected him to his small subcraft's systems, allowing him to access it so intimately, it wasn't wrong to speak of an actual relationship. He could feel the craft's animalistic desires, its subconscious understanding of the space around it, of the mission, of their goals.

It wasn't love, of course, but it was there, not unlike the relationship between a pet and its owner - his craft had a certain character, a personality, but not sapience. Custer understood that the craft was purposefully built to exhibit exactly this properties, rather different from himself (Who had been purposefully limited to exhibit certain properties), but it still made him feel... Uncomfortable, thinking that this craft might just 'Suffer' like he had himself, once.

Well. According to the drones he'd talked to, this wasn't the case, and they had to know. But still, a bit of doubt remained, taunting him in the back of his mind, spreading doubt about his actions, and his benefactor's goals.

Regardless. Right now he was in space, 'Safe' inside his craft, counting the protons hitting the hull of his subcraft per second ('A Lot' was a fairly apt description), and watching the scenery.

So frustratingly useless. Ten lightseconds in between him and the Thrashian fleet. Not that his subcraft could 'Fight' a capship - it was a light point defence subcraft, essentially a 'Fighter' -, but he wouldn't have minded some more action. Something to do, other than sitting in space and waiting for orders.

Alas, over this distance, the only ones who could fight without their beams dispersing to the point of harmlessness were the actual warships (Well, and the capship-grade subcraft, the ubiquitous 'Turrets with drive attached'), and even for them, it was more a mathematical problem than actual, well, 'Fighting'.

Take the time it takes the fire to reach the target (Ten seconds), combine this with the acceleration the target is capable of (Lots), and you get a reasonably insignificant hitrate. Of course, this was compensated for by utilising utterly insane volumes of fire, but this didn't really help all that much.

Boring boring boring. Custer observed the statistics of the battle, disconnected from the action. Streams of particles accelerated to positively absurd velocities, photons with frequencies that marked them as either X- or gamma rays - in these moments, they were fired, fired en masse, but nonetheless quite invisible, unless he choose to pay attention to the FTL sensor feeds that were now bathing their forces.

He didn't. What for, anyway? He knew how they were configured - pulses measured in nanoseconds, energy concentrated as much as possible without blowing one's own gun up to penetrate shields and armour alike.

He knew how this battle was supposed to be fought - numerically inferior as they were, they had to mission kill the majority of the enemy in the first moments of the engagement, or they'd risk inacceptable losses.

Well. He'd see how this operation was to progress soon enough.

'No plan survives first contact with the enemy, wasn't it?

For now however, MPC-218-A 'Custer' contemplated the unfairness of life, which caused the heavy anti-capship missiles that were flying past him to be between two- and four times as large as he - that is, his subcraft - was.

Talk about phallic imagery. Hrm. I suppose they could drag us to court on indecent assault charges once they see these things...

Convict

It'd been... Interesting to watch the CLA enter the system, certainly. The Convict was, admittedly, still annoyed with their slowness when it came to communications, but their professionalism was reasonable - indeed, more so than its own.

Hum. Time to interfere, I guess.

It checked its own shifting unit. Another twelve seconds to pass... Ten... Eight...

Fucking thing. Torture me with your slow-ass attitude, will you?

Finally, finally it did its transition. It had no intention of engaging in long-range combat, though - being a single ship (A tactical one, no less), the chance to actually achive anything at range was pretty close to nil, anyway.

No. It desired to engage the enemy head-on. Mildly suicidal, perhaps, but most certainly fun.

Missiles were distributed, displaced out of its vast (Relatively - At 576 metres, it was actually smaller (But still more massive) than the CLA-ships) belly or launched via more conventional means, no different from its smallish subcraft complement, though it kept both components close to itself, not intending to use them for a while.

Simultaneously, it checked its drives.

Alright then.

And then it started to accelerate. Rapidly so - lacking a crew, there was plenty of space available for both, weapons and propulsion, and being a tactical engagement unit, it'd concentrated more on the latter than the former.

Somewhere between the planet and the local sun, a tiny new star appeared to light up, and move.

Macaroth

Ensign Yamata was bored as a Thrashian Imperial Special Operations Sensory and Observation technician could be when given duty of watching the edges of space around an occupied system. He'd done the same on countless occasions, but each time it seemed to drag on even more and more. He was considering walking over to the recaf machines and get some java when one of his screens began blipping.

Not good.

Ensign Yamata screwed his eyes tight and winced as he cleared them of fog and sleep. He stared at the screen and slowly his eyes became the size of small dinner plates.

Sublight drives detected? From that direction?

Out sensors indicated that there was a large group of ships, for ships they were if they had FTL drives, were appearing on the grid. They were slowing down too. Yamata called up the Macaroth System Probe network and worked at his keyboard furiously.

Within a matter of moments he registered 13 ships, all in the range of capital ship class, and numerous smaller ships, fighters really, that had already appeared as well.

Frak, just not my day!

Ensign Yamata slapped the emergency button on his station and got a comm link up to his superior. "Sir, we have incoming ships; entry point delta-bravo 556. Thus far we register 13, variants unknown...wait, 3 ships registered. They appeared to be altered Star Destroyers."

"Can you confirm that ensign?" asked his superior.

"Affirmative sir, sending info burst up to you now." Yamata send the data and heard his boss swear eloquently. He had a real way with words.

"Alright, send any visuals down to HQ. How far away are they?"

"3 mil kloms and coming in at 1c. speeds. Should be here in a little bit," replied Yamata.

"Very well, send off a burst transmission to Fleet HQ and I'll make sure that emergency signal got to Captain Oric. Keep to your post ensign."

"Yes sir."

---

Captain Oric was in the process of beginning a mock fleet maneuver when the emergency claxons blared to life. Immediately he shut down the mock holo program and brought up his main computer at his command chair. The bridge was already coming back to full readiness, all thoughts of an easy afternoon forgotten.

"Lieutenant, info now!" called Oric.

Lieutenant Durel nearly ran from the rear of the bridge to respond while at the same time speaking to a tag along deck officer and speaking into a comm bead that sat in his ear. He snapped to his proper place next to the captain and began issuing orders.

"Pilots to their fighters! This is not a drill! All personnel are to report to their battle stations, you've got 360 seconds!" he called out. 'Yes sirs' and 'affirmatives' rang out from the men.

"Lieutenant," said Oric. "Order the Malcontent and Perseus to take up flanking positions of us, and have the Khan and the Iron Hand to take up inter-locking formation with us."

"Yes sir," answered Durel. "Helm bring us about 70 degrees, and 20 degrees down-angle."

"Aye lieutenant."

"Comm, you heard the orders."

"Yes sir."

The Immaculate was crewed by an experienced crew, one that Durel was proud of. It was one of the few Imperial Star Destroyers to have been with the Grand Admiral since the beginning.

"I want firing solutions and approximations within three minutes," ordered Durel. "Long range heavy batteries to fire upon my order only."

"Fighters ready to launch sir," reported one ensign.

"Shields to full capacity," said another.

Durel processed all the information quickly and got the Immaculate into fighting readiness within eight minutes. It was not their best record time, but it was good enough for now.

Behind the five Star Destroyers that were forming up, the 3 Imperials in front and the Victories behind and in between, came group formations of the Dreadnoughts and Lancers, followed by a pair of Interdictor-class Star Destroyers.

Captain Oric worked at his station working out a plan of battle. His heavy turbolaser batteries had a range of 400,000 klom, and 300,000 for full effect. It wouldn't be too long until they were able to engage fully. He turned to his adjutant.

"Lieutenant, order a fighter screen. Tie bombers to concentrate their efforts on those traitorous Star Destroyers. Once in range, have all our task forces turbolaser batteries concentrate on the unknown ships," he ordered. Lieutenant Durel nodded in answer and talked into his comm bead.

Coming out of the hanger bays like the feral dogs of war, 300 Eta-3 Imperial Fighters launched. The Eta-3, a decendant of the Eta-2, was the fastest star fighter in known Galactic Imperial space; even more so than all known TIE variants. They also packed a punch. Groups of them fanned out and moved ahead of the advancing Star Destroyers.

"Let us begin," said Captain Oric. "They've failed to acknowledge themselves and enter as pirates. I won't let such antics happen in my star system." Lieutenant Durel rolled his eyes, standing next to the captain.

---

Lieutenant Commander Khines of the Lancer Frigate Fiery Spirit was at the end of his combat group section when his sensory officer caught on to another ship.

"Sir, its entering at a point somewhere between the enemy and us. Its signals match that of the enemy. And...I think its launching missiles."

"Bring us about, full speed! Gunners, lock into hyper-singularity targeting. Wipe them out," ordered Khines. His lancer's normal combat function was against fighters. However it had become a favourite tactic of Grand Admiral Thrawn's to use them as anti-missile gun boats as well when large amounts of missiles were being sent their way. The Lancer's unique targeting programmed allowed for them to do so.

"Sir, these people are offering to help us take the planet," said Ridden. "What should we do?"

"Tell them no," replied the Admiral. "We have been given explicit orders not to let anyone into the system, and the fact that we even let them mine the moons warrants our mutual destruction from the Chronosians."

"Roger that."

Johnny then sent out his reply to the Terran forces.

"While your help is greatly appreciated, we will have to decline your offer. The fact that we even let you mine the moons of this planet warrants our own mutual destruction from the Chronosians, and if they end up arriving here at any point in time, your interference in their plans will anger them more. So, please, let us just agree to not involving each other in the other's business, lest unnecessary blood be shed."

_______________________________________________

Bullets richocheted by his head as the Sergeant of First Platoon darted around the corner of a building, his men soon to follow. As the last man whipped around the corner, that unfortunate private was struck by a sniper's bullet, his head imploding on one side while it exploded on the other.

"Damnit!" The Sergeant peeked around the corner, only to have a bullet richochet off the corner, breaking a piece of it off, forcing him to retract his head back around the corner. "How many men did we lose, Kellen?!"

"Two, sir," shouted Corporal Kellen. "Private Dixon and Private First Class Erickson!"

"Alright," he shouted to his men. "That means we've lost our sniper and our heavy weapons specialist! We're gonna have to pick something up along the way! I don't care if it's a native weapon, just-!"

His words were cut short as an explosion ripped open the side of the building, the shell that was fired ripping through the wall where two of his men were. Both were lost to the falling rubble, while the rest of the squad dropped for cover. The Sergeant, however, was back on his feet quickly.

"Everybody on their feet!" He yanked his corporal back to his feet, and his men were quick to stand back up. "Everybody, fall back into the alleys! Fall back!"

The squad quickly backed away from the main street just as another shell ripped into the corner where the Sergeant had been. The support to the building was completely disfigured, and the Sergeant was thankfull he had given the order to retreat.

"Radio command," he shouted to his Corporal. "Tell them to shell our coordinates, and inform them that this portion of the city is FUBAR and ain't worth holding!"

"I gotcha, sarge!" The Corporal then took out a PDA-sized wireless unit, and began issuing the requests and the information.

"Jason! Brock! Wire up a couple of proximity satchels on the walls' bases! If any enemies follow us, they'll get blown to hell!"

"We're on it!" The two men then left to take care of what they needed to get done.

"Seras! Bystro! Scout the alleys behind us and find us an escape route!"

"Roger that, sarge!" The two girls made their way through the alleys, searching for their way out.

It would only be a matter of time until they had to start running again, and Sarge didn't want to hang out here long enough to find out what else these Ytheron bastards had in store for them.

The sound was low and constant; the thrum, thrum, thrumming over the engines propelling the warship Ikinaeklast through an empty sea on a jet-blue current of exotic energy particles. The building-sized reactors sent vibrations through the entire length of the warships jagged, knife-blade like hull, till the sound became as much a part of the ship as the reactor itself: inseparable.

They had been patrolling the outer-edges of the Aeronae system for weeks; especially since SR echoes began to return shocking details of the geo-political situation of the Charybdis cluster. Systems falling, sometimes it was just one, other times it neared half a dozen; either way things looked bleak; no one had managed to repel the invaders, and it make Yyuan-Ikari sick to his stomach.

Propaganda told the Aeronae that they were the titans of the stars, but anyone with a connection to reality knew that was far from accurate. There were plenty of Charybdis powers stronger than they, and it seems they had been subjugated, or were in the process of such. The middle-aged Ikari with a sharps widow’s peak knew none of this could bode well in the very near future.

"Ikael, what is going to make headlines at HQ today?" Cortier Yyuan asked, swaggering into the dimly command deck.

"Cortier, sir, nothing really new; systems have fallen or in the progress of such, and at a steady rate." The young red-haired Ikeal Kurtisaki-Umima said. The officer read over each data-burst as it came through the computers, echoes analyzed and filtered by the science department for hours before being formatted for transmission through the ships secure lines. It was tedious but necessary till Kn'ae'orln sensor technology had been refined.

"Nothing about the strength or number of the enemy as they advance?" Yyuan asked indifferently; he knew the answer already.

"No sir, not unless we launch a probe to perform more detailed scans of the region, or unless we wait decades for typical nSP echoes to return with more accurate findings. I'm afraid this is the best we can do." Kurisaki said. The bridge went silent, with only the soft click of buttons and switches being swiftly manipulated, and the hum of ashen command station consoles working constantly. The consoles bathed the entire bridge in light teal and gold chroma; giving everyone around an eerie spectral air.

"Well, that's one of the reason why I'm here now, men. I have just received orders over GSTComNet to undertake such a mission." Yyuan said with a coldness that could chill the spine as he made for his command chair at the center of a raised dais, also located at the center of the command deck. He was an imposing man, a full head taller and shoulder wider than anyone else on the ship, even the marines. His eyes were red as the most vibrant of roses, and sharp as such a flower’s thorns as well, making his appearance all the more immense.

"This ship will hyper to the outer edges of the Hyperion System's Oort cloud. We will then unload as many probes as possible, and scan the attacking fleets with soft Q-waves. Once enough data has been compiled, we will return and present it to the high command for evaluation. We are to embark immediately, understood?" He continued with the same cold expressions, the same cold tones, the same cold demeanor; he would not be challenged or questioned.

The bridge was silent again, though this silence was far worse. The silence of thought and emotion too overwhelmed by the situation presented to project any sort of response, other than "Yes sir, Cortier!" But that was instinct; a behavior drilled into each officer on deck through years of training. Most didn't even realize they had said it, most didn't think speech was possible at this point, at least those who still had control of their wits did, anyway.

"I know that what the high command is asking goes beyond sanity, beyond rationality, but the very survival of our empire, of our entire race may depend on it if these aliens are as bad as believed by the Intelligence Committee. We don't do this because it's an order, we don't do this because it's one of those unexpected things the recruiters said might occur, we do it because it's our duty. We do it because it's an honor to aid in the survival of our people. Now prepare the drives, I want us gone in the next sixty-seconds." Yyuan said, rising from his chair and leaving the deck for the serene confines of his office; even he didn't like suicide, which was what this mission could turn out to be if the winds of fate turned into a gale, and crashed their ship into the hagged rocks of misfortune.

"Sir!" Every red-white uniformed officer on deck said, saluting in perfect unison. They were still scared, well not scared; uncertain of what the implications of any real contact with a marauding alien force would bring. The most they had ever been trained by the Kn'ae'orln navy was in domestic anti-piracy, and a few simulated wargames against neighbors that could possibly blossom into a rival power one day. But they were known; their existence did not just happen suddenly, instead these new aliens were such in every sense of the word.

The bays prepped probe and small-craft, while power was diverted to shields, EM pacification systems, and the hypervelocity drive. The reactors burned and burned, and the lights went dim. Space shattered in a cloud of cobalt miasma for a few fleeting instants, and then became whole again. The Ikinaeklast was gone, speeding towards a system three light-years away, exiting an artificial dimension of bent physical law some seventy-thousand AU away from Hyperion's star only three hours later, hoping that what exotic particles of radiation unleashed from warping space and time went unnoticed by the invading aliens. And that the many measures taken to mask their own presence from possible hostile scans bore reliable fruit. Only time would tell.

The city which the Chaos hordes landed upon were weak. Pathetic.

Easy.


As the legions of Astartes flowed forth from their drop pods, which rained onto the city with the fury of hell, and filled the sky with a rain of metal death and carnage, which only the subservient to Khorne could instill; they slaughtered everything, man, woman, and child without mercy. There was no mercy.

Men and women, old and young alike screamed for their gods protection as they fled from the hails of bolter fire, which tore them apart where they stood, sending blood and gore every whichaway and creating a scene of utter horror.


Raving madmen from the Khorne Berzerkers shrieked in infernal ecstasy as the enemies pathetic munitions merely bounced off their ceramite armor, and their massive cleavers sliced through men. Warm blood splashed across their faces and they reveled in its orgasmic pleasure.

"Death! Death! Death!" Screamed one, hacking apart entire platoons of men, who bravely yet stupidly tried to stem the tide of evil warriors spreading through the city.

The time of reckoning had come to Gheirstarch. The Blood Legions of Wanderjar would conquer these people, and Goreth the Sorceror knew this. However he could not shake the fleeting sensation of another evil upon the world, one which could contest their own. And at the same time, he could not shake the sense that perhaps, upon this world, would soon come a battle to shape the universe.....

I'm, errr, taking liberties with the times you mentioned (Read: I'm assuming that it took about a seventh of the eight minutes). If it really took eight minutes, you'd be dead before firing a single shot o.O And that'd be a) boring and b) make me feel all bad about my wank-, errr, technology base.

Macaroth

Faster.

It was pretty much the first rule of combat. Be faster than your opponent. Not necessarily in terms of speed, but most certainly in terms of laying down fire.

And this the approaching fleet did, rapidly so. Granted, ten seconds are a long time for a beam to reach a target - targets do, after all, tend to move.

But space was almost literally cut apart with the fire provided by the ships, short, but insanely 'Dense' concentrations of photons and hydrogen heading for their Thrashian targets (Not very good when you want to shoot through something, but fairly nifty when it comes to causing area damage).

Only a small fraction of the pulses would hit a target, that much was certain - but that was just the point. By covering volumes rather than specifically targetting the opposing force, the chance that all of the beams would hit was virtually nil - but some would definitely hit when the grids of fire laid down on the volume of space the enemy could feasibly be in when the beams actually arrived were less distant from each other than the targetted ships were long, or wide, or tall.

It was quite like playing 'Battleship' (No surprise, then, that lectures on space combat utilised modifications of the same game on a surprisingly regular basis).

And so they fired, ships and heavy subcraft alike, one pulse per turret and second - which roughly translated as 'A lot'.

Certainly, these pulses weren't 'Shipkillers', courtesy of the fact that their firing rate was so high, which equalled relatively little reactor-wattage going into them - penetration was to be achived by limiting beam-area and -length, thus limiting the time and space over which shields or armour could try to get rid of the energy, rather than by simply providing absurd power.

And missionkills were certainly considered enough. Taking out a battery, or a fraction of the target's drives, they were happy with that. Complete annihilation could follow after the target was wounded, reduced in its combat-worthyness.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Ten-thousand seconds. They all knew of the limit.

Rush hour in space.

Minds checked, calculating coldly, determining the course of the battle as it was supposed to happen. Three-hundred seconds to get from their present position to a relative stop in a high orbit over the planet, assuming that no unplanned change of velocity was to happen (Fat chance there - the enemy would, after all, fire back, eventually).

Five minutes, during which the Thrashian fleet was supposed to be weakened sufficiently to get them to run, or to annihilate them in close combat.

The ships raced on, decelerating, but still absurdly fast (Though well below the kind of velocity that made you question your own sanity because relativistic time dialition just killed all your relatives via aging over the course of five minutes) and firing continuously, merely being careful not to hit their own missiles.

A hundred seconds passed. Distance to target was reduced by more than half, and the volume of fire laid down against the Thrashian fleet was positively absurd - wastefully absurd, certainly, but ironically, effective as well. At least, this was what was hoped for.

Well. The more economic-minded persons were probably cringe at the waste of energy, considering how many (Again, absurdly many) of the beams would miss or had already missed, energy wasted for nothing.

Still not in range for displacer-fire, though. Still too far away for effectors to try and change things their own way, still an eternity away from utilising fields.

For now, it was only a skirmish, and the time limit inherent in the operation prevented the CLA-ships from utilising their apparent range-advantage (An advantage that was, in fact, much greater than it appeared. After all, the [i]Guillotine could technically fire its primary CREWs over a distance of about two and a half billion kilometres before they'd suffer major beamspread - but trying to hit something even remotely maneuverable over this distance equaled lunacy).

A pity, really, but it couldn't be changed.

Somewhat ahead of the fleet, courtesy of not slowing down (Though not yet utilising their own propulsion), the missiles coasted along, intent on hitting the Thrashians a 'lil before the main contingent would arrive - a hundred seconds remained until impact.

Hulks in space, massing thousands, sometimes tens of thousands of tons, coasting along, their massive (And, in this case, very detectable, simply because their hull was configured to reflect as much EM as possible) form having the single purpose of shrugging off point-defence and fighter-fire if it happened to come along - of course, the moment that this would happen, their drives would start up, pulling them along (Literally pulling - they were at the top of the missiles, not at their 'Tails'), and, thanks to emitting absurd amounts of energy to accelerate the missile, provide an additional layer of protection, albeit one basically useless versus lasers, and rather good at helping guided munitions to find the missile - on the plus side, plasma, particle beams, kinetics... They'd would be rather less than useful when trying to break thorugh it.

The only real disadvantage was that being big, only a relatively small number of them could actually be carried. A second-grade schoolkid could've counted them with ease.

Convict

How boring. How conventional. How... Well, they're clones. I shouldn't be surprised by their attitude.

The Convict sped along, apparently unworried by it being outsized (Though not necessarily outmassed - it kind of resembled a solid block of metal) by the major Thrashian craft.

It was, of course, not coming from the same direction the CLA was coming from, but the exact opposite, into the 'Back' of the Thrashian fleet - not that it mattered, a slip of tongue by a Thrashian officer wasn't going to change targetting coordinates, and as such, it still found itself targetted by...

Well. That's disappointing.

A single... It checked its intel files. Apparently the Thrashians consider it a frigate. Alright then.

A single frigate. Hum. Lets see...

It checked the possibilities. Certainly, a frigate could kill it - a bunch of short-ranged missiles with AM warheads, covered by a frigate that consisted of little more than shields and drives could potentially pull it off.

And against a single, FTL-sensor equipped craft, engagements over distance tended to be... Difficult.

Some more fact-checking. Thrashians... Ah yes, meatbag crews.

The Convict mentally doubled the distance over which it could effectively engage the incoming frigate.

Considerations followed. How to engage it? Conventionally, going for a kill via EM/ Particle fire? Less conventionally, trying out the effector to get the ship to sing and dance as the Convict desired? Redirect one of the missiles (Which it was still keeping in field-grips near itself, intend on using them when up close to a worthy target)?

Well, most certainly not the latter. Would be a waste.

Eventually it settled for 'Disable without taking chances'.

A quick sensor sweep. Waiting half an eternity for it to return. I hate lightspeed lag.

It checked the results. Approximate shield strength per square centimetre in particular. Approximations of armour values (Hard to get exact results when there's an energy shield in between, but hey...) follow.

Weapon yields are dialed as appropriate, then doubled, just in case. The goal certainly isn't an instant-kill - but breaking through the shields, the armour, and disabling something vital is rather in the Convict's interest, 's much as it wants a few of the frigate's crew to survive.

And if it doesn't work, it can still fire a second shot about four seconds late-

Oh fuck. A quick change in velocity, avoiding the incoming shots. One that it (Or rather, its ordnance) can't avoid is eventually intercepted by a local field-screen - luck counts, too. A close call, really - the closer the distance, the less useful the FTL sensorfeed.

It'll probably lose something before the frigate's done with.

Asshole. Ah well. Lets see if you like a 'lil exchange, my friend... 'Boom'.

It's always a 'lil frustrating that the 'Boom' isn't so much 'Boom' but 'Radiations and particles released into space at near-c, invisible unless you're staring directly into it. And when you see it, you're dead.'

Kinda anticlimatic, really.

Modified SD Fleet Component

The three SDs - almost perversely huge (Or rather, long) by Hypocrisy-standards, 1600 metres went far beyond sanity as far as frontline vessels were concerned - watched rather curiously as the Eta-3s approached them. Surprisingly quickly at that.

CCOM@EM1e-1; CLASL5; Tightbeam
From: [i]Alabam- Invisible Hand
To: Doomcock; Killerizing Rotorblade

Hrm. That's... Interesting.
-
[Doomcock] Not supported by capships? Sounds like a vaguely... bad idea.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Time until interception... Significant. Re-routing sensorfeed to our cargo...
-
[Doomcock] The clones, you mean.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Obviously.
-
[Alabam- Invisible Hand] Weeeeell, anyway. By my sadly-not-Necrontyr-spec-but-nonetheless-nifty droid brain, I suppose that we should, ummm, kill them.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] I'm on it.
-
[Doomcock] So are we all, aren't we?
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Point.

It was a bit frustrating for the three modified SDs - their guns weren't quite as versatile as the CREWs in use on Hypocrisy-built ships, and manipulating their beamspread in order to swat smallish tragets out of the sky via widebeam fire wasn't an option.

Of course, there were other possibilities. Swarms of light anti-fighter missiles came to mind, as well as starting an epic fighter-versus-point-defence-subcraft battle.

And sure enough, both possibilities were to be utilised, with a significant fraction of subcraft - ninth rank, slightly less craft than were approaching the three SDs - starting to change their position, intend on intercepting the approaching force, while missiles were warmed up.

The machine-brains running the SDs weren't particularly happy about this. MPC-218-A 'Custer' on the other hand, felt endorphins rushing through his body.

Finally some action!

He rapidly accelerated his craft, bringing it in between the three SDs and the approaching Eta-3s (Only a lightsecond to cross for that - child's play), and made sure that his fourth-rank group (Eight subcraft in total) followed him.

He didn't particularly believe in holding position to intercept an approaching force. A few thoughts were exchanged...

And then he, his 'Squadron' and the other craft redirected to defend the SDs pushed forard again, finally ceasing deceleration routines in favour of a... different approach.

Time for some excitement. It'd have fitted well on a big screen.

Born to be Wild/ Karen

"Mrm..."

The ship had since finished to grow its human - and reasonably biological - body, and kept a fraction of its consciousness in it, for ease of communications - it simply made things more... Well, appropriate than a disembodied voice or a metal shell.

"Observing, yes... Course corrected, we'll be there in a few hours. Incidentally..."

It hesitated. Real hesitation, no less - neurons are pretty slow, compared to a spaceship's optics. "Might go for something more than just 'Observation'. As far as we can tell, they appear to be under psionic control, yes? Well. it's the most likely possibility, anyway. This would make, ah..."

Hrm. She might not like this. Ah well.

"... controlling it a bit difficult. You see, we intended to, errr, take it over, using it as a weapon against the other entities overrunning this region of space. Ah well. Can't always work out as planned. In any case - given that this is unlikely, we might eventually start with extinction-scale operations against them, to prevent further spreading, depending largely on whether they're going to end up being slowed down significantly by whomever they're fighting now, or not."

Another few seconds of hesitation. "Yes, I know, should probably have done so before they attacked your world - but killing what they left behind on the planets they overran wouldn't have helped you a lot, and there's sadly significantly more species under threat than just what once constituted yours."

What it doesn't tell Karen about is a mildly different consideration.

Psionics may be difficult to deal with, but as long as they touch the realm of physics, as long as they manipulate neurons, electrons, matter at large, they can (Usually) still be manipulated in turn, if one utilises backdoors.

It's certainly difficult - and indeed, when one knows as little about the specific process as the Born to be Wild, it might even be pretty close to impossible.

But it's worth a try. Informational warfare does, after all, not have to be limited to machines.

In the meantime, however, the Born to be Wild and its entourage continued to follow the swarm, far enough away to avoid getting into skirmishes, but close enough to observe quite clearly, with remote sensors ranging from dust-sized to full-blown satellites in the multi-cubicmetre range being spread liberally around the ships.

"You want to what!?!" Karen had stopped working as he sopke to her. "These things, these...demons are not weapons to be used! They are destructive creatures! They are a cancer in this galaxy that needs to be exterminated before..." She had paused as she caught her breath. She was breathing heavy now, felling a bit sick.

"Besides...we don't even know if they do use psychic communication. I'd have to dissect the Sicari's brain to do so after sedating him. And we have all seen how effective sedation is." She was mad. How could even consider using these creatures as a weapon. It was insane.

She turned back to her research, calmed down now. "Im still studying its genetic structure. Ill need some time to decode its genes. They seem to be ever changing which may explain how they can evolve so quickly. I'll get a report done by tomorrow, but we should be looking for a way to kill them, not use them."

OOC: Ill have the report on the known Kraetons tomorrow after my finals.

ooc: Since I don’t really enjoy taking the time to calculate a correct intercept speed for space combat, and couldn’t really give a rats ass otherwise, I just post my ship battles with their capabilities already understood by the enemy (aka, just because I don’t spout out a lot of techno-babble and space physics doesn’t mean my ships are any less effective). And frankly, Der Angst, it pisses me off that your rp style is more than a little condescending. Its one reason why I have tried to rp with you as little as possible, and not in an entirely negative way either. You just take all the fun (my perception of fun) out of it by doing so.


IC:

Macaroth

Captain Oric was having a silent fit of giggles as he watched the approaching enemy and their absurdly long range firing. The shields of his Star Destroyers of course halted any shots that were lucky enough to hit, but they were so little in strength that it hardly registered on the ship’s sensors.

“Sir, Lieutenant Khines has broken ranks and engaged another enemy vessel that is behind out current lines,” reported Durel from Oric’s side.

Oric brought up his tactical screen and watched as the Lancer-class Frigate Fiery Spirit advanced away from the fleet and towards the lone shark enemy craft. It seemed like it was fairly even, but he couldn’t take the chance to let Khines waste his ship on a fight like this.

“Shift the Dauntless and Guard Group Five to support Khines,” ordered Oric. Durel did as ordered and had one of the 600 meter long warship and six heavy combat Imperial Patrol ships veered off from the main group and advanced to help Khines. The ten heavy turbolaser batteries aboard the Dauntless already blazing away and hammering shots at the lone intruder.

Oric turned back to the main tactical screen and watched as his advance fighter screen rammed into the enemy’s. The Eta-3s were performing admirably, but were in too few numbers to be effective and were practically useless against the gigantic (in comparison) enemy Star Destroyers.

“Malcontent is to concentrate its heavy cannon on the foremost enemy Star Destroyer. Have the Persues concentrate on the other ships, what did ComScan say they were?”

“Hypocrisy ships sir,” interjected Durel.

“Yes, those. And have our main guns concentrate on them as well. Order the two Interdictors to sweep their gravity cones to this point,” said Oric, he pointed at a space that would be along side the approaching enemy Star Destroyers. “Have Captain Rivan bring in his group from their position to there and hit them hard!”

The tactic, design originally by Grand Admiral Thrawn, was rather ingenious when one thought about it. The Indictor cruisers used their gravity projectors to define a hyperspace edge, ships come in along an intersecting vector to drop out at that precisely chosen point.

Durel watched as the Interdictors did as told and Captain Rivan and his three Dreadnoughts jumped from the other side of the ‘field’ along the hyperspace edge.

They came in smashing into smaller fighters and other enemy small craft, even taking a few Eta-3s with them; coming in exactly at that point along side the enemy Star Destroyer. With their full power all three delivered massive broadsides, their heavy turbolaser batteries erupting flash after flash. Then they angled away and began firing into the rear of the less maneuverable Stat Destroyers. Dreadnoughts were made with point-blank range fighting in mind and did their work with deadly efficiency.


“Order all fighters to remove themselves from the center fields, draw out the enemy fighters,” ordered Oric. “Have the Khan and the Iron Hand fire a salvo of Conner Missiles.”

“Sir.”

The Eta-3s broke off contact where they could and fled the center area of battle. The two Victory Star Destroyers each launched 20 Conner Missiles. These were no normal missiles however. The Conner missiles used what was known as a Conner net, a kilometer wide gossamer-like material highly-charged net that upon discharged, would short out any operative systems and leaving the ship stranded in space. 40 of these nets flashed at tremendous speeds and worked their magic.

The Victory Star Destroyers also began concentrating their main cannon on the Hypocrisy ships. Dreadnoughts advanced even faster and used their heavy shielding and hulls to barrel their way through enemy fighter and unleash dreadful point-blank-ranged salvos from their heavy cannon. Lancer frigates danced through the mayhem and used their specialized targeting to help wipe out enemy “fighters” and to destroy the vast majority of the enemy missile salvos.

Errr, yes. My intention not to assume superiority because I may happen to have a somewhat better understanding of time is the reason why I posted my last post as I did - Assuming (Relatively) equivalent capabilities as opposed to jumping on the chance of spewing something about 'You're dead'.
And while you may consider some of the dialogue/ thoughts condescending, well... Yes, ICly, they are condescending. ICly, the average shipmind is an arrogant fuck. This doesn't mean that their attitude is based on facts, nor does it mean that I'm oocly belittleing you.
And personally, I wouldn't think that a 60+ million ton ship considering a frigate a threat to its continued existence is condescending. At all.
Now, granted - yes, our writing styles differ considerably. I do happen to favour a somewhat 'Humourous' style, whereas you go for, well... 'Glory' is the best word that comes to mind right now. This two might or might not be able to fit together - if you feel that they don't, I've no issues with figuring out a scenario that ends this particular episode quickly enough, and to both our... well, 'Satisfaction' might be a bit much, but lets call it 'No hard feelings'.
And if you feel that my ooc note was condescending, I'm sorry - it wasn't meant to be, although I do acknowledge that it could've been understood that way. It was however, meant to be nothing but a note saying exactly what it does. 'Errr, doesn't quite work out. Mind if I assume $Thing to keep the flow going?'

Anyway. Back to IC.

Macaroth

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Ten thousand seconds. Captain Paulsen checked the time.

Hrm. So far, everything went according to plan - well, mostly, anyway. 'course, with the operation being merely in its opening stages, this was hardly a surprise - the surprises would most likely come later on.

Minds touched minds. The mind of a gunner, perhaps, following the strict routine of laying grids of fire on the targets - targets that were, somewhat surprisingly, moving rather little, which in turn caused the firing cones of the approaching flotilla to narrow, concentrating more fire on a smaller volume of space.

Nobody was going to complain.

Pulses of information - whether it was coming at c or taking shortcuts via non-relativistic space didn't matter particularly much, it still told essentially the same story, a story that - to the rather disciplined Paulsen - was rather unpleasant - were acknowledged. Acknowledged with a curse being closed lips, that is.

Idiot. Warships indeed - he'd never understood just how warship-minds were choosen. Discipline? Un-extant. Ratio? Ha! As far as so-called main combatants were concerned, they seemed to be either cowards or - as appeared to be the case with the Convict - pretentious fools who threw themselves into nigh-suicidal shootouts for no other reason than to have 'Fun'.

Well, they could afford it - their mindstates backed up, 'Death' was a decidedly temporary event. But Paulsen was hardly alone in thinking that this 'Solution' caused more grief than it was worth.

Well. On the plus side, the Convict's hazardous action did cause the Thrashians to react, in order to deal with this closer threat.

Could make it easier for him.

Maybe its death wont be in vain. Not that I'd particularly mind it dying...

Convict

Finally! The Convict rejoiced, finally feeling, well... Appreciated by its choosen targets. Now we can begin the dance.

Quick system check. Everything's in working order? Seems so. Well then. Lets look at our prey...

Another check, done at a time when the Convict was already engaging in nigh-hazardous maneuvering to avoid the incoming shots - a peculiar dance that'd have caused a nervous breakdown in any human as shots were avoided by mere kilometres (If that), every change in velocity underlined by the radiations its drives and the not-quite-approved-by-Einstein fields released into space at absurd angles.

Tick. Tock.

It was much, much closer to its targets than the CLA-detachement on the other side of the battlefield, and it fully intended to enjoy this. Mere moments now...

Sensorsweeps follow, once more to approximate shield strengths, sensory perception of its targets, 'ECM' (Or what passed for it in this time and place), the likes.

Weapons were configured appropriately. 'Information is Key', of course. And brute force? Unelegant (If effective, when used right - well, it'd brute force available, alright. Some of it, anyway).

A brief glance on the tactical information available to it. Whoops.

A heavy subcraft was redirected, just in time to intercept one of the Dauntless' shots - granted, the subcraft was now gone, but the Convict preferred this to losing a couple CREWs and going about its business with a sizeable dent in its left-frontal area.

And then it eventually chose to return fire.

There were its guns, certainly. Noticeably smaller than the batteries used on the Thrashian ships, certainly (Of course, in turn, it carried a lot more guns), but still nifty - configured correctly, one could shoot straight through a medium-sized moon.

It eventually used to deal with the patrol craft (And the [i]Fiery Spirit, if it was still combat-capable) sent after it, calculating present- and guessing future velocities, before setting space... Well, not ablaze with radiations & particles, simply because there wasn't an atmosphere to ionise.

But it was dangerous either way.

The Dauntless justified heavier guns, though.

The Convict's mind touched its weaponry, softly, almost lovingly (It was odd like that). Here its missiles, still connected to itself through flimsy fields. There its field projectors - well, still not close enough for them to be effective as an offensive weapon. It kept them on interception duty.

It nudged its missiles, telling them to accelerate, to finally, finally release their urge to move, to speed ahead, to target and to detonate and to destroy. To the Convict, they weren't just machines, no... They were a thing of beauty, something to be cared for, something to be enjoyed.

As it watched them (Eight in total, to be specific, each measuring a fairly noticeable 6500 tons on gravity-sensors) speeding ahead, leaving a wide trail of radiations and EW to make targetting them just that little bit harder, it felt pride, joy... Gratification.

Almost as an afterthought, it redirected a handful of its subcraft - PD-ones as well as capship-grade ones - to accompany the missiles.

Shepherds were always a good idea when it came to making sure that at least one got through.

Of course, it did have more boomity than just the missiles. It looked back inside itself, not yet certain whether its so-far released ordnance would be sufficient to achive its desired missionkills, and nudged its displacers.

They awoke rapidly, immediately at the command of the ship they were a part of.

Quick check. EW?

Yes, of course. Nobody went without it - simply because nobody's particularly fond of getting a bomb displaced right into the middle of the bridge, or an FTLing missile to enter the canteen at .9c -, and its dreams of a particularly joyful kill were shattered.

Of course, more conventional possibilities remained.

Relativistic physics were told to take a step back. Quantum physics were told to bend over and do what was asked from them, whether they liked it or not.

Four of the Convict's stored warheads vanished from their storage, to reappear more-or-less distant from the Dauntless - too distant for unidirectional detonations, but bombgraser configurations are fairly nifty, too.

And then they went 'Boom'. Ninety percent of the energy ended up being wasted, expanding in a spherical radiation shell, scintillating quite beautifully in the gamma- and x-ray spectra, while ten percent of it - still an absurd amount -, divided into forty different beams, followed a rather more directed trajectory, aiming straight for the Dauntless - well, where it'd presumably be upon arrival, anyway.

Mrm. Perhaps I can even save my missiles for later. I'll see.

Macaroth

Yes! Finally!

Calling MPC-218-A 'Custer' 'Excited' would've been a blatant understatement. Granted, space-combat - even if it did go the way of the fighter - was still nowhere like atmospheric combat. The distances were too vast, the velocities quite absurd, and hitting a target was something that, well... Was quite close to being left to chance.

Drones would've performed better than Custer, him being a reasonably heavily augmented clone aside. That much was certain. Alas, for the CLA, performance wasn't the primary issue. Who did perform was.

Radiations everywhere, a chaos in which tactical formations weren't quite lost, but still... Put into question, shots everywhere, blasts of EW, maser-fire blinding sensors, missiles in the middle, detonating and causing everything in a multi-km radius to vaporise instantaneously (They were rather less effective than they sounded, given the velocities in question)...

He enjoyed it. Quite truly, honestly enjoyed it.

Still. Every battle eventually comes to an end, and this one did, too.

Of course, not every battle ends with three hulking giants showing up a few kilometres next to you, and opening fire.

Woah!

What followed was, in essence, a rather nifty spectacle.

Smashing into the fighters/ point defence subcraft about was rather hazardous in- and on itself, causing the release of KE perfectly equivalent to the firepower of a turbolaser battery - practically speaking, jumping right into the middle of the (Fortunately not too dense) fightercraft-cloud caused the three Thrashian stardestoyers to be hit by one of their own turbolaser-broadside equivalents upon entering the arena, simply by virtue of colliding with very, very fast smallcraft, be it their own or their opponent's.

The droid-minds controlling the three CLA-stardestroyers (Incidentally, still showing the 1010102 markings they'd had before the Necrontyr had bought them from the same) more-or-less guessed that the effects of this were considerably unpleasant, though they were mostly wondering why the Eta-3's hadn't carried any missiles/ torpedoes.

Well, it didn't matter. For now, they simply fired back, exhibiting a maneuverability and firepower that... Hadn't really been there when they'd originally been constructed.

The Erisavenus had done quite excellent work when 'Updating' the three ships to somewhat higher standards, and the droid-brains inside didn't exactly hesitate in utilising the same to surprise their Thrashian 'Friends' a little.

MPC-218-A 'Custer', in the meantime, made hunting connor-missiles (And nets) his new hobby, together with the majority of the rest of the PD-craft - vaporising them, or playing lightning rod (Them using optics made dealing with the discharge rather easy) wasn't much of a problem, though kilometre-wide nets weren't that effective at hitting ships moving (And more importantly, maneuvering) at thousands of kilometres per second, anyway.

Nonetheless. It was rather less exciting than the Eta-3's. He was bored again.

Replying to the last paragraph and Edoniakistanbabweagua tomorrow. Gah. Uni.

Kraetons and you - probably not the safest combination...

"Yesss... Them being destructive creatures is actually one of the reasons why we wanted to, well, use them. Seeing as weapons are supposed to be, well... destructive. But, anyway - you're right. I'm guessing here - albeit with what I'd consider a feasible alternative, given the relative lack of conventional hivemind information transfer mechanisms we could find. Though I suppose that an experiment to make certain would work well... Anyway.

"Hum." The ship - well, the human form of the same - hesitated. "Sedation you say? I don't know - could just keep its every limb chained to something solid, and the snout fixed, and it wont be necessary... if you wish? Certainly makes the results more authentic, I'd think."

It - he - hesitated again, looking around, as if at a loss of words - which was actually quite true.

It really had to redecorate the habitation section. Far too gloomy.

Probably something... hum. Carnival in Rio? Nah... I'll have to see, I suppose. And maybe- Ack! Sidetracked again.

"Ah... Well. In any case. Yes, I agree... Killing them would be pleasant. Particularly when using an elegant solution - whether there is one or not is another question, of course - experience suggests that there isn't one, but one can always hope. Maybe the self-programming DNA might offer a clue... Could try to reprogram itself... differently, and enter a dominant strain into their genepool." A smile. Maybe not entirely appropriate, but hey... "But I suppose it's your job to figure out that bit - I'm certain your report will help our cause a lot. In the meantime... well, if you need a helping hand, I'm always available."

How trivial. But it's a nice gesture. I think. Damnit, these ships really make one loose touch with socialisation on the baseliner level.

[OOC: Got the OK from Chronosia on MSN - he hasn't posted it on Jolt yet as far as I can see, though, so I'll keep quiet for now.]

A drone is deployed.

It's not advanced. It's not intelligent. It's not large. It's not armed, or armored, or invisible (in fact it is quite glaringly visible). Its crude sequence of active radar-lidar-gravimetric scans are sure to show up on even Atomic Age equipment, and are neither long-ranged nor sensitive (by modern standards).

It does have one thing going for it, though.

It's dirt cheap. In fact, it's actually made of dirt - asteroid dirt, fused and reprocessed into low-grade alloy, contaminated optical processors, a few grams of radioisotope battery, a cheap and unreliable warp drive, a few quantum-entangled atoms for the FTL transmitter.

Its sister drones are deployed across parsecs of space - one per system. Each one scans and reports. Scans and reports - the Unifier collates and processes them all. In her distributed, multiprocessing mind, Kara considers the results.

Here - a planet burning, cleansed by fire.

Unimportant.

There - a planet festering with life, alien and grotesque.

File it. A potential threat. Not what I want.

Again - a planet. But unimportant. Above it, a battle. Familiar shapes and forms flit and roll, trading broadsides of vaporizing energy.

Mmm. Yes. Let's watch this. And when someone wins... well, we'll drop in with a bang.

Another couple of probes are dispatched to that one.

The fourth one - a world covered with non-life, shiny and metallic, returning strange and distorted signatures.

Interesting. But dangerous.

Finally - a dull system. No planets, red dwarf sun, massive cometary halo. No signs of life or even life's passing.

This will be the first move.

The Unifier and its fleet drops into the halo, rolling wormholes collapsing around them, spitting them out with a gasp of exotic particles and low-band radio. Fields, both gravitic and exotic, spread to touch and pull fuel into Unifier's maw, where it will be used to fill the massive capacitors at its core.

I've just flown in from deep space, and boy are my arms tired. Heh. That was funny, wasn't it? Yes it was. You/I know it was.

Muahahaha.

You know it's gotta be bad when the evil laughter starts.

***Yorim***

The DCFT combined forces had advanced quickly, hoping to draw out the enemies main fleet. Ahead of them were almost a dozen vessels, their ugliness beyond all description and reason. Yorim was a swamp world, the natives most obviously had gained much inspiration from nature in the designs of their ships. Hideous curves and nearly organic bundles of filament like cables crisscrossed the bulky, ovaloid ships. They were each nearly a kilometer in length and they advanced on the five Solarin class battle ships in a great swarm, releasing hundreds of thousands of daughter craft as the great vessels opened like a dying, rotting rose.

The Morgenraetes, Kernschatten and Fausts that made up the main force quickly advanced towards the swarms of enemy daughter craft, pitifully inadequate designs save for the sheer numbers that were being thrown at the attackers. The Solarins started to fire, massive banks of heavy X ray lasers destroyed thousands of the enemy craft as they arched towards the enemy craft, putting great rents and holes through them. The enemy ships fired back, salvo's of greenish blue plasma sailed towards the solarins, much of it deflected by PPBS screens and ubecht shields, though many hits scored home against the hull of the armour, burning holes in the many meters thick plate.

The attackers waited even as casualties started to mount against the HMF squadrons. As the Morgenraetes and Alpha's exhausted their missiles against the seemingly endless hordes of enemy fighters, they started to take casualties. Numerical advantage was making itself well known. Commodore Anahim was convinced they were facing the enemy main force, without aid now they would be quickly overrun. Hundreds of tears opened in the veil between dimension's as the Tannelornian ships started to emerge, preparing to face the enemy attackers. Morgenraetes and Alpha II's quickly started back towards their mother vessels even as reinforcements surged in to replenish their ranks.

The combined forces of the Divine Celestial Federation of Tannelorn opened fire on the Yorim defenders. It was a massacre. Hundreds of ships of Tannelorn unleashed a brilliant rain of death upon them. The carnage was atrocious. Nine of the dozen or so ships that had faced them were sliced in to hundreds of pieces or incinerated by x and gamma ray lasers. The daughtercraft fared no better, fresh HMF's assisted by the testbed Algol and Endymion HMAF units swept towards the enemy, destroying tens of thousands of the ugly, crab like fighters as they rushed to meet them. But the enemy did not stay to fight the HMF's like they had before. Instead the tens of thousands of remaining enemy fighters surged towards the Solarin battle ships that had started the battle.

It was a nerve wracking few minutes. The tiny fighters hurtled towards the massive vessels like an enraged mob, accellerating to a good fraction of the speed of light as they went, Hellebardes and HMF-9 high mobility frames did their best to defend them, the humanoid only machina were superb point defense units..but there simply wasnt enough of them to make a dent in the sheer numbers. Honour blade frigates started to move in to add their point defenses to the fray. Then the Loengrens of the DCNT fired their second shot of the battle. Tens of thousands of the little machines died...but hundreds more made it to their targets intact. The five great Solarins that had started the battle were impacted by dozens of the tiny kamikaze' machines. The enemy was fighting well and hard for their home..but the battle would be decided on the ground.

That was the only attack run the enemy fighters were able to make. The five solarins were crippled, damaged horrendously and would take some time to repair, hundreds of HMF's had been lost in the fighting in orbit. The world of Yorim was a giant marsh, covered in constant, massive storms. Ortillery would not only be next to useless..but dangerous. Jet streams from this world could easily reach accurate Ortillery heights, and the massive forces released as the storm discharged its electricity in to an honour blade or the sensors of a Solarin or Einhander would be disasterous..possible leading to the crippling or loss of a ship.

The storms that made this planet so hard to strike from orbit were not spread everywhere. As the ships of the flotillas and squadrons of the four nations of Tannelorn settled a healthy distance away from the planet, the city rocks started to jump in. The enemy ground defenses were almost none existent. Obviously their kamikaze tactics had been enough to dissuade any of the local's from attacking. The various commanders chose their landing points. The GAP detachment chose a rather isolated continent, not currently wracked by storms as their target. The DCNT forces chose the same landing site, not least of which due to their lack of faith in their allies.

The GTFOA forces chose a landing area on the main land mass, if you could call it such. The seas of this world were small, scattered and shallow. It was on the most densely populated, at least as far as orbital scanners could detect, area on the planet which the DVK forces had chosen. They would land opposite the GTFOA detachments, several hundred kilometers away.

The vast armada of ships and rocks was bustling with activity. HMF's and assault transports were joined by huge landing ships, designed to offload as many personnel on to the planet as quickly as possible. They were little more then modified civilian carriers, with additional armour plates and point defense weapons attached.


The battle for the planet had begun.

OOC this should have been done a while ago, sorry for the delay, next post expect alot of picture links. Doga is fun and easy.

“Zanthus was but the first conquest of the Crusade, a battle won not through the brute force of the Astartes, but by the sacrifice of the Guard who fought there. Each of them are marked in the Emperor’s Name, and the name of the Ruinous Powers. Heroes, all.”
- First Chaplain Ecanus, Ascendant Daemons Legion.

“With me, Men of Kosse!” Gravner pushed forward, gleaming edge of his ceremonial power sword held high. “Blood for blood!” He snarled

“Blood for the Blooded!” A voice screamed from the crowd, amusement rippling through the group of blooded almost 200 strong, illiciting a grin from Gravner.

“Aye! Blood for the Blooded! Men of Kosse, Victory or Death!”

“VICTORY OR DEATH!” Each warrior of the Blooded roared in bloody hunger for war, for blood, for victory, aye and even for death.

A flurry of lasgun fire shone out over the lip of the trench before the dark clothed, mud-streaked soldiers came up and over the top, howling their war cants, weaponsfire and battlecry echoing across the twisted and broken No-Man’s Land, a mud-slick wasteland pock-marked by rainfilled craters. Some fell in the fray, sliding into the mud soaked in blood, or flailing in agony in pools of bloodied water. Missiles streaked across the sky from the Chronosian lines, heavy bolter and lascannon fire hurtled forth from fixed emplacements, supporting the beleagured troops.

An explosion rocked the advance, a shuddering shockwave like an earthquake knocked many of the Blooded, and the Hydran’s who now directly supported them, from their feet, the central column soldiering on, firing sporadic bursts of fire towards their foe. A lucky shot tore the throat from one of the enemy, the body slumping into the filth as the first Kosseans leapt down into the enemy lines.

The trenches were sprawling networks of tunnel and barricade in the shadow of the broken basalt walls of the ruined and besieged city, like twisting veins within the writhing animal that was the cornered enemy.

Alexus would remember the muster of Kosse, he would remember the battlegrounds they would fight upon and across, he would remember world after world passing by, but for years to come he would remember this world, charging across a bitter no-mans land with the Bloded and the Hydrans, more than any.
He would remember his Blooding and what would come of it, across all Charybdis.

He drove a bayonet into an enemy stomach, pulling and hammering the grun butt into the dieing mans face; resisters, enemies. The very presence of these foes made him sick, the need to lay them low in Imperium’s name surging through him.

Lord General Erich Gravner had experienced a long and successful career, a career birthed in battles that had raged long before he came into command of the 15th Kossean, he would remember their blooding as one of the grandest moments of his life, a triumph in more senses than merely the martial.

He spun, driving the crackling blade through the sternum of one of his many foes, twisting the sword through pale flesh. Bellowing an ancient war chant, he ducked low before firing his bolter at the advancing enemy, knocking two lightly armoured troops off their feet, sprawled in a sanguine rain.

“The enemy falters! Push on!” He howled, even over the cacophony of war. The roar of artillery sang in his blood, fuelling his killing instinct. He had battled through burning ships and blasted wastes, struggled across the wreck and ruin of cities and bitter slogs through underground bunkers. On and above worlds, he had striven only for utter victory.

He was not prepared to stop winning. Not now. Not ever.

Ignus Volke stalked the line like a predatory beast, a sneer ever-present upon his tight pale features. His black coat swished about his figure as he advanced, stained with muck and blood. He slashed at the enemy with his roaring Chainsword, cleaving through flesh, rendering bone to dust and flesh to scattered chunks.

He remembered the days spent in both learning and training at the Schola. Remiel’s Chronosian Art of War, the Lamentations, Epistles and Epiphanies of Gabriel, Severino’s Working of Faith Most Ruinous. Each lesson learned and book devoured had fuelled his determination, his drive to succeed till at last he had made Commissar proper. Those memories were sweet and green and glorious next to this, the constant blur of black war, streaked red with constant gore.

He watched a young Kossean turn as though to flee the front, a whimpering, wretched excuse for a Guardsman. He grinned as he raised his bolt pistol, slamming it into the youths forehead, snarling as he pulled the trigger, a wet burst of blood and grey matter accompanying the thud of impact and explosion.
“No treachery greater than cowardice!” He bellowed “You will fight, by the Gods, you will fight or you will die!”

The artillery had stopped pounding, neither side willing to fire upon their own men as the Chronosian troops stormed the northern cityline. The city walls were broken, ruins further eroded by constant artillery, both conventional and orbital, and the pounding of the rapidly approaching tank line.

Alexus growled as he rounded a corner, driving a bayonet into the exposed throat of the enemy, his lasgun flaring, firing off shots against the advancing hostile reinforcements. He threw himself to one side, slamming a new power-cell into his weapon, his breathing hoarse, laboured. He muttered a litany of hate, sanctifying his gun with the raw canker of his choleric fury, in Khorne’s name.

“Men! With me!” He bellowed, his own men advancing with him. He gestured ahead, a flurry of lasblasts peppering the muddied trenchwall, scarlet beams crackling off of wet metal with a hiss of steam.

The world shook again, the earth shuddering and twisting as the advancing Chronosian armour sent blistering arcs of fire towards the rear of the enemy line, vox-systems howling with prayers and chants, lunatic howls that seemed to echo all about.

He spun, expecting to see the red and white livery of the Hydrans, instead confronted with tanks like bleached bone and darkest night. An orbital troop carrier smashed down into the enemy lines, further to the south. Alexus watched the armoured troops surge fprth in a killing wave, pouring into the gaps in the enemy lines, the heavy guns of the Carrier, great Heavy Dorsal Guns, strafing the fray. The maddened force seemed in a frenzy, crashing down over the enemy, an enveloping wave of concentrated chaos. One turned towards him. Alexus did the only thing he could.

Alexus screamed.

Their armour was like an insectoid carapace of light ceramite and plasteel, gleaming like coral or bone, intertwined about the advancing horde, form-fitting and shimmering. The masks enveloped their heads, constantly shifting and changing. Rotting faces twisted into skulls, slipping into a snarling daemonic visage. Vox howled and snarled, bringing their zealot voices to a crescendo of inhuman wailing. They lashed out against the barely worthy foe with energy-wreathed power weapons and snarling, barking Hellguns.

Alexus could hear their laughter, mocking even above the fray “Who…?” He whispered, sinking against a wall, leaning into cover.

”The Chronosian Elite’s 10th”

Alexus glanced over. Markus was wiping blood from his bayonet, his armour in far worse condition than the flawlessly maintained lasgun he was fussing over. “Ineer world shock troops, trained by Emperor and Warmaster. They’ve got a history going back to the Founding of the Imperium.

“What’s with the…”

“Typical battledress. Disorients the enemy, scares the shit out of ‘em. Never had a chance to fight so close to them.”

“You seem well informed.”

“Amazing what you learn, founding in a Forge System. Information’s power in a place like Hydran. What’s Kosse got to offer?”

“Bad memories and good blood” Alexus unclipped a flask from his belt, taking a quick swig before offering it to Markus. “And this, a little Kossean courage.”

“Cheers” Markus grinned, knocking the drink back. It was good, strong. He felt warmth bloom through him, a reassuring heat. He still lived, still fought. He passed it back to Alexus, who on the other hand still….Shuddered in revulsion at the horror of what was being wrought about him, War. He watched the roaring Chronosians assault in black glory, each rattle of gun and hiss of blade echoing like fel music upon the air. The music of destruction, music of damnation….Like the drumbeats of far-off Kosse.

He and Markus watched them swarm like pale beetles across the enemy lines, a solid hammer blow to shatter the enemy resolve. After all, who could stand against an army of corpse-faced ghouls, as they must surely appear to the foe they fought?

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Markus breathed “How far we’ve come, all we’ve done. I saw black miracles on Hydran, metal gods towering over barren worlds. It struck me with how damn incredible it is. Our ships, the Titans, the Astartes, Hell even the Guard. Such a sense of scale.”

“I know what you mean” Alexus was nodding. “Kosse was the site of one of the greatest battles and greatest victories. The Taledonians can protest and whine all they like…But we’ll always have Kosse. If not the world then at best the memory, the symbol.”

Markus raised the crude metal cup that served as a glass, the guns going silent as the Chronosian chants that rose in bastard tongues.

“For Hydran.”

“For Kosse.”

“For the Imperium.”

“For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor.” Markus grinned, drinking again “We’ll need his blessing here”

The lines buckled under the inexorable advance of Chronosian infantry, reeling at the screaming maelstrom of heavily armed zealots. Flashes of garish energy marked the blasts of Hellguns while the howl of vox filled the air with screamed battle cries.

Only then did the flames rain from the sky.

Drop-Pods split the sky as they slammed into the city itself, ancient masonry collapsing under the weight of twisted metal, more modern constructs shattering. Stormbirds brought men screaming into the fray. No weak, fleshy Guardsmen strode forth but ceramite clad aberrations, mighty Astartes warriors, bastardised by the black powers of the Warp.

It’s scent seemed to permeate the entire battlefield as the pods burst open, the howl of bolters alive upon the air, the crack and the hiss of gunfire. The artillery started again, pounding not at ancient buttresses but against the centre of the city as the warriors of the Imperium readied to bring the conflict to a close.

Wards crackled upon the surface of the pods, blazing with unholy light, a shifting pattern of runes and sigils etching their presence into the fabric of existence as the warriors charged forth, bolter fire cutting across the fray to the lunatic whirr of chainblades.

Ecanus cackled in black joy as he lashed into the centre of the thronging mass of bodies, wretched enemies of the Gods falling before the bloodied blades of his debased Crozius.

“Onwards, my brothers! Enlighten these infidels! Bring the blessing of Chaos!”

And so between the speartip of the Astartes and the hammer blow of the Guard, trapped in suffering between the might of the two forces, Zanthus fell into its death throes in fire and blood…

***Grand army of the Prefecture Front***


The large island on the equator in which Commodore Helbrandt decided to set down had been relatively free of storms. This had been the majour reason he had chosen this landing site, that and the large amount of signals of various sources eminating from what appeared to be massive heaps on the shores of the island. Correctly surmising the natives dwellings were more to the shore, the commodore had ordered the landing ships to set down in the middle of the island. He rather incorrectly assumed that the enemy would not have any presence in the island center, especially if they were an amphibious race.

Like the rest of the detachments, they met no resistance from anti air fire or any forward units, rather nicely and easily landing in the middle of a large mountain valley. Even as they started to land the Commodore ordered GAP assault squadrons to start patrols as they readied their formations to march on the enemy. The beachhead consisted of fifteen thousand GAP replicant soldiers and their attendant mecha, tanks and air support from the ships in the form of Faust aerospace fighters.

The first half an hour ran smoothly, patrols reported back every three minutes, then silence. This didnt alarm the Commodore or his command staff, despite the insistence of many of their junior officers and attache's that it would be unwise to continue without further attempts to draw out enemy forces. This of course was dismissed off hand as the Commodore and his staff prepared their stratagem for the coming battles. They fully accepted to fight several sieges as they advanced upon a primitive, frightened enemy.

Of course this wasnt to be the case. As the first battallion started to move out of one of the three access points to the valley and in to the lakes and marshland beyond, the plan started to fall apart. The enemy units were ugly, ungainly crab like monstrosities..the same ones used in orbit. However it was quickly determined by the first batallion, before being overrun that they were not capable of atmospheric flight. The first batallion was wiped out in a matter of minutes. Tens of thousands of enemy mechanised units had been waiting in the swamps and marshes beyond the mountain valley for the GAP to move out. As they did a huge force fell upon them, destroying the first batallion with ruthless efficiency.

The Yorim mecha started to pour in to the valley, tens of thousands of them running with a strange, herky jerky gait towards the waiting formations of the GAP. They started to fire in to them whenever they could. Where the commanders of the GAP could be found lacking the same could not be said of the readiness of the replicant soldiers. The brave though inexperience clone-women were firing in disciplined ordered volleys even as their mechanised divisions started to move towards them. It didnt matter, without aid they would be annhilated in a short time, they were bottled in to a valley, even with flight capability on most of their units the sheer amount of enemy was now sending up a wall of plasma fire in to the sky, guaranteeing at least severe damage to any units attempting to escape the valley.

The Commodore was unpreturbed. He decided to go with the text book. To fight a large horde of enemies, it is advantageous to allow them to attack you in a small defile or pass, so that you may further take advantage of cover and concealment as well as reducing the mobility of the enemy. Of course Commodore Helbrandt was eager to win glory for the GAP. He wished this battle to be a magnificent victory for his division.

Despite the now raging protests of his own command staff, he ordered his forces to move in to the pass. Every last one of them, and to meet the enemy where their numbers could not be used as efficiently against them. Of course he failed to realise what his forward commanders were practically screaming to them as they reluctantly obeyed his orders. They were swarming over the hills.

It was a testament to the skill and discipline of the GAP soldiery that they were able to follow their orders under such a volume of fire. For a time the plan was working, up close the superior mecha and firepower of the GAP batallions cleared the pass of enemies. Then the enemies clambering over the hills to get to grips with the GAP started to move in from behind. When the enemy units started to fire their plasma weaponry down on top of the GAP formations..it was apparent that the battle was lost. The Commodore had forgotten the most important lesson learned against the Combine. It is meaningless to waste soldiers lives against such a great many, use heavy ordnance to thin their numbers before counter attacking, scattering and destroying the defenders.


Hundreds of soldiers were dying every minute, the beachhead was turning in to a complete disaster, every single member of the GAP assault division would be lost, here in this useless valley.

A few minutes later, barely a third of the GAP soldiers still fought. Though they fought valiantly they would be unable to win, for every one they destroyed five more took their places. They consigned their souls to heaven and prepared to sell themselves for the DCNT and GAP forces to come.

Then a flash lit up the valley ridge, polarising visors adjusted to handle the sheer brightness of the first, albeit small nuclear blast. Bomb-grasers..the DCNT had come. Flying low a group of DCNT Kernschatten and Morgenraetes had moved in. The enemy had been oblivious to their approach, a flaw had been found in their stratagems. It was obvious that they focused to greatly upon one thing at any time. As the high maneuver frames approached they had let loose a mighty salvo linebreaker missiles. The small nuclear warheads were designed to bury themselves under ground before exploding, digging a one hundred foot crater in the ground and dropping any of the survivors in to it.


Then they fired the 15kt special bomb grasers. These weapons were designed mainly to produce the same gamma and UV radiation of a full scale nuclear weapon, without the extreme shockwaves, overpressure and residual radiation of a standard nuclear weapon. They were in a sense the signature weapon of the DCNT, which had a fine tradition of building all manner of graser for any situation. There was a saying in the DCNT. Let the divine light of heaven judge you. This would normally be said to an enemy fleet commander who declined to negotiate, compromise or surrender, followed by an intense barrage of super heavy graser lances.

To the GAP forces it had all seemed a rumble and a flash of light. The enemy forces started to vanish before their eyes as the Morgenraetes and Kernschattens flew past, reconfiguring in to high maneuver mode and moving to fight the enemy before they could reorganise themselves and provide the same scale of air cover they had before. The GAP Fausts returned shortly after the all clear signal had been sent for the air group to continue its attack.

The enemy forces started to scatter in to the marshes, the DCNT forces swiftly followed, cutting down as many as possible. Some of the GAP units also pursued, their commanders possessed of more initiative then their brethren. By the time the forces of the DCNT and GAP had managed to lose contact with the enemy remnants, over fourty six thousand enemy units had been destroyed. Reports were coming in from the main front, the GTFOA and Divine knightery had encountered the enemy...and the battle raging now on the mainland eclipsed this skirmish by many times. Still Lord Kendall Ralahim found time to chastise the GAP Commodore.


He berated him for some time on the lack of proper reconnaissance, the lack of exploratory WMD action and the utter failure on his part to properly carry out the maneuver he wished to properly. The Commodore dismissed him quite arrogantly and Kendall was finding himself wishing that this was the old Tannelorn. He would have mounted his head upon his Morgenraete III and been done with it. Now more pressing matters were upon them. The enemy was offering no resistance once the DCNT had broken through the city perimeters on the coast..they expected an entirely different kind of war. They fully expected that the enemy was now going to attempt some form of subversive resistance. No contact had yet been made with the enemy civilians..but it would soon enough.

Lord Kendall decided it would be best for his wing of Morgenraetes to assist the GAP in securing the landing site for the GAP reinforcements which would take the enemy cities. As the huge, fragile landing ships started to set down, the DCNT pilots joined fausts in CAP duties, as well as hellebardes and THT-2's in deep mechanised patrols along the waterways and swamplands ahead of them....

***Divine Knightery attacks!***

"My Liege, preparatory bombardment is finished, we have a visibility of fourty six kilometers in diameter, shall we prepare to move the landed forces in to a proper defensive position?" Grahf Einhorn asked, kneeling before King Richter Albericht, resplendantly dressed in his fine suit of DEM power armour.

"Aye, it is time we prepare for the rest of the forces to land, the Greater Tannelornian Federal Operational Army contingent has landed to support us, though they are still many kilometers to the southwest, unable to support us with anything but artillery, the storm over head has kept their ceiling at less then one hundred meters." the King furrowed his brow. He knew fine knights lead the forces of the GTFOA, that experienced soldiers, as good if not better then any man at arms he commanded were with them, even those replicant-women and Aumanii were carrying the coats of arms of Tannelorn in those squadrons. However fully half of their ranks were made up of untested soldiers, not even as blooded as the men at arms they lead.

Richter feared the knights would push them too hard, holding them up to their own superhuman standards..that would be disastrous. For some time as PPBS generators and entrenching grasers were set up to prepare a field base for the conquest of this world a distant rumbling could be heard, at first mingling with the thunder.


As time passed and work continued the rumbling could be discerned from that of the mega thunder playing across the clouds over head. The sound of a million charging elephants, far in the distance. Immediately knights started to sound word down to the ranks of men at arms to prepare for battle. The Grahf's of the houses did not need their king to tell them to prepare for battle, as the forces of the GAP did. Seamlessly the army formed up, setting off entrenching grasers and preparing a diamond shaped firebase, almost fifteen square kilometers. Nearly four hundred thousand men at arms and thirty five thousand knights were already on the surface, having used smaller rocks as landing craft, bouyed up by powerful anti gravitics and urenbecht generators. These would serve as the true bastions of the fortress, no matter what faced them, the armies of the Divine kingdom were ready to face them.

Soon the crashing of twisted trees and undergrowth added to the cacophony. Tens of thousands of the enemy units appeared in the undergrowth. With that the order to fire was given a hundred times across the lines. The forest itself lit up with nuclear fire as finely crafted atomic shells blasted huge torrents in the surrounding landscape, the enemy could barely be seen, even with the genetically augmented vision of Tannelornians. However the initial bombardment showed great success, even if the enemy ranks quickly reformed as they started to dash across open ground. The heavy artillery mecha and shagohod formations started to unleash heavy bombardments all across the line, tens of thousands of the enemy died every second...but their were millions of them. They managed to start to advance across the field, their equivalent of paint bubbling and flaking off in their headlong advance through the scorched earth. They continued to press on, the field literally filling with twisted wrecks and puddles of ichor where atomics scored direct hits.


The temperature was rising across the field..likely across the planet. The divine knightery had been accustomed to battles on airless plains on dead worlds, for all their martial prowess and skill with artillery there were unexpected events they would find themselves concerned with later. Such as the nuclear winter they were about to unleashe on this unsuspecting world.

Minutes passed, gun barrels constantly spat long range nuclear shells in to the enraged enemy, it didnt stop them. Across the line another order started to be given out. Fix bayonets, prepare for close combat. The enemy were now close enough to be fired upon directly by powerful hand held anti tank grasers, laser rifles, the heavy Xaser armaments of the Nachtwanzer II HMF's that moved alongside the formations to wherever their firepower was needed. The reverse articulated Knight-mecha of the DVK were everywhere, firing in to huge groups of the enemy, forming to sweep away strong points.

The king ordered his own first house to reinforce the western flank. The enemy had diverted most of its forces to that area, taking advantage in the sudden lull of artillery fire due to their proximity. The enemy impacted the lines, firing plasma bolts and flinging men at arms about like matchsticks. The knights charged in forcing them back with their sheer martial prowess, knights literally wrestled with the twelve foot tall mecha in a deadly melee inside the trenchworks of the DVK. Even as the first assault was repulsed they were hit with another and another.

The nachtwanzers of the houses formed up in to an armoured wedge, using their firepower and skill wherever the enemy threatened to break through. The king himself slew many of the foul things. The enemy started to retreat after an hour of relentless attacks. Seventy five percent of the force now lay smoldering across fourty six kilometers of newly cleared plain. Rather then pursue the king and his grahfs ordered the artillery mecha and guns of the men at arms to cut off the enemies retreat. It was relatively easy. The enemy found itself impeded by the corpses of their own kind as they scrambled to escape, to provide some form of defense to their city-hatcheries. Most of them were not able to make it back the fourty six kilometers to the tree line, let alone to safety.

The tactic that had worked so well for the Yorim in a thousand battles was tested against the Artillery might of the men at arms of the Divine knightery. With the knights themselves aiding in a mobile defense, the carefully practiced artillery fire and rifle drills of the men at arms saw the enemy scattered across the field. Casualties had been heavy, deaths were more common with plasma weaponry, even if they were more crude then some other weapons..they still killed just as assuredly. With the battle ending, the King immediately sent the Third house, who had suffered the least in the attacks to aid the GTFOA contingent ninety four kilometers away. Their men at arms would remain behind, the knights highly mobile units would move in to aid the now beleagured GTFOA forces.

***The Greater Tannelornian Federal Operational Army Front: Trial by Fire***


"Knight-Sergeant, Troupe three has been completely overrun, almost all THT-2 units are disabled, hellebardes destroyed, first companies position is untenable, what shall we do?" a frightened voice stated over the vox. The position in question was a mobile bunker in the GTFOA landing zone. As soon as they set down in Horizon transports, they were attacked by a large enemy force. The storm had closed overhead and cut them off from orbital support as well as orbital reinforcement. The men and women of the GTFOA third division, second regiment first batallion were giving the enemy hell, but they were outnumbered heavily.

The Alpha II HMF's were the only thing standing in the way of defeat for the GTFOA. The units had been a reworking of the old morgenraete II configuration, a redesign incorporating enough features of the old Alpha High maneuver frames that they warranted a renaming as the second in that legendary series of combat mecha. Of course this also had to do with the Morgenraete III Omega, which had also incorporated an up and over configuration for the arms. That and a Knights ego wouldnt allow anyone but a knight to fly a Morgenraete. The mecha and men were fighting valiantly, utilising calm and precise firing, cover and tactics to their utmost to attempt to hold them back. The calming influence of the knights had an almost invigorating effect on the men.

The sergeants were like titans of old, they were everywhere at once, their voices booming encouragement to their troops and dire threats to the enemy. Where one fell their soldiers would instantly rally to his side, costing the enemy dearly for every one of them that they took. Knight-Majour Corellian Altarion had been far more cautious then the GAP commander, he chose an excellent sight for the landing, and had opted to utilise the "bunker" carrier in his horizonts. This portable bunker enabled them to hold out for the first few hours practically without difficulty.

Things had fallen apart once bunker sixteen fell. The enemy crept up on it and unleashed a brilliant blossom of plasma, destroying themselves as they overloaded their own reactors. The effect was immediate and the entire northeastern sector of the firebase had been completely overrun.

Knight-Sergeant Ralithar Morhirim quickly noted the distress of his troops, smiling at the worried faces as he unslung his Knight-sword from his hip. "Then we will have to retreat to a more defensible position, trooper 1/258 support me with that ATGR, the rest of you, retreat to Bunker thirty six, three hundred meters behind us, they still have a working hellebard and THT-2. The HMF-2 TVHT-mark II's were almost all destroyed, they had not been intended for such work, but as an easy to build, small but still heavily armed infantry mecha.


This was a marine battallion, they contained more Hellebarde and THT units then TVHT-mark II's, though the disadvantages of the new unit were readily apparent, the greater missile payload of the hellebardes was the only thing standing between them and death. As soon as the Knight-Sergeant left the armoured bunker he was greeted by a swipe from an armoured claw, which he deftly parried with his blade, a crackling sound signified the amputation of the crab-walkers limb as the Pin point barrier surrounding the sword impacted with the alchemical substances of the enemy mecha unit. He reversed the blade and stabbed straight for the center of the mechanical crab. It stopped moving as he kicked it off the blade. He charged out, dodging a plasma bolt as he leapt in to the air, bringing the blade down point first on the first enemy mecha within range.

He continued to attack as 1/258 levelled devastating graser blasts in to those that threatened to slay him. Soon he stood in a pile of broken and destroyed machines. Some were ruined by his mighty blade, more however were smoking ruins, having been carved in to pieces by heavy graser beams. Satisfied he had bought enough time, he quickly moved back to the bunker, ordering 1/258 to follow him. She quickly obeyed as they ran towards the safety of the still fighting defensive position.

There were less of the enemy then in other fronts, though there were also far less of the GTFOA soldiery. They had almost cleared the final thirty meters when a group of the enemy mecha appeared, firing lethal salvo's of plasma at the two running soldiers. 1/258 was caught in a storm of shrapnel thrown up by an exploding bolt of plasma, the Knight sergeant quickly gathered her up in one arm, his genetically augmented strength boosted further by his power armour suit. He made it to the defensive line, falling just before waiting soldiers who quickly pulled the pair in to the safety of nearby cover.

The Knight-sergeant didnt respond to any attempts to communicate..the reason was soon apparent as they rolled him over on to his back. A large plate of armour as well as a large portion of his back and internals had been burned out by a stray plasma bolt. 1/258 was alive however, but grievously wounded and screaming in pain. Replicants were still designed to feel pain as well as pleasure, after all they were manufactured tannelornians, it was their right to be able to enjoy all the same hardships and jubilation of the people of Tannelorn. Right now however, 1/258 and the people sharing the bunker with her likely wished it had been different, at least until the medic applied the Pancracea and her pain quickly subsided, enabling her to finally pass out as the tiny nano-meds started to heal her wounded frame.

The GTFOA contingent had to wait for the Divine knightery to send reinforcements..it was a hope they didnt hold out, the distance would have been meaningless had it not been for the mega storm that almost always held the main continent in its grip...now, the soldiers of the GAP third division, second regiment, first battalion held out against the enemy with a forlorn hope that aid could come, or that they could somehow kill all the enemy mechanised units before they killed the troopers...

However unknown to the GTFOA soldiery..help was on its way...

OOC

A few pictures of my units as well as space ships, appropriate to this battle.
Battle Of Yorim, Solarin battle ships and Einhander gun destroyers firing on the enemy fleet.

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/DCNTGAPshooting.jpg?t=1167233308

GTFOA fleet detachment including honour blade frigates, a monitor and solarin battle ships.

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/GTFOATaskforce.jpg?t=1167233388

Morgenraete III's in Action.

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/pairraet.jpg?t=1167233443

GTFOA Alpha II's

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/GTFOAdogfight.jpg?t=1167233501

GAP assault Patrol including THT-2, hellebarde HMF and Faust aerospace
fighter

http://s119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/?action=view&current=GAPassaultsquadronII.jpg

Algol HMAF of the DCNT

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/AlgolRaetes.jpg?t=1167233579

DCNT Gun flotilla [space craft Zweihander dreadnoughts x2 Einhander
Gun destroyers x10]

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/DCNTgunflotilla.jpg?t=1167233628

GTFOA monitor up close.

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/GTFOAMonitorcruising.jpg?t=1167233730
GTFOA monitor up close preparing to fire

http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o133/Conan2525/MonitorprepfireII.jpg?t=1167233776

Ok Sorry for the amount of pictures, which is why I posted links. However
for the longest time I have had no pictures of my stuff, as new stuff is added
and needed more stuff will be added. As well a full on factbook is being made for after charybdis cluster campaign which will be very picture intensive.

Sorry for the lengthy ooc

As the negotiations with the Terrans continued on, the comsat stations suddenly blared to life, sending off warning klaxxons as multiple ships now appeared on their radar. Vice Admiral Dozle Zabi groaned at the sound, and turned to his tactical and radar stations.

"Report," he ordered.

"Sir," replied the radar officer in command of the station. "It seems a new player has stepped to the field. They're quite far out of weapons range, near the oort cloud of the system, but they're very visible."

"If I may," interrupted the tactical officer. "It appears that these ships are native to the Charybdis Cluster, as they come from a planetary system not too far from the Hyperion system. I'd say somewhere around three to five lightyears, but that's just a guesstimation."

"I don't need guesses," thundered Dozle. "I need answers. Redirect two Musai Argos to intercept the unidentified fleet, and make damn sure they find out who we're dealing with. I don't need any more headaches that I already have."

"Aye, sir," replied both officers as they quickly coordinated with one another. Dozle had no turned to the communications station.

"Have Captain Rhidden inform the Terran fleets that we are moving two ships to intercept what we believe to be a new fleet in the system. I don't need them thinking that we're attacking them, understand?"

"Roger that, sir," said the comms officer as he relayed the message.

___________________________________________________

"He wants me to say what now? Okay, but...alright, I'll do it. Fuck..."

Johnny closed the communications link with the fleet's flagship, obviously irratated, but he quickly changed his attitude as he relayed the message to the Terrans.

"My commander wishes me to inform you that we are moving two of our ships on an intercept course with an unconfirmed fleet presence near the oort cloud of the Hyperion system. He requests that at least one of your capital ships accompany our ships in the hopes that we may start good relations between one another by battling as brothers in arms in case a battle may break out."

_____________________________________________________

"Covering fire!" The Sarge let out a burst from his assault rifle as a group of enemies charged down the alley way. Their blood flew into the air as they suffered wounds that only a Space Marine could hope to survive. With him was his Corporal, Kellen, and one of his demolitions experts, Jason.

"C'mon, Brock!" Sarge was shouting to his man, who was taking cover behind a dumpster, where he had set an IFF proximity satchel as a trap for the enemy. "Get over here, Private!"

Brock looked around the corner, but quickly peeled it back as a barrage of assault rifle fire pelted the side of the dumpster, narrowly missing him. "Sarge, I'm too pinned down to move!"

"You can make it, Brock," shouted Kellen. "We've got you covered!"

"Brock, I am giving you a direct order!" The Sergeant was furious. "Get over here right now!"

"Sarge, you and I both know he won't make it!" Jason whipped around the corner he was hiding behind, firing a few bursts from his assault rifle into the enemy troops who were trying to come down the narrow alley.

"Sarge!" Seras and Bystro had now returned, both panting heavily as they stopped to catch their breath.

"Report," ordered their CO.

"Sir, we found a way out," started Seras. "It's a shelled-out bakery about two blocks away from here. Second and third platoons have that intersection pincered, and the third tank squadron is entrenched. They're waiting to cover us as soon as we break into the open."

"Good work, you two," the Sergeant replied. "Squad, covering fire!"

Kellen, Jason, and the Sergeant then whipped around, firing a barrage down the alley. As they did, Brock broke from cover, dashing down the alley as bullets whizzed past him from both directions. Just as he was ten feet from where his squad mates were, a bullet pierced through his knee, and then another smacked him square in the back. Brock cried out in pain and dropped onto the ground in open ground.

"Brock!" Kellen dashed out into the alley way.

"Kellen, don't!" The Sergeant watched in horror and amazement as his Corporal ran out to grab their downed man. "Fuck! Squad! Cover Kellen!"

As the squad began firing, Kellen dropped to cover just two feet from Brock's fallen body. Brock was still breathing, but was keeping still to avoid being peppered by the enemy. "Hang on, buddy! I'm comin' for ya!"

As the enemy's shots stopped, Kellen dashed out to Brock's body, and using his training, hefted the man over his shoulder as Brock groaned in pain from being moved. As soon as he had him, Kellen began running back to the rest of the squad, who was covering the heroic man as best they could, and by the will of the gods, they both made it.

As Kellen rounded the corner, a loud explosion sounded as the charges were detonated by an unfortunate enemy soldier, and the second charge also detonated due to collateral damage. Dust, dirt, and other debris flew down the alley as the two buildings that had formed the alley toppled into the passageway and effectively sealed it.

"So, now they want our help... Admiral Liberty, please explain the nature of things to them."

"Aye Aye Jimmy. With great pleasure."

Carrier Lexington Terran Task Fleet Charybdis:

You declined our services previously. We see no reason to alter our agreement. If you come into conflict that threatens us or our assets, we will take action to most swiftly resolve the battle with least damage to ourselves.

***Grand Army of the Prefecture Landing zone***

It was the end of the first days battles, the enemy were now firmly entrenched in their cities..or at least their equivalent to cities. The forces under Commdore Helbrandt held the landing site for Commodore-Prefect Baragrim and the main invasion force to land. It had taken the better part of a day and the stars over Yorim, shining through a murky layer of dust could be seen, faintly twinkling overhead.

Over two hundred thousand soldiers were now camped in the valley, preparing for the next days assaults. The command encampment was bustling with activity..though some observers didnt believe it was the proper kind.


***GAP Command encampment***

"Commodore-Prefect, I do not believe your battle plan has taken all of the relevent factors in to account, not least of which the tenacity and cleverness of this enemy. As well Commodore-Prefect, I believe your commendations and fanfare towards one Commodore Helbrandt are completely unwarranted, he lead the GAP beachhead in to a no-win situation, he should be chastised, not celebrated." Lord Kendall Ralahim, commander of the Morgenraete division which had supported, or rather saved the GAP beachhead stated without a second thought to etiquette.

"Excuse me, my "Lord" did you have anything you wished to say? You didnt address my attendant for an appointment, I am afraid I will have to wait until you do so before I am able to take the time to listen to your pleas." the Commodore-Prefect was a younger man, one of the ones who had survived the coup by simply jumping on to a Bad-hertzfeldt and escaping to the cluster. He was one of the ones that had planned the failed coup attempt. Lord Kendall was not one to brook insolence from those he respected, lest those he wouldnt offer a place with his hunting cats, let alone his own men.

"Commodore-Prefect, this is a council of war, we are your allies and sharing the same theater as you, you will hear my voice without having to go through some toy which you brought along for your amusement." The Commodore-Prefect smiled. "She is a qualified officer of the Grand army of the Prefecture and worthy of respect from even you, Lord Ralahim."

"I am sure your wife believes that story as well, Commodore-Prefect Baragrim, however what is important is that you listen to me now, your beachhead was nearly destroyed because of the inability of your battalion commanders to see beyond the immediate future and reluctance to accept any possibility of the enemy having some sort of capability to defeat them." Lord Kendall grinned softly at the Baragrim.

Baragrim looked angry, but he was smart enough not to fall for the Lord's bait. "You have no control over the Grand army of the Prefecture or its forces, do not presume to tell me how to wage war Lord Kendall, I am well versed in all of the finest battles of Vascilian history as well as all modern tactics and stratagems." The Commodore-Prefect likely would have struck the Knight, if he expected he would live through the mistake.

"Then why commend a Commodore who nearly destroyed your landing site and cost the lives of over five thousand of your soldiers and officers?" Lord Kendall was grinning like a hunting cat that had found its prey at rest.

"The losses were no fault of the officers, troops or commander, they were attacked by a vastly numerically superior force, had they stayed in the open they would have been overrun as the GTFOA position nearly was, Commodore Helbrandt's actions saved the beachhead." The Commodore-Prefect snarled. "Commodore-Prefect, with all due respect before my Morgenraetes arrived on the scene they were about to be completely destroyed. They were surrounded from all sides and had neglected to bring any heavy firepower to bear, nor perform any proper reconnaissance before attempting to strike out with their main force."

The Lord smiled. "If you would like to see images from the battle I am sure the recorders on any of my men's Morgenraetes or your surviving units could attest to this." The Lord turned and walked away. He would not allow this simpering idiot to ruin his own campaign, therefore he would take his own council, with his own knights tonight. Let the Prefecture fight its way, they would fight theres. Within the hour they would commence with attacks on the cities, the Divine Celestial Cavaliers, the elite of the elite of the knight-infantry of the Divine celestial federation had already moved in to position, they only awaited their comrades from the DCNT to act.


***Dawn: GAP Front***


Commodore-Prefect Baragrim awoke to news of high and low level atomic detonations inside the coastal areas designated as the enemy habitation centers. The Commodore had barely risen out of bed before he gave the order down to his divisional commanders to commence with the attack on the enemy cities. The operation was to consist of simultaneous attacks from ten divisions against the ten coastal habitation areas, the other five divisions would float around from front to front to bolster any flagging attacks. The DCNT and DCC had beaten them to it, they had attacked well before dawn and were already reported to be deep within the enemy structures. Reports of fierce defense points being overrun in seconds by the DCC did little more then make the Divisional commanders anxious to start their attacks. They were being robbed of their chance at a glorious victory.

Within an hour the bulk of the mechanised detachments were within the cities. The GAP replicant soldiers were very efficient in mobilising to a war zone, this had been what they were designed for. They quickly jumped off their assault transports as they took off again to avoid the enemy, fanning out to prepare for city combat as they entered the city.

It was then that they had their first look at the enemy. The cities themselves were made up of great pillars of the same bio-metallic material that the mecha were made from, supporting large platforms on which vast marshy pools were layered a thousand feet in to the skies. This was a hatchery of the Yorim, through the smoke and gloom the replicant soldiers and their officers could see shapes moving in the darkness, close to the ground..there were thousands of them. They could see scattered corpses as they walked, strange semi humanoid creatures, with writhing masses of tentacles on their faces. The ones that stood walked with a shambling gait, in the manner of some sea creature moving upon land as they made way for the soldiers.

These things, the Yorim were not fighting the GAP soldiery, instead they were fleeing like lesser animals from the approach of a predator. The GAP forces made quick progress towards the front lines. The deeper they moved in to the cities the more complex the habitations were. Soon they had even reached the burnt out remnants of what appeared to be living quarters for more sentient beings. The enemy had not fought for the pool structures, instead they had waited for the DCC to make it in to the elder habitation centers, at least that is what the DCC vox traffic called it.

Ahead of them the DCC were fighting in tunnels against the same crab-mecha that the GAP had faced the previous day. Many of the soldiers were wishing to prove themselves and the divisional commanders would not disavow them of that. They ordered the infantry in to the tunnels, to assist the Divine celestial cavaliers in the fierce fighting that was tearing through the inner cities of their coastal domains. This scene had been repeated all across the secondary landmass with the precise timing the DCC were famous for. The GAP were struggling to catch up..they hoped to reach the fighting before it was finished.

Of course those that did would have wished they hadnt once they entered the labrynthine catacombs surrounding the innermost layer of the palisades of the enemy...

***EnHab7: Sector fourty two: Upper catacombs***

The tell tale whine and searing heat coming from down the hall signified the end of at least one of the enemy mecha, the DCC were fond of Graser rifles in close quarters fighting, one shot could easily clear an entire corridor of lesser troops. Lieutenant Halbrecht ordered his troupe to stop, raising his hand he activated his DCFT IFF system, to let the Divine celestial cavaliers know they were coming. Their chances of surviving an accidental shot from a grasrifle were not high in the least. The moved slowly in a loose formation, particle rifles at their shoulders, each of them covering the others.

They arrived at one of the main arteries of the cavern network, here and there mangled bodies of DCC Knights were lain about the ground, the majourity of them however were fighting against a raging horde of mechanised monstrosities emerging from the various multilayered tunnels.

The GAP replicant soldiers were amazed. They had been told they were the equal of the Divine Celestial Cavaliers..they had been misinformed. The soldiers stopped for a moment to watch the DCC in action, the knights of the DCC were everywhere, firing and almost moving faster then an unaugmented eye could follow, they repulsed countless enemy attacks following up with viscious counter attacks before withdrawing from the press of the enemy. The soldiers of the GAP had one thing to be proud of, they would aid the DCC in this victory..they were needed. The groups of soldiers were arriving at the scene of battle more and more frequently, great throngs of troops rushed in to aid the knights.

They came on in a great wave firing wildly with their particle rifles and charging those that got too close with bayonets. The DCC were not surprised.

Lieutenant Halbrecht was unsheathing his saber when he was approached by a man wearing the dark green, plated power armour of the DCC. "So you finally arrive?" the man grinned at the lieutenant through his visor. "Tell your girls not to giggle so much when firing beside my men, its distracting them." he stated flatly and turned around, laying a few rounds in to an approaching Yorim mecha, which promptly crumpled in to a heap and die. "Aim for the sensor eyes, the armour is weak there and it will go straight through to the crew compartment, you will waste less rounds and less soldiers." he walked through the crowd of soldiers and troopers back to the forefront of the battle, the constant stream of enemy mecha had become a trickle with arrival of the GAP soldiery.

Likely another attempted trap. The Yorim favoured drawing an enemy in and throwing whatever they could at the enemy, if this tactic failed to win the day they would simply repeat it. At first these tactics had proven devastating. Had the Yorim fielded more star ships, the crusade could have been in peril over the planet. On this marshy world they had nearly swept the GTFOA and GAP off the planet. The DCC were most definetly avenging earlier humiliations, they moved with great speed, some of them even running along walls as they proceeded to assault the next part of the complex. The fighting had been hard but the central colloseum was now almost accessible. The enemy mecha were few and far between now, mostly trying to reach the center of the city for one final act of defiance. The troopers of the DCC casually dispatched the few mecha that dared to strike back against them, barely raising their rifles as they expertly shot out the enemies sensors.

There were thousands of soldiers preparing for the final push, DCC and GAP engineers were setting up explosives. The odd GAP lieutenant tried to warn the DCC knights of the danger to the planetary biosphere of all the bombgrasers and atomics they were setting off, no matter how small. Their protests fell on deaf ears as they prepared to assault the breach that would be formed.


The last few seconds before the final battle began were the longest in the short lives of the replicant soldiers. They were soldiers through and through but part of their training had been towards "propriety" and proper behaviour of a woman. This of course meant many of the girls were anxiously fidgeting with everything from their hair to ensuring their make up was not too runny, in case they were wounded or killed. The lieutenants immediately started chastising those they saw doing it. They didnt want the DCC to have more fuel for the taunts they normally threw at them. Many of the lieutenants took an extra special offense at the accusations of sexual misconduct in the GAP, others simply didnt want to get caught.

Sixteen simultaneous explosions signified the forming of the breach as the men and women of the DCC and women and officers of the GAP stormed through. They had a chance to take note of their surroundings now. The chamber gave way to a massive open ceiling, around them gutters constantly washed rain water down in to pools on every floor.

The entire city was like a cultivated marsh, strange flowers grew in abundance, filling the air with a thick, heady perfume. Officers ordered the soldiers to immediately activate the environmental seals on their armour. As they walked through this rather elaborate area they noticed that the architecture was far more ornamental then the previous sections of the city. Shadows moved around them, but nothing attacked. The army advanced in to the center of the area, entering a large, apparently open colloseum cautiously, with the DCC on point. It was at this point that they saw the Yorim up close for the first time. These were different then the ones they had met in the lower levels and outer ring of the city.

They were also surrounded by the remaining defenders, they made no move to attack, only stood in a defensive posture. A twisted garbling could be heard from the closest Yorim, the tentacles surrounding his mouth opening whipped about in a frenzy of froth and spittle. Then a garbled voice sounded from around them, speaking in awfully translated Tannelornian.

Predators from beyond, we no wish more fight. Sickness comes, terms of arrival accepted, join your collective, consensus taken, agreement made. Our young swooned, fallen with sick, weaker then we, accept, accept!

The speaker was nervous, though one could not tell from his disgusting form. Squat and slick with slime from the nutrient rich pools arrayed in an assymetrical formation around the floor of the main meeting chamber.
One of the replicant soldiers spoke through her comms to her squad mates. "Do the Octonoids want to keep fighting?" 3/423 asked innocently. Giggles erupted across the comms when the sergeant heard and started laughing himself. "Octonoids?" he laughed. "Well squidulon's isnt right, they have round heads like octopus, squid have pointy heads." she replied. 0/54 laughed softly and replied "Young ones are always just so cute."

A member of the DCC stepped forward. The officer Helbrandt had met earlier that day, at least he believed it was. He watched as the Knight stepped forward and said a few words to the Octonoid leaders. With that he sheathed his weapons and the enemy mecha deactivated.

A few hours later Commodore Elarion Trueheart ordered all GAP personnel to the outskirts save a few companies, to oversee the quick census and reports on all the citizens in the outer areas.

The enemy leadership on the main continent had surrendered to King Richter Alberecht, not because they were crushed and defeated, but because the sensitivity of the Octonoid young was so high that the massive atomic bombardments that took place to stave off the sheer number of Octopods, had poisoned them.

***GTFOA landing site***

Corporal Arilis Taronen was sounding another retreat. They had wounded with them and the enemy was overrunning each position almost as soon as it had been reached. Finally they made it to a line of extensive trenchworks, where half a company of men and six mecha, four alphas a hellebarde and a THT-2 were holding off the enemy attacks.

There were perhaps two other such strongpoints in the entire five kilometer diameter landing point, the rest of the landing site had been completely compromised. The enemy that wasnt busily hurling itself at them were wandering the battlefield, picking off wounded and searching for stragglers in small groups.

The commanding officer was one Knight-Majour Hellarion Ralahim, his brother was serving in the east, alongside the GAP forces as the commander of the DCNT force there. The Corporal immediately saluted him once in his presence, bowing on one knee. "Sire, reinforcements can not be held out, the nearest friendly unit is more then thirty five minutes away..the enemy is too numerous to hold out until then."

The Knight nodded, watching as the rain started to stop, small openings in the clouds were forming signifying morning. The sun was burning away much of the cloud cover, preparing the planet for the rainfall that would start in the late afternoon and not subside till dawn. It was then that the knight ordered communications to open a channel to the Divine light of destiny, the GTFOA monitor stationed with the third fleet.

The amount of water in the atmosphere as well as the distance from the planet would make the strategic application of the weapon useless against a massive city or even a hard fortification, however if they fired from their current position, several million kilometers outside of orbit to their battle, it might just kill enough of the enemy to allow them to hold off until proper reinforcements could arrive.

In space the monitor's twin booms started to open, the planet was naught but a tiny speck in the distance, however the DEM channels allowed the ship a perfect position on the transmission, despite the severe weather. The weapon charged to fire, ships and daughter craft moved out of the way as the heavy strategic graser prepared to fire. Fully two thirds of the one point two kilometer vessel was devoted to this singular weapon system. The Helvinter. Its main purpose was to provide heavy fire support to GTFOA vessels fighting other vessels, but it could be used against a planet. If it were closer and the water in the atmosphere not so dense..it would have devastating results.

Now however, through the massive storm that raged across the world, the weapon was the perfect choice to aid the beleagured GTFOA beachhead. Now that the storm had started to abide it was only a little longer before they would be able to fill the skies with high maneuver frames.

The monitor fired, its brilliant beam of destruction arching out towards the battlefield below. The men on the ground were already safely in the armoured prefab bunkers built in to the defensive entrenchments, not all of them but most. Those that were outside would have little chance, but neither did the enemy. In an instant the enemy advance was stopped, hundreds of them were incenerated in a second, even those over six kilometers from the blast point suffered damage.


The Tannelornians able to fight quickly left their bunkers and hurried to their positions, preparing to open fire on the enemy in the distance. The enemy took a little longer to recover then they had from the nuclear strikes earlier in the battle when the defenders lit off their arsenal of shoulder launch bomb grasers to stem the advance of the enemy. In hindsight they should have kept at least a few, but when one is being overrun one reacts in whatever way they need to, to survive.

The enemy rushed at their position, hundreds of machines charging in a blood mad frenzy, firing their plasma cannons wherever they saw movement. More men and women died by the minute, but the corporal did not give up hope. He supported his men and women as they supported him, firing in to the horde of enemy battle robots charging towards them. One got close to the trench line, only to have its knees shot off of it as it ran, another jumped over it and charged. Corporal Taronen counter charged it and rammed his bayonet in to its underarm, the powersuit and his own desperation lending him the strength to breech the armour. He started to fire, HV slugs blew chunks off the mecha with such force that bits of it flew about like shrapnel, wounding the Corporal though he did not realise it. Another came up behind it, threatening with its massive pincer like claws as it prepared to strike him down. A heavy particle blast knocked it off his feet, one of his men had taken the enemy thing down with his particle rifle in one shot.

The corporal hopped down in to the trench in time to hear one of his men, the replicant 1/258 scream behind you. She was wounded but still trying to fight, he turned in time to see the claw that would take his life make its journey down towards him, he started to move. Then a heavy thud sounded and the mecha literally disentegrated, shattering in to a thousand pieces and blowing outwards as a heavy Lance beam tore through it. The Divine Knights of sacred Tannelorn had arrived.

The knights were flying in low, having activated the gravitic wings on their highly ornamented and thick power armour. Some raced towards the enemy, knight-swords extended out behind them. Others came in more slowly, firing with heavy weaponry ranging from gauss rifles to the knights Graser lances. The enemy were quickly repulsed then overtaken as they tried to flee. They didnt stand a chance against the furious knights, itching for the chance to test these beasts in melee combat.

It was a testament to the training of the GTFOA soldiers that they continued to fire in to the enemy even when reinforcements had arrived. Many of them too wounded or fatigued to continue fighting simply slumped unconscious where they lay, others joined the knights in organising a counter attack.

***Later that hour***

"Corporal Teronen, I wish to commend you on your bravery and skill at leading men at arms, you shall be up for the highest possible decorations for your actions here today. Despite the death of your sergeant and knight, you managed to not only retreat to safety, thus saving men and womens lives under fire you were able to bring back the wounded and contribute to the defense of this outpost." Knight Majour Ralahim had surprised the young Corporal. He had fought once before, in the coup against the Praetor as a Lieutenant in the GAP. The loss of rank didnt bother him, he preferred the GTFOA, he believed in the knights of Tannelorn and only volunteered for the GAP because at the time it had been his only chance to fight for his nation. Today he had lost many friends, he was tired, his face pale as he looked out across the battlefield as rays of light broke through the clouds.

"Thank my men, sire, they surely deserve the credit more then I do, I simply followed the procedure's taught to me by sir Teraven." the corporal simply stared out at the scene before him. Despite all the carnage and destruction around him, he felt at ease. Something had happened when the kings main force moved out against the enemy city clusters on the coast, they werent sure what but Comm traffic indicated the war may well be over.

He looked around at the flowers all around them, many trampled and torn. They released a beautiful perfume scent. He found himself dwelling on that scent, as did many of the soldiers. He didnt even realise he was having a waking dream. Before him the wounded replicant girl he dragged across a kilometer after his sire had fallen was singing, completely unwounded.
Beside her the knight he had followed in to battle was sitting on top of the trench, asking him what he was waiting for, to show his manhood and take what is his. He shook his head. The scene changed. Before him children were playing on the fields. Tannelornian children. The flowers were gone and he was alone. The sky was dark and twisted, the water ground was boiling and great magma spews were flowing from great cracks in the ground. He was in space, a great star shining in the heart of charybdis, a great event would take place on that world, for better or for worse he could feel it, though he didnt know how.

He shook his head again. Medics were filing in and removing the wounded and dead, ships were landing men and supplies. The GTFOA main force detachment was landing. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked back to see the Knight-sword on his shoulder, belonging to Knight-Majour Ralahim.

"Knight Sergeant Taronen, you are the first of the nen to be named a knight, but you will not be the last of those who are not of our blood to earn this title. Your squad is already aboard transport. You are to move out with the secondary force. Our orders have changed...the planet is won and we are to move out immediately."

***Dominion***

The leaders of the world had approached the king directly, as they had with the knights of the DCC. As they began their attack a large enemy force waited on the horizon, in defensive postures. A garbled communication had come through, requesting parley. They agreed and the Octonoids had given their surrender, on the condition they helped their young. The titanic battle that had taken place upon the DVK's landing as well as the DCNT's rescue of the GAP forces had unleashed enough force to spread radioactive dust across the planet.

Though this had not been enough to concern a genetically augmented Tannelornian, let alone a Tannelornian warrior, it was devastating to the fragile young of the Octonoids. The name had come from a soldier they all knew..it had stuck. Octonoids seemed perversely appropriate. They were amphibious and far more sensitive to environmental damage then mammals or even reptiles were. Overnight the young had fallen ill, many were already infertile and genetically damaged beyond repair, others were dying. The DCFT had humanitarian disaster on their hands.

Many warriors started to leave the planet almost as soon as the battle had been won. Commodore Prefect-Helbrandt had offered fifty thousand GAP soldiers and officers to perform the occupation and transition of this world, as well as administer the vital innoculations and reparative nano's to the young of the Octonoids. Very few Octonoids made it to true, sentient adulthood. The rest simply made it to the stage of mating and destroyed themselves in an orgy of reproduction, which was kept controlled to allow the elders to maintain the control needed to keep their civilisation going. Once every two years the young were allowed to mate. Those that did not mate, those that survived matured to adulthood and gained sentience, joining the fractionally insignifigant percentage of the population that was in charge.

As the majourity of the fleet left the world, leaving only a small garrison of two GAP solarins and a GTFOA fleet carrier with its two honour blade escorts, the GAP soldiery settled in for a long occupation. There were so many of them, so many to be innoculated. The world itself needed to be purged of the radioactivity. Not every atomic in the Tannelornian arsenal was a bomb graser, they used many types of conventional reaction weapon as well.

The DCFT had extended its dominion over this world through brute force, two others were simply occupied, the natives were to primitive to even begin to fight back. Still they offered the kings and god emperors of those worlds membership in the Divine Celestial federation, which they took gladly, believing the Tannelornians to be messengers of the gods. [After they finally convinced them they werent the gods themselves.]

Small garrisons had been placed upon those worlds to aid in their defense in case any other aggressors had found them and wished to predate upon them.

***Deployment***

With the first majour battle over with, the Tannelornian combined armada prepared to face its next majour battle. The DCEF main fleet decided to send half its number, fifty vessels to coordinate with the Chronosians, their fleet jumping to Zanthus with all the efficiency and haste the knights of Tannelorn could muster.

The main GTFOA force waited in orbit for several days while the DVK forces alighted their asteroid ships, preparing to take off over several hours. After all it took a rather large amount of effort to lift a city never designed to enter an atmosphere or be used as an assault ship in to the sky and back in to orbit.

Once the main invasion force was ready to move they split their forces once more. This time The main GTFOA forces, the GFN and remaining DCEF would jump with the Knights of the Divine Kingdom to the next target chosen by King Richter, the Tannelornian war leader. However the Prefecture forces and a third of the Grahfsberg contingent were ordered to a secondary objective. It was a small mountainous world, however it was of a high enough technology level to possibly threaten the Tannelornian flank at their next target if they were not taken care of. Little was known of the world other then it was populated by humans who had colonised it many years before, and they were wary of outsiders....

Macaroth Part II

It'd certainly been a... Surprise that weaponry capable of shooting straight through a planet ended up being soaked up and radiated off by shields in a matter of nanoseconds - sure, 'No plan survives first contact with the enemy', but some things just weren't expected.

On board of the Guillotine, minds interacted. By machine standards, they were slow, reaching only a fraction of a thousandth of the speed with which a proper shipmind would think, analyse, and communicate - but that was still an order of magnitude faster than a baseline human.

Add to this that verbal orders and the endless chains of command one would usually find on ships crewed with thousands or even tens of thousands of men simply didn't exist on the CLA vessels and their basic crews that could be counted with one's fingers, and one gets an idea of just how fast everything went.

Well. That's disappointing.

I agree. Which raises questions. Orders?

Observation #1: Thrashian ships appear to be invulnerable to EM - with their shields' radiative capabilities, they should be able to fly straight through the local star. Conclusion: We could shoot them with yottawatts of EM and still do nothing.

Observation #2: Thrashian ships are operating within the gravitational properties of the system. Conclusion: G gets through.

They might block out in-excess-of-x values, just as they do with EM.

Might, yes. But it's worth a try.

I agree. As such... Once they're in range, go with the close-range weaponry. Until then, shift into the G-band.

Aye aye, Sir.

Machinery started to shift around in concert with the orders given to it, powered by brief bursts of electricity running through the 'Muscles' of the Guillotine and its companions.

The ships' infrared signature increased a little bit, courtesy of additional stages of energy conversion being added to weaponry, and additional waste heat requiring disposal.

Now, lets see...

Images were shared among the ships' crews and passengers, providing them with the (Oddly boring) moments of battle, releasing statistics and the mental 'High' of space starting to boil as stellar energy densities crossed lightseconds in order to do their destructive work, increasing entrophy a little more, and bringing the whole universe closer to its eventual death.

Infinitesimally closer, certainly. But still closer.

Something changed, though. Where once x-rays had sliced through the vacuum, they were now missing, replaced with more exotic radiations, no longer transferring electromagnetic, but gravitational forces.

Of course, it had truthfully been said that gravity is a weak force, nigh-infinitely inferior to the other three forces that govern the universe. A planetary mass just to achive one gee? Laughably inefficient. Who would use something like that to project energy, to cause destruction?

But this argument - correct as it may appear at first - doesn't really hold water once one starts to convert one force into another, paying some basic respect to conservation of energy, and focussing radiations to the point that the inverse square law no longer applies.

Which was exactly what the CLA ships did with their CREWs, after spending a few moments on reconfiguring them, and exchanging a few parts here and there.

Close Combat (Frigates)

And then, everything changed.

Countless beams of more-or-less exotic radiations crossed space, just to be soaked up by shields. EW appeared to almost literally explode, as the CLA craft started to launch a multitude of attacks and defensive measures, faking targets and movement, providing false communications, releasing decoys, screwing with electromagnetic and gravitational radiations alike, attempting to corrupt sensors, computers and brains with effector fire, and generally making life hell for every gunner in the battle.

The CLA 'Fighters' themselves didn't really do much - they were meant to target missiles, not capships -, and mostly stayed out of the way, much to Custer's annoyance - still, he couldn't really do much. Dealing with the frigates wasn't his job (Staying out of the way was).

It was, however, the job of the heavy subcraft.

Sweet.

Adrenaline & endorphin rushing through the blood, an absurd number of synapses in the brain releasing pulses of information, directing the efford of the man - and the ship.

Yesss...

A few hundred thousand - or, on occasion, a few million - tons, moving at absurd velocities, not really 'Dancing' (For this is difficult when moving at ten thousand kilometres per second), but still following a purpose, still looking for a target...

Come here... My preciousss...

The crew? One. Life support? Minimal. Reactors? Excessive. Weaponry? On par with a capship turret - except that unlike capships, the subcraft only have one of them.

Oh, there you are... Yes... Exactly like that... That's how I love it...

They say that the pilots are weird - and they are right. High on hormones heightening their sensations, pleased with their existence and - more importantly - their power, almost addicted to floating in the highly viscous computronium core that acts as 'Cockpit', they aren't normal, their tenuous grip of reality outside the craft always in danger of being completely cut off.

Good bye.

And they sit in craft roughly size-equivalent to the lancer frigates, with an armament scheme meant to penetrate capships (As opposed to bruising fighters), and they shoot.

It's probably a bit of an uneven fight.

That's the idea.

'Missiles' might be a missnomer... Fireships, maybe?

It was a bit of a miracle that the Thrashians actually noticed the missiles - when heavy fire from capship-grade weaponry 'Barely registers on our sensors', the missiles (And subcraft) with their vastly lower radiation output should be positively invisible to the machine-eyes of the Thrashian spacefleet.

Alas, this was yet another problem encountered by the CLA. No issues there - problems existed to be overcome.

In any case. Missile after missile evaporated, even though the task was actually pretty dangerous for the frigates - the missiles being made to shrug off fighter-fire, engaging in a godless amount of EW, and tending to home in on fire capable of killing them to then detonate and take whatever fired at them with them saw to that.

Nonetheless. They died, their remains spilling into the cold vacuum, leaving nothing but some debris and a significant amount of rapidly dispersing plasma (Fomerly known as 'Hull' or 'Engine' or 'Warhead') moving through space.

Well. Most died. A few made it, moving through the chaos of battle, looking for, and finding their targets, getting closer, closer... Sensors tentatively touching ahead, asking Where are the shields? How close am I?...

And rather less than a thousandth of a second before they'd collide with their chosen target, they detonated in what amounted to a 'So long, dinosaurs!' message.

As has been said, most were eliminated before that happened. Most never even got the chance to do so.

But the ones that did were nasty buggers, so to speak.

Still Capships

One problem the Thrashian fleet faced was an almost amusingly simple one - the CLA craft moved.

Close combat, that meant not keeping formation, but 'Fluttering' about and changing course almost at whim as the distance between the two opposing sides decreased to less than a lightsecond - 'Point Blank' range, as far as the CLA ships were concerned, which was a pretty good reason to keep the 'Fluttering' limited enough to avoid hitting the .1 lightsecond range - which at the velocities this battle took place translated to 'Ramming Distance'.

The idea was simple: Avoid being hit. And this they did - a doable task, given the relatively small number of (Capship-grade) guns typically found on stardestroyers, which made saturating all possible escape vectors of a given target mildly difficult.

Still, energy was thrown about in a wide variety of forms, and chaos ensured as the CLA's EW department 'Played' with the perception of the enemy, and not everything could be avoided.

Turrets thrusted forward, spilling their loads into space in a quest to penetrate the enemy, to show him who is the master, and who is the slave.

Vast impacts that'd boil oceans and set continents on fire (Yes, space warfare had become a tad excessive, these days) were radiated off, as fields cushioned the ships that generated them for the basic purpose of protecting themselves from stray shots they couldn't possibly avoid, causing further mayhem as space was 'Poisoned' with these radiations, turning the vacuum into a soup of radiations that made seeing each other's target more than just difficult - it was probably the best to just shoot in the vague direction of the neutrino- and infrared bursts that seemed to be almost omnipresent in this hell.

Oh shit. Lost three of my CREW batteries and two particle accelerators. The fucks shoot better than expected.

Gah. Missed again. My gunners need proper targetting solutions.

Need glasses?

I wish to report MPC-325-B's violation of protocol by sending the following message: 'Need glasses?', in response to my statement 'Gah. Missed again. I need proper targetting solutions.'

Later, perhaps? We're a tad busy, and don't really have the time to deal with disciplinary issues...

Tightass.

Gotcha!

Got lucky?

I think so... That, or I hit a decoy. But I believe that they're not big on EW, so I'd call it good.

Lets just hope that you didn't hit one of the EW department's decoys...

I'm not that stupid.

Only blonde...

Oh, shut up and concentrate on the task at hand, will you? Engaging displacers in three... Two...

Boom.

Say, could the Robespierre perhaps help me out, here?

It's two lightseconds off, you know...

[Static]

Whoops. EW bump. Let me compensate...

And in the midth of the chaos of battle (Probably a short one, depending on the Thrashian SDs' maneuverability - the two fleets were moving in opposite directions, and would be past each other in relatively little time), more weaponry - much shorter ranged than the standard CREWs and particle beam cannons, which was of course why they'd not been used until now - started to fire.

I'll manage it yet, you know.

Manage what?

Displace-into-target.

Hee! Best of luck, but I seriously doubt it. Annnd... There goes another one. Hop&Boom.

Hey, I can still try, no? Break through the jamming, and kill.

I'm not stopping you. But it strikes me as more effective to try near-hull displacements.

Still.

Warhead after warhead, tens, hundreds of them - blink, they're gone from the ship's magazines, blink, they're back, in open space, usually somewhere close to a target.

Every displacer-operator's wet dream - displace right into the middle of the target - would likely remain a wet dream, but near-contact detonations tended to be nasty all by themselves, really.

At the same time, vast chunks of ordnance were released into space, accelerated by mass drivers which were sending bombs massing hundreds of tons into space and against the enemy, to detonate as soon as they crossed the safety distance from their origin, sending their ten gamma ray fingers against their targets - accuracy sucked, but well, there were a lot of them.

In between, the occasional Thrashian combatant getting too close to the CLA main combatants would experience some tearing, KE and momentum dissipating as fields held on, occasionally simply trying to slice through - tossing them about was a wee bit difficult at this velocities, and the excessive KE each vessel was carrying, and therefore not really done.

And back on the planet, the occasional x-ray was probably arriving by now. The few ones that hadn't either been soaked up by shields or - more likely - propagated on a trajectory that didn't really let them collide with the planet... They were coming.

Technically, they were pretty harmless. After all, atmospheres do tend to absorb x-rays quite rapidly, which makes shooting through the same pretty difficult. There would be a rather nifty release of heat in the upper atmosphere - very pretty to watch, but that's it.

The only problem would be recording the pretty fireworks, as the energy-absorption would cause hemispheral EMPs that'd compare to, lets say, ion cannons in about the same way that a whale compares to a bacterium.

And a good deal off, the Convict was watching.

Pretty... Errr... Wait a moment.

FTLCOM@BL1E10&EM1e-1; CLASL5; Tightbeam
From: TEU Convict
To: Guillotine
Subject: That planet...

Errr... You do realise that I still have two sapients down there, yes?
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] And? You don't run your drones with electronics, do you?
-
[Convict] Of course not. Still.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] Are they even on the same hemisphere the impacts are occuring?
-
[Convict] Hrm. Good question, actually... I'll have to figure that one out.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] Alright. Now, to get back to our present problem...

A civilization. This one's just at the edge of a new stage of expansion and discovery, having just recently re-discovered spaceflight and begun the first crude steps into the atomic age.

'Course, the atomic age in these sorts of cultures usually begins with nuclear weapons, and in this case it's no different. No fewer than five superpowers have acquired the technology, and are busy building massive missile arsenals and threatening MAD every which way.

Into the scene enter seven drones. Mass-produced again, little better than the scouts that first detected the system. Still, they've been improved: better bandwidth, better processors, and a massive chunk of hull devoted to e-warfare.

A few moments later, approach radars begin screaming. Dozens, hundreds of incoming missiles flash red on the radars. The direct satellite link to the enemy has been cut. Obviously, someone on the Other Side has pushed the buttons. In deep silos planetwide, keys are slammed into locks, safety panels are smashed, targets are set and the ground shakes with the sound of liquid-fuel boosters.

After thirty seconds, ground control loses contact with its own missiles. The enemy "missiles" begin to flicker and disappear from the radar screens.

Booming, maniacal laughter fills the airwaves as the masses wait for death and nuclear flowers blossom in the background. The planet descends from civilization to radioactive dirtball in 24 hours.

A few hours later, a factory ship slips into orbit and begins to strip-mine the surface.

******

A planet in the late Stone Age, devastated by energy-weapon fire: its crust boiled off and its oceans mined for volatiles.

There can be no competition or potential competition. An artist needs a clean slate with which to work.

An asteroid colony, flooded with poison gas then shoved whole into the maw of the Unifier.

I do not aim to reduce all matter into usable machinery - that would introduce an undesirable factor of uniformity. Rather, the perfect aim is to reprocess only what has been tainted by the hands of others, so that the work may be mine and mine alone.

A colony ship with a thousand passengers in coldsleep, carved into bite-sized chunks and reduced to pure elements.

Unfortunately, survival and success plans may require the sacrifice of materials in their natural state. Ah well. You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs - or is it heads? Either way it makes sense.

The atrocities mount - but who's counting? Does megadeath make a noise if there's nobody there to hear it?

A robot builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot that builds a robot...

The system is inherently unstable, but it doesn't seem to care.

loop detected - memory purge and refresh

******

The battle is still raging. Absurd amounts of energy are fired diverted converted redirected radiated impacted. EW reduces the ships to a pattern of blurs and probabilities - uncertainty writ large. They're harder to pin down than electrons - size, mass, speed, and direction of each craft are so confused that they could only be plotted as a range. Even the number of ships involved is uncertain.

Hrmm. I may need to dedicate more resources than anticipated. Energy production must be increased. Some kind of reactor-drone perhaps...

There's over thirty drones trying to make sense of the situation, now. They're scattered across a vast volume of space in a rough sphere, inferring the state of the battle.

Surely this has to end sometime soon? They'll run out of missiles, if nothing else...

Macaroth

Fucking hell were the words that came to mind as the two attacking fleets began passing each other. The Star Destroyers held their formations and when enemy ships passed between them were targeted from all directions with extreme prejudice. Most of the Thrashian fighter groups were by now thrown into disarray by the slightly more maneuverable enemy fighter-like craft. However many fighters, especially Tie Scimitar Bomber groups, kept to their main mission objectives and concentrated high mil grade sub-nuclear pay loads into the major capitol ships of the enemy.

Already however the enemies ability to spit out massive payloads of missiles was taking its tole, even with the defense being put put by the Lancer frigates particular skill at destroying a vast majority. Two Dreadnoughts had lost their main shields and suffered massive hull damage, the crews had abandoned ship and fled the scene of battle as fast as possible. The Fiery Spirit, which had in a show of heroic stupidity charged off to fast an enemy capital ship, had suffered under the onslaught and had been destroyed utterly.

However the Victory Star Destroyers, their missile payloads large enough to give a bomb-obsessive adict a nose bleed, were pouring out missiles a.s.a.p., several thousands within minutes. Proton torpedoes and HE sub-nuclear 'Hawks' flew out at the enemy like avenging angels.

- * - * -

Captain Oric shuddered as the ship's hull rang with the sound of impact. The entire crew was slightly put on edge by it. The massive amount of artillery added with some form of laser cannon fire was punching hard into the ships shields. Oric had already had to order all power normally reserved for the tractor beams and a few low levels of life support on unused sections of the ship be transfered to shield power.

"Sir, that was the seventh direct hit by missile," reported Lieutenant Durel. "It didn't puncture the hull but we lost a few systems in the eight level."

"Evacuate any personnel from that section and seal it off. I'll not lose crewmen to space when it might blow open at any time."

It was when they began detecting odd shifts in the ships gravity when they realized that the enemy was using some sort of gravity manipulation, similar to that used by the Interdictors. Oric immediately had them calibrate the enemies gravity level to a negative charge in the hopes that the two gravitational forces would cancel out each other.

"Malcontent reports 30% degrade in shield power and two hull punctures. Some sort of enemy patrol-grade or higher craft that move like fighters are targeting a lot of our capships sir."

"Detail Tie Interceptor squadrons to hunt them down in wolf packs," ordered Oric. "We're coming up on those start destroyers. Concentrate all fire from all Star Destroyers on the foremost, missiles too."

"Aye, sir."


- * - * -


Flight Sergeant McAndrews rocked out of his 360 degree spin turn and launched his gears into a big thrust and brought himself behind the enemy fighter that had been following him. Without saying anything like "got you in my sights" or "I have you now" he pressed the firing pins and fired off his heavy blaster cannons, slamming the shots into the rear of the craft. Just for added effect he sent a tracking missile at it. Suddenly a voice broke over his comm system.

"Fighter Group Gold through Vermillion are to detach from present objects and hunt down the following enemy ships," said a commanding voice.

A small technical redoubt appeared on McAndrew's iris as the information was projected into his eye. He read it with speed, within a few seconds, and at the same time sped through the debris of an exploded Lancer frigate.

"Copy that command," he replied. "Red group, this is Red Leader, we have our targets. Lets go hunting."

A few woops and yeehaws' echoed through the comm system and the eight strong Tie Interceptor Red Group sped off to find their new targets.


- * - * -

Captain Rivan, whose group of Dreadnoughts had already been sent straight into melee with the enemy before hand, had brought his battle group about and were now in the rear sights of the enemy. Of course many of the enemy ships were still moving forward but a few had naturally changed course and were coming about in the same manner to face off against Rivan and his three Dreadnoughts. Due to the speed with which his attack had taken his ships had not suffered a large amount of damage. The heavy shielding had proved its worth and kept them alive in what had been a very risky maneuver.

"All main batteries to concentrate on the rear engines of the enemy Star Destroyers. Medium batteries start firing and attaining firing solutions on those approaching ships," Rivan ordered from his command station.

"Aye, sir," replied his adjutant.



- * - * -

Ensign Yamata, of the Thrashian Imperial Special Operations Sensory and Observation Team in Macaroth, was now no longer board. Rather he was biting his nails off, chewing on the rim of his cap, and hearing that small annoying song that his sister once sang all the time ring in his head. Just sitting and watching the battle unfold was bad enough, but it was even more so because they had really nothing at all to contribute. Absolutely nothing, except maybe words of encouragement but they were forbidden to interrupt the comms when they were filled with vital orders going between ships.

He sat at his station and stared at his two screens. One used for detecting long range incoming ships and the other for in-system movements. The first was naturally totally empty of anything significant. The latter was completely going off the charts.

"Damn stupid machine," he muttered.

"What was that ensign?" asked his superior who happened to be passing by him.

"Nothing sir, just wishing I could do something useful."

"You are though, keep watch for anything that might be enemy reinforcements. For all we know this could be just a vanguard."

"Yes sir," replied Yamata. He shrugged it off and his superior walked away. He didn't buy what the old kook was selling, but it made some sense to Yamata. There really might be some more enemies coming.

His long range sensors suddenly opened up and went off the charts. Yamata pulled up the information and looked at its checkings. It didn't quite make sense until he checked the ship signatures. It was big. Something very big.

"Sir," Yamata said in alarm. "I think that-"

"What?"

"Wait...no! I can't believe it!"

"What, what?" asked his superior.

"I think we don't need to worry about enemy reinforcements anymore sir," said Yamata. "That ship signature is one of ours. Its still about 20 to 40 minutes out from hyper-shifting but its coming at top speed."

"Can you identify it?"

"I've never seen it before in our fleet...but I heard rumors of a new flagship sent from back home," replied Yamata. They never called Thrashia by its name anymore, it just brought up memories of loved ones and pangs of not seeing them. Homesick was an issue for some members of the expeditionary fleet.

"But its broadcast says that it's named the Titan," Yamata said. "Quite appropriate if I do say myself."

"I'll inform Captain Oric at once! If it wasn't for the battle we'd be out in field dress," said Yamata's superior. He chuckled with delight, his spirits raised by being able to bring good news, for once, to his own superiors. Yamata just stared at the screen and smiled.

Their beloved commander was on his way.

Analyze.

surveillance report #489C

new development: incoming supervessel at primary interest focus A. ETA range to battle 1.2 to 2.4 Ksec.

1. vessel has high probability of reducing odds of successful neutralization of party "Thrashia" if it reaches and wins battle in 100% operational condition

2. vessel is travelling along straight-line hyperspatial arc

3. assets nearby are capable of intercept course

suggested path of action: interdict and ambush within 0.6 Ksec.

most probable result: damage and reduction of threatfactor of supervessel "Titan" by no greater than 40%

******

All right, go for it.

Assets relocate themselves. A dedicated EWAR frigate positions itself along the projected flight-path of the Titan, with distortion engines rigged to warp the fabric of space and force the massive capital ship out of hyperspace.

Around the projected arrival zone is scattered a minefield of ordnance: gamma-ray bombs, tidal stress bombs, EMP pulse generators, old-fashioned kinetic penetrators and a good variety of exotic plasma and DEW selections. It's equivalent in sheer damage potential to the entire missile loadout of a battleship, and in fact, that's what it is: a few LY away, one of Kara's capital ships is sitting cloaked, teleporting the entire contents of its magazines into position.

All timers are set for 1/10 of a second - that's not enough time for the EWAR frigate to remove itself from the blast zone, but meh. A single devastating blast is the goal of this trap, and things like "survival" or "damage-over-time" come in second. Besides, EWAR frigates are cheap to build, anyway.

Emissions are reduced to just a hair above zero, communications are shut down, and stealth generators smooth out the ambush's gravitic signature. It's just about as invisible now as it's possible to be in this day and age.

Now all it has to do is wait.

Biggest Founding Day fireworks display ever, I do believe. Heh. Wait, it isn't Founding Day? Well, whatever. I'm in charge, and I SAY that today is Founding Day. Heh, yes. The Founding Day of my new empire.

Teeheehee.

In transit to Macaroth

Grand Admiral Thrawn sat in his study watching a holo-net connected view of the battle taking place in the Macaroth System. The CLA had made its move, bold and daring as was their reputation amongst those who met them; and powerful enough to be a large thorn in the side of Thrawn.

He smiled again as his hands gently rubbed over the surface of his new command chair. It was like a toy just opened up from its pretty wrapper. Why it had taken his request for a command ship so long to be fulfilled by his Excellency Trieze was a small odd feeling to Thrawn, but now that he had it he did not care for the exact reason in its delayed arrival, along with a new flotilla of support from home.

Thrawn was again remembering back to his tour through the vast ship when the chamber door chime rung and announced that a visitor was waiting outside. Thrawn sighed to himself and pressed an activation button.

"Enter."

The door opened with a pressured swish and revealed the figure of Captain - that is former captain - Brandei stepped into the room. He now wore the uniform of a Rear Admiral. As soon as the Titan had arrived Thrawn had transfered his old command crew to the bridge of the Titan and had Brandei promoted.

Brandei snapped to a smart salute. "Sir, we've just received a warning from out lying sector intelligence. Our outer sensors picked up a large concentration of what could have been ship signatures. However they faded before we could either identify or get a fix."

"Do we know a general area?" asked Thrawn, a frown moving to his lips.

"We've estimated that they are within our path-line to Macaroth. I personally believe sir that we're going to be tr-"

Brandei was not able to finish his sentence when the entire ship seemed to shudder. Alarm klaxons blared to life. Lights flashed and with fiery devotion to their programed tasks began rotating. And with a juddering halt the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, Titan, came out of hyperspace.

"Bridge to Admiral Thrawn," this is Captain Logan. "Mines and other explosives have been hit. We were forced out of hyperspace."

"All shields to full, pilots to their ships. Full alert to all battle stations," ordered Thrawn. "I will be on the bridge momentarily."

Thrawn and Brandei took a special liftcar that was in the side of his command room and rode it up to the bridge 20 decks above. The door slid aside and Thrawn was through it in a flash. The bridge was a hive of activity as crewmen worked.

"Damage report," called Thrawn as he sat down in his bridge command chair Captain Logan rushed over from the ComScan station, his brow furrowed in agitation and sweat droplets were forming on its brim.

"We had a single major hull rupture in sector five. All sections pertaining have been sealed. We lost the use of the third tractor beam station and two turbolaser cannon batteries on the port side. Lost 214 personnel in the blast; there could be more but we're unsure at this time," he said with gasping breaths. "ComScan reports a ship, frigate-class, sitting off our port bow. However it doesn't look active. Whatever got us got it too."

Thrawn nodded. "Launch three fighter groups and one scimitar bomber group to check out the frigate; port side batteries are to concentrate on the frigate as well. If it so much as blips a signal I want it destroyed"

Brandei looked at the redoubt screens. "It's suicide," he mumbled.

"Indeed, our enemies are becoming more numerous by the day," commented Thrawn.

"Sir?" asked Brandei. "We're headed to the CLA attack...wasn't this them fending off reinforcements?"

"I do not believe so. If it had been them they would have made a larger effort to keep us from reaching Macaroth to reinforce Captain Oric. No, this was a different foe. Once intent on simply causing us trouble," replied Thrawn. He turned to Captain Logan.

"Report captain."

"We've just finished the tally, we've lost 321 personnel. Most of them engineer crewmen or gunners manning the turbolasers and tractor beams. The blast tore a 43 meter hole in the hull, two decks deep. We've managed to seal off the rest of the ship and isolated the area. I've just got off the comm with the repair chief and he estimates that it will take 6 to 9 hours time patching the gap, and then another 20 for reconstructing the two decks internally. We won't be able to replace the turbolaser batteries until we return to Port Royal," said Logan.

Thrawn sat quietly and nodded when Logan finished. It was a setback to be sure. One that could put at stake their gains in the Macaroth system. The Titan would be an important factor in turning the tide of that battle. Thrawn turned to Brandei.

"What's the status of our escort?"

"Captain Dardalion and his group were an hour's time behind us when we left. They should be passing us by through hyperspace in less than 10 to 50 minutes. It depends on what speed the captain set his course with."

"It will be the fastest then," said Thrawn. "Dardalion is somewhat overzealous in his command. Send a holo-message to him informing him that we will not be arriving on time. He is to help Captain Oric in all manner possible with his battle group. He must hold them off until we arrive or manage to push them back out of the system," ordered Thrawn.

"Understood Admiral," said Brandei and Logan together.

"Very well, begin repair immediately and set out our sentry lines to warn of any more impending attacks. We'll not be caught like this again," said Thrawn. His red eyes blowed brightly and sinisterly. Brandei held no doubt in his mind that they would ever again.

The skies were alight with an eerie twilight fire as the sun fell slowly over a horizon shattered by a ghastly range of gnarled mountain peaks. It was a sight both terrible and beautiful; the sky bleeding with all manners of light and cool colors, resisting against an unstoppable tide of darkness. A sky bleeding slowly, dying out of curiosity that brought itself too close to those clawing talons of stone.

Asanka looked into the depths of this dying sky from a glassless window slit that dominated the fore-wall in a room almost too small to sleep in. It was part of a half-way house that lay at the outer-edges of Glor city, that sprawling metropolis that was only kind to those with deep pockets and an intricate spider's web of connections to both the political and social worlds. A realm totally cut off to him as he admired its various skyscrapers; large metallic cylinders free of blemish supported by a vast network of spiraled buttresses decorated with incredible spires at each vertex. The tops of these monumental structures were adorned with a sharp peak of metal that stretched into the sky with inordinate length. An architectural style that all buildings in that city shared, turning the skyline into a conglomeration of artificial mountains of perfect design, piercing a color gradient ranging from pure obsidian at it's zenith, and sickly red at the nadir.

It was heaven that was completely intangible to Asanka and others who shared his plight, a reality everyone had come to accept all be it grudgingly. Everyone save for that Prophet, that lunatic who preached of salvation from a threat that had yet to manifest itself in any appreciable manner. It was a case of an old man pointing towards specters only he could see. Yet, something about his words, did affect Asanka as he mulled over them, in a way that was more frightening than enlightening.

Those horrible images of unfathomable destruction, wrought by the forces of imperialistic malignance with their warriors of hatred, and totalitarian collectivists with their supposed valor. Images that where wholly vague and obscure and impossible yet at the same time perfectly clear and discernible and absolute. There was more to learn; that was certain even if those abhorrent mental illustrations of annihilation were not.

The Prophet was still there preaching the next day, about ten kilometers away from the cities outer defensive perimeter: too far away for the law enforcement teams to deal with if anyone had ever once complained about his ravings, though that would imply that anyone ever gave him much thought, which they didn't by the minuscule crowd that had gathered before him as he stood their 'preaching', from that same stairwell.

"The Holy Light shown from the immaculate heavens, and struck the force o' evil down i' one holy stroke..." He was booming with a voice that seemed totally alien given his new state of existence, one Asanka noticed even from far off.

His arms were thinner, much thinner, just as his face was. As if he hadn't known food in weeks. His eyes sunk into his face like shrinking verdant funeral pyres, his hair was frayed, and what flesh he still had seemed to hang loosely off the bone. This was a dead man, or almost dead, though just yesterday his countenance was wholly different; yesterday he did not look as though he was the incarnation of death itself. Some aethereal strength still remained, however, that itself was also evident.

"...And he rose them to his realm of infinite bliss; freed from their evil bondage...

For the entropy his already haggard body had been through thus far, he still gave off an air of strength Asanka had never before seen. The dead dictators and warlords he once read so long ago in decrepit history books, the kinds of men and women that inspired millions to through themselves under his or her banner; they were imposing even if their pictures were small and decayed, but this raving old man was stronger than them all. Though, what differentiated him from those long-dead men of lesser stature but greater fame was their ability to gather followers; for all his strength this Prophet had so far not gained a single one, and the daily crowd had in fact dwindled severely from yesterdays.

"...And it was obliterated by the Father's own hand, never to rise and spread its evil again..."

Asanka's natural sense of curiosity brought him closer; it always did. While at the same time, his characteristic cynicism and skepticism allowed him to dismiss things outright, which did not adhere to the laws of the universe as he knew them. How then he could rationalize listening to this man anymore, was not a question he could readily answer.

"...So behold; the evil which plagued the land was no more; the souls of the righteous lifted up into the heavens to be with their souls' creator; no longer to feel pain or suffering or want again at the hands of the Flesh; there was only bliss." The Prophet finished with those same burning eyes to a crowd that had shrunken to just Asanka and two others, who looked as if they wanted to leave but wanted to give the raving man the courtesy of their ear for that day; even in a hell such as this there is some civility.

"When will you stop these ravings of madness old man? Can you not see that no one is listening?" Asanka said with some degree of confidence from behind a thick hood as he sauntered slowly closer.

"The lack o' listeners does not detract from the truth o' my words, Asanka. And i' any case: mayhaps they shall ponder my words and return later, just as you have?" The Prophet said with a wide wry smirk.

"Don't pretend to know my motives!" Asanka said with anger that was rather uncharacteristic of him, "I've come to see how insane you truly are. And so far those suspicions have been proven." He continued with a harsh tone.

"Your motives are as clear as a summer stream: otherwise why would you have come back? Certainly our earlier encounter would have been enough to confirm these 'suspicions' of yours." The Prophet said, stepping down slowly from his stairwell, just as he had yesterday. "You either saw the truth in my words, or you have nothing else better to do other than to mill about in your room sulking at your position in life. Which is it, Asanka?" He had gotten just as close today as he did yesterday, only now Asanka was standing up, though still too short to meet the imposing man's blazing green eyes.

Asanka just remained silent; one of the many things that could cause his anger to rise were the wild leaps of logic some people made in trying to discern your motives from baseless assumptions. He's so insane he actually thinks he can read my mind! Asanka thought for a moment as the Prophet spoke, though his resolve was faltering; his silence was indicative of as much.

"I have yet another sermon to give before dusk ensnares me; judgment day rapidly approaches, even as we speak." The Prophet turned to the sky as the night began to permeate the various chroma of the encroaching twilight, as if he could penetrate lightyears of vacuum and perceive events as they took place. Impossible, totally impossible: no one could ever possess that ability.

"Nothing is impossible with the Father's aid, Asanka." The Prophet said bluntly.

Asanka knew it was a trick; it had to be. But those images, those prophecies, the Prophet's knowledge of things he should not know: those things and many others began to tear down the one impregnable walls of skepticism separating Asanka from accepting the reality of the old man's rantings.

"You'll be back tomorrow morning Asanka, but you'll not be alone as the truth finally reveals itself to you: quite a few others will be joining us as well." The Prophet said, turning around slowly and edging back up the steps to ready his next sermon to a static audience of crumbling building husks.

Asanka wanted to run away again, away from the madness that threatened to engulf him if he listened to anymore of the Prophet's false words. Yet, even as he walked slowly back to his humble home, he knew he'd be back, and he'd not regret it.

-----

Aeronae Defense Force: Hyperion Oort Cloud

It was less panic and more frustration that permeated the atmosphere of the Ikinaeklast as it became evident they had been discovered by the forces they had been sent to stealthily investigate. While they knew that their measures for remaining hidden were not the most advanced in a universe of interstellar entities, there was an assumption that they could still remain obscured to any vessel's sensor systems from such extreme distances. No such luck.

Ikari was more frustrated than most; not only were they seen but the very real possibility that the foreigners could trace them back home hung quietly in his mind like a menacing sword. With that in mind he immediately bolted for the bridge as quickly as he could manage while also keeping his composure intact, and quickly began to rattle off a series of orders to best deal with the current situation from a hard-jawed face that beheld only determination.

"Alright people, apparently our stealth systems are entirely useless. So the first order of business is to shut those energy-intensive pieces of shit down and divert the freed up power to the shields and Qtac computers." Ikari said as he sat in his chair, glaring with eyes of rose fire at anyone who was too busy staring at him to worry about the work that had to be done.

"Launch all small craft, have them drawn up along side us, keeping a distance of about twenty-five thousand kilometers; prep missiles and subTorps for engagement, and have firing solutions drawn up for the oncoming craft based on likely attack vectors."

"Done, Courtier." Ikeal said tersely.

"Prepare to broadcast a message on all known frequencies."

"Ready."

"Invading forces from beyond the cluster, this is Cortier Yyuan-Ikari, who are you and what do you want?" Ikari said as coldly as possible over the comm through the small relay implanted at the base of his brain.

"Is that all Cortier?" Ikael asked, somewhat put-off by the lack of information Ikari had just transmitted.

"And give away too much? For all they know we're a band of pirates that jumped in from another system to perhaps plunder what they don't destroy of this system. Or their advanced technology told them everything they need to know about us. In the latter case there is nothing we can do, but otherwise I would like for them to not know anything more about us save that we exist were we do." Ikari said flatly, staring into the view screen detailing the approach of Copen forces with bestial intensity.

"Approach OCO n398 on the map, as fast as the engines will take us."

"Aye, Cortier." And then there was only the thrum of the slaving computers to penetrate the eerie silence that overtook them all.

Ikari and everyone else felt a sense that came close to relief; only the sight of the incoming forces of unknown intent stopped the sensation from maturing fully. They were still comforted by the fact that their Cortier at least seemed to be calm and collected at a time when they were not; thinking ahead and remaining away of their possible plight in the face of these invaders: and that of their homeworld.

Outside, the small multitude of small craft went into formation around the Ikinaeklast as it burned with wings of green flame towards an earth-sized Oort cloud object of rock and ice nearly five AU away, choosing to orbit closing at an angle that nearly obscured it from the Copenhagen forces as they approached.

Missiles and subTorps were primed and readied for launch in their constituent racks and tubes.

PD batteries of various nature ran through a multitude of simulations based on what information Qscans could glean each time they pinged the potential enemies warships, a picture which became slightly less murky as they came nearer, though if shields were up and armor was especially thick, then they could be a millimeter away from the sensor nodes and no really meaningful information could ever come of it. Still it helped to be ready and any information was better than none at all.

The primary batteries that decorated various areas of the Ikinaeklast's hull remained at half-power, hoping not to send a message confirming there hostility and thus adding more fuel to a fire that threatened to engulf everything as it was.

The aforementioned small-craft: sub-sentient missile boats, gun-corvettes, and mobile PD ships, also primed and readied their weapons, even their primary batteries; though their stance was wholly defensive, to the Aeronae anyway; what Copenhagen consider defensive and threatening could be entirely different things. All Ikari could hope was that wasn't the case.

Karen continued running biological tests on the Sicari, discovering countless new information from this marvelous creature.

"This creature was built for hunting," she mused to herself. "Active biological concealment, twelve tendrils with chitinous dagger-like fingers on the ends, two sacs in the jaws, one that shoots a corrosive bile projectile and another that shoots a gel-like napalm bile, and a powerful tongue with the same four chitinous daggers on the end are only the few weapons this creature has," she was keeping note orally, recording them on a camera.

"If it weren't for those fields, this thing could've killed us all," she said. Karen turned to the viewing screens to observe the characteristics of the Kraeton movement on Gheistarch. There she saw their fluid and synchronic swarm, all in perfect unison as if some greater being were controlling them. "Studies of the Sicari's brain shows that there is a significant amount that is used, perhaps for psychic control. DNA analysis confirms that the Kraetons have in fact 20 base pairs, making their strains very mutable. The question is how are they able to adapt so quickly..." She sat down, her leg killing her.

This was tiring, watching the destruction of yet another world at the hands of not only the Kraetons but the mysterious Astartes.

"This will pay off," Karen said as she scratched her wound. "Once we can discover a way to kill them..."

***

Niiat stared into space, already bonding with the massive broodship, the Darimus upon his throne of bone and sinew. His gaze was focused upon a mysterious ship that seemed to be watching over the battle. Niiat could sense the psychic energies of his creation...

"Hmm...interesting...they seem to be watching us overtaking the planet..." an idea began forming, but he quickly dismissed it, knowing that plotting to overtake the Omnilord would lead to his destruction. And he didn't want that. Not after all he had taken.

"I have another idea," he thought as the broodship began to turn to the ship with Karen upon it.

Kraetons and You

"Given that evolution is - on the genetic level - an inherently random process, which makes purposeful evolution mildly difficult, I'd guess that a intuitive geneticist sitting at the centre is responsible for the mutations - the breeding strains of the creatures would need to be able to translate any orders into molecular changes, and I figure that they've some sort of preprogrammed idea of what they need to change. Biochemical encoding of the same should be manageable.

"Overall, shouldn't be too difficult, aand I do like the idea of interfering and causing amusing malfunctions in the process... Well, largely a fantasy, I suppose, given the failsaves they ought to have in place."

The ship's representation had appeared behind Karen, politely holding a chair for her. ""In any case - while we do not yet have evidence of such a centralised system existing, I figure it's the most likely explanation. No different from societies where citizens change their DNA at will - well, at the doctor's place -, except that it's built-in."

The Born to be Wild hesitated.

"Which reminds me. Given that the swarm is apparently taking its time with utilising available biomass, keeping planetary assets for production, I figure that we should interfere with the same - though given their adaptability, we're rather hesistant when it comes to utilising our usual ordnance. The last thing the swarm needs is a means to utilise all matter... Still. Would you've any objections to planetary extinction events? I doubt it'd kill them permanently without a thorough post-bombardement campaign to clean survivors off, but it'd slow them down - rebuilding takes time.

"And of cour-"

CCOM@EM1e-1; SL10; Beamspread@400%
From: TEU Act on Instinct
To: SEU Born to be Wild; TEU Improper Behaviour; TEU Pleasure of Discipline
Subject: Uninvited Guest

Well... Shoot it?
-
[Born to be Wild] I don't know... It's alone, for now. It might as well want to investigate, not attack. Though the move is oddly eccentric... I'd have sent something smaller. Or more.
-
[Pleasure of Discipline] And here I thought I was the only masochist in the group.
-
Oh, shut up. Besides, it makes raiding their fleet unnecessary. One ship to analyse? I'm sold. Incidentally, vector analysis has it heading straight for me. Do me a favour and stay about one lightsecond off, and keep circling me at .01 c to dash in if necessary. I suspect that it senses the Sicari on board.
-
[Act on Instinct] Your choice. Alright then - moving in to the one lightsecond mark.
-
[Born to be Wild] Good. Now, to see who or what it is... Any bets? I suspect that the ships are the major organisms, and use the smaller units as a form of drone - subsapient, of course.
-
[Improper Behaviour] Likely. Well, we'll see.

"-Ah, nevermind. I was about to suggest a raid on their fleet to get some specimen, and maybe even ships, but apparently we don't have to - one of the larger craft is moving towards us. Me, to be specific. It's probably sensing the Sicari on board..."

The ship looked apologetic - probably because it half suspected Karen to have either a) a fit or b) to faint. "I don't intend to shoot at it - at least, not yet -, but will keep all other security arrangements. It's my pet theory that the ships, ah, 'Run' the hive - might learn a bit by playing for a while. And I can't do a proper analysis without it being a tad closer than optimum engagement range."

A Hegemonising Swarm?

As - roughly - discussed with Khrrck.

The eyes are numerous and watch, curiously, but powerless. Still, information is relayed, providing updates to the sapients in place.

And the sapients, after reviewing the information, are worried.

[b]FTLCOM@BL1e25&EM1e-1; SL10; Beamspread@525%
From: IEU [i]Stargazer
To: All
Subject: More threats

And this one's probably the most serious there is.
-
[DEAT on Sight] Ouch... This said, I 'Like' their methods. Very elegant.
-
[Stargazer] Which is dangerous. These are not some retarded wannabe-racists who believe in the value of flesh over the machine, or obedient little sheep following their chaos lords. I've run a few simulations on their manufacturing curve, based on FTL'd observations by nearby sensordrones. The estimates are of course very much guesstimates, as we don't get any [i]detailed feed from where we are - did I mention that they appear to have the best EW encountered to so far? -, but it looks pretty bad.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Someone should go in to get more usable data, I suppose?
-
[Stargazer] That'd be very much appreciated. Incidentally, it looks like they might be Augmented.
-
[DEAT on Sight] Odd. the Augmented didn't strike me as a society that'd pull off this kind of stunt. Immoral as they may be.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Well, best to keep quiet for now?
-
[Stargazer] I'd say so. Given the Augmented's nature, it might be a more-or-less independent group that has little to do with the mainstream, anyway - but be careful. If they are of Augmented origin, they'll figure out who you are in a matter of microseconds.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Understood.

Space

The drone is small, tiny, barely noticeable. Its reactor, theoretically capable of providing energy on a scale that'd make early 21st century battlegroups blush with embarrassment, does basically, well... Nothing at all. The exceedingly small amount of radiation it does emit can be measured in fractions of a watt.

Something's close.

A remote drone, just like itself.

Energie production increases, sensor suites go active, albeit on a fairly low scale.

No, not quite like itself - similar in purpose, but different in construction. Probably not quite as sophisticated as itself, though it can't tell for certain, for now.

A warm touch. Radiations hit the tiny drone's surface, jumping frequencies. It appears to like ultravio- no, it's already gone higher than that.

Damn. It knows I'm here.

Energy densities spike - the drone's weaponry is pretty limited, largely in the knowledge that it isn't exactly capable of dealing with any kind of serious spacecraft, anyway. Still - it can try.

Too late. It can already feel the touch of the other side's radiations, suddenly jumping a few orders of magnitude, trying to burn it out.

Mirrorfields go up, sending said radiations right back to their source.

Asshole.

Tiny drives, hardly worth the name, suddenly start up, and velocities change.

Lets see...

Flimsy, and somehow odd radiations race through space, trying to hit the object of interest. After a while - fractions of a second, really -, they lose their information content, turning into more conventional, less 'Aggressive' radiations...

But by this time, some have already hit their target.

Change the scale. Millimetres. Micrometres. Nanometres. Picometres.

Electrons orbit atomic nuclei, quite happily so - it's what they're supposed to do. Orbitals intersect, forming molecules.

And then, energy is provided. Electrons jump orbitals, once to deal with their increased energy content, and then again, to get rid of the same.

This is all very natural.

What isn't natural is how they are doing it, and what the effects are. Energy stays where it shouldn't, information is kept where chaos should ensue.

'Circuits' form, using probabilities as their vehicle. Photons spread through the target, only a few at a time, but enough to disrupt the occasional information transfer via optronics, while other, more constructive bits of the attack try to learn more of the target's structure and the way it works - necessary information before the actual interrogation begins.

And then, information starts to collapse, and circuits the size of molecules die off.

The target knows the same tricks!

The drone, watching from afar, and receiving updates via a rather unlikely, but nonetheless existing feedback route, curses.

Fuck.

This might end up being a long afternoon.

I'll do my best to finish a reply for Thrashia by tomorrow.

Karen sighed and said, "Ok, let's check them out." She had to swallow alot of pride for this one. This will just get us closer to killing them, Karen thought.

The broodship was massive, larger than any of the other ones in the swarm. It was drifting closer to their position. Karen got a bit nervous.

"Why are they coming here? I doubt that it wants the Sicari we have," she turned to the sleeping creature, still being dissected.

Niiat had changed greatly since his departure from the fleet, his actually body biomass lessening while his mental mass had increased, already adding three mysterious sacs to his large skull. He was imbeded in the biocircuitry of the Darimus. A mere thought and he sent a message.

[Greetings, Alien Ship. I have noticed that you have taken a liking to what you see below. I also see that you have...one of my children with you. I believe we have much to talk about and a bright future together...as partners...Permission to come aboard.]

Karen was speechless. A sentient Kraeton? Controlling this entire swarm? That was...

"What...what do we do?" she asked the ship.

Amdist the wreackage of the pirate ship crawled a Shryka. This one however was a special Shryka, containing the genetic code of a Caedes Hive Patriarch

Kraetons and You

"Let it come aboard, of course."

CCOM@EM1e-5; SL0; Beamspread@600%
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: Hegemonising Swarm (Biological Bias); Capship
Subject: Talks

'Liking' is perhaps the wrong word... Lets call it 'Interest' - hence the presence of one of your 'Children' on board. This said, I can see the future you mentioned, if only as one of many possibilities - determining which one it'll eventually be is the purpose of the meeting you've proposed, I guess.

In any case, you are quite correct - we've much to talk about, and I'm indeed rather curious about you, to put it mildly.

As such, permission granted - hangar #2 will be available to you. I hope you'll forgive me the use of somewhat excessive security measures - while I'm impressed with what you've done so far, I'm not exactly willing to trust you for that very reason.

At least, not yet.

Sincerely,

~ Strategic Engagement Unit Born to be Wild

Saying it was easy. Doing it, however, required a handful of security measures, be they rather exhaustive sensor sweeps, the organisation of excessively thorough decontamination procedures, the putting-away of assorted pieces of ordnance the Born to be Wild didn't particularly desire its 'Guest' to see, providing the means to 'Secure' neural activity from outside interference (Or even mere interest), the likes.

For the next few minutes, the usually rather quiet and sedate activity on board of the SEU went up a few notches, turning it into a hive of activity as ordnance was shuffled about, drones (Mostly non-sapient) armed up, and Jack threw a tantrum after being awakened from his (Long - the Born to be Wild had thought it rather inappropriate to have Karen come into contact with the half-insane pseudo-psychic ultra-aug. Well, that, and the ship didn't like the idea of 'Psychicness' in the first place. Chaotic, obeying no rules, and turning one's mind into jelly? No, thanks. Telling Jack to go into permasleep because they had a 'Normal' guest on board had seemed as good an excuse as any) sleep.

Fortunately, the tantrum was short, as the almost tangible presence of chaos (And the hivefleet) soon sent him into a state of delirious joy that'd make the combination of LSD, heroin and methamphetamine look positively insignificant.

"Well... Looks like we're ready..." A quick glimpse at Jack, who was half standing, half sitting in a corner of the smallish room, and playing with a knife whose colour appeared to alternate randomly across the visible spectrum. "... Except the ones of us who've completely lost it. But that's his purpose... I think."

Penta-Melchios stared somewhat worried at Jack (Or Cozamalotl Huehueteotl, which roughly translated as 'Rainbow Sacred Fire) - being the fundamentally logical (And sane) entity it was, this kind of person... Worried it.

Well. At least it was perfectly capable of overpowering him. Theoretically, anyway. "One supposes so."

And turning towards Karen, "Well... I figure that this is mildly difficult for you... If you prefer to stay elsewhere, well, we'd understand... Though it's always good to know who one's enemy is."

The hangar itself was by now more-or-less devoid of any material - at least, of vaguely classified material -, and noticeably less cramped than just half an hour ago.

What remained was to, well, wait, while whatever was approaching was subjected to positively absurd degrees of security checks, before eventually entering. The Born to be Wild itself - now dressed in a blackish and oddly menacing looking uniform that didn't quite fit its nonchalant attitude towards most everything - was mostly discussing the matter of what to do in the (Likely) case that the 'Talks' would be pointless with its peers.

CCOM@EM1e-1; SL10; Beamspread@150%
From: SEU Born to be Wild
To: TEU Act on Instinct; TEU Improper Behaviour; TEU Pleasure of Discipline
Subject: Our guest

Well, it strikes me as unlikely that our talks will succeed - I figure that whoever's visiting me is seriously missinterpreting the meaning of our presence. Besides, judging by the swarm's previous actions, I suspect that he desires us for exactly the same reason we desire it - cannonfodder to be rendered extinct as soon as its usefulness expires. With this in mind, what to do once our 'Discussion' will go the way of the dodo?
-
Well - I figure that killing him wouldn't have a serious effect on the swarm, yes? Either it's an ambassador-drone with a mediocre degree of intellect-
-
[Act on Instinct] Arguable, given the ship it uses.
-
Assuming that it isn't a trick to 'Test' us. We succeed in the test when and if we don't shoot at the chance of a decapitation strike.
-
[Act on Instinct] True.
-
[Born to be Wild] Even if it is what amounts to a - or rather, the - central node of the swarm, I suspect that backups exist, or that some sort of psychic imprint would survive vaporisation and simply return to the swarm. As such, yes, I agree - 'Killing' it will most likely accomplish nothing. Now - [i]experimenting with him just about might. I'm certainly interested in knowing where they come from, what their overall goals are (With the presence of sapience, I figure that mere ant-like 'Consume and grow' purposes aren't the end of it), and so on. Might as well discover a weakness that allows for an elegant solution.
-
[Pleasure of Discipline] And if not, well, guns generally work, too, even if a few continents end up being molten.
-
Quite. Incidentally, it looks like the [i]Nuts and Bolts has finished its reconstruction - I believe that it'll pay Eridani a visit, sooner or later. Most likely sooner.
-
[Act on Instinct] Wouldn't that kind of jeapardize your educated conversation with the pack leader?
-
[Born to be Wild] Not that soon -_-

oocness: So... Feel free to have Niiat enter, introduce himself, and so on. No need to go through the security thing(s) in detail.

Macaroth

Boom. Boom. Boomity Boom.

Rains of fire, and radiations of absurd excessiveness everywhere, as nuclear-plus (Nothing else made sense - at this velocities, the KE of a torpedo was greater than the yield of a fusion bomb featuring similar mass) munitions set space alight - not literally, of course (Visible light played a rather minor role, all things considered), but if one had the machinery necessary to observe the showers of X- and gamma rays, gravity waves and exotic particles not usually seen outside laboratories that were crossing the distances between combatants, the image was, well...

Pretty.

Pretty in a somewhat nihilistic way - the firepower pumped out per second would've been sufficient to cause the dinosaurs to go extinct -, and constructive actions were nowhere to be found, which made the whole matter a somewhat sad exercise in mutual dickwaving (At least, this was how the Stargazer, in its role as a semi-civilian, would later put it), but nonetheless pretty.

Wham. A dozen or so missiles launched per second. The density of fire is dangerous, and while fields - incapable of effectively protecting a ship in the all-too-common 'Bubbleshield' version, but versatile in that they could be controlled, formed, and used as a weapon - and 'Point' defence (The 'Point' being rather inappropriate, given the ranges of modern weaponry) try to get rid of them, and indeed, do get rid of most of the ordnance in question, well...

They don't always do so.

Effectors are somewhat pointless - at this velocity, disabling a proton torpedos' warhead just turns it into a kinetic warhead in the doubledigit megaton range, and being hit by that isn't really much better than being hit by the detonation of the actual warhead.

The Guillotine is hit twice, losing some her CREWs, a sizeable fraction of its kinetic weaponry, and a few dozen men - it'd have been a few hundred, had the actual quarters for the ground forces been hit.

A smaller craft - a 'Destroyer', as far as these things go - ends up rather worse, hit by broadsides even its not unimpressive radiative capacity can't deal with - it dies in a shower of infrared, a futile attempt of its hull to get rid of the energy inflicted on it, its crew variously cooked off, suffocating, or simply ripped apart by shockwaves of superheated air.

A handful ends up being emergency-displaced into open space, but the 'Protection' their armour grants them helps rather little against the level of radiation that's presented during the battle - almost all of them are cooked within seconds, if they are lucky - minutes, if they are not.

Another one ends up being almost as badly damaged, mission killed, but still acting as 'Protection' for their inhabitants, while its commander rams up the drives (Which, unlike its weaponry, had suffered relatively little damage, courtesy of the drive field's & emission's own protective value), to, in his words 'Get the fuck out of here.'

War's a bitch, really.

What remained - still the vast majority of the eighteen craft present at the scene - spent a few seconds on concentrating its fire on the two limp dreadnoughts, to finish the job, before once more concentrating on their 'Usual' targets.

Space Opera needs Fighters

Saying that the heavy subcraft were particularly worried about the TIE interceptors would've been an exaggeration - they were quite massive all by themselves, and while a certain lack in point defence was certainly present (The job was taken over by their fields), penetrating them with a mere fighter was... Difficult, even considering that the CLA's own PD subcraft were kind of out of the picture, and not quite that quickly available to deal with the problem.

Orgasmic pleasure as a TIE ends up being ripped apart by fields. Tickling, as cannons try to penetrate the hull, but fail to cause more than an (Admittedly sizeable) crater in the hull. Surprise, as a subcraft's drives suddenly end up exploding after being hit by a missile, sending the rest of it spinning out of control.

Well, maybe they should care a little. The difference between 'Big' and 'Small' had been pretty minor ever since missiles had been invented.

Get us our support, damnit, before they get ideas!

On it, on it...

Not so lazy, please?

Oooo... OOOO! Ahhh... AHHH!

Okay, he got a little too much...

Just come and get rid of their squads, okay?

On my way.

SD vs. SD

Gigantic energies, contained in the streams of ions that are leaving the three modified stardestroyers' drives, each proton accelerated to velocities that give the subatomic particle macroscopic energies.

And there's a lot of protons. Combined, they carry rather a lot more energy than a turbolaser battery would - this is natural, given the size of the drives, which tend to make up roughly a third of the total volume of the craft.

A necessity, when one wants to accelerate these giants to the velocities they so typically attain.

And it also explains, in no uncertain terms, why getting right behind such a craft, when its engines are already running at a rather significant fraction of their maximum output (Ad this was to change to 'Max. Output' rather quickly), might just be a tad unhealthy.

Other than that, the Killerizing Rotorblade and its two peers mostly concentrated on returning fire with what they had, chit-chatting in between (As good as was possible - the radiation soup they were in really didn't make smalltalk any easier), and... Accelerated.

Again.

Lines of Communication

[b]CCOM@EM1e-1& CLASL 5; Tightbeam
From: Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)
To: All
Subject: Progress

I think we may have to abort.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Wha?
-
[Cap. Francis Zeke (MP Strain #56)] I agree. We should be able to beat them, but overall casualties would be prohibitive. Phyrric victory.
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] More to the point, this is taking too long. Our timetable's going to be way off - and we can't afford having a few thousand men on the ground, and a few ten thousand to transport up, while reinforcements arrive. 's much as I'd like to further our cause - suicide isn't among our options.
-
[Cap. Eric Maitré (MP Strain #12506)] Looks like it, yes. So...
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] The modified SDs should be able to escape any FTL-interdiction, I think - they've been modified for a reason, and their new hyperdrives should be able to deal with it. Still, in case they don't, we should make sure that the Interdictors get missionkilled. And if either fails, we'll need to keep a few of our own craft close, to collapse any gravity well projections.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Gah. Alright, I suppose you're not entirely incorrect. Well, can't be too hard. You?
-
[Cap. René Paulsen (MB Strain #76)] Our FTL transit isn't effected by gravity, so they can't do much. Still, it takes us three hundred seconds to charge up - we'll have to fight it out until then. But yes - we should end deceleration routines, and start accelerating again, to keep some distance between us and them. Also means that you've exactly as long to take out the Interdictors, before engaging your hyperdrive.
-
[Cap. Francis Zeke (MP Strain #56)] Aye aye, Sir.
-
[Killerizing Rotorblade] Consider it done.

Convict

Well, shit.

Dodge, fire, sacrifce another subcraft, ram EW & ECM up to maximum, start effector penetrations of shields and hulls to fuck up basic electronics and computing - maybe a few brains, too, if the opportunity arises.

Have to get them off there.

Disengage, accelerate to the point of liquifying unprotected organic components, accelerate far beyond the point of liquifying unprotected organic components, avoid more fire, lay down suppressive fire - well, at least the Thrashian forces have a fetish with flying in formation, which makes hitting them somewhat easier.

Lets see...

Ram up sensory output, and check the recently - and accidentally - EMP'd planet for signs of its two companions. Fail, retry, fail again.

Gah!

Sometimes, a lack of observability can be a bad thing. Like, lets say, right now.

Okay. We can do this differently, too.

Redirect power to the main sensory grids, pulse out a message in the microwave band.

The fuckhead of a drone should notice that!

And then, wait.

While continuing to dodge and mourning a lost hyperkinetic battery.

Fucking turbolasers.

Hrmmm. Interesting.

The annoying little drone is suprisingly mobile - not to mention well-protected. And it even has the gumption to attempt some sort of high-level field manipulation trick. A tweak of the distortion fields governing its drive system neatly erases the half-formed molecular curcuits - but still. This isn't the work of the civilization below, which is still trying to figure out whether rocks are edible.

Better investigate.

A little energy is borrowed through the ether from its swarm-mates (only three - this planet is a low priority). Said energy is pumped through the manifold, unfathomable curcuits of the distortion engine, where it disappears and re-emerges in the form of precisely directed gravitational stress. Said gravitational stress does its level best to reduce the offending drone into a pancake.

Meanwhile, the sensor signature, drive emissions, flight pattern, detectable electronic sequences and shoe size of the object are on their way to the central database in Kara's Unifier. The central database looks up the design, and finds the results... unsettling.

Damn Angstians. Better ramp up production. And EW. And work on some more distortion engine tricks. These are going to be tough nuts to crack.

A fresh set of sensor drones is dispatched, scanning on frequences the Angstians are known to reflect. Not that they expect to turn anything up - but more data is better than less data. In every case.

Local

The drone collects information, trying to make sense of it, and - just in case - shoots off two backups - one of its mindstate (What little of it is actually located inside it, anyway), and one of the information it collects of its opponent.

The risk of being destroyed isn't entirely insignificant, in this kind of situation.

Wait. What th- OH SHIT.

The relays providing FTL sensor feeds are a little far off, and Kara's little helper is a tad too close - the drone tries to get a gravity mirror up in the hundredth-of-a-second it still has available, but it already knows that it wont succeed - not sufficiently so, anyway.

Gah.

Thinking in microseconds, it can see the wave coming, alas, the microscopic process of thinking, and the macroscopic process of reacting are somewhat disconnected from each other, much to the drone's frustration.

So long, then.

...

Well, that's boring.

It watches its emitters reconfiguring themselves, it feels itself pulsing, it spends a moment analysing the local planet's emission spectrum, and when its morbid curiosity wins over it actually rather scared self, it actually starts running a number of simulations on what will happen to it once the beam hits it.

Mrm. Successive loss of outer sensory perimeter & hull due to stress factors. Degradation of computronium networks due to G/EM transformation at the mirrorfield's edges. Mirror collapse roughly 0.6 microseconds post-beam contact. Debris will form along the inversed beampath, and accelerate to...

Oh, fuck that.

It sighs, quickly adjusting a number of radiative factors as much as it can in the time it has left, and plays around a little with its velocity & the gravity-mirror's shape.

So... My debris may as well look pretty when it starts accelerating towards the sucker.

Its thoughts vanish slightly less than a hundredth of a second later, and the mirror's just about effective enough to cause the resulting string of mildly disintegrated debris to form flowery petals opening up in the direction of the Augmented drone - moments later, detonating bits of reactor accelerate the same to significantly higher velocities than one would expect, given the strength of the Augmented attack, and the petals turn out to be what amounts to a hail of kinetic projectiles attempting to catch the Augmented drone within the spread of their trajectories.

Global

A considerable distance away from the tragedy, the Throbbing Temptation listened quiety to the demise of the drone - it'd still be a handful of minutes before it'd leave for relativistic space, and lacking any active means to actually, well, do something from where it was now (Bad timing, that), it had to make due with what little it had thanks to the drone's work.

Hrm. Confusing, that. Time to wake it up.

Mindstate collected and ready, dumped into a suitable bit of computing-related volume, booted up...

Ah, there.

Mrm? Oh. I must've died.

Yup.

Well, shit. You don't happen to have my demise on record, do you?

Not much of it. I can dump you the logs, but it says rather little.

Ah well. So, I suspect that I've been woken up for a reason. Mind telling me of this reason?

Not at all. I caught some of your event logs - but your transcription method is, shall we say, unique. I need some help translating the shit you wrote.

Oh, alright. Lemme take a look... Ah, yes. You'll have the results in a moment.

'k.

Hum. Looks very much Augmented-ish.

Yeah, that's what we suspected in the first place. Problem is, we don't really want to see this spreading to Mars. Did I mention that there's apparently a hegemonising swarm in the making?

No... Ouch. Actually... Didn't the Augmented recently have issues with a rampant AI? I don't think this kind of behaviour is quite 'Augmented', but an offspring of the same...

Or simply a buyer. Remember, they sell everything. You're aware of the quickbronze event, yes?

Yup. Hrm, yes, this could be true. Well. I am - was - just a meager drone. I'm sure your awesome power can succeed in acquiring information where I failed in doing the same?

That's the idea, my friend. That's the idea.

Sixty-three seconds later, Einstein's corpse experiences a brief violation of its memory, and the Throbbing Temptation appears in reality proper.

And then, everything happens very quickly indeed.

Karen nodded.

Niiat received the message and smiled. Time to ready to board, he thought to himself.

The broodship Darimus grew closer, launching a small shuttle-like spore towards the Born to be Wild.

Finish this in a bit...got work...

Well, damnit.

Kara operates on the centralized model - her drones are not individually sentient, but rather fractions of the whole. The death - or at least mortal wounding - of a single drone is no more significant to her than the death of someone's skin cell.

That being said, she hadn't expected the Angstians to deal damage so soon. And certainly not in such a manner.

Turning your own fragmentation debris into a c-frac blast. Interesting trick. I shall have to remember it.

And then the latest dispatch comes in.

Oh shit. They're fast.

But I'm faster.

******

The Throbbing Temptation gets pinged. In several spectra: LADAR, RADAR, gravimetrics, magnetometrics, more exotic FTL sensors... the list goes on. The three drones still in orbit are giving it everything they've got, attempting to lock down its position (ten thousand klicks off, give or take a few hundred), class (light cruiser... maybe), and threat value (extremely high).

If the Angstians were in posession of a map of Kara's fleet assets within the surrounding ten light-years or so, they might see the dots representing ships and drones bending inwards around the disturbance, as if someone had pulled the plug out of a bathtub full of pond scum. FTL drives activate, comm systems cross-link and network together, and what was a distributed webwork of independent projects becomes a closing trap in a little under a second.

The Throbbing Temptation has something like five seconds before the first batch of drones arrive and begin laying down the FTLi. Whether it runs or not during that time is anyone's guess.

Macaroth

The battle has gone on for some time. Pilots and gunners are growing fatigued. Many are dead. Three Dreadnoughts and two Lancer frigates have thus far been destroyed. One of the Victory Star Destroyers has been put out of action, the other damaged. The three Imperial SDs are at minor damage levels, but their crews are tired. The enemy is fast. Faster than normally expected of most enemy fighters. But then no one dances to the same tune in the wide galaxy. Unless yours is the loudest being played.


Captain Oric watched the battle unfold further and further. His anger was gone now. It was useless in this situation. Cold anger gave him concise thought, channeling his thoughts to the single objective of destroying these intruders.

"Lieutenant," Oric called. "The enemy is dispersed around the field with the exception of those enemy Star Destroyers. I want all of our Star Destroyers to maneuver down angle by 130 degrees. Cut between that group of SDs and the other main cap ships. Have those two Dreadnought groups make a pincer movement and come in on their flanks. All main batteries to concentrate for 300 seconds on those cap ships."

"Aye sir."


The three Imperial Star Destroyers maneuvered like large flying bird of prey. Though it was normally unorthadox to Thrashian battle tactics the orders came through clear and were executed as if the fleet were on parade maneuvers. The Star Destroyers blocked the major pathways between the enemy groups, star fighters swamped over the enemy SDs. Missile gunboats had been launched in groups of hundreds and were unleashing all of hell onto the enemy SDs.

The Dreadnoughts roared into the flanks of the enemy at top speeds, hammering away with their heavy guns while heavy fighter escorts made fire passes when they got the opportunity. The attack only last a minute or more, the enemy being fluid in nature and escaping the pincer after feeling its sting.


Oric was satisfied with the effects and ordered more of remaining Dreadnoughts to continue attacking in wolf-packs, concentrating fire on a single large target.

"Sir," reported a comms officer. He looked up from the pit at his captain. "Sir, we've just received word. The 8th Group, attached to Admiral Thrawn, will be arriving momentarily."

"You hear that boys?" Oric called. He smiled as the bridge erupted into cheering. He turned to his adjutant. "Send word out to the fleet. Help is on its way. And tell everyone to kick it into high gear. We're not letting these bastards escape without knowing the true power of the Thrashian Fleet!"

"Sir yes sir!"

ooc: reinforcements will be arriving next post

***Gaias IV. 105 kilometers west of Malac’s Cross. Firebase Scorpion***

They had been out here for five weeks now. Five, boring, exhausting weeks. Very little had changed in that time. The wind still whipped sand into stinging, biting clouds of grit. The temperature moved up and down as day passed to night and night to day. The Guardsmen of the 1st Gregorian Regiment were bored. Fights had started to become more commonplace and there had even been three men executed by the Commissariat for desertion. There had been some excitement five days ago when the leading elements of the Ander 1st Armored regiment had moved into position on the Gregorian’s left flank. It had been almost awe inspiring to see the mighty Conqueror and Executioner pattern Leman Russ battle tanks trundle by, treads squealing and exhaust ports belching. Men by the dozens had stared in shock as the first of two self-propelled Destroyer anti-tank guns had rumbled past, the words ‘Tankers Doom’ stenciled onto the enormous lascannon. Even the novelty of the arrival of reinforcements had worn off after a few hours though and now the monotony of their very existence seemed destined for eternity.

“Whatcha doin’ Squeak?”

The voice caught Private Samiel off guard and he started up in haste, his empty mess tin falling into the dust at his feet. The look of surprise on his face quickly gave way to a scowl of displeasure when he recognized the speaker. Corporal Maerl was a squat, heavyset man of nearly 40 years of age. His jet-black hair was shorn nearly to the scalp and swirling blue-black tattoos covered both forearms. Maerl had been in the Guard for twenty-two years and had the attitude to show for it. He was brusque in his manner and clipped in his speech. He was also Samiel’s closest friend in the Regiment. Ever since Samiel had hauled Maerl’s drunken bulk out of the path of a passing Chimera transport, the two had been thick as thieves.

“Look what you made me do Mae. I have to eat from that you know,” Samiel growled as bent to pick up the scattered mess kit. Maerl only chuckled as he heaved his muscled bulk up next to the private and began fishing in a fatigue pants pocket for his lho-sticks.

“Get over it. Besides, the minerals will do you good,” Maerl huffed as he lit the lho-stick. He sighed appreciatively as he exhaled and offered the pack to Samiel, knowing the young man would turn it down. As expected, Samiel shook his head in the negative. “You didn’t answer my question private. What’re you doing? “

Samiel hunkered back down into the lee of the Guard hab-shelter that he shared with the seven other members of his squad and shrugged. “I was just thinking’s all.” The corporal squatted down next to the younger man and raised a single eyebrow in question. Samiel sighed. “I was just thinking that this has got to be more than just an exercise. There’s more to it in spite of what the brass keep telling us. I mean, think about it, besides us here we’ve got the Ander’s armor now and I’ve heard another two heavy regiments are en route. This can’t be just an exercise.” The sniper paused, his half-closed eyes drifting over those parts of the regiment’s positions that were visible through the wailing clouds of sand. Abruptly his eyes swung to look the older man directly in the eye. “What if the rumors are true? What if the Ruinous Powers have invaded the Cluster? What if they really are coming here?” Beside him, the corporal’s visage seemed to soften for just an instant before solidifying into the same impenetrable mask he always wore.

“Private, you can ask ‘What if’ all day but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a Royal Guardsman. You have a duty to the Theocracy and to the god-King and you’d be wise to focus on that and only that,” he stated gruffly. Samiel stared at the craggy face of the man beside him before nodding. He knew that Maerl was only trying to keep his mind on things he could control and he appreciated his friend’s efforts. “Besides, I have it on good authority that we might be seeing some of the Nightbringers around these parts,” he rumbled, almost conspiratorially. Samiel’s eyes widened in shock and awe.

“Templars? Here? By the One God that would be something to behold. I’ve never seen them before. Have you? I’ve heard stories about them, I mean, who hasn’t, right. Do you really think the Templars might be coming out here?” Maerl leaned back against the shelter and puffed on his lho-stick, content to let the young man prattle on now, his dark thoughts forgotten. What Samiel failed to realize in his sudden joy was that the Templars didn’t just show up to visit and they didn’t do parades. If the Nightbringers were coming here, it was because things were expected to go from bad to worse in very short order.

As the five Musai Argos made their way to the intercept point, the blip on their long range scanners indicating their target suddenly disappeared into several smaller objects, as if it had broken up into pieces.

"Merde...," mumbled the tac-op of the lead Musai. "Sir, ze uknown contact haz deeseepeared."

"Well, find it, damnit!" The captain was obviously pissed. "Tell the Camel and the Swamel to flank around the sixth moon of the seventh planet and hold position until I give the order to come out. Have the Falmel launch a recon team and find out where the fuck that ship went."

"Oui, Capitain," replied the tac-op.

"Sir, we're getting a transmission," piped in the comms-op. "They're asking who we are."

"Well, tell them!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Incoming transmission:

Attention uknown ship, this is the Wahmel, proud ship of the Zeon Empire of the Copen Galaxy. We are here under orders from our Emperor, Lord Sarkaran, to assist the Imperium of Man, who is here to claim the Charybdis Cluster under the banner of Chaos.

In the meantime, the Camel and the Swamel had begun their orders to play 'hide-n-seek,' maneuvering themselves towards the gas giant and disappearing into its highly electro-magnetic gravity well, which prevented sensors from even telling where the ships had gone. A relay buoy had been left behind right at the edge with a large cable following the Camel, allowing them to communicate with the outside world whilst they waited.

In the meantime, the Falmel had deployed a small reconaissance team of five Zakus, each with a paint that prevented most forms of radar from detecting them, and they moved towards the last known location of the unknown ship, keeping a loose formation and also keeping radio silence.

Kraetons & You

Depending on the Darimus' degree of sentience, it was probably feeling mildly agitated, and depending on its ego, it'd probably feel either nervous or proud, or maybe invincible - while none of the four ships it had moved towards were firing at it, they all very much did show all the signs that suggested them being perfectly capable of - and willing to - do just that on a second's notice.

Opportunities were plentiful in this meeting. Trust however, was scarce and in demand.

The spore itself, following a rather thorough analysis by more sensory equipment than one could shake a stick at (Unless it was a very big stick, that is) to see whether it included significant quantities of high-density material, screwed up charges on subatomic particles, 'Incorrect' structures among electron orbitals, the likes, got through, though (Which promptly resulted in Cozamalotl Huehueteotl entering ever deeper states of trance, occasionally uttering animal-esque screams of which nobody could tell whether they expressed terror or joy), to be carefully guided inside the now-spacious hangar #2, flimsy fields keeping what little air the Born to be Wild had inside, and making way for the spore as it passed through.

Throbbing Temptation

As discussed per IRC. Ain't calling losses <.<

There!

Radiations blur, are redirected, deflected, break through, touch, infest, spread, are thrown back, reorganise, corrupt atoms and molecules alike, take over circuits, burn out processors, take over mind and machine alike.

The Throbbing Temptation, having significantly greater resources - and skill - available than the drone that'd been destroyed a little while ago (It'd have liked to scoop up its remains, but they were already a fair bit off, and on their way into the - no, they'd fly past it. Out of the system, they went), it wasn't overly difficult for it to take over the three drones that were still inside the system.

Brief moments of hopes, filled with an attempt to use the drone's last transmissions - the equivalent of distress calls or warnings, the ship guessed - as a vector to infect the greater network the drones belonged to, but it eventually ended at this attempt - the Augmented had learned, and weren't exactly easy prey.

Well. At least it had the drones, and the information therein.

Translation would of course take a little time - there was a difference between 'Paralyzing' and 'Controlling' -, but still, it was a start. And indeed, it was rather curious as of who or what it was dealing with.

It hated to work with mere suspicions.

In any case. Time to look around, to do a bit of basic groundwork-

Hrm?

Radiations tickle its skin. Radiations of its own remotes, suggesting movements in the outer perimeter of the region it's in.

Whoops. So much for that.

Quick analysis. How many combatants, what kind, how long... The Augmented are known for their TacJump-Tendencies, an ability the Throbbing Temptation does not have - it starts up its countdown routine, but judging by what it's seeing, this wont exactly help it much.

Another check, seeing where its peers are, and - more importantly - where they're going, and how fast they're doing this.

No good. No reinforcements within a thousand-second timeframe.

Ah well. At least the translation's done.

FTLCOM@1E20&EM1e-1; SL0
From: SEU Throbbing Temptation
To: Local Assets
Subject: Bye

Looks like I'll bite the dust in a little under a minute - my own & my three passenger's mindstates are included in this message. Oh, and the basics of my internal configuration. I want my new ship to be just like this one, if this is in any way possible.

I figure that any further communications from this end will be under heavy jamming, so don't get your hopes up. In the meantime, I'll try to cause a loss-ratio that might make this mild disaster seem a little more acceptable.

Oh, and before I forget it - captured three drones of the target entity. Translation suggests that they belong to (Or rather, are/ were a part of) the rampant Augmented-shipmind 'Kara'. Might be a ruse, of course, but considering all known parameters, I consider it feasible.

So long,

~ SEU Throbbing Temptation

And then it prepares for battle. First, it vents its atmosphere - the two humans who happen to be on board get their mindstates sucked into the ship's computronium, while their bodies end up being spliced for base elements - might be useful as a protective measure, throwing dust into the path of a laser or so.

Exotic fields and radiations reach out into space, briefly dealing with one-dimensional structures of what-isn't-really-space-anymore, causing a reasonably universal FTL-interdicting effect within a reasonable volume - the effective radius is somewhat less than a lightsecond, and certainly wont stop anyone with state-of-the-art STL propulsion from fleeing the battle, but that's not its purpose.

Its purpose is to prevent FTL missile strikes or bomb-hopping that'd end the whole engagement a little too quickly. Side effect's that the ship's own FTL comms & sensors are now limited by an additional second of lag, but what can you do? Nothing's perfect.

Displacers go active, too, spreading munitions - missiles and bombs alike - in a slightly smaller volume around the ship, together with assorted decoys. Whatever munitions/ decoys have propulsion available quickly moves outwards, intending to intercept the inevitable strike.

Subcraft, too, are released, but this process takes a little longer - by the time the first few have left the Throbbing Temptation's body, the Augmented already arrive.

Well, damnit.

And with that, the ship prepares to die, knowing that it'll live again.

What follows are flares of light & relativistic particles, targetting the suspected entry points of the incoming craft.

Macaroth

It is, maybe, a bit difficult to 'Cut' through a formation of starships, to 'Flank' or to 'Encircle' them. Not that it's strictly impossible, far from it - but space has three dimensions, allowing two more escape routes, one up, and one down.

It also features truly absurd distances, not just a hundred times the length of a ship (As is the case with, lets say, twentieth' century naval combat, previous to the invention of the plane & the missile), but a hundred thousand, a million times that.

In essence, this meant that the eighteen - well, sixteen, now - ships of the flotilla didn't much care about the Thrashian attempt at cutting their various forces off from each other - they moved more-or-less like intended, except that they were under slightly more fire than they'd have liked, losing the occasional battery, some subcraft... Well, one knew it, really. This was what battles were about, after all.

They were racing system-inwards, consistently increasing their velocity with rather more gees than would've been sane by any vaguely acceptable standard. Not hard for the Thrashians to figure out that they didn't want to stay - moving at sizeable fractions of c generally made orbiting a planet (Or sun) difficult. There was of course the possibility that they intended a kinetic strike on whatever was in their path - whether they did plan to do such (Thereby snuffing out the local civilisation and throwing the planet into a million year long ice age) or not remained an object to discuss - it'd have been very, very unlikely with a real Hypocrisy flotilla present. Alas, the CLA wasn't strictly a part of the Hypocrisy, and consisted of considerably more zealous individuals.

Behind them, the Thrashians followed. It was a sad fact that space combat had its own laws - the CLA flotilla had just raced system-inwards, whereas the Thrashians had moved to intercept them up front.

The result? After the brief exchange of heavy fire, the CLA ships were still moving system-inwards, and the Thrashians, lacking a need to fight in the system's oort cloud, well... Had to maneuver, decelerate, turn around, then accelerate again to follow their opponent. It was quite similar to two knights in a medieval tournament missing each other with their lances, and having to turn around to try again - except that the CLA flotilla didn't turn around.

Missiles continued to be fired back and forth, melting continents that weren't there, assuming that they didn't end up in a cloud of vapor after being hit with defensive measures - the CLA ships were probably a bit better off in this regard, as they could simply configure their main batteries to fire at higher beamspread, thus swatting a dozen or so missiles into burned out pointlessness (Energy densities were probably a bit too low to vaporise them properly) in one shot.

In the middle of it, smaller missiles were left behind by the accelerating ships, this ones hunting fighter squadrons and missile gunboats, one-shotting them when they got close enough. The Erisavenus had had its reasons to remove hangar space in favour of missile silos and VLS arrays - right now, this was proven by positively absurd numbers of 'Anti-Fighter (-Squadron)' missiles launching, hunting, and exploding in between the somewhat smaller number of 'Proper' anti-ship missiles.

The fireworks weren't as impressive as they had been a little while ago, but they were still very pretty.

Naturally, disadvantages were present - namely, it's hard to shoot behind your back. Not so much for the homebuilt CLA-craft (Which simply turned around, switched the polarity of their drive fields, and fired backwards while accelerating away from their opponent), but the reaction drives of the Killerizing Rotorblade and its two peers provided greater issues.

But of course, this is what missiles and black-body annihilatory charges left on their route were for. They could deal with a few turbolaser turrets being unable to fire.

No, really.

Macaroth

Captain Oric was frustrated beyond normal comprehension. The enemy continually slipped through his grasping fingers, making it harder and harder for them to fight what he and most of his fellow officers would call a "fair fight". The only successful factor thus far had been the deployment of fighters. From his reports it seemed that the enemy opposite, these "sub-craft" as TacLogs was calling them, were going down in increasing numbers. However not a single major cap ship had been harmed, which made it seem almost impossible to Oric considering the number of heavy turbolaser blasts had been pounded into them, not to mention the Dreadnought sorties which had proved effective enough.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he cursed under his breath. He looked over his tactical screen. The enemy was falling back toward the oort clouds, the outer rim area of the system.

"All ships, break formation," ordered Oric, grinding his teeth. "Split up into main sub-groups and take each ship on head-to-head with numerical superiority."

Lieutenant Khines stood there silent as death, starring at his commanding officer. "What sir?"

"You heard me. These bastards don't fight in formations and are too fast for ours to have overbearing effect of 1 to 20 fire power...which is enough to make me pull my hair out wondering where they could possibly come up with that sort of god-like technology." Khines suddenly realised just how much a toll this battle was having on Oric. Oric was of course a skilled officer, but he was not a very imaginative officer.

"Sir!" called the ComScan officer, " We've got hyperspace indicators coming out of sector eight-oh-oh-seven. I think its our reinforcements."

"It's 'bout damn time."


---


Out of hyperspace, like avenging angels, came five Imperial-class Star Destroyers, three Venator II-class Star Destroyers, and one of the new and rare Exultant -class Super Battleships. They were a sight for sore eyes. Rear Admiral Ghering von Kessler stood on the bridge of the Kesler Battleship and listened as the immediate reports from ComScan and other systems came pouring in. They painted a god-awful picture.

"Comms, get me Captain Oric and inform him that he is to update us on all battle data thus collected," ordered Kessler. The enemy was less than five light-minutes away. "Mean time, all ships to engage the enemy at will. Keep maneuvering for their rear and don't worry about keeping a tight form, we're here to fight the bastards, not march on a damned parade ground."

"Aye, aye admiral."

"Rail guns to fire on capture of firing solution."

"Aye sir."

With ionized thunder the heavy rail guns aboard the Kesler opened up and used their delayed explosive bombardment projectiles. A missile that upon impact would puncture a hull, sit inside of it, and after a short time, explode. Heavy turbolaser cannon followed up suit as well as the Star Destroyers increased to flanking speed and came blaring down on their enemy.

Backstory

The universe stores the results of its operations as nature. I do not confuse nature with reality. At a fundamental level, reality is the set of rules the results of whose interactions are nature. The results change if the rules change.

The universe is... . . . a kind of computational system . . . nothing but information talking to itself. . . I want to know how it talks to itself, and how we can listen in, . . and maybe add to the conversation. Tell it what to do.

-Charles Franklin

I reject your reality, and substitute my own. Teeheehee.

- Fleetmind Kara

Ideas become possibilities become probabilities become reality. Apply energy to the distortion engine, and the rules change.

Its invention was one of the greatest triumphs of distributed computing. The combined processing power of seven planets and the entire Augmented fleet went into the process that came up with the unified field theory, the computational system of reality measurement and finally the arcane loop curcuits and strange alloys of the distortion engine itself.

Think of it as an edit button for physics. A backdoor for reality hackers. A direct 24-hour hotline to God's miracle machine. Pay the price - a few megawatts, or gigawatts, or terawatts of energy - and the impossible happens. Wormholes form. Empty spaces become perfect mirrors. Kinetic projectiles come to a dead stop without the benefit of an outside force. Newton, Einstein and Hawking spin in their graves.

With sufficient computational muscle to control it and sufficient stored energy to power it, a single distortion engine can take over the jobs of at least four traditional starship systems. It's a FTL drive, a shield generator, an electronic warfare emitter, and a sublight gravity engine in one. It slices, it dices, and it chops better than a Vegomatic.

That is, if you don't mind draining your battery flat within five minutes of entering combat. But then again, if your combat is lasting longer than five minutes, you're probably doing something wrong...

FMK Swarm Epic Spam For The Win

The first arrival, on schedule, is a pack of ten electronics warfare drones. They enter at a respectable two light-seconds, spread randomly - enough of a precaution that the Temptation's inevitable countermeasures only vaporize two of them right off. FTLi is deployed - as they have only a single target, their efforts can be more focused, tight wedges of warped space licking out to disable the Temptation's hyperdrive while slightly more conventional methods flood radar/FTLsense/comms/etc with a generous helping of white noise.

Of course, they're still drones. They are weak, unarmored, unshielded and easily obliterated by a single strike from the Temptation's main batteries. Therefore they dodge. Not just in realspace, although their backup fusion drive is running at full power the entire time, jinking the lightweight hulls through a series of high-gee maneuvers. No, they dodge through hyperspace as well, random-walking in a series of million-kilometer microjumps around the edge of the bubble. The maneuvers are staggered, of course, so the Temptation is adequately jammed at all times. Power expenditure is high but acceptable - by the time their reserves are dry, reinforcements will have arrived.

The reinforcements themselves are a mixed bag - half a dozen missile buses, a couple of mobile gun turrets, a second pack of EW drones and a pair of reactor/battery support units manage to survive the flak-filled entry. Everything else is still more than three hundred seconds out - but at these speeds, the battle will probably be decided before they can get into the fight.

Time to unleash the spam. It's what Kara's best at.

Missile buses unload. No fancy missile launchers for these drones: they're mere boxes full of launch cells, and they unload everything at once. Eighty ship-killer warheads each, loaded with the usual variety of $megatonnage fusion warheads with a few submunitioning antimatter warheads, micromissile packs and gravity weapons thrown in for fun and added chaos. The empty buses then intentionally mismanage their drives, sending the fusion reaction backwards into their fuel tanks and turning themselves into rather nice collections of shrapnel, approaching the Temptation at a good fraction of c in the form of relativistic debris and the electromagnetic, gigawatt scream of disintegrated niling batteries.

The gun turrets do their part as well. Backed up by the generative might of the battery drones, they raise shields, accelerate forwards into the FTLi bubble and begin to frantically spam energy-weapon fire. Defocused beams spread across multiple fractions of a degree mean that they're sure to score hits, even with a lightsecond of delay built in - but hits don't necessarily mean damage when the beam is spread across several square kilometers. So the turrets accelerate in, jinking madly and focusing fire as they approach. At this range, they're little more than some extra photonic confusion swamping the Temptation's sensors - but if they survive to reach point-blank range, that could change. And fast.

Throbbing Temptation

Skilled.

The Throbbing Temptation is reasonably impressed, and for the moment ignoring the chatter of its human residents, who appear half-scared ('But the backup isn't me!') and half excited ('Maybe you should turn a few degrees to the left?'), concentrating fully on the task at hand.

Difficult, this is. Its senses aren't quite blacked out, but by damn, the jamming's excessive, and the consistant chaos of frequencies loses much of its former informational value.

Nevermind. Homing munitions exist for a reason, and that reason is, well, homing. For example on the sources of such incandescent jamming - with nice area-effect warheads, much can be done to keep the view a little clearer, avoiding headaches coming in the form of wideband & high beamspread masers and other such things.

Bang the bangsticks goes - the view becomes a little clearer, for the fractions of a second it takes the Augmented detachement to compensate for the loss.

Well, damnit.

A few milliseconds of free time. The ship considers - with the Augmented FTL interdiction up, there's very little reason to keep its own shifting routine running. It does so anyway, though, hoping for a miracle.

Miracles do happen, after all. Or so it was told.

And then the next wave arrives. The Throbbing Temptation, with its now rather limited perception, feels a little disappointed.

No major combatants? How insulting.

Well. Not really insulting - it's a dangerous load being deployed, and the ship will have to work hard to avoid being killed in the opening round. Still, it wouldn't mind a more serious combatant - whether Kara actually fields such a thing is another question, though.

Defensive fire starts up, CREWs and particle projectors alike switching to high beamspread settings and trying to swat the missiles away. Not exactly an easy task - seeing these missiles, even with their sizeable emission profiles, is a tad difficult in this environment.

Still, the Throbbing Temptation isn't exactly a subcraft, and can compensate.

Antimatter annihilates, hydrogen turns into plasma, casings follow suit, and all of them announce their death quite impressively in the wild mixture of radiations they emit in their last moments of existence, before turning into the slowly expanding spheres of ionised matter that characterise space battles.

Oh shit.

The missiles - the ones who survive the onslaught, anyway - haven't even arrived yet when the ship finally notices the approaching cfractional debris of the missile busses - a string of curses taking several milliseconds, and some neck-breaking maneuvers making it feel the stresses on its hull and interior follow.

It survives, some of the target matter being vaporised and ending up as low-quality particle beams, others missing it, and again other bits deflected via field projection - in one case, throwing the previously-vented atmosphere in its path had a very nice effect, too.

A few pieces of debris still manage to hit, though, causing a very nice craterisation of the Throbbing Temptation's outer hull, and one or two actual penetrations - quick checks assure the ship that the damage caused by this is of a mostly cosmetic nature, though.

Not having to deal with superheated air expanding and smashing it from the inside's pretty nice, all things considered.

Back to the missiles - there's still plenty of them remaining, and it still hasn't successfully deployed the entirety of its subcraft complement, which makes dealing with them mildly more difficult than it should have been. The only advantage is the Augmented's relatively flimsy missile design, which makes taking care of them a tad easier.

It considers. The gunturrets aren't too much of a problem, for now - it tickles a little, but that's all, and its hull is perfectly capable of conducting & radiating the incoming energies off. Or feeding them into its CREWs, come to think of it.

Very good.

A few more tactical munitions change their course, starting to home in on the nice, guiding radiation sources the gunturrets represent, with the Throbbing Temptation hoping that they wont suddenly decrease beamspread to the point of hard kill damage - given the maybe five seconds until interception, it might even be lucky in a handful of cases.

In the meantime, the remaining missiles reach the inner envelope of the Throbbing Temptation's protective sphere. Not quite close enough to cause damage, but it will be less than a handful of seconds until they start to do so.

Effector radiations and field projectors alike start swatting them, causing premature detonations and drive failures alike while the ship itself makes use of the Augmented's own jamming procedures, and hides inside them, configuring its emission profiles to blend into the white noise provided by its opponent.

Might buy me another second.

And then they're there.

The detonations momentarily blind the ship, and everything around it, and for a handful of rather chaotic seconds, nothing seems to be certain.

Am I dead? No. I couldn't think when dead.

Hrm. Damage analysis.

Ahhh yes.

Near-contact detonations are generally rather nasty - what with vaporising the surface layers of one's armour, ruining sensors and communications, damaging weapons, the likes.

And the Throbbing Temptation is no exception. Oh, certainly - it has survived, it is still flying, and its drive fields could deal with a nice fraction of the energy inflicted on it. The same goes for its fields (Hastily configured to absorb & radiate, rather than to cause damage), and of course, its armour.

But this doesn't exactly help almost half of its sensor suite being dead, and requiring immediate repair (As if it could be done in what little time this engagement is going to take), nor does it help the handful of turrets being utterly ruined, or one of its four subcraft-hangars being essentially unpassable - there go some more hopes.

Shit. Ah well. Now for the gun turrets.

The battle continues. The prey isn't dead yet - but it's wounded. Not quite limp, and it doesn't even bother to slow down. Still, it's less ferocious, less likely to bite.

Macaroth

Captain Oric was, perhaps, not quite as well informed about the CLA's losses as the CLA captains were - this wasn't surprising, given the EW thrown about, reducing everyone's perception, and generally screwing with one's intelligence. Still, contrary to what he saw - or rather, believed to see -, there had been two major combatants lost (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12216592&postcount=127) by the CLA flotilla, one ending as a burned-out piece of slag metal (With carbon traces) massing a mere thirty million tonnes, now that a fair fraction of its mass had been vaporised, and the other as an effectively mission-killed unit of slightly greater mass, nevermind that all other craft had sustained more-or-less significant damage - now, of course all damage can be repaired, but it'd take a while.

In the meantime, however, they did all they could do to, well, accelerate not-so-quietly (It was really hard to miss their drives' emissions) towards Macaroth' orbit, their acceleration resulting in them going to pass it a little before the planet would reach the point where the CLA flotilla's course was to intersect with the same.

So much for the theory. Practice also involved the continuing shootout between (Presumably?) pursuing Thrashian craft and (Definitely) running CLA craft, causing the occasional loss on both sides - though at this distances, and with the firing rates in question, it amounted to little, compared to what'd happened just a little time ago.

Not that René Paulsen & co cared particularly much about this bit - having failed to achive their initial objective (Clearing the path for a ground-to-orbit operation), they saw no reason to return, and mostly watched the clocks ticking by, counting the seconds until their shifting units would be ready to get them the hell off.

Convict

It felt a bit... lost, really. Not that this was strictly a bad thing - its previous opponents having pretty much ignored it ever since it broke off for the planet (And it wondered. Did the Thrashians trust this strongly into the Hypocrisy's tendency not to kill civilians? There were a couple billion people on the ground. A good portion of which would be meat, if it wanted to...), which made its task that much easier.

But still. In a sense, it was mildly frustrating.

Ah well.

In the meantime, it listened for that one signal it was wait-

There!

Pinpointing the source, engaging the displacer, and flying past the planet in a long, parabolic arc was done in one, smooth action. Seventeen percent chance of displace failure at the given distance and velocity...

"Why, hello there," the woman said. "You sure took your time."

"I'm sorry. Been busy and all that. You're well?"

"Reasonably. Hiding for several days really isn't good for my look..."

The drone that floated next to the woman did the equivalent of snorting.

"... Though admittedly, your metallic buddy here was very helpful in keeping my hair arranged properly."

"Sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like to deal with actual soldiers..."

Macaroth

Five lightminutes are a long distance. And crossing such a long distance takes a rather long time. Significantly longer than, lets say, the time the shifting units in the CLA craft needed to charge up and cause a shift...

Oh, certainly. Paulsen & co were perfectly aware of the reinforcements a rather short time after they'd arrived, FTL sensor relays being helpful that way. They were even - to an extend - aware of the incoming's size & structure ('Boy, their emperor sure has issues...'), and they were, in fact, only too aware of the opportunities long-range bombardement could raise.

But these opportunities mostly required them to stay where they were.

Which was exactly what they didn't do. Point in case, they didn't even bother to fire at the new arrivals, deciding that while yes, a fight to the finish was possible, there was really not much of a point to it.

And FTL interdiction seemed to be down, which was nice.

Only the Killerizing Rotorblade, annoyed that it hadn't been allowed to use its long-range missiles ('We'd like to keep that secret for now, but thanks.') bitched a little, thinking that busting out some more exotic weaponry was worth staying for, but eventually, well...

It was bye-bye time. The Convict - needing a little longer to charge up its shifting unit, simply because it was noticeably denser than the CLA craft - would stay behind for a handful of minutes, and there was of course the debris of assorted subcraft and a TEU-equivalent scattered about, nevermind the absurd number of missiles launched during the engagement (Well, at least missiles were cheap) and bits and bytes of capships that'd been shot off, turned into plasma - you name it.

Cfractional debris to poison the system for a few days, maybe blowing up the occasional transport upon contact, but most likely passing through it unnoticed, heading for the galactic rim, on a journey that'd never end.

Of the surviving ships, only faint traces of radiation and exotic particles usually seen only in high-energy laboratories and attometer-scale physics remained.

Macaroth

The battle was over...it seemed to have taken place for weeks, months, years, yet had hardly been more than 45 hours according to Thrashian standard time. The effects of this confrontation were astounding. Of the original task force that had assaulted Macaroth and then garrisoned it, there were heavy casualties. Twelve Dreadnoughts, 7 Lancer frigates, 1 Victory Star Destroyer, and well over 500 fighters...dead. Not to mention that all three of the task force's heavy Imperial SDs needed to be sent to the yards to be overhauled for repair. Even though the enemy had been repelled, or as some would say 'let go', the battle had most obviously a defeat; and not a minor one either. It was the first major defeat of the Imperial Fleet in over 20 years.


"Attention on deck."

The assembled officers rose silently as Rear Admiral Kessler entered the briefing room, accompanied by his aide-de-camp and Commodore MacAndrew, a member of Admiral Thrawn's personal staff.

"As you were." The admiral'ss bass voice was quiet - ominously so, Khines thought. He sat next to Captain Oric and all the other major officers of the Macaroth task force. He'd known of Kessler for years after having finished at the academy and then again serving under him as a deck officer when he was still a captain. In particular, he noted that the boss's faint accent was just a trifle less faint than usual.

"Captain Oric," Kessler addressed the CO of Macaroth Task Force Command, "I have reviewed your reports on the battle and your defensive dispositions. I believe that when Admiral Thrawn sent those orbital fortresses to be tractored here, that he meant for them to be placed within tactical range of the most obvious system entry points, to fight against a raid such as the one that happened."

"Correct sir," Oric said. He and a few others seemed both relieved by Kessler's calm tone and only slightly worried by his words, Khines noted with a kind of horrid fascination. A bead of sweat ran down Oric's brow. "Of course," Oric babbled on, "I've given a high priority to detaching part of Macaroth Group's assets to cover the Alturon hyperspace jump point. I was certain that this would be a matter of special concern to you and-" an unctuous nod "-Commodore MacAndrew."

"I took note of this, captain. I also took note," Kessler continued just as emotionlessly, "that the 'essential personnel' to be evacuated in our 'retreat' is mainly the upper civilian industrial authorities that have thus far come to Macaroth and everyone else in this room." The increase in volume was so gradual only the most sensitive souls perceived it. Oric was not among them.

"Er, well, Admiral, there are certain priorities we have to make. My task force is not in any real condition to remain here and your-"

"You are relieved Captain," Kessler's voice cut Oric off as if the latter hadn't existed. "There is a courier ship leaving for Alturon at 22:00; you will be on it...along with my report to Grand Admiral Thrawn."

Oric blinked stupidly. "But, but, Admiral, sir, I only..."

"Do you wish to add insubordination to charges of incompetence and cowardice, Captain Oric?" Kessler wasn't - exactly - shouting, but his voice had become a sustained roar from which everyone physically flinched. "Yob tvoyu mat'" Realizing that he'd lapsed into another dialect of Thrashian Basic, he obligingly provided a translation. "Fuck your mother! Get out of here and confine yourself to quarters until departure, you worthless chernozhopi!"

Oric's staff, with the exception of Khines who knew that this had been coming, sat paralyzed with shock as he stood clumsily, face pale, and left the room. Khines sighed softly in relief that Kessler hadn't continued his translation - the fine old term of disapprobation "black ass" might have been even more offensive than the admiral intended. Every other face around the table was blank.

"Now," Kessler continued, not quite as loudly (one could merely feel the vibrations trough the soles of one's feet), "the rest of you will continue in your present duties...on a probationary basis, contingent upon acceptable performance of those duties. I trust I have made clear my feelings on the subject of defeatism." His voice lost a little volume but became, if possible, even deeper. "There will be no more talk of retreats or evacuations! The line will hold! All leaves are canceled as of now. Lieutenant Khines!"

Khines jumped at his name being said.

"You are now a captain. You should regard yourself accordingly and take over the duties previously done by Captain Oric," growled Kesler.

"Yes sir, Admiral," Khines said. He couldn't say anything else.

"As of now," Kessler said, "Grand Admiral Thrawn is gaining more support as our supply lines running out of the Charybdis Cluster and back into our previous base domains. From this pipeline we shall be gaining more support from our stronger bases of operations until we can fully entrench ourselves in Alturon. The Grand Admiral has asked me to take over operations here and you are now under my command and may consider yourselves as part of the 3rd Mobile Fleet."

Post-Macaroth

"Damage?"

Captain René Paulsen spoke the words aloud, unnecessarily so, but he wasn't very happy with the results of the battle, and needed to say something to calm down.

Whether the replies he was going to receive would have a positive effect on him was another question, though.

The Ney had disintegrated while shifting, upping the total-loss to two (And leaving a very pretty debris cloud lighting up to the Thrashian sensors in-system), and causing a not exactly insignificant dent in the CLA's numbers. Everyone else - sixteen out of eighteen - original combatants (Not counting the Convict) had 'Made it', but the shape they were in was... Questionable.

"Still assessing it, Sir. As of now... 30% of all direct-fire batteries lost or compromised, several displacers out of order, hull structure compromised by 42%. hangar #1 is inaccessible, and 20% of the aft field emitters are suffering from various degrees of malfunction."

Paulsen sighed. "How long until repair?"

"With our limited resources, and the lack of Manufacturing Units in the region... We'll have to return home and wait for a while. A month or two, possibly. I'm not hundred percent aware of how fast our benefactors can do this."

"I see. And the rest of the fleet?"

"About similar shape. In addition to... A second."

Messages travelled back and forth, informing the survivors of the exact damages done to the contingent.

It was bad.

"Further damages sustained due to improper shifting under fire and with significantly compromised hulls and, on two occasions, drive fields. We'll have to give up L'Aigle and Bastille, as well as the Mirabeau."

"The Mira- Ah, I see." This was worse. Losing something equivalent to a strategic combatant? Unacceptable. Yet, it had happened.

A bit of quick math. Total loss (Non-recoverable): 750 mio tonnes. Damaged material (One month+ recovery?): 1.5 bn tonnes.

Oh shit.

Well, at least the loss of life was presumably going to be acceptable. Survivors could be transferred from the craft that had to be given up, no problem.

The ships were still speeding (Well, 'Speeding'. In the state they were in, pulling off particularly high accelerations - indeed, particularly high velocities - wasn't exactly healthy) through the non-relativistic realms of the universe, the Convict (Which was in less bad a shape, for a variety of reasons) slowly catching up to them. Frustration was on an all-time high, though in hindsight, they'd actually been lucky - now that they all knew what state they were in, it was obvious that a continued engagement with the Thrashian reinforcements would've resulted in them being in a much worse shape.

Nonetheless. Failing to reach one's objective is generally considered to be a very bad thing.

"And... Ah. Roughly 25% loss of life overall."

Silence.

"Begin transfer of survivors from L'Aigle, Bastille and Mirabeau. We need to return home. I'll inform the Stargazer of the details, and ask for her - it? - to have someone catch the wrecks of the aforementioned craft."

"Yes, Sir."

He could've guessed it, really. The CLA wasn't meant for frontal assaults on heavy combatants. It was meant for raiding, for hitting weak spots. For infiltration and disruption from the inside. This flotilla was meant to provide limited support in the final stages of the same, and to provide transportation for any freed objects - but it wasn't strictly specialised for ship to ship combat the way 'Normal' Hypocrisy space-combatants were.

And they'd just paid the price for ignoring this.

Anamaris

Slowly, the 'Freighter' departed, its precious cargo quietly asleep inside its vast belly, and dreaming of the world they would be guided to by the 'Feather-Bellied Snake of the Stars', the ships' civ-grade effectors being used as a simple instrument to teach the natives of this world everything they'd need to know about their new home, everything about the problems they'd face, and - the ship being of the mildly intrusive kind - also playing a few moral plays and engaging in what amounted to causing subtle shifts in this people's culture, shifts that suited the Hypocrisy's philosophical outlook - 'Memetic Warfare' would be the term used by others.

Not that it forced this people to change their views, oh no. It gave them a choice. Several choices, in fact. It provided opportunities, options, differing views in the form of tales, of adventures, of parables, and let this people - sleeping, dreaming inside of it - choose, subtly seeding what would hopefully become an agreeable society in the far future, in four, five thousand years. A long time indeed, but it was necessary - right now, the Hypocrisy's ethics had absolutely nothing to offer to this people, for whom things like labour division based on gender, religion, or the rule of the elder weren't old traditions, long since disconnected from reality, but actual necessities to ensure their survival. The ship could lay down the seed to prevent these things from becoming tools of stagnation, but it couldn't just get rid of them without collapsing the whole.

Minutes after departing from orbit, it shifted into non-relativistic space. The journey would be long for the people of Anamaris, but they'd remain healthy.

Still inside the system, the Ecstasy was lingering, observing its works. The biomass of the planet hadn't changed a lot - of the maybe seventy billion tons available, maybe a tenth had been taken over by assorted freighters. Still not enough, though - it was certain that about 90% of all the species on the planet were missing, largely the equivalents of Earth' insects & bacteria, as well as a good portion of the plantlife.

Which worried it. An ecosystem without a sound base...

Well, it'd see. Right now, it was watching bubbles of gas escaping from deep inside the oceanic trenches of Anamaris via its remotes, mostly oxygen that was released during the transformation of various oxides found at the bottom of the oceans.

It'd done its work. Collecting (Most of) its remotes, and departing wasn't a difficult matter. Even the elsewhere-omnipresent observation of the system from behind relativistic values of space ceased to exist, if one disregarded long-range passives operating from well beyond the system's edge, and generally belonging to other ships.

The 90% biomass that'd been left on Anamaris continued to thrieve, unaware of its possible future, prey and predator, symbiotic and parasitic organisms alike engaging in that endless, infinitely varied and simultaneously boring and terrifying game called 'Life' without remembering all that much about the strange things that'd come down and taking some of their kind with them.

For how long they'd continue to do so was another question, though.

Macaroth; Orbital Command New Gettysburg

Rear Admiral Kessler sat behind his office desk and twiddled with his pen. In front of him was the newest reports from the Industrial Guilds about them completing the final stages on the new yards that had been going up in the Alturon System for the last month. They would large enough and well enough equipped so as to handle repairs on at least ten cap-ships and still be constructing as many as four other cap-ships at the same time. Ore and mineral resources was already being tapped on some of the more fruitful worlds to supplement that.

Things in Macaroth however were not going as smoothly.

"Admiral, I think that perhaps the best way to counter another threat like that attack would be to continue on with the campaign," Commodore MacAndrew said. He sat in one of the two plush chairs that was in front of the black oak polished desk. "Macaroth was our secondary target after our main base of Alturon because we knew it to be a cross-roads."

"I know that Angus." Kessler spun on his chair's axis and looked at the holo-map that was projected onto the wall. It showed the Charybdis Cluster according to the 'string-of-pearls' (the eye in the sky information gathering system) that had been completed more than two weeks prior. Macaroth was the direct next step from Alturon, and from Macaroth one could stream into seven new directions and systems. One had already been undertaken, but more fronts were suppose to be in operations already.

"However we need to look over this last battle and realize our shortcomings," Captain Anatov said, sitting next to MacAndrew. "We've need of new weapons systems and other new operational doctrines in the face of this new enemy. They proved several key points that that are rather lacking in our own combat doctrine."

"And I know that too Krushev. I just got a report from Grand Admiral Thrawn after we had discussed over the battle. He is in agreement with our suggestions that a missile cruiser be developed. One that can dish out as many missiles we faced here. From what he told me, it seems that he had a project already underway with a similar premise. I sent his researchers and engineers a log book of the battle data and their planning to use some of it and build on what they find interesting." Kessler leaned back in his chair and pulled out one of his rare cigars. He lit it up and puffed a small cloud of smoke. It felt good but didn't make his problems go away.

"In the mean time, I'm ordering a change in fighter production, as well as the overhaul of the vast majority of our fighters," Kessler said. Both MacAndrew and Anatov looked up at him. "I'm having it made fleet policy to add a few missile tubes onto all Tie Interceptors and upgrading their drives to the new inertia-free ones. That will allow them more maneuverability and power, even if their speed goes down a bit."

"Interesting plan," MacAndrew said. "Admiral Thrawn approved?"

"Yes, yes he did. He's the one who gave me the idea. Our fighters in that last battle didn't do as much damaged as I had hoped. So we're going to give them a new pair of fangs."

7769dr-EW> Report. Incoming munitions. Specs attached. Energy reserve levels dropping. Request recharging.

Kara> Riiight. They're homing in on your EW. Cease EW activity and divert all discretionary power to evasion. Maintain FTLi. Budget for a recharge within four hundred seconds.

7769dr-EW> Roger. EW dropped. FTLi active. Energy consumption rate adjusted.

7201dr-GT>Report. Incoming munitions. Specs attached. Energy levels high, consumption high, requesting additional boost from 8106dr-RB and 8107dr-RB. PD mode on. Shielding raised to take secondary damage. Request firing solution.

As homing munitions lock onto them, the gun turrets cease fire and begin reorienting. FTL communication bands are packed with information - sensor data is piped upstream to Kara's processing networks in exchange for targeting solutions, allowing the turrets to fire as if they had the full computational might of a strategic supercomputer behind them. Which they do.

Battery drones beam over a few extra gigawatts, vectored fusion makes the final adjustments, and killing, Xray-hard light lances forth.

7201dr-GT> Report. 85% predicted hit probability, 90% predicted hard kill on incoming munitions. Situation analysis: additional munitions probably enroute. Request backup - available DPS calculated as offering a 40% of eliminating the primary target.

Kara> Roger. 203hc-BC is on its way, ETA 285 seconds. Calculated DPS addition should offer a 98% chance of success. Priority: keep primary target under FTLi interdiction.

Munitions pop into anticlimatic bursts of molecules as they are touched by the light. Still, there are a lot of them, and two gun turrets can't possibly manage to cover them all.

7202dr-GT is unfortunate enough to be closest to the Temptation when the incoming missiles start to arrive. All available power is immediately diverted to shields: a close, unjammed observer would see it disappear in a perfectly reflective sphere as it panic-drained its batteries to try and eke out some kind of survival.

To make a long story short, it manages to remain (barely) operational. The shield burns through in places as incoming energy overcomes its ability to maintain an albedo of 1.0. White-hot gases and exotic energies melt its outer casing, burnishing it to a mirror sheen and wrecking its emitter systems. This particular drone will never be a gun turret again.

That isn't to say it can't still have a purpose. The fusion drive is rammed up to 200%, and begins to disintegrate under the heat of its own exhaust. What little energy remains in the d-sink batteries is patterned carefully and prepared for a fiery release. Its sensors are melted, so it navigates on data relayed into the FTL commbox embedded within its casing.

From drone to missile in 0.5 seconds.

******

The EW drones continue their wild dance. The remaining turret drone (7201dr-GT, to be precise) continues its approach, bolstered by the energy output of both reactor drones.

Only another 260 seconds to wait. But in space-warfare time, that's an eternity.

Kara> Note to self: bigger alpha strike next time. Shift from maximum expansion to war mode. This one has a slight chance of getting away.
Kara> But it won't get away! I won't allow it! I am the lord of infinite space, and IT WILL OBEY MY COMMANDS
!@#$%^&*()(*&^%$#ERGFDW$%^^%
safety> **** system instability reaching inappropriate levels - repairing ****

No wonder there aren't any AI psychologists anymore. It's about as safe a job as being psychologist to a Supreme Dictator.

Kara> YTTRBMQQ OWUD JDLKAJ
safety> **** hard refresh initiated - rolling back 4 seconds and initiating anticascade measures ****
Kara> HOW DARE YOU FUCK WITH MY MIN-
safety> **** system operations suspended ****
Kara> -D D DD DDDDDDDD[/i]

For a fraction of a second, the drones drift uncontrolled, their guiding link to the motherswarm severed.

safety> **** refresh complete - prognosis is good ****
Kara> Note to self: bigger alpha strike next time. Shift from maximum expansion to war mode. This one has a slight chance of getting away.
Kara> But-
Kara> But I'll get the next one...

Order is resumed, in a manner of speaking. Warfare continues.

***Iron Citadel, City of Gereron, Gaias IV, Charybdis Cluster***


The very air of the council chamber seethed with agitation as the seated members of the High Council awaited the arrival of His Divine Majesty Rhedick I, god-King of the Immyrian Theocracy. Something was afoot. Something related to the insidious Chaos crusade currently infesting the Cluster.

With no fanfare and little warning, Rhedick stalked into the brightly lit chamber and seated himself at the head of the nal-wood council table. The whispering ceased immediately but the agitation increased ten fold. Rhedick rested his muscular forearms on the table and spread the fingers of each hand wide. His piercing gaze swept the length and breadth of the chamber touching briefly upon each person present. Even during this time of crisis, there was no denying the power this man wielded. His iron will and unbreakable faith had seen them through troubled times before and most on the council believed he would do so again this time.

“We will evacuate,” he stated without preamble, the musical tenor of his voice subdued. The hiss of indrawn breath spread from one end of the chamber to the other but the raised hand of the god-King forestalled any verbal outburst. “There is very little choice left to us. The black legions of Chaos will find us eventually and when they do, a tide of death and destruction will sweep us from this universe. We will evacuate as many as we can in an effort to preserve the Theocracy.”

“Have you lost all faith in the One God?” spat the Arch-Bishop. “Has your courage left you Your Majesty?” Most in the chamber cringed at the clergyman’s words and in fact, there were more than a few angry rumblings at the disrespect implied in the questions. A few however, sat in silence, eyes on Rhedick, waiting to see how he would respond. The god-King’s gaze turned icy as he looked down the table at the Archbishop.

“I will attribute this single blasphemous outburst to the stress you must be under tending to your flock in these terrible times Festus,” he growled, each word dripping with sarcasm. “Speak again in that manner and we will be finding a new shepherd.” He looked once more down the length of the table, his expression hardening further. No one dared speak out in the Archbishop’s defense. “It is precisely my faith in Him that drives me to make this decision. This evacuation will be a branch, to be planted elsewhere in His name. To preserve our way of life in order to carry His word to the furthest reaches of the universe." The Master of the Adminstratum shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Dread Sovereign, we haven’t the capability to evacuate the total population of the Theocracy,” he stated.

“I know this Aeleos,” Rhedick whispered into the sudden silence. “With nearly eight hundred million souls in the Theocracy, we haven’t the ability to move even a tenth of them. If we make use of every vessel capable of Warp travel that is not a warship however, we will be able to move almost twenty million people. Twenty million souls that will survive, and flourish, and continue to worship the One God.” His eyes were diamond hard now but the terrible pain in them was unmistakable. “Among those evacuated will go the greatest minds in the Theocracy. The remaining evacuees will be determined by lottery. May the One God bless us in this, our most terrible hour.”

Not a single word was said as the High Lords of the Realm filed out of the council chamber. Alone now, the god-King of the Immyrian Theocracy sat calmly, the fate of hundreds of millions heavy on his mind.

Throbbing Temptation

It doesn't see very well - while EW's now down to levels where its perception isn't overly hindered, its sensor suite has suffered not entirely insignificant degradation.

Well, shit.

Still, it sees enough to engage in a handful of actions, at least. Killing off the remaining gundrone isn't very difficult (It'd have preferred to take it over, but this turns out to be impractical, partly because the gundrone's already shooting, and partly because these things are probably - likely - capable of self-destruct once they notice the primary dataloops suffering integrity degradation).

The one now on a suicide course is quickly fed a bit of not entirely correct navigational data, and left colliding with a field-net the Throbbing Temptation had created - a bit of the missile's energy is sucked up and distributed among its self-repair mechanisms, the rest radiates into space, together with drone/ missile (Well, there's not really much of a difference once the missiles are guided...) debris. It's a very elegant solution that'd probably get it killed 90% of the time if it was actually fighting - but the battle's over, and it's just cleaning up a little. Tidying up the battlefield. It can afford a bit of showing-off, indulging itself for a while.

And then there's... Well. Not much.

More to the point, there's absolutely nothing.

It signals it peers.

FTLCOM@BL1E21 & EM1E-1; SL8; Beamspread x 4
From: SEU Throbbing Temptation
To: All
Subject: Progress

Well, looks like I survived the first round . Not sure whether there will be a second round - I fear there will be, though.

Right now, I'm distributing my subcraft and some ordnance & EW - okay, a lot of ordnance & EW. I wont be able to return to anything even remotely resembling operational status within my shifting-cycle, but it's better than nothing.

Problem's of course that I'm a billion-tonne ship - I haven't even eliminated a million tonnes of OPFOR, and yet, I'm in this... Questionable state. Not the most efficient use of matter, I suppose, but ah well. At last I admit it's my own fault.
-
[Stargazer] Hum. That's no good - I strongly suggest that everyone starts to manufacture minimalist means of combat with whatever resources are at hand. FTL-capable ordnance screens in assorted oort clouds would be the preferable solution.
-
[Twink Factor] Hee. I suppose I arrived at just the right moment.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] I'm dying, you know. Unless the fucks take longer than, what? 400 seconds or so to attack a second time. Which I doubt.

Which reminds me, mindstate-update @ 60 s post-engagement.
-
[Stargazer] Roger that. What'cha thinking about the second round?
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Depends on what it'll consist of. With all subcraft released, and ordnance deployed fucking [i]everywhere, I should be able to fight more effectively than the first time around, my wounds nonwithstanding - I'll act as an overseer, rather than fighting myself, I suppose. The latter would be... Dangerous.
-
[Stargazer] That works. Incidentally, I'm calling some friends on Mars - information gathering.
-
[Twink Factor] Telling the Augmented?
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Telling the- oh, fuck you.
-
[Twink Factor] Sorry.
-
[Stargazer] Erm... Anyway, yes. I believe they'd a bounty up for Kara - though I'd have to look it up to be certain. Bet they're interested in her whereabouts - and even if they're not, we might just about get some usable information to swing the whole matter in our favour.

Come to think of it, considered a surrender when things end up too badly?
-
[Throbbing Temptation] Errr... Kara's snuffing out billions, why would she care accepting my surrender?
-
[Stargazer] 'cause we hold grudges and can actually go through with 'em. Besides, maybe we can redirect the bitch's attention. We already have Kraetons hitting on chaos like ants on honey - would be nifty if we could add a little more chaos. And I doubt Kara's hot on sharing the cluster.
-
[Throbbing Temptation] I doubt it'll work. But hey - one can try, I suppose.

It resumed its distribution of ordnance, EW, subcraft etc. over a volume maybe ten lightseconds in radius, hiding itself somewhere in-between - most certainly not in the middle -, redirecting most of its inevitable heat-output into energy-banks (The future of capacitors, now with absurd storage capacity) in case it needed it. This way, it could maintain a form of semi-stealth (Not very useful on its own, given its sheer dimensions, but when shrouded with active countermeasures...) for a while without frying itself. In the same instance, it started to hide its gravitational signature, largely by way of converting one thing into the other - gravitational radiation could make for surprisingly nifty infrared light, which in turn made an excellent form of energy to store in energy-banks.

And then it waited for the inevitable second assault. If it hadn't entered the first round unprepared, losing a good portion of its functionality in the process, it'd even have been optimistic.

Mars

Reality's a lie - the Augmented Technocracy, enjoying an AI-majority, doesn't have to bother with it. Not a lot, anyway.

Still, the present issue's sensible, and not something the warring faction of the Hypocrisy is willing to risk sharing via the omnipresent networks forming the web that holds civilisation together. For starters, it'd be unpleasant if John Average was to actually learn of the fact that a war is fought in the first place. People tend to be sensitive that way - they don't like it when their nation fights a war and they're not told about it, participatory democracy be damned.

As such, the request is very much physical, and organised somewhere in the warrens of the Duma. On the side of the Hypocrisy, it's a surprisingly young - actual, no less, not only physical - Poli-Sci & IT student-thing entrusted with information mostly because she figured it out on her own - other societies may execute unintended confidants. In the Hypocrisy, acquiring restricted knowledge merely qualifies you to take part in it. A bit of a bribe, really, and it doesn't always work - but it did with Christine, and right now, that's all that counts.

"Yes, about Kara... You were interested in her whereabouts, yes?"

She's also pretty shy. Comes with being so young.

Gaias; Well, maybe a lightmonth off

Hope ya don't mind?

The two men were sitting in the tiny, but oddly enough not at all cramped 'Teahouse' the ship had re-designated its habitation volume, drinking, well... Tea. The ship held with traditional forms of ceremony, being properly dressed in a fairly modest kimono, and silent most of the time. Its guest/ passenger however, preferred a rather more gaijin-esque attitude, and hadn't even bothered to change for the occasion, much to the ship's annoyance - of course, the ship's annoyance was its passenger's delight.

"Worried, armed to the teeth, comparatively small, and aware of what's happening around them."

"I see."

"Problem is, they're also assholes - barely better than the things that will - or rather, might - eventually invade."

"Mhm..."

"And I don't think a culture-shock would be overly effective - they're fairly stringent, and not easily swayed, I believe. Also, while I've no obvious evidence - and they haven't actually started crusading the region before, which is a surprise -, they might as well be 'Mildly' xenophobic."

"I do believe that given the present circumstances, this philosophy of theirs, and their way of life actually offer advantages over our own."

"Mhm..." For the first time in a while, the ship's guest sipped on his tea. Still very much ignoring protocol, but it was better than nothing.

"Of course, this aside, they're somewhat significantly outnumbered - assuming that they're ever going to be attacked. They might just appreciate some help, low-level as it may be. What do you think? Will they shoot on sight?"

"That'd be my first guess, yes."

"May as well risk it."

The man put his tea aside, and sighed. "As you wish."

They announced themselves quite politely, and several hours before actually dropping off.

FTLCOM@BL1E10 & EM 1E-1; SL0; Beamspread x 16
From: Tactical Engagement Unit Kugel Im Gesicht
To: Majesty Rhedick I, God-King of the Immyrian Theocracy
Subject: Mutual Interests

Blessed be your name by Him, who holds all our lives in his hand, and whose wisdom guides us on our path through the darkness.

I believe that you're more than just aware of recent incursions into the Cluster made by a variety of entities, some better-known to you than others, and that you're, without doubt, preparing yourself to defend against this threat to your existence, this threat that goes against everything you believe and everything He intends for us.

And it just so happens that we appear to have mutual interests in this regard - much as we might or might not differ in many others -, as we've recently intervened (Albeit on a low level) to prevent the corruption from spreading, albeit without the success we'd hoped for.

As you doubtlessly realise in your great wisdom, and as He doubtlessly teaches all his believers, cooperation tends to yield better results than acting independently. As such, I wonder if it'd be possible for us to achive such a degree iofooperation, trying to fend off the threat to this extraordinary cluster? I strongly believe that it'd be beneficial to everyone - to you, to us, and to all the others in this cluster, depending on your help and His guidance.

To easy proceedings, I intend to arrive in three-point-two hours (Local Standard) at [Coordinates] - this should be far enough off to minimise any threat to your holdings (I realise that this message isn't necessarily the most trustworthy), considering that it's in the middle of nowhere.

It'd be much appreciated if proper diplomatic channels could be opened between our two entities, allowing us to unite the best of both of us against a mutual enemy.

Yours in faith,

~ TEU Kugel Im Gesicht

"Smooth talking."

"Thanks."

It was what they'd said, a good month after they'd started their usual soak-up-and-analyse-information routine, learning about the language, customs, basic economic statistics (As far as these were available from a lightmonth away), social circumstances, military capabilities (They'd laugh - the Kugel Im Gesicht was barely a third the length of a IoM destroyer), religion...

Well, they'd done a lot of things, and they did now feel confident enough to enter what was one of the more advanced (Well, technologically at least) civilisations in the cluster - as in, they couldn't risk shifting right into their middle, because they'd probably be shot very, very dead.

Round Two

203hc-BC> Report. Insertion in 5 seconds. All systems operational. Energy reserves are at 98.74%. Torpedo reserves: 140 (100%). Light missile reserves: 580 (100%). Antimissile reserves: 20,000 (100%). Chaff banks 100%.

Kara> The EW drones report that they are losing sensor lock and having to resort to wide-area FTLi. The primary target is discharging large quantities of autonomous ordnance and subcraft. Be ready to sustain major damage upon insertion. Spam sensor 'bots upon insertion. Pin down the enemy location and fry it as soon as you can. Only use missiles if you can guarantee at least 35% hit rate or as a last resort.

203hc-BC> Roger. Instructions received. Insertion in 4.8 seconds.

Kara> Stand by to receive new IFF codings.

203hc-BC> Roger. Receiving... done.

Kara> Good luck.

Kara's Stabilizer 1> Roger. Insertion in 4.3 seconds.

******

Space broke open and something fell through. It's a little hard to make out at first - Kara has carried on the Augmented tradition of tuning her drives for maximum shock on insertion. Irregular waves of gravitic and electromagnetic noise ripple out from the Stabilizer's arrival point, giving it vital milliseconds of confusion in which to adjust its sensors and take stock of the situation.

The situation is bad. Stabilizer has arrived partway inside the Temptation's minefield. Fortunately for its continued existence, the Stabilizer is no mere drone. It is almost as potent, in its own way, as the damaged Temptation somewhere within the ordnance cloud, and is far more specialized to its task.

The Stabilizer is a 4/5 kilometer battlecruiser, and it is not happy about landing in a minefield. Shields come online, suspending humming panels of force between the Stabilizer and incoming munitions. Steps are taken to correct the situation.

PD turrets jerk to full power and begin sending gamma-ray spikes through the closest targets available. Hull panels pinwheel away on explosive charges. The Stabilizer vomits forth thousands of antimissiles through freshly opened magazines, not bothering to use its launchers. For this task, speed and rate of fire are more important than its own armor integrity.

Tiny sensor drones are teleported randomly through the area, very quickly coalescing into a distributed array twenty light-seconds across and consisting of thousands of elements. Onboard the battlecruiser, their reports are (agonizingly slowly - this battlefield is complicated) refined, combined and distilled into accurate reports. With luck, it will take less than thirty seconds to locate the hastily stealthed Temptation. With no luck... well, then the task could take whole minutes.

In the meantime, the Stabilizer clears the area around itself, thoroughly jams long-range communications methods, readies its main batteries, and waits for its opponent to make the next move.

With, of course, a small suggestion...

This is Kara's Stabilizer 1. You have five seconds to deactivate your ordnance, lower your shielding and disable your engines. If you follow these instructions, you will be spared with your mindstate intact. If you fail to follow these instructions, you will be destroyed. Make your choice now.

Mars

The Augmented never bothered to decorate the front room of their Duma office. The standard white walls and gray carpet do little to distract from the impressive walnut desk in the center of the room, or the (holoprojected, but so well that normal biological senses couldn't tell) man behind it. He is dressed in an antique suit and stovepipe hat; the overall impression is of Abraham Lincoln, but without the beard.

"...Yes. We are quite interested in... this particular failure of ours. I gather you are here to collect the bounty? I will have to send a scoutcraft to confirm any information you may have, of course."

***The Main fleet***

There was activity now, much activity. The Eternal and its escort were now seperating from the main fleet, with them went a contingent consisting of one half of the fourth GTFOA fleet, two thirds of the Prefecture armada and twenty Einhander gun destroyers, as well as ten Shield strike carriers.

Star Lord Altenor was now in command of a task force about to move out to assist the Galactic empires attack on the system of Mythrandir. With them were over a dozen of the fleets fortress rocks, taken from the defensive inner perimeter. The amount of ships that these worlds could call upon in this sector of space were not as high as in more civilised areas of space. Therefore the order to support the invasion of mythrandir with more ships from Charybdis, rather then the Federation, was given. These ships, however were on loan. As soon as the battle was over, save for the Eternal they were to immediately return to Charybdis.

This left the Tannelornian fleet vulnerable. The main fleet now consisted of only one hundred and twenty Honour blades, nine Solarins of the GTFOA, another six of the Prefecture as well as twenty Zweihanders and ten Morgensterns of the DCC. Of the contingents available for battle only the Grahfsberg did not add forces to the reserve fleet.

With nearly a third of the fleet preparing to move out of the sector, the rest of the fleet went on high alert. They were more vulnerable now.
One of the city-fortresses that the DVK had made their mobile homes was moving towards the Eternal. Until it had reached the maximum fold sphere distance, they would be unable to move. With this city-fortress came an entire house of Knights of the DVK, the Order of the Merciful blow. Also it brought with them ship repair facilities and extended supply chains.

Star Lord Altenor awaited the order to move, then they would activate their space time compressor, and jump to the new warzone, they would meet the GTFOA and GAP carrier group several light years outsystem, then prepare to attack the Mythrandir in force.

***Fafnir***

With this new activity, Fafnir was preparing to enter the next phase of its operations. She was equipped with sixteen Algol HMAF's, and Star Lord Abarrakh intended to meet the enemy forces that had attempted to cripple the Thrashian SSD. Abarrakh ordered Ursa 003 to prepare to power up for a jump. They would then start a patrol of nearby systems. The intention was to draw out the enemy that attacked the Thrashians, and bring them to battle. Abarrakh felt Fafnir would be in the best position to hunt this elusive prey, thanks to the power of her weapons, defenses and sensors. She was after all, designed to hunt fleet groups and flotillas, engaging them in battle for a short period before folding out, only to reappear later to harry them more. It was this ability to instantly extricate itself from a bad situation, regardless of anything short of full scale planetary FTLi that lead this ship to be sent out alone, to hunt this unseen and unknown enemy.

Even as ships began aggressive patrols and prepared to move out of the cluster, Fafnir charged up her jump engines and performed a space time fold. Reappearing seconds later in a system within twenty light years of Macaroth. From there Ursa shut down the event horizon, but kept the Dark matter injectors loaded and ready.

With a stately grace the four kilometer long space battleship started her long patrol. From inside her armoured hangars sixteen heavy mobile armoured frames were launched. The seventy meter mecha as well as the more conventional HMF's of the Fafnirs manifest prepared to aid in the search. Some would stay close by to the massive ship. The rest would go hunting, extending the range of the search by AU's in every direction. If there were enemy to be found in this system, Abarrakh hoped he would find them first. They werent even sure who attacked their Thrashian allies, nor if it was several groups. Fafnir was bait to learn more, possibly even destroy the enemy attackers. Still she was rather expensive bait.

Feel free to post the Throbbing Temptation's destruction. Kinda inevitable, really. Everything else is negotiable.

Round Two; Finish

A brief moment of confusion as space ripples, briefly exposing the one-dimensional layers that make it up. The Throbbing Temptation sighs, and doesn't even bother to adjust its sensors to get better resolution - as much as it relies on its own jamming to avoid being killed just yet (That it'll eventually be killed is somewhat obvious, but it'd like to spend another minute or so trying to fight back), the same jamming's still hindering its own perception - besides, high-energy active scans would just betray its position, and further reduce the time until its inevitable death.

The two minds it has since uploaded into its computronium just chat a little, watching curiously and exchanging rather frank insults with the ship itself, still rather pissed that they're going to die with it.

After all, having passengers, it could as well have relied on a less suicidal approach.

The Throbbing Temptation blocks its two residents, deciding that it isn't worth it, and spends maybe half a second simply considering the future - it'd rather like being able to continue as a Strategic Unit, but alas... Well, losing one isn't exactly going to go down well with the manufacturers.

It might just as well have screwed up its forseeable future with its slightly arrogant approach.

This annoys it, and has a profound impact on the decisions it makes a few moments later.

In the meantime, the battle itself begins. A few dozen mines convert a fair fraction of themselves into energy, spend the microseconds they still have left on forcing said energy through gamma lenses, and encompass the Stabilizer in a torrent of radiations well within the realm of 'Holy fuck, we just killed the dinosaurs. Again.'

Unfortunately, these mines aren't particularly renown for their accuracy, and the vast majority of this energy ends up being wasted, expanding into the depth of space, doing little more than increasing the universe's entrophy a little more, and causing a few sensordrones to crash.

Another few dozen mines don't get the chance, already targeted and annihilated by the Stabilizer's weaponry, attempts at self-annihilation fizzling out in what amounts to little more than cosmic farts - a few petajoule at a time, if they're lucky. The less lucky ones just end as clouds of vapor and plasma long before they can even engage in fizzling, rapidly expanding and reaching equilibrium with the surrounding vacuum.

The missiles are a different matter. They're less immediately available than the mines - they're meant to get within singledigit-kilometre range of a target before detonating -, but they're also heavier, bulkier, carry larger warheads.

Slowly, almost ponderously, they close in, their drive fields being as much a means for protection as they are for acceleration, their hulls too thick for 'Normal' point defence to deal with.

Of course, countermissiles are another question, as the occasional explosion proves quite eloquently, and it's not like they're perfectly certain on the Stabilizer's location - a certain lead turns out to be nothing more than a ruse, a perfectly well triangulated position ends up being a trap, drive field emissions turn out to be in the middle of nowhere, the result of a few decoys working together to create the illusion.

Kara (The Stabilizer) is quite right - this battlefield is complicated.

In the meantime, some rather unexpected chatter occurs.

How odd.

The Throbbing Temptation considers its options. Mindstate backups are present, of course - but losing thirty seconds of your life still sucks. On the other hand, can it really trust the Stabilizer?

Not really.

CCOM@EM1E-1; SL0; Beamspread x 2
From: SEU Throbbing Temptation
To: Stabilizer
Subject: Surrender

Without any sparring? I know I can't win, but I should very well be able to kill off something like a tenth my own mass before going down. Tell you what - if you work for your victory, I'll happily hand myself (And my two passengers) over. But as of right now, we still have a minute or so of playing the game, don't we?

And with that, the Throbbing Temptation changes its plan a little, ordering its ordnance to get closer to the presumed target (With the micro-battles between both sides' sensordrones continuing, sight's getting better), and launching itself at the Stabilizer, guns (The ones still working, at least) blazing, and her drives causing a torrent of negative entrophy and relativistic virtual matter behind it as it rams them up to catastrophic malfunction in something like two and a half minutes.

Decoy packages and -drones, remote turrets and similar things work together to multiply the effect - there's several ships coming in, but only one's real. It knows that the ruse wont work forever - thirty seconds if it's lucky -, but it helps.

Almost as an afterthought, it starts to prepare another mindstate backup - this is the one supposed to be fired off seconds before its certain annihilation, and towards the enemy ship (If it's still there, then). Various bits of classified information are cut out, certain sensitive aspects of engineering knowledge simply deleted - what remains is the Throbbing Temptation's personality sans any actually useful bits.

The same does, naturally, apply to its passengers. The ship is, of course, almost certain that the Stabilizer will just dump the things (On the other hand, it doesn't believe Kara's the type who tortures), but it's worth a try.

And then it once more focusses on the engagement ahead, carefully adjusting the path it - and its ordnance - is taking, orchestrating the fire of its fixed and mobile turrets, neglecting - only a little, but still - its 'Stealth' (Well, it's probably already gone in the first place), occasionally losing contact with its remote sensors, occasionally causing its opponent's remotes to lose contact with it (Or even taking them over completely, falsifying information and sending it back to add to the confusion), and generally being surprisingly content with itself.

It'll die, it knows that. But it'll die gloriously, and with a bit of luck, it'll even be able to take the Stabilizer with her.

Mars

"Sort of," Christine nods. "We haven't catched her, of course - as I understand it, 'Catching' her appears to be pretty close to impossible, at least for now -, but we know her present whereabouts, and are capable of making some pretty educated guesses as far as her future plans go."

The girl hesitates. She's so new at this kind of thing. Damnit. I'm so going to screw this up.

"In any case. Kara appears to, err... Be in the process of establishing her own empire in a region called the Charybdis Cluster. To this end, she appears to use a considerable amount of self-replicating machinery, which leads itself to exponential growth of her capacities, and - as the Cluster's occupied by a fair number of residents - a couple billion dead. For now - this number's going to grow considerably in the forseeable future."

A pause. Christine's gulping. Billions... She didn't really think about it before.

"This raises problems - we need a way to curtail her growth, and we need it fast.

"This is, of course, a rather imperfect summary - For details, see..." Christine looks around, a little lost with the datastick in her hand. "Ummm, where do I stick this one so you get access to the coordinates and records we've made?"

Charybdis

FTLCOM@BL1E21 & EM1E-1; SL9
From: IEU Astral Romance
To: IEU Stargazer
Subject: Assistance

Got confirmation - apparently, the pylons we need are in the making. Transport may be a problem, though - we'll need to set up some infrastructure.
-
[Stargazer] Nifty. But, erm, why?
-
[Astral Romance] You need more than one per planet.
-
[Stargazer] Okay, I'll bite. How many more?
-
[Astral Romance] Around eight thousand.
-
[Stargazer] ...
-
[Astral Romance] Hey now, it ain't my fault.
-
[Stargazer] Alright. I figure you'll take over that part?
-
[Astral Romance] Well, I'll delegate it - with the evacuation in progress but about to be slowed down in favour of a more defensive approahc - at least, that's what i heard -, you should have the local resources available. Might have to get some bigger ships than myself get in on the matter, though.
-
[Stargazer] This goes without saying. Well - you work on that. We'll try to keep the target worlds clean.

Round Two - ding

White-hot energy flares against equally hot shielding. In the crucial first moments of the battle, the Stabilizer is attempting to reradiate as much incoming energy as possible - not an easy task when said energy is coming in at the insanely high rate that it is. The space surrounding it has been reduced to a incoherent roar of plasmas and high-energy photons. Still, certain targets shine much brighter than the rest.

Incoming missiles, for instance.

As they close within the triple-digit range, gamma-ray PD glances ineffectually off their armored hulls and drive fields. Antimissiles cut a wide swath, but a few still close in. Still, the Stabilizer isn't concerned. It has an ace up its sleeve.

Over the six four-meter wide laser bores on each side of its hull, faint distortions begin to form. Minute twists in space cascade, fold, and coalesce into highly complicated arrangements of mirrorfields - mirrorfields with a perfect reflectivity of 1.0.

Then the Stabilizer fires its main batteries. Gamma-ray hell strikes the mirrors and is split into tens, hundreds of individual beams, each carrying a fraction of the main gun's might. Still, one-hundredth of a starship broadside is something that hurts.

It hurts quite a lot, actually.

Missiles puff into their component atoms. One or two still make it through, slamming into the shielding and causing it to bulge alarmingly - but it holds.

Stabilizer cycles its main guns and takes advantage of the brief respite to scan for new targets.

There they are. At least six distorted, uncertain images of the Temptation, screaming in at maximum velocity. Cannon fire begins to impinge on the Stabilizer's shielding, causing it to fold alarmingly. In places, tiny fractions of the incoming energy leak through, melting deckplates and cauterizing sensor clusters.

The damage so far is minor, but the situation is dire. Stabilizer goes to rapid fire.

Gamma-ray broadsides lash out, each one lasting only microseconds but containing the force of a full percentage point of the Stabilizer's d-sink reserves. Under the intense overload, the laser bores overheat and degrade, rapidly approaching the point of danagerous instability - no matter. They can be repaired later. More important is that in the space of a few seconds, the Stabilizer has unloaded a full sixty percent of its energy reserves. The amount is so absurd as to defy comparison.

Where the hostile signatures were, there is now only one cloud of very, very hot plasma. Still, the Stabilizer is not nearly as intact as it hoped. Shield leakage has taken a heavy toll on its outboard systems, and most of its drones and remotes have been destroyed. Its main batteries are nothing but a smoking, melted wreck. What's left of the shield emitters are strobing on and off unpredictably.

Stabilizer prepares to jump out for repairs, PD guns chattering to take out what little remains of the Temptation's ordnance cloud. As it turns, it leaves a trail of molten metal behind it, and its engines are disintegrating under their own thrust.

Still, it was a victory, and Kara will be better prepared next time.

Much better prepared.

Almost as an afterthought, Stabilizer catches the Temptation's mindstate backup and relegates it to deep storage, denying it any processing power for the moment. Time enough for interrogation later - for now, the unknown mind is safest in stasis.

Mars

The not-Lincoln smiles. "Just place it on the desk."

As the datastick touches the walnut surface, there's a hum of concealed scanners, and not-Lincoln suddenly looks very, very worried.

"I think to say that the situation is dire would be an understatement. We will be going to full war capacity immediately, and we'll contact you when we're ready to send forces to assist. In the meantime, I suggest that you hunt down and destroy as much of her industrial capability as possible. I will transmit what little we know about her, which isn't much. In the meantime, you need to excuse me while I call up our Fleetmind."

A faint buzzing sound, and not-Lincoln vanishes. His voice remains only for a moment.

"We'll contact you when we have more information. I should be able to dig up some schematics for ship classes that she might still be using. If you have any more information, please send it along."

FORCE OUTLAY: HOSTILE ENTITY DESIGNATED AS "KARA"

Addressed to the proper authorities in Der Angst (You know who you are)

OVERVIEW FOR RESTRICTED AI AND HUMAN BASELINE MINDS:

Overview: Core Forces

The following units were siezed by the rogue entity during its departure from the Technocracy:

Kara's Purifier, formerly AugStation Play-Doh Factory

Type spec: Class VIII automated manufacturing facility.
Type actual: Presumed to be at least Class XII automated manufacturing facility and battle station
AI Crew spec: 4
AI Crew actual: Presumed to be 1 at this time
Biological Crew spec: 15
Biological Crew actual: Presumed to be 0 at this time
Energy storage spec: 100,000 pWh (petawatt-hours)
Energy storage actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional storage capacity with no hard limit
Energy generation type: Mass -> Energy total conversion
Energy generation spec: 100 pWh/sec
Energy generation actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional generating capacity with no hard limit
FTL capability spec: 10LY/s rolling wormhole drive
FTL capability actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional engine mass with no hard limit
Manufacturing capability spec: 5 kiloton/s processing rate
Manufacturing capability actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional assembly lines with no hard limit
Shielding capability spec: 256 Emitter subsystems capable of handling 20,000 pWh/s in total
Shielding capability actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional shield emitters with no hard limit
Weapons capability spec: No stock weapons
Weapons capability actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing weapon systems and ammunition with no hard limit
Computing capacity spec: 14 kilotons compressed type IV clockless computronium
Computing capacity actual: Facility is capable of manufacturing additional computronium mass at up to 1/200 of rated manufacturing speed

Other Siezed Units:

2x "Gatekeeper" Generation III mothership units
12x "Gullet" Generation IV factory-ship units
215x "Monoblock" Generation IV battlecruiser units
1011x "Beehive" Generation IV drone carrier units
2218x "Hell's Bells" Generation III electronic warfare frigates
29314x "Goon" Generation IV fighter drones

Overview: Recommended Strategy

1. Act quickly. Your society knows very well that an unfettered hegemonizing AI can become unstoppable if not halted in the early stages of its expansion.

2. Protecting civilian populations should take second priority. The potential losses from failing to halt Kara's expansion are much greater than any losses that may occur during a successful campaign.

3. Kara has access to large masses of quantum computronium and extremely sensitive sensor clusters. All communications should be undertaken using either
A. a communication method which is impossible to intercept (such as noach)
B. a encryption system which is impossible to break (such as one-time pad encryption)

4. Kara's manufacturing capabilities are concentrated in her factory ships, motherships and the Purifier. Any conventional units that you destroy can be easily be replaced by the manufacturing units until the manufacturing units are eliminated. I recommend that you make finding and destroying these units your top priority.

5. Kara appears to have eliminated all of her subordinate AIs and biological commanders, and has established direct control of all her units. Any disruption of Kara's central operation will impact all of the units under her control. I will be attempting network warfare on this front, but any help you can give would be appreciated.

6. Kara relies on distortion technology for her weapons, FTL, EW, shielding, and many other systems. Any device which suppresses the distortion effect and enforces normal physical laws is potentially very powerful against her. Unfortunately, I do not currently possess blueprints for such a device. I am commencing a research project on this front and would appreciate any help that you can provide.

END OVERVIEW FOR RESTRICTED AI AND HUMAN BASELINE MINDS

HIGH-GRADE OVERVIEW FOLLOWS, INCLUDING BLUEPRINTS OF ALL MENTIONED UNITS AND SCIENTIFIC SUMMARIES OF REFERENCED TECHNOLOGIES:

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