NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: The events that follow here occur several years after all my other RPs have occurred. Finally, after long last, the culmination of years of planning has begun!

IC:
PX-4873

It was a dim red star, one of many millions even more common than yellow stars. It feebly bathed the rocks revolving around it with a eerie red glow. A red glow that also bounced off the hulls of a thousand ships. The Thousand Ships of the Exodus Fleet, dedicated to evacuating the Coredian Nation from the homeworlds after years, nay, decades of war has destroyed much that made the nation great. Jurai has been given to Godular for safekeeping. Konoha was still a ruinous landscape and it would take more decades to return to its former forest-laden glory. The economy has long since been trashed and it was only a matter of time before the whole of the nation was swallowed in darkness, especially after losing so many already.

On the Star Station Rakka, in the middle of the Grand Courtyard, there was a wall bearing the names and face of every person that was KIA. A monument to the fallen. A stone of black obsidian, dark as the night that threatened to consume us all with lettering in white.

One of them was Travis. It has been six years since the day the planet Hadrian was destroyed while my son and two of his friends were on it. Well, it wasn't destroyed, for there was a huge scar on it, but for all intents and purposes, the result was the same. Every day, I would go to that monument and stare at his face for an hour before doing whatever duty was necessary for the day.

I knew the whispers people tell of me these days. That my heart has grown colder, that I have aged beyond my 40 years. That the stress of the war was getting to me at last and I was going to succumb one day. They figured the loss of my son had much to do with it. True, but there was more.

They didn't know of the whispers that crawl up my spine. No one knew of the final storm that would soon break out, that promise that two of the greatest adversaries the universe has ever known made to each other a long time ago.

Remiel.

Daniel.

The day that we meet again, one of us will die.

So it was written, so shall it be.

Tag

Hatred.

Hatred drives the armies of Chronosia. Hatred for the heretic, too blind to accept the will of Chaos. Hatred for the dissenter, who questions the divine vision of Remiel. Hatred for the Masaki's, ancient foes who once struck down the God-Emperor himself... And who were the very cause of his rebirth. Remiel De Drakan, master of countless worlds, Lord and Warmaster of the armies of Empire and Imperium, hungers for revenge, to know the intimate taste of Daniel Masaki's very soul. Each world touched by them has been cleansed, razed, otherwise tainted. They drove them from their homelands, shattered their hopes of alliances, and aided in their exile from Jurai.

The Imperium has done much to stymie and harass the Clan Masaki, to drive them from the sight of the Empire and to destroy them utterly.

Now, across the vastness of space, Chronosian vessels hunt for the Exile Fleet, immense leviathans dedicated only to the pursuit of war and the destruction of their hated blood-foes. They wandered and they hunted, looking for signs of the interlopers, seeking out the trail that they had carved across the stars. Some killed what they found, even if it was not of the Masaki's, laying waste to all in their path, sating their relentless fury and hunger. Their Lord had set them a great task, a holy endeavour...And each day it seemed as though they failed him.

The Captain let his meshed senses flare to their fullness, seeing as only the auspex of the vessel itself could see. Long before he had given up his name, twined in unity with the glorious majesty of the Unrelenting Desire, a Despoiler Class Battleship, forged centuries earlier in the fires of Hydran. Now it led this killing party, this hunting group, in their galactic pursuit. He twitched within the confines of his machine-throne, cables pulsing within him, metal yoked to his frail flesh, symbiotically slithering inside his mortal body.

The entire vessel seemed to shudder now as it tore like a dagger from the roiling chaos of the Immaterium into the ordered banality of Real Space, at the head of a war fleet 15 vessels strong. Sensors seemed to rebel, auspex alarmed and chirruped, as a thousand signals greeted them upon their arrival.

“Status?” His voice was a booming mechanised rumble, echoing about the bridge, answered by the bowed head and twitching form of a debased Tech Priest, gurgling and clicking with the debased scrapcode of their heretical binary.

“My Lord Captain, there...Appears to be...” It paused, hissing and mewling as it passed its split tongue over cankered lips. “A massive fleet grouping in-system...Pondering...Identifying...Most honored Captain, signals are Coredian...”

“The Exodus Fleet...”

“Oh indubitably, Lord. Indubitably...Your orderssss?”

“Summon Lord Anton. He will wish to see this.”

-----------------------------

Anton growled like an animal as he rolled to one side, bare muscle gleaming with sweat in the low lights of the training chamber. He felt his hands tighten about the grips of his blades, pulling them up to block another ferocious strike from his opponent. Warfare and combat sang in his blood, a scintillating song of pain and exertion. His body pulsed, alive with raw sensation, pure endorphins staining his mind a thousand shades of colour, taste, raw indulgence bubbling in his skull, begging to be set loose.
He could feel the brand-mark on his chest ablaze with unholy power, channelling his every movement into new sensory experience, new neural overload. This was freedom, this was power, this was... Everything he needed. He bared his teeth, as much in a grin as in a snarl, rounding on his opponent, letting his hand guide the blade in a strike, feeling the raw satisfaction as metal cleaved flesh. The other Marine howled, driving himself forward, desperate to strike at Anton, but he had already moved, dancing about him, burying the other weapon in the small of his foes back, relishing the scents of sweat and pain and fear and blood.

“Oh yes... Such a morsel... Slowly, slowly. Not like these Khornate barbarians, I'm not a barbarian. I...” He paused, raising a hand to his bare chest in mock modesty. “...Am an artist.” He chuckled dryly, his entire body spasming, his musculature flexing as he circled, eyes hungry, breath quick. “And you are the canvas, the writhing human meat upon which our Prince thrives! Every little sensation, every little indulgence... How you feed him, how he makes you glorious when you give in...” He grinned again. “I'll educate you, brother. I'll make you see the light, the millionfold prism of His perfection. And you'll beg me for it. Beg me for more.”

“My Lord?” The voice came from the doorway, a sudden burst of light where there had only been partial illumination, an almost fitting metaphor for what he was trying to do... But the interruption... The nerve! He spun on his heel, facing the cowering tech priest who had dared to disturb his training.

“What?” He boomed, glowering at the figure, which moved to cower and prostrate itself upon the floor. “You would interrupt me, worm? You would interfere with the great works of a child of the Emperor himself?

“Great Lord... The auspex has revealed a fleet in-system... It is Coredian in origin. It is the Exodus Fleet, the object of our endeavours... That which we have sought so long.”

“And the Gods would hand it to me on a platter. They would make me glorious in the eyes of my gene-sire and the greater Imperium. Truly this is a day of blessing!” Anton clenched and unclenched his fist about the blade hilt, stretching to his full height. A grin flickered across his features as he tossed the weapons to one side with a clatter. “Most interesting...Have the bridge crew prepared for my arrival. I'll be with them presently.”

-----------------------

When Anton finally arrived on the bridge, he was fully armoured. His ceramite plate was a riot of insane colours, like the maddened scrawl of a blind artisan-master. It was gilded and lavishly decorated, spiked with silver and iron. Silks and velvets flowed together in a cloak that draped over broad shoulders and coiled about his ankles, edged in the dried leather of human flesh. Anton was every inch a master of the sublime and the sensual, a shining example of the terrible excesses favoured by the very sons of Remiel.

“So, we have a thousand ships, all of them Coredian pattern, just waiting about this insignificant system? The Gods have a sense of humour it seems.” Anton allowed himself a chuckle, letting his eyes dart across the auspex interpretations. “Captain, I trust this vessel carries vortex weaponry?”

“It does, Lord..”

“We'll bombard the heaviest populated areas of the fleet convergence then. The gravitational disturbances will play merry hell with their hyperspace drives, then we'll close ground.”

“And then?”

“We kill as many of the wretched bastards as we can. We make the Coredians know the meaning of fear again. We show the heathens that there's not a place in the universe they can hide from the chosen of the Warp. We'll close ground, pound them with fire, limited boarding actions. I want some of them alive... I'll work my craft on them.”

“As you will. Ready vortex torpedoes. Full load.” Various icons and trajectories flickered across the hololithic display, casting a dire red light across the faces of all present.

“All praises, Captain.”

“All praises, Lord Anton. In His Name.”

------------------------

The fleet moved like a shoal of feral killers, sharks hunting through the darkness of the void, intent upon their prey. The first indications of their arrivals was a mixed bombardment of conventional and vortex munitions, slamming towards an exposed flank of the Coredian fleet with brutal, killing efficiency. Gun-crews rushed to move the immense munitions into place for a secondary strike, other ships choosing to alternate to prow or alternate side guns. The second wave of fire was more directed ballistics, followed by another crushing barrage of vortex weaponry about the edges of the fleet, vast maws suddenly opening in the fabric of reality.

Bombers and fighters were being readied, fuelled and armed by chittering swarms of Mechanicus, their every systems checked and readied for warfare. Boarding pods and torpedoes were primed for when the vessels were closer, containing either the hulking forms of Astartes, the silent hulks of debased Skitarii and Tech-Guard, or Guard Stormtroopers and Naval armsmen.

They were taking no chances with the capture and interrogation of at least some of the Coredians, and whatever hardware they could find in the fracas. This was a chance to learn more about the tricks and plans of the hated foe than every before, to finally understand the mind of their profane, craven enemy.

And they would enjoy every sordid second of it.

One second, there was peace.

The next, there was war.

Firey blossoms erupted as Chronosian munitions slammed into Exodus ships, murdering thousands every second. Space twisted and tore from the violent vortex torpedoes, sucking in a few ships and stranding others.

But moments later, without even orders from the Emperor, warships flashed into existence, interposing themselves between the sheep and the wolves. Two more forces flashed on the flanks of the Chronosians, seeking to box them into a deadly crossfire from which there would be no escape. It was the brave Coredian Navy, come to the rescue for great justice!

Ordinance of all kinds screamed towards the ranks of the enemy, from missiles to PPCs, and turbolasers to slugs. Today, many will give their lives so that the Exodus Fleet can escape!

=====

Coredian Administrative Center, Rakka Orbital City-Station

Even before the alarms blared, I knew who our adversaries were. Chronosian warships! Their foul stench could be smelled even here! And...was he here? No. Remiel was not. I would know if he were here. He and I were linked, linked by Force and Chaos in a dance to the death. No...it was not him...but a lesser one. A Child of Remiel. Powerful, dangerous, but ultimately weaker.

As the battle raged and I entered the command center, I turned my thoughts to Remiel. I was determined to end the threat of Remiel forever, somehow. At this point, nothing else mattered. Call it obsession if you wish, I didn't care. If I had to drag him into the abyss myself, I will. For the sake of my son, whom I lost, and for the people, who look to me for protection, I must find a way to destroy that bastard once and for all!

For now, I barked orders for the fleet to escape and for the navy to hold off the Chronosians. But even as I did, I began to think of ways to send Remiel his Scion's head. As an enemy took my son from me, so I would take a son from Remiel...perhaps it would even be today...

Anton traced a finger along a line of engraved text, seared into the brilliance of his armour. He let one digit caress and cavort along the ceramite plate, remembering with intimate fondness the campaign that had generated such an honour-brand. The liberation of Admiral Hallen from the hands of her unworthy fellows, a finger given to the pathetic efforts of the Coredians to pervert the Colonies into yet another weapon. Now they were children of the Gods, Geminon burned with glory and fervour, their souls were touched by the divine will of Chaos, who could contend with such might?

The Chronosian fleet stood like great floating cathedrals to the glory of Chaos, each a spiked edifice of singular glory. This was what Remiel had brought; shining madness and dominance across known space, their lineage known and feared...Yet still gnats such as these stood against their will, stood resolute against the oncoming darkness. He pitied them, from the bottom of his heart he pitied them, deluded fools and madmen all.

“My Lord?”

“Hm?” Anton turned from his musings to regard one of his bridge crew, chuckling lightly as the man bowed and cowered before his magnificence. “What is it?”

“Your orders, my lord?”

Ah but of course...Orders. The Coredian fleet assaulted them now. He drummed his fingers against his chest plate, beating out a tribal tattoo upon the metal. How best to lay them low...He felt the ship shudder as the void shields held strong against enemy attack. How best...

“Have the astropathic missives been dispatched?”

“They have, Lord. Chronosia Prime knows of our plight.”

“Excellent. Have the astropaths join with the psychic choirs...They shall direct their song.” A feral smile crept across his features, pitiless as the sun, as vile as any predatory beast. “Ready them for release.”

“Release? But...”

“You have your orders.”

------------------------------------------------------------

It begins, as so many other things do, with the sound of screaming.

Dozens of voices raise, high and keening, desperate with fear and pain. There is a song in their ululations, a scintillating notation dancing behind the dire raucousness of rancid mortal emotion. It dances and it capers across the rooms of the chambers, vast and filled with people, the walls already slick with frost. They struggle and they writhe, like maggots bound to walls, forced down, blinded and forgotten. Blood runs from their bandaged eyes in thick rivulets, staining their cheeks. These are the future, resources to be used and exploited...These are the men of the future, the future of humanity.

The supermen are here, and they are screaming. The future is now, and it is powerless.

There are men in the chambers, bodies clothed in thick black robes. Each kneels, hands raised to push back their cowls. Machinery is linked to their skulls, pushed through bone and sinew and flesh, to pierce the centres of their power. They hiss, eyes closing, hands forced higher. Their voices start to whisper, to chant, singing the praises of powers beyond the mortal ken, beyond the material universe. The chant takes the screaming and coils it about it, harsh and heavy, the air thick with electric tang, ozone scent burning in their nostrils and their throats. Fire dances in the air, like will o' the wisps, seeking to draw in the foolish. The walls are aflame, sigils and symbology blazing in the arcane fire-light of the Warp. They are howling now, screaming and yowling at the top of their lungs, the chamber is burning, singing, resonant with fury and pain and devotion.

The ship catches fire, it blazes with warp-light, corposant clinging to every angle. The ship is screaming, howling, it pierces the silence of the void with the death cry of universes, the birth yowl of angry gods. It is a scream that once raped causality and brought the galactic masters to their knees, the high and exultant gasp of lust given form. A razor kisses flesh, silk rips under carnal ministration, parents feed their children to each other as kings and emperors and gods rut upon a bedspread of bones, atop mattresses of depleted continents, ecstatic revelation pulses through every fibre of the ship, alive in the metal.

The others join it, the entire fleet sacrificing its psychics in one great endeavour, one show of ferocity and might. This is not the beginning of the end, merely the end of the beginning, and as the fleet sings, it lashes out. A flash of maddening energy lashes across the void with the howling thunder of a death scream, striking at the fleet that assails them. Some go mad, some are taken by the ravages of Chaos; minds burned clean and subverted, others merely die in ferocious agony. Rents in the very fabric of what is tear at the ships, things skitter forth; women with claws, their bare breasts pierced, tendrils and spikes flickering like hair behind them. They whisper and they cajole, before sinking their hungry talons into the flesh of men. Beasts walk abroad, sinuous and lethal, snarling and feral and hungry.

The fleet speaks again, and this time it is with the thunder of ordnance and the searing blasts of lance fire. It strikes out against the hated foe like lightning, like a storm ravaging a great bastion.

“All guns, fire.” Anton snarls, his lips playing into a satisfied smirk. “Let us educate the filth-kin of the Coredians.”

"Demons! Demons!"

So cried the passengers and crew of the many ships of the Exodus fleet when gibbering madness squirmed their way out of bulkheads and shadows. Blasters chattered with singeing bolts trying to get rid of them, but many citizens were torn apart by the ravenous teeth and claws.

Those were the lucky ones as minds were torn apart by the Chaos psyker screams. Even the weaker Jedi were mentally torn apart before their bodies followed.

The cries of many reached my ears as I stood at the bridge of the Phoenix, listening to the battle reports. There were about fifteen ships. 8 heavy cruisers and seven battlecruisers. Each one of them larger than my own Star Destroyers by a good margin. I could feel the Chaos taint roll off the ships and the one with the deepest taint...yes. That must be Anton's flagship. That is the knight I must kill to draw out the king.

Remiel.

I closed my eyes, drawing my thoughts. "Battlegroups A through C, shift fire and focus on the enemy flagship in the center of the Chronosian formation! Battlegroups D through F will target the flagships' heavy cruisers. Battlegroups G through J, flank enemy forces and concentrate superlaser firepower on the enemy battlecruisers! The Marine Corps and the Jedi are ordered to repel all boarders, no matter what it takes!"

Sending your demonic dogs after us, Anton? A distraction, nothing more!

"How long before the refugee fleet escapes?" I asked.

"Another five minutes to clear the vortices, sir!"

"Very well! We'll hold out that long for the sake of our citizenry!" I cried. "Don't give in to the enemy's tricks!"

The fleet, very much battered but still fighting, maneuvered to follow my orders, firing salvos that would sear planets in a matter of minutes. They were smaller than the enemy's ships but more numerous and able to concentrate firepower to a more accurate degree than the Chronosians. The main group (of which I personally commanded) began to lay into Anton's ship with devastating missile and turbolaser fire with the hopes of taking him down quickly...