"… Many were those who underestimated them. Who dismissed their species as young, their technology as primitive and simple, their strength negligible.
It is true that their technology was nowhere near as advanced as the Council's.
But it is the way they use it, that truly sets them apart,for no other civilization in the galaxy fights the way they do.
They have a name for that. It is the Storm War, the Steel Blizzard. Relentless. Methodical. Unyielding.
They do not have raycasters, antimatter or dark energy weapons. And yet, there are few things more terrifying than the roaring of Terran artillery, for once it starts, it never ends.
And you never forget the horrors it can unleash…"
- From the memoirs of Valyra Thay Rynn
~~~~
The falling raindrops sizzled on the red-hot steel barrels of the enormous artillery pieces, creating an eerie shroud of mist that blanketed the hellish battlefield, disturbed only by the muzzle flashes of the siege guns and the distant rippling of explosions. The hills and terraces surrounding the wide, rugged canyon might have once been crop fields for the strange, scarlet flora the Dra'var'th brought with them to every world they terraformed. Once, they would have been tended to by armies of slaves, watched over by cruel supervisors always ready to execute anyone who fell behind the quota, was too old, too frail, or otherwise drew their masters' ire.
Once, their blood and flesh would have fertilized those very crops they tended. All that remained now, were a few scattered pieces of the irrigation systems, jagged piping and bits of machinery jutting from the ground here and there. The rest of the landscape had become a lunar hellscape, potted with craters large and small, craters filled with the burning, broken wrecks of vehicles and the viscera of the soldiers that had died here. What was left, was crisscrossed by zigzagging trenches, forward operating bases and artillery emplacements, spiderwebbing out from the armored and shielded mobile fortress the Terrans had brought down from orbit, engineering vehicles even now churning the broken earth to expand that layered network of fortifications over a thousand kilometers wide, but swiftly tightening like a noose around the invaders' target, the ominous obsidian castle built into a massive peak rising up from one of the canyon's edges, overlooking the chasm and the city below.
Scenes like these were unfolding all across the condemned world. So large was the invasion, that the networks of trenches and the fires, could be seen from space, rendered across viewscreens throughout the entire fleet. The diminutive, rodent-like Myiori truly had the chance to shine here, a chance they seized with eagerness, showcasing their expertise at engineering, working around the clock to expand the Pact fortifications at a breakneck speed, great machines churning out new earthworks with frightening efficiency. The Marauders of the lupine Shartan and the Orkyn Hunters formed the core of the invading army's shock troops, their armored vehicles launching brutal sallies to break through enemy positions, Terran cosmonauts poring in their wake, while Nyxian and Chett special forces stalked the battlefields, finding every weakness and exploiting it with maximum efficiency. The warlord watched it all unfold on the holographic display in the forward command center, issuing orders to make adjustments as needed.
Above, Pact strike craft of every shape and size flitted about, delivering their deadly payloads with mechanical precision upon their designated targets, while railgun slugs pounded any anti-air defenses that dared reveal themselves, all the way from orbit. The rain, a rare-enough event on the arid planet, even here, in what passed as the world's temperate zone, had turned the ochre-tinted soil into a crimson swampland. At least it masked the blood, Kainan thought as his eyes took in the carnage unfolding before his eyes.
The seismic aftershock of an explosion rippled through the command bunker, sending half-empty coffee mugs clattering to the floor and causing dust to stream down from the featureless ceiling, a massive, prefabricated slab of armored ferrocrete made in a Terran factory light-years away and assembled here by one of those immense, mechanical beasts perfected over centuries of subterranean warfare by the Myiori. Nearby, someone was barking orders into the comms, attempting to find reinforcements for a regiment that had been ambushed by enemy armor, while simultaneously diverting a flight of medical transports towards their coordinates. Kainan wiped his smeared brow with the back of his glove, suppressing yet another grimace as the casualty reports from that not-so-distant detonation, started streaming in. Seven thousand, three hundred and sixty-four confirmed killed, another thirteen thousand, one hundred and fifteen missing in action. All because a Dra'var'th plasma cannon struck a munitions depot, the shockwave inflicting fatal damage to its reactor, ultimately causing a catastrophic meltdown that reduced the entire ship to its component atoms. Another twenty thousand, four hundred and seventy-nine ghosts to haunt his nightmares.
"My lord!" called out a lieutenant who had just run into the bunker, nearly tripping over another officer's boots as she dodged around a colonel that was frantically waving his arms at a commander on his vidcom. She was a young woman, whose dark skin and features identified her sub-Saharan African heritage, though her accent held nothing reminiscent of the languages once spoken on that now-dead continent. Like pretty much everyone in the Terran Empire, she was descended from the colonies, removed from the homeworld by several generations, as few were those who made it off of Earth when it fell. She was clutching a datapad against her chest, eager and energetic despite still panting from the exertion. "We just received the latest batch of decrypted intel from the relay station. We have the layout of the entire canyon, sir."
Kainan turned, eyebrows curling into a frown. How had they managed that? It wasn't like the Dra'var'th to have left a map of their planetary command center right there for the Pact to find. Such intel should have been among the first things to be deleted from the relay's databanks, the moment it became clear the system would fall to the invasion. Noticing the warlord's expression, the woman tapped something on her datapad and pulled up a series of schematics, a wild grin lighting up her features as the information began to render on the main holographic projector. "We couldn't salvage the actual maps, but the eggheads in the intelligence division had the bright idea of looking into their low-level infrastructure. That is, the Dra'var'th infrastructure. Sir," the woman stammered with barely-contained excitement. Kainan signaled her to go on.
"Sanitation schematics, civilian power grids, slave processing logistics, food distribution…" she explained, activating layer after layer on the holographic projection of the canyon, adding increasingly-detailed information to the map with each tap on her datapad. "The point is, no one thinks of these things as important, right? Not in the middle of a full-scale invasion, anyway. That was the idea, so our people looked into it and sure enough, there it was, all this juicy information still stored neatly in their databanks," the officer continued. "So, our eggheads got to work combining all this intel into something usable and voila," she said, gesturing towards the holographic projection. "We have a map of the entire planet. Every tunnel, every road, every pipe and aqueduct, including the ones servicing their military sites. The point is, we can-"
"That's more than enough, lieutenant," Kainan cut her off with a lifting of his hand, otherwise she might have gone on forever, forgetting to even breathe. "I get the picture. Good work, you may return to your post," he said as his eyes turned away from the battlefield, to scan the improvised map now flickering above the war table. The lieutenant froze for a moment, before remembering herself and snapping a hasty salute before turning to leave the command center. "Oh and don't forget your datapad," the warlord said without looking in her direction. "Oh. Sir. Sorry, sir…" the young woman muttered in response, darting back to fetch her forgotten instrument before exiting the room.
Such a breach in discipline was rare among the Terrans, who valued efficiency above all, especially in military matters. But the excitement spreading like a wildfire throughout the command center was justified in this case, as this truly was a monumental achievement on the part of the intelligence division, providing the Pact with clear, detailed information of where everything important was on the wretched little planet. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked a lumbering, green-skinned giant in that familiar voice which reminded Kainan of a rock slide. Second Chieftain Orguroth Ur-Kagga, one of the Orkyn military leaders and an old friend of the warlord since the early days of the Pact, his eyes focusing on a particular section of the holographic map.
Kainan grunted an affirmation, then tapped something on his wristcomp, zooming the projection in on the lines snaking their way beneath the soil of the plateau, all the way to the obsidian fortress that served as the planetary governor's residence. "You should get the Myiori," the Orkyn war leader rumbled. "If we're going to be crawling through a gorking sewer, we'll need their Siege Miners. Better leave the Shartan behind, though, their bulk would be a hindrance down there." Sound counsel, Kainan thought, especially since Shartan skin, as tough and leathery as it was, had a particular vulnerability to acidity and their lungs were prone to irritation. And though Pact helmets were equipped with rebreathers, it was best to conserve their filters for situations where they truly needed them.
"We should bring a squad or two of Ko'bol as well, I think," responded the warlord, pulling up the troop manifest to locate what he needed. There. The seven hundred and fifty-ninth Battle Warren, stationed only a hundred kilometers away from the command bunker's position. Their species was short and rodent-like, akin to the Myiori, but lankier and hairless, with large, round ears and a long face that reminded him of an extinct animal from Earth-that-was, known as a mole rat. "Along with all the available Psi Corps units-"
"And myself," interjected another voice that Kainan knew, this one womanly, with a lilting accent he had come to cherish. Sure enough, there she was, standing in the door frame with her helmet clutched under her arm, her white armor stained with grease and the black blood of the Dra'var'th, her midnight-black hair cascading down to her midsection, iridescent eyes the color of a summer sky reflecting the flickering light of the command center, looking more like a wild fay war spirit from ancient legend than the heiress of a galactic kingdom. Not that the warlord hadn't sensed her approaching from the moment her dropship landed. She should have been safely back aboard the flagship, resting after the ordeal she had just endured. Somehow, she still held herself with that impossible, ethereal grace as she crossed the threshold, despite her evident exhaustion. He read the report and knew exactly how much effort it had taken her to suppress that amplified aura of terror by herself. He could see the shadows now lingering in her eyes after what she had to do to defeat that Nosferatu.
There would be no convincing her to rest, though. Kainan had come to know her well enough by now to know when it was pointless to argue. And seeing that look in her eyes, he understood why she needed to be here, to see this battle through to the bitter end, whatever that might be. After all, he knew those shadows all too well.
~~~~
The tunnel reeked of dust and stagnant water and things too vile to name. It was pitch-black, for the light fixtures above, ancient things suspended from the corroded husks of cables, had not been functional since before mankind discovered fire. To call it old, would be an understatement, the decrepit passage dating back to the earliest days of the planet's colonization, its crumbling walls made not from the glassy black hyperdiamond the Dra'var'th of the present era used, that psionically-reactive material that looked so much like obsidian, but of a drab geopolymer not unlike the ferrocrete the Terrans used in their constructions. Roughly oval-shaped, it had once been a sanitation tunnel, elevated catwalks on either side once providing pathways for maintenance crews to travel along, though those had long since been worn away by age, leaving only a few diminished stumps of metal where the supporting struts once were, while of the catwalks themselves, nothing remained.
The floor beneath, if one could call it that, squelched repulsively under each step, the silt and whatever else, having degraded into a hydrocarbon goo that stuck to every surface like tar and made traversal an unpleasant chore. The night vision function in the advancing party's helmets made navigation possible in the pitch-black darkness, though with their rebreathers turned off, there was nothing they could do about the awful, acrid stench. It wasn't concentrated enough to be poisonous, at least, as crumbling sections in the wall where the passage intersected natural cave systems and what looked to be improvised ventilation systems, provided enough air circulation to make the vile atmosphere survivable, but that was the only positive thing that could be said about it. Nobody complained, though, not even the Alvari princess, who once again surprised everyone with how stoic she could be when the situation called for it. Everyone except Kainan, that is, who knew what it was like to be underestimated and wielded that like a weapon, much like she did.
Those thoughts did not linger long upon his mind, though, for his keen eye was drawn to those improvised ventilation ducts that ran along the ceiling, far too new and shabby to have been constructed by the tunnel's ancient builders. No, these were something someone else had rigged, out of scrap metal and whatever else. That they were functional, meant the tunnel was still being used by someone and sure enough, he soon spotted a section of piping which bore the tell-tale signs of recent repair. It meant the task force might have been alone down there, a worrying thought, as that could mean ambushes and traps. And while both he and Valyra extended the reach of their psionic senses as far as it was possible, things such as automated turrets, war bots and tripwires would not register within the Veil, only beings with a soul would.
At his side, the armored feline's ears twitched, then flattened against her skull, their kevlar sheaths sliding flush against the great beast's helmet. Her tail, likewise clad in kevlar and segmented plates, coiled slowly left, then swished rapidly in the opposite direction, the whip-crack thundering down the tunnel's length like a gunshot. Terran rifles and Orkyn thumpers immediately snapped up, trained upon the crumbling section of wall up ahead, where the ancient tunnel intersected a dormant magma tunnel, creating a cavernous chamber filled with stalactites, the perfect cover for something nasty to hide behind. Even with all the sophisticated sensors in his suit of armor and his own genetically-engineered sharpness, Kainan knew that the whisper cat's senses were sharper still, especially her hearing. And so did everyone else who was present, apparently, for no one hesitated, or questioned Kat's warning.
"So… You're the mighty warlord of the… What'cha callin' it? The Terran Empire?" called a voice from somewhere up ahead, though the acoustics made it impossible to pinpoint its origin. Kainan felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, for the voice was devoid of the tell-tale distortion and reverberations of an electronic speaker, which meant…
He could sense Valyra's apprehension as well, her fingers tightening their grip around the hilt of her shardblade. This shouldn't have been possible, no living being should be able to conceal its echo in the Veil so completely, that even the supremely-skilled and gifted Alvari princess would be unable to sense its presence. Yet that was exactly what had happened.
"Oh, quit standing around all gobsmacked like a bunch of dramatic wankers," the voice continued, dripping with irritation. "If we wanted to off you lot, we'd have blown up the tunnel when you rounded that bend about five miles back the way you came." A flashlight momentarily blinded the optics in the warlord's helmet as the figure stepped out from behind a pile of mud-caked rubble. A human figure, but short, no more than five feet tall, broad and stocky. Drov. Slaves that had been genetically engineered by the Dra'var'th for hard manual labor in the mines. This one wore mismatched war gear, mismatched plates of scrap metal bolted to a harness and a makeshift firearm in his hands. His face was bearded and scarred, a strip of cloth covering the ruin where an eye had once been, the jagged scar continuing up to the man's receding hairline of matted brown streaked with silver. He looked unimpressed. "Thought you'd be taller," he commented as more figures, similarly outfitted and diminutive, emerged from their hiding places among the stalagmites. Kainan found the comment rather ironic, considering the Drov were like children compared to the towering Kalidani, bred for servitude rather than war. Judging by their outfits, though, it was evident that the submission genes had failed to take root.
"I take it you must be the local rebels," replied the warlord, gesturing at his companions to lower their weapons. The Drov grunted his affirmation. "Aye, that we are. And we're probably here for the same bloody reason you are. The fucking command center," he commented as he lowered his makeshift rifle and extended his hand. "Lawrence Carter, boss of this cell," he introduced himself. "Though everyone just calls me Laws."
The warlord gripped his hand and shook it firmly, having to bend down slightly due to the height difference. "Kainan Wolfe. Warlord of the Empire, though you already knew that," he responded. The Drov scoffed at that. "Bloody stupid name, if you ask me. Makes you sound like a pretentious prick, but at least you're the type of bloke who personally leads his men in battle, rather than commanding them from behind a desk."
"Careful, Laws," another rebel called out, a mean-looking woman with curly hair the color of rusted iron. "The bird in the white armor's an elfie." Eyes snapped to Valyra and everyone froze, gloves creaking as grips tightened around weapons. Someone muttered something about bloody aliens and kin-traitors. The princess sighed and pulled her helmet off, shaking her braided locks loose. Ignoring the murderous stares of the other rebels, she stepped towards their leader with the confidence and poise of one who owned the ground she walked upon. "I am here because we have a common enemy," she said, her tone calm and steady, her posture regal even here, in the ancient, crumbling sewer, her expression unreadable.
The red-haired woman shot her a venomous glare before stepping in front of the rebel leader, demanding his attention. "Laws, we don't need these Council-loving bastards. Where were these imperials and their alien pals during the eighty years of torture we endured? I vote we off them and move on," she hissed.
Carter cut her off with a back-handed slap across her face. "Shut your trap, Moira!" he barked at her. The two squared off against each other, hands drifting towards the shivs thrust through their belts. Kainan watched their posturing in silence, his expression a featureless mask beneath his helmet. During his years of slavery among the Dra'var'th, he had not interacted much with the Drov, as their kind did not work in the gladiator barracks where he'd lived. From what he knew of them, they were an uncouth, brutish people, their culture disconnected from the homeworld of the human species and developed almost entirely under the yoke of the Dragon House into something more savage and vicious in a petty way that Terran cultures, which held honor and discipline in high regard, found disdainful.
Even so, they were still human, despite their flaws. They were still his responsibility. "That's enough," the warlord commanded, peeling off his own helmet and clipping it to his belt, the withering scowl on his features bringing the confrontation to an end as he imposed his authority with the weight of his voice alone. The Drov leader did not seem impressed. "Moira's right about two things, lad," the Drov leader addressed him. "What have these bloody aliens done to earn the right to be here? Second, why should we trust you?"
Kainan sighed, reflexively reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose before freezing when he remembered the glove had touched tunnel walls coated in that vile sludge. Eighty years of isolation and fear had made them mistrustful of anything that wasn't them. "They fought and bled at our side," he answered, his tone stern and final, making it clear to the rebels that he would tolerate no more divisiveness. "As for your other concern, the imperial constitution guarantees each planet autonomy, aside from certain obligations and civil rights everyone has to uphold. Work with us and you'll have no masters to obey."
That seemed to appease the rebels at least somewhat, though Carter still made a show of taking his time to consider his response, even though he'd appeared eager to cooperate only a short while ago. "Fine," he finally relented. "But you'd better keep your word, lad, because the Drov won't exchange one master for another."
With that, the warlord stepped forward and signaled the rest of the task force to continue their advance. His features betrayed nothing, but deep down, he was troubled by the Drov rebels' ability to mask their psionic presence and how they might have achieved this. And sensing the cold dread in Valyra's thoughts, he couldn't help but conclude it wasn't anything good, for the Alvari princess knew far more about the Veil than himself and her state of apprehension did not bode well. If that wasn't enough, even Kat kept her distance from these rebels, her posture stiff and alert, as if she were pacing around a nest of ice hornets in deep hibernation. He couldn't ask Valyra about it, though, not until the dust settled and they could afford a few minutes alone.
"One more thing, lad," said Carter, breaking the tense silence as they advanced. "The planetary governor's ours to deal with. That's not up for debate," he demanded and Kainan had to suppress the urge to groan, starting to second-guess the decision to collaborate with the rebels. "As long as you don't kill him before he gives us the codes to shut down the defense grid," the warlord responded, his tone ice-cold and steely. He understood the wrath of these Drov, their burning need for revenge, but the mission had to take priority. He wasn't willing to sacrifice more of his troops because some volatile insurgent couldn't keep his finger off the trigger until after the Psi Corps conducted an interrogation. Violence should never be more than a reluctantly-used tool and these rebels seemed far too liberal in their willingness to wield it. And far too short-sighted to consider either the price, or the consequences.
"Fuck you, you bastard!" the red-haired woman shouted, her hand already on her makeshift pistol as she turned to face him. "You come here with your elfie and aliens, making demands and dictating rules like you own the air we breathe! The hell do you know about what we've suffered?"
The entire task force ground to a halt, Valyra tensing as the warlord's fingers twitched closer to his own sidearm. The whisper cat let out a low, menacing growl. "Moira…" the rebel leader grumbled a warning, wearily eyeing the great feline that looked like she was about to pounce upon someone. Unfortunately, Moira ignored him, too consumed by her own fury and pride to realize she was on the verge of starting a civil war before they even finished conquering the planet. "Fuck you too, Laws! You've gone soft, thinking we have some kind of kinship with these tossers, just 'cause our forebears came from the same homeworld!" Her eyes drifted to the other rebels. "Well, this ain't Earth and we ain't humans no more! We're Drov! This is our war, not theirs! They're just here to conquer and subjugate, just like any other off-worlders!" Some of the rebels grunted approvals. Too many. "We do this our way!" Moira continued, sensing her moment and seizing upon it. "If they ain't Drov, they die!"
The gunshot reverberated across the tunnel like a thunderclap. It hadn't been Kainan who fired it, nor any of his soldiers, or the Orkyn and Ko'bol troops with them. The barrel of Carter's makeshift shotgun still smoked and Moira was clutching her chest, hate-filled eyes glazing over. She tried to speak, to spew out a few last venomous words, but as her lips parted, blood was all that came out. She staggered forward, then collapsed face-first into the sludge at her feet. Kainan gritted his teeth, his hand still hovering near his sidearm as he glared menacingly at the Drov rebels. Between their volatility and whatever it was that made Valyra and the whisper cat apprehensive, he was wondering whether or not these insurgents were more of a liability than a boon to the Terran cause. "Are we done killing each other?" he growled, his voice low and cold, yet it loud enough for the entire war party to hear him. Carter glanced at him briefly before continuing down the tunnel. "Aye. We're done."
~~~~
Kainan eyed the rebels wearily as they finished setting up their improvised explosive devices to breach the bulkhead that separated the decommissioned sanitation tunnel from the maintenance section of the governor's palace. He could see the tell-tale signs of the Dra'var'th's influence upon their demeanor. The short tempers, the blind hatred of anything that wasn't them, the hints of vicious, casual cruelty in their gazes… A few more generations and they would be no better than the Gorgons, pitiful wretches consumed by bloodlust, so unlike the species they were descended from, which had learned to temper its worst tendencies through that discipline that was so cherished by every human culture that still endured in the twenty-seventh century.
There was no doubt in his mind that they would be a source of trouble in the decades and centuries to come, the imperials would have their work cut out for them if they wished to rehabilitate their wayward siblings. His Orkyn allies, too, faced a similar dilemma with the Go'bleen, their species having also suffered under the brutal yoke of the Dragon House even longer than humanity had. He felt so tired, so numbed by the galaxy's senseless cruelty, yet that was precisely why he had to go on, to ensure some semblance of hope and peace for the future generations, even if he had to drench himself in blood to do so.
Because theirs was not that brighter galaxy where a better way existed to enact much-needed change. It was a galaxy torn apart by its own hubris, fear and complacency, rotten to the core by a widespread acceptance of a broken status quo, ruled by beings whose every waking moment was spent in the pursuit of easy things, of safe things, things that felt comfortable and familiar, even though what made them necessary long ago, had long since ceased existing. It was a galaxy which needed correction. And that required drastic and painful measures to be taken, terrible sacrifices that had to be made. And it was up to him to make them. After all, someone had to. And no one else would.
He felt a hand reach for him, slender fingers intertwining with his calloused, taloned ones. As was increasingly often the case, Valyra was there to right when he needed her the most, even if he could never bring himself to ask for comfort or reveal to anyone the weight he carried, for he had to be the symbol, the immovable pillar that his people looked up to. I am so sorry for dragging you into my web of conspiracies and bloodshed, he wished to say. She deserved better, deserved so much more than what he could offer her, yet there she was, standing by his side, standing with him, even when that caused her turmoil and pain she could have avoided if she only kept herself closed off and distant, like her station required her to.
"Together?" she said, her voice soft and low enough that only he could hear it. "Together," he echoed her, giving her hand a small and gentle squeeze, an unspoken, silent promise to face the coming storm with her and see it through to the end.
The explosion shattered the poignant silence, stirring dust that had laid still for centuries into a curtain that both concealed and ended that brief moment they shared. Weapons ready, they stormed through, once more into the breach. Panicked slaves ran and screamed and cowered, their supervisors frozen in the momentary panic, a brief second of indecision that would prove decisive. To the right, an Orkyn thumper fired, Second Chieftain Ur-Kagga nailing one of the slavemasters to the wall. Ko'bol and Myiori troops fanned out, flashbangs and automatic rifles laying down suppressing fire that sent Dra'var'th guards scrambling for cover. Then, the Psi Corps entered the fray, sending bullets flying in every direction, corkscrewing around obstacles, zigzagging behind cover, finding the gaps in enemy defenses and reaping a bloody harvest from their numbers.
The rebels fought like maddened berserkers, throwing themselves at the enemy with reckless abandon, making up for their poor equipment with sheer savagery alone. And in the shadows and the corners, behind piping and machinery where the dim glow of the light fixtures never reached, the whisper cat stalked, a silent, deadly predator emerging unseen, striking like the wind and disappearing before her targets even registered the lethal wounds that had been inflicted upon them. She was not fighting, she was hunting. And the Dra'var'th guards were her prey.
"Death Knights ahead!" someone yelled into the comms. Kainan stepped forward to engage, only to feel Valyra's hand closing around his wrist and yanking him back. Up ahead, one of the rebels ran at the advancing squad, plasma bolts setting him on fire. He roared and pushed through the pain, enraged by the horrid, lethal wounds rather than deterred. And then it happened. There was a… something Kainan could only describe as an implosion, but in the Veil. He staggered back, a sharp spike of pain driving into his skull and making his vision darken at the edges, blood trickling from his nose. Up ahead, the rebel and the Death Knights lay motionless on the ground, their lifeless bodies radiating an emptiness that just felt wrong in a way that made the warlord's stomach lurch.
At his side, Valyra fought her own vertigo, naked horror written plainly on her features. "Stars…" she muttered. "They're Hollows… They've burned out their own souls to make themselves into…" She did not have to finish, for Kainan could piece together what she meant. Rather than a presence in the Veil, they were an absence, a hole waiting to be filled with life ripped from other beings, ending themselves and every living thing around them the moment they unleashed that horrid power. That was why they were invisible to psionic senses, they had turned themselves into null entities anathema to existence itself. Kainan gritted his teeth, for this was an abomination.
"Don't give me that look, lad!" Carter angrily snapped at him. "We have to be prepared to do whatever it takes to kill the bloodsuckers! It's the only way to win against their powers and technology," the Drov leader barked out. And the warlord had no counter to that, for he knew all too well what sacrifice truly meant and how far it had to sometimes go. He understood now why they were so fatalistic and so volatile, for to make themselves into what they had become, these rebels had to sacrifice their very souls, along with everything that made them living beings. In their pursuit of freedom for their people, they had willingly subjected themselves to a fate far worse than death, worse than anything imaginable. "Victory at any cost…" the warlord muttered, his shoulders set in grim resignation. He gave the signal to advance.
"Wait!" the princess called out. She stepped forward, kneeling down to examine the remains of the Dra'var'th warriors, her brows furrowing. "These aren't regular Death Knights," she said softly, pointing to the pattern of crimson thorns embroidered upon their cloaks, forming a specific sigil that Kainan didn't recognize. "They're royal guards," Valyra explained as she rose. Kainan frowned. Royal guards? But that meant…
"Second Chieftain…" he called, his friend stepping forward. "Take the task force and secure the command center. Make sure the rebels don't kill the planetary governor before we extract the information we need from him," the warlord instructed. He glanced at Valyra, knowing she'd stay with him regardless of any attempts to dissuade her and besides, he wouldn't deny her the right to decide her own path, no matter how much he loathed the idea of her following him into danger. And so, he said nothing. She gave him a small nod.
The Orkyn war leader glanced at the two of them and let out a sigh. "Very well. But do not get yourselves killed, this war is over without the two of you." With that, he barked out orders and left the pair and the whisper cat to their new mission.
~~~~
The princess cast a telekinetic blast that sent the smarter guards scrambling out of the way. The less fortunate, or perhaps duller ones, stood their ground and attempted to deflect that wave of energy, but their psionic abilities were no match for hers. Their barriers shattered like glass before a tsunami, bodies flung backwards and slamming against the broken remains of desks, the walls, each other, or just skidding across the floor, already dead. The kinetic force had stopped their hearts long before they touched the ground. She ducked behind the opposite frame of the archway before the survivors could even begin to attempt to return fire. "How much longer?" she shouted.
"A minute!" Kainan responded, hunched over a data terminal a few meters away. They were in the management center for the middle floors of the palace, more specifically in what used to be the manager's office, separated from the rest of the administrative space by an obsidian wall that was equipped with a hardlight projector for a door, though the warlord had simply ripped the power conduit out through the masonry with a telekinetic pull. "The icebreaker's almost done!" he said, watching the progress bar and the scrolling blocks of code on the holographic display as the virus did its work of gutting the local subnet's security. A gift from the Fyrrathi matriarch, for Pact icebreakers would have taken hours to crack the defenses, if at all.
"We don't have a minute!" Valyra responded as she darted out to deflect a salvo of plasma bolts, redirecting some of them back the way of their attackers. "They'll have automated turrets and heavy security drones in here any moment now!" she called out as she vaulted over the large, semi-circular desk, fortunately fashioned from a single block of hyperdiamond, the Dragon House's aesthetic preferences for once working in their favor, providing adequate cover against the weapons of the Death Knights that were attempting to flush them out.
Without looking up, Kainan unholstered his pistol, his arm snapping up in that mechanical, stop-motion manner characteristic of Gun Kata moves, his aim cycling through three different targeting vectors, three bangs echoing through the chamber as he fired. The Death Knights attempted to scramble out of the way, having already learned not to underestimate the lethal power of the psionically-assisted kinetic projectiles, which could pierce through their telekinetic barriers if the warlord simultaneously aimed a blast of power at the point of impact, something he'd proven perfectly capable of doing. Unfortunately, their attempts at evasion proved just as useless, as the bullets simply zigzagged around cover and struck the weak points in their suits of armor. "Done!" he called out, yanking the icebreaker free of its port as his wristcomp finished downloading the information they sought. "There's a secret hangar at the top of the tower! Stealth ship's docked inside!"
The princess nodded and broke cover, raising her own sidearm and unleashing a suppressing barrage as she darted across the distance, her shardblade already twirling. She fell upon the Death Knights with the lethal grace of an apex predator, ending lives with each leap, pirouette and slash of her weapon. Down the center aisle of the management center, Kat wreaked havoc, leaping and pouncing with all the force a four hundred kilogram feline could bring to bear down upon her unfortunate enemies, while the warlord methodically picked off any Dra'var'th that remained as he charged along the right side of the administrative chamber.
They emerged back into the hallway, where a pair of security drones hovered silently in their path, featureless black spheres except for the weapon ports on their shells. Kainan dispatched the first one with a rocket propelled grenade, while Valyra shattered the other with a telekinetic blast. Ahead of them, the elevator doors opened, revealing a squad of troopers backed by a heavy war bot. They never stood a chance. Kainan took out the Death Knight leading them with a salvo of bullets, while the princess leapt across the distance, propelling herself into a psionically-assisted jump while simultaneously conjuring a barrier that deflected the plasma bolts from the war bot's heavy blaster. She landed behind the squad of troopers, rolling under the clumsy swing of the war bot's arm and flicked her blade upwards, the Eryndai shearing through metal carapace like a plasma torch through a brick of butter, cutting the mechanical warrior into two halves which fell to the floor, sparking and spewing coolant fluid. The whisper cat fell upon the remaining soldiers before they could turn to engage her.
She leaned against the wall of the elevator, panting heavily as the warlord and feline followed, Kainan clearing the corpses keeping the door open with a telekinetic blast. He stepped closer, his gauntleted hand gently grasping her chin and turning her head to examine the angry bruise on her cheekbone, where a telekinetic blast from one of their enemies had grazed her earlier. Her skin flared with bioluminescent patterns where he touched her, the bond resonating with the physical contact. "Are you alright?" he asked her, his voice laden with effort.
"Yes," she responded, her aquamarine eyes darting down to his side, where a plasma bolt had ricocheted against his armor when he failed to deflect it completely. The plates there were melted and fused and she grimmaced as she pictured what state the flesh beneath might be in. "You? That shot could have killed you."
"It looks worse than it is," Kainan answered, his hand lingering on her cheek longer than necessary. Then, he reached for the elevator controls and pressed his hand against the holographic symbol that indicated the floor they wanted to reach. "They'll be waiting for us when we reach the top," he said. Valyra nodded, then ripped one of the ceiling panels loose with a telekinetic pull. The warlord flashed her a brief smile.
Just as expected, the elevator lit up with raycaster and plasma fire the instant the doors opened, the combined barrage melting it into slag that fell down into the shaft below. They emerged from the ventilation duct above, dispatching the guard detail with brutal efficiency, six Dra'var'th death knights and two Alvari paladins shredded faster than they could reposition themselves to deal with the unexpected entry point. Valyra's jaw tightened as her eyes fell upon her fallen kinsmen, her suspicions growing regarding the identity of the mysterious Dra'var'th royal currently occupying the hangar beyond. Kainan offered her a brief nod, he suspected the same thing. And then he overrode the blast shield's controls.
The hangar beyond was laid out in typical Dra'var'th fashion, a pentagonal shape with a central dais for docking, archways converging above to form a pentagram that was utterly useless for holding the weight of the structure, but served as a fixture for the decorative spikes hanging from it to create a menacing shape. More of those jagged shapes floated on antigrav fields, slowly spinning to display the skeletons grafted into them, each frozen in a grotesque pose that captured the throes of the cruel deaths of the slaves they'd belonged to.
The central dais was currently occupied by a sleek royal yacht, a vessel no larger than a corvette, but built for luxury and stealth rather than actual combat. The dais was surrounded by guards, both Dra'var'th and Alvari, a strange sight, to be sure, while slaves scurried about, rushing to finish their chores so that the vessel could depart. They froze, then scrambled for safety as the warlord, Valyra and Kat strode through the entrance.
"If it isn't the fallen princess and her pets," a feminine voice mocked them in High Alvari, but cold and cruel. The woman that descended the ramp wore a suit of armor that left a bit too much skin exposed to be practical and was clearly meant more for display than for actual combat. Four, not two horns curved backwards from her forehead, which was also crowned with a jagged, black tiara with prongs so sharp that they could be used to stab someone. Her hair was the color of cherries, just a few shades darker than her skin and her eyes… Her eyes glowed a baleful orange, overflowing with psionic power stolen from the slaves whose souls she'd recently consumed. It was the blade at her side that drew Valyra's displeasure the most. Its hilt was as black as her armor, the construction elaborate and as wicked-looking as everything else the Dra'var'th built. The blade was crystalline, glowing with the same color as the demoness' eyes unlike the traditional weapons of the Alvari, but there was no doubting its origin. That was an Eryndai, a shardblade, no doubt gifted to her by the princess' traitorous brother.
"Domina Dra'milla," Valyra acknowledged her with a tone that was as cold as ice. This was the puppeteer who engineered her brother's coup and now, it seemed, the Dragon House's insidious infiltration of the Alvari Dominion. She was also one of the daughters of the current Overlord of their species, so there was little doubt as to whom had truly set everything into motion. "You blaspheme by holding that blade. For that, I will have your head."
The Domina smiled, an expression that did not reach her eyes. "This trinket? A gift, but I think I will keep it. I've grown fond of it, you see. It is a symbol of the future," she taunted, drawing the weapon from the magnetic sheath on her belt, turning it this way and that, as if examining a particularly interesting toy. Her gaze drifted to the deposed heiress, then to the Terran warlord beside her. "And what of you, princess? What do your customs say about warming the bed of a slave?"
Valyra tilted her chin up, her expression a mask of haughty superiority. "Whose bed I warm is none of your concern, Domina," she answered dismissively. "In fact, you should be more concerned about the fate that will befall you within the next five minutes."
The demoness threw her head back and cackled, the sound echoing across the cavernous hangar, amplified by her stolen psionic power. A waste, Kainan thought. Unlike Valyra, this woman was no warrior, even if she believed herself otherwise. The Dra'var'th woman continued her taunts, too absorbed into hearing her own voice to realize just how pathetic she looked. "Oh, the only ones to suffer a terrible fate, are the two of you, my dear princess," she said, continuing to twirl that blade in her hand, her movements lacking Valyra's lethal, predatory grace.
"You see, the future we wish to build requires you to perish. Slowly, of course. But don't worry. I will keep you alive long enough to see it, just… not in one piece." She threw her arms wide as she descended the last few steps of the ramp. "You were right about one thing, though, during all those debates in the Council. The old ways have failed. They failed to keep the slaves in their place, a problem me and your brother aim to correct. We will unite our Houses, bring the rest of the Council to heel and forge the greatest empire this galaxy has ever seen. No longer will we be held back by pointless restrictions, we will harvest and feed as we please. We will be gods!"
It was Kainan's turn to laugh, a low, disdainful sound. He stepped forward, mockingly clapping his hands, ignoring the circle of guards as their hands twitched closer to their weapons. "You really enjoy the sound of your own voice," he said to the demoness, also in High Alvari, causing her smugness to slip for a moment, replaced by a look of surprise. "I find that ironic. Just like the blind hubris of your species, bloodflies deluding themselves into thinking they are apex predators just because they bite at the lion's ankles," he continued, his voice calm, dismissive, as if addressing a bug. "But you are not predators, Dra'milla. You are but parasites with an overinflated ego. It is that hubris of yours that brought you here, no doubt, to play at being the general by inspecting the blockade of humanity's territory. A mistake that will cost you dearly, in the end, for your capture presents us with an opportunity."
The demoness hissed, an ugly, wretched sound. "The slave dares to address the master! Guards! Seize the princess! Kill the human! Kill him slowly, I want to hear him scream and beg!" The guards surged forward, Dra'var'th and Alvari alike, shardblades and plasma whips coiling to strike. There were many of them, more than enough to overwhelm him or the princess, regardless of the pair's considerable combat skills. But they were not facing either of them, they were facing both of them together.
Together, they were a whirlwind of violence. Kainan darted left, gun snapping up and ending three Death Knights before the others had time to acknowledge and adapt to the threat of his psionics. Valyra leapt right, her blade flashing, leaving glowing trails through the air as it beheaded one of the traitorous paladins, helmet and all, then taking the sword hand of his comrade. Her psionic blast burst the blood vessels in the brain of a Death Knight charging at her from the right, while the warlord turned and dropped to one knee, firing six shots in a wide arc, four of which found their marks between armor plates, into armpits and the back of one of the paladins' knee joints. The princess reached out without even looking at him, then her hand made a twisting motion as she crushed the traitor's heart before his body finished crumpling to the floor.
Four more Death Knights and one paladin tried to converge upon them, the paladin's gauntlet snapping up, raycaster humming to life while the Dra'var'th tried to bring their plasma whips to bear upon the human. The retractable claws built into Kat's armor raked across his back before he could fire, finding gaps between plating and weak points in the flexible, liquid metal, ripping through flesh and bone, throwing his aim off, the beam striking one of the Death Knights and overloading his nervous system. Valyra's blade spun as she pirouetted, then suddenly changed direction, tracing an upwards diagonal arc that sliced open a second Death Knight from left hip to right shoulder. He never got the chance to scream, as Kainan snapped his neck with a telekinetic twist. The third Death Knight went down to a shot from Valyra's sidearm, expertly aimed at a weak point in his armor, even without the telekinetic redirection of Terran Gun Kata.
A plasma whip cracked through the air, but she was already gone, moving before the fourth Death Knight's muscles even registered the command to strike. Her shardblade pierced his throat before he could recover, right below his ceremonial, skull-shaped mask. She twisted it sideways, ripping it free and thrust it between the ribs of the paladin with the mangled arm, while Kainan reloaded his weapon. Another Death Knight raised his scorcher to fire at her, but the warlord's bullet slammed down the weapon's barrel just as he squeezed the trigger. It exploded, coating the Dra'var'th in superheated plasma, his screams echoing across the hangar as he rolled uselessly across the floor, trying to extinguish the flames.
The princess dashed closer to Kainan, weaving around another shardblade that shrieked through the space where she'd been a mere fraction of a second ago, its edge barely catching a single strand of her hair. The warlord caught her hand and spun her around, simultaneously shooting the paladin and two of his comrades. She used the momentum to launch herself against one of the floating pillars, sailing through the air above the remaining guards to land in a crouch behind Dra'milla. Kat shoved the nearest Death Knight out through the hangar bay's opening with assistance from the thruster pack in her armor, his screams disappearing into the distance as he plummeted down from the top of the palace, then the great feline proceeded to barrel down upon a pair of paladins, crushing the first one's chest beneath one of her paws, while her tail fractured the skull of the other one. The last Death Knight fell to a hail of bullets from Kainan while trying to scramble for cover behind one of the landing legs of the royal yacht.
Naked fear replaced Dra'milla's smugness as she found herself face-to-face with the lethal Alvari princess. She raised her blade in a feeble attempt to parry, while fumbling with the scorcher pistol at her belt. Valyra flashed her a chilling, predatory grin, then she simply slapped her sword aside with a flick of her wrist, a crystalline crack echoing across the cavernous hangar as the two shardblades met briefly. A swift kick swept the demoness' legs out from under her, blade simultaneously flashing down and shearing through the tendons in her wrist before she could draw her sidearm. The princess' boot came down on her other wrist, pinning her hand there, the tip of Valyra's Eryndai suddenly appearing under the Domina's chin, crackling with psionic energy. Dra'milla dropped her own shardblade and Kainan, having already vaulted onto the dais, kicked it away.
~~~~
Soldiers swarmed into the hangar. Not Dra'var'th or Alvari, but Pact forces, Terran Cosmonauts and Psi Corps, Shartan Marauders and a full squad of Ssarok Talonguards. The task force under the Second Chieftain's command had evidently completed its own mission, for if the Pact army was in the palace, it meant the defenses were down.
And yet, Dra'milla did not look defeated, her expression was not one of shock and humiliation, but a cruel, defiant sneer. Valyra frowned, a sinking feeling starting to take root in her heart. Something was very, very wrong. "Oh, you fools," the demoness spat. "You think you have won? By capturing me, all you've ensured is that we will all die together."
Valyra stepped back and made a gesture, suspending the Domina up in a telekinetic grasp. "Explain!" the princess commanded, simultaneously reaching into the Veil, her will crashing against the demoness' mental defenses like a sledgehammer. Dra'milla herself was brimming with stolen energy and a skilled psion in her own right, but against the Alvari princess' power and sheer mastery, there was no defense. She shrieked, not a scream of fury or defiance, but a wail of anguish. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, she'd bitten her tongue. Her will shattered, she spoke as commanded, no longer having a choice in doing so.
"S-squad of Death Knights…" she stammered. "I sent them… into the canyon city… null-field mine, modified…" the demoness recounted, her voice as strained as the expression in her eyes. The color drained from Valyra's features as she realized exactly what the Dra'var'th had done. For a null-field mine detonating on the surface of a planet, would spell the end of that planet. Its crust would shatter, the atmosphere would boil. Everything on its surface would be wiped out in the blink of an eye.
"… We hanged the governor from the balcony of his own throne room after the interrogators finished with him," Lawrence Carter's voice echoed throughout the hangar as he approached, though Kainan hadn't heard him. The Drov glanced at the warlord, whose back was still turned, then his gaze followed his, to where the Alvari princess still held the Dra'var'th royal suspended above the dais, the Domina managing to recover enough composure and self-control to twist her features into that all-too-horrible sneer that seemed to be her default expression.
"That's right, princess. You will all die with me," she taunted, her voice regaining some of its steadiness. "You and your human pet will die. Your army will die. The slaves you sought to free, will die, as will all the servants who failed me. In the end, I still win," the Domina spat out, her shoulders shaking with hysterical laughter, secure in the knowledge that whatever came next, she had turned her enemies' moment of triumph into their ultimate defeat.
The Drov's gaze darted between the Domina and the view of the canyon beyond, having already overheard the mentioning of the null-field mine and the pieces finally clicked into place. His jaw snapped shut, at a loss for words for the first time since he'd met the Terran warlord.
And Kainan… was calm. Too calm, no hint of fear on his features, only a grim kind of resolve. He took a step forward, then another. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, laden with resignation. Not for the planet's impending doom, but for what he had to do to prevent it. "Valyra… Have that witch taken to the brig of the Agamemnon. I want you to oversee her interrogation personally."
"Kainan…" the princess muttered as she turned to face him, a look of abject heartbreak settling upon her visage, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She'd sensed that horrifying chill encasing his heart and though she didn't yet know what he was planning, she knew what it was going to cost him. How much of himself he was going to sacrifice. The warlord shook his head, a barely-perceptible gesture which everyone caught regardless and Valyra fought back a sob, one that became a howl of boiling-hot fury as she turned her attention back upon the Dra'var'th woman. She wanted to kill the Domina, to behead her right there on the spot, to reach out through the Veil and rip her heart out of her chest, but she couldn't. If Kainan would shoulder the weight of the horror Dra'milla had wrought, then she could also deny herself the need for revenge. And so, she instead slammed her will against the demoness' mind, severing her consciousness and commanding her to sleep. Soldiers rushed forward, clasping her arms and legs in magnetic cuffs, Valyra following them as they dragged her away.
Kainan nodded his thanks to her, then slowly raised his wristcomp, opening lines of communication to his fleet and the army beyond. "Fieldmarshal, have one of the tachyon lances target the planetary capital. Fire as soon as you have a target lock," he ordered. That should take care of any personal shields, as the Dra'var'th did not use such primitive and uncomfortable things like hermetically-sealed helmets to keep breathable air in, relying instead upon energy bubbles encasing their heads. Next, the artillery. A trembling finger keyed in the command to switch channels. "Colonel Shahid… Have all artillery units in range target the canyon… Use Silent Night… Gas the city…"
Everyone in the hangar let out a gasp. Some of the soldiers vomited. A hundred and fifty million people lived in that city. Men, women and children, elderly… And not just Dra'var'th, but also slaves. Workers, gladiators, maintenance crews and menial laborers, along with their families… "Lad," Carter growled, taking a step forward. "I have rebel units operating in that city, you can't just-"
"We have no choice!" the warlord's voice boomed as he whirled to face the Drov, his features twisted with fury and sorrow and a despair so profound, that it threatened to consume what was left of his soul. Everyone froze, for none had ever seen the warlord, a man always composed and unshakable, snap at anything, no matter the circumstances. Yet even he had his limits and Dra'milla's cruelty had pushed him past the point of no return. From that point on, he knew, there was only darkness ahead of him.
Tears streaking across his soot-stained features, he slowly strode to the hangar bay's entrance, stormcloud eyes gazing at the city below. He would not look away. He couldn't. He had to face the decision he made, to pay the price, even as he knew there was no other choice. For tracking down that squad would simply take too much time and trying to engage them directly ran the risk of them firing the improvised planetary destruction device, while an orbital strike might set it off accidentally. There simply was no scenario in which they could neutralize that null-field mine or the soldiers possessing it, even in the unlikely event they managed to locate them, before it was too late. No scenario that did not rely on blind luck to succeed. The planet would die, along with the billions who lived on it, along with his army, his Pact and the future of every species that had put their faith in him.
Above, the brilliant white beam pierced the dust clouds, enveloping the city in its ethereal glow. And then, the artillery thundered. Shells shrieked through the sky, then burst open, showering the streets and avenues below with their poisonous content. More shells rained down, then more still, until an eerie white mist enveloped the metropolis, concealing it beneath its lethal shroud. The gas seeped into every building and vehicle, it flowed into every nook and cranny and sewer alike and a hundred and fifty million living beings went to sleep and never woke up again. His fist clenched so hard, that the implanted claws pierced through the kevlar weave of his gauntlet, biting deep into the flesh below until they scraped against bone, digging furrows and chipping, cracking… And he looked on, his gaze unblinking, unflinching as he watched an entire city full of people meet its untimely end, knowing that in that moment he'd just become the worst mass-murderer in the history of his species. The worst part? He knew he would do it again and far worse, if the situation called for it.
And so, he settled into his allotted role, the spider spinning a web of destruction and murder, the mastermind who moved pieces on a chessboard even if those moves claimed the lives of millions of innocents. For what were the lives of millions when counted against the survival of billions? In this cold and uncaring galaxy, one sometimes had to sacrifice the few to preserve the many, to taint his soul with atrocities so that others would be alive in the future to judge and condemn him. Should he dwell upon fantasies of a world where there was a better way than the one he had chosen? Perhaps. In the end, though, he could not perform miracles or find a better way where there was none, like the heroes of legend and myth did. Because he was not a gallant knight in shining armor, brandishing a magical sword to slay the monster and save the day. He was just a necessary evil.