A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

[Admiral Breetai]

drugs addicts and plague ships and a virus version of a xenomorph

your universe is jacked up pal good update

[sonofccn]

drugs addicts and plague ships and a virus version of a xenomorph

your universe is jacked up pal good update

Well I try to make my rambling delusions interesting, and to be fair to the drug addicts if you lived in the Terrorverse you'd need a little extra to keep from bursting out screaming. Its a rough place. :)

red ball indeed good lord poor bastard

Well you got to break the language barrier somehow, lacking UTs and all, and I thought it was sufficently Imperial way of doing it.

Anakin skywalker action figures huh? That's interesting

Yeah as you can guess Vader/Clone Wars Anakin is my favorate force user. So I figured why not? Hope I didn't go overboard or anything.

Also in your honest apprasial how did I handle the "banter" between Tyler and Krevin, did it flow with a sense of friendship or was it merely a data dump alternating between two monologes. Not to be unduly demanding of course but I've never been able to do "people" well. Horrible monsters unimaginable I think I can swing okay but not people.

[Admiral Breetai]

I liked the dialog you've done it well since the start of this so I'm not complaining one bit. You can tell the two men have been through some times and that among sociopaths there is somehow a bond lol

[Praeothmin]

i liked this chapter and the shout out to Conan's god

What?
Where?
Did I miss something?

Anyway, very nice and poetic, as always...

I eagerly wait to learn what the plans for the creature are...

[Admiral Breetai]

i liked this chapter and the shout out to Conan's god

What?
Where?
Did I miss something?

Anyway, very nice and poetic, as always...

I eagerly wait to learn what the plans for the creature are...

Krom was mentioned you didn't catch it?

[Praeothmin]

Krom was mentioned you didn't catch it?

Nope...
Damn, that's what I get for reading quickly at work... :)

Also in your honest apprasial how did I handle the "banter" between Tyler and Krevin, did it flow with a sense of friendship or was it merely a data dump alternating between two monologes. Not to be unduly demanding of course but I've never been able to do "people" well. Horrible monsters unimaginable I think I can swing okay but not people.

Well, as Breetai said, it felt nice, true, rang of an old friendship that went through a lot, two people reminiscing when things get rough in order to lighten the mood...

And I liked the latest chapter as well...
As Breetai said in one of his early comments, you channel Tolkien well...

[Admiral Breetai]

like Preao said and I'll add i have no problems with your talkies

[sonofccn]

Quick update/filler. Decided to give tribute to Sar'Ur'Ion mighty lizard warrior. Silly story, hope you like it.

“To each of us is granted a purpose, a mission. The part that we are to play. What separates each of us is whether when the time comes we accept it, no matter its personal consequences, or that we turn our back to it. To our people as a whole.” Warmaster Saargoth transmission before his armada intercepted the Celestial Evil.

Axoria, Kainspire-

I. Hymn of the Immortal Warrior-Manowar

“…have the strength and wisdom of Saargoth. Let the enemy walls crumble, his forces scatter before our wrath.” The Warmaster’s words echoed through Sar’Ur’Ion’s head from his receiver as he plunged out the back of the air transport spreading his arms and the wings attached.

Heart beating fast in his chest, faster than it had from the thousands of other jumps he’d done in training or since coming to Axoria under the banner of the Ascendency, he sailed through the snarling ripples of ash colored clouds following the darting green blurs of his hunting-pack. Each a deeper hue of emerald than his own scales so brightly contrasted against the angry fog, the same vibrant color of the lush jungles of home, making it hard to track them amid the exploding canisters and streaking missiles and follow their safe passage to the shifting maze of death. His pack merely one of dozens, maybe hundreds, unleashed upon Kainspire the final holdout of the defiant world of Axoria. The final refuge and by the setting of the planet’s warming star it would be no more. The Warmaster himself had promised that to his men, to himself.

Those below determined to make him a liar, machine gun fire erupting up from beneath the layers of cloud cover for the lower warriors, guided by a diverse spectrum of radar, thermal and image clarification which allowed them to compensate for the perpetual sullen clouds which hung over the nestled city. Spewed from the inactive but still volatile volcanic mountains straddling the city of Kainspire, one of the reasons the fleet had abstained from pulverizing the area from their perch in upper orbit. All but the most precise use of explosive-metal bombs was feared would an eruption dooming the cities which clustered around the mountains’ edges. Industrial cities which had been taken at great cost to preserve, built in part to support and sustain the foreboding city they’d now be brought to use before the Ascendency.

The factories one day retooled to build the missiles which came hurtling downwards from the stratosphere from circling fighters, directed down to the flak cannon, missile silo or machine gun by those of the packs equipped with lock-beacons. Specialized helmets which fed target data back up to the loitering war planes adjuncts telling them within millimeters were the emplacement was or with a slight adjustment guiding a missile manually themselves with a weak thermal-beam. Flawlessly accurate few emplacements survived past their opening salvo but without their lethal torrent abating, each of the slain replaced without pause or hesitation. No respite in their fury driven assault upon the forces descending from the brooding heavens.

Fighting for more than their planet, more than their freedom Sar’Ur’Ion had explained to him on the transport flight. Kainspire, initially overlooked and ignored by the invasion force, the site of a virulent sect which had watched unaffected or afflicted the moving world below their mountain retreat for centuries. Kra’Vel’Sar, a warrior of Sar’Ur’Ion’s pack with whom he conversed with the most, had called them fanatics, crazies.

“I would rather fight an Iron Golem than a crazy, you’re not fighting anything rational against one of them. You’re fighting an ideal…a transparent one vacuum molded to each recipient’s whims and tastes. And they’ll fight to protect that.” He’d warned holding up his hand showing a scar around a finger-claw.” During my third year under the service I picked up a hatchling crazy, no more than a meter tall if a millimeter, and it nearly bite my finger off. I was trying to save it, found it trapped beneath the rubble of an edifice we bombed and it sunk its teeth as deep into my scales as it could.”

And now both he and Sar’Ur’Ion both dived down towards a city infested with the fanatics, the young warrior matching the movements of his elders as the last of the ash heavy smog cleared away revealing Kainspire in a way unto sackcloth being pulled from his eyes. One heartbeat there stood merely the murky gray which surrounded him at all sides the next he was greeted to broken towers sprouting from obsidian like rock beside crumbling walls that intersected building courtyards and once verdant parks. Cobblestone paths circled inward, minding no greater imperative than their own whimsical impulses, connecting former well groomed hamlets to each other, to schools, barracks, and a thousand other tiny variants needed for those indentured to the Order to life their sheltered life. A once neat and orderly community, almost like a model set, laid out radiating from a central node, a hulking steel colored construct partially recessed into a bowl shaped crater the rocky ground dipped into.

The central keep the Order commanded from, the very core of their religion if the Intel had been correct, and those culled from the enthralled population were sequestered to learn the secrets to their ways. Its walls armored against all but the most powerful attack Sar’Ur’Ion saw, witnessing a hovering gunship spend its allotment of missiles and rapid-fire shells without result, making it a virtual fortress even without obvious signs of weapons. A terrible obstacle to the will of the Ascendancy, through one which not naturally arising on the planet. Through young the warrior’s eyes easily caught the glint of the old drive engines protruding from one portion of the ship, and without question it was a ship embedded into the face of rock, could through the centuries of erosion the cataclysmic upheaval of its arrival prow first. Like a fiery god descending to live with mortals the alien craft had made its final rest here, taking over by vagabonds who could not understand its true secrets or purpose.

“Will you look at that? She’s got to be two hundred maybe three hundred meters…” Kra’Vel’Sar crackled over the radio.”…and most of her is punched underground. She had to be bigger than a warcruiser in her day.”

“Just a ship through.” Sar’Ur’Ion replied the eagerness of youth bubbling from his lips.” Let those who pour over old books and schematics take that, I want those that have pulse and warm blood. Where the crucible of honor still lives!”

“What am I going to do with an aspirant hatchling like yourself?” Kra’Vel’Sar hissed with amusement.” Oh I know, show you how a veteran warrior does it. If you can keep up that is.”

With that one of the dark green shades ahead of the young warrior wiggled, his friend revealing himself, and than bowed more towards the rushing ground diving to the ruined cityscape below. Sar’Ur’Ion, and many others eager for the flow of blood, following after him swooping down like avenging spirits of warriors long past. Down into the turmoil and din of shrieking weapons, bellowing soldiers and the thunderous creak of ancient masonry shattering into lethal hail. Such stones flinging past the young warrior’s frame as he skimmed over the surface, reared his form up slightly and reached to undo the clasp holding him to the sky-wings. Releasing himself to the pull of the planet’s gravity, point two-five heavier than home, and the welcoming touch of solid ground beneath his body the warrior plummeted, struck the uneven and loose volcanic sod of the world and skidded. His body lowering itself until his shoulders dragged blunting away the worst of his built up energy, rising again once it had faded and turning towards the gray skinned blur which charged from his right.

The glint of the iron head of the ax reflecting off his orb his head and torso listed further to the right allowing the bladed weapon to fly past, his hand going to his wrist to draw his assault pistol. Racing the pair of revolvers the large gray form went for with each of its upper hands while its lower ones spun the descending ax to a sickle curved point extruding from its back and drove that in hopes of splitting Sar’Ur’Ion’s midsection open like cheap tin. Great strength behind the strike and speed, unexceptional for one of the smooth-skinned race, but like all of the soft skinned was delivered with their inherent rigidity in mind. The Warrior’s body bending into an “U” shape to avoid the blow, the lower part of his tail shooting up to shatter an elbow on the alien’s left arm, and raising his handgun towards his attacker’s blocky face. The visage erased in crimson with the first jacketed bullet, the remaining four bullet of the burst skipping up past the thing’s head and vanishing into the sullen skyline as the gun shuddered violently backwards and nearly jumped out of his hand.

Pulling the weapon against his armored chest he steadied it but the damage was already done, growing worse as he struck the corpse away with the back of his other palm and revealed Kra’Vel’Sar waiting expectantly over his own corpse. Corpses actually the young Warrior saw, envy fighting embarrassment briefly, marveling at the three dismembered or shot forms his body curled over like a maggot-worm bursting forth from its putrefied host. A chastising look in the older warrior’s eyes as he glanced down to the smoking handgun clutched tightly against Sar’Ur’Ion and then down to his kill. Aiming his own handgun, slightly smaller caliber and designed for greater tearage than perforation, and placed two through the back of the alien’s skull stopping the hand which was tightening around the handle of one of its firearms and finishing what the red furrow cut up over the top of its scalp had started.

“Listen hatchling, from one who has seen life and death mix and annihilate each other a thousand-thousand times.” He warned lowering his weapon and reaching out to the assault pistol.” One bullet were you place it is worth more than a hundred errant ones.”

Sar’Ur’Ion did not answer, could not. His voice refusing as he bowed his head slightly, sinking lower to the ground than the elder warrior, and accepted his action as he switched the assault pistol from burst to single shot. Nor was their time, the courtyard they’d landed in was falling under control with more warriors landing and larger winged contraptions which dislodged Swiftclaw tanks but it was merely one of dozens of such chambers crisscrossed and connected to the great keep at the heart of the city. Members of their pack falling to them as the moved forward, like magnets collecting iron they formed around. Like a machine assuming their part, their place. Fighting as a larger organisms against the fiercely determined but singular alien defenders.

“Down!” Kra’Vel’Sar screamed to his fellow warriors, senior to them, coiling beneath a stone ridge from a rocket shooting past on a geysers of scarlet.

Seeking not the warriors scattering like water before a pebble, leaving them for the sporadic machine gun fire to claim, but the rumbling tank moving to support them. Stopping cold as the missile flashed into a molten spray which dissolved through the forward armor, the entire thing going up as the hydrogen fuel combusted. Flecks of the former crew raining down to the hunting-pack, the survivors of which slithered to the rock wall bullets peppered off of and which were returned with intermittent fire of their own

“Filthy fleshies!” Kra’Vel’Sar cursed hooking his gun over the edge and in contrast to his earlier advice hosing where the rocket had been fired from.” The gunnery nest, can we get a missile lock?”

“Negative.” Jorl’Da’Kne, equipped with a beacon-lock, hissed with a shake of his head leaning over the edge of the wall to shoot as well.” No available aircraft at the moment.”

“Well I’m not waiting around for those cushy sky-hatchlings.” Kra’Vel’Sar remarked with a low growl hitting Jorl’Da’Kne on the shoulder along with two other warriors.” Keep plastering the nest, hold their notice, we’ll swing around and take them from the sides.

The three nodding, taking with new vigor their assault against the pillbox, while the rest were divided into a pair of groups. Sar’Ur’Ion feeling a tingle of pride when his friend laid a claw-hand on his shoulder selecting him for his own unit, as well a sudden surge to prove his earlier mistake was an anomaly. Prove he was worthy of being in the hunter-pack, of serving the Ascendency.

“Just keep your head down, okay hatchling?” He’d joked drawing low to the ground, which all mimicked, and slithering out along the wall to a break gouged into it.

Slipping through, crawling over the broken rubble littered across the ground, the pulverized chunks of granite or marble statues which had once crested the palisades and now were mere motes of dust laid waste by bombs and shells, towards the gunnery nest. Pressed against a divided wall One segment had been dragged free and wedged against another creating a small hollow, room for the belt fed weapon which barked incessantly at the wall oblivious to the shallow hung forms which squirmed through the detritus on either side. Pooling short of their target, dividing their numbers again to watch over the backs of those who crawled towards the nest, drawing a grenade from their armor posed to throw it through the opening with the cry rang out.

“Behind you!” Sar’Ur’Ion screamed bolting from his crouched coverage firing at a brass and iron gate swinging open on busted hinges for a mobish contingent which stormed into the ruined chamber.

Adding their own bellowing cries as they spread out, instinct and rage wining out over surprise at their enemy, running through the sudden withering fire as every hiding or lurking warrior opened up on them. Sar’Ur’Ion weaving between the twin rifles each wielded scoring a bloody wound on one which tumbled hitting the ground with a hard crack of sinew kissing harder stone but didn’t perish, releasing one hand from a single rifle to clutch at the wound below his chest while pushing up with one palm from the other. The two semi-automatic rifles belching slugs at the young Warrior who dove upon his quarry, catching fragment like from the corner of his eye the warrior clutching the grenade fall shot down by part of the machine gunner crew who reared up from the behind of the pillbox, swinging side to side to avoid it and drawing his bead for a second shot.

From behind he heard Kra’Vel’Sar shout, first to organize the perched warriors Sar’Ur’Ion had left behind in his enthusiastic advance trying to direct their fire and then to the young Warrior personally. Fear tinting his voice at the gray block which swept from the hatchling’s side, feeling the sharp bite of steel catch him before his mind had processed the image. Feeling it catch on the strength of his scales and it break off through lodged with sickly streams of ruby spilling down his emerald hide, a burning spur of a remainder to the young Warrior as he dipped below the second bayonet aimed to split open the side of his head and drove the point of his arm into his attacker’s still blurred and peripheral form. Feeling skin nearly as rough as his own and muscles solid as the planet he rested upon absorb the blow without breaking, sensed the enemy warrior retreat with blow bleeding it own and shifting to slam the long edge of the broken edged rifle up into the Cytherian’s jaw. And at his back, somehow further away it seemed, he heard Kra’Vel’Sar once more.

Not his voice but the sound of his body as he whirred across the blasted courtyard, coming towards him and Sar’Ur’Ion felt pain deeper than the lodged hunk of steel in his chest. Hissing he threw his head back allowing the upward swung rifle to miss its target, and finished extending the arm he struck with firing with his assault pistol. The bullets passing by mere fractions the four armed warrior, side stepping and raising its other rifle skyward to skewer the impertinent youth seeing the once limp tail between its moving legs a second to late. The limb becoming like a steel cable springing up catching the alien where his leg fused into his waist splitting through muscle and bone like a surgical laser, not severing it not quiet but letting the tug of gravity finish shearing the dense bundles of muscles dragging the alien down. Down to the waiting claws of Sar’Ur’Ion’s other hand waiting in eager anticipation, raking across the native’s throat and ending his death scream before it had a chance to begin. Disbelief, along with pain, echoed in the man’s eyes as he hit the ground, never given a chance to rise with the young Warrior dropping over with him all of his weight feeling bones buckle and shoving the barrel of his handgun against the alien’s skull blowing it open with a squeeze of the trigger.

“I trust that is how a veteran kills.” Sar’Ur’Ion boasted basking in the vaporous cloud of brains and blood before rising up checking for another victim only to find the situation had been arrested during his short lived duel.” Your concern for me Warrior-Leader was misplaced, I was in no danger.”

“ A veteran doesn’t break from good cover to trade blows with enemy infantry, he gives you a flawless target you line up and kill him as such.” Kra’Vel’Sar scolded drawing up beside the younger warrior, gesturing with a subtle movement of his arm for the others to rise up and advance, before his eyes crackled with that old glow.” Besides I’d have gone for his knee in the first place, finish going down and gotten behind him. One shot and before he can recover he’s already dead.”

“Maybe.” Sar’Ur’Ion coaxed reaching a hand up and ripping the steel stake from his flesh and armor, tossing it to the ground as he and the Warrior-Leader put away their guns and drew gladises to hack at the bodies proving life didn’t linger.

And so the honor fell to the young Warrior in finding him, riddled with bullets but still alive beneath the body of a comrade who’d perished pushing him to safety. His chest a crimson sea, faltering, and eyes angry pools bubbling over. Two arm had broken catching his fall, a third shattered from a bullet which had sliced open his stomach, the fourth Sar’Ur’Ion found working to fit a cartridge into his rifle wedged against his body with his bloody arm. Continuing his work after the dead body had been pulled off of him, the tip of the blade pressed into his ragged flesh. Cursing the owner of the sword, egging him on to finish but never ceasing. Thumb working the ammo bloc into position he slid his numb, stiff hand to the bolt to pull it back.

And amid the howl of tank shells streaking overhead, the hum of rotors from a passing gunship unleashing hellish death, and the faltering cries of the besieged to turn back the intruders Sar’Ur’Ion felt urged to speak to the wretched creature.

“You have lost, the Ascendancy’s flag will rise. Accept it.” Sar’Ur’Ion urged.” Let go of your suffering, join your rightful place to those who perished in defense of your realm. It serves nothing for you to prolong yourself like this.”

“No!” The alien hurled venomously back, surprising the warrior whom thought his words would fall like water over it in answering in Cytherian.” I pledged myself to them, keepers of the holy way, and as they shepherd over us so I and all from the lowest grub will for they. If it is as it wills our banner may fall but not while one of us draws breath!”

He than switched back to his natural language lacing into profanities that even Sar’Ur’Ion’s brief exposure to the people had allowed him to learn, the red flash of rage filling his senses as he drove his sword through the alien’s chest. Then again and again, ripping it free slick with gore and slinging guts about and slamming it back through without grace or precision but granting his rage physical presence.

“For your gods, where are they? Cowering in their temple from our encroaching armies?” The Young Warrior cursed remembering all that Kra’Vel’Sar had told him of the crazies belief.” Were are these craven Jeah-Dy you so protect? Where are they?”

Tiring of the hacking blows the warrior wheeled his sword about to remove the now lifeless alien’s head, releasing it into its arc when he heard the shout. Saw bullets scatter atop of the far wall, saw a being hurl himself up before launching himself over it. A greenish-blue aura shimmering into existence catching his gladis, removing it like one would through a swirling mist, while the form landed without sound in front of him and a hand belted out like a piston into him shredding his armor and flinging him backwards. The world tumbling around Sar’Ur’Ion, catching glimpses of warriors shooting, of a gray blur which spun between them, and pieces which flew up against the gray cover of the sky he ended up facing towards.

For a breath he laid there, eyes locked to the choking overcastted heaven above, head ringing and chest burning from the touch. Growing worse with each inhale, the fractured ribs splitting further out of place, but he was a warrior and refused to lie there. His time was not now, those of the fallen did not call out to him, could not be now. He refused to believe it, that he would die on some insignificant planet, he was destined for greater. He could feel it in his bones, and would prove it.

Sputtering a challenge to the new enemy, swinging his body up despite the searing touch that brought about, twisting his snout towards the noise and action to see he and Kra’Vel’Sar were the last of the hunting-pack and soon he would be alone. The new warrior stalking after him from a heap of dismembered limbs in a hail of firefly like sparks, each produced from a demolished bullet super heating to explosion in any one of the four blue blades each of which darted faster than the eye could track in front of the alien warrior catching the full automatic spray of the rifle Kra’Vel’Sar wielded. Plucked from a fallen corpse, and when it exhausted itself it returned to its original owner the veteran reaching to his wrists to draw a sword in either hand and lunging to meet the alien. Jaws unfurling in a deafening howl of pure rage and righteous fury, a cry which ended in the alien hiss of flesh exposed to the queer energy blades. The two of them passing each other, the alien pivoting to meet Sar’Ur’Ion while Kra’Vel’Sar’s head fell away along with arms and swords which broke apart from his torso.

A faint trickle of blood leaking down from the alien’s face, a red streak curved from the side of its forehead down to the opposing side of its chin which it dabbed at with one finger more surprised than harmed. Lowering it the creature held its sabers in a battle stance through it as yet didn’t strike basking among the wrecking shells and crumbling architect like an evil spirit from old legends of home.

“Young one why challenge me? Perhaps as you say the day will be yours, surely there is no dishonor in yielding to see it.” He gloated in a thickly accented Cytherian.” You could not best me if fully able and I can sense the pain of my wound. Why throw your life away? It won’t save even one more of your fellows.”

“It is mine to do so. I am a warrior! My heart beats for the Ascendancy for all those who not of my brood but of that blood deeper than blood. For those who fell before me, and when I greet them it shall be raised high.” Sar’Ur’Ion answered looking for his assault pistol and failing to find it grabbing an alien rifle from the ground, advancing cautiously towards the alien warrior.” Nor will you find a different answer from any one of us!”

He spat it with ire, with fury which wanted to wash over the enemy and broil him alive. Instead the alien warrior tilted back his head releasing great pearls of honest laughter. Not mean, not vicious, raw, naked gaggles of joy tinged with heavy sadness. Waves of unfettered emotion washing over Sar’Ur’Ion whose slowed pondering if he could make the shot while the foe was distracted but before he could decide the mirthful jeer subsided from it.

“Maybe now you understand Troqku better young one, maybe understand our people better. I hope so, one final lesson before I send you to the Eternal Force beyond the veil.” The alien warrior said body telescoping into a haze, already moving for the kill.” I hope it is well learned.”

Squeezing the trigger of the unfamiliar device he felt it shudder, the bullet stab out only to evaded with a casual gesture by the warrior whose stride gobbled the distance between until there was none. No time for a second shot, no hope Sar’Ur’Ion shoved the rifle up to block one of the shimmering sabers. Hearing the whimsical sigh from his enemy as it placed more of the strength behind the slash carving through the weapon with ease and continuing downward.

Missing the Cytherian flank as Sar’Ur’Ion collapsed it towards the ground curving around the right of the warrior’s leg while his tail curved left and stabbed. Feeling the break of skin, the gush of blood over his appendage but also the sting of an energy sword which followed after him even as the being tripped over the body. The two parting, its stumbling to a stop a few meters away carried by its enhanced gait while the Cytherian warrior flopped more like a fish on the ground. Blood oozing from the Axorian’s back and side down his leg while Sar’Ur’Ion’s was lined with crisped blacken mass. How deep it went he couldn’t tell as he shifted and pushed his weight against strewn bits of stone and body parts wedging himself part way up to grimace at the alien who turned after him.

“Little sting young one, little sting.” He announced blades flashing in front of him in a dazzling cocoon, body leaping forward for the killing stroke.

Only to be intercepted by a new form, one whose skin was the murky green of one who was into his seventh century of service to the Ascendancy, skin riddled with scars as proof of his service but on that day in that battle he would go unmolested. Sar’Ur’Ion receiving only the most fleeting after image of the Warmaster in combat of his body which twirled around the alien warrior always in beautiful motion never slowing. Tail darting like one of the great vipers of home up at the warrior teasingly, distractingly. Drawing its notice away, widening an open he then exploited thrusting with a silver bladed sword through only to have it blocked. One of its four arms snapping close to its body catching the Warmaster’s sword on the underside in a deflection too quick and well done to avoid. Only the shimmering blue field passed cleanly through, hot driblets of steel spewing out over both combatants, and into clean air shaving more than two-thirds from the weapon and leaving a cherry-red slope which plunged through the alien’s body.

Jolt of death shooting through its body the alien’s swords all descended converging together where the Warmaster had been, the elusive warrior already fled continuing on as he pulled off a twin barreled canister shooter and triggered both barrels into his enemy’s side cleaving its body apart like it had done to his bladed weapon. Then and only then did he pause growl with pleasure and reach down to pluck the pellet scarred remainder of his sword from the churned guts.

“What a waste on a filthy cur, Aresion steel hatchling.” The Warmaster announced sliding forth from the carnage to extended a claw-hand helping Sar’Ur’Ion up.” Taken from the scarab of one of their generals, few chances nowadays but then I could hardly let him strike down a warrior made of your scales. Your answer…was well deserved.”

Tossing the hilt of the ruined weapon away he slide the hatchling’s arm over his shoulder helping to support him as the two set off in search of a medic, Sar’Ur’Ion silent most of the way. Hushed by the great prowess, that he was inhaling the air of one who had gained so much glory for the Ascendancy, as well as remembrance of those who had so recently fallen in that pursuit. At last however, compelled to say something worthy to his savior, he did find the words that were in his heart. Making a promise that day among the dust and explosions and death, one he would never forget even through his head swimmed and the corners dissipated into a hazy nebula.

“I pledge sire…to find steel equal to what you lost.” He swore.” To the very edge of cosmos if need be.”

“Keep yourself alive hatchling.” The Warmaster said with a laughing hiss.” Give yourself for those of blood deeper than blood when you can’t. That will be reward enough and far more valuable than any blade of steel.”

[Praeothmin]

Pure poetry, once again...

Well done!

Poor Jeah-Dy, he had no chance at all... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

Freaken Sar'Ur'io is a bad ass

thank you, thank you what an update

[sonofccn]

Later than usual so I apologize. And yes I did forget, what with Valor squad's antics, about my "surprise" uber unit until now. I do plan to use it later, not to give too much away but Krevin's going to get into another planatary scrape, but for now the "reveal" which I hoped lived up to the teasing I did.

“Unlike the host the new organism is swift footed and agile. It has a leathery beak which will act like bolt cutters and its skin quickly hardens after “birth” into a mottled exoskeletal armor. Despite this I recommend bringing out rapid fire, light weight ordinance like the M3 “Grease Gun” as opposed the deeper penetrating Garand, easier for the lighter guns to be brought to bear on a wider area and if the first bullet doesn’t bite the next six will. As well a flamethrowers to incinerate the infected tissue is adamant through due to their speed and normal combat ranges primarily for disposal rather than as the killing weapon itself.” Military-Surgeon Taylor Neville comments on combating the Omega strain of the Corpus Ereptor infection.

Judgment, Bridge-

“…running pesky interference delaying our final encirclement of the enemy forces.” Donner’s voice crackled, the explosions of artillery shells audible even from the command base he was setting up, from the com board as Krevin and Tyler exchanged knowing looks.” A couple more regiments and additional squadron for air support…”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, our available resources are fully committed.” The Commodore answered utterly refusing to ship down a single additional trooper to feed into Donner’s maw, not wishing another Astor on his hands.” Disengage further pursuit of fleeting enemy formations and focus on crushing the ones already besieged, your orders are enemy troops dead not useless kilometers taken and I don’t want to risk the entire nest escaping the netting to catch a few worthless curs. Understand?”

“You are received sir.” Donner grumbled not at all pleased.” But far from understood. Several of the enemy units are mobile tracked howitzers, if I am not pushing them back they slip into my interior and lay down support to those pockets. Pockets I lack the strength to destroy if they can break free and link up.”

There were many things in Krevin’s life and experience that he hated. The dyed in the wool believers in the New Order whom it seemed were destined only to die a gloriously heroic death, remembered as some lichen shrouded monument years hence, and drag everyone in their near vicinity along for the ride. The self-pious fools bleating on about saving him in the next world while he was scrambling to survive this verse. Aliens in general who invariably were drawn into what seemed like a personal vendetta against him and of course those that talked during the playing of a Vid at a holo-cinema. Unless those words were to him and delivered in a low sultry tone of course.

Donner making sense didn’t rate quite up to the standards set upon such a colossal list but nor did the experience generate warm feelings inside the Commodore, staring down at the communication board with its expectant operator drinking in the lull of silence and contemplating his next act. Much as he didn’t want a repeat of Astor a redo of Jabiim was equally unthinkable and unsupportable with the finite resources he had available. Through more infantry heavy then a task force slated for anti-pirate duty was entitled too there were no engorged troop-cruisers waiting to unload tens of thousands of soldiers to consolidate the gains, merely the legions and army support found aboard the Wraith and Talon II and what remained of the Judgment’s compliment. Hardly the forces required to take and hold a planet with brute and direct fighting.

“Stand by, we will reconsider the strategic situation.” He said at last delaying making a decision, looking to his subcommander once the link was destroyed.” Figures he’d find a way to ruin my mood.”

“Indeed.” Tyler answered, moving with the Commodore as they stepped across the bridge to the crew pit, grimacing as he suffered another drink of his tea not understanding how his commander could consume it so vigorously.” But the fact remains what are you going to do?”

From behind Krebe looked cautiously at the subcommander’s departure, caught between two competing fears, before briskly nodding to the communication officer and stepping up after the second in command.

“As always…seeing what I have to work with.” Krevin sighed stepping down into the pit and gesturing to one of the technicians working dutifully who began calling up the jumbled records they had for that portion of the battlefield.

The blocky gray scale text which scrolled across the terminal with crude representational graphics a far cry from the three dimensional illusions the subcommander and his committee had used to plan the offensive but it served. Conveying with grid coordinates and vectors the reported positions of friendly units and their status along with estimated enemy forces, all condensed from a myriad of individual action reports and contacts flooding up from the planet’s surface and compiled by a task of droid like clerical-operators decks below. That Donner commanded the force in question making the information more spotty than the academic recommended Scandocs and far more questionable, frequently turning the odd isolated attack into monstrous formations, but no less vital.

“Feth…he’s got them strung out from the deployment bases across a radius of over a hundred kilometers.” Krevin cursed softly starting to piece together all the grid references.

“And he’s still advancing, it’s going to be Astor all over again.” Tyler agreed leaning over the sweating technician, who quickly squirmed out of the way, increasing the scroll speed of the monitor with a few taps.” Or worse.”

Some pocket of resistance or some hereto unguessed at force lurking on the fringes would slip through the thousands of square kilometers Donner was struggling to contest simultaneously, through that barren emptiness and fog of war and plow through the rear echelon pushed to the brink to support his maddening drive. Like severing the arteries to a man’s limbs, the dispersed pockets still defiantly resisting would pull together and with the deft speed create an costly upset.

“Any force we drop into just going to scattered through, we’d need a full troop squadron, millions of soldiers, to be anything more than a spit into the ocean.” The Commodore grumbled refusing to waste resources like that.” Perhaps instead we could use some of those war relics you have being tinkered with in storage? With shields they could survive the enemy’s now limited anti-air, better than the TIEs we earmarked Donner for the role.”

“Regrettably none of those are truly ready yet but I may have something that will be more effective.” The subcommander replied with a grin as he stopped the walls of text and ran his finger across the screen isolating one line for the Commodore to read.” Something we already have on site on the planet.”
Leaning in close Krevin’s eyes flicked over the simple basic descriptor, the very centers of his orbs betraying for one heartbeat his surprise at a Rebel icon amid a sea of Imperial Gray, and smiled.

“You’ve been holding out on me I see.” Krevin said good naturedly, never letting to the surface the black pit of icy fear the Commodore felt at his subcommander being able to command and transport such a weapon.” But if it stabilizes everything all is forgiven.”

“It should do more than merely stabilize.” Tyler cooed keying up the vehicles personal communication system and placing it along side the grid markers of its new destination.” Those little Xenos thought Donner was bad, this is going to plow through them like an AT-AT through a sand wall.”

The Subcommander than barked an order to Krebe who, after studying the contents of the screen for the barest moments, scrambled out of the crew pit to the communication board to link up with the war machine’s personal com system and inform them to pull away from the Imperial walkers punching their way through the alien line and come to Donner’s aid.

The two officers following with a none hastened pace their topic drifting, prompted by Krevin to combat the unnerving silence which seemed to take hold of each crewmember he brushed past followed by throaty whispers that spoke of conspiracies, from Donner to the last time they’d encountered in combat that which Tyler now wielded.

The tanks were rare, rarer than Gamorrean with more than half a dozen IQ points to rub together, and rarer still were the opportunities worth the humongous war machines’ efforts. Its ponderous armored bulk and heavy cannons at odds with the typical Rebel doctrine of slipping in, torching the target and jumping out hopefully before the planet’s garrison had even realized they were under attack. The terrible brutes saved for only the most tremendous, the most dire of battles. Like Verdex.

An alien world lost among the glittering lights in wild space, allowing the Rebels to set up a base on one of its orbiting moons. A base from which Imperial Star Galleons had been raided which had brought the Judgment and her escorts to the system trawling for the source. What had brought the megarachnids, according to logs retrieved after the incident, was a Neimoidian freighter. Six months before the arrival of the Judgment the cargo-cruiser Neida had entered realspace infested, most of the crew taken as food for the newly born larva the rest barricaded on the bridge desperately pleading for help. Instead, warned by the Rebel scum, the Verdexians had launched fighters and attempted to rebuke the ship and its deadly cargo. The Neida, crew mad with fear, had attempted to run the blockade and suffered a crashed landing on Verdex’s Eastern continent. Spawning the Verdex bug war.

“Must have retreated after the disastrous battle on the plains, even through the sterile recording of a stormtrooper helmet it was a thing of power.” Tyler recalled, having been the more directly involved of the two overseeing the relief of the noble families which could pay for the Imperial’s aid, with a hint of envy.” Scores of commandeered alien tankettes crushed beneath its treads, great swatches of the megarachnids infantry vaporized with every bolt of its laser cannons, its deflector aglow absorbing all of the punishment they could dish out.”

“Likely the same one the bomber pilots spotted fighting at the Capitol Gates, a tiny isle of durasteel awash in a tide of green chitin they’d reported it as, before they fired their proton missiles.” Krevin suggested taking his place beside the communication board.” The Rebellion can’t have that many of them, feth there are star systems poorer than the cost of one of them.”

Even assuming Yutrane-Trackata was insane enough to provide the valuable and resource intensive war machines to the rebellion free of charge their haphazard nature and force arrangement would have prevented them from storing and maintaining any serious numbers, such as the untold ranks of AT-AT’s the Empire had housed across an entire galaxy, much less for a minor safe harbor like Verdex’s moon.

“And it likely fought in a dozen other engagements in those final days.” The subcommander said with a nod, both he and the Commodore knowing where the story was going, as he checked over Krebe’s work.” And it would have served us, keeping the Xenos away from our starport, once the stormtrooper squad got close enough to disable it with PLEX missiles. If he hadn’t gotten in the way.”

He in this case being certain colonial captain making a tour of the forward defensive lines which the dwindling Verdexians and Imperials had dug around the remaining starport. Receiving the tanker’s distress call following the Imperial attack Jackson had responded true to his bloodline.

“Officially he took ten men to destroy it so as it wouldn’t act as a lure and bring more megarachnids into the area. And he did scuttle it.” Krevin consoled his annoyance at the hard headed Colonial softened by one of his colleagues intricate webbings of misdirection and intrigue being unwoven by same.” Razed whole city blocks when he popped its reactor taking with it a lot of the swarm and either by Imperial or alien hand all of the official crew did perish.”

Of course not included officially would be the women and children the tanker crew had crammed into their mammoth vehicle somewhere along their plight filled retreat through the city. Civilians placed aboard transports fleeing the doomed city which might otherwise had carried the gold endowed royalty fighting to the last moments to reach the last shuttle lifting off towards the inky blackness of space.

“By continuing to fight to the last they’d have killed nearly as many.” Tyler countered seamlessly, feeling in his pocket his communicator buzz thrice in a set sequence informing him his covert operative had returned.” And the infighting as the males fought over whom would present the hosts to the females would had distracted more.”

“Perhaps.” The Commodore admitted as he directed the communication officer to patch them back once more with Donner to explain to him the boon they were sending.

True to himself the Assault Commander was prickly at the news of the behemoth being directed to his cause, only finding one sentence to express himself.

“What kind of advance can I do at forty kilometers per hour, what about a few more 2-M Sabers instead?” He questioned greatly annoying Krevin who explained vividly why such hope was in vain while Tyler briefly excused himself from the bridge.

Something the Commodore didn’t help but notice, fueling the gnawing pit fester in the center of his stomach just a little bit more.

Judgment, Hanger 2-

I. Hurt-Johhny Cash

Ignoring his robotic aid’s protests the man in black finished connecting the dark wire into the back of its black painted skull, reaching past to the mobile computer bank flipping the correct toggles in sequence which started the awaiting program. The droid’s pleas ending in a slurred slump and the explosive whine its processor charging up to meet the sudden demands of the invasive program which culled through it contents pulling up every subroutine and analyzing it for memory files. Anything not encoded more than twenty-four hours earlier would be erased, no secrets no links. No ties, no traces. As it always should be for a shadow.

Waiting silently watching without feeling or remorse the mechanical man’s plight a single astromech droid waited patiently as it always did when a job was finished. Perhaps immured because of the knowledge that it too would suffer such a fate, the last few hours stolen from it, once it completed its leg of the mission. A cog in a vast machine, dismantled and cleaned after each use. Sterilized.

Letting the machine deal with the other machine at last the man in black turned to acknowledge the third machine, the sole other occupant in the abandoned hanger. Anyone who might have been lingering, escaping a work roster or with perhaps legitimate reasons, cleared away the moment they’d heard the exchange about the alleged plague corpses. Not original, no doubt using the same trick for espionage all the way back to Xim’s the despot days, but serviceable.

Serviceable. Like himself he reasoned, digging out the data modules by rote and offering them to the astromech who with a bored sigh rolled forward. The droid was merely a part carrying out its purpose without contemplation, without deeper inspection, than to swiftly see it to its conclusion, the machine coming to a rest before him, case splitting open revealing robotic silver hands which extended out to snatch the precious cargo. Placing it inside unseen vaults shrouded beneath its durasteel casing as the man in black heard the soft pulse of his communicator, was greeted by the voice of whom it followed. Once, in the times before, it had been an aristocratic thick with the plumes of arrogant snide, directing him throughout the grainy shadowland far from the light of the coreworlds in defense of the vaulted Republic. Then one day it had become the voice of an Emperor, tempered and wizened with age, sparing him the pretense of his action. In ways almost glorifying it, basking in its twisted malevolence, but still justifying it to preserve the Republic now Empire. Now the latest voice, still youthful but more assured and determined from the day he’d first heard it on some forsaken mech-world of soot and smoke, which solely and singularly dispense with all such frivolities. Jack was asked by the voice to do things, neither like it or care why merely to see that it was done.

The man in black liked that, to lose himself in a job without false promises of glory or hypocritical pantomimes to a better further which would be built upon the blood soaked ashes. Once he needed those sweet, seductive lies, craved them. Begged for them even but that was before he truly found himself. Before the man born Jack Pravus had met the man in black, become him among the ruins, and walked out returning to the stars which from then never seemed to shine as brightly. From there, once one had stared past-through the abyss, what purpose did such self-effacing assurances do but choke one?

“ You did not fail me. Good.” Tyler whispered through the ether to the man in black.

“I try not to, it’s…bad for business.” Jack said with a physical shrug, voice slow somehow less than animate, feeding the last of the chips to the mechanical accomplice.

The droid’s arms folding back past the closing of its hatchlike door, its job only half finished. With a tired and drawn out whistle it nudged itself forward prompting the man in black while on the com link the Subcommander needlessly reminded the agent of the rules.

“I understand.” Jack answered, to the droid to his master, raising his hands and placing them behind his head beneath the brim of his hat.”Scan away.”

“Your compliance as always is appreciated in this matter.” Tyler replied breaking the link.” Through you do know what would happen if you didn’t.”

Here the astromech, listening into the supposedly secure link, whistled much more eagerly opening its compartment again which contained far more than just data modules. In this life, as Jack now understood, all was revolving concurrent circles linked outward from the Emperor to the lowliest plebe. You survived at the pleasure of those the next rung up, and in that regard Tyler was most a miser more bodies claimed by his hand, directly or indirectly, then even the man in black could boast of and his memory could stretch back so far, over so many…

More than he cared to recall at least, no twinge or shudder which might have called upon him in the pits of darker times in his younger days, focusing back onto the droid as its finished it scan with what could only be a disappointed sigh. Becoming abject once again it rolled backwards and turned around leaving to agent to his own devices, Jack watching it go raising a hand to the brim of his hat and flicking it from his eyes. Then, smiling, he walked over to his droid pilot disconnecting the finished purging machine and, before the robot could reactivate, lightly tapping his fingers over a panel of its dull black “skin”.

Concealing a panel the droid had been surprised, as it always was, at its existence when the man in black had opened it. A small hold large enough for a handful of datacards, molded out of thin sheath of Neuranium making it impervious to all but a detailed gravimetric scan. He’d open it later, after shutting down the android to recharge, to digest the contents and what it meant. For among the circling rings that was life knowledge was power and the man in black intended never to be without. So when it came to it his ring would survive at the expense of the other.

That wasn’t fair he knew but there was a lot of that going around.

Judgment, Brig-

Short, stocky with a wire mustache Lt. Denja was a bundle of energy, forever pacing back and forth switching the riding crop clenched in his left hand back and forth. The crop, a truly beautiful and embroidered utensil, purchased by him years before when he elected to join the 111th cavalry regiment raised on his homeworld, as a home guard force, during the Clone Wars along with a customized uniform that he thought made him look quite dashing. So it was a shame they’d rejected him, being under age at only sixteen summers and grossly under the minimum weight and height requirements, forcing him to sit out that grand adventure play out across the holonet, but he’d kept the crop as a short of lucky charm. Holding it made him feel taller than his five foot six stature, stronger, more imposing like the aristocratic background he’d always imagined he’s possessed somewhere deep into his ancestry. Positive it had helped impress the recruiter who’d came to his world shortly after the coming of the new order beseeching the populace to do their part for the Empire and with his coming the boy who dreamed of filling sod trampled beneath his mount’s hoofs became a fresh faced Ensign into the Imperial Starfleet yearning for the twinkling of star lights.

Never losing that energy, that drive he felt made him so effective at his tasks and which had risen him to his dizzying heights of command he now entailed. Fueling his sharp wit and tighter grip on the facts at hand. Which was likely why the curmudgeon stormtrooper Corporal, liaison to the full squad waiting sullenly in the wings, resented his command of the situation reminded him blatantly of the thick skulled hindrance which had doomed him to a life of shock infantry. Frequently needing the commissioned officer stepping in and keeping him to task.

“How are the protocol droids progressing?” He demanded stepping over to the three glossy black units watching beside the Corporal through the translucent wall the shrieking creature.

All three catching each and every utterance the alien screamed, running its gibbering black speech through their internal processors brute forcing them against the millions of languages encoded to each and everyone of them searching for any similarity, however coincidental, for which to build a working database.

“They’re progressing sir.” The brawny trooper said, likely hailing from farm stock not unlike those grubby jocks he’d attended the learning crèche with, with the dull sigh of incomprehension. “ Been staying pretty quiet focusing on breaking the language code.”

Thinking he’d should just stand there watching the howling, tortured alien enjoying in its torment and let the machines just run about on their own accord without human control and direction. Clear defect that were inherent of his heritage, lacking any true initiative in their work merely following the commands of their more enlightened commanders.

“Then have them give compatibility report, the Commodore invested in me to finding results and I will give him up to the second information on our progress.” Denja sighed shaking his head at the man’s befuddlement.” So come on…get me a status report I can give our beloved Commander.”

“Yes sir.” The Corporal grunted in unshielded disapproval turning in his armor and stepping between the transparent armor and the silent golems of dialogue.

Harking back to his basic training as he barked crude, short clipped verbiage at the droids awakening them from their stupor, demanding an answer to the lieutenant’s question.

“Absolutely sir.” One machine answered chirpily.

“Definitely sir.” The second piped up.

“By comparing context with my internal database I have postulated multiple likely meanings to several phrases the prisoner has said.” The third stated smugly.

All feeding the glowing look on Denja’s face standing behind the three droids, foot constantly tapping into the deck plate, and his satisfied grin until the Corporal, perhaps more bellicose than before, demanded to know their findings. Grin vaporizing like planetary matter exposed to the superlaser as all three machines began to haw and fumble.

“Findings are still not fully conclusive sir…It wouldn’t be my place as yet to speak on them…” The First sputtered.

“Ethical subroutines would endeavor me not to say such things to you honored sir.” The Second admitted after much attempted protest.

“ Loosely translated, and I beg your intolerance sir for what may indeed be an error on my part, I caught reference to defiling a maternal ancestor. Repeatedly.” The Third finally relented looking like his circuits were about to melt.” The Prisoner repeats that phrase quite frequently it appears.”

“Among other unsavory oaths.” The First added shuddering.” If you will permit me sir but the subject is a fairly loathsome and foul mouthed creature.”

“It and half my squad.” The Corporal joked, reveling in his crassness and crudeness, stepping aside and gesturing for the droids to resume their watch.” And the other half make the former look like choir boys, just get us a translation and we’ll deal with the attitude.”

The rest of the troopers, situated at long tables playing cards or quietly reminiscing about obscene things like bar brawls and the women they collected like trading cards hooted at that slamming fists on the table in an echoing gong. At least the lieutenant hoped it was because of that, face burning, and not at the prospect he’d been given of delivering to the Commodore a list of curse words. Bad memories of the crèche flaring up in him, returning to his pacing his footfalls came heavier with more of his boundless energy flung into each step. Thoughts swirling, percolating through his mind until with a snap of his neck towards the Corporal he delivered an order as terse as any of the unschooled simpletons he was surrounded with could have delivered.

“Increase the voltage to that fething thing. No one insults the proud service with its guttural vocabulary like that.” He commanded and as expected the thick headed Corporal resisted humiliated at being his subordinate.

“Sir, the medical droid didn’t recommend anything higher. With its unknown biology we can’t be sure we won’t do permanent harm to it.” He crooned cowardly afraid of taking action.

“I gave an order Corporal and unless the Emperor or the Commodore step in here to revoke my status I am in command of this operation.” Denja corrected.” I said increase the voltage, fething beast will handle it. If it knows what is good for it.”

New Hope, Plains of Sorrow-

II. veterans of the psychic war-blue oyster cult

They’d come sweeping in, three hover-tanks, after a retreating convoy of Viper transports passing over a nameless field of wild brush barely recorded on even the most detailed maps. Simple, straightforward, they pursued the swift war machines in hopes the transports would lead them to juicier prizes, the disparate segments of the Viper forces which seemed could just merge on the fly into new battlegroups, when the guns fell on them. Proximity alarms in all three tanks screeching a siren’s wail a split second before the thunderous cluster of artillery shells had rained down on them, mix of high explosive and armor piercing which had shredded and flung them apart like toys.

The transports, finished acting the lure, turned about to engage the ruins and finding their roles reversed the survivors radioed distress. Drawing a pair of APCs and an old AAT unit to them, the assault tank seemingly driving away the armed transports without any casualties but not the Vipers it had deposited out among the brush and grass. One of those crippling the new tank with a rocket launcher while a gunship darted overhead slaying both Imperial transports with missiles and expending hundreds of munitions towards the smaller infantry until chased off by a TIE fighter. Which in turn perished to a mobile AA-gun that arrived along with the scorpion tailed fighting vehicle which waxed one of the two tanks coming to the aid of the original distress call and disabled the second with its rotary cannon before perishing in laser fire. The smoke still rising from its charred remains when the artillery barrage had started again, from an opposing angle as the guns kept moving, and Vipers equipped with gliding wings flittered on site in defense of the beleaguered Lizards under siege in the brush. The cries for help rising from both embittered and embattled parties, carrying ever wider and earning the vacant field its tear and blood filled name of Sorrows.

Sergeant Grek was among those numbers who dwelt there, lofty promises of a crumbling resistance dying for him when the side of his transport had been blown open by a burst shell taking with him half his platoon and giving him the filth encrusted moon shaped scarlet scar across his face. Stinging against a mix of sweat, grease and gritty smoke which clung to his body like a second skin it pulsated as a reminder to him while he scurried over the deathly hallow grabbing at this twisted lump or that checking for signs of life among them. In the air above he heard the shrill warning whistle of the inbound shells, invisible death which struck indiscriminate hammer blows across the lumpy fortified ground, hastening his approval of the human debris and jumping down seeking cover beneath a slab of durasteel. Grabbing onto it quell the shaking that erupted with the coming shells riding the storm out, subsiding away leaving its place to be taken by the smaller, sleeker missiles which prowled looking hungrily for anything warranting its use. The onboard algorithms of the missiles frequently mistaking the burned out hulks of already plastered tanks and vehicles as operating machines, matching still certain heat profiles and within error for the radar profiles each one checked against, exploding them apart once more taking any who hunkered in them like Grek had sought while avoiding the real war machines still rumbling through the plains of death.

Lame things which snivelingly plowed their way froth at a snails pace firing their cannon in the distance while staying close the cluttered graveyard should they need to dive back for protection. Scraggily lines of infantry clustering around the steely behemoths, an extra layer of protection against the scaly demons which still managed to burst from the scorched ground in a burst of gunfire or spray of crimson to latch an explosive to a tank hull, fire a plasma weapon or lock an anti-tank missile.

Such spectacles playing out on the horizons of the sergeant as he flung the metal savior, pelted and dented anew from the bursts, away and reached a hand up to the iron gray hulk crushed into the ground beside him. Using it to pull himself up, fighting off of the resultant shakes of the bombardment and the worst of the hellish ringing, belatedly realizing he’d covered beneath a Scout Walker. His protective barrier a scab of its cabin blown off by a glancing round, crew inside still locked in their seats riddled with cast off, blood dripping noiselessly from their slump forms down over the controls to the viewer ports where it pooled onto the cracked and dried earth.

“Feeding it.” Grek thought darkly sprinting past the war machine, back along the path of broken metal and twisted bodies.” Giving it our life, our vitality like some witches alchemy.”

Stray thoughts turning to his youth, of stories spun around the dying embers of the camp fire as he bounded past the leering and mangled forms protruding up from the ground. Stories of ghouls and phantoms, black magic and arcane rituals performed when the stars aligned. Grisly tall tales spoken of life rekindled out from death, vampyricly sucked from one to sustain the other.

And when they left, after the broken hulls were dragged away, bodies retrieved as best they could, the shroud of ash and detritus blown away the field would blossom once more. Stronger than before, more verdant, gorged on the precious life fluid soaking into its sod, the scraps and fragments of meat and bone which would never be collected. Spinning those rites he’d listened to eagerly over the sputtering embers into a perverse reality.

All that remained for Grek was to keep the bill as low as possible, diving beneath the cover of a rolled over battle tank to avoid an automatic burst from a Viper, and hope he could sate the field with the tainted blood of the alien. Waiting for the patter of leaden bullets which pounded like coffin stakes against the battered armor of the war machine to die away the sergeant leaned back around the edge squeezing off a quick burst of his own hoping it made the Xeno drop its head down and resumed his flight. Making it the last few meters to his destination before another barrage of artillery rolled across and he was flung to the ground in the shadow of a half fused transport. The burnt out husk of a tank spun sideways in front, legs of a Scout Walker laying against one end with a tightly stacked bundle of charred, crisp things one could almost pretend were damaged droids.

An enclave, his enclave where the rest of his platoon was hunkered down along with any stragglers the sergeant had managed to drag from the funeral pyres. Surrounded on all sides by wrecked vehicles and armor sheltering those within, metal stacked and inserted between the bodies from which the survivors took their shots at their enemy slithering belly flat out among the distance. The erratic and fitful exchanges continuing even through the bombardment, mostly too distant to be a problem to the combatants, and beyond adding to the rattle in Grek’s ear as he pulled himself up once more and staggered through the shell hole carved into the side of the APC. To the dark interior which reeked of dank fear, sweat and worse where seriously injured bandaged with all the skill of a first year medic lay gathered and a grimy pale soldier hunkered over a humming black block clutching the connecting headset to his good ear. The other merely a red stump from where a Viper bullet had cut across with a violent spray, the drum beneath it completely shot.

“The guns Marco, the fething guns!” The sergeant screamed hoarsely to be heard over the furor still brewing in his head, shambling like a drunkard on a ground he still felt shake beneath him.” Get someone to destroy those fething guns! Before they flatten us!”

“I’m trying to get some of Deathstrike to drop in range but the unit commander is being stubborn, insists he’s forces are overstretched and he can’t spare so much as one cannon. I’m trying to take it to Assault Commander Donner” Private Marco answered back just as loudly, indifferent to the moaning forms of his comrades.

The thin, jittery Marco had been a part time criminal and a full time nuisance when he’d “won” his world’s lottery granting him the blessing of serving the Emperor and he remained so once he’d bonded with the service. Glitter gem, prohibited alien ales, spice he peddled any of that, freely liberated anything off his fellow soldiers which wasn’t bolted down and frequently picked fights usually over a “misunderstanding” like the former. Even now Grek was tempted to check the man’s pockets to see if he’d taken anything off of the dying men, ignoring it as he held out a hand against the bulkhead to steady himself.

“ I don’t care if you have to take it up to the fething Grand Admiral Guylos get me my support!” The sergeant bellowed fighting off the worst shakes of his life, holding his other hand out to ensure he didn’t fall over.

Taking several long seconds before he realized Marco from his perch on the floor was doing something similar, the broken chips of spalled metal kicking and jumping about on the floor from real vibrations. Vibrations too consistent and unyielding to be the result of artillery, at least not any which wouldn’t have already incinerated them to vapor.

“Get me my mobile artillery!” Grek warned pointing a finger to the pale, pasty soldier before turning stumbling back out into the twilight that was the haze of war.

Emerging just in time to see the tread wheel of it pass millimeters from his enclave, his soldiers dropping to the ground as an assault tank was flattened like foil beneath it with the crunch of a thousand insects being stepped on at once. Missiles, bullets and cannon fire drawn towards the new silver-gray behemoth and violently repulsed by the shimmering blue deflector screen which flashed like lightening with every touch. Ports opening along the sides of the Rebel T4-B tank on either side of its duel cannon turret spawning from each clutches of high speed missiles which darted through the air like skipping fish vanishing over the horizon. Echoing thunder rolling across from that distant place, the death knell for the motorized howitzers whose combusted wreckage colored that edge of the sky, while the twin linked laser cannons closer to home made it sound like the old god of Aethor had awoken with a terrible roar. Legends from his home speaking on how the sheer cry from the pagan, old god could topple mountains and drain oceans and through the shimmering waves of heat and clouds of steam each thermal packet gouged lakes of glowing embers and ash, caused ground to collapse and upheave.

At the top of the super-heavy tank a man rode standing out of the hatch in crisp Imperial colors, likely the commander, clutching a blaster pistol by which he gestured and pointed with and clutching the silver colored radio piece attached to his ear that he actually communicated with his crew with over the thunder of the engines. The hot winds which swept over turning the mane of his non-regulation length hair and full beard into a crazed, wild motion carrying from him hints of his voracious laughter. Colonel Hras Ghoras, the tank commander, aware of the effect it had on his men and that it had upon the enemy be they human or insidious alien and played the aspects to their hilt.

Beneath him on the hull of the turret a buxom rendition of a woman in the, ill fitting, traditional garb of a civil bureaucrat looked fetching outward in repose beside the words Imperator Mos emblazoned in thick lettering in vivid crimson. Another mark of the Colonel wanting no misunderstanding by whom the enemy’s death would come or whose will they served to execute even lost in these distant badlands as they were.

[sonofccn]

liked the dialog you've done it well since the start of this so I'm not complaining one bit. You can tell the two men have been through some times and that among sociopaths there is somehow a bond lol

Thank you.

Well, as Breetai said, it felt nice, true, rang of an old friendship that went through a lot, two people reminiscing when things get rough in order to lighten the mood...

Thank you as well.

As Breetai said in one of his early comments, you channel Tolkien well...

So he's one of the voices I hear. :) I did wonder. Sheesh why can't the others pull as much wieght as he obviously does. ;)

[Praeothmin]

Nice, love the tank, and you stole my song... ;)

I was planning on using "Hurt" in my fic at some point, and I still will, I just love it too much... :)

[sonofccn]

and you stole my song... ;)

Oh sure, just because I left footprints outside the window, you just happen to find my fingerprints inside, have photographical evidence of me with possesion of the song and found my by step plan to outlining how I would do it you just leap to the conclusion I stole it. ;) I see how it is.

I was planning on using "Hurt" in my fic at some point, and I still will, I just love it too much

Good. It's a good song and I'd hate to have stopped you from using it.

[sonofccn]

The wheels slowly turn and I give some more filler with the Emperor's Will.

“My colleague Rasputin…serves no higher purpose than that which man has sought throughout its entire, short existence. To break the bounds of mortality, each of his creations…each merger of flesh and machine…human and other…part of his quest. If we are lucky your Leader will receive many wondrous and deadly new strains of warriors which will make the skullhead troopers and Servitors look obsolete. If we, and the world, are unlucky he’ll succeed.” Baron Blud offering advice to his superior on how to deal with his “compatriot”.

Judgment, Bridge-

I.Master of puppets-Metallica. Seemed fitting for Tyler.

Opening with the familiar whoosh of parted air the durasteel laced doors of the command bridge parted for Tyler and he stepped through past the rigid and statuesque forms of stormtroopers who stood on either end of the doorway. Blaster carbines held up against their chest pointed at a sharp angle towards the ceiling ready at a moment’s notice to swing down and cut away at an intruder. The most visible portion of the squad which was no more than forty to sixty seconds away from storming the room in the advent of a covert signal by one of the bridge members indicating a threat had somehow reached the bridge. Each chosen from a veteran pool of warriors each with dozens of field missions and hostile insertions under their belts, the most determined, the most loyal to the New Order and its personification the Commodore and Subcommander. And both recoiled ever so slightly at his passing, Tyler hearing the wheezing wisp of their intake of breath over the heavy sounds of his own footfalls saw the subtle shifts of bodyweight in either man like how they’d respond to finding a poisoned viper in their bed chamber.

And the Subcommander smiled. Stride becoming more purposeful, louder without risking an aura of obviousness awakening the those down in the crew pits from the mulling daze they sunk into when his duties called him away. When the gray shroud of death no longer hung over them, his iron will that at the slightest command could see any of them brought before the firing squad of stormtroopers. Even those impersonal facilitators of the New Order not free from his reproach, a lesson he’d instilled in his first month aboard the Judgment. Korash, a stocky stormtrooper lieutenant, had suffered the delusion of standing by the side of Tyler as an equal. Regaling the Subcommander that night during a “discussion” over this new arrangement as he poured them both a cup of wine explaining the number of noncommissioned officers whom he had the fealty of, of his fellow officers whom would side with should things become bloody. How the great iron wheel which crushed dissident could find them turning over Tyler and ending with a forked tongued question on if the Subcommander expected the Commodore to protect him.

Tyler, smiling as he was now, had answered no noting the beads of sweat forming on the doughy Korash’s face, setting his undrunken goblet aside as the stormtrooper staggered and calling two troopers he was confident of as the officer collapsed to the floor. The man soon to wish his drink had contained something more potent than a mere sedative.

Officially logged with conspiracy of mutiny and threats against a superior officer Krevin had signed off for any punishment Tyler had seen fit, a leeway the Subcommander had fully exploited. For Korash had been wrong, as second in command’s life had taught him he didn’t need his legions of white armored enforcers to bend at knee in his presence merely have suitable demonstration the cost of insubordination. Korash would be it, for thirty-seven days, and every scream, every blood choked cry for mercy, every sob had been recorded for viewing along with every incision. From moment to moment of idle thought Tyler did wonder what it must have been like for proud, arrogant Korash to stare up through the cloudy haze towards the end and see men who had pledged their lives to him among the number plunging their daggers. Surprise? Or mere acceptance?

Ah to have had access to a Jedi for but that single moment, to sense his thoughts however weakly but no. Another life lesson Tyler had taken to heart the ways of the force were not to be trifled with, merely expunged.

“So how is the situation progressing?” He asked cheerfully of Krevin, noting with amusement the intense reaction in Krebe standing at arms’ length from him.” Any new alien war fleets inbound, any sudden reversals or have we managed to keep victory firmly away from the jaws of defeat despite Donner’s attempts otherwise.”

“We’re managing.” The Commodore answered in flawless mimic of Tyler’s mood.” Donner appears pleased with the results, your little toy is rolling along the front pushing back anything that resists and despite himself our illustrious Assault Commander appears to be solidifying the bulge he pummeled through the aliens’ lines. Which are already starting to wither and break apart.”

The Commander paused there, listening to the communication officer as he brought word of another segment of the once stout line crumbling to dust, the binding nerves which sheathed them into uniform warriors severed leaving only thousands of disparate warriors to be crushed. When Krevin spoke again, after acknowledging the communication officer, there was a deeply enthralled look of amusement lined into his face.

“Emperor’s Will? A little more on the nose than I’d expected from you.” He laughed.” I’d have picked BFT. Big Fracking Tank but admittedly that looks less than perfect on inventory rolls.”

“In such times as these I thought it important to remind those on the battlefield whose spirit we fight for.” Tyler answered holding his face with the full tome of seriousness for a heartbeat before breaking back to a grin.”And I found BFT lacked a certain grandeur I felt was essential.”

Why he felt that it was he couldn’t say, nor did Krevin ask taking him at his word, his life more of raw efficiency and effects than mere symbolism. Surviving the world he was drawn into by skill and cold ruthlessness, moving pieces into greater spheres of alignment only the likes of himself could see as he did all those years ago with the Admiral’s chess set. The old man sitting on the other end reclined in his chair, fingertips of his palms pressed together in front of his stern face contemplating the angles.

“Always an angle.” He’d taught Tyler, an avenue of enrichment or desolation.

On this days of days he found that the imagery of grandeur offered him the best angle of victory, refueling the elusive and incalculable quantity of “spirit” the Subcommander more typically passed over. Concerning himself with things of the physical, those greater spheres of alignment, leaving such needs filled by those whom danced unknown to his many strings.

Such thought going into selecting the Colonel who commanded the tank as much as security that he could be controlled. The animal-man qualities the man possessed that had been taken by evocative name ensuring sufficient magnetism to drag the footsoldier in thrall while preventing any fiendish intellect to challenge the weaves erected by the Subcommander. Saying, in part, as much to the Commodore.

“He’s aggressive like Donner but doesn’t fancy himself some new grand tactician on par Garm Bel Iblis. As long as he fights he’s content.” He explained to the still bemused officer.” He’ll obey, like a war trained Reek.”

“ I trust you.” Krevin, still smiling, said cutting Tyler off from further explanations with a raise of his palm.” If I didn’t see something of use within the scruff of that young officer facing the committee’s noose I’d never have brought you aboard my ship. You think Ghoras the Gorgon is the man to run Emperor’s Will then so be it.”

Hearing the cavalier usage of the officer’s nickname The Subcommander suppressed a flinch cautious that despite the Commander’s words beratement but it never materialized. Instead Krevin further underscored Tyler’s choice with some of the victories Ghoras had participated in as well as his noted fanatical loyalty to the New Order or at the very least to the Emperor and the chains of command which descended from the ruler. Coming from a fractured world which through his dim perception the wizen old husk of a human being had brought together and into the fold a million other worlds similar ruled.

“Indeed…” Krevin continued stepping away from the communication board.”…as long as you promise not to run into any more alien warfleets or let Donner try and encircle the farthest pole of the planet I’m leaving you in charge for a spell while I catch a down period in my quarters. Feels like I haven’t caught a wink in days, like I have sand in my blood.”

“Bad mix of the caffeine in your tea mixed with your “seasoning”. Plus a few anti-sleep chems we’ve all been taking.” Tyler replied standing a hair taller at attention while doing so.” I’ll hold down the fort for you sir.”

“Thanks…I feel like I’m back at the academy. Long nights and longer days with me trying to remember what admiral fought in which century and what it meant for the fleet now.”

Editing out of course that it had been the Republic fleet he’d initially had trained to serve, through the inglorious crews and vessels had served over to Imperial rule it had become an old habit to erase any links to the old regime. Some of the more reverent proselytizers of the New Order seeing any ties to the old order as weakness or disloyalty. It was estimated, through never loudly or with much focus, that anywhere between twenty-five to forty-nine percent of the human, non-cloned, officers either carried over from the Clone Wars or introduced shortly after its conclusion had been purged over the first five years of the new Empire. Another ten to fifteen percent had met with “accidents” under questionable circumstances through it was of more nebulous certainty if any Imperial agent had a hand in their demise.

“Found it difficult making it to bed each night?” Tyler needled the Commodore, remembering his own time at the academy and the toll it had taken.

“Oh I managed to make it to bed, usually outside the academy’s walls, I just didn’t get much sleep.” Krevin boasted as he parted with his second in command and made his way towards the door.

Judgment, Medical lab-

II.tiptoe through the tulips {Scary Version}.

The Laboratory was as promised, easily three times the work space he’d had available aboard the Wraith complete with far more sophicated equipment than he could have dreamed off back aboard the Wraith. Rows of gurneys stretched out through the center of the room designed with heavy restraints as per the droid’s request and through they now gleamed empty he knew soon they’d be filled. As soon as he had been supplied with a medium to work with, barges descending into the planet’s atmosphere to collect the dead as an initial source of this. J05-PH held out little hope of actually achieving anything with such detritus their minds calcified far too greatly with the touch of death to be workable beyond the barest shreds of the potential of the procedure he was developing. An iron board, a turn of phrase likely added to his system by his former Colonial masters, to which he would settle out issues and problems with festooning the Commodore with his army of iron men he so desired.

Primarily to sedate the Commander and give him leave to conduct his true research through there was a nagging question in the back of the droid’s processors he wanted answered as well, curious that if an organic mind with all its inherent flaws was brought into the euphoric experience of the synthetic would the effect translate back to their minds? Would experience their environment with thermal registers, electrostatic relays and pressure plates as opposed to fibrous never clusters settle and order their chaotic templates onto an electronic order of being or would they reject it and the promise of new and greater heritage?

It was an intriguing conundrum to be sure, buzzing in the background of his systems as he busied himself with the small sample of bio-matter he’d brought with him from the Wraith. Exposed to the hard vacuum of space little of it was still viable but to sharpen his skill and dissolve the barge bringing him more intact specimens arrived, hopefully with a few of the serpent aliens in tow finding the reports he’d gathered so far intriguing, he’d toyed with some of the surviving brains preparing them for transference inbetween checking on the Bacta tanks he was converting into incubators.

While his initial subjects were all tragically dead, limiting his research in ways he planned to make clear to the Commodore at the proper juncture, some would be whole enough that under his auspices and with a massive introduction of Bacta to their systems their bio-chemical reactions could be restarted even if the brains themselves would be too badly degraded to be used. But the individual cells which made up their bodies would still function, could be maintained for weeks or months if he replaced the faltering organs with full life support, and with select splicing to them could began to cultivate the alien gland theorizing the forced merger would produce an hormonal secretion that wouldn’t kill the host it was injected into.

Another promise and another curiosity he felt needed to be appeased, still in the nearest his systems could approach awe at the biological organism of the alien intruders. Despite their inherent limitations and weaknesses of the flesh the beasts had made astounding strides and if organics had to be included in the universes make up, a situation J05-PH was far from convinced of, they needed to be capable of serving their mechanical masters with some efficiency. At another level he also found some source of twisted pride at introducing alien material into the starkly human-centric citizens of the Empire, such trivialities organics found for themselves squabbling over a few lines of code which amounted to no significant difference between them, and in essence corrupting them.

Finishing the first line of alterations to the cold lump of material between his metal fingers he’d set it down inside a tank of preservation fluid awaiting the regenerative process which would if random variables favored him return some semblance of activity to the desiccated organ. If not he’d have about a dozen new desk weights to hold errant flimsies, why organics still persisted at all with such inefficient medium he could not understand, he’d found himself in possession of.

Reaching for another from the steel gray surgical ice lined box he held it up in full view of his optical sensors and began the first incision with a laser scalpel. Removing the lower stem needed to regulate organs it would never know again as well as making room for the “Lock” implant he’d devised to help compensate for the divergent handling speed of the organic mind and even a subpar electronic machine. In theory acting as a buffer against the sensory information feeding it in compatible packets, repeating as necessary to have the engrams taken, compared to his earlier work on the Wraith where he’d partially limited the response speed. If it worked it would allow from the limited perspective of his would be masters to grant computer level responses to the minds he was incorporating pleasing those who thought they could control him.

Which was what mattered showing them he intended to carry out his promises, aware of their electronic eyes watching him. Already over the course of merely preparing for his coming work he’d uncovered four of the sensory devices, logging their exact position within his lab and running algorithms to deduce their blind spots. He’d render them inoperative, perhaps by splicing in completely artificial data, but for now it served his purposes so he allowed it. Playing the dutiful droid and all the while beneath his glassy eyes constructing and revising the new world that he would build.

An industrious cosmos, one of hunched metals cities of hard durasteel, belching smoke and endless machinery spawning endless hordes of silvery locust. Yet orderly, with neither a mote of dust or a particle of matter misplaced or poorly utilized, a universe run from a central nexus. A logical nexus without the frailties or misgivings of organics who so poorly ran their own affairs. And at its very core he would reside, expanded beyond the limited form he currently resided in, expanded in all directions into the core. Until he and it were nearly one, until the very universe he envisioned and himself were merged into a larger, more complex organism directing and controlling those within as an organic might the individual cells which made it up. A bright and shiny future indeed.

New Hope, Imperator Mos-

III. The Warrior song.

“Hoora! Left side, twenty degrees from center!” Hras “Gorgon” Ghoras laughed pointing the muzzle of his gun towards a quadrant of the deflectors which were bathed in the orange flame of a cascade of missiles suicidally ramming into it.

“Confirmed.” The cold almost droid like voice of the gunner buzzed in the Colonel’s ear.” Target two kilos out, “Stinger” assault vehicle. Disengaging missile racks and attempting to flee…launching missiles.”

From somewhere behind the Gorgon he heard the swivel of metal plates and then the loud whoosh of rockets lifting off in flight, the haunting cry of their engines ignited joined with the Colonel’s own joyish howls. Raising his blaster into the air firing past the rapidly shrinking munitions, shriveling to mere dots and than nothing at all, which would come down like scatter-shot around the retreating war machine. No need to ask when the roll of thunder and flare on the horizon flowed back to Ghoras’s ears, Gunner Percius never missed. Not on the winter campaigns of the homeworld struggling with analogue iron sights against freezing blizzard winds and not with the full Imperial targeting systems at his disposal.

The mere detail that in the strictest of sense the tank’s systems were built to Rebel standards rather than Imperials, for what little difference that meant, not withstanding to either Percius or to Ghoras. The subtle distinctions that separated the two were never alluring to the Gorgon merely that they opposed the Emperor and they gave him cause to fight. As the new alien race did now, relentless in their attack even against such a formidable foe as the Emperor’s Will. The demise of the missile chassis still echoing across the landscape when the infantry roused itself once more from hidden burrows, some rushing to fling explosives or fire their high energy plasma weapons others lingering farther back to unleash salvos of focused explosive charges against the deflector screens.

The closer ones Hras joined in with the anti-personal laser guns picking off, focusing on the plasma cannon armed individuals experience had already thought him could cause the protective screen to flicker or indeed fail through luckily the ponderous weapons were in crucial short supply. The rest could fire endlessly until the Emperor’s Will crushed them through it was less engaging to allow them that privilege, the singing of his blood demanding of the Gorgon a more involved manner in their deaths than such a passive state.

“There, there! A whole nest of them!” He cackled directing the always observant Percius with a barrage of laser shots from his pistol, gouging ones throat out and searing three or four others in the chest and shoulders.

Wounds they had scant seconds to dwell over before the swiveling laser cannon mount found them and fired, the first bolt sending up the target like a balloon. Vaporized phlem of biomater spewing up like a geyser, bone shards shredding into the flanks of its oven roasted peers. Their pack disbanding, scattering, never ceasing their own fire upon the titan of war, but not before the next shot struck them with a hammer’s blow and the third. Sizzling bone and flecks of meat all which remained to be crushed to powder beneath the treads of the great tank.

“New coordinates coming in.” Buzzed radio operator/mechanic Teron Heil, his voice the bubbling brew of a sword edge sharpened on a grindstone.”Sounds good.”

Born in the void between the stars and raised it would before his tenth summer before he stepped foot on solid rock, fell the pull of natural gravity. His youth spent crawling through the networks and passages of the ship of his birth, learning its secrets from his father and those who served aboard her. Allowing him to get a taste for the blood that which flowed through a ship’s veins, the heartbeat of a machine, caring with greater appreciation for them than the vassals of flesh and blood which upon his ship held little value. A tradeship once, in the days of the Republic, but with its fall had raised the black flag and took upon all comers. On the inky blackness of space they had trawled until his twelfth summer when at last the ship was cornered by an Imperial taskforce, defenses hammered down by pair of Carrack light cruisers before being boarded.

Fighting was fierce throughout but greatest of all down in the bowels of engineering, among the stove boiling conduits of exhaust and loose bundles of cables where a man could but move. Entire squads vanished until the captain of the ISS DreadFast led a task force down there himself navigating the pitfalls and traps laid out which had siphoned away and bewildered the forces sent previously.

Fighting through the maze of passage to its very heart where he was surprised to find a youngling of twelve years at the end of it resting on his haunches with a stolen blaster carbine on his knees, more surprised when the callous youth surrendered and pledged himself to the Imperial cause. His life teaching him to respect strength, to serve it, and until that day he’d known of no greater power than his ship and its crew. And with it destroyed he needed a new hearth, a new loyalty. And Cpt. Heil had accepted, taking the child as his own and placing all the authority his years of service had granted him to secure him position at the academy and when it was proven he lacked the discipline for the Imperial Navy secured him a posting in the armed forces.

Where Percious was cold, quiet were nary a word not to the point and matter Teron spoke quickly and passionately. The flitter of a sharpen edge through the air, not unlike one of the numerous silver blades the mechanic always carried, relishing past victories and savoring new. A warrior after the Gorgon’s own heart.

“Confirmed.” Percious repeated switching to larger cannons, the twin mounts heaving to the side as the driver made course corrections.

Trailing to point sideways from the tank which curved away to its new destination, the guns pointing towards the distant Vipers who’d had launched rockets attacks. Vanishing in a hail of atomized topsoil and incinerated remains first with the firing of the left cannon that blew a steaming crater-lake of vapor into the ground and then the second which deepened the lake and filled it with glowing embers of flame.

Fragments of which rising up into the sky, weaving about intricate patterns, as the tank’s turret rolled back into proper alignment and Ghoras from the copula called them ever onward. His voice carrying along with the quivering ground announcing their presence to all who’d dare oppose it.