A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

[Admiral Breetai]

you are free to use that battle boast as you please! Don't even have to ask really..

I did Krevin well? I tried anyway or was it Tyler?

[sonofccn]

Sorry for this being late...I had trouble figuring out how I wanted everything to go. I also apologize for my...darker products of my imagination such as the "demon horde", my mind is a sick place to visit.

“In the end I expect there will come a horrid wailing, the skies will darken, the ground shake, the very Earth heaving to expel the wrongness which shall ooze upon our existence having risen from what black throne could have supported its vast bulk beyond the veil. It shall open its vast, slobbering jaws through which entire worlds have perished issuing the end of days in its thick, black tongue. Then I suppose Smith will pop two through its crotch with the old Missouri’s cannons and charge it. And I figure I’ll be right behind him whistling like it was Sunday ready for one last bash.” Agent John when asked on the chances of the Bureau successfully concluding its stated mission.

Krona, Denerio-

I.kung fu fighting

“Another glorious day in the Corp!” Defender Thyde, evading a cloak freak slamming down a spiked war hammer, screamed into a pack of the ragged rabble which the barking of his gun chopped down.”Dreck yeah this is what I joined for, blasting putrid mutant scum!”

Choking as he swallow a gush of hot, stinking ichor like blood released from the half dozen as their riddled bodies fell then uproariously laughing slinging his head from side to side to clear away the offending muck and turned trampling their bodies to face the hammer swinging hybrid. Its scaly blue face protruding out from beneath its cowl as it hefted up its crude weapon, more like steel slammed together than truly forged, as was one of its webbed palms. Stubby talons tipped each of the malformed digits digging grooves into the metal surface which grew deeper as it lifted the bludgeon above its head, splitting open its lower jaw into two halves to shriek a bestial cry. One Thyde answered by unclipping his handgun off firing a piercing dart first through its knee and then to its careening head before he whirled and shot behind him silencing the blaring threats on his targeter including the one locking a flame-cannon on him.

Their bodies tumbling across the torn wasteland as the Defender returned his pistol to its holster through not before he spun it once in his grip just like they did on the Vids, hand sliding up to slip free a clip for his rifle as he swiveled his neck towards Killgore. Towards the First Atune leaping upon the giant hybrid, hacking his sword into the beast’s bloated limb, and the mirror image of the green skinned thing he’d saved his commander from. A lopping, hunched thing which sprung gobbling the fire scorched pavement, cement and rubble voraciously on its heavily endowed hind legs which propelled it upon Thyde like a hell born missile.

In his chest the Defender’s heart beats once, his head turns back to his rifle from which falls the depleted magazine. Rising his vision on his heart’s second striking from the inserting clip to the blasted steps and stoop of the nearest building where gnarled shadows lurked and stretched out. Turning away on the third beating, hearting the click of the first dart like shell being fed into place, to across the street where two armed with flame-cannons stumbled from an alley clutching at chains restraining more mongrel four legged things baying to break free. Within there came a fifth chord of that natural ebbing and flow and he panned away from the scene in the direction once more of the First Atune. Seeing not of him but the blocking shadow which lunged above him and the flash of harden steel catching light of the dying city. A silver sliver which descended.

From above, as if distant, there came a thunder hot sparklets striking down onto Thyde’s face from his rifle sandwiched between it and the scimitar, setting burning pits which were only dosed by the steaming swamp like breath of the green skin leaning over him. The muscles in both their arms flexing, straining their weapons appearing to quiver in the air, dipping for a spell towards the Defender only to then surge back at the hissing green thing. Then at last the contest ending with the mutant willingly pulling back, leaning its lithe body away to draw its stooped leg up from the blasted ground and unfurl it out with all its tensile might into Thyde’s being.

Muscle and meat crunching against it, feeling his stomach fold in itself and shift even as he tried to roll with the strike, catching glimpses of the slobbering fiends above him as he stumbled against the stoop, dropping his rifle down from its perch and squeezing off a long burst at the hybrid. Missing as it drew its leg back once more, hunched down and sprung away shredding three strides in its bound then bounding towards the cracked gray wall of complex rebounding off of it and flipping over the stream of darts futilely trying to follow after it.

“Dreck.” The Defender cursed, leaving the sight of the mutant landing gracefully in front of him, to lean forward against the protest of his midsection and heave around catching the ax head with the butt of his rifle from one of the things on building’s steps.

Shoving it aside as he swung his gun’s barrel through the corpulent and stench ridden folds of the creature’s robes, tearing it open in a gush of fluids of moment later. Catching the viscera once more Thyde blinked snapping away the worst of the steaming warm ichors as the body fell away and catching a glint of a new shape emerging from behind the first dove his hand for his handgun. A feat he never finished before the rapier thin blade pierced through that shoulder, arm locking in place leaving his fingers to scrape against the weapon’s stock, extracted itself and swung the Defender’s chest. Hitting against its dull side and across the armor of his vest but still the warrior cursed as he felt its sting, red running across the fresh inlaid gouge, as it traversed across then catching broke in two. The jagged tooth remainder the hybrid wielded jerked upwards in a motion that would have split open Thyde’s face hadn’t he reared the tip of the rifle he shakily grasped nudging away so that it only tore open his cheek. Its hot blood running down as he ducked beneath the balled fist and handle it tried to force feed him, his stabbed arm grabbing with numb fingers not the handle of his pistol but the metallic sphere of a compression grenade. Tearing it off of himself, hearing the clink of its priming, he then shoved it past the outstretched mutant’s arm into its vicious looking face leering at him right into its gaping leathery beak for a maw. Hearing it choke and sputter on the offending weapon, the snapping of ligaments in its jaw as it was stuffed with something larger than its dimensions, feeling its blood and spit mix the beak’s lacerations on his palm in a stinging broth and feeling a wondrous tingle of joy.

“Dreck yes!” He hissed pivoting away from the creature, making it the barest steps before a green shadow interceded.

Feeling rather than seeing the blow which cut just under his ribs, that constriction of breath which precipitated great pain, sending him into a tumble. Stopped less by an act of his will than the languishing blade whose teeth hooked and hung on the crevice in the armor now slopping over with blood. Fighting to free it, muscles bulging, the mutant turned with him until he gazed back upon the beaked hybrid still choking on the sphere which was where with a sharp inhale Thyde drew back his head and rocketed it forward into the green skin’s. Driving his knee up into its soft center even while he felt cartilage break, bone grind, forcing the sword to slide free and for him to plummet to the ground.

“May you forever be dammed to the house of eternal destitute you drecker!” He laughed as the explosive went off, the alien towering above him catching the brunt of its energies which sent its ripping body spiraling across the wasteland, slamming him into the ground like a crashing tradeships.

All too vivid and bad memories from the “moon drop” he’d undertaken as a first year Defender against a settlement infected with Brood-worms. Particle beams had sliced through their transport like it hadn’t existed and they’d gone hard in flames and the landing had felt exactly like he now did. Gravity seeming to swirl and churn around him selectively increasing for him only, the world beneath feeling like it was spinning like a top which was an imitation his head seemed most apt in following. His swimming head even going so far as to conjure a delay explosion to his primed explosive, an thunderous retort which would have hit him milliseconds after the concussive force nigh flattened him to paste and he brushed it away on that score. More important matters like sitting up which he immediately regretted the instant he did, feeling hot drill bits bur through his temples but which did nothing to the nausea inducing spinning it was undergoing.

A sensation that only grew exponentially worse with the rigid sack of hard, terse muscles and chitin which dropped over him, mandibles unfurling to revealed a snapping sideway set of jaws that jetted out from there perch as Thyde caught and wrestled with the mindless beast rolling over onto its kicking body. Feeling its four legs, each with springy tripod like stance of digits, slashing into his armor plate or kicking into the rubble strewn ground as it fought to break itself free. Twisting its head that the Defender had a bleeding shoulder wedged beneath and an arm wrapped above trying to get it closer to the warrior’s and allow it spring trap like jaws which kept popping in and out to sink into his soft flesh. Something he kept from happened as he tightened his grip then spun the thing’s head around the base of its neck until the cluster of nerve endings were sheared with a wet snap. Feeling the body beneath him give one last spasm from the sudden jumbles of impulses its received then subside into its paralyses, twin hearts in its chest still beating as Thyde pushed himself off of as were its other involuntary organs linked to a smaller, secondary bundle but its great muscles and powerful claws were all but impotent. The beast neutralized the warrior slumped beside it gasping for breath, savoring his victory only until he heard the brash, dripping voices of the animal’s masters.

Both standing not too far off with another of the alien Xeno-animals tugging at its chains to break free gesturing towards him and back to each other, Defender catching the glint of baubles be procured from within their filthy clothes to be weighted and observed against the other’s bid. Then when the bet was judged to equal both slobbering mutants nodded and the beast tender released his charge which sprung in an energetic burst towards Thyde who grabbed for his handgun fighting to remember if he’d still even had any bullets left in it. Surprised as much as anyone when the animal’s skull vanished with a pop, body dropping midstride and sliding beside its mate, followed by the two startled hybrids’. Raising his handgun up above his head the Defender stared at the slain filth for a moment then let loose with a ragged laugh, shifting onto protesting knees and pushing himself up to greet a limping Killgore clutching a stubby and raggedy Consortium Storm-Carbine at his side.

“Better late then never, right?” The First Atune wheezed as the two drew together, both aware of the encircling shadows closing around them.

“Oh I see, coming to steal my thunder again huh? After I do all the heavy lifting…”Thyde answered reaching a shaking, blood soaked hand and clasping his commander just above his destroyed shoulder.”…truthfully sir its good to have you back, think we still have a few tricks to teach these dreckers…”

“ They are slow learners…” Killgore answered a smile in his voice as the two turned back to back.”…from here to the Exalted Treasurer lets teach them the price for our sacred soil. In Full.”

Nodding both drew beads upon the skulking forms littering through the broken ruins of the destroyed city, only to look back towards the city street which spontaneously exploded claiming a ragged mob of the degenerate mutants. Even more falling to tank commander Nedoh twin ripper guns the shrapnel pockmarked officer wielded from the hatch of the barreling Midas.

“Sorry we’re late!” He boomed over the noise of his guns, and his tank’s cannon which swiveled and erased a section of a building.” But I see you kept the festivities going for us.”

Lowering one of his heavy repeaters to hang off of its gurney strap and leaning out over the hull of his tank as it glided to a stop beside the two Defenders, helping to pull each one in turn up upon it letting them nestle and clasp upon the expended missile pod as the tank resumed its trek towards the shelter. Followed by the remaining robotic-cam capturing it all, documenting for prosperity and posterity Killgore’s heroic reunion with the convoy.

Neverland-

II.Dawn of battle ManoWar

At first he’d been enraged taking substance on the arena floor, his last memory previous falling on John Rainbird’s blade and he his only to awaken not in Sto-Vor-Kor locked metal against metal against his righteous enemy but in a desolate wasteland confronted by a misshapen alien mutant. He’d felt slighted, robbed of his pinnacle triumph and reward, until the bark of the alien’s moist boast. Until he felt the rush through his being that came from pitting sinew against sinew, steel against steel. Imbibed it, felt his heart spur in his chest from it and his body guided into motion.

He and Rainbird would face each other once more, of that no power could deny him, and the pillars and foundations of that which lay beyond would quake and fall but between lay glories and feats worthy of attaining such a summit. Future tales he’d smokily weave between John’s as they dueled down across the eternities, the first the misshapen aquatic like alien.

So once more, Bat’leth held in front of him slowly revolving from a hand made of hard silver metal and one of flesh made of iron hard muscle and skin, he had to still a flutter of frustration as the ground gave way freeing an unnatural horde to pour forth between him and his opponent. The Klingon warrior gazing up at the rippling, fluidic plateau where the loft things who dared control his fate rested, feeling the eyes of dark decayed one upon him. Sensing that it was its doing and with a grin purposely step forward into the midst of his champions. His spinning blade straightening, posing up for a moment then like a great bird of prey descending down lopping away a head of one of the slobbering fiends. The first but before it had even fallen from its perch releasing a fountain of blackened and corrupted blood others joined it, his metal singing as it caught and turned away the ivory natural blades of the hellions and I parting slashed open their reedy chests.

Diseased entrails already festering and desiccated to his eye spilling out to be crushed beneath the iron shod of his boots as he pressed forward, a living scythe which bowled over the scrawny things which scrambled before him and flittering ease laid waste to those behind. Carving his way upon such stygian tides through his half of the circular mob, reaching the cankerous pit itself which was alive not only with fresh spawn eager for combat but the fleshy tubular which sprouted from the back of each’s head as they severed and the dead were retracted back down into the depths. Their numbers replaced relentlessly matching the scores which Im’pec littered the hard, craggy ground with breaking into the surge and above those for whom the battle had been arranged watched on. The dark specter draped in a cloak especially.

And the flood of vile vermin flowed, trampling over the bodies sucked back down into the dark earth’s bosom, and the Dahar Master’s sword did scream with joy. The sod beneath becoming slick and treacherous in its own right, his Bat’leth caked and blunted with ringed gore as dark as tar pitch and reeking of pestilence. Without honor they flung themselves at him and without mercy limbs were separated from torsos, heads stricken from necks and yet they came endless still. Closing upon him like two great hands they clashed in orgy of swirling ivory blades against one of forged metal, a dozen times he warded them away and dozen times more he sent them away in tatters but it was not enough not nearly. One cut across his face washing away the grime in hot, pure blood, a favor he repaid by first slash the farthest tooth across the thing’s taunt belly and then impaling its chest and throat with his sword’s barbs, another nicked his shoulder cutting more tunic then flesh and a third tore at his leg cost him his balance on that slippery ground.

Unrestrained the vermin hellspawn’s numbers swelled and converged upon the Dahar Master swallowing him from sight, the land becoming a mound of oozing pus dripping hellions who quivered and thrusted hoping to scrape flesh from bone only to in turn erupt as violently as the upheaval which had gained them entrance to the surface world as with a baying laugh the silver handed warrior emerged striking down those in front with a wide swing which he then paused flipped and curved over in his hands as he rose up upon knee as strong as duranium and cleaved the spawn hunched upon his back smashing the teeth of his blade and its own sword-limbs through its body. Toppling it he pulled his Bat’leth free and finished straightening circling around to greet the rearward ranks only to see them dissolve against the stout iron blade which whistled through them. Black blood pooling adding to the growing quagmire as the bodies were jerked and dragged back down, the chunks crawling past Im’pec who brace and caught the hard edged weapon with a toothy grin.

“Still got some fight in you I see!” The Klingon crooned pulling back from the blow to swing it two handed goring one hellspawn, released it with his right as he clipped another and reached out with his silver hand to clasp and crush the head of a third before returning it to the grip of his sword of honor in time to deflect the hybrid’s second strike.

“I am the champion slayer! Not Tur’ag fat in his chariot, not Grex’thore the corpulent, but I Krahs. The strongest is mine by right!” It bellowed going through with the parry partway then springing the ax head out felling the hellions in a grisly half circle.

More falling to the giant’s sword-arm which danced to either side of the Klingon warrior shielding him from any other which might steal the mutant’s perceived glory. Freeing the Dahar Master to advance, his stained blade swooping up and diving skewering a rancid spawn the mutant had missed before twirling it over in his hands and curving it to catch and knock away the raising ax head and then spring from that towards the hybrid’s leathery throat. Stopped with a clang and flash of hot sparks as its sword-arm materialized centimeters from its face, muscles under the tattered bleeding mess that was its skin bulging out failing to shove away the barbed teeth hungering for its flesh.

“Ah…you do have fire.” Im’pec allowed pulling his Bat’leth away, dunking beneath the chopping ax and sliding around the giant mutant slaughtering the spawn.” One neither of us shall test if we’re struck down by these honorless Targs.”

The words seemingly at first falling like water over the creature, moving with all the speed its bulk would allow to spin around and greet the Dahar Master with his slung ax blade that cleaved through the carpet of hellspawns, but then the fleshy rims of its jaws stretched out and the white membranes receded revealing the utter bleak dark stars it possessed in way of orbs.

“By the blood of the progenitors…until we stand alone…” The Hybrid wailed stopping his blade, turning its sideways and streaking it back the way it came shattering a score of the flimsily constructed hellions.”…I Krahs breaker of champions pledge it.”

“And I Im’pec the silver handed accept it.” The Klingon warrior howled, cackling with laughter, taking his place at the back of the slightly larger alien.

Once more watering the ground with the creatures’ tainted blood, flayed limbs lopping lazily through the air above only to land to land as gory missiles among the surging tempest. The battlefield a swirling maelstrom of blades that none could stand against and at its core, at the defiant but placid eye the two warriors stood bathed in the putrid torrents their sweat and muscle unleashed. Crushing the fallen beneath their soles further staining the craggy ground and turning it into a slippery quagmire, denying the pit its feast hacking away the fleshy tubulars which gushed more of the black ooze the spawn were filled with as they thrashed about like headless snakes before vanishing over the crater’s lip. Standing against each other they towered like rocks against the lecherous, rotten surf breaking it apart again and again. And at last their scores began to dwindled, wither away until their numbers were nothing. All of which were watched from high above by the three spectators, by the infernal dark shadow among them most of all.

Stepping upon a postulants heap of broken bodies, half a dozen more of the things falling around him by his hand, the Dahar Master thrusted up his slick sword of honor and bellowed a roarious challenge to the silent observer.

“Is this your army? A legion of brittle boned plague-carriers?I weep for you if this is your idea of sport or combat.” Im’pec snorted letting his blade drop one handed carving open another three of the measly things which clamored up the side of the meaty hill.” I am Dahar Master Im'pec! The Silver Handed! The Wielder of Starbreaker! The God slayer and slayer of Tyrants! Bring your Hordes of the deepest pit! Let them throw them against mighty Starbreaker so you foul thing in the sky may watch them choke upon their dead! Bring your demon lords before me that I may cleave them in twain and come from this battle known as "The Bane of Grethor itself!!!! Im'pec Fek'lhr Slayer!”

Whirling his weapon around he cleaved two more as he imagined he heard bellicose encouragement drift down towards him, carrying with it the whiff of fiery steel and the sweet ambrosia of spilled blood, and only after dry, raucous laughter thickly blotted the images of a battles aftermath. Where the bodies lay strewn cold and stiffened into place, bloody banners fluttered in silent winds in the grime and filth of the ground.

“As you wish.” Was all it said as the ground once more shook.

The two warriors turning towards the crumbling pit, widening to admit the ichor seeping black claws which sprouted forth, each as tall and wide as a warrior, digging into the flanks of the hole tearing chunks of it chitin like material from place. Hands themselves appearing, oozing wet things like battletanks, which smashed free from the earth’s embrace and immediately sank the onyx claws through the ground further out to pull the rest of the body from unholy depths. Stubby, carbuncled arms appearing next, followed by a bulbous eyeless head attached to a slanted, serpentine like body and lastly gangly clawed feet. Its skin marked by hundreds of thousands of open sores from which as it righted and stood the smaller hellions slither from dropping pus covered to the ground stretching out their umbilical tether, even more appearing from up the thing’s gullet as its head split open like a flower petal.

And against this the Dahar Master stood with blade raised, chest heaving with the twin mix of exhilaration and exertion, sharpened teeth bared for all to see. Even as, guided by its lesser spawn, the bloated horror took a tentative step towards them cracking the bony sod and sending rippling quakes rumbling outward. Especially then, he smiled and stepped towards it eager for challenge.

“At last, perhaps a challenge.” He laughed turning an eye towards his hybrid companion.” Are you with me?”

“I am the slayer of champions, the strongest by far!” Krahs boasted matching the stride of the Klingon.” The defiler of the demon lords of Khotona, the ransacker of the vault of Regnuh. None shall stand before me or my quest to feast upon your beating heart.”

“Or I yours.” Im’pec allowed with a nod which the mutant, lost in the same stirring bloodlust, bellowed agreement to the fitting wager as they strode towards the demon lord.

To be continued…

[Praeothmin]

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!

Me likey the Kiligon storey but wit smell problem no toropode explode then Daar master not able...

Wow, it's so good, even Jason liked it... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

Fantastic battle very epic the exchanging boasts the battle banter defying gods!!!!! Fantastic really well done

The fight scenes withkillgore are also very well done

One minor thing I'm`pec sword starbreaker is a broad sword five and a half feet long our black blade and made out of T`kon battleship armor im`pec does not use a batleth

Not that it matters my god it was awesome

[sonofccn]

"Power. Over each other, or death or the etheral squibbling things which lay beyond normal comprehension. Total and naked thirst for power has driven humanity from the Roman Emperor to the Germanic tanks which rolled across Europe. To deny it is to deny your very being." Baron Blud chastising Professor Knobs, junior, on his naivety.

I. I'm your Boogie Man- KC and the sunshine band


…another example for planetary pitfalls which I hope to impress upon your alleged intellect would be the world of Dominatus, a planet of near humans abandoned by the Consortium centuries previously. In place of their strict hierarchy the planetary government had divided itself into regions that it in turn pacified under the auspices of a total and all consuming global conflict. The perpetual privations of the alleged conflict, the nigh whole of industry arranged to support it, subduing and constraining the exhausted populace far more effectively than legions of Bureau operatives could have in turn. All their available energies drawn to the completion of the unsolvable war, their larders so barren each would horde and clutch the few crumbs they did posses fearful, no matter the proffered reward, of doing anything which might jeopardize their meager holdings.

Now those of you whom are more astute and observant shall recall earlier in this brilliant manifest where I discuss and reject similar proposals and for those of whom who fail to I shall spare you the refresher to most briefly summarize my conclusion that such bedraggled tidings are a tinderbox awaiting an errant match. For man deprived of the luxuries of civilization, of stable hearth and adequate food becomes little more than an animal and an animal once pressed into a corner, no matter how irrational, will attack. The feral masses, no matter how cowed, shall at some invisible prodding rebuke the tightened fist of their overlord wasting precious resources putting back down.

Ingeniously the planetary leaders developed a counter-agent to this conundrum which if not fully applicable to the Confederacy of man is worthy to add the completion of any who hope to follow in the paths of the Servitors. Firstly each region was stratified into three distinct blocs, a menial base class who tended the great industrial furnaces, chattering regulator class who observed the basic functions of the extant and total state and those rare scions who achieved the very summit of power. Each of these monitored but paradoxily focusing on the highest peak with the greatest scrutiny while virtually ignorant of the lowest levels, achieving only enough to systematically clearing out the odd aimless mob riot of the slovenly workers and to earmark and promote those observed exceptionally keen or intelligent to the ranks of administrators above. And in turn those found to be effective were thus in turn exalted higher, concentrating men and women of ambition, of drive where they could be easily watched and isolated. Such weeding and allures of illusionary freedom cultivating over time a most sedate and directionless mass population.

Secondly and in exploitation of this slothful and inarticulate populace each region instituted periodic and thorough revisal altering accepted facts, histories and language to both permeate and condition the masses to fluidic thought as well as deprive them of key thoughts or rallying concepts on which they could formulate rebellion. Indeed without a fixed past to have any tantalizing future for which to aspire to they instead were transfixed upon an everlasting present whose contours forever shifted and changed.

Thirdly the original founders of the ruling system set it upon a necrotized bureaucracy so labyrinth and calcified and its perpetuators so numbed and entombed within it that alteration was virtually impossible. Be it from above where the even the most determined and influential ruling caste would be stalled, cordoned off and eliminated by the state’s immune system or from below where a spirited mob would be forced to attend to the delicately fragile and immutable arrange or risk the total breakdown of few remaining amenities, ensuring a counter-revolution, and therefore facilitating reabsorbtion back into the system.

And thus a world was enchained, regimented and drawn upon a neat and tidy time schedule unimaginable to our chaotic and turbulent Confederacy. I can see it in you dear readers, the temptation, the envy of the total, naked power exhibited by that neglected world. You would only be human to acknowledge such cravings for order but it is my cherish wish that you will understand my teachings and deny it. You will of course, in your arrogance, ask yourself why, why I persist in my theorem if presented with a living, viable organization which provides antithesis to it? That raw, direct control can be established without intermediaries or illusions of free will, with the curtailing negative effects nullified? Would it not be my duty to the Lord Protector to establish it across the breadth of his domain, so that his will could be enacted without quibbling or self-doubt? Those who have taken my words to heart will understand my answer but for in hopes for those other few it is this. Such a system saps the vitality of those who reside within it, from the highest echelon to the lowest gutter, eroding their ability to think or react to altering situations.

Such as the Brood-colony we instigated in one of their cities, an epidemic they proved crippling unable to resolve until the dramatic arrival of an Imperial Task Force. The ossified leadership of Dominatus willing yielding to our banner with only a twenty-five percent loss of total assets. At minimum half of what was expected a direct assault would have cost and without endearing such good will with the natives…Extended excerpt from Archservitor Mallus Tyler manuscript “Treaties on Subservience and Devotion” circa 55 N.E. ( 2023 AD old calender)

[sonofccn]

One minor thing I'm`pec sword starbreaker is a broad sword five and a half feet long our black blade and made out of T`kon battleship armor im`pec does not use a batleth

Sorry about that. I gave him a Bat'leth because I thought it was more Klingony but the line just read so great with Starbreaker that I figured what the hell. :)

Not that it matters my god it was awesome

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!

Thanks!

[Praeothmin]

Channeling Machiavel now? :)

[sonofccn]

Channeling Machiavel now? :)

Among other dytopian hellscapes. ;)

I feel its better if my villains have a well rounded state of opression.

[Admiral Breetai]

nice keep those excerpts coming man!!

[sonofccn]

Okay here it is, slightly larger than normal update. Hope you enjoy.

“Detente? Cordial relations with the Imperium? That’s a lot of horse {CENSORED} and you know it. We’re not worried about “keeping the peace”, we’re let the Krauts do that. We’re in this to win, absolutely and without reservations. And if those Hun {CENSORED} don’t take a shine to that they can lay down their arms now and save their sorry {CENSORED} or we’ll blast each of them apart all the way up to their Kaiser or whatever the hell he’s being called now.” Candidate George Patton during the debates for the ’48 elections when asked on “Faux War” ongoing between the US and Greater German Imperium.

Judgment, Bridge-

Gort’s voice came up reedy and indistinct, the normal oily caliber of it stunted and made harsh by an ocean like static in the background, partly from his hushed tone he now employed, partly from the general interference deliberately and inadvertent the Natives caused and partly due to the inherent limitations of the compact, covert communication unit. Much like the missing Deran the chemical engineer had been tasked with a chore of higher purpose than merely up teching some primitive vandals on some hinterland planet. Unlike the younger man, whose record the Imperial Security Bureau had carefully recorded less than flattering New Order comments, he’d been entrusted with the communicator for ease of coordinating and funneling the covert information back to the Judgment, regrettably since it would have allowed them to pinpoint the missing member anywhere in the city.

“…heavy infrastructure dedicated to the manufacture of hydrocarbons…actually appear to “burn” it inside of a combustion chamber. One of the tech-heads took apart an engine…quite fascinating really…”Gort prattled clearly nervous and, as the somber and scowling Tyler imagined as he listened, doing a remarkable imitation of a Neimoidian.” It defiantly isn’t up to Imperial standards but…with some modification we should be able to feed it into a traditional reactor without dire results. That is I think…I’d need to discuss it with Jrel to be more confident…fusion systems are his specialty.”

“We can handle that up here when the times comes…did you obtain a sample as requested?” The SubCommander bluntly interceded wishing an absolute maximum of secrecy was maintained down on site.

While less immediate than the problem Deran had been dispatched to solve it was no less dire, while his Imperials were longer legged than their Venator cousins they still required fuel same as the legendary ancient warships of the past. And through the deuterium they burned inside the fusion reactors was a million times as potent as what supposedly sent spiraling ironships across global waters his would be drained trawling the orbit around the primitive planet below in as little as a year. Less if they were called upon to engage enemy forces or make use of their hyperdrives for any protracted period.

“Yes sir...” Gort answered after a pregnant pause, no doubt manually checking to see if he still had the silver vial, still blatantly showing why he’d ended up studying chemical agents rather than a career into covert operations”…and I’m prepared to bring it to you and…”

“ That will not be required at this time, the scheduled return shall suffice.” The SubCommander cut off then leaning in towards the voice coming from the ether lowered the temperature of his voice another degree.” Be sure to keep it safe until them, understood?”

“Yes…yes sir…” Gort croaked, Tyler once more imagining him as a Neimoidian, having served on the Judgment, under the second in command, for a long time.”…I will…”

“Good.” The officer remarked nodding to currently attending communication officer, the always sweating Krebe hovering nearby, who dutifully ending the transmission.” Patch me into the hangerbay, let’s see if Scythe Squadron is prepared for departure.”

Nodding the young faced Ensign, newly added to the crew shortly before their last departure and still quite perplexed by the nervous twitch of his SubCommander’s omnipresent aid, shifted to an internal channel and brought up the bay coordinator and then Lt. Grevail or SD-12-97 if using the more official Imperial policy regarding its soldiers whom was squadron leader.

“Checking in on us sir? We ain’t got no problems here. All of us are snapped up and waiting to go.” Came the sharp twang of the trooper more befitting of a Colonial than his noble aristocratic heritage.

A minor household, rapidly losing influence to the new breed of political class it had to be admitted, but an old one which such clout still to never want within the confines of its native world. His file from the ISB particularly noted his borderline archaic and extensively regal diction favored by his dynasty before his enlistment, its erosion a deceptive trick to endear and disarm himself to his typically more modest rooted pilots.

“Merely assuring we are staying to the time table.” Tyler answered dryly already raising the kill gesture to the Ensign.” Maintain holding until I give the word.”

“ Read ya’ but…my boys been a little cooped lately, just don’t want it to be like last time…” Grevail cut in before the line broke, for his own squadron’s benefit who likely couldn’t detect the warble in his tone as he spoke against, however mildly, the SubCommander.

“Contact the shuttle Ramstone next.” The officer commanded next, the second link to his gamble.

“Aye sir.” The young officer said good naturedly, navigating his way once more through the administrator who spliced them into the shuttle’s com system.

The next voice which came from it far gruffer than Grevail’s carefully constructed homespun tone but far more deferential, which was an extremely rare trait for the voice’s owner. One of the “specialists” Tyler meant to aid the search for the missing Deran he was far more accustomed to hoarse shouts in a firefight in a smoky grog pit then showing respect but managed it adequately enough.

“Change of orders sir or are we still go?” He queried, no doubt fingering that alien blade he so favored.

A small smile returning to Tyler’s face as he recalled how he’d gotten that weapon, years before when they both served underneath the Admiral doing “special” work for him, one of the very few colleagues from that heyday whom still drew breath and which the SubCommander had chosen to surround himself with. Knowing that his skills were rarely equaled, except perhaps against the Man in Black, as well as a decent task manager.

“No change. On my clearance you’ll embark, disengage if fire upon and return to the Judgment.” The commander explained.” Let Scythe handle any enemy forces as well as retribution.”

The full measure of which deferring to the arrogant Native officer or what his superiors would tolerate before disposing of him themselves, Scythe being a mixed battle unit with Tie standards a pair of Interceptors, a Scout variant and two Bombers both of which had been selected to carry proton missiles and bombs. While the cannons on the main crafts alone likely more than sufficient to force the Natives into compliance if it absolutely came to it the city would be razed in atomic hell fire. The survivors, if any, rounded up and used to rebuild from the ashes.

“Confirmed sir. We’ll pull out at first trouble, let Grevail and his men take the torch to it.” The voice answered back before being silenced like the rest.

Tyler already offering the next command, to patch them into the Native com system and ultimately the stern mouthed Major, which the boyish Ensign hesitated to carry out. His normally placid and bright face darkening in a frown, fighting inward against some part of himself and then a resolution reached turning in his seat to look up to the SubCommander.

“We’re not…I mean sir…the squadron isn’t going…use…the city…they’re human aren’t they?” He mumbled unaware of the hush which fell over the bridge or the stricken expression on Krebe who recoiled away.” That is…their people…real people…we wouldn’t just destroy them all…would we?”

“And if we are, Ensign? If they challenge the Empire, the Emperor’s will, should we refrain?” The officer asked, arms behind his back cracking their knuckles and loosening in preparation.” If I gave the order to bombard the planet, that I saw it required to carry out our fealty to the Emperor, scorch it to a barren wasteland would you object?”

The young Ensign, color starting to drain as he began to realize the faintest hint of the web he’d stepped in, parting his mouth to speak when a second, confident one drowned out his feeble answer. His eyes as well as those of Tyler and the rest of the bridge turning towards the parting door and the flanking stormtroopers who stomped their feet and spun facing on either side the man entering.

“Well I’d hope if we’re going to burn a Native world I would at least be informed of situation.” Krevin joked good naturedly, corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, as he stepped through.

“Commodore.” The SubCommander snapped briskly turning to face his superior and moving to take his place in tow.” I didn’t yet expect your return…”

“Well these are unexpected times…but I got enough rest. What about you? Been running you ragged while I bunkered down?” Krevin asked still smiling, refreshed in the manner only a quick but thorough rest a shower and a palm full of anti-sleep chems could make a man.

“I can manage for a little longer.” The SubCommander said slyly, knowing he still had half an hour before the chemicals would fade enough in his system to allow sleep.” Still good to have you back sir.”

Tyler explaining on to Krevin about the missing Deran and the stubborn refusal of the Native Major, the Commodore listening carefully nodding and responding at the appropriate times while ultimately keeping his council. Listening to the means taken to secure the materials needed to keep their task force operating, and the means they had taken to keep them invisible from the Natives’ prying eyes. All which the Commodore approvingly supported, commending Tyler on his decisions.

“Good enough to be a Commodore.” Krevin thought darkly, outwards sheen still luminous.

Neverland-

I. Also Sprach Zarathusta- Richard Strauss (well the first minute or so)

Running fearlessly forward the hellspawn surged ahead of the fray of its lesser siblings, kicking flecks of mottled blood into the oozing tendrils of ichors seeping from their worm eaten faces. Stretching its own head forward as it leapt, scythe like arms peeling taunt back to spring, carrying it energetically into the path of the iron ax blade which fluttered across it. Head, releasing tainted blood, carrying onward from whence its body which first slowed then stalled upon the gleaming ivory bastion wrought from whittled bone and cartilage. The white shaft thrusting through the body’s midsection hooking it and pulling it to the ground while the head, still twitching with malevolent life, sallied forth against the dagger shaped head of Krahs. The dripping missile bouncing back off towards the pack it had so recently broken with to be trampled to mush moments before its body rejoined heaved off of the muscle engorged hybrid sprinting forward ax and sword hand scissoring together in a black curtain of viscera.

II.Running with the devil Val Halen

Beside him an identical path blazed, a blur of muscle and sinew which spun as a swirling death laying down a score of the filthy creatures then another as he released the crescent shaped weapon bringing himself to a flawless stop watching as his weapon impaled through first few ranks of the mottled, living tide. More squirming on his sides and from behind, the craggy ground beneath the Klingon warrior’s swallowed up in an eyeblink until only he was but an isle upon a sea of the creatures. His left hand falling to the handle of his still sheathed sword while snapped up catching the one leaping for his head, metallic fingers sinking through its coarse vile flesh, snapping its tubular free from the back of its head which a wrenching motion and slammed it across it across its fragile boned hellions.

“I am Im’pec the Silver Handed!” He roared through his bared teeth, sword flicking free as his robotic hand curled into a fist which disintegrated through another of ravenous monsters.” I have slain gods, treaded upon worlds burned to soot at my command, dueled with the greatest champions the galaxy has ever offered. Hear me and know the herald of you doom!”

Unrestrained the light, curved blade sang through the air whistling with every stroke that saw clutches of heads tumble from shoulders or wrists from arms. A fetid carpet falling down around him, spurting pustules of slime up from beneath as he treaded forward, rippling outward in all directions but most of all towards the still lumbering maggoty thing which had crawled from the world’s crust. The alleged demon lord whose beating heart, filling with the life the uncountable thousands of hellspawn erupting from its seeping hives, was the war drum to the confrontation and the golden hymn which Im’pec swore to silence.

A dream shared by his erstwhile ally, the Hybrid making what he lacked of the Klingon’s speed and agility with raw strength and endurance. Again and again one of the smaller creatures would slink through his defenses, gains bought with the death of dozens, striking at his flank, the back of his perpetually pumping legs or jumping upon his craggy shoulders to hack at the chords of his neck. In each case the ivory blade becoming wedged against muscles harder than duranium, the hellions’ brittle bones snapping apart as they sought to relief this only to be struck away by the champion slayer with almost disinterested casualness. No interest in the lopsided struggle, not with such true test of mettle approaching with every ground shaking stomp of its massive feet.

Leaping upon the platform wide structure of carapace and chitin when next it rose up above the stampede, slaughtering those which emerged from the rotting carbuncles dotting the thing’s surface, and hearing his ally warrior’s own cry echoed his own sentiments as he plunged his sword arm through the crusty exterior skin finding his first purchase by which he dragged himself up along the mighty creature.

“I am Krahs, he who destroys worlds. Strongest firstborn of the Progenitors, living vassal for their will! Where I tread death itself bows its head.” He thundered pausing briefly in his climb to swat away a knot of hellspawns sending them tumbling to the ground below.” What do you call yourself oh demon lord? What deeds have you transpired of worth of my accomplishments?”

“Its reaching new heights in hygiene or lack thereof.” Im’pec announced with a guttural laugh, climbing the opposing leg, driving his silver palm through the head of a hellspawn slithering from a dripping orifice.” By Kahless I’ve found Targ sties which smelled better.”

And while the full implication of the barb was lost upon the hybrid, a race hardly endowed with the cleaning arts, instinctively he knew it was a slight upon the foul creature beneath his grip and roared back with laughter. Drowning it out only moments later when, ax clearing the mob below and his sword-limb impaled through the lecherous flesh, he lunged and snatched a hellion scuttling down from above in his powerful jaws squishing the its head to pulp as he ripped the thing off and flung it. Globs of its spoiled flesh and blood following after it before the mutant resumed his climb, curving to meet the silver handed warrior as they reached the lord’s writhing body, alive with the horrid children it “birthed”, paving their way on a carpet of black blood.

Nor was its summit more forgiving, jaws unfurled wide in a grotesque display vomiting the awful tide down upon them, more emerging from its sore ridden neck and chest. Virtually unlimited as if each was some cancerous tumor gestated and grown from moment to moment and yet the two braved it pushing millimeter by millimeter through. Towards the slobbering, petal like jaws both reaching out for its hard bone like hide and latching onto it. Pulling themselves up into the hot, muggy cavern with its rancid gales and moist, mossy underfoot.

“Are you ready?” Im’pec demanded blade slinging on all sides dismembering tens of the hellions and then, as an afterthought, plunged it briefly into the side of the mouth merely to remind the mother creature of their presence.

Turning back from its spinning lunge, the wake of which was a canvas of rotten entrails, the larger hybrid turned bone white eyes towards the Klingon warrior which slowly peeled back revealing the equally soulless black orbs and pulled back the thin strips of flesh around its razor teeth into an even more harrowing grin.

“Until we stand alone.” The being promised, stepping forward to hack at the gullet with the ax like a man chopping down bales of wheat.

“Until we stand alone.” Im’pec echoed plunging forward with the mutant, both vanishing down the dark crevice beyond amid streamers of gore.
***
“Devil’s luck!” Cursed the figure of flaming iron and blood, voice an echo of a thousand-thousand artillery shells, slamming a curled fist with a thunderclap against his throne’s armrest.

Upon the gladiator arena below the “champion” of Neckromina slung its head back, head closing, aiding its swallow of the two warriors. The parasitical beings which continued to erupt from its sores seething with new agonistic ecstasy at the nutrients the eldritch would pump to them from the two’s digestion along with the dead which they already began to scoop up. Some still twitching and fighting for life, weakly screaming as they were carried towards the mother creature.

“ The beast with a thousand young…akin to the great Shub-Niggurath…” Spoke the cloaked, festering one with rapt awe at his chosen warrior.” Upon a world in which it dwells what place does a hero have?”

“ I have trust in the human spirit, in courage and valor.” The radiant, glowing being said with a smile leaning forward with a pointing hand.” Traits you lack to your demerit.”

The golden aura of his hand revealing the demon lord as it staggered, a bloody ivory blade jutting outward from its harden scales, plate like skin which would have resisted an outward blow like melting butter to the sawing weapon. A gushing wound enlarging even against the pale, morbid ones protesting outcries, a splitting seam from which appeared first Krahs blood drenched clutching the tattered remains of one arm to his torn chest and after he moved aside to hold the wound open Im’pec the Silver Handed who backed out. Both hands entangled in a pulsating, cancerous mass which he tugged oozing forth from its resting place shearing the bloated arteries which fused to it in a tide of polluted blood. The mother creature throwing is head back once more but this time to shriek out in pain as it felt its heart jarringly stop within its breast and then fell silent. Its spawn feeling its death embrace a moment before they were consumed by it.

“Yes…” The man of burning iron shrieked, the crack of tens of thousands of longbows being launched, standing up and thrusting his hands in the air as he watched the Klingon warrior and the hybrid share a ghoulish bite into the revolting organ half wrought from the things chest.”…righteous men shall always have a place sending shadows scuttling back to their dark crevices of birth.”

Judgment, hanger-

“That’s a ten four Commodore, we all are getting on our way.” Grevail snapped switching over to his squadron’s, secured, frequency through not before grabbing a handful of the bone white scarf he had wrapped around his pressure suit and flicked it over his shoulder.

Emblazoned on either end with the crest of his family encircled with bone wings one had been worn by every member of his family who’d ever joined the aerospace forces supposedly dating back tens of thousands of years to when his world first had achieved heavier than air flight. And through he understood that across such gulf genetically speaking he was closer related to one of his wingmen than the noble aristocrat who risked his life inside plywood and canvas crates the tradition still humbled him and made the ignoble annuls of history seem not so vast.

“Okay boys…let us do this sweet and quick okay? By the numbers.” He sweetly ordered over the com as he commanded the restraining clamps to release his Tie, the steely beast shaking ever so slightly once unhindered before rattled forward with the Hades burning scream its engines were tailored to make in atmosphere.

Joined by the rest of the formation which peeled and molded around the VIP shuttle Ramstone itself jetting through the “atmospheric field” yawning across the parted gangway of the hanger on business none of the squadron knew. Which suited the lieutenant just fine having run herd on Imperial “blacklight” missions before, his skin crawling like he’d suit popped a seam thinking about those operations. Of the retrievals which typically gave him an all too good look at what the motley collection of spice sniffers and chem.-chokers had been sent to do.

But he was use to that, no what ate at him beneath his veneer of cordial calm being none other than the Commodore himself inserting himself into what should have been a simple run and gun. Hardly isolated or immune to the wild fruit of the gossip grapevine but coming from a family with a proud martial tradition, even if one in which hadn’t been enacted for the last few generations, Grevail didn’t care if the officer had filleted an entire alien army. It didn’t make him an effective leader and unlike his nominal soft touch approach for this had all but wanted to crawl into the flight seat. Graciously granting them his blessing to return fire against hostile enemy craft through everything of infrastructure from the flimsiest shack to the most harden bunker would be demolished solely on his express permission microing down everything to the last laser bolt.

And if it came to it he’d flush that straight through his flip up waste receptacle, how the feth Imperial designers expected it to be used with the trademark pressure suits being a debate for another time, and let Crash and Burn, the call signs of their two bombers, drop the Emperor’s fury down on the luckless savages. Anything else out from the nestled bosom of a Star Destroyer was just a “my sad duty to inform you” holo waiting to happen.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen to his “boys” not if he could help it, the thought prompting him to shift his scopes range to his reverse spotting the Tie which just barely avoided clipping the edge of the bay door and nearly spiraled out over correcting. At the last second stabilizing and swinging back to its rightful position, tail end of the formation, breathing the ion fumes of the rest of the convoy. A stucco of the pilot’s curses caught over the open com waves helping to drawing in the attention of those who hadn’t set their rearward sensors as well as a few pithy comments from the more vocal members of the group much to the handler behind the controls’ chagrin.

“Rebelbait…ya’ll not going to live long enough to earn your name if you keep pulling off like that. Cut it shaper next time.” Grevail admonished their novice addition, added on their last port, with a tone which commanded the others to slice off and attend to their real duties.” Weasel, what do ya sights got?”

Weasel being the Ident label for their Scout variant both for the less than enduring pilot and his vital task of “smoking” out trouble before it hit. His piece equipped with a scope system that made Grevail’s utilitarian Tie look downright primitive.

“Smooth as laser finished glass.” Came the diminutive man in Weasel’s reply.” Straight and clear until we hit the silk of the planet’s envelope. Should be a real quick run, but aren’t they all?”

“Yeah, like that little favor we pulled over that moon? When those fething V-wings came shooting out the crater…”Cyclops snickered easing slightly out of formation so as to better maneuver around and away from the shuttle just in case.”… Dropslag nearly pancaked into me when he veered from that strafe. Ten to one credits he figured out how to use the flush seat right then and there. Me passing over his canopy like there, bare centimeters separating us.”

“If I wanted to wrangle children I’d have raided a little old nursery.” The lieutenant chastised pressing a button on his controls, running a gloved finger down what scrolled across his tactical display and then made his selection.” What say we so these here Natives just why to fear the Emperor’s Fighter Corps.”

Pressure sheathed finger stabbing one final command which sent spilling forth over their com channel the first powerful note of the Imperial Anthem, rattling each inside their respective cockpit and setting their teeth ready for whatever brawl came their way. Even Rebelbait seemed to straighten up more.

So it came as something as annoyance when his communicator chirped once more from the Judgment, hearing the Commodore’s voice bark out orders which sent the Lieutenant’s own out across the void. The entire squadron spreading out like unfurled wings from the Ramstone, which exploited the maneuver to began to turn around , swinging back towards their mother-carrier.

“What the Feth LT?” Demanded Cyclopes in a guttural tone.” Why the turnabout?”

“Yeah, what did we forget to dot some bureau lackeys “i” on the clearance slip again or do they just like pulling the chain.” Weasel piped in always ready to make a situation worse.” Because I recall I joined up to shoot things not see the interior of a hanger wall.”

“I’m afraid these orders are coming from the big chief.” Grevail spat out quickly trying to dampen any further bickering before it could began.” That skullmush engineer who vaped himself? He just turned himself in at the corner police station and I reckon our big boss wants a more agreeable return than us shooting the place up with lasers.”

And the officer only hoped that they didn't end up regreting it.

[Admiral Breetai]

So Krevin is beginning to become paranoid that his loyal subcommander may not be as loyal as prior had been suspected? goodness

the battle between the hellspawn and the two warriors defied belief it was awesome and i nerdgaismed about as hard as those gods did

[Praeothmin]

James is humbled at the display Im'Pec and the Khrah warrior have put up... :)

But I would have liked the bombers to blow up the city... :)

[sonofccn]

So Krevin is beginning to become paranoid that his loyal subcommander may not be as loyal as prior had been suspected? goodness

A magnificent basterd versus a manipulative one...bet the galaxy sings a song about that when it happens. :)

the battle between the hellspawn and the two warriors defied belief it was awesome

Glad you liked it and hope that it was a fitting conclusion to that three part slugfest.

the battle between the hellspawn and the two warriors defied belief it was awesome and i nerdgaismed about as hard as those gods did

That makes a lot of sense since I based those gods on you, Preao and myself. Let you guess who is whom. ;0)

But I would have liked the bombers to blow up the city... :)

Oh well, they'll be other, alien, cities that can be bombed later.

[Praeothmin]

That makes a lot of sense since I based those gods on you, Preao and myself. Let you guess who is whom. ;0)

Really?
Ok, let's try this:

This one is you:

“ The beast with a thousand young…akin to the great Shub-Niggurath…” Spoke the cloaked, festering one with rapt awe at his chosen warrior.” Upon a world in which it dwells what place does a hero have?”

This one is me?

“ I have trust in the human spirit, in courage and valor.” The radiant, glowing being said with a smile leaning forward with a pointing hand.” Traits you lack to your demerit.”

And so this one would be Breetai?

“Yes…” The man of burning iron shrieked, the crack of tens of thousands of longbows being launched, standing up and thrusting his hands in the air as he watched the Klingon warrior and the hybrid share a ghoulish bite into the revolting organ half wrought from the things chest.”…righteous men shall always have a place sending shadows scuttling back to their dark crevices of birth.”

[Admiral Breetai]

man I feel like doing Tyler and Krevin vs Vi'retess and Alexander vs Picard and Adama

but I'd ruin your characters..and I am still waiting on Preao's crossover

I think Preao nailed it on the head in terms of which one of the gods represents which one of us