Forums » Sci-Fi Roleplay » The Galaxy Wide

ARDELLA

The incoming soldiers running in formation and stepped, followed the rag tag team just a tad too late as the doors to the conference rooms. Of course lugging around two energy cannons forced the platoon to take a different path towards there location giving the group ampule time to get themselves secure in the rooms. The purple coats lined with there gridlock rifles ready pointed. "FIRE!!!" the command was given and the rifles shot a volley at the door and walls...nothing, but only burn marks. The commander grunted and says "Bring the can-" he was cut off by another voice, "Stop! What do you think your doing firing upon scared ground?!" an older gentlemen in black clerical robes with a large purple cross in the front of it wearing a simple veil and cap. He looks at the commander with his red eyes with black background, showing how consumed by Dark matter that the man has been exposed too. "This is scared ground ground for Lordship, and you will have these heathens desecrate it!!?? This is unacceptable!!" he yells out at him. Commander takes a big sigh, one that is of annoyance and says "Inquisitor, we understand, but we need to get through those doors" The inquisitor wasn't having it and says "Well you have many men...pry it open!!" he stomps off and observes the commander's actions.

The commander sighed and yells out names and points towards the door and they begin to pull the door open. Nothing much at the moment thank to the robot, but soon they will have it open...


Papyrus tossing a table towards the door, she looks back and says "Anytime now, we are sitting ducks!!" trying to get Kellenger to hurry up on whatever she was doing to go them out of there. For the colonel, she was just really worried right now, trying to formulate a plan if everything hits the fan too quickly.

She was grateful she had acted in time.
Iril had been lost in thought about enemies, her arm, and many other major details of the current escapade until Kallenger had given her the command to shut the door.
She was still in quite the stupor, but the command had registered subconsciously and Iril had forcefully slammed the door into place without much knowledge of what she had actually just done. Good thing that her systems were perfectly imperfect like that.
She had only barely shut the doors before the rifles had fired across the hall and blasted at the door.
The sound jolted her out of her miniature trance. It took her a few seconds to register what was going on before she plastered her back to the door to prevent it from being blown inwards.

"Excuse my silence, please." Iril said with a hint of nervousness in her voice. "I was... distracted, maybe?"

Maybe that wasn't the best excuse. Whatever the case, she was lucky that she had even shut the door. Whew.

"So... What now, team?" She asked to the group, hoping they had all figured out some sort of plan in the time that she wasn't focused.

She felt the door start to budge. It wasn't budging outward... but rather to the side. Were they trying to push it open from the other side?!
Iril spun around and lodged her hand onto one of the ruts in the door and proceeded to lock her one arm in place as best she could, forcefully making the mechanics seize and stay in place.
It would take more than mere men to take this door from her.

---

Q stared at Kilwen with a perplexed gaze. She turned to say something to Arthur, but it appeared that he was in a considerable amount of shock and surprise, so she just turned the other way to face the mystery man again.
"Mr... Uh, Lord Kilwen, Sir... You're on a remote planet just barely discovered by modern civilizations." She says, pointing to Arthur and his cohorts.
"From my understanding, they're from the Kampfer empire... and I am IRI-Q, an Iridiite robot. Pleasure to meet you and slay the dragon you were in... I guess?" She shrugs. She's not huge on social ques and this is already as awkward and as odd as it gets.
"I'm surprised that I haven't found you and your... dragon... before. I've been here for quite some time. Do you have any idea how you got here, Lord Kilwen Sir?"

Even for a brainiac like her, this was making her head spin. She was witnessing quite the confusing and chaotic moment.
Maybe this would be a step towards better understanding everything the ships computer had given her.

The situation with Kallenger was a little troubling. The scent, the attitude. The woman was clearly not okay. Not all there. But as of now, as rude as it might have been, the canid couldn't find room for asking further questions or apologizing.

They seemed to be in a hurry.

Apologies would come later, maybe the little more commonly known friendly attitude of his - that had so far either been abused and used, or mostly masked by fear - would be finding room to show itself.
At the moment though, it was the cold shoulder for people to lean on. No holding Royanna's hand today.

They were on the move, supposedly escaping from, something...

It was a mystery to him, he had not gotten enough time to really catch on to the situation at hand. But he was running either way, ears perked up, eyes keenly latching onto and following what ever he saw but couldn't trust. As well as the surroundings, the canid was just as sharply following the actions of the group. But more than that, he was running, trying to not leave the others behind though, as they were seemingly very determined on leading. And that was fine. Letting a quiet but quick person move at the front could have provided a problem. Especially on the narrow hallways. He could easily slip far away. But for now, he was there, alert of the situation.

Not as well as he could though, as - who else but - Kallenger managed to catch him off guard. He had been directing his attention elsewhere, focusing on the possible thread outside of the group, not inside it. Either way, Christofer would fall, and to their misfortune, let out a yelp, a shriek that of a higher pitch, echoing right across the walls.

Shoot.

That was most likely going to cause trouble for the group. It could also distract the 'enemy' but that was probably just some high hopes of his. Still, he refused to admit that the fault might have been his. All just because the one at fault was Kallenger.

He could not fully grasp why the woman had done it in the first place. There was nothing. No-one. What was she doing? Was she hallucinating? Why did she do that? He just could not understand.
His tone towards her was still, unfortunately, cold. Though some lightness was found in the words that thanked the woman for helping him up. It was the least he could do at that moment. He'd want to speak more to her, but the strange, bad omen smell was still there.

Christofer was completely oblivious of the phantoms, possibly this was the reason how he managed to keep so calm.

That was until they hit the dead end at least.

Still mostly unmoved, the canid looked around. Not with panic like some might expect, but with a keen eye. They couldn't get stuck here, there was probably a way to move further.

Like backtracking? Oh, ok then... Not that he'd complain, but once they got to the old control room, he'd be mostly useless. Not much use with the tech. Heck, he had only barely understood the signs and labels scattered around. And he was in no way going to be more qualified to take care of the door than Iril. No way.

But there came a small thought along with the banging at the door.

"I can help. I'm good at being distracting. That's my job afterall." He'd speak to Papyus, guarding the door with just as cold of a tone as he had earlier. "Asking for others to hurry up is not going to make them work faster, it's only going to make them stress." There was some back to that, not completely something out of his own imagination. "I can at least provide some extra time."

The canid wasn't telling them straight up to throw him out, but he did stretch his legs. It was for the good of the majority though, if the door was to be broken to let one of them flee past the vantage point and possibly drag the attention away with himself.

He had no specific job like the others, maybe some side jobs in a way.

Moral support.
Team support.
He worked in his own way.

Z

The two robots breached the planet's atmosphere. B struggled to get herself out of Z's grip, but the hard-light hands proved to be more than effective at limiting her movement.

Searing heat and flames. In the sky, it appeared as though a gigantic meteorite was headed straight for the planet's surface. The sound was deafening. For the first time in a long time, both B and Z were able to hear actual sound, and not just transmissions sent through the cold depths of space. The flames and force of the atmosphere did little to stop their descent. Z continued to forcefully drag her sister towards the ground below.

The citizens eyes were pointed up at the ungodly sight. What appeared just moments ago to be a meteorite was now the shapes of colossal war machines moving at a high speed towards their residences and businesses. Panic and fear ensued. Many scrambled in vain to flee, but it was already too late.

The flames died out as Z started to slow. She reoriented herself, tightening her grip on her sister. Winding about, she threw her sister face first into the ground with tremendous force. In a state of sudden shock, B had no time to react. She slammed into the city center with a ear-blasting thud. The ground shook and metal scraped against infrastructure and buildings. It was indeed like a miniature meteor landed.

Buildings collapsed and crumbled in a thirty mile radius as a miniature crater had formed around her. Dust and debris billowed up into the air. There were people and vehicles thrown sky high, before crashing down onto the piles of rubble. Rock, metal, concrete and bodies piled up on top of B, yet she felt none of it. As though nothing had happened, B began to pick herself up from her impact mark, struggling only because of her lack of a left leg.

"You know how the old saying goes B." Z said, crashing into the rubble feet first. "Don't start what you can't FINISH!" A hard light hand grabbed B by her head and pulled her into an upright position before the other hand clocked her dead in the face with a powerful punch. The force knocked B backwards, tumbling onto her back and then onto her face again. The trenches from her sliding movement wore down the surface to dull dirt where there were once gleaming sky scrapers.

B once again forced herself up, this time attempting to use her wings to keep balance. She wasn't used to gravity after millions of years in space. She internally scolded herself. In hindsight, she should have known that this was both a losing battle and would have ended many more lives than just those on that tiny yacht. She quickly peered over the destruction and devastation of the city before her eye settled back on her sister's face, plastered with a smug and knowing grin.

Two options flew through B's mind. Either try to flee and maybe she'd survive... or do your best to wipe that smug grin off your sisters face. Either could end up in her demise.

One more glance over the wreckage. One more glance at her sister.

She aptly decided that there would be no holding back. She would give it her all and die trying if she had to. Any damage she could do would be payback for the irreparable damage Z did those millions of years ago.

N O T S P A C E – Stella Viventium

The sensitivity of this unusual situation had been nagging at Doctor Beral Nathans since the whole ordeal began. However, the man had lived a peaceful and quiet life aboard the insulated, self-sufficient world of the Stella Viventium, and though sensitive issues had arisen before and there had been just enough excitement over the years, things like this didn’t usually happen. So he had squashed the nagging anxiety shortly before reaching out to help the young lady out of the tank. No use in being nervous over nothing. It wasn’t like she’d go punching him in the lungs or anything.

And then, less than two minutes later, she punched him in the lungs.

The soft-bellied man went down easily, in one concise strike. His face contorted with shock and pain as he stumbled back, gaping for air, and at last fell backwards onto the floor, hitting the back of his head with a disturbing KNOCK on the cream colored tilling. His last thoughts as he lost consciousness were along the lines of ’Damn it, I should have expected this!’

Luckily for himself, his wife and son, Doctor Nathans did not die from the impact, nor would he – since some time later he would be discovered and tended to – but not yet.

His attacker would find no physical ID on his person. Indeed, all of that was taken care of via BrainPal™ - and since everyone who lived aboard the Stella was equipped with one, this was not unusual to them. All one needed was to look in his direction, think the command and their neural ‘HUD’ would display all the information about himself that he had made public. Rya did not, unfortunately for her, have a BrainPal™, which was going to make things a tad more difficult for her in the coming exploration.

This was because a great many of the simple necessities of daily life aboard the Stella were controlled via BrainPal™ - including the railcar systems and most doors. Since BrainPal™ usage was second nature to Stella citizens, life was as easy as walking toward it and subconsciously ordering it to open, or taking a seat and offhandedly thinking of the destination in mind. Someone without BrainPal™ would find an infuriating lack of control panels or monitor screens where one might have otherwise expected them to be.

Navigating the Re-Sleeving chamber was of no difficulty – it was a wide, open floorplan divided only by the low rows of tanks which rose only to waist height. There was a high ceiling, and apparently only one entrance – which Doctor Nathans had, in his usual forgetfulness, forgotten to close behind him. If it had been closed, the Stella’s newest ‘guest’ would have been, in a word, screwed. So, huzzah!

Of course, there was more to the Re-Sleeving department than just that primary chamber, so outside that door would be a series of halls which resembled something like a small clinic – but clearly bigger and more complex. There were no signs to guide someone, since BrainPal™ could guide someone around so complex a place as the Stella much more efficiently than something as archaic as signs. There was the occasional potted plant, but little else to guide the way. There were many other doors, but they were marked only by the outlines of their frames upon the wall. They were all, of course, closed.

However, this would make Rya’s navigation of the department somewhat easier in that she would not be tempted to venture into any other hallways which might get her more and more hopelessly lost. The corridors and hallways she was in presently were clearly the ‘main route’, and so if she were to go one way or the other for long enough, surely she would find a way out.

The place seemed utterly abandoned – like an office building on a Friday night, but with all the lights on. It was a rarely visited department, all in all.

Luck would, however, inevitably find Rya a second time when she at last came upon a door that actually did have an opening mechanism! It was a simple push-bar, and in large, friendly white letters on the face of the door read the word ‘EXIT’. It might have been an emergency exit, though there was no indication that she might trigger an alarm by proceeding. It was that, or trek all the way in the opposite direction and inevitably run into a dead-end (Or, rather, one slightly larger door that probably led into a lobby or something, but it would not open for her since no BrainPal™.)

No alarm would be triggered upon opening the door, and beyond it the motif changed instantly to something slightly darker in tone and more utilitarian in decor. It was some kind of maintenance access, clearly – and again there was only one way to go. It was rather dusty – clearly nobody had been in here for a very, very long time.

This hallway was not as long, though there was a staircase that descended a single flight and rounded a corner to reveal what could only have been a small, private subway station. There was – mercifully – a control panel that stood before the track, which consisted of a single rail suspended on scant supports, but looking sturdy enough. It stretched not very far in either direction before curving sharply to one side or the other.

The control panel was a simple affair. Buttons and labels. Huzzah! Each label was on a faintly glowing digital screen, implying that they might be subject to change.


You are at: Resleeving Department – Maintenance Terminal 1 of 1.

O – 1: Evacuation Terminal
O – 2: Mechanics Bay Maintenance Terminal
O – 3: City Square Maintenance Terminal
O – 4: Central Station Maintenance Terminal
O – 5: Emergency Bridge Access

Unfortunately, if she pressed button 5, the digital screen would change to a pinpad and proceed no further until the correct code was inputted. The other four would remain the same.

---

A R D E L L A



Whatever Royanna Kallenger was doing on that wall-mounted terminal, she was doing it aggressively. Fingers fluttered furiously over the dusty old keyboard, keystrokes hard and precise in her concentration on the matter. She was no expert hacker, but she did know a few tricks – and she was wracking her mind to see to it that they all went according to plan. She spared only a quick glance in Iril’s direction to assure that she was doing her best to hold that door shut, which she was. Good. Teeth gritting and with a scowling expression, she worked on. Time was running out. She didn’t bother wasting breath on replying to Pyrus’ urging. She was focused, a well-oiled machine. It did not matter that all the while her hands were trembling noticeably. Nobody would notice a little detail like that at a time like this, not even herself – which was convenient.

Eyes locked intensely on the screen as she dug as deep into the system as she could, going over and over through secret codes that had been taught to her long ago, stored off in the back of her mind and – though she would not admit it – stored in the artificially enhanced portion of her brain that she earned upon achieving her status as ‘Special Agent’.

There was a pause in her action – hands poised hovering above the keyboard, shaking, as she stared wide-eyed at the words scrolling down and then at last – yes!

Somewhere in the deepest guts of the old air reserve base, one lonely little hydrogen generator flickered and sputtered to life – the deadly little bastard that was saved specifically for this disastrous command which could only be issued by the highest-ranking Imperial officers. It was the command implemented specifically as the final precaution against theft of Imperial secrets – the last-ditch effort to keep the enemies of the Empire from obtaining the fruits of their unethical research. If they had not stumbled upon a reserve base which also served as a research laboratory for psychological weapons of mass destruction this code would not have been accessible at all – but there it was.

There was no indication that the command had been issued. No lights, no sirens – nothing except one little wire transmitting one little signal to one little hydrogen bomb. The entire place was going to go up in hellfire without the slightest warning. The terminal itself shorted out and fried shortly after the final order was given and the enter button struck. ”There!” Royanna barked – but overhearing Christofer, she decided it would be best to approach him instead of explaining to everyone else exactly what in the name of Space she had just done.

The woman had gone from intense and focused to intense and furious, whirling on Christofer, stepping toward him as though she were planning on striking him cleanly in the face.

“The hell you say Kid? What did I say about units who use their people as distractions? You think I can’t take care of my people, is that it?!” She did not strike him, instead grabbing him by the lapels of his vest and pulling him in close so that they were face to face. The furious scowl never left her expression – she was quite intimidating, especially since the look in her eye was something approaching fanaticism, clearly induced by something else. She seemed dangerous now.

“I’m not letting my people down, you got that? Any more talk about me screwing up or you getting yourself killed as a decoy over me and I’ll kick your ass, Kid.” And with that said, she gave him a shove and spun around, drawing her sword – realizing only now that she had yet to enlighten the rest of her new comrades as to what her plan had been. After all, it seemed to the observer that all she had done was burn out the terminal.

Pressing herself against the far wall, Royanna seemed to be searching for a stud – feeling along it with utmost haste as she spoke in preemptive fashion. ”I initiated the base’s self-destruct protocols.” She said hastily, sounding a tad more composed than she had when hissing at Christofer. ”We’ve got about four minutes before this place lights up. I’m gonna’ carve through the wall here – there should be a magrail station on the other side that’ll take us to the connected bunker.”

The self-destruct command had actually been designed so that it could only be issued from certain locations within the reserve base – locations from which the issuer would have no chance at all of escaping themselves before the detonation. If one was going to blow the base, they had to be prepared to destroy themselves along with the Imperial secrets. What the designers had not accounted for was Royanna Kallenger’s archaic, monomolecular blade – which she was presently using to slice a sizable hole into the far wall with. The cut was smooth, but when she went to kick it in to grant passage she found that it was still too heavy for her, especially with those wounds she had presently forgotten about.

”Chris, Pyrus, help me get this thing down. Iril keep holding the door until my mark.”

When the wall went down, it was like a gift from Space – a wide, open chamber, at the center of which hovered a flat platform with simple controls, locked between two guiding grooved rails that stretched into a tunnel about the far wall. The path was clear – that machine would take them through the underground path to the bunker situated some mile and a half away, where they would be safe from a blast that had been pre-calculated to engulf no more of the surrounding wilderness than necessary to void Ardella of the secrets of this particular research base. It had been designed for passengers and cargo, with a railing around three sides of the platform and a gate on the fourth. It would be more than wide enough to account for Iril.

”Go. Move it! Iril, move.” As she barked this final command at the robot, Royanna was approaching the door that she was holding clamped shut. She had sheathed her sword and held now a long plank of metal wall which she had sheared off in the process. She slid up beside Iril and planted the thing in the floor, and against the door – that would keep it barred for at least a few precious seconds.

Two minutes.

”GO!” she shouted again, bracing herself against the metal piece as an extra force to keep the door closed. It was clear right away what she was thinking – and someone was going to have to be either very convincing or very forceful to tear her away from the stupid venture and make her join them on the railcar ride to safety, rather than allowing her to perish along with their attackers in the nuclear fire that was about to consume the area.

Indeed, she was planning on buying them time – that hypocrite!

It was true, after a few attempts at opening some of the doors, she was fuming. She’d made a fool of herself, trying several different things, like..

Shouting ‘Open Sesame!” Which was more of a joke than anything.
Silently willing it to open - basically a staring contest with a wall, as she found after a minute of quiet, forceful thought.
And brute force, attempting to get her fingers somewhere where she could pull or push or something the door open, and slip through.

She was tempted to go back to the man and force him to open these goddamn doors, until she found one with a push bar, and all her rage melted away. She rose up the stairs, examining the state of the room in disapproval. If this were her ship, every room, hallway, and closet on board would be spotless, or she’d make use of the waste dump.

Meaning, she’d send anyone responsible alone out into space without a suit. And everyone aboard would know she damn well meant what she said.
Ever so careful, she took in the panel. Minutes passed as she stared, weighing the options and deciding which one to press.

Occasionally she’d think she heard someone coming, and would duck down out of sight from the door in a panic, before standing up, embarrassed, and looking at the panel again.
Finally, she decided that if she pressed one button, and it did nothing, she’d go ahead and press another. No use in wasting time.
Numerical order, it was. First button is pressed, and she freezes, glancing around.


Waiting.

Kilwen chuckled and says "Well this is a little ironic...Kampfer was the one who put in that metal beast" as he points to the dead dragon. "He used me as a power source and a to rub in my past" he says as he crosses his arms as he looks down at both of them. "I'm going to assume that...." he says as he looks at Arthur and the Electron unit. His eyes went wide and says "Well, its been awhile since I saw another Champion of the Technology realm, I'm I right Arthur?" Arthur shook his head and says hesitantly "Y-Yes, I am the Champion of the Technology realm" Kilwen nodded and turns to Q and says "The reason why you haven't notice my presents is because I had some control over the dragon and made sure to stay away from civilization where ever it maybe"

Arthur spoke up and says "Lord Kilwen no doubt you would like to leave this planet...come with us" he offers to the old lord. "Let me guess we are gonna stop at one of Lord Kampfer's bases uh?" he says with a smirk on his face. "Y-yes, but it'll be safe, Kampfer is currently under operation with Lord Erica in replacing his body" Kilwen scratched his chin and says "So the corpse does rot uh? Very well, lead on, Arthur" as he gestures Kilwen and the Electron unit to lead them back to there ship. As they walked he looked at Q and asks "Hmmm Iridiite people sound familiar, but I can't put a finger on them though...all I remember is that they were pretty old, I'm I correct, by chance?" as he looks at her with a soft smile.

     Notspace
          Into The Kingsbane

     What kind of thing those sparkling bars of light would be even made of? Energetic Resonance Crystals? Alien rocks, exotic to our universe? Alloys made and altered through quantum technology? All of the three? Whatever was the physical composition of those 'bulbs', some of them would appear to flicker and pulse into an inactive (completely darkened) state. Those lights were even able to automatically 'turn off' after The Girl and Severin left most rooms. Some of them were also touched and manipulated, in varying ways, by average looking personnel. Notably, they would all mess with such objects exclusively on their inactive form... And that same people would handle it as some sort of everyday task. Those exquisite thin cylinders of brilliance would later become a pretty common sight in the Kingsbane.
     One of those those lights, small as one's index finger, pointed straight towards the picture of That One Man, subconsciously ordering its viewers to immediately spot, analyze and admire that object. It felt that those creatures in the frame were to be revered as entities of ultimate holiness, both that red... Thing and the Man in the sparkling white, officer suit. The Girl would be pretty much right, if she was not underestimating that person comparing him to the Red Birds. Of course, both of their feats, whatever they were, would be immeasurably relative to whoever knew them.
     But the Captain's Hat, That Hat, was the real deal, where the true fun was. While only a mere cosmetic object for The Girl, barely did She knew that this same hat, more than the Man's own head, was immeasurably prized across entire super-clusters. And there was this slight chance that This Girl barely knew what the word 'Super-cluster' even meant. Or if the term would even have an equivalent in Her language.
     It was natural to be attracted to That Hat.
     Severin was this rare case, however, of creature handpicked by the unknown forces that ruled the Multiversal Frame. A creature that didn't gave a nano-metric crap about Captain Wan Nabes' status or his cigar-stinking hat.

     The story behind the Captain was of utter stubbornness and steel-clad guts, all primary and sole conditions to defy an authority that nobody, to this day, could truly fathom it's full power. The very name of this ship, Kingsbane, was the living testament of that act of colossal defiance... And, yet, The Director would just let out a grunt and - if She could see it - roll his eyes behind his goggles. It was a common reaction for newcomers of all kinds to stop and admire that framed picture of Wan Nabes in the advertisement of his favorite brand of cigars. One reaction that Severin wasn't really appreciative, still. They could at least ask about the big telescope that the Research Department boasted. Couldn't they? Oh, this uncultured generation... In a short future, all will be grateful to the efforts that the Astrophysicist would bring to all the generations to come in the universe. Poor Severin.
     The Director wasn't expecting much of The Girl, at least, regarding to the correct operation of those devices, all alien to Her. There was absolutely no reason rather than to screw with her thought processes purely as an attempt to force out as many reactions and, hopefuly, abilities, an 'Unwanderer' could pull. And the laughs, of course.
     Even in regards about the people of the Kingsbane Her assumption was right. Since The Beginning, Mankind was a spiteful races, bearers of grim mannerisms and deplorable behavior. Humiliation of the weak, for example, was one of the most basic form of social entertainment that humans carried in their ever-evolving brains. It was primitive, something beyond their control, hard-wired in their complex minds. Someone gifted with substantial amounts of grey matter (like Severin) would also a carrier of such victim social disease. He, the rest of mankind and, the yet unknown First People, much possible Man's ancestors, were all made with such special kind of sadism into their their petty souls.
     Curious Humans were, nevertheless: The Girl's memory of being lowly regarded at her original state of existence were able to bring a comforting wave of nostalgic feelings; words, smiles, protection and touch. Screams, humiliation, violence and isolation. All sided. Even thought, everything about mankind was better than the paradoxically briefness of eternity between existence and nonexistence.
     The Kingsbane was neither good nor bad: it was enough. The Stranger was secure in there. Partially, at least. For the time being...

     ... And things would start to go downhill the moment both had opened those double doors.

     Utter disrespect and lack of reaction that Severin had from Wan Nabes' temper tantrums was a concealed proof that these two were beyond Subordinate and Officer. Captain and Scientist were something next to brothers in arms, in the Kingsbane, old friends fighting for great purposes of greater, similar ends. This partnership would transcend any kind of authority that one had over other. Most evident for that relation was the intimacy both had to torment and commit blasphemy to each, long-deceased mothers, with as many curses their vast profane creativity allowed.
     Of course, The Girl would perceive all of that quarreling as Wan and Severin were about to hit each other as hardest as their bodies allowed. This would bring some serious trouble for Severin, who hadn't any expectation on how Wan's abstinecy of Dried Ssazharian-Pepper High-Grade Tobacco would overextend to a Stranger. Or, maybe, the Director had just underestimated - again - a very angry, cigarless Wan Nab--

     No... No way.

     She didn't do that... She couldn't do that...

That Girl, badly spat out from the entrails of nonexistence, couldn't simply managed to achieve that... There was no damn way for that thing to happen in any possible and impossible mean.

     ... And all it took was a split second.

     First, there was Wan Nabes, thrusting his arms forward to The Stranger's neck with ultra-violence. Then there was nothing. She vanished. No more Girl and, unspeakably alarming, no more Ex-Fleet Admiral Wanheed Nabil Mustafa's Hat.
And so was Severin. An old man on his sixty-fives, eternally wearing a big black set of LCD screens for eyes. Jaw dropped, frozen in space and time, figuratively. That along with the handful of guards that watched the three stooges from the corners of the Bridge's descending hall. Its inhabitants, both men and women that were comfortably seated on their rotary chairs, tending to the Kingsbane's system, would turn to the mess and, they too, would pull the exact same reason. A pretty much justifiable reason for a Hatless Wan Nabes.
     The Officer in charge of enemy detection would walk towards the Captain to inform about of the incoming Dendril force... Just to outright pass out in the middle of the Bridge after that Event. His brain simply couldn't simply process what happened with the Captain's Hat.

     That's the point where the atoms inside Captain Wan Nabes would reach superposition and, at the same femtosecond, collide with each other, triggering a subatomic chain reaction of nuclear destruction in the Kingsbane vicinity. A black hole of proportions beyond of those in the Multiveres would then proceed to engulf Notspace, transcending its own nonexistentialism field. It would then proceed to consume all matter and anti-matter in our universe. Then in everyone else's universes. Then time. Then space. Then the Dimensional Lords. Then the beings who made all existence and unexistence possible.
     Then, a ghost from a timeless forgotten infinity of eternities would let out a yell, echoing a pair of simple words through all the extension of this new, void universe:

     "MY HAT... !!!"

     ...

     In another instance of a parallel, multi-multiverse, safe but still shaken from Wan Nabes transcendentally cosmic fury, the sight of his neatly packaged Pablitos El Diablo would prevent such disastrous event of taking place again. All beings in the universe should be eternally grateful for The Girl for placing that accursed box into the Captain's hands.
     The outraged expression of Wan Nabes would IMMEDIATELY distort to a very wide, joyful grin. A handful of decades would come, a time where Severin have already been deceased, where someone would see Captain Wan Nabes with such smile.
     A thin line of cold sweat would run down the Old Man's wrinkled face while Wan Nabes delicately took a single Pablito from inside the box. Carefuly, he would proceed to pull out from his coat's pocket a gold-trimmed zippo lighter, aptly shaped like an anchor. With a click that would soar through all the now completely silent room (save for the constant hum of heating pipelines), it would emit a thumb-sized flame... And the Captain wasn't willing to waste even one more moment before gently lighting one of his so-much sought Ssazharian Pepper Cigars.
     Sucking with orgasmic eagerness unto that bunch of exotic, tightly rolled up tobacco, Wan would smoke enough to burn two-fifths of it's contents in one go. At last, he would exhale, both from nose and mouth, a big cloud of pitch black, eye-burning smoke. With only the Captain's remaining intact, his water-blue eyes could never go red after decades of Pablitos.
     And one could swear the face of The Devil formed in that very cloud. Wanheed's insecurities, paranoia, despair and immeasurable rage would slowly start to seep from his broken mind, all through that thick smog, highly pollutive smog.
     That's when ALL the people in luxuriantly Bridge, with the obvious exception of Severin, would immediately rush towards the Girl to take her into captivity. Needless to say, all of their attempts to take a hold on the Girl would be met with complete and almost unbelievable failure. Whenever a big, burly guard was one hundred percent confident about getting his gauntlets on this slippery thief, She would turn to 'teleport' again. And again. And again, and again and again. Heck, she would even teleport herself behind the glass globe below the Bridge, the only access to Notspace... Just to come back again and restart the chaos.

     ... Meanwhile, Wan Nabes had happily finished the burn his third cigar, while Severin curiously recorded all of the the crew's pathetic attempts at getting The Stranger. With each passing moment, the Captain's goons would reach their exhausted states, with all of them sweating heavily inside their armor and with their uniforms all wet and stained. They had never dealt with such trouble since a mice got into into the Bridge.

     "We're sorry, C-Captain... ! We... We cannot get this one!"
     One of the officers would rush towards Wan Nabes to be completely ignored as he kept his cigar-worship, rage-purging ritual... That's when she reappeared beside the Officer and right behind the Captain. In a last ditch attempt, the Officer went straight toward the Stranger, leaping like a tiger... Just to be face-met with the solid, cold floor as she simply blinked out of existence and re-materialized in a brief moment.

     Now the Stranger had a clear opportunity to notice a massive object on the Captain's back.

     Hanging from his coat, there was this huge chunk of metal, appearing to be some sort of badly, put-together and heavy-looking plated frame, many rectangular hollows would run through it's lenght. Wires protruded apparently everywhere, beginning from it's uppermost tip, a spherical bar just enough to fit in one's hands, towards it's very, pointy end. However, inside that hollowed plated, rested another metal plate. When the Girl finally took enough time to figure out what that thing was, the thing started to emit a soft but increasing mechanic hum. But chunk of metal wasn't no mere awkward gadget.
     It was a weapon, bladed. A Cutlass


     A Monomolecular, Hypervibration, Instant Five Thousand Degrees Heating Cutlass.

     "Heh, glad you eggheads could finish working in my blade's upgrade..." - That was the only thing the Girl's deviant monologue managed to take out from Wan Nabes, and it took a bit long for Severin to procces that those words were meant to him, instead.
     "Wan, those features have not beet tested yet and That Stranger is of most high impor--"
     "I. Don't. <********>. Care, you nerd. Do it."
     Letting out a troubled sight, Severin reached for his goggles and clicked on a button... Nothing happened on the first seconds after it and the Girl could notice a blue bar and a set of unintelligible words to appear on his 'eye-screen'.
     ... Suddenly, some sort of unseen force field would emanate from Wan Nabes' misshappen cutlass.
     If even had an effect on her, it was easy for The Girl to say that this would provoke the worst headache and case of vertigo the Girl would ever feel in her expansive life. That feeling would be akin of having no air to breathe. Desperation, dread and... The lack of teleporting powers akin to Notspace. Moreover the weapon was not entirely on it's full potential, still, even if the Stranger was partially affected by it, blinking would turn to be a rather painful task, even being able to worsen her vertigo.

     "Wan, this... 'Youth' is of extreme importancy to our own Research and for the Stella Viventium. Its Director had warned me abou--"
     "So you finally got your goons inside my ship, Aelyn... You <****> sucking, son-of-a-<*****>..."
     Maybe Severin had forgotten about Nabes' illogical hatred for A.P. Petrovalyc... Wasn't very good to mention anything related to him with Wan Nabes on that state.
     "<*******> it, Wan, take your mind off Aelyn for a moment. And don't even think about speaking to that girl, she doesn't understand our langue!"
     "Oohhh, is that really true? Then 'lemme teach her a word she'll NEVER forget."

     That's when a Hatless Wan Nabes would look behind him, with the same impish smile The Stranger had pulled just moments. But, this time, Wan took a hold of the Cutlass and, with a violent thrust upward, pulled it out of it's apparent 'sheathe'.

     And, at that moment, all of the Bridge exhausted officers stood up, in complete silence.

     "Kingsbane." - The Captain muttered. "Kingsbane." Again, he did it. Slowly turning towards her, gripping in a chunky blade apparent impossible for a man of his age and strenght to hold unto.

     "Kingsbane." - Then, he proceeded to point to each one of the Officers in the room, repeating "Kingsbane" each time he pointed to a new individual, with increasing pace and intensity.
     "Wan, you can't do tha--" - "KINGSBANE!" - With a loud yell that filled the whole room, Wan Nabes pointed towards Severin as he looked at the Girl's face with his blue, stormy eyes wide open... Along with a wide, clear white, teethy grin. Even his teeth were 'used to' his cigars.
     A man of many loose screws, there wasn't a better chance to express that for The Girl aside from this very moment. The past pertaining the origins of the Kingsbane the primary reason (secondary being his short-fused personality) for that behavior. Still, no matter how insane the Captain was, he still had a megalomaniac sense of confidence... And he was pretty confident about this Notspace Wanderer survivability of what he was about to do...

     "Kings..." - With speed impossible for a human to achieve, sourced from unknown origins - possible arch demons, for the Girl - Captain Wan Nabes would proceed to unleash a diagonal slash with his misshappen and huge cutlass towards the Girl, with complete disregard about the importance she would have to the future of Wan's ambitions and the power of the Kingsbane.

     "... BANE!!!" - He finished up with the slash, after whatever the Girl did to avoid her quick, physical death. Either if she jumped back, ducked or just, painstrakingly blinked again.

---

     'Earth' Solar System - Earth Four
          Goodbye, Earth VI!

     For 'Canary', the creature drenched in a thick black suit of armor, the likings of Sergei were a common sight on her day-to-day. After all, having general troublemaking and terrorism for a living was a common thing for the silent, antisocial types nowadays, at least, from where she came from. But that guy was in a really bad day, he didn't had the decency to nod to Canary, let alone spit out a cold 'Hi' or 'Hello'.
     What an absolute prick.
     However, when was the last time that the Mad Ranger brought strangers aboard an emergency rescue team (more like rescue duo, a third unseen person was abord as well) and kept them alive for so long? (Long being two to three minutes since Canary saw them) There was this job when Canary, the pilot of this ship, the Ranger and a whole lot of team mates had to rescue a highly valued VIP with the only condition of keeping his partners alive at the time. Few moments later, each one of them would have their brains blasted by a well-placed .500 round right between their eyes, masterwork from the Mad Ranger's Lucian Defender. Perhaps CL that man and his dog-people were perceived as valuable asset for the Masked Man's mission? Could be they double or outright finish that mission?
     Otherwise, Canary was sure that all of those creatures and their 'owner' would meet their maker.
     Judging by what this Connel doggie just did to an already angered CL, their chances of survival were immeasurably thinner by now.

     The Ranger, in utter disgust for their priorities, the following events. A self-centered blondie dog-thing had just shoved aside the one responsible for their rescue on a doomed planet, carrying dead weight unto a tightly compressed, weight-sensitive rescue ship, all while absolutely not giving a pair of flying craps on how grateful he, no, the WHOLE SQUAD should be to the Ranger? Such preferred to silently follow behind, mind clear and decided on what to with Sergei for having a tongue taller than him and the Dim for being just darn unflexible to the disasters around him.
     ... It didn't finish with the corpse. CL didn't even had the time to properly get into the ship before the canids started fighting. Fighting over a chunk of useless flesh and bone, now just a hollow of a person that the Ranger didn't even get to knew? Heck, as far as he was concerned, it was sure that whoever that dog was, he could be millions times better than Connell, Sergei and Dim, all three together. The black-plated soldier held the grip of her submachine gun tightly on her hands, ready to immediately dispose of all of that annoyance under the Ranger's words... Even though she deeply wanted to meet and study those canids while they were alive.

     "Knock 'em." - Whispering behind his mask, the Ranger would fall deaf to even the most perceptive of the canids while Canary's would easily hear it through their internal radio channel.
     "... What?"
     "Now."

     The trouble aboard wouldn't last for much longer.

     Gunslinger since her early years, Canary managed to swap the lethal Hollow Point rounds from her submachine gun, inserting a rather bulky magazine back on it: Nanomachine Assisted Tranquilizers, NATr Ammo. Initially intended for use on valuable carbon-based alien species, NATr rounds started to be a cheap replacement for rubber and flat rounds, all intended to be used against riots and for the purpose of capturing a valuable enemy VIP, and that would be the reason of why so many terrorists and bounty hunters always had one NATr magazine or two in their pockets.
     The group only had time to see the blinding flash coming from the black-clad female's weapon. Syringes measuring on about a finger in size flew straight towards Sergei and his mates' bodies with point-blank accuracy. The packed interior of the ship would contribute even more for the slight, let any chance, for any of them to actually avoid the 'shots', if that was even remotely possible. Still, Canary managed to empty her magazine on the group, assuring one chance in a million that even one of them would come unscathed.
     NATr rounds simply injects a controlled amount of potent anesthesics along with millions of nanomachines, assuring that it's victims bodies absorb as much of the tranquilizer doses as they could handle. Just a few nanoliters before the effects being lethal, the nanomachines would cut the chemical receptors of the victim's bodies that reacted to the tranqulizers right away, assuring total efficiency, no matter how many NATr rounds actually struck their targets.

     The effects were immediate.

     All the infighting would stop at once, as all of the canids, Sergei altogether, would feel an exhaustion worth of an entire week of sleep deprivation. Even if they had the willpower to actually resist, their muscles would practically fail to answer to their impulses. From lifting their arms to even speaking would prove to be an impossible task, as they would simply wave their limbs around like sloths with their attempts of screaming coming out as sleepy groans.
     All of this without mentioning how weak their legs would also feel. They all would either fail entirely, making the whole group collapse on the cold, metal floor or being forced to lean against their seats.
     Such effects would last for eight full hours, at minimum, before they started to subside.

     "Who... In the ACTUAL. LIVING. <****>... You <*************> think you're <*******> with... ?"

     Behind her mask, Canary's worried face would fall to blind eyes as the Ranger started to give the verdict for this group of staggers. Testing the movement on his damaged, mechanical limb, CL managed to get it moving again, albeit with marginal reflex, only with three or four of his fingers (rather, a bunch of bloodied, metallic framework). There wouldn't be much space between the group and the Ranger and his companion, standing right behind him. Even worse is the fact that the Ranger hadn't pulled his revolver out already. He would always pull out his Lucian Defender BEFORE uttering any word to his soon-to-be dead victims. Canary knew of the atrocities an infuriated CL would bring himself to do and, really, she wouldn't mind in most cases.
     It would be such a shame, however, if Sergei would get his face scarred. The woman inside that armor really liked him on first sight.

---

     Sector J84 - Moon 456
          Illiya "Dragon Lady" Vs. Maria "Lock-On"

     Third-party combat analysts were always a gamble when it came to enemy intelligence. Either they sucked up everything about the martial style of a target to even it's favorite weapon, or, it's employed would just waste over one million credits to get a hold of fiction-worth info about someone of utmost danger. Due to Illiya's respect towards Lock-On, it was easy to say that this was the last case. The one who had trained the Dragon Lady for the eventual encounter with Lockheart, sure of his own informants, relied more on what kind of weapons, allies and technology Kampfer's daughter would use for her aid. Judging from that, victory was ninety nine percent achievable for the Dragon Lady. Easier to say that it was, in all means, possible.

     Illiya and her mentor had not taken the Dendril infusion into account, however.

     The results were... Exciting (for Illiya). Few were the doubts on her exotic mind about a successful assault on Lock-On. Harmless fire, startled cyborg cowgirl, metal pole to the head. K.O., rival bested, mission 'complete'. But her enemy (or idol) was far from just a mere combat cyborg. Not only Illiya missed her strike, benting the bar at about thirty degrees once it struck the ground, but Maria was able to, effortlessly, block a continuous attack and, succesfully, counter the Dragon Lady's rush. Even though Maria was deeply equivocated about her - perceived - enemy origins, Illiya's torso was a quite obvious weak spot, too.
     A direct blow to the gut like that would instantly rupture most living beings vital organs, insuring instant death on all cases. But, much like Maria, Illiya wasn't just an weekend bounty hunter... If one could really call Illiya an actual bounty hunter.
     Still... "Ouch..." - ... Was the only thing that reverberated on the Dragon Lady's head, this time.

     The Draconian lost the tight grip of her supposed 'weapon' at once, immediately leaping back with a single, big stride (And she was very well trained for the feat). But before she even touched ground again, the Dragon Lady would keep one of her big paws tightly clenched against her now heavily bruised belly, letting out consecutive groans with smoke shooting from the sides of her teethy maw and nostrils. Maria could assume that this was the Draconian's equivalent to coughing.

     "S-Should have guessed... ! Like p-playing dirty, e-eh... ?!?" - She yelled back to Lockheart, her voice made even more hoarse due to that terrific sucker punch. Maria could easily notice, though, how there was no obvious attempt of Illiya's part for her voice to sound even slightly more feral-like or intimidating (Not assuming it would work, anyway).
     But, now, the Dragon Lady was without a 'weapon'. What now? How come Illiya could charge against Maria again without achieving her OWN objective? Her mentor had other plans for Maria, he wanted the bounty hunter outright out of the physical realm in the quickest way possible, with no regard for suffering. He wanted it done and done fast.
Now, only with her natural weapons. REAL weapons. A set of twenty, razor-sharp talons, five protuding from the extremities of each of her limbs not to mention the external and internal row of fangs on her steel-crushing maw.

     "... W-Welp..." - The Dragon Lady, showing sincere concern on the frown that formed on the draconian features of her face, while slowly lowering her head. Deep fiery eyes running over her clawed hands. "... You leave me no good choices, Mary..." - It would take a good deal of time before this sight to happen again, but Maria had the chance to lay her eyes on a very worried draconian. It was like Illiya was prompted with a choice with no good outcome...

     Then such choice was made.

     Illiya pupils would close tightly again. Golden eyes took the impression of a pair of dashed fireballs. Arms slightly contracted backwards with her claws on menacing display as if they were daggers ready for the kill. And she wouldn't hold herself on that position for too long. The first charge against Maria, just a few seconds ago, was a zig-zagging, defensive charge. Even so, Illiya held most of her speed back. But she was not doing so anymore.
     Making half of the way to Lock-On in a single second, with a fierce leap, the Draconian would rush the mere ten meters remaining, legs running with a velocity unmatched by any warrior a Dimensional Lord had built, was on the makings or would ever make in the following millenia. Along with it, darted smoke from the fiery mouth of an enraged biped dragon and, bearing it's fierce claws.

     The laidback and infantile creature Maria would have the opportunity to meet, in a very friendly manner, would twist into an irate half-beast of uncontrollable instincts of domination over it's prey. It was made obvious that Illiya was faster, stronger and fiercer than any 'dragon-kin' Maria or the Dimensional Lords have ever encountered, however they were.
     Regardless of caliber, the Dragon Lady could effortlessly 'swat' any bullets Maria would try to fire against her enemy, until its eventual arrival. That's when Illiya, in a unceasing and unexplained rampage, would proceed to mercilessly slice and dice against Maria, using both feral maneuvers and; intricate blows with her 'hands' and gracious kicks, all as if those blows were made by iron-cutting blades... Amidst thundering, eardrum-breaking roars.
     Times and times would come before Illiya would reach such enraged state. Few were the things that were able to make her into such a monster and, somehow, Maria was related to that reason.

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium


Woe to Rya Valheimer – for she had unwittingly unleashed upon herself possibly the worst fate one could suffer while aboard the great ark. If she had pressed any other button, she would have been spared the ultimate torment that was about to befall her – but alas, she had started with the top button and thus sealed her fate. The one who was coming would not prove so easy to dispatch as the doctor had. Any other button and he would have passed without an issue, and Rya would have been able to continue her exploration unhindered – but in choosing the Evacuation Terminal for her destination, the fates aligned so that the railcar which would reroute to pick her up already contained one terrible passenger.

It was a long, silent moment. There was virtually no sound to be heard in the little station which had apparently gone unused for so long. The little screen beside the button had changed and was now silently counting down from 34.

As it neared the single digits, one might have heard a sound from far down the rail to one side. Of course, the sharp curve made it impossible to look and see – though it was unlikely that she would be able to take cover in time, and so she would be standing at the terminal when her doom arrived.

As the countdown approached 0, a sleek, magne-hydrogen railcar slid leisurely around the corner and came to a stop dead-center of the little station. The single door on the pod slid open, though there was a band of windows around the length of it so that one might have a good view either inward or outward.


Inside the railcar sat a stocky, yellow-skinned man in his early thirties, with a polished-bald head, scraggy eyebrows and a scruffy goatee. He appeared to have something of a gut, but also a good sum of muscles to accentuate a sturdy build. He wore dark work pants and a dark green T shirt. His eyes were totally obscured by old-fashioned welding goggles, and he looked very perplexed. He sat there for a moment in silence, one bushy brow arched in total confusion as to why in Great Space he was looking at a young woman in a hospital gown inexplicably standing in a dusty old maintenance terminal. He appeared to be staring at her. It was a long, awkward moment.

There would be no surprise-attacking this guy, since there was a fair distance between where he was seated directly across from the open door in the pod and where Rya was standing behind the console.

The awkwardness mounted.

Then, at last, he raised a hand just slightly and issued a minute gesture of greeting. He spoke in a scratchy, rough-toned voice, and said

”Uh…Hi?”

Rya Valheimer had stumbled upon none other than the dreaded Drakis Volo – head of the Engineering and Robotics divisions, and single most intolerable lout on the Stella Viventium.

---

N O T S P A C E – The Kingsbane


Entire parallel universes might have been collapsing due to the unbridled, inconceivable rage of the captain of the Kingsbane, but if the girl was aware of this vast, white-hot inferno of fury she was showing no sign of it. She just stood there, looking confident and cocky, the stolen hat upon her head with white-blonde hair feathering from beneath. She adjusted it delicately, smirking, watching the man in white. The moment was long and tense for everyone else, but the girl seemed oblivious of the tension in the air that hung so thick it might be cut with a monomolecular blade.

And then, all at once, there was chaos – a farce of fumbling men and women all lunching after the insignificant form of the girl who was simply unable to be caught. She blipped about the bridge without the slightest sound, barely the slightest motion before each movement through the conceptual plane of existence and nonexistence.

Actually, the girl seemed to be enjoying the ordeal, occasionally letting out a little giggle when someone proved particularly clumsy – or unfortunate. There was never a perceptible moment where the girl was nowhere to be seen – there was no measurable interval between her transitions from one location to the next, and this would hold true even when observed in ultra-high-frame recordings.. There was no pattern to her movements – here, there, everywhere – all the while with the Captain’s dingy hat perched atop her head.

At one point, the girl found herself directly behind the captain. Another officer lunged at her and she blipped slightly off to one side, dodging him just barely with all the ease and self assuredness of the most well-practiced master of their art. She was just giving the man an impish look when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something interesting. There were a lot of interesting things on this ship, and she was having so easy a time avoiding her would-be captors that there was no harm in leaning a little closer to take a better look. Absently, she perceived that the captain was apparently not as furious as he had been moments prior, which was no fun at all~

The thing was a weapon – a sword of some kind – but with mechanical parts too. It looked complicated and she very much would have liked to play with it – though stealing that too was out of the question. In her fascination, she was delayed in realizing that nobody was trying to catch her anymore. Everyone was exhausted, panting, out of breath and sweaty and they had all given up. Well that was no fun either~!

She was also delayed in noticing the faint humming that the captain’s weapon was emitting until it had become one of the more dominant sounds in the sudden relative silence about the bridge. She didn’t like it. She also didn’t like that the old man was reaching up to his goggles and pressing a button, causing blue lines of glyphs to appear on the black screen that constituted his stand-in eyes. Her smirk was just now beginning to fade. Eyes locked onto the old man for what seemed like a longer moment than it actually was – there was a hint of uncertainty – of suspicion?

But that was gone soon enough too, when something began to be emitted from the captain’s sword. The girl’s white-iris-eyes widened, she blinked, apparently dazzled by the sudden onslaught of something unseen…Or mostly unseen. The pain was furious, throbbing through her eyes and down her spine and…

She didn’t want to move – she stood stark still, for fear that the slightest motion would send her into some spiraling abyss, some bottomless pit that might have formed beneath her feet. The world was upside down for a moment. She was staring now, wide-eyed and stunned, thunderstruck by the new force that was smothering her, surrounding her, burrowing into her to bury her alive in oppressive madness and blackness that could not be seen.

The man in white and the old man exchanged some words, but the girl heard them only at a far distance, only vaguely off in some insignificant point, like some irrelevant memory half-forgotten. Then the man in white turned and gave her an expression that largely mirrored her own from earlier – that expression which had been entirely stricken from her face and plastered, contorted onto his. Her mouth was dry. He unsheathed the sword.

But she wasn’t about to give up that easily. This was a new thing, an unknown thing – but she had faced so many new things in the recent past, she could handle this. She composed herself, took a deep breath, managed to stabilize herself, determine once again which way was down, where the other people were around her. She focused all her energy into regaining normality, at least for herself – and, some seconds later, the girl appeared to visibly relax…a little.

She became slightly less tense in posture, took another deep breath, was able to blink again. It hurt, but she could ignore the pain for now. Another deep breath. Another blink. Good. Progress.

Everyone else had stood up, she noticed. Now the man in white was pointing at people and saying a word – the same word – over and over, each time. Kingsbane. It was a strange word, but clearly an important one. Just how important was dawning on her more and more with each new point of the finger. He was getting louder, more intense. She wobbled a little, but managed to keep following his finger, expression having changed now from the thunderstruck paralysis to something approaching dull, but poignant curiosity. Understanding came over her slowly but surely, the fact dawning on her by the time he had reached about three quarters of the crew present.

”Oh…Kingsbane.” she repeated under her breath, eyes reflecting a mounting awe – then louder and directed more toward the man in white, she partially raised an arm and gestured with one hand in implication of their surroundings – the floor and ceiling and walls. ”Kingsbane.” She said again, seeming to ask for confirmation as she spoke it. HE was, of course, going on without her, probably ignoring her entirely – but that didn’t stop the girl. She turned halfway to glance over some of the crew, gestured weakly toward them. ”Kingsbane…”

Then she looked back to the captain, pointed weakly at him in a subtle gesture, hand not rising higher than her hips for fear that too much movement would set her toppling. ”Kingsbane…”

As the man in white got to the old man, she seemed to grow abruptly more concerned, leaning forward ever so slightly and totally instinctively as if worried that he might be in some kind of trouble?


And then, managing to blink again, a much more distinct expression fell over her. The awe, the understanding – and then a deep uncertainty, a vulnerability tinged with the distant, but clearly definable hope. Eagerness at the appearance of untold opportunity, too good to be true. Deep concern that she might be denied the single-word question she was about to ask. In that moment, she looked more like an anxious, insecure teenager than the mischievous young lady she had been just prior. Naivety had replaced arrogance in full. With one hand, she reached up toward the brim of the stolen hat.
With the other, the girl pointed loosely to herself and said with a stutter, in a small voice, barely above a whisper;



”K-Kingsbane…??”



But it had either been the wrong answer, or the right answer spoken too late.
The man in white lunged forward with an inconceivable speed, slashing down diagonally upon her. She barely even saw it coming. There was hardly enough time for her to start to stumble back in something that might have been a pathetic attempt at a dodge.



There was a sickening, gut wrenching sound as the super-heated blade, augmented by some unknowable source of incredible power, contacted the girl’s shoulder just at the base of her neck. It was the sound of crisping flesh, snapping tendons, meat being shredded. The blade tore through the girl like a razor through hot butter, meeting only a minute snag of resistance as it passed through where her ribs should have been.

Should have been.

The blade sliced cleanly through the girl’s body, dividing her diagonally down the torso. The captain couldn’t have asked for a cleaner, more successful strike. It had been a single, killing blow.

Time seemed to stand still then, once the blade’s trajectory had been completed. With a mounting terror, a horrific disbelief at what she was seeing, the girl looked down at her finely decimated body. She blinked, unable to accept what her eyes were showing her.

She looked back up to the old man with the same terrible fear. Then the two pieces she had been sliced into finally slid to the floor and separated with a sickening sound. The eyes stared blankly upward, devoid of life now – blinking once, twice more, then never again.

In one swift blow, it had become beyond obvious that the girl before them had been no ordinary human being – nor anything even remotely related to mankind. This could be no ancient ancestor of Man. There was no blood, and no gore as any human would recognize it. Spread before them lay an example of truly alien biology, with various components splayed about the floor where they had escaped their severed host.

There were no bones, only a complicated, possibly nonsensical conglomeration of tendons, fleshy muscles, and what amounted to gigantic nerve bundles – not to mention a large quantity of what could only be identified as grey matter distributed liberally throughout. No fluids in any quantity worth noting. The color palette was all wrong too - shades of grey leaning toward the palest teal, but with thin strands of bright, glowing cyan that might have been blood veins, or bioluminescent strings.
Indeed, the thing had never been human – but a creature of alien origin – and now it was dead.

But she – (it?) – wasn’t the only thing that had been utterly demolished in the captain’s strike.

For at the precise moment that he had lashed out, she had been in the process of removing the hat. IF my some miniscule chance he had seen the danger beforehand he would have been too progressed in the lunge to abort and save it. The super-heated blade sliced through Nabes’ hat with the same razor efficiency as it had eradicated the creature. Divided in two, it would prove utterly unsalvageable as the parts fell down atop the creature’s lifeless corpse. As if to add insult to injury, it had promptly ignited and was within seconds an unrecognizable scrap of tattered black ash.

Silence hung heavy for a long time.

Then, the body of the thing slowly began to dissipate into nothingness. The elementary particles that composed what was definitely biological matter and not artificial turned to an ultra-fine dust that seemed translucent, that changed into fog, and then into nothingness before it would even have the chance to hint at mixing into the atmosphere of the bridge. The body did not crumble, nor did it vaporize – it merely ceased to exist, particle by particle, atom by atom. Within thirty seconds, any trace that there had ever been something lying there had been utterly obliterated. Not a trace remained in the air or on the floor. Even the blackened remaining scraps of the hat proceeded to dissipate along with the rest until it too was utterly and completely gone.













And it was over.

Rya looked over at him, and strolled across the room to the man.
"Hello," she said happily, placing an act upon her shoulders so the man would leave her be. Undercover work truly helped her back in the day. "Um.. I'm just a tad bit lost. Would you mind helping me to the highest ranking personnel aboard this beautiful ship? I was told to go there as soon as I woke up."
She lied like it was nothing but the truth, making a mental note about her story, remembering it.
Rya absolutely loved elderfolk, however ornery and intolerable they were. They had experience and backbone, and, if she dare say, she considered even the lowest of the low elderfolk above her in rank, status, everything. But now was not the moment to get to know this man's secrets. If he didn't help, Rya was certain she could win in a fight against him.
He looked old, maybe not fragile but not as strong as her. She found herself adoring his voice, and snapped herself out of it.
"Do you mind helping me get to them?"

As the two titian of machines crashed down onto her planet, she flung away from them, knocked out. She soon got up and realized how large she was. She looks around and see's the total devastation, even her own business was in ruins. The site of her corporation in ruins, made Arena grit her teeth hard and yelled out in anger, causing a rather small shockwave for her relative size, being as big as the two IRIL's robots. She looks around angry and see's Z, the one responsible for all this chaos and destruction.

Without hesitation, she grips her blade tightly that also grew with her glowing in a fiery reddish orange color over the black, similar to what was happening to her armor and so with inhuman speed she dashed towards Z. The Dimensional Lord of Chaos and Destruction fights once again. As she approaches Z, as if doing what B wanted, Arena goes and uses her handle of the blade and goes to sucker punch Z right in her big fat eye. "HOW DARE YOU DESTROY MY PRECIOUS CITY, YOU IGNORANT BUCKET OF BOLTS!!!" she yells out at her. "I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU A PASS FROM THAT SHIP YOU ALMOST DESTROYED BUT NOT THIS TIME, YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!!!" she adds, her eyes being fiery red as she grips the handle of her sword tightly and as she gritted her teeth. Arena was not in a very good mood...

Seeing that she hit a weak spot, bounty hunter chuckled. She understood a few more hits, this dragon-kin will go down. "Dirty tricks? You are the one who ambushed me!" she yells back as she plants herself onto the ground, intent in not giving up ground. Seeing her opponent going almost what would could only describe as going feral, made her gulp. It has been a very long while since she faced someone who lost all trace of civility. But before Maria could react, Illyia was the one who was able to perform much greater in the speed department. Seeing that she was unable avoid Illyia contact, she raised her arms in typical fighting stance to protect herself. The fighting moves that Illyia was doing was somewhat reminiscent to her old highschool days when bullies just flung there hands around without any form, leaving her open for counterattacks. Of course Maria processing on what to do was slightly slower than Illyia physical speed and so she ended up taking nasty hits on her arms and abdomen causing black fluid to spill and sparks to fly as her talons failed to cut apart the highly dense Dendrilic material. "**** OFF! ENOUGH!" yells back as Maria's superior reflex skills are put up for the task. After parrying away the talons away from her, Maria backed off and as when Illyia's kick came in, she goes to grab her leg by locking into her arm. With all of her strength from human muscle and dendrilic machine, she tries to break her leg with all her might. If successful it should slow the dragon-kin down a little, but it would definitely make things easier for Maria to subdue her combatant. In Maria's mind snapping this leg was basically checkmate for her opponent in which this would be Maria's victory.

However, if unable to break this leg, she just let herself open to continue to be cut at by her razor sharp talons. No doubt this would give Illyia an advantage, giving the dragon-kin the ability to toss her to the ground and continue her barrage of attacks on her.

The soldiers are still trying to get over the location not firing because of the risk of injuring Maria.

Christofer heard some steps from around the room, but only mostly assumed that it was just people moving around franticly and trying to get stuff to work. Really, he was determined on being helpful in some way, so Royanna's note on having possibly succeeded in something went right past his ears. Good on you woman, good on you, but his attention was elsewhere, more focused on the banging at the door. It seemed much more threatening at the moment.

At that moment, yes.

As the steps within the room itself became louder and were packed with a little more sound to back them up, his ears would be perking themselves up slightly, head turning a little to see just what was up with the noise. Bad move perhaps as he was faced with some fury from Kallenger. Here being able to feel what other people felt didn't really come in all that handy, more like it made things worse.
Ok, he was still a little angry at her for having acted in the way she did, smelled strange and acted even stranger a little earlier. It was only some form of self-defence for him in a way. Strange things were best to keep away from. But yeah, he had only slightly forgiven and took a softer look on Royanna for her earlier actions, mostly because of the situation they were in, but by no means was he completely over it yet. Don't even think about it. Still, when it came to an angry woman coming his way his other side of instincts went and kicked in. As usual, it'd be fear that came and showed itself to be quite a bit stronger than any anger or dislike he could have felt. Pointed up ears folded themselves backwards and laid behind his head, fur raising only a little bit, but not much. He wasn't trying to look intimidating or as if he was ready to bite her again.
That would have happened if he was more angry than he was scared, so Royanna had luck on his meekness there.
Instead, he took to pulling himself back and hunching over a little. The grabbing of his clothes almost got to set off that defencive strike, but again, Royanna got lucky. Wouldn't it have been nice to be bitten in the face by a canid? Would you like that? If it continued she might be getting some reasons to start using fancy make-up tools.

It was probably for the best if they took to talking later, but currently it didn't seem all that possible.

No answers were given, nor a sound let out at the shove. He was silent now, and was probably going to stay that way for a bit, rubbing his neck as if hurt.
Nice...
So one of them got to be 'big', mean and intimidating, all the while being kinda useful to the group by knowing some super secret things or something and actually understanding them.
And He was left being the useless being he had been most of the time do far, when the chance of actually doing something he was good at had come.
It was not fair...

He was a little too depressed to feel the possible panic that was supposed to strike him at this point. The whole place was going to blow up - or something - and he just couldn't get over the fact that he hadn't done anything useful.
Prying down the wall was not really able to lift the feel. Sure it was him being useful, helping them out and all that, but really when you got depressed you got depressed and it wasn't going to be lifted with the snap of your fingers.

The situation was a little strange now. He felt cold, as if there was something, or a lot that his brain had failed to register, only now having started to go through and progress the information he was given. They were supposedly running from something or someone bad and dangerous, ok, trapped in some small room, ok, they now had an escape route, mhm, yes, good, if it worked that is. And on the side, the whole place was going to blow up. Great.

Going through with these late ideas and thoughts, he'd only be able to really wake up from them as he heard Kallenger shouting for Iril. Seems like it was time for them to move. Maybe he'd be able to sort the thoughts when they were outside - that is If they got outside.

With quick reflexes he'd be moving out of the way, letting most others get on before him. He was small, kinda, so it was likely that the canid would be fitting into any spot that there was left, possibly even over someone if they were to lift him as he was quite light weight as well. Eyes followed the movement, tracking where ever anyone was moving or going to, especially Iril with her larger size. The turquoises would be focused onto Kallenger then, switching places with Iril and taking up to guarding the door herself.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh screw that.

And screw those orders of going and getting to the escape platform. He wasn't going to leave Kallenger behind even if he was a little more than in bad terms with her right now.
Kind or forceful? Smash that last button, the boy ran over to the woman and grabbed her arm and clothes with quite a bit of force, pulling at her and dragging her away from the door. Not being made to use much of his strength or stamina would be coming handy here.

"If you don't want for my past to repeat itself then you will not repeat my past." The words were surprisingly firm and stoic, coming from him as he'd keep pulling on that arm as if the situation depended on it. "My whole former troop died that way." Thanks for the memories, buddy.
If the situation needed it and Kallenger was not going to let go of the door, he'd proceed to kicking her into her legs, looking to sweep them from under the woman so that moving her away would have been easier.

"Roy." Hand digging firmer onto those clothes, but at the same time losing some of the strength behind itself. "I won't allow it."

Two with the price of one? Deal.

N O T S P A C E – Stella Viventium

It was not quite dead silence in the dusty old maintenance station, for all around the pair did the subtle, white-noise sounds of ship life make their presence known. Though there were remarkably few moving parts involved in the mechanics of the great Stella Viventium, the minutest signs of everyday habitation were ubiquitous.

Despite this, the narrow and not dark, but shady confines of the little hidden magrail station seemed to hold an added layer of oppressive silence over the far-off little sounds of air filters and the other miscellaneous clicks and whirrs of standard ship activity. It didn’t help that the moment between the old man and the young lady might have seemed, to an outside viewer, a tad tense.

It was actually an unusual moment for Drakis Volo, who, contrary to his typical and most infamous demeanor, did not immediately burst into chattering conversation. Instead, he merely leaned forward, resting elbows on knees and keeping one eyebrow raised, fuzz-obscured lips forming into a dubious, though neither hostile nor suspicious frown.

The girl had abruptly put Mr. Volo in an unusual dilemma – the task for which she was so charmingly imploring assistance was not quite as simple as it could have been.

The Stella Viventium was vast – it was an enclosed world, arguably more complex than even the most ambitious interstellar ‘drift’ colonies or the largest seed ships. With a civilian population well over one million, it was really hardly a ship at all. The lines between ‘civilian’ and ‘crew’ were immeasurably blurred. There were countless divisions, a hierarchal structure infinitesimally sub-divided into immeasurable convolution. It had been that way ever since the start. Running a ship like a city had been a new and unusual challenge for the original designers – but in the end, it was exactly what they had created – the semblance of order about a gigantic starliner had been sacrificed entirely for a civic, indeed often bureaucratic structure that hardly resembled a ship at all, coming closer to a municipality than anything else.

It had been widely known in the early years that it was Aelyn Petrovalyc, elder brother of the contemporary reclusive super-genius Paeryc Petrovalyc, who had been in charge of the ambitious endeavor to create a floating city to drift between the worlds. Most were aware that the brothers had been collaborating, if indirectly, on the project. Paeryc a jack of all scientific trades, Aelyn the leading aerospace and cosmonautics engineer of their time. But then, these were matters seldom considered by the average citizen of the Solar System. It wasn’t as if the project had been shrouded in secrecy. In fact, it had been the opposite – it took so long and was so generally uninteresting beyond a passing glance that people tended to simply accept the endeavor as an ongoing fact.

But immeasurable time had passed since those ancient days, and while every native of the Stella lived with the knowledge that their ancestors were supposedly descended straight from Mother Earth herself, the human condition had changed little since the beginning-times and people were generally uninterested in things that did not directly influence their everyday lives. The same applied to the overlying mechanics of the world around them – it was politics, and what use did Average Joe have for the political workings of the world he existed within? Nobody cared much for the socioeconomic situation aboard the Stella. Nobody cared who was in charge – sure, there were local officials and figureheads, but what did that matter? Life aboard the Stella had always been pleasant at worst, and so the people were content.

Despite this, there was no need for them to know about Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc. In the early days, he had been a leader among the people of the Stella – there had been crisis in those days, the Earth and all Sol had disappeared, and he was the closest thing that Mankind had to a supreme leader. But in the eons upon eons that had passed, he had faded into the background. Figurehead politicians had stepped up to relieve him of the burdens of publicity. He had other matters to attend to. He had existed for far, far longer than any human being known in the Galaxy. He had descended into myth, and eventually into utter nonexistence. He owned the entirety of the Stella Viventium. He was the supreme captain – but who cared? Only his closest cabinet was aware of his existence and, indeed, only the most avid historians were even aware that he had ever existed in the first place. Sure, the most ancient of legends spoke of the great Paeryc Petrovalyc and his brother Aelyn – but those myths were so obscure nowadays that nobody had reason to recall them.

Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc, true captain of the Stella Viventium, essentially did not exist – and there was no need to go changing that now.

So who, Drakis Volo wondered, had this girl been told to see? The real highest authority? Or merely the highest public authority? Had she been instructed to report to A.P. himself? Or had she been ordered to visit President Esora Noraa?

Most likely she had been directed toward the President, and not the Captain – after all, the Captain always approached directly the people he wanted to deal with – or at least sent one of his trusted directors to fetch them on his behalf.

But these were strange and turbulent times, Drakis knew. Things had been happening at an exponential rate. It was quite possible that this girl had in fact been told to go straight to the Captain…

The only problem?

The captain wasn’t aboard.

He was down on the surface of Isandril with the research team.

Well, maybe she was supposed to see him when he got back?

Aelyn would not be pleased if he returned from whatever was going on down there to be bothered by some girl…

Oh, and she didn’t appear to have a BrainPal™, either. That was weird.

Abruptly, after regarding her dubiously for a few long moments – Drakis Volo’s thoughtful pout transformed into a wide, friendly smile. (If she tried anything on him like she did with Doctor Beral earlier, she’d be very unpleasantly surprised given the tricks he had up his sleeve~)

”Well, ain’t that a co-inky-dink!” He said, spreading his arms and standing, stepping forward to extend a hand for a hearty handshake. The man’s hands were calloused with decades of machining work. ”Name’s Drakis Volo. Chief of Engineering and Robotics. And at this particular junction I’m just about the most important cat you’ll find around these parts! What with all that stuff goin’ on down planetside – no, I don’t much about it. In fact I was just headed down to the mechbay to check up on the situation – but I’m not in much of a rush, so how about you stick with me and we’ll get this whole thing sorted out, huh? We should probably get you some better duds if you don’t wanna’ be walkin’ around lookin’ straight outta’ the mental ward though. How’bout we spook over to Central, get you hooked up and then go from there huh? I mean, unless hospital gowns are in style now – I can’t keep up with all the styles goin’ around these days. Like that whole ‘missionary’ trend? Never been much for that sort of thing. Tell you what though, sure was strange seein’ folks walkin’ around dressed like priests or rabbis or whatever – or, wait, maybe that was a convention. Was there a religious convention here a few weeks ago? Or maybe I’m thinkin’ of those funny Templar Knights guys who came on back at Santos III – they were sure characters I’ll tell you what. Oh, but as I was saying, Central Station isn’t too far, there’s a few good shops right around there so you’ll get whatever you’re into. Say, I really like that hair of yours. I lost mine a long time ago, except for this here bush on my face. One time some guys came aboard and thought I was their messiah because nobody on their planet grew any facial hair! That was pretty awkward, but they had really good wine so I did take advantage of the situation for a little while before getting outed by their leader or whatever. yogsaygfgheda ef awef8yoE GFoe f, farhwe fyware8f fl fhwrea fgrweaf aowf wfyrweoafwfyua wf whf uwrefiwsef;lsedf f H Fgyfieo awfena;fle hwaef waesdhafoi edfoiasfiwsfdkjisedfn sdafhgb sdaofiuabwib…..”

As Drakis invited the girl to take a seat next to him in the magrail pod, he proceeded to talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and talk.

The pod would speed off suddenly but smoothly with no apparent input from the old man.

And he would talk.

And talk.


And






talk.

And talk.

And he didn’t stop.





Ever.

She looked hopeful as the man began speaking, as her face had fallen when seconds ticked by, and there was no response. When he began talking, and talking, and talking, it occurred to her that, since he was rather old, he must know quite a bit about this ship.
She'd never even.. considered the possibility that they could be on the surface of a planet. Still half-listening to Drakis Volo, she focused hard on one of the many helpful implants she'd gotten from back home. She felt it there, just beneath her skin, a feeling that was so unbelievably normal, it was a stark, and welcome, contrast to her situation.


If..
If.
What if they were on the surface of a planet..? A distant hope began in her chest, but she didn't let it get too big for it to be terribly disappointing if her thoughts were wrong. Everyone was allowed to hope, however.

She only noticed the unbearably loud whirring in her head several moments after she'd had this thought. It was painful to listen to, like a million tiny electric drills all going straight through her skull to her brain. Worse than a migraine.

Unimaginably painful...

...Nothing. Strange how skilled one is at hiding their distress after a lifetime and a half of hiding things from people. Drakis Volo wouldn't have to know about the whirring, after he'd been so kind to her. She should thank him for helping her, and filling the silence before the whirring. She suddenly realized he was staring at her, and she smiled.
"I'm sorry, what? I got lost hearing you talk." And he continued, explaining, and then going on an even longer tangent. She found herself becoming quite fond of this man, though...
She dared to stare just a bit too long to be casually at him. Sizing him up.


She could take him.
She knew it.
So what was stopping her?


That would be the strange feeling that she hadn't had a friend in a very long time, whether you counted those years she was dead or not. That thought scared her. She'd been dead and forgotten. Why had they woken her up without a plan on what to say?
What would that guy back in the Re-Sleeving Room do when he got his breath back..? She hoped it wouldn't be too terribly damaging to her plan. Speaking of, what was her plan?
'Leave,' wasn't exactly a very good plan. She knew this. But how is one supposed to plan to leave a place they don't know the exit of.
That's like a prisoner escaping his cell on the first night he's at prison, but was taken there while he was sleeping, so how's he to know where the exit is?
She couldn't scan the place. She almost cursed aloud at how utterly infuriating it was.

Now she regretted beating the man in the Re-Sleeving Room up.. Now she regretted everything. (except possibly meeting the guy sitting right next to her, talking his head off without a care in the world. But really, she sort of envied him. How had it felt to be like that?)

That was the last question she asked, as she realized just how dangerous these questions were. If she thought too much, she'd begin pacing, and pacing, as always, would lead to muttering to herself, and from there it would spiral through the many symptoms of insanity until she was finally done with asking questions, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, waiting for them to all be ignored, and for her to be taken to the place that crazy people are taken, wherever that is!

So she didn't ask any questions, pulled herself from her thoughts, and listened to the droning voice of Drakis Volo.

     NOTSPACE
          THE KINGSBANE

     A heavy artillery cruiser armed to the teeth with an irresponsibly furious brute as its only Captain. Certain bad company for the Stella Viventium and its people, specially for such's commanding officers. After unknown circumstances, that humongous colony vessel is (not so) mysteriously blinked out of nowhere and sent straight towards collision route with that ship, owned by - as A.P. Petrovalyc himself would call - a cigar sucking psychopath. Even though Wan Nabes was followed by people of much brighter minds (in different fields of knowledge, but explicitly more diplomatic than him), he held the weapons AND called the shots. He's the one who knocks... But this time, his door have been knocked by Aelyn, even if such didn't have any intention to do so... Therefore, getting an unwanted obstacles on his hands.
     Nine tenths of the foreign spacefarers only knew the White-Clad Barbarian through his ship, The Kingsbane, planet-busting weaponry. That and his bad habit of comms jamming, for the sole purpose of showing himself throwing curses in High Definition glory into all the screens of an enemy (or any unidentified outsider) ship. Yet unbelievably, Captain Wan Nabes was not this monster for the people he sided with: His own crew, exclusively.
     They lived under the fantasy that his screams and megalomaniac threats were just for show; crap and giggles; and, most importantly, terrorizing it's enemy into acknowledging that two five hundred gigaton and one teraton of pure energy were ready to strike them, over thirty times! Such illusions were fed by a completely different creature, more like Wan Nabes' anti-thesis. Such being was, who else? Wan Nabes himself, though in company of his own crew. Intercom screaming was a condition that all who enlisted for The Kingsbane agreed getting used to. Putting that aside, Wanheed was not only The Kingsbane's Captain but its people's friend.
     Like his own palm, Wanheed was acquainted to every single face who populated that artillery cruiser and, supposedly, each one inside that ship worked and fought in The Kingsbane for the Captain as well. Wanheed threw parties at peaceful times, delivered the most uplifting speeches post-conflicts and, of course, distributed far and wide the supply of his self-made pineapple cider and Sazharian sugar roots. And do the Captain love some Sazharian produce.
     But something very grim about Mustafa haunted his past. Since The Kingsbane was a completely different ship, such haunting have been slowly deteriorating Wan Nabes to the title of White-Clad Barbarian and, now, all of his most trusted men, the operators of the Bridge, witnessed the junction of their Captain and its corrupted half.
     Wan was known to have short psychotic outbursts whenever he recovered from his accursed Sazharian pepper cigars abstinence but never ever before, he had shown any violent aggression against anybody. Not even captive prisoners.

     "I think that someone is trying to kill me,"
     "Infecting my blood and destroying my mind,"
     "No man of flesh will ever stop me,"
     "The fight for this fish is a fight to the death."

     If That Being was able to avoid all the group of fifteen officers and guards that composed the Bridge's assigned staff, they were sure as hell that She would be able to avoid their Captain merciless judgement. They all stood silent when it happened and they saw it with their very eyes. Without a single motion of the victim, the Cutlass passed right through Her frame, both alien and human, and that was about it. Never before the Captain had drawn his weapon on such circumstances and each person there prayed to their own gods, Christ, Allah and Budda alike, for Her safety, that she was able to use her mysterious power to avoid Wanheed's fury.
     Then it came: The typical effect the Cutlass produced when it passes through a bunch of atoms, a thing. A mild but horribly silent shockwave made the skin of everyone in the room tingle and with it, came the agonizing noise of burnt flesh. Instantly, all the faith on their gods were gone. Except for one.
     He was Godless. He wouldn't depend on the metaphysical machinations of men to base his beliefs, he didn't hope to achieve a certain outcome neither had faith in so: He calculated them, played with them, experimented with them. He knew that this Being would be able to easily dodge Wan Nabes' Cutlass and, even better, vanish with that atrocious weapon. But, after a good deal of time, he was wrong about his extreme confidence.
     That happened when Benedict Severin looked at Her face.
     Her curious and afraid expression was immediately twisted into something all of the Bridge knew, including Severin: The horror of being cut clear by that thing, supposed to be a Blade.
     Only the ones that had felt that fabrication of the devil himself cut through their bodies, no matter how hard they were, would pull that face. There was no known material that could withstand it, no known blade that could parry it, no known creature that fought Wan Nabes using it and survived to tell the story. There was no practical use for it but for the mere purpose of assuring total destruction of whoever is unfortunate enough to be on it's way. That makes one wonder, "Who could have possible even thought, let alone DESIGN such tool of such despicable nature?"

     Who else rather than the Einstein of our time, renewed astrophysicist, Benedict Severin?


     — No... — Whispering to himself, the old scientist slowly headed his way towards the frozen frame of his Friend, halting halfway there. Severin struggled deeply to negate the absolute truth that his concealed eyes were laid on. Her body, along with a agonizing noise of flesh being torn apart from it's tendons, started to slowly slide, starting atomically on the path Wanheed's Cutlass has gone through. When struck with such atrocities life tends to throw at him, the Astrophysicist tries his best overscience out of such misfortunes, using his mind at best solve all problems possible. — No. You're just hurt, very seriously hurt but I'm ONE MILLION PERCENT SURE... !!! — ... The old man let out a sudden yell. — ... That you'll be alright, so calm down. I'm deeply sorry about the pranks but you'llhave to trust me, I will call Aelyn and he will... — That's when his stuttering hand gently touched her neck, to no avail. Her skin already cold and Her face would not change the slightest.
     Not even a couple of seconds later, the Being's split apart frame was laid in the cold metal floor, her frozen, twisted face facing Severin as his own heart sunk, such intensity would be the last of many in his, now shortening, lifetime.
     Gently, as Wan Nabes watched with the same cocky smile stolen from his victim, the Doctor crouched, not even letting the slightest sliver of curiosity to take over him as Her body started to turn into atomic dust until it eventually dissipated in thin air. Without thinking twice about any possible consequences, Severin took a handful of the still-vanishing fine particles that once composed Her body, until it slided away through his long and frail fingers.
     — Captain... ? — A voice whispered from someone in the Bridge. — W-What happened? — Said a young girl, with features who slightly reminded all of the Cutlass' victim. — You... He... He couldn't have done that... — Obviously, after that, everybody had lost any kind of respect about the Captain's relationship with his hat. That's when Severin joined...
     — ... You should have surrendered. — Immediately, the Captain's smile was gone, along with his disintegrated hat. — Heh, heh, you see, Wanheed, I'm sure you are aware that you have just thrown out what could possibly mean our victory, YOUR victory in the future. — In that moment, Wan tried to open his mouth to say something, only letting out an angry grunt before Severin interrupted him again. — Your obssession will never bring the King's Bane but, ironically, your own man's bane, more like Wansbane! We are in new territory dealing with new people and, here are us, The Wansbane, with it's own Captain staining itss future legacy. But, heh, heh. I'm now absolutely sure that there will be no <*******> legacy. — Lifting his frail, but tall frame, towering Wanheed on a dozen centimeters, the Doctor glared through his glasses straight down into the furious stormy eyes of the Captain. — You're laughable. Despicable. Pile of steaming horse <****>. It begins from this point, Wanheed, just as FATE did with us, you will betray your own men and, ultimately, your own ship.
     — YOU <*************>, WHAT THE <****> DID YOU JUST SAY???
     — Get some dragon-world pepper cotton swabs and maybe, just maybe, Wanheed, you'll be heard anything someone say.
     A spark of hope suddenly shined on Severin. Maybe all of this was just a sickening trick his Friend wanted to pull of Wan Nabes? With doubts throbbing his mind, the old man looked back only to see nothingness, Her body had ultimately reached the state on which Notspace encountered itself in: Nonexistence. With the Captain breathing furiously against his face, Severin did nothing but let out a depressed, long sigh, slowly heading his way towards the double doors that separated the Bridge from the rest of Captain's Wan Nabes untouchable and glorious Kingsbane.

---

     — Computer.
     — Doctor, I see that your brain chemistry finds itself in a extreme unbalance, it's risky for someone to--
     — Shut yourself, machine. Override any authority of User Wan Nabes and revert your administration status back to User B.A. Severin. Reallocate your processing power to seventy percent research assistance, thirty percent to other functions and cease any functions on any human interactions.
     — Sir Severin, do you really--
     — Confirm order. Password F.O.4.C.O.D.M.W.3.G.O.W.D.A.S.3
     — Acess Granted. Admin order acknowledged. Processor cycles rearranged. Human Interaction Protocols deactivated, Main Processor at one hundred efficiency.

---

     Feeling a big painful on his throat, constantly throwing coughing fits while ignoring anyone that spoke to him along the way, Severin almost couldn't not bear walking through the same corridors he had just gone through with that Girl after such disaster. It almost felt that... Severin himself knew about what would happen leading Her straight towards the Bridge. It felt that it was all a disaster of his doing. At that moment, Severin thought about the most logical - and illogical - thing to do in response to such events. While he was ultimately wrong about Her survival, Severin was sure he could do something to compensate it, or, maybe, even maybe, do something better than that.
     — Heads up, guys. — Severin said aloud, immediately after entering the long but narrow room that composed all of the Research Department, covered by white walls and with the most weird machinery spread all across. All of the short staff for this place, coincidentally 15 as well, turned their chairs, took off their variety of average and exotic looking glasses and eyegear and switching their attention to the Doctor.
     — ... The Computer will be aiding us for some time.
     — WHAT?! — Someone yelled from the back of the room, as a young man, not even on his 21's spoke with obvious surprise to the Doctor.
     — What the <****>, Doc, we don't need her. What is it this time? Did we find Earth? A new black-hole? Supernova, maybe? — The youth was suddenly interrupted by a fat man, much older than him, even older than Severin, ranging on his 70's already. — Nah, the Captain would announce it. Smells like trouble. The Stella and Notspace, I'm sure. Didn't Wanabes wanted to nuke Aelyn's colony or something like that? Breakthrough?
     — ... The only thing to be broken through is Wanheed's skull...
     Amidst all the confusion the Stella now was thrown in against the Dendril, Harkahn would again receive an open-channel request from The Kingsbane and, much for his luck, it would be once again Severin speaking, however, from a different frequency used by The Kingsbane's bridge.
     — This is Benedict Severin from The... Oh, come on... Harkahn, please, come in. This is Severin. I'm aware that you don't even know how do I look like and the only contact with The Kingsbane have been death traps, but, please, I need your immediate assistance. At the present moment, a dendril fleet approaches The Kingsbane and we have no possible way of defending ourselves. — A request of data transfer from inside The Kinsbane would immediately follow Severin's words, upon opening, it would merely show a brief status review of the ship's functions and, even for someone that didn't knew anything about spaceship engineering, it was easy to tell that all of The Kingsbane's weapons, shields and thrust engines were completely inoperative and reactionless in no possibly known way.
     — As you can see, Doctor Harkahn. — Severin followed. — Some unknown force have made our ship completely frozen in Spa-- Notspace and I believe that such is what keeping us like this. Moreover, Doctor Harkahn, we have most important things to discuss when the Kingsbane safety is assured. — The old scientist spoke almost as like he knew that the ship were safe already, as if he like the outcome of the upcoming battle against the Dendril fleet.

---

Illiya's post coming tomorrow.

Fleeing with her Da'len was nothing new for Nirix. In fact this scenario had played out many times before and she was sure that as long as they continued to travel together, they might be stuck in an infinite loop of fleeing from authorities to authorities. Sure, the planets might change and maybe the climate but fleeing would always stay the same.

Not that Nirix was necessarily complaining. She would rather not be charged with destroying a good portion of the Daedalus satellite communication building. Or for impersonating a government agent. Or whatever else Ketin had done that Nirix would most definitely take full blame for to keep Ketin out of trouble.

Casting a look over her shoulder, the blaring sirens of the Authorities' patrol cars caused her sensitive ears to twitch with irritation. She never really understood the reasoning behind all of the excessive use of sound when chasing who or what they deemed to be a criminal. Why not send a stealth team to take them out? Or something with less sound? Honestly, the Eoclu could finding nothing redeeming about this planet. Everything was cold and miserable here and yet it seemed like most of her jobs where located here. It was entirely infuriating and to say she was more than happy to be anywhere than outside was an understatement.

"A warmer planet would be would be preferable if I am to have a say," Nirix voiced her opinion, wondering if it would even be remembered under the hustle and movement of their current situation.

Kali was in the medical lab setting up her supplies there for the day's patients not knowing was going to happen today as she was there setting up for whoever came in needing medical treatment from her and her staff there.

N O T S P A C E – Isandril


The Man who was The Shadow Over Himself stood perched atop the metallic head of the pseudo-mechanical monster, chest heaving with heavy breaths as the ecstasy of Notspace power wafted about him in a manner unlike he had experienced in untold millennia. His gossamer form stood almost puppet-like, taller than any average man yet utterly dwarfed by the Dendril monstrosity upon which he mounted. Wide shoulders, long white-blonde hair that fell unkempt in his face, hunched over slightly, arms curled with clenched fingers and a wide, psychotic grin almost a caricature of real expression.

All around them, the ghosts of Isandril moved in their unreality. The tall, waiflike humanoids – white-blonde hair, palest skin, eyes with white irises – they went about their business in the image of a land long, long gone. A green land, where palm-trees like bioluminescent jellyfish exploding in the sky to rain still and glowing above, where buildings towered in silvery mirroring glory, where sleek little vehicles darted about in the sky of deepest azure, where clouds of alabaster swirled high above. Where a sky blacker than blackest night, devoid of stars, lacking a sun – yet all was lighted to perfect clarity. Impossibility. The image of the First People as they had been so long ago, inconceivably long ago – before the holocaust that wiped them out of existence for all eternity.

The man took one last deep breath.

“A lo̴nģ̷̴ ̡tí̷̷me in̢͡͝d͏̴eed̨͢..." He said, quietly, voice sultry and deep like tattered silk. “Do you remember, Big Brother? The last time we were here together? Do you remember how they sc͏̕ŗea̕ḿ̢è͢d̸ and b҉̀e͜g̨͘g̷̴̷e̸͏d͝ and d̤i͕̻͍̘͉ͅḛ̵̫̟̰̗͉̩ḑ̖̤̠ beneath our cla͝ws?" The ancient Dendril did, of course, remember. How could it not? It had been the Glory Day. The last day of the First People. The beginning of everything. The younger Dendril would not have been around quite as long, however. It was a special memory for the Old One and The Shadow Over Himself to share in their remembrance of bloodlust long past…and now returning.

The man could not restrain a devious chortle any longer, yet he spoke through it. “Ye҉̶s, Y̠̣̟̞͘Ę̭̼̻̘͖͟S̶̛̞̠̮͔̜̤̳͉!̷̶͍̣̭̰̣̠͚̙" He clenched his fists tighter, reveling in the icy warmth of the power that surrounded him. When the majority of his existential conscience had been focused aboard the Dendril battleship – where a small part of it did still remain, flitting about, incorporeal – the feeling of being surrounded, immersed within Notspace was fleeting, but here it was like being one with a glacial tide of paradoxical wonder beyond the comprehension even of his mind.

His mind.

“I kn̷͘͟o҉҉w̵ what ͠I̧ ̴am̷." He incanted, mumbling quietly, reciting the most ancient words. “I s҉͞e̵̶͏e my͘s̷ȩl҉f a҉s͜ I̧ ̢am, a̸̕s̶̸ ͠I̡̕͠ ̶͟͞a̕̕m ̛̕n̶̡ot̨.̢͏.҉̕." But the anticipation of this moment was too great and he again burst into laughter, interrupting the sacred incantation which, at its heart, was more formality than anything else. Why bother, he decided?

Flamboyantly he raised his arms, then swept into a crouching position, gripping the great Dendril beast’s head where he pearched. Hands in white gloves at the end of the grey suit arms, fingers inconsequential against the sleek metallic surface of the ancient being he so affectionately referred to as ‘Big Brother’. Sentimentality, of course.

His power was weak in reality, but this was not reality. This was Notspace, where the ghosts of the First People moved around them, where the world looked green and alive when in reality it was desolate and dead. It was unreality incarnate, and here where the power of the Quantum Mechanics would be at its greatest, as was his blasphemous, unholy ability at its maximum potential. He focused himself into almost full being now, concentrating his will and his consciousness into this single unreal body, and he smiled the wide toothy grin and he signed a great sigh.

“C̛o̵̵m̴̶͡e̶ ͡f̧̕o҉̴rt̀h̵̵̕,͢͡ ̶my͏ b̶̕͡r̨̀o̴̧ţ̸h͞er̶̢͜ś̕͝!͏̕" He bellowed suddenly, clinging to the surface of the ancient Dendril’s head as though he might be shaken from it. “Today we ravage the machine-city of I̷̧̢͕̻ͅś̳̦͉ͅa̶̢̘͖͡n̖̙͉̺͞d̨̢̧͖͕̻r̭̻͈͕̺̲̦̫ì͎͠ͅl̤̗͙ once more! We wreak v̜̺̹͓͉̺e̲͇̣͞ngeance upon them y̛et͞ ͘aga̕i̡n̸ for their d̛ef̡iance of ọ̥̹̹̼̥͎͠u̪̯̻͕͇r͖̠̞̲̬̪ ͅḺ̼͔̪͔̺a͙̪͝d̜͇͕͞y, for daring to question her laws of Time and Sp͏̘̝̞̠̻̻a͖͚̼͢ce, for attempting to investigate that utter e͇̦̭̭̼ͅͅv̶͏̩̦̻i̲̞̩̩̣͟ͅl̵̵̖͖̻ͅ in which we so long ago sealed away in this terrible place. It will be sealed here for eternity! Có̢m̀̀e̷̷ ́f͢ort̵͏h!̴͘ Ç̀͏̻͇̫o̟̬͚̯͇͙̠̝m͖̱̱͘͠é̷̢͈̤ ̸̠͜f̢̝̮̫o͝҉̣̲̹͍͍̲̜͡r͟҉̼͎̣̹͈̙ͅͅt̛̳͙͓̖̯͘h̤̘̰̖̳͖̗̝̺͘!͏̴̞͚̙̦͓̣͙!̧̞̹̱͚͙͉̗͈̭͢"

And as he focused on his own being, so he focused on the existence of his ‘brethren’, the other Dendril aboard the vessels, who may or may not have been prepared for this development beforehand.

Here, where unreality was at its maximum, he could encompass his mind around more than the barely-existent apparition that was The Shadow Over Himself. He could bring the others into the incorporeality that he was and was not. The boundaries of Notspace physics were hardly to him what they would have been to a Mechanic…And since he was bound by no such religious doctrines as they…

All around them, the younger, smaller Dendril began to flicker into existence. They clung to the outside of the Isandril walls, despite the physical impossibility of it. Some appeared atop the walls, looking down into the city. They could see the city square, where the temporary research base had been constructed, then hastily abandoned. A few insignificant individuals scurried around, though the Dendril would dare not leap to attack without the word from their ‘like-it-or-not’ ‘commander’.

Indeed, the sensation they would be feeling now was unfamiliar. No Dendril had experienced anything approaching this state of existence, save for the Old One that The Shadow now mounted – and even he had only flitting impressions of the sensation from that first attack. It was here that his comrades could comprehend the true nature of simultaneous existence and nonexistence. To the Old One, it would be as a familiar dream suddenly coming to life. To the young ones it would be an uncertain undeath, a new memory flooding in upon them – an inconceivable power combined with the fluttering weakness of nonexistence. Likely they would be disoriented at first, but soon the feeling of their power would overwhelm them…Possibly to death.

An army of them had manifested, all but abandoning the ships entirely. Their slow approach temporarily ceased as the entire crew appeared as apparitions surrounding the city.
The pitiful human occupants fled to the central tower by consensus, trying to put as much space between them and the monsters as they could.

From the sky, a small, black transport ship came darting, having originated from the Stella Viventium. It was too small for any Dendril to bother with, as it dove straight down into the city center, seeking out the most important of staff worth saving. It was the only vessel fast enough to reach the surface in time. It would only be salvaging a very few, unless the onslaught could be fended off. But Rivierre’s security team had already begun to dwindle. They fired intermittently up at the Dendril ‘ghosts’ appearing atop the walls. More began to scurry over them the walls. They would begin to move slowly, encroaching in upon the towers, threatening to flood over the walls in inconceivable number.

Still more appeared outside the wall, stepping through the nonexistent images of the long-gone First People city. The force mounted to overwhelming majority.

Then, for a long and heavy moment, the finishing touches took place. The Shadow held them all in his mind as he held himself. They experienced the disorienting madness only in spattering flashes in the back of their alien minds.

Then he stood to full height, raised one arm and, looked across the city into the black eyes of his nemesis, smiling feverishly, insanely. His nemesis did not look back. He was not really there – but The Shadow Over Himself saw the black eyes, the scar, envisioned his target there in the depths of the city. He saw them in his mind, and to him they were real, and he would find them.

Then, flourishing, he descended his arm to signal the attack. His allies need not have seen the gesture to know it had been made.

“Att̢ack,́ mi̧ h̕er͟m̴a͟n͡es͏ d͝i͢m͢en͝sio͡na͘le͞s!͡ ̵L̴ea̴v̸e ͠n͏ǫ mo͝rt͜al ̵s͏tándi͢ng!̨ ͘Cu҉t t̵h̴em̕ d͏ow̨n wh̵e͞re̸ ̕t̢heỳ ̨c͞ow̡e̢ŗ! S̙̳͚̹̣l̳̘̙a̼̲͔͇̣̱ụ͚̼̙̙͞ͅͅg͚̤̲͠h̤͇͚̄̄̎ͤͣͥt̻̫͕͚̱͇e̻̣͕̼͉͕̰̕r̘̲̘̞̝̰ͅ t̡̤̲͓̤ͅh̢ẹ̹̣̪̱̣m̵̫̘̼̰ ̹̘̻͍̥̞͓a͎̜̘̠͕l̖̙͎͕̝͔͍͘l̦͔̳!̜͈̱̘̬̯͡!͠"

Many of the lesser Dendril would flood over the walls, pouring over en masse, overwhelming the narrow streets like a liquid of insectine mercury. Yet the remainder would simply stride through the walls as though no such wall existed. To them, to those who had particularly taken to The Shadow’s impossible mindset, they would be incorporeal – and yet deadly. They would be capable of moving through the walls and towers, yet equally capable of disemboweling pathetic human scientists and soldiers with their claws and other vicious apparatuses.

He too, gestured forth in assurance that his ‘Big Brother’ would step through the wall as easily as though it were naught but a trick of the light. Old One was much too large to fit within the narrow ‘streets’ and ‘corridors’ formed by the clustered towers, but there was no need for such physics now – Old One stood among the spires as a man disrupting a hologram projection…Yet with all the corporeality needed to decimate the pitiful humans scurrying about farther into the depth of the superstructure. The great creature’s projectile beams would likely end up wounding their own hoarde more than the puny, virtually inconsequential enemy however, so Old One might have preferred to keep to melee as they approached the scattering fodder...

---

The little black transport shuttle, piloted by a skillful, but otherwise irrelevant member of the shipside security team, came shooting through the atmosphere at an incredible speed but making virtually no fuss as it did so. It was a smaller version of the Bullet and, being an extension of the Stella Viventium itself, could operate normally within Notspace despite the technical differences between the ‘mother ship’ so ancient and itself. The pilot cursed as he looked down to the rapidly mounting offensive surrounding the city, paying little mind to the phantom First People who, he was already more-or-less aware, were inconsequential in their nonexistence.

HUD between the ship’s frontal port, his pilot goggles and BrainPal™ directed him efficiently as to how to home in on the most important targets – those being Security Chief Aleessa Rivierre, Chief Analyst Dorin Harkahn and, of course, the Captain and his wife…Not that anyone had heard a peep from them since the very beginning of this disastrous operation.

The ship was too small to be worth the time of any of the now mostly-corporeal Dendril attackers, and it was zippy enough that it would prove an inordinate hassle to strike. It had little trouble locating the orange blip that was the Security Chief Rivierre. It darted through the towers as the Dendril were beginning to crawl over and through the wall, descending on her position none too soon. She pinged the men closest to her position with orders to hold on as long as they could, and boarded.

Hanging on to a handhold and leaning out the open bay door of the little ship, she scanned for Harkahn’s signature – which the pilot and the Bullet were having a difficult time locking on to. But the woman was infuriated more than anything at the Captain, who had been despicably absent throughout the entire ordeal. She screamed at him, verbally, through BrainPal™ ”Where the @#$% is that piece of @#$% Captain!?” though to no avail.

Was he dead?

As the monsters began to come upon the helpless scientists, her security team fired back uselessly upon them. Their guns might have functioned as extensions of the Stella itself so long as they were in this oxygen environment, but their bullets would soar through their insectine enemies as nothing…And still their enemies would gore them nonetheless, spattering their innards in squelching masses all along the shimmering gilded towers, disemboweling them mercilessly, killing every last one, leaving blood and death in their wake.

The scientists would scatter throughout the city, and the hunt would commence as every last one was tracked and slaughtered indiscriminately by the metal bugs that existed, did not exist, and something terrible in between. It wouldn’t take long now for the carnage to begin.

Pausing from her rage at the Captain, she looked down as the two masses just began to converge about the towers. She knew very well that the entire operation was now a failure. The most she could hope for would be to rescue Dorin and, possibly, the Captain and Alexa...

---

Dorin Harkahn at last ceased his increasingly sluggish running, abruptly devoid of hope that he might find the Captain and learn from him what the next move was to be. Where was the man?

But it didn’t matter now, Dorin realized as, panting for breath, he turned to the east and witnessed climb over the wall a metallic monstrosity known only as a Dendril. His heart sank as, from his limited, distant vantage point, still more came flooding over the coppery walls. So then, it was over. The Captain was nowhere to be found – what could Rivierre’s security team possibly hope to do against something like that?

Inside the city walls, there was no trace of the ghost images that walked about in the long-dead city beyond, what hung there in the unreality-light like moving snapshots of a discarded past. In the city, he could look up and see only the blackness of the sky, which somehow illuminated his surroundings in dreamlike, shadowless light.

Dreamlike. That’s how it was now. Not even like a nightmare – even though he knew that his own death would be soon at hand.

Granted, he was far enough away from the creatures he had seen pouring over the wall that it would take some time yet for them to reach him, or even to find him – but suddenly it all looked bleak. Funny, he realized, how at the time of his imminent doom he would be so unnaturally calm. How at the verge of untold discovery, unprecedented scientific revelations – he would die gored at the claws of pincers of some reality-devouring cretin in the last remaining monument to the long-dead First People.

Where was the Captain when his people needed him the most?

Resolved to his fate, Dorin Harkahn leaned against one of the towering structures, looked down to the polished brass city floor, and pondered just how meaningless his life, and indeed the lives of all his colleagues had been.

---

As The Shadow Over Himself drew nearer into the heart of the city aboard the head of Old One, he gazed down at the ‘streets’ which would soon be filled with the scant, bloody remains of the hapless scientists and scanter-still security operatives, envisioning how beautifully they would die at the hands of his semi-corporeal ‘brethren’.

Grinning like the madman he was, The Shadow abruptly and without warning flickered out of existence, leaving Old One to continue his part of the massacre on his own – lacking none of the new and – to him vaguely familiar powers that The Shadow’s presence in Notspace had granted him.

But the man with the long, blonde hair and grey suit had allowed the flickering conscience that constituted his presence to move, teleporting instantaneously to another part of the city. Here it was quiet. He turned, and in the distance could see the last of his ‘brethren’ scurrying over the walls, and surely some scampering through it though they would be below the horizon of the towers.

Indeed, the silence was eerie here, in this unremarkable alleyway. He strode calmly, relishing the knowledge that just beyond the range of hearing, a massacre was about to take place. A slaughter the likes of which he had scarcely the pleasure of witnessing for so very, very long.

He rounded a corner and there, at the end of a clear stretch, was a man with rusty brown hair and a white coat. He had been exhaustedly leaning against one of the coppery pillars until seeing him – at which point the man stood up straighter, but did not flee.

The Shadow Over Himself strode toward the man, deciding that he was probably important enough to warrant some meager sliver of his attention, some insignificant portion of his shattered, broken, but expansive pseudo-consciousness.

---

It was unlike anything Dorin Harkahn had ever seen. The figure of a man stepping around the corner at the end of the corridor formed by happenstance of the towers around them. The man was abnormally tall, with broad shoulders and long limbs. His clothing was a grey suit, largely devoid of any significant markings, with white gloves on his hands – which were presently being held behind his back. His hair was white-blonde, falling loosely about his shoulders, obscuring much of his face – but not enough to hide the terrible, wicked, madman’s grin plastered across it. Nor did it obscure completely the ghost-pale skin.

And worst of all, it did not obscure the eyes – or what constituted eyes.

There were no eyes. Only great, largely-circular discs of glowing cyan-blue that seemed to explode out from where his eye sockets had once been. It was as though a detonation had occurred within the man’s skull, and the force had escaped via the eyes – blowing the skin and bone around them back until there were great gaping voids in the face that extended well up into the forehead and back to the bases of the ears. But it was difficult to look upon the decimated physiology of it, for the terrible, impossible blue that emanated from within the skull not only blurred the details, but created a migraine-inducing mental trauma to attempt to see. Space-time was broken there. The fiber of his being shattered and recreated a billion, billion times in less than the smallest divisible fraction of a millisecond. It made him dizzy to look at. The man himself flickered and fragmented, as though he was there but only by sheer force of will and concentration of being.

But Harkahn was beyond fear now. He stood up straight and did his best to stare the thing down.

Even as the roaring from above came into his hearing, indicating the approach of his salvation from certain doom, Harkahn did not take his eyes away from the splintering madness that was the blue emanating from the man’s face. It was as if the man was a shadow of a memory, the culmination of a mind that had been split and twisted beyond recognition, with terrible black-magic supersciences lost to the ages before time. Behind the man, the fabric of reality seemed to twist and erode and distort, as though his presence – or what constituted his ‘presence’ – was an utter, blasphemous affront to everything that had ever been meant to be. He was an abomination from the time before time.

The Shadow-Man stopped then, halting his forward stroll. It was impossible to tell where he was looking, though Harkahn imagined that his attention had been suddenly caught elsewhere. As Harkahn boarded the little Bullet, the Shadow-Man turned to look up at the sky, his grin fading at last.

As Harkahn was lifted away into the blackness above the doomed Isandril, it’s secrets barely grazed upon by the previously excited scientists and students and interns who would soon be slaughtered like baying cattle, the Shadow-Man returned his pseudo-gaze to the coppery floor of the superstructure city.

Dimly, he heard Rivierre saying something about abandoning the operation completely, returning to the ship and letting the Captain take his chances…if the bastard was even still alive at all.
Dimly, he perceived that someone from the Kingsbane – presumably their head Star-Class Astrophysicist – was trying to contact him via radio converted on his own end to BrainPal™, but to no avail.
Dimly, he was aware that something terrible had happened, and was happening – but that there was little to nothing at all he could do about it.

He, nor anyone else.

---

The Shadow Over Himself ceased his approach upon the man. The little black ship had not yet approached, yet something had occurred to him abruptly and it was disturbing. His grin had not faded, yet he had become still, frozen in time and space, if ever flickering and distorting the universe or Notspace in his immediate vicinity like some terrible plague of unreality and manipulation and corruption.

He looked upward, though outwardly he did not appear to move at all, for only a fraction of his entity was devoted to the things he did, regardless of what he was appearing to do.

He sensed as something – an entity ceased to be. He had not the cause previously to notice it at all. It was so insignificant. He had been so accustomed to them long ago, yet now in his fervor for destruction he had overlooked what might have very well been the last one.

The absolute last.

And, it died.

And despite that he was not like her – not quite – The Shadow found that he was, much to his own astonishment, sad.

Not crushingly so. Not abysmally. It was no tragedy. Indeed, it served only as the completion of a task which he and Big Brother had embarked on so very, very long ago.

But it was a task he had previously thought complete. They were all gone, he had thought. It was over.

And now, for the last second, for the single dying breath, he was to learn that one had survived.

And now it was dead. Not by his hand, nor by Big Brother’s…But by someone else.

And, in a way, this was a relief to him. None of it really mattered anyway.

Even as he re-examined the moment in his past, looked over and again experienced that overlooked memory – stronger now that he was paying attention to it. Tragic.

The pain was immense, he perceived. She had been sliced in half. It might have been a quick death, but no – not for her – for her it had been an eternity of unbearable agony. It had been a universe of nothing but pain – pain so fierce that it could not be called pain at all. It was a torture of the being beyond the most fundamental levels. It was, as he recalled now, the ultimate punishment. Not the act of slicing itself, but the result – the real Unbeing.

He was as well versed in the ancient, long-dead philosophy as any of them had been.

There were two states that mattered.

Being and UnBeing.

Regardless of all the other impossibilities and paradoxes which Notspace and the existence of the First People entailed, this was always true. Being and UnBeing. It was heinous to damn a Person into UnBeing. No such crime had ever been committed in the entire, convoluted and nonsensical history of the People that warranted such a heinous punishment.

He wondered absently what that last Person had done to deserve the ultimate punishment.

He wondered who it had been that brought such a terrible fate down upon her?


But as he sent out a flitting sliver of his consciousness to see, something unimaginably terrible warded him away. It sent a shiver down his spine. It wiped the wild smile off his face.

The Shadow Over Himself had looked, for a fleeting fraction of a second, into chaos unimaginable even by his own standard of fragmented madness. It was crimson unreality. It was a presence dwelling within that unholy abomination of a ship that was unlike anything that even he, with his mind shattered by the failed Quantum Process could not hope to comprehend.

Lady Dulcinea had to know about this immediately.

He could not imagine what it was, he dared not investigate. Even for all his insanity, he could not begin to fathom what unspeakable monstrosity was dwelling within that vessel. He had never experienced true, utter dread before that day. He had never witnessed what could only be described as the essence of chaos itself.

He knew not what it was, but he did not like it.

Having only barely tapped the slightest hint of the presence of that chaotic, abyssal entity, The Shadow looked back to the floor of the Isandril superstructure and contemplated what to do next. What to do now?

It was best not to think about the thing that he had almost unwittingly caught a glimpse of.

If merely knowing that it was there had affected him so…

What would have actually seeing it done?

---

---

---

All around Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc, the floating monitors showed him from every possible vantage point the doom that was encroaching upon the city. He could see them all, even the hazy, virtually indistinguishable figure standing atop the head of the biggest, mechanical-scorpion-monster Dendril.

Out of the corner of his black eyes he watched as certain death swept down into and through the streets.

He spoke not a word of it. Alexa watched on with mounting, but unspoken concern…Yet, it was still detached.

Aelyn-Paeryc hunched over the primary monitor, fingers playing with the pseudo-holographic controls that glowed beneath his palms. Row upon row of incomprehensible, ancient-alien language flitted before his eyes. Data in incredible sums was translated directly from visual patterns into BrainPal™ and stored for transfer later. Indeed, the BrainPal™ had even established something approaching a direct link with the Isandril mainframe and was preparing to relate every scrap of precious data back to the Stella.

The two mainframes were, after all, compatible.

But A.P. was interested only in learning the next step. He had been following in his dead brother’s footsteps all this time. They had led him here. Certainly the next course of action had to be within this hyper-complex, First People computer. Surely some hint, some clue would be revealed that would continue his quest for Lost Earth of Sol. It had to!

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

As the Dendril hoarde finally began to meet up with the bulk of the helpless scientists and stand security team, Alex was at last moved to speak.

”Ael…” She began, but was cut off by her husband’s cool, dark gaze shifting momentarily to her own. He did not speak for a long moment, and then in quiet words and an unhurried, ice-cold tone he spoke.

”Let them die.”

The words sent shivers down Alex’s spine. ”They’re on their own. We have more important business to attend to.”

And, with a dull horror, Alex had to admit that he was right. After all, the search for Lost Earth of Sol was more important than the insignificant lives of a few paltry, expendable scientists and certainly more vital than the meaningless existences of a few security guns.

She sighed, returning her eyes to her own screen.

By the light of unreality, the couple worked away, seeking the final clue that would allow them to leave.

There was no rush.

They would be fine.

Even if the Dendril had found a way to transcend the concept of ‘matter’ within Notspace, what did they care? They were still impossible to harm, that much was inevitable. Undeniable. They would continue their work unhindered. Let the fools mount their attack. Nothing was going to stop them now. Not with the absurd power of the great Isandril itself at their fingertips.

Then, at last, a broad, wicked smile came over Aelyn-Paeryc’s face. He crossed his arms, standing up straight to gaze into that one little bit of data he had found.

Standard characters, hidden deep and cleverly within irrelevant data. Characters which only could have been inserted there by someone with knowledge of the language of Standard, which had been invented only in the time of Aelyn and Paeryc Petrovalyc themselves.

Paeryc Petrovalyc had transcended time, paradoxically met with the First People, and left a single string of letters for his older brother as a clue.

He spoke the word aloud, though Alexa need not have heard it to witness the importance on the screen.

”IRIA.”

Iril didn't need a second thought. Understanding the dire situation, she bolted from the door and towards the opening, ensuring that the others would be close behind and/or ahead of her when entering into whatever transport there might be.

This was quite the bizarre situation indeed. Never before had she been in such a high intensity showdown... except for, perhaps the whole fiasco that cost her a right arm. What next? Giant space monsters? Could this be any more... exciting?
It must have been thrill that coursed through her system. What else could that unique sensation be? Thousands of years on this rock and not a single day had been this strange and intense.

The gaping hole into the terminal was just large enough that she could squeeze on through. Knowing it would take some time for her to fully get herself through, and seeming how she was the most expendable of the group, Iril made a quick note and decided she would go through last.

Her eye scanned the area rapidly. Kox and Papyus were alright, it seemed. Seeming how she had lost track of Toffi, she turned to face Kallenger and...

What was Toffi DOING?! Was he trying to force Kallenger from her position? Had he gone mad?! Her gaze rapidly switched between both Toffi's expressions and Kallenger's. What was going on here?!

Whatever the case, there was to be no room for conflict when she was around. She had two options. Force her way through the hole in the wall now so the two could possibly make it through the hole together and risk their relations crumbling even more... or just intervene and grab both of them, taking them through with her, possibly making the two angry at her instead of one another.

Well, there was really only one choice that would work out.
If tensions started to run too high, Iril would be ready to grab the two of them.
Time was ticking.

---

"I'm surprised they even sound familiar to you." Q admitted to Kilwen. "I had been looking through the computers on this Kampfer ship and found no sort of evidence that anyone ever heard of them... but, to answer your question, yes. They're quite old indeed. I have evidence to believe that they were around much earlier than even my creation, and I'm a good fifty-something thousand years old... Maybe even older. As you can see... my name is IRI-Q, meaning that I am of the Iridiite Series, Model Q... suggesting I am 17th in the series... or so I might think, at least."

Q looked down at the floor of the ship. Yes, 17th or so she thought. There was only one flaw in this hypothesis, the existence of Z. She just seemed... older. And despite being further down in the Alphabet, and being larger, stronger, and more intimidating too (just as a newer make should be), Q never saw any other IRI models leading up to Z... or leading down towards A. The whole thing puzzled her.

She looked back towards Kilwen. "I don't suppose you have any information, huh?"

---

Z didn't even bother looking at this new attacker. Still staring down her sister, Z raised her hard light hand and intercepted the hilt of the dimensional lord's sword. A fierce shockwave emitted from the connection, but the hand did not budge... and neither did Z.

"You know, you had the element of surprise right in your grasp and you completely blew it. Honestly, you humanoids just don't know when to shut your trap." Z growled as she grasped the weapon and forced it down towards the ruined city below.

The "feathers" on Z's wings swung to face Arena, and began to fire a rapid succession of energy blasts in her general direction. She didn't even care if she was hit or not; this pest had to be driven off. Arena was interfering. Ruining, as it were, the thrill of the fight. Still, Z made no eye contact with the attacker.
"See, I don't care WHO you are, WHO'S city this was, and I CERTAINLY don't care that you're angry. You could be supreme heiress to the entire universe and I still wouldn't care, and you're intruding on family business you have no part of, so take note."

One of Z's hard-light hands flickered, and then took the form of a nasty looking sword. "If you take one more step forward... you are not going to like what happens next."
Z's eye finally turned to look arena straight in the face. She stared intensely at this measly creature that dared threaten her, the product of millions of years of knowledge and advanced technology. Pure rage and hatred seemed to glow within the pupil. She would have no nonsense. There was a goal to be completed here.

B stared at the newcomer to the fight, doing her best to make eye contact and to let the intruder know that her presence had been acknowledged.
This could work in both of their favor if they would cooperate... at least B hoped.
She revved up her thrusters and set her mechanical maw open, ready to clamp down on an open spot of any kind.
As soon as she had enough support from the newcomer, B would shoot forward and move in for the attack.

Her only worry was that something would go horribly awry.