[center][h2]Citadel of the Forerunner[/h2][/center]
The Grand Admiral, accompanied by two of his elite guard, shifted nervously. Ilak'Hrak did not usually come even remotely close being nervous- today was an exception. He conquered all the Major and Minor Warlords through Honor duel, beating every single one of them and anyone else who challenged him. He was the first in three hundred years to do so without being maimed and mortally wounded, much less win them all. 

But it had been more than six hundred years since someone had been "[i]invited[/i] to the Major Forerunner's Citadel, the most heavily defended building in the empire- which says something. Oddly, it stood on eight legs about three miles above the planet's surface, radially arranged so that it looked more like a giant octopus, bristling with shields, weapons, sensors, collectors, and other items that would have use in one way or another. A single arm extended straight down from the middle; a hundred feet above the ground, it stopped had was busy using mining lasers and various advanced mining equipment to drill into the planet's core, for some unknown purpose.

The Grand Admiral couldn't help but shiver in the air. He was outfitted in his ceremonial- though it can certainly be used- white-gold armor, minus the helmet. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly meant to keep the wearer warm or comfortable, but present the most imposing, commanding image. And the Forerunner's citadel was frigid to the point of freezing, and as desolate as a tomb. Around him, in the 'waiting room,' pillars that were decorated to be stone (but probably made from reinforced titanium alloy) stood along the edges of the room, towering and powerful, runes that even he didn't know etched into their sides. Benches stood along the perimeter of the room, hidden in even colder shadows. He couldn't believe this was the most impenetrable fortress; it seemed to be completely unarmed, at least on the inside. As if in reaction to his thought, doors opened in each pillar, and a small black-glass ball extended halfway out. Moments later, the high-frequency lasers emanating from them began heating up the room, and moments later, the doors on the far side of the room opened.

A Draconian, wearing only the Draconian equivalent to trousers of spun titanium, strode into the room. The Grand Admiral angered slightly- so this was the one that kept him waiting in a freezing room in the legendary Forerunner fortress. The Major Forerunner himself was astonishing- his eyes were probably the only organic things left, and even then, you could see augments embedded in them, little blue lights shining next to his slitted pupils. His scale must've been painstakingly removed- every single of his normally-light-blue scale had been replaced by shining, glittering alternating scale- they seemed to alternate between black, electronic pieces and pure titanium-alloy scales, presumably to act both as shields, sensors, and armor. And looking at the Forerunner closer, the Grand Admiral felt, for the first time, afraid-

The Forerunner is a [i]female[/i].

Female Draconians were [i]rare[/i], and were often tenfold as dangerous as males, being smarter, faster, and far more aggressive. Physically, the only differences were that they were finer, more wiry than thick, and with smaller scale. The eyes that glittered at him shone with a very dangerous light- one that clearly saw him as either a great ally, or a great threat. She regarded him from the doors, before, in a so very small gesture, jerking her head behind her, before she turned and walked back through the doors.

The Forerunner's posture was perfect; shoulders squared as any proud Draconian would do, with her chin up, tail swishing slowly behind her. The Grand Admiral felt like he was walking into Hell's palace as he followed numbly behind her. He had two soldiers, the best in the empire, and himself, with armor and weapons hidden within. And he felt as if he were as outmatched as a scrat to a drake- small prey-slug against a young Draconian.

[b][center]***Several long minutes later of walking through an icy fortress***[/center][/b]

Each door opened at their approach, a host of locks and bolts [i]click[/i]ing back to allow them to open, acting as airlocks, blast doors, and obstacles, each one with laser defenses surrounding it, all down the hallways. Nothing was connected; the lights were fist-sized glowing balls of light, hanging in the air without help. His two companions stared at them in awe; there was no evidence of anything of the anti-grav nature, nor was there the faint shimmering of a shield. The hallways were long and frosty, bare and undecorated- the larger rooms extended from great, empty ballrooms with shimmering chandeliers to central rooms with great ice sculptures extending from the center through level after level, towering up. They seemed to walk endlessly; it didn't seem possible to be walking in a straight route, and not end.

He knew she was not going to kill him, for sure- she could've done that at any point along the way. Everything was designed to let her kill anything and everything inside the building; the hallways had no cover whatsoever, making hiding from lasers next to impossible. Frost covered everything, and ice sculptures were in every room, leading to the possibility of melting and being re-frozen to trap any unwary. The design of the place made it seem like an old medieval castle- titanium bricks, more like, though holes could be seen everywhere, leading to a conclusion of spikes or weapons, energy or not. Countless smaller doors stood, flush with the walls, suggesting escape routes or places where drones might appear. At first glance, it had an icy royalty, but on inspection, it looked more and more of a death trap.


Finally, though, a door opened and she strode through, her body shimmering slightly as she entered. Wary, he followed her, unsure of what might happen. As he did so, he felt his entire body lurch slightly, as if everything was trying to go in a dozen different directions, each organ pressing against another in the most uncomfortable way. Inside, there was a frosty mist hiding the floor- another possibility for a trap- with guards with similar wear to the Forerunner herself standing along the perimeter. The room was circular- and massive. In the middle, there stood what could only be described as a giant vat of pink/red colored liquid, hoses leading from the hidden floor into various different parts of it, presumably pumping in and out materials. The Forerunner stood in front of it, again, regarding him coldly. The empty room felt weird, as if there was something coming from the vat, bouncing off the walls and across the room, just to bounce off again. It had a power, he decided, that he couldn't explain. 

His two guards shifted nervously, very clearly disliking the current position. The Forerunner gestured at them vaguely; relieved, they took the message as dismissal and hurried out. It seemed that their loyalty meant little in this place, and indeed, Ilak'Hrak felt the mental barriers of discipline and willpower eroding the longer he stayed here. He met her eyes, with effort, and kept them, trying to force his barriers back up. The Forerunner's face twisted in confusion, and the Grand Admiral felt that ever-present erosion suddenly burst, as if it were trying to flood his barriers and tear them down with it. He kept his eyes locked; he feared what she was doing, but wasn't going to give up. Moments before his barriers fell and he burst into anger, the pressure dropped away. 

But nothing was how it had been before. Perhaps he had blacked out, or simply not paid any attention to his sight, but now there were a dozen of the silent guardsmen, with their white-and-black scale, standing around him, each drawing two weapons- what appeared to be technologically advanced throwing axes, presumably as both a melee and throwing weapon. Unusual, but tradition does have its little things that stick by through the ages. He faced enemies before, outnumbered or fair, but never ones with such advantage, nor with the numbers or weapons these had. He was unarmed, more or less, and the Forerunner may or may not have him killed.

Then they were gone, in a blink of an eye, and icy mist floated down from their positions. He blinked; then it hit him. She was manipulating him, making him feel what wasn't actually there, making him see. He didn't break down from a mental attack, nor did he try to surrender or attack when surrounded. He followed but kept wary of his surroundings, not following blindly, and all throughout, she never said a word. She didn't have to- he suddenly knew that she was, indeed, pleased with him, and that he had her support. He was receiving a new flagship, one of the Forerunner fleet, and that she was watching him. He looked towards the vat, about to question her, and again, she put the answer right into his head. 

That vat was a collection of blood, support, and brain cells, interlocking into a massive, five hundred kilogram brain that connected to her remotely. He turned, examining the guards along the walls, half-hidden in darkness and mist, and studied them as best as he could. He came to the same conclusion as the one that she gave him- each of them were copies of herself, each of them controlled by her. She wasn't really a she- she was an it, and it has been alive for thousands of years. And yet, it thought itself a she. 

He gave her a slow smile- a human would call it a grimace or a bearing of the teeth- and bowed to her. The next moment, he was in a flagship's CIC, the world spinning and the sound of an explosion ringing in his ears. He fell to the floor, banging his shoulder against what is presumably a command seat, and he looked up. Draconians looked up from their stations, regarding him with hostility and anger before recognizing him, where they then relaxed and shook their fists at him, a Draconian symbol of respect for a leader.

Standing up, shaken, he waved off the first inquiry for orders, and retreated to the captain's quarters. He sat down, breathed out a sigh, and waited to calm down so he could be the same disciplined soldier as he was before. That Forerunner- she must've been an emmer- with a vat that size, psionic energy has a great deal better of a chance to be made, and with a 'brain' the size of a tank, she could probably control the electromagnetic fields inside the entire fortress. She's the one that kept the lights floating in air, the one that kept it freezing and cold.

It would be several days before he was back to himself.

((Sorry if I'm all over the place with this post. No one was posting and I had an idea I took from the book "Force Cantrithor," so I just went ahead and used it. And Duck, if you wanna complain, then know that if you wanna go against her or do anything with her, you're going to have to defeat the entire Draconian nation, both on the ground and in the sky, so at that point, you're overpowered anyways.))

((I wrote this on a hunch and did absolutely zero to organize it or anything.))