The Dominion Reigns –
Throughout the Multiverse exist a near infinite amount of cultures, each with their own subcultures and ideologies governing them. Some believe in the power and wonders of technology, they build upon themselves – and those who follow them – a society of pure, unadulterated advancement of their mechanical arts. Androids who fight their wars for them, machines that do every simple, mundane task you could ask of them. They worshipped the machines that govern their lives, and follow the word of living A.I.’s with the same rapt attention that brainwashed victims follow their masters. They do as they’re told, without question and without fail.
Lysander wasn’t one of those. No, he sought not to follow the way into technological advancement and instead focused on honing his own, internal, power. He’d done so for centuries, putting all his time and effort into focusing his strength, into refining his abilities. They weren’t natural. In fact, they were about as unnatural as one could get. Built inside of him by generations upon generations of mental anguish, physical pain, and psychological torment beyond measure. For a while, it’d driven him insane. He’d sought only to find himself from one fight to the next. One nation, one world. One universe. He’d traveled them all, found their best, and destroyed them like children confronted by an overly-abusive stepfather.
For millions of years he took what he wanted, did what he wanted. Without remorse or concern for anyone, or anything, involved. He sought only to utilize those arcane, supernatural abilities stolen from others – or gifted by Grandfather – to do whatever he wanted; often in ways that left broken, bloodied bodies behind him. In his wake, there came nothing but death and destruction, a thousand innocent worlds burned to ash all on the premise that he was bored. That boredom was never-ending, and damned awe-inspiring. In recent years, though, that changed. Once siphoning The Hellion of Val’gara he became whole again. Maybe it was the repairs made within his damaged mind by The Mist, or maybe he simply was confronted with someone so much more insane than he, and it snapped him back to reality.
Whatever the cause, the end effect was all the same. Still, that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fun he once found. Still he enjoyed destruction and mass murder. Not because he was insane, but simply because the sounds of broken-bodies slithering in their own blood, trying to escape to some semblance of safety when none existed was enjoyable. It pleased him to hear the curdling screams and the barely audible death-rattles as they came forth from the dying lips of whatever denizens of whatever world he happened to be around. And that’s where the story truly began. Though the story told was not a beginning, but an ending. And ending to a life well lived. But not his own, never his own.
Duryk City, Solaris II. Sientius System –
The city stretched out for most of the planet, a whopping eighty-percent of it covered in this sprawling metropolis. It was the center of the planet, the only place one could find anything they wanted, and so it was fitting that it rested upon the central planet of the system. It housed a billion citizens itself, and millions came and went throughout the day, which ran on a thirty-six-hour cycle. Without it, the system around would be nothing more than a backwater dump. It brought in people, it brought in business. It called out among the stars and flocking toward it came the most respected (and sometimes not so respected) people from light-years around. They came for barter, they came for pleasure.
And today, its call brought in him.
And with him they no longer came for pleasure or barter, they didn’t come to conduct business – shady or otherwise. No. They thought they did, they still thought their day would be filled with sight-seeing or business meetings. Some few thought they’d become billionaires this day, and even more thought they’d enjoy a nice, respectable picnic with their families. No. Not today.
Today they came to die
Just because he chose not to arm himself with technology, just because he didn’t worship it like God. Didn’t mean he didn’t use it. It didn’t mean he didn’t know how to utilize the weaponry of it. The applications were, after-all, too good to ignore. No. He chose to make himself into a weapon, but he chose to know how to use other weapons, as well.
Far above them, in orbit just outside of their scanner range, rested a massive ship. Its sheer size had it double any Dreadnaught class, and its firepower was just as impressive. But, the most impressive feature, was who was on it. It should have held thousands upon thousands of life-forms piloting it, controlling it. It should have had vital signs that would take days and weeks to sift through and determine who was who. Instead, on the massive ship, only one life-sign could be found. And it was literally on the ship. Not inside of it. On it. He stood on the massive bow of the ship, his arms crossed and his sword-without-a-blade slung over his back, held in place by a string of souls composed of men and women he’d killed. Some of them were even children.
More would be added soon.
His long, raven hair didn’t stir nor move in the vacuum of space. He showed no signs of the adverse effect of not having oxygen. In fact, he showed nothing at all. He simply was. His body sat there, watching. He expected opposition, but still none came. The problem with prolonged peace was that no one was ever ready for it to end, yet it would ALWAYS end. No matter what. Today, peace ended not with a single, solitary gunshot – but with a blast so powerful as to shake the very existence of the world.
Already, on the planet below, things were in motion. No one seemed to notice, or those who did kept quiet out of fear of being mistaken for insane. But, beneath their feet, from the buildings all around them, wherever light existed, shadows moved strangely. They no longer followed their hosts, but simply released their grip and flew straight toward the sky. They flew toward a single point, all converging in the darkness of space and flowing to a central location. Once they reached close enough, Lysander lifted his right hand and pulled them toward him with sheer mental might. They flew through his hand, into his body. They empowered him, they sated his thirst and his hunger. They sated his desire. They were his to control, his to command. He held them within him, converting them into a darkened energy source. Over and over they came, each leaving shadow being replaced by a new. For a moment he did this, he continued to do this.
Then, as abruptly as it began, it stopped. The shadows ceased their odd behavior, and they went about their mundane task of following their host. Lysander walked back across the top of his ship, and slipped into the shadow cast on an upturned piece of metal. In that same instance, he stepped out of the shadow of the console on the bridge – turning back to face it. A few, quick strokes of keys activated the onboard A.I., Anna. Named for the daughter he so brutally slaughtered a thousand years ago.
“Father, may I be of service?” The robotic female voice asked, a display showing a tiny, red-haired girl pulled up to rest on the top of the console.
“Arm the Exponential Thermostellar Bombs, prepare them for deployment”
A chime indicated his order was taken, and the display disappeared. For several moments he sat, waiting. Then, about a minute later, the computer display came back. The little girl’s face had a bright, cheerful smile. “Bombs armed, Father. Shall I deploy?” It only took a nod, and the bombs rocketed toward the planet. They sat in its atmosphere, which was similar, in many ways, to Earth’s own. The ship, though, was already turning after launch. The thrusters engaged.
“Detonate”
The planet incinerated in seconds. The explosion throughout the atmosphere sat it on fire, and the resulting chemical reactions rode on the winds as each molecule of oxygen and nitrogen, as each existing chemical compound capable of combustion – combusted. The chain reaction caused the planet to fall in on itself, and then explode back outward. An entire planet turned into a weapon when propelled with such force. How many surrounding worlds would fall to the debris field preparing to bombard them, he didn’t bother to calculate (though he could have, had he chosen). Instead, he punched in the code for warp speed, and hit the ignition switch. The ship’s powerful engines spooled up, roaring to life and vibrating the entire ship. Yet, he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The ship simply refused to go anywhere. There was only one reason that could have happened.
“Daughter, report.”
“One life sign detected, Father. Query shows that this one might be a match for you, a challenge at the least.”
Who didn’t love a good fight when they could be bombarded with destructive debris at any moment? Of course, the only debris that could pass through the shields were too small to actually harm the ship itself. That didn’t mean that it couldn’t make for a damned lot of fun.
“Alright, Daughter. Light the beacon, let’s see if we can get them to come find us.”
The beacon stretched far beyond just one universe, and one system. It reached out to every universe, every single point in time. It called for the one who could challenge him, and only the one it sought out could take that ride that would bring them to his current location, hopefully they could breathe in space though – the beacon couldn’t deposit them inside the ship, its own defenses allowed no one to enter that wasn’t permitted. And only he was permitted.
Stepping through the shadows once again, he transported himself back to the top of his gargantuan world-killer, and sat down. Legs crossed, arms behind his head and his body leaning back on one of the massive rail-guns that ran along the viewing deck, which was metal. This section would be the location the beacon brought his adversary, and he waited in the area, which measured roughly a hundred feet long and forty-feet wide. He waited, and somehow…miraculously managed to light a cigarette. In space.
Throughout the Multiverse exist a near infinite amount of cultures, each with their own subcultures and ideologies governing them. Some believe in the power and wonders of technology, they build upon themselves – and those who follow them – a society of pure, unadulterated advancement of their mechanical arts. Androids who fight their wars for them, machines that do every simple, mundane task you could ask of them. They worshipped the machines that govern their lives, and follow the word of living A.I.’s with the same rapt attention that brainwashed victims follow their masters. They do as they’re told, without question and without fail.
Lysander wasn’t one of those. No, he sought not to follow the way into technological advancement and instead focused on honing his own, internal, power. He’d done so for centuries, putting all his time and effort into focusing his strength, into refining his abilities. They weren’t natural. In fact, they were about as unnatural as one could get. Built inside of him by generations upon generations of mental anguish, physical pain, and psychological torment beyond measure. For a while, it’d driven him insane. He’d sought only to find himself from one fight to the next. One nation, one world. One universe. He’d traveled them all, found their best, and destroyed them like children confronted by an overly-abusive stepfather.
For millions of years he took what he wanted, did what he wanted. Without remorse or concern for anyone, or anything, involved. He sought only to utilize those arcane, supernatural abilities stolen from others – or gifted by Grandfather – to do whatever he wanted; often in ways that left broken, bloodied bodies behind him. In his wake, there came nothing but death and destruction, a thousand innocent worlds burned to ash all on the premise that he was bored. That boredom was never-ending, and damned awe-inspiring. In recent years, though, that changed. Once siphoning The Hellion of Val’gara he became whole again. Maybe it was the repairs made within his damaged mind by The Mist, or maybe he simply was confronted with someone so much more insane than he, and it snapped him back to reality.
Whatever the cause, the end effect was all the same. Still, that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fun he once found. Still he enjoyed destruction and mass murder. Not because he was insane, but simply because the sounds of broken-bodies slithering in their own blood, trying to escape to some semblance of safety when none existed was enjoyable. It pleased him to hear the curdling screams and the barely audible death-rattles as they came forth from the dying lips of whatever denizens of whatever world he happened to be around. And that’s where the story truly began. Though the story told was not a beginning, but an ending. And ending to a life well lived. But not his own, never his own.
Duryk City, Solaris II. Sientius System –
The city stretched out for most of the planet, a whopping eighty-percent of it covered in this sprawling metropolis. It was the center of the planet, the only place one could find anything they wanted, and so it was fitting that it rested upon the central planet of the system. It housed a billion citizens itself, and millions came and went throughout the day, which ran on a thirty-six-hour cycle. Without it, the system around would be nothing more than a backwater dump. It brought in people, it brought in business. It called out among the stars and flocking toward it came the most respected (and sometimes not so respected) people from light-years around. They came for barter, they came for pleasure.
And today, its call brought in him.
And with him they no longer came for pleasure or barter, they didn’t come to conduct business – shady or otherwise. No. They thought they did, they still thought their day would be filled with sight-seeing or business meetings. Some few thought they’d become billionaires this day, and even more thought they’d enjoy a nice, respectable picnic with their families. No. Not today.
Today they came to die
Just because he chose not to arm himself with technology, just because he didn’t worship it like God. Didn’t mean he didn’t use it. It didn’t mean he didn’t know how to utilize the weaponry of it. The applications were, after-all, too good to ignore. No. He chose to make himself into a weapon, but he chose to know how to use other weapons, as well.
Far above them, in orbit just outside of their scanner range, rested a massive ship. Its sheer size had it double any Dreadnaught class, and its firepower was just as impressive. But, the most impressive feature, was who was on it. It should have held thousands upon thousands of life-forms piloting it, controlling it. It should have had vital signs that would take days and weeks to sift through and determine who was who. Instead, on the massive ship, only one life-sign could be found. And it was literally on the ship. Not inside of it. On it. He stood on the massive bow of the ship, his arms crossed and his sword-without-a-blade slung over his back, held in place by a string of souls composed of men and women he’d killed. Some of them were even children.
More would be added soon.
His long, raven hair didn’t stir nor move in the vacuum of space. He showed no signs of the adverse effect of not having oxygen. In fact, he showed nothing at all. He simply was. His body sat there, watching. He expected opposition, but still none came. The problem with prolonged peace was that no one was ever ready for it to end, yet it would ALWAYS end. No matter what. Today, peace ended not with a single, solitary gunshot – but with a blast so powerful as to shake the very existence of the world.
Already, on the planet below, things were in motion. No one seemed to notice, or those who did kept quiet out of fear of being mistaken for insane. But, beneath their feet, from the buildings all around them, wherever light existed, shadows moved strangely. They no longer followed their hosts, but simply released their grip and flew straight toward the sky. They flew toward a single point, all converging in the darkness of space and flowing to a central location. Once they reached close enough, Lysander lifted his right hand and pulled them toward him with sheer mental might. They flew through his hand, into his body. They empowered him, they sated his thirst and his hunger. They sated his desire. They were his to control, his to command. He held them within him, converting them into a darkened energy source. Over and over they came, each leaving shadow being replaced by a new. For a moment he did this, he continued to do this.
Then, as abruptly as it began, it stopped. The shadows ceased their odd behavior, and they went about their mundane task of following their host. Lysander walked back across the top of his ship, and slipped into the shadow cast on an upturned piece of metal. In that same instance, he stepped out of the shadow of the console on the bridge – turning back to face it. A few, quick strokes of keys activated the onboard A.I., Anna. Named for the daughter he so brutally slaughtered a thousand years ago.
“Father, may I be of service?” The robotic female voice asked, a display showing a tiny, red-haired girl pulled up to rest on the top of the console.
“Arm the Exponential Thermostellar Bombs, prepare them for deployment”
A chime indicated his order was taken, and the display disappeared. For several moments he sat, waiting. Then, about a minute later, the computer display came back. The little girl’s face had a bright, cheerful smile. “Bombs armed, Father. Shall I deploy?” It only took a nod, and the bombs rocketed toward the planet. They sat in its atmosphere, which was similar, in many ways, to Earth’s own. The ship, though, was already turning after launch. The thrusters engaged.
“Detonate”
The planet incinerated in seconds. The explosion throughout the atmosphere sat it on fire, and the resulting chemical reactions rode on the winds as each molecule of oxygen and nitrogen, as each existing chemical compound capable of combustion – combusted. The chain reaction caused the planet to fall in on itself, and then explode back outward. An entire planet turned into a weapon when propelled with such force. How many surrounding worlds would fall to the debris field preparing to bombard them, he didn’t bother to calculate (though he could have, had he chosen). Instead, he punched in the code for warp speed, and hit the ignition switch. The ship’s powerful engines spooled up, roaring to life and vibrating the entire ship. Yet, he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The ship simply refused to go anywhere. There was only one reason that could have happened.
“Daughter, report.”
“One life sign detected, Father. Query shows that this one might be a match for you, a challenge at the least.”
Who didn’t love a good fight when they could be bombarded with destructive debris at any moment? Of course, the only debris that could pass through the shields were too small to actually harm the ship itself. That didn’t mean that it couldn’t make for a damned lot of fun.
“Alright, Daughter. Light the beacon, let’s see if we can get them to come find us.”
The beacon stretched far beyond just one universe, and one system. It reached out to every universe, every single point in time. It called for the one who could challenge him, and only the one it sought out could take that ride that would bring them to his current location, hopefully they could breathe in space though – the beacon couldn’t deposit them inside the ship, its own defenses allowed no one to enter that wasn’t permitted. And only he was permitted.
Stepping through the shadows once again, he transported himself back to the top of his gargantuan world-killer, and sat down. Legs crossed, arms behind his head and his body leaning back on one of the massive rail-guns that ran along the viewing deck, which was metal. This section would be the location the beacon brought his adversary, and he waited in the area, which measured roughly a hundred feet long and forty-feet wide. He waited, and somehow…miraculously managed to light a cigarette. In space.