((To make up for not having posted in ages. Have a post I'm going to work my absolute hardest on to make it awesome.))
The black ship moved through the graveyard. A titan among lesser beings, as battleships floated around it's sides like infant children. A fleet of heavily armed war machines, optimized and rebuilt, a wall of steel and technology, slowly and yet purposefully floating. Nearby debris seems to push around the spearhead, incapable of touching the armored walls that surround those that work within. Thousands of massive cannons line the walls of this beast, complex works of ingenuity and adaptation, constantly automated to check their loads and charges, powered by a science so complex it would stagger the minds of those who did not yet master it. A singular pillar of strength and knowledge, within which was contained all the power of an empire.
"A true leader is not a searcher for consensus, but a molder of consensus."
- Martin Luther King.
Within the halls of this ship walked those soulless creatures, formed from the base elements of the universe, and shaped by the hand of man. Mindless and hopeless, without will or dream, that which could not be called life but yet, in some twisted way, did yet live. For they thought, and they saw, and with those soulless eyes witnessed the universe that had been formed around them. These creations waged war on their enemies, and yet this choice was not their own, for choice, indeed, in the purest sense, was something that was beyond them. And yet, even in this state of constant existence, for exist they did, and nothing more than that, they worked and toiled for a God they did not worship, and a goal they could not conceive of. For this, as mere robots, was their nature.
"Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far."
- Theodore Roosevelt
Deep within the web of machinations and creations, whirring and twisting and turning towards innumerable and uncountable goals, within the infinite hallways and passages, winding and twisting through the hulk of steel and craft, rose a throne. Connected through more than symbolism to the web it sat there, the power of the entire fleet poring through it, and flowing into it's king. For upon this throne, in the center of his arm and armor, sat the inventor who had created all that now occupied the realm between planets, his heart burning with a passion that could not be quenched. For within that heart, the flames of his past still burned with fiery hatred, and on those flames his resolve had been formed. Harder than steel, a will of human proportions, even as through human technology and mind, he was raised to a status beyond human. For in each soulless eye, in each spark of power, in each whirring mechanism, existed this gaze, and this man.
"If you care enough for a result, you will most certainly attain it."
- William James
Inevitable and unliving, armies of unstoppable fighting machines poured over the worlds below. Merciless, yet undeniably efficient, they wiped out the enemy before they had time to react. As the ships above fought the enemy in space, so to did these bringers of destruction and conquerers of worlds deal with their foes on the ground. For no wall could stop them, merely slow them, before they found a way around it. No gun could harm them, for those few weapons that killed these beings only motivated their creator, as more were formed once more. No will could stand against them, for they had no will, and they cared not for the will of those they faced. And thus, one by one, the world's of the Clone Emperor fell to this blitz of attacks.
"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."
- Sun Tzu
A tide of steel swept through the galaxy, and all that was thrown before it merely made it stronger. Even as the battles escalated to ever greater heights, the tide grew to match it's opponents. Technology becoming more and more complex, adapting and changing, even as the worlds they conquered grew to learn the meaning and value of technology and superior rule. An iron fist was laid down upon those worlds that were claimed, as militaries were reduced to nothing but piles of rubble. The enemy fled their worlds as they retreated ever further away from their foe, and yet their transportation was tuned on them, as the concept was grasped by the inventor. Armies rose and fell, for before the iron tide, mere military might was insufficient. And thus, they advanced.
"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."
Mathew, God Emperor of Babylon, who had risen himself above the Gods upon his great pillar of technology and knowledge, looked through a billion eyes. Below him was the Clone World, the central production for clones. It was the world to which the clones had retreated, time after time. It was where the Clone Emperor had kept his greatest military might. With each battle, Mathew had faced but that which the Clone Emperor could spare to defend that planet, knowing that this had been Mathew's final goal. If he conquered this world, he would repopulate those planets he had previously conquered with clones, and they would become perfect civilians. A utopia led by a fist of steel, which would devour any enemy to threaten this manmade illusion of perfection. As Mathew spoke, a thousand voices spoke, and he was heard throughout the earth and heavens as they rumbled. "Clone Emperor. I have arrived at your doorstep. It is time for you to surrender."
