ASCENSION (Attn C'tan, SWG)

[Godular]

It thrashes, it writhes, it pushes. The void is barely larger than its body. No sight. No sound. It thrashes, it writhes, it pushes, it resists. It cannot resist. It resists. Its thrashing resembles a mindless rage, but it is not rage. Its writhing resembles a mindless panic, but it is not panic. Its pushing resembles the straining of an animal against its bonds, but there is nothing animalistic about its intent.

It tests. It explores. It defines.

---

Credit where it is due, the Twi'leks appear to have spontaneously evolved a spine.

The Godulan looks out from his position over the ongoing proceedings, directly towards the Aklan pass as if capable of seeing the battle even through the planet's curvature. In his mind's eye he bears witness as the remaining undamaged transports drill their way out of the rubble and turn towards the next population center, swiftly joined by other craft that had not joined the fight yet. The number of Ascension lost in the collapse is enormous, but hardly crippling in the larger scheme of things. The bodies of the Ascension left behind quickly dissolve, leaving little behind but a mass of toxic organic goo.

The warship above them continues to fire drones into the distance, the unmanned warmachines passing over the horizon before the report of their launch can even reach them. Their purpose is almost instantly redirected towards scouting and targets of opportunity as the battle is concluded.

I see blackness.

That is an oddly melodramatic thing to say. The Godulan turns to the armored human and cocks his head in momentary concentration. Ah, I see. One of the Ascension is taken prisoner. Typical protocol would be self-destruction, yet you hesitate. Explain.

You wish to know when the true rulers arrive, correct?

Such intelligence would not be rejected, on neither your part nor mine.

The errant is escorted to the sunward side. Field analysis suggests minor gravimetric and inertial influence, but only to subtly misdirect. Self-destruct will delay until Necron presence is confirmed.

The Godulan nods, then returns his gaze to the horizon. Keep us informed of further developments.

---

It thrashes, it writhes, it pushes. It tests, it explores, it defines.

It prepares.

[The Ctan]

In Countless Homes…

Like a desolate island chain at the end of some industrial world, few beings would want to live on Ryloth, but all knew of it, there were far more Twi’leks in the wider galaxy than there were at home, for the world was vast. The eyes of the galaxy watched Ryloth from one end to the other, stunned people watched in horror as word came of unknown attackers who had the appearance of the enemy that had laid Coruscant and Bastion low had returned.

It was a nightmare no one could wake up from.

Live via HoloNet, beings watched embattled villages and towns, outlying cities, defended and weakened, the coverage bleaker by the minute as frac-weapons stirred up plumes of detritus into the sky. The appalling inferno of the Aklan Pass filled bulletins.

Holonet terminals in public places showed the embattled troops of the Compact die overwhelmed by cybernetic horrors, torn to bits or overwhelmed, few saw the invaders as different from the tides of horror that had come with the bleakness of the chaos invasion, and that was as planned.

In living rooms across the galaxy, adults spoke in hushed tones about what was next, weary cynicism spoke of Ryloth as doomed. The first blow in a new ruinous war.

Many weep openly as they contemplate the contamination of the galaxy, the doom that has returned to haunt the worlds of the old Conclave. They seek to comfort husbands and wives, creche-mates or kin-triads, and younglings of all descriptions, from children to cubs to spawn-fry.

The strange thing though is that few of the younglings need comfort. They have heard of the Second Battle of Ruusan, the Great Chaos War. They have heard too of the heroes there. Across the galaxy, in words of pheromones, in magnetic pulses, tentacle-braids, or mental telepathy, the message from the younglings is the same: Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. The necrons will be there any minute.

They say this as though the name conjures miracles. There are few stories in the history of this or any other galaxy that is as bleak and full of despair and folly as that of the ancient necrontyr, and few images that are as primal with terror as their skeletal forms. There are fewer tales of redemption more complete, this galaxy is not the home galaxy of the Necrontyr, and none here know of them as anything but meddlesome, often preachy, do-gooders.

The adults know better, of course. That’s part of what being a grown-up is understanding that governments lie, that when outlying worlds were attacked, they were often left to fend for themselves, certainly by colonizers from beyond the galaxy.

These adults can take no comfort from their younglings; the War will come again, and the economic depression that mithers the galaxy will be the least of their problems if it goes badly. No help is coming, this world is the first of many.

And so it is that adults across the galaxy watch the HoloNet with ashes where their hearts should be. Ashes, because they can’t see the lumbering and antiquated Centrean Navy burning its way across the galactic disk.

They cannot see the Jedi Order’s battle-masters mounting their swift interceptors and preparing for battle.

Least of all can they see beyond the galactic rim, the thunderbolt-tide of ships closing in on Ryloth.

All they see is the grim determination of the defenders of Lessu city, hopelessly outgunned. Only children believed in last-minute rescues...

__ __ __

Lessu City Outer Cordon

Lessu city was the last redoubt for thousands of miles in all directions, this fortified city was a redoubt built against the worst excesses of the harsh world, and it rose like a pillar in the world’s twilight band.

It was protected by the best energy shields that money could buy and stood atop a pinnacle of rock into which duasteel rods had been sunk, linked to the side of a great mesa by a force-field bridge.

The shattered remnants of the Compact Defence Force had landed here, and with them, the sundry forces on the planet, warrior-caste and other twi’leks alike had set out a maze of trenches and sandbagged defensive positions within the shield perimeter, with killing grounds out on the mesa and the salt-sea beneath.

Andros hauled his blaster strap over his shoulder and bent to his task, the harness of his hardshell armour tight on his frame, he at least had the protection it granted from the blazing sun fixed on the sunward sky. He moved with caution. Since his squad had been posted to the approaches, he had expected to die. They had been labouring to improve their position for many minutes, digging down and raising up a parapet around the position.

The troops in the Battle of Aklan Pass had been overwhelmed, and Andros had heard rumours from the front that the hours they’d been putting together their latest forward positions had been bought by the shock of that combat.

A chime sounded, and the sergeant barked for a rest, he removed his helmet, taking out a canteen, upending it onto his face and wiping off the sweat, swigging it.

__ __ __

Enroute to Ryloth - Rendevous Point Aleph Five

The Jedi Cruiser was an ancient stock-in-trade of the Order, and the current generation of the class was the product of generations of refinement on the traditional Corellian designs, a powerful ship for her range, the Manta class cruiser was part of a series of designs by Rendili Stardrive built for the Jedi Order, commissioned by the C’tani chief of state, Telissat, who was known as a friend of the Order. There were other ships under construction, larger praxeum ships designed to facilitate the expansion of the order beyond its sovereign holdings such as Ossus.

The Conciliator was a fast, lean vessel of that new lineage, with three decks, designed to carry up to eight Jedi and the equipment they might need to operate in any environment, with staterooms for negotiation and a small brig for the few criminals the local governments might want to ask the Order to recover, capable of advanced manoeuvres.

Their rendevous was with something much less sleek, the venerable Inflexible, under the command of Admiral Ulir Bantak had been one of the vessels of the Great Chaos War, though it was not well known to the public, the vessel had fought at Brentaal, Alderaan and Ruusan. Her retirement had been scheduled for a mere ten weeks from now.

“Look at that,” Byt’irani said, as the Conciliator approached the ship. The Inflexible was a ship that had seen better days, her surface was scarred with weapons fire, and a whole section of her forward plating had been repaired where a terrible boarding action loosed by the Chaos forces had forced the ship to be abandoned at Ruusan.

Despite it all, she had some beauty to her, as wedge-vessels went, and Byt’irani craned her neck as the Conciliator passed along the smooth plating of her bows, unlike many other star destroyers, the Victory class shared the trademark of the Rendili shipwrights, a love for long antennae and forward-reaching probes, and she was a forest of spines at the bow, leading to her gun decks.

The Jedi ships had to be taken on board the Inflexible to reprovision and refuel, the Conciliator and the half dozen fighters that had come with her had sped from Ossus with undue haste.

__ __ __

Facility A94F293

Sejar watched the phosglyphs swim in the air as the captive unit was transported to the experimentation area, they had not teleported it, that would be a giveaway but instead excavated a small experimentation zone.

He was content to communicate with the outpost via quantum encryption, which much of the technology of the Great Civilization used.

The structure of the subject told him much, as it was run through a molecular-tier scanner, and another, the machine constructs looming around its container phased blades into it, cutting into it, taking biopsies and tech-samples, it would likely self destruct in such handling, but already they were gathering data.

__ __ __

Airborne to Lessu City

Sergeant Keya’s small squad was not in a good mood; the Aklan battle had been a massacre, one they had been lucky to escape from, and there was no rest to be had. She wanted to keep their morale up, but hollow eyes reflected the dismal depression of the flight to Lessu.

She went through the motions of the briefing. “We’re heading back, but the enemy is likely to reach the perimeter as we do,” she said, “we’ll be supplying priority support, that means we’ll be in the line of fire for this,” she said, “Taru, Mekar, keep those guns hot, there’s not much need for subtlety in these battles, but we’ll be mixing it up as orders come in, likely we’ll be on the walls or in the field at some point and supporting medevac from the front lines, this is a munted spast-show, but let’s keep it frosty and come out alive,” she said.

“Keep tight, we’re here,” she said, as the remnant of blue squadron, including the nose-art bedecked Syrin’ti, soared off to the side.

The remaining ordnance they had would be the first wave to greet the enemy advance on the city.

__ __ __

Beyond the Lessu City Cordon

No one could accuse the Ryloth Penal Brigade of being a good faith effort to hold up the enemy, for they had been deployed far in advance of Lessu City’s other defences, without any sort of combined arms support, their positions were such that more than nine-tenths of the force had deserted immediately, running in the desert, blasters in hand, the sergeants and officers that had barked orders at them, and the armoured guards that had been with them had abandoned them.

They’d dropped blaster rifles for every man and woman present, but the group had fled into the hills. As the Ascension forces advanced, the defenders were incautious, a squadron of X-wings firing the fury of proton torpedos into the advancing forces rendered some blind, and others irradiated.

They would be doing their job as long as some of them were captured by the Ascension and taken behind the lines to the portals they were using.

__ __ __

Intergalactic Space

The Unblooded stood on his flagship’s command deck, his chronosense adjusted down as he gave orders to defend Lessu city, the troops he was commanding were not his own, but though he had not yet arrived, he had taken command remotely, already shoring up the positions of the forces there.

For every second that passed sidereal, minutes passed for him. He watched the partial information of the battlespace, the chaotic fog of war part as more information was processed.

The ship he was on was fast, ploughing through the interstellar void at unfathomable speed, and that would be his watchword here.

“Comrade,” he said, syncing his Chronosense with his companion’s. “Are you ready?”

“I am, my lord,” he said, his bodyguard was a stickler to the old ways, even when most had cast them aside, and the Unblooded was of high station in the ancient Infinite Empire of the first Great Civilization.

“This will be the end of an era,” he said. “The last battle for the old warrior-forms, the beginning of His Supremacy’s great work in the Skyriver Galaxy. We should rejoice to be here,” he said.

“I feel a speech coming upon you.”

“You are not wrong!” he said. “But this will be something new. I am no statesman, old friend,” he said, “but I am reminded of Zama,” he said, “the work half done there, we do today. And tomorrow. And a whole, heavily populated galaxy is watching. They know something of us, but they have not seen us rise to the challenge, today, we show them who we are, and what we mean.”

The allocated time-index passed, the correct microsecond for the allied forces to jump to arrive alongside his own forces and he sent the command, without breaking his contemplation.

“Let the galaxy hear us, and let them watch us as we throw these invaders back.”

__ __ __

CNV Resolution, The Ryloth System

The void quaked and shuddered with the prismatic reversions of the fleet. The Inflexible was the largest of them, a kilometre long, it was a minnow compared to opposing ships that loomed over Ryloth, light-seconds away.

Less than a minnow compared to the ship that slipped in front of it.

Where a moment ago the Ascension forces had been uncontested, they now faced a true enemy, as many ships as their own.

In the lead, the first to join the battle was the CNV Resolution. The venerable dreadnought was at the centre of the allied line, the ship that had been forced to withdraw from the Ryloth System.

Senior Captain Vellan had studied the specifications of a tomb ship before, but what he saw ahead of him was still imposing, the length of a credible star dreadnought, the structure glowed with eerie power and the tracking systems of the Resolution had given up counting the constructs that swarmed about it.

“Fire the moment we have a targeting solution,” he said.

The first shot was theirs, a green bolt of turbolaser fire aimed at the nearest of the ships. The necron vessels that had accompanied them fired and their weapons broke spacetime, at least according to the sensors that he could see in the two-level bridge of the dreadnaught. Gun-pits were set around the command deck, and from the command level, he could see the battle, perhaps better than anyone.

“Allied all-channels signal coming in, captain.”

“Put it on,” Vellan said, “we should hear it while we work.”

__ __ __

Lessu City, The Gate of Nima

“This is Nemesor Zahndrekh ita Sautekh, the Unblooded. We are here on the authority of the Great Civilization, who can no longer stand by and watch one of our allies falling into darkness and despair. We are here on behalf of the thousands killed and abducted, who have no one else to defend them.

“We are here to remove all intruders from this world and return Ryloth to the hands of her people.

“Adversaries, as you have struck without warning or honour, you are entitled to no mercy by the Codes of Battle. But I offer it anyway. Surrender, disarm yourselves and release all prisoners you hold, and you will not be harmed.

“I suspect many of you who are unfortunate enough to find yourselves set against us have wanted to act. Those of you who are subdued against your will in cybernetic enthrallment, hear me now. We were once as you are now, broken and enslaved. Rise up, if you can, and you will be made whole and free; and if you have not that strength, rejoice in yourselves, for we bring death and release to you.

“For justice, for peace, for the future, we have come home.”

The Unblooded dismissed the phosglyph that hovered over his command dias’ platform, looking out over Lessu city. His forces had begun materializing directly into the city; they had synchronized their matter-projectors with the wave-forms of the city, allowing them to directly reinforce the city, and in quarters, on the walls, and on the front, even as the enemy materialized.

“What do you think, Obyron?”

“It is not your best, My Lord, but it brings the point across clearly.”

He laughed, “Always a critic my dear one,” he said, “instruct the ethermancers to give it their all; I want a sandstorm truly worthy of Ryloth. The particulate will harm the enemy weapons more than our own. Signal all phalanxes to advance, let the local forces have their part, but make sure that the casualties land on us!”

Phalanxes of immortals in the pale white of Gidrim materialized by the minute as shocked onlookers, military and civilian, watched, some breaking into cheers. And all across the galaxy, the HoloNet showed the younglings were right.

[Godular]

The scanning signals wafted over it like the occasional breeze of fresh air, and it did not stir. The information to be gleaned was worthless now. The nanites were gone, the augments were gone. All that remained was a lump of human flesh encapsulating a power converter and several curiously perturbed atoms. Even so, the entangled particles were sufficient to scan the environment in return, and scan they did. The material that surrounded the fleshy mass seemed to stymie its own sensors, but the signals that penetrated the material itself were detected in turn, conferring information of its own.

A blade emerged in the darkness, swift to mortal eyes but to them it came as a crawl. It could not be a knife. It could only have been a claw. It did not cut the coffin wall itself, it phased through it in order to reach the fleshy mass. It phased through it. The sensors combed through the readings like a fine-toothed comb, watching incoming talon with the painstaking care of a stalker.

Something new.

Awareness was important to the Godulans, and the Ascension was every bit their avatar. Such readings were new to them, and the Godulans treated such things with the enthusiasm as a most cherished gift. More still, it was a sure sign that the creatures of whom they had heard so much --yet knew so little-- had arrived.

It detonated, and whereas in previous scenarios such self destruct events were highly controlled to prevent collateral damage, this was intended for maximum collateral damage. So what if it was out of a populated area? It was the principle of the thing!

The entangled particles went into overdrive, drawing massive amounts of power from somewhere and poured it all into the power converter. The body detonated in a horrendous shatterspace anomaly approximately one mile in radius.

---

The plain is silent. Where previously there was a torrent of new acquisitions, now there is only a trickle. The most recent additions are already ascended by their arrival, and they rush through the portals under their own power. The Godulan stands looking over the proceedings with the air of one who is soon to wrap up their tour of the operational site, and as his gaze traverses the various emplacements he sends out orders to prepare for departure.

He turns to the Ascendant Lord behind him, and offers a congratulatory tip of his hat.

You did well to keep your errant on standby as you did. We have gleaned valuable information from their efforts to glean information from us.

Your praise honors me, though the losses suffered make it difficult to appreciate.

There are always losses in war. To fear the prospect of being harmed in a fight is to confer upon your enemy yet another weapon to use against you. You must be willing to accept a strike if it means drawing your foe into an untenable position. The Godulan turns to the north and gestures with his chin. You saw this at the Aklan pass. A courageous ploy, that. Truly, we have acquired more than comparative samples, we have acquired a well and truly viable arm of the Ascension.

What shall we do with them, though? We only needed blood samples, did we not? All of the converts are slagged, and nowhere near optimized. They are of little practical use to us.

Aye, that is so.

What, then?

The Godulan gives another tip of his hat to the Ascendant Lord, and speaks his next words out loud: "Hijinks and shenanigans."

Suddenly, he looks up. The Ascendant Lord looks up as well. Every single Ascendant in the area turns and looks in the same direction as if all part of the same awareness. All across the planet, the Ascendants skid to a halt and look towards the same thing. Some are even struck down by enemy blaster fire and proton torpedoes as they all turn, though even with their attention focused they continue to fire at enemy emplacements.

A ship has arrived. Many ships have arrived.

They emerged firing, but even with the few seconds that it took their blaster bolts and pillars of eldritch disintegration to reach their target, the Ascension vessels' shields had come up to full power and they were already angling to leave Ryloth's gravity well. A massive storm of wind and sand erupts even before the Ascension Raider's thrusters kick up a plume of dust, and the area around the Ascendant Lord and his Godulan companion swiftly turns into a nigh-impenetrable blanket of brown, occasionally flashing green from above.

Though the Ascendant Lord can barely see his hand in front of his face, he can tell that the Godulan is practically dancing with glee.

Show it to us! Show it all to us, you bastards! You beautiful, black-boned, star-humping bastards! Throw everything you've got and more besides!

The Ascendant Lord feels the Godulan's awareness fall upon him, and senses the rest of the Ascension on the planet suddenly come about.

All across the planet, the attackers fell back, returning to their armored transports.

---

Above them all, the Ascension Raiders rose up into the sky and moved to meet the enemy fleet. The enemy fleet was pouring out a magnificent amount of fire, but for the moment the Raiders were accomplishing a surprising feat in appearing not particularly taxed by the opposing onslaught. In fact, they were very deliberately not returning fire with their main batteries. They seemed only to be focused on launching wave after wave of drones, which immediately took up screening positions between the two fleets. As they moved further from planetside, the massive darts that had been launched into the planets surface as artificial beach-heads erupted from the sandstorm and moved to join the Raiders.

The strange vessel that had accompanied the Raiders took up position behind the Ascension fleet. Once it did, the combined force began to move forward, the space around them thickening swiftly with drones.

Curiously though, even a cursory count would show that only half of the Ascension vessels were actually present. The other half appeared to have moved towards the side of the planet that faced away from the newly arrived fleet. Sensors could easily show that the other half of the fleet was establishing a second formation, but seemed to be moving further away from their comrades and the new arrivals.

A voice spoke on all channels, deep and languorous:

"THEY COME FOR US, AS THEY SHALL COME FOR YOU. WARE THE WINGS OF ANGELS, FOR THEY BRING SWORDS OF FIRE BEHIND SILVERED TONGUES. LOOK FIRST TO THE SKIES, THEN TO YOURSELVES, AND YOU SHALL KNOW YOUR TRUE ENEMY. ISH'NU KA'TESH! LAN'CATUL! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX! SHENRYAX!"

All communications channels suddenly came alive with the repeating chant of 'Shenryax', the word itself forming its own cadence as the Ascension fleet began its approach.

[The Ctan]

The loss of contact with the remote site was not unexpected to Sejar, but it was unwelcome. The effort had been made to ensure that they could gather more from them.

There was only so much that could be gathered from molecularly deconstructed samples and the behavioural data had been interesting, but from now he suspected there would be no shortage of battle casualties to analyse.

He stood, moving with lean paces toward another terminal, where the holographic form of of the tide-locked planet showed, with fleet movements moving across the globe.

The enemy sought to move onto the dayside of the planet to avoid direct targeting from the fleet.

They had one problem in this though, for even below the horizon from the embattled Twi’lek cities, Sejar’s group was far on the day-side and able to feed more positional data from their network of sensors.

“Open up our feeds to the fleet, let’s make sure their shipminds can process what they’re doing up there,” he said.

__ __ __

The Shipminds involved in directing the battle were sophisticated things, each of their computer webs more powerful than any droid mind built in the galaxy since the time of the long-finished Celestials.

Still, mere contemplation capacity wasn’t enough to win battles, and it was apparent that in some ways the opposite side was at least ahead of the local curve, perhaps equal, perhaps even superior in these regards.

Such things were not of immediate concern, but the withdrawing ships were. While the battle continued they fired long-range sensor probes across the battle-zone and even displaced some through narrow-necked wormholes to ensure there was no area within the system that provided natural occlusion.

And in doing so it saw something new, its long-range sensors detecting a tachyonic object approaching, a hyperspace ship. Weapons locked in on the object before it arrived in realspace.

__ __ __

The ship that dropped from hyperspace was a surprise to the Necrons as much as it was anyone else in the battlespace, a huge chrome vessel that looked like it would be more at home in an ocean than in the void, a wide bulky prow opening ornamental gunports to reveal a battery of firepower as crimson sails spread anachronistically, pricey imports from the Gree Enclaves that worked using ancient transluminal beam-projector networks.

The ship was not going to change the battlescape, its batteries were star-destroyer class and it spat fighters from its sides, the formidable Kimogila class fighters were very capable but they were not going to turn the fight one way or another.

But it was a political gesture, and its firepower was aimed at the Ascension ships, blue turbolaser beams lashing out toward the nearest.

It was a Hutt battleship, and its commander sent a holographic message. “This is the Cartel Protection Ship Ponka-Tarlo. We are here to expel the invaders, and aid our longstanding friends.”

__ __ __

“The Hutts have sent a ship to join the fight on our side, do you want them slain?”

The Oathsworn moved with ease as they entered the Lessu City command post, speaking the thought verbally more for the enjoyment of it than any need to verbalize.

Here the Unblooded looked not to his own recognizance but instead to the most senior local officer. “The choice is yours.”

Sen’ura stared at the Nemesor for a moment, “Sir,” the High Colonel said, “anyone shooting the enemy is my friend right now.”

“Done,” the Nemesor said, “our enemy is withdrawing, we will harry them and break down every retreat attempt,” he said.

__ __ __

Lessu City Outer Cordon

Andros watched as the Lychguard advanced with a steady, heavy tread, the sandstorm had already cut visibility, and for many of their allies, they could only be seen as a row of green eyes above their towering coffin-shaped shields. But they could be heard; every step they beat their axes upon their shields, a rhythmic sound that carried across the battlefield like some ancient bronze age battlefield.

The shield-beat continued as they closed, a rank of deathless soldiery, shrapnel skittering off their armoured frames, even fractal-beams bouncing from their shields, protected as they were by dispersal fields.

The phalanx at the fore of this advance bore bright shields of sea-green with golden bosses adorned with the ankh of the great civilization, embedded with the orb-like power generators of the shield; their anachronistic weapons were the product of the martial traditions that prized the early footsteps of civilizations, the common ground that could be found in the ancient instinct to wall off one’s city from threats.

These were the troops that deployed furthest forward toward the enemy, their forces disappearing into the storm before the shocked gazes of the defenders; the C’tani possessed remarkable technology but they used it in strange ways.

The Lychguard gave a cry, something in their own language, a cultural idiom of the Immortals that had no meaning to those who watched them.

“Sautekh Varantha!”

A hundred voices shouted it at shock-volume, enough to burst unprotected eardrums as they advanced. Even through his audio-dampening helmet, and behind the Necron formation, the sound made his head thrum. Some fell, their shields overwhelmed by the fractal weapons, only to rise again, stepping to the back ranks of the formation as it advanced in its tight bubble of shielding, the long staff of one of the command-Necrons in among them, one rank behind the fore, holding a shining orb in a clawed hand that pulsed as each Necron rose.

There was an appalling solidity to them compared to the battle-droids that he had seen before, each Necron seemed to be far denser and far more impervious. He had little time to reflect, as he watched them, however, a cry went up from the front lines.

“What’s happening?” Andros heard several of his squad-mates cry out through the comm-net, each man was fifty meters from his nearest fellow, in their dugout positions, and the squad scattered across an area four hundred meters wide.

“They’re retreating,” the sergeant said. “Command confirms, a full-scale withdrawal across all sectors.”

Not an hour ago Andros had expected to die today. Now he watched the Necrons advance with startled gratitude.

__ __ __

Jedi Strike Force

The Conciliator hurtled toward Ryloth, turning away from the battle, along with the sleek forms of dozens of X-wings and Jedi Fighters for cover, a Compact DP-20 frigate adding to their cover. The ship was hit by a few opportunistic hits as it raced toward the planet, its powerplant losing half of the parallel drive shafts its Corellian manufacturers favoured on the first shot and then breaking down completely as it was hit again and again.

Jebai Asana adjusted the Conciliator’s throttle to try and coax a little sharper acceleration from the gunship as their escort dropped behind and as she raced to slam the ship into the protective embrace of the twi’lek planet’s freezing atmosphere. It wouldn’t stop a straight shot but it wasn’t likely they’d be chased past that point unless the enemy particularly feared the Jedi.

Jebani span the Conciliator to the left, reading where a stray shot would pass in a moment, Jedi made as fine pilots as they did melee combatants, and she was among the more talented of the order. The ship’s shields flickered as they dropped onto the freezing Ryloth night-side.

“Change of target,” Byt’irani said, “we’ve got a new position, dropping into a landing area, the enemy is in full retreat across the front.”

Jebani looked at the console before her, the C’tani had been making a point to reach out to the Jedi Order, and they had up to date encryption to directly update the Conciliator’s systems with their real-time data.

[The Ctan]

Five Years Later

“It’s deeply tempting to say that when we look at the Lessu engagement we are witnessing a triumph, given the popular reaction, when we look at the presence of very visible front line necron units soaking up firepower intended for organic troops, well, it makes for excellent propaganda and it went a long way to convince a galaxy that expected Ryloth to join the Starways Congress and so many others in being utterly devastated.

“Others might suggest it was a failure, because the initial deployment followed the customary tradition of interposing necron units between aggressors and allied forces, the initial translocation locations for infantry units were predicting something that the enemy did not seem intent to be wanting to do, and an encirclement would have been more advantageous.”

“Of course,” Keller said, looking across the room toward his students, “this proved that the Shenryax raiders, a word that tied the group into rumours of another raid some time before at Mon Cala, were operating more as raiders than anything else. This of course was nothing unusual, raiders do not often intend to stay long, but the Nemesor possibly planned for them to be aiming to actually take the city, instead it was more likely they had what they wanted.

“Very quickly the second wave of translocations were re-tasked to directly intercept landing sites and to harry units as they retreated. Of course these very nice images provided by the Menelmacari Mornanatsë, the shadow-holonet that was just in its infancy at this time,” she said, of the holograms projected before her class, “under-sell the battle, the far more clinical images provided by the armed forces themselves show something much more holistic,” her hand waved through the image to bring up diagrams of the battle, “You can see here the myriad systems of warfare being used, but remember this is the un-reformed military that was inherited from the Necrontyr Empire, and so you will see a lot of necron positions appearing compared to a modern engagement,” she said, “as the time-scale progresses, which each of you can adjust on your pads if you want to see it at your own pace, you will see that the phase-in distributions change.

“In orbit meanwhile, another phase was beginning, notably the central ship was coming under scrutiny from necron forces for the first time.”

[Godular]

The Necrons were just so interesting to watch. With all the dedicated sensors available on the transports, information about their regenerative abilities and spatial jiggery-pokery flooded in unabated. The sandstorm was a dire hindrance to the fractal weapons the Slag Zombies were armed with, but not to any sensors worth even the semblance of a damn. It was due to this and the distributed intelligence of the Ascension that aside from the functional nullification of their weapons there was not much of a noticeable effect on the movements of the soldiers. They knew where they were in relation to the closest Ascendant Lord, and they knew how to close the distance with maximum effect.

The biggest problem were the necrons approaching on their own hovering monstrosities, as the ones teleporting into the battlezone seemed more for a boost to the morale of the defenders than for anything else. Green pulses of eldritch death lanced their way through the sandy zephyr, vaporizing Slag Zombies outright, if not taking various major bits and pieces on indirect hits. The Slag Zombies seemed undeterred by anything that was not instantly lethal, however, as they continued their flat-out sprint towards the transports.

The transports themselves focused their wrath on the enemy hovercraft, relying primarily on their concussion weaponry less as a means of killing the enemy but more to buffet them into the ground and disrupt their aim. While the concussion weapons were intended to disrupt, the spears of kinetic force they also sent out were more intended to impale and destroy. They were not about to let the Necrons think their presence was uncontested.

Several transports, stricken as their shields failed, did something curious in that they charged forward towards the defending lines. They rushed forwards as far as they could towards concentrations of defending troops before consuming themselves into a horrendous maelstrom of crackling death, triggering a shatterspace anomaly the better part of a mile in diameter.

At the same time, the drones that had until this point provided some measure of airborne protection for the transports began to slam into defending positions and concentrations of Necron might, detonating into smaller but no less catastrophic shatterspace anomalies once they could travel no further. Curious little comments emerged on short-range comms traffic.

TENNO HAIKA BANZAIIIII

ALLAHU AKBAR

YOLOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Even excluding the comms traffic, there was a message in such actions: every vehicle was a suicide bomb.

Even so, the fire started to slacken swiftly. Each transport, once fully loaded with the slag zombies, simply vanished. Their Return-To-Origin protocols needed little pre-calculation.

---

Another transport materializes where there was once just an open spot on the ramp, and proceeds through the portal. They continue to wink in just long enough to depart.

We have incoming

Aye, that is so.

The Ascendant Lord is looking towards the darker horizon, while the Godulan continues to watch the remaining zombies rush through the portal. What once was a rushing horde is now only a barest few stragglers galloping up the path to the portal. Though the Ascendant Lord has questions, he knows better than to ply this Godulan for elaboration. He's experienced that particular bit of consternation enough, thank you very much. Thus, he remains silent, but expectant.

Go ahead and depart, the Godulan finally says. We shall meet on the other side, that we might debrief.

The Ascendant Lord turns back to the Godulan, curious. He is surprised to see that the Godulan's body has changed into a perfect match of his own.

I can handle things from here.

As you wish. Might I ask why you have taken my form?

The hell of it.

The Godulan manages to produce that infuriating smile even with the face of another. The Ascendant Lord nods and departs.

---

Kaz'Ramael watches the Ascendant Lord leave, then turns towards the approaching Jedi. Though they are not yet visible, even below the horizon, he tracks their motion perfectly.

"I wonder if they'll stop to chat first?"

---

The Ascension ships had adopted a form of Phalanx formation in order to weather the veritable firestorm directed at them, while the enormous vessel between them and the planet completed reassembling itself. It was largely thanks to the advanced shielding systems from the Godulan refit that they would have been able to absorb such a staggering level of incoming fire, as even the largest of Imperial vessels would have been easily overpowered by such wrath. Even so, such a monumental defense could only be maintained for a short time before it inevitably failed.

But the defense did not need to be active for long, it only needed to be active long enough.

The enormous vessel between them and the planet, known among the Godulans as an Archonal Command Ship, was almost entirely unknown to the outside universe due to its swift replacement by the Kython Slaughterstar Superdreadnought shortly after its completion. Thanks to this, the command ship was considered to be a viable asset for inclusion within the Ascension space forces, providing a suitable anchor-point for any attacking fleet. It was specifically intended as a form of planetary assault and coordination ship, and utilized the 'darts' that gave it a noted pinecone shape as a swift and efficient means to establish beach-heads on hostile worlds. Multi-layered in its design, it would commence the invasion of an enemy world and support the ground forces as they sought to conquer that territory.

The shielding efforts of the Raiders was primarily to allow the Command Ship to reassemble, returning from it's 8-bladed arrowhead shape to it's bulkier pinecone shape thanks to the reattaching of its planetary assault darts.

Reassembly complete. Awaiting indication of readiness from battlegroups to initiate 'Buckshot Scorpion'.

Phalanx Battlegroup indicates ready.

Rearguard Battlegroup indicates ready. There's a slug ship shooting at us, though.

Is it a problem?

More of a philosophical conundrum, so no.

Right... execute 'Buckshot Scorpion' in three, two, one... go.

The ships forming the shield wall between the Archonal Command Ship and the approaching attackers vanished, only to reappear some distance above the ecliptic plane, such that they formed an angle of sixty degrees between themselves, the Necrons, and the Command Ship. Similarly, the rearguard ships suddenly vanished, only to reappear a similar distance below the ecliptic plane.

All units, weapons free. Repeat, weapons free.

All of the Ascension vessels opened fire, returning the blasts of eldritch green wrath from the Necron ships with similarly-colored wrath of their own. The arrangement of the Ascension vessels were specifically intended to put the attackers in a vicious crossfire, forcing the enemy to either spread its fire out, or pick one enemy while sacrificing attention on the others. If all of the Necron vessels boasted displacement tech such as had been noted in the probes sent around to the far side of Ryloth, they might match the Ascension step for proverbial step, but they would only be able to react. Any force that could only react could never hold the initiative.

Curiously though, this movement did not include the command ship, which now rested very conspicuously undefended before the approaching enemy.

[The Ctan]

The Fleet

There was something else that the enemy was learning about the Necrons. The fleet in orbit was demonstrating a key aspect of the Great Civilization’s interstellar combat tactics; their ships scrupulously avoided any formations. No single line could be drawn between more than two vessels. There were also no parallel enfiladements, at most two vessels in the formation could be enfiladed at any given time. Space was a vast environment and there was never a cause outside of the most unusual circumstances for ships to be aligned in any particular order. This had several advantages, one of them was that it eliminated much positional advantage, when the enemy vessels split into two forces to assail them from different directions this meant that there was no reorientation of the necron fleet required; two vessels from the fleet made slight adjustments in their acceleration and no other changes were made to their evasive manouvering.

Of course, the necron ships did have a small disadvantage against their attackers, their overall aspect from their direction of travel was narrower than their aspect from a dorsal or ventral position. Their flat pancake-like forms were somewhat disadvantaged by the parting of the enemy fleet.

But they did not respond to this; to their perspective, there was an advantage in altering the position of the enemy ships, for though they were now somewhat easier to target their own sensors were more widespread, and they opened fire.

Their fire was not aimed at the formations that had moved above and below their angle of approach; they were utterly ignored.

They had already chosen to focus their firepower on the Archonal Command Ship, this was of little concern to them, they continued with their original plan. The entire force fired as one, every capital grade weapon engaged at once, their objective was simple.

In turn, they were taking periodic damage, but the incursion fleet was not focussing specifically on any single ship as they were, most, perhaps all of the Great Civilization’s ships suffered superficial damage, but their spatial projection abilities were not being used at the moment to displace new weapons. Instead their displacers were primarily supporting the ground forces, though there was a capacity being held in reserve…

The Surface Battle

“Our communications intercept synopsis systems report that they are canting many Gaian war-cries,” Obyron said, “as if they seek to confirm that they’re not native to this galaxy.”

Zahndrekh watched from the walls of Lhessu as the enemy’s transports began to attempt martyrdom attacks against his forces as the last of them displaced away. “I am sure they think it is jocular, old friend.”

They watched from the ancient walls, but their minds were not local, instead, they viewed the far-off retreat as the enemy’s forces quit the planet at a startling rate. Both had accelerated their chronosense highly enough that the sandstorm beyond the shield as seen by their physical eyes was a frozen tableau.

“If they wish to know who we are, let them learn now,” the Unblooded said, “Atheja, now would be the time. I request you enact the Stratagem of Na’kel.”

The silk-smooth voice of the ship closest to the planet replied without delay. “Are you certain?”

“There is no further aid possible here. Act before they terminate their portals. Do it now.”

“As you wish,” the ship said.

Godulan Mustering Positions

The Great Civilization had used portals and displacers as one of its main weapons since its inception, but the Stratagem of Na’kel dated much further back, to the ancient days of the necrontyr. Technology had improved it from what it had been then when both ends of the portal had needed to be in fixed frames. Then, it had involved using a pair of conjoined portals.

Now, neither end needed to be fixed in an anchoring frame. Instead, the generator for the fold in space-time needed to be within tactical proximity of one end. The Ryloth system was obliging for such a strategy. The sun was near to the main inhabited planet.

The Atheja, whose name meant Just Conflict of Hatred, was one of the closest vessels to the planet. Guided by the drones and other assets in the atmosphere and orbit, it had a close view of several of the sites through which the captured inhabitants of the planet had been herded.

The portal it created was smaller than a human. It was smaller than the head of a needle. It did not need to be larger at first. Anything organic unfortunate enough to be within several kilometres of it would very briefly regret it, as the portal-end was fused with the folded space of the Godulan portal.

The far end was within the fusion furnace of the star.

Shipminds were not known as spiritual beings, but Atheja spared a thought for the captives far off across the galaxy, or beyond, wherever they had been taken, as a lance of solar fire was directed through the portal that they had been taken through.

The process was simultaneously carried out in multiple locations, all routes of egress from the planet were targeted. There would be no compromise, and if the invaders wanted the people of Ryloth, they would have to content themselves with those people in the form of irradiated cinders.

The Jedi Strike Force

Byt’irani felt the straps on her shoulders as she slumped forward briefly. It was as though she had been punched in the gut by a besalisk. Worse, in fact, and she had had both experiences. It felt awful.

She knew at once what had been done. The force whispered it to her. The death keen of her people - though she did not hail from Ryloth, she felt it sharply nonetheless - by the thousand. Thousands of voices that had been screaming in terror at what was done to them, suddenly silenced.

“Did they…” Jebani’s question did not need an answer. The C’tani were ruthless. This was known by many. Still, she hadn't been expecting this. It felt like every prisoner who had been taken had been destroyed by orbital bombardment. But far off, somehow.

Byt’irani shook it off, and touched the controls, “What the kriff?” she asked.

“They are teleporting out, it was that or let them go,” the voice of Atheja said.

Byt’irani sighed deeply, “Understood,” she said.

“Just for good measure,” she reached up to the bank of the Conciliator’s controls above her head.

Sometimes salutary examples were needed. That was a reality the Jedi did not express but had lived in the awkward moments of the galaxy for generations. There was no harm in overkill though.

Their destination was locked in already, and she thumbed a button. Perhaps some of the invaders were still around at the portal site, if so a few extra megatons were well deserved.

Three concussion missiles shot out of the underside of the Conciliator, to express a less than conciliatory though, as it turned back to Lessu.

[Godular]

Okay, I guess we WON'T debrief, after all!

Kaz'Ramael's voice in the aftermath of the enormous explosion is decidedly cheerful. Several inquiries arise in the wake of his outburst and unanticipated arrival within the mindspace of the command ship, and he sends out a plethora of soothing responses that all is well. Better than well, in fact, but positively exultant. He wanted to see everything the Necrons could pull off, and he got what he suspected was an impressive result indeed.

Did we get full readings on that event? I will be very unhappy if we did not have every device possible turned on.

We diverted power from the weapons to improve our shielding and passive sensors in order to gather as much intel as possible. It appears they produced a wormhole with both ends remotely placed and stabilized, one of which happened to be within the core of the system primary. We're not entirely certain what machines were employed to accomplish such a feat. The core of a star is notoriously turbulent in all workable regards.

Aye, there is a lot going on in the heart of a star. It is enough to know that such things are possible. We shall find our way to it in our own time.

It also looks like that effect happened just as a probability jump took place. The transit failed to go off due to the sudden shift in local conditions, and we lost the final shipment. That was the majority of our remaining ground forces.

He senses a bit of agitation, and sends out more feelings of calm and serenity. In the crush of the larger battle it is all too easy to get caught up in feelings of frustration, more so when one's perception of time can be slowed to a crawl.

All is well. I must credit these elder beings, they are every bit as savvy as I thought they would be. Shall we show them one last thing that we can do in turn?

Buckshot Scorpion's 'kicker' protocol is ready to proceed on your command.

Alright, the command is given. Let's give the old girl a proper send-off, shall we?

---

The Command Ship Apocalyptus had thus far been focusing much of its power in bolstering its shields while awaiting final word from command. Now that things had been functionally 'capped off' planetside, the vessel began to accelerate at a tremendous rate. At the same time, an immense outburst of ECM and signal jamming across all manner of radiation bands went off, including a variety of signal forms noted throughout the ongoing battle, bathing the vessel in a transcendent brilliance as it moved forward.

From this massive pulse, every last one of the darts that had previously been used to set up beach-heads planetside launched forward like enormous cannon shells, many of them still bearing dents and scuff marks from their impacts with the ancient terrain of Ryloth. They fanned out in all directions, their only common vector was that they were directed towards the Nectron forces and their allies. These darts were joined by clouds of matte-black spheres, seeming only as dots in the face of the dreadnought itself but individually still similar in size to a medium sized freighter craft.

At the same time, the massive dreadnought channeled excess power from its shields into its weapons, seemingly heedless of the damage that would result with its newly slackened defenses. It poured firepower into the oncoming enemy, joining the fusillade produced by the two flanks of the pincer with a barrage that put the firepower of the smaller raider vessels to shame. Whereas the other vessels seemed like they'd been cobbled together to handle the advanced weapons they sported, the dreadnought was purpose-built and optimized.




OOC: apologies for the shortish post... most of the conversation partners did kinda just get roflroasted...

[The Ctan]

CNV Resolution, The Ryloth System

Collision alarms blared through the command deck of the Resolution. Senior Captain Vellan looked on at the holographic display as it showed the inbound vessels. The dance of space war had changed quickly now, and blazing hulks of the venerable vessels of chaos design had been marked as low threat, a faded red, as the necron ships engaged this familiar prey.

The unknown vessels were more problematic. A screen built into a slanting control panel showed Vellan the inbound ship, its acceleration in the thousands of gravities as it hurtled toward them.

It looked like a destroyer class ship, but the information on it reported that it had portal capabilities and the invaders’ weapons.

“Portside heavy batteries, focus on that vessel,” he ordered, and the technician whose shoulder he was leaning over pressed three buttons in quick succession.

“Guns laid sir, firing,” the response called out. Double-turrets along the ship’s port side elevated and traversed toward the target and blasts of green light shot toward the attacking vessel, hitting it in quick succession.

The weapons were potent enough to reduce a planetary surface to fulminating cinders in under a day, but the enemy came on, incredibly, remarkably.

“Enemy collision confirmed,” one of the sensor operators declared as the ship passed the point where its projected engine output could bring it to a relative halt, and systems confirmed it was still manoeuvring to hit the Resolution. “Helm, evasive!”

The ship’s inertial compensator's simulated a soft banking motion, and Vellan frowned, the sensation was misleading, making the ship feel like it was moving on an ocean, or perhaps a gas-lifted airship, despite the far greater accelerations actually being performed.

The enemy vessel tracked them move for move, always bringing itself into a course that projected as a line through the Resolution’s direction of travel.

The enemy seemed to be holding out against their shields, though Vellan could have sworn he saw the suggestion of a feedback failure that might drop them any moment.

“Abandon ship,” he said. “All stations to automatic.”

The room went silent, he could hear the blood in his ears and the distant chuff-rumble of turbolasers firing and of the engines straining.

“Abandon ship. All hands.”

The automated abandon-ship call sounded, and he could hear the crew below locking their stations onto manual operation. Walking to the front of the ship, he laid his hand on the shoulder of Petty Officer Keyn.

“Off you go son,” he said.

The young man looked reluctant, but rose, while Vellan took a code cylinder from his jacket, sliding it into place.

The ship had been designed to run with a crew of close to thirty thousand, a huge number, the Centrean Navy had never been short of volunteers and much of the galaxy had gone to high-crew figures due to a series of prolonged droid revolts generations ago.

The capability was there to take manual control of the ship though, with just the right authority. Only a few of the ship’s crew had the appropriate clearance, and the station recognized his corresponding access code as the duplicated control station manned by Petty Officer Guraal, a towering Wookie.

Maintaining and overhauling the guns, checking the gun-laying and ensuring nothing went wrong with their startlingly high energy systems took more than a hundred men per cannon, long term. For the next two minutes, they were unattended, left on a continuous fire pattern that tracked the inbound ship.

The captain heard the bridge escape pods thump out of the ship on explosive bolts, and the roar of their rockets transmitted through the thickened hull plates as they were away.

Keyn’s station was comprehensive, and the incongruous thought of how comfortable the chair was wormed its way into his mind, as he tilted the ship toward the enemy vessel. He hit a few keystokes that redirected shield power to weapons, engine power too.

The enemy had better acceleration, no point wasting the power. The enemy ship’s shields were in overload, for a moment he wondered if he could have won this particular engagement, but with his turbolasers as liable to put holes in the oncoming impactor as blow it up, he felt he’d taken the right action.

He felt his stomach try to turn upside down within him as the enemy vessel closed to impact. He’d imagined he would be blown to vapours without feeling a thing, instead the air howled and the bridge came apart as though it were toughened glass burst asunder. Nothing was larger than a few feet, and the whole ship was blazing apart, falling away.

His lungs lunged with pain that could not be shrieked out, and he could see his legs tumbling away, spherical droplets of blood floating away. The pain of amputation hit him a moment later.

It was dark.

Suddenly it was light, he felt his lungs forced back within him, and machines descended on him, mechanical insects that pinned his arms, he struggled, but he could see he was missing a hand too.

He could not speak, his lungs burned, one of the machines, he could see they were a creamy pink in hue, the brightness around him dimmed.

“You are alive and safe. As safe as you’re going to be in this system anyway.”

He opened his mouth wide, croaking out a word.

“Your men are fine,” the voice said, a dark blue-skinned man appeared beside him wearing a russet uniform. “I’m the shipmind of Meravaid. Your escape pods are being tracked, retrieval might take a while. There might be a few crew that didn’t get away, but you made the right choice there, in my opinion.”

Vellan fell back onto the hard bed beneath him. He worked his mouth again.

“I’m stopping the pain, neural blockers,” he said.

Vellan’s jaw worked again.

“I’ve got force fields folded out and twelve layers of interposing screens extended. Nothing’s going to hit me, don’t worry.”

He continued mouthing questions, and the shipmind answered them.

“Your lungs are severely damaged, I’m oxygenating your blood directly, you don’t want to know.”

“Sedation? Not necessary,” the shipmind said. “I can, if you like.”

Vellan thought of it for a moment but he wanted to know the rest. He mouthed more questions.

“Your ship was exposed, we’re learning more, others have been intercepted, we’re looking at widespread damage, but there are not enough enemy vessels to prevail by suicide collision. Unless they have some more.”