The Ascension of the Imperium IC (All Tech, TG for interest)

by **The Auraverse** » Thu Sep 10, 2020 4:52 am

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Florence, Passione Bunker|

Elias didn't even wince as his arm came apart into cubes. If anything, he seemed suitably amused - tilting his head towards his now-disassembled appendage, he observed it curiously.

"Hm. Maybe not as well-thought-out as I had hoped. Ah well!"

He turned his everpresent grin back towards Babyface, seemingly unperturbed by its threat on Reneé's life. Lines of purple continued to slide around whatever areas of skin he still had exposed, forming dizzyingly-complex patterns. Until all motion froze, and the lines appeared to solidify.

"Checkmate, methinks."

What happened next happened very, very quickly. Though the Stand was merely pretending to eat, it practically choked on air as Elias now stood mere inches away, without appearing to have moved through the intervening space at all. The cube-arm was flashing, enveloped in tendrils of lilac - at intervals brief enough to be considered video-stills, it melted back into its original shape, though the sleeve surrounding it appeared to remain as cubes. And as it raced towards the Stand, far too quickly for anything to be dodged, Babyface's eyes were locked on one particular detail. A new marking, now adorning its opponent's forearm - unchanging, though periodically giving off flashes of violet light.

A cube.

Another flash of lilac, this one bright enough to fill the room in its entirety. And as it faded, the situation had... changed. Babyface had been knocked onto its back, now entirely un-cubed. Reneé lay a short distance away, out of reach - breathless and coughing, but now back to her original bodyplan. And Elias stood above it all, his grin unaltered. One sleeve now little more than a tattered mess of threads, the arm beneath a writhing mass of symbology. The hand still clutched his cane, which it now proceeded to tap against the floor in a jaunty rhythm.

"Yes, a neat trick indeed. I think I'll keep this one. Now-"

He tapped the cane a little more forcefully, sending out a line of purple. It snaked across the floor, encircling Babyface - a moment later, it sprang up into a solid box of light surrounding the fallen Stand.

"We should probably start wrapping up."

The floor beneath Melone flexed again, this time far more forcefully, launching the hapless mafioso backwards along the light-tunnel. Walls and floors seemed to break down as he approached, torn out of the way by some unseen force. All that remained was the tunnel of light - bouncing painfully on the pseudo-floor below him every once in a while, he was propelled quite literally through the bunker, back towards an unknown destination. His surroundings rumbled as the way was continuously cleared, with no regards for support girders or internal bracing - behind him, parts of the ceiling had already began to cave in. Indeed, it didn't look like the structure was going to last much longer.

All doubts with regards to where he was being taken were cleared up, suddenly, in one fell swoop - as the final wall before him was ripped away, the tunnel spat him out rather unceremoniously into a room he found all too familiar. As he righted his battered body, he came face to face with the still-grinning Elias.

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Stromboli|

Hatlen's reaction to the clone's appearance would be best summed up as mild vexation. As the thing raised its arm at the woman beside him, he gave yet another expansive sigh. Raising his own arm up and back, he seemed to be performing a stretch - that impression was broken when he brought it around, quite lazily, to give the apparition a disheartened slap across the face.

The noise was thunderous. What had appeared to be a symbolic gesture at best had conveyed enough force into the poor clone to blast its head clean off its body. The shockwave tore the latter apart into ribbons of scorched nano-goop nigh-immediately, splattering the surrounding area - though a brief flash of blue in the intervening air seemed to prevent it from hitting the Director and Ambrosia both. The head, meanwhile, kept on going - propelled at speeds that seemed to strain against ambient physics, the forces it exerted on the very air it traversed had enveloped it in a corona of superheated plasma. Its passing left a trail of volcanic glass on the sand below, as grains of silica were flash-melted by their mere proximity to the fireball. Similarly, a trough of flash-boiled seawater blasted great clouds of steam into the air as the projectile left the island's shores. Finally, it slammed into the surrounding barrier with a hollow gong, leaving the now-atomized remainder-specks to slide down, and off, and into the sea.

"You know, the whole point of being an observer is that I get to see things. So let me do that in peace, you twit."

And thus, as if nothing had happened, he leaned back in his seat once more.

by **Pax Cybertronian** » Sat Sep 19, 2020 9:10 pm

The Quintessons received a response from these “Octavians”, seeming the predominant party involved in this conflict. They undoubtedly seemed to be in a rather precarious situation as well, likely because of all the larger nations they angered in their quest for galactic dominance. They seemed to be merely interested in a summary of their services. A simple enough task. The head Judge-type Quintesson ordered an AI to, within less than a second, compile a summary of the services within their station’s purview, or at least a somewhat truncated version for further potential enticement.

With it compiled, the Quintessons sent the message and went on to see if there was any further need to get involved further since there seemed to be, at the moment, a scarcity of responses. Maybe they could scout the area further from the comfort of their own home, or maybe they could throw in a mercenary or two they found…

Carrying with him a pack of dataslugs and datapads containing, Prowl closed and locked the door behind him in a black-ops facility deep closer to the core of New Iaconus, the Autobots’ current capital. It was closed off to most visitors – only the High Command and personnel with sufficiently high authorization. Prowl used the facility to serve as his base of operations, away from the comparatively more vulnerable base he had in the capital of Iaconus. He had even managed to take the liberty of acquiring some of the latest drones to protect the facility in case intruders entered the facility.

He turned on a datapad and saw a new message pop up – “Decepticon forces detected in Cymopolia”. This was above another one mentioning a possible threat posed by the “Octavians” to the native life there, although they were still definitely weaker than the Autobots. Prowl sat and thought. Jumping in blindly against an enemy was a stupid option. He wasn’t like the Autobots that just jumped in like “daredevil mavericks” and hoped to win based on their morality. He wanted to actually win the war too, and though he shared many of their beliefs, he still felt that he wanted to scout out the situation further. Still, the Decepticon presence there concerned him. The Decepticons being active in the Milky Way seemed like a bad sign, especially after the conflict with the Federation of Humanity.

He then received a notification from an infiltrator within the Decepticon ranks – Jetscorch – informing him about, as well as information he had managed to acquire on the other players involved. Satisfied, Prowl turned on his internal communicator and began to bark orders.

“Prepare to commission a fleet for the Milky Way,” Prowl ordered, “and reinforce the current Cymopolian fleet.”

With that message, the Autobots then proceeded to jettison a fleet towards the Milky Way. Upon arrival, they would prepare to contact their new allies, though Prowl wanted them to hold off on that for a bit.

by **Imperial-Octavia** » Mon Sep 28, 2020 10:18 pm

Onboard the Midnight Dreams

Every servo and wire in Rantar's body froze as he saw the figure in front of him. It should've been impossible that the two of them meet up again. What were the chances that among two inter-galactic empires that the two of them met up again? Tk'Rantar's vents started to expel large amounts of heat from his back heating the room by a considerable few degrees before nervously revolving his hands and sitting down, "A-ah yes, Stuhr what a pleasure, seeing you again." Rantar could not help but strain the word pleasure almost as if he was gritting the word through his non-existent teeth, "S-s-so what exactly do you want Octavia to apologize for?" At this point, plumes of steam were billowing out of the vents as the machine looked at Stuhr directly.

Octavian Cymopolian Territories

Lawbringer had brought Persei 8 to a new age of prosperity. When the Octavians came there was much fear and worry among the minuscule mammalians as they wondered what these metal gods would do to them. Lawbringer himself was brought before their leader to much panic among his people, but he promised that he would return and he did with information on the ways of the metal men that had colonized their planet. He had learned many things, but chief among them that the person who leads the Octavians on this planet was a fool, a complete and total moron, completely devoid of any spark of intelligence within that thick metal carapace of his. The indignities that Lawbringer had to suffer as a result of this "Tk'Rantar" were many, first among them being called "Fluffles" by the fool tarnishing the name which he had earned after years of service to his tribe. Secondly, he was brought along on this so-called governor's mad dance through corruption and deception with other immensely powerful space tribes, and finally and most insultingly after all was said and done and Rantar and the merry band of conspirators had somehow gotten off scot-free and he fully understood that Perseian's were sentient lifeforms he still insisted on keeping him as a pet. It was surely the most embarrassing experience of his life, but after his superiors found out after one particularly aggressive questioning session, Rantar was taken off of duty and left to calculate taxes of all things while Lawbringer (who was still being called Fluffles because of Rantar's cursed intervention) was promoted to his master's former position after the Octavians learned of what his previous position in Perseian society was.

Many years past and even though Rantar wasn't outright killed, Lawbringer was content as the planetary governor under these Octavians. Artificial Intelligence did much of the more advanced parts of the job while Lawbringer was only really responsible for making sure the population was loyal to this Paramount fellow and while he did not know much about him if he was responsible of the feats that the Octavians claim that he was then he had truly earned the name of Paramount. Even if he wasn't, Lawbringer would have still probably been loyal to this Imperium despite the less than ideal first impressions; they had allowed him to save Persei 8 from violent ecological destruction and allowed it to be an Entertainment Planet based around its natural winds and other wildlife along with some ecologically safe industry to keep its resort-like nature. And as he looked out the window to see what he had built and the swaying trees of the planet, he knew that he had done well. There was one thing that worried him however, the news of this war was quite the worry and though it had not reached the Cymopolian Territories the thought of it arriving was quite a worry. The systems owned by the Imperium here did produce a fair bit of resources that anyone could attempt to take and even though the Territories had quite the defensive line made up of fortress planets and defensive stations it still made him think. If that line was broken through what would happen to his wives? His children? Truly a sobering thought to think about. And then in a moment, his morbid thoughts became a frightening reality.

The Holo-board on his desk rang and he moved his 8-inch body onto the desk (despite the assimilation of both himself and his species most opted to keep their small size) and after a few taps on the screen, a projection of a Kwoof appeared on screen, his liege Xnaurl. Both immediately began by raising their hands 90° degrees and rotating them in a full circle

"All hail, Liege Xnaurl. What brings you here?"

"All hail, Governor Flulffes-" The 4 legged robot laughed at this (as he had for the last hundred years much to Lawbringer's annoyance), "-hehehehe! Ah, that never gets old, but that aside I have some news for your colony. Our sensors have noticed that Autobot forces are amassing in the region and it could be for an invasion against us because of our affiliation with the Deceptions. Additional ships are being sent over to garrison your region. You are hereby ordered to change the production of your planet to military matters, the Imperium could use some more Roller's specifically."

Lawbringer was worried about this news and waited a second before responding to his leader as the winds behind him howled, "...Of course, my liege. I'll ensure that it is done. Before you leave can I as-"

"Excellent, that will be all for now.", the hologram faded out and Lawbringer was left worried while staring blankly at the holo-board in front of him...

Across the space of the Cymopolian Territories, thousands of ships would be raised from the mainland and moved over to bolster their defenses while the line of Fortress Planets that covered the entrances into the Territories was put into full alert. Billions of drones upon those planets would undergo quality inspection to ensure that all were working at maximum efficiency. The information on magic that the Decepticons had given the Imperium was kept close in case the Imperium had to start distributing copies of it to Mechanators. If the Autobots did decide to attack the Octavian Imperium, they would learn that they would have to purchase it in the scrap of their soldiers.

Quintessons

So these Quintessons were merchants, not much unlike the Guild (though arguably less helpful, a budget option could be useful). Though their services weren't needed at the moment, they would be accounted for whenever they would be needed. The following message was sent back to the Quintessons.

Battle Above Earth's Orbit

The Chosen took losses wherever the Silverfish showed themselves as many fell to their disruptor missiles and the rest of their arsenal. Falling back behind cover, they opened fire upon the Silverfish sending rounds the size of bricks towards them. Grenades were also fired, erupting in blasts large enough to damage the hallways which the skirmishes took place in. Furthermore, the Chosen Boarders would dig their spare hands into the walls of the ship's they were in and ripping out whatever they could get a handful of, hoping to cause as much damage as they could. The Crawler drones were small enough to crawl into the vents of their ships, scuttling through the interiors of the ships and looking for important areas such as the bridge or loading crew where they would pounce upon their enemy and detonate themselves. If these measures weren't enough to remove their attackers, then the Chosen had one more option, one far more explosive...

Florence Bunker

Melone had realized that he was not dealing with any ordinary stand user. Midway through being grabbed and dragged through bunker he had realized that and now that he was in front of his foe and his Junior was dead he realized that he had royally fucked up on this one. He doubted his chances of survival, but if there was one thing that he had seen work in his field of work it was the Euro, "L-l-l-look, I don't know who you are or why you're here but if you spare me I can pay you more than you could possibly imagine!" Melone gulped as he awaited his assailants response.

Earth
Baghdad

These Octavians had truly brought the planet to its knees or at least that's what it seemed to Salim Shareef as he kept watch over the outskirts of Baghdad. The stream of refugees from Europe, Africa, and Asia brought the most terrifying stories with them; the undead tearing through civilians as Aztec shapeshifters flew overhead laughing at the fates of those so far below them. Robots saturating areas with so much fire that cities that were once bustling with life were now craters with only the rubble of buildings marking their existence and the drones, seemingly endless drowning out once-powerful armies and trampling upon whatever remained. Unexpectedly, the Middle East had been spared from the worst of the invasion (which was an appreciated fact considering the last few decades in the region) but that didn't mean that they weren't a threat. The Octavians had already crushed North Africa and were quickly approaching Iraq which saw the stream of refugees pour in. Salim was worried as he noticed that the latest wave of refugees was Lebanese and Syrian, worryingly close to Iraq and even as Salim held his Kalashnikov rifle he feared the arrival of the drones. If they were to arrive then he was sure that the city would fall and one of the last nations on the Earth would fall to the Octavian menance. As he walked through the refugee camp outside the city itself stepping over the bodies of the sick and the impoverished he could feel the ground vibrate and he could almost swear he could hear the artillery in the city firing. That could only mean one thing...

Salim ran to the edge of the refugee camp to his post as he saw exactly what he feared. Thousands upon thousands of those damned robots marching towards the city and behind them were lines of vehicles stretching for miles behind them. Salim would've gave up hope if not for the artillery in the city knocking down rows of bots at a time; there was hope for victory! He could feel the hope surging around him as the other soldiers turned around and cheered for the artillery crews behind them helping repulse this robotic menace! Then the Octavians fired back and their hopes were crushed as the sun itself was blotted out by the rockets fired by the Octavians. They flew over his head and into the city where all could be heard was the explosions behind them and the screaming of the refugees who began to panic and try to find their way out of the grasp of the Imperium once again. Many men on the front threw their guns onto the ground and walked back to the city, defeated, praying that their families had survived so that they could undergo this assimilation process with what remained of their community but not Salim. Salim would fight for his country and the world! Aiming into the center of the horde of machines he unloaded his rifle, uncaring of the fact that he was unlikely to kill one but proud that he was leaving dents on their armor! He was proud to stand and fight even as other fled and gave up the fight! And even as thousands of mortar shells from the drones began to fall from the sky he was proud that he, Salim Shareef, would be remembered as a defender of Baghdad!

30 or so minutes after the drones had been sent into the city to sweep up was left of the defenders the Mechanators were sent in to assimilate what few civilians survived the brief scuffle. One such group of Mechanators was Squad 42-Z made up of 2 Octavians, a Seendi, and then a Kwoof to top off the squad. They hadn't seen much combat on this planet (Though the four-armed Ujitto did manage to shoot a guerrilla and took his head as a trophy, much to the discomfort of the Octavians) but they had heard stories and were a little relived they didn't have to deal with the stranger elements on this planet. As the squad walked, one of the Octavians stepped in something near one of the organic posts, it appeared to be (what was left of) a body of one of the defenders. Usually he would have noted it and moved on, but there was something strange about this one. It was smiling of all things. These humans were a strange breed...

by **The-International Space Organization** » Tue Sep 29, 2020 7:25 pm

ISO CORPORATE OWNED COMMUNICATIONS RELAY

The technician slid out from under the console, putting the toolkit away as communications operators began to enter.

"Fixed the shorting conduit. Looks like someone left the relays on and fried it during transit. Easy enough fix." The Technician said, as she stood up. Picking up the toolkit, and walking away.

"Thanks." One of the operators said, sitting down as they all went to work...

To all nations involved in the Octavian Conflict,
Gruhman Industries is now offering Mercenaries, Economic Support, Weapons, and Vessels to any party with the means to pay for them. Contact this frequency with offers.

With the message sent, the Communications Operators quickly turned to other tasks- A few remaining on standby for any messages...

ISO DIPLOMATIC VESSEL 'MIDNIGHT DREAMS' - NEUTRAL SPACE

Imperial-Octavia wrote:
Every servo and wire in Rantar's body froze as he saw the figure in front of him. It should've been impossible that the two of them meet up again. What were the chances that among two inter-galactic empires that the two of them met up again? Tk'Rantar's vents started to expel large amounts of heat from his back heating the room by a considerable few degrees before nervously revolving his hands and sitting down, "A-ah yes, Stuhr what a pleasure, seeing you again." Rantar could not help but strain the word pleasure almost as if he was gritting the word through his non-existent teeth, "S-s-so what exactly do you want Octavia to apologize for?" At this point, plumes of steam were billowing out of the vents as the machine looked at Stuhr directly

Stuhr smiled, as he sat back in his chair. "I was, recently, passed a recording along from a source within the MSGA... It doesn't affect me at all- And, as I said, the ISO cares little for the opinion of dust mites dancing in the wind, but I find Octavia's situation to be too humorous to not extract a karmic punishment." Stuhr pauses, reaching over to a datapad as a... Very fimiliar video plays- The Anti-ISO propoganda produced by the Octavian Government. It isn't long before Stuhr cuts it off, yawning in boredom. "The Octavian Government must issue a formal apology for me to sign my side of the contract that will stop the Inter-Cluster Navy from pursuing direct hostilities with the Octavian Government and it's allies." He finished there, waiting for Tk'Rantars reply...

by **Eriaroon Eugenic Republic** » Sat Oct 03, 2020 4:51 am

They linger in the darkened tides. Sheltered from the blazing lights by layer upon layer of glacial frost, the bulwark that protects their bastion. Thousands of asteroids have slammed against its fractured skin. Streaks of red adorn it its surface, scars of an eternal battle against the gravitational pull of its mother and its siblings. It is only near the ruptures that their work becomes apparent. The outposts scattered across the surface, striders patrolling the second ground above. The turrets raised above the each dais, harnessing beams of hellfire should the demons come. The airlocks that seal the exit tunnels, shipyards tethered far below to the ceiling at the edge of the surface. Amidst it all they writhe and scamper, drifting through the ebb of every current, twisting their tendrils to navigate the vast cities they’ve erected as much as the empty dark they once evolved in.

They are the condemned. The tarnished. The forsaken of the abyss.

They are Eriaroon.

And they are born unliving.

Engineered in the vast facilities of their abyssal refuge. Designed from the moment genes intertwine to be optimised, conditioned, refined, perfected. Orchestrated by the work of a thousand recombination chambers. In modern times there are no mothers, only Monitors. Watching the development of every embryo from conception to birth, examining every egg and proving to ensure its quality. Some do not survive. Their genes are analysed and their defects excised. Those who come to live swiftly come to know the truth- that all their mortality affords them is a presence in an afterlife forgone. For that is their belief, that all the universe is nothing more than oblivion for the unworthy, a place to cast the souls undeserving of ascension. They are determined to prove themselves worthy of salvation, whether through the zeal of fanatic or through technological supremacy- or indeed through the eradication of those demons native to this cursed reality.

They have heard and been silent. Watched and waited as the darkness grew ever nearer. The Diviners made their predictions. The Purgators readied their instruments of conflict. The Directors ensured their vessels were prepared. All of them awaited the call. Tested their patience against the inevitable emergence of those who would threaten all unlife. It is a mockery of all enlightened that an artifice should proclaim its supremacy over a soul, even an abandoned soul. It echoed through the Great Beyond, the knowledge that across a hundred blazing lights all mortality would be snuffed out. All chances of ascension annihilated by twisted automatons bent on subjecting all to an eternal purgatory of soulless steel.

The time was always soon to come that no more would be decreed.

The time was always soon to come that no more should come to pass.

The time has come at last.

The decision always made has been ratified by the luminous and the vibrant. They will purge the demons. They will rid the afterlife of all that threatens ascension. They will cleanse reality of this synthetic sin.

This mockery of unlife shall now be made to end.

Eriaroon Eugenic Republic
Zhalmnos System,
Pailexa,
Uroncayde,
Loboa

The luminous have gathered. The congregation has begun. The most esteemed of the Eriaroons have come together once more. The Council of Salvation convenes. The lowest among its number are the ascendant confessors, the greatest medical professionals in all the Eriaroon Eugenic Republic, responsible for the correction of thousands of defects and the detection of hundreds of degenerates. Beyond them lie the greatest of the scholars and the mentors, those who garner knowledge and those who impart it upon others. Then drift the Purgators, military officials responsible for annihilating the forces of sin and degeneracy through unrelenting force- the commanders of the Demon Retribution Fleet. Above them are the Diviners, the experts in their fields who define the direction of the Eriaroon species with their wisdom. And greatest of all are the triumvirate. The Diviner of Ultimatum, great speaker of all matters spiritual and technological. The Luminous Incarnate, engineered from birth to rule with unmatched intellect. And finally, the Tenebrous Incarnate- optimised from creation for the purpose of overseeing all medical military and medical affairs, to know best how to fight sin with sin.

Many times the Council of Salvation has gathered. But few occasions are as pressing as this. For this gathering will determine the fate of their entire civilisation. All is at stake, and all present know of this. The Luminous Incarnate is first to speak, the pulsing glows and bubbling pops of a Eriaroon Vibrant Language granting every statement a sense of sophistication and refinement.

“My condolences, enlightened of Uroncayde.” A standard greeting amongst the Eriaroons, affording sorrow for their emergence into the unworthy afterlife. “Seventeen sessions ago emerged the first indications that an onslaught would await us in the Great Beyond above. Amidst the blazing lights that burn so far away, the demons have long lived, embracing this afterlife as their own. Long have we known this, and long have we prepared to meet them and understand them. But there has since erupted a threat to all held scared. The machine demons proclaim a desire to extinguish our very souls with their tainted machinations. It is inevitable that they will seek to exterminate us. Many moments have we spent pondering the outcome should we be first the commence the assault. Our calculations have drawn long, but to admit this is no shame, for such tribulations have not faced us since the discovery of the Great Beyond itself. Now our contemplations have reached their conclusion, and there is no denying the tidings they have wrought upon us.”

The Tenebrous Incarnate plunges forwards. Her counterpart’s body glows bright and loud, whereas her own is designed to be dark- tenebrous- an indication of her nature. She must ‘speak’ with a loud voice or be drowned out by the glow of the crowds around her. But such a feat has never daunted one engineered for ferocity and ruthlessness.

“Our efforts alone shall not hinder the machine demons. They have long sought the opportunity to strike and long have others evaded the chance to hinder them. To regret such inaction is to achieve nothing. The moment has arrived to rectify these errors, and I shall hesitate no longer to proclaim the necessity of such a strike. Their existence is an assault upon all holy, and to condone their presence is to permit countless souls to perish. Those amongst the exiles and the demons have consulted one another. Some cower in dread at the advance of the machinating ones. Their terror discredits their revolves and reveals their faults. Others have reached cooperation. It is not alone that we shall besiege the cursed ideals of the machine demons, but united with the interests of all sensible inhabitants of the afterlife.”

“Indeed,” erupts the low, dim voice of Erialgos Rezalam Shurotoga Shumtuncha-Zelim, Diviner of the Great Beyond. She has studied the cosmos and all it contains. At twenty-three years she nears the end of her enhanced lifespan, but she spares these thoughts no attention. For when she is to ascend, she will do so with grace and honour, having devoted herself to a worthy cause. “Our understanding of them reveals our ignorance more than our understanding, but of what efforts our demonologists have made, collaboration is a likely possibility. Such an outcome is of mutual benefit, as is any detriment to species-0043.” She referred to the Octavian machines by their technical designation- more dignity than their other epithets thus far afforded them. “For even demons carry the potential for redemption- and there can be no salvation for those who cast our souls, our very selves, into eternal oblivion.” In times before, the first sentence would be a controversial statement, but there is no protest now. Not knowing the horrendous fate that awaits the victims of their rising enemy.

“May we reach consensus.” The Diviner of Ultimatum begins the motion, her own voice having grown pale and screechy in her age. But is is a voice of authority, of merit not so predetermined as that if the incarnates, and so it is a voice that all listen to. “Do all present pledge themselves to the eradication of the machine demons and the elimination of their threat to all that have once lived?”

“With zeal,” comes the chorus of a thousand glows.

“Do all present profess the urgent need to ensure the sanctity of the soul must no longer face ordeal?”

“With zeal.”

“Do all present devote themselves to the continuity of the Eriaroon Eugenic Republic, the Eriaroon species, and all condemned to this afterlife, through the imminent purgation of demon species-0043?“

”With zeal.”

“So it shall be.”

And so it is proclaimed. The decision has been made. The conversations do not end, of course. They turn to deliberations upon more specific matters- of how to best commence their assaults, of what goals are most pragmatic and achievable, of how best to coordinate their efforts with other powers eager to assist in this mutual objective. But from now on there is to be no reservation, no hesitation- only pure, unbridled malice towards the tormentors of the afterlife, the pillagers of souls, the Octavian enemy.

The average Eriaroon knows little of such ongoing contemplations. Certainly, they notice the discrepancies, for they are observant and curious creatures with memories that withstand the test of time. They notice the small details and they do not forget what is amiss. But the Council of Salvation knows that their enemy listens as much as their ostensible potential allies. To pledge their allegiance to the cause openly at this juncture would unleash untold devastation upon them when the Octavians emerge. The enemy is unloving in Eriaroon eyes. It deserves no mercy. And so just as there shall be no hesitation in its destruction, so too shall their be no warning of what is to come. The mustering of fleets, as is necessary. Encrypted orders delivered in Blinklight code to the Purgators and the Inquisitors. But nothing more. No declaration of war, no diplomatic transmission- it is the first strike that shall speak of their hatred, and it shall be a demonstration greater than any words or glows could muster.

And so the people of the Eriaroon Eugenic Republic continue their lives with no greater uncertainty than they’d possessed in moments prior. They tend to their meditations and their mending and their moulding of machinery. They orchestrate the recombination chambers and purge the degenerates and debate the merits of various means of proposed ascension. On Uroncayde, their home. On Xaol, their first colony. On the worlds around other stars that are a show of their ability as much as they are a pursuit of new research opportunities. They go about what would be their daily lives, if they had a concept of a day beyond academic speculation, or believed themselves alive any longer.

It will not last forever. Such equilibrium never does. For every change there is a reaction, and total war will prove a drastic change indeed.

But for now, the greatest change is the nature of debate amidst Diviner and Purgator as arguments are made- whether a pre-emptive strike is the optimal approach or whether first conferring with the other powers would lead to the optimal outcome. There is not much longer such argument can continue. The Demon Retribution Fleet restlessly awaits deployment, and it will only be so long before the enemy emerge- whether to eliminate their threat, or simply to assimilate another irrelevant organic society into its ranks.

by **The Dominion of Mankind** » Sat Oct 03, 2020 6:29 am

A Box

The-International Space Organization wrote:
CRUISER 'STARFURY' - A DIFFERENT REALITY - SOON TO BE EXOTIC PARTICLE TESTING GROUND
"De-compression!"

"Keep it snappy! Where are we?"

"Shunted to an alternative reality. Plan C-3?"

"Negatory. Disconnect from command deck, and initiate R-12. This is a chance for knowledge we've never been able to grasp before."

"Affirm. Disconnecting."

"Right, bridge empty. QAPAI! Initiate plan R-12!"
In what could be considered exceptionally fast for even the Cruiser, plan 'R-12' kicked into action.

Step 'One'- The cruiser's Reactors surged, and then cut all power at a single instance. Step 'Two' The QAPAI aboard the vessel requested a permission which it was instantly granted- As the Mossin Drive was slammed into full overload, and it's containment fields fell apart in the same instant. Step 'Three' could barely even considered one. It was more a... Combination of an untold, likely truly infinite, steps all moved into one singular, immeasurable even to the most advanced civilizations, instant.

An uncountable number of universes were compressed into a space barely a septillionth of a planck's length across in every direction. An amount of energy, and mass, without end gathered into the smallest possible box even possible. And then, Step 'Four' was the brutal realization of all of these facts, coming to bear in the same instant.

To say it 'detonated' would be a fundamental misunderstanding of all the forces at work in the same instant. But to anything that could observe the incident- And remain intact afterwards, that would probably be the best description anyone could tack to it. The very fabric of the reality the 'battle' was occuring in was quickly subject to a force that would be... Rather impossible to describe at the best of times.

Untold numbers of unknown particles which formed the very basis of everything leapt out from the 'detonation'. Lancing through the void of space with brutal effects- Cascades reaching out as the explosion threw matter and energy about like a child throwing toys about, or a nuclear detonation throwing debris. Being at the 'center of detonation', the Cruiser's shell was simply gone. Not even a shred of debris remained to mark where the Cruiser had given a middle finger to the Visoran and Simulacrum in the same, final, instant... But, with the mess it's final act had caused, it didn't exactly need to leave debris to burn a reminder in the harshest manner into everything watching.
ISO DIPLOMATIC VESSEL 'MIDNIGHT DREAMS' - NEUTRAL SPACE
Stuhr grinned as the Octavian vessel arrived at the agreed upon point- Gesturing to an aide, who delivered a datapad right into his hand, with a cross-section scan, and a cross-reference, to the vessel now sitting in the distance, as Stuhr moved for the communication station settled deep within the Midnight Dream's armored hull. Sitting down soon enough, and putting the datapad away. Waiting a moment as the Midnight Dream's, admittedly over-encrypted, transmitters and receivers modulated their frequencies... Soon sending out the hail, and accepting it's return counterpart-

Unanticipated power surge detected.
Not an instant sooner, analysis followed.
Analysis: Target is likely self-destructing. Effect is complex with a 71% probability of causing mission critical damage at maximum allowed energy saturation. Current distance from epicentre is acceptable. Calculating optimal avoidance routine.
Time was still being restrained without mercy, the UG vessel stuck in a half destroyed state as the Simulacran computer system called forth untold information processing capabilities.
Six avoidance routines that fit criteria calculated. Commencing dice roll... Complete!
The 'explosion' had propagated outward a few metres or so when the Simulacran vessel made the decision to just... stay completely still.

Drifting at a distance of several gigaparsecs, standard combat ranges for completely empty space like the Box, all but ensured that the inverse square law and spontaneous Kugelblitz formation caused by excessive energy density would reduce even the most absurd of explosions to something easily survivable by the arguably just as absurd defense systems of the Simulacra.
The slightest hull damage at such a distance would indicate an embarassing defect in the construction of the vessel, consigning it to a swift self destruction and subsequent regression testing by whatever spawned it.
And so the vessel patiently awaited the blast, numerous novel particle interactions rarely seen by reality spurred jets of particles forward at energies exceeding that of entire universes, whilst other parts lagged behind or collapsed into countless unstable singularities.
Sometime after an agonisingly long wait (relatively speaking of course) a warm and "comforting" veil of various high energy particles washed over the former Explorer class, its shields strained and aggressively flaring and lashing out like an unshackled beast, but the hull was left unblemished.

Central Interface has passed, energy density is within acceptable bounds, anti-particle count is within acceptable bounds. No signs of target. Allied vessels distance from epicentre implies 99.9% probability of destruction.
And thus the egoless computer simply sat there idle- it's masters consigning it to a non fate, clearly having lost interest after receiving their share of data.
Not even caring enough to dispose of their toy, the Box lay less empty than before. Perhaps the seeding of matter and energy so graciously provided by the UG would eventually result in the formation of universes...

Dio's Mansion
Having little knowledge of the USA's geography, Brobarious picked a completely random spot. Feeling his feet carefully set down on grass, Brobarious took a second to observe his surroundings fully expecting to be in the middle of nowhere.
"Hmmmmm, an extravagant garden... and an even more extravagant looking domicile. What a curious location to end up in!" Brobarious loudly thought to himself.
And then his ears perked up, his superhuman hearing hinting at signs of heavy fighting inside. For no reason other than to satisfy his curiousity, Brobarious began to make his way towards the front entrance of the property caring little for stealth.
He swiftly reached the door as his intuition screamed that he was being watched. Ignoring it he dramatically motioned towards the door, synthetic muscles flexing taught as he extended a fist forward and solidly knocked the door thrice.

"Even as a trespasser, I have a duty to be polite."

An extragalatic war rages
The free interstellar light show provided no signs of slowing down. In fact, it was getting more and more intense as the Simulacra upped the swinging around of various stellar objects and the Dominion responded in kind with their psuedo magnetar guns and star system searing heavy beams.
The space around the galaxy was definitely going to be a little busy for a few eons, but luckily the Dominion had the thoughtfulness to manipulate the engagement in such a way to minimise crossfire passing through the galactic disc itself.

Update: Engagement is escalating, Simulacra are receiving limited reinforcements, I am responding with provisioning of ultralight fleets in a neighbouring supercluster.
"How hot is this getting? I'm concerned about collateral- we especially don't want to accidentally atomise our only ticket out of here!
We are using maximum range bombardment from neighbouring clusters to bait the Simulacra away from the galaxy as much as possible. Some are staying behind for a variety of potential reasons that we are attempting to remove with a clean close range engagement.

"Captain, a couple of Destroyers have been positioned in the Oort cloud, we are ready to use discrete craft to drop units onto the planet."
"Has this Pontiff been located yet?"
"Negative- the bastard probably knows how to hide himself from our long range sensors. We will need units in the atmosphere to attempt psychic signature detection instead."
"Sigh, as much as I hate dropping in soldiers blind we need to find him fast and vehicles are too risky. Send a squad to each continent and once he's located we can send in a considerably larger force to actually restrain him."

"Are you certain standard thruster units will be sufficient to scour an entire planet?"
"Of course not, all we need to do is establish the bare minimum of sensor coverage to find the bastard and then we can 'port in a few fighters to home in on the creep. The atmopsheric interference coupled with EMCF stealth should be discrete enough for a short job.

Consensus is acceptable. Squadrons Alpha through Golf are being provisioned.
Not too long after, a few tiny podlike craft equipped with passive stealth equipment were exhaled by one of the Destroyers keeping watch over Sol and began to rapidly accelerate towards Earth.

by **Pax Cybertronian** » Sat Oct 03, 2020 11:44 am

In the Milky Way, the Autobots continued preparing their fleets and they finished fixing up their outposts in the galaxy, located somewhere on the eastern edge of the galaxy. It wouldn’t be long now before everything was set up and they could start to attack them. They figured that the Octavian Conflict would be a decent opportunity to get at the Decepticons and prevent them from furthering their interests. The Octavians were somewhat of an issue, although the Decepticons were more of a priority.

The ASN Freedom Fighter was assigned to lead the fleet venturing into the Milky Way Galaxy. The fleet’s commander was Steelsharp, a blacksmith and sparksmith before becoming an Autobot officer. Notable, he was appointed to this fleet by Prowl himself; Prowl wouldn’t go much in depth at this stage about these “Octavians” other than their presence was also detected in Cymopolia, which irritated the Autobot some.

Suddenly receiving a message from Gruhman Industries, he decided that it would be worth Prowl’s interest and contacted him. “ASN Freedom Fighter to Prowl, we’ve discovered a message you may be interested,” the ship captain said before sending the message off to him.

Code: Select all: [box]To all nations involved in the Octavian Conflict, Gruhman Industries is now offering Mercenaries, Economic Support, Weapons, and Vessels to any party with the means to pay for them. Contact this frequency with offers.[/box]

“Message received,” Prowl responded, looking at the message. He turned off the transmission with the Freedom Fighter and decided to respond to Stuhr.

Code: Select all: [box]Greetings. This is Prowl, Military Operations Commander of the Autobot Federation. I am interested in your wares, but before I can proceed properly I’ll need a catalogue if you can provide one.[/box]

He sent the message and waited somewhat impatiently for a response.

by **Topoliani** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 2:10 pm

Topoliani, Gi (Earth)

Idnad stood near a field of grain. While none could see it under his helmet, he was pondering something. He anxiously wandered up and down the river as he muttered under his breath. He had been like this for hours, confusing peasants and men of all other walks of life. This odd behavior, however, eventually got the attention of Dandi, who walked up to him.

“Idnad! What’s the issue? You have been wandering these fields for hours now.”

Idnad paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. After a while, Dandi knocked on Idnad’s helmet to get his attention.

“Hey! Can’t thou hear me?”

Idnad was thrust from his trance and began to speak.

“I sense… something. Something not good. A million souls screaming in both fear and rage. There is a war elsewhere. It could be worse than our war even, yes.”

“Idnad, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“There is a war going on in the heavens, millions could die! I must intervene!”

Dandi’s expression turned into a confused glare.

“And since when have you been the humanitarian, Oh Sir Knight?” He mockingly adds

“I feel the word of the LORD. He wants me to spread the faith to the HEATHENS of the sky.”

Dandi sighed and chuckled as he pulled out a Moloch Device.

“There’s the Idnad I know… I guess you need this.” He tosses it at Idnad, who scrambles to grab it.

“Thou art serious? That was… surprisingly easy. You sure?”

“Yes! Take it. The less you’re here, the more peace I can get.”

Idnad wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to risk getting on Dandi’s worse side. When he looked at the device, he realized something. He had no clue where he was going. He decided that it couldn’t be too dangerous to just simply enter a random location and get lucky. Space can’t be that big, can it? He put in a seemingly random combination and hoped for the best. With one last nod to Dandi, Idnad left his Earth to-

50 light-years from Octavian Space

Idnad was suddenly thrust into an empty patch of the galaxy. He panicked as he looked around as he tried to find something, anything other than the deep vast emptiness of space. The closest object he could find was a few brown shapes, but they were seemingly way too far. It was at this point he realized something: He could not breathe. He ripped off his helmet and grabbed his neck. The world turned black as he thought what could have very well been his last thoughts.

After what felt like a few short seconds, Idnad slowly woke up. He heard muttering in the background but was unable to tell what was being said. Nor could he tell what was putting light pressure on his mouth. He could hear the soft creaking of wood as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. He looked around and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight. Three skeletons with torn ‘pirate’ clothing stood around the table he was laying on. Among them was a decayed man he could only assume to be the captain of the vessel, due to his nice attire, or rather what was left of it. His head quickly snapped to the well-dressed man and he began to yell.

“Who are you! Why am I here?”

The Captain looked down upon the knight. With what little skin was still left on his face, he made what could be interpreted as a ‘smile’.

“Arr, ye be finally awake! Sorry fer the scare, we were unsure if ye were alive. We found ye overboard out in the deep blue o' space. We didn' wants ye to be sent to Davy Jones' Locker, so we picked ye up. Welcome aboard the Morgan’s Revenge.”

“Thank you for saving me, I am Idnad. I presume you are Morgan-”

“Aha! I wish I was the Holy Captain Morgan. Nay lad, I be Hitchcock… If I may, where was ye going?”

Idnad was silent. He wasn’t just going to tell these skeletons where he was going, was he? He reached for his purse when he realized something… he was missing the Moloch Device. He panicked as he looked around the room. He could not find it though. He lost it, with it possibly being somewhere in the deep darkness of space. With seemingly no other options, he acquiesced and answered Captain Hitchcock’s question.

“Octavia- I was heading for Octavia. They’re at war, and I want to take advantage of the situation.”

Captain Hitchcock looked at his crew. The clattering of bones and a ‘Har Har Har’ from the Captain signified what they were all thinking.

“So... they be at war? That there means their fleets be distracted with other such things. An' ye wanted to take advantage as well? Well, ye be welcome aboard!”

“Oh no, I am not a pirate. Thou must haveth me confused, I am here to spread the faith.”

“Oh great… a catholic. Well, lad, I was goin’ to let you go, but I dislike Catholics. The way I see it ye could either join our crew an' get a lot o' money, maybe make a few robots plead to yer god in their last moments... or I could throw ye overboard. Yer choice.”

Idnad got visibly frustrated before he made an irked sigh

“Fine. Fine. I shall join your ship of heathens. But don’t try anything.”

The Captain nodded and smiled. He turned his head to a skeleton and yelled.

“Get this lad a breather… Ye will want to sit up fer this.”

The skeleton ran to the side and grabbed a tank with a tube. Idnad sat up as the skeleton pirate strapped on the tank to Idnad’s back and put a mask over his face.

“This here ‘breather’ should keep ye from dyin' from oxygen loss. We don’t need it, but it seems ye do.”

Idnad let out a somewhat forced “Thank you, sir.” as he got off the table. The pirates and Idnad exited the room to the deck of the ship. Idnad looked around and saw more skeletons and bodies in varying stages of decay all going about their normal duties. He also saw seven other ships floating close by, all made of wood excluding two large engines on both sides of the stern. The captain began to thud his foot on the floorboard to get the attention of his crew. The crew gathered around the captain, who began to make hand gestures to the crew. Idnad knew this language though, it was a sign language he learned from an Englishman. Following the captain’s hand movements closely, he was able to decipher what was being said.

“Crew of the Morgan’s Revenge! The knight has just informed us that Octavia has gone to war. This leaves their trade routes open for us to plunder. Surely, we are not to take this opportunity sitting down? We must strike now while the iron is hot and take some of the spoils for ourselves! We shall prove to our friends back home in Dunmore that Poseidon has not cursed us, but has granted us more booty and glory than any mortal could imagine! Send the news to the other ships! We leave in six hours!”

The crew made various expressions of excitement, agreement, or otherwise before rushing to return to their posts. A few pirates rushed to the top of the mast, raising the black banner of New Dunmore along with other signaling flags. Other pirates threw ropes to other ships and climbed on them, reaching other ships to tell them the news.

Idnad stood in amazement at the pirates. The Captain nodded as he walked to his chambers. Idnad felt a pit at the bottom of his stomach though, this was a bad idea. He could only wait and see what would happen.

by **Ignis States** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 2:37 pm

Mark doesn’t seem to waste any time with the lasers headed towards him, expression devoid of emotion as he thrusts his hands out. Mirrors of purple Chaos appear in a diamond shape around him, deflecting the lasers back towards their source. A moment after, he leaps into the air before raising his palm straight up. Powerful tendrils of piercing Hatred erupt in all directions around him, branching through the air like veins of destruction as they rip at his surroundings. A majority of them head towards the Paramount, however, his clones included.

Draksesa Style: [RED MILES]

In his other hand, his sword begins to flicker, a combination of Darkness and Chaos radiating out from the tip like a glowing star of midnight purple.
The Ausar doesn’t bother to wisecrack or say anything snarky. Instead, he carefully senses for the real Paramount’s energy signature.

Meanwhile, with the Tzakyuza...
The brainwashing efforts are extremely difficult, though hardly impossible. Yeishlakhi took a very long time to successfully bend to the will of the Octavians, resisting until her mind simply lost the capacity to fight anymore. Ramani, however, gave in almost immediately, quickly developing an unshakable faith in his new commanders. By the end of it, the both of them live by only one doctrine, and one doctrine only: Serve the Paramount and the Imperium.

by **Bloodshade** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 8:02 pm

Ginostra, Italy
|| Ambrosia trying to have a nice picnic||

It all happened so quickly. The clone stepping up aggressively to her. The hand that flew across his face. The next few moments were a blur to her and Ambrosia had no idea whether to fight or flight. She discovered a middle ground: Observe. Well, she tried her best to follow the events that transpired. The end results were clear to her. Hatlen had dispatched with the clone and in a disgustingly efficient fashion. She was foolishly envious of Hatlen's power but that was her instincts talking. Once her mind registered the situation, Ambrosia realised she was right next to a functional god, if such a term could summarise the true extent of his powers.

Ambrosia was momentarily speechless but quickly snapped out of it, this wasn't going to be the last display of awesome power in this fight and she'd potentially lose her jaw if she gaped at every one in surprise. She focused her mind back on the picnic. It was the best thing for her sanity. She suddenly remembered a one-pan pasta dish that was refrigerated back home. Ambrosia's hand dipped into nothingness and in the next moment, her hand was in a chilled environment, sifting through her fridge back home so she could pull out some decent food. Who knows? Maybe she could interest the Director in some. Yes! She could feel the pot of pasta. She identified it by its shape and pulled it right out.

One of her hands produced a soft flame to heat up the pasta pot, cautiously increasing the temperature so she could speed up the process. She didn't want to wait all day. Soon enough, lunch was ready! She briefly motioned to Hatlen just to grab his attention for a bit.

"Hey, uh, want a bite? Chicken Parmesan pasta. Does that fancy your taste buds? If those even exists?...You don't even need to eat, do you?"

The numbnut almost forgot! Plates and cutlery. Placing the pot down in between her crossed legs, Ambrosia's face smushed up against what seemed to be an invisible wall while the entire length of her arm disappeared into nothingness once more, only coming out of the whole to bring out some cutlery and a pair of plates.

"There we go! Ah crap, I probably should've asked if you even wanted a bite...Come on, we're in Italy! Pasta and Italians mix like cheese and crackers!"

Regardless of what his reply was, Ambrosia decided to pour out some pasta in both plates, tucking the appropriate amount of cutlery in the steaming pasta.

by **Eisenstern** » Sun Oct 11, 2020 2:15 pm

【♜】The Tower【♜】
【Guild Hall, Administrative Offices】

The brassbound door to the small, but rather cozy office swung open gently, admitting a rather odd figure. Swathed in black robes, one could catch little save the occasional glimpse of metal beneath a voluminous hood - aside from that, the only distinguishing mark the individual bore was a small bronze badge in the shape of a thorned circle. It sat down heavily on a wheeled chair, and moved closer to the weathered desk that formed the room's centerpiece. The spindly contraption that sat atop it was already clicking and whirring away - a few moments later, a strip of paper bedecked with assorted scribbles was disgorged directly into the figure's gloved hand.

The silence of reading was interrupted shortly thereafter by a curt, two-syllable word - exactly what it meant was anyone's guess, and the sound was evocative of the speaker gargling nails. But the way it was uttered left little room for doubt - the figure had cursed.

Damn. This was... not good. Ungood. To call it bad would be a severe understatement, and any accurate description would have to be extensively censored for any observer's sake. But suffice to say that the situation was positively terrible. His superiors would have his head for this, he was sure - still, the only thing worse than letting this much of a backlog mount was acknowledging it and not clearing it immediately. There was a drawn-out sigh - this was going to be the busiest workday in quite a while.

【♜】The Tower【♜】
【Guild Hall, Relays】

Soon, information was speeding along pathways as varied as they were outlandish. Here, a small trolley of brass and iron trundled along its little track in the floor, carrying a bundle of cubes securely tied to its flatbed. There, a rolled-up sheet of paper sped along a vacuum tube, through walls and floors alike. Wires buzzed, and wireless signals bounced to and fro. Mites of glowing info-light streaked through corridors and passages in the manner of ethereal carrier pigeons. They all had one thing in common - wherever they were going, and by whatever means, they bore responses. Replies, answers, feedback. Soon, those that had sought out the Guild's services would find their queries answered.

To the relevant representatives of the Imperium of Octavia,

Please specify the following:

With regards to the Sword of the Imperium
The extent of damage inflicted upon the vessel, as well as its source
The degree of repair and retrofitting requested (i.e. how close to factory-condition)
Any desired enhancements to the vessel's capabilities, equipment and construction

With regards to the ISO vessels of which boarding has been requested
Their exact number and location
Their defenses against such procedures, if any are known
The number, ranks and specializations of Guild personnel and/or assets you wish to contract for this operation

With regards to the ISO commander of whom capture has been requested
His personal physical and paraphysical capabilities (if not known, the typical physical and paraphysical capabilities of personnel belonging to his organization)
The exact number, classification, location and capabilities of the vessels likely to house him

With regards to the "orbs" of which destruction has been requested
A detailed summary of their capabilities, in terms of sensor data, damage inflicted and sundry combat-readings (the video provided in your previous communique was considered insufficient to this end)
Their current locations, and typical patterns/means of movement

A limited catalogue of services, relevant to the aforementioned points and designed to aid you in the resolution of such, is enclosed. Once these points have been verified and consolidated, further discussion into a potential contract may commence.

Sincerely,

Emissary Yk'lar

Duly-appointed representative of the Guild and City of Eisenstern

To the relevant representatives of the Laniakean Alliance,

Upon review of your proposal, a direct-contact representative has been selected, briefed, and dispatched to the enclosed coordinates to more directly discuss the establishment of a potential contract.

Sincerely,

Emissary Yk'lar

Duly-appointed representative of the Guild and City of Eisenstern

To the relevant representatives of the International Space Organization,

Your continuous bounty arrangement for the termination of Octavian vessels is currently under review. Your static contract with regards to the termination of an Octavian fleet anchorage is currently frozen in-writing, and will be put up for review once an exact form of remuneration is established. Appropriate forms for the establishment of such are enclosed.

Sincerely,

Emissary Yk'lar

Duly-appointed representative of the Guild and City of Eisenstern

To the relevant representatives of the Decepticon Empire,

Your reconnaissance contract is currently up for review, but will be frozen in-writing pending the direct examination and analysis of one of the amulets you wish to employ as remuneration. Please specify a location in which a meeting to such an end may take place - an operative will be dispatched to perform the procedure in-situ.

Sincerely,

Emissary Yk'lar

Duly-appointed representative of the Guild and City of Eisenstern

by **The Guvithean Confederation** » Sun Oct 11, 2020 2:36 pm

Assembly of States, Zuna D32Y, Guvithean Confederation

The great circular chamber was full of murmuring. The Assembly had been called to meet on very short notice, and the briefing had been sparse. The general clamor continued until the representative of the Guvithean Overmind called the meeting of the Assembly of States to order.

"We are gathered today to make a decision about a matter that may prove critical to the long-term survival of our state. Your handbrains are currently being updated with the output of the Overmind's probability matrix regarding certain... events ongoing in the galaxy at large. Teraprobes have revealed the following: a state of synthetics and uploads known as the Octavian Empire has begun the assimilation of organics in regions neighboring their space. Multiple other states and entities have aligned themselves against the Octavians. At least one of these entities is essentially indestructible, and appears bent on the destruction of all Octavian assets it comes across."

"And we're voting to decide whether or not to join the attack on this 'Octavia,' then?" asked the Olothite representative.

"Read your handbrain more closely. There is a significant chance that the Octavians will be defeated and permanently neutralized within ten years if no one intervenes. Should that occur, secondary economic ripple effects will result in the dissolution of the Guvithean Confederation within six hundred and fifty years. The Octavian state needs to persist for at least two hundred years in order for the Confederation's stability to be ensured. We are not voting to decide whether we will assault the Octavians. We are voting to decide whether we shall defend the machine tyrants, or condemn ourselves to obsolescence and collapse."

The Assembly erupted in tumult as everyone spoke at once. It took a full seven minutes to restore order. The Biugantuan representative was the first to speak when the noise died down.

"Why do you expect us to trust the output of your probability matrix?"

"You trust it well enough where economic and sociological issues are concerned," countered the Guvithean representative.

"But the nature of the choice in this case-"

"...is why we are putting it to a vote. The Overmind does not intend to make a decision of such import unilaterally."

"What sort of aid would the Confederation be offering?" asked the representative from Thoxanope.

"We would adopt a posture of active defense around key Octavian assets, and at vital Octavian fronts. It would begin with the 13th Systarmada, and the 37th, 52nd, and 103rd would be mobilized within the month. We would only aid in the subjugation of organics if they clearly posed a threat to the Octavian state - and thus, by extension, to our own."

"I note that there are no non-Guvithean units in your proposed Order of Battle," stated the representative from Tulrion. "Are the Guvitheans intending to hide something?"

"If deployment is approved, the Orbat can be expanded to include units from any member of the Confederation. If the Tulrionites wish to send their own units to keep an eye on the war, they are free to do so, provided you can actually get your state to agree to it."

The representative of the Overmind did, however, have something to hide. Part of the output from the probability matrix had been withheld from the Assembly of States, an output that had showed an ulterior motive on the Overmind's part. There was a small - but not insignificant - possibility that the Octavians could produce something the Overmind had been seeking, but had been unable to find, for nearly twenty two million years. A peer. Perhaps a peer in need of guidance, but a peer nonetheless. But the Assembly of States did not need to know this. The Assembly of States only needed to know the political implications, and if they would deny the Overmind this chance and doom the Confederation, the Overmind would abide by their decision. As it had countless times before when the stakes were lower.

Fortunately for the Overmind, the Assembly of States chose the continued existence of the Confederation. The time had come for action.

----------

Imperial Palace, Octavius, Octavian Empire

The Paragon stared at H'Krell. More particularly, he stared at the creature H'Krell was holding.

It was clearly an organic - or at least, clearly descended from one. It had five pairs of limbs, three which would - if not for the Grand Mechanator keeping it suspended - have supported the segmented body, two which appeared to be suited for tool use and manipulation. Curiously, its carapace had a metallic sheen, and it needed no environmental suit to survive the tainted air. Even more curiously, it seemed to offer no resistance to its captor.

"You caught this in your current shell, H'Krell?"

"The shell may be for administration, but the mind remembers its duty."

"What is it?"

The creature had the audacity to speak. "I am a representative of the Guvithean Confederation, and I have an offer for you. It's on the handbrain your guardian took from me."

At that, the Grand Mechanator proffered a very thin, almost translucent tablet. "It's clean, I checked it myself."

The Paragon took it. The creature spoke again. "We know about your war, and we know that it is not going as well as you had hoped. We believe your state is at risk, and we have our reasons not to want that to happen. I am a member of the Guvithean mediator caste, and I am here to negotiate an alliance. The terms we propose are on the handbrain."

The Paragon read the terms.

1. No creature from the Confederation will be assimilated against its will, or forced to aid in the assimilation of another creature against its will.

2. The Confederation is to be treated as a peer, not as a protectorate. The Octavian state will only hold power over citizens of the Confederation under the terms set forth in this document.

3. Embassies with airlocks will be constructed on Octavius to house ambassadors from each of the Allied States of the Confederation.

4. The Confederation will commit to the defense of all territories held by the Octavian Empire as of the signing of this document. To this end, the 13th, 37th, 52nd, and 103rd Systarmadas will be committed to the war effort. The 13th is prepared to deploy immediately, the others shall be deployed within a time not exceeding one month after the signing of this document. Additional forces from the Biugantuans, Thoxonopans, Tulrionites, Olothites, and Ubrielians will also be committed, per Act 107A-VIII of the Assembly of States.

5. The Confederation forces aforementioned will be integrated into the command structure of the Octavian Empire as far as is feasible.

6. The Confederation will share the technology of the hypernode communications device, the teraport star drive, and the annihilation plant reactor as a part of the alliance.

7. Half of the posttransuranic alloy output of World Forge Four will be devoted to the war effort.

8. The terms of this document may be altered by the joint decree of the Octavian ruling body and the Confederation's Assembly of States.

The Paragon looked up at the creature again.

"Well?" it asked. "What say you?"

by **Gladian Imperium** » Sun Oct 11, 2020 3:29 pm

Subspace Imposition, Trifexian Observer Petrified Fluidity

Boredom was a strange thing. How could you want to do something, yet have nothing to do? The Trifexians didn’t understand this emotion. Busybodies even before they discarded their fleshy shells, if you didn’t have anything to do, yet wanted to do something, you went and found something to do. You cleaned up your nest, you played Web or strolled through an Enviro-Sim, you just did Something.

Yet, Boredom existed. There was that small minority that, no matter how engaging or fulfilling a task was, they always wanted more. These were the explorers, the innovators, the great rulers of Trifex history. And, in the modern era, their Explorers and Diplomats.

Petrified Fluidity was in that latter category. An explorer, an observer, sent to examine this anomalous readings from a backwater galaxy that, in another world, was the beating heart of a vast, young power.

In the Subspace Imposition, PF glided through space, watching space battles unfold, immense destructive energies released as civilizations clashed swords in a struggle for dominance. Yet, a minor fractional scan detected something...interesting. Familiar. A meeting, of a cold and confident businessman, and a flustered and fearful machine. PF slid along countless branches of time, focusing down to what was truly happening in the room of a lonely diplomatic vessel, and encountered two well-acquainted faces:

Stuhr, and TK’Rantar.

It folded inwards on itself, assuming a roughly humanoid shape as it slid through walls and corridors, coming to a rest in the meeting room. Bemused, it watched the conversation unfold, even as a plan began to formulate within its expansive mind, the Choir resounding alongside it in agreement.

Earth, Pyongyang

The self-destruction of the Drones was unexpected, and thus the EXO units were caught flat-footed. The shockwave slammed into the Velo Units, sending them flying back before their internal AG packs managed to catch their momentum and slow them to a halt. Quetz Units extended their wings, and as the shockwave impacted them, it would seemingly bounce away from them as though repulsed by some immense wall of force. The Ankylo Units lost their footing on the buildings they perched on, and they fell from the walls and onto the streets below, righting themselves in a flash as their weapons resumed opening fire.

Earth, Vladivostok

As the Vortex whipped into action, the EXO units were scattered to the wind as the immense force pulled them from the ground. However, the reprieve for the Mechanators was short lived, as they heard staccato hums from some unknown source. If they were to look out the window, they’d see the Velo Units, bound in a great chain through what could be assumed to be a tractor beam, and drawing closer to the MBR through the lead Velo’s beam.

Meanwhile, the Akylo Units were tumbling wildly through the air, and had elected to curl into a semblance of a Ball and wait out the maelstrom. The Quetz Units, however, had a more ingenious idea of evading the Vortex. Rather than fighting the momentum of the Vortex, they followed it, using the wind currents to gain ever greater speeds and embark on an outward spiral, eventually escaping the Vortex altogether and slowing to a less excessive speed.

Earth, The Arctic

As the Octavian vessels descended into the Stratosphere, the air around the large structure would begin to shimmer, numerous small filaments revealing themselves as rainbow arcs of light flickered around the Hive. As they opened fire, the arcs suddenly shot upwards, moving in a manner akin to slashing as they intercepted and destroyed the inbound projectiles. Sensors aimed directly at the Hive would be blinded by the overwhelming brightness of the bands of light surrounding it.

Then, more structures burst from the ice. Large, tree-like appendages, they swiveled towards the Octavian vessels and began to spin-a vortex of snow and ice whipped up around them before bursting forth in several powerful surges of air, the conflicting forces would prove a devastating blow if they impacted the Octavian vessels, potentially forcing them out of the sky.

800th Armada, Khorzomoth Rendezvous

Without much else to do, the massive fleet once more entered The Tempest, the billowing pseudo-storm clouds dissipating not long after the last few ships crossed the threshold. Aboard the Walls of Iron, Lutherus turned from Retz, moving to an alcove in the wall before retrieving what appeared to be a large concave disk, returning to the bizarre creature. The disk filled with light, and displayed a miniaturized form of Trez’nav’s Avatarv.

“Hello there. I assume you’re one of the esoteric presences in this conflict?” The Avatar politely asked.

Phase Gate Kleipades, New Chyannis Orbital, Hub Station

Deep within the labyrinthine complex of New Chyannis’ Subspace Pocket, a fringe network stirred. Impulses fluttered about, acknowledging the reception and arrival of a representative of the organization known only as The Guild. A millisecond delay, assuring the Trifexians that nothing was amiss. A brief transmission to the newcomer, indicating that they were to dock on one of the VIP ports situated on the Hub Station itself.

And then, silence. The Network fading and repurposing for other, more menial tasks.

Logistical Hull Stellar Shield, monitoring Frontline CV Nest

The ship was quiet as it orbited the rapidly developing Nest, which was already showing signs of massive terraforming due to recently constructed power plants. A great spiderweb of bright blue lines flickered under the thick, toxic clouds as great swirls of flickering spores danced in the upper atmosphere. Ground scans indicated drastic changes to atmospheric composition and the Construere Vitae reaching deep into the mantle, as well as starting to refine itself and produce complex structures. Command spires, shipwombs, and even the tell-tale bulges of Seedships, no doubt aimed for the other planets in-system.

The few warships in system, however, were more alert. Watching the stars, each commander had one hand on their call-to-arms in case an Octavian Vessel was sighted.

by **The Auraverse** » Sun Oct 11, 2020 4:27 pm

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Stromboli|

Hatlen gave Ambrosia a curious look.

"Ah, food! I'd say I've forgotten what food is like, but that would be an inherent untruth. I find it very difficult to forget things these days. Still, thank you kindly."

He took the proffered plate, temporarily placing his teacup onto a patch of apparently-solid air. The fork was gingerly extracted, and stabbed into the spaghetti once again - when he drew it out a second time, it took with it a perfect sphere of pasta. It was as if the noodles had been severed with some impossibly-sharp blade - while the food still in the plate was quick to ooze in to fill the newly-formed hole, the starchy orb still on the fork held firm as it was brought to the Director's mouth. He seemed to ingest and swallow it in one fell swoop; the attentive observer may have noticed a flash of blue from within his mouth in the few moments where it was open.

"I must admit, there's something relatively novel to consuming the flesh of something that was actually conventionally alive at some point. It's not really something I make a habit of."

The rest of the dish was dispatched in short order, ball after carved ball. Soon, there wasn't enough pasta left to *form* a ball - twirling the fork above the plate's surface in the manner of a stage conjurer's wand, he watched the remaining few bits of food and sauce detach themselves from the porcelain, and rise into the air as a nondescript cloud. These hovering specks soon coalesced into a final orb - popping it carefully into his mouth, he handed Ambrosia back her now-immaculately clean plate.

"Well, that was certainly something. Thank you for the meal."

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Florence, Passione Bunker|

Now, Elias was tapping his foot as well as his cane.

“You gave me quite a fright, you know. Turning my lovely assistant into cubes like that. And I do some very unreasonable things when I’m frightened - why, imagine what could have transpired!”

Somewhere not too far off, a man-sized chunk of concrete tore itself free from a much-battered wall, and smashed into the nearest bit of available floor with a thunderous report.

“But hey, we got some nice things out of it all. I got this nifty cube thing, Renée got to briefly experience life as some cubes, and you… oh. Wait a moment, I don’t think you got anything yet, you poor sod. How inconsiderate of me - we’ll fix that right quick. BUT!”

This last syllable was shouted with enough volume to make the prone mafioso yelp.

“Before we get to the fun stuff. The cubes are fun and all, but what really interests me is this whole Stand business.”

He nudged the glowing cage containing Babyface with the tip of a lacquered shoe.

“It’s sort of like an Awakened, but not quite - for starters, you hardly look like Awakening material. And it’s not like we’ve spotted them outside the cozy little bounds of our home pocket anyhow, so one can safely assume they’re local. Now, let’s see if I’ve done my homework properly - you got this from an arrow, right?”

Melone decided that nodding was the best course of action here. He wasn’t sure if he could manage proper speech, but he sensed that not giving an answer at all wasn’t anywhere near his best interests.

“So… you just got stabbed with it? Magic arrow in, magic punch-ghost out?”

Another nod.

“Alrighty.”

Without much ceremony or warning, he grabbed the gangster by the neck, and held him aloft.

“Let’s see here…”

Glyphs danced over the skin of his hand. Undeterred by Melone’s ragged attempts at breathing, he seemed to be muttering softly to himself. After a few moments of this, he dropped his quarry - the mobster coughed and spluttered as his lungs finally drew breath once more. But Elias seemed to have little interest in him now; his eyes were fixed intently on the still-moving symbols adorning his palm. They flowed apart, then back together, bending and twisting until the once-scattered lines formed a coherent shape. A small, nondescript cross.

“Are y-”

A further bout of coughing forced him to stop, then resume speech.

“-are you going t-to-”

Without so much as looking in his direction, Elias kicked him in the face. The cross sat motionless on his palm, but he was clearly waiting for it to do something. And indeed, a few moments later, it began to vomit forth a stream of purple light, which gradually resolved itself into a thin rod. Bands of luminescence wove through the air, sliding together into a vaguely heart-like shape atop it - almost like the head of an arrow. With a final flourish, he plucked it from his own hand, and held it aloft - a glittering, translucent ghost of a thing, bearing only the roughest of similarities to the object it imitated.

“Well. Isn’t this something.”

Through tear-filled eyes, Melone regarded his tormentor. But even now, Elias paid him no attention - gripping the spectral shaft, he pivoted the arrow around, so that the point faced inward, towards him. He then rather abruptly stabbed it into his own chest.

As the maniac fell to his knees, Melone saw his chance - with shaky hands, he propped himself off the floor, moving to-

“Stay.”

The clear pressure of a barrel on the back of his head forced him to reconsider his move. Slowly, he sank back to the ground. Renée didn’t seem particularly pleased about the whole cube thing - what was keeping Melone alive at the moment was mostly luck. Elias, meanwhile, had risen to his feet as if nothing had transpired. Without moving the gun, Renée called out to him.

“You alright?”

“Quite. It wasn’t actually painful, insomuch as unpleasant.”

“Do you feel any different?”

“Well, I-”

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to the mafioso.

“I feel as though something is missing here. Some element of poetic completion.”

Again, he snatched his opponent off the floor, this time by the collar - rather than choke him outright, he merely pulled Melone to his still-shaky feet. Carefully dusting him off, he gave the bewildered gangster a pat on the back.

“Right, apologies. I was a tad distracted. In all honesty, I’ve hardly been the most accommodating guest - all this property damage, murder, loitering… when really we’re the home invaders here. And I got some pretty useful stuff from you, however willingly it may have been given. Tell you what, we’ll help you get home. Give you a ride.”

Melone stared at him in disbelief. Even Renée seemed shocked - seeing her expression, the mafioso stuttered out a reply.

“Y-you’re serious?”

“Of course! After all…”

He hoisted the cane over one shoulder, striking an odd sort of pose. In contrast with his words, one could only really describe it as menacing.

“...scum like you should be right at home in hell.”

Melone blanched. Only now had he noticed the strange, shadowy mass that had arisen behind Elias - as he watched, it resolved itself into a gaunt, humanoid figure. Little by little, it gained form - from nebulous mass arose something that looked vaguely like a three piece suit… but not quite. It was wrong, somehow. As if roughly carved from wood, the cloth’s contours little more than pale imitations. Its joints, if one were to look closer, were primitive ball-and-sockets, of the sort one would expect to see on a mannequin. A jaunty, flared top-hat swam into focus atop a singularly terrifying head - a thin, angular face that was mostly made up of exposed teeth, underpinning a pair of roughly-hewn, hollow sockets. All of it seemed indeed to be carved from a sort of blackwood - an ebony puppet, made out like some unholy fusion of ringmaster and nutcracker.

Now Elias’ pose shifted into a sort of half-flex - as if stretching, he straightened one arm lazily towards Melone. A finger, pointed squarely at the gangster’s face. And the horrible, wooden thing moved in compliance - dashing around and forwards, its hinged jaw swung open, letting a piercing shriek escape from between tombstone-teeth. A single, shrill note, as if torn from a calliope organ.

Its fists came flying, a continuous barrage of punches that lifted the poor man off his feet. With each swing, another note - they melted together into a whistling cacophony, evoking some twisted, mis-tuned fairground song.

On and on this went - carried by the momentum of the onslaught, Melone was thrust into the bunker’s concrete wall. It didn’t matter to the Stand - following suit, it continued pummeling man and wall alike. Concrete and bone, pulverized with each repeated swing. Finally, the mannequin placed its wrists together, and its palms squarely onto what used to its opponent’s chest. With a final, screaming whistle, it seemed to draw in the surrounding air - a moment later, there was a tremendous crunch as what remained of Melone and the bunker wall both were sucked inwards, collapsing together into a single point at the behest of some terrible force. There was another thundering crash... and then, silence.

Elias dusted himself off, even as the dust-clouds were still settling. Slowly, the Stand faded back into a shadowy haze, and then into thin air. He approached Renée with a sheepish smile - for her part, she seemed almost shellshocked.

“What did you..?”

“Sorry. Don’t know what came over me. This Stand thing is quite the bundle of fun. I’ve even named the little bugger - 『SOMETHING WICKED』 seemed fitting.”

“How did you just- what? How did you do that?”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem dazed. Come on, let’s move - I don’t think this place is going to hold together for much longer.”

As if to illustrate his point, another sizable chunk of rebar collapsed somewhere nearby. And so, with a mixture of resigned sigh and carefree whistle, the two of them set off back towards the surface.

by **Imperial-Octavia** » Sat Oct 17, 2020 11:14 pm

The Midnight Dreams

Rantar's cooling systems were working in overtime trying to prevent the poor Octavian from overheating, but Rantar was holding on though barely. "A-ah yes the Know Your Enemy on your nation. That series is quite entertaining wouldn't you say?" Rantar awkwardly laughed as the room remained in silence, cooling equipment only working harder to keep the machine from exploding, "I'm s-s-sure that an arrangement c-c-can be made regarding that..." Just as Rantar began to calm himself a new figure appeared in this meeting, one worryingly familiar to one seen in...Cymopolia. And just as that though processed through Rantar's chip, something in his back began making a sizzling sound before a very small pop came from it. At that moment his cooling systems just gave up much like his supervisor had a minute into this conversation.

Ginostra

The Paramount was quite annoyed as he saw Mark deflecting his lasers while destroying the clones who fired the beams in the first place. Of course, this would be bad enough but then the human fired this...thing. As Paramount's sensors fell upon the black projectile rushing towards his form, his mind began to splinter further into disparate squabbling pieces, all trying to regain the body for themselves. Wasn't the module supposed to stop this?!? As his combined consciousness flew into pieces, he felt an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. Despair. He couldn't make his body do anything as his own consciousnesses fought each other with more intensity than ever before and if he stayed like this he would lose this battle and fail Octavia...

As the dark ball got ever closer, The Paramount's consciousnesses fighting ever harder and the coherence that he had fought for hundreds of years ago faded, he could only lament how he had been too cocky. How his own overconfidence had lost him this battle. How everything he had worked to build in Octavia for hundreds of years was ended because he let his mind tear itself apart. Despite Paramount's despair, there was an opportunity to salvage this situation. A single moment where the shadow of the orb covered the attack itself that The Paramount knew what he had to do. He had been saving this power and now presented the perfect time to use it.

"VIRTUAL INSANITY!"

The orb began to return to Mark's hand as time's flow began to reverse itself, "So these stands are every bit as helpful as those humans told me..." The Paramount looked away from Mark's attack as he walked forward, the metal clanging of his footsteps against the pavement in Ginostra contrasting with the chaos sliding back into place behind him. The Paramount moved behind the swordsman and watched as he slid back to where he was ten seconds before as he readied his hand blades before snickering to himself, "Hahaha...To think that we thought that you had beaten us. Ah, we will laugh about that one for a good while."

When The Paramount had finished talking the flow of time resumed and The Paramount proceeded to enact what he had originally planned to do and sent his arm blade through Mark's chest before raising his other arm and firing a golden laser towards his head looking to kill one of the pests that had decided to stand against Octavia.

What remained of the Florence Bunker

"It's from The Boss!" Bucciarati's squad stumbled over themselves to reach the computer to see what The Boss wanted of them. They really hadn't received any messages as of late as they only really helped in the occupation. A job which only J'eil seemed okay with much to the detriment to the rest of the team, but as they opened their "work" computer they saw a message telling them about the Florence bunker's destruction. They quickly moved to the car J'eil had "borrowed" from a partisan and began their path to Florence. J'eil quickly noticed that something was different about this ride; instead of the usual joking that dominated most of their rides, there was just...slience. Asides from the sound of the tires rolling against the asphalt, the ride was entirely silent.

"J'eil, the squad has been talking and we've been thinking of betraying the Boss."

Bruno had decided to break the silence with this bombshell actually shocking the assimilated infiltrator. "You're WHAT?!? Are the rest of you in on this?" the rest of the squad nodded or otherwise showed their agreement with the plan.

"I had expected you'd respond like this. I understand you see this as an act of betrayal against your Paramount but you must understand that what he has done to this planet with the help of our Boss...it's truly unforgivable! Dealing drugs was one thing, but the indignities that your leader and his men have inflicted upon our Earth are things that neither I nor any moral person could accept. Your stand is very possible and I can tell you've grown close to us in the weeks that we've worked together and so I will offer you this choice. You can either choose to join us and walk the path of justice or continue with The Paramount and The Boss, but let it be known that when they send you to kill us...I Bruno Bucciarati, will kill you myself!" J'eil was floored, not only were these people not appreciative of the gifts the Octavian Empire had to give, but they would go so far as to fight against it? Even Mista who himself had been assimilated? He couldn't even begin to grasp how these...people would dare go against his liege and their own leader too?

"That's insane! You guys have to understand that the Imperium only wants what's best for you. Sure, a few people may have to die in the meantime, but if they won't accept what they have to give then obviously they wouldn't be productive to society. I-I actually like you organics and I wouldn't want you to do something regrettable. So please, maybe reconsider?" J'eil was sincere with his words (not that the rest of the group knew it as they knew he could change his voice around according to his Infiltrator designation) but all he was met with were sad looks from Mista, Narancia, and Fugo, disappointed glares from Bucciarati, and a piercing look from Abbacchio who interjected in the conversation.

"Has your government brainwashed you so badly that you can't see that what you just told us was a load of bullshit? I say that we throw him out of this car before he turns on us."

"No..you won't need to do that. I'll leave myself. Narancia...using your Aerosmith to attack me so it looks like there was a fight. I may have massive reservations about what you all plan to do, I can't bring myself to kill you guys..." The car stopped and the rest of the team was shocked as J'eil walked outside and waited for Narancia to attack him. Narancia followed the infiltrator's request and walked outside hiding his sadness from his former squad mate by looking away from him. "AEROSMITH, OPEN FIRE!"

J'eil's shell was shredded by the ethereally enhanced bullets and was left as a wreck on the side of the road as the rest of his former squad drove away leaving him with one question left. Why? Why did he just do any of that? Did those organics really get that deep into his head? While J'eil dragged himself back to where he had last seen The Paramount to try and "report" this, Bucciarati's squad was left quiet, they had a number of thoughts on the infiltrator they just left, but Bruno knew that his last act with them meant that there was a hope for him to come back around. When Bucciarati's squad finally arrived at the destroyed Florence Bunker they found a number of people standing outside the wreckage which looked awfully familiar. Perhaps they should investigate...

Jotaro, Josuke, and Joseph looked at the man and women leaving the destroyed bunker and immediately had some questions. The rest of their group had gone off to investigate the wreckage to see if any of it would lead them to taking down The Paramount and his lackeys in Passione, but for now Renee and Elias would only have the three men approaching them, Jotaro taking the initiative to speak first, "Hey, are you two responsible for this?" Jotaro leaned back as he pointed at the two while Joseph and Josuke settled into their own poses not realizing exactly that they posing in a way that may appear weird to the two strangers that they had only just met.

The Artic

The lighter ships that made up the small fleet quickly entered into evasive maneuvers as they picked up the strange attacks of the structure below immediately spreading out in all directions, each one breaking the sound barrier as they moved as fast as they possibly could in the atmosphere. Seeing that the kinetic weaponry that they had hurled was ineffective against Kars' complex they decided to use the most well-known tactic of the Imperium. More firepower. Using every weapon they had available the building would have thousands of rounds sent hurtling towards it as the strike group dodged and weaved through the stratosphere.

Vladivostok

The fact that the EXO units were barely repulsed by the whirlwinds was concerning, to say the least, but even as the driver prayed for the "how-to" audio to play faster there were still some hope in procuring this machine. One the transport that was called in when the MBR was first procured had finally arrived firing lasers at the EXO units as it prepared to pick up the MBR, secondly, the passenger in the MBR had decided to press three of the buttons while making the vortexes forming a massive whirlwind swirling its way towards the EXO which had the unfortunate side effect of disrupting their own transport. The transport was made to maintain operation in extreme conditions but this was something different altogether. Only time would tell if the methods the mechanators used now would be enough to bring the MBR into Octavian hands.

The Imperial Palace

The Paragon looked over these terms brought before him and by and large found them acceptable. Sure, father would have probably asked why and how this being got into the Palace (and H'Krell would probably hand it off to a Mechanator to ask those questions in all probability) more allies would always be helpful in these times of need. "I can accept these terms for Octavia. Though I really would like it if you could elaborate on what exactly the technologies you're giving us are exactly."

The Grand Mechanator would keep his optical sensors trained upon the creature which had managed to sneak it's way inside the place, obviously more weary of the organic than his superior was. If he was the one in charge (through whatever horrible method that would remove The Paramount from his rightful place as a ruler) he would've probably had the miserable thing out of his misery for sneaking into the capital of the Imperium, but as the Paragon said that he would accept the terms that the organic offered, Krell would relent. Though be definitely would continue watching the organic very, very closely.

Diplomatic sub-node #6190

Within Diplomatic sub-node #6190, there existed 80^⁶¹ Diplomatic AI tasked with processing, reading, and then responding to all diplomatic messages across the Imperium ranging from the interplanetary administration's dealing with local issues to intergalactic deals. This AI in particular was tasked with dealing with Octavian responses to mercenaries and other foreign private forces and so the questions from the Guild were routed to it. The AI searched for the answers to these questions in its vast databanks and found them in 5.099 nanoseconds before drafting up a response for the Guild

Hello Emissary Yk'lar, The Imperium wasn't entirely sure if the Guild retracted its offer to this galaxy, but we are pleased to see that they had not. Unfortunately due to the lateness of this response both contracts relating to the ISO are now unavailable due to a change in circumstance. However, the other two opportunities are still available.

The Orbs known capabilities are as such: They can form tendrils which they can use to attack from extremely long distances; these tendrils can cause destroy Octavian vessels of seemingly all types. The Orbs can shrink themselves to atomic size and fire "spikes" at fractions of lightspeed. In our battles with the Orbs, we have learned it had a weakness to the "Chains of Primus" held by the Magicons which from what we have been told, stabilizes reality in a given area. Should the Guild have any operatives with power similar to this we would recommend their deployment. Their current method of travel is currently unknown, but it appears to be some sort of teleportation possibly through an alternative dimension seen by Visoran assets.

The Sword of The Imperium is currently missing one half of its hull after a bomb of an unknown type was thrown against it by KMWP forces in the area. The Octavian Imperium would want the Sword of The Imperium fixed to its original state, but upgraded with any weapons systems to improve its capabilities in a ship to ship combat and boarding protection. The Compression Lances mentioned in your catalog is interesting and the Imperium is interested in hearing the details of what exactly they can be applied to the Sword of the Imperium. It is worth mentioning that at the time of this writing, the area The Sword is located in is still in the midst of a battle and any operatives sent over should be prepared for stray shells and any other dangers involved with mid-battle repair. Please contact the Imperium again should you require more answers on these subjects.

Vonia-III

As the two Tzyuka finally submitted to the reprogramming process and a squad of Chosen would escort them out of the room which they had spent who knows how long in (and took a short test to make sure that they were properly indoctrinated) they were finally cleared to begin the work that Tenrin was so excited to do. As Yeishlakhi and Ramani were walked through the pure white hallways and windows showing the pitch darkness of the dark ocean they would hear calming music in the background as they walked to the surgery room. Inside they would be two operating tables flanked by all manner of vital monitors. Above the tables would be multi-armed machines with quite a several other surgical tools hanging from its arms. Tenrin Khaso stood inside the room, his mechanical tail moving up and down at high speeds obviously enthusiastic about the work that he would do on the two organics.

"So how do you two feel about today's procedures? I'm not sure how much you've been told as of late, but the things we have planned for you two are truly amazing." Tenrin began tapping some panel on the wall, "I do apologize if you have been left in the dark about this. I would've told you about the wonderful changes that the both of you are about to go through but my superiors are choosing to be careful to keep this secret..." a white gas would begin to fill the room and the two Tzyuka would begin to feel drowsy, "You two will be asleep while I work okay? When you wake up you two will feel like brand new people..." as the two Tzyuka fell victim to the gas, Tenrin turned to the Chosen, "Alright boys you can throw them on the operating tables and I'll do the rest. I'll be sure to throw in a good word about your performance to your Order Master." Wordlessly the Chosen placed Yeishlakhi and Ramani onto the tables and left as asked while Tenrin began his work, first with some DNA sampling, and then perhaps he would find out how their blood made them "magic"...

On the fringes of the Imperium

Trade duty. The Imperium was embroiled in the largest (and strangest if reports were to be believed) war that it had ever seen and Vran was stuck following a transport ship carrying some weapons to some planet in the middle of nowhere. He knew he shouldn't question the will of his superiors, but as a Kwoof he would've much preferred to have been doing anything else. Hell, this trade route was so unimportant that he was in a manned corvette with a dozen or so drone fighters slapped alongside it. Maybe if it was an important trade route that might see some action he would be fine with this, but as it stood the quadruped was unsatisfied with his current post. It almost made him wish that pirates were still a thing...

by **Eisenstern** » Sun Oct 18, 2020 1:38 pm

【♜】The Tower【♜】
【Guild Hall, Council Chambers】

"This blows."

They were a motley bunch. The man who'd made such an insightful proclamation rested his massive boots on a polished redwood desk, his positively gargantuan frame reclining over a chair half his size. The black cloak draped over his shoulders only served to add to his apparent bulk, and did little to conceal the almost man-sized axe sheathed in his belt. The woman next to him looked tiny by comparison, and yet by human metrics she was of just below average height. Her tired sigh came through scar-crossed lips, and indeed the entirety of her face was beset with cuts of all shapes and sizes. Most aged, some disturbingly-fresh.

"Thank you, o wise guru. Your words of insight are truly appreciated."

"Well I wouldn't be saying it if it wasn't factual."

"No. You wouldn't. Because you lack the mental capacity for-"

"Enough, you two."

A striking figure, even by comparison to the veritable giant before it. Like the other two, it wore a cloak of jet-black fabric, and yet it was the only one whose hood was up. One could discern hints of a face in its shadowy folds, but the exact features seemed ever-changing, never congruous. Its voice was similarly indistinct, sliding through cadences like a warm knife through butter.

"We are not here to bicker. We are not here to proclaim our boredom. We are on duty."

"I wouldn't be complaining if there was any actual duty for us to be doing. But sitting here with our thumbs up our asses isn't any sort of duty I ever signed up for."

"We are waiting. On occasion, we must. One would think you'd have caught onto this by now."

"What for? All I was ever told was "look for opportunities." I can't look for shit if I can't leave this Void-damned office."

"I have relegated the task to one with better faculties for searching. One who possesses a lighter touch."

"Well it's looking pretty damn light to me, because I see no evidence that anything is actually-"

"It is done."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and yet from everywhere at once. It wasn't even really a voice - the statement was simply made evident, with no clear medium. The shadowy figure seemed unperturbed, even as the air beside it unfolded into a coiling mess of bone-white petals. From within came a hand seemingly shaped from porcelain, its slender fingers clutching a cube of grey metal. The cloaked individual took it, nodding to the anomaly as it collapsed in on itself and vanished.

"Thank you kindly."

The cube was poked and prodded, twisted and turned, until finally the figure paused - cocking its head as if to listen to some unheard voice, it proceeded to turn towards its two companions.

"A path has been found. Seven."

The scarred woman took the cube as it was proffered, taking a few moments to allow for her own fiddling about with it.

"You are to act as an envoy. Our first point of contact."

"...Ghost pirates? That's..."

"Unexpected?"

"Cliché'd. And while their capabilities seem interesting, they've little to give for our intended purposes."

"That's where you come in. Get them in fighting shape."

"Fit to fight what, exactly?"

"Anything."

"Tall order. And that's provided the zombies actually deign to deal with me. I'm not a sales rep."

"Make them. If this were a task fit for a mere sales representative, one would have already been dispatched."

"If you say so."

Here, the man seemed to object - kicking his feet off the table, he stood with an audible cracking of joints.

"So you're telling me she gets to go out and mess around with ghost pirates, and I have to keep wearing my ass into this chair for Void-knows how long?"

"No. You are a less-than-perfect fit for this facet of the operation, but there are now executable elements that will fit your skillset more closely. Follow me. Oh, and Seven?"

The woman seemed to stand to attention, pocketing the cube.

"Yes?"

"Use the data provided to form your catalogue samples. What we're doing here is far more than merely arming a few buccaneers."

"Understood. I think I'm already starting to see where all this is going to come together."

"Take care that you focus on what you definitively do see, rather than what you may."

"Got it."

And with that, the three of them set off down separate paths - with the grumbling giant striding behind it, the cloaked figure made its way towards the central wings of the Hall. The woman, meanwhile, proceeded to don a featureless, chromed mask, before setting off in the direction of a sign marked "Transit". Soon, the chamber stood silent once more.

【✦】Just outside Octavian space【✦】
【Morgan's Revenge】

Hitchcock had barely had time to shut the door behind himself when a knock came from the other side. He turned, half-expecting Idnad to have followed him to his quarters. One bony hand pulled at the handle, and the mass of planks swung on a rusted hinge.

"Aye, what-"

His proclamation was cut short by the sight of his own face, reflected back at him in the polished visage of the cloaked figure before him. And the space beyond didn't seem quite right - corridors of brass and wood, visible for just a moment before snapping back to the everpresent deck of the ship he knew so well. The newcomer gave an incremental bow, losing no further time in making their introduction.

"Captain Hitchcock of New Dunmore, I presume? I have it on good authority that you're about to embark on a raiding campaign. And I have a business opportunity that may well interest you."

by **Topoliani** » Mon Oct 19, 2020 10:27 am

50 Lightyears from Octavian Space

(Co-written by me and Eisenstern)

It took a bit for Hitchcock to recover from the initial shock. When he came back to it, he presented himself stoically. He returned the hooded figure’s bow with a nod of the head.

“Aye, I be Captain Hitchcock. I be only unofficially a crewmate o' New Dunmore though. My apologies fer blanking, ye never get used to the seemingly paranormal. Do yet want to come in?”

"I suppose it wouldn't be amiss of me. Thank you for the hospitality."

The newcomer entered on soundless feet - the mask made the object of their attention indiscernable, but Hitchcock got the rather disconcerting feeling that it was currently focused on him.

"I'll be brief. You plan on setting out to raid Octavian shipping, aiming to profit from the ongoing conflict. Am I correct?"

“Yaarr, that be correct. We be planning to raid Octavia.”

The Captain walks towards a table to the side of the room. On it was a piece of parchment containing a rather outdated map of Octavian trade routes. What’s left of his face contorts into a smile as he looks at the hooded figure.

“Me and my crew plan to strike-” He slams his fist on the table “-Octavia while the iron is still hot. By the end of this war, we will be heroes of New Dunmore!”

There was a brief pause - the hooded figure seemed to consider its next words with some care. Finally, it spoke once more.

"It's not going to work."

The Captain’s smile quickly went away. His offense to the statement was clear as he opened his mouth. Before he was able to say anything, he quickly closed it. The continuous stare of the hooded figure made him reconsider attempting to verbally tear him apart. He let out a sigh as he tried to hide his upset expression.

“Please, Elaborate.”

"To start with, you seem to have attempted to map out three-dimensional trade routes on a piece of paper. The galaxy isn't flat. It also isn't static, and neither are the routes themselves. Especially given that the Octavians have been gaining and losing territory all over the place. Questions of whether or not the convoys you're attempting to intercept are actually going to be where you expect them to aside, your fleet is woefully underequipped to take on even Octavian merchant vessels, much less any potential escorts. And there will be escorts."

Gloved fingers were clicked, and the translucent profile of an Assimilation-class corvette fizzled into being between the two conversants.

"You have your undeath, and you have your initial moment of confusion as they try to figure out what in the Void you actually are. After that, you're left with wood and cannonballs against plasteel and lasers. Whether or not you or your crew can actually be killed is irrelevant when your ships are reduced to splinters."

“Ahhh! But ye see lad. The cannons are useless, aye. But our strength comes from boardin’ them! I don’t care who ye arrrre, a cutlass to the throat be a cutlass to the throat.”

The Captain crosses his arm and gives a smug smile, satisfied with his answer.

"So you plan on catching up to and boarding vessels that are not only faster than you, but have no actual interior or crew? I must admit, I hadn't thought of that. Also, that'd be lass."

The mask was dislodged and pocketed, revealing a rather prim face, and a pair of pale-green eyes now very definitely focused on Hitchcock. The scars deserved some mention too - there were a great many of them.

“I…” Was all Hitchcock was able to make out before what color was left in his face drained out. His head shrank into his vest as the person who was decidedly not a man stared at him. He felt her cold gaze on him, and contemplating the things she had just said, he could feel many emotions sweep through him at once. Chief among them though was something he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear. Fear for both himself and his crew.

“Okay, ye ‘ave made yer point... lass. But ye be here for business and not just to inform me of my suicide mission, yes? I would like to hear yer business proposition.”

"Certainly. Do excuse me if I came off as rude - it wasn't my intent do dishearten you. Because I, and the group I represent, are in a position to offer you an opportunity. To go through with your plan and not end up as kindling; to plunder and pillage to your hearts' content."

She turned to the ship-projection. With a flick of the finger, she sent a tiny holographic sphere towards it - it seemed to bounce off the holographic hull and ping off into space.

"Cannonballs are of little use. But that doesn't mean cannons are, entirely. Cannon is a very broad term."

Another flick, and this time the incoming projectile was more pointed, almost conical. It moved in a jittery fashion, and wove around the cavalcade of beams that the tiny ship projected into its path. Drawing closer, it dipped down towards the hull, erupting into a miniature firework display on contact. As it faded from sight, a noticeable section of outer shielding was no longer present. And the finger kept on clicking - in came a beam, scything through the vessel's armor like it wasn't even there. Then, a cloud of even smaller projectiles that overwhelmed the point-defense beams by sheer volume, and left the ship's fore looking like a block of swiss cheese. Finally, an explosion that seemed to simply pop into being amidships, tearing the whole projection apart into scraps of free-floating space debris.

"Conversely, you need not rely on wood. Or paper maps, or merely some lookout atop your mast trying to identify your targets by sight. There are ways to turn your little fleet into something that even a stellar dreadnought would think twice about coming face to face with. And these ways are open to us."

Hitchcock stared with stupid amazement as the projections whizzed past his eyes. He let out an audible ‘wow’ as he saw the projection before him blown to pieces. Not even an entire volley of cannonballs could compare to the simulated destruction he had just witnessed. However, the other weaknesses she proclaimed resonated with him in a way he was not comfortable with.

He looked around his cabin. He put his hand on a wooden wall and knocked on it, causing a light vibration across the room. It seemed as if one good punch would put a hole in the wall. He then looked at the antiquated map. No way could that be used for navigation in interstellar travel. He realized that, if he wanted even a chance for survival here in the deep darkness of space, he had to accept her deal. However, he needed her more than she needed him, so he had to pick his next few words carefully.

“Whatever 'tis ye 'ave to offer, I am most certainly interested. I am not sure how or why ye 'ave come to me in particular, but I be glad ye did. Please, show me yer wares.”

"I'm glad we could come to an understanding. There is, of course, the matter of recompense - the information I have provided thus far is free, but high-grade anti-ship weaponry and defensive systems most certainly aren't."

The last few vestiges of the hologram winked out, as the woman went on.

"Ordinary practice would call for direct repayment in bulk materials, but since I doubt you have much on hand at the moment, we can settle for a cut of the eventual plunder. Nothing ludicrous, and if all goes according to plan you should still sail home with your coffers overflowing. In addition, you would be contractually obligated to strike at certain convoys and vessels on demand - essentially doing what you usually do, just to specific, designated targets. If those terms sound acceptable to you, we can get started right away."

A piece of weathered parchment was drawn from within the cloak, and proffered to Hitchcock alongside a gilded fountain pen. Its tip seemed to flicker nigh-imperceptibly, in tune with the text on the page - all written in some strange, twisting script, each letter an apparent aberration unto geometry. About the only clearly-visible thing was the thickly-inscribed "X" near the very bottom, accompanied by an obvious signatory line.

"Oh, and once the contract is concluded, any and all upgrades should be yours to keep. Should you break the terms, however, you forfeit both them and your ships themselves."

Hitchcock nodded his head in agreement with the terms. They were quite generous, even by his pirate standards. He became giddy upon hearing the last part of the contract. Without hesitation, he grabbed the pen and looked at the piece of parchment.

“I apologize fer me giddiness. The last time I made a deal wit' a bein' such as yers, I became an undead.”

Hitchcock took a look at the paper. His brow, what remained of it at least, raised as he saw the strange text. Luckily for him, he recognized the X at the bottom. He placed the parchment on a table and began to sign it without a second thought. ‘CAPTAIN JACK HITCHCOCK’ the signature read in a very crude cursive. He was about to slam the pen down in excitement but stopped halfway. He turned back towards the woman and outstretched both his arms.

“Here ye go!”

Instead of taking the proffered items, she clicked her fingers once again - with a soft crunch, the parchment was sucked from Hitchcock's hands, and collapsed in on itself into a singular point. The pen followed suit, before the miniature singularity popped out of existence entirely. There was a distant whoosh, and a puff of acrid smoke.

"Pleasure doing business with you. We can start on the refit process just as soon as I can get the necessary personnel and equipment on-site - shouldn't take too long. Just loiter around here for a while. Inform your men, perhaps - no sense in startling them."

She turned towards the door, before seemingly remembering something and snapping back.

"Ah, yes. There is one more item."

Again, she reached into her cloak. This time, she extracted a small hexagonal token, of polished silver, handing it to the captain.

"In case you need to get in touch with me again, just rub it vigorously. What with doesn't really matter - could be a cloth, could be your finger. It's an antiquated system, but reliable."

Apparently satisfied, she moved to make her exit. Pausing by the doorway, she directed another fractional bow towards Hitchcock.

"Farewell, for now. We shall speak again soon enough."

Hitchcock let out a hearty laugh, seemingly unphased by the events before him. He took a look at the small hexagon placed in his hand. He had heard of communicators before, but what was before him was simply impressive. Regardless, he returned her bow with one of his own in an attempt to show respect.

“Farewell, and I thank ye again, lass!”

Without another word, she shut the door behind herself. Were anyone to follow her out onto the deck, they'd find no trace of her.

Hitchcock breathed a sigh, both of relief and exhaustion after she left. While he certainly was excited to be powerful enough to actually take on the Octavians, she was freaking him out the whole time. Regardless, he prepared himself to make another speech before his crew. Before stepping back outside, he took one last look at the parchment map on the table. It made him think, what could be better than a flat map? What could be better than a good cannon and strong wood? Whatever it was, he would just have to wait and see.

He stepped outside and looked at the unphased undead scattering about. Strangely, the odd knight was not among them. Hitchcock could only guess he was on another ship, probably the only one with booze on it. He stomped on the ground three times, causing the entire ship to rattle once more. The crew quickly ran, or in some cases shuffled, towards the Captain to hear what he had to say once more. Hitchcock contorted his hands, making a speech to his crew.

“Gentlemen! I have positive tidings. As I was just informed, our ships are indubitably ill-prepared for battle. However, the same informant has granted me information that she and the forces that she is employed with are prepared to assistant us in our quest for fortune. All she asked for is a portion of the loot reaped, and for us to target those her or her employers specify if need be. Her employers will be arriving at some point in time. I request you all to treat them with the same hospitality and respect as I have granted you, for we need these upgrades to survive.”

There was no excitement this time. No raising of fists or stomping around. There was only a simple acknowledgment among the crowd as they either returned to their posts or prepared themselves to board other ships to inform them of the news. Properly satisfied, he walked to a cannon on the deck. He put his hand on its cold metal exterior, feeling almost sentimental over what the old 12-pounder and he had been through. He then looked up to the stars. While he was certainly too far away to actually see it, he could just feel both New Dunmore and Earth were out there somewhere. He had to make both of them proud, in his own way. It helped that, hopefully, by the end of it all, he would be so, so rich.

by **Ignis States** » Tue Oct 20, 2020 7:37 am

Ginostra

Mark only has a vague idea of what just happened as things suddenly jump back to 10 seconds ago...or did it even happen in his point of view? He doesn't have time to consider this, however, before a sharp pain flares in his chest.
Purplish blood promptly soaks the front of his chest, the Ausar's eyes widening with shock. His senses are in overdrive as Paramount prepares to blow his head off.
The blast cuts through nothing but shadow as Mark turns into black mist, merging with his opponent's shadow. In a mere moment, he ends up right behind him, jumping from the android's shadow.

This time, he doesn't even bother with theatrics. He simply charges Chaos and Darkness on the edge of his sword. Not nearly as potent as the [PHANTASM STAR] but it'll stun Paramount a decent bit.
He promptly thrusts the sword at Paramount's back, hoping to pierce straight through the other side and hit his module.

Vonia-III

How do they feel...? Ramani is the first to answer before the gas takes hold, the look in his eyes strangely...fierce.
"Whatever's done to us is worth it if Octavia's enemies are killed. If this alters my nature or changes us fundamentally, so be it. The Tzakyuza are imperfect and need to be changed."

Yeishlakhi, on the other hand, seems gleeful, the look in her eyes manic.
"Do what you must. I refuse to let the opportunity to serve pass me by! It's like Ramani said. If this changes us irreversibly, so be it!"
Shortly after this, the gas begins to take hold. Sooner rather than later, they go under, leaving them ready for surgery.

by **Royal Frankia** » Thu Oct 22, 2020 2:02 pm

The Coming Storm

Destiny Awaits

Upon the periphery of the great events unfolding between the rival factions stood the Frankian outpost of Gestanna. Patrols had been growing in strength, to preserve Gestanna’s port and monopoly on traffic between PW-1 and this region of the Cosmos. More for observation and prestige, Gestanna had not received as much investment as those systems closer to the Stellar Citadels.

Governor Harrold vra Estfann warmed his hands by the hearth, awaiting his modest breakfast of coffee and dark bread. His eyes scanned the map which detailed where this galactic struggle currently stood, noting that the Octavians were by far receiving the worst of it. Contact with them, as with the other powers, had been kept to a minimum..

Aloof by nature, the subjects of the Mater’s Elect only ventured outside of their citadels to smash either nomadic hordes or their rivals. Some efforts had been taken to strengthen Frankia’s diplomatic hand, in the event of another great conflict that might shake the very stars themselve. Still, it was wise to keep one’s sword sharp and test one’s might in the field.

Dux Roland vra Lorett strode into the Governor’s hall, followed by several of his staff. Lorett peered at the map displayed by the holoprojector..

It is a shame that the Octavians have had such ill-fortune…

They have stirred up powers much greater than themselves.

Our reports are sketchy, though entities much greater in theory than the known Great Powers are in play.

It would be wise to limit our contact with them, Dux, until we decide whether they might be of some use to our cause against our enemies in NS-1..

Have you received word from Gerwannia?

Aye, I have.. We are to receive a Taal.

The Dux nodded.

That should be sufficient for the ambitions of Gestanna.. I assume that I am to be the chief military representative..

That is true, though the Taal is to be commanded by its own commander. It is your responsibility to defend Gestanna and her outlying systems with what we possess. A Fleet Regiment ought to be sufficient, if the machines come on in strength.

The Dux smiled and clicked his heels.

These bots will have a hard road before them if they are to be attacking us, by the Mater Most High.

The Governor nodded, and then coughed.

Breakfast was brought, with the Dux requesting something to warm himself by the fire. A knot tightened with the Governor’s stomach as he thought of the coming campaign and how many would come to die by the end of this cycle. May they walk with the Mater Most High, those that are about to die.

By Realm and Throne

The 54th Taal had been dispatched across the Cosmos, upon the destruction of the Avantti horde along the frontier. Some of its Commanders were surprised that they were to be sent across the great Cosmos, let alone to fight a machine race with a troubled history with organic realms. For the enlisted men their enemies did not matter, only the chance at glory in the Void to shine before their noble ancestors.

Others less pious took a view that what might be had was new lands, new titles, and perhaps a new bastion from which Frankian influence could penetrate. Little talk was made of the other powers arrayed against this machine race, they were irrelevant so long as they did not intervene against the forces of the Dread Sovereignness.

Dux Knut vra Vestanna supped with his Regiment commanders and their attendants. He regarded the conversation as forced, for the Taal was to go into battle while not yet at full-strength. A Regiment and Heavy Battalion would be left behind, to sure up the Territorial Fleet that comprised a smattering of derelict craft.

Before the assembled Frankian noblemen was a holomap of the system, by which routes had been drawn which led straight to the Octavian heartland.

A Shiplord, having had one too many cups, was discussing their future opponents.

These machines have no souls, and are capable of atrocities that organics simply are not.

That may be, but at least the motives of machines are practical. There is little superstition to justify their cruelties, let alone any motive beyond cold calculation.

Here, here!

Have they allies? These machines?

Aye, it is known.

Posh, they shall not be able to stand against us. These primitives will fall by the wayside.

Vestanna scowled.

Do I must remind you that, though we do not face our traditional enemies in this portion of the Cosmos, we must still be on guard. Such talk by the commanders of other powers has led to the destruction of their entire fleets.

A silence seemed to linger following the Dux’s rebuke.

Still, I believe all shall come off the better for us and our arms.

Aye, aye!

What followed was a discussion of the targets for the major assault formations, corresponding to those occupied areas still under the sway of the Octavian banner. Before terror should grip the heart of the Octavian Realm proper, its occupied territories would be stripped away by force of arms. The conversation became more somber, with less boasts and more practical planning.

As the Frankians discussed the coming campaign their Mater looked on with some curiosity. Atkane, Mater Atkana, regarded this portion of the Cosmos as loaded with wayward gods or beings that had not yet been enlightened. Perhaps she would venture into this region of the Cosmos for the first time since the beginning..

Her train of thought was interrupted by her daughter, Norva the Savior, whose armor she could hear rattle behind her.

So daughter, it seems my children are about to take up arms in a region most foul. I trust you will not let them stray from the true light.
The daughter of the divinity smiled.

No Mother, I will not let them fall to these corrupting entities. By my honor, by my divinity, and by my hammer.

I hope that you might be called on to use the latter.

In the days when the Cosmos was young, you wielded yours against the abominations that sprung from the Void.

Aye, against beings long since banished to the abyss… Come daughter, let us retire and discuss such matters atop the mountain.

Aye, my mother.

The two goddesses vanished, leaving their children to plot the sport of sovereigns.

Octavian Occupied Territories

Upon the edge of the Octavian defenses would come a torrent of probes, in their subsequent billions. Unarmed, such probes would shy away from making a direct assault, and instead would scan the system before cutting it off from ftl transit by raising an interdiction field extending some 25 au from its source. Intel would be sent back to multiple sectors within this portion of the Cosmos, followed by a transmission to the defenders within the citadel.

Address to the Octavian formations defending this system

By the will of the eternal gods, who shall never know death, your aggression against their creations will not stand. Even if said creations are lacking in sophistication or development, we are called upon by our honor and our piety to defend them. Let it be known that where your forces are beyond your own citadels ours will follow shortly, with the aim of routing them wherever we find them.

Close behind would be the 135th Fleet Regiment and its support detachments heralded by several disruptions to the Cosmic periphery. A torrent of green flashes of light, the piercing of the void.. As the Franian formations arrived, they would form up into their respective battle formations. Dux Artorra vra Ursfann reviewed the scans, conferring with his staff and the commanders of the Frankian forces.

Upon the decks of the Frankian warships the call was to ready themselves for the coming death and destruction. Prayers were said, wills hastily planned, and weaponry was inspected. The gunners aboard awaited the order to fire, to send slugs to smash asunder the Octavian forces.

Raise high the Rammenflieg, raise high the Oriflamme. Our foes will show no quarter, so give them none. Cold, calculating, they will not break like the fierce tribes upon our frontier. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and smash every craft of theirs asunder. All the Realm is watching you upon this great day, as are your ancestors. By Realm and Throne and Mater Most High, advance!

The Frankian formations advanced, awaiting their chance to get within range of those arrayed against them. Before the Regiment would proceed Voltigeur craft and their supporting destroyers, eying to cause havoc and disrupt enemy preparations. Voltigeur squadrons would within range would unleash a concentrated burst of shell and shot, before attempting to draw the enemy out of their defenses and into the teeth of the 135th.

To the left and right of the regiment moved the Lancer contingents, held in reserve for their moment to outflank the foe and shower them with lancefire. Restless, eager for the slaughter that was to come, all aboard these destroyers and light cruisers prayed Norva would grant them glory on this day. Antiquated jargon seemed to be rooted in this branch of the Fleet, with the notion of riding down the enemy like a cavalry unit still very much in the vogue.

More somber, more rational, were the Heavy Battalions who were to be utilized in the event of a deadlock at the front. The 143rd and 194th Heavy Battalions contained a higher percentage of the capitalships, easily dwarfing the majority of the Frankian craft within the Regiment itself. The Dromonds glided through the Void, their batteries pointed towards their enemy across the Void. Their Shiplords and Battery Commanders awaited the order to drive death into the ranks of their new foes, and all those that dare stand against the Rammenflieg in this section of the Cosmos.

DKS Urstfann, the flagship of the 143rd, was calibrating its offensive weaponry and shielding arrays. Her technicians checked on the performance efficiency of the various levels, wards, and decks aboard the craft. The immense number of crew had ample space, for the most part, unlike other vessels within the Fleet. An efficient hover rail system was able to move crew from one level or ward to the next, in multiple directions should the need arise. There were also far more luxuries, such as cafes, libraries, and artificial biospheres within some of the more prestigious wards.

One might have taken her for a cruise ship were it not for her armaments, which were formidable for the task assigned to her. Urstfann's crew expected the matter to be resolved before the great guns spoke, perhaps putting the first notion of fear into the cold, calculating machines arrayed against them. Some chuckled at that, others did not.

What would follow was for the Fates to decide.

by **The Guvithean Confederation** » Thu Oct 22, 2020 2:54 pm

The Imperial Place, Octavius, Octavian Empire

"I would be glad to, most eminent Paragon."

"The hypernode communications device is primarily for the purposes of ensuring communications systems compatibility. It is a simple piece of FTL communications equipment, one that should be easily made compatible with your own systems. If you prefer, you may also provide us with your preferred communications equipment, or - perhaps most advisable - we could do both. More channels of communication makes our systems more resistant to jamming."

"The annihilation plant is a sophisticated sphere of PTU alloy with a simple function: unifield generation. Within the containment of the sphere, this unifield allows for the stabilization of neutronium, and the induction of baryon nonconservation. Externally, the unifield can be used to produce a variety of... interesting gravitic effects. Most importantly, you can crush matter into neutronium, feed it into the annie plant, and induce baryon nonconservation to turn matter into energy."

"The teraport is perhaps the most useful of the three technologies we're giving you, however. It tears countless quintillions of wormholes in the fabric of space time, converts any object into a standing gravitational wave, squeezes the waveform through the wormholes, and reverses the process at the destination. All at a relatively minor energetic cost. Barring a proper teraport area denial system, you can use it to move objects from any point in the galaxy to any other point in the galaxy. Teraporting between galaxies is costly, however, and teraporting into the flat space between galaxies is even more so. That being said, your portion of the current war appears to be confined to this galaxy."

"We believe that the teraport will be most useful if we hide its full potential until all Guvithean forces are ready to mobilize. For the time being, when enemy eyes are upon us, we will only teraport while stationary with respect to the Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation, and will only do so between locations outside of the local star's termination shock. Moreover, the only things we will move until that time will be our own ships. This will convince the opponent that our ability to move things faster than light is far more limited than it actually is. Until, of course, the time comes for full mobilization."

"So, now that you've signed the document, where would you like the 13th Systarmada to deploy, and where would be a good place to set up our joint command center?"

Darvis H7, Far From Confederation Territories

Had there been atmosphere to carry the sound, it would have been similar to a planet-sized coffee machine trying to pass an equally planet-sized aluminium baseball bat. An absolutely titanic amount of materiel had been teraported to Darvis H7, chosen for Operation Maelstrom due to its remoteness, both from the Confederation's holdings, and from the territory of any anticipated adversaries. Construction of The Eye and The Prison began immediately. Each structure would be over a thousand kilometers across, and would take nearly a month to build. There was no time to waste.

by **The Auraverse** » Thu Oct 22, 2020 5:08 pm

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Florence, Passione Bunker|

Elias cocked his head at the approaching Joestars. After a few moments of silence, recognition flashed in his eyes; he made no further indication of familiarity, choosing instead to scratch his head.

"What, all the broken robots and concrete dust? Naw, don't be silly. We're just tourists, same as you. Unless something funny happened to the Italians when I wasn't looking."

Renée's rifle had vanished somewhere on her person, and indeed the two of them gave no indication of being armed in any way. At the sight of the posing men, Elias tapped his cane on the ground in bemusement.

"You two alright? Some kind of lumbar problem? I'm afraid I'm not really a qualified chiropractor. So if you'll excuse us."

With that, the two of them turned to leave.

|⌂|Earth|⌂|
|Stromboli|

As time was stopped, and bent, and finally rewound, the atmosphere inside what had essentially become the "picnic zone" took on a strange quality. It was as if the effects of the Paramount's ability didn't dare approach the unspoken area's bounds - as such, the Director and Ambrosia both experienced the proceedings in what could, in absence of a better word, be described as "real-time". And Hatlen stopped, mid-sip, setting the teacup down onto the invisible dais it had previously occupied. What had actually been done to Mark didn't really concern him; and yet, even now, the backrooms of what could tentatively be termed his mind were lighting up with cavalcade upon cavalcade of impulses. Ghostly notifications, points of trans-synaptic input, all quietly snaking their way into the unthinkable, unknowable central nexus at which he himself sat. Each and every one of them, nagging him.

Hatlen didn't respond, not externally - all that could be surmised from without was that his face had subtly slipped into an expression of what could only really be called curiosity. To those that knew him, this was a terrible sign.

|⬡|MAGNUS Computing Grid, Deep Foldspace|⬡|
|Near-Surface Aux-Processing Layer|

It took a while for the lone Corde to feel the ripples of the great curiosity, although that wasn't really saying much. Out there, it might as well have happened instantaneously. But now, responses were set in motion - the tiny slice of processing-mass allocated to local monitoring got that little bit wider. And with it came a sort of repositioning, as the globulous un-shape sought to align itself more efficiently with the environment it had just assigned priority to. Slivers of something that, through gross oversimplification, could be called computronium slid and folded around kinks and eddies in this unending hellscape of blue. Care was taken to avoid undue motion, for actually coming into contact with the realspace envelope that hovered in such tantalizing proximity would be far more of a hassle than it was worth. Soon, the pancake had achieved a more optimal orientation, and settled once more into its usual, slothful routine. Of course, such a maneuver would have consequences elsewhere - everything was interconnected, after all.

|☉|Orbit of Ziamon Prime|☉|
|Glimmer of the Pale|

"Incoming notice."

The softly-undulating mass that was Greg hovered into view, making some attempt to settle into a chair that had abruptly sprung into being on the vessel's de-facto bridge.

"For us?"

"Generalized, I think. But area-relevant."

"Let's hear it, then."

His conversation partner nodded, and gave way to the ship's almost-voice.

"Asset adjustment imminent. Do not be alarmed by contact shift. This action has been authorized by central control elements."

"Are... we getting reassigned? Should I worry?"

"No. Your position is to remain static. The Glimmer of the Pale is not the focus of adjustment."

"The outpost, then?"

"No. Adjustment will be centered on asset introduction."

"What-"

"I think I know what it means. Come, see."

It wasn't really a case of sight, in fairness. But as the intern's perceptive spectrum shifted into sync with his ship's sensors, he let out a quiet whistle - one of the few occasions he actually deigned to move his mouth.

"Well I'll be."

"Indeed."

"What in the Void have they found here?"

"I'm not sure. But I think it would be in our best interests to get some auxiliary feedstock."

"Oh yeah. Crank us into a better catch-point as well. We've been underusing the foldsails."

"Perhaps I drew too much attention."

"Buddy, if this is the response to what you did to one primtech dreadnought, our escalation policy has changed dramatically when we weren't looking. In fact, I'd wager that the two of us are going to have to draw a fair bit more attention before all this is over."

"Another pot of tea seems to be in order."

|✧|Ziamon|✧|
|Outer System Limits|

The Acus had been configured to resemble an orbital debris field. This served it quite well as far as camouflage went, considering its status as a single hull-unit and the prevalence of existing detritus in the orbit it now occupied. The strategy wouldn't have held up here, however - had these next few arrivals followed a similar pattern of deployment, they would have ended up encasing Ziamon Prime in a solid shell of hull.

They came into being with nary a sensory blip - shunting themselves into place, each member of the pinprick-swarm deftly substituted itself for assorted free-floating atoms, practically indistinguishable from them in size and composition. All across the system-space, they came to be; slipping into asteroids and mingling with space dust. Neither radiation nor any other sort of conventional energy accompanied this odd substitution - one would require very specialized sensors indeed to sniff out any irregularities. A few had even been so bold as to make their way into unrelated Sildorian space, stretching the newly-created dust-field a fair bit beyond the original operational rubrics of the expedition.

The Glimmer of the Pale certainly had specialized sensors to spare. And what the two interns had taken note of was that each subatomic speck was only thusly represented in realspace. Externally, things had just gotten a lot more complex - something had just established a brand new foldspace bubble. And that bubble now contained a solid, if clearly multi-segmented, mass of hull. Both the men got the sinking feeling that something with a lot more internal sway than themselves had just taken an interest in this corner of the universe.

As it turns out, they were entirely correct.

by **Gladian Imperium** » Sat Oct 24, 2020 8:47 pm

Trifexian Observer Petrified Fluidity, Higher-Dimensional Fold Pocket

Ten seconds is an awfully long time for a Trifexian. Which makes holding any sort of conversation with them an arduous experience for both parties, but social interaction was not the current object of Petrified Fluidity’s attention. Something happened. Causality momentarily halted, folded in on itself, and inverted. Even if only for a matter of seconds, Effects became Causes, and Causes became Effects. As Petrified Fluidity felt the fluctuations in its numerous Impositions, it discarded the Midnight Dreams like a child losing interest in a toy. The Choir rippled with voices, whispering and shouting at the same time as orders trailed through the Gestalt’s mass to the Observer.

And thus, it descended. Well, not exactly descending, moreso moving towards Zero on multiple axes, but a motion that could be considered descending nonetheless. Its Pocket, a carefully-constructed mass of folded space-time, modeled and used as the substrate for a very special set of calculations, began un-folding itself. Equations altering and inverting, burning through exponents and divisors as positives and negatives swapped places to drop the ship down to a mere three dimensions of movement. And, in the smallest slivers of time as the ship dropped the final few Axes, one could get a brief sensor reading of the massive vessel. It was shaped like an upright cross, with a “tall”, tapering lower hull that met a large spherical region, surrounded by a writhing and currently rapidly-growing accretion disk of what seemed to be white liquid. The ship’s pale hull rapidly became as black as the void around it, and the accretion disk dissolved into a cloud of dust that shot “downward” to the Galactic plane, scattering itself into microscopic motes that would act as “eyes” for the Observer. A particularly large clumping, however, would head for the source of the Network’s now-grabbed attention...

Stromboli, Earth

As the mass of dust drew into the Sol System, it almost seemed to...spaghettify, before disappearing altogether to avoid detection. When it re-emerged, it had bypassed the mysterious barrier, and began to coalesce into a large, multi-limbed figure. In the barest of comparisons, it almost looked reptilian...although its solid-white body, devoid of scale, skin, or any mark of defect, didn’t offer much more insight into what it could be. It’s two long, pointed legs stabbed into the ground beneath it as it settled, a comfortable distance away from the battle raging on. It seemingly took little regard for Hatlen and Ambrosia, it’s “face” aimed directly at the combat, yet it seemed to be side-eyeing them, in a manner.

Meanwhile, in the battle proper

The beams tore through the earth and found their mark, slamming into Masque’s body and beginning to disintegrate the mass of flesh...yet, time rewound. Masque felt their body pulled back together, and then backwards through the ground, to ten seconds before that fated death...

Sensing their current approach to be a bad idea, Masque elected to burst from the ground in a flash of hamon and wind power, just in time to see Mark stab into the Paramount from behind. Launching himself towards the robot, Masque let forth a barrage of powerful blows, each charged with the immensely potent power of the UL’s Hamon, to force the Paramount backwards, increasing the damage dealt by Mark’s blade.

by **Neo-Unified Nations** » Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:16 am

Sole Survivors

Pyongyang, North Korea

Overlord Eight watched in horror as several Epsilon Railguns burst into flames, "Fuck!" was all he could say before several Epsilons were reduced to ash in front of him, Eight grabbed the MP-443 Grach out of his holster and aimed it at several of the drones who had destroyed his comrades, however he dropped it when his aim was thrown off by another blast.

"This is Overlord Ten, I'm hit! I'm hi-" Was one of the things he heard before yet another exposion, shit, Eight could only get back in the tank and wake the crew up.

Overlord Eight screamed at his gunner and loader, "WAKE UP!", the two did wake up, "I DON'T HAVE TIME TO EXPLAIN, BUT WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"Huh?" The Gunner asked, "What's going on?"

"NO FUCKING TIME, WAKE THE DRIVER UP TOO!" Overlord Eight yelled before getting back out of the tank to survey the situation.

What he saw was a mess, as much of an understatement as that could be, the place he found in was a goddamn scene from Galicia, there were drones buzzing around and killing his comrades, and there were several tanks of unknown design scurrying around and shooting tanks that weren't him, Eight could really only stare in horror.

His attention was taken off the battlefield by his crew, "What is it?" he asked, "Driver's in a coma, head got hit when we entered the fucky wucky, not major but we can't move, best we can do is stay here and hope they don't spot us."

Eight suddenly felt a feeling of dread coming into him, shit, until the Driver could wake up, they were stuck in this position, a juicy target for anything like those fucking drones, and those tanks too.

Suddenly, Eight heard loud noises, really loud ones too, and he turned his attention to the source, the cause of the noises were revealed to be missiles raining down into the enemy tanks by...something, Eight then turned his head and saw something vault from building to building, getting into walls, they spewed missiles that appeared to destroy the tanks and melt through their armor, holy shit.

Loud noises from the air got his attention, as he saw what appeared to be avian-like machines circling the area like hawks, and then several other machines marching to the formation and obliterating them, Eight only stared in awe as he was greeted by what appeared to be rescue.

Then, he saw some of the drones confusingly standing still, and he had no idea what their plan was, but it wasn't gonna wo-.

He realized what they were doing as soon as the first explosion was initiated.

"SHIT!" was all Eight could say before multi-kiloton blasts clogged the streets of Pyongyang, and threw the Railgun to quite a far distance, eventually landing the Railgun close to an abandoned apartment building, it landed sideways.

Overlord Eight was thrown out of his tank and into the wall, colliding with it, and knocking him out, as a result though, he got a concussion from this, and would not recover for a while.

Meanwhile, however, a few minutes before the explosion, there was a lone rifleman who had woken up after being tossed into hell by the MBR's failure, his name was Shin Fai, a Chinese Private of the NUNGDI, he was a Suppressor, armed with a modified SPAS-12 for suppression via electrocution and an M16A4 assault rifle, he woke up hunched next to a wall, alongside other UN soldiers and Humvees, specifically, 200 of the former and 20 of the latter.

It's been a few minutes after they woke up, but they were roaming the city for quite some time now, wondering where the fuck other people were, Fai led the group, with the Humvees following too, keeping their machine guns and AT missiles loaded and ready just in case.

"Fai, I've been hearing explosions, don't you think the rest of us need to hide?"

"Yeah, I'm worried too, some of the fighting seems dangerously close to us."

"No worries, we got this."

Fai sighed, in reality, none of them got this, they're only lightly equipped infantry, not M1A4 Abrams tanks, so if they were forced to fight, they'd lose horiffically, all he could do was hope that they could manuver around the fighting.

Fai looked up to the sky and saw missiles impact a place close to their location, and immediately the soldiers and Humvees scattered, hoping they would not get hit by the missiles, eventually Fai and the UN soldiers realized that they weren't planning to hit them.

Fai saw something jump from building to building, and was interested, what were they firing at?

Fai soon rallied several soldiers to look at where they were firing, almost being hit by stray explosions here and there.

Fai and his cadre saw several wrecked Epsilon Railguns, that must've been Battlegroup Overlord.

Fai saw one Railgun that wasn't destroyed and was about to call it on the radio...

...Were it not for the gigantic explosion being initiated, Fai was thrown into a window by the glass, landing inside a building and knocked unconscious.

Unbeknownst to Fai, the Explosion also killed a few of the group he was leading, only 10 Humvees and 100 infantrymen, Fai included, survived.

Fai woke up ten minutes after the blast, and grabbed his SPAS-36, he pulled himself off the pile of glass he found himself in, he could only groan in pain as the glass stabbed and scratched his flesh, before his wounds healed and the glass slowly fell off one by one, though his uniform's rear was torn, he could still fight, and looked out of the window he was flung into, grabbing the radio on his chest and transmitting a question.

"Is anyone still alive?" he asked, hoping to get an answer, he got one, "Ja, zis is Private Henrich, we're currently patching up the wounds from that explosion, and we managed to get an Epsilon Railgun with us, Commander and Driver were knocked out but the gunner and loader are still up and running." Fai noted that the Epsilon Railgun might've been the one he was supposed to contact before the explosion.

"Copy that, I'll link up." Fai said, grabbing his Five-Seven pistol, he didn't find his M16 so he assumed he lost it when the explosion flung him into the building, Fai sprinted to the nearest exit and stopped after getting out of the building, "Alright, mark where you are with a signal flare." Fai said into his radio, hoping to get an answer to where they were.

He saw a white flare go up, "Hurry, we'll be spotted if we sit here!" Fai heard, "Roger that, oscar mike." he said, sprinting as fast as he could to the location of the flare, SPAS in hand and with all his strength, finally reached the location.

One NUNGDIA Soldier greeted him, "What's up, Fai?" he said almost casually...while missing a whole arm and having half of his face covered in bandages, "Blast tore off my arm, I'll probably never read a book with two hands again, but hey, I get to attract the ladies with my look, right?" the soldier said, Fai chuckled grimly, "You look like an Egyptian." Fai said, but his joke was ruined when an actual Egyptian Private, known to the squad as "Price" interrupted, "He looks more alive compared to the Pharaoh." Price said, making everyone burst into laughter, "Price, you fuck!" one of the other soldiers laughed, "Is it bad I got that reference?" another soldier, known to the squad as "Atk" said, "Nah, you're just well-versed in the history of the Supernatural blending in with home." a corporal, known to the squad as "Kur" said.

"Well, so, status report?" Fai said, "To summarize, we're all alive, but we've been battered by the explosion, it was in the goddamn kilo-tons, like someone put a mini-Little Boy on one corner, several times, and detonated them all at once." a GDI Machine Gunner said, hauling his LSAT around, "Right, so we've all been hit by a funny nuke, right?" one of the random soldiers, known as "Nun" said, "No, not nukes, but kilo-ton level conventional explosives."

"Oh, oh shit." Nun said, "Kilo-ton explosives? First off, kaboom, and second off, what the fuck? Why did they use that kind of shit?" he continued, flinging his empty Glock 18 around like a juggler throwing balls while asking questions, "No idea, mate." Kur said, "All I know is that there's a large battle going on, and we're a small force."

"Well, crap, this means we don't have anywhere to go?" Nun asked, "Yep, especially with the MBR failing, the damn thing violated the laws of peepee poopoo quantum fuck, and dropped us here." Kur said, finishing the sentence with some Chinese swearing, nobody could blame Kur, he's been through a lot of shit.

"Could be worse, we could be stuck in another violation of, and I quote, 'peepee poopoo quantum fuck', like Hell." one of the medics, known to the group as "Ark" said, "Do you guys really want to violate, again I quote, the laws of 'peepee poopoo quantum fuck'?" Ark asked, "No? then stop complaining, I recognize this place anyway, it's just Pyongyang....except it's hell itself too."

"Why do you guys even call it that anyway?" one of the soldiers asked, "Because it's funny, asshole, we need comedy to relieve stress." another soldier replied.

"Oh loooorrrrdddd.." Ark said, sighing, he really felt at home with the GDIA, being forced to tend with soldiers who jest around when not going on active genocide, and still jest around even in the hellish combat conditions of Pyongyang, "Why do I even bother..."

Fai, meanwhile, stared at the Epsilon Railgun that the survivors managed to recover, "I wonder, how did those other Epsilons get destroyed?" Fai asked, his attention was then seized from him when someone called for him, "Yo, you Fai?" an old-looking Texan man asked, "Yeah, I'm Fai." he replied, extending his hand out, the Texan extended his too, and shook each other's hands.

"Call me Ham, I'm the loader of this Epsilon." he said, "So, you wanna know how we got here?" Ham asked, grabbing one of his ration bars and opening it, "Well, we got thrown into the quantum fuckshit by the MBR, at least that's what I could recall, then I got fucking KO'd during the whole thing, only to wake up when the Gunner woke me up and told me, verbatim, that 'need to get the fuck out', then he checked the driver..." Ham stopped for a bit, before bonking his head with his hand, "KO'd as well, this time, put into a coma, a short one hopefully, and we were stuck, then the Commander observed the battle, the last thing I heard from him before the big boom was..." Ham stopped again, to imitate the action of screaming, "'SHIT!', then I get flung inside the tank by the big boom, and the rest is history." Ham finished, biting into the ration bar.

"So, we're all that's left?" Someone appearing out of nowhere asked, "Oh, right, hey, you're Fai, dah? My name is Anton, I'm the gunner for this Epsilon." he said, pointing at himself with his thumb, "Yeah, we kind of are." Fai answered.

"Well, guess we better wait, see how that goes, huh?"

"We'll see."

Various Places, P.V.-6221.

Meanwhile, in 6221, Alexis did not stop firing, and eventually, he did one of the most unimaginable things yet.

He charged at the Robots with the REF on, bashing them with the REF field and pinning one of them against a wall, Mihaly only stared in horror as his crazed comrade forced the damn giant robot into the wall, and thinking about might what happen, Mihaly joined in and charged at the other robots, forcing them into disarray, then grabbing his G11K3 and firing it repeatedly at the robots, the sound of 4.7mm filling the ship.

And waking up the crew too.

In one of the bunks, the SF Stormtrooper who talked to Mihaly a while ago had waken up in cold sweat, and heard loud gunshots outside, fearing the worst, he got out hurriedly, and noticed that Mihaly himself was gone, but the other Stormtroopers were also waking up and hurriedly grabbing their equipment, radio, rifle, and uniform, and with some activating their REFs, his name was Bruce Nancy.

Bruce held the G11 tightly in his hands, fully expecting the worst, "What's going on?" he asked the other Stormtroopers and crew, "No idea, but if there's gunshots, that means the worst has happened." another Stormtrooper replied, turning on the laser sight of his rifle, "Shit, man, if we somehow got boarded, that could only mean the WORST." a crewman said, "At least we're awake to stop it....hopefully." an engineer said, carrying a P90, "True."

"The shots are closer, get ready." one of the Stormtroopers said, putting up his REF, the rest of the group also put up their REFs, each of them flicking the safety off, "Target si-" one of the Stormtroopers said, before taking a double-take on what he just saw in front of him.

In front of him appeared to be Captain Mihaly and Communications Officer Alexis engaging in...'combat' with some sort of robots, without thinking twice, the Stormtroopers and Crewmen charged at the robots, anyone who fought against a soldier of the GDI was an enemy, and an enemy should be killed.

Bruce opened fire with his rifle, the bullets awkwardly pinging on the Robots, but the REFs did quite the dents to the Robots, as there were visible dents and scratches there and here from bullets and other sources.

The scene could be best described as an angry mob converging on a battle tank, as while the crew and stormtroopers did no lasting damage, they still managed to immobilize the robots, and reached its peak when several Stormtroopers pinned one of the robots to the ground and beat it while it could not move.

"Death to the enemies of the United Nations!" The 'mob' shouted, after beating one of the robots to a mechanical pulp, and would soon follow with the others.

All the while, they were unaware of the reinforcement ships, however, they were awake and would fight tooth and nail against this new robotic enemy.

Glory to the UN, they say.

█████████ ██ █████████ ██████ █████.

"Prepare for jump, we're gonna find our boys."

"Aye aye, See-Vee-Enn One-Oh-Eight on the route."

"Bee-bee-enn Sixty-Six on the way."

And thus, they jumped.

Two ships prepared to find their friends who had gone missing.

If only they knew how much of a mess they landed themselves in.

by **The Dominion of Mankind** » Thu Oct 29, 2020 8:11 am

Dominion Occupied Intergalactic Space

The command unit of Keith's frigate was abuzz with activity- the raging war showing no signs of slowing.
Off in a gloomy corner, Bob was absentmindedly browsing various datums in his terminal when suddenly his face took on a curious expression.
"Ummm guys, have you not seen this 'Guild' advertisement being broadcasted on a broad spectrum of frequencies all over the damn galaxy?!"
"You mean that obnoxious scam? I added it to our spam filter the second I laid eyes upon it- now isn't the time to be fooling around with alien phishers."
Bob facepalmed before responding."Are you for real? I don't even... sigh, just tell us before you decide to throw winning lottery tickets in a paper shredder again."
"I don't understand, what good can possibly come of this?"
Having overheard the conversation, Keith quickly dropped his virtual popcorn munching marathon and wheeled over.

"CE you are like a god damned brick wall sometimes. AI, present us with some data on this 'Guild' please.
The CE shrugged and assumed a sulking posture.
Done. Some results may be of interest.

"So their base of operations is in plain view I see. Rather than risk paying extortionate prices, can't we just use a bit of coercion instead?"
"What happened to discretion? And have you seen those abnormal readings, the "Extraplanar" section is lit up like a damn Christmas tree!
"Right, right, force is too dangerous. So how do we want to approach this then?"
"The diplomatic approach: Send a Frigate their way, have it drop into visual range and disable visual spectrum filtering. Open comms with them, identify ourselves and ask if they accepting visitors."
"Hmmm why approach in person, surely we can ask for a catalogue?
"Well: first it conceals our dealings from the rest of this universe as we can't exactly send encrypted comms to aliens, second it allows us to verify their claims with physical evidence, third I'm curious about them and their base."

"As this will be a diplomatic venture, I want you to spearhead our little shopping trip. If and when the all clear is given I want you and an escort to 'port onto the Frigate and board in person."
"That sounds awfully risky but curiousity has killed me before so whatever."
"Good, and remember that you will be representing the Dominion in an official capacity to a sapient alien polity for the first time since our formation. Please don't fuck this up."
With that, Bob got up and began a somewhat tentative walk to the nearest teleportation unit.

Just as Bob had finished his walk and gotten himself geared up, he received a notification that a reserve Frigate was already en-route to the Tower.
A mere few thousand kilometres from a certain reality defying Tower- less than point blank for the Dominion, a region of space briefly warped before giving way to a rather large and utilitarian looking wine red vessel.
With EMCF turned off in the visual spectrum, exposing the physical appearance of a Dominion vessel to this reality for the first time and weapons left on standby with targeting solutions calculated but not actioned, the vessel was in an uncharacteristically non-threatening posture.

With not a moment's pause it began broadcasting a message in every known language to the Dominion.
Greetings Guild. This is a vessel representing the Dominion of Mankind in an official capacity. We have received your message and have come to commence a diplomatic visitation. Requesting permission for our delegate and their entourage to board.

===

Earth: various locations

Seven drop pods screamed through the atmosphere, each one headed to a distinct continent.
Landing in quick succession, the pods met the ground with considerable force, their heavy frames leaving deep craters in the earth. The harsh impact would surely kill a normal human...
Yet from each, four modestly tall wine red humanoids filed out and immediately surveyed their surroundings, unsheathing their weapons in symphony.
"Alpha reporting in, landfall completed."
Chatter filled the minds of each soldier as the remaining squads acknowledged and echoed Alpha.

"Golf here, we appear to have dropped into a warzone. Old Earth database is telling me we are somewhere near Baghdad."
"Detecting synthetics in all directions, visual scan identifies them as possible Octavian bots. City shows extensive and recent signs of fighting. Wait... looks like some of the bots are approaching us, I repeat Octavians are approaching the drop site."
Stand your ground, wait for them to make the first move. Starting a firefight is ill-preferred.
The soldiers instantly assumed defensive stances, positioning themselves in such a way to slightly overlap their firing arcs. DSIs were powered on and brought to bear and had their dials cranked to medium gain.
"These bots don't look too damned friendly to me, be ready for a fight."

===

"This is Charlie, we are detecting multiple small scale nuclear detonations several dozen kilometres from our drop site."
It's unlikley but possible that our target would choose to hide in the middle of a warzone. The heightened sensor noise and chaos would hide his signature more effectively. Go and investigate, but don't get too close.
"Roger that."
With that, the four members of Charlie squad exploded into a full "sprint" towards Pyongyang, their beyond superhuman strength and the extreme mass of their suits making the "run" more of a series of consecutive single legged leaps forward, leaving sizeable craters with each reptition.

===

Other squads, turn on long range psychic sensors and get moving.
"There's a ton of strange readings! I think there's far more to this Earth than we first thought."

===

Back in the command unit, Keith rubbed his chin in contemplation...

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Tue Nov 10, 2020 10:55 pm

Flotilla Nine, Task Element Anna Karenina, Hadrian-class cruiser Northampton

The Hadrian-class cruiser is not a pretty sight.
Like all other combat ships of Flotilla Nine, the Hadrian-class was, at heart, a long metal tube, reminiscent of a late-20th century nuclear submarine, except upsized in photoshop. Few arms were apparent on the surface of the ship, save for a few point-defense weapons. Most of the heavy-hitters-the anti-ship missiles, the railguns, and so forth-usually were hidden, with their mounts folding into the hull itself when not in use. Many a pirate had been fooled by this simple trick, and many had paid with it for their lives.

The Hadrian, of course, was not the sole vessel in the flotilla. A smattering of escorts, transport ships, and a hospital ship made up the rest of the flotilla. A total of around 500,000 men, women, and children were crammed into the vessels; the sole remnant of the billions upon billions of their long-gone nation.

Now they plied their living by providing the sole thing they could give in any appreciable quantity- firepower. Flotilla Nine was a mercenary band, in a fashion, and it's typical duties were small-scale things; pirate and smuggler suppression, counterinsurgency, fire support. Due to an overly-restrictive and harsh contract with one of their former clients, however, the decision had been made to flee, and strike out to parts of space yet unknown, in hopes of finding more honest clients less prone to lawfare.

Now they had arrived to what was hoped to be nowhere, and the leaders of Flotilla Nine convened to discuss their next move.

Admiral Augusta Henrietta Lutzow chugged down the last of her coffee, and took attendance.

To her right was Lieutenant General Charles Westmoreland; as the commander of the ground elements of Flotilla Nine, he was, essentially, the other half of the Flotilla's business. Next was Chief Surgeon Dana Zielona; she controlled not only the hospital ship and medical care, but was also in charge of the small-but-growing population of urchins and orphans. Finally, just now coming through the door, was Alderman Novichak Bayerland, who represented the entire civilian and camp-follower population, save for the orphans.

"Right." Henrietta started, slamming down a sheaf of documents. "I'm sure we've all got shit to do. So I'll keep it short. I fucked up."
"Admiral-" replied Novichak. "What has occurred?"
"If comms and ELINT is correct...we've landed right in a warzone."
A stunned silence filled the room, with Westmoreland was the first to break it. "...alright, who we shootin' at?"
"I don't know." Augusta admitted. "I don't even know where the fuck we are. Dana; Novichak; how are our supplies?"
"We're starting to run low on just about everything." Zielona admitted. "I don't like it, but if we don't get a contract soon..."
"Same." Novichak added. "We're running low on water and food. More the latter; I'd give us no more than a year with rationing."

Augusta's heart sank. She did her best to avoid combat, but alas, it looked as though they had no other options. "Alright...I'll try to establish contact with the belligerents. Hopefully they'll need us for something...Westmoreland, are you ready to move if need be?"

The man nodded. "They've been getting antsy and tense in this ol' tin can anyway."
"Alright...that settles it. Adjourned."

With that, the four went their seperate ways.

Shortly after, most of the belligerents began to recieve unencrypted transmissions that seemed to be addressed to...anyone.

THIS IS THE CRUISER NORTHAMPTON OF FLOTILLA NINE BREAK WE ARE RUNNING LOW ON FOOD WATER MEDICAL SUPPLIES BREAK WILL PROVIDE COUNTERINSURGENCY, COUNTERPIRACY, FIRE SUPPORT, AND TROOPS IN EXCHANGE FOR SUPPLIES END

The Ascension of the Imperium IC (All Tech, TG for interest)

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