Cymopolia: New Beginnings [IC] [Apply First]

[Godular]

"Well!" Kaz'Ramael said, immediately directing his attention to the sensor readings. "I must say: That is a result."

The scout was relatively simplistic for its kind, specifically geared towards minimal emissions with maximum sensory capacity. Assigned to watch the system for whatever fallout might result from the ill-advised transmission from before, more specifically to gauge the capacities of the various foreign elements now present in the galaxy, it was granted something resembling a ringside seat to the impressive vanishing act that had just taken place.

Some of the other Avatars spoke up:

"It would seem that there are certain entities within this realm that are not particularly restrained."

"That looked like a spacefold, but no tachyon signature, no exotic particles at all! What do we know of that could cause that?"

"A psychoport? Maybe something similar? Whatever it was, it possessed uncommon magnitude."

"There is something familiar about this... oh, it's gonna bug me now."

Kaz'Ramael spoke again: "How precise are our sensor logs?"

"Immaculate, sir. We can see a couple bystander ships have been left behind. Big bastards, both of 'em."

"Keep an eye on 'em, see if they give us a glimpse of their capabilities. I need to get numbercrunchers on what happened here."

[Arkeyana]

ISO Liner
The Avatar processed the proceeding events, suddenly arranging its plates into what could be considered an offensive arrangement as sensor "errors" popped up and were dismissed, waiting for any signs of hostility. Once the storm receded, it lowered back into its typical configuration as functions returned to normal. Without turning to Stuhr, it's voice carried a tone of indignation as it spoke.

"Call it elderly intuition, but I believe that not only did the Interloper and our mutual interest make an arrangement, but our nations may be meeting sooner rather than later. Knowing the alliance." the Avatar spoke. "If you want specifics, an Alliance vessel named "Olive Branch Sword" will be diverted from it's current position. Antique vessel, owned by a different member. A retired warship, cruiser class, roughly four kilometers long. That's what my prediction algorithms state." The machine shifted slightly, ready to be escorted out.

Further out, in the now-void, the massive battleship stirred, blasting off its icy covering in a flash of green as it began advancing inwards towards the Liner, to decrease the travel time between its Avatar and the ship itself. Casting out idle scans, the leviathan vessel found signs of...something, although at the present moment it cared not what it was.

[The-International Space Organization]

---

ISO LINER 'TAX-DAY' - VOID-SPACE

---

There was an odd atmosphere rolling in. A sense of impending change, a sourceless, wholly non-physical pressure felt by practically every thinking being. Anything with ears would perhaps be able to register a faint crackle. Anything with hair may have had it stand on end - the effects really were quite varied. As the seconds ticked by, things began to get a little more substantial. Sensors would begin to malfunction - registering ships where there were none, or failing to pick up vessels and objects that were, in fact, right there. Pressure gradients in what should be vacuum, random spots of heat with no apparent source. Visual disruptions, too, had begun to crop up - sparking motes and twisting, wobbling regions of space. They manifested most frequently around the system's stellar bodies, alongside all Octarian vessels in the area - the ISO and Laniakian contingents seemed wholly unaffected. The sole exception was one very particular room aboard the ISO liner - within it, Rantar was beginning to look... a little indistinct. Hazy, perhaps.

It took only a few more minutes for the final stage of proceedings to set in - and do so it did, in a rather spectacular fashion. They came from the system's star - arcing lines of crackling white, springing out into a ring-like formation around the burning sphere. They branched, soon enough - the ring became two, then three, then twenty - a mesh of coils, winding around the orb and fanning out further still. Roots and branches, springing to envelop planet after planet, moon after moon. They wound their way around each and every Octarian ship with meticulous precision, enveloping them all in immobilizing cages of crackling light.

Last of all, there was the ISO liner. Within the meeting room, the air around Rantar had whipped itself into a frenzy - gusts of wind sent his clothing aflutter, and rattled the ventilation grates. Stuhr and the avatar were unaffected, for the crackling curtain of energy remained standing between them. And out of this air there stepped... a figure. Female, most certainly, and identical in proportions to the woman who had stood in the room minutes prior... and yet this was not that selfsame Twisse. Her hair, a billowing stormcloud. Her skin, a spiderweb of crackling plasma. Not eyes, but burning sockets of trans-stellar light, practically boring into Rantar with their radiance. A briefly-opened mouth showed teeth of jagged lightning, and her voice was thunder itself.

"Preparations are complete. Sorry to have kept you waiting. Now, shall we?"

The section of room beyond the barrier grew even less distinct, was filled rapidly with clouds of slate-grey... which gave way to an ever-brightening flash of light. A moment later, there was a rather unimpressive pop as the energy-barrier collapsed - of Rantar and Twisse, there was no trace. Which was, all things considered, a comparatively small worry, sidelined as it was by the disappearance of the entire system.

No star, no planets, no moons. No Octarian ships. Just the ISO and Laniakeans, drifting exactly where they'd been drifting prior, yet now suddenly finding themselves in de-facto deep space. And in the meeting room, nothing save the two representatives, and a lingering smell of ozone

The operating crew of the Liner, the moment the sensors had started freaking out, had rapidly fallen back on training over the panic that might be expected in such a scenario. Noting the discrepancies, and charting them all. Such phenomenon could be studied, after-all, and study often lead to a breakthrough in yet another area of science... Along with the highly amusing footage of TK'Rantar doing his best imitation of a red-screened data-core. That was one for the holo-vids.

It had only been when the system proceeded to vanish the slightest trickle of fear had crept down the spines of the ICN crew, freezing them in there place for a notable few seconds- Before they leapt back to action, someone remembering to flick the alert status from 'Yellow-1' to 'Yellow-2'...

---

ISO LINER 'TAX-DAY' - DIPLOMATIC ROOM

---

ISO Liner
The Avatar processed the proceeding events, suddenly arranging its plates into what could be considered an offensive arrangement, waiting for any signs of hostility. Once the storm receded, it lowered back into its typical configuration. Without turning to Stuhr, it's voice carried a tone of indignation as it spoke.

"Call it elderly intuition, but I believe that not only did the Interloper and our mutual interest make an arrangement, but our nations may be meeting sooner rather than later. Knowing the alliance." the Avatar spoke. "If you want specifics, an Alliance vessel named "Olive Branch Sword" will be diverted from it's current position. Antique vessel, owned by a different member. A retired warship, cruiser class, roughly four kilometers long. That's what my prediction algorithms state." The machine shifted slightly, ready to be escorted out.

Further out, in the now-void, the massive battleship stirred, blasting off its icy covering in a flash of green as it began advancing inwards towards the Liner, to decrease the travel time between its Avatar and the ship itself. Casting out idle scans, the leviathan vessel found signs of...something, although at the present moment it cared not what it was.

Stuhr simply nodded, seemingly entirely unperturbed by any of the events that just happened- Even as his PDA chimed, Stuhr reading over it than ignoring the remaining alerts. Brushing something off his shoulders, as he did so. "I shall pass the information along, to the relevant authority. I am wholly unsure if I will be there, or someone else shall be." He said, as he turned to leave, the door opening as two marines walked in. "They shall escort you to the air-lock. Farewell, 67-KG-EM." Stuhr then left the diplomatic room, leaving it in silence, expect for the two marines waiting to escort the Trifexian out.

---

ISO LINER 'TAX-DAY' - VOID-SPACE

---

"Well!" Kaz'Ramael said, immediately directing his attention to the sensor readings. "I must say: That is a result."

The scout was relatively simplistic for its kind, specifically geared towards minimal emissions with maximum sensory capacity. Assigned to watch the system for whatever fallout might result from the ill-advised transmission from before, more specifically to gauge the capacities of the various foreign elements now present in the galaxy, it was granted something resembling a ringside seat to the impressive vanishing act that had just taken place.

Some of the other Avatars spoke up:

"It would seem that there are certain entities within this realm that are not particularly restrained."

"That looked like a spacefold, but no tachyon signature, no exotic particles at all! What do we know of that could cause that?"

"A psychoport? Maybe something similar? Whatever it was, it possessed uncommon magnitude."

"There is something familiar about this... oh, it's gonna bug me now."

Kaz'Ramael spoke again: "How precise are our sensor logs?"

"Immaculate, sir. We can see a couple bystander ships have been left behind. Big bastards, both of 'em."

"Keep an eye on 'em, see if they give us a glimpse of their capabilities. I need to get numbercrunchers on what happened here."

The sensor officers, while pouring over data, noted a few unusual things- Even as they waited for Stuhr to return to the bridge, they noted an unusual mass-signature, which was logged, categorized, and shoved into the back of everyones mind as they focused on other things.

[Laiakia]

The Conglomerate craft slowed its speed significantly and slowly came to a halt near the larger ISO ship. The Laiakian shuttle activates its RCS thrusters and slowly pushed itself into position near the docking tube and attached itself. Diplomat Chuu Maa stood at the entrance of the airlock and awaited the arrival of the ISO representative.

[Godular]

"There is something to be said for the views one can encounter while planetside," Kaz'Ramael stated, looking out upon the city from the window of Thrush's office. He'd appeared there without a sound, not even a disturbance in the carpet at his feet, and even with her attempts to prepare herself mentally for his arrival she still jumped at his first words.

The other two men in her office were less graceful in their response to his arrival. Councilor Murkoph jumped straight out of his seat and nearly killed himself with an awkward landing behind her couch. Chief of Security Kraid charged the Godulan directly, only to faceplant into the window as his target turned to the side and walked towards Thrush, incidentally sidestepping the burly chief of security by the narrowest of margins and seeming not to have noticed the man at all. Ignoring the meaty thud behind him, the Godulan stepped up to Thrush's desk and took off his hat.

"Now that the sun is out and the sky is clear, the view is truly breathtaking. I do prize such experiences."

Thrush made no sign of noting the other men recovering as she handed a locally contructed datapad to the Godulan. He took hold of the pad, twitched his head to the side for a moment, then handed the pad back to her. "I see you accounted for all of our schematics! Very good! When you summoned me so swiftly back to your office, I admit I was under the impression that you had additional questions. I find your industriousness in this matter to be quite refreshing!"

"Is this him?" Councilor Murkoph said, having finally gotten himself in order after his cataclysmic flight over the back of the couch.

Thrush sighed and waved between the two men. "Kaz'Ramael, this is the honorable Councilor Murkoph."

"Ah, the head of defense!" Kaz'Ramael turned so quickly Murkoph jumped in surprise again as a hand was extended towards him. "I understand you have concerns about some of the resources we were going to be bringing into play?"

Thrush and Murkoph both were struck by Kaz'Ramael's response. "How..." the Councilor asked.

"Your proceedings are openly broadcast, and every cafe in the city is keeping an eye on these developments. You'll pardon me if I spent some time sampling local fare. Such opportunities seldom come to my kind."

"Put that way," Thrush replied, "I feel rather silly for being surprised by that."

"Not nearly as silly as Mr. Kraid must feel after that expertly executed but overly enthusiastic attempt at a tackle!"

"Okay, how do you know HIS name?" Thrush asked.

Kaz'Ramael shrugged, then threw a wallet on Thrush's desk. "He'll want that back when he regains consciousness."

Thrush closed her eyes, hand to her forehead. This guy's insufferable. "Look, Murkoph here wanted to know why there weren't any power stations in the listing of structures you were planning on setting up."

Kaz'Ramael's eyes brightened. "Ooh! That wasn't covered on the newsfeeds!"

Murkoph continued, brushing his jacket back into order: "All of those buildings require power to function."

"Aye, they do."

"But the sheer number of installations you are placing on our world would be far beyond our production capacity."

"That is important information! I shall keep it in mind for future reference!"

An eternity of moments passed in silence. Finally, Murkoph shook his head, as if bringing himself out of a daze.

"What... that's all you have to say?"

"Your power capacity is an crucial piece of information that is strategically important to be apprised of, for which I thank you. It is however not pertinent to the power requirements of our structures as such requirements do not exist. Our structures are self-contained and self-sufficient. There is no information about power linkages or power stations because there is no need for outside power supplies to allow our installations to have full functionality. I trust that allays your concerns?"

"But... how? There was nothing resembling an internal power source in any of the schematics!"

Kaz'Ramael waggled the fingers of his unoccupied hand, and gave the councilor an expression of wide-eyed wonder. "Maaaaagic."

Thrush was sitting down now. "So your buildings are powered by some kind of external source, and not by us."

The Godulan shifted again, looking at her now. "A reasonable conclusion. Did you have any other questions?"

"Your fabricators... can they get here earlier, if need be?"

"Aye, they can. We were just waiting for you to complete this list. Do you have the blood samples I requested?"

"We'll need a couple more days for that. We're still getting people out of the shelters, so things are still a little hectic."

"Then I shall modify the timetable accordingly, and hold you to that estimate."

"What do you even need the blood for?" Thrush asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I am a vampire." Kaz'Ramael grinned, and for just a moment, his canines seemed longer than they were before. "Alas, I forgot my can of glitter."

What does that even mean?

"I... don't know whether you're serious or not. Some of your movements are downright unnatural."

"Maybe I'm a ninja?"

"What's a ninja?"

"Somebody who talks funny and surprises people a lot."

Thrush thought for a moment. "That... yes. Definitely that."

Kaz'Ramael bowed. "Is there anything else you need? Any other concerns that I can be infuriatingly obtuse about?"

"No..." Thrush looked at the chief of security, who was finally starting to move again and make little groaning sounds. "I think that's about all..."

Kaz'Ramael vanished, without even a pop of displaced air.

"...we can stand. Kraid, get up and report to the infirmary."

---

Kaz'Ramael appeared on a cliff overlooking the ocean, specifically located so that he could watch the sunrise. He watched the event without blinking yet showing no sign of discomfort, a serene smile on his face. Another Godulan appeared behind him, a woman of unearthly beauty in a form-fitting skinsuit and a sarong. She looked out at the ocean as well, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You should not toy with them so. We are here to help them, not turn everything into a power play."

Kaz'Ramael took in a breath and sighed, a conscious effort given their lack of a need for air. "Old habits, I suppose. It is good to see you in person again, my dear."

"It is good to see you as well, Naberius. Old habits indeed."

"Naberius is only a part of us now. The additional minds warranted a new name."

"Do you mind if I still call you the same?"

"Dearest Nereid, it pleases me to please you. Let us enjoy this sunrise together, for it has been so long since our last. Then we shall get to work."

---

One moment, there was nothing. The next moment, there was something.

All throughout the galaxy, in thousands of locations somewhere within the span between the stars, strange objects appeared. Black cylinders a kilometer long and a hundred meters wide, enormously dense but demonstrating no mass signature whatsoever, they drifted in the darkness. The appeared where they did without any outward sign of their arrival. No burst of light announced their presence, no tachyons fluttered in the spectral wind of disrupted physics.

In unison, these objects emitted a strange warbling pulse of... disruption. Space-time itself shuddered like ripples on water, traveling out into the surroundings instantaneously, and echoing back just as swiftly. Though a ripple in the very fabric of reality, this had no undesired effect on any creatures or devices it came across, and would be virtually impossible to detect by all but the most sensitive of specialized sensors. It was however sufficient for these devices to get a clear picture of the entire galaxy.

Including a curious concentration of forces at a system that stellar cartographic references identified as 'Diligence'.

---

Almost immediately, a ship appeared on the outskirts of that system. A small vessel, compared to the monsters seen trotting about. A matte-black obelisk. It simply appeared as if it were always there, and remained in that position.

Saying nothing.

[Eidolan Assembly and Titanomachina]

Act Zero: The Renewal of Prosperity, Reestablishment of Security, and Revival of the Nativity.

"Scene 1"
Sealed in a pocket dimension, unknown date, unknown time

"Long far beyond the past of Cymopolia, before the war that changed the galaxy for the worse... there was prosperity. Civilizations thrived, empires lasted, and under a watchful eye, it all came into a beautiful, collage of societies underneath one singular little speck in the universal canvas that encompasses everything and more that most cannot comprehend. And long before that, well, history needs to have accidents before things come to fruition. A maddening cycle, wherein a thin needle needs to meet a nice, fine point onto the scale it's connected to. However, of course, as we all know by now, that needle will never meet the point. By what was told by the Homunculi, his own father saw the collapse of society with him and his creation left to make anew. Then, came us to purify and solve the problems that plagued our galaxy and which would have spanned across the universe if it were not for our own conception. We sought to make sure of what had come next after us, was to continue on without the sins of our ancestor to plague them as they did for himself. We made sure that our weapon against them was also their enforcer, to be forever loyal and to ensure that the galaxy was to be theirs, and theirs only. And when we left on our own volition, it seemed everything was to be better then it ever would be. The needle would meet its spot..."

"...Of course, dear sister. We all know the story of Cymopolia: We basically shaped it to how it is now. You don't need to tell us the tale over and over again, whenever you update us on the galactic situation. If it weren't for our little vacation, I could take a look at it and see it for myself."

Sat between an ornate, and quite quaint dining room table, was a small grouping of four people: all clad in blue, whether they had dresses, suits, hats, or whatever else they could accompany onto their humanoid bodies, all with matching platinum-esque shades of hair. Some nearing a gold, and some almost white, and some just simply white: that being of the oldest of them all there, the so called Homunculi: his body was oddly shaped, disproportionate to the others in form, with the narrow chest and angledness of his torso, compared to the overly long and further lanky, nearly skeletal appendages, both crossed together over one another: he still was as humanoid in appearance as the others, though seemed so more unrealistically matched that he could pass as a foreigner between them all. Contrastingly, it also would come to that he was the only one not dressed in a flamboyant shade of blue, rather seeming to appear as if he was ready to mourn in his black attire, a form fitting suit that truly looks as if, pun notwithstanding, he was conducting the ceremony that seemed to be in place at the table. Wherein, no doors laid between what seemed to be no walls at all: a blue void for the four to talk and sit in their own comfort.

"No matter to fuss, dear sister. She was coming to the point, I believe. This is usually where the story turns and then she gets to the current status." The one man of the triplets spoke up in defense of the other sibling who had been more then rudely interrupted in the middle of the tale long told. It's always been a joy for him to hear about what's happened as of late in their homeland. "My, it's almost been... a near few hundred years since we last heard! What could it be this time?"

"Hmph. More rotting cities? Another few dozen extinct species to list off? Understand me, Marjorie, that the time we return to see to Cymopolia's revival should be now, at this moment! We've gone too anxious at this point, and I know it's not just me realizing that! Forget the waiting finally, please?" Her impatience had grown thicker then the void's miasma of lavender, a preferred scent of the older sibling: one that she as the creator of the "ceremonial closet" adores, while the two with her had... tolerated. The Homunculi merely enjoys the thought that her creation had put, but speaks no word positive or negative on the matters: he only listens throughout the meetings.

"Fine now, fine. If that's exactly what you wish to hear, Lizbeth... then I'll come to the point." She humbly directs herself to the end of the update, to the surprise of the miss. Usually, she left some snark to blister her before merely going on with her chronological recounting, but right to the update? Then... something really had happened!

"...Cymopolia has been... compromised, to say the least." Marjorie somewhat states that fact out in a bit of a confusion to even herself. She never expected to even speak those words aloud, considering their influence in the galaxy at a time was worldbending, to the point where the borders were outright theirs to be determined. Now, it was a wasteland for anyone to make as they please, whether they're from Cymopolia or between light years to entire dimensions away. The two siblings looked on in utter astonishment as they heard the news: their home had been ripped from under their feet, without *their* permission? That's not right at all in their eyes! At this rate, the brother took up to forming an antique of a communication device to inform some others about the news given to them! "Thelonius! This is a private matter, what in Philemon are you doing with that?" She stopped her prattling, as the brother moved the receiver away from his mouth, covering it!

"I'm sorry, but Marjorie... you can't be telling me that we're going to keep quiet on the matter! I'm pained to even announce it, but... Lizbeth has a point! We need to inform the others, we need to reactivate them all! You musn't keep this shut... we're getting homesick. We want to go back... and we want to ensure the matters are settled..." Thelonius seemed to grow somber at the realization. It seemed as if even he's cracked to the isolation, the same that his brothers and sisters had begun to get agitated about. And that... that pulled the last string of Marjorie's thinly veiled secret.

"Thelonius... I'm sorry. Go on with the call. It's... well, it really is an urgent matter." She wondered if to even tell them of why she really wanted to meet with them, especially with the fact that with the knowledge she has of what she was to inform them of, it'd set their path in stone. It'd set them straight for war against anyone in their way, and set straight to either destroying their home for good, or starting the renewal of the galaxy... possibly even the universe. What weighed on her shoulders was the weight to crush and compress her into a paste of whatever eldritch components were inside her, be it if there were anything. Thus... it's a weight she can't hold for any longer. She needs to inform them.

"...Magatsu escaped from my containment. I..."

As she tried to go on, the disrupting murmurs of concern and surprise erupted about the room, as it seems that the privacy was destroyed in one fell swoop as she stated the forsaken name. The void had shattered, leaving the table to be rubberized and elongated in front of them, as the room they were in, a grand banquet hall of their family, had been swarmed with their family members. From children who were created during the war against this being to serve and fight against them, and their closer aged siblings, who varied in appearance body type, age and gender, as well as a various amount of flamboyant differences, it led to her looking on as her already pallid skin begun to almost glow a new shade of white. However, as a few seconds passed, she raised her hands as a tome began to form, surrounded in ancient ciphers and patterns which unbounded and freed the book into her hands, as she opened it and readied a quill. Taking a moment, she went on ahead and pinned a spot on the page, marked with the words "Return by:", and with a quick swipe of her hand right, it almost tore the page asunder. But rather, it left a white dash over the words. As she dispelled the existence of the quill which just came, she placed her free hand atop the words, and then inched the digits of her fingers on up the page. Grabbing the top of the fibers, she pinched on, and tore it down! As she did, the tome spurned away back into the runes it was sealed under, as she took a metaphorical breath, and turned the page toward the crowd.

With that, the Homunculi calmly uncrossed his hands, and vanished.

"Scene 2"
Across Cymopolia, exact present date and time

As the events across the galaxy encompass discussions and debates, comms and contacts, and between one another from personal to extra-dimensional, there began to arise an ominous force that felt to be always lingering across the galaxy: yet, it was never til now that it would begin to spark alive not in just the mental state... but physically as well.

Suddenly, all at the exact same instant in time, entities that were never there on any chart or detection system, nor more metaphorically in anyone's mind for the last few hundred years, had arrived en masse. Noticing their arrival was more then expected: as soon as they arrived, every single instrument in the galaxy, no matter what it was, would suddenly go haywire: any attempt to lessen or stop the matter would be useless for around what chronologically would be 5 minutes, before everything would normalized. Dotting all across areas from between the unclaimed sectors of the galaxy, to the bombed out wastelands of space, all the way to their former Reverent allies space, would lay scattered 50 different entities.

Especially one notable one... right outside of Dilligence. A colossal entity would appear from almost nothing in an almost empty void, its appearance seeming to generate itself as a mass of non-euclidian, shifting and altering geometry that seemed almost incomprehensible, and especially impossible to be structurally sound, with its consistent and erratic movement as if whatever these colossal machines were was alive and breathing. And indeed so, unbeknownst to the ones abound the system, the silent lumbering behemoths that had arrived weren't just "alive": they were teeming with it. It gave off no gravitational pull, especially for its size that would most likely dwarf any sort of other mass in the system.

After the sudden disruption had ended, the calm, but demanding voice of Marjorie would rise among all sorts of communication methods, leaving no image to any sort of visual communication. With a throat clearing that wasn't for her own sake, seeing as nothing was stopping her from speaking anyway, but as a matter of getting all attention possible.

"Attention, all residents and foreign entities of Cymopolia: You have come here for your own reasons, as we have come back for our own. As you have seen, we've come and made our re-entry as neatly as possible. The entities that you have found, have been there for years, almost as long as these empires that last stood here were. You have come into conflict with the order and balance of Cymopolia: and we, have come to restore it to as it was. With your help and possibly without your intrusion, we have a few matters that must be addressed. Do not be alarmed: for this is a matter of galactic diplomacy. We welcome you, and at the same time, hope you may consider your options. If you wish to consult with one of us... merely ask: and then after that, we shall see if you are worthy to aid within our matters. For the time being, however... I bid you farewell."

And as quick as she came, everything was back to normal. The eerie feeling that she was still there, however, lingers on across the entire galaxy. And she wasn't alone at all, given the new presence across it.

[Arkeyana]

Across the Galaxy, post-Blackout Event
Something had happened. All of a sudden, every sensor, every ship, every comms link across the galaxy went haywire. When the disruption subsided, the cause, or causes, was pinpointed: Vast vessels appearing across the galaxy, broadcasting a message, and disappearing.

This. Was worrying.

There was an influx of ships from Alliance Space, the previously ordered withdrawal of Gladian Vessels was revoked, and one would see the Shadowy, angular forms of Voidwalker warships moving amongst the newcomers, a sure sign of urgency. Yet, another arrival would appear...although not a visible one. A vast...presence flowed from the portal, extending outwards towards the three orbitals like grasping appendages. It slid into computers silently, under the cloak of continuous data files and reports from outlying constructs regarding the disruption. It went further, extending outwards to the vast outlying defense platforms, maintaining eternal vigil over the blackness of the Void and entering the computer systems there.

For now, the Presence waited, seeing what was to become of the Galaxy after these arrivals.

Oxia Orbital, Terminus System
A figure departed from a sleek, black shuttle, bidding farewell to an unseen occupant before the craft lifted off and...disappeared. Moving fluidly amongst the crowd of other new personnel, they were wearing a black robe, with the subtle hints of a built-in armor underneath. Entering a Quick-Travel Booth, they were displaced from the throng and across the Orbital, ending up in Oxia's Military Command Center.

The alien's bizarre visage was detected immediately by the security systems, with the appropriate authorization levels assigned to their genetic print, and a voice speaking:
"Welcome, Admiral Y'da Xarro. Your office is this way."
Following an unseen director, the Voidwalker Admiral flowed down a cold corridor, heading for the room that would become his living space for the duration of his stay in Cymopolia.

Elsewhere, a vast vessel descended into a dry-dock, the roof overhead manifesting in a wave of silver as the black spacecraft came to rest on several supports, technician drones leaving their dens and swarming it to ascertain any potential issues. The Dockmaster added the craft's name and registration to Oxia's traffic control:
[VOIDWALKER/NIGHTWING/ VENERABLE TIDE]

---

Linnaeris
The Trifexians had, fortunately, been clear of the disruption caused by the bizarre vessels in Cymopolia, and had recorded the sensor data from the event. This somewhat hastened the construction of the Phase Gate, as well as a transmission being directed towards the location of the "nearest" vessel:

Trifexian Constructor Fleet XK-VI=======[UNKNOWN ENTITIES]
The Laniakean Alliance would like to request a meeting with one of your vessels, namely in the interests of learning who you are and if our operations interfere with what you call the order and balance.

[The-International Space Organization]

---

ISO SYSTEM G-01 'CYM'

---

Five minutes.Five minutes that had thrown the ISO into chaos- Sensors being disabled, communication arrays having to fall back onto the oldest style possible- Simple laser beams transmitting on a LOS method, blinking morse code into receivers which hadn't had to register it in centuries. Operations grinding to a halt, as their communications were blanked, and sensors rendered useless.

When they had come back online, the Station House had instantly noticed the rather large ships- And the message that came with it. But that message had simply been shoved into the back-log of rapidly multiplying issues.

And then the station had detonated into a second chaotic span- But this one lasted for hours, instead of minutes. Communications flying furiously- Demands, orders, requests, and everything inbetween. All this had only worsened when the rumors came down from the fleet anchorages back home that the ICN had gone full panic mode- The entire 8th Expeditionary fleet, according to rumors, had been mobilized- The full force of over a hundred million warships. And then it had gotten worse when the rumors started the Imperial himself had countermanded those orders- And taken the entire fleet command into a session which had lasted hours before any solid news had come through, and a decision was confirmed.

Five Armanda Elements, of the the 8th Expeditionary Fleet, would be coming to bolster the defenses. 50,000 WarShips- And they'd be bringing an entire logistical core with them. G-01 would be turned into a fortress- And a capital. With the fleet would be arriving Cluster Commander Vakko Vtk, chosen specifically by the Imperial to guide this cluster, if the rumors and information surrounding him were correct.

But, well, with how much the entire grouping had been thrown into chaos- According to some rumors, the Ervans had been ready to drop a full Armada into the galaxy- But nobody believe that. But, well... Who knew what was truly correct...?

---

ISO SYSTEM G-01 'CYM' - ASTERIOD JK-8477-5488

---

Asteriod 8477 had been chosen by the already on station ICN detachment for special conversion- Marked off limits for the mining ships which were swarming the areas around it. ICN construction vessels now being brought up, along with a L1N tugging a cargo module into place- But not a conventional module, no.

It was a heavy sensor pod- Along with the required power facilities. When dug into the asteroid, it'd give the ISO range across close to a thousand lightyears in any direction- A repeat of today couldn't be allowed to happen without some kind of backup. Some kind of way to know what might be approaching. Other asteroids in the belt were also being outfitted with FTL Inhibitors- Alinging their own arrays towards the edge of the system, creating a wall for anything approaching that wasn't using a Station-House. Defensive platforms- More AOPs, ontop of the already promised ones. Defensive squadrons of GBFs, ATIGs, L1N patrol boats, and their own supporting defensive networks.

G-01 would be turned into a frontline fortress- And given a proper name, once the cluster capital had been properly founded, and wasn't just a single city, housing a few billion inhabitants...

---

ISO SYSTEM G-01 'CYM' - ICN 'BullFrog' - Command Center

---

The ship had finally completed it's transition- Having been held up by gathering the fleet that high-command was insisting went alone.

Vakko sighed as he looked at a sensor window, which gave him a view of the system he had to turn into a cluster- Lacking defenses, escorts, and only a few thousand ships... He'd gone to fight entire privateering armadas with more- This almost nothing... But he'd had to make do. He nodded to himself. The extra 50 thousand ships should help- Plus all the logistical ships. He sighed again, his translator- A Vulkis who went by Blatok, gave him a look.

Vakko waved him off with a gesture of his hand. "I fine." He simply said, as Blatok sighed. "Job to do. I voice concerns later."

"Yes..." Blatok said. "Aren't we do to have a meeting with some aliens, after this?" He asked Vakko, who activated his implants. Searching through his files.

"Dah... I think is... Alliance." Vakko said, as Blatok noted that.

"I believe so. Do you have a delegation in mind? I can get it organized ahead of time."

"Dah." Vakko answered, rubbing his throat as he dropped into Nie Sibue. Blatok taking notes, as the two discussed the general plan for the system... And then, slowly, moving onto their plans for the cluster at large. Making a checklist of those they already knew, and those they'd heard of, but didn't know... All this done while waiting for the Super-Rhino to dock, and the vast fleets following behind it to disperse. After-all. There were plans to make. New alliances to be made. New variables to be accounted for... And maybe, a new foe to stand against.

But as long as it wasn't a second Andromeda, the ISO would be fine.

---

ISO SYSTEM G-01 'CYM' - EUGN ACPF477 - COMMAND DECK

---

Unitary... Unitary wasn't at all sure of what was ahead. When Zkto' had asked him, personally, to lead an Ervan group to the frontier- To take a single patrol unit, which they both know the power of- Would have been a political suicide for anyone but Unitary. Someone who ranked highly in the ISO, the ICN, the INSO, the EUG- And nearly every other military organization within the Milky Way.

He had accepted Zkto's offer, and rushed to put together a crew- Taking the 477, his personal warship, out of its mothball status, and then making sure it's systems were all working. It had been an interested six hours- Where he had waited with baited breath on every word from the ICN Command Structure- Before he had gotten word. And then he'd rushed his small ship, the 98 meter long and aging 'Asteriod Patrol Frigate', up to Finity's End-And then onwards, to the new frontier.

And now they were here- Sliding through the chaotic web of arriving ships. Darting around Super-Rhinos, as they set course for the distant planet. Unitary had to meet Vakko, after-all, and begin coordinating the efforts in this new galaxy...

[Kasa Tkoth Sphere]

Locations Not Worth Specifying

Holder of Dreams burned through every safe solution it could come up within the first few milliseconds of noticing that every K-Sphere vessel active within Cymopolia's perimeter — including, worryingly, the nominally-outside-the-perimeter FTS Heard it From the Heroes — had been affected by an ECM weapon of unparalleled strength.

It then tried about half of the unsafe ones, the ones deemed sufficiently unlikely to damage the spacecrafts' computer systems beyond a moment's repair, to an equal lack of results.

It ordered ECCM devices dotting their hulls to fire off in steps, stacking every pair of techniques, every trio, every set of four, cycling through every combination that might finally resist the unending scream. It checked safe sensor data from the Milky Way against what it was receiving from Cymopolia and tried half a million different noise-reduction and interpolation algorithms. In the span of three seconds, it invented and wrote an entirely new operating system from the ground up, baroquified to the point where no single viral attack would crack into sensor data, and rebooted the core computers on all the Cymopolian K-Sphere spacecraft entirely. It then watched helplessly as nothing useful happened whatsoever.

With Five Brilliant Walls monitoring digital security now screaming in abstracted pain, the Freed watching all this unfold with horror over the course of what was, to them, almost three thousand years, and the spaceborne processors off in Cymopolia totally overloading, it had no choice but to shut down the intergalactic tachyonic communication links and wait it out. When everything had settled down, and everyone was thinking rationally again, it made a few decisions.

In complex phase space, the realm where mathematics overlaid reality and descriptions overcame facts, signs on higher-order terms suddenly swapped, and coefficients burned through ten orders of magnitude difference before locking themselves down on a new set of parameters. The imaginary paths they described — those currently being followed by a wave of K-Sphere spacecraft streaking into Cymopolia — stuttered and wriggled around, eventually bending themselves into loops and pointing back the way the vehicles had come.

There would be no second wave; there would be no attempt to intercept anything from whatever entities had made themselves known just now. If things escalated any farther, the first wave would vanish quite quickly as well.

---

Uchro 31 G

Like a person opening their crusty, blurry eyes after an uncomfortable rest, Eastlander slowly realigned its detectors, set up all of its internal computing infrastructure, and only then attempted to send any messages.

I deeply apologize for any lost time during this preceding incident.

You will likely be aware that things are in motion as we speak, and the K-Sphere is taking precautions that do not compromise well with our given values. Since this galaxy has now been shown to be under the domain of beings intending to "balance" it, I cannot imagine operations will be preceding as originally intended.

It is imperative that we complete any remaining data trades or agreements now; there should be no need to stay around long enough to involve them in our business.

Fenestrane willing, Eastlander would attempt to pick up where the two vessels had left off, finishing the exchange of phase-space maps for information on galactic populations. Had there been something more Hatlen had wanted to ask the K-Sphere, or to probe them for, now would likely have been the time; Holder of Dreams sounded impatiently worried enough.

---

K-Sphere Emulated Environments

Konu Tan plopped himself into his seat with a grunt and threw on his headset. "...Aaaaaand we're back," he said with relief, watching his monitors boot up and show the K-Sphere insignia in glorious pixelated low-resolution. The whine of the fans, the terrible lighting, even the dust... it'd been three thousand years since he'd been in here, and man, was he feeling nostalgic. The rodent-like humanoid quickly flipped through some menus before settling down further and watching the screens switch to a live feed of FCR Ascribe It Not To A Demon and its interaction with the massive, glitchy outline of Nidavellir Orbital.

"Gotta admit, I needed the break." His friend Horigrad clacked away at the keyboard while he spoke, no doubt issuing some command to the terminal to get him some specific bit of information.

"Oh, I get that."

They both knew perfectly well that they could have loaded data from a day or a hundred years ago, or picked some different K-Sphere ships doing something else, or done pretty much anything else to keep them in the place they enjoyed, a reimagining of the gaming center they shared before uploading. But most of the Freed, after all, liked to switch things up every once in a while. The electronic attack off wherever "Cymopolia" was had simply provided them a convenient excuse for an extended break.

But now they were back with the action.

---

FCR Little Chompy Thing had been playing a rhyming game with Negative Two while sitting on the floor until their "parent", FCM Toy Fighter, Gently Used, clapped twice to get their attention.

"Hey! High alert here, okay? I get it's been a while, and we all needed to recombobulate a little." The humanized warship crossed her arms and looked at Taizz-Ca with a half-false expression of 'can you believe they're getting distracted like this?', prompting the man to chuckle. "Still. Get your act together, everyone," she decided on saying after a moment.

"I guess we're just back to watching that dead carrier, are we?" he asked her. The carrier in question was an outline of a person painted onto the surface of the giant marble circle they were all standing on. With a tap — a feature he'd implemented in this emvi he loved so much — he could reframe the entire setting, put them onto a battlefield if war broke out or around a conference table if they had to make first contact.

"That's our job. Hod's expecting something to happen to it. You know him and his... predictions." Toy Fighter, Gently Used rolled her eyes. "Hey! Grin And. Stop hitting your brother. Pull yourself together, come on."

[Laiakia]

Laiakian Fleet

Aboard every ship, crew members scrambled into their assigned places. Everything had gone into a complete lockdown as every single system shut down. The five minutes it lasted was considered by the crews to be five minutes of hell, as no one knew what was going on. There were rumors being spread by the crew. Were they under attack? Was this sabotage? When the power was restored, the Fleet Commander requested a status report as all weapons systems began powering up and every ship activating their highest security protocol.

The entire fleet was in disarray as thrusters and stabilizers had been turned off and ships had already began colliding with eachother. Emergency alarms began firing from the colliding ships though some managed to evade and reposition themselfes. There were, obviously, casualties. Flight crews and engineers had been crushed by bombers and fighters when their magnetic locks had deactivated. The USSLS Wyvern quickly sent out a request for a status report and ordered that all high ranking officers and captains were to be transported to the Wyvern for an emergency meeting. The diplomat sent to the ISO was to continue with the dipomatic effort, but remain wary.

USSLS Wyvern Conferance Room

80 high ranking officers and captains sat within the huge meeting room. They were discussing the current situation and were questioning wether it was intended as hostile. The conferance would surely address their questions, but most of the captains were not worried. The people were silenced as Fleet Commander Trion stepped up onto a podium with a microphone.

"Greetings, fellow comrades and captains. This has truly been a hectic hour.." The crowd remained silent as they watched the Fleet Commander. "The fleet was struck by what we can only guess was a massive electromagnetic weapon. We can only guess it's true puropse. We can only suggest that you inform your crews and be ready incase anything follows. That is all."

With that, the Fleet Commander stepped off the podium and left the room. The officers and captains began talking amongst themselfs as they digested what had been said.

[Pax Cybertronian]

This post has been made with help from Arkeyana, Cruciland and The Auraverse (i.e. Yegla Islands/Eisenstern).

---

The Decepticons continued to comb through the Lasolac.

By this point, the alien’s corpse had been relocated to the main Decepticon fleet. She was concerned that there was nothing salvageable considering that it had been in the void of space for what appeared to be years; however, there may have been something they could use to get something noteworthy out of the corpse. If they could clone the corpse, maybe they could use it to disturb the Reclaimers or the Autobots and weaken them?

By this point, the lieutenant finally made a deduction about the ship itself. “It’s a command ship. There’s damaged habitation pods here.”

“Should we alert the New Circle of our find?”

“Why? It’s just some stupid scrapheap!” the lieutenant snapped back. “I’m just going to go through this on our own initiative and report back to Scorponok, not some organic from... shit, I don’t even know the NC’s capital…”

“Yeah, but…” he stopped for a few seconds, considering his words. “At the same time, we could use this command ship to improve relations with the New Circle. I don’t really care about them, but it could be beneficial to us until our foothold expands and they’re no longer of any use to us.”

“We’ll see if those Reclaimer fleshbags do anything,” she responded. “Then, we’ll nudge Krusskena and point him here. Might as well spark a war while we get this.”

“Right,” he responded. “Coldbreath. How much do we need from this, again?”

“Whatever we can find. To be honest, not sure how much of a damn I give about the ship itself; if we can find some blueprints for the ship somewhere[i] it’ll be less of a hassle for us,” she responded. She lifted up some rubble and found the entrance to what appeared to be a …

In the edge of the Sescho system, a probe crept through the planets and conducted a more in-depth long-range scan of the system. Most of the planets didn’t appear to be currently habitable, though some boasted the potential to be habited. One planet in particular was inhabited by some lifeforms, though it couldn’t deduct the race in particular – yet, at least. It was about to return to its home when it detected a cluster of mechanical lifeforms situated around a massive command centre.

Strange sight. Well, unusual would be the better word. It returned its findings to its creators.

As he tapped into the terminal, the stout bluish alien rubbed his eyes. It had been quite a long time since he had been at the [i]Levia, his new home after the Final Conflict ruined his home world; for that, he blamed the New Circle (more so his predecessor, but the New Circle’s insistence on restoring the Grand Circle grated on his nerves).

“Uh… commander?” he asked. “We’ve found some damaged command centre in the system. Not sure where it’s from, though.”

“Did you spot anyone around it?” the commander asked, his head leaning gently onto his arm.

“A crew of robots. Don’t think they’re indigenous to the system, either. Should I prod them?”

He hesitated for a second. “Sure. Be prepared for a fight, though. Do a scan of the command centre as well. If we can salvage it, we can make a new home for ourselves.”

The battleship – the Wraith of Telenah – was relatively slapdash in nature though nonetheless an effective vessel. While not sleek, its commander still believed that she didn’t need to follow a strict blueprint like some of the other vessels did. While not the most powerful battleship, he felt it got the job done, and that, regarding Sescho, securing the command ship if these lifeforms became hostile shouldn’t seem like too much of an issue. He cracked his neck and began to communicate with these lifeforms.

“Please identify yourselves.” “This is the RCN Wraith of Telenah, one of the Grand Reclaimer Fleet. We’re here to… investigate the system.” It was evident the alien didn’t want to give too much away to this robot he didn’t recognise.

“Reclaimers?” The Decepticon sighed. “Alright, I’ll notice them…” She waited a second to respond, tapping into the channel. “I am Lieutenant Coldbreath, a soldier of the mighty Decepticon Empire.” She pointed to the command centre behind her. “We’ll take what we need from this and then we’ll be off. Now. You’re in what’ll soon be part of the Decepticon Foothold. I’ll be nice and give you a bit longer here.”

The commander ordered a deeper scan of the vessel… unreal. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “It can’t be. Is that… the Lasolac?”

Murmurs arose around the ship. Its crewmembers posited numerous questions: how did it end up in this system? How did it survive what seemed like total annihilation? How did it manage to warp here? Nonetheless, it appeared that

“I’ll take over, Zelpnis.” He cleared his throat and spoke to the Decepticons. “Actually… you’ve got what used to be our property,” the commander said. “We’ll be taking this for ourselves.”

“Right,” Coldbreath said. She swapped to a channel linking her to the Semper Tyrannis. “Send backup. Shouldn’t be a big problem considering they’ve not recovered from the war yet, I think.” She swapped back to the Wraith of Telvah’s channel. “You know… if you asked someone else? You might’ve got it. But with us? I don’t think so. This is ours, not yours.”

---

The Semper Tyrannis, flagship of Scorponok’s fleet in Cymopolia, slowly surfed throughout space. While relatively old (and outdated according to high command) by now, it was still nonetheless a reliable battleship, and one that would hopefully continue to serve Scorponok for more decades to come. He was hesitant to replace the vessel; by now he had become and he preferred to not waste resources on the construction of a newer spacecraft for him – whether that would be a gargantuan dreadnaught or a command ship stationed in harsher skirmishes in other galaxies. He also knew that his soldiers seemed to greatly respect it and grew some form attachment to it; they saw it as a symbol of resistance against the Intergalactic Council. It seemed to instil respect in them as well as hope for survival. However, if it came to down to it – if it was irreparably destroyed or crippled beyond repair, it would probably an inevitably and necessary evil.

Just then, one of the Decepticons outposted to the Bombed Wastes sent over a message from someone called “TK’Rantar”. He appeared to be… not very smart, considering the lack of encryption apparent.

“Message from the… Octavian Imperium, whoever the hell they are,” a communications officer said. “One of our Decepticons stationed in the Bombed Wastes relayed it to us. Want me to hear it, sir?”

“Activate it now, yes.”

Message from the Octavian Imperium
Hello, neighbouring star nations, I am TK´Rantar and as you could determine from the last transmission it wasn´t encrypted. If you would I would like to request a favour. Instead of finding our colony, you stop a few systems away and when the naval contingent that has been sent to this area pretend as if you had no idea that the colony existed or even the message was sent. I understand why you would be unable to trust me, but as a result of that unencrypted message, I am at a significant risk of being executed or even worse, a punishment shell. Any demands of payment will be delivered to the best of my ability, whether it be financial or something more political. I beg of anything hearing this to show some modicum of mercy to this poor civil servant. The detachment should arrive in a month. Please consider my plea, thank you.

“Should we respond?” a Decepticon asked.

“Might as well,” he said. He then proceeded to tap into the console nearby, then proceeding to log into a channel. The transmission began.

Code: Select all

”This is the Decepticon Empire. We’ve received your message and we wish contact you personally further. We will follow what you’ve said, and we’ll arrive. We shall further there and then. It has been some time, however this is an opportunity for the both of us.”

The message was sent and the Decepticon in question turned to face Mindstorm, liaison with the Crucilandian sub-fleet stationed in Cymopolia, who appeared to be deep in thought at the moment…

Edge of the Contested Zone, Diligence System
Although silent and unmoving for now, the Crucilandian Sub-Fleet and its detachments were very much aware of the activities occurring around them- both in the system and the galaxy at large. As such, it was elementary for them to detect the opening of portals by other factions, including the Trifexians and the mobile habitat "Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained." Remembering their agreement, the Tat-Netzer commanding the Sub-Fleet turned one of his myriad parallel processes away from the theatre of war, and focused its attention on the Decepticon which had been collaborating with him. Thousands upon thousands of light-years away, Mindstorm could feel the foreign presence of the Crucilandian's mind, extending a sort of mental salutation as it momentarily docked into his subconscious. And with that, their scheming began again...

Code: Select all

"Mindstorm. We have detected a distortion in the fabric of space; the LAMH 'Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained' has been ejected from its extradimensional refuge. It is currently heading towards the star cluster where the Laniakeans' base of operations had previously been triangulated."

"Interesting," Mindstorm responded. "I believe Scorponok has summoned people for a meeting. I can see if you want to get involved, if you wish."

Code: Select all

"That will suffice. We may discuss our next move from there, including what to do with the NVNG while it remains in Realspace."

"Excellent. I will notify Scorponok promptly. By the way, the Guild - another ally of ours - may be involved as well; maybe another one or two groups but we're not sure about that yet."

Code: Select all

"Very well. I will project myself into the meeting chamber once we convene."

"Alright, thank you."

Mindstorm then stretched, turning off the channel with the Crucilandians, and then connected it to the Tower.

"Wonder what ritual I'll have to conduct," he joked. "Maybe I should put metal and money in a pentagram and chant?"

A response came nigh-immediately - it seemed as though his call had been accepted. The responding voice appeared to be rather impassive, its gender impossible to gauge.

"No ritual will be needed. May I suggest instead the disengaging of your comms array's passive listen functionality? While the Guild appreciates easier informational access, the potential for a data breach remains considerable. In any case - what is it that you require?"

Mindstorm was slightly perturbed. Had one of the Decepticons accidentally engaged on the passive listen functionality? He'd probably need to thrash some heads later, but that could wait. For now, he'd have to contend with the Guild. Hopefully, the Autobots hadn't listened in to them...

"We are interested in, ah... capturing a vessel, as well as, I anticipate, capturing further information. I don't know when this will occur, but definitely sometime in the future. Yes, we'll pay."

The voice responded, again without notable emotion.

"Your interest has been noted. Please specify the metrics, affiliation and predicted location of the vessel you wish for assistance with, as well as the exact degree of assistance required. A blueprint or sensor log would be welcome. Payment may be discussed once the operation metrics have been outlined."

Mindstorm hesitated for a few seconds, collecting his thoughts. "The vessel in question is affiliated with the Laniakean Alliance. It's a planet-sized Traveller-class habitat. Its presumed coordinates will be sent to you... now," he affirmed, then proceeding to send the coordinates to them. "We are still trying to find more information about them, and Scorponok will likely be still debating about the degree of help we need; I'm not high enough to authorise that, apologies, but I imagine it'd be at least a relatively high degree."

"Oh, and if you can trap the Traveller - ensure it can't escape nor can it self-destruct - that'd be the degree of help needed at the moment. We...should have what we need to secure the vessel. We have received and compiled a datapack from an ally of ours, which I shall give you now."

"Trap. You wish for the vessel's immobilization, and the prevention of both sublight and FTL travel, correct? In addition, please elaborate on the nullification of its self-destruct capabilities, with regards to your own projected actions. Various methods exist by which this may be achieved - that said, several of them would likely interfere with the later elements of the operation."

"Correct. There's a reactor inside which we believe powers the vessel here. Considering that it's an unknown power source (for the moment), we'd have to say it's likely that it'd destroy the vessel itself if it was to be tampered with and it's probably a good idea to ensure we don't tamper with it too much, or if we do have to do so, it's somewhere safe. We want the AI and presumed subordinate AI to be unable to initiate self-destruct, probably preventing them from accessing the MR or trying to lull it into a false sense of security somehow. Once it has been immobilized, current projections indicate that we have several viruses at hand which we can use to try to overwhelm, sedate and reprogram it. We will keep it preoccupied with an ongoing offensive while this occurs as well. Worth noting that we are also open to suggestions as well at the moment."

"In that case, you wish for the reactor to be removed?"

"That'd be... preferably a last resort unless you can do so safely. Foreign tech and all, right? Scorponok wants us to lock all the AI inside from accessing the power source. We're not totally certain yet on how we'll do so yet, though."

"Scorponok wants us to lock all the AI inside from accessing the power source. We're not totally certain yet on how we'll do so yet, though."

“So, in short, you simply wish for the immobilization of the vessel, while you perform the necessary operations to prevent a self-destruct sequence."

"For now, yes. If circumstances change we will need to adapt, but that's a matter for if or when they occur."

"This will be satisfactory. Due to the uncertain metrics of the proposed exchange, payment cannot be expressly arranged at the current time. However, a preliminary token of acceptance may be exchanged, if you so desire."

"That should be sufficient, yes," Mindstorm responded. Mindstorm quickly checked with Scorponok, who affirmed the metrics of the deal.

"I am certain, yes," Mindstorm responded.

"In that case, the concord is formed."

For a brief moment, the comms console before Mindstorm seemed to spark and fizzle - a split-second later, he was enveloped in a swirling corona of twisting, eldritch symbols, seemingly woven from nought but light. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared - nothing seems to have changed, overtly, but the Decepticon could feel an unspecified... burden? Perhaps nothing quite so drastic, but there was a certain sense of obligation.

"We will be in contact with the relevant personnel in order to arrange for specific operational metrics."

"Alright, thanks," he responded. "I'll be sure to inform Grand Admiral Scorponok and the rest, then."

---

“…They… still haven’t responded, sir,” a communications officer reported. “In spite of us trying to contact them twice, we seem to still be in a standoff.”
The commander sighed. Clearly, force would have to be applied; there was no going back from the threat. If they dared to pull back, who knows what would happen? Everything they had done up until know would be for nought. The Reclaimers would undoubtedly lose, and since the Laniakeans’ vessel was pulling back (albeit with Warminds arriving in its stead, but who knew how effective they would be? The Autobots had little information on these Laniakeans; it wasn’t surely worth it to entirely entrust a foreign power they knew little about with protecting this system, they believed.), the Autobots believed it was up to them to save this system from the Crucilandians.

However, loathe they were to admit it, diplomacy was probably a...decent idea - one that hadn't yet been tried, it seemed.

“Alright, we may as well try diplomacy. What is it you want?"

Despite being completely silent up until now, Task Element 2C-2-A1-1 hesitantly complied with the Autobots' request. A voice resonated in the comms systems, making itself heard on the bridge of the commandeered Worldsweeper. It was not the same voice as the Tat-Netzer presiding over the entire Sub-Fleet; more than likely, it was coming from the gunship leading the Task Element.

Code: Select all

"...You wish to know our intentions, captain? We will answer you; discussing the situation unfolding before you is better than hastily charging into it.

We are a nomadic people. We travel between universes, primarily seeking out those sharing our species' baseline form, such that they may be united under our banner. The reason is threefold- first, to replenish our numbers as we contend with powers far greater than our own. Second, to unlock the power of their 'souls,' which like your people's 'sparks' contains a powerful energy we can harness. And third, at the end of days, to prevent their souls from being destroyed with the rest of reality.

What we take, we preserve. And what we preserve, we empower."

On the three inhabited worlds of Diligence, the first of the infected had lost the last of their bare flesh to the Crucilandian nanomachines. There was no telling when their assimilation would be complete; scans of individuals reaching this stage of infection indicated there was still a bit of internal anatomy left to be converted. Although at this point there was absolutely no way to gauge their mental activity or internal dialogues, what was apparent was a reduction in the amount of panic they seemed to exhibit. Were they being sedated? Brainwashed? Distracted by some invasive thought?

“Regardless of my feelings on hiveminds, you’ve assimilated people uncaring of their consent. While considering the intergalactic politics here, we can relate to the whole event with the “powers far greater than our own”, and I can sympathise with the ends justify the means mentality - at times - we still cannot stand by as people are forced to become part of a hivemind. Then again, we also don’t have proof of these interuniversal powers. We’ve taken it upon ourselves to protect these people from such slavery.”

Regardless, the Autobots would also have to contend with these new beings. The Autobots had just detected the arrival of these ‘Eidolans’, a species indigenous to Cymopolia. They didn’t appear to be hostile. Seeing them as a possible ally, they initiated contact with these… eldritch beings. Ironheart initiated the conversation.

“Greetings,” Ironheart began. “Seeing as you introduced yourself, I shall introduce myself in turn. I am Ironheart, representative of the Autobot Commonwealth and acting admiral. We come here in peace and wish to not harm the galaxy. In fact, we desire to prevent the Crucilandians from consuming innocents with no regard for their free will.”

With that finished, he turned back to the Crucilandians and restarted their conversation whilst waiting for the Eidolans to respond.

---

On the edge of Cymopolia, a large fleet of foreign warships were making themselves home. While the rest of the galaxy had seemed to be plunged into turmoil, several star systems were in the process of colonization. The proper terraforming equipment, if necessary, was being established. Native inhabitants were ‘convinced’, as the fleet’s admiral put it, to join the Intergalactic Council. Ah, yes, it was an illustrious body, they believed, that preserved law and order within their borders. Ever-expanding, they moved forwards to explore the stars and colonize as and when possible. A race of ancient, pernicious mechanoids had ravaged countless galaxies with their eternal civil war. Ever factionalised, they believed that either they would have to put these robots down for good or that they themselves would incite their own extinction. Whatever came first, they couldn’t predict.

Within a large battleship – smaller than many Cybertronian battleships but still rather large – a bluish organic with antennae, roughly half the size of the average ten-metre tall Macromaster Cybertronian, leaned back in his chair. It was strange – despite the reported presence of Cybertronians in the galaxy, the Intergalactic Council had somehow managed to evade their petty conflict. Granted, they were on the other side of the Unknown Sectors but these Cybertronians were like roaches – they managed to get everywhere and illogically stood the test of time. A lot of the tech they had accrued was reverse engineered from the Cybertronians over the years. Perhaps they had become…overly reliant on it, but nonetheless Petralan considered it to be an improvement on their tech, as advanced as they were. But, then again, only time would tell – he believed that they would soon find out which was the greater power without allies. With allies, well… can a nation stand up against a well-built coalition?

He was suddenly pinged. “Cybertronians have been detected in the galaxy, Admiral,” an ensign reported in. “They probably heard the message from the New Circle and Reclaimers as well. Should we engage?”

“No, not yet. Let’s wait a bit and start to communicate with the natives,” Petralan responded. “I don’t understand how these people would let themselves so easily slide into such a destructive war. They’re like the Cybertronians…”

“Nevertheless,” he continued, “there’s still a chance that we can make the galaxy pull itself up by their bootstraps and redeem themselves! To that end, we must soon… intervene in this conflict and bring civility and culture to this galaxy. Once that’s happened, they’ll be beyond such petty, pernicious conflicts.”

The Council thus continued to expand…

---

[Godular]

It was close to midnight in Thrush's office when the power went out, seemingly across the entire world. Stumbling, worked her way over to the window to look for any signs of activity anywhere. She saw little to begin with, but as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness she picked out pinpricks of light dotting the area. All of those lights corresponded to the newcomers' machines. The lights came back on after what seemed like an eternity, and she saw Kaz'Ramael lounging in the couch across the room.

"Before you ask: No, that was not us."

"Then who was it?"

"Apparently former occupants of this galaxy demonstrating a conspicuous disregard for the well being of the indigenes they claim to be acting to protect. Our sensors indicate that their arrival produced a massive disruption effect that targeted all objects that rely on electrical current, which in most civilizations would constitute largely everything. I would characterize it as a sustained EMP effect, if you are familiar with the term."

"Electromagnetic Pulse?" Thrush clarified.

He nodded, then held up a small datapad. "The same. I reported here immediately in order to assure you that our installations are still fully functional, and that there is no threat to your citizens at this time. I have logged the event on this datapad, so that you can reference the information presented within in order to reassure your constituents that this has only been a momentary lapse."

Thrush walked over and took the pad, for the first time not having a problem with the Godulan's behavior. "Did... they say anything?"

"They are not hostile, to you... but bear in mind that they also have the subtlety and tact of an asteroid dropped upon a fishing boat."

"I noticed your installations did not seem affected."

"We work differently. Best to leave it at that."

"So what are you going to do?"

"About that?" Kaz'Ramael stood up and dusted himself off. "We're tracking the entities' movements at the moment. They seem to think that nobody can follow them, but we've been at this business for... some time. I thank you for your patience, madam. I must bid you good night..."

And he vanished, without even so much as a puff of displaced air. She'd gotten used to that.

---

At the edge of the Diligence system, the curious black Obelisk began to move further into the system, with no seeming gradient between full-stop and what seemed to be just under light speed.

[Cruciland]

Diligence System, "Southern" Outer Belt
(this section was made in collaboration with Arkeyana)
Insufficient Volume of Fire detected the beginning of communications between the Autobot and Crucilandian forces, just as the Generation Ship departed the system, bathing the Gladian Fleet in light as it too departed the system via wormhole. However, neither went back to Terminus, due to wanting to avoid the Crucilandians' tracking. They both appeared some ways above the Galactic Disk, before the Gladian Fleet began the long trek back under Gravitic Drive and the Shore of Planets departed for the Reclaimer Fleet, also moving under Gravitic Drive.

The Warminds maneuvered into a defensive position, not making any maneuvers until the results of the Autobot and Crucilandian interaction showed themselves.

5 minutes had passed since the Eidolans first made their appearance known. Having been speaking to the Autobot reinforcements in real-time, Task Element 2C-2-A1-1 was interrupted by this long-lasting electromagnetic pulse. It was unknown how the Crucilandians were dealing with the electromagnetic waves washing over them, but it seemed as though their vessels floated unblinkingly in the face of this electronic assault- literally. Not even a single light source aboard their craft flickered, nor was it apparent that even their drones were harmed as they whizzed about the surface of Diligence's inhabited worlds like self-propelled cannonballs. If anything, the situation on the planets had been escalating during this period of sustained confusion among the competing parties of the system. The blackbodied denizens of Caleph, Barrov, and Fudolf had begun to stand in place, sit down, lie down, and lean against walls as the void-black nanites spread from their bodies to anything adjacent to them. Yet even more unsettling, the first of the infected had proceeded to uproot themselves and rocket towards the dropships which had dispensed the drones, preparing to be ferried away back to the main Sub-Fleet. Needless to say, once the others' sensors focused on the planets, they would not be pleased with the complete indifference with which the Crucilandians had been continuing their efforts.

All the same, once the Autobots returned to communicate with the Task Element again, its representative continued. They didn't even bother acknowledging what had been happening during the interruption.

Code: Select all

"...Well, that was rather rude of them. One would think they would know how to contain their own electromagnetic emissions better, but that is neither here nor there now.

We concede that the act of assimilation is, by its nature, a form of subjugation. But, as to whether it is slavery, that answer would depend on how freely one chooses to remain in that collective. Are they 'convinced' to stay, as the 'Freed' who have visited this galaxy are? Or are their minds scrubbed- be it of the will to rebel, or of all free thought? Can you say how repressive we are compared to other expanding empires, or do the means of such ends carry no concern for you?"

As to whether anyone of the Crucilandians' would respond to the Eidolans or their Titanomachinas, that was up to the Sub-Fleet's commander. The Tat-Netzer had been in the middle of his conversation with Hatlen of the Azure Syndicate, but his parallel processes had no trouble detecting the presence of further activity in the system, or even responding to them. But for now, it seemed, he bided his time.

[Pax Cybertronian]

---

In the Diligence system, everything was, for five minutes, in chaos. Sensors, comms links, ships, and even many Cybertronians went haywire, some briefly shutting down. It was strange – the disturbance affected the entire fleet, and it seemed to have spread itself around the rest of the system. Perhaps even the galaxy. Unfortunately for the Autobots, most of the fleet’s crew was comprised of Cybertronians, so they had been hit much harder than most. The same was likely for the Decepticons, Ironheart assumed. Sadly, the Intergalactic Council and the Black Block Consortia would not be hit too hard, yet he hoped that they would have been hit hard enough.

Once everything went back to normal, Ironheart detected the arrival of a colossal non-euclidian and seemingly Lovecraftian entity. Whether they were alive or not didn’t matter – there were plenty of living mechanoid races scattered throughout the cosmos – she still had a message for them. Ironheart had responded promptly to these aliens, and he now re-fixed his attention towards the Crucilandians.

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”From what we’ve seen, you’re… uprooting them and sending them towards your dropships. Considering the speed of the process, I don’t think they’ve had enough time to contemplate being added to a hivemind. And regardless of whether or not you’re less repressive than the Decepticons, the IGC or the BBC, that doesn’t mean that we should stand by as you assimilate them and strip them of their freedom.

Actually… on that note… why not just go after Decepticon space? You mentioned that you could go after our sparks, so why not feast on the Decepticons’ sparks instead of the organics here?”

”The process has been accelerating, hasn’t it? They’ve been taking advantage of the brief galactic shutdown,” Ironheart thought. “We don’t have much more time thanks to those aliens. One way or another, we need to stop this.”

He ordered some Autobot ships outfitted with planet-cracking weapons to mobilize near the planet. If the situation was dire enough, Ironheart thought, maybe we’ll need to set them back, even if it’s a little bit. I’m not about to sit here and let evil go unpunished. That’s far too cowardly. Weak. I’ve fought against the Decepticons for too long to let myself succumb to such weakness.

Meanwhile, Ksata was in shock and awe about what he was witnessing. In galactic time, the time wasn’t even miniscule, but for him it felt like an entire eternity had passed. He feared that the worst was increasingly likely – it seemed that the Autobots were being pushed against the corner more and more and were likely going to destroy the planets if it all hit the fan and there was nothing left. He felt powerless, briefly gripping a railing as he watched on, but he needed to push on.

Inaction would only ensure the Crucilandians’ victory. If the planets were destroyed, then perhaps ‘so be it’ would be the right attitude to have.

---

As the Autobots and Crucilandians continued their war of words, the galaxy had been briefly plunged into darkness.

Sensors, comms links and ships all went haywire, seemingly for no reason. The daily order had been disrupted for some time, roughly five minutes. Even worse, this disruption seemed to occur galaxy-wide, taking no prisoners.

Within the Intergalactic Council’s foothold, it was… hectic, to say the least. The crewmembers had been alarmed by the unexpected disruption of the entire fleet assigned to Cymopolia. Even Petralan himself had not anticipated something of this magnitude. It appeared that, regardless of what they did, nothing could fix this disturbance. It was disconcerting. They had not even been inside Cymopolia for too long, annexing in the dark, yet, somehow, they had been hit by some… weapon of sorts? The cause was not known.

And then it happened. Everything went back to normal for then – and then, they received a message from some… eldritch being.

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 "Attention, all residents and foreign entities of Cymopolia: You have come here for your own reasons, as we have come back for our own. As you have seen, we've come and made our re-entry as neatly as possible. The entities that you have found, have been there for years, almost as long as these empires that last stood here were. You have come into conflict with the order and balance of Cymopolia: and we, have come to restore it to as it was. With your help and possibly without your intrusion, we have a few matters that must be addressed. Do not be alarmed: for this is a matter of galactic diplomacy. We welcome you, and at the same time, hope you may consider your options. If you wish to consult with one of us... merely ask: and then after that, we shall see if you are worthy to aid within our matters. For the time being, however... I bid you farewell."

“…this galaxy has gone fucking bonkers,” Petralan griped. Before he could moan further, a yellowish and lanky alien appeared on Petralan’s viewscreen. To Petralan’s eyes, he was clearly alarmed.

“Vice Admiral Gauntaim.”

“Sir, we’ve reported of a message from… whoever these people are. I believe the disruptance came from them. But nonetheless, it seems that no… severe damage was caused,” the Vice Admiral reported. “I would believe the same to be the case for the rest of the detachments sent throughout the galaxy.”

Gauntaim’s mind drifted temporarily. “Before I continue with that… I have something… somewhat pressing to bring up.”

“Speak.”

“We have been… sitting on something as well,” Gauntaim said, nervously tapping the edge of the console. “I apologize for not bringing this up earlier, sir, but I wasn’t sure how valid this was. What it would bring to the Intergalactic Council. I’d rather not accidentally let the Cybertronians mess up our efforts – again.”

Petralan sighed. “And just who are you talking about?”

“The, ah…” he flicked through a datapad. “Something called the “Wandering City of Eisenstern”. I will bring up the message they sent us, but the gist of it is that they’ve offered us business. Mentioned trading ports. So long as we aren’t outright hostile to them, and we’ve got the money or resources, we can let them do the dirty work for us. Maybe we could even get some help with the Cybertronians.”

“…I’ll see about that one,” Petralan responded calmly. “The Council probably won’t be too happy if we somehow accidentally break up the alliances they’ve been meticulously forming.”

“I’ve taken the opportunity to monitor the frequencies within the channel they used as well… we’ve managed to trace the location of some trading post locations. I think we have also managed to find some potentially, ah… interesting wares, but I’ll have to keep an eye out for those.”

“What did they send exactly, Vice Admiral?”

“I’ll bring it up now, sir,” Gauntaim said, rapidly typing commands into a console on his chair. Within seconds, a message had been sent to Petralan’s flagship, reading:

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“To all interested parties - let it be known that the Wandering City of Eisenstern is hereby announcing its presence within this reality, and will open trading posts shortly. Goods of practically any purpose, function, and dimension of origin may be obtained, given the right price. Business may be conducted with any party, regardless of race, ideology or allegiance, provided no hostile intent is made manifest against the Tower or its operatives. Please monitor these frequencies for updates to trading post locations, availability, and potentially obtainable wares. I wish you all a pleasant day.”

“Rumours have circulated that they’ve entered a business agreement with the Cybertronians,” Gauntaim responded. “No need to fret, however. They don’t seem to give a damn about ideology so we can make arrangements with them at our leisure.”

“Keep your eyes on the Guild, then. I might contact them later,” Petralan said. “And… I am not sure what to do with these… people just yet. We don’t even know their names, do we? All we know is that they are likely to be the source of the disruption just minutes ago and that they – allegedly – want to ‘welcome’ us. They seem to be ancient as well and are natives of this hellhole. Say what you will about these ‘Tower’ people – Eisensternians, members of the Guild, Guildites or whoever – but at least they didn’t shut down our fleet, intentionally or otherwise. With my luck, this operation will descend into utter madness…”

“What should we do about the foothold, sir?”

“Fortify it, and then we’ll expand further. Order your detachment to speed up colonization as well. We can convince some people to immigrate over here, even if it’s just a bunch of bourgeoise. It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

---

The same disturbance that affected the Intergalactic Council and the Autobots affected the Decepticons. Considering the fact that the Decepticon fleet was almost entirely comprised of mechanical lifeforms, it was inevitable that they would have been hit harder than the Intergalactic Council. For a brief time – roughly five minutes – the Decepticons had been briefly shutdown or overwhelmed by the Eidolans’ maniacal message.

And then, it let up, and the Decepticons were greeted with a message by Marjorie. Presumably, she was a representative of sorts, or their leader.

Code: Select all

 "Attention, all residents and foreign entities of Cymopolia: You have come here for your own reasons, as we have come back for our own. As you have seen, we've come and made our re-entry as neatly as possible. The entities that you have found, have been there for years, almost as long as these empires that last stood here were. You have come into conflict with the order and balance of Cymopolia: and we, have come to restore it to as it was. With your help and possibly without your intrusion, we have a few matters that must be addressed. Do not be alarmed: for this is a matter of galactic diplomacy. We welcome you, and at the same time, hope you may consider your options. If you wish to consult with one of us... merely ask: and then after that, we shall see if you are worthy to aid within our matters. For the time being, however... I bid you farewell."

Scorponok waited for a few seconds before speaking. “I presume they are the…guardians of the galaxy? We do need to pry into how this happened, and especially why, but first… we need to sort out what’s going on with the Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained. If anything else, we should hopefully be able to deploy more Worldeaters and use them to bolster our fleet further within a reasonable time frame.”

Elsewhere, the same occurred with the group of Decepticon magicians and students under the tutelage of Celena of the Guild. Some time had passed since the group of Decepticons, now dubbed the Magicons, had assembled within the frigate within the wild space encircling the injured galaxy. Celena remembered that Scorponok wanted the Magicons to be somewhere in the middle of a small collection of beings capable of mass destruction and large groups of mages casting fireballs. Scorponok himself hoped that the Magicons could continue to hone their skills, and that one day the Decepticons would be able to have an unrivalled might in the field of mystics. The training was progressing well enough, but the Decepticons here were briefly shut down or otherwise briefly went haywire all the same for five minutes and faced the same message.

---

[Godular]

He floated in space. In his mind's eye, the star was but a tiny blip in the sky, brighter than the others by a few orders of magnitude but still little more than a speck. The besieged planets surrounding the star? Totally nonexistent, save for the little markers pointing them out and forming a nice little line about one hand-breadth across.

So pretty.

It was astounding how easily folks could take such a pretty little parcel of space and screw it up with such astonishing rapidity.

A couple other Avatars floated in the mindscape beside him, looking at him expectantly.

Right, time to get to work.

Sensors indicated that the system possessed three populated worlds, all three of which were presently undergoing some form of conversion process in which the local populations were being rather messily disintegrated and slurped up by the mothership. Several other groups were in the system but as yet no readily apparent military action had been taken to prevent the converting party from completing their intended objective. A rather impressive yet impotent war of words was in full effect between the various parties, and for a moment Antares had to laugh at how ridiculous the whole scenario seemed.

But such was an irrelevant concern at the moment. Antares' objective was simple enough: Stop it cold. Simple objective, complicated execution. The Mistress left the minutiae to the representatives, a sign of trust that would feel empowering if it were not for the fact that he couldn't say no to her or her chosen executor. He did have to admit that his presence here was well-chosen, though. As one of GRM's leading experts on mechanical swarms, he found himself uniquely suited to addressing concerns raised by the presence of another swarm that presented a sufficiently aggressive threat.

He looked at the planets as a whole, in order to ascertain the nature of the swarm against which he now worked. The enemy was concentrating on population centers, which was the optimal approach when trying to affect as much of the population in one shot as possible. Telemetry suggested that the conversion process was VERY much a one-way situation. Unfortunate, but unavoidable at this juncture, and for the most part turned the possibility of decontamination into a non-starter. Thus, it would be necessary to engage in quarantine and further losses.

He initiated the vessel's deployment, and started queuing in commands. The other Avatars immediately burst into action sequences of their own, running through additional command streams and making all kinds of funny gestures that would almost make them seem like magic to folks who didn't know better. He changed his perspective, zooming in on a closer view of one of the worlds, with its deceptively picturesque and colorful display of the hordes of drones assaulting each world. Almost immediately these indicators were joined by a similar swarm of otherwise stationary markers. Population clusters flared into brilliance, showing blobs of green for uninfected, and impressively large globules of red for the infected population. Off in the distance, he could see the green dot that represented his own vessel.

It blinked white, acknowledging completion of deployment.

"Report," he said, seemingly to no-one in particular.

"Targeting sequence will complete in approximately 20 seconds." That was Carybdis.

"Delivery systems programmed for quarantine payload, set for combat entry and distribution. Support munitions allocated." That was Cocytus.

"Prep for evasive the instant we go active. We can retain our locks while jumping, correct?"

"Targeting sequences are already thirty iterations ahead," Carybdis replied. "We're golden for some ping-pong."

"Defensive systems are already allocated on the power table," Cocytus chimed in. "If they give us a lickin', we'll keep on stickin'."

Suppressing a smirk, Antares looked back at the planet. Just one of the three that was about to get even MORE hectic than it already was.

"Right then. Condition ready?"

"Condition ready," the others replied in unison.

"Execute."

---

At first, the black obelisk seemed to bloom like some kind of strangely geometric flower, revealing within its interior thousands within thousands of clusters of curious claw-like apparatus. For the barest fraction of a moment after it fully blossomed, it seemed like nothing would happen.

Then just as quickly, the vessel's power signature surged straight into impossibility. The clusters went into action, and each one began to spew forth a massive stream of random ordinance pods, missiles, and drones. Within moments, the vessel was lost in a massive wispy cloud of its own manufacture. Tendrils of this cloud reached out, and streamed seemingly into nothingness, only to blink out of existence...

Only to reappear, in massive quantity and at relative point-blank range, directly over the uninfected populations. There was no blip of light or radio static to announce this sudden shift. Where once had been nothing, now was a new swarm. Their number multiplying at an exponential rate, the missiles and drones immediately went on seek-and-destroy sorties to locate and eliminate any and all enemy craft in the area, with particular focus on whatever was carrying the conversion nanomachines.

The cargo pods very rapidly descended upon what remained of the uninfected population and detonated, each spewing forth hundreds upon thousands of secondary projectiles that themselves began to move independently and sought out uninfected people wherever they were. These projectiles moved with tremendous speed, and simply worked to come into contact with such people as were presently uninfected.

Once these projectiles reached their target, they simply latched on to some part of that person and deployed a transparent but very tangible shield around them. While the people caught by such shields were easily capable of movement, and mostly continued acting as any panicked civilian population might, it would become rather swiftly apparent that these machines were nothing like the swarms that were presently wiping out their civilization.

After a few seconds passed for each person, a soft voice spoke to them. "Try to remain calm, please. We're working to get this sorted."

---

Amidst the massive swarm of activity, a message was finally sent out into the system:

Ho there, blackguards!

My name is Antares, and I'm here to conduct negotiations for the appropriation of this system, or barring that, the remainder of its sentient population. It would be most wondrous if we could all just call a halt to that planet-based unpleasantness and chat, but it is important to actually STOP those proceedings first!

Hope you don't mind!

[Arkeyana]

Diligence System
Warily, the Warminds began routing power back to subsystems. The unpleasantness following the Blackout Event was...quite a process to unravel, until they were back at full functionality, Aegis Shields flickering to life as they saw what the Crucilandians had done. Automatically, RKKVAs began unlocking and swiveling on their mounts, taking aim at the Subfleet as vast currents of energy fed into the miscellaneaous missile fabricators across their hulls, preparing for the worst. Insufficient Volume of Fire's internal thoughts were disrupted by the Godulan intervention. A response was soon after crafted and sent:

LANIAKEAN ALLIANCE|WARMIND-IX|INSUFFICIENT VOLUME OF FIRE
"Stopping the proceedings was the original intent of the fleet we had sent prior to our arrival, hostile response forced the Shore of Planets and its escorts to abandone the system, however. Requesting identification of unknown contact."

[Cruciland]

Diligence System, "Southern" Outer Belt
Those precious five minutes spent harvesting the colonists were the best window of opportunity the Crucilandians had to gain an advantage over the forces massing against their invasion. Their time was up, it seemed, as they witnessed activity once again surging from the starships around them. As for Task Element 2C-2-A1-1, they were faced with an increasingly-agitated force of Autobots that cared less for idle talk as the seconds ticked by. If they intended to stall the Cybertronian reinforcements, then they could not expect to continue such a charade for much longer; eventually, their debate partner would snap. Nevertheless, their representative continued trying to keep the conversation aloft.

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"Hmm, yes... Perhaps it is better that I explain the speed at which the inhabitants are recalled first- to soften our image, if nothing else. To begin, we would like for you to consider your own cognitive capabilities. You are mechanical lifeforms like ourselves, forged with sophisticated intelligence using powerful computers- the likes of which would easily eclipse the processing speed of organics such as our quarry. Granted, your intellectual prowess is borne of a body with macroscopic components, but the point remains that our synthetic bodies use faster computing technology than neurons and synapses. Now, consider the implications of assimilation; an individual is covered inside and out with our black goo, after which they enter a state of torpor and are, shall we say... 'left to their thoughts' for awhile. Are you led to believe that they still think about their induction at the same speeds they once were constrained to? Realistically, they would have all the subjective time in the world to debate us in the few short minutes it took to uproot themselves and meet us in the air.

And now, with the clarification of the newly-assimilateds' cognitive speed out of the way, we may address your newest query. The nature of a spark is... different from that of an organic's 'soul.' Both have a metaphysical quality to them, but souls have properties which are easier for us to work with for a plethora of reasons. Part of it has to do with the resonance between souls; we were originally organic, and so our souls resonate strongly with other organic souls, especially those belonging to lifeforms similar to our progenitor species. It's a very fascinating topic- one of which has definitely sparked a lot of reinforcement for our society's latent attraction to homogeneity- but I cannot say if you would truly care for hearing about such studies... Perhaps it would be best to leave it at that."

...Needless to say, in the time it took to give that speech, everything stated in the remainder of this post had managed to unfold.

Diligence System, Within Outer Belt
As predicted, further chaos was to unfold on the three planets being overrun by the Crucilandians. Initially, that chaos would have been the continuation of hostilities between the starfleets and the eventual bombardment of the planets, but the arrival of the Godulans into the fray steered things in a decidedly-optimistic direction for the uninfected. The mass-replication of materiel from the black obelisk was immediately followed by its teleportation directly over the regions which the Crucilandian drones had yet to spread over, providing a nano-sealant to deter attempts at breaching the infected. Yet from these rural areas came munitions and attack drones, designed to eliminate (or at least deter) the dropships and drones pouring over the urban sprawl. As the Crucilandians' drones were the ones doing all the infection, they were forced to turn on a time and switch vectors in order to avoid being struck by these alien projectiles; fortunately for them, the speed at which the cannonball-liked drones flew made the prospect of hitting them about as easy as firing a bullet at another speeding bullet. While the blast radii of the Godulans' ordnance was controlled so as to prevent collateral damage, there was no denying the power and sophistication of their weaponry; munitions bearing significant momentum threw the drones off-course whenever they managed to connect, and the other weapons which traded rate-of-fire for raw power caused them to flash as they reacted with what appeared to be an energy field around the drones. However, it was not just the Crucilandians' drones being targeted- the armored dropships took a smaller volume of the fire as they gathered up the fully-assimilated and spaghettified their way towards the Sibyl-class command ship in the "Northern" outer belt of the solar system. Those that were still receiving their precious cargo at the moment the munitions reached their location, however, glared with teal and white-flecked energy as they were pelted with the Godulans' blossom of ordnance. The impacts did not produce as bright of a flash as what the drones emitted when struck, suggesting the dropships' shielding was nowhere near as disturbed, but this was far from the worst thing the Godulans could do to them.

At the border between where the nano-projectiles were launched at the uninfected and where the Totach-Kadur-class drones were tagging planetary denizens with nanites, where the urban centers gave way to the suburbs, the two sides met. Secondary projectiles from the cargo pods streaked across the sky, and ultralight drones zigzagged from building to building like pinballs moving at mach speed. The targeting vectors for either side continued to update as one side or the other struck an individual, effectively sealing access to them away from the other... for the foreseeable future. It seemed as though the Nomadic Legion's full consumption of the planet's inhabitants was being cut short of their goal. For now, the tiny spherical drones avoided the uninfected denizens which had been stricken by the Godulans' shield-deploying projectiles, but there was no telling if or when their behavior would change. There was also no telling if they even heard the Godulans' message at first, considering they didn't show any signs of stopping- but shortly after Insufficient Volume of Fire's reply, the Crucilandians sent their own reply to the Godulans. It was from the Tat-Netzer.

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"...You are insistent on throttling our progress. If you wish for us to cease our activities, then we will agree to an intermission. The titans which appeared in this galaxy have incidentally put us ahead of our normal timetable, in any case."

[Godular]

With the initial objective of delaying the opposing effort already met, the Onslaught Drones, ever-increasing in number, were experimenting even in their concentrated assault. Even with the enemy drones making hairpin turns and vector changes with stunning agility, the Onslaught was able to focus fire with immense precision. Testing the enemy's shielding in every conceivable way, they worked to determine whether amplifying single-shot firepower would be of sufficient value, or whether concentrating firepower from multiple sources would be functional.

If nothing else, it would have swiftly become obvious that the drones were NOT functioning at their maximum potential... but they were rapidly escalating.

Antares watched the data streams with professional detachment and practiced instinct. His was the eye of extensive experience, though he was not solely absorbed with the antics on the three inhabited worlds. The other invasive entities in the system had finally taken note of him, now that he had actually acted. Two new signals emerged, one from the one calling itself a 'Warmind' possessed of an amusing name, and another from the invading party. He resolved to send out replies separately.

To the Laniakeans:

Greetings, friend!

My name is Antares, representing an amalgamated concern known simply as the Control Framework. I am empowered to speak on their behalf in regards to any dealings here, with the specified intent of concluding any hostile actions currently enacted by any non-indigenous entities operating within the bounds of this system.

I speak only as one who has only recently arrived in this system, but I noted what appears to be five separate entities that have seemed content to let the current crime-in-progress go uncontested. If what you say is true, you made at least some small attempt at intervention, which places you in a slightly higher standing compared to the others here.

I must ask however: If your military has functionally abandoned the system, what is the reason for your presence here? Morbid fascination, perhaps?

To the Crucis:

Ah, more words!

You will have to forgive my abrasiveness, but I have cause to doubt your intentions! Due to existing precedent suggesting your efforts to stall for time, I hope you will understand when I state the following:

Seeing is believing.

We will see you stop. Entirely. No more transfers. No more infections. No movement whatsoever. You will freeze in place.

When we see this, we will believe you. When you stop, so too shall we.

We await your reply, in word or action.

[Laiakia]

Laiakian Fleet, USSLS Wyvern, Command Deck

The command crew of the Wyvern were scrambling about the bridge, issuing orders. After the five minute blackout, it had been decided that having the fleet be the central command point. As such, the goal of establishing a planetary base of operations had been started. As the goal was shared with the other captains of the fleet, a single Superior-class carrier and two Monarch-class battleships split away from the fleet under direct orders from the Fleet Commander. These three ships continued to slowly drift away from the rest of the fleet until they were a safe to activate their hyperdrives.

The crew of the Wyvern watched as the three vessels activated their hyperdrives, tearing a hole through realspace fabric and entering it. In seconds, the three Laiakian vessels were gone, heading towards a potential planet to establish a base. Meanwhile, the rest of the fleet continued with their alertness and sensor sweeps.