Nyte Nation Maintenance Ver. 2.0.0 [CLOSED]

[Nyte]

OOC Spiel:


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This is the new home of nation maintenance for Nyte. Here I'll be posting IC news, short stories, and various other events that I simply do not have the time to work out via RPing, or with a full sized story. Other relevant materials may also be posted here as well... Feel free to check it out, but this thread is closed to outside comments and posts. If you would like to comment on anything in this thread, or if you have questions, please feel free to send me a TG.

Thank You,
Nyte

[Nyte]

The Directory


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In The News [News Articles and Updates, Blog/Social Media Posts, Etc.]:
SNN Articles:
Now You See It, Now You Don't
Wanted: Warm Bodies
Getting An Upgrade
A Metastasizing Cancer
Massive Daemonic Outbreak Reported In Nearby Region... Travel Advisory In Effect
Long Overdue Upgrades Planned For The Border Regions
Artificial Intelligence Granted Citizenship Under New Laws
Serial Murderer Shot One Hundred and Seventy-Three Times In Violent Showdown With Local Arbitrators
Karax?... Or Something More Sinister?
The Scinithian Crisis

Stand Alone Stories:
Cleaning Up
The Freedom of the Press; To Die That Is
Stand Alone Tales From The Daemon War:
Numb
Red Snow
A Thousand Little Deaths
Rip and Tear
Unrepentant Nuclear Thuggery
And Watch As The Ships, Go Sailing...
Whispering Steel

Multi-Part Stories and Story Arcs:
The Prelude To The Daemon War:
In My Dreams I Can Clearly See
Ouroboros
The Best Laid Plans...
Cleaning Out The Closet

A Slice of Life:
Jericho

Surveys and Questionnaires:
Witch Hunting In The Interstellar Empire
Execution Survey

[Nyte]

In My Dreams I Can Clearly See
09/11/0001AG
The strange dreams I have been having continue; confusing and disjointed as usual... I had hoped that my militant actions against the guilds and their backers would have perhaps changed things for the better, but this has not been so... I see myself still; looking out from a great height. The room around me is a dark one, its details hidden within the shadows... Outside is blood, fire, and smoke... There is screaming as well; distant but filled with pain and terror. From behind me, there is the sound of an opening door... The carrion scent of death strikes at my nose, and I know that my own death stands there behind me in the doorway though I cannot yet see what form it will take...

So, I have decided... I have begun to take additional steps. As nothing I have yet done has changed what I have foreseen, I will instead begin to prepare these people for what I know is to come; though I know not when it will be, or if any of my preparations will be enough... I can only hope; and prepare for the worst.

03/13/0079AG
The dream has changed again... More details have become clear to me now, and they have done so I think, as a result of the preparations I have continued to make. The room around me has become clearer; the desk in my new office sits, large and heavy behind me; its dark wood polished to a near mirror sheen reflecting the fires from the city below... The very city being redesigned now before my very eyes; the skyline, though new to the people living there is already very familiar to me; having seen it as I have over and over again night after night after night...

Behind me, the door opens once more... There is a sound of liquid dripping; drool pattering against a glossy black marble floor... The sound of ponderous, heavy, uneven steps reaches my ears and I begin to turn...

05/11/0213AG
I know now the beast behind me... It is a daemon I am sure; a beast from the darkest pits of myth and legend... Outside, flame wreathed shadows dance and caper amidst the screaming and pain and death... It is an army; an army of nightmares made manifest...

So now I know what it is that I must prepare them for... And I cannot fail. I will not fail...

01/22/0398AG
It is raining blood. Warm, viscous, and steaming as it patters loud against the window. The noise of this bloody rain nearly drowns out the sound of death inexorably closing in behind me... I turn nonetheless; the movement weighed down by a suit of ornate armor... The same as the one that sits, even now, in my personal armory... Though I have yet to see this abomination, I feel I already know it well... As if it were an old friend from a different life... There is a smile on my face as I turn; though it doesn't reach my eyes, and it is far from happy...

I open my mouth; a witty comment on the tip of my tongue...

10/01/0453AG
"Hello old friend" I comment sardonically as I turn; the glow from the windows causing the laser-etched golden designs in my ebony colored armor to glow a dim red... The daemon is there, looming massively from among the shadows... There is a heavy weight in my right hand; looking down, there's an ornate blade glinting dully in the darkness of the room...

In my left hand is a much lesser weight; a small, rectangular object is held there... I know; despite the fact that I can't see what it is that it's important; even more so than the blade clasped tightly in my power armored fist... I stuff the object into a concealed pocket at my waist and round the desk; my steps eager... Far more so than I would have thought...

I'm so very tired... Tired of it all.

11/11/0497AG
"Hello old friend" Conrad Curze remarked as he turned to face his death. Just like in the dreams; but very much real now... The words come out with perfect inflection; a product of so many years of endless nightly practice... The long, ornate blade of the force sword in his right hand begins to buzz angrily as it comes to life; violet energy writhing up and down its length as Curze steps confidently around his antique desk. The memory stick in his off hand goes into its pouch-like pocket just as it always has...though this time will be the last.

Behind him, through the bloody streaks of the rain on the windows, Halcon; the capitol of the Interstellar Empire of Nyte is burning; the distant sounds of violence seem oddly muted however; mere background noise to what is about to happen in this singular dark office... "Don't think I'll make it easy for you" he continues; the large anti-gravity wings; replete with thousands of ornate black feathers spread wide; like an animal trying to make itself appear larger and more threatening when cornered by an apex predator...

"Ave Dominus Nox... All Hail the Lord of the Night" Curze quips as he breaks into a run at the abomination that emerges from the shadows with heavy, ponderous steps... Racing towards the death that has finally come for him...

[Nyte]

Ouroboros
11/11/0497AG
It was all going to hell...

"Why haven't all of the concealed defenses been activated yet" Xaiah Morningstar barked out while observing the massed carnage happening throughout the capitol city of Halcon from a control room within the Emperor's palace... The answer to the question was both disheartening, and infuriating to the young Nytelord. "They still haven't been upgraded with the newest software yet. If we turned them on now, they'd be just as likely to kill everyone... Including the civilians and our own soldiers as well as the enemy..."

"Fucking bureaucrats and their damned budget cuts" Xaiah muttered angrily to himself; though several of the nearby personnel undoubtedly heard it. "And the Emperor" He asked?

It took a moment for the response to come... And when it did, it was hesitant... "He's still in his office... He refused to be moved to the secure bunker..."

"Are you fucking kidding me" Xaiah growled out?. "Alright, I'll move him myself... Even if I have to drag him there" he finished; talking more to himself by the end than anyone else in the control room...

...

Why is the door open? Xaiah thought as he approached the Emperors office... His hands reflexively going towards the pair of short Force Swords sheathed across his lower back as his pace increased rapidly... The scene revealed through the doorway when Xaiah got there was shocking, and for a short moment, he stood there stunned into inactivity.

The lack of lighting did nothing to hide the ruined and wrecked state of the room... From the shattered windows letting in a steady torrent of viscous bloody rain to the cracked and cratered, black marble floor littered with detritus and debris... And laying, broken amidst the shattered ruin of his massive antique desk, was the Emperor who, despite his almost unnatural height, looked insignificant compared to the abomination that loomed over him in the flickering darkness...

There was no time for thinking about it however... No time hesitation either... Xaiah launched himself across the office; drawing and activating his Force Swords as he did so; ignoring the carrion stench of the daemon and how the flickering violet glow from his swords made everything look so much bloodier than it already was. He landed hard on the daemon; the weight of his power armored form sent it reeling through the remains of the desk as his blades moved up and down carving into its thick, blubbery flesh; flesh that sizzled like cooking meat as the blades carved into it.

Ramming the blades into the daemon's head, Xaiah triggered the built in sonic weapons in the blades, and roared with vindicated satisfaction as its eyes bubbled and ruptured outward ; splattering cooked brain matter and pieces of the monster's skull across the room and his own armored form...

He was off its carcass before it could hit the ground; rushing over to the remains of the broken figure that was Conrad Curze; Emperor of the Interstellar Empire, and the closest thing Xaiah had ever had to a father figure. He slid to a stop at the Emperors side unsure what to do, and as such, was taken by surprise when the Emperors broken body spasmed and he reached up to pull Xaiah closer.

"Its up to you now Xaiah" the words stumbled slowly out of Curzes mangled mouth along with a stream of dark, crimson blood. As he forced the words out, the Emperor grabbed Xaiah's arm and placed a blood covered datastick into Xaiah's armored hand...

"Finish. What. I. Started." And with that, Conrad Curze breathed his last...

...

His world had devolved into a nightmare of sizzling, splattering blood and choking smoke... A nightmare in which all manner of... things, emerged; seemingly from every nook and cranny, and tried to kill him. They'd already picked off all of the senior Arbitrators, then one of the bigger ones simply ate the Sergeant... Now, Arbitrator Trainee Saul Croukus was the last one left... And he could feel their beady eyes on him; even through his ragged, damaged suit of power armor. Saul put his back to the wall, and continued to unleash short, controlled bursts from his automatic combat shotgun into the shadows just as the Sergeant had taught him...

CLICK... Shit, shit, shit... he thought as he scrambled to load his last ammo drum with unsteady, shaking hands... The rapid pitter-patter of clawed feet on the bloody street came closer and closer as he fumbled the ammo drum; cursing loudly as he did so...

He could feel their rancid breath; even through his armor, and every hair on his body seemed to stand on end in response. Saul closed his eyes; choosing not to see death coming as he crouched; still blindly fumbling for the fallen ammo drum... Then, just when he was sure he was about to die like all of the others, there was a loud thud in front of him, and Saul opened his eyes and looked up...

An onyx armored instrument of death stood before him; a pair of short, brutal looking Force Swords crackling in its clenched fists. "Get back to your precinct Arbitrator... We'll handle things from here" the Nytelord spoke; the voice cold, and filled with something unidentifiable, but more unnerving than even the things were...

Saul ran without hesitation, not hearing the thuds of the other Nytelords dropping in from above to join their comrade, but the sounds of violence pursued his steps as he ran.

He did not look back.

...

It had been nearly two weeks since the Emperor had died in his arms, and Xaiah had not handled it all that well. He'd methodically killed his way from one side of Halcon to the other... Sometimes he was fairly lucid as he did so. Other times, not so much... Between his own rage and self loathing, he'd taken in scenes of utter devastation and slaughtered innocents... He tried not to think of the death toll as he stomped tiredly, but determinedly down the hall. Ahead, he could faintly hear the bickering of the Emperor's advisory council as they argued, whined, and complained among themselves.

The guards at the door moved to stop him from entering at first, but something; perhaps the murderous rage burning in his eyes, or more likely the whine of the plasma pistols mounted on his armored wrists charging up clued them in that it would be hazardous for their health to involve themselves in what was coming... Instead, they stepped aside... They did not maintain eye contact.

Xaiah kicked open the old fashioned wooden doors, not caring as they slammed into the walls from the force of the blow. Instead, he approached the table in the center of the room; a massive round affair made from a massive chunk of platinum laced sapphire that could comfortably seat twenty-one; with the Emperor's slightly more ornate seat being the "head" of the table.

He ignored the sudden whispers of "The Bastard" and "Curze's son" as he approached... Instead, his anger built itself up, and with a snarl, he slammed a power armored hand down on to the table... There was a moment of silence that lasted until he withdrew his hand leaving a dirty, blood smeared children's doll smeared across the table in its wake.

"What is the meaning of this Morningstar" one of the old cronies snivelled... Either braver, or dumber perhaps than even Xaiah expected...

"I wanted you all to look upon the results of your handiwork before the end" Xaiah growled out; his eyes narrowing into slits... A few of the more intelligent councilors started edging towards the doors at the comment...

They wouldn't make it very far however before several other Nytelords appeared and blocked the exit.

"You can't do this" one of the braver ones hissed; torn between a mixture of growing terror and utter disbelief while several others voided their bowels in terror as they finally caught on to what was about to happen...

"Do you miserable old fuckers want to know what the Emperor said to me before he died" Xaiah asked; his voice cold and bitter? "He said it was up to me, and then he told me to finish what he started..." Xaiah looked about the room before he continued. " Who am I to deny my father his final request?"

[Nyte]

The Best Laid Plans...
12/07/0497AG

Well, no one ever said it was going to be easy. Victor thought to himself as he moved slowly through the smoldering ruins of what had once been the headquarters of the Assassins Guild in Halcon. How these fuckers survived an orbital bombardment of all things... He kept thinking as he made his way in deeper; stepping over piles of debris and evicerated corpses as he went. The answer to his last thought was actually fairly straight forward; several centuries of preparation can go a long way. How said preparation had gone unnoticed however?... Someone had clearly fucked up, and badly at that.

Victor shook his head and focused on the sounds of violence coming from further down the hallway. Dropping down through a ragged hole in the ruined floor, Victor landed amid a swirling mess of screaming, swinging blades, and poorly aimed gunfire, and immediately strode forward to engage a small group of assassins; his chainsaw-bladed halberd adding its own meaty growling to the cacophony of noise as he charged in swinging.

The engagement was surprisingly short... Victor might normally move at a fairly sedate pace; one that easily concealed the explosive violence the man was still capable of when properly motivated... Today he was properly motivated, as the shower of blood, gore, and severed limbs from his rapidly dying enemies could attest too.

Impaling his final enemy several brutal minutes later, he noticed somewhere in the part of his mind that was actually paying attention to, and taking part in directing the wider battle going on around him that the sounds of violence had finally petered out. Punting the remains of the final assassin from his weapon, he turned to one of the other Nytelords nearby. "Continue searching the area" he ordered. "Make sure that this entire place is cleared out... No survivors... Spread the word."

The response was an abrupt salute as the Nytelord moved to do just that, and soon enough, squads of Nytelords and various heavily armed drones were once again on the move; spreading out in a search and destroy pattern looking to root out any possible survivors that might still be in hiding among the ruins.

Victor's part however, was over for now... He had a different task he needed to attend to.

12/08/0497AG

"They're dead then" Xaiah Morningstar; newly crowned Emperor of the Interstellar Empire of Nyte asked; calmly taking a sip from his glass of Amasec. He looked over at Victor, filing away the fact that the man truly appeared only slightly less dangerous without his ornate suit of power armor than he did with it.

"Yes" the Nytelord Sergeant replied tiredly... He purposely ignored his own glass of Amasec; and had done so for the entirety of the meeting.

"So" Victor continued. "Now what" he asked? "The guilds have been pretty much erased from existence; just as Curze vowed to do to them if they ever stepped out of line. The cultists that were apparently responsible for this whole mess have been slaughtered enmasse and the flimsy legal protections that allowed them to operate within the bowels of the Empire have been removed... Hell, even the gangs have taken a massive hit; the few of them that didn't get cut down in the daemon invasion and the follow-up fighting have gone so far underground, they probably won't ever come back up again."

Xaiah sat down heavily; clearly tired, but there was a small smile on his face nonetheless. "Now" he hesitated for a moment... "Now we deal with more pressing matters."

An arched eyebrow was Victors only reply.

"I think" Xaiah remarked after taking another sip of the Amasec. "That you truly will hate me before this is all over Victor" he continued; his voice nearly a whisper. "Some day, I hope you'll be able to forgive me for that..."

Xaiah set the now empty glass down on the table between the two and continued after seemingly shaking himself from his momentary funk. "We have more concerning matters to discuss anyway... Matters of retribution... Matters of war."

[Nyte]

Cleaning Out The Closet
12/29/0497AG

There really was something particularly rotten running rampant through the so called upper crust of Nyteborne society... Something that went well beyond simple decadence and overt displays of excessive wealth. Something about their presence was nearly vomit inducing; maybe it was the looks in their eyes; cold, dead, reptilian stares that could barely conceal their burning hunger for more, or perhaps it was the fake smiles, the fake laughter; mocking and condescending at the same time... Or, it could just be the veritable miasma of arrogance and inflated self worth with which they carried themselves; so sure in their delusions of superiority.

Xaiah was going to enjoy what was soon to come...probably more than he should, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that right now.

He mingled for a while, struggling to keep a believable looking smile on his face as he forced down his third glass of Amasec to wash the taste of the bile from the back of his throat. Occasionally, he checked the time on the HUD superimposed over his left eye as he silently counted the minutes until midnight. Soon he kept thinking to himself like a mantra as he pretended to listen to their vapid conversations. In the dark place in the back of his mind, he wondered what they'd really like to say... These old fools; fossil's of the Empire's dark, violent past. He wasted a few minutes on the luxury of daydreaming what could happen if these fools were allowed to continue with all of the things they were planning; what they had been planning for years... decades... centuries. They'd never stopped really he though to himself. From the moment his father had foolishly allowed them and their ancestors to live they'd been plotting and scheming... Pity for them he wasn't his father... He wouldn't make the same mistake.

...23:59 flashed on the HUD. Xaiah grimaced, downing the last of his Amasec and dropping the glass on the overly polished floor. The sound of the glass shattering had a sort of feel to it... A gravitas. It cut through the conversation, and the room grew strangely quiet as they turned to look at him.

"You're all dead" he commented quietly to their confusion. "Fall over."

24:00 flashed, and he smiled as the windows exploded inwards. He took a seat at a nearby table; an island of pure calm amid a sea of intense violence, and picking up a new glass of Amasec, and savored the sounds of their screaming and dying as several of his Nytelords slowly swept through the room leaving waves of vibrant crimson blood in their wake. He hummed to himself; a simple lullaby that his mother used to hum to him back when he was a child being put to bed. It didn't fit the atmosphere at all; not even a little bit, but that didn't concern him.

Across the Empire, similar scenes were being enacted... A long, long overdue cleansing was underway.

[Nyte]

Numb
01/11/0498AG

Click, click, BOOM. The sound of the plasma shotgun reverberated through the cockpit; signaling another dead enemy. Daemon, cultist, it didn't even matter anymore... One kill, another heavy step forward... Two clicks and a boom; the same actions repeated with the emotionless, mechanical efficiency that came from utter exhaustion. Was it minutes earlier? Hours? Days? He'd had squad mates, friends then; however long ago it was. The four of them had advanced together in the beginning, cutting down filthy, gore encrusted cultists and daemons alike.

He was alone now though... His squad mates... His friends lay somewhere behind him; their machines cracked open; their corpses crushed in their ruined cockpits. He'd been angry at first, but now he was just numb. Numb to the pain of his aching body and growling stomach... Numb to his eyes burning from lack of sleep. Numb to his grief over dead friends. Numb to the memories.

His machine racked the slide on the shotgun again; click, click... There was no boom this time... Power cells must have finally run dry. He reversed his grip and swung at another charging cultist, the mecha sized shotgun slammed into the cultist with all the force of a large, rampaging animal. He dropped the weapon; ignoring the bloody mess that had once been a living creature, and drew the massive mecha sized chainblade from its mount across his machine's back.

The meaty growl of the diamond toothed weapon roaring to life echoed off the nearby walls as he continued to stomp forward... Always forward... Right foot, then the left; his machines feet leaving bloody tracks across the broken pavement in his wake; sinking several inches into the blood soaked ground with every step. He paid it little attention however, more of them were coming, one of the bigger ones; even bigger than his machine broke through the fire and smoke all horns, spikes, and sharp teeth... Too many teeth... It's tattered wings fanning the fiery embers of the burning city in it's wake as it charged; a massive blade of it's own clenched in it's clawed fists.

As they came together, he punched it in the face with his off hand; his machines armored fist slamming into the daemon's jaw sending a mixture of blood, acidic drool, and dagger-like teeth flying as its jaw shattered... The blow did little though; seeming only to make it angrier as it spat blood at him; the spittle sizzling as it met armor plate and began slowly eating away at it.

They grappled together amid a writhing swarm of cultists and lesser daemon types that swarmed around them both; little more than background noise; a backdrop to be trampled into the bloody ground beneath their feet as they jostled for position. He grasped it by the throat and spun, using the massive chainblade as a counter weight; ignoring how it scythed through a dozen cultists as he launched the daemon into, and through a nearby wall... The remnants of a neon sign, depicting a gyrating, naked woman with oversized endowments flickered and sparked before cutting out as the bulk of his machine crashed through the rest of the wall after his foe. He ignored it too, swinging at his enemies legs as it moved to regain it's footing.

The blow connected; the meaty growl of the blade changing pitch as it tore through flesh, then muscle, then bone as he cut the daemon down at it's knees. It fell roaring, thrashing about on the ground before him. It tried to swing up at him even as it thrashed about, but stomping down on its arm with a large, mechanical foot, he pinned it's blade down, and changing his grip, he drove the chainblade down through it's hate filled, roaring face; through the back of it's skull, and into the floor beneath. The blade bucked wildly in his machine's hands, but he maintained his grip and ripped the blade back up through his defeated foe... Ignoring the odd sucking noise the blade made as it was pulled back out.

He turned back towards the collapsed wall when the building; weakened by the destruction and the fight, finally gave way under it's own weight with a pained groan; dropping five floors worth of concrete and steel on top of him. Distantly, he heard comms chatter; air support incoming... That couldn't be right though... He was the last one left... And he was numb. So very numb.

[Nyte]

Red Snow
01/24/0498AG

The screaming pursued him a he clumsily ran through the mud and snow. It was unnatural; the snow that is...red, and mixed with blood. He did his best to ignore that however... Focusing on his footing was more important right now. He slid around a corner; falling and sliding through the slurry on the churned up ground. He ignored the vulgar sensation of the bloody muck squealching through his fingers as he clawed his way back to his feet. Running was more important... He could hear their footsteps sloshing through the muck behind him; steadily getting closer by the minute.

He made the mistake of looking back as he rounded another corner, and regretted it immediately, They were clearly visible through the haze of falling snow... Red things; horned, vicious, and serpentine with long forked tongues lolling out from their slobbering jaws. He opened his mouth to scream when he slammed into a hard, metallic surface; falling backwards on his arse he looked up, expecting to see his death standing before him.

His eyes were met with a massive figure adorned in an ornate suit of some kind of polished black armor. On it's torso was engraved an ornate, silvery sigil depicting an evil looking skull being impaled by a flaming sword that stood out starkly; practically glowing amid the veritable field of black that surrounded it... Strange looking instruments?... tools?... weapons?... were held by the figure; his panicked mind wasn't sure.

"Move boy" the statement came from the figure; blurted out emotionlessly in galactic standard; though it was basically incomprehensible gibberish to the young boy as the figure reached out and bodily dragged him aside with one arm while raising the other; pointing what he now guessed must be some kind of weapon in the direction in which he'd come from. The figure dropped him carelessly into the muck, and braced itself just in time as the tide rounded the corner...

The noise was physically staggering; a loud, whickering buzz that hurt the ears... The weapon bucked and vibrated as it fired, and whatever it was shooting proved quite effective; he watched with wide eyes as the slobbering horde was ripped apart and shredded; dismembered limbs and gore falling every which way. It was a horrific scene, but he just couldn't look away as the things that had killed everyone he'd ever known were ripped apart with a brutal efficiency. Somewhere in the back of his mind; buried beneath the exhaustion and terror, a part of him felt happy?... satisfied?... relieved?... He wasn't sure exactly.

Then suddenly... Silence. The weapon had stopped firing; smoking in the cold air. The creatures... monsters... whatever they had been were a steaming carpet of blood and meat scattered across the bloody, red snow. He looked up at the figure and found the front of the weapon was now pointed at him. His eyes widened... "Sorry about this boy" the voice spoke again to the uncomprehending youth. The galactic standard cold and emotionless as the trigger was pulled one final time...

[Nyte]

A Thousand Little Deaths
02/01/0498AG

Damien Sicanus walked slowly into the observation chamber; a simple, dark box with a cheap metal chair bolted to the floor. The only point of interest in the room was a large reinforced window with a view of the unusual room beyond. He sat slowly; hands folded in his lap and simply observed both the room, and it's sole occupant.

The room was indeed an unusual one; it's walls, ceiling, and floor were constructed of an unknown metallic substance that was etched with oddly unnerving sigils and designs; ones that hurt the eyes if looked upon for too long. Several automated weapon emplacements ringed the ceiling; each one aimed unerringly at the rooms sole occupant. Their aim adjusted a minute amount as the occupant twitched and shuddered every several seconds. With every twitch came an adjustment as each emplacement adjusted to keep locked on the occupant's center of mass.

The occupant was an unpleasant looking creature; an abomination of abused, roiling flesh and bone-like protrusions; limbs and mouths sprouted from its monstrous bulk in no seeming order; or at least no sane, sensible order. Smoke rose slowly from the abominations flesh as it seemed to be slowly cooking; it's flesh sloughing off in slow, blubbery waves before rapidly regenerating in an endless cycle.

He listened to the sizzle of its burning flesh... The low, unintelligible gibbering noises it made endlessly with no pause for breath... He took all of this in, and a part of him enjoyed it's suffering, and so he stretched out his own silence and simply enjoyed the abomination's torment.

"I know you can hear me abomination" he began after a time. "Though I know not if you can understand me. It matters little either way for I really don't care if you can... They tell me that you cannot die... They've shot you, burned you, cut you, blown you to pieces with explosives, pumped your rotting flesh full of poisons, acids, and other, stranger concoctions... They've tried freezing you, drowning you... Hmm, they've even dumped you into space... And yet here we are. Me, up here watching you, and you, down there jittering in endless pain on a cold metal floor in a cold metal cell."

"It doesn't matter however" he continued; a slight smile on his face as he essentially monologued to himself like some kind of cheap holovid villian. "We are, if anything, a creative people" he continued. "We'll keep trying" he explained as he leaned back against the uncomfortable metal chair. "After all, it seems we have all the time in the world... Eventually we'll get it right" he finished as his small smile grew into a full on smirk. "Until then, I'll simply sit back and enjoy the show."

[Nyte]

Rip and Tear
03/12/0498AG

"I see you've met my dogs" Damien quipped mockingly at his target; petting the two massive cybernetic warhounds heads with his power armored hands. He ignored the blood misting the air from the whirring rock drills that made up their jaws as he stepped out from between them and approached the 'man' quivering in terror against the wall. "Perhaps you'd like to be a bit more cooperative than your friends were" Damien continued; looking disdainfully at the chewed up meat that had been several people before Rip and Tear had gotten a hold of them.

The 'man' moaned in terror again as a trickle of urine made it's way down his legs...

"No" Damien asked in a quiet, measured voice. "Hmm... Very well. Rip, Tear" he continued, looking back at his faithful pets. "Kill!"

And they did... The sound of screaming, and flesh and bone being run through a meat grinder filled the room behind him as Damien turned and simply walked away. He had a few other leads he would have to track down. One of them was bound to be more cooperative.

A few days later found Damien and his hounds in the bowels of Halcon on Nyte; sloshing through dirty, shin high water in a filthy tunnel with the occasional flickering yellowed light panel offering the occasional bit of illumination... Not that Damien; or any other Nyteborne for that matter really needed the light. His hounds sloshed through the water a short distance ahead, special receptors built into their heads scanning the tunnel for any sign of their current prey. It was quiet aside from the sound of sloshing water, and the quiet whir of mechanical parts in motion... He didn't like the quiet. His mind had a tendency to wander into dark places when it was quiet. He shook his head violently; taking a trip down memory lane was not something he needed right now.

Head still moving to the side, he noticed it; a tiny, nearly invisible mark low on the wall by the entrance to a side tunnel. "Rip, Tear... Heel" he ordered; the cybernetic killing machines stopped dead at the command and looked back at him with cold blue glowing eyes. They seemed eager; or so Damien thought to himself as that was the impression they gave off. He moved to examine the mark, realizing that if he hadn't shaken his head at just the right moment, he would have missed it entirely. Looking at Rip and Tear he commented stonily "well, aren't you two useless?... And you're supposed to be programmed to hunt down targets too."

Both of the hounds whined; the sound sharing more with broken machinery being shredded rather than any natural animal sound. The noise echoed down the tunnel, and Damien turned to stare at them stonily through his skull faced helmet... They got the message though as the whining stopped immediately. Turning back to the mark, he knelt down in the water to get a closer look. On his HUD, the symbol was being quickly cross referenced with hundreds of others that had been found on Nyte since the disaster that was the Daemon invasion of several months previous, and when a match was found, he grinned murderously.

"Come" Damien said as he began to move down the side tunnel. It did not take long for his hounds to catch up, and barely a few minutes later, his helmet sensors picked up a heat signature ahead... A humanoid heat signature.

Shifting his combat shotgun to hang over his back, he drew one of his combat knives... The black material the weapon was made from glinted strangely in the dim light; the unnatural, painful to look at sigils jaggedly etched into the blade seemed to draw what little light there was into the blade, and even through his power armored gauntlet, he felt a coldness radiating slowly up his fingers and hand before it began to work it way up his forearm. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, he exploded forward with a burst of speed and a splash of dirty, tepid water and detritus. He was on the figure quickly; grabbing him by the throat as the man opened his mouth to scream. Lifting the man into the air, he slammed him into the tunnel wall before pistoning the knife repeatedly into his chest and stomach. By the third thrust of the blade, the scent of burning flesh, and the slurp and sizzle of the blade going rhythmically in and out of the mans rapidly deteriorating torso filled the hallway as the mans body seemingly began to melt.

Dropping the bloody remains he moved on quickly, all pretense of stealth now gone as he charged down the tunnel; Rip and Tear moving to either side and easily keeping pace. The sudden rise of the tunnel floor, and the equally sudden drop that followed was unexpected, and Damien landed badly; sliding on something fluid, yet thick and vicious. He regained his footing quickly enough however...Rip and Tear doing the same and moving to stand protectively beside him as he took a moment to process what exactly he'd fallen into.

"For fucks sake" he said to himself. "Not again."

The newly summoned daemon, and the dozen odd cultists looked equally put out Damien thought... Well the cultists did at least. The daemon just looked like a twelve foot tall reddish-black rage monster covered in blades, claws, and curling horns.

"Rip, Tear... Kill" he commanded as he swung the shotgun from his back to his off hand. His finger squeezed the trigger, filling the ritual chamber with the barking roar of APHE shells. The automatic shotgun bucked as he wielded it with his off hand. Compensating for the recoil, he strode forward toward the daemon as Rip and Tear lunged forward with matching mechanical growls, their bladed jaws growling to life with a throaty whirring noise that was just barely audible between the banging of the shotgun and the screaming of the surprised cultists.

The daemon didn't seem to care however. Instead, it charged gamely into the hail of APHE shells; seeming to ignore the chunks of flesh being blown from its hide. It was on him in a few seconds; swatting the shotgun from his hand and batting Damien back nearly twenty feet into a roughly hewn wall... The violence of the impact nearly knocked him out even inside his power armor. Ignoring how his HUD flickered, and a stream of error messages began to tick past the corner of his left eye, Damien drew his second combat knife; a matching twin to the one he'd used earlier, and had just enough time to brace himself before the daemon was on him once more.

The following brawl was hectic, and when asked to report on the incident later, he'd be hard pressed to come up with any details of the actual fight. There was pain though; and screaming, and blood; he remembered that much... Whether his or the daemons he would not be able to say, and the camera built into his helmet was an early casualty of the fight... Along with the helmet itself for that matter.

When it ended finally, it ended just as suddenly as it had begun, and Damien found himself slumped on top of a slowly corroding daemonic corpse in a pool of stinking acidic blood with far too much vibrant crimson mixed in with it... His blood he thought sluggishly as he slid unsteadily off the corpse; dragging himself slowly away to lean back against the wall.

Rip and Tear approached him whining, practically bathed in the remains of the cultists; a fact Damien struggled to comprehend for some reason.

"Good dogs" he commented slowly. "I think I'll just rest here for a moment" he continued quietly as he slumped down against the wall. He did not hear them whine once more, nor did he notice as they cocked their heads to look at each other before turning to bound rapidly from the room in search of aid.

[Nyte]

Unrepentant Nuclear Thuggery
04/28/0498AG

The forest was eerily silent; there were no animal noises...no birds singing...not even the rustle of fallen leaves on the wind. The four cloaked, armed men moving purposely among the alien trees were nearly as silent themselves; only the sound of their steady, muffled footsteps betrayed their presence; audibly at least. Visually, their grayish black armored bodygloves were concealed almost head to toe by sophisticated chameleoline cloaks that quite effectively mimicked their alien surroundings.

It was a distant cacophony of what sounded like thunder that caused the first of them to finally break their self imposed silence.

"The mission briefing didn't mention any inclement weather did it?... Where'd this thunder come from?" The youngest of the four commented grumpily, clearly not looking forward to slogging through a thunder storm on some nameless alien dirtball.

Another of the four chuckled darkly. "That's not thunder boy" he quipped; the humor in the comment clear in his tone of voice.

"Then what the fuck is it?"

Turning his helmeted, hooded head back to look at the youngest member of the squad, a third replied simply "You'll see in a moment...keep moving." The voice was a cold monotone devoid of emotion, accent, or inflection, though it had a steely quality to it.

And indeed, a few minutes later the four men cleared the tree line and came to stand on a ledge with a commanding view of forested valleys, hills, and mountains as far as their augmented eyes could see... It was a view that was made even more impressive by the hellish glow of blazing mushroom clouds stretching across the horizon for what must have been hundreds of miles; the glow of which was so powerful that it had temporarily turned night into day.

The four stood there for several minutes taking in the view; silhouetted a shadowy black by the rosy glow of distant nuclear fire.

"Well," the second man continued; breaking the silence once more. "I told you it wasn't thunder boy."

[Nyte]

And Watch As The Ships, Go Sailing...
05/01/0498AG

The old man moved swiftly down the dark hallway... Well, as swiftly as his mechanical prosthetic leg and it's odd gait would allow. Despite this, he made relatively good time; odd gait, or no odd gait. He whistled quite happily as he went as well, as he was in a very good mood all things considered. His favorite time of the month was just a few short minutes away, and though he was running just a tad bit late, he should still have plenty of time to catch the launch from his spot.

Sitting down on the cold metal floor with a slightly pained grunt, he pulled out a wrapped lunch and a thermos full of hot 'caffe from within his dirty coveralls and set them on the floor beside him. Shifting his back along the wall a bit, he made himself comfortable before opening the thermos and taking a long sip of the hot caffeinated beverage; sighing contentedly as the beverage sent a wave of warmth through his aging limbs.

He looked up and out; the thermos still clutched in his hands. Through the massive, reinforced window, grey, armored leviathans were slowly beginning to move free of their moorings. He couldn't see all of them of course; there were far too many, and they were spread out over far to great a distance for his simple, unaugmented eyes... The farthest visible ones were mere specks of light grey in the mostly hollow void, and barely visible through the mess of gantries, girders, cranes, and construction bays.

At first, they moved in the dozens... Smaller ships mostly; frigate and destroyer hulls... Soon however, he was counting ships up into the hundreds, and bigger hulls were clearly in the mix; cruisers, battleships, carriers, and an unusual number of dreadnaught hulls as well. His eyes widened; he'd never seen so many of the Empire's larger ships slipping out of the bays at once... Not once in the last thirty years had he seen such a spectacle. Stunned, he sat, food and drink forgotten as he lost count of the number of grey armored leviathans somewhere in the low hundreds, and those were only the ones he could see... If things stayed true to form, a good three or four times that number must have been moving all at once; steadily making their way to, and through the tunnels that would lead them out into open space.

He sat there for some time after the last of the ships were gone; his 'caffe and lunch going cold and ignored. He had no idea where all of those ships were going, or if they were all even going to the same place, but he almost felt sorry for whoever it was that was going to have to face them... Almost.

[Nyte]

Jericho
01/07/0498AG

They called him Little Troy... No one knew why; least of all Little Troy himself, as there was nothing little about the three hundred pound slab of Frenzon addicted muscle. They also called him stupid; though not to his face... Probably had something to do with the multicolored mohawk made of florescent spikes nailed into his head... Clearly, Little Troy didn't have much going for him in the brains department.

Not that Jericho cared really. To him, Little Troy was an obstacle that was about to be removed... Permanently.

As Jericho approached the door to the club; some low level dive called The Amber Peacock, he could practically feel Little Troy's piggy eyes focus on him from his spot posted up by the door... "Yo kind ain't welcome ere" he grunted out.

Jericho kept walking; his pace steady and measured. He slowly readied the hogleg concealed by the long leather duster he wore draped over his shoulders like a cloak.

"Ju deaf, fucker" Little Troy grunted out... "I sez ju ain't welcome ere" he repeated.

They'd be his last words... Jericho pulled out the hogleg and unloaded both barrels into Little Troy's head; right between his beady little eyes. Brain, bone, and a handful of flickering florescent spikes painted the wall by the door of the Amber Peacock. What the fuck even is a peacock Jericho thought to himself as he reloaded the hogleg. Stepping over what was left of Little Troy, Jericho kicked in the door, and calmly strolled into the club. He made his way deeper into the club; ignoring the strobing flicker of the lights and naked women gyrating on poles... He pushed his way through the crowd of sweaty, throbbing bodies; pushing them out of the way when they didn't move fast enough. He was here for one reason only.

And there that reason was; sitting at a corner booth with some hired muscle... A half naked serving girl struggling to get away from him.

Jericho simply barged right in; flopping flamboyantly into the empty seat across from his target. "Antonii" he remarked just loud enough to be heard over the too loud music being pumped through the clubs speakers. "My account is looking mighty empty Antonii" he continued; thumping the hogleg down on the table; his finger already gently squeezing the trigger... "Where's my fucking money?"

The man, Antonii let go of the struggling serving girl; who, realizing what was coming, was quick to scramble out of the way. Jericho smirked at the man, and once more the hogleg spoke; both barrels turning Antonii's chest into a bloody hole as the manstopper rounds blew out his spine and then the booth behind him; clipping one of the hired thugs in the leg and bowling him over. The other two thugs went for their weapons, but Jericho was faster; his cybernetic arms elongated... The fingers becoming clawed... He grabbed the first thug by his throat, twisted, and pulled; ripping the mans spine out with a spray of vibrant, crimson blood. The second thug was grabbed by the face, and a pair of clawed cybernetic fingers impaled him through the eyes before digging their way into his brain. He died twitching and soiling himself with barely even a whimper.

Standing up, Jericho ignored the sudden pandemonium his violent display had caused among the club goers and moved around the booth to the last thug; the one who's leg he'd previously blown apart. He crouched down by the man, batting away his feeble attempts to defend himself. "Do let dear Antonii's father know he owes me a very large amount of money" Jericho growled out; poking the thug in his mangled leg for emphasis. "I'll give him a week... Or the rest of his family is next... Understand?"

The thug simply moaned pitifully; whether it was from the pain, or in understanding Jericho didn't care. One way or another, he intended to get his money. "Good boy" he said; gently patting the thug's cheek before standing up and taking in the now empty club. Chuckling, he whistled along to the too loud music as he calmly walked back out; stepping neatly over Little Troy's corpse once more as he did so.

[Nyte]

Whispering Steel
05/11/0498AG

"Despite the recent string of experiments, and a few test runs conducted in the field by..."

He ignored the doctors spiel...instead, his attention was on the sheathed weapon that was currently cradled in his hands. It didn't appear all that special in his opinion. As a matter of fact, it looked no different than any of the other swords he'd used in his younger years while on any of his dozens of deployments with the army. Grasping the hilt, he noticed that it fit perfectly in his hand; almost as if it had been specifically made for his use.

Slowly drawing the weapon from it's sheath, he didn't notice the odd tingling sensation beginning to form in his fingers. Instead, he focused on how well balanced the blade felt in his hand as his eyes were drawn to the unusual black material of which the blade was crafted, and the unusual symbols etched along it's length. They really were quite mesmerizing he thought to himself; admiring how darkly the weapon gleamed as he slowly shifted it in his hands.

In the background, the doctor continued rambling on about his teams findings based on their most recent series of tests and experiments, but slowly, as the tingling spread from his fingers to his hand, then his forearm and beyond, the doctors voice seemed to grow quieter and quieter... Replaced at first by an indecipherable sussurus that slowly drew him in.

After several moments of listening however, several words, barely audible at first, began to emerge. They were sibilantly spoken, with an undercurrent of raw malice that became more and more palpable with each repetition.

murder...death...kill...

murder...death...kill...

murder...death...kill...

murder...death...kill...

yesss...

Shaking his head, he threw the weapon forcefully across the room... Not noticing the fresh sheen of blood that was slowly being absorbed by the now faintly glowing symbols burning with an eldritch fire along the glistening length of the blade... Nor did he notice the silence of the room, or the fresh, mutilated corpses of the doctor and his assistant; both of which were butchered almost beyond recognition just like everyone else in the room as well.

No, instead, he could only focus on the dark murderous laughter echoing sibilantly in his head, and the icy numbness slowly fading from his arm.

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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With the onset of war, the Empire has begun shifting both personnel and military assets in vastly increased numbers. Reportedly, this shift is being carried out for a variety of reasons, and the increased activity throughout the Empire has reportedly been cause for some concern among nearby powers; several of whom have responded by shifting their own forces as a counter which has only escalated the entire situation even further. For the most part, sources in the military report that the posturing is to be expected, and as such, is not a matter of much concern, with the entire situation having been described by one anonymous source in the military as "empty saber rattling."

Despite all of this, the shuffle continues... Efforts by several intranet-based watch groups have attempted to track many of these movements, but the Empire's well developed system of subterfuge is reportedly being even more misleading than usual; making tracking the resources, personnel, and even entire fleets nearly impossible outside of military command itself. Potential fallout from these movements is something of a concern among some Nyteborne despite the assurances from the military however, with concern of an increased risk of attack by a hostile power seeming to be on the forefront of many a Nyteborne's mind in the wake of recent events.

Additional sources within military command report, however, that even with all of the shifting of military forces, and the subsequent need for the Empire's fleets to range further afield, that border security has not been lessened to any significant degree. Rumors as to how this is possible have run amuck online however, and a number of high profile media outlets have begun to question the veracity of these assurances despite the lack of supporting evidence one way or the other.

For updates on this story, follow us [HERE].

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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Our top story of the day continues to be the Empire's ongoing military recruitment drive which has been a major media topic since shortly after the disastrous daemonic incursion of just a few short months ago. The need for additional manpower; both among the army and the navy continues to rise as recruitment numbers continue to fall short of the figures needed to keep up with the current production levels of military equipment and weaponry, and even navy vessels. Unconfirmed rumors coming out of military command in Halcon suggest multiple workarounds are being discussed; from increasing drone production, to loosening the Empire's current AI regulations, to simply increasing sign on bonuses and improving benefits packages to lure Nyteborne to a possible career in the Empire's armed forces.

Stay tuned to S.N.N. for continuing real-time updates on this topic here on S.N.N.; your source of news on the Intranet.

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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The successful testing of the Interstellar Empire's first "Titan" class vessel during it's prototype phase has led to a number of interesting developments for the Empire's Navy. The importance of such heavy hulls has been made readily apparent to a number of planners within the higher ranks of Naval Command who have, as such, spent the last several weeks ramming through an increased budget to expand the Empire's naval forces even further than recent construction efforts already have.

Leading this expansion is an as yet unconfirmed number of additional "Titan" hulls; as well as a significant number of other, "lesser" capitol ship hulls from the carrier to battleship range. While these numbers are as of yet unconfirmed, several high ranking members of the Navy, speaking anonymously, have confirmed that the expansion will be significant, possibly to the point of stretching the Empire's manufacturing infrastructure to it's limits for the first time in the Empire's history.

Follow S.N.N. on the Intranet [HERE] to keep up to date on this story and many others.

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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Another minor conflict stemming from the Empire's current anti-daemon crusade has officially come to a close. This war; the 19th such minor war in a series of minor wars, has ended with a somewhat better outcome than previous ones as only a limited orbital bombardment was needed to remove the potential future threat of daemonic attacks coming from the system in question. Unfortunately, a number of vessels believed to be containing a combination of surviving hostiles and cultists groups alike did manage to escape through the navies loose blockade of the system and will likely continue the further spread of the daemonic influence to other nations in the region.

Navy forces however, continue their pursuit of these vessels as well as others like them; ranging even further into the Gamma and Delta Quadrants. Warnings put out by the Empire about the threat posed by these supposed refugees unfortunately, continue to be ignored despite the abundance of evidence and eye witness testimony. Even the public release of footage of the daemonic attack on Halcon itself seems to have had little impact in swaying foreign opinions.

As the number of these refugees continues to increase, it is expected that the Navy will need to range even further away from the Empire's sphere of influence, and if current reactions continue as they are, the number of small wars is likely only to increase as time goes on; a matter of great concern for the people of the Interstellar Empire despite the current state of high morale and a burning desire for retribution among the common Nyteborne.

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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A massive daemonic outbreak has been reported in a region of Gamma tentatively being referred to by the Empire as the Villic Reach; having been named as such by Admiral Nathaniel Villic who carried out the preliminary exploration efforts just prior to the recent daemon influenced hostilities. The region is home to nearly two dozen minor stellar powers; both human and xenos, and while the region was originally determined to be of little real interest to the Empire, it is now suspected to have become a refugee safe harbor; likely since the early phase of the war considering the wide spread nature of the outbreak.

Limited contact between the Empire and the nations native to the region however, have left details concerning this outbreak few and far between. However, utter chaos has erupted throughout the region, and the few reports that have made it to the Empire indicate heavy casualties among the locals, and significant destruction to the local infrastructure.

Merchant and civilian travel into and out of the region is to be considered restricted at this time, and violators of this restriction will be fired upon without warning. Rumors coming out of the military indicate the build-up of a large scale attack force consisting of multiple fleets; with an offensive set to begin as soon as the beginning of next week. Preliminary containment efforts however, have already begun, and official communications channels have been utilized to warn neighboring regions of the threat in the area; requesting their noninterference and once more warning of the dangers of accepting refugees coming from the affected region.

Whether these warnings will finally be heeded remains unknown however.

Follow the link [HERE] for real time updates on this situation.

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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The recent increase in open hostilities in both the Gamma and Delta Quadrants has seen the need to bolster the Empire's infrastructure in its outlying territories. The last few weeks have seen the announcement of several dozen new projects; both military and civilian alike, and upon their completion, will see a significant improvement to the infrastructure of, and the defenses of, a dozen systems throughout the Empire's border territories; many of which have long been neglected in preference of the Empire's core systems.

A number of unconfirmed rumors circulating on the Intranet postulate that this is likely only the first of several rounds of extensive infrastructure upgrades intended to be carried out over the next several months, with additional upgrades being rolled out in waves several months apart from each other. While these rumors are currently unconfirmed, there is some circumstantial evidence to support the theory; particularly when examining ship movements and the very large build-up of supplies at several storage depot's in the region. The military, unsurprisingly, has remained quiet on the matter however...

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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In a process begun during one of his earliest meetings with his new advisory council, Emperor Xaiah Morningstar, earlier today, finalized the abolition of restrictions on Artificial Intelligence throughout the Interstellar Empire. The new laws which are set to take effect next month have commonly come to be referred to as the Articles of AI Citizenship, and will grant to the Empire's Artificial Intelligence's the same rights and protections granted to all Nyteborne within the Empire's borders.

While discussing the new laws, Emperor Morningstar attributed the push for the passage of these new laws to his father Conrad Curze; the Empire's first Emperor, and mentioned that Curze's death came before he himself was able to finalize legislation on the matter, but that the early efforts to set the ground work of the laws had already been enacted shortly before Curze's death in the Daemonic attack on the Empire's capitol city Halcon.

While there have been reports of concern from many Nyteborne about these new laws and the effects they will have on Nyteborne society, the general public seems largely to be in favor of the laws at this time despite several small protests on Nyte, Dispayre, and Prosperine.

To see full copies of the laws in question. follow the link [HERE]

For details concerning the anti AI protests mentioned above, click [HERE]

[Nyte]

S.N.N.

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After a three and a half month reign of terror, the mass murderer nicknamed The Butcher by the media was finally cornered by Arbitrators earlier this morning. The ensuing shootout between the so called Butcher and the Arbitrators resulted in a combined thirteen deaths; including The Butcher himself, and at least a pair of Arbitrators... Bringing The Butchers final tally to forty-seven confirmed victims; with an additional ten unconfirmed victims due to the shootout itself which is still being investigated.

The identities of The Butchers victims are still being kept confidential however until after all of their families or next of kin can be contacted by the Arbitrators...

Details surrounding the shootout itself are being kept largely quiet, and details of the events leading up to, and including the shootout itself have proven to be somewhat difficult to come by. However, upon comments made by an anonymous source, it has been confirmed that The Butcher was shot a staggering one hundred and seventy-three times, and when the S.N.N reporter covering the investigation asked the investigating Arbitrators for comments, one Arbitrator; identity still unknown at this time, was heard to remark that he'd been shot so many times because that was the number of bullets they'd still had left at the time... The comment has prompted some speculation among S.N.N. staff as to whether abuse of power may be becoming a problem among the Empire's Arbitrators...

Details from the investigation are expected to be released later this week.

[Nyte]

The following is copied from this survey:
Witch Hunting In Your Nation

Regardless of historical prevalence, as all nations have typically heard of witches even if none existed within them, how does your society and cultural trend define witchcraft and witches?
Within the Interstellar Empire witchcraft is defined as the practice of questionable and esoteric arts that are commonly associated with the Daemonic and Eldritch... Witches, and similar such practitioners are defined as anathema.

At any point in your nation's history has there existed a cultural or religious concept of witchcraft and witches?
Yes. Within the Interstellar Empire, such things are associated with Daemonic and Eldritch Horrors. This is especially true in "modern" times.

If not, with what regard did or do your people view those perceived to have been otherwise spiritually enhanced, such as wisefolk, witch-doctors, shamans, priests, or others?
N/A

If so, was witchcraft subject to social distrust and the alleged practitioners of witchcraft subject to a pursuit and killing, either by mob or by law?
Such matters go well beyond distrust... Witchcraft, and similar practitioners of such questionable arts are considered anathema to the Nyteborne, and their extermination falls under the umbrella of the Nyteborne's current crusade against the Daemonic and Eldritch.

Do the killings of alleged witches continue into the present day, however this is defined by your nation's canon, either legally or extra-judicially?
Yes. Witches and other practitioners of such arts are considered to be anathema within the Interstellar Empire, and under the current interpretation of the law, their murder is not only legal (it's not even considered to be murder), but a culturally accepted norm.

[Nyte]

The following is copied from this survey:
Execution Survey

Crimes:
Murder [Y]
Sexual Assault [Y]
Theft [N]
Grand Theft [N] Typically... Exceptions apply.
Tax Evasion [N]
Fraud [N] Typically... Exceptions apply.
Impersonation [N] Typically... Exceptions apply.
Prostitution []
Human Trafficking [Y] And any other forms of slavery too...
Child Abuse [Y]
Spousal Abuse [N]
Incest [N]
Bestiality [N]
Homosexuality [N]
Polygamy []
Abortion [N]
Worship of the wrong religion [Y] Specifically daemon worship, and worship of the eldritch...
Advocacy of the wrong political ideas [N] Exceptions apply.
Possession of firearms []
Possession of drugs []
Distribution of firearms []
Distribution of drugs []
Extortion [N]
Other (Please state in your entry) Piracy, Treason, Acts of Terrorism...

Methods of execution: In this section , please specify if executions are public or private.
Firing Squad [Y] Public
Hanging [N]
Lynching [N]
Beheading [Y] Public
Skinning alive [N]
Crucifixion [Y] Public
Lethal injection [Y] Public
Electric chair [N]
Starvation [N]
Torture [Y] Public
Fight to death [Y] Public
Drowning [N]
Burn until death [Y] Public
Suffocation [N]
Eaten alive [N]
Molten Throne [N]
Other (Please state in your entry) Death of Personality (mind wiping), Spacing (from an airlock into space)

[Nyte]

S.N.N.


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Rumors of a possible Karax outbreak within the Empire's Scinithian Protectorate Zone has seen military forces scrambling to respond. Travel into and out of the region has been restricted with vessels being turned away or forcibly quarantined at weapon point and the threat of death. Several instances of vessels attempting to break this quarantine have been reported, and while details remain unknown for the most part, at least one vessel attempting to escape the quarantine has been confirmed to have been destroyed...

S.N.N. has received scattered reports from several sources within the quarantine however that paint a horrifying picture of massed violent rioting, lethal armed skirmishes between groups of armed Scinithians, the Arbitrators, and ground elements of the Empire's Army, as well as reports of Scinithians being whisked off in the middle of the night to places unknown by unmarked military units using black, unmarked vehicles; usually unwillingly so, and at gunpoint.

The situation remains a volatile one, and S.N.N. contacts within the military remain extraordinarily tight lipped concerning what exactly is going on; refusing to make any comments on the matter other than that a statement would be made to the public at a later date once the situation has calmed down to a more manageable level. We shall continue to cover this story as we can, and provide updates as, and when they become available to us.

Follow S.N.N. on the Intranet [HERE] to keep up to date on this story and many others.