The Milky Way had been neglected by the Great Realm upon its return to NS-1, but no longer. The Vrasha, far removed from the power of Gerwannia, had decided that the time had come. Sol would be bathed in holy fire, and be reborn a Daughter of the One Most High. This would establish Frankian power, for all to see, that should last so long as this Universe might remain. That all would fall in time to the host, the Vrasha was without a shadow of a doubt, but the expenses incurred against the barbarri would be ruinous for his administration.
A commander, frugal with the lives of their men, was sought amongst those of the 40th Corps granted to the Vrasha of the Celestial Way. Such was on hand, one of the Daughters of Isocrett that had fled the Urlann upon the Return of the Wylids. Like many of the Folk, she was an orphan, fated to be an exile in distant lands. A whim of her Magister had sent her here, where she was destined to take up the Sword of Atkanism against the unbelievers.
She entered his hall, passing the fire which must ever burn in the hearth by the Will of the Atkana. Her jet black hair and skin the color of ivory did not distinguish her from the Great Folk, but her attire did. Bolder than that of even a Lady at Court, the Daughter of Isocrett wore scale armor containing gems from a thousand worlds. Her golden helm depicted the triumph of the Mater Most High over the forces of the Abyss... A good omen...
The Vrasha sat cross legged upon a carpet, staring into the fire. He was an old man by the time he was dispatched to the Milky Way, and he had grown older with the passing cycles. He had been a holy man before he had become a governor, but he managed to govern his domain effectively. Revenue had increased, shipyards had been constructed, and the folk of Sanara could boast that they were close to becoming a Citadel of the Realm. That was never to be, for the Great Realm had desired that such rivals to Gerwanna's power not be as numerous as when Neustria stood.
Still, it was not enough.... The realms that had mocked the Great Realm still remained, unchastised. Their Citadels had not known terror from on high, they had not paid tribute to the Protector of all Faiths and Realms. They had sunk into a barbarism which demanded correction, into pride that warranted a fall.
DKS Bane of the Abyss led the vanguard, as was often the case with the Elect of the Atkana. Jovanna vra Isocretta peered at her display, and gave orders for the Fleet to spread out as it made due course. Three Fleets had she brought, from Sanara, the Slayers of Daemons and Terror of the Sith. They had been hunting such abominations without mercy, bringing back the heads of those wicked creatures who did not yield to the Mater Most High. A trail of shattered worlds lay behind the Slayers, the 6th Division Urlanna.
More now awaited them, as interdiction probes came on in legion around the System of Sol. This system had seen the coming and going of powers, throughout the eons. Now, it would feel the fury of those who bore the Rammenflieg, and know the cleansing fire that destroyed cities great and small.
Upon the erection of the interdiction field, stretching nearly one hundred au across, came the 6th Division Urlanna. The scans in depth would reveal what likely awaited the Great Folk, all those who resided in the system would be regarded as foes if they did not yield. All communications would be jammed, all transit would be cut off to prevent reinforcement as the Sword of Atkana descended.
Nearly twelve thousand craft of all types had come, from the Great Dromonds to the sleek Destroyers. Skirmisher and Killercraft raced on ahead to determine desirable routes for the advance. Engineers followed, to clear pathways through whatever obstacles might bar the path of the Great Dread Fleet. It was not long before a transmission was sent, for those who defended Sol against the might of the Dread Realm.
Inhabitants and realms of Sol, I give you this chance to yield and save your lives. The Elect of the Atkana have come, the Swords of Gerwanna have come, the Lost Daughters have come. The Commander of the Faithful, and the Devas on High who acknowledge the One, have called for your being brought into the Sol. Blessed be they who choose the Path of Peace, and submit themselves to the Divine Authority!
Sailors, soldiers, lay down your arms and you shall be guaranteed safe conduct to your own lands. Resistance is futile, and many shall fall before our inevitable victory. Must your brothers die in vain, must you see your proud walls thrown down by the Children of the Atkana?
The time has come to choose... Choose wisely, or else your damnation is ensured.
The Great Folk, meanwhile, formed up for battle formation in the Void in loose order. The Great Dromonds sent forth projections, to terrify the enemy and bolster the Faith of the crew. The Vani, servants of the Atkana, were shown everywhere to be with the Fleet upon this hour. Their arms and armor were silver ethereal, their helms shining as bright as the lone star within this system. Some would dart ahead, to clear obstacles as though the gods on high had intervened in the eyes of the barbarians. For those of the Faithful, this was no miracle, but the implementation of technology that had been in service of the Faith since the Age of Wylus.
Gridfire fanned out ahead, darting this way and that, to sweep aside minefields or to summon forth snares meant to damage the Division as it advanced. Craft that lurked in the shadows would be illuminated for a brief moment, before feeling the full force of the batteries of the Division. Killercraft would follow behind the lancefire, to try with quadcannon and torpedoes where the fire of the Grid had failed.
None were directed yet at the enemy squadrons, whose numbers were not yet known. They would be given time to respond, and make ready for battle within the Void. Only the Fates knew the outcome, as the Great Dread Fleet made ready upon this day to honor the Most High with arms.
