Dreams of Federation [EAW]

by Soldier-DIOR

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Science Fiction, Profanity, Violence, Princess Celestia, Death, Zecora, Alternate Universe, Human, Anthro, Main 6, Princess Luna, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Cadance
Length: 41336

Two hyper-advanced warships pursue a single man to a mystic planet. One belongs to a race who once ruled half the universe, one to mans African Federation.

- Remastering of the first three parts nearly completed.

—————————

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.

Besieged on all sides a hostile power, an alliance of man acts as a bulwark to safeguard the home worlds of civilization.

In the thousands of years of chaos that would follow the “catastrophe,” the fighting ability of humanity would be tested like never before: Unrivaled efforts of expansion matched only by the burden of eternal war.

Today, a resurgent alien empire has forced the hand of the ‘High Marshall’ who personally commands the most powerful of ships in the grand fleet to secure the space around its most recent advances.

A routine operation.

But after this battle, the winds of fortune kicked up a strange vortex of coincidence. The ‘battlecarrier’ was ejected out of hyperspace, lightyears away from known stars and resources nowhere to be found-

-an enemy battleship in hot pursuit.

—————————☆—————————

The Equestrian nation is about to face its greatest of tests, the Changeling Invasion of 1002. The ponies, determined to cling to their old ways, cannot fathom the events that will follow the fateful day.

From the visitors to the revelations of her place in the universe, their entire world must adapt to preserve its eclectic soul into the stars, or submit to temptation.

More tags maybe added as the story continues and evolves…

Will be added to the EAW Group once rewrites are completed

Published 2024-02-23 20:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-04-18 03:30:27 UTC

Prologue: ‘Federation’

Author's Note

Remaster in progress, check back soon if you wish to wait for that.

Prologue: ‘Federation’

"In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war…"

—————————☆—————————

The portside bridge of the battlecarrier is silent. It does not carry the weight of dozens into deep space battle, nor is it filled with orders from commanders. Simply put, the bridge is quiet. Not save for the stray droids on duty, or the footsteps of patrolling couples, but simply dead.

If one observes closely, they can hear crew members awaken from their slumber, once again becoming the wielders of this great weapon, this great ship. Given some time, they could harness their inner warrior, and adapt to their thrown off sleep schedules. Endurance was something cherished in the strong society, after all.

Here, night has come for their vessel above the Earth, and it would not deliver rest.

Hallways were blanketed in vibrant canary, beckoning crewmen to their stations. For a late, exhausting mission was near.

But before that dawned upon the crew, a celebration was to be commenced across all the Federation.

The starboard bridge was not in the same condition as it’s twin. Fleet Admiral Luti Umbru of the 12th Galactic Sector, also known as the "Flood of the Cape", gazed beyond the window before him, a rhombus-plated half-sphere that was the forward section of the command deck.

No man dared trespass on the Admiral's domain. At times, the energy of his nigh-immortal body radiated from him; in the most extreme cases, black lightning emanated from his chiseled back and hands due to his incomplete enhancement. Dead spirits orbited his cybernetic implants, for on his whim, fleets had committed great sin for the good of everyone under the banner. Sailors of 'Republic' thrived under their no-nonsense Commander, even if it took time to adjust to their steel-hearted skipper.

He was the former leader of the Unleashed Revengeance Group. He was a killer of Federalists in a bygone era, defiant to the end. After tasting defeat in single combat, he saw the error in his ways and was offered a high-ranking spot in the new Orbital Fleet. He serves the nation, operating against the terrors and the wonders of mankind's galaxies.

As such, he is the practical right-hand man of the High Marshall. Luti occupies a comfortable spot as the fifth oldest man alive at two thousand, nine hundred eighty-eight years of age, after three people he didn't know nor care about in particular and his once mortal enemy and now superior, Micah

The Fleet Admiral was at peace. Nearly three millennia of life resulted in him fighting in the most genocidal territorial expansionist conquests, pounding hostile alien civilizations out of the galactic supercluster, enforcing subjugation, or releasing superweapons on defiant galaxies. He leads fleets even harder. Early in his reign, he became the Naval Chief of Staff, the number one man in the Federal Navy. These were just a few of his accomplishments.

Memories of the past, though, were sidelined. Just like literal thousands of groups of men and women in the most private sections of his ship, he watched a television that was locked onto a single closed hangar in Bamako, angles varied due to the tens of thousands of news channels that had emerged in recent centuries, but the same doorway nonetheless. The gate through which their leader would appear in the most fabulous uniform fathomable and speak on this sacred day.

Umbru could hear his subordinates revel in their virtual victories and cry in pain at 'events' or whatever they were called in their stupid video games. He had hoped all were equipped with a backup device for what was obvious. Even a disciplinarian such as him could relent at least this once. Together, they were a ruthless apparatus of slaughter and perdition - the onyx soul of the United African Military.

Everyone was doing something, waiting for the moment promised in the past few months and even more speculated in the past few hours. He did not request anyone to stand up here with his old ass; instead, the leader sealed the chamber shut and stood alone.

And so, the Chief shifted his weight and commanded a droid with the serial production number "A-21-1" to use micro-projectors to transform the half circle of a window into text. The little droid complied immediately, its two little legs making it look rather cute until its horizontal head shifted enough for one to view the crimson eye.

You would see red, and your soul was at its mercy. At least that's what a private said happened. The story stuck…

Serial numbers as low as they were on this vessel made perfect sense, as this battlecarrier was among the first to integrate droids. Before mass deployment, the number of people on this one ship was enough to crew multiple battleships of today's requirements fully and then some.

The text that popped up on the half circle on the front of the starboard bridge were the details of the Republic herself and the iconic entries of an unknown Naval Ensign over two thousand years ago. The Admiral figured it was best to read up before the ceremony. He knew the crew wouldn't allow their leader read through the grand event, even if he wanted to.

And so the Admiral settled down in a seat below the main walkways of the bridge and lost himself in words, the aura of malefic fading temporarily...

—————————☆—————————

*Entry start.*

It is a phenomenon as old as the military application of stellar technology that starships are seen as more than hulks of titanium and steel.

Through service, they transform into icons of the nations of this universe. The contraptions reflect the values, traits, and ideology of servicemen onboard.

Starships have come to represent many mighty ideals; liberty, opportunity, religion, populism, or tyranny.

Even rarer was a machine that embodied different emotions in each person who looked upon it. An example that would become the stuff of legend in the age of man.

African Federal Starship: Republic was one such ship.

A long abandoned archetype was needed to fulfill the ever expanding African needs.

Designed in secret at the peak of the North African Insurrection by the merciless Admiral and naval architect Nadira Juma, the revived class of warship was constructed to save the Federation from the vultures around the world in its darkest hour.

Entire armada of advanced human and alien warships fell before her hazardous weaponry. Swathes of star systems submitted to the army groups she at times single handedly escorted into the fray.

Built in the orbital shipyards above New Lomé in 3217, she was designed to complete such feats with ease. Adding onto these accomplishments, her secondary roles grew to include exploration and universal scale reconnaissance as standard sizes of capital ships slowly caught up to the nation-sized behemoth. The battlewagon of over eight-hundred kilometers in length and four-hundred fifty kilometers in beam, has been mauled in combat, upgraded, and finally, integrated with hyper-advanced technologies. These improvements have her the pride of the African navy for nearly two thousand years. Each implant into the ship's system is mastered by the immortal High Marshall of the Federation, who occasionally commands the ship in significant engagements.

As the lead ship of her class, Republic carries approximately seven hundred thousand crew members and over ten million droids and robots, primarily operating as worker drones, assisting with minor everyday tasks. Crew numbers of Republic are significantly lesser than her sisters, who each number approximately three million souls, with her carrying fewer men and women in exchange for enhanced battle performance, scouting ability, and armor. The men make decisions and operate weapons via command stations in the ship's many major and minor posts, among other actions.

The capabilities regarding raw firepower are dwarfed only by the ultimate symbols of power: the 'King Menelik' and 'Queen Nzinga' Class Dreadnoughts, which are not equipped with the fighter and bomber compliments of the aforementioned 'Tanganyika' and 'Carthage' Class Aircraft Carriers. Four thousand was the standard issue complement of space and atmosphere-capable craft that supported "Fleet Engagement" and full-scale "Planetary Invasion" operations on each carrier. On top of this number, twenty thousand units of advanced Russo-African artificial intelligence 'Swarm of Drone' technology equipped systems had been integrated into the carrier's systems, from Interceptor roles to F.P.V kamikaze bombing, were stashed in secondary hangars throughout the ship's two aft side concaves. The wedge-shaped hull was divided into topside and keel fire control sectors, controlled by the aft and secondary bridges throughout the ship.

On the topside, engineers constructed three rows of seven Mark-391 double barrel turrets on both port and starboard sides. Miniaturized thermonuclear energy cannons, unstable cobalt missiles imported from the Russian Federation, and thousands of general-purpose missile launchers line the superstructure. Hundreds of point defense systems, projectile or energy in nature, dotted the topside and horizontal belts.

All things considered, this would've made this carrier the tenth deadliest ship in the Federal arsenal... however, there was more. The Keel Sector (bottom half of the vessel) includes seven rows of eight armor-piercing double-barrel howitzers, horizontally positioned along the bulging centerline that went upwards outwards. Two Type-10 Kinetic-Dimensional Accelerator Rifles carry out planetary bombardment with low-yield, high-explosive, or thermonuclear projectiles. Every barrel in the arsenal that relied on kinetics, such as projectile launchers, had been rifled in the last millennia in standardization efforts. All smoothbore design philosophies were abandoned in favor of maximum speed and interdimensional application in projectile usage. Both were housed on the sides of a single turret, grey as fog with blue veins of cobalt energy on its steel skin. Those two things combined were one and a half times the size of Ghana. Most of the time, they were housed in the ship's lower section in a sealed vertical hangar.

In atmosphere, protocol demands two precautions are followed: In order to avoid potential disasters to the local population and infrastructure caused by sudden air currents, the ship must either maintain an altitude above a certain threshold or engage shield weakening measures and reduce its speed when entering the atmosphere, ensuring negligible disruption of airflow. The second pertains to all nuclear, cobalt, kinetic-dimensional accelerator, and orbital bombardment weapons be locked and usage restricted unless deemed necessary. This is due to the advancement of these weapons, meaning that in atmosphere, a single usage could obliterate entire continents or worse. Gravitational forces so different from Earth could create white and black holes. Republic is one of the few ships that can effortlessly contain and harness the powers of these objects; the same cannot be said for over ninety-nine percent of human infrastructure.

The self-sufficiency of Tanganyika Class Battlecarriers is second to only dedicated universal scout ships. With 'Type-985' sphere-shaped reactors inside their hulls, these ships' electrical and nuclear power are comparable to dozens of Betelgeuse-sized red supergiant stars combined. Each carrier can commit to shield transfers of entire fleets while maintaining stability and energy equilibrium. Nearly completely automated repetitive crew duties such as cleaning, meal preparation, and about half of the overall manual labor demands led to increased room for hull armor and entire cities' worth of food, nonperishables, water, and more stored in the secluded sections.

If Tanganyika vessels are required to, with massive support or on their own, initiate Planetary Assault, over one hundred thirty thousand African Marines, who as a fighting force are integrated into the naval chain of command, are stationed aboard the ship, along with all necessary equipment to sustain them for years on end on one or multiple worlds.

As a frequently employed scout ship, Republic is commonly sent beyond the range of rapidly deployable allied task forces and, as such, carries the most formidable communications array ever fitted on a vessel.

Due to the unique and controversial roles of the carrier, the strongest, most professional, and most experienced operators are hand-picked for service should they find themselves in a 'First Contact' scenario.

The staff of the Republic is one hundred percent human, just as in the vast majority of African ships. The High Marshall and other prominent figures are currently pushing for integration. Still, with the friendly humanoid alien minorities favoring the army branch and planetary air subdivisions, this leaves the navy in a welcoming but ultimately irrelevant position in this sector.

*Entry ending.*

—————————☆—————————

The Dome of Article is the most sacred site of the Federation.

A monument, a mega building, the final testament to its great nation.

It stands triumphantly atop Bamako, the capital of one of the great empires. Mali.

The top of the dome was a crimson hue. An energy shield powered by thirteen jet-black constructs in a symmetrical ring pattern enveloped the spectators. Every pillar assembled in obsidian and diamond, mauling the clouds of Mother Earth that dare connected.

The formal entrance to the connected 'House of Article' was opposite the dome. Though an audience section was in the front, it was far from the most impressive sight. The dark green turf was gardened tidily in rows reminiscent of the French chateaus. All parallel to the staircase, the steps, encrusted with steel, look beyond the ancient city of Paris. It was dwarfing this land's old governors. A hexagon-shaped door was encased in a massive supporting wall on all sides. It was solid quartz, as white as the clouds, glossy, and polished as a marble surface. The logo on either side was simple, just as with the pillars: a green flag with twelve stars orbiting the one star of unity in the center.

Mali is just one of the representatives of the thirteen stars. Each of these regional zones of the greater Federation represents the continent and governs over the states of the galaxies. The banner of the state was adopted in 2072, years after the unification process was finalized through the final conflicts with North African forces. The stars were proposed by Field Marshall Jamal Ali, leader of the 2nd Army Group during the days of the East African Provisional Authority after the continent was organized into thirteen Federal Provinces. The idea stuck.

A slew of people, differing in all things, from race and religion, humble liberators and enslaved people within the far reaches, the relatively simple-minded of galactic television, and men on the frontier all united in watching the vacant balcony. They awaited together, silent as the next in the octillions on whatever network-capable device and beyond the world's atmosphere. People now were fixated on the history about to be made. One man had the attention of the known universe.

The holograms and signals along the aerial streets of the Earth's immense African cities flash beyond the set of one hundred steps that lead to the entrance. The outside landscape was filled with green trees- and black, white, and grey superstructures that towered over anything natural and were domineering heights, almost flexing, proving their worth to ancestors living thousands of years before peoples of Africa had united, and before she had manifested as a nation of many.

Seven men of the African Army approached the main gateway as it opened horizontally. As the men entered, a dark tunnel guided them to a concealed door. Overhead lights initiated, motion sensors buzzed, and a dormant system awakened.

"Welcome, High Marshall of the Federation, Micah McNeal." A feminine voice announced, monotone as all other times the voice had been summoned. Blinding red lines inside the walls of the site flared to life as the A.I was awoken.

As the High Marshall gave the rest of the equally built men the word, they dispersed in the direction they had come.

"The same fancy attire awaits me inside?" The High Marshall demanded to know as he walked beyond the passage. As it so happened, it was literal minutes before the hyped speech. It was an action that no sensible Marshall would undertake; ‘pondering about some clothes this close, you should've been ready by now.’ Mother's words nearly brought on a smirk, for the previously plain thoughts were finally gone. Such a decision as personal of a choice of outerwear could affect the lives of the men and women of his nation. This mere talking to would undoubtedly go down in history.

Just another day at the office.

Contemplating momentarily, he surmised he could regain the feeling he longed for, losing himself in speech. Yes, of course, this message to the civilian masses, not just militant fronts, would be from his heart, just like all used to be.

He may be a genetically altered, immortal super soldier, but he wasn't hopelessly focused and empty inside. Sure, stoicism was disciplined from a young age by his adaptive, determined child self and by God, but Micah wasn't like the other American or Chinese or Russian "Gladiator" dubbed Supersoldiers who had their human desires and purposes stripped from them for exactly point-zero-zero-one percent more efficiency.

And, of course, for all that bluster about how since he was among the few not sterilized and emotionally unavailable, he was inferior to them in fights, he still whooped their best men's asses.

"This fit will do," He spoke to the artificial woman, casting a downward glance to meet her gaze while pointing a finger toward a coat hung on his right. Her golden form now projected onto the ground in front of him. "It will show strength in our time."

"I'm sure they couldn't agree more, sir." the A.I submitted, knowing his decision was irreversible.

"Glad we share the sentiment, Nyala." McNeal shot back, detecting attitude. "So, standard issue it is," was uttered, "let me inspect before starting this march ahead of me…"

The woman did not respond verbally to this. Indeed, the Marshall was already drowning in rugged military wear. Underneath everything he was going to examine for flaws was a black suit. Skin tight, this advanced metallic mixture was like a second skin designed to keep body temperature moderate or whatever was desired at all times.

Like his brother-in-arms, the enigmatic Umbru, McNeal had harnessed the powers of electricity. The High Marshall was the only master of the craft left alive, the few others perishing in war.

He finally began the final check. Hard-fought medals from his centuries in the frontline were propped on his big chest, an olive sweater with the Thirteen Stars emblazoned on its front holding the objects up. Below, on his hands were armored gloves; matte black, the gloves exterior were made of smooth, shiny material, a mixture of steel from the South African smelters of Durban and synthetic rubber from New Abyssinia the most populous African World, dwarfing Afriarth's post-catastrophe population. The knuckle guards over each pair of near-skinless heavy hitters acted as soft rubber shields, a nexus of which enhanced steel expanded unto the top of each finger. The wrist and the ends of the forearms were covered with thin guards that could be concealed under the sweater.

The man's pants were of the Army Detachment 774, a special division of which McNeal was still technically Commander. In reality he wielded it as own elite personalistic dictatorship, a citizenry of killers. All who passed selection were among the finest fighters in their censored history. New, pitch-black, and heavy-duty, the many black nano-tech armor plates glistened, pouches below still as durable as the day they were unified. This pair had seen battle across the stars, today might just be the grandest.

His standard-issue rubberized boots were covered by advanced nano-tech armor that extended midway up his shin, matching the color of his leg armor. The whole outfit of underlying cloth and flexible nanites gave his lower body a bulky appearance that matched his structure; thick legs and a bit too big rear end. This also had to added benefit of giving him an additional three inches of height.

Not that he needed it though. Micah ignited dread in the minds of smaller beings compelled unwavering respect in all subordinates with his aura, owing this to his towering height, immense weight, robust musculature, and masterful strategic prowess. At seven-foot-three inches tall and five-hundred-forty-six pounds without armor, few sentient beings in all of universal history have matched his physique, even less in age.

Micah had only two weapons on him, not counting his own body; two fourteen-inch, jet-black, Bowie knives remained sheathed on his sides, concealed by the cloth over them. They were of the highest quality, straight from the African National Arsenal Botswana District after becoming standardized for all forces of the Army.

The Marshall threw on the hung-up no hood coat over his sweater, all black besides the symbol of the well respected 'Turra C. Company'. Once ready, he reflected on himself.

A unifier of the motherland made a killer of the cosmos.

The retribution of his people, executioner of the enemies of state and family.

"Screw that generic ass script," he began "I will initiate this speech trusting in only him to gift me the words."

"I guess this would be the 'American' in you speaking, sir?" The word, along with the condescending tone, was ignored.

—————————☆—————————

The time has come. The High Marshall begins his march-a hundred steps.

The famous rectangular hangar opened horizontally, the sunlight beaming before his path. No news reporters were in this corridor, he would use that fact to his advantage and prepare himself for what must come.

He took the first step.

Absorbing his surroundings was now possible due to the blinding light entering through the cracked hangar door.

Hand-crafted symbols were emblazed on the walkway below his feet. The walls and ceiling of the octagon-shaped tunnel presented a collection of wooden emblems of every institution of the government from the militant branches to the Department of Orchestra. Ten fireplaces on both the left and right of the centerline contained blue-colored flame that erupted as soon as the sun's touch reached their centers.

As the march reached the tenth step, steel statues of soldiers came into view; ten monuments to the most honored fallen of the Federations campaigned through the cosmos.

All of the martyred men were cremated upon their ascendance to martyrdom. The dark and heroic endings of the men who had given their lives for the cause are well known throughout the cosmos. Among historical figures of pre-unified Africa, such as the Pharaohs of Egypt, the leaders of the National Congress, and countless more, these ten future soldiers garnered the most attention from Micah during the march. The reason was obvious: he knew them. Because he, technically at least, oversaw every order that led to their deaths. Perhaps he was devastated by this constant necessity in his younger years, but time had done away with that as much as possible. Or perhaps these thoughts were just another form of coping. The vital objectives were unfailingly attained with ruthless determination, the Federation would not prove to be a paper tiger, like those who had so thoroughly enslaved her.

So while 'አረደ' or slaughter of the enemy could be seen as nationalistic, self-sacrifice inside the military and the hugely religious society was, bar none, the grandest gesture of service to the nation.

Fifty steps into the march, thunderous applause met prepared ears. The people had come out in force for their powerful leader. Just as the applause and cheer met his eardrums, the Marshall now understood the gravity of this huge uproar. He now remembered the significance to the new generation and the old, and like a slap in the face, he understood. A true embarrassment was the fact he had forgotten what today was.

December the Seventh, the date of infamy remembered across the North American Commonwealth for the travesty of Pearl, the rest of the stars for him, was his birthday. The people of Africa had not forgotten the great day three thousand years ago on this very hot day in Mali, a leader was born into this world by a meek woman across the sea.

And he didn't give one damn about it.

Three thousand years of life in itself made no difference.

He already had given the day to his people and had decided to devote today's monumental speech to them. He wouldn't even mention his date of birth or the fact he was now three thousand years old, for everyone already knew. He reasoned internally that when one has lived for many millennia, what is another year? Only events inside those rotations of life particularly stood out to him, not the year in comparison to his life, though he wouldn’t just up and say that to the crowd as it was rude and unkind.

Fate though had decided this day would be significant, and Micah couldn't stop that, not just because this hyped-up event happened to be on the agenda, but something else he would know about soon.

The last moments before Micah emerged from the opening gateway outshone the expectations of even the most fervent believers, and internally, the High Marshall equipped himself with the words to follow up on what was to come.

His footsteps made no noise anymore. Newly awakened thunderous drums and traditional music from Africa guided his footsteps, and the diaspora from America to which he belongs magnificently took over the soundscape right before the onyx anthem of the National Artillery Corps finished their piece of the never-ending orchestra, all under the lyrics of West African songs of the revolutionary centuries of old. All of which was followed by an epic remix of the iconic Ethiopian Tezeta of the turbulent 60s, and finally came on the Grim Theme of the Federal Navy.

Micah finally smiled as the classics of his day came out in force; the sinister instrumentals of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries had taken over.

But this was different, the dark orchestral covers gave him new ideas, awakening deep in his soul a side of him he only felt when listening to the music.

"Heh... yea lil bruh this my shit." the, by now, immortal young/old head muttered that filth silently to nobody. "guess they will have me enjoy my day one way or the other." Micah knew his closest friends were probably laughing hysterically, orchestrating these songs of Micah's era.

He was glad to have people who knew him so well.

The resounding cadence of Africa triumphantly graced the mother world, outer colonies, space stations, cantinas, and frontlines.

In defiance of all imperators of the known universe.

In defiance of hostile fronts against the Vanguard.

In defiance of the enemies of the State.

As a new phase of tribal, mighty symphony began. Slow and deliberate, the pulses calmed the crowd as the gate in front of their Marshall opened up, revealing a man clad in militant wear.

The African starlight of the early evening rained down and the masses steadied themselves. Micah took a single step into the oncoming light, his eyes not at all squinted.

Now was his time. The Africans below observed as the thin walkway that protruded the elevated gate arose to his level, barely wide enough for any man to stand on top the gray platform comfortably. Micah trotted the tight-rope effortlessly as always, he swiftly found his best position for speaking, acclimating to the height and the wind dying down in real time. The shield dome operator now received McNeal’s signal for wind cancelation measures to embrace all within the shield. He didn’t need to look down as the steel platform got more constricted, thousands of feet in the air.

Micah was now on the edge. Its final point had expanded in width by now, due to Micah submitting to the instant request to use some of his leg armor nano-pieces to help the pathway expanded slightly, likely made by the on-duty operator trying to help out their Marshall in this moment. It was appreciated. The end was now wide enough for McNeal to manage a decent and familiar stance, left foot forward, the right at a slight angle. The now slightly skinnier armor pieces on the top his pants reflected no light, along with his open coat and sweater. His brown, thick, wide, neck glistened with sweat, unlike the rest of his temperature suit-protected body.

The words of the speech have now come to him, just as he knew they would.

Just as they always have.

—————————☆—————————

His crowd stood below at attention, not even the newborn dared disturb what was to come.

He looked down to his audience, blinking thrice as the famed ‘King Menelik’ Class Battleship; ‘Kenyatta’ steamed out of hyperspace directly above and slightly behind him. She was in formation with Micah’s being, behind the dome. She was magnificently close to the ground, flying perfectly upright. Just elevated enough that holy light could touch the speaking man.

An entire province worth of land behind was covered by the shadow of the giantess vessel, her length and beam-wide systems having already molded the ship to perfectly adapt to the curvature of the Earth.

Her hull was dark grey, yellow stars dotted her wedge-shaped superstructure from what the crowd could see.

The masses in the spectating dome and within the exterior watching booths let out the iconic battle cry of their nation once more.

‘Kenyatta’ hovered above the arena silently.

McNeal spoke up.

“… Let me tell you, who we are,” he asserted himself over the crowd, his seven foot frame silencing all and restoring order.

“We have, a legacy.”

“A legacy that… molds us.”

“A legacy that, we’ve built.”

Micah glanced down with his hands balled at his sides. Nervousness never came to him, but it did today.

A wave of feeling, a wave of hatred overcame his form as his neutral expression suddenly morphed into the iconic stance he had taken after killing that one super-soldier in public over ten years ago.

The left side of his mouth cracked open, his titanium-grey teeth with their iconic blue light shimmering off multiple cameras, presenting this cold moment to countless beings. A toothpick from behind his teeth emerged and stuck grouch the teeth, a small opening between his molars clenching the imported bamboo.

He would continue, with purpose and unwavering willingness to see this thing through to the finish.

“We birthed on this, mother world,”

“We rose, separate, as the tribes…” he forced out the true beginnings of the Federation, the millennia before he himself experienced the world of his day. “Many people, crafting, our future.”

“They came, to destroy it,” he spat, careful to not jettison the toothpick from his titanium teeth’s vice grip. “They tried to sever us, to… scatter… the tribes.”

Everybody in the crowd knew just who their leader referred to. The European State and the North American Commonwealth, both embodied not only responsibility for the trade of old, but of the largest crisis in African Stellar history that that nearly collapsed the stars back into division.

No elaboration on their roles were needed though, and never in the future would any descendant forget.

McNeal’s face stayed hard and greeted the space forward of his eyes grimly. Cumulonimbus clouds above growled in anticipation of what was to come. Electric power hid itself within their forms. Barley resisting collapse, Micah needed to store some meager but eye catching energy away in the watery whites of the sky.

The signature green lightning of the holding back High Marshall was ready to show itself across any foot of planet it was called unto.

Micah composed himself, refusing to let go of his hate just yet.

It was time for the climax of the speech.

“But we fought back!” Micah’s voice raised definitively as, above his dome, over a dozen snub fighters skimmed over him. His chin rose as his eyes turned green and pulsated lightning of their own.

The people loved the display absolutely and matched with more ferocity than any stadium could handle. The battle cries tearing through ears in the hundreds of thousands reached decibel levels unheard before in anything short of stellar combat.

It was a welcome response.

“We rose, as brothers and sisters-” He regained his domineering tone and tripled his volume. Now with renewed vigor, once again speaking plain and direct to the crowd below…

“-seizing victory from the vile chains we were broke…” His tone took a more somber form now. He more than anyone here was informed of just what these ships looked like. Transports for the millions now across the sea. Micah, in all his time, had personally seen the houses where his mothers and fathers were violated for centuries. After all, the leader was a direct descendant of the diaspora.

“And today we stand…”

“We stand as the thirteen stars of the continent.”

The ancient and deliberate orchestra of the revolutionary eras of yesteryear restarted as all could sense this would be the end of the beautifully crafted, heartfelt speech…

“We stand, as Africa!”

Small starfighters from underneath Micah’s position flew up at subsonic speeds, one of the pilots performing a barrel roll that anyone would condemn as reckless. The gesture was appreciated. A mighty “Hoorah!” left the lungs of countless hundreds of thousands in the span of only a second as the fighters soared into the sky and met up with the dreadnaught, hovering around for some seconds as the shields relented, landing inside its portside hangar as clearance had been granted.

Micah could hear every reaction and every being talk about this historic day, hundreds of thousands of his countrymen and women shouted the name of their nation.

Still standing on top the steel pathway, his pupils dial aged into nothingness once again. His eyes in their entirety begun to glow a bright jade, matching his sweater under his unzipped coat. Thunder erupted from his form as his hands rose to summon his electric power. Green lightning erupted like a volcano and covered the darkening evening sky in jade colored beauty. Two massive streams of electricity linked with McNeal’s hands as he looked up at the spectacle he planned for come to fruition, unleashed for all his countrymen and women to remember.

With his musical reaching its end, the newest updates of the navy blasted through his hidden radio. His neck maneuvered his head down to his right deltoid, contracting as lightning still flowed within his veins.

High Marshall, sir, once you’re finished, we’re going to need your assistance on the dreadnaught. That resource rich planet has to wait.” the familiar voice of the Admiral of the 12th Galactic spoke concisely. The word choice in the latter half would’ve been a sign of disrespect, but the two simply talked like this sometimes. His tone was one of concern rather than confrontation anyway.

“We have a concerning development in 87th’s area of operations,” he continued elaboration, mindful of the situation Micah was in, “the largest enemy fleet seen in that galaxy’s history is about to engage Sinai and Osiris’ forces are stretched thin. Currently the assembled fleet above Earth is waiting on you to lead the force, as you requested.”

Taking in the atmosphere around him one last time on the platform he had grown accustomed to over the past few minutes, he twisted his waist and begun trotting back towards the gate.

“Is Polar’s support flotilla in the area capable of reinforcing the lost systems within their A.O?” McNeal questioned, sticking two matching earpieces into his ears, then tinkering to direct radio traffic to them after the portable radio on his right front deltoid. As the orchestra turned into classic African and American rap tunes from this age and the last, he made his way back into the hangar door in which he had returned. The fire pits continued to burn into the coming night alongside the headlights automatically coming on.

Micah subtly deactivated his mic for a quick comment.

“Thanks Nyala,” Micah spoke to the female A.I, by now integrated into the interior’s systems, “What would I do without ya.”

“Anytime sir!” Nyala’s voice responded humbly. Illuminated surfaces, resembling veins on a human body, lined the wall. At once they pulsating in red, signaling that the AI had entered her state of “sleep”.

Reactivating his communication device, Micah listened in for the answer that would soon arrive.

“I’m afraid they are already retreating from multiple systems to bide their time, sir. The Russian “Polar” support fleet, is not engaged in combat, I’ve already requested them to link up with us. Osiris’ Primary T.F is currently preparing to make its stand in MLD-RG System.” The Fleet Admiral clarified calmly. “Riot’s support flotilla is currently regrouping, they should be ready to reinforce our escort groups once we rendezvous with them at the nearest gateway to the main combat zone.”

“12th Galactic Sector and the 3rd Task Force are above Earth, sir. Commanders are briefed and ready when you are.” Umbru finished his rushed explanation and remained silent afterwards, awaiting his superiors thoughtful response.

“Are the ones who I believe are attacking us doing this damage, Umbru?” Micah needed to know this answer within the minute. Weapon systems of the dreadnaught had be adjusted according to the foe. beating around eh bush.

“The ships were confirmed to contain a massive amount of remnants of the ‘Neljuc’ species in that galaxy, advance Deep Reconnaissance units of theirs already have taken around twenty-nine percent Casualties.” Umbru proclaimed, hiding his laugh.

“POOOOOO~gahhhahhahh…” his laugh exposing his deadly gray titanium chompers. “Naw bro ohhhh hell naw those mofuckin… cocksuckers. So… they want their dumbass civilization to be all resurgent and cool and enslave half the universe like how they used to eh!?” Micah blurted with a huge laugh. He couldn’t help it truly, as unprofessional as it was.

“Alright… alright I’ll get to the battleship and ensure the mark sixty-four combat loadouts are beyond adequate for meeting the enemy fleets as best as we can on such a short timeframe.” The High Marshall composed himself, lest he get caught by a stray camera.

“Hehehe your fatass, goofy ass laugh finna make me chuckle at this little situation, anyway sir yes sir!” Luti Umbru finished cooking him a tad-bit, and deactivated his mic as Micah did, both going into fulfill their roles as commanders, and as friends.

Micah waltzed out of the main entrance, his vision filled with people celebrating in the after party some celebrities had organized. He was never one for that party shit. A troop transport craft waited patiently for him as he exited the House of Article. His time spent in the premises before he evacuated it was approximately one hour. How time passed so quickly, it was mystery to him.

He took a spot in gunship like shuttle and stood the entire journey to the battleship’s hangar, all in the rapid deployment level. Holding onto the ceiling handles with a single hand, a soldier beside him pulled out a black device out of his duffel bag. A miniaturized handheld radio that was tuned to the frequency of the fleet Micah was about to lead into the biggest fight a contested galaxy had seen. McNeal accepted what was offered to him and began hoisting it on his right deltoid, replacing the previous object and stowing it away on his waist belt.

The trip was uneventful besides that. His stoic subordinates now preparing to disembark once the hangar deck met their landing gear.

“Touchdown in thirty seconds brothers, prepare yourselves.” The female pilot alerted passengers onboard via the speakers.

“Attention all commanders, the High Marshall is on Kenyatta, callsign Hammer.” McNeal got on the radio to establish his authority in the fleet, his mind steeled himself for the largest battle in centuries. Command protocols and security checks by smaller Strategic Cruisers had given him the green light

“Operational command of the fleet has been centralized. Prepare all ships planetside or in orbital station for the jump to Andromeda Main Gate.” Micah continued his introductory greeting to all his crew members as his craft drew closer to the hangar of the dreadnaught.

“We and callsign Nemesis will be linking up with Riot’s escort flotilla and the Russians after two jumps. As you know, OP-Four is fighting on his home turf. He is more experienced than us by millions of years.” Micah spoke the truth and embraced the fact of the matter wholeheartedly, a characteristic feature of his.

“Oh but of course-when has that ever held us back?”

Chapter One: ‘Strike’

—————————☆—————————

In the cold Equestrian night, the co-ruler of this mystic land began her duty.

As the moon was hoisted like a flag over the giant country, she smiled at her handiwork. The pull of countless dreams beckoned her to the dreamscape, the one true dream walker, master of the dimension, answered the call.

The fantasies of ponies were supervised by the all-powerful alicorn, who, in all her wisdom, tamed and became one with her magical domain. A deity of such capability as herself certainly knows in totality the desires of resting subjects.

Like the back of her hand as the saying went.

Tonight, all she sensed in the realm was anticipation, anxiety, and dread. Luna could not comprehend why. What was the matter, why in every dream she intervened in had such draining creatures confront her? Blue eyes and black souls of avarice and starvation, this is what terrorized her people in their slumber…

Princess Luna darted from door to door, kicking the entrances down, restoring peace of mind to countless beings. Her magical talents were no match for the black tide that overcame thousands though, all efforts to stem the tide proved fruitless. It was simply not enough, what felt like unlimited nightmares took hold and manifested, spawning every moment. The remembrance of the last time an event such as the one she found herself in now sent a shudder through her spine. Her horn glowed a dark blue as she manually expelled every last nightmare in view.

The consequences of this would affect her in the most unexpected of ways, however.

With exhaustion setting in, she exited her realm, white flashes blinding her temporarily, A hasty retreat led to a harsh fall from the sky onto her beloved balcony.

“Umph~”

The pain was nothing she hadn't endured in her lifetimes. All damage thankfully was to her arm rather than the beloved platform. If she were her sister's weight, that outcome would've been different. Luna restored her scraped form to its sleek and delicate appearance. The night had only just been bestowed upon her land. She reasoned that she could finish her duty early and retire, with the silk confines inviting the tired body, temptation’s vice grip had taken hold of her. That’s what she would do. Luna marched with her mind in the clouds, how could such a dimension exhaust so thoroughly, kill her desire to push through, and force her to expend vast energy? Why today? She needed to get to the bottom of this situation… and her head pushed it to the back, a new existential matter presented itself.

Luna had to investigate why the heavens had changed…

A single shimmering star in her sky caught her attention. But then the sky glowed, and for the first time, a far-off, azure and lilac galaxy was visible to Luna. It flickered, snatching the attention of the princess. Although it wasn't encompassing the sky fully, its light shined down even upon the night sky of Equestria. There was no denying something was going on. Luna craned her neck, and, like she had been trapped in a daze, she returned to the edge.

The view was so magnificent that she didn’t even register the tears that hit the floor beneath her as she took in every last detail. She felt so little. She was so humble. The violet galaxy's matter glistened for some time and then stopped, seemingly adjusting itself to... her? She did not know but she did realize that once her ponies saw it, they would be blown away with her ‘handiwork’, just as their princess would be for all eternity. Just as all should be. A pure white spec formed in her pupils appearing natural considering she was looking at blinking stars in the depths of the void. Soon the twinkle expanded until it encompassed one eye and then the other and radiated white hot moonlight.

‘Who dare manipulate… me!’ Luna’s mind screamed as her body moved without her consent.

‘My opposition is vain?!’

Suddenly her body ascended. Relaxation overcame her as the black curtain descended upon her sight, and she was teleported beyond her world. Before total awareness was lost, she was gifted the ability to swing herself right… far right, to get a glimpse at her new surroundings. Her new environment was space itself. All Luna could manage was a split-second view of her planet, unable to shift at all. The alicorn was whipped forward into the previous position once again, an unknown force quickly crushing her attempts past the set limit. Her position now remained the same as the moment the journey began; her chest stuck out, her arms floating at the sides, and her legs extended below. All muscles in the mighty body relaxed as magic shocked her into full consciousness. Now was the first case since she was banished in which she was truly helpless.

Luna accelerated through the void, barreling through space, gazing forward as she was launched by whatever power at what had to be faster than light itself. She entered a tunnel with light and lines of the cosmos. Any fear Luna harbored was buried underneath wonder and contentment, and the ambient noise.

The journey came to an end an hour later, she had lost consciousness after entering that peaceful corridor. She rose to her feet once again and took in what was around her. It seemed as though she was brought to some sort of command center too advanced for her to fully comprehend, but unmistakably similar in structure to those her nation’s ship companies built. The bluish glass in front of the ship showed the unmistakable inky void. None of the inhabitants seemed to notice her, and all their upper bodies were blurred from the princess’s sight. Luna tried to touch what looked like the leader, but it was futile. The only conclusion she could come to is that she was turned into a ghost, an observer. When she would be returned to her world, she did not know.

But pleasant experiences, new beings, and the unknown itself would not intimidate Luna. In her day she had gone to war, as a mere filly she ran the harshest of gauntlets Equestria had ever been called upon to complete. The mare of the night turned Dark Lady of the Cosmos, would watch this… whatever, unfold.

As a neighboring black contraption, and then the very one she was housed within exploded, she was teleported to a new one. Luna knew nothing of what was happening in this foreign domain, but each time she was thrown from one bridge to the next, she ran up to the windows without a sound of hers catching the attention of the beings beside her. Even as she tripped and fell cheek first and ass up in a dash to the next large window, nobody caught wind of her presence. All next to her were oblivious that they were being watched.

As if a higher power was caring for her, a notebook and orange stick, black-tipped and pink topped, appeared in front of her. She tilted her head, a natural response for her species. The one in control over her must’ve found this adorable, as the pencil slowly transformed into a quill, and repeated this pattern for what felt like minutes. Luna took the hint, needing every second. Revealed as a utensil, the pair was gently floated in front of her eyes, Luna grasped the two objects in her blue aura, and began chronicling the events that led to the present. She took a liking to this orange thing and made a side note to keep this trusty object.

‘Oh how would young Sparkle love to see this, she wouldn't be able to contain herself.’ Luna imagined her freaking out over such a view of the stars.

Because whatever force got the bright idea, the young princess of friendship plopped down beside her perplexed elder. The girl was in a black pair of tights, a white shirt, and a black oversized coat with a symbol in perfect Equish saying; ‘Turra C. Company’.

“Princess Luna… where am I?” Twilight began her process of awakening. Picking up her head from the hospitable resting place of the cold floor, her groggy ass jolted awake as she looked up and observed the spaceship.

She got to her feet immediately upon the revelation, grabbing the neatly organized and perfectly new notebook from the princess’s magical grasp.

Luna rolled her eyes and prepared for the cute annoyance and numerous questions that were inevitable. It took a short thirty seconds for Twilight to intrude throughout the chronicle of the night lady, who was surprisingly patient with the girl.

Finally, as the purple pony stopped talking, letting another squee exit her mouth, she took notice of her attire, the masculine scent, and the huge arm sleeves enveloping her hands.

The odor reached Luna’s nose.

“So, dear, whom in my sister's name were you… studying at this hour with?” Luna smirked and giggled like a gossiping filly.

“Oh~uhm no-no-no this is NOT what your thinking princess Luna, I CAN explain perfectly what has h-happened y-you see-” Twilight struggled to articulate while trying to conceal her crimson cheeks in the onyx sleeves. She fell to the floor as Luna stepped towards her. And then she caught another whiff, making her heart rate soar, blood in her face permeated like wildfire.

“I-I was only uh-sleeping and I-I-I was teleported here by something or someone and I couldn't-” The purple mess continued her plea, oblivious to the fact she was being toyed with.

“I jest, Miss Sparkle. Please, elaborate on why you have such a delectable auroma?” Luna requested with a not-so-small chuckle. She had enough fun for the moment, teasing the bookworm was too much to handle, she let out another laugh as she tried to regain her royal stature.

“A-As told you was just s-s-sleeping and suddenly this happened, I don't know why or how but…” Twilight’s attention was diverted, she deliberated on just how she would get the most out of this. She would first bug the hell out of her ruler, again, then observe the changing colors in the space that were spaceships of all things.

Her annoyed diarch informed and elaborated for what felt like hours. The pair finally stopped talking upon a stern voice reaching their ears. Both heads rotated around to see the blurred bipedal being who was just referred to as… callsign Osiris. He was talking to other crewmembers, some unmistakably female, and some male. Thankfully, nobody could see the two watching ponies even though they stood right in front of the supposed leader.

“Of course!” Gears in Twilight’s head turned and seemingly locked into place right after, she turned to face her experienced companion. “Princess this is a military ship… this is an advanced military spaceship! The first ever seen in the history of our nation!! A!… A warsh-”

The alicorn stopped dead in her tracks, her happy cheer evaporated and she woke up to reality. A thousand-yard stare immediately plastered over her once-beaming face.

“Get ahold of yourself Twilight, we will find a way back and this will not be our final outing!” Luna spoke plainly to calm her sister’s protege. It worked somewhat, leading to a nod from the pony.

A new set of a notepad and orange utensil appeared and floated before the purple pony before she reached it with her magical powers.

Judging by the explosions… the pair had been thrust into battle…

—————————☆—————————

Galaxy: MLD-RG

Planet: RTH-IX

Year: 5006

”The ninth planet remembers the darkest the darkest of days.”

“When the rings of the world were laced… with fire.”

“And the ultimate sacrifice was made, in flesh… and steel.”

In the ancient annals of the cosmos, there existed a species of unparalleled ambition and conquest. They rose from obscurity to dominance, expanding their reach across galaxies, enslaving worlds, and bending lesser beings to their will. Their empire cast a shadow over half the universe, their power unmatched and their cruelty unforgiving.

But pride precedes the fall, and their insatiable hunger for dominion led them to challenge a formidable coalition of united forces. A massive war erupted, engulfing star systems and shattering planets in its wake. The once invincible species found themselves outmatched, their armies decimated, their dominion crumbling.

This is one such tale, well after the the collapse had begun.

The peaceful masters of this world before the time of man had been damned to be remembered by none but the great watcher.

The Naljuc Imperium was on the verge of triumph over this world, a small win in their end times, the slaughter of this planet’s meek populace was fated to be swift and decisive… and then man, the so-called “kingslayer,” finally arrived to kick the ass of all Naljuc here.

The ships of the young interstellar “Afrika” arrived at the last moment. Like a divine wind, swept the Nal’ fleets out, even if it was for nothing.

They could not protect this once beautiful world long enough for the survivors to recover. The 'Afrikans' left before taking the derelict starship, leaving it to be fought over by their descendants.

Nal's power in this galaxy died with this loss. Devastated, solitary, destined to be forever more the fallen 'Lords of the Universe', a forgotten species. At least to the stars, the eternal dominators were reduced to inevitable oblivion.

But hope dies last, and Nal', who have concealed their strength, have learned from their hubris, and he allows all to exude it of their own volition.

Their fantasy shall meet reality. Today the resurgent race shall deliver a blow to all of their intrepid nations. They are here to reclaim these stars. The will of the watcher will not be denied again by this, youthful, arrogant, deplorable, man.

Today, Nal’ attacks, determined never again to lose their vice grip on the universe-

-And their journey to certain victory, their counteroffensive, starts in this dead galaxy, in this dead world...

—————————☆—————————

“This is Osiris to any available ships: the hyper jammer is down, regroup at the derelict until reinforcements arrive.”

“Copy Osiris, Sinai is in position.”

“Grit is going eighty percent-what’s the E.T.A on those reinforcements?”

“We’re going as fast as we can, just a few more jumps.” came the answer from the Umbru himself, the Naljuc Remnant had come out in force, and he was retaliating with an armada of battlecarriers, fast dreadnoughts, and battlecruisers.

“Copy that Nemesis, get here as quick as possible.”

The assembled fleet had rendezvoused along and past the Andromeda galaxy’s hyperspace gateways over the past twenty-two hours. Fleet Admiral Luti Umbru had coordinated the Russian ”Polar” Task Force’s regrouping effort and integrated it into the now joint fleet.

Upon command of Kenyatta and by extension the entire fleet being transferred directly to Micah, the armada is now less than ten minutes away from their rally point. Just before the currently most contested battleground in centuries. Afro-Russian forces had already suffered tens of thousands of deaths in this galaxy in the initial battles alone. Joint Task Forces in stalemated battles have lost hundreds of escort-sized ships already to the resurgent alien power.

“Riot, Polar, activate Class Zero ‘dee-ayes’. Hammer and Nemesis need to increase speed.” McNeal ordered the three-hundred-strong corps of escort ships and the Russian flagship Battlecruiser “Amur” to push their engines further into overdrive. The measures were to be taken to reinforce Battlecruiser “Sinai” and her heavy support flotilla before enemy reinforcements obliterated them. The address he delivered the days before was fresh in the minds of all men and women about to engage in this gunfight.

“Da, commander.” “Polar” acknowledged. Amur, the ship so powerful that it was to be referred to as he, temporarily diverted energy from his superlaser arrays. The mighty battlewagon’s exterior was engulfed in burgundy as celestial power projected from his Siberian generators and was reintegrated into the system.

After falling back to the Andromeda Galactic Sector after moderate damage, Polar’s fleet was integrated into the combined armada and sent forward in the counteroffensive of today.

At over one thousand kilometers in length, three-hundred fifty in beam, the rhombus-shaped Russian starship was the third most lethal weapon in the combined fleet, it bristling with arrays of turbolasers, cobalt missiles, and thermobaric artillery. The ship was a credible threat to even Titan vessels that dwarfed him in size ten-to-one. The only vulnerabilities were a lack of point defense and a small Starfighter compliment, but those were compensated for brilliantly today by his sister ships.

The Russian bear roars into the sixth millennium stronger than ever.

And so the four callsigns continued their advance, through the gate and into hell.

The communications array in the heart of 'Republic' lit up. The signal operators frantically calibrated systems to match the electronic warfare the enemy was employing against all forces in the galactic sector, all the while the other ships did the same thing. Their fleet was entering the battlespace, and as they were mere minutes from entering the holding pattern at the MLX-SD Hypergate, the inevitable skirmishes that began with Osiris and his callsigns near the derelict warship against hostile forces would surely require every last ship.

"The Naval Infantry inside the derelict," Micah began, his voice gaining the attention of a female marine liaison, "how long until they get that ship powered up so we can wrap this up?" He asked with his arms crossed, looking out the paneled window, though deep inside he knew what was probably about to go down: Enemy forces were likely already on the verge of ambushing the escorting armada there, and for now, there was nothing they could do but sit there or fall back to the gate. If the ships were routed, over a thousand men would be stranded, and certainly captured within the confines of the massive ship if an immediate Priority One Raid failed to materialize.

"They say within two hours they will be finished rearranging the mainframe," the woman started relaying her assessment, "when they finish, all we shall need is a capital ship to power up its engines and we can abandon the world, once and for all." As she finished her report staring in his direction, chatter all around the two slightly decreased. As always, the senses of McNeal were sharp enough to notice something, he couldn't help but feel this woman was hiding something from him. Not a nefarious, evil kind of thing, but she had more to say, from her heart. He debated telling the comparatively small six-foot-three-inch woman to speak her mind but decided to simply lighten up his aura by smiling and relaxing his face somewhat while looking outside, something everyone in the room subconsciously noticed, something he only did because of this woman whom he treated like a daughter. He thought he might know what she deep down wished to say, but he would allow her, her time in the spotlight.

"High Marshall, sir... p-permission to speak freely?" She spoke up, finally dismissing her fear.

"Sure, we have time" Micah stared down at her with a calm expression, matching her uneasiness with his stoic, relaxing calmness. Micah refused to embarrass her in front of both their peers. He easily molded the situation to their benefit, his body facing midway between her and the bridge's window. Yellow and red lights occasionally streaked by the fleet, illuminating the somewhat dark environment of the bridge. This made it known they were passing through or near a black hole something traveling sailors enjoy seeing, as their ships are more than capable of resisting them.

"The planet... it is the same one that had a peaceful, nearly interstellar race, and reports showed an African fleet many years ago stumbled on it, and protected them.” This woman spoke with a hint of assertiveness, she was definitely part of the mission to help these people many thousands of years ago, sticking up for them, it was a sight to behold. An African, no, human woman presenting her case to her superior official.

An exemplary Naval Infantry liaison indeed.

“I… recommend,” she froze for a good second, collecting herself as she shot a glance to make sure her leader wasn’t about to shoot her down. He didn’t. “-we should try to preserve the world and see if there are any survivors. Researchers and diplomats were introduced to a host of prophecy their true homeworld, their wider race allegedly advanced enough to become a friend of ours ... sir!" She got her shit together, getting right towards the end.

It took no time at all for Micah to articulate his answer.

“If we are able, we shall attempt to re-establish diplomatic ties.” Micah saw the practical side of this arrangement, and as a leader should, he acknowledged the desire of his species to befriend. “I guarantee we will not employ any permanently hazardous materiel in their space, at least, less than what we can’t mop up.” Micah finished his statement looking her in the eye and nodding.

A smile appeared as the liaison bowed her head, bending her knees a tad bit. A small ‘yes sir’ coming from her lips as she returned to her colleagues.

Micah noticed his black coat had disappeared. ‘Apparently I misplaced it, eh,’ he reasoned that it didn’t matter anyway. Always can grab another one.

And so all continued towards his task force’s journeys true beginning. Just as things were heating back up with Osiris.

"Stealth corvette uncloaking at ninety." Grit, onboard one of the Strategic Command Cruisers relayed the message received from the sensory deck onboard his ship.

"Grit, that's your primary." Osiris confirmed on comlink. After which he faced about, scanning the deck for an Ensign, his naval bridge bustling with activity for the past hour as reinforcements were inbound. A blue patch revealed his target's role as a naval intelligence operator, just what he needed.

"Copy, engaging.” Grit affirmed with voices of gunnery officers, fire directors, and crewmen reaching the mic. Before he even finished confirming the order, heavy cobalt missiles erupted from their launching bays aboard Cruiser A.F.S 'Oran', blazing towards their assigned targets at high-hypersonic speeds. Swarms of drones connected perfectly orbit the relatively exposed battlecruiser to prevent hidden enemies from infiltrating. Sinai was basking in the rays of a star peering over the planet, her red-tipped gun barrels and turbolaser arrays rotating to cover all three hundred and sixty degrees of the battlespace, preparing her systems for imminent confrontation. All veterans of the previous clashes knew what happened after enemy stealth units uncloaked.

By now the fleet had taken up an arrowhead battle formation along the expected direction of enemy attack; the front of the derelict ship and in the firing range of the friendly battlecruiser. Legions of warships from corvettes to cruisers, fleet interceptors, attack bombers and drones sit in wait, in preparation for what they could not hope to predict.

They could only hope for a chance.

"Ensign, relay the update; Naljuc battlefleets are in our area of operations, derel-“ he couldn’t finish his message, as he turned around suddenly.

The radio to his rear crackled to life, the concerned voice of Sinai came through.

“Heads up, he’s lit a hyper!” Grit was able to transmit the details shakily before a second event quickly shut him up.

Osiris’ heart dropped like never before. He nearly cursed like his subordinates all around him, but after a mere gasp, he managed to gather himself. The Ensign had since returned to his station, starting to coordinate the fleets response to the sudden takeover attempt of the system. His superior needed no briefing on what was about to unfold, and what he should relay to the fleet.

“New Contacts; hostile capital ships inbound.” The leader of the fleet spoke into the mic, fearless in the face of his likely demise. “All ships, focus fire on that Titan-” Osiris didn’t elaborate to his subordinates more than that, all knew damn well what was necessary for survival.

“Understood, missiles away.” Grit confirmed through his bated breath. Drones, fighters, groups of frigates and entire squadrons of destroyers danced in battle with the golden ships of the enemy, all covered in the red starlight, peering over the ninth planet. It was a fight the Africans did not shy away from, not yet. A few seconds later, the still regenerating shields of the enemy super ship that was dominant enough to take on the massive King Menelik, collapsed under thermonuclear bombardment. All along the titans superstructure, yellow radiation residue and green flame spread, forcing the flagship to whip around slowly, and withdrawal into hyperspace

“Target is neutralized, Grit Formation is pressing assault on enemy supercarrier designated zero-one!” The gunmetal gray, rhombus shaped light cruisers, in tandem with Grits own strategic cruiser approached the opposition flagship, over half the size of its retreating colleague.

“All ships of the squadron-” A boom made all crews shutter as another cruiser was sacrificed to a new Ironbottom Sound. “Divert ninety percent of shield allocated energy to port, depower all P.D sectors, level out with the mark, drones are to cover in point defense!” All ships immediately executed their directives. Dual purpose guns, turbolaser arrays, and miniaturized nuclear beams were hurled every nanosecond relentlessly, while on every side, hypersonic missiles and all sorts of point defense opened up at the wasps all around. Like a pride of Saharan lions devouring a buffalo, the broadside exchange lasted only a few dozen seconds before one side had triumphed. The little flotilla succeeded in reducing their prey’s shields and, in their finishing move, sever the aft engines from the main hull. This brilliant and ballsy maneuver had saved many lives, destroying a gigantic supercarrier in this environment destroyed a large percentage of enemy drones in an instant. Now the remnant restored energy equilibrium to their ships, and rushed back to the gradually pushed human perimeter.

The would be decisive victory was erased from relevancy by what was to come next.

“They lit a second hyper…” The exhausted voice of callsign Grit once again called out to all ships in the fleet.

“Enemy battlefleet entering our space” Another sensory officer shouted, this time aboard the massive human battlecruiser. Opposition forces emerged soon after, and with its arrival, all hope of sustained operations were crushed beneath its mighty presence.

Two Titans, barley outside of firing range, prepared for combat, their hard grey shields contrasting their electrum hulls as they prepared for imminent combat. This time, there would be no tricks, no lucky hits, and no saving the humans.

“The enemy shields are even more resilient than the ones we faced at their height, Osiris, how the hell have they managed to improve?” Sinai’s Rear Admiral relayed the reality to his fleet commander.

Just then, as Grit’s cruisers were providing point defense for the derelict starship. The disaster began. Enemy battleships punched through the loose perimeter, leading to the under-reinforced destroyers, stealth ship hunting corvettes, and few frigates remaining who valiantly charged open flanks to give. Three “frontlines” hastily organized by the Africans fell, one after the other, each minute of combat leading to Osiris himself formulating a plan by this point though.

The plan was Ill fated from the jump.

“This is Osiris all remaining ships, haul-ass outside of effective enemy fire in the direction of our battlecruiser ASAP.” Osiris committed everyone to their final order in their darkest hour. “All heavy cruisers, launch Priority Two anti-matters directly in front of advancing enemy capital ships in thirty seconds.” He commanded, knowing that a full third of his remnants would have merely thirty seconds to escape. “Light cruisers, quick-link all destroyer squadrons into new formations, guide them from the blast radius.”

The remaining three-hundred thirty-seven ships gave out tired affirmatives, and strained to execute their orders. Hordes of advancing Naljuc escort ships inflicted seven losses on the human ships for everyone they endured. But men don’t quit, and as the anti-matter bombs approached, their confidence returned, their kill ratio improving ever so slightly as they consolidated for the first time. A major upset was mere moments away from manifestation, immortalization in the books even. Or so they believed.

The Command Cruiser ‘Aïr’, housing Fleet Admiral Jahre Deseme, a.k.a Osiris, was transferring shields to multiple squadrons of cruisers and frigates. Left exposed, the Nal’ bombers from one of the heavily damaged supercarriers snatched at their chance with ruthless efficiency. They closed in, the white-trailed trailblazers avoiding kill zones and, from underneath the Aïr, cycled their missiles into the soft underbelly, lifting all off their feet, starting fires, killing dozens. As their comrades usually did, they managed to flee back to their lines, to do it all over again.

On top of this hit the Africans would have to bounce back from, the anti-matter bombs were utterly stopped by a hyper-advanced Nal’ shield, projected by every single capital ship in front of their combined task force. The affect on morale was devastating and lead to even more hopelessness of the of ranks.

Such planet ending weapons, so effortlessly stopped meant the little force stood no chance.

The enduring Admiral got right back up after being tossed, with his ears ringing, head aching. Taking not even a moment to collect himself, he ducked slightly under the collapsed ceiling. As crew mates started to reawaken, Jahre finally realized the only option left. Running to the pristine microphone, he activated it and tuned it to relay to all friendly frequencies, and prepared himself to deliver a final message, should the final order fail.

Static was all he got for a good few seconds. He clicked again and again, attempting to force the device to connect to some sort of galactic relay before all hope was lost.

“Seventy-“ he stuttered, coughing up blood, stomach acid, mucus, bits of his lungs, some of his esophagus, and whatever the hell else. His enhanced form had already begun the regeneration process by the time the damage was done. “This is Osiris to all friendly forces in the galaxy: Seventy-nine percent casualties, less than a hundred battle-ready ships, the derelict is under siege by Naljuc marines. We are disengaging!”

As he lifted his hand to disengage his speaker, he looked around to witness his crew recuperating. Men and machines alike had lifted the roof and placed temporary pillars for support. All around the ship, the fight for survival continued, damage control teams of men, women, and droid sealed shut lost levels and combatted the inferno until it was contained. Technicians restored the reactor, taking the strain off of backup generators all around the ship. Once again, point defense resumed swatting the hostile wasps from the battlespace.

One last time.

To all his sailors, he gave the final order.

“We’re outnumbered ten-to-one. Sinai, jump back to the gate now.”

“All capable ships: send down the last detachment of naval infantry to the derelict within two minutes.” Osiris gave the command that would save his remnant, and possibly doom his grounded soldiers. “We’re outnumbered ten-to-one. All ships, fall back to the gate and link up with Hammer.” Demese said, believing he had saved the flagship.

“Our shields can’t keep up, I need some help!” The panic in the soul of Sinai’s commander projected onto every man left standing in the fleet. Nearly all captains began to gravitate closer toward their final line of defense, merely a couple hundred kilometers from the derelict alien warship.

“Get shield transfers on target, prepare for jump NOW!” Osiris desperately ordered his fleet while his iron fist was pressed against the glass. The enemy titans, supercarriers, and destroyers closed in from nearly all sides, mercilessly unloading on dozens of ships. This massacre was all but over.

Salvo after salvo of capital ship-killing lasers streaked toward the last human bastion. All weaponry fired by the enemy obliterated through the shields like a hot knife through a liver. Activating her hyperdrive, the battlecruiser was on the verge of escape, the verge of her legend enduring, a chance of revenge, living to fight another day.

“We are getting murdered…!”

Guttural screams of charred bodies infected every comlink in the galaxy.

“Armors gone, this is-“

—————————☆—————————

“Jesus Christ…”

That was all an entire fireteam could mutter.

As they looked beyond their hangar they entered the derelict starship in, A.F.S ‘Sinai’, famed battlewagon of the massive expeditionary efforts of a dozen galaxies, snapped in two and detonated. She suffered the same fate as what had to be over ninety percent of her decorated fleet.

“C’mon on guys…” Their sergeant snapped them out of their trance, walking backwards slower than usual.

He sighed, and with a somber tone, he recovered his mask. “We gotta keep mofuggin’ pushing, no matter how many die”

They made their way to their assigned section, to be positioned in defense of their stronghold. Just like their fellow soldiers; into hell.

“Give the scientists guns, lock down the non-hangar entrances, gather the ammunition inside the interior rooms at hubs!” Lieutenant Colonel Felix Sese-Idrisaa used the fire inside to burn away the dread. “Double time! Depressurize the fallen decks and conserve all remaining power cells to prepare for the siege!” Felix decreed to the officers of the literal tens of thousands of reinforcements who had arrived aboard his ship. He coordinated the organization of a new division sized unit of previously disunited brigades. Using the massive stockpile of supplies they would destroy certain decks completely after scrounging for anything useful, creating firing points they could maximize firepower within.

Among other tasks in the half hour before true landing corps were sent by the enemy was the standardization of combat loads. Russo-African, platinum-tinted rifles composed the majority of standard kits. Thirty-caliber South African machine guns were redistributed to each and every squad possible, ammo draped over each gunner’s shoulder and boxes attached to their waists. Medical packages, and digital maps of the explored ship were distributed to all members of all squads generously. All this in preparation for the casualties, expected by the most hopeful estimates to reach one hundred percent in three hours without reinforcements.

‘Specialist’ detachments of fighters who killed off the first waves of hostile: were reconstituted and given minutes to acclimate to their comrades before being sent to the most heavily contested sectors. The remaining thermal sights, comlinks, detonators, and submachine guns with titty mags, were thrown at them.

The division of thirty thousand African marines would hold this fossil until they were all dead.

Felix stood in the centre of his grouping, smothered in his own armor; dark as the night, with yellow lights like veins across his form, with headphones and a mic under a white beret. It was the stuff of the officer. All non commissioned officers and lieutenants surrounding him were in standard-issue: Grey nanotech full-body armor, shoulder plates broad, packing miniature rockets. None in the crowd daring to make noise as they stood at attention. Some emerald eyes stared into their leaders soul from their rectangular-shaped helmets, though most men raised their headgear and listened to their final orders face to face.

Idrisaa activated his mic, so all could bear witness to the second speech of the week.

“I realize that all of you brothers are responsible for one, or many notches in our defense tonight.” Felix started, never ceasing the slow swaying of his body, eyes meeting every pair at least once. “We all realize there is not a moment to waste. I request of you, in your final briefing, to abide by each of these principles.” The Colonel stopped his monologue for a moment as the now feared tractor beams took hold of the alien starship. Everyone shuttered and spread their legs, adjusting their center of gravity to not fall over. All recovered in no time and awaited the continuation.

“Everything we have become, we owe to our ideals!” More breaches began appearing on the map on the far side of the ship, enemy concentrations inching closer and closer. “Inexorable force propels our ascent, like the black fist of our furious Vanguard!” Idrissa’s words transformed all faces into one, bloody, battle-hardened, stoic grouping.

It was as if all soldiers, witnessing in person or on their individual radio, beyond the core level and and far away, were uplifted. Men everywhere who had taken point resumed silence, the finest hour upon them. It was as if they all found something outside of them, something monumental, gifted by the one above, by their ancestors, their enduring greats. It was as if they didn’t care about pain anymore, only strength, unlocked when one overcomes dread in the inevitable gutting that awaits them and, even worse, they’re allies. Insensitivity destroyed any hint of dread within.

It was as foreordained. Man, in his final trial before the eyes of God, achieved fearlessness.

“Honor, and immortalize; your state… your family… your liberty.” Felix prepared for his last line, the time for the officers to depart and fight along their boys drew near.

“Fight as something more terrible than a beast Fight as what you are! Fight as MEN!”

”Hoorah!”

Author's Note

Remaster in progress, check back soon if you wish to wait for that.

Chapter Two: ‘Retribution’

Author's Note

Remaster in progress, check back soon if you wish to wait for that.

Chapter Two: ‘Retribution’

Forces of the Federation across the supercluster declared the harshest of all contingencies. Generals overseeing the protectorates panicked as confirmation came in. Military Directorates mobilized across the stars for warfare on a scale never before seen. The entire universe stood on edge as the tyrants of eons ago returned.

News finally started to circulate of the destruction of Sinai and the demise of her battlefleet, all after the hyped speech of two days before. The public stood in solidarity alongside their veterans, but as history constantly reminded, man struggled to get on the same page: North American and European-controlled networks slandered the Federation, labeling them with whatever nasty buzz-words they could spew out to no end. The Russians and the Chinese moved to back their African ally, applying pressure throughout the so-called "Frontier of the West". Everyone, for the moment, missed the point, at least publicly they continued their grand game of politics instead of all joining the bulwark against the resurgent alien threat. The Great Catastrophe, the great humanitarian mistake that led to the Earth's great nations being snatched and thrown around the unchained half of the universe it seemed, carried a legacy that won't be so easily put down.

-And nobody gave a fuck about the political situation, at least onboard the ancient starship that a group of alone and forsaken marines mission was to hold. The survivors of the first hour of engagement had their battle of annihilation to win. All they could focus on were the sounds of hyper-advanced, close-quarter combat, throughout the hallways and evacuated rooms, men fought a fighting retreat for the past hour against the Nal'. Over a quarter of the positions taken by the ragtag division were overran in just ten minutes, and as resistance finally stiffened, reinforcements kept arriving to dislodge all that remained. Machine gunners began to conserve ammunition, squads consolidated, and all knew what was inevitable.

“Colonel, sir, an update!” a communications operator shouted. “We have enemy concentration breaking through the starboard flank of one of our positions. They are attempting to break the first positions of the bottleneck and breakthrough the hallways.” The young man tossed his superior a datapad with a slight nod. Felix quietly whispered to himself as he took in the contents of the map.

The map presented a three-hundred-sixty-degree field of battle; most of the ship was occupied by the enemy forces, literal hundreds of kilometers in the form of a narrow system of corridors and tunnels were rather neatly divided into two colors, red advancers, and green defenders. A solid wall of around a third of the derelict was covered in green, with the bridge, his position, marked with a blue symbol. Boxes, known as sectors or levels, composed the ship, and his force currently occupied the first twenty-six closest to the bridge, with the first few extending both up and down to compensate for the bridge's position until a constant rectangle was formed.

“Tell the boys to abandon the twenty-sixth level, and fall back to the final prepared position at twenty-fifth, we can hold the bottleneck,” he started. “as they hightail, collapse those roofs. We’re gonna force them into those kill zones, the guys can at least wreck as many of them as they are us.”

Man now faced more than a species, he faced his precursor. Yet another supposedly “all-powerful”, he would be made just another speed bump on his home world as unfathomable justice of the frontier took them. Enslaving half of the reality was simply too egregious for the average to suck it up and allow it. Even if man pretended as though his own were not worthy of such treatment, he didn't care, man was just too significant to die. And if he did die, then his brethren would kill the murderer, and manifest what they always were inside; judge, jury, and executioner.

"Get my X.O. to take over," Felix said, much to the confusion of the Corporal, "I must not stay here any longer."

"You're going to the front? That's suicide, sir..."

"I know, but these are difficult times and, perhaps, my death will allow us a few more seconds to hold." Felix accepted his fate with open arms. Of course, it was his fate at one point or another today, another man killed in action, to be replaced by another, but he didn't mind at all, not anymore.

And with that, he put his beret down, his buzz-cut breathing for a few seconds before he finally put his helmet on. Inside his headgear, the blackness was replaced by the three-hundred-sixty-degree sensors and cameras of his surroundings. Sagebrush green interfaced showing his heartbeat and personal shield unit power level in the bottom right quadrant. In red was his ammunition count, the rifle in his hands connecting itself to the mainframe. Last but not least, the map of the known compartments and decks of the derelict ship was transferred to all soldiers on the frontline, including himself. As an officer, Felix was able to call the shots using his brain instead of words now. Neurotransmissions to every member of the team were sent out immediately, and his enhanced cognitive speed had improved this ability by an order of magnitude.

Felix chose the most desperate sector to intervene in personally. It was already infamous among those who survived for being a death sentence, and it was designated Level Thirteen-Ten. It was to be expected that this would be the most desperate front, multiple hangars were seized by the enemy and most led directly here. Felix, who was considered a supersoldier in his own right, would hold this bottleneck, or die trying, alongside his men.

Jogging along the medical bays where the few lucky wounded toil, his ears picked up the screams of Nal' and Human alike, the first couple of times he shuddered, and then he stopped.

'I shall be among them.'

He reached the final corner after several minutes. To his front led to even more sectors resisting the golden tide of Naljuc, and before him, the final road between him and certain death. Preparing himself by making a religious sign with his hands, he ran down the grey hallway and burst the door open with his right shoulder. Catching himself from the fall, he stopped as he took in the surroundings.

This was not a mere hallway he stood in, but a slaughterhouse. Everywhere the golden corpses lay, so did a human one. It was quickly revealed that state-of-the-art nanotech provided zero protection against enemy sonic weaponry. Every affected liver, lungs, and anything else except bone was converted into soup. Red fumes from the still-active sonic particles visibly tainted the air. Armor plates and clothes of the fallen could not contain the horrid sights; for at best, they covered parts of an individual's mess, and at worst the remaining atoms joined the pool of skin, blood, and guts.

"TAKE COVER"

The wall next to Felix blew up sweeping him off his feet. Nal' soldiers over ten feet in height stormed into the breach, fully encircling every one of their one hundred adversaries, cramped in the tunnel of red mist and sonic rounds. Felix backed up on the floor, crawling on his back as he shook beams of steel off his legs. All around him, the orders of sergeants and the cries of privates being slammed into makeshift barricades of their comrades' remains made the career officer shit himself.

With an acidic, demonic roar that put the dinosaurs to shame, a Nal' warrior, naked with a mask over its eyes and the mangled intestines of Christ knows how many men hanging on its neck with, blitzed forward with double-edged clubs, decorated with puny blades it must've looted. Felix scrambled to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins, recovered the Kalashnikov-styled assault rifle from his hip, and began an assault of his own on the beast. He emptied the clip upon the hellspawn's genitalia, the abomination endured its testicles turn to mist and its penis replaced by copper, leaving nothing but a sliver of red skin with a few nerves dangling from it when the African was done destroying.

The bullets continued to spray, now into its chest and the muscle tissue of what appeared to be his pec muscles began to protrude from his skin, bullets dividing and splitting and fracturing everything in their path. With another roar the ogre merely shook off the gallons of blood spilling from the holes in its form and redoubled his attack. Felix reloaded his gun and skipped back to buy himself milliseconds, but it wasn't enough.

'This is the end.'

-But it wasn't, not yet. A soldier who had, judging by the amount of skin that covered him, been fighting in this sector from the jump, threw himself on the beast's back, dagger out and helmet long since gone. The organ-covered man had to be less than twenty-three, yet he smiled as though he was Micah McNeal himself in the heat of combat. This boy latched onto the beast's back as Felix was thrown around once again, and, with steel teeth, surely taken from his K.I.A platoon commander, locked into its left deltoid, undoubtedly tainted with the feces of other humans it had killed. The private continued chomping away, his armor protecting him from the underpowered bashes of the hostile determined to squash his frenzied ass to no end.

The kid then drove his blade, still soaked from its previous victims, into the developed upper trap of the warrior and pulled with all his might in opposite directions. First, the muscle was cleaved, and as pressure increased, ribs were cracked and split apart, taking with them the hearts and lungs of the beast, all streaking to the floor, only stopped by thick, alien veins struggling to keep organs from falling to the ground. The private once again pressed his attack, tearing the shoulder off completely, leaving a small part of the enemy's back responsible for keeping the tricep connected. Again his titanium teeth punctured the enemy, this time on his right side, finishing the ritual and completing the triple division of the enemy being; arms, shoulders, down to the obliques dangling from the hip.

The Private finally unlocked his teeth, hit the ground, and waltzed up to his superior as the great enemy finally collapsed.

"Gonna... gonna be your turn to do what I just did sir..." He offered a hand to Felix that was graciously accepted. After pulling him off the ground, he collapsed himself, drawing his final breath through his soaked lips.

Felix would have to grieve later. He became the final defender of this side of the hallway, and more terrors approached through the gathering. He swiftly snatched the knife from the cold floor, along stray heavy energy launcher of enemy origin, quickly formulating a plan as he retreated to about twenty meters before the troops defending his ass. He rolled to cover, dodging rounds only for a few to hit his subordinates behind him.

'Get your head in the game Idrissa.'

With that command shouted to himself, he lifted his weapons, using the debris as a sort of bipod as he sprayed into the advancing horde. Rifle Round after rifle round made contact with a body, drilling the average, reducing the flanker's numbers by half, but not even stunning the giants and giantesses that laughed at his pathetic attempt. The rage finally activated the enhancements within Felix as he picked up the heavy energy launcher, hoisting it over his shoulders, primed it, and launched the purple light at the demons. All in the blast radius were evaporated and hallway walls caved in, sealing their dead asses from their support.

Felix whipped around to see the final Sergeant left standing approaching him. Waving his arm and approaching, the two went over what had transpired as the final waves of attack were killed off by the surviving soldiers.

"We stay here, were dead, sir..." The Sergeant whose nameplate read Amari, began, knowing what abandoning this major center point would enable. Nal' soldiers could expand their breach, and flank over a dozen decks via the corridors behind the now collapsed walls, still possible to blow a path through. Unless the already combat-ineffective platoon could hold over a dozen decks and hallways critical to continued resistance, there was no choice but to retreat.

Felix responded with a plan he had already formulated at his headquarters and now would reveal to all soldiers, activating his helmet's mic, ensuring all commanders would hear. "We are going scorched earth on all the current sectors, reserves are going to cover our asses for however long it takes. They are being redeployed to persecute rearguard actions through designated Levels Twenty-Five through Eight." Felix articulated, the sounds of battle temporarily fading as his men carried out this directive as best they could, finishing firefights, terrified to receive the order to give more ground. "Fall back towards layer two of defense, command will assign exact positions within the minute. Execute." A wave of 'yes sir's filled his ears as he looked down at the kid who had saved his life.

"I saw the whole thing happen, sir..." Sergeant Amari sighed, memories of the young marines just like him replayed. Now they were all turned into food. "He was one our newest and, one of our bravest. We will have our revenge, no matter the cost..."

"His name was Akpan." He finally finished, giving his superior time to process the information.

"We... must blow this wall up to hell." Felix pointed to his right-hand side and snapped his fingers. "There are small walkways that we can use to fall back, C&C said." He did not wish to revisit what he had seen today, but he accepted that he was about to see worse. And feel worse. With the issue of direction settled a pair of troopers blasted a hole in the wall that led to, as stated, a walkway that led to previously inaccessible areas. As the platoon grew closer to the sounds of renewed combat, explosions, and screams of Naljuc, they exited into a fresh, untouched corridor that happened to be their post. It was relatively remote and, for the moment, was calm.

"Our area likely will only experience some secondary enemy units." Amari started as the men sat down and got all the rest they could. "Reserves are still engaged in the rearguard action. Colonel, is there anything else you would have us do?" Amari finished with a short breath, witnessing his commander stare down the clean passage that soon would be yet another front. He could almost foresee his second battle, hundreds more fallen enemies and yet another retreat, to repeat over and over again until they were pushed back to the control room. And then their real final stand would come. Everyone knew it was a matter of time unless Republic arrived in time and fucked the enemies up, but with how fast Sinai was destroyed, everyone doubted their apparatus more than ever. In his mind, Amari cursed Osiris, that dastardly admiral, for ordering them to certain death, the situation reminded him of America's Operation Watchtower on the small island of Guadalcanal. The only difference was this place was far bigger... and his defenders were getting their shit split even worse... but even a grunt could see why this starship was so important.

"Negative, Sergeant," Felix replied, "-well I would like one thing." He changed his mind and realized that lying in wait, or worse, falling back to the command center was not the table. His Supreme Commander would never want any of his officers to commit such a heinous act after choosing to fight alongside the men. Going back on the promise he made, going back to his post, the logical choice for any officer, was not what Micah would do. Maybe the correct choice, definitely the correct choice, but not what his gut said. He made a decision, crushing the thousand-yard stare that had manifested on his face with mental fortitude alone, and once again prepared himself for the end, maybe for real this time.

"Get me a machine gun, and give me some boxes, I'm going back in."

—————————☆—————————

Galaxy: New-Saleem

-

“Hammer-a second task force is following us to the gate, are you in position?”

“Affirmative Osiris, we are holding in the next galaxy.” Fleet Admiral Umbru began. The crews manning each of his ships were about to be bloodied once again.

“Combined Fleet, jump in now.” McNeal finished on behalf of Umbru.

"Understood, jumping in." Came the acknowledgment from a few ship captains, leaders of their assigned subdivisions within the larger armada.

Contained by superstructure in high orbit, the red matter of the intergalactic gate manifested in a wall of light. Over four thousand ships of all sizes prepare to begin the last war against the remnant of the slain “Gods of War”.

“Tell control to redesignate Riot's fleet as a supporting force to the Russians. Their ships will fill in for any losses before our counterattack.” Micah ordered no one in particular. After everyone had gotten over the shock of the Sinai meeting her end, excitement was purged. The scattered, former masters of half of known reality, had brutally reminded the younger species that he is not supreme. “Get a line to Naval Intelligence going as well, son. Ask them if they know which fleet this is… please.” Micah thought they had been left destroyed, in the last war. That the bastards would be unable to continue their way of life because of what Umbru’s black fist did to them, he was wrong. Micah would kill them all with his implanted teeth before he allowed himself to spend the weeks after his three-thousandth birthday losing battles.

“Aye, sir.” The calm reply from this veteran made Micah sigh.

Standing tall, he moved up to the primary bridge of Dreadnaught Kenyatta, victory on his mind. Waltzing around to a transparent tablet, the Marshall read the transmitted report on a heavily monitored being. The Shipmaster, whose age rivaled humanity's greatest and who dominated revolters and foreign armies in the End Times of Great Nal’, was named Surapadman.

A new enemy to rip the organs out of? Yes, very good. A subjugator of slaves who dream of freedom? Sounds familiar indeed. Micah loved the idea of his thunder searing through flesh and gripping his stomach, throwing them down in front of the great enemy of freedom lovers, snatching away its appetite for destruction. He almost grinned, and nearly laughed out loud as he imagined the look on the bastard's face… This sinister side, Micah would hold back, unless he was forced. The Fleet of Surapadman’s Terror was fast approaching the opposite side of the gate he was in, though.

As soon as he collected himself, which took no time at all, seeing as all this happened on the bridge, and that his stoic mask was unfazed, he returned to the center. The biggest space battle with the most advanced systems up to this point in history was about to happen.

It was time for the showdown.

—————————☆—————————

Galaxy: MLD-RG

As the combined fleet, minus Riot's ships, emerged from hyperspace, they had to establish themselves quickly to counter a strong enemy offensive. Advance units had already engaged the remnants of Osiris' fleet and were winning. Republic was the first ship to respond, her long-range beams striking pairs of Nal' Destroyers and frigates, neutralizing them with extreme prejudice.

The slaughter of the small enemy force would lead to enemy reinforcements gathering en mass, jumping into the firing range of the human superships, one after another.

“That's a lot of hostiles in local-" Umbru uttered, clearly shocked at the already massive number of ships both sides were deploying. Each second, a new human heavy cruiser squadron, battlecruiser, or horde of frigates emerged from the hypergate, matched only by a new Naljuc Titan or supercarrier arriving to match them. All capital ships were as big as the next, and the numbers were roughly even, leading the Admiral to one conclusion; This would be a fight to the death, and this would decide who would eventually come out on top. Humanity or Nal'? The primogenitor versus the descendent?

"Heh, yeah, glad you could make it." Grit, who was streaking back behind the Republic alongside every remaining ship of his fleet in formation, scoffed at the Admiral's revelation. His veteran forces would need all the assistance they could get, an even now, the situation was grim. A dozen Titan Class ships and even more supercarriers had to mean that air supremacy would be firmly Nal's, even if the point defense systems of the Russo-African forces were superior, as proved in the previous engagement over the ninth planet, they could only hope to mitigate the damage done by enemy bombers. Human Interceptors and drones would be critical to defensive operations, and all the human Admirals knew it.

The time for deliberation was over, the hell began right here, right now, the fear of backing down, rather than the fear of fighting propelling humans forward.

"All directors, focus fire on the squadron level, check targets by range-HERE THEY COME." The Marshall got off the intercom as his dreadnaught was among the first to taste blood, slaughtering an enemy destroyer squadron in an instant with nuclear artillery, while its turbolaser arrays targetted the nearest Titan, slowly working the hostile shields as they glistened in the red sun. "Go broadside, focus fire on the reactor, work them with the kinetic launchers once shields are down!" McNeal ordered the gunners on the starboard side as he observed the largest fight in centuries.

Like an old-school, fifteen round boxing match, the fight was less a battle of striking power, kinetic bombardment, or feverish usage of thermonuclear rockets at point-blank range, but a test of animalistic endurance, and fear of the inevitable shame of defeat. This battle, captured in perfect quality on both ships, would be leaked and immortalized by both Nal' and Africans alike as 'The Battle of the Gods'. Both ships expended thousands of Hyperion and Vajra Tech shock absorbers every second, the country-sized duelers overwhelming each other's shields at the same moment as concentrated incendiary energy from the Titan and kinetic bombardment from Kenyatta inflicted grievous wounds on all compartments that were exposed.

On the Kenyatta, Micah was able to see unarmored soldiers fall out of blown open compartments from his perks on the bridge. A man with his armor on, had a red gash on his head and a massive hole in his helmet, flew out into vacuum and his head exploded. He was not alone, but among dozens ejected after him as droids and suited up men rushed to seal the gap under fire.

"SHOOT EM-SHOOT EM-SHOOT EM RUSKI! NOW! THERE ABOUT TO FUCK US!" A Gunnery officer shouted through the communications array to the bear behind them. All hell broke loose as Russian battlecruiser 'Amur' didn't need to be told twice; the burgundy energy circled the ship and, once it all was consolidated into the spinal superlaser, beamed towards the gigantic Titan. It pierced what must've been entire legions of enemy vessels in its path, obliterating what had to be a hundred within a millisecond as the trailblazing bolt of light made its way through the vacuum. With an earthshattering boom, the ship the size of the state of Alaska buckled up and then down, its hull cracking and imploding into four parts containing millions of crew members, each colliding with hordes of Nal' ships.

"This shit is not what I signed up-"

"Don't get smart now boy, keep it tight." Micah interrupted the gun operator before he uttered s’more smart ass shit. "You there," he said, pointing towards an uninjured woman getting up from the floor, likely thrashed when the shields fell, "tell Umbru to get Repub-"

"Already Done, Marshall. Republic and Barca are in wedge formation as we speak." The reply came from the comms array.

"Alright, I get it," Micah stopped himself from speaking his mind, "Continue to provide transfers, we're pushing up the center-left flank now, tell the Comoros and Volta to link up with Amur and fuck those supercarriers before they work us to death."

"Yes, Marshall," Luti replied calmly, not escalating since his leader was now pissed enough to start swearing. He turned to his secondary commanders within the starboard bridge, striding towards them as they surrounded a green table in the middle.

"What's the situation of the fleet?"

"We're doing good enough sir," the Ensign began his explanation, "Since we saved Kenyatta, a few squadrons of heavy cruisers and Volta were able to take out a pair of carriers and a titan they isolated." The words were met by a curt nod by his superior, the good news always came first. "The bad news is, sir, that we are losing just as many escort-sized ships because of those enemy starfighters, their shitting on us bad, and it doesn't matter that our interceptors can shoot them down with impunity, they just keep coming." The officer's grim analysis reminded Luti of a fight he had back in his youth, during the Northern insurrection.

'A bygone era, no need to reflect now...' Luti thought... and then thought some more.

"I have an idea of how we can stop the hostile bombers, men." Umbru proclaimed, knowing damn well what the reaction of his guys would be. "We're gonna send all the interceptors, drones, and fighters to reinforce the other parts of our 'front', our indomitable shields will protect us as we charge into that nexus of enemy carriers you see on the map." The projection displayed a small opening on the flanks leading toward the aforementioned grouping, a clear plan of action didn't take a genius to figure out. All the men surrounding the table nodded in agreement, all but one, who raised his concerns after gathering himself.

"Sir, the Nal' destroyed an entire fleet just hours ago and they proved themselves strong enough to hold multiple of our task force's heaviest ships at once, we should reconsider this." The man articulated his concerns like a member of his crew should, quickly. Umbru pondered the question for a few seconds as he pieced together his counter-argument to no avail.

Sighing, Umbru conceded that his plan was based on more than one fundament flaw, and said as such, asking for more ideas to come through as he sensed the true beginning of this battle hadn't even begun yet.

The rifles from the Republic’s never ceased their incessant fire on the enemy forces, every second, a plethora of ships of the enemy fleet met their doom as the three battlewagons approached the hottest scene of battle. Kenyatta, by now repaired as much as possible, resumed her fire support, locking onto the targets in which the control centers of the battlecruiser designated.

"We should organize our three capital ships, consolidate, and THEN allow ourselves to advance with some support from those destroyers and frigates all around us. Those guys will allow us to got decent point defense that covers every last angle." The officer stated.

“If you can integrate them into a loose formation within a minute, we will do it.” Umbru gave his ultimatum, he would have to see potential manifest before the he totally conceded his old plan of action. “Until then, continue to wither down their escorts, after all, most their drones are still onboard those dickheads.”

“Aye, sir.” A group of officers returned to their positions with no more complaints and began to relay commands to hundreds of frigates and destroyers to get within range of Republic’s protective aura. “Get the entire little cluster behind us to cover our engines and the rear flank, shit is exposed, Lieutenant.” The voices started to fade, but not before the final words came through.

“Heh, That’s Osiris’s entire force, Cap’.” The subordinate replied with a chuckle with respect and pity in his voice. “They prolly’ the most experienced support fleet in the armada by this point, glad to have them covering our ass.”

“Couldn't agree more, L.T.” The voices finally faded as Umbru walked back to the center of the deck, observing the mauled Kenyatta.

“High Marshall, what direction will you lead our strike force?” Umbru remembered to always coordinate his actions with his friend, but first of all his superior. His individual preference of the order of battle was secondary, he had to learn that the hard way after a minor fuckup ages ago. “Osiris’ remnant is about gonna cover our six, Grit is on Amur’s’ ass, commanding their branches escort shits and what not, when will we match their advance?”

“Once you’re done forming our force we will be moving up the gut, the cluster of carriers we’re targeting will be marked on your screens right about…” Micah paused for effect, “now, Admiral.” Micah replied, having lost his attitude from the earlier talk.

“Alright, then it’s said, in a few seconds they will be ready.” Luti finished the talk, switching the topic. “A transmission from Riot just came in; their stealth corvettes have activated their mobile gates for rapid intervention when the start to losses mount.” Luti informed his leader, leaving out the details of the message.

“Understood… Kenyatta’s turbolasers are linked to your gunners for focus fire, use us well.”

“I assure you, the gals onboard are very talented with the sword.” Luti chuckled out without a care in the world. “-At least that’s what the Privates say.” He let out a snicker before he composed himself for the last time.

“Very funny, that better be the case boy.” Micah deadpanned without a hint of emotion. “You def’ shoot out dust from your geezer ass though…” he sighed, thinking of all the times in his youth he could keep up a good roast session. He couldn’t find a second line despite how hard he tried. “Damn… we’re too old for this.”

The duo resumed their operations as Osiris had assembled hundreds of escort ships around the wounded dreadnaught, and two carriers. A new phase battle began as the cluster began its counter strike against the enemy carriers.

The enemy was caught off guard initially, with Carrier Barca scoring first blood against a hostile supercarrier loaded with spacecraft. The advanced, super-efficient fuel burned as well as any when the Barca’s turbolasers touched the vessel. Their fleets attack had taken precedence over the other major offensive since Amur was thrashed, shields left dangerously low and battlecruiser Comoros had sustained serious damage, dragged out of the A.O via tractor beam.

Enemy Titans had chosen this moment to intervene, the seven remaining unleashing salvo after salvo of completely foreign energy at the three greatest ships in the grand navy. As the closest titan made its move, it was focused by the entire formation, its protection slowly drained until the nuclear artillery was on the verge of penetrating that golden hue. It was at that moment when two more Titans, slightly smaller in length and with oval shaped reactors poking through their hull, started transferring shields. The three behemoths somehow nullified the African barrage and began restoring the enemy shields, while under a bombardment that could destroy quasars.

“Umbru, unleash the kinetic dimensional accelerators,” What Micah McNeal saw before him were not mere warships, standing up to his own, but the death of his Federation flashing before his eyes if any of the three capital ships were obliterated. “Disregard all safety regulations, FIRE AT WILL!”

The man in charge now lost his shit. He started sweating from the heat of the bridge, and sweating from the fear in his soul. As the kinetic killers from Republic hungrily consumed whatever energy was few to them within their tubes, the antimatter/cobalt warheads began emanating black thunder in the gargantuan turret. The double-barreled super-weapon whines as it slowly turned towards the enemy vessel its fellow guns were targeting, each second closer to its release. Drones fighters, and bombers clashed all around the weapon with billions of bodies on it, as the Nal’ caught wind and desperately tried to dispose of it. Over a thousand fighters from both sides twisted in the zero gravity arena, missiles streaking everywhere as the humans desperately tried to hold the enemy bombers off to no avail.

A squadron of Naljuc attack craft exploited an opening that had formed in the battlespace, their flying-wing hulls leaving behind white trails as their engines went into an afterburner like mode. They streaked across the gap, only a few of them getting shot down by a single desperate point defense cannon, and as they got within a few miles of the belly of Republic, they released their hypersonic missiles.

“All crew members: prepare yourselves!”An artificial voice called out within the walls of the battle carrier in the seconds that remained…

On Republic itself, the crew frantically prepared the gun for an unrestricted shot, unchained by the rules, and not given proper warning about the threat. Naval technicians steamrolled throughout the ship, catching supersonic metro’s or rodean elevator to their positions. Every second, countless switches flipped, water coolants restarted their flowing around the reactor core, and men with machine might began doing everything to prime every single one of the thousands of inter-dimensional links to the projectiles they would fire upon command.

A single miscalculation could destroy every single starship in this fleet. In the grand scheme of things, a minor material loss for all parties involved-sure-but one that nobody planned to permit. Before the final launch confirmation code was sent to the bridge for Umbru himself to authorize, artificial intelligence systems and humans checked again, and again… again, and again,while the black lightning pre-prepared itself for firing, feeding off of reactor given energy and the dark matter of this universe.

Of course, the vast majority of these technicians were not aware that enemy weapons were on course to end all their work. For the thousands of men and women who witnessed the missiles hone in on their target, this would be a defining moment of their life. The death of A.F.S Republic, Conqueror of Andromeda, Ruiner of the Second Galactic Sector, was upon them. Red light gleaming from the missiles fast approaching stole the spectators attention, from the cockpits of the interceptor, to Micah himself, their hearts dropped.

…

“We intercepted it! The missile just scraped paint of-“ the ever calm voice of Luti Umbru came upon the coms channel to stop the panic even he could sense.

“RAHHHHHHHHH!!” Micah shouted through the microphone to all callsigns across the fleet, he wasn’t even the loudest among the tens of thousands screaming at the same time. “FIRE AT WILL!” He ordered while adrenaline overflowed in his system, a evil grin grew on his face as he prepared to immortalize the death of more millions of hated scum. The enemy would once again be reminded of what man was capable of.

The round finally released, its white beam taking no time at all to find its first target. The antimatter bypassed the enemy shields without any resistance, and turned the enemy vessel into scrap metal, and it did not stop there. Less than a second later, as the cobalt laced salted radiation finished their toxic assault, and two similar anti matter beams darted across space, hitting the two Titans who had just been robbed of their shields. Onboard those coffins, all who survived were scared for life if they were lucky enough to somehow survive the antimatter in which their ships were capable of mitigating. All the human nations doctrinally utilized cobalt in a cruel matter as a guaranteed way to taint survivors, and as escape pods emerged less than a minute and started flying towards the closest of the four or so operational Titans. The Africans allowed them to escape unabated as the three wrecks split, just like their pride.

“Continue the offensive!” Osiris called out to all units. “Polar fleet, focus fire on those enemy cruisers, this fights far from over.”

“Da, commander-“ some static alongside a loud bang screwed with his communications for a moment as Amur received an attack, tanked, and promptly dispatched the frigates with a volley of thermobaric rounds. “-g-good work back there, brothers and sisters, we’re together for victory!” The Russian complemented, returning to his native tongue to continue the organization of his forces as they advanced into the final phase of this hellish day.

The hostile commander, identified as the undefeated ‘Surapadman’, suddenly switched their fleet’s priority target. Their ships ceded space to Kenyatta’s grouping as they fought their way back to their inner circle, their heavy fire flank, targeting the battlecruiser more and more every passing minute.

“We’re working the devils from our angle, Volta and her escorts are alongside us again, commander, Amur out.” The Russian heavy cruiser ‘Kaganovich’ broadsided a plethora of smaller ships alongside her sister, ‘Sverdlov’; destroyers, light cruisers, frigates and fighters fell before their mighty guns time and time again, proving their mettle. The two mauled multiple waves of said ship types, and did not hesitate to utilize their nuclear artillery on hostile gremlins, ending their pitiful existence and sending them to see their divine ‘Watcher’. In the end, the Russian pair, alongside other, lighter ships, made over a hundred ships their bitches within a few minutes of the skirmishes beginning.

“All callsigns, reinforcements are inbound!” Grit

“Riot, come in.” Osiris commanded, eager for their trump card to assist them in the mid-fight rotation.

“Standing by,”

“Solidified, you are clear to jump in.” Coordinated we’re transferred with haste; the advantage was with the humans, and they would be damned if they would let it slip out of their collective hand once again.

“Copy, jumping.” As Riot finished his affirmative, his forces had already begun emerging from F.T.L with fresh forces that completely compensated for the losses suffered in all action of the last thirty minutes. His arrival compelled the Nal’ to begin the process of retreat back to the derelict warship-right where the African marines were making their last stand…

“All ships, link up on me and chase down that last command ship. We’re going to force them into a rout, EXECUTE.” Upon arrival, the state of human intelligence increased tenfold as specialized surveillance ships entered the fray. Riot blitzed through the now under-defended right flank of the enemy, his ships blasting every enemy out of the way ahead of the capital ships.

His support fleet was less of a iron curtain, and more like the arachnid’s web for the hyper-lethal warpigs in the form of the vicious triumvirate of Kenyatta, Republic, and Barca, finally earning the domination of the starfighter arena.

The enemy forces must’ve sensed that loss was inevitable and decided to retreat and link up with their main force at the derelict. The thrusters on the hostiles instantaneously turned their ships in the opposite direction and they began to flee with their tail between their legs.

“Riot, have stealth units confirmed the viability of a counterattack?” Micah asked, as for the first time since the battle began, he had a moment to catch his breath and relent from commanding the efforts of Kenyatta. The lack of his black coat, still mysteriously gone, proved to be a blessing, as with just his olive sweater he could remain somewhat cool in the repairing dreadnought.

He was thrown out of his thoughts as Riot transmitted the live feed of one of the stealth frigates within the enemy controlled system. The reinforcements brought in by the enemy forces to this galaxy and others was growing by the hour. By this point over three dozen galaxies of humanities furthest reaches were active battlefields. All of these mostly backwater settlements were located within just two of the furthest galactic super clusters of humanity. But by this point the African Congress would be glad to permit the declaration of a state of war to counter this rising threat.

Across the war zones, entire Russo-African galaxy’s were being equipped with reservist and experienced legions of dreadnoughts, carriers, and escort hordes were mobilized and sent forward in the trillions.

Humanities first true universal scale war…

Even without counting the P.R of China, and the Indian allies, the two human nations engaged in the existential struggle still dwarfed the estimated Nal’ capability. Although most fleet battles come back as victories, the lack of human knowledge about the situation of over half the universe casted doubts on the theory of the human ability to resist.

After all, a few Titans not to long ago tanked a small barrage of antimatter bombs…

But mankind has come to far to give up, no matter what circumstances come, man will endure.

And when the day of defeat comes, they would obliterate themselves rather than allow anyone other than a fellow man enslave them.

“They got a few Titans remaining at this axis of advance…” Micah looked at the paneled windows and allowed himself a moment more to an articulate. “Is Comoros battle ready? If so, we’re going now.”

“Affirmative, High Marshall,” the captain of Comoros spoke up, his ship rotating after its emergency field repairs were done. “We shall follow protocol and remain in the back line, if that is what you command, sir!” The professional reply was welcomed by Micah, and he made his mind.

“Good…”

Micah McNeal, with his countrymen and women and allied peoples afar would prove to the entire universe something they hadn’t dared to dream of. The young species, known by the aliens for their brutal, animalistic taste for conflict, and hatred of all things peace, would destroy the greatest evil ever seen.

The killers of hundreds of millions of their own would be redeemed, and in the impure blood of the enemy, they would be the ones to defeat slavery, no matter the cost. No matter how many innocents would meet their doom, no matter how many rules would be violated. No matter how many times mankind’s true nature of malice and the temptation of darkness, inkier than the void of space would prevail…

This species had been trifled with, treated like some pacifist just waiting to be butchered-it’s alright though-there would be hell to pay. Many would do it for Justice, many for the One Above All. Some for the right price, and s’more for the thrill of watching some aliens take their last breath, but it would be done regardless.

They would know what the true dreams were, or at least what they morphed into…

The Naljuc: the ancient rapist of nearly all people, pillagers of galaxies, ENSLAVERS! of half the universe, would be wiped from reality… whether it be because of love of the fellow decent species, or demand for blood.

It didn't matter anymore. Those humans… didn't care about pain anymore.

That… is the deepest, darkest Dream of our Federation, the deepest, darkest Dream of all Mankind. And it sure ain’t fair.

And it sure ain't have to be.

“…now let’s’s kick these bastards out of our system.”

Chapter Three: A New Dawn

Surapadman could only stare at his screen, watching the massacre by those human ”superships”.

Perhaps they had finally ascended to a level near his own people. The strength of just one of their ‘nations’, however stupid the concept was, alone proving a match for him. Their strength and the fight they would bring was commendable.

‘A minor loss for the watcher.’

In his ebony bridge, he sat in his golden seat, the pinnacle of Surapadman’s many campaigns, cherished by all-for no one being could live long enough to manifest fear of it. He observed every battle in his galactic area on the paneled window before him.

The bastards probably thought those ‘Titans’ as they coined it were… anything special.

“Hah!” The Shipmaster laughed as that, grand human ship, emblazoned on its side-Republic, obliterated the Akash, the Vimar and the Gani. The white beam projected from its grey belly having slaughtered millions of in a second.

They will continue to believe that there was a great victory. They will pay, in due time.

For now, the Nal’ High Command had other plans in which he would obey faithfully. The Fleet of Surapadman’s Terror had just finished subjugating the last splinter group of the Naljuc species, damned fools who dared declare “independence” from the old order were dealt with after centuries of their insolence. Their ideals were inspired by those, ‘Americans’, how his species could be just so pathetic perplexed him.

His currently deployed units would assist in this group of “probing attacks”. It was no secret that the humans knew they were holding back, but they would never expect what was to come. Just beyond their known universe, warfare on a scope and scale unfathomable had already begun, the now free, thriving slave species of Great Nal’ resurfacing across the universe took most of Naljuc's capacity to fight effectively, though over thirty percent of the rebuilt, rejuvenated, and convicted forces of Nal, prepared for millennia, were ready to commence the largest invasion ever. The invasion would dwarf everything and decide the fate of this universe, and depending on the desires of the victors, perhaps many more. And their target was all mankind.

It was something the great Surapadman would stop at nothing to see through. He was given absolute authority as the effective commandant of his sector's fleets. There would be no excuse for failure, and he would make a mockery out of these hyped-up men, once and for all.

“My brothers, we are coming out of the light in the next few minutes.” He proclaimed over the intercom to all decks of the ship. “Prepare the warriors to reinforce the boarding party on that starship, the rest of you, battlestations, Execute.”

The crew on the bridge along with him bowed submission, and their shipmaster acknowledged them in return, nodding and standing up.

‘Might as well mimic that bastard.’ He thought to himself as he grabbed the intercom from his seat and raised it to his mouth.

‘I’ll do a speech of my own.’

The intelligence game was no secret to all in the universal scale game. All species had intelligence operatives everywhere within each other. Although the humans were just starting to make contact with the other side of the universe, they were by far the top dogs in the race. With ten millennia of studying each other and eclectic cultures worlds apart, their counterintelligence was spot on, though in some nations more than others.

None of that mattered though when it came to the second most viewed event in the history of their African Federation, which came just before they lost their precious ship and her wider sector armada. People already vowed vengeance, like it was a significant loss in the first place. Attachment to a single, admittedly powerful, battlecruiser among the billions that even the most primitive contacts of the Africans know they have is futile.

Surapadman took in a breath and prepared to address every ship in the now dimming hyperspace glow.

In this war, they would need every single one, and more to succeed. They would need to improve upon everything, and so would the Nal’. For this war would destroy both of the species and only one would be able to recover.

“My warriors, our time has come.”

And today would be their first taste.

“The day approaches!”

——————————————————

Galaxy: MLD-RG
Planet: RTH-IX

Micah stood within the port hangar bay of Kenyatta, inspecting the readiness of his Naval Infantry who were to be thrust into the close combat within the hour. The devil dogs rotated from their armament bays deep in the ship to the hangars they would be disembarked from. They were ready for a new kind of war.

Sergeants, Lieutenants, and Battalion Commanders lead troops and beckoned them into the dozens of large, high speed transports at once. Equipment was hauled to small cargo haulers no bigger than a fighter and prepared to high-speed entry into the derelict once the expected blockade was broken.

”Marshall, sir,” a woman began, “Umbru just gave the green light,” she looked down at her tablet, reading a transcript, “seven-seven-four is stationed on board Kenyatta to escort you to that alien ship,” Micah was informed by the female pilot standing to his side. “Oh and, Operatives are requesting that you lead them into that bloodbath, sir. If I were you I wouldn’t go down there-with all due respect it seems doomed.”

Micah was paying attention, but his thoughts reigned for a few seconds. He had felt his gut telling him something big was here. These attacks were carried out with Titans, swarming and occupying entire sectors of some frontier galaxy’s. Beside that, the enemy failed to target anything of particular value besides the derelict. This was the beginning of, and he only just realized it.

Micah knew what he should do when uncertainty took hold; consult his best. Something certainly more than some desperate jabbing was going on.

“Ah, yes I suppose you have a point, I am the leader of the nation. But I am first and foremost an altered lab rat made for war, ain’t that right?” He joked, but spoke the truth, putting his hands on his hips. “And I suppose that the men on the derelict will know better than us what’s going on-sure I’ll lead em, and you’ll work this transport there?” Micah acknowledged her after a few seconds. He didn’t like surprises but this wasn’t exactly one to be declined, they were perfect for this mission.

“It will be done, sir.”

Micah watched her board the large V.T.O.L shuttle and resumed his train of thought. The Nal’ force when they exited hyperspace would undoubtedly be the greatest they had seen today, the battles only got harder and harder. They would fight out in revenge. A shiver ran up the Marshalls spine as he imaged what fighting a vengeful spirit that wasn’t of his own kind was like.

The murderer in him wanted to find out, and he scoffed the fear away.

‘You will see very soon, do not fret.’

Indeed he would.

“All hands, we are exiting hyperspace in ten hours, commence your final takes and rotate shifts within the hour.” The intercom went off across the entire fleet, every ship became an hotbed of alerted and preparing men for the combat for their second or third time today.

Four trained killers of Detachment seven-seven-four converged upon their Marshall in the hangar and took an arrowhead position by his side, silent as snakes. They awaited his action, all but one, taller member looking up towards him. They were all armored in black the highest quality: their legs and heads and the rest of the bodies were completely surrounded and enclosed in nano-protection. Two tall shoulder blade pieces protruded from their backs, capable of hauling a dizzying array of equipment they were called upon to, and were each nearly half their height. Jet packs, inertial dampeners and thrusters dug into spots of their legs and midsections. On their waists, large grey angular belts contrasted with the onyx and held up attached boxes full of stuff only each of these black ops agents knew of; all banned in the law.

Of course they didn’t care about the rules of war, they were here to protect and serve their nation by whatever means available: From pathogens to miniaturized nukes, anything could be contained within on them, their superior wouldn’t bat an eye at their usage, and that is exactly why they had arrived uninvited to this war of attrition that was heating up by the second.

Micah took a moment to look outside, to the blue spiral of the hyperspace dimension; new reports from hyperspace lane watchers around this galactic cluster had detected a ship-a ship whose signature was the stuff of legend, who’s exploits could be compared to the unrivaled Republic herself. Such tales were on the verge of myth, but now, everyone who had heard the rumors on the ship figured they were about to find out what those bastards were about. All aboard knew they would have the honor of driving the steak through the hostile heart.

Setting those thoughts aside, Micah watched the thick diamond that was the Amur was in perfect formation with Republic and Barca.

“Shuttle is ready to board, sir.”

“Affirmative, embarking.” McNeal responded to the girl, doing as he said he would. The black ramp lowered from its rear, its stairs manifesting as billions of nanites darted to their positions and locked into place across the floor, beckoning the .

Micah sat down in the seat to his immediate right as he took two steps up the flight at once. He simply sat for a few minutes, contemplating the battle that would push them past their limits, beyond even those earlier today. He thought about killing… him, his current nemesis, his rival commander. He knew he was the among the greatest his nation had to offer.

And he wouldn’t hesitate to gift his enemy a warriors death.

The legion of four of the most dangerous humans of their class, and their national leader sat in silence in their supersized seats, the smallest being for the two women of the group. Both of the sharp hourglass physiques were the shortest, the two both at around five-feet ten-inches, still decent in comparison to the majority of people of this age. One of the men was slightly less built than their squad leader but just as intimidating. His height, at six-foot eight, gave him a small advantage, while the shorter man stood at over six foot, and stood at the forefront of the group.

One woman had a black cross emblazoned upon her left shoulder piece, the same was true for the tall man. The other two had massive crimson stars on the opposite plates.

Their angular helmets were black besides their deep green visors in the shape of a hooked letter T. Black shoulder plates were welded over the black suits, gray plates of differing sizes covered all sections of their unique, developed physiques. Their pants and chests all having some variation of the armor their leader usually wore.

Micah was thrown a Kalashnikov styled rifle, enhanced beyond the already lethal standard issue version, one which he graciously caught with a single hand. He inspected it, seeing the serial number, recognizing exactly what this was from his time inspecting the factories in the months before.

It was a recently designed, even more recently produced AN-550X. A marvel of weapons manufacturing in the sixth millennium. All but one carried the same thing on their backs; the gun was a whole foot longer than the one the standard AK-208’s of the infantry. On top of the modification to size, the black ops agents of seven-seven-four, including Micah himself, had mounted eight-times P-ZIP-M optics with offset mounted Akonbra red dot sights upon their weapons, along with suppressors and side infrared lasers. Last but not least, there were energy canisters in the form of a rectangular magazines locked into the weapons belly, each lined with dim white light.

Micah was thrown something else, this time by the shorter man. The pistol he was thrown was caught by just his left hand, and as he slowed the ten-pound down, he put his in his index finger and twirled it around violently like a gunslinger of times before even his birth. He chuckled, adjusting himself to the weight and stowing the gun away on his side.

One thing was certain to all preparing for the coming assignment who caught a glimpse of the five…

These were the reinforcements.

Micah spoke up as he finished examining the gear thrust upon him.

“How was the mission to 0-8712?” The Marshall asked just as three took a seat, perfectly parallel to each other in the bay. “Heard it was found well enough, yea?” he leaned in as spoke.

“KSSHHHKALAAASKSH” the load reply came from the speakers of the team leader, the garbled code only capable of being read by the one it was spoken around

“I see, Major, we will leave it be for now, you have permission to disengage the precautions.” Micah indirectly ordered with minced words as he already grew tired of the sound after just one usage today.

“Yes sir,” The mans voice instantly replied as he took his seat in the subconscious formation. “We had received the transmission and picked up some inteligence…” he hesitated, gathering his words before beginning his speech, “there were hostiles on that planet and they forced our hand.”

“You eliminated them all, correct?” The Marshall replied without any emotion, cold as ice, and invested into the on the fly debrief he was getting. “And tell me what their intel states, please.”

“Affirmative, sir,” the team leader restarted, “and they are redoubling their, ‘probing attacks’, as they call the events of today.” the revelation wasn't even the biggest of the conversation. “On top of all this, they are sending an even larger ship, one we saw the schematics and decrypted them with the help of the Office, it’s just that…” he prepared for his final line. He sighed, “It’s shields dwarf everything besides the Russians capital ship, we’re not even sure the dreadnaught could stand up to it for two minutes, sir.” He sighed once again.

“Hmph, mildly disconcerting.” Micah’s reply was like a wave of coolness upon the five souls. “Then we will have to have Republic face the threat head on, she's the only fully operation battlecarrier in the A.O.” Micah replied, cold as ever. “Relay that to control, Pilot.” Micah called out nonchalantly, his mind remembering that Umbru surely already knew of these things, and could plan a superior course of action.

“Already did, sir.” The woman replied.

“Nemesis will be coming out of hyperspace accompanied by Osiris and Riot, High Marshall.” After standing up, connecting to a database, and preparing her tablet, the woman with a black cross on her shoulder alerted her peers.

“Hammer will emerge when solidified.” A man shouted out from top of the hangar.

Micah absorbed the knowledge and got comfortable in his seat, looking to his left and right to the men and women he had trained before leaning back. The ramp to the shuttle ascended, signaling the mandatory checks were completed and the bird was ready for her mission at a moment's notice.

It had been days since he last slept as he didn’t require all that much, his type were engineered for proficiency in command, endurance, and mammoth strength.

A iron mind must have its sleep though, and with hours before the arrival, he figured he would catch some hours. He relaxed his eyelids, his eyebrows and then his scarred, stoic face as he breathed in.

——————————————————

Nine hours later, the fleet was ready for the battle.

Micah woke up as the voice in his ear called his name for the third time. He mentally recapped the plan of action, every detail he could within a few seconds, and then yawned. Annoyed, he sat upright in his seat, licked his metal teeth, and used those weapons to readjust the toothpick barley hanging from his lower lip, and finally responded.

“Affirmative, this is your High Marshall to all call signs, hold as Nemesis drops, we’re approaching the target zone.”

“Understood, Marshall!” Umbru replied.

Just as he finished, he arose from his seat, taking notice to the now reopened door in front of him. Looking out the shuttle, he saw in the harsh yellow light entire batallions of men boarding row upon row of this miles long hangar. He knew exactly what was going on in the minds of each of these soldiers, especially the youngest.

As a few squads of men approached his shuttle, the leader realized how much of it was empty, and how much of it was filled with gear.

“You four, get to the shuttles armory. Load our shit up we got some marines coming embarking with us.” Micah shouted to the silent warriors.

No words were spoken back, but the hasty steps of the four spoke for them. Micah watched the squad disappear for a minute and return with heavy duty backpacks, molded into shapes that fit their armored backsides. The five then loaded up the items laid around seats into the containers and allowed their magnets to clamp on the hundred and thirty pound sacks.

Micah turned back after he had finished adjusting his rifle to the new block on his six and waved to the incoming marines. They approached and got in a single file line, each divided by their Sergeant, who lead the squad to their assigned seating chart.

“Excuse me, Marshall sir,” the naval infantrymen’s senior officer spoke up, his voice catching McNeal’s attention.

“Ah, good Colonel, what suicide mission does control want my Gladiators to go on now?” Micah cut to the chase. The other four clad in black looked towards their leader they had sneakily gotten behind. The poor soldiers had no idea what he was referring to, for once in their life.

“Ah, of course.” The Colonel maintained eye contact as he started his relay of information that may or may not be necessary. “Central Command liaisons aboard Republic wanted those four to help hold that derelict before Hammer Fleet was scheduled to intervene in the battle.” The summary continued. “Basically they wanted the detachment to… go in with Nemesis, and be the first ones to rein-“ the colonel stopped as his Commander in Chief put a finger up.

“Understood, Umbru said this was likely… should’ve listened.” Micah started, cranking his neck back to the four warriors, still silently communicating through their helmets, deliberating the fact they were kept in the dark by high command of all people. Not upset at all to be on another mission-it was their life, the only they’ve known, but still. “Has Project Nzuri been transported to this ship?”

“Yes, sir, been here the whole time.” The squads leader, the Major, replied sharply. “Where will we be going?”

“Hmm…” Micah raised his eyebrow as overheard a few marines whisper something under their breath, something about this being a pointless tug of war. “BOYS-I do not hear any doubts…?” He turned his head back, looking just over and around the marines locked into their harnesses. When silence once again reigned, he sighed, and continued his previous talk.

“We five shall be the first in, and last out,” Micah reiterated to make a point-They were here to protect their state and the Republic’s principles, not demonstrate them.

“Now let’s roll.”

Giving a nod to the Colonel as he continued to prepare his marines aboard the shuttle, the five, clad in black nanite, marched in a single file to a seemingly empty part of the wider hangar.

“Behold, boss-the one and only, so far at least.” The Major spoke out in a regal tone. “The Nzuri,” he turned around as he de-cloaked the ship. The missile bays first became visible, Micah backing up upon realizing how close the lids were to his face. Then the entire thing, a flying wing, popped into view, the transparent coating ceasing and its major components like polkadots, springing up with gray digital camouflage over them. One could make out individual nanites as they scattered around, taking their place around the huge miniguns, rocket launchers, and point defense rifles dotting the hull. The engines at the rear of the craft finally emerged, revving up and creating a streak of blue behind the ship, finishing the process.

“Heh, the smart assess at research and development really outdid themselves, right Marshall?” One of the female squad mates blurred out.

“Damn right,” Micah responded. “A trial by fire is what we have to specialize in today dickheads.”

“Sure have a way with words, sir,-“

Before she could finish her remark, the room blew up with sound, alerting everyone to be ready at a moments notice for the order.

“C’mon guys, that’s our queue to link up with Republic.” Micah rushed forward, pushing a button with his elbow that opened the Nzuri’s stairway. His subordinates followed him inside and hustled to the positions, perfectly manning the experimental starship.

“Get guns online, you two!” Micah pointed two fingers at the tallest man and the shirted woman of the crew he had. “Link missiles to my interface, get the inertial dampeners online, remove the precautions, NOW!” He ordered, knowing these soldiers had the expertise necessary, after all, he had taught them as much in their rookie years. “Gunners, shield power is diverted, keep watch on our ass!” Micah jumped into the seat, watching as the hangar lights turned from their canary glow they once had to the pure white, even the shadows seemed to had gotten brighter.

“Gatov, Marshall! the tall man’s Russian voice coming after four distinct switches had been flipped throughout the ship, as the tasks had been completed, the guns chambered, all systems on Micah’s interface lit up.

“Initiating final systems sweep.” From left to right, Micah reset the screen and watched as It lit up once again.

Light green flashed in front of his black eyes, ”Life support is functional - one hundred percent efficiently, High Marshall, McNeal”. The systems artificial voice was shut off as Micah didn’t care enough to listen to it again.

“Life support is up and running, moving onto Nexus,” the Marshall continued his scans for anomalies, “right… NOW!” A red light lit up next to the green flashing, and turned blue, meaning the central artificial network that controlled the nanites in the cold void of space was active, and ready for the beating that was undoubtedly about to happen.

“Systems online, moving onto K-500 missile systems triple-take in-.”

Micah cut off one of the girls who confirmed the systems check. “Negative-negative! Nemesis is falling out of hyperspace, we have one minute to link up before we have to do it solo. Take a seat and prep for a rough flight.”

The four super-soldiers did what they were told, each sitting down and lowering the metal harnesses over their shoulders and chests. Once the seats nanotechnology adjusted to the frame of each new operative McNeal put the petal to the metal and the ship darted forward into the void of space.

The loan hum of the engine was entirely unique to him, he chuckled and pushed a white button with the word ‘Auto’ on it. It’s meaning was clear and he reached over, pushing it just as the artificial pilot readjusted the course, steering the ship near around every other member of the fleet in their way.

“Major, catch-“ Micah tossed a small tablet he pulled from the interfaces right hand side to the squad leader, who plucked it out of the air. “Solidify the coordinates manually with reps’ fleet jump capacitor, were already in position to warp as close to the H.V.T as possible.”

“Done, sir, we’re hooked up,” the Major replied after some seconds, “shall we continue with the checks?”

“No it’s too late for that, all necessary systems to get us there have been ran through, keep the diagnostic up though.” Micah replied, catching tablet thrown back at him.

“This is Republic all ships linked to Nemesis,” across the fleet, a single voice boomed over the speakers and bridges, “we are falling out of hyperspace now.”

Just as he finished, the blue light dimmed, out of the windows, the five crewmen witnessed the dreadnaught they were on fade into obscurity, comrades speeding past them to continue their idling in the dimension beyond their own. Micah’s was one of the last ships to complete its descent, and as such he stared at the already unraveling fight before him.

From the hangars located in her concaves, swarms of drones, linked to the A.I of Republic, emerged and streaked towards the now launching first waves shuttles of marines, themselves hauling ass towards the derelict. From the hundreds of destroyers and cruisers, untold thousands of ships rapidly launched and assumed every kind of position, from defense of their individual ships to an armada from each and every squadron seamlessly coming together to form a web of craft so dense the Nal’ enemies couldn’t penetrate.

“Remain seated soldiers, we’re going in.” Micah stated.

The stealth ship identified a hangar in the derelict warship compatible for landing. Micah disengaged autopilot, and reactivated the cloak of his vessel. Just then, over his radio a broadcast filled the entire ship once again.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Idrissa-how much longer!?” His French accent screamed at the ships he had just been informed were coming to his aid. “My men are ninety-percent dead or dying-“ an explosion and the iconic gunfire of a machine gun followed by the high pitched squeals of a dying Naljuc warrior filled the intercom for nearly ten seconds before his voice came back. “The hangars have fallen-” another wave of rounds whistled by his mic, “we hold- dauhhh!- we hold six percent of the ship, we haven't five minutes-!“ his radio chatter died out as Micah made up his mind.

“Major, take the wheel, get us there, pronto,” Micah swung his seat around, killing his momentum and running to the rear of the ship. The Major picked up the pace and hopped in the seat, quickly arranging the buttons and hitting the accelerator,

“How fast sir?”

“Cloak up and activate W.E.P, bring us into the closest hangar you can, get there in two minutes max!” His voice faded as he signaled to the three who remained seated to follow him to his destination. He could already hear the dreaded thud of Nal’ lasers and the comforting ejection of human weapons of mass destruction in the forms of missiles being launched in the hundreds of thousands, the first salvo was here.

And this wars first true battle had just started.

The muscle car of a spaceship revved once again and sped faster than any ship in the galaxy towards Idrissa and the remnants of the marines entrusted to guard the ship with their lives. The Major pushed the prototype thrusters to the limit as the hidden ship ran through allied and enemy alike the closer she got.

Micah stumbled as he walked, the irresistible shaking that signaled a detonation of a Naljuc missile close to the cloaked starship making his blood boil. He took a look out a window him and his companions currently ran by, and sure enough, the first squadrons of enemy fighters had started to envelop the warship they were running to

“Are we not invisible dammit!?” Micah shouted into his mic.

“Heh, yes sir we are, take a look behind us!” Came the reply.

Micah, once he arrived at the back of the stealth transport, sat the accompanying women and man down.

“Pull up the virtual window directly behind us, Uzuri,” Micah ordered one of the women, curious why no more missiles had detonated near them, and why the hum of enemy engines got further away every second. His curiosity was soon quenched however, once the virtual window was opened and the wall turned into projected hue of which all could see through, he found his answer.

“Admiral Umbru ordered for the fleet to arrive earlier than expected… how surprising.”

Kenyatta and the rest of Hammer and Osiris fleet had waited only a few minutes before joining their brothers and sisters in battle. The Admiral had given them the word, and together the combined fleet would engage the enemy Titan’s and the expected ‘super-battleship’ of theirs as the intelligence agencies had coined it.

Micah closed the screen, took a seat and put over his shoulders and big chest the metal cover that would prevent him from flying around.

“We’re coming inside the hangar in twenty seconds! The landing zone has been cleared of our men!” The Major warned.

“No worries,” Micah looked at each of the soldiers before him, all hands on their guns. All visors were pointed towards the ramp that would lower and second now. The metal harnesses rose, followed by the bodies of the four super-soldiers as they touched down on the hangar floor.

“Thirty seconds before they find out we’re here, soldiers.” Micah taped a button on the wall next to him, lowering the ramp with the prepositioned nanites for emergencies. “Get down here, we’re gonna burn these mofuckers’ alive…” he reinserted the energy magazine he was thrown so long ago and, with a loud ching exiled the built up heat, ensuring he wouldn’t go without a single bolt.

The last squad member arrived only after a few moments, his back heavy with all sorts of guns: He chucked a whole RT-491 Machine gun to his taller counterpart, filled with thirty-ounce bullets. Next up we’re the two female super soldiers, both handed same rifles their Marshall had, the kay-five-fifty, to which they loaded, held halfway over their shoulders and stepped out of the ship onto the ground before them.

“Let’s do this sir.”

With all of the soldiers outside of the still cloaked ship, all the Nal’ soldiers in the cluttered, bright red hangar slowly started to realize what had happened. And they looked towards the five killers with respect and with fear, hatred and envy.

It was time to fight.

Micah took a step forward, and looked back. He psychologically ordered nanites to formulate a partial helmet, protecting his neck, heads ass, and his face, minus the mouth. Even his companions in battle knew he would need his teeth eventually in this close quarters combat.

“Weapons hot!”

All hell broke loose again. A new front in this run-red with blood galaxy opened. Micah lifted his weapon and and let his eyes lock onto the orange bolts that tore through a Nal’ troopers windpipe, it abandoning its plasma pistol and grabbing his neck. His knees buckled and as his body hit the floor after a few seconds, and then the bleeding started, followed by another, and another similar example, this time he burnt the kneecaps off a grunt, letting his torso fall as he waved his stumps in silent suffering. Micah unloaded ten more rounds into his head before swinging back around expelling the heat from his gun once again. He jogged forward, continuing to cut into the disorganized enemy forces, dodging plasma whenever stray shots became a threat.

In his periphery he identified a banzai charging grunt, and lowered his rifle to give him the confidence to approach. Micah grabbed him with his left hand and crushed its scrawny midsection using sheer grip strength alone. As it screamed in pain, parts of his lungs and the core muscles started convulsing.

‘Interesting’ Micah thought, ‘wonder what we can find about you once we get one of you tyrants… oh well.’

Killing off that thought, he continued squeezing until its skin started to tear, and then he let the thing go. He kicked will all his rage, only a few of the beings intestines keeping the body in one piece as it’s stomach and entire muscles lay stretched and bruised up on the cold flood.

The two women advanced side by side, each lighting up a doomed soul in front of them as they surged ahead of the three men in accordance with their shock training. As both of their guns overheated, their chemistry showed as the one with a cross on her shoulder plate feigned a knife slash, ducked under the counterstrike and performed a judo throw on the enemy, pulling apart the downed hostiles jaw off its hinges while her battle buddy utilized her sharp elbows to chop up his limbs up until she saw ligaments.

They proceeded to jump over the dead bodies not so slowly mounting and side step in opposite directions what can only be described as a barbaric Nal’ ogre that tried to tackle one of them. They gave him the same treatment and worse. Not content with leaving his limbless, they stabbed into the giants rib cage, destroying his natural armor with several pounds from their sharp alloy and dug their metal fingers into his lungs. Stoping his breathing as they jerked them around and dug into them more.

The two were about to move onto the next kill as they saw his biology regenerating before their eyes, one girl didn’t hesitate to ram a grenade down his blood-spewing mouth. She grabbed his pitiful form, shielding her exposed self from the incoming plasma before punting him like a football at a cluster of enemies on the second floor of the hangar. He cried out in regret more than pain for his brothers to get out the area. Both women rolled to the many Naljuc crates dotting their battle space , accelerated by their jetpack modules. They looked at eachother from opposite sides of the fleshy blood pool and nodded.

One pushed a button on her wrist and a red orb of death expanded from the warriors mutilated mouth, vaporizing everything in his vicinity. The red orb of death dissipated eventually, and from between the woman came the three men who had finished brutalizing the Nal’ resistance the two female shock troops had cut off. They charged up the center, their heavy armor easily tanking the pistol fire.

The tall Russian let out a grunt as he let his RT do the talking, the bullets mowing down hordes, the power of the hypersonic rounds severing legs and arms every millisecond as he rushed up to the base of the stairway, covering his squad mates mutually. His gun clicked and before he had time to ask a new pair a drums were thrown his way. He let out a scoff and continued his assault. The Major on the other hand used his red machete to hack into the small weak points of the Naljuc armor sets, catching necks and abdomens any type of way he could given the seconds between each kill.

“This is Felix, control indicates enemy numbers in hangars are dropping significantly, has the first wave arrived?”

“Affirmative,” Micah delivered a mighty kick to an enemy trooper who charged at him, his shin rupturing the hostiles liver and causing him to to puke blood. Micah observed him grab his stomach and fall to the side before raising his rifle, glancing through the red dot and popping him then and there. Returning to his mic he spoke up to the valiant commander of the holdout. “Special forces are en-route to your location. Be advised; the first waves are in ten hangars locking down all exits before counterattacking inward.”

“Copy, we will hold.”

The gunfire on his side of the mic made Micah make jump with excitement, shouting at his comrades who had mopped up the last Nal’ soldiers in their hangar to follow after him into the belly of the ship. They passed hallway after hallway of men and many more aliens stinking, the humans finished off any stragglers they could find, reuniting them with their comrades in the afterlife.

The five ran and darted down sector after sector, climbing leftover ascension ropes from previous humans who had fallen back and advanced in this day long tug of war. The fumes from chemical and biological weaponry of the humans made it hard t for any man to breathe, but Micah wasn’t any other man. Thinking of it, his nanite armor reorganized his helmet’s material into his shoulder pauldron, leaving his entire head exposed, but he wasn’t any other soldier. After minutes of sprinting through the grey hallways filled with fire and remains at maximum speed, the familiar gunfire returned.

All the soldiers stopped and huddled around the Russian, who pulled out a virtual map that soon synced to the one provided by the artificial network of ‘control’.

“Naval infantry are infiltrating into the remaining hangars, Marshall,” the Russian started, “Umbru directed the militant kap-i-tans to link up and then attrit them, we have to simply hold the control room until they scatter.”

Micah nodded, “Alright soldiers, you heard the plan.” He couldn’t comprehend the level of violence he and everyone else would endure though, yet. “Fall in on me to the control room.”

The team ran to the room, the remaining few seconds marked by the near cave in of a wall caused by the slamming of a Nal’ ogre into it.

“Looks like we’re on the edges of this quiet sector… keep moving.” Micah told his gang as they finally opened the door that lead to the ad-hoc headquarters. As he rammed the door open with his shoulder, heads turned and met his eyes as he demanded to know the whereabouts of the officer. The wounded and the coordinators desperately keeping every front’s delaying action intact pointed to his right, towards a single door.

Micah looked back at his team, walking up to the automatically opening door and running through it. The sounds peaked as he rounded a corner with the number ‘6-1’ in black ink, covered by blood caught his eye. He ran by it and continued down to the massive auditorium sized bottlenecks seeing the cruelest action of the day.

Just as he approached the last giant gate, it was blown off its hinges, a hundred men retreated through it, firing back with all manner of torn-off-the-hinges chain-guns, rifles, blasters and railguns. The spec ops soldiers waited for the men to get through, the last ones uplifted, impaled and cast aside by a giant Naljuc specimen.

“Get to the second floor, take out his eyes if you can.” Micah barley granted his operators time to process the order before he jumped into the fray, running headfirst into multiple comparatively tiny Nal’ soldiers before stabbing them all in the chest them like a kebab with his blade. He let their hearts stop on their own as he took a position in the direct front of the group of men, the dented walls releasing hundreds of pillars and electrical wires onto the floor created artificial cover that dotted the scarred landscape.

Micah plucked a fully automatic shotgun from the ground, crouch running behind a collapsed pillar standing upright in the middle of the battle as more plasma surrounded him.

“FIND COVER”

A black heavy repeater fired its green and gold rounds into his soldiers lines, condemning an entire platoon of Africans to be made into mush by the Sonic rounds as they sprinted into the hidden prepared position in an counterattack. He brung the gun closer to him, using it to shield his unprotected eyes from the blood getting on him. As he looked around to his left, his narrow cover being chipped away. A ditch was formed in the ground and was flooded with his own soldiers, preparing a counterstrike with a heavy duty MRPG-10, and were then vaporized by a yellow explosion that sent a plume of charred metal, energy and remains up to the ceiling to rain upon the survivors.

Micah quickened his breathing and subconsciously flinched when he felt a warm half of a purple lung slam into his side, the windpipe still attached contracting in the last breathing pattern of its deceased owner. His eyes widened as he looked for an opening on his right, finding an entire company of men running to a concave in the ground that was midway between him and the Nal’ fighters who were counter charging themselves into no mans land.

Micah reached his hand outward, “Captain! Hal-” he said as the soldiers ferociously fought until they were thrust into the mouth and gobbled alive by a beast that dwarfed even the tallest humans in height. The weak moans and croaks of the soldiers chomped at hip breaking angles made the High Marshall lose it. His face contracted as he witnessed the men’s legs picked and thrown onto the floor. He exited cover, ducking and running under the plasma still mowing down hordes of his own men and jumping into a roll behind and enemy position, taking them out before infiltrating. He then pulled out of his sack a cluster of explosive charges, and got to work in the best way he knew how.

“Heavies, i’m going in. Get some fucking ordinance here!” Micah shouted into his mic to his special operators, sniping as many high value targets as they could.

“Affirmative, hammer-down” the Russian heavy weapons specialist replied, hoisting his machine gun and pulling out a compact grenade launcher from his pack. He and his squad leader jumped down from the second level onto the first floor, crushing human bodies beneath their feet. The duo reinforced the current ‘line’ and began bombing advancing Nal’ reinforcements. Every single enemy that made it even a tad bit far was scratched and bleeding profusely with muscles slashed open from their suicidal determination, pushing their thin bodies through blown crevices and debris fields to get to the currently most contested room of the galaxy.

Charging from one of the dozens of large and small breaches through the walls, a group of Nal’ had their earpieces light up all at once. They turned slowly towards the two gladiators, registering them and then making their move. The two super-soldiers looked around them, their position was basically a huge metal foxhole with dents all around it.

“Here we go…” A Sergeant called out. No soldier needed to be told twice, groups of Privates occupied the holes and begun organizing an effective defense, the Naljuc regulars and mindless drones charged ahead, from cover to cover they never ceased their relentless moving as white tracers and bullets filled the air around them. The horde kept its advance up, every minute they rose in numbers, creeping forward as the combat entered a new stage. This room the size of a gymnasium had been worn down by explosions, and its walls kicked down so hard that even neighboring corridors and rooms became the new battlefront. This place expanded tenfold into a mishmash of rooms that covered the length of a football field, and the humans would hold this new kind of front at all cost.

The machine guns and grenades kept shutting down enemy attempts that never ceased, disintegrating hundreds in a single attack. That all changed when the beast had returned from its meal, ready to eat more men, it approached, it now wielding steel pillars in its two real and four cybernetic arms, seemingly rammed into its core and connected to its nervous system without care for pain. It squealed as it pulverized an entire fire team, its feet crushing all their equipment into dust. It finally found its primary target, smiling at the pitiful attempts to blow its limbs off, impervious to all fire directed at it.

As it continued to crush friend and foe alike, the Marshall was already behind enemy lines, neutralizing as many heavy repeaters he could by placing times charges on them and the fallen walls they stood on. Finally, his stealthy mission was completed and he fell back to the primary line his gladiator’s and infantrymen were about to call their grave.

“Explosives placed, blowing this sh-“ Micah started as he jumped into the most contested metal trench he could find just as the remote detonator was ripped out of his hand by a freakish Nal’ and snapped in two. The ugly soldier laughed, confident in his little victory as electrified metal and debris continued to fall upon the prone Micah, but then stopped once his neck was grabbed by the black hand and crushed mercilessly. Rage consumed him and his voice and quick commands to soldiers around him fighting just as desperate rose to be heard over even the combat going on around him. His leg was stuck under multiple beams placed on him by enemy drones working as a hive mind as they attempted to grab his arms and his still recovering body.

If those bombs didn’t go off, three super-soldiers, the best of the dark continent, ascended to become the ‘world of gold’, would shortly die aboard this alien warship. A terrible loss of capability and manpower

“ILLANGA-SHOOT EM’ BOMBS FOR FUCKS SAKE WOMAN!!!”

“Relax.” Illanga, one of the super-soldiers on the other side of his radio angered him. She swiftly attached a dart launcher to the underside of her rifle and ionized it. She used her shoulder as a rest, leaning over the railing of the second floor and aiming down.

The whistle of death left a white trail in the noxious air, and hit true, the quiet beeping continuing for a few seconds before the boom..

That… is when all hell truly broke loose.

All at once, dozens of men who had failed to activate their feet’s gravitational stabilizers stayed in the air, following as the floor bellow buckled and caved underneath their own. The unarmored Nal’ bodies struggled to cope with the constant impacts, the field of battle crushing hundreds of combatants on all sides by the time it was halfway done.

Micah grabbed two enemy soldiers from midair and put them on his shoulder, and as the stop came, his body weight cracked the armor and ribs of the two shits beneath him, instantly killing them as he looked around for his own men. He spotted one falling, enduring, but bound to fall on his head in another crash or two. Micah’s jet engines in his legs flared up, propelling him as another screech assaulted his ears and caught him.

“Thanks comman-“ the young man started.

”Ground yourself Sergeant!” Micah demanded, yelling over the chaos around them. The Sergeant obeyed, lifting his bloodied glove to a button on his armored head that gently attached his hands, arms and legs to the ground, ensuring only mild discomfort in the remaining series of falls.

Looking down as his jet packs kept him up, Micah got thrashed into a wall by a falling metal beam hitting him in the side. The horrid screeching of metal sharpening metal ceased as the falling level finally lost its momentum, settling down on a floor it failed to breakthrough.

Of course, the humans started their rise almost immediately. “Everyone!” One called out, “ugh… someone get control on the line, tell them we-“

“They already know.’.” Lt. Colonel Felix Idrissa called out from the ruble, reaching a hand towards a brother on the ground. “The boys say they are only picking up a few hostile life forms with us, who they are is a different talk.” As if on queue with the Colonels musings, the Naljuc giant awoke, unharmed and hangry.

It approached the group of survivors, determined to get-back for all its dead brothers. McNeal stopped himself right in its tracks, looking it dead in the eye before jumping up once again. He threw up his legs and let his thrusters carry him out of striking range, then changing his course, barreled towards its face and hitting it with an iron right. The beast reared its head as it recovered again, using its steel clubs to swing at the air wildly before a concentrated burst of machine gun fire finally caught its eye. It let out yet another guttural yell as it picked its right optic out its socket and ate it whole, giving the Russian soldier a solid shot at its other eye. He took it and fired everything he still had in his mag after the fall, blood splurging on the floor with every round that made contact until the beast whipped around and punched an entire hole in the new wall the humans now found themselves in, running away like a wounded dog.

“Comrade Marshall, request permission to pursue, we have the-“ the man called to his Marshall before he was interrupted.

“Hold that thought,” Micah rises his finger as he turned his head to his officer, reloading his rifle after he took part in the bloodbath, “Idrissa, take the men and scale to the nearest entrance to the main corridors,” Micah ordered. “I will take a force to kill that bastard.”

“It will be done, sir.” Idrissa replied curtly.

Micah walked up to some survivors of the crash who were unharmed, reading them and scanning them for injuries.

“You three, with us.” He raised his hand and beckoned a trio of enlisted men to fall in behind him. They did as they told, and the Ivan followed behind them all.

”Fatass didn’t even bother to pinch his vein or somethin’.” The five walked through the gaping hole and followed the blood trail left behind by the long gone hell spawn.

The Russian chuckled after a few seconds. “Da… they never do.”

The men walked across the dents in the floor, keeping a steady pace. After walking for several minutes they came across a three way path, one which had a clear right way, and stopped behind their leader. Micah looked down to the black floor to see a grunt on the brink of death, his blade in the skull of a human it was trying to eat, and stomped on his head.

His enhanced senses picked up the winters-old must that moved with the brutes everywhere they went. His nostrils flared and he breathed out, realizing his prey was ripe for the taking he turned around to his five men. He kneeled down and stuck his hand in a pool of blood, smelling it wiping his arm off.

“Tell me your names.”

“Private First Class, Gure, Hi-“ the man known as Gure was interrupted by his squad mate, who laughed slightly and tapped him on the shoulder.

“We call him Gold, I’m Corporal Odesi, and that quiet one with the black snake face tatt we call Specialist Xhosa.” Odesi proclaimed with a smirk on his face, matching well with his war wary eyes. Miah shook each of their hands with his relatively untainted one, and returned to the mission.

“You will refer to me and my fellow super-grunt here as High Marshall and Naval Commander, or sir, you understand?”

“Sir, yes sir!” was the reply from everyone.

“Good,” Micah lead the team to cover the corner right in front of the beast, “Me and Xhosa will distract the brute for as long as possible, you three will be set up here waiting for any chance it concedes, simple as that, understood?

“Affirmative.”

“Let’s get this done,” Micah turned his head at Xhosa and nodded, turning the wall as he raised his rifle to his shoulder. The beast must’ve smelled them and he rose to his full height and roared and picked up steel beams.

“Come here you fuck!” Micah yelled as the beast charged him, Micah jumped with his thrusters once again and latched onto the back of its throat, slashing and shooting into it as the beast struggled to stay standing. Micah punched its back as hard as he could, but was thrown off and landed on the ground on his stomach. He shouted, screaming for Xhosa to shoot the thing in its legs, to which he did. On top of the bullets coming from the semi automatic marksman rifle and Micah’s renewed effort to chop off its leg, the first victory was finally scored as the beast tried to kick Xhosa back. Xhosa jumped through the air to weave the limb and sent a final round through the air as the beast kicked madly. It lost its balance and fell to the floor, using it’s good leg as a shield to take the waves of rounds now penetrating his skin, yelping helplessly as the noose around his life tightened.

“Shoot off the other leg!” Micah called over the com just as he jumped on top of the beast, his teeth gritted as he started to beat the thing bloody. Right hook to the body, left jab and then more rounds to the body by his brothers in arms he continued desperately trying to kill the strong one. The three men in reserve approached, spraying hundreds of rounds into the beasts liver and legs, weakening its attempts to knock their Marshall off. It was successful in knocking him off despite all odds, and tried to punch a hole through the wall, but was beat to it when Micah cocked back and broke his elbow with the full weight of his five hundred pound body and it’s armor system.

The beast lay back , still blocking with its shattered arm as Micah and the Russian super soldier jumped on its chest once again.

“Let us finish this!” He screamed as the two started stomping and punching the beasts ribcage as the infantrymen continued to blast at any opening they could into its sides and ass. The brute was finally meeting its deserving end as the men finalized their barbaric assault, almost happy for the brutes last gasp of life.

But just as the brute laid down its head, it regenerated nearly all its wounds and its flesh reappeared and connected itself again. It stood, pushing Micah and the Russian off of it as it again grabbed its now bent steel beams from the ground. It roared in fury and charged the backed up men, determined to reclaim its pride, decimated by the events of today when it was forced to retreat from these puny men.

“Get back men!”

It focused on Micah, who side stepped the first swing, but was caught by the second and sent flying into a nearby wall. His left arm and several fingers were definitely broken, though with the adrenaline in his bloodstream he didn’t feel the pain but the will to finish the fight and return this ogre to the pits of hell. He flew out of the steel grave and onto the ground and pressed his attack once again.

Odesi and Gure, or Gold, had been emptying magazine after magazine into the beast the entire time with no small amount of close calls. Their capacity was dwindling after the few minutes of taxing firefighting and they were getting nowhere. Right after their Marshall was hit, Gold almost received a fatal blow himself as a stray metal beam was kicked up by the bastard himself.

“Look out man!” Odesi uttered as he shoulder charged Gold from the flank, catching him off balance and firing at the beasts hand as best he could.

“Appreciate that brother,” Gold responded softly and reached a hand out, to which his battle buddy generously accepted and helped him up. The duo ducked again as the ogre threw a beam right at them, narrowly dodging and returning fire once again at whatever they could hit.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Odesi yelled over the carnage, “High Marshall! SIR! What the fuck do we do now?!” He sweared at his superior, something his hotheaded ass could be excused for given the circumstances.

“We gotta get his fucking neck!” Micah screamed to everyone in particular as his grip was tested by him being thrashed in the air wildly as the beast tried to shake the parasite off. “TEAR HIS GODDAMN MUSCLES APART” He yelled as he kicked the visibly weakest spot of its inner thigh, forcing the beast onto one leg as he stabbed into bone and sawed through his ACL, forcing a yell and temporary paralysis as he jumped off the shin and into the ogre’s back.

Now, streams of fire concentrated on singular targets had returned, with bolt and bullet continuing to recreate their previous wounds and bring concentrated pain upon their enemy. Micah slashed and slashed and then finally bit down on the sides of his neck, severing his right eyesight with the cord cut of the nerve. Now, unable to move, the ogre finally retook his place at the bottom of Micah’s boot as he continued to bite away at it, squirming as he put his legs around the massive head, pulling out his pistol and shooting next to his teeth, chomping and blasting and pulling his way through the neck before going for the last strings of tissue that held his body together.

Its head fell to the ground with a thud, finally the beast stopped resisting. Now, not even its mutated and regenerated body twitched as Micah breathed in relief, standing in superiority over the alien. He stood on top of the fighter and spat a wad of blood of both warriors out of his mouth once and for all, his soaked titanium teeth not at all damaged.

“Let me see your canteen, Odesi. This blood is bullshit.” He coughed another clump up weakly, it getting all over his jaw.

——————————————————

“A-…understood, Admiral.” Idrissa spoke into his somehow operable mic. “Mop up operations have been finalized onboard the starship, enemy forces have been annihilated-hell one hundred percent, sir!” More words made the Colonel pause and sigh, “the whereabouts of the Marshall and his team are unknown, though all of their transponders are-,” Idrissa paused as three bloodied men re-emerged from the decks of battle below, looking up from the collapsed floor they had re-entered.

The man fidgeted with something on his chest, his radio coming to life and adjusting to the Colonels frequency.

“The Marshall is going to Republic to see through the operation.” Xhosa called out. All three men stowed their firearms on their backs and pulled out their powered ascenders. Waiting for them to give the green light, they attached their armor and shot up a hundred feet in the air, clearing level upon level as they took in the hellscape.

As they reached the top, their comrades, just as scarred and burdened in the remains of battle greeted them with a wave of applause, patting their backs and shaking their hands. It was a proud moment for Idrissa, a battle won, the first of the war, the first of many to bring down a great evil. As soon as the commotion died down, he received a transmission from High Command.

“Alright men, we have a new directive, from Admiral Umbru himself,” he began, speaking over the last remaining conversions, “we are to load up, and get back to Republic for… much needed relief. The required energy has been allocated to the ship’s systems-it is ready to leave system with haste… You have won this fight!” He croaked out the part and looked upward.

The crowd of men beat their chest and immortalized their victory with a ‘Hoorah’. Cramped in less than five percent of the ship, they had held the single most important ship in the galaxy, with little support and with absolutely no complaint. That was something worth celebrating. “Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!”

——————————————————

Micah and Illanga walked through the hangar they had started their rampage in, stepping over some bodies, stepping on others that looked particularly whole. They all had forgotten since about this place, overshadowed by the subsequent hell in a cell.

They honed in on their uncloaked ship, the all-seeing camera’s detecting them and engaging complex process of lowering the ramp once again today. The ship groaned and scraped itself on before raising and lowering the ramp again, nanotech error accounted for and compensated for.

“Tech sure is new, that’s for sure.” Micah silenced himself as the ship repeated the phrase ‘Welcome, High Marshall.’ Micah turned towards his Major and sighed. “Get the engines hot and get us to the Republic, our battle isn’t over yet.”

“Understood sir,” the Major rushed ahead of his comrades, towards his assigned subsystem and got to work, leaving them to their own devices.

“Now for your arm, Marshall, follow me please.” Illanga raised her hand pointed a finger at him. He walked towards a seat in the loading bay and sat, removing the dirty nanites from his arm and looking down at his busted up limb.

“I need you to hold still, sir.” Illanga, a medic first and foremost, demanded of her leader. His arm had only gotten worse the longer it went untreated, in the armor it was protected from further damage but the solution was always meant to be temporary.

First she needed to stop, or at least slow the steady swelling of his blackening arm. Illanga did so by first pulling a magnetic patch from her bag, pressing down on its middle until she heard a crunch, and letting it expand around his unarmored left arm and clamp down softly. After, she patted down a translucent coating that was absorbed by his skin instantly, aiding and accelerating the process of healing. She waited a moment and reached in her box for the final time, pulling out a pouch full of green nanites. She opened it up and allowed the microbes to fly over and attach themselves from shoulder to nail, finishing her task and zipping her bag back up.

“Wasn’t so difficult, was it sir?” She teased, looking down at the sitting form who flexed his arm slowly in response.

“Well it stopped tingling, so-!” He got back up with a groan as his body didn’t fail to remind him how old he was getting. “Hah~ adequate.” He grabbed his com and looked the other way as the ship thrusted out of its temporary home.

“That’s all you have to say? And would you take it easy this time, society can’t just stomach images of your arms twisted like in Rio-“

“Pipe down, we’re almost to Republic already, and plus, war is a racket, these things happen on the daily.” Micah quipped back.

“Just like that book you had me read?” She sat in the seat next to him and looked up, her visor failing to hide her sentiment.

“Damn right.” Micah sat back down for the remainder of the ride to the capital ship, all the while looking through the still activated virtual windows. As he stared, he saw dozens of ships, the last ones out the infantry melee, enter the hangars of the Republic. As the transports landed and their ramps dropped, the windows system zoomed in on its own upon the men who were applauded for their win, a normal idling response when no commands were given.

As they docked, they too were greeted with a round of applause as well. Walking past the commotion of his soldiers, Micah ordered his four companions to leave him be as he marched to the ships hypersonic metro, pressing the appropriate buttons to be lifted to the bridge, and, after a few minutes, he was there.

He stopped in front of his Admiral and shook his hand with a smile, and stepped up next to him, aware of what was predicted.

“It should be any minute now that thing appears,” Micah pondered on the development that a real enemy flagship was on its way for revenge, “Luti, get the gunners organized, I’ll ensure that ship is out of here and pulled back to friendly lines.” He said, skipping back slowly.

“Affirmative, sir, on it-“ Umbru whipped his head around to the control panel before him, tapping a few buttons on the digital keyboard and beginning his check up on the countless gunnery stations and control modules on the ship.

Micah meanwhile had gone back into the bowels of the carrier, jumping down an entire flight of stairs several meters high before using his jets to slow down. He reentered back into the metro system for a short trip to the propulsion deck, where countless sailors had just finished transferring ionized energy from Republic to the relic ship. The men and women were tired, up on shift for over ten hours as of now, but still enduring. The arrival of their Marshall had bolstered their spirits and a wave of applause for their obviously injured leader brought a smile to his face.

“My brothers and sisters in arms, it is an honor,” they settled down and listened up for his following commands, “the relic is leaving as we speak, but of course as you have been informed by the hard-ass… we have an even bigger show coming our way- this “Surapadman” dickhead, we have got to get shields back up to seventy-percent in a few minutes tops or were screwed, understood sailors?”

“Sir, yes sir!” The thunderous applause caused the wartime leader to grin and admire the common soldier even more.

“Alright then. Let’s get going.”

——————————————————

“Hostile capital ships emerging from hyperspace, prepare for battle!” The Captain of Amur called out on his own mic as his ship prepared for the coming engagement.

“How many detected?! Republic’s I.S.R assets are jammed, I repeat, Republic is being jammed!” Admiral Umbru called out to his counterparts as his gunners instinctively aimed all turrets forward, awaiting the desperate struggle before them all.

There, silence reigned as every ship of the grand fleet prepared for what was to come, and they wouldn't need to wait long.

After a few seconds, the derelict alien warship with human research personnel onboard left the battle space with its escort, meaning that whatever was about to go down would be, put simply, a one on one with no sideshows. No distractions, just fleet on fleet with no excuses.

The first battle of the “Naljuc-Human War of Extermination” now reached its climax.

In the black void of space, three bangs caught every onlookers attention. In the center, a rectangular ship, gold, silver and black, mixed together on perfect harmony, slowed to a standstill dangerously close to the human battlecarrier. Her sides bristled with hangars and turbo lasers and missile tubes that stretched for kilometers, all in view of her prey. It didn’t exactly take a Naljuc analyst to identify what type of ship this behemoth was.

This Naljuc thing, could only be described as a dreadnaught, a dreadnaught that put humanities to shame by its size alone. It’s length slightly extended past Kenyatta’s and it’s width nearly matched Republic’s.

Luti was staring at death in the face, the true power of the universe, the true dominant species, in his face. In a few seconds, his training kicked in and he knew instantly what must happen in order for not just his survival, but the survival of the Lion of Africa, his ship, and the even larger battleships and battlecruisers which encompassed his fleet he was charged with protecting at all cost. He leaned over his command panel and clicked a button, screaming out an order that he rarely thought of.

“This is the Fleet Admiral; all ships, sync hyperspace coordinates to me, WE ARE LEAVING.”

Retreat, coming from him? It wasn’t something taken lightly and the entire fleet did as they were told, but not before the enemy sprung his attack. Waiting long enough, the Nal’ fleet recognized the human victory on the ancient warship and instead focused fire on their chosen slain; Republic.

AF.S Republic’s shields reactivated the moment they sensed the incoming fire, the blue hue generated and stopped the enemy salvo dead in its tracks, and immediately upon the second wave of concentrated fire, was forced to drop its shield transferring to other ships of the combined fleet, her own generator being overloaded and cooling systems nearing exhaustion.

“The hell are we this low already, Micah?!” Luti shouted from his vantage point of the bridge as the oval umbrella all across the ship condensed into a red half circle and shrank.

“The generator is overheating!” Micah screamed into his mic to the bridge as he leaned over the railing, seeing the generator spinning faster and faster, becoming redder and redder until it became violet. Every technician knew exactly what that meant and some of the most hardened sailors lost their frame.

The Republic, now forced to give up its role as fleet shield-transferee, could only rely on a thick layer of energy that hugged the hull of the ship to protect it from the cruel barrage of planet-busting firepower from his superior foe. Micah didn’t accept this as his end though, and being as he was basically the last hope for reorganizing his battered crew and getting them out, he took a deep breath, and knew what he had to do.

“Luti! Luti-listen to me!” He hollered into his mic as an explosion rocked the ship, a missile of alien origin almost broke the energy layer protecting the ship, but was stopped by the point defense systems “Get the fleet out of here! Only then can we fucking leave! That’s an order-GAH!” He yelped in pain as he was thrown by a burst of power into a fellow soldier, left arm first. When he looked up it turned out to be the squad leader of Detachment 774, armor leaking with synthetic oil from the damage control work he was assigned to just prior.

“On your feet sir!” He yelled through his helmet over the sparks ejecting from the power generator, its destruction and malfunction inevitable without relief or a cessation of use. “We have to activate the super-weapon! There is no other way!” He took his leaders hand and pulled him from the cold floor, then ran his way to the empty metro system stopping as another explosion threw him from the ground into the air.

Micah was quick on his feet, and even quicker on his hot mic. “This is the High Marshall to all starfighter squadrons, you have two minutes to disengage and return to a hangar on Republic: Protocol S.O.L has been declared.”

“This is Fleet Admiral Umbru-Republic has been suspended in a hostile tractor beam, all ships disappear into the night-“

“You cannot be serious-nobody gets left behind!”

“It has to be done, that is final-all ships link onto Amur and jump somewhere to friendly space!”

“But sir!”

“DO IT!” Micah screamed with finality on all channels.

Right as he spoke he jumped into the empty tunnel where the hypersonic train should’ve been, and flew down the hall, followed by his Major. They flew side by side at hypersonic speeds, their jets straining to keep them steady. Together they drifted into a crevice, continuing their journey of reaching the super laser before it was too late.

They threw up their legs and allowed their momentum to drain as they turned a corner and rolled to a stop. A door blocked their way forward, made of titanium with a huge sign on it saying “no entry”. But Micah wouldn’t be deterred.

“Luti, open this door for us, it leads to the-“

“Got it, now save our ass, sir!”

Suddenly the lights flickered, sparks flew and landed onto the ground before them. Umbru’s command had failed. Micah looked around for a backup generator high and low, moving towards the darkened walls and putting his hands on things that none should, such as electrical circuits he could possibly hotwire, but found none that worked.

“Power just went out down here Admiral, can you at least get the gun working?” Micah complained, knowing there were other ways to break a door down.

“It’s still operational, but you will have to use your… abilities to do the final sequence,” Umbru confirmed, “the shields are barley holding up, we are on the verge of structural failure, I can’t help you anymore than that.”

“Understood, consider it done.” Micah turned around and walked back to the doorway, but just as he finished he remembered what he told the fleet, and switched his frequency back to open coms. “Admirals, it’s been an honor, but you have to let go, though I promise we will speak again, and victory will be yours, even if I’m not by your side.”

The last Admiral still in the A.O was that of Amur. Fighting alongside the stuck Republic, the Russians were the first in this Galactic front, and now would be the last out. The Admiral had one final message though before his ship vanished into hyperspace.

”Победа будет за нами, друг мой!”

“Victory will be ours indeed my brother.” Micah replied just before their last guardian left the battle.

Now, it was them and him, his ship and the enemy ship. The two escorting Nal’ ships were obliterated in previous firing sessions, leading to the greatest running of the one’s in history of recorded warfare.

Micah got back to his task at hand.

“Seku, I just want to tell you-if this is the end-“

“I don’t like your tone, sir, now let’s save this bastion.” His Major, code named Seku all this time, cut him off, his stern determination to completing the mission and furthermore protecting his only mentor and trainer did not condone such thoughts at this time.

“You’re right, now let’s move some weight.” The two approached the titanium door for the final time, dividing the middle section between them. The sparks had steadily increased and surrounded them in a ring, but it mattered not.

Both men put their hands in the small crevices between the two doors, and pulled with all their might, their muscles and armor systems straining to surpass their maximum limits as man now manually opposed his machine. They groaned as they pulled in opposite directions, both of their hands slowly moving an inch and then a foot apart from each other. Beneath them, the scrapes of titanium scraping the floor made both men activate their silencer modules as they continued to pull with all their might. Finally, the gateway was wide enough for both men to walk comfortably through.

They barely panted at all as they marched triumphantly through the passage they had charted and approached their destination, a control panel, commanding station of the kinetic-dimensional accelerator.

“Umbru, we’re through the gate, call the firing code!” Micah yelled over the continuous sounds of beating the ship was taking, wobbling slightly as he regained his stability in the whining ship. He ran to the panel that had blinked, losing power for a second before regaining its function.

“Hold on-hold on…” Umbru paused, tapping away at his panel on the bridge before inserting his own code to override the system’s scanning and fuckery it insisted on. Finally after a pause, he repeated what he had typed.

“Five-five-eight-one”

Micah typed the digits and watched as the belly hangar ejected open and it’s panels swung loosely, barley having the power to weight itself down properly, followed by the massive double barreled world-ender itself.

“Now comes the hard part…”

“You said it sir… bash into the central control box right below you. You know what you have to do.” Umbru sent his last message before returning to his duty as Captain of his ship, leaving his Marshall to his mission.

Micah crouched and punched directly below his leg, leading to two black wires popping up from the ground and vibrating with the limited energy they were receiving. Micah grabbed both and wrapped then around his forearms before nodding to Seku, who slowly approached the control panel and tapped a button.

Micah roared, flexed and bended over as an entire reactor worth of electricity and sheer power flowed through his augmented body, never designed to receive such quantities. He gritted his metal teeth as he limped forward to see the gun starting to turn slowly and begin its final charge up, purple energy gathering at the tips of the whitened barrels slowly but surely. He barley kept his life as he looked on into space, finally appreciating his time, but knowing he had to keep up his stand and keep his eyes open a few seconds longer.

The semi-circle that was the front part of the enemy ship started to charge up at the trapped human ship, fiery orange electrifying just as bright as the African purple. Micah saw this and immediately jolted awake, standing upright and using his hands to plug the expanding electrical plugs directly into his arms, causing even more excruciating suffering but making his weapon rotate and power up faster.

Seku screamed at the top of his lungs, demanding that Micah’s hardheaded ass decouple himself to avoid certain death, but he knew better and knelt down even more, ready to die not just for his people’s life, but for the destruction of his rival.

As both the weapons reached their apex, Micah shouted through his rapidly disintegrating mic one word:

“FIRE.”

As Seku pressed the red button on the touch pad, so did their target, whose orange beam met the purple African super laser head on. And collided in a white light right between the two ships. For a second, both sides stopped firing and simply stared at the spectacle. Plasma collisions were not unheard of but this was on another level.

Micah let go of the wires, his entire body high on electricity that strung out from his purple eyes for a few seconds and watched his handiwork, falling to one knee.

What happened next was unexplainable. The two forces, upon the draining of there respective super-weapons, condensed into a shining blue ball, a twinkle in the night sky. Nothing was amiss until the anomaly expanded, and expanded into an ever expanding orb, white as a star to which sucked both ships into it, and out somewhere else entirely…

——————————————————

Local year: 1002 A.L.B

Location: Earth

The High Marshall reawakened, his helmet gathered on his head.

In vacuum.

Dazed, disoriented and confused, all he could say as the light faded and brung his visor into view was…

“Where am I.”

He simply drifted through space, obviously somewhere unfamiliar to his nation for the galaxy he stared at rung no bells. After a few minutes his visor notified him that a… scan was complete, and his autopilot would propel him towards whatever was this planet was.

“Why the hell am I in front of a planet…” his adrenaline picked up and his heart sank as the boosters turned his body around and activated, giving him a satellite view of a planet similar to his home world in his youth, before the advancement of man.

His heart quickened as he rapidly approached the planet against his will, his exterior heating up as he entered the atmosphere. He finally realized that his armor must’ve decided to embark on these rash actions because he had been knocked out for far too long. His oxygen supply must be low.

‘How am I here?’ he asked in his head. He managed to focus up in time to make a rough outline of the planet. Massive biomes covered the surface and three major continents stood out. His visor turned black and covered his face for the remainder of the entry process while his armor locked to prevent further injury to his arm. Micah closed his eyes and settled in for the ride, ready to re-enter and establish any sort of contact with his fleets as soon as possible.

His memory slowly but surely resurfaced during his fall, his mind recuperating from his electric overload even his enhanced body was not prepared to survive. As the nanotechnology finally detected wind, it’s A.I finally disabled autopilot and lifted Micah’s protective shield from the visor. Immediately Micah took off his helmet, torso armor and moved the nanites to his arms, ripping off the burning sweater beneath it and letting it float down on its own volition. He looked down, the thick layer of clouds over this early morning sector of the world still not dissipating.

He took a moment to enjoy the fresh breeze so high up, and then got to work. Micah used the his leg thrusters to do a barrel roll, scanning for life forms, and found billions of developed organisms. Deciding to see for himself, he pivoted downward and into the clouds of this world. He stayed his course despite the unexpected heaviness of the clouds and emerged on the other side, stopping midair as he took in the view before him; a giant forest was all that greeted him, with a range of mountains with a odd detail he would have to check out later.

His armor notified him of the imminent failure of his thruster systems, which had apparently spent hours keeping him in low orbit over the world and were overworked as it was. Micah knew his only option was to free fall into the greenery below. The pleasant and clean air on this world reminded him of the prettiest worlds such as New Sibgrad and Meridian, and the recently settled Latin American Collective planet of Boa Vista, a never ending forest, unharmed by mining. He entered the final part of his trip, approaching the trees only to find out there was to much water under them.

His war-torn body bounced off a branch and into a small stream, a waterfall in which he was to weak to resist any further. His eyes faded and slowly blinked as he lay, his body and armor getting a much needed cleanse. He took in a breath as the end of the waterfall fast approached him, and closed his eyes. He descended down the height and into the cold water and let himself rise back to the top, opening his eyes to see the curious fishes swimming around him.

Whatever place this was, it was serene, beautiful, beyond anything a man could fathom.

He finally was washed up on the shoreline,
drenched and looking up to the sun poking through the clouds. He took a moment to collect himself before doing the most important task that laid before him.

Contacting his soldiers.

Micah raised his right hand from his side and grabbed his comlink, readjusting its microphone and speaking.

“This is the High Marshall to all callsigns, come in?”

All he received was white noise, and all he gave was a sigh as he disengaged the thing.

He already knew damn well they were gone.

Getting up, he selected his target first; a group of strawberries on some bushes were rushed by the Marshall whose stomach growled for a meal after so long. He kneed down and gobbled the entire section up, his body making use of the minerals almost immediately, and signaling it was satisfied for the time being. Micah wiped off the juices and continued his path of survival in this new world.

Micah went back over to the fresh water his armor had scanned, kneeled and drank up an entire gallon then and there. He formulated some goggles above his eyes and noise enhancers and allowed them collapse in on him. He decided to simply walk towards the nearest form life form in his vicinity and go from there, betting on his ability to handle whatever threat it posed.

After a minute he came up on the three-headed creature, the hydra he knew all too well about actually exists, and stared daggers through the grass that separated them. Micah accepted his first chosen slain of this world gleefully and charged through the grass, walking up to the beast and removing the nantes composing his skin tight body suit, and pulling out his knife.

The beast must not have taken kindly to the cockiness of him and rushed him with one of its heads, opening its four-fanged mouth and going for the kill shot. At once Micah jumped up and caught two of the teeth with his hands and did a backflip mid-air, suddenly jerking the neck of his prey and snapping two of its teeth from its hinges, holding their green oozing forms in his hands triumphantly. The enemy was not finished yet though, and charged with the remaining two heads, which Micah ducked and caught both of their necks. His eyes widened as they suddenly gained strength and density only another killer could detect, but his nonchalant charade ended there, and he summoned sufficient power to make them collapse and yield.

All three of their heads lay on the ground, their fighting spirit robbed. Micah had no time to reflect on his handiwork as he noticed the smell of a cat, a big cat. Micah whipped around just in time to roll out the way of a slash from a mutated lion, its size dwarfing even the strongest prides in Africa, another well known mythological creature, the manticore. Micah pushed himself up and decided to try a bit harder, pulling out another knife and charging the feral cat. He put both of his knife handles together and stabbed upward in the lions mouth, the pain making it crunch down on the knife underneath, both blades coming out the other sides of its head. Micah took hold of two of its largest top teeth and formed his vice grip, tearing his snout in half and, with a yell of his own, ripping everything to the back of its head in two. Micah took a second to enjoy the overconfident animal’s suffering before whipping out his pistol and ending its miserable life, his bullet in the middle of its brain.

He retook his knives and sat over its corpse. This merely was a distraction from his primary task, and he would refuse to remain aimless, relegated to using his skills on unworthy opponents.

“This is the High Marshall to all friendly call signs; come in!”

No response.

Micah surrendered to the only option left; walking until he found something useful to reconnect himself with the fleet. He pushed himself up, re-equipping his full body armor and taking a minute to go over the scan his system had done when he slept.

‘Multiple humanoid, terrestrial life-forms detected en-mass.

Developmental Index: Equivalent Machinery to Twentieth Century.

BEWARE: Fields and aura’s of power beyond system comprehension and defying known physics reside here.

System Recommendation: Proceed with extreme caution, High Marshall Micah McNeal.’

“Too late for that, ain’t it.” Micah sighed out. Alas his system was right, he was dealing with creatures that only legends and long disproven folklore had revealed. If he knew one thing, it’s that death comes for us all, and he was no exception.

But of course, the super-soldier wouldn’t be panicked by his situation. He vowed get back to his nation, leave whatever oddly similar species here to develop on its own, they wouldn’t need to get involved with his affairs, and vice-versa.

Micah quit deliberating and looked around for the nearest settlement his visor picked up. A large city, a mountain exuding elegance with its impossible waterfall and… Middle Ages themed castle. Even more concerning was the completely foreign energy profile than anything seen in the wider universe. It was pink with some minor cracks in it, obviously a rampart protecting it from the dangers outside. It had a significant amount factories, and many differing humanoid species, all related even if distant, though his armor couldn’t give him anymore detail than that from his range. The nearest mountain in its range lay five clicks to his north-west.

He ran through the bush, around dozens of trees and over countless plants his system had been journaling relentlessly, all to the commotion that he surmised could be a quick way to signal somebody of his presence here. Jumping from a chopped down log onto a nearby tree, he prepared to give his charging thrusters a good run. He climbed to the top of a tree and looked above the greenery, readying himself.

‘Cannot fulfill imminent demands: Armor modules in energy recovery mode, High Marshall’.

‘Dammit.’ Micah thought. He knew what to do to bypass the issue though. Once again he removed the top half of his armor and undersuit, trusting his instincts on this somewhat friendly world, moving the bulk of his nanites to his legs and left arm to reduce the energy strain, and once again prepared his jump that would lead into a final jet dash. He then jumped for another reason.

“HELLO?!” A feminine voice called out to him from below to Micah, who fell off the branch and onto the grass below, feet first. His impact sent a shockwave through the ground that the woman didn’t respond to. He kept his eyes down, trying to control his rage before confronting this fool who would dare delay his mission.

“Whoever you are little lady, it is insignificant,” he started from his low crouch, “you would be wise to leav-.”

A striped, furry finger touched his chin softly and raised his head to her blue eyes . He raised an eyebrow at the woman causing these problems, who somehow had his rifle at her side.

“Ah-ah-ah,” as he gently reached for his primary weapon, still crouched before her, she put the gun behind her, flicked his face to the right, and walked the other way slowly. Micah raised himself and followed behind her, suppressing the desire to end this annoyance with his guns. She shot one of her big blue eyes at him for a moment before she caught a vine in the air and repelled down. He flipped down into the blackness below and followed the woman through the brush, determined to end this here and now.

He followed the jogging woman to a small hut,
shrouded with darkness with its door opened and slowed to a crawl. He watched as the women waited by the door that was barley large enough for him, and exited the shadows in front of her. Micah looked down at this woman-no, zebra-human mix.

He had discovered his first species of this planet.

She truly was, by all of the standards of the known sentient species of the universe, gorgeous. This zebra-woman with a small mohawk and hourglass curves that most men of his species would only dream of. Her glowing eyes and the thin cloak she wore would entice any guy into such acts he wouldn’t fantasize about. But Micah had a greater purpose; getting back to his people, and he didn’t have time or want for such things.

She pointed inside the door, to which Micah sighed and entered, but as he did he just had to ask.

“Hand me my-“ his mouth was gently shut and and he stumbled back into a seat she had prepared for him. Whatever she did to him, it wasn’t very strong and he could easily break out, and she suddenly whisked his pistol into her hand. She literally was at his mercy if he decided overreact-or rather, react appropriately.

‘Impossible-a backwater world mastering teleportation and compelling my body against my will? We could use that technology.’ Micah owed his nation a sort of stoic patience at the very least. He went along, ready to simply force his way out if she crossed another red line.

She played around with something in the middle of her room, looking intently through one of her many stashes and pulled out an old looking… M1903 Springfield, or what it was marked as… “Lillie Rifle”?

Whatever world this was, it had to be related to his, because if his mind was not garbled then that would mean… he didn’t know. What he did know was that somehow their world and his were similar beyond his wildest dreams.

Him mouthing ‘what’ let this silent woman know everything she needed to know. She stared at his gun and then hers, coming to the same conclusion she suspected from the beginning.

Micah broke his unseen chains easily and robbed her gun from her hand, aiming at the floor and feeling this comparatively ancient gun flow through his hand for the first time since he was at the museum, a child. To hold one again felt nostalgic for him and he internally smiled, giving her back her weapon, properly holding it out for with both of his hands. She took it, sat it down, and did the same to him, bowing down slightly and smiling at his hulking frame.

Micah took the gun, using his armor to formulate some of magnetic locks on his back before placing it there. He smiled down at the woman who moved to show him the proper exit, lifting her spell over his mouth.

“Eh, for the record little lady, I easily could have broken out.” Micah retorted as began his walk out.

“A matter of hot debate, for when you see me, you barley can concentrate.” She replied as she shoved a map In his solar plexus, laughing as she cracked the door behind him.

‘Very funny…’ He was outwitted.

Micah moved on, turning around and using his thrusters to ascend, his head poking above the trees as he scanned his environment. He found the great mountain city and was about to begin his flight when his armor called out, notifying him that he would not have the fuel to stay in the air for even five more seconds. Micah descended back to the ground and looked to the map he was gifted, already making out the small trail of water near him he could use to get to the city within the hour.

And so he began his expedition, his interface guiding him through the woman’s dense flora that seemed to try to get him at ever turn, in which Micah grabbed and shook away as he walked through a narrow pathway, determined to get his ass to the exit before he would have to burn the place down. It didn’t work out and just as he was about to fire some incendiary rounds, the same woman appeared behind him, smiling and putting her hand on his rifle, lowering it.

He looked dead in her eyes and almost slapped her away.

“You dare conspire against me?”

“Oh but it is simply I, now you see, a zebra near you may not be?”

She gently pushed Micah into to the plants, who grabbed and brought them close. As the thorn-free flora embraced the two, they slithered to the other side of the dense green and black bush. The light came back after some time, both had ascended to the same level of grass where they had first met. The zebra got up first and plucked the map from Micah’s hand and beckoned for him to follow.

“Let’s get to that stream with all haste.” Micah outlined his plan, trusting her with that at least. She didn’t respond, instead continuing on the path laid out for them.

For a few minutes the pair walked in silence. Micah ran to the end of the trees and gazed at the waterway that lead toward the mountains and took the lead the rest of the way. He swiftly used one hand to raise himself above a small cliff in their way, reaching back down and raising the woman up to his level. The zebra once again surprised him, willing a small pouch from thin air and allowing a golden mist to exit it. As they came across the side of the water, a small boat appeared in a yellow flash, and his companion sat down in it patting the seat next to her.

Micah knew he was too heavy, and instead threw himself into the water next to her, the wetness about to hit her disappearing into nothingness. Micah’s head reappeared a second later, and he grasped the side of the boat, pushing it out to catch the current and swimming slightly in-front, rolling on the surface and diving back into the depths and below the boat over and over again to ensure at least a moment of time if evil reared it’s head.

As he came up on the umpteenth time, he put his left hand behind his head and right hand on the ship, his torso just peering over the water as his legs slowly flapped. The zebra grabbed his hand softly and, with a wave of her hand put a green and blue mist on him, that soon tingled across his whole body, sending a pleasureful jolt through his body. Around him, the water cleared immediately and every piece of grime accumulated on him dissipated in the the atmosphere.

Micah used his armored left to feel his chest, as smooth as a baby’s. He looked to the zebra and raised his eyebrow. She smiled at him.

“You did dirty my drinking water,” she began her rhyme, “-so I had to clean my daughter, after all, we are the filter.”

Micah looked up at her, closing his eyes after some time. He used the nanite implants in his eyes to keep a lookout as he seemingly left himself vulnerable-another test for this mystical zebra to pass.

The zebra simply watched the waves pass, head in her hand.

After half an hour of the current picking up speed, the two happened upon the base of the mountain neighboring the great castle city, and on the edge of the mammoth forest. Micah sprung out of the water finally and prepared for his final arduous task, the climb. Just as he was about to launch himself at the stone in front of him, the woman closed her eyes, and the blackness covered them both instantly, and Micah felt as if he were in space once again, reappearing and instinctively drawing his gun on the zebra.

She shot her hands up in submission and fear. As Micah realized what had happened, he looked around to their new surroundings. They stood at the base of the impossible waterfall leading up to the white castle, at the edge of the pink shield that was being bashed by the black ones, their blue eyes locked the same way as any, smiling at the thought of what they would do to and what they would take from the populace when victory was theirs. Their guns and clothing was unmistakably German, with what looked like K. 98 AZ’s in their hands, obviously modified for their species. Micah didn’t have time to observe further as the link bubble collapsed, splitting at its cracks and penetrated by the bugs.

The zebra behind him sighed and looked down sadly. Micah knew that answers awaited him inside the city, and pieced together that this woman cared deeply about those trapped within. But he still knew he knew nothing of the why this was happening.

“I’m going in-but you knew then and know now why I do so- to get back where I come from.” Micah looked back at the sad woman, who simply nodded her head and smiled at him. “I make no guarantees, pray your enemies attack first… mis-“

“They refer to me as many things, all delivering wonder and fame,” she started, bringing her wrist jewelry into view from behind her attire. “-Zecora, from the Everfree Forest is my namesake!”

“Hmm… well, Zecora, why do you speak the same tongue as me.” Micah asked while putting his pistol in his side once again.

“That, is something I cannot say…” She replied, gazing into brown eyes.

Micah subconsciously sucked in a breath and twitched in anticipation. This witty-witch of the woods had made him aware of just how atrophied his casual side of was.

She smiled and touched his cheek.

“…But someone with such strength should have little trouble in your journey today, she complimented, “go forth, and l pray that you find the way, not to your home, but in your roam-in search of the loam… of space.”

‘Damn...’

“You are a natural, woman.” Micah turned around and prepared his armor for a short burst of energy, all he needed to get up the waterfall and into the city. He ascended and zoomed up it in a second, turning himself onto the street below, catching himself and reading a sign.

The sign read ‘Welcome to Canterlot.’

——————————————————

Micah blew the doorknob off a random house, devoid of the screams and laughs that marked the rest of the neighborhood.

He had fought an army of thugs once, and he knew exactly what he would find if he went searching.

Closing the door behind him, he went straight to the kitchen, scarfing down two apples, a delicacy in a military diet, and ran up the stairs to continue his mission.

What was his mission? He slowed his pace and articulated in his head why he was here, ensuring his lack of direction wouldn’t be his downfall.

’Reach the castle, find answers, and if the natives prove reliable, I will rout the kraut-bugs.’ He clapped his hands together flexible outline was no true plan, but would suffice for the time being.

Micah bended the remaining stairs as he ran up to and punched open an entire widow down to the alleyway below. He then inverted himself on the broken frame and pulled himself to the roof above, where his steps reverberated.

Looking above, he saw the swarm continue its descent into the town, his hud registering countless roundups and acts of cruelty, but minimal killing. Those dressed in green or a lighter shade of gray with their rifles tried their best, some falling battle, but most disarmed and tied up. All around the city, the scenario repeated again and again, what he looked at was not a war but the end of one.

Micah hopped from one roof to another, reactivating his all black gladiator specialist armor in full for the last time. He drew his rifle from his back and jumped again and again, relentless in the pursuit of the castle of which his knowledge certainly awaited. As he approached the most chaotic of the lines, twentieth century bullets were slow enough to light up as non threats on his display as he went prone on a undamaged roof. He watched as the two sides dueled it out, what had to be interwar era machine guns suppressing one side and then the next.

Right above him, a swarm of the black ones evaded the bullets hurled at them and overran them in one swift action, pulling their guns off them and beating them down before tying them up. The machine gunner tried desperately to whip what Micah recognized as a Vickers Gas Operated to the swarm, but was threw into a choke hold by one of her compatriots who, in a green flash revealed herself to be a black one, a shapeshifter. Her teammates tried to retaliate but were tackled by the horde.

‘Better hope they spare your ass.’ Micah whispered to himself.

One brave soul tried to resist before they were decked by a right hook to the mouth, out cold.

‘Welp.’

Micah went in for a closer look. Using all his legs power, he flipped and rolled onto a roof directly to the right of the colored ones position, them already roped up and neutralized as a threat. The ones in green and light gray had snouts and ears similar to the bugs, but without the holes. Their fur was multicolored, and they had the same bright, pretty eyes as the zebra he met, even if they were different in color. Upon further inspection, some of the survivors had wings, others had mid-sized horns protruding from their heads, and some had none. Micah pieced their names together; Pegasi, Unicorns and… horses? He was still working on the last part, and he would have to get more information someplace else.

A squad of black ones failed to distinguish him from the rooftop and dove into an alleyway next to his spot. When Micah readjusted his position to have a look, he saw against the left wall a lone female soldier on her back, her finger off the trigger and ammo pouches obviously bled dry and her wing splattered with blood. The changeling soldiers grinned at eachother, and then her. The one with a black field cap Micah guessed was their unteroffizier, based off their familiar uniforms, used his horn to stymie her bleeding, and whisk away the puddle of blood under her. Instead of taking her prisoner, they licked their lips and approached her helpless form.

The girl grabbed her rifle once more, shakily fixed her bayonet, and closed her eyes, reciting what Micah knew was a prayer to whatever power this Pegasus believed in.

The black ones licked more and couldn’t contain themselves, speeding up their march to a run, approaching the girl and swatting away her rifle after a scuffle. They stepped as a unit and made her shriek, bouncing off the wall, moving closer and closer to her right corner, the space in between them halved as they unbuttoned their field coats.

Micah, endowed with a purpose from his own creator jumped in the air, did a mid-air front flip and landed in a crouch, him cracking the street below and behind the woman with a groan. He slowly arose to his full height. He stood two full feet over the tallest bipedal bug.

“Pick on someone NOT your size.”

Micah lifted the red-furred soldier and placed her behind him and then proceeded to satisfy his blood thirst.

“You protect the ponies!? W-who do you think you are, scheiße,-” a overconfident Private began.

Micah took the talkative bug by the neck and smashed his head on the wall, snapping his helmet and leaving him on the ground with his horn piercing his brain.

The officer pulled out his gun and fired two rounds, only for them to be caught in-between Micah’s fingers and flicked back into his mouth at near super-sonic speed, knocking his cap off and snuffing out the life in him.

Micah put his hands on his knees, almost collapsing, laughing as the others looked to their dead comrades and quaked in fear, their warrior spirit shattered. His grey teeth gleaming crimson in the sunlight, and he raised his hand, preparing to punch their heads off one after one, but it wasn’t to be.

Above Micah, circling his arms and in his pupils, greenish lightning manifested without his permission. Out of his raised hand shot beam after beam of electricity hotter than the core of a star, affecting none but the thugs who were about to violate this girl. The thunderbolts burned away their skin and evaporated their clothes, giving them the Justice they deserved.

Micah’s back hit the wall to his left, and his newfound power subsided.

‘I did not know you could do that sir! Noted for possible integration into battlefield strategies and tactics!’ His armor system alerted him as he barley could stand for a minute. Micah breathed in and rolled onto his stomach, pushing his broken body up, looking towards the terrified, thankful and dazed mare that stood above him, rifle in hand.

“I-I’ve never seen anyone like you-are you a sorcerer?!” She asked as she put her bayonet in his face. Micah chuckled, understanding what was running through her mind more than what he had just wrought on this world.

“I’m just as clueless as you, rookie…” Micah got up and offered his hand to her, “I promise to bring you no harm.” to which she hesitated but eventually accepted. He shook her hand and then walked outside of the alleyway, seeing the damage he had caused.

The entire changeling force of around sixty corpses lay annihilated on the ground, and the rope that trapped all the ponies was burned to a crisp, letting all stare at the seven-foot-five African before them. Micah saw their astonished looks and viewed their small burn marks on a few of the battered soldiers coming to.

He was the leader of a nation, and as such could not afford to grant the enemy an insight into his O.O.D.A loop; his observation skills, orientation of assets, his decision making process, or his mind, and what he would do when action was necessary. He ridiculed himself internally and vowed to be more careful in the future and allow less leakage than he had now.

“Fellow soldiers, I apologize for the harm I have caused, even if it was accidental…” He closed his eyes and slightly bowed, showing a basic respect. Micah opened them as the troopers reactions appeared.

“No-no we’re more than fine!”

“Blood hell!”

“Negative, you freed us, we applaud your efforts!”

“Thank you-uh kind… sir?!”

“Hmm…”

“He’s taller than the Princess!”

Micah’s face returned to normal as he rose back to his full height, the ponies in the center sitting or standing around him after their near death experience, eyes full of wonder.

“Eh, all in a days work I suppose-you can call me a human or just a man.” Micah clarified humbly, grabbing the Vickers K off the ground with his left hand and giving it back to the mare who operated it earlier. “Who is this princess now?” Micah sensed a chance to get in contact with this national leader, and he would take it.

“Her last known position was in the castle, but the road there is littered with changelings, we are the last resistance left in the city for all we know.” A tall, white unicorn with grey hair spoke up and, judging by his greenish field cap, was the leader of this group. “Say… what did you call yourself again?”

The line of questioning began and Micah rolled his eyes.

“A human, a male, and the name is Micah,” he replied

“So Micah, you are a soldier? What would your rank be?” The pony asked, maintaining eye contact as the man took a kneel.

“High Marshall of the Federation.”

“Sweet Celestia!” The mare he had saved yelled out, almost fainting on her squadmates.

“What the fuck?!” One of the guys yelled as he put his hand over his mouth, all his mates staring daggers at him.

“Can he save the Princess?”

“You’re a Marshall?! A leader of entire armies, millions of ponies?! Those only existed hundreds of years ago in Griffonia and here in Equus-you’re a walking, talking legend!” A Private had overcome fear and asked with a big smile on his lips before his comrades calmed her down.

“Perhaps I underestimated my renown, we are quite famous-but we will have to talk about that some other time, young one.” Micah played her compliments off, absorbing what knowledge he could and forgetting the rest.

“Perhaps we will meet again, Leftenant,” Micah said, looking back, “until we do, stick to the shadows and don’t die on your Princess-Oh and if it’s tenable, I’ll save your Princess.”

The steel pony frowned and nodded, gave a small salute, finding no reason to disobey the sound orders of a Marshall.

Micah ran up to another house in his way and jumped to its top, continuing his journey. As he charged forward, the action got more and more intense, sporadic gunfights and yells filling his ears as he raced by, ducking into back alleys to avoid combat as much as he could. Eventually, he ran above a massive cluster of changelings, running up to and surrounding in circle their prize. The purple girl stomped hard on a changeling’s head that fell before them, continuing their escape until their front was packed full of them. Micah quickly scaled up a larger house and zoomed in with his visor, pinpointing the six colorful mares at the mercy of the invaders.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.” The blue one with her rainbow hair swolled up and prepared for a fight, while the rest of her friends couldn’t match her visage.

‘Bravery, or bravado?’

She bashed her knuckles and squared up on a copy of herself, baring her teeth and growling. Micah took the initiative and marked the original six as ‘team one’ and everyone else as ‘OPFOR’. The two reciprocated each others movements, the one on the right eventually knocking the the one who Micah already assigned a nickname on her ass.

“How did yo-“ she blurted out, rubbing where she gotten socked. All around them, countless black ones transformed into replicas of their enemies, hellbent on the elimination of these unremarkable ponies. A gross mis-allocation of valuable resources in Micah’s eyes.

“They’re changelings remember?” The purple one, pointed out to her perplexed partner.

“They’re changelings remember?” Half a dozen of her clones copied, grinning back.

”Don’t let them distract you, we have to get to the elements of harmony, they’re our only hope!” The purple original rallied her team and prepared to start the melee.

Micah steadied his rifle, ready to kill any opposition that got one inch too close to ending these apparently high value targets.

The six jumped as a team, charging into and smashing multiple soldiers with ease, taking advantage of their ability to discern this early in the fight. The purple one rammed an orange clone into the ground head first, making its nose bleed green, and two more bodies were slumped, this time a pink clone and an orange one again. The yellow one proved shy and timid, emerging from the clusterfuck and being confronted by three of her own, she blended in and pointed the opposite way. She then ran into three clones of her tough girl friend, who the rainbow haired one knocked out and then helped her yellow friend ascend over the battlefield.

Micah swiveled his gun to the orange pony with a purple clone at her back, it revealing itself as such and nearly taking a bite out of the orange pony before Micah bust a cap in its head, followed by two more of the clones holding her down.

“Ok this is gettin’ weird!” The orange one said as she was piled on and pinned as she registered the splattered changeling brains next to her.

The real purple pony never ceased her assault, using her horn to project spells, putting a copy of hers to sleep. She turned around and beamed countless imitators who copied her friend, holding the last one standing in her grasp.

“Real me-real me!” Her purple friend put her down.

The pink one laughed and demanded her opponent change into her after his attempt to scare her had failed. As he rolled his eyes, putting his arms up and switched into her, the pink pony stared blankly and shrugged.

“Eh, I’ve seen better.”

‘Hmph.’

Micah shot the incompetent soldier dead in his neck just as the pink pony grabbed her friend, using her as a machine gun, her tail as the trigger for her repeating horn. Micah just put all his questions on hold for the moment and continued plucking the enemies full of laser bolts.

Amazingly, the six super-mares not only won the battle, but had impressed Micah, his energy canister not even hot to the touch. Micah cooled his gun and then stowed it on his back once again.

He jumped above the building they approached, keeping his low profile and easily blending into his surroundings. He went prone on the buildings edge, looking down on those below. Micah maintained a sniper position just as they opened the door, the happy-ass look of the violet one slapped off her face in a moment. She and her friends backed into each other as the black ones approached, encircling and pouncing on them, chaining them and lifting them over them.

Micah decided it was in his best interest to let them lead him inside, and followed the swarms lead.

Once they had made it to the castle, Micah split off in his own direction, breaking a window above them and diving inside the castle, using his recharged jets to remain unseen while waiting for them to bring him to whatever place they were going. Micah watched them take a turn and ascend a final flight of stairs, and decided to stay behind the door, relying on his technology to do the rest. On his hud, he sensed the three largest and most powerful life forms he had seen so far; the obvious bug leader held the most power, followed by the big white woman, trapped in a slimy cocoon that hid most of her body. Upon Micah’s mapping of the entire other side of the door that was shut in front of him. And lastly, the power emitted by the second unicorn with wings, this time pink.

The Marshall wanted every bit of knowledge he could before assaulting the evil. He bring his ear close and listened in on the conversation that followed.

“You won’t get away with this!” A light voice, soon triangulated into the bigger pink one was heard. “Twilight and her friends will-“ she shut up after the six and their escorts finally came into her view.

“You were saying?” The evil mastermind stated looking back at the pink one. “You do realize the receptions been cancelled, don’t you? GO-FEED!” she commanded her drones, who rushed in waves out the doorway the Marshall had narrowly sidestepped in time. Micah gripped the last one and put him in choke, beating him to the ground and releasing him right before he blacked out, and right after his master had shut the door on his squeals.

Micah then pushed him into the wall and asked one simple question.

“What is her name?” He whispered in his ear.

“I will never talk to the likes of you… whoever you are!” The changeling whispered. “How about this, y-you let go and I don’t end yo-“

“Tell me, now, and I’ll heal this.” He twisted the crooked horn through his helmet, using his thighs to keep the changeling still as he put his ear close to his head, relishing and monitoring in the breaking of bone and twisting of flesh.

“D-DAHH-MMM-MMMM-MPHMM!” The changelings mouth was covered by Micah’s palm, the pistol barrel gripped by Micah as he exercised his cruel method.

Micah waited for him to adjust to the pain, and continued then allowed his pray another chance to snitch. “In three more seconds, I will continue. What is her name.” He lifted his hand from mouth.

“Chrysalis! Her name is Queen Chrysalis!”

“Good, now you have the honor of watching her downfall before you pass.” Micah released his horn, grabbed his neck and broke his spine, paralyzing him in an instant. He grabbed him, injecting sensitivity amplifiers from his pack into his skin, and slapped him in the face just for the hell of it. The Marshall then silently beat the changelings chest blue, rupturing many organs, and knelt down to get a better look at the creature’s face.

“This is what freedom’s resurgence feels like, soldier of tyranny.”

Micah took off his helmet manually, staring down his soul as the tears started flowing, knowing the ling still endured nothing compared what it inflicted on others. Micah retook his spot as the listener and continued his data collection from the other side of the doorway.

“Hahaha~ it’s funny really-Twilight here was suspicious of my behavior all along.” The Queen declared, cupping the small mares chin before being swatted away. “Too bad the rest of you were to caught up in your wedding planning to realize those suspicions were correct-hahah!”

Micah put back on his helmet and got back to watching the live reconstruction of what was going on.

“Sorry Twi’, we shoulda’ listened to you…” The orange one walked up to the purple pony and apologized. Now, at the end, she understood.

”It’s not your fault, she fooled everypony.” ‘Twi’ bowed her head in shame, shouldering the responsibility.

“Mmm~ I did, didn’t I?” Queen Chrysalis replied while walking towards the window, reveling in her victory. Her day had been everything she had dreamed of and more; her minions ran through the streets, committing every atrocity they could, looting, breaking, raping their way across Canterlot.

Micah couldn’t standby anymore. He unconditional kindness the ponies and that zebra had shown to him, the mutual respect and appreciation he had earned in the blink of an eye by being there to defend their newest from the wrong. This universe, however large, always evolved into good vs evil.

Even if his species fought for better and worse than what is right, that’s all that was needed to him to join the side of it. No matter how imperfect he was, the ponies had proven themselves worthy of his aid.

At least for now he would maintain their lives. Perhaps they could return the favor someday.

Micah realized how dangerous the energy signals of the peoples inside this room could be to him, how these top-tier ponies could react to his presence, but he was ready nonetheless.

Micah kicked down the door, startling everyone within the chamber as he prepared for his first fight with this planets mystical force. He ran straight for the Queen, who tried to blast him with a green blast of energy, dodging it and continuing his journey to her waist. As he was midway through the room, she fired a blast to the ground, blasting him across the room and into the cocoon that housed the strongest alien in the room, the white unicorn- with wings. He grabbed the thin line connecting it to the ceiling, and ripped it apart with his bare hands.

The cocoon drew everyone’s attention, disintegrating when it fell and hit the ground, freeing the weak but enduring Princess from her prison.

“Look what you’ve done, bitch,” Micah said as he stepped over the recovering woman, “you’ve ensured your own demise.” Micah roared, his shields absorbing another blast by the Queen as he jumped up, flicked back, and spun his his right leg across, kicking the Queen off the balcony and onto the street below. Micah looked back the one called Twi as she helped the pink horned one get the slime off her legs, and then flipped down to the changeling infested street below.

Micah once again landed with a resounding shockwave that blew back the whole first row of spectators who had gathered around their Queen and him. From his low crouch, he looked above to see the six girls and their white Princess look down upon him with concern.

“Fight me, whore. Single combat, right the fuck now.” Micah demanded while still looking at the ground he squatted above.

“You are no match for me, whatever you are,” she spat back, “MY HIVE! I will deal with this rat myself.”

Just what Micah wanted to hear. He removed his helmet for the last time, the nanites sliding to his legs and left arm while his helmet’s joined them as well. He threw his rifle, knife and gun to his side and clamped them down to the floor ensuring not even a bomb could shake them.

He finally raised himself to his full height. Even the ponies, some of whom he recognized as the P.B.I he saved earlier, stared in shock as his height exceeded Princess Celestia’s, and certainly dwarfed the bug Queen.

The Queen and him circled each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. For an entire minute they waited, until the Queen disappeared and reappeared next to Micah, grabbing his arm and twisting it, only for the Marshall to flip her into an arm lock, which she used her magic to launch Micah off her enough to escape.

Next, the Queens leg became a black blur, enhanced with her deadly magic, and she swung her foot at Micah’s who matched the kick with one of his own, forcing her to flip back and reinitiate her attack. She did the same thing, this time with her right leg, but then quickly used its momentum to get airborne and throw a backwards left power kick right to his chin. Micah saw it coming a mile away and initiated a front flip, using his right leg as his launching pad and his left to complete the axe kick to her back.

“Umph~”. She was left reeling by his attack and fell to the concrete below. The Queen teleported up and started her second attack soon after.

Chrysalis used her magical advantage to get Micah off balance, using short bright blasts to keep his hands up as she went for a leg sweep, rising and getting him with multiple flying knees in the abs. He paced himself, letting her get her shots in before throwing her up and using his jets to pluck her out of the air and onto his chest.

He scoffed at what he was about to do to her.

Micah grabbed her by the waist pulling her to him and turning her body around with his irresistible strength, putting her in a sleeper hold as he fell to the ground and then turned on her stomach. His thighs had her hands squeezed and their was no hope for her.

She saw the black curtain descend over her eyes, but managed to croak out something.

At once Micah got off her and picked up his stuff, ascending to the air and back up to the balcony he initially started his fight from. The horde had reawakened and cried for revenge after seeing their leader humiliated before their very eyes. Looking to his side, he saw the pink princess get her bearing with the help of the purple one and rush to her mate.

She ran to him and embraced his blank face into a hug, tearing up all way there. Her horn lit up in sparks of lightning and manifested a heart which made its way to her husband, setting him free.

He shook his head madly.

“Wha-what? Is the wedding over?”

“It’s ALL over!” The defeated queen tried once again to assert herself, teleporting in the middle of the action to prepare for her imminent victory.

“Your spell-do your spell!” Twi yelled at the couple.

Chrysalis laughed once again, unconcerned with Micah, who prepared to end the fight once and for all if whatever that the ponies prepared failed.

“No…” the stallion tried to summon his strength, but failed horribly. “My power is useless now, I don’t have the strength to repel them.”

“My love will give you strength!”

‘Ridiculous.’

“Hahaha~ what a lovely but absolutely ridiculous sentiment!” The Queen agreed with Micah’s thoughts, even though Micah hoped he was wrong.

He was.

Despite all the challenges facing this nation, love would end up saving them in the end. The two lovebirds stared into each others eyes and ascended into the air, embracing one another and connected their horns. The pink energy radiating from the two made everyone gasp in the room.

For him, it was his first true glimpse at the true potential of this new people. Their love had defeating evil.

Chapter Four: Induction and Direction

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