Prompt #7

Prompt for today: *Awakening*

I wish to see how you handle unleashing a characters potential, write a scene in which a protagonist/antagonist taps into the height of their power, this can be done in any way that makes sense for the narrative, all that matters is that the character reaches their peak(at whatever point in the story you place them) in the scene, however I will include bonus objectives if you wanna try them.

Bonus Objective 1: *The power of b---rs is not stronger*
Try to avoid the trope of a character being motivated to power up due to their love interest being in harms way, suddenly pulling out previously nonexistent power because of the power of love has always thrown me a little, especially in high-stakes conflicts because it implies that one person is somehow more important than everything else. (You by no means need to follow this one, I'd just prefer it if you did)

Bonus Objective 2: *Lose yourself*
Write the character's awakening as a dark turn, have them let go of their restraints and feelings of remorse, leaving only the eerie, deadpan visage of a man/woman who is **done** with their opposition, their awakening wouldn't be an increase in power, but an absence of restraint on that power, if they move on their enemy, they intend beyond a shadow of a doubt to kill. that. enemy.

*

Ash and smoke filling the air, forming thick dark clouds that blackened the afternoon sky as the shadows of the great armada hovered overhead. Screams and sirens echoed out, barely audible over the high pitched hum of the ray cannons that laid waste to the historical structures and monuments. Statues of the nation’s founders were reduced to rubble, lush flower gardens grown in honor of the past now burning away, and the parliamentary building that had stood for at least two centuries, a symbol of the nation’s growth and the perseverance of its government, now had a massive hole in its domed marble roof, the edges black from scorch marks.

The telltale scream of a supersonic engine cut through the cacophony. No human eye could hope to spot the drone squadron shooting out toward the vessels above. The QMX-2 class, a classified experimental update to the more common QM-1s known only to the highest ranking members of the defense ministry, were design to carry the most powerful and precise of payloads, and their speed and the unique shape of their chassis made gunning these unmanned deliverers of death before they could strike their targets was an impossibility even with state-of-the-art anti air artillery and computer assisted targeting.

At least, it should have been an impossibility. Red hot beams shot out of the nearest ships that turned the fifty billion dollar project into heaps of melted scrap. A display flicked up in the corner of his eye, showing him the panicked faces of the generals and ministers hunkering in their bunker as they learned of the strike’s failure. He let a small smirk creep across his face as he continued his stroll toward the magisterial palace.

The nanomachines surrounding him suddenly congregated to form a shield, deflecting the barrage of ballistics meant for him. Hunkered behind a patrol car were members of the capital guard, all decked in military grade riot gear. It was the best defense the capital could muster while the bulk of the military had its focus spilt by attacks on a multitude of strategically valuable assets, and they were quickly torn to shreds by his mechanized bodyguard. His smirk faded slightly as a new display appeared before him, confirming the casualties.

Pockets of resistance continued to greet him as he continued to the palace, and they fared no better, their body armor meant to stop small arm ballistics and not beams of hyper charged light particles. A single blast from a cruiser above cleared the front gates of the palace while his personal drones cleaned up any survivors stubborn enough to continue fighting. Bodies and their armaments soon followed in his path as he made his way through the palace until he reached his destination, the chancellor’s office.

Unsurprisingly, the chancellor himself was unavailable. He had been moved to the emergency bunker the moment the armada had descended upon the capital city. With a nod, the intruder directed a drone to the camera as he took a seat at the chancellor’s desk. He threw his legs over the desk and leaned back in the plush chair. After a moment, he frowned, removed his feet, and sat forward with his hands folded upon the desk. Still the stance dissatisfied him, and in the end he settled on a simple neutral pose, with an elbow on the desk and propped against his chin. He turned to his drone that was now interfaced with the camera which was flashing a yellow light. Clearing his throat, he nodded again, and the light became a solid green as it broadcasted him to every channel on every television screen in the nation.

“My fellow citizens,” he said, breaking into a snicker that quickly turned to a grimace at his own poor attempt at humor. His features became serious once more before continuing. “By now I’m sure you all are aware of the current situation. Your capital burns as your leaders scramble in panic, unable to rally that military for your country seems so proud of. I speak to you now from the desk of your elected chancellor, through his own direct media feed, to put to rest any fears of an extraterrestrial invasion.

“Let me assure you all that this is no invasion. No this is merely a message. This is my response to your government’s attempts to paint me and those under my protection as some extremist group while claiming our accomplishments as their own. I had been satisfied with simply disrupting communications and causing little inconveniences here and there, but the assaults on my facilities have forced my hand.” His eyes narrowed. “My tolerance has its limits, and you have found them. This is my message. If you want war, you merely have to ask, and we will be more than able to provide.”

The display of the generals reappeared with a transcript of their ongoing discussion scrolling down. They were getting desperate if talks of a nuclear option were any indication. Not that it would do them any good, the security protecting the network that controlled the world’s largest nuclear arsenal had been depressingly easy to break, and not a single atom could be released without his say so.

Still, if they really wanted to turn their own capital and the surrounding area into a radioactive wasteland, well, why should he stop them? He had done his part minimizing civilian deaths, his ray cannons having left the neighboring residences and businesses largely untouched; if the government cared so little for their own people, then so be it. The blood of the innocent would be on their hands while his ships would be long gone by the time any missile or bomber was in the air. As for himself, he allowed himself a small smile, he could afford to lose the android to nuclear fire. The same could be said of the him who now sat in the supreme chairman’s throne as well as him who stood in the office of the prime premier, both presenting the peoples of their respective nations in their respective tongues with the same message after leaving their own capitals in a similar state.

His real body sat over two hundred thousand miles away, well above the earth’s atmosphere and surrounded by digitized screens. Wires and tubes extended into the back of his skull and his neck, pumping in a steady stream of pain inhibitors to reduce the migraines that came from being neutrally linked to thousands of separate entities. Each cruiser and combat drone and their every movement and action was directed by him and the team of rudimentary artificial intelligence that assisted him.

His eye twitched violently as his arm started to spasm. The strain of coordinating multiple simultaneous attacks on the world’s most powerful nations was taking its toll. Some of his forces were already beginning to withdraw as their contingency conditions were met. He released a weak sigh. His message was delivered, and while the militaries of the world’s superpowers hadn’t been completely crippled, preliminary battle reports suggested that it would take months before any were in fighting condition. Still, as a precaution, a quick check confirmed that his orbital strike satellite ordinance was primed and ready, with the coordinates of several targets already set.

He gave the order for a full retreat and continued to monitor the armada’s status as he turned part of his attention to home. A number of displays flickered to show footage captured by the many closed circuit cameras. All through the base, people watched the world’s medias report on how his cruisers rained death and destruction upon the seats of government and on the speeches his doubles had made. Men, women, children, of all genders, ages, and nationalities, united by a lack of a place on earth to call home, War, famine, disease, crime, and persecution had driven these desperate and unwanted souls to him, and now they were witnessing what their protector was capable of. The fear and uncertainty from the more recent additions to their community was expected and made apparent by their worried expressions and the contents of their hushed whispers, but even those who had spent the last decade living comfortably on the moon under his care were expressing doubt and unease.

The surge of frustration he felt was immediately followed by a wave of sharp pain that stabbed deep into his head. He rubbed his temples and waited for the inhibitors to kick in as he shut off the feed of the news reports broadcasting from earth. He would have to monitor what his people were viewing in the coming weeks, make sure to keep propaganda from eroding their trust in him. He closed his eyes and let out another tired sigh. He tried to increase the concentration of pain killers entering his bloodstream only to be stopped by a warning from the system. An increased dose presented an unacceptable risk of fatal complications, the system informed him, and still the pain refused to subside.