[Forlorn Ascension]|[Rites of Dominion]

by Desrium

Forlorn Ascension 2: Rites of Dominion

The scorched land still radiated heat and smoke from the cracked soil that stretched on and on for as far as the eye could see. The winds conspired to carry the dry air far and wide, to blister all they blew across. The embers burned a weak orange underneath the orange skies.

The land was flat. The land was dead. The land was a battleground for a war that had taken place in space. It was a conflict that bestowed blight upon the world, forsaking it for years to come. Vehicles that could barely be identified were half embedded in the ground; bare frames turned the darkest shade of ebony. Some were overturned, sheets of dinged and bent metal scattered. The sheer number of these ruined war machines made this wasteland a practical junkyard to boot.

The bodies of those once living accompanied the shells of their means of destruction. Shriveled corpses as broken and unidentifiable as the vehicles they once moved in; they were slumped over the crumpled consoles and sprawled out on the ground. They grasped their weapons that would never claim another life again steadfast even in death.

Death - of soldiers and of the world, an entire globe turned into a grave, floating in the expanse of space; a place in the vast cosmos devoted to the dead. Those whose sacrifices ruined the landscape they charged across; those whose enemies rested alongside them in the eternal slumber.

Towering high over the mounds of ships and land-based assault platforms like a foreboding castle, its back broken and its terrible maw held agape, was a Marauder class Hoof-Talon ship. What was a jewel of an empire unmatched now ruled over this necropolis, green energies creating a sickly fog around the black and gold vessel as they seeped out from various breaks and ruptures of the hull.

***

There was a black shape, tiny and high in the sky, lost amongst the rolling bands of cream colored clouds. That quickly changed, for its descent from heaven was fast and loud. It hurtled towards the dead land, roaring through the blisteringly hot atmosphere before gradually arching so that it was flying parallel to the ground at an extremely low altitude. It flew against the cemetery’s rising sun, the soil rising up into a black cloud in its wake.

The ship slowed gradually until it was hovering in front of the Marauder’s formerly golden beak. The dust cloud was dispersed by a sudden burst of thrust from the craft’s underside thrusters, bright sapphire exhaust belched forth from the three engines as it lowered to the ground. Six metal limbs stretched out from the sides, flipping out from spaces exposed by folding metal plates and extending in a telescopic manner until the pointed tips of the landing legs dug into the black desert.

The legs flexed underneath the ship’s weight, dipping down momentarily after landing before rising again. There, the joints locked in place. The ship itself was a dark purple that had hints of other colors depending on how the light of the sun hit it. It was elliptically shaped and had very little protrusions breaking the smooth curves of the hull. At the front and back were small crescent-shaped winglets that curved forwards. There were no windows.

A seam appeared down the middle of the cruiser-sized ship, equal distance from the forward and rear section of it. Puffs of vapor escaped from the gap and with a low mechanical drone, the two parts of the ship swung outwards, the inner plating of the walls rearranging to create ramps.

The passengers descended down the ramps in two rows. They wore a metallic yet flexible armor underneath what appeared to be ceremonial robes of varying color that were tattered and clearly ancient. The rows wrapped around the front of the ship and converged into one group a few yards past the pointed bow.

A single figure in a shimmering green and black robe walked ahead of the congregation. Its stance was a hunched one, and it walked with the assistance of a surprisingly ornate staff. It was a long chrome rod with the engraving of serpentine tendrils coiling around the top, creating a bulbous shape from which a reptilian snout emerged from the middle, the jaws spread and the teeth glinting in the early alien hours.

“They who came before fell out of favor with the Gods.” The creature’s voice was an eerie rasp that shouldn’t have been audible to the crowd, yet it reached their ears, snaking through the parched air. “Why is that?” it asked.

“Because they grew arrogant,” the crowd responded in perfect synchronous. “They believed they were selected to rule, instead of upholding the tenants of the Gods.”

“And what are those tenants?”

All at once, the monotone unity was broken. “Change!” many shouted together with glee. “Chaos,” another sect of the group announced with hard voices. Some exclaimed, “Power!” and they followed with rapturous rejoices.

The hunched figure, its back to the group, raised the staff over its head to silence them. “And what is the gravest sin to commit?”

The unity was restored, as if a hypnotic spell had gripped the congregation. They spoke: “To take the will of the Gods for granted. To be chosen is a blessing, but we are nothing but conduits for their might. We are nothing without them.”

The leading figure lowered the staff and stared into the viridian fog that the Marauder exuded. “There is no empire to rule,” it said to itself. Even though it did not address them, all listened to the slithering hiss that rode the scalding wind, the very same wind that ruffled the robes. “There is only strife to create; the glorious suffering that the Gods impose upon the universe, so that they can reap the spirits of the strong and grow stronger still!”

***

The creature pointed the metal maw of the staff into the green fumes and marched on. The congregation followed, walking into the sulfurous smoke that rolled out from the Marauder’s throat. All around them the inactive guns hung in disrepair.

They ventured down unlit cavernous hallways as if they lived inside the ship all their life. Unimpeded by the darkness and winding corridors, they walked. They did not falter nor did they speak. The silence inside the hallowed halls was absolute; not even yielding to what should have been the sounds of their footsteps on the metal floor. A God must have taken interest in the offering of their selves, completely and utterly for as long as they should live.

Time itself had become meaningless within the confines of the ship. When exactly the gigantic chamber became alight by the ethereal green flames coating the walls was irrelevant. How long it took to get there was trivial. All that mattered was that the group was standing before the black throne. All around them were the bodies of their predecessors, the rejected ones, dead at their posts.

They bowed before the empty throne, the lead figure holding the staff in front itself with both hands clasping the rod. The encounter with divinity was defined by unbelievable brevity. The bodies of the Hoof-Talons levitated from the places of their deaths. The black armor dissolved away, revealing the bodies wasting away; bare flesh with tufts of fur and feathers, blank predatory eyes within equine skulls and gnarled beaks where mouths were supposed to be, golden scaled talons at the ends of the front limbs and leonine claws on the hind ones. In an instant the bodies were glowing dust swirling around the group, and they all took off their robes.

“You chose them once in the past, and they failed. We come bearing their symbols, hoping you will fancy us as you did them,” the lead figure hissed. “But we will not betray you as they were so bold and so foolish to.”

As one, the group threw the robes up into the twister of emerald ash. The robes caught fire with a loud whoosh of air, and the flames spread through the ash. The beings at the center of the inferno were unharmed, however. The fires died down. Darkness returned to the stricken chamber.

***

The pact had been made. Change, chaos and power had to be upheld throughout the galaxy. The Star Terrors hungered for the strong.

“For so long we have searched for this relic… for so long we cursed those that pillaged these holy morgues for their laughable ends… but now it has finally happened. Rejoice, my brothers and sisters. The Gods have taken to us, and through us their terrible bliss shall spread once more!”

The shrill echoes of the cheering within the bowels of the Marauder resounded through the halls and ultimately across the barren wastes. The bodies laid out on the black soil writhed and shook, prying themselves from the dirt, begrudgingly heeding the call from beyond the great beyond.

Vehement foes joined together in death, their broken forms regenerating. The wrecks were exhumed from their violent final resting places. A new fleet was forming. A fleet comprised of those that did not yield to death itself.

Comments

[Snowfyre]

once again it begins again