[Forlorn Ascension]|[Rites of Dominion]

by Desrium

Fall Of Harmony

He wanted to join Tsubar, he really did. He wanted to share words with him again, to fly alongside him in pitch combat, to learn what he was sorely unknowledgeable of. He had the rumors, but Phineas wanted to know how Tsubar ended up being a part of the Harmony. He wanted to know how these new breed of ships were made, to understand the technology that made them a reality.

But with the wrecks of both allied and enemy ships tumbling out of the sky, peppering the ruins with fireballs of all colors, Phineas knew there were far more important matters that needed to be dealt with than catching up with a friend. The fact that Tsubar might as well have been his only friend only made his decision that much harder to make. Phineas looked away from the gargantuan mech the Shu’badi was piloting and instead banked the shuttle around to join the ships peeling away from the main assault.

Radio chatter over his communicator came from the ships that had volunteered, a myriad of voices saying things one after the other. Streamlined fighters surrounded bulkier gunships and dropships. Necroliers broke off from the main force occupying the majority of the defense fleet to intercept the rescue division.

“Keep them off of us!”

“Roger that,” Phineas muttered to himself.

He and several others had their ships arc into the air and come around at the approaching enemies upside down, firing their guns while rolling upright. The ships screeched past each other, the Harmony fighters soaring into the sky while the necroliers flew over the destruction, chasing after the designated transports.

Gunship turrets turned, locked on and fired volleys into the attackers’ formation. One good shot tossed a necrolier end over end and it toppled into the ship lagging off to the side of its aft. Both of them spiraled to the tortured streets waiting below, the smoky wings flailing and their hulls burning. Meanwhile, the multi-barreled guns fixed to the top portion of the dropships spun up. Each barrel flashed with light for an instance, throwing spiraling clusters of plasma at the pressing tide.

From above, the fighters rained down superheated hail and rounds. Flying out a fair distance and closing up the flanks, gun-mount mechs tightened the metaphorical noose. From all directions, there was no escape for the deathless craft. Their hulls were rife with glowing orange rings that had liquefied edges, sagging and shedding, until whole constructs came apart while still in flight, literally torn apart by the Harmony’s guns.

Congratulations and praise was distributed across the comm-lines upon the destruction of the first wave of adversaries.

“Don’t get too proud until we’re done here,” one pilot said admonishingly, and a somber acknowledgement befell the rescue division. The outcome of the mission would dictate whether or not there would be celebration. After all, only those that survived could celebrate their victory.

When they cleared the humungous hills of rubble, the rescue division started to put their ships on the ground. Dust blew across what remained of the city streets as the transports hovered over them, landing gear extending and touching down on the cracked pavement.

“Mission objective: clear out hostile presence and rescue the survivors.”

Soldiers clad in metal and padded armor offloaded from the dropships, rows of them spilling out from numerous doors and down ramps. At the rear of the gunships, ramps were lowered and speeding down them were soldiers in small hovering vehicles. Their drivers sat in a domed cockpit with pivoting engine nacelles at the front and back end of the vehicles. The vehicles were loaded up with utility kits that had tools to assist in excavation, such as Arcane-Manipulators to help remove obstructions.

The platoons of soldiers split up into their individual companies and spread out into the night, jogging down the warpath while the rescue vehicles jetted onwards to retrieve the civilians scattered about and trapped in the demolished buildings. The fighters circled overhead, watchful sentinels offering air support. The guns on the transports scanned the skies, swiveling about.

***

The armored crewmember of the former starship, Triterion, stood before the vessel. The wreck reflected against the visor of his helmet, a crumpled mess impaled by the bent beams of metal that were a part of the buildings it crushed when it fell from the sky. Its green hull had gashes, burns and gaping holes that still burned with necrotic fires. He was not alone outside of the wreck. Other survivors of the crash were with him, scattered about, confused, sad, and afraid. Many of them were not qualified fighters. Their role up to this point was doing their jobs to keep their ship in running condition. But now, there was nothing any of them could have done to get the Triterion back in flight. They were stranded in hostile territory.

He did his best to secure the area, taking advantage of the chokepoint the fallen buildings and rubble created around the ship. When it came down, the Triterion created a crater and surrounding buildings fell toward it, creating an impassible wall around most of the area, with one barely traversable straight being the best way to get in and out.

He and the initial group of officers handled well enough, using their jetpacks to get into ambush positions and fighting off the deathless soldiers that sought out the survivors of the crash, but each skirmish claimed yet more lives until he was all that was left. The most devastating losses came from an encounter with necrolier patrols, which were heading for the “camp” the others had set up. The group of officers had no choice but to divert the attention of the undead, and in doing so several of them perished.

So now the last officer was left with the group that sat around amidst the rubble; they had their faces buried in hands and laps, weeping softly or issuing silent prayers of their respective faiths for the dead. Some sat around flaming pieces of debris, unmoving, catatonic.

Traveling on the breeze were the sounds of warfare elsewhere, thundering cannons and vaguely musical blips and drones evident of energy weapons. “Sounds like the fighting’s picking up again,” he murmured to himself. He did his best to keep fighting, but now he was low on supplies. He was down to his last stores of ammo for his pistols and the undead soldiers kept coming. He decided to return to the camp when it was clear he couldn’t handle things by himself. He was convinced that the best thing to do was to die with the others when the deathless finally overtook the area.

He turned away from the ruined starship, and sure enough several tens of yards away, against the lazily rising smoke and fire, black shapes were rising over the craggy mounds, a sallow wisping light emanating from them.

“I guess you can’t truly stop the dead,” he said as he began to draw his pistols. “So I might as well fire until the guns go ‘click’!”

He took off into a sprint, taking several of his crewmates by surprise. He was gone before anyone could have voiced their shock, dropping down into the trench that cut across the road, various broken pipes visible along with the top of a damaged tunnel beneath the streets. He ran across the top of the tunnel and jumped up onto the other side of the ledge. He ducked down behind a short slab of concrete with metal bits poking out of it. He would hold the line as long as he could. He held his guns side by side in front of his chest while peeking up over his cover, waiting for the undead soldiers to make their way over.

They were marching towards the crash site when suddenly, the deathless stopped abruptly. The officer tensed. He watched them turn back towards where they came, and he knew they were detecting something. There were probably others nearby and the officer cursed silently; he wanted to warn them somehow, tell them to go away from the danger that awaited them just over the rubble.

Acting quickly, he popped up from his cover and fired a single roaring shot past the soldiers. The explosive shell dropped off some distance behind them, exploding just over the mound they climbed up. The deathless spun around, their harsh glowing gaze locked on where the shot had come from.

He hopped over the slab and started running sidelong relative to the group, emptying his pistols with haphazardly aimed shots before diving behind another pile of wreckage. He rolled and continued around the pile in a hasty crouch, hearing the low hum that wasn’t so far away. Necrotic blasts slammed into the rubble, punching through it without fail, several shots flying over where he was just standing.

He braced against the pile, reloaded his pistols and inhaled deeply. His last rounds were locked and loaded. “Until they go click.”

The officer rushed out. The approaching deathless stopped in their tracks and took aim immediately. The officer dashed ahead with his boosters as the undead fired their rifles; blowing out huge chunks out of the cover he passed by.

He came to a stop in the open, securing his footing on the pavement and swinging one gun around. He lined up the barrel with one undead’s head and fired, sending the explosive shell flying. He ducked down thereafter and fired another shot, rolled, and continued onwards from there. He moved about unpredictably after firing his guns until they had nothing else to fire. Three of the undead were definitively unable to carry on fighting, blown to pieces. The others in the group either managed to evade his shots or just had thick enough armor and bulk to shrug off the rounds when they hit.

“Click.” He waited to be hit by the green blast, his reward for fighting until he had nothing else to fight with. He saw the deathless raise their rifles, and it was at that moment where he thought death was imminent did he notice just what these soldiers were. So twisted were they by whatever malefic entity possessed them that the officer did not recognize these enemies were no other than the Harmony’s own: those who died ensuring the time of the Hoof-Talons’ end.

“… Damn,” he said to himself.

And that was when the first yellow streak flew overhead, flying with a whistle and exploding with a tremendous bang. The officer, dumbstruck, spun on his heels to see where the attack had come from. Standing there on the mound were a band of soldiers, an especially large one crouched down with a heavy ordnance cannon mounted on its shoulder. The spent energy rod was ejected from the side of the weapon, the glass tube still glowing with latent power. Another yellow rod was loaded into the chamber of the cannon and the energy erupted from the end of the barrel, obliterating the rest of the undead.

With the deathless dispatched, one of the soldiers called out, “You the only one around these parts?”

The officer was silent, not believing what had happened, in spite of the loud booming of the two shots and the flaming body parts that were strewn about by the blasts. He looked back to the large, smoldering pockmarks left in the pavement and when it finally sunk in that these were the reinforcements he was waiting for, he fell to his knees.

“… Amazing,” he said to himself. The soldiers were scrambling down the mound and a few of the other crewmembers on the other side of the ravine were watching the rescue team advance.

***

A little more than an hour later, the things at the transport ships were looking optimistic. A great number of survivors had been loaded onto them already and more of the huddled masses were being led up the ramps, or if they were unable to walk due to extensive injury; they were taken aboard via stretchers connected to the back of the hover pods. The squadron of fighters buzzed through the skies above, chasing necroliers away from the gunships and dropships while the horizon burned, ignited by the opposing powers.

Tzorvar Prime, accompanied by a few other mechs, plunged down from above an undead warship, tentacles splayed. Its thrusters blared to life at the last minute, all four burning at full strength while the tendrils whipped around, wrapping the warship up in their metal coils. Tsubar aimed the two railguns down into its superstructure and fired, the pointblank polarized rounds splitting the ship in two. As the hull buckled, slag erupted from the two fatal shots. Tzorvar Prime released its stricken quarry and finished it off with four Spell-core blasts from the Arcane-Manipulators.

For the past hour, this was the tone of the battle: a staggering comeback from the Harmony forces, forces with a technological edge in addition to a moral cause. Seeing the death and destruction caused by these fiends had brought out the ire of the galaxy’s defenders, and it showed in their assault. Or so it seemed, with how primal an approach the mech pilots took to fighting.

Surrounded by destruction in the air, the Marauder hovered, inactive. Even as ships turned into balls of fire and smoke that hung in the air, it did not offer support. In spite of this, whenever a force switched focus to attack it directly, the necroliers swarmed to intervene, as if ceremoniously sacrificing themselves to protect the giant ornate craft.

The pale creature on the black throne hadn’t moved at all in this time, its dead black eyes staring into the fires, unblinking. It appeared statuesque until its mouth turned into another perverse grin.

“Enough of them have been claimed by the power… they belong to Them now…”

Without warning, the cloud of energy surrounding the Marauder grew more intense, a manifestation of power so great it turned the green field white. The Marauder was enveloped in this magical field that completely obscured it.

“What in the world-?“ was all Tsubar had time to say after turning Tzorvar Prime’s head around to look at the disturbance.

Beams of light shot out from where the Marauder was, striking nearby necroliers and branching out, forming an intricate web between them. From the deathless ships, the energy shot out into a Harmony ship, which resulted in more spreading of the energy, spanning enormous gaps in the formation. In seconds most of the Harmony assault force was caught in the web without any means of escape.

And Tsubar found out all too late what was occurring. He knew because the instant Tzorvar Prime was struck, he felt the restrained presence gain strength. He felt the malevolence rising, flowing into him. He, a machine, felt the greatest of fear at that one moment.

It was a fear all afflicted by the web felt. Unable to move, they felt themselves corrupted by the malice.

“By what manner of hubris did they think they could use the gifts of the Gods without permission?” growled the pale creature. “If they are so keen on being servants, then we will make them servants…”

Panic was quick to spread at this turn of events. Ships caught in the web tried to contact others in the fleet, finding that they were unable to. Unnatural voices whispered in their minds, echoing through every recess.

Those unaffected desperately tried hailing their comrades, receiving only a static filled response of nonsense that numbed the brain of those who listened for more than a few seconds at a time before shutting down the link.

***

But the true horror had yet to begin. The web of energy disappeared after a few moments of tenseness. Once again, the unaffected ships tried to hail their peers, but this time there was only silence to be heard. Tzorvar Prime turned around to face a cluster of Harmony ships and raised its tentacles. From its spinning Arcane-Manipulators, Spell-core beams erupted, blasting its former allies apart.

Following suit, many ships and mechs turned on the Harmony, the guns that so readily destroyed the necroliers wiping away the Peace Corps. Ships began to scatter and ships began to pursue. Chaos ensued as no one knew who was friend or foe.

“And with that,” the pale creature said, watching the havoc unfold. “the whims of fate demand… change…”

Phineas panned his head from side to side, seeing the blurs rushing past his shuttle, ships fleeing from the battle.

“Abort! Abort!” he heard their pilots cry over the comms. “They’ve taken control of the assault group!”

And just like that, any prospect of victory was dashed across the remaining Harmony fleet.

“How!?”

“Why!?”

Questions were spouted, manic demands for answers that no one had. Rushing forth from the horizon, the pursuing ships flew as one. Necrolier ranks were mixed with that of Harmony warships and battle mechs.

“Priority one, get these civilians off of this damned planet!”

“We can’t shoot down our allies!”

“They aren’t our allies anymore! You either shoot them down or they kill us all!”

Phineas watched the advance of the converted ships, appalled. How could so many just… defect at once? For what reason? What cause? Why would anyone willingly go against themselves in such a manner, as joining the deathless was just that –a betrayal of all life in the galaxy!

“I can’t fight them…” Phineas told himself. “They aren’t part of the Polymerization… they aren’t abominations of science and nature… they are people… people fighting for a cause I can’t fathom but…”

He trailed off as the rescue division took to the air, the fighters flying around the designated transports. They were running away… and Phineas did not blame them. Hopelessly confused, Phineas turned his ship to join the exodus. One last glance towards the tide of enemies had him seeing the black, brown and red unit again. He pitched upwards and fired up his engines, joining the other ships before enabling the shuttle’s autopilot.

He pulled his legs from the neuro-link sleeves and pulled his helmet off of his head. He held his head up with a hoof as he started to cry silently in the cockpit.

The only one he could have called a friend in the entire galaxy was lost to him now.