by Z H Brown
Xandarius’ Silverskin was rated for EVA, the only necessary attachment being a masked helmet made of the same material that completed the outfit. It was mouth-less, with red lenses over the eyes and horns similar to those of the Royal Guard helmet’s rose above his head. The suit’s gravity manipulation technology allowed him to move through space, bringing him closer to the goal that had consumed his thoughts ever sense he’d learned of its existence.
Xandarius approached the Flame with what seemed like reverence. The orb of gold broiled and roiled like a miniature sun; the heat it gave off was strong, steady and warm, but not overwhelming. The lenses of Xandarius’ helmet tinted themselves as he drew closer to the fount of power. Tiny pieces of debris, the only remnants of what was once hundreds and hundreds of ships, floated aimlessly around him, while others bounced harmlessly off his armored form. At last, he got close enough to the Flame that it filled his vision completely, blocking out stars, planets, ships and monsters from his sight and mind.
After basking in the warm glow of both the Flame and his own triumph for what he felt was a reasonable length of time, Emperor Xandarius gathered himself up, steeled himself for whatever would come next, and dived into the tiny star.
Slog had lost count how many times he’d pulled off the glove on his organic hand to wipe away some of the sweat that had accumulated. Like everyone else in the fleet, he had been watching the progress of the battle with a cold mixture of hope, dread, and prolonged anxiety that had nestled in his gut like a lump of snow. His hands had been gripped tightly to the controls of his mammoth weapon as he’d watched the broadcasts, and his vice-like hold had contributed to his recurring problem. While the news that Critter and Tread had survived their part of the battle had eased his mind somewhat, the fact that he was next on the chopping block only served to increase his apprehension.
Still, he wasn’t completely convinced that this was the end: he had seen the damage that the last three defensive lines had inflicted, and they had left what amounted to a great big Crete’s-eye on the creature’s chest. If he could get a bead on that, then maybe this nightmare could come to an end.
“Target approaching!”
The voice of the ship’s communication officer rang out across the bridge. Slog hurriedly replaced his glove.
“Do we have a visual?” asked the gravelly voice of Captain Krum. The old, tough Crag officer was sitting in his command chair and looked like he was about to leap out of it at any moment.
“We should have one momentarily from the Emperor’s Blade,” said the young officer. The Blade was Venrius’ personal command ship.
Sure enough, a few moments later, a visual link was established. The Star Eater was rushing through space, its jaws slightly parted as though it was continuously snarling. According to their readings, the creature’s speed would bring it into weapons' range in mere minutes.
The enraged beast bore upon them; the instant it crossed the threshold into range, the defenders let loose with a salvo of rockets, missiles, warheads and projectiles. The assembled soldiers expected the attack to stun the creature as the previous missile waves had done; perhaps they would also strike one of the monster’s wounds and deal additional damage…but it was not to be.
Whether the invader had been overconfident in its abilities before, or it had decided to toy with the insignificant specks and allow their pitiful weaponry to strike it, no one there knew. Now, however, the beast was no longer playing; its glorious body had been marred and wracked with pain; it was blind in one eye, its wings torn, its hand mutilated. It had been denied a gluttonous feast and all of this at the minuscule hands of dirt dwellers with a few metallic hives. Its mind was a furnace of rage, agony, and hunger, all joining together to create a plume of smoke that coalesced into a single, searing thought:
Destroy.
As the innumerable weapons and attacks raced to intercept their target, the Star Eater put on a burst of speed and darted in another direction. The brave warriors of the Empire and Imperium could only look on in horror as countless projectiles continued sailing on through empty space. While the point-and-shoot weapons now proved useless, the missiles were able to change course and follow their target. A few of them collided in mid-course correction, destroying them and creating a chain reaction that destroyed other rockets around them, but most of them managed to change course successfully and draw closer to the creature.
At first, it looked as though the destroyer would try to dodge the remaining projectiles as well. It zipped and spiraled through space, changing course once, twice, three times, and each time the weapons self-corrected to follow their target. Just as it looked like the monstrosity would start another round of evasive maneuvers, it instead wheeled around and unleashed a torrent of golden fire.
The organic flame consumed hundreds of missiles and warheads, their explosions being swallowed by the overwhelming flame of the beast, as the creature moved its head to sweep through the bulk of the incoming attacks and destroying the majority of them.
A smattering of rockets made it through the blast zone intact, zeroing in on their target. The Star Eater put on another burst of speed, putting distance between itself and the incoming barrage. When it reached what it felt was an appropriate distance, the extragalactic creature’s head snapped around and released short bursts of fire. The flames struck their targets dead-on, consuming the last of the barrage in a series of explosions.
The beast wasted no time reveling in its victory. Its tattered wings extended and the enraged monster took off like a shot toward the fleet, evasively snaking through space.
The multitude of species could only watch in stunned horror as their attack petered out into nothing. Every eye, sensor and telepathic consciousness was fixed on the incoming destroyer, its chaotic movements making it difficult for the automated weapon systems to get a lock.
Those on the bridge of the Firestorm were shaken out of their malaise by a sudden announcement from the communications officer.
“Captain Krum, sir, message from the Emperor’s Blade.”
The Crag officer pulled up the message on his TIG, after which he said: “All ships are to fire at will. Corporal Krunkle, prepare to engage,”
Slog swallowed dryly before tightening his grip on the massive weapon’s controls. The targeting display lit up, and the digital crosshairs tried vainly to lock on to the rapidly approaching enemy. Slog cursed under his breath as he disabled the auto-lock feature. The targeting reticule snapped to the middle of the screen and Slog began maneuvering the warship into a better firing angle. The helmsman, a steady-handed android, matched his calculations to actually bring the vessel to bear.
Multicolored beams of energy began to fill the starscape as the other assembled ships began enacting the admiral’s orders. Many of the shots missed by a wide margin, the creature’s speed taking it out of range of the attacks by the time the gunners had pulled the trigger. A few shots managed to connect, and more than once, the horror’s dodging actually caused it to hit a few beams, bolts and blasts that would have otherwise missed. Unfortunately, the pitiful amount of damage being inflicted was doing nothing but infuriating the beast further.
Slog began charging the main weapon of his ship, the massive destructive power slowly accumulating. He then fed a stream of adjustment recommendations to the helm, trying to line up a shot that would intercept with the monster’s chaotic path when his weapon finished charging. 'It'll never hit,' a tiny voice in the back of his head began pestering him, 'the creature will be on the fleet before you can fire.' With a frustrated growl, he mentally stifled the pessimistic voice, rededicating his focus to the battle.
Slog wasn’t the only one scrambling to act against the nightmare’s rapid approach. While some of the ships began firing more missiles and trying to catch the creature in an expanding wave of continuous fire, others were trying to break formation, either to try and attack the enemy from a different angle or gain some distance from the beast. Two vessels brushed toge
ther briefly, causing their shields to flare, but otherwise passing by intact; a smaller ship was not so lucky, as a massive destroyer tried to reverse course and alter direction, only to collide with a nearby frigate. The larger vessel’s shields overwhelmed the smaller ones, and the protective barrier repelled the unprotected frigate into another cruiser. The vulnerable vessel collided with the strong shields, smashing into it with enough force to dent the frigate and bend its formerly razor-straight profile. Its engines and lights flickered vainly, trying to stay on, before going dark and leaving the vessel drifting dead in space. The ship it had collided with lowered its shields to release rescue ships while continuing to engage the Star Eater.
Slog’s rough tongue licked his dry, leathery lips. The readout was slowly encroaching full charge. If Slog had been somewhere where he could see his ship, he would’ve seen the light accumulating in the barrel of the massive ship-weapon. Boiling plasma, heated and shaped into a white-hot sphere, grew larger and larger, each moment bringing it closer to firing.
Slog’s eyes flickered from the readout to the advancing adversary. The creature was still moving evasively, but had closed the distance enough to use its flame. Streams of golden fire shot through cold space, striking one ship after another. Smaller vessels, like the unlucky frigate, were overwhelmed by even the less powerful attacks, which evaporated them instantly. Larger warships were able to take the brunt of the blasts head-on, some losing their shields, others having some of their armor plating melted and warped. Attack Group Inferno and Scorpio fleet spread apart, giving the assembled ships more maneuvering room. A few foolhardy ships raced directly toward the attacker. The Iceheart, a battleship that had spent the last twenty years fighting the Imperium, now found itself flanked by a trio of Golden ships; yellow, orange and pink energy beams all lanced forward, converging on the target. The Star Eater roared silently and moved to engage the ships. It shot forward, heedless of the blasts striking it, seeking only to destroy.
Slog could nothing but watch helplessly as the beast fell in upon the quartet of ships. Its mighty tail lashed out and caught an Imperium vessel midship; the long, thin, tri-horned vessel snapped in half like a piece of dry wood; the other two Imperium ships moved to engage the creature and avenge their fallen emperor and comrades. Their weapons unloaded, dozens of golden beams pricking the Star Eater’s wounded hide. The creature unleashed gout of flame that incinerated one of the ships, before moving to physically grab the last one. Its mighty claw and impossibly strong arms overwhelmed the Imperium ship’s paltry shields, and the beast’s claws punctured the metal like a ripe fruit. The Star Eater strained briefly before its titanic strength ripped the vessel in two, explosions, debris and personnel emerging from the holes in the two halves. The creature, satisfied with its work, turned its attention to the remaining Imperial ship.
Slog was so transfixed on the slaughter that he was oblivious to the beeping coming from his instruments. He tore his gaze away to see what was demanding his attention:
The weapon was fully charged.
Slog swallowed hard once again before deactivating the safeties. He fed his adjustment needs to the helmsman, who slowly, agonizingly, moved the vessel into firing position. Slog watched as the targeting reticule moved over the nightmare, moving closer to its torso. Just as the beast was preparing to unleash more of its fire, the reticule turned red.
Slog pulled the triggers with all the strength of his miss-matched hands, a roar of anger and bloodlust escaping his lips.
From the barrel of the massive weapon that comprised the Firestorm, a huge ball of white-hot plasma, large enough to consume any vessel smaller than a destroyer, shot out into space. The monumental projectile flew towards its target, which was unaware of the approaching attack; the Star Eater had fallen upon the Iceheart, battering the ship with its claws and tail, while preparing to melt it with its flames.
The blast struck the beast in the back. It silently screamed in searing pain as the boiling plasma burned away scales, flesh and muscle. Its wings were devastated as the thin membrane burned away like leaves in an inferno. The momentum of the blast carried the beast away from the battle, its limp tail smacking into the weakened Iceheart, but not destroying it.
The Star Eater tumbled through space until the massive orb of energy burned itself out. Even then, it continued to drift along, its back laid open down to the spine, its wings shorn in half, and a massive black patch of seared flesh serving as a testament to its last injury.
A cheer went up on the bridge of the Firestorm. The Imperial soldiers were whooping in victory, stamping their feet and hugging friends and colleagues. Even Captain Krum looked satisfied at what they had done. Slog wished he could join in, but he felt numb and drained; at that moment, all he wanted was to be back with his squad somewhere quiet with a strong, cold drink in his hand.
Captain Krum raised his hand to end the celebrations. “Well done, everyone, but we’re not finished yet. I’m sure the Emperor won’t want anything less than the complete annihilation of that monstrosity. And I’m sure Admiral Venrius will want the credit, so we’ll find out what he wants us to do.”
The bridge quieted down as everyone moved to follow the captain’s orders. Slog, who had been moving to release the straps so he could stand up, sighed and settled back in. After everything that had happened, he supposed he could hold off on relaxing for the sake of caution.
The Star Eater swam in a comatose sea of pain. The cold of space helped to numb the seared flesh, but the wound was so egregious that it continued to burn agonizingly even through the creature’s unconscious state. Its eyelids fluttered open and closed rapidly as the apex predator hovered between life and death, its limp body floating through the empty void, unaware of the fleet of ships bearing down on it.
The combined fleets of Inferno and Scorpio moved to finish what so many had died trying to accomplish: the utter destruction of the extragalactic invader. Admiral Venrius wanted the finishing blow to be close and personal, despite the objections of many of the ship captains. However, when the leader of the Imperium fleet agreed to the plan, the lower officers could only bite their tongues, stifle their replies, and follow the orders.
The Emperor’s Blade and the Gilded Stinger, command ships of their respective fleets, led the charge toward the inert form of their dreaded enemy. The Firestorm, given its invaluable assistance, was permitted to join the two command ships at the head of the force. Slog wondered what the point was, given it would take the weapon several minutes to cool and recharge, relegating the Firestorm to use its minimal ship weapons.
The mass of ships reached a distance that in astronomical terms was within arm’s reach of the target. The two fleets with the three leading ships came to a stop, as weapons were brought to bear on the seemingly-lifeless creature. A message from Venrius was broadcasted throughout the Imperial fleet:
“Let this day serve as a reminder and a warning to all those that would seek to oppose our glorious Empire! All ships, you are clear to fire after the Blade, Firestorm and Imperium ships engage. For the Empire!”
Slog snorted; big talk from a fellow who sneered and saber-rattled at his erstwhile allies from behind their back.
The three lead ships powered up their lasers, plasma emitters, railguns and missile ports; the assembled ships around them doing like-wise, waiting for their moment to strike.
The Emperor’s Blade fired a split second before the Gilded Stinger. Orange and indigo beams struck the motionless behemoth. The Firestorm opened up with its own meager weapons, purple and pink beams mingling with the torrents of energy from the larger ships.
The beams struck the beast dead on, its paralyzed body an easy target for the advanced weapon systems of the warships. The new, fresh sensation of pain was like an ocean of cold water to the Star Eater’s face. Its eyes snapped open and a roar of agony escaped its maw that went unheard in the silent vacuum. To the observers waiting to unleash their own firepower, its re-awakening went unnoticed as its mo
vements were mistaken for involuntary death throes.
The barrage stopped and the beast had a split second to react. Before any other ship could commence firing, the creature sprang to life, its ravaged wings spreading painfully to once again increase its speed. The dumbfounded soldiers watched as their unholy adversary, once more thought defeated, came to life and began silently screaming for blood.
The Star Eater lashed out with flames of rage. The Blade’s shields shimmered as it held back the attack, its barrage brought to a halt as all necessary power was diverted to the protective barrier. Orders quickly went through the fleet to make way for the command ship’s maneuvering. But the beast fell upon its pray, its fury, pain and hunger fueling its fire, which continued to wash over the shield as the massive creature collided with the vessel, wrapping its massive tail around the rapidly fading shield. It began pummeling the shield with its damaged claws, raining down blow after blow upon the faltering protection.
As the creature attacked with single minded determination, its adversaries were not idle. The ships of Inferno and Scorpio fleets attempted to spread out, avoid collisions, and continue firing on the target without accidentally hitting the besieged Blade. The monster used its damaged wings to shield itself from the incoming blasts, the pain lost within the inferno of agony that already wracked its body. However, one ship was not willing to be ignored: the Gilded Stinger, rather than retreating to give itself more maneuvering room, or at the very least, try to avoid becoming the creature’s next target, instead reoriented itself and began unloading with all of its available weapons. When its attack path brought it around to the beast’s back, its barrage ceased, and its main weapon, a curved, stinger-like structure bending above the vessel, began to power up. Its tip started to glow with an intense, yellow light, and after a few moments, it unleashed a short, concentrated beam of energy.