The weapons hummed to life and spat electromagnetically sealed spears of plasma from both sides of the warrior, the bolts ripping apart flesh and sealing the wounds before the seal broke and exploded outwards. In a shower of genetically engineered flesh and blood, the creature’s head and throat disintegrated. The drone moved upwards, to gain distance from the body of the creature as it fell, only this time it didn’t fall. The wings stopped moving for but a second, the head reappearing on the creature’s neck and snapping once more at the Corporation Commander.
“So it’s like that.” He stated and kicked off the drone, his apparatus powering up and blessing him with the god-like ability of flight. In the heat of battle, the comparison of Azhulhand with a vengeful deity was often made, and the harrier was given the opportunity to view one of his many deific powers granted by the exceptional piece of technology that embraced his form. The creature swerved to the left and brought one bladed claw to bear, Azhulhand promptly removed the claw with a single bolt of plasma from his antique weapon, leaving a smoldering stump where it had been. The creature roared in pain, doubling back and snapping its jaws at him once more. The Commander leapt into the maw of the creature, the weapon his left hand replaced with a small, unassuming metallic staff. The new weapon was another reliquary object he’d picked up from his conquests, though it was never considered a weapon in anyone else’s hands. It was entirely for utility, but he loved to be different than the others.
The staff expanded as he jammed one part of it into the creature’s top gums and waited for it to clamp down around him, as instinct dictated it would. The bottom part of the staff pierced into the lower jaw as Azhulhand hit the button on the side of the ornately engraved metallic staff. The weapon had within it wires and virtual computer systems that processed enormous amounts of spatial data and with special onboard sensors it could “fix” itself to a certain point in space and time. The object had been discovered aboard a dying planet, and the true workings of the technology had vanished with the death of the planet. A scientist had copied the technology and uploaded the ability to create it within the Library, but no division of the Corporation had really taken interest in it. Immovable objects fascinated Azhulhand almost as much as an unstoppable force would. And now he held some fantastical creature by the jaws, hooked by such a fascinating object. The creature, if it were intelligent in any real sense, would have been able to maneuver around it but that was not the case. It started to panic and thrash around, the dank darkness of its maw still holding the bite-sized commander within its mouth. He smirked, drawing the second weapon from his shoulder again and aiming them both down its throat.
Like a bubble being slowly inflated from the tip of a toy, plasma spheres erupted from the tips of his weapons. The electrical static between the two spheres created a tense atmosphere as the weapons reached critical mass and dripped the spheres from the tips. The bubbles bounced down the harrier’s throat, burning and tearing flesh as it went before the fields were breached and the brilliant energy was set free. The sudden release of energy evaporated flesh and removed the bottom half of the creature, organs and gore raining down to the grassy field below. Azhulhand exited the mouth of the creature and floated within the air, the drone coming back to grip him. The deflated, balloon-like flesh of the eviscerated creature was still trapped by the immovable hook it was caught on. Satisfied it couldn’t regenerate from that damage, he grabbed the staff and returned it to its rightful place tucked in the back of his waist. The vestige of the creature dropped from the sky, never to return.
“Well. That was ostentatious.” Reinholdt said, not showing any amusement from the battle.
“I’m entertained it could regenerate so well. We really need to figure out how they do that trick. Could you imagine, regenerating soldiers?” He said to his space-faring companion.
“I can imagine a lot, it’s what makes me good at my job. Speaking of which, I’ve dispatched more unmanned craft to the planet’s surface. I’ve come up with a solution to the ground-war that’s coming your way.” Reinholdt responded.
In his glorious execution of the near-magical beast he had just had the honor of slaying, Azhulhand almost forgot about the army at this doorstep. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the normal troops of the Cydrakian army, it was just that they never really died. A fact that always bothered him, that no matter how many warriors he cut down they would come back as an eventuality. The Cydrakians were not flesh and blood, but composed of energy and only temporarily inhabited physical form for the purpose of procreation or building their world. Many philosophers (humans of course) had theorized that the next step of evolution was a metaphysical existence over a corporeal one, but on Cydrak they believed the two should not be mutually exclusive.
He dropped down with the speed of the drone to surface, where he landed on the grass in the exact same spot he left. His golden armor still spattered with the harrier’s lifeblood, the only change was his grin. He motioned for his men and took off at a jog, speeding up to a full running gait. His men struggled to follow him at first, unsure of what their commander was doing. This time he held no weapons at ready, and seemed to be a mad man running into the lion’s den. His squad of twelve caught up to him by the time he was within sight of the enemy, the dark-skinned and lightly armored Cydrakian’s raising their weapons and shouting their words of warning. Every soldier had received a device in their suits capable of translating the language of the Cydrakian people. It was a guttural and harsh language, but comprised of beautiful and savage poetic phrases.
“The whispers have reached our ears
Your blood cannot flow here any longer
Leave us now to build our nests
Or may your bones fortify our walls.”
They chanted these verses in song and postured their weapons to invoke fear in men that could not feel it. The Corporation men raised their weapons, and the Cydrakians responded in kind by raising theirs higher. They had come to know each other so well, friend and foe that had become like a family in arms. Two generations of Corporation soldiers and one long blood-line of Cydrakians had fought over the ground on which they now stood for so long. And to what purpose? Azhulhand hoped that one day he’d discover the weapon they were sent to retrieve, and hoped it would be so painfully obvious once he figure it out that he’d hate himself for failing to see it earlier. Azhulhand raised his hands and pointed behind the hundreds of men before him, who turned at the long shadow that covered their forms. Reinholdt hadn’t sent an unmanned drone, he had decided to grace them with his own presence.
This ship was a destruction barge capable of rocking the entire planet with its payload, and it wasn’t even a quarter of the size of the Eldritch Glaive. The ship dropped straight out of orbit and had paused its descent just above the army, with its massive cannons aimed straight at them. The Cydrakians raised their weapons and shouted louder, and Reinholdt and Azhulhand joined each other in a chorus of laughter. He pulled his sword from his back as mortars of plasma and projectiles bombarded the ground and split the ground open so flames and earth could consume whole the very natives who sought to protect it. Azhulhand was entertained this day, and thus he and his men charged forward to join in the massacre. One day, I’ll get to leave this cursed place. But not today. He mused to himself.
Azhulhand never liked being without his armor, but he hated the blood soaking into the gold more. He sat at a cheaply made iron desk, leaning back in a sturdy and comfortable chair. The desk didn’t matter much to him, as he never wrote any reports. He’d hired someone specifically to handle that task for him, as his hands were meant to hold a weapon and not a writing utensil. He’d heard an Earth phrase once about the pen being mightier than the sword, and he’d never been able to make sense of it. He’d wielded a hundred different weapons and a few pens, and he’d never managed how to slay a harrier with a pen. Thick and acrid smoke wafted from the desk, he inhaled it with a sharp breath and let it filter into his lungs. The smoke was not for pleasur
e, though there was a relaxing effect to it. This smoke was designed to filter out some of the toxins from the environment below and scrub his lungs a little cleaner. The rebreathers fitted onto the suits helped from the major toxins, but the minor ones were quite persistent in clinging to his insides. Having been on this world longer than perhaps any other alien had been, he was certain it would be the death of him. Not the glorious death at the hand of a soldier, but the death of an old man who couldn’t breathe of his own power any more.
He retched and spat up a blob of pink substance, spitting it into the disposal unit near the desk. The smoke ceased to fill the area, and a pleasant smell of roasting meat filled his office instead. Ah was he hungry! He was larger than most Corporation men in the way of rippling muscle and a hearty stomach, he wasn’t afraid of food and told his men to be the same. They shouldn’t be in constant fear of their own physiques, but seek balance instead. He ate well, he fought well, and he played well. He had no fear of his own desires or of his own power. He was still the strongest aboard the Eldritch Glaive and he was still the hungriest. The cloned food appeared in a tray from a drawer within the desk, piping hot and steaming. He set the plate on the desk and started eating it in a primitive and viscious fashion. He had no time for slow meals nor manners, as he had much to do in his waking time before catching an hour or two of sleep. It often bothered him thinking that humans could sleep between four and eight hours! How did they get anything accomplished with so much downtime? He was appalled at the very idea of spending so much time asleep.
“Azhulmand. Reinholdt calling, we have a visitor from home.”
“I’ll be down shortly.” He replied.
He finished consuming his meal with the same grace the harrier on the planet had given him. He wiped his mouth clean and made his way into the hallway, missing his armor. He felt naked though the fine blue fabric fitted him well. The Eldritch Glaive was too large for him to traverse on foot, a fast moving elevator near his personal quarters offered him much quicker travel. He operated the console, punching in the destination and feeling the elevator vanish from inside the ship and appear on the outside, following a track through space to the otherside of the Glaive. The ship had served him well as weapon and home for much of his life, and the ship’s Captain had served him well as a friend and comrade in arms. There was little else he needed. His wife and children were off somewhere else and he still sent them home portions of wages, but he was like to never see them again in his lifetime. That didn’t matter to him, he only took a wife and created offspring out of a sense of duty. Some Corporation scholars believed in love and the benefits of it, but he believed in conquest, honor, and little else.
The elevator wasted no time in taking him along the sides of the spiraling starship, a capital ship of exquisite and impossible quality. He was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the humans had never seen anything close to the majesty of the Eldritch Glaive, and they never would. The ship had a central body that was surrounded by a shifting set of branches that served as both defenses and practical pieces. The ship, when stationary, functioned much like a space station and housed nearly a hundred thousand men at any given time. Ships came and went, resupplying and exporting the resources they’d taken from the planet and her surrounding moons. Reinholdt was never very happy with the way his ship sat there, and would take the barge out as often as he could though it didn’t have the same effect. Reinholdt could manipulate the Glaive in ways that made every ship captain who witnessed her in battle jealous. The Glaive was capable of shifting to meet with any situation in battle and had no blind-sides, every part of the ship was manned and could be made into a potential firing arc. The assortment of weapons within the ship was the most complete in the fleet and had an answer for most defensive systems.
Azhulhand couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride as his elevator docked and released him into the core of the ship, where the armor and defenses were the thickest. His feet were clad in soft-soled shoes, and the metal of the ship did his worn feet few favors. It occurred to him that he was in quite relaxed dress, and if there was an official consult here from home it might have been better to switch to ceremonial gear. He dismissed the thought as he made his way to the council-room, where they had all of their meetings. Sometimes he and Reinholdt sealed the doors and kicked back a couple of drinks, it was the only way to loosen Reinholdt up and get him to start having a bit of fun. Yes their lives were short and filled with turmoil, but there was no reason they couldn’t release some steam away from their subordinates. Most of the men that came to their ship either died there or stayed with them with few reassignments. Corporation headquarters insisted that their mission was of utmost importance, but like the heads of many government departments they hadn’t done their job well enough or the two Commanders would have gotten what they wanted already.
The door shimmered and vanished, the seal breaking away as he entered into the round room. A slender, obsidian table filled the center of the room and provided all the space an entire regiment of officers would need to get orders. This time there were only the three of them. Reinholdt was dressed in his blue ceremonial Commander’s garb, complete with his dark-blue cover and long white gloves. His sidearm was visible and that was pretty much all it was. Reinholdt could use a pistol as well as anyone else, he just preferred to use a high-frequency transmitter to call in an air-strike much better. His eyes were brown and his face had the same-bulging features that most other Corporation men had. Azhulhand was considered homely and unbecoming due to the lack of bulging features and a more sunken face, but Reinholdt had never considered him anything other than a prime specimen of a Corporation man. Few could accomplish what they had together, and even less could do what Azhulhand had done on his own.
A woman stood in the center of the room, leaning against a tall chair. Her features were soft, feminine, but her face was tight and stretched like most Corporation women. Azhulhand figured she was about as attractive as his wife was, but he didn’t suffer the same desires that being isolated in space put on other men. He nodded to Reinholdt, offering her a curt stare before making his way to her and reaching out with his hand. She grabbed it and their eyes met for a moment, his a deep gold and hers a bright red like the harrier he’d killed earlier. Her hair was black and sat on her shoulders, a smile plastered on her artificially plump lips. Corporation women were easily jealous of other species and had taken the art of “plumping” themselves up to match more of the popular human women. Breasts, backsides, and lips. The vanity was lost on the men who decided to spend their money on more viable combat-based upgrades, but they supposed it didn’t matter to them what women-folk spent their money on.
“So, you come from HQ?” Azhulhand said.
“I come from the highest known office in the nearby section. HQ hasn’t been transmitting as of late, an assumption is that a solar storm has interfered with communications. We’ve sent an exploratory vessel to check it out. But as you know, most of HQ’s assets have been relocated. My name is Gin Klaril, and I am under the command of Section Commander Darvin. He received your request.” She said, her voice a snobbish tone of one who had spent a good deal of time in luxury. He hated that tone, and by Reinholdt’s gaze he knew he wasn’t alone.
“So Darvin assumes he is in charge then?”
“And why wouldn’t he? He is a Section Commander, not simply a battlegroup commander like yourself. So by all technicalities, he outranks you.” She said.
“That notion is ridiculous. He’s a Section Commander, which means he controls a few planets and a scattered fleet in charge of protecting it. I control the Golden Glory battlegroup, and we’re supported by the Eldritch Fleet, combined our influence is much higher than his!”
“Anyways, your request has been denied.” She said, not giving a single thought to his opinion on the matter of who was in charge in the situation.
“Denied? On what grounds? Without HQ’s orders, there is nothing more for us to do here. We’ve swept every
part of the planet and found nothing on the surface that could interest us save for a few labs and knowledge banks. We’ve taken all of that, and all of the data on DNA manipulation is inconclusive. The Blood Hunt has been called, and it is our RIGHT to pursue it!” He was angry, something that didn’t happen often. The idea that he’d have to wage yet another campaign against Cydrak with no further directions in lieu of pursuing a worthy challenger was bothersome beyond words.
“Don’t yell at me. I’m just telling you what I was told to say.” She said.
“You couldn’t have sent us a message?” Reinholdt said, his arms behind his back as he spoke, showing stress but much calmer than his friend.
“His lordship was afraid that it may become lost to the solar storm.”
“Which is nowhere near our sector.” Reinholdt said.
“I can’t speak for his intentions. Only that I was to come here, address both of you and explain to you that you are not to leave this post for a Blood Hunt or any other reason. In fact, I am to remain on the station until I am recalled back to Darvin.” She smirked.
“The hell-“ Azhulhand said, interrupted by a wave of Reinholdt’s extraordinarily long hand. He sighed and sat down in one of the plush seats arranged around the table.
Rebirth (Rebel Wars Book 2) Page 5