04-13-2016, 03:45 PM
Ratione looked over the field, all black and burnt and ash. What was once fertile land, countless rows of crops bending in the wind as amber waves, was now a dead husk. On the horizon, a dark and roaring mass was making its way to him and his fellow Novans. The Sar-kuhn.
Their army was vast, flooding over the crest of a hill. A great, black flood washing over the emptiness. Ratione looked behind himself, his eyes scanning his own numbers. A hundred or so Novan soldiers, Furtumin, and mechanized units. They were all worn and battered, having barely survived the seige. Yet all were ready, ready for him to lead them into battle. He could feel the wounds under his bandages, sore beneath his new jumpsuit and armour. It had been removed from a Furtumin that had died while fighting Esergüütsel’s warriors, still with gashes and dents in it. Ratione felt a strange pride, yet sickness wearing a fallen Furtumin’s armour. He looked down at the helmet in his hands, staring into its visor. Once he put it on, he would not be able to take it off. He would die wearing it. He would die as he lived. Roaring, roaring and soaked in blood.
Some men would break. He could see the fear in their eyes, see how they were trying to make peace with themselves. Amongst many grizzled men, were too many boys. It was not how it should be. None of this was.
He threw the helmet on, strapping it down and locking it to the rest of his armour. The HUD booted up and the on-board computer registered several points of structural damage. He then turned back, mounting a mechanical raptor, riding up next the field captains that rode their own live raptors.
“Let me give a last word to the men? We have some time before they meet us.” The field captains looked at each, then back to him, nodding. Ratione thanked them, trotting out and away and turning up his helmet’s speakers so everyone could both see and hear him.
“Brothers! Hear me, brothers!” His voice was magnified enough that it echoed into the ruined city behind them, catching everyone’s attention. Ratione paused for a moment, mulling over his next words as the crowd shifted.
“We are all going to die.”
There was an eerie silence, and no one moved. No one spoke. Ratione’s voice rose up again after a long moment. “We are all going to die, brothers. Every last one of us. You all know we are here to give the civilian transports time to gather enough supplies in order to make the trip to the closest colony, and we cannot go with them. They need as few people as they can, and we will not waste this opportunity we have been given. The Sar-kuhn navy has agreed to our terms, so the refugees will leave unopposed.” The Furtumin began trotting to the side slowly, making sure he met everyone’s eyes.
“We are going to die, brothers. But they will live. If you have wives that are leaving, they will live on to bear your children and tell your tale. If you have sons or daughters, they will live on to continue your bloodline and tell your tale. If you have mothers or fathers, they will live on to tell your tale. If you have friends, they will live on to tell your tale. And if you have no one, no one at all to remember you, then scholars will write your name down in history as one of the noble few who stood against the horde of the many. Look to your brothers in arms, those of you with no one. We are your family, we are your friends. We forever will be, in glory and in honour. Because even though we die today, in this battle, we will live on. We will be remembered for how we died. We will not falter, we will not give in, we will not lay down our arms and allow ourselves to be wiped away by these mad beasts. For we are civilization. We are progress. We are the fire that drives out the forces that would keep everything from the stars. We are the masters of our own path. We are the writers of our own tales.”
Ratione trotted back to the center, looking over one last time. These men that were about to be slaughtered with a smile on their faces.
“We are Nova! We are Novans! And we will fight! We will die!”
As ironic as it was, a great roar of cheering and shouting came from the small army. Linemen and vaulters raised their spears and swords. Shield-bearers banged their shields. Mechs stomped the ground, causing massive tremors. Cavalry tore the muzzles off their raptors, throwing them high into the air, their steeds hissing and roaring, eager for blood.
Ratione smiled, laughing in delight, and a hint of surprise. He turned his mechanical raptor to the enemy, the other field captains trotting up to him.
“Good speech.” One of them complimented. He nodded in response before they continued on their way to the other cavalry. Ratione moved through the ranks, taking up position behind the forward lines where he could command the men best. The soldiers milled about, getting into formation. Once everything was in order, Ratione turned his speakers back on.
“Forward, march!” He drew his blade, pointing it forward. “Steady, pace!” Slowly, an army of a hundred and fifty Novan soldiers began marching unto a force that numbered in the thousands.
“Cavalry, sides!” The raptors split in half to the left and right, covering the flanks. Behind the front line, Armours stomped forward with Furtumin riding on their backs. At the very rear of the formation, archers readied their arrows, guard by a few vaulters and shield-bearers.
There was a consistent sound of boots thumping against the ground, equipment and armour rattling, the sounds of an army marching to certain death.
“They’re sending a detachment to meet us at the front!” Someone at the head shouted, and Ratione craned his head to see that in fact a Sar-kuhn formation had broken off from the main force. What was the plan here then? Why were they not sending they’re entire army at them?
Ratione spoke too soon, as suddenly the entire army split up into formations. Slowly, they began moving around the Novan army, completely surrounding them. The Furtumin felt his heart beating fast, his breath becoming short. Ratione rode through the ranks, out front, addressing the men.
“Form yourselves around the archers! Cavalry form a ring around the line men! Protect the archers!” Keeping with their pace, the linemen, vaulters, and shield-bearers rearranged themselves in a circle closing around the archers. The cavalry surrounded them, ready to charge out in all directions.
“When they meet us, they will surround us quickly! Do not hesitate! Do not falter!” He continued ordering the men into position as the enemy closed in around them, coming from all sides. “Hold now! Hold and let them come at us!”
The whole formation stopped, waiting and ready. A black ocean of death crashing down on them. The ground began to shake, the thunder of thousands of feet belonging thousands of bestial warriors coming at them full speed. The barking and howling grew louder as they got closer. Ratione felt his heart jumping out of his chest.
“Cavalry! Fan out!” The raptors all moved outward, so they could meet the Sar-kuhn in the middle. They would cut down as many as they could, slowly retreating after first contact. When they came back to the linemen, they would fall behind them to rest as the frontline began working on the Lupus. The archers would also continuously volley in all directions, far ahead of the vaulters and cavalry once they came back out. The shield-bearers would make sure that the formation did not break, and that the small Novan circle lasted as long as it could.
Ratione looked forward, into the black wave collapsing down on him. For a long, quiet moment all was silent to him. He didn’t hear the chanting, he didn’t see a great mass descending upon him. He didn’t even smell his own breath coming off the visor or feel the weight of his armour.
Instead, he stood in small house on the outside of town, preparing a meal for his daughter and Amica. The steam of the pot rose up to meet his nose, twitching and taking in the aroma of home cooking. He could hear Bonent squealing as Amica sprayed her with the garden hose. They were both soaking wet. Ratione smiled, he knew he should scold them, but, they were just having fun. Yes, having fun, on a warm and sunny day.
The Sar-kuhn were only a small ways in front of him. They were snarling, barking, growling at him. Furious and enraged and thirsty for vengeance. The Novan looked to either side, then back to his fellow Novans clustered in a small circle of pikes and swords and shields.
Ratione drew his blade, raising it high, and shouting into the setting sun.
“Infina viv Nova!”
He kicked his mechanical raptor into gear, and it lunged forward into a fray of fur and blades. He thrust into his blade into the skulls and maws of countless Sar-kuhn, slashing at their arms before they could bring down clubs and maces and axes. The mechanical raptor cued its automated head movements, biting and chewing on any exposed flesh. Next to him, fellow Novans hacked and slashed into the enemy, letting out cries of agony and fear. They fought with the strength of a cornered animal that was sick of trying to survive in the dirt and mud, a species that had conquered the stars after being beaten down so hard into the ground of their own planet. The rage of something that would never be held down again.
For what felt like an eternity, they kept moving back and cutting down the front line one at a time. The ring of cavalry was tight enough that few broke through to meet the linemen, and those that did were stuck with pikes. Slowly, Ratione and the cavalry made their way back to the men. The furtumin looked to the ground, seeing piles of black-furred bodies strewn everywhere, some limp sets of Novan armour.
Ratione and the others fell back behind the linemen, who held fast against the black tide. They thrust into the enemy’s numbers, planting the ends into the ground as the vaulters grabbed on. Since there was no room to provide a running start, there were two linemen to a pike, who pushed up and into the air so the vaulter could get over. They crashed down into a surging black sea of howling warriors, twirling and spinning about and dancing as their short-swords and rent flesh from bone and heads from their shoulders, glove-shields cracking skulls and bones of limbs. Many fell both immediately and a while after they landed, but most made it back into the group. A second wave of vaulters went over, and behind them a volley of arrows arced over their heads almost blotting out what little sun remained.
The volley soared over deep into the Sar-kuhn, most of them bringing up shields to block the arrows but were completely overwhelmed by the sheer number and density.
Yet they still kept coming, kept flooding onto the small cluster in the center. Ratione readied his blade, calling to the other cavalry. They formed up right behind the shield bearers, ready to open the smallest possible gaps to let them back into the fray.
Again, and again, and again.
All around, brothers lay dead. All around, swords and shields littered the ashen field. A single man, a single fighter, stood. He looked over it all, the black wave of his enemy having been reduced to a ripple.
Even so, he would not win this battle. His body was tired, his armour and sword heavy. He let them drop to the ground, and fell to his knees. Over the horizon, light peeked above the top of a mountain. His helmet did not let him see the light, and he wished to enjoy the sunrise. Slowly, the lone man slid off the helmet, the smell of blood and ash meeting his nose, cool morning air brushing up against his cheeks. The light of sunrise pierced his eyes, and he raised his arm so he could see.
Before him, a silhouette appeared. His eyes adjusted, and he could see a single one of his enemy standing in front of him. It did not hold fury in its eyes, it was not howling or barking or shouting at him. It stood there, with a single blade in one hand, looking down at him with a tired gaze.
The man asked if he could sing a song, and his was obliged.
Ratione gasped for air, feeling his lungs burn as they struggled to expand.
His body thrashed about in the void, muscles going into spasms as they were suddenly re-animated.
The Novan could feel the words bellowing in his own mind. He did not feel his own ears vibrating, the voice was in his head. Before him, his bloodshot and bulging eyes were locked on the bright white figure of bizarre proportions and faceless skull. Only a wide, grinning mouth full of white teeth was discernable, moving as if to speak.
Ratione could feel his consciousness being bombarded with information, unable to hold back the onslaught.
The bright white figure held out a sphere, glowing and bright as his own skin.
What? How was something like that possible? Was it raw energy?
Death? Had he fallen? Then why was he here, in this place? Had all the men come with him? Where was his army?
Waiting for what?!
The clear water was temporarily tainted as a shower of bile ejected from the Furtumin’s throat, past chapped lips. Ratione had barely eaten in two days, so very little of his stomach’s contents came up, which inexplicably faded into the pool. Not that the Novan noticed, as his senses were completely shot other than vision. He could still feel all of the blades and maces tearing him into pieces, smell the spit sweat and steel, taste blood in his mouth, and the babbling of the white fountain did nothing to quiet the screams.
Slanted eyes gazed into a watery reflection. There were no wounds, there was no blood, everything was intact. Ratione looked to the helmet he had ripped off as soon as he had gained consciousness, his eyes widening to see it was his own. Not the other Furtumin’s armor he had been borrowing.
The whole thing was making the old man’s head spin, and his armored hands gripped the edge of the pool tightly. It was all he could do to just stand there, never breathing hard or deep enough to soothe his insides, occasionally spitting, sweat drenching his short hair and dripping off his nose and chin.
Soon sensation rushed back into the Novan’s body, and the exhaustion in his limbs caused his whole mass to fall over onto the wall. His chest slamming against the corner, Ratione could feel the air rush out of his lungs again for a second before filling back in. The Furtumin shook as he struggled to right himself, boots weakly scraping against whatever the ground was made of. Eventually, the whole suit of power armor toppled over.
Ratione laid there on his side, sputtering and with eyes jumping all over, trembling voice slightly whimpering.
Their army was vast, flooding over the crest of a hill. A great, black flood washing over the emptiness. Ratione looked behind himself, his eyes scanning his own numbers. A hundred or so Novan soldiers, Furtumin, and mechanized units. They were all worn and battered, having barely survived the seige. Yet all were ready, ready for him to lead them into battle. He could feel the wounds under his bandages, sore beneath his new jumpsuit and armour. It had been removed from a Furtumin that had died while fighting Esergüütsel’s warriors, still with gashes and dents in it. Ratione felt a strange pride, yet sickness wearing a fallen Furtumin’s armour. He looked down at the helmet in his hands, staring into its visor. Once he put it on, he would not be able to take it off. He would die wearing it. He would die as he lived. Roaring, roaring and soaked in blood.
Some men would break. He could see the fear in their eyes, see how they were trying to make peace with themselves. Amongst many grizzled men, were too many boys. It was not how it should be. None of this was.
He threw the helmet on, strapping it down and locking it to the rest of his armour. The HUD booted up and the on-board computer registered several points of structural damage. He then turned back, mounting a mechanical raptor, riding up next the field captains that rode their own live raptors.
“Let me give a last word to the men? We have some time before they meet us.” The field captains looked at each, then back to him, nodding. Ratione thanked them, trotting out and away and turning up his helmet’s speakers so everyone could both see and hear him.
“Brothers! Hear me, brothers!” His voice was magnified enough that it echoed into the ruined city behind them, catching everyone’s attention. Ratione paused for a moment, mulling over his next words as the crowd shifted.
“We are all going to die.”
There was an eerie silence, and no one moved. No one spoke. Ratione’s voice rose up again after a long moment. “We are all going to die, brothers. Every last one of us. You all know we are here to give the civilian transports time to gather enough supplies in order to make the trip to the closest colony, and we cannot go with them. They need as few people as they can, and we will not waste this opportunity we have been given. The Sar-kuhn navy has agreed to our terms, so the refugees will leave unopposed.” The Furtumin began trotting to the side slowly, making sure he met everyone’s eyes.
“We are going to die, brothers. But they will live. If you have wives that are leaving, they will live on to bear your children and tell your tale. If you have sons or daughters, they will live on to continue your bloodline and tell your tale. If you have mothers or fathers, they will live on to tell your tale. If you have friends, they will live on to tell your tale. And if you have no one, no one at all to remember you, then scholars will write your name down in history as one of the noble few who stood against the horde of the many. Look to your brothers in arms, those of you with no one. We are your family, we are your friends. We forever will be, in glory and in honour. Because even though we die today, in this battle, we will live on. We will be remembered for how we died. We will not falter, we will not give in, we will not lay down our arms and allow ourselves to be wiped away by these mad beasts. For we are civilization. We are progress. We are the fire that drives out the forces that would keep everything from the stars. We are the masters of our own path. We are the writers of our own tales.”
Ratione trotted back to the center, looking over one last time. These men that were about to be slaughtered with a smile on their faces.
“We are Nova! We are Novans! And we will fight! We will die!”
As ironic as it was, a great roar of cheering and shouting came from the small army. Linemen and vaulters raised their spears and swords. Shield-bearers banged their shields. Mechs stomped the ground, causing massive tremors. Cavalry tore the muzzles off their raptors, throwing them high into the air, their steeds hissing and roaring, eager for blood.
Ratione smiled, laughing in delight, and a hint of surprise. He turned his mechanical raptor to the enemy, the other field captains trotting up to him.
“Good speech.” One of them complimented. He nodded in response before they continued on their way to the other cavalry. Ratione moved through the ranks, taking up position behind the forward lines where he could command the men best. The soldiers milled about, getting into formation. Once everything was in order, Ratione turned his speakers back on.
“Forward, march!” He drew his blade, pointing it forward. “Steady, pace!” Slowly, an army of a hundred and fifty Novan soldiers began marching unto a force that numbered in the thousands.
“Cavalry, sides!” The raptors split in half to the left and right, covering the flanks. Behind the front line, Armours stomped forward with Furtumin riding on their backs. At the very rear of the formation, archers readied their arrows, guard by a few vaulters and shield-bearers.
There was a consistent sound of boots thumping against the ground, equipment and armour rattling, the sounds of an army marching to certain death.
“They’re sending a detachment to meet us at the front!” Someone at the head shouted, and Ratione craned his head to see that in fact a Sar-kuhn formation had broken off from the main force. What was the plan here then? Why were they not sending they’re entire army at them?
Ratione spoke too soon, as suddenly the entire army split up into formations. Slowly, they began moving around the Novan army, completely surrounding them. The Furtumin felt his heart beating fast, his breath becoming short. Ratione rode through the ranks, out front, addressing the men.
“Form yourselves around the archers! Cavalry form a ring around the line men! Protect the archers!” Keeping with their pace, the linemen, vaulters, and shield-bearers rearranged themselves in a circle closing around the archers. The cavalry surrounded them, ready to charge out in all directions.
“When they meet us, they will surround us quickly! Do not hesitate! Do not falter!” He continued ordering the men into position as the enemy closed in around them, coming from all sides. “Hold now! Hold and let them come at us!”
The whole formation stopped, waiting and ready. A black ocean of death crashing down on them. The ground began to shake, the thunder of thousands of feet belonging thousands of bestial warriors coming at them full speed. The barking and howling grew louder as they got closer. Ratione felt his heart jumping out of his chest.
“Cavalry! Fan out!” The raptors all moved outward, so they could meet the Sar-kuhn in the middle. They would cut down as many as they could, slowly retreating after first contact. When they came back to the linemen, they would fall behind them to rest as the frontline began working on the Lupus. The archers would also continuously volley in all directions, far ahead of the vaulters and cavalry once they came back out. The shield-bearers would make sure that the formation did not break, and that the small Novan circle lasted as long as it could.
Ratione looked forward, into the black wave collapsing down on him. For a long, quiet moment all was silent to him. He didn’t hear the chanting, he didn’t see a great mass descending upon him. He didn’t even smell his own breath coming off the visor or feel the weight of his armour.
Instead, he stood in small house on the outside of town, preparing a meal for his daughter and Amica. The steam of the pot rose up to meet his nose, twitching and taking in the aroma of home cooking. He could hear Bonent squealing as Amica sprayed her with the garden hose. They were both soaking wet. Ratione smiled, he knew he should scold them, but, they were just having fun. Yes, having fun, on a warm and sunny day.
The Sar-kuhn were only a small ways in front of him. They were snarling, barking, growling at him. Furious and enraged and thirsty for vengeance. The Novan looked to either side, then back to his fellow Novans clustered in a small circle of pikes and swords and shields.
Ratione drew his blade, raising it high, and shouting into the setting sun.
“Infina viv Nova!”
He kicked his mechanical raptor into gear, and it lunged forward into a fray of fur and blades. He thrust into his blade into the skulls and maws of countless Sar-kuhn, slashing at their arms before they could bring down clubs and maces and axes. The mechanical raptor cued its automated head movements, biting and chewing on any exposed flesh. Next to him, fellow Novans hacked and slashed into the enemy, letting out cries of agony and fear. They fought with the strength of a cornered animal that was sick of trying to survive in the dirt and mud, a species that had conquered the stars after being beaten down so hard into the ground of their own planet. The rage of something that would never be held down again.
For what felt like an eternity, they kept moving back and cutting down the front line one at a time. The ring of cavalry was tight enough that few broke through to meet the linemen, and those that did were stuck with pikes. Slowly, Ratione and the cavalry made their way back to the men. The furtumin looked to the ground, seeing piles of black-furred bodies strewn everywhere, some limp sets of Novan armour.
Ratione and the others fell back behind the linemen, who held fast against the black tide. They thrust into the enemy’s numbers, planting the ends into the ground as the vaulters grabbed on. Since there was no room to provide a running start, there were two linemen to a pike, who pushed up and into the air so the vaulter could get over. They crashed down into a surging black sea of howling warriors, twirling and spinning about and dancing as their short-swords and rent flesh from bone and heads from their shoulders, glove-shields cracking skulls and bones of limbs. Many fell both immediately and a while after they landed, but most made it back into the group. A second wave of vaulters went over, and behind them a volley of arrows arced over their heads almost blotting out what little sun remained.
The volley soared over deep into the Sar-kuhn, most of them bringing up shields to block the arrows but were completely overwhelmed by the sheer number and density.
Yet they still kept coming, kept flooding onto the small cluster in the center. Ratione readied his blade, calling to the other cavalry. They formed up right behind the shield bearers, ready to open the smallest possible gaps to let them back into the fray.
Again, and again, and again.
***
All around, brothers lay dead. All around, swords and shields littered the ashen field. A single man, a single fighter, stood. He looked over it all, the black wave of his enemy having been reduced to a ripple.
Even so, he would not win this battle. His body was tired, his armour and sword heavy. He let them drop to the ground, and fell to his knees. Over the horizon, light peeked above the top of a mountain. His helmet did not let him see the light, and he wished to enjoy the sunrise. Slowly, the lone man slid off the helmet, the smell of blood and ash meeting his nose, cool morning air brushing up against his cheeks. The light of sunrise pierced his eyes, and he raised his arm so he could see.
Before him, a silhouette appeared. His eyes adjusted, and he could see a single one of his enemy standing in front of him. It did not hold fury in its eyes, it was not howling or barking or shouting at him. It stood there, with a single blade in one hand, looking down at him with a tired gaze.
The man asked if he could sing a song, and his was obliged.
Rolling Thunder hear my cry
My brothers’ souls are torn
My brothers’ souls are torn
Their bodies are close to break
Their hair is long and grey
Their hair is long and grey
Rolling Thunder hear me sing
My brothers’ arms are weak
My brothers’ arms are weak
Their feet drag along the dirt
Their heads hang low
Their heads hang low
Rolling Thunder hear me call
My brothers’ blades are dull
My brothers’ blades are dull
Their shields are all splintered
Their armour bent and rusted
Their armour bent and rusted
Rolling Thunder hear me shout
My brothers’ eyes are heavy
My brothers’ eyes are heavy
Their minds are on the edge
Their hearts are cracked straight through
Their hearts are cracked straight through
Rolling Thunder hear my cry
My brothers’ souls are torn
My brothers’ souls are torn
***
Quote:“My name is Omni.”
Ratione gasped for air, feeling his lungs burn as they struggled to expand.
Quote:“This is not the world you know. This is the Omniverse.”
His body thrashed about in the void, muscles going into spasms as they were suddenly re-animated.
Quote:“You interest me, so I have made you part of it. The Omniverse is a place that reflects the wishes of those who are part of it.”
The Novan could feel the words bellowing in his own mind. He did not feel his own ears vibrating, the voice was in his head. Before him, his bloodshot and bulging eyes were locked on the bright white figure of bizarre proportions and faceless skull. Only a wide, grinning mouth full of white teeth was discernable, moving as if to speak.
Quote:“But! There are rules. I will explain them only once, so listen carefully.”
Ratione could feel his consciousness being bombarded with information, unable to hold back the onslaught.
The bright white figure held out a sphere, glowing and bright as his own skin.
Quote:“This is Omnilium. It’s what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours. But you will need more than this. If you desire it enough, you will find it. You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most.”
What? How was something like that possible? Was it raw energy?
Quote:“You will not be alone in the Omniverse. There are others. Of course, they, too desire Omnilium. Do not fear death. For as long as you interest me, you will be reborn.”
Death? Had he fallen? Then why was he here, in this place? Had all the men come with him? Where was his army?
Quote:“That’s all you need to know right now. You’ll figure out the rest soon enough. I’ll be watching … and waiting.”
Waiting for what?!
***
The clear water was temporarily tainted as a shower of bile ejected from the Furtumin’s throat, past chapped lips. Ratione had barely eaten in two days, so very little of his stomach’s contents came up, which inexplicably faded into the pool. Not that the Novan noticed, as his senses were completely shot other than vision. He could still feel all of the blades and maces tearing him into pieces, smell the spit sweat and steel, taste blood in his mouth, and the babbling of the white fountain did nothing to quiet the screams.
Slanted eyes gazed into a watery reflection. There were no wounds, there was no blood, everything was intact. Ratione looked to the helmet he had ripped off as soon as he had gained consciousness, his eyes widening to see it was his own. Not the other Furtumin’s armor he had been borrowing.
The whole thing was making the old man’s head spin, and his armored hands gripped the edge of the pool tightly. It was all he could do to just stand there, never breathing hard or deep enough to soothe his insides, occasionally spitting, sweat drenching his short hair and dripping off his nose and chin.
Soon sensation rushed back into the Novan’s body, and the exhaustion in his limbs caused his whole mass to fall over onto the wall. His chest slamming against the corner, Ratione could feel the air rush out of his lungs again for a second before filling back in. The Furtumin shook as he struggled to right himself, boots weakly scraping against whatever the ground was made of. Eventually, the whole suit of power armor toppled over.
Ratione laid there on his side, sputtering and with eyes jumping all over, trembling voice slightly whimpering.
"Our fear is our weapon."