05-21-2017, 07:57 PM
Molten fire ran through Axemerax’s veins, waging an eternal war against the chemical slurry that sought to extinguish it. Scenarios ran through the alien’s mind, each one offering a solution to the irritant before him. While many of the options involving the immediate and violent end of Reagan were undoubtedly cathartic and effective, it would…
Send a message. Leave his flayed carcass to howl your name across these empty wastes as a warning to any who would stand against you.
The Overlord of the Alignment rapped his talons against his armoured arms, a thick, purple tongue, slick with toxins running over the fangs set into his trisected jaws.
Break his will, then his body.
“Those who can, do, Dane. Those who can’t… write books. All those texts, and you honestly think a single one of them served any purpose, save salving your worthless ego?”
Gears and pistons shifted in his mechanical legs as he moved, beginning to pace, to stalk, slavering at the thought of his victory.
“And for what purpose did you write those books, Dane? You say yourself that you don’t care about your world, and claim a shift in statistics as your responsibility.” His teeth ground together, like flint being struck together over a heap of kindling, one spark away from igniting. “You wrote them for fame, for recognition: To become so acclaimed that you would achieve immortality through your legacy. Did you honestly think some pre-industrial peasants huddled in a hovel would be able to actually read your inane texts? That they’d even consider that some self-professed scholar and scientist knew their fields better than them?”
Axemerax’s palms began to glow, perfectly organized ranks of half-robotic soldiers marching in lockstep hovering over his claws, their translucent forms marked with the sigil adorning the Alien Overlord’s chestplate. “Because I can assure you that, if your knowledge of agriculture is as lacking as your awareness of warfare, you most certainly do not.” The holographic warriors raised their railguns, hyperkinetic projectiles issuing forth from magnetic muzzles to scythe down those who refused to fall in line with the wishes of the Primus.
“Do you think everything I claimed for my own was mere luck? Do you think that nobody tried to unite the disparate science-states and stop my conquest?” Axemerax pressed closer, his breath hot and humid, a scent like salt-soaked steel emanating from his maw. “That I was born with some inherent advantage, save my own mind?”
He hissed as he took a step back, pounding a ferrous fist into his palm. “My birthright was a scrap-covered corner of a boiler room and a socket wrench. I did not lead a conquest of primitive tribes, armed with plasma cannons and arc emitters. I set out to establish my dominion over a world of near-equals.”
“And I succeeded,” he intoned, energy coursing through the circuits beneath his armour plating. “I did not blunder my way through life, relying entirely on luck and chance. I forged my own path through the uncaring tides of the universe.”
“And why, you ask? Why did I set myself to conquest, while you satisfied yourself with claiming credit for some insignificant change in statistics?” He took a step closer, tempered talons seeking to drive themselves deep into the emptiness beneath the two primes.
“Because I could. Because I didn’t want to be like you, Dane. I had no desire to become a shrivelled husk of a man, unable to muster enough strength or courage to change the world. I looked upon a realm of kings, and sought to make myself an Emperor. My name is carved into the crust of a thousand worlds, because I was the one who etched it into the stone. It was not by accident of birth or by fortune’s favour that I did this. By Hook and by Crook, I bettered myself, and my people. A thousand worlds fed an industry the likes of which the galaxy had ever seen, a thousand worlds fed a populace that had previously known only the bleak deserts of Merax. If anyone ever notices your absence, will anyone care? What legacy have you left, Dane Reagan? One of worthless words and far too few deeds? A man that was never able to overcome his own apathy and truly change the world?”
Axemerax stepped closer, steel claws dangerously close to digging into the human’s flesh through their leather boots. “Say what you will about the cost of my actions: the lives lost, the worlds ruined. But you will know this: I do not regret a single moment of it. I am not content to struggle under the shackles of another, to work within their arbitrary laws. I forge my own path in life, unlike you. The man that accomplished naught with his life but scrawling his ramblings down on parchment, and thinks that gives him the obligation to lecture another on how to bend the knee and surrender, to embrace a life of mediocrity.”
He could taste fire on his tongue, the maddening call to conflagration attempting to set his mind aflame. There were a thousand ways to dissect the being in front of him, to tear open their heart and see if there was but the smallest fragment of something inside of them that would make this promise of immortality more than a mere 27-Sigma dream.
“And now, Reagan. You have displayed an almost amusing inability to understand the concepts of military conquest, ambition, rulership, and even of your own contribution to whatever backwards society spawned you. And I, I have run out of patience for fools.”
He raised his hand, claws shining under the sourceless light that illuminated the seemingly endless plains of pure nothingness that surrounded them. Presumably, there was a way to exit this land. If not, then this must be the afterlife that Dane would believe Axemerax deserved: An eternity being forced to debate an idiot. “As such, I would recommend you run. While I suspect you may have been assaulted by a riding animal in your youth, resulting in severe brain damage, I am nonetheless unable to allow such an insult to pass unchallenged.” The Primus leaned closer, the translucent toxins dripping from his maw obvious. “Or, in words you might find easier to understand: You are annoying. I will beat you until your annoying breathing stops, unless you start running very far, and very fast.”
Send a message. Leave his flayed carcass to howl your name across these empty wastes as a warning to any who would stand against you.
The Overlord of the Alignment rapped his talons against his armoured arms, a thick, purple tongue, slick with toxins running over the fangs set into his trisected jaws.
Break his will, then his body.
“Those who can, do, Dane. Those who can’t… write books. All those texts, and you honestly think a single one of them served any purpose, save salving your worthless ego?”
Gears and pistons shifted in his mechanical legs as he moved, beginning to pace, to stalk, slavering at the thought of his victory.
“And for what purpose did you write those books, Dane? You say yourself that you don’t care about your world, and claim a shift in statistics as your responsibility.” His teeth ground together, like flint being struck together over a heap of kindling, one spark away from igniting. “You wrote them for fame, for recognition: To become so acclaimed that you would achieve immortality through your legacy. Did you honestly think some pre-industrial peasants huddled in a hovel would be able to actually read your inane texts? That they’d even consider that some self-professed scholar and scientist knew their fields better than them?”
Axemerax’s palms began to glow, perfectly organized ranks of half-robotic soldiers marching in lockstep hovering over his claws, their translucent forms marked with the sigil adorning the Alien Overlord’s chestplate. “Because I can assure you that, if your knowledge of agriculture is as lacking as your awareness of warfare, you most certainly do not.” The holographic warriors raised their railguns, hyperkinetic projectiles issuing forth from magnetic muzzles to scythe down those who refused to fall in line with the wishes of the Primus.
“Do you think everything I claimed for my own was mere luck? Do you think that nobody tried to unite the disparate science-states and stop my conquest?” Axemerax pressed closer, his breath hot and humid, a scent like salt-soaked steel emanating from his maw. “That I was born with some inherent advantage, save my own mind?”
He hissed as he took a step back, pounding a ferrous fist into his palm. “My birthright was a scrap-covered corner of a boiler room and a socket wrench. I did not lead a conquest of primitive tribes, armed with plasma cannons and arc emitters. I set out to establish my dominion over a world of near-equals.”
“And I succeeded,” he intoned, energy coursing through the circuits beneath his armour plating. “I did not blunder my way through life, relying entirely on luck and chance. I forged my own path through the uncaring tides of the universe.”
“And why, you ask? Why did I set myself to conquest, while you satisfied yourself with claiming credit for some insignificant change in statistics?” He took a step closer, tempered talons seeking to drive themselves deep into the emptiness beneath the two primes.
“Because I could. Because I didn’t want to be like you, Dane. I had no desire to become a shrivelled husk of a man, unable to muster enough strength or courage to change the world. I looked upon a realm of kings, and sought to make myself an Emperor. My name is carved into the crust of a thousand worlds, because I was the one who etched it into the stone. It was not by accident of birth or by fortune’s favour that I did this. By Hook and by Crook, I bettered myself, and my people. A thousand worlds fed an industry the likes of which the galaxy had ever seen, a thousand worlds fed a populace that had previously known only the bleak deserts of Merax. If anyone ever notices your absence, will anyone care? What legacy have you left, Dane Reagan? One of worthless words and far too few deeds? A man that was never able to overcome his own apathy and truly change the world?”
Axemerax stepped closer, steel claws dangerously close to digging into the human’s flesh through their leather boots. “Say what you will about the cost of my actions: the lives lost, the worlds ruined. But you will know this: I do not regret a single moment of it. I am not content to struggle under the shackles of another, to work within their arbitrary laws. I forge my own path in life, unlike you. The man that accomplished naught with his life but scrawling his ramblings down on parchment, and thinks that gives him the obligation to lecture another on how to bend the knee and surrender, to embrace a life of mediocrity.”
He could taste fire on his tongue, the maddening call to conflagration attempting to set his mind aflame. There were a thousand ways to dissect the being in front of him, to tear open their heart and see if there was but the smallest fragment of something inside of them that would make this promise of immortality more than a mere 27-Sigma dream.
“And now, Reagan. You have displayed an almost amusing inability to understand the concepts of military conquest, ambition, rulership, and even of your own contribution to whatever backwards society spawned you. And I, I have run out of patience for fools.”
He raised his hand, claws shining under the sourceless light that illuminated the seemingly endless plains of pure nothingness that surrounded them. Presumably, there was a way to exit this land. If not, then this must be the afterlife that Dane would believe Axemerax deserved: An eternity being forced to debate an idiot. “As such, I would recommend you run. While I suspect you may have been assaulted by a riding animal in your youth, resulting in severe brain damage, I am nonetheless unable to allow such an insult to pass unchallenged.” The Primus leaned closer, the translucent toxins dripping from his maw obvious. “Or, in words you might find easier to understand: You are annoying. I will beat you until your annoying breathing stops, unless you start running very far, and very fast.”
Torcher of tomes, slayer of sorcerers, taker of ears, and flayer of men. Reasonable rates.