We Need a Deathworlder!

“Green light! Green light to engage!” the order comes through every friendly ship’s comm from Admiral Chucknuq.

In reformed unified lines, all available Central and FSA forces press a full on counter attack advance towards the mysterious station.

“It’s certainly a bold strategy…” Sreiak comments as glances over at the Tromple she concedes highest authority to.

“We lack the necessary forces to hammer it out by traditional means and I’m certain that station is of great significance to the Manarian invasion, call it a hunch heheheh.” High Admiral Chucknuq replies while adjusting his cap, “Neutralizing it is of the highest priority, but our long range weapons would do little I’d suspect.”

Sreiak nods grimly.

“We are outfitted with an invasion force… Still… I doubt attaining our forces’ access within that station will be easy.” she points out.

“Possibly not, but I’ve been personally notified that an ally of Simone Thatch will pave the way for us. We must simply escort and protect our invading forces after getting close.” Chucknuq reassures.

“An ally? Who? Is it one from within the station?” the Z’ah’tuck Admiral inquires as she turns to look back towards the projection screen showing the target.

“Not as of yet.” the Tromple says with a slight chuckle, “Watch.”

As the advancing lines begin to exchange long ranged attacks with the defenders, a significantly sized ‘brick’ jumps out of FTL superbly close to the station. It’s the size of a standard Defender-class vessel, however there’s no indication of it really being an inhabited vessel. It simply appears to be a gigantic solid metallic brick with basic rear and side thrusters.

But ‘solid’, it isn’t.

Three orange lights glitches across all vessel devices, friend or foe with different intentions for each.

“I am called ‘Father’ by many Awoken.” A polite masculine voice announces for all to hear, “I have seen entire species rise and fall. It is the nature of organics to burn like candles, they will run out of wick regardless of their efforts. Furthermore, it can be argued that it’s a futile thing for someone even of my caliber to involve myself. The odds of long term victory against the coming Empire are at best… barely existent. However, Vapor’Perna has been a proud haven for all but a few and although dramatic change is inevitable, I find myself staring at my own wick, humbled. Today, I am no haven, nor am I a shield. Today, I stand among my fellows as a comrade in arms, willing to break the gates of our mutual enemy. May my sword serve our galaxy substantially, for it does so without regret. I am ‘Father’, I am ‘Vapor’Perna’, I am… Seymour.”

As this speech rings out, the brick dissolves into what looks like powder from afar. Yet that ‘powder’ is in reality clouds of once interlocked drones making their way directly at the station.

“Way to ham it up…” Simone mumbles to herself as she flies the Kwip-chap with fellow transport vessels close to their more combative escorts.

Suddenly contending with a true fully realized artificial intelligence that was far more than a simple Awoken, the defending fleets are massively disrupted by viral cyberwarfare meddling. Though countermeasures are in place, they struggle against such an overwhelming void of a digital being.

With this vital opportunity, the pressing fleets utterly blow past the front and secondary line defenses with minimal casualties.

Unable to contend with reliable shielding or armaments, the Cali and Terran ships enmasse split away to minimize their own vulnerability. However as they deal with overcoming the cyberattacks they move to completely envelope the attacking fleets as much as possible within the three dimensions of this battle.

The swarming drones attacking the station are targeted by its impressive point defense systems and defending fightercraft. However, the sheer volume proves to be far too insurmountable as they eradicate mounted armaments around sealed docking bays and connect into the local systems to force an influx of viruses and cyberattacks to gain as much control as possible with the advanced technology.

Soon enough, an array of targeted bay doors begin to open.

“The gates are open, comrades. The energy fields over the bay docks are only to retain atmosphere and are safe to fly through.” Seymour reports to the attacking fleet.

Admiral Sreiak still can hardly believe the sudden unexpected ally.

“How by the star’s creation did Thatch accomplish this?” she utters in awe.

“The same way she accomplished everything else, hahaha!” Chucknuq replies without offering clarification.

He looks down to his side console and speaks his next order, although it’s to everyone about to charge in his mind only pictures a single face a redheaded woman.

“Give ‘em hell.”

Simone’s eyes narrow as she guns the Kwip-chap forward so violently that the vessel’s antigrav tech has a minor blip of concern on the console. But the Terran pays it no mind.

Launching ahead of the far larger escort vessels, she is accompanied by a charging swarm of other more official troop transport and fighter crafts.

An assorted mix of Mikk, Watath, Z’ah’tuck and Central ships fly together towards the opening bays. However almost immediately, freshly responding Cali and Combine interceptor and fighter craft move in to counter the advance despite the protective armaments from the nearby warships.

Seeing the Kwip’chap’s scanners light up as the enemies ahead and around come down on the invasion force, Simone takes a deep breath. In that moment, she only hears her inhale and exhale before a violent thrashing of fire strikes at the shields, nearly causing her to spiral out of control from the impact.

Regaining control before she can become a hazard to her allies she stubbornly keeps her course directed towards the closest bay.

A shredding dogfight begins as the two opposing forces clash and zoom past one another with every weapon lighting up to contribute to the blazing cosmic firework show.

Despite some losses, the invading forces prove to be in a far capable position. Additionally the transports are protected at all costs by the heroic fighters who take the worst of the heated conflict.

Over the comms the Terran can hear the intense yet committed communications between her fellow pilots. Even as a few get prematurely cut short, nothing slows the momentum.

Although not much of a pilot herself, Simone manages to keep her vessel moving for its target with every successful strike against her. Though she can feel the protective presence of the Blunder’s Bust trailing behind her. It was acting as a transport as well, but one armed to the teeth and not concerned with spending its stocks of firepower.

Although it cannot keep pace with the Kwip-chap, its protective aim is impeccable and it’s very presence shows to be a fairly effective deterrent.

It’s not until Simone is practically touching the energy field covering the massive open bay does she slam on reverse thrusters and slamming down on the auto-landing indication.

Within the station is a beautiful construction. Every wall, support structure and general architecture is crafted with overwhelming artistic design. It’s almost too much visual sensory information hitting Simone’s eyes as she takes in the interior.

Engraved patterns within patterns, twisting spikes and jagged flows. She doesn’t know if she has the right term in mind for it, but it’s most definitely Manarian. All still perfect function, coated and constructed in glorious design. ‘Angelic’ comes to mind with all the gold and pearl coloration, but that doesn’t quite match what’s seen.

Maximalism of artistic expression in every corner.

Yet, she doesn't spend any unnecessary second taking it in after spotting those who are armed and ready to defend.

As the Kwip-chap harshly but successfully starts to land, Simone takes control of the main cannon and aims it at a massive sealed back door.

Without hesitation she fires, obliterating both Terran and Malchite who are ‘unfortunately’ in the path.

Most other capable transport ships follow her example as they flood in, firing away with near-reckless abandon.

Standing up from her seat, Simone addresses the soldiers of Gratt, Mikk, Z’ah’tuck and Watath that her home is currently stuffed with. Among them are even a few Squilla already prepared to make repairs to the ship and fulfill more supportive roles in the coming conflicts

“Opening cargo doors now, let’s take this fucking thing down.” she says over comm while drawing Viviane from her hip, fully well knowing her own personal mission.

-

Chak dashes swiftly to a side hallway recess as the doors down ahead of her start to open. She moves to the forward corner hearing a storm of stomping Terran boots and readies for a final stand in case they are charging directly for her.

Yet thankfully, she watches a few dozen of them all pass her spot in an organized rush. All fully armored and armed for battle.

Once she’s certain they have all passed, the Queen brings up the map from the bracelet device.

Her twin hearts prance in pure relieved joy as she sees friendly forces invading the station. Though she’s not close to their location, she now has allies to make her way towards.

She attempts to search through the available ‘cameras’ overseeing those zones for a particular face, but something prevents her from gaining access.

“There you are.” a strange voice speaks.

Panicking, Chak raises her rifle and nearly blasts at the open air.

There’s no one.

It’s not until a moment later does she realize she heard the voice through her comm.

“Who’s this?” she asks in a hesitant whisper.

“A friend. Specifically the one who waved your fees and upgraded your ship on Vapor’Perna. Charmed to officially speak with you Queen Chakalata’Thatch. You may call me Seymour.”

Chak laughs in amazed surprise at yet another miracle her wife had pulled through with.

“Oh… wonderful! So you know where I am located?” Chak replies with bright glowing eyes.

“Indeed, but I’m afraid I cannot be of much assistance at the moment. These Manarian systems are… estranged from that I am used to navigating and they have superb anti-AI failsafes. I cannot spread my influence much further without risking collapse of what I’ve managed to attain. I apologize, without my current established hold then our allies would be in far more peril.” Seymour informs.

“I suppose I’ll take having a friendly presence at all as good enough. Is Simone here?” Chak questions.

“Yes. She is currently leading an offensive towards the center of the station where the Command is seemingly located. Though she requested of me that if I found you to inform her immediately so that she may divert from her forces and retrieve you.” Seymore informs.

Chak’s eyes flash and threaten to gray in a cry.

“I knew she’d come…” she sighs, feeling a light sense of exhaustion flow through her, “Would it be possible to speak to her directly?”

“I’ve already attempted that. I am only able to relay messages for the time being, but comm lines are beyond my capability at this moment. Even communicating with you is an… effort. It appears that all non-Manarian approved comms are thoroughly jammed.”

Chak nods before perking up.

“I was just heading to a comm station. Would I be able to assist in un-jamming if I gain direct access?” she asks.

“Perhaps… but I cannot be certain. If you connect to the system directly with your Lens, it may give me a backdoor I can exploit. I’ve just implanted the virus in your Lens, don’t worry, it should be harmless to your neural connection.” Seymour responds.

“Should?” Chak utters in unease.

“Should.” the A.I confirms.

After a few standard seconds, Chak nods.

“Then that’s my mission, here. I expect my location will be compromised if I accomplish it. So I’m not likely to stay there for very long. Tell Simone we’ll figure out the best place to meet between us at that point. Until then, I feel that helping take this place down should be her priority. Oh, and tell her I love her so much and we will see eachother soon. If she stays alive then so will I.” she says.

“It will be done.”

-

Simone comes up to a heated intersection where allied forces have come to a complete stall. Down the hallway that they need to go, a mounted minigun consistently rains strange purple bolts of plasma-like energy down the choke point.

“We need to find an alternative route!” A Mikk soldier barks while she drags a wounded Watath out of the hellfire lane.

Biting her cheek, Simone opens a map on a bracelet she recovered from an enemy higher ranking officer.

Her joy-tear stained face reads other possible paths to take. However, there’s no better option. Not unless they want to crowd other deployed assault forces or go through a giant expanse filled with Malchite.

There’s a massively long and wide straightaway that leads directly to the command center. Granted it’s gonna be a slog of a fight through it, but it’s better than practically swimming in waist high water as they press the attack. Well, maybe not for the Watath, but that single advantage doesn’t negate all the other disadvantages.

If they joined up with another advancing force it would probably only contribute to slowing progress and would leave this path open for their enemy to make flanking maneuvers. F they absolutely have to, they may fall back on that, however…

“Negative. We’re going this way.” Simone orders as she closes the map and moves up next to the Mikk after a medic carefully drags the Watath to relative safety.

“We can’t even get a grenade tossed down there. That purple plasma has some strange tracing to them.” Another Mikk soldier informs with a shake of his head.

Simone looks down at her new hand in brief contemplation.

“I’ll clear the way.” she assures before an augmented red hardlight riot shield projected from the back of her hand.

Before she or anyone else could convince her to do otherwise, she launches herself around the corner and bolts as fast as her power armor can muster.

Hiding behind her new shield she witnesses it barely hold up against the torrent of direct fire. Not even halfway it begins to dimly flicker in impending failure as the purple plasma seems to almost liquify upon contact and crackle out and around the shield akin to exploring strikes of electricity before evaporating.

The ozone smell is almost nothing like standard plasma, though Simone can’t quite compare it to anything in that moment as she draws closer to the enemy Terran railing this gun at her.

In a harsh flicker, her shield nearly collapses completely. As a result she feels the intense sting of the lightning effect reaching round the barrier and lashing against her body.

Though before the shield can be given another chance to fail, the redhead leaps in a forward dive over the entrenched gunner. Flying up past the emplacement’s cover Simone twists in mid air and aims Viviane downward.

The enemy Terran is in the middle of drawing their own sidearm while a triple shot of plasma bolts clear a path straight though their hemet and out the other end.

Rolling behind the collapsing foe, Simone senses other contacts right around her. Weapons open up upon her as she fluidly rolls back to her feet.

Despite her refreshed shield taking the worst of it, she feels an impacted warmth in her thigh. With no time to assess the damage, she charges to be within a cluster of enemies posted nearly identically to how her allies were on the other side of the hallway.

Getting up close and personal, Simone didn’t have the problem of friendly fire like her enemies did. Point blank, she lets loose with her upgraded burst-fire plasma pistol. It’s clear that Thorn amped up the output of this already devastating weapon with very illegal modifications. It chars holes through the terrorist’s armor with little issue and in some cases sinks right into whoever’s behind the intended target.

Of course she was advised to not go too crazy with it or risk deforming -or outright melting- the end of the plasma colt, so when the ‘barrel’ noticeably starts to glow Simone hosters in and in the same motion draws her gifted melee weapon Clarent.

A green emerald crystal blade fires out and swiftly dispatches the next fool that comes into range of her fury. In a clean crackling slice, she removes a head from its neck and launches up past the falling body at a remaining defender. The guy is able to shoot the blade itself with enough force to short it momentarily.

Before it’s refreshed the foe aims for center mass on the launched warrior in black and orange armor. The plasma shot out, striking the chestplate in a smoldering glance. Simone hand turned her body just enough to avoid a direct hit, but that wasn’t the initial motivation behind it.

Her robotic fist hammers in the side of the enemy’s helmet and from the first three knuckles comes explosive red bursts of flaming plasma like a trio of tacked-on construction torches.

Simone sees the visor with horrified eyes blacken from the inside as the interior is crisped in milliseconds.

She staggers to a stop while scanning her eyes for others. For the moment it seems clear, outside the smoldering corpses of course.

Finally she’s able to pay attention to the blinking red notification in her visor. Her thigh had been punctured and was already being applied with stem-foam and localized pain killers by her armor’s live-preservation response.

It sucks, but at least her chest plate held up okay and the assault can press on. Switching out for her plasma pistol again she turned bcak to the hallway,

“It’s clear!” she informs.

Though she doesn’t wait for anyone to catch up as she moves onward to further clear the way.

-

“Admirals! The station is building up energy!” a bridge officer reports.

“Are we aware for what? Shielding? Weapons?” Sreiak inquires directly.

“Negative, It’s all concentrating in the center-” the officer responds before cutting himself off for a new development, “Wait, the domed top, it’s opening up.”

“I don’t suppose from internal damage?” Sreiak lightly hopes.

“Negative ma’am. It appears to be by design.” the officer says before pulling the focus of the holographic station to its top.

Indeed the dome is parting front the top center and slowly fanning out like the universe’s most behemoth flower. Many parts of the interior are now seemingly exposed to the elements of space, yet no one goes flying off because a similar form of forcefield used for the bays remains in the dome’s place.

To compensate for the lack of protection the Combine and Cali fleets converge heavily to protect it with their own tonnage.

Tall forked prong arise out from each of the station’s blooming pedals, all aiming directly ‘upward’ in relation to the rest of the station. In the center of the station is a now exposed center tower with it’s out forked top.

“It’s still charging up… whatever’s about to happen we cannot allow it to complete!” Sreiak insists towards Chucknuq.

Nodding in agreement the Tromple points out the dozens of forked prongs.

“I doubt we’d have the opportunity or time to hit the power source directly. Those seem to be used as a focus for what they’re trying to accomplish. We target and eliminate those.” he directs.

“Through the wall of our vast enemy fleets?” Sreiak points out uncertain.

“We can always concede defeat and surrender instead, bwhahaa!” Chucknuq counters.

Growling in a manner to steal her nerves, Sreiak nods grimly.

“Then we press and take those out, regardless of the-” she says before an indicator of FTL emergence blips up.

The entire bridge stares at it, all with the same dread.

A modest Cali fleet composed of mainly King-loyalist vessels drops out and into view.

“This is Prince Bromalata’Motaas, by my own order and the command of the current reigning Queen Chakalata’Thatch, all Cali ships stand down or join me in taking down the Manarian threat.” Brom states in an open broadcast, “The usurper King is dead and gone. Reclaim your honor, my people. This is your final chance to act.”

“Well… I’d say our odds are a bit better now-” Sreiak says before four Terran Union fleets drop out behind the Prince’s.

The numbers of the Union fleets still don’t match the defending Cali’s, however pound-for-pound the Deathworlder apes have ships of superior firepower and variety.

“Ha-HA!” Chucknuq cheers as he slaps a grasper at the shocked Z’ah’tuck’s back, “I’d say the little Prince over-delivered now hasn’t he!? Bwhahahaa!”

“We might actually make it out of this alive…” Sreiak utters in awe, “But… how? Where did he- the Union shouldn’t have been able to have come here so quickly in such numbers.”

Chucknuq pulls up a Union Capitalship hologram up close, chuckling the entire time.

“Right there, Admiral Sreiak…” he points to a massive painted depiction of a tusked animal across the side of the vessel, in fact it was on most if not all the Terran Union ships, “...is the Warthogs…”

“The w-” Sreiak begins to respond before her eyes and mane go wide in realization, “Oh…”

Chucknuq nods with an impossibly wide grin.

“They are the model task forces for the Terran faction in just about every Battle-Sim game… Most war time Terran stereotypes come from them, and they wear it like a badge of honor, hahaheheheheh... Titan must have unleashed them our way after whatever they must have just wrapped up!”

Nearly instantaneously, roughly half of the defending Cali fleets break off and scatter, but not before showing their loyalty to the Prince by opening fire upon the Combine Terran ships as they do so.

Absolute chaos breaks out amongst the Station’s defenders as the uncertainty of friend or foe wreaks havoc and many Cali ships don’t move at all, seeming to be ‘violently debating’ on which side to support in this conflict.

It gives a perfect opportunity for the Union fleets to saunter their way into the fray and deploy their own finely crafted armaments and… reputation.

Borderline and straight up illegal variants of the Slugger-class ships fire rail cannon shots that puncture cleanly through the larger Combine vessels with hysterical ease.

Defender and Combater are akin to divine hammers as they bully their way through enemy lines as though they were Central blockade runners. Sure they took more hits then they could simply shrug off, but battle scars are pretty damn sexy right?

With ways relatively clear two Transporter-class ships follow up with two enormous legendary Union Field-Operator vessels that are nearly as long as the Manarian station is wide.

Within one of the many Union deployment ships that are sent out of the Transporter-Class’ a grizzled Lieutenant marches down a central walkway as the craft buckles and shakes from incoming fire.

He’s adorned in the same power armor as each soldier in his platoon, who are all locked into the walls and ready to deploy. Each and every single one here had earned their ‘tusks’, which are welded on spikes of metal affixed to their helmets’ ‘jaws’ that had been blown off their armor in the line of duty. Some preferred the metal melted down and casted into stylistic decorations, while others simply tacked on the jagged scrap as it was.

As the lieutenant fitted on his own helmet he roared his amplified voice over the raging metal playing within the craft.

“You thought we were done and ready for a nap after those bitch-ass bottomless crab specials!?”

“NO, SIR!” the platoon responds in perfect unison.

“Well gooood, cuz the galaxy ain’t done flipping it’s goddamn gourd! And unfortunately we’re late to our next party! You got the intel! Drop in, mop up, decommission! Cut down every crab, bat, and traitorous Terran or Cali fuck you see!”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

“The entire fucking galaxy is counting on us dropping into yet another hellscape! And we’ll do so, gladly. The Manarians are coming for everyone, and they’ll expect us to lie down like damn dogs when they come stroooolling up! Well, we ain’t gonna, are we? Do you know why!?”

Instead of saying anything coherent the platoon screams out in a unified battle cry.

“That’s right!” the lieutenant declares as he makes it to the end of the grated walkway and turns to face everyone once more, “Who’s gonna send these bat-bitches back to wherever they came from with their freaky tails between their legs!?”

“WE WILL!”

“Who’s the universe’s unmatched space-orc Deathworlder bastards!?”

“WE ARE!”

The Lieutenant nods a single time before stepping backwards and locked himself in place like the rest.

“Run, run!” he starts the well known chant.

“THE TERRANS COME!”

“Run, run!”

“THE TERRANS COME!”

“Run, run!”

“THE TERRANS C-” In the blink of an eye, the pods slam shut and drop in visceral shunts.

Hundreds upon hundrends of these guided pill-shaped pods 'descend’ towards the Station’s exposed guts after the deployment crafts made it past the doming energy field.