The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the desolate prison yard. The air was thick with tension as Rick Grimes gathered the group around the fire. The Governor's first attack had left them battered but not broken. The Woodbury militia had retreated, but in their haste, they'd left behind something of great value – an M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted on an abandoned HMMWV.
Rick's gaze shifted to the distant wreckage. "We need that gun operational," he said, his voice steady. "It could be the edge we need."
Daryl Dixon, ever the practical one, nodded. "I'll take a look at it, see what we can salvage."
The group dispersed, each member falling into their roles. Daryl and Glenn Rhee headed towards the HMMWV, while Maggie Greene, Michonne, and Tyreese scouted the perimeter for any signs of danger. Hershel Greene and Carol Peletier tended to the wounded and kept an eye on the children.
The HMMWV stood like a silent sentinel amidst the ruins of the recent battle. The M2 was still mounted, but it had taken some damage. Daryl inspected the gun, his keen eyes assessing the repairs needed.
"Glenn, we’re gonna need parts to fix this," Daryl muttered. "Think we can find what we need at that National Guard post nearby?"
Glenn nodded, determination in his eyes. "It's worth a shot. We should head out at first light."
The next morning, a small team set out: Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Michonne, and Maggie. They moved swiftly and silently through the overgrown back roads, avoiding main routes where walkers and human threats were more likely to linger. The National Guard post loomed in the distance, a grim reminder of the world that once was.
The post was eerily quiet. Vehicles were abandoned, and the gates hung open, swaying gently in the breeze. The group approached cautiously, weapons ready. Inside, they found the remnants of a fierce battle – shell casings, spent ammunition, and the decaying remains of soldiers and walkers alike.
"Stay sharp," Rick whispered. "We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there."
The team split up, each member searching for anything useful. Glenn and Maggie located a storage room with several boxes of .50 caliber ammunition belts. They loaded them into their packs, their hearts racing with every creak and groan of the building.
In another section, Michonne found spare parts that might be useful for repairing the M2. She carefully examined each piece, selecting only what they needed. As they worked, the tension in the air grew thicker.
Suddenly, the moans of walkers filled the air. The noise had drawn a small horde, and they were closing in fast.
"Time to go!" Daryl shouted, firing his crossbow at the nearest walker.
The team regrouped, their path to the exit blocked by the undead. They fought their way through, each member displaying the skill and determination that had kept them alive this long. Rick's revolver roared, Michonne's katana sliced through the air, and Daryl's crossbow thudded with deadly accuracy.
They broke through the horde, making a mad dash for the exit. As they neared the gate, a new threat emerged – a group of armed survivors, eyes glinting with desperation.
"Drop your weapons and hand over the supplies," the leader demanded, his gun trained on Rick.
Rick’s eyes narrowed. "We’re not looking for trouble, but we’re not giving up what we found."
The standoff was tense, both sides ready to fight. But before it could escalate, the sound of an approaching walker horde distracted their adversaries. Rick seized the opportunity, signaling his team to move. They fought their way past the human threats, using the chaos to their advantage.
The journey back to the prison was fraught with tension, but they made it, battered and exhausted but triumphant. They quickly set to work, repairing the M2 with the parts Michonne had found. Hershel supervised as Glenn and Daryl loaded the belts of .50 caliber ammunition.
As night fell, the M2 stood ready, a powerful symbol of their resilience and determination. Rick looked at his weary but resolute group, pride swelling in his chest.
"We’ve got a fighting chance now," he said quietly. "We’ll keep fighting, for each other, for tomorrow."
The group nodded, united by the hardships they had faced and the hope that flickered in the darkness. They had salvaged more than just a weapon; they had salvaged their spirit and their will to survive.

Given the country demographic of Reddit as well as the primary banks offering large transferrable bonuses being in the US, most of the redemptions we discuss are focused on leaving from or return to the US. However, it's also interesting to discuss flights that don't touch the US for several reasons:

1. More availability
   1. First and foremost, availability is everything in the award space, luckily, most other countries are not as easily able to tap into the award space. Flights between the other continents are plentiful, I rarely have a hard time finding space between Asia, Europe, or even Oceania. There's usually many seats and many dates available, even when looking only a month or so out.
2. Different (Better?) experiences
   1. This is ofc subjective, but many East Asian airlines offer superior in-flight experience, whether it's the food, service, or simply the fact that they offer much more widebody flights on short hops, compared to the US being mostly narrowbody. You can experience widebody seats in Asia almost all the time, imagine flying SQ's business class on a 2 hour flight! Lounge access is plentiful and often higher quality as well.
3. Lower redemption costs
   1. This is the bread and butter of the award game and will the focus of this post. Simply put, everyone wants to milk the North American market and we're also super far away from everything, so we have some of the highest redemption costs out there. For example, you could fly from Dubai to Seoul via Singapore Airlines in J for only 80k Aeroplan miles! With an additional 5k for the stopover, you'd be able to experience 2 longhaul SQ flights in business class, that's pretty great value if you ask me.

But, you might say, ok but I don't live in Europe or Asia, I live in the US, so this doesn't even matter to me!
One of the reasons this can be practical is for extended trips or RTWs! You're already traveling to another continent, so why not explore for a few more days? With this in mind, let's talk about a few popular programs and what their sweet spots are for non-US redemptions. Feel free to share your own in the comments below.

• Delta SkyMiles
  • Starting with the most hated program out there, this is in fact one of the only existing sweet spots out there anymore for SkyMiles
  • Oceania to East Asia for 65k miles
  • Oceania to SE Asia for 70k miles
  • Oceania to Europe for 90k miles
  • East Asia to SE Asia for 40k miles
  • Europe to Middle East for 42.5k miles
  • Europe to India for 65k miles
  • Europe to East Asia and SE Asia for 80k miles
• Flying Blue
  • While Delta does technically cover the SkyTeam availability, I bring that up because SkyMiles have so few practical uses in the first place.
  • Flying Blue is mostly zone based, so you could do somthing like Europe to most of Asia for 70k miles. However, technically because of the zones, you're actually able to get it for even less when coupled w/ your North American leg. For example, LAX-CDG-HND would be 95k miles with a free stopover vs 50k for the LAX-CDG + 70k for the CDG-HND.
• Aeroplan
  • This one is all distance based, but you can get some pretty sick deals. For example, 45k miles for up to 5000 miles long or 60k miles for a 5001 to 7000 miles within the Pacific is pretty awesome. For example, most of East Asia to most of Oceania would only be 45k miles! So the key is play around with distances and see how it all pans out.
• Avianca Lifemiles
  • Lifemiles is region based so the award chart is a little bit different, I had a bit of a hard time researching this, weirdly they have an "others" region for Oceania that doesn't match the pricing for the opposite direction.
  • Oceania to East Asia for 50k miles in business class, 62.5k miles in first class vs East Asia to Oceania for 40k in business class, 50k in first class
  • Oceania to SE Asia for 50k miles in business class, 75k in first class vs SE Asia to Oceania for 40k miles in business class vs 60k in first class
  • Northern Europe to East Asia for 75k in business class, 115k in first class vs East Asia to Northern Europe
  • Northern Europe to SE Asia for 78k in business class, 102k in first class
  • So based on this, depending on where you go and which direction you fly it could be better or worse than Aeroplan
• AA
  • AA is zone based, but I have a hard time finding an actual award chart from them for non-US zones, so these are all based on surface level research
  • Oceania to East Asia for 40k in business, 60k in first class
  • Oceania to Europe for 85k miles
  • Middle East to Europe for 42.5k miles
  • East Asia to SE Asia for 30k miles in business, 40k in first class
  • East Asia to Middle East for 40k miles in business, 50k in first class
  • East Asia to Europe for 75k miles
  • This level of redemption pricing is really good and will not last. Imagine getting an almost 7 hour flight in JAL F from BKK to HND for 40k miles!
• AS
  • Alaska is now also a distance based program after the devaluation. In general, the key is to look for those routes that lie just under the max zone.
  • For me I enjoy the 15k miles spot for flights just under 1500 miles, which is perfect for regional Asia flights. Using their partner Starlux in TPE, many Asian destinations are available such as all of Japan, Korea, SGN/HAN/CEB. Unfortunately, going up one band to the 1501-3000 is 45k/50k miles for Europe/Asia, which is over 3x the cost, so definitely nowhere near as worth it.
  • The band right after though is quite good value, at 3001 to 5000 miles or 55k/60k miles, but still inferior to AA. You could do East Asia to Australia for 60k in business or 90k in first. This is 50% higher cost than AA, so AA is still preferrable.

With that, that just about covers most of the core, major alliance programs. I choose these as these are generally the better value programs, for example Aeroplan generally has lower costs than UA. And AA/AS are much cheaper than Avios.

Summary (or tl;dr)

In my opinion, the following are quite awesome.

• SkyTeam
  • The fact that you can even efficiently redeem Delta SkyMiles
  • Use the free Flying Blue stopover for combined segments rather than breaking your trip into two to save on points
• Star Alliance
  • Asia Pacific 45k Aeroplan for flights up to 5000 miles
  • Asia/Europe 60k Aeroplan for flights up 5000 miles
  • East Asia to Oceania for 40k LifeMiles in business class, 50k in first class
• Oneworld
  • Almost all of AAs are really good, in particular:
    • Oceania to East Asia for 40k in business, 60k in first class
    • East Asia to SE Asia for 30k miles in business, 40k in first class
    • East Asia to Middle East for 40k miles in business, 50k in first class
  • 15k AS miles for regional Asia flights under 1500 miles

So, you don't need to book an ANA RTW to experience all these other products. If you can escape the US, then try extending your trip with one of these sweet spots and get even more return on value.
Feel free to share other sweetspots you've found or ones with other programs.

Dating and romance:
Current bf: he's kinda dry on texts, I don't like the way he reassures. Asking for reassurance somehow ends up in fights. He asked me to pick between either him or cats while I'm a cat lover. There's nothing toxic this guy is fine but like, idk
The talking stage before him: He was pretentious and faked being rich, faked being an artist because I'm one and his art was shit. He has ugly hair. I'm a professional artist, pouring paint on a chart paper doesn't make you an artist ffs. He also bragged about driving for 2 hours to meet me, yeah idc that's the bare minimum. (He cheated on his ex)
Ex: A cheater and he lied about everything. Has an ugly face so he was trying so hard to cover up by working out but that didn't help his face. Just ended up looking like a frog on steroids with that ugly big mouth. ( Talked this way about him because - For some context I was cheated on by a narcissist in December '22. It wasn't a normal breakup, he was the first toxic person in my life and I wanted to fix him because I thought he was a hurt child, which ended up muddling my gut instincts. It was my first relationship and an extremely toxic one. He cheated multiple times, lied about everything, crossed my physical boundaries on a daily basis, talked down on me, controlled me and isolated me. There were 127 red flags and I was severely trauma bonded. We broke up and got back together over 18 times in a year.)
The crush before the ex: He was insanely obsessed with cars and all he posted was about cars. His Instagram had one selfie and multiple cars. He once told me he'd rather buy cars than marry a girl. Okay I respect his likes and dislikes but whatever. I distanced myself from him.
Friendships:
Current group in masters, we're a group of 5:
1st girl (overly egoistic just because she's a model, she doesn't greet anyone. she doesn't look pretty in person, it's just the pictures, I would've never guessed she's a model if she didn't show us her insta)
2nd girl (a pick-me, she's pampered by her parents and always brags about how she's perfect and disciplined and never involves herself with men - I doubt she's straight. She wants to be treated like a kid though she's goddamn 24 years old. All her dresses have a teddy bear or they're furry, she literally dresses like a 5 year old. It's embarassing. She even has a squeaky toy attached to her tiffin box.)
3rd one (loves to seek sympathy, all she talks about is her problems but won't listen, I can see the joy in her face when she complains about her family problems)
4th one (won't shut up though nobody wants to listen, she once didn't shut up for 2 hours though i tried so hard to end the conversation. She is an enfp and she's my biggest nightmare, she wanted to be my roommate next year and I wanna find a way to escape.).
In my undergraduate college (4 years)
Group in final year: one girl ALWAYS complained about how she hated computer science, she was so dumb and put no effort in studies.
Other one always talked about literature and wanting to get married, she would never pay when we go out. She bragged about cheating, she went out with a 50 year old married man at 22 and was so proud of it.
2nd and 3rd year I didn't have friends as my ex isolated me and cheated.
1st year, we were a group of 3: The girl didn't know how to joke or have fun, it was too serious. Every convo felt like an interview.
The guy was gay and he always talked about how he was crushing on EVERY teacher, EVERY other guy in the college. He even had a crush on the ex who cheated on me. What's wrong with him. He made a group called "Threesome" as a joke and added the serious girl and me as a joke. I was questioned by others when they saw that. WTF I AM SO DISGUSTED. He had a minimum of 30-40 crushes in a span of one year.
I could go on and on. It's endless. Every person I've met is embarrassing as hell.
I plan on starting from scratch, once I leave the country in 2 months. I would only stay in touch with my parents because they provide for me and I'm grateful.
Otherwise I think everyone is just so cringey. I'll find a way to break up with my boyfriend and cut off my current friends as well.

Hail, fellow Helldivers!
I’m a game dev with over 20 years experience, half of that on live service games or MMOs, all of it on core combat for action games, on game teams ranging from 10 people to over 600.
I play a ton of hard co-op action games, and I was a huge fan of Helldivers 1. I’m honestly in awe of how good Helldivers 2 is, even after the hundreds of hours I’ve put into it, and how they’ve sustained the pace of updates for so long after launch.
Yes, this is a throwaway Reddit account, I wanted to share some of my thoughts without inviting death threats.
Development
This game must have been in development since shortly after Arrowhead’s last released game, Helldivers 1 (plus whatever DLC and maintenance), so, 8 years give or take (I sent Pilestedt a congratulatory email, but presumably he’s drowning in them, haha).
I ran into the devs at GDC 2019, shared a few drinks and we talked shop about our similar games. They were super cagey but very excited about what they were working on, even moreso when they found out I was a huge fan of HD1. They were clearly already deep in development of HD2 at that point.
This has been discussed elsewhere, but it adds to how impressive this game is: this is the same engine (Autodesk Stingray) as Helldivers 1, a top-down game with 2D gameplay and much lower visual fidelity. Stingray is no longer supported by Autodesk as of sometime after 2018, so most of the features HD2 required would have been built in-house by Arrowhead. To my knowledge there’s only one other studio actively using the engine, and that’s Fat Shark, the developers of (most recently) Warhammer 40,000: Darktide.
The AH team has grown massively in size over the past 8 years. I don’t have the exact numbers, but it’s a 5x to 10x increase in size. Scaling up that fast and not ruining your company culture is super hard, and you can see plenty of other studios that have tried to grow so they can build bigger games and have fallen apart doing it.
Helldivers 2 easily has a AAA level of polish. I’ve gone back to HD1 recently, which at the time looked and played super well, and the improvements are night and day. HD2’s production values compare favorably to any random AAA game released in the last few years
Weapons
Building first or third person weapons to this level of quality is extremely expensive. A unique gun for a AAA first person shooter might take 4-6 weeks of artist time and the same (or more) of designer time to set up and tune the gameplay. For any completely new type of weapon, factor in around 6 months of animator time, and a few weeks for a variant that has a different reload animation or similar. E.g. all rifle-sized shotguns might use the same base shotgun animation set, but the continuous reload shotguns would have a different reload animation than the Breaker family. Then you need VFX and audio too.
Vehicles are even moreso, taking months for each, more if they can seat multiple players or have points that contact the ground (e.g. wheels).
Environments
Building environments that look this good is expensive even if you know what you want, having built a prototype version, you then have to iterate on it while you refine the gameplay and then build the final art. Building environments that look this good and are procedurally generated in as freeform a way as in HD2 is mind-boggling. Let alone doing that in a way that runs fast enough. Sure once it’s all up and running you have a ton of variety for relatively cheap, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the proc gen create a serious gameplay problem, and that indicates very clever design and thorough testing.
AI
AI that works as well as this is expensive to build, and typically computationally expensive at runtime too. In games like Call of Duty or whatever, you have a static environment, with maybe 10-20 active AI at a time, prebuilt navmesh (which is a hand-drawn or generated map that allows AI to move around the environment without having to calculate valid geometry constantly at runtime), and level or encounter designers have hand scripted a lot of what looks like emergent AI behavior. HD2 can’t do any of that; there can be hundreds of enemies active at once, the environments are procedurally generated, AND terrain can be deformed, buildings can be destroyed etc. The AI can’t be scripted to the same degree as on a static map, probably the devs have hints that are procedurally added to the world and not much more. It helps that all of the enemies we’ve seen so far are the “implacably advancing” kind, typically they don’t have any complex behaviors, and instead the design of the character themselves and their attacks carries the gameplay. Smart design. The Illuminate in HD1 were much sneakier, it’ll be interesting to see how that faction translates to a full 3D game with a lot more enemies active at once.
UI
This game has a lot of quality of life features that it’s easy to take for granted, but are hard to build, and hard to retrofit to an existing game, for example:
· A zoomable, pingable minimap (IMO this is a best-in-class minimap implementation)
· A ping system
· Battlepass implementation allowing for not expiring old battle passes.
And all of this is UI-heavy, where UI is one of the most expensive things to make in AAA games. Every project I’ve shipped, UI has been a bottleneck. It doesn’t help that every company basically builds a UI system from scratch, since engines rarely have something shippable built in, and Scaleform (the most prominent UI middleware) went away. And then it takes a ton of iteration to get to a point where a feature is powerful and intuitive to players.
Gamefeel
If you play much of the most highly-regarded AAA shooters, you might not like the feel of some of the weapons in Helldivers 2 by comparison. They often feel slow to use, hard to aim, and punishing of misses, bad timing or bad positioning. Some of this is a polish thing and probably isn’t intended, e.g. scopes that look janky in first person, misaligned reticles and similar stuff. Most of it though looks deliberate, and supports the gameplay they’re laser-focused on building. The weapons are largely useful in very specific situations, and are not power fantasy moments for the player. There are serious tradeoffs, including “if I’m caught by a melee enemy with a Recoilless Rifle out, I’m in trouble”, the most powerful support weapons preventing you from bringing a shield, the snappiest weapons typically only being useful against weak enemies, etc. Most mass-market shooters sacrifice this extreme level of tradeoff in service of making the game feel better to play, and can lack gameplay variety as a result.
Given all of the above, most of the content that Arrowhead has released post ship must have been built alongside the rest of the game. It’s unlikely that they’re able to turn around 3 new weapons, new giant enemies, new mission types etc every month for several months in a row building them from scratch since ship. And yet, the game at launch still felt complete. This is a hard balance to strike. I wonder how much near-shippable content they have in their war-chest, and whether they’ll be able to generate more quickly enough to satisfy the appetite of the community on an ongoing basis.
Balance
Typically on a live game, the same designers build gameplay, ship it, and then balance it in patches post-ship. Sometimes a studio will have a separate “live team”, either dedicated, or rotating members of the dev team through it, but this isn’t common and it doesn’t look like Arrowhead splits the team up like this.
In any case, players always ask why developers ever nerf anything, and it’s for three reasons:
· Typically only a small number of things (weapons, abilities, heroes) are dominant, and a very large number are OK or weak in the current meta – buffing everything else would be extremely expensive, and since it’s the same people doing this work and building new content, it’d reduce the amount of new content the team could make. So it’s much more efficient to tamp down the overpowered things as a priority, and buff some other options at the same time.
· “No nerf, only buff” results in player power creep over time, which makes the game easier, and eventually will require a correction either in the form of a large scale nerf pass or buffs to enemies – both of these are bad: players hate widespread nerfs, and buffing enemies can put the game in a degenerate state where lethality is skewed, or only the best players can compete because they have all the best gear, or you end up in an arms race between player design and enemy design as both teams try to react to player feedback or overall game difficulty.
· Having a small number of overpowered things is much more destructive to a varied meta than a small number of weak things. Say you have 100 abilities and 3 of them are overpowered. Well, now everyone’s only using 3% of the possible content. Say you have 100 abilities and 3 of them are too weak.The other 97% is viable. Overly simplistic, clearly there’s a gradient, but you get the idea.
BTW the pace at which Arrowhead has updated balance is extremely fast for a large PvE game. Some small PvP-only games can react this quickly to a developing meta, but on large-scale games it takes weeks or months of testing and platform certification to ship balance updates on consoles. And “hotfixes”, i.e. very quick responses to critical issues, have a high level of scrutiny on them, i.e. lots of justifiable red tape, and often require crunch.
Community Interaction
It’s extremely rare for developers from large studios at any level to talk directly to the community, mostly because the gaming community burned those bridges long ago, by doxing devs they don’t agree with, sending them death threats, or just generally abusing them publicly and anonymously. No way in hell would I be public facing, and no one at any studio should be required to unless it’s explicitly part of their job. And even then, I feel for community managers. Direct communication from devs is a precious thing, and not one that should be taken for granted or used as an avenue for abuse.
*Salutes* to Arrowhead
Huge, huge kudos to Arrowhead. This game is an absolute triumph. To go from a small team making top-down games, to a medium-sized AAA team that shipped a game that catapulted right to the top of the most-played charts and game of the year lists and has stayed there is a massive accomplishment. I hope you’re all seeing a big payday from this success!

Just another fun little story idea I had. I am still working on Humans are the violent ones but I like to bounce around and experiment with ideas to see what I really like. I also suck at writing more casual stories, as they give me severe writer's block as I try to map out how to make a scene feel genuine in my head, but I promise I'll update that soon. If you like this story and want to see more, then like and comment. I'll gladly continue this series as well.
Start of Personal Log
Humans don't like being told what to do. They don't like being commanded, put in their place, or snubbed. It was an inexorable, inalienable trait of humans, at least any noteable humans, to go against any authority that they believed was against their interests.
Humanity would not fit amongst the stars. Few ever did. It was a trait of most successful species to be willful, ambitious, and to desire more. But once they reached the stars the new (and simultaneously very old) pecking order either quashed any spirit such species had or simply eradicated them. Countless tomb worlds and diaspora served as painful reminders of what became of the nails that chose to stick out. The hammer of order would always strike. There could be no compromise, the very soul of the authority that held the Jurisdiction together relied on a show of unmatched power, or at least the illusion of item.
In reality, the Jurisdiction was an old, fat, and lazy beast. It filled its belly on the corpses of empires far and wide, and sated its bloodlust on the shattered dreams of hopeful cubs. It had every right to, for none could challenge it: there were no new frontiers to explore, nor were there any other enemies to conquer. The Milky Way, as humans had so strangely dubbed our cradle galaxy, as well as Andromeda, had long since been warred over and settled for millennia before humanity had arrived, bright-eyed and with familiar yet otherwise foolish dreams of cooperation and prosperity. The Jurisdiction did not cooperate, nor did it ensure prosperity. Oh, it claimed it did, but in reality it simply took. The rest was just the peace that came with not being the direct target of the biggest fish in the pond. The humans didn't like that, but they had no choice.
Slavery was a common tribute. The Jurisdiction had no use for other resources: it simply took. No, it wanted those who could facilitate that unequal exchange, those raised in a world where the only morality was the one set by your lord. The Jurisdiction was held together by expectations, obligations, and dury more than any kind of shared dream, so when you were ordered to take you did so without question. Humanity was new: they had no niche or value that set them apart, but they had a penchant for killing and taking, so the Jurisdiction gave them a taste of how the galaxy worked. They killed and they took. The humans didn't like that, but what choice did they have?
Humans were strange. They learned, but not in the way most species learned. Most species learned to adapt in a passive way, to adhere to the world around them. They flowed like water, moving past and around obstacles and confirming to the boxes they were assigned too. Humans didn't confirm, nor did they adapt: they made their circumstances fit their desires. They would not move around obstacles, but rather smash through them, and they refused to stay in one box for too long. The Jurisdiction merely saw them as a particularly loud nuisance, but those who faced their wrath knew better.
It is said that when a beast seeks to make an example, it shall humble its rival by killing it's cubs. Children were one of those universal constants that brought entire communities together: the Sok’klar saw their hatchlings as gifts, shaped by the fruitful currents of the universe in perfect harmony. The Yarrack saw each and every newborn whelp as an uncut gemstone, ready to be shaped into something magical. Humanity oftentimes referred to their offspring as angels, or spirits of unbridled good sent by the gods themselves. Children were seen by most of the galaxy as gifts.
The Jurisdiction saw them as a lever to inflict suffering. It had become quite effective at enacting psychological punishments on those that stood up and spoke out. You dare to disobey? You believe you can speak out? Your gifts shall be taken from you, and you shall be without joy.
Humans didn't like this, but the Jurisdiction would have their pound of flesh, and humankind would kneel. And they did. But humans were patient creatures: most species who retained that trait of willful spit also lacked patience.
I had long since become desensitized to the Jurisdiction’s actions: it was simply how the universe worked now, as if it were a constant akin to gravity. Cruelty was the unspoken rule of this seemingly unending age, where our lives never appeared to move forward or backwards, only lay dormant. The Jurisdiction had been the unyielding authority that ruled the galaxy for thousands of years, venerable yet feared all the same.
And for the longest time I was just another cog in its wheel. My name is Kalnuracht Sedjuur-Noumar VII, and was the scion of the noble house Sedjuur-Noumar. I was born into what most would describe as veiled apathy, living a life that could be attributed to the privileged class of feared scribes that enacted the will of those above. I was an administrator and nothing more. And now I am doomed to be far less than that in the eyes of my former constituents within the endless administration. I am the only scion, as is tradition, and without an heir I am the last of my house, our name to be scrubbed from the records, worthless, meaningless, and forgotten.
I am merely Kalnuracht, nothing else and nothing more. I have seen from their eyes, the eyes of the downtrodden, and it makes my crimes of association with the Jurisdiction feel all the more damning on my worthless soul. I am worthless to the world, and this is my story.
End Personal Log #1
Start of Neural Lace Narrative Log #1
They came from the black like carrion birds in the night, encircling our convoy as if it were a dying animal ready to be picked clean without remorse. There was no warning, no list of demands sent out as civilized peoples did, nor was there either any requirement for unconditional surrender nor chance to parlay, as was done so under letter of marque: this was an unmistakable call for violence and nothing else. They sought to reduce us to slag and scavenge the rest.
So, as one would expect, the entire bridge of the ship was nearing a panicked state. This was not the actions of those practicing civility, but rather the common behaviors of despoiling barbarians, the kind that tore their way through the dark reaches of the galaxy as if they owned it.
“Wayfinder, what do your probes see?” Shouted the ship’s sovereign. He was an older Kar’Rowmach, an amphibious cephalopod species with a venerable history within the Jurisdiction going back thousands of years. Normally one such as him would be above me if it weren't for the fact that I was under the authority of the Jurisdiction’s seal of office. He didn't like me very much, but most of his kind shared the same sentiment.
“All dark, honorable Sovereign: the sensor arrays are wailing but the feedback we're reviewing is beyond incomprehensible,” the wayfinder replied with a certain restrained temper in his voice. The Sok'klar wayfinder swayed gently, his tentacled limbs grasping different metallo-liquid braille output arrays, the liquid gallium flexing and reshaping unnaturally to allow him to to take in multiple different sources of sensory output at once, with the primary navigation computer plugged into the cybernetics surrounding his opaque, gelatinous head and plugging directly into his tube-shaped brain.
The Sovereign cursed in Loskat and pointed to his bridge crew while I simply sat in the back, near the Sovereign’s symbolic throne. “Prepare countermeasures and spool up the warp drive, we cannot allow the amanuensis to be taken! He carries sensitive information that only he can translate and transcribe!”
As the bridge crew nodded and began fiddling with their own systems, I preened my feathered hide anxiously. I wasn't a fighter: us nobles of the cloth were the educated minority above all else, not those who waged war or partook in hard labor. Special cybernetics in my brain allowed me to translate triple-encoded messages that usually took a ducal signet codekey or above to parse, but even without that I was a skilled mathematician and logician. I had terabytes worth of knowledge stored within the hardware installed in my head, all well protected of course, but if I were to die it would still be a waste. I could only imagine the damage any malcontenders could do with it if they were able to get their filthy hands on me.
Suddenly, the ship rocked, and the gallium overhead display began to form crescendos like I'd never seen before. “Sovereign, decks A-3 through C-12 are venting atmosphere and our coolant systems have been obliterated,” the Wayfinder spoke in an almost serene voice, as if he was completely unconcerned by current events. I knew they were simply incapable of tonal displays, but it was unnerving nonetheless. “Once we jump, we will not be able to risk another until the vacuum of the void can reduce temperatures to acceptable levels within the plasma capacitors.”
“Damn them,” the armored nautiloid hissed, his barbed feelers coiling in frustration, “May the currents take them. What are our options? what can we see? This fleet cannot fall to the void today, not with such vital cargo.” My hackles rose lightly at the Kar’Rowmach referred to me as some object rather than an esteemed amanuensis of the Jurisdiction, but I bit my forked tongue. Now was not the time to squabble with the sovereign over who was what and what titles I deserved, not while he was so desperately attempting to keep what semblance of order within his fleet that he had left.
I could not blame the crew for being panicked either: wars were practically mythologized now, having been long since rendered obsolete with the rise of the Jurisdiction, and that felt like an eternity ago. Now, either being levied into or joining a ducal naval force was simply another career, more akin to serving as an officer of the law rather than a fully fledged soldier. Minimal training was required, most of it being the technicals of one's duty rather than any kind of combat conditioning, so expecting a fleet to actually be prepared for a combat scenario in a universe where peace was the norm was laughable.
“We are practically blind, Sovereign,” stated the Sok'klar Wayfinder, “our probes are offline, and shipboard graviton displacement sensory arrays have been rendered unreliable at best.”
“What about the particle emission array? Has there been a spike in radioactivity where we were hit?”
The Wayfinder seemed to think for a second, his gelatinous form flexing and morphing a bit before answering. “Affirmative, a jump from negligible to forty billion becquerels along decks A through E-5 on our starboard side.”
“Torpedoes…” the Sovereign hissed, stroking his barbed feelers, “Human Torpedoes. Only those primitives would rely on crude nuclear warheads.” He then turned to his militant leaders on the ship. “Noddos, Rel’ads: organize your phalanxes and prepare to repel boarders. We are bound to be assailed by those rancorous primates, and I want their skulls piled at my feet if they dare set foot on our ship.”
“Your wish is our command, Sovereign,” the two militant commanders spoke as one. Noddos, a large bipedal with multiple sets of curved spines running down his back, a pair of graceful horns sprouting from his head, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in his snout, bowed first, followed by Rel’ads, a marsupial with long saberteeth and thick fur. They both must have been fierce warriors in their own right to each lead a phalanx. They wore thick, semi-powered armor and held dueling polearms alongside their usual plasma casters, and seemed completely unfazed by the situation we were in. As they stomped out of the brightly lit bridge, I let out a quiet squawk of discontentment. “Sovereign, why haven't we jumped again? We are wasting precious time.”
“I am working on it, you spineless beaurocrat!” He warbled back, his feelers tensing in anger, “besides, it's not as if you're the one who will be spilling blood today, amanuensis, so flatten your wretched beak or I shall weld it shut with a plasma torch.
I was about to reply with something indignant, but the ship rocked again, this time causing the lights to flicker and the air to become… thick. The skin under my feathers began to blister, and I became lightheaded and confused. “Seal the damnable vents, initiate radiation scrubbers, and activate secondary life support!” Shouted the Sovereign, “Their nuclear weapons are rendering the ship inhospitable!”
I coughed up magenta blood accidentally, and I could feel more seeping from under my eyes. Some of the crew was in a similar position, but others were more resistant to radiation than I. The Sok'klar seemed completely at ease as he ran his tentacles across his morphic braille arrays before calmly announcing the ship’s status. “I've regained some control over our probes: ten, twelve, and seventeen are active and fully functional, the rest are either still malfunctioning or permanently inoperable. A rapid rise in localized radiation is also interfering with the detection of graviton displacement; we can't sense photon redirection, thus readings will remain inconclusive.
“Wayfinder, damn you, get me some kind of out here! We're easy prey until we can respond in kind!”
“Negative, something has gone awry with our processing hub, I am attempting to troubleshoot-”
And with that, the Wayfinder’s bulbous head exploded in a cascade of opaque lavender blood, covering the front half of the deck crew like a morbid art piece. Some of the crew screamed and shouted in terror before removing their cranial adaptors and choosing to interact with their displays manually. Others died just as quickly, unable to unplug in time as their brain stems fried or their blood boiled. It was a horrible way to go, having your insides neutralized by your own cybernetics, so I was glad I wasn't connected to the system.
“Cybernetic warfare! All systems are to be considered compromised, switch to manual settings or you'll be killed!”
The lights in the bridge flickered again, and the displays went haywire. The bridge crew, which obviously weren't acquainted with working without being hard-linked into the mainframe, moved at a much slower pace.
“Launch missile pods A through F and set to self-target after five hundred kilometers, then rely on their ballistic coordinates to begin firing broadsides! If we can't see the humans due to their meddling, we'll just have to feel them.” Shouted the Sovereign, “and got me a detailed report on the ship’s diagnostics readings. I need to know if this flagship is still capable of escaping or if we'll have to scuttle it and retreat on another.”
“Acknowledged, Sovereign, launching now,” affirmed another deck officer as he swiped across his own gallium output array. I could hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of missiles pushing out of their pods before racing off to their intended targets, then the mechanical whirring as the pods rotated to be reloaded by slaves in the lower decks. I was regaining my bearings as the many horrible sensations of being overwhelmed by radiation poisoning were beginning to subside, but I still felt as if I had been microwaved. The air was stale, the crew was horribly sick as well, and even the sovereign himself seemed to be on his last leg. I was beginning to believe that I might die here.
“Sovereign, a message from the lower decks,” shouted a communications officer, his chitin scraping against itself as he turned quickly, “they're requesting reinforcements, something about being overrun.”
“Impossible,” the Sovereign hissed out in a vain attempt to exude confidence, “We must outnumber the humans, they always go for bigger targets out of arrogance.”
“I've received reports that it's not just humans: the primates seem to make up only a third or so of the assailing force, along with some Phaeldaer and Vrex.”
The commander slammed his clawed hands down on his own output array in a fit of rage, obviously overwhelmed by the circumstances, “Then this wasn't just a typical assault, but something more sinister!” The nautiloid warbled, blood seeping from his shell as the full effects of the radiation took hold, “Get Rel’ads on the line, have him divert all spare lances to the lower decks or else we'll lose the only offensive capabilities we can use.”
“Rel'ads has gone dark, Sovereign, his vitals are critical.”
“Then either get me Rel'ads tail-leader or get me Noddos!” He screamed in rage, “don't give me this nonsense! If we don't pick it up we're all going to die, is that what you want?”
“No, Sovereign, I'm simply overwhelmed-”
“We're all overwhelmed! By the tides, I'm dying of radiation poisoning you nincompoop! Get me something I can work with!”
The officer didn't even acknowledge the Sovereign after that, simply turning back to his display. Eventually, the Sovereign was able to get Noddos on the line.
“Sovereign, two thirds of my phalanxes have been decimated by combat with the primitives and the radiation, the rest are in shambles. We must retreat and fortify elsewhere!”
“Then the ship is compromised! Rel'ads is unresponsive and the lower decks are swarming with intruders. We must evacuate the amanuensis to another ship.”
Just as the Sovereign spoke, I heard several gentle thumps rattle against the bridge’s door, and it made me uneasy. Some of the bridge crew seemed to feel the same, as they looked incredibly nervous and some even drew their sidearms. Just as the sovereign turned to give further orders, the door blew inward with a deafening explosion, followed by shouting and gunfire. Several of the bridge officers were dispatched quickly, brain matter and blood splattering against the delicate electronics. Others were shot in the legs, the torso, or in any other exotic yet non-vital body parts. The humans poured in, brandishing primitive ballistic firearms and jury-rigged energy weapons while wearing scavenged, legion-grade powered armor.
The Sovereign was the next to go, but he wasn't afforded an honorable death. He was shot along the arm with a particularly potent plasma caster, burning off his clawed hand and cauterizing the wound, the acrid smell of roasting chitin filling the already hot and cramped bridge. He fell back against his output array, the gallium reaching new highs and lows as more diagnostics and casualty reports were delivered, and he clutched his stump angrily. “I'll burn every last one of you in the foundries! I'll tie you to stakes, cover you in wax and set you alight! Your screams will be broadcasted all over the galaxy!”
One human warrior stomped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the sovereign’s face, shattering his facial plates and causing blue blood to splatter across his section of the bridge. “Shut the fuck up, you mutant lobster,” the human said before dragging him by both antennae towards the center of the bridge and receiving a stained breeching axe from one of his comrades. “Emmanuel, start recording. We need proof.”
The other human nodded and pressed a button on his armor before lifting up his gun again. The rest of the humans fanned out, holding everyone else at gunpoint. I tried to get up and sneak out, but a human grabbed me by my neck and nearly wrung it out as he forced me to my knees and pointed a sidearm to my skull. “Get down, you piece of shit, before I blow your brains out too.”
“Damnable primate,” I hissed, but he bashed me in my skull with the base of his sidearm’s grip and sent me sprawling, making my already pounding headache worse. Another human shouted at him in a language I didn't recognize, but he sounded furious. The first brought me back up to my knees again, and I complies with a hiss and a groan, blood still leaking from my eyes and mouth and my world was spinning.
The Sovereign struggled, but he was weak from the radiation poisoning and he couldn't exactly resist on account of his lost arm. The human with the breaching ax kicked the Sovereign down and forced him to kneel before lifting up the breeching ax and splitting his chitinous head down the middle with one powerful swing, sending more blood and brains across the floor. “Execution confirmed, take his antennae just in case and we've got ourselves a bounty. Now all we need is that ugly cat’s teeth and the fat hedgehog-thing’s grimy spines and we'll be in business. Although, they do have skulls… we might as well just take their heads.”
The real horror of the situation dawned on me at that moment: they were going to kill us all, or maybe worse. They mentioned a bounty for the commanders, and multiple of the higher ranking ship officers were already dead, their brains splattered against the walls or their bodies torn apart by gunfire. I wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean much since I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Alright, round them up and bring all the grunts to the hanger bay, then kill the rest,” the leader of the humans said in such a lackadaisical manner that his complete disregard for life almost made me sick… almost. I had seen worse from the Jurisdiction before, but usually that was from me delivering some kind of ordered judgment on a world that had sinned against order. I might have simply been the messenger, but I had seen many of the outcomes. “And make sure to collect whatever proof of bounties you can, we'll need to deliver them to the office to get cashed out. Don't let this be a repeat of last time where Juarez fucking forgot to take a few heads and it ended up cutting our profits in half, the fucking retard.”
Some of the humans chuckled at that as they dragged more of the senior officers away, out of the room and into the hall,where I heard gunshots. The rest of the bridge crew froze in place, different fear instincts kicking in. The remaining Sok'klar corralled together into what seemed to be a singular, semi-congealed mass as if to try and trick the humans into believing that they were much bigger and much more threatening than they actually were. The one Thei’chi on the bridge, an ensign who had clearly thought this would be a simple mission, bore her curved fangs at the humans and growled as they approached, her hackles completely vertical and her eyes dilated. They quickly muzzled and bound her before beating her over the head with a gun stock, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Many others simply cooperated, eyes wide and yet simultaneously empty, as if they couldn't quite process that the ship had been taken and the commanding officers were being executed as the rest were escorted to the hangar.
“Get the damn messenger down to the hanger as well, we need whatever data's in his ugly lizard head, then we can decide on what to do with him.”
I spat at him in spite, as if to try and seem brave, but it was clearly an empty gesture. “You won't get anything, primate! You couldn't possibly crack the encryption!”
The human holding me seemed to wind up for another swing, but the commanding officer simply held up his hand to stop my tormentor before strolling over to me. He knelt down and removed his helmet, revealing a beige-colored face covered in scars, wiry black hair cut down to the scalp, and multiple tattoos. “You're really fucking mouthy for a hostage,” he said before punching me across my beak faster than I could register. I heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and my head spun again as the metallic taste of blood pooled into my mouth. “I'd advise you to shut up, but I'm sure you won't listen: you aristocratic types are so full of yourselves. Maybe I should have you flogged in the public square until your vocal chords give out once we rip those cybernetics from your head, huh? How's that sound?”
“It won't matter… it won't change anything… the Jurisdiction will hunt you down.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it will happen for some time: they really suck at doing anything that requires effort, even when they're mad enough. They just keep sending their rabid lapdogs to try and smoke us out, and they always end up full of holes,” the human officer said with a smirk, his yellowish-white teeth and green eyes sending shivers down my spine as he drew his knife. “They're just horrible at their job, you know? You've all gotten so lazy and incompetent after being able to just take what you want without resistance, and now that you've met people who are angry and crazy enough to fight back you act as if we're committing some grave injustice,” he placed the knife against my throat, the flat just underneath my now bent beak, “No, we just took a few pages out of your book, ‘cept we've got standards. No kids, for one…” he seemed to look off into the distance as his sneer deepened, “but it's more than that, we don't attack the defenseless in general and we still win against you all in fair fights.”
I went to say something else snarky, but he quickly grabbed my thin tongue with his fingers and yanked it out, blood from my mouth pulling to the floor as he held the blade of his knife against it. “No no, none of that. Say one more thing and I'll cut that rancid little tongue of yours out of your mouth and feed it to you,” he hissed at me, pressing the blade down just hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what it's like to see a planet turn into a tomb?" he asked me, gritting his teeth, “Do you know what it's like to see everything you've ever known crumble to ash and glass, all the life and the green stripped away leaving nothing but bones? I do. I've seen it happen to countless worlds, and my grandfather always told me stories of how you bastards did it to Earth. He still prays in its direction five times a day, to Mecca, but he knows the Kaaba is gone now, or maybe it's still there, buried in the bones of those who sought refuge there.”
I didn't care for the human’s nonsensical beliefs, but I did care to correct him. “I've seen it before, and I'll see it again. And so will you, it's inevitable. The Jurisdiction will always have its judgment fulfilled, there is no alternative.”
“One day, I hope we can rectify that,” he said, then he sheathed his knife and slammed my head against the metal floor with enough force to nearly knock me out. As I lost consciousness, I could hear him speak. “Take him to the Chop Doc, and make sure the cybernetics don't get damaged: they're supposedly more valuable than any bounty on this ship.”
Warning: Severe radiation poisoning detected. Flush system immediately.
Warning: Neural Lace removal detected, chance of neurological damage high. Proceeded with caution.

Hi all,
New hunter here. So, like many new hunters, I bought a Remington 783 308 Win. Extremely happy with the caliber and it's effectiveness (it deos the job for me). The rifle and scope combo worked great so far.
Whilst the gun is fantastic for beginners the quality of its build has been frustrating for me. I spend a lot of time at the range working on my shooting and the overall, 'plasticy' feel of the rifle is extremely annoying. There's creaking noises that are showing with certain parts just not feeling how I'd like.
I'm going to hunt with the current rifle for the upcoming Fall 2024 season where I live but I'd like to upgrade my rifle in early 2025.
I'll mostly hunt red and roe deer, with a special focus on the former. I don't really have a budget just yet but I'd like my next rifle to be the one I'll keep for a decade. I've found (and been told) to invest a large portion of the amount on a good scope but comfort and quality of the rifle are key to me.
As it stands, I would really love some recommendations on which direction I should take. I'd ideally like to stay with a European brand as it'll be easier to get for me (American brands are just a pain to get with gunsmiths here.)
Much appreciated.

Previous Part
I woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs. Over by the side of my bed was a tray with a masterfully prepared omelet and sausage to match. That’s not what caught my eye though. What did that was the little note stuck to the side of they tray.
“Sorry for terrorizing you- R”
Was scrawled in barley legible hand writing, Rocco’s I imagined.
“So it can cook but not write?”
I muttered to myself as I got out of bed.
A fresh change of clothes was laid out for me and I decided just not to question it. The clothes fit perfectly and I tried not to let my mind wander as to why that was while I ate breakfast. Rocco’s omelet was outstanding, for a trash panda he made a great cook but I have no idea where he would’ve picked that up. After I finished I brought my dishes downstairs and ran into Stein in the kitchen.
“The clothes fit don’t they? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, I should’ve just sent Rocco up to ask your size.”
“No no, they fit fine, and please don’t send Rocco to do anything without telling me. I think that might just give me a heart attack on the spot. I’m still really not used to all… this going on”
I said gesturing to the raccoon who had wandered into the kitchen and was now flipping me the bird with both his paws.

Stein nodded to me with what I hoped was understanding. As much as Rocco seemed harmless (Maybe… hopefully?) I really didn’t want the furry little demon arriving anywhere near me unexpectedly. We already saw how that went in the basement yesterday. I finished washing my dishes in the sink as Stein ate his breakfast. He seemed so calm and normal, compared to the things I’d seen in this house so far. If you took one look at Bianca you say she looked too good to be true. Rocco is… well, he’s a talking raccoon, that’s immediately strange. But when it came to Frank and Stein you couldn’t tell there was anything off about them. Honestly I still had trouble seeing where they fit into this whole thing.
I was lost in this train of thought as I went through the motions of taking my groceries out of the refrigerator where someone had put them. I didn’t even realize Bianca was standing behind me till she tapped my shoulder. Jumping out of my skin I screeched out,
“Jesus Rocco what the hell!”
Bianca went from serious to laughing hysterically in no time flat.
“He really has you spooked after last night doesn’t he?”
She barely got out between bouts of laughter.
“I’m sorry really, oh and I’ve got this for you.”
Chuckled Bianca, handing me a wad of cash with a face that didn’t look remotely sorry for laughing at me.
“Just for that I’ll take it! But I’ve got to ask, how do you have this much cash just lying around, isn’t that a little risky?”
“You’d have to ask my unc… Frank or Stein.”
Bianca answered, stumbling on the apparently familiar lie. As she said this Stein stood up from the table and answered my question.
“Researching the supernatural isn’t always safe but Germany pays its scientists well, even if we don’t work for them anymore.”
“Germany? When did you work with the German government?”
I asked, a sinking suspicion settling into the pit of my stomach.
“1941, The Führer requested me specifically and I met Frank there. Oh don’t look at me like that! I didn’t support his cause, he simply wanted to look into forces outside his control and that was my specialty. It was business nothing more.”
Stein responded, pointing his finger at me and sounding a little annoyed.
“But that would make you… there’s no way you’re that old. Uh I don’t mean!”
“Think nothing of it, if anything, it means our serum worked. Distilled it from the DNA of a few pureblooded vampires and designed it to slow human aging to a crawl.”
Bianca cut him off,
“Stein, I think I can see steam coming out his ears. Can we maybe give the supernatural stuff a rest? I know you’ve been around it all your life but I think its a bit much for him.”
“Yes, I suppose your right Bianca. I’ll leave you two be then.”
Stein surrendered, as he turned and walked out of the room. Like he hadn’t just dropped yet another bomb on me.
I held myself together much better this time. After talking raccoons and succubi, learning vampires apparently existed in such an offhanded manner just didn’t surprise me as much. At this point I was just about ready to accept any supernatural entity I’d ever heard of existed in some capacity. In fact that might be the best policy moving forward.
“Hey you’re not going to pass out on us again right?”
Bianca asked turning back to me, genuine concern in her voice.
“No, I’ll be fine. The more I hear about this kind of thing the better I am at just accepting it. It’s a lot easier hearing it from one of you guys than having it drop out of the sky at me.”
I joked, walking with Bianca to the door. I noticed my poor attempt at a joke was the first time I said anything about Imalone without feeling like someone would call me crazy. I couldn’t dwell on that for too long right now though, I had to drop off the groceries that had taken me a full day to get. In hindsight though, I’ve had worst trips to the grocery store.
The next few days passed without any real issues, I got things set up in the house and ordered some furniture with the money I got from Bianca. On the second day I figured I should go out and explore the town a bit. I was getting bored being cooped up doing normal things and apparently I wanted to throw a wrench in all that.
“Maybe a bar” I thought to myself as I walked out the door just as the sun had started to think about setting, “Those are always a good place to meet people”.
This is where I tell you I may be just a little awkward. Even back home I didn’t really get out and meet new people much but I figured now is as good a time as any to start. I threw together a quick outfit with the clothes I brought with me from home. Hopefully I looked at least a little bit presentable in khakis and a red dress shirt. I walked out my door and immediately saw Bianca’s house peering out over the town. I considered dropping by to see if Bianca wanted to join me. I had told her about the reasons I ended up in Eagles Peak but I still knew precious little about her. I assumed her past wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I wanted to know what exactly drew someone like her to a sleepy little town like this. Maybe seeing if she wanted to join me would be a good opportunity to learn something about her? It’s entirely possible I just wanted to spend more time around her because she was drop dead gorgeous. Maybe it was because she was the first person I bumped into in town? I couldn’t put my finger on it and if we’re being honest I didn’t want to admit the real reason to myself.
That would have to wait for another day though. I had spent so much time thinking about it that by the time I snapped back to reality I was by the greyhound bus stop, well past her house. There was another bus stopped there and people were getting off of it. None of them looked like what I would call a local but its not like I’d really know what a “local” looked like here anyways. Still, this town couldn’t get this many visitors right? It was weird but probably had a completely reasonable explanation.
“The Eagle’s Roost” read the sign above the bar’s entrance, it was actually a pretty high class looking establishment. The fresh red paint gleamed against the faded whites and grays of the other buildings on the street. Inside, a well polished dark wood floor greeted me. The room was completed by a roaring stone fireplace and a well used set of stools by the counter.
“Hey there! Anyone home?!”
I called out into the empty bar.
“Give me a minute!”
Replied a deep gruff voice form the back room. Eventually a man emerged from the room, well I say man but what I mean was a mountain in human form. This guy had to be about 7 feet tall and built from solid granite. Seriously, the muscles on this guy would’ve put The Rock to shame.
“Little early to start drinkin’ isn’t it?”
The mountain grunted judgmentally.
“Well I’m new here I just wanted to see the town. I could come back later if you want.”
“New, why didn’t you say so! New here, I haven’t seen anyone new here in years! come sit down if you’ve got questions about this place I can probably answer them!”
The now elated giant boomed at me. He turned hospitable in an instant, offering me a drink on the house for his poor manners before. His name was Tucker and he’d come to the town years ago as a foreman for it’s mine. The mine dried up and the workers moved on but something about this town spoke to him and he decided to stay. He opened up this bar and the rest is history. Something about the way he talked about the mine did’t sit right with me though. He kept mentioning how it dried up like he was trying to convince me that was what happened. Plus a mine out here didn’t exactly make much sense to me.
“So you run this place alone then?”
I asked, more to be polite than out of genuine curiosity. We had started to run out of things to talk about after conversation about the mine dried up much like it apparently had.
“Never needed any help besides my wife’s, but most days I just run the place alone, yes. No sense in hiring help here, not many people looking for work outside of the ones working at that grocery store down the street. Anyways I should get back to work, its getting to be about time we actually open to the public.”
I turned my head to look at the sign I now realized was stuck to the door. “Eagle’s Roost Hours: 6PM-1AM every night”. I realized with embarrassment I had walked through the door an hour before opening. Tuck had been nothing but friendly though, and I almost felt bad for assuming the locals like him would want to shoo me away. After all, everyone I’d met so far had been nothing but nice, not including Rocco that is.
As I turned my attention back to my drink I thought about the mine again. I hadn’t seen any records of the mine Tuck mentioned in my internet searches of the town before I came here. Honestly it had been incredibly difficult to dig up anything on the town. I wasn’t necessarily the most thorough in my search, but mines tend to be a staple of the towns they’re located in. This mine in particular seems to be what the town was built on. I’m not sure what had me so worked up on this mine issue but I was sure it was important. I sat there at the bar, mulling it over and sipping on my drink when a hand slapped down on my shoulder.
The man it was attached to said something but I couldn’t catch it even if I wanted to. I was far to laser focused on the mark seared black into the mans hand, the exact same eagle that was burned into my back. I pushed him off and bolted for the door, all I heard behind me was the mans confused “What?” And Tuck shouting at him.
“Now what in the Blazes did you do to the poor kid Robert!”
I shot off into the street from the bar, no one was chasing me but the fact that the symbol was here had set me off like a deer running from a gunshot.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Called a now familiar, heavily accented voice from the alleyway.
“Rocco, what are you doing out here?”
I questioned, bewildered at finding him out in the open. I’d never admit it but seeing a familiar face, even Rocco’s, calmed me down a little
“I’m a raccoon in an alleyway, what do you think I’m doing, fishing? No, I’m rootin' around in the trash, Frank needs some lithium foil and he can’t be bothered to run out and buy some batteries himself, stingy bastard.”
He retorted, looking for all intents and purposes like a normal raccoon at the moment.
“Even if I were to guess I wouldn’t have even come close to that.”
“I live to surprise”
Rocco sneered, taking a bow dripping with sarcasm.
“Anyways Frank is back at the house right? There’s something I’ve got to tell him.”
I asked, turning and running as soon as I got a response in the affirmative.
“Yeah he is, what exactly is so importa…. And he’s gone”
I made it to their strange high house in record time and burst through the door like I owned the place. For some reason Bianca seemed completely unfazed as I crashed into the entryway without so much as a knock.
“You know, you don’t live here right?”
“Oh yeah, good to see you too Bianca. Anyways, were is Frank, or Stein for that matter I’ve got something to ask.”
“They’re in the basement.”
Bianca said pointing to the door without looking up from the book she was reading.
Her dismissive attitude didn’t even register to me as I made my way down the basement steps. I got to the bottom and an acrid scent assaulted my nostrils.
“Do I even want to know what that is?”
I called into the basement, announcing my presence. Frank emerged from a room to my side decked out in a full lab coat and goggles along with a hairnet to protect what little of his still remained.
“What do you need?”
“You guys seem to know a lot about the supernatural right? Well, does this symbol mean anything to you?”
I said pulling off my shirt and turning my back to show him the mark that woman had left me with. His reaction could best be described by the sound of shattering glass as he dropped the beaker he was holding as he saw the symbol.
“Where did you get that?!”
He yelled more than asked.
“Back in Imalone.”
“Imalone? What’s that supposed to mean?”
It dawned on me that I hadn’t explained it to him like I had Bianca, so I filled him in. I told him the whole truth this time, where the mark came from, what really drove me to Eagles Peak, all of it. Frank listened diligently looking more concerned by the minute, at some point Stein joined him. A similarly shocked look was plastered across his face. I swear he was turning white when he answered my question.
“It’s the mark of the Thunderbird, and from what you told us, you met… her in person.”
“So why do you look so worried about it?”
I asked, feeling a little worried.
“Well she’s marked you personally, most people that have that mark would’ve gotten it to show devotion or allegiance and it certainly wouldn’t have come directly from the Thunderbird.”
The way Stein talked about this “Thunderbird” made me think I may be in even deeper shit than I realized.
“So do you two actually know anything about the Thunderbird?”
I asked, hoping these two would know something considering their long study of the supernatural.
“Until recently I only knew of the native legends surrounding the creature. I heard of people marking themselves with that symbol so I assumed there must be some truth to the legends. But neither me nor Frank has ever seen the Thunderbird, much less seen it..er, her take a human form.”
Stein answered, sounding almost disappointed in himself. I got the sense that not knowing something like this really ate at him. Which was just further proven by what he said next, a grin suddenly appearing on his face.
“Frank, I think we have our next big research project on our hands then.”
“I’ll start pulling any records I can find of accounts like Keith’s here.”
Frank said, hurrying over to a computer in the basement corner that looked ancient.
“Yes and compare those to the various legends surrounding the Thunderbird.”
Stein responded, rifling through a row of cabinets against the far wall.
Those two seemed to be whipped into a frenzy by something they knew next to nothing about being dropped in their laps.
“Guys… Guys! Can we hold off on going full mad scientist mode for just a second I’ve got one more thing to ask!”
I yelled trying to get their attention. when they turned to me I could see the spark in both their eyes as they hastily responded in unison.
“Yes, what!”
“Have either of you heard about a mine in this town? Tuck at “Eagle’s Roost” mentioned it but I don’t remember seeing anything about it when I looked into this town.”
“Ah the mine, it’s out in the forest north of town somewhere. There was a collapse or something a few years after it opened and the town covered it up. It would’ve been very embarrassing for them to admit the screw up so they just… didn’t, that’s all there is too it.”
Frank answered, seemingly bothered by the mundaneness of that question.
“So the mine is still out there then?”
“Of course! What did you think it just walked away? No, leave us be we’ve got work to do.”
Stein snapped.
As I left the two to their business and made my way out of the house I ran into Rocco, several grimy batteries grasped in his paws.
“They uh… I don’t think they’ll need those batteries anymore bud.”
“God damnit! That’s what I get for trying to be helpful.”
Rocco yelled, as he threw the batteries against the wall. I had to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was walking past a talking raccoon on his way down to two scientists looking into a Thunderbird. That’s a real thing that’s currently happening to me. Just a few days ago simply seeing Rocco knocked me out almost immediately and now he was just a minor inconvenience. Could it be that I was actually adjusting to all the crazy things that had been happening around me? I sure thought so.
Upstairs, Bianca was still nose deep in her book at the kitchen table.
“Hey can I ask you something?”
“Yeah sure, what is it?”
“Ever been into the woods around town? There’s something I want to check out there.”
“I don’t usually leave the house all that much if I’m honest.”
Bianca answered, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Do you want too? Leave the house I mean.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, I’m going to be headed out there tomorrow looking for the old mine.”
“And why are you looking for that?”
She questioned suspiciously.
“I have a feeling it has something to do with the mark that woman… and I forgot I didn’t tell you about that.”
Bianca looked up at me as she said with a smirk.
“I knew there was more to that story from the other night. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’ll spare you the details but needless to say I told the story again. I really need to start bringing everyone together when I do these things, it would save me time.
“So that’s why you came here, and you think this mine has something to do with it?”
Bianca exclaimed excitedly. I could almost see the lightbulb going off over her head.
“Yeah that’s pretty much it, do you want to come with? I mean you don’t have to go but I”
She cut me off,
“You know what maybe I should go. Two sets of eyes gives us better odds right? And you have a bad history with forgotten places I seem to recall.”
Bianca said with a coy smile.
“That’s what we’ll do then, I’ll get some things ready and stop by tomorrow, we’ll leave from there.”
And before she had a chance to rethink her answer I left feeling pleased with myself.
My next stop was the hardware store on the other side of town. Of course I still had my travel bag from the good old Imalone trip but I figured I’d pick up some more tools that could come in handy.. I ended up with two heavy duty flashlights, some work gloves of various sizes cause I had no idea what size would fit Bianca, and a set of bolt cutters. It was only when I got up to the counter and the clerk gave me the stink eye that I noticed my mistake.
“You planning to break into something kid?”
Questioned the older guy cashing me out. I responded before my brain caught up with my mouth.
“I was planning on it but you guys didn’t sell balaclavas. So I guess I’ll have to wait.”
The man eyed me for a second then burst out laughing as he handed me my things. Which was good because I knew a few places back in Wisconsin where pulling that would’ve got me pulled into a backroom for questioning. Not a lot of people knew how to take a joke back home. Weirdly enough it was the first time I thought of home since coming here. Obviously I had family back there but we weren’t exactly close like I said before. I just found myself missing the familiarity of the area I had lived in for the past 24 years of my life. I think that’s why I came to the decision to call my mother when I got home later that night.
The whole walk home I had this strange feeling of being watched. No-one was there, I’m sure because I checked… several times. But even as I locked the door to my house and starting sorting out a bag of supplies for Bianca, the feeling didn’t go away. As I pulled out my phone to call my mother the feeling finally faded into the background as I got her familiar answering machine.
“Hi, you’ve reached Carla, leave your name and number after the tone.”
Straight and to the point as quickly as possible, that was the best way to describe mom and it showed even in her answering machine.
“Hi mom I bet you’re wondering where I ended up. Well I’m in New York now, in a sleepy little town. Its nice really, I already met some new people they’re… well they’re a bit strange but I think I might fit in with them. I’m still looking for a job but I had a really well paying temp thing the other day so I’ll be fine for a little while. Anyways, hope you’re doing well, love you.”
I teared up a bit as I ended the call, I hadn’t called my mother in at least a year. She never checked up on me and I never checked in with her. We’d see each other at family gatherings and talk but outside of that I didn’t really contact her much anymore. It was sort of a mutual agreement that we both had, we assumed the other was alright. But being this far from Wisconsin, this far from home, had finally caught up with me. I wanted to at least hear her voice, even if it was just a recording.
As I finished up packing for tomorrow I was quite proud of myself. I’d thought of just about everything, I dug some old hiking boots out for myself and some rope from my old travel bag. Several different sets of flint and steel and about three days worth of dehydrated food adorned the top pocket of both bags. I’d even found an old water purification kit that ended up in one of the duffle bags I brought from my apartment. In short, I was the most over prepared for an excursion like this I’d ever been. It did help push back the eyes I felt peering at me from somewhere over my shoulder, the feeling of being watched still not leaving me. Once I laid down and tried to fall asleep the feeling only intensified. Sounds of rolling thunder in the distance reminding me of my time in Imalone and the fury of the storm the Thunderbird brought. I felt strangely confident as well though, tomorrow Bianca and I may finally start to uncover some answers as to why I felt called to this town, and maybe even what this mark could mean for me.

I'm starting to feel like a bit of a broken record, but this is the only place I've gotten decent advice so far. My party's primary ranged Striker, a Death's Head, is no longer playing with us and their replacement really wants to play a Heavy Gunner Sherman with the Loza's Plasma Caster that our GM just gave us access to. The build seems solid, but it leaves us doubling up on Heavy Gunner StrikeControllers with no ranged heavy hitter, since I was running a Heavy Gunner Worldkiller with the Krakatoa. After chatting with our new player I decided to swap to a TechnoThumb Plasma Thrower build to keep our party balanced out, but I can't decide whether to go for Tokugawa or Sherman as my secondary license.
Both use Spaceborn 1 so I can move a decent distance without needing to put points into Agility. I could swap it for Vanguard 1 and try to get 2 points of Agility, but both builds rely on Limited systems so dropping Engineering is out of the question and our GM tends to include least one enemy that either hits hard or has some way to counter my armor, so dropping Hull leaves me uncomfortably vulnerable. And I'm not convinced that 8 Evasion will be a significant difference to 6 Evasion, even with near constant soft cover from Furiosa.
The first build is the closest to actually filling the shoes of our missing Death's Head, as it's a fairly straightforward Genghis/Tokugawa Striker build that uses LUCIFIER and NuCav 2 to crank up the Plasma Thrower's damage output when needed while Deep Well, BT, and NuCav 3 sort of keep the heat generation in check. Heatfall makes the Superheavy action economy a little less painful, SBD for more heat cap so I can get the most damage possible out of LUCIFER without exploding (much).

-- HA “Worldkiller” Genghis Mk I @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Genghis 3, HA Tokugawa 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Heatfall Coolant System, Superior by Design [ TALENTS ] Technophile 3, Nuclear Cavalier 3, Black Thumb 2, Spaceborn 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:0 SYS:0 ENGI:4 STRUCTURE:4 HP:19 ARMOR:3 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:14 REPAIR:6 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+2 SPD:3 EVA:6 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun MAIN MOUNT: Annihilator MAIN MOUNT: SUPERHEAVY WEAPON BRACING HEAVY MOUNT: Plasma Thrower [ SYSTEMS ] Enlightenment-Class NHP, Personalizations, Deep Well Heat Sink, LUCIFER-Class NHP x4 

The second build tries to retain some use as an area-denial Controller by swapping Tokugawa for Sherman. ASURA and Heatfall lets it abuse the action economy as hard as possible, while Redundant Systems Upgrade and Adaptive Reactor makes repeatedly overheating while A Pleasure To Burn is active an actually viable tactic to restrict enemy movement and deal some additional damage. I debated swapping Heatfall for Intergrated Ammo Feeds for more uses of RSU, but TechnoThumb and NuCav 3 can probably handle most of my normal heat management needs and 3 uses seems like it would be enough for most deployments.

-- HA “Worldkiller” Genghis Mk I @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Genghis 3, HA Sherman 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Heatfall Coolant System, Adaptive Reactor [ TALENTS ] Technophile 3, Nuclear Cavalier 3, Black Thumb 2, Spaceborn 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:0 SYS:0 ENGI:4 STRUCTURE:4 HP:17 ARMOR:3 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:12 REPAIR:6 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+2 SPD:3 EVA:6 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun MAIN MOUNT: SOL-Pattern Laser Rifle MAIN MOUNT: SUPERHEAVY WEAPON BRACING HEAVY MOUNT: Plasma Thrower [ SYSTEMS ] Enlightenment-Class NHP, Explosive Vents, Redundant Systems Upgrade x3, ASURA-Class NHP x3 

I'm looking for a caliber suitable for a designated marksman rifle that is useable in a lightweight platform (about 4 pounds, similar to the OIP AR-15) and makes a big hole. Velocity and kinetic energy are only important insofar as they relate to range; from what I know of ballistics, impact energy is less important than the size of the wound cavity. A flat-nosed cartridge would be ideal, but I know that those are less aerodynamic and are generally large-caliber, high-recoil rounds that don't feed well into semi- and auto rifles. Any suggestions?

Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3

POV: Motsotaer, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Pack Member)
The shrieking whistle of incoming artillery shell was among the most terrifying noises known to living beings.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But it meant you were still alive.
Pack Member Motsotaer wondered if the poor pups in the forward trenches heard them coming as the enemy high explosive pounded into their lines.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One of their anti-aircraft concrete bunkers took a direct hit; its roof collapsed on itself with a loud crumble.
Grass Eater artillery was voluminous, destructive, but scariest of all, it was incredibly precise. Their intelligence assets in orbit knew all, saw all. Their kill chains were short. Once they saw you, they would call it in, and the remainder of your life was measured in minutes and seconds.
There was nothing vegetarian about the efficient and bloodthirsty way the long-eared Grass Eaters fought, and the numerous intelligent predator species they’d exterminated on their way to Datsot… some of those tales gave even Motsotaer nightmares.
The defenders of Datsot had no choice. No choice but to defend their homes against the psychotic enemies pounding their lines to bits. And the ones who remained had learned the hard lessons of war, either through experience earned by blood or via the process of not-so-natural selection.
Motsotaer clutched his rifle against his chest as he laid in his own shallow hole, eyes closed. If the end was going to come for him, there was nothing else he could do but huddle in his freshly-dug grave.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blasts continued walking across the defense lines, undoubtedly killing scores of his comrades. But he accompanied each shockwave with a sigh of relief; they let him know that he was still alive. Still breathing.
One final rumble. And then there was silence across the battlefield.
Motsotaer waited a minute before he peeked out — another lesson that smart defenders of Datsot had discovered the hard way. A couple brave medics were already on the move, their shouts left and right, pulling bodies and the groaning injured alike out of the rubble aftermath of the shelling.
With a grunt, he pulled himself out of his hole, rushing towards the neighboring anti-air bunker. The concrete roof had collapsed, but he could still hear cries from the dark. He squeezed through the cluttered entrance.
It was a mess on the inside. The lights were all gone. Scattered sandbags. It smelled like blood and death, and he pushed aside the still body of a Head Pack Leader he only knew of, only to find the corpse of yet another Pack Member, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position.
“Anyone still alive in here?” he asked in the dark as his eyes adjusted. “Hello?”
There were a series of loud coughs. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Pack Leader Nidvid!” he shouted as he recognized the familiar shrill voice. “Keep talking! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m here. Help me up.”
As she continued to cough, he had the sense to fish a flashlight out of his pocket, fumbling around until he found the on button. As the light activated, he could see Nidvid half-buried in the dirt, her lower limbs trapped beneath some sand from the broken sandbags.
“Pack Leader!” He got onto his front paws and started digging. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head in the dim lighting as she experimentally wriggled her legs. “Here, I think I’m loose. Help me up.”
Motsotaer grasped her under her arms, and with a heavy grunt, pulled her out of the dirt.
“Whew,” she said, checking her body again for wounds. Nidvid looked around at the other bodies splayed in the bunker. “Oh no… Head Pack Leader…”
“That was a close one. I can’t believe you lived through that!”
“Yeah, me neither… Wait a second,” Nidvid said as she began rummaging through a pile of rubble near the Head Pack Leader’s body. “The radio…”
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he aimed his flashlight towards where she was looking.
“Oh no, no, no…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the device she’d been looking for. “Our hardline communicator…” It was clearly broken from the strike, its shell perforated with a hundred holes and its connection to the landline severed. In disgust, Nidvid threw it back to the ground.
“What uh— what did you need that for?” Motsotaer asked. “Were we supposed to tell them we were being attacked?”
“No… It was— before the strike, we got a high priority order.”
“A high priority order?”
Nidvid recalled, “There’s a special platoon in our salient… We were supposed to get an important message to them!”
“Special platoon?” Motsotaer asked. “Are you okay, Nidvid?”
“Yes, yes,” the Pack leader replied, visibly distraught. “They only had a physical line to us because they’re supposed to be keeping in the dark. Emissions control or something like that so they can activate the flying machine swarm in time. They said this was life and death and our whole defense line hinges on it!”
“Emissions control? Flying machines? Pack Leader, we should get you to a medic,” he said skeptically.
“No! Motsotaer, this is important. We need to get the message to them now. They’re only a couple kilometers south from our position. If we run over to their position now, it might not yet be—”
He looked up at her face in alarm. “Run to another position? Outside the trench line?”
“Yes! We have to go!” she said, as she peeked out of the concrete bunker towards the barren zone ahead of the trenches. “Now! Before they start their offensive.”
Motsotaer began to protest, “But that’s no creature’s land. If we get spotted by their troops, we’ll be hunted down by the Grass Eaters ships in orbit…”
She was insistent, “Pack Member Motsotaer, get it together. We still have a job to do. Are you with me or are you going to sit here and die like a coward to the long-ears?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, straightening up. Death or not, he was no coward. “I mean… I’m with you.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
With a grunt, she leapt out of the trenches and jogged south, keeping to the defensive side of it for the modicum of cover it provided, and Motsotaer quickly followed. As they sprinted away from the tattered defenses, they ran into a thick tree line that hopefully provided them with some concealment from the Grass Eater ships above.
After a couple more minutes of running in the forest, Motsotaer started to tire and pant. He weighed his burning lung and how embarrassed he’d be if he complained. Luckily for his ego, Nidvid gestured for them to stop after another minute and tossed him her canteen. “Take a break before we get going.”
He chugged as much water as he could in a single swig, and returned the canteen to Nidvid. He gasped out, “How much further, Pack Leader?”
“About one more kilometer south,” she said, aiming her snout up at the treetops. “I recognize the smell of this area.”
“What’s this even about? The message… what was it?”
Nidvid exercised her limbs. “That Grass Eater artillery strike… it was to prepare for their offensive on our lines. They’ve gathered an armored division on the other side of that,” she pointed out into the barren fields beyond the trees. “We have an hour at most before they roll over us.”
“An armored division?!” Motsotaer squeaked. The enemy’s Longclaws — their armored vehicles — were legendary. They could kill from kilometers away. And their thick shells protected them against all but the most powerful artillery in the Federation’s arsenal. He’d never seen one of them personally. If he had, he suspected he wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone about it. “What can we do against a Grass Eater armored division?”
“That’s why we have to get to the special platoon,” Nidvid replied. She pointed in the southern direction, “You ready? Let’s go.”
They galloped for a few more minutes. Motsotaer’s limbs tired and his breaths shallowed as his lung burnt. As he was contemplating whether to ask for another break, Nidvid pointed at a shape in the distance. “There, that’s their position!”
He squinted at it. It was not easy to see, but buried in the tree line was what looked like a bunch of out-of-place branches and leaves over a small vehicle. Buoyed by the anticipation of the end of the marathon, he managed to keep up with Nidvid’s pace.
As they approached, there was a loud shout.
“Hi-yah! Stop!”
They halted their steps and looked for the source of the voice.
“Not one more paw step, deserter! This is a restricted area! Turn around or you’ll be shot!”
Motsotaer looked up at the voice hidden up in the branches. After a moment, with some help from his nose, he found the yeller. It was a short, stout middle-aged male with strange-looking green and brown paint smeared all over his fur and face. He had a rifle aimed squarely at the duo.
“Don’t shoot!” Nidvid yelled back. “We’re runners. We’ve got an important message! For your platoon commander.”
The male in the tree looked suspiciously at them as he leapt down. He lowered his rifle, but didn’t seem any less on guard. “A message?”
“Yes, we’ve got an urgent message for Special Platoon Commander Graunsa. Take us to him right now!”
He sized the two of them up. After a moment, he said slowly, “I am Graunsa. Why are you here, and what is the message?”
Nidvid recovered some of her breath and explained, “The Grass Eaters hit us hard with an artillery strike. Our Head Pack Leader is dead. Our landline is gone. We ran all the way over from our lines north of you.”
Graunsa nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“The Grass Eater armored offensive is about to start. They’re moving into position and ready to go, and there’s a special message embedded—”
“Wait a second,” Graunsa interrupted. “Give me the special message exactly, without omission or your own interpretations.”
“Yes, Platoon Commander,” Nidvid nodded. “The message is: bunny water carriers are in play, red-five-zero-eight; come out of the dark and introduce yourself. Authorization is three-three-greyhound.”
Graunsa looked thoughtful for a moment as he pondered it.
“What does the message mean?” Motsotaer whispered at Nidvid.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, whispering back. “The Head Pack Leader just told me to memorize it.”
The platoon commander seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright, that seems legitimate. Thanks for the message.” He turned around to leave.
Motsotaer shouted behind him, “Wait, what are we supposed to do now?”
Graunsa turned around. “I don’t know. I’m not your commanding officer.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your lines though. Might not be there when you get back…”
“What?!”
“You can’t just leave us! Where else are we supposed to go?” Nidvid asked.
Graunsa seemed to contemplate the question for a few heartbeats and sighed, “You said you’re from the position up north?”
“Yup,” they replied in unison.
“And you’re a spotter, Pack Member?” he asked, looking at the rank and position patch on Motsotaer’s chest.
“Yes.”
Graunsa relented. “Fine. We might find a use for you. Get into the bunker… before the Grass Eaters in orbit see us dawdling out here.”
“What? Where?”
The officer pointed at a patch of dark green leaves on the forest floor. As they approached it, he grasped a latch and lifted it to reveal a ladder. The three of them descended into the darkness and Graunsa secured it behind them. With a quiet swoosh, a lamp mounted on the wall lit up to reveal a small hallway leading to a heavy-looking door.
Graunsa knocked on it twice. He turned around and looked at Motsotaer and Nidvid. “What you’re about to see in here is of the highest secrecy level of the Malgeir Federation. If you tell anyone what you see in here, you will be executed for treason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Platoon Commander.”
“Swear it, on your honor.”
“We swear,” they replied in unison, their voices infused with growing excitement.
“Good enough for me.”
The heavy steel door swung open, showing a room that was vastly different from what its primitive exterior suggested. It resembled a command center far more than a field base, and Motsotaer felt a blast of cold air conditioning in his face as he passed the door threshold.
At the front, a main screen showed a map of the defensive lines in the sector. Facing it, two rows of sleek, new computer screens lit up the dark. Their operators worked busily at their controls, and only a couple faces looked their way in mild interest as they entered.
“What is this—” Motsotaer started to ask. Nidvid grasped his shoulder and shushed him.
Graunsa cleared his throat. Several faces looked towards him in anticipation. “Platoon, we just got the message. Activate the FTL handshake and authenticate us in the network.”
“Yes, sir.” A young-looking communication officer near the front operated a few controls on her console. “I’ve got the advisors on the line.”
Motsotaer read his nametag: Gassin. She was a Gamma Leader, much higher ranked than he, but she looked not a day over twenty. He noted that many of the people in the room sported high-ranking insignias despite their apparent youth.
“On screen,” Graunsa ordered.
A communication window appeared on the main screen, streaming video of someone in a jet-black EVA suit.
Motsotaer stiffened. It was obvious that the subject was alien; at around 1.7 or 1.8 meters, it was far too tall for being a Malgeir. Too small for a Granti. And from the side profile of the suit, it didn’t bulge nearly enough for the tails that the Malgeir’s Schpriss neighbors were known for. A strange new species of aliens.
From the blackened visor, it was obvious that whoever that was… it was the reason for all this tight secrecy.
“Special Platoon Commander Graunsa,” it transmitted in perfect Malgeirish. The alien was either a trained-from-birth Federation Channel One newscaster with a perfectly inoffensive accent, or its translator was far better than anything the Malgeir themselves had invented. “This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
Graunsa stepped up to address the screen directly, “Yes, advisor. Our fire support platoon is ready for tasking.”
“Excellent. Transmitting the first batch of targets in your sector now.”
A series of symbols scrolled onto the screen, showing a number of coordinates.
“We’re getting the enemy positions now,” Gassin exclaimed.
Graunsa turned to her and nodded his appreciation, “Sixteen armored targets. Weapons free.”
“Yes, sir. Programming the sequence.”
A camera on the main screen activated, remotely showing a small hole with some machinery in it dug a few hundred meters away just at the edge of the tree line.
“Launching flying machine swarm!”
As Motsotaer watched, a thicket of metal erupted from the hole in a blur, roaring into the sky.
The main screen was replaced by a four-by-four of windows of black and white images. It took him a couple seconds to realize that he was looking at the battlefield from above. The Malgeir had rotary wing, airplanes, and jet — some were even armed, but they were usually much bigger. And their air assets had been grounded since the early days of the battle for Datsot when the enemy took the orbits.
Not these tiny devices though.
He focused on one of the sixteen windows.
The ground sped past below the camera’s vision, tree line after tree line, the flying machine seemed to know where it was going by itself: Motsotaer looked at the other occupants in the room. None of them seemed to be directly controlling it.
He stiffened.
Is this controlled by a thinking machine?
“We’re getting in range of the target coordinates, Platoon Commander,” Gassin updated the room a few minutes later.
As if on cue, the flying machines flew higher, and the trees on the ground grew smaller, as if further away. Until…
“Targets identified!” Gassin reported with excitement in her voice.
As an infantry spotter, Motsotaer had been trained — barely — to identify enemy armored vehicles. As in, he’d been given a cheatsheet containing the silhouettes of the different types of vehicles the enemy drove. But even he couldn’t tell at this distance what the white-hot smudges on the screen were.
The machine had no such issues though.
Several red boxes materialized on the screen, clearly marking several enemy vehicles in the thermal imagery and adorning them with detailed information.
The one Motsotaer was watching said:
Hostile vehicle, Longclaw MK4 (top armor: ~25mm), 4.2 km.
No hostile EW detected.
Without additional prompting, the flying machines raced in towards their targets, each recognizing a different one as its final destination. Afraid to blink, Motsotaer stared intently at one of the video streams.
A new line of text appeared at the top of the screen:
ETA 20 seconds.
It counted down the seconds, number by number.
The enemy Longclaw got larger and larger until… the screen went black, replaced by static. As he looked around, the other windows were similarly replaced with static one-by-one.
Motsotaer frowned, wondering where the videos had gone.
Then, it hit him. The flying machines were on one-way trips.
The sixteen windows disappeared, and another one appeared, showing the enemy assembly area from a much higher perspective. And instead of the vehicles he expected, he counted sixteen burning wrecks, the black smoke from their flames reaching up into the sky in columns.
“Targets destroyed, Commander,” Gassin said. Several of the officers in the room looked at each other excitedly, but their celebration was muted.
Graunsa nodded. “Call our advisors again.”
The alien appeared on the screen again. “Excellent work, Platoon Commander. We’re assessing the lines and getting the second batch of targets to you now.”
“Understood.”
As the new target coordinates scrolled onto the main screen, Gassin didn’t need additional prompting, “Launching flying machines!”
Another sixteen of them flashed out from the pre-dug position. Another sixteen windows appeared on the screen, replacing the odd-looking aliens’ video.
“Wait a minute,” the aliens’ voice cut into the quiet hum of the control room’s operation. “Switch back to the high-altitude drone. Something’s happening.”
The main screen’s image was replaced by the previous camera looking down at enemy lines. There was a flurry of activity in the enemy base area. Numerous dots representing the ground troops moved to-and-fro. And worryingly, the red squares that surrounded enemy armor began appearing en masse as enemy Longclaws drove out of their covered positions into the open.
Dozens of them.
Then, hundreds. And more appeared every second.
“What’s going on?” Graunsa asked, his voice reflecting Motsotaer’s worry.
The alien took a minute to get back to him, its black helmeted face filling up the screen again. “They’re attacking. They don’t know what hit them in the last strike. But they must have realized that they’re not safe in their assembly area, and they’re doing the only thing they can… We estimate they’ll get to your first lines in thirty minutes.”
“Can we stop them?” Graunsa asked. “We can—”
The alien looked directly into the video. “Not sixteen drones at a time. And if you launch the whole swarm at once, it’ll reflect enough signal for them to sniff out where you are with their counter-battery radars and take you out from orbit.”
Graunsa swallowed. “That’s— that’s— The machines can fly themselves without us, right?”
The alien didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. “Theoretically, yes. But even if you evacuate your position now, your people won’t get out of range from the orbital strike they’ll call in.”
“I understand. Feed us the enemy targets.”
“Delta Leader, we can’t ask you to—”
“I said, feed us the enemy targets,” Graunsa insisted.
Quietly, hundreds of coordinate pairs filed onto the main screen. Graunsa looked at the faces of the young officers under his command. Dozens of them. He turned around to look at his two guests. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s the right choice,” Nidvid replied, shrugging.
Motsotaer nodded at him.
“I know,” Graunsa said, turning back to the main screen. “Just doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Sir, we’re ready to launch,” Gassin reported.
“Weapons free. Release everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ground shook and rumbled, hundreds of flying machines leaving their canisters for the sky. They were close enough to hear the outgoing buzzing as the munitions launched. This time, more and more windows filled up the screen with the visuals of the outgoing flying machines — hundreds of them, and Motsotaer was surprised that the computers could even handle it all.
The visage of the alien returned to their screen. It said calmly, “Enemy orbital launch spotted. Multiple launches. High yield. Missiles incoming to your location, ETA twelve minutes.”
“Understood, advisor.”
POV: Slurskoch, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“What’s going on?” Longclaw Commander Slurskoch sat up in his turret cupola as the sirens rang loud through the hull.
“We’re under artillery attack!” his Controller yelled back at him through the roaring startup sequence of the turbine anti-grav engines. “The Lesser Predators… they’ve got some kind of new weapon! Took out a whole battalion’s worth of Longclaws in the 194!”
“But we’re not ready!” his Driver complained. “Our artillery is supposed to pound them for another hour before we—”
Slurskoch shook his head as he checked the friendly force tracker on his screen. “Doesn’t matter! If they’ve got some new weapon, we can’t sit still while we get pounded to bits by whatever they have. We gotta get out there. Hurry it up!”
It took them another two minutes to fully warm up the engines, and with a roar, the Longclaw burst out of its camouflaged emplacement, kicking up a curtain of dirt in front of it.
“Let’s go! Go! Go!” Slurskoch yelled as his lagging Longclaw joined the armored formation already on the move.
The Controller spoke with one of her ears in the radio, “Their artillery just launched… something at us. We’ve pinpointed their location, and orbital support is on its way.”
His Gunner whooped twice, and Slurskoch nodded silently in agreement. That’d flatten those carnivorous abominations where they stood. He drew a few symbols and circles on the digital battlemap as the Longclaws drove toward the enemy lines. “Gunner, watch those potential trench lines in front of us,” he instructed. “Their anti-armor may not look scary on paper, but their infantry can always get a lucky hit in.”
Slurskoch was taught in training that it was better to overestimate the enemy than underestimate them. Luckily, the predators usually fell below expectations, which was why the Dominion controlled the orbits of Datsot now and not them.
His Controller frowned at something in her radio, “They’re saying something about the enemy artillery… The engineers at the base assessed the strike aftermath. There’s something strange in the rubble. The attack was more precise than anything we’d ever seen.”
“What does that mean?” Slurskoch asked in confusion.
“The sensor officer in charge of the assembly area has taken full responsibility. They didn’t see the incoming at all. Higher ups are speculating that the Lesser Predators have a new weapon in their arsenal.”
“The predators made new weapons?” Slurskoch snorted. “Useful ones? That’ll be a first. Well, whatever it is, maybe our Design Bureau will get a good look at it when we finally cleanse this planet of their filth. Make our next battle a little easier when we have to take their home planet.”
His Gunner agreed, “And then, the Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
A few kilometers into the charge across the open, the Gunner remarked with one eye on her targeting computer, “Looks like even the local winged predators know that there’s about to be a slaughter here.”
The Driver, in his open hatch, looked up at the cloud of them flying over the enemy lines. “Looks like it. A nice juicy feast for them in the coming battle. The irony of the barbaric carnivores being eaten by themselves.”
A few thousand years ago, winged predators would have curdled the blood of any natural-born Znosian. On the original plains of Znos, they were one of the most dangerous threats a lone Znosian faced. Now, that fear had been completely bred out of the gene pool, replaced with contempt for predatory primitivism, the courage to face them in battle, and the drive to exterminate them all.
Curious, Slurskoch stared up into the cloud of winged predators with his Longclaw commander optics. He frowned.
One of them shimmered.
Shimmered.
He zoomed in.
Then, he saw a metallic glint. His whiskers tightened.
“That’s— those aren’t winged predators,” he barely made out in shock. “Incoming!”
“Huh?” his Driver asked, craning his head up to look at the dark shapes in the distance.
“Get inside! Secure the hatch!” Slurskoch shouted at him.
His Driver was not very good at thinking on his own, but he had been bred to follow direct orders without question. He ducked into his seat, quickly securing the hatch above him close with trained claws.
He barely secured the Longclaw as other commanders began yelling out similar instructions on their radios.
“Incoming!” his Controller advised, about ten seconds later than necessary. “Enemy… artillery?!”
“Gunner!” Slurskoch gestured in the general direction of the sky.
“I can’t get a shot on them. They’re too high up!” she screamed back at him.
A trio of air defense vehicles next to him opened up with their six barrels towards the sky, lines of bright tracers stabbing out at the dark swarm. He saw one of the… flying machines hit and fall out of the sky. Then another.
It wasn’t enough.
As Slurskoch’s optics tracked the incoming, he saw them dive. They were fast, and they flew erratic patterns, almost organically, like actual winged beasts. If he hadn’t had that specific fear bred out of his bloodline hundreds of years ago, he would have been frozen in shock. Instead, he yelled out, “Brace! Brace!”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The world exploded around his Longclaw.
Through his friendly force tracker, Slurskoch watched an entire battalion disappear off the map on his right flank, and two Longclaws in his line of sight brewed up in massive fireballs, throwing their turrets into the sky as their plasma ammunition detonated. One of the anti-air vehicles brewed up next to his, splattering its parts against his hull.
His Driver drove for all he was worth, ducking and weaving in the open field. So did the other Longclaws. Some deployed curtains of smoke in front of them in desperation.
None of it seemed to help.
The shockwaves hit his Longclaw in quick succession, knocking him around the armored cabin and rattling his teeth.
Boom. Boom.
More Longclaws exploded. Many more. They were disappearing off his screen faster than the software could update the signals. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
It didn’t come.
It was hard for Slurskoch to tell when the last Longclaw near them was hit. His hearing organs must have been damaged some time during the attack. His auditory senses ringed as they returned to normal, recovering when his Controller shook him with a paw on his shoulder. “—Five Whiskers! Five Whiskers!”
“What is it?” he snapped, keeping the quivering out of his voice.
“We’re alone in our company, and I can’t contact the six whiskers! And I’ve been trying to reach battalion without success!”
“Try the regiment commander!” he yelled out against the noise of the anti-grav engine.
“Can’t reach them either!”
“What about division headquarters?!”
“I think division’s gone, sir!”
“What?!”
“Nobody there has been responding. All I’ve got is a seven whiskers in the reserve infantry division behind us! They’re saying they see black smoke in the direction of our division field command!”
“What in the Prophecy? How is that possible?!”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
Slurskoch had been trained for a wide variety of combat scenarios and contingencies, including losing his immediate superiors, losing most of his unit, and losing his communication link to command. But he’d never been trained for all of those combined at once. That was just not something predators were supposed to be able to do to you.
He fell back to the next best thing.
“What’s the combat computer say?” he asked.
His Controller operated the controls on her console, and after half a minute of querying, she replied, reading off the instructions, “Absent orders, continue the attack. Maybe we can push through.”
“What? Did it take our losses into account?” he protested as he checked the battlemap. Of the nearly five hundred Longclaws that had pushed out of the assembly area, only a quarter remained. At most. Some of the signals on the map were flagging themselves as mobility or mission killed.
She shrugged, “It did. That’s what it says.”
He squinted at her screen. That was indeed what it said.
Slurskoch thought for a moment, sighed, and bowed in prayer, “Our lives were forfeited the day we left our hatchling pools.”
The other crew members all did the same, lowering their heads to mutter the familiar mantra.
That ritual out of the way, he drew up to his full height of 1 meter and mustered all the confidence he could into his voice, “Attack! Attack! Attack!”
POV: Graunsa, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Delta Leader)
The command center watched glumly as the hundred or so surviving Grass Eater Longclaws emerged from the wrecks of their comrades and slowly resumed their charge across the open toward the defense lines.
The flying machines had gotten a lot of them. Quite a few disabled too. And they were disorganized from the loss of their command. Yet they still charged. Diminished as their numbers were, they rolled towards the battered defensive lines with psychotic determination.
We’ve failed.
Graunsa sat down heavily into his chair. He brought up his communication console, connecting it to the advisor network.
The alien appeared on the screen, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could hear the sympathy in its translated voice, “You’ve done all you can, Special Platoon Commander.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, shaking his ears sadly. “They’re going to break through our line. Our infantry can’t stop them.”
It tilted its head. “I wouldn’t count them out completely, Delta Leader. They might. They might not. But your next defensive line certainly will hold them. The city behind you will be held.”
“Tracking enemy orbit-to-ground. ETA three minutes,” Gassin reported quietly from next to him.
Graunsa sighed. He looked at the alien, “I think I understand your people now, advisor.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, at first, when we were picked for this mission, I wondered why your people were doing this.”
“Doing this?” the alien asked, seeming confused.
“Helping us. The weapons. The equipment. The training. The targeting. It was all in secret, but you didn’t have to do it. The other species around us didn’t do it. The Schpriss…” Graunsa snorted, “The long-tails can’t even find it in their spines to send us field rations. I thought your species… your people were just generous. Or perhaps you simply enjoyed the craft of war, being so adept at it.”
“Are we… not?”
“Those reasons may be part of it,” he conceded. “But more importantly, I think your people understand one thing the other species don’t… that we might stop the enemy here. Or we might not.”
“We didn’t set you up to fail, if that’s what you think—”
“But the next defensive line certainly will hold them,” Graunsa said, staring the alien in the eye. “You will hold them. Isn’t that right?”
It sighed. “I would be lying if that wasn’t part of the strategic equation. Our star systems are indeed next in line — sometime in the next decade or two, probably — if these bloodthirsty Buns conquered your Federation. That harsh astropolitical realism. But there’s something else too.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” it nodded its head firmly in a familiar manner. “Yes, there is. We aren’t a particularly long-sighted species, Graunsa. We can plan, yes, but wars are fought by true believers. People don’t sign up to put their lives on the line for a hypothetical, potential invasion of our Republic twenty years in the future. They— we signed up for this because we truly believe what’s happening to your people… it shouldn’t happen to anyone, ever.”
Graunsa looked at the helmeted head for a while, then nodded. “I believe you, advisor.”
“I’m sorry this didn’t pan out, Graunsa. If I could, I’d be down there with you. We’d have made them pay for this.”
Graunsa smiled. “I believe you about that too. Thank you, advisor, whatever your name is.”
“You may call me Kara,” it said simply. A deft snap of its paws — he hadn’t noticed how soft its claws were before — and it released a latch on its helmet with a hiss. Lifting it from its head, it revealed a soft, smooth face without much fur except a bundle of long, brown strands on its scalp tied up in a neat spherical shape. Its hazel forward-facing eyes stared at him with the empathy that only other predators were capable of, filling him with mild relief. “Don’t tell anyone though,” it joked lightly, mirroring his smile back at him.
You’re not as ugly as I thought you’d be. Not nearly.
Graunsa’s grin widened at the thought. He put it out of his mind. “Ah. One last thing, advisor— Kara.”
“Yes?”
His mind drifted to his cubs at home. Perhaps they were still alive. He chose to believe that. “Our people’s clans and packs…”
“We’ll let them know,” she interrupted him softly. “And when the information quarantine is lifted, we’ll let your clans and packs know what you did here — everything.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Gassin sat down next to him, “Delta Leader, enemy missiles incoming. ETA thirty seconds, they’re entering—” She stopped her report and stared at the unmasked alien on his screen with equal parts wonder and sadness.
“Take a closer look, Gassin,” he ordered softly. “That… that is who will avenge us.”
On screen, the alien put its gloved paw up to its temple, forming a stiff triangle with its arm in a recognizable salute. “It was an honor, Graunsa.”
Graunsa returned it crisply, letting a primitive fire shine through his face. “Happy hunting, Kara.”

Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: “Kara”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Kara watched solemnly as the green signal blinked off the battlemap. She closed her eyes for a moment in silent prayer for the fallen.
Beep. Beep.
Another light on her console blinked urgently for her attention. Four thousand kilometers from the previous one. The war raged on — day and night — across four continents on the besieged planet. Fifty light years from the Republic, its defenders’ sweat, tears, and blood lined the fields and valleys of the beautiful blue sphere not so different from her own. Tens of millions of them: many who she knew would not see the end of this war.
They didn’t all know it, and some might not have cared, but fifty light years away, someone recorded their names, and someone felt a pang of loss for their sacrifice. In the cold, dark forest of the galaxy, somebody heard their trees fall.
Kara collected her thoughts, adjusted the bun in her hair, and lowered the tinted EVA helmet over her face once more.
She cleared her throat as she glanced at the screen and activated the microphone in her helmet, “Special Platoon Commander Treiriu. This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”

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Thanks for reading my story! This is a standalone chapter in my Grass Eaters story, meant to be enjoyable all on its own. If you're interested in more of my writing, please do subscribe to the update waffle bot or check out the rest of the universe in Grass Eaters.
(Grass Eaters posts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are closing in on the end of Book 1.)

A/N: yeah I changed up the Alliance admiral's name from Shepard Adama to Sheparda Dama (so creative i know) because the old one was going to fuck me over badly at some point. It would be like trying to make a legitimate, serious fantasy novel with a wizard named Albus Gandalf. I was NOT cooking when I came up with that shit.
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It was said that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. That, at least in the case of Marcus Wayne’s infiltration of Neldia, was proven entirely true.
His ship, the Peacemaker, had undergone an extensive refit before its jump to Neldia to both modify its sensor signature and repair its failing Aegis barrier. The first objective succeeded. The second did not.
One day later, leaving the derelict Ultimate Vigil behind in deep space, the United Human Alliance courier ship Winged Deliverance logged a real space entry at the edge of the Neldia system. Its crew, having spent their waking hours plagued by hallucinations and enduring horrible nightmares as they slept, found this shift very welcome. The worst, though they could hardly believe it, was still yet to come.
“The Neldian fleet is mustering for war,” rumbled the man who had once held the title and security codes of an Alliance sector admiral. Now, he was a traitor to his homeland. “Security will be high.”
“No need to worry, Admiral,” said Marcus Wayne. “Your code will get us through.” It would not.
It took two hours for the Peacemaker, disguised as the Winged Deliverance, to be challenged by the Neldian Armada. “Transmit clearance code,” said an automated voice. Marcus took out a data disc with the admiral's clearance code on it.
“Hold,” said Terris. She was clad in black, her active camouflage offline to save battery, and she had been sitting at the passive sensor console for the past three hours. “Look at this.” A news broadcast popped up in front of Marcus Wayne and his officers. Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama, or at least he was once a sector admiral, had been tried and convicted of high treason.
“It was a secret trial,” Dama said, still in shock at the revelation. “I had no knowledge of this.”
“Well, that tracks, but what do we do now? What code gets us through?”
“Transmit clearance code,” the voice said again, “or adjust course.”
Dama thought for a moment. “Change course,” he said. “We’re not getting through.”
They did. A great sense of defeat took hold in the hearts of the crew. They would never reach the Neldian hypercom. Sheparda Dama, who would have gladly given his life in defense of humankind, would never get the chance to be the man who broke their chains.
The Peacemaker was halfway out of the Neldia system before Terris spoke again. “Hold it,” she said. “I have an idea.”
That was why she had been placed where she was. Clad in an airtight stealth suit. Inside a hollowed-out asteroid. On a ballistic journey to the heart of Neldian space. It was the most insane idea that Marcus Wayne had ever seen.
But, sometimes, insanity was a symptom of genius.
Terris flew past the Neldian Armada undetected. Many asteroids entered the inner system this way, flung by outer-system prospecting ships to the foundries and shipyards in Neldian orbit, and they were thrown and caught so frequently that only the most cursory of inspections was put upon each one. Terris passed the Alliance fleet entirely undetected.
Terris’ chameleon suit could mimic the sensor return of the precious metals it was buried in, at least enough to fool a probing scan, and the cuts made by Protectoral engineers had been so precise that Terris had fit inside there with barely a centimeter of space to spare. She was effectively entombed inside sixty meters of solid rock.
Interstellar espionage was not a job for the claustrophobic.
Finally, after days of waiting, the signal came. She was in range. A mental command triggered a series of shaped charges in the rock above her, if such directions existed in microgravity, and forty pea-sized explosives blasted a circular tunnel all the way to the asteroid surface. If just one of them had failed, that rock might have been her tomb.
Terris tried not to think about that as she began climbing her way out. A brief burst from her suit’s EVA thrusters was enough to start her on her way, and the tunnel out was wide enough for her to use her arms and legs to speed things up. Finally, after too long a wait, Terris saw the Neldian sun for the very first time.
There was fire in the distance. Comm chatter on every band. Warships burning hard for the outer system. The Coalition fleet was here.
She zoomed in, far more than she had ever had to before, and she could pick out the faintest flashes of blue as warships exploded in the black. A brief crawl around the asteroid, which also helped to warm up her muscles after days of inactivity, let her discern an attack force engaging the Alliance fleet. After a moment’s hesitation, weighing the risks, Terris activated her passive sensor suite to try and decrypt Alliance military chatter.
Instantly, her sensors were flooded with noise from the defensive bastions. The fleet base at the L5 point was loudest, its comm operators screaming indecipherably at fellow Alliance elements fighting in the black. Neldian orbit, where the hypercom station was, seemed to be the centerpiece of all the communications traffic. The hypercom, unsurprisingly, was being used as a relay for comm traffic all across the system. Terris made a note to hack its server banks for intelligence, and perhaps leave a timed virus or two to shut down the system after she was gone.
Her suit bleeped, alerting her that she was in optimum position to make the leap to the hypercom. She zoomed in on it, a red and spiked thing just like everything else the Alliance made, and calculated the right trajectory to land right on its metal surface.
Trying to jump from a moving asteroid out past Neldia’s rings and hit a hypercom station barely three hundred meters in diameter was like shooting a rifle from a jumbo jet in hopes of hitting a mosquito down on Earth. A nearly impossible shot, even with Coalition computers to help make the jump, and anyone lucky enough to make it would have been better served bankrupting their local casino at the slot machines.
Terris gave a command to her suit, activating a set of ion thrusters to boost her off the asteroid and adjust her course mid-flight. She’d never believed in luck.
She coasted silent and graceful past the particle guns in high orbit, like a majestic swan flying on a summer wind. Their sensor arrays were directed out, past her, to the far distant parts of space where a trillion tons of steel were locked in deadly battle. Terris really did wish she could smile at the moment. She was about to have unrestricted access to the biggest communications relay in the star system, able to send out viruses and receive vital intelligence that could cripple the Alliance fleet if placed in the right hands. Terris, confident as ever, knew they would be.
She would make the Neldian Armada burn, and they had no idea she was even coming.
She reached the hypercom station in just under a day, agonizingly slow for a woman like her, hovering just above its surface to avoid triggering pressure sensors. After that, it was simple enough to get inside. Terris found it almost trivial to bypass the airlock sensor grid and trigger the outer bulkhead to open unnoticed, its report to the command room destroyed before it ever arrived. Entering the station itself was easy after that.
Here, there was gravity. She could not hover like she had on the outside of the station. But here, there were no pressure sensors. She really had no need to hover.
The corridor she found herself in was large enough, though nothing like the expansive halls of a dreadnought, and a patrol of marines in powered suits trundled towards her obliviously. Terris had made the right call not to wear a Phantom powered suit. She ducked into an alcove, the chameleon suit concealing her from even their impressive sensor batteries, and they passed by with no clue at all.
Terris made it to the server banks with ease. Most of the hypercom’s security measures took the form of warships in orbit, clustered tightly around the planet to prevent exactly this scenario from happening, but those warships were off waging war. The station defenses were hopeless now that she was actually inside.
The data was encrypted, and she could neither access it nor copy it without potentially fatal consequences, but she wasn’t there to steal data. A brief, milliseconds-long connection to the primary server was all it took to riddle the entire system with custom-tailored computer viruses. The viruses were self-replicating, rather like an electronic version of the biological ones on Earth. They worked similarly, too, meant to latch onto outgoing communications signals and remain inert for a certain amount of time before activating and wreaking havoc across cyberspace.
The program would be scoured from the net in seconds once it began its assault, but it would cause plenty of chaos before then. And, with another critical transmission being scheduled to send at around that time, Terris knew her mostly-ineffective virus attack would be just enough of a distraction to make sure its message was heard.
Terris planned to leave the station in approximately thirty minutes. Shortly after that, the fireworks would begin. It was going to be beautiful.
She heard footsteps. A maintenance worker, no doubt. It was time for her to go. She disconnected from the server, taking pains to hide her involvement, and snuck out of the server room like a ghost in the night.
Next was the transmission array. This room was better-guarded, its door being flanked by marines, but Terris slipped inside by trailing behind an officer as he entered on some unknown pretext. After that, her daring and sleight of hand made sure Admiral Dama’s pre-recorded propaganda transmission was uploaded to the hypercom transmitter. It came with a set of instructions bearing the Admiralty’s seal, changed to be anonymous, to ensure as many people as possible heard his message.
In just under one standard hour, the United Human Alliance would be shaken to its very core. Terris had just made sure of it.
It took longer than she had expected for the door to open again and give her a chance to slip out. Terris had spent that time quite productively, downloading as many incoming and outgoing messages as she could to the internal hard drive just by her spinal cord. Even if they were encrypted, they’d be useful intelligence once Coalition codebreakers took a crack at them.
After that, it was trivial to slip past marine patrols and escape to the hull of the hypercom station. Terris found her ride, an Alliance warship by the name of Brightest Thunder, holding orbit just near the hypercom station. Admiral Dama, even if he was no longer an admiral, still had connections.
She charged her ion thrusters by tapping into the station reactor, an act which did not go unnoticed, but by then it was too late to respond. She had completed her incursion. The damage had been done. Perhaps if the Alliance acted swiftly and accurately, they could undo it, but Terris was a careful woman. She had covered her tracks well.
Waving one final goodbye to the crew of the hypercom station, Terris triggered her thrust pack and shot off into the ink.
“You must be my passenger.” A man in an Alliance captain’s uniform was waiting for her in the Brightest Thunder’s airlock. He wore a helmet and gloves, hermetically sealed to his airtight outfit, so he felt no effects from the vacuum of space. “I was sent by Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama,” he announced after a period of silence, “To transport you and whatever you may have safely to the Coalition fleet.” Nothing. Apart from the dull thudding of the ship’s railgun batteries, firing missiles at range to ward off a strike force of Coalition ships, the airlock was quiet as a ghost.
“You cannot expect me to endanger my life and the lives of my crew without at least some identification that you are who you claim to be!” Silence. Captain Senar Trevy had been standing in that airlock for three and a half hours, while his ship was tasked with screening Neldia and her eighteen billion inhabitants from harm, and he was just now wondering if he had been talking to a ghost.
“I am,” came a voice. Cold. Sterile. Inhuman. Exactly the kind Trevy expected from the secret spies of his former admiral.
“So you are.” Captain Trevy thought for a moment. He cycled the airlock. If his guest held hostile intent, one steel bulkhead would make no difference. “I’ve been stocking the crew with handpicked men and women since I received word of the operation,” he explained as they walked through the ship’s corridors. The crewmen he passed thought him insane. “I can’t vouch for them all, but the ship as a whole will obey me.” No response. Sometimes, Captain Trevy thought himself insane as well.
“This is my personal quarters,” he told the specter, stepping inside and sealing the door behind him. “I must warn you, for your own safety, it would be best not to leave it. The crew are mostly still Alliance loyalists.” He looked around, paying no heed to the decorated furniture or artificial sky, and finally shrugged and sighed. “Are you even here, still?”
Terris decloaked. She stood between him and the door, winged and cloaked in black like a demon of ancient myth. “I am.”
“You’re a black angel.” Senar Trevy, to his credit, kept his composure well. “A spy for the Ierad Republic.” He questioned her purpose here. They both knew it.
“You weren’t told?”
“I was told an alien would be coming aboard, but…” Trevy shrugged again, as if to say ‘what am I supposed to do?’ “The admiral vouched for you. That much is enough for me.” He also knew he had no choice in the matter. From what he knew about black angels, his ship had been lost the moment she boarded.
“I could have impersonated him,” said Terris, voice a perfect replica of Captain Trevy’s own. Even his own mother could not have told the difference. “And I’m trained to lie.” She was testing him, gauging his reaction to assess his personality. She was good at that.
“I could have you screened for deception,” Trevy countered, pointing up at a pearl-sized camera in the ceiling. Terris made a note that it was disabled. “And I could have had the technology officers vet your transmission.”
“I’m trained to lie well.” Terris sat down on Captain Trevy’s bed, a spartan thing compared to the sleeping quarters of most officers. There were no chairs in the room, so her options were few. She took off her helmet and tried to at least appear relaxed. In reality, she was anything but. “It comes with the job, really.”
“Fair,” Trevy chuckled, feigning calm. “I suppose the question now becomes whether or not you can trust me.”
“It’s a safe gamble.” Terris made a mental calculation. It would take her between thirty and fifty seconds to kill Captain Trevy, take the bridge, and vent the ship. That was a very safe gamble. “Besides, that’s what a peace treaty is.” Trevy looked confused. “A leap of faith. You trust your enemy to back their word, and you trust them to trust you as well. If we can’t get along here, can’t put aside our differences to work toward a common goal, then the Alliance will be right. And I hate it when they’re right.”
“I’m speaking to you now because I know they are wrong.” That came as no surprise to either of them. “You know, I was once a foreman of a labor crew in the munitions factories. The most productive unit in my sector.” That one did come as a surprise. “As a foreman, you get leeway to make certain decisions regarding the… well, I suppose they are slaves, under your command. Food intake and the like.” Captain Trevy looked pained when he brought up such memories. Terris wasn’t convinced that was how he really felt. “They use it to weed out any potential xeno sympathizers from the populace. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t so empathetic.”
“So you were a slave driver, and you beat your slaves to make them work. I hope every one of those shells was sabotaged.” Terris’ voice dripped with disdain. She had almost forgotten the Alliance captain was her enemy.
“No, I showed mercy,” Trevy defended himself. “I was generous.” This made Terris reconsider. Perhaps Senar Trevy could be an ally, if not a friend. “I won’t say I was a good man, but I wasn’t cruel. I was practical. Strong, healthy, well-treated workers are more productive than the beaten sacks of flesh in the other factories. My crew’s output was unmatched.”
“And?” Terris cocked her head inquisitively. For a high-ranking officer in the space navy of a genocidal regime, Senar Trevy really did not seem so bad. To be fair, however, she had set the bar pretty low.
“I was investigated for anti-human activity.” Terris could have predicted that. She almost did, too. “They sent me to the fleet, and my labor crew was reacquainted with the energy whips and pain beams.” There was no carrot for an Alliance labor slave. Only the stick. “Their productivity fell thirty percent in the first two weeks alone.” He sounded almost mournful as he said that. He was not lamenting the loss in productivity.
“You see,” said Trevy, “Hatred is not natural. It has to be caused, sustained, nurtured from the day a man is born until the day he dies.” With that, at least, Terris agreed. “And, as you’re about to see, a nation built around cruelty or prejudice cannot sustain itself. It will have to apply pressure to maintain its flawed status quo, like it did with me, and the pressure will build and build until it cannot build anymore.” He tapped a few buttons on the data disc in his hand. It began projecting an image of the battle for Neldia. He placed it on the bed next to Terris. “Now it’s breaking.”
“I wonder if they’ll find themselves in need of more shells.” Terris knew it wasn’t just shells. Every time a slave driver prioritized hatred over hard work, put cruelty over their quota, or even just bowed their head and obeyed the traditional dogma, they hurt the Alliance. Across nine worlds, with billions of slaves not working as they could have, things started to add up. “You know, for a superior species, your fleet is really getting its ass kicked right now. Might want to work on that.”
Captain Trevy nodded. His data disc beeped. He was needed on the bridge. “Agreed,” he said. “I hope this war ends soon, and to our mutual benefit. I’d hate to face you on the battlefield.” He picked up the data disc and turned to leave.
“Oh, forgot to mention, there’s a virus embedded in the transmissions you’ve received. Self-replicating. Nasty piece of work.” Terris shifted a bit in her seat. “Almost forgot about that.”
“Well, better to know now than when it’s activated,” Trevy smiled. “I’ll have Technology Officer Galdir investigate it.” With that, he left. His duty to the Alliance was nonexistent, but the men and women under his command still needed him. He had waited too long in the stateroom.
Terris, with nothing better to do, got to work on cracking the encryption in the transmissions she had copied. She failed. A transmission from deep in unknown space, sent from a dreadnought at the head of a task force known only as the Deep Expedition Fleet, was the only message she could read. Its contents, while troubling, mattered little at the moment. What was far more crucial, however, was the message Terris could not decipher. The military battle plan of Janus Ora’s personal armada.
The battle plan that, when analyzed on a Republic starship, would reveal its terrible secret too late.
The Coalition fleet was walking into a trap.
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Round 7 of Ragnarok was approaching, and Brunhilde, accompanied by Göll, was checking on the Medbay, where both humans and Gods were treated, after they had won their round in Ragnarok.
“How are they, Mary?”
Brunhilde asked, and a woman, around her middle ages and dressed in red robes with white cloth covering her hair, turns to Brunhilde, while she was tending to Chang’e, victor of round 2 but still not completely healed up due to the injuries Tsukiyomi inflicted on her.
“The Goddess is in better conditions, but she still can’t move, and as for her leg, it’s healing too, we were lucky her husband brought it along her”
Brunhilde was about to reply, but the tv opens, announcing that the Gods have revealed their next fighter:Lucifer.
“Tch, prideful bastard”
Brunhilde looks away, before Mary tells a few nurses to notify Asclepius of something, walking towards Brunhilde.
“Who will you send?”
She asks Brunhilde, who quickly scrolls through the available roster, looking at a young woman in armor.
“I’ll have to send her, I know Lucifer has a shield, and she can easily evade his other weapons”
Mary looked at the selected fighter:Joan of Arc, before shaking her head.
“No, she’s too important…..I’ll go”
Brunhilde and Göll look at Mary, shocked.
“M-Mary? A-Are you crazy? The medbay needs you!”
Göll exclaims to Mary, before Asclepius, with his caduceus, interrupts her.
“I got this, plus, we still have plenty of both Human and God medics and healers, we can do without the Virgin Mary”
Asclepius answers Göll, Brunhilde looking at Mary and changing her selection off Joan and to Mary.
“Very well, let’s go meet your Valkyrie then”
On the side of the Gods, Lucifer was looking at the arena from the Gods balcony, while Zeus, Artemis, Hermes and Thanatos were looking at him.
“You stupid fool, why did you announce yourself publicly?”
Thanatos scolds Lucifer, who simply shrugs him off.
“Relax old man, I want to see the humans fear as I net our 6th win effortlessly, I’ve hoarded enough sins to last me a gauntlet of all 7 human fighters at once”
While Lucifer gloats, Artemis sighs annoyed.
“Sin of Pride? More like Sin of Stupidity”
Lucifer turns and snarls at Artemis.
“And who lost 2 legs and an arm against that shit relic of a plane? Huh? Mind your place”
Artemis, Hermes and Thanatos were taken aback, before Zeus grew all muscular.
“Careful with your words, Devil, Michael can still fight”
Lucifer looks at Zeus and scoffs.
“Whatever, no wonders that stupid rabbit sided with them with your attitudes, I’m going there right now”
Lucifer walks away, Artemis’ hand quivering in rage as she firmly grips her bow, Thanatos following Lucifer.
“I’ll go check on how Michael and Amaterasu are”
Hermer looked at the roster while Artemis and Zeus were looking at Lucifer and Thanatos walking out.
“Oh, what a….curious choice”
Hermes shows Zeus an image of Mary, as he then smiles.
“Heh, she’s still wasting weak fighters against powerful ones? Are you secretly wishing for us to win, Brunhilde?”
While Lucifer went inside his room, Thanatos went inside the medbay, surprised to see Thanatos and Hippocrates patching up Amaterasu, while Lakhsmi was tending to David.
“Where is Mary? I need to speak to her”
Thanatos asks Asclepius, before he points to the door Thanatos went in, Thanatos sighing disappointed, while Brunhilde and Mary were now in Brunhilde’s office, Randgriz looking at Mary.
“Are you sure of this pick sister?”
Göll asked Brunhilde, as Mary and Randgriz were looking for weapons.
“Lucifer is a very well armored asshole, both armor and shield, so Randgriz’s Shieldbreaker will be very useful”
Brunhilde said, before Mary and Randgriz returned, Mary held a thurible.
“Mary…..what is that?”
Göll asked, Mary looking at her Thurible.
“A thurible, it’s used to spread incense in ceremonies, but Randgriz said we could use it as a weapon”
Mary answered, before she swung the Thurible like a flail.
“Plus, smoke can be a great help, you told me Lucifer has enhanced sight and reach with his helmet and hook right? The smoke can render them useless”
Brunhilde looked at Mary and Randgriz, nodding.
“It does fit a holy saint of your caliber, Mary”
Brunhilde then opened the doors of her office.
“You should go now, match should start soon”
Mary and Randgriz walk out, as Brunhilde and Göll head for their balcony.
“Sister, please don’t tell me you’re using the same plan you did against Thanatos”
Göll asked Brunhilde, fearful of Mary’s fate, but Brunhilde reassured her.
“No, Lucifer has no idea of who his opponent is yet, so imagine his surprise when his extreme opposite will stand on the other side of the Arena”
Göll looked anxiously at the Arena as Heimdall began announcing.
“IN ROUND 7 OF RAGNAROK, WITH THE GODS AT 4 POINTS AND THE HUMANS AT 2, THE GODS HAVE SENT THEIR TRUMP CARD!”
As Heimdall spoke, the arena entrance on the side of the Gods bursted into flame, with the screams of the damned echoing around the arena and unsettling the audience, a figure with 6 wings slowly walking out of them.
“HE IS NONE OTHER THAN THE SIN OF PRIDE! THE STRONGEST REBEL OF HEAVEN, NOW THEIR BIGGEST ASSET!”
Lucifer stepped out of the flames, as they slowly turned into a set of Armor, gauntlets, a helmet, a shield, a sword sheathed on his hip, a spear, and a hook wrapped around his right forearm, while Lucifer spread his pitch black bat wings out.
“THE LEADER OF HELL! LU! CI! FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRR!”
The crowd of the Gods immediately began cheering and chanting his name, as the humans started to pray and beg for mercy.
“LUCIFER! LUCIFER! LUCIFER! LUCIFER! LUCIFER!”
A few spotlights turned to Lucifer, who had the biggest grin ever, as Brunhilde scoffs while Göll is shocked and scared by Lucifer.
“WOOOOAHHH! H-he looks so terrifying”
Heimdall then points to the human entrance of the arena, where everything gets darker, before all the spotlights aim at the entrance.
“HEY! Keep one on me!”
Lucifer complains, before a chant in ancient Hebrew could be heard from the entrance, a dim light slowly emerges.
“BUT WHO HAVE THE HUMANS SENT?”
The light grew a bit brighter as the chanting grew alongside, Mary slowly walking out, swinging her thurible with one hand while preaching a bible on the other, Lucifer lifting the visor of his helmet.
“Wait what the fuck?” “THEY CALL HER THE GREATEST WOMAN WHO HAS EVER LIVED!”
The human audience immediately brightened up from the chanting, while all Christian, Jewish and Islamic humans all began preaching in Latin, Hebrew and Arabic.
“THE ONLY HUMAN WHO HAS EVER ASCENDED TO HEAVEN ALIVE! SAY HALLELUJAH TO THE ONE! AND ONLY! VIRGIN MARYYYYYYYY”
The human audience explodes in a hopeful cheer as Mary finishes preaching, the Hebrew chanting dying down as Mary puts the Bible inside her robes, and opening the thurible, but no smoke coming out of it yet.
“Oh you’ve got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME?”
Lucifer looks at Mary, before chuckling.
“Heh…..this is….”
Lucifer then explodes in laughter, pointing at Mary.
“PFFFHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHH…..OHHHHhhhhhhh, is that…i-is that a fucking incense spreader?”
Lucifer could barely say in his laughing fit, supporting himself with his spear.
“Y-y’know f-for a second I-I thought that..haha……was a flail or a mace..”
Lucifer slowly began to recover from laughing, still distraught at Mary’s “weapon” of choice
“Ohh, you might kill me with laughter, Brunhilde…..phewwfff…..oh, t-this is a very good joke, now bring out the real fighter”
Lucifer asked Heimdall, who looked at him confused.
“Well…..she’s your fighter, she’s in the roster and all”
Lucifer looked at Mary, then at the balcony, directly at Brunhilde.
“Oh I see I see, you think this bitch can win, because she’s a saint? Why not send your other female Saint huh?”
Heimdall then interrupts Lucifer.
“WILL THE GODS ADVANCE TO 5 POINTS, OR WILL THE HUMANS SCORE THEIR 3RD? MAY ROUND 7 OF RAGNAROK BEGIN!”
As soon as Heimdall announced the beginning of the round, Mary began to swing the thurible back and forth, creating incense smoke around her, Lucifer still smiling from Mary’s weapon of choice.
“Seriously, how are you even going to hurt me with that thing?”
Lucifer then charges forwards, slashing at Mary, who swings her thurible, deflecting the hit as she steps back, surprising Lucifer.
“That footwork….someone must have trained you”
Lucifer comments on Mary deflecting and dodging his Sword of Wrath.
“Will you be surprised if I were to tell you-”
Mary was answering Lucifer, before Lucifer grabs his spear and tries to thrust at her gut, Mary smacking the pole with her thurible.
“-that it’s all self-taught?” “Bullshit, I know a fighter when I’m fighting one”
Lucifer says, briefly glancing at the balcony of the Gods, eyeing Zeus specifically, before his helmet warned him of an incoming hit, and he dodged Mary’s thurible.
“Lucifer charges towards Mary, but she dodges it effortlessly, deflecting the blow with her Thurible, who would’ve known such an unorthodox weapon was actually useful?”
Heimdall comments, Lucifer already growing annoyed.
“Alright let’s get this over with, BEELZEBUB! HOOK OF GLUTTONY!”
The hook wrapped around Lucifer’s forearm unraveled, and he then swings it at Mary, who dodged it, before the Hook then flies around, and ensnares Mary.
“What? How did that hook fly like that?”
Göll asked Brunhilde, before she pointed at a pair of fly wings on the hook.
“Lucifer’s arsenal is consisted of armor and weapons that capture the 7 Deadly Sins, the Hook of Gluttony is able to grab and ensnare everything that Lucifer wants, as he has free control over it”
Brunhilde said, worried, as Mary tried to break free while Lucifer grabbed his spear.
“ASMODEUS! SPEAR OF LUST!”
As Lucifer was about to thrust, Mary’s thurible spewed incense, blinding Lucifer for a moment, and completely engulfing the two.
“Lucifer has successfully ensnared the Virgin Mary! But she retaliates by creating a cloud of holy Incense!”
Helheim announces, while Lucifer tries to get out of the cloud, unraveling the Hook and letting Mary go, the cloud dissipating immediately as Mary then charges at Lucifer.
“And the champion for Humanity charges towards the Devil himself!”
Heimdall announced from the sidelines, Lucifer looking at Mary and deflecting her swings with his Shield of Envy.
“Hey, sister Brun, you chose Randgriz specifically because of her ability right?”
Göll asked Brunhilde, who nodded.
“Yes, but a mere swing like that won’t be enough, for that shield and all of Lucifer’s weapons, are as strong as the sins he has accumulated, and still is”
Brunhilde said, pointing at the dark aura that Lucifer is emitting, while Mary then swings her thurible upwards, shooting something from inside it:caltrops made out of gold.
“The Virgin Mary shoots caltrops out of her Thurible! Is she planning to keep her distance from Lucifer?”
Lucifer looks at the caltrops, sheathing his sword.
“Oh, you think your little caltrops can stop me?”
Lucifer kicks the caltrops with his sabatons, Mary winding up a swing.
“Tch, I almost wish the human wins, I hate that bastard”
Artemis complains, having moved her wheelchair closer to the balcony, Zeus nodding in agreement.
“Yes, especially after everything he’s done, but at least my dear brother Hades is now safe”
Zeus said, a bit ashamed of himself.
“What? He let him go? In exchange for being allowed to fight here?”
Artemis asks, Hermes nodding.
“The amount of sinners still living in Earth is probably worth fighting directly for”
Zeus said, looking at the fight.
“Yet, he did not send one of the other 6 sins, but he went in himself, but I’m sure he’ll win against that human woman”
Artemis replies.
[End of chapter 1]