R-3, “Old-Blood”, though home to the VWP has never been quiet throughout its history, having been home to nations such as the GSR and the CI. And with the GSR shattering and fading completely from galactic notice, the CI reentering a quiet isolationism, only the VWP, spread across 300 stars and still seeking to expand, is of galactic note within the borders of R-3 and its neighboring regions. And perhaps with the presence of one of the galaxy’s two foremost superpowers in the region, though occupied with a modernization of its aging industries and a hunt for both the Seekers and remnant groups from its historical Schism, the VWP did not offer another highly-isolationist nation within the region a deeper look.
Such is it that the Interstellar Imperial Governance of the Ruvostal Beldt (IIG) escaped higher notice, rampant paranoia and indeed the worry and insanity of its rulers kept them from stepping unto the galactic scene, paired with a rampant Xenophobia and institutional Imperialism encouraged by their state-religion made them view everything else with a paranoid skepticism. Yet for all their intense aggression to those that attempt to intrude on their territory, the IIG knew of their position, they knew of their struggles, and knew of their Neighbors, but they were also aware of the art of speed, the shock of a giant fleet suddenly appearing on your doorstep, and they were aware of the abundance of pre-FTL species in their vicinity.
To their interstellar neighbors, the IIG were an odd people, unwilling to engage with anyone and stonewalling any effort with large warfleets and an effective intelligence bureau comparable to the UEG’s ONI at their height preventing any and all attempt at infiltration. but most of all they were out-of-the-way, removed from any location of importance, lacking in pure size (being packed densely), and most of all lacking any real notice outside of minor curiosity better spent on some of the galaxy’s many other mysteries. And it was this lack of notice that permitted their growth, and their many hidden atrocities.
And then the IIG made a mistake.
Freidman's Republic of south-Estkoria (FRE) was born, originally the most recently conquered territory of the IIG, it was mass-colonized by prisoners, criminals, malcontents and slaves whom rebelled with the support of mercenaries and military defectors, creating the FRE whom immediately announced their secession from the Tyranny of the IIG’s Kotsar, urging the people to rise up against the Totalitarian regime, and calling on the Vaiealon-War-Pact for support against the Xenophobic Empire and their acts of ethnic cleansing. The IIG was furious, immediately denying the FRE’s condemnations as its external intelligence and sabotage apparatus (WEIS) scrambled to shut down the FRE’s attempts at communication with their stellar region and the galactic superpower that was the VWP, even as the IIGs secret police/internal intelligence apparatus (the LZP) tried to strangle the FRE’s leadership following their failure in strangling the Estkorian Rebellion in its crib.
Then they made another mistake.
In their rush to isolate and destroy the FRE, the IIG’s external intelligence agency in the WEIS, had been unable to prevent independent traders and explorers from noticing the simultaneous FTL movement of a massive warfleet, and those explorers too curious for their own good found the massive Tachyon-burst to lead into an expansive star system turned warzone. By the time WEIS and the IIG warfleet managed to isolate the system from nosy independents, the news had left the region. An IIG warfleet numbering into the hundreds are invading a pre-FTL native-owned star system, razing stations and planetary colonies from orbit, and setting up what would appear to be shipyards and stationary defenses around the systems largest and innermost gas-giant.
The news travelled quickly, far faster than that of the FRE (being initially seen as the crying losers of a isolated civil-war, and not successful rebels exposing a human-superiority totalitarian regime preying on the young), of the natives assailed without clear reason by a far-superior nation.
One thing is for certain, the IIG is no longer quiet and obscure. And their atrocities would no longer be able to stay hidden for long.
“Agh no! Not the mighty four-alike!” The soldier cried with a wide smile, blue-glowing eyes looking down on a giggling 9-cycles-old dragging his pile of tokens to their side of the foldable table, the soldiers two comrades boisterously laughed, clapping Sen’k on the back.
Mira’vit smiled at the exchange, thankful for the soldiers' efforts to lighten the mood of the bunker with their ‘card-game’. But it was a brittle smile, as her attention was drawn away from her boy to the sleeping baby wrapped in a towel in her arms, her sweet jini’k, barely ten days old when they came. Robbed her of her husbands presence, depriving Jini’k of the ability to imprint on Hari’ks scent in her first month of life.
Tears welled up in the corner of her gold-tinted eyes, her ears bent down. From her memories she looked back to that day just 20 days ago at the clinic, when the skies weren’t choked by nuclear ash, the jungles weren’t withered husks, the seas weren’t frozen craters and the twin lights of the Sister Stars could caress the world in warm golden light. That day she first cradled the swaddled form of Jini’k, felt her tiny hands furless hide and blunt fingers devoid of claws, she remembered her own happiness, and Hari’ks joy.
When next they went to church and the pastor greeted her child, she remembered the words he spoke, of how she’d live long under the Lords watch, of the joy she will have, and the love she will find… Has the Lord abandoned us? Is that why they came? Because we lost faith in his work and strayed from our path? Mira’vit wasn’t much of a religious person, but she attended the 7 Days of Testament every year, admittedly not an incredibly dedicated commitment for her seeing as it was a national holiday, but still! Why else have these Demons come? Why else would they shatter their great works, burn their colonies? Throw millions into the 7-Depths in the span of half-a-dozen days?
…Or is it because the Lord doesn’t exist? And they are here to welcome us into the real world?
“Mira’vit?” A familiar voice broke her from her funk, and she looked up to see the face of a scent she hadn't expected to hear from again.
“Nirl’vet? Weren’t you in Venuvre‘vet?” She asked, surprised at seeing her childhood friend here.
“Yeah, we were evacuated before they could breach down, and we were sent here.” Her face wrinkled into a bitter frown, one Mira'vit was familiar with, before she looked concerned at Mira’vit. She shook her head.
“Who?” She asked instead, softly, looking back down at the sleeping toddler whose tiny hands were gripping the claws of Mira’vits upper-right arm
“Grandpa and grandma stayed behind to help hold them back. They told us they helped take a tank into the deeps.” Nirl’vet said, looking melancholic as she gave a mirthless smile. Mira’vit knew she lost a lot of family to the Depths when they came, but now it seemed only Nirl’vet, and most likely her husband and 5-cycles daughter were the only ones left of her extended family.
“Meak’an?” she questioned, hoping she wasn't wrong is assuming his continued life due to his absence from the bunker common-area-turned-mass dormitory instead of deeper into the complex.
“Finding a bed for Ulie’an deeper in, I wanted to say hi.” She gave a forced smile, hiding her fangs which were no doubt extended due to stress.
Mira’vit shook her head, grabbing Nirl’vets upper-right hand with her lower-right, and tilted her head to the left, offering the closest she could to a hug while her three other arms calmly rocked her baby. Nirl’vet took it, crouching down and leaning in to rest her right temple against her best friends. There they sat for close to a minute, calmly venting their building stress through each other via an extended affectionate greeting, letting the sounds of the de-stressing soldiers and a victorious Sen’k as well as the sounds of a generally cramped bunker-complex wash past them.
“Hari’k?” Nirl’vet broke the silence between them with a question borne of curiosity.
“He and his Train have been transferred into Federation territory to help make up for the distances between it’s silos and stockpiles, as well as the extreme depths.” Mira’vit answered quietly, Nirl’vet gave a hum of acknowledgement. He was the head technician of one of the Final Defense Fronts Deeptrains for carrying a dozen IPBMs, without the ability or will to make more, they had to ensure the ones they had remained in peak condition. And they had to relegate those they had to where they'd be most effective in their work.
The necessity didn't make it hurt any less that he was away from them.
…
“I missed you.”
"Me too."
...
“Nirl’vet honey.” A low male voice drew the women out of their prolonged gesture and to the broad male at the archway of one of the bunkers internal bulkheads. Mira’vit recognized his shape and distant scent as her friends mate, and looked back to her.
“It was nice meeting you again.” Nirl’vet said sincerely with a thin smile, shaking Mira’vits hand with all of her arms.
“It was, yes. Go.” Mira’vit smiled back sincerely as well, nodding towards her husband who inclined his head in wordless greeting. Nirl’vet simply nodded in reply, letting go of her lower-right hand and hastily walking back to her husband, before they disappeared past the archway and deeper in.
Mira’vit smiled in melancholy as she watched the two mates briefly hug before leaving sight down one of the bunkers corridors heading deeper into the complex. then she let a sigh slip free of her mouth. She looked down at her Jini’k, noticing her grip on her dulled claws tightening as she twitched. Mira’vit smiled as she resumed rocking her child, again feeling a pit of sadness open in her stomach as she was reminded of the coming future once more.
Seemingly in response, she winced as her stomach let its displeasure be known once more. A lack of anything but the essentials in food for ingestion, due to the military’s efforts at rationing was not very easy to adjust to fully even after 10 days. During the many efforts of the Unfied Nations of Ak'tamar, Pan-An’ramel Federation and the United Ar’timmel Republic, to lessen the impact of nuclear disasters or the triggering of a MAD-scenario. Along with the creation of massive bunker-complexes, eventually the cross-continental Deeptrains and the moving of each blocks many ICBM/IPBM and Warhead stockpiles into subterranean bunker-warehouses, the three Powers created stockpiles of non-perishable foodstuffs and underground Agricultural rows.
While it became enough to satisfy the population at the time, they weren’t made to account for further growth across several centuries when they began looking to the stars in earnest. Though crash-build programs and the immediately declaration of rationing when they began burning the outer colonies helped in avoiding mass-starvation, it didn’t lessen the impact on a population fed by massive surface-bound agricultural facilities or by the massive agricultural domes and towers of Mars’temer.
Worse, even their best efforts at sustaining off bulk-produce and whatever foodstuffs still survived or were in the ancient stockpiles for as long as possible could not be sustained with a population numbering 11 billion, even when it had been reduced from its former tally of 14 billion, be it from starvation, suicide, bombardment, homicide or radiation poisoning. Mira’vit had even heard that in some of the larger cities, they’d begun cannibalizing the dead and dying to avoid early-exhaustion of their stockpiles…
She was thankful she didn’t live in a big city…
“Squeh”
A low high-pitched squeak shook her from her funk and made her look at Jini’k, who had awoken and was wriggling erratically, clutching at her hand even tighter.
A similar commotion throughout the bunker alerted her to the fact practically every baby had awoken. Mira’vit wasn’t especially superstitious, but it nonetheless felt like something was about to happen.
Something Bad.
Rumble
A thought proven true moments later by a soft shake in the room that shook everyone from what they were doing, families huddled, children hid with their mothers, and babies cried out while mothers tried in vain to soothe them.
“Everyone calm down! We will ascertain-” One of the soldiers stood up from their card-game and called out, only to be interrupted by his and their comrades radios beginning to beep insistently, prompting them to shove on their helmets and unholster their large rifles. One of the soldiers shooed Sen’k away before they hurried out of the room, only inciting more hysteria among the frightened civilians.
Rumble
Again the room shook, this time a much stronger one, and multiple times. Mira’vit found herself wondering if they were trying to land in Kirikt’vit like they did in the neighboring city of Venuvre‘vet?
“Mommy!” Sen’k dove into Mira’vits embrace, having ran from the table over to her after she stood up from their makeshift bed. her lower-right arm cradled her son while her other three tried to calm her hysteric 20-day-old daughter.
Rumble
“It’s okay darling, it’ll be fine, just like the other days.” Mira’vit tried to project a facade of calm as she for all intents and purposes held her son and daughter as if they might be taken from her.
Rumble
This time the shaking was like an earthquake, the bunker was in full panic as the doorways and bulkheads were locked and the civilians prayed to the lord or the Sisters, even as they embraced their loved ones. Tears were streaming from Mira’vits eyes, wetting the hair of her 9-cycles son even as she refused to fall due to the shaking.
“Remember, no matter what happens Sen’k, Mommy and Daddy l-”
…
It was at that moment the Mother and her children died.
As a string of lightspeed particulate pierced a 1 and a ½ hundred meters of reinforced rock, through a dozen meters of Lead-lined ferrocrete, then straight through the heads of both Mari’vit and Sen’k, atomizing their grey-matter brains and turning Jini’k into part of a plasma shockwave, one of several as numerous other strings of particulate helped instantaneously atomize the rest of the bunker-complex’s cowering inhabitants, their entryways marked by fissioning particulate and plasmatic rock.
It was a singular merciful instant before the city of Kirikt’vit, the capital of Kzivimt’vit, member-nation of the Unified Nation of Ak’tamar, Mors’kins Southern Power-block, was turned into an ionized crater.
Nothing else remained to mark the grave of 12 million Mar’ki, and to herald the chime of Doomsday’s clock.
For one fleeting instant the Black skies had been pierced by heavens wrath, a moment of light that far surpassed the twinkling of Artifical Stars, nuclear ABMs wiping out swathes of Nuclear Precision munitions entering the atmosphere, yet the brave efforts of already-dead soldiers only delayed the inevitable.
As then night continued to be Day, as stars descended, blooming into magnificent flowers of nuclear annihilation, glassing kilometers after kilometres.
They had tired, the Mar’kis defiance of the Forests will had come to an end as the cruel and angular ships of Black and Orange swiped away the hundreds of IPBMs once again thrown up in an attempt to stop the inevitable.
Uncaring for the loss of yet more of their smallest vessels as they threw hundreds more bombs and decoys to the planets surface, patiently awaiting for the natives to exhaust their ABM-launching capability, or for their Giants primary weaponry to recharge for removing entire clusters of cities from the map.
It would take hours, but eventually all that remained of Mors’kins southern continents, and the entirety of the UNA, was molten glass and giant craters. Once more leaving nothing but radioactive vapour to commemorate the 6 and a ½ Billion lives that were claimed there.
Nothing but wastes, darkness, and snow.
Like the Roots of the Dark Forest, the Deathspeakers had come to reduce them into irrelevant Footnotes of anothers History, cursed to be forever Unknown to the rest of the Universe. They can no longer save themselves, for they were long broken, so will you save them? Or will their broken dreams be cast into the winds of forgotten knowledge, to be heard only by the Blind and Arrogant?
A Bastonian and a Vaiaelon walk into a bar, joined by by a UEG guy dragging along his Directorate bestie, while a Gelvadian tries to sneak in with a large weapon behind them. The Bartender, a guy with 4 arms black fur and skin, glowing eyes, and batlike head-features, half-dead and on the verge of organ-failure is being choked by a mechman with nazi-symbology.
Is there a joke there? IDFK. whats important is the last part, and the first section, i guess.
Anyways you fuckos are here to deal with it, even tho you have no idea who the fuck the bartender's supposed to be.
