S D (BkI-III) COMPLETE - El Juego-The Game (BkIV Ch11 Pt2)

Dark Falcons Khan

Chapter Twenty One

Prelate’s Castle
Newhome

A gravid silence hung over the red-smeared stone. Bodies lay where they had fallen; the dead mixed with those who had been driven to excess by the crazed monster who sat heavy-lidded on the throne. Whatever goodness that resided in the now twisted body was gone; lambent eyes drunk in the fruits of its labours, saliva drooled from slack lips and occasional shudder wracked the wasted frame.

No-one witnessed the change, they were all in the dreamless sleep of forgetfulness. Brains had been driven to commit atrocities beyond depraved imagination and now they covered their owners in a coma-like projection. Like flies attracted to the smell of rot and decay, demonic souls had been drawn here, the weakest ones to sniff and taste. Their arrival had attracted larger predators, ever conscious of their smaller brethrens’ searching. At last, this feeding frenzy had called to one dispossessed, who had been discarded, lost and forgotten. He was not gentle in his approach, scattering and crushing those who preceded him, feeding on the slowest.

The wizened figure spasmed, screeching in anguish. Yellow-light burned from his eyes, ears and mouth in a vain attempt to resist, yet for all of his wickedness he was insignificant to the one who came. Blackness enfolded the throne in, wrapping the body within in a crushing embrace. Screams rent the chamber, where an unconscious audience slept on. Outside, there was no-one left to quiver in fear, nothing left to run in terror, and so a world close to death, finally received the Lord it deserved.

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

Sinuous shapes flowed around the main dais; their interlocking segments were seamless, a tribute to the art of the flawed half-man who watched them. Arshavin had not been so lucky, those who had worked on him had none of his skills and had followed his directions with effect but little eye for beauty. From augmented vision, to direct interfacing with his creations, all looked as though they had been added by poor tradesman, which they were in comparison to the Master himself.

These creatures which coiled and writhed around him were the culmination of his ideas. They held no real form; the segmented bodies allowing them to merge and meld into whatever shape or creation he required. He tough, preferred them as they now were, serpentine and winged, like some mythical monster. The demons under which he had served were dark and terrible, but held no inner beauty. It was with the gaze of an adoring father that he let them play; war would come to them soon enough.

As if in answer to his unbidden summons, alarms blared and he moved to connect himself to his console. Bright lights whizzed before his eyes as a myriad of data was fed into his receptive cortex. Ships had jumped into his space, unknown ships of strange design. It was of no consequence, they would provide a test of the efficacy of his offspring.

Commands were given, the dance ceased, and his creations rose to battle on their steel wings. Now he would show his demonic masters what they had missed by ignoring his genius.

Dark Falcons Khan

Outer City Limits
Goldburn

Chary was the first to rise, approaching Toni with a slow and measured step. The brutal animal that he had become now seemed but a distant memory. His skin was smooth, unblemished, and the horns atop his head rose in fluted majesty. Red-tinged skin had become bronzed, god-like and his muscles writhed in seductive time with his breathing. Two jewels now blazed from his belt, the third pulsing redly from the pommel of his axe. A child-like wonder creased his brow, and he smiled.

“It is wonderful,” he breathed, “no more is there conflict. I can feel the harmony of power within me.”

She smiled back, her sharp teeth incongruous with the pleasure she felt.

“They,” she swept her hand across the multitude arrayed around him, “love you…as do I.”

Hr reached one hand out and touched her face, “I can feel their love and yours,” he said, “but this is not a time for reflection and praise. This fight is not over.”

Chary grinned, anticipation sparkling her eyes, “Lead us, My Lord, and we will follow.”

“Good,” he grunted, squinting up towards the waiting ships, “find me whoever is left in charge of the Church Forces, we have a journey to make.”

*

Lilith stood to one side; her form and history instilled both respect and fear in those around her. Unselfconsciously, she flicked her wrist, the whip lashing the ground near her. It amused her to see her companions step away, they had not lost their nervousness in her presence.

“Did you enjoy that?”

She looked up as Grimm approached, his rifle slung across his back.

“Somewhat,” Lilith replied, “it does them good to remember their place.”

“Ah,” he agreed, nodding his head, “their place. The question is rather whether you know yours?”

He winked at her and strolled away, calling to the survivors of his small group. Lilith watched him for a moment and then laughed, before she moved towards Toni.

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

Within his self-imposed cone of silence, Arshavin lived through his machines. Each of their movements was transmitted directly to his brain as they winged upwards and out of the atmosphere. Once free of the planet’s gravity they halted at his command and their dance began again. This time, there was a definite purpose. Segmented bodies touched, merging together as his delicate control demanded. The disparate forms spiralled ever faster, the blur of their movement disguising the change.

Individual pieces exploded out and were sucked back into the evolutionary maelstrom time and again, until he was ready. With one final heave, they rearranged themselves, clicking into place. First came the head, then the body, until at last the wings were reformed. Arshavin liked this shape; metallic and pristine, the dragon opened its maw and plasma burst forth in actinic fire.

Dark Falcons Star Captain

Thanks for posting the new chapters, Rayo! More great reading! Thumbs Up

Dark Falcons Khan

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

The first bolts of plasma poured over the lead ship’s defensive screens, biting and clawing in energetic fury, yet they held. They did nothing more than resist, completing the design of the man who stood watching carefully from his main control room. Other vessels punched forward, their cargo of fighters spitting forth. Some aimed for the mechanical beast and others flashed by it, spearing straight for the construct and Arshavin.

Seeing this, Arshavin tried to bring his masterpiece to heel, but now the lead ship’s guns spoke; energy weapons pulsed in a rainbow of colours, firing in rapid succession and slamming into the dragon-like creature. It was punched backwards, the incessant beating of the weapons against its skin did not cause direct damage, but gave it no opportunity to retreat. Split mentally between reality and his pseudo-world Arshavin struggled with his controls. He had, though, been alive a very long time, his mental faculties developed through experience and torture.

Spherical shapes rose from the construct, opening up spindle-like arms as their velocity decreased. Red lights burned from their centres, feebly at first, then more strongly as their arms became more rigid. They slowed, engines flared as they manoeuvred into position and then they halted. A great arc of defensive satellites was now in position, presenting a barrier of fire to the onrushing fighters.

Prelate’s Castle
Newhome

He rose from his throne, leering at the slowly waking survivors. They would provide him with food and spiritual sustenance. It had been relatively easy to take over the body, both the entity within and the original occupant now screamed within his mind. That, though, was of no consequence.

This body was weak, unlike his last one, and he needed to remedy that quickly. One clawed hand reached down, grasping the chin of his nearest victim, holding the man’s face close. He pinched his fingers together, opening the unfortunate’s mouth and drawing it near. Eyes glittered darkly as he began to feed, the man’s essence sucked clear from his body, exiting his mouth in a writhing stream of smoke. There was no struggle possible once the link was established. Visibly muscles swelled as the body below him shrank, giving all to the recently awakened monster.

Hunger temporarily sated, He tossed the dried shell away from him, revelling in the feeling of power which now coursed through him. It had begun.

Dark Falcons Khan

SUDDEN DEARTH now has its own BLOG.

http://sudderndearth.blogspot.com

I will be posting the stories there from the beginning, as well as suggested artwork.

EDIT: ...and its own Facebook Page!! I'm getting good at this Laughing

Not to worry, I will be continuing with my posts here Wink

Cheers

Rayo

Dark Falcons Star Captain

Awesome!!

Dark Falcons Khan

MechRat wrote:

Awesome!!

and its own facebook page Laughing

Dark Falcons Star Captain

I know, I already am a fan. Very Happy

Dark Falcons Khan

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

The fighters engaged at maximum distance, missiles flashing into locked targets. Shields flared, frustrating the pilots, but this was only the beginning. Energy weapons fired, their masters cycling them rapidly and shields began to fail. This failure did not mean defeat as the satellites began to fight back. They moved erratically, throwing the aim of the rapidly approaching fighters, firing their own weapons.

Metal spikes shot outwards, their velocity imparted by the parent globes. Miniature rockets fired, consuming themselves as the weapons increased in speed. At the head of each spike was a flashing red sphere, whose bursts of emitted lights increased as they neared their targets. When they were in range they exploded, shattering into smaller bomblets, which in turn exploded, mining the air in front of them with metallic shards. The fighters did the rest of the work themselves; at top speed there was no escape for the lead craft, whose wings and cabins were shredded by the myriad of high velocity shrapnel.

Their sacrifice cleared the way for their fellows, who tore through the gap, closer-ranged plasma weapons firing.

*

On the command deck, a man was smiling. He had expected Arshavin to have kept something up his sleeve, and he had not been disappointed. As he swung to give his orders, his wing tip brushed against a console and he smiled; it took time to get used to the damned things.

“Prepare the troops, “ he bellowed, “it is time.”

His Aide brought him his armour, helping him buckle it on. It had been adapted to include his recently acquired appendages, and it took some work to get into it. Finally the last clasp was snugged home and he was ready. The burnished steel of his armour sparkled in the light of the control room, its splendour marred only by the dark winged figure etched onto the right breast.

*

Fear took hold of Arshavin; his creatures were failing again, all of his great plans were for nought. He would have to run again, and this time there was nowhere to hide. He did still have one option left, one he had always refused to contemplate, but perhaps it was time.

In answer to his command, his dragon threw itself towards the main vessel, plasma bolts smashing again and again into the ship´s shields. A purely physical attack followed and deep within his construct, Arshavin worked feverishly.

Dark Falcons Khan

Chapter Twenty Two

Prelate’s Castle
Newhome

Morning did not bring relief from torment from those who woke; many were already dead, the emergent demon feeding in a gluttonous frenzy. Yet even it had limits and now lay replete and snoring across the throne. Its body had changed, blossoming in a parody of its excess; arms now thick with fat, its head round and gleaming with sweat. Whilst it slept, bodily eruptions filled the air with the sick smell of decay.

Ex-priests an soldiers stirred, pushing cold and rigid limbs aside in a mad haste to reach their feet. Corpses were in more abundance than the living, their facs frozen in a rictus of terror. Men began to scream, to wail, and as though each received a simultaneous signal of self-preservation, to flee.

It was far too late for them though. Hunger sated, for the moment, the demon did not want a meal, it craved adoration. Bleary yellow eyes opened, flame-red pupils adding to their otherworldliness, and it laughed with pleasure. Men stopped, jerked to a halt by the power of its will.

“Come to me,” it hissed, forcing them to turn, to kneel, to prostrate themselves.

“Ah, yes,” it blubbered from fattened lips, “that’s right...worship me and do my bidding...”

Faces assumed the same terrified masks as those worn by the corpses. Mouths opened to cry for mercy, but one was forthcoming. Like some warped painting, they remained where they were, the only sign of life their maddened eyes and forced breathing.

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

Arshavin was becoming desperate; plasma bolts rained down upon his construct, destroying in an instant that which had taken him a lifetime to create. His robots were no more, the only remaining creature was the metallic dragon which was systematically being reduced to its component parts by the warship which rolled inexorably on.

There was one option and he took it. He activated the beacon he had once been given as a minion and kept to remind him of his enforced slavery. His mind, linked to the essence of the construct was amplified a thousand fold and pleaded for aid. All the while he could feel the impacts of the weapons on his extended body, each one reducing him a little closer to that of a simple machine.

His answer came and he wailed in pain and terror as his identity and will was stripped away. There was no possible resistance and he at last accepted that.

Dark Falcons Khan

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

Viker watched the metallic beast flail uselessly against his ship’s shields. His defensive systems were actively destroying the threat piece by piece. Missiles hammered into the machine, blasting away its outer skin, and his close fighter support boiled the constituent parts into gas, with each plasma strike. He was content.

Behind him were arrayed his chosen men, suited into their armour, its construction mirroring his own transformation. Metallic wings and jump jets gave them a parody of his own strength and grace. They had trained hard before leaving the planet; fragments of robots had been reconstituted giving them the means of finding Arshavin. Walters had his own war and this would be Viker’s first real test in battle.

Heavy transport vessels waited patiently, their holds full of the Eyatolian’s armour. He was not sure that they would be needed as his fighters smashed the manic genius’ construct in preparation for his assault. It was time. He gave the order, his men moving quickly to the five shuttles which would spearhead his attack, their fighter escort already hungrily expecting them.

As he boarded his craft, he neatly folded his wings; something his own men would find hard to copy. Viker did not need the ceramic sheathing they carried, his power was sufficient protection.

Outer City Limits
Goldburn

Toni now knew from where the Church Forces had originated, the remaining Church Elite had provided him with the answer. His newly procured ships waited for him, ready to take his forces to take him to Newhome. It would not be possible to carry all with him, so he had chosen. The mixed force consisted of all of his people and Grimm would be left behind, against his better wishes, to begin the reconstruction of the damaged city. He would be required as Toni could feel the barely curbed frenzy which coursed through his once human contingent.

Small parties of unawakened were still abroad and it would need a hard hand to bring them in line. Chary and Lilith would accompany him, with some Ori, Taurans and all of the Church Elite. These ex-Church soldiers had still to be fully accepted and he wanted no incidents. Their religious fervour and the dislike of Taurans inherent within them was a potential time bomb he wanted defused.

Shan had gone, although he was not truly vanquished, but Toni felt little concern over his immediate concern. He quickly needed to consolidate his victory and the taming of Newhome would be a huge step in that direction. Another world, full of potential followers awaited him. It should be an easy trial for his people, merging them quickly against a beaten foe. How hard could it be?

Dark Falcons Khan

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

The end was near; plasma bolts were now landing unopposed onto the Construct itself, and Arshavin sat in his control chair slack-mouthed and drooling. The link with is creation remained, but the brain controlling it was no more. He had made an enormous mistake and had paid heavily. That which now resided within his remaining flesh evilly enjoyed the destruction.

Tentative at first, it began to explore the boundaries of its new vessel, revelling in the powerful extension to the frail human whose body it had possessed. It toyed with Arshavin, its main essence may light years away. There was a decision to be made, one which would change its plans completely. There was danger here, but nothing that it could not deal with, although pleasures of the flesh would be lost. It was a delicious conundrum. There was another way.

Gradually it increased its control over the biomechanical Construct, stripping all that was Arshavin from the mix. It activated neural pathways, filling them with its own thoughts and desires, pouring power into their creation. They grew rapidly, safe within the Construct’s core and protected from the rain of fire. Childlike, thoughts appeared, which were quickly crushed and compressed into those most like the demon’s own. A minion was called from the ether, whose will was also stripped bare and forced into the confines of the newly created monster. Memories were poured into the rapidly expanding personality; hateful, debauched memories of pain suffering and lust. At last the demon was finished and pulled back its control, leaving only a slight connection and that more out of a voyeuristic necessity rather than a need to control.

Born mad, the Construct never had a chance. All its memories were of death, destruction and wickedness. True to its nature it began to fight back.

Deep Space
Unknown Location

The fleet of ex-Church vessels bored onwards, they were going home. At least for some of those housed within the metal skins it was a return of sorts. True, they had been changed; their ideology shaped by events both witnessed and experienced, yet they still held a reverence for their birth place. Memories and family were there and could be brought into the light of their new-found faith. It would be a good homecoming, a celebration. Not one of them thought any different.

Toni sat in his state room, his mind questing out in front of his ship’s passage. His new powers were still unknown and untried, but he could taste the ever-changing nature of the warp around him. He revelled in the beauty of this folded space. It was during one such session that he caught of whiff of bitter decay, his senses questing for its origin. With each passing minute he tuned himself in to the source of this wrongness, hardening himself to the rot and putrefaction he discovered.

With a sigh, he rose, to make his way to the Bridge. His people needed to be told, to be prepared. There was now no doubt as to the origin of this stench; Newhome would not be the paradise he had been told. A sickness hung heavily over the once shining capitol of the Church, one they needed to excise.

Dark Falcons Khan

Long train journey tomorrow - five hours or so - expect some updates Wink

Cheers

Rayo

Dark Falcons Star Captain

Cool! I'm always looking forward to more updates!

Safe travels, Rayo!

Dark Falcons Khan

Chapter Twenty Three

Geosynchronous Orbit
Newhome

The journey had not taken as long as expected; the discordant odour of evil had strengthened, seeming to pull the ships along. Toni knew that in a way this was true, but actually in reverse. He had urged his vessels on, some part of his power had speeded up their travel, eager for the battle ahead. Many of his men had been confused when he had announced their arrival; Newhome did not look like this. It was a green and verdant world, not this sick yellow orb.

It had taken deep orbital scans, plus comparisons of actual land masses to convince them. Even the atmosphere had changed. The cloud cover was heavy, full of the products of the process of decay. It was completely unnatural. Masses of these bilious formations hung stationary over the remains of cities, the greatest concentration over the Prelate’s Castle itself. Signs of life there were, but none which matched those expected. This world was mutating, and i was doing so at a frightening pace.

The ex-Church Elite wanted to land immediately, they needed someone to blame, to kill. Toni wanted to wait. He could feel the throb of evil from the Castle, knew what waited him there. It was more a question of what else he would find, would face, on the way to his meeting.

Prelate’s Castle
Newhome

“Ah, you are here...”

Five minions hung on the demon’s every word, their adoring eyes fixed on their Lord. Deep within their hungry gaze remained the painful vestige of who they were, screaming in helpless torment. This pain was not at a conscious level, it was something which piqued the demon’s humour; he liked to see it there.

“Now we can begin. Give the signal.”

Obediently the five left, running in different directions once they had cleared the room; three one way and two the other. Plans had been laid. The dead had been reanimated in a virulently mutated form, their humanity stripped away. They were infected with their Lord’s taint, drawing power from his existence. What constituted intelligence was base and evil, cunning in its intent. Weapons had been recovered and prepared, with willing and obedient servants to wield them.

At last they reached their objectives, joining the myriad of their followers ensconced in buildings, hidden in ruins and lying prone by the roadside, waiting for their call. Their Lord had made them invisible from their enemies’ scans, and they waited lustfully for the conflict to begin.