Across Syrak-9 war raged, the fire of humanity burning all. The sky burned with exploding dropships, denying xenos resupply. Swamps boiled, and the Tulverians, in all their overbred, bio-engineered glory, died in droves.
General Richard Ziusudra watched from Siegeclad''s inner depths, simultaneously immersed within two minds, anchored and immobilized while Siegeclad shook the earth with every step, sending ripples through the nearby swamp and streams. The melee stretched before him, humans breaking against the tide of xenos monstrocities.
Nightmares of biology- a species of amphibious crocodilians, each caste bred for a specific purpose. Massive elephantine crocodiles led the charge, short mouths rising from the swamp, propelled forward on six rending legs. Their oversized cleaver-teeth rending the air, acting as diversions while nimble crocodilians -lean and serpentine with electrostatic spines- wove between them, claws glinting with bioluminescent venom. An ancient weapon that well complimented the plasma rifles held by those very same talons.
And yet, humanity held.
C9 Sentinel rifles cracked in disciplined volleys, searing through scaled flesh. Human bayonets, fixed with a grim finality and humming with Siegeclad''s solarium magics, found gaps in the Tulverians’ hides, piercing deep into organs never meant to meet steel.
Richard''s voice boomed across the battlefield, amplified by Siegeclad''s reactors.
"Have no fear, for I am with you. Advance."
Calm words channeled solarium through the air, invigorating flagging soldiers and sending shudders through the crocodilian''s simple minds. One of the great warbeasts charging forward, eyes red with terror like a cornered animal. Its bone-crushing blade raised high. Richard frowned. Siegeclad smiled.
With a single movement, Siegeclad’s gauntlet caught the blade mid-swing. Servos screaming as he wrenched sideways, tearing it free of the alien''s maw. The creature reared back, howling in agony- cut short by Siegeclad''s maul of choice, a sort of gravity augmented hammer capable of weighing several tons or mere ounces. The weapon connected with the Tulverian’s skull, and with an ear-splitting crack, the beast’s head cratered into its own chest.
Violence that sent waves across the battlefield, lashing the humans forward. Particle rifles tearing through xenos armor. But the Tulverians fought on, plasma rifles tearing through the unprotected soldiers with ease.
Richard scowled, he was here to save humans, and had the power to act, snapping their fingers and once more encasing the soft-shelled humans in iridescent golden armor. Temporary shielding that would fade in time, yet deflect everything -from mosquitoes to anti-tank explosives- until then.
Plasma deflected off human skin, drawing a dozen vertical pupils to the only unshielded sapien left, Richard. Blue hellfire washing over his shields; teaching the lizards why they called this heavy knight "Siegeclad". He turned, raising the shoulder-mounted cannon. A battery of iguanas was nothing to them. Four streams of armor penetrating grenades cut through the plasma, popping the glowing crocs like overripe grapes.
Human infantry surged forward, driving their bayonets into reeling Tulverians, trampling the fallen in a tide of blood and grit. Corporal Rogers dashed forward, impaling a wounded crocodile through its throat, then pulled the trigger, blasting his rifle free of the now headless xeno. Humanity did not need genetically modified castes, not when they had a bioweapon like the Siegeclad, and the will to fight.
The remaining Tulverians faltered. Their wills cracked, by Siegeclad''s odd powers, their numbers dwindling in the face of human brutality. A soldier, covered in alien blood, shot a Tulverian striker point-blank, the energy weapon sending the creature into a flaming wreck of yellow light. Another human, missing an arm drove his blade into an iguana''s gut, twisting until its organs spilled into the swamp like spilled cargo.
And still Siegeclad drove them forward. One snap of his fingers wreathed the humans in golden solarium light, a skintight shield to deflect claws, seal wounds, and stiffen spines. That was the last straw for the Tulverians, who fled, diving into their swamps in a frenzied retreat. Often climbing over their wounded kin.
Silence overtook the battlefield. Then, a single cheer rose among the human soldiers, growing into a victorious roar.
Richard stepped forward looming over a wounded pink-scale, the last of the enemy. A guttural growl reached his ears the xenos struggling to rise, attempting to crawl away. Siegeclad''s eyes locked onto the creature, his face a blank mask.
"You get to live." Siegeclad said, snapping his fingers and encasing the alien in his shielding. "Take this message to your commander. If you interfere with our crusade against the Novans again, I will bury you. Not just on Syrak-9, but across the entire spiral arm."
The xeno blinked dumbly, but when no more words followed it jogged into the swamp, swimming home.
Richard watched it go, deeply annoyed that -despite there being THREE ATHENAS- he still had not found a single one.
"Where did you go?" Richard muttered, opening his HUD and crossing off this quadrant.
If she wasn''t here, then the Novan Technocracy of Steel had gotten ahold of her; and that was a fate he could not allow.
"Bastion," Richard began, speaking directly to the Singularity Warmind, an AI wholly devoted to war, "Establish a defensive line, recover the wounded, then deploy the other two bioweapons. It''s time to erase crack those Juggernauts."
"Yes sir."
---
-Athena-
Five things occurred in the same second.
First, I swallow, sensor ping still echoing through my helmet.
Secondly, the four technicians spread out, slicing the pie around crate mountain. One on each side, While the heaviest tech curls around his detonator, no matter what, he holds the power to Chuck Norris our asses with twenty tons of explosives.
Third, Kerrigan’s pupils narrow to slits, taking on a purple luminescence. She’s a distant shadow one second, then ducking between my legs the next. I reflexively reach for her, narrowly pulling back as her tail stinger passes an inch away from my palm.
Before I can think of how close I just came to death, Lingling2 chomps into a dead iguana. Acrid Tulverian blood tickles his nose making mine itch in sympathetic irritation.
Fifth, a pulsating alarm appears on my HUD, an icon that sends a shudder through my body. The flash trained portion of my brain warns that it’ll be safer to pull off my mask and empty the flechette pistol into my brain rather than face what is coming. Field Marshal Bazzhole deployed the Singularity’s most terrifying weaponry. Part of me is stunned that their interplanetary AI network approved this particular weapon, though the grinding attrition of Syrak-9 makes for the ideal battlefield. Of all the bloody shitholes for an army to fight through this one screams to the heavens for THAT unpredictable weapon. Tight quarters mean hand to hand combat is guaranteed, while armor and personal shielding are prerequisites to survive the artillery barrages and heavy weaponry of mechanized armies.
Now I understand why Baz is a Field Marshal. Should anything go awry, he’ll be the ideal patsy. A newly appointed officer who was flash trained into command with zero prior experience or relevant skills. In other words, the perfectly explainable wig out. Who unleashed demons upon Syrak-9.
“Please, let this one be sane.” I whisper, falling prone.
I crawl through the crates, positioning the central pile of equipment between myself and the entrance.
‘Ling1, tunnel to my left, if someone comes around take em out.’
He’s already burrowed into the earth, digging a path towards the technicians. Practically swimming through the dirt.
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“Oh man, I really hope that stinger pierces armor.”
Zerglings always beat marines in small numbers, an analogy I pray holds true here. Technicians aren''t combatants, and two of their number are missing limbs! But power armor would turn a starving toddler into a super Olympian capable of running faster and jumping higher and deadlifting more trucks than any unmodified humans.
Rumbling shakes the bunker. Missile tubes clatter against each other, crates jitter up and down. Two minutes till the Juggernaut reaches us. It’ll probably turn me into pink mist, just like those Tulverians. Crates begin to fall. Knocked askance by the tremors.
Which is when I see it. A tunneling tank, it kinda looks like a spinning dildo through the tremorsense. Four figures reside within, a pilot and three passengers, one of which is unmistakable as the weapon. Five times heavier than the others yet occupying the same volume.
Bile pushes up my esophagus. Terror made manifest. I begin to pant, hyperventilating. My torso curls around the flechette pistol, holding it steady as a Technocracy Technician slices the pie around crate mountain, the maneuver awkward with a missing arm. Braced as I am -with two lings to triangulate tremorsense- the man finds me ready.
One hundred needles whizz through the air in a half second. Accurate fire repeated to depletion of my magazine. Projectiles bounce harmlessly off armor, incapable of penetrating the ceramic layers. Good thing the armor isn’t my target, his glass visor is. I''ve aimed well and achieved the tactic of ''Accuracy by volume''. Sixty steel darts impact his visor.
The first bounces off with no apparent damage. Same for the second. Then ten connect faster than my mind can process. Cracks spiderweb across the dome. Needles eleven and twelve pop it open. Triggering the HELP system. Steel shutters deploy, automatically slamming forward to seal his faceplate a half second behind my sixtieth hit. Nearly forty needles enter the man’s face. Eyes pop, teeth shatter, four needles pass through his spine bending and keyholing on their way through flesh. Most importantly of all, a single needle tumbles through his vertebrae, permanently crippling the man.
[+1 biomass]
[+1 technician power armor]
All I see is a geyser of blood. Needles ricochet inside the helmet clanking and thudding into a blender. The man collapses going entirely limp. I reload, rolling hard to my left. Fire and move. Only I stop short, resting on my shoulder as the single most valuable piece of Technocracy hardware comes into view. Sable''s number 2 highest priority capture target, right behind the Novan AI''s mainframe, if it''s even on the planet. Unlike this nanofactory, mostly a block of steel wrapped in composites to keep it protected–
-A faint tingle emanates from my chest, and in a blink the entire room glows with faerie light. Back to total darkness before my helmet can detect the change in light.
[-100 energy]
One of the others has drained my energy, casting one of the abilities I cannot. A sort of scanner sweep that gives all three of us shared vision of the bunker and my immediate circumstances.
I''d be screaming in excitement if I weren''t fighting for my life.
>Executrix Alaea: A NANOFACTORY! I’m taking that. Shit, where am I gonna put it? Feck. uhmmmm. Oh, what the hell is that tunneling? Dude, don’t die. Wait, is that a Juggernaut? BRO!
>Terran Thena: I’M BUSY
Chat operates fast as thought. A good thing. Otherwise I’d be dead.
A second technician, this one missing a leg, leaps over crate mountain, power armor hurling him bodily into the ceiling''s superstructure with brute force punching an arm into metal grating. Flechette pistol barks tearing through the two crates I was in just seconds earlier. He walks the shots into me, eight needles tearing into my arm and shoulder.
Cold envelopes my arm as nerves shred. All sensation vanishes from the limb, hell, I can’t even tell if the arm is still connected or not.
I’m losing blood. Training takes over, repeating drilled mantra.
Kill this one, then tourniquet the bleed.
My own pistol rises to the target, shaking as one arm fails to obey. Maybe if I’m quick the Singularity can find a prosthetic.
The suspended technician reloads, his suit performing the function for him.
He''s got me dead to rights. Our pistol muzzles lining up against each other, sights rising an inch above them. Aiming at our faces.
We pull our triggers.
Dirt explodes beneath my chest launching me ten feet in a cartwheel that would put me in contention for the Paralympics. Sparks rain as one hundred flechettes clatter off the whirling drill. Metallic flooring shatters as a drill penetrates the bunker floor. A roof hatch opens and my worst fears sprout from on high. Red, black, and a dancing syandana of golden light compliment a woman’s curves. Wide hips, a hint of abs, and perky tits, like an attractive runner.
Right up until I see her face. It’s smooth, featureless. An unfinished marble sculpture. She springs upwards, dual wielding pistols -if the weapons can be classified so timidly- one looks like three sawn-off shotguns duck taped together while the other is a monstrosity of platinum and electrum steel that seems like it would be most at home on Blackbeard’s pirate belt.
I would laugh, if not for the bright colors. There are three reasons to stand out on the battlefield, the most common is so the enemy won’t murder your medic. While the second is because you’re too stupid to realize bright colors make you a target. But the third reason tightens my sphincter.
You want people to shoot at you, revealing their positions while you tank the damage.
Most would achieve a simulacra of immortality with layers of shielding and armor, like a Starcraft Immortal with hardened shielding and the barrier ability but this ‘woman’ fits within a swimmer''s silhouette, save for odd protrusions on her armor. It’s not Singularity standard issue like my trenchcoat is. No, her armor might actually stop a bullet, as evidenced by hundreds of tiny nicks and dents in it. Prior attempts at ending this bioweapon’s existence. Jutting prominences hint at being grown in a lab rather than forged and fitted; while humanoid affectations suggest this monster remembers her humanity differently than myself.
A bulbous thorax extends from the figure’s lower back glowing with yellow energy. Dozens of rods spray from the thorax washing over the bunker. Over me. They move through solid objects faster than light, leaving afterimages of energy as they scan. Before I blink they congregate into a half dozen solid tendrils. Linking the bioweapon with targets. One rod extends to each technocracy technician, one to Ling1, and another to the distant Juggernaut.
The larger of her two pistols speaks, sending three slugs punching through a technician’s power armor. Tremorsense informs of the slugs final destination, ten feet into the dirt.
She ascends to her apex, hanging in midair for a microsecond as gravity consumes her upward acceleration and begins to drag her down. Thrusters puff, keeping her aloft. From my vantage she may as well be a destroying angel, hovering with death in both hands. The second pistol screams with recoil so intense it buoys her up. Six barrels fire at once, sending a half dozen slugs through the ceiling technician’s helmet. Rounds carve a hole through his neck all the way to his chest where a full pound of lead poisons his heart via six holes. He slumps, boots still mag locked to the ceiling. Her own foot lashes out, slashing through armor, faceplate, and spine in one energized cut. Beheading the man for good measure.
A dark thought crawls out of my bleeding arm.
Hmm, guess that’s one way to hang someone.
Second pistol empty, she drops it, mag locks pull it out of the air, anchoring it to her hip. Her electrum pistol barks once, shattering chitin and spine to cut Ling1 in half. The gunfight finally catches the heavy technician’s attention just in time for him to catch three slugs from her heavy pistol. How it shoots three slugs from one barrel is a fascinating impossibility I want to understand, no I need to understand! I take a single step forward and slump-
-torso going numb.
“Oh, that’s right. I got shot.” I mutter, vision beginning to darken.
To my horror, those words alert the weapon. Her -deeply disconcerting- thorax pulses once emitting a wave of yellow energy. Like really, she’s a half bug, half woman, waif that doesn’t reach my chin yet has more power than a Singularity superheavy walker. Light-power washes the bunker and myself.
All told, the pain of being shot wasn’t too bad, it hurt, but it hurt like a thorn pricks. Sharp pain that fades each second. In fact, I haven’t even noticed my bleeding lung. Not until the bioweapon-woman curses me. Flesh regrows instantly, a miracle soon corrupted by inconceivable pain as the needles push their way through my flesh at a tortoisian pace. Thin and sharp is how to pierce armor, yet these needles are designed to bend then spin through tissue after piercing armor, to maximize internal trauma.
It is these bent, inch long blades that are healed out of me.
Screaming fills my ears. Probably my own. Hard not to scream when eight blades razor through me, falling out of my body as constant waves of healing repair it.
Minutes pass, or seconds. I’m in way too much pain to count. Shooting too. One of the techheads managed a final salvo of flechettes, a full magazine. One hundred steel needles that bounce off the weapon’s citrine shielding. Personal energy shielding! Now that is something I would give my left tit for. Another pulse hits and my mind clears instantly. So sharply I wonder if she stabbed me with a pound of cocaine.
The weapon drops a detonator on my helmet, Tight beaming a single order to me.
“I have no heavy weapons on me so it''s up to you soldier. When that Juggernaut rolls in here, destroy it. Once that is accomplished get back to your squad.” She says, then does a standing backflip to cover twenty feet up and back into the tunneling tank. I’m not sure how, but no part of her touches the hatch, a perfect swish despite thorax, protruding armor, and weapons.
Her order is optimistic. We both know I’ll explode alongside the Juggernaut, but at least this bioweapon is kind enough to lie. Maybe kindness doesn’t factor into the decision, she may not have any comprehension of death.
I try to respond and taste iron. Blood aspirates into my throat. At some point during my screaming the vehicle repositioned itself, and now it departs once more. Drill plows through crates into the bunker’s wall then angles downward, tunneling away.
Outside the Juggernaut is silent, frozen in time by some immutable force. Maybe an EMP grenade of some kind? No time to stop and think. I need to get the hell out of here before the Juggernaut reactivates. I climb to my feet, stumbling against the nanofactory.
If only we could capture this. Beam it away…
>Terran Thena: Please. Beam me out?
>Executrix Alaea: You know I can’t.
>Executrix Alaea: Don’t give up like a lil bitch. Not when I have a plan.
>Terran Thena: What plan?
>Executrix Alaea: They make Juggernauts on world. Pull a Tychus.
Hacking coughs rip through my lungs, expunging the blood from at least one bullet, maybe two. Tychus. One word, but talking to yourself has the benefit of shorthand. It’s a good plan.