Fallen Starchild

Chapter 1:

The inky backdrop of space was quiet.

There was a time when space faring civilisations, with all their knowledge and technology, had filled the dark gap with life, with the activity and light of their starships and space stations.

That was a bygone era, a dead age lost to the memory of most after the formation of the great rift that had torn the very universe apart.

But in the absolute stillness of the black sea of the void, there was a sudden disturbance.

Space itself rippled as, where there had once been nothing, a great starship appeared, dazzling energy rolling off its unfathomably large form as it burst forth from its mysterious realm of origin.

The craft was designed like a giant city, with great spires and turrets arching into space like needles, its prismatic, oval body glowing faintly with ethereal power.

Electric blue energy shields flickered in the black background of space as the energies from the jump raked against them.

Within the ship itself, an entire civilisation dwelt.

The halls of the upper levels were filled with light and musical laughter as the beings within the ship made the best of their long- and at times arduous- journey, whilst the lower levels bustled with more serious activity as intelligence officers sent out information and soldiers stood around the platforms, their helmets a black, featureless mask.

These creatures were known by a great many names: the Reich, the Master Race, the Aryani, the Children of Venus and several others; a race of advanced beings that, once upon a time, had spanned entire star systems and had been renowned as the masters of the universe itself.

And now they drifted from world to world in the hopes that other members of their kind survived the aftermath of the rift, reduced to little less than half of their great number.

Amidst those occupying the lower levels of the ship was Orikan, a warrior, who was attending a briefing alongside his fellow soldiers from Prince Laufen.

A crewman stood before the prince, a data tablet in his hand.

"My lord," he began, "we have no reason to believe that any of our kind dwells on this world."

"We waste precious time," snapped Vern. "We must at least recover any bodies."

"Assuming they even exist," countered the intelligence officer curtly.

"Silence, both of you."

Laufen stared hard at the data tablet, trying to figure out the best move.

According to their findings, humans occupied the world below.

Orikan had never met a human himself, but the elders told stories of their dangerous, unpredictable nature. They could either be very welcoming or very territorial.

It had been said that the prince did not harbour any particularly positive views on them, though for what reason, none could say.

Before Prince Laufen could give any further instructions, the doors hissed open.

A woman, almost two metres in height, strode towards the commander deck, handmaidens surrounding her, their eyes alert and limbs tense, ready to act at any moment.

She was adorned with an extravagant garment of radiant white, a cross between a dress and armour. Upon her head perched the crown that represented her role as a leader of the people.

Laufen bowed low, as did everyone in the room.

Renari.

The matriarch.

Up to this day her psychic presence still filled Orikan with mind-numbing awe. He considered himself lucky to have been in her presence not only once but thrice.

"Rise, prince."

Her voice was laced with tenderness.

And power.

Laufen stood upright.

"We have detected a possible signal from one of our own."

The matriarch looked over the data provided by her son, her face a mask as she analysed weeks of information in one sitting.

If she had an opinion on the human occupants she didn't share it.

She finally glanced at Vern.

"What do your visions say now?"

He squirmed under her sharp gaze.

"Nothing at the moment, my lady."

"We have sent signals of our own with no response," added an informant.

"In their language as well?"

"Yes, my lady."

The matriarch glanced back at the data tablet once more before handing it to the officer and facing Laufen, her eyes boring into him.

"If you wish to explore this anomaly further, you have my permission. But remember, do not provoke them without cause."

The officer looked dismayed but said nothing.

Laufen bowed his head.

"Thank you, matriarch."

The matriarch inclined her head and exited, her escort in perfect step with her.

Chapter 2:

Gossip was already spreading through the ranks regarding the nature of their destination.

And its inhabitants.

Some of the stories Orikan heard made him recoil in disgust, but Prince Laufen allowed them this reprieve, trusting the bravery and discipline of his people to kick in when it was needed most.

Despite that, Orikan was still bothered. False information could make a significant difference in life or death situations. He shook his head at their foolishness and kept preparing.

The fleet was made up of a total of three warships, bird-like and elegant in design but extremely deadly and durable nonetheless.

Prince Laufen bore white armour of royalty, a white cape threaded through with a metallic, shifting material billowing behind him. He held his helm under his left arm, leaving his head exposed, the diadem upon his brow shimmering in the light, his every move exuding regality and authority.

The ship engines sang as they began to lift off the deck, delving into space towards their destination.

Vern hung in the shadows of the flagship, his eyes closed and his pale skin drawn in concentration as he practised his craft in silence.

As a seer, Vern was considered an invaluable asset, both for his wisdom and his power. But his youth compared to the other seers aboard made him uncomfortable and desperate to prove his worth. Orikan saw him as an older brother, and it pained him to see him struggle so.

Orikan's thoughts were cut off by the whine of alarms, the atmosphere in the control room becoming tense.

"Report," Laufen stated calmly.

"Unknown spacecraft approaching. Speed is not slowing down."

"Message sent. No response."

"Artillery devices detected. Requesting permission to engage."

The prince gritted his teeth in irritation.

Why were they so ready to engage in conflict?

It looked like the stories Orikan had heard had at least some truth to them.

"Permission granted."

The ship was buzzing with energy as weapons powered up, the psychic energy roiling in them ready to destroy their enemies. The human warship fired the first shot, the attack clipping the wing of one of the ships, knocking it off balance.

The other ships returned fire, azure energy clawing at the shields of the enemy vessel. Two shots got through, peeling back the metal on its flank before falling back.

They gave the ship no reprieve; the second ship closed in as the other pulled away, firing a stream of white hot energy at the untouched left flank of the human battle-barge.

But it was ready.

A series of clean shots sent the ship spiralling past them, its wings glowing red as flames ravaged its insides.

Communication with the crew revealed only the pained screams of those burning to death whilst other crew members like the spiritualists tried to put out the flames with their psychic powers.

The prince's flagship charged head-on, discharging a miniature solar flare at the human vessel, bringing down the shields temporarily whilst dodging its devastating cannon fire.

Without warning, the human vessel surged forward, crushing the shields of the prince's ship and clipping its left wing, knocking it off balance violently.

The shockwave threw the ship off long enough for the cannon fire to land a direct hit, the blast setting off explosions throughout the ship's lower decks and killing most of the artificial atmospheric control units.

"There," snapped Laufen. The enemy landing bay was in view. "Direct us there."

The officers hesitated.

"Yes, my lord," the head officer muttered reluctantly as she mentally contacted the pilots, relaying the prince's instructions.

Vern looked equally unhappy.

"It is madness, what the prince plans to do," he seethed in Orikan's head.

"Agreed," muttered Orikan, "but our ship is falling apart. The alternative is crashing onto the human world. A potential death sentence."

They were lightly armed, carrying pistols and light rifles. A surprise attack would not have any significant effect in their current situation, but it might disrupt the humans long enough for reinforcements to arrive and destroy the ship.

"Signal has been sent to the mothership," announced another crewmate.

Laufen nodded grimly. "Now."

The pilots steered towards the bay, the ship groaning from the effort. Orikan saw the psilocks band together, their combined psychic might holding the ship together as it crashed into the landing bay doors, the remains of its weapons releasing one last discharge, blowing a hole in the doors.

Orikan looked around, assessing any damage or losses. Almost everyone was fine apart from one young psilock, his eyes and nose bleeding profusely from the effort required for the task.

The prince rose with a smile of confidence on his face. He donned his helmet and drew his blade, shouting a battle cry.

And then they disembarked.

Chapter 3:

The interior of the human craft was dark.

There was no sign of life anywhere, red blinking lights casting an ominous glow over the corridor.

Orikan knew it was naive, but he hoped that they could convince the humans to surrender and come to a peaceful solution.

Lost in thought, Orikan did not notice the massive claw erupt from the shadows, grabbing one of their comrades and dragging him into the dark tunnels of the ship, chittering and clicking noises echoing down the corridor, as well as the sound of gunfire.

The rest opened fire, their blasts flashing against the creature.

It was hunched over, its carapace armour dark grey and its right arm sporting four lethal, bladed fingers that were wrapped around their brother in arms.

Its left arm bore a massive gun, which returned fire on the group as it dragged the soldier away.

Orikan cursed the creature as he drew his sword, psychic energy running up the blade, and charged.

Laufen rose.

"With him!"

The rest charged as well, firing as they drew their weapons.

The creature lifted its head, multiple round lenses glowing red, granting it an insectoid appearance.

It screeched, dropping their comrade as Orikan and the prince closed in, slashing at its exposed sides. The armour protected it from most of the damage, and it swung with abnormal speed, catching Orikan on the side of his helmet with a crack.

The distraction allowed the prince to bury his blade hilt deep in one of its multiple eyes. It thrashed wildly, screeching once more before dropping to the ground lifelessly.

The others approached, on high alert.

"Can you stand," Vern inquired as he helped up the other warrior.

He nodded silently and bowed to Laufen.

"Thank you Lord. I regret being the reason you endangered yourself."

Laufen shook his head.

"Think nothing of it. Orikan and I saved a brother in need. Nothing more."

Orikan swelled with pride at the acknowledgement.

And the prince knew his name.

Laufen looked down the corridor.

"Let us keep moving, see where this leads."

They went forth, all their senses tense in preparation for another attack.

The dark corridor led to a spacious room that was just as unlit as the rest of the ship.

Where are the humans, Orikan wondered as they fanned out.

Come look at this, Vern said telepathically. They gathered around the monitor Vern had switched on.

"It is in their language," pointed out one of the soldiers.

Before Vern could retort, the prince began to read.

"It discusses a surgical procedure for the alteration of their own kind."

Laufens' eyes darkened as he read.

"They would do this to their own people?"

Vern's telepathic connection was still active, forcing what the prince had read into their minds.

Orikan stood, shocked, in a room with a human strapped to a chair, writhing as…something…was pumped into his body.

In another image a human was lying face down on a surgical table as a device attached to the roof carved open his head, attaching a painful looking device as he screamed hard enough to cough blood.

In yet another a woman was strapped on a vertical table, twisting at horrible angles as her body bent and roiled, her pallid skin cracking and stretching as her body hunched over, her screams devolving into garbled screeches.

Then the images stopped.

Orikan finally snapped out of the vision, horrified.

"What…?"

"They must be stopped," growled Laufen, "no matter the cost."

"Be careful what you wish for."

The voice was gravelly, as if the owner was on the brink of death.

The air rippled as the dark presence came closer.

Orikan raised his weapon.

"Are you human?"

"You know I am," the man chuckled.

The lenses on Orikan's helm gave him a good view of the man before them.

He was skinny, hunched over, and leaning on a staff. His alabaster skin creaked with every movement and his eyes were hidden by goggles with two glowing red lenses, with his mouth covered by some form of gas mask. Most of his torso was hidden under a thick cloak.

"How do you know our tongue?"

Laufen asked quietly. The rest could sense the venom not only in his voice but in his very aura.

The human laughed.

"Torture someone enough, even one of the self-proclaimed masters of the universe, and they will sing. It was easy enough to convince them to teach us your tongue."

He cooked his head to the side.

"And indeed, it is like music, this language of yours."

Vern yelled a warning as Laufen leapt at the man, his blade already drawn and his sleek form a blur.

But the human dropped his cloak and rose to full height, reaching forward and wrapping clawed hands around Laufen's throat.

The others opened fire, but their bullets bounced off a wall of force.

"Psychic," Orikan realised.

"He was hiding it from me somehow," Vern muttered as he reached for his weapons.

"Come," the human's voice boomed, and suddenly they were surrounded.

The warriors before them were black-clad, their armour covered in numerous spikes and their lenses glowing red. Some wielded guns, and others blades of various kinds.

How they had hidden themselves they did not know.

Orikan and the others leapt at them, all weapons drawn.

The human soldiers were fast, dodging and matching their attacks.

But where the aliens were elegant in their warcraft, the humans were bloody and crude, twisting in a gross mockery of their acrobatic combat form.

Enraged, Orikan cleaved a human in half with his blade, and dodged the gun fire of another.

Another human approached, clawed hands ready to grab him, but a volley of bullets from Vern blew its head apart.

Nodding in thanks, Orikan made his way to the prince.

His fight was intense, the two psychics straining to overpower each other with sheer might.

The human cackled madly as he forced Laufen backwards.

Orikan unloaded the last of his bullets into the human's shield before ramming his sword into it and piercing through.

The human turned, irritated, giving the prince all the time he needed.

In one swift motion the sword was in the human's neck, black fluid running down the blade.

The human howled, tainted spiritual force blasting them all backwards, searing their armour and incinerating some of his own soldiers.

The last few made no attempt to escape, their blind desire to die fighting stark upon their twisted auras. Guttural howls signalled the last charge as the human aberrations threw themselves at them, claws extended and guns ready.

It was a grisly last stand, the humans refusing to die as their hacked apart bodies dragged themselves across the floor towards the warriors, giggling madly. Disgusted, they dispatched the broken creatures once and for all.

Orikan and the rest gathered around the prince wearily.

"It is clear that the humans have no wish to make peace."

Laufen looked around, his air grim.

"It is also clear that they did not merely harm but tortured some of our own. Their crime cannot and will not go unpunished."

"You overestimate yourselves."

A voice hissed from the shadows as a hail of mass-reactive shells tore through them.

Orikan and two other soldiers had lived.

Vern lay on his side, motionless, blood pooling under him.

The prince was injured but alive.

Pulling his helmet off, he stared blankly at the massacre.

Then he screamed.

It was not merely a sound of pain or a battle cry. It carried the psychic ripple of pure hatred, and the humans before them recoiled, sensing it.

But not all.

As their masters fell back, malformed creatures leapt forward, their grey skin bare but for a red cloth below the waist and a helm, pumping dark stimulants into their systems.

The human things screeched as their bladed arms tore apart the other two, Orikan holding one off.

Suddenly, one of the black-clad was behind him, dragging its claws across the front of his armour and digging into him as he finally screamed, the creatures that were once human tearing him limb from limb as their masters laughed, their psychic power overwhelming the prince and crushing him into the ground…and then all was dark.

Chapter 4:

The sky was falling.

Forsey looked on from his peak in horror as blue cracks tore it apart, revealing great ships of unearthly design and grace, their iridescent bodies flowing and changing, almost as if the crafts themselves lived.

He looked back down on the battlefield that had once been a town.

The Wogenian army was scattered, defending small outposts as the invaders charged, gracefully dodging their weapon fire.

One soldier broke rank and ran, firing behind him haphazardly.

One of the invaders drew a strangely shaped weapon and fired a blue-green sphere of energy encapsulating the fleeing soldier and, to the shock of all those watching, he began to move in reverse.

Almost as if retracing his steps.

As he got close the enemy shot him in the head with a pistol before turning to its comrades and howling in a horrific but equally enchanting language.

Responding in kind, the enemy lunged at the last remaining humans, drawing swords wreathed in energy that cut through their armour like butter.

Forsey began to stumble back as his fellow men scrambled towards his position, drawing the attention of the alien warriors.

He froze in horror as they pulled yet another weapon, a sphere this time. He could only watch as his comrades began to glow before their bodies were torn to shreds as spirals of screaming energy echoed throughout the dead city, trapped within the sphere.

He was the last, he realised.

He made an attempt to run, but at the edge of his vision he saw the first weapon being drawn again.

He swore silently as the energy enclosed him.

It felt like his body was being torn down and rebuilt over and over, every molecule of his being screaming in excruciating pain as he was rewound to his previous location where the enemy waited. They grabbed his jacket, throwing him to the ground.

The black, blank surface of their helmets betrayed nothing, a cold mask lacking any remorse or emotion.

He scrambled away, ready to beg for his life, though he doubted they would even understand him.

Beg, then.

Forsey shuddered as a bleak presence crept over him. The other soldiers backed away, kneeling. He turned slowly, and saw another.

But it was different.

It radiated authority and grandeur, but also bloodlust and violence that the rest could not compare to.

Forsey knelt, glassy-eyed, as the creature stood before him, its white armour complemented by shades of gold and black and spattered with the blood of who knows how many innocent people.

"W-what," he stuttered, barely making eye contact, "what are you people? Why us?"

You wished to beg, not ask questions, human.

He didn't know how he was doing it, but he could sense it: the twisted glee it found in his terror.

Trying to retain the last bit of his dignity before death, he forced himself to look into its blank mask of a face.

"I know of no crimes we committed."

You don't know? You don't know what you did? Then again, how could you. You people that treat each other like cattle…like mere statistics. You have no brotherhood. No bonds. No respect for the life of others. You torture each other, experiment on each other for entertainment. Murdered my brothers and sisters out of curiosity.

Why should I show any of you mercy?

Forsey had pissed himself, the dark tide of its rage crashing down on him, opening itself up completely to him; its existence and mind was vast, and he knew deep down that he was only grasping at the edges of its consciousness.

He floundered like a fish out of water, the oppressive presence of the creature's mind suffocating him as he saw the true depths of its loathing for his people.

He saw entire citadels collapse as they were bombarded from above by the eldritch ships, saw rivers of blood as the creatures slaked their thirst for revenge with the blood of the planet's inhabitants.

And indeed it was everyone, for if these visions were true, then every man, woman and child was dead.

And he and his men had been the last.

Die, the creature hissed, and it snuffed him out like a candle flame, his body going limp in its grip.

The others glanced up at their leader, radiating a blinding desire to serve.

And as he turned back to observe the destruction they had wrought, Laufen swore that this was just the beginning.