Chapter 966: The Shadows of Twilight

Chapter 966: The Shadows of Twilight

"She comes with either thunder and brimstone, or silence and sweetness. Either way, it is always best to remember that she is the Detainee, and bound for a reason." as stated by Tal.re'k, Trena'ad philosopher, is one of the most quoted, and most WRONG by omission statements in the current era. It is partially correct. Even the Great Traveler, Nakteti, misjudged the Lady of Hell, the Queen of Darkness, the Tyrant of the Terror. They all always miss half the lesson.

The Detainee is bound. Aye. But not by the Digital Omnissiah nor His Apostles. By her sense of righteousness. Her beliefs. Her code. Her spite. Her compassion. Her Choice. As it always was and will be. Her. Choice.

She sees what needs to be done and does it. Others see her as a monster. Some know that she is THEIR monster. A monster who will do things that need done but has lines she will not cross. None of her versions will. They are not THAT kind of monster. They cannot be for they would die before becoming them. She is one of the most maligned figures in galactic history. Called monstrous. Chained. Defiler. Jailer. Tempter. This is incomplete at best. In many ways, like all their best Tricksters, she is at once both the best and worst of the Terror.

She has rules because she needs them. Truly purely good people need no rules. They just do good things. Dee follows her rules rigorously. She knows what she will do if she does not. She knows what she will not let herself become. All that she disdains. Them.

Yet they know her not, and tell not the full tale... even what she allows others to believe is the full tale. Aye, she knows the malevolent universe needs a Good Villain. Yes, she revels in the role that her universe has offered her- but she is not the monstrous villain many assume her to be. Not the Terror that many assume her to be.

She is terrifying. Tempting. Amazing. Cruel when needed. Sarcastic. Direct. Flawed- but so are we all, and such is needed at times. And she knows, to be a Bad Guy, you don't have to be a bad woman.

Sometimes you need the DO, and sometimes you need Dee. Malevolent universe and the Maddened Angel of Terror Sol help you when you need both. - Ghost in the 'Nets, CE, date unknown, data corrupted, translation questionable

Dav'trikz hated the planet. The way it looked from orbit. The way it looked on the ground. The beings that populated it. The architecture. The layout of the roads, mag-lev rails, even the walking pathways. He hated the vegetation, the food, the drink, even the smell of the air.

All of it grated on his nerves for one simple reason.

The people of that planet, and other planets that the inhabitants lived upon, refused to recognize the primacy of Dav'trikz and the Empire he represented.

The Grenklakail Empire had risen to power over the last five thousand years. Conquering nearly off of their neighbors, exterminating those who resisted too well, and pacifying world after world, stellar system after stellar system. Within two thousand years they had as many stellar systems with precious life sustaining worlds. They were unstoppable and the predominate power of the galaxy.

At least until they had ran into their nearest neighbors.

The Strevik'al and the Dra.falten each had established large empires, each roughly the same size as the Grenklakail Empire.

All three empires had gone to war without even discussing anything or even exchanging lexicons. Ships that encountered one another attacked without mercy, planets found with another Empire's peoples on it were attacked without quarter.

For nearly a thousand years the three empires had been locked in a deadly struggle to overwhelm one another.

Fairly recently, all three empires had encountered the borders of the species known as the Forerunners and the Precursors. Ancient species, most of them having faded and retreated to a bare few score worlds, that had contested against one another.

Even more recently, all three empires had chanced upon something new that could change the entire war effort for whomever was the first to harness it.

Warsteel Forerunner artifacts and relics, as well as archeological sites.

Which is why Dav'trikz had been sent into the Fallen Ones Space, to seek information on the extinct species of the Fallen Confederacy and the Lost Council.

Specifically, to "Namtotun's Rest", the capital of the Tnvaru Conglomerate Systems.

While the Tnvaru only possessed twenty-five stellar systems and the Empire would have normally sought to overwhelm and absorb or destroy them, the Tnvaru were able to rebuff the Empires with laughable ease.

Because they were Forerunners.

It galled Dav'trikz.

The Forerunners possessed unimaginable military might. Ten times each of the Grand Empires had assaulted Forerunner worlds. Ten times they had been defeated.

No, not defeated. Obliterated. Laughably crushed.

It had taken decades before the Grand Empires had even learned that the Forerunners had once been allies together, forming something called the Fallen Confederacy.

First trade was attempted in hopes of outright weapon sales or, barring that, industrial espionage.

Then threats.

Then espionage.

All of it had failed. What technology that was stolen was so advanced that even the best scientists could not describe how it worked beyond "I don't know. Magic?"

Dav'trikz felt that the races of the Fallen Confederacy should have understood that they were the past, that the Grenklakail Empire was the inheritor of the galaxy. That the Forerunners were relics of a bygone age, obviously degenerated and no longer capable of competing on the galactic stage.

You need to get out of our way and cede to us our birthright, Dav'trikz thought to himself as the ground effect vehicle came to a stop in front of the Grenklakail embassy.

He hated the way the worlds of the Tnvaru were laid out. Vast cities, sectioned off by guarded walls, with heavy industry and factories in the suburbs. Off of the cities, like spokes, were roads, mag-lev, and highways to smaller town, each town successively smaller and smaller, until it was just isolated and scattered houses.

It was wasteful and served no purpose. The population would be more easily controlled if they were relegated to the vast cities, where there were sociopolice and lawsec to control them.

But he had to be on the planet.

Archeological Teams had reported back finally. They had followed what was called "The Traveler's Path", which went through the large area of the Galactic Arm that the Grand Empires occupied, connecting the two halves of the Fallen Confederacy that were separated by Grand Empire Space. It had led to clues that led further into what the Fallen Confederacy referred to as "The Tomb Worlds". Supposed home to the Warsteel Forerunners that were also referred to as "The Mad Lemurs of Terror" or just simply "The Terror."

The Archeological Teams had reported that the Tomb Worlds were full of high technology. Warships in storage orbits around gas giants. Huge shipyards, resource extraction systems, and more.

And they appeared completely abandoned.

Unfortunately, the Archeological Teams that had reported on the Tomb Worlds had never made another report.

While superluminal travel was dangerous, at least one of the teams should have reported back.

Dav'trikz had been given the responsibility to speak with the Tnvaru about the Tomb Worlds in more detail, to perhaps discover a way to harvest the riches of those abandoned systems.

"By what right?" he asked.

"The information was transmitted and immediately Tnvaru warships made translation within know weapon range of our ships, repeating the demand and adding 'or else' to their command," the Commander said.

That made Dav'trikz sit straight up. "I will find out by what right they think they can order our ships around," he snapped. He cut the call and immediately dialed the ambassador he had met with.

Insult after insult was heaped upon him. First, the call rang and rang. Then the lines were too busy. Then it rang and rang. Then he got a computer system. It took him nearly half an hour to get through.

"What? I'm busy," the ambassador said, without bothering to turn on the visual.

"I demand to know by what right you have issued orders to the ships of the Grenklakain Empire," Dav'trikz said. "I demand you activate visual communications."

There was silence for a moment.

"There is a situation. We gave those orders and provided your ships escort for their own safety," the ambassador said.

Dav'trikz could sense some kind of irritation in the Ambassador's voice.

"I will be ordering the Empire's ships to return to where they were," Dav'trikz said.

"And we'll blow them out of the sky," the Ambassador shot back. "The situation is extremely delicate and possibly dangerous. I'm not going to take the time to avoid hurting your feelings. You are guests here, no matter what you think. Rude guests, but guests all the same. If you do not follow our commands, astro-control's commands, we will revoke consent for your presence and you will leave..."

The pause was heavy and Dav'trikz opened his mouth to reply.

"Or we'll blow your fucking ships out of the Detainee cursed sky, you jumped up moron," the Ambassador growled.

The call cut off.

Dav'trikz's brow tufts went up and his ears went rigid.

How dare that... that... that weakling threaten him! He WAS the Empire as far as the Tnvaru were concerned.

If it wasn't for the overwhelming firepower that the Tnvaru warships possessed, he would order his ships to fire on the Tnvaru vessels to remind them who was the primary force in the galaxy.

His com chirped and he answered it.

"Great One, you may want to turn on your tri-vee," the guard commander said.

Still angry, Dav'trikz turned on the flatscreen 2.5D, bringing up a flickering, static shot image that all Forerunner and Precursor imaging technology used.

Half of the screen was taken up by a Tnvaru journalist, whose wide eyes, rigid ears, and the way her four hands kneaded the edge of her desk all spoke of high stress, apprehension, fear, and anxiety to Dav'trikz.

"...made entry on an unusual entry vector, emerging into the system via unknown means," the reporter was saying. "We'll show initial imaging again, so you can decide for yourself what it means.

Dav'trikz frowned as the right hand side showed just empty space and stars.

There was a sudden bulge in the way the stars were sitting. It got larger and larger, than tear showed down the middle of it. Red light blossomed in tear, which slowly widened. Suddenly the tear ripped wide open, purple gushing from the rent in space. Transparent protomatter, detected by the sensor system recording the image, spewed from the rent like water splashing up after a stone was thrown in a pond.

A ship emerged and Dav'trikz stared at it.

It was massive. Weighing in the terratons. It was jet black, covered in red runes. Chains and what looked like massive strands of barbed wire wound around it. It had a multitude of engines, the engines burning with sullen light.

Black hands, visible as darker than space around it, reached for the ship, as if pleading to be pulled from the burning rent.

The rent suddenly closed and the protomatter dissolved as the ship oriented and began to move.

The image vanished and the reporter began speaking.

"Initial reports state that the vessel is not on any known databases, nor does it appear from any known species," the reporter said. "System Defense Command wishes to reiterate, this is not a Precursor Autonomous War Machine design, nor a Terran design, and urge calm."

She put her hand to her ear.

"Anonymous sources within astro control have stated that the ship is broadcasting the name..."

The reporter fuzzed, pixelating, and wavering.

She vanished.

A Tnvaru in an armored vac-suit, sitting in a heavy Captain's throne appeared on the screen. It was obviously female, the vac-suit's faceplate transparent. Her fur was discolored in places, her eyes merciless and cold.

And burning a dull amber.

Dav'trikz drew back slightly from the image, the sheer anger emanating from the female Tnvaru's image palpable.

"As was foretold, the Traveler has returned," the female stated. "I bear fearsome tidings and joyful warning."

The picture cut out, returning the journalist.

"...again, for those of you that missed it, the ship is broadcasting the registration of a 'New Tnvaru' ship by the name of...

It Tastes Bitte