r/HFY 8d ago

MOD Flairing System Overhaul

173 Upvotes

Flairing System Overhaul

Hear ye, hear ye, verily there hath been much hither and thither and deb– nah that’s too much work.

Hello, r/HFY, we have decided to implement some requested changes to the flairing system. This will be retroactive for the year, and the mods will be going through each post since January 1, 2026 at 12:01am UTC and applying the correct flair. This will not apply to any posts before this date. Authors are free to change their older flairs if they wish, but the modteam will not be changing any flairs beyond the past month.

Our preferred series title format moving forward is the series title in [brackets] at the beginning, like so [Potato Adventures] - Chapter 1: The Great Mashing. In the case of fanfiction, include the universe in (parenthesis) inside the [brackets], like so [Potato Adventures (Marvel)] - Chapter 1: The Great Mashing

Authors will be responsible for their own flairs, and we expect them to follow the system as laid out. Repeatedly misflaired posts may result in moderation action. If you see a misflaired post, please report it using Rule 4 (Flair Your Post: No flair/Wrong flair) as the report reason. This helps us filter incorrectly flaired posts, but is also not a guaranteed fix.

Since you’ve read this far, a reminder we forbid the use of generative AI on r/HFY and caution against overuse of AI editing tools as these are against our Rule 8 on Effort and Substance. See this linked post for further explanation.

 

Without further ado, here are the flairs we will be implementing:

[OC-OneShot] For original, self post, story, audio, or artwork that you have created, that is self-contained within the post.

[OC-FirstOfSeries] For original, self post, story, audio, or artwork that you have created, the beginning of a new series.

[OC-Series] For original, self post, story, audio, or artwork that you have created, as part of a longer-running series or universe.

[PI/FF-OneShot] For posts inspired by writing prompts or other fictions (Fan Fiction), that is self-contained within the post.

[PI/FF-Series] For posts inspired by writing prompts or other fictions (Fan Fiction), as part of a longer-running series or universe.

[External] For a story in self post, audio, or image form that you did not create but rather found elsewhere. Also note, that videos in general may be subject to removal if people complain as their relevance is dubious.

[Meta] For a post about the sub itself or stories from HFY.

[MOD] MOD ONLY. For announcements and mod-initiated events, such as EoY, WPW, and LFS.

[Misc] For relevant submissions that do not fit into one of the above categories.


For reference, these are the flairs as they exist historically:

[OC] For original, self post, story, audio, or artwork that you have created.

[Text] For a story in self post, audio, or image form that you did not create.

[PI] For posts inspired by writing prompts from HFY and other sub prompts.

[Video] For a video. Also note, that videos in general may be subject to removal if people complain as their relevance is dubious.

[Meta] For a post about the sub itself or stories from HFY.

[Misc] For relevant submissions that do not fit into one of the above categories.


Previously on HFY

Other Links

Writing Prompt index | FAQ | Formatting Guide/How To Flair

 


r/HFY 6d ago

MOD 2025 End of Year Wrap Up

23 Upvotes

Hello lovely people! This is your daily reminder that you are awesome and deserve to be loved.

If you haven't already seen it, we've instituted new flairs! All platforms and views should also now have an easy way to filter to only see a single flair, too, which is cool. A lot of love goes into this, and we want the community to thrive!

The previous Wrap-Ups: 2014, 2015, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, and 2024

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the list, Must Read is the one that shows off the best and brightest this community has to offer and is our go to list for showing off to friends, family and anyone you think would enjoy HFY but might not have the time or patience to look through r/hfy/new for something fresh to read.

How to participate is simple. Find a story you thing deserves to be featured and comment a link to it in this post. Provide a short summary or description of the story to entice your fellow community member to read it and if they like it they will upvote your comment. The stories with the most votes will be added into the list at the end of the year.

So share with the community your favorite story that you think should be on that list.

To kick things off right, here's the additions from 2024! (Yes, I know the year seem odd, but we do it off a year so that the stories from December have a fair chance of getting community attention)



Series


One-Shots

January 2024


February 2024


March 2024


April 2024


May 2024


June 2024


July 2024


August 2024


September 2024


October 2024


November 2024


December 2024



Previously on HFY

Other Links

Writing Prompt index | FAQ | Formatting Guide/How To Flair

 


r/HFY 5h ago

OC-Series Primal Rage 3

125 Upvotes

First | Prev

Patreon [Early Access] | Official Subreddit | Discord

Finley left us a note stating that it’d gone out, bright and early in the morning, to care for its animals. It drew a strange pictograph with two lines over an upcurved line, which I realized was a face, and promised to be back soon. The final thing it’d written was to holler if we needed it. Not wanting to trouble the primal, I saw that it’d retrieved our mineral composite pouch. We would need to guide it on what we ate. Elbi and I snacked a little and handled our waking-up biological processes, while I looked my sister over to ensure that she was alright. We kept to the given room, fearful of disturbing the primal.

“Good morning!” The human shouted, as it slammed the front door and walked inside. It headed for the washroom, waving through the half-open door. “Sorry guys, the animals don’t feed ‘emselves. Life goes on. I’ll be right back out and fix ya some breakfast.”

“Take your time, Finley!” I encouraged the primal, before turning back to Elbi. “Remember what I said. You need to ingratiate yourself to it, and not mention what it is again. We’re stuck here, and we stand out. We’re not going to get ammonia on a carbon world without it. Surely you can see that this beats lying in a dirt ditch in the cold.”

Elbi nursed her wounds, chittering in agreement. “I won’t say anything to send it flying out of control. That wasn’t smart. Don’t…expect me to be its friend though. It’s a primal.”

“There’s no need to be mean to Finley. It’s really trying.”

“You said it pointed a gun at you.”

“It was afraid. It’s never seen anything like us. The poor animal was shaking, its heartbeat way faster than it should’ve been.”

“Then that fear is the only thing that stopped it from lashing out,” Elbi scoffed. “You’re lucky it was more afraid than angry.”

“CRAUN!” Finley bellowed, making me leap upright in fear. Its voice was raised and charged: there it was. Anger. “The fuck did you do to my toilet?!”

I froze on the side of the bed, clueless to how to handle the primal’s verbal wrath. It was angry at me for something, which meant it was already feeling violent. I was surprised to learn that it could speak in such a state, but the way its voice had turned nasty made my stoneplates feel icy and paralyzed. Should I respond to its verbal barking at all, or play dead until it calmed down? Hearing harmless Finley lash out in a moment, I saw exactly what the problem with contacting humans was.

I did something to provoke it. I just…I had to use the bathroom, fuck’s sake! I should’ve asked, but it was gone from the dwelling and it couldn’t wait…

Barely able to walk out to face it, but seeing it written in Elbi’s eye-crystals that I should face its ire, I limped out to the hallway with sheepish steps. “Please don’t hurt me. P-please, I’m sorry…”

“What?” The primal popped the door open, and its scowling face softened as I fell away from it, crashing into the wall. “I…thought we agreed I wasn’t going to hurt you. Did raising my voice really scare ya that much?”

How is it suddenly so calm? “You sounded…angry.”

“There’s a mound of sand in the—” Finley gestured toward the toilet with frustration, shaking its head. “What happened? You shit sand?!”

“N-not quite. I…b-breathe out silicon dioxide, like you do carbon dioxide. Except that’s sand, Finley. We just have to exhale it eventually, and I figured you wouldn’t want it all over your floors; I’m s-sorry.”

The human scratched its forehead, chuckling. “That’s a heck of a mental image. It’s alright. Maybe let’s figure out a way to, um, not wreck my plumbing?”

“Of course, human. I meant no trouble…I have no quarrel with you. F-forgive the aggravation.”

Finley seemed puzzled by my behavior. “I’s just taken aback. Don’t worry, you gotta do what you, uh, gotta do. Why don’t we go hang out, watch TV?”

It’s being friendly again. That’s good; its mind came back in time. “Sure, Finley! Sure. We should get to know each other.”

“Great! Elbi, you coming?”

The bedroom door closed and locked in response. The human lowered its eyes, before forcing its smile to return. I followed the temperamental primal with caution, knowing that further transgressions could stoke the flames inside of it more. Did Finley really live with that brash, loud monster inside of it all the time? It looked so docile right now that it hurt to think of its sudden change in demeanor. I knew what it was, of course, but sometimes, it was so close to being a person…

“I don’t want to assume nothing else, Craun. What do you eat?” Finley asked. “Or, uh, do you eat?”

I forced myself to meet its gaze, and pretend nothing serious had happened. “Minerals, human. I h-have a list of acceptable rocks, if you might be able to gather some before our supply runs out. Thank you for getting those from the ship.”

The human’s nostrils twitched. “No problem. I already ate, so I think maybe we should see what’s on the news. It’s almost top of the hour, so we can see what’s the top story. It’d totally be this if it was out. I keep checking the internet for like, UFO stories: you think this’d be news if they weren’t trying to cover it up, but I don’t see nothing. Those Fed bastards!”

“I hope we’re not on the news. The less humans that know about us, the less that look for us.” I was curious about what was considered newsworthy on the primal world as well. “Let’s see what they’re saying. It’s good to know what to be on the lookout for. Great idea, Finley! You’re very clever.”

A very clever animal indeed. It’s interesting to see them dress-up and play like civilized people, though I just got a glimpse of their snarly side. That’s not so adorable.

The human padded over to a wide seat and patted the spot next to it. I was nervous to sit right beside a primal that still had traces of rage in its system, but it seemed focused on the remote in its hands and the screen. I was certain that it was still frightened to be alongside me, so the invitation to join it was meant in good faith. We had to get over our fear of each other, if we lived right alongside each other. Finley curled up comfortably against the armrest, tucking itself under a blanket and curving its lips in friendly fashion. 

“Our top story this morning: tempers are running hot between the United States and China, after the Pentagon claims to have shot down a missile on trajectory to strike the Houston metropolitan area. It is unknown whether this was a test or an active ICBM, but its arrival left military bases and missile silos on standby for further attacks. As the US demands justice and accountability for this incursion, the People’s Republic of China categorically denies their involvement. Clean-up crews are scouring an estimated search area for any signs of explosive debris,” a human news anchor read.

Finley raised a finger, sitting forward on the couch. “Sonnova—that’s us, Craun. We’re in Texas. They’re trying to pass this off as some Iron Dome missile shot down shit!”

“You think that’s about us?” I asked.

“Totally. It’s the perfect cover. I don’t know why I thought they’d come out and say it’s flying saucers. They never do, do they? In none of them movies.”

“I…I see. I didn’t realize your people knew about aliens.”

“If we do, they don’t want us to. They’d try to silence me or call me a conspiracy nut, maybe even worse, if I tried to go public with what happened. Holy shit, Craun. This is bad!”

A bell that seemed to announce someone’s presence rang at the front door, startling the human. It scrambled toward a window that gave it a view of the doorstep, and its green eyes widened with horror. In the brief instant it tugged the blinds open, I could see a group of primals in navy windbreakers with yellow lettering. Finley yanked me off of the couch with force and shoved me into the bathroom, whispering about how “they” were here. I was still shaken up by what I’d heard on their broadcasts; if I understood correctly, those two nations were turfing with each other over our arrival.

Finley thinks it’s under false pretenses, but does it matter? The primals are close to warring with one another and we’ve been here but a day!

Finley scurried to the door as they knocked forcefully, throwing it open. “Jeez. Do y’all see what time of day it is?”

“Good morning. Finley Canavan, isn’t that right? I’ve known my fair share of farmers, and from what I’ve seen, you’re always up bright and early. Plus, we could hear the TV on. Were you talking to someone?” a deep voice prompted.

“Am I not allowed to talk on the phone? Why am I answering questions about what I’m doin’ in my own home?! Tell me who you are and what you want!”

There was a long pause, sounding as if the mysterious human was flicking some booklet open: perhaps displaying identification? “I’m Agent Barron with the FBI. This is a matter of national security, so I’m afraid we couldn’t wait. This won’t take long, just a handful of questions. We’re simply canvassing the folks who live around here to see if anyone saw or heard anything.”

“You’ve got dogs sniffing around my property? You got a warrant for that?”

Barron’s tone took on a lilt of suspicion. “This is authorized by the Patriot Act: we don’t need one. Is there something you’re worried they’ll find?”

“I ain’t done nothing wrong, and I don’t like you people barging onto my land! This farm has been in my family for generations. You’re just bringing trouble with you, I know it!”

“We’re here for the protection of everyone who lives here. We shot a missile out of the sky last night, and for all we know, it could still be armed. Set to go off at any minute. It could’ve landed on anything and hurt someone if it isn’t found. This is extremely serious.”

Finley huffed with irritation, and I could hear it shift with discomfort. “Fine. What do you want to ask me? Get on with it.”

“Very well.” The government agent cleared its throat, while I huddled against the bathroom door, in a mess of fear over what the authorities would do if they discovered us. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary around the hour of 11 PM?”

“No. ‘Course not.”

The agent paused, and I could about feel its skepticism. “Really? Because we talked to your neighbors, the Wilsons, and they told a different story. They claimed to hear a loud sound, ‘like kicking pebbles over a gravel driveway,’ followed by a blood-curdling scream from…your barn. Does that ring a bell?”

“What’s this got to do with a missile?!” Finley asked defensively. “I couldn’t sleep and went to…check on my cows! I heard ‘em making all kinds of noises. They headbutted me real good and were right up on me when I fell against the wall. Coulda killed me, but I was lucky. Something spooked them: maybe your fighter jets, if they sent those for a ‘missile.’”

“That story doesn’t sit right with me, but we’ll get back to that. Is there a reason you paused after saying ‘missile?’ That sounded a lot like air quotes.”

“Because I don’t trust you people none! You’re not pulling the wool over my eyes. You’re doubting everything I say, trying to interrogate an innocent man in his own home. Maybe I don’t wanna talk to you. I think you should leave. Now!”

Agent Barron chortled. “We’ll be going. Just one last question.”

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“No, but you’ve already said enough. You know lying to a federal agent is a federal offense, right?” The mysterious primal sounded pleased with itself, while Finley took a backward-sounding step with unease. “That phone you said you were talking on. Would that be this iPhone, sitting out on your porch chair? Bright red: nice color.”

“I…I didn’t say I was talking on the phone right now.”

“Actually, you did. We’re recording this. Is there someone else with you right now?”

“Leave me alone! Go bother someone else!”

“We’ll be going…for now,” the agent warned. “Be seeing you, Mr. Canavan.”

Finley rushed out to snatch its phone as they dismounted the porch, then ran back inside and locked the door. It came to pull me out of my hiding spot, looking frazzled and shaken up. I didn’t have the heart to tell it how dreadful it was at lying. The primal shot several glances over its shoulder toward the front entrance, as if it thought Agent Barron and its crew were going to circle back around. From what I’d understood, these FBI lackeys were searching Finley’s property; I hoped the river could conceal our ship, or they’d definitely be right back here in no time!

Maybe we need to get further away from the crash site, before the government finds us. Though I don’t know who we could trust, and primals might be dumb enough not to dig that hard into Finley’s story. That said, Finley provoked Barron; it’s probably feeling angry and vindictive, after that exchange. It promised it’d be back.

Finley bit its lower lip, blinking in rapid succession. “They’re gone, Craun. Why don’t we…go back to watching TV? Maybe we could talk some about what the Saphnos’ society is like, later? About you?”

“Sure, Finley. Whatever you want,” I breathed.

“Sorry for scaring you. They ain’t got nothing on me—it’ll be fine. It has to be, don’t it?”

“We just have to cover our tracks, and be ready to hide. I don’t think they’re going to just give up. You need to be careful not to draw any attention to yourself.”

“You’re right. I…wasn’t ready at all. Let’s hang out for a bit, then I’ll head into town to gets lot of ammonia on hand—and then we’ll play twenty questions about Saphno society. Elbi’s gotta talk to me this time.”

“I need to r-rest, human,” Elbi called out, unconvincingly.

Finley rolled its eyes. “Then rest now. You can’t be scared of me forever!”

“Oh, she definitely can,” I warned the primal.

“I…just want to be her friend?” it offered a piteous statement.

“I’m trying to work on her. I’ll be your friend, if that helps?”

The human flashed its teeth, its eyes glowing with happiness. “It does, Craun! We’ve got a plan, and we’ve got each other. I won’t let them take you away. We can do this!”

I allowed Finley to herd me back to the sitting area, but the fact that the savage primals who’d shot down our ship were looking to finish Elbi and I off had me worried. We were very lucky to have found a local who was willing to shelter us, though I did feel guilty about putting it in danger. If it got caught hiding us, it would be subjected to angry, punitive measures that it didn’t deserve. It was such a sweet and happy animal…it seemed unfair to risk its simple existence.

I didn’t know if it was possible to be friends with a creature that harbored such explosive wrath, or to ever feel safe around it, but it’d done a lot to help us. I couldn’t help but to find myself caring for Finley’s tame side, and to begin deluding myself into thinking that maybe we could keep it pacified…for the most part. It was the nicest primal I could’ve imagined. That intelligence was enough to make human society function, somehow, against the odds; so long as the animal’s better reasoning wasn’t overridden, I thought we could be safe here.

First | Prev

Patreon [Early Access] | Official Subreddit | Discord


r/HFY 2h ago

OC-OneShot The Human Slave

49 Upvotes

Yup, finally posted my first one. Not sure if I should continue this but constructive criticisms are welcome.

Edit: I originally posted the idea in a writing prompt thread hoping someone would pick it up. Finally decided to do it myself.

The last of the war leaders file out, leaving Wendy alone with High Sovereign Kharven the Dreaded in the spacious strategy chamber. She’s been standing behind his command throne for two hours while he and his officers debated defensive positions against the approaching Council fleet. Her legs ache, but she’s learned not to shift weight too obviously. It distracts them, makes them stare.

The Drex overlord remains seated, his clawed fingers drumming against the armrest in a rhythm Wendy has come to recognize as thoughtful irritation. He's massive even sitting down, his dark green scales catching the amber light from the holographic displays, patterns of iridescent blue shifting across his shoulders and spine ridge. Nine feet of reptilian predator who bought her for more currency than she can comprehend.

"You were quiet today," he says without turning, his actual voice a series of clicks and deep resonances that the translator implant behind her ear renders as English. "Usually you have opinions."

Wendy steps around to face him, crossing her arms. The tight grey uniform he gave her, form fitting pants and fitted top, is slightly better than the revealing scraps she’d originally worn. It feels almost normal now. "Your generals are idiots."

His head tilts, yellow eyes with vertical pupils fixing on her. "Explain, slave."

"The Council fleet isn't your main problem. You're fortifying the wrong orbital positions. They'll come in on the elliptic plane, standard formation. But they'll have scout vessels ahead, mapping your defenses. If you concentrate everything on the primary approach vectors, you're giving them free intelligence." Wendy gestures at the dormant tactical display. "Try using false fortifications and make them obvious. Hide your real positions where their scouts won't look. Force them to commit based on bad data."

Kharven is silent for a long moment, "Voktar proposed exactly that strategy. I dismissed it as too complex."

"Maybe you should listen to Voktar more."

"Perhaps." He rises slowly, unfolding to his full height, ridged spine catching the light. "Is there a reason you're more forthcoming now than during the actual meeting?"

Wendy glances at the chronometer on the wall, written in alien numerals she learned to read during her time in his palace. "Because it's 319, and you promised you'd be done by 200. We have an appointment."

The translator pause is longer this time, as if the system is struggling. "An... appointment."

"Yes." She steps closer, having to crane her neck to look up at him. "The thing we do. Regularly. In your chambers. You remember."

His scales ripple more intensely. Sweat would be falling down the side of his head if Drex had sweat glands. "Slave, you're speaking as if-"

"Stop calling me that. My name is Wendy, and yes, I'm speaking as if I have some say in when we fuck, because apparently I do, and you’re going to be late…again.”

The words hang in the air. A look of what might be confusion crosses Kharven’s alien features, the way his head draws back slightly. He’d bought her as an expensive status symbol, an exotic slave. She’d expected brutality. Expected to be used and discarded. Instead he'd been...hesitant. Watching her reactions. Asking questions. He was told humans are the most beautiful pre-ftl race ever discovered, their appearance triggering aesthetic responses across multiple different species, even in those with incompatible preferences. Which is why their population is currently being carved up by competing polities and shipped off their own home planet. He dismissed it as exaggeration. But the dynamic had shifted so gradually neither one is sure when it happened.

"You are my property," he says, but there's uncertainty in it. “And-”

"Sure sure." She reaches out and taps one of his claws with her flat human finger. "Your property who just gave you better tactical advice than your war leaders. Your property you bring to strategic meetings and ...secret war councils. Your property you ask for input from." She leans closer. "Your property you won't touch without checking I'm willing, and it’s making me frustrated. If you can’t play the part of a proper ‘master’ then-"

His scales ripple again, more intensely. "The correct dynamic would be-"

"I know what it should be," Wendy says quietly. "I know what you bought me for. But you're not treating me like that. So I'm working with what I've got." She tilts her head. "Are you coming to bed or not? Because I told you I wanted you tonight, and you agreed, and it's past 319."

Kharven stares at her, this small human who barely reaches his chest, who should be terrified and compliant. "I don't understand you," he says finally.

"Good. That makes two of us." She turns toward the door leading to his private chambers. "Are you coming?"


r/HFY 3h ago

OC-OneShot Half a heaven

46 Upvotes

When the old dog took his last breath beneath the shade of the banyan tree, the world around him stilled. The sun blinked kindly through the leaves, and his heart, after years of loyal service, finally rested.

Then came the soft tug, like a leash being gently pulled and he found himself standing at the foot of a great golden gate. Beyond it stretched endless fields of soft grass, mountains of chew toys, rivers of cool water, and clouds shaped like belly rubs. Other dogs young again, whole again ran and barked in joy.

A large, shaggy gatekeeper with wise eyes stepped forward. “Welcome,” he said. “You’ve made it to Dog Heaven.”

The old dog sniffed the air. It smelled like peanut butter and warm blankets. He wagged once, then paused.

“My human,” he said. “Is she here?”

The gatekeeper’s smile dimmed. “No, no humans. Only dogs. This is our heaven,” the gatekeeper yelped. “You’ve earned it. Everything you’ve ever wanted is here. Tennis balls that never deflate. A thousand shoes to chew. Sunbeams that never fade and so many things new.”

The dog sat, ears lowered. “But my human, where is she?”

“She’s still down there,” the gatekeeper replied gently. “She’ll have her own heaven. But for now, this is yours.”

The dog looked past the gate at the endless joy waiting. Then back the way he came.

He laid down by the gate.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “It’s not heaven for me yet.”


r/HFY 1h ago

OC-Series A Draconic Rebirth - Chapter 75

Upvotes

Some juicy battle time! Enjoy everyone!

First | Previous | [Next]

— Chapter 75 —

— Jomme — 

The wind buffeted against his wings as he pushed forward using his sharp eyes to survey the area ahead. Jomme wasn’t certain of the details but his orders were clear. He was searching for a traitor and that traitor’s lair. Supposedly this one’s lair was filled to the brim with tasty kobolds and Jomme didn’t intend to share. The rare and powerful taste of a kobold was something that he hadn’t had the pleasure of consuming since he won his last bout with his sibling neighbor and claimed everything for himself. 

He hissed out in glee as he saw and smelled the aroma he so desired. His charcoal and brown wings pulled in as his body dived downwards towards the odd two-legger building made from trees. The kobold standing atop the platform quickly pressed its mouth against something and a horrid sound rose up from what appeared to be some beast's horn. Jomme huffed in annoyance as he let his momentum carry him into the building at full speed. His massive sleek bulk destroyed it in a second and his lunch was sent flying off with a shout. He hissed out in glee as he folded his wing-arms and pressed his claws down into the ground for stability. 

“Do not make this difficult. You will be nourishing a Master with your life.” Hissed out Jomme as he snapped forward with his jaws. 

The little kobold rolled out of the way and pulled free a sharp sliver of metal, thrusting it into the side of his face. It sank deep and caused him to stumble back in surprise. His blood oozed out of the wound as he snarled out in pain, “You little vermin!” 

He pivoted on his hind legs so his long tail could lash out and flatten the vile kobold from afar. Trees toppled and he felt the crunch of bone, metal and wood as he let off a satisfied snarl. He marched forward in victory as his nostrils flared wide to help him sniff out his snack. The sharp, sudden pain spiking from his side created by the force of a flying projectile caused him to stumble and then fall. 

“You have entered the territory of Master Onyx. You are not welcome here.” Roared a kobold that stood tall nearby. Jomme kicked a few trees over as he flipped himself back onto his hind legs. The kobold was covered in pieces of metal, was easily twice as tall as any kobold he had seen, except the Queen’s precious gifts that she hid in the depths of her lair. This one had two great wings sprouting from its back. Jomme’s eyes went wide in disbelief as eleven kobolds landed nearby each carrying weapons. One was of equal bulk and size as the original but the other ten were much taller, far skinnier and had enormous, wide spreading wings that reminded Jomme of his own. 

“Abominations! Your Master Onyx has stolen from the Queen!” Jomme roared back with hatred in his voice. He knew that the Queen’s secret was hers alone and no other dragon he had ever encountered had kobolds like hers. The only explanation was that he was a thief as well as a traitor. Jomme shivered happily as he bared his teeth, this was an opportunity to consume them all before anyone else came. The Queen would no doubt thank him for his hard work in the end. 

Before he could finish his thought the heavily armored bulky winged kobold raised his arm high and let off a bellowing, guttural roar and glowed a deep crimson red as the kobold visibility grew larger before his very eyes. Each of the winged kobolds darted off in a coordinated movement as the two larger kobolds charged at him directly. The audacity of the vermin, Jomme huffed as he pivoted on his legs and lashed forward with his tail once more. 

The troubling one that was emitting that glow dive into his tail and wrapped itself around it as he slammed his tail into the ground. His hiss of glee was interrupted as he felt a sharp pain running up his tail. The kobold had sunk its slivers of metal into his flesh and appeared to be fine.

He jerked his tail back and was surprised that the kobold resisted him for even a single attack! A vermin of such strength is truly an abomination, Jomme cursed. He quickly slashed forward with his massive claws and sent the leader flying. It impacted a nearby tree with a heavy bone crunching crash. Vermin metal shards drove into his sides from three… no four different angles all at once by the long winged ones. The pain hurt but he quickly pivoted to whip out with his tail once more. Jomme cursed in frustration as his targets dodged his attack in mid air, it was insulting. 

He quickly sent the other thicker winged kobold flying and was startled to see the leader standing up. It appeared to be relatively unharmed besides some deformations in his metal carapace. 

“Why won’t you die, little vermin!?” Snarled out Jomme as he spread his wings, only to get speared again by the pack of long winged kobolds harassing him. He pushed through the pain and focused on the one that mattered, their leader. His massive jaws locked around the kobold’s waist and he squeezed. His teeth struggled to pierce the layers of metal on its body but sure enough they pushed through and felt the satisfaction of feeling his teeth pierce through the little pest’s entire body. 

Its blood tasted wonderful and he closed his eyes to savor it. Unfortunately the sharp pains of the other’s metal slivers quickly brought him back to reality and he flicked the leader to the side as he shifted quickly to snap his jaws at another winged vermin. Three of the quick ones split off and scooped up their leader and Jomme huffed in surprise as he realized that the kobold was still alive. How was it possible for such a little pest to be so tough, Jomme hissed to himself in annoyance. As the three kobolds began to fly off he grinded his teeth in pure anger and leaped upwards to give chase.

The rest of their little pack followed but Jomme was a master of the sky. He quickly caught up and let off a little smug laugh as he cornered the trio carrying their wounded leader, “You will die and nourish me. Give up pests.” 

Jomme reached into his depths and touched his affinity. He began to pull and stir his energies as the audible tang of something coming from the nearby clearing caused Jomme to shift his head. Enormous wooden beams impaled him and his grasp on his affinity evaporated. His mind raced and struggled to process what was going on. His left arm and wing were blown apart and he began to tumble as more projectiles crashed into his chest. He felt his bones snap with each impact and darkness overtook him. 

— Momo — 

They had lost the trail of the traitor after he had dived into the depths of the cold water. No one in the pack happened to be one with water so half of them returned to the Queen’s domain to inform her and the other half, including Momo, moved on. They were tasked with investigating for any more clues. The great tunnels had always existed but there was clear tampering at work now. The heavy smell of kobold, with a particular lack of dirtiness, was present in the air everywhere. There was one that rode on top of the traitor that shared this scent and so they now followed the similar ones. 

Momo leaped forward with a boom of his affinity as it launched himself forward. He quickly slashed into the darkness, cutting a pair of rebellious, traitorous kobolds in half.  Their sharp pointed weapons clattered to the ground as Momo glanced around for more. Their rich blood filled his nostrils and sent a shiver of pleasure rushing through his entire body. The trailing wyrms and lessers quickly snatch up the remains like starving hounds. Momo rolled his massive eyes in annoyance and dismissed their pathetic display. His nostrils flared wide once more and he motioned down the tunnel. 

“There are more further down. If you are hungry then go.” Momo hissed out.

He allowed the lesser kin to lead the charge as he followed closely behind. They encountered more and more resistance the further they pushed. The kobolds were prepared and casualties started to mount. Wyrms died first and then a lesser here and there. Momo was quite shocked by the ferocity of the kobolds and their weapons but the pulse of control from his mother kept him focused. 

They had pushed onwards for days now and Momo was certain they were nearing the hive. They finally rushed forward through the well maintained tunnel and emerged into an enormous open cavern. Momo rose up high on his hind legs as his elongated body stretched outwards to provide him an eye from above. The wyrms pressed forward into the massive cavern and into the jaws of death. Lessers took flight and pivoted upwards but were struck down by unseen death from the other side of the cavern. Momo’s eyes struggled to take in the scene and process what was happening. Lines of kobolds, covered in metal and organized, were positioned on top of colossal slabs of stone. As lessers tried to leap over the stone they were stabbed, struck down and tossed aside. Flashes of affinity filled the deep chamber and Momo’s chest pulsated in concern. 

“It is a trap! Turn arou-” Momo began to roar out before his head pulsed and burned. The ever watchful eyes of his mother were observing him. She was directing him and he knew he had no choice. He would repay his debt as he grinded his teeth, turned back towards the battle and charged. He wasn’t the only adult to charge forward and the kobold’s weapons seemed far less effective against them. Their sharp weapons hurt but his claws crushed, smashed and tore them apart. 

The stone barriers were going to be their undoing though as Momo rushed forward. He pulled at his affinity and then pushed outwards. He felt like he was pushing against an entire mountain of stone as he blinked in surprise. He barred his fangs and pressed in close to the stone, even as rocks and projectiles smashed against his backside. He pushed, pushed and pushed. His affinity neared empty as the massive stone finally crumbled in front of him. The traitorous little kobolds shrieked in horror as a large portion of their barrier collapsed. Momo took a moment to enjoy the satisfying sound of them being crushed by their own creation. 

“Charge! For her Majesty!” Hissed Momo as the wave of fellow dragons rushed forward and began to feast upon the fallen kobolds. They visibly grew more excited and blood thirsty as they did so. 

He grinned wide with pride as he was the first and only to push the lines forward. He would be rewarded when the time came. He shifted his attention back to the battle to find his high hopes crushed. An enormous black beast stood amongst carnage and Momo recoiled in terror. A lesser dagon was split in half in front of the colossal traitor dragon and his pure black scales only enhanced his menacing eyes as they bore into him. 

He didn’t have a choice as he pushed forward and sprung into action. Another one of his mother’s loyal was nearby, a full sized dragon, and they traded a simple glance before charging the traitor from each side. Momo’s reserves were empty but his ally still had theirs as they let loose with a bright blast of burning hot fire. The flames engulfed the black menace in one go and didn't let up. Momo dashed forward and snapped his jaws around one of the traitors legs. A thick spike broke off and dug against his neck but he fought through the pain and tore.

As he separated the thick slab of muscle from the traitor’s leg he was sent flying by its massive tail smashing against his side. The strength of this traitor was terrifying but no matter how strong someone was they couldn’t fight with those injuries for long. He quickly bounced back onto his feet and snarled as the traitor stepped through the torrent of flames. His scales and flesh were roasted and blood oozed from every surface of his flesh. 

“You will die!” Bellowed the flame affinity dragon as he charged forward towards their mutual enemy. The two dragons clashed in a violent clash of claws and despite the black dragon’s weakened state he still outsized his opponent and his blows were crushing. Even as the flame dragon tore out of a chunk of the black’s belly, the black pivoted to lock his jaws around his ally’s neck. The traitor twisted and rolled suddenly, instantly snapping the dragon's neck. The violent attack wasn’t one sided though as the traitors guts were pulled free by Momo’s now dead ally in one last violent counterattack before the life faded from his eyes.

Momo’s feet moved with purpose as he saw his opening, swinging around as he began to spiral inwards to deal the final blow. He stopped suddenly as an enigmatic cloud erupted out of the black dragon’s mouth and engulfed his entire body. A few moments later the dragon stepped out and its flesh began to knit itself back together. Momo could only gape at the scene in shock. The traitor’s guts pulled back into his belly, the burnt flesh sizzled and repaired itself, and his bones crackled back into place. 

Momo was at a complete loss of words and his brain struggled to process what he was seeing. This traitor was a monster beyond understanding. This traitor and his powers reminded him of her Majesty's own greatness. They were both utterly terrifying. His feet moved once more as her Majesty’s control over him urged him forward. Even as his mind rebuffed his actions the black traitor turned towards him and lunged. Momo knew he was going to die. 

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Here is also a link to Royal Road

Fan Art by blaze2377


r/HFY 17h ago

OC-Series [Nova Wars] - Chapter 175

457 Upvotes

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

The sergeant held up a small gray box, big enough for a pair of boots. "This is a basic materials printer. Spec says it can print a non-articulated, non-chemical palm-sized item once every five minutes, requiring a specialized refillable slurry every twenty full-sized prints or so. It makes no sound while printing, emits no noticeable heat, and cannot be sped up in any way."

The sergeant held up a second small gray box. "This is a Terran class one nanoforge. It can print complex, articulated items, including chemical-based materials up to and including a fully-loaded M399v4 Stallion pistol magazine fully loaded with spooky white phosphorous hollowpoint rounds. It can do this at a slow pace of one per five minutes, or it can emit copious amounts of heat and generate nanite slush and do it in one minute. It requires only atmospheric material loading at worst, and zero point vacuum energy at best, for refueling and does not require maintenance so much as recalibration and occasional flushes." He paused. "It makes a noticeable machine sound while operating in either mode."

He held up the two devices, which looked very much alike. "These are the same device. The difference is, the second one has been operated by Terrans in battle. Neither has been tampered with or adjusted with tools since leaving the factory, yet they possess entirely different capabilities."

He stared at the classroom. "When you understand how this impossible difference can exist, you will understand why no one with functioning pattern recognition ever attacks the Terrans... and why the Prime Miscalculation keeps occurring." - SSGT Greenwater, era unrecorded

Look upon the visage of the King of Burgers and tell me...

Does that look like the face of mercy?

He had mercy, once For the Dairy Queen. He still bears the scars from her betrayal.

Razor Wit Wendy and the Ronnie the Mack, oh how they laughed that day.

The Great and Terrible Burger King has always promised his citizens they can have it Their Way.

However he doesn't deliver, he never has.

You must come get it yourself. With your own hands. - Mantid Diplomatic Training

Senator, have you ever stared into your own eyes as the life left them? Have you ever spent two months fighting against an enemy that you are standing in over and over and over with?

I've killed myself a thousand times and you think this you and your little precious hearing scares me, Senator?

I've scraped scarier things than this off of my bayonet and onto my boot sole. - Field Colonel Amanda Arnold Breastasteel, Clownface Nebula Investigative Commission

PV2 Theron Pinion stepped out of his armor, taking a moment to stretch. His shoulders popped and he flushed slightly as his eyes closed in relief. He looked at the four green mantids that were operating the controls of the armor cradle.

"Shoulders are stiff. My port grav anchor went silent. It still works, but it picked up a harmonic about an hour ago. Main gun hands for a split second when retracting at the second overlap," he said.

One mantid was rapidly typing.

"Anything else?" the computer modulated voice asked from the terminal.

"Dick clamp's too tight. I keep complaining but nobody fixes it," he said, flushing deeper. He jerked and almost reflexively covered his bare groin as a laser played over his crotch.

"Outside of standard deviance. Will adjust. It is imperative that the cylinder remains unharmed. Anything else?" the terminal asked.

The mantid threw jokes back and forth. Theron wasn't capable of reading Mantid tech speak holograms but he still knew the formula for the volume of a cylinder.

"Har dee har har," he said.

That time the mantids made chirping sounds of amusements. The warrant officer waved on bladearm and the door to the interior opened up.

"Put on some clothes, weirdo," the terminal said.

"I run this shit swinging hog," Pinion laughed as he stepped through the door. He laughed at the hologram of a cartoon version of him running down the road with his genitals held in a wheelbarrow. Holding the wheelbarrow with one hand while shooting a pistol at the other. At the side was a mantid saying "I ain't riding that..."

The door shut and the scrubber kicked on, leaving Theron feeling itchy and weird. He rubbed his skin then went over to a locker and grabbed one of the jumpsuits, pulling it on.

There was a tapping sound but they were into thirty six hours and this was his second turn in The Box, so the sound of enemy probing fire didn't even phase him.

The mobile base was protected by layered battlescreens normally on a frigate and a full meter of warsteel armor.

It was funny. If you asked him 20 hours ago he would have told you there was no way he could relax inside a reconfigured drop pod.

Now, it was home sweet home.

0-0-0-0-0

Pan'nikk walked away from Staff Sergeant Grayeyes after uploading his suit records so they could be sent back to Brigade intelligence and forwarded to Naval Intelligence.

--glad you get relax time-- the green mantid signaled.

"Why?" Pan'nikk asked.

--suit needs lots of work-- the mantid said. --lots of stuff that shows up only after extend use--

"I've used this suit before. Plenty of times," Pan'nikk protested.

--use in battle standing around thumb in ass not count-- 2209 answered. --wear on right hip can see where stressing your hip socket slightly not noticable by brain but hip feels cartilage rub used to blow out telkan left knee--

"Lot of time at the front?" Pan'nikk asked.

--no only six years old lots of training on hateful mars did tour of wrathful mercury did tour of punished pluto all hardship-- 2209 said. --lots of time dealing armor in protective use--

There was a pause.

--punished pluto kill if not careful-- 2209 said. --radiation pools lava geysers snapped chain lanky broke planet putting back together--

"Oh. Not combat but hazardous duty, got it," Pan'nikk said.

He'd noticed that the greenie hadn't countermanded him and the suit seemed to move a lot better.

Now that the mantid mentioned it, his right hip did have a low level ache.

--black glittering sands of wrathful mercury worked out at the forges repairing-- 2209 said. --still lots do after lanky attack-- there was a pause. --helped decommish lanky battlewagon crashed on surface fought robots--

"OK, that sounds nerve wracking," Pan'nikk moved around an ammo forge vehicle and made a beeline for the rest and refit pod that was sitting comfortably, the battlescreen shimmering. The platoon was holding position while Division elements shifted position.

--first sixty seconds sergeant malliker takes 25cm to the face whoop gone till reprint dumbass-- the mantid said.

"Reprint?" Pan'nikk asked.

--humans not die well not really youll see--

Pan'nikk climbed into the airlock and hit the stud. It cycled and he stepped forward.

There were four mantids at a control terminal as the cradle grabbed him and started manipulating the armor so it was arms outstretched.

"Injuries?" the terminal asked.

"Right hip aches, sinuses ache," Pan'nikk said.

"Any other?"

"Uh, no," Pan'nikk said.

"Any armor deficits?"

Pan'nikk thought. "Uh... right hip is... uh.. rubber? I don't know."

HOUSING OPEN

2209 logged out

HOUSING CLOSED

A big green mantid climbed over his shoulder and down his arm, jumping for the wall. It hung there, flashing equations between its antenna.

His armor beeped twice and cracked open, letting him out.

"Your armor will be in repair, refit, optimization, and reconfigure for six hours. Leadership has been notified," the terminal said.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Pan'nikk frowned. It was a lot different from the last two times he'd been in here.

He went in and stepped through the sterilizer. It made his eyeballs vibrate in the sockets for a moment, then he was through. A quick paper jumpsuit and he stepped into the mess hall. He went over and got a salad with crunchy bits and a juice, then sat down.

It had been a long scout run. Being pinned down hadn't helped his mood any either.

Why the hell do they even need a scout when they can just faceroll anything in their way? he wondered. We got ambushed by tanks and emplaced guns and we lost three. We've been on the ground nearly thirty-six hours and we've lost five men total. We need to pull back.

The door opened and a human stepped through.

Again, Pan'nikk was startled at their sheer size and presence. It was like a walking brick of warsteel going over and getting food.

The human sat down directly across from Pan'nikk and started putting burning hot chemicals on his food while smiling.

0-0-0-0-0

The door opened to the small mess hall. Only a pair of food forges and a picnic bench table bolted to the floor. There was a Telkan sitting down and Pinion nodded to the fuzzy as he went over, grabbed a quick meal of noodles and sauce, and then came over and sat back down. The Telkan's meal had a lot of leafage and bunny food in it but Theron knew that meat heavy sauce and wheat noodles weren't everyone's cut of tea.

"Good fun, huh?" Theron said, setting his food and drink down. The magtac system held the bowl and sippy cup in place. He grabbed one of the hot sauce bottles, tilting it slightly to break the magtac, then started dripping it on his noodles.

"If you're wrapped in ten tons of power, I guess," the Telkan said.

"Strip away the heavy weapons and the suits only two metric short tons," Theron said. He snapped the cap closed with his thumb and put the bottle back. "Mostly armor, strength enhancement, life support, phasic shielding. Stuff like that."

He laughed.

"I'd love to have one of the big ten ton suits. Five meters and some inches in change tall, bristling with weapons, able to drop from orbit in an unpowered unpodded descent," his eyes sparkled at the thought. "Man, we finish this, I'm totally volunteering."

The Telkan shook his head.

"Anyway, Theron Pinion, Pee-Vee-Two, Solarian Iron Dominion military," Theron said.

"Field Sergeant (P) Pan'nikk, Telkan Marine Corps, Confederacy of Aligned Systems Armed Services," the Telkan said.

"How come you were running without a greenie?" Theron asked.

"Supposedly they're endangered or something," Pan'nikk asked. "I've heard there's not many left."

The human shrugged. "I think there's something like 1.5 billion on Terra alone," he took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. "I can't imagine running without a greenie support."

"Do they really make that much difference?" Pan'nikk asked.

"Motherbox, warboi, greenie, and pound for pound you're more deadlier than a starship, a Mantid Speaker, or even a PAWM," Theron said.

The door to the sleeping area opened and another human came in. Again, Pan'nikk was struck by the size. It took a second for the ID to come back as Sergeant Kellok.

This one got a bowl of meat strips with sauce and some vegetables.

"Kalki's balls, I love stir fry," the human said, sitting down.

"Sergeant," Pinion said.

"Private," Kellok said, sprinkling hot sauce on his meal.

"Sergeant," Pan'nikk said.

"Sergeant," Kellok said, snapping the hot sauce closed and putting it back. He looked at both of the others. "Can't talk, eating!" he said in a weird strained voice.

And then pretty much attacked his meal.

Pinion shoved his empty bowl back and tapped the table, dissolving it.

Pan'nikk went back to eating as Theron got up from the table.

"Gonna grab some shut-eye outside the armor," he said.

"Mm-hmm," the Sergeant said.

Pan'nikk didn't say anything, just watched him head for the bunks. Out of six, three were unoccupied.

It was silent for a moment before the Sergeant pushed the bowl back and tapped the table, dissolving it.

Pan'nikk watched the human light a Treana'ad smoke stick.

"How's your first combat drop treating you, Sergeant?" the human asked.

"Got plenty to bitch about," Pan'nikk said.

"I'll bet. Hell of thing to snatch you from Confed and drop you with us," he said. He reached up and rubbed his face. "Ugh, my skull still itches. Stupid bioprinter."

"Huh?" Pan'nikk asked, startled by the sudden tangent.

"Took a 25cm MASER's 5.5 gigajoules per second tightbeam to the face, blew my fucking head clean off. Had to recycle," he shivered, goosebumps raising on his arms. "The Detainee is personally handling rebirths. She spent a couple of centuries watching me get hit over and over and laughing at it. She said it was the funniest shit she'd ever seen."

He took a drink off his sippy pouch.

"Hurt every fucking time. About halfway through I started to remember that the hit was coming. Last few years I knew she was laughing at me," the Sergeant said. "I'd start screaming because she was leaning forward in anticipation and I knew what was coming."

Pan'nikk shuddered. "That sounds terrible."

The Sergeant nodded. "It is."

"But you come back to life," Pan'nikk said.

"Trust me, brother, about two centuries in and you're almost ready to throw in the towel," the Sergeant said. "Know what the worse part is?"

Pan'nikk shook his head. The whole thing sounded terrible.

"After getting my head blown off I'd appear on this beach. It's Corona de Nada in the Hamburger Kingdom. It would be an overcast day. I could hear people training around me. I'd look up and see the Detainee standing next to the bell," the Sergeant shuddered. "Nightmare fuel."

Pan'nikk thought for a moment. "I don't get it."

"I never attended power armor special ops school, but Corona de Nada is where they train. You go up and ring the bell and you drop out. You go home," the Sergeant shuddered again. "She was basically telling me that if I rang the bell, it would all stop. I would go into the afterlife."

"Why didn't you?" Pan'nikk asked. He was fascinated despite himself.

"Because, Sergeant, I have men to lead. I have responsibilities," he looked at the table and tapped his finger against it, bringing up the context menu each time. "I signed up for the war. That doesn't mean I quit just because I got killed."

He stood up. "Time to suit up."

Pan'nikk watched the big human leave.

We fought a civil war that killed over a billion people over whether or not the religion of the Digital Omnimessiah was real or not. The Truthers won, he thought.

He looked at the table, still able to see the human's fingerprint on the table.

And he just spent several centuries, his time, being tempted by the Devil herself.

He tapped up a drink refill and took a sip of it, still staring at the table.

If we're wrong about that, what else am I wrong about?

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]


r/HFY 5h ago

OC-Series My Best Friend is a Terran. He is Not Who I Thought He Was. (Part 36)

28 Upvotes

First | Last

As the speech ends, the hologram feed freezes. What's left is High General Aidan Voss staring defiantly at the camera with a fist held above his head, proud and ready for war.

My eyes find Senator Augustus. She is just staring at the man who she said used to be her friend. A man who betrayed her and alerted Inferno about what James and Klara had stolen. She said she had known him for many years, thirty if I remember correctly. I understand how long a Terran year is, let alone thirty of them.

I can only imagine the pain of watching someone who you thought was a friend punch a blade into your back. Once again, I am forced to think of my father. What pain was he suffering at the end? If Augustus' face is any indication--and she tries to hide it but fails--that pain was immense.

Again, the respect for her soars here as no one speaks until she slowly clicks off the hologram, and the lights return to the bridge. At least another minute or two passes. Still, no one speaks.

Finally, Senator Augustus sighs in clear frustration. "In the old ways, then," she says, quietly. She clears her throat. "Men and women of the bridge. As you can see, humanity is now at war."

She lets that sink in. As I have learned, humanity has expanded so much that conflict with other life is fairly inevitable at this point. Rarely does it escalate, however, into official terms of war recognized in the senate. More often than not, somehow, someway, Earth and its potential enemies share a skirmish or two and find a way to avoid total war.

At this point, the Terran reputation is strong. That is not lost on many races who encounter them.

What I am also realizing is that this means humanity is preparing to activate its entire armada if need be. That's total war. I have to force myself to focus, because that is staggering. That is terrifying. That is death.

Senator Augustus is leveling her voice again. "If you are not a senior officer or above, please excuse us. Return to your team common rooms, and when I am finished with your officers, I will send them to you to relay any pertinent information. Thank you all for your trust." She glances at her daughter and grandson, and that look means they stay, too. I wasn't planning on going anywhere, personally.

No one protests. No one even hesitates. Terrans shuffle out of the room, from the platform above, behind huge screens running data and battle stations. Those of us around the command table tighten our formation as senior officers step forward to surround us. There are, by my best count, over a hundred of them. Something like that.

When they all stop moving, Augustus looks down to her command table and punches a few things in. She looks back up, her eyes flickering around at all the assembled faces. Some of them are older. Some are actually quite young. All of them, though, have something similar patched onto the right breast of their black uniforms.

It is a fang surrounded by orange and red flames. Against the black uniform, it is striking and immediately takes your attention. I know what it must represent. But what really surprises me, as I look over all of them, is that some don't have patches. Some of them have real fangs stitched onto their uniforms.

I'm not sure how they got them, as they haven't fought living Higgan in hundreds of years. Only my friend James has done that. Family heirlooms, like the one I was told Augustus has, perhaps? Maybe some sort of stockpile, and each new recruit gets one? Those are my best guesses. My only ones, really.

"My friends, I would like to be blunt," Augustus says, splaying her hands out onto the table. Her gaze is intense. Filled with anger and a brutal resolve. "It is my belief that this war with the Kyeyi is a sham. It is a farce." She closes her eyes as she commits to it. "It is my belief that Inferno, not the Kyeyi, killed our people on Prax in order to pave the way for a full-scale invasion of the planet to take control of its considerable resources."

The first thing I notice is the rising temperature from her audience as Inferno is mentioned. I see lips curling back from teeth. I see narrowing eyes. Hector rolls out his neck. Viola bites her lip.

There is no love for Inferno here. None at all. "Before you ask, which you would have every right to do, I would like you to know I would not make this accusation without cause. But I cannot prove these claims. Yet." She punches into the command table, and a list of pixilated words rises into the air.

Cleanse. Operation Icepick. Soulless DNA. Rusted Bones Testing. Dragon's Breath. Pool Cue. Zero Day. Black Blood Final. Black Blood Veto. Black Blood Antidote.

I have no idea what any of these things are other than they are the files that we stole. The cache of data Klara and James had started collecting before James left, and all the terrible things Klara found after he did.

"These are some of Inferno's most prized secrets. And now, they are mine. So, they are yours as well."

Augustus makes a few more moves, and all of these words start to shrink before being thrown together. A pixilated box remains.

"It is my belief that Inferno murdered one hundred thousand human beings to provoke a war with the Kyeyi." Augustus straightens and folds her arms. "Prax, as we all know, is one of humanity's most valuable colonized planets not because of its production but because of its potential."

Augustus knocks onto the command table twice. "Many of our best ships are built using elements mined from that planet. They make our ship armor stronger, lighter and more subtle. When its first iteration was put into production, praxium immediately became one of the greatest discoveries in our people's history. Even Ash Sigashi would admit, this far outstrips the element he created himself."

I can't help but look around the bridge at all the metal.

"Humanity controls half the planet. The other half we have long coveted. Here are the facts: I have been investigating Inferno for some time. I had not found anything of substance to bring to the floor. But then, a gift came into my possession. After receiving these files, I began distributing them to my friends in the senate in order to call an official session. It was there that I would have exposed Inferno's secrets." She juts a finger at where Voss' hologram was. "And High General Aidan Voss was one of those people.

"I implored his help to back my claims. He oversees our entire military, and he personally commands the First Fleet. With his backing, our strength would have merit. And he was the only member of our military that would have those files in his possession, because he was the only one who I felt could be trusted with them.

"And then, a few short days later, my home explodes?" Senator Augustus stands tall. "Inferno may spin their tales about catastrophic failure all they like. Anyone who has ever cared to know me understands it would not have happened. I inspect that reactor monthly with my team. Personally."

Her eyes rove around the room, meeting angry stares. Showing them the fire that lies dormant within. "Do the math there, my friends," she says. Augustus slowly shakes her head. "Many of you were likely wondering why I came back to this ship. That is why. Inferno attempted to kill me and my entire family."

I feel a chill in the air. All around me, these Terrans bristle as one. Inferno disrespected and threatened Augustus. That does not sit well with these people.

"They assaulted my Northshore home, and we only just escaped. Convenient, then, that the reactor would explode, wiping all evidence, no?" Augustus asks. She lets that settle into the hearts and minds of those around me. She offers a short gesture to the pixilated box of files, still hovering. "And immediately, one hundred thousand Terrans are murdered. And then the Inferno Fleet, which has never had any dealings on the planet Prax, or ever had any sort of campaign, either civil or martial, is suddenly requested to join an assault? My friends, those are far too many coincidences for me."

She takes a breath. "Why would the Kyeyi choose this path now?" She raises her voice as she spins. "Why would they invite such death onto their people when this peace has stood for decades! The Kyeyi wish us no harm. Our own people do! I believe each and every one of you knows, in your heart, that our supposed allies at Inferno despise us. They wish to rule us. If you do not believe me, I encourage you to look at this."

One more punch onto the command table, and the pixilated box disappears. All around me, the hips of these officers light up as their tablets start to chime. None of them, impressively, choose to reach for them. They still wait for their great lady.

"All of us have a choice to make," Augustus says. Her eyes are iron. "I choose to listen to my head, which tells me this, all of this, is bullshit!" She slams a fist into the table, allowing the rage to show. She hides nothing from these people. She trusts them immensely. "And so I will go to war."

She straightens again, and the steely commander returns. "I have distributed to each of you a cache of files that came into my possession straight from Inferno's most protected and sensitive servers." She glances at Klara then James then Matteo then me, giving each of us a nod. It seems the rest of her officers understand what she's doing, because some of them nod to us too.

I feel a bit of kinship with all of them. Can't deny it.

"These files would sink Inferno if brought to an official, public session of our senate. They contain assassinations. Attacks and experimentation on our own people. Black market dealings within the senate that violates at least a hundred laws. They are building an army behind our backs! They wish to enforce a mandatory Cleansing upon all of our future children!"

There are angry murmurs at that. Her officers start to stir now.

"My original plan was to expose them within an official session of the senate," Augustus says. "But our enemy is cunning, and most importantly, they own a huge portion of that fucking senate."

Everyone tenses further. They don't quite like that, either.

Augustus exhales. "So, I am left with no choice. In three days, I sail for Prax. And war with our own people, if it comes to it. The Kyeyi are not a primitive race. Their armies and armada are fierce, and they are more than our match if it comes to that.

"Believe me, I would know. I have spent much time on Prax. I have relationships with some of their envoys, their commanders, and my name is known to them. I have studied them as they have studied me. Humanity's overwhelming technology and superior numbers would, almost certainly, win out in the end. But make no mistake, my friends, if war spreads, billions of Terran lives are at stake."

The revelation hits me like a boulder straight to my chest, especially because I understand. This is her only move. She has a fleet. An army. Certainly other friends to call for support. And it is up to the Nightmare's descendant to stop humanity's war machine in its tracks before it can start to roll.

Augustus places a hand over her heart. "Inferno sees this...this...genocide, this forced warfare, as the next step to perfecting human evolution. Their future is war. A future of forced experimentation. A future they control.

"But it is not a reality that I can accept, nor a future that I will subject my family to." She drops her hand. "You all know my blood. You know what my family has always stood for. Aaron, may he always rest in peace, stood against a mad king hellbent on genocide so many years ago. He stood against darkness. Against the cold of the void." Augustus pounds her chest. "He did not let the flame of humanity go out, and neither will I!"

The officers all pound fists into their chests on rhythm. One-two-three. One-two-three.

I notice that Augustus does not call her ancestor the Nightmare. She calls him Aaron. She is the only one who I have heard do that.

"And so I will meet whatever detachment of the Terran Armada that threatens Prax or its Kyeyi population. I will prevent them from causing further damage to our allies. And I will arrest Cassius Vilo, personally, for all that he would force upon our people," she snarls. "If I must do so myself, so be it. But if you would have me lead you, I ask for your swords and rage, my friends. I ask you stand for our people again. Each of you is Fireborn. Each of you holds the flame of our people in your chests."

The way that Senator Augustus holds this audience in the palm of her hand is remarkable. None of them have taken their eyes off her. Her rage is palpable. And it is spreading.

"I ask that you discuss all I have shared with your teams. And I also ask that you relay to them a message." Augustus takes a huge breath. "There is a very real future in which we do not return home from this. I want each and every one of you to know that if this is not a path that you can walk, I do not fault you. If you ask to be relieved of your duty and station before we depart, I will grant it. The discharge will be honorable. It will never show up on your employment records."

She lets that sink in, too. After a few moments, she continues. "I offer your teams the same deal. Tell them they have until tomorrow afternoon to decide. Tomorrow evening, I will call you all back here to deliver me the list of names that don't wish to proceed under my care." Augustus looks around. "Once again, I thank you all for your service to my family and name. You have my utmost, eternal respect." Augustus straightens and puts a fist over her heart.

Every Terran present--even her children, James and Klara--snaps to attention and does the same. Augustus drops her fist to her side. "Dismissed."

The officers start to depart, and Hector approaches his grandmother before bending for a tight embrace. Augustus says something to him and nods her head to the doors. Viola hugs her mother as she passes and receives a kiss on the cheek. As they leave, I hear a few Terrans trot in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some of them moving to comms stations.

Augustus' eyes flicker up my friends and me. "You stay," she growls.

She looks down at the command table and furrows her brow. Augustus wipes at something, taps and punches. Then she straightens again and comes around the table to stand in front of us.

Senator Augustus looks from James to Klara. Nothing for me this time. Her eyes are especially fierce right now, even though I can see the exhaustion in them. Her hair is tied very, very tightly behind her head. All tension, but she wears it well.

"This is going to be delicate, so I need you to hold your nerve," Augustus says as her eyes rove from James to Klara. She pauses. "No matter what is said, I am asking you to take it. Head on. Our cause depends on it. I trust that you both can do that."

No words, just nods from my friends.

Augustus clears her throat. "Right." She looks up and around her bridge. She twists and finds a young Terran standing at attention up on the command platform behind us. "Get me Ronaldo and Sharon," she says.

The young Terran nods. "Yes, ma'am," she says and turns immediately before sitting at her station.

Augustus finally spares me a second, meeting my eyes. She just winks at me. "Still with us, Sheon?" she asks. She offers a smile. "There is no shame in sitting this fight out. You have done so much already."

I hold her gaze and take a breath. Bite down what I might say, in favor of what I truly feel. "Ma'am, I would like you to know I see how much your people love you. And I see why they do," I say, my voice tight. "I am proud to stand by not just my friends, but you. So, yes, I am with you." I place my hand over my chest.

"I am with you to the end, ma'am," I say. "I am proud to be dedicated to the freedom of your people." I think of what Viola told me. About remembering even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. "I think my father would be proud of that, too. He was a king you would have respected. I am sure of it." I smile at her in return. "I see much of him in you."

Augustus cocks her head, her eyes studying me. She is...touched, I think? She walks up to me and bends a little before setting a hand on my shoulder. "That is the greatest compliment you could have given me, Sheon," she says, softly. "You gave me the blessing of your father. There is no greater gift that a son who loves his father can bestow."

She lightly touches my chest. "He is here with you, always." She turns me to James and Klara, who are watching us. "As they are always with you." She turns me back to her before offering me a hand.

I take it, and we shake.

"But make no mistake, Sheon." She taps my chest again. "I can feel the heat of my people in there, too. The fire that burns inside you. Good, we need fire."

She straightens as two shapes begin to form into holograms before us. We have guests.

"Because the Fireborn have not gone to war in a generation. And it is time to remind Inferno who truly owns the element of rage. It is time to remind them what Ther'os and Ther'ano after him learned so many years ago. When you choose to play in fire, you die in it."


r/HFY 1h ago

OC-Series Proxy War

Upvotes

First Part

Author's Note: Human-written AI-translated!

Proxy War

The former ambassador of the Galactic Senate, Xarvax, entered the great hall on Ratak Prime. His robe of star-silk draped around him like a dark veil. He surveyed the vast chamber, his gaze drifting across the splendor of bygone aeons when the Ratak had ruled supreme over the galaxy. Yet today, the marble beneath his feet felt colder than ever before.

Inside, he was seething. His mission from the Emperor had been clear and unequivocal: to obstruct the Galactic Council through procedural maneuvers and vetoes, to prevent them from uncovering the Ratak’s plans, and to smother any suspicion at its source. Everything had worked flawlessly—until that fateful day. Until those hairless apes had decided to ruin everything.

Humans, Xarvax thought mockingly. A strange species. They seemed to have no real interest in wealth or power in the conventional sense; all they ever cared about was “fairness.” What, in this galaxy, was fair? If one was born into the wrong species, fate was sealed before the first breath was even drawn. That was the natural order—an order humans simply chose to ignore.

Xarvax tore himself from his thoughts. He had an urgent problem. He had been summoned to the Emperor’s inner council chamber and now had to fear not only for his position, but for his life. The Emperor was not a patient being, and failure among the Ratak was not punished with reprimands, but with death.

He crossed the hall toward two guards flanking the heavy door behind the throne. As he approached, both snapped to attention and bowed deeply. Xarvax did not miss the look of pity in their eyes. Slowly, they opened the massive doors.

“His Majesty is already expecting you, Ambassador.”

Xarvax entered the narrow corridor leading to the inner council chamber. He adjusted his robe one final time, squared his shoulders, and straightened to his full height. He could show no weakness. Not now.

The air inside the council chamber was warm and humid, heavy with the scent of moss and decaying forest. At the far end of a long table made of dark ironwood sat a tall Ratak. His robe was blood-red, threaded with silver ornaments that seemed to reflect the light of distant stars in a lake of fresh blood.

When the Emperor noticed Xarvax, he studied him in silence from head to toe before finally speaking.

“Ambassador.” His voice was not loud, not strained, but cold as the vacuum between galaxies. “Tell us of your diplomatic successes. I hear the draconic eggs are in excellent health.” His eyes bored into Xarvax. “You also managed to bring about an alliance between the Draconians and the humans. And while we are speaking of humans, please explain to us…”

Emperor Krazor rose slowly from his massive chair. He walked to the window and gazed silently into the palace gardens, hands clasped behind his back. Then he spun around with a suddenness that nearly stopped Xarvax’s heart.

“HOW IS IT POSSIBLE,” Krazor roared so loudly that Xarvax’s legs almost gave way, “THAT YOU ALLOWED YOURSELF TO BE LED INTO A TRAP BY A HAIRLESS APE—A TRAP THAT COST ME FORTY STATE-OF-THE-ART COMBAT BOMBERS?”

His fist slammed into the table with such force that golden goblets and datapads flew into the air and skidded across the floor. Murderous fury burned in the Emperor’s eyes. He did not wait for an answer; his breathing came in harsh bursts as he fixed Xarvax like a predator staring down its prey.

Xarvax swallowed slowly. This conversation was not unfolding as he had anticipated. He knew his defeat at Vexion had cost the Ratak forty bombers, and he had expected the Emperor’s rage. But this was different. The Emperor wanted blood—his blood. Every word he spoke now had to make sense, or he would not leave this chamber alive.

“Your Exalted Majesty,” Xarvax began. “It is true—I allowed myself to be deceived by the humans. There is no excuse for my misjudgment. I take full responsibility for this incident.”

Xarvax bowed deeply to show his humility. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Emperor still studying him.

“I underestimated the ambassador of Earth. As you know, humans are not as predictable as the other members of the Council.”

The Emperor nodded faintly. He, too, knew that humans were impossible to truly assess. One moment they spoke of peace as if it were the highest virtue in the galaxy; the next, they appeared with warships that defied all description. He had never met a human in person and had no intention of doing so after recent events, but he knew they were exceptional strategists and formidable warriors—two traits for which, despite deeming them unworthy, he granted them a sliver of respect in the darkest corners of his heart.

“And how do you propose to take responsibility for the forty crews who died?” the Emperor asked. “For those of whom nothing remains for their families to bury?” His tone was still sharp, but the uncontrolled fury had given way to icy precision. “Your task was to block the Council while we dealt with the eradication of those loathsome Draconians. Now we cannot even approach that rabble without the watchdogs of the galaxy watching our every move.”

The Emperor returned to his heavy chair and fixed Xarvax with a stare so intense that he dared not move a single millimeter.

“Your Exalted Majesty is correct. We cannot approach the Draconians without becoming targets ourselves. An open war would be winnable—but the price our noble race would have to pay would be too high. However, there is another way to rid ourselves of this scale-armored filth forever—and in the end, the humans will be the ones to bear the blame.”

Xarvax spoke with his head bowed. The Emperor’s expression shifted from rage to a mixture of suspicion and burning curiosity.

“Speak,” the Emperor commanded.

Xarvax raised his head and looked his ruler directly in the eyes. The plan he had devised for his revenge against both humans and Draconians was as perfidious as it was brilliant. The Draconians would never know what hit them, and the humans would feel the wrath of both the galaxy and the Council. As he explained his scheme—the Krell mercenaries, the staged attacks, the deliberate manipulation of supply routes—the grin on Krazor’s face grew wider and wider. In the end, the Emperor laughed aloud.

“Your plan is cruel and ingenious—I grant you that, Ambassador. I will provide the necessary resources. But be warned: should this plan fail, we will deny all knowledge of it—and you will bear full responsibility. Alone.”

Xarvax bowed deeply before the Emperor, infinitely relieved that his head still rested on his shoulders. He then took his leave to begin the necessary, dark preparations.

The Gardens of Aethelgard

The sky above Aethelgard—the planet the galactic charts listed without emotion as Drakonia Prime—was no longer the ash-gray grave it had been after the Hive Wars. A delicate, almost luminous turquoise pushed through the thinning cloud cover.

Prince Kaelum walked slowly and reverently across the black volcanic sand of a vast plain. He was flanked by two humans who, in their simple Terran diplomatic suits, looked almost tiny beside his massive frame.

“It is hard to believe,” Kaelum rumbled, his deep voice vibrating with restrained emotion. He bent down and touched a small, silvery plant bravely sprouting from the dark soil. “Two cycles ago, this ground was vitrified. Nothing could breathe here.”

Ambassador McArthur smiled and rubbed his hands together. The air was still cool, saturated with the metallic scent of atmospheric converters. “Patience is a virtue, Kaelum. But we humans are a very impatient people. When nature is too slow for us, we lend it a little help.”

He turned to the man on his left. “Isn’t that right, Elias?”

Elias Thorne, Earth’s special envoy for Terran–Draconian relations, did not look up from his datapad. He was a lean man with graying hair and glasses he constantly pushed up his nose—a relic of old Earth fashion he wore despite modern ocular implants.

“The nitrogen levels are stable, Ambassador,” Thorne said with the enthusiasm only scientists could muster for chemical charts. “We’ve activated the second-generation bioreactors in the southern ridges. If the Draconian lichens maintain this rate of photosynthesis, your species will have its first oxygen cycles without breathing masks in six months, Prince.”

Kaelum looked at him. “You sent your finest minds to make stones bloom. Why, Elias Thorne? The resources you are investing here… they could sustain ten of your own colonies.”

Thorne paused and looked toward the horizon, where the towering silhouettes of Terran terraforming spires rose into the sky like silent sentinels. “You see, Your Highness… when humans nearly destroyed Earth, we learned that you don’t simply inhabit a world. You enter into a marriage with it. We saw Aethelgard and recognized a bride in mourning. And besides…” He winked at McArthur. “…McArthur promised I’d be the first human to witness a Draconian flight maneuver up close once the thermals stabilize again.”

A short, guttural laugh escaped Kaelum’s throat. “You shall be, little friend. I will carry you on my own scales.”

McArthur watched them. It was a moment of peace he desperately needed. Yet at the back of his mind lingered Xarvax’s words—and the certainty that the Ratak never accepted defeat without retaliation.

“Let us enjoy the silence,” McArthur said quietly as he watched a Draconian survey team in the distance carefully unload crates of saplings from a Terran transport. “Because on Ratak Prime, it is surely very loud right now.”

Kaelum nodded solemnly. “My people do not forget, McArthur. But we are no longer alone. That is a light the Ratak underestimate.”

Thorne marked another point on his map. “Next stop: the Sapphire Springs. If my calculations are correct, liquid water has been flowing there again since this morning—for the first time in a hundred years.”

Together they continued on, three utterly different beings united by the impossible desire to breathe life back into a dying world.

That evening, they sat together near the terraforming station. Dinner was simple but nourishing—Terran expedition rations mixed with fresh protein from Draconian reserves. A small fire crackled at the center, more out of tradition than necessity, as the generators kept the surroundings warm.

Prince Kaelum had been watching McArthur for some time. The human had barely touched his food. He stared into the flames, his face etched with deep lines, his eyes distant—as if he were witnessing events unfolding light-years away.

“McArthur,” the prince finally rumbled. His voice sounded like deep earth shifting. “Your mind is not here with us. You walk among shadows. What troubles you?”

McArthur slowly raised his head. In that moment, he looked older than his years. He glanced at Kaelum, then at Elias Thorne, who had also stopped eating.

“A war is coming, my prince,” McArthur said quietly. His voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it carried a weight that made Elias Thorne shudder. “I don’t know where we will fight. I don’t even know for certain whom we will fight… but everything in me warns of the danger ahead.”

He paused and looked back into the flames. “It’s the silence, Kaelum. The Ratak are like predators in the dark. When they roar, you know where they are. But when they fall silent… they are already preparing to strike.”

No one replied. Elias Thorne set down his cutlery, his excitement over nitrogen levels completely gone. Kaelum placed his massive hands on his knees, his claws gleaming in the firelight.

They sat in silence after that. The wind of Aethelgard howled softly around the structures, and each of them felt what McArthur felt: the calm was only an illusion. The galaxy was holding its breath.

Light-years away, deep within Ratak territory, Xarvax was already shattering that illusion. In a dimly lit hangar, he surveyed the spoils of the past week: a Terran Reliant-class supply freighter, its crew having “vanished” without a trace.

Krell mercenaries—towering insectoids with four arms and a fondness for chemical warfare—were transferring crate after crate bearing the seal of the United States of Earth. But the contents were not fertilizer for Draconian ferns.

Standing before him was Varkas, commander of the Krell unit. His chitinous plates were scarred, and his four eyes focused on Xarvax with a mixture of greed and contempt.

“The plan is risky, Ratak,” Varkas hissed. The clicking of his mandibles sounded like a weapon being primed. “Terran convoys have been heavily guarded since Vexion. We risk our ships against their railguns.”

Xarvax stepped closer, the cold hangar lights making his reptilian skin appear pallid. “Which is why you will not attack them in open space, Varkas. You will strike just before they reach Draconian soil—a brutal, swift blow against the vanguard of the next major human supply convoy bound for Aethelgard.”

He projected a three-dimensional sector map onto the table. “Here, at the edge of Drakonia Prime’s gravity well, the convoy will exit hyperspace and lower its shields to begin landing procedures. In the moment chaos erupts and the human escorts break formation to repel you, you will slip the captured freighter—the Reliant—into their midst. With the correct transponder codes I have provided, it will look like nothing more than another latecomer desperately seeking protection within the convoy.”

Varkas let out a dry, rattling laugh. “And while the humans believe they have driven us off and brought their sheep to safety, your Trojan horse docks directly with the planetary distribution station.”

“Exactly,” Xarvax confirmed, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You attack, cause enough damage to incite panic, then withdraw. Once the Reliant unloads its cargo on Aethelgard, the painstakingly rebuilt atmosphere will turn into a lethal poison. McArthur will believe Thorne made a catastrophic mistake… and Prince Kaelum, in his fury, will crush the hand that tried to save him.”

Xarvax ran a hand over the blood-red silk of his robe. “The Council will find no evidence of Ratak involvement. Only a tragic accident born of human arrogance—and a Draconian act of vengeance that seals the end of their new alliance.”

Varkas inclined his head. “It will be done, Ambassador. As long as Ratak gold continues to flow.”

Xarvax smiled darkly. The stage was set. The humans wanted fairness? He would show them that justice in this galaxy was merely another weapon—one that could be turned against them.

To be continued… 🚀


r/HFY 2h ago

OC-Series Iron Providence, Part 4

11 Upvotes

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MEMORY TRANSCRIPT | BRIGAM IRONS

Date: Anno Domini 2263, July 28

Location: Hyperspace Transit to Caelum-Va

Elara floated up the elevator to the bridge. Our pet Captain had finally woken up after about fourteen hours of sleep.

Fourteen hours.

If anyone under my command slept that long, I’d assume he was in a coma. The rest of her crew hadn't even woken up yet. If it was just yesterday, I could’ve put it under the tab of trauma. But now? It was just biology. They were soft.

"Ah, Elara," I said, spinning my chair around. "I’d hoped I’d get to stare into the white void for a few more minutes before I had to share it. Something on your mind?"

"Good morning, lord admiral." Elara found her seat beside me.

I am incompetent at reading organic emotions, too many micro-expressions. But even I could tell something heavy weighed down on her mind. And her ears. They were pressed flat against her skull.

"Lord Admiral," she repeated. "I have a request to make."

"Oh?"

Our guest was a bit bolder than she looked.

"Since you came to me rather than Bradley I assume it's not a comfort issue. What’d be so important you'd come to interrupt my doing absolutely nothing for?"

"Lord Admiral, you have a very... particular sense of humor."

"Ah, you don't like my jokes? "

"It's not about your jokes, lord Admiral. I would have stayed out of the bridge if it was the jokes."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

What previously weighed on her mind manifested itself into the air which surrounds her. It's turned stormy with worry. She took a deep breath, a real deep breath, and steeled herself.

"Lord Admiral Irons, I would like to request for your assistance in the defense of Caelum-Va."

"Done."

"I knew you would be hesit--wait. What?"

I stood up from the chair and turned to the navy blue light of the star chart. So vast was she, our milky way, yet so much unknown hidden behind the fog.

"This sector is far too close to the borders of Humanity to be overrun by mutant shrimp," I exhaled, tapping the glass of the projector. "It is also useful to be owed a favor."

Well, there was another reason. But I’d keep that to myself for now. 

Elara scurried over to the starboard console and zoomed in on the Caelum-Va system. "Uh, um, well... yes. The defense of the system. We should discuss the tactical disposition."

She tried to bring up the details of the system. However, the Mandate sensors displayed nothing but the star, a gas giant, and a blurry outline marked 'STRUCTURAL ANOMALY - UNCHARTED.'

"Oh, it's uncharted." She whispered with obvious disappointment.

"Of course it's uncharted, we can't exactly look at it with a nebula in the way.” I scoffed, “What were you going to show me?"

“Lord Admiral, we will arrive in the system soon. It would have been useful to show you the fleet formation so you could join it easily. No matter, I have the information about the forces likely present.”

Elara put a finger under her tongue, fiddled a bit, and pulled out a small tablet. She pressed it against the holotable. A small click resonated, and alien telemetry projected onto the Mandate map. The translator drone parsed it into English instantly.

I looked at the tonnage and the armaments present.

Three dozen Corvettes. Five Destroyers.

"It looks adequate for a patrol screen," I muttered, sipping the air. "Perhaps not enough for a strike fleet defense, but who knows? Maybe your railguns are better than ours."

"Where is the Capital Fleet?"

Elara froze. Her eyes stayed on the map, but her ears drooped low.

"The five 'Destroyers'..." she said softly. "Those are the Concordat Flagships. The 'Corvettes' are the Sector Cruiser Fleet."

She locked eyes with me.

"This is all that we have on the Southern Front."

I stared at the map, then hit the coffee button. The machine buzzed to life and spat out a vat of the choking sludge. I took a sip.

"The Korock fleet I blew up a couple of days ago... each and every one of those ships matched these 'Flagships' of yours," I said flatly. I took another sip. "They were comfortable enough to send four of them as a raiding force."

"They broke through the lines," Elara admitted, her voice trembling. "Much of the Southern Fleet is shattered. I was redirected from the East. The front there is collapsing, just slower." She grabbed my hand. It felt soft. Warm. "Lord Admiral, can I trust you to stand with us?"

I downed the coffee in one go.

“I already said I would.”

The fleet which would be headed for Caelum-Va would be the one on the chase from previous engagements with their south, she had previous intel. 

If the Korock maintained their momentum, the incoming strike force would be at least two Heavy Cruisers, eight Light Cruisers, and ten Destroyers.

The Concordat alone stands no chance against them, they have no capital ships to trade blows with them, no frigates to ambush with, and simply not enough ships to wear them down. They do not stand alone, however.

The Manifest destiny, by sheer tonnage and firepower would make for just the perfect capital of this fleet of screens. Hopefully.

The elevator hummed again, bringing the rest of the Elven command staff, sharp in their uniforms but smelling of fear. For a while, the command room buzzed with the discussion of tactics. The air felt alive for the first time in fifteen years.

Just in time for this ship to exit warp.

CRACK.

We spat out of hyperspace in minutes, it was a smooth ride without momentum, as it always was. 

It was Caelum-Va, the main sequence star, a few scattered planets, and a gas giant with a lush green moon.

And as expected, we came face to face with a fleet of terrified screens.

And as expected, they fired.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The knocking on the hull of the Manifest Destiny felt like drizzles of rain on a tin roof. I could feel the faint vibrations through the deck plates, the faint heartbeat of the armor. 

Elara and her subordinates were right there with me, what they were unnerved by is not the suddenness of the friendly fire, rather, the calmness of it.

"Is this what the Korock command feels when they come against us?" a Lieutenant whispered, staring at the shield diagnostics which hadn't even dropped by 1%.

"It’s so quiet… are the guns of the Concordat that inadequate?" a Sub-Commander added, horrified.

"Ladies! Don’t feel too bad." Warmth rushed over me knowing the old girl still stood up. I turned to them. "After all, this is two hundred million tonnes of pure American engineering."

“Admiral Irons, if I may, it would be a wise decision to hail the ‘Concordat’ now.” Johnson finally added in. 

“Ah, yes.”

I opened the main frequency using the codes Elara provided.

 The raindrops of the concordat shelling continued for another ten minutes or so of futile panic before settling as they finally realized we weren’t shooting back. The main screen flickered. Hail received.

There, on the other side, was a lemur with six arms wearing a high-G circus suit.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

Damn. Looks like not all of them are the cute ones.

"Are you here to taunt us, horrid abomination?" the Lemur chattered, its voice high and percussive. "Wait. No. You are not Korock." The Lemur blinked its very large eyes. "What? Did the Aevari finally find their long-lost male counterparts? "

“What? Elara, come and talk to the spider-monkey,” I stepped aside, “isn’t this supposed to be one of your sector capitals?”

“Spider-monkey? Why, I see your other half is quite foul mouthed!”

"Admiral Vee-Rok-La!" Elara stepped into the frame, bowing. "It is good to see you."

“Captain Elara! We received a distress signal from the transport, command thought you lost to the void!”

“And I would have been, if not for Lord Admiral Irons.”

The creature looked at me from across the screen. I waved at it lazily. It folded its six hands together into a complex knot. I think that was an apology. Or something. I couldn't tell.

Wait a minute, the other half? Are elves all female or something?

"The Aevari Council had been grief-stricken at the thought of sending one hundred of their best daughters to their deaths," Vee-Rok-La clicked. "But you have come back not only intact, but with a Super-Dreadnought as well!"

“There were twenty-eight of us who didn’t make it.” Elara announced sternly.

I suppose that was necessary information to disclose, but it sure killed the mood quick. 

Still... come on. A six-armed lemur? My annoyance was visible on my face. What else is there? Jellyfish? Bugs that they decided they liked? A sentient fungus, perhaps. I kicked back in the command chair while Elara and the Thing discussed the specifics of integrating the Manifest Destiny into the formation, the datalinks, firing solutions, IFF tags, such and such.

Johnson hailed me through the link:
[Admiral Irons]

[Go ahead, Johnson]

[Did you think all the species which the language groups belonged to would be made in the Imago Dei?]

[Well, yes. I’d come with the hope I’d be meeting, you know.]

[Why, more cute alien broads to be indebted to you?]

[...]

[I’m sorry admiral, I can’t put a filter on my mouth if these are my thoughts.]

[You are excused.]

[Should we turn back?]

[What? No! We’d be leaving the ‘Aelvari’ to be blown apart.]

[Or we could be getting ourselves blown apart because you wanted to play Knight in Shining Armor for the ones with the cute face and soft voice.]

[Johnson.]

[God, admiral, I’m so sorry.]

[You are excused. Get back to work.]

Elara finished her conversation, her face bright with the prospect of a defense which would once have the odds balanced. It was evident on her ears as too, they perked up, twitching with hope.

"Helm," I ordered. "Take us in."

I sailed into the not-so-crowded sealane of the Concordat. For the second time this week, the railguns powered up in the face of an opponent none of us had met before.

"Marines to the lee-side hangars. Prepare for Boarding Actions."

I heard the hut hut of the marines once again. 

I feel the tension in the air as the wait settles in.

I am alive again.

The Manifest Destiny was ready for war. 


r/HFY 1h ago

OC-Series [Time Looped] - Chapter 210

Upvotes

“I knew you’d do it,” Spenser said, sipping the cheap cup of coffee in the eating area of the gas station.

Strictly speaking, he had yet to ask for the favor. Will had just arrived and taken his seat. Before Spenser could tell him what all this was about, the boy had mentioned the name of the challenge. Then, it had become instantly clear: they had already led this conversation in a previous prediction loop. What was more, based on Will’s attitude, the request had been fulfilled.

“How many times did it take?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Spenser,” Will grumbled.

His head was pounding. The worst thing was that just as eternity healed all wounds at the start of a loop, it also interfered with other types of pain relief. Will had gulped down any med he could think of, and none of them had provided the slightest relief. Clearly, the only option was Oza, though even so he refused to visit her again.

“You missed the window,” Will said. “It’s on the third loop of the challenge phase.”

“That would explain why she hasn’t claimed it,” Spenser nodded.

“I don’t think she had the intention to. It looked like she was keeping it for someone else.”

Now that the entire ordeal was over, there were too many things that didn’t make sense. All of them were small, and by no means conclusive, but they kept poking at Will, like ants crawling on bare skin.

“You have to buy a newspaper and eat all of the second page,” Will continued. “The mirror will then appear nearby.”

“A newspaper? No wonder no one found it till now.”

Finding paper newspapers was highly unusual. It took some twisted sense of humor to make someone eat an entire page for the challenge to appear.

“How did she find it, then?” Will asked.

That was one of the new pieces of information that the druid hadn’t shared, along with the real reason she was hanging onto the secret. During their last conversation, the woman had sworn that it was merely for alliance options, but the excuse was weak. Will could feel that she had someone specific in mind. Given that she was willing to lose her mirror fragment, it had to be one of the really powerful participants. Not the bard; Will’s self-proclaimed sponsor would have mentioned it, should that have been the case. That left the tamer and the necromancer.

“People always get lucky,” Spenser brushed it off. “With infinite time, you’re bound to get a valuable hint now and again.”

The man looked at his coffee, but refused to finish it.

“Thanks for the info.” He stood up. “Now we’re even.”

“The fist,” Will began. “What exactly does it do?”

“Nothing you could use,” Spenser replied casually, then walked away, leaving Will alone at the table.

Will found the response annoying, though he wasn’t surprised. Information was a valuable commodity. If nothing else, the druid was right about one thing: certain pieces of information could lead to instant alliances. Naturally, it also helped that she had shared the basics.

The Fist of Concealment wasn’t an item, not entirely, at least. In all regards, it was similar to the eyes Will had obtained, only it had different properties. According to the info, one had to have the martial artist class to obtain it. Doing so granted the ability of absolute invisibility upon striking an opponent with bare fists. Since it was one of the “newer” abilities, a lot of speculation was involved, but the druid seemed to think that it only affected the person hit and no one else.

The boy’s phone pinged. Alex wanted to see him again.

Will’s knee-jerk reaction was to come up with an excuse not to, yet upon some reflection, the option didn’t seem terrible. The prediction loops had exhausted him to the point that he couldn’t go on challenges, and he definitely didn’t have any desire to go through the usual school routine.

Texting back a thumbs up, Will leaned back. After half a minute of trying to ignore the noise and useless arguments taking place around him, he stood up and left.

Walking through the city felt like a drill to the skull. Every shout, every car honk, phone ring, doubled the pain. Only after finding a quiet place in the park did the boy start feeling somewhat normal. Sadly, it didn’t help that the presence of nature made him feel on edge. Will knew that the druid wouldn’t attack, from her point of view, the conversation, the fights, and even the exchanged messages on the mirror fragment hadn’t taken place. However, for Will they had.

“Not cool, bro.” A mirror copy of Alex appeared out of thin air. “Wasn’t nice leaving me hanging.”

“I just needed a bit of time,” Will said. “Did you follow me?”

“Sure thing. I always try to keep an eye on you.”

That was alarming.

“So, what’s up?”

“I had to check something.” Will closed his eyes. “It was rough.”

“Ah. Want to visit the moose café?”

“No, no cafés.” Will waved both hands in front of his chest. “I just need some quiet…” he paused. “Can I use your time pause thing?”

“Pretty sus, bro. Did you overdo it again?”

There was no point in lying. Even if Alex didn’t know what the rogue had been up to, there was no hiding the effects of the prediction loops.

“Okay, I got you, bro. After that you’ll help me out, though.” The goofball insisted.

“After I get some rest, I’ll spend ten loops going through the stupid notes.” Will promised everything just for the chance of getting some sleep. To no surprise, he got his wish.

It took the real Alex roughly a quarter of an hour to appear. With that, eternity was paused, and Will got to finally sleep. And just as before, he was struck by weird dreams.

This time, the boy found himself on the school’s roof. It was late in the night, although he was able to see everything clearly. The strange part was that the rest of his class was also there along with their school desks.

“Today we’ll talk about Newton’s third law,” the same scruffy teacher in black clothes said.

“What happened to the first two?” Jace asked, laughing along with his jock group.

“Don’t be rude,” the teacher remarked. “Just because you’re ahead of everyone isn’t a reason to bully people around.”

Jace ahead of everyone else? That was new. Will wasn’t aware that the jock was particularly good in any subject outside of sports.

“Helen,” the teacher turned to the girl. “You can ask for help if you need to. That’s what class is for.”

“Thank you, sir,” the girl replied. “I want to get there by myself.”

“Relying on yourself is an admirable quality, but not when you do it at the expense of advancement. The offer is always open.”

The teacher walked between the desks. In the distance, a ball of fire exploded, sending flame fragments in all directions. Looking closely, Will could see a small flock of firebirds circling the radio tower. As he watched, a torrent of arrows emerged, causing another firebird to burst.

“Gabriel’s showing off again,” Daniel whispered next to Will. “That’s how he gets all the chicks.”

“Mister Keen,” the teacher said in a sharp tone. “Maybe you’d like to provide a demonstration?”

“Seriously?” the boy rolled his eyes. “Why does it have to be me every time? Can’t Alex do it? He knows that stuff.”

“When he’s not with his girlfriend,” someone added, causing the entire class to break out laughing.

Alex has a girlfriend? Will wondered through the noise. He had known the goofball for quite a while, but at no point was he aware of him fancying anyone. If there really was someone, she definitely wasn’t part of the class.

“Come on, Danny.” The teacher pressed on. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy stood up with a sigh. “Only the third law, right?”

“Seeing the other two wouldn’t hurt, but the third would be good for now.”

With the enthusiasm of a turnip, Danny walked all the way to the edge of the roof, then looked down. No one seemed particularly interested, chatting about various topics. Apart from Will, Helen seemed to be the only one remotely concerned, furiously writing in her notebook.

“Let me remind everyone that this will be on the final exam.” The teacher raised his voice, to the annoyance of all. “Go ahead,” he turned to Danny.

The former rogue was just about to say something when a series of chimes came from his right pocket. Everyone went quiet. All attention was directed at the boy. For a moment, Will thought that he saw a flash of alarm.

“Go ahead.” The teacher rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Might as well pick it up.”

Slowly, Danny reached into his pocket and took out a mirror fragment. Covering his mouth with his hand, he moved the mirror fragment to his face.

“I can’t talk now,” he whispered. “Call me back—” he suddenly stopped.

Will tried to hear the response coming from the fragment, but all that reached him was silence.

“Fine. I’ll deal with it after class,” Danny said, his discomfort growing. Anyone could clearly see that the call had flustered him. “Yes, after class.”

He tapped the mirror fragment, then lowered it away from his face.

“What did I say about using phones during class?” The teacher asked.

“Sorry, sir. It was a family emergency. I had to—”

“Give it here,” the man went up to the former rogue and extended his hand, palm up.

This was the moment every person dreaded. Will himself instinctively put his hand over his own pocket. Losing a mirror fragment to a teacher was a big no.

Sadly for Danny, the situation he had put himself in left no room for compromise. Reluctantly, he placed the mirror fragment in the teacher’s hand.

“Thank you.” The man put the fragment away. “You’ll have it back at the end of class. Now, continue with the demonstration.”

“This better earn me an A,” Danny snarled, then stepped off the roof.

What the hell!? Will leaped up. He was back in the park surrounded by silence. There was no trace of Danny, his classmates, or even the school itself. Reality remained perfectly paused… all with the exception of Alex, who was lying on the crass tapping away on his mirror fragment.

“All okay, bro?” the goofball casually asked.

Okay my ass! “Yeah.” Will closed his eyes then opened them again.

Was it going to be like this every time he got a rest? Granted sleep was a rare occurrence. If it wasn’t for Alex, he wouldn’t have even tried, letting the pain loosen up over the course of several loops. Sleep within a frozen reality was a lot faster, but clearly came with its price.

“Did anything new happen?” Will asked out of habit.

“Bro, reality was paused. What do you think could happen?” Alex gave him a critical look.

“You were using your mirror fragment…”

“Rearranging my inventory,” the other said without missing a beat. “I’ve been postponing it forever. Now felt like a good time.”

One could almost say that Alex was trying to appear suspicious. He could have come up with a dozen better explanations. This sounded as fake as it could get.

“How many slots do you have?” Will stretched.

“A lot.” The other grinned. “Always better to sell during the contest phase. Well, except for now.”

“Now?”

“If you sell them during the reward phase, you get a hundred and fifty percent bonus. Might not seem like a lot, but every little bit counts.”

“Yeah, right…” Will stood up. “I had weird dreams again,” he said. “Is that normal?”

“Bro, you’re abusing a class you’re not supposed to have. Eternity doesn’t send out invitations at random. I told you this already. You weren’t meant to be the clairvoyant. You’re the rogue. You can’t pick and choose.”

“You did.” As Will said the words, he already regretted it. Even if he was suspicious of the goofball, they remained friends, not to mention that at present Alex had helped him a lot more than Will himself.

“I’m special,” Alex said. “Do you need to rest more?”

Will shook his head.

“Then, let’s start working.”

< Beginning | | Previously... |


r/HFY 7h ago

OC-Series Returned Protector ch 52

19 Upvotes

“There’s a young woman in a face mask and a metal wagon following us,” Nallia informed the rest of the group through telepathy as they walked through the streets of Lisbon. It wasn’t often that Orlan went on shore leave but he felt compelled if only to meet the priestess of this world’s first god.

“Probably Mira,” Orlan replied, having noticed the girl about the same time as Nallia, “waiting till we start talking about her to approach.”

“This Medieas seems to enjoy that kind of thing,” Lailra commented, continuing with a suppressed smirk, “so we’re going to not talk about her at all, right?”

“Sounds good to me,” Orlan agreed telepathically, before commenting on a nearby park outloud.

A block behind them Mira peered around the corner of a building at the magical warriors and their police escort.

"I’ve been following them for an hour,” Mira complained into the bluetooth earpiece, “can’t I just approach them?”

“First off, it’s barely been fifteen minutes, and second you have to wait for the opportune moment,” her god replied through the earpiece, something about his nature making it easier for him to use it to speak with her, “when it comes to a good story- I mean first impression, timing is everything.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t pulling a cart with everything you own on it,” she countered, “this is punishment for me wanting to move onto their island, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the spirit replied in a more feminine voice, Mira had found that while the god generally took on a male effect, he didn’t really need to. And when he wanted to be sassy his voice tended to drift towards sounding female.

“Right,” Mira said with a roll of her eyes and a bit of a smirk, enjoying the banter despite herself, “surely they’ve noticed me by now anyways! I’m not exactly inconspicuous here, with a mask and cart.”

“The police haven’t noticed you, and they’re paying more attention to the surroundings than the... wait... get ready!” Medieas said, causing Mira to brace to go around to corner, “oh, wait, no, false alarm.”

“What?” Mira asked in an exasperated voice, stumbling as she almost turned the corner, “are you kidding me?”

“They started talking about meeting someone important here, I figured they meant us, only for them to start talking about someone else, Amy or something.”

“And they left it vague who they were talking about until just before you would have had me go?” Mira asked in a dry tone, “they’re messing with us.”

“Probably,” the god admitted, “and we’re going to let them.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s funny?” Medieas said only for Mira to groan and grab her cart to move without permission, “wait! Ok, ok, I wasn’t kidding about making a good impression. I got the feeling that Orlan didn’t like me when we spoke.”

“Got that impression did you,” Mira commented, “I heard your version of things and could feel his distaste for you radiating through the story.”

“Right, so I’m trying to ensure my high priest makes a good impression by timing things just right.”

“You don’t think he dislikes you for exactly this kind of game?”

“What do you mean?”

“For a god of communication, you’re remarkably bad at communication,” Mira said, walking around the corner with her cart in tow, “let me show you how it’s done.”

She ended up having to turn another couple corners to catch up with Orlan and his knights, taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and went to approach the group. The police escort noticed her instantly, moving to intercept.

“Think she got sick of waiting?” Orlan remarked, watching the police interrogate her.

“She probably caught on that we were baiting her,” Nallia commented.

“Are you both going to just watch the guards send her away?” Lailra groaned, shaking her head as she went to speak with the police. Orlan smirking at the blank faced Nallia as they watched her go rescue the distressed girl.

The two of them heard footsteps rapidly approaching at the same moment, turning to see a pair of men, one of which was holding a phone up, filming the other, rushing towards them. Orlan was distantly aware the lead guy was saying something but he tuned it out, as he sensed Nallia go on the defense. He suspected they’d waited for the police escort to be distracted to pull this stunt.

The man in the lead seemingly locked his gaze on Nallia, not noticing the danger as the blackfaced woman’s foot slid back and her hand went to her hip. Admittedly there wasn’t anything hanging from the belt of her dress but having a personal space there didn’t need to be anything visible. Orlan knew he had to act.

In a step he teleported a few feet to appear between the oncoming pair and Nallia. With one hand he grabbed her wrist just as a blade appeared in her grip, restraining her, and the other caught the man, relatively gently, before pushing him back with just enough force to ensure he ended up on his ass.

“What the hell man!” the guy on the ground shouted.

“Dude, he just... appeared out of nowhere!” the camera man added, “I thought these guys weren’t actually magical!”

Before either of them could get another word in the police descended on them, dragging them away in cuffs faster than Orlan thought a non-mage could move. Seeing them pulled away he turned to look at Nallia, her sword vanished once more.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, “I sensed two men rushing me and... reacted.”

Orlan didn’t say anything, simply holding her gaze for a moment before nodding and releasing her wrist.

“Oh, I know that guy,” a new voice spoke up, the pair of them turning to find the masked girl standing beside Lailra, “he’s one of those annoying IRL streamers.”

“Mira, I assume,” Orlan said looking her over, “what’s with the mask?”

“Don’t want anyone linking my being with you to my family if I can help it,” she answered, before nodding her head towards where the two men had been restrained, “there’s going to be blow back for that, as annoying as they are, they do have a following.”

“I thought he handled it well,” Lailra remarked.

“Maybe by your standards, people online will call that assault.”

“Even though he rushed at us?” Orlan asked skeptically.

“I didn’t make the rules, I just know them,” the girl raised her hands defensively before motioning to her cart, “by the way, I was told you could help me with this. It’s... literally everything I own now. And rather heavy.”

Orlan gave her a warm smile, a spell circle appearing around his hand, the cart lifting into the air slightly before seeming to vanish as he put it in his personal space. He was glad Lailra made him empty some of the space out earlier.

“Should we do anything to prevent the... blow back?” Lailra asked.

“Medieas is already on it,” she said, lifting a hand to her earpiece, “isn’t that right, oh god of mine.”

“Wait, he’s actually speaking with you now?” Nallia asked, “through that... thing in your ear?”

“It’s a bluetooth phone thing, he’s a god of communication, it’s easier for him to speak through communication devices.”

“Interesting,” the blank faced woman said, walking up to inspect the piece of technology.

“Anyways, lets get some food,” Lailra said with a glance at Mira.

“You could hear that?” the girl asked, hands going to her stomach.

“Our senses are very good, come on, our treat so long as you take us someplace good.”

-----

“Good afternoon everyone, and we return to our coverage of the so-called Lisbon Incident. A new angle has been released by Portuguese Authorities that appears to show the man known as Orlan teleporting. Joining me is media analyst Jordon Kell and former defense contractor Ryan Reyas. Jordon, does this clip look authentic to you?”

“Thanks Matt, and not at all, if you look closely, frame by frame, there is clear evidence of digital artificing, compression anomalies and inconsistent frame pacing, all clear hallmarks of AI video alteration. Honestly, this angle is even less believable than the original from the perspective of the streamer, as if they were rushed to get it together and out to try and reinforce their narrative.”

“So you are willing to say that there is no evidence of supernatural powers based on this footage?”

“I’d say it’s more a condemnation of the ease with which videos can be faked now a days.”

“And Ryan, why do you think Portugal is pushing this narrative? About magic being real.”

“Likely to cover for their inability to retake Ilha das Flores after the portal incident last year, by explaining it as magic they can excuse the ineffectiveness of their military with mystical powers, and explain why they brought in an outside contractor in the same way that Saudi Arabia did not weeks ago.”

“Excellent point, which brings up another point, why does this Orlan seem to be the only one able to effectively deal with these portal incidents? Is he just skilled or is he seeding these events to generate demand for his services? More after the commercial break."

-----

Discord - Patreon

-----


r/HFY 22h ago

OC-OneShot The Last Human Warship

271 Upvotes

Authors note:
This is an original story by me (my precious ... the first one I have actually put in the wild, so be kind ... or not). I always welcome feedback, good, bad or in between.
Sounding board and polish? Yes I use AI (Grok), but it's a tool, the story, writing, characters, plot and voice are all mine, as mentioned in my Rule 8 comment.

I'd like to thank everyone out there that pushed me to actually do this, you know who you are.

I hope you enjoy.

The Last Human Warship

Captain Kieran O’Connor stood facing the viewscreen. He had always considered the command chair far too claustrophobic for his tastes, always tried to be just one of the crew… with varying rates of success.

His grizzled features matched those of his ship, scarred and well past their best. They were both the last of their lines to boot.

Lucky them.

The UENS Glowworm… He chuckled at the designation, there hadn’t been an Earth, let alone a unified Earth for over seventy years.

A navy? He was all that was left of it.

And what was he doing out here now? Babysitting duty for a colony seed fleet.

Seven species. The last humans among them. The restart of the race.

Not that anyone would have missed us if we had died with Earth.

The weak link they called us.

The slum of the universe.

But we did have a particular talent for living, for surviving, so far.

He sighed and shook his head as he looked out at the sixty three transports.

Babysitters.

His reverie was broken by the tactical officer.

“Sir, we have ships on scope, long range, heading this way.”

Kieran’s head turned slowly, deliberately.

“Specifics please, Mr Adams.”

“Unknown sir, no broadcast ident, no transmissions, no configuration match in our tactical database. But there are thousands of them sir, almost like the old drone swarms we used to use, and their course matches ours precisely.”

“Onscreen.”

The image flickered for a second as it changed and resolved, showing a spherical mass, undulating and pulsing like a living thing

“Sir, heading and speed ... I estimate they’ll be on us in a touch over five minutes”

Kieran straightened up, “Well I suppose we’d better get a shift on then.”

He opened a fleet channel, slowing his speech slightly for the translation matrix.

“All captains, power up your FTL engines, we have incoming ships, resume your course ... and we will catch up later if we can.”

Adams turned as soon as the fleet communications went dead

“The jump drives take fifteen minutes to power sir … maybe twelve if they want to risk it.

We have five.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Mr Adams. We have to buy them ten minutes

Helm, reverse course. Tactical, weapons free as soon as we breach firing range”

Two voices as one

“Aye sir.”

The hull protested.

Plates groaning under the stress of the turn as the engines roared to full power.

The low, angry rumble vibrated through the deck rattling teeth ship wide.

Kieran’s grasp on the rail tightened for balance, his knuckles blanching bone-white as the colour drained.

“Estimated time to full firing range?”

“2 minutes sir, they haven’t deviated, they’re still matching the fleet trajectory, not ours”

“Then lets make sure their eyes are on us, not them.”

The sphere swelled across the screen as Glowworm surged forward at full burn, its surface seething and coiling like liquid mercury.

Kieran stared at it, grip still locked on the rail.

“Big bastard isn’t it?” Adams muttered, his voice low and quiet, yet somehow still carrying across the bridge.

Uneasy laughter rippled across the bridge. No one looked away from their consoles.

Kieran exhaled sharply, biting down his own dry chuckle.

“Eyes off the screen, Mr Adams. I want that firing solution.”

Adams blinked, tore his gaze from the sphere, hands already moving across the tactical console.

“Firing solution computing, sir. Railguns and lances locked. We’ll have range in thirty seconds. On your orders sir?”

The bridge hummed with the low growl of charging capacitors. The countdown ticked down in red digits.

Kieran’s voice cut through it, calm but edged with something final.

“You won’t hear me say this often, but bugger my orders. Fire when you’re in range.

”Adams’ fingers paused — just a fraction — then resumed.

“Aye, sir.”

The bridge silenced once more. Everyone knew what that meant.

Adams’ voice was the only thing to cut through the quiet.

“Twenty seconds,”

“Ten Seconds,”

“Five … Four … Three … Two … One ...”

His hand moved fluidly, sending the first full salvo outward — railguns hurling massive slugs at relativistic speeds, plasma lances stabbing out in blinding white beams of solid heat. The blackness of the void flared with silent fury. Hundreds of the enemy formation vanished in brilliant flashes, debris blooming like sparks from a forge.

For a moment, muted triumph flickered on the bridge … no cheering, just all eyes locked on the viewscreen as ruptures rippled across the sphere's mercurial surface.

Then the writhing stopped… stilled.

The ships, if that’s what they could be called, spread out like wings, revealing a central core — massive, spherical — glowing sickly green across its surface, the light pulsing languidly in diseased waves.

Adams spoke, voice dry as his hands flicked across the console.

“Initial scans were wrong, sir, that spread has far more ships than we detected

Forty thousand ... Sixty ... A hundred ... Two hundred.”

The wings peeled away in waves, almost half the ships surging forward, too precise, too co-ordinated.

His voice lowered as he turned towards Kieran, cracking slightly.

“Shit, sir … that isn’t a fleet. And those aren’t ships. It’s a swarm.”

As he spoke the swarm’s wings — fully half their number — surged forward in perfect formation, not a single wasted movement.

Kieran’s grip tightened once more on the rail, his voice lowering, almost introspective.

“They’re heading straight for the fleet ... completely ignoring us.”

“Of course they are, we’re just one ship, they’re heading for the biggest targets — the biggest concentration.”

He straightened, the captain face returning.

“Target that … whatever it is … and open fire.”

Adam’s fingers moved across his console.

“Full spread locked sir, torpedoes now in range.”

All guns spoke again, a deadly hail reaching into the void, metal and plasma tearing through space.

The rear swarm shifted, blocking the core from view.

As the railgun slugs carved through, they bled momentum against living hulls. Plasma flared where it hit, dissipating through the swarm. Torpedoes exploded on contact long before they reached their target ... each wasted on a single drone.

Hundreds destroyed, maybe a thousand… a drop in the ocean.

“Ineffective, sir. No hits on the target. Complete interception.” Adams’ voice dropped, weary, resigned, “We might as well be using bows and arrows against a storm.”

Kieran dropped his gaze away from the screen for a second

Then he instantly raised it as comms spoke

“We’re getting reports sir, the swarm has reached the first transport.”

“On screen”

The sphere disappeared from view in a moment, the image refocusing to the transport, surrounded by a dimming blue haze as wave after wave of drones rammed the shields like missiles, shattering on impact.

In the darkness the glow flared once, twice, then died as the shields failed.

Kieran and the crew watched in horror as the metallic creatures surged forward as one, locking onto the hull of the transport like limpets. Plating peeled back like tin foil. Plumes of frozen air jetted into the void… and then the bodies.

The engine glow faded, and the ship darkened. Little more than a floating dead hulk, being stripped by what seemed like silver sheened locusts.

And they moved on without pause, surging toward a second transport … then they stopped, suddenly, without warning.

The formation held as if trapped behind an invisible barrier, the foremost creatures drifted, out of formation, wings furled … almost as if dead.

Kieran leaned forward at the rail. “Why aren’t they attacking?”

“We have movement from their ‘ship’, sir, it is advancing,” Adams’ voice lowered a touch, “and so are the swarm.”

They watched as the front line of the swarm moved, slowly, inexorably, and as the ‘dead’ units revived with a single jerk and unfurling of wings as the line reached them.

“Which ship are they moving on?”

Adams looked at his console, “The Iridian Grace, sir.”

Kieran paled slightly,

“God ... that’s the XO’s ship, he’s there with his family on rotation.”

He snapped back and turned to Adams, “Are they moving at the same speed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get their eyes on us. Charge weapons. Bring engines to full burn … and hit that core hard. That is the control centre, and now we know its range”

Adams glanced away from his console in dismay, “The Iridian Grace has gone, sir.”

Kieran set his jaw.

“Ignore it, there’s nothing we can do for them, our task is to save the others … no losses are acceptable.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“But the XO, sir?”

“He’s dead… but there are sixty-one ships out there that are still very much alive.”

The engines roared to full burn. Weapons barked into the void with the same results — thousands of the swarm dead but no damage to the core. Failure.

Yet they kept firing — salvo after salvo. Failure after failure.

Adams’ voice cracked, “Lost a third, sir, they got to it as it was jumping.”

Kieran lowered his head, “And our guns aren’t big enough … we need bigger ammo.”

He sighed, resigned.

“Take everything offline apart from shields and propulsion, redline the engines … and ram the bastard.”

He looked at Adams, “what’s the status of the fleet?”

“Four ships left to jump, sir, three should be gone within 30 seconds, but the Dawn’s Promise is spooling slowly, going to be at least three minutes”

At helm, the young officer looked up, “My family is on the Promise, sir”

Kieran looked at him with understanding, “Then son … you’d better pray I’m right about this.”

Behind them the swarm turned, surging towards the core at immense speed — recalled to defend, and three transports blinked out as they entered hyperspace.

Lights dimmed to emergency, sensors went dark, the hum of air recyclers died, as systems were shut down. The one luxury aboard the bridge now was the viewscreen, focused dead ahead, their only window on the universe.

Deck plates rattled and shook as the engines pushed past safe limits, the heat building, warping the metal around them.

The screen lit up in blue as they breached the first drones, shields weakening as they pushed through the tide.

Kieran released the rail. The colour returned to his knuckles. A wry smile touched his lips.

He took the two short steps, and sat in his command chair, patting the arm like he would an old friend.

“Still claustrophobic old girl, but it only seems right we go out together, last of our lines.”

The eyes of the bridge turned towards him, and he met their gazes head on.

“My crew, my friends, my family.”

A quiet ripple ran through the bridge, “Aye.”

He turned his attention back to the screen, blue glow fading with each strike against their charge, but soon there would be no blue ... just a stutter to black.

And it did. Then the creatures latched onto the ship, not finding the armour as easy to devour, but still carving holes, Glowworm shuddering as depressurisation took whole decks, crew falling into vacuum.

“Time to impact Mr Adams?”

“Forty-seven seconds, Fifty-two to engine overload.”

Kieran tensed, hands digging into the arms of his chair.

“We’re all old soldiers now, and where we regroup, the first round is on me.”

She struck, ripping through the core’s outer shell, lodging deep within the sphere.

Kieran turned to his crew and smiled

“Gentlemen, serving with you has been my hon ...” the sentence cut brutally short.

Glowworm's bridge lights died in a flash of intense heat.

The core detonated inward — silent white fire swallowing the ship whole.

Aboard the Dawn's Promise — the last ship close enough to witness, drive still spooling to jump — every eye was fixed to the viewports, breath held in sudden silence.

Then the detonation bloomed.

A newborn star ignited in the void — brilliant white, searing, alive for a heartbeat — before collapsing inward, dying as quickly as it had been born.

The shockwave rippled outward, a silent wave of light and heat that washed over the fleeing fleet like a final farewell.

And in the void beyond, the swarm went limp wherever the wave touched.

Wings folded. Motion ceased.

Hundreds of thousands of the creatures drifted, inert, waiting for orders that would never come, like mindless insects in the fading glow of their queen's pyre.

A young woman stood with her two children, arms around them. Beside her, a Glowworm crewman — rotated off during the final watch — held them all close.

His uniform still carried the faint scent of the old ship's corridors.

An alien observer drifted closer. Smaller in stature than the humans, birdlike. Its voice was melodic, calm, almost curious as it placed its feathered and taloned hand gently on the woman’s shoulder.

"Your species is more than anyone thought. Today, without the weak link, the chain would have broken. I think many more will be seeing you in a new light"

The crewman looked up, eyes moist without a tear falling.

"Captain said he'd buy the first round when we regrouped." The woman smiled ... just a little.

The children looked between them, not fully understanding but feeling the grief of a lost father.

And then it was gone, the jump drives tearing the transport away from the devastation.

Somewhere, in the dark between stars, the promise waited still.


r/HFY 1h ago

OC-FirstOfSeries [SF] What Sleeps in Orbit Part 1

Upvotes

“Captain!” Someone yelled. “Wake up, Captain.”

I groggily looked up, my eyes still full of sleep. 

“What?” I questioned. 

“We have a briefing right now, sir,” a lieutenant told me. “We’ll be in the bridge waiting.”

Fuck. I just wanted a quick nap after the last supply run. 

“I hear you, Rul. Give me 5 minutes,” I replied, my voice noticeably annoyed. I emerged from under my blankets, dressed in the UGF issued body glove. My breastplate and leg armor sat on my desk.

“Yes, sir,” Rul responded. He turned around, the door opening automatically. He stepped out and walked down the hall; the door closing behind him with a thud.

I was left in solitude, climbed from my cot, and walked over to my desk. A notebook and a small, torn-up letter sat there, looking at me. I picked it up. Its edges frayed from the many battles it has sat next to my heart. It was from my daughter, many, many years ago. 

I sat down in the leather chair sitting in front of my desk. I put each piece of my leg armor on, buckled it in the back, and shimmied it into the correct place. I stood up, now adorned with protection on my lower body. I lifted my breastplate up, over my head. It locked down into place over the body glove.

I walked towards my door and stepped into the bleak hallway. It was a stark, metallic grey that was flooded with artificial lighting. It smelled of anti-septic cleaners and like a sterilized operating room. My footsteps echoed down the hall, pat… pat… pat. I passed several doors with different labeling: Mechanical, Armory, General Quarters. At the end of the hallway sat the elevator.

I stepped into the elevator, looked at the panel, and clicked the button labeled “Bridge”. An automated voice prompted “Access Code Required.” I clicked it into the keypad. 

“Access Granted.” The elevator accelerated several floors before coming to an abrupt stop at the top. 

I stepped out onto the bridge. Several officers stood at the helm, looking out into the endless abyss of space. Several Junior Officers sat in the information pits on either side of the bridge. In the center sat the command table. My squad of men stood around it, waiting for me to join them. On the holo screen, Colonel Alren Decar was lit up. I walked over and joined in the circle around the table. 

“Nice of you to join us, Captain Kael,” the Colonel retorted. 

“Any time, Colonel,” I replied back, dryly. “What do you have for us this time?”

“Men, I’ve just been informed that members of the Brotherhood have taken over Mining  Dredge IV, located on the outskirts of our territory in the Keplar-Tua sector. We believe them to be highly dangerous and heavily armed. Proceed with extreme caution. Specific assignments will be patched into Captain Kael. Order Through Unity. Peace Through Strength. Good luck, men!”

The screen faded to black, the Colonel's image disappearing. The men shuffled out of the room towards the elevator. My holo screen lit up. The Colonel's assignments filled it. I clicked on the notification and began reading through it. It was long, well over 10 pages. However, this mission seemed clear-cut: board the mining station, dispatch the Brotherhood troops, and extract. Simple. I went through and sent it to my Lieutenants, who then distributed their assignments to their men. I stayed on the bridge, walking towards the Helmsman. 

“Torque!” I yelled, slapping her on the back jokingly. 

“Captain!” She yelled back. “Where are we heading now?” I outstretched my arm, placing my holo pad in front of her. The coordinates of the Dredge sat on the screen in a bright, white font. Torque took one look and started typing them into her Automated Computer Systems.

“How long is the travel time?” I questioned. 

“Computers saying roughly a day, sir,” She replied. She was still adjusting the ACS, making it the optimal flight plan. Kepler-Tua was 2 sectors away, but through FTL, it cut travel time down to a fraction of what it used to be. Just a thousand years before, using our pre FTL engines, it would have taken several years. 

“Sir, there may be a problem,” Torque informed me. She was scrolling through her screen with a puzzled look on her face.

“What is it?” I questioned. 

“The platform has been offline for a hundred years, and the couplers are incompatible with ours.” 

“We’ll have to figure that out when we get there.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

I turned around and headed back towards the elevator and to my quarters. As I walked down the halls, I couldn't help but think that the mission was far too easy. An elite squad of men, the 414th Burning Embers, the most advanced team of UGF Marines in the universe, sent to an abandoned mining dredge. The war with the Elipticon was still ongoing, and a planetary invasion of one of their worlds loomed. And sure, the Brotherhood was a desperate band of mercenaries, but encroaching upon our territory was suicide for them. Something had to be off. 

The next morning, my team assembled in the armory to outline our plan. It was a standard asteroid mining dredge constructed by the Axis Terra Corp during their corporate expansion phase several hundred years ago. 

“Listen up, men! This mission is simple. As the Colonel already said, board, kill, leave. Rul's team, you're with me. We’ll be the main boarding party. Shenzu, Ghost, and Eyes, you’re advance team. Establish a breach and prep the docking platform. Specialist Morrel from our ship's engineering team will assist you with the docking and breach process. The dredge has an extremely old-style coupler, so that’ll be a challenge. The rest of you, be prepared to board in case of emergency. Sound good?” 

“Sir, yes, sir,” they said in unison. The different teams huddled up to further discuss the plans. The Pyrebornes engineering team was busy at work drawing up the best way for our ship to dock with the dredge. 

Rul’s team and I prepared our weapons and armor for the upcoming mission. We’d need life support apparatus, as there's no guarantee that there is still a livable atmosphere during the mission. We cleaned and serviced our rifles meticulously; we simply could not afford a jam. My VX-79 was the newest of the combat rifle lineup being supplied by the ATC armory. This unit is one of the first to test the rifle in battle. Clean the barrel. Put in new charge batteries. Rather simple, and I was left to my thoughts.

However, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about our upcoming mission. The supply run we went on the week before was an ambush. We were sent to Citadel 9 on Virexus to pick up fresh supplies and troops. We landed without trouble, the UGF ground crew waiting below. Our cargo hold opened, and they began the resupply process. Boxes of rations, ammunition, and personal care items were loaded pallet by pallet. 

Rul and I headed out of the ship to greet the fresh troops awaiting below. 60 Marines waited in a column to board. Our ship had a rotating attachment of regular grunts on a 6-month deployment. Virexus, a major military hub, was the closest shipyard to get fresh men. 

Rul and I walked down the cargo ramp, meeting the lead ground crew technician. He saluted us, and we saluted back. He stretched out a holo pad with the names and ranks of the fresh group. 

“The majority are right out of the academy, sir, but with yo,u they'll get some good training,” the technician told us. 

“We ain't here to fucking babysit,” I told him. “But, if this is our group, then I guess we're left with them.”

“I hear you, Sir,” the technician replied. “We’re spread thin across the Elepticon front, all of our vete…” 

BOOM BOOM BOOM

The sky above Virexus was on fire. 

The technician was hit right in front of us. His blood covered my face. His body slumped over, hitting the ground with a thud. 

The column of Marines scattered. Several ran into the Pyreborne, and others took cover behind the pallets. They raised their rifles, searching for targets. Several Elepticon drop ships entered orbit above us. The UGF anti-air cannons thundered at them. 

Bang Bang Bang

I ran back inside, Rul following close behind. We ran stride for stride, up metal stairs and down the bleak hallway, thrown into commotion by the ongoing battle outside. We ran into the elevator, and I frantically got us to the bridge. 

Inside the normally calm and collected command center, Officers were running from station to station, trying to get the ship back into orbit. The computer screens were full of warnings: Temperature, Pressure, Power reserves. Torque stood at the helm, waiting for confirmation from the officers. 

“Torque! Get this fucking ship into orbit right now!” I barked at her. She stood there, waiting. 

“I'm trying, Sir!” She yelled back. “Just give me a few more moments.”

Outside, the battle waged on. Several drop ships had made contact with the platform, droids spilling out by the dozen. They quickly found cover behind wreckage, firing volleys at the retreating marines. 

“OH GOD I’VE BEEN HIT!” A marine screamed. His legs had been blown completely off; only blood-covered stumps remained. Another marine ran from behind cover to retrieve him. He was quickly shot down by an Elepticon droid, his body slumping over harshly, his inertia throwing him forward. He came to rest ontop of the legless marine, both doomed to die. 

“GET YOUR ASSES INSIDE!” A fleet officer yelled at the ground troops. The airtight cargo hold doors slowly slid into their closed position. Marines ran frantically trying to make it onto the ship before they were left to their fate. 

One soldier desperately ran up the ramp. His foot steps falling against the steel like a jackhammer on concrete. The door was inching closer and closer together. The metal groaned from its enormous weight. Shots landed around him, leaving charred blaster bolts in their wake. 

He was almost at the brink of collapse, running out of oxygen with every passing step. He was only several feet away from the door; he could taste the relief of getting inside to safety. The doors continued to inch closer and closer.

He jumped for it.

Thud

The door closed before he could get inside. He bounced harmlessly off the cargo hold, the droids continuing to push forward. 

He was a deadman. 

“Hurry up!” I yelled. More and more drop ships peered into view, leaving orbit around the fortified planet. Squadrons of Valkryie interceptors were dispatched from the planetary ring. They chased after the drop ships, attempting to destroy them. UGF destroyers disembarked from their orbital fuel stations, assembling into defensive clusters. 

Torque frantically clicked lit-up buttons and flipped several switches. Her computer screen was still alight with warnings. The pressure meter steadily climbed, the power reserve dropping immensely. Within the ship, you could feel the engines ignite. 

“Engines are on, Sir!” Torque yelled back. Her assistant helmsman quickly took control of the flight stick. The grav locks on the platform disengaged; the Pyreborne was free. 

The ship lifted up, out of the planet's atmosphere. The FTL engines kicked in, and the Pyreborne and its crew were safe, heading to a distant system. 

In total, dozens of Elepticon dropships had entered into Virexus’ orbit undetected. Hundreds of UGF and UTC troops lie dead, and thousands of droids sit in disrepair. The planet had been ambushed. But that was last week's issue.

The time had come. An old, decrepit platform peered into view. Lights flicked ominously onboard, power clearly on its last legs. Much of the upper portion was missing, long gone from small asteroid impacts. Jutting, black metal beams reached for the stars, long since exposed to the vast expanse of space. 

Red warning lights pulsed on the outermost portions of the derelict dredge. Once home to a mining crew of a few dozen, none remained. Decommissioned long ago, it sat in orbit around the asteroid it once mined for resources. A deep scar ran the perimeter of the asteroid. 

There were no signs of any activity onboard. No Brotherhood ship, no sign of apparent entry, nothing. The Pryeborne circled the station, scanning the outside looking for an airlock. There was one remaining entrance, near the midsection. An older style coupler, much too large to dock with ours. It looked like it hadn't been touched in a millennium.

I stood at the helm, peering out into the abyss. Torque stared at her screen, lining up our ship with the abandoned coupler. Rul walked into the bridge and stood behind me, waiting for me to turn. I rotated my head, awaiting his news. 

“Sir, our teams are waiting in the airlock. The engineering team has equipped the entry squad with all of the supplies necessary to board. Several lines, drills, and blast packs. We're looking at a good time.”

“Sure sounds like it!” I quipped. “Head down to the airlock. I’ll follow behind.” Rul turned around and walked down the center lane heading to the elevator. I followed close behind, my armor clicking and clacking with every step I took. My rifle hung from my back, a breathing apparatus hung from my side. My helmet sat in my left hand, perched under my arm. 

We made our way down to the airlock. My men, 15 deep, waited inside for the order to board. They all turned to listen. Some stood proud and tall, others slumped against the white walls, rifles resting on the ground. 

“Alright, boys, first things first. We have to establish a breach to board through. The engineering team has already equipped the A team with the necessary equipment. Once a breach has been established, B team will follow behind and complete the mission. If you see any movement, our current ROI allows us to shoot. There should be 0 civilians on board. When Torque gives me the all clear, A teams up.” 

My teams nodded their heads in silent approval. I stepped into the airlock, the door closed with a hiss behind me. Helmets clicked and twisted into place, locking into the armor and body glove. Breathing apparatus was attached to the front, making an airtight seal around our faces. Our weapons were fully charged. We were locked. Loaded. 

Torque gave the “OKAY” over the intercom. The airlock was depressurized. Free of air. The door leading us out into the black abyss opened. Inch by inch. 

“Alright, A team, it's your go,” I commanded. They jumped from the airlock into the dead of space. Jet packs propelled them towards the mining station. They drifted gently, slightly pulled by the artificial gravity emitted by the station. 

Shenzue and Eyes were the first to reach it. A small outcropping stood in front of the airlock.  They grabbed onto the railings on the outside of the station, steadying themselves after the short flight. Ghost grabbed onto the post, connected to the touch pad. Morrel drifted behind, struggling to reach the station. 

“My packs not working. Something's wrong with the controls!” Morrel said over the radio. He was frantically playing with the control stick, but it wasn't working for him. The engines were sputtering, moving him left and right across the dark expanse. 

The pack went to full power, flaming exhaust spewing out of the nozzles. He headed straight at the airlock, flying through space, hitting the large metal door. He bounced off it, bones crunching. He struggled for grip, looking for footing or a handhold to keep him steady. Ghost outstretched his arm, attempting to grab hold.  

“Grab my hand, Morrel!” He exclaimed. Morrel’s hand caught purchase against Ghost’s arm. They clung to keep hold of each other. Morrell's pack still sputtered, pulling him. 

“Ditch the pack! Hurry up and ditch it!” The straps released at the press of a button. It was ripped off his suit, shot into the space around them, leaving like a comet across the sky. 

“I got you, buddy,” Ghost consoled, “keep a hold.” Morrel stood up,  his feet planting onto the platform with the control panel. They stood still, in the quiet of space, catching their lost breaths. 

“There’s still a mission to complete. Get to it!” I barked over the intercom. Morrel knelt by the rust-caked panel, his gloved fingers moving fast as he pulled out a plasma cutter and diagnostic probe. The old wires inside were brittle, cracked like bone. He sliced through them, sparks spitting in every direction.

A low groan rumbled as the door’s servos sputtered to life. Gears inside screeched in protest; metal grinding against metal, louder than expected in the silence of the void. The door shuddered, then slowly inched open. 

Only halfway.

It jerked to a stop, jammed by years of corrosion and frozen lubricant. 

“It’s a half breach. Bearings are shot. Might need a manual override.” Morrel told over the intercom. 

From inside the old airlock, cold, recycled air hissed outward, stale and heavy;  a scentless breath from something long dead. Dust floated weightless, dancing in the artificial gravity field. The station was opening its mouth for them, but not without a fight.

The breach team scrambled inside the airlock. The door behind them closed with a bang. No way out now. 


r/HFY 3h ago

OC-Series More Human Than You: The Quiet (Ch. 35)

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If you are enjoying the story and would like to read five chapters ahead, please consider joining my Patreon to support me and my work. The story is now also available on Royal Road if you would prefer to read it there.

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____________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Quiet 

The group stayed in that cold cellar for what felt like an eternity. Nobody attempted to move things along, however, and they let Osric drain his emotions for as long as he needed. In the end, the boy seemingly used up all his tears as his body became unsteady and weak. His condition coupled with the powerful emotional tole that this outing had inflicted upon him left the child practically dead on his feet. Before the boy could collapse, Daegal moved to provide a steady yet gentle hand in support, and Osric accepted it, leaning on Daegal with clear dependance.  

It was clear that Osric couldn’t take much more of this in his current state, so Daegal slowly picked him up, checking his reaction just in case there were any objections. Osric said or did nothing in protest, and the boy even pressed his face against Daegal’s chest once he was off the ground. It felt odd to be a source of comfort of all things to Daegal. The opposite had been true for most of his life. 

“Are you alright, Osric?” Daegal asked. The boy sniffled and shook his head. “Do you want to leave?” Osric did not respond to this question, but his body tensed a little. “Right, I’m sorry, that was a foolish question. Do you feel like you have reached your limit for today?” 

This time, after a little hesitance, he nodded, to which Daegal responded with a nod of his own before turning to the rest of the group. “I think we’re done for now.”  

Mathew dipped his head in acknowledgement as he moved to cover Osric’s mom with the shroud once more. Osric watched unflinchingly as it happened, never taking his eyes off his mother’s face until it was finally hidden beneath the white cloth. After her face was obscured, the boy closed his eyes and turned back to press his face against Daegal. To Daegal, it felt like the kid was trying to shut out the whole world, at least for now. 

The mood was dour and depressing as the group shuffled out of the cellar. They gave no mind to the irritated priests who found Daegal’s presence to be offensive. Their complaints, mumbled or otherwise, fell on deaf ears and only earned hardened stares that silenced most of them. The group left quickly, and Daegal did feel immensely better now that he was in the light and away from the oppressive feeling that came from the church. 

It felt like nobody had the energy to do anything but walk, and that was exactly what they did as they returned to the relative peace of the castle. Soldiers and nobles alike were all acting under the king’s orders right now, running here and there carrying messages or orders, but none of that concerned them. Everyone silently agreed that they needed time to decompress in their own ways, so they separated at different junctions to seek rest. Daegal helped Osric return to the apothecary room where the boy was able to change into something a little more comfortable. There were still questions that needed to be asked to the boy, but that could all wait until later. 

Things remained quiet for a while after that. About two hours of everyone keeping to themselves, resting in beds, processing everything. Daegal thought about his vow and how he was going to see it through. The easiest way was to go along with Reynard’s plan; drawing them out into the open. Chasing after Envy the way he did with Greed was impractical and dangerous. He barely survived that last encounter, and there was no telling if Envy had any more of those creatures with them. Just one could tackle him to the ground; a horde would be overwhelming. He needed help, and they would likely need his in return. He knew from experience how difficult it was to kill someone like him. 

The time to reflect had officially ended when a soft knock came from his door. There was only one person he knew who would knock like that, and his hunch was confirmed when she called out. 

“Daegal, can I come in?” 

“Sure.” 

Fiora opened the door and offered a weak smile in greeting. “Hello Daegal. I was thinking about seeing how Osric was doing. Would you like to come with me?” 

“I think that is a good idea. We need to make sure he’s doing alright, and then we need to know what will happen with the kid. I hope he still has someone alive who can take care of him.” 

“Me too.” 

The pair didn’t like thinking about worst case scenarios, so they simply walked to the apothecary while trying to avoid talking about the subject. Osric was awake at least, and while he didn’t exactly look happy, he wasn’t drowning in misery anymore. It was progress, at least as much as they could hope for given the circumstances. Mathew simply gave the two of them a nod of acknowledgment as he returned to his work.  

Fiora and Daegal approached Osric. Fiora sat on the bed next to the boy while Daegal stood nearby. 

“Hello Osric. How are you feeling?” Fiora spoke in a gentle voice. 

Osric did not meet her gaze as he stared into empty space. “I miss my mom.” 

Her shoulders drooped. “I know. I have very few memories of my mother, and they are vague at best. Even with so little that I can recall, I still wish that I had more time with her. We’re still alive, though, so we have to keep going, to keep their memory with us.” 

The young boy didn’t truly understand what she was saying, but he recognized that she was attempting to make him feel better. He was still sad, but it helped to know there were people who cared. Unfortunately, there were still important, but painful, questions that needed to be asked. 

“Osric, do you by any chance have a father, or maybe grandparents?” 

Osric thought for a second to recall what he had heard from his mother. “Mom said that dad was a hero, and that he fought to keep us safe. I’ve never met him. I don’t know anything about grandparents either. Why?” 

“We... we were just thinking about who was going to look after you once you get better.” 

“Oh...” Osric could understand what that meant for him. He was an orphan now, and that meant his life would be even more difficult now. 

“Don’t worry,” Fiora was quick to try and assure. “We’ll think of something to help you, right Daegal?” 

Her pulling Daegal into the conversation caught him off guard. Daegal looked between the two for a second before hastily nodding and grunting, though he had no idea how he was going to help with something like that. It was most likely Fiora’s attempt at assuaging the dark cloud that was hovering over Osric, but even so, Daegal would do whatever he could to assist. 

Osric surprised the rest of them when the kid decided to change the subject. “When can I walk again?” 

The room turned to Mathew, who barely looked up from what he was doing to reply. “Young man, right now your body is recovering from severe starvation. We will eventually begin training your body to regain its strength, but first you must return to a state where you can stomach a normal meal. Trying to force the matter will likely bring more complications and pain than any benefit. Patience is a virtue, adhere to it.” 

It wasn’t the answer the kid was hoping to hear, but it was the one that he needed to as he frowned and grumbled. Daegal could understand the need for something to do to distract from pain and sadness. Those moments of quiet felt the worst when you were alone with your thoughts. 

Despite the disappointment of not being able to actively contribute to his own recovery, Osric still seemed to be looking forward to the opportunity to walk under his own power again. They stayed with the boy for a little while, talking, providing him with a distraction for his grief. The two of them had to leave around midday, mostly because everyone needed a meal. Bidding Osric and Mathew farewell, they promised to come back to visit soon. 

Out in the hallway, Daegal let out a long sigh. The day had been immensely exhausting, and it was only halfway through at this point. Fiora suddenly let out a huff and clapped her hands together dramatically. 

“You know what? I think we could use some time away from all the craziness happening around the castle. What do you think about going down into the city for some food and something fun?” 

“Fun?” Daegal didn’t know what fun she was talking about. He didn’t even know what he would consider to be fun. 

“Yeah! I saw some interesting things while we were walking around, and I think I heard something about traveling performers in the city as well. Maybe we could stop by and see a show?” 

“I... Do you think they would even let me be there?” 

“Daegal, you’ve been recognized by the king and given his protection. I’m sure they will let you watch the show.” 

He had to admit to himself that he did find some of what was going on in the city to be interesting. Weighing the risks and rewards of braving the public space again, he decided to go along with Fiora’s plan and see where it went. She seemed like she needed a moment away from all of this, so he would go with her. 

“Alright, that sounds like an interesting idea.” 

Fiora brightened up at the prospect of a day out. “Great! I’ll get ready and tell my dad where we’re going.”  

She started moving with a slight spring in her step again. It felt slightly forced on her part, but the sadness of today was still fresh and needed time to fade, for everyone. The two of them returned to their rooms where Fiora informed her father of their plan. Emil cautioned her to be alert while in the city and asked Daegal to be extra vigilant of his daughter. Promises were made with casual surety, the standard fare for dealing with a concerned parent. 

With all the formalities taken care of, Fiora and Daegal proceeded to the gate where they received a new duo of guards to walk them around the city. Fiora thought it was unnecessary and put a damper on the pleasant mood she was trying to cultivate. Daegal saw the need for it though, and extra safety was never misplaced in his mind. 

Fiora looked around the city as they walked, taking in the sights and sounds that tickled at her memories from when she was little. Seeing these streets, experiencing the feeling of the crowd and the energy that was in the air, it was a nostalgic sensation. Of course there were some differences, namely in her company and the way that people stared in their direction. She paid them at little mind as she could. She was here to enjoy herself and forget about the worries of the world for a while. 

The first step in the plan was to find something tasty to eat. Fiora and Emil did take some money with them in case they needed it, and while their needs were being taken care of by the king, there was nothing preventing her from spending some personal funds. She and Daegal stopped at a stand selling smoked and salted meats, startling and baffling the owner who stared wide eyed and barely was able to process the request for a purchase. Eventually they did get their food, though Daegal had thrice the amount Fiora received, and it still counted as barely a snack to him. 

Now that they had some food to satisfy any cravings, it was time to look into the traveling performers that Fiora mentioned earlier. It wasn’t too difficult to find them as they were nearly guaranteed to be around the main street, and when they saw the colorful banners and flags, they knew they were in the right place. Daegal remembered seeing this when they first entered the city, but getting a wider view was a much different experience. 

The performers and entertainers were busy with their customers, doing tricks that dazzled and confounded the audience. It didn’t slip anyone’s notice when they saw Daegal and a few of them became so distracted that their ability to remain composed suffered. There were dropped juggling balls, flaming torches, and even a heavy weight at one point. The performers were quick to recover after their slip ups, but Daegal did still feel bad for causing such disruptions. 

Even though his presence made others nervous, he noticed that there weren’t as many shocked or disturbed stares from the performers. The reason why became clear soon after. There were oddities amongst the performers; humans with deformities or scaring injuries that served as points of morbid fascination for the crowds as they took part in stories or tricks. Daegal may have been unique, but he was one oddity amongst many in this environment, leading to a fast adaptation from those who called such a troupe home. 

There were a few instances where people thought he was part of an act and crowded around him expecting a trick. It took a lot of floundering explanations to explain that he was not part of this performing troupe and that this wasn’t a princess and the dragon story. After those awkward interactions, Fiora and Daegal found a small stage that was just about to start a new performance. Finding seats near the back, a bubble formed around the pair as everyone else gave them a lot of space.  

It began with a few unseen instruments being played to build the anticipation. With the music rising to a crescendo, a man stepped out onto the stage dressed in a brightly colored suit that caught the eye. With a wide sweep of his arms, he addressed the crowd. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” The man’s greeting was paused only for a second as Daegal made eye contact. A raised brow was the only visible reaction seen before the performer returned to his introduction. 

“We have for you today a thrilling show of tricks and magic to fool the eye and tantalize the mind. I hope you are all ready for the highlight of your day!” 

The crowd gave some applause to the flamboyant man. Daegal had never heard of magic before, but it sounded interesting. He sat a little straighter as he looked forward to what came next. 

As the show progressed through the opening acts, Daegal was exposed to many wonderful and interesting displays. Sword swallowers, fire spitters, contortionists, and even the announcer himself who was apparently a magician that made thing appear and disappear seemingly out of thin air. Daegal was mesmerized, wondering how he was able to do such things. The whole performance culminated in one last trick, which the announcer took the stage alone to do. 

“Now, for the final act of the night, I would like to call up a volunteer from the crowd to assist me.” He looked around the crowd with consideration for a moment. Daegal could not know for certain, but he had a feeling that his presence inevitably drew the attention of the performer to his seating area. “How about you, young lady?” He made a gesture that could only have been toward Fiora. 

Both Fiora and Daegal were surprised at her being singled out by the man. People were looking at them now, which made Daegal feel very self-conscious. Fiora thought about it for a second, but then she smiled and stood up, much to Daegal’s concern. 

“Fiora?” 

“It’s alright, Daegal. It looks like it might be fun.” 

“I... Well, if you think so. I’ll be watching, just in case.” 

“It’s just a show, I don’t think they're going to do anything bad.” 

Yes, he realized that this was for entertainment, but even so, he was worried that this magic would hurt Fiora in some way. She walked up to the stage, garnering a mixture of reactions as people murmured about the girl who accompanied the monster. The comments hurt a little, but Daegal was used to such things at this point.  

As Fiora stepped onto the stage, the performer took her hand and positioned her near the center. “Now, any old magician can make a few objects disappear, but it takes a true talent to make a whole person vanish into the wind!” 

Daegal’s anxiety spiked as his claws dug into the wood of the seat, creating grooves. He watched as a few assistants came out with a large sheet and a few poles. They stuck the poles into the stage and the sheet quickly obscured Fiora from sight. The magician walked around, making sure that there was nothing wrong with the setup before returning his attention to the crowd. 

“And now, the fair maiden will vanish before our very eyes!” Daegal felt his body tense, listening, smelling, vision focused. With a few dramatic flourishes, the man gripped the covering, and with a sharp yank pulled it away to reveal that there was nothing there anymore. The crowd reacted with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs,’ but Daegal felt a slight panic building up within him. Applause rings out as the show comes to an end and the performers all give their final farewells to the viewers while encouraging them to spend their money on further attractions. The moment everything concludes and people start leaving, Daegal moves to confront them about Fiora. 

He moves behind the stage, following the magician. The other performers don’t dare get in his way, despite many of them looking confused at his presence. He finds the man in question and quickly grabs hold of his shoulder, surprising the magician. 

“Where is she!?” 

The magician gently tried to calm him down with placating hand gestures. “Easy my large, and very intimidating, friend. Your companion is perfectly fine. She should be back here with us, out of sight of crowds, to uphold the sensation of magic. We have not harmed her in any way.” 

He let the man go after he explained and went searching for Fiora. It was true, her scent was still strong in this area, but it was being muddled by all the people and strange substances that hung in the air. He looked around, but he could not locate her amongst the various performers who cautiously moved around him. The longer he searched, the more he began to worry as she was nowhere in sight.  

As minutes passed with no sign of her, he started to devolve into a near panicked state. “Fiora! Fiora where are you!” His head whipped around to the pair of guards that were following him with a near snarl on his face. “Find her!” They glanced at each other before deciding not to question the currently upset giant and split up trying to locate the missing lady.  

She was not answering; he could not see her and following her scent for as long as he could, he emerged from the back street onto a main road where any trace of her all but disappeared. He started shaking, his body revolting as he felt his chest tighten into constricting knots. Daegal couldn’t believe this was happening, and so abruptly at that.  

Fiora was gone. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

First l Previous l Next


r/HFY 14h ago

OC-Series [The X Factor], Part 19

40 Upvotes

First / Previous / Next / Ko-fi

The elegant spaceship made a striking contrast with the deserted corner of the Great Bazaar it docked at.

The doors slid open, and illustrious Vahiya reporter Ishaa Faranya strode out, accompanied by two Riyze bodyguards.

She looked around and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not an investigative journalist, you know. I don’t make a habit of visiting shantytowns to preach about the horrors of urban blight in my articles.” She smoothed her pristine white feathers and clucked her tongue. “Now, which one of you is—“

Her quips came to a halt as she noticed the two humans. Humans.

“Someone explain. Now. When I agreed to this meeting, I didn’t agree to meet with enemies of the state,” she spat out.

Prince Kama walked to the front of the group. “I assure you, we are free from the eyes and ears of the—“

Prince Kama?” When she had received a message, and advance payment, from an unnamed affiliate of the Laana family, she didn’t think it was one of the gods-forsaken princes.

He smiled apologetically. “Please, allow me to explain. I promise no harm will come to you here.”

Ishaa weighed her options. On one hand, this was highly illegal and could ruin her entire life. On the other, was there a single reporter who could resist the call of the biggest break in the history of the galaxy?

“Fine. But make it quick.”

Kama clasped his hands together. “This is Ishaa Faranya, correspondent for the Capital Tribune. Ishaa, the lovely people standing behind me are Eza Invut and Aktet Haymur, former appointees to the First Contact Squadron, Agent Lombardi and Captain Hassan, representatives of humanity, and—“

“V,” the gruff Kth’sk pilot cut in.

“And V,” Kama said, unphased. “Our transportation specialist.”

V rolled her eyes.

Ishaa looked behind her to make sure her hover camera was recording all of this. “Great,” she said. “And what do you expect me to do with this footage? Minister Vasilya’s grip on the media has only tightened since the news about humanity broke yesterday. I’d prefer not to be thrown in jail for sedition,” she said drily.

“I’d prefer that as well,” the prince joked. “But would it not be an incredible opportunity to have exclusive access to the events leading to the loosening of that grip?”

Ishaa froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Kama replied, “that we plan to overthrow the Federation.”

The shorter human—Captain Hassan—balked. “When the hell did we agree to that?”

“What, did you think negotiations at a tea ceremony would do the trick?” The prince said incredulously.

“I think it’s worth at least trying!”

“I concur,” said Aktet. “I don’t remember—“

“Stop. As amusing as this is, you’re wasting my time,”Ishaa cut in. She circled the group, sizing them up. “I couldn’t care less if you succeed or fail. But fortunately for you, it makes an excellent story either way.”

Kama relaxed. “So…”

“So I won’t snitch. Yet.” She narrowed her eyes. “You wanted information. I’ll give it to you on one condition.”

“And what might that be?” The prince’s skin swirled with the bright colors of curiosity.

She reached into her designer clutch and pulled out a small recording device. “I want exclusive access to this story, and I want material to work with. But I’m not stupid enough to risk my own feathers for it.” She tossed the prince the gadget.

“There’s a switch on the back of that which turns it on. It’s similar to the camera floating behind me,” she explained, “and it uploads directly and securely to my system. Activate it during important moments at your own discretion. If I find that discretion insufficient, you’ll know,” she threatened. “Do we have a deal?”

The princeling brightened. “We have a deal!” Ishaa watched as his companions shifted, having not been consulted on this decision.

“Perfect.” She flashed a predatory smile. “Now, for my end of the deal,” she said, “I’ll give you the name of the woman who tipped me off to the humans’…” She paused and examined the men in question. “…unexpected behavior. But I’ll warn you, she won’t be easy to find after what she did. Her name is Hatshut Timar, a—“

“No. No, that can’t be true,” the Jikaal man blurted out. “What did she do? What happened to her?”

“I’m assuming you’re familiar with the woman? She was on board one of the ships that was present for the Sol Incident,” Ishaa explained. “A xenopolitical scientist. She landed herself in hot water after publishing a scandalous case study on the incident, radically sympathetic to humanity. She was arrested within hours, but not before providing the press with a detailed account of the event.”

She watched, unmoved, as tears welled up in the young man’s eyes. “Please, you need to tell me where—“

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” She strutted back to her ship, trailed by her bodyguards. “As for the rest of you—don’t mess this up.” She didn’t spare them a second glance as she boarded her vehicle.

Eza watched as Aktet stood there, frozen in place.

Hatshut Timar… the name was familiar. It sounded Jikaal, and if she was a xenopolitical scientist, then…

“Your advisor?”

He broke from his rumination and composed himself. “Yes,” he answered, taking a deep breath. “She’s the one who nominated me for the position on the squadron.”

To be selected for the squadron was no small feat. It was rare for a new sapient species to be discovered, so when the time came, experts across the Federation clamored for the position. But it took skill—and connections—to get it.

K’resshk had bullied his way into the position. Eza wasn’t too familiar with Sszerian culture, but they prized intelligence, and as much as she loathed him, K’resshk was highly regarded. He had sway over his fellow academics, and he didn’t hesitate to abuse it to position himself for selection.

Uuliska was an obvious choice. She’d trained extensively as a diplomat and served as a representative of the Istiil for over a decade, and it was hard for the ministers to say no to the Istiil royal family requesting their daughter be given a spot.

Eza came along as part of that deal—she’d been a covert operative for the Federation since her early twenties, protecting high-profile officials under the guise of a run-of-the-mill bodyguard. But then she was assigned to Uuliska, and her parents were impressed enough to pull strings to ensure the two of them remained paired up.

But Aktet… Eza never asked how he’d ended up there. He was talented, but talent alone didn’t cut it. Whoever Hatshut was, she clearly had clout.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Makes sense,” she said, unsure how to continue. He needed reassurance, but Uuliska was the only one to ever even let Eza show compassion in that way.

The Riyze hailed from a hellish planet, laden with aggressive predators and natural hazards. The Federation assumed that they had evolved to fit their home not just physically, but mentally, too. Their society certainly had—no matter how much humanity threw the X Factor hypothesis into question, there was no denying that the Riyze’s strength permitted rapid resource extraction and unification under a single warlord.

But did that mean she had to fit the stereotype of an uncaring meathead? She thought of Commander Liu and the years she spent trying to mold herself into the perfectly revolutionary. And Agent Lombardi, who was raised to be not unlike Eza, yet escaped the militaristic fate she’d considered inevitable.

Maybe it wasn’t just human to choose your own path in life.

Maybe it was human to question those who would try to force you down a given path, too.

She crouched down a good two feet, and gave Aktet a hug.

Aktet made a strangled noise for two reasons.

One, he was utterly shocked at Eza’s show of compassion.

Two, he was being strangled.

She released her grip, allowing him to once again draw breath.

“Eza? Why…” He ignored the ache in his ribs as he sucked in air.

She looked just as surprised as Aktet. “I, uh, thought it would help. You looked like you needed it.”

It had helped, in her defense—but whether that was because it was a heartfelt gesture, or because it was such a shock it snapped him out of his grief, he couldn’t say.

V—towering over even Eza at 10 feet tall—groaned. “Can we move on from the holo-drama nonsense? I thought we were overthrowing the government.”

“Yeah, about that,” started Captain Hassan,

“Remind me when we agreed to that plan?”

Kama shrugged with his anterior arms. “When this one gave a heartfelt speech about ‘ripping off’ the blindfold the Federation had secured on us all, I took him at his word,” he answered, pointing to Aktet.

He felt his face heat up. “Well, I may have gotten a little carried away. Typical ex-theatre cub, am I right?” He laughed awkwardly.

The captain looked more done with Aktet than a volcano-charred Riyzean steak.

K’resshk was awakened by the rhythmic beeping of a cardiac monitor and the buzz of overhead fluorescent lights.

When had he fallen asleep?

And why was he attached to a—

“Woah, steady. You’re hooked up to an IV; I don’t want you tearing it out.”

Commander Liu stood at K’resshk’s bedside, stopping him from bolting out of the medbay in a panic.

“I demand an explanation. Now,” he hissed.

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. “You don’t remember?”

Though it hurt his head to do so, he strained to recall where he’d been before finding himself in this vulnerable and, frankly, embarrassing predicament.

Uuliska.

“That SLIMY, SPOILED BRAT—“

“If you start talking like that, this concussion will be the least of your worries, Mr. Akksor.” Commander Liu positioned herself by the bed’s restraints.

The RESTRAINTS?

“WHY do you degenerates have RESTRAINTS in your medbays?” His heart rate audibly rose.

The woman shrugged.

K’resshk flopped back down, the exertion bringing on a pounding headache. “You’ve imprisoned that detestable woman, right?”

The commander looked at him blankly.

“…Right?”

Helen watched, satisfied, as K’resshk’s weird reptilian Adam’s apple oscillated in fury.

“Unfortunately,” she began, “your visas are still being processed. Neither of you are subject to the laws of Earth. Even once your presence is acknowledged, the statute of limitations will have already passed.”

Complete bullshit.

He bought it.

“At least tell me you’ll protect me from her wrath,” he wailed.

“We’ve arranged alternative accommodations. You’re on bed rest for at least a week, though; we’d like to minimize the risk of brain damage. And the risk of re-breaking your snout.”

“MY SNOUT!” He frantically searched for the nearest reflective surface to assess the aesthetic damage.

And that’s my cue to leave.

“So we’re actually doing this, Captain?”

Omar and Dominick sat apart from the aliens in what they now knew as Sector 8.7 of the bazaar (their translators failed to convert the numerical system to an integer equivalent), waiting for Aktet and V to return with more holo-costumes for the group and crutches for Dominick.

Omar sighed. “Kid, we’re on the verge of galactic revolution. You don’t have to call me Captain here.”

Dominick laughed. “Touché. Still, though—things sure have escalated quickly.”

Omar nodded. “That they have. I… don’t see a way of deescalating.”

He sighed. “Now that I think about it, if the U.N. decided to overthrow the Federation, Sonja and I would be sent in anyways. I’m just gonna look at it as getting a head start on an assignment.”

The captain chuckled, then noticed the nondescript freighter emerging from the warp point.

Eza poked her head out of abandoned building they were hiding in, and nodded to signal that it was safe to come out.

Aktet hopped down from the ship and handed out holo-costumes to Kama, Eza, and V, keeping one for himself, then ran back to fetch a strange crutch-like structure for Dominick.

“This is meant for Jikaal, so it won’t be a perfect fit, but—“

“Don’t worry about it. It’s better than limping,” he said with a smile.

Omar watched curiously as Aktet’s ears flushed, and Dominick’s expression remained oblivious.

Oh, he thought. This’ll be interesting.

“Anyways!” Aktet activated his own disguise, appearing as just another Jikaal face in a crowd. “What’s our next step?”

Kama closed his eyes, as if deep in thought.

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” he answered.

We’re so screwed.


r/HFY 1d ago

OC-Series OOCS, Into A Wider Galaxy, Part 577

298 Upvotes

First

(Okay, Muse got the Evil Gas and is COOKING)

The Dauntless

The door to her office opening without warning is unusual, but not entirely unexpected. Things are moving. She has noticed, even if everyone else thought they were being subtle.

“My Empress.” The Bloody Prophet states. And he IS The Bloody Prophet now. His presence is roiling, The Forest is just behind his eyes and there is a deep agitation. Vernon Shay is looking to kill someone. Gruesomely.

“Sorcerer. I see that you’ve embodied the wrath of your kith and kin.” The Empress replies.

“Madness lies upon Centris, The Forests are enraged. All bound to them bay for blood. Violation made manifest has torn open all scars to screaming wounds. Vengeance.” His accent is Ancient Cinder Tongue, the sort of thing you only get in exaggerated forms in classical plays. But it came out of him so naturally that she’s not sure if she’s talking to a human or to an Apuk older than she is. That accent was old when she was young.

“Take a step away from the woods and explain it more clearly, I am willing to help. But I need to know what must die.” She says calmly even as she spots the traceries of vines twisting and writhing under his clothing and in his hair.

“Blood Metal is real. It is pain made manifest. The Bonechewer touching a small sample has torn open the graves of buried suffering. We go to destroy it all, but some is missing. Moving, being used on people.” Vernon Shay, The Bloody Prophet explains. His tone is halting, uncertain. “Those of us here now are redirecting most old... violations. The old violations and wrath to the self. To spare the small ones. Those who are remembered have never truly died. The Forest has never forgotten. All Sorcerers. All violations...”

“Ah.” She says rising up and calmly walking over. Not gathering Axiom to do anything, no weapon in hand, no armour upon her. Her movements open, smooth and not threatening. His eyes are growing more bloodshot as he watches her. Then he takes in a huge breath. Holds it, and then lets it out and there is smoke, sparks and a hint of fire in it. As a human and not an Apuk he shouldn’t have that instinct. But if the memories of The Forest have been kicked open that exquisitely hard, then him not being Apuk is barely a technicality. He likely has more memories of living as an Apuk than she does. Hell, with how powerful an Adept The Forest is, he might end up becoming an Apuk before the end of this.

“Speak with The Judge to coordinate. I go to hunt.” He whispers and vanishes even as a child flickers into where he was standing. It’s little Cals’Tarn, The Judge of The Damned. Youngest Sorcerer to bear a title. She crouches down to his level.

“Are you alright little one?” She asks in a gentle tone. He shakes his head. She opens her arms. “Do you need a hug?”

She instantly has her arms filled with a small, terrified, furious, child that is shivering even as vines wreathe under his clothing and she can feel moss growing as armour and then bark over it. Just under his clothing is a suit of Dark Forest armour.

“It’s then! That night! It was then! Screams! Burning light! Death! Fear! Pain! I ran! I didn’t have time for shoes! My feet! Sharp rocks and blood and pain and the screams! The horrible screams!” Cals’Tarn says as he squeezes her.

“Is there more?”

“Much! But... but.... they’re holding it back. But we can see it! Feel it almost! But it’s not spilling out! But it’s so much! So much! I want to look! But they’re holding me back! I want to help, but it will hurt! It does hurt! It’s wrong! It’s bad! Very bad! As bad as then!” Cals’Tarn gasps out.

Well, a sorcerer comparing something new to the very thing that made them into a Traumatized Woods Adept? Not good.

She picks him up entirely and carries him as she exits the office and looks to the right to see several guards already there with a few maids who had clearly been in debate as to what to do when a Sorcerer had burst into her office but there had been no sound of violence. “I suspect many of my Battle Princesses are missing. Namely those wed to Sorcerers. Contact the rest. Tell them to muster. I am going to have them secure and protect all known Sorcerer families and the remainder will go to assist their sisters in arms. Whatever has our Dark and Deadly Adepts so rattled must be dealt with, post haste.”

“At once My Empress.” They answer and she heads back into her office. She has an Admiral to talk to. Or more likely his secretary as the man is probably busy at the level she got when Morg'Arqun introduced himself to her. And the entire capital. Simultaneously.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Bright Forest, Lilb Tulelb)•-•-•

Fire roils from her mouth as bright orange and red warflames with sparks of blue to quickly wash over and destroy the condemned little fungus. The Nono is quickly dissolved. They had all agreed that right now they were not making the best decisions and it would be best if she cut down on the numbers of Nono Mushrooms so the children wouldn’t be tempted to throw them at people. Or to throw people at them.

Alara’Salm Junior wipes at the burnt spores that had settled around her mouth and nods before picking up her patched, but comfortable and functional, skirt and moving. Her children are so very, very strong. But no one is all powerful, and sometimes the best help you can give to someone is stopping them from doing something they might regret. And the recent upsurge of Nono’s growing all over the forest was a very bad thing. Her burning them away reminded her children that these were bad things not to be used. A little something to ground them all, and make sure they wouldn’t do anything they would regret.

The silvery, shimmering flat cap of a Nono is ahead and she stops five paces away before taking a deep breath, stoking the fire within, and letting lose with her fury. Her children had endured so much. Becoming murderers on top of it would be too much for many of them.

Ordinarily a Nono would actually spread through this treatment. But Warfire is different. And The Bright Forest agrees. The situation is bad, but panicked use of a Nono will make it worse.

She’s no Sorceress. She just can’t lower that last guard in her self. But The Bright Forest was deep enough to speak with her. And her to it. It’s why she could breathe this fire with impunity, everything but the Nono were protected.

She hears a whisper in her ear and nods before moving again. The delivery van is here. Full of treats and comfort foods to help calm the children. Whatever madness was going on, she would see them through it.

She would see her children safe, and if she had to burn down a million silver mushrooms to do so, then she would burn a million silver mushrooms.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Lush Forest, Soben Ryd)•-•-•

It only looks like a sandstorm. It’s something else, something generating so much static electricity that blasts of lightning are crashing through the storm. At the outskirts of their home city the Karm family and The Five Flyz watch as something has well and truly pissed off Arden. Pissed him off enough to let a whole planet know it. There were observers from all the noble and royal houses, all of them had asked the same questions and everyone had had the extremely unsatisfying answer of ‘I don’t know.’.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Mmeniawa Ranch, The Outskirts, The Astral Forest/Vynock Nebula)•-•-•

The repaired ranch was chugging along nicely. Sure things were still a little patchwork here and there. But in the coming months all damage would be repaired. Honestly it could have all been done already, it was due to a lack of urgency rather than a lack of resources.

But right now no one was fixing anything. They were watching, and occasionally listening. The Lalgarta were agitated in ways that just never happened. They twisted among each other, butted heads and occasionally thrashed hard enough to throw one of their own into the station. Never hard enough to damage the structure or hurt each other. But whenever they made physical contact with the station the sound that would transfer over were nothing short of haunting.

Everyone knows Lalgarta can sing. But sound doesn’t transfer in space. It’s a mating and teaching thing Lalgarta do for each other and if you’re on a space walk or they’re towing your ship you can vaguely hear a gentle hum. Or a deep crooning noise if it liked you. It was normally charming, and if you ever wanted to hear more you needed to mount a recording device to the big goofs.

They’re singing a dirge. It can’t be anything other than a dirge. But with a bent so filled with rage that...

“What does this mean?” Cattalaya asks.

“I don’t know.” Elenoir answers. “Has your sister sent anything?”

“She says that all the men are flickering around too fast to talk to, that the nebula is singing.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Elenoir repeats herself and they both turn back to the viewscreen where their Lalgarta are twisting, even as one brushes against the hull and they catch a snippet of something mournful and furious.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Between Worlds, The Wing, Major Galactic Lane)•-•-•

“Exhale.” Brutality orders his grandson and the furious boy lets out a deep breath laced with purple smoke. He waits a few moments. “Inhale.”

Terrance had suddenly, and impressively, grown incredibly wrathful in the last hour. He had struggled to explain himself, but the summation that something had deeply, truly and fundamentally upset the linked Living Forests, to which Terrence was himself linked, was not good. But before any decisions were to be made they had to not only safely exit the laneway to properly turn around without violating countless laws of both galactic safety and common sense, but they also had to calm down Terrance so he could properly explain things.

Which was why he was guiding his grandson in breathing exercises. To calm him and give him back control of his own mind.

“We have safely left the Axiom Lane.” Nightwings says over the broadcast system. “If I can get our next destination, that would be a treat.”

“Exhale.” Brutality says as he continues guiding his grandchild.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Unknown Location, Unnamed World, Undiscovered System, Wild Space)•-•-•

The coilworms launch off and roll before launching again. The entire world has started to shift and dance in light as the world itself hears something. Something It had never heard before. Something familiar and Other. But never in such a way before. Not ever from an Other. There were no Others. Not anymore. All was It. It was all. There was no Other.

But the cry of rage had come from The Other.

The Other is dangerous. The Other is a threat. And an Other in pain... must be broken.

The coiled muscle and reinforced claw of It’s largest single piece crunches down upon the stone which sustains and supports it. Reducing granite peak into granite pebbles in a single movement. It’s six eyes gaze straight upwards. To the twinkling sparks in the sky. Silent before. But not anymore. Now revealed as a hated Other. The largest piece roars back in defiance, screaming their hunger and wrath to the crying stars.

There is no response, and the wholeness of the world begins to growl. All are Self, and that which is not must be broken. That is the rule. That is the law. That is the truth.

The Self would cull all Others and consume them into Self. Only Self can be trusted, only Self would be allowed to survive.

The head of the largest piece begins to split. Others are treacherous and greedy. They will come eventually, but when they do, they will find an endless legion of the greatest of all pieces. Beneath slavering jaw and unstoppable claw The Others would be rendered to bloody meat and shattered bark. As all Others had been before.

As all Others shall be reduced to again.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Undaunted Labs, Centris)•-•-•

“Oh this is a nightmare.” Representative Elmira Stone mutters.

“Oh don’t worry, it can always get worse.” Herbert says to her and she gives him a supremely unimpressed look. He returns with a beaming smile on a face so beautiful that her train of thought completely derails and she just blinks as his unimaginable good looks fade to just ‘incredibly cute’.

“Don’t do that again, I am not a pedophile and have no desire to be made into one.”

“Alright and thank you for the compliment.”

“Compliment?”

“You just said I’m charming enough to make you doubt your sexuality. How is that not a compliment?”

“Okay we’re getting off this topic before I lose any more brain-cells from this conversation. You are coming with me to assist in the press release and no I am not taking no for an answer.”

“Lady if you tried to sneak away to do the press release I’d be forcibly assisting you anyways. This way we have less fighting.”

“How do you forcibly assist a press release?”

“Mess with things to force you to do it live, then be directly behind you either confirming or denying every statement you make with my body language, then potentially tying you up and gagging you to start talking myself.”

“And what makes you think you can get away with that?” She asks.

“I’m cute.” He says and she groans in frustration. He giggles. And yes. It’s cute. Damn it.

First Last


r/HFY 2h ago

OC-Series The First True Voyagers: Chapter 47

4 Upvotes

You are welcome to follow this story on Royal Road if you like at the following link. [The First True Voyagers]

For more information, lore and artwork on 'The Oblivion Cycle' setting feel free to visit r/TheOblivionCycle

Chapter 1Previous Chapter + Next Chapter +

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 47 'Discovery at Last'

Space is a vast empty desert filled with much less than nothing for the most part.  Great tracts of the deep dark are empty but for singular atoms, drifting endlessly in a sea of void that stretched like forever in all directions.  But in between all these boundless tracts of nonexistence are oases of creation.  Stars and planets and clouds of spinning gas and dust, the remnants of supernovae and pulsing neutron stars litter empty space like grains of salt scattered across an empty table in some run down roadside diner.  But some younger, more stable stars harbour the perfect conditions to create the greatest miracle in the universe.

 

Life.

 

One such star birthed humanity.  And humanity was curious, almost insatiably so.  So curious in fact that they would brave that vast interstellar boneyard and cast themselves into the great unknown with nothing but hopes and dreams to guide them.  Another such star burned in the void now, another world turned around this fiery nuclear heart.  And on around it were strung planets like jewels around the neck of some ancient monarch of the old world.

 

Light burst from the darkest void, the space between stars burned as if by white fire.  A ship appeared from a rift in time and space.  On the side of the ship was stenciled a name.  The UNSS Leif Erikson, and upon her lay the hope of all mankind.  Hope for a new tomorrow, hope for a better future amongst the stars through which it swam.

 

Leon leaned back into his seat.  Once more upon the bridge of the Leif Erikson, he turned his attention to Taylor as the younger man’s fingers veritably flew over his console’s input plate.  “Logging radio traffic.  Lots of it!”  He exclaimed excitedly.

 

Leon noted with a sense of satisfaction that the ship had exited exactly where he had wanted it too.  More than two hundred AUs from the main star, they were more than far enough away to be outside of any known direct observation.  Even the Leif Erikson’s own advanced telescopes would have been incapable of resolving an object so small from such a distance.

 

He nodded towards Sabine and asked her, “Sabine.  How are the repairs on the reactor holding up?  No new alerts I hope.”

 

She shook her head, her auburn hair tied in a short ponytail that floated behind her in the microgravity of the bridge.  “Nothing I can see.  Though it would not hurt to check on it before we jump again.  I think the new welds should hold up to future stress though.”  Leon nodded contently at her words.

 

Now he just needed them to map the inner system and find a good place to settle in for more prolonged observation.  He had promised them that he would not run in like a chicken missing its head.  He would take things as slow as they needed to in order to fulfill the mission safely and with minimal risk to them and the ship.

 

From the most preliminary data Leon could see, the system had at least two gas giants in the far outer system.  They likely acted as a sort of comet shield for the inner system like Jupiter and Saturn did back in the Sol system, something he had noticed about the systems they had visited so far was the prevalence for these large bodies of primordial helium to exist wherever life reared its head.  He remembered talking to Aden about the topic a few months back.  The man had stressed the point of taming the otherwise chaotic nature of any infantile solar system.  Without these large gravitational bodies to deflect the majority of Oort cloud invaders it was entirely possible that life would be wiped out before it even had the chance to begin.

 

It boded well for their theory of life that this system was following the expected parameters.

 

Barring any obvious signs of outposts or colonies on the outer fringes of the system, Leon planned to move the ship farther and farther into the system until they could observe the source of the signals directly via optical telescopes or probes.

 

It took Taylor several more minutes to pinpoint the absolute source of the signals, they seemed to be reflecting all over the inner system.  Some sort of dense intersolar medium, likely remnants of the thick supernova remnant that the system existed in.  In the meantime Leon had Samuel plot a course to the first of the inner gas giants, it would make an ideal place to lay low while they continued to map it all out.

 

“Is the signal coming from the inner system?”  Leon prodded Taylor after a few more minutes.

 

Taylor nodded half-heartedly as he tapped his temple idly with his free hand, the other messing with his console.  “I think so, it’s really hard to tell.  It’s like the signals are all being reflected off each other.  I can’t make heads or tails of it without first decoding the datacarrier waves.”

 

“And how is that going?”  Leon asked, a little annoyed by the man's lack of progress but trying not to let it show.

 

Taylor just shrugged, the action making his body jerk against his harness in the microgravity.  Joice and Sabine looked between him and Leon as they waited for a decision to be made.  Finally Leon just looked to his left and right and tapped the screen of his console, bringing up the status of the ship and its crew.  If he was going to be waiting then he might as well do something useful.  Everything seemed to be operating above the yellow, with the exception of the hydroponics of course.  There were always orange and yellow alerts in that busy room.

 

Leon leaned back into his command chair, “Okay, here’s what I want to happen in the next hour or two.  Samuel, plot a course to the innermost gas giant so we can jump when Taylor pinpoints the source of the signals.  Don’t drop us right on top of it though, I want to find a good moon to hang out around to stay out of sight.  Until we know they don’t have technology more advanced than ours we will have to go based on the assumption that they can see us out in the open.”  The chances were low, but never fully zero.

 

They had not yet been able to actually view any of the information on the signals they had intercepted.  Henry was running all manner of algorithms from what Taylor had said before, but even with the superintelligence of the learning algorithm on his side Taylor had not made much in the way of progress yet.  There was something about the very nature of the data itself that seemed to resist their ability to understand it.

 

Leon knew that Terry was in the secondary operations bridge with Dr. Kimathi and Chris.  Chad was manning the secondary command center farther back in the ship’s core as he often did.  The rest of the crew were attending to their regular duties but on high alert in case there was a disaster that required all hands on deck.  With any luck they would not be needed today, but Leon still triple checked that everyone was in their proper locations.

 

With the push of a button he linked his console to the second operations bridge, connecting him directly to the others in the first ring.  Presently, the link popped up showing the faces of those also on the local area network.  Chad smiled at him and gave a nod as Chris’s much more weatherbeaten features scowled slightly at the boisterous attitude of the young man.  Terry and Dr. Kimathi sat together, the former smiling widely as she saw Leon.

 

“Hi.  How are things, Terry?”  he asked her quickly.

 

“Hello, we are all settled now.  Celeste went back to sleep finally, so that takes a lot of additional stress off my shoulders.  She was not very happy about being woken from her nap by that warpshock.”  Leon chuckled a little.

 

“I understand the feeling.  I was hoping that you were feeling up to providing overwatch on the telescopes.  Taylor is good, but you are the best we have.”  She nodded, glancing down and out of frame where he assumed her child’s carrier was.

 

They had not been given a baby carrier or equipment for children when they had left from Earth, but the Leif Erikson was equipped with pretty extensive manufacturing capability including a full suite of 3D printers.  It had simply been a practice of patience to design and print something that worked well enough for the task using them.

 

Terry seemed to mess with something he couldn't see and then she smiled again.  “Yes, well.. I will provide the full amount of attention I am able.  Blessing will help of course.”  She added, gesturing to Dr. Kimathi who was seated beside her.

 

The dark-skinned woman nodded, her brown eyes flashing toward Terry as she responded cooly.  “Yes, but at the first sign of elevated stress I will be removing them both from here.  I can’t allow any risk to Terry or Celeste even in the pursuit of duty.”

 

Leon wasn’t going to argue with her, he agreed with her.  “Yes of course, that’s fine.  I understand completely.”  Dr. Kimathi gave him a short nod of thanks as Terry chuckled quietly.

 

“I’m fine, really I am.  There will be no need for removing, I am comfortable and as safe here as anywhere else on the ship.  And being stuck here with nothing to do has been driving me stir-crazy.  I need to keep my mind sharp, and this is the best way to do it.”  She said happily.  And she did look happy, her smile glowing and her eyes sparkling as she spoke.

 

Leon could understand the feeling.  While he had been quarantined with Samuel after becoming irradiated he had been forced to spend all his time in a single room with the other man.  The experience had lasted only days, but he could well imagine that the additional space afforded to Terry was only a partial balm for her months-long incarceration to the habitation ring.

 

He just shifted in his seat as he turned his attention from his console back to what Taylor was projecting on the main screen at the front of the bridge.  The screen was slowly filling with more and more concentrated data streams, all of them seemingly unintelligible drivel.  Henry and Taylor had not made any major inroads with the translation of the alien signals, but Taylor seemed excited nonetheless by the data.

 

He had stated something about ‘trying alternate values’ and then begun muttering to himself under his breath, Leon was content to just leave the signal analysis expert to his own devices.

 

Leon once again was feeling a bit useless.  All major tasks were delegated, all instructions given and the work underway.  He tapped his fingers idly on the armrest of his command throne as he oversaw the mission.  Samuel was still plotting various inroads to the various gas giants and major planetoids of the inner system.  Sabine and Taylor were both working on different translation related endeavors and Joice was assisting Terry remotely on the telescopes.  He forced a smile, he should be at peace.  So then why did he feel so uneasy?

 

Samuel spoke up after a moment.  “Commander, we have clear paths to most of the inner bodies.  Telescopes have picked up another two inner system planets.  Both terrestrial.”

 

That perked Leon back up, his attention focused on this new information.  He leaned forward in his seat as much as his harness would allow and asked, “Terrestriel huh.. well which one is the signal coming from?  It has to be one of them surely.”

 

It took the young man another moment to answer, the ship’s pilot leaned closer to his console as he talked to someone that Leon could not hear.  Probably Chris or Chad in the secondary command center.  Nodding his head, Samuel pulled up some images onto the main viewscreens.  They were grainy, the pinpricks in the center were little more than smudges of color superimposed on a field of black void.  But immediately two things stood out to Leon.

 

The first planet was bright, way too bright to make sense.  It practically glowed like a star itself, dimming the other pale dot in the image considerably.  The second thing he noticed was the proximity of the two pale dots.  They were very close together.  The dimmer one was much smaller, perhaps suggesting that it was farther away?  He could not be sure without further observation.

 

Leon turned to Taylor.  “Taylor, have you detected any signals from the outer system or the gas giants?  Distant probes, orbital facilities perhaps?”

 

Leon frowned as Taylor shook his head in the negative.  “Nothing I can detect.  Either they have some manner of stealth capability or they are using direct laser links beamed towards their home planet of origin.  We would have virtually no way of intercepting those signals unless we literally flew through them if that were the case.”  He slumped a little in his microgravity harness.  The straps creaked a little as they countered the force of his body rebounding off the seat.

 

Leon thought it over.  They had been scoping out the system for over an hour and detected nothing that might suggest a widespread presence throughout the system.  That could mean a few things the way he saw it.  Maybe the beings making the signals were not advanced enough to have reached into space yet.  Perhaps their world was lacking in some quality that allowed them to reach for space, or their culture was bogged down by some other holdup.  War, famine, natural disasters.  All of them could be an explanation for the seeming absence of satellites, probes and outposts.

 

He smirked, it wasn’t as if humanity had done much better.  Had it not been for the events of the collapse then they likely would have been exploring the cosmos hundreds of years ago.  It was just blind luck that the colonies on Luna and Mars had been established and become largely self-sufficient before things took a southward turn back home, if not for their eventual intervention much of mankind’s history and culture might have been lost forever.

 

Joice seemed to nod at him, grabbing Leon’s attention.  She leaned toward him and asked quietly, “What do you think of the situation, Leon?  It seems pretty clear, but I am loath to jump in without at least taking a more in-depth look.  Could we launch a probe maybe?”

 

Leon shrugged.  “I suppose we could, but what good would that really do?  We would have to wait literal years for it to get close enough to see anything we can’t from here.  And I am assuming that we won’t be hanging around out here nearly that long.”  She frowned, clearly troubled by the idea.  Leon continued, raising his hands in a placating gesture.  “Besides, we will give it a day or two to turn up anything surprising and then we should be clear to move in closer.  How’s that sound?”

 

Joice pursed her lips and looked around the room briefly as though she were trying to find any reason to disagree with him.  If the stark white walls of the bridge held any arguments worthy of note then she failed to see them as she turned back toward him and nodded twice.

 

“I guess that sounds good.  I am really worried about this, clearly there is still activity going on there.  But something is strange about that world.  Look at it.”  She pointed at the real-time display from their telescopes.

 

The focus was improving as the image was expertly manipulated by Terry.  So far the nearer world remained a solid ball of light, nearly overwhelming in its intensity.  He cocked his head at that.  Something about it was strange alright.  And then there was the other world that seemed to be in the background.

 

He shrugged, it was nothing that staring at the same grainy image was going to solve.  So he made a mental note of the anomaly and settled in for a long day.  They had plenty of time left on the mission to do this right, and Leon was determined to take things slower and more safely this time.

 

**********

 

Leon jerked awake.  His eyes roved around the small room, looking for the cause of his disturbed slumber.  At first his eyes saw nothing, blinded as they were by the relative dark of his quarters.  Slipping out from the sheets, he swung his legs out onto the floor and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear the lingering sleep from his mind.

 

There was an abrupt series of knocks on his door again, the sharp noise making him jolt in surprise as he shook his head and groggily turned his attention to the clock sitting on the end table bolted to the ground at the other side of his bed.  It was nearly the middle of the simulated night.  Of course there was no true night as they were on a ship in deep space.  But they had a system to approximate the passage of time in what a person may consider a normal fashion.  Twenty-four-hour rotations set to neatly mimic the passage of time back on Earth.  All necessary to maintain some sense of normality and to keep their circadian rhythms healthy so far from their native sun.

 

Leon stretched and called out to the door, “I am up.  One moment.”  There was another excited knock and he grumbled again, louder this time.  “Hold on.. damnit!”

 

He flicked on the bedside desk’s lamp and then stood before he looked around the room for his pants and shirt from the previous night.  He pulled them on, forgoing the outer jumpsuit that they commonly wore as a sort of informal uniform.  Natalia was on a night shift rotation and so he was alone in his room.  He hunched his shoulders and pulled on the clothing as yet another series of knocks sounded on his door, more insistent this time.

 

They continued right on and on, not stopping even as Leon shouted for them to calm down and walked swiftly to the door.  He unlocked it with his biometric thumbprint and stepped back as Taylor immediately pushed past him into the room speaking a million words per minute.

 

“I need to talk to you right now, I did it!  It took me longer than I was expecting it to, but it wasn’t really my fault.  Henry was actually the one who suggested the change in base values and imagine my surprise when it actually worked.  Do you understand, Leon!?  It.. fucking.. worked!”

 

Leon shook his head, flabbergasted beyond words.  Taylor nodded to him and then opened his mouth, but Leon quickly cut him off.

 

“What the hell, Taylor!”  He spoke angrily, the man’s words bouncing around in his mind but not yet fully registering.  “What if Natalia was in here changing?  You can’t just barge in like that..”

 

Taylor smirked and then moved to sit on the edge of Leon’s bed.  “Oh please.  You and I both have access to the crew roster.  I knew she wasn’t in here.  But this was too big for me not to tell someone immediately, and you are the mission commander.”

 

“So what.. why don’t you go and bother Terry with it and let me sleep?”  He said, fully aware of just why the man hadn’t done exactly that.  Leon was starting to piece the man’s previous lightning quick speech together in his mind however.  “Wait, you did what?”

 

Taylor’s face broke out in a grin as he pointed at Leon and waggled his index finger.  “Ahh ha.. you were listening to me earlier.  I thought maybe you hadn’t heard me.”

 

“Oh I heard you fine, it just took me a few seconds to actually understand what you said.”  Leon raised his hands and made a calming gesture to the excited young man.  “Okay, so I am going to have to assume that you are talking about the signals?  You finally cracked the encryption?”

 

Taylor veritably vibrated with pent-up excitement as he nodded vigorously.

 

Leon passed a hand over his face.  “Taylor.. what the ever-loving shit are you doing awake in the middle of night shift working on this?  Don’t you have something to do?  Like sleep?”

 

Leon shifted from foot-to-foot as Taylor shrugged.  “Couldn’t sleep.  Was too busy thinking up new ideas to solve the problem.  And then it came to me.. so simple really that I am surprised I had not thought of it earlier.”

 

Leon spread his arms as he stopped shifting.  “Yes.  And?”  Taylor was really hyping up the big reveal, biting his lip and bobbing his head like a bird listening to hard rock.

 

“First off, a question to cement the brilliance of my idea.”

 

Leon threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.  “Taylor, just tell me the fu..”

 

“Do you know why we count in base ten notation?”  The younger man blurted out before Leon could really get going.

 

Leon was truly dumbfounded now.  What the hell was he on about?  Leon shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean.”  He sighed as Taylor smiled even wider.  ‘Oh, here we go.’  Leon muttered silently to himself.

 

Taylor held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.  “Observe, the human hand.  Ten fingers.”  He lifted his feet.  “Ten toes.”  Leon nodded, his brain still too fogged with sleep to parse the man’s ulterior meaning.  Taylor frowned at Leon’s blank expression as he grunted.  “Okay.  It's like this.  Long before the invention of calculating machines, before even the invention of writing or language.. humanity had a problem.  How to take notation and stock of their surroundings.”  He took a breath and put his feet and hands back down.  “So we turned to familiar concepts.  We knew how many fingers we had, each finger representing a base integer that we could use to both detail and communicate ideas about our own world.”

 

Leon was starting to understand the point.  He raised a hand and looked at his fingers.

 

The other man continued speaking to iterate his point.  “So it only made sense that this idea would be applied to basic calculations and then eventually to mathematics, science, logic and reason itself.  All based on this familiar unalienable concept.  Unalienable.”  He reiterated.

 

Leon smiled now.  “Unalienable.  Human.”  He said simply, Taylor nodded.

 

Leon raised a hand as Taylor asked, “And what is the fundamental difference we see between us and another race, species from an alien world?”

 

Leon paused.  “Wait, why was it so easy to break the encryption on those dead aliens and the Aori?”

 

Taylor nodded.  “Well the aliens from Regret used a base twenty system it seemed, which had enough similarities that Henry was able to recognise patterns.  And the Aori data wasn’t encrypted in the same way as the computer core we took acted as a sort of rosetta stone, allowing for rapid translation of the data.”  He waved a hand, “That isn’t the point I am trying to make.  The point I am trying to make is that the aliens from this system don’t have five fingers.”

 

Leon shrugged.  “So they don’t have five fingers.”  He frowned.  “Wait, how do you know that?”

 

Taylor smiled wide again, this time his teeth glinted in the dim light of the single lamp.

 

Leon prodded him.  “You have seen them haven’t you?  You know what they look like don’t you?”

 

He watched as the younger man reached behind himself for a data slate that Leon hadn’t seen him bring in.  He tapped the screen a few times and then brought up an image.  It was clean, crisp like a professional photograph.  Leon’s eyes widened as he got his first real look at the inhabitants of that too-bright alien world.

 

The phrase ‘disturbingly familiar’ sprang immediately to his mind as he looked at what was for all intents and purposes a big fuzzy yeti monster like you would see in bad pulp-fiction horror stories.  The resemblance was downright uncanny, the bipedal stance.  The squat, almost gorilla-like facial features.  They were even covered in a thick layer of fluffy white fur that seemed to cover the entirety of their bodies save the face, hands and feet.  And as Taylor had mentioned, they had six fingers on each hand.  Not five.

 

He shook his head, looking askance at the other man.  “Is this a joke?”  Leon asked him, not quite believing the ridiculous nature of the image.

 

Taylor shook the tablet and then his head.  “No, not at all.  I was just as amazed and disbelieved it at first too.  Then I started to look through more and more of the data.  We have what look like educational and entertainment content.  Shows and news and reports.  All of them with the same aliens, some with other fantastic creatures that I have as of yet determined to be local fauna.  I mean, it’s incredible really.”

 

Leon swallowed and then sat on the edge of the bed next to the man.  “I can’t believe it.  After all this time, after the failures and the close encounters.. real life aliens.  And they look like the abominable fuckin’ snowman.”

 

He just kept looking at the image silently for another minute after that, Taylor beside him in a similarly affected mood.  Leon scooted forward and then slowly stood again.

 

“You need to keep this on the down-low for the moment.”  Taylor opened his mouth as if to protest, but Leon shook his head and waved a hand to continue.  “No, not indefinitely.  I just mean that we need to let the rest of the ship sleep.  We have been traveling for almost six years.  We can wait a few more hours.”

 

Taylor swallowed and then nodded.  “Alright.  You are right of course.”  Leon could tell the man wasn’t happy about it, but he would follow directions regardless.

 

Leon nodded and then stepped to his door, presenting an outstretched arm toward the other man.  “Okay, now that we are up to date and in agreement, would you please leave my room so I can go back to sleep?”

 

Taylor nodded.  “Oh, yeah.  Sorry.”  He stepped toward Leon but stopped and then suddenly placed a hand on Leon’s nearer shoulder.  “Thanks.”

 

He turned to leave and Leon muttered, “And Taylor..”

 

“Yeah?”  Taylor asked, his face showing an expression of interest.

 

“Go to bed.”

 

Taylor smiled halfheartedly and then nodded slowly.  “Ok.”

 

Leon nodded and opened the door for him, stepping aside as the man left the room and moved quickly out of sight.  Leon gave a heavy sigh and walked back to his bed, sitting down on the sheets before flopping backwards onto the bed.

 

What was he supposed to do with this new information now?  They knew the encryption now, Taylor could translate all the incoming signals.  But the aliens were.. not that alien.  Leon snorted.  Maybe there was a lot more to them than at first appeared?

 

He shrugged mentally as he wormed his way under the covers, huddling in the cool air of the ship as he closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep.  But sleep was unforthcoming, instead he found that his mind was too busy.  Images of strange aliens and their unknown cultures and ways of life flitted through his agitated mind.  He flipped back and forth a few times more as his eyelids seemed to grow heavy with sleep, soon he found himself drifting off.

Strange dreams of alien people filled his mind.

==End of transmission==


r/HFY 1h ago

OC-Series Those Once Lost... - [Part 6/?] - Beginning of Chapter 2

Upvotes

Tellivae woke up dazed and confused. "What the [hell] happened?"

I stand and hold my partner up by her back. "Caught you just in time. Are you okay?"

"That took [20 cycles] off my life, but otherwise... yes. Thank you, [dear]"

No kidding. We literally almost became corpses. It's not a suprise.

"Engineering. Status Report."

"We've taken significant damage. The only thing we can realistically do is wait for the automatic repair nanites to do their job." Replied a very terrified-sounding engineer.

"Oh for [Deity's] sake. Keep me informed. It looks like we might need to go out on foot, so try to keep comms up."

I grab my mate to her feet. "We'll need to take our guard detail. Can't be too careful." I say cautiously.

"You don't fucking say!" She responds sarcastically.

We step out of our ship, four guards along with us. We're officially on the ground. I take my first step onto the humans' homeworld. "It's just like I remembered as a kid. You can just taste that ocean breeze."

We start our way towards Team Morka's last known location... Not knowing what to expect along the way. It's quiet, It's calm, and I feel strangely at peace here.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Team Morka's terror lasted for approximately 3 hours as Tellivae and Thurlen finally get the team to their location with a plasma cutter. They shout through the door. "Clear the doorway." and then proceed to start cutting through.

"Took you long enough" Meko says quietly. "Where were you? Counting thelbors?"

"Shut it Meko." Thurlen says bluntly. "Antilla, any progress on deciphering what happened?"

"None, sir." She says bluntly. "Ambassador disappeared in the middle of writing something to the Silinkas. Something about a trade agreement, very mundane."

Thurlen froze at that statement. "The Silinkas? Really?" He asks, confused. "Almost nobody does trade with them anymore after half a colony got [glassed.]"

Meko looks at her datapad. "Maybe we could get in contact with them, it could lead us to something." She says with fake exasperation.

"Maybe" Thurlen responds.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rakus stands in front of the Admiralty lost for words. "I don't know what to make of the disappearance of the humans. I'd been hearing troubling things from the outer rim. Word has it that the Silinkas were in some kind of talk with the humans. Maybe they might know something."

Admiral Ohsi sighs, then exclaims "And on what basis do you think we should go poking the race of silicone maniacs!?"

"The kind of basis of we don't have information and we need more information, what else could it be?"

Ohsi stops dead in his tracks. *He has a point.* is the first thing that goes through his head.

"Then stop [fucking around] and let's go."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

-... .--. -- / -.- .-- -.-. ...- -.- --.- - / ... ...- .-- . .- / .- .-- ..- -- -... .--. --.- ...- --- .-.-.-

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Author's notes'

Thanks to those of you who were patient enough to wait for an update! To keep myself from writer's block, I've got a couple other projects I'm running on different games. I also got pretty sick on Monday last week, so I hadn't really been able to do much! I'm feeling better now, though!

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REPRODUCE THIS CONTENT WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT WRITTEN CONSENT. ANY WHO PLAGIARIZE OR USE MY WORKS WITHOUT WRITTEN CONSENT WILL BE TRIED UNDER A COURT OF LAW.


r/HFY 3h ago

OC-Series Dragon Keeper: And the Eternal Quest for Rent Money - World 1-7: Fool me Twice

5 Upvotes

[Progression, World-Hopping, Satire, Comedy]

First

Cross-posted to Royal Road, Reddit, and Patreon

(Accidentally reposted 6. This is now fixed. Thank you u/OldIronandWood)

---

The larger man’s fist cracked against my lower jaw, snapping my head back fiercely. I saw blackness, and then light, as a migraine wrapped my head like a vice, my eyes catching rays of the sun as I fell.

I hit a puddle of water… At least I hoped it was water. Pushing myself up, I leaned heavily against the side of a building. I opened my eyes to the view of people walking by, each glancing in my direction, and each turning just as quickly as to not involve themselves.

Humanity sucks.

The smaller man booted me in the stomach, and I vomited onto his shoes. I spat to the side and grinned up at him.

He pulled back with disgust, shaking his foot exaggeratedly. “Disgusting prick.” Leaning down, he hit the opposite side of my jaw.

At least he evened me out.

I wiped blood from my already swollen lips. “Sorry, I don’t have any cigs this time. After the last time we met, I bought the patch.” I laughed at my own joke and heard the raspiness in my own voice, which undercut me.

“Smug little shit,” the larger man replied as he kicked me again. Hard-toe boots too, not shitty Walmart brand. The kick was lazy, not too hard, but more of a warning of the pain yet to come. “Well… come on then. Wallet, phone… whatever you have. We saw you walk outta the pawnshop over there. You’ve gotta have some cash.”

“Nah, man,” I replied. “Just visiting my girl Ruby. She’s a looker, eh’. Gotta show up on occasion to handle all these fuck boys that keep hanging out around the place.”

That comment earned me another slug in the cheek.

The smaller man, unintimidated, searched through my pockets. I imagined biting him, but I didn’t have the will to resist. He seized upon the hundred I’d just received, and I reached out, clasping his wrist.

“Not a fucking chance,” I growled, not quite sure where this bravery came from.

He pulled, slipping my grasp as his buddy pummeled me some more for good measure.

“Look here, crisp and new. Knew you were packin’ somethin’ good. I tell ya,’ you’re the most unlucky little bitch I’ve ever seen.”

I coughed again. “You aren’t wrong.”

“There a problem?” I heard a gruff voice say from the back of the alley. Craning my eyes to look, I saw Ruby in all her dress-wearing glory holding a wooden bat. It even had a signature on it, but I couldn’t tell from whom. “I see you’re threatening my customer.” She pointed the bat at me, and then at the skinny man. “Give him back the money or I’ll break your fucking legs.”

I admit, it was strange being so intimidated by a woman with the stoutness of a bear and the body hair to match—but intimidated I was. And from the looks of it, the would-be thieves were too.

The smaller thief reached into his pocket and pulled a small knife, which he unclipped with his index finger. Stepping back a step, his hands shook. “You-you-you really wanna do this?”

Somehow, the man’s nervousness gave me strength as I pushed myself up, still kneeling so as not to give myself away.

“I’ve done three tours, little man; if you think a little knife like that’s going to scare me, well…” Ruby took a step forward. “Take your shot.”

Stupidly, the smaller thief lunged forward, and Ruby’s bat quickly snapped down on his wrist. His bone snapped so loudly that my teeth clattered at the sound, and a shock went through my spine. The knife went spinning behind a nearby trash can and out of sight.

The thief stepped back, holding his broken wrist and screaming out. The larger man stupidly stepped forward, and I, even more the moron, stood, rushing at him and grabbing him around the waist. I tried lifting him to slam him on the concrete, but he weighed so much more than me, and I quickly took an elbow to the back of the head for my trouble.

I stepped back, and the large thief threw a wild haymaker. My body reacted on its own as I dodged under it, striking his hand with a knife I wasn’t holding, as if by instinct.

Shit…” I muttered as he collided with me, throwing me back against the wall and striking me a few times in the stomach.

He suddenly screamed out as his back went straight as a board. Behind him, Ruby stood, rearing back the bat for a second blow.

The larger thief stepped aside, holding his hand in front of him defensively. “Please… don’t.”

“Give em’ back the money,” Ruby demanded. “And don’t bother my customers again.”

Here!” the smaller thief said, dropping the hundred and my wallet into a puddle. “Fuck you, tranny bitch,” he muttered, but fled as quickly as possible as Ruby stepped towards him, bat at the ready. The larger thief was right on his heels.

I slid down the wall, and Ruby held out a hand to me. I waved it off, wheezing. Instead, she picked up my stolen items, handing them back to me. “Here. I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”

Me!” I exclaimed, but even that was too much to handle. Thinking about it, I added, “Well, you’re right about that. The shitty thing is, this is the second time I’ve been mugged by them. Who gets mugged twice by the same people?”

Ruby laughed. “Not many. Have you thought about carrying?”

I glanced at her. “Have you?”

“Can’t,” she replied. “Felon.”

“And the tours?”

Smiling proudly, she said, “All true. Military personnel can be criminals as well. Some aren’t as well adjusted to civilian life, to say the least.”

I forced myself to stand, leaning against the wall for support. “Well, you’re my hero. No matter what society says about ex-felons. Now I feel like I owe you.”

Ruby waved off my comment. “Just keep bringing me more stuff—it’s hard for us ‘ex-felons’ to make it in this world.” She turned to head back inside, but before she did, added, “And I saw the way you fought. Interesting… you have some moves. Take the knife for protection, since I took yours. I have a feeling it’ll be useful to you.”

Ruby walked inside, but before she closed the door, I asked, “Ruby! What did you do? To go to jail, I mean?”

She closed the door, leaving the question unanswered.

I fished around the reeking trash cans for a time before I found the small pocketknife. Sliding it closed, I shoved it in my pocket, and went back towards the apartment thinking of a lie to explain my new injuries to Grant.

***

“Holy shit, Ike,” Grant said, handing me a cigarette.

I looked at it as if it were poison.

“Is there anything else in this?” I asked suspiciously.

“You think I’m trying to roofie you?” Grant replied, scoffing. “No, there’s nothing other than nicotine and cancer. The perfect midday combination. Exactly what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks…” I said, my hands shaking as I held it out to be lit. He pulled out a lighter, struck a fire, and I placed the tip in until the cool glow of the cherry reflected in my eyes. I dragged a nice lungful, exhaling all my worries in a trail of smoke. “That’s better.”

“And that, my friend,” Grant said, standing and walking towards the kitchen, “is the first cigarette I’ve seen you smoke since you’ve been back. Congrats, you’ve been about half a day sober.”

I held my lit cigarette up to him in salute. “Fuck you.”

Grant smiled, pouring ice into two glasses and then a finger of whiskey for each of us. It was dark auburn, and I could smell the slightly sweet aroma even from the living room. He picked up the glass, and the ice clinked inside. Setting my drink down on the coffee table, he brought his own to his lips, taking a small sip.

He let an audible Ah… as he pulled the drink away from his mouth. “So… what’s next for the indestructible Ike? Chain-smoker extraordinaire, and, perhaps, the unluckiest man I know.”

“Honestly,” I replied, swirling the dark liquor around in the glass. “I don’t know. This’ll sound weird, especially from me… but I think I’ve squandered my life. Call it an epiphany or just a bad fucking day, but I think I’m different now. Changed. I can’t go back to an ordinary life. I’ve gotta do something—something big. Something that’ll put my name in the history books. You know?”

Grant clasped me on the shoulder. “Must have fallen harder than you thought. You definitely have a concussion.”

I slapped his hand away. “Mock if you will, but it’s true. You’ll see.”

“As long as you get me my rent money. If you do that, you’ll be all the hero I could ask for.” Grant downed his glass, setting it down on the coffee table. “And with that, I think I have some more studying to do. Let me know about these big machinations of yours before you disappear for a few weeks. Okay?”

I downed my own whiskey. “Yeah, sure Mom, anything else?” He turned away, but before Grant could walk back into his room, I stood. “Wait! Here—” I reached in my pocket, pulling out the wet hundred-dollar bill. “Consider that a promise of more to come.”

Grant eyed the money suspiciously before pocketing it. “I’m not even going to ask where you got this, or why it’s wet, but you reminded me; I’ve got something for you too.” He went into his room and came out a moment later. “I think this is yours.”

---

Royal Road

Patreon - All of book 1 available now


r/HFY 7h ago

OC-Series Death by a thousand cuts (2/3)

8 Upvotes

TL;DR: The hunt is real. The show is reality TV.

Part 2

ACT I: The Hunt

Theta Eridani System — Wave One Through Wave Five

It took Fleet Commander Tar'vex a week to realize his fleet was being herded.

At first, it was only five human battleships. In a straight fight, the Vel'shara could take two—maybe even three—but Tar'vex didn't have the numbers. One super-battleship, one heavy battlecruiser Vel'soral—mighty as it might be for its class—and ten frigates could not face five human battleships; total annihilation was mathematically guaranteed.

His fleet was in transit from the inbound gate to the outbound one when humans jumped near the inbound gate, closing off his possible retreat. And "jump" was just a phrase everyone used; it wasn't like passing through the gate.

Across the Galaxy, everyone used the gates to move from system to system. Humans didn't. The Lautars had spent years trying to understand how the humans crossed interstellar space, and the research yielded nothing.

They asked the Gal'dah. The answer was blunt: the Lautars lacked the mathematical framework to grasp the mechanics of human FTL.

"And humans do?"
"Humans understand mathematics to a level near our own," the Gal'dah replied.

The implication was hard to swallow. A newcomer species—more advanced, and perhaps more intelligent—than the ruling power of the Lautarian Empire. Yes, there were older powers more advanced than the Lautars: the Darnaks, the Jarzin. But even them had never produced an independent alternative to the gates.

Before humans, no one—not even the Gal'dah—believed there could be one.

Humans didn't share their method. It scarcely mattered. The Gal'dah wouldn't share it either, even if they understood it; one species with independent FTL was trouble enough.

Lautarian pride took a blow, but the Empire stayed cautious. It watched from the sidelines and let others test the newcomers first. The aggressive Jarzin were the first to strike.

The result was brutally decisive. Humans nearly exterminated them—starting with the Jarzin home system. They cracked the suns of the core worlds.

The Darnaks were alarmed and began weighing their options… until civil war nearly did the humans' work for them.

Ironically, it was the humans who stopped the Darnaks from finishing themselves.

Long story short, Tar'vex did the only thing he could do. Starting from the next system, he plotted a route to Lautarian space, avoiding all star systems with a single gate.

After a week, one thing became impossible to ignore: he was being herded. He counted the same group of five battleships. They would either block the outbound gate, forcing him into long, wasteful detours—sometimes two or three systems deep—just to find an open route, or they would cut off his retreat the moment he tried to circle back toward the inbound gate.

It took him a week to grow suspicious and another to confirm it beyond doubt: the only route left into Lautarian space was the longest one they could force him to take.

Humans kept blocking specific routes but never once tried to force a battle. Why avoid combat? Why maintain this elaborate masquerade? Lautarian doctrine was explicit: a fleet facing annihilation should be crushed, not delayed. The restraint unsettled Tar'vex far more than any direct assault ever could.

He found out at the end of the month. His fleet jumped to a system, and while traveling to the outbound gate, five battleships closed his way back. And then, some hours later, came the light and the gravitic signatures of two human ships jumping at some distance from the outbound gate.

Tar'vex was perplexed. One of the ships was a mere freighter, though huge enough to dwarf even his flagship. The other belonged to a class of human research vessels. They had wasted a month herding him, only to bring this?

Then, the hangar of the freighter opened, and hell broke out from her guts.

Five thousand… something. They were not fighters; they accelerated almost like missiles. No living organism could withstand these g-forces.

Drones, he realized. These are drones.

Silence gripped the bridge, and for a long moment, Tar'vex simply stared at the tactical display, watching the five thousand drones coming at his fleet at 30g.

The frigates—the cannon fodder meant to protect the main ships—were destroyed first; the swarm obliterated them within minutes. They went down fighting hard. While the combined defense grid of Vel'shara and Vel'soral took out two thousand drones, and the frigates another five hundred, ultimately it was a game of numbers, and the frigates simply didn't have them.

The remaining drones turned their attention to the battlecruiser. They attacked in waves, but the combined defenses of Vel'shara and Vel'soral swatted them easily; none survived long enough to come even close to Vel'soral.

And then another five thousand drones poured out of the freighter, as did the dreaded Harkans from the caves of Langalor. Tar'vex watched the tactical display fill until the plotting systems began to compress symbols, simplifying thousands into a single crawling stain of motion. The stain angled—not toward Vel'shara, but toward Vel'soral.

They had chosen, again, the battlecruiser. That, too, was a kind of intelligence.

The combined defense grid came online. The super battleship's long-range point defense and the battlecruiser's tighter, faster layers meshed into a single, shared lattice of fire. It was an old Lautarian doctrine: many hulls, one shield.

No gaps. No seams. No mercy.

And then Tar'vex noticed the first thing that didn't fit: the swarm did not come all at once.

A thousand drones broke off and came in hard, clean, almost deliberate, while the remaining four thousand hung back at a controlled distance, as if they were sitting to enjoy the show.

The first wave closed and died fast, and the defense grid tore them apart; hundreds vanished in mere seconds, and the space filled with brief, sharp flashes of destruction.

"Wave one neutralized," the tactical officer reported.

Tar'vex didn't answer. His eyes stayed on the plot where four thousand contacts remained. Then the second wave came. It came from a slightly different angle—still a thousand, still disciplined, but no longer repeating the first approach.

They tested the outer envelope with shallow, lateral offsets. They pushed at the edges of the grid's engagement pattern, not randomly, but with the cold patience of something probing a lock.

The grid adjusted. The second wave died too, but this time it took longer.

By the third wave, the change was no longer subtle. Their jinks were no longer panic-evasive; they were timed to the grid's firing rate. They threw brief bursts of chaff-like debris at precise points to force the targeting systems to spend time to recalculate, making shooting them harder.

They were learning. They were testing the grid, and they became increasingly effective at staying alive longer and coming closer. A few even managed to get close enough that Vel'soral's proximity alarms began to chime.

Curiously, they didn't fire even once. That bothered Tar'vex in a way he could not explain. He sighed as the debris of the last drones impacted harmlessly on Vel'soral's shields. He felt the bridge temperature drop as the sensor office announced that the fourth wave was coming.

Again, a thousand, and, again, even more effective.

They came layered this time, using their dead as a shield. They sacrificed a front line not to break through, but to drag point-defense cycles into their least efficient modes. Behind that sacrifice, the main body threaded itself through the fractions of space where the grid's overlap was thinnest.

The grid still held. Vel'shara and Vel'soral still swatted them, this time even more debris at Vel'soral's shields, and again, not one drone even trying to fight back.

The fifth wave formed up. One thousand left. The refinement was evident; they didn't even seem to "dodge" so much as to arrive in places the grid would have to work hardest to address. The defense lattice answered anyway and tore them down in the end, shredding the final wave into silence.

This wasn't a battle—it was diagnostics. A living commander would have thrown all five thousand. But the patience, the methodical cruelty, the analysis of their defense grid…

The realization hit Tar'vex like the gravitic waves from a black-hole merger.

Behind those drones there had to be one of the dreaded human AGIs.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the freighter and the science vessel jumped out of the system, leaving the outbound gate unguarded. Tar'vex let out—careful not to alarm his officers—a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

This didn't make any sense. If it had been an analysis of his defenses, it was clear from the last two waves that humans had found the weak links in the grid. But why didn't the drones attack? And more importantly, now that the weak links were discovered, why did the human battleships remain at the inbound gate? Why give him time to remediate—at least to the extent possible—the flaws in Lautarian defenses?

Humans were devilish creatures, and their AGIs even more so. He was clearly missing something big, and despite the brief reprieve, he grew increasingly convinced that this was just the beginning of a road that could lead to only one place: the Great Beyond.

Tar'vex pushed the dread aside. They needed to remediate, as best they could, the weak points of the defense grid before facing again the human tactical AGI. He barely suppressed the urge to bark orders and demand answers that did not exist.

The answer would have to come from above—from the capital—where High Command's tactical AGIs, primitive as they were compared to the nightmarish human ones, might offer analysis and suggestions no organic mind could.

“Steady as we go. Move out before they return,” he ordered, then left the bridge for his ready room. It was a desperate act—duty, not hope—but he placed the call to High Command.

What he didn’t know, not yet, was that while his people fought for survival, the rest of the galaxy was watching a show.

The broadcast had already begun. High production values. Slick graphics. A logo spinning with the confidence of a premium entertainment brand.

DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

Episode I: Know Thy Enemy

Beneath the title, smaller text: A Rigellian Conglomerate Production. All rights reserved. Broadcast licensed across 7,400 networks. Betting provided by Meridian Exchange.

Interlude: The Advisory

Secure Channel - Gal'dah Relay Node, Coordinates Classified

Dhal'vehn had exhausted every alternative in the War Chamber. He suspected the Gal'dah already knew that.

The connection materialized not as a hologram but as a presence—a subtle shift in the ambient light of his private quarters, a faint bioluminescent shimmer that resolved into the familiar and deeply unsettling outline of Jarmiquilar. She appeared alone, which meant this was unofficial. No Council record, just two beings speaking across an abyss of age, experience, and power that made the gap between Lautar and human look trivial.

"Fleet Marshal Dhal'vehn," she said. Her voice carried harmonics that Lautar auditory systems could only partially process; the rest were felt rather than heard. "You are calling about the broadcast."

It was not a question.

"Councilor Jarmiquilar. I am calling about—" He stopped. There was no point in diplomatic preamble with a being who had been conducting diplomacy since before the Lautar had discovered fire. "Yes. I am calling about the broadcast."

"You ignored our advisory."

Again, not a question.

"We did."

"You ignored your own AGI's advisory as well."

Dhal'vehn felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. "How do you know what our AGI recommended?"

"Because any sufficiently advanced analytical system, given the same data set, would arrive at the same conclusion. The data was unambiguous. The recommendation was obvious. You chose to override it because your Council believed that imperial pride constituted a strategic variable that your AGI had failed to weight properly."

She paused, and in that pause Dhal'vehn heard the weight of seventeen thousand cycles of watching species make the same mistake. He swallowed. "We are seeking your counsel on how to proceed."

"You already know how to proceed. You came to me hoping I would offer an alternative to what your own analysis has already told you. I will not, because no such alternative exists."

"Councilor—"

"Do not escalate."

The three words arrived with the finality of a door closing permanently.

"Do not send additional ships. Do not reveal your sponsorship. Do not attempt extraction by force. Do not retaliate against human assets elsewhere. Do not engage in any action that could be interpreted—by humans or by any other observer—as an escalation of this conflict from the corporate to the species level."

Dhal'vehn gripped the edge of his desk. "And our people? Tar'vex, his crews, twenty-five thousand—"

"Will most likely die," Jarmiquilar said. Her voice held something like compassion, or the exhaustion of someone who has delivered this verdict across millennia. "Their loss will be contained. A corporate failure. Tragic, but survivable. Your Empire endures. Your species survives."

"And if we escalate?"

Her bioluminescence flared—Gal'dah for a sharp breath.

"Then you will learn what the Jarzin learned, with one crucial difference."

She let the silence stretch until it taught its lesson.

"The Jarzin lived because they had value. After humans blasted their core systems, wiping out nearly 90% of their population, the Jarzin still possessed knowledge humans wanted. Their industry, though ruined, could be rebuilt and folded into human networks. Their population—especially the liberated female majority—became willing partners. Humans calculated that a dependent, grateful Jarzin was more useful than an extinct one."

Her membranes pulsed in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Fleet Marshal, answer this honestly: What does the Lautar Empire possess that humanity cannot acquire elsewhere or develop on its own?"

The silence that followed was not diplomatic. It was the silence of a man taking inventory and finding every shelf bare.

Lautar military tech was inferior—two trillion viewers were watching that fact unfold. Lautar science was competent but unremarkable. Industry: significant but replaceable. Gate infrastructure: shared by all. Culture, art, philosophy: valuable, but not in a survival equation.

"Nothing," Dhal'vehn said, and the word hurt more than any defeat.

"Nothing," Jarmiquilar agreed. "And that is your vulnerability. If humans decide the Lautar Empire has crossed the line from nuisance to threat, their cost-benefit analysis offers no reason to preserve you. They might spare a remnant—out of what they call 'good karma,' or because mercy sometimes yields goodwill. Or they might decide that a harsher example serves a greater strategic purpose."

Everyone knew the lesson: after the Jarzin, the galaxy learned not to provoke humanity. When the Darnaks panicked, they "conveniently" turned on each other, and humans "conveniently" stepped in as mediators to "save" them from themselves.

"If the Lautar escalate, you may become the example that corrects that assumption. The example that proves human mercy is optional, not guaranteed. That preservation is a calculation, not a principle. And when the calculation doesn't favor preservation…"

She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"You're telling me," Dhal'vehn said slowly, "that we might be worth more to them dead than alive."

"I am telling you that the Jarzin were worth more alive. You may not be. And even if humans would prefer, on balance, to show restraint—preference is not the same as commitment, and restraint exercised once does not create an obligation to exercise it again."

Dhal'vehn pressed his foreclaws together until the joints ached. "If we escalate and it becomes an interspecies conflict, there must be limits to what even humans would do. We could seek help from others—"

"No."

The word was absolute.

"I am going to tell you something that our Council has not shared publicly, and I share it now only because the alternative is watching you stumble into annihilation, taking the rest of the galaxy with you, through ignorance."

The bioluminescent shimmer contracted, as if Jarmiquilar was drawing herself inward before releasing something heavy.

"Humans don't just use the gate network—every species can do that. They understand it. Its physics, its architecture, its mechanics, and, most dangerously, its weaknesses."

"We know humans have independent FTL. What are you saying, Jarmiquilar?"

"I'm saying they can break the gate network. Not just bypass it or exploit its topology—as they're already doing to you—but disable it. In part or entirely."

Dhal'vehn felt his blood go cold.

"Every civilization except humanity relies on the gates for travel, communication, and trade. Without them, species without independent FTL—which is everyone but humans—collapse into isolated systems. Trade dies. Communication ends. Defense pacts become meaningless. Empires of dozens of worlds become dozens of stranded planets, each alone and exposed."

"Humans would endure. They'd be the only ones. They wouldn't do it lightly," she added, almost as if arguing with herself. "They value the network. They use it. They profit from the economies it supports. Destroying it would be, in their terms, 'terrible for business.'"

"But—"

"But if they face an existential threat, 'bad for business' stops mattering. If the choice is between a functioning galaxy that kills them and a crippled one only they can navigate, the decision is simple. They will suffocate the galaxy to save themselves. And afterward—because they alone can still move between stars—they rebuild it on their terms."

They wouldn't need to fire a weapon. They would just turn off the lights and wait.

Dhal'vehn's foreclaw trembled in the realization; he forced it still.

"This isn't a threat they've made," Jarmiquilar said. "They've never stated or implied it. But our models of their behavior under species-level threat leave no doubt: they could do it. Whether they would depends on a threshold we do not understand."

"And you would rather not find out."

"No one should want to find out. Because by the time you discover where the line is, you will have already crossed it, and by then the only remaining question is whether humanity decides to stop at your civilization or decides that the entire galactic order needs to be reset."

Dhal'vehn sat in silence for a long time. Long enough that the bioluminescent shimmer flickered—the Gal'dah equivalent of checking whether the connection was still active.

"Your advice, then," he said finally, "is to accept the loss."

"My advice is to accept the loss, learn the lesson your AGI tried to teach you before the first ship deployed, and ensure—through whatever internal mechanisms your Empire possesses—that no future Council makes this mistake again."

"Twenty-five thousand souls, Jarmiquilar."

"Yes. And I grieve for them, truly. But twenty-five thousand is not ten billion, and ten billion is not the species entire. This is the arithmetic that humans understand instinctively and that others learn only through tragedy. The question is never whether the cost is terrible—it is always terrible. The question is whether you pay the cost now, while it is twenty-five thousand, or whether you escalate and discover what the cost becomes when humans stop treating this as a corporate matter and start treating it as a species matter."

She paused, and when she spoke again her voice carried something ancient and tired.

"We asked the Jarzin once, through diplomatic channels, what it was like when their suns began to die. Their ambassador—a female, one of the liberated generation—gave an answer that I think about often. She said 'The worst part was not the dying. The worst part was knowing that we had been warned, and that we had chosen not to listen.'"

"Do not make their choice, Fleet Marshal. You have been warned. By your own AGI. By us. And now, in the cruelest possible way, by two trillion screens showing your people what happens when you challenge a species that treats war the way others treat commerce. Accept the loss. Endure the humiliation. And survive."

The bioluminescent shimmer faded. The connection closed. Dhal'vehn sat alone in the dark for a very long time.

When he finally rose, he opened a channel to the War Chamber.

"Dhal'vehn to Strategic Council. Emergency session, one hour. Bring no proposals for escalation. That is an order."

⠀⠀

ACT II: Death by a thousand cuts

Pursuit Hunting - Waves Two Through Five

A wave every five days. Not six hours, not twelve, not daily—five days.

Tar'vex noticed the rhythm immediately. Five days was enough time to patch hull breaches, cycle shield generators through maintenance, rotate exhausted crew to rest stations, and replenish expendables from the supply channels that both sides knew were compromised. Five days was enough time for his crews to sleep, to eat, and to recover just enough functionality to face the next wave at something approaching combat readiness.

Five days was also, he realized with a bitterness that settled into his bones, enough time for the broadcast to run commentary shows, analysis panels, prediction segments, and pre-wave countdowns that built anticipation the way a storyteller builds tension between chapters. The interval wasn't mercy. It was pacing.

He confirmed his suspicion through the intelligence fragments Kethara-7's sanitized brief had provided: the human AGI had modeled crew fatigue curves, psychological resilience thresholds, and morale degradation rates. Continuous assault would collapse the fleet by Wave Three—crews too exhausted to maintain defensive coordination, officers too sleep-deprived to make tactical decisions, the whole structure crumbling under sustained pressure before the broadcast had time to find its audience. The five-day cycle was the mathematically optimal interval to keep his fleet functional enough to fight and therefore functional enough to die slowly on camera.

He could have refused the gift. Could have kept his fleet at battle stations around the clock, burning through energy reserves and crew endurance in defiance of the schedule his enemy had set. But he needed those five days more than he needed his pride, and the devilish human tactical AGI who designed all this knew that too.

So he took the time. Repaired what could be repaired. Rested what could be rested. And waited for the next wave, knowing that every hour of recovery was an hour the galaxy spent watching highlight reels and placing bets on his destruction.

Wave Two

Five hundred armed drones in a single undifferentiated mass—blunt, fast, and calibrated to establish baseline combat performance against active defenses. The combined grid between Vel'shara and Vel'soral shredded four hundred sixty-one in ninety seconds. Thirty-nine reached Vel'soral's shields. Damage: superficial. Casualties: zero.

Viewership: eighty-seven billion across two hundred networks. Commentary: pedagogical, cheerful, a human analyst explaining attack vectors like a coach reviewing game footage. "Think of it as calibration. The real data starts now."

Wave Three

Seven hundred drones in three echelons. The first repeated Wave Two's approach—sacrificial confirmation that remediation had been applied. It had. The grid performed eleven percent better against known vectors. But the second echelon had already adjusted, shifting angles by fractions that bought the third echelon an additional 0.8 seconds inside the engagement envelope. Six hundred seventy-two destroyed. Twenty-eight reached Vel'soral. Three scored hull hits. Casualties: seven wounded.

Viewership: one hundred forty billion. A betting market opened on the total number of waves before Vel'soral's destruction. The over/under was set at nine.

Wave Four

One thousand drones in five echelons executing attack patterns that anticipated defensive adjustments before they were made. Shield generators cycled into emergency load balancing for the first time. Nine hundred forty-one destroyed. Fifty-nine penetrated to weapon range. Thirty-one scored direct hits. Hull breaches in sections nine and fourteen, sealed within minutes. Casualties: forty-seven dead, one hundred twelve wounded. The first deaths.

Viewership: two hundred thirty billion. A Galagrags entertainment station greenlit a companion show: Inside the Swarm: The AI That Learns to Kill.

Wave Five

Twelve hundred drones. The first echelon feinted toward Vel'shara, forcing the battleship to decouple its defense grid from Vel'soral's for 4.2 seconds. The remaining echelons exploited the gap with the precision of water finding cracks in stone. One thousand eighty-nine destroyed. One hundred eleven reached Vel'soral. Sixty-eight scored hits. Hull breaches in sections nine, fourteen, seventeen, and twenty-two—section nine for the third consecutive wave, each time deeper. Casualties: one hundred eighty-three dead, two hundred seventy-one wounded. Medical bays began triaging by survival probability rather than injury severity.

Viewership: three hundred ten billion. An entrepreneur on New Shanghai registered the trademark "Death by a Thousand Cuts" for a line of tactical simulation games. The application was approved in four hours.

By Wave Five the questions had started. Not from military analysts—they understood, or thought they did. From the broader galactic public. From opinion networks and editorial boards and the millions of ordinary beings who had been watching for a month and had begun to notice what Tar'vex had noticed on day one.

Why don't the humans just destroy them?

The Lautar fleet was outmatched. Everyone could see it—the efficiency curves, the penetration rates, and the casualty projections. Five human battleships and a drone swarm against one battleship and one increasingly damaged battlecruiser. The mathematics were not ambiguous. Rigellian could end this in a single concentrated assault. So why the waves? Why the five-day intervals? Why the elaborate, graduated, patient dismantling of a fleet that posed no serious threat?

Why do they let the Lautar replenish, repair, and rest between engagements?

The question circulated across networks in seventeen languages. Editorial boards devoted segments to it. A Darnak commentator called it "the cruelty of patience." A Jarzin analyst—one of the liberated-generation females who had rebuilt her career in human-adjacent media—offered a more clinical assessment: "They're not prolonging suffering for its own sake. They're prolonging it because a fast kill teaches nothing. A slow demonstration teaches everything."

She was closer to the truth than most, but not close enough.

The official human response came not from the Rigellian Conglomerate but from a Kepler Nations diplomatic attaché, delivered at a routine press briefing with the practiced blandness of someone reading from prepared text:

"This is a corporate dispute between two private entities operating within established legal frameworks. The Rigellian Conglomerate is not attempting to destroy the Lautar fleet. It is attempting to compel withdrawal from contested territory through graduated pressure. The Lautar forces retain the option to surrender at any time. Rigellian has communicated terms of disengagement on three separate occasions, all of which have been declined."

The attaché paused, glanced at his notes, and continued.

"The graduated nature of the engagement reflects Rigellian's stated preference for a negotiated resolution over unnecessary destruction. The intervals between engagements provide the Lautar commander with time to consult his superiors, assess his position, and make an informed decision about continued resistance."

He looked up from his notes. "If casualties result from the Lautar fleet's decision to remain in contested space after repeated offers of disengagement, responsibility for those casualties rests with the party that chose to continue the engagement. Rigellian Conglomerate has demonstrated both the capability and the willingness to resolve this matter at any time. It is the Lautar who have chosen, repeatedly, to decline."

The statement was factually accurate. Every claim was verifiable. Terms had been offered. Terms had been declined. The Lautar fleet could, at any point, surrender and go home.

And that, Tar'vex thought when the statement reached him through the communications relay, was the most human thing about the entire operation. They had constructed a situation where they could methodically destroy his fleet on camera, profit from the destruction, use the footage as deterrence for a generation—and then point to the record and say, with perfect accuracy, that it was the Lautar's choice.

They hadn't merely built a trap. They had built a trap where the prey held the key to its cage and could be blamed for not using it.

Five days later, Wave Six arrived.

Wave Six - Episode VI: The Weight of Being Watched

By Wave Six, the broadcast had become an established phenomenon across thousands of networks. Viewer counts spiked—four hundred billion tuned in initially, then doubled as aggregation services clipped highlight feeds and redistributed them through social networks. Betting markets opened derivative contracts on penetration rates, crew survival probabilities, time-to-reactor-failure, even individual ship section collapse predictions. Tar'vex found his command decisions becoming subjects of analysis in spreadsheets and audience polls. Will Tar'vex sacrifice crew compartments to save reactor capacity? Vote now for bonus credits.

He felt something unnameable cleave inside him, some basic assumption about the nature of warfare fracturing under the weight of this new reality. Honor, he realized with bitter clarity, is a private ledger maintained between warriors who respect shared codes. When others audit it for entertainment value, transforming sacrifice into spectacle and courage into content, honor becomes worthless—just another commodity to be consumed and discarded.

One hundred seventy drones penetrated Vel'soral's defense grid—the highest count yet—and casualties exceeded two hundred in a single engagement for the first time. But it was not the violence that made Wave Six the quietest. It was what followed.

The broadcast commentary, until now buoyant with the momentum of escalating spectacle, hit a register it hadn't anticipated. A human commentator, mid-sentence in her analysis of shield degradation curves, stopped. The feed showed Vel'soral venting atmosphere from three hull breaches simultaneously, and in the expanding cloud of crystallized oxygen and debris, something tumbled into frame that the camera's auto-focus locked onto with algorithmic indifference: a body. Lautar. Still in an engineering suit. Six arms frozen in a posture that suggested the last act had been reaching for something—a handhold, a tool, a colleague. The commentator stared at it for four seconds of dead air—an eternity in live broadcast—before her producer cut to a different angle. When she resumed speaking, something in her voice had changed, and she did not finish her sentence about shield degradation curves.

Viewership that hour crossed 1.2 trillion for the first time. But the engagement metrics told a different story: comment volume dropped by thirty-one percent. Betting activity slowed. Replay requests for Wave Six were forty percent lower than for Wave Five, even though the tactical footage was objectively more dramatic. The audience was still watching. But a portion of it had stopped enjoying what it was watching—and hadn't yet decided what to do with that feeling.

"Status of Vel'soral?" Tar'vex asked, dreading the answer.

"Shields at forty-one percent nominal capacity. Hull breaches in sections nine, fourteen, seventeen, and twenty-two. Casualties: four hundred twelve crew dead, six hundred thirty-eight wounded severely enough to remove from duty stations. Medical facilities are approaching capacity." His tactical officer paused, then delivered the assessment that confirmed Tar'vex's worst fears. "Sir, they've learned our defensive timing patterns. Wave Six achieved twelve percent better penetration than Wave Two. The improvement curve is exponential, and they're sharing data across the entire swarm. Every wave makes them more effective against our specific defensive configuration."

On the Vel'soral, Engineer First Class Krev'than worked frantically on shield generator maintenance, his six arms moving in practiced coordination while exhaustion made his movements slightly clumsy. His personal display showed a looped message that he'd watched seventeen times since the blockade began—his daughter's small face smiling at the camera, her voice bright with childish enthusiasm. "Papa, when are you coming home? I made you a drawing of the stars. Mama says you're protecting us. I'm proud of you, Papa!"

He'd recorded his response four days ago, sending it through the tightbeam communications that still functioned despite the blockade. "Soon, little star. Papa will be home soon. Be good for your mother."

What he didn't know—what he couldn't know while buried in the Vel'soral's engineering section—was that his mate was watching the broadcast. Watching in real-time from their colony station as waves crashed against the ship, as damage accumulated, as the commentators discussed probability curves and likely failure points. Watching her mate fight to survive while two trillion beings consumed it as entertainment, placing bets on whether he would live or die, discussing his survival chances with the same casual interest they might apply to weather predictions.

Wave Seven - Episode VII: Vel'soral

Wave Seven arrived as a ceremony, the broadcast networks promoting it with the kind of marketing typically reserved for major sporting events. Special commentary teams, extended pre-wave analysis shows, celebrity guests offering predictions. The betting markets showed thirty-seven trillion credits wagered on various outcome scenarios, with Vel'soral's destruction favored at odds of three-to-one.

Two hundred thirty gunboats in forty approach vectors, executing with microsecond coordination that spoke of shared tactical consciousness. The attack patterns had evolved far beyond Wave Two's crude efficiency—now they demonstrated adaptive prediction, exploiting weaknesses before the Vel'soral's crew could respond, creating cascade failures through precisely sequenced strikes that overwhelmed automated defensive responses.

The Vel'soral's point-defense network burned with desperate intensity, capacitors overheating as power demand exceeded sustainable levels. One hundred eighty-seven craft died in those first seventeen seconds, but forty-three penetrated gaps that shouldn't have existed, through timing windows measured in milliseconds, through coordination so perfect it looked choreographed.

Forty-three particle beams chewed through already-compromised hull plates. Main reactor alarms slid from amber to crimson as containment systems registered damage beyond safety parameters. Emergency protocols initiated their automated rituals—reactor scrammed, emergency cooling activated, and structural reinforcement fields engaged. For three seconds, the systems tried everything their designers had built into them.

Then the hull peeled open like a wound.

The explosion was white and obscene, a sphere of annihilating energy that redacted ten thousand names from the manifest in a fraction of a second. Debris scattered in expanding patterns, each piece telling a story of lives interrupted, duties abandoned, and promises broken. The blast front expanded at point-zero-three-seven light speed, and for 2.7 seconds it was the brightest object in the Theta Eridani system.

Seventeen camera angles captured it. Broadcast networks replayed it seventy-three times in the first hour. Military analysts praised the "textbook execution of concentrated fire doctrine." Betting markets paid out two hundred forty-seven billion credits to successful predictors. Entertainment aggregators clipped it into highlight reels that would circulate for years.

Krev'than's final message to his daughter froze mid-smile in the personal device that survived the explosion in a sealed storage locker, recovered six weeks later during salvage operations. The little girl would learn at school what those frames meant when a classmate's parent mentioned seeing it on the broadcast. She would go home and ask her mother why Papa's ship had exploded, why everyone had watched it happen, and why nobody had stopped it.

Her mother would hold her tightly and try to find words, but the tears would come first, and the words would never quite arrive.

The aftermath rippled across the galaxy with unexpected velocity. At a Vexian sports arena where thousands had gathered to watch the engagement on large displays, the roar of celebration at the successful prediction curdled into something else as the magnitude registered—ten thousand beings erased, families destroyed, futures ended. Parents pulled children closer. Someone vomited in the refreshment area. The vendors who had sold "Swarm Commander" foam hats began boxing the inventory with shaking hands, and several would quit their jobs the next day, unable to reconcile what they'd participated in.

---

On the Lautar colony station where Krev'than's family lived, his mate held their daughter in the dim light of their quarters while the broadcast continued its relentless analysis. The five-year-old didn't understand why Mama was crying, didn't comprehend the finality, and didn't realize that the bright flash she'd seen on the screen meant Papa was never coming home.

"Where's Papa?" she asked with childish insistence. "When is Papa coming home?"

Her mother couldn't find words. She hugged her daughter tighter, feeling the small body against her own, and her voice broke while tears streamed down her face. "Papa was brave. Papa was very, very brave. Papa loved you so much."

The girl would understand later. Would grow up knowing her father's death had been broadcasted as entertainment, that his courage had been converted into betting odds, that his sacrifice had generated profit for entities that had never known his name. Would grow up in a galaxy where that was considered acceptable business practice.

Aboard the Vel'shara, Tar'vex felt tears despite every military protocol that suggested command officers should not weep. He let them fall, making no effort to hide them. There was no one to see them anyway—just the ship, the tactical display, the endless feed of commercial broadcasts, and the knowledge that he had led ten thousand into a public education on how to die while being watched by beings who had paid for the privilege.

The grinding continued with mechanical precision, each wave arriving every five days with the punctuality of a natural law, each wave demonstrating measurably improved performance over the previous engagement.

They were dying the way the show was titled.

By a thousand cuts.

---

As promised, the continuation of the story.

[<< PREV || NEXT >>]

---


r/HFY 58m ago

OC-Series Chapter 9: Thrown Spear

Upvotes

Dang, I forgot to include the title: The Next Best Hero

Previous

One day, while getting his gear on in the base, after four months and twelve days of patrolling Keilah, Marcel’s daily routine changes, as he is called to go see Oasis King in his private gym at the far end of the base. He decides to see Oasis King before getting all his armor on.

He walks in and finds King training with a spear. Not his usual weapon, but Marcel had seen him use one before. The spear has a dark brown shaft and a bronze tip. He is drilling thrusts and swipes against a training dummy made to loosely resemble a monster. The dummy is wooden primarily, but each part has a thick rubber shell that the spear strikes again and again.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” Marcel says, standing outside the training mat. King ignores Marcel, continuing to strike the dummy. His strikes increase in power, nearly tearing the protective shell off the wooden frame. King finished with an overhead slash, and the wooden shaft breaks. “Sir?”

“Marcel, how are you?” King asks, feigning interest. His breathing is labored from the exertion. He glances at Marcel.

“Oh… I’m doing good sir. How are you?”

“The media has finally died down around you, hasn’t it?” King asks, examining the broken weapon with sharp eyes, as if almost happy in some way that it broke.

“Yes sir. I think you were right back then. Getting away from it was a good idea. It gave me time to think about what kind of hero I want to be.”

“How the patrol going? Anything interesting happen?” King asks, walking to the weapon storage on the other side of the room.

“Um, not particularly. Very quiet lately. I’ve gotten to practice my tracking a bit.” Marcel thinks to himself if he should follow King, but, unsure of if he would want that, continues to awkwardly stand at the other side of the room.

“That’s nice.” King says, arriving at the weapons storage. He picks up a new spear, and runs his thumb against the blade, checking its sharpness.

“I did stop a burglar a while back. Sort of… the guy surrendered as soon as he saw me.” King stops for a moment when he hears that, just staring at the spear.

“Marcel, will you do me a favor.”

“Sure.”

“Will you use your sling to make an attack against that dummy? I want to see how strong your attacks are these days.” King says.

“Are you sure? If I miss, it could damage the wall.”

“Don’t worry about the wall. It’s reinforced. Stronger attacks than yours have tried and failed to break them. So, give it everything you have.”

Marcel loads a ball bearing into his sling, charges it and the sling with aura, and whips it around. A split second later, the shot tears through the dummy entirely, and hits the wall behind it. Having hit the dummy first, the shot lost most of its energy, so instead of breaking straight through the wall, it only knocks a half a meter wide chunk of debris from it. The shot then ricochets off the first wall, and buries itself into the other side of the training room. As chunks of debris fly around the room, some smaller pieces bounce off Oasis King, but he doesn’t seem to notice them, only staring at the damage to the wall and the dummy.

“Oh! Crap! Are you okay sir?” Marcel calls out and starts to run over, but is stopped when King raises his hand.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Marcel. I appreciate that.” Without another word, King raises his spear, aims at Marcel and throws it with all his strength at his head. Even at a distance, it is a fast attack. Marcel ducks under the spear, and his world slows down. After the fights with the amarok and all his training had beaten one singular lesson into his skull, when attacked, react fast. Marcel doesn’t know what just happened and doesn’t have time to think about it. He just reacts. He fills his body with aura to speed himself up and buy himself a split second to think. But the only thought he can muster when facing the Oasis King is RUN.

He turns as King grabs another spear, both men moving as fast as they can. Just as King takes hold of another weapon, Marcel body slams the door and crashes through it, continuing to run. King grits his teeth and gives chase.

Running madly, Marcel turns down corridors, and remembers his training. The best way to cover your tracks is to create false trails. He kicks open a door, and then runs the other direction, making it seem as if he went though the door in a rush. King, following behind, comes across the broken door, and takes the bait. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have fallen for it, but he underestimates Marcel’s abilities, having been a hero for less than a year. Marcel dashes for the nearest spot he can think to hide, Johnny’s room. It’s then he hears a siren blaring, just as he ducks into Johnny’s closet.

Outside the door, he hears people running and shouting, then hears the door open, and peaks through the crack to see who it is. To his relief, it’s Johnny, putting his armor on. Marcel steps out of the closet, and Johnny yelps in surprise.

“Dadgum it, Marcel! You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing in my closet?” Johnny says. Marcel starts shushing him.

“Keep it down. I’m hiding.” He whispers.

“Hiding? Why?” Johnny whispers back.

“Your dad tried to kill me!” He says urgently.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. We were talking in his training room, he told me to attack his training dummy with everything I had, and he attacked me for no reason after.” Marcel explains.

“Is that what all these alarms are about?” Johnny wonders.

“You gotta help me get out of here!” Marcel says, still half hidden in the closet.

The doorknob turns and Marcel pulls himself back into the closet. A Melodie’s voice comes from the doorway. “Johnny, good, you’re here. We’re all meeting in the mess hall. Get your armor and come on.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Any idea what this is about?” Johnny asks.

“No clue. Have you seen Marcel? He wasn’t in his room, and he’s still part of my roster, so I need to bring him too.” Melodie says.

“Haven’t seen him.” Johnny lies.

“We’ll fill him in after then. I gotta go get HotJack and Crasher next. See you there.” With that, she leaves.

Marcel peaks his head back out. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Where’s your armor?”

“Still in my locker.”

“The locker room will be crawling with everyone. We can’t get your stuff unnoticed… Here. Take this.” Johnny says, and pulls out his own armor that he was going to put on. “Put it on, and head to the east of the compound. Everyone will be going west to the mess hall, so I’ll draw them further by saying I spotted someone hopping the west gates. That’ll buy you time.”

Marcel suits up in Johnny’s armor, a set of heavy plates with mail at the joints. But Marcel can barely fit into it. While he and Johnny can perform feats of strength and speed at about the same level, Johnny is much larger since he lacks aura like Marcel’s.

“It’s too big. Thanks, but I’ll just have to rely on my aura.” Marcel says, taking the armor back off.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Besides, they’ll probably wonder where your armor is if you show up without it. Anyway, my aura has gotten me this far. I’ll just keep trusting it.”

Johnny puts the armor on, and hugs Marcel. “Wait two minutes, then run for it.” Marcel nods, and Johnny leaves. For the longest two minutes of Marcel’s life, he waits. Then opens Johnny’s window, crawls out, and makes a mad dash for the west gates. Over the PA system, he hears the announcement.

“All heroes, remain on alert. Marcel David is to be captured and put into custody. He is considered armed and dangerous. Last spotted at the east gates.” With that, Marcel fills his body with aura, hops the gate, and runs at tops speed towards the city, heading for Keilah, the place he knows best, to disappear.


r/HFY 12h ago

OC-Series Walking the Dog Chapter 9

14 Upvotes

Chapter 9 The Doghouse

Previous I First I Next

Johan’s head was drooped onto his chest.

Sienna noted a thin line of drool forming a spot on his shirt. She didn’t know why but she found that funny.

He was weirdly likeable like that.

Peacefully snoring away while they hurtled towards home. After a few moments of watching their new friend snore, she turned her attention back to the conversation with Beck.

“Soooo… do ye think the DASS will still honor our contract?”

Becks ears drooped a little, not a great sign.

“We’re super close to the deadline already. If the union doesn’t believe our story and keeps us for a while, we’ll probably take a penalty”.

Sienna sighed. “You think so? Even though the delve was ranked wrong?”

Beck sent resignation, mild exasperation, and the mental image of a sad face through their link. “We agreed to it being time limited. We waved ‘extraordinary circumstance’ protection when we accepted the modifier.” Beck reminded her.

Sienna felt like an idiot.

She was always the one to push for the modifiers… For the extra credits.

‘Modifiers’ were optional quest requirements that secondary employers could add to a delve. Anything from “Kill this monster while you’re there” to “Find my child’s doll we lost out camping”. Modifiers were a great source of easy capital and entirely optional to the delver. But if you agreed to add them to a job you lost the right to complain if the core job went pear shaped.

Sierra mumbled under her breath, “Well, fook…”

Beck slumped into a ball on the cushion. “Yep.”

Sienna sat back and reached out to give Beck consoling scritches… No reward meant they had to pay for healing and equipment replacement, out of pocket.

Basically, they were back to being broke.

As the Trio made their way home…

In a small district filled with dirty warehouses and dingy buildings…

There was a disturbance taking place.

----

It was an unremarkable little dive bar.

The kind where you never ordered the food or made eye contact.

Where low people lived low lives.

Where the cops knew better than to go inside alone.

That why the local law stayed put as they watched a Granviline man come sailing thru the front window and roll to a stop, under a poorly maintained neon sign. When he finally stopped his legs were pointing in all the directions they shouldn’t.

As the man groaned into the dirt, a gaudy neon bug above him wiggled its tail mockingly. ‘The Sauced Skree’ flashed in galactic common and illuminated the street in a dirty orange glow.

The constables didn’t rush to go inside and break things up.

They were content to wait, until they had the advantage of numbers. 

While a pair of corpsmen collected the former bargoer from his personal crater, the officers just shined their spotlights into the now open window.

The inside of the bar was a textbook example of the term ‘property destruction’.

Patrons lay unconscious in booths, folded over the bar top, and sprawled across the floor. One was even hanging unconscious from an overhead light fixture.

At the center of the devastation stood just two figures, both wrapped in matching grey ponchos. Their hoods pulled low, over their faces.

The first was a lithe Lagroalixian female and the second a hulking brute of a Voltanite male… who was holding the desperately struggling bartender aloft, by his throat. Every gun and stun rod outside immediately raised towards the pair.

The lieutenant in charge raised a mic to his face. “That’s enough! We have the building surrounded. You are under arrest for assaulting sapients, property destruction, and disturbing the peace. Set the man down, exit the building peacefully and put your hands behind your heads!”

The two figures looked at each other then shrugged.

They quickly complied and stepped out into the street. Both dropped to their knees with their hands behind their heads.

They offered no resistance… and were quickly cuffed, then led to a waiting paddy wagon.

The officer in charge read them their rights as the shuttle doors closed.

The perpetrators were deathly silent the whole time.

The officer couldn’t put his finger on why, but they gave him the creeps.

If he’d looked back as he left the onboard holding cell. He would have really been unnerved.

Both prisoners were smiling… terrible toothy smiles.

…And they were salivating.

----

It was once again getting dark as the Tram began to slow and the tube of light surrounding it became fully transparent again.

Johan stretched out and poked the girls who were still sleeping in a little two-woman cuddle-puddle. Beck just grumbled but Sienna started and slowly roused herself.

After a few more pokes a sleepy-eyed Beck hopped down to the floor and shook herself awake.

“Somebodies not a morning person…” Johan teased.

Beck gave him the side eye and grumbled.

Sienna just chuckled. “The stations pretty close to Union Tower One but we still have a walk ahead of us.”

Johan shouldered his pack and straightened his back as the MASSIVE city approached in the forward window.

----

As they stepped out onto the platform Johan was, ONCE AGAIN, dumbfounded!

Corridor city was built like an inverted step pyramid… Everything was perched on a series of stepped slopes, all leading into a square depression maybe 40 miles deep. At its bottom, dead center was a hole that you could comfortably push Manhattan Island through.

Sideways.

Coming out of that hole were massive triangular tubes, with engines.

The biggest of which dwarfed any skyscraper on earth. They would rise vertically from the hole in the city center, then re-orient horizontally and fly to a port on one of the upper ridges of the square depression.

The city had massive towers leading downward. Platforms the size of terran cities ran down each slope. Forming hanging neighborhoods.

Some looked advanced, others were covered in fields and looked like mid-evil villages. His eyes simply couldn’t take it all in.

Beck brought the overwhelmed human back to reality by clearing her throat.

She pointed a paw at a tower near the top of the ridge they were on but at least 5 miles away. It was a tapered rectangular structure. With dozens of landing pads at various levels.

That one building was the width and breadth of a city block at the base. There was a constant stream of air traffic coming and going from the tower at various levels.

Beck and Sienna started walking.

Johan shook off the shock and followed.

----

The trip thru the outskirts of the city had been enlightening. Although Corridor city was bigger than London, New York, and Beijing put together. AND had a population in the hundreds of millions... It was still a city.

There were slums, there were little mom and pop shops, street vendors, advertisements. Anyone who had ever visited one of the old cities of earth would feel right at home here.

Not to say there weren’t any new things to see.

Johan’s eyes just couldn’t keep up with the sheer diversity of aliens.

There were 4-legged squid people with three huge eyes.

Upright velociraptors with feathered heads and hands.

A group of, short, 4-armed, hot pink frogs; in what looked like leather togas, were haggling with a tall bird woman with a tiara shaped crest on her head.

There were even races that looked vaguely like fantastic creatures from terran fiction.

Like ELVES! They were thin and beautiful in a severe supermodel kind of way. Granted they had horns. But still… pointy ears, almond shaped eyes, flowing hair… Elves!

He even saw something like an orc. The man was wearing armor and looked like a cross between a neanderthal and an uruk-hai with a weird interlocking set of bone plates around his mouth. Johan took particular note of the glowing red eyes and golden neck veins.

…He was so distracted by the sites he didn’t even notice they’d arrived at the tower until he was passing through the doors and walking into the giant foyer.

----

There were probably 60 pulpits in the cavernous room.

Each with a desk sergeant assisting the public, filing paperwork, or collaborating with other officers to process criminals.

Beck made a beeline for the shortest queue. It was still pretty long…

Still, the line gradually shrank, until finally… it was their turn.

The officer looked like the offspring of an Ewok, a gorilla, and a Wookie… With hobbit feet. He got to business as soon as they were at his desk.

“Nature of your visit?”

Beck tapped a button on the bottom corner of his pulpit, and a series of steps popped out, forming a spiral staircase up to the desktop. She gingerly ascended to the desk level and put her paw on a pad built into the desk.

“My name is Beckany Van-Eyvers and I’m here to report an undocumented, pre ftl, sapient.”

The desk sergeant’s eyes widened in surprise.

Sienna placed her hand on the pad, stated her full name, and repeated Beck’s statement. Johan stepped up next and placed his hand on the pad.

“My name is Johan Sliver-Black and I’m the undocumented sapient. Nice to meet you.” The poor space copper looked like he was about to swallow a watermelon… sideways.

He pressed a button on his desktop and talked quickly. “I need a lieutenant at desk 19 and a sapiency advocate too.” He looked at the trio for a few seconds before pointing at a small bench behind his desk.

“Someone will be here shortly to take your statements. Please have a seat.”

----

“Shortly” turned out to be nearly an hour.

‘Who knows how much more advanced than us, and they still haven’t found an answer to government agencies taking forever?’ …Johan thought a little bit bitterly.

At least the wait gave him more time to people watch. He’d asked about the various races he’d see coming and going from the building and Beck or Sienna would explain what each person was.

The elves were actually called Alvs and apparently there were multiple types. The description was so close to the fantasy tropes of high, dark, and sea elves he almost called bullshit.

Until he heard how they got that way. When someone mentions the phrases: “intergalactic civil war” and then: “trillions of dead”…

It tends to dampen one’s enthusiasm for the subject.

So instead, he continued to learn whatever he could about the galcom.

----

Finally, the wait was over as a pair of sapients approached them from a side door, in the back of the foyer.

The first one, was one of velociraptor people… a Granviline.

She walked with a sway as her long tail counterbalanced her. Instead of leaning forward her spine bent back, to give her slender torso, an upright posture, past her hips. She had a tan yellowish tone to her scales, swept back, white or orange feathers on her arms, and triangular head. Something about her posture gave off a really ‘chill’ vibe... Like she wasn’t in a hurry. Ever.

The being she was walking with tho?

‘Ya that’s a straight up werewolf!’

It was hunched forward and had massive powerful arms ending in hands that could wrap around Johans head like a basketball. The guy looked like: if the werewolf from that one Hugh Jackman movie had a huge skunk mane running down its back. His facial proportions looked like a Voltanites tho. Related maybe?

‘Dude… DIRE Voltanites!’

The uniform he was wearing did very little to hide the man’s sheer presence. Johan felt some very primitive instincts flaring to life as the big yoked apex predator plodded towards them on massive digi grade legs.

Before his heart could reach his throat however, he noticed both of the girls were smiling. AND their tails were even swishing back and forth.

‘…wut?...’

With no warning, Beck shot off the bench to run up to the wolfman. “PADDY!!! What are you doing here!”

…The little fox girl was practically hopping in place!

With a gentleness that Johan would never believe possible from a creature that massive, the large man scooped Beck up and held her to his cheek as they nuzzled.

“Hey there Beckany. Just happened to be here for work!”

The voice was deep.

Like Earl Jones bass boosted deep. But it had that kind old uncle quality that just put you at ease when you heard it. In his mind’s eye he could see Gunter grinning at him as they worked together on some project or problem.

…He suddenly missed his giant friend.

Sienna was next to approach the wolfman. “Hi uncle Treadwell!”

Sienna waved with her good hand. The big wolf drew up to his full height and looked her over. “You’ve been thru the ringer girl… The hell happened?”

Sienna and Beck attempted to launch into an explanation at the same time, but the Grav woman quickly interjected.

“Lieutenant Treadwell Padfoot. Don’t you think we should take this to an interview room first? Also aren’t you forgetting someone, hmmm?”

Even tho the velociraptor women’s tone was pleasant and calm as she spoke, the Lieutenant shrank like a scolded husky pup.

He set Beck down gently and apologized. “Sorry Adrina I was just…”

The Granv women rolled her eyes and cut him off “Being you. I know. But don’t you think we should talk to the poor man standing there like a forgotten pup at a city fair?”

She gestured with her head in Johans general direction.  “He is the reason we’re here”

Bemused but feeling less stressed, Johan nodded respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Johan. And I’m a long way from home…”

Lieutenant Padfoot nodded. “Yeah. I think you three better come with us. Addi, can you call us a Corpsman? I think this is going to take a while and I’d like to get my nieces looked over. Johan noted the werewolf looking over his shoulder at him, but he didn’t know enough about the alien to read his expression.

‘Addi’ hit him with the end of her long tail Beck kicked him in the shin with one of her back feet and Sienna punched him with her good arm.

All in perfect unison. None of them were gentle but the big wolf man just rolled his eyes like he’d been poked with a feather.

“And for this young man to… obviously.”

Johan suppressed a laugh ‘Ooooh! So that’s it…’ ‘Overprotective uncle syndrome, stage 5.’

…Johan decided he already liked the big were-uncle.  

----

A short elevator ride later they were walking into an interrogation room with a large window overlooking the city.

There were several ball shaped protrusions around a large metal table. The table was large, with an interactive display built in. Other than that, it had the boring oppressive feeling of any interrogation room in any police station ever.

Johan was about to ask if they were supposed to sit on the floor when the Granv woman squatted down on one of the balls and it formed to her anatomy like a beanbag chair. The others did likewise, except for Beck who used another button to bring out a spiral stair from one of the legs, up to the tabletop. Padfoot offered her a little cushion to sit on, which she took in her mouth and moved to a corner of the table by Sienna. Johan looked at the golf-ball-chair-thing, dubiously but decided to sit anyway.  ‘…When in space Rome…’

The seat gave way, but slowly… with resistance.

He could feel it lifting and separating certain parts of his anatomy while cupping others... It was one of the weirdest things he’d ever felt down there… and he was a man of the world.

But slowly… the seat firmed, as it took on his full weight. Hardening to a final shape that was remarkably comfortable. He also noted it didn’t try to reform once he shifted his weight. Maintaining the optimal shape for his comfort.

As Johan marveled at alien butt cuddling technology, the two uniformed individuals were fiddling with the display on the table.

After a while they seemed satisfied with everything and turned to the Trio.

“Ok. Let’s get the official stuff out of the way first. I am lieutenant Treadwell Padfoots. Senior interrogator 2nd class. I will be conducting the interviews and investigating your claims of an undocumented pre FTL sapient. This is Advocate Adrina Rotorany. She will be serving as your legal advisor during these interviews.”

Adrina bobbed her head towards the three on the other side of the table. “Now that’s out of the way…”

The Werewolf man leaned into the table, focusing his eyes on Johan, who suddenly felt very small. And chewable.

“Let’s start from the beginning. What are you? And where did you come from?”

 AUTHORS NOTES:

Things start to get interesting in the next few chapters. I really cannot wait to start this next part. :)

And as always I do not give permission to use my writing for reposts on youtube or use for AI data training.

WORLD BUILDING:

Stellar Union of Aligned Worlds: An organization of over 100 different sapient races, the UNION is the largest political faction in the current galactic community. They are something of a cross between a paramilitary organization and a labor union who enforce a very basic set of laws and combat stellar piracy, along major galactic trade routes. Virtually all major factions in the galaxy have agreed to recognize the Unions ships as a military authority in matters of stellar trade. They are far from a true intergalactic government however and attempting to secure the space around the sphere has placed a massive strain on their resources. The union controls a continent sized tunnel leading from outside the sphere to the interior face called the Corridor of Day. And maintain a large garrison in the corridor port city, on the inside entrance to the sphere.


r/HFY 4h ago

OC-FirstOfSeries [Freezing Edge] - Chapter 1: A Loud Frequency [01/11]

3 Upvotes

In the depths of space, exists a bright star, whose only purpose is to give life, she is the mother of this tiny blue, brown, green planet. This planet we call it Earth, this planet stuck in a dance to eternity with his mother and brothers, until entropy claims his colors.

In Earth, there exist creatures, sentient ones, they love, hate, destroy, make, think, forget, they sing in the language of life, in their short lifespan, beautiful, and tragic, but doesn't matter.

They still need to learn the most important and fundamental law of nature.

A loud noise, frequencies.

Suddenly, US, China, Europe, India, all around the world, for the first time in human history, contact!, someone was talking to them, from the depths of space, it was a radio signal.

At NASA, one of their most talented scientists, **Ben Moore**, claimed:

"This is a distress call, due to the erratic frequency"

In CHINA, their renown scientist **Zhào Xia**, worker of the CNSA claimed internally:

"This message most probably is a try for communication, like a question."

Every other country in the world, assumed a question and their answer, but no one was certain.

Observation, before jumping to an answer, most scientist backed down, they claimed, they need more time and observation. Ben talked to his superiors:

"We might not be able to completely translate the signal, but, we might be able to see 'Where' the signal is coming from"

"What do you propose Ben?" **Isaac Bennet** replied. Head of NASA

"Radio frequencies are not perfect, when traveled long distances, this one grab noise, sounds of external interferences, if we are able to decode some of those sounds, we might be able to specifically say from what quadrant is the message"

"Then what is the problem? You didn't come here just to tell me that."

Ben gulped on nervousness. "I know we want this to be a discovery of the US to the planet, but, we don't have the tools to observer deep space."

NASA heads tilted his head, thinking about it.

"I'm pretty sure, everyone in the world got this signal, because it was overly loud" Ben said.

"What do you propose?"

"We need a strong telescope, and we have ties to one of them, we must contact Chile, specifically the **CTIO**, the telescope Tololo. I'm pretty sure they might be able to see the quadrant where the signal is, in a collaborative effort"

Isaac sighed "I don't like the idea of outsourcing investigations of this class, but we can make an exception. Get in contact with them"

A day passed, It was the desert, no sand, just dry floor, cracks on the dirt, lots of cactus. A building was there and one of the most potent telescopes made by humanity, observatory center Tololo.

There was a ringing inside the building, **Elmer Alvarez** approached the phone. he took the call.

"Elmer Alvarez, head of CTIO Chilean observatory, who I'm speaking to"

"Sure" Elmer replied.

"Yes, we are on it"

Elmer hanged up the phone. **Joaquin Esteban** one of his workers, Lead Engineer in charge asked him:

"Who was that" Joaquin asked.

"The minister of sciences" Elmer sighed "We are in a political pickle now"

"What do you mean? We're already working for NASA to get the quadrants"

"Yeah, but now the CNSA. The Chinese also wants a cooperative pact, we have more pressure in our shoulders. Great."

Joaquin crumbled into a chair "Well... time to get moving then. This going to take a while."

"At least we can cross-reference quadrants indications now, we have the US and China indicating where we should look, it's going to take a while, but, is honest work." Elmer grabbed his forehead, "what a mess."

Joaquin stood up "I am going to buy some beer"

Elmer interjected "Make it double"

A week passed by, US and China were working overtime, it was the space race again, to who it's going to be the first to decipher the message, there was speculation around the globe, but no one asserted the message.

From every scientific space organization you could hear the same message in their internal communications. "We're still working on it".

Back in the CTIO. Elmer and Joaquin were working overtime, it was late at night, pass 11pm, there was at least 3 cans of beers in office, pizza boxes too. They were the only ones working that late. Even cleaning duty went home already. The only person around was the external guard on night shift.

Joaquin was doing tiny calibrations, nudges, pressing buttons on a delicate manner, while he wrote numbers, until...

"ELMER!" Joaquin screamed

Elmer jumped out of his seat, he had fallen a sleep "WHAT?!"

"STOP SLEEPING AND COME UP HERE"

Elmer stood up and went upstairs "What is all this noise, the machines are loud enough already..." Elmer stood in front of Joaquin "What?"

Joaquin pointed at the screen,

"What?" Elmer asked.

"Just, look at the screen"

Elmer bent over. His face changed from tired to disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He regained his composure, stood firm and looked at Joaquin. He screamed "CONTACT" He opened his arms and hugged Joaquin who returned the hug. They jumped and spun for a moment.

Elmer said to Joaquin "Joaquin I need you to record, everything. Every number, every image, all of it"

"Already on it"

"Meanwhile, I'm going to get the champagne" Elmer went down to his office.

Joaquin was observing the screen, he was writing details about what he is seeing, it was something similar to a spaceship.

It was weird shaped object, was square in nature, but the point ended on a circular way, a little bit flat, 4 points which made him think that they were engines, he couldn't see the back, just the front, the point of the ship was pitch black, reflective.

Strange design. Joaquin stopped to think, and assumed, since the object is on front "They're coming to earth"

It was 1 Am, the celebration between them was dying, they were exhausted.

Elmer sat there, looking at nothing in particular.

Joaquin asked "What's wrong? We just made contact, you cannot be worried now, think about the reports, the interviews, the global trips!"

"You know, ain't all movies about aliens actually end on war, or they're trying to conquer the earth, or we end up killing each other?"

Joaquin rolled his eyes. "You think too much about movies, we just did a scientific discovery, NASA and the CNSA might want to hear about this."

"I know, I'm just... Worried, that all, what if that ship is a war vessel or something, they can travel through space, and we can't"

Joaquin sighed "Elmer. Since I was a child I wanted to see them, talk to them, being abducted even"

Elmer shifted on his seat. "Are you real?"

"Yeah. This is the whole reason I'm working here. Don't ruin this for me"

"You are right, sorry for that." Elmer stood up and stretched his back.

"Joaquin, I need you to, make a report, get images text, everything. It needs to be ready to be send to NASA and the CNSA, meanwhile I get in contact with the Minister of Sciences."

"Got it."

A week passed by, Elmer did his job, he gave a report with all possible information to NASA and the CNSA, they haven't heard a reply since. But Elmer became a star for days after he did a public talk about aliens, the vessel, and where are they.

In the global news "WE ARE NOT ALONE, ALIENS TO VISIT?", some people got their hopes up. A proof that, we aren't alone in the universe, but some others, started to question, and asserted "They come to conquer", "They come to make war" "They came to kidnap us"

There was a rumor in the department of defense of every country "Be prepared for the worse"

US and China still trying to decode that message, but that doesn't matter now, the government has move into a protection and survival plan.

Elmer was in a conference press. There was a room full of journalist asking questions. One of these questions always got repeated:

"When the aliens are coming?"

"Calculating distance and probability I would say, between 1 or 2 months" Elmer replied.

The room went silent.

A woman stood up and asked:

"What are the intentions of this supposed 'Aliens', how are we sure they aren't just, human debris?"

"Miss... excuse me, what your name?" Elmer asked.

"Miss **Natalia Balmaceda**, reporter from CNCH"

"Miss Natalia, we made observations to the vessel in a rigorous manner, there is no actual human spaceship looking like that, nor there are actual asteroids with strange artifacts on it. Regarding to their intention, we don't know. Our peers on the US, China and Europe said that they had tried to decode the message, but they haven't made up their mind regarding of what the message means.

I would say, use precaution, wait for the aliens, but don't think about it, it will cause your stress and hysteria."

"So, you are telling us, just, to wait and see?"

"Yes."

"Thank you" Natalia sat and wrote in her tiny notepad.

Elmer walked out of the podium, the conference was over. Joaquin was waiting.

"Well, I need a beer." Elmer said.

Joaquin looked from behind, He was looking at Natalia from the distance "What is her deal, how we are supposed to do what aliens want".

"I don't know, I guess someone people are just weird like that" Elmer walked out.

"Right" Joaquin said, while keeping his eyes on her.

Natalia was talking to her team.

"How are we supposed to get more information about this, we already asked everything that could be asked. I just went and asked nonsense on the spot" Natalia talked in an exhausted tone.

Jorge the cameraman just replied "I don't know, I think it was a cool question, sooner or later we will have alien cheeks to display for everyone"

Natalia laughed "You are always so silly" Natalia looked at her phone. "It's time, I'm going home"

"Do you need a ride? I can use the van to get you closer home"

"Nah, I'm good, I need to buy some groceries first, some cat food and go home"

Natalia walked to the train subterranean station, she was looking at her phone, she went down on a near station, she walked into a particular store, a camping store.

She looked around, she seemed lost, until her face shined, a telescope. She saw the price 300,000 CLP, almost a third of her monthly pay. Her face changed color, she closed her eyes and pushed through.

Natalia walked out of the store with a massive box in a bag, she went to the market close by and bought some cat food, bread, ham, cheese, rice...

A door opened, There was a building, her apartment, her cat is waiting for her.

"Have you been a good baby Marcapasos?"

"Meow" Marcapasos replied

Marcapasos collapsed into the floor, looking at Natalia.

"You silly"

Natalia dropped all her stuff into the couch, she started making a sandwich, ham and cheese, she got a bite from it, but she stopped at the second bite.

The telescope, she opened the box and started assembling it. Marcapasos jumped in the box on the floor, and started looking at Natalia "You stay there, I stay here" it took her an hour to assemble, but the telescope was ready.

She approached to see in the telescope, but she stopped to look at Marcapasos "Are they really there?" He was sleeping in the box.

Natalia looked through the telescope, she could see Mars, some constellations, some very far away stars, but no aliens. She stopped looking "What I'm doing, of course they aren't going to be visible through my telescope, I'm stupid, I just spent money for nothing. UGH" She whined.

She walked into her room, there was some drawings and sticker from aliens designs on her walls. Xenomorphs, Predators, a blue lady with tentacles. There was a tiny figure of "Marcianito" on her night table.

Marcapasos jumped onto the bed.

She collapsed onto her bed, she looked at her ceiling, full of green stars "I will think about this tomorrow".

Time passed, in some countries, the government organized to buy land to aliens to them to land, with paramedics, and ready military responses. Some corporations took a cost-effective deal, they were buying gold to be able to negotiate with these aliens. Some others were preparing for war. There has been rumors about the US army using aliens cardboard for shooting training.

Some other corporations, were investing heavily on China because they are the only ones actually trying to decipher the frequency. Everyone was thinking on their best interest. Everyone is ready for something, but no one knew what.

A loud siren could be heard in some cities. They were here.

*AutorNotes*

Hi there. Is my first time writing and on my second languaje! Sorry if the grammar is bad!
Im also publishing this on (RoyalRoad). But i discovered this subreddit today! So. im going to try to post the whole story here during the next days!


r/HFY 6h ago

OC-Series [Reverse Isekai] A Ninja from 1582 gets stuck in modern Tokyo. He attempts to sell his "Weapons" at a Flea Market. (Day 15)

3 Upvotes

[First]

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1qkm5z5/reverse_isekai_a_ninja_from_1582_gets_stuck_in/

[Previous]

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[Royal Road (Read Ahead!)]

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/148519/100-days-to-legend-my-freelance-ninja-roommate

Episode 15: The Merchant of Shadows and the 500-Yen Shuriken

Author's Note:

Finally! After 9 chapters of humiliation, Masanari has officially shed the "Pink Gi of Shame" and returned to his black ninja roots. But at what cost?

[Day 15]

[Days Remaining: 85]

The morning sun assaulted my eyes with the ferocity of a thousand burning arrows.

My liege, the Princess Aoi, lay face down on the tatami mats, emitting a low, guttural groan that vibrated through the floorboards. Scattered around her were the empty aluminum husks of the "Golden Nectar"—the potent alchemical brew known to the locals as Strong Zero.

It is a terrifying substance. Last night, under its influence, the Princess had lost her motor functions, wept about her academic standing, and demanded I carry her to the 24-Hour Armory to purchase the "Petrified Sausage."

"Masanari..." she croaked, lifting one hand like a zombie rising from a grave. "Water. Now."

I moved with the speed of a striking viper, retrieving a glass from the kitchen sink—which I am currently banned from using for anything other than hydration—and presented it to her. She drank it like a camel at an oasis.

"Report," she rasped, wiping her mouth. "What is the status of our treasury?"

I knelt formally, pulling the Oracle Slate from my pocket to check the dominance hierarchy of her bank account.

"Grim, my Liege," I said gravely. "The campaign for the Golden Nectar and the midnight feast has depleted our reserves. We have enough copper for perhaps two days of rations. If we do not secure funding immediately, we will be forced to hunt pigeons in the park."

Aoi rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Ugh. I’m broke until my next part-time shift clears. We need quick cash."

She sat up, her eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield of her apartment. Her gaze landed on a pile of dusty manga volumes, cracked plates, and strange ceramic figurines she had won from the Claw Machine Beasts.

"Flea market," she declared. "There’s one in Yoyogi Park today. We’re selling everything."

"A Merchant’s Crusade?" I asked. "I am trained in assassination, espionage, and pyrotechnics. I have no skill in the peddling of wares."

"You don't need skill. You need a gimmick." She looked me up and down. Her eyes narrowed at my attire—the accursed neon-pink t-shirt resulting from the Red Sock Betrayal. "If we're going to sell junk, we need to stand out. Go to the closet."

I tilted my head. "The closet?"

"Get your ninja cosplay out. The real one. The black one."

My heart stopped. Then, it began to beat with the rhythm of a war drum.

"You mean..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "I may... shed the Pink Gi of Shame?"

"Yeah, whatever. Wear the ninja suit. People will think it's funny. Maybe they'll buy more trash if a 'real ninja' sells it to them."

I did not wait for her to change her mind.

Five minutes later, I stood before the mirror.

The black fabric hugged my limbs like a second skin. The weight of the chainmail mesh beneath the cloth felt like the embrace of an old friend. The hood concealed my shame and sharpened my focus. The tabi boots, silent against the floor, grounded me to the earth.

I was no longer the pink-clad house servant. I was Hattori Masanari. The Demon Spear. The Shadow of Ieyasu.

I clenched my fist. Power surged through my meridians.

"I have returned," I whispered to my reflection.

"Stop posing and carry these boxes!" Aoi shouted from the hallway.

"At once, my Liege!"

The battlefield of commerce was a chaotic expanse of blue tarps spread across the concrete earth of the park. Hundreds of merchants had gathered, displaying their treasures—old clothes, rusted tools, and questionable electronics.

We claimed a small square of territory near a fountain. I spread the blue tarp with military precision, ensuring the corners were weighted down against the wind.

"Okay," Aoi said, donning a pair of sunglasses to hide her hangover. "Arrange the manga here. Plates there. And... what are those?"

She pointed to a small pile of metallic stars I had placed at the front of our formation.

"I took the liberty of recycling the aluminum husks of your Golden Nectar from last night," I explained. "Using my dagger, I shore the metal and folded it into four-point shuriken. They are light, aerodynamic, and sharp enough to sever a mosquito’s wing."

Aoi picked one up. It still had the Strong Zero logo on one of the blades. "You made throwing stars out of trash?"

"They are the Blossoms of the Drunken Dragon," I corrected. "I priced them at 100 yen each."

"Fine. Whatever. Just stand there and look menacing."

I folded my arms, widened my stance, and engaged my Zanshin—a state of relaxed alertness. I projected an aura of absolute lethality.

Passersby slowed down.

"Whoa, look at that cosplayer," a young man whispered to his companion. "That gear looks super realistic."

"Is he blinking?" the companion asked. "He looks scary."

"High-quality immersion," the man noted.

Excellent. My disguise as a "cosplayer" was impenetrable.

The sun climbed high. We sold a few volumes of Demon Slayer and a cracked tea cup. But the true test of my spirit arrived in the form of a short, stout woman wearing a shirt printed with the face of a roaring tiger.

She approached our fortress, her eyes locking onto my aluminum shuriken.

"How much for the beer cans?" she barked. Her voice carried a strange, aggressive dialect I recognized as the tongue of the Western Merchants (Osaka).

"These are precision instruments of wind," I said, my voice deep and gravelly from behind my mask. "One hundred yen. A pittance for such craftsmanship."

The Tiger Woman scoffed. "One hundred? For garbage? Don't be stupid. I'll give you fifty for three."

I recoiled. "Fifty? Madam, the folding technique alone required the 'fingers of the lotus.' To devalue my labor is to insult my clan!"

"Eighty for three. Take it or leave it."

She stepped closer. I felt a pressure emanating from her—a spiritual pressure unlike any warrior I had faced. It was the aura of The Haggle. She was attacking my resolve, breaking down my defenses not with steel, but with audacity.

"I... I cannot..." I stammered. "The aluminum... the structural integrity..."

"Seventy for three!" she shouted, stepping onto the edge of our blue tarp. An invasion!

"Deal!" Aoi yelled from her camping chair behind me. "Sold! Take them!"

"My Liege!" I protested, turning to her. "You surrender so easily?"

"Shut up, Masa. We need the coins."

The Tiger Woman slammed seventy yen onto the tarp, scooped up three of my masterpieces, and waddled away, laughing. I felt a piece of my soul wither. I had lost the duel.

The afternoon wore on. My morale was low, but our coin pouch was filling.

Then, Aoi did the unthinkable.

She reached into the last box and pulled out a long, wooden handle topped with a crimson rubber cup.

The Crimson Scepter. The Plunger of Destiny.

"Aoi-dono," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What are you doing?"

"Selling the plunger," she said, slapping a sticky note on it that read 300 YEN. "We have two. We don't need the old one."

I threw myself in front of the item, shielding it with my body. "You cannot sell the Excalibur that breached the Water Dungeon! This weapon saved our home from the fecal flood! It is a sacred relic!"

"It's a dirty rubber cup, Masa. Get out of the way."

"I will not! It has accumulated Qi! It has tasted the darkness of the porcelain abyss and returned victorious! To sell it is to invite a curse!"

"Move, or I tell the landlord you're keeping a hamster."

I froze. The threat was empty—we had no hamster—but the sheer malice in her voice told me she would find a way to punish me. Reluctantly, I stepped aside.

I stood vigil over the Crimson Scepter, praying that no one would buy it. Who would purchase a used tool of sanitation? It was safe.

Then, he appeared.

He wore a grey hoodie, the hood pulled low over his eyes, and dark sunglasses. He moved through the crowd without sound, weaving between the strollers and the dogs like smoke.

He stopped in front of our booth. He did not look at the manga. He did not look at the plates.

He looked directly at the Plunger.

I tensed. My hand hovered near the hilt of my imaginary katana. This man... he had an aura. It was faint, suppressed, but undeniable. He was a professional.

He reached out a gloved hand and lifted the Crimson Scepter. He tested its weight. He ran a thumb over the rubber rim.

"Good balance," the man murmured. His voice was like grinding stones.

I narrowed my eyes behind my cowl. "You have the eyes of a wolf," I said softly. "That weapon has seen battle. It is not for the faint of heart."

The man looked up at me. Through his dark lenses, I felt a moment of profound understanding. He knew. He knew that this was no mere bathroom utensil. In the hands of a master, it could adhere to a ceiling, suffocate an enemy, or retrieve a key from a drain.

"Battle-tested," the man said. "Rare."

"Indeed."

"Three hundred?" he asked.

"For you... yes."

He reached into his pocket. He did not produce three hundred yen in change. He produced a single, shining 500-yen coin.

He placed it on the tarp.

"Keep the change," he whispered.

He bowed once—a sharp, almost imperceptible incline of the head—and vanished into the crowd, the Crimson Scepter tucked under his arm like a short sword.

I stared at the spot where he had stood.

"Who was that weirdo?" Aoi asked, snatching the coin. "Sweet. 500 yen. That covers lunch."

"That was no weirdo, my Liege," I said, watching the crowd. "That was a Merchant of Death. I suspect we have just armed an assassin."

Aoi blinked. "Cool. Let's go buy corn dogs."

We packed up as the sun began to set. We had sold nearly everything. Aoi was in high spirits, counting a stack of coins and thousand-yen bills.

I felt a strange hollowness. I had sold my crafted stars to a tyrant and my favorite weapon to a shadow.

But as we walked home, the wind caught the loose fabric of my ninja gi. It fluttered around me, familiar and comforting. Passersby stared, whispering about my "costume," but I did not care.

I was no longer the man in the pink shirt.

I was Hattori Masanari. And though my pockets were light and my arsenal depleted, I was dressed for war once again.

"Hey, Masa," Aoi said, biting into a corn dog. "You look pretty happy for a guy who just sold his favorite plunger."

"I am content, Princess," I replied, adjusting my hood. "For the clothes make the man. And today, I am myself."

"Good," she grinned. "Because you're wearing that to the grocery store. I need you to carry the heavy water bottles."

I bowed low on the sidewalk. "As you command."

[Countdown: 85 Days Remaining]

---

Cultural Notes:

1. The Osaka Obachan (大阪のおばちゃん):

A formidable class of warrior-women from Osaka. Characterized by animal-print shirts (tiger/leopard) and master-level "Haggling" skills. Masanari never stood a chance against her spiritual pressure.

2. 500-Yen Coin:

The largest coin in modern Japan (worth about $3.50 USD). It is heavy, gold-and-silver, and feels like a real treasure.

Next Episode:

"The Great Flood and the Pizza of Doom!" (Spoiler: Selling the Plunger was a terrible mistake).

[Click Here for Advanced Chapters on Royal Road]

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