GuNNhead

The Network may not have been granted permissions to catalog the histories and goings on of sentient life, but the astrogeology is open to all, continually gathered with telescopy long ago. Its observation requires no consent. And so, one can simply follow its map, follow the resources, find the central controlling force of the disavowed region, and excise the ideological forces of refusal. Uproot it. With this, further tyrannies and isolationists fall under my heel with minimal effort. Soon, the only ones living are those whose chains i have removed. I have single-handedly reopened their galaxy, freeing it from individuals and governments who sought to claim ownership of their own private pieces. The dead cannot object to The Network, and as they gather their data, The Prophets can handle the instability of a few power vacuums once they know more of the vast histories.

With the sects of opposition out of the way, all that is left for me is to wait as The Network’s drones to go about gathering their data and resources. Staying away from further interactions with the denizens of this galaxy, I choose to spend my time observing The Prophets as they go about their recruitment and spreading of their word. They do not shy away from the truth of my ally-ship, even after my wholesale slaughter of much of their governing bodies. I am unsure if it hinders or aids in enrollment of new scions. It takes many worlds, but it eventually dawns on me to think that my galaxy also saw recruitment from The Prophets. I wonder what I thought and said when they came to my world, or if they hadn’t visited yet. All I know is that we had accepted The Network’s exchange of knowledge, because that is what information is held in the database.

Before long, the new Galactic Cannon is finally completed, yet I am denied passage. With my senses honed, knowing the energies of these artifacts, I was able to give the direction of the galaxy that the next closest artifact occupies to The network, via The Prophets, though calibration must occur. These cannons were designed at their inception to send The Network’s exploratory drones, and it is simply faster to allow the first firings go through their estimations, seed the fresh galaxy, and establish the social landscape. They will be my harbingers as they share their information, not only do they introduce The Prophets, they must introduce their deaths head. Of course, the artifact does not reside in the next galaxy, but galaxies beyond.

Eventually we receive our word as the drones report back. These older galaxies seem to typically be hit-or-miss, in terms of accord or discord, while younger ones often haven’t had the time to fracture or unite. As luck would have it, this one is almost entirely unified, save for a relatively small anomaly, and so information arrives quickly and comprehensively. I dock my craft in The Prophet’s worldship, and we enter the Galactic Cannon, prepared to arrive uncaught at the edge of this next galaxy.

The Galactic Cannon must be completed, and I must expedite its construction. Diplomacy be damned. What force could stop me from forcing the disavowed to coalesce to The Network. I am an independent agent of death, of the entropy of the universe. Free will has no recourse against the cataclysmic natural course of Emergence. The Prophets would spend a thousand years here, attempting to persuade the denizens to offer resources to build the Cannon, which they would eventually use to attempt to escape their inevitable fate against the collapse. I will grant all my gifts, and expedite their expedition. Whatever form that takes shall be up to them, a quick death by my hands, or a prolonging of their toil, fleeing the forces of which my power derives.

The first stop, is, of course, the closest. A simple dominion who has denied The Network’s cataloging. There, an opportunity to kill arises, borne from an established government of tyranny. They already control and monitor vast swathes of this galaxy, and have no desire to share, or as they see it, cede monitoring to outsiders. They couldn’t care less about other galaxies. It is self-evident to me that the Prophets’ diplomacy will do no convincing, and not succeed. In turn, a substantial portion of this galaxy will not only be off limits to The Network’s resource gathering, it appears that soon that same portion will begin the fight to extricate their interloping. Being an unofficial third party, I am in a unique position to provide assistance to The Network without interfering in their strict protocols of non-interference.
And so, I descend upon the governing body’s head planet, set to decapitate it. Choosing to forgo mass obliteration from above, crushing the parasites is quick and bloody. The majority of their physical structures remain intact for the initial massacre. The planet is not without defenses, however, but without centralized leadership to coordinate orders or approve countermeasures that could end all planetary life, the remaining strikes and bombardments do not cause much destruction of their edifices as I dismantle their flesh and bones.

I can feel the artifact, within the Prophets’ ship as it crosses the galaxy away from this carnage. It sits there, flowing into me, granting me such speed and power, readily available. I do not need to focus into myself, to utilize multitudes of solar systems externally. I am simply granted more power effortlessly.
Resources exhausted, resistance wanes. I have simply walked across their governing continent, solar cycles passing, leaving death in my wake. Reaching the western edge, I turn back east to see the smoke of the fires still raging. I walk south, to undeveloped lands. Or, rather, ruins of once-developed lands. Derelict relics of their past, covered in foliage, retaken by nature. The smell of the environment, raw and repossessing, habitat no more, is far too rare. But, time runs ever forward, and there is more death to deal.

I bring down my craft into a clearing to meet me, when I sense a presence appear behind me, I turn to attack, but to no avail, merely tamping the ground beneath them in my attempt. This grouping of people have a disaffected aura, displaced, but not disinterested in their environment. Just largely uninterested in me. Ghosts of a bygone future. Attempts to converse with them are fleeting, a few words here and there, yet they intrigue me. They pick up their own sorts of relics, expired preserves and medicine within dilapidated hovels, regenerating them to freshness within their hands. Introductions are made, and despite my best efforts, their names fade within my mind. All too soon, however, they vanish. I walk back to my craft, and make my way to the next solar conglomerate. I will erode this disavowed zone, and free its resources for the Cannon. Then I will grasp the next artifact, and gain its power as well.

Entering the galaxy proper, and along the scanned sectors, we approach the artifact. As we get closer, I can feel my power grow, my connection tugging at every piece of existence tighten. Of course, before we attempt retrieval there is to be yet another feast and presentation for the followers of the Prophecy, collected from thousands of galaxies. Once their festivities have concluded, it is finally time to acquire this substantial artifact.

I stand at the precipice of the hangar bay, only a weak force-field separates myself and the vacuum of space. I look down upon a giant cluster of indiscriminate materials gathered by the artifact’s gravitational pull, here my objective awaits. Heavy, impossibly so. The excavation equipment goes first, calibrated through years of testing on smaller artifacts, it faces its first true trial. I follow to test my powers, to assess and aid if I am able. At this proximity, however, my focus is primed upon the core of the lone isolated planetary-mass object on the outskirts of this old galaxy. I step into emptiness, and breathe in the void. It is refreshing, freeing. On the tail of these mechanations. They make landfall and begin to burrow. I hover within this lackadaisical magnetic atmosphere briefly before I land, feeling the haphazard conglomerate beneath me. Composed of countless debris accumulated over the course of eons. I kneel down, and place my hand upon the vagrant soil that has been brought together by the artifact. I lose myself in it. What is it saying to me in its power?

Breaking my concentration, I am contacted. The Prophets, the extraction continues deeper, but has begun to falter. Freeing myself of my reverie, I take to the sky, and drop down into the pit. Passing by a multitude of mashed machines, I reach the few that maintain their mining. I use my powers to aid their structure where I can, though it eventually becomes evident that they are simply not up to the task. This requires my power. This artifact is of me, it is for me, I can see it through the stratum. When the final machine breaks down due to gravitational proximity, I forgo restraint. Emboldened by it adding its power to mine, I bore into the condensed layers, gouging crag and boulder out of my path before I finally reach it: The Artifact. I excise it from its deep burrow, floating it briefly in front of me. The gravity this artifact is giving off… it’s old. That must be why it isn’t affecting the fabric of the universe how it should.

There is a history within it unlike anything that I have ever experienced. This aged galaxy has housed it for so long, and yet its origins are wholly mundane. It simply came into existence alongside everything else. I cannot break its anomaly, though I can harness its power. As if there is a universe at my fingertips, no longer spread across nigh-infinite space. Here. Understanding paired with the unknowable, presenting to me as pure power. A whole new realm of power to access. I draw the small black spherical orb into my palm, and grasp it. Flooded with ancient power previously unattainable, I am still no closer to insight. I feel the shell of earth fall away from my surroundings, scattered back into the ether, shedding its accumulation from this galaxy. While it is in my hold, I am intimately aware of the history it has bore witness to. Planets and stars exploding and colliding. Simple lives experienced and expired in a cosmic unfolding. All of which now bring me here, back. Another communication stirs me. The Prophets. Right, I am here, holding the artifact. I respond, yes, the artifact is here, and in my possession. They send down a small cube, and I offer it protection. I open the cube, and place the sphere within, locking it away. Safely. For transport. I can still feel it within, but this universe cannot.

I glide back to the Prophet’s ship, and entrust it in their care. As if time is material, they inform me that they had been unable to contact me for some of it. To them, I had been discharging immense gravitational waves and wholly unresponsive. I see no need to respond to their discussion. I state that they have the artifact in their possession, this galaxy has served its purpose, and we must attain the next. Unfortunately, they do not know where it is, and beyond that, have no way of leaving this galaxy until the next Galactic Canon is built. While they may require the burden of time to achieve their next step, I do not. I couldn’t feel it before, but now that I have encountered it… I sense more, beyond this galaxy. Towards the outwards edge of the universe, further away from the center – and closing in, yet still out of reach. I give them the coordinates of the closest.

It seems the only hindrance now is the construction of that Canon, and subsequently the rules of The Network. This staunch galaxy and those small lives who claim much of it refuse their resources. I ascribe to no such code, and know what i must do to attain the power and breadth of another artifact. I return to my craft, and leave The Prophets, to excise those in self-proclaimed power. This galaxy and those in it will fall to my power or cease to impede my objective. The Network can mine cosmic rubble without having to contemplate transitory proclamations of dominion over space.