GuNNhead

The feast aboard the Prophet’s worldship that night outshines the first night’s grandeur and extravagancy aboard the Orbiter by magnitudes, albeit with a lightly hushed tone to the proceedings. The crew distrust me, some outright hate me, as I cannot eat the food that they partake of. There’s something about it that my suit rejects. The final morning before the battle, all the sensors, the weapon systems, and the ships are checked and double-checked, it is found that everything is in working order.

The trouble is right on time, and very existent, The Prophets of the Last Eclipse’s goals have only one blatant hindrance left: a nigh-impenetrable wall of an enemy armada. These are not beings who simply do not believe in the values of Prophets of the Last Eclipse, nor are they a nearby planet’s defenses. No, the armada that stands strong, poised, ready to attack and destroy, they vehemently oppose the goal of the Prophets, they seek to bring destruction to the entire galaxy, in one, final eclipse of every sun, of every star; they seek to bring Nothingness to existence.

The soldiers ceremoniously prepare, and get into their individual fighter ships as they approach their destination. Once in range, the sirens start going off. The voice over the intercom appears.
“All soldiers are to begin deployment. Good Luck.”
Axivognt and I walk down the halls of docking ports where their fleet is taking off.
“This is only one battle in a long path. They don’t want us to have the artifact of this galaxy, and if we cannot retain it, those who seek to end all will see every last one of us destroyed. But we will overcome, have no fear, our souls are full, and all of our men have been training for this moment their entire lives, we will emerge triumphantly.” With that, Axivognt shows me to my ship, and as I get in, Axivognt goes to his own. He gives the signal, and the bay doors of the mothership open, sending out thousands of small fighter craft in tight formations.

My ship is one of the last to leave the docking bay, exiting to laser blasts fly all around, into a huge outer-space dogfight of immense proportions. With the clusters of ships tailing each other all around the same area, the stray blasts may hit unintended targets, so one’s ships computers must be maintained in calculations of random spacial velocity matrix calibrations, or one might risk friendly fire. It is easier to communicate this friendly fire risk than it is stray enemy fire, which is is how Axivognt’s ship was taken out of commission, stray enemy fire to the wing; he had to return to the mother ship.

Both sides continue to lose many members, though the Prophets were outnumbered two-to-one at the outset, and the numbers are now even. The head pilot of the other side’s forces is on my tail, firing blast after blast, missing by only a few meters each time. Getting closer with every shot, eagerly anticipating the chance to be locked on perfectly. Enemy and friendly ships explode around us, some getting damaged and returning to the ship, others, being completely reduced to shrapnel.
“You’re the best pilot I’ve ever encountered,” says the enemy ship following me, “My name is Starlition, I wanted you to know the name of the man who destroyed you!” He achieves his target lock and fires, a sure fire blast of destruction straight to my ship. I send my ship straight downward, defying momentum, avoiding the blast, and eject myself into the cold depths of space. Starlition is stunned, and, using this moment, I flip backwards, turning to face him.

[Activate: Gravity Sphere]
Charging with a single hand, I fire, destroying his thrusters and sending him off into space.
“I’ll get you for thiiis!” he shouts as his ship hurtles out of control into the blackness.

The Prophets think the battle is won as the enemy forces retreat in full without their captain, but a massive ship, larger than the Prophet’s planetary mother ship, removes its cloaking field. It has a daunting, commanding presence, with a large, flat front, a small window at the top from command, and a narrowing back. The Prophets immediately light up communication channels to devise an attack plan. I command my ship back to me, and stand atop it.

[Activate: Quantum Destroyer]
Taking aim at the giant ship, I place my hands together to charge the blast, and fire with all of the power at my command, and obliterate it.

Once back inside the worldship, there is much rejoicing. After, they will continue their proselytizing in this galaxy, and then the long search across galaxies for the artifacts to save the universe. I want no part of it. In the celebrations, I tell Axivognt that I must leave. He understands the need to forge one’s own path, but not my need for death, for violence: This requirement, the compulsion to remove the life from the living. I scour the Network’s databases, but Kænus appears to be as Axivognt described, affluent, philanthropic, and weak. However, I know of immediate revenge that will provide me with what I require: destroying Celrdrrun. I am able to trace his probable location to a sun-planet called Thértuu.

Over the next few days, I’m trained in some basic forms of combat. Through their enhanced training, I learn some of the finer points of my suit. I go through their training with relative ease. I demonstrate my great power. The weapons training did not go over well. The guns all seem to have the same basic functionality, even when their shape may be quite unique and distinctive. These weapons were very odd in shape though. The fronts were round and hollow, with a needle in the center where the energy blast comes from. There are rings around the needle that light up to charge the weapon; it has setting from stun to explode to disintegrate. Though, the maximum setting has a mass capacitor, so it can only disintegrate so much of something. As in, if you shot a building, it would only disintegrate the wall, and not the whole building. The back of the weapon was also round, and enveloped the hand, like a shield. The trigger was on the inside, and had a very organic feel to hold, it is typical to hold it sideways, but it can also be held ‘upright,’ though it is much less effective in that position, and feels awkward. Weapons that are not part of the suit feel unnatural, disconcerting. Most of the soldier’s interest came to my own suit’s power, and so I did not get their weapons training, finding my own inherent weapons more effective. I bested their best in nearly every aspect. It took armies of them to stop me in training simulators. Not killing them is what takes most of my strength.

“Now,” Axivognt said one morning, “we must talk of your ship, this is crucial, as, as had been said before, we will be approaching some trouble before we’ll be able to reach our next destination, in accordance with the prophecy.”
The flight room was large, with many replicas of their ships attached to the floor for training purposes. I can sense it. My craft. It’s been repairing itself faster than ever since I’ve regained my suit. I think I’ve gone to it at night. I begin to lead him toward it in my haste. As we walk, he long-windedly explains their flight training.
“Now, when in flight, everyone has to wear their helmet, because it has sensors in it that are required to control the ship. It’s mostly neurological, and responds to their thoughts. Though, there are also manual controls, as well as a highly advanced autopilot. We’ve found that no autopilot can compare against a skilled, natural pilot who knows how to best and intuitively utilize it, and do what inherently feels right for them, so, that is why we must train in these simulators to the extent that we do.”
“Okay,” I say, as we make it to the GS-336. In a flash of outlining light, my helmet appears, “let’s do this,” I continue in the altered voice of my helmet. I enter my craft, and it powers on. I head to the controls, and run a full diagnostic. These past few days have helped, it’s fully repaired.

Attached to the training simulator, the ship lifts, and shakes about, getting ready. The System charges, powers up, the lights inside go on, and a grid view appears, monitoring my surroundings. The simulation starts, and my ship warns me of enemy ships approaching. My virtual ship begins to move at an incredible rate, the ships following. They open fire, the laser blasts zoom by me, I stop, and they zoom by me, I start moving again, catching up to them, and return fire, destroying one. The other flips around, getting behind me. Something in my subconscious is telling me of the non-reality of it. It is hungering for real death. I deploy a surge bomb backwards, destroying the second ship. Ship after ship come out, and each are easily dispatched. This ship was not built for destruction at all, but the suit. It’s bonded. Soon, the simulation stops. I step out, and am greeted by a small group of the soldiers.
“We’re quite pleased that you did so well and completed it in record time, but had to stop this early, your ship was beginning to resist the simulation, hovering, shaking. We truly did find the one who was foretold of would be found, the one who’d tip the scales, and help us achieve our goal. We’re telling you now, now that you’ve completed your training: we’re depending on you, and we beg of you not to abandon us, sentencing us all to our demise.” Axivognt realizes he went off on a rant and stops before he carries on further. The mood has gone down; the soldiers are now contemplating their fate, what lies before them, a battle to attain another piece of the prophecy.
“I have only death. I do not mean to insult you, and I thank you for what you have afforded me, but I cannot stay. I will stay for the battle, so that I may kill. That is the reason I am here.”

The next day, however, it is time to train for their next mission. I am awoken early, and immediately brought to the training sector of the ship. It is large with many different rooms for various training activities. I can tell just from how the men are that some have been trained to specialize in certain activities, as well as being competent in everything else, while others were trained in more general ways, to be a jack-of-all trades, who would be better than average in most everything.

Axivognt comes from a training room in the common armor, as opposed to his ceremonial robes from the night before.
“Ah, good to see you’re doing well! We have much to do today, but at least because of that display last night, we no longer have to spare a suit of armor for you, eh?” Axivognt takes me to the first of the rooms on the right. Inside the entirely white room, there’s only a small platform.
“This is where new recruits get their suit, see this young man here. It really is an amazing process. One simply steps onto that platform so it can take your measurements and you then have a suit.” The young man steps on the platform, arms come out of the wall, and scan him with a bright light. Once the lights finish scanning, the arms retract, and out of a hole in the wall comes a small ball the same color as the men’s suits. He holds it in his hands and rolls it in his palms like he was making dough into a ball. The suit slowly starts enveloping his hands, and goes up his arms, over his clothes, enveloping and assimilating them all, even his backpack: creating a small self-made one of itself. Soon he’s completely covered in the suit. He even has a helmet, which I’ve seen on none of the others. The helmet is the same color as the rest of the suit, and matches perfectly. It has one large black lens at the eyes, and is relatively nondescript. Cut him open. Explode his innards. Disintegrate everyone.
“What he has to do now is concentrate, envision himself without the helmet, and it’ll go away until he concentrates on having it again.” The young man does so, and it happens.
“An amazing process. I hope you know how to remove your suit, talking to that helmet is rather disconcerting.”
I do not know if this suit is my flesh. I concentrate, and steam shoots out from my helmet, and cracks open. I remove it with my hands, and hold it. Maybe I have more control of this than I thought.
“Astonishing! Let’s begin training, but, uh, you might need that helmet!”