GuNNhead

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 Canon, 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.