RF Online: Novus Rising
29.April.2009

 

Novus Era XX
Planet Novus, Novus Sector

There was an unnatural tension in the air -- a feeling of listlessness that seemed to pervade the very currents of the world, saturating every mote and molecule. It was as if a blanket was cast upon the countless members of the three races, dulling their senses and instilling a lethargy that kept all but the strongest willed from venturing forth from their territories.  Amidst the turmoil, only a handful of warriors were able to exist within the vast wilderness of Novus.

It was precisely what the Hastatum desired, for they could not afford interference with their gambit to combat the eruptions of power that warped both space and time.

A soft crunching noise broke the silence that had descended upon Crag Peak, the sound of trampled rocks beneath the jet black boot of a lone figure scaling the mountainside. The climber was dressed in attire one would hardly deem appropriate for such an activity - a cloak flapping in the wind’s direction and a uniform that seemed to be a cross between a captain’s uniform and a pirate outfit.

Regardless, the climber made swift progress, moving with incredible balance and speed. Moments later, the mountain’s mysterious guest arrived at the peak, standing perched at its highest point thousands of feet above the very center of the Crag Core.  For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the cloaked figure was alone in his apparent contemplation of the scenery -- something which was hardly seen by anyone since the Crag Wars had been instituted over a decade ago.

The climber tilted his head to the side as if trying to listen to something from the distance, and then turned his gaze skywards, where a star seemed to be falling down from the depths of space. To an intelligent observer, the way the light moved indicated that this was no falling star. It moved directed by a conscious will, and aimed to strike at the very top of Crag Peak just meters away from the mountain climber. Its impact produced hardly more sound than someone disengaging his boosters.

The climber’s hands reached up to pull back the hood covering its features, revealing the face of a person that was distinctly human. The climber appeared to be in his late twenties to early thirties, with an eye-patch over his eye and a rugged mane of dark hair that was loosely swept away from covering his face. A smile appeared on his face as he raised his black-gloved hands to applaud the newcomer in the glow of his arrival.
“Excellent landing, Apollon. Very stealthy, hardly heard it.”

The Captain of the Vanguards stood up, the last bits of heat and radiance from his descent fading away. He nodded respectfully towards the man with the eye-patch and replied, “Nowhere as theatrical as you, Master Garamond. Why climb Crag Peak when it would’ve been easier to simply teleport yourself here or fly up?”

Garamond’s smile twitched, “Oh, what else but to remind myself of my roots, Captain. My humanity.” The last he spoke softly. Garamond looked up again to the darkness of space, where he waged a war that spanned over ten thousand years against the Herodian menace. It was a war that he fought here as well.

“Everything is in place then, it is time…” He declared simply, lowering himself to take a seat on the mountaintop in a meditative position. He breathed in deeply, and in a sudden expansion of thought and mind, linked himself with his fellow Guardian Masters, who were scattered in key points all across Novus. With another nudge of his mind, he connected himself to the larger supporting network of minds that were the Vanguards, sensing the energies that shone within them all. Finally, he began drawing upon them, channeling it deep into the heart of Novus, against the Chaos Emitters that so disrupted reality: Haloment.

“Don’t take too long,” Apollon spoke.

“Few…hours,” Garamond’s voice slurred, as the ocean of psionic energy began to flow through the Guardian Master, guided by his will to inscribe itself in a pattern within the very essence of Haloment.

“Keep…watch.” His aura began to shine brighter as tides of light, invisible to most, began washing down into the depths of the Crag Core. Apollon nodded in acknowledgement, though he knew that the Guardian Master could no longer hear him. The Guardian Masters and the Vanguards assisting them were helpless against outside assault during the purging, and if their foes were going to act to stop it, this was the time to do so.

For a long time they had fought a losing war against their foe, the black viper -- elusively hidden amongst the countless thousands of the three races. But once the ritual was finished and the spell imprinted into the Haloment of Novus, all those who carried within them the spawn of the Dark Hall would find the scope of their powers quite curtailed. It was only a matter of time the Hastatum knew precisely who would be displeased by what they were doing. A grim smile blossomed on the ancient warrior’s face, ready for the attack that was undoubtedly inevitable.

The Corite smoothed out a crease in his garb. He was immaculately dressed, as usual, clothed to match the balance of both function and form, in court or in the field of battle. It was a pattern of his own design, masterful and elegant, a product of his keen genius and skill. He brushed back an errant strand of hair from his face, knowing that even such imperfections only served to highlight his prominent beauty and fitness, for was he not the most divine thing to grace the very world of Novus? That was unquestionable.

And yet, for all his unique talents and exquisite appearance, he could not help but feel uneasy as he approached the throne of the one being he dared not look down on. Yet, he told himself in his heart. Such thoughts were for another time, and he hoped dearly that another time would still come. He cleared his throat and spoke, in a smooth voice.

“Master.”

“Yes, Balladeer?”

The one he called master turned to look upon him, he who was first among the Hands of the Architect of Dark Hall. Two simple words, expressed with a precision and effect that Balladeer could not hope to match.  But for the creator of the Hands, this was but part of who he simply was, a genius of Force and science that even the greatest of the Holy Alliance’s Archmagus would flinch at facing: Hybroer.
“The Hastatum have come out in great numbers, my lord.”

Hybroer shifted as his hands directed a myriad of instruments that circled and floated about him, moving to fulfill thoughts Balladeer dared not glimpse. A dozen or more projects flickered in Hybroer’s mind; calculations upon calculations as he mixed and matched them in a permutation of incomprehensible thought.

“That is nothing new, Balladeer. But since you are hardly foolish enough to report a simple outing of those aggravating defenders of humanity’s toys, do tell me why you thought this important enough to mention to me personally.” Hybroer did not look at Balladeer, simply looking towards another array of instruments and holos.

“Of..of course. Perhaps it would be better if I said it thusly.” Balladeer paused. “They have emptied their strongholds. Nearly all of them have come out, at least of those we have on record. Garamond has returned as well, as have Hexxon and…Mimi.” The Corite seemed pained to speak the name of the last.

Hybroer paused, though his instruments still hovered in the air. For a moment the silence felt deafening, before it was shattered by a single word.
“What?”

In a single gesture, all the things he’d been using were set aside, falling into place on the many worktables that cluttered Hybroer’s so-called throne room. He quickly raised a hand and called up an array of holoscreens, floating in the air before him. His hands and fingers danced in a flurry of motion over them, as if he was directing some sort of mad orchestra in a symphony of pandemonium. For a long time, Balladeer stood silent as his master and creator grew increasingly frantic in his motions.

“No, that is not possible.” The words spilled from Hybroer’s mouth unwillingly and painfully. He turned to look directly at Balladeer.

“Summon your brethren Hands, all of them.”

“Perhaps they won’t come.” A youthful female murmured softly, gazing out over the expanse of the Hauche Grande Mountains. There was a brisk wind that caused her hair to flutter wildly for a moment, before she pulled it back down with a hand.

Another young lady, more wolf-like and sharper in her features, turned to look at the one who’d spoken. “Do you really think Hybroer would let such a thing happen without acting, sister?” she said with a bemused look on her face.

The first was quiet for a few moments before replying with a wry smile, “No, I suppose not. He would not like for his grand project to have been so…neutered, like this.”

“We are in agreement.” Alexa spoke with conviction. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint mother either, so we shouldn’t think such silly thoughts. It would be…” she cut off abruptly, as a strange scent seemed to catch in the air.

“Is there…?” Anice began to ask, before sensing the same strange sensation herself. It was a scent that had no direction, simply swirling around them. They noticed belatedly the silence that had descended upon them.

A sudden dark shadow exploded into existence from behind them, as a figure leaped from a hidden portal in ambush. Its blades reached out, sharp and hungry, to stab straight into the backs of the two Sentinels. They seemed to react with fatal slowness, summoning their own weapons as they turn to face their attacker.

There was a massive shock that struck the attacker aside, who curled up into a somersault as it evaded the brunt of the strike. Beside the now smoking ground where a small crater had appeared, stood yet another maiden, with the war-hammer Grahf Eisen.

“No picking on my sisters, little Hand.” Lakhesis waggled a finger at their foe.

The Hand shook his head and stood up, a small device in his hands which he threw into the ground before him. There was a shudder in reality before a small portal appeared and began to expand and grow. In seconds it was easily large enough for even a MAU to fit through with space to spare. It looked as if there was a figure of a shadow within, that hesitantly reached out to touch the purplish haze of the dark gate before its claw pierced through and began to manifest its self into the reality of the material world.

“I don’t think you’ll have much choice.” The Hand snickered wickedly.

The shrieks of energy filled the air around them, not the mere sounds of gunfire and spells, but the powers of a host of terrors from the depths of Dark Hall itself, some of which even the Vanguards had no knowledge. A dozen of them clashed against the hundreds, outnumbered but not undaunted. And yet the Enforcers were hard pressed against the seemingly unending tide.

“There’s too damn many of these things.” Ravon cursed, as he pulled his blade out of the shattered body of one of the myriad horrors they were fighting. He had barely a moment to catch his breath before he was confronted with yet another of them. His hands and blades flashed again, cutting through the carapace and armor of his enemy. “Where are our reinforcements? Haven’t the Sentinels identified the target zones by now?”
One of the other Enforcers shook his head, “They said they were on their way!”

“Well, they better!” he said, and was forced to cut off when a large monster loomed up before him, reminiscent of the Granite Blocs of Elan. It smashed down a large piece of glowing stone into the ground, which Ravon dodged. For a split second before he smashed them into the monster’s chest, the Enforcer’s hands glowed with crackling energy. His blow broke cleanly through the thing’s natural armor and twitched uncontrollably as Ravon’s fists released the destructive energy gathered within them. He watched as it crumbled into ashes before him.

A sudden shout from behind him caused the Enforcer to spin around, seeing yet another monstrosity from the depths of Dark Hall screech before him. It took a split second to recognize the noise as a death cry rather than one of rage, and another to see the milky white blade that was stuck through its abdomen. A sickly, sucking sound came from it as the blade tore through the rest of the body and a pair of large rocks soared in from the side to smash it into the ground, ensuring its demise.

Ravon thanked the youthful looking warrior who’d covered his back with a brief salute of sorts. He was dressed in odd garb that struck him as reminiscent of desert wear.

“Leto.”

The Scribe nodded in reply and shrugged. “We were held up. There was a bit of traffic coming up from the Encumbrado.”

“Traffic. Right.” Ravon grunted amusedly before they launched themselves back into the fight.

High up on Crag Peak the ritual continued. But the tranquility found upon it mere hours ago was gone, broken by the fight between two key figures in this hidden battle. Mystic spells screamed through the air, called into existence and cast against an implacable enemy with mere gestures and words. Elite level spells coalesced and were flung, enough power to blast open a Black MAU in a single shot. They all fell upon the Halosteel blade of Apollon, parried and cut aside by the Vanguard’s own psionic might.

“Give it up, Hybroer.” He stated simply. Now that the so-called Master of Dark Hall had been brought into the open, forced to act in a manner he rarely did so, the Vanguards could unleash their broader strength of warfare. “We were ready for you, as you knew we would be. But even a genius like you cannot stand against the plans of warriors with over ten millennia of experience.”

“You make it sound as if I wish to topple you.” Hybroer looked coldly at Apollon, stopping for a moment his barrage of spells. “I hardly wish to take your throne, o Guardians. I simply wish to test the mettle of these children.” He spat the last word, glancing out towards the distant settlements of the three races.

“Your tests are hardly appropriate.”

“My tests are precisely what they need.” The Corite fingers danced with arcs of energy.  ”The power I afford to them is of their own choosing, freely given and freely taken. If in their greed they shatter reality and chose to doom both themselves and their own kindred, what is it to me?” He sneered. “It isn’t my fault they’re destroying their own soul with such abuse.” He punctuated this with a sudden blast of purple lightning.

“I do not care for your justifications, Corite. It shall not happen.” The bolt crackled through the air, burning it and slamming into one of Apollon’s hands. “And you shall not stop us.” The war-spirit extinguished the bolt, and with his other hand flung a blade of pale light at Hybroer. It screamed through the air with impossible speed, brushing past the face of the fallen genius. A choked cry began and stopped, as the Corite fell to the ground.
Apollon stood, weapon at the ready as he looked at the kneeling form of his enemy. Hybroer’s hand touched his own face gingerly, the Corite’s skin heated with the blow from the Captain of the Vanguards. “You can’t win this one, Hybroer. Your wars have always been fought in the darkness and shadow. In the open…” the immortal warrior shook his head, “you are nothing.”

The Corite looked up with hatred in his eyes, seething with anger but with a sudden light that alarmed Apollon. “Hardly.” His hands whipped up abruptly, and a pair of small objects suddenly was flung towards the Captain. The Vanguard managed to bat away one of them, but the other soared past him to explode behind him. Apollon turned with horror as he realized what Hybroer had done, looking at where Garamond was sitting.
A haze of black and purple energy seemed to fog over the Guardian Master. Apollon quickly moved over to it and called forth his power to pierce it or cast it aside, to no avail. “What have you done?” he cursed as he looked at Hybroer.

“I have done what you expected me to do. Interfere.” A low chuckle escaped his lips as he drew himself up.
“You’re not going to leave here alive.” Apollon’s eyes glowed and he bolted towards Hybroer faster than any eyes native to Novus could’ve hoped to follow. Hybroer barely brought up his staff in defense of himself, which shuddered and strained to prevent the captain’s blow from shattering it. The impact of the attack threw Hybroer back and the Corite suddenly vanished into a ripple of space, back into the labyrinthine chaos of Dark Hall.
Apollon dropped his weapon and began to murmur, calling forth his power to reopen the portal and pursue the madman, when a sudden shout from behind him caught his attention. He turned to see the haze around Garamond crack with golden light and shatter, revealing the Guardian Master unhurt and unfazed from Hybroer’s act.

“That was…exhilarating.” The space-pirate attired Guardian Master managed to say, as Apollon drew up before him.

The Captain looked as if he wanted to ask a great many questions, before he settled on asking simply, “Is it done?”

“It is.” Garamond smiled for a moment. “But it was a close thing…Hybroer’s actions have made it less perfect than we otherwise would wish it to be.” He breathed in deeply and looked out across the mines.

“But the races of Novus should be able to continue waging their wars again, without the threats of those warp explosions, right?”

“We’ll see about that, Captain. We’ll see.”