Author's Notes: Ignore the random "-", it's my temporary solution for double paragraphs.


Relive
the Beginning

Doors.

Durandal owned these doors.

He was not their creator, but he was respected by them.

He will make them move where he wants, whenever he wants.

-

This was one of those days that he didn't want it to open.

N'ewek was incredibly frustrated by that. He has lost access to his battalion for a while now.

He was one of the intruders that received the message from unknown sender.

He told them to crush all resistances and rescue whomever sent the message.

Simple orders, simple fighters...no, even simple droids would've easily gotten this order correctly done.

However, the complicity lies in which extent the order was used. As he knew, one of the H'mo Sapi'ns has teamed up with an Artificial Intelligence, whose maintain absolute control over these doors at the moment.

It was not known whether he was trapped outside, or his battalion were trapped inside. It's been 7 hours since he last saw them, fully armed with that pathetic staffs of theirs. Such brutes were ready to die for N'fial every moment.

-

He walked away from the door, to relieve the boredom and anxiety that completely filled his senses.

That H'mo Sapi'ns was a problem, too. None survived contact with it, and it became a myth spreading over his battalion since they assaulted the damned ship.

He would like to say to the moron that defended his ship to hand the goddamned prisoner over, so they can just leave happily ever after or something, but he know no H'mo language.

He sipped Nar tea, made from blood and flesh of many Nars that summited themselves over his race's reign. That ought to ease a few minutes of his boredom.

His weapon of justice is readied for long since he received the message. The slayer of infidel, the P'orstr'k, was his instrument of destruction since the Nars tried to capture the drones with a club.

It was a wise move until he rigged the drones with intelligence-ionizing reactor. Then the goddamned Nars have their goddamned brain fried. Then they became their slaves after the war ends.

The P'orstr'k was a nicely crafted intrument, he might add. It was rigged to fire out as fast as light itself, frying whomever stay at the end of the deal.

Suddenly the door trembled. He quickly drop the tea and readied his gun. His frail form, protected by the Enforcer cloaks, was more than a match to any intruder that dare to treat his kin.

Then the door slowly opened, yellow flooded his vision. Blood dripped out from the door. Then poured. Then flooded the floor with yellow blood of his kin, making his room become the sea, drowned in blood.

It was a tide of doom, bringer of death, only one of the the greatest weapons of destruction were capable of this. It must be the H'mo Sapi'ns. He couldn't have mistaken the murderous look in his eyes, nor the small frame that held the murder in his hands, nor the yellow blood that devoured his form, becoming the nightmare he heard from his comrades.

He was a legend. No matter what race he is, if he joined his kin, he would go past the ranks of Admiral Tfear himself just by his appearance.

He grimaced, perhaps this would be a worthy foe, unlike those weak fools that he have slain in his path.

Steadying his form against the tide of yellow, he pointed his gun to the Soaker of blood. Several lifeless forms of his comrades drifted along with the yellow sea. He couldn't have mistaken, it was his second-in-command drifting afloat, together with his Sf'ore in his hands. He must have put a good fight, for he could've seen the crimson trails from the mouth of the Soaker of blood.

The Soaker of blood also readied his own weapon. The Monument of Eradication on his shoulders, also completely soaked in blood.

He gripped the trigger, but no rocket would come out, for the barrel was completely flooded by the bloody goo. It might have been a revenge from his lifeless kin, or perhaps he was protected by his kin from beyond.

N'ewek fired his gun, sending out formless death to wreck havoc upon the human. But he wouldn't admit his death easily, therefore he dodged.

The human dropped his Monument of Eradication, resolving to brute strength, he punched the pfhor with rage, sending him sprawling across the sea. The Slayer of Infidel no longer submitted to him, so it went free across the air, before drowning in the sea of blood.

N'ewek grabbed S'fore, before whipping the human with utmost urgency, the staff cleaved past his armor, summoning gashes, before a fountain of blood roamed free.

But H'mo wouldn't give up, he brought his foot down to crush the slaver, but it was met by S'fore instead of his form.

The Black Staff denied him injury, so he lift his foot and went to stomp on his face before the slaver could get up.

He channeled the vengeance of his fallen kin, sending arcane forces to strike down the defender, but even justice itself was too slow, for the defender easily avoided with grace.

He would deny his death from the H'mo. Therefore the Pf'hor stuck the staff on the ground past the blood of his kin. Then he brought up S'fore, so the Great Commander could see the justice being served.

Yellow blood oozes out from his eyes, but he would not give up. He could not give up. And he would never give up, so he made forward motion stab, sending arcane powers to strike the H'mo for once and for all.

Again the human avoided his fate. But he will bring this fate upon the human and make him die a thousand deaths. So he stabbed again, again and again.

The human managed to avoid and avoid the first two stabs, but as he tried to avoid the third, he tripped upon the corpse of his kin, and he was down.

He swung the staff to the head, to cut the head was to end all life, he learned quickly during the invasion brought by the Great Commander.

His motion was met by his kin, who was brought up by the cowardly brave H'mo to defend against his strikes. A corpse was further decapitated this way.

He was angry, the refusal to die would only delay his inevitable fate, he had enough of it, and brought his frail feet down to the human's eyes.

His feet was met by a pair of hands, grabbed and locked beyond motion. Then his feet was, like his battalion, crushed.

No pain was met, but he was caught off balance, as the staff fell from his hand, it fell from one hand to the another, like a prophecy, his arms drifted along the yellow sea, before grabbing the staff.

He would be slain by the weapon of his own kin, the weapon of his own second-in-command, nonetheless.

The death was swift, and N'ewek, the commander of Tenth Battalion, was no more.

-

The human figure, the Soaker of blood slowly walked to a terminal, walking past the seas of the fallen Pf'hor. He had slain the entire battalion and the results weren't pretty impressive.

Like usual, he tapped on the screen, awaiting further instructions.

Before being teleported away, away from the scenes of blood and flesh, hundreds of corpses drifting ashore the sea of yellow blood.

Durandal made sure to dry his pawn before he was sent away to continue his ploy.

-

...Just like usual.