The ear-splitting white noise made it nigh impossible to sleep. The pounding headache I had seemed to make it even worse, if that was even physically possible. It felt like I had one hell of a hangover-which was impossible. I don't drink alcohol. Right? Goddamn it, I don't know…what the hell had happened last night? I mean, I'm not even in college yet, and technically I'm fourteen, so consuming alcohol is probably unlikely (in addition to the fact that I prided myself on being able to control myself from succumbing to peer pressure).

These thoughts were dashed as I attempted to open my eyes. The small action already drained me of my possibly nonexistent energy.

A soft groan escaped me, before my eyelids fluttered open-

MOTHERFU-

The shining bright lights blinded me for a moment, and my squinting did not really help with the situation. The headache increased, and now it felt like the entire United States Army was using it as a training ground.

Ah, Jesus H. Christ…

I gave it another two minutes before trying to get my sorry ass up again. This time, though, I succeeded, before taking a good look at my surroundings.

Everything was just so…damn…shiny.

No wonder I thought I had seen lights.

Unlike before, this wasn't some ancient primitive hole…it was far from that. Hell, I would have said that it was the direct opposite.

Silver walls, sleek and advanced-looking computers, actual medical equipment, and a modern look to top it off just gave it a science fiction vibe.

Then the reality of the situation hit me.

This wasn't Earth. There was no way for that. Earth actually had technology, and as far as I know, there were no historical documents regarding men that could glow red and do…space magic? What the heck do I call it?

No, it was clear that I was far away from home. And now, I was in yet another different setting…instead of laughably primitive I get laughably advanced. To top it off, I have no idea where I actually am, and no clue on what my surroundings are.

Christ almighty, I hope this doesn't become a common occurrence, or I'd be screwed…and I hate to be the one getting screwed. And with that morbid thought, I began searching for a way out.


Ancestor Facility A-707, Contested Territory
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra
Date Unknown (ESC: June 8, 2014)

707 Valiant Light, the Ancilla of the facility, watched the newcomer, the Reclaimer, in trepidation. He had waited a hundred thousand years for this…for the reunion with the children of the Ancestors. Though the history was all but lost, Light could remember snippets of a conversation with his creator, which had occurred even longer ago.

The conversation itself wasn't clear, only that there was a 'Great War' in the process, and that the Ancestors were being pushed back slowly, their advanced technology falling to the swarms of the unknown enemies in a war that lasted for generations. But only one full sentence survived the test of time, fully remembered by Light. 'A Reclaimer will bring back our legacy...a Reclamation of our glory.'

Light had not understood the statement. But it was glaringly obvious that the Ancestors had lost- after all, there hadn't been a single Ancestor on Terra for upwards of a hundred thousand years…and since Terra was once a major industrial, scientific and military hub, it would not be forgotten by the Ancestors. The massive production and assembly lines in the facility alone would attest to it, and so would the extensive laboratories.

Built and activated in the twilight of the Great War, mere weeks from the end, Light was assigned to a small (in Ancestor scales, small, which meant 'GODDAMN THAT'S HUGE' in most scales) production/research facility, but soon he was ordered into 'sleep mode' by a data burst from an Ancestor comm. relay.

The only reason he had been awakened was the fact that the limited passive scans that continuously occurred managed to detect Ancestor DNA- or, as he would find out later, partial Ancestor DNA.

Data previously locked and unknown to Light suddenly flooded him as he processed the information, and then he understood. This was a Reclaimer. The programming in him forced him to comply with the last Ancestor directives, which was to bring the Reclaimer to the facility, which, to his knowledge, was the only one left on Terra.

His 'instincts' said otherwise. What made this being a Reclaimer? Why did they call it a Reclaimer? And how could these new beings have Ancestor DNA?

As the facility went back to life for the first time in millennia, and active scans picked up millions of lifeforms on the surface of Terra, all of which seemed similar- in fact, they looked like downright copies, though somehow they hadn't received the 'Reclaimer' designations- to that of the Reclaimer, Light carried out the first actions of the Ancestors in this time and age.

He went to retrieve the Reclaimer. That was ten hours ago.


The walls all looked the same. There were no cracks, no lines, nothing to designate that a door was there.

After a while of endless searching, I became frustrated.

"Dammit, open the freaking door!" I yelled in anger at the air, before plopping myself back onto the very, very comfortable bed that was provided in the…prison room? I don't know much about prisons (and I really do hope to anything holy out there to not to learn much about them), but clean, orderly, and aesthetically beautiful aren't the phrases I would have used to describe one.

Of course, imagine my surprise when a section of the wall suddenly split into two, creating a pleasant 'whooshing' sound.

I gaped at the newly formed doorway for a moment, before exasperation overtook me.

"You've got to be shitting me! You mean I could've just asked for it to open?" I groaned.

A mechanical voice, eerily familiar, yet foreign and unknown, filled the room.

"While I do not understand the context of this Ancilla defecating on you, Reclaimer, I had believed that you already knew how to open doors…"

I froze.

The hell was that?

I wanted to ask it…him…I hope to hell it isn't a 'her,' since it sounded so…male…

Blah. I wanted to ask so many questions…

Who are you? What are you? Where the hell are you? Where am I? What the heck happened to me?

In the end, I did not get to ask any of that.

"Follow the path please, Reclaimer," said the voice, right before a set of green lights appeared on the metallic floor, apparently egging me on to follow the set path.

Mentally shrugging with a brief errant thought on the lines of 'ah, why the hell not?' I began complying.

As I stepped out to the hallway, I noticed that there wasn't much here in the way of interior design. Silver, metallic walls, gleaming and shiny, was all that could be seen in all directions.

As I followed the green lights that were somehow appearing from the floor (which, yes, was also metallic and silvery), I began to see changes in the scenery. Not major and sudden ones mind you, but at some points the hallway became tighter for twenty or so meters (approximately, since I couldn't really measure it without a measuring tape), before it reverted to its original width.

Choke points, I realized. It was to bottleneck any hostile forces to provide killzones for the defenders. I was proven right later on, but that's beside the point at the moment.

Eventually, a whirring sound reached my ears, and as I rounded a corner I saw what the cause of the noise was.

Of course, any partially intelligent creature could have seen that with ease due to the way my jaw was hanging.

The new hallway led to a circular…control center? Command Post? Room? That wasn't what caused the jaw-drop, no. It was what lay behind the transparent and clear glass windows that surrounded the room. Even from here, a viewing point not even in the room itself, I could already feel the sheer enormity of what laid behind the glass.

And as I walked closer to the glass, I was proven right. Gigantic wouldn't have even come close to describing the size of the place. It was cavernous, tall enough to fit a skyscraper (though the ceiling was nearby, which meant that most of the…facility, I guess, was below), and extremely vast, so vast that I had difficulty even seeing the end.

Assembly lines dotted the place, though they seemed dormant. This place along would have easily matched the industrial capacities of any Earth nation with ease if it ran at full capacity.

"Impressive, is it not, Reclaimer?" that mechanical voice queried.

Despite my surprise at getting shocked, I didn't jump fifteen meters or anything like that. I merely looked to the right (where the voice came from), after picking up my jaw that is.

The origin of the voice was a…ball? The hell? It was a shiny, metallic, silvery ball with a green 'eye.' It floated in the air, and though it looked harmless, I had no doubt that it had enough defensive and offensive measures to make a crack team of Special Air Service commandos faint in astonishment.

But yet…for the first time since I arrived at this godforsaken world (or it could have been two worlds, who the hell knows), I felt…at ease? Relaxed?

The 'ball' felt like a long lost friend…but why did it make me feel that way?

Until today, I wouldn't have even thought that 'red space magic' and gigantic factories the size of a city was a possibility.

Shows what we all know, right?

"It is," I merely settled for a short response.

"And to think that this was once considered small," the 'ball' stated. "But, that is the past…a very long past…"

The 'ball' trailed off there. It…he…I don't really know, but since it sounds like a male I'll go with 'he.'

"Well, I suppose I should introduce myself, Reclaimer, I am 707 Valiant Light, Ancilla and overseer of Ancestor Facility A-707," he announced.

"Alex Cole…what's a Reclaimer?" I couldn't help but ask.

The 'ball' gave me a look that seemed…curious?

"You do not know what a Reclaimer is?" he asked carefully.

I shook my head, signaling a clear 'no.'

"Interesting…" he muttered, before continuing. "A Reclaimer is a title given to the designated heirs to the Ancestor Empire. They are allowed access to all technology; information and resources the Ancestors have at their disposal. In short, the Reclaimers are the beings that would…reclaim the glory of the Ancestors."

I was silent for a moment.

Who were the Ancestors?

What made me one of these Reclaimers?

Reclaiming the 'glory?' Doesn't that mean that they are now dead and gone?

But before I could say anything, the 'Ancilla' spoke. "Judging by your lack of knowledge on Reclaimers, I assume you have no idea on who the Ancestors were?"

A small shake of the head was all that he needed, before he began explaining.

"The Ancestors were an ancient race of beings. They looked just like your species, except that they were superior in every aspect- strength, agility, endurance, speed. They were much taller than you as well, and in addition to advanced technology, they had certain…powers. They called it psionics, but it was often mistaken as magic by the more primitive and uneducated."

The weird powers…psionics? Were they psionics?

"The Ancestors ruled over hundreds of thousands of worlds, not including space stations and moons. Their military might and scientific knowledge was unparalleled except by a few. Until their fall…they were the one of the strongest races in the galaxy."

As I began to process that, Light added in more information.

"Though much of the data on the more advanced technologies have been lost…the important baseline ones still exist. What you see in front of you…that may as well be the last bastion of Ancestor technology."

My mind reeled at the sheer importance of the situation I was in. Technology that seemed light years ahead of what we have on Earth…the legacy of an ancient race…it was all in my hands.

A small niggling thought at the back of my mind, though, wouldn't go away.

Eventually I had to ask the question.

"How did they fall? The Ancestors?"

Light seemed to turn…dejected? "I do not know. I was commissioned at near the end of the war, and was ordered into 'sleep' mode. In fact, had you not arrived here, I would have stayed in 'sleep' mode."

And then he turned serious. "What I do know is that the Ancestors…my makers…they are long gone now. Their time in the galaxy has passed…and it is now time for a new race to take up their legacy. I would have thought that it was your race…but the members of your race on this world do not have Ancestor DNA…only you. Some of them may have minor psionic signatures, but it seems…crude. Very much unlike Ancestor Psionics, which is more refined in signature."

The full weight of the words then hit me like a freight train travelling at the speed of sound.

"You mean that…I'm part Ancestor?" I whispered. I felt like I was on the verge of something…the answer to a question I had asked myself since I had turned seven. What made me different?

While other boys wanted to be footballers, racecar drivers, police officers or jobs like that, I longed for something different. I found it hard to trust most people, and I usually could judge a man or woman's character within an hour of meeting them. Friends were a major issue, since I found it hard to even trust people who I had known for years. The few friends I had were the ones I would have entrusted my life to. Other things persisted as well. I healed remarkably fast, with a relatively strong immune system. A 'sixth' sense, if you will, was also something that made me stand out. I could tell when there was danger, like the 'spidey-sense' of that fictional superhero Spiderman.

Light merely bobbed his…head? Ah, geez, he nodded, there you go.

"It's very hard to spot, but it is there, hidden within your DNA," Light declared. "Given the fact that you are, as of this day, the only Reclaimer on this world, you have officially been designated as Imperator of the Ancestor Empire."

A pregnant silence followed, before I said the only thing that was appropriate, given the situation.

"What?"


Ancestor Facility A-707, Contested Territory
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

I later found that Ancestor timekeeping was similar to that of Earth's. Too similar, in fact, for it to be a coincidence. The humans of the modern age may as well be the genetic descendants of the Ancestors. It sure as hell would explain the similar physiology.

It also turned out that the metallic silvery walls of the facility were there not because it was designed that way, but because the walls themselves were coated in thick layers of nanites- essentially nanobots, miniscule and microscopic robots- so that barriers or anything of the sort could be 'built' within seconds. Unlike the movies, these nanites could not self multiply, and though that would have been awesome (imagine: endless swarms of nanite armies), the available technology just did not allow it. Supposedly, Quantum Energy would have been a possibility for this to work that way, but the science behind it was so mindboggling that I could not even understand it, and Light himself had stated that most Ancestor scientists had not either. All they knew (theorized, and proved, but data corruption took its toll on the mighty databanks here) was that you could supposedly 'feed' it solar, geothermal or any type of energy, and get 'Quantum' in return. The Quantum Energy could power devices with 100% efficiency, unlike any other power source. Less is more, turned real right there.

Another thing they proved was that you could 'feed' mass to the Quantum Realm (apparently, the eggheads had not bothered to think of a more imaginative name for it), and get the same exact mass of another element or material in return. In essence, you could feed it 50 kilograms of dirt and get fifty kilograms of gold in return. However, to power the 'Quantum Material Exchanger' you needed to use the 'Quantum Power Generator.'

That was the gist of it, though the sciences behind them were infinitely more complicated.

But since I simply did not have access to those mind-blowing technologies, I simply had to make do with the more 'mundane' Ancestor tech. Of course, the word 'mundane' here was relative to the situation. I know for a fact that any Earth nation would commit genocidal acts (not only one act of genocide) just to get even a chance of gaining the 'mundane' Ancestor technologies. Medical salves that could seal wounds, nanites that could improve the immune system of a person and cure them of any disease, including cancer and AIDS, energy shielding, armor that could stop a nuclear bomb in its tracks, mass production capabilities and resource collecting methods far beyond even the grasp of the smartest man on Earth were just some of these life-changing techs.

The past four days were busy ones. After getting over my dumbstruck initial shock of being given that much power (after all, absolute power supposedly corrupted absolutely), I had immediately gotten to work. It felt like going home after a long journey…pleasing and comforting, for some reason.

The first things I did included the building of resource collection and maintenance droids. The Specialized Mining Vehicles and Standard Construction Vehicles looked so…alien, at first, so I changed them. Yes, I shamelessly admit to changing the look of an Ancestor device. The SMVs I modeled after the 'MULE' drones from StarCraft 2's Wings of Liberty campaign, a real time strategy video game that I loved to play. They had mining tools and drills, along with the entire mining arsenal that could be conceived with Ancestor technology.

The SCVs I modeled after the SCVs of StarCraft 2 as well. By now, it was pretty obvious that I loved StarCraft 2. Light merely gave an inquisitive look to me when I ordered the design changes, but otherwise said nothing. The SCVs, while they still had the drills and mining tools, were now more suited to constructing structures and buildings. I also gave them a semiautomatic rifle (Ancestor tech, despite their advanced nature, somehow didn't stray too far from projectile weapons, though I will admit that the round size and speed, along with composition, were light years ahead of Earth's), just in case.

The SCVs and SMVs, though, were not controlled by organic beings. Instead, a 'dumb' AI controlled them. Ancillas like Valiant Light were like human beings- they were sentient, but a hell lot smarter, with creativity in the package as well. Copying the psionic signature and brain of an Ancestor, which was impossible now due to obvious reasons, evidently created them. In essence, they were digitalized Ancestors.

Then you had the two AIs, the 'Smart' and 'Dumb' AIs (Artificial Intelligences). To prevent a 'doomsday Terminator event,' as I described it to Light (who seemed incensed and horrified at the mere thought of betraying his creators), I entered the three laws of Robotics by Asimov into the 'Smart' AIs.

It would be more accurate to say that I planned to. Smart AIs were supposed to be created by copying the brain of a human being (or any comparable sentient being), and cloning my brain to 'copy' took time. Light estimated that only one out of every twenty brains scanned and copied would result in a Smart AI, which could think and essentially be a human being, just with reduced creativity (the latter was evidently something the Ancestors struggled with, until they copied the psionic signatures as well, which apparently was where Ancestor creativity laid in…or something like that, I didn't really understand it).

Then you had the 'dumb' AIs. They resulted from every one out of two brains copied (the rest would be abject failures, with no viable results), or alternatively could be programmed (which I did, since, like I said, cloning a brain takes time). The dumb AIs could not think creatively, nor could they operate outside of their set parameters. They were essentially smart computers, without being actually 'alive' like the Smart AIs or Ancillas.

Since mining and constructing buildings were rather 'simple' things for a Smart AI and Ancilla, I used a dumb AI for it.

It turned out that there were still many mining veins that were untapped in the lower depths of the facility, untouched since the facility itself was only built in the heyday of the 'war.' The SCVs built resource collection centers (shaped like a miniature command center from StarCraft 2), along with supply and storage depots (supply depots looked like their namesakes from StarCraft 2, while Storage Depots looked like four interconnected supply depots), while the SMVs commenced their mining activities.

The 'assembly lines' I had seen yesterday weren't actually the factories and manufacturing centers for the units. They produced the basic parts of it, and while I could have easily ordered Light to use them for troop production (which would have been less efficient), it was glaringly obvious that using them for part production was more effective.

So, I began 'designing' two new types of structures- the Barracks and the Factory (both of which I based on their namesakes from, yep, StarCraft 2). The Barracks would build all sorts of ground units, while the Factories would handle production of Tanks, APCs, Artillery units, and combat walkers.

Aerial units and naval ones would be handled later, due to the facility being actually underground, and not even near the coast, both were essentially useless to build.

I gave a grin as new status reports poured in. Things were chugging along perfectly fine. Soon, an entire army of droids and drones will pour out, bringing a new world order into place- one where war would be the things of the past, and one where the common people could live free and happy. One led by a just leader.

Led by me.

And in all my haste to do this, I forgot a fatal flaw of many human beings, me included. Hubris. And by God, I was going to pay dearly for it later.


Blood Path, Contested Territory
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

Blood Path was an apt name for the site of the latest battle between the Vanei Lordship and the Kingdom of Erebia. The blood of thousands of men flowed freely through the soil here, a result of an indecisive battle.

A battle, which, with proper tactics, could have resulted in a decisive victory for either side but, simply put, that was not how both nations worked. The generals and commanders were not promoted to that level by skill, no, they were promoted through political connections. As such, most of the generals were the sons of rich noblemen and royalty, possessing little in the knowledge of tactics, strategy or war.

After a bloody stalemate which saw the 3rd Legion of the Vanei Army and the 4th Force of the Erebian Guards get bloodied and depleted of men, most of them conscripted peasants with little to no training, the inept generals on both sides finally called for a retreat.

A single Legion of the Vanei Army had 2500 men, divided into ten groups of two hundred and fifty. The Vanei Lordship had two permanent legions, composed of trained soldiers, though in times of war four more legions would be formed, using conscripted peasants led by the soldiers from the 1st and 2nd Legion.

Like the Legions of the Vanei, the Erebian Guards were composed of three permanent Forces of 2000 trained soldiers, divided into twenty units of a hundred. Five more Forces that would be made of conscripts would be formed as extra units in times of war.

Of the 2500 men in the 3rd Legion, only 150 were alive by the end of the battle. Of the 2000 men in the 4th Force, only 102 were left alive.

Centurion Drake Gough looked grimly at the scene before him. Of the one hundred and two men who had made it out of the savage battle, only forty or so were in healthy and full fighting condition. The rest were wounded in some way or form, some of them grievously so, and they would most likely not survive the night.

Gough sighed in dismay. He, like other real soldiers, did not want war. He did his damnedest to avoid it…and it was one of the reasons why he hadn't been promoted to the rank of General (a Centurion commanded a hundred troops, while a General commanded the entire Force, while a Commander commanded the entire combined army). As the only son of a Sir Arthur Gough and Lady Maria Gough (the former was a wealthy nobleman, the latter was the daughter of one of the richest merchants in Erebia), he could have easily attained the rank of Centurion just by asking for it once he had joined the Erebian Guards.

But, unlike his peers, Drake Gough entered the Guards and served his way to the rank of Centurion. He fought alongside soldiers that had, pardon the words, shitty upbringings and bled alongside them. He had been involved in countless battles, and had always tried his best to keep his men alive.

That alone won him the admiration and loyalty of many of the men under his command, and being assigned to his unit (8th Unit, 4th Force) was considered to be a blessing, since the 8th Unit of the 4th Erebian Guards Force was acknowledged to be one of the most effective Erebian Guard units in service.

Gough was tough on his men, true. He drilled them hard, and while he was tough as hell, he was also fair, but most importantly he cared for his men. A soldier in the 8th Unit of the 4th Force would get compensation if he were wounded in battle, that was one thing Gough had made sure of. As such, it was not a surprise that of the 102 surviving men, 84 of them were members of the 8th Unit. Better coordination and small-scale tactics had ensured the higher survival rates of the Unit, while other Units were merely ordered to charge like drunkards. That the Centurions of those Units were dead brought some justice to the situation, but it was hardly enough. The General of the 4th Force, General Sir Edmund Waverly, was the son of an important nobleman as well, though he was tactically and strategically incompetent. When the battle became a stalemate, the General had not done anything, even though he and his 'escorts' were the only men with horses and heavy armor. A cavalry charge would have surely turned the tide of the battle in the 4th Force's favor, but a mixture of cowardice and idiocy had prevented that from happening.

And so when the 'retreat' was issued, the General and his heavily armed mounted escorts were the first ones to escape the scene.

Gough himself had been on the frontlines of battle, fighting alongside a trusted team of nine swordsmen with the close-range fire support of three 'crossbowmen,' an upgraded version of bowmen/archers. The 'Core Team' alone had caused tens of confirmed kills of Vaneian soldiers, and wounding many more.

In addition to his not inconsiderable 'magical' powers, Gough was also a master swordsman, and capable with a bow and arrow. His Unit was considered to be the best armored soldiers in the entire 4th Force (all the armor being either bought through Gough's estate or looted from officers of other kingdoms and empires), and with Gough at their head it was nearly impossible to counter them. The fact that they fought smartly also added to it, but even the sheer numbers of enemy soldiers could cause losses.

While other Units broke their lines and ran without a sense of direction, the 8th Unit retreated in an orderly fashion, with crossbowmen covering the retreat of swordsmen. That alone ensured the lighter losses suffered by the 8th Unit.

And now, here he was, the last Centurion of the 4th Force, and impromptu general of the Force itself, since Sir Edmund was most likely at the gates of Erebia already.

It was approaching night already, and the surviving soldiers were already settling in for the night in a clearing. Though he himself intended to lead the first shift of watch his second in command, a lean and athletic man named Michael, bluntly told him, in no certain terms, that he would either go rest or be knocked out in order to rest.

Needless to say, Gough went on to rest, secretly relieved since he was already tired from the events of the past hours.

But as the sun began setting, casting a reddish glow onto the ground, Gough began feeling ripples, as if fate would be changed. Shrugging it off, he began to fall into sleep.

One final thought, though, made its way into his mind.

Times are changing.


Erebia
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

As a member of the Royal Erebian Knights, Sir Hanson Prose never had encountered much difficulty in getting what he wanted. Hell, the knowledge of the fact that he was a noble and a member of the Knights usually resulted in entire groups of nubile virgin girls readying themselves for deflowering by him. At the age of nineteen, he was rather young for a Knight, but he was very smart compared to his fellows.

Prose knew when to fight, and when to run. After he saw the slaughter of ten men within the timespan of a few seconds by a monster…he immediately knew to run. As good as his magical powers were, and as skilled as was with a blade, he knew that it would not be enough to win.

The fact that the entire contingent of men sent to wipe Broomridge off the map had probably been eliminated did not weigh heavily on his mind- after all, they were mere conscripts, very few of them actually being trained soldiers. He could easily get more of them from any of the villages within Erebian territory.

He had been away from his horse at the time of the slaughter, urinating into a bush. As such, when he ran, it was on foot. And despite the proximity between Erebia and Vanei, it was still a day's journey by horse, and even longer by foot. It was further extended since Prose wanted to be harder to track, and used a forest trail instead of a road.

Now, as a superior was debriefing him, Prose could not help but feel the menacing air that lingered around the headquarters of the Royal Erebian Knights Order. Unlike other Knights, who would've tried to give excuses and lie about how they were forced to run, Prose was completely honest.

It was simple as to why he was honest. The beast that had slaughtered the men sent to Broomridge had a 'magical' signature that simply felt like a void to Prose. Unlike the regular commoners, who had detectable 'life-forces,' or mages, who had detectable 'auras,' the man/beast/monster that had killed all those men had none. But yet, it seemed like he had magical abilities as well, just without the staple red glow that all mages seemed to have when conjuring a magical ability.

The superior, Lord of Knights Sir Aiden Tomes merely listened. No emotions were shown on his stoic face…until Prose spoke of the 'void' and the lack of a red glow.

A brief look of panic and anxiety flashed across Tomes' face, before it was replaced once more by the stoic face.

"Sir Prose, you must not tell anyone of this. Not the crown prince, not any Knight," Tomes stated in a forceful and clear tone. "You are dismissed."

Prose, knowing better than to ask, quickly rushed out of the room.

Not five minutes later, Tomes strode out, and began heading to the Royal Palace.

'The King must know…the prophecy may just be coming…and Lords from Above help us if it is true…'


AN: Well, here I am with the first real chapter of Veni, Vidi, Vici. Now, a Halo fan will be able to easily spot some 'THAT'S FROM HALO' stuff in the chapter, and trust me, it's intentional. Like I said during the previous chapter (or should I call it the Prologue?), this fic will eventually encompass multiple game universes. After some discussions with a few of my friends, I have decided to make sure that both the MASS EFFECT and HALO universes are going to be included in here. How? Well, you're just going have to wait for it.

Remember to review and PM if you have any other suggestions for game universes you want to see included!

CIAO :D