The Invasion of Sanctuary: Part 3
A silver blade, once stained with crimson red, now found it's tip coated in deep purple. It was pointed towards the one it drew such a liquid from. The Arcosian's red eyes gave it undo attention. He held his arms up in defense; a lone thin gash on each. Upon his left arm, the wound travelled through his forearm, while his right arm was marked just below the shoulder.
O'brian stood across him at a distance of three full paces his tired legs could muster. His feet were splayed slightly apart, while his posture straight with his non-blade hand tucked behind him. Yet, his chest was heaving rapidly up and down. His hair, usually slicked back, now hung down in front of his forehead, forming thin matted bangs.
The control room had suffered little collateral from the battle thus far. Some consoles possessed long jagged slashes through them, exposing wires and the copper beneath their insulating skins. The smooth black tile the two stood on had also suffered. Its lustrous coating had been stripped away in some areas from the errant slash of a thin sabre, while traction had gradually worn away others. Despite this, some parts of the floor could perfectly reflect the two combatants as they stood opposed to one another.
"Age has been a rather lousy ally of mine." Reitoko commented, loud enough for O'brian to hear. Even wounded, both by the saber the Guardian leader held in his hand and by the blade of treachery, Reitoko almost sounded friendly, Almost.
"I wouldn't lose that much spirit, Arcosian." O'brian humored him, even as he kept his sword leveled at the Arcosian's chest.
Reitoko huffed out a small chuckle, "Funny, coming from you."
It was as if the realization dawned on O'brian, but his face darkened. The grip on the hilt of the saber tightened, and his eyes narrowed. The next phrase, he spoke through his teeth.
"You are a gnat in a hurricane." he declared, stabbing his sabre forward. The act did nothing, for he sliced only air. It was not without purpose, it made O'brian's intentions plain.
Yet, under such a threat, the Arcosian would only shake his head. O'brian's eyes shook, as he could hear the faint clicking of the tongue. "I think you're mistaken." the Arcosian countered, his voice low and raspy once more.
Slowly, his eyes closed, hiding their red pupils. Reitoko's arms spread out, leaving his torso completely exposed, as if he were inviting O'brian to stab him in the chest. Yet, the Guardian leader held his ground, as he felt the familiar churning of his stomach, and the recognizable weight on his shoulders. Ki was swelling, already the tiles were beginning to strain under it's mass. O'brian was quite sure if he tried hard enough, he could cut the very air in half with his sword.
"I am that hurricane!"
A burst of power left the Guardian leader shaken. His cream colored cape flapped violently at the winds assaulting him. He brought his arms to his front, shielding his face from various shards of debris and trinkets that no longer lay prone.
His ears popped, and there was the shattering of glass. He turned his head to the source of the noise. Indeed, the solid, yet transparent canopy barrier had completely fragmented, leaving not even shards hanging from its frame. Debris from the windows rained down on the tile-floor, the black shiny material unforgiving to the glass as it broke into even smaller pieces. Were O'brian's vision even worse, he would have mistaken it for rain.
A destructive song of chimes rang in his ears as the canopy continued to yield. Yet, aside from this, all else the Arcosian had accomplished was completely vanishing from sight.
O'brian's aged eyes veered from left to right, taking in a control room that now became host to the desert winds. As sandy breezes blew through the newly-christened openings, exposed wires and hanging debris began to swing. He gripped his sword even tighter, his fingers threatening to tear through his gloves. He turned back to the shattered window. Squinting his eyes, he peered even more judiciously than before. As he focused, O'brian could make out a small streak of pale blue in the now dark blue sky.
He almost snarled as he leapt up, air dancing out of the control room though a new exit generously left to him.
...
Never before, did it seem as if the wind was working against him more than it did now. Still, despite slight injuries and energy wasted on O'brian, Reitoko managed to push through air resistance, already flying over the outskirts of the town. Reitoko had gained a good amount of altitude. From his vantage point, the vast Guardian city looked more like a few organized bumps in the sand.
He stopped cold, all of the sudden, for he felt something cold on his shoulder. There was another trickle of liquid, streaking straight down his arm then dropping thousands upon thousands of feet below.
Reitoko blinked, and before he knew it, O'brian once more lay in his way. Fresh Arcosian blood tainted his blade. Once more, the offending weapon was pointed, with great prejudice, in the direction of Reitoko.
"I've never heard of hurricanes running from fights." O'brian sneered. Reitoko could almost imagine a malicious smile making its way across the wrinkled face.
"You are mistaken, I'm running towards one," Reitoko replied, his voice and tone rather even.
There was a flash of silver. The steel of O'brian's blade would have cut Reitoko across the face, if the Arcosian did not move his head back but a few inches. Yet, experiencing such a close call caused Reitoko to raise a brow.
"Your allies are no longer your concern!" O'brian yelled, his face growing red, "I am!"
As the Guardian leader shouted, both of his arms waved, carrying his blade with his motions.
Once more, O'brian lunged forward, attacking the Arcosian with a downward slash. His attack was met with one of Reitoko's forearms, which completely ceased its motion. His blade did not even embed itself into Reitoko's flesh, but remained harmlessly braced against it.
Reitoko's ki flared, forming a fiery aura around him. However, he broke off his engagement with O'brian, speeding away. Huffing, O'brian's own ki flared, and he pursued, gaining ground on the pale blue streak that raced in front of him.
But just as O'brian could see the silhouette of Reitoko against his own ki, it vanished once more. O'brian exhaled sharply, and looked up, completely by instinct.
The old leader's instincts were still honed. Reitoko was directly above him, both fists bunched together, ready to be brought down against the elderly man's backside. He already had his next move planned out, and was racing to counter his enemy's assault. It was too bad that O'brian's body could not catch up.
It had been long before he had suffered any blows from battle. Yet, he became immediately familiar with the sensation of a building being dropped on him. His spine strained under the awesome power, and he felt himself shooting straight down to the ground.
In a mere second, O'brian's journey to the surface ended. He landed in the middle of a busy city street, with hundreds of civilians in lines, creating a gigantic dust cloud. The once well-paved and well-traveled road now possessed none of its pristine condition. Cracks had spread through it, spreading out from the point of impact. A small layer of displaced dust caked the immediate area. And, most telling, several chunks of debris lay scattered, hindering any who now traveled upon it.
Immediately, there were shouts and screams among the populace in close proximity. Many began huddling away, creating a large clearing in the dirt road. Some civilians found themselves pressed against the earthen structures that flanked the street, yet not a care was given, as distance became a priority.
Reitoko had begun slowly descending. The civilians, many who were able witness the immediate fall of their leader, now focused upon the Arcosian. His arms were crossed, and his tail waved dangerously in the air, while he wore a most serious expression. Reactive shock and fright gave way to confusion, as speculative rumors contagiously raced through the crowd.
Coughing was heard from the small crater in the ground. Throwing a chunk of road aside, O'brian arose, dust falling off his cream-colored clothes. He proved able to scale the shallow edge of the crater, but his movements were shaky, and imprecise. The Guardian leader had to frequently stumble to maintain his balance. His eyes, dull and swollen, barely registered the audience around him. But, he was completely aware of their presence.
Suddenly straightening himself, he pointed wildly to the sky, in Reitoko's general direction. In a panicked voice, he shouted, "He's a traitor! He sold us all out to the Empire, run for your lives!"
Chaos exploded out on the streets, as the packed in populace spread out, each scattering in a random direction. Reitoko's eyes darted as bodies upon bodies of powerless, clueless civilians swarmed about, managing to block the way to O'brian. A cold sweat began breaking as the Arcosian noticed cream-uniformed guards form a wide perimeter around him.
As pandemonium persisted, O'brian's eyes remained on the Arcosian, witnessing the diminutive pale figure float helplessly in the sky. Through the sea of panicked civilians, the guardian leader remained a statue, allowing the populace to flow around him. Slowly, a triumphant smile formed on his face, as he witnessed Reitoko's form express the telling signs of demoralization.
Reitoko then closed his eyes, and shook his head. Slowly, he began to lower himself to the ground. His ki aura shrunk, until it was not visible. The gigantic weight of his power level had dispersed.
He touched down, almost swallowed by the crowd. Yet soon, the civilians had cleared. O'brian could now glare Reitoko in the eyes. But now, even surrounded by his guards, with none left to believe him, there was no despair in the Arcosian's look. As black lips parted to speak, from within his enemy's tone, O'brian could detect was sorrow.
"Perhaps the man I was told of was already dead."
O'brian raised his sword, although his joints were shaky. He shook his head, dust falling off of him. His bloodshot eyes now glared with renewed focus, as there was now nothing between them but the dust-swept streets. The boarders of their field were now formed by O'brian's guards, ever shrinking, as they began to float in closer.
"You will have to deal with the man in front of you Arcosian," O'brian icily replied, "as well as the many around you."
At this, his sword gestured to the soldiers.
"No," Reitoko said. A pale finger rose up, pointing directly towards O'brian's heart, "We're finished here."
O'brian angled is sword towards his opponent's chest. He could not feel the telltale power spike of the Arcosian preparing for attack.
"What?" he asked, his tone rather disappointed.
O'brian then became acutely aware of a sudden tightness in his chest, followed by cold pain. He looked down, his eyes beholding a fist, covered in his own blood now protruded through. He turned up, only to find the Arcosian still standing in front of him. Both hands were kept to himself, and he still wore an expression of ice cold neutrality.
He then turned back, peering over his shoulder, only to discover that the assailant was Silver. The thin-bodied man appeared to hold no extreme emotions. Yet, there was a slight tightness to his brow, and a fury beneath his eyes.
The guards around the three quickly raised their weapons. Every one of them had quite apparently tensed up. Their arms were up in defense, some even possessed glowing balls of ki cupped in their hands. Yet, Silver held steady, his eyes calmly scanning each and every guard. He was nonchalant, even as he yanked out his hand from O'brian's chest cavity, allowing dribbles of crimson red liquid to stain the dirt road below him.
"Stand down," he explained to the massed crowds of frightened civilians and steely soldiers, "our leader has blamed the Arcosian for something he himself is guilty of."
Every trace of impending attack vanished, as the guards turned to one another, confused murmurs among them. Some looked positively frightened, jittering, as their eyes veered off to the side. Others appeared quite enraged, waving their hands wildly in the air, as bold accusations were made to either party with equal prejudice.
Another commotion could be heard down the road. Reitoko turned, raising an eyebrow. Those who had operated the control room had come storming down the roads. Their uniforms were soaked with sweat and dirt, and they were panting heavily. They formed a small grouping of people, barely clumping up the middle of the wide roads. Yet all were shouting, with their fists raised in the air.
"Yes, the Arcosian is telling the truth," one man, in a white ensign uniform declared. "O'brian killed one of our own in cold blood!"
"O'brian told the Empire our secrets," shouted another voice, this one from a woman in a cream-colored guard uniform, "he's the one that sold us out!"
More and more accusations kept piling on. Soon, every pair of eyes in the wind-swept roads had begun to zero in on O'brian, who was kneeling over, clutching his chest, trying in vain to keep more blood from spilling out. He tried to focus on this, for every time he looked up, he would peer into the eyes of a betrayed comrade strained by pain, and gritted in anger.
O'brian's knees began to wobble, and then gave way. He barely felt the impact as they hit the ground. The blood pouring from his mouth mixed with another liquid, a liquid he had not known for a long time.
He felt footsteps approaching him, and for the last time, looked up. His vision was blurred from salty liquid, yet the white silhouette ingrained in his sight left little doubt to who it was, nor was the high-pitched voice, now filled with a mix of sorrow, and anger.
"Death is the inevitable end to everyone. But dying a shamed traitor? Dying to preserve yourself by forsaking your own people? That was your choice. What a waste."
O'brian blinked, feeling another drop of saltine liquid stain the bloody dirt below him, "You would have done the same if you were a bit wiser."
"Not everyone is as pathetic as you are, O'brian," huffed Reitoko. His eyes were quivering, as they beheld, with great contempt, the majestic shape of O'brian, curled up into a bloody, dying mess.
Swiftly, his sight veered upwards, to the guards. In a strict, yet instructive tone, devoid of the dying tragedy that occurred before many, Reitoko demanded, "Quick, I want a small force assembled immediately. We've no time to waste if we're going to assist our allies and secure victory."
His words were heeded. The roads were cleared in seconds, and the surrounding guards had immediately begun to follow Reitoko. Few now paid attention to the figure on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth, watching each man and woman who had served him turn away. The only ones who gave him any thought could only face him with a mixture of confusion and anger. It was these faces O'brian would remember the last before he surrendered his spirit.
…
Swift was the steel blade. Despite its impressive length, it was a nimble navigator, weaving its way through the gullets of grey-clad Imperial, leaving a mess of severed arms, legs and torso's to fall thousands upon thousands of feet to the sand.
The Imperial formation had been scattered by Oriko's latest charge. Those who evaded the length of her longsword now found themselves victim to a vicious combination of repeater fire and missile detonations, thanks to the mercenary formation that followed her. Their meek ki barriers offered little protection. Depleted uranium slug rounds, traceable by a thin orange streak, ripped through flesh and bone, while missiles combusted with fires straight from damnation's mouth itself, or unleashed masses of savage blunderbusses upon reaching their target.
Very few of the gray-shirts remained. The amoebic formation of the Imperials had been reduced to several scattered remnants. Meanwhile, the mercenary ships remained numerous, although less of the ragged bulky ships choked the skies than before.
Percy's eyes swerved left and right with the devil's enthusiasm. The Iceni's mighty particle cannon had managed to prove the second most lethal relative to the armored warrior. The captain squeezed off another shot, disintegrating a pair of Imperial soldiers that threatened to flank his squad. Unbeknownst to Percy, however, a massive shadow had been cast on the battlefield.
"Hey Perc, that capital ship looks like it wants to play!"
The Mercenary's warning through the communicator snapped Percy out of his combat-induced trance. He scanned his dashboard and looked out the window.
Capella's twin stars had both been obscured. Cold steel with almost a synthetic pristine finish dominated where the suns once shone. The bloated hull of the ship housed many souls, and many devices. Several trenches were lined across it, containing nearly a dozen legionnaires each. Several towers of various sizes and ascending heights lay on top of the monolith. Rows and rows of cool blue lights emitting from tiny sectioned windows lined the surface, indicative of the many employed by the GTE to operate such a mechanical monstrosity. To the center and the rear of the capital ship lay the tallest and greatest of the spires. Several antennae and radio dishes protruded out of it.
The underbelly of the vessel was rounded off, and simply contained more etches in its hull, more viewpoints from which scores of soldiers could unleashed amplified firepower on those foolish enough to oppose them. Clouds that had been previously floating statically made way for the underside of the beast as it continued its droning journey down.
As Percy gazed upon the massive new challenger before him, he felt his eyes widen, and he swallowed a lump that had appeared in his throat. Not even his ships viewport could capture the mass before him.
His communicator rumbled with static. Not a soul could be heard from it, only the deafening sound of silence rang in his ears.
With sudden bravado, Percy's sweaty palm made for the device, nearly ripping it off the wall. He gritted his teeth, which had begun to slowly form into a smile.
"A ship that large is going to have a good gap between its shields and its hull." he shouted, spit coating every syllable, "Stay up against it. Oriko draw their fire!"
The first into the fray was Oriko. Her armored form, massive for a human, was but a dust mite against the full might of Imperial manufacturing. Yet, she charged ahead with no hesitation, her blue streak of ki aura the only source of light against the shadow stained hull.
Percy's group had hung static behind him. Now, they sprung to life, the combustion of a diverse array of fuel's creating a rugged rainbow. The mercenaries charged forward with great velocity, throwing themselves against the monolith of the Imperial capital ship, never ceasing, even as the ships frame kept growing on each of their viewscreens.
Yellow bolts of ki flew from Oriko's armored form. Yet, before striking the hull, they would disperse, the energy sweeping outward until it disappeared into naught, leaving the metal as pristine as before.
The wind Oriko had sown had brought forth the whirlwind, as four scores of Imperial's returned the favor, firing from behind their shielded encampments the capital ship provided them. Some blasted out ki simply from the trenches, while others stood behind ring-like structures suspended in the air, and fired their ki through there. As the energy passed through these devices, the ki immediately expanded in girth and tripled in it's velocity.
A storm of small and large bolts alike assailed Oriko. From multiple angles at such velocity, she could not maneuver through every one, and had to resort to deflecting them. The woman could feel her muscles strain as the larger ones impacted her, and soon, all she could see in front of her was a massive growing glowing mass of volatile energy.
Another blast had detonated the conglomeration of energy, blowing off her helmet. Oriko shook her head, and flew back. As a new hail of ki headed towards her, she could hear the static coated voice of Percy through her earpiece.
"No use in hiding the third. We're in the fight of our lives here." he suggested. Oriko narrowed eyes. She then reached her hands, placing them behind her head.
She undid the bandana covering her forehead, allowing the wind to take the thin strip of white cloth away. It was soon disintegrated into black ash by a stray bolt.
Upon Oriko's now bare forehead was a thin slit upon a bulge. This slit opened up, revealing a white spherical object with a small dot in the middle. Her third eye was now active.
The woman's movements immediately sharpened. Whereas before, her massive frame proved difficult to maneuver through the storm of ki, now she seemed to slip through the slightest gaps in the offense with the fineness even a snake lacked.
Some ships had lingered off from the formation as they made their way to the capital ship, transfixed by show before them. Percy, glaring at his radar, noticed this.
"Follow me not her, unless you want your ship to look like swiss cheese!" he harshly reminded.
However, not all recognized Percy's authority at the moment. "Negative." contested the voice of the Mercenary leader, "Perc, you deal with the ship. As for me, I'm ending this. Half of you, to the prong!"
Percy did not protest. As he monitored the group's progress on the radar, he saw several of the blips following him veer off. They formed a group smaller than that which remained. Very little fire was sent in the direction of this new group, a few stray bolts here or there. They had begun to descend towards the prong.
The remaining mercs flew in such proximity to the hull, Percy could almost make out the individual rivulets that lined the precisely placed steel plates. He felt a shudder as the ships passed through the shields. There was a small exhale of relief he let out. He then yanked back on his joystick, compelling the Iceni into a quick ascent, as to prevent it from crashing into the massive capital ship. The rest of the ships followed suit, now skimming alongside the Imperial behemoth.
Mercenary vessels that had been clumped in a rather tight formation now flew flat against the frame of the battleship. Their rugged, rusted and worn hulls stood in contrast to the dark, yet sterilized landscape before them. Few ki blasts assailed them, but the bulk of the assault was focused on the flying warrior currently circling about. Yet, even with this decisive diversion in firepower, some of the mercenary ships had disappeared into balls of flame as a precise shot struck them.
The group travelled along the underside of the sliding their way along to the top. What had been a smooth surface filled with very little resistance now turned into a jungle of towers, spires, and of course, encampments and turrets.
"Alright, there are some embattlements up ahead," Percy announced, eyeing a tower particularly infested with gray-shirts, "I'll go ahead and make some bullet sponges for you lads."
Switching the channel of his communicator, Percy made sure his voice could be felt in the depths and only to the depths of the engine room below.
"Victor! Make these count."
Victor thumbed his own joystick, his tongue out as his eyes remained glued to a console screen, showing him a very fuzzy view of the surface ahead. The only thing clear was a green target reticle that moved along with the maneuvers of his joystick.
As the captain's orders thundered through the speakers, Victor shot back, "I have the intention to!"
Atop the hull of the Iceni, the anti-ki turret had been released from its metallic nest. A boxy gray barrel rotated about, before coming to a stop, aiming across the bow of the Iceni. Index finger on the trigger, Victor kept one eye closed as he lined up the target reticle.
Mechanical clicking could be barely discerned among the din of ki blasts and the roar of the capital ship's reactors. Anti-ki pins were ejected rapidly, as the stock of the turret was pulled back in quick succession. The reflection of the thin metal pins gave the illusion of the Iceni firing out blue bolts.
Nevertheless, the needle-thin payload soon rained down upon the entrenchment of the Imperial soldiers. Their gray uniforms soon became rife with metal thin as a thread. The rain of ki ended from the embattlement. Through the wide spanning opening, the now powerless soldiers could clearly see the fleet of ships barelling towards them.
The Mercenaries opened fire. Multiple repeater vulcan cannons launched depleted-dense metals at supersonic speeds. The Imperial line ahead was scorched with gatling firepower, leaving its personnel riddled with bloody holes pasted on torso's, arms, legs, and even helmets. Ki, which had once provided minor protection from such conventional weaponry, had proven utterly futile.
"Nice shooting boys! Now let's get that tower, were going to have our asses handed to us if we let those Imperials up there feel comfortable!"
The Tower presided over many of the block-like structures on top of the capital ship. It was topped with a block-like slab, with two spanning openings, each packed with scores of soldiers. Gray helmets and black visors turned to the oncoming fleet, and had soon begun to rain golden bolts on them. Another mercenary ship was downed in the onslaught, with yet another suffering critical damage.
"KI-KO-HO!"
For but a moment the tower was illuminated with a green-tinged gold ray of light. A faint beam of the same color could be seen touching the structure.
The pristine metal was then twisted and consumed with a brilliant orange inferno. Soldiers were consumed in the conflagration, but none emerged from the detonation, all rendered into black powder. What had been a proud and formidable defense tower now lay as a jagged crater on the metallic surface, the edges of the metal still bright orange.
A smile crossed Percy's face as he shouted "Belay that order!"
Meanwhile, the group that broke off had made it's way away from the capital ship. It's shadow was still cast over the field, even the spire that they headed towards.
In a moment, the lead ship came to an abrupt halt. A wispy blue light was all that impeded them.
"Crap," huffed the Mercenary Leader, "this shield deflects kinetic attacks as well."
Once the breakaway Mercenary formation had encountered the shields, activity shot through the Inquisitor. Hanger doors on the port and starboard side slid open. From them poured out swarms upon swarms of gray clad soldiers. Like Locusts they flew, and the mercenaries were the wheat they would ravage.
This did not go unnoticed by Percy, who saw the overwhelming numbers spill out of the capital ship. The Iceni took a sharp turn, engine trail's tracing its path, shooting to the prong-side flank of the Subjugator. His allies managed to keep up with him, and alter their course accordingly.
"Whoa nelly!" he exclaimed, "We're a bit outnumbered here."
"You don't say." Victor quipped. Percy narrowed his eyes at the communicator.
"Keep on the guns Vic, we're going to have to soften them up!"
"On it!" came the confirmation
The Iceni unloaded it's crippling payload. Metal bolts, now obscured by shadow now began hailing towards the endless swarm still streaming out of the Subjugator. Soldiers struck with even one pin lost their ability to air dance, and thus began to drop like a swatted fly.
A pale blue stream had wrapped round from the underside of the ship. Oriko's armored form was barreling towards the hoard. Her sword was flailed out to the side, at the ready to bisect many an unfortunate soul fooling enough to enter it's long reach. All three eyes were wide open, with the Imperial formation reflected in their pupils.
When Oriko reached them, at least forty soldiers broke off from their path. They immediately swarmed the titanic warrior, grabbing her arms, her legs, her torso, her neck. Gloved hands restrained each joint, despite her struggles, which managed to shake off a few. Soon, Oriko became obscured from the outside world, her location only indicated by a mass of gray soldiers.
"Oriko!" Percy shouted, watching the scene unfold before him. His wrists twisted as he adjusted course. His vision had become tunneled, as Oriko became his sole focus.
"Percy, on your six!" shouted Victor.
A swarm of soldiers had wrapped around the Mercenary formation, and now threatened to envelop them. One had fired out a kamehameha wave, sending it straight at the Iceni. The blue ki wave was quick, at least to the untrained eye. It's danger was below the captain's concern, until it struck the ship.
The Iceni's shields nearly neutralized the blast. Nearly.
Victor had been thrown and tossed about from the kinetic force, holding upon the edge of his seat by a single thread. Yet, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach as he turned a concerned eye around he engine room. The motor within the far-side of the room had caught fire, the kamehameha striking true.
"Dammit," he cussed, "I just fixed that!"
"Worry about it later," Percy reminded. The captain's teeth were gritted. His eyes glowed with intensity, due to the reflection of the now saturated ki spectacle outside his window. "Let's just try to stay alive!"
...
The desert winds had picked up in the western hemisphere. A slight haze of condensation created a slightly overcast sky. The light of the twin suns became blurred, and took the edge off their glare.
The glare of the Emperor's Right Hand had neither not lost its edge, nor its intensity. Yet, it was also stained with some form of confusion. Her head tilted, and an eyebrow rose. The black pupil's shifted, allowing her to peer at Bolshoy and the literal dog-pile that hindered him so. Her ice cold veneer remained, despite her ally's peril.
"You confuse me Namekian." she said, crossing her arms, as she lay eyes on Phonium, "How do you hope to accomplish victory against the Emperor's finest with such inadequate assistance?"
For however unrelenting her gaze was, it was matched in every sense by the Namekian. "You drones don't give us enough credit. I figure we won't have to last long before your buddy is taken care of."
Finally, Phonium was the first to break in the staring contest. Yet, defeat was handled in a peculiar way. A small smile formed on his face.
This smile was then followed by a noise that should not have existed in the same galaxy as Phonium. Mocking laugher escaped his lungs, his chest huffing up and down as the jovial sounds echoed the battlefield.
"You know, it's strange." he mused as the laughter died down, "For someone who's supposed to be the Emperor's finest, you appear to enjoy battle the most. Not really the ideal of the GTE warrior, isn't it?"
Markova's eyes widened ever slightly. Upon closer inspection, one could see each diminutive blood vessel in crisp definition.
There was a quiver in the air. Ovosh felt it thicken, as if her lungs were filling with gel. Her shoulders weighed down on her, causing her difficulty in maintaining a straight posture. The air, which had been tossing about her brown hair, now stood still.
Sand particles began rising, causing a thin haze to hinder vision. Ovosh's senses had begun to become overwhelmed with a growing presence in front of her. Even when she thought such power would be the limit of what could exist, it kept swelling. Her eyes widened, as she began to realize the depth of the abyss that loomed before her.
A green blur that flashed by. Phonium had taken to the air, and was now barreling straight for Markova, his fist pulled back. Very soon, he was face to face with the Right Hand. He wasted no time in firing his fist forward, the attack headed straight for her face.
Phonium's fist was inches from its intended target, when the Namekian froze solid. His eyes widened, and perspiration began pouring down his face. Markova didn't even move a muscle, though the ki she had begun to output had ceased. To his rear, standing off on his side, was Meya. The Emperor's sword was indifferent, yet focused, a hand buried deep into the side of Phonium's lower back. His strike did not draw blood, yet Phonium quickly deduced it was due to his efforts that he was paralyzed.
"You would think the last of a dying race would be more cautious with his life," the Right Hand mockingly mused.
As soon as she had finished her taunt, Markova felt a curious sensation in her stomach, a sort of fluttering. The air behind her had notably warmed. Taking her eyes off of the paralyzed Namekian, she turned to face what had grabbed her attention.
She was facing a massive ball of ki, nearly 40 meters from her position. The sand swirled and twisted under the influence from such incredible power, which outshone even the suns overhead.
The Masenko's reservoir of lethal ki soon doubled the height of its caster, completely engulfing her form, obscuring the girl from the sight of Markova. The Right Hand knew to flee from such an attack, yet her feet remained planted. Soon enough, the Masenko was fired off, accompanied with a mighty yell that could have transformed the surrounding sand into glass.
Markova raised both of her hands in front of her, crossing her forearms, yet keeping her palms fully exposed. The mighty Masekno lumbered towards her, tossing aside sand, dirt and air with destructive indifference. Soon, the mighty head of the attack had been brought to bear on the Right Hand.
She braced against the massive attack, grabbing the golden energy, as the ki was brought to a stop. Markova let out a strained grunt as she felt her arms begin to part under the unrelenting assault.
Upon observing Markova's struggle, Meya rushed forward, his dull green eyes focused on the faint shadow behind the origin of the attack. There was a high-pitched whistling sound, bringing the Sword face to face with Phonium.
"You recover quickly Namekian." he noted, raising an eyebrow, his voice struggling to even fluctuate in the slightest.
Phonium answered with a punch, aiming for Meya's torso. The lanky man was light on his feet, sidestepping the attack with not a trace of effort. Yet, the Namekian wasted no time lamenting, following up his attack with two quick jabs. Again, his efforts were avoided quite easily by Meya, who merely bent at the waist to evade. He even had time for his green eyes to trace the path of each blow that flew by.
Markova let out a furious growl as her hands clenched upon the Masenko. There were clear divots in the golden mass where her hands braced against the ki attack. Yet, these divots became deeper by the second, threatening to swallow her whole. Her feet, planted firmly upon the ground still gave way to overwhelming power. A trail of retreat, two meters in length, lay embedded in sand, and was still growing.
Soon, her legs began to buckle, and she had to kneel in order to retain some semblance of balance. The attack was fully up against her chest, it looked as if she were giving the deadly mass a hug. Slowly, but surely, even kneeling, she was still being driven back.
In another part of the battlefield, Bolshoy had collapsed from the great weight upon him. Nearly a dozen mouths, filled with scores of fangs, dug in to every limb, every muscle of his being. Blood trickled down both of his arms and legs, filling some of the mouths of the anthros. The gargantuan man flailed as he was brought down, managing to drag the White Fang members with him as he moved.
Even then, his range of motion had become severely limited. All he could manage was to get up on his knees. His eyes were blood shot, and his teeth were gritted in anguish.
From his shoulder, as Shere Khan clamped down even harder, tasting the Imperial's mortal liquid."So you do bleed monster!" His voice was muffled from the fabric, flesh and blood that had been caught within his maw.
"The power of the Empire -ahh!" shouted Bolshoy, as he felt a particularly nasty bite on his leg, "-Dwarfs that of any beast!"
By this time, Markova could feel her hair scraping against the sand. Her eyes glared back, met with an array of sand granules that she could make out every detail out of.
Searing blood began pumping through her veins. Her eyebrows quivered as her eyes widened, black pupils now completely surrounded by white. Sand bunched around her boots, and she felt her muscles quiver. Ovosh's attack then halted its progress.
With a mighty heave, and an intense shout, Markova began rising from her kneeling position. Her arms had been enveloped by the Masenko, yet the attack affected them not in the slightest. Soon, her legs had begun to straighten, no longer requiring that she use her knees to stand straight. As she struggled, from her mouth did a piercing scream escape.
Her scream did not end, nor did her progress, and it reached its apex when she thrust both arms forward, sending the Masenko to the heavens. As the attack passed through the atmosphere, it began looking less akin to the sun itself bearing down upon her, instead resembling more a flickering star against a vast sky.
Markova let out a triumphant exhale, glaring directly at Ovosh.
Her victory did not last, for Phonium intercepted her from behind. Both fists bunched into one, and smashed into her shoulder, sending ripples and vibrations through her from the point of impact. The Emperor's finest could no longer stand proud, she could only lay sprawled upon the ground, her face buried in the sand. She did not cease in her embarrassing descent, for momentum dragged her forward, sending particles erupting upward similar to a streaking wave through a calm body of water. As the waves of sand came crashing down, Markova found herself nearly buried within.
For nearly a minute, the landscape had been rearranged. A new, dune with a soft peak had been created from the most recent engagement. But, it was not to last. There was a quaint tremble that swelled in intensity. Vibrating particles began rolling down from the top of the dune. A white gloved hand burst through the surface, effectively destroying the new feature, as the imploding sand separated. Soon, Markova had fully freed herself, and rose to meet the Namekian.
Ovosh braced herself for another bout, yet detected a lethal glint within the corner of her eye. She quickly turned to face it, widening her eyes as she recognized the lean form of Meya streaking towards her. As he approached, the girl had begun to notice the heaviness of her breath, and exhaustion clinging to her muscles.
Thin, straight blades slid out from the servant's hands, emerging from between each of his fingers and thumb. There were eight in total, giving the Emperor's Sword the appearance of wielding rather long claws. Such was the pristine finish on each blade, light which had been reflected from it gave the illusion of glowing energy.
Ovosh leaned back, seeing the man swing a bladed hand towards her. A glare of luminous metal flashed before her eyes. The tips of the blade passed mere millimeters from her face, far closer than she was expecting. Meya followed up his attack with yet another slash, this time aimed at Ovosh's torso, leaving her little time to recover. Clumsily, she brought a hand down upon them, managing to alter the path of Meya's attack. Her forearm suffered three grisly gashes for the effort. Despite the diminutive ki she could sense from him, he had effectively put the girl on the defensive.
Markova had air danced to the equivalent altitude of the Namekian. Her arms remained at her side, until one was brought up to wipe her mouth with the back of a hand. Taking it away, she saw a streak of red running across it. Her eyes narrowed at the sight, yet not a pang of pain or frustration was felt.
Her eyes moved from the back of her hand, to the Namekian standing opposite of her, already crouched in a combat stance. As she saw this, she felt a pang of something different, and entirely unexpected within her.
"You know what Namekian?" she queried in a rhetorical manner, balling both hands into fists, "You were right. I do enjoy this."
Markova took the offensive, lashing out at the Namekian. He raised his defenses quickly in response. Crossed forearms provided protection against a seemingly unending barrage of fists. Phonium felt air escape from his mouth as he felt each blow pound against him. Fending off falling moons would have proven a far more bearable task.
Phonium pulled back, yet as he did, a pale fist surpassed his arms, landing squarely on his jaw. The Namekian felt his head rock back. Spit was flayed to the heavens, yet the droplets had yet to descend before another fist from Markova nailed him in the stomach, causing him to keel over.
He was quick to recover, however. As Markova raised another fist to strike, Phonium retaliated, swiping his hand, his backhand connecting with her face. The force of such a quick strike was great, causing her to turn round. Now with her back turned to him, Phonium clutched both of his fists together, foraging a mighty green hammer. It was brought over his head, with the full intent to crack Markova's skull open.
The Emperor's right Hand turned round to face Phonium. As she did so, she brought something else forth. Clasped in both hands, the Namekian was confronted with the brilliant blue glow of Markova's-
"KAMEHAMEHA!"
There was no time for the Namekian to avoid, deflect, or mitigate. He had been immediately struck with the full force of the Right Hand's mighty attack. The turtle wave did not cease, however. It continued through, burrowing into his stomach, before emerging out from his back, traveling far away and detonating beyond the horizon.
Phonium had been petrified, his fists still lingering up above his head. His eyes shook, as his face remained petrified in a state of shock. His eyes need not traveled down, for he could faintly feel every nook and cranny of the gaping hole through his torso.
Ovosh's eyes went wide from despair. She had taken her focus off of Meya, and began to rush to Phonium's position.
"Phonium!" she shouted, reaching out with a hand, "No-"
Two flashes of steel pierced her arm. Ovosh was thrown forward, still reaching out. She widened her eyes, as she looked up the shafts of the blades, both embedded into her flesh.
Still, the arm had not been impaled completely. Thus, Ovosh attempted brace the limb against the sand to lift herself up. Not a muscle moved.
Ovosh clenched her teeth, her second efforts just as fruitless. Piercing pain then screamed from her legs, and she craned her neck to discover that Meya's blades were now embedded in both her thighs and calves. And just like her arms, they had been effectively paralyzed. Meya stood tall behind her, hands by his side. His green eyes were neither glowing with triumph, nor scowling with disgust. It was a look she was all too familiar with, that of a blank slate, and a hopeless servant.
The White Fang had not been apprised of their comrades' situation. Instead, all of their being was focused on restraining the beast of a man, Bolshoy. His struggles had begun to weaken, even as their efforts proved exhaustive. Yet, the massive Servant remained caught, every muscle hindered by the jaws and claws of the White Fang.
Bolshoy gazed upward, agony on his face. A shadow fell upon him, for large frame of Shere Khan approached. The wolf-man was the picture of tranquility, yet something beastly slept beneath the waves.
"Such savagery," Bolshoy noted, smiling despite his compromised position, "no wonder the Emperor could not enlighten you. Perhaps once we claim victory, he can study your biology for more effective methods."
Shere Khan narrowed his eyes, "I'm glad you said that, it will make the next part far more enjoyable."
Despite the sky now being overcast, the hand Khan had extended appeared to shine. The glare of razor-sharp claws was only overshadowed by the gleam in Khan's eye. The wolf-man bared his teeth, rows of canines that were the envy of all predators, and the bane of all prey. A low growl that could have been mistaken for a lion, rather than a wolf, escaped his mouth.
Khan swiped down, drawing blood. His other hand soon followed. He repeated this, clawing away at Bolshoy's face, his eyes wild with bloodlust, completely consumed with the Emperor's shield.
So consumed was he, that he could not feel the growing presence behind him. Markova was a great distance away from him, yet her glare towards the wolf-man never wavered. There was a great tremor in the air, as her ki swelled to new heights. The sand around her shook and vibrated, and her pale blue aura flared and flicked, akin to a wild fire going out of control.
Her aura brightened to a bright white. The energy compressed and congealed, forming tightly around her body like a form fitting third skin, until it appeared to color her. Slowly, she raised a fist. It shook as it ascended. Despite Markova holding nothing, it appeared as if she were lifting a great weight. Ki white as her jacket concentrated around the fist.
Ovosh, still pinned helplessly to the ground, unable to move a muscle, expressed great distress. Her eyes widened and shook. Desperately, she called out, hoping her voice could be carried by the wind.
"Khan!"
By then, Markova was gone, a white flash marking where she once was. In an instant, she had reached Bolshoy, and the rest of the White Fang. In an instant, did she pass through them.
A mighty rumble sounded, as if there were a crack of thunder. Shere Khan whirled about, snapping out of his bloodthirsty trance.
It did not take long for him to notice that his left arm had been reduced to a bloody stump.
His warm-blood froze solid. Sanguine liquid had begun to drip down the amputated join. He could still trace the path Markova had travelled, easily indicated by a white streak that had passed through where his arm had been.
Khan would regret following what she had left in her wake.
The White Fang, those to whom he was entrusted, those who looked up to him to lead, now lay in a bloody heap on the ground. Some had lost limbs, and were whining in pain, leaking mortal liquid on the sand. Others had been completely bisected, their torso in one place, and their legs resting in another. And others still maintained their forms, but had lost their heads in the process. The rest could not be accounted for, for they had been disintegrated where they stood, undistinguishable from the ashes that now tainted the air.
Khan's eyes came to rest on the head of a female cat-girl, who stared back at him from the empty abyss. A couple of pained groans escaped his mouth. Then, his eyes rolled back, and the mighty wolf, the leader of the White Fang, collapsed into the bed of sand.
The only ones left standing were Bolshoy, unscathed by Markova's attack. His face was now marked with several red gashes. However, he appeared as jovial as ever, a triumphant smile sculpted upon his face. Markova stood at his side, flicking a few stray hairs that had the displeasure of impeding her eyesight.
"A timely rescue, Right Hand," Bolshoy acknowledged, adjusting the cuffs on his uniform. No longer was he a picturesque representation of Imperial perfection, for his clothes were now ragged, and host to several gnarly holes, "Forgive me, for not being able to assist you."
"Your assistance was not necessary." Markova responded, folding her arms, "But I value my fellow servants."
The large man turned to her, his approval apparent. His smile had grown, and despite his injuries, he appeared to stand even taller.
In an instant, both were consumed in a bright flash. This flash was followed by black smoke, billowing out of the point of impact.
The culprit was heavily breathing, a hand fully extended with steam still rising from the palm. Ragged, and roughed, there was still none who would mistake the green form of the Namekian for anyone else. His chest had recovered from Markova's efforts, yet a sizable hole in his gray shirt still marked where he had been impaled.
"Of course," Meya muttered. Raising his voice, so that it could be heard from a distance, he suggested, "Perhaps you should have gone for the head."
Green hands gripped the straps over the Namekian's shoulders. The material tore easily, and soon enough, gray scraps of woven fabric had been tossed to the wind. Phonium's nostril's flared, as he crouched down. His movements were slower and more measured. His face remained as stone, yet he was sweating profusely.
Bolshoy stepped forward, his feet appearing to shake the ground. "Allow me, you have done your part, my fellow servants." he offered.
Meya had lept into the air. In mere moments, he had landed at the side of the Shield. The Servant shook his head, glaring at the large man. "This is unwise, allow me."
"You are swifter than I, but that comes at a fragile cost." Bolshoy retorted.
Meya opened his mouth, then closed. His green eyes glazed over for but a second. No one would have been blamed if they could not see a shift in his demeanor. Yet, the Sword of the Emperor appeared more agreeable to the assessment. "I see, we will still intervene if necessary."
Bolshoy thundered forward, his approach as slow, yet as inevitable as an incoming storm. A passionate glow, which had always been present in the man's eyes, now appeared even more pronounced, and vicious.
Already, Phonium could feel his back hunch. The sand had begun to creep up on his ankles. Moving his arms but an inch would prove harder than moving the entire planet a lightyear. Yet, his gaze burned, his focus becoming singular on the man who approached him.
"A spirited effort," Bolshoy noted, "It is too bad your determination could not have been added to our own. If only the Namekian culture could have been made to service us. Now, all that waits for you is extinction."
"WE WILL NOT FADE FROM THIS GALAXY!" Phonium declared, "OUR LIGHT WILL BURN FOREVER!"
Bolshoy had closed the distance between him and the Namekian to ten feet. Thus, Phonium charged forward, ignoring the warnings of his body, and disregarding the cool confident pose of the Imperial's finest. Sand parted, and dust scattered before his approach. Yet, the Emperor's Shield did not raise his hands for defense.
Phonium landed a punch on the man's torso. Another, with his opposite hand, struck his adversary's face.
Nothing the Namekian did could even stagger the massive man.
"Yours is a dying flame, that I shall extinguish!" the Shield proclaimed.
Bolshoy's knee was pulled back. The man then brought it up, driving it with great prejudice into Phonium's stomach. The organs the Namekian had regenerated appeared ready to pop out of his mouth. He was sent flying back, landing pathetically in the sand, rolling on the ground until he came to a halt.
Ovosh could only be transfixed by the heap that now lay, sprawled and still. Her struggles grew more desperate. The muscles in her arms tensed, as she now glared at the steel that held her in place. With great effort, she managed to lift up her right hand. With a mighty swipe, she snapped the blade on her opposite forearm.
As she had begun to feel her functions resuming in her left, yet another blade pierced the flesh of her forearm. Ovosh screamed in pain, as this time, the blade was driven all the way through, before embedding itself into the ground. A hand rested on the simple black pommel of the offending weapon. Meya's sin against her was committed with neither malice nor joy. His blank stare was the only sight of her despair, as she felt all nervous functions in her limbs cease, and rendered effectively paralyzed.
"Stand down civilian." Meya scolded, an order she had no choice but to obey, "You have forgotten your place, so now, you will bear witness to the Namekians' place in the grand scheme."
Slowly, the quivering mass of the Namekian began to rise. His flame was flickering ever fainter. His lids were half open. His mouth hung down, and he couldn't even muster the strength to keep his arms from flopping at his side. He cast a brief glance to Ovosh, devoid of all animosity, of all coldness, of all pride. All he could express through half-lidded eyes, the sweat and blood stained brow, the gaping, loose mouth, was sorrow.
And still, sapped of all strength, he charged once more, pulling from places unknown, the ability to move. He appeared to meld into the air, achieving great speed, bearing down on Bolshoy within a fraction of a second.
But a fraction of a second to a warrior such as the Emperor's Shield, was an eternity in of itself.
Phonium was stopped, Bolshoy's fleshy palm on his face. His meaty fingers wrapped around the hairless green of Phonium's skull. There was little strain in his arms as Phonium was lifted from the ground, his legs desperately swiping in the air.
Bolshoy brought his other hand to bear, allowing both to frame Phonium's face. The Namekian's mouth was agape, gasping desperately. The flesh on his neck had begun to stretch. Searing pain attacked the joint, and Phonium's eyes went wide.
He was kept close to Bolshoy, brought against the large man's chest. His gasps had become gagging, as his neck was stretched to an unreasonable length. Gradually, he could see the man's smile grow even larger, corresponding with the pain he felt.
Shouting to the heavens, Bolshoy declared, "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"
With a sharp twist of his hands, there was a sickening crack that could be heard by the entire desert. Bolshoy then yanked upwards, tearing the Namekian's neck apart. Green flesh shredded, with long tentrils trailing from the stump of the neck. Purple liquid began to flow from the fresh wound. Phonium's body fell back flat against the sand. His head was now in Bolshoy's hands.
The Shield peered at his prize, but only for a moment. Phonium still wore an expression of anguish on his face, yet his breathing had stopped, and the light had been extinguished from his eyes.
Without great ceremony, Bolshoy tossed aside the head of the last Namekian. It bounced on the soft ground, almost like a child's play ball, before coming to a stop, in front of the immobilized form of Ovosh.
...
With great haste, another group of warriors flew over the endless dunes of Sanctuary. They were headed south, led by none other than Reitoko. Poppavich followed behind, along with several other Guardian warriors. For minutes, the sand passed by quickly.
And then, they came to a stop. Reitoko held up the signal, he being the one who initiated it. He looked back, but not to the few dozens of warriors he had brought along. Instead, he looked to the horizon of where they had been.
"What is it Arcosian?" Poppavich inquired impatiently.
"Do you mind leading the assault to the south alone?" Reitoko asked. His request was done with little anticipation. Poppavich, in particular,r appeared surprised. "I'm not exactly sure I should go with you."
The Silver Spur let out a labored sigh. For a moment, he appeared somber. "I am- was O'brian's best fighter. We don't need you."
Reitoko nodded, "Good."
With little courtesy, he flew off, leaving the Guardian task force he had assembled in the dust. His speed increased, three times of than that of Poppavich's squad.
I can't sense how the battles are going. But it feels as if something terrible has happened.
...
Ovosh could only gaze into Phonium's eyes, eyes that were petrified with his last sensation of pain. Purple blood stained his mouth, and a curious second liquid flowed out of his eyes. In his empty glare, she had been caught, and remained hypnotized, now numb to the blades that immobilized her.
Apart from Ovosh, the Three were the only ones left standing. They had convened on the center of the battlefield. Markova eyed the subspace prong that hung malevolently in the back ground. The structure had begun to spin. Arcs of energy had even emitted from it, indicated by a blue cackle.
"Any word on Z's leader?" Markova asked Meya, the latter with a finger to his ear, his eyes closed, "Our other forces haven't detected him yet. He alone could change the tide of battle."
"No word," Meya responded, "It appears he still awaits word from the others about our forces. If O'brian has acted accordingly, he should be delaying the Arcosian."
"Aside from him, the day appears to be ours!" Bolshoy declared, as he raised his fists in the air triumphantly.
"Don't be so sure, Shield." Meya quickly retorted, glaring at his fellow servant. There was a small inflection in his voice, a rarity for him.
Bolshoy crossed his arms, "Perhaps you can relish in yet another Imperial victory for once Sword? In order to properly serve, one must appreciate the supremacy of the Emperor!"
"Such a requirement is unnecessary for me." Meya explained.
The bickering was then cut short. All wore serious expressions on their faces. Immediately, their eyes began to dart around, leaving no grain of sand, nor space in the sky spared from their unforgiving eyes.
"That ki, it's absolutely massive!" Bolshoy noted, his jovial nature gone, "I wasn't aware the Arcosian was this strong."
"It's close by," Meya added on, his fingers now at his temple, "but I cannot get a visual on him. Stay at the ready."
"Our ki jammer is still up," Markova explained, "he shouldn't have been able to sense the Namekian's death. What is the ETA on the prong?"
"15 minutes." answered the Sword.
The overcast sky had darkened. However, flashes of purple and blue in the black mess of clouds provided brief, volatile respite.
Markova's breathing had become measured. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the terrain again. A small, informative thought formed at the back of her mind, and she kept returning to the same spot in her search. Yet, she resisted such a thought, yet remained trapped in its intrigue.
"Bolshoy, are you sure it's the Arcosian you are sensing?" she suddenly asked, prompting a peculiar look from him, "The ki doesn't quite match up with his."
"Who else could it be?"
Her eyes widened, threatening to burst out of their sockets. They veered back to the spot where she was tempted, the place where she could now undoubtedly feel the great swelling of ki. Her eyes had come to rest on Ovosh, and she grew pale as snow.
Ki had been pouring out of the girl. Meya's petrifying blades had begun to shake and rattle. Her aura was twice as large as her body, and spiked our erratically. All around, thunder and lightning struck more frequently, the drums of heaven anticipating further, bloodier conflict.
"That's why …" she breathed out, "that's why they wanted her..."
With a mighty scream, the steel was shattered. A blinding light had hid Ovosh from view, but as it dissipated, there were no signs of her. Only the remains of Meya's blades were the only indication someone else was there.
Ovosh now stood in the middle of the plain. Blood streamed down all her limbs. The three could not see her face, for her back was to them. Cradled in her arms, was the head of Phonium, fresh blood still dripping from its neck. Ovosh then brought out the head, bringing it in front of her face.
The sand below received a few droplets of moisture. It was rain, rain from Ovosh's eyes. It ran clear as day, even as the storm above threatened to overshadow everything else. Sand and rocks had begun levitating around her, for despite her grief, or because of it, her power still grew.
A bolt of lightning struck Ovosh, but left her unharmed.
Under such might, the ground had begun to shake. The three were subject to some of the most violent, with the epicenter located a few meters from them. Meya looked to Bolshoy, some stress showing on the stoic man's face.
"We have to act now!" he commanded, "Bolshoy with me!"
"No! Hold!" Markova shouted, holding out her hand, "She's more dangerous than ever!"
"If you allow this to continue," Meya shouted, "Her threat will become insurmountable! It is imperati-"
An earpiercing scream shattered the desert, echoing in the heavens. Thunder submitted to it, and the planet grew tranquil. This was a scream that was not the result of expelled air from the lungs. This scream was made from blood, and was powered by the heart.
There was a brief flash of gold. Ovosh could see the mirror in front of her, the vision on that fateful day. She blinked, her eyes, pupil-less and teal for only a moment. Her ki aura had swelled to monstrous levels, leaving nearly the entire battlefield choked in its splendor. As her scream died down, Ovosh's head dropped down. Her arms drooped to her sides, leaving Phonium's head to be held by one hand.
Soon enough the storm died down. However, it had not passed, for the eye of the storm, is when it is at its calmest.
Ovosh let out another scream, and was enveloped in a burst of power, bright and opaque. It was as golden and brilliant as the binary suns. The entire battlefield was once again, smothered in lustrous ki, yet it left no one harmed.
Markova shielded her eyes from the brilliant light, the other two doing the same. Her heart was thudding, she could feel it in her throat. Her legs shook, and could not free themselves from their frozen state. Yet deep down, she knew she was not shaking from fear.
As the dust settled and the light died down, Markova opened her eyes. The sand had now settled, and the clouds above had ceased their thundering. She could not yet behold her enemy. But, she could hear her. It was her sound that confirmed Markova's worst fears. A rhythmic, haunting melody produced by ki rang in Markova's ears. And as her eyes veered to face her adversary, her fears had become realized.
Ovosh's hair had turned completely golden. Before, it had fallen over her neck, while now, it had flared much like a fully active fire. Jagged locks spiked up and out, requiring little assistance to retain their ridged stature. The Emperor's right hand then gazed into her eyes, eyes once dark brown, now a smooth teal with nary a pupil in sight. It was her eyes where rage burned the brightest.
The young Z warrior lifted her head, directing it at the overcast sky. Phonium's head lay at her side, the eyes now shut tight. Slowly, she turned, facing the Emperor's finest.
"This is why the Emperor wanted her back, why the Arcosian sought her out," Markova said, fixated upon her transformed enemy, "For she is a Super Saiyan!"
To be continued...