The Invasion of Sanctuary (Part 4)
The legend had returned. But it was not met with great fanfare. Instead there was silence and stillness. Only one noise could be heard. The hum of highly concentrated ki echoed throughout the dune. But, its haunting rhythm could only be heard by three.
Ovosh stood in the center of the aura. Her eyes were closed. She appeared almost serene, as the eye of the hurricane is surrounded by apocalyptic winds. Sand and debris hovered around her, vibrating under her power. Her hair was no longer brown, but a brilliant gold, and it waved with hypnotic motion.
The Golden Warrior exhaled, a soft sound that reminded Ovosh of the blood rushing through her head, her arms and legs, pumped with great force by her heart. Unlike those whom she opposed, the rhythmic hum of ki was serene music to her ears. Its haunting melody was all too familiar, though she had never heard it ever before in her life.
Markova's eyes had been nearly blinded by the sight before her, though her eyes were not straining for sheer luminosity. There was a minor quake she could feel in her legs. Her eyes darted to her comrades, who seemed unaffected by the shaking; both of them were focused on what was before them. It didn't take long for her to realize that it was only she who trembled.
Suddenly, the empowered warrior turned her head to the side. Eyes of teal, blank and pupiless, projected a burning glare that would have put the twin Capella suns to shame. Such rage of a gigantic magnitude to those numb to such sentient sentiments was rather transfixing. All three remained glued to the spot.
Meya broke the deafening silence. "Her power has risen beyond even generous projections." he noted. There was a rare inflection in his voice, and something that none had ever heard from the lanky man. He was wavering, almost stuttering. His eyes were caught in a slight quiver. For the first time, an expression other than joyless focus adorned his facial features.
There was the sound of a clenched fist. Bolshoy brought the compressed extremity to his face. "No matter the challenge," he growled through his teeth, "We shall prevail! Are we not the Emperor's finest?"
Movement caught there attention, and they all jumped to battle positions. Ovosh raised an arm, extending a finger. It was directed towards Bolshoy. Despite the distance between them, the large man could feel her pointing directly at his heart.
"For what you have done, I shall terminate you." she declared. The last phrase of mortal implications was spat out with such lethality, Markova could feel the words pierce her body.
She heard a small puff of air. Meya had vanished, not even displacing a grain of sand. He had positioned himself behind Ovosh. The girl had not even blinked, never even moved a muscle, even as it appeared he was breathing down her neck. One of his hands was tucked at his hip, four mirror-like blades directed upwards for her neck. They moved quickly, appearing less as steel and more as flashes of light.
The blades got as far as molesting the fuzz on the back of Ovosh's neck. For the brief moment of time they did, Ovosh swiped her hand back, nailing the man in the face. Meya felt a sickening crunch in his gut, as he was launched airborne, flying and flipping as he traveled uncontrollably. Nearly 60 meters away, there was a plum of sand, indicating his impact.
Markova blinked twice, struggling to even process the move Ovosh had made. Her eyes darted around wildly, haphazardly tracing the path of Meya, till she detected the plume in the sand. A large lump appeared in her throat, a lump she had to swallow quickly.
Teal eyes inspected a scarred hand. Despite such bruises and injuries, never was Ovosh more rejuvenated. She turned the hand, inspecting every contour, focusing on the golden glow that now tainted it.
"The Emperor's finest indeed." she commented.
Bolshoy bellowed, his chest expanding to such a degree it could engulf the world. Were he more beastly, perhaps he would have been inclined to beat it. His eyes were surrounded by white, threaded by jagged lines of red. The eyeballs themselves threatened to escape their fleshy prison. The Emperor's shield stomped forward, himself the envy of all sandstorms that reigned across the eternal desert.
Markova trailed close behind. Ki coursed through her, yet the blood that flowed through felt as if it had slowed to a crawl. Chalk white was her skin, indistinguishable from that of an Arcosian. While her strides could not match those of the Emperor's Shield, her approach was noticeably more measured than before.
In seconds, they had closed in upon Ovosh. Yet, for the newly christened legend, their approach could have taken an eternity. To the naked eye, their assault was an intricate web of flying fists and sweeping kicks, all appearing to take place at the same time.
Despite the sheer intensity of the assault, the Z warrior appeared without fear. Instead of desperately bending and twisting to avoid the oncoming onslaught, she would only shift her head and her feet at specific instances. So little did she move in the face of the storm, it was as if the two Servants of the Emperor were attempting to strike a ghost. White gloved fists slipped through nothing but air, even if they passed mere millimeters from her flesh.
Ovosh then lashed out with a kick of her own, a searing quick left foot that impacted as soon as it was initiated. The victim of the quick counterattack was Markova, who felt the full force of an extinction-tier meteor crash into her chest. The Right Hands ribs creaked, as her insides appeared to rearrange themselves to compensate the might they experienced. Immediately, the woman was blown away, flying wildly through the air, before disappearing in a cloud of sand that marked her landing.
Soon enough, the sand had provided enough friction to completely cease Markova's uncontrollable slide across the ground. She lay on her back; the whites of her eyes appeared more prevalent than ever. All she could act upon at the moment was to gaze up at the heavens, for that was the only power mightier than the fearsome warrior she now faced. Her chest rose and fell quickly, a consequence of every last molecule of oxygen being forced out of her.
Teal eyes glared with satisfaction at the billowing, yet thinning cloud of sand particles. They then turned their attentions to the massive man who now stood against her. Bolshoy was frozen in place, his legs, as well as his fists shaking. He was gritting his teeth quite hard; had they been composed of feebler stuff, they would have been ground to dust.
A small smirk crossed the face of Ovosh. Both of her hands rose, fronting her chest. One was balled into a fist, while the other wrapped around it. Several popping sounds could be heard, the force to generate such noises could have also compressed a star into one of the neutron variety.
"Cursed animal!" spat out the Emperor's shield, "How sick is your mind you to feel such joy from this?"
"Joy?" Ovosh replied, tilting her head. She then shook it, "Vengeance." Every syllable could have been coated in blood, yet would not have captured the incredible malice with which she had growled the word.
The Shield was on the offensive, grunting every time his arms moved to assail Ovosh with another clutched hand. She could easily trace the path of every singular attack before making the necessary adjustments. As before, the girl required only the barest of movements to completely evade Bolshoy's blows.
Bolshoy continued to press his attack. He was heavily sweating, and could feel the heavy labor his muscles endured to maintain the offensive. Each fist thrown forth could have easily engulfed the golden-haired head, yet, a slight hesitation hindered their full potential. Bloodshot eyes observed the ease with which his opponent out-maneuvered him, anticipating the disproportionate counterattack which would surely finish him. It was the weight of dreadful anticipation that slowed him down.
With the passing of a few mere seconds, the anticipated counterattack arrived. Ovosh lashed out with another kick, striking Bolshoy in the shin. There was a massive crack that shook the desert. Bolshoy's face twisted in agony. The Shield's assault lay thwarted as his affected leg gave way, burying itself in and mound of sand, soon followed by the other. His heavy arms proved too much for him, lying limply at his sides.
The shield of the Emperor was left to kneel upon the ground. His head bowed down, so that light blonde hair, once neatly slicked back, fell over eyes that now lacked any of their devoted passion. In this pathetic position, this mountain of a man no longer towered over Ovosh. It was her shadow that had been cast over him.
In a dash, with a burst of desperate energy, Bolshoy then sprung to life. His arms surrounded Ovosh. It was as if he was clapping, a bloody, final applause that would end the nightmare. Yet, as gigantic appendages approached Ovosh's head from both sides, they froze.
Ovosh's comparatively small digits had been brought against Bolshoy's wrists. His arms were visibly shaking, as the man's muscles strained, but no apparent progress was made. Gradually, even as he struggled, the gap between them began to widen.
Bolshoy's eyes widened, his face less taken with righteous anger, and more with despair and unbelief. Soon, his arms had been completely parted, completely swollen and stiff from his efforts. No such effects characterized Ovosh's arms; they were as fresh as the moment she had begun battle. The only sign of visible strain was on her face; a hardened brow, and teal eyes that burned into Bolshoy's own.
Quicker than a blink, Ovosh's hands had ceased bracing against the massive limbs of Bolshoy, to now clutching his head. Each finger created a slight indent in his flesh, upon his temples, his cheeks and his jaw. Nothing but shock was what the Emperor's Shield could express. His massive limbs moved to remove Ovosh's offending digits, yet as Ovosh increased the pressure, his arms froze in place.
The battlefield had gone silent. No sound made of thunder, or screams and yells of fierce battle haunt the sands. There was only the slight hum of the subspace prong, off in the distance, as it rotated about, bringing closer the Imperial victory. This hum was immaterial to the guttural groans and gags that were emitted from Bolshoy. As a breeze blew through the battlefield, the approach of mortality became more apparent with each grunt.
Markova was alerted by the silence, and snapped out of her trance. Rising from the ground, she surveyed the dunes before her. The landscape was smooth and tranquil, an image which could easily be captured in a painting. Yet the sensation that kept her blood cold did not bring her any sense of calm. And, the dreadful sight that entered her vision only served to freeze her still once more. The sand she sat in was more akin to quicksand to her.
Before her eyes, Ovosh's grip tightened upon her fellow Servant. She witnessed Bolshoy, the Emperor's Shield, a symbol of determination and resilience, wave about his arms in futile desperation. Her heartbeat nearly slowed to a crawl as she observed his skull strain and buckle from the increasing pressure inflicted upon it. For such a headstrong man, such a sight would have been previously considered impossible.
The Emperor's Right Hand, second to his name, closed her eyes. The minute the world had gone black, she heard a sickening crunch. Despite her sight temporarily relieved, the sound ringed in her ears, the sound of shattered bone and pulped innards. And though no light entered her eyes, she knew what grotesque sight lay beyond her tightly shut eyelids.
Hesitantly, light began to creep back. Bolshoy was on his back, and was never going to move another muscle. Her sight moved up the body, catching a few blood stains that stained his white jacket. She dared not look further, for she knew what lay at the end.
Only Ovosh remained standing. Blood stained her, a small streak on her cheek, and a larger stream on her arm. Both hands were coated in the thick sanguine liquid, along with thick chunks of solid organic material. The girl, however, proved indifferent to the mess she had coated herself in. She even barely acknowledged the corpse that remained at her feet. Instead, teal and black met, and the girl clutched her fist in determination. Her spiky golden hair appeared to wave wildly, even though the winds lay still.
The golden-haired head had begun to slowly, gradually turn. Her feet shifted, bringing her away from the Shield's corpse at a casual pace. There was no doubt as to her next destination, for now, her vision focused upon the last Servant that lay standing.
A quivering hand moved to Markova's left arm, stopping just below her shoulder. The hand froze, before it was pulled away.
Markova's breathing slowed, now a controlled rhythm. Her eyes narrowed, as her previous discipline returned to her. In a declarative voice, she said, "I don't care what transformations have empowered you. You are still a mere citizen, an extension of the Emperor's will. That which is impure, will be destroyed."
Ovosh raised an eyebrow. "Are you pure, oh Right Hand?" she asked, in a tone which bordered on mocking.
A black boot stomped into the ground. Color had returned to Markova's face, ruby red filling out the pale void. "Of course, I was born for this, bred for this!" she declared.
"If so, why do you feel fear?" Ovosh pressed.
Markova's face twisted in ways that a subject of the Empire should not have been able to achieve. Her vocal chords strained, having never reached such a limit before in her life, as she bellowed out, "I DO NOT FEAR YOU!"
The Right Hand took to the air, and wasted no time shooting towards Ovosh. Her approach was far swifter than Bolshoy's, and far more successful.
The Golden Warrior would finally suffer her first bout of damage, a fist square in the jaw. Markova's first successful strike sent her enemy airborne. She matched Ovosh's flight trajectory, repeatedly assailing her with strikes to the face and torso. The girl could not even raise her hands for a paltry defense.
Markova raised both fists above her head, and brought them down with extreme prejudice. The balled double fist punch impacted Ovosh in the face, against her cheek.
The force of the blow did not compel Ovosh towards the ground. She didn't even curl up in agony. Her head had simply turned. Markova's monstrous blow would have finished off lesser opponents. Yet rarely were reborn legends of such a pathetic caliber.
The Golden Warrior slowly turned back, teal eyes fixed upon Markova with each passing second. A small amount of bloody saliva was spat away, the red liquid travelling over her shoulder. She smirked, for the memory of Markova's earlier declaration rang clear within her head.
"You should."
Her head then shot forward, colliding with Markova's skull. Bones strained, yet did not break, even if Markova heard grotesque cracks from the point of contact. The world had lost its sense, and now down was left, right was down, and up was nowhere was found.
As the Right Hand grappled with her senses, floating away from her opponent, Ovosh extended a hand, presenting her palm. A golden ball of ki appeared in front of it.
The ki attack launched; a beam of formidable size and speed, an attack that Ovosh required only minimal strain to initiate. Markova came to her senses just in time as the attack was down her nose. She grunted as she struggled against the advancing mass of energy, yet to no avail. Soon enough, she was consumed by the detonation.
...
Evening had settled in the east. The sky had become a mixture of its previous blue shade, and the crimson blush of blood. Through sweeping yet soft dunes of sand, multiple bodies lay, most of them clad in simple grey uniforms. Rarer among them were individuals in both rugged sand-colored robes and dark-navy blue military jackets.
The fighting had made its way to the prong. Sanin Habib had found themselves a few breaths away from the invisible outside barrier. On mighty Shai-hulud they rode, deforming the air whenever they shouted into their weirding modules. These attacks proved deadly, managing to incapacitate an Imperial with a single shot. Those who made the fatal error of engaging them in close-combat would find themselves ambushed by two others hiding beneath the sand, armed with only daggers, that would find the seam between the helmet and the torso.
Madhi proved even more troublesome. She slipped and dived in and out of view. The slightest breeze appeared to carry her away, and summon her back, rather conveniently in the flanks of an unsuspecting drone. She too, would shatter bone, and spill blood with wierding sonic techniques, yet she wore no such module. Always, her glowing purple eyes remained focused on what was before her. Even her fellows would have trouble determining if she even blinked.
From the skies, another hoard had begun to descend. The white shape they formed was similar to a snake striking down upon its prey. Yet, this beast was immediately assailed with scores of bolts. Helena had taken a flanking position, unleashing her full arsenal on the Imperial formation. Scores of faceless soldiers were pierced by red-hot shells. In only a few seconds, the snake had been crushed.
Whirring machinery could be heard in the distance. The top of the subspace prong had opened up. Cylindrical structures that lay at its base had expanded outward, and begun to rotate around the thin white tower. Sparks of energy coursed throughout the structure as the rotation increased in velocity.
Even from his far position, still wadding out of the wreckage, the steel grey eyes of Koth could see what was occurring. The Neo-Terran admiral had gained a few stains and scars, remaining relatively uninjured, as if the hand of fate had taken an express interest in his survival. Other officers had sported nastier cuts, loosing proportionally more blood in the process. Some of the remaining survivors had even lost some limbs, or were suffering broken ones. While much of the attention of the crew focused upon the critically injured, Koth remained static, focused entirely on the now-active structure.
His dirty gloved hands clutched his communicator, bringing it to his mouth. He sounded starved for breath, yet his voice still remained steely cold, even-keeled, and aggressive.
"Let's hurry up. The Empire is wasting no time. Destroy that prong!"
There was little delay. From the speaker of the device in his hand, he then heard many as one voice.
"Yes sir!"
From the group of black dots in the air, the Admiral of the Neo-Terran Front bore witness to the full combined firepower of his forces bearing down on the subspace prong. Ki blasts of multiple colors were blasted down. The remaining craft launched their own arsenal. A technicolor dream-coat of destruction detonated against the brilliant barrier.
With each passing second, the structure's rotation quickened. Despite the fearsome assaut, the barrier appeared to hold steady.
...
The shadow of capital ship now appeared to span the entire desert. Surrounding it, rugged ships in various states of damage flew about. Some dived and turned between the towers on the top of the ship, while others skinned the smooth white surface of the underside. No longer did they fly in a tight, coordinated formation as before. Now, they were scattered, all pursued by innumerable swarms of Imperials. More ships by the second succumbed to the sheer numbers opposing them.
Mercenary ships assaulting the prong had also been affected such, their numbers far less than before. Countless grey shapes darted about, surrounding each helpless ship. There was only so much they could manage to maneuver. Incrementally they were torn apart by ki blasts, until the hull integrity of some collapsed completely.
Lumbering through the mess was the vessel of the Mercenary Leader. The path of travel his ship had taken could be traced with his engine exhaust, as well as black smoke and orange flame that streamed out of various sections across his hull. The affected areas sported darkened, jagged metal, jagged as the bulky vessel that now waded through the mortal minefield of Imperials.
Within the cockpit of the vessel, there was only turmoil. Sparks erupted around him, flashing from ravaged control panels. Loose wires and shattered buttons marked broken systems. Pipes above his head, and now emitted pure white steam, fogging up the cockpit. The man sitting in the middle of this, clutching his controls, gritting his teeth, remained almost strangely tranquil. A fresh coat of dirt coated his face, though he wasn't foreign to such markings.
"I never wanted to die like this." he murmured. His finger was on the communicator. To his remaining fellows, a calm, almost solemn voice, punctuated by static, spoke through their network, "Always imagined going to sleep and not waking up alongside a nice glass of HFIL's nectar."
"Good thing you don't have to, scoundrel."
The voice that had popped in spoke with an authority, a refinement, an arrogance that no mercenary would dare to express. Yet, the identity of the newcomer, or at least the faction he reported to, could be easily discerned.
A group of soldiers bearing cream-colored uniforms engaged the Imperials. As swift as the wind, they had cut through a dozen or so. The leader had disappeared in a flash of silver light, downing at least one score more of the GTE opposition. Once the Silver Spur had come to a halt, all beheld the rather stern, almost indifferent expression of Gregg Poppavich floating amidst mortal danger.
"Finally," the guttural voice of Percy growled through Popavich's earpiece, "Some friendly reinforcements! How did you get our frequency?"
"Thank the Arcosian for that." Poppavich responded, nonchalantly back-handing an Imperial that had attempted to flank him.
"Where is he?" Z's captain inquired, "We could really use his help now - ah"
For a ship of its size and bulk, the Iceni performed perhaps one of the most improbable acrobatic maneuvers for the sole purpose of dodging another Kamehameha wave. The ship itself rolled and twisted. The attack passed by millimeters from the dulled steel, tinting the Iceni in a shade of cool blue. Yet, there was no glow of the deflector shields.
"-No offence," Percy continued, treating his brush with eternity with the severity of a rude interruption.
"None taken." Poppavich replied, downing two more Imperial's with a quick double-punch, "He's gone off somewhere else, I don't know where."
Percy's grip on his controls loosened. For a brief moment, he took his eyes off of what was ahead of him. HIs mouth curled, and his brow furled.
From the engine room, he heard Victor question, "Reitoko's not helping us?"
Percy shook his head, "Something's not right. I've got a bad feeling about this."
The former mercenary snatched his communicator. His eyes resumed their position observing all that occurred past the transparent canopy of his cockpit. He turned the joy stick, witnessing various ships, Imperials, the monolith of the capital ship and the subspace prong, veer by.
"Pop, this motley crew's under your command, I'm going after Reitoko." he announced.
There was silence, and the captain could feel a new layer of sweat upon his brow. Finally, he heard back, "Not like I needed your help anyways, Mercenary."
"Play nicely with the bossman, okay?" Percy quipped, though troubled tension still lurked underneath the playful statement. Percy pulled forward a lever.
The freighter lurched forward, flying by a few errant ki blasts, evacuating the scene of the battle field.
Percy had begun shouting orders to Victor over his communicator. "Vic, get that ki tracker going, try cutting through the Imperial interference, we're finding us an Arcosian!"
...
Ovosh and Markova were locked in opposition. Markova had taken the offensive. She had teeth gritted, and veins clearly outlined on her head. Repeatedly, did she launch fist after fist against her enemy, never slackening in her efforts, for the instant she lost her vigilance, she knew she would pay.
Ovosh's expression remained unnaturally calm. Her teal eyes resembled the still ocean, a tranquil, serene surface that obscured insurmountable danger beneath. While her hair flayed wildly in the air, it was by the grace of the winds that it did so. The Z warrior moved with little hesitation, each lightning quick blow was either dodged with a small movement of her torso, or countered with an opposing forearm. While her opponent was now heavy of breath, there was much trouble determining if she had even taken a breath.
The masquerade of a standstill between them ceased, for Ovosh initiated her own offense. Her counterpunch was invisible to the naked eye, yet all too real. Markova was struck with a fierce throbbing pain in her jaw before she even realized her opponent had connected. The force of the blow proved overwhelming, throwing Markova back. She flipped through the air, still caressing her jaw. It proved a futile gesture in soothing the sheer agony she experienced.
Quicker than a blink, Ovosh had teleported to where Markova was heading. As the spinning, flailing form of the Emperor's Right hand approached, the Golden Warrior raised both hands, clutching one in the other. She brought the hammer down, an overpowering finisher with the might of something divine. Yet, even a blow that would have been easily telegraphed proved difficult for Markova to perceive. One moment, she was flying in the air, the next, she was face first in the ground, the centerpiece of a new crater in Sanctuary.
Sand immediately flew up, evacuating from the immense force which had been imposed upon it. The Right Hand's body was cloaked in a small storm of thousands upon thousands of airborne particles, proving great enough to impede her vision. However, Ovosh did not require such luxuries as sight, to know the fate of her opponent.
Despite the sands making way for her, Markova remained somewhat embedded in the loosely packed ground. The area beneath her hand compressed as such to resemble grainy stone. She could feel tension in her arms as she pressed her arms down, a small pop signifying herself free from the loose grip of sand. Her head shook, sending particles flying off. A few coughs escaped her, and she hand to bring her arms up to her mouth supress. Bringing her elbow away from her face, she widened her eyes, as the formerly pristine sleeves were stained with an ugly fresh mark of sand and blood.
With a grunt that reeked of frustration, her fist was hammered on the ground. Her actions displaced little sand, certainly miniscule compared to the cataclysmic event she had just experienced. Her head turned, facing the heavens. Ovosh was there, her arms folded, and her eyes were ever watchful, looking down at the Emperor's Hand.
Immediately, Markova's eyes tore away from the figure of the Golden Warrior. Her head bowed down, letting a few locks of her black hair stream into the sand.
"I can't beat her!" she yelled, not caring if her opponent heard her, "A mere citizen, and I can't beat her!"
"Is that what you have resigned yourself to, Right Hand?"
A voice cool as ice, deep as the void of space, and refined as gold-pressed latinum boomed through her head. Markova rose, still on her knees, yet no longer groveling in the dirt. Her eyes darted around, yet she could not see the source of the voice. However, she knew in her heart, who it was that spoke to her.
"My lord?" she said, still speaking aloud. Ovosh's teal eyes still burned into her back, the mere thought of which sent Markova's insides into an uncomfortable twist. Clutching her fists, she attempted to focus on the Emperor. "Where? How?"
"Wherever my servants venture, I follow," the cool voice of the Emperor explained, "Z has called upon us with the echoes of legend. Only its equal can compete."
Markova blinked twice. Her heart began to race. "Are you granting me authorization?"
"Indeed," he acknowledged. The Emperor's voice rose in volume, and intensity. "Show her the full extent of our might!"
Markova felt her lips curl into a smile. Her heart raced ever quicker. The blood that it sent seemed to fill her up, awakening every muscle. She stood, gazed to the heavens, towards Ovosh. The girl had not budged, but was still peering down at Markova at the edge of the crater. Her expression was neutral, yet knew the absolute glee her opponent now dined upon witnessing her enemy in utter despair.
This glee turned to confusion, as Ovosh saw Markova's smile.
"Your name is Ovosh, isn't it?" Markova inquired.
"So you do remember?" the girl replied, unfolding her arms.
Markova nodded, closing her eyes. "Indeed. Ovosh, the hour is upon you."
The Golden Warrior narrowed her eyes. Yet, she leaned down, clearly curious, "A bold claim, considering everything."
"Not at all." asserted the Right Hand. Her own right hand was pulling back the sleeve of her left, rolling it out to the shoulder, "Unless you believe your transformation to be unique."
Ovosh's eyes immediately widened. In her new form, she had known no terror, nor experienced any surprise. No longer was this the case, as dreadful realization took ahold of her.
Markova had fully pulled back her sleeve, revealing a thin white strap with a round button affixed to it. Jutting out of the round button was a thin white pin that pointed down the length of Markova's arm. Placing the pin between her two fingers, Markova yanked down.
There was a shudder in the air. That shudder became wind, blowing carefully through, yet picking up in velocity quickly, until it became a howl. Markova threw aside the pin she had dislodged. She had begun to air dance once more, ascending from the center of the crater. This appeared to be out of a result of the sheer output of ki, and less of something of her own will. All of this, while her black eyes remained affixed to Ovosh's teal.
"Authorization granted by the highest authority." she announced, as the ki aura around her swelled in size. "Transformation shall persist until the enemy has been rendered silent. Now, you shall witness the true power of a Super Saiyan!"
The aura around her ceased to be pale blue, and was now a haughty yellow. Ovosh attempted to dive in, yet her legs felt solid and heavy. The winds that it appeared Markova was generating completely on her own felt insurmountable, whipping through her face. Markova's hair was now subject of the forces around her, whipping and flailing wildly; a far cry from her neatly cropped style of before.
Before her very eyes, the black hair of Markova was now a bright gold, almost as brilliant as the sun. Her eyes now resembled Ovosh's, teal and lacking pupils. Yet, it was not her appearance that sent shudders through Ovosh. While Markova had been a monolith of ki power before, she now was an endless pit, a pit that Ovosh could no longer see the end to.
With an abruptness that could only be initiated with the flick of a switch, the howling winds became still. The glowing ki aura that surrounded Markova had vanished, and the massive power Ovosh had felt appeared to have melted away. No great force rocked the battlefield. The loudest creature present could have been a mouse.
Ovosh remained frozen, her eyes transfixed by the twisted reflection of what she had become. Markova was now as still as the wind. Yet, the Right Hand's piercing gaze never wavered.
The entire weight of the world was then felt on her back. Ovosh was sent down wards, her eyes squinting in pain. Quickly, she brought both hands out, and spread her legs, and gave a massive jolt to her ki. She was stopped in midair, her head suspended mere inches from the ground.
Her head veered about, yet she could not find Markova. The pain in her back was still present, yet Ovosh knew not from where, nor even how Markova had accomplished such a quick assault. She ascended, peering back into the crater. The Right Hand of the Emperor had vanished, as if she had either blinked out of existence, or had acquired aptitude for invisibility.
It did not take long for Ovosh to find her opponent, for she appeared right in front of her. Markova appeared to have materialized out of thin air. Their noses could have touched, had not Ovosh backed desperately away, her hands raised in defense. Yet, Markova did not raise a hand to strike, instead, opting to cross her arms, raising a brow in amusement.
"Such arrogance," she commented, "To believe that a Super Saiyan would grant you victory. With such a powerful tool available, you thought the Emperor wouldn't consider possessing one himself?"
Ovosh collected herself. Her arms which had been raised protectively in front of her, now had assumed a more offensive position. She had entered her combat stance. Despite such an awesome display of power nearly incapacitating her, she felt her heart race. Adrenaline coursed through swollen veins, compelling her forth to test this new threat. "You appear rather certain of triumph yourself."
It was clear Markova took this as a slight. Her eyebrow twitched as she retorted, "From the moment the battle for this planet started, my triumph was guaranteed!"
Markova shot forward, far too quickly for Ovosh to track, nailing her straight in the chest with an upward kick. The girl was sent further into the air, all semblance of a collected combat stance had faded as she listlessly was subjected to the surrounding physics of the planet. Markova had traced the path of her flight, and teleported above her, striking down with her heel.
In the nick of time, Ovosh had regained her senses, and caught Markova's heel with her forearms. Vibrations of pain echoed through her muscles and rattled her bones. Quickly, she was able to grab Markova's calves. Before the Imperial could react, she was yanked down. Ovosh released one of her hands and thrust her elbow forward, burying it deep into Markova's stomach.
As Markova leaned forward, looking as if she was about to eject some contents from her stomach, the back of Ovosh's hands swept across, impacting Markova in the cheek.
Yet all Markova did was turn her head. No longer did every little love-tap send her flying. And as the newly-revealed Golden Warrior wiped the minuscule amount of blood from her face, the adrenaline Ovosh had felt, now froze in absolute dread.
"Not bad, girl." Markova complimented.
Her regards was sent back one-hundred-fold, as her back hand threatened to shatter Ovosh's skull. Again, Ovosh suffered the blow, and again, and again. Bright spots materialized within her vision, although she could not tell if it was from her that these mirages originated, or if it was an illusion resulting from the sheer speed of Markova's hand.
Soon, The Right Hand ceased. The collar of Ovosh's shirt was grabbed by a single hand, lifting the girl closer. Her hands now hung limply at her side, as her face now sported a puffy, bruised appearance. She let out a grotesque cough, ejecting some fluid, tainted red with blood. After Markova had inspected her handiwork with much satisfaction, she then threw Ovosh to the ground.
While the wind whipped in her face, Ovosh could still make out the form of Markova, particularly her hands, pulling back for another attack. The Z warrior knew, by instinct, what was coming, and could feel a world's worth of ki bearing down on her as she saw the ball of blue swell behind the Imperial Servant.
"KAME!"
Such loathing filled her insides from the mere syllable. Ovosh winced as she impacted the ground. She did not suffer to the degree on which she had inflicted on Markova, when she sent her to the ground. Yet, Markova's earlier assault left her reeling, and she clutched her face.
"HAME!"
She could only hope to muster a feeble form of opposition. Her hands crossed in front of her face. Yet, she felt as if she were drawing from an empty well, something which rattled her, as her reserves had just moments earlier, felt unending. The golden ball forming in her hands sputtered as it attempted to maintain its form.
"HAAAAAAA!"
The Imperial Golden Warrior thrust her hands forward. The charge up of her Kamehameha wave had resulted in a ball that exceeded that three times the length of her body. Thus, the beam she shot down at the hapless girl could have consumed her outright.
In a voice wrecked by pain and exhaustion, Ovosh cried out in opposition, "Masenko ha!"
The girth of her attack was less than half of Markova's. Matter, size did, for the significantly larger attack merely slowed in its descent upon meeting with Ovosh's Masenko. Slowly, but surely, the convergence of the two closed in on Ovosh. Struggle was apparent in her face, and in her grunts, yet her attack only seemed to shrink as time passed on.
Soon, Ovosh's Masenko had been completely taken over by Markova's Kamehameha. There was no sign of a beam shooting out of hands. The girl then dropped all pretenses and pressed back against the attack. It caved where her hands contacted, yet, to Ovosh, she would have had an easier time fighting off a descending galaxy than Markova's assault.
The blue light consumed her, and Ovosh screamed out, feeling the full effect of her enemy's ki surrounding her. With a planet-shattering force, the Kamehameha detonated.
A great blue dome of pure, congealed ki expanded from the epicenter. It would have been comparable to a sizable town. The edges of the detonation threatened to impede on the now rapidly rotating subspace prong, yet that is when it met its apex. For several minutes, the conflagration of pure ki remained, a destructive setting sun too close for comfort. It then shrunk away quicker than it expanded, leaving a thick black column of smoke statically rising out of an expansive crater.
Markova began to float down. The expanse of smoke pouring out of the newly minted mark on the desert did not clear. Still, she descended, slowly but surely. Through the viscous cloud she waded, bathing in the carbon-tinged fumes. Despite her obscured vision, she was sure in what she was looking for.
Lying sprawled on her back was the newly christened bearer of legend. Her golden mane which once glowed and waved with the wind was now but a glorified stain scattered and spread on the sand. Teal eyes that glowed with murderous malice now were glazed and glassed over. Such was the state of the warrior that had mere moments before, effortlessly dominated the Emperor's finest. Now she was battling tooth and nail to remain conscious.
Markova loomed over Ovosh. The smoke the two bathed in obscured the setting sun, yet it still appeared that the Right Hand had cast a shadow over her enemy.
She knelt down, glaring straight down into the glazed, defeated eyes of her enemy. Her legs straddled the downed Z warrior. Markova's hands slowly creeped up, reaching out, till they found themselves wrapped around Ovosh's throat. Never did her eyelids even flutter. She was transfixed, almost smitten, by the phenomenon of the fading light within her adversary's own eyes.
A thin magenta beam struck Markova in the back. Its origin was unknown, yet it flew quick enough to strike true. There was an eruption of smoke and flame, engulfing the two Golden Warriors.
The black smoke had been blown away from the detonation. Yet, there was a new pollutant streaming out of the point of impact. It was thin enough, however, to see that both Markova, and Ovosh were intact. The back of Markova's jacket, however, sported a jagged new hole. The edges of this new tear had been singed to a carbon black, yet the pale flesh underneath remained unaffected.
As such, it was to the chagrin of Reitoko, as he witnessed Markova's head turn slowly 'round to face him. Despite a reprieve from his previous battle, he drew in heavy haunted breaths. The Arcosian was floating in the air, at least twenty meters from the ground. Yet, he felt as if the entirety of his body was stuck in quicksand.
"Excellent." Markova exclaimed, her tone and diction rather conversational, "The day has seen the end of this troublesome civilian ..."
She rose up, lifting Ovosh by the neck. The girl's eyes were nearly closed, only a sliver of teal could be discerned through her black and blue lids. Reitoko could feel the eyes veer towards him. His blood, while enabling him to survive the cold embrace of space, could not prevent the foreboding shivers that crept up his spine. With little ceremony, Markova released her grip. Much like a ragdoll, Ovosh limply rolled on the ground after being dropped. Reitoko's eyes followed the girl until she rested dead still.
"...And now, it will see the end of you " continued the Right Hand, taking time to ball her now empty hand into a threatening fist. Each joint was rearranged as she applied pressure, producing several sharp popping sounds which could have shattered Reitoko's spine then and there.
Markova's ki swelled once more, a spiky golden aura providing Reitoko all the visual cues he needed to know that battle was inevitable, and defeat was likely. Regardless, he could have been blind and would still understand the power he was up against.
"Never, would I have thought that legends would be my downfall." he mused. His cold stern tone had all but evaporated. Now, he was but a lost child, facing down a hungry wolf.
Markova charged in, and immediately took the offensive. It required the effort of nearly 1000 men to counter every punch and kick Markova sent his way. Every time they made contact, Reitoko could feel the immense force that backed each blow. His muscles shivered and his bones shook, and he was made to wonder if another blow would shatter his limbs.
As exhaustion began to quickly take effect, the Arcosian's arms could not move to meet the heavy assault. Immediately, he was sundered by numerous blows, striking his face, his chest and his torso. His arms flailed to the side, no longer under his exclusive control, but subject to the indifferent forces of kinetic energy and momentum. Such was Markova's speed that it felt as if 1000 punches had all converged upon him from different angles at an exact moment. The Arcosian's vision had grown blurry, and the world had abandoned its upright orientation. Soon, another blow, a fist to the top of his head, sent Reitoko crashing to the ground.
By then, the subspace prong had been rotating rapidly. Whips of blue energy and crackles of electricity enveloped it. Soon then, a burst of energy, a shockwave erupted form it. What little clouds that lay in the sky shuddered, before they retreated from the oncoming onslaught of subspace energy.
Such was the scene in the west and in the south, all occurring in perfect synchronization. As soon as the event occurred, time stood still.
There was a burst of sand as Reitoko rose quickly from the ground. His vision had trouble balancing the world in relative to him, and he stumbled about, before falling to his knees. Particles of dust still fell from his domed head as he moved. It was on his knees he would remain, as the fully operational device rotated on, indifferent and unrelenting.
Markova turned back, smiling as the prong behind her achieved its full function. Her eyes then veered down, sweeping across the battle-torn terrain of carbonized sand and newly minted craters of various sizes. They rested upon the large body of Bolshoy, lying still, half-buried in the sand. For a second, her gaze softened, and her smile relented. If she was to be honest with herself, Markova could even feel her eyes perspiring more than usual.
"The day is ours, Shield," she whispered.
The sky was illuminated with a different light. The brilliant, warm golden light of Capella had become subordinate to the cold blue eerie glow of nearly one thousand strong subspace portals opening up in the upper atmosphere. Various craft, from small, one-man transports, to compact cruisers, to monolithic capital ships emerged from shimmering wormholes. More and more of these portals materialized, until they appeared even more numerous than stars on a clear night sky.
The full might of the Galactic Terran Empire was now present over Sanctuary.
Markova then heard a piercing scream. Her ears rung as one of the most alien sounds assailed her. Such was the nature of the alien, Reitoko, as he gave one last plea to the heavens that had now turned against him. Ki surrounded him, the aura far larger than usual. Sand and rock fled from the intense energy, for they would be rendered unto dust should they draw too close.
The arms of the Arcosian had begun to puff up. His muscles strained as they swelled; the veins upon them fully outlined through thin white skin. His torso widened, as well as his legs, and even his tail. As his scream continued on, pain and fury strained his vocal chords, sounding less a growling beast, and more of a dying banshee.
The Right Hand did not move in to intervene. She stood static, arms crossed, with a sullen teal-eyed glare towards her opponent.
In the next moment, however, she could only express surprise as she was sent flying back through the air. She bent her head forward, wind whipping through her golden locks, yet there was no sign of the Arcosian.
He then appeared above her, casting a shadow upon his enemy. This time, Markova's reaction proved too slow, and Reitoko managed to strike true. Repeatedly, crushing blows were inflicted upon her, as Reitoko had returned the favor to what had been inflicted upon him.
Markova could only track the outline of his fists as they moved. It proved difficult to effectively trace the blows as they collided against her. Yet, each and every one registered as unmistakable pain.
Reitoko let out another battle cry. All sensibilities of one the galaxy's most refined species had vanished. The neolithic brutality and savagery that had gone dormant by way of evolution, were now expressed most plainly. His fist crashed down, with the force of a meteor fit to bring everything on a planet to extinction.
Markova caught his fist, not even flinching as she resisted the full brunt of the blow. Her hand then twisted.
There was a sickening crunch. Reitoko winced in pain, yet his suffering was held in silence. He floated back, his opposite hand clutching his crippled hand.
"100% power?" she mused, nothing but sadistic amusement pouring out of her, "From what I've heard of your race, I expected something less pathetic."
Reitoko was immediately flanked by the Right Hand. By the time he realized where she had gone off to, it was far too late.
Markova's fist buried itself into Reitoko's back. Pain shot through every synapse, and it felt that his spine would shatter like fragile china. Again and again she struck him, Reitoko completely paralyzed, and unable to retaliate.
For a second, there was a lull. Such a second was an eternity to the Arcosian, and he veered around. His efforts, however, only amounted to repositioning where Markova would strike him next, this time was a kick to his stomach. The blow sent him away, and he tumbled through the air, unable to achieve any bearings, nor correct his course.
Markova prepared to pursue the Acrosian. Yet, just as before, she was blindsided by yet another attack. A violet stream surrounded by blue lightning struck her, briefly enveloping her entire body with a bright explosion.
From afar, the bulky frame of the Iceni approached. It's engine's had flared fully, the orange exhaust appearing wider than the ship itself. From the ships speaker, the voice of Percy growled, "The Empire's just full of surprises! Well so am I!"
Reitoko had managed to correct himself, bringing his velocity to a complete halt. He immediately braced himself for attack, eyes darting about, yet there was no follow-up. As the Arcosian searched for his opponent, reaching out with his senses, something else then caught his attention.
He froze. All senses had gone numb. It was as if he had been tossed into space, left to freeze and rot in the void. Yet, a void was all he could feel, the abyss that he stared down into, not able to discern if it was even staring back at him.
"No," he whispered, the dreaded realization washing upon him, "the Emperor! He's here!"
"Reitoko," he heard, the voice of Percy in his ear. "Are you alright? We can take her!"
The Arcosian shook his head. By then, the smoke had cleared, but Markova was not worse for wear. Percy's attack did not provoke retaliation, for she too, had experienced the same realization as Reitoko.
"I can feel him." Reitoko explained, "He hasn't even reached the surface but he's here. The Emperor's here."
Within the cockpit of the Iceni, the knuckles of her pilot grew white as chalk as they clutched the controls. Percy was known for a cool head, and as such, cold sweat had begun pouring down his face.
His voice filled with desperation, and his hand shook as the communicator was brought to his mouth. "Let's grab the kid and get out of here!"
"Right!" acknowledged the Arcosian. It did not take him to locate the unconscious form of Ovosh. Despite her transformed state, Reitoko could recognize the girl, even from afar. He began to make his way, steeling himself for resistance.
"Wrong."
A hand wrapped around his tail, freezing him in place. In the next moments, however, Reitoko's chances of accomplishing even such a simple task were rendered null and void.
He could feel the hand of Markova, the opposite one, bearing down on his tail. The next instance, all he could feel on his tail was sheer, piercing agony. He cried out in pain, before slowly turning around, dread filling him, as the end of his tail no longer ended in a pointed tip, but a bloody stump. Markova clutched the severed end, presenting in full view to the Arcosian.
Repeated blasts from the Iceni's proton cannon peppered the Right Hand. The steely glow of anti-ki pins soon followed. Yet, Percy would have had an easier time hitting a fly in midair, and he would have an easier time assaulting a cockroach with nuclear blasts, then assailing Markova with his proton cannon.
"You golden haired bitch!" swore the captain of the Iceni, a sting that probably affected her greater than any of the armament the vessel wielded.
If Markova had been repulsed by such a base, yet spiteful insult, her retaliation would have given her away. The retort was a single yellow-colored ki blast fired from the extended palm of her hand. It flew the space of nearly a kilometer in less time it took Percy to widen his eyes while yanking away at the joystick. The bolt had caught the Iceni on the port side, yet it yielded to the harsh glow of the deflector shields.
Yet, the Iceni's shields were unable to completely neutralize the attack. Energy that would have been funneled into the ship's destruction simply pushed against it, sending it flying away. None of Percy's usual acrobatics could end the flight path of the tumbling freighter. The captain could only close his eyes, as up became down and left became right, all while his brain proceeded to relocate itself to his stomach.
For but a second, Markova carefully followed the path of the spinning ship with her eyes. Her extended palm tracked along, gathering energy at the end. As the ship began its decent, Markova had managed to secure her aim.
Whether her aim be true or not, it would never be found out, for at that exact moment, the purple-domed skull of Reitoko smashed into her chin. Markova bit down forcefully due to the impact, and felt warm liquid begin to flow in her mouth. She spat out the crimson indicator of vulnerability, while her hand reared back to inflict disproportionate retribution upon the leader of the Z warriors.
That hand was grasped by a large mouth, sporting many white sharp fangs. The offending canines were stained blood-red as they viciously embedded themselves into her flesh. Markova let out a more than audible grunt as she struggled to bring her arm forward, glaring at the culprit who had vexed her so.
Shere Khan clamped down with greater force, the whites of his eyes red with blood. Markova then began to shake her arm, flailing the much larger-wolf man around in the air. Khan's steel-toothed grip could not persist, and soon, he was ejected.
He managed to catch himself quickly enough, allowing air dancing to immediately suspend himself in midair. A gutteral growl escaped his throat, promising pain in ways words could not properly convey. As the claws on his remaining hand shined from the fading light during the darkest hour, he charged forward. Biologically, he was not afflicted with tunnel vision. Despite that, all he could see or care about was directly ahead of him.
Reitoko too, charged forward, barreling straight for the Emperor's most high servant. Yet, as he reached her position, the Arcosian flew past Markova, not even lashing out to inflict more damage. At this, Markova could only widen her eyes in surprise. The Arcosian continued his flight, before crashing directly in the torso of Shere Khan. Despite the wild vigor the wolf-man charged with, his flight was immediately reversed. He let out an anguished howl as the subject of his vengeance grew further and further away from him.
"Damn you, Arcosian!" cursed the anthro. His words came across as less of a fiery damnation, and more of a desperate cry, "Let me die with my brothers and sisters!"
"Not on your life!" the Arcosian firmly resisted, even as Shere Khan began flailing bout in his grip, akin to a caged animal hungry for freedom.
"Percy, get out of here!" Reitoko continued, ignoring the persisting pleas of the wolf-man. His eyes had assumed a desperate search for signs of the Iceni, "We have to retreat!"
"The kid!" he heard. Reitoko breathed out a sigh of relief upon the sound of Percy's amplified voice. Yet, the captain's word echoed forebodingly within his own guilty soul.
"I'm sorry, I can't save her. But there will be another day!" His words were somber. Even the promise of future victories rang hollow on a planet facing the full might of the Galactic Terran Empire.
The Iceni had managed to stabilize. Its exhaust glowed most brilliantly as it began its ascent. Only the veal of stars remained as their sanctuary against the Empire.
Yet, even as the ship moved forward, Percy could only keep his head hung down. He paid no attention to the radar. The warm grip of the joystick became cold and weightless. Even the sting of utter defeat could not be discerned in his numb conscious.
His communicator had gone ballistic, yet elicited no reaction from Percy. Victor cursed him with every insult known in the history of the Terrans. Percy could even hear his mechanic pounding against the walls.
"No! We can't just leave her! We have to go back! Percy you heartless bastard!"
"It's too late!" Percy shot back. Finally, from his stupor, he had emerged. Yet, as the sky grew darker, what replaced the cold void within proved far worse. "The Emperor's hot on our trail, and that golden bitch ain't gonna budge!"
"Fine," huffed Victor, "then I'll-"
Quicker than a draw on an upstart criminal, Percy interrupted, "Don't you dare kid! Reitoko's right, there will be another day! Let's get the hell out of here! Then, we can ... we can ..."
Percy's voice carried strongly through his explanation. Yet, the world-wearing gruffness had begun fading away. The mercenary could only gaze into the sky, contemplating as it grew darker with each passing moment.
The captain then turned his head. The faded red upholstery of the copilot's chair remained vacant. Percy's steely brown eyes, bearer of many unspeakable atrocities and tragedies, were soon flooded with tears.
...
Sanctuary's airspace was now inexorably clogged. Various capital ships of GTE designation outnumbered the clouds and threatened to obscure luminescence of the Capella suns, now set to fade beyond the horizon. Squads of grey-clad soldiers patrolled the sky, not allowing even the few birds that shared the space peace of mind.
As Ovosh's eyes opened, the occupied sky was her first sight as she was aroused into consciousness. Her entire body felt as if it was composed of solid iron. Each muscle felt welded and soldered to the other, rendering them petrified. The fleeting sense of her transformation had left her. Her blood no longer flowed as if on a mad dash for her heart. It felt still and congealed.
She knew if she were to look upon herself, that her hair would be brown and her eyes would be black. The golden monster that had nearly delivered victory, had abandoned her.
By far, of all the unpleasant sights she had to take in, the most grotesque by far, was Markova's face staring back down at her. She too, had reverted back. Stone cold eyes colored obsidian black cast their oppressive gaze. Ovosh could feel her blood boiling once more, yet still, she could not muster the strength to move. She could only veer her eyes to her enemy's boots that lay planted right by her face. Their luster had finally been tarnished, yet they threatened to crush the very sand beneath into glass.
"You should feel honored, Ovosh." said the Right Hand, spitting out Ovosh's name like a bug that had been caught in her teeth, "You have an audience with the Emperor."
The haughty announcement broke the Z warrior's paralysis. Her arms thrashed upwards, as her legs bent back to thrust herself upright. Markova planted her own foot on Ovosh's stomach. She pressed down, hard enough to leave an imprint on the flesh. Despite Ovosh's movement, she could not even rise up. Thus, she could only toil under Markova's boot.
From the Imperial-stained skies, a single ship, made from the purest of white material glided about. It flew around the prong, hiding from view, till it emerged from the other side. The ship itself appeared unaffected by any of the forces exerted upon it, not by gravity, nor air resistance. It almost looked as if a simulation had missed several small details in mimicking the way an object flies through the atmosphere.
Yet, sand scattered as the ship hovered above the ground. A simple white platform extended from it as it descended. Landing prongs materialized from its flanks, appearing to grow out of the ship, even though it was clearly composed of inorganic materials. As it landed, it felt as if the whole planet had been weighed down, weighed down by the sheer mass of the shuttle, or who was on it.
From the confines of darkness of the vessel emerged a tall, yet thin man. His robes were immaculate white, even as he moved into the desert. Neither a speck of dirt nor a grain of sand could tarnish the bleached garments. While he trudged on the sand, he seemed to glide, like a ghost or a specter. Yet, his footfalls left impressions in the sand, even as they were blown over by the winds.
Ovosh's struggles ceased. All movement was restrained once more, but this new paralysis came not from within. The sensation was different, as if a great blizzard had washed over the area, chilling every part of her body, from her muscles, her bones, and even her very soul. Her desire to resist became a compulsion to retreat , yet invisible forces appeared to restrain every fiber of her muscles. Even as Markova pulled her foot away, Ovosh remained immobile, her gaze held captive by white-expressionless mask of the Emperor.
Yet, even as nothing of note could be observed on the mask, the crimson eyes that lay behind the eye-sockets burned with something she could not even comprehend.
Markova stood straight up, saluting the Emperor as he walked forward. Her head bowed as he came to a stop.
"My lord"
The Emperor extended an arm. There was a shift in the winds, as if nature itself was also awaiting the Emperor's orders. He looked down at the bowed head of his highest servant, now not paying any mind to Ovosh's immobile form.
His hand rose, and with it, he commanded in accordance, "Rise."
Though he spoke in almost a whisper, the sands appeared to vibrate underneath the weight of his voice. As Markova rose up, carefully and slowly, the man's eyes veered from her to the scene around him. He gazed across the choked skies, witnessing scores of his own men fly triumphantly across the atmosphere.
"I see my Right Hand has wrought much carnage on the battlefield." he commented. His tone was cool and even. Markova's shoulders appeared to loosen as he said this.
"All in your name." she affirmed, bowing her head once more.
"Indeed," he replied, inflecting his voice, before assuming a stern tone, "Remember what this carnage serves."
Markova was then forgotten. He folded his arms behind him, and began to descend down one of the many new craters on Sanctuary. Fire had entered his eyes, as he bore down upon the helpless girl.
"Citizen VEG-0x9026. Yes, I remember you." he mused. A glove of white floated to his chin, as a hint of amusement entered his voice.
Ovosh gritted her teeth. She shut away her senses, for she knew what she would feel if she prodded to far. "You don't remember me, you don't care about some lowly civilian."
"You were a small part of a greater whole." the Emperor sneered, "But when a part becomes defective, it is detrimental, and must be scrapped."
Behind the Emperor, Markova genuflected upon one knee. Her head had become nearly parallel to the ground. Her arm, proudly crossing her chest, appeared to shake.
"Orders sir?" she asked.
The Emperor's feet shifted. It appeared as if he were on a turntable as he faced Markova. As he gazed at her subservient form, his voice dripped with intrigue.
"Are you expecting an execution, Right Hand?"
Markova's head abruptly rose, a questioning look on her face, "My lord?"
"Defective as she may be," he explained, "she still has a use."
"I thought the punishment for treachery is death!" Markova asserted. Her voice and tone had raised. Her hands had clutched into fists, and begun to shake. Her brow had begun to furl, and even the whites of her eyes had begun to be stained with crimson.
"It is, unless I will it," he explained with casual dismissal. He then shifted, as malice became clear as day in his voice as he emphasized, "You should understand that."
His Right Hand immediately broke eye-contact as she acknowledged, "Yes my lord."
"Still," he then conceded, "I require your assistance. Holder her down." His finger extended, directing Markova to Ovosh's fallen form, conducting her as a puppeteer would conduct his puppet. After she had resumed her previous position, next to her former fellow citizen, the Servant knelt down, placing both hands forcefully upon Ovosh's torso. The girl's struggles had weakened, for anger had yielded to fear.
The Emperor stretched out his hand, holding it over Ovosh. The girl's eyes had begun to bulge. Whimpers of a dying animal escaped her mouth, and her struggles became renewed.
But the Galactic Terran Emperor remained but a statue, indifferent and deaf to her cries. Markova, unlike her master, was now perspiring, putting forth extra effort in pinning Ovosh down, for she had gone into a convulsive frenzy. Every part of her body violently squirmed and waved.
"No, get out! Please! Kill me instead!" Ovosh begged, her voice tainted with the strain of her throat.
Her head began shaking. Brown eyes turned to black, as the pupils within expanded. She begged further, feeling tears begin to fall down her cheek. All that remained of her resistance were desperate, futile pleas.
"Don't take it away! Don't take away me! Get out! Get out of my head! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
.…
Scores upon scores of Imperial capital ships clogged the immediate atmosphere of Sanctuary. Far away, the sheer amount of force they had brought to bear could have been mistaken as a thin metallic layer that enveloped the planet.
Amid the flood of clean, sterile vessels, one not so clean, nor sterile was headed in the opposite direction. It was followed by another ship, a smaller, sleeker vessel that could have been mistaken for an Imperial craft. None of the GTE ships assembled there turned to pursue. The hordes of soldiers that buzzed about like gnats paid no heed to the deviant ships. As such, the flight through Imperial line went without incident.
Percy remained alone in the cockpit. His eyes were half-lidded, despite the fact that the enemy had his humble freighter surrounded at all ends. Briefly, his dark eyes would flash to the empty co-pilot's chair aside of him, and he would be reminded of a growing pit inside his stomach.
The entrance to the cockpit swung open. Despite its rickety manufacture, it operated nearly silently. Reitoko entered, his tri-toed feet gliding effortlessly across the cold steel floor. Percy did not turn to face his master. His eyes were inexorably trapped by the cool void of the stars ahead of him.
As such, Reitoko couldn't take his eyes off of the back of the lone mercenary. He inhaled, if only to ensure that his inner workings were functioning, for every second he gazed upon Percy, the more numb it felt within.
"I'm sorry," he began, all traces of coolness and sophistication stripped away, "There wasn't enough time."
"The Imperial's subjugate when it comes to us humans, they don't kill." the Captain replied. The almost youthful vigor of the former rogue had vanished. And yet, he spoke with some trace of authority, "You don't have to be sorry, because I'm gonna see her again. That's the surest bet I'll ever make in my life."
The Arcosian nodded his head. Turning back, his black lips had curled downwards. Shadow had fallen over his face, for Percy's gamble would be the riskiest he would ever take.
Into the lounge he trudged, the once homey interior of the ship now cold and lifeless. The white material of the liquor cabinet appeared more apt to a funeral casket, than a source of joy and merry-making. However, Reitoko's eyes were tantalized by it, as his mind wandered to its contents.
There was a gruff whimper. Reitoko's eyes darted about, to the other side of the room. The Iceni now played host to a newcomer, leader of the White Fang, Shere Khan. He sat, slumped on a couch embedded into the wall. His fur was matted, wet. The eyes of the wolf lost their feral glow. With each passing moment, Reitoko almost expected Khan to decompose right in front of him.
Reitoko's eyed the stump that once held the proud wolf-man's arm. "I have two brilliant minds in mechanical and biological engineering travelling with us." he announced, raising the pitch of his voice, through it strained him so to do this. "We can fix up that arm in no time."
"After all I've lost, you can only give me back my arm." he grumbled. An eye glared furiously at the Arcosian, "A pathetic gesture. You should not have saved me."
"I had to grab everyone I can." Reitoko asserted, almost spitting out every syllable, "And you know how the Empire deals with the Anthros."
Shere Khan's head sunk even lower. His snout became buried into his hands. No further sounds, nor acknowledgments were made by the wolf-man. He could only answer with a stream of tears flowing out of his tightly shut eyes.
Reitoko slid his way to the counter, gingerly lifting the communicator he had left there. Thumbing the switch, he brought the device in front of his mouth. His blood flowed colder than ever, clogging his veins. He almost cut off communications, opting to stand still in the dead ship, even as it chugged along forwards.
Z's leader inhaled once more. He could feel his heart still beating. "Iceni to Bastion," he ordered, adopting his strict diction once more, "rendezvous with us at these coordinates."
The voice of a tired Mr. Smitter crackled through the speaker, "That's deep in PTO territory boss."
He shut his eyes, opening them once more. He looked to the cockpit, to where his brave captain flew alone. He looked to Shere Khan, a husk of muscle, fur and bones. He looked to the back, to the engine room, of a young man listlessly working away, keeping the ship running.
The Arcosian gritted his teeth, "Hate to say this, but they're our only hope now."
Far away from Sanctuary, the two vessels struck into the unknown sea of subspace. The shimmering portals swallowed each ship, as water would when a stone enters its domain. Both portals then shrunk shut with a blue flash, leaving nothing but the black void and the stars behind them.
The Echoes of Legend will continue...
Author's Note: And that's the finale of part one. I want to thank everyone who's been following along, I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. A milestone I've been awaiting for this story has been passed. Unfortunately, this story is going to be put on hiatus, if only so I can work on the next part. I don't know when I'll be resuming updates on this particular tale for part 2. I might release something of an appendix chapter to compile power levels, world-building information, and maybe one or two "gaiden" chapters that detail the aftermath of the finale. I'll have to see how much I can commit myself to, however, before I commit on those proposals.
Once again, thank you to all who have reviewed. More feedback, either on this chapter, or the story as a whole is appreciated. As I'll be going back to the drawing board once more, I'll be looking for another beta-reader so the next part will be pristine. I'll also, most likely, occasionally update what's already here, fixing grammar errors, minor continuity errors (I know there are some names and numbers I wasn't consistent with). If you are interested in reaching out to me for a beta-read, you can do so through PM.