Prologue
Many generations into the future...
At a location they believed known only to them, Gerra Almasy surveyed the impressive machinery. Odine entered the final preparations into the mainframe.
The device emitted a low hum as it came to life, the lights coming on and bathing the walls of the long-abandoned munitions facility with a white hue. It was huge, containing a domed chamber vast enough for one to run circles around, accessible by a single airlock and viewable by a surrounding window.
Before this day, Ellone II had been tested only on monsters, who would have been unable to inform them of the accuracy of their predetermined destination even had they been sentient. It was a one-way journey.
The scientist looked to one of his assistants. 'Phase One. Throw the first switch!' he commanded, in voice that showed he was used to having his instructions followed without question.
'Yes, sir!'
Odine did not have the peculiar accent of his famous ancestor, but the peculiar dress sense of the old Empire had been passed down through the ages, including the comically large collar around his neck. He was barely five feet tall, with thinning, ever-greying hair in a small bun on the crown of his head. His wispy moustache was even lighter. Odine's wide trousers were green, and he wore black, pointed shoes.
The name Odine had been synonymous with superior intelligence and scientific advancement over the last few centuries. As chief researcher of the Empress, his methods were rarely questioned. However, what they were planning was by no means in service to the Empress.
Gerra stepped towards the airlock with a little apprehension, the flat of his Hyperion on his shoulder, tightening his grip on the handle. The single-edged, silver gunblade had been passed from first-born to first-born, down through the generations, and was as much a part of him as his sword arm.
Having seen thirty namedays, Gerra was over six foot, with a mane of long, brown hair now receding from a broad forehead. He had a neatly trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes, full of intensity. His muscular bulk was largely hidden by his black trench coat. At his throat he wore a pendant, from which two orange crystals steadily pulsated with the essence of the Guardian Forces they enslaved.
'Phase Two!' Odine shouted, as the low hum from the machine went up a pitch, increasing in tempo.
'Yes, sir!' A female assistant called obligingly from her terminal. Her eyes were tight with concentration as she hit a series of keys and threw a switch.
When the airlock opened, Gerra stepped through the opening, into the sizeable chamber beyond. Many white lights shone sharply, momentarily dazzling him and throwing his shadow in all directions.
Suddenly, there was a bang audible over the machine's noise, from one of the giant double doors to the old facility. As everyone looked in its direction, Odine shouted, 'Phase Three, now!'
'Aye, sir!' a third assistant stammered.
The bang was repeated a second time, as loud as a thunderclap, then a third. The doors crashed inward, one of them knocked clean off its weathered hinge by the sheer power of the assailant. Gerra immediately recognised the human battering ram that marched through the opening, followed by the dozen ruby-armoured soldiers that comprised the Empress' Praetorian guard.
General Leonidas Christophe was High Commander of all imperial forces. He stood at a colossal six and half feet tall, weighing twenty stone of hard-earned muscle. He was broadfaced, with a blond mohican and a pointed, greying goatee. Leo's armour was black, but with the trademark imperial blood-red cloak billowing behind him. Across his wide back was a twin-bladed gunblade, obsidian in colour and nearly six feet long, known as Harbinger.
The General wore a pendant almost identical to Gerra's own, but from it was a solitary blue crystal. His body was surrounded by the same blue aura of his Guardian Force, Bahamut, whose power he had stolen but a fraction from to force entry to the building.
'Gerra! The Empress knows of your betrayal! She has demanded your head!' Leo's voice was amplified by his GF, resonating around the facility with a chilling menace as he ran for the airlock, super speed drawn from Bahamut.
'Close the airlock!' Odine demanded, terror evident in his voice.
Gerra raised his gunblade with his right hand. Leo cleared the opening just before the airlock closed. The Praetorians rounded on the scientists. Harbinger in his hands, Leo lunged at Gerra with frightening speed for a warrior of his girth.
However, Gerra had sparred with Leo many times in the past and knew his fighting style better than any. He knew the plan had gone beyond the point of no return, although Leo himself getting inside the machine was a dangerous complication.
He met the overhand blow with the flat of his Hyperion, retaliating with a backhand slash that Leo instinctively batted aside. Imbued with superior speed and strength from their GFs, they duelled at a pace that seemed inhuman to the scientists outside the chamber.
The longest serving member of the Twelve was Vargas Zebalga. He was dark-skinned, but with his tri-goggled headgear only part of his face and neck were visible, including spiralling and intertwining lines of keloid scarification.
Vargas had been the only Praetorian to survive the calamitous battle with Omega Weapon, and the Empress had permitted him to keep the magicite enslaving Tiamat afterward. There were no ranks among the Twelve, but the newer batch all naturally looked to Vargas as a leader.
He stepped toward Odine and pushed the tip of his sickle-shaped khopesh into the scientist's neck, drawing blood. 'Stop that machine, now!'
'No!' Odine said defiantly. 'Everything is in motion! You cannot stop it now! In the name of my forefather, I am willing to die for this cause!'
Odine's eyes moved to the machine as the steady hum increased a couple of octaves and pounded their ear drums. The lights began flashing around the facility even more brilliantly, but the headgear worn by the Praetorians automatically prevented dazzling. His gaze returned defiantly back to Vargas, betraying no fear.
Vargas must have believed Odine's resolve. He merely grunted, gripped his sickle sword with both hands and swung at the scientist's neck. The blade cut just above the ludicrous collar and parted the scientist's head from his shoulders.
Odine's body crumpled to the concrete floor with the head following, hitting the ground, and rolling to rest against the base of the terminal. The scientist's eyes now betrayed fear from the sight of the swinging blade in the last second of his life. A growing pool of blood poured from the neck of headless corpse, changing the colour of the collar.
'Seize the others!' Vargas ordered.
Inside the machine, Leo and Gerra were battling fiercely, their gazes locked on one another with grim determination and paying no mind to what was going on outside.
Vargas ran to the airlock and saw it was blast reinforced, probably bolstered by an invisible shield. He would have to use Tiamat to force his way inside.
The light and noise intensified to a point where those outside the machine could barely see or hear Gerra and Leo. The scientists lacked protective headgear, shutting their eyes, and putting their hands over their ears. The Praetorians watched as the two gunbladesmen completely disappeared.
Then it was no more. The white lights disappeared as though somebody had flicked a switch, and the machine was rapidly powering down.
Vargas looked to the three scientists that were being held at sword and gunpoint at their terminals. Out of the three, only the young male showed any sign of fear.
'Where have they gone? Reverse what you have done, now!'
The scientists remained motionless, the young man quaking.
The older male smiled. 'It is done.'
Vargas snarled and ran him through with his sickle sword, his body collapsing much like Odine's as he began to bleed out on the concrete.
The Zebalgan turned to the younger one. 'Unless you wish to spend the rest of your life in the mines, you need to tell me exactly what has happened here. Where did you send Gerra?'
The younger scientist continued shaking. He was sweating now. He looked at his dying colleague, then fearfully back to Vargas, but held his tongue.
Vargas gestured with his sword to the female researcher. 'Bring her over here!'
Two of the Praetorians roughly marched her toward him from her station.
'Tell me where Gerra is, or she dies!'
'It's too late,' she said defiantly. 'We're all prepared to give our lives for this.'
'You, perhaps. But is this one?' Vargas pointed his weapon at the young man, then looked to the Praetorian on her left and said, 'Kill her.' The elite wordlessly drew his plasma pistol and shot her point-blank.
The young scientist looked shocked at the butchery initially, but then his face began to change as the fear gave way to adrenaline. His jaw set and his eyes looked determined. He knew that their deaths had been part of Plan B and his resolve had almost wavered at the last minute. He lunged for the gun arm of his colleague's murderer, even though he knew it was hopeless.
Another Praetorian effortlessly cut him down with his sword before he could begin to take the weapon. 'You fool!' Vargas admonished his fellow elite, as the young man's blood dripped from his weapon. 'How will we get them back, now?'
He turned to the others. 'You three, get on those terminals! Find out where Gerra and the General have gone! The rest of you, get inside that machine!'
A frantic, but ultimately fruitless search followed. The scientists had programmed the terminals to be erased as soon as the operation was complete. As a failsafe, Gerra had planted multiple explosives throughout the facility, that were currently counting down to zero. The idea being if they had not been discovered, there would have been enough time for Odine and the others to evacuate.
As the Praetorians were left scratching their heads and being callously berated by Vargas, the entire facility went up an explosion that would have been felt and heard all over what was once known as Fisherman's Horizon. It certainly destroyed any trace of Odine's Ellone II.