Chapter 28 - Stepping Into the Void

GORAST - ABOARD THE INDOMITABLE

Gorast had laid all of the groundwork. She had done everything she needed to do. She was ready.

But some part of her held her back. She could not tell what it was, and every time it surfaced she tried with greater vigor to smother the feeling - only for it to rise again when she least expected it.

Gorast had never been one to doubt. In all of her life, she had never known sufficient cause to question herself; she followed Teridax's orders, and thus everything she did was what Teridax wanted, and everything Teridax wanted he had a good reason for. It was an impermeable shield, protecting her from introspection or any questions of whether or not she was correct in her judgements.

But Teridax had not spoken to her in some time. She missed him, and the comfort of certainty he provided. She remembered following his orders, and the ease with which they came to her. There was no questioning his orders, but better yet, there was no need to question them in the first place.

The air was so silent without him there beside her.

Gorast stood outside of Icarax's chambers, preparing to make a report. She had left a small group of loyal agents with the Chinese in order to facilitate easier communication between the two groups. In exchange, they had begun trading information in small doses that she would relay back to Icarax on a weekly basis. It was integral to her plan, as it allowed her easy access to the Indomitable without question - exactly what she needed in order to plant the bomb that Ukaitak had provided her. It remained carefully-secured beneath Icarax's chambers, prepared to destroy him with the press of a button. Every day she palmed the remote for the device, inspecting it, stroking it, attempting to build up the dedication to activate it. But she was not ready.

I need more ships…more troops on my side, she thought, rationalizing her delay. There were many excuses that she could fall back upon, and fall back on them she did, moreso with each passing day. She convinced herself there would come a time when she would spring into action, and that it would be very soon - but her own hesitancy worried her.

The door before her opened, and she entered, attempting to look as calm as possible. Icarax sat in his chair, as he always did. Gorast briefly wondered if he ever left it - if he had ever seen the outside of his ship.

Plotting and scheming in the shadows…a true leader commands from the front, she thought spitefully. She remembered Teridax falling in battle with Takanuva, masquerading as Dume for years, journeying to the Pit to aid the Toa in his plans; he was a true leader.

Seeing Icarax, however, that hesitancy rose again. Icarax was appointed by her master: he was the Seneschal of Lord Teridax. To rise against him would be in direct violation of the standing orders that her lord had given her.

She knew he would support her choice of action if he was with her, she knew he would. But Icarax was a Makuta like her, and he deserved a second chance, even if he had fallen from Teridax's vision.

"My lord," she said, bowing her head.

"Rise, and report," said Icarax idly. From beside him, a blue-armored figure emerged from the shadows. Vamprah sat in on all of the two's correspondences, as was befitting his position as spymaster. Gorast ignored his presence; he was of no consequence. She knew his loyalties to Icarax were as thin as his loyalties to anyone, and he would not pose a threat to her plans.

"The Chinese fleet has managed to link up with Antroz's. They are reporting some minor communications issues with our recreation of their radio technology, but it is supposedly not cause for alarm. Their action against other Primitive nations has been…consistently underwhelming. They have made ground attacks against nearby bordering countries to mixed success, though entirely behind schedule."

"This is consistent with what you have reported in the past," said Icarax disinterestedly.

"Indeed," replied Gorast. Nervously, she pondered the question she wanted to ask. "My lord, I…must ask, once again, if you are entirely certain about our alliance with these Primitives. They have very little to offer us, on a tactical level, technological level, or political level. I do not understand why you are so willing to grant them a seat among Teridax's empire."

Icarax closed his eyes and raised his fingertips to his chin, contemplating. She waited for a painfully long time for his response.

"Gorast…you are a destroyer. Even I respect and admire your capacity to destroy. You are given a rare talent in the art of ending lives in a swirl of violence. You are a good warrior. But a great warrior recognizes their weaknesses - yours is the issue of consequences. You live too in the moment to recognize that your bloody campaigns have far-reaching ramifications for the Brotherhood. In this case, it is a game of numbers. There are about a thousand Primitives for each member of the Brotherhood - and more every day. Perhaps we could kill them all, given time, but it would be an endless campaign that exhausts our resources and efforts for hundreds of years, if not thousands. The entire multiverse is at our fingertips, and I will not allow us to be bogged down by a single, albeit numerous enemy."

Gorast listened intently, hoping to find a hole in his argument to exploit.

"So we must learn to incorporate the Primitives into the Brotherhood. This should be a simple task - we have incorporated many of our conquests in the past. There are few living Skakdi among our ranks that did not at some point fight against us."

Icarax leaned forward, continuing.

"But in every instance before this, we have had a species advantage. It is not easy to fight one's brother - even the most bloodthirsty and cruel species would much prefer a fight against another species than their own. That the Brotherhood encompasses every species throughout the universes we have known grants us a great advantage; there will always be a reticence to fight against us. We do not have that advantage in this world. The enemy could bow to us, but we would always be a symbol of oppression to them, and a reminder of a life without us. How long could they endure the lash of humiliation? How many years after we leave before they start to forget the lessons we taught them in blood? But if they are integrated among our ranks, if they represent a portion of us alongside the Oropi - there will be no uprising. Brothers will not fight brothers."

And there it was. Gorast had found the hole in his reasoning. She did not know how he, a Makuta, who had personally fought against his brother Teridax in the past, and who was a member of a species that rarely - if ever - honored peace and trust between its members, could ever make such a mistake. He was stupid, and worse than that, optimistically stupid. A pessimistic idiot would at least be prepared for the outcome of his mistakes, but Gorast immediately realized that there was no saving Icarax. His faith in the Primitives would be the Brotherhood's undoing one day, if not curtailed immediately.

"Then you are committed to integrating the Primitives," Gorast asked. Icarax nodded solemnly.

"I am. We must be - all of us - or this universe will die. I will not allow a member of this empire to fall, not while I can prevent it. Our hold on our territory is absolute and unyielding."

Gorast nodded, pretending to agree. She did on the point that the Brotherhood's hold on this world should not slip, but there was no chance of that happening if there were none left on this world to oppose it. The Primitives, and Icarax, would die.

"Very well, my lord," Gorast said, standing. Icarax, recognizing that the conversation had concluded, gestured for the door, which Gorast accepted, and left hastily. As she did so, she scanned her psyche for any hint of that hesitancy she felt.

It was gone.

She smiled. She was alone in the hallway - and much the better for it, for the sight of the Mistress of Acid and soon-to-be Seneschal of Teridax grinning is no pretty thing.

BITIL - OFF THE SHORE OF COLOMBIA

Bitil was amazed at the ease with which the enemy fell, considering the sorts of engagements he was used to. The hardest part had been forming a successful beachhead, but even that had come relatively quickly. It took only a few particularly tense hours for the enemy to begin falling back, and instead attempting to cover their retreat with heavy usage of missile attacks and bombs. Bitil was familiar with the concept of utilizing air vehicles in combat, but he had never given much consideration to them as a tool against enemy infantry. The Brotherhood's airships were either designed for mass troop and cargo movements, or were light single-operator fighters meant to intercept enemy air vehicles. At best, they were used against particularly pesky naval targets, or perhaps enemy fortresses. Using them to deliver attacks unto masses of infantry was something new, and something he was struggling to reckon with.

However, despite this, the enemy was still proving lacking, and the air attacks quickly slowed in pace. By the dawn of the third day, it was as if the enemy had completely vanished, leaving only a small assortment of terrified civilians as evidence they ever held the territory in the first place.

This fact thrilled Bitil immensely. Having no understanding of what the enemy's morale looked like or what their tactical capabilities were, the natural implication of such a collapse of enemy presence was that they had already acquiesced to failure, and were biding time through a hasty retreat. The thought made him laugh, as it did whenever the idea of retreat was proposed; there was no such thing as a perfect retreat, because eventually you would run out of places to run to.

Thus, with his troops landing and securing the first batches of enemy cities along the coast of the enemy mainland, he ordered them to push forward, following main enemy thoroughfares and roads so as to find other remaining urban centers, and ideally cripple their infrastructure. Capturing and holding major cities was an incredible boon to the Brotherhood, as it afforded them the resources within the cities, prevented the enemy from effectively utilizing its transportation networks, and isolated their smaller population centers without the possibility of reinforcement.

However, Bitil's orders came to a strange head when he began to recognize that nearly all of the major routes on the mainland ran north to south rather than west to east. Naturally, this confused him greatly - but it did not do so for long. With a great amount of dread, he suddenly recognized that the terrain he faced was not at all conducive to a widespread invasion; to the north, the land shrank into a thin bridge between two continents, bottlenecking his forces, and to the south, swathes of mountain range stretched across the entirety of the continent. It was as if a massive wall had been placed directly in his path, with only a few select passes that could lead his troops through and onto the other side of the continent. But these areas were likely to be heavily guarded, and a massive weakness for his troops, meaning that he would have to go around the mountain instead.

Once again, though, the terrain posed a significant threat to this goal; the thinning of the land as it reached the northern side of the continent meant that it was, functionally, too small of a territory for him to push his entire army through. It would create a long and vulnerable train of troops that would be forced into a relatively narrow route. It was a better alternative than the mountain passes, but even then, it was the same concept but at a larger scale.

It caused Bitil a great amount of stress to recognize that his army, massive and powerful as it was, could do very little against a numerically and strategically inferior foe - and not even through any lack of foresight or skillful maneuver on the part of the enemy, but rather simply dumb luck with the nature of the terrain.

Bitil struggled with this for several days, locked in his cabin. His paintings grew worse and more shaky, and the music he played seemed off-key and out of tune. His mind wandered through solutions, none of which seemed ideal, until he was forced to settle on the least terrible solution he could find.

The Primitives have retreated in the face of overwhelming odds in the past; it may be tactically risky, but I will simply have to push through the northern side of the mountains. Armored corps and shock troops going first so as to clear potential holdouts, and then we can bring in support legions. Perhaps even get the Long Patrol over the mountain range to pincer the enemy…

With great annoyance, he gave the order. The troops were to begin returning to the beachhead, leaving small garrisons behind in their wake. They would then be sent by ship in two main groups. The first, to the north, where it would push around the mountain range by land. The second would head to the south, and sail for several weeks until it could pass the end of the continent by sea, eventually landing on the southern tip of the enemy continent. This would force the enemy to divert their defensive forces into two directions, drastically weakening their ability to fight a war of attrition. The same would apply to him, were it not for the fact that the terrain did not allow him to commit his entire army to any one front regardless. He would rather have half of the army take a painfully slow journey by sea and arrive on the opposite side of the continent than stand mio behind the battlefield, waiting their turn. He had made the mistake of entering a meat grinder before, and he would not do so again.

The Primitives had proven as weak in the northern region as they had on the beachhead. What he had mistaken for a tactical retreat had clearly been an accurate estimation of their fighting capabilities, as they yet again fell like crops before a scythe. The chains headed to the south had not even finished boarding their ships by the time the northern chains reported enemy withdrawals.

"You're absolutely sure?" Bitil asked Marshall Mowek, a crimson-armored Barramoi who was one of the four involved in the assault. He stood taller than Bitil, much to the Makuta's annoyance, and his heavy armor protected him thoroughly, while a facemask gave him a fearsome disposition. None of the three others - a Paxorak by the name of Cedex, who carried an oversized warhammer upon his back, a particularly aggressive Akiamu named Atuk, and a purple and gold-armored Skakdi called Koltari - were able to attend the meeting, all being overburdened with the logistics of returning their bloodthirsty legions to their warships.

"Yes, sir. The enemy is in full retreat. They have fallen back beyond the range of our scout units," said Mowek confidently. Bitil smiled. It seems his concerns were unfounded after all.

"And they have begun the same harassment campaign by way of rocketry and air?" he asked. If the enemy was resorting to the same failed tactics, it demonstrated a propensity for a thorough victory to soon come his way.

"They have, sir."

Bitil eagerly nodded.

"Good. Then you have my orders: full advance. Follow the enemy army, hound them, bite at their heels - but do not let them slip from your sight. Chase them into the very heart of the continent so that they may die quickly, and leave it ripe for our taking."

The Barramoi saluted sharply.

"Yes, sir!"

Bitil felt his chest swell with confidence. This was going to be easy.

KULRAHK - UNKNOWN

The Kulrahk remained belowdecks, as The Operators ordered, for a great deal of time. For what seemed like days, they moved by sea, not making any sound. The hold of the ship was filled to the brim with other Kulrahk, and every once in a while, they would snap or hiss at each other - but they were well behaved, and were sure not to endanger the mission. Those that forgot, Kulrahk quickly reminded. It was the best Kulrahk - the smartest. It told the others what to do when The Operators were busy.

Kulrahk did not like the waiting. It was not in its nature. Kulrahk was built to move quickly, traversing great distances in the blink of an eye. Being confined to such mundane methods of transport was not just irritating, it was alien.

Several days and nights passed, with Kulrahk waiting below deck. Every night, and occasionally during the day, it would feel the boat stop, and the Operators would leave for some time. It was not told why this would occur, nor did it have the capacity to question such an event. Instead, it kept a watchful eye on its Kulrahk siblings.

After many days and many nights, Kulrahk felt the boat come to a stop once more - but this time, the Operators entered the area below decks, and beckoned for the Rahkshi to follow. Kulrahk did so eagerly and willingly, emerging into the early dawn. The sun still crept over the horizon, casting an orange glow over the waves. Ahead of the boat was the shore, a marshy and uninviting scene. Distant vehicles could be seen traveling by road, parallel to the beach. Kulrahk prepared to leap forward toward the path and attack them at The Operators' command, but none came. Instead, they followed alongside the road, remaining concealed within a patch of woods.

The Operators inspected every vehicle that drove past, for reasons Kulrahk could not discern. As they did so, they insisted that the Rahkshi remain hidden and silent, which proved slightly difficult, but not impossible for the dedicated Makuta-spawn. The Operators apparently agreed on some sort of plan, because after several minutes of spying, they gestured to Kulrahk, and gave a quick and simple order.

"Cut down that tree."

Kulrahk and the rest of the Rahkshi of Teleportation, did so eagerly, hacking into the trunk, and within moments, it collapsed to the ground. The Operators gestured towards the Rahkshi to lift the log, and in doing so, carry it out onto the road.

Kulrahk's artificial muscles strained as it and its siblings pulled with all of their might. The tree was heavy, but they were strong, and they were many; after but a few moments of effort, the log was placed.

Meanwhile, Kulrahk watched one of The Operators, whose Kanohi glowed for a brief moment. Kulrahk knew what a Kanohi was - as a Kraata, it had an instinctive urge to infect them, though it had not had the opportunity to act on this urge in many years now, instead confined to the robotic chassis it now occupied. However, it had no concept of what each individual Kanohi was or what it did, which led to a great and sudden shock as the Rahkshi watched the shadow Toa transform before its very eyes. Where there stood one second a being clad in black armor, there was now a fleshy creature - a Primitive. Kulrahk hissed quietly - not loudly enough to disturb the creature.

The Operator disguised as a Primitive rushed out onto the road in advance of an oncoming vehicle, waving their arms frantically. The vehicle screeched like an angered Muaka, and came to a sudden stop mere bio away from the log. The Operator pointed towards the fallen log, gesturing for the vehicle's driver to exit and help him. He spoke in words that Kulrahk did not understand, but whatever he said was convincing, as the driver quickly exited the craft to investigate whether the log could be moved.

From the forest, the Rahkshi watched, along with the two remaining Operators. Some invisible signal passed between them, because they spoke in unison to the Rahkshi.

"Kill it."

Kulrahk needed no reiteration as it teleported directly onto the road behind the Primitive. The Primitive whirled around in confusion at the flashes of darkness appearing around it, before Kulrahk drew back its staff and plunged it into the Primitive's back. The rest of the Rahkshi did the same, savagely beating the creature until it gave no signs of life. Blood spilled onto the ground, and Kulrahk wiped its feet off, annoyed.

"Good. Drag it off the road. Quickly now," said the first Operator, transforming back into a shadow Toa once more. Kulrahk obliged, as it and another of its kin lifted the creature and began pulling it away towards the forest. As they did so, Kulrahk watched The Operators move towards the rear of the vehicle, which was a massive rectangular box. It appeared to be perhaps a large container of some sort. Opening up the doors at the rear, the Operators waved towards whichever Kulrahk were idle, and gestured for them to move the large tree trunk.

With an unceremonious crash, Kulrahk and its sibling dropped the body they were carrying into some bushes. Gently pulling down some fronds to cover it, the Rahkshi inspected the hiding place. They suspected it would not be visible from a passing vehicle, but once the animals got to it, there was no telling what would happen. It did not have time to dwell on the issue, however, before the rest of the Rahkshi funneled into the forest behind it, shakily carrying an entire tree on their backs. Throwing it down on top of the body, Kulrahk felt a brief swell of pride as it was completely hidden. What clever beasts.

The Operators called for it, and it turned instantly, rushing to their side with all of the rest of the Rahkshi. As Kulrahk clambered into the back of the vehicle and joined its brethren in the cramped confines, it let out a quiet and plaintive screech of annoyance. It had so enjoyed being free of the boat, but it seems it had only traded one form of hidden transport for another.

At the same time, the shapeshifting Operator took a form indistinguishable from the Primitive occupant who had driven the vehicle, and climbed into its front cabin, wordlessly familiarizing themselves with its controls. At the same time, the remaining two Operators joined the Rahkshi in the rear, and shut the doors behind them. The vehicle came to life once more, and began to slowly roll down the road. The entire operation had taken less than two minutes, and they had not been seen by anyone. A casual observer would never suspect anything was wrong with the vehicle or its occupant. As the vehicle rolled down the street, a sign overhead pointed towards the on-ramp for Interstate 50, and ahead, Washington D.C.