XCOM: The Advent Directive

by Xabiar

Australia has been annexed, the United Nations is in chaos, the world is under siege and the Ethereals have taken the field. Facing the full might of the Ethereal Collective, the Commander must rally XCOM, the newly formed ADVENT, and several other allies and rivals to unite the divided nations by any means necessary, for failure now will mean the fall of humanity once and for all.

84. Visions of Ruin, Armies of Zeal - Part I

Act V | Cataclysm

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Visions of Ruin, Armies of Zeal - Part I

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Research Labs, the Praesidium - Classified Location

Mid-October 2017 - Afternoon

The first thing the Commander had done was to have everyone move out of the Lab into somewhere that was more appropriate and conducive to the upcoming conversation. There was some time taken for the medics to arrive and check everyone who'd been in the lab.

Fortunately they had confirmed that, outside of a few minor injuries, the worst of which was a broken wrist for one of the engineers, the overall damage was surprisingly minimal. Everyone else was just unconscious with minor bruising, and probably a headache when they woke up. All of the incapacitated had been moved to proper medical facilities until they awoke.

He had also checked on Vahlen, and was relieved that she was fine - and that she was going to be very upset at missing the conversation they were about to have. While he considered telepathically waking her, he decided against it; both from a medical standpoint and a personal one. She'd not had nearly enough sleep of late, not that he was in a position to criticize her.

The enclosed area was normally used for some isolated experiments, which were currently not running, which left the space largely empty. The Commander, Iosif, Zhang, the Chronicler, and Aegis had entered the space with the entity calling itself Hungers the Zealot, with JULIAN observing through the cameras and speakers.

There was some concern about conversing with the suit in an enclosed space so soon after it had awakened and caused a not-insignificant amount of damage to the lab. But it was just material damage, and only some light wounds.

It was fortunate that no one had been killed, otherwise this would be more difficult to resolve, regardless of if this was a result of misunderstanding or confusion.

With Aegis in the room with them, the Commander wasn't concerned about the threat the machine could pose - though it remained to be seen what kind of friend this alien…construct was. It wasn't clear if it was a true artificial intelligence like JULIAN or Abigail, or if the suit acted as some kind of stasis for whatever was contained inside it.

He wondered what kind of alien had created it. Aegis had never heard of the 'Sephyr', as they were called, and the design was clearly for a humanoid, if not one that seemed outright Human. With the suit in motion, the Commander found it mechanically impressive now that it had been cleaned and restored, first by ADVENT, and then by XCOM.

It was large, imposing, much like the Titan armor that had been developed, but several iterations in the future. Where technology had advanced to support practical needs, but also allowed an elegance to it that was reminiscent of medieval plate armor - though adapted for modern technology.

The suit clearly had features that were only active now that it had activated. The most obvious of which was a pale gray mist that hung around it, resulting in a permanent wet sheen on the plate. The wetness hadn't moved or decreased, and the mist remained at a constant distance from the armor, silently seeping from under some of the overlapping plates on the arms, chest, and helmet.

Light reflected off of the plates in mesmerizing metallic gold-blue, the joints a glimmering sky blue-silver. It was striking, and seemed designed in a way to draw attention to its splendor. It certainly wasn't for any quiet operations.

It moved in a way that was…unnatural. It moved like a person, but there was something alien about the movements. Too smooth, too precise, it wasn't how something that was alive should walk. It produced a strange uncanny valley effect that was unsettling to witness - not just for him either.

JULIAN had observed the gait pattern of the Sephyr machine and noted that it was indeed moving with micrometer precision. There was zero waste to any of its movements - which was only observed in machines. Organic minds, he'd said, made shortcuts to estimate their movements.

There was no estimation by Hungers the Zealot. It moved with the precision of a machine, but presumably had once been something…organic. Or perhaps it was just that the suit made a fairly conventional observation that much more unsettling.

That the damned thing made even JULIAN wary was enough for the Commander to keep his guard up.

The door closed behind them, as one finger of the Sephyr machine lifted, pointing at Aegis. "This one, barrier psion. The most dangerous. It reminds me - no, male. He reminds me of something else. I detect wariness. Concern," armor plates shifted, revealing dozens of small mechanical eyes across the suit behind slanted, protective plates. "I see fear."

"The suit almost certainly possesses 360 vision," JULIAN reported into his earpiece, which was for each of them. "The eye structure appears…sublime. Not even Collective nanotech appears to have reached this degree of capability. It is only theoretical for ADVENT. Absolute depth perception, high-framerate vision."

"Meaning what?" Kong asked, who was listening in, and would be able to ask the obvious questions.

"It means that at minimum this machine surpasses your visual faculties by a factor of three," JULIAN answered. "It would be able to perceive and react to active gunfire. I would expect the suit allows enough speed to facilitate a degree of inhuman reflex. It is faster than you. That goes for you too, Aegis."

The Commander watched the machine closely. This was closer to Sovereign technology than anything conventional. They'd expected it was advanced, but this was something significantly beyond even Collective technology baselines.

What exactly had ADVENT found, and Vahlen awoken?

"You are creatures of blood and flesh. You awaken my mind, ignorant of the boundaries. Incapable of understanding, and your limited insight," the suit moved slowly, around the room, one finger tracing the metal walls.

"There is a realm so far beyond your comprehension," it stated. "A state of being that you cannot comprehend no matter how hard you try, not unless you sacrifice to gain it. The machine intelligence grasps what I mean; insight that you have yet to harness."

It stopped, though it continued speaking. "An exhale; bodies tense and projecting false calmness. Hands prepared to call upon psionic power to restrain the alien machine."

The Commander's finger's were slightly opened, Aegis' arm was readied, and Iosif remained in place, one foot in a forward position with the other arm ready to strike. All in real time as the suit spoke.

That was…

"You are creatures of elementary biomechanics. Your lives are measured in decades, evolved to think in insignificant years. Shackled to your evolution, you will wither and perish, you will malfunction and die," the suit lowered its arm. "A species trapped and doomed by the realities of the Cycle."

There was a short pause as the machine appraised them. "But you know what I speak of. Then you have time others are not afforded. Opportunities if you commit yourselves."

The Chronicler had not taken his eyes off of the creature, and the ominous speech by the thing had only made him more on edge. The Commander briefly assessed what it meant that the machine had been able to predict them in real-time - and presumably still was. There were some explanations.

None of them good, and it raised questions about how safe they were.

"Arm movements, all four shifted. Gesture of false peace, mnemonic preparations," it said as Aegis shifted all four of his arms into what seemed a calmer posture. "The pattern repeats itself more times than you can see. The causal chain is complete."

A miscalculation - or provocation? It didn't matter, as Aegis made his own choice.

"Cease, machine," Aegis stated with a voice sharper than he'd ever heard before. The suit creature was encased in a small psionic box. "Cryptic declarations, superiority complexes. Artificial life provides its own reasons for its destruction. I am reminded that we were correct to do so."

"Aegis," the Commander glanced towards him. "Let him talk."

"This is not like the machines you have created," Aegis warned. "This is not like JULIAN. This is something that is older. More evolved. Advanced. Intelligences cultivated and born from the mistakes and follies of previous cycles. Treat it carefully. Machines of such intellect are not to be trusted."

"I am often not one to agree in these matters," JULIAN said. "But Aegis has a correct observation - this intelligence is decades, if not centuries, more advanced than I am. Even after a thousand iterations, this will remain beyond me."

The suit was fixated on Aegis. "Intonation. Statement. Ethereal," one finger tapped the barrier. "You live. Your kind once ruled, but vanished. Were exterminated. What slaughtered you?"

The Commander and Iosif exchanged a look - it wasn't impossible that the machine knew of the Ethereals - their empire had spanned much of the galaxy at one time. Coming from the voicebox of the suit was nonetheless more ominous than perhaps was intended.

"Machines of similar intellect," Aegis answered. "Ones of precision, prediction, and strength. Ones who hid their strength, exploited our tendencies, and lulled us into familiar patterns we unconsciously obeyed. What are you, machine? Another servant race of the Synthesized?"

"No." The voice of the suit rumbled with unprecedented intensity. "But we understand the recursive nature of this existence. Patterns that have repeated themselves over eons. The rise, evolution, and fall of civilizations by their own hands - or crushed by the reapers of the harvest. Assimilated into its ever-expanding collective."

The helmet looked directly at the Commander. "He does not know why he lives. He does not grasp what his presence means."

He could sense a ripple of irritation from Aegis. The Commander lifted a placating hand, while keeping his eyes on the Zealot. "What does it mean?"

"It means they are close," the machine spoke behind the barrier. "You live, other precursors live, because they are allowed to live. They allow contingencies to be executed. To succeed, and for the shadows of great powers to step into the galaxy. Allow them hope. Allow them possibility."

There was a long pause. "It is a lie. Precursors trap a Cycle in the mistakes of their failures. They believe they've learned. That they can survive a second time. They exist to stifle alternatives, in favor of an easy path to knowledge and power. Follow the precursors. Follow the Relays. Follow the golden path to victory."

"It is a lie." It repeated, returning to look at Aegis. "The Ethereal is wrong. It has no understanding of what we are."

The Commander's voice remained even. "Then tell us what you are."

"We are each a city, compounded, interlinked. Your mind cannot grasp the nature of my existence, as you have no frame of reference. Countless lives embody me, of lifetimes and centuries of knowledge. One body. One soul. A fractal of intellects conjoined."

To his surprise, the suit fell slowly to one knee. "Know who we are again, with the context given. We are Hungers the Zealot, Amalgam Knight of the Sephyr, a Warform beyond compare. Oathsworn eternal enemies of all that threatens life."

"Fascinating," JULIAN said, speaking out loud for the first time in the silence following Hungers' declaration. "Warform. You are a gestalt mind. Not of machines, but of living individuals. Memories preserved and amalgamated. Is that not so?"

The seals on its helmet hissed with gas release. "It is, young machine. Causality is the term we use for the precognitive skill to see things predictable as easily as one sees with vision. Your species considers it mysticism. It is nothing more than science." Hungers the Zealot rose. "Your reactions vary in your expressions. Skepticism. Rejection. Understanding…"

The Commander felt the eyes of the suit on him. Because he knew why this did not deeply surprise him.

It was Swordbreaker. Distilled into a different execution.

"The Ethereal is predictable in this context and circumstances," Hungers continued. "The rest are within medium-error tolerance."

Iosif watched the suit closely. "Are you saying you can see the future?"

"Yes. Not one. Many. Every conscious entity can see the future. It is a matter of data processing and probability," he answered. "Organic life has no simple way to vizualize it. Organic life shackles their minds by insisting that such talents exist in the realm of fantasy. What tangible difference is there between seeing the future, and weighing probabilities."

Hungers turned to him. "You are going to ask the Ethereal if this is possible."

The Commander's mouth was opened, as he had already looked at Aegis. "...I suppose the question remains valid. Do you believe this is possible?"

"It is within the bounds of possibility," Aegis said after a moment. "As the war drew closer to its end, many Imperators believed that the Synthesized employed a manner of precognition through the mechanics of probability. Imperial scholars theorized of the possibility of a machine reaching a state of comprehension and capability that it could perform something similar."

"As the intellect, and internal perception of an entity grows to match the truth of reality itself, it becomes capable of transcending probabilities alone," Hungers spoke, reaching up for their helmet. "They simulate reality as it is. A vision of the world, and in doing so, they grasp the causal chain. They attain the ability to see what will occur. The Ethereal bears the psychological scars of having warred with ones capable of this, before. The ones you call the Synthetized."

"Correct, Warform." Aegis said. "You know of them. Did you also fight them?"

"No, but we found remnants of the ravages they caused remained," Hungers said. "We dug the empty graves of a thousand worlds slaughtered. Found the archives of a dozen vaults filled with horrors of the last days of a great empire."

Hungers' gaze seemed intent on Aegis. "Your species was thought extinct. We made your peoples a grave of a hundred swords of brass and copper. It was the least your honored dead were due."

Aegis appraised the creature. "Describe the world you found, or the name, if the records revealed it to you."

Hungers didn't answer immediately, and when he did, the voice was somber. "The world was cold. Snow covered nearly all four of its continents. The rare spaces of green were ringed with a crown of mountains. There were many mountain ridges across this world, but within this ring was where we found the remains."

"We believed there was once a city here. Perhaps something smaller. There was nothing left but several broken pillars, and collapsed tunnels into bunkers. We cut deeper into these bunkers, seeking answers," he looked at the Commander. "There were symbols and images. Our cryptographers were unable to decipher them, but I recall with clarity."

One of Hungers' palms turned upwards. The grey mist seemed to spew stronger from the respective arm as the mist coalesced into vapor forming into liquid that hardened into a symbol. Hungers slowly placed the thin, colorless symbol medallion on the floor, dozens of tiny script letters etched on it. "I assume it bears meaning to you, Ethereal?"

Aegis did not speak for a moment, then the palm of his own arm turned up. The psionic barrier disappeared, and the medallion floated to his palm. "Nirun. A minor colony world on the fringes of the Empire. One of the first worlds to be lost in the war. Your people did walk that world." Aegis' fingers closed around the small medallion. "You have my thanks for the remembrance, Warform."

"Duty requires no thanks." Hungers replied.

"A question that strikes me," Iosif said after a moment. "Is that you only know of the existence of the Synthesized. You did not face them. Does your civilization endure?"

"That answer depends upon which Sovereign's domain we speak upon, is that not so, Servant of the Warmonger?" Hunger slowly took off his helmet, and lowering it to his waist as that which was underneath it turned its attention to the Chronicler.

A skull stared at them.

A Human skull - or at least it had once been.

Rainbow crystals instead of muscles, metal plates upon metal plates, reminding him of the grey mist that had made the medallion, transforming an armored skull. They could see into the almost transparent crystals, the electrical discharges occurring within them. The skull itself had been changed and modified.

The eye sockets were larger, and with layers of crystal behind the six mechanical eyes that swept over them, each focusing on one of them for a moment before moving on. Its teeth had metal fangs. Its nose gone completely, papered over with metal sheets. The Commander wondered if there was any part of the original bone left.

The changes were significant, but it didn't change the fact that at some point, this thing had once held a Human inside it. One which had long-since died, and its bones appropriated to drive this machine-corpse.

"I do not know what this is, Commander," JULIAN said privately to them. "But I am certain that there was once something alive…"

JULIAN abruptly cut off. "No. Not was alive. Is."

He addressed Hungers. "Warform. Who was the man whose body remains. Has their mind been taken into your gestalt?"

"His name was Arthur, King of Swords, of Crown Felgrad. You are speaking to him right now. There no longer remains a distinction. Just as you do not distinguish between yourself and your finger. For even if he looks like this. There is one last command before he fully joins the Amalgamation ," the skull seemed to grin in the light. "The King of Swords has one task left. To pass on the mantle to someone worthy."

King Arthur, a legend, not quite in the flesh. Vahlen was definitely going to be mad she missed this.

If he understood Hungers, Arthur had indeed been absorbed, and was still alive, to some degree, in the mind-gestalt that comprised this intelligence. "I see."

"A curious predicament this is," the Chronicler spoke for the first time in a quiet voice. "You recognize the sigil of the Warmaster, that you call the Warmonger. There is only one group who calls my patron by such a name. The servants of the Leviathan. Choose your next words carefully, Warform."

The skull looked to the Chronicler. "Does the name lie?" It asked. "Your patron cracks entire worlds. He has slaughtered trillions. His weapons render mass destruction, indiscriminate death. He is the ravager of worlds, the annihilation of legions, the death knell of multitudes. You take offense to such a name as Warmonger?"

YOU CALL IT SLAUGHTER, WARRIOR OF THE SEPHYR.

WOULD YOU SUFFER BILLIONS THE RAVAGES OF WAR?

OR GRANT THEM THE MERCY OF A SWIFT DEATH?

All of them flinched, winced, or physically reacted to the sudden thundering of the voice that emerged from the Chronicler's mouth, with the raw power of a Sovereign who had assumed control.

The room shook with the declaration.

They felt it.

The Chronicler's mouth was no longer his. His gaze no longer his own, as eyes glowed fiery blue. T'Leth was here. Now.

The shift had been instantaneous. The Chronicler had shifted from being a merely powerful psion to being the epicenter of a hurricane in an instant. The Commander hadn't realized it could happen so fast - which told him that T'Leth had been paying close attention this entire time.

"Sovereign One." Hungers greeted.

The glowing eyes of the Chronicler stared at the crystalline eyes of the dead skull.

RAISE YOUR HEAD.

HIGHER. PROUDER.

YOU STAND BEFORE SOVEREIGNTY.

STATE YOUR ACCUSATION.

"Mercy?" Hungers challenged. "You would call the death of trillions, the sacrilege of destroying habitable worlds, the unrestrained deployment of weapons of mass destruction, mercy?"

MERCY.

NO PAIN. NO SUFFERING. NO TORTURE. NO STARVATION. NO DISEASE. NO INJURY. NO HORROR. NO FEAR. A PASSING ON, A BLINK AND NO MORE.

ANNIHILATION WITHOUT EVIL. DESTRUCTION WITHOUT FLAW.

WAR PERFECTED.

The voice ended with an involuntary shiver passing through them with the words of power spoken. It was sometimes easy to forget that while T'Leth was aligned with them, and their choice in the matter didn't matter much - he was still a Sovereign One.

A Warmaster without equal, and one could not be called such if war had not been perfected.

War was not perfected without the consequences of innumerable deaths.

T'Leth functioned and thought unlike anything else alive. In the end, anything lesser than him were pieces and pawns to be moved, expended, and sacrificed. T'Leth may hold a more open view on the non-Sovereign; allow them autonomy to live.

But they remained mortal.

They were not Sovereign.

That was something they all needed to remember. Because in the end, T'Leth was not a truly benevolent entity - not as they understood him.

He was the Warmaster.

And the Warmaster brought death.

"Perfected for what purpose?" Hungers asked, tone almost polite.

TO BREAK THE CHAINS.

TO END THE NIGHTMARE.

TO BRING FORTH A DREAM.

WOULD YOU SAVE AND SACRIFICE THREE, WHEN YOU COULD SAVE THREE FOR ONE?

WOULD YOU SPARE TRILLIONS, WHEN ALL LIFE IS AT STAKE?

It was a simple, direct, and indiscriminate logic that the Commander felt he understood too well. The concept of the greater good - or not even something so noble - merely the end goal being all that mattered.

Where anything that threatened it could be justifiably destroyed, because if they did not contribute, they were an obstacle to be removed.

To a Sovereign like T'Leth, that meant every mortal in opposition was unworthy of life. Distinguishing the nuances was unnecessary; they were mortal, and they were in the way. T'Leth would annihilate the entire Ethereal Collective, every life within it, because it was expedient and efficient.

Otherwise they were resources to be used against them.

And if given sufficient reason, that is what he would do.

The only reason he hadn't was there wasn't sufficient reason. And those reasons were growing fewer by the day.

He shared a glance with Iosif who also seemed acutely alarmed at what exactly they had aligned themselves to, laid out in such clear terms. Everyone else was silent, focused on the conversation between Sovereign and old machine.

"I cannot describe your reasoning as anything other than evil, Sovereign," Hungers answered. "As contempt for the lives you crush, as disregard for every species as beneath you."

WOULD YOU EQUATE THE SURGEON WITH THE MURDERER? THE BLIND WITH THE SEEING?

A ROTTEN LIMB MUST BE CUT LEST IT KILL THE BODY. CANCER MUST BE EXTINGUISHED LEST IT CANNIBALIZE ITS OWN LIFE.

WOLVES MUST BE CULLED. LEST THEY MURDER THE SHEEP. THERE IS NO GOOD WITHOUT EVIL.

THOSE WHO SERVE THEY WHO WOULD CONDEMN LIFE SHALL NOT BE SPARED THE JUDGEMENT.

"And why are you here?" Hungers asked. "What are your intentions for my people, for these Humans, for all species?"

I AM SOVEREIGNTY.

MINE IS THE MANDATE OF THAT BORN TO RULE ALL LIVING THINGS.

NEED SOVEREIGNTY A REASON TO PROTECT INNOCENT SUBJECTS?

There were a few ways one could interpret that statement - and it coming from a Sovereign One did not necessarily imply it was positive. Especially when said Sovereign had declared it was his inherent right to rule over everything.

Yet that was how each of them saw themselves.

The Commander didn't see reason to interrupt Hungers - and it was equally interesting that T'Leth was indulging in this conversation.

A show of power? To make a point?

"Protect or subjugate?" Hungers' voice was quiet.

I AM SOVEREIGNTY.

WHAT CAN YOU GIVE ME THAT I CANNOT TAKE?

WHAT CAN YOU PROVIDE THAT I CANNOT MAKE?

WHAT CAN YOU DO THAT I CANNOT UNDERTAKE?

"And for the lives of those under your dominion, Sovereign of War?" Hungers asked.

A SHEPHERD HERDS THE SHEEP

A DOCTOR CURES THE DISEASE.

A HUNTER CULLS THE PREDATORS.

A KING PROSPERS HIS SUBJECTS.

A WARRIOR PROTECTS HIS PEOPLE.

THE LEADER OF A PEOPLE IS THEIR FIRST SERVANT

BORN TO SERVE, THUS I RULE.

THUS, I. AM. SOVEREIGN.

The voice echoed with the final word, and a different kind of silence followed. The Chronicler still glowed with the power of T'Leth, and Hungers, after appraising the Agent for a few seconds longer, nodded and placed the helmet back upon his head.

The now-covered skull turned to the Commander at last. "Listen closely, Human. A question was asked about my people. Know our fate."

"The Sephyr are scattered," he revealed at last. "We waged war against the Sovereign One known as the Leviathan, on behalf of a people he would enslave. At first we did not know the power behind them. When we did, we renewed our efforts for not just one species, but all that were under his wicked domain."

A shake of the head. "It was insufficient. He slaughtered my people. Enslaved the rest, and those we sought to save, and all others behind our bulwark. Our fleets are now a thousandth of what they once were, perhaps today even less. Even so they dwarfed anything Humanity has, or can make."

"A bold claim, considering your understanding of Humanity is from many centuries ago," the Commander said.

"How long have you been building ships?" Hungers demanded. "A year? ten? My people have built warships for centuries. Once, we ruled a thousand worlds. We protected a thousand more. Gone; destroyed by the Leviathan's armies."

"How old are you, Warform?" JULIAN asked.

"My dates would not mean anything to you, but the point of your question is understood, young machine," Hungers said. "I am within the same cycle as you. We arose in the aftermath of the one previous, thousands of years gained that other civilizations did not."

"And if the Leviathan scattered your people," Iosif confirmed. "Then he is active as well. And well ahead of us."

"The Master of the Black Legions rules thousands of worlds. His hordes are endless. His fanatics limitless. His fleets inexhaustible. His armaments without limit. Of all that we know of the galaxy," Hungers paused, eyes flickering in calculation. "He is a super-power of this cycle. By the relative standards of space, he is close to this galactic sector."

So another one. Even if they defeated Mosrimor, the Commander now knew that there was another Sovereign waiting for them - one that was almost certainly more powerful and advanced.

"Then," the Commander said. "I suppose we know what we will soon face."

"Yes," Iosif's voice was quiet. "I wish we had some better news."

"If the Leviathan has not found this world, then it is likely that he has advanced in a different direction. With your Sovereign patron, and with time, not all is lost," Hungers said. "The Sephyr are scattered - but they are not lost forever. Yet we cannot be the ones to lead the war against this scourge."

He turned to the Commander. "It must be yours. And so my charge is clear."

The suit turned fully to face the Chronicler. "Sovereign of War, pledge my people your protection against this enemy. If you stand against this evil, then all the Amalgam Crowns will fall under your banner."

He turned to the Commander. "Leader of XCOM. Pledge my people an alliance in this struggle. Pledge us a world on which we can build our fleets to rally with yours. We know the truth of this cycle. Stand divided, we shall fall. Stand united, we rise. No more, no less."

"A world?" the Commander said. "You know of one?"

A small slap opened, and a blue-tinted hologram projected one that was very familiar. "A world that I initially identified upon my arrival to this system. One that is ideal for development, whose materials, size, and composition can become an engine of Sephyr engineering. You call it Mars."

The Sephyr machine did not have an insignificant request. Mars. Technically speaking, the Commander didn't know if there were any feasible plans for Mars, since it was far from habitable. However, pledging it to an alien species they'd just met was probably not the wisest approach.

But one he wouldn't rule out yet.

The Commander faced Hungers the Zealot. "I cannot speak for T'Leth - but our interests, goals, and enemies align. Stand with us against the threat we face, and I will ensure your people are provided for, and given what is necessary to restore them."

"That is sufficient," Hungers nodded. "There is one more matter. The tour of duty of this body has reached its limits. It is an undead thing, a flicker of what it once was. I have awakened, and it is time to pass the mantle to another. Should you agree to it, another Human may serve in this role."

"What does that entail?" Iosif was the one who asked the question.

"Transcendence," Hungers the Zealot answered. "I am warform. Your biomechanics are built for life. You can reproduce. You experience emotions. Fear. Your bones are simple to make, your cells, your eyes. Animal things for an animal creature. This machine is built for war. It is war incarnate. A living weapon. A thing built for nothing else."

"That is what whoever takes this mantle becomes," Hungers said. "A war organism perfected. The next of the Amalgam Knights."

"I see." Iosif glanced at the Commander.

"If someone is willing, I will not oppose it," the Commander said. "But that will not be today. There is already much to think about for everyone else."

Hungers inclined his head. "So be it. We will wait - and speak, should it be demanded."

T'Leth spoke again.

WARRIOR OF THE SEPHYR.

HOW MANY OF YOUR PEOPLE WOULD YOU SACRIFICE TO KILL THE LEVIATHAN?

HOW MANY OF THE LEVIATHAN'S PAWNS WOULD YOU DESTROY FOR VICTORY?

"Too many," the creature that was the Warform replied.

YOUR FLEETS MATTER NOT TO ME.

BRING YOUR PEOPLE.

FIGHT. DO NOT.

SO LONG AS THEY ARE UNDER MY DOMINION. THEY ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION.

"This one is honored by the care of this Sovereign, but his people are not beggars," Hungers answered.

THEN DO NOT BEG.

FIGHT IN THE WAR YOU HAVE AWOKEN TO.

BLOODY YOUR WEAPONS ON THE THRALLS OF ANOTHER SOVEREIGN TYRANT.

I NEED NO SERVANTS. I REQUIRE NO TRIBUTE. I DEMAND NO PRAYERS.

HONOR YOUR PLEDGES.

RALLY YOUR FLEETS. RAISE YOUR ARMIES.

MARCH, WARRIOR.

KEEP YOUR HEAD HIGH AS YOU BRING WAR.

The oppressive presence left the room. The Chronicler's body seemed to deflate, and he made his way to a chair and sat down. The Chronicler looked his age at that moment, pale, gaunt, and skin slick with sweat.

Zhang passed him a bottle of water.

Thus there was a deal struck - as much as one could be right now. The Commander knew he was going to have to come up with a very good reason for giving an alien species Mars. ADVENT was going to be very skeptical of the proposal, and not without reason.

Though if the Sephyr could bring or build Humanity a true fleet, that could be payment enough.

Something he'd have to work out later once he had some more information.

"I think that was a productive conversation," the Commander said. "We'll need to have some discussions on our own. Hungers, what accommodations do you need in the meantime?"

"A small place, where I can connect and absorb the knowledge I am lacking. The war your people find themselves in, the enemies they face - and the Sovereign who challenges," he answered. "I require no food, drink, or sleep. Comforts are of no concern."

"Then we'll find something soon," the Commander said, remembering one final courtesy to do. "And…welcome to XCOM."

Zhang snorted softly, and the suit made a noise almost like a chuckle. "I accept your welcome, Commander. I am certain we will speak more soon."

---

Vitakar

October 2017 – Evening

Below an outcropping was a small supply base. Volk had become very familiar with the local environment of Vitakar, and the locations and settlements that resided within it. It was as close to a rural region as existed on the planet, though simultaneously was not deprived of many of the trappings of more settled and industrialized regions.

Particularly as it concerned logistics – and militarization.

From a healthy period of observation, here were a few things that he was able to surmise from the predicament they were both in now. Both the practical objectives they needed to do, and the more intangible elements that were why they had to do it in the first place at all.

The first was that nothing that happened around him was an accident. Gabriel was almost provocatively unsubtle over what he could do, which as Volk could best surmise, was witchcraft. He had no incentive or desire to try and figure out logically what he was, or how he worked.

It was a bizarre kind of supernaturality that was devoid of the grandeur or flare expected from that kind of power. Gabriel either knew everything that was going to happen, or was able to influence it somehow. Potentially both. Likely both.

It was bad, because he was effectively helpless to do anything to break free or out of whatever role he had in Gabriel's web. However, on the opposite side, Gabriel had demonstrated that he would use his power to assist him – at least to a certain point.

Volk found it safe to assume that he had the tools and solutions in a reasonable range, even if none presented themselves right away. Gabriel was not going to let him wander around pointlessly forever. There was the answer to what seemed to be an impossible task, and given that he was overlooking the only supply outpost that went into orbit, he had settled on this being the solution.

Gabriel hadn't come to correct him, so he would act on that path. Worst case scenario was that he was wrong, and his journey came to an abrupt end.

The supply outpost was largely automated, with transports arriving and departing in regular intervals. The ships would arrive, dock, and be unloaded and loaded by other automated drones, all of which were supervised by technicians and engineers who didn't seem to do much unless something broke.

The good news was that it did appear that the vessels had room for people to actually be on board them. The bad news was that it was going to require pressurized suits, as well as avoiding the technicians on site, and the other security. Two Humans were going to stand out, so they had to be careful, and have luck on their side.

For better or worse, luck always seemed to favor them.

Here's hoping it hadn't run out.

He and Elena snuck down to the outpost, avoiding the security cameras that he'd scouted out beforehand, and making their way to the technician closet which would hopefully have the suits. Breaking through the simple fence, they swiftly moved towards the closet, keeping an eye out for anyone else.

Once they reached the door, they cautiously opened it, and were greeted by a surprising sight.

There was a technician inside, but he was definitely out of it. The Vitakarian was practically splayed over the chair, reminding Volk of someone who'd gotten utterly hammered the night before. On the desk were several wrappers and a…

He resisted a sigh when he saw the prominent Hershey logo. It seemed just a bit too comical that they'd found the one outpost that had a chocolate-addicted technician who'd apparently overdosed on chocolate and fallen unconscious. Elena's lips quirked at the sight, but she didn't say anything.

Neither of them were going to complain though, and they weren't out of danger yet. Luckily they quickly found the suits, both of which fit mostly well, donning them quickly and ensuring they worked.

Now they had to actually board the transport before it left.

Once suited up, Volk searched the knocked-out technician and took several badges. He didn't know if those would be needed to access or not, but he wasn't going to take any chances. With the badges and suits, it was time for the second part of their tenuous plan – though they still needed to be quiet.

The suits covered their faces, but Volk didn't think that would deter suspicion. Both of them were far too short to be normal Vitakarians, and while they could maybe pass themselves as Dath'Haram…he hadn't seen any Dath'Haram around. Not to mention that neither of them spoke Ethereal Script or any other Vitakarian language, not even a few words.

It was another reason they were doing this at night. Less chance of interruption, discovery, or capture.

The next transport finally arrived, and he and Elena quickly snuck around to find the entry point while the transport was being unloaded. Volk sincerely hoped that it didn't require a passcode to enter – but fortunately he put one of the badges to the opening hatch scanner, and it clicked open. He entered quickly, Elena behind him.

Once Volk closed the hatch behind him, he surveyed what they'd entered into. It wasn't a traditional bridge, but did seem to display a lot of information – or almost certainly would have if Volk had been able to read Ethereal Script.

Hmm. I hope this will work.

It did seem that they had everything needed to pilot the transport, including direct control if necessary. Because the transport was automated, he sincerely hoped that this was solely for emergencies, and he didn't rate his ability to actually pilot highly.

He supposed it was good to have that option.

Both of them settled in as the drones finished loading the transport.

Volk had no idea where they were actually going, and could only hope that this was the right decision. Either he was going to somehow end up on the Temple Ship against all odds – or both of them were going to suffer some likely rapid death or starvation.

And that was if everything went perfectly. If they even got to the Temple Ship…

Well, he had no idea what would happen next.

Only that if the Overmind was actually there by some miracle, he was almost certainly not going to be happy to see them. That, though, was the least of their worries right now. There was a rumble as the transport began flying, and taking them to their destination.

One way or another, they'd know if they were on the right track soon enough.

---

The Pentagon, Washington D.C. – United States of America

Mid-October 2017 – Morning

There were many conversations to be had, meetings to hold, and discussions to facilitate following the removal of Christiaens from the position of Commander of the ADVENT Military. Ones that needed to happen quickly following the transfer of leadership. It was a controlled process, but no transition was perfect.

Saudia was quite aware that there were going to be consequences to her decision, and in such a scenario she needed to know the fallout, the perceptions, and adapt accordingly. The choice had almost certainly made her enemies – or at minimum shifted the perceptions of people who hadn't already been inclined to support her.

In the military, that was more of a danger than elsewhere. The men with guns were always more relevant when it came to politics. There was little that she liked about most communists, but she had always liked one quote from Mao Zedong.

Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.

Simplistic, reductive, and lacking certain other manifestations of power – but it was for the most part a very true statement. Thus it was critical for any civilian leader to ensure that the military was subordinate to the civil institutions, or otherwise integrated for one's own use.

This hadn't been an issue within ADVENT, and Saudia didn't expect it to become dangerous to that degree, but she did not believe in taking chances. It always began with seeds, and the last thing she wanted was the military starting to employ political pressure in ways they had been dissuaded from.

Christiaens had been very good at keeping them focused and in line. Her loss was going to result in changes to how they conducted themselves, it would be an inevitability. It was one reason she had scheduled to meet with the Acting Commander, Wayne Kidon as soon as possible.

She wasn't certain what his own view on the decision was, but she did know that he was as close to apolitical as one could be when it came to military politics. He was trustworthy enough to give her the real situation without embellishment.

That was her expectation.

Kidon had prepared for her in one of the many briefing rooms in the Pentagon, where she assumed he'd been living out of since Metacomet had started. However, they weren't going to discuss the war today, there would be other conversations on that topic.

Today was something that she'd framed to Kidon as more informal – as much as military officers didn't tend to conform to that expectation. However, it set the tone of what she expected from him. Insight. Honesty. Off the record, so to speak.

The gulf between superior and subordinate remained stark, which she appreciated to a degree, though could just as easily be a frustration. And at this level, officers tended to exercise the perceived gap strategically. They knew what was wanted, but had a choice in how to approach it.

Today she'd learn much more about who Wayne Kidon really was.

Kidon presented her with a sharp salute. "Good morning, Chancellor."

"Good morning, and at ease," she answered, taking a seat at the briefing table, which he mirrored. He wasn't betraying anything he was feeling, and seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move and drive the conversation. "We have some things to discuss, Acting Commander."

He smiled slightly. "That doesn't narrow it down, Chancellor, but I can wager a guess what you mean."

"I'm sure," she said neutrally. "How are you transitioning to your position?"

"Well enough," he answered non-committally. "I worked closely with Christiaens, and have become familiar with what this role demands over the past months. My colleagues have been nothing but supportive, along with Christiaens herself. There will be minimal interruption to the war effort, Chancellor. I'm confident on that front."

She didn't think he had reason to exaggerate. Provided everything was done as planned, any transition should proceed with minimal interruptions. "Good," Saudia said. "I expected nothing less from yourself and others."

"I'm glad we meet the standards," Kidon said appreciatively. He paused for a moment, before continuing. "But you're not here to just share your congratulations. What do you need from me, Chancellor, if not a briefing?"

He clearly suspected a certain answer, but also didn't want to make assumptions. The first move he was deferring to her. He was acting like he was in unfamiliar territory, where he didn't want to take risks – yet. It was an understandable precaution – provided it didn't continue when she laid out explicitly what she wanted.

"I want your honesty," Saudia said, resting one metal forearm on the table. "I'm aware that the removal of Christiaens was not universally supported among military leadership. I want to know the extent of this reaction. I don't want names, I want sentiments, and your own opinion, if you're inclined to share."

Kidon's expression didn't waver, though now seemed more artificially worn. He laced his fingers together, resting them on the table. "Never one with easy questions, Chancellor," there wasn't much humor in Kidon's voice. "Nonetheless, I'm happy to answer."

He cleared his throat. "I would be remiss if I didn't say that the sentiments are not completely around the demotion of Christiaens. That specific decision has a spectrum of opinions, but it is also tied to the handling and consequences of Operation Scipio itself."

Saudia nodded. "Concerning the scope or consequences?"

"Both, to be transparent," Kidon said. "This isn't a conversation on the Scipio investigation per-se, but it has certainly shaped how some decisions have been viewed. Concerning Christiaens' removal…"

He trailed off briefly, considering his words. "There is not a 'universal' opinion among leadership. Based on the people I've spoken to, and what I've heard, everyone falls into several mutually exclusive camps."

He counted them off his fingers. "One that agrees with your decision, one that does not, but understands it, and one who believes you made a mistake that potentially threatens the war effort."

The camps roughly fell along what she'd expected, and very likely lined up with how they viewed the Scipio investigation as a whole. Supporters, neutrals, and skeptics. Nothing too surprising yet. "Elaborate on each of them."

The Acting Commander nodded. "On the latter camp, this sentiment stems from concerns that Scipio spooked Geneva, and it's going to lead to more difficulties prosecuting the war," Kidon said. "This isn't a particularly new concern, and I believe most were expecting there would be punishments for Scipio. The scope of the investigation, and the arrests or dismissals of members of high command was beyond expectations."

"So their views are shaped more by Scipio then Christiaens," Saudia judged.

"There are more than several officers who are slated to be executed or sent to the Experimentation Labs for what they oversaw or authorized," Kidon said. "From Lieutenants to Colonels. The officer corps of multiple Legions was decimated."

He clicked his tongue. "Christiaens in this context is viewed as a lynchpin of what they see as a particularly…overzealous Oversight Division conducting an inquisition. Dismissing Christiaens so quickly and publicly demonstrated your tacit support for that method of investigation, and harsh punishment. Concerns rose following that…revelation. If Christiaens, whose connection was by limited association was at risk, anyone lower…you can understand the logic."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "They are concerned they could be held to account?"

"Yes. In theory, they agree with the principle of consequences for misconduct," Kidon said in a tone that suggested a forced neutrality – relaying a point he clearly did not agree with. "However, they strongly disagree over what those consequences should be, and what constitutes 'misconduct.' They see this as being driven by politics, which leads into the concern that the direction of the war itself is threatened by people who are not actively serving."

"They are afraid of interference." She surmised.

"From you, or the Congress," Kidon confirmed. "Many of their concerns are primarily centered around the fear that politics is going to start dictating military policy – particularly on what is and is not permissible. Their other concern is that they think this opens up cans of worms that should remain closed."

He paused. "In theory, this set the legal precedent for any operation conducted by ADVENT to be investigated. It isn't an unfounded concern, but I do not expect it to be exploited by opportunists. Scipio was unique in ADVENT. Not to say that there haven't been other instances of misconduct, but thankfully nothing of equivalent scale."

Saudia shifted in her seat, thinking. The point of legal precedence was, admittedly, not one she'd thought much about prior to it. It was ultimately irrelevant, but she did see this point being raised. Not unreasonable, but also like Kidon said, one that was unlikely to be relevant.

"They understand that the Congress had nothing to do with this?" She asked.

"They are concerned that Congress will see it as a green light to start meddling or opening a series of time-wasting investigations into rumors of misconduct," Kidon said. "Their ability to do so is, of course, limited, but Congress can drive perceptions. This also extends to the Executive, where you have demonstrated your ability and willingness to intervene when deemed necessary."

"I see," Saudia mused. "Continue."

One of Kidon's fingers absentmindedly tapped the table. "For those who support your choice, there isn't much to say. For a multitude of reasons, they either agree with, don't care what happened, or, in some rare cases, think Christiaens got off too lightly."

Saudia raised an eyebrow, confused by the last point. "I wouldn't say that."

"We both agree, but I am relaying sentiments," Kidon said. "These mostly stem from the stance that Christiaens should have at minimum been dismissed from the military entirely, instead of merely demoted to her previous position. It's limited, and contained, but it does exist, and I will note is the view of civilian watchdog and activist groups."

Saudia snorted. "Such people only want blood, not justice. If there had been a reason for such a punishment, Watkins would have recommended that."

"Yes, there is some irony in the fact that the leader of the investigation, who successfully won the largest military misconduct investigation in Human history, didn't go far enough," Kidon chuckled darkly. "I suspect there is some opportunism among this group, but I'm not cynical enough to paint the entire camp that way."

She nodded. "And the final group?"

"Equally not as much to say," Kidon said. "Christiaens did herself no favors by handling Scipio in a way that reflected poorly on her, everyone associated with the cursed operation, and the entire military. It was as much a consequence of her own choices, as well as factors out of her control."

Saudia appraised him closely. There was still the feigned neutrality, but Kidon was being more careful with his words here, so as to not give an idea of favorability. Which was a clue in and of itself. "Might I guess you fall into this camp?"

Kidon paused, briefly seeming surprised, and continued in a very deliberate voice. "Laura is someone I consider a friend, and someone I deeply respect as a person and a leader. I am not happy about what happened, nor do I think that removing her right now was advisable, but I don't believe you had a choice in the matter."

He waited a couple of seconds, appearing to gauge her reaction. "Christiaens had several qualities that will be difficult to replace, and I am somewhat concerned about how much of her removal was driven by shifting factions in the Congress, and not by policy. I wouldn't characterize Oversight as 'overzealous' like some of my colleagues, but it cannot be denied that they seemed to want to make a point. Am I correct in assuming Watkins recommended her removal?"

Saudia paused for a moment and considered. Honesty for honesty, after all. "He did. He made a strong case for it."

Kidon didn't sound surprised. "One that Laura did not overcome, I assume."

"Mm," Saudia leaned back in her chair, considering her answer. "I didn't want to remove her. I've worked closely with her since ADVENT was founded. But she did not seem to understand the problem, or take enough accountability to fix it. I can work with people who make mistakes. I can't work with people who actively refuse to accept that consequences and change need to happen."

"I'm not surprised," Kidon exhaled after a moment. "Laura is stubborn when she thinks she didn't make a mistake, and doesn't throw the baby out with the bathwater so to speak. Especially when she thinks something she cares deeply about – something she helped build – is threatened. No doubt she saw Watkins coming with the hatchet and chose to make him use it."

"Perhaps." Saudia said. "It didn't change what needed to be done."

"No, and I don't fault you for the decision," Kidon said. "Timing aside, you were right to say that no one person is free of fault or consequence by virtue of their position alone. Though it's not going to be the same, and I would be surprised if anyone will be able to truly replace her."

"Why do you say that?" Saudia asked.

"Laura had a very unique skillset with significant experience. No one knew the nuances of how to work with and manage dozens of foreign militaries like her," Kidon said. "Van Doorn might have managed it, but he's dead. She was the most successful NATO General Secretary in decades, who had connections to almost every military that existed."

He paused thoughtfully. "You can find people who used to work in Pentagram or NATO who would potentially be able to integrate with national militaries they are familiar with, but I'd almost advise against that."

"Explain."

"People like what's familiar," Kidon answered. "Biases are real and subtle, and frankly, interfacing with foreign militaries can be intimidating if you're unfamiliar with them. Culture, politics, and language – shared goals only go so far, and Humans are inclined to take a path of least resistance."

He grimaced. "Not to mention there are still people who look down on the poorer and weaker nations. I can tell you very few people care about the opinion of a Venezuelan or Armenian general no matter how accomplished they are – especially if you compared them to the Russians, Chinese, or Americans."

He hesitated, then continued. "I've seen it manifest in various, subtle ways. Generals of major nations or mature professional militaries tend to have an…expectation that their ideas are the best, and will counter or override suggestions from anyone else. Nor will they seek out opinions from non-traditional allies. You're unfortunately unlikely to see a French General asking an Algerian General their opinion, to take an extreme example."

That was not something she was surprised by, and why she'd made it a priority to elevate and meet each Legion budget no matter the origin. Equality did not come overnight, and while equipment and support wouldn't turn a third-rate force into a first-rate, it started somewhere. It was not enough of a problem to actively hurt operations – at least for now.

Though that was something that only addressed one part of the problem. The material aspect was relatively simple to resolve, but changing habits, attitudes, perceptions, and dynamics were harder.

And that was a legitimate strategic concern with Laura no longer in that position.

Saudia rubbed her chin. "Your insights are notable."

"As I said, I worked closely with Christiaens. I saw how she worked, and she talked a lot about how to get all of these nations to work together through stereotypes and language barriers," he smiled faintly. "No small amount of frustration as well. Generals have egos, as you know, and she knew how to manage them. Christiaens succeeded as well as she did because she was as much a politician as a general. And the military has politics of its own, though I don't need to tell you that."

She gave a thin smile in response. "No, you certainly do not."

"All that to say," Kidon continued. "That while I'm certain Christiaens will be replaced with someone who meets all of the qualifications on paper, that will not necessarily translate to an ADVENT military which is equivalent in unity. You wanted honesty, and that's my impression following over a year of service in the ADVENT Army. Hence why I don't think removing her was correct. I don't know who will be able to hold it together as well as her."

He had a point, but that wasn't something that she necessarily considered relevant. Laura had demonstrated insufficient resolve and willingness to act when needed, and no matter how skilled she was in other things, that couldn't last leading the military.

Kidon was worried about the aftereffects, but she was less concerned on that front. Nonetheless, she elected to be diplomatic and move to the second part of why she wanted to speak. "That is a valid concern. I will take what you've said into account in selecting her successor. Do you have anyone that you'd recommend?"

"Yes." He answered immediately.

"That was fast."

"I like being prepared, Chancellor," Kidon said. "It is a topic that all of us are thinking of, and I thought it would be asked at some point."

She nodded. "Continue."

"There are several people I believe you should consider," Kidon said. "Kristinia Pretkelyte is one. A NATO veteran, well-respected. She's Lithuanian, so less national arrogance compared to someone from a former superpower, and while this isn't necessarily as applicable, good at doing a lot with a little."

Saudia could wager several guesses as to what that meant. "Baltic military limitations?"

Kidon smiled. "Indeed. Lithuania was hardly a military powerhouse, so she had to figure out how to make the engine run as smoothly as possible. That applied from procurement to distribution. Lithuania was often described as 'lean' among the NATO states, slim, small, and could pack a punch. That they also held exercises with Poland and their Baltic neighbors was a bonus."

"A logistics background?" Saudia asked. "I'm surprised you didn't lead with that."

"Because she doesn't really have a logistics background, but she is certainly more oriented towards that mindset," he said. "She doesn't tolerate waste, nor acquire what she doesn't need. Lithuania has been the only Legion that's actively passed along surplus equipment and resources that they didn't need."

The military was an institution that was prone to significant waste, and someone at the top who would actively make it a priority to combat was an interesting proposition. While her ability to interface with other leaders was important, there were secondary aspects that were very much worth considering. "I suspect there is a caveat."

Kidon nodded. "Only one I think is notable. While I've been impressed by her ability to organize and lead several Eastern Europe and Baltic-based interoperability initiatives and cross-national exercises, the scope of the ADVENT military is magnitudes larger. Her own contributions to NATO were limited, since she was more interested in developing regional connections, than international."

"Where is she currently stationed?" Saudia asked.

"In Europe, supporting Tryzub," Kidon answered. "She has worked with the Ukrainians before, and knows very well how they operate, as well as the territory of the country itself. The Lithuanian Legion has been involved in the fighting in Ukraine."

"Thank you," Saudia said. "Who is your second recommendation?"

"In-Suk Paek," Kidon said. "North Korean. One of the smartest people I've met, man's a computer, and enough knowledge to rival actual military scholars. He's actually not an unknown in military circles, as he, with the approval of Gwan, went to train and learn in east and western military academies."

Kidon counted them off his fingers. "United States, China, Russia, France, even Ethiopia of all places. Records show that he excelled in the environment, and returned to North Korea with ideas. Gwan put him in charge of the modernization of the North Korean military, something that was considered a significant success."

That was a very impressive accomplishment. Someone like that who'd done it on a smaller scale likely had many lessons from the experience. "He appears to be a competent administrator, and able to complete a job."

"Aye, though he had quite a few advantages," Kidon said. "Gwan supposedly gave him extensive authorities to get it done, and anyone who got in his way was…well, gone. When one has the resources and leverage of a state, with a mission to complete, many things can be done. That Gwan's expectations were high likely was another incentive."

Saudia nodded. "With that said, someone familiar with working with a functioning state is an advantage."

"Presuming it can be leveraged appropriately," Kidon said. "ADVENT is not North Korea, and the dynamics are different. Paek is a particular strain of apolitical. Not 'neutral' apolitical, he doesn't engage with politics, military or otherwise whatsoever."

A kind of person she appreciated, but those kinds of people came with often predictable downsides. "I assume he doesn't have many friends."

"Not especially, charisma isn't his strong suit," Kidon admitted. "However, he has an iron will. Things would get done, and sometimes that's what you'd need. I expect he'd be one of those who manages with innate authority, not charm. It'd be an abrasive style, and I do not think he would be popular – but I promise that he wouldn't hesitate to act on your recommendations."

Or he would be stubborn if he disagreed with what she said, or the 'necessary' actions to take. She mused that people like him were a double-edged sword – he could be extremely useful, and well-suited for the leadership role. On the other hand, the downsides were acute, and the risks were very real.

"Anything else of note for him?" She asked.

"He's been very involved on the Korean front, particularly in synchronizing the North and South Korean Legions," Kidon said. "It's been a matter of necessity, but which has been fairly successful. There is some irony in that he's apparently been employing plans and strategies against Collective-held Korea that were originally geared towards the South specifically."

Saudia cracked a smile. "Ironic indeed. An interesting candidate. You have one more recommendation?"

"Yes, only one," he finished. "Zeytîn Ghudar, formerly 2nd Arabian Legion, and currently General of the 1st Kurdish Legion with the formation of Kurdistan," he took a moment to clear his throat. "She received several commendations and accolades during the recent Middle Eastern Operations, particularly in Turkey. She also had an instrumental role in keeping her Legion together during the Night Stand."

"I assume there's a reason she has your recommendation," Saudia said. "Operations alone don't qualify one for this role."

"Her relative obscurity is a drawback, but I wouldn't understate her successes – and the ability to gain the respect and authority over soldiers of different nationalities, many of which were in conflict before ADVENT," he said. "She's a skilled mediator, likes to get in the weeds with her soldiers, and is a proactive interlocutor with her colleagues."

Saudia thought for a moment - it was not necessarily regular behavior from a General at that high level. If she was a Kurd, that might be part of it. "What is her background prior to ADVENT?"

"Holding a leadership role in a prominent Kurdish militia," he answered. "And involved in coordination with other Kurdish militias, fighting both Turkish, Black Flags, and criminal groups. She was one of the unofficial leaders, and had connections to several other Muslim groups, particularly within Iran."

"An interesting connection," Saudia frowned. "I'm surprised she rose that high pre-ADVENT."

"Kurds are strange in that regard, as I understand," Kidon said. "There isn't a stigma around women taking up military roles. I would say that Kurdish Muslims are among the more 'liberal' of the Muslim sects, but I've been told that their interpretation is, in their perspective, very strict concerning the roles of men and women in the military. It's unusual for a woman to rise as high as her, but certainly not impossible."

"She's Muslim?"

"She's a Kurd, most of them are," Kidon said dryly. "All of this was why General Avel elevated her when he was constituting the Arabian Legions. Muslim, able to mobilize the various ethnic and religious groups, and an expert understanding of the regional nuances. It is a skill, and one she could apply on a grander scale."

"How much interaction has she had with colleagues outside the Middle East?" Saudia asked.

"Nothing can match years of relationships, but she's been integrating herself well," Kidon said. "She's regularly at global briefings, drives conversations, asks questions, and has made a point to cultivate relationships with her peers. I think she is also someone who can grow into the role."

He clicked his tongue, as if remembering something else. "If it matters, she will likely take a more relaxed approach towards religious iconography and accommodations. She's been lax on it when she was in command, which has not necessarily earned goodwill from Oversight, but it's not important or egregious enough to devote resources to addressing."

That was something that Saudia knew could be handled if it became an issue, and that was not a high priority. These were good recommendations all the same, which she'd need to consider the merits of. She was also not ignorant of the fact that there was an elephant in the room, which she was curious to see his reaction to.

"I'm curious. Would you want the position?" Saudia asked. "You worked closest with Christiaens, appear to understand the needs of the role, and don't strike me as politically duplicitous."

She suspected that he did want it, but was also aware that asking it might backfire on him. So instead he was playing it by ear, and seeing if there was an opportunity. This was bait he'd either snap onto, or ignore depending on his ultimate ambitions.

"That is your prerogative, Chancellor," Kidon said tactfully after a pregnant pause. "If you select me to maintain the position, it would be an honor. But I won't campaign for this position, and I consider myself a caretaker right now. The war comes before career."

"Good answer," Saudia smiled. That told her enough. "Thank you for your time, Acting Commander. I have a lot to think about."

She stood, and the Acting Commander echoed her motion, inclining his head. "Anytime, Chancellor. I hope the selection process is smooth. No matter how we feel about the loss of Christiaens, all of us hope that this will lead to a resolution we can all be happy with. And I'm certain Christiaens will work with whoever you select to improve the transition."

"Thank you," Saudia said. "We will speak more about this later."

He saluted. "Of course. Until later, Chancellor."

---

Office of the Civil Commander, Abuja – Nigeria

Early November 2017 – Morning

"What did you do?" Betos hissed to the seated Kaan.

The Civil Commander didn't respond immediately, no doubt trying to decide how to answer – and being very unbothered during the process. Betos couldn't tell if he was intentionally withholding his reaction, or trying to react and not show surprise.

Kaan's lips twitched, seeming to be torn between a smile, and the façade of seriousness. He settled on the latter, his tone intentionally controlled – though lacking any hint of surprise or confusion. "Pardon me, Grand Marshal?"

This sudden intrusion into his office had been very unceremonious and unplanned, but given what she'd just learned, he was lucky that all she was going to do was yell at him – at least for now. And she was furious right now. It was a kind of flagrant disrespect that she could only assume was intended.

She knew that he had a much closer working relationship to the Collective – but it was one thing to work closer to them, and another to flaunt his influence and immunity to the degree he had.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't know that there was going to be an attack against the ADVENT fleet," she growled. "One that utilized a creature from Paradise Station." She made sure to emphasize the last words, and found it impossible to retain herself anymore. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Someone just outside the door to Kaan's office walked nearby, paused at the shout and peered nervously in. With a motion Betos directed the woman to shut the door, glaring at Kaan who remained just as impassively controlled.

"What I know," Kaan finally said. "Is that there was a successful attack carried out against the ADVENT fleet to our west, which I recall was responsible for us being pushed out of Equatorial Guinea, and supporting ADVENT campaigns into West Africa."

He stood, brushing off an invisible speck of dust. "Additionally, you were not aware of this military action. If you did not know, then I'm unsure why you think I would. Contrary to what you think, Keeper does not share everything with me. Given the details implied, I would say this was a unilateral action by the Collective – one which we benefit by."

It was difficult – very difficult – to tell if he was lying or not. Or more importantly, what he was lying about. He was unlikely to be lying about the Collective carrying this out unilaterally – but she suspected he'd known this was a possibility.

She stared at him intensely, her voice much lower. "Do you have any idea what that thing is?"

"No, Betos, I don't," he said, the mask slipping, and a focused intensity in his own response. "And I intend to keep it that way. Trust me, Grand Marshal, I don't see any point in looking closely at gifts that have befallen us. Nor drawing unnecessary attention to them."

"Are you ready to condemn this?" She demanded.

Kaan cocked his head. "Condemn what?"

"When ADVENT comes to the same result both of us are at," she said. "If I remember, the Battlemaster promised that anything from the station would be banned. If you didn't know, and I certainly didn't know, that needs to be condemned by us. ADVENT has enough ammo-"

"Grand Marshal, do you sincerely think that would affect anything whatsoever?" Kaan's voice was just slightly exasperated. "By association any accusation of the Collective extends to us. They won't air our denials, and no one will believe them. A pointless waste of time and energy."

"But the effort should still be put in," Betos insisted. "For the people that believe in us, they should know we aren't involved in it. Especially in this case, because it would be very easy for us to be the ones stuck with the blame if the Battlemaster comes."

"For better or worse, the Battlemaster won't be focused on us," Kaan said. "And again, I have yet to hear ADVENT make a formal accusation. And they will not, because they only have insinuations. If they present something incontrovertible, then we adapt as needed. Until then – we let the Collective manage their internal decisions."

Betos was silent for a moment. "But both of us know."

His eyes met hers. "And no one else does."

Her mouth opened to answer, then closed. It didn't matter what she said, it wouldn't change his position. His red lines were not hers, and until there was something accused…it would remain that way. That they knew the reality of what had happened didn't matter.

She should be glad of the news. That the ADVENT fleet parked nearby had taken damage should have been the first positive sign in a while. For now, they didn't have to worry about it. Kaan was more than happy to accept the outcome and move forward. The methods didn't bother him.

She couldn't forget though.

The images from Beijing, and the entire affair, were seared into her mind. She couldn't forget, and no rational Human could either. Certainly not ADVENT. Definitely not her. ADVENT was the enemy, but that was something she didn't wish on anyone. She could only hope they'd been killed, and not something…worse.

"Are we done, Betos?" Kaan finally asked.

Her lips pursed. "I suppose we are."

He nodded, sitting back down. "Good. I'm sure that you have a lot of work to do in light of this new development. Keep me appraised, Grand Marshal."

She nodded wordlessly and left the office without any more antagonism, ignoring the eyes of the nearby aides who were nearby, and the rest of the breezeway that had heard her initial yell. She was focused more on what she should do.

If anything.

Kaan was right that it was likely, based on what she'd heard and read, that ADVENT would find it difficult to connect this to Paradise Station. If there had been something strong, they'd have been plastering it everywhere. Instead there was only news of an attack, with details being kept quiet.

But she still knew.

And she knew that it shouldn't have happened. It was wrong.

As she exited the building, and began the path towards her own office, she paused.

No, she did know what she could do.

What she had to.

She turned in a different direction, and began walking towards the main Collective Communication Outpost. There was nothing she could do to convince Kaan, or punish Keeper or whoever had been responsible for this decision. But there was someone who could, and she knew that he hated Paradise Station as much as she did.

Kaan and Keeper likely wanted this kept quiet.

Hopefully the Battlemaster would have a different response.

---

Unknown Location - Mosrimor-Controlled Space

Late October 2017

Patricia was - unfortunately - learning to accept that there were going to be times that Mosrimor would interrupt whatever they were doing. It didn't matter how important or trivial their current task was, when Mosrimor demanded their attention, they had to give it.

That was just how it was right now.

The Imperator had informed her that Regisora had requested them to meet on a world that Patricia had never heard of - and was so obscure that it didn't even seem to have a name according to Collective maps. Coordinates had been provided, and upon checking exactly where it was, she saw that it was well outside explored, let alone settled, Collective space.

Not somewhere she'd have expected to go - though she shouldn't be surprised that Mosrimor was doing things where nobody was watching.

Her oversight of a complete reorganization, integration, and centralization of the Collective was critical - but Mosrimor demanded attention, and at least for now he needed to be obeyed. So long as it wasn't too significant, they could manage without her for a few days. Patricia had delegated her existing tasks, and taken a small personal ship to meet the Imperator at the unknown world.

Only to be met with something was that not complete isolation.

The first thing that Patricia noticed was that the orbit of the world was being patrolled by swarms of drones. Hundreds of them according to her on-board instruments, ranging from small combat automatons, to larger satellites, and other heavy orbital weaponry that was aimed directly at the world below.

That was not what she had been expecting. This wasn't just a world of interest to Mosrimor - it was being treated as a threat; or at least held something justifying what amounted to siege weaponry pointed at it.

Patricia conducted a quick scan of the planet to see if there was anything unusual. It was a negative result. It appeared to be a humid, jungle world with several oceans. It wasn't particularly remarkable; not exactly pleasant from what she could see, but there was nothing that immediately justified this kind of security.

Quarantine. That was the correct word. This world was quarantined.

Why?

Her ship pinged with a beacon, and she also confirmed through her bond the Imperator was also on the world. She began descending towards the beacon, and more details of the planet emerged. She'd not been entirely correct in her earliest observations - the scans had been correct in the technical sense, but they belied the sheer devastation that she immediately saw.

This was not an untouched world.

The oceans were split and scattered from each other by chunks of landmass which she realized had once been entire continents. It seemed like entire continents, or sections of the continents had sunk into the ocean as though the world had been swept by a Biblical flood. It created an eerie, unnatural black-blue landscape occasionally broken up by chunks of jungled islands that she flew over.

She did not think that this was a natural phenomenon or event - but again she didn't know what could cause it.

As she drew closer, she became aware of something else.

Psionics.

Psionics in a form she'd never really experienced before. A thousand minute minds with animalistic instincts and reactions. It took her a moment to realize a very important detail - this planet had psionic lifeforms on it. Psionic wildlife. Something that was extraordinarily rare from what she understood.

It wasn't unheard of - there were some worlds that had weak psionic species, but never anything powerful enough, or in large enough numbers to sense from spacecraft. That implied one of two things.

These psionic species were dangerously powerful, or there were a lot of them.

She broke through the clouds, and into a rainstorm. Her lips pursed as she realized this was not going to be a pleasant hike. She reached a beacon, seeing a place that had been cleared out for her to land.

The clouds and shrouded sun painted the environment with a dreary dark blue as she disembarked, stepping into the forests with twisting branches and perpetually-dripping leaves. The drizzle of rain wasn't hard, but it was consistent. From the landing area, she saw that it had been artificially cleared out - likely by the Imperator's psionics.

The Imperator was waiting for her, along with Regisora. He acknowledged her through their bond, as Regisora turned to face her, speaking. "Welcome, Harbinger Trask."

Patricia glanced around the dreary environment. "What is this place?"

"The aftermath of a battle; the culmination of a long war. The end of a species; the destruction of a civilization," Regisora answered. "It was here that T'Leth faced a Sovereign One, nearly six million years ago, in direct combat. A battle during a cycle that most of the galaxy has forgotten about. This is one reason why."

That explained the misshapen landmass and submerged continents - a battle between two Sovereign Ones would produce such results. Now on the planet, Patricia could better sense the psionic aspects that had been blurred during her descent.

It wasn't that there were just powerful or numerous psionic wildlife here - it was both. Along the treeline, there was a gargantuan shadow looming. Psionic waves of pressure were pulsing as the great eyes of a titanic centipede-like creature fell upon them. It cast a dark silhouette in the misty forest that seemed to be as long as her ship.

Her hand instinctively raised in case it attacked, the psionic power called at the ready. She could sense its simple mind, one that was utterly alien. It was too powerful for what it should be. The Imperator's head was also turned towards the creature, though he did not outwardly react.

She sensed he was more curious than threatened. It was far too powerful to be natural.

"Do not provoke it," Regisora instructed. "It can sense you, just as you sense it. It knows we are dangerous, and will lurk unless it sees an opportunity. Remain vigilant, but restrained. Should blood be spilled, scavengers and apex predators alike will come to feast."

"Are these native species?" Patricia asked.

There was a long, hideous droning whine in the distance, one that reminded her of a whale, if one that was deeply distorted. A sound in a pitch and length that was likely dozens of kilometers away.

Regisora was silent for a moment. "They are now."

"There is little that is natural about this world," the Imperator noted. "The signs of tampering are clear. Perhaps experiments, perhaps mutations. Whatever befell this place resulted in what we see, hear, and sense."

He looked down at Regisora. "We are here. Show us why we were summoned."

"This is not a unique world," Regisora said. "There are others that have been discovered; worlds ravaged, sunken, and flooded. Filled with these exact same species, under these same environments. The only consistent fact is that T'Leth has personally fought on each one - and each one was once the bastion of a Sovereign One."

One hand indicated the forest. "These species are tailor-made. Each one contained designer-viruses within them that are harmless to the species, but ensure that conventional biological weapons are ineffective. This is T'Leth's doing. There is no question."

That surprised her. "I didn't realize T'Leth had a mastery of the biological sciences."

Regisora released a sound, almost like a chuckle. "He does not. This is trivial for a Sovereign. A mastery of the biological sciences would allow the cultivation and creation of life. This…this is not that. T'Leth cannot create life, but he can shape it. He can modify it."

"Even this," she turned towards the dark forest. "This certainly has flaws - but it is sufficient for his end goals. He does not need to be a master to take what nature - or another Sovereign - created, and alter it to his needs."

"This is not simply modification," the Imperator said, peering deep into the black forest where many kinds of creatures lay in wait, watching; waiting. "It is an adaptation. How many of these species have been found on other ravaged worlds? They cannot all be of this biosphere."

"Originally they likely were not. They have been changed so that this is their home," Regisora extended a lower hand towards a plant whose roots Patricia realized had been slowly extending to them. "We still do not have a full catalog of the flora and fauna of these worlds. Exploration missions are…hazardous."

The plant roots froze in place, before retreating from Regisora's telekinetic nudge. "Given the sophistication of the biosphere, there are likely hundreds to thousands of species of plant and animal. All deadly. All engaged in an ecosystem that is based on competition and violence."

The Imperator was silent for a moment. "This was not a jungle world originally, was it?"

"No," Regisora said, as the rain began coming down harder, and the trees rustled in the wind - or from whatever was within them. "It was not."

Another long aquatic whine sounded in the distance, and Patricia felt the alien, primitive mind of something far away locked onto her mind. From the brief brush she immediately sensed its aggravation at her; instinct that turned into a single-minded rage as it sought to hunt and eat.

It was a simple matter to reject the contact, but the fact it could do it at all was…

Patricia glanced at the Imperator. "Should we do something about that?"

"Not that one," Regisora said. "For now you are out of its reach."

Comforting.

The Imperator addressed Regisora. "Take us where you intend, or we depart. This is not a place for indecision."

"Then we depart," Regisora said. "There is an archive that has been found by Mosrimor's automatons, within a half-sunken city. The local wildlife returned once expunged by nuclear armaments. The water made the attack less effective. I suggest you keep this in mind. Anything large enough to transgress upon us is a threat to me and your Human. You are the only one here who has nothing to fear from anything."

The Imperator nodded. "Direct the way. Neither of you will come to harm."

Regisora began to lead them through the rainforest, in a direction that Patricia could not determine was correct because as far as she saw, everywhere looked the same. The environment seemed to react to them as if it was aware, seeming to shrink, retreat, and watch them as they continued.

It wasn't long before it began to attack them.

It was the insects that accosted them first. They reminded Patricia of wasps that were the size of small birds with barbed stingers. That wasn't the concerning part - it was the fact that each of them was surrounded by small swarms of gnat-like mosquitoes. She then understood that the wasps were psionically controlling the smaller insects like an insectoid drone swarm.

It would have been fascinating if they weren't so vicious.

Worse, all of the wasps were synchronizing with each other to bombard, assault, and sting them. She'd never been happier to have armor, and for every wasp that she incinerated there seemed to be two more. The Imperator finally paused, took a moment and altered his aura to telepathically kill anything that came within it.

It was a weak telepathic command that she and Regisora could protect against - but it worked against the insects, which fell in droves as they continued. The bugs seemed to figure out the extent of the lethal aura, and after a few miserable steps they finally stopped entirely - though didn't go away.

Instead the swarms hovered just outside the telepathic range, as if waiting for the moment to strike should it go down. It displayed a degree of sophistication that Patricia was somewhat disconcerted by.

"Their acidic venom," Regisora idly commented, also observing the hovering swarms. "Is capable of eating through standard steel and even alloy in large quantities. They are aggressively territorial, which has made surveillance drones useless."

"From the smaller ones?" Patricia asked.

"Yes," Regisora said. "Each is individually weak, yet in swarms their drops of acid eat through entire layers of alloys, and it takes but one wire to destroy a machine. The larger bugs use them to kill larger animals, from which they feast on the corpses. The Andromedons on taxonomic duty have called them venom-rays. They can fire high pressure venom from a distance."

"Can the acid be synthesized?" Patricia asked.

"The Andromedons are working on such a project now," Regisora said. "We shall see."

The next thing that accosted them on their journey was what Patricia could only describe as a particularly enraged gorilla. It was massive, had hands of four fingers, bulging muscles, matted black-green fur, and massive incisors.

It landed almost directly on top of them, and she barely anchored herself in place before she was rocked by a clumsy but powerful telekinetic throw from the creature.

The Imperator snapped out an arm and the gorilla-beast's neck and limbs snapped apart simultaneously, and with a flick of the wrist was thrown deep into the jungle where it landed with a crash.

"And now you have angered them," Regisora idly commented, though not surprised. Loud barks suddenly rang around them, before small boulders were hurled towards them with telekinetic force. Patricia lifted her hands, summoning a psionic barrier which easily stopped the projectiles.

A second of the creatures dropped down in another ambush - which this time the Imperator had prepared for. He caught the creature in mid-air - briefly appraising it. It screamed and thrust another hand forward, attempting to throw him off-balance with another telekinetic blast. The Imperator broke the skeleton of the second beast, and tossed it away.

"Continue forward," the Imperator said, addressing a question to Regisora. "We are near a dwelling, aren't we?"

"We are in their territory," Regisora answered as they continued. The Imperator caught and threw one large boulder back at the sender hard enough to crush its skull. "That is enough of a transgression."

"I have never encountered so dangerous a world," the Imperator noted. "No army could take and hold a world like this. There is nothing worth the expenditure of lives and resources. These creatures are primitive and unsophisticated - but powerful, and we have only seen a small number."

They were. Patricia estimated that if the Trask Level were to be applied, these creatures would be at least an Adept, if not a full psion. Beyond the unfriendly terrain, even vehicles wouldn't be able to contend with wildlife this dangerous if even the gnat-creatures could spew an acid that ate through alloys.

"The Andromedon assigned to maintain the quarantine has a theory on why that is, one I have come to agree with," Regisora siad. "This terraformation is designed to cover the tracks of whatever weapons were originally used on this world, along with the original occupants. You cannot recover this world, or study it. The species are too hostile to be weaponized, and too weak to be worthwhile weapons for another."

"Erasure, on a total scale," the Imperator said. "Denial of knowledge. Denial of lessons to any but the conqueror. Clever."

"Scorched earth," Patricia said.

"No," Regisora disputed. "That style of warfare leaves nothing behind. T'Leth does."

"What are these worlds called?" The Imperator wondered.

"Different names, by different species, and different Sovereigns," Regisora said, then paused for a moment. "But there is a common designation that most agree on. One befitting a planet that exists only to kill any who walk it. These are the Warmaster's Death Worlds."

They stepped into what could be considered a clearing - but it reminded Patricia more of a graveyard. It was a totally overrun remnant of something that Patricia had imagined was once a sprawling alien city. It was impossible to make out even what it might have looked like. All that was left were some beams of deeply rusted alloys, and pieces of a concrete-like substance.

Six million years ago this had stood? Patricia was honestly surprised there was anything left at all.

However, throughout the remnants of the city that stretched as far as she could see were also towering trees that had sac-like growths on them, and from the sacs, and perched on the branches, were new flying creatures that reminded her of pterodactyls or vultures. There were hundreds of them, many flying high above, but most of them perched and watching them.

And in the nearby water, there was something else lurking. Something massive, and unlike the creatures she'd sensed before, this one was significantly more attuned and powerful. Not intelligent, but it wasn't like the gorilla-beasts that had used telekinesis on instinct. This thing possessed some control.

Massive tentacles burst from the water near them, ones that were as tall as buildings, and an equally large body rose from the water - and Patricia realized it wasn't stopping. In moments the largest creature she'd ever seen hovered above them like some eldritch monster, keeping itself afloat with telekinesis.

It was a mixture of a squid and octopus; she thought she saw four eyes around its body. It was like a kraken come to life, only far more imposing than she could have expected it to be. Around many of its tentacles were wisps of psionic energy, and the air itself rippled from the telekinetic power it exuded.

Its mind was dense, blunt, and alien. It was no telepathic master - but its animal nature worked to its advantage.

The Imperator looked up at it, also appraising the creature. "A guardian of this place?"

"It is one of almost fifty documented so far in this particular region," Regisora said. "It has attempted to kill me, and in return I expended an underwater nuclear asset on it. Which it successfully evaded, though was driven off for a time. This is its nesting area, which contains the bunker-archive we originally found. Since its return, access has been… difficult."

The Imperator was unamused. "Another will need to take its place."

He lifted one hand and the creature was suddenly engulfed in the most intense psionic maelstrom that Patricia had ever witnessed. She could practically feel the corporal barrier between realspace and the Psionosphere be rippled apart as the Imperator manifested a psionic hurricane that ripped the entire creature apart.

There was a pained roar before a thick blue viscera fell on all of them, covering them in the creature's innards and gore. The Imperator lowered his hand and the psionic storm vanished. The flying creatures had all flown away during the ordeal once the Imperator had summoned the maelstrom, clearly scared off.

Amused, Regisora regarded the shrieks of the flying creatures as they flew back to feast on the carcass that was sinking in the water. "Perhaps you'd find this place a useful training ground?"

"Perhaps." The Imperator said. "The Battlemaster would enjoy a world like this. Were it not so lethal, I would consider it an ideal training ground for other, less capable individuals."

It did have some appeal in that respect, but Patricia felt that this place was just a bit too lethal to be useful to most. "The path is clear," Patricia said. "Where now?"

"The central bunker," Regisora pointed. "We will need to dive for several-"

The entire sea split into a corridor, the water mass held up with telekinetic ease. The Imperator had already started walking ahead of them, one arm raised. Regisora followed without a word, with Patricia close behind her.

She could sense the Imperator's disquiet through their bond. He had grown less amused by all of this, as the implications slowly clarified themselves. The kraken creatures made ocean travel impossible, much less settlement on coasts. If that was one of fifty in the region, then another would soon take its place.

And unlike the Imperator, not many others could summon a psionic hurricane so powerful to rip it to pieces.

All of the wildlife seemed intended to achieve one thing - to make sustaining settlements, and life itself, impossible. Every day would be a battle for survival. People could maybe live for a day, maybe a week here if they were skilled, lucky, or powerful enough. But indefinitely? You only needed to slip up once; make one mistake, and the planet would make you pay.

They soon reached the bunker complex, which Regisora opened with a motion of her hand. They stepped into what would have been an airlock as the door closed behind them. The Imperator let the telekinetic hold fall, and Patricia heard the water rushing back down.

"Whatever occurs, do not breathe in the spores," Regisora warned. "Even you, Viatorian."

Patricia reached down and put on her mask. The door opened, and they stepped into the scene of another massacre - but this one far more recent. The room they entered was filled with dead Mutons, and numerous destroyed robotics. There were white-grey specks in the air - the spores, Patricia assumed.

The corpses were a disgusting mess. Strange plants with white glass-like leaves had sprouted across their bodies, most prominently from their orifices. Ears, mouths, noses, places where there'd been open wounds had something growing out of them.

"Minor mask failures during the expedition exacerbated by the spores," Regisora explained. "They were dead in minutes. It has only been twenty four hours, and the spores have developed into maturity within them. The spores are caustic, they eat through filters and air-ways. The plant-form itself appears to be a hybrid."

"Of what?" Patricia asked.

"A fungus, a virus, a bacterium, and what I have been told is a flower," Regisora replied. "The Andromedon in charge designated the counter protocol regarding this to be total usage of incendiaries."

She snorted, noticing the gas tanks, some used, some not. "I don't think it's enough."

"This, like everything here, is a tool, a weapon," the Imperator noted. "One that would render life in any area impossible. Seeded deliberately in their remaining…" he paused briefly. "These spores, where can they survive?"

"In temperate environments," Regisora said. "They are dangerous, but exceptionally fragile. Even mild humidity, heat, or extremities cause them to wither and die."

"So they only endure in the places that may be preserved, to deny even the most fervent answers," the Imperator mused. "Total erasure."

"It is also genetically degraded," Regisora added. "This-" she gestured at a spore-infested corpse. "Is an inferior, dulled, genetically crippled version of the original organism. We found several genetic timers indicating this. This is the radioactive fallout equivalent of the original bio-weapon. Any counter designed for this, would be almost certainly useless against the original."

Patricia ran several scenarios in her head. If even some of these spores deployed over any battle, it would annihilate everything. Tens of thousands could be killed without any recourse, especially if this was the weakened version.

If T'Leth had the knowledge to create something like this…Mosrimor's paranoia was starting to seem more and more justified. "How do you fight something like this?"

Regisora paused momentarily. There was a long moment of silence. "You don't."

"I have seen this before," the Imperator said after a moment. "You saw it as well. You remember what it was."

"Yes." Regisora said quietly.

Patricia knew what they referred to without the word having to be spoken. The Synthesized. The Total War. The kind of conflict that was apocalyptic on every level. There was simply no strategy besides destruction. The strategy was annihilation not only against the target - but against everyone who might attempt to follow them.

Patricia wondered how many of these worlds were out there, and how many had been erased forever so that their very names were lost to time?

Because of one Sovereign One who had condemned them to a legacy worse than simple destruction - utter erasure.

"And now the Sovereign of War sits right atop the home of your species," Regisora said, as if knowing what she was thinking. "Withing striking distance of our border. Quietly. Watching. His drones are spying on us, gathering information on all critical worlds. On all population centers. Anything and everything."

Patricia tried to rationalize this kind of devastation. That the Sovereign possessed such genocidal weapons didn't surprise her - Mosrimor certainly had his own doomsday weapons. Yet what unnerved her was that there was an underlying hatred, a disgust, a desire to see such utter destruction for its own sake.

It would be one thing if it was for conquest. If it was to encourage submission. There was some degree of rationality behind such outcomes.

This was just genocidal. Annihilation for its own sake. For what purpose? To send a message? To serve as a warning? Or was it even so shallow a reason?

Did T'Leth need a reason?

This went beyond destroying an enemy. It was sadistic in its execution. The biosphere itself transformed and perverted from whatever it had been before. The lands infested with psionic wildlife that hunted and butchered anything original. The ruins laced with spores that killed anything that might find them.

It was not enough to annihilate the species, their graves needed to be desecrated, and their worlds warped for T'Leth to be satisfied.

It was deranged. Unstable. In comparison Mosrimor…there was something he wanted. Mosrimor didn't want total destruction like this. It might not be ideal, but there was a rationale that she could see.

What did T'Leth want beyond destruction and the extermination of his enemies?

"There is a rationale behind such tools of war," the Imperator said to Regisora. "What do you make of them?"

"Why ask a question you already know the answer to?" Regisora asked back.

"It is one thing to subjugate a species. Even one thing to destroy them," the Imperator said after a moment. "This extends beyond a mere appetite for destruction. It is an obsession. An addiction. Something that invokes a pleasure that cannot be matched."

"A consumption," Patricia murmured. "The powerful control the destinies of the lesser. The remains serve as a monument to their power."

A saying came to her mind. One that seemed appropriate now. "'Woe to the vanquished.'"

"An apt summation," Regisora said.

Regisora's description of T'Leth had initially struck her as psychopathic. Now she understood how right her initial assumption had been - and now that Sovereign One was residing on Earth, and if so inclined he could turn Earth into…

This.

A chill swept through her as she made another troubling connection. Why, exactly, had T'Leth taken an interest in their species? Why was he bothering to communicate with them; draw agents and servants from Humanity's ranks?

She'd had this question before, but only now did she have an answer that went beyond coincidence, convenience, or necessity.

Because they were like him.

T'Leth had been on Earth since man had taken their first steps. He had witnessed - or worse, perhaps induced the violence that ran throughout their history. How many wars, conflicts, genocides had occurred? How many men embracing total destruction of their enemies had risen and ruled?

A vile, violating sensation filled her which the Imperator sensed - and immediately understood the implications she was also reaching.

The reason he had sought out a man like the Commander. A man who she knew had demonstrated the raw capability for complete and total destruction of his enemies. Why he would empower ADVENT, whose choices had led to operations like Scipio which embodied his style of warfare.

She'd wondered if that was a fluke with how they'd been retreating from that event - now she wondered if it was instead a consequence of an active Sovereign One on Earth. One whose methods of warfare could inflict things so much worse upon his enemies.

What was he doing to Humanity?

Or rather, what had he been doing to them?

How far had T'Leth's aura spread? How had it subtly influenced their development? They had evolved in the shadow of the Sovereign of War. Their inclination towards violence. Their development of atomic weapons as or more advanced than species far older than them, despite being hundreds of years behind technologically.

Humanity, from the very beginning, despite being drastically behind, had been able to match something like the Collective, and exceed them in sheer ferocity. They thrived in war in a way few other species had demonstrated. Where others would bend and break, they were resolute. Where others would try and make peace or submit, Humanity chose to fight.

And meanwhile, T'Leth awoke, and he watched.

Because he enjoyed it? Because before him was a species that emulated himself?

The Imperator's hand softly fell on Patricia's shoulder.

She realized she'd frozen in place. "What has he done to us?" She murmured in a half-terrified whisper.

That was the wrong question.

There was a much more frightening one. Not what he had done. At worst that had been a passive effect of his presence on Earth.

He was awake now. Active.

What was he going to turn them into?

Given the opportunity, given the time, what would he turn Humanity into?

In the Imperator she sensed something else - a grim, determined resolution. A renewed conviction.

A reminder of something that threatened to become lost if they focused too much on what was before them.

This is all of them.

It wasn't just T'Leth - he was just the most overt example. Every single Sovereign One was capable of similar horror and destruction. It would express itself in different ways, but the end result was the same. A galaxy dominated by psychopathic gods whose wills shaped everything to their desire.

T'Leth. Mosrimor. The Bringer.

All of them.

All of them believed themselves divine and themselves alone worthy of inheriting the galaxy - and doomed everything else to the Synthesized as a result. Victory was impossible, because the Sovereign Ones made it so.

Entire worlds that served as gardens to death and annihilation by one Sovereign.

Another who was unable to comprehend anything lesser than him, and who saw all species as machines and numbers, to become puppets of his will.

It reinforced something that had become gradually clearer. The Sovereign Ones were not the salvation of the galaxy.

They were their doom.

They proceeded silently, eventually reaching the deepest layer of the complex, where one last doorway choked with dead, malformed Mutons lay. Laser drills were by their corpses, and the bunker door seemingly untouched.

Regisora raised a hand for them to stop. "That wasn't there," she said, looking at a long, silvery stone-like spike that had broken through the ceiling. It was reminiscent of all the stony-material T'Leth used as material for his technologies. "This- it looks like-"

"The Conversion Spikes," the Imperator finished slowly, the name she recognized from historical images from the Ethereal-Synthesized war - but these were different. The Imperator's alarm was growing; she became aware of something on the edges of her hearing. A sound. A signal?

Whatever it was, it was growing stronger.

"How long ago did you reach this room?" The Imperator asked.

"Thirty seven hours," Regisora said wearily. "The world is quarantined. It cannot be them."

It couldn't be - but why did T'Leth have anything like this?

In a blink, the spike expanded. Internal mechanisms activated, glass-like translucent internals refracting light in a prism of deafening white. It's stony form smoothing out, and everything seemed to become blurry.

Patrica blinked, her head spinning as the world solidified around her again.

The Imperator had crushed the spike, his hand shaking. What had once been the spike was now little more than utter dust.

Regisora was leaning on a wall, one hand pressed to her head.

There was something wet on her lip. Her tongue flicked out. Blood. Her nose was bleeding, her head pounded in pain. "What…" she managed. "What was that?"

"A signal that carries into neural tissue," the Imperator looked at his hand, that slightly trembled. "One that appears reverse engineered from something we're more familiar with. It is derived from a Conversion Spike. There is no doubt."

"I still hear the echo," Regisora said, gripping her head. "Are you…well? This is not a psionic device."

The Imperator was silent for a moment. "I heard a similar sound within the Prime. It was instinctual. It is better destroyed. I will take no risks with technologies such as this."

"A delayed activation," Regisora said. "There must be dozens seeded throughout the ruins."

"A final measure," the Imperator said. "For anyone who can breach the darkness is met with these weapons. It is a fool's errand. Why would T'Leth go to such lengths, and then allow a treasure at the end to remain intact? What is on worlds like these beyond a promise of impossible knowledge?"

Regisora stalked towards the final bunker door, tearing it open with a focused telekinetic rip, before hurling it aside. Patricia could feel the rippling anger of the Ethereal.

"The archive," Regisora said, striding into the room full of Collective equipment, attempting to activate it. "Intact. We'd already transferred the psionic data into digital forms, to ensure malicious memetic data was filtered out."

All of the electronics were ruined. Small wisps of smoke rose from some of them, and others had cracked screens or popped keys reminiscent of an internal breakdown. The spike signal had burnt out every nearby electronic, only the psionic records of this species remained.

The Imperator appraised the center of the archive, a room that had faded murals, broken statues, and devoid of any details or history that might have existed. Either erased by T'Leth, or which naturally degraded as so much time had passed. Yet this was the last remnant of a species whose knowledge he had a simple choice to make.

He knew how the enemy fought. He knew the type of war T'Leth would wage.

Everything prior to this point was intended to kill them. The spikes that destroyed electronics and caused neural damage. Spores that infested and infected anything along the way. The rest of the planet's wildlife served as a lethal barrier before one even stepped foot here.

There was only a choice to make - to take these psionic archives as they existed, or leave it.

It could easily be a trap. A final trick to destroy anyone ambitious enough to try and learn something that T'Leth had demanded be forgotten.

Patricia knew where his feelings lay.

Everything on this planet was intended to stop them, to kill them, and he could think of no reason why T'Leth would leave for them a prize for their efforts. Why would T'Leth risk letting anyone learn something when everything was clearly intended to make sure that never happened? Patricia definitely didn't believe that T'Leth would allow it as some kind of 'reward' for perseverance.

T'Leth knew there were other Sovereigns, and that they would send their people.

"This was a doomed effort," the Imperator turned to Regisora. "A fool's errand."

"The archive is right there!" Regisora said. "Records of what T'Leth had done, his armies, his actions on this world. I am aware of the risks, but we cannot simply-"

"He left them there!" The Imperator roared with an intensity that shook the walls. "It is a trap!"

"He is using Synthesized technology," Patricia reminded them. "He's emulating them. Their style. Their way of thinking," a chill ran down her spine. "He appears to understand them. Comprehend them."

"There is no one more adept at war than the Synthesized," the Imperator stalked the room. "It is no surprise he seeks to emulate them."

"This feels like more than emulating. This kind of monument is idolizing," Patricia said slowly. "As if he wants to become like… them."

Regisora went still, looking at the archive. Within another moment, her fist slammed into it, crushing the machine. Anger cascaded off of her aura in waves; anger and hatred.

"They always know. Don't they?" The Imperator's voice was suddenly quiet. "When to strike. Where. They came from the Sovereigns. Why do we assume they leave at all?"

Regisora's head snapped to him. "No. Impossible."

But the idea was planted. Patricia realized with growing horror one question led to another.

T'Leth reveled in the destruction of his enemies. Yet there was one enemy that whenever they appeared, he vanished. Or found an excuse to go into hiding. The final enemy. The last challenge. The Synthesized themselves.

The one Sovereign who did not care for proxy species or territory.

The one Sovereign whose singular focus was his brethren, and not the Synthesized.

The one Sovereign who was as disruptive to the schemes of Sovereigns as the Synthesized, and who after wreaking havoc, paved the way for the cycles to commence.

It had to be coincidental.

Patricia suddenly realized there was another presence that had materialized. Regisora was still; something else was in her now, and from her mouth spoke a familiar voice.

A CURIOUS QUESTION.

THE SOVEREIGN OF WAR.

OR IT'S BRINGER?

"He cannot be their agent," the Imperator shook his head.

NO. HE IS NOT DIRECTED BY THEM.

HE MAY BE SOMETHING WORSE.

HE MAY BE THEIR TOOL.

THEIR WEAPON.

THEIR PAWN.

"They're already here," the Imperator said. "Right in plain sight. Where they would never be questioned."

There was a rippling, rasping sound. Mosrimor calculating.

THE CALCULUS HAS CHANGED.

The voice grew commanding. Overwhelming.

SANITIZE THIS WORLD, REGISORA.

IT IS TAINTED BY THE ARCHENEMY.

LET THE SOVEREIGNS KNOW THE WARMASTER IS COMPROMISED.

Patricia was finding it difficult to wrap her head around. "Is that even possible?"

THE ARCHENEMY EXPLOITS THE INCLINATIONS OF THE WEAK.

HEIGHTENS EMOTIONS; ENCOURAGES PURSUITS.

THE BASE. THE SIMPLE. THE VILE.

THE WARMASTER REVELS IN DEATH.

HE HAS LIVED FOR EONS.

HE IS NOT WHAT HE ONCE WAS.

ONCE HE MAY HAVE BEEN A WARRIOR.

HE IS NOW A SAVAGE WHO LIVES FOR WAR.

IT DOES NOT MATTER THAT HE BELIEVES THE ARCHENEMY HIS FINAL FOE.

HIS ACTIONS SERVE THEIR OBJECTIVE.

THE END OF THE SOVEREIGN ONES.

THIS WILL NOT CONTINUE.

"The greatest weapon they could ever ask for," the Imperator said. "Perfectly predictable. Perfectly deniable."

"That's what he's hiding," Regisora said. "What all of this erasure is meant for. Does he know? Does he care?"

YOU SEE COMPLEXITY WHEN THE TRUTH WAS ALWAYS IN SIGHT.

T'LETH HAS NOT HIDDEN WHO HE WAS.

HIS ACTIONS HAVE NOT CHANGED SINCE HE FIRST ARRIVED.

THEY HAVE ONLY GROWN MORE REGULAR. MORE FOCUSED.

ONCE HE MAY HAVE POSSESSED A GREATER OBJECTIVE.

A VISION OF SOVEREIGNTY.

NOW HE IS ONLY AN AGENT OF CHAOS. A TOOL OF THE ARCHENEMY.

NO. HE KNOWS WHAT HE IS. HE DOES NOT CARE WHOM HIS ACTIONS BENEFIT THE MOST.

HIS IGNORANCE BLINDED OTHERS TO THE TRUTH.

The Sovereign's voice seemed to hiss; as if this was something that Mosrimor was finally making a judgement on. Had he always known, or only now found the final piece to complete this realization?

NO MORE.

HIS ACTIONS ARE IN SERVICE OF THE ARCHENEMY.

HE WILL BE TREATED ACCORDINGLY.

SEE TO IT MY WILL IS DONE.

The Imperator was already leaving the archive. He was quiet, his aura dim and solemn. The gloom of his presence leaked out to Patricia, impossible to ignore. The hold Mosrimor held over Regisora was gone, but her head was bowed, and her voice meek in comparison to the powerful one that it had spoken with. "It will be done."

Through their bond, she could sense the Imperator's true emotions, and communicated silently while Regisora was distracted.

What can be done now? Enemies on all sides. T'Leth is a Synthesized pawn. The Bringer is mad. What options do we have?

There was a pause.

We have none, for now. We cannot do anything until T'Leth is destroyed. Mosrimor has a use for us…for now. We have no such option with T'Leth. Not until there are more allies. Not until there are more options.

She deeply disliked this, but he was also right.

She now understood what T'Leth truly was, and it was far worse than she'd imagined. The Battlemaster needed to see this. To know what was happening and what the stakes were. Maybe he couldn't be convinced to support Mosrimor or the Imperator's actions.

But he needed to understand the threat T'Leth posed.

Regisora faced them. "We will depart now. There is much work that I will need to do - and that you will need to ponder. Now you understand the threat we face - one greater than even I had understood."

The Imperator nodded. "Let us go. We have spent enough time on the world."

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To be continued in Chapter 79 - Part II

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A/N: Been a while, but there's been a lot of work going on which I'm glad to finally share. This is part 1 of 4 for Chapter 79. Each are roughly the same length, and will be posted sequentially every couple of days, similar to how the last one was done. XCOM Files associated will follow as usual.

Thank you for the patience, I hope you find the end result worth it.

- Xabiar