Master of War is a short story written and illustrated by The Valader depicting the story of Lord Psantik following the events of Dawn of Divina. After his successful campaign against the Galactic Empire of Cyrannus in the Quadrants, he is promoted to the highest of military ranks in the Pact, the Strategos, second only to the Archon, with the intent of bringing his military genius to bear on the Galactic Empire of Cyrannus. The story is also part of Operation Liberty and The Vectors of Darkness and Light in Cyrannian's fiction, as well as part of the overarching story of Psantik's character development.
War. The cry from the Pact's Grand Council to participate in the fate of the Cyrandia Cluster has been heard, and so the Singularim Pact joined the allied forces against the tyranny of the Galactic Empire of Cyrannus.
The Grand Armies of the Pact have marched steadily across Imperial Occupied space for weeks, facing the full blunt of the Imperial Armada and drawing it back several times. However, one obstacle has arisen in the Pact's momentum: Coruanthor. The Cyrannian ecumenopolis, despite its growing sentiment towards the allied forces, has remained unclaimed by the Pact and threatens to stop the psionic juggernaut's successful advance.
Refusing to back down, the revered Archon Xindrox has appointed military genius and victor of the Quadrantia front-- Lord Psantik--as Strategos and commander of all Singularim forces in the war, seeking to see the same results the young Civatron has accomplished in so little time.
Coruanthor stands in the way of Psantik's greatest glory yet. However, even he knows that if the Empire is to be defeated, then the Pact would need more than sheer military power.
One []
It was a dark blue background adorned by luminescent steams of azure and turquoise energy. They traversed from one side of the window to the other with their destination being unknown. From time to time, a floating being or several crossed over, following the currents that had probably taken them there. To travel through the Iluvii Realm was akin to navigate a vast ocean submerged. The SGAC Anorhjoukhal, the flagship of the renowned 7th Expeditionary Fleet, seemingly swam through the vastness of the Iluvii Realm escorted by a myriad of smaller warships. It had been a calm trip following the traversal of the Cyrannus-Quadrantia Wormhole, and yet Psantik stared at the glowing astral projections from his quarters with a stoic and concerned look.
The Cyannus galaxy agonized by the scourge of war. With surprise on their side, the Singularim Pact had made their declaration of war clear by deploying the Grand Armies of the Pact to the heart of Imperial territory, defeating three task forces en route to secure Core Secundus from the liberation forces led by Apollo. Buyoing their allies and prompting them to begin their advance across the sector, the Singularim established an offensive front across multiple solar systems so to draw the Imperial Navy away from the Resistance and Cognalorios forces, ensuring the success of planetary landings without the scorching fire of Imperial destroyers.
With confidence in his emergent allies, newly appointed President Apollo committed the Singularim forces to the galactic North of Core Secundus, where perhaps the last bastion of imperial dominion over the sector resided: Coruanthor, whilst the Libertus leader focused his attention on the heart of the Empire. The Pact then brought the full might of its fleets against the Cyrannian ecumenopolis, brutally besieging its large cities and engaging the stalwart defense established by Imperial command. The psionic forces hoped that, like the rest of occupied republic worlds, Coruanthor would surrender under the blunt and harassing forces of the Grand Armada, paving way for the Orbital legions to seize it and claim their victory.
That had been 3 solar days ago.
Coruanthor stood strong against the expeditionary forces of the Pact.
The Empire's hold was strong, and the psionic ships met a fleet readied for a defense-in-depth strategy, halting the Singularim's momentum across the sector and turning their offensive front into a war of attrition, with reports of protracted fronts coming in from the large array of ships encircling Coruanthor.
As Psantik thought of this, his fist clenched, for nothing was more aberrant to him than unproductive warfare.
"Strategos," a voice said in his mind, "We are receiving a transmission from Archon Xindrox."
"Put him through" he answered.
Behind him, there materialized a shape his size, only that its figure was insectoid in nature, and thus a face that had inspired both awe and terror during the Great Psionic War. Xindrox, emperor to the Tyr and the head of the Grand Armies of the Pact stood before him, the image was so vivid thanks to the teleprojections of psi-emmiters embued in the ship, that Psantik felt that he could touch the Archon if he wished.
"Revered Archon."
"Lord Psantik of the Civatrons." Xindrox said, expressing a respectful tone, "Are you enjoying your new position as Strategos?"
"Enjoying is a luxury I do not have right now, revered Archon."
"Well said, your victories in Rambo space have asserted a Singularim sphere of influence in the galactic cluster in more ways that we could have possibly imagined. We were even granted access to the Tigris Galaxy by our allies. To say that the Pact is in your debt is an understatement."
"Your words bring re-assurance in these times of war."
"Oh, but this is not a mere war!" declared the Archon, "Strategos, it is a battle to determine the very fate of the Cyrannus galaxy and perhaps the Cyrandia cluster. With our Grand Council officially declaring war against Tryomairon's regime, we cannot afford to let them win here and have the enemy invade our home galaxy. Your role in this fight is far greater than you might realize."
Psantik grinned.
"I am well aware of the scale of this conflict. I will let results overshadow any concerns you may have about my leadership, o' revered one."
Xindrox nodded, pleased.
"Alas, congratulating you for your promotion was not my aim with this." he added, "I wanted to give you a friendly warning about our current Grand Marshall in Cyrandia Command. Master Xanx is a warhero from the revolution and some say he even fought in the old wars against the Xhodocto. Truly a Civatron of old legend, and yet his utmost trait might be, to our forces' detriment, his hubris. He did not take kindly to relinquish his authority over a younger Civatron who has not 'seen the horrors of a true war'. He may challenge you for your rule, in which case, if you happen to lose, you will lose the trust and respect of your new command regardless."
"Revered Archon," Psantik said calmly, making sure his tone did not sound dismissive, "Master Xanx has my admiration and respect for his past heroics during the infernal wars of old. Still, he is of no concern for me, I have plans for him."
Xindrox growled in approval.
"Very well, then I shall await the good tidings of victory very soon, Strategos. Xindrox out."
The hologram disappeared. Psantik turned to his windowed wall once more.
"Psantik to the bridge, what is the estimate time of our arrival?"
"Revered strategos, we should arrive on Coruanthor's orbit in one hour." the helm said.
"We should be arriving sooner, what is the hold up?"
"There was a disturbance in our installed psi-jump nodes between the frontlines and the wormhole, we are making corrections to continue on a safer route for our reinforcements."
"..."
"Strategos?"
"Summon my cabinet to my ready room as soon as possible."
"Yes sire."
His frustration increasing by the minute, the window before him slightly cracked. The Krassio-made vessels were designed to withstand the full brunt of the most advanced cannonfire, and Psantik had just broken it with raw psionic power.
"This is worse than I predicted." He said.
Two []
Three days ago
Captain Henera Medé watched from the Chimaera bridge as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, her hands on the back, gripped firmly. The Star Destroyer warped into Coruanthor and the whole situation lay bare before her in a blitz—the giant planet was surrounded by alien vessels positioned in a distanced, yet coordinated across the high orbit, small explosions detonated across the entire orbital space of the imperial world. Beyond the blockade, imperial cruisers fired volley after volley of lasers, smashing the azure shielding of the Singularim forces that had just began to besiege the planet.
"Captain, the Singularim fleet has the planet surrounded, so far our cruisers have maintained a steady defense of the planet, but they are being pushed back. Their fighters are strained by the psionic shielding."
Medé gestured towards the sensor officers with her hand, without loosing her cool, "Have you located the enemy flagship?"
"Yes, ma'am, I have a lock on its coordinates."
"Relay them to the war holo, let me see it."
The hologram of the planet manifested before her, with her commanding officers joining her to draw the battle plan—only that it had been drawn in Medé's eyes, as they analyzed the positioning of the gigantic flagship as it began to align itself with the planet's central gravity.
"He's doing the same thing as all other systems." She said, smiling, then she cooled back again, looking at her subordinates with the same serious face as always, "Get me engineering."
"Captain, a small group of enemies have detached from the blockade, they're heading this way."
"Prepare the turbolasers, launch fighters." She ordered.
"Ma'am," said one of her officers, a towering yet slender Libertus, "We're receiving a transmission from the planet, it's vague, the enemy's disruption is nearly perfect."
"Clean it up, then show it to me."
"What news about engineering?"
"Engineering here," a voice appeared on the holo-comm in the table.
"Chief, are the preparations ready?"
"More than ready, we just hope that it will work captain."
"You will get your live test right now, officer, activate the device." She then turned to the helm, "full impulse, ahead, evasive maneuvers. Send all squadrons ahead, have them divert main enemy fire towards us."
"Captain, are we not attacking?"
"Stay your questions, commander," she ordered, "I don't like second-guessers here."
"But captain—"
Without a flinch, Medé grabbed a guard's sidearm and promptly executed her commander. He was a newly arrival, after all. His previous second-in-command had died at the battle of Coruaan for trying to improvise and surprise her—it surely did not go well for him. The room silenced after the shot, Medé did not even considered her decision and began ordering around again.
All distractions are enemies too. In this situation, I need to focus until the plan is seen through. She thought.
The enemy was in line of sight, a flotilla of a single dreadnought and small light cruisers had come out of the perfect orbital formation to meet them in battle.
"Prepare the side cannons, helm, if you fail to miss the dreadnought's hammerhead I will have you shot."
The pilot cleared her sweat and veered the Chimaera.
"All hands, prepare for impact!" Medé ordered.
The bridge's crew braced themselves as the windows showed the ships tip veering, no longer seeing the Dreadnought up ahead.
"Prepare to fire!" ordered the tactical commander.
"Belay that order, fire on my command." the Libertus commander shouted, "Full side thrusters, 90 degrees, punch it!"
The Star Destroyer began to twirl, as the Singularim Dreadnought approached it with incredible speed, lagging behind the Chimaera's bold move, the two ships barely passed each other at great speed, but Medé's reflexes were heighetened by now. Just as the Chimaera's belly faced the side of the Vanguard vessel, she pointed at the tactical panels.
"Fire the railgun!"
From the hangar, a blue light shot at the Singularim vessel, blasting the shields away. The Vanguard-class of the Singularim Pact was renown for its brutal main tactic—ramming its foes. The only weakness Medé had found in that maverick strategy was that it focused all of its power on the front shields so to literally ignore all the frontal damage and saving the ship from falling alongside its mark. The Vanguard collapsed in its neck thanks to the focus fire from the Chimaera. It all happened in a second.
"Have our escorts finish the job, under no circumstances board that vessel, am I clear?" she said, turning her attention towards the planet again. Some officers ran to some comms panel to relay her orders.
"Engineering, tell me you are still there."
"We are here, captain, sitting tight, awaiting your orders."
"Good, wait a bit more."
"Captain," said the sensor ensign, "More ships are coming this way, we have drawn their attention."
"Good," Medé repeated, "Signal the fleet, prepare to engage the blockade."
More ships warped in, as if waiting the entire time for Medé signal. The entire fleet at her disposal so to defend the last imperial stronghold in Core Secundus was merely floating with their hyperdrives ready at the outlining of Coruanthor's solar system. The moment the beacon was fired, they jumped without second thought. The armada Medé had brought with her, courtesy of a despairing admiral back at Orbispira, was half the size of the present Singularim force besieging the ecumenopolis, but in Medé's eyes, it was just enough.
"All ships, advance, you have your orders."
As the Singularim forces moved to meet the newly arrivals, the imperial fleet separated in two fronts, seeking to encircle the larger enemy force in two tides of ships.
Come on, take the bait, she thought.
The enemy Vanguards powered their hammerheads, glowing intensely with psionic energy, the light cruisers went ahead, with some lance ships firing long shots at the imperial force. A small exchange of laser bolts, blue and red, flew past each other and into their targets. The Star Destroyers held the enemy fire with their own deflector shields. The gap between both forces was closing fast. Medé could see her crew gritting their teeth, constantly eyeing her for new orders, yet she bid her time. In her hand, she had held a small device with teal linings in it.
In a heartbeat's moment, her mind jumped back to a moment in time when she was still among the retinue of Grand Admiral Tector Decimius, how he had always used the enemy's culture—its art more specifically—to turn the tides of difficult battles. This battle, at Coruanthor, would mark her legacy.
"Engineering, activate the Emitter!" She ordered.
There was nothing, no glorified beeping nor the humping of a master switch coming on. For a moment Medé was not even sure if her latest command had been properly issued. Then it happened, the enemy's shields clearly beeped for a few moments, then removed themselves like a frog's membrane, abandoning the Singularim.
"All units! Open Fire!"
Never had she enjoyed the deafening sound of laserguns recoiling after firing, the bolts hit their marks, undoing Krassio hull with ease, ripping the Singularim attack to shreds. In a few minutes of firing, there was nothing but debris before them. They took the bait, she thought.
"Tractor beams, signal the corvettes to do as they were ordered, let us make Coruanthor safe."
"More ships are coming in hot," the sensor ensign reported, "it's a larger force."
"Engineering, recharge the Emitter and prepare to fire again."
"It will take some time, captain."
"We'll give you what you need."
"Captain, the artifact has dried up our energy, we need to recharge in order to join the coming fight," commented the tactical officer.
"There is no need for that, tactical, signal the fleet to begin Spearhead, we will use our power to fuel the Emitter."
The fleet lined up, with three Star Destroyers at the side of the Chimaera. Then they engaged full thrusters with a whole shield of debris covering them from enemy fire.
Medé's trap was sprung, via the corvettes that pushed the shroud of the ruined Singularim initial counter attack, the imperial fleet fired over the Singularim ships against the rest of the attackers, who did not dare to damage their brethren even more. The captain of the Chimaera had used the Krassio's honor and brutal tactics against them, as she watched how her plan unfolded at the same time more and more debris were created. After a whole hour, Medé and her forces had joined the defense forces while a wave of speeding debris—courtesy of gravitational pulls in Coruanthor's high orbit, still continued to wreck havoc across the Singularim vessels. Each time a small group of vessels pierced through her perfect shielding, Medé would simply order this Emitter to be activated again, rendering the Singularim forces useless—more canonfodder for the Empire.
The Libertus' mind reminisced again. Study a species' culture, and you shall know how to fight them, Decimius' words echoed, and Medé saw herself at the Grand Admiral's quarters once again, a place filled with antiques of all sorts. At the front there was him, the legendary tactician of the Empire, staring at the window into the empty cosmos. She had been summoned alone that one time, making her wonder with excitement, and dread, what would the Grand Admiral want with her. In his hand, the same object she now held was merely floating a few inches above his palm.
"You know what this is?" Decimius asked.
Medé stared at the object, never in her life had seen something so astral in nature, a light teal fog emanated from it.
"Of course you haven't," he continued, "This is perhaps one of my most priced artifacts in my collection, I never got the chance to acquire it myself through conquest, like the rest."
"Oh? How did you get that?"
"This is an Andrudan Memorialist Crystal, I believe, a literal database of Krassio intel," he said, looking at it whilst gesturing his fingers, "From what expert arqueologists have told me, it contains secrets concerning their battle plans and strategies."
"Have you read its contents?" she said, somewhat excited.
"Read?" he said, moving his head in denial, as if the mere thought of reading was laughable, "You don't read Krassio artifacts, my dear, you sense them. I can see by your lack of intuition with this crystal that you have studied little of the Psionic Lords."
"I am afraid it is not mandatory reading at the academy, nor did I find anything about them in any libraries I came across."
"Nor you will ever find evidence of them in our imperial records. That information has disappeared with the Republic. Ironically, the empire loves to know about everyone beyond our borders, as knowledge is power—like you might have learned from your station at this fleet—but it fails to foresee any possible anomalies to its existence. If one is an avid reader of ancient history, then the lore surrounding the Krassio is mandatory per say."
Medé blinked, confused, "But Admiral, I am familiar with the legends of the Infernal Wars, a conflict spanning galaxies, like the very one our Empire is facing today, only bloodier and filled with a death you cannot recover from. The Krassio were legendary in the fight against evil's forces, but they are gone, alongside their power," she said, eyeing the Crystal."
"I see you indeed studied little about them. Luckily for you, for this empire, I dare to see beyond the veil of our beloved galaxy, and I dare to recognize that a supernatural power the likes of the one surrounding our beloved Emperor loom in the distance. And I hate it."
Medé remained silent, taken aback by Decimius' sudden claim.
"Yes indeed, my dear, for of all the plans I draw, all the strategies I can come up with, even all the preparations I make, can be instantly undone by the anomalous nature of Essence or the likes of it."
"Essence?" Medé asked.
Decimius said no more, he tossed the Crystal towards her, and she caught it flawlessly, prepared for the throw.
"Consider it a gift, my dear, one that might come useful when the time comes."
"When the time... comes? You fear we might face the Krassio of old?"
Decimius stared at the window again, emotionless.
"You said it yourself, Captain," he retorted, "the Krassio are long gone."
Medé stared at the Crystal, confused, "Then why give me this artifact?"
"In case they are not."
Medé blinked again. She was back at the brige of the Chimaera, with a beeping light indicating an incoming message. She conceded the transmission.
"This is Admiral Tuvié of the Imperial Defense Force in Coruanthor, I wish to speak to your commanding officer," said a silhouette forming in the holo projector.
"You are addressing her," Medé uttered.
"What is this sorcery you just pulled captain? I have fought these aliens for the last six hours, and nothing would pierce their shielding."
Medé remained quiet, looking at the Crystal in her hand. Unlike the time she had spoken with Decimius, and had ultimately accepted the gift he had enigmatically given to him, the Crystal was open, small shards floating around the glowing diamond within.
"My secrets are my own, Admiral," she said, boldly.
"You dare address an Admiral in such a way?" the officer responded.
"I deal with my subordinates however I want, I am issuing my orders to you, Tuvié."
"What orders? What is the meaning of this?"
"It means I am in charge, and I need you to do as told," with her claims, she looked at the dead body of her second in command, the one who had dared question her motives, "lest I will order you shot."
Three []
To the surprise of everyone in the war room, Psantik had ordered his forces to warp light years away from the Marean system, which housed their target—the defiant Imperial world of Coruanthor—while he warped with a single Vanguard dreadnought and a wing of Caparace frigates as an escort. Despite the objections from his advisors, who suggested a more direct approach on reinforcing the besieging Singularim forces, there was a nameless preoccupation in the Strategos' part.
Watching her friend entranced in deep thought, Ju'l Saghdun, leader of the Juvan forces loyal to Psantik, observed the Civatron right next to him as both detached their minds from their bodies and exited the dreadnought bridge by merely going through the hull, their spirits now in the void of space.
"I am sure you will explain to me why are we pulling such a secretive tactic instead of taking the system like we were ordered to?" Ju'l said bluntly.
"It's too late to question me now, so wait until I see fit." Psantik answered.
The Juvan female growled.
"Now, let us scan the system."
Both of their eyes, once merely gleaming with the steamy psionic essence imbued within them, now burned passionately as they extended their minds towards the entirety of the system, their powers combined to feel every bit of the planet. It felt like a mere stretching excercise for them now, as they had time to practice time and time again during the Quadrantia liberation campaign alongside the Loyalists.
"Strategos," Ju'l continued, seamlessly travelling miles in seconds so to sense all things within the Marean system, "forgive my persistence, but even if Coruanthor has given any form of resistance to Grand Marshall Xanx, we possess the firepower to finish the job, just confront him and let us get this over with."
"That's exactly what worries me, Ju'l," Psantik said, "The Grand Marshall had just about the same amount of forces we are bringing to reinforce him, and he still has failed to meet his own schedule. The Empire is not be triffled with in terms of manpower and resources, and he is late by three days. I will take the measures necessary to correct his imprecisions and repair our advance into Core Secundus alognside the liberation forces—"
Both of them stopped, as their psionic senses perceived debris floating rather calmly just at the edge of the farthest planet to the Marean star—they were Singularim.
"Probably a small skirmish with unfortunate casualties at the beginning of the siege," Ju'l commented.
"Look deeper, my friend," Psantik said, "those are only Singularim debris... run a decomposition check on the destroyed ships, check for any survivors, I'll scan the area for imperial debris."
"Impossible," said Ju'l after a few minutes, "Those ships were destroyed a day ago..."
"There are no signs of imperial remains."
"According to the latest reports we have, the Grand Marshall's fleet was already at the threshold of Coruanthor's high orbit, to think these were taken out this far in the system..."
Psantik stretched his mind further, amplifying his powers. Ju'l joined her mind to his, and the process sped up, their radial detection increasing ten-fold, both of them now were deliberately rushing to have a clear sight of the system.
"No..." Ju'l said, "This is..."
"Impossible? You said it already."
Ju'l was apalled at the signals of a battlefield that had been extended to the entirety of the system. Marean was a large star with a powerful gravitational pull, enough to attract a total of thirteen planets its orbit, the fifth of them being Coruanthor itself. What was a simple mission of besieing and forcing an imperial surrender had now become a chaotic front of hit-and-run tactics on multiple areas of the system. Psantik and Ju'l saw psionic signatures fighting imperial vessels in the innermost circles of the sun, other pockets of Singularim forces fighting their opponents at an old mining station on the seventh planet's rings, and a larger force from both sides engaged on all levels of Coruanthor's orbit. What grieved Psantik the most, was the fact that the combat patterns of the Singularim forces looked erratic, losing ground. Ju'l looked at her friend with worry—she knew that this type of battle was one Psantik frowned at the most.
"Psantik..."
"Xanx," Psantik growled, "How in the name of the Goddess were you forced into this mess?"
He closed his eyes, collecting himself from his sudden anger surge, then turned to his friend.
"Should I contact the fleet?"
A new signal appeared at the back of Psantik's mind, "No, not yet... battlestations."
Their astral projections immediately warped back, and with their bodies fully controlled, Psantik issued the order to prepare to the three pilots commandeering the Vanguard. The four vessels veered towards the incoming hostiles, who did not take long to reveal themselves, as six imperial vessels, two Star Destroyers and four corvettes, appeared from their rear.
"Preparing to charge the Hammerhead shield," said one of the pilots, as his eyes glowed.
"Wait!" Psantik said, "let's not do that."
"But sir..."
"Signal the Inkortha and the Jojurhol to spread wide, encircling our opponent, but remain at a distance. The Hoatha stays with us, covered with our shields, but have them ready their boarding parties."
The two Star Destroyers did not hesitate in their advance, and engaged their full thrusters towards them, with the corvettes readying to face the two frigates trying to extend beyond their firing cone. Laser batteries and psionic beams were exchanged by both parties. Psantik noticed that the two bigger opponents did not veer away from the Vanguard's course, seeking to challenge the dreadnought's ramming shield.
"Strategos, sir," begged the pilot, "they are doing a suicidal run!"
"Are they?" questioned the black Civatron.
His inaction bore fruit, as he then saw how the two destroyers began to twirl so as to show their lower hulls, their hangars, but above all else—
"The railgun!"
The ships charged their weapon, Psantik could sense it now, "Enhance lateral shielding, prepare for impact!"
Like two lighting bolts, the Star Destroyers fired their lower guns at the dreadnought furiously, clashing with the grid-like shield of the Vanguard warship. In an instant, the two imperial cruisers had passed the dreadnought by.
"Status report!" Psantik ordered.
"Our shields took the hit, but now they are down, we are susceptible to their laser fire."
"Get those shields back online immediately! Fire our aft weapons, target their engines!"
The dreadnought fired three consecutive beams of blue light towards one of the imperial cruisers, focusing on their impulse and hyperdrives, bringing it to a halt.
"Take us about, fire plasmic batteries!"
As the side of the Vanguard faced the other cruiser, several teal bolts fired away, yet the Star Destroyer fired back.
"Incoming!"
The turbolaser fire hit the hull of the Vanguard, seemingly melting some bits of its armor and dealing considerable damage to some of the batteries.
"Strategos, we have incoming fighters, two fighter wings and one... bomber."
"They plan to take advantage of our lack of shielding."
"Psantik, signal the Hoatha to engage the fighters while we focus fire on the destroyer," advised Ju'l.
"Not yet, have them cover us but they will not engage, alert our Whisp pilots, have them engage the fighters."
The dreadnouth's vicinity became a place of dogfighting as the two sides clashed with fighter and psionic drone. A Vanguard-class could but field a limited amount of Drones due to its heavy focus on weapons and shielding, so only three wings of drones controlled by three psionic monitors were the only possible capacity for the ship, they would have to suffice.
The Vanguard fired another shot at the destroyer, killing its engines, as it now completely faced its opponent.
"Shields ready, Strategos."
Psantik took a deep breath, as the destroyer stood idle, and he glared at it like a hungering predator, "Full impulse power, activate the Hammerhead shield."
The Vanguard's front glowed intensely as it burned like coal on fire, its engines burning to give the huge vessel the necessary ramming speed, taking any unprepared tie fighters with its increasingly violent charge. In a matter of minutes, the Star Destroyer was bursted from the side as the dreadnought went through, soon exploding in a cascading effect.
"Hostile cruiser elimintaed, Strategos."
"Signal the Hoatha, launch boarding parties and capture the other Star Destroyer, I want its commanding officers thoroughly questioned, we need to know what happened here," with that said, Psantik walked to one of the doors at the bridge's edge, Ju'l followed suit, "Do you think I will hear from your complaints about my motives any time soon?" he asked.
The Juvan leader smirked, "Not for now."
"The corvettes are retreating sir," said one of the three pilots, "their destination is Coruanthor."
"Set a course for the Grand Marshal's flagship, it should be at the heart of the main force at Coruanthor's high orbit."
"Aye sir," answered the pilot.
Psantik turned to Ju'l, "Report to me as soon as you extract all you can from the imperials."
"As you wish"
With that said, Psantik retired into his ready room to ponder on what to do next.
Four []
As the Vanguard dreadnought and its small escort warped into the vicinity of Coruanthor, Psantik gazed at the massive planet welcoming them with fire and destruction. Debris smashed themselves against the shields, doing almost no damage, yet quickly setting the true tone of the battle. Psantik watched as how Imperial fighters and bombers scoured the Singularim formation, forcing the cruisers to deploy their short supply of Whisp drones to fight. The Singularim vessels were not fitted to such a close dogfight battle, as they were designed to swiftly overwhelm the enemy with their sheer psionic might. Plasmic cannons were already strained trying to force the skilled fighters away from firing their own barrages, and the psionic pilots safely controlling the drones were overwhelmed at the flight speed of their opponents.
"How did it come to this?" asked Ju'l in shock, "our forces are completely relegated."
Psantik's breathing began to turn into a quiet growl. He remembered the Archon's words when he contacted him while traveling to the Marean System, how the Grand Marshall had been a war veteran, "Just how?" he said.
"Strategos, we are receiving a transmission from the Kumerhejkal, Grand Marshall Xanx is hailing us.
Psantik reached out with his mind and connected to the incoming mental transmission.
"This Grand Marshall Xanx, who are you and how dare you show up without my reinforcements?"
Psantik let his anger sink in, making sure all the older Civatron could get was a cold answer in return, "This is Strategos Psantik, commander of the 7th Expedition Fleet to the Quadrantia Galaxies, and now the Archon's direct voice in the Cyrannus Campaign."
"Strategos you say?" Xanx grunted, a sense of amusement filled him, "I am in no mood for sick jokes, commander, with whose authority do you come."
"It seems your perception of thoughts has decayed, old one, I am assuming command of this torn fleet of yours and salvaging the siege before it is too late and the Empire can recuperate from our assault."
There was a brief silence before Xanx spoke again, this time angered, "You speak of holding such a high regard from that Tyr, yet the only forces I see backing your claim are a trio of escorts, it makes it hard to believe that..."
"I've let you rant for too long, Xanx, I'm coming in."
With that, he closed his thoughts.
"Transporter ready, Strategos."
Psantik nodded in approval, and he immediately materialized into the massive flagship commandeering the fleet. He was joined soon after by Ju'l and a cadre of Juvan warriors, his and Ju'l's offspring, the best in the entire Orbital Legion at his command. Before him was the gigantic bridge of the Kumerhejkhal filled only with three experienced Civatron warriors, five Juvan pilots, and the Grand Marshall. The bridge acted like a massive observatory as well, with glass showing the battle around them.
Least to say, Xanx's displeasement was more than evident, his fangs showed and his psi-blade ignited at his side—his escorts followed suit and soon a stand-still had been formed from the two parties.
"You do have to be crazy or really brave to challenge me, young one," said Xanx, pointing his blade at the black Civatron, "I've heard about you—the genius of Quadrantia—how you turned the tide of the Rambo's war and all. That is nothing compared to the Galactic Empire we are facing. You have never faced a foe like this before."
Psantik, differently than his senior, had remained calm and refused to answer Xanx' blade with his, he merely walked a few steps head of his own guard, "Perhaps, Grand Marshall, perhaps... but neither have you."
Grand Marshall Xanx was taken aback.
"Admit it, Xanx, all you have ever known in your life was an enemy who did not think of strategy nor tactics, just a relentless charge and a doctrine based on overwhelming you. If this were the Dominion of the Xhodocto, perhaps you could've been the best suited leader to spearhead the campaign. However, this is not it, the Galactic Empire of Cyrannus has achieved its spoils and established itself as a hyperpower in the local cluster not because of endless waves of mindless servants at the whims of infernal lords, but through machinations and carefully-planned strategies."
He took a quick look at the battle raging around the great flagship, some fighter laser bolts hit the shields right in front of the glass, followed by a wing of Tie Fighters pursuing two drones, taking one down—the consequent explosion deepening the tension in Psantik's favor.
"Look around you, Grand Marshall, your forces are slowly dwindling, they are not at the verge of collapse, thankfully, but they are losing." he continued, "grant me command of this fleet, I was a Grand Marshall, like you, before I was assigned to the Cyrannus Campaign."
Xanx' eyes did not see reason anymore, all Psantik had accomplished was to fill the old Civatron with words of failure and incompetence, it was only logical that a proud warrior and a war veteran like him would react in such a way. Xanx blitzed across the bridge towards the black Civatron, seeking to end his attack with a single thrust to the heart.
His blade hissed as it clashed with the sudden apearance of a psionic staff blocking his attack. Xanx looked beyond the blinding clash of lights as Ju'l was now standing between them.
"You touch him and I will see to it that your command is terminated forever," she growled, her stance like that of a wild animal protecting her mate.
"Ju'l."
The soothing voice behind her made her push the blade and step back, leaving Xanx speechless, trying to make sense of it.
"Such a loyalty from a Juvan Saghdun... Are you two close?" He provoked. ALthough it was not unheard of, the Krassio rarely engaged in interspecies breeding, and for the more veteran side of the Civatron species, it was frowned upon.
Psantik ignored his comment, "I will be your opponet if you wish it."
"Heh, by all hells out there, I wish it."
"Very well, I therefore challenge you to a duel, the winner shall earn the command of the fleet."
Elated, Xanx charged at his foe with fury, yet Psantik could detect a calculated move from a veteran warrior. Despite his old age, the Grand Marshall was still swift in his movements, never showing weakness in his technique. Psantik ignited his own psi-blade and engaged him. Both blades clashed as they danced across the bridge, seeking to outmaneuver the other. The young Civatron easily caught his opponent's arm several times, but Xanx knew about his background as a Ghenes Civatron, and moreover, as a Deathbranded by the Goddess of Death, Ynur'Vae.
A bold attack from Xanx made Psantik loose his footing, "Got you!" he yelled, savoring the opening he had created, Psantik's balde seemed to be a mile away from his next attack when—
The black Civatron caught the burning blade with his hand.
Xanx looked in shocked as their movements came to a halt. He examined Psantik's hand, then his arm—it was glowing intensely in psionic essence.
"How...?"
Psantik's blade swung towards his opponent's neck, stopping right at the skin, making sure it burned a bit of the scales.
"I know, this is not a Civatron ability, we do not melt our limbs into psionic plasma, but I am no normal Civatron nor Krassio."
"Grand Marshall," interrupted the psionic Sensor of the ship, "We have incoming vessels, all of them are Singularim..."
Xanx eyes widened even more.
"...It's the 7th Expedition Fleet."
In the distance, several warping implosions manifested away from the battlefield, a fleet smaller than Xanx's own forces, but then the Anorjhoukhal appeared, the massive Ark-ship that had been Psantik's flagship since the beginning of the campaign.
"Incoming teleporting signals!" said the Sensor.
A new batch of warriors appeared in the room. More Juvan guards, and another type of Krassio. Xanx was awestruck to see the reptilian in the middle, covered in robes, eyes glowing, thin figure despite the clothing concealing her shape as she graciously walked towards him.
"You are..."
"Andrudan?" the reptilian said, "Yes. Curator Lalatina, in service of Lord Psantik, Strategos of the Grand Armies of the Pact."
The Adrudan walked around the Grand Marshall with visible disgust, as she commanded the Juvan Sensor to back away. She then took hold of the controls. The ship emitted a deep sound that resonated across the bridge, and she began working without a second glimpse at the Krassio who watched him in shock.
"Eyes here," said Psantik, "You were about to surrender."
Xanx closed his eyes so to regain his composure, and without a second thought, shutted his psi-blade off.
"Very well, Strategos, you are in charge, should I retire to my quarters?"
Psantik smiled, stretching his hand, "Retire? I need you here, your input will be valuable."
"So do you take back saying I am incompetent?" Xanx retorted, sarcastically.
"You and your officers are the ones who faced the defense of Coruanthor, Grand Marshall... like I said, your input will be valuable."
Xanx nodded., corrected.
"Lalatina, signal the 7th Fleet, tell them to stand by, make sure no imperial ship leaves the planet's limits."
"Understood."
"An Andrudan here?" said Xanx, shaking his head as if his eyes were deceiving him.
"You don't know me, Grand Marshall, but I will ask you to trust me nevertheless." Psantik remarked.
Xanx looked anxious, a bit humiliated, softened only by the presence of the Andrudan female, their beauty legendary among Krassio males. He turned to the black Civatron with a smirk, "You say you can defeat this opponent, well I can't wait for you to show me."
Ju'l walked right next to Psantik, touching his gleaming arm, "I hate it when you use this," she said, looking back at Lalatina.
"It was necessary," Psantik said, shrugging off the steam coming out of it.
"I will restore it myself later, when you finish your business here."
"Very well, but first I want an in-depth analysis of the ground forces in Coruanthor, this is an ecumenopolis, the battle could last months, even a year if we are not careful."
"I will coordinate our efforts with our brethren here." She said.
"Dismissed then."
As Ju'l signaled for another transport, her eyes locked on Lalatina's, whose concealed face had turned to see the whole act. The Juvan smirked in defiance as she materialized away.
"For the record, my lord," she said, looking back at the instruments and working, "I believe that arm suits you."
All the while, Xanx had witnessed that strange interplay, appalled and awestruck at the fact that Psantik had two Krassio females from other species deliberately caring for him like a mate would be. Civatrons loved their privacy, but the black Strategos had no qualms with the whole scene.
"You are full of surprises, young one."
"Like I said, you don't know me, Grand Marshall, but I need you to trust me."
Five []
Respect. When meeting Deoclet Caesarius, Medè felt nothing but respect based on fear. The imposing figure of the hologram before her forced her head down during all the meeting, as the Grand Mandator checked his fingers for some time, the conference room of the Chimaera was empty, making the scene sinister. Caesarius was not a cruel individual, his authority however was undeniable.
"So, I received a message from several connections in Coruanthor, it seems you have rattled the place with the highest echelons in the planet," he said.
"I only did what's necessary, Grand Admiral," she said, "the Empire does not tolerate failure."
Caesarius stopped, looked at her with his deep, dark eyes. Medè knew the Grand Admiral was an expert tactician, one that also analyzed all kinds of expressions, looking for weaknesses. She tried to stay as stoic and emotionless, determinedd to show nothing but devotion to the imperial cause.
"Some of the Admirals and officials you replaced were there because of their connections with noble houses or with Orbispira. In times of peace and order, I would reprimand you for such harsh actions, but in these times of war— war against the Psionic lords no less—I will overlook your pragmatic approach on them. After all, it was I who sent you to protect Core Secundus."
"An for that I am grateful, Grand Mandator."
"Grateful? For granting your request?" Caesarius shook his had, "You stepped ahead when I asked for an officer to deal with the Singularim Pact, almost without a second thought. While all officers would coward at the simple mention of a Civatron or Krassio, it seemed like you wanted this."
"It was an immense honor, Grand Admiral, I wanted it to be mine," Medè said.
"So you say," retorted the Grand Admiral, examining the Libertus female with increasing interest, "So, how is the battle going?"
"The Singularim Pact has given us respite following my arrival, it seems they are weary of imperial reinforcements coming and securing Core Secundus."
"You broke the blockade so easily, I've read the reports, you pierced their lines with relative ease and made them hesitant. Still, I have yet to receive a report from you."
"Grand Admiral," said Medé, looking at her superior officer for the first time, "All commanding officers usually report at the end of the battle."
Caesarius' eyes irked at Medé's words, "Still, when you finish this, and Coruanthor is again safe, you will tell me everything. Every detail, lest you will know what happens when you mock me."
"I never intended to offend you, Grand Admiral, please accept my apologies."
Caesarius did not say anything else, just stared at his subordinate with passive irritation for a few moments, "Caesarius out," he said, and his hologram disappeared.
There she stood, alone in the conference room, feeling as if she had dodged a bullet. Her hand reached for one of her pockets and pulled out the Memorialist Crystal, reminiscing of her time with Decimius, and his foreshawdowing of the Krassio ever arriving to Cyrannus.
"Yes, this is something I must do," she muttered, "If there is anything I will be remembered for, it's this."
The sound of the entrance door sliding open disturbed her thoughts, as the shadow of one of her officers was cast into the cone-like light.
"Captain, all the preparations have been made."
Medé placed the crystal in her pocket again and walked outside, she immediately stepped into the bridge, as all imperial vessels had their conference room, or ready room for that matter, next to the command deck. There she took the turbolift and headed straight for the hangar. As the doors opened, a huge crowd of troopers lined up in front of a series of captives lay before her. Medé shrugged off the fact that those prisoners held imperial insiginias and batches of high ranking positions in the Navy, wearing them proudly in their uniforms for all the crew in the Chimaera to see.
She sighed and proceeded to the troopers. Just then an officer approached her, he wore the rank of Chief of Engineering
"Report from Enginering," she commanded.
"The device we constructed seems to be working perfectly, pulsating everynow and then, but I must say that its eerie composition and projection of energy is putting my team on edge."
"Essence is not a power to be triffled with, and if this device manages to distort it long enough for us to destroy our enemies, then we must tread even more caferully. Tell your men to take turns, do not expose yourselves too much to the device."
"Will do, ma'am."
As the Chief Engineer was about to leave, Medé stopped him, "And about that other project I showed you?"
The officer smirked, albeit his expression also showed dismay, "It will take more time, captain, the data you provide is... incredible, I've never dealt with this field of work before."
"You have two days."
Medé's last command stunned the Engineer, as she resumed her walk towards the prisoners. In a moment's instant, she was between the troopers' guns and the officers cuffed and waiting.
"Captain Medé, what is the meaning of this?" one of them demanded, "How dare you hold us hostage like this?"
Medé observed his ornaments, his rank as a general was seen everywhere she looked on the coat.
"I am a member of House Capulex, a reputed family in this sector!"
The outright boasting made Medé want to chuckle, yet she did nothing. She was biding her time.
"Captain, whoever made you do this has obviously plotted our demise, let me go and I will repay you."
This last one was an admiral, of the ones supporting Admiral Tuvié in the defense.
The female Libertus contemplated the scene. Apart from the ones that had spoken out, she had there all kinds of high ranking officers, from captains to generals, tacticians and advisors who had collaboratede in the initial stages of the battle of Coruanthor. Many of them had faced the horrors of the Neraida, and had survived the change from Republic to Imperial rule swiftly, changing ranks and switching sides. In her eyes, however, they were useless.
"Captain Medé."
The voice of Admiral Tuvié echoed across the silent hangar. She calmly turned to see her subordinate and smiled.
"Ah, you finally join us, Admiral," she said, "I suppose you have already checked my credentials?"
Yes. Medé knew Tuvié had contacted Caesarius in order to complain. Before she even ordered the fleet to enter hyperspace and set a course for the Marean System, Medé had studied not only her opponents, but those who would work beneath her. Tuvié showed surprise at her making the comment, and then reluctantly nodded.
"Good. My warning stands, Admiral, if you so dare to challenge or even question my authority ever again," she turned to the prisoners, "Are all of these the ones that I asked?"
Tuvié glanced at the prisoner line, "Yes ma'am, all of the officers that participated in the preparations for Coruanthors' defense."
"Tuvié, what is the meaning of this? You take orders from her, a mere captain?" complained one of the prisoners.
The Admiral remained silent.
"Officers of the Imperial Navy, hear me," began Medé, her words filling the hangar as she was making sure everyone, ensign and admiral, heard her, "I shall delay my explanation no further. I've gathered you all here because there is an enemy we did not foresee would break our borders and began a relentless assault across the Core Secundus Sector. We are on the verge of loosing the entiety of it to the enemy, and Coruanthor stands as the last imperial bastion to defend it. If we manage to halt the Singularim Pact's advance here, our forces may be able to keep a foothold in the sector to prolong the conflict and eventually re-take it, our empire is strong—"
"We know this, captain!" yelled the cuffed admiral, a short Libertus screaming impatience, "We did everything protocol suggested and—"
The deafening sound of blaster fire echoed across the hangar, as Medé pulled out her sidearm and deliberately aimed at the admiral's head. The others, who were dismissive and mocking of her actions, now paid attention to her every move, unsure of the captain's limits.
"As I was saying, our empire is strong, and the strong are the ones that will lead us to victory. Protocol, you say? Those guidelines work before an enemy who respects our galaxy's technology and tactics, not one that has been designed and perfected across the centuries to fight wars beyond our comprehension."
"Captain, please understand, it is as you said," said another captain, "The Singularim Pact attacked the sector with technology we did not understand. Mounting a defense against these 'essence-users' was something we were not prepared for!"
"Aye, you were not prepared, captain," said Medé, "but not because you weren't able to."
All eyes fixed on her, wide open.
"You seriously don't mean that, captain!" Tuvié exclaimed, "Are you accusing us of neglecting our duty of defending Coruanthor against these aliens?"
"I'm not questioning your preparations, I'm denying their existence."
All of the crew, all of the prisoners, even the soliders (who lowered down their weapons in shock), now looked at her with surprise and confusion. Medé smiled, for this was all she wanted.
"I know your history, the cadre of soldiers that fills the ranks of Coruanthor. All of you have a record of serving here and only here. You served as officials to the Republic, then you switched to the Empire under the promise of undying fealty. You speak of duty, of loyalty? Nay, you don't owe allegiance to the Empire, you would not even swear it to the Psionic Lords if they were to be your masters. You only care about your own selfish interests. Jumping from one overlord to the next, you disgust me."
She raised her hand, and the troopers hastingly aimed at the prisoners, their weapons beeping fully armed. The latter began to yell, to shout. Some of them ranted orders to Medé, others begged for mercy, and others offered their undying loyalty to her in order to survive—the irony.
"The strong shall lead us to victory. I shall purge Coruanthor of its weak links."
"Captain, you listen to me, who assures Coruanthor you will do a better job than us?" yelled the same captain.
Medé smiled.
"Whatever happens to Coruanthor, you won't live to see it. Fire!"
The hangar was lighted with blaster fire for a second, as all the prisoners fell one by one, mortally wounded, a scorched whole tearing their pretty uniforms. Medé cleaned a bit of dust that had found its place to her shoulder, and then turned to Tuvié, who had just seen his friends and colleagues, probably from years and years of service, die a traitor's death. He worked hard to not puke in front of Medé, as her actions had proven a powerful incentive not to disappoint her.
"Do you want to end up like them?" Medé asked, her hands on the back.
"N-no, ma'am."
"Good, fortunately you have some use, for now," she said. She pulled a holo-projector from her front pocket, "This is a list of capable officers in the Navy that we can use to keep the defense live. I want them all rallied in the war room within the hour, understood?"
Tuvié grabbed the small device and nodded.
"Collect yourself, Admiral, do not make the crew believe you cannot stand a few deaths, it would be... unfitting of your rank."
She sped her pace to the turbolift, turning back to face the hangar. Tuvié stared at the holo-projector, which displayed a scrolling list of names. Medé smiled, yet as the door closed, only she remained, with her thoughts.
No one said I am defending this planet forever, she thought, taking her Krassio crystal again, but facing off against the Krassio is a chance I will probably never have again. Yes Caesarius, I chose this assignment. Decimius died because he could not predict a beast with atomic breath to come in and turn the tide. I will be the beast to the Krassio, and I will achieve what he could not.
Trivia[]
- Master of War is the first story featuring Lord Psantik since Dawn of Divina or his origin story in Bel's Awakening.
- Master of War draws inspirations from several military doctrines and philosophies, particularly the military treatise written by Sun Tzu: The Art of War to write its narrative.
- Master of War could be considered as a side-story to the overarching Soap Opera in Cyrannian's fiction, but a main plot point for The Valader's fiction.