Into the Black

(Eclipse Club, Shvehona City, Dimiya)

“Are you certain?”

Elnaril Triswyn frowned as he looked at one of his lieutenants. The news they had just provided was worthy of a frown, after all. Which is why he simplyhad to confirm it once more.

“Yes, Leader Triswyn,” the lieutenant nodded. “Thelorious is buzzing with the news that the Terran Empress is making a diplomatic voyage to Dimiya. Something which hasn’t happened ever before, according to the newscasts. They are calling it a historic move towards peace.”

Triswyn shook his head. The move was historic, yes. But towards peace? That he had his doubts on. More likely it was a prelude to war. Not between the Empire and the Confederacy, thankfully, but perhaps the Empire looking for allies against the Ihm, or others.

Of course, it wasn’t like this was the only big thing going on at the moment. His contacts in Traffic Control said that there was concern about ‘ghost contacts’ and possible X’thari. Not to mention that some new religious group was radicalizing people. It was uneasy times, to be sure.

His thoughts were interrupted by an incoming call on his private line. The number of people who had his private commcode was small, by design. When he looked at the ID of the caller, though, his blood chilled. Motioning for the lieutenant to wait, he picked up the call.

“Hello, Mister Mollen. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Good day to you, Leader Triswyn. I’m sure that you are busy with current events, but I thought I would take a moment to reach out to my friends. I know we’re all busy, and can’t get together to talk, but that doesn’t mean we can’t arrange some quality time for organizations to bond. It would be great if we could have a retreat or get-together for the ‘civilians’, the families of our workforces, to take a vacation. Perhaps Star’s Reach?”

His blood became ice, as he understood the subtext there. Mollen wasn’t looking for a ‘company getaway’. He was offering his friends a way to get their families off Dimiya. He took a deep breath.

“I have a lot of people in my employ, Mollen. You know this. That is a lot of families.”

“Of course. But if any of them do want to take a vacation, there is room for them on some ships leaving soon. I can try and hold them a little, but there’s only so much I can do before the window closes.”

“I understand. Send them to your station?”

“That would be perfect.”

“Very well. I’m afraid I have to go. I have some calls to make, you understand.”

“Of course, my friend. Fates go with you.”

“And with you, my friend.” Triswyn sighed once he hung up the call. Looking to his lieutenant, he said, “That was Mollen, from the Black Stars. Whatever is happening, it has him worried. He offered to evacuate all our families, the civilians not involved in the business, from Dimiya.”

“What will we do, Leader?”

“Start making calls. Everyone not in the business goes to Black Star Station on the first available shuttle. Get them out of harm’s way. Everyone else? Pull them from their current jobs, get them all armed and ready. I don’t know what’s coming, but I want to be as ready as we can be.”

“What should we tell the men?”

“Tell them that I am fulfilling my obligation to them, doing what I can to make sure their people are safe. And tell them that I expect them to fulfill their obligations in turn. If things go wild, they are to stomp on anyone causing trouble, and earn us new friends in the communities. So that we get even stronger.”

“As you wish, Leader.”

(Sendal Plain, Ydan, fourth planet in Dimiya System)

Upon the Sendal Plain, the Church of Perfection gathered. Though the call of the Perfect Goddess had started in the far-off Ihm Imperium, Her Truth had spread far, calling to all those who had learned the sacred gospel of perfecting oneself, raising yourself up above the imperfect masses. Such calls found fertile ground in the Confederacy, especially amongst the knelfi population. After all, they were better looking, longer-lived, and more intelligent than the lesser races, like humans, who were only good for manual labor or to be used as cannon fodder.

The changes brought about in recent years only made the ground more fertile for the words of Baxanke and the Church of Perfection. Outsider were corrupting and destroying the Confederacy’s way of life, its very soul. And these changes were all brought about by Nomads, and humans.

The Great Arena on Dimiya was broken after a series of massive bets by a Nomad, and the humans of one of the underworld clans took over the massively profitable venture. There were whispers amongst the faithful that the Nomad had colluded with the gangsters, but they had never been able to find any proof of the matter. But the truth remained that the knelfi had lost control of their arena.

Then, the Nomads began changing everything. They were given special treatment by the military, infiltrating and weakening it with impurities for the mere convenience that their special abilities allowed. Even the government bowed to them, for all knew that the Nomads had engineered the fall of the Shining Path party, which was set to lead the Confederacy to new heights.

And so, in the face of all this decadence and decay, it was little wonder that those who had been disenfranchised by the rise of these freaks should listen to the clarion call of Perfection. For only through Perfecting themselves could they hope to compete against the terribly imperfect, chaotic mass that was the Nomads. Together, with the other Perfected, they would cleave their way across the galaxy, and hunt down the Nomads and their brainwashed pawns to the last!

Most Perfect of the Blessed Children was the title given to the leader of the Church of Perfection, often shortened to ‘Most Perfect’. Few had seen the Most Perfect in the flesh, which was only proper, for they had not yet risen to his level, and cleansed themselves of their perfections. That was the way things should be.

But now, upon this day, and at this place, the Most Perfect had decreed that he would walk amongst the Children, as they gathered and prepared for the ritual. Through this rite, they would cleanse themselves of their imperfections, and become the Goddess of Perfection’s flesh made manifest upon the world, becoming instruments of Her glorious will, now and forever.

(Primary Control Chamber, Simutan Prime – Formerly known as Jagloth)

Simusret the Slayer shuddered as, once again, the echoes of foreign code assaulted his senses. This virus that had infected his tomb world. Something left behind by the pitiful mortals. A trap? Or a mistake, that they thought would remain hidden?

It made no difference either way, for he could feel the madness coursing through his subjects, noting the way it spread from warrior to warrior, starting with the two warriors who had survived the nuclear fire on the surface. They had reconstituted themselves, but their minds were no longer the same. They were filled with a pulsing hatred, and the insatiable need to feed, something that should be impossible, due to their nonliving forms having no such capability, much less something so base as desires. And yet, the urges remained, and more fell to their infection.

But with the urges came something more. A knowledge that spoke of ways to pass unseen from place to place, without the normal methods. But the knowledge was as yet incomplete. He needed time, to more fully analyze this data provided by the drones that still retained some piece of their sanity.

Still, this was not the time for such things. There was a psychic call going out, one that registered on instruments designed to detect the psychic might of long-forgotten (and longer-dead) enemies. Something strong, and something close.

Simusret recognized this as an opportunity. He ordered the ships made ready to launch. Then, he ordered all the infected into transports. He would unleash them upon the living, allowing them to do that which they longed to do, and thereby removing them from his forces, keeping the rest of them safe from infection. He had no illusions about being able to control them, not in this maddened state. They would go wild, and slaughter the enemy, and that was all he needed from them.

(Sendal Plain, Ydan, fourth planet in Dimiya System)

In the center of the plane, as the followers of the Church of the Perfected gathered, a small rift opened, barely large enough for a man. From it walked a man, cloaked in black, with a hood shrouding his face in shadow. In one hand, he held a staff, bearing the symbol of the Perfect Goddess at its head, and in the other he held a black box, just a bit larger than a person’s head.

The Blessed Children of Perfection formed up around him, as the chants rose to new heights, and were called out with even greater fervor. The energy of the rift poured out, guided by their prayers, to fill the carved channels of the array that the faithful had already prepared. The Most Perfect looked over them all, and he smiled.

Setting the case in the center of the psychic array, the Most Perfect looked over his people. It had taken the carved array, and the full power of overloading the reactor upon his station to fuel the transport spell, but he was here, and it was time to show his true allegiance to the galaxy. Raising his hands, he silenced the crowd.

“Now, my friends, my glorious seekers of the perfect, it is time! Cast down your burdens, and offer up your voices, your blood, your souls to Perfection Made Manifest! Join with Her, and you shall never know the imperfections that once haunted you! Together, we shall spark a fire in the Confederation, which will become a cleansing flame, wiping away all the rot that has infected our glorious people!”

“FOR THE GLORY OF BAXANKE! FOR PERFECTION! IN THE NAME OF OUR GLORIOUS NATION! PRIDE AND PERFECTION GUIDE US!”

The crowd chanted as one. And, as one, they pulled the ceremonial daggers from their robes. As one, they cut themselves, offering up their blood, their souls, to their goddess, so that they could save their world from the corruption that threatened all they knew. A sacrifice worth paying.

The power rose all around him, glowing with the eldritch light of Hellspace. As the psychic energy in the air grew thicker, it began whipping up the wind, and caused lightning to crackle across the psychic array, striking worshipper after worshipper. As they fell, their souls were added to the screaming chorus, the blessed roar of the faithful pulling on the fabric of what was real.

The Most Perfect’s hood and robe were blown back by the swirling winds, shocking all those who still had wits to see. His eyes glowed with an inner fire, his skin morphing, from something more ratlike, to the perfect image of knelfi beauty, the kind of face that would make even men swoon, for it was so perfect. At his feet, the black case he’d placed in the center of the circle began to grow eight spidery legs, as the case’s material began to flow down, around the base, becoming alive.

And, as the case’s material became legs for the vile aberration it spawned, the inside was revealed. It was a jar, holding a brain in suspension. A brain with now began growing tendrils to connect it with its new body. A body that now began to form a mouth, with teeth.

And, as the ritual came to its climax, and exactly one thousand knelfi lay dead, the hundreds more began to scream in pain and fear as a rift opened wide, and demons began seeking out each of the unfortunate souls, possessing them, and taking their bodies for their own. But not the Most Perfect.

No, the Most perfect laughed, as wings sprouted from his back, white and feathered like the tales of religious beings in his race’s ancient past. Above his head, a crown of eldritch light glowed, marking him as a prince amongst demons. And, Doctor Iefyr Presrel melted away, as he took up the mantle of Iefyrel, Lord of Perfection.

And across the galaxy, every Nomad staggered and screamed, their minds wrought with pain as the lightning struck the spider abomination again, and again.