From the shadows of a high, sheltered crag on one of the northern ridges, the Legion Knight watched the demolition of Giant’s Shoulder. Via the lenses and sensors of his last few remaining probes and aerial flyers he was able to observe the sequential detonations and the rising wave of rubble that engulfed and pulverised the craft containing Kuros. And felt a warm satisfaction which complemented the delicious irony of it all.
From the tracking of Spiralist and Human groups over the last day or more, the Legion Knight had deduced that a joint attack on Giant’s Shoulder before dawn was likely. The promontory was already rigged with augmented burrower charges designed to open the warpwell up to the air. Thus he had been preparing to lure the Humans and their allies by retreat onto Giant’s Shoulder, thereby destroying them with one grand act of demolition. But then the Brolturans, led by that self-important fool Kuros, had launched a pre-emptive strike against the Humans at their mountain base while he placed himself between the jaws of death.
<A helpful self-important fool. Thank you, Ambassador, for making my task that much easier>
Fighting was still going on at Tusk Mountain so both main adversaries had been thwarted. On the other hand, his own onboard detectors were picking up faint signs of activity from another quarter, a certain energy pattern signifying ancient dangers.
<A Uvovo servant strives to link together the aged junctions of the Forerunner web that once tapped into the primal energies of this planet. Linkages are made and the archaic forces respond but the linkages are few and only a meagre trickle of that raw, titanic flood creeps forth. Even on the forest moon, that conglomeration of ecosphere and biosentience seems torpid and weak before the unleashed violence of space-born conflict, proof of indecision or delusion, or some other degenerate form of paralysis. Who or what remains which can stand in the way of the Legion of Avatars?>
On the visual feed the destruction of Giant’s Shoulder ground on. The ancient Uvovo workings had caved in on themselves, their smashed ruins buried in the toppling chaos. Underpinning layers and supportive masses were blasted apart, while the sheer weight of the upper section aided in the shattering of those beneath. At the same time, the explosions along the flanks created paths for the tons of collapsing debris that soon built up in heaps around the promontory’s base.
At last the cascade of rubble slowed and petered out. Giant’s Shoulder had become a truncated stump of its former self and from the jumbled mass of cracked and tumbled rock a strong silver-blue glow emanated. As the rain gradually cleared the dust from the air, soaking the mounds of boulders and shards, more details resolved out of the murk. The warpwell was visible, a bright, uncluttered circle–any pieces of rock, large or small, that landed on it were ejected with considerable force.
Astonishingly, the Knight was still receiving data from the hyperspace scanner, a device he had managed to lower gradually into the warpwell nearly a day ago. Since then it had showed the presence of some kind of mass far, far below, either something large or a large, dense formation of smaller objects. Now, post-demolition, there was little change.
<It may take another day or more for the Legion outriders to arrive. Thus the well will have to be guarded, protected. None of the powers fighting over this world have the ability to harm the well itself yet no chances will be taken>
The Knight stirred from the natural rock platform amongst the high crags, carefully, stealthily wending his way down on suspensors. As he did he sent a signal to all units for a status update and was pleasantly surprised at the number of responders and the number that were combat-ready. He mapped out several patrol zones and sentry points near the well and signalled the assignments.
On his way to the half-demolished promontory he glided over a steep ravine at the head of which were the burning wrecks of two Brolturan heavy flyers, sheets of flame lighting up the rocky defile, whirling sparks rising as the rain came down. There were a few bodies, Sendrukan and some from the Spiralist races, but everyone else seemed to have fled.
The Knight was less than a hundred metres from the ruin of Giant’s Shoulder, from the silver-blue glow now shining powerfully up from amid the rubble, when a priority signal came through from the scanning device in the well. Amazement turned to exhilaration. All of the hopes and plans, struggles and reversals had led him to this point. He came to a halt and increased his altitude with his suspensors, noticing that the warpwell was getting brighter, its silver-blue glow becoming harsher, more actinic, while taking on a more defined, conelike shape thrusting up to pierce the cloud layer.
Then the signal from the hyperspace scanner cut out. A moment later a dark object flew up out of the well, followed by another two, no, three, outriders of the Legion. They slowed to circle the radiant cone below the cloud cover. The Knight’s few remaining static sensors and mobile probes sent back images of three black-carapaced cyborgs bristling with hooked spines, their effectuators equipped with elaborate cutters, drills and pincers. The Knight couldn’t be sure about their type but he guessed that they might be modified shock-scouts. Their hull markings were basic white-on-black yet the characters were unfamiliar to him. That did not prevent him from sending a welcome signal.
<Greetings, brothers in convergence! Welcome to the realm that will be ours. Welcome to battle, welcome to war, the seedbed of our inevitable triumph!>
There was no reply, but the three outriders stopped circling and swooped down in his direction. The closer they came, the more he saw how patched and repaired they were, the black colour masking mendings made with unmatched materials. They drew near, hovering, all three spread out.
>Relic< said one.
>Antique< said another.
>A behinder< said the third, who went on >Speak, old one… speak your oldness<
<I made a messenger and sent it down the warpwell to find you and guide you all to freedom> the Knight said, now uneasy. <Where are the Legion’s leaders? I must speak with them>
>Great Legion needs only one leader< the third outrider said >the Great King!<
Below, more Legion cyborgs had been emerging and spiralling upwards. The Knight noticed that the warpwell had expanded and that part of its rim now overhung the rock flanks of what remained of Giant’s Shoulder. Some strange force, however, was distorting the surrounding rock and earth, compacting the polychromatic supporting mass that melded the wider well into the surrounding stone. Then he realised why the warpwell had grown when he saw what was rising out of it. It was nothing less than an amalgamation of hundreds, probably thousands of Legion cyborgs, their fused carapaces clearly visible beneath the crisscross webbing of welded metal spars and rods. Roughly 80 metres across and perhaps 120 long, it had a curve-backed profile and was ringed with heavy weapon barrels, muzzles and launcher ports.
The Knight was assailed by despair even as his thoughts spun with speculation. Confinement in the crushing, lightless cold of that hyperspace prison for millennia must have put the Legion of Avatars under horrific pressure. In the end, the principles of convergence could not withstand the savage demands of that grim captivity–who knows what cycles of conflict and adaptation they went through to reach this point?
>Behold Great King< said the third cyborg. >Enemies all around, enemies above, enemies below. This world will be eaten, other worlds of legend will be eaten. Stars of legend will burn, will make the night into day for ever< It moved in the Knight’s direction, drill-tipped tentacles outstretched. >You are old one, you are old parts! Be thankful, your thinking flesh will be eaten by Great King<
And it attacked, lunging forward. The Knight destroyed it with the beam cannons that were fitted to his underhull. Undeterred, the other two cyborgs rushed him in a pincer movement while howling gibberish over the comm channel. Behind them, a swarm of about thirty peeled off from the thousands now swirling about the Great King and swooped towards him.
<The Legion of Avatars has become a barbarian horde>
Feeling the weight of an immense sadness, he dealt with the other two and prepared to meet the oncoming madness, and his doom.