A/N: Alright, those who were waiting, I now bring you another chapter. Please note I may not be updating this frequently.
Chapter I: The Summoning, Part I
It was in the vastness of space that a great battle was waged, ships firing their armaments as bright lights sped across the star-lit void. On one side were bright silver-coloured ships of sleek and elegant yet powerful make, highlights of black on the prow. On the other were ships of mismatched make, far uglier and more utilitarian in comparison, the emblem of a serpent painted on its side.
Fighter craft danced in the void, dogfighting with each other in a series of deft and daring manoeuvres, trading lances of bright light in a clash of sapphire blue and crimson red.
On the command deck of the silver-coloured fleet's flagship, the
Lion's Fury, stood a single man at the centre overlooking the rest of the crew at work. Ensigns frantically worked at consoles relaying orders and messages, whilst ship captains worked to flawlessly execute them.
"Pirate ships at four o'clock! Starboard eighty degrees!"
"Dreadnought flanking at six! Port 42 degrees!"
"
Tel'shebir and
Hailut, surround that flotilla! Do not let them escape!"
With a keen eye and intellect and unparalleled focus, the one man in the centre calmly ordered, "Order all ships to maintain formation, and do not break away from the main fleet! Helmsman, set a course for that enemy frigate two kilometres portside! Full speed ahead!"
"By your orders, My Lord!"
Beset by constant enemy fire the
Lion's Fury thundered onwards, its snarling lion-shaped prow a promise of death to all in its path.
"Brace for impact!"
And the entire bridge was rocked with a heavy impact that threw some crewmembers off their seats. Struggling to regain their bearings, one ensign then reported, "Dreadnought is down! I repeat, dreadnought is down!"
"Good, focus fire on the other enemy ships, engage at will!" Shouted the admiral, his fingers dancing across the holographic display, showing multiple red dots surrounding his ship, "Unleash a full broadside starboard!"
And the ship shuddered as its guns thundered, their payload of sapphire orbs of light and missiles finding their mark as half a dozen smaller frigates and cruisers met their end, engulfed in fire.
"A good day for a void battle, isn't it, m'lord?"
The one who spoke was far shorter than everyone else in the ship, barely reaching up to the admiral's knees. Dressed in a simple black suit of black iron and wearing a livery of blue and silver with a lion's head, and wearing a green sash patterned with celtic knots, he gave the impression of a happy-go-lucky man with his bright yellow eyes and bright smile, his cheerful handsomeness complemented by his freckled skin and bright chestnut hair.
"Aye, and not many times a battle goes in our favour like so," Said the Admiral, "Would you not agree, Lord Caradoc?"
Caradoc Cutton, a halfling hailing from the capital world of Tinteán Tí (Homely Hearth) in the Irearn Sector, was amongst the few halflings enlisted in the Royal Orsúilian Army, either as regular soldiers, support units or esquires of higher-ranking nobles. A great few, having distinguished themselves as noble warriors or capable stewards, were even named Lords with the blessing of King Elendri'aur of Orsúil, though that did not necessarily translate to Lordship of a planet or a solar system in most cases.
A veteran of seven years, he had served his Lordship faithfully, always standing by his side, never abandoning him when the tides turned sour. As such, he was granted Lordship by none other than Crown Prince Alandimir Elendri'aurion of Orsúil, the Lord he served.
"Hard to believe the Pirates of Cragsburg dared make such a brazen attack on Orsúilian territory like this, though, even though an entire fleet's positioned to guard the colony," Said Caradoc, "You think they might've secured a backer or something, Lord Alandimir?"
Alandimir took out his pipe, a smoothly polished instrument of wood with a band of silver around the snout, and lighting it, he casually puffed out rings of smoke in exhalation.
"Even if they have, it is not nearly enough to push through our defences with the numbers and the power they possess," Said Alandimir, his blue eyes staring out the windows of the front deck, "Sure, they may have unleashed troublingly powerful spells and armament against our ships, but Orsúilian technology is not so fragile that it shatters so easily. Unless they have yet to play their trump card."
"What do you think it is, then, m'lord?" Asked Caradoc, "I can't think of these pirates being able to trump one of our fleets so easily; with sheer numbers, yes, but they lack them; their technology is not on par with ours, so they have to fight dirty; maybe… demons…?"
One thing Alandimir liked about Caradoc was his uncanny ability to analyse many things in-depth, from the battlefield to his enemy's strengths and weaknesses and that of his allies. Such an ability was especially treasured by bureaucrats and generals alike, for it could influence the flow of battles and governmental policies.
His mention about demons, however, served to worry Alandimir slightly.
"I need a status report of the battlefield, gentlemen," Said Alandimir.
"Yes, my Lord," Said an Ensign, "The enemy has yet to retreat, despite sustaining severe casualties. It's almost as if they've adopted a fatalistic mind-set, if I may speak freely."
Alandimir puffed another ring of smoke with a tense jaw, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"Have all ships be on full alert for any surprises," Said Alandimir, "I do not like the looks of this."
"You really think it's demons, m'lord?" Asked Caradoc.
"I pray 'tis not so," Said Alandimir, "But we both know otherwise, Master Cutton."
And soon enough, their worst fears were realised as alarms blared an angry red.
"My Lord! An armada of demon ships has appeared to our left flank!" Shouted an ensign, "We're scattered all over the place!"
"Blast… those ships still engaging the pirates, finish their engagement quickly! The rest, focus fire immediately upon our enemy! We cannot allow them to win here!"
The problem was that they were directly over the Orsúilian Garden World of Arukor, a colony with barely any defences established, save for a few orbital cannons. They contributed to the battle in space, but against a determined enemy like the demons, they would be next to useless without substantial fleets and armies.
And if they overran the colony, the fleet would be forced to call in reinforcements.
"No wonder those pirates sold their lives dearly," Alandimir muttered, extinguishing his pipe, "Once again, we are reminded to never underestimate the demons' capabilities at subverting the minds of lesser men."
"I'm one such lesser man and I was never brainwashed by those demons," Caradoc pointed out, "Though, we halflings are blessed with an innate resistance to their magic."
"True," Alandimir conceded, "But now we must crush this fleet utterly; demons hardly ever retreat from the battlefield once in play."
Once again, the void was alight with lances and orbs of light as the two fleets battled each other. With their foul magics and advanced technology, however, this time the Orsúilian fleet was hard-pressed to maintain their defence.
Orbs and bolts the colour of a vomit green lashed out at the silver-coloured fleet, and at first they clashed against bright iridescent barriers of light. When those barriers failed, they hit the Orsúilian ships hard. Were it inferior-grade armour plating, the ships would buckle and break.
Orsúilian Hudramar, however, was far sturdier metal than most in the galaxy, only rivalled by a few composite alloys of complex make.
Alas, this was not to say the Orsúilian fleet suffered no casualties.
"My Lord, we've lost the
Tel'shebir and three other frigates," An ensign reported, "We've the upper hand for now with a dozen demon ships destroyed, but we cannot hope to win with the numbers we have."
"Send a call for reinforcements from Aksam," Said Alandimir, "Box in the fleet and disable their warp drives, stress the Lancecasters if you must."
"By your orders, My Lord!"
Even as the
Lion's Fury and other ships manoeuvred into position, Caradoc said, "We may have to prepare ourselves for boarding parties, m'lord. No way will they die lying down."
"They most certainly will not," Said Alandimir, "And that is why we will shatter them under a sledgehammer."
"Like how you'll crush their heads with Dir'enar?" Said Caradoc.
At this, Alandimir smiled at him, saying, "What else do you think?"
And Caradoc smiled knowingly at his Lord in return.
IIOII
On the decks of the
Lion's Fury, men and women garbed in standard-issued Hudramar plate anxiously awaited the onslaught of boarding parties, armed with rifle, pistol and sword.
Among them was Alandimir, decked in heavier plate and wielding his hammer, Dir'enar, his brows furrowed in grim anticipation. Beside him stood Caradoc, armed with pistol and shortsword. Both their presences served to reassure the soldiers, given their renown as formidable foes of their enemies.
"Well, methinks we be fighting some particularly nasty ones, m'lord," Said Caradoc, "Especially with how brazenly some of those ships are speeding towards us."
"They are brazen because they have managed to severely weaken our flagship's escort," Alandimir stated, "It makes sense they believe they can cut the head off the snake."
"Well, we've given them hard times plenty before, why can't we do that now?" Said Caradoc, "We are one of the best fighting forces in the galaxy for a reason."
"Aye, too true," Alandimir replied.
Then thundering sounds came from the walls, and the men and women of Orsúil braced themselves.
Incisions were made where bright lights ignited on the wall, burning a clean line as they moved to form a circular shape.
"Everyone, masks on!"
Those not wearing their helmets or masks were quick to don them, and not a second sooner, for as they tasted the stale air within their sealed environmental suits, the walls were breached, and in streamed the demons.
Fetid, horrific, and ugly beings, they wielded unholy power in their hands where green flames danced, and their fangs were barred in wicked smiles of sadistic glee and confidence.
"Look, brothers! The Lion Prince is here!"
"Claim his head! The master will be pleased!"
And they were promptly silenced as their heads vaporised in showers of blood and gore.
"You were saying?" Said Alandimir, holding a smoking handcannon.
Then more streamed in and the troops opened fire; the demons simply charged in with no barriers and no shields, uncaring of their own lives, for they need not care; their numbers were easily replenished in a matter of days, after all.
"Focus fire! Don't let them through!"
The barrage of lances continued, and yet still more demons streamed through, regardless of how many of their kind were slain and disintegrating to ash.
Eventually there came too many for them to effectively cull from range, and the fight descended into a bloody melee as swords were drawn. Even in melee, Orsúilian soldiers lived up to their name as some of the finest stock of warriors the galaxy offered, and for every one of their dead, over thirty demons were slain.
Alandimir deftly twirled his hammer, smashing aside his foes with great ease and strength. Dir'enar was painted crimson with demon blood with every swing, and no demon could come within arm's reach of the Lion Prince.
Caradoc was not to be outdone; using his small stature to his advantage, he was swift in stabbing and slashing his foes with his shortsword, firing shots at point blank range into the demons' faces. Like a scurrying mouse, the Halfling danced around his foes, always avoiding a head-on collision.
And soon enough, the tide of smaller demons had ceased, for in their place a larger one strode onto the battlefield.
Standing taller than most, the raging Atuk-mak – a monster of great strength and savagery – wielded a cruel-looking mace, caked in dried blood from slain foes of previous battles, and dressed in worn rags and looted metal plates. Its face was ugly but its body was muscular though pudgy, and roaring wildly, it moved to crush all who stood in its path.
Soldiers quickly fired upon it, but the Atuk-mak was not so weak that it would die from a few lances of light; wounds were dealt, but its flesh began to mend itself, and with a few swings of its mace, two dozen soldiers died at its hands, flung aside like ragdolls.
And with surprising speed, the Atuk-mak sped towards Alandimir, who calmly awaited his foe's coming. With a ringing of steel, the Prince intercepted his opponent's strike with his hammer's haft, matching strength with strength.
Pushing back his opponent, Alandimir deflected and parried the Atuk-mak's strike with swift, minimalist motions, never expending more strength than necessary.
Becoming impatient, the Atuk-mak moved to rear back its arm for a powerful strike, but Alandimir would deny him that moment, for his hammer moved to cave its face in with an overhead swing. Gore and blood were sent flying, and the Atuk-mak moved no longer.
"This is the Tur'mak
speaking, the cavalry has arrived. Do pardon us for keeping you waiting."
The surviving Orsúilians cheered at the news, greatly relieved.
"This is Prince Alandimir, have all reinforcing ships eradicate any remaining enemy craft and leave no one alive. Arukor must be protected."
"Understood, My Lord. Engaging the enemy."
Then the ship was rocked with motion, and all struggled to maintain their bearings.
"My Lord! The ship's engines are overloading! We cannot hope to repair the damage in so short a time!" Shouted one of the crewmen, "One of the demons must have hijacked the engines while we were preoccupied."
Alandimir cursed, then shouted, "Abandon ship! Abandon ship! All crewmen, head to the escape pods!"
The survivors ran like their life depended on it, hoping to survive for another day. A few explosions rocked the ship at times, however, blocking off corridors and forcing them to take detours that cost precious time.
When they reached the escape pods and launched them to safety, they found to their worry that some were damaged and unusable, and when they were down to the last functioning one, there was only enough room for one more. Specifically, for their resident Halfling.
"M'lord, I'm not going anywhere without you," Said Caradoc.
"Caradoc, we both know there's only enough room for you," Said Alandimir, "Don't worry about me."
"But-"
"Go. Now."
Faced with a direct order, Caradoc could only obey, though not before saying, "Be safe, m'lord."
And the last escape pod launched from the bay, leaving Alandimir as the ship's last remaining passenger.
And the Prince sighed, rubbing the faceplate of his helmet in exasperation.
I said I would be fine, but how shall I teleport out of here quickly enough without the aid of a grimoire? Of all the times I need one…
Then he noticed a green-glowing shape of sorts manifest before him, its mana signature alien to him.
"How strange… why is there a concentration of mana before me? A portal of sorts, perhaps?" Alandimir muttered.
Then another explosion rocked the ship, and Alandimir knew it would not hold for much longer.
"Then again, I have no other avenue of escape," He said, "I pray I do not regret this."
Then, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch the green light, he felt it wrap around his hands, an invisible force dragging him further and further inside. Were it any other time, he would resist, but he allowed himself to be engulfed by the bright light, until it consumed him utterly.
A/N: Next part will be out somewhere by the end of this week or next week, depending on my schedule.
