THE UNDEFEATED
When all the world is enflamed with trivial bigotry against the truth. That is when the vibrancy of violence becomes as beautiful as any song.
That truth was born of strength. Born of the harsh brutality of a world without the control of a feeble minds sentimental nature. Innocent minds boil in the cauldron of truth, hardened like stone.
Those hidden behind lies and grow soft and curdle together in fear of the dark. But the dark comes for us all.
Our fire is our strength and to envelop ones self in the truth is to stoke said fire. To grow strong.
_ [Listen]
Tathra woke in a unsteady world, an empty conference room. Small dots gathered on the edges of his vision, shifting in the air. Without thought nor feeling his body moved with instinct, massive muscles writhing under his thick hide worked to pull himself from the ground, from the black.
He felt a pool of warmth against his cheek, blood. It scorched the silver metal ground, his dull black blood clung to his face, dripping from a cracked brow. His eyes searched his surroundings, not knowing where he was nor why he knew it in a intimate familiarity.
Like a distant intimacy that held its face to the cold, its back turned to him. Moving to his feet, Tathra's eyes discovered the various walls barricaded. Man-made, provisional.
Several fresh corpses were strewn about the room, still as their stench came to him. Their bodies marked by powerful hands, crushed and slaughtered like the cattle they no doubt were. He felt no sympathy for them. But more a morbid curiosity as to why he saw them and felt eternally empty. Something had been taken.
Was it life?
Tathra moved to one of the barricaded doors, eyes first absorbing the small muscles that collected into the face of the man opposite the door; how they bent and held rigid, long after use. Your body was your story, and your death told the most intimate of details.
His face was rested, unbent and sorrowful. Whatever became of him, he welcomed it. It was strange, the man sized hole in his chest still dripped, yet the blood on the ground lay dry. Tathra knocked the body out of the way of the barricade with his leg, the heavy armoured boot sliding him off to his side.
"Finally, lay down to rest." He humoured the creature, but he was dead and he didn't know why he bothered. He wouldn't have in life. It was strange, yet still Tathra reached for the barricade. His fingers grasped tightly, effortlessly bending the metal defences to his will as his body woke. Soon the metal succumbed and tore from its placement, falling to the ground as the massive titan arched his back. Sliding under the doorway.
He walked out into a railway, high above what seemed to be a courtyard with many doorways, and an elevator in the middle. There were signs of conflict, plasma scorching and broken glass. Bodies of his own Bryn'adûl and others he did not recognise were scattered along the other railways, some in various other rooms across the three levels above the courtyard.
Below were more, corpses now decorating the rooms and hallways. Penance for the destruction of its previous ones. Tathra observed two feet ahead of him, blood crawled from the conference room to the railway, broken glass told the story of a fall. Tathra walked to the edge, looking down to see a Bryn'adûl drone; beside it a Battle Droid. Were they had died, he would show perseverance. He leapt down, his massive weight crashing into the ground as steady feet allowed him to safely arise, observing the two corpses.
They held meaning he could not see, one served as warning and the other told of his own story. Which was which he couldn't know. But the feeling held him in place too long, his teeth gritted as he pushed for control; marching past and toward the elevator. Tathra saw a small viewport just beyond a set of winding stairs, endless stars. He paid it no mind the best he could, as last he remembered, he was on route to a dealers meet.
Entering the elevator, he saw it was incredibly old; its bronze design entirely unlike the rest of the ship. Old and derelict, entirely unlike anything he'd seen in his many long years of life. Cautiously, the large titan entered the elevator, activating the console and heading for the bridge.
The journey was slow, as elevator seemed to crank slowly upward like old rusted clockwork. There was a stench, of old infertility. It hung like an aroma of death, like a vapour filling his every pour. He shook it off, glaring through the vapour as the doors opened. Before even looking he quickly entered, finding himself in a not so familiar place.
His eyes grasped for understanding, but his senses felt clouded. As if his eyes were masked by steam on a glass visor, yet he saw clearly. This looked to be like ventilation shafts, not a bridge of any making. They were bronze, ancient and curved like the elevator. His eyes shifted back, only to find a wall. Trapped.
He could not linger, for he was not where he wished and to remain would be cowardice in all but name. His feet carried himself forward, blackness leeched at his sight as there was no heat, no life. He was shrouded in dark, his senses finding him his foothold. Next, a sound.
Tathra turned like lighting, turning around to strike down against whatever came. Yet he saw nothing, a figment of fire was perhaps preferably. Anything was preferable to a eternal dark. That was when he saw it, something writhing in the dark. Yet his eyes saw it clear, a bone like claw lingering on the edge of his vision. He turned, facing his presumed adversary as it collapsed on him; a lumbering figure of flesh. Without thought Tathra thrust his Gladius into its stomach, thrusting it to the ground as it shattered.
Both feel some distance, crashing onto a plant bed as the body rolled a few feet, bouncing from the fall as Tathra crushed the bed under his weight. He fell to the ground on his hands, thousands of small grains of dead soil collapsed around him as a strange light suddenly blessed his skin. Tathra stood upright, eyes focusing as he observed a massive viewscreen, likely four or five meters tall and six wide. The light fizzled into concentration as the familiar shake of leaving hyperspace came to his body as if, dragging behind its natural time.
A planet came into view, he recognised it. But the knowledge of its fatherland troubled him.
"Krant."
His eyes shifted to the corpse opposite him, recognising it as a mostly decomposed Bryn'adûl Section Commander, one of his Baedurin. There he saw it, at the edge of his sight. A black and purple insignia that stretched the length of the wall opposite a staircase built into an archway.
The Confederacy. Tathra was on a confederate ship.
That truth was born of strength. Born of the harsh brutality of a world without the control of a feeble minds sentimental nature. Innocent minds boil in the cauldron of truth, hardened like stone.
Those hidden behind lies and grow soft and curdle together in fear of the dark. But the dark comes for us all.
Our fire is our strength and to envelop ones self in the truth is to stoke said fire. To grow strong.
_ [Listen]
Tathra woke in a unsteady world, an empty conference room. Small dots gathered on the edges of his vision, shifting in the air. Without thought nor feeling his body moved with instinct, massive muscles writhing under his thick hide worked to pull himself from the ground, from the black.
He felt a pool of warmth against his cheek, blood. It scorched the silver metal ground, his dull black blood clung to his face, dripping from a cracked brow. His eyes searched his surroundings, not knowing where he was nor why he knew it in a intimate familiarity.
Like a distant intimacy that held its face to the cold, its back turned to him. Moving to his feet, Tathra's eyes discovered the various walls barricaded. Man-made, provisional.
Several fresh corpses were strewn about the room, still as their stench came to him. Their bodies marked by powerful hands, crushed and slaughtered like the cattle they no doubt were. He felt no sympathy for them. But more a morbid curiosity as to why he saw them and felt eternally empty. Something had been taken.
Was it life?
Tathra moved to one of the barricaded doors, eyes first absorbing the small muscles that collected into the face of the man opposite the door; how they bent and held rigid, long after use. Your body was your story, and your death told the most intimate of details.
His face was rested, unbent and sorrowful. Whatever became of him, he welcomed it. It was strange, the man sized hole in his chest still dripped, yet the blood on the ground lay dry. Tathra knocked the body out of the way of the barricade with his leg, the heavy armoured boot sliding him off to his side.
"Finally, lay down to rest." He humoured the creature, but he was dead and he didn't know why he bothered. He wouldn't have in life. It was strange, yet still Tathra reached for the barricade. His fingers grasped tightly, effortlessly bending the metal defences to his will as his body woke. Soon the metal succumbed and tore from its placement, falling to the ground as the massive titan arched his back. Sliding under the doorway.
He walked out into a railway, high above what seemed to be a courtyard with many doorways, and an elevator in the middle. There were signs of conflict, plasma scorching and broken glass. Bodies of his own Bryn'adûl and others he did not recognise were scattered along the other railways, some in various other rooms across the three levels above the courtyard.
Below were more, corpses now decorating the rooms and hallways. Penance for the destruction of its previous ones. Tathra observed two feet ahead of him, blood crawled from the conference room to the railway, broken glass told the story of a fall. Tathra walked to the edge, looking down to see a Bryn'adûl drone; beside it a Battle Droid. Were they had died, he would show perseverance. He leapt down, his massive weight crashing into the ground as steady feet allowed him to safely arise, observing the two corpses.
They held meaning he could not see, one served as warning and the other told of his own story. Which was which he couldn't know. But the feeling held him in place too long, his teeth gritted as he pushed for control; marching past and toward the elevator. Tathra saw a small viewport just beyond a set of winding stairs, endless stars. He paid it no mind the best he could, as last he remembered, he was on route to a dealers meet.
Entering the elevator, he saw it was incredibly old; its bronze design entirely unlike the rest of the ship. Old and derelict, entirely unlike anything he'd seen in his many long years of life. Cautiously, the large titan entered the elevator, activating the console and heading for the bridge.
The journey was slow, as elevator seemed to crank slowly upward like old rusted clockwork. There was a stench, of old infertility. It hung like an aroma of death, like a vapour filling his every pour. He shook it off, glaring through the vapour as the doors opened. Before even looking he quickly entered, finding himself in a not so familiar place.
His eyes grasped for understanding, but his senses felt clouded. As if his eyes were masked by steam on a glass visor, yet he saw clearly. This looked to be like ventilation shafts, not a bridge of any making. They were bronze, ancient and curved like the elevator. His eyes shifted back, only to find a wall. Trapped.
He could not linger, for he was not where he wished and to remain would be cowardice in all but name. His feet carried himself forward, blackness leeched at his sight as there was no heat, no life. He was shrouded in dark, his senses finding him his foothold. Next, a sound.
Tathra turned like lighting, turning around to strike down against whatever came. Yet he saw nothing, a figment of fire was perhaps preferably. Anything was preferable to a eternal dark. That was when he saw it, something writhing in the dark. Yet his eyes saw it clear, a bone like claw lingering on the edge of his vision. He turned, facing his presumed adversary as it collapsed on him; a lumbering figure of flesh. Without thought Tathra thrust his Gladius into its stomach, thrusting it to the ground as it shattered.
Both feel some distance, crashing onto a plant bed as the body rolled a few feet, bouncing from the fall as Tathra crushed the bed under his weight. He fell to the ground on his hands, thousands of small grains of dead soil collapsed around him as a strange light suddenly blessed his skin. Tathra stood upright, eyes focusing as he observed a massive viewscreen, likely four or five meters tall and six wide. The light fizzled into concentration as the familiar shake of leaving hyperspace came to his body as if, dragging behind its natural time.
A planet came into view, he recognised it. But the knowledge of its fatherland troubled him.
"Krant."
His eyes shifted to the corpse opposite him, recognising it as a mostly decomposed Bryn'adûl Section Commander, one of his Baedurin. There he saw it, at the edge of his sight. A black and purple insignia that stretched the length of the wall opposite a staircase built into an archway.
The Confederacy. Tathra was on a confederate ship.
| [member="Dianah Vi'Dreya"] |
