Herald.1
[Event Horizon]
This
universe is a desolation of forgiveness. A boil of hubris and hatred on the
skin of time, a blister on the foot of existence. It is an infection gone
untreated, for too long has war raped the people and possibilities that serve
under the great being of known sentience. Stagnation breeds' wrath in the
hearts of mortals, and those among them who burn bright enough now take to the
forge to make ready the mantle of war. This existence of war is in need of a
plague; a devourer to rid the weak and simple minded, something to scrape the
fools from their thrones to wallow once more in the dirt, to fear and loathe
the night sky and take the shoulder of man amongst them in compassion and stay
their fists from the mantle.
Avarice system,
--- 883rd Post Colonial Solar Rotation-
A ship once proud
and noble now drifts endlessly, ripped and torn, burnt and broken. Disemboweled
from the inside, all that remains is a lifeless shell.
It is a gleaming
gray voyager of space, drifting soundlessly through the infinite expanses of
the void, a dull thrum resonating throughout the hull as a invisible force pushes
it along on its tireless journey.
It's angled wings
and tapered nose are marred with dents, barley visible on it's wing it's title
is displayed 'Gray Lark' the
once refined vessel, the bird, the catalyst, it only knew itself as a fragment
of times gone by.
Its cargo has
become its captain, while its captain has become even less then what it once
was, now only a slave to her intentions, a soulless husk of a faded name.
At the helm of
the craft, a queen sleeps on her throne, cocooned in resin like swaths of an
unknown origin, encapsulated within, royalty slept undisturbed.
Within the void,
sound did resonate as unknown hands gripped the metal bird and pulled it
closer, a craggy surface dotted with hubs of human life; the parasites of
worlds some would call them.
It was if this
planet had called out to the dying ship, in need of its vital substance, the
cure for its diseased surface, an antidote for the humanoid poisons it played
host to.
Silently, but
with renewed purpose the unknown ship drifted closer to the ravished world. It
fell out of the void, fire licking at its sides, systems long since decayed
flickered back to life- the shuttle spread its great gray wings once more, and
took flight across a black-night sky, the starless night its only companion.
Lower, and lower
it drifted, gliding down through clouds of soot, ash, and smog, poisoned rain
beat down onto its back, and pounded against its shell.
Silence still
ruled within the great ships' confines, an egg like casing gently pulsed
within. But a formless intruder desecrates its ageless rest, voice took place
of its form, brash, and loud, it forced itself on sleeping ears.
Demands went
unmet, and outside the gray lark, fire erupted, the once great bird now fell
prey to the will of others once more, its wings clipped, its soul crippled, its
last flight ended in despair.
Two greater birds
of prey- Fearsome atmospheric fighters, swooped down upon it, fire erupting
forth from undercarriage weapons; they sunder its flight, only stopping when
there is nothing more then formless metal hurtling towards the ground.
It spirals
downwards, lower and lower it tumbles, bits and pieces breaking off as the body
fell apart and non-conductive metals failed.
But the gray voyager
of space had served its purpose in its undeath. It no longer was needed, having
played its small, yet important part in the vast cosmic play.
Now it was time
for a new actor to emerge, as the burning wreckage crashed down into sickly
swamps neighboring a vast sprawling city littered with factories.
The muddy earth
erupted in a shower of gunk, smoke, and debris as the ruined vessel slammed
home. The hull slid forward, burrowing a trench for a yard or two before coming
to a full halt. The silt-laden water washed over its bulk.
The two fighters
responsible for clipping this birds great wings flew past silently overhead,
circling twice before breaking off and returning to home.
From the ashes
arose a phoenix; but this was no majestic bird of fire -no myth of the old
world- this was a carrion crow of hell, and this wretch was far too
terrifyingly real.
It emerged- like
that of a stillborn child from the womb of it's mother, silent, cold, and
airless.
It was not human.
It was something
else entirely.
Two terrible eyes
caught the light of the fire, but even its heat could not warm them.