A light wind kicked up dust from the dry cracked ground of the valley, sending up gusts that partially occluded the wide, squat building dominating its center. A weapons production factory, a fairly important one at that, formerly responsible for providing the Eighth arm with over ten percent of its munitions, at least in the outer colonies. Hoplite bumped the pad in his helmet using his chin, his visor zooming in to view things more clearly. His golden eyes spied a dozen hunched figures huddling around the entrance of the building. Most likely it was a regiment of pugs, based on the shape and size of them.
They were the most numerous of the Final Kind’s forces, and the most disposable. They would be a great alarm system should the entrance be attacked directly. Their screams were of inordinate volume, equivalent to that of a gunshot. As soon as one was killed, the rest would panic and the entire factory would be on lockdown. Granted, it was going to be put on lockdown one way or another, after he made it inside.
He’d been tasked with scaring the enemy forces out of the building and into the open, after that happened, they would be gunned down by the Eighth Arm forces surrounding the valley. There were a thousand aliens in there, so sending in a regiment of human troops would be dangerous and costly. They could not afford to flush this problem out with brute force, especially not after Earth fell…
Hoplite bumped his chin again, activating his cloaking system. He checked his hands, seeing that… well, that he couldn’t see them. Very good, there was no creature in the Final Kind forces posted here that would be able to see him, not unless they had a motion tracker. That was a distinct possibility, but the majority of hostiles here would not be in possession of one. These were the last Final Kind forces posted on this planet, as soon as they were slaughtered this world would be liberated.
From there, the Eighth Arm could prepare for an eventual retaking of Earth. That wouldn’t be for quite a long time, unfortunately… but perhaps Lord Jyn would return to tip the scales once again during this lull in the war. His mind became fuzzy as he thought of the Master of Humanity, and Hoplite decided that it was best to ignore the feeling.
He crept down the hill, silently, not making a single noise despite his great size. That was more due to his Kryptes suit, rather than his own skill. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sneak effectively on his own, but the armor had been crafted to not emit a sound. Hoplite knew not the science of how it worked, nor did he care. As long as it worked, that was all that mattered, he’d not overthink things like Thirty-Seven so often did.
If only Hoplite Thirty-Seven was here now, both of them working together could have this factory cleared in fifteen minutes or less, but he had most likely perished in the battle for Earth. Hoplite grimaced at the thought, but did not slow his pace. When he finally reached the wall of the factory, he placed his hands upon its concrete surface, and began to ascend.
Soundlessly he climbed, the tiny Adium spikes embedded in his palms digging through the concrete with ease. They were almost invisible to the naked eye, but the nigh indestructible spikes were more than capable of both supporting his great weight and punching through even steel. Of course, he’d need to retract them when it was time to draw a weapon, as the spikes could damage them otherwise.
It wasn’t long before he finally reached the top, spying his first victims stationed along the edges of the roof. Final Kind snipers, specifically Swaglay. Disgusting freaks with dozens of tentacles hanging down from octopi-like heads. Several plasma guns were held aloft by these prehensile limbs, all aimed down at the entrance of the factory. They skittered about occasionally on a set of four sharp insectoid legs, heads whipping this way and that as they scanned the dusty field below.
Hoplite crept up behind the nearest one, drawing his Sectis knife and driving it into the back of the alien's skull. The dark tungsteel blade punched through the spongy bone with ease, destroying the brain and forcing the body to stiffen. He quickly drew the knife, which was as long as a normal man's forearm, and eased the corpse into its landing, making not a single sound.
It wasn’t time to make ‘art’ yet… the rest would need to die first. These ones weren’t going to be a part of the retreat, they were going to be a warning to any Final Kind forces that fled to the roof, instead of outside like the plan intended. He repeated the same action for all twenty Swaglay before dragging their stiff corpses toward the center of the roof. There was only one access ladder that led down into the factory and vice versa, so as long as he positioned his ‘art’ in front of the entrance, it would likely scare off any that dared to find sanctuary on the roof.
He quickly went to work, twisting limbs together and severing body parts, the only noise audible on the rooftop being crunching bone and slicing flesh. He wiped the excess blood away from his crimson visor, not stopping to admire his handiwork before he descended the ladder into the factory proper.
The only lights active in this shaft were barely functioning LED’s, dim and flickering and he climbed downward, still invisible to the naked eye. When he finally reached the bottom, he eased off the ladder silently. It would be okay now to begin making artwork to terrify the enemy, standard-operation Poltergeist was now a go. His armored boots didn’t make a single sound as he moved through the concrete halls of the factory, levitating him half an inch from the ground. The bottoms of these boots were equipped with small anti-gravity emitters, only just strong enough to allow him to hover.
Thankfully the Kryptes suit could automatically adjust his balance to take this into account, though Hoplite didn’t really believe that he needed it. He found a regiment of pugs and a Yugoro patrolling a hallway. The Yugoro, like all others of its race, was ape-like, with four arms, covered head to toe in dark hair, and larger than even himself, the Yugoro’s presence was intimidating… to standard humans.
Hoplite had killed so many Yugoro in his time that they hardly seemed terrifying. While he had killed many of the four armed apes, he had killed far more pugs than anything in the Final Kind’s army. Squat, weak, stupid, clad in plastic armor to make them think they were safe, they were perfect fodder. Their elephantine gray skin was coarse, rough looking, but he knew just how thin it was. Their big bug eyes and putrid dog-like faces made him feel sick to look upon them.
He stalked this group for a long while, waiting for an opportunity… until finally, they rounded a corner, and Hoplite snapped the neck of the last pug, killing it instantly. He lifted the corpse and moved down the hall, away from the group. They would see that one of their retinue was missing and try to come find it… so he needed to make artwork for them to find, sewing the first seeds of terror.
He spotted a supply closet and disappeared within, dismembering the body and tossing its limbs about haphazardly, ripping out intestines and hanging them about the shelves like ribbons. He then took the head and a broom, sticking the Pug’s head on top before leaning it against the wall of the closet. When that was done, he dipped his fingers into a puddle of its grayish blood, trailing it down the hall in little streaks.
Then, he climbed the wall, hanging off the side of it like a spider, completely invisible. As he predicted, the patrol returned, the Yugoro letting out an irritated shout in its native tongue. Soon the pugs found the blood trail, pointing it out to their superior with nervous chittering. The Yugoro scowled, following the trail all the way up to the door of the broom closet. It opened the door, the pugs all gathering around to see what lay within.
They all screamed in terror as they saw the art Hoplite had made, scattering down the halls in both directions, leaving the Yugoro standing before the closet. It tried to rally the pugs back to it, but the damage had been done. Psychologically pugs were weak, those ones would be scrambling to get out of the factory unless they could get under control.
Which was why Hoplite wouldn’t let that happen.
The Yugoro ran past his position on the wall, screaming at the pugs to return, and that’s when Hoplite dropped to the ground, quickly catching up with the jogging Yugoro before he bumped his chin, his armored fingertips parting and unfurling the Adium monowire within. Invisible to the naked eye and stronger even than Tungsteel, it could cut through the flesh of any living creature.
Hoplite held his hands out, the monowire moving as if it had a mind of its own, deftly wrapping around the limbs before he ripped his hands backward. A spray of dark purplish blood gushed from the stumps where the Yugoro’s arms had been, and it let out a screech of pure agony before it fell to its knees. Hoplite then wrapped all ten wires around its head before pulling once more, severing the alien's skull into ten even slices. The pieces all fell to the concrete with a wet plop, followed by the torso.
This kill was art already, it didn’t need any improvement. Now with the Yugoro missing, its disappearance would be investigated, the fleeing pugs would spread the word to their kind about what had happened to their kin, sewing fear in the weak-minded aliens and leaving them prone to further psychological attacks. He’d pull back for now, and spend some time picking off isolated troops before twisting their corpses into artwork, leaving them to be found later.
It wasn’t long before the factory was on high alert, with hundreds of aliens combing the halls together in an attempt to find whatever it was that had killed their comrades. Hoplite picked his victims meticulously, only killing when he knew he’d not be exposed. He didn’t want The Final Kind to know that it was a Hoplite doing this, it was better that they fear the unknown.
Letting their minds work out what was committing these awful atrocities was far more effective than him openly showing himself… at least for now. He had a few scare tactics that did involve revealing himself, but he’d save those for when the terror had reached its apex. Half an hour later, and he’d ended the lives of fifty aliens, mutilating them before spreading their entrails across the factory.
Even the brave Yugoro’s looked terrified now, having seen dozens of their own ilk reduced to little more than gory puddles. Their ape-like heads whipped this way and that, brown eyes wide and nostrils flaring. In another fifteen minutes of slaughter, the terror had reached the apex he had desired. The Final Kind’s forces were behaving irrationally now, attacking inanimate objects, sometimes opening fire on their own, and screaming at one another in their alien language.
That was when he began appearing. A retinue of about fifty pugs was running down a hall, plasma guns at the ready. Hoplite stood invisible, just behind the aliens, then disabled his cloaking. A Pug risked a glance back, letting out a shriek as it spotted him beneath a flickering yellow light. He then quickly cloaked himself again, running the other direction silently. He heard the thing chittering to its companions, which was exactly what he wanted.
The majority of the alien forces within the factory were pugs, meaning that his main objective would be essentially complete if he could force them out into the open. If the fewer, more intelligent aliens decided to remain inside… he would neutralize them all. After another hour of the terror operation, he achieved his goal. The halls and several rooms had been decorated from ceiling to floor with blood and gore, dismembered limbs could be found anywhere, and corpses were never in one piece.
The Final Kind forces fled en masse out into the open, fish in a barrel for the sniper teams surrounding the building. Hoplite climbed the ladder to the roof once again, seeing a solitary Pug standing at the edge of the roof. Seeing no other aliens nearby, Hoplite approached the creature from behind, intent on kicking it over the edge. As it turned out, however, that was not necessary, for the Pug cast itself from the rooftop, its head cracking onto the rough soil before being trampled by its fleeing compatriots.
Once the mass of aliens were far enough away from the building, the surrounding hills exploded with gunfire. Heads popped, limbs were blown off, torso’s were perforated, it was pure pandemonium. Hoplite couldn’t help but feel his face twist upward slightly in a sick mockery of a standard human’s grin. The satisfaction of a successful plan filled him with unequivocal joy… If only Lord Jyn were here to see his accomplishment… He put a hand to his armored brow, suddenly becoming dizzy.
Lord Jyn…
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He shook his head, warding off the fuzzy memory only to see that the gunfire had ended. Smoke billowed from the hills, completely obscuring the troops on the hillside. Operation Poltergeist had been a resounding success and now this factory, the entire colony even, was clear of Final Kind forces. Now that it was liberated, they could begin to build up a strike force to retake that which had been lost. It would take years, decades even, but eventually he was certain that victory would be Terna’s.
Now, he would need to descend back into the factory and do one more sweep, killing off any remaining survivors. He turned from the killing field, but before he started for the ladder… he noticed a bright green glow off to his left. A plasma weapon? He drew his silenced Fortis, a long dark magnum, taking aim but seeing not an alien, but a glowing green ovoid. It hovered just above the pile of Swaglay corpses that he’d created, its surface cloudy and almost seeming to pulsate. What in the world was that? Was it some kind of new Final Kind weapon? Why was it stationary? Who created it?
Hoplite kept his gun trained on the thing, bumping his chin to enable comms, “Sir, this is Hoplite Twenty-Two, there is an anomaly on the roof of the factory.”
“Enable the camera on your helmet, Hoplite.” He heard from his comms.
He complied with the order, bumping his chin and streaming what he saw directly to the commander, “What the hell?” He said as the feed reached him, “Keep your distance Hoplite, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Roger that, should I open fire or clear the factory now?” Hoplite asked.
“Head down into the factory and-”
The ovoid then screeched, the green glow intensifying and forcefully dimming his visor. Hoplite opened fire, but the bullets simply phased through the thing, leaving it completely unscathed. It rushed down the hill of corpses, seemingly charging directly for him. He ceased fire, silently sprinting off to the left so the strange projectile would miss him. It had to be some kind of new pre-fired plasma weapon… or something of that nature. It could clearly react to taking fire after all, but with him being cloaked there was no way it would hit him.
He turned his head as he ran, seeing the ovoid change course to continue pursuing him. How could that be!? His cloaking was active, he was making no noise, no body heat could emanate from the suit, he was all but completely invisible… how could it follow him? Perhaps it was just flying about randomly, and just so happened to pick the path that Hoplite had chosen. Yes, surely that was it.
He veered off sharply in another direction, but again the ovoid pursued him, seeming to get faster as the chase continued. He weaved around air control units and satellites to try and throw it off, but it only continued its pursuit, following his path exactly. It was impossible that it didn’t know where he was, meaning his cloaking was all but pointless. He ran quickly toward the edge of the roof and jumped, impacting the ground hard. The shock was heavily reduced through the shock absorbers in his suit and joints.
“Commander,” Hoplite shouted over the comms, “It keeps following me.” He turned his head to see the ovoid descending from the roof, heading directly for him.
Hoplite shot forward, disabling the levitators to get a better foothold in the soil.
“Lure it toward the killing field,” The commander ordered, “I’ll order the men to open fire on it to see if we can disable it.”
“Affirmative.” Hoplite replied.
It didn’t take long for him to reach his top speed, exceeding seventy miles per hour… and still the ovoid was gaining on him. The hills exploded with gunfire once more, and he risked a glance back only to see every single bullet phase through the thing, the rounds impacting soil and corpses alike. The plan wasn’t working, whatever this was it couldn’t be set off by impacts… would it even be able to really touch him then?
He turned forward, head ducking down as he focused purely on the sprint and nothing else. He could hear the worbling shriek of the thing growing closer and closer, until finally- Hoplite impacted with the bloodied ground face first, his helmet rebounding from the force of the impact. Unfazed, he looked back, seeing that his right foot had been caught by the ovoid. It hovered still now, holding him firmly in place.
Hoplite dug his fingers into the soil, trying to drag himself free from this anomaly to no avail. He felt himself being pulled in, his leg slowly being devoured by the thing. A Rhino drove down quickly from the hill, quickly parking just in front of him. Both feet had been absorbed now, and the marines in the jeep quickly dismounted, pulling the tow line installed at the front of the Rhino to him.
“Grab onto this sir!” One marine shouted, “We’ll get ya out of there!”
Hoplite complied, grabbing the hook tightly, “Reverse the Rhino marine!”
“Sir yes sir!” The man shouted, quickly hopping back into the Rhino and shifting it to reverse.
It was a large, powerful vehicle that was capable of towing even tanks… but once the tow line went taught, the Rhino’s tires were left spinning uselessly. Hoplite struggled to hold on, but felt his shoulders beginning to pop out of their sockets, and he was forced to let go. The ovoid was absorbing him faster now, his lower body now completely submerged within. The other marines tried to pull him out, grabbing his hands and tugging with all their might, but again the ovoid proved too strong, but still they refused to let go.
“Hoplite,” The commander said, “What is your status?”
“I can’t feel my legs…” Hoplite told him honestly, “I think this may be it, sir. Win this war, the building blocks for victory have been set.”
“Don’t say crap like that!” One marine shouted, “We’re getting you out of there-”
“It’s useless, marine.” Hoplite told him, feeling his waist vanish, “I’m already dead. I order you to let me go.”
The marines hesitated for an instant before complying, releasing Hoplite’s hands.
“Hoplite…” The commander said, “I’ll bring us back from the brink. Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you sir!” The marines shouted, saluting,
“I’ll make sure you aren’t forgotten, Twenty-Two.” The commander said.
“Affirmative.” Hoplite replied… oddly content with his imminent fate, “Now clear out, it might still be active when I’m gone. Retreat.”
With that, the marines all piled back into the Rhino, driving off toward the hill. Hoplite was not afraid of his death, this was the ultimate end for any super-soldier. He’d merely reached his expiration date… He found himself hoping that Thirty-Seven had survived the fall of Earth somehow. Terna would need as many Hoplite’s as they could get, and he had always been the strongest.
It wasn’t long before the ovoid consumed him up to his shoulders, then the lower half of his face. The last thing he saw before the blackness took him was the bloodied killing field, littered with Final Kind corpses.
However… instead of dying, he felt himself falling. He opened his eyes to see an infinite multi-colored hellscape, ever twisting and writhing, an incomprehensible kaleidoscope. Colors that he’d never seen flowed around him, but nothing else in this space existed. He fell, faster and faster through this boundless void, teeth clenching as he wondered when he’d land. Frost began to coat the Kryptes suit, the apparent cold of this realm trying to breach the armor.
“Commander!” Hoplite shouted over the comms, “I’m not dead but I’m falling, can you get a read on my location!?”
The only reply he got was pure static. Wherever he was, Hoplite was well out of signal range. What was this place, and where was it taking him? Was there an end to this? There seemed to be no ground in sight, would he fall forever? A sense of dread began to fill him at the prospect. It would take him a long time to die off from falling, not until the oxygen in his suit was all gone. His Logitek co-processor kicked in, slowing his perception of time to a crawl.
Was there a way out of this situation? He could see nothing to grab onto, nothing to land on, no end… but wait, what was that black circle at the corner of his vision? He turned his head to see it more clearly. It was almost directly below him, its surface area expanding the closer he fell towards it. A platform? Perhaps, he would attempt to land on it, hopefully his shock absorbers could handle the impact, he’d been falling for several seconds now after all.
He tucked his knees in, preparing to impact with the dark surface… but the collision never came. He seemed to phase right through the void, and he found himself surrounded by darkness, feeling himself still falling. Yet, this descent no longer felt like a free fall, rather, it felt as if he were sinking through muck.
Eventually this too ceased, and he fell again, but only for an instant, finally impacting with solid ground. He immediately stood, surveying his surroundings. It seemed as if he’d landed in a dimly lit stone chamber, with only candles giving off any source of light. He was surrounded by a thick circle of these strange candles, with blue wax and a red flame. He stood atop a purplish carpet, strange runes having been engraved on its surface.
He wasn’t alone here either, a dozen humanoid figures surrounded him, wearing dark robes. They were all fellow humans, but there was something off about them, he didn’t think that these were friendlies.
“I cannot believe it!” One shouted, “We finally managed to summon a real Outworlder, the wish is ours!”
“Once we sacrifice it, we’ll have a wish, our order will become powerful again!” A woman declared, raising her arms to the sky.
“Do not say such things in front of it!” Another shouted, “It can hear you!”
“It cannot speak Faesh, there is no harm… besides that, why is it so big? Is this really a man? He’s bigger than an oni.” A bearded man said, “He must be a human, just abnormally large.”
“You will all need to identify immediately or be executed.” Hoplite said, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I won’t let it happen.”
The room fell silent, the circle of people all taking a step back and gasping.
“It speaks Faesh!” One shouted, “How can this be!?”
“Jynesian.” Hoplite said flatly, “You’re speaking Jynesian.”
“The ritual cannot summon someone from our world, it is impossible.”
“Yet he speaks our tongue! The ritual was a fluke!”
“It was not, somehow, Faesh has become the common tongue of the Outworlders… it does not matter, I do not care to learn why. We need our wish, begin the sacrifice!”
Hoplite didn’t know what they were prattling on about, and frankly he didn’t care. He rushed the nearest robed man, intent on driving his fingers through his chest… but instead of that, he collided with some sort of invisible barrier, being flung backward like he’d impacted with a trampoline. He kept his footing, but stared, bewildered by what had just happened.
They had managed to erect a forcefield generator in this circle, but where was the generator? He couldn’t see it anywhere in the chamber, just the people, the carpet, and the candles.
“It is pointless, Outworlder!” The bearded man shouted, “Begin the chant, summon forth Shenra so we can receive our wish-”
Hoplite drew his suppressed Fortis and fired, the round punching through the forcefield and exploding the robed man’s skull. The forcefield, strangely enough, seemed to shatter like glass, falling to the ground before immediately vanishing. Why did it not burst? There should have been an audible pop, like when his energy shield bursted. The headless corpse fell to its knees, falling forward and landing with a wet plop.
“Heril!” A woman screeched, rushing over to the body with shaking hands, “No, you can’t go like-”
Hoplite rushed forward and kicked her in the ribs, the impact reducing her bones to powder and organs to jelly. She collided with the stone wall, spattering it with gore before the body slid down in a heap. The other robed humans began screaming in horror, scrambling toward a closed wooden door. Hoplite magnetized the Fortis to his thigh, unfurling the monowire from his fingertips and pursuing the survivors.
He wrapped it around arms, legs, throats, giving sharp tugs and separating the limbs with ease. The ones who didn’t die immediately screamed in agony as they floundered uselessly in puddles of their own blood, lacking arms and legs to properly escape. Only one man remained whole, which was Hoplite’s intent. The man reached the door, but as soon as his hand touched the knob, Hoplite gripped it in his own.
He squeezed, shattering the hand and sending him reeling back in agony, “Identify.” Hoplite ordered, “Or be executed.”
“I-I am ugh!” He groaned, holding the shattered remains of his hand and kneeling, “I am Nemor, son of-”
“I don’t care who your parents are.” Hoplite cut him off, “Where am I and where is the nearest Eighth Arm base?”
This should still be the factory world Galler, he’d just need to find out which part, then he could rendezvous with his allies.
“I know not what you speak of, Outworlder. This is Faenor, the Shard known as Yulon. We summoned you from another dimension to serve a-as sacrifice to a Faelord.”
Hoplite frowned, “You are insane.” He stated, “Where is the nearest Eighth Arm base?”
“There is no such place here on Yulon…” Nemor groaned, “I speak truth, you are not of this realm… just please let me go, I’m sorry.”
Not of this realm? Summoned to be a sacrifice? The apparent insanity of these individuals was clear, whatever this facility was, it had to be purged.
“I will kill you unless you start making sense.” He threatened in a monotone, “I don’t have time to waste.”
“You were absorbed by a green portal… right?” Nemor asked, “That was our doing, we created it with our magic-”
Hoplite quickly ripped Nemor’s right ear clean off with a swift motion, sending the cultist screaming to the stone.
“Cut the crap.” Hoplite snarled, “Just tell me how many of you are in this base, and where the exit is. Then you can go.”
Nemor clutched his ear with his unbroken hand, “Y-you mean it?”
“Of course.” Hoplite replied.
“There are about a hundred of us here… mostly human but there are a few goblins that serve as labor. If you take a left down the hall beyond that door, it will lead to the courtyard… after that, the gates should be visible… that’s all I know. Please let me go-”
Hoplite jabbed his finger directly through Nemor’s forehead, puncturing the brain and killing him instantly. He immediately headed for the door, not staying to watch Nemor’s body hit the floor. He enabled his cloaking, and opened the door, seeing a strange looking mutant standing there, staring with shaky legs at the bloody scene.
It was a short, skinny green creature, covered in warts. Its long nose matched its wide flappy ears, its yellow-goat eyes wide with terror. Hoplite drew the Sectis and jabbed it through the skull of the mutant, killing it instantly. Stepping over the body and into the hall, he considered his options. Nemor could have been lying to send him further into the abyss of this strange place… but even if that was a lie, Hoplite fully intended on killing everything living within it. These cultists were a threat to the Ternan public and needed to be executed.
He would not leave until it was done.
