Ancient Technology — although most were lost in Armageddon — remained the peak of even modern human technology. These designs of the runic structures devastated in the war remained a wonder to all the modern mechanists who struggle to understand possible development, or at best, replication.
Technologies like Spatial NeuroGenetic Modifications or Quantum Mechanisation were still found complex to completely utilise. Humanity — standing at the apex of stellar technologies — was not able to fully replicate those ageing technologies and many like them were something many mocked in self-deprecating humour, although a group — the ever-existing superstitious — revered it.
Few believed that the gods had granted their ancestors these technologies, and then abandoned the human race after the massive losses they incurred in the war. Others believed that in the heart of the war, a high number of geniuses awakened, and devoted their lives to these technologies.
——
Thud! Thud! Thud! The sound of blows echoed throughout the shady corner, the bulbs hung for lighting on the walls flickered, threatening to fail at any moment. In the shadowy area, a boy lay with his body curled on the ground, children gathered around him, beating him with their fists.
Once, twice, thrice — over and over. They kept hitting him without hesitation until their knuckles grew sore and their muscles pulled. The target, curled up and shielding something in his belly, never showed a sign of pain. Not even flinching. Even after those attacks.
Slowly, the children — a dozen of them who looked to be in their teenage years, began to stagger back, their faces pale and limbs wobbly. Their expressions of wicked amusement twisted, and one by one, they began to retreat. Muttering to themselves, and tripping over air, staggering to their butts.
“His body was like iron…” one of them muttered, backing away until he smashed the back of his head into a bulb. Spooked by the sudden pain he turned on his heels and rushed off, leaving others to meditate on his lingering words. Their confused fear turned into a certain terror.
They helped themselves, running away and vanishing into the darkness. The few that tripped on air so many times until they staggered over and fell over would quickly crawl into the darkness, their speeds beyond that of a regular human. Silence prevailed after they left.
Only their target was left curled up on the ground, light bruises all over his exposed skin. After confirming that they’d left, the young boy uncurled himself, his movements robotic. As the boy lifted his head, his piercing ink-black eyes swept across the area. Despite their claims, he did not look any different than them. He was very thin, looking as if a strong wind could carry him in the air.
Beneath him was a motionless silver cat. It purred slightly, indicating that it was alive, despite the visible scratches all over its metallic body. The boy picked it up carefully, and relief flashed in his eyes after confirming that the cat was alright. This was his pet Nyra — a gift from his father years ago.
It had no special abilities for combat and wasn’t flagship tier or anything — although that was all his fault since he couldn’t manage the bills for continual upgrades. Despite the average specifications, he loved the cat dearly. It was one of the few remainders of the many he had lost
As for those foolish boys and girls — they had tried to take Nyra into their care — and when he blatantly refused, they ganged up to beat him into submission. Unfortunately for them, no one there was strong enough to deal a sizeable percentage of damage — given they were all small fries.
Unlike the average Neo Human, he was highly modified in defensive and offensive capabilities, a trait he enjoyed since birth. The former was tested by those who he hoped would think twice before attacking him again before they’d get privileged enough to test the latter.
“Display “Health Statistics Information.” The young boy muttered calmly, an emotionless gleam appearing in his eyes after he had successfully gotten his cat in a secure position. He raised his eyes slowly, locking on to the virtual display that had materialised before his eyes — the system.
[Health] — [98.7%]
[Wounds]
Bruises (Light -0.3%) Negated Bleed Debuff
Fractures (Right Shoulder -2%) Negated Immobilisation Debuff
[Ailments] None
[Effects] None
“2.3%? I’m glad I managed to negate the negative effects, but the number is lower than I thought possible…” he rubbed his chin, speaking in a soft voice as scoped up his pet Nyra, standing to his feet and rotating his shoulder — it felt sore. Turning left, then right, the boy fell silent.
“I guess they were weaker than I calculated.” Mark sighed, turning to his perceived left with a cold frown forming on his face. He blinked twice, cleared his throat, and then turned to his perceived right. The shadowy walls he thought by his sides met him twice, and he was crestfallen.
“Nyra, what direction was this alley supposed to be again?” The boy blinked twice, caressing the cat in his hands and listening to its soft purr. His face brightened up, but the cat did not have a voice synthesis and synchronisation system installed, “Wasn’t it to my left?”
For the record, he was not under the influence. Not like children were allowed to interact with stuff like that. Well, even though he would be a legal adult in a year or two, he had no interest in a substance that would cause him to face situations like this — well, naturally.
“Mark!”
His shoulders jumped upon hearing the voice, then he turned around to see a man running towards him, holding a firearm in one hand and waving the other frantically. He paused for a while, then he sighed again, “I thought I was going to be here for a while. Thanks for the save.”
“I picked up your location on my radar and hurried here as fast as I could.” The man stopped a few metres before Mark, panting softly. His armour, pulsing in a faint blue light, was common to the guards of this military institution, and a deviant of the mainstream Stellar Trooper armour.
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As for the children, they were not enlisted in the military. Taken in by the facility from the war, they were trained for the development of potential talents. The human forces were massive, but the constant stretch to reach more worlds required a growing amount of available hands.
The institution kept a tight leash on their necks, most especially for the more volatile trainee. Let him, Mark, be taken as an example — he did not need to do anything before help arrived. Once Mark wanders out of this blind spot, he’d crash into two or more guards on patrol.
They were on patrol every hour of the day and they had no room to feed the stubborn desire of a child for a fun adventure. Anyone caught doing things that went against regulations would be faced with a series of punishments! The merit system among a few others, acted as the backbone.
“I heard you have a faulty map sensor. I will lead you to your barracks. As for the children, I will have them reported for these acts.” The guard spoke in a calm tone, his ink-black eyes sharpening at the sight of the wounds present on Mark’s body, “You should visit the medical centres.”
As the guard turned around and began walking away, Mark just followed silently. Of course, he’d known this and the issue was recent. He believed it to have broken down after much damage earned during the war. Maybe it was just holding on to dear life until it finally died?
As for the other children — hah — he could care less. Whether they were chained and thrown in a burning pit or not did not concern him, as they were barely getting along with themselves, much less a stranger. As long as they kept their distance, he had no reason to take matters into his own hands.
“How are you able to deal with all these?” The guard asked Mark, lowering his gaze and stopping to check the virtual map hovering above his hand. After confirming their location, he closed the map and dropped his arm, picking up his walking speed with Mark following closely.
“I consider them beneath me.” Mark petted his cat, his eyes flashing in a chaotic mix of emotions as he kept thinking back to the war. He found it difficult to adapt to this, despite his emotionless front − a face he had trained to perfection from childhood — he still struggled with this new environment.
“It’s sad that is true.” The guard added, leading Mark up a road that led to his barracks. He slowed down, greeting the guards on patrol. Of course, he made sure to say a thing or two once in a while, ensuring that he was still leading Mark and not his shadow.
“I see,” Mark replied, giving the guard assurance that he was still there.
——
After reaching his barracks, Mark bowed to the guard in gratitude, rising as the man walked off, vanishing into the night. After confirming the guard had left, Mark turned around, his gaze sweeping across the area. The rough concrete walls, steel doors, and barred windows of the surrounding buildings would catch anyone’s vision quickly, the buildings that housed them beaten down by time and war.
The steel door made through a different ionisation process than regular steel alloy, looked tough and intimidating, but despite the sheer size and constantly tested durability — it was not the toughest door to get locked behind in the institution. It was merely the most common of many types.
The children constantly put the patience of the guards and workers to the test, so now and then they would pick up an unlucky wrongdoer and throw them into a real lock. Those doors were forged of a steel-diamond abomination and were idler with security measures. Sadly, Mark was not gifted enough to warrant a visit, but the tales of his comrades’ advent never ceased to amaze him.
“The door is unlocked?” Mark paused in thought, his eyes narrowing. He wanted to guess that a maintenance worker was inside doing their job but he questioned the absence of a prior notification before such activities. He patted Nyra’s back, drawing a satisfied purr, and then stepped forward.
He knocked twice, then the door opened before him. Mark, stepped inside, watching a woman in her middle ages walk past him, closing the door behind him. His brows furrowed, and he wondered what was going on, sweeping his gaze across the room until he caught a human figure, “Who are you?”
The shadowy figure stepped forth into the light; he was not dressed like a guard nor in the silver robes of a worker like a woman earlier. A young man — physically younger than the woman earlier — revealed himself, his long silver hair and ink-blue eyes were particularly striking. Dressed in mere casuals, everything else about him was particularly unassuming.
“Putting more effort to look effortless?” Mark sighed, ignoring the man and walking to his bed, calmly dropping Nyra. He raised his head to see the man patiently waiting for him. It took Mark the longest second to realise who this man was, and his emotionless face turned cold, “Aren’t we?”
“I cannot apologise as I wanted to meet you in this shirt — it’s my favourite. As for those workers, I dealt with them before visiting you…” the man sighed, looking extremely similar to Mark in facial features, “Those lowborn could not stand the threat of an active highborne commander.”
“I know. I am not surprised.” Mark lowered his gaze to the dull red t-shirt the man wore, then he withdrew his coldness back into an emotionless front, “Aren’t you sore after our defeat, uncle? At an important hour, you ran and abandoned us to death. You should have stayed and died with him.”
“We tried our best, but for everybody — you and I and many others — to escape, someone had to stand their ground and face the monster. I was too weak at the time and would have slowed him down, dooming everyone to death when I could help them escape, “I came here for a different matter.” He turned to the side, snapping his finger, a tiny icicle forming before him and then exploding.
“The Descent is beginning in a few years, the avenue we need as humanity to gather resources from lower dimensions, and I thought to gather the Descendants and train them. We would need an even greater force with the growing revolutions against the Human Empire.” The man paused with a smile forming on his face, staring at Mark out of the corner of his eyes, a cold gleam present.
“I am going to decline, respectfully.” Mark frowned. He’s already received this sales pitch one too many times in the past, and knew how it was going to end — pain, suffering and regret. There weren’t any workarounds for his parents, and any other Descendant before them, “I’m off commission.”
“Do you believe you have a choice?” The man’s smile grew, and the temperature dropped, “I had come here to inform you that the academy is watching your movements, and the empire approves. A few confederations — including ours — are in support of my plan, and that plan involves you.”
“This is bullying.” Mark stood there, extremely calm. Every one of them, trying to remote him into doing what only fitted their goals and beliefs. It was unacceptable! Mark stood his ground, he wasn’t going to throw his life away just like his parents — he had a choice, and he was not going to waver.
“Doing this would allow you to bring honour back to your father’s name and avenge his death. It is a chance to break free from your worldly shackles and step into the vast space, becoming limitless and absolute…” he sighed, “You have potential, but I understand living with weaklings has dulled it.”
“I am not going throw—“ Mark began to speak, but was cut off by the man before he finished,
“Your life away? How can you avenge your father’s death if you are this terrified of dying? There is a chance for you to tap into something not many would ever get to see in generations, and you are scared of what? Throwing your life away?” the man laughed, “That talk is for weaklings.”
“The world belongs to the strong and the weak — like you — would forever stand to be bossed around by those who clench their lives in one hand, and countless worlds in the other,” Watching an improvement in the conversation, the man reached out his hand, “There is only one path to strength.”
Trample on others, and be prepared to be trampled on. Mark trembled, believing it was the intense cold his uncle had created, but deep inside he knew that he was shaken from recalling those words a man said to him right before he got crushed under a collapsing god’s fist — his Father.