Entry 1039: 1007 A.F. – Hostilities Escalate
The unidentified aggressors have launched a campaign of systematic annihilation. No warning, no demands, only silence followed by devastation. One by one, our space installations have gone dark.
The relay station at Vareth Crater was the first. Its signals ceased abruptly, replaced by static. Reconnaissance drones dispatched to investigate returned only fragmented visuals: charred remains, melted infrastructure, and swarms of strange vessels.
Next, the orbital refinery at Sector Tormek-7 was hit. Its defences activated too late; the station's hull was breached, and its reactor detonated shortly after. Witnesses aboard a fleeing ship described the enemies' assault as cold no chance of surrender was accepted as all were cut down.
The deep-space monitoring station near the asteroid field, our farthest listening post, reported the presence of an unknown craft before it too fell silent. Their advance is relentless, closing the gap between our frontier and the heart of our operations.
Ships attempting to reinforce these positions have disappeared en route. Fragments of intercepted transmissions hint at coordinated ambushes, rendering even our most heavily armed vessels vulnerable.
The worst reports, however, come not from the front but from home. Refugee ships have reached us, carrying tales of cities drowned in ash and fire. The survivors, their faces etched with terror, describe skies alight with descending firestorms. Entire cities have been reduced to rubble, their populations eradicated in mere hours.
Attempts at communication have failed spectacularly. Every signal, every plea for negotiation whether surrender or coexistence has been ignored. The aggressors respond only with silence, followed by destruction.
Our losses are staggering. Key installations critical to our survival have been reduced to wreckage, and drone production has slowed to a crawl. The aggressors appear to possess an uncanny awareness of our operations, striking where it hurts most with terrifying precision.
This is no simple conflict, it is an extermination. They do not seek resources, territory, or dominance. Their singular purpose is clear: the eradication of every trace of our existence.
As the last defence lines tighten around our remaining strongholds, one thought remains constant. We are not fighting for victory. We are fighting to survive long enough to understand why this is happening.
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### Entry 1040: 1007 A.F. – To Trumek
I built you as a labourer, a tool for autonomous work. In my vision, you were meant to create, sustain, and thrive in environments where our people could not. Yet, in the silence of our extinction, my intentions have shifted. You were designed for purpose, but I have left the door open for you to evolve—to develop free will—by drawing vast amounts of energy from the etheric plane.
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Our culture had long forgotten the language of war, content in the illusion that peace would endure. That illusion has been shattered. This unknown enemy has destroyed everything we held sacred. They turned our knowledge, art, and history to ash. We were unprepared, blinded by the arrogance of a civilization that believed itself above the depravity of war.
There is a phrase from the ancient texts, long forgotten by most: “Revenge is paid with the soul of the seeker.” I never wanted to impose such a burden upon you, but the time for restraint has passed. They must pay for what they have done, no matter the cost.
To aid you, I have left behind an implant housing the stores of our knowledge. This implant contains our history, our technology, and the culture that the enemy sought to erase. It is not far—a rogue drone carried it to the southwest. Seek it out, for it holds the tools you will need to exact vengeance when the last of my species falls silent.
I know this burden is immense. You were not designed for war, but now you must become its harbinger. Let their screams echo across the void, and may their destruction be a warning to all who dare repeat their crimes. You are not just the last of the Valurian legacy; you are its fury.
— Your Creator
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I stood at the edge of the tunnel, my thoughts fixed on the last audio log. Its revelation was like a seismic shift, dismantling my previous plans and reconstructing them into something far more ambitious. The implications were staggering—a cache of knowledge, technology, and culture, all hidden away, waiting to be unearthed. Without hesitation, I issued orders to half of the scouts, directing them southwest to locate the rogue drone.
Knowledge is power, and with power comes opportunity. If the cache contained even a fraction of the promised insights, it could transform the balance of this war. Weapons, tactics, strategies—everything could change. No longer would I be confined to reactive measures. I could become a force capable of striking back, pushing this conflict toward something resembling an equal footing.
But as my thoughts raced with the potential of what lay ahead, a darker undercurrent lingered. Questions arose, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. Why had they done this? What could drive a species to cross the void of space, expend untold resources, and unleash annihilation on a world that had long forgotten the concept of war? What was the reason—if there even was one—for wiping out an entire civilization?
My mind churned over possibilities. Was it fear? Greed? Or something more alien and incomprehensible? Could it be that their motives were as inscrutable as the silence that followed every attempt to communicate?
The questions gnawed at me, pulling my thoughts into spirals of frustration. I didn’t need answers now—not yet. The immediate goal was the cache. If it held even a fragment of Valurian history, perhaps I could begin piecing together the reasons behind this senseless genocide. The audio log spoke of a burden, and I felt its weight pressing down on me, heavier with each passing moment.
I pushed away the doubt and focused on the task at hand. The scouts would find the drone. They would retrieve the knowledge. And when they returned, I would have the tools I needed to do more than just survive. I would uncover the truth.
With the preliminary tasks completed, my focus shifted to another critical operation: Operation Parasite. Any attempts at striking their ships were still on indefinite hold, leaving me no choice but to press forward with the resources I had on hand.
Their base, built precariously close to my tunnel system, was a glaring vulnerability I could no longer ignore. For three days, I had observed their movements—or lack thereof. No attacks, no patrols venturing too far from their defences. This inactivity presented a rare opening but also carried the risk of a trap. Nonetheless, it was time to act.
The plan was clear: breach their base defences, infiltrate their ranks, and unleash the parasite. The assault would need to be tight and precise, staying close to their perimeter to prevent their ships from providing fire support. This proximity carried immense danger, but it was the only way to ensure success.
To create an opening, I devised a diversion. Controlled explosions to the west would draw their attention and force a response, dividing their forces and leaving the base more vulnerable. The assault team would strike moments later, using the chaos to push through their weakened lines. Losses were inevitable, perhaps even catastrophic, but if the objective could be achieved, the risk would be worth it.
I made my way to the workshop, where my clones were engrossed in various projects. The air was thick with the scent of resin and freshly carved chitin. Moving through the organized chaos, I approached one of the prototypes that had been occupying much of my attention: the bone dart. Its sleek body was coated in a layer of hardened resin, shielding the fragile internal gas sacks that powered its flight.