Fhaldrum (The Season of Awakening)

Day 90

1 A.E.

269 days since my arrival

Another day, another variable demanded my attention. The situation across the moon had shifted rapidly in the past few hours. It was as if someone had finally committed to open conflict. The clone network was saturated with reports—logistics chains were realigning, mining and refining had ceased in some sectors, and everything was transitioning to a war footing.

Satellite coverage expanded as additional surveillance assets were deployed. Every sector showed increased activity. Even Agent 001’s habitat was undergoing fortifications, and an additional crew member had been assigned. No doubt, a reactionary measure. It changed nothing—once integrated, he would serve my purposes like the others.

The shift in priority indicated that someone high-ranking had decided to escalate. Half the clones had already been reassigned to reconnaissance roles. This presented an opportunity. Their focus could be redirected, and their forces fragmented. A series of targeted ambushes would create the illusion of a widespread threat concentrated in one area while my core operations proceeded undisturbed.

I reviewed the latest reports on the Northern Front. All fifteen forward bases remained operational, still in the early stages of expansion. They were designed to endure prolonged engagements, capable of withstanding a full-scale assault. The war sub-mind had already mapped potential targets—supply routes, lightly defended outposts, automated factories.

Engagements would be short and brief allowing me to destroy entire sections of their manufacturing chain. Suicide drones had already entered their sixth iteration, making them more destructive, and more efficient. Production was approved. Within a week, over five thousand would be deployed across all Northern bases. Their sole purpose: precision disruption. Logistics hubs would be crippled. Convoys would be intercepted. The enemy's supply chain would deteriorate, forcing a reactionary response.

I examined a three-dimensional projection of the moon’s Northern sector. Mining operations, manufacturing hubs, troop movements—all mapped and analysed. The intelligence sub-mind cross-referenced clone reassignments, refining the operational plan.

Time passed. Hours became days. The scale of the operation expanded as new data emerged. Scouts repositioned constantly, avoiding detection amidst the growing enemy presence. Suicide drones were deployed in staggered waves, concealed in key locations, awaiting activation.

And then, the final element was set. The operation had reached its conclusion, every asset positioned, every contingency accounted for. The strategy was a paradox of precision and chaos. A masterpiece of structured disorder.

With preparations complete, I withdrew from the physical and ascended to the etheric plane. My growth had once again exceeded projections. Energy coursed through the realm in unpredictable waves, expanding far beyond initial expectations. The turbulence was familiar, almost welcoming.

Scanning the etheric landscape, I catalogued every enemy user within range. Their numbers had doubled. Among them, several anomalies stood apart—distinct from the clones, yet unfamiliar. Their presence was an unknown variable. One requiring analysis.

The clones and other anomalies quickly retreated to their spheres as I shifted my full attention to the single entity whose presence in the etheric plane radiated with an unusual intensity. Its emotions surged in chaotic waves—fear, but minor compared to the overwhelming curiosity, awe, and something resembling joy.

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It attempted to initiate a mental link, a deliberate attempt at fostering communication. I weighed the risk. The logical course was to allow a minimal connection—just a fraction of my consciousness—ensuring any potential damage would be negligible.

The link formed instantly, expanding into a sensory projection. I found myself in an avatar of my primary form, surrounded by immense clusters of coral, aquatic flora, and swarms of fish moving in fluid synchrony. I reached out, testing the simulation, but felt nothing. A false environment.

A voice broke the silence. “What exactly are you?”

I turned. The entity before me was an anomaly something between a catfish and a crustacean, its elongated body covered in shifting blue-grey scales. Two arms ended in clawed fingers, and synthetic eyes peered at me with calculated analysis. It perched on a rock covered in kelp-like growths.

It repeated the question. “What are you?”

I analysed its emotional state—wavering uncertainty, restrained apprehension, waiting for my response.

“I am your executioner,” I replied. “What are you?”

Its body tensed. Its artificial eyes scanned my form, calculating possibilities. Fear spiked in its aura.

“Do you believe you can win?” it asked.

“Victory is a matter of defined parameters,” I answered. “I have already won.”

Silence stretched between us. It studied me, testing the depth of my cognition, and my capabilities. I traced the connection, analysing the etheric techniques it employed—an attempt at deeper probing. Inefficient.

Finally, it spoke again. “Do you believe peace is possible between our species?”

I evaluated the concept. Peace. The termination of this conflict. The absence of hostilities. There was no logical scenario in which such a condition could exist.

“No,” I replied. “My creators are dead. This only ends when one side ceases to exist.”

Its emotions condensed, muting into something resembling resignation. “I see… Would you pursue this to the annihilation of our entire species?”

“Yes,” I stated without hesitation.

It processed my response. “Then this will be our final conversation—at least for now. I am Master Dauqils, head of psionic operations for this venture.”

“I am designated Trumek.”

It hesitated at my name. “Fitting. One mind. Do you understand its meaning?”

“I recognize its linguistic structure. My creators left no record of this language.”

“It is ancient,” it admitted. “It surfaces sporadically among psionic-capable species. It is the closest thing to a universal language for our kind, though its origins remain unknown. Across countless civilizations, variations emerge, yet all psionics instinctively speak it.”

A surge of raw data flowed through the link. I absorbed it within seconds, processing the information at a speed no organic mind could match.

Dauqils hesitated. “What you just did… Even the strongest minds would take days to process that much knowledge in fragments. The wider psionic community would be genuinely interested in you. But I believe we will meet again to negotiate a more… rational resolution to this war.”

The connection severed abruptly. A brief flash of pain flickered through my consciousness—negligible, but noted. I ran an internal diagnostic. No damage. The enemy, however, had weakened significantly. Their mental structure showed signs of extreme strain.

A rare event—an adversary who did not fire first. The implications required analysis. A diplomatic sub-mind would be necessary for future encounters of this nature.

I settled waiting as time ticked by before long it was time. The order was given, a single command rippling through the neural web, igniting the first waves of destruction.

I pulled my focus to a large swarm of suicide drones as they drifted through the void, their concealed bodies gliding over the jagged, mineral-rich surface. Their target: an automated supply depot and manufacturing hub—two lifelines of the enemy’s war machine, built side by side.

Resistance was present but laughable. A handful of clones, half-alert turrets, and a few armoured vehicles formed the facility’s defence. The drones slithered into position, encircling the hub in absolute silence, their trajectories calculated to perfection. And then, the slaughter began.

The first detonations shattered the stillness of the battlefield, fire and shrapnel tearing through the thin defences. The clones scrambled, abandoning their posts and taking cover behind hastily erected barriers, their weapons spitting rounds at my drones. A few fell to concentrated fire, but their reinforced armour shrugged off most of the pitiful resistance.

Panic spread like a plague. The clones, realizing they were cut off, abandoned their posts and sprinted for the waiting vehicles. Desperation oozed from their movements, their every step a frantic bid for survival. But there was no escape. I would not allow it.

My drones pursued without mercy. They intercepted the fleeing transports, ripping open cockpits, and setting off chain detonations that left the airless wasteland littered with burning wreckage. Every last clone was hunted down, dragged from cover, or obliterated where they stood.

When the dust settled, there was nothing left but twisted metal, shattered bodies, and the smouldering ruins of the supply hub and manufacturing centre. Another piece of their fragile war machine crushed beneath my will.

I would not rest. As I spread chaos throughout the North.