While a storm brewed far off the Orodvis coast. In some random back alley in the outskirts of Krreat, K-11 was meticulously adjusting a massive rig affixed to an ominous silvery railgun. Sunlight glinted off the weapon’s rugged surface as his mechanical claws bounced around the contraption. As he worked, the Rak’da subtly bobbed his head, his movements in sync with a strange, percussion-heavy rhythm thrumming through an old, dusty crystal device. The tip of his tail twitched and curled absentmindedly as he finished the final touches.
The remnants of his battle with Gira lingered on his frame—a collection of fresh scars weaving between the jagged black stripes that carved through the remains of his pale green hide. He had patched himself up well enough, though the lingering stiffness in his fleshy joints betrayed the toll he had takenn. Unbothered, he bent down, dunking his massive maw into a large bucket of crunchy Basidrame bites.
With a low satisfied hiss, K-11 positioned himself under the railgun. Adjusting a crude assembly of mirrors, he carefully aligned the rig with the reinforced plate on his back shoulder. His mechanical claws twitched as he made fine-tuned adjustments, the servos inside whirring softly. And with a satisfying snap and a click, the rig locked into place.
K-11 stood up, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the weight.He froze, systems momentarily still as he ran an internal diagnostic, checking for balance, stability, and any imperfections in the alignment. Then an oddly human smile crept onto the Rak’da’s jaw.
Lowering himself onto all fours, he shifted his weight, testing the railgun’s articulation, ensuring its full range of motion. The rig moved smoothly—no drag, no instability. A low chuff of satisfaction escaped him.
Satisfied with the prognosis, he stood up again and clawed around a mess of wires, parts, and other metallic components until he found a small, sleek, silvery metal headpiece. With careful precision, he snapped it into a joint along his skull’s profile, covering his right eye.
The Rak’da’s quills shuddered in anticipation.
His gaze narrowed down the alley, locking onto a row of some poorly constructed crimson red effigies. He aimed, allowing for a low, throbbing buzz to fill the air as the railgun clicked and clacked, its energy gathering on the long split barrel. When—
VWOOOOM——————CLANK!
The charged bullet exploded from the railgun and burst forth, the Kyyr mass distorting the air in its wake. In an instant, the crimson effigy and the structures behind it simply ceased to exist, their forms de-atomized in a blinding flash. The impact left behind a searing red streak of molten concrete, the surrounding matter ripped inward by the esoteric force of the Kyyr-charged shot.
FWOOOOOM!
The delayed hypersonic boom thundered through the alley like an old dragon's roar. K-11’s face twisted into an almost euphoric smile as he watched the faint embers of the fiery afterglow slowly fall around him.
“AHAHAHAHA! INEVITABLE DESTRUCTION!” The words snapped and warbled, his vocal module glitching violently, layering his mechanical voice over his own raw, guttural roars.
As the incredibly loud boom of his railgun echoed through Krreat, K-11 wasted no time. With practiced ease, he gathered his equipment, movements swift and calculated. By the time the rangers arrived, he was already gone—slipping back into the underbelly of Krreat, vanishing into a tangle of pipes, shadows, and forgotten corridors.
Deep in the guts of Krreat, where the city's pulse ran cold, K-11 brooded over a noxious mix of ideas—refining, recalibrating, preparing. The rhythmic clatter of his movement echoed through the pipes, a sound swallowed by the endless dark.
Then—something shifted.
A scent.
His pupils sharpened, his senses flaring as the faintest trace of something unfamiliar crawled through the air. A low grumble of excitement rumbled in his throat. K-11 lifted his head, nostrils flaring, his body shifting instinctively. His stance lowered, weight balanced—an animal on the hunt.
He raised his claws, letting only the synthetic padding of his hands and feet touch the ground as he silently followed the scent.
Down dark corridors and wet pits, K-11 inched his way through the underbelly of Krreat until he found himself near the source of the stench.
Blood?
Not just any blood—but Rak’da blood.
K-11’s nostrils flared as the sharp, metallic scent saturated the air. A low, hushed growl rumbled in his throat. He reached into his gear and retrieved a small, flat scanning device, pressing it against the slick, sickening puddle until it emitted a soft click.
The amber glow of his eyes narrowed, pupils contracting into slits as the device parsed the genetic signature. A string of data flickered across the display: /A/-#.
A hatchling?
K-11 tilted his head, confused. The idea of a Rak’da hatchling bleeding out in this forgotten corner of Krreat was unexpected. Rather, the notion of any other Rak’da but himself being planetside confused K-11. His amber gaze followed the trail of blood, glinting with cold curiosity.
He scanned the area—his eyes adjusting to the dim light, dissecting the shadows for any sign of conflict. But there was scarcely a trace. No signs of struggle.
Just blood—leading deeper into the darkness.
Cracking his neck, K-11 followed along the cold pipes, his massive form as silent as the wind.
Bloodied tracks…
He paused inspecting them. A lesser Rak’da… He continued.
Consulting a crude map he’d created of Krreat, he realized the tracks were leading underneath the main city complex.
Curious…
He continued, slithering through the ever-tightening vents and pipes, his joints dislocating and adapting to the narrow passageways with a rather nasty ease. The air grew colder, the tunnels darker. Eventually, he arrived at the edge of a massive void.
Above, two massive fan blades spun ever slow. K-11 peered down below only to find a bottomless nothing. He scanned around but there were no more stains.
Below? No…
K-11 looked directly above the aperture.Claw marks. Bloodied prints. And not just a single set.
His mechanical optics adjusted, analyzing the grooves etched into the metal. Three—perhaps four—Rak’da had climbed up the wall.
His curiosity itched at him, urging him forward.
Digging his claws into the steel, K-11 began his ascent, following the marks as he clawed his way up until he found their assumed destination.
Following the bloodied trail, K-11 arrived at a massive filter chamber, its vast interior branching into multiple tunnels.
K-11 descended silently, making sure his steel body parts didn’t make any noise. The air here was thick with the mechanical whir of filtration systems, creating a constant stream of wind that masked any lingering scents. He flared his nostrils, but the artificial airflow disrupted his ability to track.
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His eyes flicked to his map, his logic core firing off calculations. The chamber was a crossroads—one path led back toward the outskirts, another toward the residential sectors, while two others delved deeper into the city. His quills twitched as his internal processing finalized a route.
After a brief pause, he chose the farthest tunnel to the right. If his estimations were correct, this passage would lead him near the Ermacles Elevators' lower cargo hold.
K-11 followed the tunnel system, more accurately mapping the confusing array of tunnels.
He heard something.
Beyond the constant hum of machinery and the faint clatter of shifting pipes, something else stirred.
Voices.
He slowed his pace, treading as lightly as his frame allowed, his weight shifting fluidly to minimize noise. The distant murmurs became clearer, no longer just echoes tangled in the tunnels but an actual conversation.
The trail of blood had nearly vanished, but he no longer needed it.
Creeping forward, he found himself on the outskirts of a gathering of sorts. Just beyond where he prowled, three Rak’da stood around a massive metallic figure, flanked by two humans.
K-11 adjusted his visual modules, his amber eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.
The three Rak’da were snapping and snarling at one another, their frustration spilling into aggression, while the two humans stood rigid behind a cloaked mechanoid.
“T-67!” The largest of the Rak’da growled, his voice a deep, guttural snarl. “Quiet!”
Without hesitation, he slammed his massive armored claw into the smaller Rak’da, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud.
T-67 whimpered, trembling as he struggled to collect himself, his body hunched in submission.
Nearby, another Rak’da—O-44—hissed, baring jagged teeth. But the defiance in his posture wilted under the imposing presence of the larger Rak’da. The massive, horned figure towered over them both, his sheer size making resistance seem futile.
K-11 recoiled slightly, his visual modules absorbing the image of the largest Rak’da present.
Primer/R/X-90.
Balehorn.
Balehorn dwarfed the other Rak’da, his broad, angular skull encased in a thick metallic helm that shrouded his disfigured face. Etched into the sides, Kyyr sensors pulsed faintly, tracing along his cheek plating before vanishing into the base of the massive horns that crowned his head.
His elongated snout was both brutish and jagged, lined with uneven, serrated teeth that jutted from his maw at unnatural angles. Though most of his head was hidden beneath plating, the back of his skull remained organic, where a row of serrated bony spikes carved their way down his thick, muscular neck, resembling the crest of a marred dragon.
The transition from flesh to metal was abrupt—his powerful neck reinforced with mechanical augmentations, wires and plating embedded into scale like an incomplete graft. The enhancements stretched down into his chest, a twisted fusion of biomechanical power and raw brutality. And most troubling on his shoulder was an insignia emblazoned on the augmented plating.
Wymourne…
A shudder ran through K-11’s frame, his quills bristling as a deep unease gripped him. He instinctually began to recede into the dark, his body moving before his mind caught up.
The mechanoid across from the chaos rolled its neck. The chevron marking on its upper maw pulsed, flickering like a fractured signal as it released a jagged, distorted laugh—more static than sound.
“AHAHA—Balehorn, it’s a shame you lot won’t join us!”
Balehorn’s expression—what little of it remained beneath steel—darkened. Even through the plating, his displeasure was evident.
“You, Revenants, offer nothing more than threats. The Steel Dragon won’t dare bare its entrails to scum like AEGIZ.” Balehorn growled.
The cloaked mechanoid snapped its jaw, producing a loud clicking sound. “But Bale, are we not comrades in scale and bone?” he mused.
Balehorn’s horned head dipped forward, his throat rumbling as he let out a hiss of disgust. “There are no ties between the living and the undying, foul machine!” His broad shoulders squared, his massive form bristling as he towered over the Revenant. “You’ve made your vows to dying metal, but we have a promise to a purity beyond your wretched schemes.”
The mechanoid rose to its full height, its form overshadowing Balehorn, casting him beneath its massive frame.
“Purity?”
The mechanoid began to laugh as its wing arms smashed down into the metal floor around Balehorn. Its jaw made the same loud clicking sound. “It’s pathetic,” the mechanoid sneered. “How your fleshy logic core scrambles for vague purpose.”
Balehorn held his ground, but the low, guttural growl that rumbled from his throat betrayed his rising hostility.
The humans present shuddered and faltered under the pressure of the two hulking figures. One of them, trembling, took a panicked step back—too fast, too careless.
Their heel caught against a heavy crate, throwing them off balance.
With a startled yelp, they tumbled backward—crashing into the stacked boxes behind them. The impact toppled the unstable pile, the weight of their body sending the entire stack spilling over the edge. The crates tumbled violently, clattering down a pipe before vanishing into the abyss below, the sound echoing long after they disappeared.
The mechanoid’s frame suddenly drooped, its entire posture loosening unnaturally, as if its joints had momentarily unhinged. Its head snapped in the direction of the two humans who were helping each other up.
A brief moment of static silence stretched between them.
Then—its voice exploded into the air, a fractured, shriek.
“OH COME ON! YOU RUINED MY MOMENT!” The mechanoid howled, his voice glitching into a fractured mechanical shriek as his massive winged arms slammed down, caging the two humans beneath him.
The pair collapsed to their knees, their trembling hands raised in desperation.
“F-forg-give us, Master Verrez!”
“We’re SORRY!”
“PLEASE!”
Revenant Executioner Verrez rolled his neck as his jaw clicked loudly as his sharp beak-like jaw grew closer and closer.
“You embarrassed ME in front of a very precious guest! HOW COULD YOU!” His synthetic voice warbled into a vile roar.
“PLEASE MASTER—!”
“W-we didn————”
In a fraction of a second, the head of one of the humans simply vanished. The body remained upright for a moment, twitching, before it stumbled forward and collapsed, limp and lifeless.
K-11’s quills shuddered as he receded further into the darkness, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.
The surviving human sat there—a pained gasp escaping them—their teary eyes locked on the limp body.
Then, a dirty metallic claw emerged out from under Verrez’s ghostly white cloak, latching onto the decapitated body and dragging the leaking corpse under his robe.
Verrez slowly pulled away from the remaining person who sat there quietly, staring at the bloody trail.
His head tilted toward the remaining human.“Clean it up.” Verrez commanded, his tone calm, almost bored, as though he had merely knocked over a cup.
The remaining human took off their cloak and shakily began to clean the blood, their breath shallow, their trembling hands feeling the fading warmth of the blood.
“The mood's not working anymore… Ugh!” Verrez complained as he stabbed a box with his tail and smashed it into the ground with a sickening crunch. “Well, whatever—shame this will be our last haul.” He absently wiped his tail against his cloak, leaving behind sickly purple streaks that smeared across the once pristine white fabric.
Balehorn’s face remained disgusted as he surveyed the battered remains of the last ‘haul,’ then cast a glance at the shaking human, their eyes glossy with barely restrained tears.
His horned head dipped slightly, his throat rumbling with a deep, guttural hiss. “Let us never meet again.”
Verrez’s energy had faded, his previous theatrics now drained into disinterest. The mechanoid didn’t even acknowledge Balehorn’s words, offering no parting remark as their paths diverged.
K-11 receded further back into the shadows as the Rak’da began to retreat back into the tunnel he resided in.
Damn!
K-11 had failed to see the contents of the ‘haul,’ nor did he understand the meaning behind the meeting. Frustration flickered between his organic and synthetic minds, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to move.
Navigating carefully, K-11 began his escape, retracing his steps through the tangle of Krreat’s underbelly. Behind him, the distant echoes of Rak’da voices reverberated through the metal corridors, but their presence faded behind him as he slipped through the tunnels with silent precision.
Yet questions gnawed at him.
How is Balehorn planetside? How long have they been here?Why is the cult involved? Was it a transaction of sorts? If so, what was being exchanged? The hatchling’s blood...
K-11 wondered many things as he retraced his steps, making sure to avoid smearing any blood as he progressed further and further back.
And then—another detail surfaced.
Those pathetic humans…They smelled of chlorine.
His quills stiffened. Rangers?
K-11 snarled, shaking his head sharply. Bothersome! Bothersome!