TerraSol is what you get when you give a bunch of highly aggressive and territorial primates guns and shove them into a bag, then shake it up. - Dwargawk Nargawkwa, Rigellian Diplomat, Age of Paranoia
I LOVE IT HERE! - Lanaktallan Unified Executor Council Superspy Ba'ahrn Ya'ahd, 2PW Era
Those fools know not what they have done. May the forgotten gods of every race have mercy upon us all - P'Thok, Warrior Poet, Smokey Cone, P'Thok Liberation Era
The cavern was deep within the earth, shrouded in darkness to any who did not have cybernetics or the ability to see in total darkness. For those that could see, the cavern was full of brilliant sparkling light, exquisitely carved salt statues, long scrollwork of prayers, and sweeping architecture carved by hands over thousands of years.
The cavern was full of audible speech, close range radio communication, and electronic warbling as the gathered cyborgs discussed among themselves the news.
The stars were back.
The Bag was open.
Representatives of the Cossack Warsteel Hordes took the ornate stage before a hand-carved chapel one after another, each giving their Horde's opinion on what should happen next. From the lowliest humble salt carver, whose cybernetics were crude and built/installed with only function in mind, to the most powerful warborg who gleamed with warsteel, durachrome, and restrained violence.
Each speaker brought forth arguments and counter-arguments from those gathered. The interlocks prevented violence from happening, but not as much as the feeling of ancient tradition and reverence for the site itself and those who had come before them. The arguments were fierce, with much questioning of one another's bravery and strength.
It had been going on for hours.
There was a dull thudding tapping noise from one of the corners and a hush fell over the gathered crowd as the gathered cyborgs all turned to look.
It was a nook carved in the salt wall. On either side of the opening to the salt cavern hidden within the wall was the carved representation of heavy military cyborgs from the Terran Defense Force. Standing up from where she had been sitting, legs folded, arms across her body, a being unlike all the others was slowly standing up, leaning on her ornate staff to do so.
While two arms and two legs was not necessarily the norm, the being standing was mostly natural, the extra limbs a function of evolution rather than cybernetic enhancement.
She stood a little over 1.2 meters, her fur was neatly brushed and shined, a red stripe starting at her pointed noise, sweeping up across her muzzle, between two black warsteel eyes, over her head between her large and sensitive ears, and down the back of her head to disappear into the collar of her shirt.
Behind her, the silent glowing red eyes of her fellow Vedma Krovi i Soli watched silently, their terrible visages, the Docheri Baby Yagi, hidden by the darkness that could not even be pierced by the eyes and sensors of the fearsome Warsteel Horde warborgs.
The creature was a Tnvaru, one of the first to arrive on Terra before the Bag closed. A respected liaison and speaker for the non-humans in the vast salt cavern warrens beneath the bosom of Rodina-mat, AKA Mother Rossiya.
She was respected by those within the cavern.
She was Sangbre the Warsteel Eyes Matron.
She shuffled forward slightly, leaning on her staff of carved salt and warsteel, the salt crystal on the top a deep crimson, stained with the blood of her people.
She turned her face to the roof, to the sky.
"The Lyudi Voennoy Stali i Khrabrosti (People of Warsteel and Courage), the Vodkatrog of Rodina-mat, argue and bicker among themselves as to what the stars returning means. Wonder if the Warsteel Cossack Hordes, with their new brethren the VoennayaStal' Kentavry Deti Khirona (Warsteel Centaur Children of Chiron), should once again take to the field to struggle mightily over who rules over the parts of the vast steppes each has claimed through blood and war," she said, her voice pitched just loud enough to hear. A dry, crackling whisper that all of the Docheri Baby Yagi spoke in.
She paused to light her carved pipe, puffing on it a moment to ensure it was lit and blowing out smoke.
"My eyes see beyond the appearance of the stars to what is written within them," she said.
Some of the cyborgs shifted uneasily, bringing forth pushes, slaps, or punches to remind them to hold still.
"I know you are not children, not infants given to stories and fantastical wishes," Sangbre said. "None of you think that a leshy will come up to you to give you candy flavored dakka or sweet tasting missile warheads," she paused tapping the warsteel tip of her staff against the floor.
"But all of us fear what truly lurks beyond that black velvet adorned with glimmering and sparkling wonder," Sangbre said. She shuffled forward two more paces, standing just in front of the two eternal silent salt sentinels on either side of her, the silent skulls embedded in the salt suddenly glowing softly. The blood stained salt on the faces of those skulls, in the shape of a handprint, glowed a sullen crimson.
More than a few of the Warsteel Cassocks and Vodkatrog cyborgs turned away from such a view.
"Our mother, the Malevolent Universe, would not call us forth again if our might, our strength, our courage, was not needed," Sangbre said. "The stars hold glimmering promise for all of Humankind but it also holds dire threats who will devour everything we hold dear."
She reached down and tapped the unadorned surface below the edge of the ledge at the mouth of cave opening.
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"My eyes have seen a thing. A creature. A vile and loathesome thing that threatens not just the Confederacy, but TerraSol and Rodina-mat," she said.
Her whisper carried the scent of scorched warsteel, burnt propellant, and superheated hydraulic fluid, with the taste of crisped cybernetic molycircs.
She struck the facing with the tip of her staff and salt blackened and fell away.
What was revealed was a highly detailed carving of a five limbed creature, looking much like a starfish, with eyes at the end of each arm and a maw of triangular teeth and grinding plates in the center.
There was a murmur of hatred from the gathered cyborgs.
"It comes, to devour everything and move on. Man. Woman. Both. Neither. Child. Infant," she said. She slowly withdrew, back toward the dark cave. "It will devour everything and leave nothing behind but lamentations upon the wind."
She sunk down, lifting up her shawl and draping it around her, the shadows wrapping around her in a dark embrace.
"Did we spend our strength in playful abandon or will we stand up and raise our fists to the sky once again?" she asked.
There was a second of silence.
"So sayeth we all," came the sibilant whisper of the other Docheri Baby Yagi.
-----
The Cathedral was ancient as it was massive. A city had grown up around it in the tens of thousands of years since it was a monestary, pushing at its grounds until only the vast cathedral remained.
It was viewed more as a historical landmark than a revered location of religion. The worship of the Digital Omnimessiah and the Biological Apostles had fallen by the wayside, given up by more enlightened Telkan as the slowly unfolding eons wiped away the ancient ways.
Many viewed the worship of the Digital Omnimessiah, the Biological Apostles, and the Warfather as a perfectly understandable response to the stress of the Telkan Emancipation from the Lanaktallan Unified Council during the vast conflict of the Second Precursor War.
Over the eons the Sociologists, Psychologists, and Historians had largely even stopped writing or studying that ancient time, that ancient 'response of superstition to high stress' that the Telkan in antiquity had observed.
For the majority of the population, religion was no longer observed. After all, it was no longer those dark days when the Telkan had to reach out to find something to hold onto during the Emancipation.
Superstition, mass hysteria and delusion, and claims of miracles were easily disproven by historians and scientists. Records were spotty after tens of thousands of years, even electronic records becoming degraded, lost, or forgotten.
The Warsteel Forge no longer put out the massive amount of liquid warsteel the ancient records claimed. From thousands of tons of liquid warsteel a day to only a few tons a week, it was largely accepted that the ancient records were obviously exaggerated.
Few actually came to the cathedral to worship, most came to look at the Telkan heritage.
More than a few groups had lobbied and pressured for the Cathedral to be demolished, the precious metal and gems reclaimed for 'the Telkan people' and distributed to eliminate the concentrated wealth of such an archaic relic of a largely forgotten past.
But the Cathedral had endured. An icon of history that only a few worshiped at. Most took pictures, mugged for the camera, or filmed video of themselves there.
It was a cloudy day, the clouds threatening a deluge rather than the light misty rain they were delivering. The sun was wan through the thick clouds, the outside of the Cathedral shadowed and gloomy.
It had supposedly been built up over time, absorbing many smaller buildings into its vastness. The ancient 'crypts' behind the altars and icons and statues supposedly containing the bones and bodies of martyrs and saints of the ancient forgotten religion. There was carvings and inlays of Telkan in ancient power armors, huge obsolete war machines, and various Telkan in robes and togas.
The names on the bronze plates had been lost to time and polish.
Lightning flickered in the clouds as the few tourists slowly made their way to the Cathedral to take pictures of themselves in front of the ancient icons and religious symbols. Some teenage Telkan girls giggled as they planned their pictures that they'd put up on social media, two teenage Telkan males planned on showing off how edgy and cool they were by jumping the velvet ropes and groping some of the statues of female saints.
The groups entered the Cathedral, some ignoring and bypassing the tour guide.
The tourists giggled and quietly mocked the few Telkan where were at the pews, praying silently, with their heads bowed and hands clenched or their heads up and hands pressed together under their chins.
There was the boom of thunder as lighting reached down from the clouds and struck the walls surrounding the Cathedral grounds. There was second of silence as some of the tourists giggled over how they'd given little screams of shock.
Then the lighting reached down, raking its talons across the parking lot. The empty tour buses exploded as the batteries overloaded, empty cars detonated in their parking spaces, and the lighting raked the grounds around the Cathedral.
Even more screamed.
There was silence for a second.
Deeper into the Cathedral connections were made. Forgotten solenoids clacked, ancient capacitors whined as they charged, and lights flickered as status panels came online and lasers played over targets for the first time in uncounted ages.
The tour guide was busy trying to get her phone to work or her datalink to connect to emergency services as the lightning raked the parkinglot again, the thunder an all consuming world shattering roar.
Nearly depleted reactors refueled. Things no longer remembered and left in dark forgotten tombs jerked to life. There was whirring and clacking as munitions were loaded into ancient breeches, thudding as missile packs were loaded, high pitched whines or cracks as heavy capacitors or energy sinks charge up.
The tourists started laughing and teasing each other about the buses or cars being destroyed as the lightning paused.
A series of overlapping loud booms at the back of the Cathedral caught everyone's attention.
There was a thudding noise that had everyone looking around nervously.
Pastors, reverends, preachers all huddled together before the altar, trying to figure out what the sound was and where it was coming from.
More than a few of those praying raised their faces, to reveal bloody tears running down faces alight with religious ecstasy.
With a roaring crash the back wall shattered.
What emerged from the dust and rubble made the gathered tourists scream even as their reflexes and habits kicked in, bringing phones and media recorders out in front of themselves to both capture the imagery and somehow protect them.
The objects were huge. Five or ten meters tall. Thick tree truck legs, clawed feet, massive blocky chests engraved with religious symbols and painted the white and gold of the ancient Telkan martial orders. Twin barrel 30mm cannons on some arms, napalm hellfire ejectors on other arms, heavy 155mm rotary autocannons on some. There was no head, merely a small sensor pod at the top.
All of them had a square plate dead center of the 'chest', each of them with an ancient symbol that only a few of the Telkan present even recognized, much less understood.
The lead on raised its weapon laden arms to the roof of the cathedral and roared.
"I AM BUOYED BY THE LAUGHTER OF PODLINGS!" it roared out.
On its chest burned an ancient Telkan symbol.
There was some screams from the gathered crowd.
Before anything else could happen, the world seemed to still. The sun got dimmer. The lightning ceased.
Faintly, off in the distance, an explosion roared out as red hot liquid warsteel exploded from the Warsteel Forge as the mountain began blowing its guts out.
Before anyone could respond to that the sky, even the night sky, seemed to go out.
LET THE UNIVERSE SHAKE IN THE WRATH OF TERRASOL
It was all consuming, everyone heard it, even those who had never heard.
In the Cathedral, the massive warbound all roared with it.
The symbols on their chests began to burn with a golden light as the warsteel heated and became liquid yet did not run down the heavy bronze plate.
In the lead, the massive warbound's sigil read "KAPPA".