I was nobody when it started. Just your average college age Telkana. On a college fieldtrip for my ancient history class.

That simple field trip led to a chain of events that destroyed my old life.

And left me with what you see now. - Meditations on the Barrier War, Lancer First Class Imna, Free Telkan Press, 25 Post-Terran Emergence

Wrixet bent over Nexan, whose eyes stared at eternity, his whole body wracked with sobs. His armor was rent and torn, pinkish kinetic gel dribbling from the jagged gouges with the half-melted edges. His body sagged over his friend as he sobbed.

Imna wrapped her arms around Wrixet, hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I tried. I really tried. There was too many of them."

Wrixet didn't answer, just kept sobbing.

There was an explosion that made the deckplate tremble outside the field of interlocked pink hexagons, the edges where they met glowing with white energy.

"I got them off of him, but it was too late," she said.

Wrixet just held Naxen closer.

"Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me," Wrixet sobbed.

"He's gone, Wrixet, I'm sorry," Emry said, stepping forward. "He's gone."

"SHUT UP!" Wrixet screamed, looking up. He'd opened his faceplate and Imna could see cauterized gouges in the flesh of his face, across his muzzle, across one eye, somehow the eye intact. "YOU SHUT UP!"

Emry stepped back, his face looking fearful.

Wrixet bent back over Naxen, sobbing.

There was a hollow knocking sound from the barrier.

Wrixet just kept sobbing.

Imna turned and looked as the knocking sounded again.

The field suddenly dropped.

Huge suits of powered armor stood in the room. The two closest were daubed pink and white in random blobs and splotches. Fierce looking snarling cat-heads were done in black paint, with red eyes and blood tipped fangs. The armor was thick, heavy, looking almost archaic. The helmets were round cat-heads with large glowing grins, wide eyes, and ears, the fuzzy covering scorched and ripped.

"Doki?" the lead one asked.

The ones behind were red, black, gray, all different colors. Five of them, all of them with different color schemes, with brass and bronze decorations, gold/warsteel alloys, and strange burning symbols.

"Doki," the lead one said, moving forward with the hiss-thump of heavy power armor. It knelt down next to Wrixet, putting one massive gauntlet on his back. "Doki. o(╥﹏╥)o Doki."

Wrixet just nodded, sobbing, repeating over and over "please please please don't leave me"

"【•】_【•】eki ಠ益ಠ foo-ket-soo-nah" the cat headed one still standing ordered.

To Imna it sounded female.

The other armored figures gave a salute by slamming their fist against their chests. They then took hold of their weapons and moved out.

One, shorter than the others, moved up. It knelt down with Wrixet. Its faceplate opened to reveal a Hamaroosan with red streaks in its facial fur.

"Our brother has gone to the arms of the Digital Omnimessiah," the Hamaroosan said, its voice deep and rumbling, unlike what Imna had heard on the Tri-vee.

Wrixet nodded, still sobbing, still cradling Naxen close.

"He dwells with Enraged Phillip, welcomed by Chromium Saint Peter, and feasts with Kalki and Menhit," the Hamaroosan said.

Wrixet just nodded.

Imna curled over the pain in her stomach, starting to sob.

I should have shown him my tits when I had the chance, the crazy thought went through her brain and she lifted her head up, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

The big pink and white one stepped forward, cupping the back of Imna's head with one hand.

All she could do was laugh and sob at the same time, the words my tits circling over and over in her brain as she tried to hold onto her sanity with her bare claws.

One armored finger came down, surprisingly gentle, to wipe her tears away.

"(╥╥)" the voice said.

"He was my brother," Imna sobbed. "He was part of me. I barely knew him but he was my brother."

The huge armored figure cradled her head with one hand while brushing at her cheeks and the sides of her muzzle with the backs of armored fingers.

"(╯_╰) ̿̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\=(•̪●)=/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿" the voice asked.

Imna gulped and nodded.

The hands moved as the figure knelt down and picked up the cutting bar that Imna had dropped. With the other hand, the massive pink armored figure helped Imna to her feet, then pushed the cutting bar into her hands.

"(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻" it said.

Imna nodded.

Behind the pink and white armored figures a strange being entered the room.

It was tall, yet seemed squat. It was wearing a robe and a faceshield designed to look like a skull. From its back were articulated metal arms, terminating in sawblades, circular saw blades, cutters, razors, snippers, and injection needles. Its feet were surrounded by black mist that crackled with hair thin red lighting.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Imna was aware that the kneeling Hamaroosan was leading Wrixet in a slow solemn prayer, Wrixet repeating the words even as he sobbed.

The figure moved up, the robe unmoving, as if the creature was floating rather than walking.

Imna drew back slightly and the pink and white armored figure put one arm protectively around Imna.

"There is not much time," the robed figure said, its voice buzzing and crackling.

Wrixet looked up and drew back.

The articulated robotic surgical harness arms dove down, grabbing Naxen's body from Wrixet's grasp.

"He has been given his rites," the armored Hamaroosan said, putting one hand on Wrixet's shoulder to hold him in place.

"His duty is not yet done," the robed figure said. The arms started injecting Naxen's body with fluids. A breathing mask was put over Naxen's face. Grippers scooped up the intestines, piling them on the ruptured abdomen. More needles sunk into flesh. "His hour draws near. Soon he will be exalted above all others."

Wrixet struggled, trying to get loose.

"Don't touch him. Stop it! Leave him alone," Wrixet yelled.

"Easy, brother," the Hamaroosan said gently. "Let the Deorc Galdere do its work."

Wrixet looked up, his eyes full of pain. "He's my brother."

The Hamaroosan pointed at the fallen warblade. "His weapon."

Wrixet, his brain stunned, nodded, bending down and picking it up. He placed it in the held-out hand of the Hamaroosan, who turned and handed it to the strange figure who was affixing the breathing mask to Naxen's face with black warsteel staples.

Other manipulators put the sword on Naxen's chest, then his hands folded on top of it. The strange creature suddenly hugged Naxen close, turned in place, and swept away.

Wrixet cried out and went to lunge forward to catch up.

"Nay, brother. Where the Deorc Galdere goes, we would be wise not to follow," the Hamaroosan said, grabbing Wrixet's shoulder. It gave a shake of its head. "All too soon, we may have to suffer beneath his ministrations."

Emry stepped forward. "You're... you're with the Crusade."

The Hamaroosan nodded. "Yes." The face shield shut.

"≧◡≦ Doki," the cat-headed one said.

"Why... why are you here?" Emry asked.

The Cat-headed one laughed, a bright sparkling thing that danced through the room.

"This is where the Lossglass Singers bade the Black Neko to go," the Hamaroosan said. He shrugged, the massive plates shifting. "Where the Catch These Catching Hands Sucker was needed most according to their blind all seeing eyes."

Wrixet stood up straight, pawing at his face.

"Do not be ashamed by the tears you have shed for a fallen brother," the Hamaroosan said, using one hand to stop Wrixet from pawing at his face. "We should all be lucky as to have someone shed tears for us when we have fallen."

Imna was blinking, trying to get her brain to stop whirling.

The Dark Crusade was real, not just made up for movies.

The big one with the cat head babbled more emojis and then moved away.

"The Nell of Night will be docking shortly," the Hamaroosan said. It looked around. "Until we can sweep and clear this station, that may be a better place for the three of you."

"I want to go where they took Naxen," Wrixet said.

The Hamaroosan stared for a long moment. "Very well. You have been warned."

"I'll go too," Imna said.

"I should link up, get the computing array working," Emry said. He looked down. "I've just been trained for docking procedures. I'm not even military."

"We all serve our part," the Hamaroosan said. He turned and began walking out. "Follow. If you dare."

Imna followed, suddenly exhausted. She managed to get the cutting bar to attach to the belt, but she left the shield where she had dropped it as they passed.

Wrixet followed, silent, his face shield closed again.

The Hamaroosan led them to a medical bay where robed and masked figures moved about silently.

One moved in front of Imna, red lights flashing from the eye sockets, passing over her.

"Non-critical injuries. Mainly superficial. Hellspace energy scorching. Recommend medical treatment," it said, its voice filtered and almost mechanical.

She tried to go around it, but two of the articulated arms reached out, grabbing her upper arms firmly. Despite her protests it shifted her to a bed, lifted her up, and set her down.

She tried to protest when it stripped off her armor, but an injection made her thoughts go fuzzy.

"There will be pain. It is permissable to scream. Your motor control cortexes are currently suppressed and under my control," one said, suddenly leaning down into her vision.

Its black warsteel mask was edged with with gold alloy.

It didn't lie.

Depilitators moved over her fur, across her face, across her chest, her arms, her legs, through the fur on her back. Clamps held the cauterized gouges shut while staplers closed it with warsteel staples. Warsteel thread was used to close some wounds, pins with round caps on the end were used to close others.

She screamed but the work went on. It went on and on and one, but there was never merciful darkness. Just pain. Just the whirring of mechanical arms, the hiss of tubes and liquids, and the snap and crack of instruments. She could smell burning flesh, scorched blood, and heat crisped fur.

Finally, it was over. She was wrapped in soft cloth and carried, in a null-G field, to a bed. Tubed were hooked into her arms.

She finally slept.

----------------------------------------

When she woke, she looked at the skull faced mask of the nurse or whatever it was attending to her.

"Good. Awake. You are in operable condition. You are able to continue to fight," the attendant said. It released the restraints and helped her to her feet. "Your armor has been blessed and repaired."

It motioned with one articulated surgical arm.

She could see her shield, her sword, the cutting bar, and her armor stacked neatly on a table.

"I will help you dress," the attendant said.

She wanted to protest, to ask for just clothing, but to be honest, the attendant intimidated her.

It was surprisingly gentle as it helped her put on the armor.

"Go in the Digital Omnimessiah's Grace, and may Enraged Phillip and the Warfather Vuxten bless you," the attendant said before turning away.

She stood still for a moment, feeling foolish. The face shield was online, showing her estimated physical condition, that the armor was in full repair, that the battery pack was topped off.

"Computer?" she tried.

"Awaiting input," came back.

"Can you lead me to Wrixet?" she asked.

There was silence for a moment.

"Affirmative. Please follow the dotted line," the computer said.

A dotted line appeared in her vision.

Several times she pressed herself against the side of the corridor as massive suits of power armor moved by. They were all carrying weapons, all looked dangerous.

She'd only seen such things in historical documentaries in school.

The dotted line led her deep into the station. To lifts that took long moments to reach her destination.

It's kilometers thick, she thought to herself.

FInally, she ended up at a massive door where masked and robed figures were affixing symbols and runes done in rose gold-warsteel alloy. They opened the door for her, bowing slightly.

She followed the line to the elevator and moved to the floor of the massive bay. She could see the sparks of welders and grinders. See gantries moving large pieces of machinery.

On the floor were warbound. Huge machines dedicated to warfare.

The dotted line led to the back.

There was a massive warbound, slightly apart from the others.

Wrixet sat next to its foot, his helmet off. Staples held together cauterized gouges on his face. He was missing the whiskers on one side of his muzzle. Slashes somehow had missed his eye and were now held shut by warsteel wire.

"I'm here," she said softly, sitting down.

Wrixet cracked open a narcobrew and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Not your fault," Wrixet said, his voice nearly lost in the sounds of machinery and heavy tool use.

They sat silently for a long time.

"We went to the Grand Cathedral to fondle the statue of Saint Brentili'ik and take pictures," Wrixet said softly.

"I went on a field trip," Imna said.

"Naxen was so excited to see the warbound. He'd always believed," Wrixet said. He gave a short sharp laugh and took a drink off the narcobrew. "Didn't matter to him we almost got killed. He'd seen the warbound."

Imna just nodded.

"Ain't that a bitch," Wrixet said softly. "Ain't that some shit?"

Imna just nodded, unsure what he was talking about.

There was a deep bone vibrating buzzing sound from inside the warbound Wrixet was leaning against.

He patted the foot gently. "Easy, brother, easy."

They were silent for a while.

"What are you doing in here?" Imna finally asked.

Wrixet patted the massive clawed foot of the warbound.

"I want to be here when Naxen wakes up."