Nerves, electricity and fury ran through Mikhail’s stomach as he waited to meet with his god, his potential prey, in the flesh. The heavy doors of the Jade Emperor’s chambers towered over him, their shadows casting him in darkness. His knees bent, fist pressed to the floor in submission, the young heritor’s mind ran through all the possibilities that lay before him. Had Mikhail not served the Doctrine faithfully? Of course he had, why else would his holy leader not only contact him but require his presence aboard his flagship - Wěidà de long, the Great Dragon. Anticipating the triumph, the glory, the punishment, or whatever fate would come to him beyond the thick plating ahead, he nervously flexed his cybernetics beneath his skin. The movement was negligible, invisible to the unaugmented eye, but the urge to act was smothered just enough to keep him from unleashing the tension within.
Just as the compulsion to release the building pressure grew to a climax, his name was called, and Mikhail rose with pride. Guards led the way, metal shifting as the interior of His Glory’s chambers revealed itself to him. Mikhail could not help but notice the immediate, harsh smell which assaulted his nose. It was the same as the many medical decks he had visited over his long career for the Doctrine. Striding along the lined carpet towards the distant gilded platform, he made note of the grand ornamentation one would expect from the leader of the greatest nation in the galaxy. Above him, twisting across the ceiling, an impressive decorative dragon bore down on him, eyes filled with a relatable lust for power. In the corners of his vision, the rows of enhanced soldiers lined the path towards his master. Though he considered himself no slouch at combat, as his body count could prove, he knew that the elites of the Dragon Guard would be no cannon fodder, should conflict arise.
As nagging thoughts on how such an enormous room would have cost the Jade Emperor, with a glass skylight making up the entire ceiling, he reached the platform and kowtowed to the ground. Though he attempted to subdue his thoughts, lest the Emperor somehow feel the traitorous desires churning within him, he couldn’t help but wonder a simple idea – was the man ahead actually the real deal? The Jade Emperor? Why was the ruler of all clans in Heaven’s Doctrine confined to a medical chamber, his frail form a reed of grass shaking in the wind? It was little surprise that the rumours of his inhuman lifespan were true, but to see the man he worshiped and despised in this wretched state forced his stomach into a knot. The Emperor’s figure was obscured by curtains with only his skeletal silhouette visible. Armatures of medical devices worked frantically within, pulling skin and adjusting muscles. This was not how Mikhail had expected his long-awaited meeting with the most supreme man in the galaxy to go, not at all. And yet, forehead still pressed to the ground, he calmly waited his judgement.
With a wheezing pause, a croaking voice echoed out across the room. Though it was weak, the words had a steadfast tone to them.
“Rise, Mikhail Olegovich, son of Aleksey Olegovich. You have done many a great service to Heaven’s Doctrine. You bring undeserving honour to the disgraced Broken Fang.”
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Mikhail stood once again, his long silver locks brushing past his face and black-on-black eyes watching.
With a hint of a smile, he gave a deep bow and spoke, “I am honoured to be of service to you, gracious majesty.”
Gods, ‘honoured’. Embers of rage ignited within his heart as he spoke the words. Had it not been for the living corpse in front of him, his clan would still be regarded as one of might and courage, not the shadow of a family it now was. Had there been only a couple hundred less guards in the room, Mikhail would have undoubtedly surged forward and crushed the fool before him. His feelings unknown and unheard, the Jade Emperor continued, machines buzzing from beyond the embroidered screens all the while.
“I have need of your skills, third-in-line. I trust few others with this task. Your brother and sister have both proven to be a… risky liability of late.” A shaking gasp took the figure before it rasped out once more. “A fleet of colony ships, the Seventh Expedition Fleet of Henry and Huell Incorporated, slaves of the CCH, will be leaving Titanlock in one month’s time. They will be heading for various planets along a pre-planned route before they reach their final star system - HL7628. It is said to contain a planet of great bounty. Select a company of your best infiltrators and be on those ships. If the fleet reaches this system, take whatever actions you deem necessary for the empire.” Another shaking retch filled the air.
Mikhail’s mind sprinted through questions, hundreds of possibilities lying ahead. H&H Inc? They were hardly the focus of the Heavenly Doctrine’s Eternal War. Why even acknowledge the greedy corporations when the mindless drones of Paradise were the much larger threat. Those brainwashed dogs clashed with brave clan soldiers every day whereas the Collective Corporations of Humanity were little more than a target for the occasional raid or rare business deal. Though they matched the clanlords in population, they had little interest in the real battle for humanity. They knew nothing of might and courage, of honour and duty.
Even more confusing than these questions was the location. Though his knowledge on the outer systems had grown fuzzy, having spent the past few years in combat around the core sector, he knew from the identification number that the star had to be distant from the ashen corpse of Earth. Before he could even consider wrapping his head around the situation, the husk of a man raised his voice in announcement, not only to the assassin before him, but to all those in the room.
“Should you bring glory to the empire and act with swift, decisive judgment, I will restore honour to your clan. Years of failure and weakness from your ancestors shall be wiped clean. The Broken Fang will be shattered no more. Do you understand, child of Aleskey?”
Mikhail’s heart hitched in his chest. Could it be true? Could he finally be the one to restore pride to his clan, after so many years of effort and blood? His pulse thrumming in his ears, he saluted.
“Your will shall be made manifest. I will bring success no matter the cost.” Though Mikhail tried to temper his excitement, it leaked into his voice, nonetheless. With an amused grunt, the Emperor seemed satisfied and dismissed him. Leaving the grand chambers and descending towards his private entourage, Mikhail’s mind ran through what needed to be done. Success would revive his clan, providing him the legitimacy and strength he required, and failure would snuff his ambitions dead. He would obtain the power he desperately needed, that he hungered for no matter what.
All he needed now was a couple hundred men, a well laid plan, and some good identities. His Hullbuster and Cassaria would be hungry for blood.