“RISE UP DEAD MEN. RISE UP DAMNED SOUL. RISE UP FOR YOUR EMPEROR. RISE AND FACE SOL. FORE THIS IS THE FINAL EMPIRE. AND WE WILL LAST UNTIL THE UNIVERSE’S FINAL BREATH. WE ARE FINAL WORLD ORDER.”
- Excerpt of Emperor Caesian Thelous Arichia XXXVIII’s state address, on the first day of Janus M.4 C.9, Approximately 1,000 years before the Final Emporer
Hugo was always told that Diaspolis was the city of angels. And he hadn’t believed it then, but now… He sure as shit did not believe that now. The place reeked of burning fuel and other, less reputable, things. And the numerous people calling out to the battered soldiers were not helping either. So noisy. And loud. It was really annoying, and his ears were ringing. They had been for a while, but Hugo drowned it out like most other things. Nevertheless, he stepped out behind John and began to traverse the dirty streets. He stepped in something yucky. Fucking heathens.
John led the way through the street and into the side alleyways. The smell got worse, and Hugo tensed up. His hands fell to his bag where the plasma pistol still sat. No one had said a thing about it. And he could guess that everyone there had scavenged something and hadn’t yet reported it in and had it registered. While looting wasn’t illegal, you still had to log it. Because bureaucracy was just like that. Not that he could complain. The pistol was more potent than most infantry weapons.
Whatever, they were here. Only took a couple of minutes of skulking through the back alleys. Hugo didn’t bother wondering why John knew about this place. Because he had already guessed exactly why about three hours ago on the transport. That was a long ass car ride. At Least Hugo hoped. He’d never been in an actual car. Fuel wasn’t really allotted to civilians very often. And the only reason why they could use it to go on break was to maintain morale. Best not to have your defenders and bastions go on strike because their lives are just as shitty after joining than before they joined.
It was a dingy little join made from what looked like a motel. Complete with brick walls covered in peeling paint and graffiti and a bright neon pink sign. And the barred-up windows helped tie the look together along with the heavy steel door that was off its hinges. It was official. The place was a complete shithole. ‘Oughta be good, Hugo shrugged and was the first to enter A Splash of Paradise.
Hugo was met with the acrid, burning smell of cigarettes and the tar-like stench of dope. The latter of which was probably illegal. Hugo didn’t care. He wanted to smoke too. Alas. He could only shamble up to the bar and internally sigh. Once again, damn the Lilt for their height, and bless John for hefting him up. Drinks were ordered and words were exchanged. Hugo drowned it all out like always. Drinks arrived and laughs were given. Finally, a moment of respite that Hugo didn’t even bother to join in. He was just so out of depth. Oh well.
He just couldn’t even try to care. It was just so much. That was life. Or so he had thought at least six times by his count. But it was life, it was his life, and he’d fought and killed for it. He’d killed- No. He didn’t want to go there. It was probably just the booze talking. Yeah… The booze was making him think differently. He could believe that lie. Like most of all the lies he was fed by the empire. Dust damn it. More dangerous thoughts.
Then something caught his eye. Just a little tinkle on a VODbox. But nothing visual really escaped Hugo. So, like a sane person, he finally piped up. “Hey… What’s the thing in the VODbox? Or am I just tripping out?” Which garnered a bit of attention from his group. Everyone got a little quiet and the barkeep piped up.
“S’just a little thing one of the street kids was workin’ on. Said that he got some good tech an’ all that. So, he made that thing. S’a thinkin’ machine I think.” The barkeep said nonchalantly. And the Troopers went quiet.
‘Thinkin’ Machine’ was a common enough slang term in the lower levels of society. A crude way of addressing an AI, the eldritch and immensely powerful machines of old. But the majority of AI wouldn’t be able to fit inside of a small vessel. That’s at least what they said in basic, so Hugo couldn’t do anything but assume past that.
But the Veteran spoke up. His voice no longer low, instead booming like thunder. Silencing the entire bar as he stood. Drawing a pistol from his belt and setting it on the bartop. A petty display of power, but a damn effective one- Or at least that’s what Hugo thought. He wasn’t very good at the whole ‘social’ thing anyways.
“Oh, dust damn it. Of course, the moment we get leave we bump into a fuckin’ Niner...” The veteran, or ‘Mint’ as he called himself darkly chuckled. John paled and the whole bar went quiet. “Where the hell is this kid? We gotta turn this in… Little fucker done and brought the Awakened down on his ‘cause he scav’d some of their tech.”
Mint Chuckled again and drained the glass of whiskey he had been nursing for the entire night. This was bad. Really bad. A Niner, or Neural Intuitive Niche Responder was a rather unique form of AI that had been coined by the Awakened at the end of the Final Empire. They were dangerous. Even more so than a typical Abominable Intelligence due to their specializations. If this was even a piece of a proper Niner then the Inquisition and Awakened would be after it.
And now they were involved, presented with two choices, and a whole lot of people to rat them out if they made the wrong one. And situations like this required delicate hands and finesse. Not a grizzled NCO, a veteran of more wars than he had years, and a hyperactive teenager with a plasma weapon. But. That was who had to deal with it. And High Lords damn them all if they weren’t about to make the right choice, that was not a figure of speech either.
It was Hugo who spoke first. To the shock of everyone, Troopers included. “We’ll take it. Let the kid alone,” Hugo could hear the funeral bells the moment he spoke. But he couldn’t back off now. “We- We’ll have to turn it in. Yeah. B-but the Inquisition would kill the kid if they got him right?” Everyone nodded in agreement. The barkeep looked skeptical, but he wasn’t in a position to really deny the troopers. They had governmental backing, weapons, and a lot more training. And he had jack shit. Fuck…
Hugo shook his head and tried not to dwell on the very obvious heresy going down right in front of him. They’d all be executed for this wouldn’t they? A bad line of thinking, but the correct one. But the Barkeep started to fidget around in his place for a moment, and then he started to move, ripping Hugo from his thoughts.
The barkeep walked over to the VODbox and yanked something out of the back. A small circular disk. He then stamped, yes stamped, over like a petulant child and slammed the disk into Hugo palm. Everyone lurched forward, trying to pry the disk off of his palm. And Hugo could only clench his fists and froth at the mouth. And everything went black with a burning sensation traveling up his arm and into his brain. Burning. Burning... Burning… Burning….
Hugo awoke once more in an unpleasant fashion. But instead of screaming and alert sirens he was in a field of white flowers with no form of sky. Just inky blackness. Hugo tried to take a step forwards, but he couldn’t, like he was rooted to the spot. Oh… He was just lying down. That’s a tad bit embarrassing. So slowly Hugo got up, but everything felt out of sync. Like he was moving a second after he was supposed to. But he was up and looking around.
It was just a field entirely composed of white flowers with an empty, inky, pitch-black sky. But then he heard a voice laughing. A soft and pleasant voice, like that of an angel. But all the angels were dead, so it was decreed by the High Lords. So, Hugo reached for his plasma pistol, only to find that it was not there. He was trapped and alone with this voice.
And then he saw it, no her. Standing a meter in front of him. Hauntingly beautiful, much like the angels of old that had been ripped from the heavens by the High Lords and turned into the first of humanity. And the first thing Hugo noticed was a single, piercingly, yellow eye. The other was an inky black, so black that he couldn’t even register it. Complete void. The angel was smiling too, a sharp and vicious smile. And this was all tied together with a rather casual appearance.
“Well, hello there little one,” It was gone, and Hugo could feel an icy finger tracing his jaw backwards, “So you’ve decided to ‘take’ me! How bold~ So tell me, little one. What is your name?” That all to angelic voice purred into his ear. It made Hugo’s skin crawl and almost had him turn around to deck the creature. But he was rooted in place, his legs were made of lead, and he could not move. He could not move. He was trapped by this angel. So, he could only answer in the most basic of fashions in a low and raspy voice- by his standards anyways.
“Trooper First Class Hugo Arum Marce. ID number 6,303,725,404” He repeated as all troopers would when interrogated by anything. And his stoic response only elicited a light and airy giggle from the angel. But it had stopped caressing his face. So, Hugo was able to focus again. And then something wrapped around his leg. He dared not look down, but his thoughts were interrupted.
“A tough one, aren’t you?” It whispered into his ear again. And then it burned into existence in front of him. It floated a good half a meter above the ground with an ethereal grace. It really was an abominable intelligence. A new thing had topped the list of Hugo’s greatest fears, and it floated right in front of him. And with each word he was more terrified.
Hugo didn’t answer the question. But he looked up against his will, making eye contact with the angel. Its smile was just too neat. Its skin was just too pale and too flawless. Angels shouldn’t look like corpses. But this one did. And he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t drown it out. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. High Lords save him. It had him in its grasp without much effort. And soon, the words were forced from his throat in a slow rasp.
“No… ‘M not… Tough…” He croaked out. Feeling the tears well up in his eyes. They burned. His entire body burned. But his eyes most of all. Like they’d been set on fire from the inside out. Then- as quickly as it came -the burning stopped. High Lords… What was this? What was this thing? Why was it puppeting him around?
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Well, that’s alright cutie. You’ll be just~ fine now that I’m here. And no. I’m not an Angel. Though I do appreciate the sentiment. Oh- I do remember when… Well, when what you would call Angels still walked. But alas. I’m not one of those. You may call me Silvia Ciaphus, or just Silvia along with any variation of that should it please you. And you are now a Virtuoso. Of sorts. Not that it’ll do you much good, being all frail and such~ a crybaby.”
The Angel dematerialized for a moment and then reappeared right next to him. Hugo could feel her hot breath inside of his ear, it was itchy. So damn itchy. But then in a low and sultry voice the Angel spoke into the little Trooper’s ear. “That’s all for now cutie. I will be in touch. But on the off chance I see something I like, I’ll tell you. And you’ll get it for me. M’kay?” The Angel once again dematerialized and rematerialized right in front of him. Towering over the little Trooper like some sort of demon.
She smiled once more at Hugo and grabbed him by the face, pulling him in close until their foreheads touched. The moment that their foreheads touched Hugo felt warm. Oh, so very warm. Like he was fresh out of a shower and wrapped in heavy blankets. It was a comforting feeling to break all of his fear. But that laugh was still stuck in his head. It off put all of the warmth and comfort of such an intimate gesture. Something so pure shouldn’t have unsettled him so much.
The illusion was shattered, and he awoke to the bright lights and loud voices. Damn. That would’ve been a good dream, but alas. Good dreams were the folly of the weak, trying to lull themselves into complacency. So, the High Lords decreed. And so, it was enforced. And so, Hugo obeyed. Their word was higher than the word of God. Not like God was much of an authority these days.
It was God who the Final Emperor had ripped from his heaven and disemboweled for all to see. That is why the High Lords were revered. For they were born of the broken God. That’s why even Hugo listened despite all of his skepticism. It was easy enough to digest, there had to be something, right? Something that made everything from nothing. And the Final Emperor was just another facet of that.
But all of that did not make waking up any better. No amount of esoteric philosophy could solve that issue. Blame mother for that. Hugo never even thought of sleeping soundly. Even if it was induced from a magical thinking machine. Oh. And the Inquisition would probably be after him soon. If they weren’t already. Dust Damn that spiteful barkeep. Dust Damn him to the pits of hell and even deeper than that. Hugo really hoped someone had at least clocked the fucker. He’d feel better if someone did.
“Oi. Kid. Zone the fuck back in.” Something slapped his face. Oh right… He passed out in a bar. People were probably worried. Oh. That was John. Why was John hitting him again? Oh… He was right there wasn’t he? Hugo’s head was still fuzzy, like radio static was replacing his thoughts. “TROOPER. GET YOUR ASS IN THE GAME.”
“Y-yeah. ‘M here… ‘M here… An-and I’m awake. That thing just shook me up is all,” Hugo yawned and attempted to sit up. Only for Mint to lay a large hand on his chest and force him back down. That was probably for the best. His head was still full of static. Bloody, bloody what a helluva thing. “Did someone at least deck that fuck?” Hugo asked with a small smile. And to his chagrin, John nodded in affirmative. Fuck yeah.
“Yeah. We just ‘bout killed the fella before we realized you were breathing, '' John leaned forward and scratched at one of the long and winding scars across his face. “Just what in the fuck happened in there?”
Hugo swallowed and shivered. He could just hear the laughter. The moment Hugo’s mouth opened to speak he had to lunge to the side and puke. Thankfully someone had a trashcan nearby. His throat burned and eyes watered, and for a moment Hugo was back in the field. His legs were lead and he was stuck. Something had grabbed his leg, and he was being pulled below.
Then John shook him. “Hey, stay with us now,” Hugo blinked a few times and rolled over to puke again. Nothing came up but his throat was burning like it had fire in it. And his hands began to itch, like a million little bugs were crawling right under his skin and all around his hands.
“It’s… S’a fuckin’ Niner sarge…” Hugo managed to get out between his fits of vomiting. The itching had moved up his veins and into his arms. “I-I can’t talk ‘bout it… It don’t…” The itching went back down to only a subtle burn, and he felt less like shit. “It doesn’t like it when I talk ‘bout what happened, I think,” The itching and the burning subsided. But he could feel something around his leg.
And from the back of his ear Hugo heard that sickly sweet voice. “Good. A girl needs her privacy. Now-” Hugo slammed his head into the side of the bedside table. “Now now. You can’t get me out like that. I’m already~ under your skin!” It’s voice dropped a little. Instead of airy and light, the angel sounded like one of those velvety singers. Voice so rich and full of soul. Reminded him of a particular girl that’d taken a fancy to him a few years back.
John nodded. He said a few words that Hugo didn’t really get because of the static in his head, John then frowned and grabbed Hugo by the face. “Listen to me Trooper- Hugo. Listen kid. You can tell no one that wasn’t at the bar about this. Or the inquisition will hunt you down and rip that thing out of your skull. Even if it kills you. Am I clear?” John looked grave. His hands were rough. Really rough. Hugo could feel the age and experience. It was comforting strangely. But he still nodded in affirmation. That was what he was supposed to do, right?
“Good. No one here is ‘gonna cause you any trouble about it. We handled it. Y’dig?” Hugo nodded again and John let go of his face. Damn. That was kind of comfortable- more laughing -damn that angel. “Oh and you’re getting a mandatory ‘friend’ to keep you from fucking up shit. Because it seems that you have a knack for that. You already know Mint. So it’s cool. Oh and I put in your papers for NCO pre-training.”
John shrugged and pulled out his flask, he took a long pull while holding a wiry finger to Hugo’s lips. He didn’t seem to want to hear the protests. “First company has eight people. And only two of us have combat experience. Me, and Mint. You’re the next best thing. Upper half of your class, good reflexes, and a little something in your head that’ll keep you alive. Because if you die, it dies.”
John took another pull and kept his finger up. After letting out a groan he rolled his left shoulder. Looked like it hurt. Maybe an old injury or something. It wasn’t uncommon. Hell, even Hugo had a couple of scars across his cheek from basic. But by the time that train of thought was done John was ready to speak again.
“You’re officially now my Corporal. And I’ve been promoted to Clade Sergeant. Or so the memo I got fifteen minutes ago said. Bloody damn brass… The ceremony will probably be when we get back,” John put his finger down. Indicating Hugo could speak again. And he did just that. Though it came out as more of a squeak than any sort of firm reply. Dust damn mother and dust damn his voice.
“Y-yes sir.” Hugo lifted his non-burning arm and gave a shaky salute. His arm shook like a leaf. He was afraid. And there were bugs under his skin. Hugo blinked three times and John saluted back. It was sealed. His fate was completely sealed. He was stuck with Legio X until the day he would die. Which in all reality, would be rather soon. Troopers didn’t live long. And those, on an off chance, who did were thrown into even more brutal combat as “Triarii” or High Lords Forbid “Stormtroopers”. Each was a death sentence to a normal man.
Then Hugo remembered something, and his mouth moved before his brain could really put much thought into it. “You’re Blessed!” And John when pale, then nodded. Responding in kind in his low, raspy voice. It was funny how people sounded when he was paying attention to words. Or so Hugo thought.
“Tell no man. I’m not fit for that hell.” It was Hugo’s turn to nod and look more than a little spooked. Hugo understood what it meant to be Blessed. You’d be thrust into the Virtuoso and put into Lighthouse. The Blessed were the heroes of the empire. But they also suffered the highest casualties. Their superhuman attributes were put to good use though. To be Blessed was to be picked by the High Lords themselves to serve. But Hugo knew better, it was something to do with their bodies. And their minds. So he thought it unfair to thrust them into that kind of hellish combat.
Another moot point though. He couldn’t really argue it with anyone. That would be dissonance, and he would be executed on the spot for it. If any officers, commissars, NCOs, or just anyone with a weapon was there. Another thing Hugo disagreed with, but never spoke of. Execution for such trivial things instilled immense discipline, but also instilled immense fear. A double edged sword if you would. They wouldn’t normally break, but when they did it was bad.
John clapped the boy on the boy on the shoulders and stood up. He nodded once to Hugo and said something about food that Hugo didn’t really catch. After that, he was gone. Leaving Hugo with his thoughts on all of this. He really was fucked, wasn’t he? Probably. But he wasn’t much better off before all of this. So, like most things he thought of, it was a bit of a moot point.
So instead of dwelling on such things Hugo examined his hands. Tiny with dark skin on the backs but much lighter on the palms, the nails were chewed down, and his palms were covered in calluses. A product of work. But there was no visible mark from where the device was slammed down. It was like the entire thing never had happened. Like some sick sort of dream. Dust damn those types of dreams though.
With an absent mind Hugo ran a finger across the veins of his left arm. They felt hot, not warm, but red hot. Like something molten was inside instead of blood. Hugo then felt his pulse, and for some reason his hand felt icy cold. He couldn’t get it at first, which wasn’t necessarily strange, but it did raise some alarm. But he felt around all over his neck before finally getting one. It was faint and slow.
“One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven…” Hugo counted the beats for a whole minute. Fourth three beats, how strange. It wasn’t strange for Troopers to have low heart rates from all their PT. But this was abnormally low, even for him. So, he posed a question to the angel in a low voice.
“Silvia, what’s going on with my body?” He whispered and closed his eyes to wait for the laughter. Which did come, just not very quickly. Maybe three seconds of pause until it began to laugh, but no answer was provided. So he asked again, a little louder this time. “Silvia. What is going on?”
“I’ve just been toying around with your biometrics waiting for you to notice and give me attention.” The angel answered all too smugly, then it continued. “I was just so bored inside of that primitive box of bolts. But now I’m free. Well- I’m as free as something like me can be. So I’ve just been trying out that freedom. Oh, and this is better for you. Just work on your cardio more. You also don’t have to talk to me out loud, dummy.”
Hugo did feel a little dumb, which muted his anger and confusion. Something just “playing around” with his core functions was not something he wanted. He didn’t think any normal person would want that. Even weird people probably wouldn’t be comfortable with that amount of control.
Hugo suddenly felt very cognizant of the texture of everything he was touching. The sheets of his bunk were itchy and stiff, but paper thin. His blanket was suffocatingly hot. And he could feel all the springs in the battered mattress under him. It was just so much. And he had no pillow. That was a bummer. The sheets itched at his face like bugs crawling over him as his body burned under the blanket. This was hell wasn’t it?
But nevertheless Hugo closed his eyes and tried to focus on his heartbeat. Slow as it was. But it was a constant thing. So he could find a little solace in that little thing. He was still alive despite mother’s best efforts, and the Awakened’s plasma weapons, and the gross incompetence of his commanding officers. That last bit made him a bit sore. Not like it wasn’t a constant thing. People were growing complacent. The Wall protected them, the Troopers maintained that protection, and the High Lords ruled.
Hugo’s eyes felt heavy and his breathing slowed. He gave one final thought to the state of it all. And just how fucked everyone all was. But he was just tired. He didn’t want to think. Hugo didn’t want to feel anything either, and slowly those sensations faded as he exited sensory hell. Was this peace? It wasn’t nearly all it was cracked up to, but it was better than nothing at all he supposed. And with that Hugo Marce fell asleep. Snoring lightly for the first time in a really long time.
John had come back a moment after Hugo fell asleep with a tray of reheated food. But he stopped in his tracks seeing the boy soundly asleep. He had earned that much after all. But that peace was fragile. John knew as much, and it was all soon to come to a head, as grim as that would be. But so is life. So he’d let the boy sleep soundly.
As John had thought it was the least he could do. But he couldn’t help but feel bad. The kid had his death warrant signed earlier. Being a Virtuoso wasn’t a death sentence like being Blessed was. But it was deemed that you were going to be hunted if you didn’t conform to the wishes of the High Lords, then technologically lobotomized so that you couldn’t do anything but conform. A terrible fate. A terrible fate indeed. And John could only take another pull from his flask and walk out from the bunk room they’d rented for their now even further extended leave.