It had not been the greatest day for him. As a Centurion, there were certain expectations that he had to uphold. When it was all in the name of the great, glorious Pandorian Empire -- many of those expectations went against his sense of morality. While it was true that the rampant imperialism of the Empire that had lasted for more than 2 million years had finally started to slow, it was not because of changing political thought. No, as he understood it, it was because they found rivals. Three Galaxies had been conquered, countless planets, countless peoples, a might that might have never stopped. But, as they began to explore more and more of their universe, they began to find other galactic powers -- albeit none as centralized as they were. Large unions of many different nations, republics, and democracies spanned far-reaching in the dark.
Eventually, instead of continuing their conquests, they stopped it. Instead, they became more of liberators and defenders, slowly gaining new territory through a deal or two. Eventually, even this began to slow, and now it had almost completely stopped. But still, they found new ways to gain power within the Universal Community. Most can barely understand the scale of a single galaxy. And this community was a collection of twelve of them, something beyond comprehension. The Pandorians made their way onto a council position in that community, and with that position were able to gain more power and influence. Yet, the Community was careful to make particular laws to avoid the Pandorians from gaining any more power. As a single entity, they were undeniably the strongest. Any more power, well, who knows what might happen then.
But... Every law and every idea had a hole in it that could be found by the intelligent. As it was, he was on his way to discuss that very thing in a sense. He was within the Forward Defensive Outpost SO-8 of the Canna Confederacy. Quite the mouthful if you asked Crystal, but he learned that the Canna Confederacy liked taking mouthfuls lately. Otherwise, he couldn't understand why they made the tactical choices they did. Checking the time on his watch as he moved through an elevator, some White Gloves, and Canna soldiers near him, he'd shut his eyes. Reaching out with his mind, focusing it on a home off in the distance, the darkness would become a scene in his mind. A group of seven other Pandorians, obscured in darkness, formed in that scene. They were within a room, around a round table, the eight of them having a few documents between them. It was not real in the physical sense but instead, a mental construct created by the combined psychic power of these 8 spanning galaxies -- an instant form of communication.
"I'm glad to see you have joined us, Centurion. Forgive me. I've forgotten your expedition name. Please, remind us of it." One of the men said as he flipped through the documents that Crystal began to hand out. Reports on the recent battles and movements of the enemy and allied troops.
"Thank you, sir. My expedition name is Crystal." The response flowed off his lips rather easily, a few of the men laughing under their breath at the name. The one who had asked the question, the Legate, gave a wave of his hand as he said.
"Not a bad name. Better than the first one I ever got. Be thankful your name wasn't something obscene, it's been known to happen." Crystal would have laughed at this, attempting to keep the room a bit light. He didn't really mind his name. It matched a Pandorian like him. His core concepts, and his secondary concepts, fit with crystals somewhat. Though, admittedly, it was more feminine than he'd like to admit. Surely, someone had laughed when they decided it.
"Nevertheless, we have more pressing issues than a name. As I look over your report, it seems like the war is going as originally predicted. The only thing that isn't, would be the Canna Confederacy's refusal to accept our terms for aid. Any insight, Crystal?" The legate would have asked this as a shade, only slouching his body forward revealed his eyes. Made onto the dark silhouette of a body, there was a kind of... Well, Crystal couldn't name what he saw in the commander's eyes. He just knew he didn't like it.
"Well, it's as I said in the reports, sir. Despite facing a near-complete collapse of their forces, they've still refused our terms. Renewing the original analysts' predictions, they seemed to have failed to realize the Canna people's commitment to democracy. If I am not mistaken, give me liberty or give me death is a familiar term used..." Crystal trailed off as he saw the legate's eyes alight with anger. The man sat back, letting his body become nothing but a dark silhouette again. This time, the voice of a woman rang out. It was the advisor, from what he knew.
"They are aware that the Inos plan for complete extinction of their species?" Before Crystal could respawn, the legate would have spoken again. His voice seemed somewhat fiery as if putting blame somewhere. "That's beside the point. They're aware that their two allies at the beginning of this war have all been wiped out? By Pandora, they still refuse?"
The room would become alight with many of them talking back and forth, a kind of discussion springing forth. Crystal remained silent, for it was not his place to speak. Leaning back in his chair, Crystal would have decided to ask a question -- one that had been eating at him. He spoke loud enough to break through the conversation but politely enough to stop if someone tried to. "Pardon me commander, I did want to ask you something."
Silence grew across the room and the commander shifted his attention back to Crystal. Nodding his head, he'd signal for Crystal to go on. After a moment of thinking about how to phrase it, Crystal would have said.
"I've been doing some digging independently into the history of the Inos, in hopes of proving the Canna some kind of strategic advantage -- considering the limitations placed on me to help. Despite my best attempts, I cannot find any evidence of them existing past 30-years-ago, which is about the same time the Canna and their allies first encountered them."
A second would pass as the legate looked at Crystal, leaning forward again. All of the people in the room would lean in now, looking at him. With a tone that told Crystal all he needed to know, and eyes that now surrounded him, the legate would say.
"I could have sworn Centurion, you led this by saying you wanted to ask a question. For some reason, I almost feel as if some kind of accusation is being made."
A moment passed as Crystal remained silent, anxiety beginning to grow in his stomach. Had he overstepped then? It might have been better to drop the matter but if he did, odds were good he might make things worse. After all, if you don't know how much someone knows, they're more dangerous.
"I would never make an accusation, legate. It's just no secret that we've wanted the Canna Confederacy and its allies to join us as a Protectorate for years. But, due to the fact that the Canna Confederacy, Zi United Republic, and Te Union were all allied and the main military powers of this quadrant, no threat made such a thing palatable. Then, randomly, the Inos -- a power strong enough to kill the Zi and Te -- appears. I was only wondering if there might have been some record of them traveling from another galaxy or quadrant, perhaps attracted by the allies prosperity."
No one spoke for a moment, and Crystal wondered if he had sold it well enough. That line of reasoning was, at least somewhat, reasonable to extrapolate from. Crystal himself, while not of royal or noble blood, was a good soldier and Centurion. He had no history of disobedience, despite his anti-imperialism essays back in school. There was no reason to think of him... Well, no reason to get rid of him, he'd hope. Finally, after what felt like forever, the legate spoke.
"I'll put in an information request for you, Crystal. That's a good thing to ask about. I hadn't been aware there were no records of them. I'm glad to see you're doing so much to help the Canna in their time of need, despite the regulations enforced on you. Though... I must ask. Your reports say the Canna has been denying most of your tactical advice. Why do you think that is?" The legate asked this, seemingly putting the previous matter to rest. Crystal doubted an information request would ever be put forward and instead believed that the legate was giving him a chance to abandon that matter; Crystal accepted happily.
"I think it's pride and hubris, honestly. Maybe a bit of spite. The Canna are well aware that I could be helpful if I joined the battle, they might see me as somewhat of a coward because I won't." The legate would have laughed at this as he leaned back. His laugh was a deep and hearty one, something that made Crystal grow calm. After a moment or so, he'd say. "Well, they know you can't exactly do that. We agreed to send some technology and a military advisor, not a soldier or mercenary."
A second passed, for Crystal knew his time was almost up. With a quick tone, Crystal would have said. "Yes, about that. An upcoming battle is about to occur that will decide the fate of the Canna. If their forces fail to repel an upcoming attack the war is over. As I am aware we desire the Canna as a Proterocate, I was wondering if I'd be permitted to do something more hands-on in the upcoming battle."
The legate would have waived this off. With a stern tone, he told Crystal. "Only within self-defense or defense of Pandorian Citizens. As you know." Nodding his head, Crystal would have muttered. "Just confirming, sir." Without another word, Crystal opened his eyes. Blinking a few times as he rubbed his face, a yawn would have left him. That kind of thing always made him tired, or maybe it was just the lack of sleep in the past six months. Well, then again, it wasn't like he really needed to sleep -- he just liked it, a bad habit he had picked up from the species he'd been around.
He marched with his White Gloves in front, his hands behind his back. As his eyes swept across the hanger bay, he was astounded to see so many children and young faces. Goodness, the Canna must have been getting rather desperate weren't they? He understood democracy, the thirst for freedom. In fact, he rather idolized it. Preferred it even to the monarchy he was bound to. But it was better to live as a serf than die a free man, wasn't it? What foolishness. But as he walked, his eyes landed on a particular young face. They were a handsome young man, with short brown hair, and a multi-ridge nose. His wings were rather kept as well, the brown things hanging on his back, though he didn't have proper shoes. The talons of his feet were visible, clinging to the metallic floor. He could feel the object in the boy's hands, an object of devotion he knew. As he walked, Crystal felt something else... A desire to live, a request to live. So he gave a wink of his golden eyes to the boy as he walked, knowing that he might have been the last friendly face those white eyes ever saw.
Entering the command deck Crystal would have nodded his head once or twice. Everything looked in order, no one was shaking in fear or anything. A commendable people, the Canna. In the face of destruction, they still stand tall. The captain of the station turned to look at Crystal as he looked around, asking without skipping a beat.
"So. Will you be helping us in the battle, Centurion Crystal?" A second passed as Crystal looked at the commander's battle plans -- plastered on the screens. They were sending the fighters away to meet the enemy before they reached the station. Under most circumstances, you wanted the station's weapons to back up the fighters against a superior force. It took him a moment to realize that at this point of the war people were more replaceable than station or station parts. A dark time for certain.
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"I fear that I am still regulated to non-combative roles unless it is the action of self-defense or the defense of a Pandorian Citizen. Now, if you became a Pandorian citizen..." The captain would have shaken his head, stepping into Crystal's face. Looking down at him, the large man would have his wings unfurl, shooting to the sides of Crystal. Both of the White Gloves would have put their rifles into the ready position, only for Crystal to stop them. Raising his hand to signal them to stop, the man would have said. "Again! Again you demand our subjugation in exchange for survival! Is this the might of the Pandorian Empire? Who dangles aid in front of the desperate in exchange for their freedom? For their very souls? It's pitiful, pathetic!"
A second passed, and Crystal simply sighed and shook his head. Shrugging as he yawned again, the man would have said in response to the captain. "I agree. It is rather pathetic. If it was up to me, I'd help you. It isn't. I'm bound to my rules and duties as a Centurion, just as you are as a soldier. So now, I'll leave you to them. I have a rendezvous to meet at Sector 8. I pray to Pandora you win."
With that, Crystal would have started to walk away. The White Gloves followed before him, causing the captain to shout after him. "That's it? You're just going to leave? Walk away? Not even going to give some tactical advice?"
Crystal would have stopped in his tracks, laughing quietly under his breath. Turning to face the captain, Crystal would have simply responded. "It's not like you listen to me when I give it anyway. So, this time, let's hope you did listen when I told you the only way I could help you, captain. Good day, may the Old Ones protect you."
The captain burned daggers into that damn, cheeky, young little bastard as he walked out of the HQ. Biting his talons on his fingers as he turned back to the situation at hand, he'd ask. "ETA until fighters make contact with the enemy?" A woman in a seat would have quickly shouted back to the captain. "They're about one and a half light years out, ETA five minutes and thirty seconds."
The Canna had abandoned their Gods quite a long time ago. When you could fly, there were few places for them to hide. So, for a second, the captain did ponder praying to the Old Ones. Maybe then, they'd offer some kind of help without any strings. But, just before the captain completely accepted their fate, a man would have spoken.
"Sir, I'm picking up Centurion Crystal on the radar! The path he's taking will take him maybe half a light year from the combat zone at his current space and velocity!" The captain would have, not believing it, looked at the screen. He definitely wasn't flying into the combat zone, but he was flying on a path that took him way too close. "What in the... Why is he taking such a roundabout way to get to Sector 8?"
It only took the captain another second to realize it. After a moment, he would have shouted. "Get me in contact with squad leader Belo now! Tell him I have new orders that are to be carried out no matter the cost!"
Melo wasn't shaking anymore. Once they had gone out in their Scourges, he had managed to calm down. The emptiness of space as they flew through it, the like of the stars and lights like white lines as they moved so fast... It was calming for him. A second passed as a screenshot up on the left side of the glass. The face in it was Belo, though Melo would never say it, he looked funny with his helmet on. Like a fish in a bowl too small for it. "Listen up Melo, we have new orders. Once we engage, we're to draw them to these coordinates."
A series of coordinates would have been input into the bottom right side of his screen, Melo quickly nodding his head. A bit of panic had entered his face, and Belo seemed to see it. Sighing, the man would have shaken his head. Taking a moment to think, he seemed to have found some words to help Melo.
"Listen, I get it. You're scared, last mission you went on didn't go well. Missions don't tend to go well. But there's a reason you're my wingman, why you're the wingman of the squad leader. You're the second-best pilot here, even if you have no experience. Most of these guys got switched from other roles granted they could fly in a straight line. But you're one of the few who were given real training and got good scores when tested. Just remember, you're a good pilot."
Belo would have shut his screen off after that pep talk, Melo trying to keep the words in his head. His thoughts were dancing like tiny little things as the seconds passed, the good ones slipping away. But those words had helped to keep everything together. Belo wasn't such a bad guy, really. Little bit mean and rough around the edges, but Melo felt like he actually cared. Then again, those words of his sounded nice... If you remember Melo was being compared to men and women that had no experience and rushed training.
Didn't take them much longer to see the enemy off in the distance. On the backdrop of black, they were the only things that were splattered with patterns of gray and black. They were an insectoid race that traveled the stars with their bodies alone. From their backsides was a series of dark lights that came out, bio-electricity being used to create magnetic waves, which permitted the production of force in a vacuum. Their bodies were a dark, flesh kind of thing, with bones that shot out to help block against any debris in space. Their faces had long, dangerous mandibles, strong enough to crush a Scourge in seconds if they managed to grab the cockpit. And their eyes... White, pure white. One could see nothing from them, no pupil to predict their next move, for it was covered by a layer of flesh to protect their eyes. One called them the greatest evolutionary organism to exist, but Melo just called them Flyers.
It didn't take long until they came under fire. From the mouths of the Flyers came black beams of bio-energy, shooting across space at incredible speeds. They dropped out of faster than light speeds and half swerved to the left, the other to the right. Belo would have shouted across the communications to all of the pilots.
"Stay with your wingman! Remember, we need to draw them to the coordinates I sent all of you!" It was easier said than done. He tried to stay on Belo's tail, following behind him as they dodged blast after blast. He would have darted directly downward, blasting a burst of his engines to increase his speed for a moment, before spinning his vessel around as he fell. Without hesitation, he would have slammed his left talon on the ground, pressing a button. From the left wing of his Scourge, a missile blasted forward, exploding in the middle of a pair of Flyers. Nuclear fire roared through space, burning both of the Flyers away.
He would have spun back in front before climbing upward with another burst of speed, rejoining the tail of Belo. He would have looked at a pair of orders given to him by Belo on the right side of his screen, the entire squad now trying to move into position. Moving to the sides of the on-coming Flyers, the 12 pilots would have launched a series of 41 nuclear devices at the on-coming hordes. Soaring towards the 1000s of on-coming Flyers, space would be alight with nuclear fire once more, spanning as far as one could see in any direction. Like tens of tiny suns exploding, Melo couldn't breathe as he watched it. It seemed so... Beautiful, watching the Flyers' bodies burn away.
But it was short-lived. As the smoke and fires cleared, the bodies of 100,000s more became clear. Belo would have spoken rather loudly, seemingly laughing somewhat.
"You know the drill -- that lot was the scouts! They're pissed now, so hit it. Doesn't matter what happens, just get to the coordinates! They'll follow until you're dead!" Without skipping a beat, Belo would have shot forward, followed quickly by Melo, the squad engaging faster than light travel once more. It was ironic to think they only had these drives because of... Well, the Pandorians. He watched the numbers on his screen change every second that got close. 0.9, 0.8, 0.7 -- it seemed to tick down, and he saw the Flyers still got on their tails, countless little red dots on his radar. Melo didn't know why they were going here, but if he was being honest, a part of him hoped he'd live if he made it there. So just before they got there, just when they were almost there... Another series of red dots appeared, right to the right side of them, another group of 100,000 Flyers. He didn't even have the chance to call out, for before he could do anything, his Scourge was ripped to shreds -- the left and right-wing blew off in an instant.
He would have tried to zero in his Scourge as he lost control, attempting to use the backup thrusters to slow himself down. It was hopeless he thought for a moment, for the FAST Drive had been damaged in the attack. Feeling the G-Force begin to rip his body to shreds, the fear of death resumed. That was it then, he'd keep spinning until he became a liquid on the inside of the Scourge. He couldn't even cry, he was too sick to. This wasn't fair, they had been so close...
Then he stopped. He had hit something, and instead of splatting against it as he should have, he just stopped. Vomiting as he ripped his helmet off, his Scourge somehow still keeping the atmosphere in it, he'd look at his window. All he saw was the on-coming Flyers, the explosions as he watched members of his squad get shot, and then... Blue hair. Stepping out from behind his Scourge was that Pandorian, without a suit to speak of, smiling back at him as he softly flew away from Melo. His hands behind his back, a pair of wings that appeared to be -- no, that couldn't be right. A pair of wings that almost looked like... Water, multi-colored water coming off his back. Flying backward right into the Flyers, looking right at Melo as he did, he'd simply keep flying forward. What was he trying to do? Get himself killed? Flyers attack anything they see, no matter who it was! They'd kill him, they were going to kill him! But he just winked at Melo again, that grin of his remaining; Pandorians had to be insane, Melo decided.
It looked like the Canna had finally decided to listen. Besides for the whole flying into him thing... That Canna was lucky. Had he hit anything else, he'd probably have died. And if he hadn't flown in that very, very particular line... Fate? This far away from Alpha? Or was it just him and some kind of strong luck? Or maybe, subconsciously, Crystal had tried to fly in a path towards him... He had prayed for things like that had been known to happen. It didn't matter though, for, in the next moment, he felt a barrage of attacks land across his body. He felt them fly into his body but never flew out, trapped inside of endless oceans now. A second passed and Crystal would have sent a signal out, a psychic signal.
"You have attacked a Pandorian Centurion. As fitting with my responsibilities, and to assure that the good name of the Empress is not tarnished, I will now completely annihilate you in self-defense, to remind all of Pandora's strength."
The Flyers didn't care, or maybe, didn't understand. They just flew around him, firing, again and again, unable to understand why he wouldn't just die. Every time their attack hit him, it seemed to enter him, but it never came out... As if it was stone dropping into the ocean. Raising his left hand, he would have made a soft ball of yellow in it. Within that ball was virtue given shape, form, virtue given power -- just as Pandora had many years ago. The ball would slowly rise above Crystal, light beginning to pulsate from it, causing the Flyers to fire at it too -- but their strikes simply bounced off. Crystal would have sighed. How annoying this whole thing was, the action of taking life to preserve it...
Melo couldn't understand what he was seeing. A swarm of them surrounded Crystal as if he was a station. More than he could count, within the hundreds of thousands, the size of an army, firing at him with everything they had! But he just... Stood there. They landed against his body, and he didn't even move. And that ball he had made... It made him feel better, made him feel safer. Before he even knew it, that ball split itself into a series of lines, soaring at different sections of a swarm. A blind light came from those lines, which made Melo have to cover his eyes. When he opened them, the Flyers were all gone, and only Crystal remained. Not a trace of them remained. It was only now that Melo understood why so many claimed if even a single Pandorian decided to help them: the war could be won.
Melo sat there in silence as the Pandorian came back to him. He looked at Melo inside of the Scourge, the vomit-covered, terrified boy, who could only stare up at him with frightened eyes. And only smiled at him, with a kind smile, one that seemed to warm Melo up. The Pandorian grabbed his Scourge and started to pull it back, Melo simply sitting against his seat. A moment passed, and a desire to know the Pandorian's name came to Melo. Without even asking, he felt the Pandorian's mind come across him. He said to Melo a single word: "Crystal."