Crossing the deserted board, he gazed at the lights reflecting on the floor. He had nothing else to admire. All the Annihilator’s corridors looked the same, the only difference between them was their size. The barely noticeable smell of rubber and metal wafted in the thick, repeatedly filtered air. Bundles of cables and pipes in varied grey stuck out of the walls of the monotonous, almost sterile space. The muffled whirring, coming from the ducts, gave the impression of circulating blood in the non-organic veins. Tremendous machines, powered by antimatter engines caused faint, pulsing vibrations like a beating heart of the iron monster, and hundreds of kilometres of ducts transported the vital energy, letting the whole mechanics work.

Antares walked down the bridge over the pipe which was wide enough to fit a fair-sized fighter inside. This installation was his ace in the hole that could tip the balance of the entire war. Producing anti-matter which could power and annihilate enemy targets, the particle accelerator took up space equivalent to the two floors below. Due to this, the

Epifortress was able to cause the total destruction of an object in the size of a small moon. Antares never fully trusted this machine and feared its might, but he kept this ship for himself as a spoil of war that he captured seven years ago.

He covered the last few metres in a brisk pace as if he wanted to flee from his own anxiety. He climbed up the narrow stairs on the metal platform, towering over the airfield. When he walked out of the shadows, the cheer of four hundred thousand Celestians echoed louder than a striking thunder.

Antares halted in the middle of the balcony. He stood upright with hands tensed along his body. He looked at the gathered. Some of them held jagged banners, and others, to show their fighting zeal, presented arms – long shotguns called Ascalons with attached bayonets.

Escalating wrath had boiled in the hearts of each of them, from veterans to teenagers, for a long time, and in their eyes shone a spark of primal fierceness like a seed of relentless, rampant fire.

They needed fuel for their fury. They waited to hear just one word from Antares again. Nothing incited them to fight better than his speeches.

With his head high, Antares observed his warriors, shouting and giving vent to their hate. He raised his fist, and the Celestians fell silent.

Listening to the hum of the engines, Antares inhaled the cold air. A subtle shiver ran through his limbs when he began.

“It’s my great honour to stand here, in front of you, the strong and dauntless Celestians.”

He bowed his head, glancing at the gathered. “I truly appreciate that you entrusted me with your future and the future of Zetherion, our one and only motherland,” he paused to determine the listeners’ reaction, then roared, “that one day will be ours again!”

The entire crowd sounded in a single slogan of approval that drowned out the echo of his own voice.

Antares continued, “The Union is getting stronger. They conquer planet by planet, behind the curtain of progress, bringing only destruction and enslavement. They want to make us a mindless mob, deprive us of our identity, history and everything that makes us unique amongst the herds of puppets.” He pointed at the ceiling. “They can take away my ship, all ammunition supplies, weaponry,” he took off a shotgun that hung over his arm, “or this Ascalon. But I have one thing they’ll never take. We all have it.” Antares raised his fist covered with purple, pulsing veins. “The Zetherionian blood tempered in the frost of unbounded deserts and hearts forged in the darkness of the endless caves.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Like statues animated by an unknown force, the Celestians moved, responding together with a cheer that echoed in the entire hangar. Wielded by the most distinguished Zetherionians, black-and-orange banners lifted up above the heads of the gathered. The rest raised their shotguns and belts, full of ammo. Their bayonets, sharper than the fangs of the wild predators, blazed on the edges with the white plasma afterglow. Hundreds of Celestians began to call out Antares’s name. With the passing of every moment, the other voices soon joined them, repeating his name like a mantra, deeply believing it would fill them with a renewed strength and in the worst days, give them hope and protect them from fear and doubt.

In order to finish the speech before the crowd became impossible to control, Antares hit the floor with the stock of his shotgun thrice.

Metallic echo hushed the Celestians like an order, and their Commander carried on.

“To reclaim our home, we must remain strong, and we’re strong as long as we remember who we are and hand down this knowledge to future generations.” He frowned, taking two deep breaths and growled, “And we will fight! For ourselves and our descendants, so that one day they’ll be able to say: we are free and we stand on the free land!”

He waited for the crowd to unleash their emotions and braced for the hardest moment.

“I know none of us want to retreat or lose fervour or hope.” He lowered his eyes and flexed his muscles. “Only the weakest links give up. And we all know how the weakest links end. Abandoned in the middle of the desert. Look at me!” He approached the railing and spread his arms. “Have I ever given up?”

Thunderous shouts were the response, from which he picked out the word never. Standing below, the group of Celestians moved nervously like hounds that waited for an opportunity to slip their chains, rush towards the enemy and tear its throat. Antares clenched his damp fingers and looked at the gathered.

“Have I ever taken even one step back?”

When a resounding never reached his ears again, he wanted to smile. So many stood shoulder to shoulder with him, ready to kill and die on his command. He bit his lower lip to restrain this reaction.

They see a leader in me. They don’t deserve what I’m going to do to them.

Antares sniffed and gulped. He was seeing some of his warriors for the last time. He regretted his decision now more than ever when he thought about what the victims’ families and friends would experience. He knew this pain and wished never to feel it again.

He took a breath through his clenched teeth and gazed over the crowd.

“Have I ever run away, facing the stronger and better-armed enemy?”

“Never!” roared four hundred thousand throats together, and the echo of their voice magnified their vow, filling the hangar with a deafening noise. Banners fluttered like the black wings of an enormous bird, casting a chaotic shadows on the Celestians standing below.

“Exactly!” growled Antares. Breathing rapidly like after a sprint, he leaned over the railing, gripping the bar with stiffening hands. “Even our allies keep us at a distance because they fear what we’re capable of when someone stands in our way. Devi Kali herself has admitted to me that she dare not attack the Narjahanam fortress as the first one, so she’s entrusted us with this mission.”

The Celestians glanced at each other, whispering and muttering.

“I know that earlier we’d been told to carry out the raid and assault, but the plans have changed. We’re going to protect the landing ships from the anti-aircraft guns. We have to do it because no one would undertake this task, calling it a suicide, but I took this up because I know we can achieve more than them.” Antares raised his hand and clenched his fist. “We’ll show them our valour one more time to make them aware of our determination and mettle!”

He’d expected a reaction like that – uneasy whispers at first, followed by single cheers. They grew louder when the other Celestians got their hopes up and wanted to show their adoration for the leader who’d called them strong and dauntless. That time Antares did not silence the fanatics repeating his name. He let them plunge into a state of an almost hypnotic trance. They did not need any substances. Their belief was enough for them. None of the gathered hesitated, in spite of hearing about the suicidal mission.

Antares waited for several seconds, after which he turned away and headed towards the exit. He marched like a victor, passing under the triumphal arch, but he did not feel that way even a little bit. He identified himself more with a treacherous spy who’d secretly betrayed the very people who considered him a friend.

When he stepped out of the Celestians’ sight, he threw the shotgun on his shoulder, lowered his head and hid his hands in his pockets. He sped up his pace so as to not hear the echo of his name anymore.