#ink chains (outdated version)

[qftim-c]

You can all thank @leminysnickit for this -💥

I was told to make this, and thus it shall be posted

[prince-toffee]

Fallin’ For A Fallen Angel

Since it’s ‘Dak’s b-day, and I don’t have anything prepared, here’s some old fic stuff. It just so happens I have some stories saved in my drafts. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes, I don’t know if this is the edited/revised version of the story or the rough cut, but... here you go!

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

Perfect.

Another day, another three hour meeting with the Hillian Council. Yet another time Niro has been forced to listen to the idiotic and outdated ramblings of the Council’s Priests, or ‘High Priests’ or ‘Grand Priests’, whatever their full damn title was. He hated them. With every fibre in his body. Just hearing their proposals and demands sparked flames that burned through his chest. He was King! For crying out loud! He shouldn’t have been able to be chained and caged like this, imprisoned in his own Council Room, in his own castle, IN HIS OWN KINGDOM! He was the monarch of this land, it’s King! Yet he felt trapped, thanks to the devious and manipulative web spun across the oceans of politics and government. He felt powerless in his own throne, well that was because he was utterly powerless, the title of King didn’t mean much, it was an honorary title, the Priests were the ones whom truly held the power.

Niro attempted to circumvent their laws and rules - he had a child. More importantly a daughter - a Princess. The teenage girl held more power than him, Princesses ruled this world, and the Princesses were ruled by a Queen. But one thing at a time. Through Amanda he managed to control certain things, but not the entire chessboard. Of course one of the things he was unable to control was the participation, attendance, timing and frequency of Council Meetings. And so he was trapped, punished for being a leader of his people.

Niro immediately knew it was going to be a bad day, he didn’t believe in a higher power, but he had that feeling, that the world was against him. Started with the knot in his neck when he woke up, then being called to attend a morning meeting, which took half an hour longer than usual. Something about a red streak flashing across the night sky a few weeks back. Apparently it was an omen of bad things to come. The worship ceremonies and the communities which indulged in them were becoming more and more unnerved and panicky. Spouting messages of the end times. Niro used all the strength in his mind and soul not to reply, ‘So want’s new?’ in the most sarcastic way possible.

He plastered on a fake smile, the best one he had, and powered through the encounter. Not giving a thought to the rambling old scorpions. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, the suffering ended. He practically power-walked out of the room, making as much distance between the robed men as possible. Once he made it past the first turn of the hallway he gave out a relieved sigh. Out of the blast zone.

Another day, another day he walked out past the town square monument of Queen Angella of BrightMoon, he despised that statue. He often just scowled at it from afar from his balcony. There she was, every day, at the centre, at the heart of HIS kingdom. The Immortal Angel. She had no place here, she and her people in no way contributed to Scorpion Hill. When his mother begged on her knees for the Queen to aid them, nothing came. Hillians were always on their own, never received help from foreign powers, never needed it - but that was just Niro’s pride talking. The kingdom did need help. The supplies of water were running low, as were building materials. The kingdom shrank with each year. Without proper financial support in the desert’s drastic conditions, towns and villages couldn’t have been repaired. Sandstorms, sink holes... raids. The land faced many issues, all of which Niro felt helpless and powerless to stop or improve.

And so settlements were abandoned. People decided to migrate closer inward to the heart of the Scorpion Hill Kingdom. Which stood as Angella. That wasn’t right. The runestone was meant to represent the kingdom’s beating heart, the castle that surrounded it and the hill on which it was built apon.

Another day poverty and homelessness were running rampant, increasing to new heights. Niro needed a blessing. Or a distraction from the morbid topic. Luckily he got one, in the form of his daughter who snuck up on him from behind. Gave him quite a fright. He railed back, placing a claw on his chest making sure his heart didn’t leap out of his ribcage. Anger didn’t surface even for a moment, he burst out laughing even before Amanda did. The two shared a moment of mirth, just for a few seconds the world lit up, and it wasn’t too bad. Amanda gave him a knowing look and Niro rolled his eyes, he knew what it meant. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be too bad of a day.

His daughter practically dragged him to her fitting room to show off her new line of clothing. He agreed to be her model. What could he say, the kid had a talent, and they didn’t spend enough time together, some perfect moment for father daughter bonding. ‘Anda had plenty on her plate as a Princess, her duties as a royal, as a leader of a nation came first, but the girl had other aspirations and dreams. Well, she was more of a woman now, but Niro couldn’t quite lit his little baby go yet. Little girl, it was.

Niro admitted that he wasn’t a big dress fan, but when he tried them on, honestly, not too bad. ‘Anda was going to change the world, he knew that, he saw it in her eyes. That same spark that burned in his own eyes, but it was freer, she could do things he never could. She could fight back in ways he couldn’t. She was stronger than him.

“I don’t know, ‘Anda.” Niro looked over his back and then at the bare thigh exposed by the side slit in the dress, “I don’t think it fits me. I think I’ll just wear my armour to the Princess Prom. Same as always.” His daughter emerged from her closet, traversing the hilly terrain of cloths she threw around. Clutching her arms she held yet another dress, she claimed with confidence that this one was THE one. Niro reminded her she said that the first twenty times. But she assured him that it was perfect now. The King gave way, he could never win arguments with her, he couldn’t say no to that face.

Somewhere around the fourth following dress, the two heard a knock on the door frame, which caught their attention. Their heads swung around to see an overseeing figure at the door. How did she open the door without him noticing? How long was she been standing there?! Her face guard was covering it up with dark cloth, but he could practically see her grinning. He felt demeaned, a King found in a dress, the embarrassment was unbearable.

“Can I help you Force-Captain?” Niro asked not keeping eye contact. He retreated back into the small changing cubical and slide the curtain close after him.

Opal found it quite amusing. She gave a slight nod to the Princess, Amanda returned with a small wave. This didn’t seem like the right situation to indulge in a friendly conversation, so Opal just spoke directly to the King himself, “Your majesty, there is a matter that requires your attention.”

“Can’t it wait?” The disembodied voice from beyond the curtain asked with as much frustration as it could’ve mustered. The noise of zippers and fabric folding could have been heard from behind, alongside a few bumps and clanks along the way. Opal was never going to let him live this down.

“I could take care of it.” Amanda stated pointing her thumbs back at herself, in a jokey manner, “Available Princess waiting on stand by.” She said as she wiggled her shoulders.

“Thanks, Amanda, but this one needs your father. Top-top-secret-classified-stuff. When you get the throne, you’ll be drowning in these fun little puzzles too. Enjoy your youth.” Opal stated as she waved the file in her hand.

The curtain pulled back and Niro marched out. He gave Amanda a light playful noogie, ruffing up her black straightened hair as he passed her. “See you at dinner pumpkin!” He said his farewell and marched past Opal dismissively. The Force-Captain rolled her eyes and marched forward alongside the King. She passed him the yellow file folder without a word. Niro of course took it, opened it and began to look through it.

“You’re not mad are you?” Opal raised her eyebrow at her King, her voice trembling with the vibration of laughter coming up through her vocal cords. She found the circumstance hilarious in a way. Niro remained silent, trying to focus on the sheets of paper of information and their tiny ink squiggles. But he couldn’t quite. He wasn’t mad. Why would he be mad? He was happy for Amanda, he wasn’t over-bearing or over-protective, he was a cool dad, cool, he was cool. He was happy for them.

“You know, about the whole...” Opal continued to push the matter, forcing Niro’s blood pressure to rise, “My daughter going out with yours. The fact that we could be family soon.” The possibility of that future made a few rubber bands snap inside Niro’s head.

He changed the subject immediately, “What’s this?” He lifted the file up. He flipped a page to reveal a picture paperclipped to the side. The photo framed a distant, dark, jagged object in the middle of the desert. Niro squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen, clearly not a rock or a cliff, ruins of First Ones technology perhaps. Or some kind of outpost for the raiders?

“Armageddon. Well, at least that’s what the Priests are saying.”

Niro scoffed and rolled his eyes, passing the file back over to Opal completely disinterested, “I told you I don’t care about their moronic superstition. I haven’t seen my daughter in days, because of this work schedule and you interrupted me for THIS? Ramblings of old mad men? What el-”

“Niro.” She interrupted, “This thing crash landed there.” The scorpion King stopped in his tracks. Machinery that could actually fly? Astonishing. But the astonishment didn’t last long, his mind began to race and consider worst case scenarios. What if one of their enemies have discovered the gift of flight. Was this a test run? And so close to them, in Hillian territory? Absolute dread washed over the King, all he could think to ask himself was: Did this mean war was coming? Did BrightMoon or Dryl or Salineas finally snap, did they finally get fed-up with Niro’s insults and unattendance? This was bad. Very bad. He turned to Opal wearing his worried face, she saw it and read. “Whatever that thing is, it doesn’t bare any insignias of any known Kingdoms.” The cogs turned again, that was good, that meant no imminent war while Scorpion Hill is disorganised. But, also bad news, an unknown threat.

“Is it First Ones?”

“We don’t know. It’s too far out.”

“What do you mean TOO far out?! Assemble a detachment and survey the area! I don’t understand w-”

“Niro, we DID sent a detachment in... the thing is they DIDN’T come back.”

The King of Scorpion Hill fell silent. An unknown opponent had just entered the game, right under his nose, no less. This couldn’t mean anything good. A full detachment, at least dozen missing. Maybe dead, since no ransom demands were made. Everyday he felt his Kingdom crumble beneath his feet, control slipping from his grasp, all his life he felt so weak, like he had nothing to contribute to his Kingdom, to his people. Another day, another failure.

But not this time, today was a day for change. Niro turned to Opal and barked an order, “Prepare my horse. I am leaving to investigate this at once.”

“But-”

“Did I not make myself clear?”

“No, you did. Right away, sir.” Opal, slightly shook by the power of the response, saluted the King and made her way swiftly to the royal stable to ready a steed for the mission.

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

Another day, another awful, exhausting, miserable day on this worthless backwater planet. HTK218-666 swiped the coolant dripping from his forehead, he was perspiring too much, because of the damn heat. The environment on this planet was unbearable. And worse than the heat itself was the lack of logical explanation for the heat. This system had NO SUN! How life was sustained 218 did not know. Nothing on this planet made sense. He hated it.

Another day he felt nothing but hatred. A part of him wished to give up, just give into the heat and let the earth consume him. Die in dignity and silence. It seemed like the best way to go. But there was another side of him, and it screamed at him, yelled and shrilled, that side forced him to stand up each morning and continue on. The loyal side of him, the pride, the thought of reuniting with his Brother.

He was a Horde trooper. He had to persevere.

And so he stood up and he persisted. The glass cover of his personal pod got jammed again. He only just awoke and already a problem troubled his head. He gave an exhausted sigh, rubbed his eyes and then the bridge of his nasal cavity. He forced the cover open with his foot, he knew his lower body had more muscle mass and strength as oppose to his upper half. He heard something going loose, a hiss of gases escaping the structure - must’ve been the cryogenic mechanism. The pod no longer supported long term recharge functions. Which was bad. It meant 218 had a time limit on how long he could remain on this planet. 218 dislodged the pod cables connected to his back and stumbled out. He fell to his knees a couple of times before gaining balance.

He reached out for his clothing, sitting on a bench near the corner. He decided, for some inexplicable reason he’d recharge without his uniform, bare chested. He liked it better without the fabric of the uniform catching on the inside of his ports, he hated having to pull strings of fabric out. The uniform’s short cape was torn off and used to drape over and around 218′s head and neck, to protect him from the heat. Even though, once again he wasn’t sure it’d help, since there was no SUN! It mattered little. He just had to push forward.

And so he did. Another day, another routine check up. He entered the control room, scaled the tall steps and approached the central panel. He stood stiff as the systems attempted to boot up again. He thought he might install a chair in that spot. He hated having to stand for so long.

The ship was an absolute mess. The lights in the room flickered, another thing on the list to fix was the power fluctuations in the power grid. But he couldn’t reach the power core chamber, because it was bored deep beneath the surface and blocked off by quite sizeable debris. Which he could access with the aid of maintenance robots. But all bots were destroyed or damaged during the fall. So he salvaged spare parts from the damaged units and substituted missing elements with objects that of the ship itself. He was a general, he held countless data streams related to construction and engineering, thanks to accessing his brothers’ minds multiple times every day of his life.

And so he managed to construct a couple of spherical quadruped bots as substitutes. He spent, what he assumed were nights on this planet, working on those. The bots were no great feat of engineering, they were uneven, tripped over their own feet, walked into walls and in some cases even combusted, leaving 218 to complete various repairs on the ship by himself.

He got very little recharge, he was sluggish and uncoordinated, the lack of self-maintenance probably did not help the black outs. The clone trooper noted that the faintings were getting worse and worse, more frequent, longer and more painful. But his tiredness was nothing compared to the feeling of guilt and disgust in his belly. He was dismantling the designs of his Big Brother. And then on top of that, he was altering them, he was dissecting perfection and then tainting it with his defective influence. He felt ashamed. But machine gave way to man and animal and the urge to survive came through.

The control panel veered to life with green lights. The display showed the schematic of the warship, but not much beyond it, the sensors were in bad shape, half melted from the entry to the planet. The ship picked nothing up from the surroundings. 218′s eyes had to do it on their own. He wasn’t sure if there were any threats near him, he spotted a few nomads pass by. They hadn’t started anything so the general felt safe for now. But he couldn’t be too sure, after all he was but a defect, he could not win in a physical confrontation. So put it apon himself to set up multiple traps around the wreck, it wasn’t much, but perhaps a warning would be enough for now. He also doubted that the welders on the bots were enough to act as a deterrent, so he hoped to install firearms into the bots as soon as possibly.

The half built, hull missing, spherical bots rose up and they too veered to life with a green light, well... life was a stretch. They weren’t alive. They weren’t supposed to be. Where they?

The hand full of bots began to march onward, continuing their duties. 218 sighed in relief, they worked, and none of them imploded, a sign of progress. He stretched his aching bones - he really needed a chair here. The general liked being above his troops, seeing from a vantage point as progress was being made. He liked it. Feeling larger than life. Untouchable. It made him feel safer. He heard a ping on his screen, he turned around to see the small red light blinking at sector seven. A malfunctioning bot. Perhaps he should retract that statement about progress. He sighed, collected himself mentally. 218 marched forward and to sector seven. The hallways were dark, only lit up by red emergency lights and an occasional spark of electricity from a loose wires. 218′s mind made a mental note of every problem as he pass it in the corridors, took it into a list of things to fix, if possible. He worried most of the damage might’ve been irreversible.

But he couldn’t focus on that, he wasn’t stuck here, he was going to get off of this insignificant planet. He was going to stand by his Big Brother’s side soon, once again. He was going to win in the end. The walk to sector seven wasn’t long, a few levels up and he was starring at a massive hole in the hull, half of the sector was incinerated, it sustained most damage, it was useless to 218. So it was being taken completely apart and reused for other purposes. He remembered sending one of his own bots to start the process. The clone trooper spotted the semi-spherical drone ontop of a metal beam above him.

218 scaled the near wall, he knew his frail body would shatter instantly apon impact if he fell, but he chose to purge the thought out of his mind. He’s bones ached and his flesh burned, this was why he had bots. He leaped from the wall to the jagged beam, his arms wrapped around it, but gravity took it’s toll. He screamed out in pain, his arms felt like they were about to rip out of their sockets. He had very little upper body strength left in his decaying arms, but he pulled himself up, grunting in pain. Walked forward on the beam, loosing balance a couple of times now and again. He made it to the bot.

It was shacking, a noise of it’s inner components could have been heard shifting and knocking into one another. 218 looked around the bot to check for any external damage. He did in fact find a pretty sizable indent in it’s hull, which had several cracks running out of it. The general recalled during one of his previous panic episodes a few days ago he snapped and unloaded at one of the bots he was constructing. His thoughts went to dark places many times, his mental state wasn’t getting much better. Worse actually, it was getting worse with every day. But his Big Brother was going to come for him, he knew it, he needed him.

218 dislodged the bot from the beam and it fell down to the floor beneath. It looked like it jammed as it was cutting the beam down. He gave out an order to collect unusable metals, he planned to smelt them down and then repurpose them with greater applicability through that process. He planned to use the power core to do it, but he had to get it first, hopefully the newly built bots were making good work of that debris. Good five or so stomps at the edge of the hot cut and the beam fell down. 218 sat down huffing in exhaustion, he hated being tired out by basic duties, he hated being weak, hated showing it. The broken man quickly realised he was going to have to drag the beam down to the power room himself, since the bot was currently walking on his side. He couldn’t help but rub the bridge of his nasal cavity. Morning, and he was fed up with life already.

218 elected to give himself a short break to gather his sanity, or not so short if he wished. After all, there was no one to hurry him. It felt nice, even thou a little guilt and selfish. He had too much freedom than he knew what to do with. The general looked up to see a cloud of dust kicking up in the distance. His eyes widened. Natives? Intruders!

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

He looked over the horizon of the desert, a barren wasteland no more apparently. The clone spotted a band of unknown individuals, the strange thing was they weren’t approaching the wreck of the warship, 218 studied their movements. They were scouting, they were studying HIM, checking out the surroundings of the ship. Rightfully so, the general wasn’t an idiot, if it wasn’t some sort of raiders it would have been rapid animals, he knew an invasion was a matter of time, so he prepared.

He set up traps, all around the perimeter. They would act as safety measures, at first, soon enough they adapted to serve a different purpose. It would trap sustenance. Disconnected from his Brother’s holy word, away from his life sustaining Purification Solution, which once burned through his veins and made him pure. Through pain, he became worthy. And so he was willing to endure it now, and remain strong as long as he needed to, to finally prove himself to Him. But to survive without his Brother’s life essence, he had to resort to... unwanted alternatives.

He started to feel light headed, his stomach giving off sharp pains, as if a blackhole was forming in his body. He didn’t know what it was, this desperation, to hunt. His traps never capture anything deserving of awe, a lizard scurrying here and there, a small scorpion, those were the crunchy ones, in rare instances even a bird, those had the most amount meat on the bones. Again, nothing huge, but it helped him survive.

He chose to swipe over the perimeter, see what his traps got him tonight. Nothing major he counted two rats, a lizard and it seemed a trap malfunctioned and impaled a rock... Although, he thought, it was quite peculiar. He found no rocks or stones around the vicinity, from a quick observation it seemed like it was thrown in... they were testing the booby traps. Perhaps 218 had to move up his schedule and start the weaponization process right away.

And so the scheming went into motion. He was a strategist, he fought against overwhelming odds countless of times, this was no different. He might have been alone, without his brothers’ voices, but that only meant he had more place for his own thoughts to fill the void - work helped. The traps he set up around were contraptions he put together from scraps of the firing silos. He practically had weapons set out already. Ignition pins which impaled explosive material and lit it, incineration plates which drew power from solar energy - not very useful on this world, and laser emitters, often used to cut through waste in the way of the warships. All deadly tools if used right.

His soon to be attackers were armed no doubt, and coming in large numbers - he spotted at least half a dozen at the same time. He had to level the playing field.

Clones had an agreement among each other, the defects did anyway, a saying they told each other: Whatever happened on Epsilon-19, stays on Epsilon-19. No one wished to relive those painful memories, well, they didn’t have a choice, everyone had night terrors. The initiative was a blood bath. But technically no one was around to hear him, he was alone with his own thoughts. So he wasn't really breaking the agreement. Clones were thrown to the dirt with scraps and were expected to adapt. There was a strategy they enacted, the defects on the frontlines would leave the middle section of a trench open and retreat to the left and right wings of the dug out. The enemy proceeded to storm the trench, thinking it had been left undefended unintentionally. Once the enemy forces trickled in, they were caged, and imprisoned, no space to move, they were easily picked off.

History repeats itself.

218 removed several traps creating a clear path straight from the outskirts to the opening of the ship wreck. Even though he got the notification of breaking through to the power room, he recalled the bots back to him, and carefully refitted them with deadly force. Fortunately, the bots did not look like futuristic miracles of science, but rather clumped pieces of scrap, or debris. 218 positioned them at the sides of the entrance, both inside and out. Having his enemy pinned, helplessly.

Well timed too. The preparations took him all day. He looked over the sky as it slowly pushed its light to the side and darkness took its place. 218 did prefer working under the cover of shadow. The field of sight was limited, 218 had an advantage with the contacts infused into his eyes. People at night were typically more jumpy and uncoordinated.

Everybody was afraid of the dark. It was a strangely universal phobia. The dark. 218 traversed the known universe, going from planet to planet and every world he set foot on, the native inhabitants always feared it. The unknown, that what they could not see, the dark held power over people. But there was one who did not fear it, one who made it his eternal mission to eradicate the darkness, to save the universe from itself, to purify it. His holy Brother. Hord-

218′s internal monologue was cut off by the sight of a distant red flame being ignited. They were trying to light their path. Many attempted to tread the path of righteousness without his Brother’s hand, without his light. A righteous path without his eyes watching over you is not a righteous one at all.

The general counted a dozen invaders. Not for long. They made their way slowly and wearingly to the hull breach. 218 watched the group come closer and closer, from a vantage point above them, observing through the hole in section seven. His talon hovered over a data-pad, ready to boot up the bots for the strike. Three. Two... One. The talon fell down. The bots among the debris and scraps whirred to life clearly startling the group. The one protecting the rear ran, clearly the coward of the group, they didn’t last long once the treaded off the path and landed on an incineration mine.

The rest retreated inward where met with two drones with incorporated laser canons. He knew he shouldn’t show emotion, it was forbidden in the Horde, but he couldn’t help but smile. He quite loved when everything went according to plan. The rest of the four attack drones outside caught the stragglers attempting to push through. 218 mentally pated himself on the back, a solid plan and it worked perf... ectly? Perhaps he should’ve reserved the self-appointed congratulations for later. The mission wasn’t done.

A bot failed- malfunctioned. Prime damnit! It was the same one. The semi-spherical bot practically exploded in flames. The blow damaged the near by units as well. 

It looked like he was on his own.

He turned around and sprinted off into the dark, shadow filled corridors. He didn’t have much. He had his talons, his fangs, and his mind. He didn’t even manage to finish the handheld taser, he had an idea to refashion the lights from the hallways into some sort of staff, or baton. It wasn’t anything lethal, but it would’ve at least been something.

But he was a Horde trooper. A disciple of his holy Brother. He could not falter. He couldn’t fail. He was a Horde trooper the reflection of his Brother’s perfection. He needed to represent it.

218 rounded the corner ready to take a stand against the survivors, but the red pincer claw that collided with his face had other plans. The impact of the punch shook his entire body. And a single hit was enough to bring him to the floor. As quickly as he could he put his two hands underneath him and he pushed up, attempting to get back to the fight as fast as possible. But alas, before he even fully turned to face his attacker, another hit landed. It clearly ruptured some blood vessels as his nasal cavity began to bleed out.

Everything went blurry, he remained conscious, but 218 didn’t know how long he was going to last. A large red claw clamped around his neck, pain shot across his whole body, the pincer dug into his defective skin around his neck, and 218 let out an ungodly scream.

Yet again the animalist survival instinct kicked in and 218 flailed his hand at the opponents face, his talons scratching the attacker’s face, distracting them. 218 reached out with his hand to the wall, grabbing a pipe sticking out from the wall and with the remaining might in his arms he ripped the loose pipe out and swung it against his enemy’s head. Which freed him from his enemies grasp.

218 shot up onto his feet and sprinted off down the corridor. He didn’t even know where he was going, all those damn corridors looked the same! No, focus. Each had a different distinguishing factor, each was different in a surtain way. He memorised all the faults and damage in the corridors. 218 looked up and spotted the same sparking loose wires, he recognised them, he composed himself and knew where he was, which meant... the power core wasn’t far. He heard his pursuers behind him, shouting out his location. He fled deeper into the bowls of the ship into the power core chamber.

There at the centre of the room stood the power core, he noticed that instead of it’s usual bright green colour, it was now a dark red. If 218 remembered right, it was a critical failure alert. The best theory 218 could have come up with at the spot was that the power grid overloaded itself when he kicked the shields into overdrive as the ship fell through the atmosphere and hit the surface.

A problem for another day. He stopped infront of the core and waited. If he couldn’t win through his physicality, he’d win with his intellect. One of his attackers ran into the room, they didn’t stop, good, 218 needed the momentum. The attacker went in for the hit, but missed as 218 lowered himself grabbed hold of the individual and rolled them over his back into the power core. Perhaps not the most painless death, but the heat was quick. The body fell at 218′s feet.

He turned back to the entrance. There stood another invader. They did not charge, they stood in place. Stiff. Probably a reaction caused by the sight of both his comrade dead on the floor and the black silhouette of the monster over them that killed them.

The intimidation was only going to go so far, he needed to think fast, 218 surveyed the area around him. There. At his feet, lay a long spanning uninsulated cable. 218 was the one on the offensive now, he picked up the cable and ran at his opponent. He shoved the cable into the enemies chest, and the figure stumbled back, but did not fall. Electricity resistant? Noted.

The general soon realised his mistake, he let himself get too close. The opponent grabbed hold of the clone and slammed him into the nearby wall. Vision once again became blurry. 218 couldn’t stand. This was it. He failed. He felt being lifted up and thrown further down the corridor, scrapping the floor. Then a kick. And another and another. Defeat. 218 lay broken on the floor, his bones screaming and his muscles crying. He spitted out the green solution that ran through his veins as it began to leak out of his mouth. He then, barely, through the pain, felt being dragged by the cloth of his uniform.

He was thrown again. His eyes attempted to adjust, he was outside, at the scene of the ambush. The clone lay beneath another one of his enemies, this one holding a spear, looking down on him.

“This it?” The one with the spear asked, clearly in charge. This was the first time 218 truly saw what they looked like. He had watched his people from a distance, seeing them study his defences. But he didn’t notice anything disenable apart from brown cloaks wrapped around them and the four legged mounts they travelled on. But now he had a proper close up view. He did not know what creature they were, he didn’t recognise them as anything he had ever encountered among his many voyages across the stars. Everything on this planet was new and different.

The creature had broad features. The creature that stood over, infront of him had a pair of deep red claws, like the rest. A tail of some sort, with a sharp tip, perhaps it could contain a poison of some kind - he did not look forward to finding out. A platinum colour turf of hair. An exoskeleton shell all across his body, it had sharp spikes coming out of it, and many visible scratches and scraps. The commanding individual had clearly seen action. They were soldiers, like him.

No. Not like him. No one was like him. No one on this planet.

He was a Horde trooper! He was a Horde trooper! He was different. He had something no one else on this planet had! PURPOSE! 218 was on an eternal mission, even now - when stranded, separated and banished. He had to fulfil his Brother’s will. And then the Horde trooper realised something - his Brother’s absolutely perfect wisdom! No one had been touched on this world by the light of Prime! This- This was his purpose. His new meaning! His holy Big Brother’s actions and punishments made absolute sense. His wisdom was truly limitless and far-reaching. He was sent here for a reason! To spread the light of his Brother!

“Yes, sir. There were no other threats... any survivors?”

“No. We’re it.” He turned to face the bleeding clone, “Who are you?” He asked firmly, making it less of an ask and more of a command. But 218 remained silent. His loyalty and honour held his lips shut, these intruders would get nothing out of him. He would not betray his Brother. He would say nothing, tell them nothing - these creatures were going to extract nothing out of him. He had to show his Brother - who sees all - who watches always - that he was not weak, he was strong.

“I said: Who are you?!” 218 did not reply, and so the spear wielding scorpion man grasped him by the hair and dragged him up, and slammed him down into the ground. He had to be strong. “Who sent you?!” 218 said nothing. The claw crashed into 218′s face. “Did the other Kingdoms hire you?!” No answer. He was a Horde trooper! He was a Horde trooper!! Another hit collided with the pale white facial plates, cracking and bruising. “What is this structure! Is it First Ones?!! What do you know about the First Ones?! Where did it come from?! Where did you come from?!” And the clone remained silent, through the several following hits directly to the face, one after another, the world going more black each time. It was a miracle he still had all his teeth.

He had to be strong. He had to win. Even now as blackness surrounded him, the mission stood. Nothing matters but the mission. No exceptions. No faltering. He had to bring the Horde’s light to this world. And all must suffer to be pure.

Another day, full of failures and mistakes. But they were the mistakes of a general, a tactician. What the scorpion creature didn’t realise was that he let 218 get too close. And so the clone general spit into the eyes of his opponent and while blinded he grabbed the spear and ran it through the chest of his attacker. The creature fell. 218 pulled out the bloodied spear and swung it at the scorpion behind him. The reinforced wood shattered as it impacted the scorpion’s head.

This was it. His victorious moment. It was time for him to proclaim his mission, who he was. He was a Horde trooper! And he stood in this dark world as the only indication of his Brother’s light, he was all this world had.

“I AM  A HORD-” His voice was cut as the tail of the scorpion slashed across 218′s neck, “-AK!!!” The clone stumbled past the soldier and fell to his knees, grasping for his throat. Feeling his consciousness fade. Definitely some sort of poison located in the tail tip. He looked back at the figure that managed to sting him, they had collapsed. He wanted to fight it - 218 mustered all the strength he could, all the willpower in his soul, but it wasn’t good enough. Never good enough, was he?

218 fell into unconsciousness. He failed. And as he closed his eyes he let the darkness take him.

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

Another day.

Another day full of surprises and twists. The horse treaded the open path carefully, death trap contraptions on each side. The horse was ordered to stop by it’s rider and was dismounted. Force-Captain Opal pulled out a basin full of clean water and placed it under the animal to reward it for working under heat of the desert.

King Niro didn’t look back, but rather forward - at the dozen bodies laying dead on the ground. Over time Niro got used to seeing his own people dead, desensitised to the slow dying of the Hillian spirit. But these were soldiers, they knew the risk and the commitment asked of them, they died - but they died for a greater cause - for Scorpion Hill.

The king kneeled down, near one of the presumed lifeless corpses, his eyes narrowed. The chest - it was raising and falling slightly - breathing. “Force-Captain, medic! We have a survivor here! Maybe two, if we hurry!” The medic made it to the person first. Opal was behind him. Niro placed a claw on her shoulder stopping her from seeing the body, without a word the king communicated to her that she needed to brace for it.

As she approached the body, Niro saw even for a briefest of moments her eyes widen, letting a glint of light reflecting off of the moisture. But she said nothing, composed herself like the warrior she was. She let no emotion through.

There was another soldier who seemed to have made it, Niro checked his pulse. But Niro’s eyes fell on a different sight. There was a third body. The king slowly and cautiously approached the strange looking life-form. Strange didn’t begin to describe it, they weren’t any race he recognised, and Scorpion Hill housed almost all of them, from the poorest to the rarest. And yet the being before him was a mystery. He brandished his spear. He utilised the blade at the far end of the staff to turn over the body so it was facing upward.

Niro didn’t exactly know what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. The being that resided in a mysterious structure that just appeared out of nowhere didn’t look like one would imagine. It didn’t look... frightening. Or he. Or sh- e? They? Niro couldn’t tell, but the creature looked humanoid, nothing threatening about it. Especially not with a resting sleeping baby face. Kind of cute. A killer too. Niro’s two favourite qualities.

He spoke quietly in a whisper to himself, “Alright, universe, I’ll take the bait.”

He placed his pincer at his mouth and gave a sharp whistle to the medic and the Force-Captain behind him, he pointed at the clone, “Them too!” He very well could find to regret that decision, bringing a unknown combatant into his own Kingdom, someone who can take out his soldiers. How was he going to explain this to the Council. Great, he had to now get started on the P.O.W paper work.

Perfect.