Tera Galactus Chapter 1

“In the name of the Vanguard, I order you to stand down.”

Faltis stood in the mouth of the sunken grotto, unconscious mercenaries strewn about at his feet. Poor souls sent out to die in a war they had already lost. Darve and Yenbig had made quick work of the paltry recruits who were used as fodder to face the Vanguards best. The mercenaries’ leader, a lieutenant of the final warlord to have perished, spat vitriol like acid at the men here to arrest him.

“We don’t take orders from Kendoshi. Never have, never will.”

Kendoshi. A term used by slavers to label slaves trained to fight wars. The word still made Faltis irritated at best and nauseous at worst. That title clawed images of the slave pits into his mind. Rotten food for a single soul thrown in the middle of 10, each starved half to death. Faces he had grown up with, used as target practice on the training grounds. Those that couldn’t keep up, left behind until only the best remained.

“Well, isn’t it great you aren’t dealing with Kendoshi anymore?” Faltis said.

“You slaves can call yourselves whatever you like, we will never serve you,” the lieutenant yelled as he opened fire on Faltis’s position. A mounted turret spooled up and was now peppering where Faltis stood.

Before Faltis could react, Darve had already positioned himself between the line of fire and his squad leader. The barrage seemed to provide little threat to the towering armor-clad behemoth as he raised his two-headed axe. Rend, as the axe was known, turned the superheated plasma rounds into fragmented bursts of stardust. Each collision made the polished white stone of the axe’s heads radiate a ghastly glow. The few shots that missed the axe collided with his breastplate, illuminated the golden resin etched into the cold steel, and revealed the brilliant design of a four-winged phoenix glaring back at the lieutenant.

Faltis gazed at the otherworldly axe which was softly pulling in a seemingly random direction as it always had. The beastly weapon easily weighed more than him. To constantly demand control from his weapon must have added an inhuman amount of strain onto Darve’s body and mind. There was never any hint of discontent between him and the weapon though as Darve seemed to revel in the struggle and the axe seemed to enjoy the carnage he delivered with it. A match made in heaven…or hell depending on who you ask.

A metallic canister shot past them as Yenbig disabled the mounted gun with ease before it could reload. The metal cylinder he had fired latched itself to the weapon installation, sending arcs of electricity across the device’s circuits.

Faltis returned to the task at hand and stepped into the grotto. The rest of the Vanguard had started celebrating the week prior. It seemed air leaving the lungs of the final warlord served as a sufficient mark of victory to most. The other Kendoshi had earned the right to relax. After months of bloody struggling to wrest control from their former masters they desperately needed it. But Faltis and his squad couldn’t find peace until the filth had been routed off Mandeel permanently.

What kind of sick fuck trains Kendoshi to fight Kendoshi?

Every time Faltis thought about those days in chains, he could feel a spike of terror creep out of his lower abdomen. The feeling reached its tendrils out in every direction, grabbing hold of whichever organ stood in its way. The dread crept through his blood and strangled his ability to focus. Yen had suggested doing some breathing exercises to stop it, but no amount of huffing or puffing ever seemed to rid Faltis of the feeling. He would simply have to wait for it to pass.

“You bastards don’t realize how big of a mistake you all are making.”

The voice of the lieutenant came from deeper inside the grotto accompanied by a soft buzzing. Faltis, Darve and Yenbig all instantly recognized the sound of hard-light armor activating and tensed up. Two personal bodyguards of a former warlord emerged to face the rogue Kendoshi as they had done many times before. The guards flanked the lieutenant on either side and were brandishing the same pieces of equipment they always had, a hard-light whip in one hand and a bladed shield in the other. They were judge, jury, and executioner for the warlords and were at one point considered the strongest soldiers they retained. Sadly, they were no longer a match for Faltis’s squad.

“What’s your count up to Darve?” Yenbig asked as he racked a special shell into his modified slug thrower.

“Higher than yours,” Darve replied as he lumbered toward the bodyguards, Rend dragging at his side.

“Oh no you don’t. I’m at twenty-three and I’m not gonna finish with less kills than Maru.”

Faltis could feel the devilish grin creeping across Darve’s face under his helmet as he began to charge the bodyguards. He lifted the axe with a frightening amount of ease and flung it in a wide arc at the two soldiers standing in front of the lieutenant. The axe cleaved through their raised shields like they were made of paper and found its way to the hard-light plating that surrounded each of the guard’s bodies. Sparks flew in all directions as the polished white stone of Darve’s axe pushed the armor to its limit. The individual generators for the armor began to squeal as blow after blow deflected off the panels of opaque blue light, the only thing keeping the bodyguards intact at this point. With a final shriek the generators gave out leaving the men defenseless.

Darve and Yenbig raised their weapons to finish them off but found their bodies already falling to the floor as the final member of their squad, Vetias, buried a dagger deep into the neck of each guard.

“Thirty-five.” Vetias said as he held up a three and a five with his now free hands. His silhouette in the poorly lit cave seemed to shimmer and fade into the darkness, leaving an after image of his two middle fingers behind for a few seconds.

Yenbig rolled his eyes and watched as Faltis stepped toward the lieutenant.

“It’s over. You’re out of option,” Faltis said as he pinned the man to the cave wall with gaze alone.

“I wouldn’t go that far just yet,” a voice rang out from one of the grotto’s deeper pockets. “Honestly, you boys always were sloppy in your recon.”

It took a fraction of a second for each member of Faltis’s squad to recognize the voice. A collective paralysis overtook the group as if any sudden movement would awaken a slumbering beast.

The feeling returned to Faltis’s stomach as his blood became steeped in the malicious ichor once more. He felt a tiny trembling echo through his body as Toshlee, the Thraxian that had purchased them from the Triple Triads on behalf of their former warlord, emerged from the shadow. He was holding Vetias by the neck and tossed him lazily next to the rest of his squad.

“This gentleman right here purchased my services to get him off-world and you all know how I feel about failure, don’t you?”

“We were told that you had already fled off-world,” Faltis said as he masked the fear in his voice with rage. “Would’ve came to pay you a visit much sooner if we knew you were still hanging around.”

The Thraxian let out a bellowing laugh prompting the scales across his body to rattle with glee. A row of darker, aged scales streaking from each corner of his face remained unmoving as his eyes locked in on the four of them.

“Quit talking nonsense boy, have you forgotten who trained you? I molded ya’ll into the perfect killing machines. Unfortunately, perfect ain’t good enough to take me down and you know that.”

Faltis couldn’t take it anymore and lunged at the former slave caller, pistols in hand. He fired his plasma pistol at the ground to spray superheated fragments into Toshlee’s face. As the shards kicked upward, Faltis unleashed a spread of kinetic shots to cripple the Thraxian. Toshlee seemed bored by this maneuver as he blocked the wake of plasma with his flaring out scales and dodged the kinetic barrage. Before he could reposition, Faltis found a fist connecting with his chest, crumpling his patchwork armor and sending him flying.

“Next,” Toshlee said as he glared at the other three.

Darve took the challenge and lurched forward with Rend raised above his head. Again, the speed of the Thraxian seemed insurmountable as Toshlee weaseled his way into Darve’s blind spot, placed a hand on his axe, and sent it flying across the cave. Yenbig and Vetias tried to attack at the same time but found one being thrown into the other as all four ended up at the far side of the cave.

“I knew you boys were the best value out of that lot,” Toshlee said through gritted teeth. “But still I warned Faiton it would be a mistake buying ya’ll. Too much light behind those damn eyes I told him.”

Faltis, Darve, Yenbig, and Vetias huddled closely and spoke low. It was a language that only those raised in their lot could understand. Through mumbles and half phrases, a plan formed from the ether.

Faltis darted forward, renewed confidence blazing in his posture. He got within striking distance and put up a defensive guard. Toshlee quickly grew impatient waiting for an attack that never seemed to arrive and threw out a probing jab. As the blow connected with Faltis’s forearms, a plated glove gripped the Thraxians wrist. Darve hurled Toshlee upward like a fishmonger tossing the days harvest across the dock. The Thraxian quickly turned to face the ground and found a metal cannister flying toward his chest. Toshlee had Yenbig’s arsenal memorized and knew the stun cannister would be useless if it couldn’t connect with a target. He used one of his hands to try chopping the cylinder away only to find that when he made contact, it wasn’t in fact metal but ceramic instead. The projectile shattered against his hand sending a cloud of dust and debris into his face. Toshlee raised both his arms to protect himself, but this wasn’t good enough. Vetias had burst upward with his jets and was now level with the falling Thraxian. In one swift motion Vetias embedded a dagger in Toshlee’s left side, flipped his chest upward, and elbowed him toward the ground with all his might. The disoriented slave caller had no time to react as Faltis threw an uppercut into his lower back just before he hit the ground. The loud pop of Toshlee’s neural scales was followed by a deafening silence.

Toshlee sputtered and spasmed for a second as his nerves slowly began to give out. He turned to look at Faltis who now loomed over him. Flashes of terror danced behind the smirk that forever remained plastered onto his face.

“You were right about one thing,” Faltis said.

Toshlee was unable to speak anymore as he continued to stare intently.

“Of all the Kendoshi to buy, you fucked up getting us.”

Faltis turned to the lieutenant who was now cowering in the corner.

“As leader of the Vanguard I am placing you under arrest for crimes committed against our people. You will stand trial and answer for what you have done.”

*

The ride back to Mandeel Prime was filled with the usual amount of silence. Vetias wasn’t much of an idle chatter, Darve was taking his post mission nap, and Yenbig tapped away on his datatrac. Requests were coming in from every corner of the planet to meet with Faltis. Yenbig had better tact when dealing with the flood of incoming calls, so they were all filtered through him. It somehow felt easier talking to the Kendoshi he had spent years trying to kill over the merchants desperately attempting to strike a bargain with their burgeoning nation.

The strider cruised over the grassy plains of Mandeel, kicking up blades of amber grass in their wake. This planet loved the color gold. From the sap that leaked out of its massive trees, to the native people who were made from the same golden bark. A luscious elegance blanketed the natural world of Mandeel in a timeless serenity.

Faltis still couldn’t wrap his head around the need for him to lead the Vanguard. There was nothing special about what he did that nobody else could have done instead. Faltis just happened to be the first one to give it a try.

“Three of the four territories have pledged their support including all the former technical guilds. Sang is waiting to hear from Yharic’s men before they decide.” Yenbig said without looking up from the flimsy sheet of metal and glass mounted to his wrist.

Everyone looked to Faltis for guidance, but Faltis would be nothing without these three. The Vanguard needed a core and if it was going to be anyone it might as well be the four that started it. It was fitting that many in the Vanguard already referred to them as The Core 4.

The warlords of each territory had been fighting for control over this planet since the day the settlement ships landed here. Rich families from the capital worlds looking to expand their power wherever they could. They trained imported Kendoshi to fight their war and convinced them that freedom would come if they killed their fellow bound brethren. The bastards failed to consider that owning trained killers can only lead to one outcome.

Faltis let the rage wash away as he always did. He had spent his whole life resenting his fate and needed a break from that. Instead, he directed his thoughts toward the Federation. The so-called governing authority in the galaxy. The same one that had allowed this to happen to them. The excuse he had heard year after year is that they were too far away to do anything. Some Kendoshi even questioned if there really was a Federation out there. Faltis began to think they wouldn’t even notice the declaration of control the Vanguard had blasted out to the entire galaxy after killing the last of the warlords. A formal rebuttal that warships were being deployed did hamper the mood for a day or two. Faltis now found himself constantly staring up at the jump rings floating in orbit each day, praying that he wouldn’t see a fleet crawl out of them.

“We need to send someone to stall the Federation,” Faltis said as the strider puttered across the vast plains that surrounded the new capital city of Mandeel Prime.

“We don’t have soldiers to spare for that kind of fight,” Vetias muttered.

“Not soldiers, diplomats,” Faltis said. “Ask Jaxton Vrycrest if he will go.”

“We shouldn’t trust that one,” Darve grumbled, his eyes still shut tight. “Should have been executed with the other masters.”

“If it wasn’t for him the other masters wouldn’t be dead,” Faltis snapped back.

Jaxton Vrycrest. Son of one of the most powerful families in the galaxy, exiled to this planet. The poor guy was told he lacked the ‘necessary cruelty’ to succeed and was sent to conquer one of the colony worlds to gain his inheritance back. Instead, he chose to support one of the largest uprisings the galaxy had ever seen.

“We can trust him,” Faltis said.

Mandeel Prime was a sight to behold in its current state. What had once been a tiny village at the center of the conflict was quickly expanding into hope for their future. Hundreds of Kendoshi had set up camp clusters of all sizes just outside the native village. Billowing culinary tents still had brilliant lights shining inside them as the last embers of celebration danced to the bitter end. Each of the four major regions had their own unique style of setting up camp. The northern battalions clustered close to massive bonfires for warmth while the western squads created winding mazes with their tents. Within the organic districts. Individual teams contributed their own idiosyncrasies that made the combined camp’s blending of styles and cultures into something resembling: an overnight metropolis.

Refugees were gradually intermingling with the one thousand Kendoshi that had started the revolt. The former slaves had begun calling themselves Kilos Revolte. Whole sections of camps were dedicated to brandishing a K onto any who felt pride in what they had done. Merchants also poured in from across the planet, embedding themselves close to the new conquerors for protection or profit.

The camps had been the epicenter of the celebration and now looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster. As the week progressed, the partying gradually crept into the nearby village, drawing the ire of the stoic plant people that originally called this planet their home. They were not quick to anger so when the elder Heron-Sedon said they were cutting off their drinks, Faltis knew it was time to wind down.

At the center of the village stood a massive tower constructed by one of the first warlords. He was a paranoid bastard and thought the vantage point would let him keep an eye on his enemies. The people of Mandeel had offered it to the Vanguard as a base of operations, since it had remained unused since the warlord’s demise. There was a banquet hall at the base of the tower where the other Kendoshi leaders would be gathering for a meeting with Faltis. It was his first time seeing some of them in a place that wasn’t an active battlefield. There would be bad blood between those that had fought each other in the past, but this was unavoidable. All Faltis could do was attempt to align everyone for a unified purpose. The strider dropped The Core 4 off before taking the prisoners to be processed.

Faltis swung the doors open to what most would consider a crime scene. There were drunk people passed out in ever space a human body could fit. The room smelled of spoiled food, drinks, and bad decisions. A small whining could be heard throughout the hall marking the destruction of the sound system. Further analysis revealed that there was now a hatchet sticking out of the main speaker. The air felt greasy and a tad bit sticky as each breath somehow left the taste of fried Volohound in the mouth.

Sat at the opposite end of the long banquet table were the three other regional leaders attempting to appear sober. The only one succeeding was the all-female division commander, Vulcan. She was also the only one making direct eye contact with Faltis. Sang and Jal squinted at her to see what she was looking at, quickly following her gaze to the door.

“Nice of you to finally join us oh great leader,” Sang said.

“Did you have a better candidate in mind Sang?” Jal said with an overwhelming amount of sass.

“Why yes I did, my vote was for you Jal,” Sang said doing a poor job of masking his intoxication.

Jal was, unsurprisingly, the Kendoshi most wanted to represent the Vanguard. He was the leader of Pentum Astra, a squad of Kendoshi that were considered greater than or equal to the strength and skill of the Core 4 depending on the task. It never felt possible to succeed in overthrowing the masters until Pentum Astra agreed to side with the Vanguard alliance. That’s when hope for a better future truly took root.

Vulcan had yet to break eye contact and was beginning to scare Faltis. How that division was able to be convinced into joining the Vanguard is beyond Faltis.

This was it. Everything Faltis had worked toward led him to this moment and everything he planned on accomplishing started now. There were dozens of other neighboring worlds in a similar state to theirs. Hundreds of thousands of people enslaved throughout the galaxy. A governing body that couldn’t care less about those that struggled under its rule. People that now wished for their downfall, many of them actively working towards it. They had spent the last few months fighting and making enemies, it was time to establish some allies. They needed ships, equipment, and infrastructure to support their defenses and resources to build it all. There was a seemingly never-ending list of tasks placed before Faltis, but they all found their start here in this room. Faltis may not have wanted this post but if he could use it to bring more people together, more than the amount that might be pushed away, he could live with that. There was no turning back in his mind, no giving up. To give up would mean that he did not believe all the things he had said in that transmission beamed across the galaxy and if there was anything that Faltis detested being called it was a liar.

“Ladies and Gentlemen thank you all for being here. I’d like to begin the first Vanguard Coalition meeting.” Faltis said as he pulled out a seat next to the other leaders. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”