Jaein was horrified. Regardless of the fact they had just murdered two dozen beings, the attackers did not deserve to be vaporized. Clint’s face was grim, but resigned. She was sure he had seen worse things in his time. Maybe done worse things. No, there was no reason to think that way.
The Corporal cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should go help the guards, the real ones, figure out what happened, Lady Night.” He turned to Clint. “As for you, how did you get through the bars?”
Clint shrugged. “I’m strong.”
Corporal Maryn pursed his lips but did not pursue the matter further. “Why didn’t you just break out earlier?”
Clint gave the Corporal an innocent, perplexed look. “Did you not just see what happened to those imposters? All the strength in the galaxy can’t defend against plasma fire.”
“I guess you’re right,” said the Corporal. “Come, Lady Night, let’s get you back to safety.”
She followed him out of the cell with after a brief hug with Clint, going to help the guards. As it turns out, not all of the real guards were killed by the imposters. One guard was only grazed, but played dead. And Captain Koeph was a tough bastard, and he managed to hold on long enough to get treatment for the plasma shot to his chest.
Jaein returned to her quarters and, after reassuring her colleagues, who had somehow learned of what had transpired in the prison, that she was alright, sat down and prepared to draft the beginnings of Clint’s defense when she realized that she didn’t actually have anything. In all of the excitement, she had never asked him any meaningful questions. So, she found herself making the long walk back down to the prison and through the long, rough corridor, to the cell of Clint Stone.
He looked up at the sound of her footsteps. “Back so soon?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. “I wonder what trouble we can get into this time?”
I stood on a rise overlooking the Swrun training camp. Or rather, what remained of it. Our strike had been surgical and precise. Everything had gone according to plan. Louth and Heras’ team made a very large distraction at the front of the camp, drawing the guards and those trainees who were trusted with a weapon. Kor’keq and I had snuck around back and planted a pound of CGS-43 near General Ral-dek’s residence and waited for him to enter it.
He did so, surrounded by a number of hardened veterans and guardsmen. Every single one of them died in a massive explosion that leveled a good portion of the camp. I had miscalculated just how powerful the blast was going to be, and Kor’keq and I were forced to seek shelter from collapsing structures, but we made it out all right.
We didn’t suffer a single casualty, nothing more serious than a burn or a concussion, which Kor’keq and I had from standing to close to the blast. I do have to admit that it was rather fun, being lifted off my feet and lying through the air. Landing, not so much.
The new Bandits performed admirably, operating on a level even Louth found impressive. Several of them even outperformed Louth and Heras. One of them stood before me, giving the final report from the battle. The rest were busy combing through the wreckage, searching for anything useful we could use, explosives, ammo, intel, or the like.
“…and that is when I lead Qeaz, Kmurd, and Ghim across into the side building, allowing us to flank the Swrun force. It was over quickly after that,” finished the Bandit before me, who, to my surprise, was the same Bandit I corrected in the firing range. Bor, his name was.
“Excellent, excellent,” I said. I saw a ghost of a smile cross Bor’s mouth. “How’s your shooting form, soldier?”
He seemed confused for a brief second, but recovered and said, “Much better, sir. I find I’m able to fire much more precisely, sir.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work. Dismissed.”
He nodded and made his way down into the ruins, joining the search for valuables. We couldn’t stay here much longer, I knew that, but we could afford a few minutes before the Swrun would even mobilize to retaliate. I hoped the news of General Ral-dak’s death would demoralize or at least affect the Swrun army in some way. I found it likely.
He had been a major power in the military. He was known galaxy wide and hopefully his death would help bring some closure to the souls of the millions he slaughtered. And prove to the galaxy that the Swrun were not invincible, that they could be beaten. There was no way the Swrun could keep this quiet either. Word would get out.
I smiled. I felt good. We had struck a heavy blow against the Swrun today. Now we just had to build off this victory and continue our fight against the Swrun and bring freedom to the galaxy.
Sika-dur marched down the cavernous hallway, the red carpet muffling the sound of his boots. He did not like coming here. Lavish paintings covered the walls, along with intricate, delicate tapestries. Statues and vases, sculptures and rare artifacts were on display, stretching as far as the eye could see.
It was a terrible waste, an excessive display of the wealth and power of the occupants. The Imperial Family was not known for their humility. The Palace itself was made of only the highest quality materials, stone laced with diamond and precious metals. Sika-dur was a simple Swrun. He needed no luxuries, only the bare necessities. Life as a soldier had conditioned Sika-dur to be hardy and tough.
Life as a Breaker, one of the Swrun Military’s foremost combat force, had made him hard and cruel. The life of a Breaker was an unending cycle of violence and death, designed to keep them at peek proficiency at all times. Every Breaker was the strongest, fastest, deadliest warrior on the battlefield. Trained from birth, enhanced through gene therapy, supplements, and truly insane training, a single Breaker was capable of defeating an entire battalion. There were tens of thousands of Breakers.
And Sika-dur was the best of them. Or the worst, depending on whose side you were on. To his comrades, Sika-dur was the pinnacle of what a Breaker could strive to be, utterly ruthless, merciless, brutal beyond measure, and obedient to the will of the Emperor. Sika-dur had never failed, never been defeated. That was why he was the Breaker-General.
To the Empire’s enemies, Sika-dur was an apocalypse, Armageddon made flesh. He had defeated thousands, routed armies, slaughtered champions, kings, and rulers. He never faltered, never stopped, until he had completely and totally annihilated the enemy force. During the final assault on Kantimar, Sika-dur had led the charge, and collected the head of the Kantimar Prince.
And now Sika-dur was called to the Emperor’s throne room, to deal with General Ral-dak’s mess. The fool had gotten himself killed. Sika-dur did not care one way or the other, as long as he got to kill people, but this call had taken him away from his pleasures. But when the Emperor called, Sika-dur answered.
The solid gold and titanium-graphene doors of the throne room loomed ahead, flanked on both sides by members of the Homeguard. Massive, seven foot hulking Swrun, covered in combat armor that looked like it should have been on a battlecruiser, They paled in comparison to Sika-dur. He was the largest Swrun ever recorded. At eight feet tall, he was as big as an Irgh, but he was still far stronger and faster. A freak from birth, the sciences of the Imperial Medica had turned Sika-dur into a giant.
He saw the fear in the Homeguards’ eyes as he walked between them. He felt a thrill at the sight. But he would be forced to reprimand the Guards for that. They were to be fearless, the Swrun given the honor to guard the Emperor, the Heart of the Empire. But that could be dealt with later. Sika-dur approached the throne, some three tons of the purest gold. He knelt, placing one knee on the ground, his left hand on the other, and clasped his right fist to his chest, inclining his head.
“Lord Emperor, you summoned me and I have come to do your bidding.”
“Stand, my son.” Sika-dur was older than the Emperor, but it was an honor to be considered one of the Imperial Family. He stood and faced the Emperor, standing ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back.
The Emperor leaned forward in his throne. He was not a large Swrun, but he had such a weight about him that Sika-dur felt small. “I assume you have heard of the recent passing of General Ral-Dak.” Sika-dur gave a brief nod. “Are you also aware of those who killed him?”
“They call themselves the Illorian Bandits, sire.”
“Quite right. These Bandits have been a nuisance for these last three months, destroying key installations across our borders. It seems that the regular army is too incompetent to deal with them. I am tasking the Breakers with locating and destroying these Bandits. I want them gone, wiped from the surface of whatever planet they are hiding on.”
“Understood, sir.”
The Emperor shook his head. “I don’t think you do, Sika-dur. They are led by the most peculiar pair I have ever heard of. A jahen of all beings and a human named Clint Stone.”
“I have heard of them, Lord Emperor. They will be worthy opponents.”
“You are not listening, my son. I do not want you to oppose them, I want you to destroy them. Whatever it takes. I have authorized the creation of Unit 666. I trust you will put them to good use.”
Sika-dur smiled deeply. Unit 666 had been a dream of his ever since he had discovered that mad scientist floating in that derelict ship. The technology the scientist possessed would change the way the universe saw the Breakers. They would go from being the fastest, strongest, deadliest beings in the galaxy, to literal Gods of Battle, unkillable, unstoppable. The Emperor noticed the smile.
“I know you are joyous to hear this news. There is one thing.”
Sika-dur looked up. “Yes, Lord Emperor?”
“Unit 666 is now renamed the Stonebreakers.”