The Theria are a nigh extinct sentient race whose origins remain shrouded in galactic history. The tales surrounding their mythical exploits have been told by dozens of civilizations. To many, the Theria are a race of gods, former protectors who have inextricably vanished from the galaxy.

The Theria are said to possess numerous supersensory powers. Telekinesis, bilocation, flight, and other abilities have been attributed to the Theria. Above all, they are regarded as healers with many tales recounting their ability to even raise the dead.

In recounting their tales, there are questions as to whether the Theria are truly a race or an order. Countless stories tell of individuals from various worlds being drawn into the Theria and joining their ranks following a rite of alteration. This has been substantiated via the legends of Eu’merus and Kamp El. What this rite entails is unknown. If true, further questions arise as to whether the powers of the Theria are tech based or biological.

The fate of the Theria remains unknown. Legend states that, following a great battle, those few Theria who remained committed an act of ascension. Attempts to translate what the act of ascension is have produced several theories from suicide to the physical return to the spiritual realm.

The one sole fact scholars can agree on is that the Theria existed in some shape or form due to the extensive dissemination of their stories throughout the galaxy. Archaeological, however, has proven elusive.

The Krush are a barbarous species originating from the planet Khriss which circles the red giant, Ixion.

The planet Khriss itself is highly irradiated and subject to intense gravitational stress and tectonic instability. A virtual desert, victim to intense windstorms, violent environmental upheavals,  and viscious earthquakes,  little  to no vegetation grows on the arid surface. The majority of all life dwells within the subterranean tunnels of the planet.

The Krush themselves are a reptilian breed of creature. Immensely strong and fast, they are cunning hunters skilled at close quarters combat in the dark environs of their execrable world. They are blessed with regenerative abilities, the trait of echolocation, as well as the capacity to rapidly adapt to ever changing environments.

Their culture is designed around a clan mentality. Leadership is earned and held through strength, displayed through actions within the tribe as well as against neighboring tribes. Perceived weakness leads to inevitable clashes and death. Such clashes create an unstable, ever fluid battle for authority within the clans.

Due to their poor eyesight and limited tactile capabilities, the Krush lack an appreciation for aesthetic details. They show little to no interest in the arts save in oral tales of past exploits and in battle chants. The only visibile art crafted by the Krush are carvings made into the holy rocky walls of their chambers, a symbolic monument to those past Krush who have earned such blessed right of immortality.

Psychologically they are a sociopathic species. At times capable of great loyalty, they are also willing to sacrifice any and all ties for power. They also relish the suffering they inflict upon others. From an early age, the youth are inculcated with violent tendencies, encouraged to torture creatures as well as are beaten and abused to harden their spirit. Due to the difficulty of survival, the Krush force every generation to learn their cardinal precept: Life holds little value.

The Krush possess an animist faith. To them, their world is alive, their heightened auditory senses allowing them to hear the tectonic heartbeat of their planet. The caves they dwell within are the womb of their mother, Khriss. Their father is the harsh sun, Ixion, whose searing seed was planted in the flesh of Khriss and from which all life arose. It is said that the eye of Ixion constantly watches over his children. He chose Khriss because of her toughness, demanding that his children be strong and ruthless. It is their destiny to rule the galaxy.

Being a subterranean race, the Krush have a deep fear of open spaces bordering on intense agoraphobia. It is said that they fear the sky, dubbing it the void. They perceive the stars to be the lost souls of millions of fallen warriors dubbed unworthy by Ixion.

To the Krush, their planet is sacred. They believe it important to live and die solely upon their world, their flesh, blood, and bones returning to the mother to spawn and feed future generations. That is the natural cycle: Death and rebirth. Should they perish beyond the confines of Khriss, the Krush fear their souls will be lost to the void, punishment for violating the natural order. This is the rationale to their usage of asteroids from within their star system as space craft. Viewed as sisters to their mother, the Krush inhabit the asteroids in order to carry their sacred world with them.

Due to their disdain for reason and their tenuous civilization, the Krush’s technological growth has stunted at a pre-industrial level. They woould have likely  remained relegated to their hellish world if not for their discovery by the Daimones. A space faring race, the Daimones brutally enslaved the Krush en masse to use as soldiers in their armies of conquest. For millennia the Krush served faithfully as a subject race, respecting the power of the Daimones. But then civil war erupted and the Krush seized the opportunity it afforded them. Believed to be incapable of such action, the Krush proved shrewd both politically as well as militarily. The Daimones having come to depend solely on the Krush for their soldiers, they were unable to resist the ascendance of their slaves to power. Now the Daimones are virtually extinct, their technology incorporated into the culture of the Krush who continue their masters’ drive for conquest.

Subject to the cult of Ixion, the Krush believe it their duty to spread the gospel of strength and honor, eradicating weakness from the galaxy one world at a time.

            A legion of asteroids, a wandering force of stone and iron, emerged from the shadows. Their pitted, ebony faces pierced the celestial shroud as they entered the cosmic firmament. Like jet bullets, the asteroids thrust through the mystical nether regions propelling themselves toward that infinitesimal point of light at its center. The speed of their advance rendered all a blur.

            The glow of the cloud soon fell away as the Kuiper belt drew near marking the physical border of the Solar System. The asteroids slowed but did not stop in their approach to that celestial river. With little hesitation the legion went to pass over. The frozen waves of methane and ammonia crashed harmlessly against the hides of the asteroids and were scattered in their wake, the legion of stone and iron pressing on through a hail of ice that thinned with time.

            Neptune’s indigo face loomed before the asteroids, watching these invaders to its realm with feigned interest. As the legion passed, one of their number broke formation and made for Triton.

            The legion’s drive continued, circumventing mute Uranus and regal Saturn on their push inward. The asteroids soared blindly by, disinterested in the majesty of Saturn’s glittering crown.

            Jupiter would not be so easily flanked. That awesome planet’s fierce visage came to blot out the rest of existence, its great scarlet eye fixated on the approaching legion. The planet invisibly reached for the asteroids, drawing them into its gravitational clutches. The asteroids struggled against Jupiter’s grip, searing rubescent across the mottled, churning atmosphere of that ancient giant. With intense effort, the legion of stone and iron crested Jupiter’s face escaping the planet’s wrath, losing sight of the gas giant in the Asteroid belt.

            It was not long before Mars welcomed the legion with its presence. The asteroids seemed to bask in the crimson glow, their path passing precipitously close to the bloodied body as if to pay homage in an empyreal march before that harsh world and its two lieutenants, Phobos and Deimos. But their path did not end at that barren sphere. It continued on through the night to a verdant globe of green and blue.

            The legion took up position around Earth, settling into orbit to circle their prey. While they set up a perimeter, the largest of the pack diverted toward the Moon. Rather than slow upon its approach, this harbinger accelerated. Unrestrained by the Moon’s thin atmosphere, it mutely struck the gray surface with great force throwing up plumes of dust. Something soon stirred inside.

            Within the crashed asteroid was a series of tunnels bathed in a dim rust-colored bioluminescence. Ducts and pipes ran the length of the chipped walls like veins while a thrumming pulse vibrated through the rock. Dry and torrid within the spaces, a scent of steel and sulphur permeated the air. It was a stale and acrid smell. Skittering echoed through the tunnels as unseen creatures crawled and slithered throughout the caliginous passages. Following the source of activity, one found themselves drawn to the core of the asteroid where the burrows converged into a vast cavity.

            Cruel, vicious faces of gargantuan size stared down from the ceiling into the empty heart of the asteroid. Chiseled from the blemished stone, these demonic monuments were a fearsome sight to all who dared raise their eyes. Their features were serpentine, incapable of smile or frown or any emotion in between with fang-filled, lipless maws and lidless eyes beneath pronounced brows and sloping foreheads. Many bore scars that only served to further twist their nightmarish physiognomy. These were the Krush Primarchs, the conquerors of worlds. Etched down the length of the walls beneath each countenance were scenes from their triumphant campaigns across the galaxy. These cruel beings were the objects of worship, demigods to the Krush who inspired both fear and adoration guiding generations down a rapacious path to martial immortality.

            Below, Krush guards lurked in the shadows along the periphery of the cavern. Only the shine of their lacquered scales betrayed their reptilian presence. They hid in the searing crevices, blending with the rock as they watched the frantic activity unfolding around them.

            Strange almond shaped creatures of green metal, the laelaps, hovered throughout the vast grotto attending to various interfaces scattered about, silently receiving and transmitting information throughout the invasion fleet. No larger than the torso of a young child, they wirelessly communicated with the digital spirit of the asteroid.

            At the center of the chamber a wan shaft of light streaked from the floor to the ceiling forming a diaphanous pillar. Towards that column strode a creature that could only be likened to a titan. He was Akkad, leader of the invasion fleet. Covered in glistening scales of a sallow shade, he lumbered with a slight hunch brought about by his massive upper torso and wide hips, the knuckles of his formidable hands nearly scraping the floor. He stalked forward, flexing his broad shoulders as the talons of his feet clacked on the stone. Akkad swayed with each step, letting the weight of his seven foot tall body carry him forward while his tail served to balance his mass on his short, thick legs. Something akin to a purr crackled in his throat when he neared the pillar of light. Within the ghostly glow floated a crude holographic image of the Earth represented by a collection of orange lines. That image shined in his oily black eyes.

            Akkad went to cup the world in his gnarled claws casting shadow on the gleaming sphere. “Soon shall I prove myself upon your shores,” he whispered in the hoarse hisses, whines, and shrieks of his language. “You will know my name. Call me…conqueror.” A tiny blip appeared just outside his grasp on the holographic display. “What is this?” Akkad turned to a nearby laelap, his hand slipping from the light. “What is that?” he repeated, jabbing a claw at the anomaly.

            The laelap approached the pillar of light. It silently ran a diagnostic, communicating with the sensor array. The Earth faded from view and the blip was magnified. A disc floated before them in the light. Its calculations completed, the laelap began to emanate an emerald aura. This aura expanded until it became a vaguely humanoid silhouette subsuming the body of the laelap within it. The silhouette turned to Akkad. “It would appear to be a spacecraft, primarch.”

            “A spacecraft?” Akkad stared at the disc while clicking his serrated teeth together. “I thought this world had not yet attained extraplanetary capability.”

            “It has not, primarch,” the laelap curtly replied in its monotone voice. “All data points to this truth.”

            Akkad leaned in menacingly close to the laelap’s silhouette. “Then where did it come from?”

            “Point of origin is difficult to ascertain. It does not match any known design.”

            Akkad traced the outlines of the disc. “Why didn’t we pick it up when we entered the system?”

            “Apparently it was hiding in the corona of this system’s star.”

            The primarch swiped at the disc. “An ambush.”

            “I do not believe so, primarch. It has powered up no weapons systems nor has it taken any aggressive action.”

            “Yet,” Akkad spat. “I want a full scan of that ship.”

            “Yes, primarch.”

            As the laelap hovered away, a blazing particle drifted into the cavern unnoticed. The size of a grain of sand, the radiance it possessed burned brightly in the dim confines buffeted by some unknown force. It twirled through the arid confines eventually reaching the center of the vast chamber. Then it exploded. Brilliant white light burst through the chamber flooding every crack and crevice with a searing luminosity that dissolved all shadow forcing Akkad to cover his achromatic eyes and stagger back a step. The damnable shrieks of the serpentine guards grated throughout the cavern, many fleeing into the bowels of the asteroid in fear. The exalted effulgence quickly receded, coalescing into a figure who floated a foot above the cavern’s floor. Clad in intricate robes of gold and silver stitched with glyphs that shined brightly, he seemed made of fire with tendrils flaring around him like billowing samite which served to make his indiscernible frame, possibly no larger than that of an average adolescent, appear larger and more awesome. The intensity of his glow granted the figure’s face an opaque, almost negative quality rendering his features impossible to discern. He said nothing as he hovered there surrounded by the Krush, instead silently surveying the realm into which he had materialized.

            From the periphery a squad of Krush guards charged toward the intruder. Despite their girth, the guards lunged with lithe precision, sprinting forward on all fours like wildcats toward the enemy. The being did not flinch in the face of this approaching danger. With a wave of his hand, an invisible force threw the guards back violently slamming them into the lithic wall with great force. Another pair sprung from the tunnels and rushed the fiery figure to avenge their comrades. The figure extended both his hands and gripped them into fists before lifting them skyward. The two guards found themselves pulled from the floor in his telekinetic grasp, suspended and flailing pathetically. With the flick of the figure’s wrists, the two guards crashed into one another and dropped limply to the pebbled, rubble strewn deck. When Akkad heard the skittering of others preparing to join the melee he raised his hand. “Stop!” the primarch commanded. He then turned to the being of light.

            The figure bowed his head in a respectful manner of greeting before speaking. “I am Pol, and I mean you no harm.”

            Akkad’s fanged mouth hung open in bemusement. “You speak our tongue.”

            “I speak many tongues.”

            “You also speak lies. You invade my command, attack my guards, and expect me to believe you come peacefully?” The primarch surveyed the crumpled forms of his men. “But they did provoke you did they not?” Akkad clicked his teeth together. “An impressive display. You show much courage coming into my den. You have earned my interest, though not my mercy. We shall see whether that shall be the case. Why have you come?”

            “As I have said, I am Pol. Of the Theria.”

            Akkad’s tail thumped the floor excitedly. “The Theria. I have heard of your kind in legends across countless worlds. So many spoke of you as if you were the Creators of all things. So many called to you when we found them.” The primarch’s hand passed through the pillar of light and Earth once more floated before him. “But you did not answer. And now those worlds bow to us. Your absence was enough to convince me that what truth there may have been to your kind had faded into myth. And yet here you stand.” Akkad extended his arms and made a mock bow, his eyes never leaving Pol. “What have I done to draw the interest of the gods?”

            Pol floated toward the shaft of light and the Earth it held. “You have come to this world with plans of invasion. I cannot allow that.”

            Akkad rounded his shoulders, flexing the muscles in his great arms. “And why is that?”

            Pol’s attention turned to the holographic Earth. “My reasons are my own.”

            Akkad waived that answer away. “The vague whims of a god cannot stop that which the Imperator has commanded. This world has been marked for annexation to the Imperium, an honor I have been bestowed to accomplish in the Imperator’s name.”

            Pol looked up at the primarch. “There is no honor in what you plan. To crush a world incapable of defending itself-”

            “I will admit there is no great honor in this.” Akkad’s tongue flicked out. “To crush these weak creatures shames me. I prefer challenges. But I will not defy the Imperator. Perhaps through us these creatures may learn strength. If they are found worthy of further existence. If.”

            “That is a lesson you yourselves do not understand. There is more to strength than physical power.” The flames around Pol increased in intensity. “Do not force me to teach you.”

            Akkad’s tail thrashed about behind him. “That sounds dangerously like a threat.” The primarch’s fists tightened and his knuckles cracked in preparation. “Do you mean battle?”

            The light about Pol dimmed. “How simple your mind works.”

            “Simple?” Akkad stomped forward, a guttural, bubbling rasp escaping his maw before he halted. His jaw tightened. “It is you who have not given the situation serious thought. How do you intend to stop us? Our sensors show you have but one ship versus our fleet. Even a god cannot defend against the onslaught of my forces.”

            Pol cocked his head. “If I could penetrate your most secure defenses, what makes you think I could not destroy your entire fleet just as easily?”

            Akkad turned his back, crossing his arms. “Then why bother with this useless diplomacy? Why not simply scatter our ashes across the system? Perhaps you question your superiority.” The primarch pivoted at the hip to look back at Pol.

            “I abhor violence-”

            “Yet you stand between a predator and its prey,” Akkad thundered, wheeling around to march toward the Therian obscuring the shaft of light and the Earth with his bulk.

            Pol put out a hand to stop him. “I prevent you from shaming yourself through massacring those upon the surface. This is not battle. This is slaughter.”

            “Then maybe I should give the command to open fire upon your ship before gutting you.” Akkad bared his sharp teeth. “Who knows what glorious surprises may await. Maybe there I will find a true challenge. Enter legend as a killer of deities.”

            “You’d risk battle in the void? That is a blasphemy to your people.”

            Akkad let slip a vulgar hiss. “I tire of this dialogue. You have entered the field of battle by intervening in our invasion. It is dishonorable to do anything less than fight.”

            Pol gazed into the dark eyes of Akkad. “I do not wish bloodshed.”

            “Then why bother coming here making demands like the Imperator himself? Fight or retreat. There is no other option.”

            “You are a crude, blunt breed,” Pol harshly retorted. “So rigid in your views. Yet even you are more flexible than you realize. I have watched your people for some time. You are cruel yet honorable.”

            Akkad focused on the primarchs above. “We are what we must be. We seek challenges to prove our worth spreading the philosophy of the strong.” He motioned to the scenes upon the walls. “We are warriors.”

            “And like all warriors, you have a code of conduct.”

            “Enough damn talk!” Akkad thundered. “Stop trying to seduce me with words. What do you want?”

            Pol circled around the primarch until the Earth once more came into view. “You seek a challenge. A worthy challenge for your species. Something this world could never offer you. I offer you a trial, a true test to measure your race by.”

            A purring cackle gurgled in Akkad’s throat. “What would that be?”

            “The rite of Shaka Ri.”

            Akkad chortled a flinty laugh. “War by proxy? That right hasn’t been used in centuries and only between those of the Krush. Few races have proven worthy of invoking it and none have dared.”

            “I dare,” Pol challenged bringing an end to Akkad’s hacking guffaws.

            “What right do you even have to declare it?”

            “I claim this world for my own. Even you must understand the only way to seize it is to take it from me for I shall not surrender it peacefully into your vicious hands. But there is no need for war between our forces. Let a duel of fate settle this matter. Should I win, you will retreat. Should I lose, I surrender this planet to your forces and your conquest may commence unimpeded.”

            The Earth hovered between Pol and Akkad as the primarch licked at his fangs. “This interests me. Great honor may be attained. Warrior versus warrior. The true measure of worth. And if the tales are true…you shall be a great adversary. To add this to the chronicles of conquest…” Drool dripped from Akkad’s mouth as he savored the possibilities. “Shall it be you and I battling for this world? Unlike my guards, I shall not be so easily brought to heel.”

            “I had others more fitting in mind.”

            Akkad’s tongue flicked out in query. “Who?”

            Pol’s attention shifted to the Earth. “I believe it only fitting that this planet provide our proxies-”

            “Never.” Akkad shook his head, spitting in disgust at the prospect. “These primitives are unworthy of our code. For one of their kin to represent the Krush is a blasphemy. There is no honor to be had by Shaka Ri without worthy champions. These…creatures offer none.”

            Pol looked upon the Earth. “The destiny of any world should be decided by its children. It is they who have the most vested in the destiny of their planet. They who would fight the hardest for it. It is more than a battle for them. It is the fate of their species.”

            “That is not enough to make them worthy champions. Even beasts struggle fiercely for their den. That alone does not make it a noble conflict. The test of wills. That is the noblest aspect of battle. To push beyond one’s stamina. To knowingly face death in pursuit of victory. Victory. Not for land, treasure, or power. To test one’s very core. To test their soul in combat. These creatures,” Akkad pointed at the Earth, “are no better than beasts. They lack nobility and fight for nothing of true value and are incapable of battle worthy of their world.”

            “Then we shall make them worthy,” Pol countered.

            Akkad’s teeth chattered together as he shifted his stance. “I do not understand.”

            “Genetic modification,” Pol clarified.

            Akkad snorted. “Why bother? I do not understand why we do not choose from our own broods.”

            “Who else would fight harder over this world than two who come from it? Yet one shall be Therian and the other Krush. A pure battle where the essence of who we are is tested. It is more than a battle of men or worlds. It is a battle of species on neutral ground. A true test of what we are by blood.”

            “To trust one of these creatures with Krush blood…” Akkad once more looked to the primarchs above.

            “A native bonded to you through blood may prove beneficial should you win,” Pol offered. “They could aid you in your conquest being an inhabitant of the world in question, offering you insights you could never have.”

            “And being Krush, the honor of victory would still be ours.” Akkad nodded but soon stopped. “How do you know we possess the technology to accomplish this?”

            “I have been watching your species for some time. I know you possess the means to craft your champion.”

            Akkad turned and motioned for a laelap to approach. The mech hovered to its master’s side. “Is this true? Can it be done?”

            The laelap took mere picoseconds to compute and test the hypothesis a thousand times over. “It is possible, primarch,” the mech stated conclusively.

            Akkad’s attention returned to Pol. “How can we be sure our proxies will find one another?”

            “It is the way of all things. Great power attracts great power. They cannot escape the cycle.”

            Akkad let his eyes drift to the amber, holographic Earth. “Great honor may be gained by this. A Krush defeating a Therian followed by the conquest and annexation of another world to the Imperium.” Akkad reverently gazed at the primarchs above. “My campaign would be legendary.” He nodded to himself before turning to face his adversary. “I accept your challenge. May this world quake with the battle to come.”

            Chris sat slumped forward in his chair holding his Medal of Honor, a frown dominating his unshaved face. His thumb gently rubbed the eagle’s wings atop the five-pointed star, his hand obscuring the word “valor” inscribed upon its surface. What pride had once been evoked by the medal was spent long ago. Chris’ tired eyes could see that the gleam was gone from his award, tarnished by time and memory. It had become more a leaden weight than a golden treasure.

            The faint sound of artillery fire softly boomed through the walls. A noticeable quiver caused the medal to shake in Chris’ grip as another salvo followed and incoherent voices began to echo through limbo. The drumbeat of his heart increased forcing him to gasp for air. The walls began to press in. The groaning turned to splintering. Chris’ eyes tightened and closed. He withdrew deeper into himself, bunkering down until the sounds died out. Soon even the wind went silent and there was nothing but blackness.

            A car crunching up the gravel driveway roused Chris from his torpor. A grimace twisted his features when he heard a car door open and then shut. He tossed the medal absently on the table before grabbing a shotgun from the corner and heading to the front door. He wrenched the door open and blindly brought the shotgun to bear against the day.

            “Whoa! Now you just put that down right now,” Sheriff Mark Brady ordered, pulling his pistol. Staring down the barrel of Chris’ weapon, his graying moustache twitched nervously.

            Squinting, the khaki clad sheriff slowly came into view as Chris’ eyes adjusted to daylight. Chris let the shotgun slip from his shoulder. “Sorry, Mark. I thought you were someone else.”

            Mark huffed, holstering his weapon. “That’s why I’m here. Mike Reynolds came to see me.”

            Chris rested his shotgun against the house. “Yeah? Well what did he have to say?”

            “He said some crazed bastard tried to shoot him. Naturally I thought of you.”

            “I gave him a warning shot,” Chris countered, hands in pockets as he shuffled to the edge of the porch before stopping at the precipice.

            The sheriff gave Chris a cynical look. “Is that a fact?”

            Chris’ jaw tightened. “If I’d really meant to hit him, he’d be dead.”

            “Maybe.” Mark leaned up against his car, motioning to the house. “What would you have done with that shotgun if it had been Mike instead of me? Give him another ‘warning shot’?”

            Chris crossed his arms. “I would have shot him dead for trespassing.”

            “Chris-”

            “This is still my land until the end of the month.” Chris stomped on the wood porch to prove it.

            “That it is and woe to the man dumb enough to challenge your ornery ass for it. But you can’t go around pulling a gun on someone who’s doing their job.”

            “Mike deserves to be shot. Dispossessing all those families. The guy ruins lives.”

            “That’s still not a reason to shoot him, Chris.”

            Chris came off the porch kicking up dust. “You didn’t see him, Mark. Coming on my land. Giving me notice. Treating me like I’m some bum. Telling me I had to leave. Him. Telling me I have to leave my home. My home!”

            “So it’s true?”

            A stunned expression paralyzed Chris’ features, his eyes losing focus before he looked away. “I was only defending myself,” he mumbled. “I heard about what happened to Ben Hubbard. Beaten near dead in front of his wife and kids when they refused to leave their farm. Doing that in front of a man’s family.” Chris shook his head.

            “I heard about it.”

            Chris spun around spearing Mark with his accusing stare. “And you didn’t do anything?”

            “My hands are tied, Chris. Ben defaulted. I hate it as much as you, but Reynolds had legal rights to that property. They said Ben got belligerent. What do you want me to do?”

            Chris took several steps before stopping to look over his sterile fields. “People like Reynolds, they’re ruining this country. Stealing our homes out from under us when we’re weakest. Heartless bastards. Nobody cares. This country is damn near empty now. The Great American Desert.” Chris took a halting breath. “I hope they choke on it.”

            “I’m sorry about the farm,” Mark offered. “But the law’s the law. You pull that shotgun on Mike again and I’m gonna have to take you in. You get me?”

            Chris nodded sullenly.

            Mark could see the toll losing the farm had taken on Chris. He had become a pathetic figure who looked like he was melting away in the daylight. Donner had lost a noticeable amount of weight, his shirt hanging loosely off his slouching shoulders. Chris’ emaciated face made him appear older than his thirty-four years, his visage lean, hollow, and haunted. The dark circles under his eyes nearly eclipsed the whites at their center while his skin, once ruddy, was now waxen and sickly. Mark came away from his car and walked partway to his friend. “You want to talk about it?”

            Chris didn’t reply, gazing instead at the arid Kansas plains; a still breadth of land undisturbed by ripples of any sort. The slate sky loomed cloudlessly overhead, the sun lost somewhere past the horizon. The fields themselves were dry and barren, a desolate stretch of wasteland stripped raw by trying times. Gone was the rich, black dirt that bore harvests year after year, ruined by greedy fools who cut the earth too deep bleeding her arid. The droughts that followed marked the end of everything, baking the life right out of the fields leaving blasted, crumbling wastes that the winds skinned at their leisure, stirring the sands into obscuring dust storms that burned the eyes as they darkened the heavens. Shriveled scrub now choked in the pale soil. Lines of rusted barbed wire stretched along the property line marking the boundary of Chris’ worthless piece of desert, an ironic claim on nothingness. Furrows carved through the dust more from habit than in hope resembled unmanned trenches with stillborn seed lost in their slits. “It looks so much like Europe. Nothing but death out there.”

            Chris peered into the distance, memory gradually shrouding the real. “You know, I remember when these fields were bursting with wheat. Wheat up to your chest swaying in the breeze. This beckoning wave. A sea wanting to carry me away to the horizon. I dreamt of what waited there just beyond. I would dive through these fields when I was a kid. Just run blindly thinking there was no end to the adventures ahead. I was gonna see the world. Make my mark. Then came the Great War. My chance to be a hero. I was gonna come back with a chest shining with medals and a tale to tell about each of ‘em. My own crusade.” He blinked against the grit, licking his chapped lips while rubbing his breast. “I was so headstrong. Only sixteen and wanting to be a man before my time. Why was I in such a rush?” Chris asked himself, running a hand through his receding hair, unbidden memories of No Man’s Land flashing through the desolate wastes before they faded out and the dying plains returned. “I did everything I could to get away from here only to go through hell to get back. For what? There’s nothing left now but memories.”

            “Depression’s been cruel,” Mark stated in empathy. “Everyone has fallen on hard times.”

            “Some more than others.” Chris kicked at the dust. “Why did I have to survive the war?” he grimly croaked.

            “What kind of talk is this? You’re a hero to this town.”

            “I ain’t no hero,” Chris murmured, briefly meeting Mark’s gaze. “I tried to make it work. Dust took everything.” A tear swelled in his eye. Donner quickly wiped it away before glimpsing back over his shoulder. “I just can’t give this place up. Not even after this past year. Pa’s cancer.” Chris knelt down and grabbed a handful of dust, watching it run between his fingers. “All I could do was watch him waste away. Slip through my fingers. Like this farm. It’s nothing but dust now. Nothing I do can save it.”

            “Then why stay?”

            “Because it’s all I got left. Something to remind me there were once good times. Second chances. But not now. I’ve lost everything.” Chris surveyed the emptiness. “Whole world is dying.”

            Mark put a hand on Chris’ shoulder for reassurance. “It’ll be green again one day.”

            “Not by my hand.” Chris sighed. “Everybody’s left. Given up. Maybe I should too.” He dropped the last of the dust and wiped his hand on his pants before standing up to face Mark.

            “If you need a place to stay-”

            “Don’t worry about me. Not about this. I’ve got more important things to worry about.” Chris thumbed at his nose, a hint of levity lifting his words. “I’ve got a fight tonight over in Garden City.”

            “Yeah, Denny told me. Still takin’ beatings I see.” Mark feigned a few punches.

            Chris smiled, defending against the jabs. “Only honest job I’m qualified for these days.”

            “Odds are against you.”

            “Aren’t they always?” Chris’ smile spread to Mark. “You gonna come?”

            “I wish I could. It’s just-”

            “Yeah,” Donner sullenly nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”

            “Look, I gotta get back. You take care, ok.”

            Chris gave a mock salute before heading back to the house, head bowed. “Thanks for stopping by.”

***

            Within the crescent of the Khingan Mountains rested the Manchurian kingdom of Manchukuo, ruled by the Emperor Puyi in the age of Datong under the auspices of the Japanese Empire. South of the Songhua River was Jilin province noted for its agriculture, pine forests, and herbs. To the west was Hsinking, capital of Manchukuo. To the east were the rich jade plains fringed by scattered woods through which traveled the South Manchurian Railway, the jugular of the kingdom, which ran from Lushun Port to Harbin.

            Li Chen knelt beside the train tracks near the village of Beiyinhe, his hand gingerly stroking the steel in search of a pulse. He was a runt of a boy, barely fifteen, whose baggy peasant garb only exacerbated his already small stature. Li Chen was an energetic, almost hyperactive lad who always seemed to be in a hurry. If he wasn’t tripping over his feet, he was babbling excitedly about his latest thoughts which few could audibly untangle. Li Chen’s ruffled raven hair, which was rarely combed, hid bronze eyes that readily glowed with mischief. Behind those eyes was a restless mind prone to detrimental wandering. His inability to focus on the now and a readiness to abandon his duties for dreams had led to many reprimands, all of which he quickly forgot whenever the next surreal wind beckoned to carry him away.

            To Li Chen, the dusk’s rays made the rails shine like silver forging divine tracks that stretched off to the sun itself. His imagination followed those tracks all the way to the golden horizon, mesmerized by that blazing disc waiting within reach. It was not long before dusk approached and the sun began to slip away. Absently he reached to save it from oblivion.

             Jee Hae stood nearby, fidgeting in the face of the coming night. The same age as Li Chen, she lacked his vibrancy. Her manner was much more restrained. Her round face carried simple features belying a serf’s spiritual submission to thoughtlessness resulting in a poverty of speech or action. Fair skinned and shy, she possessed an aura of fragility lacking among other villagers long coarsened by hard peasant life. Innocence best described Jee Hae; a girl yet untouched by Life in any way.

            When the sky turned crimson, Jee Hae could remain quiet no longer. “We must hurry back, Li Chen,” she urged. “The curfew-”

            “Do you see these tracks, Jee Hae? They are the road to Harbin. To prosperity.” Li Chen strained to see the cityscape. “They say factories spring up there everyday like weeds and that the city is starving for workers. So much money to be made there. So many possibilities.” He nodded to himself. “If I go there I may find a job. And if I save, I might open a restaurant or general store. Wait.” He slapped his thigh. “Why must I limit myself and choose a single business? If I work hard enough I could have both. I could have dozens.” Li Chen smirked, giddiness overtaking him. He patted the steel reassuringly. “I could become a respected man. One of power and wealth with a house greater than any king. Many would know my name. Revere me. The village would herald me for my achievements. From peasant to great man.”

            Jee Hae stared back towards their village as the world darkened around them with the passing of the sun, the red sky bruising purple then black. She desired to head back but hesitated in her retreat not wanting to leave Li Chen behind.

            Li Chen turned to look back at her. “Why so quiet? Do my dreams strike you senseless?”

            “They do you, silly goat! You have so much hope, Li Chen. Too much at times,” Jee Hae chastised, her bluntness surprising Li Chen as she unleashed her frustration. “Sometimes your hope clouds the reality around you. You become intoxicated by it. Forget important things.”

            Li Chen stood, balling his fists. “There is nothing important about our village. It smells of dung and the villagers are no smarter than their livestock. Chop off a chicken’s head and it is still smarter than my father.”

            “You should not say such things, Li Chen.”

            “Why? It is the truth. There is no future here. Only an endless cycle that I intend to break. Knowing what awaits across the horizon, how can I turn from the breaking dawn? All that possibility. To guide my destiny rather than be controlled by it-”

            “It’s a dream, Li Chen. Nothing more. Do not gamble your life away,” Jee Hae pleaded.

            “It is more of a chance than I would ever have here. A chance to become something more than a peasant. There is more to life than crops.”

            “The life of a farmer-”

            “Is not for me. You know this.”

            “Yes, I know it Li Chen.” Jee Hae’s voice softened. “That is why I love you. The things you see. You can bring light to darkest day. Your dreams are surely a blessing from the heavens. So big our village may not hold them. Maybe not even the world. And they will carry you away.” Jee Hae turned away to hide sorrowful face.

            Li Chen approached Jee Hae and stroked her back. “Is that what you fear? That I will forget you? Jee Hae, I could never forget you. That first time I saw you…I have never forgotten your face. You are the source of my dreams. What I want is for you. All for you. A better life than this. For us both.”

            “You would not leave me?” Jee Hae looked over her shoulder, her puffy eyes searching his face.

            Li Chen covered his heart. “You are the sun which shines upon my heart causing it to spring with life. Without your gaze it would surely grow cold and turn to clay. How bitter would I be if all that remained was your ghost, pale moon where once was golden sky.”

            Jee Hae looked to the darkening sky with derision. “You speak too highly of me.”

            Li Chen prostrated himself. “I pay you reverence, blessed goddess. Source of my dreams. Creator of my happiness.”

            Jee Hae blushed, slapping at Li Chen. “Silly goat.”

            Grinning, Li Chen stood only to receive a light shove from Jee Hae. “Have I embarrassed you? You blush so fiercely as to blaze in the moonlight. Truly you put the fiery sun to shame with your radiance-”

            “Fool.”

            “I almost forgot,” Li Chen said while rummaging through his pants. “I have something for you.”

            “What is it?”

            Li Chen pulled a jade comb from his pocket. Exquisitely carved from rare silky white nephrite, it shone with an ethereal quality in the moonlight. “This is for you.”

            Jee Hae gasped at the wondrous sight of the comb. “Li Chen, how did you afford such a thing? Surely it was expensive.”

            “It’s a treasure I’ve held…for a long time. I want you to have it.”

            “But why give it to me? You could use it to pay for your trip to Harbin and invest in your dreams. Surely it is worth a great sum.”

            “You are worth much more.” Li Chen placed the comb in Jee Hae’s palm without hesitation and closed her fingers over it.

            “Thank you,” she bashfully replied.

            Li Chen laughed softly. “Here, let me see you wear it.”

            With a wry grin, Jee Hae took the comb and used it to tie up her long hair. “How does it look?” she asked, spinning round to model it for him.

            “Beautiful.” The tender, wistful tone of Li Chen’s voice caused Jee Hae to stop spinning. He delicately touched her cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. “Would you come with me to Harbin when the time comes? Would you follow me in my dreams?”

            Jee Hae did not hesitate. “I would follow you anywhere, Li Chen.”

            Li Chen’s lip quivered. “You believe in my foolish dreams?”

            “I believe in you.”

            The two kissed in the moonlight to the symphony of crickets, the jasmine scent of Jee Hae’s hair rich and sweet. Luna looked down in envy upon those young lovers with her ashen gaze. As they parted, Li Chen motioned down the train tracks, the ballast sparkling like diamonds. “One day, Jee Hae. One day we shall follow the road to Harbin.”

            The sound of breaking branches drew Jee Hae’s attention. She nervously peeked past Li Chen toward the woodline.

            Li Chen felt Jee Hae stiffen in his embrace. “What is wrong?”

            “We must hurry. The curfew,” Jee Hae whispered. She tugged at Li Chen to rush back to their village. Before the pair could escape a squad of Japanese soldiers emerged from the forest. The pair attempted to sneak away.

            “Stop!” the squad leader ordered when he saw the shifting shadows along the rail line. “Who goes there?”

            “We must flee,” Jee Hae hissed, pulling fiercely on Li Chen’s arm.

            “Answer me or we will open fire,” the squad leader threatened, lifting his lantern to better illuminate the area. The soldiers drew up their rifles.

            “I was lost,” Li Chen replied in the soldiers’ native Japanese tongue, motioning for Jee Hae to lie down and hide in the grass.

            “Come here,” the squad leader demanded.

            “Stay here,” Li Chen whispered to Jee Hae. He started towards the Japanese, Jee Hae watching wide-eyed.

             “What are you doing out here?” the squad leader asked when Li Chen came into view of his lantern.

            Li Chen bowed his head to avoid eye contact. “I am sorry. I forgot the time in my wanderings. My father will be angry. If you permit me, I will return to my village.”

            “I think you’d best fear me more than your father.” The squad leader paused. “How is it that you know our tongue, peasant?”

            “I learned it from soldiers who patrol my village.”

            “Why? To spy on us?” The squad leader cautiously scrutinized the boy. “Are you alone?”

            “Yes.”

            The squad leader frowned at Li Chen. “Do you know the punishment for breaking curfew? I should sever your stupid head from its shoulders.” He slapped Li Chen.

            “I am sorry,” Li Chen offered after recovering from the blow.

            “You do not know how sorry you will be.”

            Jee Hae trembled in fear as she watched, shifting loudly in the grass. She began to inch back in retreat. Without realizing how close she was to the tracks, Jee Hae accidentally kicked a few ballast stones loose.

            The squad leader’s head snapped in the direction of the sounds coming from the shadows. He looked back at Li Chen. “Alone are you?” The squad leader took a few steps past Li Chen.

            “I am, sir,” Li Chen replied hoping to draw the man’s attention away from Jee Hae. “Perhaps it is the wind.”

            “I know wind when I hear it, stupid boy.” The squad leader surveyed the area with his lantern. “Whoever is out there had best show themselves or I will shoot this boy.” When there was no reply the squad leader gave the command. One of the soldiers pointed his rifle at Li Chen’s head.

            “No!” Jee Hae screamed.

            “Jee Hae, run!”

            The soldier nearest Li Chen caught the boy in the gut with the stock of his rifle knocking the air out of him. Li Chen dropped to his knees struggling to breathe. “Be quiet boy or next time I jab you with the sharp end,” the soldier warned, flashing his bayonet in the moonlight.

            “Who is that?” The squad leader motioned for two men to follow him out into the night. Jee Hae soon came into view, her hands up. Li Chen could only watch as the squad leader looked Jee Hae over closely before turning back and nodding. Without warning, the soldier struck Li Chen in the head with the butt of his rifle opening a bloody gash across his forehead. The boy crumpled to the ground. In the haze of consciousness, Li Chen saw Jee Hae struggling with two of the Japanese as the squad leader came back.

            “What of him?” the soldier asked.

            “We do not need him. General Ishii asked only for girls.”

            “Should I shoot him?”

            The squad leader swatted the soldier in the back of the head knocking his cap off. “And will you dig the hole after, fool! Come on.”

            Li Chen lost consciousness as the Japanese squad dragged Jee Hae into the forest with them.

            A laelap hovered toward Akkad, halting to assume its green silhouette. “Status report, primarch.” Akkad failed to hear the laelap. “Sir?”

            “What?” Akkad shouted, jerking violently forward and baring his fangs at the mech.

            The laelap did not flinch, its flickering façade staring blankly at Akkad. “Status report, primarch,” it tranquilly repeated.

            Akkad flared his nostrils, biting briefly at the air before turning back to the display. “Report.”

            “Communications have been achieved with Khasra.”

            “Has our situation been relayed to them?”

            “No, primarch. We have only informed them of our arrival in system and current operational status.”

            The disc shone in Akkad’s oily eye as he continued to focus on the Therian impediment. A contemplative gurgle bubbled in his throat. “We will begin a communications black out.” He turned to the laelap, extending his hand to expose his claws in a threatening gesture. “Until I order, no one is to send a communiqué across the link.”

            “As you command, primarch.”

            “Status of the fleet?”

            “Very little damage was taken on our voyage. The majority was structural received from entering in system. Repairs are nearing completion now. All systems are running at satisfactory levels. We will be able to initiate invasion at your discretion.”

            A hacking cough, a sign of pleasure among the Krush, barked harshly from Akkad’s throat. “Excellent.” The talons of his feet clicked excitedly on the floor.

            “Primarch, I must report a problem.”

            Akkad’s cough devolved into a low, guttural growl. “What problem?”

            “As requested, a probe was sent to the planet’s surface to gather data on the natives. We have finished analyzing the samples collected. The data has not been wholly positive.”

            Akkad advanced toward the laelap, his monstrous form towering over the emerald shade. “How so?” he snarled menacingly.

            “Simulations have been run regarding the feasibility of genetic alteration of this planet’s natives via nanocytes similar to their intended use in Nasnas production. Physical trials of limited scope have already been carried out at the cellular level. Complications have arisen.”

            “Such as?”

            The laelap circled around the shaft of light to stand opposite Akkad. The Earth dissolved to be replaced by a blue hologram of human physiology. The digital skin was stripped away revealing indigo musculature while the veins and arteries were highlighted bright crimson to enhance one’s view of the circulatory system. “At the biological level, numerous differences have been discovered. Their blood is iron based in contrast to a Krush’s copper creating issues in genetic compatibility. This includes metabolic rate, cellular respiration, and other functions. This has forced us to reformulate original organic designs of alteration slowing progress.” The highlighted circulatory system darkened as the contents of the thoracic and abdominal cavities flared a bright orange to reveal the individual organs located within. “The problem of alteration is further compounded by their organs. First, there is an issue concerning their hearts. A native’s heart is four chambered versus three and is smaller and more fragile in comparison to a Krush’s possibly due to their thinner blood composition.” The heart withdrew from the holographic figure, beating as it came forward while expanding to allow for better examination. “Experiments have proven their heart to be vulnerable to cardiac arrest following nanocyte manipulation. We are unsure at this point if it is due to increased steroid and hormonal content brought on by the alteration process, possible tissue rejection, anemia, increased blood viscosity, hemolysis, or if the combined physical and mental toll placed on the specimen as a whole is to blame.” The heart beat faster and faster taking on a manic speed until the beat became irregular, struggling to continue until it stopped altogether and dissolved from view.

            “Second,” the laelap continued, “they lack a hasha or an organic equivalent thus negating necessary regenerative capabilities compounding difficulties and lowering survival rates for the process to roughly 25%.”

            “How do these creatures survive?” Akkad asked himself disgustedly. “Hatchlings are more durable than these frail beasts.”

            The skeletal structure of the humanoid hologram blazed green. “Further complicating our efforts is their size. Their frames have proven too small to carry the necessary weight following alteration. Krush are far denser than these natives in terms of musculature and skeletal mass. This can be corrected through manipulation of these creatures’ growth process to accommodate biological alteration’s intended goals, but it will take time and carries risks. They are only 40% the size of a Krush with a bone structure and circulatory system incompatible with such immense size. Estimates put full maturation to Krush levels at between thirty and ninety planetary rotations for important genetic alterations with minor changes continuing thereafter but such rapid growth raise the prospect of malignant neoplasms.”

            Akkad flicked his claws together in frustration. “Damnable creatures. I should never have agreed to use them. That Therian goaded me and I took the bait like an addled hatchling.”

            “Also,” the laelap droned on, “due to such accelerated growth, the need to feed will grow exponentially in the subject to acquire the raw materials necessary to fuel their increasing metabolism. Simulations advise that the subject come from a region rich in either vegetation or prey to meet this demand. Otherwise the subject will quickly perish, its body consuming itself.”

            “Have you found such a site?”

            “We have several in mind which I am prepared to show you.”

            “I have a choice? How rare,” Akkad darkly joked.

            “There is more primarch.”

            “What do you mean there is more? Have you not cursed me enough with your predictions?”

            “Primarch, there are fears that the minds of these creatures may not handle genetic alteration even if it proves successful. Possible problems such as mental instability, stroke, or full shutdown have emerged.”

            “Why?”

            “In order to spur growth we will have to increase the hormonal output of their interstitial cells as well as artificially stimulate stressor glands. This will lead to increased aggression on the part of the subject chosen. It will also entail an increase in stress. Therein lies the problem. Their minds have been shown to possess a weakness to prolonged stress and rage unlike your species. Too much stimuli and their brains begin to atrophy. Insanity could follow. Psychosis. Mindless rage.”

            “Mindless rage is to be desired. I do not want calculation. I want annihilation.”

            “But it will be unstable, primarch. Even self-destructive.”

            “We can always put it down after. It is a blasphemy regardless.” Akkad took a breath, thinking over the data while his tongue flicked in and out of his mouth. “Is there any way to lessen the threats of alteration?”

            “The subject will have to be young. The closer to pubescence preferred. Their body will be most likely to survive the stress and be most vulnerable to alteration by nanocyte intervention as the adolescent is still developing naturally.”

            “Ah, so we will make a stripling a warrior.”

            “Have you any prerequisites for the site, primarch?”

            “Just one. Warriors may only be forged on battlefields. Of the sites that fit your demands for sustenance, are there conflicts occurring in or near them?”

            “Yes, primarch.” The human physiology faded out to once more be replaced by the Earth. “Magnify point 39-116.” The Earth revolved until Asia came into view and then enlarged to focus on China’s eastern shore, Japan floating off to the right. “Investigations have shown an ongoing conflict in this region.”

            Akkad cackled deep in his throat. “Surely we will find a warrior there.”

            “Yes, primarch.”

            “That site will do. Do what you must. I do not care if you must kill a thousand of these natives. We must have a champion.” Akkad turned away from the display, focusing on the laelap’s silhouette. “With that settled, have you finished your investigation into the Theria?”

            “Yes, primarch. Our archives are extensive.”

            “Tell me what you can of these creatures.”

            “Their origins are unknown even to our records. Scattered sources claim they are the creators of all things. Others that they are the universal firstborns. All agree they are ancient.

            “Descriptions vary regarding physiognomy. Theria are said to be creatures of light as well as amorphous, shapeshifting beings without a predetermined form. But there is more. Myths on several planets speak of members of their own species becoming Therian, chosen for reasons known only to the Theria.”

            Akkad’s tail snapped to the side betraying his surprise. “The Theria have a history of altering alien life?”

            “Yes, primarch. To what purpose is not known. Perhaps it is a form of reproduction.”

            Akkad thought briefly on the subject before letting it pass. “What of their abilities?”

            “Myths throughout the galaxy attributed to the Theria or creatures matching their description talk of powers such as psychokinesis, telekinesis, telepathy, transmutation, teleportation, and bilocation. They are also renowned healers and warriors.”

            “Warriors?”

            “Yes, primarch. There are tales of Theria fighting in battles using physical rather than psychokinetic abilities. They are said to be blessed with great strength and speed.”

            “Warriors,” Akkad hissed, shifting his jaw. His gaze fell on the disc watching over Earth. “Are they immortal?”

            “No, primarch. There are stories of Theria perishing such as the Siege of Agin and in the campaigns of Magne. They are quite mortal.”

            “Gods that can die.” Akkad’s mouth widened in a mocking laugh.

***

            Pol levitated above the deck, head tilted back, his body flaring radiantly against the concave argent walls of his ship filling the bridge with an unearthly iridescence. His robes blazed like fire, burning aureate and fierce as the morning star. The Therian’s hands were steepled together in front of him in a gesture of prayer while he whispered in mellifluous syllables that multiplied in the divine expanse and culminated in a collection of angelic verse.

            A shift came over the room when he bowed his head. Warmth faded from the bridge. The light began to contract toward Pol like a constricting pupil leaving inky blackness at the luminous fringes. The intensity of his aura increased as the ship dimmed until he became a lambent sliver in the growing gloom. Pol’s hands seared lustrously, shining brighter than the rest of his form until a flickering sparked between his palms. Gradually, Pol pulled his hands apart, bolts of electricity coursing violently between them. An inchoate series of specks gathered in the fulgurant space and began to knit together forming a hollow, fragile shell. The bolts crackled loudly as Pol focused his essence into the empty sphere, his voice becoming strained. The orb’s smoky center throbbed, its vacuous core crystallizing. As it solidified, a quartz membrane encompassed the orb sealing in Pol’s blessed glow climaxing in an implosion of light. Pol descended to the deck silently, the orb in his hands. Exhausted, the glimmer of his countenance wavered and dissipated leaving the bridge in total darkness.

            The ceiling soon blinked to life, a soothing brilliance bathing the chamber revealing a gray skinned, wrinkled figure at its center. A timeworn being of small stature, Pol trembled and took a knee gasping raggedly in fatigue, his vast robes spilling beneath him. He put his free hand down to support his weight, his hairless head slumped forward on the cool deck. In time his head rose shakily and his crescent eyes opened to behold his creation. For some time he scrutinized the orb in his hand marveling at the empyrean craftsmanship.

            With little warning a molten shower began to rain down behind Pol, the sparks dancing upon the floor with a soft ring.

            Pol did not bother to turn. “You disapprove.”

            “You know the laws. Therian history. And yet you choose to intervene.” The voice seemed to vibrate from the walls of the ship.

            Pol’s shoulders sagged. “Would you rather I watch them suffer?”

            The sparks gathered into a mist that condensed to form a golem of liquid ferrous composition. Suul, the ship’s AI and Pol’s counsel, presented itself to its master. “It is the way of things. It is their fate. One they have earned.”

            “I disagree, Suul. These creatures…these humans are innocent of the sins of our galaxy.”

            “Are they?” Suul glided forward to stand beside its master. The AI gestured toward the far wall which morphed from silver alloy to a lit HUD. Video of humanity’s history throughout the past several thousand years played upon the concave surface before their shadowy forms. Images of battles, ruins, and great suffering played out in front of them. “You have perused the vids. Seen their brutal legacy as have I. Like so many other races, these creatures are animals at best. There is no nobility in them. To think these humans consciously cause such destruction…”

            “They are far from mindless,” Pol countered sternly.

            “Their minds are flawed, their thinking twisted. They abuse the gift of reason.” Suul looked down on Pol’s bent form. “They defy the natural order. Place themselves at the fore of all things to the detriment of all else. Selfish, immature brutes,” it spat. “It is not enough that they succeed, but all else must fail. The idea of coexistence is alien to them. With their environment. With each other. They blacken their own skies. Taint their soil. Pollute their water. Drive species to extinction including their own, much like the Krush. For what? Shortsighted gain. They are a cancer to their own world.

            “And their idea of civilization. It is a mockery, using technology to craft greater and greater weapons for slaughter, to galvanize armies, to oppress the masses.” Columns of marching soldiers passed by onscreen goose stepping mindlessly as one toward battle. “Their cities exist only to multiply their suffering. They are a stunted species that does not cherish life but yearns to enslave it. Dissect it. Bend it to their will. They have sacrificed so much upon the pyres. Who among them, I ask you, is worthy of the seed of the Theria?”

            Pol extinguished the digital inferno with a glance before peering up defiantly at Suul. “And what of their literature? Their philosophy? Their magnanimity? You speak of them as if they were mere barbarians. Not every war they have waged was for base reasons. They have fought for freedom, liberty, and justice. Even against the most insurmountable of odds they have stood firm…and won. In their darkest hours they shine the brightest. Every glow needs a shadow to display its radiance. To condemn the whole of humanity is to show how little you understand them or the natural order. There can be no good without evil as there can be no dark without light. No race is without its tyrants. Not even the Theria.”

            “And what of the conflict so recently ended? The one the natives call ‘The Great War’? Was there value in that?” Trench warfare from the Western Front blasted across the HUD. Dirt churned up in plumes only to rain grit in the smoke that hovered above the ground obscuring the cratered fields. Soldiers emerged like dead from the grave and ran willingly into Death’s maw, cut down by machinegun fire or torn to pieces by artillery. Those who survived vanished back into the smoke. Bodies littered the earth left to rot or serve as carrion. Men wept in the muddy trenches while others stared blankly.

            Pol was silent for a time, the images reflected in his eyes. “There is more to them than war,” he weakly offered.

            “Perhaps. But the dichotomy of their being can never be reconciled. Creators. Destroyers. The former only exists so that the latter may arise.

            “They are thralls to their senses. Sybaritic automatons who merely feed, reproduce, and die with the illusion of sentience. There is no valid independent thought within them save for an anomalous few who are quickly silenced by the many too scared to question the order of things. They will never transcend their flesh. They do not want to. The pleasures offered are too great for this venal species. To overcome their instincts. To think beyond themselves. To prove their nobility. That is impossible for their kind.

            “These territorial beasts’ factionalism has cost them knowledge. They would rather fight one another for an inch of ground than come together for a greater cause. They are selfish, short-sighted, and stunted. They seek only death because they are incapable of understanding life. Again and again they turn on one another, murdering their brothers, tearing the world down around them in frustration like the spoiled children that they are.

            “Do not ask me to pity them as you do. They have had ages to prepare for the Krush’s coming. Instead they have frittered it away. I only ask that you do not allow your pity to overwhelm your sound reason. Theirs is a race of savages unworthy of salvation from the Krush. They have earned annihilation if only to stop their cancerous spread to the stars.”

            “And when does any race become worthy?” Pol waved his hand and the silver wall lit up with a map of the galaxy. “How long have we watched the Krush’s shadow spread across the galaxy? How many civilizations have we stood by and allowed to vanish in that yawning abyss?” Parts of the galaxy went red and then blacked out. Soon the once vibrant galaxy had shriveled leaving a thin collection of stars upon the spiraling galactic wheel, a stark presentation of Krush conquests. Pol frowned at the image. “So many screams thought unheard. I cannot watch forever.”

            Suul stabbed at the screen increasing galactic magnification until Earth took up the wall. “And intervention is your solution? What if your intervention then turns to guidance as it must? How long before that guidance becomes manipulation and then, when they no longer listen, outright domination? To interfere once sets a precedent. These humans will become your responsibility. They will turn to you. Rely on you. Corrupt you. Destroy you,” Suul stated with condemnation. “It is inevitable.”

            Pol shook his head. “Nothing is inevitable.”

            Suul analyzed its master. “Why do you feel such guilt, Pol? This is the way of things. Rise and fall. Death and life. The Krush are not the first conquerors. They will not be the last. This is what must be, a purging of the old order. Not even the Theria can save a galaxy from itself nor should they. The galaxy must choose to save itself. If it is worthy, it will evolve. It will learn. It will grow. You must stand aside.”

            “Why?” Pol challenged. “Why must I let more blood be shed?”

            “Because this is not your fight.” Suul gestured to the Earth. “It is theirs.”

            “I value your counsel, but you are wrong. We speak of this galaxy as if we do not belong in it. As if we are above it in fact. We separate ourselves. Isolate ourselves. Why must we stand apart? The elders would make us believe we are alone. We are not alone. Out there across the spinning arms are our brothers. So many shining souls much like ourselves. Can you not see that?”

            “I see only beings whose failings the Theria are not to blame for. You cannot teach the galaxy the meaning of life. They must learn it. They must earn such knowledge or they will abuse it. Intervention inhibits growth.”

            Pol’s demure mouth frowned. “If I retreat, I surrender to the fear that has robbed the Theria of their place in the galaxy. Fear of what we once were. Fear of what we could be. To have such power and to deny aid to those who need it, even those who forsook us….Why exist if we have no purpose, whether positive or negative?”

            “The Theria are the neutral. You exist to chronicle the rise and fall of life. Recorders of history, not the authors of destiny.”

            “And thus do we live through others because we are too scared to live ourselves,” Pol intoned tremulously.

            “Scared to live? Once the Theria ruled the galaxy. How close they came to destroying it. Have you forgotten?”

            Pol rose to face Suul. “No, I have never forgotten. But I also remember the nobility the Theria once held. Where has that nobility gone? Does it die with us?”

            “You speak of current Therian nobility in a negative connotation. Has there ever been a race that has sacrificed as much as the Theria? Your people sought to save the galaxy from itself and were forsaken. So many cursed you, condemned you, and drove you from their worlds.”

            Pol reached toward Suul beseeching him to understand. “They were afraid of us. They had every right to be.”

            Suul’s gaze returned to the Earth. “There is nothing redeemable in them. They betrayed you. They do not see you as their brother. The races of the galaxy see only with their eyes and the differences perceived were far greater than the similarities. That is why the Theria withdrew. To remain was to be consumed in a conflagration of the galaxy’s own making. You have only to look at the destruction wreaked across the stars after the Therian withdrawal. How quickly they turned on one another destroying an age of Therian works. Now the Krush have come to finish what these traitors started, a cleansing element spawned by the natural order. Like a fire they will consume what is left that the galaxy may begin anew.”

            “I fear that this time life may not rise anew.” A spectral ripple passed across Pol’s sorrowful eyes. “We risk losing so much if we let this come to pass.”

            “Then why do you not fight for them? If you believe it your responsibility, why use a proxy? Why involve an innocent?”

            Pol heaved a tired sigh. “If only I could, I would fight for them. But I have grown old. I cannot be the champion they require no matter how strongly I wish I could be.” He shook his weary head before his eyes drifted to the Earth. “So I turn to them. This is humanity’s battle. Fate has brought me to them. They have been chosen. One will rise. Not for me or the Theria but for the voices that cry in the darkness. He will stand as their final champion, a symbol of the nobility we once held. If he fails and the Krush succeed, then our time has truly passed and life has failed its greatest test.” Pol’s sorrowful eyes turned away from Earth.

            “They are still a young race,” Suul argued. “Fractious. Undisciplined. Self-destructive. What if your power proves too much for them? What if it consumes them?”

            Pol gave Suul a sidelong glance. “It could be the beginning of their maturity.”

            “Or it could drive them mad. How much will it take to drive this homicidal breed into genocidal frenzy?”

            “I have faith in them.”

            Suul’s featureless face leaned in. “Why?”

            “Because they are capable of dreams.” Pol thought that over and found solace in it. “You call them savages. I see scared children. Yet despite their fears, they do not retreat. They do not hide. They look to the stars and see what could be. They reach, they fall, and they reach again. There is strength to them. A willingness to sacrifice if they must. A want to grow. They yearn to know as the Theria once did.”

            “But they are not Therian,” Suul chastised.

            “No.” Pol held the glowing orb at eye level. “They could be more.”