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In The Meatspin 25 days ago Forum: Arena Roleplay
the premise is we wanted to throw our most powerful characters into a free for all. the narrative started in one of our group threads and is as follows.

- highly advanced transdimensional beings create an engine out of a galaxy and use it to create a wave every couple billion years that tears ass across the universe and either kills or mutates everything that it hits. last time it fired off, it caused a hivemind to splinter into a new species.

- this time it has become an omniversal engine and is threatening to destroy all our respective universes/narratives.

that's the basics@ItMeGritty
With a brief keystroke, the Nool Al-Pas released a chain of experimental projects which rocketed from their salvos and, once clearing shields, engaged in their short-range superluminal jump.  These missiles rephased about half an AU from the far-flung celestial body, where they would collide with the planetoid once corporeal again. The algorithms that determined each missile function relayed between a complex network.  Some of the missiles burrowed deep into the planetoids molten core, while others propelled the celestial body even faster, reengaging the planetoid into FTL travel. 

Many light years away, Deimobos phased back into existence with a brilliant flash and a flicker as gravitrons shifted about its large frame. A halo of light backlit the planetoid like an ominous eclipse, as the phase rockets engaged their secondary boosters.  The celestial body careened as it conserved its immense momentum, before crashing into the stomach-wall of the Cradle of Life.  The initial impact nearly shattered the moon’s thick crust, but what followed the impressive collision would be observable to any entity within the solar-system swallowing creature’s gut.

Every warhead simultaneously detonated.  The light of its doom would create one of the firstborn stars within the Cradle’s monster-made universe.


A sonorous roar reverberated through the Nool al-Pas as it began its onslaught against the innards of the beast that had swallowed part of the Dira var-Sha's accompanying fleet. Left to operate without their flagship's command, each Cizran warship added their own distinct style to the destruction. The experimental salvo was but one harmony in a symphony.

In conjunction with the cannonade, a viscous ferrofluid began to seep through apertures in the Nool al-Pas' hull. Its source was an enormous silo with channels passing through the ship leading to its exterior. As the effervescing effluvia drained into tributaries, a thrashing silhouette was revealed. Vaguely insectoid in nature, it thrashed atramentous appendages with great anticipation. It had been centuries since its last awakening; too few engagements called for use of the Voshd'gatr. A prime example of Cizran hubris, what had once been a niche species was now a blunt object with which to castigate any affront to Cizran authority.

The Voshd began to emit a low buzz from its labellum as spindly setae took form; each ending in thousands of bristles that ran through to join its viscid offal on the warship's hull. As its hum grew into a shrill whine, innumerable shards of beryllium sprouted from each aperture before being engulfed in thick globules that began to slough off the Nool al-Pas. Their descent was cut short as a wave shuddered through the ferrofluid, its hue shifting from pitch black to lustrous argent. The Gatr, a swarm of whorling beads, now surrounded the Nool al-Pas as the lunar projectile pierced the Cradle of Life's serous membrane; nuclear splendor reflected in the trillion ommatidia of the Voshd's compound eyes.

***

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” spoke a dim presence.

Compliant, the sumptuously vivid portrayal of Nenegin zar-Taliļ condensed to an acidic fog. Too heavy to remain aloft, its constituent droplets struck the deck mere meters from Karzar and Snil. Venomous hissing poisoned the aghast silence as the corrosive substance splashed, sizzled, and sated itself on all it pooled upon. Discrete, the miasma inevitably thinned and revealed a hovering black orb with a single point of white light in its midst. Once, twice it blinked. Then it exploded sharply—darkly.


Flitting through the detritus of the destroyed Apostite ship, the Voshd'gatr began a campaign of annihilation against all signs of life. The highly unstable nature of the Gatr's beryllium cores had immediately begun to react with the Voshd's ferrofluidic excrement and by the time terminal velocity had been achieved, each pearl had become a thermonuclear missile that erupted indiscriminately.

With a gesture, she ripped the Aptosite ship in twain from bow to stern. The groundwork was already in place from the explosive cocktail of nanites, chemicals, biologics, and femto-responsive quasi-mineral-organics—all of which burrowed into the enemy vessel’s hull as soon as the curtain was drawn back on their masquerade as Nenegin zar-Taliļ, Aredemos, and Kirri. Soon thereafter, the infection proliferated throughout the extent of the ship and its complement.

Unfamiliar as she was with their anatomy, Ezkshi did know few things fared well without atmosphere and she imagined the ruptured vessel would suffer a multitude of casualties.

Even so, she was not finished with her work; in fact, as far as konul manipulation went, she wasn’t even started.

Again, her consciousness expanded. She saw the whole of the strange being that interjected itself into the domain of the Empire. It swam in what was open space. Was, until she shaped her vision, and the whole fell into a box—one inundated with flashing MASERs, bursting LADAR, fulminating fusion reactions, would-be Cradles of Life, and genuflecting magicarp. The box compressed, like the interior of a trash compactor, shank, and cramped what was in it. The vision wasn’t hers alone, but it manifested in reality beyond her mind. What she did in this moment, her manipulation of the konul’s harvested potential, affected reality.

The box shrank into a nothing, and then was no longer in or part of the Su-laria galaxy. It had, instead, been all pushed into a microscopic dimension.

It was … inner space.

The cell she balanced on a talon contained the wreckage of Kilamara and Diemobos, the Cradle of Life and its pillaged worlds, and the Aptosite invaders. She had been careful to mortar the gaps precisely so as to plot an escape for her fleet and the nodes of the grid.

With a disgusted gesture, she flung it away; it skipped like a pebble across the trillions of light years of distance that separated the Empire from the slums of the verse.


The Aptosite flagship had been atomized in nuclear fury. Millions of Gatr began to pour out of the massive puncture in the Cradle of Life before erupting in a resplendent column of decimation. One that would continue to burn long after all traces of the petulant usurpers had been lost to the annals of Cizran antiquity.
6-8-2039
Free Territories (formerly Mozambique)


خفض أسلحتك

The command belched from behind the armed youth, followed by a hacking cough. Their weapons lowered as an elderly man passed between their ranks and stopped in front of the jeep. He was dressed in worn fatigues; drab ochre saturated in mid-day sweat. A shock of gray peeked out from beneath his cap contrasted starkly against his skin.

The old face cracked into a smile as scars carved deep channels into the weathered fields of his cheeks. He turned back to his armed guards and made a waving gesture with a wood-carved prosthetic.

الشباب ، تعال هنا

A girl, no older than 16, joined the old man's side. She laid her AK-M on the vehicle's hood, casting a curious glance in her periphery at Ndakala while rapidly exchanging words like gunfire in Arabic. Ndakala noted a wave of ease pass over the group as shoulders relaxed and sharp eyes softened. The girl addressed the pygmy in Xhosa, occasionally pausing as she struggled to translate her commander's message. 

"Our general is most.. a-apologetic for this introduction. There is no place for.. violence amongst friends." The old man gave her a reassuring pat and she continued. "We would have you join us as guests."

At this the old man circled the jeep as he  spoke through his companion. He stopped at the child caught in fitful sleep, clutching charred rags. He extended the cool wood of his prosthetic, soothing her slumber with a comforting touch.

"Has the child spoken?"

Ndakala peered over his shoulder at the child, eyes widening at the sudden recollection of her presence. The silence of their journey coupled with the recent carnage fresh in his mind had left him deeply troubled, but his wits quickly returned. "She has not. None of us have."

"And the one who charged you with this responsibility. Were they injured?" He opened the driver side door before politely stepping aside for Ndakala to exit.

The pygmy dismounted the vehicle cautiously, unsure of the old man's intentions. "Not that I noticed. Everything happened so quickly."

Satisfied, the old man extended his prosthetic to the pygmy in a gesture of good faith. The wood flushed with warmth; the digits animate with life firmly gripping flesh. He grinned broadly, addressing Ndakala and the elderly foreigner in English.

"Welcome, welcome. I am General Assad. We have quite the drive ahead of us, so let's make haste. My soldiers will confiscate your electronics. No need to leave those wardogs a trail." His soldiers spurred to action, they began the task of loading equipment while one scurried beneath the jeep. He emerged with the components of a GPS in his hands.

Assad sat behind the wheel of the jeep, looking back at Ndakala until he too entered the vehicle. They exited the compound, an abandoned military blockade, and turned on to a wide road hidden beneath thick canopy. The roar of a diesel engine surprised Ndakala; he hadn't heard one since childhood. An antiquated military transport rumbled behind the silent jeep. Their path followed a river southwards; the occasional thinning of the trees bathing them in shimmering brilliance.

After nearly an hour, Assad began to speak once more. His passengers were unsure if it was to them or himself. They had just crossed the river on an unusual stone bridge; it seemed to have risen from the very soil. The river's rushing echoed through a bizzare congregation of overgrown boulders.

"Some thousand years ago, this was the site of a great community. Khoikhoi and Sān tribes found themselves pushed to the south by drought and Bantu expansion. The former brought their mighty herds to graze these fertile lands; the latter using their advanced foraging and survival skills to supplement the livestock."

Assad turned away from the river, driving further into the jungle. He checked his watch, a pre-war novelty.

"They were the foundation of mighty kingdoms, all born from this great land. My friends, we wish to do the same."

Before them appeared a distortion in the road; a rippling haze that obscured what lay beyond. They continued through, much to the old american's chagrin. The rumble of the diesel engine echoed in a vast chamber before being cut off. Sunlight filtered through countless prisms in the cavernous ceiling, illuminating an expansive garage and loading bay underground.

"Welcome to Marange."
Aboard the Zara vi-Pol there echoed the soft hum of cleaning equipment. It came from the 544th level; moreover from a hunched and swaying insectoid pushing along a device that scoured each surface clean at a microbial scale.

The top of its three eyes slowly rose from the instrument's controls and watched a holofeed display of the ship's surroundings. It'd been many a cycle since he'd been so close to home. Garri, a Kilimaran entering the winter of his life, set the machine to standby and gave a conspicuous look in separate directions.

He removed a polished gourd from between the chitinous plates of his chest and emptied its contents in a large draught. Garri's mandibles preened themselves in deep satisfaction as a fissure cracked Kilimara in half before it exploded from the raw might of idiocy. Gurgles rose in his throat before Garri emptied the contents of his digestive sac all over the corridor's walls before falling unconscious.

He awoke in a fugue, unsure how much time had passed since... His home... Gone... His connection...

Garri clutched at the stone that was meant to burn til his transition to his next state of being. An all too familiar warmth flowed through him.
6-8-2039
New Xanathan City (formerly Cape Town, South Africa)


Dark clouds roiled high above the Stormkaap, obscuring the early morning's sun. Markus observed a heavy mist accumulating on the elevator's paned walls, and as he stepped out of the building he was met with an oppressive discomfort. For him, the torrent had already arrived.

His driver, Jakob, opened the rear passenger door of the Mercedes AMG G 63. Markus paused and peered over his shoulder at but a fraction of one man's insecurities; Xanathan Tower gleamed against blackened skies with each flash of lightning. No refuge to be found here.

The drive would take the better part of an hour as Jakob began the long descent down winding roads and through tunnels carved deep into Tafelberg. Their destination was the Kluis, and perhaps an answer to what eluded Markus.

Almost no light filtered into the cabin as Markus sat with his thoughts. Gravel softly popped beneath heavy tires; all sounds took on a muted aspect through the armored jeep's reinforced frame and inch-thick ballistics glass.

He shot a glance at the stack of field reports, intelligence dossiers and tablet settled in the seat beside him. Exhilaration and apprehension stirred within Markus as he reflected on the scope of the previous night's attacks. This was resistance unlike any met since the arrival of Xanathan. How could such a powerful foe remain hidden for so long? What was their goal? Were there other threats to Xanathan's sovereignty, accruing strength in putrescent wilds?

Emotion usurps willpower.

Markus closed his eyes and focused on his breathing; dispelling all doubt as he withdrew into the depths of his consciousness. He sank past the constraints of perception and into a realm of intuition.

Gruesome images fluttered across the nebulous haze of his mindscape; bodies twisted and charred by an enemy unknown. Ferocity. Could vengeance be their cause?

Evidence of the evacuation of nearly 10,000 dissidents as a town burned. Compassion. An obvious weakness.

The infiltration of a highly-guarded research facility. Ingenuity; or treachery. The truth would be revealed in due time.

"Five minutes, sir."

Heavy lids separated as his gaze fixed on the driver through his reflection in the rearview mirror. Markus gave the driver a curt nod before turning his attention to a locus of Xanathan's cutting-edge research.

Die Kluis, or the Vault, sat in the shadow of Devil's Peak. They drove past heavily guarded gates into an open courtyard that bustled with commotion. A group of hooded prisoners, chained together, were corralled into a transport vehicle. Researchers in pristine coats took inventory of chattel and equipment as rain swept in from the bay.

The jeep turned and continued uphill, driving further into the compound until stopping before an austere building adorned with marble pillars. He recalled this had been a university prior to Xanathan's arrival.

Markus stepped out of the jeep and was immediately met by a squat man in an XSF uniform. He gave a brief salute before extending a hand, the other bearing an umbrella that struggled in its purpose.

"General, I'm Sgt. Theron. I've been assigned to lead the response team you've assembled."

Thank you, Sgt Have they arrived? the response echoed in Theron's mind.

"Not yet, sir. Delayed by the storm. We expect them within the hour."

I see. Notify me when they arrive. Dismissed.

The exchange lasted their ascent up the steps and past the rain-streaked columns of the command center.
6-8-2039
Ndlovumzi Nature Reserve, Xanathan Territories


<< Atlas, Atlas this is Hornet-Actual. Standby for report 2-2. Over.>>
<< Hornet-Actual, this is Atlas. Send your traffic, over. >>
<< Atlas, this is Hornet 2-2. We are in Sector 3755. Gunner up and scanning with thermals. >>


The data being fed into the gunner's visual cortex from the cameras affixed to 2-2's hull was an achromatic panorama. White flames rose from an overturned jeep and danced against an atramentous backdrop. A sickening gradient of grays trickled through the carnage and thickened as blood mixed with soil loosened by the helicopter's blades.

<< Line Eduard, line Dirk showing Hond squad's immobilized ground vehicles. Biometrics register heavy casualties; requesting evac for wounded. Negative visual on enemy element. Requesting further orders; how copy? >>

The squadron of four heavily-modified helicopters that made up Xanathan's elite Hornets circled high above the smoking husks of the convoy below. Each manned by a pair of cybernetically-enhanced soldiers integrated into the Hornet's operations and weapons systems. Through an infrared haze their sensors continued to search for further signs of the perpetrators. Silence overtook their comms awaiting a response from XSF military command.

<< Roger 2-2, Atlas copies all. Proceed to Sector 3700. Rules of engagement have been modified. Support local detachment in suppressing hostile element. Atlas out >>

With a thought, the Hornets broke formation and veered off towards the neighboring village of Phalaborwa; a half-hour away by air. Its population had swelled since the diaspora and the town proper now found itself encroached upon on all sides by a mass of corrugated sheet-metal in the form of shanties and impromptu markets. Orchards of orange trees on Phalaborwa's outskirts shuddered at the Hornets passing. They approached the small detachment of XSF guards at the relay tower that dwarfed all around it. An array of advanced sensors kept the populace under constant surveillance, monitoring their whereabouts amongst other nefarious criterion. The leader of the squadron, designated Hornet-Actual, attempted to establish a link with the tower's local biometric monitoring system as they were hailed on communications.

<< Tower Pieter-0, this is Hornet 1-2. Requesting sitrep. We have orders to engage enemy foot mobiles in area. >>

Hornet-Actual felt a tension rising behind the cold implants embedded into his eye-sockets as the network was as slow to respond as the ground force. The sudden writhing of crimson plasma against a greyscale world sent Hornet-Actual and his aircraft into paroxysms as the panicked cries of an altitude alarm fell on deaf ears.

**Remote access to the local network denied**
**System override.**

<< Atlas, tower Pieter-0 is compromised. I repeat, tower is compromised. >>

Caught in the throes of a violent stroke, Hornet-Actual felt his consciousness drowning in the onslaught of information relayed as sensory input. It would have taken weeks to process a modicum of the torrent; but only seconds to impact against the tower. The three remaining Hornets tore away from the explosion and lunged headlong in opposing directions. They traversed in wide arcs above Phalaborwa as the concussive percussion of 30mm chainguns firing 650 rounds per minute pierced the sky. The township quavered in the wake of the sudden destruction; memories buried beneath smoldering rubble in an instant.

From a distance Najwa peered through the latticed prisms that shielded the town hall's interior. In her perch she saw heat trails with absolute clarity as each round tore through the air in an outraged buzz. The rounds had a secondary incendiary element and within minutes only the district of Old Phalaborwa remained relatively untouched. She adjusted the straps of a pilfered ballistics vest, amazed at the composure with which the few operatives they'd embedded had mobilized the citizenry. At least half the town was now being evacuated through tunnels that had appeared while Najwa neutralized the small contingent that guarded the relay tower.

A voice, soft against the garbled interference of encrypted channels, rose from a bloodied handheld transceiver that lay propped up against an H&K G36 beside her (all graciously provided by Xanathan).

<< Kengue, incoming. >>

Najwa switched the transceiver off and shouldered the rifle as the familiar rasp of Kengue greeted her from behind.

"Sis, this.. is bad. Boss says.. we have to go.. before they kill us.. for being madzviti." Kengue spoke through labored breaths, the rattle of his respirator heard with each pause.

Najwa knew that if Ayanda had sent him to the frontlines, things were not well. He was barely into his sixteenth summer; gaunt features hidden beneath a hodgepodge of foreign clothing. She gave him a quick hug before looking gravely into his obscured eyes.

"I can't just leave them to be slaughtered," she gestured to the huddled group of townsfolk, "and she knows that. It's my duty to protect them. Those madhimoni are here because of me."

Kengue laughed and playfully pushed Najwa away. He looked up at her and removed his sunglasses, doing his best to imitate the look she just gave.

"Boss.. figured.. you'd say that," he paused to regulate his breaths before continuing, "and wants you.. all... back at base."

Najwa smirked at Kengue before she gave a sharp whistle and a rallying yell. "Everyone, we're leaving!"

She then turned to her young companion and inquired if he'd made contact with the pair she'd entrusted with the child.

"Of.. course," he smiled mischievously, "can't.. wait for.. the Lion.. to meet.. the american."

***

2-8-2039
80km W of Saudade, Glasslands (formerly Sollum, Libya)


Nuberu sat at the precipice of a brobdingnagian chasm; one of legion created in the aftermath of nuclear holocaust. Within its abyssal depths bubbled malice and sorrow ineffable. He felt an atomic patina spread over the exposed flesh of his face and forearms; it renewed him. Weeks since his last meal, life was nearly impossible to find in the wastes. The land sustained him, but peeled away his humanity with each passing hour.

A plume of noxious fumes and scouring detritus erupted before Nuberu as violent gales tore through the gulch.The brief respite in the nigh-perpetual tempest that had swept across the region for thirty years had ended. Covering himself once more in thick hides, he set out for the remnants of an old Ottoman fort across the expanse. A flash of lightning in the distance and once more did Nuberu set eyes upon the phantasmagoric vista of Saudade eerily framed by preternatural effulgence.
"The time is 0800." intoned a soft, automated voice. Emilio had already been up for several hours; having risen with the conscripts to join them on their morning 5km circuit. This new world made great demands of those that survived and it was his obligation to prepare the recruits for what lay ahead. Most of them were too young to remember much of the old world; a small mercy.

Crossing his quarters, he stood before the small window that overlooked the training courtyard. Emilio sipped lukewarm coffee from a dented mug, its dull exterior a perfect match for the liquid within. He longed for coffee that wasn't instant; hopefully some would turn up during the next supply run.

Emilio observed impartially as the training class separated into pairs to simulate fighting off an infected assailant. Drill Sergeant Klein stepped between sets of struggling students, stopping sporadically to make corrections.

He turned away from the window and returned to the task at hand. A map of Monterey County lay on his desk with notes pinned to each area that Parris Security had already explored; detailing areas of interest and observed threats. The target of their next raid would be his decision; never one he took lightly.

Emilio gathered up the map as well as a folder containing the latest inventories and placed them inside a satchel. Removing the olive drab BDU from the back of his chair, Emilio slipped on the short sleeve shirt and gave himself a brief glance in the mirror. Satisfied, he took the satchel in hand and left his quarters to meet with Parris
i settled on a spot along the coast outside of monterey, california. puts parris pretty much in the middle of the state. should have my introductory post tonight.
@Burning Kitty and which part of california is the skyscraper in?
@Burning Kitty would you mind giving me some info on the PMC's base? i can have a post up some time tonight
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