“The Stars that I Know”
Its nighttime in the clockworks and the ever present hum and movement of the world beneath us reverberates through my body as I sit. Distant beams from the Gremlin Munitions Factory light up the sky. The smell of ash and grape jelly is carried by the wind across the bulwarks and towers that defend Haven and here I sit, amongst other Spiral Knights in a glorified ditch staring across an irradiated wasteland, of twisted mechanical parts, and the forms of broken Gremlins and Knights. My eyes drift shut, and for a moment I dream.
I dream about the stars I saw when I was young. I dream about the familiar constellations of stars of my lost home. I dream of the familiar things that comforted me. I dream of the wings of the Kingfisher that sweep across the sky breaking it free from the inky canvas of night as it soars around the star Cygnus X1; Cygnus X1 which glimmers in the center of the Celestial Guard’s shield as he stands between the accretion disc of Centarus A and the rest of the galaxy. His hand clutched around the constellation Argentes as he prepares to fire into the darkness. I see the flowing veils of the divine maiden, which in my dreams shimmer with a brilliance that accentuates their divinity. In this dream I see the darkness coalescing and warping around Faust’s blades as he stands vigil beside the Celestial Guard. The four stars that makes up his arm raises and he points. Both Faust and the Celestial Guard look and marching towards them are twisted shapes, cubes of gelatinous strength, trees of iron and red wood shambling towards them. I dream in this dream of charred and burnt corpses of things long dead, the glowing phosphorescent silhouettes of butterflies. I see the Celestian Guard raise his Argentes and fire amongst the oncoming tide. From the barrel of his weapon stars are flung forth and amidst their ranks the stars supernova, yet their tide continues unabated, undiminished and still ever determined! The enemy horde undeterred advances, the very universe begins to shake. Stars glittering begin falling from the sky. I can feel the vibration now…..
My conscious mind begins to awaken from its slight reverie as it can no longer correlate what my body is feeling with my dream. It begins to wake me, the falling stars are flares launched from Haven to illuminate the irradiated wasteland. Still groggy I hear a voice, “Weapons at the Ready!” Coming to my feet I drive the tip of my Crest of Almire into the wall of the trench in front of me. “Hold your FIRE!” I feel my own lips forming out the words as I blink the sleep from my eyes. My own version of the Argentes is pressed down on the rim of the shield to steady my shots. I see shadows moving, darting hither and yon. Wolvers……moving quick, “Pulsars! NOW!” I hear myself shout.
All along the trench a cacophonous roar of energy discharges spew forth in a wall of pure of malice. The orbs of energy swell with murderous intent as they sally forth. Then in unison they all burst their hateful rage upon the ground. The wild yelps of wolvers in pain are drowned out by the relentless barrage and everywhere the exploding malice begins flinging wolver parts across the field, Sharp Fangs, Bushy Tails, Monster Bones are raining down everywhere. It continues like this as Spiral Knights fire their weapons well past the overheating point. The rhythm of battle begins to change, the line of explosions begins to waver.
Tinted optics that had covered my eyes when the initial bombardment began, digitally silhouettes trees through the bright explosions. The shambling trees have entered no man’s land. “All Weapons FIRE!” The darkness of night is shattered by tens of thousands of stars flung forth from the Spiral Knight’s line. As Callahans, Sentenzas, Alchemers and their brethren open fire. The steady pulse of massed weapons fire begins to slacken testament to wolvers that have broken through the hail of gunfire.
A wolver explodes from the ground near me, it savages a fellow Knight. Leaving my shield buried where it is I draw my Final Flourish as it lunges at me. I spear the fast animal through its gaping jaws pinning it into the ground, the beaming tip of my Argent Peacemaker jams into its eye. Instantly I can smell the scent of charred flesh from the white hot tip of the barrel, which is followed by the scent of offal as a deluge of rounds penetrate through its tiny cranial vault and exits out its body. All across the line blades have been drawn and Knights are charging forth into no man’s land to deal with the horde in melee combat.
Leaving the flourish impaling the ghastly remains of the wolver, I pull my shield from its temporary dirt support and charge into fray. The next moments are awash in indigo ghost trails of my Gran Faust blade swinging amongst the non-shielded gremlins. The gleaming purple blade parts their flesh exposing their entrails in wide sweeping strokes. Then as suddenly as it began it ends as the horde is defeated. I’m stunned for a moment, as my eyes dart about looking for something new to sweep into the afterlife.
There’s a half hearted cheer that dies. The Spiral Knights who were the best of the best on the Skylark sully their armor and gloves as they go about the grisly joy of collecting materials. Ribs are pulled from the charred husk of undead. Piles of Sharp Fangs appear as pliers are used on the mandibles of wolvers. Amidst this barbaric carnage I begin to make my way slowly across no man’s land to my little hovel in the dirt, I stop and gaze into a bright point of light in the ground. A Flare? No….. it is a Spark of Life. Reaching down I hold what was once a creatures spirit. This brilliant beautiful immutable representation of life that I hold in my hand, I ripped from its mortal coil, is worth a profit now……
“Captain Ser, you’re not going to take that?” I toss the Spark towards the Knight, “Take it nublet I no longer have a taste for what the reaper gives us. It is yours.” My eyes do not need to gaze upon him to know that he is young to the order, itching to prove himself and gain accolades, Itching to wield ever more destructive weaponry. My footsteps carry me to the lip of the trench. As I look over it, I meet the barrel of my own Argent Peacemaker.
It’s held by a small tier 1 gremlin. I can see it does not have long to live. Its left eye looks like it has been mangled by a blow from a thwack hammer. The indentations running superior to the crushed ocular orbit confirms my suspicions. The barrel is twitching its remaining good eye has an empty murderous stare. Click, it pulls the trigger, it pulls the trigger again and again, the double action hammer slamming down against the cylinder containing the ammunition. Smiling, I tell the gremlin, “The Antigua line is an ancient series of firearms. It uses an inefficient form of propellant. Which cause a carbon build up that can sometimes foul the hammer of the weapon.” It has no comprehension of the information I just told it, what it does comprehend is that it can not harm me, it will not have victory over me. I drop my shield. Its eye looks down following the shield. Distracted now, I grasp the barrel of the Peacemaker pulling the gremlin forward and allowing its own weight and momentum to drive itself into the tip of my Faust. The blade grinds against the lowest intracostal rib which deflects it down through its organs to scrap grindingly across the iliac crest of its hip before exiting through its back. I let the body now acting as a scabbard for my Gran Faust fall to the ground. Whereupon I sit between my grisly trophies.
Looking at the wolver head with the Flourish holding it in place I ask. “Why do you still fight us?” Its only response is to drip coagulating goblets of blood intermixed with brain matter, through the gaping hole in its cranial vault. Turning to the small tier 1 gremlin with my Gran Faust impaled through its body, “You will only know defeat at our hands. There will be no victory for you.” It replies by staring blankly through its eye at the sky and the stars. I gaze up for a moment as the darkness descends on the trenches. These strange stars offer no comfort, nor do they offer any stories of heroes that have passed into myth and legend. Looking on them now only reinforces the lonely fact that I am not home. Beside me the Equestrian contingent I lead begins to return to their places at the trenches. As I stand on the precipice of dreams I can see the Kingfisher beginning her flight towards Cygnus again and the melancholy of being lost and alone wanes just as long as I can see the Stars that I know.
Its really nice. Im not really sure if its yours :D