Wolfran the Knight Avenger
In
The Last Crusade of Altraumzen
Episode 1: The Invasion Begins
Long before history, and its lies began Io spun her endless dance under Jupiter's casting shadow. Orbiting the lava smothered moon were jagged forms of unnatural satellites and space stations that seemed miniscule compared to the vastness of the empty void, but each would dwarf all but the largest of space faring dreadnaughts.
Rising intricate rings surround a dish made of larger metal rings all inlaid with blue and covered with reliefs of golden bulls. Each ring contained thousands of blue towers of varying heights and designs like the mouth of leech in space, each with a pointed red crystal at their crowns. Each station a city in her own right. A monument to the power of their dark mistress on her twisted throne rising above the lava fields of the moon below. Not one would survive the coming onslaught.
For there in the emptiness a disturbance brewed. A cloud of green dust was growing with each passing moment lightning streaking through the forming mass’s girth. Io headless in her eternal dance drove the stations directly toward the growing storm. Then all at once they came.
Out from the heart of the cloud and sparking lightning, dark ships ranging from corvette gunboats to mighty carriers and ships of the line burst into reality. Angular black ships marked by massive white crosses released many thousands of smaller craft emerging from the bellies of the motherships. Then from the satellites an inhuman response faster than all biological life, or even mechanical capabilities, sparked to life firing upon the recharging fleet. Yet, that demonic spark of artificial intelligence had been deceived.
Plasma and charged waves of sound that could shatter armor plates down to their base molecules shot out from the many towers. Even as these smaller blasts were fired a more powerful charge formed beams of energy at the center of the open dishes before launching toward the fleet. Their aim was false.
The artificial controller of the stations had been infected, and her targeting altered so that not one of the devastating salvos struck home. Instead the deadly barrage struck the husks of long dead ships from battle’s forever forgotten. The last mausoleum to their pointless struggle eviscerated in superheated gasses and explosions. The fleet weapons were not so hampered.
With ionized particles rushing forward from extended circular cannons along the battle cruisers, battleships, and dreadnought’s spines black lightning sprung forth. Following the particle beams those tendrils of force and energy struck home. Blasts of blinding light erupted on invisible fields of energy protecting each station, and yet the lightning was not deterred. Electromagnetic fields erupted, breaking the shields, and leaving their charges open for the devastating second barrage.
From the depths of the largest dreadnaughts and few smaller longer yet more graceful ships magnatec cannons barked. Out from the depths of the ships ran magnetic tracks which were as long as the crafts themselves. From these contraptions weapons boulder sized ordnance launched in a flash. Their impact was devastating, shattering the defensive space stations in a cacophony of impacts and explosions.
Some of the stations were crushed into dust, others managed to regain shields, but not enough to halt the barrage. Those unfortunate satellites split, and separated coming apart in large chunks of twisted metal, blue towers, and golden reliefs of bulls and giants. These the space born bombers and fighters made short work of, as well as cleaning up what little survivors had managed to escape their disk shaped tombs.
The squat asymmetrical fighters and bombers flew in mass formation blanketing the space with fire from their belly railgun turrets, and close ranged missiles of exotic variety. Soon nothing could stop the fleet of black ships from flying into high orbit above the moon.
Too far for retaliation from the rock, yet close enough that the stations on the far side of the moon stood useless. Their would be assault blocked by the moon herself so that only attacks by their squadrons of fighters and bombers could strike. Yet none came for they stood little chance with no support. Ishtar, the she devil Queen of Altraumzen, the burning moon that later men would call Io, was saving her strength.
There in the deepest bowels of the Third Marshal’s carrier was the Chapel of the Crusader. Rising through the height of the rear of the long ship from her white cross graced belly to the bridge on her back was the grand cathedral with many balconies and landings allowing all levels of the ship to partake in the blessing before battle.
There at the lowest level where the chapel pews sat on the floor of the grand vestige were the priests surrounding the High Priest of the vessel. The old but hardy man was dressed in all white with a black cross emblazoned on his robes and a hood over his head. His hands were outstretched to the multitudes of crew, pilots, Marshal staff, and invasion force waiting for their blessing before the battle.
There, not fifteen feet from the High Priest were the Knight Captains of the planet invasion arm of the carrier. There amongst them knelt Knight’s Captain Wolfran Boshorrors in prayer and contemplation. Their victory, though thus far complete, had been a breath away from disaster, and he wondered just how many of the goulish fiends of Ishtar he could lay asunder in holy retribution before they took his own stately head from his shoulders.
And yet Wolfran thought as the resounding amen filtered up the gargantuan organ that rose hundreds of feet through the belly of the ship, he was not conquered yet. Marshal Andres was not their foppish Grand Marshal. He had already saved the fleet with his unofficial use of their irregular forces to upload a digital thorne into the side of the spiritual intelligence that ran the combined computers of Ishtar defensive ring station.
Without the scrambling of the targeting systems their fleet would’ve been hit with the full force of the rings while their shields were still charging from their hyper jump. Too close indeed, yet the Grand Marshal had no care for the weapons of the enemy. Perhaps even less care for the concerns of his subordinates not in his internal circle.
These thoughts made Knight Captain Wolfran stay kneeling longer than the rest of the Captains saying a final prayer of protection, will, and vengeance on their enemies who had harassed and sacked their world with near impunity for so many centuries. Whether their pompous Grand Marshal led them to death or victory Wolfran planned to satiate his burning fury on the minions of the dark ones to his heart’s content, and to the will of God Almighty and his son the blessed savior Jesus Christ.
Rising at last Wolfran grasped his golden helmet marking him as a Captain from the pillow in front of him, and placed it under his arm. His black cloak ruffled across his silver gray armor plated suite which was sealed from the nothingness of the void, and built to enhance his strength and speed. From his hip his plasma sword hung the machinery within emitting a just audible hum. Today would be a day of reckoning for Ishtar’s servants. One day Wolfran hoped to see the she-demon spawn receive her just reward as well.
With that last prayer on his mind Wolfran followed the rest of the Captains from the chapel leaving the benediction of the priests. The men of the cloth would pray over the battle and intercede before the Heavenly throne for their protection without rest or sustenance till the last sword stroke fell. Their holy words and deeds strove the Knight’s Captain forward with purpose.
This was how Wolfran preferred going to war. Last from prayer, and first into the fire. His mounted brigade would be the first company on the ground besides the irregulars who waited for the assault. Marshal Andres was depending on Wolfran Boshorrors and his men to enact a desperate plan for not only the survival of the Crusade, but its victory despite the Grand Marshal’s best efforts.
Such was the responsibility of a man of both high talent and breeding as Wolfran was, and he had no plans to disappoint. Revenge would be his on this battlefield. He could already hear the Father’s call to the cleansing of Ishtar’s world of nightmares. “Deus Vult,” was the last thought in the Knight’s Captain’s mind as he stepped from the chapel, and into the warship beyond.
The Story Will Continue Every Friday.
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