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The Rising Star
In an attempt to
unravel the web of lies that had been told and retold to
His people for centuries, the Prophet traveled to the
lifeline of the Union itself: Legionite III, the
industrious factory-world that manufactured all of the
Union’s starships Having never been to Legionite III
during his two thousand year span of life, Mandrala had
only heard stories about the huge, sentient whale-like
creatures that inhabited the planet’s marshy surface.
Perhaps it was that, after being rejected by his own
people, He sought to purify Himself from the sins of the
Mandralor, and bestow his faith upon those whom were
more deserving. But, though no one truly knows what his
motives were for traveling to the clandestine world of
the mysterious Legionite race, it is incontrovertible in
light of the unfolding events that the Prophet was
utterly shocked by what He discovered there….
Arriving in orbit above the allegedly “swamp-like” planet of
Legionite III, what He saw was little more than a
sludge-covered ball of rock, whose waters ran black with
discarded factorial by-products, and whose atmosphere
possessed both the appearance and consistency of toxic
smoke. It seemed to the Prophet, in that moment of
disbelief, that the world itself could be nothing but
completely uninhabitable to even the most rustic and
resilient forms of life; but the unmistakable presence
of biology and industry proved this notion false.
Toiling about on the hideous world below were, indeed, the enormous
whale-like creatures that He had previously heard
described—or, at least, what was left of them. To the
distant eye, it would appear that the Legionites’
disgustingly unwashed and unkempt bodies were nothing
more than large mountains of dirt, shuffling about with
a slowness of drudgery that, in itself, spoke for the
horrors of its own existence. But as the Prophet’s
vessel descended to the filthy planet, Mandrala caught
his first sight of the suffering Legionite people, whose
enormous bulk and strength had caused them the
unforgiving burden of perpetual slavery.
Where there had once been millions of their species roaming the
verdant bogs of their pristine world now remained but a
few hundred haggard, underfed and dejected specimens of
their kind. Some standing as high and wide as a Union
warship, their enormous bodies, it occurred to Mandrala,
must have once seemed as imposing as the natural
features of the landscape itself—but were now defeated
out by the ubiquitous presence of coughing factories,
and unnaturally putrid grime.
Day and night, He observed them, as they lumbered about,
incessantly hauling gigantic portions of unfinished
Union starships across the oily landscape with
backbreaking effort, and piecing together the various,
tedious mechanics in mind-numbing monotony. Being, by
nature, passive creatures whose uncanny size and
strength combined with the lethally capability of being
able to perform simple procedures, the average life of a
Legionite was as miserable as it was short.
As Mandrala watched them, scores of their kind fell dead from
either fatigue or unfortunate accident—having the
catastrophically massive hulls of the
laboriously-constructed spaceships come crashing down to
squash them like insects, while their few heartless
task-masters beat them much and fed them little in an
attempt to maximize their productive efficiency. And
this was the thing that disturbed Mandrala the most out
of the entire hellish scene: the utter lack of disregard
that the obviously well-fed and much more luxuriously
cared-for masters felt for their fellow Legionites.
“How can it be so—“ He asked Himself. “That one would soil his own
house and disparage his own brother for a mere profit
and position of power? Is there not joy enough to be had
for all, happiness to be spread throughout rather than
locked away and unappreciated in the darkness of a rich
man’s coffers? What could possibly be responsible for
the depths of this evil?”
But the answer came quickly to Him, in that heated moment,
for—lurking in the shadowy facade of this now-hollow and
degenerate vestige of civilization was the overwhelming
stench of Union administration—it was then that Mandrala
realized that the Legionites were being manipulated,
much like His own people. And so, enraged at this
epiphany, the Prophet disregarded any previous
allegiance that he had once sworn to the Union, arming
himself with his four-paired flamesabres, as he took his
first fateful step upon the shattered remnants of that
planet’s hideous landscape.
It need not be overstressed the sheer potency of influence
expressed by the Prophet. His enormous physical stature,
honed by nearly two millennia of armed combat practices,
the unmistakable air of power expressed in every motion,
in every word—seething with authority and charisma
enough to send a dishonest being recoiling in the
aftermath of his sins, to hope for redemption of his
inner-self—still echo the intensity of His Greatness
through the voice of history itself.
What is known to have happened, on that glorious day, is that the
Great Mandrala simply made known his presence, delivered
his message, and laid waste to all those who did not
comply. The Legionite people, inspired by the sheer
power of his commanding words, rose up against the heavy
hand of their ruthless overseers. And within hours of
its instigation, the Great Legionite Rebellion had sent
the entire planet reeling in a wide spread conflagration
of revolt.
Very little can compare to the fearful awe inspired into those who
ever bear witness to a Legionite war. Each Legionite in
the uprising was several hundred multiples more massive
than any other living creature that owed allegiance to
the Union, mounted upon six powerful legs whose sheer
weight dented a crater-like footprint into the earth
with every hulking step. Each of their two enormous
hands possessed three fingers the size of a full-grown
Mandralor, and strength enough to crush boulders with
such ease that it was often done unintentionally. Their
skin, varying in its particular brilliance and color
between individuals, was like leather to the touch, but
stainless steel to the skin: deflective of even the
heaviest projectiles and nearly impossible to penetrate
or cut. Their muscles were gigantic and incredibly
powerful, honed from a lifetime of demanding physical
labor—and so it is said that watching a pair of these
behemoth-sized juggernauts in combat is like observing
the collision of two meteoric heavenly bodies.
Earth and stone shattered beneath their enormous weight, as the
rebels accumulated in great masses. They stormed upon
the buildings and factories that had tainted their
planet with pollution, raising them to the ground with
nothing but their bare hands. They demanded emancipation
from their masters, but were answered with cold-hearted
resolve.
Those cruel members of their kind who had gained much power and
wealth by the enslavement of their own race did not
willingly relinquish their positions of authority.
Possessing weapons that they had acquired from the wealth of their
industries, they slaughtered dozens of their own
revolting slaves during the uprising; but even this was
not enough—for the rebels, despondent and unprepared as
they may have been, quickly rallied behind the banner of
Mandrala’s leadership
Great, heaping mounds of seared Legionite flesh were burned to the
ground as the behemoths lunged upon their masters
en-masse. Mandrala, armed with his legendary weapons,
retaliated by unleashing a fury of fire and bone upon
the derelict slavers. Crying with hell-borne fury and
lead by the Great Prophet himself, they smashed into
their enemies’ front lines, swarming upon them and
sending the earth quaking beneath the sheer weight of
their cataclysmic stampede, as the heavens boomed with
thunder at every impact. They vanquished their wicked
slavers, tearing them from their weapons and brutally
beating them to death with nothing but their own
enormous hands. And so it is said that, within the mere
span of a few short days, the Legionites had forever
freed themselves the yoke of Union slavery.
“Join me!” the Prophet told them, the fires of the violent
revolution still smoldering, as his eyes blazed through
the sprawling throngs of Legionite onlookers. “And we
shall set right the wrongs that have been done upon your
kind! I have guided you unto freedom—but that is not
enough! With your help, we will exterminate the Wicked
Servants of Chaos, and restore Order to the Universe!”
“YYOOUU AARREE UUSS!” the crowds shouted in return, booming with
fervent enthusiasm and unbridled devotion. They spoke
with one voice, as is characteristic of the Legionite
species. Whenever a member of their kind is to
communicate, all of them do. Their loud, sonorous
bellows blast loudly throughout the air to be heard for
miles upon miles around, blending into one
another—until, finally, becoming the harmonious melody
of a unified mentality: a single thought. “UUSS FFOORR
YYOOUU!”
And with that, the Prophet smiled, for He understood exactly as the
Ignus were to be vanquished. His prayers had been
answered, and through the good deeds of His work. The
Enlar had been wrong in the slavery of the Legionites,
just as they had been wrong to deceive the Mandralor.
But even in those blissful moments of his triumph, He
had reason enough to understand and prepare for the
failings of His long-term plans…
On that day, that very the last Legionite-constructed spaceship was
ever fabricated. In a worldwide effort, sparked by
rebellion, and fueled with the hysteria of violence and
gratitude, the voluminous hull was hastily assembled,
and the necessary components fitted from the gutted
portions of those unfinished projects that still
littered the landscape. It was to be the grandest,
largest and most powerful vessel ever created.
On that day, the few remaining Legionite people were granted their
freedom. They could now rebuild their society in a
fashion without the tyranny of slave-masters, and they
danced in celebration, and sang with joy.
On that day, upon the completion of their efforts, the cancerous
fires of industrial life forever ceased its burning upon
the Legionite homeworld. And from its ashes rose a star
of unbridled greatness—a massive transport vessel, large
enough to contain no more than exactly one dozen
Legionite warriors, to fulfill their destiny ordained by
and in the presence of the Great Mandrala Himself.
Perhaps it was the simplicity of His observation that caused the
powerful eye of the Enlar to pass it over without proper
inspections, or the sheer cowardice of their will that
kept them from doing anything about it. For Mandrala,
simply plotting the trajectories of all recorded
in-bound Ignus transports, quickly saw the Ignus’ place
of origin: where they had sparked the fires of disaster
upon the universe. And thus, the den of serpents
uncovered, the Prophet prepared himself for the most
renowned act of selfless courage that the universe has
ever known…. |
