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….
“The key to
being wise, is listening and learning from other
people’s experiences. But you must live your own
life, and learn your own experiences for them to
have any meaning.”
–the old
Mandralor lore. |