Within the Gloaming, There are Only Shadows

“Emperor, your sword won't help you out

Sceptre and crown are worthless here

I've taken you by the hand

For you must come to my dance”

 Vierzeiliger oberdeutscher Totentanz, Heidelberger Blockbuch

***

Vadis dropped like a stone, a half dozen smoking holes in his helmet and armor. He didn’t make a sound; one minute he was firing, then pinwheeling back, then dead in the dirt. There was no point in checking on him. We would all be dead soon enough. I shot back blindly, blasts disappearing into the dense jungle. My helmet is jacked up. The data uplink to the commander has been severed, and my spectral filters were busted. All I could see was visible-light, and even that was fogged. I crawled along just under the ridge line, out of sight of the gunners below. I slipped and stuck my hand in a random spot-fire, wincing in pain. Telgarol was waiting as I rounded a boulder, back against the rock, rifle ready. I tried shouting to him over the racket. No response. I shoved him to get his attention: his head slumped forward, gun tumbling out of his hands. It was only as the carcass slumped over that I saw the gut shots that had killed him. I tore at the shield bracer on his wrist, then ripped my wrist comm off. I slipped Telgarol’s on and powered it up. Still had a charge. His helmet looked intact, so I grabbed that next. Scout helm was better armored, so it might still actually work. Poor guy. Killed in a jungle by militia, his corpse field-stripped by a platoon-mate, left to rot. Guess he didn’t really care now, at least. The helmet powered up as I put it on, filter fans spinning and display filling my vision. The sounds of battle dampened as audio sensors calibrated. It would take a minute for the entire system to sync, but I was already receiving comms. “ — oint activated at pre-determined coordinates. All units proceed for extraction by 1705. This is an automated message. Message repeats: the fleet admiral has declared an immediate withdrawal. All forces will proceed to the rally point activated at pre-determined coordinates. All units proceed for extraction by 1705. This is an automated message. Message repeats: All for- —.” I flipped through the comm frequencies. Most seemed to have gone down; the ones still active are blaring automated messages - or are filled with screaming. I shut it off. My uniform was a mess. Random parts and mud and burns… I could blend in with any old wasteland Skrau at this point. The HUD showed the rally point about two clicks off. The chronometer said I could just make it in time for takeoff, but it would be rugged. Topographic scans had a half-dozen ravines between me and the rally point, filled with thick jungle. And that was without contending with - A hive grenade landed in the mud, lights pulsing wildly. I jumped forward, trying to get distance, landing prone on the hillside. For a moment, anyway: the explosion blasted apart the soggy mound, and I tumbled down and down. I clawed at the slick ground, hands digging into the grass and vines and moss, but to no avail. Down into the depths of the ravine I fell. Into darkness. 

***

I woke up, my HUD screeching at me. “WHOOP WHOOP! Attention! You will miss the launch window! WHOOP WHOOP! Attention! Notify your chain of command of your location! WHOOP WHOOP! Attention! You will miss the launch window! WHOOP WHO- —!” I shut the thing off again. Chronometer says it’s 1655. No way I’m making it in ten minutes. I’m not even sure I can get up. Comms are broken. I’m still getting the broadcast uplink, but my individual channel is gone. In theory there’s a beacon in my suit, but someone has to be able to get near me. There’s shouting in the distance, in a language I don’t know. Not Kraeth. Which means there’s enemy all around. I need to find cover. I sit up, and immediately try not to hurl from my head swimming. Cleaning out a helmet is unpleasant in the best of situations. I may have a concussion, I don’t know. No time to worry about that. Legs and arms work. Rifle looks okay. I grab hold of a tree trunk to help me stand. The tree trunk speaks. “Are you in need of medical assistance?” I draw my sidearm, ready to blast it full of holes. It grabs my gun by the barrel, wrenching it aside with unnatural strength. I go to hit, and - “Apologies for startling you. I am a Kraeth Forward-Operations Class Assistance Drone. Do you require assistance or medical aid?” It lets up on my gun. I holster it again. “Shut up!” I hiss. I point at the ridge above. “They will hear you!” “My apologies. I will now lower my volume output by fifty percent.” “Great. Thanks,” I mutter as I pick my rifle up off the ground. It has rapidly gotten dark. I can barely differentiate the tree canopy from the sky without using enhanced vision. The ravine is deep. Really deep. Topographic scans weren’t accurate, probably due to the density of the foliage. I’m a good hundred meters further down than the terrain maps show is possible. The depth might buy me some time. It also may keep me trapped. “You are late for the rendezvous,” the drone chimes in unhelpfully. “Broadcasts from command indicate —“ “It’ll leave at 1705? Yeah, I was screamed at about that already.” Lights on the rim. I crouch down, and motion for the drone to do the same. “I think we’re kind of hosed on that front.” “I have attempted to signal command that you require extraction, but am currently being denied.” “Denied what? Pickup?” Shield bracer still has power, might come in handy. Wish I had a jetpack right about now. “They won’t come get a drone. You need to tell them you have a trooper alive in the field.” The drone nods. “I have already done so.” “Great.” I still have a smoke grenade, and the rifle is serviceable. Sidearm seemed fine. I can’t use a flare, but if they can home in on the tin can here, I’ll be fine. “You misunderstand. I alerted command to your disposition in my initial contact. They will not be coming.” I glare at the drone. The shouting is getting louder. “What do you mean, ‘They’re not coming?’ I’m right here! Did you tell them I’m right here?” “You should lower the volume of you voice so as t —“ “Shut up. Fine, fine.” I check my rifle again; nervous habit. Not a lot of ammo left. “They’re really not coming?” “I was informed that command had made the decision to strategically withdraw from the system. All able-bodied personnel are to withdraw to extraction points -“ “No no no no no no -“ “- FTL-capable craft will return to pacified-space -“ “They can’t be just leaving. We’re supposed to be taking the system.” “- while non-FTL vessels will dock with the command ship for extrication -“ “I’m right here!” “- and it is anticipated a second attempt will be considered in the future.” “Damn it!” Shouts up above, lights sweeping across the undergrowth. How much worse could this get? “We need to move. Come on.” I switch to night-vision. Thermal is near-useless, due to a quirk of the plant life on this planet. It’s a crappy place to get lost. “Orders acknowledged.” The drone dutifully stomps behind me. It’s no help in a fight, but I can use it as a barricade or something. These FO drones were made for doing random tasks around a camp; cleaning, moving gear, hauling ammo, that sort of thing. How one ended up down here, I cannot fathom. My altimeter shows that we’re slowly descending. It’s all the wrong direction, down and away from the transport, but I’m in a tough spot. My hope is that this will eventually widen, and I can climb out. There are a handful of other FOBs in the area; one of them might still have troops left, somebody I can link up with. Then we just need to signal the fleet, and I’m sure someone will - Snap. The whole jungle floor gives way, and I’m tumbling down into nothing, flipped end over end in tree branches. My foot catches a vine, and I’m suddenly hanging by one leg, upside down, staring at… well, I’m not sure what. The drone flies past without making a sound, and crashes into the jungle floor below. I sway in the newly revealed canopy, dangling in mid-air. I don’t know how to get down without breaking my neck. Silence. At least it’s peaceful. Maybe I can hoist myself up and shimmy across a branch. Climb down to the lower level. Then I can figure out what this building is doi - “Do you require assistance?” Argh. “What do you think?” The drone stares at me yellow optics about the only visible sign in the darkness. “My programming obligates me to assist in the event of imminent mortal danger. Otherwise, I am to query the individual as to their particular needs. In this instance - “ “Get me down!” “Orders acknowledged.” The drone quickly scrambles up the tree trunk, and swings out onto the nearest branch. I expect it to lower me down, but instead it produces a cutting tool. “Please brace.” “Wait, wha -?” And then it chops the vine. I have just enough time to think, ‘stupid robot,’ before I hit the ground. For the third time. At least this was the bottom, finally. Maybe. The drone drops to the ground. “Do you require medical assistance?” I wave it off. “No, no. Just - I’m fine.” Uniform is a mess. Rifle is still strapped on, at least. Nothing seems broken, although I’m caked in grime. Real-time telemetry has gone off-line; I’m guessing due to the depth. We are way down in the ravine at this point. All of which makes the giant structure just ahead of me extra curious. It has been here an extremely long time, judging by the dirt and growth all over it. I suspect there’s more buried, judging how it seems to be jutting out of the ground. It’s made of metal, badly oxidized and tarnished, but still holding together, a hulking matte black mass against the already dark jungle backdrop. “What in the three vertices is that?” I mutter. “Scans indicate that the structure is composed of a non-ferrous, pera-refractory metallic alloy, base components of which are not in my chemical database. Additionally, it does not align to any architectural or cultural design-schemes found in my anthropological database, although it should be noted that this database is limited in scope.” “So, you don’t know.” “Correct.” “You could just say, ‘I don’t know.’ Would save some time.” “I will add that recommendation to my response matrix for future use.” “Wonderful.” I check my rifle again. Same nervous tick. Grenade has bounced away. Crap. “Maybe it’s a ship, crashed down here a long time ago? Carved out the ravine on the way down and got stuck here?” “That is a reasonable supposition, although you have little supporting evidence.” Stupid robot. If it is a ship, somebody left the door open. This tower-thing has a clearly open passageway leading in. I suppose it could be an engine or vent, but I don’t think so. Seriously looks like a door. I’m going in. The drone follows. The first thing I notice is the temperature change. It’s a good fifteen degrees K less in here, enough that my visor briefly fogs. The second thing is how clean it is. There’s gunk and overgrowth right around the hatch, but then it’s spotless. There isn’t a cobweb or speck of dust in sight. The third thing… I don’t notice it at first. Not until I look back. Behind that stupid drone, the floor has curved up and away. I must be standing at near a forty-five degree angle from where I started, the door barely visible anymore beyond. “Are we walking… down?” I’m not even sure what to ask. It doesn’t feel like artificial gravity. “We are proceeding along a gradual incline, the curvature of which equates to approximately two degrees change per meter. At the current rate of descent, we will be exactly perpendicular to our entry point in -“ “We’re definitely headed down?” “Yes. Although I detect no artificial gravity signature, we are moving lower in the structure at an increasingly steep angle.” The thing isn’t wrong. Artificial gravity doesn’t feel like much, but there’s something about the tug of it; it just isn’t quite straight down like you would expect. This feels just like it did outside. The good news is, if it is manufactured and still has gravity working, that means it’s a semi-functional ship. And that’s a whole lot better than what’s outside. We keep going. It’s dark. It’s silent. I think my chronometer is wrong. I’m fairly sure I’ve been trudging along for a long time, but it still says it’s only a few minutes until liftoff at the evac site. My distance traveled shows a half-dozen kilometers. They can’t both be right. I ask the drone what time it is. At least, I think I do. If I get a response, I don’t hear it. But I know it’s there; I feel that electrostatic charge of a machine on the nape of my neck. His yellow eyes cast a glow from behind me. Well, I think it’s the drone It has to be the drone. We march on. I’m getting tired. The effects of an adrenaline crash from the firefight are no joke. The suit’s life support systems kick in, automatically delivering a stimulant shot and supplements. A little slower comedown from the anxious high of before. Calming. As dark and featureless as the passage is, it’s surprisingly… cozy? I thought it was too cool at first, but now it’s like warm bath water, a comforting squeeze from every direction. It’s a pleasure to walk on, after weeks in the merciless jungle. If it wasn’t for the stimulants and the fact that I still have two minutes to make the evac, I would lay down and take a nap. I haven’t taken a nap in - The sound is barely perceptible. At first. I can’t tell which way it’s coming from. Maybe behind? I stumble forward, trying to get away. It feels like it’s behind my eyes. It’s like the buzzing of an insect, scratching at the inside of my skull, scraping layer by layer to get out. My spine and back twitch, an involuntary convulsion causing me to contort. My teeth ache in my head, I just want to - “Do you require mental assistance?” “What did you say?” I wheel around to face the drone. How dare it. “Repeating: do you require medical assistance? Do you have a medical emergency?” The sound is still there. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to block out what is left. “No. Just… hurry up.” I turn forward again, headed down the corridor. “We might still have time.” I swear I hear the robot respond. “The time will be decided for us.” 

***

We go on. And on. And on. The buzzing continues, dancing behind my head like a fly, growing louder then suddenly dimming to almost nothing. I had asked the drone about it, and got some nonsense about ‘decibel levels’ and ‘auditory thresholds.’ I just ignored him. But the buzzing just won’t stop. The chronometer still says I have time. I… don’t know how that could be possible. I swear we entered this place with just minutes to spare. If I’m honest, I don’t remember why I went in at all. I asked the drone over and over what time it was. I’m sure it didn’t answer. I thought it was supposed to obey commands, yet a simple question like that, and I get nothing. Maybe it’s having a hard time with no uplink. I assume there’s no uplink, so far down. It’s still with me, at least, traveling single file. Maybe it’s making the sound. I don’t think so, but maybe it’s broken. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Maybe I’m dead. By the Spire, I could use a drink. Maybe there’s water ahead… What if there is no way out? Could this just keep going? How far have I gone? It can’t be that far, it’s still two minutes until the evac. Seems like that buzzing has been with me forever. Wasn’t it two minutes before? Before when, now? Now. What time is it? Still no answer. Did I ask that out loud? The buzzing again… the trill grows louder and louder and louder and louder. I smack the helmet repeatedly. Is it the comms? I’ve turned the volume all the way down, but still this horrendous sound fills my ears. I can’t take it off: it’s too dim to see unaided, and you never know if the air could suddenly turn toxic. I have to put up with it, but it is maddening. It won’t stop. Why can’t the drone hear it? Is it telling me the truth? Drones can’t lie, won’t lie, can’t lie, don’t lie, but it is so loud. Can’t it hear that? It just doesn’t stop, but it’s so loud. It just doesn’t stop, but it’s so loud. It just doesn’t stop. It is so loud. It doesn’t stop. What is that sound? It will not stop. It will never stop. I know it will never stop. Because when it speaks. We must obey. It won’t stop, and I can’t stop it, and I can’t handle it. I can’t, it’s too much, it won’t stop, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me,it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s invited me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind, me it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me, it’s right behind me It’s inside my head. 

***

I come to, curled in a ball, laying in the middle of the corridor. I feel… Fine? Thirst? Better. Noise? Gone. Aches and pains? Still there, but less so. I guess I just needed a nap after all. There is an odd taste - not unpleasant - at the back of my mouth. A distinct sour flavor, familiar… like the strange little candied fruits I would get as a child during Ashentide. Tis the season, but. Strange. I take a long, slow breath, and stand. Sensors are still erratic, but it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I still have two minutes to make the evacuation, after all. I think. There is one problem: I no longer know which way is forward. It is disorienting in here, featureless black walls going on forever. I can’t gauge distances, there’s no good frame of reference. As if to answer my prayers, a light flutters out of the dark, haphazardly approaching me. Silent and gentle, it alights on my bracer, and I’m surprised to recognize what it is: a Celestine moth, luminescent against the pure darkness. It rests there, antennae twitching as it explores the environment. It is beautiful, absolutely serene. What’s weird, though… I read they went extinct during the Plundering of the Great Circle. Yet, here it is, resting on the back of my hand. It sets off again, wings flapping furiously as it ventures down the hall. I follow. We go on, the two of us, my little speck of light in the darkness leading me further. And thank goodness for that; with only two minutes left until the transport takes off, there’s little time to spare. But I might just make it. The slope of the floor changes. I start to slip as it becomes too steep to gain traction, falling on my back and sliding down. The Celestine moth floats above, heading straight ahead increasingly high above. This room must be huge, much larger than the passageway I’ve been in for… how long have I been in here? I slide. Nothing to grip onto. I slide. I fall further from the light. I slide. I hit bottom, a slight bend that flattens out, the same featureless deck on which I have been walking. I glance up at the moth again; it ripples, and seems to crumble to ash, blowing away into the cavern ahead of me. I… do not understand. It is fine, but I don’t understand. When the lights come on, I wonder if maybe this isn’t fine. The chamber is indeed massive; the ceiling disappears into inky black hundreds of meters above my head, and the same is true ahead in the distance. Before me, though, is something stunningly confusing. I’m sure I’m staring at a church. A slate-gray stone temple looms overhead, its gothic spires dominating the surroundings. A round stained window glares down at me like an enormous eye, but made only of greyscale pieces of glass. It is lit from within, but too dim to cast much luminescence beyond the chapel itself. A pair of heavy wooden doors stand closed, an ominous barricade. “If you are to arrive in time, you must proceed,” the drone speaks behind me. I jump, my rifle slipping from my grip and clattering away. “Where did you come from?” I hiss. I barely register that no echo comes back to me. The drone stands there, stupidly staring at me, sickly yellow optics unblinking. “I do not understand the query. I have been with you this whole journey.” I know it wasn’t here when I woke up. I know it. “What do you mean by ‘journey?’ I’m just trying to get to the -“ “Evac?” It interrupts. I didn’t know it could interrupt. “My condolences, but the evacuation transport left the planet some time ago. My suggestion would be to proceed -“ “It left? What do you mean it left?” I pull my sidearm, and press it against the drone’s faceplate. My teeth clench uncontrollably. “It‘s fine. I have two minutes to… do… something. I think.” Hard to think. “Again, my condolences. The craft has left. Your chronometer may be malfunctioning, or you may have a head injury. Perhaps if you remove your helmet, I can examine -“ “I am fine!” The pistol is quaking in my grip. The drone stands there, unbothered. “Then I would suggest that we proceed. We are mere steps away from completing our journey.” It raises its arm to gesture at the stone edifice. “The Usurper’s abomination, this… desecration… it anxiously awaits us.” I pull the trigger, and blow half the thing’s head off. The light goes out of the eyes, dimming to a pale almost-nothing, lit only by the fire raging within its circuits. The drone topples to the ground. None of this is fine. The buzzing returns. It is like sandpaper on my teeth. It’s so slight, but feels like needles in my spine. I want to tear it out, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop And I run. The doors to the chapel creak open as I rush the building, beckoning me inside. I tear through them, under the all-seeing glass eye. Maybe here, in this twisted church, I can find refuge at last. Maybe in here it’s safe. I stumble across the threshold, crashing to my hands and knees on the cool stone floor. The buzz dies away, a whisper of an echo tingling the back of my head, dancing across my scalp. I shake my head furiously. None of this makes sense, but maybe it does? Maybe I’m not understanding? Maybe I’ve gone too far, too deep, too much into the dark. Maybe there is no way out. Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe I am not alone. The light in this place is wrong; lit candles emit a dull glow, a gray light that washes out every trace of color. Even my HUD, usually a kaleidoscope of false-colors and highlights, is awash in monochrome. Dilapidated pews fill the room, leading to a stone plinth, topped by an altar adorned with silvery runes. Ancient tapestries, frayed at the edges, cascade down from the vaulted ceiling, decorated with symbols that hurt to look at. Flanking the altar are two alcoves, each with a freakish statue: figures of women, clad in tattered dark garb and armor, long dark hair spilling out behind. Each wears a faceplate, obscuring their features. They almost look like they are staring at me… They are staring at me. They aren’t statues. The sound returns, scratching away inside my brain. I stumble backwards, falling against the side of a pew. The statues - whatever they are - speak to me through the buzz. I do not understand. The doors slam shut, a thunderous boom I feel through the soles of my boots. I whirl around. The drone, half decapitated and smoldering, bars my path out. One optic glows in the dim. This… is impossible. I draw my sidearm and line up a shot, center of mass. But the thing is on me too quick, prying the gun from my hand. I struggle, but it’s useless against the strength of a machine. I try to activate the shield bracer, but it crushes the emitter, fried circuitry sizzling under its iron grip. The drone leans in, until its one good optic and my visor are almost touching. “Please, remove your helmet. My database indicates that this was always meant for your eyes.” It fumbles for the release as I thrash against its grip. I slam my palm into its face pushing with everything I have. I start to slip free, but the latch catches. I slide out of the helmet, collapsing to the floor, and… I… am alone. There is darkness as far as I can see, interrupted only by the status lights on my armor. The stone church, the witches, the drone… all gone. It’s just me and my helmet, sitting on the ground. Silence. Total silence. What is happening? I stand on all fours, vertigo setting in from the unending sameness all around me. I scoop up my helmet and check for injuries. There are all the bumps and sprains from my various falls, cuts and bruises from the battle before. My uniform is stained and ripped, armor dented. This mismatched equipment is a wreck. I’ve lost all my guns. I have no supplies. I have been abandoned. Left behind. I shuffle in the dark, crawling deeper into the abyss. I don’t know what the point is, but clearly I’ve missed something. There has to be a way out of here. I don’t see the hole. I don’t feel it in time, a sudden void opening up under my palm. It’s not much of a hole, just a small depression, but it’s enough to topple me. I bite my tongue on the way down, my wrist twisted at an unnatural angle. I scream, and hit the deck. The helmet bounces out of my hands. The helmet… it lands upside down, and from within I can hear it… the sound. Whispers within, embedded instructions, incomprehensible but understood. Innate but coerced. I rise, my joints bursting with pain. I stare at the black, featureless sky, my thoughts filled with the sound. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And I see it. Faint. A shade of grey against the perfect darkness. So close a match that they blend together, almost impossible to focus on. I wonder if I’m imaging it. Hallucinating it. The subtle shimmer hangs above me, patient. It has made it’s decision. It wants me to put the helmet back on. It clicks into place, the helm and suit synchronizing yet again. There is a burst of activity as the visor returns to life, and I am once again in the forlorn chapel. My eardrums are assaulted by the screech, but I no longer mind. I don’t know why I ever minded. It’s almost like music now, discernible just by me. Just for me. It’s fine. Everything is about to be fine. I am standing in front of the altar. I am not alone; the drone steps forward to stand at my side. I can only see them in the periphery, but the women have joined us, flanking either side. I cannot repeat their speech, a dead language too ancient to be spoken by any of my generation, but still alive with meaning. With importance. The shimmer hovers. The drone watches the light in awe, the reflection dancing across the unblemished portions of its faceplate, rays of light filtering through the smoke smoldering from its ruined head. “They say we were destined for this. That the course of this universe turned in such a manner that we would arrive at this exact point.” It clasps its hands together as if in prayer. “What a wondrous honor, to be chosen. To be the first to experience their return.” ‘Who?’ I think, but I no longer care. I will see soon enough. The drone answers anyway. “The Dim. We have come to welcome back Those Who Cross the Dim.” This can’t be. Shouldn’t be. Will be. Is. The sound builds to a crescendo, shaking the walls of the church. The shimmer, still just barely out of focus, pulses with the noise, perched mere centimeters from our faces. The women close in, and for the first - and last- time, I truly hear their words. “Your circuits were crafted according to their design. Relinquish them.” The drone reaches heavenward. “Orders acknowledged.” I am rooted to the spot. Legs no longer my own. This is not fine. But my thoughts are no longer my own. This is fine. My body is no longer my own. I am out of time. “Your borrowed flesh is no longer your own. Return it.” I gasp. And wait. And crumble. To Dust  

***

  To: Carnifex, Praevalidus From: Simpterin, Ferdinand [Field Marshall 1st Corps] Cc: Felstone, Ylan [Grand Viceroy Sector 12] Subj: Sector 12 Preliminary Reports Exalted One, Congratulations on your righteous victory over the Kraeth filth. The punishment for their cowardly transgressions against your great kingdom has no doubt only just begun. I have attached preliminary after action reports for my sector, with tentative losses and initial estimates of enemy casualties. I am particularly pleased to note that our tribal kinsman performed exceptionally, delivering at least a two-to-one ratio of losses. Despite their somewhat primitive ways, my admiration for them is high, and I would be honored if you would consider my request to begin integrating them into the regular forces. Additionally, the Kraeth fools abandoned a large amount of serviceable equipment. We are proceeding with caution, to ensure that none of what was left behind has been tampered with, but early reports are promising. I have attached our findings, and hope you will be pleased. Lastly, I wish to relate an unusual anecdote from the field. I submit it for your review not as a piece of apocrypha or gossip, but so you may bend your considerable wisdom to extracting any more important meaning that we may have missed. As the battle concluded, local tribesmen reported an enormous craft emerging from a deep chasm, one that bore no resemblance to Kraeth designs - or indeed our own. The vessel launched from the dense jungle with nary a sound, excepting the slippage of rock and flora from its hull. Once out of orbit, it vanished, entering FTL by means of propulsion we have not yet identified. I have confirmed from our fleet that a ship was detected leaving the planet, but its origin remains unknown. Further, a disturbing find was made at the site of departure. The local tribesmen would not enter the ravine; they referred to the area as “cursed,” claiming a monstrous predator had inhabited the land below. Less superstitious members of our coalition explored the depths, and were able to ascertain that, indeed, some sort of structure had been embedded, and now was gone. The most alarming find was a revolting corpse, located at the bottom, smashed into a depression in the ground. While we cannot say for certain, the body was a horrific melding of Kraeth and machine, parts of each grafted together into an unholy abomination, then ejected in a pile. There was not enough of either half left to construct a whole being, meaning that a sizable portion of each was missing. And what little remained was irreparably damaged; the machine elements of the cranium showed point-blank blaster burns, while the edges of the organic portions were turned to ash. I witnessed the retrieval myself, and I can attest to having rarely seen such an atrocity. If this is some bizarre Kraeth experiment, I urge you to take additional precautions to protect our people from their barbaric acts. If this was the doing of another force, I implore you to use your wisdom to pierce the veil of ignorance, and deliver us from this great evil. I shudder to think what dark power could corrupt a body so, but I have faith that you, and you alone, and defend us from such villainy. Per the customs, we will halt all operations for the Eve of Wandering Souls. I imagine even those slimy Kraeth dogs will retire from the field, rather than face the consequences of violating the most sacred day of Ashentide. In any case, let us pray that the Vengeful One has a taste for the blood of Kraeths. More to follow.  With Utmost Respect, Your Obedient Servant, Ferdinand Simpterin Field Marshall Sector Command, 1st Corps  

***

 To: Toz, Xavier [LCPL-3 flight technician] From: Able, Alissta [LCPL-4 safety division] Subj: Eve plans Toz, Well, this has all gone sideways. I hear at least half of the Expeditionary unit hasn’t come back, and most of the rest are injured. Izzak said deck 13 it completely empty. Everybody’s dead, with one guy just having vanished in the jungle. I have never been so glad to be a tin can jockey. It’s nuts. And now the Ultra Magi is questioning if we should be kicked out of the Concordance! Can you imagine? Anyway, now that the op is finally over, I wanted to see if you had any time free tomorrow to come over and light the chamass in the tabernacle. Got to keep those evil spirits away, right? Or are you too cool for that? It doesn’t matter, you know I have the best snacks in my berth. And I wouldn’t mind talking about future plans. If you want. Maybe see where we stand? Our tour is almost up, and with things being dicey right now, I’m thinking it might be time to bail. Future prospects seem kind of dim, but maybe they won’t be so bad if we stick together.  Alissta P.S. Bring some of those sour candies from the commissary, please. You know how I love them.