Chapter One

  Oblivion-fated, the incarnate megalith coiled forth from the eon-wrinkled abyss. A mere trickle of time's sands had fallen since the ninth Levantikar arrived, assimilated into the Faehalion with its colossal brethren. Yet here, at the outer edge of the Beleth star system, the tenth approached. The Pirate King Talas beckoned its attendance seven cycles before, the esoteric construction through which he promised the departure of all pirate-kind. Although a blip in cosmic time, an insignificant fraction in the unfolding of history, those ensuing years changed the galaxy beyond recognition.

  The Navy was no more. Hordes of pirate loyalists scattered what remained of the once grand institution, leaving fragmented pockets of resistance, a thorn in the victor’s side. With the Admirals swallowed by Atlazar and the galactic government's skeletal trophies hung in the King's throne room, humanity's greatest empire lay in ruins.

  A new order was born out of the ashes: the order of Talas. From his flagship Galneus, he watched the final pieces of his plan slot into place. The Faehalion neared completion. The eleventh Levantikar navigated Seethe-space and would soon join its siblings as part of the great ring, the gate to Elyssia.

  Preparations were underway. As with each subsequent arrival, a grand celebration would take place. It was the turn of Lady Maldreska and her crew, the troupe Malice, to play host aboard their elaborate Dreadnought, the Siren. An event to welcome the mythical serpent was but a subtle pretext for the Lords to genuflect before their King. They had been in fierce, relentless competition ever since that day on Golgotha, never squandering a chance to win favor with Talas. As a result of this immature point-scoring, bonds that had weathered the great work withered away into bitter rivalries. Even Kaligan and Malig, sworn brothers and the closest of the Lords had, on more than one occasion, drawn blood in the pursuit of glory. Though, no matter the depth of effort or how cunning and nefarious the scheme, Khan remained the right hand of the King, a position jealously coveted by all that bore the rank of Lord. This arrival would be no different.

  As it always did, the gathering took place in the shadow of the Faehalion. The pirate armada would be shepherded from their respective galactic zones by a vessel that outshone them all: the Ligera Vengaza. Construction on the Citadel class ship culminated three years after Talas's awakening. Content to remain aboard Galneus, Talas offered the vessel to Khan, who eagerly accepted. He bestowed upon the vessel a fresh title in honor of his late brother, Volkurn — a new Basilica and the spear that would gore any resistance on their path to paradise.

  Though common sense and mathematical odds had branded such actions suicidal, attempts to stopper the pirate's ascension were frequent and coordinated. Led by the remaining naval Captains and those sympathetic to their cause, a militia had formed: Snapdragon, a throwback to the floral monikers given to the galactic government's hubs of civilization. The six sister stations were a prime target for those wishing to disrupt the pirate's grand plans. Now claimed by the Pirate Lords, they were hotbeds of criminal activity, yet easily infiltrated by those with prior structural knowledge. Despite this, to call Snapdragon's attempts successful would be generous. Though most raids resulted in pirate casualties and the pilfering of crucial supplies, the rebellion always lost more than it gained. Both Orchid and Hyacinth stations were key targets for resistance forces, the dwellings of Malig and Noctei, respectively. The Navy, eager for revenge, placed their former comrade as critical priority on the hit list, assaulting the stations with lethal intent. Though the raid demonstrated a startling show of defiance to their enemies, both attacks failed to eliminate their intended targets, forcing the resistance to flee back into the Seethe, licking their wounds and planning their next attack.

  ——

  Maldreska would leave nothing to chance. Crowded docking bays heaved with revelry, disorder, and violence. It was the evening of the assimilation, and pirates arrived in their droves. The bloated ranks filled the lavishly decorated spaces, spilling out into the gallery-esque hallways ascending toward the grand hall. Untold thousands of paintings, sculptures, and artifacts fattened the Siren with a wealth of stolen culture. Every civilization in the galaxy was represented in some form or another. Hung on the walls like trophies, the sheer volume of genius overshadowed their uniqueness. Though impressive, the works of art were largely ignored by the shambling mass, eager to gaze upon the true jewel of the armada.

  The grand hall reeked of opulence — another venue crowded with priceless relics of imagination, the walls dressed in artisanal silks and gold stitch. Maldreska seemed to have looted the entire galaxy, displaying her spoils in the most distasteful manner. Seven thrones occupied a raised dais, leering down at the masses. At the center, King Talas awaited the arrival of his Lords. As had become tradition, the thrones flanking him seated Khan and Maldreska, both clad in excessive finery. Khan remained faithful to the aesthetic adopted by him and his brother: a tailored suit with a long-backed, high-collared jacket that shadowed the thick sideburns foresting his cheeks. His protruding chin presented the diamond-studded teeth of his bottom jaw, glistening against the over-bright, chandelier-lit hall.

  A fountain of extravagance, swirls of platted hair sat atop Maldreska's head in abundance. Two prominent, curled horns draped at either side of her face to mimic her King. Mountains of Tasipur fur buried her slender frame, an animal she had personally hunted to extinction. Clad in sapphire studded cruelty, the ivory-colored fur shimmered as she fanned her tastelessly decorated face. Both Lords eagerly anticipated the arrival of their peers, keen to witness the offerings with which they would attempt to conjure favor.

  A ceremony of intent crowned each assimilation event. Talas would task each of his Lords with collecting materials, weaponry, recruits, and individuals of particular interest — the Awakened.

  Kaligan burst through the marbled archway, shadowed by a thousand-strong barbarian horde. Behind him, bound in a series of Magnachain, traipsed an older woman, visibly past her sixtieth year. Despite her terrifying predicament, she wore a defiant smile that she presented to the Pirate King before being thrown at his feet.

  "It's true. The false King has returned." She barely finished her sentence before receiving a swift strike from Kaligan's plated hand.

  "My King, it's a pleasure to be back in your presence. I have gathered the Awakened as promised." He bowed as he spoke. Pride swelled in his eyes at the approving grin of his King, both Khan and Maldreska refusing to acknowledge his presence. Though Kaligan's spark of adoration would wane as it did after each gathering, his flame was not destined to falter, but to burn eternal in the eyes of his King.

  "Samael, where are the rest of the crew?" Khan asked, sensing an opportunity to expose weakness. Kaligan growled under his breath, daggers in his eyes.

  "An astute observation, Lord Khan. Somehow, she knew we were coming. Her hideout was rigged with explosives, which took out a vast contingent of my boarding party. Shatter-tank mines littered the surrounding asteroid belt, causing significant damage to our fleet. Even my previous Gallowmare was not spared from abuse. Those not lost in breaching the stronghold froze to death, shattered into a thousand pieces by the witch that kneels before you. If I were to err on the conspiratorial, I would speculate that she anticipated our arrival." Kaligan said, his gaze trained on Maldreska as he spoke.

  "No need to invoke conspiracy where incompetence will suffice," Maldreska added, keen to rub salt in Kaligan's wound.

  "Enough bickering," Talas said with a raised hand, shunning the room to silence as he stood from his throne.

  "Samael, you have completed the task valiantly. Repairing the Gallowmare will be the engineer's top priority, and the armada's finest soldiers will replenish your ranks. Well done, brother." Tears welled in Kaligan's eyes. Being addressed as an equal by his King overwhelmed him, a fact that visibly irked his peers.

  "Take her to Galneus," Talas ordered his men, returning to his seat and inviting Kaligan to take his.

  Many an hour passed before Neraka and Noctei boarded the Siren, both trailed by an excessive entourage and burdened with the spoils of war. Shipfuls of treasure had returned from the galaxy's outer reaches: innumerable vessels of every variation, deadly weapons capable of unfathomable destruction, and exotic spices and delicacies to feed the vast armada. They, too, were praised by their King, taking their respective places by his side. Together they gazed through the panoramic sky-dome at the majesty of the Faehalion. Although they had witnessed the ring of entwined serpents on many an occasion, the impossible grandeur of the living structure, the culmination of Volka's great work remained a perpetual wonder. They had taken the reigns of creation to steer the future in their favor, and despite humanity having abandoned their gods, the Lords knew they tampered with divine machinations.

  Streams of sunlight from the nearby star poured into the hall, illuminating the perpetual motion of the troupe Malice, who performed sublime feats of acrobatic prowess above their heads. To ensure an immaculate performance, each of Maldreska's crew wore a shock collar that activated upon a single misstep. With bruised masks of stolen sleep, they leaped from wire to wire, swing to swing, nimble and graceful amid their endless torment.

  Last to arrive was Malig, limping into the grand hall with a ragtag bunch of pirates. They carried a sack of eerily human proportion, each underling coated in a film of recently spilled blood.

  "My King," Malig fell to his knees before the throne line, resting a shaking palm on the lowest step of the dais.

  "Speak, Ravias; I am hoping for your sake that there has been a mistake," Talas said, his eyes trained on the offering.

  Malig gestured to his men to unzip the bag. A foul stench poured from the Plastrite sack, and from the shadowed innards fell a ghoulish arm.

  "Forgive me, my King, for I have failed you." Malig further curled his body, an embarrassing display of fealty that his fellow Lords observed with pleasure.

  Talas observed the ashen-skinned man spilling from the sack, recognizing him as the target Malig had been sent to retrieve. The Awakened were a precious commodity, and without them, everything they had planned would be for naught.

  "Before I have Khan kill you, I offer you the dignity to explain yourself." Talas allowed the sniveling man a chance to redeem his name before casting him into oblivion. Khan stood, readying his bolt gun for the execution.

  "He was expecting us, my King. He was one step ahead at every turn. The impossible occurred. The Bassalark took the first hit; our stealth tech failed to evade his foresight. He was warned!" Malig cast a murderous gaze along the line of thrones. Any one of them could have been responsible. They all had something to gain, some petty revenge for a perceived injustice. The antecedent cycles were laden with trivial betrayals, a game of politics that Malig had lost, his head now firmly locked in the guillotine.

  "A pitiable excuse, Ravias. This transgression marks your third strike. No longer will your ineptitude compromise the destiny of others." Talas readied himself to give the kill order when a rumble disturbed the proceedings. Confusion spread through the crowded hall. Chandeliers, tables, and walls vibrated with a troubling energy.

  "Part of the show, Maldreska?" Talas inquired.

  "Most certainly not." She replied, shooting from her throne and hurrying from the dais to her crew.

  "Find the source of the disturbance immediately, or I will have you…"

  Her orders were cut short as the ground exploded, engulfing all in a sea of flame.