CHAPTER FORTY

  Forged out of twelve

  Whole they are one

  To open the eye

  Of the blackened sun

  Composed eons ago in a dead language by a nameless prophet, only to be swallowed by history and forgotten. The inscription was discovered inscribed on the wall of a buried temple on a long-abandoned world and is believed to refer to the Levantikar. The etchings encircled a symbol many assumed represented a sun or a similarly significant celestial body. Surrounding the circular etching were depictions of twelve serpents, each swallowing the tail of that in front. Over the many millennia of recorded history, countless prophecies and explanations for their existence have emerged, each fresh interpretation more unhinged than the last. The religious regard them as guardians, created by God to oversee the universe, keeping their judgemental eyes focused on the goings-on of ordinary folk. Others fancied them more as destroyers in waiting. Biding their time until doomsday, then swallowing the planets whole until nothing remained but dying stars. Until recently, thousands of years had passed without a sighting, so the creatures were stowed away, assigned to myth and legend, and used to scare misbehaving children along with tales of the fearsome Pirate King.

  Denial of their existence had now become impossible. Half the galaxy had witnessed them in their full, terrifying splendor. These inexplicable events had brought forth a slew of fresh, unanswerable queries. The galactic populace was shaken by mythical occurrences, unable to separate reality from fiction. As news of Accrakos's destruction spread, a veil of panic blanketed the entire system.

  With the Levantikar's sudden appearance, Hail and his remaining fleet were forced to flee the area. The unpredictability of a creature that size was astronomical, and Hail couldn't afford to have it flailing anywhere near their ships. Retreating to the Fallonark and regrouping with the rest of the Armada was his only option. After the destruction of Accrakos, his suspicion of Cybel involvement almost certainly had teeth. Long-range scans of the remnants showed no sign of the Basilica, and only around a hundred synthetic entities were registered. Hail struggled against the notion that he was chasing ghosts.

  All Noche Protega personnel kept a wide berth as they scurried by the door of Admiral Hail's quarters. Humidity choked the entire level, forcing the workers to endure shallow, painful breaths. Heat waves danced through the tight hallways, imbuing the walls with mercurial illusion. Metallic surfaces became too hot to touch, and the security guarding his room was on the verge of losing consciousness. Hail was known for occasional outbursts, but this anger was all-consuming, and his crew feared being swallowed by his wrath.

  The elevator doors opened with a hiss. A blast of scorching air hit Hail's Lieutenant before he could take his first step, instantly drying out his mouth and throat. With a loosening of his collar, he soldiered on. Distressed looks radiated from the faces of the Admiral's guards, each balancing on his sword to prevent falling into an exhausted heap.

  "News from the Fallonark." The Lieutenant muttered in a raspy voice, desperate for water. The guards exchanged a nervous glance but stood aside to let him through.

  Molten steam poured down the Admiral's exposed back. His sweat-covered body glistened under the light of the white-hot metal surrounding him. As the Lieutenant tried to address the Admiral, he discovered, to his terror, the faculty of speech disabled. Desperate panting replaced any semblance of a discernible conversation, and after only a few seconds, he fell to his knees with a thud. Hail turned to witness the pitiful display of his failing subordinate, flailing under the influence of his uncontrolled rage. The Admiral closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and holding it at its peak. The glow of the metal subsided, and cool, fresh air washed away the arid atmosphere. The corpulent officer slowly pushed himself back to his feet, enjoying every sip of the cold breeze he could inhale.

  "News, from the Fallonark, Admiral Hail Sir." He said with his voice barely audible.

  "Go on." Hail relaxed into his stool and re-lit a half-smoked cigarette butt from his ashtray.

  "The Basilica has been sighted on route. Along with…" He paused, knowing the following words would elicit a fury he wished desperately to avoid. Hail's eyebrows rose with expectation.

  "Along with the Gallowmare, Sir." The words crept slowly from his lips in the hope they would take longer to reach the Admiral's ears.

  "Nonsense. It was destroyed. I saw the wreckage myself." Hail replied through gritted teeth.

  The Lieutenant's lips opened slightly, but his reply retreated into his throat, frightened by the Admiral's consuming glare. After a dozen uncomfortable seconds of contemplating, he leaned back, expecting the impossible to be explained.

  "The source of the repairs is still unknown, but data suggests that another ship came to the Gallowmare's aid. It has been suggested by the Fallonark that…" Again, he paused. This would be the third thread of bad news he had delivered to the Admiral, and he was unsure how many more he could survive.

  "An assembly is taking place, Sir. Rumors of the Siren straying from the Seethe have surfaced. Not only that, but a fleet flying the Pirate Lord Neraka's banner is currently occupying the space around Dahlia. Although, the Insidia herself has yet to be picked up by our scans."

  The revelation brought Hail swiftly to his feet. Marching toward the elevator, he was trailed by the struggling Lieutenant and the two recovering guards. Something was brewing out there in the darkness, and waiting around for it to rear its malevolent head was not on Hail's agenda.

  Two decades had passed in relative peace since the Pirate Lords last gathered. That reunion had resulted in one of the most significant disasters in recorded galactic history. Both sides sustained untold losses of life, and the government was left with an indelible blow to its pride. Their guise as protector of the galaxy's citizens was destroyed on the day that the flagship Eureka fell.

  With the Bassalark rotting in the depths of a frozen lake, only four Dreadnought class vessels remained, each wielding a devastating power that matched the Navy's own Citadel class ships. As the only Admiral on hand to deal with the unfolding situation, Hail had a difficult decision. With his Armada currently split between defending Golgotha and the Fallonark, they were vulnerable. Other vital locations were also at risk of attack, further complicating the matter. Probable targets were identified as the Hive prison colony and the less infamous Fort Terabus. Each location harbored assets of particular interest to the Pirate Lords, which they would doubtless be eager to retrieve.

  More of a vault than a prison, Terabus contained every valuable artifact, weapon, and vessel the Navy had ever confiscated. Both locations possessed highly advanced defense systems and dedicated personnel, but with no data on the scale of the enemy's offensive capabilities, their only option was to strategize blindly.

  Hail strode straight past his command throne, making a beeline directly to the navigations officer.

  "Inform Noctei that we're heading to Terabus. Send the destroyers to the Hive and inform all vessels in key locations to enter black alert. They're coming." For the first time, his crew could sense unease in his voice. His orders not barked or spat but delivered with a haunting gravity.

  Hail paced before the viewing portal with the cold sweat of anticipation dripping from his brow. Despite the unfavorable descriptions he had prescribed his fellow Admirals, their imminent arrival had stolen his focus. The might of the Naval Armada was not truly at its peak without their ships, and he knew that to weather the coming storm, they would need everything they could muster. Without it, their end was already written.