There But For The Grace of Gods, Go I. Chapter 1.

[Shadowfire 72]

Chapter One

 

Devoid of movement or light, the cockpit's only hint of life was the insistent hum and faint bio-chemical stink within.

Temperatures, unbearable to complex life, continued to rise.

Liquid helium coolant and blood were filtered, pumped over and over again, each cycle fractionally but inevitably hotter and dirtier than the last.

 

Willfully oblivious to urgent glyphs which vied for his attention, Pallas sipped at the heavy morning fog as if it were a fine liqueur.

He took time, such as it was for his enhanced neurons, to appreciate the various elements of recent violence which drifted on a lazy breeze like hot, sweet pepper and ozone.

 

Seeking calm, he allowed his mind to also linger upon and gently trace the fractal patterns of his shifting cloak. Ferns of ice, a shimmering skirt of tentacles, and deep, claw-like roots.

All around, frozen and tormented saplings looked little different than the cages of twisted steel through which they grew, among cracked and tumbling high-rise blocks. His own form all but invisible among them.

Another, insistent glyph appeared at the fringes of his vision and he mentally swatted it away irritably; already he was like a swimmer whose lungs were screaming for air, and this reminder only served to disturb his very tenuous serenity.

 

If he did not soon vent the toxins and heat from 30 intense hours of concentration in total stealth mode, one or all of his internal processes would certainly fail. If this did not kill him in slow, agonizing minutes, then the radiation of his own power-core might just do it first.

Distant on the horizon was a virtual beacon, pinned from orbit. It flooded the battlefield with an eerie light and was, deliberately, a source of hypnotic attraction to all his clan.

Yet, he knew too well that this would be nothing compared to the glorious and illuminating star that Pallas would be on every screen for a thousand square miles If he moved. If he breathed.

He had noticed, scarcely in time, the unmistakable flash of a UV laser across the landscape dissecting it as neatly as a surgeon with a scalpel.

So he knew that somewhere out there, as patient and invisible as he, was the wondering eye of a heavy titan-class sniper.

 

Titans. Impossibly fast for their immense bulk, and in this case having the power to rip him cleanly in two with a single, expert stroke.

Any detectable change in the landscape not predicted by his AI’s algorithms had to be analysed with extreme care in case it betrayed the waiting predator.

He was constantly vigilant, combining all wavelengths with echolocation through the ground beneath, even as it heaved, buckled and liquefied. With each new round of orbital bombardment from The Elyrion above, he was pulled further into the dirt, panic rising just as surely as his armour sank. Soon, his prison would become a tomb.

Meanwhile, and costing him dearly,  digital enzymes birthed (or manufactured depending how one looked at it), several especially unpleasant semi-intelligent mines and an emergency recovery kit. This latter could eventually purge his system, providing neuro-stimulants for his wetware and a hard but safe emergency reboot.

 

“Pallas!” it wasn’t a voice exactly. More like a very recent memory, planted directly into his cortex.  

“Pallas, do you intend to actually fight in this battle, or just sleep through it?”

“Frag you!” he snarled with alarm, and then had to check whether he’d actually sent that.

 

He was pretty sure the sniper was close enough that even Athena’s sub-space communication would bleed-through if the bandwidth was sufficiently wide.

Perhaps, he thought, he could use her unsuspecting presence to break the deadlock.

He almost felt guilty as the communications array dilated. But he was desperate and could afford no hesitation. With a thought, he set in motion the program which would bring about victory, or permanent death.

Even as his neural net pinged hers, even as he sent urgent requests and rapidly navigated emergency protocols, he slammed his array shut, jamming his own signal.

With Athena’s automatic responses unanswered, she had no time to clamp down the bandwidth before the volume rose, questing for him, attempting to break through the barrier.

 

Hers was a lonely cry into the wilderness.

Hungry, a Titan answered.

Edited October 17, 2017 by Shadowfire

[tweezers 1,034]

Approved.

 

-Minor reformatting.

 

Hey, this is really good. Is it an original story, or is it based off another book or movie?

[Shadowfire 72]

Approved.

 

-Minor reformatting.

 

Hey, this is really good. Is it an original story, or is it based off another book or movie?

 

Thanks man. It's entirely my own. I am doing an audio version also. Need to write the next part tho ;)

[g-force 1,000]

Please don't use complete white text. Use a slightly dim white text. It makes it easier to read. The story is really good.

[Merovingian 656]

:punch: looks great!

Edited October 17, 2017 by Merovingian

[Shadowfire 72]

Please don't use complete white text. Use a slightly dim white text. It makes it easier to read. The story is really good.

Good shout, I've changed it.

[g-force 1,000]

Now it's better