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About Literature / Hobbyist IllinathMale/United States Recent Activity
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the banana is the fruit of the proletariat. down with the oppressive apple
What to write, what to write.

Well, let's see. It's one in the morning, and I'm bored. Therefore, I'm writing this, because I thought I'd have something to write, but I don't.

How am I? Fine.

How am I doing in the longterm? Good enough.

What the hell did I write this for? Fuck if I know, you're the one reading it.

To make this worth anything, here's a song. Congrats.

Gunfire rang out across the frozen valley, resounding off of the nearby snow-covered peaks and drifting off into the distance.

A battle, no rare sight in these times, but still unwelcome nonetheless.

“Captain Miller!” One of the men, a sergeant, shouted, reloading his rifle and peering into the raging storm. “Command says the weather’s just going to get worse! They’re sending a Vanguard to hurry it up!”

The captain in question, a long-time veteran of the Eridanus Void conflicts, grunted in reply. He ran a small diagnostic check on his HAZOP suit, and, assured the system was fine, activated the helmet’s lights. “Alright men, Captain Mackenzie’s got the big guns on the way! Keep the way clear, and watch for the bastard’s ranging sights!”

Such was war in the bleak and distant future, where the downfall of Terra and her nearby colonies cast the remnants of Humanity into the distant systems they once saw from the mountains and hills of their homeworld, longing to explore the last real frontier. Now, those very same explorers were fighting amongst themselves as factions vied for control over the last resource-producing worlds of the dying Union of Sovereign Colonies, in the farthest reach of the Orion Arm. Some within the fragmenting USC, such as the nigh-insurrectionist Callan Singh, were decidedly... unhappy with this arrangement. Singh, along with his rebels, exploded into violent rebellion, absconding with weapons and ships that were vital to the continued existence of the Exiles. Miller, along with a squad pulled fresh from the 21st Expeditionary, was in charge of bringing him back in line.

“Clear the landing site!”

Men scrambled for cover, darting out of the path of the falling vehicle, which slammed into the ground hard enough to throw snow high into the freezing air.

The H-109 Vanguard, known to the various branches as the "Guardian Angel,” was painted in the typical UCN colours, black with horizontal gradients of red and yellow that starkly contrasted with the blindingly white landscape. The pilot gave a thumbs-up, and disconnected the jumppack with a heavy thud.

With a grind of whirring machinery, the Vanguard converted from it’s drop mode to the anti-ground walker mode, with the massive HALVAS 60mm recoilless rifles mounted on it’s ‘shoulders’ and a rail rifle built into the left arm. The corvine walker stomped forwards, leaving a massive indentation in the freshly fallen snow.

“Move up, Sigma! We’re sending the bastards packing!”


“Strange, isn’t it?"

"I don't know if that would be the word I'd use, Mackenzie." Salun Kallamir, Vice Admiral of the remnants of the Sovereign Colonies' Navy, sighed. The world below had been giving them trouble for a long time, but now...
Now, it was a cesspool of dissension and hatred. No wonder Singh fled here. A frozen, dirty world, of little significance even in the days of the UEG and the Ikthari.

The other man, the Acting Captain of the Wrath of Zeus, frowned. "I'd never have thought we'd fragment so quickly. Only four years ago, we were fleeing the Fall of New Havana. Now? Now..." The man trailed off, glancing out at the tannish-white orb that floated so serenely below, the visage interrupted by the sight of one of the derelict picket frigates Singh had absconded with drifting in low orbit, surrounded by wreckage and discarded scrap. "Now, we're imploding. Too many opinions on what we need to do."

Kallamir rubbed the bridge of his nose, sitting down in the command chair. Reports were open on the holoscreen built into it's arm, but they were all of little consequence. He knew they all said the same.

"Captain Mackenzie," The Admiral stated flatly. "I am authorizing operation DEAD SILENCE. Notify the rest of the fleet, and get those troops back aboard. We can't afford another sacrifice."

Mackenzie, to his credit, merely hesitated for a moment. "Y-yes, Sir." He responded shakily, turning to one of the bridge crew and starting to pass out orders.

Sacrifice the few so that the many may continue. It's scary how easy of a decision it is.

Below, the war raged on.


“The Fleet’s authorized DEAD SILENCE? Here?”
“Yes, sir! Admiral Kallamir wants us in orbit, ASAP!”

Miller kicked a spent casing, watching it fly off into the haze left by the retreating storm. The Vanguard had already left station and headed back into the battle above the planet, which by that time had pretty much ended. Fragments of the enemy fleet were still falling, thudding into the surface like the footsteps of gods. “Hear that, Sigma? Our resident God's gonna pay those bastards a visit! Now, I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be here when he arrives!"

The gathered troops nodded, looking about each other and murmuring agreement.

"Then get your asses to the exfil! Dismissed!"

With a whisper of compressed Asalium, the transports from the Wrath of Zeus sat themselves down on a small knoll to the east, a few gunships providing overwatch and driving the invaders back further into the range. One of the dropships, marked with the ‘Bleeding Wing’ emblem of the 107th Airborne, landed just ahead of Miller and Sergeant Adams, the landing struts lowering and the side doors sliding open, allowing a man to step out and onto the hard-packed snow. His features were the dark tan of someone who'd spent a life in the sun, a result of the Admiral's origins of the desert world of Kanaak. His face was weathered, well-kept grey stubble framing his features, and accentuating his frown.

“Well, Captain, how did your troops enjoy their snowday?” The Admiral stated flatly, glancing about at the many landing and launching transports en route to the orbiting fleet. "Doesn't look like they made any snowmen."

Captain Miller nodded, leaning over and handing his datapad to the sergeant, who quickly hurried away. “No snowmen, sir, though there was one hell of a snowball fight.” Miller sighed, bracing himself as the hull of a Europa-class frigate slammed into the earth some distance away, the low boom of the impact sending a faint breeze whistling by. "Is it true? That DEAD SILENCE was approved?"

Kallamir frowned, taking out a small holoprojector and tossing it into the snow. It sputtered to life, showing a globular representation of the planet, then zooming out to include the system and it’s two counterparts in the sector. “We’ve got bigger troubles than backyard terrorists. Our friends back on Alnis have reappeared, and the Remnant Exclave is calling for all available ships to return, and assist with rebellions. The Kess have agreed to help, but..." He sighed, adjusting his coat as he collected the projector. "I don't know if we'll be able to weather this storm. Not intact, at least."

He turned and boarded the transport, leaving the stunned captain to stand in silence, pondering just how things had gone so wrong.


Beyond the viewscreen, the world burned.

The Fleet's heaviest ships had moved into standard bombardment orbit an hour earlier, and, at 0332 Standard, begun the operation. Seas boiled away under the onslaught, forests burned. Mountains were crushed into dust, and new landmasses were formed by the sheer fury of the bombardment.

It was as complete a destruction as if the universe itself had turned its ire upon it.

The bridge of the Wrath of Zeus was as busy as ever, as the navigations officer conferred with the standardized charts and shipboard AI to plot a course through the unfathomable depths of Neospace, home to New Lisbon, and the centre of what was left of USC space.

"Are ready to jump, Ensign?" Kallamir asked, pushing the button to shut the viewscreen shutters. "I've had enough of this place."

"Aye, sir. Energy coils are at ninety-six percent and climbing, which is well within acceptable standards. Transitioning on your mark."

The Admiral gave the holographic representation of Valhalla one final look, before nodding.

The End of All Things
A revision of an older story, spurred on by reading through my old writing. It was atrocious, so I spruced it up a little... Or, in this case, rewrote the damned thing. Hurrah.

Story belongs to me, the usual stuff.


Illinath's Profile Picture

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Welcome to this page. It's a nice page, huh? Made it myself.

So, I'm Illinath, and I'm rather uninteresting, really. I'm a writer, through and through, and I'm hoping to eventually write and publish a book! (Maybe.)

I mostly write sci-fi and fantasy, but hey, there's always room for something new.

Aaaand that's about it.

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tyrex420 Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
happy b-day! what tune might you be fiddling while Rome burns?
mdc01957 Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015
A happy birthday!
Illinath Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks! :3
mdc01957 Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2015
Sure thing! 
purplewondergirl Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015  Student General Artist
Illinath Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
purplewondergirl Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015  Student General Artist
How are you doing
Illinath Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
(1 Reply)
EmpressOfCuddles Featured By Owner Jun 1, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
"on my profile or something stupid." =P
Illinath Featured By Owner Jun 1, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
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