Rise of a Legion Read online

  “It’s coming from the stairs!” Valiic called out.

  We both glanced at each other. Our matching petrified eyes would have told anybody we knew what ungodly creature was headed our way. Valiic, only a few meters away from the last dytirc, bashed him against the wall.

  Looking at my cyberwatch, I yelled, “It’s the second to last door to the left! Use your burners!”

  “Maelkii aren’t fast, you see,” he retorted.

  With the stomping echoing ever so close, our dread was realized. Up the stairs came running a granite-skinned, nearly indestructible, towering boultha. A beast grown in a garden of hard-granite, durable and strong as hell. After bashing into the wall, causing the skyscraper to shake, it growled and stampeded toward us.

  “It’ll be tapping our ass cheeks in thirty seconds tops!” I yelled as Valiic burst through the doors to the room where the beacon had led us.

  “He’s not here!” Valiic shouted. “It’s just a storage room!

  Contents

  Milky Way Galaxy System Map

  Concept Art

  Mentioned Alien Species

  Chapter 1: The Masked Man

  Chapter 2: Loss of Family

  Chapter 3: A Mystery Arises

  Chapter 4: Twisted Childhood I - The Beginning

  Chapter 5: Twisted Childhood II - Tortured

  Chapter 6: Twisted Childhood III - Boot Camp

  Chapter 7: Reunion

  Chapter 8: Freak Show

  Chapter 9: The Hunt Begins

  Chapter 10: Ghost Town

  Chapter 11: Guilt

  Chapter 12: Kemmer’s Bar

  Chapter 13: Hunters

  Chapter 14: On the Hunt

  Chapter 15: Infiltration

  Chapter 16: The Galactic Hotel

  Chapter 17: A Tough Choice

  Chapter 18: Know the Land

  Chapter 19: Nightmare

  Chapter 20: Bugged

  Chapter 21: Taking Control

  Chapter 22: Ambush

  Chapter 23: Costly Mistake

  Chapter 24: Last Words

  Chapter 25: Break Out

  Chapter 26: Revelations & Repercussions

  Chapter 27: Aftermath

  Canon Fodder (Glossary)

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  Milky Way Galaxy System Map:

  Concept Art:

  Mentioned Alien Species:

  Alliance of Republic Worlds (ARW)

  ➢ Dor’o

  ➢ Humans

  ➢ Maelkii

  ➢ Qwayks

  Wersillian Legion

  ➢ Dytircs

  ➢ Lycargans

  ARW Supporters

  ➢ O’garks

  ➢ Plowsu

  Species Loyal/Colonized by the Wersillian Legion

  ➢ Gatero

  ➢ Plauranians

  Neutral

  ➢ Jenjarians

  ➢ Omelics

  ➢ Yuerr

  Extinct

  ➢ Devisors

  Chapter 1: The Masked Man

  March 15, 2103

  Kalvin Keefe

  A hundred years in the past, there existed a common myth that redheads would no longer exist; a genetic fault that would correct itself over a century. Here we are, a hundred years later, and merely one still exists. The last redhead.

  There was something Kalvin Keefe detected when he initial encountered the redheaded boy as just a mere child. He discerned it then just as he still does to this very instant. That intuition is what brings him to his current expedition for more juicy information. And that expedition has concluded at a solitary room that conspiracy theorists would forfeit their left eye to witness or even have its existence acknowledged.

  The dark and shadowy room Kalvin was in was like a place out of time, a place that could be used to rest without consequence. The darkness, in that way, was a sanctuary, a place to recharge and disremember the universe. Nevertheless, with the whole Milky Way Galaxy at war, how could Kalvin let himself succumb to the temptation to relax? He was too important for that; too needed.

  Kalvin flipped open a lighter and lit the torch just above him. The room was visible. Just as he anticipated, there was a coffin at the center of the room, decorated in Egyptian hieroglyphs, as were the limestone walls. Behind the coffin and around the back corners was an elevated platform full of pottery, jewelry, and other treasures; just what he projected to find in a undisclosed, nameless tomb concealed below one of the pyramids.

  It was time to make his play. Kalvin slid off the lid of the coffin, which was surprisingly thin and light. Nothing was inside. He then opened a book as ancient as these pyramids to a bookmarked page.

  From his bag, Kalvin set a wooden mask in the coffin, then pulled out the skull of a jackal by the eye sockets and set it to the right of the mask. Succeeding that, he took a container full of gold dust and poured it over the other ingredients, the next of which was graveyard dirt. Lastly, he took a blade to his palm and sliced. Kalvin grimaced as the blade drew liquid crimson, and he squeezed so the blood would trickle over the rest of the ingredients. His blood was absorbed by the gold dust and dirt.

  The coffin began to hum, and miniature rings carved at the edges glowed a black light. “I have come to make a deal; a bond unbreakable,” Kalvin spoke in Coptic.

  As he pressed the square hieroglyph emerging from the front of the coffin, the pyramid above Kalvin shook. But it persisted for only a few seconds before everything went dead. The coffin stopped glowing and humming. The torch had snuffed out. Even Kalvin’s cyberwatch shut down. Darkness.

  “Damn.” Kalvin fiddled with his cyberwatch for longer and longer. A minute ticked onward. Nothing. He was trapped in darkness.

  “Let me help you.”

  The unknown voice raised the hairs on Kalvin’s arms and legs, and he partially tripped over himself. His heart froze in time for a split second before a chill rushed down his spine.

  The torch in the corner relit, and he beamed his gaze towards the direction of the voice.

  There was a being, resembling a man, though some of his proportions were just a bit off. He wore a short kilt that was lopsided to his right. Both legs were wrapped with cloth that went past his knees. The same cloth wrapped over his chest and left shoulder. Furthermore, the male being wore a black spiral-patterned mask that focused and spiraled around the eyeholes. Through the holes, Kalvin saw eyes like a human, with the irises glowing gold. With golden-brown, spiky hair and mixed color skin, the man appeared at least closely related to a human.

  The mystery man put his hand on the back of his neck and shook his head as if trying to mend a strain. “The path to your galaxy is hard to manage these days. And with the worst summoning I’ve ever endured on top of that-- Whew-- I’m just glad I made it in one whole person. Yet… it has been a few centuries, so I will forgive the imperfections.”

  “Centuries?” Kalvin asked.

  “Since I was lasted summoned here to… what was it you humans called this planet?”

  “Earth.”

  “Could’ve sworn it was named something else last time.”

  “Then you are indeed ancient. Which means, despite all rationality and science, the summoning actually succeeded.”

  “And I thank you for that.” The eyes of the masked man smiled at Kalvin.

  “Forgive me, but I must know. I have noticed you are communicating in English. How is that possible? And who are you anyway?”

  “English? Whatever language you hear is just a trick of the mind that I use to speak with all. As for my name, I’ve been called thousands over my lifespan.”

  “This book names you Master of Secret, a man who knows a
ll.”

  “Rumpelstiltskin, Swallower of Millions, Sinnerman, Reality, Undertaker; call me what you like. It does not matter.”

  “But you must have a real name.”

  “If it matters so dearly to you, call me The Broker. I feel that name should suit your style. So… what is it you desire most in this world?” The Broker asked.

  “As in anything I desire, you can grant me?”

  “Not anything, but most things, and only one thing per customer. Though… don’t ask me to end your war. That’s something I’m not allowed to do,” The Broker said. Kalvin figured it would not be that easy.

  “The price?”

  “Your soul.”

  “WHAT?!” Kalvin's jaw dropped.

  “Upon your natural death, of course.”

  “What if I… what if I find another to trade their soul to you on behalf of myself?”

  The Broker laughed. “In all of… well, forever, no one who has summoned me has ever thought of that. Though, if you can find some lowly sucker to forfeit their soul, then you have a deal.”

  “Perfect.” Kalvin grinned.

  “Before you go soul-searching, I wonder of your wish.”

  “I have a student at the moment, a redhead named James Stone. There is a spark in him, and I want to know more of his future if you can handle it.”

  “Ahh, the future. Such a mysterious thing; like a chain of rivers all starting from one lake and ending at another, but it’s the in-between that is the fun part. While I cannot say in absolutes, I can say in likelihoods as to his future paths, and even how to direct him down certain, desirable roads.”

  “Perfect. I will commence my travels of nabbing you a soul.”

  “James Stone,” The Broker mumbled to himself. “What an interesting set of paths. And many of them crucial to the outcome of the very fate of the galaxy. An adventure is truly in store for that lad. Rahaha, I guess you can consider that slip of my tongue a sneak peek as to what is to come, Kalvin.” Kalvin noticed the man spoke his name, though he had never introduced himself. “Since you summoned me here, I might as well make the most of my limited time by searching for willing souls.” He snickered. “I have a feeling we will speak again very soon.”

  The Broker evaporated into black particles until Kalvin could no longer perceive him. However, it mattered not to Kalvin what the masked man did for the time being. His only focus was convincing someone with something to lose to offer his soul in exchange for having that something fixed. It would be the simplest way, anyhow.

  On those thoughts, Kalvin began his crusade.

  Chapter 2: Loss of Family

  September 17, 2111

  James Stone

  There was a time when war had rules. War crimes would have their justice, and the victors would determine history. No such guidelines or punishments exist anymore. Anything goes.

  War. Loss. Two horrors that go together like guns and ammo. Scale that up to an intergalactic setting, and out pops a recipe for misery and grief. Almost a decade deep into a losing war, and there's still no end in sight.

  In the year that I've been a soldier, one hard fact has burned into my mind: War is chaos, and I love it for that fact. Not for the reason one might assume; I don’t have a lust for blood or battle. What keeps me here are the bonds forged in the fields of war, and those same bonds keep me fighting the good fight. Because without the family I’ve come to know, the family that's my unit, I'd feel as lost as I did before I first strapped on my military boots. But war is not without its bills, the biggest of which is lives. Sure, seeing men and women gurgle their last breath before my eyes pulls my heart down to my stomach, but the biggest gulp of pain I’ve had to endure was losing a member of my family. His name was Bremco, my unit’s former lieutenant and second-in-command. In just a few hours, we'll mourn his loss and celebrate all he gave before his passing at his Illumination Ceremony.

  The air was warm from the working crowd of people behind me setting up benches and chairs in preparation for the ceremony. At the front of the room, I stood staring down at a table. Its only contents were a thick, worn picture book, a camera beside it, and two framed pictures at each back-edge of the table. One picture was of my unit posing in front of our star cruiser’s bar, with Bremco in the middle, the other was of Bremco holding his daughter and wife in his arms; each picture represented one of his two different families.

  With my hand, I flipped through the picture book. It took me to family parties and get-togethers. It took me through the harrowing tale of how Bremco conquered a hike up Mount Servidio. It told a timeline of when Bremco met his wife, their marriage, and the birth of their daughter. Then came the pictures of my unit, followed by still-framed tragedies of war taken during our missions. Those pictures led all the way up until a week ago. Then it stopped. No more pictures.

  I was startled as a hand tugged at my shoulder and my best friend and fellow squad mate, Valiic, appeared to my right. “I knew I’d locate you in this room,” he said.

  Valiic isn't human. He's a maelkii male with glowing red eyes and hard red skin covered in the black, formal robes he decided to wear for the ceremony. He dwarfs me in size, as all maelkii do. Their species, on average, weigh roughly four times as much as humans and grow a few heads taller. They're also nearly nine times stronger than humans and have skin durable enough to act as a suit of fine-grade armor. Their eyes are like black abysses, with center glowing pupils, they have upside down triangular mouths, and their heads look too small for their bodies. Maelkii are the muscle in our armed forces; warriors at heart, they hold honorable virtues, such as companionship, loyalty, and self-sacrifice as trophies. And since many traditionalist houses believe lifetime partnerships lead to powerful armies, they encourage families to fight side by side with each other. They're the only species in our alliance allowed to do this.

  Gazing back to the table, I forced a half-smile. “Bremco loved to take pictures. Sad to see that as the photographer, he's in so few of them.” Looking back to Valiic, I loosened the tie on my suit.

  “How are you handling yourself? You know what happened was unavoidable. It wasn’t your fault.”

  I chuckled. “You said the same thing to me in a dream last night.”

  “Sounds like an intelligent man. I’d heed the advice of us both if I were you.”

  “Still… can’t help thinking about those seconds before he got shot… what if I'd done this over that, that over this… could there have been anything that may have saved Bremco’s life? I-I can’t be the only one who feels that way.”

  “Everyone in our unit feels as you do, James. But standing alone next to Bremco’s memorial in grief won’t take away the pain. Surrounding yourself with your family… people who are going through what you are… that is how we get past this tragedy.”

  “You should tell that to your cohinla, Narrisa. I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and guess she’s in the sparring room.” In maelkii culture, a cohinla is a partner for life without the dishonorable option to separate.

  Valiic tilted his head to the side. “That she is. Narrisa has her… traditions when it comes to releasing frustration. She’s independent… she always has been.”

  “I don’t envy her sparring partner.”

  “According to her, you owe her a spar tomorrow,” Valiic teased.

  “Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Just another day of getting my ass kicked up, down, and all over by her.”

  Valiic chuckled. “I’ve told you probably a hundred times to use your faster reflexes and speed to overcome her superior technique and strength.”

  “And I’ve told you it doesn’t matter. Hitting a maelkii with my knuckles is like punching concrete, and believe me… that bullshivf doesn’t tickle.”

  “Fists are not the only tools you were given to fight with.”

  “If you keep reminding me, I’m sure I’ll remember someday,” I teased.

  He chuckled. “Never lose that wit of yours.” Taking a moment, he added, “Would
you care to join me as I search for our other squad members before the ceremony?”

  “I...ah… I'd rather lay down for a bit. It's been a long, hard day.”

  I could see sorrow and disappointment in his eyes as he nodded and left me to myself. You can always count on Valiic to try and keep the unit together during hard times.

  The room was nearly ready as the last benches were being put into place. I left the table and found my way to one of the padded benches at the front, where I let my weight rest in the comfort of the bench and drifted to slumber.

  There was a hint of burning cedar in the air. That was the signal that let my mind know I was in a dream. Strange, isn’t it, that I always smell burning cedar when I dream? I wonder how many others, if any, have some way of knowing if they're dreaming. Maybe I’m alone in this regard. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time. For me, when I dream, it’s like the dream is a movie but I’m in each scene as a ghost who can’t change the narrative.

  Humid air leaked through the doorway into the thrown-together rec room before me. While a WindMaker cooled the room at all angles, a tarp hanging from the doorway flapped around with each breeze. I could see myself, or at least a past version of myself, sitting on a wooden chair, with one foot on top of another chair, waiting, in the back corner of the mostly empty room; three worn-down wooden tables spread far from each other and chairs to accompany the tables like butter to bread. It was at that moment I understood this dream not to be a corny fantasy or dull fiction, but rather a memory of my first day arriving to the legionnaire training complex. It was there, on that day, I would began training as a legionnaire to fight in a newly shaping military. I remember the weeks leading up to this day from the past, all that time I spent alone, an outcast in an evolving society. In desperation, I sought company by joining boot camp, which later led down a path to the legionnaire training complex. I remember the hope I carried for my future and the doubts I had in my decision to join the military.

  I remember thinking the company was light for a training complex; two men, farther back, were engaged in conversation. At the time, I didn’t know the rest were scattered to other rec rooms, waiting to be summoned to the mess hall of the training complex.