This is the IC thread for Jace v Johnathan Alexander.

It will be Jace’s Ikari against Johnthan’s Hellion of Val’gara

The battle method will be Open - Hybrid, and the rules have been decided in the OOC thread.

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<“And fifteen billion died that day.”>

He recounted the story amongst his followers like it was nothing special, just another conversation. For all the emotion and inflection in his tone it could have been the recounting of a baseball game. However, Hellion spoke of one of the many fuel runs he’d been on in his time. The much needed source of energy was the reason for billions upon billions of deaths. Not just at the hands of The Hellion, though, definitely not. Death came in many forms when dealing with the Val’gara, but Hellion’s specific brand of death was, more often than not, excruciatingly gruesome - at least for those who felt the pain of it.

It was the shock on the faces of those who always came with him that brought a genuine smile to the Herald’s face. A smile which, more often than not, was sinister, cruel, and sometimes just outright disparaging. Aboard the Scourgebearer, a method of traveling favored by Heralds in this day and age, his followers listened intently, some of them smiling and feeling the very same sensations Hellion recounted with his mental voice. They felt the blood seeping from the victims of their feeding, saw the life slowly ebb away from their eyes of their meals.

It was not some amazing oratory talent which Hellion possessed that sent these feelings slowing through them, nor was it as simple as them having been there, for these had not. Fresh off the presses, these soldiers had never entered into a full-scale battle, though their day was soon dawning. No, they felt the sensations, saw the sights, not through their imagination but through the iron-clad link which formed itself between Hellion’s mind and their own. The Hive-Minded mentality brought with it a plethora of intrinsic worth, like knowing at all times what the others around you were going to do, to better formulate tactical strategies and coordinated assaults. But, sadly, it had its drawbacks as well. The inability to ever keep a secret, to share experiences - no matter how personal - with everyone around you, at all times. That was something Hellion had yet to grow used to, but he had no choice in the matter now.

Once, of course, he’d had a choice. A long, long time ago. He’d knelt before Anathema, and literally begged to become Val’garan. It was a choice he’d never regretted, though at times he wondered why he’d ever succumbed to his desire for more power. Power he’d gotten in copious amounts, but with it he’d lost all semblance of freedom and free-will. He could, of course, think for himself, but he could not disobey the orders of Idea, nor of Idea’s sons. As much as he wanted to, he was a mind-slave of a group which he no longer believed worth it. A group he no longer wanted to be a part of, but fight against it as much as he wanted, he had no choice but to obey his superiors.
As he sat, pondering his fate, his lack of freedom, and what story to next relay to the general cataclysm under his command. His internal musings quickly died out, giving way to a new feeling which radiated (through the horde as much as himself) of unyielding hunger. Bio-Force was needed, it was time to feed the minions of the Horde.

A suitable planet was nearby, the Scourgebearer was projecting images of it in his mind. It was inhabited, but only mildly in comparison to some other planets. It would sustain this minor task force for some time, however, and that meant it would be enough for Hellion…for now. Soon, he’d have a new story to add to his repertoire.

And they cried out with a loud voice;
Weep for she comes. Bow before the ruin blooming before her path.
None can hide from the face of her wrath, from the rod of her judgment.
Lo, the Angel has come. The True One has risen amongst us, and she reigns forevermore.
Praise be to the Angel, the True. Praise be to She which sees on high and down into the low.
And they cried.

-= Remnant from the Book of Truth, banned by Ikari in the fifty-third year of her reign on Medius.




The world of Medius, once called Media, was one of metallic design. The entire population was situated in one city, also called Medius. It spread for several thousand miles in each direction, a rippling unbroken sea of shining and sparkling landscape bare of anything resembling nature. In place of trees rose tall silver spires which provided the same effect, thought much more efficient. Where rivers and lakes would lay there were instead carefully controlled retention ponds and aqua ducts. Once it had been a hub of technological study and research, a base of operations that acted as the center of communication for one of the largest factions of the Multi-Verse. After its fall though, the person known as Ikari, sometimes Kauri, claimed it as her own.

In the direct center of the City, the very world, rose a single tower. It dwarfed all other structures on the planet, breaching the clouds in its unnatural height, rising like a thorn to pierce the heavens. It seemed to be all of one piece without break or pause on its surface, forgoing doors and windows, balconies and alcoves. Few had ever been invited to the Tower, and those that had were rarely seen again, for it was here that She held the seat of Her power and from which judgment flowed like an avalanche.

On the days that Ikari ruled she could be found in the lowest depths of the Tower, sitting upon a metallic throne crafted of circuits and sheets of transparent metals, connected to the very heart of the world, dispensing her wrath with the barest brush of a thought. A man stealing an apple in the Organic Market would fall to his death as her warriors, the multitude of miniscule nano-machines, swept into his heart to cause its functionality to cease. The smallest infraction, the barest breaking of Her laws, meant death. It was all rather boring to be honest, but there was no other place for her at the moment.

In direct contrast, when Kauri rose to the surface, which was more often than not, she could be found at the peak of the Tower, where the only greenery was to be found in the entire world. It was there that her garden flourished; a place of knee-high grass, blooming roses and sunflowers, butterflies and birds.

It was here that Harken found her, the girl-queen. She had begun her reign in his youth when the world became hers, and while he grew old and bent, she had yet to gain a single day. To his old eyes she appeared no more than sixteen, and that was pushing it. Dark hair fell about her shoulders as she rested in the grass, one hand outstretched so that one of the many colorful butterflies could rest upon the tips of her fingers, slowly walking along them. He stared at her for a moment, loathe to intrude upon his mistress with the news he carried, especially on such a lovely day as had dawned.

To be honest, he was afraid that with his news would come the change. Her hair would shimmer from raven black to molten silver and she would sweep past him as though he did not exist, and he would not see her again until Ikari once more subsided, for he never ventured to the lower levels of the Tower.

“If you stand there any longer Harken, you will begin to grow roots and I will be forced to water you daily,” she said in her soft musical voice. Her breath ruffled the delicate wings of the insect still inspecting her fingers, but it did not take flight.

The old man bowed with hands upon his knees and body bending until his torso was parallel with the ground. “I would not wish to trouble you with such duty, my Queen,” he said, just as softly. “I wish I did not have to bother you with this, but I am afraid it will require your immediate attention.”

“And what is this that shall require my immediate attention, Harken?” Her voice was still soft, unchanging, most of her attention devoted to watching the butterfly as it fluttered up, then landed once again on the tip of her middle finger.

“A-a ship, my Lady. We have run it through the databases, and it appears to be hostile by its description and signature, which matches some known records. Mass devastation seems to be the most common link.”

“Stand, harken. What if you became stuck like that? Then I would have to carry you to your rooms,” she said, seeming to ignore his words. A smile softened her admonishment, and even brought a quick quirk to his own lips as he unbent his creaking body. The smile was fleeting though as worry creased his wrinkled forehead further.

“What shall we do my Lady?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Destroy it immediately and then activate the Orbital Diffusion Field, to burn up any debris that might find its way to the surface. Use Reactive Photon cannons from the moon, as well as Ion surface distributors. Alert the media to a rogue asteroid if any questions arise.”

Harken bowed once more, rising at once though and turning on his heels to march away along the flagstone path which led to a single door still standing open. Once through the door he found himself in an elevator type room. The opening closed to the rooftop garden and he felt the room descend several stories before it opened up once more, this time to a large room filled to overflowing with spectri-monitors, floating six feet above the floor at random intervals, all displaying scrolling information and maps.

Sixty men and women, sitting on stoles spread throughout the room at various stations, stopped what they were doing and turned to the elder servant, waiting expectantly. They were somewhat surprised that he wasn’t accompanied by their queen, her hair metallic rather than pitch.

“Her Majesty orders Obliteration package; destroy the target at once,” he said, looking around as his words impacted the rest of the room. At once stillness became activity as orders were issued, armaments readied, and destruction prepared.

“Also,” he said, almost as an afterthought, “Report a rogue asteroid to the media. Issue an order for temporary planetary lock-down, as we will be activating the Orbital Diffusion Field.”

That done the old man took his own seat, his personal spectri filled with the garden on the roof, and his Queen.

Ten years ago, Medius came under assault.
The battle ravaged the planet, destroying close to everything on it.
It has yet to recover.
~ A lecture given to elementary students on the planet of Sargon, distant neighbor of what was formerly Medius.


Hellion’s body rocked and swayed with the motion of the Scourgebearer as it ducked and weaved through the battlefield. Medius was within range, and that had only resulted in them firing upon the living creature which housed the invading force with such ardent fervency that, even as they managed to evade one blast, two more seemed to strike them. At the helm, and with his body interlinked properly with the neural interface of the ship, The Master of the Mist stared directly ahead. At the same time, however, his mind was not focused on the ship itself. Instead, he reached out from the ship’s figure to begin the release of the Horde. First came the Shield-Bearers, who mentally projected themselves through the vacuum of space, before interlocking their shield-bodies together, forming a massive ring of shielding around the Scourgebearer, protecting it from further harm.

However, it was obvious that the extent of the damage to the ship was beyond repair. This particular beast of Idea was broken, and couldn’t be of real use anymore. Hellion knew that, but he refused to let it go. Recently, he’d come to realize that Idea’s children, even the most low-ranking of them, should be respected. And so, he fought vehemently to save the creature. It lent it the aide of himself, his own energies flowing into the beast and allowing The Mist to work through its body, recreating the broken membranes and muscle tissues which lined the bell-shaped organism.

At the same time, his mind was reaching out toward Medius. His mental projection broke through the defenses of the planet, and tore into their computer systems. At first, Hellion scoffed at being referred to as an asteroid, and then it began to bother him. These people were secluded, and it pissed him off that their leader didn’t think enough of the Val’garan to consider them a real threat to their safety. He broke through their defensive systems with his organic mind, and caused an override of their television and like systems.

“Greetings, citizens of the planet Medius. We are the Val’gara. We are seeking our lost leader Anathema, and have chosen your planet to refuel ourselves. Unfortunately, that means you must all die. We can do this the easy way, in which you all lay down your lives to us willingly, in which case the best of you will be saved, and converted to join us.

Or, there is always the hard way. You could continue to fight, and we can call in our reinforcements. They will be numerous, they will be overwhelming. We will eat you, but if we must call in our minions and friends, you, none of you, will survive.

We propose a meeting. Your strongest warrior against me, Val’gara’s strongest warrior, if…Ikari, yes, Ikari, if Ikari wins then your planet may be spared, we are well fed enough to last another few light years, on to Sargon. If I, however, win, we will eat you all. You will be ravaged and destroyed at our whim until we are full. At such a point, many of you will be allowed to remain alive, unconverted and unchanged. The choice is yours, people of Medius, not your leaders. We come now.”

All across the planet the message was broadcast, and uprisings began at once. People took to the streets, demanding the immediate susceptibility of Ikari to the fight. Buildings burned to the ground in riots, as the end of their world drew nigh. Ikari’s most fervent supports believed whole heartedly she would choose to fight, rather than risk the lives of her people. Others weren’t so sure of that fact. They began to revolt against the Government in vast hordes, tearing open the defensive network with whatever means they could find. The many overwhelmed the few, and soon the planet’s defensive systems had ceased firing.

A few hundred miles from the surface of the planet, the Scourgebearer was nearly salvaged. The Mist had repaired many of its most vital systems, and thus had allowed it to travel the short distance to being within drop range. Hellion’s link with the ship had dissolved, though his link with his minions remained. He was aligning his troops, and many began to drop from the ship even as they gathered the plans for their assault from their main source. The Riflemutants dropped to the planet’s surface and began to feed on the bio-force of dying humanoids. Hellion, however, had another landing point. He stepped from the Scourgebearer, dropping to the surface atop the capitol building. Already he was broadcasting the scene to everyone around him, using the security cameras to give a direct feed to all the viewing screens of the planet.

“Ikari.” he said, allowing his voice to carry only slightly, knowing the other would have a viewing screen close by after the earlier broadcast. “Your exploits during the time of the Technocrats are well noted. I have heard much about you through the complex systems with which we speak. Perhaps, in some way, you could compare us to the buggers of Orson Scott Card’s 20th century novel. You may come, now, you know where I am. Let us begin this conquest with an epic battle, shall we?”

Hellion waited.