Capítulo 5: Chapter 5: Once again
The cold silence of space was broken only by the hum of the Arbiter class warmachine. Arbiter-53, a towering 15-foot machine, stood dormant in the hangar bay of the Federation's Titan-class ship, The Resolute Dawn. Lieutenant Evander Kross, fused to the machine's internals, had been in stasis for months. Arbiter warmachines were a strategic asset, only called upon when the situation was most dire. It was a weapon capable of the impossible, yet every victory came at a cost.
Kross's dreams were filled with pain. He remembered the procedure vividly—the agony of having his flesh surgically integrated with cold metal, the way the machinery forced itself through his veins, merging with his nerves. The Federation called it an "enhancement," but Kross knew it was something else entirely. There was no amount of medication that could prepare someone for the sensation of your body no longer being your own, no amount of training to teach you what it felt like to have every fiber of your being stretched, fused, and reshaped to serve as a part of something else.
He wasn't just a pilot anymore, he was a machine. There were moments when he could feel the thrumming of its power beneath his skin, as if it were alive—an entity constantly pressing against him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The metal joints that served as his new limbs would burn every time he moved, it felt as if fire replaced the blood in his body. His mind, tethered to the neural interface, constantly felt the strain. It wasn't simply the weight of the machine. It was the crushing burden of knowing that you were no longer just human. You were more and also less.
Suddenly, the machine's systems flickered to life. Kross snapped awake as his mind re-synced with the Arbiter. He felt every part of it as though it were his own body, and the sensation of metal pressing against his skin returned in full force. He clenched his teeth, forcing the pain down, knowing it would never fully leave.
"Arbiter-53, awaken." Admiral Halek's voice pierced through the communication link. "The Necrolythians are on the move. We've lost the outer defenses near the Ygnir Expanse. You're our spearhead, Lieutenant. Move out."
The moment Kross heard those words, his pulse quickened. The Necrolythians. Those mechanical abominations, powered by an artificial super massive black hole, seeking to tear the universe apart in their quest for destruction. They were a nightmare realized. Their soulless, immortal frames were an insult to everything Kross stood for, and yet, here he was—an echo of what he once was. Bound to metal, lost to the machine.
The hangar doors opened, revealing the endless void of space. He felt the cold flood in, not physically—his biological body was shielded—but in the way the neural link exposed him to the silence and the vastness. It was a cold deeper than any chill, a reminder of how small he truly was. Kross activated the Arbiter's thrusters with a thought, launching into space. The machine moved as an extension of his will, but every motion sent a wave of discomfort rippling through his body. The strain was constant—one wrong move, and his muscles would scream in protest, even though they had long been fused to the machine.
Ahead, the Federation fleet engaged the Necrolythians. Their ships—twisted amalgamations of metal, death, and energy stood in the emptiness of space. At the center of their formation was The Abyssal Maw, a vessel so massive it seemed to warp the very fabric of space around it.
Kross was used to analyzing his surroundings under pressure. His years of experience had trained him to break down complex combat scenarios, identifying weaknesses and exploiting them. Yet, as he prepared to engage, a thought crept into his mind. Could this machine—this grotesque fusion of himself and metal—be something like the Necrolythians in some way? The idea gnawed at him, but he shoved it aside. He had a mission.
As the battle began, the allied fleet opened fire, and space was illuminated with the brilliance of energy beams and missile trails. The Necrolythians responded in kind, their weapons bending the laws of physics, warping the space around itself. Kross moved in quickly, targeting a Necrolythian cruiser. His plasma cannons roared, and the ship shattered under his assault, debris spiraling away into the vastness of space.
But as the machine fired, every nerve in Kross's body screamed in pain. It was as if his very blood boiled with each shot. The machine demanded everything from him—his thoughts, his reflexes, even his life force, and the longer he remained fused to it, the harder it became to differentiate himself from the machine.
As he maneuvered between enemy ships, his body protested with each movement. It felt as though the very metal that enhanced him was pulling him apart. He dodged incoming fire, weaving between bursts of energy that distorted space around him. A Necrolythian destroyer loomed in his path, but Kross didn't hesitate. He charged headlong, plasma beams tearing through its shields and hull. His vision blurred with every hit he took, but he pressed on, ignoring the sharp, searing pain coursing through his body. His every breath felt like a battle in itself as he pushed through the chaos.
Each ship he destroyed felt like another part of himself being torn apart. But the fleet needed him. Kross broke through the Necrolythian lines, weaving through fire, debris, and the relentless assault of enemy ships. His body trembled inside the machine as they tightened on his remaining flesh, which were now indistinguishable from his own body.
There was no time to rest. There was a fighter closing in fast, and Kross engaged the Arbiter's close-combat systems. The energy blades extended, humming with power. But as he swung, cleaving the fighter in two, his vision blurred momentarily. The neural link faltered for a second, just enough for him to feel the full weight of his own body again. His flesh burned.
A massive surge of energy suddenly rippled through the battlefield. The Abyssal Maw was charging its primary weapon—an energy beam powered by the artificial miniature black hole at its core. If it fired, it would wipe out the entire Federation fleet.
Just then, the Federation's Titan-class ship moved into position above The Abyssal Maw. A concentrated plasma beam surged forward, colliding with the energy shield protecting the massive Necrolythian vessel. The barrier buckled under the strain, and Kross saw his chance.
"Lieutenant Kross," Admiral Halek's voice crackled through. "This is your chance."
The weight of soldiers numbering close to a million settled on his chest. Kross pushed the Arbiter's systems to their limits, charging toward the heart of the Necrolythian fleet. His vision turned red, but he pressed on. Despite every movement being agonizing, there was no hesitation in his movement. The excess energy coming off from the energy beam began to distort his surroundings, but he pushed through. He was no stranger to breaking patterns—no stranger to pain.
He had one chance.
Diverting all power to his plasma cannons, Kross lined up his shot. His body felt like it was being torn apart, the pressure inside the machine rising to unbearable levels. With a final surge of will, he fired. A concentrated beam of plasma erupted from the cannons, slicing through The Abyssal Maw's hull as if it were nothing more than a fragile piece of paper. In an instant, the ship was torn apart in a violent burst of energy, exploding into a fiery display that sent shockwaves ripping through space, obliterating everything within its grasp.
As the debris cleared, Kross's breathing was ragged, his body numb from the strain. The battle was over, but the cost was steep. Every second spent in the warmachine came with a price.
Lieutenant Kross floated amidst the wreckage, his victory hollow, as the reality settled in.
He may have won the battle, but Kross knew that he would soon become nothing more than a lifeless extension of the machine.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder