Terror of the Cosmos, by Megafiredoom

[PrometheusMFD]

Hello, internet peoples!

For those of you who don't know me personally, I am a story writer.

I wrote this last night, and was wondering if I could get some feed back.

I warn you, it is a long story.

[spoiler=Terror of the Cosmos]

Terror of the Cosmos

By Megafiredoom

 

The binary suns blazed white-hot over the scorched desert world, Otnak III. Vapor trails from the dozens of rockets ferrying people and water lined the pale, blue sky. From above, the endless brown of sand was only broken by the brown of the various settlements. There was never the blue of an ocean, river, or even a creek among this desolate wasteland. If this planet were cut-off from the interstellar trade routes, it would quickly die.

Humans lived here. They had lived here since the first faster-than-light engine was used. Without this magnificent device, human habitation on other worlds would have been impossible. When it normally would take several lifetimes to reach the nearest star from the human home world (which was currently unknown), it now took only a matter of an interstellar day.

The worst irony of this world, was that the planet that orbited “only” 15 million miles behind this one, Otnak IV, was one of the most habitable planets in the entire system, but could not afford to sacrifice any water to its burning neighbor without altering its ecosystem (which was short on water, but relied heavily on its constant evaporation and condensation cycles).

The reliance on other planets made the standard of living here quite low. The plants were inedible by anything from above the stratosphere, and even the few animals here were unfit to sell as pets. The only thing this planet was good for was making glass baubles, and the scarce amounts of various metallic and radioactive ores deep in the crust.

Thus, it was unexpected that an infamous soldier would ever visit this barren manifestation of exhaustion and heat.

 

The thermometer in the tavern at Settlement 121 read 110 degrees. The thermometer just outside in the sun stated that the temperature was 140 degrees. Both the suns, burning in each other’s embrace, settled red along the horizon. The front room was packed with the sweaty bodies of miners and local shop owners. The bar was packed, with the smaller, younger drinkers being pushed aside like runt piglets.

At one of the tables sat three men. They each were conversing loudly, all while consuming large amounts of food and drink. They were scarred, muscular, and sun-tanned. Their ragged faces were red with laughter and alcohol. They were lost in their joy until they realized that the entire tavern was dead silent.

The three of them looked around almost in unison, noticing that each face was staring at the door. A man was sitting in the doorway. He was lean yet muscular. His face was hidden under a wide-rimmed hat that went around the entire circumference of his head. A beige cape covered his entire body, except for a single leg that was splayed out. A dusty, black boot covered his foot under a pant leg of dark green. The fact that his clothes still had color gave away the fact that he was new here.

That was when one of the three, a local blacksmith who called himself Bruno, noticed the man standing above the new comer. This man was a local, some miner that Bruno didn’t know. His arms were thicker than the trunk of the man still sprawled on the entrance. Scars lined his face and arms from countless shards of stone and metal that had flown off the drill during his shift. His skin was not as golden as those who worked above ground, but it was not pasty either. His face was a deep red of alcohol and rage.

“Whuter yeh doin’ runnin’ inta meh?” The large man glared downward as his slurred tone failed to get a response from this new arrival. “Gettup, yeh need ta’ be punnisht”

Soon there was no longer anyone sitting in the doorway. The local man was a good six inches taller than the caped man.

“Yeh aren’ goin’ ta’ like this, but itz fer yeh own good” The local reared his arm back, ready to strike. Someone gasped as they noticed the hammer clenched in the local’s fist. “Whut? Aren’ yeh gonna beg fer mercy?” The caped man just stood there, never moving, never making a sound.

Bruno turned to the man right of him, a young miner named James. “D’you know that guy?” he asked.

“Desmond? Yeah. That guy’s big trouble. He’s put at least five men out of work with his violent attitude. You don’t want to interact with him at all, and I mean even giving eye contact, because the tiniest thing could set him off.”

“Looks like he is going to have another ‘victory’ under his belt” the man across from Bruno whispered. His name was Cardin. He was the only grocer in the entire settlement. He was one of the few people in the area who could correctly use the PLT, Post-Light Transmitter. It was a complex device that required constant attention while in use, and could send messages faster than even the space ships could travel. No one knew how it worked, and only a few ever figured out how to run it. This made Cardin irreplaceable.

“You’ve seen him fight before?” Bruno whispered.

“Yeah. The hammer is new, but he usually only fights people significantly smaller than he is.”

Desmond just stood there, arm above his head like a statue. His “opponent” just stood there, never acknowledging the existence of the man threatening him. This seemed to infuriate Desmond all the more, as it gave him no reason to swing his arm down. “Yeh don’ wanna anser meh, ay?” His voice appeared to slur more and more as his rage increased.

Finally, the tension broke as Desmond finally swung his hammer down. Everyone knew what would happen, so it surprised the entire tavern when the new comer caught Desmond’s wrist mid-air. Desmond seemed to be the most shocked by this turn of events.

All that was visible of the man’s face was his chin and mouth. It moved up and down as he appeared to say something, but only Desmond heard it. The look on Desmond’s face said that what ever this mysterious stranger had whispered had shaken him to the core. The man stepped out from under Desmond’s arm and up to the bar.

Still, no one had made a sound.

Despite his size, space was made for the man to reach the bar. He ordered only water in a voice that sounded worn and knowledgeable. He was obviously a soldier. No civilian could have stopped the arm of a larger opponent with the speed and skill that this man had shown.

Desmond was still standing in the doorway.

He got his water, and walked over to the only empty chair in the entire tavern. It was at the very same table that Bruno, James, and Cardin were sitting at. He set his water down on the smooth, wooden table with care and sat in the chair, leaning it back slightly.

“Uh, hello, stranger,” James said. He was obviously uncomfortable with this soldier sitting with them.

“Yo” was the response James got. Just “yo.”

“So, uh, you must be a soldier,” Cardin seemed to be warming up to this soldier.

“Yeah”

“You showed some good skills, keeping Desmond from bashing your head in” Cardin seemed impressed with the confidence of the man. “You’re kinda young, aren’t you?”

“I’m 18.”

“18?!” Bruno was shocked. “Such ability and only a year in service. You’re too young to be a dog of the military!”

“Yeah?”

“You should be working on a farm or something with your strength,” James’ face revealed how uncomfortable he was with talking so casually with someone from the military.

“I’m guessing you idolize the great Demon Soldier Zenador, Terror of the Cosmos, huh?” Cardin’s face was back to its former cheer. “Y’know who he is, right?”

“No,” the soldier boy said, which shocked all three men, “enlighten me.”

“You really haven’t heard of him?” Cardin’s astonishment was apparent. “Well, it is a great story! Tells of the battles that Colonel Zenador won in the Great Galactic Conquest!

 

“Zenador was raised by the military. No father or mother save for the government on the home world, back when we were fighting other humans. He was trained in combat: both martial arts and firearms. He was almost the perfect soldier, winning war after war for his home.

“He sent thousands of enemy soldiers to their graves on the land. But soon, a Faster-Than-Light engine was invented, and space travel became practical. Soon different governments started colonizing new worlds, and Zenador was asked to fight in the new frontier.

“Zenador was instantly a force to be reckoned with. His abilities as a pilot were phenomenal! Have any of you ever flown faster than light?

“Nope,” James and Bruno said in almost unison.

“Yeah,” A little more of the soldier’s face was revealed as he said this, showing several small scars lining his face.

“Well then you know that you can only travel in a straight line while traveling at that speed. Zenador was brilliant enough to shoot down warring space vessels while going faster than light! That takes timing and precision that is almost computer-like.

“But what Zenador is most famous for, is his conquest over the worst enemies to his nation. Zenador had only 100 ships at his disposal, as the country he fought for was slowly declining due to inadequate leaders, against the 2 million. Each ship had to have held fifty people.”

“Why?” James’ naïveté exposed his age, despite his scarred, lined face.

“Because those old Warships,” Cardin answered almost wryly, “had engines so complicated that it took fifteen people just to operate it at normal speed. They needed even more pilots to fire the guns, and to operate the faster-than-light drive, and to take care of the ship and crew.

“And these ships were massive! Each one at least bigger than three times this settlement! The engine alone took up more than half the body of the ships. Guns lined both sides and the front of each ship.

“This was the battle that named Zenador the Great Demon Soldier. What he did was line up his Warships in a circular pattern, straight ahead of the enemy. The opposing force stretched to almost the size of a planet while in formation, which meant they were packed pretty tight. Zenador used this to his advantage.

“Zenador had his warships fly faster than light towards the enemy army, guns blazing. The bullets, for indeed that was what they used, destroyed the enemy ships in their paths and along the sides. When a ship was hit or ran out of bullets, its own momentum carried it forward into other ships, which in turn flew into their comrades.

“After all of this, only one ship remained on either side of the battle. Zenador and the final warship flew towards each other at breakneck pace, but not so fast that they couldn’t change direction if the other became space debris. They flew towards each other in a game of cosmic chicken, and Zenador fired, and he swerved around the enemy ship just as it burst into flames.

 

“Zenador had eliminated an entire army of around 100 million people, more than there is on this entire God-forsaken hell-hole of a planet. And it only cost him 5,000 men. He was ruthless.”

“And that is how he earned the name ‘Great Demon Soldier’,” Bruno said, with a hint of fatigue in his voice.

“Exactly”

“Astounding,” said the soldier sincerely.

“I’d hate to go up against him,” the James said almost sarcastically.

“Well,” Cardin chuckled, “don’t worry, he’s been dead for well over 3,000 years!”

“By the way,” James said, a look of realization on his face. “Why did you come here in the first place?”

“Oh!” The soldier chuckled a little. “That Desmond guy was put under arrest a little while ago after he almost killed the Great-Grandson of the envoy of this system.” The soldier pointed at Desmond who was still standing in the doorway, despite the

Bruno was starting to get confused. “What did you tell him?” He asked.

“Well,” the soldier’s voice held a hint of irritation in it, “it isn’t really important.” He stood up and chuckled a little. It echoed in the now empty room. He walked over to the bar and placed a fiver on the cold wood. Walking over to Desmond, the soldier mumbled under his breath. Bruno heard it clearly, though, and it chilled him to the very bottom of his soul. “The ‘Great Demon Soldier’, huh?” the soldier boy mumbled. “So that’s what they’re calling me.”

And at that, the “terror of the cosmos” chuckled heartedly and lead Desmond out the door.

 

 

[ragnarok1945]

I don't mind long stories, most of the ones I've read are fun to read, and so far I don't see anything boring in yours.