It is a time of great unrest in the M'Verse. Warring factions are spread throughout the galaxies. Planets crumble after a series of seemingly random mass invasions from universes abroad. The dark science threatens to poison the minds of all who dare...
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From space, K'Qun looked like nothing more than another barren world of sand and rock. Below its surface, within its underground temples, K'Qun hid terrible secrets. Chief architect of those profane truths was Mal Orthnarr—once a man, now more than that. Some, such as those who served on the Galactic High Council, however, would call him a mere shell of a man.
Fools.
Like K'Qun, there was more to him than that which met the eye.
Though K'Qun no longer served in the Galactic Federation and its original inhabitants were now emaciated husks worn down and preserved by the planetary winds, the desert world did serve as a new sanctuary for some in the M'Verse. Those who were known across the galaxies by many names. Names like the Fallen, and the Corrupted. They referred to themselves as the Elevated, and the Pure. It was their belief the so-called "dark science" led to ascension, not decline.
Mal Orthnarr had already seen the newsfeeds. What had happened to K'Qun so many years ago had now happened to Darwindu. Some said he was soulless—they were wrong. Because this news of Darwindu troubled him.
Using the science—not "dark," not "light"—he produced a flame to ignite one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. An exotic blend of herbs from around the M'Verse. He puffed on the cigarette as he sat there in the darkness, the smoke shrouding him in ways the hood of his black robe didn't. This was meant to be a meditation session. A meditation on how to preserve the human soul so it could last multiple lifetimes, perhaps infinitely.
And he found himself dwelling on ultimately inconsequential matters like Darwindu.
Because it's out of your control, a voice inside him said.
And that was true. While the High Council may suspect he and his acolytes were somehow involved with the mass-portal episodes on Darwindu, Isiltroff, and K'Qun—after all, they'd clearly benefited from K'Qun's sudden downfall—Mal Orthnarr knew the dark science was not responsible for such horrors.
And that scared him.
It was strangely reassuring to know he could still feel fear.
Sitting cross-legged in the darkness, his senses heightened, Mal Orthnarr smelled something.
His cigarette was down to the filter. He took it from his mouth and snubbed it out on the cool marble floor. But that wasn't what he smelled. He smelled the ocean. Only different. The ocean with some aloe vera.
"Councillor Morgaana," Mal Orthnarr said. "How did you get in here?"
"Great nose, Mal." A woman's voice. Certainly Morgaana. In front of him. She sounded within arm's reach.
Her energy blade extended vertically in front of her face, revealing her features with the purple glow of its beam. She was from the water world of Splshore. Her tentacles, shiny with the aqua-aloe mixture, tied back every other time Mal Orthnarr had seen her, now hung in front of her face. She didn't look pleased to see him.
She said, "With all the talk of the dark science, your acolytes seem like they should be stronger."
"You killed them?"
"Of course not. They're only taking some time off, Mal."
"You have my thanks. It is hard work finding suitable hosts to elevate."
"How do you sleep at night?"
"With a necklace of freshly extracted teeth dripping with blood beneath my pillow," he said, enjoying the look of disgust she gave him.
Mal Orthnarr stood and readied his own blade, releasing the crystal's focused and modulated energy beam from its hilt. His blade glowed red, and the weapon thrummed in his hand. He never tired of how the cold metal could warm so quickly. He took the stance of Mal Urslith Melknor, the first to take the mantle of Mal: Blade horizontal in front of the face, arm straight, knees bent, parrying hand held back and above the head. The opening of his robe fell back, showing only some of the extensive modifications made to his body. One leg was entirely robotic and a bit outdated—having been replaced impromptu on the battlefield, back during the Andorphan Wars. His chest was half circuitboard, half pistons and pulleys. Women loved it once they got comfortable.
Suddenly Morgaana lunged at him, her blade stabbing upward, nearly striking him in his left armpit (which was actually a blowoff valve). He sidestepped the maneuver and took a few steps back to make space. He put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it off his blade.
"Councillor Dave was right about you," she said, giving him a diagonal slash, which he knocked away with ease.
"You spoke to Dave? How is he? How's Earth?"
"He said the only thing more arrogant than your belief system is your fighting style."
"He would say that. You know he has fourteen wives across eleven different parallel Earths, right?"
She came in again. One-two-three-four, a flurry of slices. He dodged, dipped, even did a backflip.
"Sorry," he said, puffing away. "Did you fancy a smoke?"
They fought for nearly twenty minutes. Back and forth, giving and taking ground. High, low—it didn't matter. The duel quickly migrated out of the temple, with its priceless artifacts and revered statues, and into the hallways. Mal Orthnarr stepped over the unconcious bodies of his acolytes as he warded off Councillor Morgaana's assault, every so often turning the tide in his favour. Raining down every manner of blow. He was going easy on her. But he could tell she was doing the same to him.
He was down to the filter again. Ducking under the horizontal stroke of her blade, he straightened up a mere three feet away from her and spat the butt of his cigarette in her face. It bounced off her forehead and she growled in response, her attacks immediately becoming faster and harder.
Though Mal Orthnarr didn't have a heart—not anymore—his equivalent gadget was working overtime. He could feel it. It felt good.
But he had to ask:
"Why are you here?"
Morgaana stopped mid-slash. "Darwindu."
He rolled his eyes. "Of course. What does the High Council think?"
"They don't," she said flatly.
He retracted his blade and hooked it onto his belt. "Refreshing to hear from a councillor."
She put her blade away, too. "You didn't do it, did you?"
They stood at the crossroads, equidistant from all of the underground facility's temples. This area was well-lit, which showcased the high ceilings carved with various historically relevant frescoes. Mals going back as far as two hundred thousand years. He marveled for a second at the brilliant architecture.
"No, of course not," he finally said. "This is beyond the dark science. Not even Order 74 can put a stop to this... It troubles me. Darwindu, as you once knew it, is doomed."
"So if you're not behind this, and you think not even dark science can save the planet..."
"We're done for," he said, lighting up another cigarette as a matter of habit. "It's a matter of time before it happens again." He took some puffs and offered it to Morgaana.
She accepted, inhaling once, deeply, before passing it back. She didn't cough. She blew out the smoke and said, "Not necessarily. There's still one more bit of hope. The Mothertroopers."
Mal Orthnarr paused mid-drag. "What in Mal Hurnzordgh's ghost is a Mothertrooper?"
