Vikkron (DISCONTINUED)

Lopsided

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Apparion knew that if he didn't find a way to repair the ionic generator in Last Days, Hallow would be forced into complete destruction which would spread out of control. Keeping the generator in perfect condition all all times was necessary above all. Otherwise, everyone would be dead, even common Creators.

The edges and corners were illuminating white light, and the floors, ceiling and walls completely black. Even he himself and the beings natural to the Lopside were purely black, the eyes, corners of armor, and unnatural sunrise outline flowing around their bodies glowed like a lightbulb.

The most dangerous creatures in the Lopside were Reavers, beings similar to Creators. These massive souls looked like everything else in the barren, colorless wasteland. They had heavy plate armor on, yet could jump higher than ten feet in the air. Yet, their was some balance. Although they were of such power, they had little use of "magic", the primary ranged combat tool in the Lopside. Guns and bows in the Lopside? Maybe magic bows and magic swords and magic armor, but nothing was without magic.

Magic was a lie, though. A name to explain science with simplicity. What really controlled most spellcasting power was Lifeforce, little gel-like spheres accumulating in one's being. The more lifeforce you had, the stronger your powers. A Creator has a high amount of lifeforce, generally in the thousands of units. A regular person though has much less, around two hundred to five hundred units on average. An animal, such as a deer, only has around thirty to fifty.

Fireforce isn't measured accurately, however. It's rounded to the nearest hundred or thousand based on your LFR, or Lifeforce Rank. Creators are ranked highest, then Reavers, then people. Occasionally, if you get a person with a high enough lifeforce in the thousands, they are dubbed as a Creator. Powers they can obtain are numerous and all very dangerous if used without prior knowledge or recklessness.

But Apparion knew all of this already, as he knew that there would definitely be a battle taking place at Last Days. The Terrans, Tekens, Frontier, Vitarian, and numerous other faction all had mixed opinions on the subject, whether it was to close the Lopside once and for all, fight one another, or attempt to keep the peace. The numerous files he had on all the factions, as well as his insiders, were a constant reminder that the coming battle would not end well whatsoever. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop it. 

Also, if the old factions of Hallow getting into a dispute wasn't good enough, it seemed that two new, very advanced species were now entering the galaxy in different ways. The Izal had a conflict with the Terrans, obviously starting a new war between the two groups. They seemed to be expanding in Hallow and a ship of theirs allied with the Daft, a untrustworthy mob of smugglers and bounty hunters. From what could be observed, it didn't seem like the Izal were going to stick together.

The second group was far more advanced than any faction in Hallow, or for that matter, any faction in other galaxies either. Their origin was completely unknown, but everything about them was beyond the capabilities of the current time. Their numerous appearing ships were always damaged, some broken down to the point of no return. From meeting survivors, their ways of communication were unrelated to any other species. Their writing was too complex for even the best translators to begin understanding. Currently, no disputes had started with them, which came as a surprise due to their damaged vessels.

Apparion tinkered around with the generator. He had built it, but there wasn't the right material to repair it. All that was left was used to originally create the generator. Even though he himself was a Creator, the material he needed couldn't be generated. To be able to make something, you need to know it's molecular structure. Otherwise, if you made it incorrectly, you'd get blown to bits from ripping apart atoms and rearranging them. Besides, what he needed was a futuristic alloy that didn't exist yet.

Still, none of that would matter if the generator broke. The Reavers would be let out, the Lopside ad it's hazards would expand and not stop. That couldn't happen, for the fate of the universe would be at stake. 

Apparion couldn't think right anymore. He was old and tired, yet looked as if he was in his mid-thirties. Side affects of being a Creator, he though. Just can't die of age. So far, he led a very long life, nearly three hundred years. Arkivitalius, however, was thousands of years old, completely losing his ability to care for anyone. He was empty and wanted-no, needed, true meaning. Recently, he found it in combat and fighting in wars. He could be killed, and only for when he was at death's door did he feel thrilled with his existence. 

The horizon of white in the Lopside started to pulse like the beat of music. A light static filled the air, getting louder as the seconds passed. Apparion looked over his shoulder, drawing out a shield that covered his left arm and hand. From his right wrist emerged a stealth blade, sharper than fine obsidian. He turned around swiftly and charged forward, straight into the towering Reaver.

About time one of you showed up, he though, smiling.

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