Omnium's Fables

Omnium 21295:The Voice

The communicator in Ross's pocket vibrated, and with a quick motion he pulled it out, his face hardening as a tense, agitated female voice cut through the device. "Captain, incoming meteorites! We need you in the command room!"

Ross gripped the communicator, a shadow of disbelief crossing his face. "But that's impossible," he growled, his voice heavy with frustration. "Why weren't they sighted earlier?"

"I'm sorry, Captain," replied Lieutenant Dorothy's voice, her tone betraying barely contained panic. "They appeared out of nowhere. I don't know what's happening!"

Ross paused, his eyes narrowing as he reflected, the weight of the situation carving deeper lines into his face. "Distance?" he asked, his voice flat but sharp.

"Only thirty units..." Dorothy replied, her tone gloomy, as if every word were a millstone.

"Damn it," Ross muttered, his face darkening. He tore his gaze from the Lone Soldier, the confrontation abruptly interrupted, and his eyes fell on Jessie, who had remained motionless, a silent witness to the scene.

"Dorothy," he ordered, his voice regaining its authority, "tell the rest of the crew to man their stations. I'm sending Jessie out with the Larry Owl WF-8."

Jessie did not hesitate. The Captain's order was like a spark that ignited his courage, momentarily chasing away the fear that had rooted him to the spot. "Yes, Captain, deploying immediately," he said, his tone decisive despite the tremor that still shook his hands.

He turned towards his mech, a slender figure with bluish hues, vaguely humanoid, with a thin but angular armor that reflected the cold light of the hangar. The Larry Owl WF-8, a prototype from Weather Forecast, a Draconian company specializing in weapons that converted the pilot's Imprint into elemental energy—in his case, fire.

It was a precarious machine, like all new-generation mechs: technological marvels built by private companies for the armies of various systems, yet fragile. To pilot them, soldiers like Jessie had to undergo surgery to implant a tiny neural chip near the brain, allowing them to control the mech as an extension of their body. On planet surfaces, however, this connection was a death sentence if prolonged: Every minute of use eroded the pilot's brain, limiting operation to brief moments. In space, for reasons still unknown, this deterioration seemed absent, making the void their true domain.

Jessie leaped into the cockpit with a fluid movement, the hatch closing with a metallic hiss. The platform holding the mech detached, and the launch elevator propelled him out of the ship in an explosion of vertical force.

The wind generated by the launch lashed the hangar, swaying Ross's grizzled hair and ruffling the Lone Soldier's jacket, who remained still, impassive, his face a mask of ice. The two men stared at each other for a final instant, a silent dialogue fraught with unresolved suspicions.

Without a word, Ross turned, the dull sound of the alarm hammering in his ears. With a determined step, he headed towards the command room, his back slightly curved but his bearing still proud, leaving the Lone Soldier alone in the hangar.

The confusion of the alarm filled the space, an echo that seemed to resonate not only in the walls, but in the very heart of the ship.

Captain Ross burst into the command room, the sound of the alarm still ringing in his ears. With a decisive movement, he dropped into the central station, his face tense but focused. "Phase, activate the Monitor," he ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

A holographic projection materialized before him, a mosaic of lights and numbers showing the approaching meteorites: their trajectories, distances, and masses updated in real time, a portrait of threat that demanded immediate action. Ross narrowed his eyes, a flash of determination crossing his face. "Good," he muttered, almost to himself, "let the games begin."

He grabbed the microphone, his voice echoing through the ship's internal channels, clear and authoritative. "Dorothy, Lem, man the scanners! Continuously update the data. Gabe, Mana, to the plasma cannons. Be ready to fire on the targets I am selecting on the Monitor. Jessie will take care of the rest."

With a quick motion of his hand, he highlighted the targets on the projection, the symbols pulsing like heartbeats. The response came in unison, decisive and without hesitation: "Affirmative, Captain!"

Outside, in deep space, cosmic silence enveloped everything. The purplish light of Osiris, distant and hypnotic, reflected on the metallic surface of the ship, tinting Jessie's Larry Owl WF-8, which had just emerged from the hangar, with otherworldly shades. The mech floated in the void, its bluish armor catching alien gleams.

Jessie, enclosed in the cockpit, felt suspended, distant from everything. His eyes were lost for an instant in the purplish waves of Imprint emanating from the planet, a flow visible only to users like him. Aboard the mech, his senses were amplified, every perception honed: those waves, like a sea of ethereal energy, captured him in a moment of pure contemplation.

"It's beautiful..." he whispered, his voice filled with wonder, as if the chaos of battle had vanished for an instant. But reality abruptly called him back. On the cockpit Monitor, the meteorites were approaching, enormous masses looming like harbingers of destruction. "Damn, they're huge," Jessie muttered, worry gripping his chest.

In the distance, flashes of light tore through the darkness: Gabe and Mana's plasma cannons were hitting the targets, fragmenting meteorites into silent explosions that were lost in the void. "Good, looks like the others have started too," he said, a tense smile on his lips. "Now it's our turn, Larry Owl!"

He spoke to his mech as if it were a companion, his voice lighting up with determination. The Larry Owl WF-8 was armed with a medium-range rifle and an enormous metallic spear, both forged by Weather Forecast with the same angular, bluish design, created to channel the Imprint into devastating elemental attacks.

Jessie gripped the rifle, the Monitor projecting a digital sight before his eyes.

Jessie tracked the targets, his heart hammering in his chest as the reticle turned from red to green. He pressed the trigger, and the mech responded with a burst of shots that struck the meteorites, reducing them to fragments that scattered into the void. "Got 'em!" he exclaimed, excitement warming his voice, but the relief was short-lived. More meteorites were approaching, faster, more menacing.

Suddenly, a small fragment struck the mech, an impact that made the cockpit shake. The scanners darkened, error lines flashing on the Monitor. "Damn it!" Jessie cried out, pain shooting through his body like an electric shock, the hit having injured him more than he cared to admit. But he didn't stop. With a shout of defiance, he continued firing, destroying one meteorite after another, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Another impact, this time stronger, damaged the mech's engine, a metallic groan echoing in the cockpit. Jessie screamed, a spurt of blood staining his lips and splattering the Monitor, the pain blurring his vision.

Ross's voice exploded through the communicator, charged with an urgency that betrayed a paternal fear. "That's enough, Jessie! Get back! We'll use the Vienne's cannons and shields for the rest. Return immediately!"

Jessie, breathing heavily, forced a smile, a stubborn calm creasing his face despite the blood and fear. "I can't, Captain," he replied, his voice surprisingly steady. "Until we know where they're coming from, we can't know how many more will arrive. And don't worry, I'm fine. I can handle it."

The determination in his words was unwavering, a fire that burned stronger than the pain.

With a final effort, Jessie continued hitting the targets, the rifle spitting energy until the last meteorite was reduced to cosmic dust. Exhausted, he let his body relax against the seat, his breath heavy but relieved.

Ross, too, seemed to ease his tension from the command room. "Well done, Jessie," he said, his voice softer, almost relieved. "Now return."

Jessie closed his eyes for an instant, a sense of peace enveloping him despite his injuries. But the relief was shattered by a cry that burst through the communicator. "What is that?!" Dorothy screamed, panic breaking her voice.

From the darkness of space, a colossal shadow emerged like a nightmare: a meteorite, much larger than the others, a titanic mass that seemed to swallow the light itself. Such an impact would destroy the Vienne without a chance of escape.

Jessie, his heart stopping in his chest, felt despair grip his throat. But he did not give up. With a decisive gesture, he drew the Larry Owl's spear, the metallic surface igniting with a reddish Imprint, a gaseous aura that pulsed like a living heart. In the void, where nothing could burn, the spear seemed to ignite, an impossible flame that defied the laws of space.

With a scream that tore from his throat, Jessie launched the mech in a desperate charge, the spear leveled toward the meteorite. "Stop, Jessie!" Ross shouted through the communicator, his voice broken by helpless terror. But Jessie didn't listen, his world reduced to that moment, to that trajectory towards destruction.

The Larry Owl WF-8's spear slammed into the meteorite with an impact that shook the entire mech, a long resistance that turned the metal into a sizzling lament. The cockpit overheated, the air becoming thick and suffocating. Jessie, drenched in sweat, yelled with all the strength he had left: "Why can't I destroy it?! The Larry Owl's power should be enough!"

His voice broke, a cry of frustration and desperation echoing in the tiny cockpit. "Larry Owl, system! Connection to one hundred twenty percent!" he ordered, determination burning stronger than pain.

A reddish glow invaded the cockpit, a violent aura that seemed to emanate from the depths of the boy himself. Jessie's Imprint unleashed like a storm, pouring into the mech's spear, which pulsed with gaseous energy, an impossible fire burning in the vacuum of space. The struggle with the meteorite intensified, every hit an explosion of pure force, but the now unbearable heat began to blur Jessie's vision.

The world became hazy, the contours of the Monitor dissolving into a searing mist. Then, something changed. Through the cracks in his perception, Jessie heard laughter—young, childlike voices, yet permeated with an ancient malice, a sound that chilled his blood. "What the...?" he whispered, his eyes wide as he leaned toward the Monitor, almost hypnotized.

On the screen, the surface of the meteorite seemed alive. A viscous, red sludge moved like a sentient entity, deforming into the faces of laughing children—an innocent yet sick, lethal laugh that dug into his soul. Their empty eyes stared at him, and Jessie remained motionless, his heart squeezed in a vise of pure horror, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

At that moment, a presence manifested beside him. A lock of silver hair brushed the corner of his eye, a quick and unsettling movement in the cockpit. A calm, persuasive male voice spoke to him, insinuating itself into his mind like a sweet poison. "Do not be afraid," it said, and those words enveloped Jessie in a diabolical calm, a mental manipulation that suffocated the terror and drew him toward an unknown abyss.

"You... who are you?" Jessie asked, his voice strangely subdued, as if the chaos around him had stopped. The struggle with the meteorite continued, but time seemed to slow, a distorted perception that isolated him in that surreal conversation.

A hand rested on his shoulder, cold and heavy. "Do it, boy," the voice said, the tone vibrating with a dark promise.

"Do... what?" Jessie murmured, a hesitation cracking his voice.

"What you desire, Jessie," the voice continued, every word an invitation that dug deeper. "You want power, don't you? Then keep going. Face that meteorite. Do it!" The emphasis became carnal, diabolical, a command that ignited something primal in the boy. "Only then can I see her."

Jessie swallowed, his heart beginning to beat with agitation again. "See... what?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The hand on his shoulder gripped tighter, a metallic gray glove that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. "Your web," the voice replied, the emphasis transforming into an almost tangible energy.

The pain vanished, replaced by an unnatural courage, a strength that was not his own. With a final cry, Jessie pushed the mech to its limit, the spear striking the meteorite with blind fury. But the Larry Owl could not withstand it. The mech's legs disintegrated, pieces of armor breaking off like dry leaves, the cockpit turning into a furnace.

Jessie spat blood, his body at its limit, his vision darkening. Yet, something saved him. An Imprint shot, powerful as a cosmic thunderclap, crossed the space, striking the meteorite with devastating precision. The asteroid exploded in a cascade of fragments, a shockwave that hurled Jessie's mech toward the Vienne, like a leaf caught by the wind.

The shot was fired by the Avion, the Lone Soldier's red mech, a behemoth of Maverick production, not a prototype from a private company but a machine forged by a government, a rare masterpiece of power and resources. Few possessed such a mech, and the Lone Soldier was among them, his sniper rifle still smoking after the decisive shot.

Jessie, semi-conscious, floated in the cockpit, the broken harness leaving him suspended like wreckage. Blood streamed down his face, his breath weak, but his eyes landed on the screen, captured once more by the purplish waves of Osiris. The planet's Imprint danced in the void, a sea of energy enveloping him.

"They're... truly beautiful," he murmured, his voice a faint whisper, his eyes slowly closing. Then, something dropped onto his face—a drop, red as blood, that slid down his cheek. As the darkness claimed him, Jessie passed out, his body abandoned to the silence of space.