As Drem quickly adjusted the telescopic optical focus of his battle helmet's visor to better see the details of what was happening, Dampiko activated the comm-mic on the collar of his battle armor and snarled into it: "What's happening? Southern perimeter team, situation report! Report now!"
"My Lord's! My Lords!" a voice shrilled through a sudden burst of static across the electronic communications link, "We're under assault from an unidentified source! Something alien is coming. Right in front of the perimeter lines something opened up in the air, like a tunnel through space...! It's coming! It's dissolving everything it touches...!"
Mikaas Drem reached out and suddenly nudged the warlord from across his hover-platform. "Look! There!"
An unforeseen rush of highly accelerated air, a penetratingly cold blast of wind, turbulent and streaming from an unknown source, slammed into them and rocked the aerial platforms on which they stood. As they instinctually squinted, turning their faces away from the onrushing gale, they caught sight of a series of glowing concentric rings telescoping across the battle zone and into the horizon line. The visual phenomenon lasted only a few seconds and then winked out of existence. The zephyr of cyclonic air suddenly ceased, hijacking the gloomy climature and leaving in its place a damp rime of tingling frost.
Four humanoid figures then appeared on the floor of the battle zone, slowly stepping out from a foggy void that undulated like a vertical sail in the air before fading away. One of the ominous strangers was an athletic, tall female, while two of her companions were male, though undoubtedly alien to Teshiwahur, but the last of the group was a towering, armored giant of nightmarish aspect whose humanity was extremely questionable.
Drem had quickly pulled his multi-barreled long-rifle from an over-the-shoulder holster-sheath he wore atop his armored torso and sighted on the newcomers through the targeting scope. The weapon's low-pitched electronic hum warned of a destructive power pulse ready to be unleashed through a single pull of the trigger.
Below the Warlord and his infantry commander, a small cluster of ground troops quickly gathered to protect their commanders, their long-barreled particle beam weapons aimed at the quartet of intruders suddenly materialized from the smoke and vapor over the killzone.
"Who are you? Who dares to invade the territories won by Arvenall Dampiko?" the Warlord demanded.
Stepping forward, eyeing the pair of warriors with an expression of detached inquisitiveness, the female answered. Though she possessed an exotic variety of human beauty, her voice was ugly, pitched in the hermaphroditic range between that of an energetic young woman and the unsteady baritone of an older adolescent male.
"We are The Arbiters."
The Woman was taller than average and possessed an hourglass figure exaggerated by the form-fitting neoprene, leather and carbon-fiber exo-suit she wore. The sectional design of the suit formed overlapping scalloped zones of articulation in line with the natural joints of her own body. She appeared physically healthy and in her early-thirties in age. The exo-suit covered her body from neck to toe, but her exposed face, alluring with finely-wrought elfin features, had blood-red lips and milky, alabaster white skin, except for the gray, crescent-shaped tattoo that covered the entirety of her left jawline. Her finely chiseled features, dark, almond-shaped eyes and full rose-hued lips marked her as beautiful by human standards, yet her odd, ungraceful, jerky physicality betrayed her undoubtedly otherworldly, alien origins. A dark helmet covered most of her head, and its backwards sloping, conical shape fell back over her shoulders to converge into a triangular tip between her shoulder blades, but the helmet was loose enough to allow her lustrous and wavy, cobalt-blue hair to tumble out from under its edges.
In contrast next to her, and standing not quite as tall, was what appeared to be a ascetic monk or perhaps priest of some foreign Holy Order, draped in dull copper-hued robes edged with a brocaded strip of pewter silver inscribed with strange runic symbols. Like the woman, the monk had frosted, opalescent skin but unlike her, he appeared to be suffering from some vitality-sapping affliction that made his flesh look dry, pitted and papyrus-thin. He did not so much look to be diseased as he did recently reanimated from Death Itself. His skull was long and narrow, the eyes of his face cloudy yellow globes without irises set deep into purplish sockets of wrinkled flesh. From what they could see under the hood of his robes, his scalp was bald. His bony hands were long-fingered and festooned with ornate, exotic rings that glittered and sparkled despite the gloom of shadow.
To the Woman's right, an intimidating man-machine stood at military attention. He was head and shoulders taller than both the woman who'd spoken and the monk-priest. It was apparent he was some kind of advanced model cyborg, but of a type never before seen by the Warlord or any of his men. His smooth, non-metallic armor was layered with overlapping plates, like the enveloping shell of some crab-like or nautilus-like sea creature, and it was inscribed with arabesqued whorls and filigreed flourishes, some of which were highlighted in different somber colors than that of the armor's blue-green base. The cyborg's head was encased in a helmet that possessed a distinctly lupine quality in design, wide and sloping with a clearly defined elongated muzzle and optical ports set on each side of the head as opposed to sitting frontally, side-by-side. The helmet and neck sat in a kind of cowl that rose from the cyborg's wide shoulders , rendering him with a slightly hunchbacked posture. Though he possessed no outwardly visible weaponry, even a casual observer somehow knew that he was more likely than not a walking dreadnaught of powerful offensive capability.
But the most commanding member of the group was the giant demon-thing, encased in an ornate hybridized armor of flexible steel mesh inlayed with ceramic reptile's scales. He possessed a powerful masculine frame. Over his body's armor was a flexible, body-sheltering metallic cape that came down to its booted ankles. The cape had scalloped edges and finger-vanes, which caught the sluggish breeze fanning the battlefield, swelled and expanded to then fold in on itself, like the wing feathers of an avian raptor. The creature, for such it surely was as opposed to any kind of man, seemed to be an anthropomorphized serpent that had been crossed with some fearsome, praying mantis-like insect. The giant was twice the height of a tall man, muscular, and possessed of an air of aristocracy, as if it were accustomed to command, as if being feared and obeyed was its birthright. Its head and face, apparently of a squared structure, were hidden under a spiked stud-festooned helmet with massive antler like metal horns set into each side of the helm's wide, bulging cranium. The horns spread as wide as the demon-thing's broad, robust shoulders. The front face of the helmet, decorated by ornate engravings, was vented by twin sets of elliptical slits, but it was impossible to get any glimpse of the creature past the darkness under the helm. The helmet pinched inward under the jawline and extended down into a protective, gorget-like collar. In its gauntleted, metal fists it held the long pommel of a serrated-edged sword as tall as the woman who accompanied him. The demon-thing was clearly the leader of this strange band of interlopers.
'The Arbiters', they called themselves. That term didn't sound friendly or peaceable. And, as Fate would have it, they had only moments ago engaged his men in a violent confrontation at the battlefield's perimeter.
"You do not belong here," Dampiko said, his manner sullen. "We have bought this land with fire and blood and death. It is ours. Do not presume to have dominion over these lands – or over us."
"Calm yourself, warrior. We did not come here to engage in hostilities, even though your men needlessly attacked us mere moments ago. We have no interest in this conflict you have waged. We are not allied with nor in the service of any military force, city-state, or kingship. We are explorers, scientific voyagers, and we travel the spaceways seeking and securing rare ... artifacts ... for the benefit of the expansion of scientific knowledge. We are The Arbiters," the woman repeated, her voice steady and infused with authority. "We mean you no harm, but it would be unwise of you to mistake us for easy prey."
"You brandish that title as if it is supposed to mean something to me. It does not. Now I ask again: who are you and why should I not have you killed?"
"We were called here, to this place," the woman said. "We were summoned by the siren call of the Laukenmass Lazulux." She paused, frowning while momentarily lost in thought, before saying, "And as for this 'killing' you mention, what is that to such as us? We do not truly live, so we cannot die. Only the Power Galactic, the Regent of Disorder whom we serve, can grant us the blessing of Oblivion. What we'd like to know is how you and your kind ever became aware of its existence and what you intend to do with it once you possess it..."
At the mention of the Lazulux, the Warlord involuntarily flinched, alarmed that this band of non-human Otherkin knew about that ancient, eerie artifact . He, himself, had only recently learned of its strange and storied existence.
From the hover-platform at his side, the warlord heard Drem tensely hiss "Deliver the word and I will blast them to smoking ash."
Dampiko held up his right hand in a gesture that Drem should hold his fire and lower his weapon.
"More violence against these creatures will not get us what we want," he said.
"The Lazulux, what do you know of it?" the woman repeated, her tone more insistent. It was obvious she was not used to being kept waiting.
Arvenall Dampiko smiled humorlessly. The Withered Land was becoming more and more polluted with the presence and intervention of Offworld aliens in its affairs. He supposed this was to be expected since the World-Father had once made Teshiwahur the center of a galaxy-spanning space empire many orbital heliars before the arrival of The Wound and the Long Death. Back then, before enacting the Cosmic Revocation, as His Imperialness Draggyn Han'Khainus-Galorketh had enlarged the Supreme Domain beyond its planetary borders through the Extraplanetary High Frontier program's Territorial Expanse SpecOps Crusades, The Emperium had encountered a multitude of strange and unwholesome beings. Dampiko had since found that ensuing encounters with these alien Otherkin were mostly unpleasant.
"You are not native to this world. You are not citizens of any kingdom to which I owe allegiance and you are not my comrades-at-arms. You have not even done me the respect or the courtesy of offering a tithe of support as a visiting dignitary on my world. You are strangers here and you make demands. Why would I tell you anything?" he said.
"Because we are The Arbiters," the woman said slowly, as if speaking to a mildly annoying simpleton.
Dampiko calmly told her to slowly clean his buttocks with her tongue. She blinked, shocked, as the suggested image formed in her mind and translated itself. She then dropped all pretense at polite discourse and screeched wordlessly at the warlord.
Both Dampiko and Mikaas Drem laughed derisively at her reaction.
That was when the giant demon-thing threw back its helmeted head, raised its massive sword skyward, and emitted a piercing sonic howl that sent ripping needles of agony through the skulls of every humanoid creature within hearing. The noise was shattering, its vibration birthing an instantaneous, dizzying wave of vertigo and reflexive nausea in Dampiko's startled forces. It felt like a powerful electro-shock pulse unceremoniously applied to their brains. Peripherally, they noticed that the squad of troopers who'd come to stand by them lay stock still in the dirt below, frozen and senseless.
On the aerial hover platform's small command console podium, the cartographic directionometer gauge, mounted in a gyroscopic cradle, began spinning counter to the gimbal's normal horizontal plane, the spin axis of the rotor quickly achieving a cyclonic frenzy.
Drem and Dampiko's derisive laughter promptly strangled in their constricting throats as a bolt of neurologic agony erupted behind their eyes.
When at last the shock of pain lessened enough for their vision to clear, they saw that The Woman was smiling. That smile was anything but reassuring. It was a wordless promise of horrors to come.
"If you're extremely fortunate, we'll only torture you before you are slaughtered," she said.. There was nothing in her manner that hinted at overt malice or psychopathy. He wasn't entirely certain, but she gave the Warlord the distinct impression that she found their entire exchange to be boring and somewhat tedious ... as if she'd experienced this tableau many times before and was already aware of all its many possible outcomes.
Surprised at the rasping timbre and weakness of his voice as he finally spoke, Arvenall Dampiko said, "Myth and legendry have fueled many tales of the Laukenmass Lazulux and we have only recently received word that an archaeological academic and his team in this territory may actually have located and unearthed it. For such a thing to be discovered to be truth instead of fiction is a startling and fantastic event. More so, since its physical proximity puts it nearly within our reach. Our intent is to meet with the scholar and obtain the artifact, either through arranging a mercantile transaction, or by guile and deception, or by use of force."
The Woman nodded, the expression on her sad doll's face unreadable. She gingerly turned to fully face the demon-thing and, for a moment, there was some unspoken form of communication between her and it. Then she next moved to stand near another of her comrades, nodding to the cyborg man-machine and making a hand motion for him to remain at rest. The cyborg responded with a sharp, staccato series of mechanical clacking sounds and did not move.
"It is a good plan. You may proceed," she said, again turning to face Drem and Dampiko. "We will be waiting. And watching."
Drem, balancing unsteadily on his hovering dais, reached out to place his gloved hand atop the shoulder epaulet of Arvenall Dampiko's armor, the movement wobbly and tentative, and he gripped his commander's shoulder resolutely. Dampiko, his lips twisted into a teeth-baring snarl and his eyes narrowed into slits reflecting his growing fury, snapped his head around to meet Drem's gaze. The infantry commander shook his head. No, he seemed to say, not now, not here. The Warlord hissed out a slow breath from between his clenched teeth and quickly regained control over his emotions. Within a trio of heartbeats, he again faced the alien female with a cool and measured manner.
She appeared oblivious to the true meaning behind the mocking bow he executed towards her and her comrades.
"So, for the moment, it appears our goals coincide," he said noncommittally.
His words floated hollowly and unanswered, carried by a sluggish breeze coming inland from the far waters of the sea, as, without warning, the quartet of alien beings summarily disappeared, erased from sight by a rippling series of parallel rays of gray light.
"Upworlders, Otherkin and Offworld foreigners. May they each be eternally damned by all the gods," Mikaas Drem groused bitterly.
The Warlord sighed, his manner thoughtful as he exhaled. "Perhaps things are not nearly so dire as they first appear, old friend. Unexpected as this was, it may actually work in our favor. We can do a lot hidden behind the distraction provided by these alien creatures. We can, if we are very clever, use them to help us wrestle control of this vast and decaying kingdom away from its tired and ignorant, unsuspecting rulers..."
Drem, smiling crookedly, regarded Dampiko admiringly before saying, "It is so."
* * *