#republic of glamoth

[voiceoutofstars]

Fan narration of a Relic entry in HSR’s Data Bank. This is the story of both pieces of the Firmament Frontline: Glamoth set.

Music is “Dark Ambient” by sharvarian.

[yuesya]

Chief Scientist Polus squints at the numbers on his holographic screen. Reaches out with a mechanical hand to readjust the values slightly, then continues down the rest of the page.

The lab is quiet, save for the subdued whirring of background machinery. If he were to close his eyes and relax for a moment, he could almost pretend that this was just another late night overseeing ongoing experiments in the labs. He’d be able to head home in the morning, give his wife a kiss, then promptly collapse into his bed and knock out for a solid eight hours. Then, he’d wake up in the afternoon –his lovely wife would laugh and call him a sleepyhead, then ask if he wanted to grab groceries with her. He’d say yes, and they’d walk to a grocery store together beneath the lazy afternoon sunlight.

It’s a nice dream.

His wife is dead, had been one of the civilian casualties in the initial incursion of the Swarm that descended upon Glamoth from distant stars. There had been no time to grieve. The military’s weapons and fortifications had been enough to turn back the insectoid aliens the first time, but it had only been a short reprieve –barely even a full week, before the vanguard of the Swarm arrived, following what must’ve been their scouting party.

The Swarm was truly a plague among the stars, killing and devouring everything in its wake like locusts. Multiplying, spreading decimation across the stars. For they were beloved by the Aeon of Propagation, the Dread Tayzzyronth, whose only goal was to reproduce and replicate endlessly.

The sheer number of casualties that Glamoth suffered, the horrifying hell that the Republic had been reduced to–!

Glamoth’s military power was not enough. It wasn’t enough. The Council had screamed themselves hoarse, while people continued to die, but it wasn’t until news of neighboring nations being completely overrun by the Swarm came that they finally came to the difficult decision–

We must adapt to our enemies.

Alter the essence of humanity.

It’s the only way for a chance of survival.

… No matter how heinous and reproachable the means, it does not change the truth of the matter: We must fight. Surrender is not an option! To accept defeat is to accept the extinction of our race.

And thus, Glamoth gathered its remaining scientists and set before them a task: Create soldiers. Create vast numbers of expendable soldiers to wage war against the Swarm, ones who could pilot a far more destructive version of the military’s mechanical battle suits. Numbers versus numbers.

Polus was one of the scientists who answered the Council’s call. How could he possibly turn away, when the fate of Glamoth was at stake?

…

Polus sighs, standing up from his seat. He stretches out his stiff body, and turns to head deeper into the labs –nearly tripping over Thrasos’ comatose body, from where the other man had collapsed over a half-finished spreadsheet and was currently snoring quietly. Polus grabs the lab coat slung over the back of the man’s chair and drapes it over him like a blanket, before continuing on his way.

The clack-clack of footsteps against the tiled ground seems almost unnaturally loud, with none of the other scientists accompanying him. But it doesn’t take long before Polus arrives at his destination, and he cranes his neck back to take in their creation.

Their answer, to the task that the Council had entrusted to them.

Suspended within the X-819 formula, there is a facsimile of a girl. Countless wires are attached to her body, a sign of her inhumanity –as if the hard, blackened limbs with a chitin-like gloss and antennae sprouting from her head weren’t a clear announcement of it already. White hair flows out behind her, a cosmetic effect of the C-71 injection from the earlier development cycles.

Polus looks up at their creation silently.

… Their weapon. One that was created using materials scavenged from the battlefields, using the corpses of the insectoid aliens of the Swarm. As reprehensible and stomach-turning as it was, it was also necessary if they wanted to be able harness the ability to manufacture soldiers en masse. To propagate their weapons, in order to defend Glamoth and fight the Swarm that was the avatar of Tayzzyronth’s Propagation.

Soon. Soon, the first soldiers would be ready, and the Iron Cavalry would prepare for combat. And this one here would be the key to it all –not a soldier, not a fighter, but far more important; she would be the nexus commanding all the soldiers to be manufactured in this war that Glamoth could not afford to lose.

After all… they had nowhere to retreat to anymore. The majority of the Republic's territories had already been decimated by the Swarm.

“Titania,” Polus whispers, a quiet prayer that’s a mixture of fear and desperation and tremulous hope. He raises a gloved hand, touching it to the cold glass of the living weapon, then presses his forehead against it. 

Polus closes his eyes. “… The first of the Iron Cavalry. Our final hope. Please… be the Queen that we need, and end this nightmare for us.”

[archived-diegesis]

He stares at the girl, at the light-haired Stellaron Hunter that he'd heard also piloted a mech. Another clone, another soldier. Another one of Titania's endless soldiers, forced to fight and die to fend off the Swarm.

"Firefly, correct? Do you know of the Republic of Glamoth?" If she truly was a clone, she would know. But if this was sheer coincidence that someone outside of Glamoth could look like they did, he would probably feel silly.

PLOTTED ASK

Article 1: Knights should feel honored to be born.

" What "

Twilight hue's locked with the man before her and the sight of him makes her pause. Her gaze lingers on the markings on his skin and it feels like she's looking at a ghost.

No other being has those markings unless they -

Article 2: Remain on guard.

Her body tenses up as she readies herself for a fight, readies herself to run because she will not go back.

Long gone was Glamoth's republic and gone was the iron Calvary.

Article 4: Leaving the cockpit is strictly prohibited.

He's going to take her back-

Article 8: Surviving Knights should immediately return to their units.

SHE WILL NOT GO-

Article 2̵̨̠̀͂̾̇2̸̟͍̞͓͑̽̓̇̚:̷̯͇̝̉ ̸̲̤̞̳̺͛͐̂̒̈K̷̲̆̊̕͘ǹ̴̻̻̩ȉ̶͔͐ģ̷̖͍̮͓͊̈ẖ̴̥͐͌͆̕t̷͚̞̩̯́̐s̵͖̓̑͘͝ ̷̨͍͛̓m̷͔͓͔͐u̸̢̡̱̒̾͛̾͌ͅs̴̢̭̈t̶̺͚͎̮͑̒̚͘ ̵̧̯̪̞͙̂͐̃́g̴̠̉i̴̜̲̠̮͌̀̉̄̂v̸͙̱́́͜ē̴̜̳̰̄̅ ̷̧͍͋ǎ̶̧͍̟l̴̘̹͖̙͂̓̇l̷͈͂̍̚ ̸͕̣͙̓́̃ẗ̷̯̤̱̪́͑̐̿̇h̷̠̠̬͆͊͑͂͠ė̵͔̓̽̑͜ỷ̴̤̦̎̏́̎ ̸͇̼̝͈̄́̚ẖ̸̻̙̘̓̌́̂́ã̴̼̖̿̑͝ṿ̶̀̌e̸̼͔̰͉̓́̄ ̴̢̬͓̜͒ṱ̸̨̼̮̣̄ọ̴̭͖̟͖̀̓̏̕̚ ̶̢̟̔̒H̸̯̣͒̽͊͑̕e̷̡͈̤̘̗̐͗̄́r̷͚̠̀ ̴̙̀͒M̸̢̠̽̈́͛ä̵̬͉̑̄̕͠j̵̤̤̮̖̜͐̂͊͐e̴̘̳̳͂̽̔͂͘s̸͎̃̈́̓t̷̻̖̭̽͆̅͛͂y̶͎͕͙͓̏,̵̗̫̮͉̈́ ̵̢̢̗̰͒̽̃͋ͅẗ̶̲̼̟̜̥́h̵̗̹͎͑̉̋ͅẹ̵̗̏ ̶̦̇̀͘q̷̢̼͈͛͌ǘ̴̟̟̕ę̶̯̖̝̦̍̈̅́̎e̶͇̮̲̒͜n̴̛͔̹͇̳̿̿.̶̱͕̝̍̇͐ ̷̞̦͙͙̈́́̈́̋I̷̡̭̿ņ̴͓͚̾͝c̵̻͇̺̋͋̔̈́̈́l̶̤̇̒͑̀u̸̞͖̇̽d̷̹̭͕̙́̐̎i̴̯̘̻̫̇̈́̐͂̉͜ñ̶̰͉̆g̵̠̣͎̗̓͐̿̏͝ ̷̡̪͑t̵͐͌��͇̲́̀ḣ̸̡͙̖̤͑̽̕ẻ̴̘̘͋̉i̷̝͗͛͑͗r̸͓̐͊ ̵̧̬̗̘̃l̸̺͚̲̍͜i̵̢̢̤͓̾̔v̴̡̧̫̱͛̌̾͜ȩ̶̢̞̬͆̽̅s̶̬͉̞̈́̓̈́̐̄.̴͔͇̒̌

She will not die for a cause that holds no meaning, will not be just another solider with no name or will

" And if i do ?"

[voiceoutofstars]

Fan narration of a Relic entry in HSR’s Data Bank. This is the story of all four pieces of the Iron Cavalry Against the Scourge set.

Music is “Serious Dark Ambient Atmosphere” by Ashot-Danielyan.

[voiceoutofstars]

From the Revised Data Bank: “Iron Cavalry Against the Scourge”

Reminder that I’m not a professional editor or proofreader. I cannot read or speak Mandarin. This is a fan revision for readability, not a re-translation. For a lengthy explanation of this pet project and repeated disclaimers, check here.

Below is my attempt at revising the Data Bank entry for the relic set “Iron Cavalry Against the Scourge.” The real in-game text for that entry can be read here. (If you’d prefer an audio narration amateurishly recorded by yours truly, you can instead listen here).

Iron Cavalry's Homing Helm

An iron helm that significantly enhances sensory signals, fusing the consciousness of the Glamoth Iron Cavalry to their armor.

The Swarm that covers the sky turns to dust in a sea of fire. Silvery-white snowflakes drift in deep space, reflecting the pallid light of the star. In this brief moment, the endless sounds of battle—the buzzing of thousands of wings, the flood of commands barked over the communication channel—finally dial down to silence.

This silence means nothing. The enemy of the ‘empire’ has not been routed. This is only a brief pause, too brief even to savor. The next inescapable call to battle will ring out again, as it always does.

This soldier of the empire’s Iron Cavalry feels every external sensation of her armor through the signal receptors buried deep in her spinal cord. She remembers, separately, what the cosmos felt like when she was bared to it, the last time she was taken from the cockpit. Hot wind had gently tousled her hair, and humid air had soaked the back of her neck, leaving droplets of sweat stuck to her skin. She does not hate the memory. It feels like...living, tenfold times as much as these simulated signals ever could.

The armor’s sensory arrays synchronize completely with the pilot’s own biological senses. This worsens the pain of entropy loss—but the Iron Cavalry will pay any price to defeat the Swarm.

"Rule 43 of the Glamoth Military Regulations. Any surviving Iron Cavalry members must return to their regiment without delay or resistance..."

The fighter only realizes that the external sensory signals have tricked her when she sees the headless silver armor of her commander. Ah. The next command to battle will come, but never in that voice again. What a cruel brief reprieve.

Iron Cavalry's Crushing Gauntlet

A powerful iron gauntlet that can crush insectoids. It is sharp and light without compromising its sturdiness.

Glamoth's Iron Cavalry clench their fists tight to crack open the filthy carapaces of the Swarm. Corrosive fluids geyser from the crushed abdomens. When this spray of insectoid innards hits Cavalry armor, it vaporizes instantly, but stains of filth and blood remain.

The wreckage of armor and insectoid limbs drift as deep-space debris, gathered slowly into a terrible ring by the planet’s gravity. Even after the war’s end, this "River of Death" flows around Glamoth in silence, a grim monument to bloody battle.

The leaders of the council discuss the new problems presented by a post-war era. This includes passing judgment on Titania, who was never supposed to wield any real power. Once a beacon of hope, she is now a looming threat to the Republic, because she alone controls the Iron Cavalry, a force whose destructive power rivals even that of the Swarm.

The council is committed to ringing the bells of peace. They are eager to declare to the populace that the Swarm has been dispersed, that the azure sky belongs once more to the Republic.

"If we do not take control of the Empress, who else might in our stead—and what might her weapons do, if no one steps forward to command them?"

Throughout their brief, bloody lives, the Iron Cavalry ceaselessly hone the strength of their iron fists. How unfathomable that it is not their armored fists, but the pale, frail hands of the council rising high that hold the power to shape Glamoth’s fate.

Iron Cavalry's Silvery Armor

The fiery propulsion provided by their armor gives Glamoth's Iron Cavalry a flame hot enough to ignite the entire battlefield.

Several arcs of brilliant fire streak across the night sky, crossing the dawn horizon as they depart for Glamoth’s various star sectors—this is a morning sight that the citizens of the Republic are intimately familiar with and always terrified by.

Glittering silver suits of armor soar through the skies, racing toward expanses of space that are already littered with corpses. Battle is all they know—war consumes their every thought. They do not even think to look down upon the vistas they so tirelessly defend every hour of their lives.

The will of the Empress is absolute. At her command, cloned warriors are birthed endlessly from the incubators, are sworn to her service, and then committed to the battle for Glamoth’s skies. These, her Iron Cavalry, traverse mountains of corpses of seas of insectoid blood. They burn to char the vermin in their shells. They shatter the Swarm’s colossal jaws and pulverize every last toothy remnant…

...And in return for their service, they endure the slow agony of entropy disintegration. For the whole of their lives, they are ablaze, ignited by the friction of their existence at the threshold between life and death.

Until the flames burn out completely, until the Swarm that blots out the sky has in its entirety been seared to ash, until no one among them remains alive—until such a moment comes, the war continues.

What does it mean to be alive? The force of their armors’ acceleration clamps down on their chests. Lungs strain against collapse. Hearts shudder, fighting for each beat. The piercing pain of entropy-induced numbness floods through their bodies. Now, perhaps, the Iron Cavalry get a brief taste of what it means to live.

Iron Cavalry's Skywalk Greaves

Mechanical greaves that combine destructive capabilities with speed. They allow the soldiers of Glamoth's Iron Cavalry to leap high for a kick that concentrates both strength and momentum into a single point for maximum damage.

The Iron Cavalry's fiery trails spread across every corner of Glamoth's ‘Empire’ like shining comets, yet they are kept confined and blinded by Titania’s woven ‘dream’.

The people of the Republic are uneasy with this legion born for war. They wonder how much overlap there really is between the territories in which they’ve built their lives and this ‘Empire’ that has never really existed, yet for which the Cavalry are sworn to fight and die...

To her knights the Empress bestows honor and trust, and to her the Iron Cavalry offer unwavering loyalty and commitment. New soldiers are born from the incubators and given numbers and missions, while old, feeble humans cower beneath steel defenses, anxiously awaiting some long-dreamed-of peace…That peace is a deception and a lie, and it must be exposed. This method of war—making people with planned obsolescence so that others might build happy lives from their corpses, this warping of what it means to be human—should never have been devised. And how will it end? When the conflict is done, people with fear in their hearts will want the distorted products of war eliminated, too.

The Iron Cavalry's flight breaks through the sky. If they could just see beyond Titania’s dream, they could reach any star.

But the ‘Empire’ will not be waiting for them there. There are only two paths forward for the Iron Cavalry now—one that leads to death, and the other to themselves.