by Adam Clark
The Evil Lord Volkang stood on the observation deck, he and the upper ranked captains of his army were looking out through the glass windows that granted a full view of the space where the Barbarian home world used to be.
Volkang looked like a black shadow draped over sharp edges where his helmet and shoulders were. The eyes sockets were vacuous, they seemed to literally suck in the soul and atmosphere around them, they even appeared to suck in the light around the eye and mouth holes.
How many others survived? It wasn’t accurate to say that he spoke, it was more of a deep rumble that people felt, rather than heard.
His second leading captain stared straight out the window, trying not look at him in the face. “Three thousand at the lowest estimate sir, mainly on private craft, two transport frigates left on the dark side early on in the battle. Due to the cultural nature of the barbarians virtually none fled.”
What were the damages?
“We lost 3 million in the ground battle around the capital, the barbarians only lost 500,000 men.” He coughed nervously, “a… um… 6 to 1 ratio.”
Your men are weak captain. Train them harder. What was the final number?
“When we focused the power of heart to destroy the planet, 4 billion people were killed” He paused, a remorseful lump held briefly in his throat, but that soon passed. “The entire population.”
A silver lining, but we still don’t have the spirit. It was passed, the new owner travelled towards the Dagoba system.
“Should I set our course there?”
No, we will go for the next piece, set co-ordinates for Lazurus B10.
“It will be done sir.” The captain saluted and turned away to march down the deck and into the bridge.
The rest of you, return to your duties, apart from Branson and Whittaker.
Corporal Branson and his second in command Lieutenant Whittaker remained on the darkened deck while the other chiefs of staff filtered out of the long room. Branson held his moustached face in a defined manner and betrayed none of his nervousness. Whittaker on the other hand was less experienced, and although he attempted to wear a look of confidence, his nervousness was exposed by a bead of sweat that ran down his forehead.
They both held salutes until the door automatically closed on the final man to leave, and held these while the dark lord turned to face them. This experience was terrible for both men, they couldn’t look away from the lord’s face, but looking into it filled them with dread and fear.
Coporal Branson, you were assigned the task of catching escapee’s. A very important ship escaped the battle, I can also feel that someone else fled the battle. You have failed.
“But sir” Branson’s voice was on the edge of breaking, but he managed to hold it together “The planet was so large, and so few people fled. It was a case of being in the right place, right time, there was nothing I could do about..”
Silence! Corporal Whittaker, your first duty in charge of your regiment is to find the one they call ‘Grigor the Destructionator’ and kill him. But first, kill Branson.
“W-what do you mean? Right now? But….” Whittaker turned to look at the older man that had stood in as a father figure for him the past decade. Branson looked back into his eyes, the once soulful look had been replaced by sadness with a dash of determination.
“Do it son.” He said, passing Whittaker his gun. Whittaker held it up, tears welling in his eyes, and pointed it at Branson.
“I don’t think I can do it.” He said, half pleading to the Lord.
Do it NOW.
Branson pulled the gun towards himself and pushed the muzzle into his forehead. “On my mark, 3, 2 …” he paused to take in a deep breath. “1”.
The flash lit up all of the nooks and crannies, and the bang ricocheted around the room, echoing the death knell that signalled Branson’s death. The sweat from before had mixed in with the tears to drench Whittaker’s cheeks. The tears dripped down off his chin onto the insignia blazoned onto his chest.
The Dark Lord hadn’t moved at all, and his expressionless features made him appear like a statue of judgement. Whittaker looked up at his face and the head moved slowly until the eye sockets were piercing straight through Whittaker’s eyes.
Good. Volkang said slowly, then turned to leave the observation deck. Whittaker looked down at Branson’s lifeless body and wiped away a few tears from his face with his sleeve.
“Goodbye friend.” He then turned and followed Volkang out of the observation Deck.
