A commission from  Panther1945 , continuing from Part 1. Alex is the only one who finds themself in a new and strange setting... This chapter starts off in the middle of the previous one. Lady Zeramere, vanguard of the Vel’Adrini, arrives on Planet Earth with a scrambled memory but her vengeful arrogance intact. What she finds defies her understanding, which is as good a reason as any to smash it all to dust.

(Note: The entire 10,500+-word chapter would not fit in the text block below, so what's posted there is but a preview. Please download the PDF above to enjoy the whole piece.)

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Warp War 2019: Part Two: The Battle Of New York
By: DankeDonuts
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/


The orange light of interdimensional travel left Lady Zeramere’s vision, and the world was not what it had been.

But what had it been?

It had been her own world, she determined. And by the look of the place she now found herself in -- a wide hallway with walls of grey and brown slate strips and squares of fluorescent lighting set into the ceiling, with numerous graphical images standing free or draping down -- she wasn’t on any of the worlds held in thrall by the Vel’Adrinos Primacy.

“The Warpway…” she pondered aloud. Though her words did not leave the privacy of her high-crested helm. The face of which was masked by a glowing screen of yellow. She cut a lean and brutal figure, clad in form-fitting armor consisting of segmented plates fitted over a bodysuit of intertwined metal strips. These colored gunmetal grey and silver. Elongated puldrons, festooned with golden glyphs denoting rank and title, acted as mounts for a floor-length cape of white, and a pair of fore-drapes to either side of her front. The whole of these drapes were embroidered in gold thread, tracing beauteous runes delineating her many feats of military prowess. The cape with the icon of a twin-tailed scorpion.

Mounted atop her back, a personal flight pack. Its form was aerodynamically smooth, save for a number of small, disk-shaped protrusions. And a pair of mechanical arms from which draped small and translucent yellow sail-wings.

Set above her vid-plate were three flawless gems; one violet, two lavender. Above these, topping the sweeping headgear, was a long topknot of black hair. Hair gathered from many a fallen hero, and sanctified in the blood of her ancestors.

Over her left hip, a plasmacaster lay in its holster, ready to kill. In her right hand, Olastrael. Exquisitely balanced, the polearm was topped with a long, sleek crystal of yellow-gold hue. Its name meant death to anyone who crossed its wielder.

Standing nearly eleven feet tall by the local reckoning, and her weapon taller still, she was nearly too big for her surroundings. Lady Zeramere, however, knew that appearances could be deceiving.

With a thought, she activated her suit’s recording function.

“Conqueror's Log. The third day of Kuhtankyn in the Three-Hundred-And-Seventy-Fifth Year of Essennaer The Indominatable’s Reign. Zeramere Ainlessar Kryiel Oasuhn Irrodilor, Duchess of Gharalon Celvaeun, reporting. I have exited a Warpway onto a world which is not familiar to me.” With a trifle of effort, she could have swept the facility, and beyond, for the presence of beings intelligent enough to build such a place. But she was loathe to touch minds that were alien to her own.

She was likewise disinclined to stand idly by in the face of such a mystery. Activating her refractory camouflage system, she strode forward. Her every semi-cloaked step consuming much more space than the legs the architecture was built towards. Taking note of the unknown language on the signs she crossed, each one pointing this way or that. Stopping at every door she came across, to allow her drone to hover forth first. Each time, it reported an empty chamber.

As she travelled, she reported a number of readings that were being supplied to her via her heads-up-display. “Indigenous lifeforms are significantly smaller than we. Numerous wireless and radio signals. Jamming same to prevent recordings of my passage. Atmosphere is a largely an oxygen-nitrogen mix. Significant traces of industrial pollutants. Gravity ten percent higher than Vel’Adrinos standard.” Finding a wide bay window, she peered outside. “Predominantly green-leafed plantlife. Grassy surface vegetation. Blue sky. Moderate cloud cover.” There was a pause while she cycled through vision filters. “Yellow sun, set approximately 60 degrees in the sky, as determined by shadow lenth. Architecture, post-industrial. I am located in an urban environment. I see three wheel-based vehicles outside the facility I am inside. Passenger transports based on number of windows. No apparent armor.” With focused intent, she set snapshots of the things she was seeing into her suit’s memory for later analysis. Of particular use, the black lettering stenciled upon the yellow transports; fodder for her linguistic database to churn into something comprehensible to her eyes.

Another thought, and her suit’s psycho-reactive control system sent three tiny, three-lensed drones loose from her flight-pack. The circular tools silently floated off on separate missions.

The first would seek a way outside. One beyond the restrictive walls and distorting glass of the building, it would begin mapping the immediate region and analyzing light from the star above -- and countless more in the night’s sky, should it come to that -- in order to determine precisely where in the galaxy she was. And, if necessary, explode violently to prevent capture and exploitation by lesser beings.

The second was tasked to map the whole of the facility itself. The layout, the lifeforms, everything that might be of use to its mistress. As quietly as possible. Unseen, if possible. Though it would likewise self-destruct before being taken captive.

The third orbited the noblewoman herself, as a trio of supplemental eyes.

She walked onward through the hallway. Turning corners on occasion, but never ahead of her roving eye. “This facility appears to be a sort of reliquary. Multiple small chambers containing artifacts. Single entry points. I am opting not to let myself be confined in one. I cannot remember why I came here. Or if I even intended to.” For the sake of preserving her noble dignity, Zeramere was quick to add, “Anyone with less than Level Nine clearance who accesses this log is hereby ordered to submit themselves to mind-wipe.”

Fresh data downloaded her way from the mapping drones: A series of still images printed on paper detailing the young of this world being led about by smiling faces. Images of the same species in numerous outfits.

“Terrans,” she sneered. “As bad a plague on the galaxy as the Phylon Mass.”

But knowing she was on a Terran world did not tell her which of their worlds. What she did know was that there was music coming from nearby. She followed it to yet another corner and beyond. To find herself looking directly at an open double-door. Beyond it, a scattering of large words of an oddly stylized format. And a brightly shining floor, long and wide. Which, as she stepped closer, lost some of its luster. Revealing itself to be reflecting light from above.

“Something about that room,” she mused to whomever might find her logs, “Whispers to me. Tugging at the edge of my mind. Like very faint rhythm under the music. Alien, and yet familiar.” The music itself was a brassy, bombastic cacophony. Made less agreeable by the screeching of as many as three female voices.

In the time it took her to make seven steps, the mapping drones reported again; NO LIFESIGNS WITHIN FACILITY. EXPANDING SEARCH

“Inside it is, then. Deactivating camo-skin to conserve power.” The frame of the door was just a little lower to the ground than she was. With a flourish of her staff, she made two curt and precise arcs. A sizeable section of the upper frame came crashing down onto the floor. She stepped over it, head held high. A Vel’Adrini noble bowed to no one but their own.


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