Prologue
The Umerium Clan, proud and immortal, extended its influence across the vast reaches of the universe, drawing strength from its advanced technology and mystical faith in science. Their journey through time and space was a relentless pursuit of knowledge and dominance, built upon the foundations of both exploration and war. Yet the history of this empire was marked not only by triumphs, but also by catastrophes and moral dilemmas that shaped their civilisation.
It all began on the ancient planet of Umerium — rocky and barren, yet capable of sustaining life, though its early forms were fragile and unremarkable. Evolution, the great and boundless artist, carried out her work there, giving rise to Homo sapiens — intelligent beings, though frail, with minds full of hope, yet haunted by gnawing fears. These first generations of the Umerians were unaware of the future that awaited their race. Still, they planted the seeds of thought and the pursuit of perfection — and some of those seeds, in time, took root and grew, lifting them to new heights of existence.
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Experiment 632
RESEARCH DOCUMENTATION SECTION – “KORA X” COMPLEX, PLANET SIN
Experimental Protocol SYNERGIA: Interaction of Artefacts with Biological Subject
Voice Transcription – Dr Cuen
Session Thirty-Four. Subject 632 – active. Artefacts: Pyramidion, Orb, and the Cube – calibrated. Link with the Ozdek Pyramid – active.
Primary objectives: assessment of interactive compatibility, evaluation of localised biological reactivity, and preliminary analysis of integrative potential.
The chamber was a masterpiece of technomorphics — a space constructed entirely from adaptive engineering fabrics, responsive to fluctuations in the experimental field’s frequency. The wall panels expanded and contracted like living structures. Their operation was precise, mathematical, devoid of the chaos inherent to biology.
At the centre of the chamber floated the biostabilisation table, suspended within an inertial field.
The entire system was governed by RicSoft-V — a high-computation artificial intelligence from the planet Ertern, developed by the Tech Clan specifically to interface with entities of indeterminate structural nature. From the moment of its activation, the system had been adapting to each successive experiment, learning more about the relationship between the three artefacts and living organisms than any member of the research team.
Lying upon the table was Subject 632 — a young individual of the Homet Niz species. Its body bore the typical proportions of the kind: a slight frame, smooth skin with the hue of neutral light, and characteristically wide eyes, slightly oversized relative to the skull. In outward appearance, it resembled Homo sapiens, albeit at a markedly smaller scale.
Cuen knew that during one of the earlier trials, the surface of the subject’s skin had begun to lose density temporarily — yet now, the entity showed no signs of translucency, a phenomenon still neither replicable nor classifiable.
He stood motionless before the expanded projection panel, beside the biostabilisation table on which Subject 632 lay. Before initiating the activation sequence, he had a moment to spare — and he used it to review the data from Protocol SYNERGIA-9, entrusted to him by Imperador Magno.
In the dim light of the holographic interface, records of the experiment’s critical points scrolled past — phases, trials, the carefully plotted steps toward reclaiming, on behalf of Umerium, the legacy the Dunes had sought to keep for themselves.
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Survival
Some claim the Imperator is an immortal being. Yet those who have ever encountered him know that such assertions — born more of age-old imagination than of empirical fact — are false. And facts are the foundation of any civilisation.
Atila reflected in silence as the lift carried him above the clouds, ascending toward the highest pinnacle of the structure designed by Diego Calat. As a soldier of the Umerium Empire, he represented the Imperium Sap — a synthetically engineered species, the product of centuries of refinement by genetic architects devoted to perfecting their creation.
This species was designed to fulfil a wide range of functions within imperial society: from military operatives and scientists to diplomats and administrators. Atila, endowed with exceptional intelligence, analytical precision, and unmatched efficiency, was among the finest of his kind. His battlefield experience and numerous victories had rendered him a living legend within the ranks of the imperial military.
The silvery light of the star Venaticorum streamed through the panoramic windows, reflecting off the glass facades of the skyscrapers. These structures, like towering steel invaders, dominated Sin — a planet transformed into the beating heart of the imperial industrial complex. Once covered in exotic flora, it had become nothing more than a machine for resource extraction. At this altitude, the absence of oxygen necessitated advanced ventilation systems to sustain life within the offices of the imperial elite.
The lift doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing an estrarios — one of the humanoid servitors of the Empire. These beings, designed to manage infrastructure, formed the backbone of a civilisation increasingly dependent on technology. “A society of freeloaders,” Atila thought bitterly, watching the mechanical figures move with near-surgical precision. “And we still wonder why we are vanishing from the order of things.”
Despite his unparalleled design, Atila did not feel invincible. His body, carbon-based, governed by water — that universal element of life — remained vulnerable. He knew he was the pinnacle of imperial engineering, yet he sensed that his time might soon come to an end. A troubling thought stirred in the depths of his mind: that the new generations of Synths — born of relentless genetic innovation since the Second Era — might surpass his own. Through them, Imperium Sap had attained perfection, but at the cost of becoming hardcoded for unthinking loyalty to its creators.
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Captivity
Terrified whispers had already begun to twist into anguished wails and despairing screams — sounds that would shred even the most resilient soul, like blades slicing through the stillness before a storm. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and blood, and smoke coiled upwards into the heavens, as if the very sky mourned those who had never stood a chance.
General Bortus Vispanius Scipio stood in the centre of the death-field, his steely gaze sweeping mercilessly across the ruin. The shadows that flickered at the edges of Diva’s vision coalesced into grotesque shapes, more nightmare than reality. She could feel the blood slick on her hands — warm, viscous, unmistakably human. Somewhere in the distance, a child’s cry pierced the haze — a thin, desperate sound that was suddenly silenced, replaced by a stillness far more harrowing than the scream itself.
Diva tried to move, but her body defied her. It was as though the very earth held her down, forcing her to kneel, compelling her to witness. Bortus was approaching — slowly, deliberately — and his face, once sharply defined, now began to blur and contort into a monstrous grin. She could feel his gaze upon her, cold and gloating, the satisfaction of a predator who had never doubted the outcome.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream.
The world around her spun wildly…
And then, suddenly, everything dissolved into black.
Diva tore herself from sleep with a violent gasp, lungs straining for breath as though surfacing from beneath black waters. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her heart thundered against her ribs with a frenzied rhythm. For several disoriented seconds, she could not tell where she was — whether the nightmare still held her captive or if she had, in fact, awoken. Shadows clung to the walls like living things, and the distant echoes of screams still rang in her ears.
Her pulse drummed furiously, and her trembling hands curled instinctively, as though ready to seize a weapon not present. The scent of burning still clung to her nostrils, and she could almost feel the sticky warmth of blood smeared across her skin. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to examine her surroundings.
The cell was small, stiflingly narrow, and steeped in the stench of damp, sweat, and decay. Cold stone walls, caked with grime, pressed in on all sides. In the corners, insects crept undisturbed — unbothered by human presence. The only light came from a narrow, barred window set high near the ceiling, through which a pale glimmer of dawn filtered in with feeble persistence.
The air was dense and stagnant, as if each breath were a whispered plea trapped behind iron bars.
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The Battle of Brusa
coming soon
The boundary of hyperspace in the Orraneth system trembled, as if spacetime itself hesitated for a fraction of a second over whether to allow what was about to happen. The light of the star was torn apart, stretched into a thin filament, then shattered in a dull, soundless flash. From the void, a giant emerged.
The invasion command ship advanced with solemn majesty, as if it had no need to hurry. Moments later, the surrounding space began to fill. More units emerged from hyperspace—hundreds, then thousands—assembling into precise formations. Heavy cruisers formed deep wedges, ready for a frontal assault. Destroyers and frigates sealed them within shifting defensive rings, their sensors sweeping the void for the first signs of enemy reaction. Farther out, at the edge of visibility, swarms of carriers deployed, from which thousands of fighter craft could pour forth at any moment. Between them, almost imperceptible, drifted electronic warfare vessels and logistical support ships, prepared for a long campaign with no retreat.
At the very heart of this forming armada, two structures appeared—monumental constructions in the shape of geometrically perfect pyramids. Their surfaces were smooth, dark, nearly absorbing all light, as if they did not fully belong to this space.
These were anchoring units—artifacts of time and space, Dun technology.
Their purpose was not combat, but the preparation of the ground for war. Once the fleet secured a stable position in the system, the pyramids would break formation and anchor themselves to selected planets or moons. Their transmission cores would then be activated, creating a permanent bridge between military bases and the Empire’s intergalactic communications network. Orraneth would be integrated into the structure of Umerium as dozens of worlds before it—without the possibility of severing the signal, without any chance of isolation.
The Umerium fleet, assembled in its entirety for the first time in generations. Its backbone consisted of twelve Imperio Sap S armies. Alongside them deployed three armies of the Tech clan—fully mechanized formations based on millions of autonomous war machines, dispatched for a single purpose and with no return route planned. Their presence in the formation signaled that the Empire intended neither withdrawal nor compromise.
On the flanks moved the landing armies of the Thiev clan—flexible and unpredictable, ready to slip into any gap in the defenses. Behind them held position the Corso army, compact and heavy, designed for combat at the shortest distances, where war ceases to be an abstraction. Binding it all together were the command units of the Armonia and Hollyv clans, transmitting orders, synchronizing time, and keeping the fleet in a single rhythm, as if it were one organism.
At the very center of this power stood the “Gorkata” command ship.
The largest warship of the Empire, a Dominion-Prime–class vessel, designed not merely for battle but for waging wars. Its interior housed shipyards, command centers, strategic archives, and reactors. The “Gorkata” did not escort the fleet. The fleet orbited around it.
On the main bridge, half-light reigned, illuminated only by a holographic projection of the Orraneth system. Planets rotated in silence, moons traced their trajectories, and the Brusan cloaking fields pulsed like a living organism that had just sensed a threat. Officers stood motionless at their stations, focused, aware that they were taking part in a moment that would be recorded in the history of the Empire—regardless of the outcome.
The “Gorkata” sent out the first synchronization pulse. The fleet responded as a single being.
The invasion had begun.
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Read - COMING SOON
PL / EN
Signal
Mirra
Planet Repo, in the galactic regions of the Corso Clan. The expansion of the Empire continues. After the successful campaign against Bruse, a meeting is taking place on Planet Repo between three clans – Umerium, Armoni, and Corso – to determine their strategy towards the newly encountered civilization.
A tumult and clamour poured through Greentaque along with every creature walking down its streets. The din was unbearable, seeping into Mirra’s ears. It drilled into her mind with an energetic roar filled with shouts, singing, laughter, the sounds of instruments, quarrels, and the noise of vehicles. Among the countless beings arriving from across the Empire were financial sharks sniffing around for new investments, as well as those who simply wanted to have fun. Some sought opportunities for adventure, while others for exotic romances.
Repo, under the rule of Clan Corso, was no cosy, family-friendly place for picnics, yet the city was developing at an astonishing pace – something the leaders of Clan Corso proudly showcased by organising a grand festival.
Greentaque was modern, yet it nurtured within itself the spirit of folklore – an element embedded in the genetic accelerated evolution project on Planet Repo. More and more people were arriving in the city, drawn by the extraordinary event, and the lively atmosphere around the Zidic Pyramid had led to a doubling of the Imperial Sap Guard. The towering peak of the pyramid loomed above the rest of the buildings, reminding the inhabitants that the ruling clan held everything in an iron grip.
Mirra raised the collar of her coat, woven from interlaced bamboo fibres, and stepped out from the alleyway, merging with the celebrating throng of all races and colours. And there was indeed something to celebrate, for representatives of the Council of Clans – Armonii, Corso, and Umerium – were about to arrive on Repo, marking the beginning of yet another cosmic conquest by the Empire. For some, the expansion of the Empire was considered its ultimate purpose – a fuel strengthening its power, multiplying its wealth, granting access to precious resources, and widening its sphere of influence. For many, it was an opportunity to climb the social ladder, especially through the black market channels that fed countless planets. Some clans were already rubbing their hands together in anticipation of the profits they could reap from subjugating a new civilization. The hosts of Repo too awaited the amplification of their own influence, organising lavish celebrations and showcasing the developmental success of their conquered planet.
But the Emperor himself was far removed from constant speculation about financial gains. The piercing mind and patience of this one of the oldest Homo Deus focused solely on artefacts and the advancement of extraordinary technologies. The clans under his command provided him with everything he required.
For the Emperor, every new world meant newly acquired data and knowledge – knowledge that could be used for further development or left forgotten for eternity.
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Ghosts of planet
A hum. Rising, relentless.
A sound that edged into noise.
A deep, resonant vibration, like some vast mechanism grinding sand into dust beneath the horizon.
Alistair Yuval stood motionless at the edge of the desert.
He had the distinct impression that the sand was… alive.
Not metaphorically — but truly, fundamentally:
An endless ocean of microscopic machines, as fine as dust, yet aware.
Organised.
Watchful.
The sand undulated.
Its surface retextured itself in rippling waves, etching patterns as if attempting communication — not with letters, but with symbols beyond any known alphabet.
Closed loops. Spiralling glyphs. Lines that curled and tangled like veins beneath translucent skin.
As Yuval observed, he felt a disturbing sense of scale — as if the planet’s surface were the flesh of a single, breathing organism. Pulsating. Sentient. Alien.
Then, the ground beneath him began to shift.
Individual grains coalesced into thicker strands, twisting like serpents, weaving around his boots.
The earth pulsed beneath him, intent on consuming him.
He stepped back — but the sand moved faster. It encircled him, cutting off every route of escape.
And on the horizon, a sandstorm was rising.
But it was not random.
It was rhythmic. Coordinated.
As though it were not wind but the synchronised march of countless invisible entities.
It was a vision at once terrifying and majestic — a beauty so profound it crushed the heart with fear.
Then they emerged.
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Gate
Carmen awoke on the floor of the laboratory. The overhead lights pulsed a deep, scarlet red. A paralysing screech in her ears slowly gave way to the steady wail of emergency sirens. She propped herself up against the shattered edge of the plastalloy microanalysis bench. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Dazed, she lifted her head and scanned the room.
Thick soot coated most of the instrumentation. Plumes of smoke twisted toward the ceiling, obscuring the remnants of what had once been pristine scientific order. Limping forward, Carmen carefully avoided stepping on fragments of the precious equipment. As she neared the blast-scarred dome of the Superpositioner, a strangled gasp escaped her throat.
“No, no… come on, you useless heap… work!”
She struck the digitablet embedded in the console. Nothing. She hit it again, harder. Silence. Then, just as the last traces of hope began to drain from her, a low hum stirred from within the machine. It flickered to life, and the artificial intelligence that governed the Superpositioner re-established its link with Dr. Carmen’s neural implant.
A holoface bloomed into existence—lines of experimental readouts cascading across the air. With a swift gesture, she dismissed the tables and graphs, waving them aside like uninvited guests. With another motion, she magnified the live feed of two transparent containment chambers within the core of the device.
The test object was intact.
Her eyes welled. A tremor passed through her lips, shaping into the barest hint of a smile.
It worked.
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