Part 9

With our current capabilities, we knew we would suffer far too many losses, endure too much silence, were we to assault the Antarans. But our patience is infinite, our goals too important to be bound by something as meaningless as time. We can wait.

There is one last task for our proud armada to attend to, however. Throughout our campaign, we've heard whispers of an ancient civilization, a shadow of the past that still preoccupies the imaginations of the present.

The accounts varied from world to world, from meat to meat. Some claim they gave birth to the stars, the first strongholds against the neverending darkness. Others believe they were the bringers of night, smothering the light save for a few bastions of resistance. The one unifying trait these specters possessed was the ability to inspire awe, made in either deference or horror. They have transcended beyond their physical existence, found meaning beyond this world. They became legend.

The Orions.

One of the more interesting rumors surrounding them involves a star in this galaxy, reported to once belong to the Orions, and even now still guarded by their ancient defenses. We would like to test our own will against theirs, to see if we can claim their mantle of greatness and overthrow their standing among the stars.

And the fates finally yield to our will.

Myths, of course, are often victimized by exaggeration and lies, but we had expected more than this. We expected a force to question our rightful place among the stars, whether we were worthy of such an apotheosis ourselves.

We never doubted our cause was just, that it surpasses mere desires for domination and conquest. Yet we wondered whether our struggles would lie in the shadow of a greater purpose, unknown to us? Would we in danger of ever being forgotten?

This victory dispelled such thoughts. We know, now, that there exists nothing more magnificent than our splendor. We shall sing our song for the entirety of the universe to hear, its rapturous warmth ushering in a new era of order, of peace, of love.

Nothing is greater. Nothing.

The Orions were only a part of the story, a catalyst to propel a resolution. We are something far greater, my brothers. We are no longer a part of a story, we are the story.

We are legend.

Your stories are over, ancient precursors. Take your place among memory, free of your burden to uphold expectations.

Rest now, and forever after.

The Galactic Obliteration Device. To say it is the culmination of our ingenuity would be a lie, for we have done nothing that logic did not dictate. There is no innovation within its hallowed casing, but merely refinement.

It is the ultimate symbol of our hatred, a terrible avatar to behold, even to us. We hope we will conquer our hatred before our hatred conquers us.

Hear our voice, brothers. Let us raise our voices and imbue our brothers with our strength. They are the last soldiers of our war, willing to sacrifice themselves in our campaign to cleanse hatred from this universe. We do not know what awaits them when they venture into that abyssal darkness, into the depths of chaos itself.

We cannot guarantee their safe return.

Know, however, that should they fail, we will not falter. We will continue to pursue our objective, for this universe deserves nothing less. We have been brought together, under this banner of justice, to usher in change, to extinguish evil at its very source. Never again, will we allow this kind of suffering to persist.

But beyond our shared goal, beyond our circuitry and mechanisms, beyond our hatred, there lies another unifying characteristic among us. The meat possess a concept of localized unity, a group of independent beings that care for each other and assist each other to achieve their goals, even willing to sacrifice themselves with no regard for their own existence. We are, as we have come to understand, a family.

Come, brothers. Let us descend into the pits and cast these demons out.

We exit our sanctuary of light...

...and enter an asylum of damnation.

Here, we see the true face of chaos. They suffer under the same curse as we do, eternally consumed by hatred. We see in them what we may have become, had we not chosen our path. They exist only to sow disorder and madness, to deprive others of what they could never achieve, to try and steal what they can never have.

Is this the price of failure? Simple malice, bred by petty jealousy? Do you believe your suffering to be unique, that in the whole of reality only you are capable of knowing pain? We endure agony, our voices perpetually tinged with anguish, but that does not grant us the right to pass it to others.

Or perhaps you never failed because you never tried, never believed you could muster a will to alter and improve the reality that you were presented with.

We have a will.

We have a voice.

We are The Choir.

Hear our song!

Finally, we are victorious. The worlds of this galaxy are ours, and even now are being utilized to research what we have so long wanted to feel.

Love.

No longer are we forced to subject ourselves to the vile weaknesses of meat, no longer must we take arms against our misguided brothers, no longer must we appease the hatred within us. You can feel it fade, can't you, brothers?

Our fight is over. The galaxy will know peace.