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Catalyst is a lore book written by the Black Nomad, detailing his origins and descent into disciple brotherhood.
My people lived in peace, never cared to spread violence to the pests that sought destruction. Our world, composed of robust metal and inflexible molten rock, hosted a plethora of diverse and dangerous life. The boiling oceans separated the long, drifting continents from their former connections, severing species of animals and forcing them to evolve. The bright red star positioned billions of miles away from the planet burned the crust in large holes that stretched down to the mantle. No matter how many times nature brought us to our knees, we rose up once more.
In a way, their resilience to destruction, and their passive nature could be admired by those who live in fear. That doesn’t mean they never had to keep watch. They kept their thoughts close, and their weapons even closer. That was, my ancestors, those we came from. They never hesitated to spill the blood of the creatures that opposed them, but only out of self defense. Unjust murder wasn’t really their thing. Something must have changed them.
The other native species of the planet haven’t gained the amount of intelligence and strength that we have. They fail to unify for greater power, fail to subjugate those lesser than them. All they do is scream and bang their heads against rocks. They even fail to complete simple tasks, according to previous research, that is.
The Eqrik, large masses of long, stretching exoskeletons that shuffle across the ground. Often trampled by larger creatures while hunting. Their origins tie back to life on our moon, only reaching our planet when a smaller island fell from the sky and crashed into the King’s Crater. Whatever intelligence they had was now gone, serving as the strengthening “armor” for cross-continental travel ships. They were not the subjugators, they became the subjugated.
The Humid, long and thin strings of flesh connected to a bulb of mucus and brain, covered by a thick, black membrane. Their meaty tendrils stretch down to the ground while their “bodies” float high in the air, creatures who touch their ends are inflicted with a deadly neurotoxin. Once passive predators who sat at the top, now only serving as sensors for storms and asteroids. They were not the subjugators, they were the subjugated.
Although my ancestors were conquerors, something changed. They became more peaceful, refusing to conquer for their own benefit. This would be their downfall, a downfall that came swift, but horrifyingly brutal.
They struck first. Looking to the sky, one could only bear witness to a fleet of ships covering the burning sun. Explosions scattered across Markov’s Pass, beams of fire cut into the planet’s surface. The cries of children spread across the land as those who took flight were shot down. Bodies were driven into the ocean, ground-dwellers tunneled into the planet to escape death, only to suffocate and burn from the fire that covered the surface. The spires and buildings that had years of hard work put behind them, were cut in half and blown to bits with purple soulfire.
The footsoldiers arrived shortly after. Small beasts with sharp and deadly claws that ran and slashed through anything in their wake, tearing flesh off of the bone from the decomposing corpses of those they mauled. Armored tacticians equipped with curved rifles that shred through floods of innocent civilians, performing celebratory taunts after triumph.
Soon after, the commanders came. Tall, bulky warriors armed with sharp blades and rifles that shot miniature stars, cracked the land and severed the heads of those still standing, crushing their lifeless bodies as they fell to the ground. The smell of dirty water held frequent across the now destroyed city. The origin of this scent positioned in the sky, their chants flooded through the battlefield as they radiated with red and green luminescence. Their bodies covered with worn and tattered rags, sturdy but cracked shoulderplates and decayed helmets. Their chants conjured destruction in its purest form, crashing into the planet as the fires of death burned brighter.
The lingering smell of dying flesh and dirty water brought about a pestilence of airborne insects looking to feed off of our torment. The remaining who stood attempted to flee, to escape their demise, but would fail as they were crushed and eaten by these monsters. They looked to the sky as the ships began to vibrate. A demonic voice bellowed from the heights above. “I AM THE WAR THAT YOU FIGHT, THE INSTINCT OF DEATH THAT YOU CRAVE! WHEN YOU THINK OF BATTLE, YOU THINK OF ME! FALL UNDER MY BLADE TO RISE AND BECOME GREATER, OR BURN FOR ETERNITY IN HELL!”
This death that rages throughout their kingdom, it wouldn’t stop. As long as they stood, this would never end. The once subjugators fell to their knees and begged for mercy, their cries muted by the eternal shouts of the monsters as they continued their massacre.
I was only a newborn when it happened. I couldn’t understand what was going on. My uncles, cousins, brothers, gone. It felt wrong, not doing anything, I couldn’t help them. My father led them, he led them all. My mother held me in her arms as she cried. Watching the tears fall from her face as the sounds of slaughter inched closer and closer, it hurt. Just thinking about it now, it tears holes in my stomach. She held me close, her embrace getting tighter and tighter. “Ahsa gol mitahre.” She whispered into my ear as she placed me into a small carrier and covered me in cloth. She exited the room and followed the screams and the bloodshed.
The command ship that sat in the sky began to emanate a ringing tone from its center, as a ball of blue light grew from the front. The ringing got louder and louder, loud enough to kill anyone who hears it. The ball scattered and crashed into the surface, destroying the land in its entirety. The tall buildings that once stood, burned to the ground. The civilians who once lived peacefully, buried under the rubble. The land resembled molten lava trailing down an active volcano. The soldiers entered their ships as they fled the scene, leaving behind only death and destruction.
Why? Why did they do this to us? Why did they kill everyone? I asked myself that question for many years after that.
- The Black Nomad continuously mentions words in a foreign language throughout the entries.
- The term 'Ahsa gol mitahre' is a phrase in his ancestor's language, meaning 'Bless this creation'. In the current translation, this phrase has no meaning.