Viean Nek was a patient man.
He was a man willing to wait for his carnage, even when he was in the state that he was in- One of arrogance, one of presumed perfection. He and Owler were in a way, perfect equals. From each of their states they seemed to be almost pariahs- Slightly differing from their norm, extremists to their cause. They were the same, yet opposite.
A more perfect enemy could not have been devised.
As his ships began to show signs of entering warp, he snapped his fingers and gave an order to a subordinate. Instantaneously, the Artillery entered warp themselves, and left the battlefield just as the Aeoneoatrix forces arrived- their orders being clear and concise. His light ships to the side, maneuvered in to flank the closest medium ship unit. Meanwhile, his H. Line ships moved in. One H. Line unit moved to engage the Aeoneoatrix Line units while the other H. Line unit took on a medium unit. Lastly, his two reserve light units engaged the last medium unit.
When the FPC arrived, he peered over and seemed to shrug to one of his fellow Tarkans, “They arrived sooner than anticipated. But, we will have the advantage again soon enough.” He said, all the more confident in his schemes and ideals.
Suddenly, his attention turned to the channel as Owler relayed his information to his agent…
In a few moments, the agent would describe the horrors aboard the vessel. Rumors and fact dictated the existence of the Tarkan training camps. The camps created to harden and bring each Tarkan child to their very limits. The worthy, would prosper- While the unworthy, would be mere fuel for the machine. Nameless, faceless and honor less these children were discarded.
But, not today.
Dozens of slain Tarkan children, all of the unworthy, were unceremoniously skewered inside the ship, their bodies cold and faces horrified as their deadened eyes stared into the eyes of the agent- The redness of their blood scraped all across the ship. This, was a horror. The fact that Nek would send this to the Aeoneonatrix was a testament to his madness- His lust for conquest on more level than one. This man did not seek a victory of swords alone, no, he sought a massacre of the mind. A true scar on the psyche. Though, the full effect would not be felt today- Likely, the facts buried in the annals of the agent and the calculative mind of Owler, he was confident the insult was more than enough to get his point across.
The Tarkans, would not be destroyed this day.
Nek grinned madly, awash and drunk with his “gift” in mind. “I trust you care for my gift, Aeon.” He laughed heartily, before extending a hand. “Today, Aeon, know that I-“ His voice raising to speak to his entire bridge, his words echoing throughout as many of his ships as possible, “-Viean Nek now offer you the truest of oaths. You, have come to our land seeking to bring justice upon us. Justice, upon the –TARKAN- people. We will not bow to you, we will never submit to you. I, will personally make you fear the very light that you Aeons so desperately cling to.” The Tarkan said, all in his icy tone, his words cracking like a whip. In one fluid motion, he brought the dagger to his palm and cut straight across, making a deep cut into his skin.
Bringing his hand up, he observed the blood dripping in small lines down his hand and to the ground before bringing it to his face. Brushing it down one cheek, he looked to Owler, his pupils dilated as his tongue slightly licked at the fresh blood now there.
“I give you this blood oath- My personal vendetta until our battle here is at an end. On this day, we will bring Etzan’s Grand –TARKAN EMPIRE- glory and blood to burn upon the pyre of his enemies.”
In one clean motion, he brought the dagger down upon the desk infront of him- Impaling the bloodied metal into the device with a small burst of sparks,
“FOR ETZAN, BLOOD OF MY BLOOD!” He yelled, his tone channeling the chained fury of his people, “BLOOD FOR THE GRAND BEYVIK! BLOOD FOR THE EMPIRE!”
At that declaration, his bridge exploded in cheers. His men were all handpicked, and all of them shared his views. He had ignited their passions.
They would not lose this war.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, he looked back at Owler, the Aeoneoatrix likely cold as per usual not expecting a reaction personally.
“Best of luck.” Hissed the snake, venom dripping from his words as the bloodied omen of evil stared him down for one last second before the channel closed in an unceremonious flash of static.
