It is messy and it smells like ozone mixed with burning flesh.
That is the standard description for a galactic conflict.
However…
On the dwarf planet Gonggong, the war sounded less like a battle and more like a grinder chewing through wet gravel. Krall invasion was massive. It was a tide of red skin and chitinous armor swarming over the icy methane plains.
The sky was choked with bio-ships that looked like flying organs. They dropped pods that burst open like ripe fruits, spilling horrors onto the frozen ground.
But…
Amidst this symphony of destruction, there was a smaller, more intimate rhythm.
In a secluded crevice between two massive shards of ice, hidden from the main slaughter, two figures were tangled together.
They were naked.
The cold of Gonggong did not seem to touch them, for the heat radiating from their bodies was intense enough to create a small cloud of steam around them.
The male was a Wif.
He possessed the characteristic white hair of his race, messy and damp with sweat. His long, white rabbit ears were flattened against his skull in concentration. His rabbit tail, usually a fluffy ball of fur, was twitching rhythmically at the base of his spine.
He was an Inquor. His muscles were lean, defined by the low gravity of his home colony on Jupiter, but currently taut with the strain of the act.
Beneath him lay his partner.
She was an Alumos.
She was tall, her pale skin contrasting with the dark ice beneath her. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. Her anatomy was distinct, marking her lineage from the Uranus colony.
Between her legs, the unique organ known as the Irita was engorged. It was a prehensile structure, mimicking the male genitalia yet distinctly feminine in its placement. It pulsed, seeking friction, seeking the fuel that only the Inquor could provide.
They were performing a Felt.
It was primal. It was desperate. The Inquor thrust into her, his movements synchronized with her gasps. He was not just seeking pleasure. He was transferring energy.
The bioluminescent veins under the skin of the Alumos Melito began to glow. The sperm, the fuel, was igniting her dormant power.
"Yes, Bowe," she gasped in a thick Russian accent. "Give it to me. I need the charge."
"Taking forever," the Wif Inquor grunted, his British accent clipped. "My reserves are low, Niza."
They moved faster. The friction became a blur. The energy arc between them crackled, melting the ice around their bodies.
"Wow…"
A male voice spoke from above.
The rhythm faltered.
The Wif and the Alumos froze. They looked up.
"You guys are still doing it the old fashioned way?" the voice continued.
It was mocking. It was casual.
"That looks exhausting, sticky, and… very inefficient for a combat zone."
The couple scrambled to cover themselves, looking for the source of the voice.
"Oh wait," the voice corrected itself.
"I forgot. Not everyone is Explorer 7. Not everyone has the budget for the good stuff. Carry on, citizens. Don't let me stop the biology lesson."
The Wif Inquor glared at the shadow looming on the ice cliff above them.
"You bastard Ragia," the Wif cursed.
I sighed...
He really has a talent for ruining the mood.
The man standing on the cliff edge was, of course, Ragia Quarso.
He was wearing his signature leather jacket, which looked remarkably untouched by the war around him. His mismatched socks were hidden by his boots, but I knew they were there.
One red, one blue. A testament to his refusal to adhere to basic organizational skills.
He looked good.
His black hair was messy in that calculated way that suggested he had just rolled out of bed and accidentally landed in a magazine photoshoot. His golden eyes scanned the battlefield with a boredom that was almost insulting.
"Hey," Ragia said, looking up at me.
"Stop describing my outfit. We are on a schedule. Focus on the action."
Right…
Apologies.
Below him, the chaos erupted.
"Vah-vah! Yarobu!"
The shout was followed by a mechanical roar that shook the ground.
Arala Quarso was laughing. It was a maniacal sound, full of unadulterated joy and a disturbing amount of bloodlust.
She was piloting her Mech Titan, but this was not the same Titan.
This was an upgrade. The massive, seven-meter metal giant now possessed six arms. It looked like a mechanical deity of destruction.
Each of the six hands held a massive machine gun.
Arala was currently fighting with Krall Golem.
The enemy was huge. An eight-meter tall construct of living stone and flesh. Its chest cavity was open, revealing a fused, writhing mass of sexy Krall torsos that acted as a biological CPU.
"Eat this, you bado-bado stone face!" Arala screamed.
The six machine guns spun.
Bullets rained down on the Golem. The stone shattered. The sexy Krall embedded in the chest screamed as they were reduced to pulp.
Arala continued to shout in her unique dialect.
"Vah-vah!" she yelled.
"Yarobu!" she added for good measure.
For those of you who do not speak the language of chaos, or don't know about Arara-ish…
She just politely told the Golem, 'Fuck you' and 'Asshole'.
It was charming, in a terrifying way.
To the east of the ridge, a swarm of Krall Locusts descended upon a group of terrified civilians. They buzzed like angry saws, their bladed wings ready to slice through bone.
"Tickling Clock!"
The voice was sharp. Authoritative.
The air shimmered.
For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath. The Locusts slowed down. Their wings beat in a sluggish, viscous rhythm. Time had thickened around them, trapped by the will of the Vice Captain.
Iya stepped out from the smoke.
She looked impeccable in her tight red uniform.
"Gatling Rose," she whispered.
Her arms split. The skin peeled back to reveal the rotating barrels of high-caliber death.
She fired…
It was surgical.
Every bullet found a target. The slowed Locusts exploded in mid-air, turning into a cloud of red mist and insect parts.
She stood there amidst the carnage, looking powerful. The aura of her Melios was palpable. It radiated off her like heat waves.
It was no wonder she looked so energized.
I recall last night, while I was keeping Tonix company during her navigation shift on Xeca, the sound of Iya's moans echoing through the ventilation ducts was quite... distinct.
Ragia was clearly diligent in his duties of recharging his wife.
"Hey!" Ragia shouted, looking up again. "Narrator! Focus on the story, you pervert!"
Sorry…
I am just providing context, Ragia.
Okay, next…
Suddenly, a single Krall Locust broke through the defensive line. It screeched, diving toward Iya's blind spot. Its claws were extended, aiming for her neck.
Iya did not turn. She did not flinch, because she did not have to.
The Locust's head vanished.
A split second later, the crack of a sniper rifle echoed across the valley.
The headless body of the Krall crashed at Iya's feet.
High up on the jagged cliffs, a figure in a lab coat lowered a long-range energy rifle.
Or rather, figures…
There were four of them. Identical clones of Raya Spielba, positioned at perfect intervals along the ridge. They moved in unison, adjusting their glasses with the same clinical detachment.
The original Raya stood near a rock formation, tapping on her datapad. She did not even look at the kill. She viewed it as data. A variable removed from the equation.
"Capt," Raya's voice crackled over the secure comms. "The field test for serum GT-698-Z is concluding."
"Current effectiveness is holding at ninety-three percent."
Ragia touched his ear piece.
"Ninety-three?" Ragia asked. "That is a passing grade, Prof. Good enough."
"Statistical variance allows for a seven percent margin of error," Raya replied calmly. "However, the metabolic uptake is faster than the previous iteration."
For the uninitiated, the GT-698-Z is the new gold standard. Ragia calls it the Mug Mark 8. It is the upgraded version of the GX-778-C.
Ragia switched channels.
"Shorty," he called out. "Position?"
"Sector 16, Capt!" Xecta's voice came back, breathless but steady.
"Evacuation is complete. I am treating the wounded now. My Remido output is stable. Nobody is drunk from the healing water... yet."
"And Stealth?"
"She is here," Xecta said. "She is... working hard."
In the background of the transmission, the sound of grinding stone could be heard.
Gap was there, creating a literal fortress of steel and rock with her Wonderwall, shielding the injured civilians from the bombardment.
"Good," Ragia said. "Navi? How is my ship?"
"She is hurting, Capt," Tonix replied from the bridge of Xeca. "We took a hit to the left hull. Gyra debris, but I am rerouting power to the structural integrity fields. I can hold it."
"Targets?"
"I splashed three Gyras," Tonix said, sounding bored. "They popped like balloons, but the sensors are picking up mo..."
"Excuse me…"
The calm, motherly voice of Mira cut through the battle chatter.
"I apologize for interrupting the violence," Mira said. "But I have a critical question."
"Go ahead, Mira," Ragia sighed.
"Chef," Mira said. "I am trying to finish the dessert for the victory celebration. How exactly do I stir the Codome?"
Codome…
The whipped cream made of sugar, Leocrash butter, and Valken egg whites. A delicacy that required precision, apparently more important than the alien invasion currently happening outside.
"Four times clockwise!" Gin shouted.
Gin was currently in the middle of a swarm of Krall Centaurs. She was not using a gun. She was covered in white flames.
Her Flambe had evolved.
This was the Phoenix Form. She looked like a burning angel of culinary rage. She punched a Centaur in the face, melting its armor instantly.
"Then five times counter-clockwise!" Gin continued, kicking another enemy.
"And you repeat that twelve times! Do not mess up the rhythm, Mommy! Or the peaks will collapse!"
"Understood," Mira replied sweetly. "Thank you, Chef. Have fun."
Ragia shook his head.
He looked out at the battlefield. The chaos was absolute. The noise was deafening.
Well…
It looks like we are back, Capt.
"We are," Ragia agreed.
And…
I cancelled my request for Liam Neeson's voice. His gravitas is too heavy for this circus.
My original voice…
It fits the chaos better.
Ragia laughed.
He looked down at a Krall Queen Beta that was trying to rally her troops. He grinned, his golden eyes flashing with mischief. Then he cracked his knuckles.
"Okay, Narrator," Ragia said. "I think it is time."
"The break is… over."
Time for what?
"Time to make the sequel," Ragia said.
Do you have a title in mind, Capt?
"Yes…"
Ragia turned...
He looked past the war, past the blood, and past the…
Yeah…
He looked right at you…
"Welcome," Ragia said. "To The Chaotic Fanfare Encore."