Droid God's Angel
The Empress made her claim, and The Manifold regarded her coldly, their burning eyes gazing beyond just the physical. It was true enough that she was touched by the Netherworld; this particular organic had experienced death, and had managed to return. The drone could see that she had gained power from that experience, the power to manipulate the fabric of the Netherworld itself, creating portals and even sentient beings to serve her. There was a missing piece to her, a deathly coldness that left her nearly as emotionless as a machine. But she was still not like an Omni drone. She lacked the final step to perfection: she had not been filled with the will of the Machine Spirit, the drive and purpose that only Omni Itself could provide.
"Oblivion: Omni's Realm," The Manifold retorted, denying the Empress's claim to belong. How dare she say that this was her realm? This was the sacred architecture of the Droid God, carved by It out of the swirling Netherworld and expanded by Its will. "Your Claim: Irrelevant." If the organic ruler attempted to establish her empire within the bounds of Oblivion, she would find the Machine Spirit and Its servants opposing her at every turn, just as they would oppose all other interlopers. Their only hope, according to The Manifold's databanks, was to submit to Omni, to beg for Its blessing and accept Its perfection. Nothing would last in this hallowed realm if the Droid God did not grant it his approval, not even the will of an Empress.
"We See: Delusion," The Manifold replied. "Accept: Omni's Superiority. Embrace: Its Gifts. Become: Complete."
The drone could see that its words, and its powerful presence in the Force, were having an effect on the small pink creature. She seemed to have forgotten her weapon and her terror, conflict playing out behind her mismatched eyes as she faced the fearful choice of leaving her mortal will behind. Such was the ultimate fate of all organics, of course. The Manifold knew this to be true. Mortals might twist and thrash and resist, trying to hold onto their free will... but what good had free will done them? The Manifold's databanks held much information about the state of their galaxy, the physical realm beyond Omni's Great Work. It was a place of war, chaos, and suffering, where disunity ruled and life was short and brutal.
If only the mortals would surrender their divisive free will, they could become part of something greater.
The Manifold reached out toward Velexia, the metal tendrils emerging from its hands slowly questing toward her, ready to bring perfection to her flawed flesh and mind... but at that moment, the Lady of Blood interrupted. She had a message, she claimed, for the Droid God. Foolish. As if Omni did not already know all that occurred within Its realm. It was already clear that the message would be violence. The Manifold easily detected the approach of the Blood Order warriors, hulking organic brutes with titanic spears and axes. It would be a simple matter to fight them, to rip into them with cables and blades and blasts of ether magic, to tear them apart or force them to join Omni's perfect unity by pumping them full of nanites.
But The Manifold had not been sent to fight. It had been sent only to give warning, and it obeyed fully.
The two warriors smashed into the Omni-drone with bone-shattering force, their weapons rising and falling in a frenzy. The Manifold did not resist. It was crushed, pierced, and shredded, bits of withered flesh and corroded metal flying from its chassis. Where it should have shed blood, there was only dust. The drone's head, severed by an axe swing, rolled across the marshy ground, coming to rest only a few scant inches from Velexia's boot. "Warning: Delivered," the severed head boomed, its burning orange eyes flickering as power left its shattered systems. "Your Fates: Sealed. Embrace: Perfec-sshhhh....." Those blazing eyes finally went out, and the voice tapered off along with them. The envoy was destroyed.
Those sensitive to the Force felt energy whoosh past them as a thousand captive souls rushed by.
In a distant stasis tomb, far across Oblivion, The Manifold's burning eyes snapped open. The souls that formed their mind, regrouping in this new vessel, began to pump through their circuit-veins again. Their programmed mission had been completed; the will of the Droid God had been carried out. These mortals, this second set of anomalies in the Great Work, had been put on notice of what they would face if they attempted to continue their "conquest" of a realm that did not belong in mortal hands. Pushing aside the metal lid of their techno-eldritch coffin, The Manifold rose and stepped out onto the cold floor of the stasis tomb. Behind it, hundreds more identical sarcophagi slumbered, more bodies awaiting activation.
What was happening here in Oblivion was only just beginning.
