Hive mind Beyond the veil

Darkness surrounded him.

He floated alone, still suspended inside his sphere, which was now opaque and nearly silent, its opaque shell turned black with isolation protocols in effect.

The hum of filtration systems was the only company he had, the constant background chorus of pumps and regulators working to keep his recycled water breathable and his life support functional.

His V.I. handled the outer command duties in his absence, a digital mask standing in his place. He needed time—to reflect, to assess, and to confront the truth he had avoided for too long.

Fear.

That wretched emotion had been his undoing. It had clouded every decision he made. He now had it buried beneath a constant daily dose of emotion suppressors, but it had ruled him nonetheless. Only now, submerged in silence, had he torn the fear up by the roots.

It had slowed him down. Stolen his clarity while the abomination advanced, devouring entire theatres of war, he had hidden—scrambling to generate new counterstrategies, fallback protocols, and defensive grids. But all they'd done was delay the inevitable.

He saw it now there was no escape, mercy, or peace for him.

If he had abandoned the expedition sooner and fled into the dark with a skeleton fleet, perhaps he could have evaded death for a time. But even that was a fantasy.

Running further from Veridia, deeper into dead space, would've meant slow death. He would have suffered from starvation, mechanical failure and the worst, a psychological collapse. He would have perished anyway, just slower.

The expedition was doomed from its inception. Built by the cheapest, most profit-obsessed guilds the Triumvirate had to offer, assembled on a skeleton budget, with Hydrarch middlemen siphoning resources.

He had always intended to purge them once the mission was complete. Maybe a few would have been spared for their usefulness.

But if he'd known what slept in this solar system… If he'd known that the abomination was a hive mind.

He would have passed the contract to a higher or lower faction, possibly even offering the data to one of the Grand Clans. If he knew what was here, but it was pointless, Phaedra's secret was now awake.

Nethros.

That name filled him with nothing but hatred.

The hive abomination had already proven its mastery over fusion. What would it do if it accessed antimatter or, worse, captured scientists with expertise in their advanced fields of study?

The thought of it dissecting their knowledge, harvesting minds, using Grithan technology as scaffolding for its organic monstrosities…

He shivered.

There was no escaping it now only delay his end.

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A beep from the V.I. pulsed through the isolation field, and the sphere turned transparent. Harsh overhead light washed across his command chamber. The walls, once a sterile grey, were painted a pale blue at his request, but he could still see the grey bleeding through in his mind.

The room felt like a tomb.

Dozens of monitors flickered to life, flooding the display with battlefield telemetry. Three new threats had appeared—massive, lumbering creatures, their colour blending seamlessly with the swarm. Each matched the grey flesh-metal aesthetic the enemy employed.

He ordered the V.I. to begin analysis.

Weapon configurations were compared against known design patterns. Projectile origins, possible payloads, energy emissions. But there were gaps—large hollow cavities with no conventional armament.

What was hidden in that mass?

The three behemoths moved in a perfect spear formation. An escort detachment of smaller vessels flanked them, keeping tight orbital discipline. He gave a new order: track their exact movements, calculate likely trajectory, and determine planetary vectors.

His fleet was repositioned. Defence arrays rotated as sensor platforms recalibrated.

Across Verdias orbit, defensive V.I.s ran counter models. Could this be a new planetary siege tactic?

Were they meant to breach his orbital curtain and deposit more of its biological monstrosities?

For a while, nothing happened.

The enemy simply moved into position, and their blockade spread around Veridia's orbit like a tightening web. Smaller craft flitted in groups of ten positions themselves around Veridia maintaining a distance.

He patched into the clone communication grid. Tension filled their voices, others were quiet, merely observing the coming battle. Ground assets were on alert. Bunkers were sealed, and weapons were ready. The clone commanders debated protocols and response windows.

He said nothing and let his V.I. continue the lie of his confidence.

He would die on his terms, not by the abomination's hand.

Then a slight movement.

The behemoths stirred.

The V.I. zoomed in.

Their flanks opened.

Not like mechanical hatches, but like wounds. Folds of flesh peeled apart, and missiles slithered out—dozens at first, then hundreds. More than the visible launch tubes could explain.

The Smaller craft broke formation and began attack runs. His V.I. synced with the fleet and defence grid. Already marking multiple targets and calculating loss projections and countermeasures.

The void exploded into a light show.

Lasers fired in sweeping arcs, precision-guided flak detonated early to flood approach vectors with shrapnel. Debris clouds thickened. The missiles weaved through like serpents, dancing through the chaos.

Some fell.

But not enough.

As they neared, secondary turrets opened up—flak guns, kinetic rail platforms, hard point artillery. Barrages of metal tore into the void. Heat warnings were triggered as batteries overheated. Some guns fell silent—forced to vent before they melted.

A few ships were hit—acid first, stripping shielding—then plasma rounds, igniting hulls. Defence platforms shattered, spinning out of control, breaking apart and slamming into friendly vessels.

Still, the behemoths fired. Now using visible tubes as well, pouring more missiles.

The V.I. updated projections again.

Every number dropped.

Every simulation ended in collapse.

Then something strange happened.

Several clusters of missiles weren't targeting ships or stations. Instead, they accelerated forward breaching the atmosphere and moving through the ash and dust layer flying horizontally, their trajectory showed no clear target.

Some were intercepted, others weren't.

His V.I. issued a warning.

New variables.

No match in the database.

He demanded a full review of past attacks, and previous tactics, and wanted a full review. The surviving missiles continued with their strange trajectories and were eventually destroyed.

Eventually, the enemy pulled back, slipping back to their defensive positions. The void dimmed as the battlefield was silent once more, strewn with wreckage.

He took a breath.

Debris drifted toward the planet, glowing as it scraped the ash-choked upper atmosphere. Trails of light streaked across the sky—red, gold, violet, all falling toward a world already half-dead.

Below, clone units emerged from hardened bunkers. Shuttle flights resumed—carrying emergency parts and crews to crippled vessels and gutted platforms.

Other clones moved to scavenge—gathering anything useful from the destruction.

Purification teams were activated. Hunting down enemy debris that had landed. Whole sectors would be swept clean and scorched until the ground was glass.

He let out a long sigh.

His V.I. flickered to life, presenting a full combat damage assessment. It was worse than expected. The fifth fleet was mauled, and his reserves were now crippled.

Even now, sensors tracked the retreating enemy. He knew the truth, this was only the prelude.

The abomination would make planet fall soon, and nothing he had could stop it.

———

I reviewed everything as the last of my missiles were destroyed. My intelligence and war sub-minds worked in unison, scanning terrain data, possible defence layouts, and the possible positions of their primary operational hubs, all while Ash blight spread across Veridia.

I expected it to begin terraforming soon. A few biomorphs had survived initial contact, and if I could direct them to harvest the Ash blight effectively, I would have dozens—if not hundreds—of eyes on the planet's surface.

With success, I could create and deploy multiple infiltrator teams to begin the slow, surgical dismantling of their infrastructure from within.

Time would tell how effective the strategy was.

The Neskars were proving far more biomass-hungry than anticipated. When the last seven had been birthed, they would be deployed housing the first wave. Once planetary saturation reached an acceptable level… it would be time to launch my D-Day.

I paused.

Perhaps I could name the operation something else.