Apologies for the late post : ) but in Part #5 we saw the prophecy of the overlords and mankind begin to unfold. There was the suggestion that war may break out. The young hybrids now grown, as their genetics urge them against one another.

Space battle – the Phobos spun like a dart with feathers ablaze around the swarm of planetoids. A sustained beam of laser, rupturing a small one. Sandrah scanned the monitors, as splinters of rock ice clattered against the titanium hull. Where are you, Lyre, Father? she telepathed through her gel crab, clinging to her scaly forehead.

The magnesium steel daggers of the overlords were built for dueling complete with sparks, screeches, dirty tricks, and poison. Lors waited in the hold of the asteroid ship, loitering above the ring belts. He spun his double bladed weapon, his articulated body inherited from his father, who implanted the maiden Chantry. Somehow I was born, and this is my time, Father, he telepathed through his pulsing gel crab.

Snyppe held the dying enchanter, lifting him with a single arm. He had come far and escaped numerous assassination machines to deliver the fertilizator to Chantry. For the rebellion, for God, his throat half slit by daggers. Overlord guards gathered around him. He had run, guided by the supersonic cries of his bats, up from the sewers, bearing the vital chemical that would activate her embryo. His daggers flashed as he spun in low G, senses heightened by the bats and numerous nerve chemicals, still the hardened minds and preternatural grace of the overlord guards slowed his one man battle towards the gel garden where his object played, eating of immortality flowers’ gel nectar. Drink this, for God, he said and she conceived, now talking with his father, to deal the final blow to humanity’s pride, and free themselves from their declining religion and plodding beliefs. I am crab, screamed Lors. Meanwhile Sandrah’s damaged dartship torn to shreds, careened into the hold.

I must be strong, she said, Father? but there was no answer. Lyre was thinking about Jeyp and Esthre, his father and mother, trapped in Jupiter’s gravity prison. The prison was deep in the dimple the giant planet made in space time. The overlords had built steps out of it. Pieces of rock that floated in the darkness. Get into your suits and climb out, he advised. I’ll swing the ship around. Lyre got up from the meditation chamber, among the overlord youth. I’m leaving, he said. Yes Lord, they answered, If only you knew the sacrifice, they telepathed but Lyre was deaf to their mockery.

At the same time, Prince Gppe stood on the bridge. My heir is leaving the ship, he thought. Ahhh, and the desecration of my wife is at hand. Esthre couldn’t fit into a bio suit as her scales prevented the interface with the preserved tough flesh. You’ll have to cut off the scales, she told Jeyp. They had tried but blood oozed from underneath. He tossed aside the dagger and suited up, the dead-dying overlord skin and organs pressing around his naked flesh. Turning to his lover, he used his new strength to rip off the scales in a flourish. Esthre screamed in ecstasy-pain but Jeyp acted quickly, stuffing her raw body into a suit which immediately soothed her. Confound them, shouted Gppe as he lept from the bridge port, holding a judgement staff, the cruelest weapon the overlords had devised – for traitors and apostates. It was about 2 meters long and at each end, a ball of ragged black diamond. The staff was flexible a bit whip-like for maximum torment.

Sandrah’s ship crashed against the launch deck, its fins breaking off against the portal. Lors shielded his crab with a bony hand as she lept from the ejection seat, dagger in hand. Their blades locked and the overlord queen grimaced with anticipation. Lyre flicked the switches on his ship, the AX-1, a converted asteroid smasher, he had been working on during the long journey to Earth. He was proud of the work, not being the most skillful pilot but the small ovoid with grappling arms and jet spars had a lot up its sleeve. He smiled and launched, arms scampering across the deck and jets igniting.

Meanwhile in the garden, Prince Snyppe struck down his mate – the maid Chantry. She didn’t cry or show any pain. To show pain or grief was not an admission of weakness or guilt, as once humans thought, but an ignorance of the reason we exist. The rare metal dagger – she could feel the chemicals zinc and magnesium, rare semi unstable lantanides leeching into her blood. I exist forever, she thought as she caressed his leathery hide. God died to her and to many. Lyre felt it and so did the overlord queen.


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