Twilight Imperium Fan Fic

Primer on the Letnev

Barony of Letnev

—

Current Ruler

His Just Infallible Greater Highness Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III The Great of Letnev

Governmental System:

Barony

Population:

10.5 Billion

Main Interests:

Military

Philosophy:

Existentialism

—

For centuries the Barony of Letnev has thrived in their tunnel cities on Arc Prime and their farmlands on Wrenn Terra. These two planets under the Barony’s control hide in the very blackness of space, due to their lack of a central star. It is commonly joked that the Letneveian disdain for the rest of the galaxy keeps their two planets that wander around space together from deadly collision.

Letnev Chapter

“The Letnev have survived for aeons in the Twilight Years, and we have finally reached the end!” Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III raised his fist triumphantly into the air as he faced his congregation. “Since the first Lazax Rebellion, which was admittedly caused by us, the capital planet of the Lazax Empire has been thrown into disarray while it lacked a sovereign controller. It is the path to success in achieving control over the Imperial Throne!”

He paused for the thunderous applause, before continuing.

“This is what we have wanted for years, to gain the favour of the Winnaran custodians, we have wanted to gain enough favour to claim the Imperial Throne! And now, we have a much stronger military. We have stronger hearts and we are proud of our government and our empire. We are proud of our people. And we have the strength to take Mecatol Rex! And we will take the Imperial Throne! Who sides with me?”

Fists raised in the air among The Baron’s Righteous Congress Of Lesser Barons And Ministers and cries of agreement followed.

“We shall build a fleet and we shall pass through the Double Quann Gateway to reach the Imperial Planet! The respect of the Winnarans will be ours.” The Baron banged his fist on the lectern, his long, silver hair shimmering in the artificial lights of Palace Goz. “Then let us build our fleets!” Cheers rose up from the crowd.

“Then we shall prepare for the liberation of Mecatol Rex!” He roared with a certain finality to his tone, and the 30 Lesser Barons, each adorned in bright golden and blue robes, stood up in unison to shuffle back to their offices. 

Satisfied with the impact of his rousing speech, the Baron had started to make his way across the podium when he heard his name.

“You mean colonisation, Baron Werqan?” 

The Baron turned in the direction of the voice, and a bolt of blue plasma fired from the rafters towards the Baron.

“Sniper!” A bodyguard jumped to block the bolt, but it had already made its mark.

A single burn mark appeared in the lower part of the Baron’s stomach

—

As he blinked his bleary eyes, the Baron found himself ambushed by bright white lights.

Where am I? His ears rang and when he tried to put his right hand to his ear he felt a tug at his arm.

Looking down, he saw an IV drip inserted neatly into his lateral arm. Another cursory look revealed that he was draped in a plain white hospital gown. This brought his mind back to crystal clear clarity.

“Why am I, Baron Werqan III in a standard issue hospital gown? Were none of the dignitary gowns available?”

A woman wearing golden-rimmed glasses and with tied-up silver hair walked into the room. Her blue skin was slightly darker than his. “Baron Werqan. I see that you’re awake.” She pulled out a small clipboard and a lightpen and made some glowing mark on whatever sheet she was using. “How are you feeling?”

“Having just seen what I am wearing, I feel disdain.”

“That’s just all Letnev people,” the doctor replied smoothly. “I mean how does the wound feel?”

“Wound?” 

“Do you not remember that there was an assassination attempt where an assassin put a centimetre-thick hole through you?” The doctor peered over her glasses at him.

“A centimetre?”

“A centimetre,” she confirmed.

The Baron now looked down at his stomach and felt a shock of pain through that area. “Terribly!” he gasped. His fingers tensed and the doctor continued.

“I thought as much. Painkillers must have just worn off.” She pulled a cabinet open, grabbed a syringe and stabbed it into his chest. The Baron yelped.

“Do you often poke holes in your patients without advance notice?” he demanded.

“Your Highness, I find the element of surprise can be beneficial for both the doctor and the patient?”

“It was just that you jabbed at me so…mercilessly and almost nihilistically.” The Baron instinctively tried to put his hands to his stomach protectively before realising that both were restricted by IV drips.

“Just doing my job, Your Highness.” The doctor was saying all the right things, but the Baron sensed a smile - or possibly even a smirk - dancing on the corners of her lips. 

He tried to draw himself up to full height and dignity, which was difficult to do lying down, in a hospital gown. “What is your name, Doctor?”

“Oh, I’m not just Doctor. I’m The Infallible Just Doctor of Arc Prime’s Unlenn Lývaat Hospital Doctor Ina Åaletja.” There was a short, awkward silence. “I am pleased to report, Your Highness, that you’re a lucky man! The laser just went in between your thoraco-albaeoic lung and your déosynchronised-hyperbound heart.”

“In between my what and my what?” he gasped. 

“It could have either deprived you of control of your breathing and severed the nervous connection to your greater brain by hitting your third lung or made you die immediately by cutting off the blood sugar and cells going into your second lesser brain.” The doctor adjusted beamed at him. “In other words, you’re a lucky man! Make sense?”

The room began to spin.

—

“Your Highness?”

Bright lights once again accosted the Baron’s eyes and he recoiled at the face peering over his.

“How are you feeling, Your Highness? You fainted for three minutes, 22 seconds and 81.324 milliseconds.”

“I’m feeling very exposed.” The Baron averted his eyes from the doctor’s gaze, and she promptly put a thick, heavy blanket over him, tucking him in like a child ready for a bedtime story. His mood brightened instantly. “When can I get out of here? In case you haven’t heard, I have to build a fleet, and I have to tell the world about Operation Hurricane.”

“It will take at least three days.” She looked at his chart. “I’ve been monitoring your vital signs, and I have a plan for your recovery. You’ll first have to get taken off life support, which will take maybe a day or two if you’re lucky and if we are able to reset your bodily functions quickly—”

The Baron’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. “I’m on LIFE SUPPORT? RESET MY BODILY FUNCTIONS? Vjèt talgør, what are you, the Nekro Virus?”

“Vjèt talgør—my days? Well, you won’t have many more days left with your legs.” Doctor Åaletja smiled uncomfortably and cleared her throat. The Baron’s mouth was agape. “Unfortunately there is only one way to get you out of the hospital, Your Highness. We will have to replace your body from the torso down to neutralise the damage from the plasma burn.”

“Vjèt talgør! What about my kidney? And my fifth lung?”

“Oh, the fifth lung is nothing! Its removal just means your breaths will have a 75% shorter maximum length.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Well, one of the world wars was caused by a similar surgery.”

“Well, there were 108 of those, so, what is it?”

She sighed. “Take this Antigleucostolovamine jab in your arm.” She pulled out a giant syringe and filled it up with a liquid from a bottle labeled:

TOXIC: DO NOT EAT OR DRINK

ONLY USE IN MEDICAL EMERGENCY WITH Q-25 SYRINGE

“Wait…what does it—AH!”

“Done!” She cleaned up the wound as the yellow blood dripped from his shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“Stabilising your blood flow for the amputation and neutralising the blood in your kidney and your fifth lung.” The doctor smiled benevolently. 

The Baron’s eyelids started to feel heavy.

“Thankfully, it also works as a tranquiliser!”, the doctor added brightly.

“Why…does the syringe say…Q-22—”

Everything turned to darkness.

—

“Where am I?” The Baron was standing up, black pools of shadow surrounding him. He was dressed in his hospital gown and it felt like he was almost standing on water. As he walked, water splashed behind him.

“Emmiciel.” He snapped his head around to face a familiar man.

“Grandfather?”

“It’s been a while since I saw you last.” The tall, blue-skinned man that stood before him was wearing royal robes and golden armour. A long golden scepter sat in his hand as the old man stepped slowly around the Baron. “How do you lead our people, Emmiciel?”

The Baron observed him. His grandfather looked as frail as a twig that had given up on photosynthesis. His long, stiff figure loomed over the Baron as he edged closer. He gripped onto his Royal Scepter nobly yet weakly as he used it to support his aged joints. “I lead our people with pride and national faith. As long as people believe in our nation, they will believe in themselves.”

“I see you remember what I taught you all those years ago. You have a good memory, I will say. And what is the most important asset of our government?”

“The Prime Military Corps.”

“Wrong. What’s most important is your power to reach the people with your voice. I know that you are not as utterly stupid as the Saarians are. You can unify your people; that is the power of a Baron.”

“I understand, Grandfather. My mistakes are noted.”

The older man waved his free hand dismissively. “How is your father handling being the Supreme Bearer of the Crown? He was a little unsteady when I sprung that position onto him.”

“He’s doing well. He’s gotten used to it.” His Grandfather, Daz Emmiciel Werqan I smiled and they both fell silent.

“Grandfather?”

“Yes?”

“What should I do now?”

“There is an opening at Mecatol Rex.” A holographic visual appeared to the old man’s right. “There is a particular route which, if you follow it, means Mecatol Rex is yours for the taking. Send enormous fleets of fighters to destroy anything that stops you and the Letnev fleets of Dreadnoughts. However, keep our flagship—the Arc Secundus—in orbit and at large to bombard and attack any competition headed for the Galactic Council. Remember to bring Destroyers to send attacks to destroy enemy fighters just in case of enemies. If you take Mecatol Rex, you must sway the people to have them truly believe in our cause. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Good. Now, it is time for you to leave.” And with the echoing bang of the Scepter against the ground, the Baron’s eyes opened wide.

—

“Welcome back, Your Highness.” Doctor Ina Åaletja stood over him in his hospital bed as a group of other nurses quickly shuffled out of the room. “You’ve had a long sleep since the surgery. Can you feel your legs?”

The Baron looked down and saw silver legs. “I can’t feel anything, except a slight tingly feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Are these robotic legs? How do they work?”

“We have a specialist who will show you how to integrate them into your movement. I’m told that they will feel even better than your original legs once you are used to them.”

The Baron cleared his throat. “I need to go to the Map Room. Now that I have somehow been saved by losing half of my body, I can charge you with obstruction of justice if you don’t let me go.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The doctor smiled serenely. “ I just need to give you this jab of veltoglauecostamine.” She picked up a tiny bottle with a magenta-coloured fluid inside with a label that the Baron tried desperately to read:

WARNING:

NOT TO BE USED ON BLOOD TYPE C+ OR ELSE THERE IS A POSSIBILITY OF DEATH IF KIDNEYS ARE NOT STABLE OR NOT PRESENT

“I’m C-positi—AAH!” The needle was jammed straight into his shoulder and the shot of fluids sent pain aching through his entire body.

Well, that is, except for his legs.

The Baron sat up, swung his robot legs over the side of the hospital bed and balanced momentarily on them before falling, collapsing face first into a hospital cart and then onto the floor.

“With respect, Your Highness”, the doctor began, and the Baron grimaced for he knew that any sentence that started with “With respect” meant that whatever was to follow would show no respect whatsoever, “I would recommend that you meet with the specialist and become accustomed to your new bionic limbs before taking on any official duties.”

“But this might determine the fate of the nation! I don’t need a physio or a doctor, however infallible you are, to tell me that I can’t go to the Map Room! This will earn us the favour—” The Baron realised that he couldn’t do much about it and childishly grumbled as he slowly raised his face from its position planted on the tiling. “Bring me the specialist.”

“What a wonderful idea, Your Highness. They will be here shortly.”

—

EIGHT DAYS LATER

Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III strode confidently into the Map Room, the metal of his hi-tech feet clanging against the tile with every step. He could have worn shoes, but he had decided that the audible reminder that he had survived assassination was a powerful message.

“Everyone, listen up.” All the people in the room stood up quickly and shot to their positions beside the map of the galaxy. “I have a plan to take Mecatol Rex.”

Primer on the L1Z1X

L1Z1X Mindnet

—

Current Ruler

Hivemaster QLR2-101

Governmental System

Semi-Autocratic Democracy(Not Confirmed)

Population

Unknown

Main Interests

Galactic Control

Philosophy

Pro-Cyborg Nihilism

Historians and scholars are still unsure of the origin of the L1Z1X, and where they came from. Appearing out of the blue 500 years after the Twilight Ages began, we have no idea whether they’re the Lazax returned, a set of rogue cyborgs that escaped a laboratory hundreds of years ago or even revived scrap metal mixed with flesh. They live on the planet 0.0.0., which is known for having air so lacking in density that no other species can live on it.

—

L1Z1X Hivemaster 9LR2’s piercing, glowing, red cyborg eyes opened to view the Hivemaster’s Chambers. Unplugging the Antivirus Cables from its Crown Helm, it began to float further forward, coils of dark metal on the Hivemaster’s feet that emitted red light kept it in air. Its black cloak danced around its armour in the thin air.

Diplomat 3OAI floated into the room; silver, naturally-burned skin on what would be a human’s cheeks shone in the Chambers as the Hivemaster neared. Through the Mindnet Pathways, Diplomat 3OAI synchronized a message to the Hivemaster without the speech that mere lesser species would use: “Hivemaster. May we begin to send in ships and soldiers to collect Mecatol Rex; in other words, may we begin Operation Quicksand?”

“You have permission to commence Operation Quicksand.”

—

The L1Z1X Flagship 0.0.1 began to zoom into a flash of light, appearing at Mecatol Rex. “What is that?” The Hivemaster asked, watching closely at a large number of ships from a separate faction that neared the planet.

“It is the Letnev, Master 9LR2.”

“Let them destroy the forces on Mecatol Rex. Then, we intercept them with our mightier fleets.”

“Understood. Preparing L1Z1X Invisibility Field Coverage for activation. Completed.”

—

“Our thousands of fighters and soldiers will not die in vain.” The Baron pointed at Mecatol Rex from the view of their Flagship, Arc Secundus. “For The Throne!”

“For The Throne! For The Throne!” The soldiers across their fleet continued the chant as they began to attack Mecatol Rex.

Their Flagship zoomed in and bombarded the Mecatol Defense Corps, destroying three of their Mass Battalions. The enemy Planetary Defense System used their Deep Space Cannon to annihilate one of Letnev’s fleet of fighters. Unbeknownst to the enemy, that set of fighters was made to be bait, and their ground forces and infantry were able to destroy the defenses on Mecatol Rex with ease whilst the Mecatol Defence Corps was distracted.

Fighters zoomed around Mecatol City, in between buildings and through alleyways. Their soldiers cheered for their Baron in the streets, under the protection of ships that stayed in orbit to intercept invaders. A carrier dropped down two new Planetary Defense Systems, built and moved straight from Arc Prime to defend from any incoming attacks.

But then, dark shadows surrounded the entire planet.

“We took Mecatol Rex!” Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III threw his fist in the air. “We shall go down in history as the first to retake Mecatol Rex and—”

“Your Infallible Highness.” His assistant, standing in front of him, bowed deeply. “I apologise for the interruption, but I wanted to humbly draw your attention to the L1Z1X Super Dreadnoughts and the rest of the L1Z1X fleet which surround us.” The Baron turned around like a bolt of lightning bouncing off of walls to see an enormous fleet that even outnumbered the Letnev’s armies.

“Holy—” Interrupted again, one of the other assistants that was on the bridge sought his attention. “Yes, what is it!”

“Baron, they have begun to fire at us.”

—

“Operation Quicksand has officially begun, Hivemaster.”

“Continue firing. I want to wait before we apply the Beta Laxion Contingency to intercept their attack from behind.”

“Very well, then, Hivemaster 9LR2.”

—

Blasts from Dreadnoughts, a Flagship, fighters, carriers and three flurries that came from nowhere blasted at the Letnev, catching them off guard and decimating the supply of Letnev fighters and bringing their number of fighters from 9000 to 0 in a matter of minutes.

“Letneveians to battle stations!” They were able to quickly destroy a large number of fighters from the side of the L1Z1X, leaving two smaller groups of fighters in one corner.

—

“Activate Beta Laxion Contingency”.

“Activating…”

A fleet of Destroyers and infantry units appeared, headed straight towards the fleet of units on one side of the Letnev fleet.

Fire burst on the side of their destroyers and one of their massive dreadnoughts was brought down into the radioactive ground surrounding Mecatol Rex.

—-

“No!” The Baron placed his hands against the glass window to the darkness of space before him as the dreadnought collapsed internally and externally, explosions blowing out the engines and breaking it into two pieces like a snapped twig.

“Fire again!”

Hits landed, crushing the confidence of the L1Z1X and crushing their fighter and Destroyer supply.

And yet, the L1Z1X confidence was not scarred at all. Merely scraped like a bullet bouncing off of water.

“Fire again.”

And a large orb of solid gold, L1Z1X-made metal appeared in space. A War Sun, capable of shooting three flurries of thousands of blasts that were what decimated the fleets of the Letnev. The War Sun’s ship tracking technology made it almost impossible for one to falter, and it had done the L1Z1X good in the sense that they had destroyed the Letnev armies. All Letnev ships were downed, including their dreadnoughts, and even their flagship was about to explode until the Baron pressed a large red button.

It was labelled:

DAMAGE PROTECTION CONTINGENCY

When he pressed it, all wounds in the ship repaired themselves and it disappeared into an invisibility cloak. Arc Secundus was protected and it couldn’t be harmed yet it couldn’t attack for the next eight weeks.

“We have lost, everyone.” The Baron watched his people on the bridge, some of which had had severe damage to their heads after the ship swayed around space; some of them were dead, yellow blood streaming down from their foreheads. “I guess there isn’t enough ‘everyone’ to say ‘everyone’, I guess. The infamous Letnev Fleet is down. But we still must protect Mecatol Rex from the greedy hands of the L1Z1X!

“Those of you that are still alive and conscious, we must tell our soldiers and the operators of our PDS’s that they cannot give up. That we shall never, never, never, never surrender. Success is not final, failure is not fatal; we must understand that the courage to continue is what counts.” He sighed. “If you are going through hell, then keep going. We all have an enemy; and that is good. Because it means that we have stood up for something, sometime in our lives.”

One of the people on the bridge whispered to another person next to them. “These sentences sound familiar.”

“In what way?” The other person asked.

“They sound like they’re quotes from a human called Winston Churchill.”

“I see.”

Explosions flared around Mecatol City, and the sound of a ring came from a corner of the bridge. The Baron rushed to the damaged yet still operative phone, picking it up.

It was the L1Z1X.

“Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III. We will stop bombarding your people and will refrain from destroying your protected Flagship we see through the shield of if you will give us something.”

“Give you what?”

“You are not a stupid race, nor are you stupid. We do not want to have to exterminate or deport all of your Letneveian people that are in the territories that we have claimed in our conquest, as we have done with the Saar, or the Saarians, depending on where you’re from. You can stop this by doing three things: give us an official note of surrender to the L1Z1X Mindnet, remove your troops from Mecatol City and give us an additional payment of half of the Letnev Arc Prime Central Governmental Bank of Finance and Letneveian Treasury. Or, the LAPCGBFLT, if you prefer.”

“Do you understand that that number you just mentioned is equal to 38 trillion Lâaros?” He tucked the receiver slightly closer to his mouth and he whispered as quietly as he could. “That bank is where all of my family’s embezzled money goes!”

“We can hear you!” The others on the bridge said.

“Exactly, Emmiciel. We want to end your Royal Family’s corruption and end the reign and power of the Letnev. Or you lose your soldiers along with your reputation. Oh, and you also die along with the Arc Secundus.”

He sighed. “How do you want everything to happen?”

—-

THREE DAYS LATER

“Let us agree on the terms of your defeat, Your Unjust Fallible Pathetic Lowness Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III The Terrible of Letnev.”

“Ouch! I’ve had enough insults coming from people who have surgical experience, whether in medicine or bombardment, in the past week. But insulting my title?” He sighed. “What is the meaning of life if your title is insulted—”

“There is no meaning to life.” Hivemaster QLR2-101 said in such a cold, calculated voice that was generally expected by the greater population of the galaxy of the L1Z1X Mindnet.

“How about the meaning of titles if—”

“There is no meaning to anything in the galaxy.”

“Look. I—” He pointed at himself. “—am an existentialist. You are an inherent nihilist. Why can’t we work together?”

“Are you referring to the mind of Frederick Nietszche, human philosopher and philologist from over 71.8 million years ago on the planet of Jord?” Its head tilted mechanically though its grey, ghostly skin was visible on its neck.

“Frederick who?”

“Moving onto the terms of your reparations and your harrowing defeat.” The Baron somberly nodded, painedly sighing. “We will Assimilate the Planetary Defense Systems and space docks already on Mecatol Rex, placed by you. If you are unfamiliar with the Assimilation process, please read this handbook.” The Hivemaster reached out a hand and a book of dark-coloured papers emerged from its wrist. The paper then was sent flying right in front of the Baron.

“The Assimilation Process, by Hivemaster QLR2-101.” He turned the page. “That is quite a terrifying process. Are you L1Z1X people monsters?”

“Technically, we are cyborgs—”

“Quiet! Move onto a topic that doesn’t involve the annihilation of our PDS and Space Docks and then replacing them with your own.”

“They will gain new lives as gargantuan L1Z1X cyborgs afterward in The Molding. We will Assimilate them to form new servants of our Mindnet to keep up our expansion.”

“Wow. Will we get any subsidies for this? My Empire spent a lot of time and money to create these state-of-the-art buildings.”

“You won’t get any subsidies any time soon.” The Baron furrowed his silver brows at that. “May I now talk about how half of LAPCGBFLT’s assets will now belong to the L1Z1X Mindnet?”

“I’ve prepared them for a transfer to L1Z1X—what’s your currency called again?”

“L1Z1XCoins.”

“No, the other one.”

“LzCoin.”

“There. Thankfully, they aren’t the property of the common people of Arc Prime. Sadly, they are more important assets that actually belong to the Letnev Royal Family.”

“We are a Exo-Communalist society. All have equal power and freedom, and every coin is equal to any other.”

“You’re Exo-Communalists?”

“Are you trying to make a point, due to you being part of a party which involves the words ‘anti-Exo-communalist’ in its name?”

“And it involves Imperialist in its name.”

“Our party does as well. Every seven years, the L1Z1X people take a vote for who the next Hivemaster, or H1V3M4ST3R will be. They will then have autocratic powers for their seven years in office before another vote is taken. Our party is the Imperialist Communal Party.”

“Well, at least we’ve got one thing in common.”

“Transfer the Lâaros now, Werqan. I am tired of waiting.”

“You cyborgs get tired?”

“It is an expression from the human people from the planet of Jord in the Federation of Sol that we, as the L1Z1X, have decided to adopt.”

“I see.” He clicked a button on his keyboard. “That is a lot of money.”

“That is now ours.” The eyes of the Hivemaster glared at the Baron. “And now, we have sovereign control over Mecatol Rex.”

“We will redeem ourselves soon. And the L1Z1X will pay.”

“Until then, Werqan.”

—

3 MONTHS LATER

The ancient, open-air auditorium of Mecatol Rex was in pristine condition as it was only used for Crowning ceremonies, and this was only the second one since the end of the Mahact Gene-Sorcerors, 25,000 years ago. 

The 17 galactic powers and their leaders filed in to await the announcement.

The cyborg L1Z1X had arrived early and were already seated. They waited silently, expressionless as always. Baron Werqan of the Letnev had eschewed shoes for the metallic clang to announce his presence again; he looked somber as he took his seat. The Winnaran Winnu, close relatives but also arch enemies of the custodians of Mecatol Rex looked haughty as they strode in, avoiding eye contact with the other factions. The Arborec, still stinging from the diplomatic crisis that was set off by Baron Werqan dismissing their leader as a “giant house plant”, and as a hive mind, totally in agreement, pointedly placed themselves on the opposite side of the auditorium to the Letnev.

The Saar, who resembled small-eared gremlins, caused a brief commotion as they were forced to hand over their weapons before entering, marched to their seats giving death stares to the Sardakk N’orr, who had colonised their home planet.

They, in turn, were pointedly ignored by the Sardakk N’orr ambassador, who, with its grim and ugly bug-like body, squirmed as it twisted its 13 legs. The Sardakk N’orr looked like a cross between a grasshopper and a venus fly trap, and were in formation around their Queen Mother, who had graced the ceremony with her presence. 

The Naalu collective were all smiling, their long, sharp fingers creating inadvertent shadow puppets as they eagerly chattered amongst themselves.

The Hacan, the proud lions and traders of space, were adorned with golden jewelry and draped in red robes. They looked quite pleased with themselves as they settled in their seats. Next to them was the Headmaster of the Universities of Jol-Nar, who smiled in their fish tank-shaped bubble helm that kept them alive outside of water.

The purple-skinned Mentak grinned deviously, and seemed to be plotting, as all space pirates do; this contrasted with the Nekro Virus’ leader in the section next to them - that faction consisted of floating orbs of dark metal with a red light on the front, notably devoid of any expression.

The mysterious, faceless, ghostly Creuss ambassador had no interpretable body language as the reptilian Xxcha leader looked sternly upon the others and the Gashlai leader stood in their fire suit. The goblin-like Yssaril Spy Guildmaster closed their eyes in preparation for the results as the Yin leader with his terrible skin condition had a scaringly apathetic facial expression.

They all stopped briefly to observe as the only human faction, the Federation of Sol, entered the auditorium and made their way to their seats. Their High Minister sat, and gestured to indicate that they had all arrived.

With that, the leaders of the main once-Imperial factions were ready for the speech by the Winnaran Custodians of Mecatol Rex.

With the audience in place and quietly waiting, a green-skinned figure wearing golden jewelry and long, purple robes with Imperial designs came up to the stand. Applause broke the silence. As it died down, anticipation began to stir.

“Hello, hello, everyone. From the common people to members of the Galactic Council, you are all here today waiting for the results of the race for the Imperial Throne. I apologise for the wait, but after 2000 long years, we custodians of Mecatol Rex have found a suitable leader for the galaxy.” They spoke, their voice powerful yet empathetic. “The reasons why we have chosen these people to be our leader, to guide the Lazax Empire back to prosperity are plenty in number, and so I shall only name a few.

“Firstly, this empire has shown powerful diplomatic power, persuasion and unity as we have watched them for the past millennia. They harbour a deep sense of care for their people and for the prosperity of the galaxy. They have also shown a humble, yet powerful and versatile military and great exponential growth in terms of military skill.” Murmurs crossed the crowd, the tension in the air able to be cut with even the weakest of Voxo-knives that you could find across the galaxy.

“They have shown that they have been challenged time and time again by other factions, and have kept pursuing their goal that is the Imperial Throne. They have shown that they are ready to be the next galactic power.”

Suspense kept the tension together until a single sentence snapped it.

“The Winnu have proudly elected the Clan of Saar of the Saarians to be the next to hold the Imperial Throne!” Gasps crossed the room as the Saarian leader came up to the stand. “Through prosperity and diplomacy, the Winnarans hope that you will only last longer than the Lazax did. You may take the stand, Raghat Siiva.”

Even the Saar’s own fluffy face showed surprise like a dog after a biotreat is revealed. “Thank you, thank you, Winnarans. Our entire nation is…” She trailed off. “…more gracious than could ever be conveyed by no matter the number of people for what you have done to preserve our people.”

She cleared his throat. “As the Saarians, we have faced hardship for just existing. We have been labelled as stupid, rebels, criminals and have even been robbed of our citizenship ever since we joined the galactic stage. We have been massacred and deported like none other species ever has been just due to hatred for our race.” She swallowed.

“But look at us now. As a nation, we are thriving, no matter what the rest of the galaxy might think of us. No matter what they think, we are their superiors now. We did not have to take Mecatol Rex, we did not have to colonise native people’s lands and brand it as ours. We were chosen for this because we care for the galaxy’s survival. A nation does not need an imposing military. What they need is to care and to help bring prosperity back to the galaxy.

“Thank you, custodians of Mecatol Rex, for giving our people this opportunity to become the greatest empire to ever live!” And she thrust her arm into the air and the Saarian members of the audience cheered with her. Then, the cheering spread until all but the other members of the Galactic Council clapped and screamed and cheered for the Clan of Saar.

Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan III sighed. I guess the Winnarans love the underdog. But we deserve it, as the Letnev. We took Mecatol Rex, we gained enough favour to—

He then realised the meaning behind the words of President Siiva. The reason they lost was because he had failed to understand what his grandfather had taught him.

One: You cannot only focus on the military, you must focus on supporting your people as well, if not more than the military.

Two: People always love the underdog contestant much more than they do the expectedly strongest contestant.

And three: Never, even if you have thought of the best strategy you can think of, think that you have automatically won. For there is always something you have missed, something you can improve while not needing to be such an outgoing, powerful figure in the presence of the galaxy.

And that is why the Clan of Saar, no matter how disadvantaged they were, were the second to sit in the Imperial Throne.