Guillaume David's Warriors of Mars
There in a vast, windswept field, among serene lands replaced by war Remains my corpse, a fallen shell, the once-mighty and blessed Hydra Now an echo of my former self, surrounded by settled dust and gore.
Alone I think of better, bygone times, of my creation and rebirth How I was thought of in the great mind of a Baram journeyer And how I was constructed in adamant Noe, my home and berth.
An early accident—a stroke of fortune in disguise—took hold of me For my ancient hull from which my figurehead would crown the ship Was split once and once more; to onlookers it invoked a story of three:
Ancient was the Hydra, a terrible beast of a bygone fable and tale Whose severed head, single and alone, would be hewn clean off And from its stump would arise three more, with terrible cry and wail.
So said my father, looking upon my unfinished hull split three ways: 'Let spring from this error three figureheads! A new designation, also: Hydra shall be its name, taken from that myth from better, bygone days.'
Still I was not borne, alive, I heard this tale only in whispers by those Who lived within me. I gained only a mind, a life and fury and rage When a blessed fire from a Heatran was granted to defeat our foes.
The holy flame begot life, rushing from its most-blessed furnace Through the whole of the ship, the thrice-beating heart shuddering Giving life to ship and myself, a spirit of the machine, born in duress.
For myself the Hydra, my first duty was to meet the forces of Hell; From portals aplenty they emerged, demons, slaying innocents And from even on high in the sky I heard the cries of all those who fell.
From dropships went the warriors within me, down unto the ground Where the battle ensued; the portal was shut, the survivors gathered And regrouped, returning to me. Despite victory, they made no sound.
So went the campaign, where the first of the waves of the damned Were sent against us. One day came, where the warm sun was blotted By endless winged demons. It was five—no, ten—claws to a deckhand.
In blinding, flaming light I fell from the sky, still thrumming my engines As I struck the ground. I was injured, immobile, and those within tried In vain to defend their felled home. So they died, cleansed of their sins.
No party was sent for me; my sister had greater duties than to see My corpse. So I waited for the war to ebb, for Explorers to come And retrieve my flaming spirit, dormant but waiting to be freed.
In my first death, from one I became three. Once more I died, And once more from one I became three, again and again Once more. Nine became I, I realized before three voices cried.
Three pitches to a single voice, thrice flowed the tears of I, engine Of the Hydra. I was trapped within myself, within this ruined shell. Nine voices from three mouths cried, all in fierce contention.
Yet now, awake am I. The fields around me, long since abandoned I can sense now erupting with life. My sister watches from above To me below. I hear dropships before silence; I realize they landed.
But echoes out also the screeching of damnable Hell, for a portal Tearing through time and space shook my body; the demons of below Had been lying in wait. They advance, trying hungrily to encircle.
So fight the Explorers, and I hear the shouts of Hangar 4 echo out! But with time both lines break, and scattered forces fight along My mighty perimeter. But one Explorer enters in a hurried crouch.
A ninetales Explorer limps, trying to remain quiet as blood trails Along the path he makes as he comes. Though pursued by demons, He approaches. It is as if the Gods themselves guide the ninetales.
Limping he enters my chambers, looking about the burnt remains That contained my furnace. I try to come alive, to ignite whatever Remains of my spirit. But I am weak, crumbling, wracked with pains.
I see him, the ninetales, look upon my visage, and though I lie silent He shows reverence. Bowing with his final breath, to his wounds He succumbs, dying joyful that he is a martyr for a holy giant.
His worship and glance, seeing me as what I once was, let me ignite. Burning bright again I, the sprit of the machine of the Hydra, erupt. But no ship remains to empower, my only option to go and fight.
His willing vessel, though his spirit now gone, is there in a bow Before me. Inviting me within. I thank the Explorer one last time. A fire still weak but alive enters the corpse, and with life anew I howl.
I catch the attention of an other Explorer, running through the Hydra. Sounded a voice, a persian with a shattered gem: 'Ninetales! Ninetales! 'My friend, where have you gone? I know you sought shelter inside the—'
He stopped his cry upon spotting me, seeing my attempt to stand. I am the same body, but I see in his keen eyes that he knows Ninetales Is gone, dead. He tries to speak, but is stopped by one of the damned.
A demon with the visage of a glaceon, having pursued my host, Having struck the killing blow, now seeks to slay his friend. With a shattered gem the persian fights in vain against the ghost.
A shard of ice here, a claw swipe there, the battle is equal at first But demons tire not, and the persian becomes tired, exhausted, Pushed back until he topples, to be slain by a cryogenic burst.
The demonic glaceon readies the killing blow, but from within I The fire erupts, flowing through and giving life, rushing through My new being. I loose an attack, for I will allow no more to die.
The glaceon is consumed by my holy fire, now contained within This new body. My nine tails swish to and fro, only my leftmost Under my total control. The persian manages to stand with chagrin.
He looks at me with disfamiliarity and fear and begins to sob: 'Nine—' I let his voice go no further, for he speaks the truth already. I let out A shout, cry, and howl. Thrice I speak, echo nine declarations divine:
'Nine am I!' 'Nine am I!' 'Nine am I!'