Xi-3’s twelve moons flung strings of effervescent light into the basalt canyons below. The largest, lost in a perpetual eclipse, dominated the northern sky as a black void surrounded by red flame. The other eleven orbited in their own unique ways. Zhim and Graff-12 vanished for days at a time. The ‘Eight Sisters’ inched across the sky like migrating birds, while Urlu constantly teetered on the horizon. Under their gaze, night never settled, and day never rose.

The planet, once the nucleus of gnostic thought and practice throughout the galaxies, was now a deserted wasteland. Cities, a thousand miles across, stood as petrified tombs and looted time capsules of the golden era. There was no biological life in this netherworld, and only the shambling corpses of discarded robots littered the surface.

Most were calcified scraps, cast from the cosmos a hundred years ago. Only the solar-powered variants remained semi-aware of their purgatory. These machines lived in agony, unable to die, but without enough sunlight to fuel higher learning. They wandered in disjointed packs, as their lives waxed and waned in accordance with the moons.

The hell-light of a Dredger Vessel’s engine scorched the rocky soil. The androids twitched and flickered as they gathered the strength to crawl out from under the ship’s thrusters. But in its megalithic shadow, they slowed to a stop, and the landing gear crushed them like bugs. A pale blue light burned a path through the murk of perpetual twilight as the bay doors opened, and six legionnaires walked out in parallel columns, down the ramp, and onto the rock.

Above them, dust trails of destroyed planets feathered away into space. Now and then, a star ruptured and vomited death as two long beams flashed from its heart. Few stars remained, and even fewer worlds. Captain Del Croix, the acting company commander, didn’t look up. A single objective governed his existence and drove him into the darkness beyond the ship’s spotlights: saving the universe from imminent obliteration.

They inched their way single-file along the canyon wall. Below, among the mangled metal husks and broken boulders, robots twitched or crawled over their brethren before sliding back into a shadowy sleep. The captain and his comrades paid them no mind. They were relics of a past war, a different war, a good war.

The soldiers who descended the cliff were the best humanity had to offer. They’d left their home world with 125 recruits, without so much as a goodbye for their families, lest they lose their nerves in the face of tearful farewells. The journey had been hard. Many fell along the way, and those who remained bore scars and somber reminders of the road behind them. Of Del Croix’s hand-picked mercenaries, only 6 followed him silently down the asperous crag.

A Gunship screeched overhead; its knife-shaped body cut the thin air like parting curtains at the break of dawn. Its craven cry cascaded the length of the ravine. The Universal Death Cult had found them. Instinctively, the squad pressed itself against the jagged basalt, but it was too late. The Gunship doubled over, spewing rockets from its underbelly. The canyon roared as they pounded the rocks. Another Gunship veered into view. Its salvo went wide and splintered the path behind them as titanic shards of the precipice tumbled down into the rift.

The rearguard, Tisha and Novi, dropped their kits and began vicious counterfire. Bolts of plasma streaked through the dark sky like shooting stars. The others, Del Croix in front, continued their descent.

“As long as your bodies are warm,” he called out to Tisha and Novi, “keep them back.” They nodded in agreement and retraced their steps until they reached a hollow in the rock.

A third Gunship glided over the rim of the ravine. Its auto-cannon shredded the cliff face and sent splinters of stone everywhere. The soldiers scrambled to cover their faces with masks. The micro-glass that clung to every surface burned their eyes, noses, and throats as plumes of dust billowed from beneath.

Tisha and Novi kept up their fire. Several of the bolts impacted deep into the cliff opposite them. The Gunship began a steep climb, but a bolt caught its underwing. An explosion ripped the ship apart as the reserve rockets ignited. Debris erupted and cleaved chunks from the walls.

The others pressed on. As they reached the valley floor, the remaining Gunships began their second run. The bluff above them trembled as explosions carved off huge sedimentary fragments. Stubbornly, Tisha and Novi’s PBRs replied, and the sky glowed from the relentless exchange. Two more Gunships joined the fight, and more rockets shattered the planet’s crust.

Three plasma bolts struck a craft, and it spiraled into the canyon ahead of the soldiers. In a brilliant burst of fire, it flung rubble in all directions as it crashed. The legionaries cowered from the stone and metal that rained down.

A high whistle, like an arrow falling from space, filled their ears as black Dropships smashed into the ground. The soldiers struggled to their feet and dashed for cover. Some Dropships disintegrated against the sharp walls, but the rest landed in front of the brave four. The ships’ doors, triggered by the impact, blew away from the four-sided obelisks. A tide of Fanatics spilled forth, and the heat of plasma singed the air.

The captain and his unit hugged tight against the ravine’s uneven spurs and fired into the enemy formations. The fanatics dropped like flies. Their blind faith in The End drove them on as, behind the firefight, the Gunships strafed again. Rockets sang, then a great explosion shook the ground, and Tisha and Novi’s rifle fire went silent. Their three comrades looked back as smoke and dust choked the air, but the captain kept his eyes trained towards final salvation.

The canyon walls narrowed, then joined together above the mouth of a vast cave. Giant pillars from eons gone by guarded the subterranean sanctuary. Their weathered runes and enduring strength stood testament to the pioneers of before, those who first charted the cosmos and understood her eternal soul. Beyond the columns, deep in the dark that engulfed the underworld, the hope of lost knowledge lingered, humanity’s last chance of survival.

Open war against The End began less than a year ago. However, a secret war had raged far longer. The Universal Death Cult, then a phantom rumor whispered in a theoretical sense, found a way to end everything. With the misalignment of a single celestial body, a cascading domino effect rippled through space. Stars swelled until they ruptured and threw planets into the abyss or shaved them into rubble that darkened the skies. A universal kill switch had been triggered, and the lone possibility to stop the countdown to desolation lay in the cave.

Time crawled against them as they passed through the hungry shadow cast by the cavern’s mouth. The walls flickered with ancient knowledge, and the floor shone a pale blue. They’d spent months learning the primeval codes and lost tongues, but now, in their esoteric glory, the soldiers gaped in awe.

Once a temple dedicated to the universe herself, the monks who lived in the caves communed with her and knew her depths. One, a brilliant thinker, scientist, and philosopher, oversaw the temple’s final days and discovered an answer, a key, a single truth that had the power to reshape the cosmos completely.

Further and further the legionaries ventured. They’d studied the layout and could navigate to the inner sanctum without thought. At the center of the domed chamber rose an altar with a box. The captain stopped. This was it. Their mission, their lives, everything was for this.

The world groaned, and the ceiling split open as a Dropship crashed into the chamber. Moonlight spilled in through the tunnel above, and bolts of plasma ignited the dark. Two of the legionaries, Yon and Driggs, struggled under rocks cast aside by the impact. Yon’s left arm fired his service pistol into the mass of fanatics that sprang forth from the vessel. Driggs cried for his brother’s help in their native tongue.

Del Croix and Lector, the only ones unscathed, emptied their rifles into the Universal Death Cultist ranks. Bolts cut into the holy stone in all directions. Yon’s pistol went dry, and soon his body burned blue from the enemy’s fire. The captain and Lector didn’t look back.

They slaughtered the fanatics in droves. Some died with twisted, evil expressions, while others fell in the throes of fright. Their motivations differed, but every follower leaped into the jaws of death unhindered. Some, warped by visions of destiny, tried to kill the legionaries and fell in service to their own End. Others, frightened souls whose mortality hung heavy, sought a simple end instead of the one to come.

As the last fanatic died, mouth open and eyes wide, a pulse bomb rolled from his robes. “Back!” Lector shoved his commander to the ground. Heat fractured the room as the grenade blipped and split matter in a wide arc. Lector’s body collapsed into bloody cubes that spattered across the floor. The captain leaped up and set two bolts into the fanatic’s corpse before he knew what had happened. Del Croix turned around. Driggs and Yon’s bodies were still under the rock. The Dropship smoldered on his right, and a trail of scorched enemies led from him to it.

He threw his rifle behind him. With a worn, automatic click, the dead batteries discharged and rolled away. He couldn’t stop, not now. This was it. He approached the altar with a blank expression drawn in his comrade’s blood.

His fingers lingered on the chest before he snatched it off the altar. When his hands felt the engraved metal, it all became real. He sat down beside the stand and removed his mask. The silicon shards stung his airways, but he didn’t care. He’d done it. They’d won. He opened the box. Inside, a mirrored bottom reflected his scarred, bloody face. Written across the glass was a single message: To change the world, you first must change yourself.

The captain shut his eyes as the box clattered against the floor.

“Fuck.”

Editor: Shannon Hensley