World of the Beast

On rare instances, psychics ascertaining memories through clairvoyance will catch glimpses of memories beyond the world of our own. Not much is known about them, with many speculating that they could be entirely fabricated, conjured up from the depths of the collective human imagination, stories, or glimpses of a world that lives far, far away, or bits of insight into another universe.

These are known as extracosmic memories, memories that may be real or unreal, but have not been observed, or could not take place in CoD’s current reality. The following is a description of one of those memories, seemingly a narrative.

Authors note: These are memories in-universe which come from some unknown place. But out-of-universe, it’s just an excuse for me to throw out ideas I like but I can’t really use in the CoD context.

The World of the Beast

When mankind first introduced themselves to the galaxy, they called themselves war angels. They explained they were where the falling angel met the rising ape, their demeanour was calm, but inside was a beast. They had unleashed it once or twice, but they preferred to not do it again. It was this beast that drove them like nothing else, gave them the wild energy that conquered the stars, and gave them the blood and sweat to forge them to their image.

But this beast was chained, shackled behind many locks, mankind had caged itself, not for the benefit of its body, but instead for its soul. They called these things “ethics”, long books on what they must or not do. They ignored our ridicule when we mocked the long list of things they were not allowed to do, the arcane rules and superstitions that restrained them. They took our comments with good humor, kneeling in prayer, wrapped in golden chains, saying the chains were to contain the beast. We laughed, oh how we laughed.

Until we saw the beast inside.

There once was a planet far away. Two races that never seemed to get along. The stronger had oppressed the weaker, until humanity came along. With the long book of ethics, they told the two they had to get along. The weaker agreed, the stronger did not. “Do not bind us with your golden chains,” they said. “They are yours and yours alone.” But mankind insisted, and promised the weaker race, “Should they attack you, we will come to your aid”.

It was not long until war broke out. The strong preying on the weak. The weaker race, they were numerous, but poor. The stronger, they were few, but rich. I remember the machines, oh, horrible machines. Industrialized murder, rounding up the weak, and cut through the enemy armies like butter. The strong persecuted the weak, and mankind promised they would be on their way. Great camps rose up, burning bodies until the sky turned black, the weak fought back, of course, but with no machines and no money, all they had were bodies. Even then they fought, originally 75% of the population, men and women armed with arms and rifles stood up to the great machines. Mankind condemned it all on the intercoms, telling them their book of ethics would not approve, the stronger laughed at them.

An Iron fleet departed Sol, and every human army that could be dispatched was dispatched, they barreled towards the planet far away as fast as they could. An armada larger than any other in the galaxy, we began to see why they were called war angels. As soon as they arrived in the star system, they knew something was wrong. The skies were turning black, and the weaker were almost entirely gone. The last of them were holding out on a hill, their families and their children to their backs. Seeing the ships parked in the skies, they went for one last charge, knowing the humans would soon turn the tide of war. The humans never arrived in time.

When the marines first landed, they landed on a world of blood and corpses. Black smoke choked the sky, everywhere they looked, there were the ruins of the dead. Bodies, neverending oceans of bodies, those they wished to save were now long gone. The sight triggered some kind of primordial rage, of painful memories repressed millennia ago. Continents covered in slaughter, the oceans boiling in rage, the very sky screaming out the guilt of the world’s remaining inhabitants. There was nothing left to salvage, all that was left was retribution.

The chains dissolved, and the beast was unleashed.

3 quarters of the population now lay in the mud, but mankind would make sure the last quarter would pay for what they had done. Primordial anger as the fallen angel unleashed its rage. Divine retribution as final judgement for their sins. Ten thousand ships opening fire, marines on the ground executing anyone they saw fit, man had been reduced back to beast. In their primal state they unleashed a massacre, and the gates of hell were opened. And with this rage, they released Armageddon on those responsible. By the end of the retribution, not one building would be left standing, and all responsible had been captured and massacred. The crust had been shattered, and fire and brimstone now covered the surface. Those who surrendered would be relocated somewhere else far away, no one would be allowed to live here ever again.

Humanity looked in shame at the desolation they had created, and the rest of the galaxy looked on in terror. Man declared the planet a tomb for the memory of the dead, and declared it off limits for everyone. Hundreds of years later, and the other powers are afraid to even touch it. We have named it the planet of the Beast, as a reminder of the beast inside humanity.

Now we know why they call themselves war angels.