2014.03.07 - Conquerors

R violent content

The approach to the dread planet of Apokalips was not to be taken lightly. Even armed with knowledge, the number of unknowns were staggering. But that was hardly a deterrant to the ancient mutant Apocalypse. He had never backed down away from something that may have seemed stronger; and he would not start now. A challenge excited, although it did not quicken his blood: his blood was under his control now, as his shields and powers fluxed with his approach upon Apokalips, after the trip adjacent. But now, he descends towards the planet's surface, opting to prioritize shields, rather than speed, blending in with the inky, smokey polluted skies. He mutes his energy usage just slightly, taking in the area around him with a sweeping red gaze that misses little.

The sight that opens before Apocalypse after he arrives before the metal planet is truly one that lives up to it's name. An endless field of heavy metal, segmented and interwoven with bridges, structures, and canals flowing like arteries upon it's scorched surface. Great, mountain-sized firepits are visible, occasionally gouting blasts of fire a thousand miles into the abyss. Heavy as flies, constant patrols of parademons, aero-gliders, the powered corps, and countless drones and sentry machines orbit regularly. Immediately, the great mutant will sense that he has been detected. A subtle blip -- most would never register it. Yet nothing hostile appears to result, and the approach towards the planet is uneventful. Gravity does not begin to grip until rather closer than should be natural, leading down amidst dagger-like buildings to land upon a great raised bridge. The feel, the thrum, of power and electronics, machines and life, echo around in a way only a technopath could ever appreciate. Far below, as if discarded trash, are great shanty-towns of rag-wearing humanoids, surviving off filth from those above. It seems to go on forever; a great, snake-like weave, full of buildings and machineries developed and created for intergalactic war, an inconsequential amount of the planet meant for life and recreation... leaving so many of the conquered Lowlies to occupy the cracks and holes in the dark.

Eventually a few probes seem to be accumulating nearby, beginning to scan the area intensely. A response from the planet being felt, as if it were organic. Countless troops and machines being tentatively rallied towards this intruder, like an immune system preparing itself to purge.

Apocalypse drops like a rock, and lands directly next to a patch of shanty-town, causing the filth to scatter as he impacts the ground with both feet, and easily drops both fists firmly onto the metallic surface he chose to land on. His immediate first interest is to get a sense of the materials here, and to adapt. His techno-virus springs to the front like a starved chained dog, feeding into the matter at his vicinity, drawing upon it. It is certainly not instant and not perfect, but to mimic the materials at hand, and pull his bodily structure towards something that is more native (or at the very least, blended), will do two things: give him familiarity and samples for later, and potentially mute his arrival until he's more ready. He does not hide from vision, merely watches for more response, interested to see what the probes will cause, or will not cause, as he eases fully to his feet, still working to sense the technology and matter of the place. He roughly sends a brief telepathic pressure out, into the near area, seeking minds of any sort, but is far more focused on more physical observations.

The metal, perhaps surprisingly, is of much greater technological merit than Apocalypse would have expected. It is nearly perfect in terms of structural stability and weight, interlocked hexagonal material with hypercharged atomic bonds. How such is moulded would be a great wonder, as after casting such a thing, it would be nearly impossible to shape or form it into something -- and it obvious some pieces of this can extend a mile and incorporate thousands of tons in a single contiguous piece. Even the ground beneath his feet, the grills, the pipes, all are made from this incredible material, smudged with dirt and filth, as if it were as common as dirt. Adamantium is certainly the closest approximation within his head.

The Lowlies who were nearby immediately scatter, hiding within shanties and shacks. These are not of the same wonderous metal, crafted instead from far lesser materials in makeshift, shoddy manners. They wear robes and rags, completely bald and dark of skin. They are broken and fearful, even of a complete stranger. There are hundreds of them stuffed almost shoulder to shoulder, in places not created or meant for living beings. Some near great furnaces, or vents that hiss out poisonous gases, or beneath chutes of debris they paw through like treasure.

Rather suddenly, Apocalypse would feel a great pressure of energy. The Lowlies collapse to the ground immediately in response to it, the feel of distant eyes, and the taint of Omega energy. It would disappear a few moments later, and seems to cause no further alarm. If Apocalypse attempts to mimic and shield himself to the surroundings, the probes and other machines will slowly disperse, and the smothering feel of the planet responding fade away...

For a moment, Apocalypse was tempted to not bother concealing, to see what exactly would come. But he didn't bring an army of thousands with HIM, and taking some automated defense directly on top of him would resolve little: he's more interested in the minds behind those defenses. And he didn't survive as long as he has with quick decisions of that kind. So, instead, he shields firmly, ignoring fully the insignificant Lowlies as if they were even less interesting than the dirt, patient and focused on 'listening' to the planet around him. He can learn more about it if it isn't on high alert.

Besides, he has to pick out a spot for a summer home unmolested. As the planet's response ebates, Apocalypse re-engages his flight, to seek out more centralized, important feeling structures. Periodically he will examine interesting technological buildings and machines. And, follow the whiff of the Omega energy. The greed to figure that energy out is quite strong in the ancient energy manipulator, much like a new fighting style would be for an ancient warrior to master. The darkness of it only makes it tastier: as does much of this planet. It has a scent of his home reality. Or perhaps what it COULD have become.

It would not be an easy feat to most people, but Apocalypse blends into the world as if it truly was his namesake. Perhaps an innate understanding of how it was made, and why, fuels such. There's no longer a feeling that the automated defenses are even registering him now, and he has a fully unobstructed view of the workings of Apokolips like few outsiders have seen. The place appears built into series of grids, in perfect five by five miles. As if a great assembly block descended and settled them in perfect synchronization. One set creates nothing but high-tech probes. Snatching one of them reveals a startling ability of interstellar and interdimensional travel, and extreme scanning abilities across a broad spectrum. Scouts, perhaps? It is sufficiently high tech to sense him when touched until the technopathy shuts it down. More interesting might be a huge grid that houses nothing but genetic tubes. Created to breed life from nothing, like a great bee hive. And the creations within are not minute, but powerful and strong, mastered over untold time. Another is a barracks of sorts, where those of high enough privalege to have free thought are regimentally set up, flying around on aerodiscs or small vehicles to purposes not immediately apparent.

What might be most immediately starting is the analysis of age. This planet is far, far older than En Sabah Nur himself, to the point that there's no real way to estimate it beyond 'thousands and thousands'. Indeed, a great perfect cogwork of brutal efficiency. The epitome of a war machine, on a planetary level and of technology that brushes the Celestials. And something deep within, beyond the infernal power of the furnaces, strange and alien...

Suddenly, there is a great wash of energy anew. Above Apocalypse, hovering in the air, is a figure he would immediately recognize from probing the Kryptonian computer. Darkseid; his granite form huge and imposing as he slowly begins to descend to the same level of the oldest mutant, arms folded behind his back. There is no hostility present, but more than few beings alive, Apocalypse could tell at a glance the breadth of the man before him. Like staring into a dark, entropic sun, roaring beyond the form of might and power nearly deific.

"It is not often we have willing visitors." he offers. "Less so, ones who can be so... elusive."

As Darkseid arrives, he will find Apocalypse looking directly at him, as one would look directly at the sun: aware of the might there, but boldly turning to face it, no matter what. If such a thing will peel the flesh from bones, so be it: he will face it. He offers no hostility in return, does not flee or attempt to conceal any further. His body stays the same, though: partially adapted to the world around him, yet with elements that add to his own resistance to it, primarily from the virus within him that gnaws away at intrusions. Apocalypse himself was, even before arrival, a great deal like the planet: a cybernetic mixture down to every cell, some of it beyond even the owner's full understanding.

There is no battle stance, there is merely a ready, relaxed posture to Apocalypse as he meets the God of this planet, much as if Apocalypse himself felt he were a royal dignitary of another planet.

"I was not aware this place existed, until I sensed your message while I was on Earth. Did you not expect visitors from that?" Apocalypse provides, directly and smoothly, and quite honestly. No reason at all for lies, although his intense willpower would make much judgement of that difficult, should a probe be attempted. "The level of efficiency of this entire planet reminds me much of my home reality.. or rather, of it's destiny. As well as an interesting coincidence: for I am known to many by the title of Apocalypse," the gray mutant easily introduces himself.

"I had hoped for visitors." Darkseid responds, smoothly. "Foolish, short-sighted ones, drawn like a moth to a flame. Competence was another thing entirely." There's absolutely no attempt to muddle with the other mutant's mind; the Omega Effect is not true telepathy, and beyond impressing his will upon another it has little capabilities. Although in his case, psionic shielding can offer less defense. Idly, he reaches into his sash, and pulls out a small box. The immediate impression Apocalypse would get from it is exactly like gazing upon the Celestials; something nearly cosmic, omnipotent, linked to the very essence of reality, technology made magic. And one, it seems, that is fully understood. "Apocalypse...?" Confusion immediately turns to knowledge. "I see. You are a Homo Sapians Superior. Possessing something called the X-Gene. Similar to humans who manifest metahuman abilities, although with a different genetic tree. ...En Sabah Nur, they call you? A wager of war for thousands of years?" How the Mother Box acquired this information is unknown, but it definitely did not involve touching Apocalypse or his mind in any way. Yet there's something within the box. A bright, pure, potent energy force that he may have never felt before. Similar to Darkseid, but... pure. And wholesome. "/Interesting./" seems to be the conclusion. "Although you appear displaced from this timeline, if I am not mistaken?"

There's a lot of emotions that don't entirely surface, and just end up kind of raging out of view in a tangled mess--- but nothing shows, and controlled very well. Information is of immense value to Apocalypse. A magical tech box of answers is incredible. And so is the problem that has now come up: a fight where one side is blind is no fight at all. Sensing a major disadvantage makes Apocalypse irritated.

"I see there is no need to converse," Apocalypse says, a little dryly, as his own information is explained to him. There appears to be no reason to proceed with the goodwill of information, now shown the breadth of Darkseid's awareness. "As I said, my home reality was headed towards a better future than Earth is now. My reality was destroyed, by shortsighted fools."

"I would not go that far. This marvel only knows the answers to questions asked. There is much it did not reveal to me..." Idly, the Mother Box is tucked back into a sash. Being able to access the information of Earth in such an idle manner, however, certainly allowed him to gain similar footing to that which the Kryptonian computer held. Slowly Darkseid begins to descend, looking around with the idle curiosity of one who has likely not been to this area of the planet in untold ages. "I know nothing of this other reality. A better future, you say? You have the bearing of a conqueror and a king. I admit, the ability to bring the planet to it's knees is impressive, regardless of the iteration. It is a lynchpin of the multiverse... although it echoes across Hypertime like any other. From what I have confirmed, this is the true reality, alpha and omega, where cosmic beings and energy first formed. If you truly come from an echo... then you are..." Darkseid glances back, more curious then anything else. "Dangerous, may be the word I seek?"

Apocalypse pays more attention to the box, it looks like, than to Darkseid's explanation about the box. Apocalypse remains on alert, though, as despite Darkseid' apparent relaxation, anything could come, should he decide he is offended by other world conquerors. "I am dangerous to those who are not strong enough to endure; otherwise, I am a great /benefactor/, bringing prosperity and strength to my deserving conquests," Apocalypse answers, without any particular intonation either way about which groups those might be.

"I have not been here long, but within that time it is very clear that this specific nexus draws in any number of alternates to it's center. There is no trace of any of this, nor the Kryptonian presence, in my 'echo'. I had remade the Earth. I loathe what has become of it, here. Much of it is weak, cowering behind aliens, instead of finding strength in itself."

For the first time, Darkseid grins. Although it is not one remotely hostile. "What you speak sounds much like my own belief... only with one difference." A hand gestures downwards, as Darkseid descends. Past the bridges and networks that dot the surface, and into the shadows where the Lowlies dwell. Air black as smog, thick with pollution, and the vibration of the planet a constant presence. Heat is like a savannah, but still when he lands there is a veritable field of humanoids. Much like the others seen, within that dirty garb and bald. The moment they lift eyes to Darkseid, every one of them collapses prostrate and goes silent, face to the dirty, heated metal of Apokolips. "These are my conquered. I was no benefactor to them. They exist only because through whim I do not exterminate them, as they scuttle amongst the filth. Now and then, one rises enough to gain my notice." Slowly Darkseid walks over to one of the prone figures, arms still behind his back. "Look at me." Instantly the bald man does, eyes nearly out of focus as he begins to shake. "Stand." He does, with reckless haste. "Kill that man." A gesture to a second figure. Like some kind of possessed jackal, the Lowlie hurls himself upon the other figure, who does nothing to defend himself, limp as a doll. Brutal strikes mark the clumsy assault until the deed is finished. Pantied and bloodied, the Lowlie he commanded looks haunted. "Good. You may become a Hound." Darkseid offers. Eyes blaze crimson, and in a flash of zig-zagging beams, the lesser being is struck. He vanishes in a *CRACK*, teleported to some unknown destination. "Do you see, the ennui of conquest? Before long, lives, even planets, lose all meaning. What you see here is not mercy, but simply... indifference." Suddenly, Darkseid's eyes flash crimson again. There's a great eruption of crimson energy before him, pathetic structures falling away and disintegrating. Hundreds of lives vanish in a heartbeat, with none raising a single voice in despair. A random portion survive near the fringes of the cavernous metal, and do not stir despite the blackened surroundings.

None of it even raises much of an eyebrow from Apocalypse, he will simply stand by, while Darkseid does his demonstration. He seems content to witness it all. There's no empathy whatsoever. In fact, the first emotion that comes will be at the dirty, prostrate figure, as if disgusted by the behavior of the pion. "I am a benefactor to those that are strong, that will add gain to the race, as I strengthen them, often by force. I am a benefactor to the weak: because they are destroyed: It is what is /best/ for them. It is not on whim, however... I would not house such spineless slime, that has no courage or worth." And so, there's apparent approval in the murder of those hundreds soundlessly, efficiently, from Apocalypse. 'Benefactor' is a little bit twisted in definition.

While speaking, much attention is paid to the zig-zag of energy. That was something interesting to get to see, and get a good read of, by witnessing it in person. But also to the implications of this conqueror's interest in Earth. "Hmm. By that description of conquest---. Then you are indifferent to the conquest of Earth?" Apocalypse questions. "I did wonder, if you came for those alien 'protectors', or for the Earth itself."

"I see. Then we are more in common than I thought. But perhaps we differ, in that letting them exist also does little harm. They are outside the world I created, and only the worthy amongst them are allowed to join it." Slowly Darkseid begins to levitate once more, quickly floating up back to the better lit areas of Apokolips, with the thrum and bustle of a machine-society running through it. "You should understand that concept better than most, Apocalypse. You were vermin that evolved. Even if one in a thousand, or one in ten thousand, such potential should not be erased without meaning. Either they will suffer in the dark for eternity, or they will climb on the backs of their kin to reach my acknowledgement." He comes to land within a broad bridge, turning to face Apocalypse once more. "...Mmm? You are the first to ask what Earth means to me. The truth is... almost nothing. I am no king. I am a God. I am not seeking a kingdom. I have a planet. I do not seek to conquer nations. I have conquered star systems. Power. An army. Technology. Immortality. All of these I possess. What could Earth offer me, but amusement?" Yet there is a hint of a lie to this. Indeed, there is a reason Earth is his ultimate goal... "I do not wish to annihilate Earth. And in truth, I do not have much interest in conquering it. It has an answer to a question of mine, nature inherent to it being the center of much. Genocide is absolutely not conducive to my goals. Perhaps surprising to those that tremble beneath my shadow, I would stand before any force that intended to annihilate it, or erase it of humanity. Although, as you might guess... not out of compassion. Only while their life still bears use to me..."

A soft laugh emerges from Apocalypse. "Well, we differ in our opinions of vermin in many ways. But I would not expect otherwise, having such different backgrounds," Apocalypse continues. "I would not agree that I were ever vermin-- for I measure it on will and tenacity. The spirit that burns. Had I burned less strongly, I would not have reached where I am, nor would I have the potential to still climb greater. To me, those that /seek/, the ambitious... they are those which should not be underestimated. No, I am not a god. /Yet/." A smile plays on Apocalypse's mutated features, but it is nothing but patient. "But my echo, as you called it... may have skewed my vision. After all, my echo was destroyed. One can't ignore that. But it is a lesson, too." Apocalypse chooses to levitate as well, telekinetically, with minimal effort, and no release of other energy.

"You speak as though it is more of a place to perform some type of test," Apocalypse answers to the response of Earth's annihilation. He doesn't seem for or against it either way. "A test that could resolve your question." He folds his arms, thoughtful. "That requires instability."

"Understand, I meant no disrespect. A vermin that becomes a God is all the more glorious for achieving it. I have rewarded those who dwell beneath with untold power in such a way. Yet to me, I see a human who has made not a first step, but a grand leap. You have come so far from your roots, that you can scarcely be recognized. And for that, you have my respect." Looking back across Apokolips, Darkseid seems contemplative for a few moments. "I do not know why you came here. I would endeavor it to be curiosity. But our agendas need not to conflict. If you wish to conquer the Earth, so be it. If you can turn it into a second Apokolips, I would be more than willing to support such a conquest. If you want mutants to reign supreme, to tamper with them for ages, to create a glorious race that can stand with the Gods, so be it. For multiple reasons, I cannot use my full force directly. My only condition is that humans are not to be exterminated where they stand. I would wish to take them to Apokolips, to do with as I will." A glance over his shoulder follows. "Alternatively, we can be enemies. I do not think either of us would desire that. You are still in a larval state. Hoping to establish yourself and grow strong. I am a being who is capable of not only destroying you, but doing such irrevocably. And you may be one of the few beings who can stand against my fury, and be capable of fighting back. Alone, I believe I would prevail. Bloody and broken, but I would win. But were you to ally with others..." More of that careful, calculating thought. "...That would be a risk I could not tolerate." A full turn faces Apocalypse then. "So for now, let us see how things play out. Consider my offer. I have resources you cannot imagine. And you have the capability to act with an overt force I envy. Together, we can both reach our goals. Opposed... neither of us may manage. If you do not act against me, I will not act against you." Again, that small smile. "And do not think I will demand you to kneel. No. A man who would bow their head before me is not worthy of alliance, but only to be conquered. So... do we have an accord?" A huge hand casually extends, fingers loose. A handshake offered.

"I /am/ interested in fighting you," Apocalypse states, possibly to the god's surprise or amusement. Particularly stated just so simply. "Because it is extremely useful to gauge power and use as a catalyst for improvement. But I am not interested in being enemies at this time, if you are not challenging my role in the continued evolution of my race," the gray, warrior mutant continues.

"I do not ask for support of any type; should myself or mutants be unable to stand alone, then I believe they do not deserve to." No handouts accepted. "I care not for the unevolved human populations on Earth, I have no issue with them being removed, and have previously used them similarly for genetic fodder, so I can see the testing value in terms of raw materials," Apocalypse comments offhandedly. After all, he doesn't know exactly what Darkseid is looking for.

"It is my preference to stay out of direct conflicts that do not serve my ends... but I intend to protect my interests: similar, I think, to your stance to stay aside unless something blocks your goals...? I have voiced what I would be an enemy for. So I will consider your words, and observe the actions that follow," Apocalypse agrees. He will accept the handshake, fearlessly. That the other is currently physically larger doesn't phase or even overly matter to Apocalypse since size is a variable for him, but he mimics the scale of the other deliberately, a flux of energy rippling through his frame to directly meet the god at eye level. After the shake ends, there's a flux of teleportation attempting to pull away.

The energy seems to grab and then twist away, like a tired hand. But with an almost amused expression, much that one would have after a little stumble, Apocalypse twists one wrist a little, some of the tech reorganizing just a little... and the secondary teleportation, keyed as a second resort, seizes hold, and Apocalypse is gone.

"...Are you?" Darkseid offers, cracking his neck slowly to the side. He doesn't seem either surprised or amused. "That would be mutually beneficial, I imagine. But we can leave such a... spar for another time. I've a war to prepare for. Countless heroes, aiming to break like water against my fortress. You have seen it. The people of this planet do not know they march to death. But I do not think you will tell a soul... after all, if they are too weak to survive, then you should not care, hmm?" "Yes. If you wished to destroy all life on this planet unconditionally, then we would be enemies at this point in time. If you are willing to accomodate my needs, then you will not be blocking my goals in the slightest. Feel free to visit again. And I might show you a few marvels of my own. I've the sense that you can improve what is already near perfect even further." The hand is met, although the squeeze that follows is quite uncomfortable. Darkseid blinks at the flux, tilting his head. But when the second one succeeds, it meets with another smile. "Interesting. Technology able to bypass the Source restriction..." More and more, it is clear Apocalypse is not someone he can dare have as an enemy. What that makes the relationship between the two... only time will tell. For now, their goals lead them in separate paths.