David's consciousness surged through the void, hurtling through the unending darkness of deep space at blinding speeds.
His new form, the Assimilator, pulverized any stray asteroid or debris in its path into dust. Encased in a ball of durable organic-hyperalloy more capable than any Dreadnought-class ship hull in the entire sector, he was a relentless force.
Like a planetoid bowling ball of segmented, ashen white, chitinous carapace, he traveled as a relativistic phantom of blurred white that promised nothing but death and destruction.
The tinkering races—those fragile beings reliant on life support systems to brave the void and firearms to compensate for weak limbs—might have conquered their homeworlds and exploited ecosystems to destruction, but the Assimilator embodied a side of nature that could never be tamed.
He was pure evolutionary progress, honed to a razor edge sharper than any plasmoid blade known in the galaxy.
For the Assimilators were the premiere heralds of the Collective, a hivemind species that consumed all life, adapting biological structures into their own to produce hyper-efficient, hyper-deadly organisms without equal across the stars—painting the vast dark canvas of space with the blood and tears of billions.
Despite the complex tools the tinkering species used, the Collective's methods were simple.
Once the Collective consumed an interstellar species, it extracted their memories.
From these memories, it identified new targets and weaknesses.
Over several years of genetic refinement, it morphed a new Assimilator—an almost indestructible, unstoppable force of raw biological power—and sent it forth to harvest helpless civilizations.
Ironically, the greatest marvel of the tinkering species led to their downfall.
With the advent of warp-link technology capable of generating wormholes connecting the farthest reaches of the galaxy, interstellar commerce and interaction flourished. But with it came the rise of the Collective.
Originally isolated to its home solar system, the Collective's reach extended only slowly over millennia.
Then, over a century ago, strange tinkering ships warped into the Collective's system. The Collective consumed these explorers and accessed the warp gates they left behind.
As it consumed more tinkering species, the Collective developed its own warp gates, and soon used these trade routes to wage war and consume.
Any spacefaring witness of the Assimilator's balled form speeding through the void would raise alarms across nearby civilizations.
Few Assimilators ever fell in battle—and only through the united effort of multiple races.
No single civilization could best an Assimilator with its myriad evolutionary adaptations, each tailor-made against weakling tinkers.
But unlike those before, this Assimilator did not know what awaited.
A warp gate had opened strangely close to the Collective's home solar system.
The system had long been closed to travel, deemed too dangerous, making this wormhole's sudden appearance suspicious.
An attack? An accident?
The Collective thrived on certainty and knowledge, so it sent this Assimilator to investigate, to face any threat on the other side.
The Assimilator felt pride in serving the Collective. Though it retained a mental independence crucial for adapting to battle's chaos, its loyalty to the Collective was absolute.
Its purpose: defend the Collective at all costs; destroy and consume all foes; bring back their genetic material as spoils.
Nothing less.
An extension of the Collective, it used only the best parts of free will—the efficient, productive instincts—while shedding rebellious, unproductive tendencies.
This was its mindset as it neared the wormhole, a pulsating orb of blinding light nearly as large as a small planet. Waves of undulating gravity and space wreathed its horizon, pulling the Assimilator in.
When it reached the horizon, its body warped through the wormhole, bending space and time fluidly.
Hardened by countless evolutions and perfected by the Collective, its body survived warp travel's rigors intact.
The process was strange—the sensation of every atom warping made the Assimilator feel something akin to nausea—a feeling no weapon, biological or munitions-based, could inflict.
Emerging on the other side, the Assimilator found itself floating above a vibrant planet, alive with countless signatures worth consuming.
Seven rings, each a different shade of light, circled the verdant world, glowing with strange allure that promised abundant life.
Alarmingly, the warp gate behind closed, leaving the Assimilator stranded.
Panic was alien to it—it simply recalibrated.
Without the capacity to open warp gates—that power belonged only to the combined psionic might of the Collective—the Assimilator would instead savage the planet, accumulate biomass, and prepare for the next deep space leap.
Where the next gate was, it could not tell.
The star system was foreign; the planet utterly unknown.
Odd—warp gates normally clustered close, supporting one another in a network.
The Assimilator emitted a psionic pulse, seeking connection with the Collective.
Within range, any member could amplify the signal back to the hive mind.
Yet, no response came.
Perhaps it was stranded far from home, but that emotion was beyond its design.
More likely, some life form on this world had created the aberrant warp gate.
All it had to do was consume all life here, extract memories, and find a way back.
The Assimilator unfurled from its balled state—compact for hyperspace, but unsuited for combat.
Its form was now bestial: an armored, monstrous crocodile-like behemoth.
Quadrupedal, it bore its immense six-thousand-ton weight on skyscraper-thick legs sheathed in ashen, blaster-proof carapace.
Flexible spikes emerged from its back and armor seams—tools of war able to scythe cities.
Its long, muscled neck stretched forward, carapace-helmeted head opening monstrous jaws in hunger.
Multiple prehensile tails shifted between acid spitters, blades, EMP emitters, and other destructive variants.
With an exertion grunt—silent in space—the Assimilator sprouted enormous bat-like wings dotted with pulsating tubules emitting blue plasmoid bursts like jet engines, surging toward the planet.
But a challenger awaited unlike any before.
A towering being of brilliant light.
Twelve feathered, energy-wreathed wings fluttered gently to propel it forward.
Bipedal, humanoid, armored in platinum white with a blazing sterling silver helmet shining in the darkness.
The Assimilator reached into its psionic link to the Collective's shared memory banks but found no record of this armor.
Not human, one of the three tinkering species in the United Front, but something new.
Or perhaps a strange device crafted by united races to slay the Collective.
Either way, it must be destroyed.
"Halt!" the being's voice echoed through space, powered by a phenomenon unknown to the Assimilator. "I am Solarion, high-king of the gods, defender of the seven realms, lord of Aetheria, keeper of the Eternal Light!
By my authority, I command you to stay your advance, monster!"
The Assimilator did not understand the words, but aggression was universal.
Its tails armed with acid spitters, jaws bared, claws extended—it surged forward.
"So be it," the being declared, materializing a blade nearly its size from solid light.
Though solid-light weapons were known in memory, this was different—no usual energy signatures detectable.
"To think the prophesied End was no undeath, no star stone, but a beast from the void itself."
Raising the sword, it flashed with the brilliance of a sun, driving the cold of space away.
"Come, foul creature of the stars! You will be reduced to ashes, as the countless demons and monsters before you."
The battle raged fiercely for an entire day and night cycle.
The humanoid being restored wounds seemingly from nowhere, while the Assimilator regenerated with advanced genetics.
Megastructure-sized organic-hyperalloy claws clashed with the heavenly blade of light.
Acid streams and electric blasts met beams of fiery radiance.
Eventually, the winner became clear.
The Assimilator.
Missing two limbs, tails gone, body scarred and scorched, yet the being was in worse shape.
It floated weakly, one wing left of twelve.
Its armor melted, cracked, or shattered, revealing a bloody, beaten figure gasping beneath.
No more healing, no more radiance.
Its power drained, doomed to death.
Only the blade remained pristine—useless metal to the Assimilator.
Yet it felt a strange respect for this defeated opponent, who faced it with strength alone.
The Assimilator would honor that by consuming the being, regenerating wounds and gaining unprecedented power.
It would destroy the blade to prevent its misuse, then wreak havoc on the planet's denizens.
The being was the world's last defense; all behind it was ripe for consumption.
The Assimilator surged forward—slower, weaker, but relentless.
The being, arms bruised and burned, held its blade barely.
"Forgive me, my brethren," it whispered, looking to the planet behind.
"Forgive the mortals who believed in me. The chaos my death will bring…I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me.
But it is nothing compared to the chaos this beast will wreak if I do not stop it."
With a sudden burst, it raised the blade high.
"O Dawnrise, blade of infinity, bringer of light, I entrust to you my life.
In return, grant strength to those worthy to receive it after my passing.
I give you all my blessings."
The Assimilator ignored the theatrics—analysis showed no energy left to fight.
Yet the being did not flee; it met the Assimilator head