|IC Date:||22 December 2218|
|RL Date:||22 December 2005|
|Story Arc||Brand New Sky|
The Earth rose over the horizon. It was a tiny blue dot, even tinier than the distant spark of the sun. It was something he had grown accustomed to watching while on this cold, dead world. When the terrible dust storms would not obscure the sky, he would spend hours staring into space. Epsilon had little else to do.
They were all dead. Epsilon thought that by throwing himself back into the Reaver advance that he could buy his team time to get into the ship and leave. In his mind, Epsilon was the one who was supposed to die. He had been emotionally prepared to fall to give the warriors of Earth a chance to stop his hated enemy.
But Patriarch, a cruel and brilliant strategic mind, had been one step ahead of him. The Reavers had already taken the ship, but had allowed them to believe it was their one safe point of retreat. A brilliant maneuver, one Epsilon would have used himself in a similar situation -- had he the foresight to think of it.
Patriarch broadcast their deaths over the local wideband. It flooded over him as the Reavers set upon him, knowing that he could not run, could not fly, could not Blink fast enough to catch up to the ship. The Reaver advance would not give him the opportunity to. The trap was perfect. His anguish gave pleasure to Patriarch, for the tyrant knew that the last to fall, the last voice Epsilon heard cry out, was Consonant’s.
Driven beyond the point of no return, Epsilon proved himself worthy of his younger brother’s legacy. He fought with the determination of the damned, slaughtering all resistance until he left the battlefield silent. The planet bore the deep scars of his wrath. The Irregular tore forward, fighting his way across the planet, leaving nothing that challenged him standing. He called out to Patriarch to fight him, to end what he had begun.
But there was no answer, save a steady flood of Reavers sufficient to drive him back but not defeat him. Patriarch and his subordinates would not speak another word to Epsilon, knowing that his back was broken. His Omnidroids were slain, his war machine gestalt shattered forever, his elite troops consumed for technology to empower Patriarch’s own.
Knowing that Epsilon’s war was over, the Patriarch passed sentence on the Irregular: Epsilon was condemned to walk the face of Mars, cold and alone, with the knowledge that all too soon Patriarch’s armies would rise and destroy all that he had loved about the Earth.
Epsilon watched the Earth, his tiny blue dot, rise into the sky. Though Patriarch had killed his friends and lovers, he had not killed Epsilon’s dream. The Irregulars had learned where he was. They would come, and they would bring power sufficient to make a stand against Patriarch. He would avenge the deaths of his men, of Consonant, and then he would bring peace to his warring world.
Epsilon reached up to touch the small blue dot as the dust storm came, consuming all in its path.