BOOK 1 

After a wild chase across Stormpoint, the army of simulacra slowed down to watch the Legends flee aboard the ships that had come to their rescue.
On the rooftop of one of the evac zone buildings, the clones stepped aside to make way for their original, the one carrying the source code, who stared at the ships disappearing in the distance, losing himself in his inner monologue:

"Heh, 'long time since I had that much fun… Feels good..." Revenant thought, then lowered his gaze to the jar and its precious contents. "But now what?"

That question, simple as it was, was probably the most important one he had to ask himself. The container’s glass was shattered, but the source code was intact. Neither time nor Loba’s assaults had left a single mark on that face, his face. And the eyes… The longer he stared into them, the more alive they seemed. A strange feeling crossed him, impossible to name. He tightened his grip:

"Damn, That's real… You’re here," he murmured to himself, still shaken by the surreal situation. "I spent so much time dreaming of the sweet day someone would finally fry your brain."

He paused, as if expecting an answer from the decapitated head.

"It almost happened, and you were front and center... Did you even realize, huh ? How badly I wanted it to happen?"

His voice faltered slightly, the final words dissolving into the doubt of his own feelings. He went quiet for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

"But now everything is different...."

All around, without him even noticing, the clones were gathering in silence, as if each of them understood that the pain that was passing through the mind of their original could, at any moment, spell the end of their existence. They simply watched, waiting for his decision, careful not to influence it. That intention caught Revenant’s attention. He looked up:

"I can feel them all. Can you feel them too?" he said to his silent companion.

"They’re no longer empty puppets waiting for me to embody them..." he continued, letting his gaze wander from one clone to another as they stared back at him. "They think like me, move like me, speak with my voice. I should hate it, but for the first time the hell of a while, I
feel... connected."

As he met one of his clones’ eyes, he realized just how deep that connection ran:

"I look at them and through their eyes, all at the same time..." he marveled, diving into the infinite mirror of his countless shared eyes. "And I see... Oh yes, I see the beauty of what we are."

A rush of euphoria swept through all their minds, a collective consciousness rejoicing as one, driven by the rhythm of their first. The logic was simple: if he alone had been enough to terrify those skinbags, then free and backed by an army, he was now the most dangerous being in the Outlands.
And just as he began dreaming of the hell he’d rain down on the Syndicate, on Hammond, and on anyone who’d pissed him off these past decades, one detail pulled him back to reality:

"But you, in that jar, you’re the only weakness we have left… and you'll remain so, as long as it's possible for the skinbags to get their hands on you."

Snapping out of his thoughts, he straightened up and scanned his surroundings.
He did not realize that it had been several minutes since the ships left the range of his sensors, his mind too absorbed by the flood of thoughts.

"I need to fix that. I have to leave, and get us all away from here. Somewhere safe, where they can't reach you. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with an army, but what i know for sure is that i won't let any skinbags pull the strings for me anymore."

"So ?"

Revenant jumped. His inner monologue had lasted so long and gone so deep that he’d forgotten his twins could talk. This one in particular was the one that had impaled Silva for him. Its chest plate was pierced on the right side, and cracked in several places, proof that he had gone all in against the Skinbags.

"What do we do?" asked his white-plated double.

"Ahem!" Revenant cleared his throat before tossing a line over his shoulder, "First is looting"

Before he could say more, the clones were already moving, much less enthusiastically than when they’d been chasing the Legends, but still.

"Maybe I should’ve let him talk a bit longer, but I'm sure by scratching here and there, we’ll find out what Silva wanted with us."

Silva’s hideout was torn apart in under half an hour. The number of hands on deck made the work go fast. They took every USB stick, hard drive, tablet, every scrap of paper that looked even remotely relevant.

"Then, i still have that damn ship."

A few months ago, back when he thought his source code was drifting somewhere between Olympus and Gridiron, he’d convinced Bangalore to help him destroy it in exchange for a ride back to her home planet. He’d poured millions into that rust bucket, and even more into fueling and stocking it. He sighed.

"I was planning to crash it on Loba's next love story, but i think that with the Widows we borrowed from that generous but late Silva, it will be enough to carry us all and everything we'll scrap on these islands."

And as the transport ship landed on the beach, lowering its ramp for boarding, Revenant turned to those who’d stayed near him, quietly listening to his thoughts, hoping to avoid chores.

"Now, chop chop !" he ordered. "Clock’s ticking, and I want us outta here before those idiots come back with the cavalry."

Following orders, the clones joined the others, while Revenant settled into the cockpit.
Within a few hours, Stormpoint and the surrounding islands had been stripped bare with ruthless efficiency. And under the orange glow of sunset, the ships took off.

Spear, the new nickname of Silva’s impaler, stepped onto the bridge toward the cockpit to report in.

"We’ve all left the atmosphere. No loss, No following."

He spoke plainly, efficiently, exactly how Revenant liked it.

"Good" he replied, still lost in the blue gaze of his source code resting on his lap.

"You’ve been thinking about it for a while... Have you decided where we’re going?" Spear asked.

"We don't have much choice, do we ?" Revenant replied, handing him the jar.

As the scarred clone took the precious container with a delicacy that felt almost out of place for a murderbot, Revenant kept talking while typing on the navigation unit:

"It’s the only place i know we’ll be safe for sure, 'cuz no one from here will have the guts to follow us, and no one from there will rat us out."

He hit enter, and with a telltale jolt, the autopilot redirected the ship to the destination now displayed on the screens.
At the edge of the Outlands, hidden within the Cronus system, at the heart of a nebula, lay a black planet, scarred with lava and blood red oceans : Tartarus.
Now that he thought about it, it was obvious, indeed…

"We’re going home."

An alarm tore through the night.

In a hallway drenched in red emergency lights and the clamor of boots, Emy rushed forward. Her hair was hastily tied, her clothes wrinkled, and her face frozen in a mix of fear, confusion, and anger. She was moving against the flow, heading toward the defense zone, while pilots ran in the opposite direction, reaching their machines.

This wasn’t a good sign.

When she pushed open the command center doors, the place was in a frenzy. Operators scrambled in, some fresh from their bunks, others still holding their posts and as everyone moved to their stations, they turned toward Commander Azul, who addressed them with a strong, clear voice:

"Listen up. At 03:46 this morning, the sentinels monitoring the third quadrant of all Monoliths detected and confirmed a disruption in the Styx stream. This is not a drill, and it’s not a typical chaotic collision. It’s a body advancing from outside the nebula, heading straight for our system. Straight for us."

Murmurs spread among the operators, mirroring the questions racing through Emy’s mind.
Why now? It had been over three hundred years since the Outlands betrayed them—three centuries of isolation, after they collapsed the Styx paths, trapped them and left them for dead.

The commander’s voice pulled her back to the present as she continued:

"Because of interference from the nebula, we’re unable to clearly identify the nature of the intruder. The propulsion trail and the disrupted asteroid paths suggest a large-scale ship, but its class remains unknown. Your mission: identify it the moment it breaks through the shore, then establish contact. I want to know who we’re dealing with. Fast."

"Yes, Commander Azul!" "Yes, Commander!" "Understood, Commander!" the operators replied before turning back to their consoles.

"Emy."

"Tima, are we under attack? Should I gather the council?"

"Let’s wait until we know more. It could be an attack… or it could be a merchant in distress. Whatever it is, our fighters and their drone swarms are already en route to intercept."

Seeing the worry on her junior’s face, the old lioness added :

"You know I gave you my vote for the intendance, right?" she said with a warm smile. "I have full faith in you to care for the people of Penumbra. Now it’s your turn to have faith in me to defend them."

"Styx Breakthrough in 20 seconds!"

The commander stepped onto the main deck, joined by the intendant. Both faced the central display. Ballistic data updates, live feeds from the fighter cams, drone swarm sensors… every relevant detail spread across the screens, under their sharp, seasoned eyes.

"10 seconds!"
"Status of the comm relay?"
"Deployed and reinforced, Commander!"

She gave the operator a firm nod of approval.

"5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Breakthrough!"

In a burst of rock and lightning, a light bomber and a fleet of small transport ships erupted into the Cronus system, watched in astonishment by the intercepting pilots and everyone glued to the camera feeds.

The mothership had lost a reactor, and the battered state of its hull revealed its role as the spearhead of this desperate voyage. Were there even any survivors left in that shredded carcass?

Suddenly, the operator in charge of communications spun around, raising a hand to draw the commander’s attention, her expression bewildered.

"Well? Your report?" Azul prompted.

"I… I don’t understand. Their mothership just sent a request… using one of our own identifiers."

"Whose name?" asked Emy.

"It’s from the old database, we don’t sign transmissions like that anymore, so it’s probably just a glitch-"

"Whose name?!"

“Kaleb Cross."

The voice that followed didn’t belong to anyone in the command room.
It was a man’s voice, gravelly, predatory, seeming to echo from everywhere at once as the screens flickered red and black, strange eyes forming within the glitch, watching the room and its occupants.

Commander Azul didn’t flinch. She squared her shoulders and addressed the intruder directly, her tone unwavering:

"Listen carefully, because I won’t say it twice: you’ve entered Tartari territory without clearance. I am Commander Fatima Azul, and you will explain who you are and what you’re doing here clearly and concisely or you and your fleet will join the rocks and debris drifting through the Styx."

"Clearly and concisely, huh? So..How did it go again ?” To the child of Tartarus, neither the span of years nor the breadth of void shall sever the right to dwell once more within the Monolith that bore them." A brief but heavy silence fell, as if the world had stopped, waiting for his next sentence. "Well then, if this is still a thing, I am Kaleb Cross, born of shadows, and I claim my right to return."

"Kaleb Cross died three centuries ago" Emy said as all eyes turned to her.

"That’s true" he confirmed after a pause, then continued: "After i've been killed, Hammond took my body. With it, they built a machine, a sim-"

"A simulacrum…" Emy finished for him.

The entity on-screen tilted its head slightly, as if intrigued, and those in the room looked at her in confusion. She explained:

"In the archives from before the Age of Solitude, there are declassified Hammond documents. They detail their race for immortality. One of their secret projects aimed to transfer consciousness into robotic bodies...to escape death."

"I see someone did her homework" he said, amused. "Unexpected, but accurate. In the Outlands, I’m known as Revenant. I am the simulacrum of Kaleb Cross."

Time seemed to freeze. Could this be real? Or was it a trap?
So was the questions Emy saw in Tima’s eyes as the commander turned toward her, worried for the first time since the alert began. But she was prepared for this very moment. After a few seconds of silence, Emy made what was likely the riskiest decision of her life.

"I grant the right of return" she said, barely louder than a whisper.

"Emy…"

"Commander, all the ships just powered down their weapons and shields!" called out an operator, as the screen stabilized.

Tima closed her eyes and sighed. There was a clear sense of unease on her face, but she had to trust her junior’s judgment.

"Send them help. I want every of those ships escorted to our hangars and inspected from bow to stern. Weapons, ammunition, and any military equipment will be confiscated."

"Confiscated? Commander, please…. I didn’t cross centuries just to show up empty handed. These are gifts." he said, amused.

Despite herself, the old war chief smirked A brief instant not missed by Emy… nor by the amused chuckle that escaped their unexpected guest.

"We’re sending a ship for you as well. Honestly, I don’t see how I’m supposed to explain all this to the council unless you’re here in person" said Emy, trying to cover for her commander’s slip.

"Wha- Ehr… fine." he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She smiled as he ended the transmission just like this. Was he trying to charm his way out of an obvious meeting with the council? If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now: Revenant was one of theirs.

After a brief silence, the atmosphere in the command center began to ease. Despite the sighs and murmured relief, Tima offered a word of caution:

"If he is who he says he is, he’s a killer."

"Mhm. The most violent and prolific ever born of Tartarus, i know my books."

"I can see that look on your face. You didn’t do this just because you like the figure, did you? You’ve got a plan ?"

"Mhm, duty's calling"

Emy turned toward the exit with a smile for the lioness who wasn't smiling at all.
Now she had to figure out how to break the news to the council. Anyway, Is there any proper way to announce the return of a ghost ?

It was highly unusual for the council to gather at such an early hour, but that didn’t stop them from loudly debating in the symposium, just as they're used to.

"And how do we know this stranger is really who he claims to be, huh?"
"Emy saw something in him. She’s vouching for him. That should be enough for you."
"Emy’s young! She trusts people too damn easily."
"And you’re old, and far too fearful."

Those words and the bickering they kicked off had plenty of time to echo down the corridor where Emy and her guest were walking. Growing more tense with each step, she eventually turned to him and asked:

"Do I trust too easily?"
"If the council says so..." he replied, letting the irony linger.

She smiled and glanced up at him, expecting to find a shared look, a bit of complicity maybe. But he wasn’t looking at her. Revenant was walking close to the walls, drawn in by the shifting texture that animated them. Like endless black lava embedded with golden names, appearing and vanishing in the silent flow and under the simulacrum’s fascinated gaze. Touched by his interest, Emy stepped up to the wall too.

"Kaleb Cross," she murmured solemnly, letting her hand brush gently against the surface.

The name she spoke appeared where her fingers had passed, glowing in a soft amber light. She touched the glow, and a memorial projection lit up on the wall. A few words to recall his story, titles, written tributes, archival references, but above all, a refined portrait of the man he used to be. He growled and looked away.

"I’m sorry," Emy said quickly, afraid she’d crossed a line. "I thought this was what you were looking for."

He didn’t answer.
It was hard for Emy to read the simulacrum’s emotions. Sometimes curious, sometimes withdrawn, but mostly cautious and guarded. The more she observed his behavior, the less he resembled the Kaleb Cross she had studied. And yet, paradoxically, the less he matched the Kaleb Cross from the archives, the more real he seemed.

When she reached the veil that separated the corridor from the symposium, she pulled it aside and stepped through. The council members turned toward her, eager to question her about the situation, but their words faltered the moment Revenant followed her in, rising to his full height until the softened lights no longer reached his metal face, leaving only his glowing red eyes piercing through the shadows.

"W-What the hell is that?" stammered a short, round-bellied man with a receding hairline, stumbling over a seat as he backed away in fear.

"I assume you’ve read the briefing I sent regarding the Simulacra, Councilor Capelle?" Emy snapped, calling up the note on the central screen with a sharp gesture, not bothering to hide her annoyance, while several other councilors tried to sneak a glance at the file. "Then you already know who you’re dealing with."

A murmur swept through the council."Kaleb Cross?" "The Kingslayer?" "The Butcher?"
A woman stood up, casting a sharp look at the others in response to their lack of decorum, then stepped forward toward the intendant and her guest. After a small nod of approval to Emy, she turned to Revenant.

"Welcome home, Kaleb," she began, inclining her head slightly without looking away from him. "I’m Sibo Kissling, 215th representative of Tartarus’ Preceptorship."

"I knew a Kissling, back in the day." he replied vaguely, trying to place the memory.

"Yes. He was an art teacher." the councilor offered with an amused smile.

Revenant tilted his head.
It took him a moment to recall who she meant, but everyone in the room could tell the exact instant it came back to him. His reaction, wordless but unmistakable, drew a soft chuckle from his interlocutor.

"He was known for being just as arrogant as he was a terrible teacher," she began, before continuing in a more serious tone: "Still, while the loss of that ancestor had little lasting consequence, his murder did raise alarm among your contemporaries... about your nature."

"Sibo..." Emy pleaded, now fully aware of her guest’s growing impatience.

"Don’t mistake me, Emerlade. I trust your judgment completely. But look at them," she said, motioning to the other council members, most of whom were pressed against the far end of the chamber, as though trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Simulacrum. "They’re terrified, and rightfully so."

With a flick, she overrode Emy’s briefing on the main screen and replaced it with a flood of data, archives on Kaleb Cross and his past exploits. Notes, articles, news videos… the screen drowned in overlapping accounts of his existence.

"Kaleb Cross may have been a prince of Tartarus, but more than anything, he was a killer. A violent one. Likely the most violent our people have ever produced. If..." She glanced at her own notes. "If Revenant is truly the embodiment of the one we lost to the Outlands, then it is vital that we start by acknowledging his true nature."

Voices rose in support behind her. "She’s right." "We need to be cautious..." "And let’s not forget his lineage!"
Revenant said nothing. He simply stepped forward toward the screen, confronting the montage. Emy noted how he now seemed unfazed, almost even comfortable to look upon the remnants of his past self. He read the articles, letting his glowing red eyes linger on pictures taken in the heart of the horrors he’d once unleashed. Disconcerted by his silence, Sibo finally broke it:

"I hope you understand our concerns."

"I don’t care about your concerns."

Until now, he had moved with calculated restraint, careful to appear non-threatening, but this time he turned toward Sibo with the speed and violence of a predator striking. Neither she, nor Emy, nor any member of the council had time to react before instinct forced them to retreat, driven back by the unspoken command in the Simulacrum’s posture.

"Do you think I came all this way for this?"

"If I offended you, I-"

"Did I really cross death, slavery, torture and humiliation, did I cross the Styx and sacrificed part of my army to tiptoe around a flock of shy paper-pushing gazelles, quaky skinbags i don't know how manyth of a council that wouldn’t even exist without this !" he snarled, jabbing his finger at the screen.

The display bled red, as Tartarus’ memory spilled forth in distorted, glitched images:
A child locked in a deadly fight with a grown man twice his height.
Then the same child, relentlessly beating his defeated elder in a pond of blood.
Emy grabbed Sibo’s arm, urging her not to speak another word, though she herself was frozen in fear of what might come next. For the first time since making her decision to allow his return, she doubted. She doubted her instincts. She doubted she’d even make it out alive. What had possessed her to dismiss the guards?
Revenant let the images linger in the room.
The blood spilling from the defeated man.
The child casting aside the crown...

"This violence is your legacy..." he said, in a calmer, almost solemn tone, as the screen now showed nothing but static snow that outlined his gaunt silhouette. "And mine."

They remained silent, like tombs under the shadow of the simulacrum watching them. His demeanor was unreadable to the council, especially since even he no longer knew what he was feeling. Was he truly angry, or simply disgusted? Disappointed to see them yield so obediently to his anger, when he had barely raised his voice. He sensed their fear, but fear alone didn’t explain it. Why didn’t they push back? As he got lost in these questions, Emy straightened up, which caught his attention.

"I allowed your return" Emy replied, struggling to rise above her fear. "Not out of respect for our laws, your title, or the legacy you left us, but because I had faith. I’ve spent my life studying history, especially yours. When you appeared, I felt in my heart you weren’t pretending. I believed in your suffering and in our ability to understand you. And, if you’d allow it, to our ability to fill your needs."

She stood tall to face the killer, looking him straight in the eyes.

"But what about you?"

He didn’t answer. The young one speaks well, he thought. He didn’t want to interrupt her surge of courage and eloquence. He wanted to see where she was going, so he eased the weight of his presence, letting her claim her own.

"You lived slavery and torture. We lived famine and disease. Our councils helped the people survive, and now everyone has enough to eat, but the sickness still kills us. Each generation is born fewer, weaker, and dies younger than the last. Tartarus is killing us, inexorably, as it always has."

"What do you want from me?"

"Patience, to begin with," she said, adjusting her clothes. "And the right to study your functioning so we can benefit our fellow citizens."

"What?!"

Emy took a deep breath, convinced she had triggered another outburst from the simulacrum. The blades on his back had risen, and his red eyes were slicing through her like knives. But she knew her arguments. She was preparing them in her mind, like javelins for a verbal joust she would not lose this time.
But once again, he caught her off guard.

"Deal." That was all he said, flatly.

"R... Really?" Emy stammered, flinching so hard she nearly lost her glasses.

"Tartarus gave itself to me. I give myself to Tartarus," he said, looking weary. "That deal was made long before you were born... and before I was, for that matter."

At those words, Emy felt dirty. She, who had always fought for equality and the fair treatment of every citizen, now found herself perpetuating the most shameful tradition of Tartarus: submitting its princes and their bodies for the greater good. The crushing shame of it made her overlook the sudden change in his tone. Dismayed, all she could think about now was making amends.

"I... I swear you’ll be treated with the dignity befitting your–"

"Just give me what I want." he cut her off before turning on his heel and walking out of the Symposium.

The intendant's throat tightened. She had thought she could build a relationship of trust with a living (well, almost living) witness of their history, but now she was trapped in a transactional dynamic that betrayed the humanist values she stood for. Her duty to her people demanded it, but she couldn’t help imagining her name added to the list of those who had taken part in Tartarus’s darkest chapters.

She stared at the plates on his back as he disappeared into the shadow of the hallway, wondering if she would ever be able to earn back his trust, or if some of Tartarus’ most terrible little secrets would reach him before she did.

Work in progress, deeries

Why are you ratting over there ? Nothing to see yet.