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The Invisible Crystalline
Last Log of the Imperial Historian

The Cryslonite fleet was worn down to only a few ships and we still could not totally destroy them. The two ships remaining retreated back across the wormhole, to Cryslonite space.

The righteous battle of Praetoria cost us greatly. The homeworld was in the throes of a dark plague, while millions were buried already from the napalm. Luckily only a few of the enemies' Supremacy class ships were available and the homeworld remained somewhat intact.

The Superiority class of the Cryslonite proved to be endlessly well protected. In short, we were hopelessly beaten technologically, while we had a temporary advantage in momentum.

The emperor was dead from riots on the Last day of the bombing, and the imperial staff was severely disorganized. The so-called grandson of God was claiming the throne, but many including myself rejected his claim. We felt the empire needs to be managed by the military, only then can they operate properly to destroy the Cryslonite. We can not divide our time with a coronation ceremony while Cryslonite are rebuilding Supremacy and Superiority over our heads.

But the power bloc in support of Admiral Hashuko was insufficient, and thus in year two of the Cryslonite invasion, the Grandson of God, Ssroik, picked his wife, appointed a royal guard, appointed a new imperial staff, of which I am not a part, and ordered the military to prepare planetary defenses.

It was over then. As I sit here with my notes, a powerless outcast once of the imperial court, I can see that no planetary defense will ever save us. Only ships can fight the Cryslonite on any terms. Ssroik is so stupid.

Ten million missile platforms would not be enough to stop the Cryslonite once they got into orbit again. All the platforms would be destroyed, and all the Cryslonite would lose is time.

Where millions of missile platforms would fail, a fleet of ten warships could easily succeed. The Cryslonite had little aptitude in space combat, having learned the art of war from planetary orbital battles and wars. We learned this so many times, the Admiral considered it his first order of duty to engage the enemy in space.

It could not matter much longer, the plague would get us all, in the end. We should be building ships and training medical researchers, but the coronation and its excess continued, and mere weapon platforms were constructed, the grandson of God proclaiming that nothing could stop them. He was a fool, and we will all die for it.

It was nearly three years before we saw the Cryslonite again. They had regrouped for a long time, and they returned with a fleet of ten ships bigger than the biggest ever used before, dreadnoughts.

Meanwhile, God's minions had built a few colony ships, which helped us none at all when the battle came once more.

Now they orbit us, closing in, while God promises his mere twenty weapon platforms will save us. But perhaps I will pray to the Cryslonite god instead, he is the one with true power, it seems.

I faced the sun and prayed to it, hoping that I could get away while the silly emperor-as-god here would die. I felt the warmth of the sun, cheering me in the final moments, and then finally I felt a streak of searing heat.

It must be the sun, the sun.
But it was napalm.
blackness forever...