The vast darkness of the multiverse holds many secrets—but none as shrouded in sorrow and dread as the fall of the Mahasimu Weusi, the Dark Rivals.
Once sovereigns of silence, their dominion had stretched across galaxies. Beings of living shadow and obsidian flesh, the Mahasimu ruled through an iron unity, their minds fused within the Mali Giza, a great psionic hive network. Their empire—shaped by castes of warriors, seers, artisans, and assassins—breathed and moved as one. At their helm stood the Mother of Shadows, an ancient queen of unimaginable age and power, and her nine revered daughters—the Malkia wa Giza, who guided the fate of worlds.
But then came the Silent Ones.
They emerged not from space, but from the void between realities—a race without sound, without warmth. Their weapons did not burn or explode, but erased. Reality dissolved in their presence, and the Mahasimu's greatest warships fell without impact. Their minds—once unified and indomitable—fractured under the onslaught of disembodied whispers and psionic obliteration. Planets turned to dust. The Giza Vali, their greatest dreadnought, fled shattered and lost.
The war—the Great Silence—scarred their souls and ended an age.
Now, centuries later, the Mahasimu endure only in fractured sanctuaries like Umbra Prime, scattered across dark space. But from these ashes rises Queen Saumu, daughter of one of the Malkia, and commander of the Giza Mtuji, the new flagship of a reborn dream. Their goal is not mere survival—but resurgence.
And destiny begins to stir once more.
A Ghost World, and the First Contact
The Giza Mtuji drifted silently into orbit above a forgotten colony—once a proud Mahasimu outpost, abandoned 271 years ago. Its shattered cities and charred terrain whispered of cataclysm, the scars of war and time both etched into its crust.
At the forward viewport, Queen Saumu studied the ruins with calculating precision.
"Launch the probes," she said coldly.
Scout vessels and cloaked Shadowscourge descended into the deep ruins.
The teams swept through skeletal remains of towers, crystalline temples cracked and eroded, strange glyphs glowing beneath moss and ash. But the planet was not dead.
Sefu, the lead scout, found evidence of another—a presence alien to Mahasimu design. Faint energy pulses, anomalous symbols, and a flickering entity watching through half-reality. They were not merely scavengers. They were something else.
"Unknown," Sefu whispered. "But alive… watching."
The first contact with the Kazi had been made—not through greeting, but through tension. Saumu gave the order: do not engage, but watch. The shadows had stirred again—and in them, new rivals lurked.
The Fall of Vhalar – Fire and Chains
Elsewhere, the Mahasimu Empire's vengeance began anew.
Above the lush, primitive world of Vhalar, the skies burned as Giza Mtuji's forces rained death from orbit. The Shadow Armies descended in endless waves—black vultures with obsidian talons. The forests screamed. Jungle tribes, once proud and free, fell to fire and steel.
At the heart of the chaos, Kara and Moro, tribal warriors, fought back. But they had unknowingly triggered this doom—by kidnapping a Mahasimu scout decades earlier. Now their world paid the price.
In their last refuge—a mountain stronghold—Vhalar's final defenders made a desperate stand. Lirak, Zalor, Mara—their names etched in sorrow. But it was all for nothing.
The Mahasimu forces crushed them. Shadow patrols swept the land, rooting out survivors. Kara and Moro were captured, dragged to the Forge of Shadows, where their bodies and minds were broken. Bound by psionic chains, injected with obedience-serums, their wills were shattered. They were no longer warriors—they were slaves.
The Queen arrived soon after.
Saumu stared coldly at the captured leaders, at the broken flames of a people now silenced.
"This," she whispered, "is only the beginning. The shadow does not forgive. It reclaims."
The Spark of a New War
But even as Queen Saumu tightened her grip, whispers began to move again.
On the dead world, the Kazi stirred—watching from their crystalline ruins.
In the slave camps, broken Vhalar dreamed of rebellion.
And deep within the void, the fragmented remains of the Mali Giza pulsed with faint, reborn thought. The Mother of Shadows, ancient and unseen, begins to stir once more. Her whispers stretch across time and blood.
The multiverse will burn again. The Holy War shall rise anew.
But this time, it will not be against the Silent Ones alone.
It will be for everything.