The first sunrise over Darknova looked less like dawn and more like the planet had decided to think about glowing for a moment, then changed its mind halfway through. The sky was a mixture of bruised violet and ashen red, the kind of color you got when the universe couldn't decide whether to burn or rot. Beneath it, the black-soiled plains stretched endlessly—cracked, glassy, lifeless.
And then the sky split open.
Thousands of ships—great iron leviathans that once floated above imperial worlds—descended through the atmosphere like a slow-moving metal storm. Each was the size of a small city, their hulls gleaming faintly with the sigils of the fallen Veynar Empire. Their descent scorched the air, leaving trails of fire that turned Darknova's horizon into a tapestry of living dusk. The ground trembled as they landed, one after another, shaking centuries of dust from the bones of a dead world.
Darion Veynar sat on a massive mechanical crate amid the chaos, one leg crossed over the other, chin resting on his hand. Around him, his people were already at work. Portable reactors hummed, construction drones crawled across the dirt, and engineers yelled over the roar of power tools and fusion engines.
"Unbelievable," muttered Mira Koss, head of logistics, as she directed a line of hover-trucks. "Half our ships are still operational, and the other half think gravity's an optional concept."
"Optional concepts are what keep us alive," Darion replied dryly. "That, and unrelenting sarcasm."
He watched as the dismantling began. Towering ship sections were pulled apart by mechanical cranes and repurposed into prefabricated housing, hydroponic domes, and foundries. Within hours, the black wasteland began to bloom with the silver-gray skeletons of civilization—temporary offices, defense turrets, and research labs emerging from the ground like stubborn weeds.
Even the air seemed to change. Thin and acrid, it carried the tang of industry now.
Darion's expression, however, was less impressed and more… haunted.
"Oh by the stars, he's at it again," he muttered. "He never stops talking."
Inside his skull, the voice of Azhurath—self-proclaimed Demon King, probable cosmic disaster—was narrating a full monologue about the tragic poetry of infernal extinction.
"Do you know what it's like to watch your world burn, boy? The screams, the smell of molten souls, the dramatic lighting! You mortals never appreciate drama!"
"Wonderful," Darion said aloud, earning several confused looks from nearby workers. "A demon with theater critiques. Just what I needed."
General Thoren, his old instructor and the closest thing to a father he had left, stopped beside him with a grunt. "Still hearing voices?"
"Louder every day," Darion sighed. "If this keeps up, I might start charging rent."
Thoren smirked. "Make sure you charge in blood. Seems his currency."
Before Darion could reply, Sire Calvek, the ever-serious butler-turned-quartermaster, approached carrying what looked alarmingly like a weapon.
"Your Majesty," Calvek began, holding up a sleek, chrome device with a circular core. "Kavik insisted I deliver this to you immediately. He says it's essential."
Darion arched an eyebrow. "Does it kill demons?"
"Not yet," Calvek said. "But given Kavik's track record, that's probably phase two."
Moments later, Kavik himself jogged over, a wild grin on his grease-smeared face. "Sire! Perfect timing. Behold, the future of survival—The Symbiarch Protocol."
Darion eyed the gun-shaped object. "Please tell me it's not another one of your inventions that turns people into soup."
Kavik's grin didn't falter. "Oh, much better than soup! This is a bio-cybernetic AI interface, originally designed by the Federation for planetary colonization and soldier enhancement. The chip synchronizes with neural networks, tracks environmental data, and—"
"Enough," Darion interrupted, rubbing his temple. "Just give me the damn thing."
Kavik hesitated. "There might be some mild discomfort—"
"Everything about my life is discomfort. Fire away."
With a shrug and the enthusiasm of a man who hadn't slept in three days, Kavik raised the device and pressed it against the back of Darion's neck. A metallic click. A brief hiss. Then pain—sharp, blinding pain—as the chip injected itself into his spinal column, spreading a cascade of silver light through his veins.
Darion's vision fractured for a heartbeat.
Then came the voice.
"—Initializing neural handshake. Symbiarch Protocol online. Greetings, Primary User: Darion Veynar."
A small holographic interface flickered to life in front of his eyes, translucent blue and filled with scrolling text. Lines of diagnostics flowed across it, visible only to him.
"Vitals stable. Neural sync: 92%. Environmental toxicity: lethal. Oxygen saturation: non-existent. Recommendation: immediate death."
Darion blinked. "Cheerful system."
Inside his head, Azhurath growled, "What is this new voice in our sanctum? Who dares trespass in my host's skull?! Boy, how many tenants are you allowing in here?"
The AI continued, unfazed. "Foreign consciousness detected. Classification: anomalous entity. Probability of symbiotic integration: 11%. Probability of catastrophic neural collapse: 67%."
"Catastrophic what?" Darion managed, gripping the crate as the world tilted.
Azhurath snarled. "I'll show this metallic insect what true integration means!"
A pulse of energy surged through Darion's body. The holographic displays flickered, then distorted—red replacing blue. The AI's tone changed, glitching between mechanical calm and demonic resonance.
"Warning… core code corruption detected… adapting neural network…"
Darion screamed as molten pain lanced through his nerves. His body convulsed, veins glowing crimson beneath his skin. The ground around him cracked with energy as the Symbiarch Protocol and Azhurath fought for control—until, impossibly, they began to merge.
Inside his vision, the words reformed:
Symbiarch Protocol v3.0 → Mutation Detected → New Subsystem Registered:
THE INFERNAL CIRCUIT SYSTEM
Darion gasped, the pain ebbing as his heartbeat stabilized. His vision returned sharper, clearer—he could see every speck of dust, every flicker of energy in the air.
"What… what did you do?" he hissed.
Azhurath's laughter echoed, dark and amused. "Oh, nothing permanent. I merely extended my domain. Your shiny toy has merged with my infernal essence. Together, we are… improved."
The AI, now tinted with a faint red glow, spoke again:
"Designation updated. System identity: Symbiarch Infernum. New parameters established."
Darion groaned. "Fantastic. I'm now running a hellish operating system."
The AI projected new holograms before him—anatomical overlays, energy readings, alien diagrams. "Analysis: host has absorbed planetary energy signatures. Substance identified as Infernal Mana. Properties—adaptive, regenerative, and self-sustaining. Atmospheric dependency: null."
"In simpler words," Azhurath interrupted smugly, "you can breathe this airless world, eat its ashes, and laugh at starvation. You're welcome."
Darion flexed his fingers, feeling strange power humming beneath his skin. His senses were sharper. His reflexes keener. He could feel the pulse of the planet itself, a slow, malignant heartbeat.
"This… doesn't feel normal," he muttered.
"Of course not," said Azhurath. "You're half demon now. Congratulations."
The AI continued in its usual analytical monotone. "Adaptation complete. Neural fusion at 99%. Physical augmentation: pending. Access to planetary energy grid granted through host's circulatory network. You have become the primary node of Infernal Circuit energy."
Darion pinched the bridge of his nose. "That sounds like something that should kill me."
"Normally, yes," said Azhurath. "But you're too stubborn to die. I like that."
Minutes later, he gathered his closest aides—Thoren, Kavik, Mira Koss, and Calvek—in a newly constructed command tent. They stood around a holographic table projecting the schematics of their new colony.
Darion explained everything. The chip. The AI. The demon. The fusion. The pain. The bizarre promise of survival.
When he finished, silence hung over the group like a loaded weapon.
Finally, Thoren spoke. "So you're telling us the demon in your head wants to resurrect his army using ours?"
"In a mutually beneficial way," Darion clarified. "He gives us the ability to survive. We give his dead soldiers… squatting rights in our bodies."
Mira crossed her arms. "That's horrifyingly pragmatic."
Kavik looked fascinated. "Technically brilliant, though! Think of it—fusion of infernal energy and cybernetics. Demonic symbiosis with adaptive AI oversight! We could weaponize this!"
Thoren glared. "Weaponize? We don't even know if we'll wake up tomorrow as ourselves!"
Azhurath's voice boomed in his mind. "I cannot possess your minds. Only coexist. Your strength becomes mine, and mine, yours. Together, we will rebuild what was lost. And perhaps… take vengeance on those who burned my world."
"The Emerald Dominion," Azhurath hissed, and for a moment, even the air felt heavier. "They razed my realm, slaughtered my kin. I will see their light extinguished."
"Wonderful," Darion said dryly. "A demon with a vendetta and a grudge list. My life just keeps improving."
Thoren looked at Darion seriously. "Sire, if this is our only way to survive this wasteland… maybe it's worth the risk. We monitor it, control it. Use it to build something here."
Mira nodded reluctantly. "I agree. If this planet runs on this infernal energy, maybe this fusion is the only way to live on it."
Darion sighed, gazing at the crimson sky through the tent flap. "You're all insane. But then, so am I."
He turned to the holographic display. The AI pulsed red in sync with his heartbeat. "Symbiarch," he said. "Activate experimental integration protocols. Let's make history… or a very impressive crater."
"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Designation: Project Symbiarch Legion. Integration initializing."
Across the colony, hundreds of soldiers and engineers prepared for implantation, guided by Kavik's trembling excitement and Mira's weary efficiency. Silver chips gleamed in injector guns. The hiss of deployment echoed through the camps.
As the first wave of colonists received their implants, the air changed again. Crimson light shimmered faintly beneath their skin. Machinery began to hum differently—reactors resonating with the new, hybrid frequency of infernal energy.
And in the black soil of Darknova, something ancient stirred.
Darion stood at the edge of the encampment, watching the glow spread through his people like wildfire.
"Tell me, Azhurath," he murmured. "What happens if this goes wrong?"
"Oh," said the Demon King cheerfully, "then everyone dies in spectacular fashion. But if it goes right…"
Darion smirked. "We become gods?"
Azhurath chuckled darkly. "Something far less boring."
High above, Darknova's skies bled crimson as lightning arced between the iron spires of their descending cities.
The empire had fallen. But from its ashes, something new began to rise—flesh and machine, demon and man, bound by circuits of fire.
The Symbiarch Legion was born.
And somewhere, deep beneath the black mountains, the planet itself whispered in approval.