I wanted to add some extra depth to my girlfriend's fan art by also having ChatGPT to write a short fanfic! The story, "Chains of the Past," follows an Izarian soldier as he struggles with his role as a Skaarj pawn, ultimately making a choice that could change his fate.
Chains of the Past
The dim corridors of the Skaarj warship pulsed with a sickly green light, casting eerie shadows over the battered metal walls. Tar'Zek moved with the rest of his squad, his four-fingered hands gripping his Shock Lance tightly. He could feel the weight of the collar around his neck—an ever-present reminder of his people’s enslavement.
They had once ruled a small empire. The Izarians were warriors, conquerors. But the Skaarj had stripped them of everything. Their cities lay in ruins, their armies scattered, their pride broken. And now, they fought for their masters, mere cannon fodder in a war not their own.
A transmission crackled in his earpiece. "Advance. No survivors."
The enemy was human. A lone soldier had infiltrated the ship, cutting down Skaarj guards with ruthless efficiency. Tar'Zek had fought humans before. They were tenacious, but fragile.
The squad moved in, their boots clanking against the grated floor. The human had barricaded himself in a storage bay. No way out.
Tar'Zek’s instincts screamed at him—this was wrong. He should be fighting for his people, not serving those who had crushed them. He glanced at his squadmates. Their eyes held no fire, only obedience. Fear.
The doors hissed open. A single human crouched behind a stack of crates, his rifle raised. The Skaarj’s orders were clear. No survivors.
Tar'Zek hesitated.
A moment later, the human fired. Energy flared, and one of Tar'Zek’s comrades fell, smoke curling from his chest. The others reacted instantly, filling the air with crackling blue bolts. The human dove behind cover, moving fast, too fast—
Tar'Zek made his decision.
With a guttural roar, he turned his Shock Lance on his own kind. Blue energy lanced through the darkness, striking down the nearest Izarian. His brothers, once bound by chains, were too slow to react.
The human spun, weapon still raised. For a brief, tense moment, they stared at each other.
Then, Tar'Zek spoke.
"Go. Before the others come."
The human hesitated, but only for a second. He nodded once, then vanished into the shadows.
Tar'Zek exhaled. The collar around his neck still burned, the chains of his past still heavy. But for the first time in years, he had made his own choice.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a future for the Izarians.
Chains of the Past
The dim corridors of the Skaarj warship pulsed with a sickly green light, casting eerie shadows over the battered metal walls. Tar'Zek moved with the rest of his squad, his four-fingered hands gripping his Shock Lance tightly. He could feel the weight of the collar around his neck—an ever-present reminder of his people’s enslavement.
They had once ruled a small empire. The Izarians were warriors, conquerors. But the Skaarj had stripped them of everything. Their cities lay in ruins, their armies scattered, their pride broken. And now, they fought for their masters, mere cannon fodder in a war not their own.
A transmission crackled in his earpiece. "Advance. No survivors."
The enemy was human. A lone soldier had infiltrated the ship, cutting down Skaarj guards with ruthless efficiency. Tar'Zek had fought humans before. They were tenacious, but fragile.
The squad moved in, their boots clanking against the grated floor. The human had barricaded himself in a storage bay. No way out.
Tar'Zek’s instincts screamed at him—this was wrong. He should be fighting for his people, not serving those who had crushed them. He glanced at his squadmates. Their eyes held no fire, only obedience. Fear.
The doors hissed open. A single human crouched behind a stack of crates, his rifle raised. The Skaarj’s orders were clear. No survivors.
Tar'Zek hesitated.
A moment later, the human fired. Energy flared, and one of Tar'Zek’s comrades fell, smoke curling from his chest. The others reacted instantly, filling the air with crackling blue bolts. The human dove behind cover, moving fast, too fast—
Tar'Zek made his decision.
With a guttural roar, he turned his Shock Lance on his own kind. Blue energy lanced through the darkness, striking down the nearest Izarian. His brothers, once bound by chains, were too slow to react.
The human spun, weapon still raised. For a brief, tense moment, they stared at each other.
Then, Tar'Zek spoke.
"Go. Before the others come."
The human hesitated, but only for a second. He nodded once, then vanished into the shadows.
Tar'Zek exhaled. The collar around his neck still burned, the chains of his past still heavy. But for the first time in years, he had made his own choice.
And perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a future for the Izarians.
