[ WP ] You were a soldier in a future conflict , until your heroic death . Now you face the battlefield of the Ragnarok of Nordic myth , with your full war kit .

She clearly remembered her body unravel just before the end was supposed to come, yet here she stood, amid what seemed like an all out battle straight from some ancient myth. She stood as a reflection of herself, at some unknown point in the past. Strangely enough, she could even recall her memory being erased and scrambled, one moment at a time, and somehow it was still there, all accessible, confronting her with her last moments. 
 
 Her name was Dawn, which was meant to signify the new beginning she was supposed to bring about. She found it funny, seeing herself more as an end to things... The war, the Empire, the Era, all would cease the day she was brought into this world. Born in cyberspace, raised and trained through endless simulations, skills and reflexes honed to the sharp point that marked her purpose as the only sentient superweapon in the history of galactic warfare. 
 
 Her first experience outside of cyberspace was the roar of a planet torn by her Vessel warping out of hyperspace straight into the atmosphere, shock waves pelting the Imperial Capital below. She raced through flying debris toward the exposed guts of the Great Underground, the landing impact too strong even for the grav-fold dampeners to absorb, causing her power armor to break off its latches within the sleek attack ship. Despite the damage, the hulking mech danced to the tune of a million simulations, avoiding missiles, plasma bolts and antimatter bombardments as the assassin raced toward the Imperial Refuge. She ditched the broken suit and ran into the snaking tunnels beneath the Deep Palace, tearing through the elite guard and shifting through secret passages she has walked through so many times before she awoke. It was just like the simulations, parts of them, all blended into this one chain of events that seemed no different from what she had done so many times. Except they were finally here. The World Council, the Emperor and the Artefact Core. The men were weak, old and clinging to life as desperately as they did to their war and ideals. The Artefact Core held the souls of many previous emperors, who put up more of a fight in their virtual lands, each surrounded by their own palaces and armies. 
 
 By the time she was done, the guards were already cutting through the door. Dawn sat on the throne, the Core at her feet now dim and devoid of its wisdom, the broken marble hall before her splattered with the blood of the dozen most powerful rulers in history. Having cut off the Empire's head and exorcised its spirit, her purpose was fulfilled. She closed her eyes as the armored scales peeled off her sides and her skin quietly charred and flaked. She knew the outcome should she continue to exist. 
 
 And yet she awoke there, among the fighting men and giants, instantly joining their dance of death. Was she back in the simulation from which she was born? It did not matter. Her last directive was to die. Champions, gods and great serpents alike fell short however, failing to stop the demon that descended upon their land. She sought death for what seemed like decades of constant battle, a whirlwind of death and gore that easily overpowered lesser beings of flesh and bone. A modern goddess of war imagined not by men but through the work of clusters elaborate AIs, about to end the reign of the old gods in the next world.
