ONIRIS / ONIRIS

THE DARK BLOODLINE OF ONIRIS
“History is written by the victors. But power… real power is written in silence.”
— Overseer Primaris Whiplash-6

In the black shadow of the Messer Era, where fear ruled policy and control masqueraded as order, a soldier was born.

Virgil C., 2719. UEE Navy. Rank: Commander. Record: Flawless.
A man so sharp, the brass joked his boots could slice steel. He never missed a briefing, never misjudged a target, never once blinked when protocol demanded action. The Navy loved him. Feared him. Trusted him.

But Virgil saw everything.

Behind the parade speeches and medal ceremonies, he saw the rot in the walls. Slush funds. Civilian “containment.” Quiet massacres on backwater moons. Whole systems bartered in sealed war room deals. The Messer Dynasty wasn’t a government—it was a syndicate draped in a flag.

And one day, Virgil made a decision that would haunt the UEE forever: he didn’t look away.

In 2746, beneath a forgotten comms tower in a dead zone of Hurston, he birthed a secret. A resistance. A spark of fury. He called it—Oniris. A name spoken only in whispers, its meaning erased, its purpose pure.

He called it his “Basement Rebellion.”
A joke, he’d say. But his eyes said different.

Virgil became an inside man—feeding intel, tactics, and enemy movements from within the UEE war engine. Recruits came in one by one. Navy officers. Logistics agents. Miners. Mercs. Every one of them burned by the same lie. Within seven years, Oniris had 150 operatives, armed with truth, stealth, and a hunger for justice sharpened into vengeance.

In 2752, the UEE finally saw the shadow on its wall. Oniris was labeled a terrorist cell, a threat to the imperial order. The walls began closing. A ten-year manhunt followed—raids, sweeps, black site interrogations. But the UEE found nothing but ghosts.

Because Virgil was always one step ahead.
Until he wasn’t.

2764. A silent night. A house in New Austin.
Virgil C. is murdered in his sleep—no trial, no court martial, no press release.
Three other officers die across the system that same night. The UEE called it coincidence. Oniris knew better. It was execution.

The message was clear: No one defies the Empire and survives.

But Virgil left behind more than a body. He left behind a son.
Sirius. 19 years old. UEE Navy cadet. Loyal. Brilliant. Proud.

Until the Navy opened an “investigation.” They claimed he wasn’t involved.
Then they destroyed his career anyway.

Discharged. Blacklisted. Shamed.

Sirius vanished. No trace. No signal. No revenge.

For eight long years, Oniris fell apart. Leaderless, it was hijacked by anarchists and extremists, twisted into a wrecking ball of chaos. Attacks on civvies. Bombings. The mission was gone. Only rage remained.

But when stars burn out, darkness speaks.

Sirius returned. Not with words. With fire.

He purged the cowards. He reclaimed the name. And in a move that stunned allies and enemies alike, he rebuilt Oniris not as a rebellion—but as a business.
A Private Military Company.

No more martyrdom. No more ideology. Just cold, brutal profit.

Security contracts. Smuggling. Resource raids. Espionage. Gem mining. Ship salvage.
If it paid, Oniris did it. The enemy wasn’t just the UEE now—it was poverty. Dependency. Weakness.

In 2775, Sirius had a son: John.

The galaxy forgot Virgil. Forgot Sirius.
But Oniris never stopped watching.

Now it’s 2950s and beyond. The Messer era is dead, but the corruption isn’t.
The UEE wears a new mask, preaching “efficiency” and “reform,” but the greed still pulses beneath.

And Oniris? It’s stronger than ever.

John, now known only as Whiplash-6, is nothing like his father.
He’s colder. Smarter. Patient. He doesn’t believe in causes—only strategy.
Oniris doesn’t just survive in the dark. It thrives in it.

Spies within the UEE feed him movement reports days in advance.
Military ops leak before they’re finalized.
If the UEE moves, Oniris already knew yesterday.

Whiplash-6 signs billion-aUEC contracts with Rayari for rare gem extractions—Caranite, Saldynium, Jaclium. While the Pyro system bleeds in the Resource War and the Regen Crisis spirals, Oniris mines deeper, fights harder, and profits off the carnage.

400 members strong.
Fleet-ready.
Planet-locked fireteams.
Industrial syndicates embedded on five worlds.

Whiplash doesn’t make speeches.
And if you join Oniris
He doesn’t ask for your loyalty.

He demands it…