Far Flung

I don't know how many of us are left now. We fled and scattered, leaving our home-world, taking our chances alone. Hiding. Running. Fighting.
For what?
Just for survival. There is no hope for us. That is the perceived wisdom.
It is wrong. Today they came for me and I killed them, slashing their beings across five universes and ten states of existence. They can't touch me, they never will. It gives me hope.
So now the quest changes, from running to searching. Across the stars, the gulf, through the orbitals and colonies and hyper-cruiser fleets. Finding my people.Congealing into a race again.
Until there is enough of us.
Then we can make a home again, an no one will be able to stop us.