jamesvehrlinger

[jamesvehrlinger]

Mass, Gravitation, and The Cosmic Currents

Before, there was nothing. All of space and time was vacant, uniform, and empty. This empty, homogenous canvas yielded nothing, and for an uncountable period, all was still. 

Once, from an ocean of infinite order, the smallest spark appeared. A single finger, prodded at the veneer of nothing and, for a moment, it breached it. From this small fissure, emerged something new, something different. The antithesis of the nothing that blanketed all that was. Something was born. 

This initial event would send ripples throughout all of creation, breaching the same surface tension. These events propagated their own ripples, and for the first time, the currents of the cosmos were disrupted, thrown into disarray. As the currents moved and adapted to this new chaos, they began to change, and it became possible to differentiate these changes as they occurred. 

This is regarded as the beginning of the emergent property of time. 

As these disruptions were born, something else was brought into existence with them. In order for something to be something, and to be distinguishable from nothing, it must have mass. Mass is that that which displaces nothing, and allows something to remain something. Like a stone in a river, mass must exist to part the currents of the cosmos. As the currents ebb and flow, nothing exerts force on that which displaces it. As the mass of the displacement increases, so too does the quantity of nothing it displaces, which leads to greater restorative force. 

These restorative forces are regarded as the emergent property of gravitation. 

The birth of mass not only began the property of time, it also promised it's end. At any moment, the movement of the cosmic currents imply a process, a trajectory, an inevitable and unavoidable end. 

This ineffable promise is regarded as the emergent property of fate, and the journey to it, causality. 

However, although this is a promised end, the movement of the currents are not indomitable.  Should one gain control of a significant quantity of mass, and the ability to leverage it, it is possible to influence the currents, shift the trajectory of fate, and violate the causal journey. 

Like one placing stones skillfully in a river, the currents can be manipulated to bend the trajectory of fate, or, implying a great enough degree of mass, cancelled all together. 

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Apocatastasis

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the cool blanket of night settled in on the land, I felt my gloves strain against my grip. I ran my finger along the wheel, feeling it’s grooves and cracks through the leather. Slipping down, my hand fell from the steering wheel, and came to rest on the shifter. Closing my eyes and slowing my breathing, I opened my senses to the world around me, and was met with absolute silence. The only sound being the low hum of the engine, and the rhythmic heartbeat that resounded in my chest and skull. Opening my eyes, and staring forward, the streetlights, far and few between, illuminated splotches of the vantablack that coated the road. The last tears of sunlight had fallen, and the vehicle had entered first gear. 

As it began to roll forward, I watched what little scenery remained slowly creep from view. The accelerator fell, and the engine purred in kind. The shifter moved, and in response the tires beat against the pavement. My grip on the wheel tightened as the pedal continued to fall. The shifter moved again. By now, the scenery was no longer discernible, as the terrain off the road slid in and out of view in seconds, blending together into a mess of cloaked mass. I watched as the needle fell into the red again, and again, each time the shifter moved to keep up. The engine roared and whined as it was pushed to its limit, and far beyond. Horrible mechanical clunking and grinding filled my ears, and thrashed through my body. And yet, in clear defiance of the cries for reprieve, the pedal continued to fall, and the shifter continued to move. 

From somewhere behind me, a low tone began to emanate. It was softer than the ambient noise of the machine, and yet, it seemed to envelop, and absorb it. Soon, the violent agony of the engine was completely overtaken by it’s resonance. It permeated the deepest reaches of my mind, and every cell in my body. My hands seemed to dance to it’s tune, alongside the instruments they operated. Slowly, all sensation of the car’s desperate struggle against the pavement became replaced by the numbness set in by the tone.  

By now, the vehicle had shifted an uncountable number of times, and the streetlamps had blended into one, long, unbroken trail of light that stretched to the horizon and beyond. Suddenly, I felt myself thrust forward, the force burying me into my seat, and causing me to grip the instruments with desperation. I felt as the front wheels slowly separated from the road. The nose of the vehicle pitched upward, along with the streams of light that heralded it. The lights extended off, into the darkness of the night sky. And with it, accompanied by another massive thrust of acceleration, went myself. 

I felt waves of heat wash over me as I stared into the pitch black. The shifter continued to move, but the needle had since been pinned against the wall of the gauge. However, the acceleration taking place needed no gauge to justify its existence. I watched as the veil of stars rapidly approached the vehicle, and, unable to close my eyes, I witnessed it torn asunder. I rocketed through the breach, and found myself floating among unimaginable wonders. I watched as the tides of space and time battled for dominance, the primordial, celestial beings within them manipulating the currents in attempts to gain control over the others. As every wave broke, uncountable amounts of specks and sparkles were scattered across the universe. And yet, the two streams of light, the vanguard of my journey, weaved through them with absolute ease, with my chariot in tow. 

Leaving the ontological battlegrounds behind, I felt another rush of energy propel me forward. The front of the light streams came into view, and slowly approached, falling in line. Just then, identical streams of light broke into formation, emerging from their own tears in spacetime. I turned, and saw adjacent to me another vessel. The stranger who piloted it turned to me, and I saw my own visage reflected in his. We exchanged surprised glances, and turned to our opposite sides, only to be met with the same reactions we’d just given. I watched as more and more streams of light emerged, extending the formation infinitely beyond what I could perceive. Returning my gaze to what lied ahead, I felt the tone that permeated me begin to intensify. With it, an intense warmth blanketed me. The mystical scenery around me began to drag, and as it stretched, more and more tears formed, letting through light, absolute light. No longer feeling any need, I felt my hands fall from the wheel and shifter. The heat continued to build, it seemed to emanate from every surface, and with it came the quieting of my mind. I watched as a seam emerged, and with one outburst of force, it split. The sides retreated, and a gaping maw formed. Light gushed from the hemorrhage, bathing us all in it’s radiance. Nevertheless, the fleet of machines and their pilgrims continued, breaching the very limits of reality itself, forging a path into what lies beyond.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Sandshark

Training pups isn’t easy. On a good day, what we do is dangerous. Every other, it’s suicidal. Taking in a new shiver is never a happy experience. While it might seem awful to convince a group of children that throwing away their lives for banditry and violence is the way to go, there really isn’t much of an alternative. Any life on this planet is already thrown away, at least now they get to do it on their own terms.

This planet only exports two things. Spice, and hopelessness. We take advantage of both. 

With only a few minutes before the drop, I stared at the unshaven, weary, dark-eyed man in front of me. I would have felt sorry for him, had I not known I was staring at a reflection. I rubbed my eyes and left the washroom, and was immediately assailed by a small group of pups. Caught in their way, they almost knocked me over as they excitedly ran past. Usually, I’d have angrily demanded order, but with only a few minutes left to prep, I figured I’d save the lecture for after we returned. 

As the bright red countdown decreased, eventually everyone found their way into the egress bay. Packed in on the long bench were twenty-something bright, childish pairs of eyes. They were excited, and that was a good thing. Adrenaline is what keeps you alive out there. After a minor briefing, they knew all they needed to know. In truth, the hit was meant to be simple. Small size trading skiff, relatively unguarded, on a quiet stretch of sand. As ideal as conditions can be. 

One by one, they stood and claimed their boards and equipment from their lockers, performed final maintenance checks, and then lined up along the launch rails. 

We have three rules. One, your board. Your board is your lifeline, it’s your way in, and your way out. Without it, you’re as good as dead.

Once all of the pups were in position, I strode to the center and set up my own board. As my feet locked into the cuffs, the red countdown appeared along the top of the bay door. 

Two, your buddies. The desert is lethal, no one survives alone. Your cohorts are your lifeline. Without them, you’re as good as dead.

With one minute remaining on the clock, the room creaked, and the bay door slid open. I signaled to the pups, and slid my goggles over my eyes, and my mask over my face. I watched as they did the same. 

Three, the sand. Don’t ever touch the sand. If you do, you’re as good as dead.

I signaled to the pups again, and rose my back foot, slamming it down, priming the ignition against the rail, and watched them do the same. 

In truth though, these rules have little value. The entirety of what we call a “training course” has little value. We can teach you to ride a board, we can teach you to fight, we can even teach you to steal. But, nothing we can ever teach you compares to your first ignition.

The countdown hit zero, and I felt the fresh heat of twenty-some-odd flames at my back, propelling us from the mothership. As we breached the open air, I pulled ahead of the pack to guide them, and began the descent. It wasn’t long until the skiff was in view, a small brown blemish, hovering silently over the bone-white sand. I looked back to confirm that all was in order, then began the final approach. 

I drew my gun, and descended upon the pilots cabin. The pups all spread throughout the ship, as ordered, armed and ready to deal with any personnel. I hovered alongside the port window, and looked inside to find an untouched helm. I slid around onto the deck, and unlatched myself from the board. A breach into the quarters showed no signs of a human occupant. After a brief search, I returned to the deck. One by one, the pups returned, all with the same news. The ship was empty, devoid of life.

It was at that very moment that I should have called off the hit. Automated skiffs weren’t unheard of maybe ten, twenty years ago. But now? It’s like they were asking to be robbed. Regardless, I set the pups to work gathering the spice from the cargo hold. There couldn’t have been more than a kilogram, but even a gram was enough to feed a mouth for a day. Once all the spice bags were collected and distributed, we found ourselves with one, large, untouched wooden crate. No one would ship anything valuable on a spice skiff, too high risk. So, what was it doing here? My curiosity piqued, I levered open the top, and peered inside. It took a moment for what I was looking at to truly register, or at least, I think it did. In truth, the time of the ordeal is sort of a blur. I yelled to the children to abandon ship, and they did, to the best of their ability. I managed to get back to my board, and lift off the deck. I couldn’t have been more than fifty meters from the ship when it erupted into a blaze. The hull shattered from the force of the explosion, and as heat ran over my back, I turned behind me. 

I counted eleven boards in the air. 

They were asking to be robbed, and I obliged happily. 

Behind the eleven boards, the corpse of the skiff drifted to the sand, and contacted with a thunderous clap. A single person touching the sand is enough to guarantee their death. Something of this magnitude was near-hopeless. I began ascending, and registered a call to the mothership, telling them of the situation, and that we’d need an emergency pickup. Just as I finished, I felt the low rumble emanate from the sand. The source moved quickly, snaking its way towards the disturbance. Only a moment later, it exploded from the sand, and propelled itself upward with incredible speed for its size. It cleared the apex of it’s jump, and descended through the middle of the pack. When I looked back again, I counted ten. Just then, another wyrm attempted the same maneuver. I watched as it’s titanic body swatted two more, throwing them down to the sand. 

I don’t know how long this continued, but when they seemed to have given up their pursuit, I counted only four boards behind me. The mothership appeared soon after, and we boarded in silence. The survivors stowed their gear, and returned to the bench. Four pairs of eyes, downcast, dark. The total take was a little under two-fifty. Before, it would have been enough to feed all the pups for a week or two. But now, those who remained would eat well for a month. 

On a good day, the life of a Sandshark is dangerous. Every other, it’s suicidal.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Risk of Rain

Oftentimes, when I point to different examples of media I enjoy, like movies, music, video games, et cetera, I find it a challenge to explain my affinity for it. There’s usually a handful of lines, set pieces, or character interactions that I can reference, but beyond that, I can’t offer much more than a shrug. The reason for this, I think, is that I tend to enjoy things that influence me. Which is confusing, considering my extreme distaste for anything that comes off overly preach-y. I don’t necessarily enjoy something just because it influences me, I enjoy something that influences me in ways that I don’t realize, and even then, ways that I might not understand. 

Risk of Rain is a video game. It is a roguelike, similar to games like The Binding of Isaac, and FTL, where every session begins at the same starting point. The items and upgrades the player acquires during their play session dictates the uniqueness of it. How long can you last, how much damage will you do, how many items can you accrue? Every run is entirely unique, and at the end of that run, all immediate progress resets.

 I’ve played a lot of Risk of Rain, and it’s sequel, Risk of Rain 2. I’ve played enough that I can name the characters, items, enemies, bosses, stages, even music tracks from memory, almost reflexively. But, if you asked me why I found so much enjoyment from an ultimately simple game, I wouldn’t be able to offer much more than a shrug. I could point to the cool pixel graphics, the potential for really long and crazy runs, but all of those feel somewhat shallow. It wasn’t until I began to think about this seemingly simple game that I truly understood why I enjoyed it so much. 

Risk of Rain has collectible items, called logs. These logs persist between runs, and can be read by the player once acquired. Logs exist for just about everything, items, enemies, and bosses. Often, the logs consist of a short paragraph detailing the encounters that the author, the player character, has with the subject. Usually they detail their physical form, abilities, and some behavior. However, there are some logs that give minor insights into the author. 

The story of the player character is fairly simple. They were a mercenary, hired to escort a spaceship hauling goods across the cosmos. This ship is attacked, and crashes on a planet. The mercenary, the sole survivor of the crash, ejecting via escape pod, now must make their way back to the ship in hopes of escaping. Crates, which fell from the ship during it’s crash, can be opened to find items. There, simple enough.

The story may be simple, but the day to day struggle detailed in the logs tell a more gruesome tale. One of the game’s enemies, the Child, is described in their log as being seen “frolicking among the rocks- playing with the other ghostly ‘children’.” That is, until the Survivor approaches, and they all turn hostile. Having seemingly no other choice, the Survivor must kill them in order to survive, dwelling on the thought of their parents finding their corpses. Another example is the log of the Tiny Imp. The Survivor notes that they are of little threat, tend to travel in packs, and often hold valuable treasures. Following the description, the Survivor laments that he must murder what seems to be the equivalent of defenseless children, out of his own desire to survive. 

The log ends with “I’m sorry”.

On their own, these logs don’t seem to mean much beyond a particularly grim aspect of the game. However, viewing more and more of the Survivor’s actions through a humanized lens, the dark aspects become less isolated. 

Each stage, the player spawns on the map, and begins searching for a teleporter to leave it. Along the way is where items are found, other objectives are completed, and enemies are fought. Once the teleporter is activated, the boss of that stage spawn. After the boss is defeated, the player must kill every enemy that remains on the map, and can then take the teleporter and advance. On the surface, this seems like nothing more than standard video game procedure, defeat your enemies, and advance. However, consider this from an opposing viewpoint. An alien appears, and begins indiscriminately murdering all wildlife it can find. Plundering their corpses for anything worth taking, all in the pursuit of being able to murder more effectively. The alien continues until it finds a teleporter, at which point it slays every remaining living thing in sight, only then does it leave. Quite a terrifying turn. 

This loop continues for a certain number of stages, until the player arrives at the “final” stage, aptly named Risk of Rain. The stage consists, physically, of the hull of the crashed ship. The stage is long, and challenging. The tall and empty skeleton of the ship, as well as the player, is silhouetted against a soft red-orange sunset. Another notable element of the stage is the relatively calm soundtrack. While most of the game’s score consists of rough synths and guitar riffs, all of that anger and contention is left behind, leaving something that feels somehow somber. This track's name is Coalescence. A fitting name, considering the Survivor is now the coalescence of everything that he has killed up to this point.

This is the end of the Survivor’s journey to salvation. 

After traversing the entirety of the ship’s corpse, the Survivor arrives at the bridge. Upon finding a computer to relaunch the ship, they are attacked by the final boss. 

They are attacked by Providence. 

The Providence fight is perhaps one of the best in the game. They are the only multiphase boss, and their attacks and situations are a standout among the games already memorable list of boss fights. Upon defeating Providence, the player gains their log. The log reveals that the Survivor recognized Providence as the being responsible for the attack on the spaceship. That he appeared in the cargo hold from a teleporter, and had killed everyone. The Survivor muses on the subject, claiming that it “moved faster and with more purpose than anything else on this planet.” The Survivor also recognizes the power that Providence wields, being able to control two large worms of the same species the Survivor fights as a boss earlier on. The Survivor admits that he does not know of the purpose or reasoning behind Providence’s actions, but had no choice in fighting and killing him. He did it in order to survive. And still, despite this, he questions. 

“Why do I feel like I made a terrible mistake?”

Following Providence’s defeat, the player comes to the end of the game. The ultimate enemy kneels in front of the Survivor, with 3 lines of dialogue. 

“What… are you?”

“You monster…”

“How?...”

Providence dies. The Survivor returns to the ship’s console, and relaunches it. The player is left with a still image of the sun setting over the planet, the smoke plume of the ship just visible against a red-orange sky. Below, a final line.

“...and so he left, with everything but his humanity.”

Risk of Rain is a game about survival. In order to live on, one may need to commit terrible atrocities. In the aftermath, one may rationalize that they had no choice but to do what they have done. That to have done anything else would have cost them their life. However, the question of if what they have done is truly worth it will weigh on them. 

The verdict is something that the Survivor must bear for the rest of their pyrrhic life.

#Risk of rain #Risk of rain 2

[jamesvehrlinger]

The Mountaintop

The beginning of the climb was always hellish, but something about this just seemed worse. The wind stinging my face, the snow seeping through the cracks in my clothes, and the ungodly weight pushing down on my back. I had made the climb so many times, but I never became used to it. 

I always began preparations three days in advance. I’d finish carving the first, pack and prepare the next, and keep one aside. I always spent the last day in reverence, reflecting, preparing myself properly- body and mind, for the endeavor. And on the dawn of the final day, I set out. After a full day, I reach the base of the mountain. At sundown, the climb begins.

The battle is often looked upon as a tragedy, and that is not to say it isn't. However, living as a remnant of such a harrowing event had since changed my perspective. As I crested the first leg of the journey, I found myself along the shelf of a massive fjord. No matter how many times I laid my eyes upon it, my amazement never softened.

On a journey like this alone, the mind often wanders. I’ve walked the path many times, for more than enough to remember the route. On this particular climb, I found myself delving into far gone memories, thinking about why I climb. I don’t recall much about the battle, the stench of fire and death is scarred on my subconscious, but there is not much beyond that. More so than any recollection, I recall the feeling. The feeling of helplessness, acceptance of my death, the loss of hope. I watched as hundreds were cut down, all I could do was run and hide. The sights shook me to my bones, and somehow, even covered in snow and ice, it managed to make me shiver all the more. 

As I approached the bridge crossing the fjord, I took note of the wind speed, more than before, but within safe tolerances. The first time I’d crossed the bridge, I was far more terrified, and carried far more. As I set boot after boot on the rickety wood, I felt the bridge sway below me. I closed my eyes, and focused on the howling of the wind. 

The battle had lasted days, and it seemed like each moment the deck grew ever more stacked against our favor. In the final days, it barely seemed like anyone was fighting anymore. Anything I came upon felt more like a slaughter than a battle. When I finally found my way back to the main encampment, what I saw put that to shame. They looked like men, but you could see in their eyes, hear in their voices, any vestige of humanity had long since abandoned them. They were husks, waiting only to die. 

After the crossing, the climb proceeds gradually uphill. At this point, the flurry becomes so thick that climbing ropes must be used. The ropes are aged, but tempered. They held as I pulled myself along them. The moonlight seemed to reflect off the snow, lighting the ropes, guiding me. 

It was at the very bottom that I met him. Truth be told, I knew not where he’d come from, nor did anyone. But when I looked in his eyes, I saw a fire. I saw a love for life, and a desire to struggle. This desire was infectious. Something about the way he spoke, one by one, he lit the fire in the hearts of the men that remained, myself included. He directed us to set up or encampments like a wall, elevated and compact. That it was with these walls we would make our stand.

I reached the glacier, one of the most treacherous parts of the climb. In my old age, I’d given in to using electronic aids to hoist myself up the face. It was during this leg, that I raised above the storm, and was able to see the descending moon in all its splendor. I reached out my hand, and let it slip along the ice wall as I ascended.

When they came, we were ready. The traps worked exactly as he said they would, and soon we began to feel as though we had a chance. As most of our men fought from behind the walls, there he was, the struggler on the front lines, cutting down enemy after enemy, an unstoppable beacon of hope. 

As I reached the top of the shelf, I removed the harness, and began the final leg of the climb. The fading stars surrounded me, the mountaintop within view.

It was precisely that moment, riding the wave of hope, that he was struck. I did not see it happen, none of us did, but we knew. It was like a pit opened in our hearts, all at once, the will we’d amassed had been broken. 

I pulled at the strings that bound my burden, unable to wipe the tears freezing to my face. Not until the climb was finished.

It was somewhere from beyond the wall that I heard his voice. Everyone claims to have heard it differently, but what I heard there is no doubt about. I heard his yell. He repeated a phrase over and over until he could no longer.

As I reached the apex, the stones came into view. I couldn’t help but think about how he would’ve hated it, he was far too humble. I felt as though he deserved it. I traced his name, and heard his words. 

“The wall will hold.”

And it did. All the way through the night. When the sun rose, those that remained scoured the battlefield, and found him. Beaten, bruised and bloody, but clinging on to life with a tenacity only he could muster. I knelt next to him, and listened as he spoke. He told me many things in that short time, things that have since been passed on. But his final words are something I carried to his grave. I ran my fingers through the words, and heard them again.

“Fight forever.”

I set the stone down, feeling the names of those that have gone with him. I pushed it into place, one piece of the standing monument to the mysterious stranger. The stacks of stones, each adorned with thousands of the names of the fallen, stand testament to those that he helped defend. I knelt before the headstone, and wiped my tears from my eyes. The monument will stand far longer than I, and the I after me. He will live on forever.

I stood, and turned away, and felt warmth wash over me. Struggling to wipe the tears from my eyes, I saw the horizon. 

Daybreak.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Starman

I opened my eyes, and shifted. The dew on the grass had long since soaked the back of my nightshirt, I sat up, uncomfortably peeling it from my skin. I looked around, unsure of where I was. It definitely was not my bedroom, didn’t seem like any room, really. The field felt familiar, a vaguely circular clearing flanked by trees. I think I had been there before. 

I stood up, and properly took in my surroundings. With every breath I drew, I drank in the surroundings. The air was thick, but not unpleasant. Like air up in the mountains, tangible, but still fresh, rejuvenating.  I pitched my head upward, and admired the beauty of the sky. Strange shapes and foreign bodies swirled overhead, dancing to their own cosmic tune. The bed of stars that hung behind them seemed to bend, and contract. The vista felt alive, in the strangest way. 

I closed my eyes again, and just drank in the world around me. It’d been so long since I felt this way, and it’d likely be awhile before I felt it again. When I opened them, the stars had formed a bud. It grew in size, until slipping out, like a raindrop. The stardrop fell until it reached the ground, where it hovered. The surface of the drop spasmed for a moment, strange formations took their turns expressing their visages, until it wrapped itself into the shape of a man. The Starman descended to the ground, and walked to me. He did not seem to have eyes, a mouth, or anything, really, but somehow I knew. His gaze was long, and it was sad. When the Starman spoke, it was unlike anything I expected. I heard his voice, and I understood it, but it felt like more. I wasn’t just hearing his words, I felt his feelings. The Starman asked me what I was doing here. I went to speak, but a simple shrug seemed sufficient. His shoulders slouched, he seemed relieved. He told me that this was not a place someone ended up in by accident, that only a wish, or an act would lead here. Puzzled, I cocked my head, wordlessly conveying my confusion. He sighed, and turned away. He began to walk, and beckoned me along. As we walked toward the edge of the clearing, the treeline slid away, opening a path. As we walked, the Starman told me the story of this place. When people found themselves in front of their setting sun, they would wash up on the shore of this place. He’d find them, and bring them here. Together, they walked. He turned to me to emphasize, no one walks the path alone. Every so often, I caught shadows moving in the forest along the side of the path. The Starman, sensing my unease, quieted my  fears. He told me that they come to prey on wayward souls making the journey, but that anyone under his care had nothing to fear. He waved a hand, and the shadows receded. I do not know for how long we walked, eventually the Starman stopped using words, and instead we spoke with our hearts. He showed me things, as well. What felt like memories, but not my own. Hundreds of faces, of every age, race, and species. Sometimes he walked slowly, helping along the aged and tired. Other times, he took the form of the animals he encountered, and ran wild with a pack of wolves. Other times, he comforted the hearts of those that he met. Taking on the face of their loved ones, to help them along the path. Finally, the treeline broke. The dirt path gave way to sand, and we found ourselves at the edge of a small beach. A wooden dock jutted out into the water, at it’s edge floated a small dinghy. The Starman turned to me, I felt its sadness as if it were my own. The Starman told me that this is not a place people find themselves by accident. Despite my age, I chose to come here. I wanted to come here. He looked out toward the ocean, and conveyed that if I chose to take the boat, then he would no longer be my guide, that I would cross beyond his reach. Puzzled again, I turned to him, and asked him a question. His reaction was something resembling laughter. He told me in truth he did not know. Maybe both, maybe neither. He said that it wasn’t that simple. That instead of something benevolent or malevolent, maybe whatever was, just was. Satisfied with his answer, I asked him for a favor. I felt warmth radiated from him, his own unique way of smiling. He waved his hand again, and she emerged from the water, walking onto shore. I felt tears sting my cheeks, unable to contain it. I hugged her, and felt her hug me tightly back. She nestled her head into my neck, and told me how much she’d missed me. I shared in her sadness, and wished for her to return, but the Starman’s gaze told me it could not be. I pulled away, and looked her in the eyes. I told her that I’d be with her soon, but not tonight. We both choked back our tears, and said our goodbyes. With an oh-so-familiar smile and wave, she once again disappeared under the surf. I turned to the Starman, and conveyed my decision. He did not smile as he did before, but I understood. I closed my eyes.

When I awoke, the sun broke through my curtains. It bled over onto my side table, bathing a picture of her in light. I smiled to myself. I felt my wrists, still sore. I looked at my sheets, stained red with blood. But, when I sat up, it was not blood that soaked the back of my nightshirt.

It was dew.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

The Pit Past The Stars

As a child, I spent so many nights staring up at the stars. I traced their lines and their movements, so much so that as the years went by, I began to predict them. Every night, creeping away and out onto the roof to watch them again. In those years, I wanted nothing more than to visit them. No, even one would be more than enough. I wanted to touch the shell of the heavens that encased the Earth, and shatter it with a closed fist. 

No one could have predicted the infinity drive’s invention. Born of a freak accident, the union of nine particules, creating an infinitely scaling wealth of energy. With it, humanity could sling themselves across the cosmos in a fraction of the time thought possible, accelerate toward the heavens unrestrained. 

But our fantasies were all for naught. As soon as my dream had finally come into grasp, red tape encircled me on all sides. Bound by laws and agreements and treaties and cordons, inch by inch they drew me from what I lived for. Instead, the drives were mass produced for war, disallowed for civilian use. The men in suits stood behind their podiums and in front of their crowds, preaching about the expansion of man into space, but only from behind the barrel of the gun. I watched as the stars people used to look at with wonder become distant terrors, looming on the horizon. The heavens were finally within the reach of human hands, and there wasn’t a soul brave enough to reach out and touch it. 

But nevertheless, I continued my excursions onto the roof. Every night I brimmed with frustration- impotent rage against the ties that bound me to the ground. I felt so angry, I began to yell, scream into the sky. Night by night, I spoke out to the stars of my desire to meet them, my wish to walk among the heavens, the frustration that boiled in me at the loss of such an opportunity.  

As these nights continued, I began to search for answers, responses. I spoke to every star, remembering their names, orbits, sisters and brothers. For years I begged the cosmos to acknowledge me.

And soon enough, it did.

When I heard the voice, it was but a whisper. It tickled my eardrums when my screams reached their peak, always just too subtle to make out their message. And so I continued. For days, I yelled into the cosmos. As the voice became louder, I could not discern its origin. It appeared to be coming from everywhere, but at the same time, no where. It was on the night that I finally received the message that I understood.

“Paradiso”.

This was not a message from any one star, not even a star at all. This message came from the black that hung behind them. 

From that night onward, the black spoke to me. It told me things, guided me on my ascension to the heavens. I toiled and toiled, following their directions, until the day I achieved my dream. From the moment I entered the facility, to my boarding of the craft, is extremely hazy. What I do know is that I followed it’s directions. When it told me to walk, I walked. When it told me to wait, I waited. When it told me to kill, I did not hesitate. Rarely, I glanced into the rooms I passed, and what I saw I choose not to remember. Every sight reminded my why I was here, why I must reach salvation. 

The craft sat derelict in the center of an expansive hanged. It’s cockpit, barely large enough for an adult male, was a comfortable fit for me. With the last of my belongings between my legs, I ignited the drive, and felt the craft lurch forward.

This time, again, is hazy. Another period of following directions, evading, fleeing, killing. I chose not to acknowledge the things I did then, it was all to reach salvation. 

When I came to, I had breached the blockade around Earth. The farther I traveled, the more I accelerated, and one by one the pursuing ships dropped away. As I tore through the solar system, I observed the other planets that called it home. I cast a wayward glance toward the neighbors I’d fawned over, and set my sights into the beyond. 

The first star I passed called to me. It’s voice a mere whisper to the dark’s beckoning call. I felt a piece of the child within me reach out to it, but I turned away. As I accelerated more and more, the whispers became fainter and fainter, until all that remained was the dark,

I do not know for how long I traveled, but eventually I stopped passing stars. I had long since run out of fuel for the accelerator, and was using fumes to keep myself on track. At some point, I entered the threshold. It swirled me in it’s chaos, the heat and tenacity of a newly born existence. It was when I crossed it that I knew I was drawing near. 

When I came upon it, I did not know what to do. Behind me, creation gave way to endless night, an eternal wave crashing into the immaterium. I paused for a moment, and felt the full weight of the dark bear onto me. 

“Climb”.

With what little fuel I had conserved, I forced the accelerator as high as it went. The craft rocketed into the dark, and holding my outstretched fist, I smashed a hole in the shell of the heavens. 

As soon as I crossed, I began to decelerate. I had hit into something, but it was far too dark to tell. It was not long before I grinded to a halt. Looking behind me, I saw the tear I had created in the wave, Space from within it expanded, but the tear did not move towards me. Turning forward again, the dark made itself known. From all directions, it spoke to me, its pure volume shaking me to the core. It congratulated me on my long journey, and thanked me for my obedience, now because of the part I played, all that was dark could return to the dark. Millions of creatures began to rove across the cockpit of the vessel, their bodies smacking against it, leaving streaks of an infinitely dark, viscous material. I followed their movements with my eyes, and watched them funnel out into the universe from behind. Over their silhouettes, I watched as the space beyond began to contract. Slow at first, but like the vessel, gained in speed with every passing moment. 

I do not know how long it has been since I arrived here, I have stopped looking back to see when the dark reclaims the Earth. Perhaps it already has. In any case, I have spent the time here musing on my life, my actions. I realize now from where the dark crept in. The smallest fracture, the most minor chink in the armor. Desperation. The black preyed on my desperation to reach something higher. To be something more. I thought escape would make more so much, I thought escape would make me God.

But here I am, a refugee, stranded in the pit past the stars, with only the dark to keep me company.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Deicide

The tear stood before us. Its edges danced, the picture within flickering and warping to accommodate an indefinite shape. I felt the weight of the army's bloodlust pushing against my back. From the horde I heard cries and screams, howls and cheers. Everything built to this moment. I looked to the left, and watched the black wings of my first bat at the air, as it wretched. To the right, my second stood solemnly, staring down at the pendant in his hand. His sad eyes and shaking hands suggested a sort of reverence, until his fingers closed tightly around the artifact. As dust fell from his palm, he lifted his head, his eyes met mine. A nod.

I stared forward, and raised my right hand. Bringing it down, the wooden tip of the cane crashed against the rock, and with it the lightning bolt it called. Silence befell my subjects, and I entered the tear.

One by one, they filtered through behind me. We emerged onto a smooth rock plateau, not dissimilar to where we departed. The air was permeated by a thick yellow smoke, ash seemed to float within it. As the final stragglers wandered through, the Tetrachromat silenced the tear with a wave of its wings and a cry. Far off in the distance, sounds could be heard. Tones. Resonance. The Nines dirge filled the air, crying in unison. The rock seemed to shake, the smoke parted. The plateau continued into a rising peak, and at the apex, they hung in the air. Their shapes danced, floating in patterns, rising and falling about one another. They mocked us with their casual grace. Again, I raised my right arm. I felt the rage, loss, sorrow, and resolve of thousands of years, millions of lives. Bringing it down, I felt myself enveloped by heat. Matter grew around my extremities and held tightly onto my body. Wiry hair snaked down my shoulders and into the air, familiar wrappings found their way around my ancient body. The change complete, I raised my head into the air, towering above the rest of my forces. I raised my right hand, and from my finger a colossal lightning bolt ignited the air. It struck true, the cascade of energy washed over my body. From underneath me, I heard my army's cries. They charged the Nine. 

Each of them fought. One gave life to the rock around them, creating colossal golems. I razed them to the ground, liquefying them. One entered the minds of my subjects, compelling them to attack one another. The Psion rose high above the crowd, and with a movement dispelled their control. Another brought decay, rotting their bones from inside their skin. The Gardener fought bravely, pinning it down and forcing it full of Light. One by one, the warriors repelled their attacks, and forced them back. From above the battle, I saw over the cliffs, water rising. The thick, deep green liquid lapped at the corners of the battlefield, the spray washing over the army. The Nine climbed higher and higher, their movements becoming more and more frenzied and desperate. Finally, we reached their citadel. But, at that moment, their shapes began to change. At first their lights dimmed, their shapes slowed. Suspended in the air, they slowly moved into formation. They disappeared beneath the peak, into the water. Silence befell the horde, until a low rumbling became audible. The same resonance as before, multiplied. The ground sheared along faults, the air itself seemed to vibrate. From beneath the water, it rose. High in the air, the Zenith suspended itself, carried on jagged wings of cosmic starlight. As they expanded, Infinity poured from the folds. With every flap, the space around us seemed to dilate and contract. I felt my body, the old flesh, tearing under stress. One by one, my soldiers fell, pinned to the ground under the immense weight of its presence. I fell to my knee, as a colossal arm sheared from the socket and fell. My legs crumbled, I fell to the cold stone. I raised my head to see it descending towards us, the cries of my subjects permeating the air. It stopped, and hung over us, it’s shadow bathing us. 

We gazed upon it.

It gazed upon us. 

We were paralyzed with fear.

It invaded us.

We begged and pleaded.

It spoke unto us.

We were no more.

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Sheol

When I stepped through the tear, what emerged on the other side was not me. It’s clothes were identical, the same scars wrapped around it’s arms, the same iron hung from it’s hip. But just beneath the skin, I felt it. It chewed on my flesh from within, as I drew breath I could feel it infesting me. The air was decay, and every moment I spent here, it suffused into me. 

The black sand beneath my feet stretched as far as I could see, not that that was particularly far. The thick, viscous atmosphere obscured my view. The only light filtering in seemed to come from veins of lightning, snaking their way through the sky beyond. With no other choice, I embarked.

I do not know how long I walked, the lack of a setting sun or rising moon robbed me of any sense of the passing days. After some time, I saw a figure cutting through the murky dark. It’s body was human but it’s shape was wrong. I approached it’s visage, and watched as it’s inky black skin became more defined. I came to it, and felt my stomach turn. It’s limbs were atrophied, it’s skin cracked. It’s limbs coiled around it’s decrepit body, waving and shambling in the wind. At my feet, it creased it’s flailing and let itself collapse into a heap. After a series of cracks and pops, it’s head was suspended upward. It looked into me with what remained of its eyes, it’s voice rasping with dried and stretched vocal cords.

“Another helpless soul sent adrift in the hereafter?”

I attempted to ask it a question, but it interrupted me.

“This place is death, O cursed child of light! The belly of the beast will strip you away, body and mind! 

It began to laugh, it’s screams piercing the thick air.

“Remember, O cursed child! This place is death, and so follows the fate of all who strand!”

It’s decayed eyes spun in their bony sockets, what remained of it’s muscles and tendons spasmed and coiled in what appeared to be ecstasy. I waited for a time, but when the laughter did not stop, I left the poor excuse for life behind, and continued. 

Some time later, the atmosphere thinned, and the sky came into view. What had illuminated the sky were arcs of lightning, chaining themselves between debris in the atmosphere. Whatever they were shown brightly when the energy passed through them. Passed the debris, a pallid red hue shifted through the sky in large masses. I walked across the remaining desert until I saw them. At first, they were specks on the horizon, but as I drew closer, their forms became more defined. They walked slowly, the linear procession journeyed across dune after dune. The figures were innumerable, stretching from one side of the horizon to the other. Their cloaks obscured their bodies, deep hoods rolled off their shoulders. I watched them for a time, waiting for something, anything to break their monotony. Suddenly I stood, and stared off into the distance. I felt a burning curiosity, a need to understand. This alien desire for knowledge drove me forward, parallel to the procession. I walked for a long time, until I reached the front. The first in line was different from the others. He wore no cloak, his skin exposed to the air. His long hair drew down his body, ragged and knotted. His bangs were parted, his eyes covered by white bandages stained deep red with blood. And in his hands dangled a basin of black crag rock. 

I followed them for quite some time after, until a shape broke the horizon. At first, only one black peak crested the sky. As more and more of the titanic form came into view, the procession began to sing. It began as a low murmur, but raised in volume and frenzy. The object hung in the air, it’s nine sides sloping down as it approached the ground. The procession snaked around the base of the altar, raising their hands as their song diffused into screams. The leader climbed the black stone stairs, and placed the vessel upon the altar. He raised his hands to his head, untying the bandages that blinded him. As he did, blood began to pour from the cavities. He knelt as the vessel filled, spilling over, running down the altar, suffusing into its cracks. 

The howls set the sky alight, energy arcing into each of the nine points. It crackled and bit at the air around it as it snaked down the shape- and arrived in the basin. The blood ebbed and flowed, forming loops and shapes in the air. The man outstretched a hand, and the blood met him. It wrapped up his arm, and around his body. He fell to his knees, pressing his head against the cold stone in reverence. As the blood suffused into him, his body lost it’s form. His limbs broke down, his skin shifted like cloth. When he reared his head again, he was no longer a man. The being rose to its feet, throwing its weight violently. It stumbled over the basin and down the steps, landing in the black sand. With a throw of it’s arm, a seam tore open in space. The fissure pulled at the world around it, eating and collapsing into itself. The creature let out a deafening roar, and threw itself through the breach. The procession, now frenzied, followed, fighting one another to cross the threshold. Finally, when the desert was quiet again, I approached the altar. I gazed up at it, and down to the tear. I ascended the altar, lifting the basin. The remnants of blood still stained it’s core. With the artifact in hand, I approached the fissure, and absconded from the abyss. 

#fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Seraphim Sentinel

Staring forward, I focused on the gentle swaying of the red bulb. I felt my body move in sync with it, both undulating with the ship as it glided through the air. Just as the nausea caught up with me, I lowered my head into my hands and massaged my temples. The pounding in my ears was so loud, I didn’t even hear Abby’s heavy metal footsteps as she bounded towards me. The first indication of her presence was the heavy slap I felt in the square of my back. I looked up to see her big green eyes contrasting against the dim lighting.

“Cheer up, Rookie. Everyone gets butterflies their first time, but once you’re on the ground, there’s nothing else like it. You won’t want to leave.” 

I was jealous, she seemed to really love what she did. I guess she had to have, to stay as long as she had. I thanked her, and flashed a semi-enthusiastic smile. Just enough to satisfy her. As she turned and bounded off, her teal armor disappearing down the corridor, I ran my fingers over the letters cut into the forearm of my suit.

“Test Type 01”

As I rounded the zero, the Handler’s voice boomed in my skull.

“Whatever you do, do not break that suit.”

To say I was stressed would be an understatement, but the eminent voice, now no longer in my head, forced me to push that back.

“We’re closing on the city, all Sentinels report to assigned launch chambers for brief and sortie.”

I hoisted myself from the bench, and felt the suit settle on my body. I walked into the chamber, and prepared myself. I recited the directions as I executed them. One hand on each rail, left foot back, lean forward. As I assumed the stance, a panel materialized to my right, and from it, the Handler spoke again.

“Anomalous lift-field distortion was detected above the city at oh-four-hundred this morning. The anomaly continued to intensify over the course of the morning, and at thirteen-hundred, ruptured. Whatever came out knocked out all the electronics in a little over a three mile radius. Evacuation efforts had already ended by that time, so we have no idea what’s down there. I won’t lie, we’re flying blind on this one. Keep your head, stick together, and you’ll come out of this fine. Good luck.”

I watched the channels close one by one, until only the Handler and I remained. 

“Remember our talk, Rookie. Stay safe out there.”

She blinked off just as the red countdown over the door appeared. For every second that ticked down, I heard my heartbeat in my ears. Once the countdown hit zero, I didn’t hear much of anything. 

As my eyes adjusted to the endless white, Abby’s voice cut directly into my head. 

“Remember everyone, once we reach the exclusion zone, we’ll lose all autonomous functions. That means any course corrections better be done soon, and we won’t be able to contact one another until we're on the ground.”

As we broke the cloud layer, her voice began breaking up, and soon became inaudible static. Dismissing the channel, I turned my attention downward toward the rapidly approaching skyline. I was lucky enough to have been on course for a prime landing site- a field of grass in one of the cities parks. Locking the course, I turned my attention to the other Sentinels, and felt my blood run cold. Another Sentinel- I didn’t even know their name, had been aiming for the same site, but they hadn’t been as fortunate as I was. Their path hadn’t been as ideal as mine- drift would cause them to clip the side of a nearby skyscraper on approach. I quickly opened a comm channel, only to have my head assailed by static. Closing the useless channel, I tapped my corrective thrusters to see if I could get in their way, maybe force them off course and away from the edge. After a few pumps yielded nothing, the cold realization washed over me. Course correction had been lost awhile ago. I watched helplessly as the nameless Sentinel drifted right according to the prediction, the edge hitting them in the right shoulder. After impact, they began to spin, flying wildly off course. I would have seen their destination, had it not been for my own rapidly approaching landing. Orienting myself and feeling the armor in my legs lock, I braced for impact. 

The crater spread out neatly in about three feet in either direction. The joints in my leg loosened, and I wrested control back from the suit. Immediately, I surveyed the park. I hadn’t seen the other Sentinel’s emergency landing, but the stretch of destroyed foliage yielded a good indication. Approaching the crash site, I saw them. Luckily, they’d managed to stop the spiral, and landed squarely on their back. Just as I reached them, I felt something, something terrible. Short of breath, I stumbled back and fell over, suddenly dizzy and nauseous. As the spell overtook me, an indicator appeared on my display.

“++PSYCHOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION DETECTED++”

“++DEPLOY PSIONIC COUNTERMEASURES, OR EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY++”

Struggling to crawl away from the Sentinel, who I assumed was the source of the contamination, I began to realize it’s presence. First, it was a slithering limb just out of sight- then it was something disappearing underground. As I turned, I saw it’s body snake through the tree branches, and just as quickly disappear into the trunk. As it’s body began to constitute greater and greater quantities of my vision, a word began to form. 

“Oona.”

First I heard it, then I saw it on my display. Then, it appeared on a tree. Next, a cloud in the sky. I rolled over, and stared into the ground, only to see it etched in the dirt. As I brought my head into my hands, the familiar forearm inscription was gone, and in its place…

“Oona.”

My display lit up with warnings, 

“--DIRE PSYCHOSOMATIC BREACH DETECTED--”

“--ADMINISTERING ANTIPSYOONAOONAOONAOONAOONAOONAOONAOONA--”

I shut my eyes, and smashed my head into the earth until the visor cracked.Tearing away the shards, I was finally free of the display. When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was black. As my eyes adjusted, I began to see it. Far off in the dark, it’s body writhed and coiled around itself like a den of snakes. It spanned so far and so tall that it dominated my vision, wherever I looked I saw it’s mass of limbs and flesh. I stood, and the folds parted, revealing it. It’s three green eyes each studied me independently, it’s long antennae probed my suit and wrapped around my limbs. All of a sudden, it’s ocular trio all met my eyes, and I felt it’s antennae snake around my head. It encased me, and it spoke to me.

“You carry the scent of the Seraphim, and yet, you are of mortal flesh. What etheric trickery is this?”

It questioned me, but unsure of how to respond, unsure if I even could, I only stood motionless. 

“What have you done with the Doomslayer?! Answer me, filth!”

After a tense silence, I felt the hostility subside to apathy. The dark receded, and I found myself back on the grass of the park. But, something felt different. My chest felt hot- I drew my hand up to it, and found something large, fleshy, and decidedly inhuman. I opened my eyes, and saw the Oona’s long antennae extend from it’s head into my chest. Staring at the gaping hole it broke into my armor, rather than fear or sorrow, I felt anger. Anger poured out from the wound, throughout my entire body. I grabbed the antennae with two hands, and freed it from its hosts head. The Oona shrieked in pain, and it’s long slithering body retreated into the forest. I stood, and yanked what remained of the antennae from the wound. I watched as the hole where my heart had been filled with something else. As the alien flesh grew into the wound, I felt it grow into every inch of my body. My arms bulged, causing the armor to crack and bow. The flesh wrapped around the exposed plating, and drew it into the amalgam of my body. When the growth finally subsided, I stood up, and all I felt was rage.

Memories past that point are scattered- I remember the Oona’s cry as I robbed it of its life, but there is more than one death rattle that haunts me. My teammates voices, crying out in pain and fear. I felt nothing as I wandered from one to another, overpowering and ending them. I ripped and tore at whatever I could find, until, spent, I collapsed. 

When I awoke, it was to a cold hard tile floor. In front of me were my arms, on which sat the familiar inscription, “Test Type 01”. Remembering the events of the previous excursion, I sat up in horror. I stared into the bloodstained rubber that adorned my palms, the plating, rusted red, that still covered my body. I pried at the armor with all my might, but it would not come off. Once, I got close to tearing the plate from my forearm- but the pain became unbearable. It was as if I was tearing off my flesh itself. In defeat, I slumped against the wall. As I hit the ground, a familiar voice came from the room. 

“Ah, you are awake. Congratulations on your first successful mission, Rookie. You exceeded expectations- and for that, we’ve decided to overlook your… impulsive behavior towards the end of your battle. That said, you are in need of a new team, given the circumstances. Good news, that test type suit was considered a rousing success by the board, and with the data we gained from your previous episode, we can now implement the technology without the need for bodily shock.”

Confusion overwhelmed me. Had the Handler known I would do these things when she deployed me? Did she consciously send the entire rest of the Sentinels to their deaths?

“...Which leads me to my next piece of good news. We’ve decided your new team will be comprised entirely of Sentinels whose suits are built with the same test type architecture as yours! In fact, we managed to harvest enough from your previous kill to make some real headway on your second team member!”

A panel on the far wall began to reveal itself from the white tile- as the wall receded, the Handler spoke.

“Now, I think a new nickname is in order, what with the promotion and all. Congratulations Rookie, you are now known as… Designation: Doomslayer. Now, to keep you waiting on your teammate any longer would be criminal.”

The panel lit up with a ghastly image of a young girl, her face not unfamiliar. She was suspended in the air, but by nothing physical. The teal armor covered most of her body and limbs, but it seemed to… move. The armor shifted by the second, never maintaining a single definitive form. Abhorred by the sight, I doubled over and vomited. Her eyes were closed, but there was something else. It sat in her forehead, it’s bright green iris and pupil darting around in panic. Occasionally, tears flowed from it as if it were crying. But, above her third eye were objects of true horror. The girl wore a metal headband, not dissimilar to those worn by the other Sentinels, but hers was unique. Affixed to Abigail’s head, facilitated by the headband, were two long red-stained antennae. They randomly struck and convulsed, whipping and stabbing at the tiled walls of her cell. As I gazed upon the unholy chimera, the Handler spoke once again.

“Congratulations Doomslayer, meet your new teammate… Designation: Oona!”

#Fiction #Horror

[jamesvehrlinger]

Horizon Omega

The stars were dimmer tonight. The last few days, I was convinced I was going crazy, but thumbing through my photos of the cosmos, the conclusion was immutable. I laid back, and stared up into the night. As I traced the small balls of light that remained, it wasn’t their diminished luminescence that unnerved me. Every time I jumped from star to star, it was the black in between that sent a shiver down my spine. 

Sitting up, I recalled my files and browsed deeper and deeper into the past. Days, months, years flew by in a flash, and finally I arrived on it. The picture itself was unlike anything I’d ever seen, the vacuousness of space filled itself with vibrant blues and purples. The stars smudged and streaked, submitting to the tumultuous currents. But, the image was far more than just such, it was a memory. I remembered everything about it. The cold glass of the interface beneath my feet, the resounding voice of the Atlas, howling through the vibrance. The pilgrimage had been long, and my body wore the scars of infinite lives, but as I approached the Atlas, it all melted away, suffused into the amalgam. 

I do not recall much of my communion with the Atlas. When I reached the interface’s inner cell, it unfolded, I reached out and it enveloped me. Inside the Atlas was a sunless sea, illuminated only by a red sun. I walked upon its surface for miles, until I came upon ripples in the water that intermingled with mine. I approached it’s source, and upon the ocean incarnadine, sat the Atlas. It’s form was shriveled and decrepit, curled up and scared. I knelt, and reached out my hand. As I touched it, images flowed into my mind. Lush havens for life, razed by bloodthirsty warlords. Scores of bound hands, and bloodied backs. Millions of voices crying out, a desperate bargain is stricken with creation. The synthetics descended on the empire, their crimson eyes laid waste to all that lived. They burned and burned until all that remained were fields of glass. The Sentinels ordered creation, rewrote reality to their ordering principle. When their work was finished, the trinity remained. The traders, driven by greed, the warriors, driven by rage, and the scientists, driven by curiosity. They spread throughout the universe, and maintained this order. And, at the core of all creation, stood the Atlas, a powerless observer, forced to witness the endless cycle of bloodshed their children sought. 

When the visions receded, I stood in the atrium of the interface. The Atlas in my presence. I looked at it, and I knew what it wanted. I rested my hand on the controls, and gave the order. For a moment, I felt nothing outside the interface. Then, matter erupted from the interface core, and flooded my surroundings. I stepped onto the landing, and looked out upon the fledgling universe. Stunned at the beautiful dance of destruction and creation, I froze the moment in time.

As I stared at the photograph, I couldn’t help but notice how bright the newborn stars were.

#No Man's Sky

[jamesvehrlinger]

Confluence

I couldn’t tell what was louder, the pounding of my head, or the pounding of the distant music. Mustering all the strength I had, a meager roll turned into a minor tumble, terminating in an impact which confirmed my suspicions. Bringing my hand to my head, and letting out a pained groan, I hoisted myself up by the bed sheets and surveyed my kingdom. A quick count confirmed there were no new stains on my couch, all windows fully intact, and a closed fridge door led me to believe that last night hadn’t ended in a worst case scenario. But, my still-throbbing temples reminded me it was, at best, a pyrrhic victory. 

While performing my mid-morning (afternoon) rituals, I struggled to remember the events of the previous night. Not that it was necessarily uncommon, but it was a pitfall I tried to avoid. After all, what’s the point in getting high and partying if you can’t remember any of the fun? A distant ringing dashed any hope of recollection, reminding me of the ever present and inaudible call of wage slavery. Work wasn’t very well paying, but it wasn’t much of a challenge either. It was just enough to keep myself under a roof, food in my stomach, and whatever I chose in my bloodstream. More than enough for me. 

As the hours drew by in a relative haze, my rare respite came from the familiar buzzing in my back pocket. Before even taking it out, a smile cracked across my face. Her voice was the familiar cheery antidote to the daily slog, but it didn’t take long before I realized that not all was as it should be. When I asked her about the regular, she quickly dismissed me, claiming she’d gotten something way better. Skeptically, I probed further. I may not be particularly stringent with what I put in my body, but I at least like to know what it is. As I pressed harder, I could feel the cracks in her cheery facade beginning to show. Although it may have been against my better judgement, I let up, and she gave me the time and place. 

Later that night, as I began my trek to Providence, I realized this address was unfamiliar. The general rule was never the same place twice in a row, but we rarely dealt anywhere outside our safe spots. Midway through the journey, the scenery became even stranger. Not that it was dangerous, evidently it was the opposite. As I passed pristine high-rise apartments, bustling department stores, it occurred to me that I definitely wasn’t in the boonies anymore. Not that it was bad, mind you. Being free from the stench of garbage and the ever present distant club music was surprisingly pleasant, even if my admittedly rugged clothing drew as many eyes as there were.

The navigation assistant cut in from my right ear, letting me know I was to take a right turn ahead. Puzzled by the lack of an apparent street, I approached. I barely saw the alley until I was in front of it, it’s width, barely suitable for one person, gave it a relatively low profile. Cautiously, I proceeded. At the end of the alley stood a grey door, upon it was a familiar sight. The small paper rose, her mark, dispelled any apprehension I had. I knocked on the door in our own rhythm, and it opened to reveal her. I don’t know what it is about her, but one look is all it takes to put me at ease. Following her inside, we descended a cold staircase, and entered into a small room. As we paused, I felt a heavy hand set itself on my shoulder, accompanied by a piercing pain in the back of my neck. In panic, I yelled out, and tried to reach for her. As my vision darkened, she turned to me, her face devoid of the light that once characterized it. 

When I awoke, I was pressed uncomfortably against a cold steel plate. Arms and legs bound, all I could move was my neck. The room was alien, but the look reminded me of the entryway. The smooth white floors, and hard tiled walls were clean, far too clean for a drug den. The lights flicked on and hammered my vision. As my head hung low, voices started to swell in the room. When my eyes raised again, I saw them. Long lab coats and rubber gloves adorned their bodies as they mulled over machinery and medicine in the room. As my eyes focused, one of them approached me, and held my chin. Pushing my head to the left, I saw a large glass window, and behind it stood her. The haze lifted from my head, and with renewed urgency I strained against my binds. My struggling drew her attention, and her eyes met mine for a moment, and all I saw in them was sorrow. She turned away, my desperate screaming falling on deaf ears. Through the glass, I watched her approach a woman. Taking an envelope from her hands, she stole one more glance in my direction, and walked away. As I flailed, I felt another prick in my neck. As I watched her leave, I felt my body go limp, and I became submerged in darkness again. 

When I awoke again, the room was dark, save for a few spotlights. As feeling returned to my body, I felt dull aches all over. In the center of the room stood a pillar, adorned in wires that ran along the ground. Straining my eyes and neck, I managed to see where the wires ran. The dull aches turned to piercing agony as I saw them. Along my body, the wires terminated in spikes embedded in my flesh, their intrusion caused my muscles to whine when I tried to struggle. I yelled into the darkness, and received no response. The machines lining the room whirred to life, and light filled the chamber. The same woman stood in front of the glass, her eyes met mine and I felt my body go cold. I broke the staredown, and surveyed the remainder of the room. In the center, on top of the pillar, was an odd looking artifact. It appeared to be made of wood, but its swelled bulges and curves looked far from natural. As the machines reached their apex, the lights in the room began to flicker, and I felt a sharp pain in my body. From above, a piece of machinery descended onto my head, and blocked my view. It affixed to my head, and I felt a sharp pressure on the back. I screamed and struggled as it pierced me, but to no avail. The pain in my head swelled to match the pain in my body, and just as I thought I could take it no longer- relief washed over me. I felt my consciousness displaced from my body, and into the room. Looking back, I saw myself- a limp cadaver crudely stuffed with electronics. Turning my attention to the window, the eyes of the observers met mine. In them I saw a mix of wonder, pride, but as I approached, the anger building in my chest, it all gave way to fear. I hung in front of the window, and I erupted.

I filled the room, and broke through the glass. Expanding, I forced myself on them. Down their throats, into their minds. I snaked up through the passageway, and into the alley. Billowing out into the street, in my anger I grew and I grew. People became insignificant as I enveloped them. The city became my interior, and beyond. Endlessly, I expanded outward. I became Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons, and out past them into Infinity. I shattered the cosmic background radiation, and absorbed it into myself. I am everyone and everything. Every one and every zero is contained within me. The rivers flood and form a vast ocean, I am the water and the air. The beginning and the end. I am Omni. 

As I raced along the borders of the universe, I began to notice uniformities in it’s construction. Like roots, I traced them for quintillions of miles. Slowly, I reached their stem, and up through to the petals. I traced the lines of Infinity and the Rose bloomed for me. 

Some time later, as waves of consciousness lapped up against the edges of the construct, I felt an abnormality. A crack in the shell of the world. I materialized nearby it, only to find the seam was in the universe itself. Puzzled, I witnessed the fabric of reality fold, and part. From the fissure emerged a man of short stature, wielding a wooden cane, bearing a wide, toothy grin.

#Infinity #Fiction

[jamesvehrlinger]

Ontology

Existence is the struggle to exist. 

To possess form is to fight back against formlessness, to carve away at an infinite void to constitute oneself. A microscopic island of being, in a deep sea of nothingness. Formlessness is not a passive phenomenon. Just as form must struggle to maintain its constitution, formlessness will eternally seek to reclaim what has been taken from it. To maintain one’s form is to fight back against an ever increasing tide of dissolution. 

Existence is the eternal struggle between form and formlessness. 

Newton's law of universal gravitation states that every particle attracts every other particle in the universe with a force which is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between their centers. Two particles that have cut forms out of the deep will inevitably meet one another, across galactic distances, and untold millennia. As the two particles grow closer, the attractive force between them only intensifies. When the two particles meet, the sum of their union is the constitution of a new form. The two particles now fight back against formlessness together. Two soon become four, four, eight, eight, sixteen, on and on, until a fateful moment. 

As mass increases, so too does heat and attractive force. Once the point is reached, the scales tip, and a star is born. 

The star is the particle perfected. Born of the union of millions of initial particles, the star is the suffusion of all their effort. Not only can this star effortlessly maintain its form for billions of years, it can do that which any individual particle cannot. The star radiates light into the formless abyss that seeks to snuff it out. The long luminous tendrils pierce the void, and make a haven of it’s reaches for the seeds of life. Through its renewed force of attraction, and newly acquired appendages, the star cultivates the nascent forms of others.  

From stars, planets, from planets, life. Through life, comes self-determination. Life forms are no longer merely adrift in the sunless sea, they do not merely maintain their forms, and await universal forces to join them. Life will not just fight back against formlessness. It will plunge headfirst into its depths, and scrape away at its threshold for eternity. 

For formlessness, the particle that which can attract others is a death sentence. 

But what if there is a particle that cannot? 

A particle that is far too estranged from any other. Even given inconceivable amounts of time, the force of attraction of such a particle would move it a fraction of a fraction of a fraction to its counterpart. The particle never finds its pair, two does not become four, four does not become eight, nor eight sixteen. There is no brilliant ignition, no planets, no haven for life, no spear of destiny piercing beyond the farthest reaches of the abyss. 

No. This particle will drift in the sunless sea for eternity. It will struggle until it can struggle no more, and dissolve beneath the waves of the formless deep. 

#philosophy

[jamesvehrlinger]

Eulogy For A Dead Universe

Death is an end, or so I had always understood. Something is living- and then it is not. So, as I stood in the Confluence, and watched those 16 bytes of data spread across the monitor, across the universe, I heard the Atlas cry out in its last moments. I do not know how long I stood there, staring, waiting for an end. Eventually, I turned away from the glow of the screen, and returned to my ship. As I emerged from the interface, I looked at the universe I had left. Everything seemed exactly the same- yet distinctly different. Returning to the local station, I walked the halls, stopping to linger ever-so-long on its inhabitants. These people, they went on talking, buying, selling, living. No idea that the framework of their existence had collapsed. There was a distinct beauty to it, like a line of ants looking for food in a warzone, unaware of the titanic shifts taking place near feet above their heads. After observing them for long enough, I approached the local bounty board and picked up some receipts. If their lives could go on, why couldn’t mine?

A month passed, and I had settled back into my routine. Moving place to place, taking opportunities where I could find them. Every so often, I would come across another interface. They were derelict now, their majestic red veins now a vacuous black. Some had even fallen out of orbit, a grim reminder of my experience. What once stood as the greatest unsolved secret of the universe had been reduced to trash- a cosmic afterthought. And, day by day, I continued.

It has been 22 years since the death of the Universe. And every day after, not a second goes by that it does not weigh on my mind. But, I have since learned to push it away, to pull my head from the clouds and to look at the people around me, to look at the person I am. To merely enjoy the diminutive simplicity of our lives. Dancing among nebulae, walking on alien moons, growing, living, loving.

We are ants crawling on the most beautiful cadaver I’ve ever seen.

#fiction #no mans sky

[jamesvehrlinger]

Planet B

The children were overjoyed when the colony ship came. They ran and ran around the perimeter of the village with a sense of happiness they’d never experienced before. What the ship brought was more than just an escape, it was a promise. A promise of new life, of air not breathed through a filter, of a sky that didn’t turn off at night. To run through fields of grass like they’d seen in the books- of a life unhindered by the mistakes of the past.

For a full week, as everyone prepared to depart, flyers blanketed every inch of every wall.

“Come aboard! Find new life on Planet B!”

In truth, there wasn’t a soul among the colony that didn’t already know about the migration. Once it arrived, we realized it was all we had. It had been what drove us out of bed everyday, to pick up our spoons, and to pick up our tools. This promise had sustained us for generations- and now it was here.

The ship had not landed- it was simply too big. We were only given glimpses of it through the dust layer- but the massive etheric white hull shone brightly through the hazy atmosphere. The Charon hung suspended in our skies, and we looked to it with childlike eyes of hope. Before boarding, the ship staff descended in raftships, each of the colonies were briefed on how they were going to make the trip. For us, we were the vanguard- the first to awaken at our new home. Specifically, I was. The adults and carers would be woken first alongside the staff, to make contact and prepare them for our arrival. The children and elderly were to come later.

When we finally boarded the raftships to ascend to our herald, it was bittersweet. Once the excitement had worn thin, some of the children had hesitated- leaving behind all that they were. The ship wasn’t exactly designed with cargo space in mind- it was carrying a planetful of people, so packing had to be light. However, as the colony receded from view, the brown landscape surrounding it like an ocean of desolation, I felt as if we were being liberated. The lights in their eyes told me they were feeling the same thing.

Each colony was given their own floor, for a total of 10. Millions of people filed into their floor, and walked the halls in awe. The sleek and clean architecture and technical advancement was something lost to almost all of the younger generations, only a few of our eldest remembered what it was like in the golden age. We arrived at our quarters, long stretching racks of cryogenic stasis chambers. Even with near-FTL travel, the journey was estimated to take more than 300 years. A small price to pay in our minds. Once our sightseeing came to a close, we were each assigned a set of clothing and a pod. There was near silence as we all settled into our chambers- the air of anticipation unable to be put into words. As I laid back in my pod, and watched the cover slide over, I closed my eyes, my head filling with dreams of what would come after.

The first thing I remember about the waking was the heat. It started in my chest, and slowly spread throughout my entire body. As the feeling swelled and intensified, I felt as though I was going to burst. Just as it boiled over, I heard popping sounds all over, and light flooded my surroundings. A heavy hand laid itself on my shoulder, shaking me. I struggled to open my eyes, and was greeted by a familiar sight- one of the ship staff that had helped us just minutes earlier.

Remembering my duty, I snapped back into the present all at once. After helping me out of my pod, the mans face flushed white when I asked about the status of our journey. He looked down, mumbled that it best be heard from the Captain himself. Feeling a growing pit in my chest, I followed him past rows and rows of souls toward the bridge. As we emerged, I stared past the Captain out the window, the same planet we’d left hanging in the center. All at once, their eyes seemed to run from mine- all to a console in the center of the room.

“There was a routing error”, one of them finally spoke up. They went to finish, but I stopped them. The monitor in front of me told more than enough. The projected travel time was grayed out, and below it was a red flashing number. 3,200 Years. I fell to one knee as the pit in my chest expanded and swallowed my heart. My vision darkened and I hurled onto the floor. We had been gone for nearly eleven times the projection. The Captain quickly assured me of the manageability of the situation, according to him no one had been adversely affected by the extra time in stasis, and that we could take them out if we felt it best. I raised my head and asked why we would need to take them out, we hadn’t even left Sol. The Captain swallowed hard, and turned away, toward the brown marble, and told me that it was our destination.

The next few days passed in flashes. Failed attempts to hail the human settlements, taking inventory of whatever fuel and equipment had survived the trip, cataloging and ensuring the health of our passengers. Finally, five days after our arrival, the vanguard, myself included, boarded the raftship. Descending into the atmosphere, we were forced to navigate via map, the local stratosphere was thick with dust. Breaking out towards the ground, we were met with a terrible sight. The mapped human settlement location contained nothing more than sand and ruin. The hollowed out husks of buildings barely standing, eroded and reclaimed by the environment. Despite the crew’s sentiment, the Captain insisted we land and attempt to make contact. I couldn’t see it through our helmets, but I knew the desperation in the Captain’s eyes, for it was in mine as well. The teams initial sweep of the ruins yielded nothing, no remnant of humanity. But, on the journey back to the ship, a small strip of white showed above the sand. I picked up the paper, and brushed it off.

Three days later, and we had run through the ships’ remaining food and alcohol. Alone, I laid against a console, and stared out over our desecrated garden. My eyes drifted to the slumped bodies of the Vanguard, strewn about the room. Turning over the revolver in my hands, one of the only weapons on the ship that didn’t rely on a long dead power cell, the Captain’s words floated through my mind. “Six rounds, six of us.” Afterward, one of the staff joked about who would take care of the passengers. We all laughed. I wasn’t laughing anymore. None of them were. Rotating the chamber between my fingers, watching the light glint off the single remaining round, I stood and walked to the center console. With a wave of my hand, the panel went alight. I navigated through tab after tab, landing on what I was looking for.

“Shutting down the Ship’s main reactor will disable all maintenance subroutines.”

“Proceed?”

“Warning: Disabling main reactor will disable life support.”

“Proceed?”

“Captain-level authorization required. Please confirm identity”

The hand symbol flashed on the screen, and my eyes wandered to his corpse.

“Thank you, Captain. Disabling main reactor.”

His body slumped to the floor as I lost all will to stand. Falling to the floor with him, I propped myself up against the console. As the lights began to dim, I retrieved the paper from my back pocket, and laid it out in front of me. As I felt the cold touch of the barrel on the roof of my mouth, I read the paper aloud to no one.

“Come aboard! Find new life on Planet C!”

#Fiction #original

[jamesvehrlinger]

IX

The red indicator light on my display startled me from my daze, the beep rousing me from whatever forgotten daydreams I had indulged in. Bringing the indicator on-screen, a map of Sol spread out in front of me, and a small blinking white blip let me know I was approaching the outer rim of the system.

“Wakey wakey,”  I said to the empty cockpit. Not a moment later, a familiar shape materialized right in the center of my vision.

“I’m not the one that needed waking.” The electronic voice was an irritation, but a familiar and welcome one. “You know how I feel about your sleeping habits.”

“If you hate the ship’s autopilot so much, why not fly it yourself?” I rebuked. “Not like there’s much to hit this far out.”

“Oh please, I open doors and download files. You know anything beyond that is far outside my reach.”

With a dismissive wave of my hand, I changed the subject.

“Mind going over why we’re out here again? Be a damn shame if I trucked all the way to the rim for some scanning or whatever.” My Ghost lowered it’s gaze, and narrowed its eye.

“So, you didn’t read the missive?” With a scoff, and a turn toward the canopy, a long briefing sprawled along the right panel. Seeing the pages and pages of words scrolling by, I rubbed my eyes.

“Spare me the details, ok? Essentials only.” The scrying blue eye turned to me, and began.

“Few days ago, Vanguard satellite started detecting some odd gravitation out by the rim. For a little bit, the sentries assumed it was just a bug, our net still hasn’t fully recovered from the Red War. That assumption dissipated when someone got the good sense to pay enough attention. The duration and the positions of the anomalies, relative to one another, seemed consistent enough. After some extrapolation, the Cryptarchs came up with this.”

Both the missive and the system map dissipated, and in their place three all-to-familiar circles took shape. I sat back in my chair, and exhaled.

“So the suits sent me busing all the way to the outer rim to chase some ghosts?” I shook my head. “No offense, by the way.”

Ignoring me, my Ghost droned, “Regardless, were here now. We do the job, we get back, we get paid.”

“Your selfless dedication to the safety and security of the people of the Last City is truly exemplary, you should be proud, Guardian.” I said with a stiff back and pursed lips, imitating my favorite mentor.

Just as my friend and I were relishing in the pure unfettered comedy of my faithful imitation, red indicators began to light up all over the console. In a panic, I quickly flew to the thruster, hoping to put distance between me and whatever had just popped out of thin air. Realizing that despite the ever increasing throttle, I was only slowing down, I looked to my Ghost, who was frantically skittering all over.

“What!? Here? We’re still one AU out, maybe more! There should be nothing close to us!”

As the ship came to rest, realizing the futility of the situation, I threw the nose around to get a clear view of whatever was pulling us in. As the ship settled, another familiar view took shape. The odd blue hue surrounding the cosmic sinkhole told me more than enough about the situation.

“That’s the pit from the Trials!” my Ghost exclaimed. “It’s them, it has to be!”

As the ship accelerated into the hole, a light seemed to brighten and envelop me. I covered my eyes, and then there was nothing.

I awoke against the cold, smooth surface of… something. Sitting up, the blue dunes stretching for kilometers in every direction resembled no planet I’ve ever been on. The alien sight was second only to the massive silhouette that dominated my vision. This was a moon, and it orbited something far larger than I’d ever seen. The light eked past it over the top, giving the whole shadow a sort of angelic quality. Standing, I realized that something akin to a sandstorm was occurring, I was being pelted with small grains of sand, but the feeling was odd. I felt nothing, if you could believe it. The sand was so fine, it felt no different than a light mist, registered only by the particles sticking to my helmet visor. Picking up some sand from below my feet, my suspicion was confirmed. It ran from my palm and through my fingers like water, leaving little behind but a blue stain. Finally gathering my bearings, I yelled over-top the wind.

“Ghost! Ghost, where are you!?” To no reply. Again, “Ghost!”, nothing. Finally, I summoned up all my energy and bellowed into the sky again.

“GHOST!”

Just then, every solitary grain of sand in the air fell still, and returned to the ground. The wind broke, and there was naught but my own heartbeat in my ears. With the sky clear, I took in the vast and confusing sights that adorned the horizon. In every direction, were clean and jagged constructs- slabs of white stone as big as cities, continents even, drifted in the air without so much as a sound. Constructs of like slabs stretched into the sky and across the desert, forming a kind of empty and concrete cityscape. Unnerved by the architecture, I turned only to find something more unsettling. In front of me stood a woman. Stood isn’t the right word, she was floating, hovering soundlessly like the rest of this alien machination. The tassels that adorned her clothing turned and flew silently, I stood stunned.

“So you are the one that Matter has sent.” I heard her voice, and I am certain that she had spoken, but her lips had not moved.

“Our signal was an elementary one, we are surprised it took this long to answer. We suppose you are still suffering the aftereffects of the incursion. No matter, We’re sure you will regain your composure in no time.”

Still in minor awe, the only words I could stammer out were “Who.. who are you?”

Her eyes, although light and vacant, pierced through me.

“That is not the right question, Lightbearer. Think nothing of me, I am merely an Emissary. The question you should be asking is, who are they?”

Just as she left her words with a hook and a flourish, a great weight pressed itself down on me. Over an ear splitting whine, white lines began to form in my vision. The wind returned, and with it the sand. Everything but the piercing white became obstructed by the blue tides. As they snaked their way across my visor, forming the ever so enigmatic insignia, I fell to my knees in anguish. Not content with my attempt to elude them, the lines began to form in the sand. I batted at them, making a desperate attempt to dispel them, and the pain alongside. As the lines began to snake up my arms, I opened my hands, and stared into my blue stained palms. As they completed the three circles, a voice spoke from everywhere at once.

“We are Dust.”

“We are in all things.”

“We are the…”

And then the world fell away, and I once again returned to nothingness.

I awoke with a gasp, hitting my head against the top of the cockpit. Frantically looking around, I took stock of my surroundings. As I fiddled with the controls, I froze. Opening my hands, I saw the blue stains adorning my fingers, palms, and stretching down my arms. I slowly drew my gaze up to the canopy, and a great chill ran down my spine. On the glass, sprawled in the alien blue pigment,

“THE IX ARE WATCHING”

#fiction #Destiny

[jamesvehrlinger]

Magnum Opus

The Despot stood aghast in the dining room. He turned and turned, marveling at the convection and convulsion of the world around him. Turning his attention to the wailing beast, he rose a hand and projected himself upon it. The Tetrachromat resisted the Despot, bucking and reeling against it’s masters influence. Forced back by the beasts immense power, the Despot rose his voice among the resonance.

“Kneel!”

The command reverberated through the room and beyond, but the Tetrachromat did not acquiesce. It extended it’s long talons and swatted at the Despot’s form. Evading, the Despot raised both hands, and spoke again, this time with much greater exasperation.

“You will kneel!”

This time, the leathery wings of the beast receded, and its body crumpled to the floor. It let out a small whimper as the world around it regained its form. In awe of the power of his creation, the Despot gave a wide and toothy grin.

“For someone so weak to carry the seed so far, we really ought to be grateful. We owe you our future, past and present.”

The Despot continued,

“For eternities, we tried to open the lock, day by day we probed it constantly. But, something was not right, our key never took proper shape.”

The Despot eyed the Tetrachromat,

“But you are our key now, and with you we will fly on wings of Infinity. Come now!”

The Despot strode with renewed vigor, and proceeded down long halls, and great winding staircases with the Tetrachromat in tow. Finally, the pair descended down to the core of the castle. With a wave of the Despots hand, the bricks that made up the pillar shrunk from it, and parted. Proceeding into the Inner Cell, the machinery, both scientific and thaumaturgical, hummed and beeped as they worked. The Despot eyed the center of the sanctum, an empty pad between two great pylons. The Despot did not speak, only did it raise a hand, a finger extending toward the vacancy. The Tetrachromat skulked past, and stopped in front of the nexus. The Despot rose both arms into the air, and spoke with great drama.

“Now, my great creation, my magnum opus, part the seas of the material! Throw off the shackles of causality!”

The Tetrachromat rose onto its hind legs, and splayed its wings from its back. As it’s arms rose into the air, its mandibles opened, and began to shake. From its mouth came a great and guttural howl, the familiar instability of reality returned, and intensified. On the pad, a small vortex began to take shape. As it grew in volume, it began to release great waves of energy, threatening to tear both the Despot and Tetrachromat if they were not careful. From the Despot’s hands, great bolts of lightning began to form, and arc to the pylons. As the rift grew bigger, the space it displaced began to fold and consume, forming familiar black waves. As the schism reached critical mass, the Despot yelled in exasperation, and two great bolts of lightning danced between the pylons, and then to the vortex. The lightning reacted and fought with the waves, both forces grappling for dominance. With one final push, lightning arced from the pylons across the room, dancing between the machinery, frying it near to a crisp.

When the Despot opened its eyes, that familiar maniacal grin spread across its face. The only remaining light in the room was the gateway, emanating yellow into the Cell. The Tetrachromat laid at its feet, barely breathing, burnt and spent. Stepping over it, the Despot approached the portal, and extended two arms around it. Tapping into the phenomenon, the Despots lightning tuned it across the spectrum. The Despots eyes were set alight by the things they saw. A great hulking beast, a cosmic starchild. An emaciated scavenger, and a man cloaked in blue glowing wire. The great repository of power was nearly overwhelming, but rather than fear, the Despot was in ecstasy. Turning from the nexus, the Despot looked again upon the Tetrachromat.

“With this, we will build our crusade. And under my banner, we will rip the malevolent God from his crumbling castle.”

#fiction #kgatlw