Focus on New Talent!

Chapter One  The way the wind blew into his face, he could not see clearly. No amount of squinting would improve his vision; simply put, Malgovi eyes were not designed for such speeds. Z’Gunok Tel Dungias looked at the console and swallowed hard, looking at the velocity monitor: nearly one-third oligtrams per tanku. He was approaching the speed whereby the shockwaves generated from his slide-sled would create a resounding boom. His inability to see clearly reminded the young Malgovi that his head possessed the same amount of protection as his gold eyes: none! He had been exerting himself to race in such a superlative fashion, but his speed kept pushing the small beads of sweat across his smooth bluish-gray skin. The head band he wore to keep his black hair out of his face would do nothing to protect his skull. Suddenly, limited visibility was not as important as he had thought it was, especially with where the course had led the racers. Gantee’s slide-sled was performing better than Dungias had thought it would. He wondered why his Vu-Zai had never purchased the recreational device for his eldest male child, but it did not take Dungias long to remind himself of his unique circumstances. “Warning! You are approaching the boundary pharos for this sector!” The automated response had been expected the moment the course for the contest was decided. It was the warning given to anyone approaching the edge of the Iro-Curtain. “Further progression is ill-advised. Sector Facilities are not permitted beyond this point.” The warning was, of course, ignored. The race’s mid-point, and suggested turnaround point, was fifty oligtrams beyond the outermost protection point. It seemed somewhat foolhardy to design a race of such a nature, given what lived outside the Iro-Curtain. But the boys were always trying to prove themselves to be above and beyond the norm; still, none of them could pilot a slide-sled efficiently. Dungias understood the way a slide-sled operated and knew how to lean his body to make for smoother turns and faster accelerations. The knowledge of his piloting skills had been kept surreptitious, as they had been gained mostly in the simulators at the lyceum laboratories. Dungias had never been a teacher’s favorite, but his condition made it likely for him to volunteer to engage in a custodial capacity after classes. Over twelve orbi-terms, his skills had grown to maintenance, major repair, implementation, and testing. He could build a number of devices, including slide-sleds, from simple parts and had offered to augment his Vu-Prin’s vehicle more than once. He had been allowed to clean it… nothing more. But that was back-trekking. He had set another course! One cross word too many had been said, and he would silence the iro-formers that were his peers. The race was on! Dungias was at least five lengths ahead of the pack, and his lead was only getting larger. He was about to smile, an expression he seldom demonstrated, but an odd notion prevented him. Perhaps it was his minimal experience with anything resembling happiness or success which gave him reason to ponder. He looked back and noticed his lead had grown exponentially; he was substantially greater than five lengths ahead, as the other racers had stopped and were simply looking at him. Yet none of them looked as if they regretted being beaten by a shay-spawn. There was too much satisfaction and happiness in their glares. “Their intent to race was never genuine,” Dungias quickly concluded as he put the slide-sled into a very wide turn. He heard an iro-form blast hit the ground near him. He flinched at the flash of the directed emission, but his gold eyes quickly adjusted. “No!” he yelled, knowing what the energy burst would attract. The slide-sled itself had been only a minimal risk, as the energy output from the machine remained constant and could be mistaken for simple starlight. The iro-form blast had come from the group of would-be racers and was soon joined by another bolt. They were not aiming for Dungias, which was of little comfort. “What are you doing?!” None of them would answer his inquiry, if they could even hear him at such a distance. All four of the young men he had been racing against lifted their hands from their sides as tell-tale glowing lights fired in their eyes. Three of them started bombarding the lands, but only close to Dungias’ location. The fourth young man blasted the ground as well, but only that which was just beyond the Iro-Curtain. All in all, they had yet to deliver their seventh blast when Dungias heard the howls against the swirling winds. The Grenbi! The first to arrive were always the younglings. They were small, a little over half Dungias’ size, but they were incredibly fast. Without serious modifications, no market-made slide-sled could outrun them. Dungias possessed the skill necessary to make the modifications. He had nothing in the amount of time he would need. Fortunately there was plenty of starlight; the young Malgovi would be able to see them coming as they flew low over the ground. The blue-green landscape also aided his cause, as the Grenbi remained black in color, no matter what form they took. Explaining the Grenbi was often an invitation to passionate discourse. Perspective on their origins and reasons for being shifted greatly, much like the form of the creature. In the most widely accepted Malgovi text, the Grenbi was a sentient anti-energy, or ori-form, that was drawn to and fed upon energy. Another screeching cry echoed across the sky and Dungias knew they were close. They came down from the clouds, passing low over the ground and split into two groups: one portion of the black matter headed for the steady bombardment of energy at the Iro-Curtain while the larger portion turned for Dungias. Headed toward the naxiarn pole of his planet, Dungias looked to his left, the vestrarn, and he could see a black serpentiform with a single green, glowing eye streaking toward him. He could feel its hunger and the young Malgovi feared for his life. Horror overtook him and his mind went blank as he looked around. The place for the deathtrap had been chosen well. The tract of land was barely eighty trams wide. He could not simply turn around and race his way back to the boundary. He had to find his way around the chasm and quickly. But there was no clear way, no path that called him as a clear resolution to his plight. “Observation of simplicity is neither simple nor immediate,” Dungias closed his gold eyes and recalled the teachings of one his favored philosophers, the highly revered Traybus Gan Pax’Dulah! “Take for example the concept of fear. To be fearful of an event is natural, to allow fear to control the event, however, is the definition of incompetence. One can never control the existence of an event, or the existence of fear. Why then do we so often allow either to control us?” “Why indeed?” Dungias whispered as another blast was fired into the ground. This time he did not flinch. If anything, the iro-form burst struck a chord. Dungias continued racing along the given path and headed directly for the naxiarn pole of the planet. He also increased his speed. It would call for the slide-sled to generate more power which would only attract the Grenbi more, but for the plan he had devised, he was going to need both speed and piloting skills. The machine itself provided the speed, but the skill was left up to him. He leaned forward, almost willing the machine to accelerate. Behind the first chasing youngling, Dungias could see three more, and further to the horizon on his portside, he could see what was either an adult Grenbi or several youths that had yet to separate. Until the creature showed its eyes, such a thing was always difficult to determine. The black form was larger than both Dungias and the slide-sled combined… three times over! It was slower, however, but that was of little advantage with all the younglings Dungias could see converging. He reached to his side and took out his Personal Communicator. His gold eyes focused on the controls and called up a reading on the power reserves to the unit. It was just under ninety-seven percent, and he breathed somewhat easier as he programmed it to call twenty other PCs in just under thirty tanku. After the program was verified, Dungias dropped his PC to the sandy ground and it tumbled, end over end, before coming to a stop, cueing Dungias to attempt a very sharp turn. He leaned to the left and then turned the slide-sled in that direction, calling for even more speed. Despite his misgivings about his ability, it was a perfect high-speed turn. The young Grenbi were anxious, as was the nature of most young things. In order to overtake most prey, the Grenbi were forced to maintain a softer form. They also expected their quarry to run away from them; all of this Dungias factored into his plan as he continued to turn to where he was racing right toward them, rapidly shortening the distance between predator and prey. The Grenbi did not have time to take another shape or harden themselves as the nose of the slide-sled was pulled up from the ground. The vehicle could not fly, but it was often made to jump. Closing his eyes at the moment of impact, Dungias flew through the Grenbi before he landed the slide-sled, covered in black bio-matter that quickly became vapor and rolled off of his gray-blue skin and the vehicle. He disengaged the forward thrust and allowed the craft to coast under its own momentum. The second wave of Grenbi came to a stop and screamed. Dungias had read the findings of some scientists who had argued the Grenbi were in constant telepathic communication with each other. Though the Grenbi were shapeshifters, unexpected and forced separation could kill them. The death of three younglings caused the others to wail. They looked enraged and disoriented. Dungias also noticed the green glowing eye did not shine as brightly in those that followed the first three. As they wailed, two of the younglings’ eyes started to shine brighter. Most of the wailing stopped at that point, as the two started scanning. “They are the eyes for the pack!” Dungias thought as his PC activated and started opening communication channels. The two younglings looked at the device and streaked toward it, the pack of Grenbi following quickly behind them. “Patience, Dungias, patience!” he whispered, trying to remain rational and keep his mind focused on surviving this moment. The first of the youngling Grenbi reached the PC and the front of its mouth formed jagged teeth which quickly hardened into a black crystal-like material. The casing for the PC was no match for the sharpness of the fangs, and it quickly shattered, giving off a small blue spark of electricity before dying. “Now!” Dungias re-engaged the drive for the slide-sled and pulled away from his landing site. He screamed as he turned the vehicle toward the largest Grenbi he could see. If they were telepathic, he wanted them to feel his anger. But his false rage masked a very real fear. He was nearly two hundred tanku from his destination and only forty tanku from one of the sighted younglings. The slide-sled was not faster than the creature over a long run, but its rate of acceleration was much greater. In order to reach its top speed, the youngling would have to abandon its teeth and fully solid form, another time factor that was to Dungias’ advantage. He pulled away from the younglings and noticed that one of their eyes dimmed. Z’Gunok Dungias gasped as his mind latched onto the possibility his stratagem might have been countered by the Grenbi. Any other time, he would have been for the argument that there was no such thing as a dumb animal. He did not want to be correct, however, not at that moment. “No, this is not the memory we want,” the analyst said, and everything went black. The lights in the chamber came on and Dungias was blinded, but he could not lift his hands to shield his eyes. He had been bound to the table and the restraints kept his body in place. The octagonal chamber felt more like an interrogation room, but he did not have the answers they were looking for: why a Malgovi had no touch with an iro-form. The Malgovi, especially those of High Birth, claimed their birthright! They were a race born of the Stars, after all, and their ancestors were able to walk on starlight itself! They were able to use their natural gifts to generate and direct various iro-forms. Dungias, however, was incapable of emitting simple iro; he could not even brighten a dark chamber. He had attended special classes, received the finest instruction, he had even been the recipient of partial brain-matter transplants… all to no avail. When he was born and diagnosed, the first thing his parents had done was conceive another child. Danatra was their first-born and considered a prodigy of music as well as iro-forms. She opted to follow music instead of the Games, and for a female, it was an acceptable decision. Besides, the proud and hopeful parents knew that Dungias would follow in her steps and perhaps even stand a chance of taking the Games, as Jorl had done in his youth. He did not, and the Kith Z’Gunok quickly went about the business of receiving permission to have a third child, a rarity among the Malgovi. However, no one would dare to publicly declare Dungias as one of the couple’s children and two orbi-terms later, Gantee was born. He had shown promise from the moment he cried into the world, and his parents could not have been happier. In retrospect, Dungias had tried many times to equate their efforts to correct his ‘problem’ as gestures of love. As he grew older, he could see that the love they were focused on was the love of their name and their station; not that it was anything minimal. His mother, Laylaria, was an Iro-Gellvi, one of the most powerful iro-formwielding ranks one could hold. It guaranteed her royal consideration and land. His father, Jorl’Lassor, was a Champion of the Iro-Games, despite his Gan name standing, and had perfected his energies to where he could stimulate rapid growth in vegetation. He was the landscapist for all Royal sites in the city, including the Queen’s residence in the Sastra Region, which kept him fairly busy during the star-term. The waiting list for his services was over three hundred entries long. The union between Jorl and Laylaria had been attended by a nephew of the Queen, and had been the only event anyone spoke of for nearly a quarter orbi-term. The news regarding Dungias had not been well-received, and his very existence had moved the family standing from House to Kith. Dungias was considered retarded, but there was nothing wrong with his mind or body. He was a voracious reader and had tried to consume everything Danatra threw at him. Whether she was bored with the work and could not finish it, or she was enthralled with the piece and thought she would give the poor house embarrassment a bone to chew on in the corner, it made no difference to him. The subjects were various and usually came three to five works at a time. “I suppose not,” Jorl’Lassor huffed as he looked down on his son. “But it does explain how your Vu-Prin’s slide-sled came to be damaged.” “It was a few scratches, Vu-Zai,” Dungias replied as he looked up at the man whose eyes never rested well on his first-born son. “I repaired the chassis the very next star-term!” Dungias pleaded with his Vu-Zai while his mind raced through the rest of the memory. His narrow escape had not been as impacting as the fact that his VuPrin had contributed to the ploy that could have easily ended his life. But the ploy had failed, as several younglings had been led into an attack against the larger feeder. He had thought it would only be a distraction. But the younglings were killing the large mother Grenbi, who had no choice but to consume her offspring. It took star-terms before Dungias could get the sound of the wailing mother out of his head. Time had begun to soften her cry, but now the incident was new to him all over again. “Silence!” his Vu-Zai barked, glaring through his gold eyes. It seemed physical appearance was the only thing that the Vu-Zai and Vu-Khan shared. “You will not dishonor me here and now! “Analyst, is there anything else?” Jorl quickly asked. “I believe I have located another recollection which could illuminate the reason behind his lack of development.” “This hurts me,” Dungias advised, not wanting to revisit a ninth memory in three s’tonki. “You will be silent!” Jorl insisted before he turned to face the analyst. “Proceed!” “As you wish,” the analyst said as he activated the machine again. The straps holding Dungias in place were suddenly tightened and he looked up to see the analyst’s assistant at the buckle. She smiled down coldly on him. Her ploy had been successful; Dungias had opened his eyes just as the machine interrupted the synaptic patters of his brain. It was a process made infinitely more painful if the subject had their eyes open. Dungias screamed. Dungias walked home from the lyceum, wearing a smile, holding tightly to a sense of accomplishment. Nearing his completion of primary education, Dungias held the highest scores in all subjects that did not involve the generation or manipulation of an iro-form. Things had been very difficult when he was younger, as everything was focused on what he lacked. But as the children grew older, school classes were less about the iro-forms and more about the science behind them. The more it involved such things, the less Dungias could be considered deformed or inept. The smile he wore was due to an informative document he had turned in regarding the Principles of Thought. Dungias’ work had scored the highest of the institute, and even exceeded the scores of a few of the instructors of the lyceum when they had been students. The Malgovi youth had taken his accolade quietly, choosing not to speak of it. He simply read and re-read his paper quietly. Walking home, however, he was not going to be allowed to keep his feeling of accomplishment. An energy bolt struck him in the middle of the back and forced him to the ground. There was too much pain for it to have been a simple Force configuration. There was an electrical additive that coursed over his body and touched upon every nerve; locking his muscles, wracking his brain with agony. “Why are you smiling?” a voice cried out, though Dungias could barely hear it. “You are not permitted to smile! You are shay-spawn. You should not even be in this school!” “Kinjass,” Dungias thought as he found his center and reinforced his focus. He knew the rules of this game. After orbi-terms of the same madness, Dungias knew his only defense was himself. No one in his family would lift a finger to assist him; they were too busy being embarrassed. However, the files he had read regarding the control of Thought were many, and while he did not agree with each point of view he absorbed, Dungias had managed to construct his own system of beliefs. A few of those said beliefs practiced as a mode of self-defense for his emotional well-being. Dungias had felt trapped in an environment where the only tangible expressions shown to him were contempt, hatred and regret. Only a strong understanding of the conditions which created his environment could save him. It was an understanding he had developed long before this incident, giving his mind time to learn and develop other aspects of powerful Thought, like the ability to control the effects of pain. “Enough!” he whispered, his body shaking with rage. When he performed poorly, he was an abomination. When he performed well, he had moved, without permission, beyond the boundaries of what was expected of him. Dungias had come to understand many things in his time of self-instruction; but the only thing he could clearly understand right now was his own perspective, one that cried out… not for vengeance, which he thought he was more than due, but for acknowledgement. This star-term, his peers would at least recognize he existed and that existence demanded respect! Dungias looked up and saw he had correctly placed the owner of the voice. Blaxidurn Gan Kinjass attended the lyceum at the same orbi-term level as Dungias, and was by far the most popular student of that age rank. Such were the spoils of wielding the greatest amount of energy. The Malgovi head always bowed to greater power. “I’ve tolerated you long enough, Dungias,” Kinjass proclaimed, his hands beginning to glow. “I will do what your parents did not have the stomach to deliver when you were born.” “Magniloquent to the last,” Dungias replied as he slowly got up to his feet. “What did you say?” Kinjass asked, surprised that the mal-form could utter a complete sentence. “Magniloquent,” Dungias repeated. “That was the review you received of your work, was it not? ‘Of an eloquent nature,’ I believe was the way it was stated, ‘but needlessly bombastic and boastful in the end.’ You understand what that means, don’t you? Grandiose… pompous… you spent so much time sounding good, you forgot to be substantial. But I suppose your writing can hardly be blamed. It is, after all, only a reflection of the writer!” “Shay-spawn!” Kinjass yelled, firing a steady stream of energy that passed by Dungias’ leaping and spinning form. He landed and stumbled, catching himself by touching his hand to the ground. But he heard the muffled chants of surprise and disbelief as the blast struck the austran wall of the institution. Low-volume alarms sounded as repair droids were summoned. “You missed,” Dungias said, half surprised himself that the maneuver had actually worked. Pax’Dulah was a popular figure of Malgovi history, and considered a pioneer of many of the iro-form-wielding disciplines currently used. But he was ever so much more than that, as Dungias had read. He was an artist, specializing in sculpting, but by no means inept with painting or drawing. He was also a musician, and several of his compositions were considered classics. Dungias had also discovered the historical figure was a fierce competitor in sports the upper castes of the Malgovi no longer observed, and had created a system of acrobatic movement that came to be named after its creator. Dungias had spent nearly ten orbi-terms reading and practicing the technique while getting adjusted to heights and adjusting his center of gravity. He was very sure footed and surprisingly fast. Dungias smiled at Kinjass, taunting him without even speaking, and the result could not have been more closely calculated. Kinjass stepped back and took stance as if he were competing in the Games again, a contest he had championed two orbi-terms straight. “I won’t miss again,” Kinjass warned; his hands and now eyes glowed as he generated more energy. “This might be simpler than I anticipated,” Dungias thought. He knew he had agility on his side. If he was going to do anything to Kinjass, he would have had to approach him and that meant getting closer… to an iroformer! Shorter distance meant shorter reaction times. The bursts did not move at the speed of light; the difference was negligible to the Malgovi mind. But Kinjass was reacting in a way that Dungias did not expect, though he knew he should have. There was nothing wrong with Dungias’ form, in fact he was among the more physically adept of his class; the product of his regimen of exercise. He was larger than Kinjass, and the Games Champion did not want the shay-spawn retard to touch him. He was actually afraid! In the grip of fear, he engaged in a duel of iro-forms against a shay-spawn. Where was the honor in that? “You already have,” Dungias replied, leaning as if he was about to step forward. Kinjass lunged toward his opponent, thrusting both hands forward. The blast was bright and wide, singeing several of Dungias’ head hairs as he fell back to the ground. He rolled right after he fell, anticipating that Kinjass would hold the blast and try to follow him with it. He had been correct, and another hole was blasted into the building, along with major burns to the grounds. Dungias kicked up to his feet and yelled, again feigning a charge. In the Games, after an exchange of two blasts, the combatants circled each other until their positions were reversed, giving them some time to replenish their energy stores. Dungias was not going to give Kinjass that time, and after that last attack, he knew Kinjass had to be depleted. He quickly moved his thoughts away from the fact the last attack could have killed him; he did not need anger… not yet! Kinjass screamed right after Dungias did, though his was born of fear. Again he lifted his hands and again he released energy, but it was in bolt form, as he could not sustain a beam, and the magnitude would have scored points in the Games, but it would not have hurt his opponent much. Dungias lunged forward and rolled under the attack. He reached his feet and kept his momentum going forward, tackling Kinjass and driving him to the ground. “Hmmm, that isn’t it either,” the analyst concluded and the view of the memory faded. The lights came up in the chamber again, and Dungias was beginning to have difficulty with the pain. He had no idea how long he had been there, but the pain from the machine was overwhelming him. He looked around the room. His Vu-Zai and his Vi-Prin were there, still… along with the analyst and his assistant, who seemed disgusted. She had been hoping for greater distress from the patient, that much was clear, and although he did not believe he could withstand another forced journey into his mind, he smiled at the female and took pleasure in her heightened disgust. “When did that happen?” Jorl’Lassor asked and Dungias looked at his Vu-Zai. Suddenly the lights were not too bright. Actually, they still were, but there were more important matters at hand. In the gold eyes of his VuZai, Dungias saw something he had never seen, at least not when the man looked at his oldest Vu-Khan. Could it have been pride? There was a slight curl to the man’s lips at the edges of his mouth and he was breathing more deeply. All of that was dwarfed by the realization that he held his son’s eyes; he was not looking away in shame. “It never happened!” Danatra barked, shattering the moment. “Master of our Kith, please! The analyst already said that some of the memories could be delusions. Do you really think that happened? Dungias managed to thrash a Games Champion?!” Both the analyst and his assistant suppressed laughter at the suggestion and Jorl’s face twisted to the visage Dungias was more accustomed to seeing. But that did not keep him from once again trying the strength of the straps holding him down. But since he was not able to pull free, he was given the time to get over his impulse to strangle his Vi-Prin. By the time they did release him, he had reacquired his understanding of his environment, in which his Vi-Prin was obviously an entrenched component. “What was I thinking?” Jorl’Lassor muttered as they left the facility. Dungias kept his head low and his mouth shut. There were times when it was a blessing not to be acknowledged. The conversation at home had not been long enduring before Gantee exploded in laughter as Danatra explained the events at the medical facility. Dungias excused himself and walked to his room. His books and exercises were waiting for him and at least within those arenas he would only be judged based on what he could do. He would earn their pride if no one else’s. Tanku turned into tonki and they turned into s’tonki, three to be exact, before the partition of his loft opened and his mother stood at the archway. Iro-Gell were not known for their physical forms. To become so adept with the iro-forms usually meant there was less attention paid to physical fitness, and the body suffered. Laylaria was the exception to the rule. Her body was very well-toned and she worked hard at keeping it in such a state. But her level of muscle development did not help her much in this particular room. As the partition slid open, there was her son, upside down, doing vertical push-ups on his pommel-stand. He was not counting, at least not aloud, and the speed of repetition was impressive. He did five in the time it took for her to open the partition and enter the room. He also was not showing any signs of slowing or stopping. “I thought I might bring you your dinner,” she said, stammering through most of her statement. “It would appear you did more than simply think about it,” Dungias replied, speaking only as he was pressing. He could already smell the food. The way the air was made to flow through the household, nothing was meant to ever escape the loft. But Dungias kept it clean, without bothering the household maintenance crew to assist him. In fact, he had often helped them with their duties. It was one of the few bragging points his mother had: being able to comment positively about his attention to detail. Dungias knew where everything went once it was removed from a shelf or case in order for that surface to be cleaned. She did not realize it was another exercise for him, forcing himself to pay attention to the most minute details. Dungias never missed a cleaning shift if he could help it. “Indeed,” she responded, her rust colored eyes blinking rapidly. “I brought you a serving. A healthy serving.” Dungias pushed off the handles and flipped, landing softly. “Why would you bring anything else?” he asked as he approached. He was not yet out of his growing stage, but already he was eye-to-eye with his statuesque mother. “I suppose you have a point… Vu-Khan.” Dungias felt weak at the knees at the tone in which she spoke the designation. It was not matter-of-factly… it was more personal. But she was not looking at her child. Her rust-hued eyes looked only at the room, as if she would not dare to meet eyes with her child. Her soft, thick blue hair fell below her belt, but she kept it pulled back into a tail behind her head and fastened to the hair binder on the back of her belt. It was never out of place, but that did not keep her from putting her hand to her tiara and pressing it back, as if it had ever come loose. She was nervous in his presence. “I have offended your honor,” Dungias said as he walked forward and received the tray of food. “I apologize.” “There was no maliciousness in your birth, nor in your existence,” she said as she quickly stepped back and ran her hands down her blouse. “The sanitizer is just down the corridor,” Dungias said, closing off his heart, as it had received enough of a hammering this star-term already. “I have made a point not to use it.” He stepped back and allowed the partition to close. “And thank you… for the food… my Vi-Zai..”

New Author Alert!

New Author Alert!  Somehow… the game continues! There were so many memories etched in the Light; painful memories, because defeat and near destruction seldom conveyed any measure of joy. Life, as he wanted to call it, continued for him, even in his diminishing form. So close! He had come so close and the human adage regarding proximities and when they count seemed now only to gnaw at the last of his sensibilities. What he had composed and orchestrated had been neither a horseshoe nor a hand grenade, and while many of his targets had perished, the overall symphony had fallen resoundingly flat. Humanity still existed! Such had been the saga of Old Earth and the Elders, when he had been called Baron Nomed. The Binadamu had always been so scattered; indifferent to one another over appearance… hostile to one another for any variation of culture… often hiding from one another in order to circumvent involvement as such could lead to indifference or hostility. Regardless, they should have been easier targets to obliterate, but they were not alone. Elders! Gods, Angels, the Maior Nathu, it did not matter the name; problematic was something they were good at being despite what title they had taken for themselves. At one time, Nomed had been counted among them; the one everyone considered to be Sere’s replacement – for when the old one would finally cycle to the Next Light. It became clear the Old Master would not take that step, not while Nomed was his successor. That was when war had been declared, when the cards were dealt and the game started. Nomed had looked at his cards and felt, with just a little strategy, he could easily win. He was wrong, and in the aftermath of his defeat, Nomed had to contend with his own destruction; a destruction at the hands of the very things he had intended to destroy. In the end, an improper term at best, but a definition to which the mortals of Earth subscribed. In his form’s final moment, Nomed found he had only one card left to play, and as he started to merge with the universe, Nomed smiled and played it. His will abandoned his dying form and hurled itself into the cosmos, with absolutely no consideration of destination, acting out of a growing sense of desperation and futility. All that remained of Nomed was now a pocket of nearly invisible gas, floating through the vacuum of space, spinning about itself. It slowly degraded, losing more and more of the impressions that so many lifetimes had logged within the seemingly countless folds of its mind and soul. “Who am I?” became a question he could no longer answer as he slipped into to a mode of existence that could not choose between he and she. It clung only to its perspective and its pair of ambitions: self-preservation and the eradication of the Binadamu! Without its casing, however, it was truly dying, and Death yearned to taste this morsel once more. Contact! An unsuspecting touch and the near-lifeless form was quick to react and reach out, taking hold of whatever it could find. The first touch was cold and dead, possessing only enough matter to be felt by the diminishing darkwilled thing. Still, within that cold shell there was warmth, multitudes of warmth. It was a nearly forgotten feeling, registering on what was left of its senses. It was enough! And though the living shadow did not have a mind with which to remember, the sensation was still familiar somehow. It surged! At the end of its reach there was a form, unaware of the shadow which now crept inside its body. The dying form found life, and the means to sustain itself. There was very little conflict; the resistance the object put forward was negligible. Hard to fight, after all, a malefactor one does not perceive. The body was indeed weak, but Death had been turned away from her barely cursory hunt. It could hear the White Maiden laugh ever so softly as she took her leave from it… for now. Only for now! It could not move. It felt the form of life all around it, but motion was not one of its capabilities. Still, it did not dare to leave the form; Death would only return and with the drain it would take to break free of the oblivious preserve that had been encountered, it would not have the strength to return should a more suitable form not be found within the time given. So it chose instead to explore the form, starting of course, with the mind. Though Nomed’s form was gone, his will… his dark essence, like so much energy, had not died. It had simply changed form, finding haven inside one of the breeds it had endeavored to destroy: the Human Race. Much had changed! While the will to conquer and destroy remained, the mind to fathom such methodologies had been lost. The force of darkness barely remained intact. It could not remember its history; it could not recollect its origin. It did not know why it was, it simply knew that it was and for some reason it must continue to be. Thus it was left to mix with the thoughts, drives, and emotions of the one it had chosen to possess. The translation of immortality to the mortal mindset had taken generations, but the dark force had evolved, and though it could not substantiate why it wished to take such a destructive action, it would not hesitate to resume its objective to destroy this small speck of life. The dark form chose to wait! Time to it was not the same as what it was to the Binadamu, and it would enjoy the luxury of immortality… if only for the moment.