Note: The following Epilogue contains spoilers for the Marscon 2016 event 'Destined'
At the center of the World-Tree:
Ptah's whispering words still rung in the ears of the super-scientists as the final equation of the Angelic Algorithm moved into its configuration. For those present, it was a moment of transcendence - a grand light spreading outwards from hovering numbers and symbols, moving across the broken aspects of reality, reworking them into a pure state untouched by any being. Shielding their eyes, each of the scientists present felt the knowledge of their works unlocked - For Doctor Tungsten, it was the final answer to resolving the Chimera Retrovirus. For countless others, it was the answers and the acknowledgement across a myriad of questions that they had. Truly, it was a moment of enlightenment - a reward for their role in the greater restoration of their world.
Ptah lingered for a long moment, resting his eternal eyes on Ripley Cross. Although no words were spoken, Ptah smiled for a moment, nodding his head to the unanswered question that Cross had posed and had driven him on more than one occasion towards madness. Something clicked in the young scientist's mind....a fact that had eluded him, something that made him step back in the realization of the moment. It wasn't a perfect answer that Ptah had offered, but one that Ripley down deep could accept.
As reality is restored:
Across the span of reality, wounds that were long festering in their inability to heal closed and scarred over, eventually disappearing amid the nature of Celestial Mechanics. The events and time had changed as the eternal beings, destroyed by Set's rampage found themselves again in existence...quietly chastised for their unwillingness to interfere. History unfurled in different directions - different heroes and villains emerging and disappearing amid the waves of the new universe. Quiet moments which determined the course of history echoed now with greater resolve. The universe was once again whole.
On board Shankra:
The alien ship exited the space of the dimensional thread, the machine used to cross over to the world-tree destroyed....removed...to prevent another journey. Aboard the carrier the survivors found the world ahead vastly different than the one that they had left. The Defenders were reunited in more ways than one....they had succeeded.
Moving Forward:
Aboard Shankra:
Despite what they had just gone through, dinner was surprisingly quiet. With Earth as the backdrop, the Defenders ate and reflected on what they had gone through, while their allies found themselves now facing a new world, a world where the future was completely uncertain.
When Rook had made the announcement, it came as no real surprise. Since Whiteflame's return, there was something different, something younger about the man. Those that knew Deckard best knew that he never smiled, but there he was, smiling like a schoolboy, holding his wife's hand so firmly that it seemed that they had permanently been joined. The Deckards toasted the heroes present, before announcing that they were leaving the group. In thirty years, the Deckards had weathered the brightest and darkest moments, and now, they were leaving what they had started...to try their lives completely anonymously...like everyone else.
It was time for the next generation to take over protecting Earth.
Grant Hill Cemetery, Jameson City, New Jersey
The services were quiet, not the grand sort of thing he had wanted. A few mourners were family, the majority of those present were not. The family's mausoleum rested silently, and although it only held a single generation of Adlers, it was a fitting place to inter the final remains of Richard Adler. Either due to those present with the ability to control weather or simple luck, the rain that had been ever-present in the days leading up to the service had broke, and while the skies remained dark and overcast, there were moments of sunlight that illuminated the heavens. It was a perfect day, a day so much like the man himself - dour and dark, concealing moments of hope and the promise of better days.
The first night brought the other mourners into the cemetery...those who knew the man only through his professional standing or who could not walk among those who arrived earlier. A single red rose was placed upon the path to the tomb's door - a single sign of respect which all present shared. There were no words...no tears...just memories of a man who had saved not just the city but the world on countless occasions.
Under the great hangman's tree which loomed upon the nearby rise, The Pilot watched all. The appointed agent of the Hill smiled to himself, watching the processions leave before speaking to his hidden companion.
'It was a hell of a service' The Pilot began, smoothing his short brown hair back before shaking his head, 'A shame you had to miss it'
The younger man, dressed in traveling clothes nodded quietly, 'Not my first funeral....and certainly, not my last'
'Will you tell them?' The Pilot began, 'After all, some of them should know...'
'No' The younger man added, 'It's better this way. Part of what the Grim Ghost said still rings true...an era has ended...my era has ended....it's better they find their way without me..and I think it is time I try to leave this behind.'
The Pilot nodded as a raven, black as midnight rested on a nearby branch, soon joined by another.
'Well...' The younger man started, 'The boat leaves in the next hour. I should be on my way'
'I'd say good luck, but I figure you'd not be one to take such chances' the Pilot began, 'Good Luck anyway'
'I make my own luck' the younger man added, smiling a bit, 'But thank you Pilot...as always'
'Take care Richard. Don't be a stranger' The Pilot said with a smile.
'Not for some time at least' Richard Adler began, 'I think there is a wide world that I should reacquaint myself with...'
Crusaders Castle, New York - Some time later
Although there were many moments that the Castle had seen celebration, few times seemed to bring out the beauty of the place as much as today did. Streamers of white and silver lined the halls and edifices, while the museum, normally opened to the public remained respectfully closed - It was a private affair after all.
Caters from across the city had gone out of their way to make the day special. The planner, a shortish man of fifty with shockingly dark hair coordinated the majority of the event with the precision and personality of a tank commander, while other entertainment had been provided as distraction for the multitude of children who were present. At 2:00 PM, the guests moved to their seats, some five hundred in total, awaiting the signal. The organist began the march, as the grooms-persons (including one shortish woman) stood waiting. The young girl moved ahead, dropping handfuls of flowers while the dark haired woman with green eyes moved forward, escorted by Mr. Might himself in a tuxedo that seemed to barely contain him. Although in her late forties, the woman seemed almost radiantly youthful, while the man who awaited her looked on, brimming with an excitement of a man half his age.
'Dearly beloved' the goddess Freya began, 'We are gathered today to unite in holy matrimony Richard Sinclair Fortune and Juliana Prentiss...'
The couple exchanged vows, and even the most stoic members couldn't help stifle a few tears.
Somewhere Else:
The battle continued to rage, and for the briefest moment, he had the upper hand. Deploying his group, he understood that he had finally done it...Deckard was destroyed, the Defenders had been crushed, and Revenge had been his. The strategy was simple...childishly simple...it only required the proper use and motivation of force.
Leaning back, he could not help but feel there was something about this that was too familiar - Always the Defenders seemed to rally from nowhere...always the Defenders managed to return to the battle and thwart his plans. How could this be? How could the greatest tactician of any age make so many simply mistakes during a battle? It was as if his strategy wasn't simply flawed - It was a thing someone who lacked the understanding of such things would do.
It became very clear to him that the answer was obvious - He was in hell. This was his hell. When the realization hit him, he turned as quickly as he could to find some exit, to deduce some sort of stratagem to escape this prison. As if in answer, the image around him shimmered, and for the briefest of moments he saw the person he hated the most, reunited with his wife...smiling....and free of him.
Then all went dark, and the battle began again.
As it had done already countless times
As it would do so endlessly
A battle of poor strategy where victory would always come close, and never succeed.
A war in which his enemy hadn't just recovered from the inflicted wounds...but was happy...and would forget him.
Amadeus Van Brandt was in Hell.
The Future
The world had changed. The alien immigrants who had sought refuge and brought their knowledge shared openly and fairly. By the end of the decade, mankind had made large strives to correct the damage it had done over decades of misuse and greed. need and want were becoming something of the past, while major diseases including cancer were quickly eradicated. By 2030, mankind had begun to spread its wings outward from its homeworld, moving with its protectors throughout the solar system. While not a perfect world and problems persisted, the horizon was no longer far away and mankind began to achieve its place among the stellar nations.
As Halley's Comet returned, mankind had established colonies on nearby worlds, coming into contact with a variety of new alien races. The third age of exploration began, and among this age Defenders International, rechristened to Defenders Interstellar worked to ensure that peace, justice, and freedom would always be defended.
It would be a glorious age.
The Solar Barge
The Solar Barge slowly moved across Amenti's heavens, Horus-Ra sitting upon the throne at the aft. As the barge moved, Aphosis moved underneath, its serpentine body in the great depths of the abyss reflecting no light.
Horus-Ra remained unmoving despite the danger. Attended by the other gods, Horus-Ra simply stared forward, motionless amid the activity. Aphosis ascended slowly, coming closer to the edge of the surface, then suddenly struck by an attack that drove the devourer off once again. Aphosis sank into the abyss wounded - the barge would not be destroyed now...or ever...
Horus-Ra turned slightly to his protector. For a moment, Set's eyes locked onto Horus-Ra's eye, a quiet understanding passing between uncle and nephew, before Set returned to his post. Unlike the times before, Set's place was not forced - it was a duty Set chose to perform....and in that....it wasn't a punishment - it was a privilege..and most importantly, a choice.
Set would protect his nephew from the devourer every morning in Amenti. Set would defend his people from whatever threats would come. A silent acceptance had developed between Osiris and Set, and for the first time, brothers were seen together.
Set was content.
Set was Destined.
Showing posts with label Marscon 2016. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marscon 2016. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Destined Prelude #6 'Goodbyes'
The Adler Residence, Jameson City NJ
Although his senses were still as sharp as ever, there was a dulling around the edges, which coupled with the current state of his body made the moments damnable in their length. He could perceive family and friends moving closer, whispering sentiments of love and support as he the sharpness of the pain that was breathing.
He was a detective, and as such, he already had deduced what was going on. He knew that ultimately it was his will which kept him alive, always returning to the indomitable will which motivated his life. He tried to move but found the effort more exertive than he had anticipated. Even when terrible wounded as in the past he could feel the effort merited with some response. Now there was none, and he knew quietly it was time.
In many ways, he had expected death for all of his adult life. The tragedies that molded him and the dedication that drove him had prepared him for every eventuality, except growing old. Getting old no matter brief the respite had been the one thing he couldn't prepare for. He of course find some means to cheat it, but in the end, he realized he didn't really want to. There was some respectability to age, his father wore it like a badge of service, and he had done his duty a thousand times over. He had trained directly and through his actions the next generation of heroes. He had personally seen to the instruction of the generations of detectives, costumed and otherwise, who would follow in his footsteps. He did not see that as a point of arrogance: it was preparation for what he had predicted - a world in need.
Faintly, he thought he could hear the sounds of a violin tuning. Although few in the room could determine it, he knew that it was a prelude to what awaited. He swallowed, his eyes staring into the darkness - a creeping darkness which filled the edges and corners of the room. He focused his will, narrowing his eyes to remain conscious. He would not meet death sleeping...this was the one thing he had decided would not happen.
The gathering of family and friends around him dwindled away in his perception, leaving only a few moments and faces to fill the rapidly darkening room. He could hear voices of comrades and even enemies long-dead echoing as if they had just spoken. He could even see what he thought he could make out as a raven resting upon the bust of Pallas Athena, staring as if had that long night nearly eighty years ago down at him. How the irony of the image made him inwardly smile...literary and overblown until the end. A small sigh escaped him - It wasn't long now...he understood his breathing had become shallow and his body had begun to shut down.
Something moved in the darkness. It wasn't the raven nor was it what he expected - either old friends long dead or older enemies long vanquished. He could make out the image now, a short, squat figure staring at him, imploring him with lion-like eyes holding some sort of box. Although they did not exchange any spoken word, he immediately knew the figure and knew why he had come. Thrusting the box forward, the small figure attempted to do what he could to hand the items over, but the final moments, regardless of who was making the attempt, were simply too great. He communicated what he could to the figure, his mind racing now ahead of the end, trying desperately to resolve a silent mystery before it was too late. Unable to communicate the desperation of the small figure's request, the onlookers simply saw him convulsing, the agony of death-throws without the ability to under the stark meaning of the moment. As the darkness suddenly gave way to light, he could feel himself move for the briefest of moments, seizing his hands upon the proffered box and taking a single object from its contents. It was all he could do in his last action to save the world.
----
The friends and family wept and silently bid farewell. The family doctor made the pronouncement and quietly allowed the morticians their opportunity to collect the body. After decades of fighting the good fight, those present thought they walked away with the knowledge that the Black Raven died as he lived - Fighting.
How wrong they were.
It wasn't the last battle - It was the first.
Only, no one understood it.
-----
Destined
Marscon 2016
Although his senses were still as sharp as ever, there was a dulling around the edges, which coupled with the current state of his body made the moments damnable in their length. He could perceive family and friends moving closer, whispering sentiments of love and support as he the sharpness of the pain that was breathing.
He was a detective, and as such, he already had deduced what was going on. He knew that ultimately it was his will which kept him alive, always returning to the indomitable will which motivated his life. He tried to move but found the effort more exertive than he had anticipated. Even when terrible wounded as in the past he could feel the effort merited with some response. Now there was none, and he knew quietly it was time.
In many ways, he had expected death for all of his adult life. The tragedies that molded him and the dedication that drove him had prepared him for every eventuality, except growing old. Getting old no matter brief the respite had been the one thing he couldn't prepare for. He of course find some means to cheat it, but in the end, he realized he didn't really want to. There was some respectability to age, his father wore it like a badge of service, and he had done his duty a thousand times over. He had trained directly and through his actions the next generation of heroes. He had personally seen to the instruction of the generations of detectives, costumed and otherwise, who would follow in his footsteps. He did not see that as a point of arrogance: it was preparation for what he had predicted - a world in need.
Faintly, he thought he could hear the sounds of a violin tuning. Although few in the room could determine it, he knew that it was a prelude to what awaited. He swallowed, his eyes staring into the darkness - a creeping darkness which filled the edges and corners of the room. He focused his will, narrowing his eyes to remain conscious. He would not meet death sleeping...this was the one thing he had decided would not happen.
The gathering of family and friends around him dwindled away in his perception, leaving only a few moments and faces to fill the rapidly darkening room. He could hear voices of comrades and even enemies long-dead echoing as if they had just spoken. He could even see what he thought he could make out as a raven resting upon the bust of Pallas Athena, staring as if had that long night nearly eighty years ago down at him. How the irony of the image made him inwardly smile...literary and overblown until the end. A small sigh escaped him - It wasn't long now...he understood his breathing had become shallow and his body had begun to shut down.
Something moved in the darkness. It wasn't the raven nor was it what he expected - either old friends long dead or older enemies long vanquished. He could make out the image now, a short, squat figure staring at him, imploring him with lion-like eyes holding some sort of box. Although they did not exchange any spoken word, he immediately knew the figure and knew why he had come. Thrusting the box forward, the small figure attempted to do what he could to hand the items over, but the final moments, regardless of who was making the attempt, were simply too great. He communicated what he could to the figure, his mind racing now ahead of the end, trying desperately to resolve a silent mystery before it was too late. Unable to communicate the desperation of the small figure's request, the onlookers simply saw him convulsing, the agony of death-throws without the ability to under the stark meaning of the moment. As the darkness suddenly gave way to light, he could feel himself move for the briefest of moments, seizing his hands upon the proffered box and taking a single object from its contents. It was all he could do in his last action to save the world.
----
The friends and family wept and silently bid farewell. The family doctor made the pronouncement and quietly allowed the morticians their opportunity to collect the body. After decades of fighting the good fight, those present thought they walked away with the knowledge that the Black Raven died as he lived - Fighting.
How wrong they were.
It wasn't the last battle - It was the first.
Only, no one understood it.
-----
Destined
Marscon 2016
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Destined Prelude #5 'Hope'
Amenti
Already the heavens ran with blood, and there was not anything that Bes could do about it. Bes, smallest of the gods ran with purpose, avoiding the destruction of Heliopolis and trying desperately to find Serket. Behind the little god the full rage of Set was on display. Bes had seen with his own eyes the rending of Ammit as Set tore the jaws of the devourer asunder, tossing them in the boundless pools of abzu. As Bes ran, he could not shut out the cries of the others, the gods who formed the line against the God of the Desert...for it was now clear Set's bloodlust would not be sated.
Bes rounded the pillared column of his home, seeking the signs of the great Imiut and the paths to the necropolis below. Bes knew that if any would have answers, it would be Serket...and Serket would consult the great god of mysteries Nekhtet. Cascades of light engulfed the palaces of the morning behind him, and it seemed to Bes that the skies themselves rained red with Set's vengeance.
Bes hopped down the stairs, emerging into the gloom of the funerary rooms. With sudden abruptness, Bes stopped, skidding to a halt at the feet of the amazonian and ferocious form of Sekhmet. Adorned with the crown of her station, Sekhmet roared at Bes, her claws glistening with the blood of immortals, and for the briefest moments, the lion-headed Bes debated crossing the warrior goddess - what choice did he have? Bes had to reach Serket.
'Let him pass sister' Serket added, pushing past the larger of the two. Although the scorpion goddess was dwarfed by Sekhmet, there was something about her words which soothed the larger lioness, and Bes found himself relieved. Sekhmet turned and paced the areas near the entrance to the tomb, as the shiny carapaced form of Serket moved forward.
'Serket...' Bes said, catching his breath, 'It is all lost! Ra is dead!' Bes began, his words tumbling free in a tone born of sorrow and caught between sobbing, 'Set has gone mad...he will kill us all...'
In response, Serket raised a hand to Bes, her eyes calm and cool, 'No brother Bes...collect yourself....hope is not lost. Set has not won this day....not yet'. Extending her other hand, Bes's eyes followed towards where she was pointing....the adjoining antechamber which glowed with an eeriness to it that even gods found fearful. Despite himself, Bes shuddered, looking from the chamber to Serket and back again.
Serket rose and walked forward, motioning for Bes to follow. Keeping pace with Serket, Bes marveled how he had never seen such things in all of Amenti...how such a chamber would be kept secret, even from one such as himself. The walls told the ancient story of Ra, the stories of the arrival...the birth...and even the rebirth of all of creation. Serket waited near the center of the room where a large tableau rested, her fingers tracing across the inlaid worksmanship.
'Is this-' Bes started to say, stopping as quickly as he realized the answer.
'Yes' Serket answered, her gaze never looking up, 'It is exactly what you think it is'
For a short time, there were no words exchanged between them, only the sounds of distant thunder...the battle had moved closer. Serket moved her hands expertly over the surface, activating secret latches as the sarcophagus opened. Bes's eyes grew large as he saw the sides open, revealing the great canopic box. Quietly Serket knelt and opened the box, the four jars resting inside.
With a mighty roar, both Bes and Serket turned towards the tomb. Sekhmet had entered battle, and both knew it would be a battle unto the death. Serket quickly moved her hands inside of the great sarcophagus and removed the large metallic plate, taking it and the jars up into a small bag.
'Here' Serket said quickly, thrusting the bag to Bes, 'Go...get these out of here....'
Bes failed for a moment to comprehend what was being asked of him. His hands held the bag as Serket turned towards the doorway. Already the din was becoming deafening...Sekhmet was still fighting, but it was a lost battle.
'Go where?' Bes said numbly, looking at Serket with the lost expression that he often had when tasked by the others, 'He is everywhere. He killed Ra...'
Serket turned for the briefest of moments, 'Go to the places we cannot Bes...you are the only one who can...warn who you can...our salvation...all of our salvation rests in your hands...'
Bes looked to protest for the briefest of moments, and then nodded. There was no other choice. With a final look at his sister, Bes hopped 'sideways', departing Amenti for the places few could travel.
Serket smiled slightly. Bes was often underestimated by all in the Ennead, and Bes could go to *those places* that few could. There would be a chance....a chance after all. Serket stood for a moment, feeling the coldness ahead of her. Sekhmet had stopped fighting, and the tomb had grown silent. Only the footfalls of the approach made any noise. Sekmet readied herself, the smile fading as her eyes narrowed. It was Serket's time now...a time she embraced...if Nekhtet had whispered true.
It would all be up to Bes...and Bes's favorite beings....the dwellers of Earth.
----
Destined
Marscon 2016
Already the heavens ran with blood, and there was not anything that Bes could do about it. Bes, smallest of the gods ran with purpose, avoiding the destruction of Heliopolis and trying desperately to find Serket. Behind the little god the full rage of Set was on display. Bes had seen with his own eyes the rending of Ammit as Set tore the jaws of the devourer asunder, tossing them in the boundless pools of abzu. As Bes ran, he could not shut out the cries of the others, the gods who formed the line against the God of the Desert...for it was now clear Set's bloodlust would not be sated.
Bes rounded the pillared column of his home, seeking the signs of the great Imiut and the paths to the necropolis below. Bes knew that if any would have answers, it would be Serket...and Serket would consult the great god of mysteries Nekhtet. Cascades of light engulfed the palaces of the morning behind him, and it seemed to Bes that the skies themselves rained red with Set's vengeance.
Bes hopped down the stairs, emerging into the gloom of the funerary rooms. With sudden abruptness, Bes stopped, skidding to a halt at the feet of the amazonian and ferocious form of Sekhmet. Adorned with the crown of her station, Sekhmet roared at Bes, her claws glistening with the blood of immortals, and for the briefest moments, the lion-headed Bes debated crossing the warrior goddess - what choice did he have? Bes had to reach Serket.
'Let him pass sister' Serket added, pushing past the larger of the two. Although the scorpion goddess was dwarfed by Sekhmet, there was something about her words which soothed the larger lioness, and Bes found himself relieved. Sekhmet turned and paced the areas near the entrance to the tomb, as the shiny carapaced form of Serket moved forward.
'Serket...' Bes said, catching his breath, 'It is all lost! Ra is dead!' Bes began, his words tumbling free in a tone born of sorrow and caught between sobbing, 'Set has gone mad...he will kill us all...'
In response, Serket raised a hand to Bes, her eyes calm and cool, 'No brother Bes...collect yourself....hope is not lost. Set has not won this day....not yet'. Extending her other hand, Bes's eyes followed towards where she was pointing....the adjoining antechamber which glowed with an eeriness to it that even gods found fearful. Despite himself, Bes shuddered, looking from the chamber to Serket and back again.
Serket rose and walked forward, motioning for Bes to follow. Keeping pace with Serket, Bes marveled how he had never seen such things in all of Amenti...how such a chamber would be kept secret, even from one such as himself. The walls told the ancient story of Ra, the stories of the arrival...the birth...and even the rebirth of all of creation. Serket waited near the center of the room where a large tableau rested, her fingers tracing across the inlaid worksmanship.
'Is this-' Bes started to say, stopping as quickly as he realized the answer.
'Yes' Serket answered, her gaze never looking up, 'It is exactly what you think it is'
For a short time, there were no words exchanged between them, only the sounds of distant thunder...the battle had moved closer. Serket moved her hands expertly over the surface, activating secret latches as the sarcophagus opened. Bes's eyes grew large as he saw the sides open, revealing the great canopic box. Quietly Serket knelt and opened the box, the four jars resting inside.
With a mighty roar, both Bes and Serket turned towards the tomb. Sekhmet had entered battle, and both knew it would be a battle unto the death. Serket quickly moved her hands inside of the great sarcophagus and removed the large metallic plate, taking it and the jars up into a small bag.
'Here' Serket said quickly, thrusting the bag to Bes, 'Go...get these out of here....'
Bes failed for a moment to comprehend what was being asked of him. His hands held the bag as Serket turned towards the doorway. Already the din was becoming deafening...Sekhmet was still fighting, but it was a lost battle.
'Go where?' Bes said numbly, looking at Serket with the lost expression that he often had when tasked by the others, 'He is everywhere. He killed Ra...'
Serket turned for the briefest of moments, 'Go to the places we cannot Bes...you are the only one who can...warn who you can...our salvation...all of our salvation rests in your hands...'
Bes looked to protest for the briefest of moments, and then nodded. There was no other choice. With a final look at his sister, Bes hopped 'sideways', departing Amenti for the places few could travel.
Serket smiled slightly. Bes was often underestimated by all in the Ennead, and Bes could go to *those places* that few could. There would be a chance....a chance after all. Serket stood for a moment, feeling the coldness ahead of her. Sekhmet had stopped fighting, and the tomb had grown silent. Only the footfalls of the approach made any noise. Sekmet readied herself, the smile fading as her eyes narrowed. It was Serket's time now...a time she embraced...if Nekhtet had whispered true.
It would all be up to Bes...and Bes's favorite beings....the dwellers of Earth.
----
Destined
Marscon 2016
'Destined' prelude - Adventure blurb.
Less than ten days from the beginning of the end. Thought I would share the story so far blurb:
WARNING: Spoilers from previous and upcoming events...
Defenders International (DI) is the United Nations super team dedicated to thwarting global threats against the planet. Along with other super groups around the world, D.I. has prevented villains and primordial enemies from destroying the earth.
WARNING: Spoilers from previous and upcoming events...
Defenders International (DI) is the United Nations super team dedicated to thwarting global threats against the planet. Along with other super groups around the world, D.I. has prevented villains and primordial enemies from destroying the earth.
One year later…..
One year has passed since the events of Destroyed, where a power-mad dictator attempted to wipe-out mankind using a primordial weapon. While DI and other heroes succeeded, the victory was only a pyrrhic one. Crippled by The Destroyers, one of the worst villain groups the world had ever seen. DI emerged from the events changed. Long-time members Whiteflame and Rose Red are dead. The Massive space station called Shankra was damaged enough to crash into the Atlantic Ocean. The DI Leader, Michael Deckard, AKA Rook, has disappeared, but not before executing the leader of the Destroyers, Tactician. While the world celebrated victory and the final defeat of a great villain, the heroes responsible for its defense are barely functional.
A year has passed. In that period of time many events have occurred which have changed the course of mankind’s destiny. The legendary crime-fighter known as The Black Raven has died. Eight (8) gigantic alien ships have arrived on Earth, remnant species of ongoing space conflicts between the mighty star empires. The remnants are made of up of various species, all seeking shelter and offering both their scientific expertise and their technology. With apprehension, the new visitors were embraced, and overnight it seems that mankind has begun to look forward towards the stars for its destiny.
Villains around the world find themselves on the defensive. Marapulai, the tiny island nation in the Indian Ocean which served as a safe haven and hideout is no more. Metahuman heroes around the world seem further united in preventing meta-crime, and as such, only a handful of the most powerful villains dare to strike out against society. Many villains have simply disappeared, while others have retired from such activity. Those that remain are the most dangerous, working together in new ways to gain their criminals enterprises. Whispers of an old organization’s return bolster the surviving criminal’s activities…an organization called CHRONOS.
Upon the first anniversary of the defeat of King Croc, the second anniversary of the defeat of Lord Eclipse, and the fifth anniversary of the attack of the primordial weapon known as the Devourer, the surviving heroes are gathering for a quiet anniversary celebration. Little do they know that they will be determining the destiny of mankind and the fate of Earth in a few scant hours….
One year has passed since the events of Destroyed, where a power-mad dictator attempted to wipe-out mankind using a primordial weapon. While DI and other heroes succeeded, the victory was only a pyrrhic one. Crippled by The Destroyers, one of the worst villain groups the world had ever seen. DI emerged from the events changed. Long-time members Whiteflame and Rose Red are dead. The Massive space station called Shankra was damaged enough to crash into the Atlantic Ocean. The DI Leader, Michael Deckard, AKA Rook, has disappeared, but not before executing the leader of the Destroyers, Tactician. While the world celebrated victory and the final defeat of a great villain, the heroes responsible for its defense are barely functional.
A year has passed. In that period of time many events have occurred which have changed the course of mankind’s destiny. The legendary crime-fighter known as The Black Raven has died. Eight (8) gigantic alien ships have arrived on Earth, remnant species of ongoing space conflicts between the mighty star empires. The remnants are made of up of various species, all seeking shelter and offering both their scientific expertise and their technology. With apprehension, the new visitors were embraced, and overnight it seems that mankind has begun to look forward towards the stars for its destiny.
Villains around the world find themselves on the defensive. Marapulai, the tiny island nation in the Indian Ocean which served as a safe haven and hideout is no more. Metahuman heroes around the world seem further united in preventing meta-crime, and as such, only a handful of the most powerful villains dare to strike out against society. Many villains have simply disappeared, while others have retired from such activity. Those that remain are the most dangerous, working together in new ways to gain their criminals enterprises. Whispers of an old organization’s return bolster the surviving criminal’s activities…an organization called CHRONOS.
Upon the first anniversary of the defeat of King Croc, the second anniversary of the defeat of Lord Eclipse, and the fifth anniversary of the attack of the primordial weapon known as the Devourer, the surviving heroes are gathering for a quiet anniversary celebration. Little do they know that they will be determining the destiny of mankind and the fate of Earth in a few scant hours….
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Destined Prelude #4 - 'Origins'
Prehistory:
The act of creation was never subtle. The powers of heaven and earth parted and the light that shown wasn't as seen as it was felt - Gods in their final moments prior to birth. The twins, conceived in the ether of starlight skies and the eternity of Amenti were the strongest, none doubted this. One would be destined to rule - the most beloved - the bringing of rains and strong crops, while the other would subsist in the desert, a warrior to end all wars and to dwell in the eternal bliss of night.
Nut cried as the birthing pains began in earnest. Above as below, Ra watched with greater interest: Had not Ra decided upon the fate of the twins? Had not the will of Ra been determined? Had not the future been told? The firstborn would be mighty Osiris - The chosen...the blessed. The second born would be Set, born of darkness and destined to use Apep's wrath against those enemies who rose up in defiance of Ra's divine will. The order would be as it was foretold.
Nut cried out again, this time of agony. Ra's all-seeing eye could not perceive what was happening. The goddess again screamed. The birth was not going well. Even mighty Geb, towering like the mountains which stood against the walls of time could do nothing. Nut cried out a final time, before a greater blinding light emerged. It was not Osiris, but Set who emerged...against the will of Ra...breaking the destiny which had been placed upon him.
Prehistory:
The Ennead always met to discuss. Watchful always to their goals, Set's eyes often drifted to the promised of Osiris, the mysterious goddess whose skill had wrestled Ra's secret name. Although her twin Nephetys was identical physically to her, Nephetys was not the one Set desired. Set watched and quietly seethed as Ra proclaimed the union of Osiris and his wife, the union which would cement Osiris as the leader of the Ennead under Ra. As consolation, Set was given Nephetys.
The deserts burned in a reflection of their master's ire. Set watched in silence as promises were made and pacts forged. Although anger flowed into his heart, it was not anger that he felt for Osiris...Set knew that it was hate...a hate born from destiny.
Time passed and Osiris, ever-trusting Osiris made the mistake everyone had before him: They assumed Set was not as clever...not as willful....or as willing....to do what was unthinkable. The Ennead had forgotten Set's bid for freedom, Set's desire for that they thought was rulership....the Ennead and especially Ra had forgotten what Set truly desired. It was Osiris that paid the price....duped easily, cast asunder by angry hands which knew only hate now. Ra stared blindly down upon the scene, and yet, it wasn't Ra who sought judgment, it was the only being who Set truly cared for...preferring her dead husband to his own company.
If he was to be the villain, so be it.
Prehistory:
The deserts and kingdom knew nothing but war. War between gods as Horus and Set battled. A stalemate beyond stalemates. Righteous Vengeance between Great Darkness....but then, had it not always been such? Horus had sacrificed willingly his soldiers for some greater advantage...while Set did not need to sacrifice. Both battled until Ra finally had intervened. Restoring Osiris and creating the great prison, it was Set who had to be punished...but not killed. Ra knew Set was the only one to stop Aphosis...knew that Set would have a purpose...that was his chosen destiny.
Set meanwhile never stopped looking at the queen. Even as parents, siblings, enemies, and allies were brought before him, it was not Set's desire to hear their words. It was the queen's face, the contours he knew by his heart that kept his attention. The queen's eyes never looked up, never met his save for the pronouncement of judgment. Set understood at once that his punishment was a matter of convenience...the villain had to be punished in the eyes of so-called 'fairness' of Ra.
Millennium Ago:
Imprisoned in darkness, the wounds that rested upon Set's Ka festered. Alone and drawn out only when needed, Set's anger grew until it could no longer simply be contained. There was no peace in the deep shadow - instead there were constant reminders of his role. There would be need and then he would be returned....always to be banished when his services were no longer necessary. Destiny was what Ra said...it was Set's destiny.
1986:
Free from imprisonment, Set was uncertain as to the nature of the world he had emerged. The weakness of humanity seemed to wash over him. The nature of humanity made them little more than pets upon the banks of the mother river....Osiris's chosen. One prison had been exchanged for another...only this time, Set could feel the eyes of the Ennead upon him. It was expected he would be the villain, and villains were conquerors. Whispers from ill-informed worship and ignorant prayers reached his ears, and Set found willingness to become the darkness.
1991:
Facing the new gods upon their own fields, Set saw the same darkness and rage in their eyes....burning white-hot amid the calls for heroism. There was nothing different...no difference than the roles they were expected to play....except....some were different. Some resisted their roles...their...destinies. It was that distraction which gave him pause - It wasn't from the powers of darkness Set learned of resistance to destiny - it was the heroes who actively resisted Set's own will.
2009:
Set watched as they needed him. The heroes, different faces and different bodies but the same souls reached forward to grasp what they could not begin to understand. Did they understand the contempt Ra had for them? They were nothing short of ants amid the fields of giants. Did they not see that to stop the one would bring the other? It mattered not. Something had taken hold inside of him, reawakening him to the ancient fires that had long since been cooled by the passages of time. Inside of Set burned something new...greater hate...greater need. The queen looked at him with promise and then darted away, returning to her king of the dead...again chosen despite the sacrifices Set had made.
2014:
From the prison Set watched the events play out. The upstart sought to remake everything using the ancient forms of the Celestial Mechanics. Set's hand trembled with rage. Ra was blind to such things once again, allowing the chosen few to understand such basic principles. The Red Shift covered the multiverse for a moment, almost telling him not to intervene 'or else'. It was the 'or else' which made Set angry enough to destroy the prison. The rage filled him like nothing else in his entire existence. Destiny was not something that would be denied him....he would change everything.
2015:
Had Ra known, certainly something would have been done. It was such a brutal moment between the two that no one among the Ennead could foresee. Shock turned to fear among their faces...none believed Set capable of such a fact...but Set had watched...waited....biding his time and learning the secrets Lord Eclipse failed to discover. Ra's true name revealed brought the being into focus, and from there, once defined by the will of Set, destroyed. The rage was too much now...it could not be simply consumed by the death of the instigator....reality itself was the razor-edged knife which cut every inch of him, and Set would no longer be denied his revenge upon it. Even the endlessly eternal feared what would happen: None saw the darkness in Set's Ka clearly - Set had time enough to conceal his Ka from all concerned - He would bathe existence in oblivion.
This was not due to a need to conquer.
Set wanted to see all things perish and feel the pain he had felt.
Set wanted his destiny. Set wanted revenge. Set wanted no crown or empire. Set would simply end everything.
Set would be Destined.
______
Destined
Marscon 2016
The act of creation was never subtle. The powers of heaven and earth parted and the light that shown wasn't as seen as it was felt - Gods in their final moments prior to birth. The twins, conceived in the ether of starlight skies and the eternity of Amenti were the strongest, none doubted this. One would be destined to rule - the most beloved - the bringing of rains and strong crops, while the other would subsist in the desert, a warrior to end all wars and to dwell in the eternal bliss of night.
Nut cried as the birthing pains began in earnest. Above as below, Ra watched with greater interest: Had not Ra decided upon the fate of the twins? Had not the will of Ra been determined? Had not the future been told? The firstborn would be mighty Osiris - The chosen...the blessed. The second born would be Set, born of darkness and destined to use Apep's wrath against those enemies who rose up in defiance of Ra's divine will. The order would be as it was foretold.
Nut cried out again, this time of agony. Ra's all-seeing eye could not perceive what was happening. The goddess again screamed. The birth was not going well. Even mighty Geb, towering like the mountains which stood against the walls of time could do nothing. Nut cried out a final time, before a greater blinding light emerged. It was not Osiris, but Set who emerged...against the will of Ra...breaking the destiny which had been placed upon him.
Prehistory:
The Ennead always met to discuss. Watchful always to their goals, Set's eyes often drifted to the promised of Osiris, the mysterious goddess whose skill had wrestled Ra's secret name. Although her twin Nephetys was identical physically to her, Nephetys was not the one Set desired. Set watched and quietly seethed as Ra proclaimed the union of Osiris and his wife, the union which would cement Osiris as the leader of the Ennead under Ra. As consolation, Set was given Nephetys.
The deserts burned in a reflection of their master's ire. Set watched in silence as promises were made and pacts forged. Although anger flowed into his heart, it was not anger that he felt for Osiris...Set knew that it was hate...a hate born from destiny.
Time passed and Osiris, ever-trusting Osiris made the mistake everyone had before him: They assumed Set was not as clever...not as willful....or as willing....to do what was unthinkable. The Ennead had forgotten Set's bid for freedom, Set's desire for that they thought was rulership....the Ennead and especially Ra had forgotten what Set truly desired. It was Osiris that paid the price....duped easily, cast asunder by angry hands which knew only hate now. Ra stared blindly down upon the scene, and yet, it wasn't Ra who sought judgment, it was the only being who Set truly cared for...preferring her dead husband to his own company.
If he was to be the villain, so be it.
Prehistory:
The deserts and kingdom knew nothing but war. War between gods as Horus and Set battled. A stalemate beyond stalemates. Righteous Vengeance between Great Darkness....but then, had it not always been such? Horus had sacrificed willingly his soldiers for some greater advantage...while Set did not need to sacrifice. Both battled until Ra finally had intervened. Restoring Osiris and creating the great prison, it was Set who had to be punished...but not killed. Ra knew Set was the only one to stop Aphosis...knew that Set would have a purpose...that was his chosen destiny.
Set meanwhile never stopped looking at the queen. Even as parents, siblings, enemies, and allies were brought before him, it was not Set's desire to hear their words. It was the queen's face, the contours he knew by his heart that kept his attention. The queen's eyes never looked up, never met his save for the pronouncement of judgment. Set understood at once that his punishment was a matter of convenience...the villain had to be punished in the eyes of so-called 'fairness' of Ra.
Millennium Ago:
Imprisoned in darkness, the wounds that rested upon Set's Ka festered. Alone and drawn out only when needed, Set's anger grew until it could no longer simply be contained. There was no peace in the deep shadow - instead there were constant reminders of his role. There would be need and then he would be returned....always to be banished when his services were no longer necessary. Destiny was what Ra said...it was Set's destiny.
1986:
Free from imprisonment, Set was uncertain as to the nature of the world he had emerged. The weakness of humanity seemed to wash over him. The nature of humanity made them little more than pets upon the banks of the mother river....Osiris's chosen. One prison had been exchanged for another...only this time, Set could feel the eyes of the Ennead upon him. It was expected he would be the villain, and villains were conquerors. Whispers from ill-informed worship and ignorant prayers reached his ears, and Set found willingness to become the darkness.
1991:
Facing the new gods upon their own fields, Set saw the same darkness and rage in their eyes....burning white-hot amid the calls for heroism. There was nothing different...no difference than the roles they were expected to play....except....some were different. Some resisted their roles...their...destinies. It was that distraction which gave him pause - It wasn't from the powers of darkness Set learned of resistance to destiny - it was the heroes who actively resisted Set's own will.
2009:
Set watched as they needed him. The heroes, different faces and different bodies but the same souls reached forward to grasp what they could not begin to understand. Did they understand the contempt Ra had for them? They were nothing short of ants amid the fields of giants. Did they not see that to stop the one would bring the other? It mattered not. Something had taken hold inside of him, reawakening him to the ancient fires that had long since been cooled by the passages of time. Inside of Set burned something new...greater hate...greater need. The queen looked at him with promise and then darted away, returning to her king of the dead...again chosen despite the sacrifices Set had made.
2014:
From the prison Set watched the events play out. The upstart sought to remake everything using the ancient forms of the Celestial Mechanics. Set's hand trembled with rage. Ra was blind to such things once again, allowing the chosen few to understand such basic principles. The Red Shift covered the multiverse for a moment, almost telling him not to intervene 'or else'. It was the 'or else' which made Set angry enough to destroy the prison. The rage filled him like nothing else in his entire existence. Destiny was not something that would be denied him....he would change everything.
2015:
Had Ra known, certainly something would have been done. It was such a brutal moment between the two that no one among the Ennead could foresee. Shock turned to fear among their faces...none believed Set capable of such a fact...but Set had watched...waited....biding his time and learning the secrets Lord Eclipse failed to discover. Ra's true name revealed brought the being into focus, and from there, once defined by the will of Set, destroyed. The rage was too much now...it could not be simply consumed by the death of the instigator....reality itself was the razor-edged knife which cut every inch of him, and Set would no longer be denied his revenge upon it. Even the endlessly eternal feared what would happen: None saw the darkness in Set's Ka clearly - Set had time enough to conceal his Ka from all concerned - He would bathe existence in oblivion.
This was not due to a need to conquer.
Set wanted to see all things perish and feel the pain he had felt.
Set wanted his destiny. Set wanted revenge. Set wanted no crown or empire. Set would simply end everything.
Set would be Destined.
______
Destined
Marscon 2016
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Destined Prelude #3 - Rituals
Each breath was an exercise in pain.
No, it was not the physical pain. His youth nearly restored, Michael Deckard felt nearly in the top shape a man in his late thirties *should* feel like. The pain was more emotional...more spiritual...a personal sort of pain that seemingly blinded him at times.
It had been nearly ten months since Deckard had become a widower.
In the line of work that he had chosen, the real possibility of loss was a constant. Despite the danger, The Deckards had enjoyed thirty years together, raised a family, and had contemplated a time finally away from "The life". Privately, the Deckards had planned it would be Michael who passed first....it had been the logical conclusion.
Then Siberia. The mission. The old enemies. The fatalistic moment when the trap was sprung. They had argued the morning that Elizabeth had taken the team to Russia. It was about the seeming obsession Michael had developed. They parted angry...they did not say goodbye....they didn't look at one another. It was a moment of anger which felt like all the other times - would be resolved when the day ended and they sought comfort in each other.
Instead, Elizabeth had died, leaving Michael unprepared for what was to come next. It took weeks to recover enough of their 'home' to sort belongings. Although to all parties concerned, he had resumed his activities and role albeit low-keyed, there was something different. Those who really knew him, the five or so people within his inner circle knew something was wrong...the signs were ever-present. To those who worked for him, there was no change - obsessive behavior which seemingly was blinded by the inability to see the damage done.
Every morning he rose at the same time. Michael was getting used to sleeping alone, the coldness which took up the place where Elizabeth slept. Her scents were still on the pillows, hanging languidly in the air amid their room. It was the worst, waking up and moving through the remnants of a shared life. Michael would spend moments trying to recall the daily rituals each would do, but found that with Elizabeth gone, the memories were like the scents - fading into the background of the waking world.
Things were far harder now. Michael had fallen into the repetition of work, and the old familiar temptations seemed to creep more into his active mind. While his will was strong, the source of his strength had been crippled - although he had masterfully kept it hidden, the pain was always present, draining his resolve.
The days seemed shorter, and the nights, often sleepless, lingered longer. If Amadeus Van Brandt had hoped to kill Michael Deckard he had succeeded, for the waking death was far worse than the actual event. Perhaps that was what Van Brandt really wanted - a sort of endless suffering that Deckard could never escape from. Now all Deckard had left was his job, and in that, he could feel himself disengaging despite evidence otherwise. The real problem was that no one could see it. Was it redemption now? Was that the mission Deckard threw himself into? It mattered little - Without her, nothing really mattered.
Running across the beach and along the paths in the jungle, it was simple mechanics of motion and effort. It was as if he were dead, and for a long time Michael Deckard quietly prayed it would be so...maybe then, if he had balanced his books right with a lifetime of service, he'd see his wife again.
If it were only that simple.....
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Destined: Prelude #2
Throughout the eons, he had walked. When the stars winked into existence, he was present to record their first moments. Although he had recorded all of the moments, he had never paused nor wondered - for there was nothing he could not know or did not understand. The notion of a new experience had never crossed his mind. Indeed, he was not expected to do more than chronicle, for it was what the eternity of elemental forces and endless beings did. Therefore, when he arrived at the moment that he would witness, it became clear nothing was right.
The golden fields lay ablaze, providing the only warmth and light amid the winter's sun. He first made observation that it should not be winter, than the snows of the far frozen realms of Ymir should not intrude so far south...and that the stench and strewn bodies of the fallen should not be present. Ragnarok was not intended, but the dead and dying lay in the snow - the broken bodies of gods, goddesses, and other creatures, and none of it should be.
He felt it for the first time, that terrible sensation he knew of alarm, but had never had reason to feel it. Although he appeared as a human, it was how he was perceived amid the faceted dimensions...and should not be prone to their failings. Yet, there was something here....something he knew was wrong. It was not scheduled, it was not part of the order. Even when Eclipse seized the Celestial Mechanics of the universe, it had purpose, it made sense...it was foreseen. The view he looked upon made no sense, made no purpose...was unknown.
For a moment, he perceived through dark glasses the dark god Set, standing amid the destruction and chaos, the unmoving director of the shadows which consumed and fed on the Asgardians. The ancient book was quickly consulted, and for the first time since the explosion that brought the myriad into existence, the Chronicler paused.
'Is there something not in your magic book, elder?' The Egyptian God's voice echoed over the battlefield. For a moment, the Chronicler was at a loss....to be perceived unwillingly was something that was rare indeed, but to be discovered while outside the normal din of reality and dreaming was far...different.
'Allow me to repeat...' Set added, 'Something not in your magic book? Something not in your celestial order? Perhaps you need to consult the rest of the endlessly eternal beings for guidance....'
The Chronicler new well enough the pages would be blank...the Egyptian had somehow subverted the order and balance of destiny. Rather than make a show of such to placate the god's ego, The Chronicler nodded,
'Such a disruption will not go unnoticed, Set' The Chronicler said in his matter-of-fact tone, 'No doubt Ra has already Dispatched Apep and the others'
'Always seeing but eternally blind...' Set retorted, turning to face the Chronicler for the first time, 'No...I have no worries of that'
'You should' The Chronicler answered, 'It is doubtful Ra would be so pleasant a jailer next time...'
'I doubt that very much...' Set began, 'Nor would I concern myself with Apep or Aphosis...'
The Chronicler turned his head slightly. Such an answer was certain, no hesitation. The carnage burned around them, and even the other elemental forces of the universe seemed to pause.
'And why is that?' The Chronicler asked, as if bored by the answer.
'For they are in oblivion, Narrator....' Set answered, tossing down the remnants of Ra's eye, 'Where you shall join them...'
The Chronicler was beyond such actions. Like the great Ender, the Dream-Maker, and others, to suggest that the Chronicler was simply an appearance of a function would not be too far from the truth...and yet....pain...a concept the Chronicler had understood and witnessed, but never experienced....until now.
The battle was all-too brief. For the first time, The Chronicler experienced the terrible things that were foretold....and Set....no longer a mad god, stood supreme, the door to Yggdrasil opened. In the fatal moment, the moment of the Chronicler's own ending, the visions were all too clear:
Set was going to destroy them all.
___________________________
Destined DI 30th Marscon 2016
www.marscon.net
January 15 - 17th, 2016.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Destined Prelude 1: The Desert
Despite
the auto-cooled systems within the armor, the heat was nearly
unbearable. What breeze there was only cut the faintest edge across the
Saharan dunes, stirring up small dust devils and reflecting the swelter.
He had been walking for nearly an hour, moving methodically across the
barren landscape with such mechanical cadence someone might have
mistaken him for a drone at distance.
His armor, normally
green and gold was now in chameleon mode, reflecting dull browns and
yellows while shifting subtle tones to blend him into the environment.
He stopped, checking the GPS systems to gain his bearings. In doing so,
he saw a snake slither nearby....a desert horned viper, known for its
unique venom and 13 separate types of toxins. For a moment, he kneeled,
looking at the snake as it moved, turning his head to watch quickly
depart across another dune. As he turned back towards his targeted
direction, he stopped...
Across the dunes, hundreds of
snakes slithered towards him, a roiling mass of serpentine bodies that
was made up of a variety of species - moorish vipers....saw-scaled
vipers....spitting cobras....hundreds if not thousands, slithering away
from the direction he was headed towards. Rather than wade through the
mass, he remained still, allowing the snakes to pass him by. There was
no doubt in his mind if there ever was - He was near the target site.
After
ten minutes, he moved through the shifting sands to the top of the
dune. The site came into clarity directly in front of him - an immense
bowl of blackened sand, blasted to a dull ebony color. The pyramid, for
that's all it could be, rested in the center of the desolated area, He
paused, there was no reason to move forward...and it was the first time
he actually felt a sense of coldness... a numbing chill which passed
over him. It reminded him of a quiet memory of childhood - Seeing the
movies of ancient temples and lost Arks, and the eerie music that played
when the artifacts were uncovered. If it were possible to feel fear, it
was those moments that quietly affected him...but the reality was far
different. He stood watching the light disappear into the mass of black
sand and darkened limestone....as much a tomb as what it really was...a
prison.
He took a few tentative steps forward, finding the
sensors in the armor reporting a drop in ambient temperature of around
30 degrees. The clouds seemed to darken slightly to his perception...as
if he had stepped out of a desert and into an overcast afternoon near
the beach...but there was nothing friendly about the outing, and the
destination loomed like a leering gargoyle at him. He moved forward,
noticing in his perception that the remains of the 1986 expedition camp
sat undisturbed. For a moment, he debated going over....but there was
something that stopped him. Although he could not place a finger on what
it was that made him pause, he knew if he proceeded he would join the
unfortunate members of that expedition, and his mission was more direct.
Turning away from the diversion of the ruined camp, he proceeded
quietly towards the pyramid.
His first steps into the
pyramid echoed down the long entrance. Although open to the elements,
there was no build-up of sand nor debris. He didn't really expect there
to be such - The place wasn't of mortal man, and he could feel a dull
presence that seemed to slow everything in its awareness. In that
moment, he understood why he had been chosen for the mission...he had
shown remarkable resistance to such things...he had survived more than
his share of calamities and enemies, and it was his ability to evade and
escape such dangers which bordered on the supernatural. Normally, that
sixth sense which existed to warn him of trouble would be a dull noise
in his head....but now...now it was screaming. Nothing about the mission
was safe, he knew that...but it seemed foolhardy to move forward.
Girding the reserves of willpower, he moved forward in to the darkness.
It
seemed forever to move forward in the darkness. He struck a light-stick
and dropped it, moving another 200 yards before doing the same. He had
done this four times before he found the first one, and realized he was
moving in a circle. It didn't make sense...nothing about the darkness or
the interior pyramid did...but he warned for that. He moved forward a
few steps, the stopped...quirking his head slightly. Taking a step back,
he turned and moved back the way he came. Within a few moments, he
stood in a long corridor, outlined in glyphic images and writings. He
spent a few moments moving down each section, photographing with his
helmet's interior cameras while taking the necessary readings. He didn't
understand half of what he was recording, not out of ignorance, but the
sheer alien nature of tools. It was a good thirty minutes of intense
study before he reached the wall at far end of the section. There he
stood, facing a black wall - dull in years with only a single heiroglyph
in its center.
His fingers moved out, tracing it for a
moment and checking tactile surface readings. It wasn't stone, it wasn't
metal...it was something...else. The hand-held system attempted to
trace the material through the periodic table and the alien
cross-section element guide, but nothing known on Earth or twelve
surrounding star systems even came close. It would be a puzzle for the
scientists back at the lab, his work was finished.
He heard
something quietly behind him, and he turned to see a similarly clad
figure....riddled with bullets and other wounds. For a moment, he
stopped moving. The figure helmet, split from force had cracked just
enough that he could see an eye looking through the visor, looking at
him with a maliciousness that wasn't human. He knew what he was looking
at - an impossibility that bordered on the mad or a victim of MvRS, but
part of him knew it wasn't either.
'Thief' was all it said,
pointing a jagged finger forward, a reminder of something that only
three people should know about. The revenant stood silently, a witness
to an unsaid crime, and for a moment, neither moved. Finally, the image
faded, it had served its purpose...but still...there wasn't any
movement. With effort, steps were taken, footfalls moved forward, and it
wasn't until waning daylight of the outside that he felt himself
swallow hard. It wasn't a ghost...it was a reminder... a reminder of the
secrets he had to carry. He moved over the blackened landscape, over
the dune, and the hour south through the desert towards extraction. It
wasn't until he reached the extraction point that he actually stopped
moving. As the scarab-ship landed, he moved into the back, saying
nothing to the pilot, instead falling to the jump seat.
_______
DESTINED
January 15 - 17, 2016
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