Extinction and Exodus

[Futsuriai]

… stopped so. When was he? He could barely move yet felt no pain, he could see himself, almost, as if detached from his body. Perhaps he was. He could not know. A vague recollection of the events leading up to the crippled black form, no, to his being in the too-pristine meadow in . . . he could not have said where. Flashes of light, a sinister magical presence whose depth he had been unable to fathom, a laugh so malevolent as to cause fear in the fearless. Unbalance? No, that was not it, it was smaller and less worrying, yet worrying and larger. Thinking was useless. It was dark, too dark. He could not see a thing.

Was it time?

How long had he waited in the barren cliffs? He could not know. His black figure lay unmoving yet there was nothing odd about that, nothing was moving. Nothing? The idea worried him, where was it? It could not have found him there, not again. Yet he wondered if it mattered if it had. It would have, he knew, or thought, it was hard to tell, thinking was almost a futile endeavor. The light was overwhelming, he could not see a thing.

No.

Memory, it was there but not there. He knew that, however something else was missing not of days before days and places without distances, something where recent made sense and where nearby could. It was still muddled and hard to truly grasp, the empty void utterly surrounding him, enveloping him, but, no, the void cannot envelop as it is naught. Naught? Where? He could not turn around to see, of course, yet it was not there. How could he have when movement was not there and things were both eternal and instantaneous? Yet the idea of a powerful nothing haunted his oddly conscious mind, how could a nothing be more powerful than another? He could no longer see himself. But that was normal, there was no light, no dark, he could not see a thing.

Was it time?

A breeze, he thought he felt, yet how could that be? Questions were more numerous than thoughts, he realized, yet questions were thoughts, were they not? Something was wrong, that much was apparent in his disjointed mind. Though even of this he was not sure maybe this was his mind. Yet he was. Light. No, not light. Movement, perhaps? No that was ridiculous, movement needed time, implied change. Change was impossible. Yet his thoughts moved, evolved and changed, did they not? So many questions. He could not find the answers but how could he? He could not see a thing.

No. Not yet.

It was absurd to be think when time was not there but it made sense, somehow. Around him there was not nothing yet not something for nothing is, in a very real way, a something. Paradoxes. Yes, that was where he was but he did not care for the where’s, where’s were irrelevant. When’s, he needed when’s. Most mortals could not easily think in when’s, when’s being less pivotal than where’s since they could change their where’s more easily than their when’s which by design were forever shifting forward. In that instant he saw himself, he had been moved sideways, what was an instant in a timeless place? It was, then, no wonder he could barely see a thing.

Was it time?

The questions cycled yet they kept going back to that one. Meaningless. Something was wrong, he knew. He knew he had known, too, but not realized it before. Before? In the memories, he corrected. Now, with time (no, not time) to think he had finally felt it deeply. It hurt though he felt no pain. He needed to fix this. Need could not exist without time, as time made need. Tautological? Yes but what isn’t? He needed need. Ironic. Was it time? Many things made sense without a dimension of space, few without that of time. Were there other dimensions of time? Somewheres. In the same way sometimes had more than one of space. Yet almost always mind prioritized space and forgot time until it betrayed them.

It was time to awaken. But he could still not see a thing. When was he? He was finally now, he realized. Where did not matter any more. Gray eyes opened to a world of stars. Why was he? Thought. Futsuriai. He knew that was who he was, who he would always be yet that hardly mattered when his why was so vague. Fix. Fix what? Himself, yes, but something else. Magic, his magic was odd. Reacting to nothing? No, never to nothing. He was awake yet still perplexed. Disorganized as his thoughts were he was slowly putting them back together. So many questions and few certainties. One above all the others urged him, however.

It was time.

It was cool, he felt wind against the ragged cloak; it felt neither good nor bad. It was black as the sky, he noted. Beneath lay an outfit just as dark, elegant but functional. He let out air as he got up, his spry body feeling lighter than an odd weight on his left. A glossy black sheath, yes, inlays of silver reflected the dim starlight; almost mesmerizing save for the need. His mind was still thinking too abruptly. It was unavoidable yet he was unable to mend it faster. Again. His thoughts ended and began. They did not seem to meld together very often.

He was walking, he realized. It was a powerful gait yet not heavy, light, lithe, liquid yet solid. A good poise. A swordsman’s poise. He, Futsuriai, noticed. He walked towards nothing, never nothing, he was nowhere so it made sense. He entered the ruins, he then realized there were ruins nearby. The horse at his side neighed softly, a horse was with him he took all these things in stride. He knew how little he knew and yet he also knew things were ultimately logical. Knowing this he got on the horse, it was what he should do.

He let his steed weave a path, an instinctive path, through the ruins. He could, he realized, have woven through them blindfolded yet it seemed Anemos, his horse’s name, was similarly attuned. Above, he saw, a storm frozen by the tundra watched them approach its center without a single drop falling, more a marker than a storm yet he had the feeling a storm would break soon. Soon, the word made sense again. When hadn’t it? Before, no, yes, before he moved sideways.

He turned back once more, beyond the ruins; beyond the tundra’s white and grey. The reserve of magic within him was aligned, like a magnet aligned iron fillings, to what lay at an almost palpable distance. Magic. It must have been the cause of his timeless prison. As he neared the epicenter of so much power he softly began to hum to himself, ‘Horizon’s End’, a soft and bleak tune. A tune he had never heard.

He was paralyzed atop Anemos, the horse oddly serene as if he could feel only a gentle ocean lapping his toes with every wave in a placid shore while Futsuriai stood beneath every glorious crest of a storm he realized was breaking invisibly. The ruins pulsed with every wave, pulses of extraordinary power, power beyond comprehension. It was beyond sight but brutal, powerful enough, even, to move someone sideways. He was someone, he was Futsuriai but he did not know why he was.

As if walking into the eye of a storm it all stopped, the inner storm, the outer storm still looming in repressed magnificence and below them all the insignificant moving creatures amidst the forsaken grandeur of ruins. He had shuddered when the sensation left and he looked straight towards the ruins’ center almost instinctively. It was gone, he did not know why nor why it had started so it did not matter except it did. It mattered more than anything. Timelessly he had had questions but not answers, now, perhaps, he could seek answers.

It was time, but for what?

[Oracle of Jomil]

The sky was heavy with snow, the clouds dangerously low and threatening yet another blizzard. Eisa was barely taller than the snow as it was, and if it snowed anymore she'd be buried in it. Not that she didn't bury herself in the snow everytime one of the massive arctic beasts came snuffling along in her direction. The cold wasn't what bothered her, it was the wind blowing through her like the sharpest of blades, and the nauseating hunger pangs that stabbed at her belly.

But she couldn't stop walking. She couldn't give up. Every night, with the rising of the moon, she'd had the same vision. A man in a black cloak, riding a horse, standing in snow-covered ruins under a crystal-clear sky, tapestried with a million stars. The vision was so real, that she couldn't deny that she was meant to find this man, whoever, whatever, he was.

At first she didn't know exactly how she knew where the ruins were. She just walked through the endless silence, fumbling through countless snow drifts that left her wondering if Jomil was even aware her blessed one existed anymore. Everything had been taken away from the prophet. The priests who had raised her, the man who was her ears and her voice, everything that was her home had all been left in tattered shambles while she hid in the snow at the base of the largest monolith in the Icehenge. Tears turned to ice on alabaster cheeks as the girl continued on, unable to stop. It was nearly a week, as far as Eisa could tell, before she realized that a tugging energy accompanied her visions, pulling her to what she knew would be the right place.

Something was going to happen there. And Jomil must want her there, else the girl wouldn't have been blessed with these unending visions of the dark man in the ruins. Barely surviving on a meager diet of whatever roots she could tug from the frozen ground and the half-eaten remains of snowshoe hairs and arctic foxes that had been left by other much larger creatures, Eisa trudged on for days.

The sun was setting behind dark clouds when Eisa collapsed in front of the ruins. She'd been travelling for three weeks as close as she could tell. But her journey ended here. If she died now, it didn't matter, so long as she lived long enough to see her vision into reality. There was no question that it would happen - they always did. She wished they didn't. Or that at least the priests would have always taken heed of what she saw. Deaf and dumb, the only person who understood the signs she made to tell of her visions was Galas, and he along with all the other priests had been killed by the N'jallian spider magi. And no one had believed her when she'd warned them of the impending danger.

It was always exactly as she saw it in her visions. So Eisa stood, knee-deep, in the snow, her tattered robes blowing around her in the wind, her tangled black curls falling limp around her face, golden eyes staring at the place she knew he'd emerge at any moment.

It was time.

[Futsuriai]

Vague memories, a song, a word. Flashes of knowledge lost, it was hard to make sense of them. The breeze grew stronger yet it caused him no discomfort, who he was was not altered by it, his why likely unaffected rendering it a mere detail to take into account. He had no need to shield himself from the elements, his cloak was dry – the cold barely afflicted him but this had not always been so. His mind was also different, odd that he could tell, but not odd. Things made sense. Few mortals believed that but that was because they lived in where's, nothing forced things to make sense in the now, most of them only made sense at either end of eternity. He could wait.

A storm? It was still there unbroken, the light of stars illuminating from its periphery. He had a horse, he knew that this time and it was walking towards the center. There were ruins near him, he remembered, not knew spontaneously. The buildings were ravaged by time but pristine in their death throes, white marble, dark marble, unblemished smooth stones preserved without dulling their appearance. Weather. It had worn everything down yet it all stood, waiting, waiting for millennia. For him? He knew the truth of that without evidence to support it save the thought, the thought was evidence enough for a being of his nature. He was no man. He was Futsuriai. He still did not know why he was.

There was no darkness though too little light came from the sky, it did not trouble him. Things made sense. His eyes pierced the ruins searching for what they sought, then a being. No, that is not what they sought. It was inside the snow up to the knees, judging from its appearance this was not voluntary. His eyes glazed over the creature, it did not interest him; it could offer no insight into why he was. He paused. He had been wrong, it was wrong to say it could not do this, he amended: it could or could not offer insight. He had no problem accepting that he did not know a fact, no problem accepting certain facts he could not know. At a timelike infinity he would know everything, was that his why? Perhaps.

Another why came to him, he did not know the now's why; a much less important why, surely, but another unanswered one. He looked around once more, he knew the ruins, he knew the world. He knew he did not know his purpose on it but he successfully recalled he had sent himself, more than that, he remembered it was he who had hidden so much behind a veil; not the he before the sideways, the he before the arrival. This had bothered him when things bothered him, now it was something else he could safely ignore; he knew his motives must have been rational.

His thoughts split, the outside world could not be ignored while he remembered but he could not afford to forget. Outside there was the being which might or might not know some answer. Inside there was the veil. Outside there were possible answer, inside both questions and hidden answers. His bifurcated thoughts considered his past, answers lay there, they also considered what lay within the ruins. Not sequentially, simultaneously. The threads of conscious were dissimilar yet linked, his mind was not limited to one stream. This was from before, after the arrival, before the sideways. The outside had priority now, mortals did not have the patience he had.

"Do you know why I am?" he asked without speaking. The horse had paused, Futsuriai did not know the reason for this but the Anemos, its name, did – that was enough. He did not speak, he could speak, but saw no use in doing so. Communicating between minds was more practical, he knew – though – that many beings found it unsettling. His mind was too discontinuous still to have attempted it, after this thought came the further realization that his wording was too direct for most. Mortals enjoyed padding conversation with useless formalities and conventions, he knew this but had not then.

The being in the snow. Lapses in his thoughts were empty, the lapses shortened and lengthened unpredictably, not unpredictably but presently so. Anemos, his horse, had started moving slowly towards the center, the being was towards the center. Glimmers of gold struck him not from the buildings, its eyes. His eyes met them with a cool intensity. Grey on gold, unblinkingly. It was disheveled, weak, small but alive. The ruins had called him forth, it stood to reason the call had been heard by others. Another why he did not know, few had enough magic to call him back as few had had to banish him. He knew who had cast him sideways; he knew but did not seek revenge, he knew but did not fear. He feared nothing. Nothing? Where, when? Grey on gold.

[Ozmodious]

"Nature should never be patented and shipped across the world inside of a crate. We learned that the hard way." - Former Spokesman of the Yzæk's Pharmaceutical Division

---------------------------

"Eshep in ten. . ", a loud buzzing voice droned through the greasy, fat lips that hung on the ceiling serving as a one-way intercom. Strapped to a chair by thick, bluish vines sat the premier of the R & D. Staring through the fleshy membrane that was the only thing separating the crack-team of experts, or so he had been told, from the noontime rays of the sun. Sitting all around him various project directors, up-and-coming lab assistants, and even the premier from the Botanist Research Department, Tyla Eiir sat busy with conversation. Feeling the wet oozing ground under his feet with a squish, the biomancer wished nothing but to be back in his laboratory tinkering with his crucibles of madness. Madij Abarrik wanted to be any where but here.

"Nine. . .”

It must be a mistake, the goblin repeated again and again in his mind as he came to grips with what was going on. The joint-department project that the biomancer had mused aloud in front of a very influential member of the newly formed Public Relations tribunal rang in his ears. The crawlspace that was the center of command for where Madij and his fellow scientists waited patiently seemed to grow smaller by the second. The longer the premier thought about it, the more he detested the person who got him involved in this. The pudgy bastard will be sitting in Salvar till' the end of time once this is over, the goblin vowed to himself.

"Eight. . .”

Beads of sweat began to drip down the goblin's multicolor forehead as he glanced nervously to his fellow premier. Madij was the only one who had to be strapped down, but as he watched the lead Botanist joke with her personal lab director, the goblin's expression began to soften. It hadn't been the first time he had worked with Tyla Eiir and every time they put their heads together it usually resulted in a death or two of nameless lab assistants the goblin hadn't even bothered to get to know. It was always a pleasure to have her at his side, the biomancer decided, and if there was one person in the Cabal who could get the premier of the R & D to chat, it was her, for better or for worse.

"Seven. . .”

Glancing nervously around him, the goblin began to bite at his nails in a panic as the memories of everything leading up to this came flooding back to him. From the 'Blackboard Pow-wows' to the tests he had personally selected various unlucky lab assistants to head, each yielding mixed results. But something bothered him; something kept coming back to his mind that made the premier feel uneasy. The sound of eager chirps and guttural utterances slipped into the premier's ear as his protector Grux and a fellow mutant attempted to understand each other, each sitting behind the goblin. Although the goblin knew it was futile he decided to let the mutants enjoy their bliss of ignorance while it lasted.

"Six. . .”

But as the goblin took in the idle chatter, the curious buzz coming from the outside, and even Eiir's curious laughter the premier kept coming back to the conversation he had with that fatheaded, big mouthed project director who sat in front of him. Cold beads of his disgusting saliva landed on Madij's cheek as a cruel reminder why they shouldn't have been seated at a vertical angle. Trying with all of his might the goblin attempted to think of something else when the memories of that particular argument came flooding back to the premier, the drone voice of the intercom ringing in his ears.

***

"Physics? Pah! I told you that you should leave the thinking to me, got it Tsiik?” Madij roared over the commotion inside his laboratory. Seated in the comfy plush chair that was his seat of inscrutable power, the biomancer glared in contempt at the pompous man standing before him. The goblin had it on good authority that this particular project director was as fat as Althanas was round because he often 'ate' his assistants.

Five. .

But now, today of all days, this official he didn't even appoint stood before him requesting his master recheck the equations of the design of his invention. Tapping his claws rhythmically as he brood, Madij gazed at the creature that was Abal Tsiik, from the rolls of fat that jiggled safely under the director's lab coat to the three fleshy, off-colored chins that drew attention away from the wide mouth that dripped yellow, nauseating saliva down either side of his cheeks. Holding a clipboard and a quill with his fat, sausage-like fingers, Tsiik glared with determination with his beady red eyes down at the premier.

Thoughts brewed in his hive-like brain as the premier slowly came to grips to the whys and hows this ugly monstrosity had been appointed to his laboratory. Sij'Ahm will pay for this. . , the biomancer mused quietly to himself as he was interrupted by the nerve-raking lisp that the mage had began to despise," Sir. . I really think you should recheck your figures. I don't think we're going to be landing at the right trajectory!".

"That’s it!", Madij roared as he jumped from his chair and climbed onto his desk, stomping towards the fat creature, the slush of his brain inside the aquatic fishbowl bolted to his head slurping over the project director's constant wheezing. Grabbing the person he hated so by the robe he pulled them close until their noses touched, the smell of rotten eggs nauseating the premier to his core. "I am never wrong. Look at me? Do you think I got to be this way by accident? I am Madij Abarrik, director of Research & Development. If you attempt to correct me one more time, just one more. . I will have Grux strap you to the front of that damned thing before take off. Do you understand me?!" the goblin spat through gritted teeth.

Four. .

Pushing the goblin backwards with such force that he flew back into his seat with a rattle the project director jabbed a pudgy finger at his rival," You and I will be working together, Premier Abarrik, whether you like it or not. If you want to end up at the wrong end of Salvar, be my guest, but don't blame this on me once you realize your mistake!”

Three. .

Stopping the chair from spinning, Madij grabbed onto his desk while his brain still spun in the center of its chrome dome. Holding his head the biomancer sat back and closed his eyes concentrating with every ounce of his being not to vomit. Making an attempt to point to the door, hand still on forehead the goblin roared," Get OUT!!!!!!”

Two. .

Turning on his heel the project director's rolls of fat jiggled with a slurp, the creature stormed to the door and gave one last glare at the premier before closing the door to his rival's office with a slam. Still recovering the goblin heard a loud gurgle and several wet slaps ending with a giant thud that caused the laboratory to erupt with laughter. Stepping off his chair the premier rushed to the window in time to see his rival attempt to pick himself up only to have to call his lab assistants over to help roll the creature flat on his back. Sitting on the barrier between the wall-less office and the rest of the area the goblin's face spread into a devilish grin as Grux nodded to him from the shadows of the staircase. Its good to have power, the goblin thought happily to himself.

One. .

***

[Oracle of Jomil]

He emerged from the blinding snow like a dark shadow from a pristine veil. Eisa tilted her head as she watched the figure weaving betwixt the ruins as though he were a spider spinning a web for his prey. Something important was happening, but as usual the oracle knew not what that something was, or why in this case she must be present at its occurence.

The man turned and his eyes met hers, his grey like the storm-filled skies over the Icehenge, hers gold like the sun that reflected from the snow at end of day. Recognition passed there, but only after a look of dismissal on the shadowed face on the one she'd come here for. Lifting her chin, she acknowledged him, the wind catching at her dark curls as though the storm would use them to lift the girl from the ground.

Do you know why I am? The question echoed in her head, so loudly that Eisa caught herself as she fell forward into the snow. Never before had anyone reached through the silence of her world, except for the Goddess Jomil herself. Only in her visions did Eisa escape the stillness. But this one that she'd been sent to find could speak to her and she could hear and somehow she could understand. Straightening to her fullest height (which was still as small as a child) Eisa met his gaze again and shook her head, thinking to him No, only that you are.

Jomil obviously had something in store for this man, something that involved Eisa. The Goddess may not have sent him, or had any part in why he was, but she certainly intended to have a part in what he did now he was here.

[Futsuriai]

He neared the center, he neared the being. Something would happen once he got there but he did not know what. A wailing, no, wind became more piercing but it did not bother him. Anemos trod slowly but Futsuriai was not impatient, he was never impatient. The creature spoke back, how? Where? Grey on gold had never broken, its mouth moved not at all. Thought, it was answering his thought with its own. He sought and found the bridge, it was invisible, intangible yet there. Directed thoughts could flow yet others were buffered, how remarkably complex for a creation fashioned without consciousness. Its thoughts flew through unimpeded, he could sense them beyond senses but not interpret their message. They arrived and became information.

He felt no disappointment, it had been an unlikely attempt to succeed. He responded as he had once questioned, "I am. Am I because I am? Perhaps but no, I do not think so." Why answer? It was too late as the thoughts flew through beyond the haven of his mind. Mortals did not enjoy silence, he knew this, they also did not enjoy abrupt ends to conversations even when a conversation had not truly begun. In this where-when it was best to foster no ill will, he did not know why it was here, how it was here and thus a part of his consciousness had to always monitor the humanoid figure in case it became a danger. Danger, how? His body could be shattered, it would not kill him, it would mean little to lose an avatar.

But there was the why, without the why he could commit a grave mistake. Was his why was to remain there, to fulfill a duty? Acting on insufficient information, the bane of the rational, hampered him. The being was still there. The center was still there, he was closer to both. Through the haunting once-cityscape he neared the one and passed the other and doing so grey eyes looked beyond. Every step brought the center closer, he noted the wind seemed to grow as well. By careful analysis he determined it did not just seem to grow, the wind actually became stronger and stronger as one neared the center. This was not odd to him, the wind did not bite him, it caressed. An old friend saying hello. His mind realized this was not a metaphor.

A structure was in the center. Spire. Ziggurat. Dome. Pyramid. No, simpler yet more complex. A marble doorway. His eyes scanned for threats, he found none but the being was still watched. The frame was simple and clean cut, it was like Salvar but he knew it was not. Around it were foundations of what had once been, a wall his height upon his grey, the color of his eyes, horse was the tallest that remained. It was behind the doorway, it was not pristine but defaced by symbols. Symbols that transcribed ideas. He could understand, nothing.

Where? When? He understood but he did not understand, what did it mean? He knew what it meant but not what they had meant. Was it the same as the one he knew? It did not frighten him but this was not something he had expected to find. The entire wall had the repeated message again and again, a warning, perhaps but that implied he was being warned. It did not surprise him as he had known the ruins were for him. This threat could do more than break his avatar, it could weaken, perhaps destroy him. That realization was also unexpected, it had been a long time and a long distance since that had been possible.

He paused before the doorway. He dismounted. The scent was cool, crisp, undisturbed and it guided him to the doorway. The air was cold yet enveloping as it rustled against his cloak yet it seemed to prod towards the doorway. There was no taste save that which came from the scent, it only slightly reminded him of the doorway. There was the sound of wind alone yet it spoke of the doorway. There was the doorway. There was another doorway mapped in magic. Senses he had not had could detect it, tell him of it. There was no hesitation, no doubt. There was Futsuriai. He was Futsuriai and Futsuriai entered the doorway. Nothing (Where? When?), no, almost nothing happened.

[Ozmodious]

Darkness and shadows webbed the intricate system of bilge pipes and pumps that served as a network from the depths of Umndr Dar. A savage caterwaul shook the very foundation of the strange aqueducts as something began to lumber about in the howling underground sea. Stumbling about in the tunnels, Jebekk Ris clang to the wall, his hooked nose smacking into an unfortunate pipe. Holding his goblinesque nose, the engineer clutched desperately onto his satchel when the tunnels rattled uncontrollably. Debris rained from the ceiling, foul sewer water ebbed and flowed from side to side, licking at the goblin's bare feet.

I don't get paid enough for this, Jebekk speculated to himself as he dashed down the slippery catwalks. Pulling the smug goggles over his gaunt face, the goblin turned on his heel and nearly fell into the causeway as he attempted to follow his employer's directions to the letter. It was by chance that this particular machinist had gotten the job. That this particular goblin was selected from a distant wasteland thousands of miles away. . And for what? A simple demolition task? If it was one thing Jebekk understood, it was how to blow things up. What he didn't comprehend, however, was the reason he was destroying something so out of the way, so meaningless. . So. . Bleak. Flashes of schematics popped into the engineer's head as he envisioned his target.

Passing a shadowy corridor, Jebekk back peddled and grabbed unto a gushing pipe when the world around him shook mercilessly. Pipes, black goop, and debris rained down upon the goblin as the ancient tunnel attempted to renovate. Wrenching himself free from a demise fit for a rodent, the sapper pulled a firm, hard cap from one of his bags, tapping it once a dull white light washed over the darkness. Racing down the tunnel once more, dodging falling crates, and stepping one foot ahead from a watery death as stone was crushed under the weight of the same ugly water. Around and around the Goblin ran, hearing the rush of water follow him like that of a rat being flushed from inside a wall.

Everything seemed to go according to plan when a squeal erupted from Jebbek's mouth as crimson lifeblood gushed from the severed tendon in his ankle. End over end the creature fell down the sheer slope of the darkness ahead of him. Life flashed before the engineer's eyes as images of gold exchanged hands, the familiar phlegm splashing in his face when his employer howled with laughter. Everything coalesced together seconds before Jebekk Ris met his end upon a jagged pipe. Gasping for air as the foreboding flood shook the ground, the engineer dragged a dry match across the floor alight with a blaze of fire. Holding the match to the coveted satchel, a wiry fuse sparked with life as the candle that was Jebekk's snuffed out.

***

Tearing at the soggy depths beneath the sea, the deviated colossus dug deeper pulling his burden further into the black muck. Giving muffled roars that shook the area around it, the giant's pulled himself deeper and deeper into Umndr Dar's watery depths. Creatures that inhabited the pools that were deemed deadly to men and animal alike steered clear from the shadowy behemoth. Fighting the urge to let go of the ground beneath it, the mutant pulled itself across the span of the sea's floor.

Being brought into life only a few days ago, by a creature larger then it, the colossus's eyes shut tight as its muscles rippled under a burden that would snap a normal man in half. Focusing all of its being the dark giant inched further into the murky darkness. Feeling its scaly face against the stony grain of the sea's floor. The colossus was about to complete its task when an explosion cracked the ground beneath it. Bathed in blinding fire and a crushing darkness, the creature let go and the world came tumbling after as the newborn demigod was pulled from the sea, pulled from its task. The burden it bore with little to no problem at all pulling right into the network of bilge pipes and sewer conduits until it was battered to a pulp.

***

Feeling gravity pull him down into his seat, all of the air drained from Madij's lungs as he stared into the heavenly beyond. The entire room went silent as any form of manmade architecture whizzed past them. Nothing became something, dreams became nightmares, and everything coalesced into everything. The walls around the biomancer moved at a furious pace, turning as the massive structure around them buzzed with work. Blue skies temporarily snapped into a blinding darkness, only the white blotches that dotted the landscape and the numbing cold kept the Yzæk crew convinced they were still alive.

But as the thought 'what must come up, must come down ' passed through many of the scientist's minds in synch, gravity began to pull at them savagely. The chilling atmosphere becoming scorching hot and then became cold once more, flakes of snow clang onto the membrane-like visor, and the noontide sun was replaced with brackish clouds. The biomancer felt like a feather swaying off a city building when black fear rippled through him as a snowy white wasteland became nothing but darkness with a thundering crash that could be heard for miles and felt by more then just the natives.

[Ashiakin]

Closed and archived on request.