The End of a Species?

[Araxis]

Time passed . . . Cethyn knew not how much. Days rolled on, the sun and moon keeping he and the larva company as they traversed the heavens. Endlessly, stars and clouds stared down as Cethyn cared for the white worm. It grew almost daily; no longer the size of his forearm, it lengthened and fattened and was now nearly as long and thick as his thigh. Cethyn's legs regenerated fairly quickly, and in no time he was back to his original height of six feet seven, and fully capable once more. The larva's appetite was ravenous, and the small animal population of the desert surrounding the wreckage of Cethyn's and X's ships was heavily depleted, and Cethyn had to take longer forrays out into the sands to hunt down enough live meat for it to consume. Almost proportional to its growth, Cethyn's affection for the larva increased. He lovingly carressed it as it fed upon the fruits of his hunts, and were he capable of smiling he would have. Gradually, under the constant influence of Cethyn's unnatural emotions, the larva's discomfort with them decreased. Though not sentient, Cethyn could detect, through the rudimentary hive link shared between them, that in fact the larva began to develop its own, albeit extremely primitive and basic, affections for Cethyn. Months may have passed, possibly years, or perhaps even only several weeks; Cethyn no longer held a sense of time, lost in bliss as he was. Finally, he thought, he was actually happy, impossible though that was for a Cython. No longer did he despise these alien feelings that gave him the pain of remorse when he took the life of even a human in his forrays to the town for food. This feeling was so strong that it actually reduced him to consuming non-sentients just as the larva did.

*****************

Longshanks had finally discovered the locale in which the abomination called Cethyn had retreated to. Stepping out into the bright desert sun, grimacing as the hot air swept over him in a wave of dust. He glanced at the neural inhibitor lying crushed in one corner of his lifeboat. He would no longer block himself from the emotions of others when deemed necessary; he would learn to deal with them with his own strength of will from now on. Setting forth across the wasteland toward the massive crater the Cython frequented, Longshanks nervously fingered the hilt of his falchion hanging brazenly at his hip. How he wanted to cast it away, snap the blade and abandon it to nature to deal with. But he had a mission to fulfill, a demon to destroy before he could give up the sword forever. At least this thing could not feel, was not sentient in the Orion sense of the word; it was an emotionless husk, an unfeeling thinking and killing machine. He would be doing the universe a favor by ridding it of this terrible blight. Thoughts turning inward as he strode slowly across the sandy wastelands, Longshanks thought about how that encounter in Puralgatha had changed his perceptions. How had it happened? He didn't know; but where before he saw killing as unpleasant but sometimes necessary business that he could do generally without scruples if absolutely required, now he absolutely abhorred the thought of snuffing the life of another sentient being. How peculiar . . .

*****************

How interesting these creatures . . . Emotions govern them so absolutely. Even the Cython, whose race lacks any conception of emotions naturally. Emotions make them so utterly maleable to strong wills . . . Get them riled enough and we could recreate them however we want. That Orion, he wasn't bothered by killing before, yet victim to the extreme feelings he experienced we remolded his entire concept of killing. It would be so easy to control their races . . . if only we knew where to look . . .

The voices existed only in a small pocket dimension parallel to the dimension in which Fyia was situated. Two figures, grey and apparently devoid of any distinguishing features, stood above a massive silvery sphere, watching it intently. Upon its surface two beings neared eachother in the massive expanse of sand and sky known as the desert around Dathomir, unaware of eachother, the one searching out food, the other, the black-garbed one, seeking the first.

*****************
Wings held high above him, providing shade from the merciless sun beating down upon him, Longshanks wandered the desert. He felt another presence, not long off, and it felt familiar. The old rush of adrenaline that accompanied the detection of the utterly alien Cython's presence filled Longshanks' veins, a torrent that caused his breathing to deepen and his muscles to desire to be used. But this was different . . . it felt like a Cython, an empty being meant only for working and dying--but this had feelings, emotions, though they were rudimentary and basic, shallow. What could it be? So similar to a Cython, yet obviously not due to the emotions it felt, however faintly.

Finally, the being emanating this peculiar mixture of stimuli came into view for Longshanks' keen grey eyes. Tall, taller even than the lanky Orion, it was dressed in what might once have been a scarlet trench coat but was now so ripped and tattered that it barely clung to the creature's black skin. As Longshanks looked on, advancing upon this peculiar being, it looked up, and was suddenly filled with what passed as dread for its simple emotions.

*****************

Cethyn looked up from the scorpion fleeing under a rock from him to see a chilling sight. Advancing slowly across the sand towards him was a tall man all dressed in black with tremendous, shining black wings stretching out of his shoulders. Had the Cython legends of gods and demons, this sight would surely have been of the most fell of the demons, a creature epitomizing everything that must be erradicated in the universe, an avatar of Death. Dread filled him, a terrible awe and apprehension as the Orion approached him, hand on its sword's hilt. How could he have been discovered? How had this demon tracked him down across the galaxy? Staring at his approaching doom, Cethyn remembered the larva of a Cython Hive Mother back in the shelter of the twisted metal of his wrecked starship, and was suddenly filled with a grim determination. He would not allow the larva to come to harm , and would do whatever he must to keep it safe, even if it meant sacrificing himself. Throwing open his trenchcoat, Cethyn unlimbered his sub-machine gun and cocked it, aiming at the winged horror currently striding right for him. Sighting carefully, he fired a burst off, then ran off to the side, heading for an outcropping of rock that would serve as cover from any retaliation.

*****************

Shock and fear filled Longshanks as the creature before him suddenly pulled a gun on him, firing off several rounds in his direction before taking off for some rocks. Diving out of the way of the streaming lead hot in the air, he sprang to his feet, drawing sword in one swift, practiced, fluid motion. Scratching his head, he wasn't entirely certain what to do. He didn't want to fight, but it was obvious that this thing wanted to kill him. This would only distract him from his mission, he felt, but if he left the creature conscious it would certainly serve to irritate him an inordinate amount. Swearing under his breath, Longshanks decided he would follow and try to get an explanation before knocking it senseless, and he would avoid killing it at all costs.

Before the creature dove in amongst the high ragged stones, Longshanks spread his wingsand beat them heavily, lifting him into the air over a cloud of dust kicked up by the disturbance of his wings. Climbing high into the air, Longshanks flew swiftly in the direction of the outcropping, arriving above it shortly after the creature did despite the other having an immense head start.

*****************

Cethyn didn't look back until he was safe among the rocks, and when he turned to observe what the Orion was doing he was surprised to find it gone. It had been so long since he'd even thought about the demons that it took him several moments to recall their flight capability, and when he remembered to look up it was too late. Already, the Orion was stooping heavily upon him, black sword glittering dangerously in its hands, trench coat fluttering in the wind of his flight.

Knocked off his feet as the Orion crashed into him from some fifty feet above, Cethyn went flying, smashing up against the rock wall, and he dropped his gun, which skittered lightly across the ground. He was about to dive for it when the Orion leaped once more upon him, driving the Cython assassin up hard against the sharp rocks, flat of the sword blade holding him there. He found himself looking at the Orion's bearded face shoved up close to his own face, staring intently.

[Araxis]

Longshanks jammed the creature up against the rocks, peering into its face as he held it there with adrenaline-augmented muscles. He found with surprise that the thing had no face, but instead its head was covered with a black hood the same as the black skin-suit that he had mistaken for the thing's epidermis, its eyes were hidden under massive goggles, and its face was wrapped heavily with once-white cloth bindings. Fear still oozed out of the thing, but now Longshanks detected a powerful sense of determination emanating strongly from it.

Suddenly, two antennae sprouted from its forehead, and with a shock Longshanks realized that the creature was indeed the abomination, the Cython assassin, the so-called "Cethyn" that he sought. His muscles slacked with the astonishment, and, sensing the Orion's sudden weakness, Cethyn made to break away and dive for his gun laying several yards away, covered in dust. Fortunately, Longshanks recovered quickly enough to slam the Cython back up against the rocks and pin him there once more.

"Like Hel are you getting away, demon!" he swore at the thing through tightly clamped teeth. Finally the object of his hunt, crushed up against a rock wall by Longshanks' very own blade. Fury and hatred kindled in his heart, roaring and blazing as they caught on the tinder of the sorrows of friends lost to the abominations called Cython. "Damn you! Damn you and all your futzy race, you bloody demons!" Snarling with a vehemence he had not known for a long time, Longshanks was taken back to his days as a Sentinel, defending against Cython infiltrators. When he had hated the Cython with a passion unmatched by most of the people he knew, courtesy of the Cython's poisoning of his homeworld's atmosphere. The bastards had destroyed the only love Longshanks had known all those years ago, the azure skies of Arcadia, once filled with white clouds of fanciful and beautiful shapes. Now the skies of Arcadia were green and toxic, the clouds were gone, and breathing was fatal. The Orions living there, Longshanks among them, were forced to live in cramped living quarters with self-contained atmospheres and food-production centers; self-reliant little colonies that restrained a species meant to live amongst the clouds. It had been so long since Longshanks had remembered the fate of his beloved planet, and now that the memory was awake, his hatred filled him, almost drowning out the new feelings he had acquired, almost causing him to forget the emotions unnaturally pouring out of the Cython.

But he managed to keep hold of himself, even under the torrent of wrath flooding his heart. "How? HOW?? How in Hel's name do you have emotions!?" Horror and disgust twisted together with Longshanks' hatred as the significance of a Cython with emotions hit him, increasing his rage two-fold.

Confusion filtered through Longshanks' empathic sense of the Cython, then slowly, it was replaced with comprehension. Slowly at first, the buzzing monotone of Cethyn's translator related his explanation. "We . . . I have no idea. Utterly impossible as it is, it happened. . . . I am beset with a sudden consideration of life where before I cared nothing for anything."

Face twisted in a bestial snarl, Longshanks pressed the Cythons closer into the rough rocks behind it. How could he fulfill his mission now? The Cython was had emotions . . . But that was impossible. Cython did not have emotions. That was irrefutable. But this one did. But he needed to kill it anyways, needed to complete his mission, complete his vengeance for Arcadia. Arcadia! 'Your pain is my pain,' Longshanks cried out silently to his lost home. 'You will be avenged!'

Closing his eyes, a shudder wracked Longshanks' body. Cethyn chose this moment to attempt to break free again, and managed this time, shoving the Orion violently backwards, then turning and diving for his sub-machine gun. His heart crying vengeance, Longshanks' grey eyes snapped open, and he leapt after Cethyn, sword raised, ready to arc down and run the Cython through.

Time slowed down. Cethyn brought the barrel of his sub-machine gun up in minisule increments, millimeter by millimeter. Similarly, Longshank's black falchion came down slowly, as if the air was suddenly thick and resistant. As the barrel of Cethyn's gun lined up with Longshanks' belly, and Longshanks sword was no more that an inch from rending Cethyn's body in twain, the sunlight glanced at just the right angle for Longshanks to see through Cethyn's thick goggles, and a breeze tossed Longshanks' auburn hair out of his eyes, revealing his shining grey eyes to Cethyn. For a moment it seemed that time forgot the two combatants, retreating into whatever fastness it claimed as its own. An eternity passed as they gazed into eachother's eyes; infinite lifetimes could have been spent in the time they spent suspended there, engulfed in the pain of realization that they were about to commit the greatest sins of all, and there was nothing they could do to stop themselves. Both were suddenly aware that the other was sentient, that each had obligations to fulfill and each had hopes and fears for what the future may hold for them; and that they were about to deprive another and be deprived of those very fulfillments, hopes and fears. Cethyn's mind was filled with the fear that his larva would not survive without his guiding hand, that perhaps it would never achieve sentience without his continued direction; but also he was filled with hope that even without him it would survive, that his sacrifice would provide it with the life it needed to create a new, better, Hive here on Fyia. In Longshanks' mind, the memory of Mellira, an image of her pretty face, the remembrance of her warmth in his arms when he's placed her in the autodoc, filled him with both the fear that never again would he see her, that he would never get the chance to express his affections toward her, and at the same time the desire and hope to be once more in her enjoyable presence, that perhaps he would survive this encounter and return to her triumphant, finished with his mission and free to continue however he liked.

Time returned, and as adamantium bit deep into Cethyn's side, cutting him in half, the Cython squeezed the trigger of his gun, sending hot lead streaming into Longshanks' belly. Crimson blood and grey ooze, the life's blood of both Orion and Cython were spilt, mingling together in the dust of the desert. The sub-machine gun dropped from Cethyn's nerveless hands clattering to the ground loudly in the sudden silence of enroaching doom. Longshanks' agony was two-fold that of Cethyn's as he dealt not only with his own intense pain, but also the anguish of the Cython's wounds bombarding him through his empathy. Tears leapt to Longshank's eyes, coursing down his bearded cheeks and falling to the ground, mixing with the blood forming rivulets in the intensely dry earth.

[Araxis]

Cethyn retained consciousness long enough to see his killer slowly, painfully, methodically, hacking at the ground with his sword. It took the Cython, with his fading reasoning ability, a long time before he realized that the Orion was digging a grave. His sight was melting away like water drained out of a bowl as the Orion moved to pick him up, and he could barely see anymore as he felt himself slowly lowered into the hole. Thereafter, death finally took him, consciousness mercifully fleeing to relieve him of his torture from the Orion's mortal blow, wrapping him slowly in the last slumber he would know, the eternal sleep of death.

*****************

Once he had buried Cethyn, Longshanks' strength was utterly drained. He leaned against his sword, panting heavily with wavering consciousness and intense suffering. At least with the Cython's death its pain had died with it, letting Longshanks to deal only with his own agony. His strength threatening to fail, Longshanks realized his chance to finally cast away the sword he had come to hate after recent events, as well as a way to give a last tribute to this battle between he and Cethyn, to the Cython, and also, perhaps, to himself, if he died out here, trying to get back to his autodoc, which was likely. Acting on his inspiration, Longshanks firmly grasped the hilt of his mighty falchion, hanging to it so tightly that his knuckles turned whiter than they already were with his massive loss of blood, he raised up above Cethyn's grave. Crying out with his wheezing lungs, his voice a sad mockery of the resonating boom it had been in Puralgatha, Longshanks called out his people's ancient battle cry, "Oerhthasakh!" and rammed his sword hard into the earth at the head of Cethyn's grave. He drove the black blade halfway up its length into the ground before the ground's resistance proved too much for his failing muscles. 'That should last forever,' the Orion thought to himself as he turned back the way he had come.

Commencing the journey back to his grounded lifeboat, tightly clutching his wound still pouring blood like a river, Longshanks strode regally back the way he had come. As his life's blood drained and his strength faded, his proud black wings, glossy when he had stepped forth from the interior of his ship but now covered with a thick caking of dust that dulled their sheen, began to droop. Finally, as he staggered along, head held as high as the God-Emperor of Eden, original homeworld of the Orion race, he was so weak that he could no longer keep his wings up, and they dragged heavily through the sand behind him, wearing at the recently preened feathers.

It took all his strength to reach his ship and open the autodoc, and when he finally collapsed into the autodoc, consciosness left Longshanks completely. Before it did, an image of Mellira flashed through his mind, and a smile graced his lips in his unconsciousness. It was doubtful that even the advanced medical technology of the automatic doctor would be able to save him, so much blood had he lost. He was paler than a porcelain doll, and his right hand seemed fused to his wound for all the sticky dried blood caked around it, holding it against his belly. Now only time would tell whether we would awaken again, or if his lifeboat would remain there, last testament to the Llafrodedd Angantirr, last prince of Arcadia.

[Triunis]

Electric blue eyes watched the battle. Curiosity shone out of them as the Cython ventured from his ship, fear controlled them as the insect and the angel-like being warred, and tears welled up in them as the insect was laid to rest.

Slowly, the short creature lowered itself from the hill it stood on. Slipping, falling, and catching his balance with his tail, he walked to the insect's ship and peered inside.

What he saw filled him with wonder; a small, insectoid larva sat on the ground, wiggling in place.

"Oh, no . . . it must've been . . ."

Walking over to the creature, Setthirosa picked it up gently and examined it. It was pretty long and thick, and moved powerfully in his grasp.

"Heh heh heh. You'd have died on your own. A whole race, extinct. And who's to save you but me . . ."

He looked it over, and then clutched it close to his chest. He chuckled to himself as he thought of something.

Ya know who he looks like . . .

"Rift. From now on, you're Rift. I'm gonna make sure nothing ever happens to you, kay, little buddy?"

Turning to the door, Setthirosa cast one final look around the interior of the spaceship.

Let this place stand as a monument to that insect - and to new hope - forever.

[Araxis]

And Between Wasteland and Sky . . .


Longshanks arose from the autodoc slowly, sitting up and reveling in the bliss of painlessness, where, to him, moments ago his body had been screaming in agony. He felt at his belly, where the hot lead had torn his flesh apart; beneath the tattered cloth of his coat was smooth, scar-less skin. The wonders of technology . . . was this the third time Longshanks had been saved from certain death? 'Stupid fool,' he thought to himself. 'Never again; no more fighting, no more killing. Only . . . Mellira.' The Orion's lips parted in a grin.

The lifeboat's door hissed open as Longshanks approached, and he stepped out into the crisp night air. How long had it been? The computers said two days. Longshanks could believe it; he felt like he'd slept for a week, and the chill of the desert air served to awaken his sensitive nerves further. "Ahh," he breathed in deeply, filling massive lungs with cool, clean air. Looking up, Longshanks saw that no clouds marred the view of the stars, and no lights from the planet's surface diffused their glow. They glittered down gloriously, almost as resplendent as the night skies of Arcadia. "Arcadia . . . my home . . . you are avenged!" The booming cry echoed out across the flatlands, rebounding off the rock outcropping where Cethyn had been laid low. Content with the world, Longshanks turned to the outcropping. There lay his foe, the Cython demon Cethyn; and with its death, Longshanks' freedom. A single tear trickled down from one grey eye into his reddish beard, shed for the Cython's sacrifice, and for the joy of no longer being fettered by the shackles of duty to the Imperium and vengeance for his beloved homeworld.

Now Longshanks raised himself into the air with soft beats of his immense ravenesque wings. A chill wind ruffled his feathers and hair, sending a shiver through his spine, freezing the tear-trail glistening on his cheek. He alighted on the uppermost of the jutting rocks, many yards above the ground. Throwing back his head, opening his wings and arms to the sky, he gazed upon the velvet heavens of the night, the glittering stars gleaming brilliantly down upon the Orion as he prayed to them for absolution.

Searching the shining heavens carefully, Longshanks found the star he sought--Arcadia, member of a constellation arching gracefully across the nights of Fyia. When he had first arrived on this alien world, he had found her with the help of his lifeboat's navigation computer, and in little time had memorized her position and was able to descry her position at will. "You are avenged," he whispered to the heavens.

As if in answer, Arcadia flared up, shining more brightly now than any of the stars around her, drowning out their light with her sudden brilliance. For a moment Longshanks smiled, swept away by the beauty of what was happening; but in a moment he realized what it meant. "No," he whispered, then in a resonating cry, "No!" Arcadia was dying--was dead. As she erupted into blazing glory, Longshanks knew that this spelled her doom; Arcadia was flaring up into a supernova. In truth he knew that she was already long dead, by hundreds, maybe millions of years, that this was just the last of her light streaming out across the impossible distances of interstellar space, ever outward in testament to herself. It was possible that even now a new star formed in her place, in the massive formation of gas and dust cast off in her death throes, a nebula, nursery of the gods--and stars. But Arcadia was gone--and Longshanks was devastated.

The tall Orion fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face in a cascade of crystalline water almost frozen by the chill of the night air. Face buried in his broad hands, body wracked by violent sobs, his wings drooped so low that their tips brushed the rock he knelt on, the sign of ultimate Orion grief. Thus did he stay until the rosy light of dawn, the daily birth of the sun, peeked over the horizon, tingeing the air a soft crimson hue that striated across the heavens still bursting with Arcadia's death.

Even as the sun rose, Arcadia's supernova could be seen blazing in the heavens like a smaller sister sun. Under the light of these twin celestial bodies, one infantile, the other faltering in death, Longshanks dropped heavily to the ground by his lifeboat, kicking up dust as his booted feet impacted the sandy surface. Followed by the hiss of the door he entered detrermined to leave this desert, this place of death, once and for all.

The lifeboat, glinting under the brilliance of the heavens, lifted slowly into the air, seemingly sluggish for having just awakened from its three-day slumber. Dust lifted into the swiftly warming air in a murky curtain diffusing the stars' light as the needle-like vessel surged upwards into the heavens, lancing away from the sword still rising stalwartly from the dry, cracked earth.