A boom and dust exploded off the earth, halting the attacks, sending the bright one crashing against the white, bleached earth. Screams of pain filled the theater. Gasps from the observers.
Silence lorded next!
They awaited something —a tang in the air that signaled electric excitement. Almost at the edge of their seats—how obvious they were. So banal.
No uniqueness existed here…no humanity. Merely a collection of stimuli and responses. What a horrible life 'that' seemed.
Merrin stood, panting, knife grasped tightly, fused with the fear of letting go. Not now. I can see the path to them! He limped forward, noted the terror and confusion present now in the white creature. How is he standing? How does he move? His legs, how?
A simple matter of intimacy. He knew pain, and it knew him. This statue of patterns and responses could never notice that.
The next pattern.
"You think you can kill me?" cliche. No ingenuity—this, Merrin accepted as the consequence of the lacked mind. A beast can only snare, run, hide, and attack; nothing else. Those creatures were the same.
Pay them the Hunter's courtesy.
"You can't kill me!" Almost reaffirming, that sounded—how sentient it seemed. How false it was. He pointed the sword, "You're a liar! You hid your strength! You are no hunter!"
Merrin smiled —showed them the pain within.
You're right!
"Hunters are good men, they might spare the defective creature for a chance at natural survival…Honor." He said, "I apologize, but no good man now stands before you…only me."
The stoneknife made a clean swipe, head rolling down, gawked, wide-eyed with fumes of white spilling out from it. Moreover, his body shimmered a similar hue: white. Fading out with the flowing smoke.
Nothing was left.
Merrin turned to Auwale.
Was this what you wanted? The test before the test.
Auwale beamed with amusement.
I hate myself!
Colors are an observable trait within the distinction of the clans. Subconscious or not, there it is. Valor is the metallic black, Fray is the soft silver, and vileStorm is the violent blue...Colors hold truly a special place in the collective psyche—Eastorian culture.
Enavro wrapped white bandages over his thigh--no work of a cleanseWitch, but he sensed her as the closest comparison. Good enough. So many talents in that single stone skin!
No, not stone. Perhaps she was the most human of all in these undermines. Almighty above knows how far away I have come.
In less than a week, in fact!
He sighed. "What do you think happens now?" A stupid question, no doubt, but ah, the need for conversation. The need to forget what he had done.
She tightened the wrap, a flash of pain surging through his awareness. "Intentional." He blurted.
"Observables," she replied. "You ask a stupid question. Hunt. That is what you do now, isn't that why you killed that creature?"
"Hmm," Merrin said, "Would their actions also be a product of their madness, hence killing them acts as a quelling thing?"
She said nothing to that.
Is she against my actions? He thought. As expected, there is never any justification for murder--even for a supposed madness. "What happens now?"
"You take a weapon and you hunt the bastard."
Merrin smiled. "Yes, but first, we must be prepared for whatever this creature can achieve. I will no longer go without having the capability."
He winced at the compressing bandage on his legs. "Sorry."
"Next time, don't choose violence as the 'prepared' course of action."
It's not like it was my fault…Merrin leaned back on the stone seat. "Auwale." Muttered softly, "The path ahead is ugly…I hate it."
"I hate talking…" Enavro replied. "But look what you made me do?"
He smiled. "Let us plan."
"Let us plan." She replied, casting upon him a measuring gaze. "It has claws."
"What?"
"The Bastard," She continued. "It has sharp claws. According to other memory, it is extremely fast, elusive too, but has some degree of repeating patterns."
"Like the bright ones." He muttered—knew the relevance within those words. Like the bright ones, the bastard was essentially a sentient symbol, or a living symbol born from extensive, prolonged force exposure. The question was what force? Merrin knew of two—each revealing different traits in the creature. The mind meant enhanced intellect, potentially heightened awareness. What about the soul, then?
The sudden realization struck. "What exactly does the soulForce do to the symbols, other than giving them souls?"
"How hard do you try to maintain your awareness when bathed with it?"
Merrin smiled, drew fondness with the method of Enavro's explanations. She knew to engage the caster within him. Subtle clues. Half words. Just enough to provide enough data to churn the pool of chaos. That internal pool from which caster logic spewed out.
He said, "Enough force can act as the paralyzing agent. Weakened. Thoughts drowned by the external emotions."
"You seem to already have some measure of resistance against the soulForce, especially one of this intensity."
"You too."
Enavro sliced the bandage with her fingers, dropping it atop the side table. "What I am," She said, standing. "Is unique."
"Prideful much?"
"Speaking the self-truth is often seen as such."
"Indeed." Merrin staggered up, managed a breath, and said, "I think this is enough. I don't have enough time to rest."
Enavro responded to his words. "Very well…let the hunt begin!"
If there is one factual truth within this universe, it is that nothing is ever truly known—Code of the deadEyes
Enavro ran through the field of shattered stone, slanted pillars, and earth bumps. Expertly in her motions, she rolled over a boulder, landed feet-first atop a bed of rocks, crushing it.
The wind echoed its own opinions, whistling past her stone ears. Distracting. She dipped into a slope, dust sticking to the stone frame. No matter. Ahead, a kindle burned alone in the darkness. A brightness in the void.
Almost welcoming.
It took a quick pause, wind blowing past from inertia. Quick motions now, she took hold of the kindling touch: a burning wood enough to scare flesh. Good thing she maintained an exceptionality. A needed thing now if one were to hold the flames.
Into the blackness now illuminated by the touch, Enavro ran, no perspiration over the skin. No need for such bootless leakage. She dived into a roll, crawled through the earth cavity, allowing the surge of excitement to flow within.
Time was a necessity.
Faster! She dropped a round stone as she had done for a while, continuing on. Movement became a thing of innate nature. A frequency of motions blended into the active faculties.
How seductive it felt to move forever.
She stopped, dropped the last ball, and rested the kindling atop the earth, said then, slowly, revealing the mockery laced in them, "What point is there in hiding?"
Silence.
"Abandoned and forgotten, this is the way of the bastard…Have you already been abandoned by reality itself? Does all that exists of you merely shards of memory—half-truths to give might to your pathetic trueness?"
Silence.
More taunts.
"What a joke of a creature you are—to instill such fear within the whiteMother, within Auwale." All lies. "It's sad how the mighty have fallen."
A snarl rumbled through the stone field, something tenebrous lurking in the gloomiest depths. Enavro stood before the kindlin, its area of radiance, barely 2 meters. Like a dome of red against the darkness, this she felt accurately, legs shuffling, ready for motions.
Something crunched rock in the darkness—and a voice, a strong baritone, boomed from within. "Ah, the thing of stone, yet not. What brings you here outside the bosom of your cracked mother?"
Enavro turned sharply, staring out in the distance. "Hold your tongue, dog!"
"To the ground, rock!" Two red orbs burned in the distance. Ah, the menace within them, like a hunger or madness given form and color. It snarled. It hated. It lingered. And its feet stepped into the light. A black furred paw, claws silver gleamed like sharpened steel. Out it came. In its entirety. A monster.
What stood now before Enavro was towering, red light screening half its features. A beast. A creature with a giant, dark mane surfacing across its flesh. Eyes red, two powerful arms ending in mighty claws.
Such brutality. Such power. Almost beautiful in that predatory manner.
She stepped back, almost a stagger. Oh, she knew. Death stood before her. Arms and all, ready for glorious battle. It snarled, smiling.
No need for the bootless preparation. This was echoed in the beast's mannerisms. It was the tool of death; nothing else was required.
But did it know?
Enavro sauntered back, eyes locked up—at the monster. Slow and steady steps now. A response came —its back lowering, face like a spear pointing at her. Maw opened. It was ready to render its judgment. It's Mercy of Death.
But did it know where it stood?
Enavro paced back. Ah, how eager she was to end this dog…but time time time. The needed moment. The beast, on the other hand, enjoyed the silence. The sure awareness of indomitable might swelled within it.
I can kill with a single swipe! This, it must have thought.
But oh, did it know?
One more step back, and she froze, looked at it, and said, "Don't you often consider how resilient stone is to fire?"
"My claws through your body, and I think I will like you better!"
"Charred flesh!"
Did it know?
"What?"
It didn't!
The Earth erupted into flames