God’s Essence

Short Handed

Jon’s Office: The second Wrint of Zelm,2117: 140:00:00

    Those who take words to heart are lifted by their weight, whilst the fools are wrought powerless.- Andreas III 

    Somewhere far away, in a universe bound by different laws, there lies a system where God had chosen to place his first sentient life. In that system there is only one Sun, which bleeds its gray ashes onto the only planet in the system.

    In the beginning there was only god, and a vast emptiness. First God made time and allowed energy to flow through Creation. God chose to make the Origin, then the Sun and all its companions in the stars. He created Origin as a great swirling mass of liquid hot boiling metals, water, and gasses. But they would not bind or settle, so God took a piece of the sun and crushed it in his unfathomable hands until it was only ashes, then used that to meld all the pieces of Origin into a stable planet. The remainder of the ashes were made into Origin’s two grand moons, Cannabi and Kantabi. Even then God felt something was missing from his Creation. He was lonely, and grew to despise the thought of continuous existence all together. 

    God decided to separate himself into The Nine Essences that made up all his Creation.  This particular tale begins Eons after God divided himself, on the precipice of humanity’s finest hour, in the year humanity labeled 2117.

    Nothing particularly special about today had struck Jon, when he realized he’d been staring at his Comm blankly. The day had gone by at what seemed to be a snail’s pace. He glanced around his office, everything made with a sleek black material. Everything from his uniform, to his desk, to the translucent briefing table in the center of his office, was a deep shade of black. Jon liked the dark, it was a comfortable place for him, a place where the hydra within him could rest. Things that did have light in his office were the furniture. All  the structures in his office were lined with glowing deep red lights that would pulse and grow, then die down again. He implemented these so that others could see where things were in his office, though because the overhead light was the same deep shade of red, others still stumbled where he was comfortable. He picked up his nameplate, a small translucent shard that would flash Jon’s name whenever any individual made eye contact with it. 

    “Commander Jon Schepard, Head Detective of Ahto”, it read. In the silence Jon wondered if he’d even deserved his post. Ahto was the great city of his country and among one of the greatest in the Old World, so being in a high ranking position here placed him close to the Governing Coalition’s politics. At this point in his life Jon was about twenty-one, five-foot ten inches, and he wore a well combed mane of dark brown hair, though he kept himself clean shaven for the sake of his profession. He had hazel eyes, and his mother always swore they were a different color every time she looked at them. Today as with all days he’d worn a deep black trench coat, with a dark red undersuit, and black tactical boots. All to match his deep black personality full of self-hatred and negativity. Jon’s past left him with just as many scars as it did attributes. Jon had left his home at the age of fifteen, six years ago, and had been through hell since. He was a master of four forms of fighting by age seventeen, and had been in more fights than he could count. By the time he turned twenty his accomplishments had already given him a seat in “the city’s circle”, a gathering of the most powerful officials in Ahto; ranging from the Police Commissioner, to the mayor, to the families who really owned all the corrupted people here. But, that didn’t mean he felt deserving of it, nor did he want any part in it. 

    All he’d done was his job, putting people who endangered others in Ahto Lock [the city’s prison, one of the most secure facilities in the Old World]. Sure there had been some arrests that were difficult, mostly his fights with essence-essence users. They always proved difficult because of their strange powers, ever since people had figured out how to return from the New world these “essences” had begun popping up. In his experience there was no rhyme or reason to them, but they provide one hell of a foe. All that he really knew about them is that they came from a place where man hadn’t dared intrude for two thousand years of recorded history, which was enough to keep him wary of coming across one. However, since Jon had taken them all down one by one, Police and Detective work seemed to be getting easier and easier these days, but it never quite seemed to add up. There wasn’t any recognizable difference in the crime rate of his beloved home city, Ahto. Ever since the decriminalization, legalization, and regulation of most drugs with the Free Choice act of 2112 police forces all around the World could dedicate themselves to more actual police work, as harsh as that sounds. Most actual criminals, people with the intent of hurting others or committing actual violent crimes, had either been rooted from society or imprisoned at this point. Most of his time was consumed by small errands and simple investigations, as there hadn’t been a murder in Ahto within the last five years, since the Free Choice act had come into effect.

    Jon knew though, his real claim to fame was his swordplay. He’d been the first law enforcement official to use a sword in Ahto, so criminals knew who was wielding the sword when they’d been caught. It became his calling card almost, people called him “a blade of justice”. Out of the 10,000 arrests he’d made over his nine year career 9,400 yielded or eventually succumbed to his blade, only 20 of those arrests being essence users though they’d only been around these last few months. His marksmanship was not shabby either, Jon had been known as a deadeye in the police force, and he’d even had an old-fashioned duel with an essence drug user who claimed to be bulletproof and won. 

    Today was a new challenge and that realization seemed to stare him in the face and he watched his personal Comm seem to erupt with emergency notifications, symbols, and sounds he hadn’t heard since he was twenty one. It was at this moment he realized how late it was, it was the 140th hour of the day, time for him to go home. He wondered where his relief and technically his insubordinate subordinate, Alexander Ewn was. He then shook all his thoughts out of his head and began to contemplate what could possibly have happened. When his Comm seemed to erupt as it did, he was very alarmed and very much unprepared for what today had in store for him. 

    Without a second thought he leapt from his chair, reaching for his special cane, which he’d affectionately named Un-Sung. Now, Jon Schepard certainly didn’t need a cane to get up and moving, this cane was one of the many innovations Jon had created that had earned him his post as the Head Detective of his city. This cane functioned as a sword, long revolver rifle, also having a removable short revolver, and even had a bullet proof retractable extra wide umbrella, so it was safe to say Jon had not only physically invested quite a bit in this umbrella, but it also held much significance in his heart as this was one of his few inventions that lasted. He had many inventions, but most of them seemed to lack the sturdiness and pure elegance that Un-Sung had. It had seemed like no matter how much he put the wondrous object through, no matter what disaster he’d leapt head first into, Un-Sung would carry him to the end of the task with graceful ease. As he plucked the cane from its mounted holster on his desk, he felt as though something very ominous had come over him. He noticed a deep scratch on the very tip of the hilt of Un-Sung, and his demeanor instantly changed, from a calm soft exterior to a very serious and hard shell. He remembered how he used to remain in this “shell” for extended periods, back when his job involved more action, when people used to shoot him on sight, before he’d wrought order to Ahto. Something in him stirred as he hadn’t felt this uneasy in a long while.

    “I’ll have to mend you once we get through with this won’t I?” he thought aloud to Un-Sung, almost as if he’d expected a response. Just as he was reaching for the door to his office, the door burst open, light rushing into the dim chamber with a panting officer on the other side. Jon recognized him as one of the newest officers, Private Sherman Gates, he only worked traffic but Jon recognized that every cog in the machine is important, and as such he treated him with the same regard that he’d treat any of his subordinates.

    “Commander, the mayor has been kidnapped.” Sherman said terrified, he now stood in the doorway with a dumbfounded look on his face. Six words hadn’t made Jon Schepard sick to his stomach before, but those six words in that particular order mortified him.

    His anxiety began to gnaw at him as he ran his hands through his dark brown hair, whispering terrible thoughts into his mind as he darted out of the room.

    “Where are they headed?” Jon asked, brushing by the sweaty officer. Continuing into a motivated walk.

    “They’re on the move heading toward Central Yard.” The private spat out struggling to keep up.

    “Tell me what happened.” Jon replied bluntly, he was grumpy after a full hundred hour day.

    “This giant plant thing sprouted from in front of the mayor’s office as she was leaving, just scooped her up with these huge green vines and took off.” Gates replied, trying his best to keep at the Commander’s heel. “What are you gonna do?” he asked frantically.

    “My job, protect those who can’t protect themselves.” Jon replied as he broke away from him leaving the building anxiety gnawing at him. This could cost him his job, if there were some secret crime syndicate that he knew nothing about took him by surprise. He was certain of one thing though, he’d made an oath to put others’ lives before his, so he’d pull out all the tricks he needed to get it done.

    Jon always imagined his anxiety as a Hydra, it would chew away his confidence with its multiple heads. Even when he could muster up the courage to blast one of its ravenous heads, two would replace it. One of the heads would immediately spring back to bite him, while the rest would surround him, filling his mental headspace to the very brim with an intense gnawing and not allowing him to think correctly. In this particular instance, his anxiety didn’t feel like a gnawing, it felt like a ferocious ripping, tearing his mental space to shreds. His anxiety continued to rip into him as he remembered the anonymous tip he’d received over a week ago, describing exactly the situation he was in. He remembered dismissing the tip, thinking that no criminal would have the pure gall to attempt something so heinous and so unbelievably wild as to have a fucking Plant Tank in his city, and his heart sank.

    All this was racing through his mind as he raced to his motorcycle, which he’d also affectionately named Dart. Dart was a solid black Chopper style bike with a large back pad that allowed him to sit in a comfortable and protected incline at the center of the bike. Once again it goes without saying that he loved this bike, and even treated it better than most of his family. When he’d finally found his precious bike, he calmly holstered Un-Sung in its forward facing rifle mount, that locked it in place between Dart’s chic black handlebars in such a fashion that it smoothly rotated with the handlebars as they moved. 

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    Jon stopped as he noticed once again the deep scratch in the hilt of Un-Sung, and his anxiety flared within him once again, promptly kicking him back into Panic. He flicked on the siren and forward police lights spraying the road in front of him with bright red light, but only red light as he’d replaced the bottom blue light with another red police strobe. Because the blue light always seemed to give him a headache as bitchy as that sounded. Pressing the custom thumb throttle he’d made, Dart’s engine roared as it took off, wailing siren warning drivers to move out of the way. He zipped through traffic, without a single care for his speed, in fact he actively refused his incessant urge to look down at his speedometer. He had the utmost trust in his possessions, Dart and UnSung. When people asked how he’d accomplished some of the feats associated with his name, he liked to tell others that Dart and Unsung did all the important work.

    Jon saw the flashes of blue and red lights swirling in front of him less than five hundred yards away, and reached for his bike mounted Comm and ordered everyone to make a divide at the very center. At the same moment he raced up to the back of the pack of police vehicles chasing something he couldn’t even fathom, and presumed it to be extra-terrestrial. It had to be the so-called “Plant Tank”.  

    It seemed to be a platform supported by seven legs, but they were a dark green color and as he approached he could make out that each leg resembled a leaf with a visible stem, wide faces on both sides, and a bending joint. His gaze focused on the platform, it was also seemingly made of this thick vine-like substance. He decided it didn’t matter what was on the platform so long as he could immobilize it. Then right as he was about to advance on the platform, two separate bursts of flame spewed from atop the platform bathing either sidewalk in a cleansing fire, literally roasting civilians alive as they ran in terror. Jon’s battle instincts kicked in and he ripped Un-Sung from its mount, as he swiftly maneuvered his way directly underneath the platform. Jon knew the safest place would be the underbelly of the platform for as long as it stood, but he developed a plan to take it down in his head quickly. Doing his best to block out the anxiety, which no longer whispered to him, but instead screamed like a wounded banshee.

    “It’sssss all your fault, Jon.” Shrilled the Hydra. “You knew this was going to happen in advance and did nothhhhhing,” another head of the hydra hissed inside him. Jon hated these times, when he felt so much tearing his mind apart that he was almost debilitated. Moments ago he’d nearly fallen off his bike because of this terrible Hydra in his mind. “What are you going to do coward?” taunted the head that always seemed to be looking directly at him in his mind. 

    Jon responded. Swiftly he loaded Un-Sung with the six rounds he’d been saving for a special occasion like this, which he kept in a secret section of Dart that he could reach whilst driving. He maneuvered himself directly underneath the platform and set his cruise control around the speed at which the monstrosity above him was running. He thought that was what he should call whatever it was doing to move right? He aimed at the rear leg, because he knew as long as that leg stood the platform would have a triangular base beneath it, making it very hard to immobilize. He pulled the trigger and almost instantly the rear leaf exploded into millions of things that looked like rocks, and this made the platform tremble and drop several feet above him. The monstrosity sped up and ejected the remainder of its back leg, changing stance. In front of him what seemed to be a porthole opened up on the platform.

    Through this porthole Jon could see glowing eyes and a wicked smile, right before a loud hysterical cackle and a huge slow moving fireball came directly for him. Jon dipped to his right and simultaneously aimed for the monstrosity’s right triplet of legs. When he fired he blew apart the rearmost leg leaving the monstrosity off balance with only five legs remaining, and he could hear a stream of curses coming from the slowly descending platform. The platform was now scraping the ground in front of Jon, and with only four of his special rounds and five legs remaining he needed to bring this thing down before it could hurt anyone else. He placed Un-Sung back in its Turret mount and lined himself up with the side of the platform, which now revealed itself to be a thick hard shelled dome resembling a seed with a flat bottom. Un-Sung was now perfectly in line with the socket joints of the two remaining legs on the right side of the monstrosity, when suddenly a new porthole in the seed carriage opened up within three feet of Jon and an all too terrifying cackle broke the air again. Panicking, Jon fanned the hammer of Un-Sung, firing all four of his remaining rounds and causing explosions that sent debris flying everywhere and forced the monstrosity to a crashing halt at the entrance to the Central Yard. 

    Jon careened off to a skidding stop and kicked down Dart’s stand as he leisurely removed Un-Sung from its mount and reloaded it, with its normal forty-four magnum rounds. To be fair these rounds weren’t that much of a step down from his special rounds, because of the simple raw power and caliber of the round, they still had much destructive force. Jon advanced on the seed carriage with caution, but he still kept a brisk pace noticing the patrol cars stopping and other officers running up behind him, guns drawn. They surrounded the seed, and Jon began giving verbal commands as he stood slowly opening up his bulletproof umbrella. 

    “Step out of the vehicle with your hands up and no one else has to die.” Jon barked over the roar of flames and sirens around them. 

    “I’d love to see you try it.” A whisper in Jon’s head replied. This startled him, because it was not one of the normal voices he’d heard in his head. This wasn’t an entirely new voice either, in fact it was familiar… but it couldn’t be.

    “Who said that?” Schepard barked, now visibly and audibly alarmed. No one spoke, no one moved, and for a second it seemed like no one even dared to breathe. Then the seed exploded, sending Jon directly backwards, luckily protected by UnSung’s umbrella. However, none of the other officers were so lucky. When Jon made it to his feet all he could see were body parts strewn about the ground in random fashion. Then his gaze fixed on the remainder of the smoking seed carriage to find five individuals standing in its wake. 

    “I’m sorry I have to do this face to face, I had hoped you would burn up in the explosion with the others, but nooooo you had to be stubborn and methodical. I should’ve known it’d be too hard to simply kill you. Now I have to make it hurt… sorry boss.” An uppity and sarcastic voice said through the smoke. Jon recognized the voice, and just as he put the pieces together in his mind, Alexander Ewn stepped forward through the smoke, just far enough so as only to expose his face from the smoke. Jon was confused, he couldn’t seem to make out Alexander's body even though he could clearly see his face. Another thing was, the smoke was discolored… was it green?

    “Alex I’ll give you one chance to explain yourself, and this better be good.” Jon said to him as the smoke began to clear. Jon soon saw he was outnumbered, quite literally five to one. Jon and Alexander now stood face to face about a foot away from each other. Jon was even more confused now as he still couldn’t make out Alexander's body. Was Alexander one of those weird power users? Alexander said nothing, only turning away and placing a hard hitting palm, that was still obscured by smoke in Jon’s vision, on Jon’s chest. This sent him directly backward, this time without protection it hurt quite a bit. As he recovered the four individuals, who leapt from the crater the seed left in its wake, promptly rushed Jon. Instinctively, he put two rounds in the three individuals who looked to be triplets’ knees emptying his revolver and neutralizing the three small assailants, then switched Un-Sung to its Saber form, turning the grip of the cane into a true hilt. As the transformation of the cane-rifle finished and it became a rifle-sword, a deep red glow emanated from the hilt it had created. While the glow was present, Jon widened his stance and bellowed.

    “Nodachi Style. Wide Oni.” Creating a wide crescent swipe, after the umbrella section had fully hyperextended itself forming a true Nodachi, cutting the three figures at their knees as if he’d just created perforations in the targets for his slice. Just as he completed the maneuver, three equally pitiful cries of pain rang out through the air, and a fourth crazed cackle broke the air again as the fourth figure leapt through the air with a massive golden double bladed axe which seemed to have an abnormally large grip. Jon shifted into his preferred stance, Saber Style. As he changed stances Un-Sung recognized this as a form change command and folded the umbrella back into a thick saber. Jon was afraid of the abnormally thick axe shattering the thinned Nodachi.

    “IM GUNNA RIP YOU UP AND USE YOUR BONES AS TOOTHPICKS”. The figure screamed as he slammed his giant golden axe down into Jon’s readied block. “WHY WON’T YOU DRINK MY TEA?” the crazed figure howled again as he continued a barrage of vertical strikes. Jon noticed during this barrage a nameplate on the chest piece the crazed marauder wore. A fucking nameplate. He couldn’t tell if this was an elaborate joke or not, but the nameplate read “AXEL” in big black letters. As soon as this registered in his mind he looked back up at his opponent who seemed to be savagely repeating the same strike without even knowing it. He had extensively fucked up teeth and even more deformed looking facial features, scarring, burns, and other things of the sort. At this point Axel seemed to be overjoyed that he could unleash all his insanity on something for a moment, his mouth began to water.

    Axel started to salivate heavily and seemed to continually strike harder and more precisely with each overhead stroke. Jon knew he had to end this quickly and catch up to Alexander, whom he could still see casually waltzing away in the tree line with complete disregard for the flames, sirens, and death all around him. Then, some of Axel’s saliva landed on Jon’s face as he seemed to now loom over Jon with broad extended strokes. Blood boiled inside Jon, and his abusive father’s words echoed in his head, “Never let your enemy disrespect you”. 

    “Now you’ve done it.” Jon roared as he kicked axel in the chest, sending him backward to create space. He thought about changing back to Nodachi Style but was worried about having to defend himself again. Thinking too late proved to be an issue, because as soon as he relented Axel was back for more. Jon parried another overhead blow sidestepping Axel, getting through his defense. 

    “Saber Style. Oni Slash.”

    A single stroke cut off both of Axel’s arms, also clipping the very tip of Axel’s elongated tongue out of his jawbone. Jon then re-took his place in front of Axel’s now defenseless torso and ran the Rifle-Sword through his chest. Coming chest to chest with Axel, also penetrating far enough for the Revolver Rifle’s barrel to be inside Axel now.

    “Saber Style. Oni Shot.” Jon said in a low voice in Axel’s ear as he pulled the trigger.

    Axel’s body exploded off the end of Un-Sung, a solid fifteen to twenty-five feet back, flailing his now shortened nubby arms in pain. Jon then broke into a full sprint after Alexander, and once he was within ten feet of him Jon sheathed Un-Sung’s blade, putting Un-Sung in its original Revolver-Cane form, and hurriedly reloaded its revolver chamber.

    Jon held his subordinate, someone he thought very highly of, Alexander at gunpoint. Alexander said nothing, he only waved his hand again, and seemed to whisper a few words. Jon’s vision swam for a moment, then when his vision became clear he saw a grave situation. There were now seven separate Alexanders, which all moved and spoke in unison. Jon lowered his weapon and switched it back to Saber form, taking up his defensive stance again.

    “I don’t want to kill you Jon, but you’re not making this easy.” All seven copies of Alexander chimed in harmonizing tones all equally demeaning. 

    “That’s good to hear, but what about the potential hundreds of others you murdered today?” Jon retorted angrily, maintaining his stance. 

    “They were necessary sacrifices, but don’t distract me. I wasn’t done.” The Alexanders even seemed to chuckle in unison, which was surprisingly chilling. “I don’t want to kill you, I want to destroy you. I will destroy everything you’ve built. I want to burn your legacy and everything you stand for to ashes.” He said as the circle of Alexanders tightened around Jon. “When you next open your eyes, you will know just how little of an obstacle you were.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as the circle tightened within Jon’s striking distance. Then Jon felt the Hydra. It felt as though something had provoked it, as it tore into Jon as it never had before. He crumpled to his knees, writhing in physical pain, with only Un-Sung supporting him. Then that support was ripped from his hands. He collapsed onto the ground, and as he lay there he glared at the Alexander he assumed to be the real or original one, because it held his prized possession in his hands. His vision swam and the only thing he could see was the image of Alexander dribbling a stream of a runny yellow liquid off his forefingers into the crack of Un-Sung. Then, as abruptly as this whole ordeal began, UnSung shattered to a million pieces before his own eyes, and Jon felt an immense force rip him away from consciousness.