Tamerlane felt nothing. That wasn’t quite right. Bits and pieces of himself were slipping through, but not so much as to change even one damned thing. He was the intermittent observer to his own demise. Even so, hope remained. The chinks in Sarafyn’s sway were weakening with every impossible step he took. It was distance that unraveled the hold.

Did it matter? Still, his legs weren’t his own; nor any other part of his body. The sick mother fucker could’ve made him suck Delacroix’s rancid cock . . . and make him fucking like it! Delacroix would’ve played the part. He was swayed to the same degree, but somehow managed to keep his feet at a steadier pace.

It was in fact, Tamerlane’s recent youthing that made this “new” mission even possible. The youthing made him sore, but the youth made him strong. It was a balance, broken by the mere fact he was already exhausted. The sad fact was if the ancient released his hold Tamerlane would collapse in the fucking snow and never get up again. Such was the price of freedom. Of course, should that happen, Delacroix would surely also be freed and help him along, but to where exactly? They were back in the ass end of nowhere. They’d probably both freeze to death out here. All they had was right now. The future that seemed so bright now dimmed. The worst of it was he now knew . . . everything.

Tamerlane had so many questions before. His deep desire to skin Meraine alive forced him to exit the camp too early . . . he’d missed out on very important events. Things he’d once considered so trivial now mattered because if he’d known . . . if he’d just stayed a little longer, he never would’ve thought to return. Then true freedom would’ve been his. Instead, he just had to rule the camp. Too bad there wasn’t anything left to rule, but he knew so much more than that. He knew Sarafyn’s role in this whole affair.

Hell, at first he’d thought Sarafyn was some lie Wferium dreamt up. Not quite. However, these weren’t things he’d managed to figure out. In rare lucid moments, private ones of course, he could admit to himself he wasn’t all that smart. Instead, Sarafyn let him in on these little secrets. This wasn’t even to make him a good little soldier. Far from it. This was designed to torture him with the very real fact that Tamerlane, himself, was the architect of his own demise. It was working.

Fear crept in. It burrowed deep inside his heart and sweetened the frigid morning air. This fear had always existed, but he’d buried it so deep in his soul he believed it was gone. It was back now and in full force. He could see the blood in the snow. Sarafyn stopped him and turned him around for just that reason. The red stood out against the white vividly . . . and for as far as the eye could see. Tamerlane wasn’t only bleeding, but to death. His feet had cracked open from the unending strain. He assumed boils had formed and burst. Blood and pus must’ve filled his boots, a veritable ocean, then overflowed or leaked out through tears in the sole. He couldn’t know. Sarafyn hadn’t allowed him luxury enough to tilt his head downward.

There was so much pain, but neither was he allowed to scream, though tears did roll down. It was such a strange thing . . . to be in such torment while smiling and occasionally laughing, but then the smile wasn’t his. Sarafyn was simply enjoying himself and sadistically so. Then the words came . . . the horrible fucking words that spilled helplessly, involuntarily from his mouth.

“I know you’re breaking through the sway. How does a little bastard like you even know how?”

This however, was only the beginning. Sarafyn decided to have a little chat with himself since Delacroix was along for the ride.

“I haven’t got a clue. I’ve buried myself so far up you’re fucking ass. It’s like we’re sharing a brain and I’m using the stupid half. I only know a fraction of what you know and you know nothing. Um . . . What was the question again?”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking moron . . . and a dead one too. So don’t sweat it, soon you’ll have access to every last burned out brain cell that I forgot how to use. I forget. How was it I thought I could take over Wferium’s camp? I’m too fucking stupid to do something so grand.”

“I told you, I haven’t got a clue. Hey, what’s my name again? I forget.”

“Um . . . It starts with a ‘D’, I think. With an ‘e’ next? I can’t remember the rest. How about I just call you ‘Devoid’? That work for you?”

“Sure! That fits me! How about I call you Tumor? You know because you’re dying? Sound good?”

“That’s so damned original! How’d you ever get to be so smart with your head buried up my ass?”

Then they both laughed heartily like the best of friends sharing a cold brew someplace warm.

<><><><>

From a safe distance Carmen watched the prophet leave with his entourage. She was conflicted, but not so much that she didn’t now believe; not in everything, but that Takei was indeed the prophet. One could wonder how it was possible to take that leap without signing up for the whole shebang. A part of her wondered exactly that, but such ideas fought against her better nature. She couldn’t have that.

All she knew for sure was she wasn’t going to take one step further. Not now. Not in their direction. In fact, she took a number of steps backwards. It was a test. She was testing fate. Really, she couldn’t believe she’d ever do such a thing and part of her despised the whole lot of them for forcing her to this.

Never before had fate robbed her of her very nature . . . at least not for very long. This was like some sort of fucked up new revival cult where she was being asked to forsake everything she was for the mother fucking faith. Well, no matter what she now believed, she just couldn’t do that. Fate couldn’t make her and neither could the god damn prophet.

So she took another step in the opposite direction. After a few more she was even able to stop looking back. It would take a bit longer for her to stop wondering just how things might’ve been had she gone along with it all. Try as she might to deny it, a part of her did want that life. Really, the prophet! Not only did he actually exist, but he’d spoken to her! He even wanted her to join him!

No! That was the pansy little girl in her . . . the one she thought she’d killed long ago. Apparently she was still alive and kicking. She’d try harder this time. Pansy little girls ended bitches like her. She couldn’t have that either. She silently swore to herself that no matter what she would survive this . . . somehow.

She hadn’t realized it until just now, but Futurist or not, fate had always ridden shotgun. She’d followed it as long as it suited her needs. Sure, it was uncomfortable from time to time, but that only proved how “devout” she was. At least she’d always thought so. God damn them! She’d never had such thoughts before! Didn’t the prophet realize such internal conflicts got people killed all the fucking time?! She could fucking die, right the fuck now! She was no longer paying attention to her surroundings. More often than not, that’s all it took for death to sink in.

Damn them! DAMN them!! DAMN THEM ALL!!!

She wouldn’t fucking have it! She would blaze her own trail! Fuck fate! She ruled her own life! Takei said all other paths led to her end. Well, then so fucking be it! She’d die before playing into their hands! She’d die her own fucking way!

By now Carmen was fucking pissed. When that happened she didn’t preamble. She didn’t fuck around. She headed full throttle against the tide. Anger fueled her as she ran in exactly the opposite direction from the prophet. This was nearly back the way she’d come, but not quite. Whatever haphazard path remained through these woods, it was still a path. Hers was decidedly not, which made it a rougher road and the snow drifts deeper. Of course, this was basically the idea both literally and symbolically. She would blaze her own trail. She would choose her own fate.

Naturally all this would be considerably easier to navigate if she’d just have a vision, but none came. It was like a barren void. She hated that feeling. Sure, the foresights would come and go when and where they wanted to, but even if they didn’t directly concern her, even if vague and impossible to interpret, well, they still came more often than this. Something was definitely amiss.

She had this sinking feeling it all had something to do with her “fate” and she really should turn around, but that only strengthened her resolve not to. It certainly hadn’t helped she wasn’t able to read a single mind during her previous encounter. Of course, that made sense now. Anyone as old and powerful as the prophet might just be able to block her.

What of it? She wasn’t about to change her mind. Surely Takei knew that. Surely he’d foreseen it. So why bother trying to convince her? What could that possibly accomplish? Unless . . . that wasn’t his endgame at all. Could this trickery really have so many layers? With an ancient . . . probably. Wferium was just that devious. Could it really be as simple as a rouse to avoid conflict and possibly death? She just couldn’t know. After all, she’d taken her shot . . . and missed. How was that not fate?

Still Carmen trudged through the snow. The trees were well spaced here and foliage minimal, but the snow was a different story. The sky looked bleak. The stars were slowly fading behind the drifting clouds. She didn’t like the looks of it. She’d been living outside long enough to know this screamed of snow . . . more snow.

Not having a plan didn’t much help; though it was pretty obvious she was headed back toward the bridge and thus camp . . . whatever remained of it anyway. It wasn’t really a place she ever wanted to return to, even if Wferium still lived, doubtful as that was. Yet, if anyone could survive the chaotic cesspool she’d brewed it was her. If Wferium still lived, she’d probably foreseen her ending Aryl which certainly wouldn’t work out well for her. She couldn’t go back to camp.

She’d left the bridge a bloody mess and didn’t really want to go back there either. She’d packed herself provisions for at least a week so she was alright there, but where to go? Madison? It wasn’t exactly her favorite place, but she’d fit right in. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, so why not? Of course that would mean traveling northwest. Stupid. That’s the direction she’d just come from, before the bridge of course. It wouldn’t be exactly the same. She’d cross the river at a different point which was perfectly fine with it being frozen.

Though, she wouldn’t head that way quite yet. Her pride wouldn’t allow for it. To alter her route would mean, at least to her, that Takei had won; that fate had won. She was done with all that shit. Of course she wasn’t. As much as she would’ve liked it, her belief in fate and all it entailed wasn’t so easily suspended. Regardless, right now the lie of self-deception won out. She could deal with her conflicted emotions at a more convenient time.

She wondered if Wferium would she send someone to intercept her? Would she try and bring her back to face her warped sense of justice? Well, as far as Carmen was concerned Aryl got exactly what she deserved. She was playing the high and mighty ancient and willingly accepted all the perks accompanying the title. It was a crime to use and abuse such things. Not that it mattered. Carmen never much liked ancients. She didn’t like Wferium and the knowledge of Takei being an ancient was one of the key reasons she’d turned tail.

Sure, she was a Futurist. Sure, she believed in fate and the prophecies. Sure, she’d freed the firstborn. Carmen had done all that, but not one tiny bit of it extended further than the idea of such things. She didn’t like the reality of who these people were. That was because they didn’t much like the reality of who she was. They were all the same. They were all high and mighty. They all lorded it over the lesser humatrans.

Carmen was different. She was tainted. She was a cheat, a thief and a liar. She’d no place in their world because they all considered themselves holy and above such petty things. Carmen was just the type of person they liked to smite and siphon youth from. They justified it that way. She was wretched and contemptible and so deserved no less than death. More than this they thought her kind ought to be honored to give their youth to an ancient. Well, they could all go fuck themselves.

Still, it was something of a mystery just how Wferium ever allowed her to remain a seed hunter. Sure, she’d treated her like an ant during the few times she’d bothered to acknowledge her existence. That which she’d learned from the ancient had been by observation alone. Wferium carved out time for Meraine no problem, but she didn’t hold sessions for bitches like her. Even so, she could’ve just denied her entry into the camp or killed her on the spot. She obviously hadn’t. Then she decided that was the whole idea. To appear holy Wferium had to feign both acceptance and forgiveness of her kind. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it played well into perception.

Either way, right about now Carmen was wishing she’d never followed fate to that fucking camp. So why do it all over again now? What was the point of such self-inflicted misery? No matter where it came from or how, death seemed a better fit.

<><><><>

Delacroix couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth! Yet he already knew the score. God damned Sarafyn revealed everything. He’d even told him what they were doing out here, as if they could simply opt out. It was simple really. They were to kill that little bastard Jason, who was apparently the ancient’s son. He couldn’t imagine why he’d want such a thing, but apparently his wasn’t to ask why, but to do and die . . . literally.

No part of Delacroix believed he’d actually survive this, regardless of the fact he wasn’t the one leading a trail of blood through the snow. Sarafyn hadn’t actually told him he would die, but in what universe would he be allowed to live? Not this one. Sarafyn knew everything they thought and used it against them.

“Oh, Sarafyn isn’t that cruel, Devoid! He won’t kill you! He won’t even have you killed! Really! Don’t you trust me? I’ll cry if you say you don’t believe me. Oh, wait! I already am!”

The puppet Tamerlane laughed wickedly. The sight of it was unnerving. Through it all Delacroix could see the absolute terror in his eyes. He’d feared Tamerlane, his commanding officer in a manner of speaking, had gone mad somewhere deep in that abyss. The saner part of Delacroix wasn’t so sure it even mattered. For all Sarafyn was making them say he really did believe the broken man was dying. For his own sake, Delacroix wished the ancient would just release him and let him freeze and asked as much with his mind.

“No. No. Devoid. I can’t die easy. I don’t even deserve to. I’ve ended so many lives for no good reason. Really, I deserve this.”

“Really, Tumor? I had no idea. Who did you kill exactly?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean dead, dead. I’m too much of a coward for that. That big monster DOE will eat me if I do. And I just can’t handle the pain. For most of them I didn’t even have the balls to see to their deaths. Tell me you’ve noticed that I like to use moronic lackeys, like yourself, to do my dirty work.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve noticed that. No. Wait. I guess I didn’t. You’re a real asshole, Tumor. Can I get out now? How do I pop my head from your enormous shitter? I’m a bit stuck and it really fucking stinks in here. You probably won’t believe this, but I just now noticed that.”

“Oh, I believe it, alright. I didn’t pick you for your brains. Hey, guess whose life I fucked up? Your bitch ass mom’s! Yeah, that’s right! You were such a fucking mama’s boy. Remember that? Well, I knew you were just the idiot I needed so I raped her over and over again until she fucking bled! It was easy since she’d only one hand. You remember? She chopped the other one off to advance you.

Anyway, I told her I’d stop if she kicked you out onto the street! I told her every single time, but she didn’t listen until like the, oh fuck it! I don’t even know how many times I fucked her stupid. A lot o.k. A whole lot. You were only EA12 at the time. Do you remember that? Yeah. That was a really hard time for you. I’m so sorry about all that. Oh wait! No I’m not! Fuck you, you fucking moron!”

Delacroix’s eyes were wide in utter shock, but his mouth didn’t play along.

“That’s o.k., Tumor. I am a fucking moron! How else would I not be able to see what was happening? You know I would’ve tried to stop you if I’d known, but I just wanted mom to stop crying. It was driving me up the wall. You know when she did finally kick me out, I was glad to go. I fucking hated her by then. But that was all you, huh? Fuck you! You know! Fuck You! I can see now how you deserve to die slow and painful! Thanks for opening my eyes, man!”

“No problem! What are friends for?! Oh yeah, to fuck with and betray in the end, when they’re no longer of any use to me. You know, Devoid? You’re not really of any use to me now. Would you please go kill yourself for me? Be a pal. Be a good stupid general and go off yourself for me. K. Thanks man.”

“No can do, bro. I’ve got to go kill someone else. But maybe afterwards?! Yeah! Maybe I can off myself for you when I’m done? Does that work for you?”

“No, not really. I mean, I kind of wanted you to die first. It just doesn’t mean as much if I kick it first, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Nothing I can do about it, though. Sorry. Maybe next time? Oh wait!”

With that uncontrollable laughter filled the bitter air.

<><><><>

The snow escalated from peacefully falling flakes to flurries. Still, Carmen expected more . . . and soon. One glance toward the heavens told her this was a recipe for blizzards. Maybe not the deadly sort, maybe not a whiteout, but it didn’t need to be. A little was enough. A lot was too much. For her a little was always welcome. It reminded her of happier times. It reminded her of her youth . . . true youth.

Carmen was only nine then. It seemed like ages ago. She supposed it was at that. She may appear a twenty something beauty, but was in reality almost 70. Of course, it couldn’t compare to the company she’d been keeping, but if she were human she’d have long since faded into her golden years. Thankfully that would never happen. She may die. She may be fucking eviscerated, but she’d do so at a young age.

Even so, she’d no desire to be under 20 ever again. Most of her youth was riddled with pain. Her beauty made her a plaything to nearly all the adult males in her family. She remembered how they’d told her, as they were raping her, how very lucky she was. As long as she remained smoking hot she’d get to keep her skin and her youth. She’d definitely keep her voluptuous tits . . . her fucking double D’s, because they sold the whole package.

Of course they did. They still did. Not that she’d let anyone touch them now. Well, Jason had, but that was an accident. Still his reaction, well, most men would’ve died for it. It was, how should she put it, a sensitive subject. However, he was the firstborn and she hadn’t freed him to end him. So she begrudgingly let it slide . . . this time. She never thought there might be a second time. Firstborn or not, dead men didn’t care how big her tits were. He’d lived, though. As much as she was grateful for it, she didn’t much want to be around the horny little prick.

There once existed a man who’d left her alone. He was the only man she could remember who’d ever given a damn that she was still just a child. He was the only man she’d ever known who thoroughly believed a child shouldn’t be touched in that way . . . early bloomer or not. It was no excuse. Nothing was. He just wouldn’t touch a child . . . not even for their youth. He was . . . old fashioned. For it he was ridiculed. For it he was outcast. For it he was murdered. He was her uncle, Uncle Monty.

For it all she loved him. Not in an inappropriate way, but she’d never loved any other man in any way. No other man had ever deserved an ounce of her love. She completely believed she no longer had any love to give. It had been systematically siphoned out of her with every violation and finally dried up with Uncle Monty’s death. No matter. It wasn’t a theory she was willing to test. All men who pushed that boundary crossed over into a different kind of bliss . . . that of eternal sleep. Even so, she’d never met any other man who could look past her face and tits to see who she was on the inside. That was a forbidden place. She was ugly there . . . so god damned ugly.

Though, for Uncle Monty she bloomed. She was beautiful inside and out. Well, not so much. Her time with him wasn’t a period of innocence. She’d already been raped countless times by then. It all started when she was six. Hell, her tits hadn’t even developed by then! Still, it was obvious what a beauty she’d become. They took advantage of that. Regardless, while he could, while he still breathed, Uncle Monty saved her from her own family as often as possible.

Never again could he protect her, so she’d learned to protect herself. All this began the day he died. That was the day she swore she’d find, kill and fucking devour the bastard who’d so viciously stolen the only bright light in her short life. No matter how unsuccessful she’d been in that regard, the vow still remained strong, though dormant. Life had forced her to focus on other matters. Even so, she’d never meant to actually eat anyone. But if the time came, if she ever got her chance, she’d tear their mother fucking heart out and bite into the rotting thing. Uncle Monty deserved as much.

It proved to be an impossible task. Searching for Uncle Monty’s murderer wore her down. It was no simple thing. He’d been the brightest flame within her accursed family. Everyone else, including herself, had dimmed in comparison. Regardless of the day and age, his morals made them all appear as monsters. It was her whole god damned family that wanted him dead. It was the reason why good people like him never lasted. Perhaps it was the reason why she’d never found any other like him. Maybe he was the last of his kind. If so, just how grand a sin was it to kill him? Just how high a price should her vengeance be?

She should know. She was the closest thing she’d ever known to a serial killer. She’d literally torn her family asunder. Few if any of them still lived. Naturally, she hadn’t killed a single one of them with her own hands, but they’d all met terrible ends. Every last one of them were brutally tortured first. They’d been questioned as to their specific role in Uncle Monty’s death and particularly just exactly who’d done the deed.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Surprisingly, most failed to plead innocent, goading her on; believing the pretty, naïve little bitch didn’t have it in her. One by one they found out differently and most, cowards as they were, begged for their lives by the end. She didn’t listen. Not even one twitch of remorse plagued her mind as they died. Especially not for all the men in her family who, at one time or other had their way with her. They warranted special treatment. They ALL deserved it when she brutally raped their shitty little asses with whatever was handy . . . up to and including power tools.

They didn’t seem to enjoy it. Did they think she had? Oh that’s right, they hadn’t cared! They just wanted to get their respective dicks wet! Well, now they were again! With their own fucking blood! They swore they’d never do such a thing again! It was the only lie they told that’d be reborn as truth! So they died! The mother fucker’s ALL DIED!!! For ALL of them, at the end, she’d torn their fucking hearts out! For ALL of them she’d bitten a chunk out of the throbbing, dying piece of shit and spit it back between their wide open eyes, glazed over in death! Each morbid expression screamed, “Oh my god! I can’t believe the bitch had the balls to end me!” Well, fucking surprise!

When her family was finished she began to hunt. She hadn’t stopped yet, but unfortunately still with few answers. She’d learned remarkably little. What she did know was not one of her family had the balls to end Uncle Monty. They’d hired out. For the right price, killers were easy to find, so why not? She managed to confirm it was a man who’d done the deed and he’d a star tattoo somewhere on his back.

She could’ve turned into a whore for this. What better way to get a good close look? Regardless, she found she couldn’t stand the touch of a man. It was so much easier to break their fingers until they were just as convinced as she was their shirt really should come off. It didn’t hurt when she slid their wallets out as well. They were kind of preoccupied anyway.

These weren’t random men. She’d tracked down every lead she could find, but to little avail. Still, she kept at it until the last clue was exhausted. Even then she searched in vain for decades. It hadn’t helped her untrusting, bitter nature. Eventually bitterness was all that remained of her. Her search was over by default. The monster who’d murdered her precious Uncle Monty had gotten away with it! They’d keep getting away with it! She was done! She’d shamed herself, but it was the whole fucked up world that would pay the price! FUCK THEM ALL!!! THERE WAS NO GOOD LEFT IN THE WORLD!!! WHY SHOULD SHE BE ANY BETTER!!!

So she wasn’t. She knew; she fucking knew this wasn’t what Uncle Monty would’ve wanted . . . for her to turn into the monster. She didn’t know anything else! No one taught her any better! He could’ve! Damn right, he could’ve! Too bad he’d left the game early! He’d walked out of her life with a chunk torn out of his bleeding heart! All she’d ever wanted to do was return the god damn favor!

She’d done so to everyone who’d played a part and likely to a few who hadn’t. She didn’t like to think about the latter or her guilt in it all. She killed that part of herself every day. It was her morning ritual and would remain so until her dying day. It was, she momentarily realized, the greatest part of her. The loss of it was her greatest threat. That, if nothing else, was what she swore never to lose. That, if that alone, was what she fucking knew the prophet would want her to lose! Her fucking revenge!

Why go with him? Why submit to losing something, the only thing, she couldn’t live without? Wasn’t she better off dead elsewhere? It was why she swore to die on her own terms. It was why she was forsaking fate, her beloved fate. She’d so believed fate had been leading her to justice in Uncle Monty’s death. She still did, but could no longer cope with the fact that fate had given up on her first. Fate was supposed to help her finish this! Fate was supposed to lead her to greener pastures! Fate was supposed to set her fucking free! By free she didn’t mean dead.

She chose to believe she existed as death’s right hand . . . as that of justice! She was the gavel that slammed down while screaming GUILTY!!! She was the mother fucking executioner! Was it not for this fate led her?! So for fucking what had fate abandoned her?! Had she gone too far?! Was she now the cancer that needed excising?! Well, fucking NO!!! NOT FUCKING POSSIBLE!!! NOT IF TAKEI WANTED HER SERVICES, MORBID AS THEY MAY BE!!! NO!!! HE JUST WANTED HER TO GIVE UP THE ONLY THING THAT MADE HER HEART STILL BEAT!!! THAT’S ALL!!! WELL, FUCKING NO!!! SHE JUST COULDN’T DO THAT!!! SHE WOULDN’T!!! FUCK HIM!!! FUCK FATE!!! FUCK THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!

So what of it? Would death now claim her? Was she not already dead inside? She welcomed completing the circle. If death wanted her then death could come and get her. She wouldn’t fight it, but nor would she seek it. She wouldn’t run toward it, but nor would she turn away. Not again. Not ever again.

<><><><>

Tamerlane fell, the snow notwithstanding. He’d fallen face first as an army of snow descended upon him, attacking on all fronts. It didn’t matter. He no longer cared. Tamerlane was dead . . . finally and forever dead. His newfound youth hadn’t saved him as he believed it would. He’d bled out a full minute earlier and walked that final 60 seconds a zombie, mobilized only by the sway. Even that came to an inglorious end as his brain cells fizzled inert one by one. Then, and only then, had Sarafyn let him go.

Sarafyn foresaw the event, but little else. His vision hadn’t reached out so far. For an ancient such as him time was a minor obstacle, but distance plagued him as it did with all humatrans. He could only see so far beyond himself. Events that didn’t directly concern him often eluded him. This was the Atran failsafe. It prevented useless visions about useless events that didn’t concern the seer. There existed an invisible aura, if you will, an expanded diameter limiting such things. Naturally this grew with age, experience and training, but every last humatran who still drew breath had their limitations.

So too was this the case with telepathy, the sway and all other abilities, no matter how minor. So too was Sarafyn’s grip upon Delacroix faltering. He knew it would. He knew well this attempt to murder his own son was always a questionable one. He just felt the attempt ought to be made. With the knowledge of Tamerlane’s end, the man was decidedly free . . . far more than his “general”. Tamerlane hadn’t been plagued with the unquenchable desire to kill. He was just along for the ride. He simply existed so his end might be as drawn out and painful as possible . . . because Sarafyn witnessed his life through his cancerous memories and simply decided the little bastard deserved it. Few would argue.

Yet, Delacriox continued his path. The sway had just about run its course. He was breaking free. Even so, Sarafyn had done all he could to imprint upon him the NEED to kill Jason. For all his centuries, he honestly didn’t know if this had any real chance of working, but time would tell. Very soon the man would pass from his range of influence, or ROI. When that happened Sarafyn would know nothing more unless he, himself drew nearer. That, however, was already the plan.

<><><><>

Delacroix screamed as his mind finally tore free. With it he glanced back. There, only ten feet away lay his one-time friend and destroyer of his life. With a weariness and desperation he finally realized what they all said was true . . . Tamerlane destroyed all he touched. Now he was gone. Without proof of any real sort, his death was simply an undeniable certainty. He could only guess that bastard Sarafyn let him know.

For it there existed within him a desire to go back and cave in his head with his boot. Yet he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Beyond the fact something told him to continue his path, he wouldn’t dare take one step back for fear that Sarafyn would reclaim his mind. To the contrary, there existed deep within him the need to get as far away from the accursed place as possible. This was near to the point of straining his neck for the final backwards glance. At the very least he’d wanted to spit upon Tamerlane’s freezing, bleeding corpse, but something wasn’t letting him.

With that the fear crept back in. For all intents and purposes his mind now seemed his own. How could it not? The utter weariness fell upon him with a weight he’d never before felt. To some extent Sarafyn had been holding him upright as well. Now he wanted to follow Tamerlane’s play and give up the ghost, but an equally strong part of him NEEDED to move on. What WAS this? It wasn’t a sway, but was so damned close he couldn’t be sure Sarafyn hadn’t truly lost control.

However, he felt he could deny this urge if he truly wanted to . . . normally anyway. At the moment he was far too exhausted to fight it. A part of him was grateful for that. Past an empty tank, the urge fueled him. It kept him moving away from the ancient. It kept him moving when he didn’t believe he could do so alone. To this he needed, not this force within him, HE needed to prove he still remained himself. So Delacroix altered his course.

It wasn’t by much. It was only by a few steps, but each and every one of those took a toll. It was as if he was walking upon the thinnest line of solid ground and for miles on either side of him stood a sea of quicksand. Even that grew decidedly deeper with every step. For this, he’d little choice but to return to the path Sarafyn set for him. Beyond all else, this he knew. This was what Sarafyn wanted. He may not be able to deny him, but at least he knew the truth of it. He would deny the ancient . . . in time. He swore as much . . . no matter how long it took he would reclaim his soul.

<><><><>

Well before re-crossing the bridge, Carmen, via fate, passed by the overly burdened Delacroix by just under a mile. Chance, or could it be fate, had it neither saw one another, as both were utterly consumed in their own personal dilemmas. Yet in this land of pure white canvas, dotted with trees, it was decidedly harder to miss each other’s footprints within the snow.

Carmen despised herself the moment she became aware of them. As if by instinct she immediately hunkered down and surveyed her surroundings as she believed she should’ve been doing all along. The fact she hadn’t been, well, it amazed her death hadn’t seized the opportunity. She would’ve had their roles been reversed.

After a full ten minutes passed with no sign of life, she tenderly moved to intercept the new path. It wasn’t a long trip, but she made it so with a renewed caution. Beyond all else, she’d convinced herself what became of her hinged upon this event. She was right, but couldn’t have predicted just how.

Naturally not, though. All visions still eluded her. Try as she might to penetrate the mind of whomever created this new path, nothing came to her. It truly was a mystery as to why. Once she reached the path, being a well-trained tracker, she’d determined it a recent trek, the growing snowstorm notwithstanding. She should’ve been able to read this mind because gone or not, this person was certainly near enough to do so. Still nothing came.

Was it a ghost who’d drifted by on feet so solid? Why the fuck couldn’t she read this mind?! Where the fuck had her abilities gone?! As far as she was concerned a humatran without abilities was either a dead sheep or one still awaiting the ax. She wasn’t willing to be either, but more and more it seemed all choice in the matter had been ripped away from her.

Was that it? Was that how fate would wreak its revenge? How fate would ultimately end her? If so, she was lucky to retain her very wits. Even so, this was linked directly to her sanity, which was well balanced due to her abilities, of which she greatly relied. With their loss, she was also losing herself. This made her wonder whether or not fate and death were devious enough to earn their victory with her suicide! Neither would she have that! This wouldn’t be her end!

The tracker in her wanted, no needed, to find this “anomaly” and fucking kill them. She wanted to prove to both death and fate this person couldn’t possibly kill her, because she’d first kill them . . . or rather Joy would . . . but at what cost? Was she still sane enough to risk DOE? Successfully using a sniper required more than a steady hand, it required a steady mind.

No matter. None of this mattered as much as to Carmen as defying them all. This meant she wouldn’t be lured into this trick, for that’s surely what it was . . . a trick to turn her around and back to the prophet. Well, that wasn’t happening! She’d push forward and find the origin of this bastard, for the size and depth of the tracks told her this was a man.

She already knew as much. She knew where he’d come from. It was the same place she’d come from . . . the seed hunter camp. Nothing else existed out here. It was the only option. It wasn’t a place she was willing to return to. Still, options were running thin. So many choices she’d shot down. She’d have to settle sometime. That or die. Before deciding on a course, Joy picked up something in the distance, for hers was a powerful scope.

She’d seen it too often to not know what it was. Someone new met their end. Why would they come out this way? Were these people sent by Wferium? Were they after her? Was Wferium still hell bent on reclaiming the firstborn? There were too many unknowns. The least she could do was unearth the identity of the corpse, if only to narrow down her prey. After all, it was on her way.

<><><><>

Delacroix hadn’t only missed Carmen, but her tracks as well. This force made turning his head in any other direction a chore and he possessed no need to look around. He’d only see more of what lay in front of him . . . trees and the eternal snow. It was no doubt he would’ve looked had he any idea something new lay out there. As it was he didn’t, and he’d no clue of it for the force encompassed all things. Namely, his abilities faded to nothing.

Yet somehow he knew just where to go. This was by no means a certainty. This was Sarafyn’s idea of where Jason had gone. If the ancient was wrong then so was Delacroix. It didn’t much matter. There wasn’t exactly any choice in the path laid out before him. Neither did that matter. Anywhere was better than here.

<><><><>

Tamerlane lay in the stillness of death. Sarafyn had seen as much, but nothing more. Not even he thought to look further. He never did dwell much on the past, excepting a moment for Aryl, which even now brought a solitary tear to his eye. He didn’t need to witness the last rites if any were lucky enough to receive them out here. So too, did he not know of Carmen’s presence. Had he, being at the edge of his ROI, he would’ve attempted to sway her to return to him. She’d a grisly crime to atone for.

Yet he’d no clue and so in a moment of complete privacy, Carmen happened upon Tamerlane and his bloody trail. Nothing was so obvious to her, though. Not yet. He’d fallen face first into the deepening snow and the blizzard was obscuring her vision. She wouldn’t be able to identify him until she reached him. When she did, Carmen saw little other than a lump in the snow. Even the paths of the other man and her own were quickly filling in. Snow was a relentless workhorse. She’d glimpsed the dead man’s bloody trail through Joy’s scope, but there was no longer any sign of it. Nature cleaned up man’s mess, as nature always, eventually does.

Being a shallow grave what remained of the man didn’t take long to unbury. It was something of a start and something not . . . obviously having youthed, never had Tamerlane looked better. Surely more deserving men eluded death every day, but this day oblivion snared a big one. It wasn’t as if she much cared. He was a bastard, so was better off dead, but he wasn’t her concern. If he had been she would’ve seen to his death back at the bridge. It was nice to know he was able to find death without her help, but was that ever in doubt? The stupid never lasted long in this world. He’d only done so this long because of the gang he’d formed. Interestingly enough, both Takei and Xavier fell within his ranks. Not anymore it seemed.

Soon everything fell into place. The other man she’d somehow missed; that was Delacroix. It couldn’t have been anyone else. Surely, of the three people she’d witnessed still alive at the bridge, Tamerlane would’ve taken Delacroix over dumbass Arden. Hell, there were only the two sets of tracks. If Arden wasn’t still with Tamerlane then odds were he was snuggling up to death himself. It didn’t matter. Arden never mattered to her. What mattered was she now knew who she’d passed, but not why.

What to do about it? Let him go? She really couldn’t care less about the man. Even if she did it would have to wait. The blizzard was intensifying and with it the temperature plummeted even further. The cold was biting through her layers. A solution lay directly in front of her. Tamerlane wasn’t a large man by anyone’s standards, but he was larger than her. Aside from her DD’s she was actually petite. His clothes would fit over her heavy coat, aside from that which covered his legs, which were soaked in frozen blood. She’d happily take from him everything else of value . . . he didn’t need it anymore.

Carmen found a few meager supplies in his pockets, clueless as to why Delacroix would abandon them. Whatever. More for her. Among the things left behind was Tamerlane’s trademark plasma influx. As rare a weapon as it was, she didn’t have a clue why anyone would use such a thing. It was so much easier to kill with than her Joy which meant DOE. It was completely useless to her . . . aside from street value. Selling it would feed her for some time to come. So she took it.

She needed to remove his pack to get to his coat. Upon looking inside, it seemed rather empty. Strange that. No one comes out this far without provisions. It made her wonder if Delacroix fared any better. It was unlikely. Regardless, Tamerlane could’ve easily gotten away with forcing Delacroix to be his mule, once all his other mules were either dead or gone. Either this or contrary to her first thought, Delacroix already thought to ransack the dead man.

His coat came freely after that, though the zipper stuck for a moment at the end. She wasn’t planning on taking anything more. The lighter layers were of little benefit and still damp with sweat. Even if clean, she’d have to remove her own coat to put them on and that just wasn’t worth it. Yet in this something remarkable was revealed. Beyond all she could’ve imagined she saw upon the back of his neck . . . a star . . . lonely and shining a faded red. Over the years his hair must’ve hidden it.

The immutable nature of fate was unfolding . . . here and now. So too was she. In that very moment as she kneeled, stunned in a foot of snow, layers upon layers of her sanity were peeling away. She’d lost her breath, but the clock was ticking . . . her clock. So very soon she would act, but for now she was awash in her own memories. Uncle Monty. Where was he now? Did he see what she saw? Because she could lay it all out in one word . . . justice, finally justice.

So very many years gone; so much hope lost. It was all for this moment. She hadn’t even known it, but more than the snow now fell. Her tears were flowing. Her lips were trembling on her lovely tortured face, which was contorting into something less than beautiful. A rage was fueling. Her blood seemed to boil. It would come as no shock to her if the snow all about her was melting, but it wasn’t. This was an internal fury. It ripped at her very soul to be free. She let it.

Abandoning all pretenses Carmen tore into the well woven shirt that just wouldn’t tear until her teeth joined the fight. Then, as if it was born to the purpose, it was torn asunder. Beneath it lay yet another shirt, which was par for the course in such weather, but it too gave up the ghost in similar fashion. Beneath that . . . the sky lit up. Stars, stars and more stars. All different sizes, but all striving to glow crimson, as they surely must’ve when freshly comingled with the blood of their owner . . . Tamerlane!

Yet erasing this night sky were words etched between the bastard’s shoulder blades. These struck a chord she’d not known possible. All in caps it read the unmistakable words.

“FOREVER YOUR GUIDE”

It was undeniable, though still she tried. Fate wouldn’t be turned away. Not this time. Takei had spoken these very words to her not so very long ago. He’d said, “Time to go. Fate deemed all this necessary. But our time here is done. Follow or don’t follow, but then you will. All abilities aside, even that of your sixth sense, you know you will. You will follow your guide. Forever your guide.”

Fate be damned she wouldn’t follow! She ruled her own life! Tears were melting these thoughts into a blur. The prophet! He knew! He fucking knew! All this time he fucking knew!!! Yet then the words rang true, “Fate deemed all this necessary.” Was she . . . could she really be . . . playing out the prophecies in the here and now? Was that even possible? Could she really be a part of such hallowed events? Did it even matter?! In that moment anger waged a war within her gut. With every bloody scream it fought against the unquenchable awe now growing brighter by the moment.

The end came so suddenly. It smashed into her soul with such a force utterly forsaking choice. Within that moment her eyes glazed over in long denied foresight. Suddenly, Tamerlane, older than he looked now, was once again walking and talking. But . . . how? How in the . . . Tamerlane was lying dead at her feet! How . . . a pr . . . pre . . . PRESIGHT?!?! WHAT THE FUCK!!! SHE’D SWEAR . . . SHE’D ALWAYS SWORN SUCH THINGS WEREN’T FUCKING POSSIBLE!!! BUT HOW COULD SHE DENY WHAT SHE WAS SEEING?!?!

Tamerlane was the same, but different. He walked with the same shrug as though nothing could affect him. The smile plastered across his face said much the same. Though, his clothes were different. They were what, newer? Better? More to the taste she’d always imagined he’d approve of. He looked so much the hybrid gangster pimp. If the very sight of him hadn’t nauseated her she’d have admitted he wore it well . . . as few others could. With a self-assured swagger, he walked his walk and talked his talk. He was for all intents and purposes pulling off the unabashed suave nature he’d always strived for within Wferium’s camp. He’d so faded within her company. Why had he ever joined her?

In her vision he existed as a fixture within the cityscape. She couldn’t know which, but such wasn’t really the point. It was a different place and a different time. From the shadows came another figure. This was a meet; probably a drug deal. She knew better the moment she’d seen the man’s face. Oh, she knew him well. It was her father; her own mother fucking father . . . literally. He was to deal with this scum.

Nothing was so simple. Her father glanced back and waved forward. Upon the summons, her mother entered the scene. Soon afterwards her brother and a few cousins did as well. Oh, it was a bitch ass family affair! So now she knew! Forever ending the last bright light her childhood would ever know was a group effort! Yes . . . she knew why they were here! Oh yes! They were to hire the unrepentant bastard, Tamerlane to do what the little pussies couldn’t . . . murder her Uncle Monty! Then her father spoke.

“Tamerlane? Tamerlane T . . .” He was cut short.

“Don’t you fucking say my last name.” It was said with a suddenness demanding both volume and attention, but it was hissed out in a sneer.

“S . . . Sorry?”

“You will be if you try that again. Weren’t you told better?” After an uncomfortable pause that may normally end someone of his lowly nature. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Um . . .” Carmen could see the impatient rage in Tamerlane’s eyes. She knew the man. She knew he would’ve seen to her father’s death at that very moment had he not come with an entourage of his own. It was too risky; best to hear the man out. Make the bastard fucking vanish. He didn’t have time for him and his problems.

“What? Drugs? Women for your whole family to fuck? Want some youth? Got some kids lined up. What? What the fuck do you want?”

“Um . . . no.” Another pause, but shorter. “We need someone . . . taken care of. A problem.”

Then Tamerlane understood. “Oh, right. You’re a bunch of pansies! I get it now! Can’t do your own dirty work, huh? What the fuck, huh? What’s this world coming to when a man and his spineless family can’t bond with the death of someone they hate? Huh?”

“No . . . No. It’s not like that.”

“Oh really. Then why do you need me, huh?”

“We can’t be implicated.”

“Why not? People die every fucking day! Hear that screaming yonder? Someone is youthing over some poor fuck right now! Really, who would care?”

“That’s . . . That’s our problem.” Her father straightened his tie trying to regain his composure. “Will you do it or won’t you?”

“Oh, I’ll do it alright. For a price. But stop trying to grow a backbone. It just isn’t you.”

“My family and I . . . we’ve pooled together some money. It should do.”

Tamerlane took the money and counted it by touch, like a professional. He never took his eyes off her father. There was a silent approval of the amount, however much it was.

“Right. Your family did that. Now you’ve got me curious. Just who exactly do you hate so much? Now, you’ve gotta admit, that kinda is my problem. Don’t you think?”

Without a word a picture was handed over and a folder.

“Ooh, professional huh? Nice gloss to the folder. How much did you say you were worth again?”

Tamerlane was playing with his food, so to speak. They all shuffled uncomfortably, but it was her mother that spoke this time.

“We gave what we have! Now do your fucking job!”

Tamerlane’s eyes narrowed. “Now you . . .”

“No! Fuck you! You listen! We’re here . . . right now! Offering you a job! Are you going to fucking take it or not?! Do you plan to insult us some more?! You are far from the only one who can do this for us! Should we take our business elsewhere?! Huh?!”

Tamerlane was stunned. In that very moment he wanted her head on a stick, but nothing could be done with this herd mentality. However he acted, he needed this job. He needed this money. He was man enough to recognize that and shut his trap. He did so completely, aside from six little words spoken through clenched teeth. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Carmen remembered her little spitfire mother. She’d spoken to her in just that tone as she was bleeding her out, telling her, “It just had to be done! Grow the fuck up and deal with it!” Her demands waned with her life. Carmen’s response was much the same. “So does this, mother. So suck it up and die!” Surprisingly, Carmen was glad her mother was such a cast iron bitch. It made tearing her heart out easier to handle.

What the fuck happened to protecting a daughter?! Oh, but then she thought she was! Right! She remembered that now! Uncle Monty was making her soft! She’d said as much! Uncle Monty was going to get her killed! Well, her mother should be so very proud! She wasn’t “soft” anymore! Then as if to prove it, she sunk her teeth deep into her mother’s cast iron heart.

All that happened so long after. Right then her family faded from the picture as her vision followed Tamerlane inside a building. Anyone could see he was fucking pissed. Not anyone could see he’d no intention of killing the man . . . not himself anyway! As if slapped across the face, Carmen suddenly understood. Her hunt wasn’t over! She was witnessing the fucking past to learn just who he handed that folder to . . . fucking . . . mother fucker! Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! Dela . . . fucking . . . croix!!!!

Right then her vision faded and the snow once again encompassed her. It had lightly covered her in her absence. It was trying to claim her as it claimed all else. She shook a mighty tremor and with it the snow flew a second flight. It seemed so much a seizure, but was little less than a cold rage ripping through her soul. Much like the snow, it could do nothing other than build. It came again. And again. And again. Until finally she screamed, shattering the serenity of the scene. “THIS . . . WILL . . . END!!!”

Fate or not, at that very moment she vowed to return, if for no other reason than to eviscerate Delacroix. Yet nothing was so simple. Yes, fate was leading her once again. She knew. She begrudgingly accepted it, but her work here wasn’t done. Quickly, silently she drew from her pack a hunting knife. Once unsheathed, she plunged it with all her force deep within Tamerlane’s icy chest. The bastard hadn’t yet frozen solid; at least not on the inside.

Time remained for her to do what she must. Time still remained for her to tear out Tamerlane’s rotting heart! Time yet remained for her to tear her teeth into it. For Carmen time always remained to honor her uncle in this manner he never would’ve approved of. Yet she must. This rite reminded her ever so briefly of that last bit of innocence lost. Forever lost.