Aside from the resonating screams that bellowed from many different mouths, the babies Sarafyn and Wferium were perfectly safe and back with their own kind . . . humatrans. Though they weren’t even two weeks old they both seemed to be aware of the change and approved of it. None who bore witness to the horrid event could deny Claire’s love for her children . . . at least not at the end. Even so, they would deny it. There really wasn’t any other choice. Lying was the only way to ensure loyalty. Of course, the truth was rampant and made plain through their thoughts, the last honest place, but the babies were far too young to be able to read minds. Even if they could, they had yet to learn English, much less any other language. If they had they wouldn’t know how to process what they knew. So the lies stood tall and strong . . . for now.

The trouble would come as they aged, but nothing that far into the future could be seen. Nor did anyone worry too much about it. Most of the truth about their parents wasn’t so flattering. Nor did they have any reason to believe trouble would arise from the children as time passed. Why would it? They’d be raised in the town’s own image and taught only what the town believed . . . that they were different. Different but protected. That Durham would soon become the only town comprised completely of humatrans, which would make it a safe haven from humans.

Of course, there were scant reports hinting at humatrans the world over, but these were seen as anomalies signifying nothing more than a new illness, not a new species. These were almost entirely a disjointed people who had no idea what happened to them. Most of these would’ve despised what they’d become, if only they’d known. Durham combined knowledge with safety and all through the divine providence of the Atra, Tyndystylyn, whom not one of them even knew existed. Not yet anyway.

All that would change over the next few years. It was bidding it’s time. It was waiting to play savior to earn loyalty for when peace rotted into tragedy. To this Atra, the events surrounding the birth of the twins were nothing more than tests and one barely passed at that. Yet what was a test to an alien who could see a century into the future and already knew the results? The exam had been turned in and graded decades before any humatran had even been born. It all could’ve been avoided with the slightest change in the choices the Atra made, but that would’ve resulted in different tragedies elsewhere. It was a judgment call; the lesser of two evils. All conjured by an Atra who was self-serving.

The general human perception was that all Atra were inherently devoid of every emotion and nearly mechanical in their continual effort to obliterate humanity. If only in demeanor and incessant will, many compared them to the terminators from the ancient movies of the same name, but they were nothing like that. Tyndystylyn’s bid to play savior reeked of pride. This was true even though it already knew the results of its efforts.

This was not to say Tyndystylyn didn’t believe in the future or the prophecies. It did. How could it not? It lauded itself as an indispensable part of them. It was too. Everything it did had been foretold, even though pride had blinded Tyndystylyn into believing it’s choices were it’s own. In a way they were. In a way they weren’t. The future simply took them all into account and molded them accordingly, as if the future were a living, breathing thing. It wasn’t. Yet to those who believed, it felt like it and on occasion, was worshiped as such.

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Not so long ago, Tyndystylyn, itself, fell between the cracks on the subject, undecided. It decided not to decide, but to postpone. Of course, it saw the future, but was uncertain whether or not it was to be believed. Part of it liked what was to come and part of it didn’t. So, in essence, it did believe, but wished desperately not to. It was loathe to abandon free will, but free will among the Atra had always been a myth.

Theirs was a ruled society, which was near to a military hierarchy. It was belief in the future that gave rise to dissent, but this belief had always existed. For a race that could inherently see it, things that had been foreseen often came to pass, but this was seen as odds. Anyone could predict anything and they would sometimes be right. It was luck. It was believed to be luck and told as fact. All it really boiled down to was stubborn pride.

Tyndystylyn was very far from the first Atra to wish for free will. Foresight was a curse. The Atra had grown tired of knowing nearly everything. It sapped the essence of their long life and made it largely purposeless. So they grew to deny, forcefully deny, what they inherently knew. They would do everything in their power to make certain what was seen did not come to pass. Since the future was chock full of choice, it appeared to work, which gave birth to hope, but this hope wasn’t embraced by all. The Futurists had always existed. It was the doubters that had not.

The massive burden of knowledge weighed down upon countless Atra and soon the doubters had formed a following. Over time it grew and tipped the scales in favor of the disbelievers. This gave them the belief in the power to change more than just themselves, a few or even a multitude. They sought to forever change the very fabric of their society. They sought to weed out every last Futurist and either convert them or ignore them and if they protested too much, kill them. Right before death, they would look them in their many eyes and telepathically ask, “Did you see this end coming? Did you prepare for it?”

Frustratingly, many answered yes. The Futurists had become devout. It was the only recourse. All those who were tainted with debilitating doubt had been weeded out. Only the strong remained. These believed the future was alive and had a plan. They needed to believe such things, because they’d already foreseen their own downfall. It could’ve been prevented and some had tried, but this was ultimately the order of things to come. It had to happen. The Futurists saw many things, but didn’t know why they saw them or what they meant. They’d simply chosen to believe they were a test of their faith. They’d already known all would not be lost. Even so, the future held nothing but tragedy for every devout Futurist. That was the cross they had to bear. Not that they hadn’t many times already . . . foresight felt very real, but the belief was that reality would be worse. That they couldn’t know. That was what required faith.

Tyndystylyn saw all these things and believed them, but didn’t have the stomach to suffer beyond what had already been seen. It wanted to join the swelling ranks of the disbelievers and it had tried, but already knew it wouldn’t work. It had foreseen it. Still it tried. Perhaps in a futile effort to prove to itself the future was not set in stone. Everything unfolded just as it knew it would. It was rejected because it’s core believed in the future. It didn’t have to be foreseen to be known. It was plain and obvious and could be seen easily through it’s uncertain actions. They thought it a spy, but a poor one. Lucky for it, they thought. A strong one would’ve met with death.

Of course, if Tyndystylyn had foreseen it’s own death it wouldn’t have taken the risk. It was, in nearly every way that mattered, a coward. That made Tyndystylyn an outcast to both groups, which made it an unwilling party to the third, for it was not alone in it’s indecision. This group was known as the Remnants. They fit in with nothing, not even themselves. They even refused to believe they were a group. It was perhaps the only thing they could all agree on. It was certainly the only thing they were devout about. That meant each and every one of them were alone. That too had been foreseen.

Many of these didn’t make it. Suicide was not reserved for humanity alone, but then, just as many Atra Remnants survived solely because of what they were . . . cowards. For all they could see, believed or not, they still had no idea what lay in store for them after death, but most believed wholeheartedly it wasn’t anything pleasant. So the goal became to wallow in their own misery for as long as possible, in the desperate hope things would change and they’d be welcomed into either society that shunned them. They just didn’t see that happening. No one did, because it never would.

Tyndystylyn didn’t see it happening either. No. It saw something completely different. It saw an invasion of Feyrytylyn, which humans called Earth and within in it, disaster, blooming something small and hopeful. That was the vast plan the disbelievers refused to see or at least believed they could change. Feyrytylyn was a deadly planet. As always, death reigned eternal. As always, death brought youth. It always had for the Atra. This time would be no different. The Atra were going to slaughter so very many.

Of course, Tyndystylyn could see it now. It’d seen it before, but believed it now. It was hard to believe any of their race could be so foolish, but it was undeniably true. They believed, regardless of what was “known”, that they were beyond all of that. They believed their reach could seize the whole of the universe and change what was “known“. What was “known” was simply that they couldn’t. That they would fail.

This pride was a festering disease infecting all disbelievers, but then it had to be. Pride was a prerequisite for disbelief. What was “known” had to be denied and that required a large amount of pride as well as self-delusion. Understanding this, it was easy to see how the doubters believed what they did. Just as a humatran suffered little to nothing when killing a significantly lesser species such as an insect, so too did the Atra suffer little to nothing when killing a human, who was so far down the universal food chain to barely matter at all. Who were they to keep them from Feyrytylyn? What would humans do if insects laid claim to their home? Kill them all, and heartlessly at that. This was no different.

` Of course, prophecy said it was too much. Even at such an age as the Atra could reach, it would all eventually catch up with them. The few, the Futurists, said as much, but were ignored. There were other ways to kill. The Atra could’ve seen to the death of humanity by other means. Such was the plan, but things didn’t work out that way. Would a human go to the extra effort to see to the death of an ant or would they just step on them? Once again pride reared its ugly head and death followed by the millions and then the billions. Finally, death turned to look the other way and the Atra started dying.

Failure was obvious, even to the disbelievers. Retreat was necessary. Some argued to stay and finish the job because they were so very close, but they were dying as the thoughts crossed their minds. To them death was a price worth paying for victory. After all, they were going to die anyway. Still, pride prevented it. The disbelievers refused to be seen as weak to anything as lowly as a human. They didn’t see this as a loss, just a postponement. They would not all die. Their strength would return in time. When it did they could finish what they’d started. For now, however, they must withdraw.

They did, but not without a catch. There was punishment in store for the Futurists having been right on this account. Every last one of them were rounded up and sent down to Feyrytylyn. The Remnants were included. Doubters would never have a place in their belief, which was that of disbelief . . . the original doubters. But still, they could not recover their strength if any were unsure of their resolve. The Remnants had to go too. The goal was simply to claim victory from defeat, through pride, of course. They may have lost Feyrytylyn, but they would succeed in finally, completely ridding themselves of the Futurists. They even dared to consider this a victory. It was possible the two could exterminate one another. They ignored what they knew and decided to wait and watch.

Of course, they had to ignore what they knew. What they knew was they’d exterminated themselves. Every last disbeliever was going to die, but that was not where their hopes laid. No. Where else could they lie but with pride, which refused to accept the inevitable. Still, a few broke protocol and were swayed by the fear of the death looming upon them, whether the whole saw it or not. These would put their faith and the last of their strength into procreation. These believed the next generation could and would finish what they’d begun.

This, perhaps for the first time, did actually require belief. The process of dying seriously interfered with their visions of the future. Nothing was known anymore. Not for sure anyway. For most, this loss was a source of fear greater even than death. Though it may take eons, death was inevitable. The loss of their visions was not. But then, wasn’t it? They weren’t the first Atra to die. Every dying Atra had always suffered this debilitating loss. It didn’t matter. To hear of something, to know something, it wasn’t the same as experiencing it. Even their own very real vision of it had plagued them for centuries, but they had refused to believe any of it. Well, they did now and it was unbearable. So now, finally, all the disbelievers had left was belief.

Still, many denied even that and would die as empty as they had lived. The few who chose to believe poured all their hope into the next generation. Perhaps in time they would conquer Feyrytylyn and earn their forbearer’s revenge, but that wouldn’t be the case. There wouldn’t be anyone to teach them. They would be all alone among the ruins of their ancestors. They would be consumed with simply trying to survive and beyond that basic need, figuring out who they were and why they were alone.

That was a different future and too far away for Tyndystylyn to know the result of it. It was enough to know it’s race would go on, as if it cared for anything more than itself. It didn’t, but it wanted to. It pretended to, if only to console it’s own grief and shame. Yet a second chance loomed nigh. A chance to be greater than it had ever been in it’s own society. It now had a chance to be a god and for a being full of pride that wasn’t an opportunity to be missed at any cost . . . the future be damned. The prophecies would say Tyndystylyn had this part to play and it would play it gladly.

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The future just took a turn. Sarafyn and Wferium were both of great importance. Not that Tyndystylyn knew exactly why, as such things extended past his range of vision, but it didn’t exactly care. All it cared about, all it wanted was to play God and it did so deftly. It was, after all, nearly time to reveal itself to it’s throng. The Atra saw time in a different light. To it, a decade didn’t seem very long at all. Not that Tyndystylyn would have to wait that long. No. The next key event would come when the twins were half that age. The meantime would involve tutoring in the belief and training their skills . . . an unintended present from the Atra.

Tyndystylyn knew the dead Atra would become seeds, but not what these seeds could do to humans. Countless Atra had died over the long millennia and countless seeds had formed from them. Over time gas came from them, but nothing ever came of it. Their whole world was full of this gas, but what could this gas do to aliens, of which to the Atra, humans were? There had been evidence of it in the past among different alien species, but was inconclusive.

Under the right circumstances, one vision told how the humans changed and blossomed into something more; something greater and worthy of Tyndystylyn’s respect. Of course, it was all a happy accident in the beginning, but that was a foresight. After that, it knew what would happen, but that wasn’t exactly true. Tyndystylyn still clung to it’s doubts. It wanted to believe what it saw was true. It had no real reason to doubt it, but it just seemed so outlandish . . . so unorthodox. Could it really be true? It was overjoyed when it found out it really was. It was, to it, a miracle.

Tyndystylyn cherished this miracle and ordered events to lead to more of them. At first it was simply a test to make sure it wasn’t an accident or a singular, unrepeatable event. It wasn’t. It held true with every birth over a seed that a hybrid of human and Atra would be born, though internally only. They remained just as hideous as always. It also held true, though in varying degrees, that every humatran possessed a fraction of an Atra’s abilities. Tyndystylyn believed this fluctuation was directly proportionate to just how close the birth was to the seed. So it tipped the scales in it’s favor. It influenced humans to build a hospital over the seed. It fully realized this influence would kill the humans, but what great loss would that be? Their deaths would find the Atra and it would suffer for it, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to kill it. Tyndystylyn was not young. It was a price well worth paying.

Soon the town the humans called Durham was thriving with humatran children. Sure, they were still ruled by their human parents, but that would change. It wouldn’t even take very long. The humans Tyndystylyn had influenced were already dying. Soon the mothers whom it coerced to mate and then give birth in the hospital would die off as well.

Of course, Tyndystylyn didn’t have to be anywhere near Durham to do these things. It was well hidden and safe enough from the marauding humans, who really had no way of finding an Atra outside of luck. All Atra could see them coming from decades earlier, but some were stupid and fought, perhaps suicidal and seeing the one future that could end centuries of torment. Tyndystylyn didn’t relish death and never had. It hid moments after being banished to Feyrytylyn. Naturally, things weren’t that easy. Some humans had to die in the process, but that too was a price well worth paying. To it, any dead human was worth any price outside of it’s own death in trade.

Things were different now. No one came near it anymore. The area was a remote and desolate place the humans called Newfoundland, Canada. The cold never did bother it, like other Atra. This was a boon. No human believed an Atra could survive in the northern or southern regions of their planet. This belief helped to keep it safe, but it wasn’t enough. After the invasion, humans were forced to revert back to their base instinct of hunting for food. So Tyndystylyn influenced every animal of every kind, save humans, to leave the entire area. Soon after, humans realized there was nothing left to hunt and moved on.

Of course, Tyndystylyn needed nourishment too, but it did not eat. It fed off the gas. It had chosen this spot for the one seed in the area and situated directly above it to glean every bit it could. Still, rationing on a day to day basis, it was barely enough. Tyndystylyn was safe but starving and would be forced to move to another seed within the next fifty years. The only reason it could last this long was because the seed would mature to its next stage before being depleted. It would then let off three times as much gas. It would be completely dead before the third stage, though. For now it was fine.

By then Tyndystylyn would move. It had foreseen it long ago. However, where to was still a matter of undecided choice. It had seen many of it’s possible options led to it’s death. The fact was that, unlike many Atra, it wasn’t dying and wouldn’t die unless the wrong decisions were made. After all, it was too busy playing god. Even so, the choices leading to it’s continued survival would also lead it to a grim existence in yet another cold and desolate area. Tyndystylyn didn’t focus on it’s own situation or it’s surroundings much at all. There wasn’t any danger, real or foreseen, so it chose to live within it’s own thoughts and felt as much a native to Durham as any humatran living there.

This cultivated unwanted emotions and from them favorites were picked. Among them were Sarafyn and Wferium, if only for the knowledge of the long lives that lay ahead of them. Of course, there would be a falling out, but at the time it would be unheard of, which made it both different and interesting. To Tyndystylyn it was much like a human’s fascination with movie previews. After all, the Atra did not know everything. The two would live far too long for it to be able to see how things would culminate. Anything that presented a hint of mystery had always intrigued all Atra, but only because, denied or not, most everything was already known. Of course, this same idea was likely a key motivation for the denial of the unbelievers. They knew too much and had grown weary of it.

To a point, Tyndystylyn had also tired of it, but not now. Now everything was new and promising despite the knowledge of things to come. A little mystery never hurt, so the twins garnered the Atra’s approval long before their parents were born. Of course, this meant the birth was a special event looked forward to. When it and all the events surrounding it finally came to pass Tyndystylyn wasn’t about to miss a second of it. It missed very little anyway. Durham was a society the Atra shaped, molded and intently cared about. So much so, that the place wouldn’t even exist without the Atra’s intervention. It had seen that choice and it had led to utter abandonment resulting in yet another ghost town. It chose a different path.

Soon that path would lead to the extermination of all humans in Durham and that was something well worth the long wait. Then after a time of happiness, would come unavoidable tragedy and trial, which would set the stage for Tyndystylyn’s entrance into it’s own society . . . as savior. All that meant more waiting, but it wouldn’t be long now.

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Now was relative. Time passed as time does . . . slowly. The Atra, all Atra had the capacity for very long lives compared to humans which gave them a unique appreciation for patience, but just as for humans, time still seemed to slow when an important event loomed near. This was no different.

Tyndystylyn observed the twins as if an estranged parent, which was more or less how it felt. Not that others were of no importance. It had other favorites, but none intrigued it so much as the twins. Among the humatran throng that feeling wasn’t always mutual. Among some, resentment grew against the two for all those who had to die for them to exist. They simply thought the price was too high and there ought to be two more deaths to redeem it.

These thoughts placed the oppressors on Tyndystylyn’s black list. It knew about them all along, but at least to a point, the torment they so willingly gave was necessary. The Atra thought if it had to pick, Charles Darwin would be the human it respected more than all the rest. The theory, survival of the fittest, seemed more appropriate than ever now, as if there existed a time in the history of any sentient race when the idea hadn’t applied.

The human race was a vile, vicious one that needed extermination, but at no other time was this more revealed than during tragedy, especially on a global scale. When all seemed lost most will scrounge and scrape, murder and rape, just to make certain they feel the warmth of the next day’s sun. Of course, the Atra were little different, being so willing to sacrifice the unfavorable, but that wasn’t something it wanted to think about right now or ever again. Dying or not, the Atra were still the higher race in the evolutionary chain.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The strong survived because they’d been tested time and time again. Earth, in its present state provided these trials on a regular basis, but what remained within Durham to strengthen the twins? It was now a controlled society. Of course, there were hardships in their day to day life, but they needed to be tested in a different way. Tyndystylyn could’ve made their lives both simple and safe, but that would’ve limited their lives to death upon adulthood. It had seen it. They wouldn’t have been properly prepared for what was yet to come, which was going to be anything but happy and pretty. Both their lives would be surrounded by death and if they didn’t learn of it early on, they’d be the ones who perished.

So it was for this reason Tyndystylyn allowed, for a time, those who resented them and wanted them dead, to both live and torture. Otherwise they would’ve met with death long before the twins entered this tragic world. Of course, the persecutors had been surrounded by death themselves. It was the order of things. It meant the trials they laid down would be of necessary severity. No taunting in classes that no longer existed. No words that only sticks and stones could break. No push to shove. No. None of that. That was all far too kind. Cut straight to the blade. Death actively sought the twins, regardless of their age, especially because of their young age and vulnerability. Those who resented them served as little more than death’s weapons and death had an endless arsenal.

Of course, not even Atra young knew how to protect themselves early on, but it didn’t matter. The twins had protectors of their own. Some died in that effort, but that too was necessary. The twins saw death play out before them. Sometimes when nothing else would do, youthing and often DOE would step in as the only thing between their next breath and a grisly end. Such things were well known in Durham even if the rest of the world still wallowed in blissful ignorance. The would-be murderers saw the possibilities and made their choices. These were often filled by fury, rage and the inevitable sacrifice to the cause, believing, because they could not see very far into the future, that their own deaths would ultimately grant success via DOE.

Not that there was a lack of order in Durham, but it was not always an easy balance to maintain, even before Claire came along. The birth of the twins only made things worse. The town was nearly split on the matter. Whatever peace the town unearthed was quickly unraveling. On many occasions, it came to the point where foresight could find no choice that didn’t eventually lead to death. The town was enduring its own civil war, which was something no town in those days could survive.

Of course, there were always survivors in the end. One side or other had to win, but by the time the dust settled the few who remained were never enough to still be called a town. On occasion, the pieces could be picked up and renewal would occur, but this was rare. Most ended in abandonment to a bloody ghost town status. This was where Durham was heading, and quickly. It didn’t help when the humans came knocking.

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These weren’t stragglers like before. They were for lack of a better term, concerned citizens of neighboring towns. They didn’t come bearing hatred, malice or even weapons beyond that of self-preservation, which in that day and age were nothing short of necessity. They came to help, because word of the fighting had resonated from the ears of nearby wanderers to outlying areas.

These people believed survival depended on helping one another and that was their purpose. They intended to be mediators to the internal dispute, but it was rare for anyone to be so selfless. No. They had another agenda, but still a relatively innocent one. Durham was known, but for years none had interacted with them. Nor had they reached out. They’d become a closed off society and no one knew why. The goal here and now was to provide aid; the price for it being renewed trade . . . something of vital importance. Beyond this they hoped, some even planned, to receive goods in direct exchange for the aid. After all, some of them could die in the effort. They were right about that. As was often the case in nature when a mediator came between two sides of a war, they got caught in the crossfire.

Sure, they’d come prepared, but for what? This was something entirely new. This wasn’t something they could’ve foreseen, being mere humans. The people of Durham, though fighting, knew things that couldn’t be known. They avoided and reversed oncoming attacks deftly as if they’d already known their enemy’s strategy. This could’ve been attributed to training and skill if not for the unexplainable dodging of bullets. They moved fast too, faster than the well-wishers. Not by much, but noticeable. Their strength could also be described in the same way. For whatever reason, all the residents of Durham had a general distaste for all things “human”, they‘d said. This gave the “humans” pause. Every humatran had already foreseen this pause and used it against them, embracing the age old idiom, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. They’d banded together to end this new plague of humanity, who ought to be proud. They came to end the internal dispute. Mission accomplished.

Some escaped. Of course, they knew they would. They had to. Only a select few within Durham could handle the regression of youthing without DOE. Still, they made a show of trying to kill every last one of them. If nothing else, fear would be instilled in the ragged survivors. It would have to be enough, if for no other reason than to destabilize the next wave. That was the hope, as none possessed enough foresight to know the full and bloody outcome of this fateful event. Survival depended on the use of humatran “gifts”, which was something most grew tired of hiding anyway. These gifts made them feel invincible, as if they could take on the world. This was something they yearned for, since leaving Durham was forbidden. So the battle was ruled by impulse and this made it obvious the people of Durham were “different”, and different was rarely ever good.

It was unintentional, but this battle had universally widened the world’s perception of what it meant to be different. It had opened the doors to new possibilities and the fear of it led to the birth of humatran persecution, despite the fact that label had yet to be coined. This event would have repercussions that rippled across the globe. It would take time and belief would be slow in coming, but it was enough to give doubt a nudge. This would be the fledgling doubt in the sickness others felt, that this new worldwide disease was something more than first thought. Though they’d gotten one thing right from the beginning . . . it had come from the Atra.

These waves had only just begun as the murmurings of rumors. Too few humans survived the encounter. For something extraordinary to be believed multitudes must experience it. Of course, they already had, but most died shortly afterwards. Those that remained and told their improbable tale were, in the beginning, thought to have been driven insane by whatever they’d seen, which of course, had to have a rational explanation. Regardless, that and the belief many died was enough to convince all who heard the story that “something” happened that both deserved and required further attention. Durham wouldn’t be left alone as they had been in years past.

More than this, many assumed there was an Atra hiding in the town. Naturally, it had to die. But still, this was something new. Occasionally, rogue Atra had fought, killed and even used humans, but these seemed more than that. They’d been converted, but if the rumors were true it was worse still. This was more than a mere cult. They’d been endowed with similar abilities. This was for lack of a better word, perverse. It seemed a disease that might spread and must be stopped here and now. Fear lent this belief fuel, but nothing was really known. Many still believed the survivors were delusional and experiencing a great deal of trauma from the incident, which most deemed perfectly understandable regardless of whatever really happened over there. People died and likely a whole shitload of them. If not that, they were captured and must be freed. No matter what the situation a return visit was thought necessary.

Beyond a posse, a militia was formed of able men and women from all the neighboring towns. Their purpose was to “investigate” the secrets inside Durham, but this was no scientific endeavor. Every one of the humans was well armed, unlike the previous humanitarian venture. Also unlike before, not one of them wished the people of Durham well. They would not seek out trade this time. No. They would annihilate the threat fear had birthed. Afterwards they’d take all they wanted and leave the town to rot.

Yet these were nothing more than plans granted confidence through numbers. They would fail. Though it wouldn’t be through anything the humatrans could do. They were too few to combat such a threat. Their own civil war culled their numbers. They knew of the impending danger, but every choice from every foresight from every humatran all ended in death. Of course, that was if they chose to fight, but abandoning the town fared little better. They may be able to find a choice that wouldn’t lead to immediate death, but every choice more than hinted at a dark, tumultuous future. Regardless, they saw nothing other than Durham’s utter destruction. Naturally, it would come at a high human cost, but inevitable destruction nonetheless.

Tyndystylyn, however, had chosen a better future for the town. Of course, better was relative. Any outcome allowing Durham to both survive and thrive would only serve to propagate the growing fear and realization of the “difference”. Tyndystylyn knew this. Everything had a price. It just decided this was one worth paying. It decided this long ago because the Atra could see centuries into the future. They fledgling humatrans could see little more than a few days. Beyond that everything became unclear and fuzzy. The Atra planned to use this limitation. It had planned not to save Durham, so that the humatrans wouldn’t see it until it chose for them to. How else could it swoop in and play savior?

Tyndystylyn wasn’t about to leave Newfoundland, but it was powerful enough not to have to. It swayed humans many times before. It wouldn’t take much more effort to influence a large group all at the same time. Of course, it could’ve done so long before the militia had been formed, but it chose not to. It could’ve swayed them all to believe there was nothing wrong with Durham or anyone living inside it, but it didn’t. It could’ve convinced them all to leave the town alone till their dying day, but it had other plans. Not one of those “safe” choices would lead any one Durham resident to believe they’d actually been saved from anything. No. Conflict had to come first. The town needed something to be saved from.

So, Tyndystylyn let the dominoes fall where they would until near to the end. Some humatrans chose to abandon the town. The Atra let them do so. After all, if they weren’t loyal they shouldn’t stay. Of course, it already knew their fate and not one of them were pretty or terribly long lived. Such was their choice. They’d made it and now they’d have to both live with it and die with it. The rest decided their town was worth dying for or were too young to decide much of anything. These Tyndystylyn would gladly protect. It had, after all, since the beginning, but only from the shadows. Those shadows would now be lifted.

Not one of the humatrans knew anything about swaying. It was still hidden within them. If they had they would’ve used the ability to turn their enemies away. Hell, if they had they would’ve taken control of Claire long ago and no one would’ve died, except for her, of course. Instead, they armed themselves with other weapons more to their trade; foresight, telepathy, guns and blades of all types. They may all die, but each planned to take at least ten humans with them. It was worth it to do all they could to protect the children, but sadly they too would die. They’d already foreseen the paranoid humans would leave nothing to chance. That knowledge only served to fuel their rage.

Then the moment of battle arrived, but Tyndystylyn wouldn’t allow anymore of it’s own to die, for it now saw them all as it’s own children. The humans were at the gates and tensions were high. Words of threat had already been flung from both sides, like invisible, but deadly weapons. A pounding came on the gate and gunfire had already been exchanged from strategic holes drilled in wood that made up the towns borders. This was in prevention of intentions they already knew . . . the humans would seek the simplicity of battle by burning them all out. Foresight told them just exactly where to drill their holes, when to aim and when to fire. Their shots rang true to the human’s incredulous disbelief in their own bad luck.

Some doubted their chances but were still convinced to advance. The moment of change finally arrived, which served to astonish more than just the humans. In the front lines, right before the first attack on the reinforced gate, one human turned on another, aimed their weapon and fired. Then it happened again and again and again as the dominoes fell. It was a wave of homicidal, traitorous violence of which the humatrans caught glimpses of from the holes they’d drilled.

Tyndystylyn sought to instill fear, so chose not to sway the ranks further down the line. Not yet anyway. These humans more than saw what was happening, they recognized it. Many were survivors of the Atra war. They remembered these tactics as that of the aliens, especially the scant few rogues that remained. All at once they’d decided, without doubt, that an Atra must be inside, protected by the people of the town. That Atra must die. Their rage overwhelmed their fear as they attacked in mass, believing the creature could not influence so many so quickly. They were wrong.

The humatrans stood and watched, disbelieving as any human who got within ten feet of the towns walls suddenly turned on one another. In the beginning it didn’t matter. Those who came behind would kill them, seeing no other recourse for their infected brethren. They would do so without breaking stride, but at a certain point they’d find their own minds overtaken with the unstoppable, bloodthirsty desire to murder their own friends. After a while it all became too much.

Those who still believed it was possible to win were climbing a growing hill of the fallen dead. Then those who remained began to run in the opposite direction. When the assault at the gate was finished the surviving swayed humans charged after the rest. Many without rifles or guns chose to pick up ones previously owned by the dead. These quickly began to fire on those that ran. Their aim was impeccably accurate, even for those who had previously been horrible shots or never fired a gun. When out of range, they charged with incredible stamina and speed to close the distance. Then they continued to fire. This process continued until no living humans could be seen from the holes in the walls. Then after a time the sound of gunfire died too. Then came a blackening silence.

The humatrans wanted to come forth for a clearer view of what had happened . . . if only to understand the unbelievable event they’d all failed to foresee. Before the gate opened Tyndystylyn spoke simultaneously into every humatran mind. “I am Tyndystylyn. I have made you. You are of the Atra. And you are saved by them. Scavenge the dead, then discard them. Gather their weapons and prepare for the future. It is not over.” From that moment on things changed.

<><><><>

Next came what the humans would’ve called a cult. That is if they’d known. All they knew was they’d been soundly beaten by, well, themselves. Of course, it was more than that. There was a presence and everyone knew it was Atran. Other than that there wasn’t much to know. Not one of those who fled survived. Those that followed seemed to know exactly where they’d gone, even if they’d buried themselves in the earth. They just knew. When they found them, they killed them.

Still, there were survivors. Many of those swayed survived, but only because Tyndystylyn allowed them to. The urge to kill had inexplicably vanished, much like their hope had during the first year of the war. This didn’t help. It all came rushing back . . . all the pain, all the terror, all the death. Every middle aged adult who now lived was a survivor of the Atra war. Though they were just children at the time, they still remembered. It wasn’t something anyone could forget. All those younger had suffered the devastating aftermath. Everyone who still breathed felt it.

The devastation may have waned had Tyndystylyn blackened out the period of time in which they’d been swayed, but it didn’t. In anger, in revenge, it allowed every one of them to remember every grisly detail. Some even “woke up” hunched over the shredded remains of their own handiwork. Some of the dead were brothers, sisters and friends. They’d more than killed them. They’d slaughtered them as if with a chainsaw. They hadn’t known what they were doing at the time. There wasn’t a part that looked and screamed, helplessly locked away. No. Yet they remembered everything moments after the last had died.

Of course, they were killing themselves too. There weren’t all that many left in comparison to the original militia and many of those who’d survived couldn’t stomach what they’d done and turned their weapons on themselves. Tyndystylyn enjoyed this immensely. Many who couldn’t bring themselves to suicide instead went insane and some of these had to be put down like rabid dogs. That was often a welcome relief. It served as a necessary distraction from the blistering defeat.

Even so, the dominoes kept falling and in the end less than ten remained. Of these only a few were sane enough to tell the tale, dragging their catatonic friends through the blood and muck as proof, while unstoppable tears flowed down their faces, etching clean streaks through the grime. If they could speak they chose not to, or couldn’t stop. No one was half as sane as when they began. Most reached their respective towns and told their tale with choppy, stuttering words, some of which made no sense at all. It was enough to know they’d failed and horribly. It was enough to know Durham still stood. It was enough to know an Atra was to blame.

Retribution was out of the question, but logic rarely entered into such an equation. Over the years many people assaulted the walls, but none ever got through. It was rare anyone every survived long enough to return. Durham was not a ghost town, but cursed all the same. Slowly the world learned of it. Haphazardly organized militaries laid siege to the town, some with technology they believed would protect them from the cerebral invasion. It didn’t work.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Humans were smart. Machines were incorporated. Machines had no minds. Of course, Tyndystylyn could control inanimate objects, but it took a toll. The original assault, six years past, had taken its toll, but it had plenty of time to recover. As the attacks continued the Atra weakened. It wasn’t omnipotent. It saw this end, but much like it’s own predecessors didn’t believe mere humans could stand against an Atra. It was obvious they could, but Tyndystylyn chose not believe it on a personal level.

It overflowed with pride at it’s godhood, for it had been successful in that regard. The residents of Durham were even convinced to worship it. The hospital became hallowed ground, near to a shrine. Holy fruit sprang up from the blessed soil in the garden that blossomed in the center of it all, despite being sheltered from both sun and rain. All this adoration went to the Atra’s head and fermented into a belief that it was better than those who’d come before; that it couldn’t be defeated, even though it clearly saw that it would be. It would soon die from overexertion. It also saw, but denied this was prophecy. It played right into the hands of it all. It played it’s part eloquently, but the stage was dimming and the cheering crowd was leaving.

Tyndystylyn gave no warning to it’s devoted throng. It would prove less than a deity to show such weakness was possible, much less happening. It continued to protect them, all while foreseeing the towns utter destruction. In the end it didn’t matter much. Tyndystylyn had offered more than protection in the years since it’s unveiling. It had given history and training. The residents of Durham knew things no other human or humatran knew and could do things that superseded all who’d come before or after. To the absolute best of it’s ability, Tyndystylyn sought to turn this special band of humatrans into the demigods of Earth. For better or worse, it had succeeded, but could not know the ultimate cost of it.

Durham stood as ground zero for the new war and all the hatred of humanity fell upon it. They knew it was more than just an Atra inside those impenetrable walls. Something that was happening all over the planet had coalesced and rotted deep inside. The world would be dealt with in time, but first this damned, blighted cesspool had to fall. All humatrans, the world over, or at least the few who’d both accepted what they were and survived long enough to appreciate it, looked to Durham as their Mecca, their holy place. It was impossible to make pilgrimage to it, but that didn’t matter. As long as the town stood, hope stood with it.

Yet it would fall and soon. It’s protector was dying. There was only so much one Atra could do. The rest was taken up by those within Durham who knew better. These had been trained over the years in all things Atra. They learned and experimented with all made available to them and it was entrusted to them to teach the world. This much Tyndystylyn openly told them. It was not weakness. There was no hint at the expectation of eventual death or failure. It was something else entirely. They were to be the missionaries to the world, because they and only they knew something new was coming. Something that would both save and redeem all they’d worked for. Something called the Rupture.

Of course, that was something no human could be made to believe, but they didn’t care. It would still come in time and humanity didn’t deserve to know. They were entrusted to tell other humatrans. To give them hope and tell them humans no longer mattered. To spread the word that humans were a dying breed and would eventually be no more. Until that hallowed day, persecution would follow wherever they went. The only safe place was Durham and be that as it may, no one could enter or leave. All they needed was provided by their god, the Atra, Tyndystylyn.

There were hints of Tyndystylyn’s betrayal. Within these belief waned, but only slightly. After extensive training their foresight now extended up to three weeks into the future and this was, for the most part, clearly seen. They didn’t need Tyndystylyn to know their own immediate future. So, three weeks before the end, some began to see fleeting glimpses of destruction. These doubts were not discussed, but then they had no need to be. The people of Durham knew well how to read minds and dig through the excess for the truth. Of course, they also knew how to block such intrusions, but they couldn’t do so forever. Eventually, this foresight became knowledge and filtered into dreams. The realm of the unconscious couldn’t be blocked. Those with whom suspicion had been garnered were targeted in this way.

Naturally, nothing could be known for certain. Dreams were often fantastic and utterly unreliable, but they earned a certain dependability when they devolved into repetitious nightmares. This happened more and more within some minds. Denied or not, they couldn’t refute what they’d foreseen. They knew enough to believe it, regardless of the fact the future wasn’t written in stone, but full of choices. However, some sought this out and found no way around it. These believed without a doubt that Durham would fall.

As time advanced upon itself, more and more saw similar visions. Some believed them to be irrefutably true. Others chose not to. They entitled themselves as more devout. They referred back the hopeless time of the first attack. No one saw anything but utter destruction, but still they’d been saved by the Atra. This, they said, was merely a test of faith and one they’d no intention of failing. Once again the Atra would save them and then all who dared to doubt would either be put to death or banished into the unknown outside the walls, which was the same as death. This was not a guess. Over the years, many had explored such choices and saw nothing but an end to all they knew through any number of grisly deaths. Of course, these were persecuted for even wanting to leave in the first place. It was the birth of suspicion and did not bode well when that desire matched the visions of destruction.

Within the week, everyone’s foresight saw this same end. It didn’t matter. The devout still believed in salvation beyond all reasonable knowledge. Any peaceful vision would void the very meaning of faith. Still, some chose simply to ask the Atra. This was not sacrilegious, but it did border on it. After all, in a society full of mind readers what was there to know that couldn’t be gleaned practically without any real effort? Yet that applied only to humatrans, none of which had any hope of penetrating a mind as unfathomable as an Atras. Even if it was possible, humatrans only saw events that directly, or closely, affected their own lives.

Not even this was true, but the confusion was understandable. It was a local thing that couldn’t stretch beyond certain borders. These borders were barely definable and changed as the humatran grew more and more powerful, but the general diameter for Durham residents was between fifty and eighty miles from the individual. This was well beyond that of any other humatran on the planet at the time, even those seedborn, as they’d not had the luxury of an Atra’s training. Still, it marked only a fraction of the distance to Newfoundland, but it wouldn’t have mattered had the range extended across the entirety of the planet. Tyndystylyn could easily block it’s own thoughts from that of a humatran, as it often practiced the art to guard against the other Atra it had been banished with.

The reason was simple. Atra weren’t above betraying their own kind. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons it chose to build and protect the following in Durham . . . as an army, but to protect against what exactly? Any other Atra could destroy the lot of them with a thought. The truth behind Tyndystylyn’s actions was far simpler. After everything had been lost in exile, nothing mattered beyond the eternal high of godhood. That had been achieved, but at an equally eternal price.

Still the questions of “Why?!” and “What now?!” assailed Tyndystylyn. It chose not to answer. Denial of the truth required at least that much, but it also depended upon a lack of acknowledgement which was a bit harder to pull off for a highly sentient creature chock full of volatile emotions. The questions had been and were still being asked. As time crept on the frequency of them only increased. The Atra heard them all. It still chose not to reply to any of them, but the reality of it chipped away at denial because these were the only creatures in the entire universe it gave a damn about. A part of Tyndystylyn knew giving in now would not lead to salvation, but only insanity. It had happened before. It had seen it, but always considered itself beyond such influences. To acknowledge such weakness would be equally devastating, so it didn’t.

Tyndystylyn existed as a mindless deity, unwilling nearly to the point of unable to lend anyone or anything aid, but it still held on to a bit of usable power. Mostly this was focused and entrusted to the twins, Sarafyn and Wferium and because of it a warning was allowed. Of course, this meant acceptance of Durham’s ultimate destruction, but the response came from a tiny, secluded part of it’s intricate mind . . . the final bit of sanity. Even that was dying as the Atra was dying. As if hidden in a crowd the response was sent nearly involuntarily. As usual it represented the eventual death of a swayed human mind that never could contain the influence.