Now was the climatic moment, the finale of this grim season…
"So, you're the one who's been giving my minions so much trouble"
The towering beast in black laughed amidst the stony ruins of a shattered cityscape. Black inky tendrils swirling lackadaisically from its back, smaller tendrils crowning its head swishing in bemusement. Its glistening, jagged form took plodding step after plodding step towards the one who dared defy it; a mere human, clad in shining armor.
"I'll show you trouble, monster."
In the blink of an eye the knight in shining armor seemed to disappear, reappearing before their foe, twin blades drawn and angling forward to skewer the amorphous monstrosity.
"Impressive trick. For a human."
The knight in shining silver was stopped in their tracks, as the jagged arms of the killer before them moved too fast to evade, grabbing both blades in a tight grip. Crimson dripped from his hands as it easily wrestled control, stretching wide and twisting the weapons into an untenable grip with a slow, indulgent sadism.
"I'm surprised your species could conjure up anything capable of cutting me. Not that it'll do you any good. You've my respect for forcing me to personally see to your demise, but it's high time I end this foolishness, and exterminate you animals once and for all!"
It's mouth seemed to open, the unsettling coal surface of its face pulling back to reveal jagged thorny red teeth, and a spiked tongue washing over them impatiently.
The creature would have to wait though. For right when the blades were about to be forced from the hero's grip, they dissipated into what looked all the world like sparkling stardust. In a flash, the knight in shining armor backed as far away as they could, their afterimage skewered by sharp spear like tendrils emanated from their foe.
"Humanity will survive you, Killer. Our world will awaken from the nightmare you've unleashed upon us. Mark my words on that!"
"Oh? Ohhh… is that soooo? You humans, so creative. So many names for me. Tyrant, Killer, Cataclysm. And then there's you, what is it they call you again?"
A short silence ensued, a light breeze sending dust and smoke billowing between the two.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter. None of this matters. None of you verminous animals matter. Your greatest lasting legacy will be as a footnote in the annals of history. As it should be for what you did. My people gave you all so much. We came to you ever so kindly, showed you the next step that lay beyond your primitive science, offered utopia in one hand and ascendancy in the other. And what did your kind do?"
The Cataclysm began laughing glumly, arms spread impossibly wide, tendrils lashing out from its body, the miasmatic darkness that it radiated bleaching the warmth and light from the space around it.
"Let's not forget. This ruined city, this ruined world we now share, that was not our doing. I'm simply finishing the folly your kind unleashed upon us all. If I'm being honest, my campaign of total extermination is more mercy than you all deserve!!!"
The hero stayed silent amidst the taunt, taking up a battle-ready stance, glimmering blades reforming in a flash of prismatic colors.
"I didn't choose this anymore than you did. Nor do those who remain."
The Cataclysm tensed his fingers, which were elongating into pronounced claws. Six tendrils upon his back swayed in a rhythmic pattern, red glowing eyes locking onto the prey before the apex predator.
"So says the jumped up nobody. I am the most powerful person to have ever lived! I don't care if the Dranul gave you that armor, if the lingering scraps of your pitiful governments cooked it up, or if you somehow made it yourself! All it makes you is one noisy, annoying insect, buzzing around me without a lick of sense! You, then the rest of your kind! One swat is all it'll take! One blow! Then you're all history!!!"
The scene froze right as the hero seemed to move forwards, the insane tyrant towering over them like a giant. The stoic image of the reluctant, determined knight in shining armor contrasted well with the cackling, indulgent evil of the Cataclysm…
…or, at least, that's what Clarice Ferrell thought.
Will our brave hero overcome the Cataclysm? Who'll Monarch side with when they arrive? And can the ESP evacuate the refugees to their new sanctuary before it's too late? Find out next time… on World Arisen!!!
"Goddamn cliffhangers…"
She'd been binging the show for hours now, ever since landing on it after mucking about with the pseudo-TV channel controls, or what she assumed to be channel controls, for longer than she cared to keep track of. Most of the programs were… unintelligible, she supposed. Without any context, she couldn't distinguish what was meant to be what. What looked like a news channel, focusing on the modern world, could turn out to be a take on Analog Horror. A show about some flying forest could just as much be a historical as a sitcom, or maybe even a fiction inside this mind numbing fantasy land.
The only channels she'd made heads or tails of before stumbling on World Arisen were a shopping program, which seemed to be just as mindlessly boorish no matter the greater context around it, and a cooking program. Even then, the cooking program might've been something fictionalized, meant to serve as a framing device to teach the audience the recipes on-screen.
Then she found it. A marathon for what felt like an anime by way of baroque moody Renaissance oil painting - World Arisen.
Some stylistic choices aside, like the lack of actual fucking names for the characters, and the aloof, mythical presentation the main villain and hero were given, it was pretty fun. The side characters did most of the heavy lifting for serious character interaction, the art itself was stunning, the world had a suitably apocalyptic atmosphere and aesthetic, etcetera.
Plus the fight scenes.
Something about them really tickled Clarice's fancy. She'd rushed right back to vibing atop her bed, eyes honed in on every subtlest detail, when the first one popped up, Of course, she'd been getting more snacks at the time, and had had a headache cleaning up the messy spilt results of her knee-jerk reaction, but it'd been thoroughly worth it.
Hopefully 'room-service' can finally clean that up sometime soon. In the meanwhile, till the next episode plays, what'll I be snacking down on next?
Lucky her, the fridge seemed to magically restock itself, and she'd been happy to grab bowl after bowl of not-popcorn to snack down on. Plus some water on the side, poured from the washroom faucet into the cup she'd been drinking coffee out of before maxing out her caffeine levels.
"Room service!"
Speak of the devil.
The voice came with a scant few ginger knocks on the door to the guest room. It sounded old, wizened, and warm. Like what you'd expect a stereotypical nice granny to sound like.
Clarice was, as such, put on edge. Too good to be true and all, especially considering the monster she'd seen roaming around last she tried popping her head out.
Not that I don't want to get room service. Like, I put in the memo for it and everything.. Uuuuugh, damn it, I was too into the show to think that through! Now what do I do?
"Uh, no, no thank you. I'm good."
"Now now, miss. I was being polite. You called me down here, and I know a shy fritter when I hear one. Now, just give me a moment to get this lock undone… and…. almost…"
The heavy vault wheel for the fittingly vault-like door began to turn on its own accord. Loud and clanky. With enough force that Clarice was sure she'd break a bone if the airline pilot tried to stop it from opening.
Well, I guess we're doing this now.
It opened with gusto, a chill wind blowing inside as a diminutive, cloaked figure shuffled hurriedly in, before closing the door behind.
"Leftie loosie… and righty-tighty," the ancient voice croaked as, a hand still firmly pressing against the door, the wheel turned rightwards by itself, shutting closed.
"Oh me oh my! Mini-Macrol's all over the floor. Tsk tsk tsk, this just won't do…"
The small person waved a hand, and the food seemed to sink into, and disappear within, the soft doughy floor.
"There. Hmph, so inconsiderate… looking at you, I wouldn't have taken for a smartly dressed young lady to be such a lazy-bones lay-about. Who waits hours on room service to pick up bite-sized snacks instead of spending a minute to do her host the courtesy!"
Clarice rubbed the back of her head, looking away from the irate little gremlin. It was the first time Clarice had been so scolded since she was a little girl. There wasn't a person who knew her who wouldn't have been disappointed, up to and including herself.
"Sorry. I guess I was too caught up in watching the show…"
"Show? Oh, which one? And how long have you been keeping the portrayer running, miss?" The cloaked person asked as they shuffled forwards some more, leaving a distinct trail of thick dust in their wake.
"I dunno? Half a day? I had a long nap a couple hours ago and wasn't running it then."
The little person nodded at that, shuffling over to her bedside before taking off the hood of their cloak, letting a mess of unkempt hair whitened by age flutter out.
"Three… four… five… how many hours have you… oh goodness, you really were captivated, weren't you? Well, seeing as how the rest of the room looks immaculate, I suppose I can overlook your rude first impression. Now then, dearie, could you please put the portrayer on pause?"
"Wait, this TV can pause?"
"Tv… oh my, what a quaint turn of phrase. You're just like that kind young woman down from the hall. A curious castaway that one. Months now and she's still not really… oh, excuse me, I'm rambling aren't I? Suppose it's the old gossip monger in me. Here, let me just-"
The old woman stretched out a hand, Clarice tossing the 'remote' her way. Flicking a nob, the current image on the screen, a midpoint of the intro section just past the 'previously on' recap, froze.
It was a nice shot, an aerial of the ruined city that the mc and the side cast had been based out of for the whole of the first season… and had used as an outreach hub when the second season took on more of a globe-trotter feel, at least till the Tyrant's forces had determined their location in the final stretch of episodes.
Clarice really did hope to see where Season Three would take them from here. Though, she could also wait. It's not like the show was going anywhere.
"Young lad, could you please scoot over?"
Clarice acquiesced, shimmying across the bed enough for her to leap right on top of the now spacious patch next to her own position. An impressive little spectacle considering the diminutive woman front flipped twice her height to get all the way up.
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Now taking a closer look, Clarice could see that she was human, through and through, which was a relief. Aged, feminine, weathered, and absolutely caked in dusty earthen particles, but human nonetheless.
Well, there was also her short stature, though, Clarice didn't want to make any assumptions on size alone. Some might think of her as a dwarf, the airline captain on the other hand didn't want to do fantasy-land racial profiling. People could be born small, and that alone didn't make them…
… this is a weird train of thought… how the Hell did magical mini-grannies and painting tv's, over the course of a couple days tops, become so... mundane?
Clarice would've gone on thinking of words to describe the concepts percolating in her mind, but then the old lady started shimmying to her side, getting comfortable amidst the pillows and hand-blankets that Clarice had acquired in her pursuit of minmaxed chillaxing.
"Ah, I know this one! No wonder you were so taken! World Arisen, early third season. I'll tell you, it was a real pain getting this motion picture produced!"
"Huh, really? So, you made it?"
She burst out in a cackling laugh, almost falling off of the bed, showering it with sandy grains that didn't stay still, moving all about till they returned to the old woman's cloaked body.
"You bet'cha! Well, not alone, Karabos helped with the rendering, and provided the basis of the story. Then a smart cookie called Myr invented these nifty, cutting edge portrayers! Wonderful girl Myr, you just simply must take the time to say hi if you go traveling around New Eden… oh, dear me, there I go gossiping again."
"It's fine. Really. I'm just happy to have someone to talk to."
"Well bless your heart my dear! Oh, so, were you watching non-stop or did you give any of the other programs a try?"
"A try, I guess… but… no, not really. I mean, don't get me wrong, I did some channel surfing, but… I mean…. I don't really follow most of them. Actually, I don't even think I could tell you which one was the news if you asked? It all looks like fantasy channel entertainment to me.. Or… at least… most of it."
"Yeah…" the old lady sighed, taking a long, forlorn look at the frozen image before the both of them, turning the nob again and letting the motion picture continue playing.
There were a scant few shots that were new to the season three opening. Most of them the usual battle scenes, stock emotional moments, and a few sneak peak showcases of new characters.
"Who's Karabos?"
The words escaped Clarice's mouth so nonchalantly, so smoothly. Small talk, she told herself. Just small talk until the battle was back on. Besides, she appreciated creative personalities… Karabos' show was cool, so why not fish for trivia.
"Oh, he's just the most wonderful, well meaning man you'll ever meet! He doesn't really talk about his past, except when it comes to stories. I know that he saved me and mine way back when. My people and I were… refugees… kind've like the folks in this show! I think… that was why he shared the story in the first place. We were all children, fleeing from what felt like the end of the world. One day, things just… stopped working like they should. Then came the monsters. And then the dying. Luckily, Lord Solaerion saved us! He shepherded our diaspora to this island, and let us settle where we wanted. We orphaned kids were allowed to live in Karabos 'Model Republic', we even turned it into a real lived-in Utopia! No hunger, no crime, no killing…. Though… it didn't… hmmmm… young lady, are you quite alright? You seem glassy eyed?"
Clarice didn't respond.
"...young lady?"
Solaerion
That name burnt in Clarice's mind like fire. So much so that it hurt. It wasn't till the old lady put a hand on her head that it cooled off, like escaping from a blisteringly sunny summer day into the recesses of a nice damp cave.
"I take it you've had a run in with him somewhere, somehow. Don't worry your pretty little head dear, divine bullshit makes most everyone's head hurt…. Oh, um…"
The nice old lady was aghast at herself, hands flying to her mouth to cover it up.
"Dear me… I'm sorry for using such language so needlessly. I hope you can forgive my impoliteness?"
"Don't worry about it. You were saying?"
The lady cleared her throat, and resumed her spiel.
" Well… I remember when I first saw him back when I was a spry little scamp. Neary blinded me he did, took days for my eyeballs to simmer down, but the image is still burnt into my mind, cooled off though it might be. It's the nature of the divine I suppose. Or something like that. What do I know? I'm just an old weary Inn-Keeper, spending my last days keeping travelers like you good company."
"Thanks for that by the way. Literal lifesaver, there's a lot of good people who need a place to say and-"
"-Now now, dearie, don't get ahead of yourself. I've heard tell of your passengers back at the plane. I'm sure Karabos and Solaerion are discussing housing them here this very second, just like they did with me and mine. Though, the Republic can't really sustain so many new mouths to feed long term… mmmmm… what a conundrum!"
"Not really, we won't be staying… long… shoot, the show!"
Both turned back to the viewscreen, just in time to catch the tail end of the Tyrant's fight with the Hero. The former was left catching his breath, cut up like crazy, while the latter was booking it, their armor totally ruined.
"Don't think this is over! I won't let you get away with it, you animal! You vermin!!! You'll pay, you'll all pay!!!"
"We've nothing to pay for. Your deeds though, the karmic debt you've incurred? In this life or the next, you'll pay it back in full."
They were tough words for a shattered, haggard warrior running away as fast as their body and powers could make them, darting between crumbling ruins and clouds of debris while the Killer tried to follow in pursuit, thin prismatic lines tangling and tripping it up. Though they were tensed to the breaking point, the potent bindings doing their job stalling for time, they were also giving out one by one, snapping in violent fashion.
The hero put a hand to their helmet.
"ESP, I've done what I can, please tell me you got those people out?"
A voice replied, old, gruff, yet wise.
"What's this? Don't tell me our knight in shining armor's feeling glum now? Don't worry yourself, you've given us enough to work with, us little guys'll take it from here."
The knight slumped down against an errant stony wall, desperately catching their breath as dust painted the dulled silver of their armor ghostly pale, the Killer still angrily ranting in the distance.
"I'm leaving the rest to you… Monarch…"
Then the scene changed. Or, started to, before the old lady paused it again.
"What do you think of the show so far, if you don't mind me asking? It's not often I get to talk to folks who've watched machined motion pictures…"
Clarice nodded affirmatively, continuing to look deeply into the frozen oil painting. The dark sky. The lush apocalyptic landscape. The fight choreography and characters. Not to mention the world building. She'd been captivated by it since her channel surfing had landed the exhausted pilot on the program. Something sung to the core of her being, something that resonated, yet, was off. Like a movie glimpsed in childhood that had long faded from mind, yet, of which lingering nostalgia remained. Vestigial familiarity that teased proper recollection, of how and when and where she'd seen it last… to no avail.
"It's… comforting…"
"How so, if you can put it into words?"
Clarice sighed.
"It's like looking at a scar, and having a fun time hearing the story of how somebody got that scar. The story is fun, every little detail is interesting, and all the harm it'd caused is gone. Faded. Just a cosmetic smudge now, healthy, fine as can be, you'd never known something so terrible had happened if you'd never asked about it."
"Odd answer. Though, that's my answer too, if you'd believe it. I poured my heart into getting it produced, Karabos too, and Myr in her own way. There were good times, bad times, unbelievable times before us refugees made our home here! I still remember them, faintly. I baked those memories, and the feelings I couldn't put memories to anymore, into it. Stories are funny like that, they can be completely made up, or only have a dash of truth in them, and yet feel more real than the world you live in, while distant enough that you can enjoy it to the fullest… I'm sure you'll… you'll know… one day…"
The old lady patted Clarice's back something fierce, each well meaning slap like a mule kick.
"You're new after all, ain'cha. I thought that handsome scrapper and Lord Solaerion were just kidding around when they said you were new-new. But… no… you were from… America, right? How is it, or how do you remember it?"
"Painfully. Not a sharp pain. Just a dull soreness I guess. Say what you will about the insanity I've been dealing with the past few days… the change of pace from a burnt-out, dead end, passion-lost flight job has been weirdly refreshing."
"No.. no, I mean, shows, technologies, gossip my girl! Gossip!!!"
Oh
"If you insist, if you're willing to sit through a total snoozefest… err… what's your name? I don't think you actually gave it?"
"Madeline. No last name, not anymore. No point. Spent too long focusing on my job. By the time I started thinking about family, everyone from my generation was dead and buried, and the Utopians… bless their hearts… just weren't human enough for me. And that was so long ago. Now? I'm old, they're leagues more changed than their first few generations, and we don't exactly get a lot of immigrants around these parts… unless there's some dashing aged gentleman you can hook me up with?"
Clarice shrugged.
"Maybe?"
"Good enough. Well, anyways, I know you, Clarice. That strapping young lad Collin told me, before he left. Actually, he should be back any minute now… suppose I'll put on a cup of tea for him."
"Put one on for me too, coffee though, with as much cream and sugar as you feel comfortable adding in."
Madeline giggled as she hopped down and shuffled over to the coffee-maker contraption.
"Oh, dearie, I think you've had enough caffeine for one day. Something of a different stripe would more suit the occasion. How about wine? I've been saving an old bottle of some good stuff for a special occasion like this."
"Well, if you insist…"
Clarice leaned back, putting the remote off to the side and stretching a bit.
So, tales of the modern day… well… I guess that's not the most mind numbing topic she could've asked about… I wonder if she'll get a kick out of the nitty-gritty of the airline industry…