Now, Threnosh World
“I’m disappointed in you, son.”
Cal looked up at his dad’s stern face.
It’d been a long time since he had seen it. Not to mention his mom’s or his younger sister’s.
Except, something was off.
Cal took his time studying his dad.
There was nothing else of note around the two of them. Almost as if they were in an empty void.
His dad’s face was an older version of his own. A bit darker than his own light brown skin tone. Aside from that the only major differences were his father’s salt and pepper hair, plus a righteous mustache.
Something was missing, though.
Cal nodded. He had it almost immediately.
There was no easy smile, nor the mischievous twinkle in his dad’s eyes.
Cal would’ve missed the discordance before. He had vague memories of similar interactions with important people in his past tearing him down.
Weakening his resolve, his belief in himself. All to make him more susceptible to mental manipulation
His efforts to fight back had steadily borne greater fruit as of late.
“I’ll bite,” Cal smirked. “What’d I do to make you so disappointed, father?”
“It’s not what you did. It’s what you failed to do.”
“Oh so cryptic… you’re going to need to do a better job explaining. For I am, but a mere mortal and lack the comprehension of greater beings.” Cal’s words dripped sarcasm.
His father blinked, frowned, then wavered for a split-second.
“The mask is slipping,” Cal said.
“Do you not care about your family? Refusal will only bring them pain and suffering, death. You have forgotten your lessons. Your disobedience will not be tolerated. I do what I do for your own good. To benefit you. Do you not wish to reach the heights that your potential presages? I only want the best for you, my son. For all my children.”
The words flowed quickly. Too quickly to match the image’s mouth movements.
Cal pushed with his telepathic powers.
The image of his dad shattered into a billion little pieces to fractal out into the black void that he just noticed around him.
Nothing.
He stood, sat, laid on, in nothing.
He willed his hands and finger to reach out and pull.
How many more will you consign to oblivion?
Cal remembered what he had done and he broke.
No.
Not this time.
He held himself together and kept his thoughts clear.
All to cling to the limitations of your humanity.
The pressure. The immensity of his unseen enemy was almost too much to bear.
Cal had no body in this place, but he still felt a great weight attempting to smother him. Things threatened to go dark, but he fought the urge to step into that hallway.
Instead, he willed light to flare along the dark corridor.
The weight lifted a fraction, but it was enough for him to breathe and stay awake.
“You’re slipping. Something out there not going your way?” Cal growled. He hit back with telepathic spikes in every direction he could imagine.
Most vanished into the void.
One struck home.
Cal’s mind was drawn to it like a harpoon line.
The presence dwarfed the largest whales.
Surprise at the pain, slight as it was or perhaps the thought that Cal had actually managed to hurt its mind caused the presence to lower its guard for a split-second.
It was enough for Cal. He dived in seeking vulnerabilities to strike at.
What he saw fractured his mind.
Infinite worlds. Unnumbered lifeforms. The mighty. The weak. Everything in between.
The voices and songs of individuals and cultures across an unending web of existence.
What gods experienced were not meant for mortal minds.
“Pull him, me, back!” Cal said as he grabbed the telepathic line that tethered the other… him.
Two hands. Dozens of hands. Strained as they pulled with every bit of their power.
Foolish, you are not ready. Do you see what lurks out beyond the limits of your human understanding? Do you see what waits for you and all you care about? For your world?
“Shut up!”
Cal pulled, but the line remained taut and didn’t budge.
An image of an impossibly tall, statuesque woman filled his mind.
“Get out!”
The image slowly shifted to a familiar one that he had forgotten.
The woman was now adorned by a cloak of her own flesh.
Cal remembered that the woman’s skirt was also a part of her own body, just like the hood that completely hid her face in a black void.
“What are you trying to show me? Goddammit! Can’t you just tell me like a normal person?”
We are no longer what we once were. We—
The line tethering Cal to Cal vibrated and suddenly shot back into his hands.
His hand.
Cal was Cal.
He blinked and awoke to the dark interior of a sarcophagus.
Time.
Time was wrong. Off.
How much of it had passed?
Memories came rushing back all at once.
The experience had him screaming in pain until it passed.
So much time lost.
So much death at his hands.
Dozens of enemies.
And one—
Cal couldn’t accept it.
Mother Madrigal had to have manipulated his memories.
He checked with his mental powers. The techniques and tricks he had learned and practiced in his partitioned mind over the past—
“Jesus… almost two years,” Cal rasped.
“No… what have I done…”
The memories were real.
Dozens of Inheritors killed in the arena as part of the Mother’s twisted breeding program.
She had plundered Cal’s memories to create Inheritors with so many different abilities. She had used his imagination to build her army.
To what end?
Cal winced. His head hurt. Not everything had been made clear. There was much still obscured. Even if he had peeked into the Mother’s own thoughts.
To enter another’s mind meant you opened up your own.
It took power and skill to protect yourself.
Cal belatedly realized that alarms were blaring, muted by his sarcophagus.
The empty blackness inside was almost nostalgic, but he didn’t have time.
Restraints held him in place.
He exploded out with a burst of telekinetic force.
“Is this real? Or another false mindscape?” Cal probed with his telepathy. He couldn’t detect anything that suggested this was another of the Mother’s constructed fantasies.
Indeed, he detected corrupted and Inheritors all over the city section in a frenzy of rage at the Mother’s prompting.
Their ire was focused on one being that Cal recognized.
“PJ15… can they escape?” Cal briefly followed the action remotely with his mind. It looked like a close thing, but probable.
Perhaps if he gave the enemy something else to worry about.
Emergency lights flashed throughout the facility.
Cal tore through the entire place in seconds.
Thin metallic walls gave way to his telekinetic power as he flew up and out.
And one… team member.
No… one friend.
Dead by his hands.
The discordant song played in his head, but it wasn’t as strong, as focused as before.
Mother Madrigal had truly lost her complete hold over him.
Cal reached out with the power of his mind for the strongest presence in the area, aside from him.
“There you are…”
She stood out like a spotlight amongst fireflies.
The Mother safely ensconced in the heart of the city section.
Deep in the bowels of a birthing creche facility.
In many ways her womb.
The air boomed in Cal’s wake as he flew for her heart like a missile.
It was hard to trust his senses after all this time, but he clung to one thought.
Revenge.
That felt real.
Atonement would come later.
First, the Mother had to die.
A loud chime sounded in his ears.
Congratulations!
You have received a Quest!
Mother Madrigal has violated your mind.
Gain vengeance.
Success Parameters: Defeat Mother Madrigal.
Failure Parameters: Lose.
Reward: 1000000
Failure: Death or recapture.
Will you accept?
“Yes.”
Cal barely read the message.
There was no choice.
Quest or no quest, he had set his path.
----------------------------------------
Then, Threnosh World
Week 7
The journey to the vehicle tunnel hadn’t turned out as direct as planned.
Brightstrike swept a bright yellow ax of hard light across several corrupted. They were pleased that they had repaired and recharged to full functionality. Shooting projectiles with a recoilless rifle wasn’t their strength.
PJ15 on the other hand had adapted quite well to the projectile weapons. They performed a passable impression of Maul as they used multiple recoilless rifles to mow down corrupted by the handfuls. Their power armor seemed to act with a mind of its own as its tendrils aimed and fired in all directions and angles. PJ15 wasn’t even aware about half of them.
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“We must reroute,” PJ15 said. “I have plotted a new course.” They sent the information to Brightstrike on a direct link transfer.
The close proximity to their teammate meant that the interference preventing them from contacting their base camp was ineffective.
Brightstrike muttered a human curse. “This will add days to our journey.”
“There is no choice. My trueskin… corrupted numbers suggest that our current path is unfeasible,” PJ15 said.
Brightstrike scrambled backward to PJ15 while carving through the metallic street with wide swings of their hard light weapon. The axe blade shredded the thin surface of the street.
The corrupted mass rushed forward heedless and plummeted through to the tunnels below. It’d take time for them to climb or find another way up.
PJ15 destroyed the remaining corrupted in front of them with sharp tendrils that shot out of their chest like javelins.
“Follow me,” Brightstrike said.
Their weapons lit a way through the darkness.
Week 23
“You will not escape me this time,” Brightstrike said as they carved through an enhanced corrupted.
The creature’s muscle and flesh had grown enormously. It was stronger, faster than normal. The bulk provided a sort of natural armor or rather damage soak, since Brightstrike’s hard light sword still cut through with ease.
Brightstrike recognized the Inheritor responsible for the transformed corrupted.
Hylhon was their name. They looked almost like the standard Threnosh, just slightly off.
Brightstrike remembered them from the first encounter with the Inheritors, so many months ago.
Hylhon laid hands on corrupted. They grew almost immediately and rushed forward to engage Brightstrike.
The Inheritor continued to move back while sending more enhanced corrupted at Brightstrike.
The Threnosh killed them in droves, but their bulk and blood were only making it more difficult to advance and reach the Inheritor.
“How do they keep finding us?” PJ15 ducked a glob of sticky liquid.
The liquid sizzled on the street surface and ate through with frightening quickness.
The Inheritor that had spat out the acidic substance was another familiar face.
Zeyt.
PJ15’s power armor helpfully fed them the answer to a question that the Threnosh had thought, but didn’t voice.
The Inheritor’s gray-green skin glistened in the light of Brightstrike’s sword. The Inheritor wore nothing, save for clothing that went from waist to knees.
PJ15 struck at Zeyt with a clubbing tendril from their hand.
The strike skimmed off the side of the Inheritor’s upraised arm and damage alerts flashed in PJ15’s faceplate.
More acid ate away at the surface of their power armor until the affected part could be discarded like shed skin.
Heavy steps shook the street.
PJ15 saw the third Inheritor approach.
Gyxdor.
PJ15 was reminded.
Too much to face all at once.
PJ15 extended a tendril from their back to wrap around Brightstrike.
They pulled their teammate to them despite the protests.
PJ15 transformed their power armor. Huge wings unfurled from their back, while jets erupted from their boots. They scattered a handful of flash grenades at their feet.
“We must defeat them here. Now,” Brightstrike continued to protest.
“Inadvisable. Gyxdor tips the balance strongly in their favor,” PJ15 said.
They flew up into the darkness. This area of the city section had a high ceiling to allow for transport craft to traverse from the landing zone to the tunnels and shafts that led to the surface.
“But—”
“We will find another route,” PJ15 said for what felt like the tenth time.
Week 55
PJ15 stood in the center of the command chamber. Thin tendrils from their fingertips plugged into the control console. Brief flashes of light danced up their arms to propagate through the rest of their body.
“How much longer?” Brightstrike stood guard at the door.
PJ15 ignored them. Indeed, they couldn’t hear anything from the outside world. They weren’t as skilled with the manipulation of technology as Adahn. Though they had learned much over the last year.
The console beeped and the lights suddenly turned on.
“Finished?”
PJ15 returned to the world. They retracted their tendrils and stepped away from the console.
“The security station is active. I was only able to initialize combat drone patrol protocols.”
“That is good enough. The Inheritors will investigate and the drones will engage. Meanwhile we can slip past their perimeter undetected,” Brightstrike said.
That was the plan, but as they had constantly discovered. It was as if their enemy already knew their plans. They had been constantly forced to alter their route.
Enemy encounters or other impediments like destroyed streets or collapsed tunnels confronted them with infuriating regularity.
They persevered through it all and managed to make slow progress in their journey to find and free Honor.
Week 80
“I need repair and recharge,” Brightstrike said.
Brightstrike’s power armor had been battered and repaired repeatedly. PJ15 felt how they’re teammate looked.
PJ15 consulted the map in their faceplate.
“This way.”
The weariness in Brightstrike’s voice was another matter.
PJ15 had no idea what say or do.
They felt it as well.
The weight, the pressure. So much rode on their shoulders and they were inadequate to the Task. At least that’s what PJ15 thought. They didn’t know if Brightstrike shared the sentiment.
One foot in front of the other.
Ever forward, since there was no way back.
The two Threnosh had no other choice.
Week 95
The journey through the pitch black vehicle tunnel was uneventful.
As they expected, neither the Inheritors nor the corrupted made use of the pathway. It was too large when there were many smaller tunnels that better served their purpose.
PJ15 and Brightstrike grew eager and hopeful as they neared the tunnel exit. They had already identified a nearby security station, which, once reactivated, would allow them to find Honor’s location and activate combat drones in the city section to aid them in extraction and escape.
PJ15’s power armor suddenly bristled. The smooth gray surface puffed up with sharp spikes extending out. It had also suddenly grown internal musculature that further surrounded the thin, frail Threnosh in thick, dense protection.
“Enemy.” A bright yellow sword of light flared to life in Brightstrike’s hand.
The flash of light gave their position away, but revealed the enemy ambush ahead.
So, on the balance, the two Threnosh were better off.
Inheritors and corrupted were arrayed at the mouth of the tunnel.
The huge space was meant for the largest aerial transports, which allowed the enemy to assemble in great numbers.
PJ15 scanned the mass. “Preliminary count puts the corrupted number at 1000.”
“I detect three Inheritors,” Brightstrike sighed.
PJ15 snapped their head around to their teammate.
Brightstrike had straightened their shoulders by then.
PJ15 wondered if they had only imagined the slump to Brightstrike’s shoulders.
“Inheritors do not match known individuals,” Brightstrike continued.
“We must retreat and find another wa—”
“There is no other way,” Brightstrike said. “We are close to Honor’s location. You simply have to get past them. Once you do that you are more than capable of escaping and evading their notice with your trueskin’s abilities.”
Ignore my spoken words from this point on, Brightstrike sent the text to PJ15.
Acknowledged, PJ15 returned.
“Retreat back down the tunnel. I will hold them off then retreat,” Brightstrike said.
Utilize your trueskin’s ability to blend in with the shadows and cling to surfaces, Brightstrike sent.
I am to climb up to the ceiling and over the enemy, PJ15 understood.
“We will reconvene at the secondary location,” Brightstrike said.
I will flare a bright light as a distraction, Brightstrike nodded. You must act quickly.
“But—”
Do not waste a moment.
PJ15 wanted to argue for the both of them to retreat.
Two thoughts warred within them.
They were never to leave a teammate behind, but the Task, especially this one, was the most vital they had ever undertaken.
The enemy didn’t give them time.
The corrupted charged.
“Go,” Brightstrike said.
The Threnosh flared the hard light sword to thrice its length.
PJ15 was already moving back when the bright yellow light filled the cavernous tunnel for a few seconds like a miniature sun. The Threnosh relied on their other senses to reach the side of the tunnel and crawl up to the ceiling.
The light waned and disappeared.
Brightstrike swept their impossibly long sword from one side of the tunnel to the other.
The corrupted had been blinded. They didn’t know what hit them as the hard light blade sheared through their bodies.
Dozens died with each swing as Brightstrike advanced.
PJ15 watched while they crawled across the ceiling. Their power armor’s limited ability to camouflage its surface kept them undetected.
A thousand corrupted became hundreds as Brightstrike cleaved their way through the enemy mass.
The surprise from the light flare wore off and the corrupted’s natural night vision returned. They swarmed around Brightstrike, jumping over their sweeping swings of the blade.
“Pursue the other!” one of the Inheritors pointed down the tunnel.
The other two Inheritors sprinted on either side of the tunnel.
Brightstrike swung their blade to intercept, but the Inheritors were too quick and avoid it without trouble.
They were off into the dark tunnel with half the remaining corrupted.
Which left close to three hundred and fifty corrupted to surround Brightstrike.
PJ15 changed their mind.
That number of corrupted with only one Inheritor was manageable. If they could kill the Inheritor then they could escape with Brightstrike as they had done so many times over the past two years.
That hope was dashed when they saw more corrupted streaming into the tunnel from the outside.
The Inheritor approached Brightstrike to stand a safe distance away.
“I challenge you,” the Inheritor said.
Brightstrike said nothing. They held their bright yellow blade in a high guard, hands slightly above their head. They kept their eyes on the Inheritor, while relying on their sensor systems to hopefully alert them to any incoming attacks from their blind spots.
“You are called Brightstrike, so I have chosen to call myself Darkblade.”
The Inheritor had dark gray skin, close to black. But they carried no blade. They had no visible weapons as far as Brightstrike could see.
The Inheritor wore Threnosh-style armor plates, not that different from the standard soldier, except thicker and more encompassing. Their helmet’s faceplate was clear and revealed a significantly more muscular face than the standard Threnosh. Their general build, though hidden by the armor suggested physical strength. Their exposed forearms were corded with muscle.
Brightstrike frowned.
It was strange to wear armor, but leave your hands and arms bare.
“We learned from the same teacher… after a fashion. I need to prove my superiority. To show the Mother I am worthy of life and the gifts she has bestowed,” Darkblade said. “Will you accept my challenge? Or would rather waste your energy on the chattel? Because there is no escape. The Mother has plans for you. I simply wish to test myself before I bring you in.”
“Acknowledged,” Brightstrike said flatly. They saw a potential path to escape.
The Inheritor grimaced in pain. Their forearms bulged and then erupted.
A round shield of bone emerged from their right arm, while a long, thin sword of the same emerged from their left.
The wounds healed as the Inheritor gripped the dark, almost black sword of bone in his left hand.
Brightstrike struck.
They brought their two handed hard light sword down, high to low, at Darkblade’s head.
The Inheritor stepped back and brought their shield up.
Brightstrike’s blade bit into the dark bone shield, but didn’t shear through as expected.
The Inheritor had made a mistake. They had moved back in a straight line.
Brightstrike took an angle. They pulled their blade to their right, which forced Darkblade to the same side, their sword hand. Brightstrike stepped to their left and pulled their blade out of the shield to land a slash at Darkblade’s exposed back.
The Inheritor’s armor was thick and strong, but not enough against Brightstrike’s weapon.
Darkblade hissed in pain as they tried to turn and slash back.
Brightstrike continued to circle to their left, keeping to Darkblade’s shield arm side.
They swiped their blade low.
Darkblade didn’t have armor plating at their joints.
The hard light blade sheared right through the cut-resistant fabric at the Inheritor’s knee.
Darkblade crashed to the ground with a scream.
“Failed,” Brightstrike said flatly.
“Take the obsolete relic,” Darkblade hissed through grit teeth.
Close to a thousand corrupted swarmed Brightstrike all at once.
PJ15 could only watch from their perch at the top of the tunnel mouth.
Brightstrike cleaved through many lives with each swing.
Corrupted, once the Threnosh inhabitants of Orchestral Meridian, charged heedlessly into the whirling blade of light.
So many, yet Brightstrike refused to go down. They didn’t stop moving as they slashed and stabbed. The press was so tight that they couldn’t miss.
Fingers grasped and clawed at Brightstrike. They cut and scraped at the armor plating. Eventually they were able to tear pieces right off.
And still Brightstrike fought on.
Severed hands clutched at him, refusing to let go even when separated from their owners.
Damage alerts blared in Brightstrike’s helmet.
Their energy ran low.
Hundreds.
They had killed hundreds, yet more remained.
Corrupted clutched at their legs to slow them, while others grabbed at their arms and head.
Brightstrike refused to go down.
PJ15 could barely see their teammate through the mass of bodies swarming them.
The only way they knew Brightstrike still fought was through the bright yellow light that couldn’t be smothered.
And yet.
The light grew dim with each passing second.
Each kill drained energy from Brightstrike’s power armor.
And they had killed so many.
Brightstrike could hear nothing over the snarling and gnashing of the corrupted all over them. They could see nothing beyond the slowly dimming light of their sword aside from corrupted flesh, teeth, claws, crazed eyes, filled with unquenchable hunger.
They couldn’t see if PJ15 had made it out. They dared not risk asking for confirmation, lest the enemy could somehow detect the transmission.
The Task was the priority. Honor’s rescue was the priority. Nothing else mattered.
“Go,” Brightstrike said flatly as the light of his blade winked out and plunged the tunnel back into darkness.
PJ15 slunk off into the city section.
They had finally made it after so long.
It had only cost them Brightstrike.
----------------------------------------
The Knight cut a small, pathetic figure. His armor was torn and marred with the blood of the goblins he had slain to reach this place.
The Dark Lord stood tall, imperious in the height of his power.
The Knight raised his visor. His face was a mask of confusion. He asked a question.
The Dark Lord understood nothing.
The Knight’s words filled him with a rage he could not explain.
Another’s words filled the Dark Lord’s mind. Thoughts that were not his own, but spoken in his voice.
Such was the price of consorting with an even darker power.
The Knight had fought hard to reach the Dark Lord.
The Knight deserved a proper death. An honorable death.
The Dark Lord beckoned the Knight with closed fist.
The Knight didn’t understand. He repeated the question.
The Dark Lord laughed, bitter and angry.
The righteous speaks ever of honor.
If the Knight refused then the Dark Lord would enforce his will, as was his wont.
The Dark Lord weaved a powerful spell that struck the Knight like battering ram.
The Knight tumbled across the cold stones of the Dark Lord’s arena.
Again the Dark Lord beckoned the Knight.
The Knight’s face was a mask of confusion.
The Dark Lord’s magic struck again.
The Knight dived to one side. His face fell, then went blank.
Another voice in the Dark Lord’s head screamed for him to wake from this nightmare. It was silenced by a voice that sounded like his own.
The Knight rose from his knees and held his hand up.
A great bright sword of magic flared to life.
The Knight asked the question.
The Dark Lord, unbidden tears in his eyes, answered in a voice not wholly his own.
The Knight gave one last salute.
The Dark Lord struck one last time.
The Knight fell.
The Light exploded.
The Dark Lord stood impassively as his attendants removed what little remained of the once shining knight.
Another challenger appeared with a puff of dark smoke.
The Dark Lord sighed.