Henryk found himself in the embrace of a dream, a vision of home. The winds whispered tales of familiarity, and the sun hung like a radiant orb in the bright blue sky of his planet, Ares III. Back on familiar ground.
"Diana... Jennie!" His voice echoed over the small cliff, reaching his sisters engaged in an energetic game of tag below. Laughter and delight filled the air, and Henryk observed with a smirk, securing his hunting rifle with a seasoned grip.
An old Earth design, primitive perhaps, but not meant for the true beasts of his planet. They returned from a successful hunting trip in the forest, the memory of five rabbits bagged in a single day lingering with satisfaction.
His mouth watered at the thought of the rabbit stew his mother would whip up. "Diana and Jennie, don't stray too far!" he called out, one hand raised, perched on the mountain's edge.
The towering oaks reached for the sky in the expansive forest below. The walls of his colony city stood on the horizon, bathed in soft lights from the setting sun. Yet, an anomaly caught his attention – the shattered moon of Ares III looming overhead.
His breath hitched, a realization surfacing that this had to be a dream, a peculiar waking dream. Over the years, he had experienced a few of these, dreams where he could exert some semblance of control. But they were infrequent, strange occurrences, these waking dreams.
This specific dream held a weight, an unspoken heaviness in the air. As his gaze turned toward the sky, a night sky? Impossible. The large crescent of the shattered white moon adorned the planetary canvas. He would never have taken his sisters out so late. But strangeness permeated the scene.
A bitter cold sliced through the wind, forcing him to tighten his coat. His teeth chattered as he surveyed the surroundings. The towering pines bowed and swayed against the harsh breeze. He exhaled, visible in the frigid air. Yet, before he left for the academy, it was late summer...
"A dream," Henryk muttered into the vast expanse before him. It had to be nothing more than a waking dream, a twisted figment of his subconscious. Yet, the urge to wrench himself from its clutches clawed at him, though it held him fast in its grip.
Then, the piercing sound of his sister's scream shattered the surreal tranquility. Bianca's voice, unmistakable and filled with terror, sent a chill down Henryk's spine, freezing his blood in its veins. Without hesitation, he hurled himself over the edge of the cliff.
His boots crushed the crumbling earth beneath him as he sprinted, a cloud of ash and dust billowing in his wake. "Bianca!" he roared into the desolate landscape, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. "Jennie!" he called out, desperate for any sign of his other sister.
But there was only silence, save for the howling wind that whipped through the skeletal trees. The forest around him withered and decayed, consumed by flames that flickered and danced amid the dying foliage. Undeterred, Henryk pressed on, his eyes scanning the scorched earth until they fell upon a trail – the unmistakable tracks of his sisters' shoes, mingled with another set that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Wolves..." he growled through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on the rifle slung over his shoulder. With practiced efficiency, he readied the weapon, loading fresh bullets into its chamber as he sprinted forward.
Then, amidst the chaos, he heard it – Bianca's voice, distant and fraught with fear. "Henryk!" she cried out, her desperate plea cutting through the roar of the flames.
"Bianca, where are you?" Henryk bellowed in response, his heart pounding in his ears. And as the words echoed into the abyss, he saw it – perched upon a distant cliff, a creature unlike any he had ever encountered.
It was no ordinary wolf, but a Peyton – a savage beast native to the harsh terrain of his planet. Standing as tall as a horse, with the formidable frame of a wolf and the delicate features of a deer, it was a grotesque amalgamation of nature's most fearsome predators. Yet, it was the antlers that crowned its head that filled Henryk with a primal dread, a chilling reminder of the untamed wilderness that lurked beyond the borders of civilization.
They both halted at the ghastly sight. The Peyton bared its pale teeth, glinting like razor blades under the sickle moon. What struck Henryk more were the antlers, jutting out on either side of its head, reminiscent of the majestic creatures from Earth's ancient past.
His mind's eye echoed with accusations, the shouts of the antlered knight. Why did this dream haunt him? For a fleeting moment, the creature's features became a distorted blur, whether a trick of the dream or something far more sinister.
In the distance, Biancia and Jennie clung to each other, paralyzed by fear as the creature shifted its attention from Henryk to them. With a renewed sense of urgency, he sprinted, splashing through a small river in his desperate pursuit.
Unbeknownst to him, the once-clear water turned brackish and dark, swirling with the remains of rotting fish in the undercurrents. Henryk, however, remained fixated on a singular objective.
The creature lunged toward his sisters with unnatural speed, but Henryk, propelled by sheer determination, collided with it like a football player on a tackle. The impact sent both of them hurtling in opposite directions, the Peyton crashing into a tree with a pained gasp.
As Henryk lay on his back, his gun sprawled in front of him, the beast recoiled and thrashed its head in search of its assailant. With a forceful yell driven by a pounding heart and surging adrenaline, Henryk unleashed a powerful tackle.
Thrown into disarray, the Peyton slammed against the tree, attempting to regain its bearings. The creature moved with bear-like ferocity, its entire body descending upon Henryk, who writhed to avoid being crushed beneath its weight. "Diane!" he screamed, his sister frozen in terror.
The Peyton clamped its jaws around his wrist, teeth tearing into flesh and muscle. Though the dream was a construct, the pain felt all too real. Henryk's anguished scream reverberated through the night as he grappled with the agony, reaching for his belt and extracting...
The hunting knife, its glint catching the moon's stark illumination. "Diana, grab your sister, and run!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the night air. Diana clutched Jennie and held her close, but they remained frozen.
"To hell with it!" Henryk roared, the expletive escaping his lips as he brandished the blade, slashing and stabbing. Blood and entrails spilled, a frenzied onslaught as the beast slowly succumbed to the relentless assault.
He aimed for its side, the knife sinking deep into the creature's flesh, a spray of black blood coating his torso and neck. A grim smile played on his lips as the beast's grip weakened, its coughs mingling with the trickle of blood from its lips as it slumped to the ground.
Breathing heavily, Henryk felt the sting of the cold air on his open wound, blood dripping onto the parched earth like crimson rain. "Diania... Jen..." he gasped, his words punctuated by ragged breaths. "You're safe." Relief flooded his features, his eyes closing briefly before snapping back to the dying creature. There was still work to be done.
With a decisive motion, he withdrew his blade from the creature's stomach and slit its throat, his hand running along its mane as it gasped its final breaths. He knew the carcass would fetch a hefty sum back at the colony, a welcome boon for his struggling family. But as he turned to his sisters, his heart clenched with fear.
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They were gone, vanished without a trace. Panic seized him as he surveyed the desolate surroundings, the scent of decay and smoke filling his nostrils. "What sorcery is this?" he growled, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with unease.
Footsteps echoed behind him, and he whirled around, knife at the ready. The dream felt too real, the pain from the Peyton's wounds still fresh in his mind. Henryk's unease deepened as a voice, cold and ancient, spoke from the shadows.
"Hello, young knight."
The words reverberated in his mind before reaching his ears, and Henryk searched frantically for the source. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "My sisters... they..."
Yet, his words were swallowed by the wind, his breath visible in the chill air. Henryk scanned the surroundings, the rustling leaves, the whisper of the breeze. "A dream's test, a trial for what lies ahead, Mars's forsaken child," the voice echoed, dripping with a sinister edge.
Henryk scoffed, his movements deliberate as he retrieved his rifle. With practiced ease, he cleared the chamber. "You don't trust me," he muttered, his tone laced with skepticism. "Good. That'll serve you."
"Who are you?" Henryk demanded, the silence thickening around him. The wind ceased, the stream's murmur silenced. Even the salmon froze mid-swim, suspended in time.
"What sorcery is this?" Henryk's voice wavered as bones ground against bones, the Peyton rising from its decayed form. Flies buzzed around its festering flesh, but Henryk's focus was drawn to its antlers, pristine amidst decay.
The creature shrugged off Henryk's shot, its neck twisting unnaturally. As fleas and flies erupted in flames at the touch of its antlers, the truth dawned on Henryk. The antlered knight.
"Good," the Peyton rasped, its voice like gravel. "Good that you strike first. Violence is your key, your blessing."
Henryk shook his head, temples throbbing with confusion. "You were born from violence, Mars's bastard," the creature continued, its words unsettling. "But you are special. Rise up, fight till the bitter end."
With a shudder, Henryk clutched his head, the Peyton's words echoing in his mind. "You need a teacher," it intoned, its message leaving an ominous weight in the air.
But his words were drowned by the wind, his breath forming mist in the chilly air. Henryk scanned the surroundings, the rustling leaves, the haunting whistle of the wind. "A test in the dream, a trial for what lies ahead, Mars's forsaken offspring," the voice echoed, its tone laced with malice.
Henryk snorted, halting his frantic movements to retrieve his rifle. With a deliberate motion, he cleared the lodged bullet from the chamber. "You don't trust me," he muttered, his tone dripping with skepticism. "Good. It'll serve you well."
"Who are you?" Henryk demanded, the silence hanging thick in the air. The wind ceased, the stream's gentle flow silenced. Even the salmon froze mid-swim, suspended in time.
"What sorcery is this?" Henryk's voice wavered as bones grated against bones, the Peyton rising from its decaying form. Fleas crawled from its rotting skull, and more flies buzzed around its putrid corpse. Henryk took a step back, eyes widening in horror, and he pulled the bolt of his rifle back and fired. But the creature remained unfazed, the bullet passing through its neck with no effect, leaving Henryk staring down the smoking barrel.
The Peyton merely shook its head, its neck grinding with loose bones. Its antlers, still a pristine bone white amidst decay, caught Henryk's attention. As flies and fleas burst into flames upon touching them, Henryk realized where he had seen such antlers before. The antlered knight.
"Good," the Peyton rasped, its voice like gravel. "Good that you shoot first. In this confusing and dangerous time, for the battles ahead that will shape your destiny. Violence is your key, your blessing."
Henryk shook his head, his thoughts throbbing as he grasped his head in his hands. The creature continued. "Born from violence, forsaken son of Mars, but I see your potential. Magic is new and unknown, but you may be one of the greats. Rise up against your peers, fight till the bitter end, and beyond!"
The words twisted from chilling to invigorating, and Henryk lifted his bright blue eyes to meet the hollow sockets of the Peyton's skull, now the domain of spiders and flies.
"Remind those core world dogs the power of Mars!" the Peyton declared, circling Henryk. But fear had melted away, replaced by a grim understanding. Henryk examined his bloodied wrist, the realization dawning that this was a test, a dark test of strength. He gritted his teeth and met the creature's gaze.
"What do you want of me?" Henryk snapped, his sneer a challenge. "I've been tutored by traveling witches and wizards, novices though they may be. They taught me enough to understand the dangers of dreaming... you invaded my mind."
The Peyton snickered. "Good, you're educated. Proud we didn't need to awaken your magical potential. You have the power of a cat, but even cats descend from great lions. One day, you'll tap into your full potential."
"What?" Henryk retorted, his frustration boiling over. "Leave me alone!" he screamed, feeling the surge of magic within.
But the Peyton only clicked its bony lips, a dry laugh escaping. "No, I cannot, young son of Mars. I see honor and loyalty etched within you," it continued, and Henryk's expression darkened. "Ah, the shame," the Peyton mused. "Even though you've known them briefly, the debt you owe them is great. How will you repay Ed's generosity? By rewarding them with treachery!"
Henryk recoiled. "Quiet, beast!" he snapped. "The Martians betrayed the emperor and the royal family. They bear the brand of censure and..."
The Peyton interrupted with laughter. "Traitors willing to accept a backwater hick into their house? Traitors whose ancestors defended humanity for generations, only to see their homeworld incinerated. Men, women, children... all burned that day."
Henryk fell silent, his thoughts churning. The Peyton continued, "You, Henryk, I see you... the dark and the light within your soul, the choices that will define you. But when the time comes, when you must kneel before your gods... what will you say?"
Henryk stood frozen, unsure how to react to the surreal words echoing in his mind.
"Blood is power, Edward knows this better than anyone," the voice intoned. "You, Henryk Brown, are the son of a slave, but blood is power. You must choose between violence and peace, between becoming the slaver or the abolitionist. A choice made by your father's ancestors, a path that will define you and the galaxy."
"What are you saying?" Henryk snapped, his frustration palpable.
"Blood is power, Henryk," growled the beast. "Never forget. I see your future, your battles, a million and three sons for Henryk, a burning galaxy on the edge of a dark future. You may be our last hope, our dying light, our last flame."
Henryk's mind raced, the weight of the implications settling heavily upon him. "No," he muttered, staring at his wound in horror. "You... you bloodmage, you damned dog!"
The Peyton chuckled, but then the dream began to normalize. Henryk heard the wind whistle through the trees, saw the ground start to repair itself. Yet, the Peyton remained.
"Oh no," it spoke.
"What?" Henryk retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're losing control. Illusions fade, you're not invincible..."
"Silence, Henryk!" The Peyton snapped, and Henryk realized the world around him was restored, but the creature remained fixed in place, its withered form staring at him with anger and fear.
"Another has come," it warned.
"What?" Henryk stammered, overwhelmed by the unfolding events. He was lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no clear path forward.
"Enough, Henryk," The Peyton snapped, its voice cutting through the air with chilling calmness. "Listen, boy... a dreamer has invaded. We do not have much time." Its gaze fixated on Henryk's bleeding wrist, urgency etched in its hollow sockets.
"We do not have time, and whatever has come must not touch upon your blood. Later, we shall meet again, but now is not the time," The Peyton turned its head, and Henryk followed its gaze, spotting a figure.
A girl, near his age, stood before him. Her oversized yellow robe seemed out of place, its sickly hue reminding him of urine. Light brown curls framed her face, freckles adorning her cheeks, but it was her moss-green eyes that held his attention.
"Henryk!" The Peyton's voice trembled with fear. "A witch from Jupiter!" it snarled.
The girl stared, equally bewildered by her surroundings. Henryk wondered if she realized they were in the past. The Peyton whirled its head back to Henryk.
"Henryk, we shall meet again, but you must never forget... bastard son of Mars, the blood of abolitionists flows through you. To free the galaxy from the tyranny of the Enuch Emperor, you must be ready for blood on your hands. Violence is a gift, rage is a gift, martial prowess is a gift... honor them with violence. For within this universe, violence is absolute, and violence is truth..."
With a powerful stomp, the Peyton shook the ground, throwing Henryk backward. His eyes widened at the display of strength, questioning the creature's nature. What was it? Or perhaps the better question was, who was it?
For a moment, Henryk noticed something along the Peyton's spine—five strange protrusions, sharp and angled, unlike anything he'd seen before. As the world around him contorted, stars fell from the sky, shattering and exploding.
Bright explosions of black and red engulfed them, fire licking at the edges of Henryk's vision as the ground crumbled beneath him. He plummeted into the void, a silent scream echoing in his mind, his hands grasping at empty air as the light faded. Through the darkness, the Peyton's gaze remained fixed on him.
"Never forget my words, Henryk," the Peyton's voice resonated in the abyss. "Till we meet again, violence is your strength. It is your truth, and that is why they have taken you. Show the galaxy what some mutated hick is made of. Never fear your strength, never shun it. Men like you have been defined by violence for thousands of years. Revenge shall be your armor, let hate be your shield... and let violence be your sword."
The words reverberated in Henryk's mind, haunting him as he thrashed within the darkness, his scream swallowed by the void. The Peyton's final decree echoed relentlessly:
"Violence shall grant you strength."