Chapter 902: It All Falls Down

Chapter 902: It All Falls Down

I see the children playing in the parks that have replaced craters from atomic weapons, attending schools in the buildings that replaced the hab-blocks we destroyed due to hive infestation, living in houses that were once runoff and pollution producing factories, and I feel satisfaction their lives are clean and healthy. What we did was terrible, but the scars have been erased and children now play where we once fought, killed, and died. Flowers now grow where blood was once spilled.

But why do I feel so dirty, so unclean, when I see those places? - Laments of Peace, New Telkan Press, 22 PC3.

Everyone in my Basic Training class had scars from the plant-life. I mean, it was the Extinction Agenda Attack years, you know? We all had those scars. We called them "Veggie-Tales" even though we didn't know why beyond "Vegetation Tales", you know what I mean, sister? I had nasty scars across my legs from where I stumbled through fire-nettles that weren't there the day before. They tore a chunk out of me, I'll tell you what, sister. At least it didn't rip off my swinging cod, know what I mean, sister? All of us, though, we had veggie-tales on our flesh. We went in with scars. We went in the walking dead. The plants were going to kill everyone and we knew it, sister.

It was just better to go down with a gun in your fist, screaming your rage out to an uncaring universe, than coughing up your lungs from honey-suckle lung like poor Debbie-Lou. She was in my homeroom class, and I had a crush on her.

She died four days before her 10th birthday.

I dropped her present in a charity bin when I found out.

I learned a hard lesson that day, sister.

It's just the way it was. - SSG Carter, interview with Dreams of Something More, Mantid Diplomat, Terran Confederacy of Aligned Systems Diplomatic Team to the Lanaktallan Systems, final days of the C3 War.

Dalvanak knew not to try to stop the blast of Hellspace energies.

He had learned much as a pupil of the Malevolent Universe.

He knew the only chance was deflection, to try to shift the oncoming tsunami of debased and blasphemous energy.

No being could withstand a surge of Hellspace energy and survive.

Dalvanak's hand went forward, his two remaining fingers on his maimed hand spread out, his hand tilted slightly as his third eye opened wide. A ragged wedge of energy, a V in front and a sloped overhead, appeared as he focused all of his might. Behind him, the Queen of Blades stepped forward and spread out her wings to cover the others.

The Visage of Fear, wearing the mask of a terrible early ruler of the Hamburger Kingdom, and the Face of Tyranny, who wore the mask of the dreaded Hamburger King, stepped up next to her, applying their powers to deflect, not to blunt, because nothing could blunt such an attack, the ravening Hellspace energy that poured into the room.

Dalvanak felt ancient injuries flare with agony. It felt as if the holy insects were covering him, biting and stinging.

Where others might have given in to pain and discomfort, Dalavank felt empowered by it, strengthened by it, buoyed by it. He raised up the pistol, firing it three times in the air, as the wedge thickened, strengthened, but still stayed flexible. Firm gelatin rather than brittle glass.

Let the Hellspace energy burn itself converting his phasic construct into layers of glass, letting the glass fracture on top of the gelatin and be shredded away.

The Face of Tyranny raised his terrible implements, phasic powers reaching out to gird each Atrekna's minds with a crown of glittering phasic energy. The Visage of Fear pulled a scroll made from carefully treated animal skin from the sleeves of its robes, unrolling it slightly and intoning the symbols and sigils that the leaking Hellspace energy brought up on the sensitive parchment. The words he intoned thickened the inner gelatinous layer, not in density, but in volume.

At the forefront the Queen of Blades shielded her chest as best she could, trusting in her open-faced crown/helmet to protect her mind. She could feel the Hellspace energies that were leaking through licking and caressing her face, but ignored them, concentrating on shielding the others with her wings. The burning, biting, pinprick agonies felt like the holy insects had been poured over her flesh, but the sensation lifted her up, strengthened her, and firmed her resolve where other Atrekna would have collapsed in agony.

The others knelt down, shielding themselves and each other, reaching out to one another without hesitation or holding back, supporting their brethren even as their strength waned.

The wedge thinned, became brittle, began to flake away. Leakage filled the space inside, grazing and flickering against the defenses of those inside. Holes began to appear, Hellspace energies flowing inside, but the Atrekna inside accepted the pain, let it fill them, cover them, used the pain to bolster their defenses they protected one another with.

With a sucking whoosh the energies suddenly pulled back into the Hellspace portals, for a split second looking like a great set of jaws snapping at the shielding as the hound's head was pulled in half and into the two portals.

They winked out, and darkness lit only by the jewelry and powers of the cult members, fell upon the chamber.

Dalvanak lowered his hand.

"Is everyone intact?" he grated out.

Murmurs came back that they one and all had survived.

A glimmering light appeared above Dalvanak, his power quickly returning to him.

The other Atrekna gaspsed at what was revealed.

Dalvanak was no longer decked out in white.

His raiment was deep crimson, edged with deepest black. The lace and embrodiery twisted and altered into runes that whispered with forbidden knowledge. The tiny seedpeals gleamed like drops of blood on the black fabric.

His flesh was a washed out gray color.

They looked at one another and found that their own raiment, their own flesh, had been warped and altered by the consuming energies of Hellspace. The Queen of Blades had heavy black dermal extrusions on her face, giving her a living mask of hard bone-like structures. The Hunter looked much the same, but his skin rippled and shifted color, attempting to mask its appearance by blending into its surroundings.

One, then another, then a group, then a horde breached the walls, screaming their war cries.

The Lemurs ran through the hallways, screaming their war cries, killing any Atrekna they found. Hiding in the spaces in between seconds did no good, the burning red eyes of the Lemurs piercing any concealment and their bloody hands reached out to snatch their victim back into the main time stream.

They used logs tipped with scavenged metal as battering rams to knock down doors, gates, walls. They ran amok through the fortress, killing with savage glee.

In less than a week it was over.

The Lemurs faded into the forest.

The citadel, the last, sat as a forlorn ruin in the middle of a blasted plain.

The slavespawn reverted to base instinct, running off into the forest. Some preyed on others, but most were content to just much on foliage. The servitors just ignored the lemurs, their leaders marking the day the citadel collapsed as a holy day.

-----

Time went on as the sun brightened. Nearly two years passed.

Patrols and long range scouting missions found no Atrekna.

Changes occurred in the bloodstreams and limbic systems of the Lemurs.

In a clearing, where crude huts were merrily decorated, The First and Last, who had actually seen The Wise Lady with her own eyes, lay on a pile of furs. Her belly flexed and rippled as muscles contracted across the distended belly.

She cried out several times.

A smaller cry joined hers.

The gathered Lemurs burst out in song and cheers.

The Mehdik came out, holding a tiny creature up for all to see.

It was bloody. It was smeared with goop. Its little fists were balled up anger. Its face was contorted by anger as it screamed out its rage.

The others fell to the ground and pressed their foreheads to the dirt.

Many of them had round bellies themselves.

The Mehdik made sure everyone had seen the minature version of themselves and returned to The First and Last so the tiny version could be nursed.

It looked around with bright and curious eyes as it fed.

Outside, the others stood up and gathered in small groups, talking quietly about the miracle they had seen.

It had looked just like a miniature version of themselves.

With one exception.

Between the legs.

-----

Dalvanak stood within the chamber of hovering crystal, studying them.

His skin was pale, washed out gray now. His eyes were still full of burning red fire.

It had been necessary.

And he was content.

Without a word, he turned and left the chamber, silently deciding he would have raspberry jam with his toasted bread (which he had invented).

[The Universe Liked That]