Eden's First Magus
Humans are readily subdued, weak and, above all else, helpless. Physically, their bodies are surprisingly fragile, and they are plagued with an inefficient rigidness that borders on brittle. Easily broken, injury as a result of accident is as common to them as that born from malice. Technologically, their weapons resemble ours if we had no visceronite, while their defenses resemble those of the Nyoxrians. Unlike the cursed creatures of the sky, their villages and castles are grounded and readily overtaken; there is no innate self destruction like that which plagued us above Nyoxria, and no natural barrier from which to hide behind as with the storm. Intellectually they are even less impressive, if that were possible. They are utterly ignorant of the cosmos. Tactically they display a pitiful lack of cohesion and strategic acumen. From what little we have cared to discover of their history, they were divided long before arriving in the Cluster. Humans have no magi, and are completely incapable of harnessing the power of the anomalies: the slightest contact with one drives them to madness. It appears their base emotions, particularly fear and anger, serve as insurmountable obstacles in their feeble attempts at resistance. Our forces effortlessly exploit these vulnerabilities, as the humans crumble under the weight of their own apprehensions. It is a curious spectacle to witness their irrational attachment to individuality, as it hampers any cohesive effort to mount a meaningful defense. Their reliance on notions of honor and morality serves only to hinder their survival instincts, rendering them susceptible to manipulation and intimidation. Truly, their weaknesses are so intrinsic that it is almost beneath the dignity of the Zyrma to triumph over such a fundamentally flawed species.
- Zxroth, General of the forces sent to conquer Eden, in a missive to the Emperor
The humans sobbed, their faces a mess of tears and flushed desperation. There were five of them in total. Four adults and one child. Three males, at first they had stood defiantly in front of the female, who held the child, surrounding her in the pit. Until they realized what was about to happen to them. Then they’d started to beg. When the begging returned no results, not a hint of emotion, they’d begun to curse. Now they were back to begging, begging between the racking sobs. The child was screaming, confusion giving way to fear. Gole tapped his massive metallic foot impatiently. This whole ordeal was taking much longer than expected. It was an archaic law, that the overseer be present at any and all capital punishments, but he didn’t dare break it. Zxroth was notoriously traditional, and any breach of policy, even one so simple, would surely find its way back to him. Gole had recently been promoted to overseer of his region, the fifth Siphon, and wasn’t about to risk an early misstep.
His magus was having trouble with the anomaly. A younger Zyrma and recent arrival, Gelree had, in his short time under Gole, proved himself entirely incompetent. The sole purpose of a magus was to control a void anomaly and harness the immense power contained within its essence. A grand notion in the context of what Gelree had been asked to do. Since arriving, Gole had ordered him to carry out two mental castrations. Simple things really. Humans were so cognitively weak that mere exposure to an anomaly caused something known as the void frenzy. Complete madness. Effectively psychological murder, the individual ceased to exist, leaving only an empty shell of a body. A body that could work. Better than straight execution. Gelree had to move his anomaly close enough to the humans for them to go insane. That was it. The most formidable Zyrma Magi effortlessly transported anomalies with a mere wave of their hand and a flick of the wrist. Gole peered down into the pit from his elevated vantage point, observing once more that Gelree didn't belong to this elite class of magi.
The pit was a simple abyss, a hole carved into the terrain as a theater for the benefit of ceremony. Dull and lifeless walls surrounded the humans, unbroken except for the door through which they’d been let in and through which Gelree struggled. Gole watched from a box cut out of the upper limits of the wall, accompanied on either side by his wardens. A sickly pale bathed the captives as they huddled together, the light coming as white slivers that penetrated through tiny gaps in the ceiling. Lower tier magi encased their anomaly in visceronite, the mythical metal suppressing the effects of the ethereal entity until such time as it was needed. This manifested as a floating metallic sphere that accompanied Gelree at all times, the safeguard of his power. As had occurred at the previous castration, Gelree was spending an inexcusable amount of time and effort coaxing the anomaly out from its enclosure. The magus held it between himself and the humans, who cowered with the knowledge of their impending doom.
Gelree had chosen a plain soldier suit for this duty, and Gole reminded himself to reprimand the magus for it. Gole would have preferred to be in a more maneuverable form as well, but the same rules that demanded his attendance demanded he do so in full battle regalia. A Zyrma knight was deadly imposing on an open battlefield, but too bulky and clumsy within nearly any other context. Crafted entirely from the legendary visceronite alloy that was the pride resource of the Zyrma homeworld, towering shoulder pauldrons flanked a hefty central chest piece. Gole’s eyes burned from beneath a great helm while blocky plating composed every limb, the feet solid hunks of metal, the arms terminating in gauntleted hands. Weapons between knight forms varied, but Gole was fond of his long, razor-sharp visceronite claws. His wardens had attended in their knightly forms as well, and the three of them formed an impressive silhouette. While mildly inconvenienced by the stature, Gole took some pleasure in knowing their terrifying visage would be the last thing the humans consciously saw.
Exposure to an anomaly causes complete madness
Down below, Gelree managed to bring out his anomaly. It wouldn't be long now. Gole shifted once again, his patience spent. The anomaly was a swirling, iridescent vortex, fluctuating between states of both darkness and ethereal light. Gole would never have admitted it, but anomalies caused him deep disquiet. When in the unmasked presence of one, he felt unmade, insignificant. They emitted a vague hum of power, and the air seemed to change, a shift in the very perception of reality. The humans now clung to each other in a futile attempt to shield the one child from the impending horror. The magus stood stock still, all effort focused on moving the terrifying entity forward. Wisps of shadowy tendrils began to extend from the core of the anomaly, reaching out like fingers searching for something to touch. The air felt charged and hungry. Gole could no longer hear the screams of the humans. It was over quickly. While it’d taken an eternity for the anomaly to emerge, Gole felt he naught but blinked and it was back in its visceronite prison. Gelree turned and bowed to his overseer, then moved away from the now silent humans, his floating metal ball trailing after him. The child’s body hadn’t been able to handle the separation of its mind, and it lay lifeless, facedown on the ground where the female’s now inert arms had dropped it. All four adults stood motionless, eyes blank and white, their mouths slack. At a signal from Gole one of his attendants scuttered into the pit. Inhabiting the spider-like form of a worker suit, the attendant began herding the four bodies toward the door. Now nothing but mindless drones, the humans shuffled forward at the prodding of the suit’s many arms. Gole’s duty was done and he cared not to watch. He turned and departed without a second glance.
Gole moved with purpose through the cold stone hallways of his spire. The sooner he could switch out of his knight form the better. His wardens followed as his shadows, the three hulking figures pushing others to the side as they took up nearly the entire breadth of the passage. The spires were the center of the Siphons, areas of Eden designated as resource-rich. Using cheaper, Eden sourced materials, spires were nonetheless modeled after architecture on Zyrmagora, the Zyrma home world. Gole knew the structure wasn’t as comfortable or familiar as those on the Zyrma settlements, known as Ports, but to him it was much better than the human infested Farms. A short way from the pit there opened up an imposing chamber, oriented around a broad curving staircase, crawling with other Zyrma. At the base of the staircase were vacant suits. Here and there a slippery form slid from one to another, releasing and re-fastening to joints, as one suit stilled while another came to life. It was the nature of the Zyrma, the secret to their superiority. They could inhabit anything they could think to construct, their slimy forms simultaneously malleable and incredibly strong. When combined with a home planet that naturally produced the strongest and most versatile metal in the known universe, Zyrma supremacy became a thing of divine ordination.
As the overseer, Gole had his pick, any suit at any time. In spite of this, he made for a small ancient form laid off to the side. Much leaner, it was still made out of visceronite, and resembled the simple soldier suit Gelree had inhabited. Separating himself from the matrices of the knight, Gole slid out of the huge suit into the smaller form, quickly feeling the confident familiarity of precise limbs that enabled quicker movement. Flexing the metal muscles as his true form settled into the joints, he gave a forlorn look at the now still knight he had exited. One day he would wear it for its true purpose: Glory and carnage. Gole had waited years, a soldier in Zxroth’s army, for the chance to join the empire’s conquest. When Eden appeared, Zxroth and his men were finally called on. Unfortunately for them, the humans hadn't put up much of a fight. Practically none. Even if their technology approached the level of the Zyrma, which it didn't, it wouldn’t have mattered. The humans had no magi. And without magi, they had no hope.
There were other fronts out there, as the conquest continued on other planets. However, the Zyrma were an organized species. The army that conquered, occupied. Zxroth went from general of the invaders to planetary overlord. Gole went from soldier to bureaucrat. He’d gotten barely a cycle of being a warrior and participated in only one battle of any note. Now he’d served ten times that as an administrative director, participated in hundreds of trivial issue resolutions. When the first scouting reports had returned with information on Eden, and its inhabiting species, Gole had trembled with excitement at the prospect of these things known as humans. No longer. He was altogether tired of dealing with such an inferior and unchallenging opponent. Hardly worth being called an adversary, much less a rival. Gole grimaced with distaste at the thought of the four shambling, pitiful creatures that he’d just left behind. He needed to order his underlings to stop bringing children from the Farms. It caused nothing but problems. Something about the younger souls caused the older ones to take action. Wait until they’re fully grown. If the Siphon needed to draw from a larger pool, then so be it, his workforce was better stretched thin than infected with motive.
One day he would wear it for its true purpose: Glory and carnage
Frustrated with his situationally induced sentimentality, Gole made for the stairs. The wardens that had attended the castration had switched forms faster than him, and with their own duties to attend, disappeared into the churn. This suit was more agile, and he moved with speed, taking great strides toward the first step. Gole still had a full day ahead of him. As overseer, Gole had strict quotas to meet. He met them every time. As did every other Siphon, both on Eden, and on every other occupied planet.
A Siphon’s sole purpose was to make the capture of a planet worthwhile by mercilessly extracting resources. Eden was abundant in such resources and humans made excellent laborers. A combination that, like the Zyrma and their metal, spoke to a near divine inclination toward subjugation. Gole smiled at that thought. He, like all his brethren, believed in the Zyrma’s right to rule. Their history of near complete domination gave them no reason to doubt. Let he who was stronger come forward and stop them.
Preceding the morning spectacle, Gole had been informed there was an extraction plant performing suboptimally. His intention was to correct that and so he headed there now. The first five floors of the spire were underground. In the swift form of the soldier, Gole took the steps of the curved staircase six at a time. A few worker suits, a multi limbed form that was adapted to carry out a broad range of tasks, stopped to give their commander attention as he flew past. Lesser species that the Zyrma conquered wondered how they could change shape so frequently, and seemingly share suits among themselves, yet still recognize each other. It came down to their finely attuned senses. The senses of a predator. They could sense one another in the same way they could sense their prey, in the same way their prey could sense their fast approaching end.
The ground level of the spire was a bustling hive of activity, with Zyrma in various forms moving purposefully across the cathedral-like room. Gole navigated through the sea of suits, weaving between a pair of larger worker constructs. He made for the exit where colossal doors currently hung open. The plant he needed to attend to was the closest to the spire. A short walk would take him there. As he approached the open doors, he observed a multiconstruct in the shape of a large cargo carrier settling into the entry for processing. Multiconstructs were suits that took multiple Zyrma to pilot, an excellent display of collective unity. This one opened a bay door to reveal a load of humans. Gole felt an immediate flare of displeasure. He’d ordered a Farm extraction earlier the day before and it should have arrived while he was in the pit. This was unacceptably late. The overseer was of a mind to let it go, behind as he was, until he noticed the peculiar makeup of the humans. They were nearly all females and children. Not a male in sight. Bristling with rage at the incompetence of such a selection, Gole pivoted directions, no longer making to leave, instead heading straight for the warden who stood watching the procession in a newer model soldier suit.
“Rele?” Gole’s voice boomed out from his form, amplified by his authority. “You made these selections?”
The warden, Rele, turned to meet his angry commander. “Sir, I sent for you. Did you not receive my message?”
“I was in the pit.”
“It was not a selection I made. Rather, these were the ones who survived.”
“Disobedience?”
Rele hesitated. Gole felt his underling’s shift in energy.
“Not simple disobedience. There was an… uprising.”
Gole’s eyes flashed darkly. Rele had chosen his words carefully. Revolts happened. Of course they did. The empire had conquered many species that didn't have the capacity to understand their place in the universe. But uprising was dangerously close to another word, and that word, rebellion, was not uttered without severe consequence. Any extended form of dissent was seen not just as a reflection on the regional ruler, but on the management of the local Zyrma as a whole. The emperor didn't endure it. There had been one revolt that had lasted long enough to secure the name rebellion. On a different planet, closer to Zyrmagora. Of the natives and Zyrma alike, naught but a black spot remained.
“An uprising?” Gole growled.
“On the sixth farm in our jurisdiction.” Rele confirmed. “A group of human males. When we came for them they attacked.”
Gole seethed. “They are all dead.”
It was not a question. It was a retroactive order, filled with implied threat. Rele was quick to affirm it as truth. “They are.”
“That is that then. Kill these as well. Bring me others. Bring me a more useful batch. No more children.” Gole was tired of these humans and their pitiful time wasters. They were no sport, they were nothing but a headache. He couldn't help but think how even an attack such as this was so pitiful as to be nothing but a minor inconvenience. That was until he sensed Rele had more to say. “Yes?”
“There… we sustained a loss, sir.”
Gole stopped, dead still.
“The local warden was first to arrive, before word was sent to me. He was killed, sir.”
Gole felt the terror within Rele. It was terror directed at him. Because Rele could feel the rage within Gole. A death. A Zyrma death. They were not simply uncommon. They were not simply unusual, or rare. A Zyrma death on Eden hadn't occurred. Not once. Humans were so outmatched, the Zyrma had conquered the planet without a single casualty. It had been a shining example of Zyrma superiority, as the greater cluster hadn't yet known of the frailty of humankind.
“There’s more sir…” Gole could feel Rele cower. He relished in the fear, fed on it, feeling his own anger grow and expand. “I couldn't find the man who did it.”
Gole stared. This was not simply unbelievable, he struggled to comprehend how this was possible. His mind worked fast. This wouldn't go unnoticed. A death of one of his officers would make it back to Zxroth, back even to the emperor himself. He would be called to answer for it and an answer he would need. A very, very good one. One that Rele didn't have. Rele had come to this conclusion himself. Which is why he trembled. Gole extended a limb… and patted the warden on his form’s shoulder.
“This stays between those who already know. It will get out, but we will not help it do so. You will take me to where this happened, now. Only us shall go. You will show me all that you know, and pray that I can make conclusions you haven't.” Gole gripped the warden. “And we kill until we are certain.”
“Yes sir.” Rele’s tension didn't relax. Gole couldn't blame him. His anger hadn't dissipated. The overseer turned back the way he had come, wishing he hadn't been so hasty to change forms.
Once again in the knight suit, Gole sped toward the sixth farm. At his command, Rele had also slipped into a knightly form. His was equipped with a massive warhammer that extended off the right hand, and could be gripped with the left in order to add more power behind blows. They sat together on a mage cart, barely fitting on the back of the construct. Gelree was with them. There was no way around it. Gole had been loath to take the magus along, but it was the fastest way by far. Mage carts were slim, wheeled hybrid suits. Powered by an anomaly, they were capable of moving across flat terrain at great speeds. All of the overseers had at least one, the drawback coming from their reliance on a magus to pilot.
No words were shared as they traveled. It was near the end of day, though the sky barely showed it. Eden was a haunting planet. Arrival in the Cluster caused any number of calamities to befall a world and Eden had experienced no exception. Now caught between two neighboring stars, the planet was positioned in such a way as to put the equator in near constant twilight. Gole’s Siphon was near the northern end of the twilight band, as they called it, and so a small change appeared in the sky from day to day, though it was never truly dark. The land around his spire was cratered, rocky and barren. From maps they’d captured that showed Eden before the Cluster, they knew this land had once been a grand mountain range. The cosmic movement of the planet had caused them to crumble, leaving a heap of precious resources near the surface. Gole knew there were other, more scenic areas throughout Eden. Let others deal with them, where there were more humans and quotas were harder to reach.
They approached the Farm near evening, the sky darkening as much as it would, which left a pale hue on the land. Villages in which the Zyrma allowed the humans to live and from which they collected their laborers, this farm was larger than most, the small shapes of many buildings taking form as they approached. Rele guided Gelree and the cart sped forward, pulling up among the rudimentary dwellings. Most were single floor stone cottages, others were made completely of wood. All of the human fortresses, and many of their cities, had been either commandeered or leveled to the ground. From the outskirts until they were in the square, they saw no one. It didn't mean there was no one there. Gole could sense the fear permeating at the sound of their approach. He despised it. Human fear was not a strong fear. It was a whimpering, sniveling thing, and it clung to them like a stench. As the cart rattled into the center of the village, no human showed its face. Yet Gole could sense them, betrayed by their fear, hunched somewhere out of sight.
There was a broken fountain in the middle of the village. A stone square around which markets had gathered in days long past. Gelree waited, holding possession of the mage cart, while the two Zyrma knights clambered loudly from the back. Rele directed Gole around the fountain, showing him the scene of the slaughter. It seemed the remaining humans had cleaned up their dead, though they hadn't yet had time to clean the ground. Dried blood covered the uneven stones in large splatters, a horrifying canvas of dark red streaks and pools. Here and there were unidentifiable pieces of flesh and viscera, hinting at the messy carnage of Rele’s retaliation toward the ambush. None of this concerned Gole. The signs of human death hardly registered. Instead his eyes focused on the burn marks. At one end, near the center of the chaos, were a series of long, dark streaks on the stones themselves. Gole felt his fury intensify at the sight. Something within him had held onto a shred of doubt at the truth of Rele’s tale. A Zyrma hadn't died. It was not possible. Yet here was the proof.
“I received word of there being trouble in this village.” Rele recounted for his overseer. “I sent Dorl ahead, with the plan to send others once my business was conducted. Once he hadn't reported back, I decided to come deal with the issue myself. When I arrived, I found him there.” Rele didn't need to point. Gole kneeled at the black stains, his gauntleted hands hovering above the twisted stone.
“His armor was… broken. Ripped open at the chest. His true form pulled onto the ground and slashed into. There was no one around, so I sounded the call. When I did, a group of human males came from there –” This Rele did indicate, motioning to around the dwellings. “And there. They attacked with nothing but their ordinary weapons, their weak metal splitting and shattering against our armor as it always has. We destroyed them, and rounded up half of who was left. Those who survived spoke of a leader. A leader who had promised them salvation. Who had proved himself by tearing Dorl from his suit.”
Gole listened silently. Zyrma blood, when spilled, turns acidic, becoming a powerful corrosive. It was how they mined the visceronite. It was the only substance that could destroy the hard metal. On their homeworld were great mines, where a chosen few donated their life force toward supplying the greater industry of the species. Dorl was the source of the long streaking marks in the cobblestone, his spilled blood burning a meter into the ground before finally drying. Rele watched his overseer, still tense. Gole stared at the slashes in the ground for a long time. They were appalling. An unacceptable sign of weakness. Caused by trickery. They had to be. A trick. The humans were not capable of beating a Zyrma worker in combat, much less a warden in a soldier suit. Gole rose from his kneeling position, his visceronite armor reflecting the dim twilight. His gaze shifted from the blood-stained ground to Rele, the overseer's eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his helm.
“Only half.”
Rele didn't get Gole’s meaning.
“You rounded up only half.”
“As is procedure.” Rele’s uncertainty was clear in his voice. “Any more and it takes them too long to repopulate.”
Gole nodded calmly. He surveyed the buildings surrounding the square. Most were functional, the humans using them for various purposes he cared not to familiarize himself with. His gaze fell on one that was a dwelling. He could tell by the smallness of the door, and the significant amount of fear that seeped from the cracks in the walls. Without another word he covered the distance to it in three massive, earthshaking steps. The Zyrma’s knight form was so large that the roof didn't reach his breastplate. In one terrifying flash of movement, Gole swept his arm through the house, crashing the cottage on top of itself. He felt something soft crunch between his gauntlet and the far wall, and heard screams. Withdrawing his hand, he saw blood on it, and a glance at the new pile of rocks to the left showed red leaking out around twisted limbs. The back wall still stood, and against it were three terrified humans. Claws outstretched, he forced his way into the rubble, sending wreckage scattering before him. They didn’t have time to react. A swipe was all it took to separate their bodies into four pieces. There was a wet thud as they collapsed into a gory pile. Gole kicked, collapsing the last wall on top of their remains. Rele watched in silence as Gole’s armored form towered over the wreckage, surveying the scene with a cold detachment.
“We kill until they bring us this leader.” Gole spat out the last word with distaste.
“Would it not be better to capture and torture? With the shortages as they are.”
“The wonderful thing about humans is their tendency to breed. Leave them alone for a few standard cycles, and their numbers multiply exponentially.” Gole turned his eyes back on the structures of the square. “Besides, my message is clear. And he is here. I can sense it.”
Gole had sensed it the second he moved toward the now destroyed house. It wasn’t a different presence, so much as an absence of one. Across from him, there was a hall. The fear in it had disappeared. A calm that was not common in humans, especially when watching their own die. The type of calm that would goad a reckless group of overzealous men to stage a hopeless ambush. Gole could have turned to the hall, and made his knowledge known. But crushing the house felt good. Let the human leader cower while he crushed another, and another. He’d marked the man, so there was no rush, escape was impossible. A few more strides and he was at another one. This building was not a dwelling, but he could sense the fear from the many humans hiding within. He raised his colossal fist.
“Wait!” The voice rang out across the square loud and strong, with an impressive amount of misplaced confidence. Gole smiled. Humans could always be relied on to expose themselves for their weaker brethren. He brought his fist down. There were more screams mixed with the sounds of splintering wood as the building crumbled under the weight of his mighty blow. When he lifted his fist again he saw a pile of gore mixed in with the smashed roof. Another human had been nicked by a claw, and stood, mouth agape, holding his own organs in his arms. He didn’t remain standing for long, tumbling backward where another few humans screamed in terror.
“Stop this madness!” The voice came again. Gole ignored it again and drove his fist through one of the humans standing against the wall. His ribcage was crushed even as he was speared by the claws, screams turning quickly to nothing but wet air. Gole felt the satisfaction of the act, a release of frustration. A casual flick of his wrist took the last human’s head. Another building was nothing but wreckage at his feet. He intended to do another, and another, until this human who’d dared defy them begged on his knees. Then he heard the voice again, louder this time. It was the words that made him stop.
Gole whirled toward the human. He had been shouting to the Zyrma overseer in common. Now he used the language of the conquerors. Never in his many cycles on the planet had Gole heard a human speak Zyrmic. It was blasphemous. Gole’s eyes fixed on the man that had killed a Zyrma. He was entirely unremarkable. An older, weathered male, he nonetheless carried himself with a certain poise. Gole maneuvered his form toward the human, looming over the much smaller being.
“Who are you to dare utter the words of your overlords?”
“One who earned it.” The man peered up, his eyes bright and defiant.
Gole sneered. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. A miracle perhaps. This man was not that. Wiry and thin, he was unimpressive even for a human. “A trick earns you nothing.”
“It was no trick. I killed your warden. There are many who saw it. And many more now that have heard of it.”
“And as many and more will hear of the destruction you’ve brought upon your people. And the swiftness with which you’ll be dealt with.”
“It was me and me alone who deserves credit for the killing. I surrender to the consequences. Take me and leave this place.”
“I plan to. But it will be leveled all the same.” Gole turned to Rele, who had watched the exchange in silence. “Rules no longer apply. Not a soul lives. Not a building remains. Turn this into a wasteland.”
Rele nodded. Gole turned to the human, expecting to see anger, frustration, maybe spite. Instead the human looked at him the same. Calm. Gole had to suppress the desire to slash him in half on the spot. He must be interrogated. And then he would be made into nothing, given the void frenzy so that they could parade his walking corpse around the world, suppressing all tales of greatness or martyrdom. That image was some small balm on the overseer’s anger, and instead of killing the man he put a claw at his throat.
“You follow. And not a word.”
A zyrma mage, with visceronite encased anomaly
The human didn’t sob, didn’t cry. He was the only one in the pit, an adult male. He sat cross legged in the center, head bowed and eyes closed. Gole tapped his massive metallic foot impatiently. This whole ordeal was taking much longer than expected. Gelree stood beside him, instead of down below. It was just the two of them. An attendant had brought word that Zxroth was on the way. The overlord of Eden had caught wind of the death on Gole’s Siphon, and he was coming to see the human behind it. Gole had received very specific orders. Find out how he did it. Write a report on the entire situation. And have the human in the void frenzy by the time Zxroth arrives. The sixth Farm, from which the human came, was rubble. Rele had seen to that, and for his effective completion of the task Gole had decided not to order him disgraced. The overseer had hoped the news would break the human. Convince him of the hopelessness of his actions. It had no such effect. As such he was reduced to once again employing his magus. And Gelree, once again, balked at the simple task.
“So you cannot threaten him with the anomaly?” Gole asked his underling the question for a third time, frustration deafening him to the answer he’d already received.
“Not more than I have. Any closer and he would be lost before we gain anything useful.”
“And after inspecting Dorl’s suit…”
“No sign of any surface damage. It was leveraged apart, as if by some great force.”
Gole frowned. It made no sense. They had run what tests they could. This human was maddeningly ordinary. He was not exceptionally strong, showed no exceptional aptitudes, presented no hints toward how he could have hoped to best a Zyrma in combat, and a warden at that. What’s more, he showed a peculiar lack of mental depth. Gole could sense a human’s feelings, their emotions. He was most attuned to fear, but had tasted many others in his long days of dealing with them. This human had nothing, his mind giving off an almost pitiful emptiness.
“Go down to him. Let him see his fate again,” Gole ordered his mage.
“With all due respect…”
“Go.”
Gelree shifted on his feet, and Gole almost thought he sensed an argument coming. The mage’s apprehension was palpable, but the overseer was not one to be swayed by uncertainty. He knew, for whatever reason, the human unnerved the mage. Gelree hadn't been able to articulate what it was he sensed, but he deeply disliked dealing with the upstart. Lucky for him, he bit his tongue and gave Gole a slight bow, before exiting the box. The overseer let his fist unclench. He approached the window into the pit.
“Your time has come. We may delay it a few days, if you were to answer our questions.”
The human’s head remained bowed, unperturbed.
Gole spat. So be it. He could construct a reason. A malfunction. A sloppy error. Maybe Dorl exited his suit and was caught unaware. It would be a risk to lie, but it was a plausible lie. And that was more believable than what they could piece together so far. That this aging human had bent visceronite with his bare hands. The door on the side of the pit opened, and Gelree entered, his metal encased anomaly hovering ominously behind him. Gole watched the human closely. Gelree approached the sitting figure. They had done this multiple times, each one with no success. Usually, looking upon the anomaly exacted such strain that humans would do anything, say anything, if only to have the mage cover it again. This man had shown no such weakness. It was to the point where Gole was considering barbaric means of physical torture. This was the last attempt, he decided, purely out of frustration. If this yields nothing, Gole would peel the skin off the man’s chest himself, before driving him into the frenzy.
Gelree opened his metal orb, beginning the process of exposing the human to the raw power of the anomaly, and immediately the atmosphere in the room changed. Gole couldn’t see the anomaly, but without the protective barrier of the visceronite in place, its effect was impossible to ignore. The air became hazy, crooked. Feeling cursed to watch Gelree struggle with the same maneuver until the end of time, Gole focused instead on the human. The man showed no signs of distress. Gole's frustration grew, an unsettling mixture of confusion and irritation.
"What is it about you?" Gole muttered to himself.
His mind wandered. It was not that he wanted to lie. Zyrma died. But not here. Not on Eden. But one had. And that bothered him as much as anything had since the day they’d set out to Eden. He wanted to discover this human’s secrets, answer the impossible mystery of how. Yet the human resisted. Gole could sense the resistance. He’d witnessed what happened when a human was exposed to an anomaly thousands of times. An explosion, not just of fear, but of emotion. It made his senses tingle. With this man there was nothing, nothing at all. As he described earlier, it was almost a pitiful display of emptiness. Reaching out with his senses, he felt it again now, a lack… wait, no… not a lack. Gole paused. Not a lack… not a lack… a wall. Gole stared at the man, frozen by a sudden realization. The human was not empty. He had closed himself off. The overseer was struggling with what that could mean when an attendant joined him in the box.
“Zxroth will be here within the hour.” The worker suit muttered. Gole nodded absently.
“End it.” He called down to Gelree, and made to turn away. The overseer didn't see the man in the pit slowly raise his head.
The sound of a crash stopped him. Angry at what his mage could have possibly done to screw up, he swiveled back toward the pit. Only to be left speechless. The crash had been Gelree being thrown against the wall. The human stood, stock straight, the anomaly that had, moments before, been bearing down on him instead hovered a few inches from his palm. Gole yelled something. He never remembered what it was. His voice didn't stop the human from ripping Gelree from his suit. Another, almost careless motion, and before Gole had moved a muscle, his mage was dead, nothing but a splatter on the floor, smoke beginning to fill the air as his blood ate into the pit walls. The human turned toward the box, his eyes cold. Gole felt something. He’d never felt it before, yet it was familiar, and the stench of it made his stomach turn. The overseer tried to run. Another great crash sounded as the man ripped the box from the wall, throwing it into the pit. Gole was thrown to the side, the soldier suit he was in sprawling into a tangle of limbs. Managing to flip onto his back, he was in time to see the human rip the attendant from his worker suit, and squash him against the broken wall of the box. Gole tried to stand, but his joints didn’t work, his true form spasming within the construct in a way he’d never felt before. The man turned his cold eyes on the overseer. He spoke. His words were in Zyrmic.
“Thank you.” He said. “Thank you for bringing me Zxroth. In payment, you may know who it is that hands out your doom. I will be known as Aldric, hero of Eden. And all your species shall know that name.”
Gole couldn't voice a reply. The anomaly was before him, swirling and terrible. The Zyrma now recognized what he felt. He was afraid. From the center of the void reached a string of dark tendrils and the overseer was lost to their caress.