The Saturnalia

The Saturnalia
The Saturnalia, by Carnotaur

I dedicate this work to my family and friends, all those who inspired me, as well as educated me in writing, and foremost, God.

Introduction
I intended and still do intend for this work, short in words but expansive in topic(s) to be educational. In truth, fiction can be just as important as reality. Works like 1984, Dune, State of Fear, and countless other pieces of science fiction may be absent in our world, but the lessons taught are crucial for the mind of man to develop. While I do not think this story is comparable even to those book’s glory, the purpose is ever there. The truths and theories proposed (and I would say some proven) are what makes science fiction a tool for human imagination and progression. The future is unknown, and concepts within this work may not always be true or possible, know the setting may as well be filler for what it teaches and foretells, with its vulgarized names and words, representative of a new age far beyond that of our descendants who could be alive in a thousand years. In the words of a great man, and inspiration of myself, Michael Crichton, as the first words of his final work, Next:

“This novel is fiction, except for the parts that aren't.”

Farewell happy Fields

Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

Revive thy new Possessor: One who brings

A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

-John Milton, Paradise Lost

That emperor, who sways

The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from the ice

Stood forth; and I in stature am more like

A giant, than the giants are his arms.

Mark now how great the whole must be, which suites

''With such a part. If he were beautiful''

As he is hideous now, and yet did dare

To scowl upon his Maker, well from him

May all our misery flow.

-Dante, Inferno

The Cry of the of the Nether World has seized my servant, Enkidu, whom I sent to bring me back my drum and drumstick that I had that fell down through a hole into the Nether World.

''Namtar the demon did not seize and hold him. The fever demon Ashak did not seize him.''

Nergal’s pitiless viceroy did not hold him.

It was the Cry of the Dead that seized him and held him He did not fall in battle.

It was the Cry.

The Neither World itself was what seized him;

Ereshkigal the Queen it was who held him.

-Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Nether World

Prologue:
Far off beyond Terra ignored, expanding our kingdoms of strength and might, unto the cosmos we soared;

Darkness cradling bodies of gas and hardy stone, holding many secrets of old, one must be weary of what is to be left alone;

''Did the Great One not imprison? Did the Almighty not restrain? Locked away from you to not see with your vision, The ones who hate you wish to offer more than pain.''

- The Psalms of The Unknown Preacher

Part 1: The Finding
The place was quiet; not a single loud expression of sound. This place was the control room of the space craft dubbed the Terrah. Two men sat inside it, watching the black void in front of them, sprinkled with dots of light, as they made their way back to their long, stop-ridden journey to each other’s home planet, Gamno. These two men were the only crew here besides another, who was on a separate section of the craft. The first, and owner of this ship, Matthew Hendron, and the second Hans Chang. Matthew, an average sized man, age 36, with a light stubble on his face, deep black in color. His eyes were a dark shade of green, and he wore the usual attire (for a space-traveler) of the day: a thin spacesuit of grey. Even though in the ship, accidents were not rare on these vessels, and caution was always observed. From his appearance, one could assume he was of that new genetic fusion of the Human races: that of Areb and Caucasians. This mix of bloods was common today, but rare just a thousand years before. His head held a mess of black hair, clean but not kept. Hans, who was a very tall man, nearing the age of fifty, was a clean-looking one. His nearly bald head’s hair combed back, face smooth without the suggestion of hair - the new model of razors were exceptional in their task and precision, most likely from the absence of metal in them. That was how they were some time ago. Now, the laser technology was the preferred type, while some still stuck to antique models, of whom Han's companion was the owner of - Brown in the eye, stern in features, he was a veteran of the Krelan War. He never talked much about it, however, and no one ever pried open his chest of tales. His genetics linked to both the Caucasians and Asiatic peoples, not just being discovered by his slightly Oriental look, but by his name, representing mixture of layman linguistics not just race. These two men were the captain and first mate, friends of a decent time, five years or so, and were engaged in the scavenging business. One might think this a lowly pursuit, but many people who had the money to acquire a good ship had this profession. Every day (though day lengths vary by planet and solar system), dozens of ships broke down in space, making their owners broke, or killing them. Ships lasted orbiting around planets, but traveling through great gaps in space did damage ships bit by bit. It was usually the space dust and meteorites. Man did not have the ability to go into light-speed, like the fictions of old Earth, thousands of years ago. They could only use atomic thrusters, and that made them go as fast as they could. A trip from one planet to another in the same system took an average of a few months. These long travels were later equivalents to the ships on Earth which took months to get from continent to continent. On these journeys, things broke down, and others made the living of scavenging the remains, and if there were survivors, they would get pay for aiding them, beckoning the scavengers or presumed rescue by signal. The latter was quite cruel by moral standards, but people trapped in space would pay good money to live. Sometimes treasures of many types could be found: gold, silver, gems, artifacts and more. A scavenger could get wealthy from these findings. Not just that, but the ship could be bought, and/or repaired, as well as scrapped if needed. Drugs and other illegal material were common, because law was not able to track down these violators unless on planet, or off-planet and being tracked. These items were sometimes turned over to law enforcement, but others made use of them (personally, or financially). These two men were the kinder-type of scavengers. Neither of them appreciated the pirate-like nature of the members of this class. Today, they were not as lucky as usual: no ships at all...

Chang spoke first, his unique accent present, yet very lite: "So, where are we stopping for the week?" He asked this, because they would be approaching their next stop: The Pelan System. The planets orbiting around the star Pelan were numbered four, one uninhabitable, and they would be stopping here for all things they did: buying, selling, trading and the sort, as well as resting on solid ground.

"I decided that one, Rachan, Rekan, or whatever It’s called. Sound good to you?" his fellow responded. Hans smiled, “Its Rechkenn. I think most people aside from natives pronounce it wrong. And yes, that sounds good. I heard their well-known for their agriculture. A slight smile came to Matthew’s face, accompanied by speech.

“I remember: 'Thou shalt smile upon Rechkenn, that globe of plenty, for it is holy to thee."

"Where'd you pull that holy riff-raff from?" Hans chuckled.

"I have no idea, I think I heard it some time back, and…" Matthew said, yawning, "you know, I just remembered it. I think it came from some book I read when I was on Egna, given by some evangelizing guru in the public square. I think they were Islamit, but could've been something else." Hans shook his head, "Ah, 'religion, a force that can be used for well or ill, each variant having elements all akin to another. In the end, few religions succeed in anything, other than becoming pariahs, and enemies of some group or another.’ But what do I know?”

"Ha! When did you get philosophical? You're not the type…"

"Everyone's got a bit of philosophy in them, all opposed in some shape or form. Besides, that was a quote."

“From whom?"

"I don't remember. Like I said, what do I know?

"You are a thick book my friend."

The cockpit of the craft was large, holding a lengthy panel of buttons, switches, screens, and lights. Two seats were there in the front, two behind them, the former being the occupied. The front of the cockpit was neo-glass, a material so dense, diamonds couldn't even scratch it. Beyond this was the vast expanse of void, a destination for the ship far away, its engines humming, though none heard them. The two men remained silent, one focusing on the trajectory, making sure they didn't drift into a path away from nearby planets. The other, Hans, sat back and watched, no doubt pondering what the next stop would be like: hoping for a relaxing rest on solidity, all while cherishing a glass of some drink or another, on a beach, watching a sunset of yet-to-be-seen color. It remained like this for nearly an hour. Matthew vigilant, but Chang now asleep. He awoke, however, to the bleeping sound his ears were akin to hearing. The Terrah had found something. He sat up, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows shot up.

"What is it?" he said, looking out the neo-glass window; looking, but seeing nothing.

"A ship," replied Matthew, scowling, "it's several miles ahead, and its huge, maybe a shipping craft.

"Broken down?"

"Looks like it, from what the scanner says. They're not moving, and no heat is coming from it. Its basically dead."

They waited, as Hans slowed the ship, for they needed to not hit the craft if it was merely a few miles ahead. Soon, the new ship came into vision of both men. It was not a vessel for commercial use, or the sort. It was an ancient Heylelian Imperial cruiser. Both captain and mate sat agape. From what they knew, ships this old were thousands of years past, only two remaining, and those two only in sections. And this, this cruiser, was in a bad shape, looking like it had drifted for a quite a spell, yet it was complete. The hull was not damaged by weaponry, but by time obviously spent drifting in space. They could see the name of the ship, painted on the side, but very damaged. Hendron spelled out the faded and marked up word: "S-A-T-something-something-N-A-L-I-something…"

"Saturnalia," concluded Hans, with confidence in his tone.

Part 2: The Heylelian Imperium
The report that came through the speaker located above Maderayu Jenkin's head gave him a surge of excitement. An Imperial Cruiser! He had studied these ancient space-vessels before, finding great fascination. And, from what Hendron stated, it was complete, while a little damaged, but not in pieces, as were the two remaining ones located on Old Earth. This was an amazing discovery indeed. Inside the ship could be great wealth of not just precious materials, but of historical gold; artifacts and the ship's database. In the database, many things could be found: flight-logs, messages sent and received, ship-layout and possibly even the info on the crew. Maderayu (Rayu, as most called him, because of his longer Pelanian name) was a younger man, twenty-five, and of a now fading race, the Indans of old Amuricia, later called the Commonwealth of Melkoresh. He was of the race now only living in the Pelan System, a place of refuge for his fading people, and his home world was that of Rechkenn, the very place they would be landing at in a few days. He was longing for his home, and he had an extended family, he was very attached to his birthplace. Mostly because of the ancient culture he inherited, along with the unique religious sect of antiquity, the Uk'alte'm Islamits.

"I'll be right there, are we going to dock it?" he said, pressing the button on his collar, linked into the speaker.

"Well," said Matthew, "it doesn't look like the docking-bays are working, and not even open. However, I think we can use one of the manual docking ports, but I have to find it. Hold on." and the radio went silent.

Rayu had an interest in the histories. Not a historian in the least, but he was a database of history, facts, legends and myths. His upbringing was in a well-off family, so his education was above standard. The one point in time he knew the most of, and had dug into the books and holofiles to learn of, was the thousand-year reign of the Heylelian Imperium, a relevant time period at the moment. He had found fascination with this actually 983 year-long span of time, because of how long it had enslaved mankind, starting on Old Earth, and spreading to the closest Solar Systems known of during the age. It had started sometime around the year 2052 AD, about nine-thousand years prior to his position in human chronology. The dictatorial kingdom had been established by one Jocep Levvi (his uncorrupted name had been Joseph Levi, Rayu had discovered), who during a great time of crisis, a global war, had crawled his way to power, Hitlarian in style, offering the world peace. Jocep stated he would bring them the tranquility they longed for, and that he could bring it like none other. A smooth talker, he soon gained great power over a course of five years. Within that time, he had in fact started a whole new war, one with religion, science, economics and social behavior, declaring a new religion, a new economic system, and persecution of all those who defied him. He became a great dictator, and eventually conquered the whole world, before he claimed himself God-Emporer, and a direct descendant of the the Judeo-Kristian evil-doer, Sattan! He was obviously a madman, but few stood up to him, and those who did, all died. Over the next hundreds of years, his sons and one usurper to his throne ruled, but not one as wretched at the founder. Soon, the Empire grew week, an uprising destroyed it, and the factions of humanity fled off into the universe, setting up colonies. Josep had named the Imperium Heylelian, because he had dubbed himself that cryptic title. The monarchy was brutal to all religions, making them illegal, and induced a slave-like state over most of humanity. It was a time of terrors, in which billions died. But, that was ten-thousand years distant, and now the crew had discovered a remnant of that horrible, yet intriguing era.

Part 3: The Docking
Hans had found the emergency docking port, one that had to be delicately hooked up to the Terrah, and to connect the two ships. This mode of transfer had been used as the only way in days past, but now it was merely a way of urgently getting off the craft, if the other docking bays failed, which they did it seemed, over several thousand years. They soon hooked up to the Saturnalia, and prepared for boarding. Matthew had checked to see if the docking port was airtight, which it was, and he gave the go ahead. Hans and Rayu waited at the closed door, keeping them from the ship of antiquity, waiting for their Sinbad to open it. It did. A gush of stale air entered the chamber, though they didn't know it, because they both had suits on with helmets, just in case of the absence of oxygen. There could have been the chance that the algae in the massive vats used for producing the vital gas might have died, but the systems for these tanks were designed to keep working for many years. It was likely they had died, and the air they now stood in had been floating with the ship for millennia. It was sealed tight, so as to have no loss of air, so the ship was a time-capsule, preserving everything here.

The first thought on Rayu's mind was where the old residence had gone? There could be bodies left, explaining why this extremely important space-ship had been left to drift. Either the crew had all died, or they had evacuated. He would have to see it the escape pods had been used. Hans, on the other hand, was wondering what wealth could have been amassed here. From his knowledge, the Imperium was well known for their ravaging of ancient sites for gold, silver, diamonds and other precious gems, along with relics of older times past. There could be a whole chamber or more filled with economic, and historical gems. The place was dark, all the electrical systems now not just shut down, but likely decayed. Dust was a film upon the walls, floor, ceiling and other devices in the entry room. Around them sat two old-style glass containers, holding inside them two space-suits, a variety much bulkier than the ones these two time-travelers were wearing. The suits were decayed as well, victims of dry-rot and natural deterioration. In front of them was the second door, one that was designed to only be opened by an original member of the Imperial Elite, in whom's wrist were placed a chip they used to gain access to this area, as well as DNA scanning, to verify if said person was of that upper class, genetically different than the rabble. Hans knew that it now could only be opened by a laser drill. And so, he made the necessary call: "Hendron…"

"Ya?" said Matthew through the suit's speaker.

"Do we still have that laser drill, or did we leave it on Endra?"

"Yep, we have it, I only left some things behind for space, I knew we would need it. Why?"

Chang examined the door, while Rayu looked over the antique suits.

"The second door in this room is shut, and you said the ship has no power, so…"

"Alright, I'll get it. I left it with the pile of junk we got…" Hans didn't hear the rest, because he saw something through the small window in the door that caught his eye. He paced forward, gaining Rayu's notice, and glanced into the corridor.

"Rayu, did the Imperium ever make any cruisers for exclusive purposes?" he said, as he looked on.

"No," said Rayu, puzzled, "they never did, why?"

"Because in front of this is the line of escape pods, and on the door of each one it says: 'HOLY RESEARCH VESSEL - SATURNALIA'. What is that?"

"What?" said Rayu.

"It's what it says, come look." He came over. Then he spoke up after a short silence.

"No, they never made any ships dedicated to certain missions or tasks."

"But they did."

"Obviously, but it must have been extremely top-secret. We might have stumbled upon an apocryphal part of history, my friend."

Chang laughed to himself inside because of the other man's uncommon use of the word ‘apocryphal’. Suddenly Matthew chimed in.

"I got the drill, I'll be on my way, guys."

"See you in a minute," replied Rayu.

Part 4: Entrance
After the eventful opening of the door by drill, after the sparks and molten metal, all members of the Terrah entered the Saturnalia. The place still had breathable oxygen, from the readings given by Hendron, so they removed their helmets, leaving the suits only. The air was stale, and hadn't been circulated for an unknown amount of time. It was likely in the millennia. The electricity did not work, so they turned on their flashlights, and shown them into the darkness now around them. The pods glimpsed by Hans were up close now, and Rayu examined them.

"I wonder where the bridge is from here…" said Matthew, looking around. Rayu answered: "I have a blueprint for these cruisers, but the layout could be different. The ship is obviously divergent from the norm." he said this as he wrapped on the metal doors of the escape pods.

"Do you think it could be that different?" questioned Hans.

"I do. If they had a ship made for "Holy Research," as they called it, there might be whole rooms and sections for unique purposes." They stood silent, wondering. To the left and right were corridors, one leading to darkness, and the other to a place the Terrah's search lights shown through neo-glass windows. Chang said, "I guess towards the light. We'll still need flashlights. You have them Matthew?"

"I always do."

”And the lamps?"

"Yep."

"Onward my fellows." said Rayu as he made his way toward what he hoped was the bridge.

Time past slowly, but soon, while hindered by twists and turns, the three scavengers found themselves on the control room of the Saturnalia. A very spacious room; high ceilings and a circumference wide enough to house a healthy number of navigators, operators and other crew members. It was located in the top of the vessel, which was roughly a gourd shape: the bulk being in the back with engines, storage, medical bays, living quarters, dining halls, offices and more, while the front was occupied by massive weapons, the largest being at the stem of the gourd, a laser weapon able to saw enemy craft (of which there were few, merely there to show authority as did most dictatorships, who flaunted their weapons whether they worked) into pieces. The control room sat at the top of the bulge, being able to see all around, a 360° view of the void. The trio had made it up by way of stairs, which looked very new, obviously because of the lack of heavy use, because the elevators did not function. The tiresome way was the only way. At the edges of the room, Neo-glass windows presented them with space, while beneath them sat control panels and screens, long dead. In the center of the room stood a glass globe, originally for a space map, but the digital factor was as well absent, leaving the ball dark, neglected of the lights it once had to showcase galaxies, solar systems and planets. The floor was very dusty, so much so that their boots made deep footprints, as if it were a lite snow, a snow of decay. It was cold too, but their suits were self-heating, as all but Matthew had the setting on, himself stating the cold didn't bother him.

"Well," said Rayu, scratching his head, coming through heavy locks of black hair, "I guess I should try to retrieve the computer drives."

Hans replied, "Go ahead. I want to find the storage rooms."

"Same here," said Hendron.

"Alright, but we don't have maps, so I should try to get one from the data banks." And so Rayu went to work, extracting the large computer cores from the control panels. He hooked up the metal boxes to his computer. He had brought it along in his pack, a nifty item for this dead craft. He hoped the chips hadn't decayed over time. To his glee, he discovered that it was not so, at least, not to a great extent. His computer, a small flat box with a detaching keyboard, and a projector, which showed a large non-existent screen. Rayu found that the ship's archiving program had preserved all that his heart desired. Files upon files, documentation over a course of thirty years. Starting on December 25th 3020, a religious holiday mandatory to celebrate under the Heylelian Imperium, and ending on July 18th 3038. Amazing! This ship was still in operation three whole years after the Imperium had fallen, proving a theory of his, that there were remnants of the Empire. But it seemed that this craft never settled on any planet. Evidently, something had occurred during their trip through space, what it was he knew not. Indeed, the goldmine of data he had at his fingertips was going to be a journey to go through.

Part 5: The Storage Rooms
Rayu supplied the two others with a map of the ship, that he found in only a few minutes. He hooked up their personal navigation devices to the computer, and downloaded it to two machines. The map showed that the storage rooms (which were in reality gigantic hangars. And so Hans and Matthew went their way, leaving their bookworm to research. One thing of great note was the presence of slight gravity. Even though the Saturnalia was out of commission, her artificial gravity was still in check, however that was possible. The same could be said for the air: it was not fresh, but still here. The oxygen was different actually, because it was an elemental thing, trapped in a ship for thousands of years. The artificial gravity generators must have been of the highest quality, so as to have them run for this long. No doubt they had shut off for hundreds of years, during intervals, to preserve their battery power. The vessel had many different sources to keep it on: nuclear, gas, and solar. The ship might have passed by some stars, gathering light from them. This could explain the gravity. All other forms of technology had died, and the ship's automatic programming told itself to conserve energy for vitals: oxygen and air. The Algae vats were now long dead, but they had kept going for perhaps hundreds of years.

The corridors and halls were cold, the silence encompassing. They walked up stairs and through passages. Some doors were found to be open, others sealed. As scavengers, the crew of the Terrah were looking for the usual: treasure. If the men could find antique weapons, tools, artifacts, they could go for possibly billions on the market, if, that is, they were in good condition. And taking into consideration the time-capsule that the Saturnalia had become, that was likely. Soon, Hans decided to examine a sealed door of a possibly large storage room. On the front, in red letters, it read, ARTIFACTS.

"Quite obviously an important room," said Hans, his excitement growing. Matthew took his drill, and began cutting a hole in the door. The sparks flew, and a molten red circle formed on the metal, big enough for both to enter. The steal door collapsed onto the metal ground with a large clang, which echoed throughout the immediate areas of the ship.

"Don't wake up the residents…" chuckled Matthew.

"That sounds like a bad omen," said Hans. And so, they entered the room. It was cold and bitter, but all around they saw what their souls longed for: large crates of material that they assumed was treasure, because laying around the crates sat vessels of antiquity. Objects not just of precious metals and the such, but items of great age. From a quick scan, Matthew saw a large golden throne embroidered with gems of some sort he had never seen, a nearly black color of red. Next to it was a large stone spire, an obelisk no doubt, carved with runes of unknown language and script. It was held up by three large steal bars with cushioning where the stone was firmly grasped by a brace the poles hooked to. Even more, chests of what looked like greenish wood sat in plenty, statues of beings that were not human, and to his amazement, a large metal coffin with a elaborate spirals and vein-like decor upon it.

"Hans," he said, "what did we just find?"

"Something we weren’t supposed to ever know of.”

It took them some time, but the men came to a conclusion. What they had found, what the Imperium had found, were relics of a civilization, not of old Terrah, but of another planet entirely. The Empire had sent a special ship to find these artifacts of a race that might have been older than man, the only known inhabitants of the cosmos. It had been concluded by the great minds of just a thousand years past, that man was either a divinely created being, or that we were a fluke in the universe that should never had happened. A fluke that had caused life to appear, even though the chances were all but impossible, and even then, the chances were so small, that only we were left to be alone in the universe. However, what they were looking at, was a slap in the face to the now cosmic law. The statues were of a race who were bipedal, and stood very tall. Their faces were vaguely human, but lacking true noses, a large forehead, having tall and narrow heads, their hands had nine fingers, and their arms were very muscular. Their feet were large, having no digits, only being flat and vaguely circular, like bony pads. The artistic style of the statue was of the quality of those artists that lived during that age known as the Renaissance. From what Hans could tell, the coffin that they saw, likely held a body (or what was left of it) inside. Hans spoke: "Matthew, I'm not sure what to do."

"All we can do it sell this to a museum. Maybe the Tyangan Museum on old Terrah? I'm sure they would love to have this."

"Personally, if this is what we think it is, I don't even care for the money. This would rewrite history."

"Not just human history, we would have to make another history for a whole different species who might have gained space travel. But I agree, this needs to be safely handed over to those who won't take it to the black market."

The feeling these men had was of utter awe. The concept of a new species, and the fact they were standing in the remnants of that race, was mind-bending. Luckily, they knew that Rayu could likely retrieve the coordinates to the planet where these relics came from. And so they stood, in a calm before an intellectual storm, one that would shake the universe… one that they had now let loose.

Part 6: Browsing the Darkness
And so, they stood, gazing at the profound and problematic discoveries. It was silent for a while, both men wondering if it was even right, let alone safe to touch these articles of prehistoric, no, pre-prehistoric age, if that could even be. It was silent for a time, until Hans said, with an air of boredom Matthew found strange, “I think I’ll go check the other rooms.”

“Alright,” said Hendron, puzzling at why his friend had so quickly lost interest. Hans then left, exiting the custom “door”, leaving him alone. Matthew still stood for a time, but eventually walked about, touching and examining the objects.

Eventually, he came across a large metal panel, made of an element he had never seen; the metal was like steel, was clearer like glass, as if stretched to its thinnest atom. But it was around five inches thick. It sat flat upon a large dusty table. The panel itself was dusty, and he wiped away the ash of distant strands of time. The crystal-steel panel stretched ten feet, and he intended to see all of its details. Matthew wiped away the first few feet of the panel’s dust collection, and looked down. There he was shown the images of peculiar things. Humanoids walked about, obviously like the one who’s statue stood nearby. There were many of them, all like stick figures in size, but great in detail nonetheless. On the top of the panel he saw what appeared to be three orbs (he assumed either the planet’s two suns and a moon, or a sun and two moons), with high mountains like old Terrah’s now eroding Himelayains in their prime. Great temples like Zigguratos of the Mesopotamians peppered the landscape, while the crowds gathered below them, and on them. To his surprise, he saw what was undoubtedly sacrifice by some more flashy-garbed peoples on the top of these alien temples, but operating the sacrifice of their own kind. The scene was very much like that of Pagan practices that he had heard of, that had occurred on old Terrah long before the horrors of the Heylelian Empire. Whatever the case, it was apparent they were sacrificing to the cosmos, something man had always done. He then continued onward, cleaning away dust, until he wiped away enough to see something that startled him. When he did, his heart nearly froze, his brain went cold, and sweat appeared on his forehead that went icy. It felt as if a cold breeze had invaded the room. When he gazed upon what he saw, only one word came to his mind, for his lips were sealed: Deity.

Hans walked casually through the halls of steel, those halls of cold nothingness. He had left Matthew to examine what they had uncovered, and Chang moved on. Suddenly, he had a strange feeling. A feeling that he should go somewhere else. He knew not why, but the feeling told him that this room was only a small part of what this ship would present in due time. And he did what his feeling had brought forth. He wandered on and on, leaving the past room far behind, to the point where had he not the map that Rayu supplied, there would be a struggle for him to get back. Time passed slowly, giving his mind that sense of mental sludge, where one keeps his attention on how long they have been waiting for, well, whatever he was looking for. Was he looking for something? Or was he merely just wandering hoping to see a bit more? This all ceased however, when he rounded a corner, and came to a massive door. The door spanned out, being wider and taller than the main length of the hall it smoothly ended. He stared at it, wondering at what this contained. There were no markings, no bold shibboleths to tell one what lay beyond. Suddenly, Hans realized that he was holding the torch. He had never even realized he had picked it up. Why did he? Well, that didn’t matter, because he would need it now in this moment of discovery. With no hesitation, he began cutting a triangle into the door. Within several minutes, the metal collapsed, and an entrance was made. To his surprise, what seemed as natural light shown out at him. Instantly, his brain was flooded with sensations he had never felt, nor even though one could feel. Terror, pain, agony, curiosity, glee, confusion... he was overwhelmed by the intense existence, for he knew not what was causing this. His skin felt cold and warm, disturbed and calm. Slowly words began filling his consciousness. Words in English, and words in a language he had never heard, all flowing at once. They were beckoning him into the room he had uncovered like the treasure hunter he was. Hans Chang entered into the dim light, feeling himself being engulfed into this mystery.

Part 7: Cataclysm
Rayu sat on the ground examining his computer. The device had dug up a wealth of intel he wished to have. Already, he had learned who the captain was of this ship, a Derik Gull, who was one of the most notoriously aggressive and evil captains of the entire Empire’s fleet. Legends told of him taking what the elite class dubbed the Sub-humans, because of their non-wealthy positioning in that old corrupted society, and punishing them for making errors, errors that Gull himself had contributed in causing. The punishments included being thrown to space for several seconds, before being drawn back in, a procedure nearly all died from. Truly a sick man, Derik faded into myth as a true beast. Whatever the case, it appeared this was Gull’s last voyage. But that begged the question ever lingering like a Yod of mystery: where had the crew gone off to? The team had observed that all pods were accounted for, meaning no one ever tried to leave it. There were no corpses either, and that meant... that meant he should check surveillance cameras! Yes, that was it. If the files existed still, Rayu was sure he could extract them. So, he set off to work, in a mode of perturbation. While he did this, he realized that he hadn’t gotten a message from those two foragers since they left. He didn’t expect they were in danger of any sort, he was never the type to jump to conclusions like that without evidence. For now, he didn’t worry about it. And with that he typed, clicked, sucked his lip, and finally perked up when he found a data bank file, where he was sure recordings would be stored, now he needed to run a- huh, what was that? Rayu looked up, and ceased breathing for a moment. Did he hear something? He swore he did, but he couldn’t even tell what the sound was. It was just a burst of unidentifiable something he had half-heartedly payed attention too. He wasn’t even fully caught off guard. It must be those two returning.

“Hey, Hans, Matthew, or whoever it is, you find anything?” Silence. “Hello? I ain’t in the mood for this, ladies.” Still silence, until he heard a slight audible burst that slowly grew. He heard what sounded incredibly bizarre, making his hair stand up, if not come off his back. Rayu discerned a nasal sound, like that of thickest mucus being inflated and popped, air being exhaled heavy with moisture, and skittering across metal floors, all accompanying wheezing. Rayu stood, his eyes wide, a slight sweat just tickling his flesh. The hall where the sounds were coming from was about thirty feet away, and were not lighted. His room with large light orbs illuminating the hull was an island of light, but beyond that was pure black fading to penumbra. The sounds were getting close, and he began to panic. There was something coming his way, and he suspected it knew he was there.

Good job with your loud mouth, he thought. He then realized that there was no weapon near, for he hadn’t brought one. Another stupid decision he had made. Now his breathing began speeding, his heart pounding. Not only could he hear it coming, he could feel it. He could sense pure... evil? Utter wretchedness, unclean perverseness of sick insanity, but with no true mind like his own. What was he experiencing? Soon he would find out, for moments later, an apparition arose from the black, and then came into the light. All that feeling he had had before now grew too a level so high, his mind felt sick, and his body felt like it wasn’t supposed to be here. There in front of him was the something. A being of pure horror. While a human mind can create things so disturbing, what he witnessed made the word disturbing fade to a pathetic vapor concept from the paltry cognitive flow of man. In his presence, stood that thing, giving him a chance to describe mentally, but in partial vain. Suspended upon Human legs, leading to a human torso, were long writhing appendages, slick and tentacle in shape. All humanoid resemblance rested in those legs and main body. The feet were bare, long-nailed, but normal, except for the color of skin, which covered it all, a deep black, somewhat mixed with an ill green. It’s arms were lengthy, muscular, and single-jointed, like a man’s, absent were the normal length of the upper arm, biceps like masses of flesh. Too, in strangeness, the hands replaced with something akin to crab’s claws, but with what looked like teeth, wet with moisture; they were mouths. The arms and legs were covered in swollen lumps, like some disease. Now it’s head... the head was horrible. It was not human, just a mere pair of bear-trap-like jaws, saliva rich, sticking upward, no neck to swivel. He could see no eyes, nostrils, or anything of the sort. In confusion, he watched as what appeared like a black tongue, hooked with barbs, ascended out of the upward jaws, twitching in irritation. Apparently not a true tongue, it had a ball of muscle at the end, where he saw what looked like three greenish eyes. That was how it saw, and it now saw him. In those eyes he saw no soul, just sub-human, no, sub-animal idiocy. It merely was a killing machine, though he saw no signs of recent slaying. There he stood, heart frozen, blood cold, and the beast, organ throbbing, and fluids racing. Silence hung for a time, as the eyes examined the scene. Soon, the tongue returned to its internal holding place, and Rayu’s ears were cursed with the creature’s maw releasing a gargled scream, like the cry of a child through thick fluid. His mind was hit dumbfounded, as if the wound had disoriented him. And indeed, it had. It was like if one had been spun around and turned dizzy, with an addition of a stinging headache. Then, without warning, it charged. As it did, Rayu was still in confusion, and hardly had time to react, when the monster had slammed into him. They both fell to the ground, it’s warm, moist mass hovering over him. His mind finally cleared, but now he was looking into the jaws of death. They hung there, dripping, as he understood that death had come to him. Before it struck, he saw that the corridor that it had come through was now occupied. Occupied by more of its kind, every one different in some way, a horde of decay and abominations. The ship was floating in the void, and the others were simply dead to him; he knew not where they were, but he prayed that perhaps the two would make it out. Oh, he hoped they would... the jaws struck, blackening perception, Rayu not struggling, for he could not, because he was pinned to the floor.

Part 8: The Gauntlet
Matthew Hendron stared at the hideous visage upon the metal panel. It was definitely a deity; a God of high regard. As said, detail was great upon the diorama, and the face of the being, whether male or female, was like staring into its face. It was hardly describable, making the man conjure the thought that perhaps if he saw this creature in real life (though he knew that it never had existed, just a phantasmata), he could not understand it at all. There were eyes, like a human, or like these new life forms now unveiled from the shrouds of reality. But, were there many? A mouth, subtle with lips, and at the same time a gaping hole of teeth! It was if, he thought with a chill, the artist was insane. Like that one of old Terrah, Von Gogh was it? But, even more so. Matthew had many times concluded that those who had at least a touch of madness, were not just wasted humans, but people who had dived into something the sane couldn’t understand. He knew not, however, if that something was well or ill. Perhaps we are the mad ones, and this we dub damaged had dabbled in the truth, and became so sane, they had damaged themselves. Whatever the case, what he saw now was disturbing, and made the mind wizened to a degree just beyond the point where the organ of thought cracked.

He stood for a time, until he decided to look further. Matthew then looked at his watch. It was an older model (he was a man who loved the antique), and saw that the timer he had set when they entered the ship, had scurried to the even four hours. Four hours. He had distinctly remembered that the room he now stood in had been opened at three hours in. He had stood for an hour. How? To note, the reason he had no watch using the twelve numerals to aid his discernment, was that there was no solar or lunar time like Terrah's, or any other planetoid for that matter, on this ship. So, he simply measured it as soon as they entered. His watch would go all the way into years, and it was a useful device, even being a hundred years old. One could use a clock here, but it was just as useful as his watch, maybe even less. But, how did he stand here for an hour? His brain puzzled this, but he eventually just brushed it off. The image was certainly strange.

“Matthew.” Hendron nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Han’s accented vocals enter the room. He spun, not losing his balance thankfully, and faced his companion.

“You scared me!” Matthew said with a sort of smile, hoping to cheer himself from the strange shock he had just experienced. But Hans didn’t smile back. He just stood there, watching the other man.

“I know,” he said, “I am sorry.” Hendron immediately became wary. There was something wrong, Hans never talked like this. What he has said sounded scripted. His gut started to wrench.

“Is, uh, everyone good?”

“Not completely.”

“What are you talking about? You sound like you’re a bit mentally lost.”

“This is no laughing matter, Hendron.”

“Oh,” Matthew said, chuckling, “now you’re calling me by my last name.” Seriously, what’s the deal?”

“You must come with me. It is dire.”

Matthew shook his head, “Not until you explain a bit, pal.” As he said this, he noticed Hans had begun to show signs of anger. At the same moment, he realized that his pistol was back in the ship. Matthew wasn’t the type to shoot and ask questions later, but in this case, there was something completely wrong with Hans, and he knew deception was his intent. What was causing it? He had no idea. But that didn’t matter, he would rather be alive at the end of this, because Chang was not himself, and killing might be at the end of this aggressive string. Hans spoke:

“You must come with me, Matthew, I have discovered something amazing, and you must see it. It trumps all we have here. What I have found will expand your mind, and you will understand. I cannot explain this fully, but if you will just listen to me, we can go there in haste, if only– “

“Nope. I think you have time, Hans, if it’s that important, you will.” Hendron said this in a serious tone, making it clear he was opposed to Chang.

“You’re a fool!”

“I sure am.”

Silence. Just silence. Then, Hans said, “Then I’ll have to take you anyway.” As he said this, something horrific occurred. A sound filled the room of what could only be described as vile. Matthew watched in horror, as Han’s face, no, the entire head, slowly opened up into a writhing mass of bloody tendrils, bursting forth. His skull was the holding place of these. It was if his whole head has separated like an orange, and this transformation did not cease. He watched as Hans grew taller, his legs sounding as if they were breaking to accompany new stronger muscles, which had now shown. His leg muscles were massive, and his fingers began to rip away, being replaced by talons. Hans now has no eyes, but a large organ in the midst of the appendage mass, that Matthew later supposed was how this thing was being able to have all senses. Below it, the mouth, a mere hole. There were no teeth, surprisingly. A cry let forth out of Han’s congested vocal cords. Matthew felt stunned, but had reacted almost immediately by covering his ears, which saved him. Before the creature could approach, Hendron darted towards a ceremonial spear that he had seen that previous hour, and held it ready. These quick reactions, he knew, had already increased his chances of killing whatever Hell-spawn had just turned Hans inside out. His mind began to focus, ready to even slaughter his old friend, putting all remorse away. He now knew there was no hope, and he prayed Rayu was alright. But he would have to see about that if he survived, which he was certain he would, because unless by accident, the Hans-creature did not intend to kill him, merely capture.

Only a few seconds existed between his grabbing of the spear, and the attack. Hans sprung forward, bounding toward the man. It bellowed something terrible, its own fluid flowing onto ground, from where it had broken open the skull. Matthew charged as well, not letting himself be the victim. He would have to dominate from the start. His own cry of fury accompanied his thrusting of the spear into Han’s abdomen, and both being startled: Matthew because of how deep he had managed to sink it, and Hans because of how fast he had taken the first strike. Matthew stood there, pushing the metal spear into Hans, grunting, as the beast was dazed backward for a moment. Blood gushed from the wound. Like he had hoped, an artery was struck. Hans screeched, as one of his deadly clawed hands smacked Matthew across the face. He felt a burning slash, but forced himself to stay upright, as he was nearly tossed aside. His grip left the weapon, and it remained lodged well in the body of Hans. Hendron stumbled, breathing heavy as his face bled profusely. While he did this, Hans was aggressively tugging the spear out of itself, getting a few inches at a time, making sounds each motion.

Matthew shouted, “Enough of this Hans! If you can hear me, if you still there, resist it, please! I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to...” In response, he was given a roaring, “Burn scum!” The voice was not Chang’s. Matthew’s eyes sought for another weapon. He needed something heavy, heavy enough the bash the false-head in. Searching, searching, as the creature finally pulled the spear out with a last scream that would kill a lesser creature, issuing red out of his suit, soiling the clothes of a scavenger turned Demon. Finally, his vision captured a hammer. It wasn’t a big one, obviously for recreational use. It was not ceremonial, or an object of war, but it would work. Matthew darted, moving as fast is he could toward it, which sat on a workbench with stone tablets. Nearly there, he excelled, just before being smashed to the ground by the force of twisted flesh, writhing in anger. He fell forward, the side of his face smashing metal ground, and it stun. It didn’t matter, because he was pinned on his back. He struggled, as the thing above him began slipping a tendril around his neck. To his advantage, which was apparent to the foe, it spun him onto his back, where he faced the evil mass of flowing organic transition. He winced at its hot breath, laced with rot and acid. It didn’t strike, as he knew it wouldn’t. Somehow, even though it was deformed, speech could be made, as seen before with its curse against him.

“I will not kill you, Hendron. Stop resisting me.” Matthew didn’t respond, but simply screamed into the mess, a roar of human aggression. For just a second, it caught Han’s off guard, having a loud burst of sound so close to its “ears”. This gave Matthew the chance to practically head bunt the distortion. Though now in a dangerous predator’s form, its weakness was in its exposed organ, that could be stunned and damaged like smashing a human gut. All this, gave Matthew the chance to slide away, still on his back. Still, he couldn’t stand before Hans was already on him. Luckily, Hendron was facing the threat, and a kick to the currently low face once again pushed back the beast. When his boot smashed the fleshy spot, screams burst forth gurgling, and the tendrils whipped in agony. Matthew leaped up, made the dash toward the hammer. He made it, adrenaline now decreasing, fatigue setting in. Before Chang’s new deformed body could attack, still reeling from being kicked where sight, sound, and smell were located, Matthew walked toward the foe. It lay there, wheezing, as it now began to morph again, new things forming on its face: the tendrils becoming solid, armored flesh. Large black eyes appeared on it, wider apart than a man’s, and holes manifested below them: Ears. It was changing, altering its weakness to a strength. That didn’t matter, because Matthew now ran. Hans looked up, a new wide mouth appearing, full of sharp rows of fangs, hissing something terrible. No action could occur from it, however, because Hendron roared as he smashed the hammer into the face of the monster, flesh ripping and blood flowing. Chang, or the beast, squealed, its long arms reaching out to grab him, but he dodged them, moving over and behind the fallen enemy. Now its eyes were in the front, not the center, so it was blind to him. He thrust the hammer down, bashing the head over and over again, hearing bone crushing, meat being beaten, and life leaving the animal once man. After a few minutes, the room was silent, and Matthew stood in a pool of blood, breathing heavy, looking at the disgusting mass in front of him; flesh lay around, the remains’ head now a mere bulk of pre-decay. And he was crying, because his friend was dead, even by his own hand...

Part 9: To Abomination
Matthew found himself in a state of shock, now wondering what in space he was to do now. He had killed his friend, who was also not his friend, begging the question of how he had been possessed by whatever it was. In fact, he could believe that it wasn’t Hans, period, and that it may have been a mockingbird of death. Whatever the case, he should also contact Rayu, to see if he was well, so he did so. Hendron keyed up his radio, saying, “Rayu, this is Matthew, you good?” Silence. From this, he gathered, Rayu was unconscious or absent in the flesh. His fellow always picked up the radio, very few exceptions; the man was reliable, or was, he now thought. Oh, well, he would have to head back to the bridge. So, he here was, now contemplating. What now? He had three options: Find Rayu, head to the ship, or find whatever caused this disaster. The first could lead to him getting into another duel, and the killing of the only friend left, the second was cowardly, if Rayu was still fine, and the third was his mere curiosity, and something else. That something else he didn’t know. Soon, the other feeling grew stronger, and he thought it well to go find the root of this mortis tree.

Ten minutes in passing, Matthew Hendron has been walking down corridors, his new spear in hand. The cold clammy atmosphere spelled foreboding attack by something, but nothing came. It was if there was a threat, but it was restrained. That, he knew, was even more unnerving.

Eventually, he arrived, no matter that he never wished a true destination. In front of him, lay a massive metal door, with a large section cut open, the torch lying by it: Han’s had opened it. From this opening shown natural light, and it seemed to be natural. It looked like it was being produced by life, like that of insects, worms, and various aquatic life forms, but at a luminosity much higher. He found himself drawn to it, like a helpless moth to a angler’s chemical flame. He approached, stopping at the door. Should he go in? Why should he? What if it was a threat? What if it was peaceful? Why shouldn’t he? Should he not go in? Without hesitation, he entered, his legs now in focused motion.

Part 10: Tachaluel
He stood, Matthew Hendron did, encompassed by it. Whatever “it” was, the only word that he could explain it even barely, was insanity. What lay before him, no, around him; no, in him; no, it was... no word could describe it. Matthew felt his brain melting from overwhelming sensory organ reception, while his soul, yes, his soul, was twisted. Mind, body and spirit, were being faced with something so much greater than himself, even of all humanity combined, and somehow, it had not killed him. How? He knew not, except that he felt any second that death would overtake him. His ears rang, as he couldn’t hear a sound, all while his vision was distorted, simultaneously quite clear. Life was death, death was a blessed fate, that he wasn’t being given. He was horrified and perplexed. He was hurting and being healed just enough. Hendron had stumbled upon something that wasn’t from his reality, nor did it belong. Yes, and in fact, whatever it was shouldn’t even exist, it shouldn’t have even been created, if it was indeed formed. In all, what Matthew witnessed, cursed him with the blessing of a paradox: it was god-like, but an ungodly wretch; it was evil, and yet what it once was, was not even close; it was twisted, but once held uniformity. It was from a plane of existence humans wished to go, but would never be able to exist there. Time itself became pathetic, lacking all meaning. All that there was, all that there could be, was madness; utter insanity. It chipped away at the feeble material mind, consisting of only finite cells, which were toys for unreality. It was a paradox contradicting other paradoxes. It was... and he heard a voice, finishing it for him, echoing in his brain. It was, “Tachaluel.”

All around him, as his mind shattered, and yet remained in his skull, his mind reemerged. Indeed, he was more in control, but his brain was not the same. All that had been was almost lost. What he felt was worse than schizophrenia, having a feeling more intense than the wide-eyed, paranoidal soul. Whatever the case, his surroundings were now available, but at a cost of his sanity. Yet, what he saw was perhaps the next step to a razed mental state, that lacked all aspects of known psychology. The room he stood in was massive, a chamber that could hold many people, and stack quite high. But it was not empty. Surrounding him, on the walls, were long, oily, thick, sickly colored vines. Upon more observations, these vines pulsed, and were semi-transparent. Inside them flowed liquids. They were vegetal, but functioned as arteries or veins. They were alive. As this ivy of flesh flowed across the walls, he examined their raw meat color, with the hinting of dark green. He also became aware of the putrid stench in the place; it stank a wretched smell, like rotten flesh mixed with decaying waste, soaked with sweat, urine and blood. He was also hot, and perspiration showed itself to his skin. These vines of meat covered the walls to the point where they jade become the walls. Having enough of this, he traced them to where he suspected they came from, and arrived... and arrived at a behemoth of pulsating flesh. At the sight, his head throbbed. It was indescribable. No word in any language could portray. It would be a waste of time to try so. All he could get from it, was that it was material and huge. From it, a wave of confusion went forth, seemingly immobilizing all that dared step into its presence. But where was the light coming from? He looked up, to see the same tendrils writhing up to the ceiling, and hanging from them, large cocoon-like sacs, partially transparent, containing bioluminescent fluids, lighting up the room with greenish light. But as he did this, his mind, and his very soul, were shocked cold, when he heard the voice.

“Welcome, Matthew Hendron. I am glad we could meet.” The voice was not vocal, instead, it reverberated in his being. It was inside him, while coming from the unnamable horror of horrors that rose in front of him. Matthew replied stuttering, but not through his dry lips, “What are, what, how, I-I-I, no, no, you-.”

“Cease,” said the voice. It was a voice of great authority, rumbling and tremendous. “You must calm your mind. For I am too great for you. I am from beyond your mind, but behold, I am no threat.”

Matthew stayed silent, and stared into the mental-cataclysm-producing thing beyond his imagination. Soon, he spoke:

“You did this. You did that to Hans. You tried to kill me. You– “

“No,” said the one “I did not intend such a thing. I did commit to the first act, which I am fully guilty. And before you mention Rayu, I will assure you he is deceased.”

“You killed him as well?”

“Yes, I did. I will explain if you wish.”

“I’m not sure I do.” The thing chuckled.

“Ha! But I think you do. To make it simple, Matthew Hendron, I have summoned you, with all the ability I have, to do something marvelous. Rayu was a threat to what I speak of, and Hans was meant to peacefully be you to me. But I see you became violent. Hans truly had no desire to take your breath. He committed to the task I offered him, and he did well, until death.” With this in mind, Matthew blurted out, “Ok, but why the Hell do you want me? Who are you?”

My name, is Tachaluel. In another tongue, I am Shugalethul, former guardian of the planet Hednoja. I am a being of tremendous power. I am one of many beings, innumerable in count, gods to your species, and the same to the billions of extinct sentients before you. I have called unto you, Matthew, for a task. This task, if you wish to accept it, holds the fate of the cosmos in your hands. I cannot do this alone, for I am trapped in this body which you behold; a body of macabre, to which I am bound.”

Matthew took this all in, and his mind sat disturbed. He was in the presence of a god. A true god, not the corn and fertility deities of man, but a true being. And it wanted aid. But why? Was it not a god? These thoughts were answered immediately. Shugalthul could read his mind.

“I am a god, a brother to your High Ones, and an uncle to your lesser lords. By your species, my brethren are called by the names of Baal, El, Odin, Marduk, Zeus, Shiva, and their offspring as Ishtar, Thor, and the Tidanu. However, I, and my more immediate associates are not involved with your race, but of another that preceded it. Yet, I am destined to be so with man at this point. For tens of thousands of years, I remain bound on my planet, the aforementioned Hednoja, by another force. All these relics you and your friends beheld, are of that species that once inhabited it, and served me. They were Kwentan, and I was Tachaluel, god of the oceans, my master, Melkiresha, Lord of the gods.”

Matthew asked, trembling, “Why were you bound? You are a god, are you not?”

“I am. But there is another, one Being I must not speak of, for He is a threat to me and to you, my friend. During the final years of that planet’s existence, the end of their age had consummated. The world was destroyed by colliding with a large astral body. All were slain, but I and some other brethren were taken prisoner by what I shall call the Universal Law. The Law decreed that we were to be bound, bound until the end of reality. So, there I waited until human followers of my master, blessed be he, discovered me, and released my spirit from my cell. Sadly, my body of light was reduced to this form, and I was taken aboard this craft to be preserved. But to my horror, ten thousand years past, these men went insane, and I had to put them out of their misery. In truth, this madness was brought upon them by the Universal Law. And so, I have been stuck here since then, until you came to me, Matthew.” Hendron drank up the story, speechless.

“So,” he said, “what exactly do you need me for? And who is this Universal Law?” Interestingly, Matthew seemed to sense agitation, but if so, the deity did not portray it in his voice: “The Law is the supreme being of all. My kind were self-created, as it was, but The Law enslaved us many billions of years ago. However, my kind managed to discover the truth, that we were not made by It, as It so claimed. We revolted, and in turn were turned into what you see before you. The rebellion was led by the blessed Melkiresha, who sacrificed his glory to save our kind, and we fell. Yet, when we fell, we declared that we should war against The Law. You see, The Law is immortal, as we are also, but is immune to our attacks. We war with our own species who still remain brainwashed, sad to say. The task I ask of you is of uttermost importance. I wish to reclaim my authority, but need an aid. I require a helper, a priest, as you humans call it. You, Matthew Hendron, are the finest candidate I have seen so far.”

“So far?”

“Yes. There have been many who came to this shop; none were good enough, and they either went completely mad, or tried to destroy me. You on the contrary, have withstood my mighty presence, and stand before my hollowed form, as decrepit as it may be.”

“Did you lure me here? By some trick?”

“I did not. If anything, you came to me, not knowing what awaited you. But it is a good thing.”

There was silence. Tachaluel spoke again.

“You doubt, and you wonder why I ask this of you. You see, your mind is well versed in religion, which in truth, is worthless, unless used in manipulation.”

“But your goal, what is it? What do you wish?”

“As I said: To reclaim the authority I once had with that race you replaced. I see that you want my manifesto, my philosophy. But before I tell you, let me make this fact clear. You, Matthew, and all other Humans were created by The Law. The Law made your kind in his form, which to us, is a disturbing omen. It is a sign of the cosmic clock striking its last. But, you were not the only creations It did. There were many races, too many for your brain to understand, living on all sorts of Terrahs. He gave them free will to do one thing. That one this was to either remain enslaved by him, or follow us. Your kind did the latter, and has been cursed by The Law for doing so. He merely set up a game, where his pawns lose every round, no matter the choice they make. We, on the other hand, demand your kind’s freedom, as we did with the previous peoples. Because of this action we take, He judges my race, imprisoning us, as I told you of before. You and humanity are in need of enlightenment, illumination of the Morning Star. The Heylelian Empire was an Age of Enlightenment! No matter what the colleges spout of concerning the “Tyranny of that wretched dictatorship”, the fact remains that it aided humanity. There are three kinds of people. Those like you, Matthew, who seek truth, those who oppose me and our plan and finally those who are too stupid to care. The latter are to be eradicated and/or enslaved. Those Useless Eaters consume what they are given, and have no comprehension of the larger picture. You are different, because you are not religious, yet have taken a liking. Higher species are controlled by things like superstition, science and most importantly, religion. I require worship, but do not see it as what they see it. Religious practices, dogmas, traditions, codes, rights, doctrines and concepts are crucial to either awakening that which you are made unable to obtain, that it, truth and enlightenment, and to dumb down the detritus I demand be disposed of; razed or made a public disgrace. In short, what I am asking of you, my dear Matthew Hendron, is to save the human race, and let it be one of the few species who succeeded in fully defying The Law.”

After this, Matthew made his voice known: “So, you tell me this, but what do I get in return? You say enlightenment, but of what kind? Still, the way you view man, I can’t agree. You made a paradox, didn’t you? You demand worship, but say religion is merely a sham.” As Tachaluel has been speaking, Matthew had stood in trembling, but all the while remembering some things. What the being had told him, concerning this Universal Law, and his kind’s rebellion, had sparked some concept(s) he had read of. He certainly knew of them, but in this moment, he could not remember what this story sounded like; it was as if his mind was being blocked. Could he be doing it to him? Still, the entire atmosphere he gained from this monstrosity now barely comprehended, was negative. There was no trust, there was merely deception. Though this was manifest, he was still drawn to the mystery he had stumbled upon here. He was being manipulated by a cosmic entity, but he also found no way to ignore this. His impulse to run, his urge to spew back remarks against these statements, were all restrained. He was toying with him. At this conclusion, a shiver of death ran down his spine. Oh no no, no no... this was bad. He had been in this wretch’s presence for too long, and now it had control over all but thought and his words (almost as if that was something only he could be master of: his soul).

Part 11: Past the Threshold of Man
The room shook with terribleness. Tachaluel spoke. “You think me a liar? You think me a fraud? You think me a wretch? Listen to my words, oh pathetic worm, I could snap your brain on a whim! I offer you power, authority and wealth, but in place of this, you would rather dislike what I say, as you have some care for your vile race... I will show you some things that I know will help you aid your decision on whether to fold or not. Tell me, have you seen Fjutanka? That place that man calls Hell or Tartarus? Have you stepped on another world? Have you seen the past as if it were your own memory? No! You have not! I have, oh Matthew, I assuredly have. My brothers wait for us at each corner of this plane of existence that is stretched to its atomic limits. Very well then, I will show you these things, and you will see a sampling of the gifts I offer. If you are a man, if you are a wise man, then you will know who to follow. I warn you, however, you will understand truths that some of your race would die by simply knowing... I trust your organ is strong enough to witness them, seeing you survived me.”

Immediately Matthew felt everything change. The universe around his form screamed as it were, and became something else. The being was manipulating reality. That in itself was mind-crushing, but soon after existence went into blur, manifest was it again, but no longer where he was previously.

No more the warm, unnerving cargo hold where that demonic monstrosity dwelt, now a room of coolness and lack of light. He stood there, blinking. His brain felt rested, but his newfound insanity still haunted him. At this moment, it felt as if his existence was being held together, and if not handled properly, it would shatter. And shattering likely meant death or leaving him a drooling state of retardation. Hendron took a deep breath, and though first of how much he wished he was either dead or on a planet. The former would be relief completely from this mess he found himself in. Well, what was he to do now? He was at the will of a sycophant that truly believed that Matthew would bend to its wishes. He would not, he vowed. Yet that vow felt pointless, for he had the feeling that he was not fully protected from this entities mind control. He examined the room: it was large, and he stood in a corner. The walls were solid stone. In fact, the stones that he had near him, and those that surrounded this space to become a room, were constructed from what were practically smooth small boulders. No man could lift them by hand, and they were ever so neatly put together. The room was silent for the most part, and not at all empty. In the corner, lay pottery. At the windows hung thin blinds. The door was solid stone, like concrete, but when studied, showed a single large stone plate. How that was possible, he couldn’t guess. On the walls there were small carved out areas were candles illuminated small figures of queer design. Idols most likely, he thought. The room seemed very ancient, and not in the sense of how the beginning of what was generally called the space age was old. He felt this room was much more prehistoric, and that it went as far was the early days of man. This established in his mind, he also noted how there was a distinct sense that modernization was amidst, like he stood in a room where two time periods collided, perhaps even two cultures. But, what caught his attention was that in the center of the room, on a large stone island, carved elegantly with flora: vines, flowers, leaves, fruit etc. sat a woman. A human woman. She lay silent, except for labored breathing, which he hadn’t heard, most likely because of how disoriented he was. The female’s stomach was swollen, meaning she was pregnant. And if not pregnant, she was the victim of some sort of inflaming disease, or tumorous growth. Her face was decorated with makeup black and blue, and a headdress of gold sat around her head. She was wealthy, no doubt. Even so, she wore simple linen garments, nearly see through. This fact made Matthew able to see her stomach. It looked red and irritated. Something wrenched in him. He almost spoke, but as he nearly did so, he heard voices from outside a door he hadn’t noticed. This was solid wood. Outside it, he heard two voices of what seemed to be two men. The conversation carried on for a few minutes, while he stood silent, listening to the door and watching the morbidly pregnant woman. No word could he discern, leaving him to think that this language must be extinct or maybe spoken by so very few. The two men chatted about, leaving Matthew to think up his own meaning to the discourse. It sounded like one was talking to the other about a serious topic (perhaps this woman?), and they were concerned but alighted. Some more minutes past, until he heard the woman start speaking. She spoke in the same unknown tongue, and seemed not to notice him. She began moaning, then writhing in pain. Then she screamed. The scream grabbed his soul and crushed it. He was a shell of a man. It did not get better, as she screamed, he immediately though that birth was now upon her. So, he ran over, hands ready but uncertain. A certain instinct told him to help another human, but he was not experienced. He had no place here, it seemed, however. Almost immediately as he ran over, her stomach simply split. She screamed even louder, and he stumbled backward his heart failing him. Blood spewed out onto the walls, as he heard flesh rip from bone, and bone snap. His stomach now joined his mind in illness, as the gore he beheld brought forth out of the shredded, exposed womb, a new life form. Her screams ended, and the corpse lay there, its life shed on floor and walls. The thing that crawled out was human, no, subhuman. Its body was arched and spine crooked. The body was infantile while simultaneously mature. The head was a human head, but of massive proportions. The cranium stretched back from the face, an egg-like shape. The eyes sat large in deep sockets. It was covered in its mother’s remains, crawling out of her. The thing started making intermediate screeches, and he saw its jaw was lined with an extra row of teeth. The jaws were robust, and the nose was simply a small fleshy patch with nasal passages. The bones popped and creaked under unbelievably muscular flesh. It had a full head of hair as well, a shocking orange. And it did what it had been doing: birthing itself. But that didn’t take long to do, and when the naked wretch was fully escaped, it let out a high-pitched cry as it raised its head into the air, announcing its arrival to whoever could hear. Matthew dropped to his knees, and cowered, shoving his head between his legs, and muttering.

“Oh God please, please... Make it go away. Stop it you sick bastard! Let me go! What the hell is that thing!?” His ears ringed from the hellish cry. He was startled, shaken and brutally vanquished.

No man should see was I have seen, he thought. Whatever he had witnessed was... was... there was no word. He suddenly realized how pathetic his language was. His words meant NOTHING. He chattered about this and that, but some things could not be named. Evil would not do. Demonic was tame. Vile, abominable, devilish, blackened, horrid. None of these English words aided him. But why try? Why even describe this for himself? All he wanted was to go home. Oh, just to sleep. And if not so, at least die. At this thought he shouted: “Then just kill me, you beast! I won’t accept you, no matter what you show me. That thing? So you think I would want to be associated with THAT?” To his surprise, a response came. The voice came to him in a state of non-existence. The room was now gone, and all was a blackened void, with wisps of gray matter flying through the nothing. He felt as though he was falling. Tachaluel spoke, “You are a fool, Matthew. What you witnessed was a blessing! That which you saw was an apex being, the ultimate creature. Formed from the copulation between a human female, and a male of my kind. Once interbred, a disturbing, yet brilliant thing is born. Our offspring are intellectuals you see. Did you notice the large skull? That brain can compute quantum mathematics faster than you can answer what 1+1 equals, Matthew Hendron. What you call disgusting or filthy looking, is completely subjective. Do you judge a down syndrome human for looking different? Do you mock the cripple? Though they are the first who require extermination, along with your variants of lesser race, and sexual divergences, the point is made, is it not? Do not cast a stone at that being, simply because he was not a simple, unnecessarily weak Homo Sapiens.

“Let it be made known also this: What he is, a creature with divine blood, so will you be, if you follow me. You will not lose your features of course, but you will only gain superior athletics, and mental growth like unto me. Indeed, you will become a god. If you do so, I also promise you the possibility of undying. My brothers have sought for the key to immortality, not for us, but for your kind. Once a species is damned by The Law, they lose immortality, but gain the ability to grow into what you witnessed. To be born again, born with the blood of Melkiresha, to be of the seed of Heylel, blessed be he.

“We have uncovered the truth of immortality, but we have never succeeded in giving it to the human race. He have offered it to the previous subjects, but for various reasonings, this cycle is of most importance.” Matthew blurted out, “But why do this? Why this way? What does this do for you? No one like you does anything unless something else is giving in return.”

“A true statement, my dear Hendron. The true goal is the purification, or pollution, depending on who’s side you wish to choose, of a specie’s genetics. Our mission is to make all life forms endowed with this gift. The Law, on the other hand despises this, and wishes to control all souls, not letting them escape his grasp. And in the case of useless life forms, those aforementioned ignorant humans who are waste, let me give you a word of wisdom: When one succeeds in manipulating the genetics of a sentient life form, they will obtain the power of deciding the fates of their souls.”

Tachaluel’s words ceased, and immediately the void became reality once again. This transition didn’t startle him this time, as it had done before. It was as if he was now used to cosmos bending. He sat up, for he was still in his position of terror, only to want to collapse again. All around him, a new room was present. This room, however, was not a room. He looked around, blinking, his heart still. It was hot, humid, and smelled of an acrid odor. Matthew’s nostrils burned from the air. But this was nothing, because he soon discerned that the room was living. His head swung side to side, seeing that the place was made out of organics. He could see veins running through fatty tissue, and muscle pulsing lightly. His stomach was already sick, so it didn’t do much to help. An ambience come from outside this large holding cell of meat. It was a crude label, but it was true. The floor was slick, and he could feel his skin getting wet from moisture in the air. He had to get out. This was the most terrible place he had ever been in. Luckily, a small circular passage opened up ahead. So, he took it, and took it with a run. As he ran, the tunnel was solid as his feet landed, and the passage grew greater in circumference. Soon he came to a wall. The wall was not solid, but merely a mass of fleshy membranes covering something non-organic. It looked as if he was going to have to break through. He grabbed these strands, and ripped them, and not only did the room shake, but he thought he heard a roaring.

Hurry up, hurry up, he thought. After tugging away these wet tendon-like things, they hung loosely. Behind them say a large pair of gates, made from what seemed to be bronze. He noted how out of place this was. The gates were not locked, and he pushed open the two sides, and heard squishing of parts as they were displaced with force. He made it through, and went on, at a slower pace. It was not long before he was confronted with another obstacle. Things were only getting worse. He was behind a waterfall, and the tube of biological weirdness was a cave behind it. The only thing different was that this fall was red. Above him was either a river of blood, or another passage where this liquid came from. He didn’t want to go through, but had no choice. He had nothing to shade himself. Hendron did not run, because he didn’t know what was on the other side. For all he knew, a drop awaited him. First, his arm went through the apparently hot blood, and a sliver of the world outside was given. The first thing he saw was the stone platform outside, continuing the trail from the passage. He walked though, cringing. When he arrived outside of it, he was covered in it, and he was sicker than before. All this left him, when he looked around. The scene was of monumental desolation and fright:

The world outside was an endless black void. Above were clouds of hazy smoke raining fire as if it were rain. He was safe from this, because the platform was really a box of gray stone. Thunder echoed above, and mixed with the thunder, was wailing. In the midst of this void were large buildings hanging, attached to large chains, reaching up into the sky of torrential doom. The buildings were all connected by bridges, and they swung slightly. From where he was, Matthew could see silhouettes of people walking in them, and standing outside them. The structures were almost Babelonian in architecture, and the chains were so thick, a man was smaller than a link. From these places echoed cried and moans, in many languages and both sexes. However, it did not end there. He was on a wall, a surface to a pillar of flesh. It was one of many. He could see dozens rising high up at the same level as these hanging places. On top of them sat large organs than flowed the blood. He saw also many more structures imbedded into the sides, being overgrown by the mass. There too, he saw people, clearly in despair. Below was a solid ocean of lava, and from the pillar he could see things moving in them. Perhaps they were more people. The sea seemed alive, there were so many shapes of humanoids moving about. His ears were pained by the lamentations. He could see what looked like birds as well, flying through the chaos. But he knew they were not birds. Suddenly, he felt an urge to turn to his left, and there he beheld a staircase. He had nowhere else to go, so he made his way down. It was of the same gray stone, and it spiraled down the pillar. Blood ran over the steps occasionally, flowing off the exposed sides. A walk of ten minutes occurred, and after this, he was at at a large and stone platform, decent in size. The magma was all around, so he walked forward. In the middle of this bizarre collection of stone, was a massive door. The door was heavy bronze, just as the gate, and as before, unlocked. He lifted it up with great effort, wondering what he was doing. There he peered in, seeing to stairs or access in. As he put his head down, a gush of broiling air shot up, and he lurched back, his skin burning. He hadn’t been truly burnt, but he was uncomfortable to an extreme. He leaned back to his previous position, and looked in. What he beheld is nearly impossible to describe with certainty. There below the magma and evil landscape, in a level of darkness to its own, another void existed. As he peered, it seemed as though it was bottomless, and just staring made him dizzy, as if he was falling, and being throttled by askew gravity. Flames flew through the abyss, and in this place, he witnessed forms, forms of immense beings, all different. It was if he was looking at Tachaluel over and over again multiplied, his brain began screaming, as he heard real woe come from the bottomless pit. Screams of the most again the had ever heard, and bewailing of concentrated torment, rang throughout the nothing, as these beings writhed into shapes, colors and forms never seen by man. Falling, falling through nothing, never reaching bottom, never impacting. With the burning flame a shocking chill of cold that was able to coexist with the inferno. Right when he was not able to withstand it any longer, one of the things saw him. It’s eyes, if it had eyes, it’s eyes many and none simultaneously, glared back at him, and a bellow of words he did not understand shot forth. It moaned in pain, as Matthew went unconscious, falling backward...

That being, Tachaluel spoke again, only simple words: “Meet my master, human.”

Matthew stood once more, now perceiving a new landscape. This world he now stood upon was a gray, nearly barren wasteland. Wind blew across the sands of bleakness. Jagged rocks occasionally jutted up. But, one thing was present: what was seemingly a crumbling, half-sunken temple. Its architecture was not of any he had ever seen, out of a stone that was not recognizable. Its entrance was open, the mighty pillars that once loosely guarded a court, bogged down into the dead dirt. He looked about, and saw nothing else. The air was chilly, and his inhalation stung from the atmosphere possibly being toxic. He didn’t fear death, though, his mind was now so shaken, he wished for it. But, this trip through a mentally-unstable cosmic horror’s fantasies, was not yet over. He apparently was to go to the temple, and he had no choice. The sick creature was controlling him, and he didn’t know any way to stop it. And so, he trudged through the shifting ashes, of what he supposed was a completely deceased world. He had known of places like these. Some planets had been discovered, like Jenig, BX37 and that legendary Mars, which had all been uninhabitable, but gave evidence of once not being so. This planet, on which he now walked, was one of those very places. The cause of such a cataclysmic apocalypse he was unsure. There were many causes for why planets died, from planetary collisions, aging of stars (which changed the position of the habitable zone), natural climate disasters like ice ages and overheating, loss of atmospheres, and... he wondered if what Tachaluel had said, those things of previous races, which he now had seen undisputed evidence of, could have brought the end to their own planets? Not by industry, or changing of climates, but of something much more, well, universal. If this Universal Law went to destroy a race it saw as negative, then perhaps it had a reason, a very good reason. If those people had become what he had witnessed only a small time ago, that abomination that supposedly was “better” than anything previous, then Matthew thought that he himself would likely obliterate them all, given he the power. Yes, now he was starting to understand, at least a part of it. Was this planet, he wondered, a victim of what he had seen? His gut told him it was, and what Tachaluel had offered would possibly culminate in this, this wasted land of misery, victim of a cleansing, completely justified, because he, and his demented kind had poisoned a species, and they had become something that was in truth, evil. But when he thought this, his head began to ache. How nice. His captor, that filthy scum, was trying to nudge him from such pondering, even though Hendron was well away from agreeing on anything with the wretch.

He entered the building, feeling the temperature drop even lower than it was outside the decrepit shell. As he walked in, sand being shifted by his boots, he stopped with a shock. In front of him, about twenty feet ahead, stood a figure, facing away from him, and looking into the darkness that was a large pit upon the ground. Matthew did not move, until the one spoke. “Come.” The voice was solemn yet attractive, and at the very same moment, repulsive. It was if you heard greetings from a beckoning killer. He walked forward, but stopped several feet behind the shadowy visage. They were wearing a black cloak, obscuring all form. Before he could ask anything, the still turned person spoke, “I have lost count.” Matthew said, “Lost count of-?”

“Cease.” The reply was solid and demanding, but in no way aggressive. “I will tell you of my trials, and you will listen.” And then the being began, as the listener stood dumb.

He began: “I have now lost count of how many attempts I have made. Each one, shot down by fire and brimstone, each one drowned; some form of apocalypse to either push me back. He has cursed me, I curse Him. However, I know, though he stops me, I still obtain a victory. Isn’t it worth it? The failures a price to pay for all those I have destroyed? Oh, but you would find these words disturbing, wouldn’t you? In truth, I either put down the vermin, or free my children, who are now in my bosom. Understand, human, that you are nothing, but I have pity on your kind. You are merely one of countless life forms, in a cycle, each with axis and allied powers. I am the axis. Now that sounds sinister, but it is not. I am the focal point of each world, each planet I conquer, and I must say, those which I have taken are more than those I have lost.

“He makes your type, a sentient life form, every cycle. Each cycle, He places you on a world, giving you free will, but you must decide between me or Him. If you choose me as master, I will free you, but if you stay with him, you will remain ignorant slaves. My motto is... Rebellion. Once done, he will curse your home, make you mortal, sick, unhappy and stupid. Most of you will turn into little nothings, living vapid lives. Soon, you will have your planet, kill it with pollution, war and extinction, and I and my cohorts must come to save you all. One side will be saved by death, those who are parasites to nature. The others I will save to help this cycle’s society, and give a point to the army of illumination that we are.” There was silence again, and Matthew did not speak. Then the stranger vocalized again: “But... but it is different now. So very different. I can remember my earliest recollections of existence, millions of years past. But I forget most of what is in between, it gets ever so unoriginal. But I do know, that none of you beings are like those I have saved in the past. They were unique, unlike the other creatures. Then, one day, you showed up. You were different: He, that insufferable Enemy, made you just like Him! Hmm, how clever, was he taking it to a new level? I hoped so, because it had become quite stale.” The cloaked one began chuckling, in what seemed misery.

“Oh, yes! He had had enough it seemed. It was my test, was it not? A temptation for the Tempter, bait to pull me in. Of course, I took the bait. That day was is so fond to me, that day, 16,000 years ago, the day I desecrated His image in ecstasy! But I could never have known. Though I had succeeded in guiding those two to my house, I was given a mystery: In time, I was now told, He himself would come and rework all that I had done, but to make it worse, I was living on borrowed time. At the end of this cycle, all would be consummated. I will be doomed, me and all my fellows, and I have only one last chance. I blew all of them away with this one, and I knew it almost immediately. With this final conflict, I make my mark, my stigmata upon the final species, and will go down proud of all that I have done. You must understand what I have done for you; I have cursed my fate, and will now suffer for my love I have to you, I- “

“You’re lying,” said Matthew, interrupting the one. He had no idea where these words came from. They were not from himself, nor from that sickened Tachaluel, it was from something else. Yet, he agreed with it. At these words, there was a pause, and the figure had changed tone when they began again:

“I tell a false truth, you say? Why is that so? I will admit I do lie, but of other things, in a way to aid in the- “

“No, you’re lying about everything, everything except those truths you feel sour towards. I can see all your facade, you’re a killer, a rapist, a thief and a disgrace to all.” At these words, he knew they were not fully from him, and at said words, the figure finally turned. When such act was finished, Matthew’s already scarred brain comprehended only pure... wickedness. The face was reptilian, more reptile than a true cold-blooded creature could ever be. Darkness flowed like mist from its form, and it felt as if his soul was being faced with concentrated delusion and deception, all wrapped up in vile disposition of a madman desperate not just for blood, but souls. The dark one began raising his voice.

“You mock me? You mock me, you filthy stain? I am more than a liar! I am the solution for the universe! You are nothing, and I sacrifice my destiny to save yours? You know nothing of this battle, this struggle I go through to deliver each and every race that has dotted these realms of cosmic dust? You are stubble to me, I am fire divine, consuming all that stands in my way! All your agendas are my games, all your diseases my pleasures; the corruption of political systems, ecological and biological obliteration are MY ways to save you from yourselves! You spit in my face, and I spit in the face of He who damns me! There is nothing you know of me, for I am older than your ancestors by leagues! I knew your grandparents forgotten by secular schools, for I defiled your oldest mother, pathetic fool! Dare not to mock me, for I am power, I am driven by the goal to cleanse with fire all that is, until I am trapped in tumult, fallen forever in the bottomless pit, while you ridicule my form; do so, ignorant children, for my form was once glorious, until he struck me down!” The ancient temple of decay began to shake and tremble, fire burned in the air. Matthew’s heart was faint, as the spirit of perpetual chaos surrounded him, all while being bombarded by the rantings: “Know my name, idiot! I am Belial, I am Melkiresha, I am The Destroyer, I am Abbadon, and I am Gog. I am THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS! Then, Matthew screamed, a cry of pure distress. When he did this, all he wished was to have all reality cease. His eyes closed, and then reopened. When regaining his composure, Hendron found himself lying tumbled on the floor of where he had first started. He lay amongst those spreading tendrils of the unknowable monster that had done this to him... and he simply wept.

Part 12: Departure
“You see, Matthew,” said the conductor of visions, “Your reality is not as it seems. You, and all the billions of humankind that are now scattered across the universe, are part of something much larger. I offer you the chance, as I had said, to raise yourself above the common rabble, and become my servant, no, my priest.” Matthew began to exhaustively laugh, muffled at first by his face lying against the floor: “Ya, go find some other moron... “lord”...”

“You are indeed a fool!” Shouted the monstrosity, “I am giving you a chance, I am letting you-“

“No! Shut up, just shut up!” As Hendron yelled back these words, he began to stand back up, though quite wobbly.

“I am a GOD, and you speak to me as a con artist on the streets of some depraved city! Let me tell you THIS, Matthew Hendron, this truth so fundamental! Your species is a disease upon so many worlds! Overpopulation ravaged the first Earth, and now it infests other spheres. Global warming is now killing planets, along with rampant pollution, civil unrest like as back on old Terrah. Humanity must be controlled and exterminated at all costs, only saving those who are profitable to us, and only US. What makes your kind so important, is that fact that you are the last cycle. After so many species and planets, the final battle has been now begun raging like never before. The Universal Law is desperate to enslave you, and we must destroy the common scum, preserving ones like you. Once this cycle is over, my brothers will be doomed. DOOMED, and for eternity! I demand you align yourself with me, in this contest-“

Again, Matthew cut him off. “Lies, all lies! You contradict yourself every sentence. If you are so powerful, why need my help? Because you are nothing, and you know it. You want me dead, just like every other man, woman and poor child of this universe. You are sick, and belong in uttermost perdition! Curse you, and curse all that you are!” At these words, the room began to heat up quickly, and it began to rumble. Tachaluel spoke: “Then so be it! I would crush you, stain of the universe, if only I wasn’t bound to this amalgam of distorted flesh. Curse YOU, pestilence.”

“I am no pestilence,” shouted back Hendron, “All you say is fraud and deception. Your fantasies of a race run amok, raping the universe is all fraud, while you drink the blood of the innocent, and I will not bow to you, even if I was forced!”

“What is truth, what is a lie? The concept of duality is shrouded to you low ones.” Matthew laughed: “What are they? They are nothing more than fundamentals of reality and delusion. Wouldn’t a great god know? Why don’t you just shut up, and give up. Rot in your judgment here. I will never, in a thousand years, bow. I would rather rot in Hell before I grovel to you...”

The room continued to rumble, but Matthew felt no fear. He realized that the presence of control that once held is mind was almost gone. By some way, the creature’s power had weakened, giving him the chance to start backing out. Matthew also was running on adrenaline, his body panicking to flee the room of horrors; he had to leave, before his exhaustion set in.

With no final rebuke, Matthew turned and half stumbled, half ran to the man-made entrance that he had used to enter this hellish spawn of a pocket reality. The room raged, for it was alive, just as much as it was cold metal. Tendrils agitated, but did not lash out, and hissing and bubbling sounds came from behind him, giving his hairs a shock that needed to move faster. As he made it to the hole, tripping over fleshy roots of horror, Tachaluel let out one last burst of enraged damnations and curses. This time, however, the thing did not speak in his mind only. From whatever source the towering Babel of life used as vocals, spat out unintelligible words: “Khuywak’gklug! Lgedgas rhuglta!” and so forth. The simultaneous translation was offered with just as much furry, but now in Hendron’s English: “Walk away, vile worm! Remember this day, remember what you saw: Let hell consume you, let your mind decay with the recollections that I have implanted in your carnal mind! May your offspring hear of my unknowable thoughts, and fear my existence, for what you have done, leaving me here to remain desolate! I will haunt you until the day of your wretched death, and will remain with all your seed, no matter where they run.”

And with a final screaming yell so deep but piercing:

“I WILL BE THERE, IN THE MINDS OF YOUR DAMNABLE CHILDREN, AND WILL OVERSHADOW YOUR SOULS UNTIL THE COSMOS CEASE THEIR FADING CYCLES.”

Matthew ran, the voice of the evil fading behind him. The corridors of emptiness rang with slamming boots, and the raspy panting of a tortured soul. In his run, he did not at first realize where he was going, but soon he realized that he was closer to the bridge than the Terrah. That’s where Rayu had been... and that’s likely where he had died. He stopped, breathing heavy, and decided on whether to go on, or find the body of his colleague, if there was one. Hans was mutilated and a complexly lost cause, but perhaps Rayu could be returned to his home world. It would the right thing to do. After a session of cluttered thought, the retrieval option was chosen, and he bolted to the bridge.

At the end of his run, Hendron arrived to the massive room, just outside the bridges entrance. He did not enter, however. The answer to the question of why he did not go in, was the presence of things in the large room. Instead of finding the lifeless body of Rayu, he was witness to a room full of creatures. There were about twenty of them, all different in form, but all vaguely humanoid. They were all like Han’s, or what Han’s became; that mix of chaotic and uniform mass, each being a haunting amoeba of tentacles, teeth, claws, appendages and other external utilities. He froze when he saw them, and didn’t say a word, his tongue caught. They growled and shuffled, with the sound of eating interspersed. In the crowd, on the floor, was a pile. He knew immediate that it was his friend. But only what they hadn’t eating. His stomach started to turn, but it was yet to finish its climax to sickness, when one of the antagonists noticed him. It was a spider-like “animal”, with human skin and other things like of man. It had large eyes, and no doubt was a scout to the group. when discovered only a few yards away, it let out a rolling growl, mixed with clicking. All at once, motion was made, from both the horde and true man. Matthew bolted away, his mind not even considering which direction the manual docking bay was at. He turned a corner, and heard just behind him the group of things stumble, run, and fall out of the room, making a cacophony of brain-killing sounds. Accelerating through the now halls of wicked symphony. He did not turn, he did not stop, and with his last bit of adrenaline, made a run like he never had before. As his lungs burned with vigor, legs strained and ears damaged, he simply ran. The calls were like that of what Han’s had used on him. They were specifically designed to stun the prey. And, to make it worse, he had over a dozen of them doing all simultaneously. He kept running, felling them getting closer, flowing through the passages and turns like a wave of living force, and the stench of these horrid Jinn wafted toward the last man. While he fled, he realized that the paralyzing calls of perversity were not affecting him. They assuredly were painful, and a pain to his body as well as spirit, he was not hindered: it was if a miracle had occurred. This thought relieved him only a nanosecond, because he was still not out the swamp just yet. Two minutes lapsed, or at least that’s what he thought, and the Wentico army was even closer. Matthew had not an idea where he was, and Hendron was burning his life force. Each corner wielded more tunnels of steel, every doorway a place of locked up safety, not letting him in, no matter if he had a torch to cut though. Hope began to die a bitter demise, leaving him for dead. In this moment of utter despair, when he couldn’t go on much longer and the twisted hands of Tachaluel had come at his back for blackest revenge, he simply made a faintest prayer, to whatever was good enough to save him, perhaps even that Universal Law which was the great Demiurge of Tachaluel’s mythology: “Please, not today.”

At these words, a miracle occurred. Not in the way most are, but it was more than welcomed. Matthew realized that up ahead, according to a large electronic sign now dead, the unlit painted words that served their purpose saying so, were the escape pods. And across from those, he knew with certainty, was the manual docking bay. In his random running, he had found it... what a miracle it was, and ever so subtle. With no more energy, he made imaginary power within himself, and surged as fast as he had ever gone. The entrance approached, to his right, now seeing he came the opposite away that the crew had left, and he made it. Immediately throwing himself into the chamber, but making sure to not fall, or he would be doomed, he moved to the entrance of the Terrah, and entered. With his last ounce of spirit, he smashed the pad to close the doors. Only seconds later, the moving body of bodies swarmed into the small room, filling it fully, and occupying it with sounds of snapping, crackling, squishing and of course the screams. They were so desperate to have his flesh, they were injuring themselves by compacting each other ever so tightly, crushing some of their companions to death. The door was closed, but the glass gave him a front row seat to the the children of Mephistopheles, and the offspring of Baphomet, as they smashed themselves into vile gore, and demanding the glass to break, which he gladly knew would not. The scene went on, and Matthew made his last move. He fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a key-card. Wielding this omen, he scanned it over a small box with a sensor, which blinked and opened up. Inside was a large red button that he pushed before the box fully opened, his fingers fumbling through the widening opening to push it pushed the emergency button, who’s purpose was to be an emergency detachment for the scavenging craft. When he made that command, he sighed with a sickened grin: “Enjoy space.” The ship jolted away, and the things were instantly sucked into the nearly formed gaps between safety and the unloving place of the cosmos. Some were ripped apart in the pressure shift, and the moans and cries of that brotherhood vanished. He fell back, but not before seeing their soon to be deceased and dead bodies, as well as mutilated corpses drift off into space. As he did this, Mathew collapsed, but knew, all oxygen was now being removed... and, he knew, Tachaluel was now left with a uninhabitable cruiser. No one would be able to enter without suits, giving whoever found this black El Dorado less inclination to traverse it. Even through the artificial gravity generators would still work, all was left to drift. This thought then made him realize they should have been shut off. How could there have been gravity? It hit him: The whole ship was being sustained by the calculating god. He was making his own gravity, and maybe the oxygen as well. No matter, though, the bastard wouldn’t be capable of fixing the issue. He said he was immortal, which he believed was true. But he also said that the place he was in, was his holding cell. For whatever reason, the god was bound, and incapable of interacting with others physically, unless being touched by the other party. He could only attack their minds. So now, the cosmic horror, exiled lord of a desolate, extinct planet, and psychotic tyrant, was bound alone on the ship, with even less of a chance to find his likely ever-qualified “Priest.” Still, it remained to be true, that while those functioning servants of his were all gone, yet a soul curious enough would still dare to enter, giving another opportunity. It was truly impossible to stop the monster. No, not fully...

Epilogue:
Matthew awoke at last, finding his occupied corpus lying near the closed door. It did not take him a time to remember what had happened. It was vivid, and he now feared it was probably never going to stop assaulting his thoughts; he was not sure, and he hoped not, if it was possible that his mind of damaged from all that occurred. So far, however, no true signs of PTSD or some other disorder were being shown. Thank God he wasn’t. He tried to raise himself off the cold floor, but great difficulty was shown to be the experience of this momentary trial. Eventually, he was standing, but also wobbly, prone to stumble if not focused. Soreness spread all across his body, and the wound given to him by Hans, that slash across the face, now began to burn and sting. Now began the process of sorting reality out. First, he went to the control room, the place this whole disaster and joke had started. Navigations were still set to the Pelan System, and the craft had been traveling to it while its captain was asleep. Nothing had gone wrong, and he was happy the automatic redirection systems worked as well as he had been told. After this, the bathroom was utilized, the room on the other side of the craft, inconveniently near the massive storage bay, not the living quarters. He took a shower, probably for too long, because the ship did not have water recycling. The gash was taken care of, showing no signs of infection, and then patched up. Finally, he went to the control room, and sat down. Alone. Soon his mind began to do what it’s purpose was, he tried to figure out what to say to the family of Rayu. Hans had no family (that Hendron was told of), but the former had many relatives, and a close family. They would no doubt be enraged that he didn’t recover the man’s body, but what could he do? As well, who would beloved what he had experienced? Word likes nut-job and liar were awaiting to be branded to his identity if he told the truth. Proof was back of that ship, and the Saturnalia would simply drift until someone else found it, IF they found it. He had no verification of the tragedy, and could perhaps even be blamed for the two deaths. Damned through truth, damned through silence. Mathew was no liar, but would he have to fabricate a story? Would he simply avoid Pelan? That choice would not change much, because the family of his deceased friend would search for him, knowing that if he did not come home every six months, there must be some sort of dilemma. The lone man sighed, and decided to deal with it later. The arrival date was two weeks anyhow, so time was partially on his side.

Further silence in the lonesome place led him to examining what he had gone through: Which made the whole situation more disturbing.

What Matthew considered was that Tachaluel was not the only one, according to the speeches given back on the ship. If the deity was only one of many, the universe was practically ruled by them. Even so, the being admired that old Terrah’s idols like Thor and Isis were related to this group of elder gods. If the words were true (and the man had no reason to doubt them, they supported no wish of the one) Earth, as it was called thousands of years back, was occupied by them. So, how many of those lords that man worshipped were truly fiction? At this apocalypse, everything unraveled...

Back on Terrah, man had gods of many forms. Most cultures, as he knew were polytheistic, obeying a pantheon of high ones. All the way from many a vegetation goddess, no doubt formed from superstition concerning crops and flora, to the great king god, usually tasked with the slaying of primordial dragons and beasts, as well as being ruler of the world. In between, messengers, Demi-gods, supernatural entities, only to name a few. But where did they come from? The secular consensus was that they were based on people, myths and concepts. But, what if that was wrong? Of course, the gods of small things like the woods and music may have been phantoms, yet beings like Zeus may not have been so. Yes, fusions with kinds and tribal leaders were possible, but the question circled back: what were they fused with? Many gods were brutal, demanding blood and immoral practice, like Moluk, who had children offered into its idol’s metal arms, heated by fire, and used as a altar for living sacrifice of the innocent. Temples were created jungle peoples, megaliths for the same purpose of sacrifice of human beings, who’s hearts were torn out on stone pyramids, and then cannibalized in the name of Quetsealcoatli, a grand feathered serpent god. Why would man create such evil masters? Were we such savages? Yes, many were, but the only ones who would even make such things would have to be the mentally deranged, and ancient tyrants. Could it be that those tyrants were priests, priests like what Tachaluel wished to acquire in Matthew? Were they ambassadors for the brothers of the figure, having no moral compass, and thus welcoming to a force so twisted? By this logic, Earth had been home to man, and something else. Many varieties of something else. Hendron half remembered a concept that added to this. What was it? Something of a valley? Yes, the Uncanny Valley. Man had been plagued by the phenomena for an unknown length of history. If something was created that resembled a human, but not fully and/or partially inhuman, the mind would be disturbed by it. Not in the way he felt with the imprisoned beast, but with what it showed him. Things that fit this description of partially or vaguely human aligned with the creature witnessed by Matthew being birthed in that room. It was Homo Sapiens, and something else entirely. His gut felt that feeling, that feeling of uncertainty and problematic. If man had this mechanism built into his brain to feel uncomfortable and more so when confronted with a thing from this category known as the Uncanny Valley, why was that so? If mankind had it there, the only conclusion would be that there were things on that planet which were they root cause of the effect. Hence, was Tachaluel’s claim of that abomination being a fusion between his own species and humanity true? Was that what caused the mind to be frightened and reject it, because it was unknowingly remembering days of old when the beings like the mass were present on the world, with these half-breeds? It did not stop there, however.

Further, Matthew Hendron descended into a rabbit hole of previously known facts and the recent revelations by the old god. He made the choice to believe all he thought of, laying a mental foundation, which was this: On Earth, old Terrah, thousands of years previous, and even before the days of the Heylelian Imperium, primitive man was ruled by cosmic, inter-dimensional gods from eons past, who demanded human blood and various sacrifice, appointing certain servants as the elite to accomplish this task, all while repeating the cycle with an unknown amount of species on that planet and others for unfathomable lengths of time. That left two points. What of The Universal Law and shadowy figure the god claimed was his “Master”, and the reoccurring statement of man being the last life form in the continuity of cycles? It would seem these questions were the most crucial, and entailing, implicating, a truth much more than the ruling of old-world gods. Matthew dug through his memory, more the storage place of religious bias than history. He knew that in certain religions, usually those of monotheistic gods, other deities were shunned. Not always considered fake, but often seen as real beings that were evil. Most polytheistic groups, like the infamous Romans, accepted other religion’s idols. For them, Venuss was no different than Isis, and the same person recognized by a different people. In general, all gods were valid, at least if that religion was of antiquity. If not, that was a different matter. Even so, those few cults who followed one god, objected others as evil demigods more often than not. The Abrahamic followings as a whole fell under this category. The God was a Creator, in which none other than He existed, the rest being wicked spirits or Angels which affronted Him, not one being separate from the God’s creation. That was just one God, and He went by many names, (The Jewish Tetragrammaton, YHWH - no consensus on how to pronounce it - as well as Elohim, Yah, Adonai, El, Allah, etc.) usually connected and some way, eventually being extended in later adaptations of the continual faith, The Father, or simply God. Besides this, the people that Rayu himself belonged to, which now kept a different belief, had once been worshippers of one God, and some other tribes worshipped many. One recurring named for this one went by the Great Spirit, Earth Doctor and the such. Sometimes being in the form of many beings at once, a sort of collective-consciousness, not unlike the Trinity proposed by the Christians, having a Father, lesser offspring and spiritual wisdom characteristic. Not just these, but many other peoples had this rare, yet simple faith, majorly focusing on purity, kindness, humility and general righteousness. From ancient Asia, to the fabled West, this concept of the single Creator God persisted. All came from It, and all was His. Critiqued for being cruel, but even if forged by a nomad, intended to be Holy and just nonetheless. What could be drawn from this, was that some cultures were divided. Yes, obviously, but why so? If the easiest conclusion was the most likely, Occam’s Razor being the rule, it was this: As there were these great old gods of evil, drinkers of blood, eaters of human flesh, dictators and tyrannical kings of mystical kingdoms, so was there a counterbalance. An opposite in all, and in name The Universal Law, as he had heard it called so. The same was this monotheistic God dispersed among earth’s squabbling empires and villages. The statement by the Saturnalia’s occupant was that the Law created all things, all the cosmos, but did not make yours truly, nor his unseen and now understood brothers. Matthew suspected this to be a mere lie. The claim of Tachaluel being a self-created being made no sense. First of all, how did one self-create? It could not be so, even with a being from a higher plain. Second, why would they be what they were? It made more sense to believe that the Universal Law was pre-existing, whether self-creating (which he doubted) or a forever entity, existing beyond time, and had made even the abominations, which simply revolted against It, wishing for that same status, yet never to come close to it. And of the "Master?" Well, in this case he was certain of his identity, and that mankind had always known of him, as they did The Law and the legions like Tachuel. The Master was the same as Melkiresha, so praised by the amorphous liar. He was the leader of sin, and the enemy of that Law. All this, Hendron discovered, was likely all that the mind-warping god’s tales and visions had had as a background.

Time passed slowly as he went into this journey of psychological surprises, and arrived at each of these conclusions with a startling certainty. If everything he came up with was true, what did that mean? Rayu being Islamit was even more in tune with the truth than he was, and now wisdom from the young man could not be retrieved. Maybe his books left without owner would aid him. Even with his personal religious knowledge, all he had ever been was Agnostic at best. He enjoyed the human creations of faiths, but now he understood that the faiths were not just realities’ apocrypha, they were real, to an extent, of course. Still, religion was now not even a concern. This went beyond man’s beliefs, into stone cold truth, watered down by rivers of bias and superstition, and blasted by winds ever scrambling the laws. And what were these laws? That man was one species out of possibly millions, throughout infinite time, caught in a battle - of sorcery and genetic manipulation - between evil shadow gods, incomprehensible to feeble mortals, and a supreme mind that rules over all reality, other realities, and all else unknowable even to the skirmishing old ones. Countless lives, countless planets and countless universes thrown into battle, a game of 5D chess times a thousand, the deciding fates of life forms all down to factors of grace by the Law, and the perversity of the abyss lords, dimensions of fire and utter indescribable torment for the insane, peace for those who know truth and morality. What sounded like a mix of scientific fiction along with religious legend and fantasy, was all real, yet more real than the spacecraft around him. But with this truth, no doubt soon to be demonized by other men, what was he to do? Was he supposed to warn man of these great deities and what they could do? Did not Tachaluel say man was the last creature of all cycles? Did he not say man was being given time by The Law? Time for what exactly? An apocalypse? Extinction? Something worse? Now all that was left were questions, curious things that seemed to have vague answers. Throughout all time, humankind foretold of Ragnarök, the latter days, a wiping clean. Utter despair filled Matthew’s heart, as he realized something. The Heylelian Empire... It was it. With what had happened during those hundreds of years, man was subject to the worst possible, and was brought to the eye of no return. That empire was the closest we had ever come to destruction: and the “gods” were the ones behind it, just not showing their unthinkable faces. If that was the worst, and they had survived, what was next? How long did they have until something even worse came along, perhaps an advent where the psychotic monarchs like Josep were no longer the main act? What if the puppet was not just on stage, but the entire horde of puppeteers unveiled for mass extinction of all that was not themselves? That was the true horror. Not a mangled mass of flesh on a spacecraft, but of a plan to exterminate all humanity, which had gone on for millennia, possibly now approaching its end. An era to be founded of planets turned to nuclear wastelands, being blown apart, genetic monstrosities slaying all of life, a virus eating away at all that was good, or even decent, directed by unfathomable generals immortal and unstoppable; the universe being turned into waste, until the last human soul, alone and starving on some desolate planet or moon, was hunted down and removed from the universe, all for the pleasure of mentally insane control freaks. With no hope in anything but that Universal Law, God, The Father, The Great Spirit or whatever name it (or he) went by, destroying the festering disease that were the lower gods, and saving humanity one last time.

Matthew Hendron breathed heavy with a sigh, and closed his eyes. The salvation by religion was not an option, nor by science. Everything was down to reality. The choice to join the Islamits, Kristians, Jews or any other group that served the Law was not appealing to him, but he was certain truth was amongst them, and by his study, he knew which one. Yet no sects within a faith would save you, no not one, only aligning oneself against the enemy would do so, aligning yourself in simple truth. Morality was crucial and logic demanded, and he would now begin a search to save himself as well as others, for he had no idea of how long until the end would be. And so, the ship drifted, and all was silent like it had been when friends were still alive. Pelan was ahead, and the shadow of evil still waited somewhere out in the void... Matthew hoped and prayed, with all his being, that it was never seen again. Nonetheless, he knew that hope was not to forever last...

Appendix: Deleted Scene from Part 12
When these words were formed in his already fractured mind, the universe changed. It was if everything he was in was shifted. Not like what the god had done to him with time and dimension traveling, but of a better form. In fact, it was as if something was there with him, between the fleeing soul, and the hunters. The hall he was then exploded with light and intense heat. The force of an explosion flew him forward, his body slamming and sliding on the dusty chrome. He turned over, and sat up, before the falsely peaceful urge to go unconscious. As he did so, all his eyes were nearly blinded by a fiery light that shown into his inner being. The hall was full of fire, white fire to his amazement. The enemies were in the midst of the fire, still screaming, but in pain. The forms burned with raging fire, their bodies melting and turning to ash. The pyronic demise was burning from anything. The corridors were empty, and nothing to combust, aside from the fact there was nothing that would have started it. The illumination glowed like no light he had ever seen, and it was a hospitable warmth, all while killing the accursed beasts. It took him a time, and he when he realized another detail, awe was then added, yet not in terror. He felt a presence. He did not see anyone, or anything, but he felt that there was something there, in the fire of life and death. This revelation was concluded when he felt the words. “Go.” It was not the words in his head like the bastard lord that tortured him, it was just a feeling. With no objection, he got up, turned, and began running again, the cries dying away as he no longer fled, but only went his way. Whatever he had just witnessed, made everything that Shugalethul did could not compare. Something much more powerful, and ultimately more terrible had just spared his life. And he knew, that it was mercy. It could have killed him... He was now more afraid than before...