An Untitled Novel

Something was very wrong. He was lying there with two weapons beside him, though he couldn’t remember why. A being was standing near him, pretender standing by the arch; both so easy to see, even as he lacked sight. Something stirred in him, a strength and rage flowing through his veins that he could not comprehend, urging him to rise to his feet. He wasn’t aware of moving, his body feeling numb and rubbery, but in an instant he was upright to confront the other being. The other being, wide eyed and terrified, took a step back and drew a knife with a worn star patterned handle - a testament to the Elthice’s ruined insult of what they wished to be, what they once were. He felt no resistance, first pulling the Elthrice’s body down by the arm that thrust the knife, then as a hand, his hand, permeated the Elthrice’s body.

The Lizard King stepped backward until he reached the back of his cage; watching in horror as the body of his former friend, still missing a significant portion of its head, struck down an Elthrice. The hooded one also stepped back, shouting something in Elthrice that he couldn’t understand. “(Impossible)” the pretender shouted, the hollow echos of its voice filling the dome. Another Elthrice approached the dead one standing, yelling “Stop!” while outstretching its hands. Everyone in the dome froze, and after a moment of silence, the one that had approached whispered “Rejected-Death” before several other Elthrice began to talk among themselves in hushed tones.

“(He is a Rejected-Death, he has greater authority and will lead us to greatness).”

The hooded pretender ordered the fight to continue, but the Rejected-Death interrupted with an order of its own. “(Your arrogance is only matched by your insolence, attempting to seize that which does not belong to you. You are an insult to what you believe yourselves to be; release your captives, sabotage the world mendor, then slit your throats).” Every Elthrice froze in place, all looking on as the intruder spoke in their language. One gave an order, and many cut their throats in unison. “Go!” yelled a shorter Elthrice in a panic as it left, another approaching to plead with the Rejected-Death. “(Stop, you are us; you are Elthrice, our protector and commander).”

The Rejected-Death ran toward the hooded pretender, but several others stepped in to try and stop him. He gripped the blade he had taken off the first one, slashing it towards the closest one. At first he thought he missed, but as deep red blood poured out it became apparent he had sliced through the Orbital’s side; cutting ribs and shoulder, breaking bone and slicing clean through despite feeling no resistance. The other Orbital attempted to grab him, but he pushed it off and slashed quickly, the Orbital dropping to the ground and clutching its neck.

The Lizard King stepped forward, realizing the invisible walls of his cage were no more. He stared fearfully at his former friend, head mostly healed. “Go, retrieve the captives!” the Rejected-Death shouted at him before running towards the exit the hooded one had taken; voice still carrying the thousand whispers as it had while he spoke Elthrice.

He ran after the hooded pretender only to see him escaping in a vehicle; although he lacked the state of mind to question it in the present, a vehicle that looked disturbingly human, made of paper thin Elthrice metal. The Elthrice driving it watched the Rejected-Death, now with a nearly healed face, shrink in the growing distance. Turning to contact others, however, he lost control of the vehicle as a knife sliced through him from behind, the Rejected-Death now behind him. All inhabitants were crushed or ejected from the vehicle as it began rolling and crumpled under its weight, coming to rest at small obelisks worn by years of sand and debris.

The hooded pretender lay on his back, suddenly trying to crawl backward as the Rejected-Death standing over him came into focus. “(Do you even know who you are!?)” he shouted. “(I am the Rejected-Death, of your creation)” it replied angrily. “(Then)-” the hooded pretender began to say, stunned by a blow to the head, before the Rejected-Death brought its foot down on the hooded pretender’s arm reaching for the knife in its cloak. The arm of the Elthrice was crushed and nearly disembodied from the force, shattering bone and tearing tendons alike. Though he knew such a wound could prove fatal, by blood loss or damaged muscle tissue entering the bloodstream, it remained still in disbelief at the being that towered over it.

“(A hundred thousand generations call out to me. You are unworthy of your mantle, petty warlord, and a sad whimper preceding your kind’s deaths).” The hooded pretender resumed its attempt to crawl backward, but failed with only one working arm. As the Rejected-Death stepped over him he shouted “(What have I brought upon us!)” before it put a foot through his chest, facing no resistance as the torn boot met the dusty ground below; repeating such a blow to the head of the no longer hooded pretender.

“Basil?” Spiro asked with a shaking voice.