Bleats of terror erupted from the herd as they saw the doom charging towards them. They stampeded away, leaving their hypnotized companion to its fate.
The shadow fell upon its victim, wrapping its limbs around the beast's head and throat. With artistic grace, Waste snaked a hand into the beast's open maw and drove his talons through the roof of its mouth, severing its brain from the spinal column. In a burst of screaming nerves the bulk of the beast shuddered violently and its legs collapsed, dropping it to the ground. Its head was already beginning to crumble to dust under Waste's touch. Using his already submerged hand for leverage, Waste pulled the rest of his body into the beast's skull and down its disintegrating throat into its body cavity. It was not the beast's flesh or blood that Waste sought as sustenance, but its very life force, its essence, its soul.
He stretched out his limbs in its dying organs, absorbing all he could of its vitality, willing its energy to become one with him. A burst of wind carried away what remained of the beast's former flesh as a cloud of dust, leaving only Waste crouching in the ruins of its crumbling ribcage. He flexed his limbs and bellowed to the sky in triumph. His fingers elongated as did their webbings, transforming his arms into leathery wings. He shattered through the dry skeleton and lifted himself into the air, swooping and gliding in pursuit of the rest of the fleeing herd. There would be no escape. Soon their tortured screams would echo across the grasslands as Waste gorged on their souls.
Chapter Five
There was something very troubling about these ruins to Samuel. Their decay was uniform, equal. It was as if one day all life here had ceased and the city's denizens had vanished without a trace, abandoning their sprawling metropolis. Then there was the ash. It was everywhere, hugging the foundations of every building he passed. He stopped to run his hand along the edge of a collapsed wall, the stone crumbled away under his touch. All the fallen walls were like this, otherwise solid with the exception of the point of collapse.
It wasn't just the crumbling stone or the endless piles of ash that troubled Samuel, it was the silence. He saw birds flying overhead, and insects and rodents crawling through the debris, but none of them were making any sounds. There wasn't even a distant chirping to break through the oppressive silence. He felt tension building all around him, though its origin was internal. He felt as though the life forms that observed him did so with apprehension and fear.
Down the road was an open commons area surrounded by stone benches and fountains. In its center was a toppled golden statue. As he drew nearer, he felt a rising sense of déjà vu. Why did this feel so familiar? The feeling only grew stronger as he approached the statue. It was a man dressed in royal robes with his hands splayed in front of him in a welcoming gesture. The position of the statue angled its front side away from him, obscuring its face from his approach. As Samuel passed the fallen figure he casually glanced at its visage. He managed to take several more paces before he stopped short, his blood felt like ice in his veins, his pulse quickened significantly.
“No. It can't be.”
He turned around to look again. He had to have been mistaken, but this was not the case. Of all the faces it could have been, it was the only one he could have possibly recognized, the only face he would never have expected to see here in these dilapidated ruins. His own.
He backed away, unable to break eye contact with himself. His pounding heart echoed in his ears, blurring his vision and his thoughts. This couldn't possibly be real, his eyes were playing tricks on him. His gaze drifted to the base where the statue had once stood, to an inscription cut into a marble plaque.
~Samuel Eugene Pitt~
~Our Savior and Guardian~
He backed into a bench, lost his balance and was sent falling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and hurried away from the commons through a narrow alley. He dared not look back, forcing himself to continue onward to the shore, the time for distractions was over. He had to get out of the ruins.
A sneer cackled in his mind.
What will you do when you get there? What's your purpose?
“I don't know yet.”
I think you're lost.
“Maybe I am.”
His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed.
“I just need to figure this out.”
He caught a glimmer of light reflecting from the liquid mirrors. He focused his attention on them, ignored the taunts from the voice in his head, and broke into a sprint for the shoreline. It wasn't far off, maybe ten blocks from his current position. He hurdled his way over potholes and fallen masonry, keeping his vision fixed in the distance. He didn't know why, only felt that an answer lay with this startling anomaly. All Samuel needed to do was reach the shore, and he would find an answer, any answer. He must.
The brick road ended abruptly, giving way to a sand beach. A dozen more strides and he was there. Coming to a halt, Samuel let himself take in the beauty of the mirrors. They slid over and under each other, sideways and back and forth, weaving through each other like an ever-expanding quilt of silver scales. He dropped to a sitting position, hands gripping the sand. He watched as one of the plates neatly skimmed the edge of the beach leaving behind a shallow gash in the vertical face of sand. Looking down, Samuel was struck by sudden vertigo as he realized that indeed the edge of the beach dropped directly down into the abyss, the wall of sand eventually vanishing from sight in the darkness far below. The mirrors went on forever downwards, slowly cutting away at the landmass one slight scratch at a time for as far as his eyes could see.
This didn't explain anything. His heart sank.
I told you. You're lost.
“At least I'm free.”
You call this freedom? Trapped in a dead world with nothing but silent birds and rodents?
“These people used to worship me. Maybe they're still alive somewhere, waiting for me.”
Maybe it's time to blow your brains out.
Samuel pulled the revolver from his belt, testing its weight for a moment. He flipped open the drum and stared at the shells. He gave it a spin and let the grooves tick against the tip of his finger, slowing it down. He selected a shell at random and pulled it from the cylinder. It was the spent cartridge. He rolled the empty case in his free hand for a moment before throwing it out into the expanse of mirrors. He spun the drum again and snapped it closed. Without hesitation he pressed the muzzle to his temple and pulled the trigger. A hollow click sounded. A deep exhale.
“There, fate says no.”
The voice was silent, finally at a loss for words. Samuel rolled over and stared at the sky. A tear rolled across his cheek. A breeze blew over him, wrapping him in a blanket of air.
Stillness. Silence. Sleep.
Chapter Six
The ground beneath his feet was a blur of endless yawning miles. The scorching sun, fixed in its position in the sky, faded behind him, plunging the landscape into twilight. The dry, cracked surface of the world had transitioned from desert to grasslands, to forests, over mountains and through swamps, a crumbling trail of death traced his path across the world. His mind was fixed on his objective, the enemy was here, gnawing at Waste's brain with his very presence. Still, there was something very wrong with how this felt. There was something familiar about this, the endless racing across a dead world to face his adversary. He could recall no real memories of this happening, yet it felt as if he had done this before. The panic and hatred, the anticipation, the enemy in the distance threatening his existence, there was nothing new here.
Waste forced his palms into the soil, skidding to a halt. He had come to the sliding mirror ocean. Dumbfounded, he crouched at the edge of the expanse, staring blankly across the surface of the tangled reflections. He was close, he could feel it. All he had to do was cross the mirrors and he would have his enemy.
Pensively, he placed a slender, clawed hand on the surface of the nearest mirror. Waste immediately noticed two things: One; the mirror stopped moving and pressed upward against his hand, providing su
fficient support for his weight, and two; it did not wither into dust under his touch. He pulled his lips back in a savage grin. Without another moment of hesitation, Waste lunged forward, running and leaping across the mirrors at incredible speed. He felt himself growing closer and closer to the source of his discomfort, the enemy.
Ahead, the mirrors had parted, forming a yawning chasm. Without pause, Waste leapt over the edge to clear the gap. While still airborne the far side of the chasm continued to move away, Waste attempted to form wings before it was too late, but without success. He plunged down into the depths of the void, half-transformed arms flailing, seeking anything to stop his fall. The mirrors seemed to purposely avoid his hands and he continued his descent. Finally his body made a hard impact with a mirror, knocking the breath from his lungs and whip-lashing his head under the edge. Below him, all he saw were more mirrors expanding infinitely downwards. Recoiling from the edge and taking a moment to recover he looked upwards to find the chasm had resealed itself. Snarling his displeasure, Waste began the long ascent, climbing the mirrors like rungs of a ladder. Their twisting forms forced his body into contortions he barely understood as he made his way back to the surface. As he climbed his every nerve yearned for the blood, body and soul of the enemy. He could taste victory even now, closer than ever, within his grasp. It was only a matter of time before he looked upon his enemy's face for the last time.
Through the parting mirrors the sky became visible, a few more grappling lunges and Waste resurfaced. Off in the distance a foggy mountain range rose from the horizon. An island of solidity in a sea of motion, surrounded and isolated from all the rest of the world. His pace quickened. Waste could feel the enemy stronger than ever, like a physical presence, an itch that he would finally be able to scratch. Closer and closer still. Tree-tops became visible, a lush forest spilling out from the foot of the mountain. He could see the beach. Birds, sensing his presence, erupted from the tree line filling the sky in panicked retreat, and the underbrush rustled from the fleeing creatures who did not command the gift of flight.
Sand touched his fingers as he reached the shore, crumbling to a fine, dead powder as his body siphoned the life from the grains. He stood upright and approached the forest's edge, palms raised. The foliage withered as he neared, drying and crumbling at his mere presence as if being devoured by invisible flames.
A single chrysalis hanging gently on a twig burst open revealing not a butterfly but the bloated and thorny form of one of Waste's familiars. It shot forward as an envoy of Waste's army, catching another hapless insect and devouring it without slowing its flight. The blood-eyed spawn split in two, and the pair caught other insects, then both split to become four. As they fed, the multiplications increased, ballooning into a new swarm of thousands within moments. The air of the forest became a cacophony of droning wings and the alarmed shrieks of wildlife as everything living was lifted into the air and consumed alive by the chitin cloud. They left nothing but dirt and the skeletal remains of trees in their wake. In the heart of the cloud, Waste cackled his delight. He could feel the enemy's presence just over the mountain, close enough to taste. Soon, he would do just that. The swarm surged upwards to the summit, leaving a dead forest of crumbling ash behind them.
Chapter Seven
Samuel awoke on the beach. Still the sky above shone with orange and purple evening hues. Nothing ever changes here. He sat up, crossed his legs and faced the expanse of mirrors, still partially dazed from sleep.
He had dreamed of a farmer. The farmer was in an accident that resulted in the loss of his right arm at the elbow. He could no longer tend to his fields, and so lost his farm. The farmer then in an attempt to end his own life flung himself from an overlook, into the mirrors. He next appeared walking across the face of the mirrors with both arms intact. He started a new farm, became prosperous and happy and grew to be an old man. The old farmer walked to the shore of the mirrors and calmly used a machete to remove his right arm at the elbow. Before he bled to death he threw his severed arm into the mirrors and smiled.
The dream left Samuel shaken and bewildered. He felt a strange connection with the dream as if he had really been there. The farmer wasn't Samuel himself, that much he knew, but the way the dream was built felt like a memory to him all the same. While he pondered the meaning of the dream a dull, dark spot on the face of a mirror caught his eye. It was small and hardly noticeable had it not reflected in the sunlight differently than the mirror it rode. His curiosity was even more perked when he noticed it was moving directly toward him. As it neared he realized with a quickened pulse what it was. The spent shell he had thrown into the mirrors.
“Hello, you. He muttered to himself.
The mirror nudged into the sandbank, folded in on itself and conveniently deposited the shell on the sand before slowly retreating. He crawled forward and with a trembling hand reached out to pick it up. With a small gasp he realized it was not in fact the empty case he thought it was, but the fully reformed bullet. He carefully drew the bullet from the sand and brushed it clean with his cold, damp fingers. He sat upright and drew his revolver, flicked open the drum and slid the bullet back into its rightful place. Samuel slapped the drum closed and shuddered.
I wonder if your brains would have been put back in your head.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
Anytime.
A sudden, cold presence tapped Samuel on the shoulder. He craned his neck and looked toward the city. Behind the skyline, over the dark silhouette of the mountain, a massive black cloud was stirring. It writhed and swirled as it rose over the peaks, blotting out the sky.
Samuel scrambled to his feet, his whole body rigid. The cloud was alive, and advancing. He took a step backwards, feeling his footing sloping downwards he knew he was out of places to retreat. The mirrors were the only option. The cloud surged toward him in an undulating funnel, wrapping itself around the broken towers of the city, sawing through them and pulverizing the stones to ash.
This was how it must have ended. A black snake of a cloud, reducing the city to dust. And the sound, the horrible deep-throated hissing, almost like the sound of...
The Swarm.
Then he saw it, not with his eyes, but somehow magnified in his mind. A small blot, just then peaking out over the lip of the mountain, a shadow darker than the others.
A mirror gently slid under his feet and started carrying him away. Samuel broke from his trance and fled out into the mirrors, hopping from face to face, too terrified to look behind him. He could hear the swarm shortening the distance behind him. The drone of wings roaring in his ears grew louder and louder. He couldn't take it, he looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but blackness pocked with blood-red spots and lost his footing, slipped over the edge of a mirror and fell helplessly for a short while before landing hard on his back.
He watched in horror as the swarm rushed after him, a massive black and red tornado twisting down, down. Samuel threw his arms in front of his face and tensed for impact. The swarm collided with his body, stingers and claws splayed to shred him to pieces. Samuel felt the crushing weight of the swarm pressing him flat to the mirror, felt them ripping into his flesh and invading his body. He could feel them... disappearing. His flesh remained whole, his heart continued to beat, he could feel his own inner strength building. Straining against the continued onslaught from above, Samuel rose to his feet and accepted the swarm. A new vigor was growing within him. The pressure lessened, the cloud receded into his body until it dwindled to nothing. The air grew still. Samuel exhaled and directed his focus to the surface. He tucked the revolver under his belt, finally unclenching the vice of his hand, then using his legs as a springboard, he jumped and caught the edge of an overhead mirror. Pulling his weight upwards, he began climbing to meet the shadow head-on.
***
The swarm had disappeared under the surface of the mirrors. Waste slowly made his way across the beach to the shore, watching and listening for signs of his army. The roar of
their wings had ceased. There were no screams from his enemy. Only silence filled the air. Waste gingerly placed his boney hands on two adjacent mirrors and crawled onto them, watching the space in between for signs of movement from below. All he saw were drifting mirrors. Waste crept a little further, maintaining a straddle of two mirrors at a time, darting his gaze around the pandemonium of reflections. No swarm, no enemy. He sniffed at the air. Something was close, but where?
Samuel's arm suddenly appeared from below, wrapped around Waste's neck and yanked him under the surface, sending him falling through the mirrors. With a surprised shriek, Waste turned to look upwards as he fell, seeing his enemy hanging under the mirror he had been on. Samuel was smiling. Waste narrowed his eyes, spread his arms wide and caught himself on the edge of another mirror. Swinging his weight and climbing on top of it, he looked back to Samuel's position to see him coming after him, leaping down from mirror to mirror.
Waste righted himself and tore his robes from his body, tossing them aside and letting them fall forever into the pandemonium, revealing his emaciated frame. His anamorphic flesh spawned a tentacle from the center of his chest which coiled tightly before springing into action.
Samuel's eyes went wide at the sight of the tentacle darting toward him. He tried to roll out of the way, but too late, he had been ensnared. The tentacle yanked him from his mirror and pulled him across the distance to Waste. The hook-faced skeleton grasped Samuel's shoulders and drew him in to eye level, pressing his nose into Samuel's.
The enemy was not deteriorating. On some level Waste had expected that, it would have been too easy if this man could be so effortlessly destroyed, and would not have been such a threat to begin with. All the same, it was unnatural for something to survive his touch.
The Microcosm Portal Page 2